The Divine Comedy by Dante Part 31

"There up aloft," I answer'd, "in the life Serene, I wander'd in a valley lost, Before mine age had to its fullness reach'd.

But yester-morn I left it: then once more Into that vale returning, him I met; And by this path homeward he leads me back."

"If thou," he answer'd, "follow but thy star, Thou canst not miss at last a glorious haven: Unless in fairer days my judgment err'd.

And if my fate so early had not chanc'd, Seeing the heav'ns thus bounteous to thee, I Had gladly giv'n thee comfort in thy work.

But that ungrateful and malignant race, Who in old times came down from Fesole, Ay and still smack of their rough mountain-flint, Will for thy good deeds shew thee enmity.

Nor wonder; for amongst ill-savour'd crabs It suits not the sweet fig-tree lay her fruit.

Old fame reports them in the world for blind, Covetous, envious, proud. Look to it well: Take heed thou cleanse thee of their ways. For thee Thy fortune hath such honour in reserve, That thou by either party shalt be crav'd With hunger keen: but be the fresh herb far From the goat's tooth. The herd of Fesole May of themselves make litter, not touch the plant, If any such yet spring on their rank bed, In which the holy seed revives, transmitted From those true Romans, who still there remain'd, When it was made the nest of so much ill."

"Were all my wish fulfill'd," I straight replied, "Thou from the confines of man's nature yet Hadst not been driven forth; for in my mind Is fix'd, and now strikes full upon my heart The dear, benign, paternal image, such As thine was, when so lately thou didst teach me The way for man to win eternity; And how I priz'd the lesson, it behooves, That, long as life endures, my tongue should speak, What of my fate thou tell'st, that write I down: And with another text to comment on For her I keep it, the celestial dame, Who will know all, if I to her arrive.

This only would I have thee clearly note: That so my conscience have no plea against me; Do fortune as she list, I stand prepar'd.

Not new or strange such earnest to mine ear.

Speed fortune then her wheel, as likes her best, The clown his mattock; all things have their course."

Thereat my sapient guide upon his right Turn'd himself back, then look'd at me and spake: "He listens to good purpose who takes note."

I not the less still on my way proceed, Discoursing with Brunetto, and inquire Who are most known and chief among his tribe.

"To know of some is well;" thus he replied, "But of the rest silence may best beseem.

Time would not serve us for report so long.

In brief I tell thee, that all these were clerks, Men of great learning and no less renown, By one same sin polluted in the world.

With them is Priscian, and Accorso's son Francesco herds among that wretched throng: And, if the wish of so impure a blotch Possess'd thee, him thou also might'st have seen, Who by the servants' servant was transferr'd From Arno's seat to Bacchiglione, where His ill-strain'd nerves he left. I more would add, But must from farther speech and onward way Alike desist, for yonder I behold A mist new-risen on the sandy plain.

A company, with whom I may not sort, Approaches. I commend my TREASURE to thee, Wherein I yet survive; my sole request."

This said he turn'd, and seem'd as one of those, Who o'er Verona's champain try their speed For the green mantle, and of them he seem'd, Not he who loses but who gains the prize.

CANTO XVI

NOW came I where the water's din was heard, As down it fell into the other round, Resounding like the hum of swarming bees: When forth together issu'd from a troop, That pa.s.s'd beneath the fierce tormenting storm, Three spirits, running swift. They towards us came, And each one cried aloud, "Oh do thou stay!

Whom by the fas.h.i.+on of thy garb we deem To be some inmate of our evil land."

Ah me! what wounds I mark'd upon their limbs, Recent and old, inflicted by the flames!

E'en the remembrance of them grieves me yet.

Attentive to their cry my teacher paus'd, And turn'd to me his visage, and then spake; "Wait now! our courtesy these merit well: And were 't not for the nature of the place, Whence glide the fiery darts, I should have said, That haste had better suited thee than them."

They, when we stopp'd, resum'd their ancient wail, And soon as they had reach'd us, all the three Whirl'd round together in one restless wheel.

As naked champions, smear'd with slippery oil, Are wont intent to watch their place of hold And vantage, ere in closer strife they meet; Thus each one, as he wheel'd, his countenance At me directed, so that opposite The neck mov'd ever to the twinkling feet.

"If misery of this drear wilderness,"

Thus one began, "added to our sad cheer And dest.i.tute, do call forth scorn on us And our entreaties, let our great renown Incline thee to inform us who thou art, That dost imprint with living feet unharm'd The soil of h.e.l.l. He, in whose track thou see'st My steps pursuing, naked though he be And reft of all, was of more high estate Than thou believest; grandchild of the chaste Gualdrada, him they Guidoguerra call'd, Who in his lifetime many a n.o.ble act Achiev'd, both by his wisdom and his sword.

The other, next to me that beats the sand, Is Aldobrandi, name deserving well, In the' upper world, of honour; and myself Who in this torment do partake with them, Am Rusticucci, whom, past doubt, my wife Of savage temper, more than aught beside Hath to this evil brought." If from the fire I had been shelter'd, down amidst them straight I then had cast me, nor my guide, I deem, Would have restrain'd my going; but that fear Of the dire burning vanquish'd the desire, Which made me eager of their wish'd embrace.

I then began: "Not scorn, but grief much more, Such as long time alone can cure, your doom Fix'd deep within me, soon as this my lord Spake words, whose tenour taught me to expect That such a race, as ye are, was at hand.

I am a countryman of yours, who still Affectionate have utter'd, and have heard Your deeds and names renown'd. Leaving the gall For the sweet fruit I go, that a sure guide Hath promis'd to me. But behooves, that far As to the centre first I downward tend."

"So may long s.p.a.ce thy spirit guide thy limbs,"

He answer straight return'd; "and so thy fame s.h.i.+ne bright, when thou art gone; as thou shalt tell, If courtesy and valour, as they wont, Dwell in our city, or have vanish'd clean?

For one amidst us late condemn'd to wail, Borsiere, yonder walking with his peers, Grieves us no little by the news he brings."

"An upstart mult.i.tude and sudden gains, Pride and excess, O Florence! have in thee Engender'd, so that now in tears thou mourn'st!"

Thus cried I with my face uprais'd, and they All three, who for an answer took my words, Look'd at each other, as men look when truth Comes to their ear. "If thou at other times,"

They all at once rejoin'd, "so easily Satisfy those, who question, happy thou, Gifted with words, so apt to speak thy thought!

Wherefore if thou escape this darksome clime, Returning to behold the radiant stars, When thou with pleasure shalt retrace the past, See that of us thou speak among mankind."

This said, they broke the circle, and so swift Fled, that as pinions seem'd their nimble feet.

Not in so short a time might one have said "Amen," as they had vanish'd. Straight my guide Pursu'd his track. I follow'd; and small s.p.a.ce Had we pa.s.s'd onward, when the water's sound Was now so near at hand, that we had scarce Heard one another's speech for the loud din.

E'en as the river, that holds on its course Unmingled, from the mount of Vesulo, On the left side of Apennine, toward The east, which Acquacheta higher up They call, ere it descend into the vale, At Forli by that name no longer known, Rebellows o'er Saint Benedict, roll'd on From the' Alpine summit down a precipice, Where s.p.a.ce enough to lodge a thousand spreads; Thus downward from a craggy steep we found, That this dark wave resounded, roaring loud, So that the ear its clamour soon had stunn'd.

I had a cord that brac'd my girdle round, Wherewith I erst had thought fast bound to take The painted leopard. This when I had all Unloosen'd from me (so my master bade) I gather'd up, and stretch'd it forth to him.

Then to the right he turn'd, and from the brink Standing few paces distant, cast it down Into the deep abyss. "And somewhat strange,"

Thus to myself I spake, "signal so strange Betokens, which my guide with earnest eye Thus follows." Ah! what caution must men use With those who look not at the deed alone, But spy into the thoughts with subtle skill!

"Quickly shall come," he said, "what I expect, Thine eye discover quickly, that whereof Thy thought is dreaming." Ever to that truth, Which but the semblance of a falsehood wears, A man, if possible, should bar his lip; Since, although blameless, he incurs reproach.

But silence here were vain; and by these notes Which now I sing, reader! I swear to thee, So may they favour find to latest times!

That through the gross and murky air I spied A shape come swimming up, that might have quell'd The stoutest heart with wonder, in such guise As one returns, who hath been down to loose An anchor grappled fast against some rock, Or to aught else that in the salt wave lies, Who upward springing close draws in his feet.

CANTO XVII

"LO! the fell monster with the deadly sting!

Who pa.s.ses mountains, breaks through fenced walls And firm embattled spears, and with his filth Taints all the world!" Thus me my guide address'd, And beckon'd him, that he should come to sh.o.r.e, Near to the stony causeway's utmost edge.

Forthwith that image vile of fraud appear'd, His head and upper part expos'd on land, But laid not on the sh.o.r.e his b.e.s.t.i.a.l train.

His face the semblance of a just man's wore, So kind and gracious was its outward cheer; The rest was serpent all: two s.h.a.ggy claws Reach'd to the armpits, and the back and breast, And either side, were painted o'er with nodes And orbits. Colours variegated more Nor Turks nor Tartars e'er on cloth of state With interchangeable embroidery wove, Nor spread Arachne o'er her curious loom.

As ofttimes a light skiff, moor'd to the sh.o.r.e, Stands part in water, part upon the land; Or, as where dwells the greedy German boor, The beaver settles watching for his prey; So on the rim, that fenc'd the sand with rock, Sat perch'd the fiend of evil. In the void Glancing, his tail upturn'd its venomous fork, With sting like scorpion's arm'd. Then thus my guide: "Now need our way must turn few steps apart, Far as to that ill beast, who couches there."

Thereat toward the right our downward course We shap'd, and, better to escape the flame And burning marle, ten paces on the verge Proceeded. Soon as we to him arrive, A little further on mine eye beholds A tribe of spirits, seated on the sand Near the wide chasm. Forthwith my master spake: "That to the full thy knowledge may extend Of all this round contains, go now, and mark The mien these wear: but hold not long discourse.

Till thou returnest, I with him meantime Will parley, that to us he may vouchsafe The aid of his strong shoulders." Thus alone Yet forward on the' extremity I pac'd Of that seventh circle, where the mournful tribe Were seated. At the eyes forth gush'd their pangs.

Against the vapours and the torrid soil Alternately their s.h.i.+fting hands they plied.

Thus use the dogs in summer still to ply Their jaws and feet by turns, when bitten sore By gnats, or flies, or gadflies swarming round.

Noting the visages of some, who lay Beneath the pelting of that dolorous fire, One of them all I knew not; but perceiv'd, That pendent from his neck each bore a pouch With colours and with emblems various mark'd, On which it seem'd as if their eye did feed.

And when amongst them looking round I came, A yellow purse I saw with azure wrought, That wore a lion's countenance and port.

Then still my sight pursuing its career, Another I beheld, than blood more red.

A goose display of whiter wing than curd.

And one, who bore a fat and azure swine Pictur'd on his white scrip, addressed me thus: "What dost thou in this deep? Go now and know, Since yet thou livest, that my neighbour here Vitaliano on my left shall sit.

A Paduan with these Florentines am I.

Ofttimes they thunder in mine ears, exclaiming 'O haste that n.o.ble knight! he who the pouch With the three beaks will bring!'" This said, he writh'd The mouth, and loll'd the tongue out, like an ox That licks his nostrils. I, lest longer stay He ill might brook, who bade me stay not long, Backward my steps from those sad spirits turn'd.

My guide already seated on the haunch Of the fierce animal I found; and thus He me encourag'd. "Be thou stout; be bold.