my Leader, “I think that it behoves us to turn our right shoulders to the outer edge, circling the Mount as we are wont to do.” Thus usage was there our guide, and we took the way with less doubt because of the assent of that worthy soul.
[1] The first four hours of the day were spent. It was between ten and eleven o’clock.
[2] Of the car.
They were going on in front, and I solitary behind, and I was listening to their speech which gave me understanding in poesy. But soon the pleasant discourse was interrupted by a tree which we found in the mid road, with apples sweet and pleasant to the smell. And as a fir-tree tapers upward from branch to branch, so downwardly did that, I think in order that no one may go up. On the side on which our way was closed, a clear water fell from the high rock and spread itself over the heaves above. The two poets approached the tree, and a voice from within the heaves cried: “Of this food ye shall have want.” Then it said, “Mary thought more, how the wedding[1] should be honorable and complete, than of her mouth,[2] which answers now for you; and the ancient Roman women were content with water for their drink; and Daniel despised food and gained wisdom. The primal age, which was beautiful as gold, with hunger made acorns savory, and with thirst every streamlet nectar. Honey and locusts were the viands that nourished the Baptist in the desert, wherefore he is in glory, and so great as by the Gospel is revealed to you.
[1] At Cana.
[2] Than of gratifying her appetite.
CANTO XXIII. Sixth Ledge: the Gluttonous.–Forese Donati.–Nella.–Rebuke of the women of Florence.
While I was fixing my eyes upon the green leafage, just as he who wastes his life following the little bird is wont to do, my more than Father said to me, “Son, come on now, for the time that is assigned to us must be parcelled out more usefully.” I turned my face, and no less quickly my step after the Sages, who were speaking so that they made the going of no cost to me; and ho! a lament and song were heard, “Labia mea, Domine,”[1] in such fashion that it gave birth to delight and pain. “O sweet Father, what is that which I hear?” I began, and he, “Shades which go, perhaps loosing the knot of their debt.”
[1] “Lord, open thou my lips.” — Psalm li. 15.
Even as do pilgrims rapt in thought, who, overtaking on the road unknown folk, turn themselves to them, and stay not; so behind us, moving more quickly, coming up and passing by, a crowd of souls, silent and devout, gazed at us. Each was dark and hollow in the eyes, pallid in the face, and so wasted that the skin took its shape from the bones. I do not think that Erisichthon[1] was so dried up to utter rind by hunger, when he had most fear of it. I said to myself in thought, “Behold the people who lost Jerusalem, when Mary struck her beak into her son.”[2] The sockets of their eyes seemed rings without gems. Whoso in the face of men reads OMO,[3] would surely there have recognized the M. Who would believe that the scent of an apple, begetting longing, and that of a water, could have such mastery, if he knew not how?
[1] Punished for sacrilege by Ceres with insatiable hunger, so that at last he turned his teeth upon himself. See Ovid, Metam.,viii. 738 sqq.
[2] The story of this wretched woman is told by Josephus in his narrative of the siege of Jerusalem by Titus: De Bello Jud., vi. 3.
[3] Finding in each eye an O, and an M in the lines of the brows and nose, making the word for “man.”
I was now wondering what so famished them, the cause of their meagreness and of their wretched husk not yet being manifest, and lo! from the depths of its head, a shade turned his eyes on me, and looked fixedly, then cried out loudly, “What grace to me is this!” Never should I have recognized him by his face; but in his voice that was disclosed to me which his aspect in itself had suppressed.[1] This spark rekindled in me all my knowledge of the altered visage, and I recognized the face of Forese.[2]
[1] His voice revealed who he was, which his actual aspect concealed.
[2] Brother of the famous Corso Donati, and related to Dante, whose wife was Gemma de’ Donati.
“Ah, strive not [1] with the dry scab that discolors my skin,” he prayed, “nor with my lack of flesh, but tell me the truth about thyself; and who are these two souls, who yonder make an escort for thee: stay not thou from speaking to me.” “Thy face, which once I wept for dead, now gives me for weeping no less a grief,” replied I, “seeing it so disfigured; therefore, tell me, for God’s sake, what so despoils you; make me not speak while I am marvelling; for ill can he speak who is full of another wish.” And he to me, “From the eternal council falls a power into the water and into the plant, now left behind, whereby I become so thin. All this folk who sing weeping, because of following their appetite beyond measure, here in hunger and in thirst make themselves holy again. The odour which issues from the apple and from the spray that spreads over the verdure kindles in us desire to eat and drink. And not once only as we circle this floor is our pain renewed; I say pain, and ought to say solace, for that will leads us to the tree which led Christ gladly to say, ‘Eli,'[2] when with his blood he delivered us.” And I to him, “Forese, from that day on which thou didst change world to a better life, up to this time five years have not rolled round. If the power of sinning further had ended in thee, ere the hour supervened of the good grief that to God reweds us, how hast thou come up hither?[3] I thought to find thee still down there below, where time is made good by time.” And he to me, “My Nella with her bursting tears has brought me thus quickly to drink of the sweet wormwood of these torments. With her devout prayers and with sighs has she drawn me from the shore where one waits, and has delivered me from the other circles. So much the more dear and more beloved of God is my little widow, whom I loved so much, as she is the more solitary in good works; for the Barbagia[4] of Sardinia is far more modest in its women than the Barbagia where I left her. O sweet brother, what wouldst thou that I say? A future time is already in my sight, to which this hour will not be very old, in which from the pulpit it shall be forbidden to the brazen-faced dames of Florence to go displaying the bosom with the paps. What Barbarian, what Saracen women were there ever who required either spiritual or other discipline to make them go covered? But if the shameless ones were aware of that which the swift heaven is preparing for them, already would they have their mouths open for howling. For if foresight here deceives me not, they will be sad ere he who is now consoled with the lullaby covers his cheeks with hair. Ak brother, now no longer conceal thyself from me; thou seest that not only I but all these people are gazing there where thou dost veil the sun.” Whereon I to him: “If thou bring back to mind what thou wast with me, and what I was with thee, the present remembrance will even now be grievous. From that life he who goes before me turned me the other day, when the sister of him yonder,” and I pointed to the sun, “showed herself round. Through the deep night, from the truly dead, he has led me, with this true flesh which follows him. Thence his counsels have drawn me up, ascending and circling the mountain that sets you straight whom the world made crooked. So long he says that he will bear me company till I shall be there where Beatrice will be; there it behoves that I remain without him. Virgil is he who says thus to me,” and I pointed to him, “and this other is that shade for whom just now your realm, which from itself releases him, shook every slope.”
[1] Do not, for striving to see me through my changed look, delay to speak.
[2] Willingly to accept his suffering, even when he exclaimed, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”–Matthew, xxvii. 46.
[3] If thou didst delay repentance until thou couldst sin no more, how is it that so speedily thou hast arrived here?
[4] A mountainous district in Sardinia, inhabited by people of barbarous customs.
CANTO XXIV. Sixth Ledge: the Gluttonous.–Forese Donati.–Bonagiunta of Lucca–Pope Martin IV–Ubaldin dalla Pila. –Bonifazio.–Messer Marchese.–Prophecy of Bonagiunta concerning Gentucca, and of Forese concerning Corso de’ Donati.–Second Mystic Tree.–The Angel of the Pass.
Speech made not the going, nor the going made that more slow; but, talking, we went on apace even as a ship urged by good wind. And the shades, that seemed things doubly dead, through the pits of their eyes drew in wonder at me, perceiving that I was alive.
And I, continuing my discourse, said, “He[1] goeth up perchance for another’s sake more slowly than he would do. But, tell me, if thou knowest, where is Piccarda[2] tell me if I see person of note among this folk that so gazes at me.” “My sister, who, between fair and good, was I know not which the most, triumphs rejoicing in her crown already on high Olympus.” So he said first, and then, “Here it is not forbidden to name each other, since our semblance is so milked away by the diet.[3] This,” and he pointed with his finger, “is Bonagiunta,[4] Bonagiunta of Lucca; and that face beyond him, more sharpened than the others, had the Holy Church in his arms:[5]from Tours he was; and by fasting he purges the eels of Bolsena, and the Vernaccia wine.” Many others he named to me, one by one, and at their naming all appeared content; so that for this I saw not one dark mien. For hunger using their teeth on emptiness, I saw Ubaldin dalla Pila, and Boniface,[6] who shepherded many people with his crook. I saw Messer Marchese, who once had leisure to drink at Forum with less thirst, and even so was such that he felt not sated. But as one does who looks, and then makes account more of one than of another, did I of him of Lucca, who seemed to have most cognizance of me. He was murmuring; and I know not what, save that I heard “Gentucca” there[7] where he felt the chastisement of the justice which so strips them. “O soul,” said I, “who seemest so desirous to speak with me, do so that I may hear thee, and satisfy both thyself and me by thy speech.” “A woman is born, and wears not yet the veil,”[8] he began, “who will make my city pleasant to thee, however men may blame it.[9] Thou shalt go on with this prevision: if from my murmuring thou hast received error, the true things will yet clear it up for thee. But say, if I here see him, who drew forth the new rhymes, beginning, ‘Ladies who have intelligence of Love’?”[10] And I to him, “I am one, who, when Love inspires me, notes, and in that measure which he dictates within, I go revealing.” “O brother, now I see,” said he, “the knot which held back the Notary,[11] and Guittone,[12] and me short of the sweet new style that I hear. I see clearly how your pens go on close following the dictator, which surely befell not with ours. And he who most sets himself to look further sees nothing more between one style and the other.” [13] And, as if contented, he was silent.
[1]Statius; more slowly, for the sake of remaining with Virgil.
[2] The sister of Forese, whom Dante meets in Paradise (Canto III.).
[3] Recognition by the looks being thus impossible.
[4] Bonagiunta Urbiciani; he lived and wrote in the last half of the thirteenth century.
[5] Martin IV., Pope from 1281 to 1284.
[6] Archbishop of Ravenna.
[7] Upon his lips.
[8] Of a married woman.
[9] This honorable and delightful reference to the otherwise unknown maiden, Gentucca of Lucca, has given occasion to much worthless and base comment. Dante was at Lucca during his exile, in 1314. He himself was one of those who blamed the city; see Hell, Canto XXI.
[10] The first verse of the first canzone of The New Life.
[11] The Sicilian poet, Jacopo da Lentino.
[12] Guittone d’ Arezzo, commonly called Fra Guittone, as one of the order of the Frati Gaudenti. Dante refers to him again in Canto XXVI.
[13] He who seeks for other reason does not find it.
As the birds that winter along the Nile sometimes make a flock in the air, then fly in greater haste, and go in file, so all the folk that were there, light both through leanness and through will, turning away their faces, quickened again their pace. And as the man who is weary of running lets his companions go on, and himself walks, until he vents the panting of his chest, so Forese let the holy flock pass on and came along behind, with me, saying, “When shall it be that I see thee again?” “I know not,” I replied to him, “how long I may live; but truly my return will not be so speedy, that I shall not in desire he sooner at the shore;[1] because the place where I was set to live, denudes itself more of good from day to day, and seems ordained to wretched ruin.” “Now go,” said he, “for I see him who hath most fault for this[2] dragged at the tail of a beast, toward the valley where there is no disculpation ever. The beast at every step goes faster, increasing always till it strikes him, and leaves his body vilely undone. Those wheels have not far to turn,” and he raised his eyes to heaven, “for that to become clear to thee which my speech cannot further declare. Now do thou stay behind, for time is so precious in this kingdom, that I lose too much coming thus at even pace with thee.”
[1] Of Purgatory.
[2] Corso de’ Donati, the leader of the Black Guelphs and chief cause of the evils of the city. On the 15th September, 1308, his enemies having risen against him, he was compelled to fly from Florence. Near the city he was thrown from his horse and dragged along, till he was overtaken and killed by his pursuers.
As a cavalier sometimes sets forth at a gallop from a troop which rides, and goes to win the honor of the first encounter, so he went away from us with greater strides; and I remained on the way with only those two who were such great marshals of the world.[1] And when he had entered so far before us that my eyes became such followers on him as my mind was on his words,[2] there appeared to me the laden and lusty branches of another apple-tree, and not far distant, because only then had I turned thitherward.[3] I saw people beneath it raising their hands and crying, I know not what, toward the leaves, like eager and fond little children who pray, and he they pray to answers not, hut, to make their longing very keen, holds aloft their desire, and conceals it not. Then they departed as if undeceived:[4] and now we came to the great tree that rejects so many prayers and tears. “Pass further onward, without drawing near; the tree[5] is higher up which was eaten of by Eve, and this plant has been raised from that.” Thus among the branches I know not who was speaking; wherefore Virgil and Statius and I, drawing close together, went onward along the side that rises.[6] “Be mindful,” the voice was saying, “of the accursed ones,[7] formed in the clouds, who, when glutted, strove against Theseus with their double breasts; and of the Hebrews, who, at the drinking, showed themselves soft,[8] wherefore Gideon wished them not for companions, when he went down the hills toward Midian.”
[1] “A marshal is a ruler of the court and of the army under the emperor, and should know how to command what ought to be done, as those two poets knew what it was befitting to do in the world in respect to moral and civil life.”–Buti.
[2] Could no longer follow him distinctly.
[3] In the circling course around the mountain.
[4] Having found vain the hope of reaching the fruit.
[5] The tree of knowledge, in the Earthly Paradise: Canto XXXII.
[6] On the inner side, by the wall of the mountain.
[7] The centaurs.
[8] Judges, vii. 4-7.
Thus keeping close to one of the two borders, we passed by, hearing of sins of gluttony followed, in sooth, by wretched gains. Then going at large along the lonely road, full a thousand steps and more had borne us onward, each of us in meditation without a word. “Why go ye thus in thought, ye three alone?” said a sudden voice; whereat I started as do terrified and timid beasts. I lifted up my head to see who it might be, and never were glass or metals seen so shining and ruddy in a furnace as one I saw who said, “If it please you to mount up, here must a turn be taken; this way he goes who wishes to go for peace.” His aspect had taken my sight from me, wherefore I turned me behind my teachers like one who goes according as he hears.[1] And as, harbinger of the dawn, the breeze of May stirs and smells sweet, all impregnate with the herbage and with the flowers, such a wind I felt strike upon the middle of my forehead, and clearly felt the motion of the plumes which made mime perceive the odor of ambrosia. And I heard said, “Blessed are they whom so much grace illumines, that the love of taste inspires not in their breasts too great desire, hungering always so far as is just.”[2]
[1] Blinded for the instant by the dazzling brightness of the angel,Dante drops behind his teachers, to follow them as one guided by hearing only.
[2] “Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness.”–Matthew, v.6.
Dante has already cited this Beatitude (Canto XXII.), applying it to those who are purging themselves from the inordinate desire for riches; he there omits the word “hunger,” as here he omits the “and thirst.”
CANTO XXV. Ascent to the Seventh Ledge.–Discourse of Statius on generation, the infusion of the Soul into the body, and the corporeal semblance of Souls after death.–The Seventh Ledge: the Lustful.–The mode of their Purification.
It was the hour in which the ascent allowed no delay; for the meridian circle had been left by the Sun to the Bull, and by the Night to the Scorpion;[1] wherefore as the man doth who, whatever may appear to him, stops not, but goes on his way, if the goad of necessity prick him, so did we enter through the gap, one before the other, taking the stairway which by its narrowness unpairs the climbers.
[1] Taurus follows on Aries, so that the hour indicated is about 2 P.M. The Night here means the part of the Heavens opposite to the Sun.
And as the little stork that lifts its wing through will to fly, and dares not abandon the nest, and down it drops, so was I, with will to ask, kindled and quenched, coming even to the motion that he makes who proposes to speak. Nor, though our going was swift, did my sweet Father forbear, but he said, Discharge the bow of speech which up to the iron thou hast drawn.” Then I opened my mouth confidently, and began, “How can one become thin, where the need of nourishment is not felt?” “If thou hadst called to mind how Meleager was consumed by time consuming of a brand this would not be,” he said, ” so difficult to thee; and if thou hadst thought, how at your quivering your image quivers within the mirror, that which seems hard would seem easy to thee. But that thou mayst to thy pleasure be inwardly at ease, lo, here is Statius, and I call on him and pray that he be now the healer of thy wounds.” “If I explain to him the eternal view,” replied Statius, “where thou art present, let it excuse me that to thee I cannot snake denial.”[1]
[1] Here and elsewhere Statius seems to represent allegorically human philosophy enlightened by Christian teaching, dealing with questions of knowledge, not of faith.
Then he began, “If, son, thy mind regards and receives my words, they will be. for thee a light unto the ‘how,’ which thou askest.[1] The perfect blood which is never drunk by the thirsty veins, but remains like the food which thou removest from time table, takes in time heart virtue informative of all the human members; even as that blood does, which passes through the veins to become those members.[2] Digested yet again, it descends to the part whereof it is more becoming to be silent than to speak; and thence, afterwards, it drops upon another’s blood in the natural vessel. There one and the other meet together; the one ordained to be passive, and the other to be active because of the perfect place[3] wherefrom it is pressed out; and, conjoined with the former, the latter begins to operate, first by coagulating, and then by quickening that to which it gives consistency for its own material. The active virtue having become a soul, like that of a plant (in so far different that this is on the way, and that already arrived),[4] so worketh then, that now it moves and feels, as a sea-fungus doth; and then it proceeds to organize the powers of which it is the germ. Now, son, the virtue is displayed, now it is diffused, which issues from the heart of the begetter, where nature is intent on all the members.[5] But how from an animal it becomes a speaking being,[6] thou as yet seest not; this is such a point that once it made one wiser than thee to err, so that in his teaching he separated from the soul the potential intellect, because he saw no organ assumed by it.[7] Open thy heart unto the truth that is coming, and know that, so soon as in the foitus the articulation of the brain is perfect, the Primal Motor turns to it with joy over such art of nature, and inspires a new spirit replete with virtue, which draws that which it finds active there into its own substance, and makes one single soul which lives and feels and circles on itself. And that thou mayst the less wonder at this doctrine, consider the warmth of the sun which, combining with the juice that flows from the vine, becomes wine. And when Lachesis has no more thread, this soul is loosed from the flesh, and virtually bears away with itself both the human and the divine; the other faculties all of them mute,[8] but memory, understanding, and will[9] far more acute in action than before. Without staying, it falls of itself, marvelously to one of the banks.[10] Here it first knows its own roads. Soon as the place there circumscribes it, the formative virtue rays out around it in like manner, and as much as in the living members.[11] And as the air when it is full of rain becomes adorned with divers colors by another’s rays which are reflected in it, so here the neighboring air shapes itself in that form which is virtually imprinted upon it by the soul that hath stopped.[12] And then like the flamelet which follows the fire wherever it shifts, so its new form follows the spirit. Since thereafter from this it has its aspect, it is called a shade; and by this it shapes the organ for every sense even to the sight; by this we speak, and by this we laugh, by this we make the tears and the sighs, which on the mountain thou mayst have perceived. According as the desires and the other affections impress us the shade is shaped; and this is the cause of that at which thou wonderest.”
[1] The doctrine set forth by Statius in the following discourse is derived from St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theol., i. 118, 119, who, in his turn, derived it from Aristotle. It is to be found, more briefly stated, in the Convito, iv. 21.
[2] A portion of the blood remains after the veins are supplied; in the heart all the blood receives the virtue by which it gives form to the various organs of the body.
[3] The heart.
[4] The vegetative soul in the plant has attained its full development, “has arrived;” in the animal is “on the way” to perfection.
[5] From the vegetative, the soul has become sensitive,–anima sensitiva.
[6] A being possessed of intellect,–the last stage in the progress of the soul, when it becomes came intellective.
[7] Averroes asserted the intellect to be impersonal and undivided in essence; not formally, but instrumentally only, united with the individual. Hence there was no personal immortality.
[8] The faculties of sense mute because their organs no longer exist.
[9]The spiritual faculties.
[10] Of Acheron or of Tiber, according as the soul is damned or saved.
[11] In this account of the formation of the bodily semblance in the spiritual realms, Statius no longer follows the doctrine of Aquinas. The conception is derived from Plato; but the form given to it is peculiar to Dante.
[12] Stopped in the place allotted to it.
And now we had come to the last circuit,[1] and turning to the right hand, we were intent upon another care. Here the bank shoots forth flame, and the ledge breathes a blast upward which drives it back, and sequesters a path from it.[2] Wherefore it was needful to go one by one along the unenclosed side; and on the one hand I was afraid of the fire, and on the other I was afraid of falling off. My Leader said, “Through this place, one must keep tight the rein upon the eyes, because for little one might go astray.” “Summae Deus clementiae,”[3] in the bosom of the great burning then I heard singing, which made me care not less to turn. And I saw spirits going through the flame; wherefore I looked at them and at my own steps, apportioning to each my sight from moment to moment. After the end of that hymn, they loudly cried: “Virum non cognosco;”[4] then began again the hymn with low voice; this finished, they cried anew, “To the wood Diana kept herself, and drove therefrom Helice,[5] who had felt the poison of Venus.” Then they turned to singing; then wives they cried out, and husbands who were chaste, as virtue and marriage enjoin upon us. And I believe this mode suffices them through all the time the fire burns them. With such cure it is needful, and with such food, that the last wound of all should be closed up.
[1] The word in the original is tortura. Benvenuto’s comment is, “nunc incipiebant torquere et flectere viam, ideo talem deflectionem appellat torturam.” Buti, on the contrary, says, “tortura cioe tormento.”
[2] Secures a safe pathway along the ledge.
[3] “God of clemency supreme,” the beginning of a hymn, sung at Matins, containing a prayer for purity.
[4] “I know not a man,” the words of Mary to the angel–Luke, i. 34.
[5] Helice, or Callisto, the nymph who bore a son to Jupiter, and, having been changed to a bear by Juno, was by Jove transferred with her child to the heavens, where they are seen as the Great and Little Bear.
CANTO XXVI. Seventh Ledge: the Lustful.–Sinners in the fire, going in opposite directions.–Guido Guinicelli.–Arnaut Daniel.
While we were going on thus along the edge, one before the other, and the good Master was often saying, “Take heed! let it avail that I warn thee,” the sun was striking me on the right shoulder, and now, raying out, was changing all the west from azure to a white aspect; and with my shadow I was making the flame appear more ruddy, and only at such an indication[1] I saw many shades, as they went on, give attention. This was the occasion which gave them a beginning to speak of me, and they began to say, “He seems not a fictitious body;” then toward me, so far as they could do so, certain of them canine, always with regard not to come out where they would not be burned.
[1] At this sign that Dante’s body was that of a living man.
“O thou! who goest, not from being slower, but perhaps from reverence, behind the others, reply to me who in thirst and fire am burning. Nor to me only is thy reply of need, for all these have a greater thirst for it than Indian or Ethiop of cold water. Tell us how it is that thou makest of thyself a wall to the sun, as if thou hadst not yet entered within the net of death.” Thus spoke to me one of them; and I should now have disclosed myself, if I had not been intent on another new thing which then appeared; for through the middle of the burning road were coming people with their faces opposite to these, who made me gaze in suspense. There I see, on every side, all the shades making haste and kissing each other, without stopping, content with brief greeting. Thus within their brown band one ant touches muzzle with another, perchance to enquire their way and their fortune.
Soon as they end the friendly salutation, before the first step runs on beyond, each strives to outcry the other; the new-come folk: “Sodom and Gomorrah,” and the other, “Into the cow enters Pasiphae, that the bull may run to her lust.” Then like cranes, of whom part should fly to the Riphaean mountains,[1] and part toward the sands,[2] these shunning the frost and those the sun, one folk goes, the other comes on, and weeping they return to their first chants, and to the cry which most befits them.
[1] Mountains vaguely placed by the early geographers in the far North.
[2] The deserts of the South.
And those same who had prayed me drew near to me as before, intent in their looks to listen. I, who twice had seen their desire, began, “O souls secure of having, whenever it may he, a state of peace, neither unripe nor mature have my limbs remained yonder, but they are here with me with their blood, and with their joints. I go up in order to be no longer blind. A Lady is on high who winneth grace for us, whereby I bring my mortal part through your world. But so may your greater will soon become satisfied, in such wise that the heaven may harbor you which is full of love, and most amply spreads, tell me, in order that I may yet rule the paper for it, who are ye, and who are that crowd which goes its way behind your backs.”
Not otherwise stupefied, the mountaineer is confused, and gazing round is dumb, when rough and savage he enters the town, than each shade became in his appearance; but, after they were unburdened of their bewilderment, which in high hearts is quickly assuaged, “Blessed thou,” began again that one who first had asked me, “who of our regions dost ship experience for dying better. The people who do not come with us offended in that for which once Caesar in his triumph heard ‘Queen’ cried out against him; therefore they go off shouting ‘Sodom,’ reproving themselves as thou hast heard, and aid the burning by their shame. Our sin was hermaphrodite; but because we observed not human law, following our appetite like beasts, when we part from them, the name of her who bestialized herself in the beast-shaped planks is uttered by us, in opprobrium of ourselves. Now thou knowest our deeds, and of what we were guilty; if, perchance, thou wishest to know by name who we are, there is not time to tell, and I could not do it. I will indeed make thee short of wish about myself; I am Guido Guinicelli;[1] and now I purify myself, because I truly repented before my last hour.”
[1] Of Bologna; he was living after the middle of the thirteenth century. Of his life little is known, but some of his verses survive and justify Dante’s words concerning them.
Such as in the sorrow of Lycurgus her two sons became at seeing again their mother,[1] such I became, but I rise not so far,[2] when I heard name himself the father of me, and of my betters who ever used sweet and gracious rhymes of love; and without hearing or speaking, full of thought I went on, gazing a long time upon him; nor, for the fire, did I draw nearer to him. After I was fed with looking, I offered myself wholly ready for his service, with the affirmation that makes another believe. And he to me, “By what I hear thou leavest such trace in me, and so bright, that Lethe cannot take it away nor make it dim. But if thy words have now sworn truth, tell me what is time cause why in speech and look thou showest that thou dost hold me dear?” And I to him, “The sweet ditties of yours, which, so long as the modern fashion shall endure, will still make dear their ink.” “O brother,” said he, “this one whom I distinguish for thee with my finger,” and he pointed to a spirit in advance,[3] “was a better smith of the maternal speech. In verses of love, and prose of romances, he excelled all, and let the foolish talk who think that he of Limoges[4] surpasses him; to rumor more than to truth they turn their faces, and thus confirm their own opinion, before art or reason is listened to by them. Thus did many of old concerning Guittone,[5] from cry to cry only to him giving the prize, until the truth has prevailed with more persons. Now if thou hast such ample privilege that it he permitted thee to go unto the cloister in which Christ is abbot of the college, say for me to him one paternoster, so far as needs for us in this world where power to sin is no longer ours.”[6]
[1] “Lycurgus, King of Nemaea, enraged with Hypsipyle for leaving his infant child, who was killed by a serpent, while she was showing the river Langia to the Argives (see Canto XXII.), was about to kill her, when she was found and rescued by her own suns.”–Statius, Thebaid, v. 721 (Pollock).
[2] I was more restrained than they.
[3] Arnaut Daniel, a famous troubadour.
[4] Gerault de Berneil.
[5] Guittone d’ Arezzo (see Canto XXIV.).
[6] The words in the Lord’s Prayer, “Deliver us from temptation,” are not needed for the spirits in Purgatory.
Then, perhaps to give place to the other who was near behind him, he disappeared through the fire, even as through the water a fish going to the bottom. I moved forward a little to him who had been pointed out to me, and said, that for his name my desire was making ready a gracious place. He began graciously to say,[1] “So pleaseth me your courteous demand that I cannot, and I will not, hide me from you. I am Arnaut who weep and go singing; contrite I see my past folly, and joyful I see before me the day I hope for. Now I pray you by that virtue which guides you to the summit of the stair, at times be mindful of my pain.” Then he hid himself in the fire that refines them.
[1] The words of Daniel are in the Provencal tongue.
CANTO XXVII. Seventh Ledge: the Lustful.–Passage through the Flames.–Stairway in the rock.–Night upon the stairs.–Dream of Dante.–Morning.–Ascent to the Earthly Paradise.–Last words of Virgil.
As when he darts forth his first rays there where his Maker shed His blood (Ebro falling under the lofty Scales, and the waves in the Ganges scorched by noon) so the sun was now standing;[1] so that the day was departing, when the glad Angel of God appeared to us. Outside the flame he was standing on the bank, and was singing, “Beati mundo corde,”[2] in a voice far more living than ours: then, “No one goes further, ye holy souls, if first the fire sting not; enter into it, and to the song beyond be ye not deaf,” he said to us, when we were near him. Whereat I became such, when I heard him, as is he who in the pit is put.[3] With hands clasped upwards, I stretched forward, looking at the fire, and imagining vividly human bodies I had once seen burnt. The good Escorts turned toward me, and Virgil said to me, “My son, here may be torment, but not death. Bethink thee! bethink thee! and if I even upon Geryon guided thee safe, what shall I do now that I am nearer God? Believe for certain that if within the belly of this flame thou shouldst stand full a thousand years, it could not make thee bald of one hair. And if thou perchance believest that I deceive thee, draw near to it, and make trial for thyself with fine own hands on the hem of thy garments. Put aside now, put aside every fear; turn hitherward, and come on secure.”
[1] It was near sunrise at Jerusalem, and consequently near sunset in Purgatory, midnight in Spain, and midday at the Ganges.
[2] “Blessed are the pure in heart.”
[3] Who is condemned to be buried alive.
And I still motionless and against conscience!
When he saw me still stand motionless and obdurate, he said, disturbed a little, “Now see, son, between Beatrice and thee is this wall.”
As at the name of Thisbe, Pyramus, at point of death, opened his eyelids and looked at her, what time the mulberry became vermilion, so, my obduracy becoming softened, I turned me to the wise Leader, hearing the name that in my memory is ever welling up. Whereat he nodded his head, amid said, “How! do we want to stay on this side?” then he smiled as one doth at a child who is conquered by an apple.
Then within the fire he set himself before me, praying Statius, that he would come behind, who previously, on the long road, had divided us. When I was in, into boiling glass I would have thrown myself to cool me, so without measure was the burning there. My sweet Father, to encourage me, went talking ever of Beatrice, saying, “I seem already to see her eyes. A voice was guiding us, which was singing on the other side, and we, ever attentive to it, came forth there where was the ascent. “Venite, benedicti patris mei,”[1] sounded within a light that was there such that it overcame me, and I could not look on it. “The sun departs,” it added, “and the evening comes; tarry not, but hasten your steps so long as the west grows not dark.”
[1] “Come, ye blessed of my Father.”–Matthew, xxv. 34.
The way mounted straight, through the rock, in such direction[1] that I cut off in front of me the rays of the sun which was already low. And of few stairs had we made essay ere, by the vanishing of the shadow, both I and my Sages perceived behind us the setting of the sun. And before the horizon in all its immense regions had become of one aspect, and night had all her dispensations, each of us made of a stair his bed; for the nature of the mountain took from us the power more than the delight of ascending.
[1] Toward the east.
As goats, who have been swift and wayward on the peaks ere they are fed, become tranquil as they ruminate, silent in the shade while the sun is hot, guarded by the herdsman, who on his staff is leaning and, leaning, watches them; and as the shepherd, who lodges out of doors, passes the night beside his quiet flock, watching that the wild beast may not scatter it: such were we all three then, I like a goat, and they hike shepherds, hemmed in on this side and on that by the high rock. Little of the outside could there appear, but through that little I saw the stars both brighter and larger than their wont. Thus ruminating, and thus gazing upon them, sleep overcame me, sleep which oft before a deed be done knows news thereof.
At the hour, I think, when from the east on the mountain first beamed Cytherea, who with fire of love seems always burning, I seemed in dream to see a lady, young and beautiful, going through a meadow gathering flowers, and singing she was saying, “Let him know, whoso asks my name, that I am Leah, and I go moving my fair hands around to make myself a garland. To please me at the glass here I adorn me, but my sister Rachel never withdraws from her mirror, and sits all day. She is as fain to look with her fair eyes as I to adorn me with my hands. Her seeing, and me doing, satisfies.”[1]
[1] Leah and Rachel are the types of the active and the contemplative life.
And now before the splendors which precede the dawn, and rise the more grateful unto pilgrims as in returning they lodge less remote,[1] the shadows fled away on every side, and my sleep with them; whereupon I rose, seeing my great Masters already risen. That pleasant apple which through so many branches the care of mortals goes seeking, to-day shall put in peace thy hungerings.” Virgil used words such as these toward me, and never were there gifts which could be equal in pleasure to these. Such wish upon wish came to me to be above, that at every step thereafter I felt the feathers growing for my flight.
[1] As they come nearer home.
When beneath us all the stairway had been run, and we were on the topmost step, Virgil fixed his eyes on me, and said, “The temporal fire and the eternal thou hast seen, son, and art come to a place where of myself no further onward I discern. I have brought thee here with understanding and with art; thine own pleasure now take thou for guide: forth art thou from the steep ways, forth art thou from the narrow. See there the sun, which on thy front doth shine; see the young grass, the flowers, the shrubs, which here the earth of itself alone produces. Until rejoicing come the beautiful eyes which weeping made me come to thee, thou canst sit down and thou canst go among them. Expect no more or word or sign from me. Free, upright, and sane is thine own free will, and it would be wrong not to act according to its pleasure; wherefore thee over thyself I crown and mitre.”
CANTO XXVIII. The Earthly Paradise.–The Forest.–A Lady gathering flowers on the bank of a little stream.–Discourse with her concerning the nature of the place.
Fain now to search within and round about the divine forest dense and living, which tempered the new day to my eyes, without longer waiting I left the bank, taking the level ground very slowly, over the soil that everywhere breathes fragrance. A sweet breeze that had no variation in itself struck me on the brow, not with heavier blow than a soft wind; at which the branches, readily trembling, all of them were bending to the quarter where the holy mountain casts its first shadow; yet not so far parted from their straightness, that the little birds among the tops would leave the practice of their every art; but with full joy singing they received the early breezes among the leaves, which kept a burden to their rhymes, such as gathers from bough to bough through the pine forest upon the shore of Chiassi, when Aeolus lets forth Sirocco.[1]
[1] The south-east wind.
Now had my show steps carried me within the ancient wood so far that I could not see back to where I had entered it: and lo, a stream took from me further progress, which toward the left with its little waves was bending the grass that sprang upon its bank. All the waters, that are purest on the earth, would seem to have some mixture in them, compared with that which hides nothing, although it moves along dusky under the perpetual shadow, which never lets the sun or moon shine there.
With feet I stayed, and with my eyes I passed to the other side of the streamlet, to gaze at the great variety of the fresh may; and there appeared to me, even as a thing appears suddenly which turns aside through wonder every other thought, a solitary lady, who was going along, singing, and culling flower from flower, wherewith all her path was painted. “Ah, fair Lady,[1] who warmest thyself in the rays of love, if I may trust to looks which are wont to be witnesses of the heart, may the will come to thee,” said I to her, “to draw forward toward this stream, so far that I can understand what thou art singing. Thou makest me remember where and what was Proserpine, at the time when her mother lost her, and she the spring.”
[1] This lady is the type of the life of virtuous activity. Her name, as appears later, is Matilda. Why this name was chosen for her, and whether she stands for any earthly personage, has been the subject of vast and still open debate.
As a lady who is dancing turns with feet close to the ground and to each other, and hardly sets foot before foot, she turned herself on the red and on the yellow flowerets toward me, not otherwise than a virgin who lowers her modest eyes, and made my prayers content, approaching so that the sweet sound came to me with its meaning. Soon as she was there where the grasses are now bathed by the waves of the fair stream, she bestowed on me the gift of lifting her eyes. I do not believe that so great a light shone beneath the lids of Venus, transfixed by her son, beyond all his custom. She was smiling upon the opposite right bank, gathering with her hands more colors which that high land brings forth without seed. The stream made us three paces apart; but the Hellespont where Xerxes passed it–a curb still on all human pride–endured not more hatred from Leander for swelling between Sestos and Abydos, than that from me because it opened not then. “Ye are new come,” she began, “and, perchance, why I smile mu this place chosen for human nature as its nest, some doubt holds you marvelling; but the psalm ‘Delectasti'[1] affords light which may uncloud your understanding.And thou who art in front, and didst pray to me, say, if else thou wouldst hear, for I came ready for every question of thine, so far as may suffice.” “The water,” said I, “and the sound of the forest, impugn within me recent faith in something that I heard contrary to this.” Whereon she, “I will tell, how from its own cause proceeds that which makes thee wonder; and I will clear away the mist which strikes thee.
[1] Psalm xcii. 4. “Delectasti me, Domine, in factura tua, et in operibus mannuum tuarum exultabo.” “For thou, Lord, hast made me glad through thy work; I will triumph in the works of thy hands.”
“The supreme Good, which itself alone is pleasing to itself, made man good, and for good, and gave this place for earnest to him of eternal peace. Through his own default he dwelt here little while; through his own default to tears and to toil he changed honest laughter and sweet play. In order that the disturbance, which the exhalations of the water and of the earth (which follow so far as they can the heat) produce below, might not make any war on man, this mountain rose so high toward heaven, and is free from them from the point where it is locked in.[1] Now because the whole air revolves in circuit with the primal revolution,[2] if its circle be not broken by some projection, upon this height, which is wholly disengaged in the living air, this motion strikes, and makes the wood, since it is dense, resound; and the plant being struck hath such power that with its virtue it impregnates the breeze, and this then in its whirling scatters it around: and the rest of the earth, according as it is fit in itself, or through its sky, conceives and brings forth divers trees of divers virtues. It should not seem a marvel then on earth, this being heard, when some plant, without manifest seed, there takes hold. And thou must know that the holy plain where thou art is full of every seed, and has fruit in it which yonder is not gathered. The water which thou seest rises not from a vein restored by vapor which the frost condenses, like a stream that gains and loses breath, but it issues from a fountain constant and sure, which by the will of God regains as much as, open on two sides, it pours forth. On this side it descends with virtue that takes from one the memory of sin; on the other it restores that of every good deed. Here Lethe, so on the other side Eunoe it is called; and it works not if first it be not tasted on this side and on that. To all other savors this is superior.
[1] Above the level of the gate through which Purgatory is entered, as Statius has already explained (Canto XXI), the vapors of earth do not rise.
[2] With the movement given to it by the motions of the heavens.
“And, though thy thirst may be fully sated even if I disclose no more to thee, I will yet give thee a corollary for grace; nor do I think my speech may be less dear to thee, if beyond promise it enlarge itself with thee. Those who in ancient time told in poesy of the Age of Gold, and of its happy state, perchance upon Parnassus dreamed of this place: here was the root of mankind innocent; here is always spring, and every fruit; this is the nectar of which each tells.”
I turned me back then wholly to my Poets, and saw that with a smile they had heard the last sentence; then to the beautiful Lady I turned my face.
CANTO XXIX. The Earthly Paradise.–Mystic Procession or Triumph of the Church.
Singing like a lady enamored, she, at the ending of her words, continued: “Beati, quorum tecta sunt peccata;”[1] and, like nymphs who were wont to go solitary through the sylvan shades, this one desiring to see and that to avoid the sun, she moved on then counter to the stream, going up along the bank, and I at even pace with her, following her little step with little. Of her steps and mine were not a hundred, when the banks both like gave a turn, in such wise that toward the east I faced again. Nor thus had our way been long, when the lady wholly turned round to me, saying, “My brother, look and listen.” And lo! a sudden lustre ran from all quarters through the great forest, so that it put me in suspect of lightning. But because the lightning ceases even as it comes, and this, hasting, became more and more resplendent, in my thought I said, “What thing is this?” And a sweet melody ran through the luminous air; whereupon a righteous zeal caused me to blame the temerity of Eve, that, there, where time earth and the heavens were obedient, the woman only, and but just now formed, did not endure to stay under any veil; under which if she had devoutly stayed I should have tasted those ineffable delights before, and for a longer time. While I was going on and such first fruits of the eternal pleasure, all enrapt, and still desirous of more joys, in front of us the air under the green branches became like a blazing fire, and the sweet sound was now heard as a song.
[1] “Blessed are they whose transgressions are forgiven.”–Psalm xxxii. 1.
O Virgins sacrosanct, if ever hunger, cold, or vigils I have endured for you, time occasion spurs me that I claim reward therefor. Now it behoves that Helicon pour forth for me, and Urania aid me with her choir to put in verse things difficult to think.
A little further on, the long tract of space which was still between us and them presented falsely what seemed seven trees of gold. But when I had come so near to them that the common object, which deceives the sense,[1] lost not through distance any of its attributes, the power which supplies discourse to reason distinguished them as candlesticks,[2] and in the voices of the song, “Hosanna.” From above the fair array was flaming, brighter by far than the Moon in the serene of midnight, in the middle of her month. I turned me round full of wonder to the good Virgil, and he replied to me with a look charged not less with amazement. Then I turned back my face to the high things that were moving toward us so slowly they would have been outstripped by new-made brides. The lady cried to me, “Why burnest thou only thus with affection for the living lights, and lookest not at that which comes behind them?” Then saw I folk coming behind, as if after their leaders, clothed in white, and such purity there never was on earth. The water was resplendent on the left flank, and reflected to me my left side, if I looked in it, even as a mirror. When on my bank I had such position that only the stream separated me, in order to see better, I gave halt to my steps. And I saw the flamelets go forward heaving the air behind them painted, and they had the semblance of streaming pennons, so that there above it remained divided by seven stripes all in those colors whereof the sun makes his bow, and Delia her girdle.[3] These banners to the rear were longer than my sight, and according to my judgment the outermost were ten paces apart. Under so fair a sky as I describe, twenty-four elders,[4] two by two, were coming crowned with flower-de-luce. All were singing, “Blessed thou among the daughters of Adam, and blessed forever be thy beauties.”
[1] An object which has properties common to many things, so that at a distance the sight cannot distinguish its specific nature.
[2] The imagery of the Triumph of the Church here described is largely taken from this Apocalypse. “And I turned to see the voice that spake with me. And being turned, I saw seven golden candlesticks.”–Revelation, i. 12. “And there were seven lamps of fire burning before the throne, which are the seven Spirits of God.”–Id., iv. 5. “And the Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and of the fear of the Lord.”–Isiah xi. 2.
[3] Delia, the moon, and her girdle the halo.
[4] “And round about the throne were four and twenty seats: and upon the seats I saw four and twenty elders sitting, clothed in white raiment.”–Revelation, iv. 4. These four and twenty elders in white raiment, and crowned with white lilies, white being the color of faith, symbolize the books of the Old Testament.
After the flowers, and the other fresh herbage opposite to me on the other bank, were free from those folk elect, even as light followeth light in heaven, came behind them four living creatures, crowned each one with green leaves. Every one was feathered with six wings, the feathers full of eyes; and the eyes of Argus were they living would be such. To describe their forms I scatter rhymes no more, Reader; for other spending constrains me so that in this I cannot be liberal. But read Ezekiel, who depicts them as he saw them coming from the cold region with wind, with cloud, and with fire; and such as thou wilt find them in his pages such were they here, save that as to the wings John is with me, and differs from him.[1]
[1] These four living creatures symbolize the Gospels. Ezekiel (i.6) describes the creatures with four wings, but in the Revelation (iv. 8) John assigns to each of them six wings: “and they were full of eyes within.” They are crowned with green, as the color of hope.
The space between these four contained a triumphal chariot upon two wheels, which by the neck of a griffon[1] came drawn along. And he stretched up one and the other of his wings between the midmost stripe, and the three and three, so that he did harm to no one of them by cleaving it. So far they rose that they were not seen. His members were of gold so far as he was bird, and the rest were white mixed with red. Not Africanus, or indeed Augustus, gladdened Rome with so beautiful a chariot; but even that of the Sun would be poor to it,–that of the Sun which, going astray,[2] was consumed at the prayer of the devout Earth, when Jove in his secrecy was just. Three ladies,[3] at the right wheel, came dancing in a circle; one so ruddy that hardly would she have been noted in the fire; the next was as if her flesh and bones had been made of emerald; the third seemed snow just fallen. And now they seemed led by the white, now by the red, and from her song the others took their step both slow and swift. On the left four[4] robed in purple made festival, following the measure of one of them who had three eyes in her head.
[1] The griffon, half eagle and half lion, represents Christ in his double nature, divine and human. The car which he draws is the Church.
[2] When driven by Phaethon.
[3] The theological virtues, Faith, Hope, and Charity, of the colors respectively appropriate to them.
[4] The four cardinal Virtues, in purple, the imperial color, typifying their rule over human conduct. Prudence has three eyes, as looking at the past, the present, and the future.
Next after all the group described, I saw two old men, unlike in dress, but like in action, both dignified and staid. The one showed himself one of the familiars of that supreme Hippocrates whom Nature made for the creatures that she holds most dear[1] the other showed the contrary care,[2] with a shining and sharp sword, such that it caused me fear on the hither side of the stream. Then I saw four humble in appearance, and behind all an old man solitary coming asleep with lively countenance.[3] And these seven were robed like the first band; but they made not a thicket of lilies round their heads, rather of roses, and of other red flowers. The sight at little distance would have sworn that all were aflame above their brows. And when the chariot was opposite to me thunder was heard, and those worthy people seemed to have further progress interdicted, stopping there with the first ensigns.
[1] The book of Acts, represented under rho type of its author, St. Luke, “the beloved physician.” Colossians, iv. 14. Man is the creature whom Nature holds dearest.
[2] The Pauline Epistles, typified by their writer, whose sword is the symbol of war and martyrdom, a contrary care to the healing of men.
[3] The four humble in appearance are personifications of the writers of the minor Epistles, followed by St. John, as the writer of the Revelation, asleep, and yet with lively countenance, because he was “in the Spirit” when he beheld his vision.
CANTO XXX. The Earthly Paradise.–Beatrice appears.–Departure of Virgil.–Reproof of Dante by Beatrice.
When the septentrion of the first heaven[1] which never setting knew, nor rising, nor veil of other cloud than sin,–and which was making every one there acquainted with his duty, as the lower[2] makes whoever turns the helm to come to port,–stopped still, the truthful people[3] who had come first between the griffon and it,[4] turned to the chariot as to their peace, and one of them, as if sent from heaven, singing, cried thrice, “Veni, sponsa, de Libano,”[5] and all the others after.
[1] The seven candlesticks, symbols of the sevenfold spirit of the Lord.
[2] The lower septentrion, or the seven stars of the Great Bear.
[3] The personifications of the truthful books of the Old Testament.
[4] The septentrion of candlesticks.
[5] “Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse.”–The Song of Solomon, iv. 8.
As time blessed at the last trump will arise swiftly, each from his tomb, singing hallelujah with recovered voice,[1] so upon the divine chariot, ad vocem tanti senis,[2] rose up a hundred ministers and messengers of life eternal. All were saying, “Benedictus, qui venis,”[3] and, scattering flowers above and around, “Manibus o date lilia plenis.”[4]
[1] “And after these things I heard a great voice of much people in Heaven, saying, Alleluia-” — Revelation, xix. 1.
[2] “At the voice of so great an elder;” these words are in Latin apparently only for the sake of the rhyme.
[3] “Blessed thou that comest.”
[4] “Oh, give lilies with full hands;” words from the Aeneid, vi. 884, sung by the angels.
I have seen ere now at the beginning of the day the eastern region all rosy, while the rest of heaven was beautiful with fair clear sky; and the face of the sun rise shaded, so that through the tempering of vapors the eye sustained it a long while. Thus within a cloud of flowers, which from the angelic hands was ascending, and falling down again within and without, a lady, with olive wreath above a white veil, appeared to me, robed with the color of living flame beneath a green mantle.[1] And my spirit that now for so long a time had not been broken down, trembling with amazement at her presence, without having more knowledge by the eyes, through occult virtue that proceeded from her, felt the great potency of ancient love.
[1] The olive is the symbol of wisdom and of peace the three colors are those of Faith, Charity, and Hope.
Soon as upon my sight the lofty virtue smote, which already had transfixed me ere I was out of boyhood, I turned me to the left with the confidence with which the little child runs to his mother when he is frightened, or when he is troubled, to say to Virgil, “Less than a drachm of blood remains in me that doth not tremble; I recognize the signals of the ancient flame,”[1]–but Virgil had left us deprived of himself; Virgil, sweetest Father, Virgil to whom I for my salvation gave me. Nor did all which the ancient mother lost[2] avail unto my cheeks, cleansed with dew,[3] that they should not turn dark again with tears.
[1] “Agnosco veteris vestigia flammae.”–Aeneid, iv. 23.
[2] All the beauty of Paradise which Eve lost.
[3] See Canto I.
“Dante, though Virgil be gone away, weep not yet, weep not yet, for it behoves thee to weep by another sword.”
Like an admiral who, on poop or on prow, comes to see the people that are serving on the other ships, and encourages them to do well, upon the left border of the chariot,–when I turned me at the sound of my own name, which of necessity is registered here,–I saw the Lady, who had first appeared to me veiled beneath the angelic festival, directing her eyes toward me across the stream although the veil, which descended from her head, circled by the leaf of Minerva, did not allow her to appear distinctly. Royally, still haughty in her mien, she went on, as one who speaks, and keeps back his warmest speech: “Look at me well: I am, indeed, I am, indeed, Beatrice. How hast thou deigned to approach the mountain? Didst thou know that man is happy here?” My eyes fell down into the clear fount; but seeing myself in it I drew them to the grass, such great shame burdened my brow. As to the son the mother seems proud, so she seemed to me; for somewhat bitter tasteth the savor of stern pity. She was silent, and the angels sang of a sudden, “In te, Domine, speravi;” but beyond “pedes meos”[1] they did not pass. Even as the snow, among the living rafters upon the back of Italy, is congealed, blown and packed by Sclavonian winds, then melting trickles through itself, if only the land that loses shadow breathe,[2] so that it seems a fire that melts the candle: so was I without tears and sighs before the song of those who time their notes after the notes of the eternal circles. But when I heard in their sweet accords their compassion for me, more than if they had said, “Lady, why dost thou so confound him?” the ice that was bound tight around my heart became breath and water, and with anguish poured from my breast through my mouth and eyes.
[1] “In thee, O Lord, do I put my trust; let me never be ashamed: deliver me in thy righteousness. Bow down thine ear to me; deliver me speedily: be thou my strong rock, for an house of defence to save me. For thou art my rock and my fortress; therefore for thy name’s sake lead me, and guide me. Pull me out of the net that they have laid privily for me: for thou art my strength. Into thine hand I commit my spirit: thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of truth. I have hated them that regard lying vanities: but I trust in the Lord. I will be glad and rejoice in thy mercy: for thou hast considered my trouble; thou hast known my soul in adversities. And hast not shut me up into the hand of the enemy: thou hast set my feet in a large room.”–Psalm xxxi. 1-8.
[2] If the wind blow from Africa.
She, still standing motionless on the aforesaid side of the chariot, then turned her words to those pious[1] beings thus: “Ye watch in the eternal day, so that nor night nor slumber robs from you one step the world may make along its ways; wherefore my reply is with greater care, that he who is weeping yonder may understand me, so that fault and grief may be of one measure. Not only through the working of the great wheels,[2] which direct every seed to some end according as the stars are its companions, but through largess of divine graces, which have for their rain vapors so lofty that our sight goes not near thereto,–this man was such in his new life, virtually, that every right habit would have made admirable proof in him. But so much the more malign and more savage becomes the land ill-sown and untilled, as it has more of good terrestrial vigor. Some time did I sustain him with my face; showing my youthful eyes to him I led him with me turned in right direction. So soon as I was upon the threshold of my second age, and had changed life, this one took himself from me, and gave himself to others. When from flesh to spirit I had ascended, and beauty and virtue were increased in me, I was less dear and less pleasing to him; and he turned his steps along a way not true, following false images of good, which pay no promise in full. Nor did it avail me to obtain[3] inspirations with which, both in dream and otherwise, I called him back; so little did he heed them. So low he fell that all means for his salvation were already short, save showing him the lost people. For this I visited the gate of the dead, and to him, who has conducted him up hither, my prayers were borne with weeping. The high decree of God would be broken, if Lethe should be passed, and such viands should be tasted without any scot of repentance which may pour forth tears.”
[1] Both devout and piteous.
[2] The circling heavens.
[3] Through the grace of God.
CANTO XXXI. The Earthly Paradise.–Reproachful discourse of Beatrice, amid confession of Dante.–Passage of Lethe.–Appeal of the Virtues to Beatrice.–Her Unveiling.
“O thou who art on the further side of the sacred river,” turning her speech with the point to me, which only by the edge had seemed to me keen, she began anew, going on without delay, “say, say, if this is true: to so great an accusation it behoves that thine own confession be conjoined.” My power was so confused, that the voice moved, and became extinct before it could be released by its organs. A little she bore it; then she said, “What thinkest thou? Reply to me; for the sad memories in thee are not yet injured by the water.”[1] Confusion and fear together mingled forced such a “Yes” from out my mouth, that the eyes were needed for the understanding of it.
[1] Are still vivid, not yet obliterated by the water of Lethe.
As a cross-bow breaks its cord and its bow when it shoots with too great tension, and with less force the shaft hits the mark, so did I burst under that heavy load, pouring forth tears and sighs, and the voice slackened along its passage. Whereupon she to me, “Within those desires of mine[1] that were leading thee to love the Good beyond which there is nothing whereto man may aspire, what trenches running traverse, or what chains didst thou find, for which thou wert obliged thus to abandon the hope of passing onward? And what enticements, or what advantages on the brow of the others were displayed,[2] for which thou wert obliged to court them?” After the drawing of a bitter sigh, hardly had I the voice that answered, and the lips with difficulty gave it form. Weeping, I said, “The present things with their false pleasure turned my steps, soon as your face was hidden.” And she: “Hadst thou been silent, or hadst thou denied that which thou dost confess, thy fault would be not less noted, by such a Judge is it known. But when the accusation of the sin, bursts from one’s own cheek, in our court the wheel turns itself back against the edge. But yet, that thou mayst now bear shame for thy error, and that another time, hearing the Sirens, thou mayst be stronger, hay aside the seed of weeping, and listen; so shalt thou hear how in opposite direction my buried flesh ought to have moved thee. Never did nature or art present to thee pleasure such as the fair limbs wherein I was enclosed; and they are scattered in earth. And if the supreme pleasure thus failed thee through my death, what mortal thing ought then to have drawn thee into its desire? Forsooth thou oughtest, at the first arrow of things deceitful, to have risen up, following me who was no longer such. Nor should thy wings have weighed thee downward to await more blows, either girl or other vanity of so brief a use. The young little bird awaits two or three; but before the eyes of the full-fledged, the net is spread in vain, the arrow shot.”
[1] Inspired by me.
[2] The false pleasures of the world.
As children, ashamed, dumb, with eyes upon the ground, stand listening and conscience-stricken and repentant, so was I standing. And she said, “Since through hearing thou art grieved, lift up thy beard, and thou shalt receive more grief in seeing.” With less resistance is a sturdy oak uprooted by a native wind, or by one from the land of Iarbas,[1] than I raised up my chin at her command; and when by the beard she asked for my eyes, truly I recognized the venom of the argument.[2] And as my face stretched upward, my sight perceived that those primal creatures were resting from their strewing, and my eyes, still little assured, saw Beatrice turned toward the animal that is only one person in two natures.[3] Beneath her veil and beyond the stream she seemed to me more to surpass her ancient self, than she surpassed the others here when she was here. So pricked me there the nettle of repentance, that of all other things the one which most turned me aside unto its love became most hostile to me.[4]
[1] From Numidia, of which Iarbas was king.
[2] Because indicating the lack of that wisdom which should pertain to manhood.
[3] The griffon.
[4] That object which had most seduced me from the love of Beatrice was now the most hateful to me.
Such contrition stung my heart that I fell overcome; and what I then became she knows who afforded me the cause.
Then, when my heart restored my outward faculties, I saw above me the lady whom I had found alone,[1] and she was saying, “Hold me, hold me.” She had drawn me into the stream up to the throat, and dragging me behind was moving upon the water light as a shuttle. When I was near the blessed shore, “Asperges me”[2] I heard so sweetly that I cannot remember it, far less can write it. The beautiful lady opened her arms, clasped my head, and plunged me in where it behoved that I should swallow the water.[3] Then she took me, and, thus bathed, brought me within the dance of the four beautiful ones,[4] and each of them covered me with her arm. “Here we are nymphs, and in heaven we are stars: ere Beatrice had descended to the world we were ordained unto her for her handmaids. We will head thee to her eyes; but in the joyous light which is within them, the three yonder who deeper gaze shall make keen thine own.”[5] Thus singing, they began; and then to the breast of the griffon they led me with them, where Beatrice was standing turned toward us. They said, “See that thou sparest not thy sight: we have placed thee before the emeralds whence Love of old drew his arrows upon thee.” A thousand desires hotter than flame bound my eyes to the relucent eyes which only upon the griffon were standing fixed. As the sun in a mirror, not otherwise the twofold animal was gleaming therewithin, now with one, now with another mode.[6] Think, Reader, if I marvelled when I saw the thing stand quiet in itself, while in its image it was transmuting itself.
[1] Matilda.
[2] The first words of the seventh verse of the fifty-first Psalm: “Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.”
[3] The drinking of the waters of Lethe which obliterate the memory of sin.
[4] The four Cardinal Virtues.
[5] The Cardinal Virtues lead up to Theology, or the knowledge of Divine things, but the Evangelic Virtues are needed to penetrate within them.
[6] Mode of being,–the divine and the human.
While, full of amazement and glad, my soul was tasting that food which, sating of itself, causes hunger for itself, the other three, showing themselves in their bearing of loftier order, came forward dancing to their angelic melody. “Turn, Beatrice, turn thy holy eyes,” was their song, “upon thy faithful one, who to see thee has taken so many steps. For grace do us the grace that thou unveil to hum thy mouth, so that he may discern the second beauty which thou concealest.”[1]
[1] “The eyes of Wisdom are her demonstrations by which one sees the truth most surely; and her smile is her persuasions in which the interior light of Wisdom is displayed without any veil; and in these two is felt that loftiest pleasure of Beatitude, which is the chief good in Paradise.”–Convito, iii 15.
Oh splendor of living light eternal! Who hath become so pallid under the shadow of Parnassus, or hath so drunk at its cistern, that he would not seem to have his mind encumbered, trying to represent thee as thou didst appear there where in harmony the heaven overshadows thee when in the open air thou didst thyself disclose?
CANTO XXXII. The Earthly Paradise.–Return of the Triumphal procession.–The Chariot bound to the Mystic Tree.–Sleep of Dante.–His waking to find the Triumph departed.–Transformation of the Chariot.–The Harlot and the Giant.
So fixed and intent were mine eyes to relieve their ten years’ thirst, that my other senses were all extinct: and they themselves, on one side and the other, had a wall of disregard, so did the holy smile draw them to itself with the old net; when perforce my sight was turned toward my left by those goddesses,[1] because I heard from them a “Too fixedly.”[2] And the condition which exists for seeing in eyes but just now smitten by the sun caused me to be some time without sight. But when the sight reshaped itself to the little (I say to the little, in respect to the great object of the sense wherefrom by force I had removed myself), I saw that the glorious army had wheeled upon its right flank, and was returning with the sun and with the seven flames in its face.
[1] The three heavenly Virtues.
[2] “Thou lookest too fixedly; thou hast yet other duties than contemplation.”
As under its shields to save itself a troop turns and wheels with its banner, before it all can change about, that soldiery of the celestial realm which was in advance had wholly gone past us before its front beam[1] had bent the chariot round. Then to the wheels the ladies returned, and the griffon moved his blessed burden, in such wise however that no feather of him shook. The beautiful lady who had drawn me at the ford, and Statius and I were following the wheel which made its orbit with the smaller arc. So walking through the lofty wood, empty through fault of her who trusted to the serpent, an angelic song set the time to our steps. Perhaps an arrow loosed from the bow had in three flights reached such a distance as we had advanced, when Beatrice descended. I heard “Adam!” murmured by all:[2] then they circled a plant despoiled of flowers and of other leafage on every bough.[3] Its branches, which so much the wider spread the higher up they are,[4] would be wondered at for height by the Indians in their woods.
[1] Its pole.
[2] In reproach of him who had in disobedience tasted of the fruit of this tree.
[3] After the sin of Adam the plant was despoiled of virtue till the coming of Christ.
[4] The branches of the tree of knowledge spread widest as they are nearest to the Divine Source of truth.
“Blessed art thou, Griffon, that thou dost not break off with thy beak of this wood sweet to the taste, since the belly is ill racked thereby.”[1] Thus around the sturdy tree the others cried; and the animal of two natures: “So is preserved the seed of all righteousness.”[2] And turning to the pole that he had drawn, he dragged it to the foot of the widowed trunk, and that which was of it[3] he left bound to it.
[1] “For as by one man’s disobedience many were made sinners, so by the obedience of one shall many be made righteous.”–Romans, v. 19.
[2] “That as sin had reigned unto deaths, even so might grace reign through righteousness unto eternal life, by Jesus Christ, our Lord.”–Id., v. 21.
[3] This pole, the mystic type of the cross of Christ, supposed to have been made of the wood of this tree.
As our plants, when the great light falls downward mingled with that which shines behind the celestial Carp,[1] become swollen, and then renew themselves, each in its own color, ere the sun yoke his coursers under another star, so disclosing a color less than of roses and more than of violets, the plant renewed itself, which first had its boughs so bare.[2] I did not understand the hymn, and it is not sung here,[3] which that folk then sang, nor did I hear the melody to the end.
[1] In this spring, when the Sun is in Aries, the sign which follows that of the Pisces here termed the Carp.
[2] This tree, after the death of Christ, still remains this symbol of the knowledge of good and of evil, as well as this sign of obedience to the Divine Will. Its renewal with flowers and foliage seems to he the image at once of the revelation of Divine truth through Christ, and of his obedience unto death.
[3] On earth.
If I could portray how the pitiless eyes[1] sank to slumber, while hearing of Syrinx, the eyes to which too much watching cost so dear, hike a painter who paints from a model I would depict how I fell asleep; but whoso would, let him be one who can picture slumber well.[2] Therefore I pass on to when I awoke, and say that a splendor rent for me the veil of sleep, and a call, “Arise, what doest thou?”
[1] The hundred eyes of Argus, who, when watching Io, fell asleep while listening to the tale of the loves of Pan and Syrinx, and was then slain by Mercury.
[2] The sleep of Dante may signify the impotency of human reason to explain the mysteries of redemption.
As, to see some of the flowerets of the apple-tree[1] which makes the Angels greedy of its fruit,[2] and makes perpetual bridal feasts in Heaven,[3] Peter and John and James were led,[4] and being overcome, came to themselves at the word by which greater slumbers[5] were broken, and saw their band diminished alike by Moses and Elias, and the raiment of their Master changed, so I came to myself, and saw that compassionate one standing above me, who first had been conductress of my steps along the stream; and all in doubt I said, “Where is Beatrice?” And she, “Behold her under the new leafage sitting upon its root. Behold the company that surrounds her; the rest are going on high behind the griffon, with sweeter song and more profound.”[6] And if her speech was more diffuse I know not, because already in my eyes was she who from attending to aught else had closed me in. Alone she was sitting upon the bare ground, like a guard left there of the chariot which I had seen bound by the biform animal. In a circle the seven Nymphs were making of themselves an enclosure for her, with those lights in their hands that are secure from Aquilo and from Auster.[7]
[1] “As the apple-tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the suns.”–The Song of Solomon, ii. 3.
[2] The full glory of Christ in Heaven.
[3] The marriage supper of the Lamb–Revelation, xix. 9.
[4] The transfiguration–Matthew, xvii. 1-8.
[5] Those of the dead called back to life by Jesus.
[6] Christ having ascended, Beatrice, this type of Theology, is left by the chariot, the type of the Church on earth.
[7] From the north wind or the south; that is, from any earthly blast.
“Here shalt thou be short time a forester; and thou shalt be with me without end a citizen of that Rome whereof Christ is a Roman. Therefore for profit of the world that lives ill, keep now thine eyes upon the chariot; amid what thou seest, having returned to earth, mind that thou write.” Thus Beatrice; and I, who at the feet of her commands was all devout, gave my mind and my eyes where she willed.
Never with so swift a motion did fire descend from a dense cloud, when it is raining from that region which stretches most remote, as I saw the bird of Jove stoop downward through the tree, breaking the bark, as well as the flowers and new leaves; and he struck the chariot with all his force, whereat it reeled, like a ship in a tempest beaten by the waves now to starboard, now to larboard.[1] Then I saw leap into the body of the triumphal vehicle a she fox,[2] which seemed fasting from all good food; but rebuking her for her foul sins my Lady turned her to such flight as her fleshless bones allowed. Then, from there whence he had first come, I saw the eagle descend down into the ark of the chariot and leave it feathered from himself.[3] And a voice such as issues from a heart that is afflicted issued from Heaven, and thus spake, “O little bark of mine, how ill art thou laden!” Then it seemed to me that the earth opened between the two wheels, and I saw a dragon issue from it, which through the chariot upward fixed his tail: and, like a wasp that retracts its sting, drawing to himself his malign tail, drew out part of the bottom, and went wandering away.[4] That which remained covered itself again, as lively soil with grass, with the plumage, offered perhaps with sane and benign intention; and both one and the other wheel and the pole were again covered with it in such time that a sigh holds the mouth open longer.[5] Thus transformed, the holy structure put forth heads upon its parts, three upon the pole, and one on each corner. The first were horned like oxen, but the four had a single horn upon the forehead.[6] A like prodigy was never seen before. Secure, as fortress on a high mountain, there appeared to me a loose harlot sitting upon it, with eyes roving around. And, as if in order that she should not be taken from him, I saw standing at her side a giant, and some while they kissed each other. But because she turned her lustful and wandering eye on me that fierce paramour scourged her from head to foot. Then full of jealousy, and cruel with anger, he loosed the monster, and drew it through the wood so far that only of that he made a shield from me for the harlot and for the strange beast.[7]
[1] The descent and the attack of the eagle symbolize the rejection of Christianity and the persecution of the Church by the emperors.
[2] The fox denotes the early heresies.
[3] The feathering of the car is the type of the donation of Constantine,–the temporal endowment of the Church.
[4] The dragging off by the dragon of a part of the car probably figures the schism of the Greek Church in the 9th century.
[5] This new feathering signifies the fresh and growing endowments of the Church.
[6] The seven heads have been interpreted as the seven mortal sins, which grew up in the transformed church, the result of its wealth and temporal power.
[7] The harlot and the giant stand respectively for the Pope (both Boniface VIII. and him successor Clement V.) and the kings of France, especially Philip the Fair. The turning of the eyes of the harlot upon Dante seems to signify the dealings of Boniface with the Italians, which awakened the jealousy of Philip; and the dragging of the car, transformed into a monster, through the wood, so far as to hide it from the poet, may be taken as typifying the removal of the seat of the Papacy from Rome to Avignon, in 1305.
CANTO XXXIII. The Earthly Paradise.–Prophecy of Beatrice concerning one who shall restore the Empire.–Her discourse with Dante.–The river Eunoe.–Dante drinks of it, and is fit to ascend to Heaven.
“Deus, venerunt gentes,”[1] the ladies began, alternating, now three now four, a sweet psalmody, and weeping. And Beatrice, sighing and compassionate, was listening to them so moved that scarce more changed was Mary at the cross. But when the other virgins gave place to her to speak, risen upright upon her feet, she answered, colored like fire: “Modicum, et non videbitis me, et iterum, my beloved Sisters, Modicum, et vos videbitis me.”[2] Then she set all the seven in front of her; and behind her, by a sign only, she placed me, and the Lady, and the Sage who had stayed.[3] So she moved on; and I do not think her tenth step had been set upon the ground, when with her eyes my eyes she smote, and with tranquil aspect said to me, “Come more quickly, so that if I speak with thee, to listen to me thou mayst be well placed.” So soon as I was with her as I should be, she said to me, “Brother, why dost thou not venture to ask of me, now thou art coming with me?”
[1] Thus first words of the seventy-ninth Psalm: “O God, the heathen are come into thine inheritance; thy holy temple have they defiled; they have laid Jerusalem on heaps.” The whole Psalm, picturing the actual desolation of the Church, but closing with confident prayer to the Lord to restore his people, is sung by the holy ladies.
[2] “A little while and ye shall not see me: and again, A little while and ye shall see me.”–John, xvi. 16. An answer and promise corresponding to the complaint and petition of the Psalm.
[3] The lady, Matilda, and the sage, Statius.
Even as befalls those who with excess of reverence are speaking in presence of their superiors, and drag not their voice living to the teeth,[1] it befell me that without perfect sound I began, “My Lady, you know my need, and that which is good for it.” And site to me, “From fear and from shame I wish that thou henceforth divest thyself, so that thou speak no more like a man who dreams. Know thou, that the vessel which the serpent[2] broke was, and is not;[3] but let him who is to blame therefor believe that the vengeance of God fears not sops.[4] Not for all time shall be without an heir the eagle that left its feathers on the car, whereby it became a monster, and then a prey.[5] For I see surely, and therefore I tell it, stars already close at hand, secure from every obstacle and from every hindrance, to give to us a time in which a Five hundred, Ten, and Five sent by God[6] shall slay the thievish woman[7] and that giant who with her is delinquent. And perchance my narration, dark as Themis and the Sphinx,[8] less persuades thee, because after their fashion it clouds the understanding. But soon the facts will be the Naiades[9] that shall solve this difficult enigma, without harm of flocks or of harvest. Do thou note; and even as they are borne from me, do thou so report these words to those alive with that life which is a running unto death; and have in mind when thou writest them, not to conceal what thou hast seen the plant, which now has been twice plundered here. Whoso robs that, or breaks it,[10] with blasphemy in act offends God, who only for His own use created it holy. For biting that, the first soul, in pain and in desire, five thousand years and more, longed for Him who punished on Himself the bite. Thy wit sleeps, if it deem not that for a special reason it is so high and so inverted at its top. And if thy vain thoughts had not been as water of Elsa[11] round about thy mind, and their pleasantness as Pyramus to the mulberry,[12] by so many circumstances only thou hadst recognized morally the justice of God in the interdict upon the tree. But since I see thee in thy understanding made of stone, and thus stony, dark, so that the light of my speech dazzles thee, I would yet that thou bear it hence within thee,–and if not written, at least depicted,–for the reason that the pilgrim’s staff is carried wreathed with palm.”[13] And I, “Even as by a seal wax which alters not the imprinted figure, is my brain now stamped by you. But why does your desired word fly so far above my sight, that the more it strives the more it loses it?” “In order that thou mayst know,” she said, “that school which thou hast followed, and mayst see how its doctrine can follow my word [14] and mayst see your path distant so far from the divine, as the heaven which highest hastens is remote from earth.” Whereon I replied to her, “I do not remember that I ever estranged myself from you, nor have I conscience of it that may sting me.” “And if thou canst not remember it,” smiling she replied, “now bethink thee how this day thou hast drunk of Lethe. And if from smoke fire be inferred, such oblivion clearly proves fault in thy will elsewhere intent.[15] Truly my words shall henceforth be naked so far as it shall be befitting to uncover them to thy rude sight.”
[1] Are unable to speak with distinct words.
[2] The dragon.
[3] “The beast that thou sawest was, and is not.”–Revelation, xvii. 8.
[4] According to a belief, which the old commentators report as commonly held by the Florentines, if a murderer could contrive within nine days of the murder to eat a sop of bread dipped in wine, above the grave of his victim, he would escape from the vengeance of the family of the murdered man.
[5] The meaning is that an Emperor shall come, who shall restore the Church from its captivity, and reestablish the Divine order upon earth, in rise mutually dependent and severally independent authority of Church and Empire.
[6] This prophecy is too obscure to admit of a sure interpretation. Five hundred, ten, and five, in Roman numerals, give the letters D X V; which by transposition form the word Dux, a leader.
[7] The harlot, who had no right in the car, but had stolen her place there, or, in plain words, the Popes who by corruption had secured this papal throne.
[8] Obscure as the oracles of Thiemis or the enigmas of the Sphinx.
[9] According to a misreading of a verse in Ovid’s Metam., vii. 759, the Naiades solved the riddles of the oracles, at which Themis, offended, sent forth a wild beast to ravage the flocks and fields.
[10] Robs it as Adam did, splinters it as the Emperors did.
[11] A river of Tuscany, whose waters have a petrifying quality.
[12] Darkening thy mind as the blood of Pyramus dyed the mulberry.
[13] If not clearly inscribed, at least so imprinted on the mind, that, like the palm on the pilgrim’s staff, it may be a sign of where thou hast been and of what thou hast seen.
[14] How far its doctrine is from my teaching.
[15] The having been obliged to drink of Lethe is the proof that thou hadst sin to he forgotten, and that thy will had turned thee to other things than me.
And more coruscant, and with slower steps, the sun was holding the circle of the meridian, which is set here or there according to the aspect,[1] when even as he, who goes before a troop as guide, stops if he find some strange thing on his track, the seven ladies stopped at the edge of a pale shade, such as beneath green leaves and black boughs the Alp casts over its cold streams. In front of them, it seemed to me I saw Euphrates and Tigris issue from one fountain, and, like friends, part slow from one another.
[1] Which shifts as seen from one place or another.
“O light, O glory of the human race, what water is this which here spreads from one source, and from itself withdraws itself?” To this prayer it was said to me, “Pray Matilda[1] that she tell it to thee;” and here the beautiful Lady answered, as one does who frees himself from blame, “This and other things have been told him by me; and I am sure that the water of Lethe has not hidden them from him.” And Beatrice, “Perhaps a greater care which oftentimes deprives the memory has darkened the eyes of his mind. But see Eunoe,[2] which flows forth yonder, lead him to it, and, as thou art accustomed, revive his extinct power.” As a gentle soul which makes not excuse, but makes its own will of another’s will, soon as by a sign it is outwardly disclosed, even so, when I was taken by her, the beautiful Lady moved on, and to Statius said, with manner of a lady, “Come with him.”
[1] Here for the first and only time is the beautiful Lady called by name.
[2] Eunoe, “the memory of good,” which its waters restore to the purified soul. The poetic conception of this fair stream is exclusively Dante’s own.
If I had, Reader, longer space for writing I would yet partly sing the sweet draught which never would have sated me. But, because all the leaves destined for this second canticle are full, the curb of my art lets me go no further. I returned from the most holy wave, renovated as new plants renewed with new foliage, pure and disposed to mount unto the stars.