Part 20

h profit comes.” CANTO IV When by sensations of delight or pain, That any of our faculties hath seiz’d, Entire the soul collects herself, it seems She is intent upon that power alone, And thus the error is disprov’d which holds The soul not singly lighted in the breast. And therefore when as aught is heard or seen, That firmly keeps the soul toward it turn’d, Time passes, and a man perceives it not. For that, whereby he hearken, is one power, Another that, which the whole spirit hash; This is as it were bound, while that is free. This found I true by proof, hearing that spirit And wond’ring; for full fifty steps aloft The sun had measur’d unobserv’d of me, When we arriv’d where all with one accord The spirits shouted, “Here is what ye ask.” A larger aperture ofttimes is stopp’d With forked stake of thorn by villager, When the ripe grape imbrowns, than was the path, By which my guide, and I behind him close, Ascended solitary, when that troop Departing left us. On Sanleo’s road Who journeys, or to Noli low descends, Or mounts Bismantua’s height, must use his feet; But here a man had need to fly, I mean With the swift wing and plumes of high desire, Conducted by his aid, who gave me hope, And with light furnish’d to direct my way. We through the broken rock ascended, close Pent on each side, while underneath the ground Ask’d help of hands and feet. When we arriv’d Near on the highest ridge of the steep bank, Where the plain level open’d I exclaim’d, “O master! say which way can we proceed?” He answer’d, “Let no step of thine recede. Behind me gain the mountain, till to us Some practis’d guide appear.” That eminence Was lofty that no eye might reach its point, And the side proudly rising, more than line From the mid quadrant to the centre drawn. I wearied thus began: “Parent belov’d! Turn, and behold how I remain alone, If thou stay not.”—“My son!” He straight reply’d, “Thus far put forth thy strength;” and to a track Pointed, that, on this side projecting, round Circles the hill. His words so spurr’d me on, That I behind him clamb’ring, forc’d myself, Till my feet press’d the circuit plain beneath. There both together seated, turn’d we round To eastward, whence was our ascent: and oft Many beside have with delight look’d back. First on the nether shores I turn’d my eyes, Then rais’d them to the sun, and wond’ring mark’d That from the left it smote us. Soon perceiv’d That Poet sage now at the car of light Amaz’d I stood, where ’twixt us and the north Its course it enter’d. Whence he thus to me: “Were Leda’s offspring now in company Of that broad mirror, that high up and low Imparts his light beneath, thou might’st behold The ruddy zodiac nearer to the bears Wheel, if its ancient course it not forsook. How that may be if thou would’st think; within Pond’ring, imagine Sion with this mount Plac’d on the earth, so that to both be one Horizon, and two hemispheres apart, Where lies the path that Phaeton ill knew To guide his erring chariot: thou wilt see How of necessity by this on one He passes, while by that on the’ other side, If with clear view shine intellect attend.” “Of truth, kind teacher!” I exclaim’d, “so clear Aught saw I never, as I now discern Where seem’d my ken to fail, that the mid orb Of the supernal motion (which in terms Of art is called the Equator, and remains Ever between the sun and winter) for the cause Thou hast assign’d, from hence toward the north Departs, when those who in the Hebrew land Inhabit, see it tow’rds the warmer part. But if it please thee, I would gladly know, How far we have to journey: for the hill Mounts higher, than this sight of mine can mount.” He thus to me: “Such is this steep ascent, That it is ever difficult at first, But, more a man proceeds, less evil grows. When pleasant it shall seem to thee, so much That upward going shall be easy to thee. As in a vessel to go down the tide, Then of this path thou wilt have reach’d the end. There hope to rest thee from thy toil. No more I answer, and thus far for certain know.” As he his words had spoken, near to us A voice there sounded: “Yet ye first perchance May to repose you by constraint be led.” At sound thereof each turn’d, and on the left A huge stone we beheld, of which nor I Nor he before was ware. Thither we drew, find there were some, who in the shady place Behind the rock were standing, as a man Thru’ idleness might stand. Among them one, Who seem’d to me much wearied, sat him down, And with his arms did fold his knees about, Holding his face between them downward bent. “Sweet Sir!” I cry’d, “behold that man, who shows Himself more idle, than if laziness Were sister to him.” Straight he turn’d to us, And, o’er the thigh lifting his face, observ’d, Then in these accents spake: “Up then, proceed Thou valiant one.” Straight who it was I knew; Nor could the pain I felt (for want of breath Still somewhat urg’d me) hinder my approach. And when I came to him, he scarce his head Uplifted, saying “Well hast thou discern’d, How from the left the sun his chariot leads.” His lazy acts and broken words my lips To laughter somewhat mov’d; when I began: “Belacqua, now for thee I grieve no more. But tell, why thou art seated upright there? Waitest thou escort to conduct thee hence? Or blame I only shine accustom’d ways?” Then he: “My brother, of what use to mount, When to my suffering would not let me pass The bird of God, who at the portal sits? Behooves so long that heav’n first bear me round Without its limits, as in life it bore, Because I to the end repentant Sighs Delay’d, if prayer do not aid me first, That riseth up from heart which lives in grace. What other kind avails, not heard in heaven?” Before me now the Poet up the mount Ascending, cried: “Haste thee, for see the sun Has touch’d the point meridian, and the night Now covers with her foot Marocco’s shore.” CANTO V Now had I left those spirits, and pursued The steps of my Conductor, when beheld Pointing the finger at me one exclaim’d: “See how it seems as if the light not shone From the left hand of him beneath, and he, As living, seems to be led on.” Mine eyes I at that sound reverting, saw them gaze Through wonder first at me, and then at me And the light broken underneath, by turns. “Why are thy thoughts thus riveted?” my guide Exclaim’d, “that thou hast slack’d thy pace? or how Imports it thee, what thing is whisper’d here? Come after me, and to their babblings leave The crowd. Be as a tower, that, firmly set, Shakes not its top for any blast that blows! He, in whose bosom thought on thought shoots out, Still of his aim is wide, in that the one Sicklies and wastes to nought the other’s strength.” What other could I answer save “I come?” I said it, somewhat with that colour ting’d Which ofttimes pardon meriteth for man. Meanwhile traverse along the hill there came, A little way before us, some who sang The “Miserere” in responsive Strains. When they perceiv’d that through my body I Gave way not for the rays to pass, their song Straight to a long and hoarse exclaim they chang’d; And two of them, in guise of messengers, Ran on to meet us, and inquiring ask’d: “Of your condition we would gladly learn.” To them my guide. “Ye may return, and bear Tidings to them who sent you, that his frame Is real flesh. If, as I deem, to view His shade they paus’d, enough is answer’d them. Him let them honour, they may prize him well.” Ne’er saw I fiery vapours with such speed Cut through the serene air at fall of night, Nor August’s clouds athwart the setting sun, That upward these did not in shorter space Return; and, there arriving, with the rest Wheel back on us, as with loose rein a troop. “Many,” exclaim’d the bard, “are these, who throng Around us: to petition thee they come. Go therefore on, and listen as thou go’st.” “O spirit! who go’st on to blessedness With the same limbs, that clad thee at thy birth.” Shouting they came, “a little rest thy step. Look if thou any one amongst our tribe Hast e’er beheld, that tidings of him there Thou mayst report. Ah, wherefore go’st thou on? Ah wherefore tarriest thou not? We all By violence died, and to our latest hour Were sinners, but then warn’d by light from heav’n, So that, repenting and forgiving, we Did issue out of life at peace with God, Who with desire to see him fills our heart.” Then I: “The visages of all I scan Yet none of ye remember. But if aught, That I can do, may please you, gentle spirits! Speak; and I will perform it, by that peace, Which on the steps of guide so excellent Following from world to world intent I seek.” In answer he began: “None here distrusts Thy kindness, though not promis’d with an oath; So as the will fail not for want of power. Whence I, who sole before the others speak, Entreat thee, if thou ever see that land, Which lies between Romagna and the realm Of Charles, that of thy courtesy thou pray Those who inhabit Fano, that for me Their adorations duly be put up, By which I may purge off my grievous sins. From thence I came. But the deep passages, Whence issued out the blood wherein I dwelt, Upon my bosom in Antenor’s land Were made, where to be more secure I thought. The author of the deed was Este’s prince, Who, more than right could warrant, with his wrath Pursued me. Had I towards Mira fled, When overta’en at Oriaco, still Might I have breath’d. But to the marsh I sped, And in the mire and rushes tangled there Fell, and beheld my life-blood float the plain.” Then said another: “Ah! so may the wish, That takes thee o’er the mountain, be fulfill’d, As thou shalt graciously give aid to mine. Of Montefeltro I; Buonconte I: Giovanna nor none else have care for me, Sorrowing with these I therefore go.” I thus: “From Campaldino’s field what force or chance Drew thee, that ne’er thy sepulture was known?” “Oh!” answer’d he, “at Casentino’s foot A stream there courseth, nam’d Archiano, sprung In Apennine above the Hermit’s seat. E’en where its name is cancel’d, there came I, Pierc’d in the heart, fleeing away on foot, And bloodying the plain. Here sight and speech Fail’d me, and finishing with Mary’s name I fell, and tenantless my flesh remain’d. I will report the truth; which thou again Tell to the living. Me God’s angel took, Whilst he of hell exclaim’d: “O thou from heav’n! Say wherefore hast thou robb’d me? Thou of him Th’ eternal portion bear’st with thee away For one poor tear that he deprives me of. But of the other, other rule I make.” “Thou knowest how in the atmosphere collects That vapour dank, returning into water, Soon as it mounts where cold condenses it. That evil will, which in his intellect Still follows evil, came, and rais’d the wind And smoky mist, by virtue of the power Given by his nature. Thence the valley, soon As day was spent, he cover’d o’er with cloud From Pratomagno to the mountain range, And stretch’d the sky above, so that the air Impregnate chang’d to water. Fell the rain, And to the fosses came all that the land Contain’d not; and, as mightiest streams are wont, To the great river with such headlong sweep Rush’d, that nought stay’d its course. My stiffen’d frame Laid at his mouth the fell Archiano found, And dash’d it into Arno, from my breast Loos’ning the cross, that of myself I made When overcome with pain. He hurl’d me on, Along the banks and bottom of his course; Then in his muddy spoils encircling wrapt.” “Ah! when thou to the world shalt be return’d, And rested after thy long road,” so spake Next the third spirit; “then remember me. I once was Pia. Sienna gave me life, Maremma took it from me. That he knows, Who me with jewell’d ring had first espous’d.” CANTO VI When from their game of dice men separat