Part 29

le Unsanction’d; here from every change exempt. Other than that, which heaven in itself Doth of itself receive, no influence Can reach us. Tempest none, shower, hail or snow, Hoar frost or dewy moistness, higher falls Than that brief scale of threefold steps: thick clouds Nor scudding rack are ever seen: swift glance Ne’er lightens, nor Thaumantian Iris gleams, That yonder often shift on each side heav’n. Vapour adust doth never mount above The highest of the trinal stairs, whereon Peter’s vicegerent stands. Lower perchance, With various motion rock’d, trembles the soil: But here, through wind in earth’s deep hollow pent, I know not how, yet never trembled: then Trembles, when any spirit feels itself So purified, that it may rise, or move For rising, and such loud acclaim ensues. Purification by the will alone Is prov’d, that free to change society Seizes the soul rejoicing in her will. Desire of bliss is present from the first; But strong propension hinders, to that wish By the just ordinance of heav’n oppos’d; Propension now as eager to fulfil Th’ allotted torment, as erewhile to sin. And I who in this punishment had lain Five hundred years and more, but now have felt Free wish for happier clime. Therefore thou felt’st The mountain tremble, and the spirits devout Heard’st, over all his limits, utter praise To that liege Lord, whom I entreat their joy To hasten.” Thus he spake: and since the draught Is grateful ever as the thirst is keen, No words may speak my fullness of content. “Now,” said the instructor sage, “I see the net That takes ye here, and how the toils are loos’d, Why rocks the mountain and why ye rejoice. Vouchsafe, that from thy lips I next may learn, Who on the earth thou wast, and wherefore here So many an age wert prostrate.”—“In that time, When the good Titus, with Heav’n’s King to help, Aveng’d those piteous gashes, whence the blood By Judas sold did issue, with the name Most lasting and most honour’d there was I Abundantly renown’d,” the shade reply’d, “Not yet with faith endued. So passing sweet My vocal Spirit, from Tolosa, Rome To herself drew me, where I merited A myrtle garland to inwreathe my brow. Statius they name me still. Of Thebes I sang, And next of great Achilles: but i’ th’ way Fell with the second burthen. Of my flame Those sparkles were the seeds, which I deriv’d From the bright fountain of celestial fire That feeds unnumber’d lamps, the song I mean Which sounds Aeneas’ wand’rings: that the breast I hung at, that the nurse, from whom my veins Drank inspiration: whose authority Was ever sacred with me. To have liv’d Coeval with the Mantuan, I would bide The revolution of another sun Beyond my stated years in banishment.” The Mantuan, when he heard him, turn’d to me, And holding silence: by his countenance Enjoin’d me silence but the power which wills, Bears not supreme control: laughter and tears Follow so closely on the passion prompts them, They wait not for the motions of the will In natures most sincere. I did but smile, As one who winks; and thereupon the shade Broke off, and peer’d into mine eyes, where best Our looks interpret. “So to good event Mayst thou conduct such great emprize,” he cried, “Say, why across thy visage beam’d, but now, The lightning of a smile!” On either part Now am I straiten’d; one conjures me speak, Th’ other to silence binds me: whence a sigh I utter, and the sigh is heard. “Speak on;” The teacher cried; “and do not fear to speak, But tell him what so earnestly he asks.” Whereon I thus: “Perchance, O ancient spirit! Thou marvel’st at my smiling. There is room For yet more wonder. He who guides my ken On high, he is that Mantuan, led by whom Thou didst presume of men and gods to sing. If other cause thou deem’dst for which I smil’d, Leave it as not the true one; and believe Those words, thou spak’st of him, indeed the cause.” Now down he bent t’ embrace my teacher’s feet; But he forbade him: “Brother! do it not: Thou art a shadow, and behold’st a shade.” He rising answer’d thus: “Now hast thou prov’d The force and ardour of the love I bear thee, When I forget we are but things of air, And as a substance treat an empty shade.” CANTO XXII Now we had left the angel, who had turn’d To the sixth circle our ascending step, One gash from off my forehead raz’d: while they, Whose wishes tend to justice, shouted forth: “Blessed!” and ended with, “I thirst:” and I, More nimble than along the other straits, So journey’d, that, without the sense of toil, I follow’d upward the swift-footed shades; When Virgil thus began: “Let its pure flame From virtue flow, and love can never fail To warm another’s bosom’ so the light Shine manifestly forth. Hence from that hour, When ’mongst us in the purlieus of the deep, Came down the spirit of Aquinum’s hard, Who told of thine affection, my good will Hath been for thee of quality as strong As ever link’d itself to one not seen. Therefore these stairs will now seem short to me. But tell me: and if too secure I loose The rein with a friend’s license, as a friend Forgive me, and speak now as with a friend: How chanc’d it covetous desire could find Place in that bosom, ’midst such ample store Of wisdom, as thy zeal had treasur’d there?” First somewhat mov’d to laughter by his words, Statius replied: “Each syllable of thine Is a dear pledge of love. Things oft appear That minister false matters to our doubts, When their true causes are remov’d from sight. Thy question doth assure me, thou believ’st I was on earth a covetous man, perhaps Because thou found’st me in that circle plac’d. Know then I was too wide of avarice: And e’en for that excess, thousands of moons Have wax’d and wan’d upon my sufferings. And were it not that I with heedful care Noted where thou exclaim’st as if in ire With human nature, ‘Why, thou cursed thirst Of gold! dost not with juster measure guide The appetite of mortals?’ I had met The fierce encounter of the voluble rock. Then was I ware that with too ample wing The hands may haste to lavishment, and turn’d, As from my other evil, so from this In penitence. How many from their grave Shall with shorn locks arise, who living, aye And at life’s last extreme, of this offence, Through ignorance, did not repent. And know, The fault which lies direct from any sin In level opposition, here With that Wastes its green rankness on one common heap. Therefore if I have been with those, who wail Their avarice, to cleanse me, through reverse Of their transgression, such hath been my lot.” To whom the sovran of the pastoral song: “While thou didst sing that cruel warfare wag’d By the twin sorrow of Jocasta’s womb, From thy discourse with Clio there, it seems As faith had not been shine: without the which Good deeds suffice not. And if so, what sun Rose on thee, or what candle pierc’d the dark That thou didst after see to hoist the sail, And follow, where the fisherman had led?” He answering thus: “By thee conducted first, I enter’d the Parnassian grots, and quaff’d Of the clear spring; illumin’d first by thee Open’d mine eyes to God. Thou didst, as one, Who, journeying through the darkness, hears a light Behind, that profits not himself, but makes His followers wise, when thou exclaimedst, ‘Lo! A renovated world! Justice return’d! Times of primeval innocence restor’d! And a new race descended from above!’ Poet and Christian both to thee I owed. That thou mayst mark more clearly what I trace, My hand shall stretch forth to inform the lines With livelier colouring. Soon o’er all the world, By messengers from heav’n, the true belief Teem’d now prolific, and that word of thine Accordant, to the new instructors chim’d. Induc’d by which agreement, I was wont Resort to them; and soon their sanctity So won upon me, that, Domitian’s rage Pursuing them, I mix’d my tears with theirs, And, while on earth I stay’d, still succour’d them; And their most righteous customs made me scorn All sects besides. Before I led the Greeks In tuneful fiction, to the streams of Thebes, I was baptiz’d; but secretly, through fear, Remain’d a Christian, and conform’d long time To Pagan rites. Five centuries and more, T for that lukewarmness was fain to pace Round the fourth circle. Thou then, who hast rais’d The covering, which did hide such blessing from me, Whilst much of this ascent is yet to climb, Say, if thou know, where our old Terence bides, Caecilius, Plautus, Varro: if condemn’d They dwell, and in what province of the deep.” “These,” said my guide, “with Persius and myself, And others many more, are with that Greek, Of mortals, the most cherish’d by the Nine, In the first ward of darkness. There ofttimes We of that mount hold converse, on whose top For aye our nurses live. We have the bard Of Pella, and the Teian, Agatho, Simonides, and many a Grecian else Ingarlanded with laurel. Of thy train Antigone is there, Deiphile, Argia, and as sorrowful as erst Ismene, and who show’d Langia’s wave: Deidamia with her sisters there, And blind Tiresias’ daughter, and the bride Sea-born of Peleus.” Either poet now Was silent, and no longer by th’ ascent Or the steep walls obstructed, round them cast Inquiring eyes. Four handmaids of the day Had finish’d now their office, and the fifth Was at the chariot-beam, directing still Its balmy point aloof, when thus my guide: “Methinks, it well behooves us to the brink Bend the right shoulder’ circuiting the mount, As we have ever us’d.” So custom there Was usher to the road, the which we chose Less doubtful, as that worthy shade complied. They on before me went; I sole pursued, List’ning their speech, that to my thoughts convey’d Mysterious lessons of sweet poesy. But soon they ceas’d; for midway of the road A tree we found, with goodly fruitage hung, And pleasant to the smell: and as a fir Upward from bough to bough less ample spreads, So downward this less ample spread, that none. Methinks, aloft may climb. Upon the side, That clos’d our path, a liquid crystal fell From the steep rock, and through the sprays above Stream’d showering. With associate step the bards Drew near the plant; and from amidst the leaves A voice was heard: “Ye shall be chary of me;” And after added: “Mary took more thought For joy and honour of the nuptial feast, Than for herself who answers now for you. The women of old Rome were satisfied With water for their beverage. Daniel fed On pulse, and wisdom gain’d. The primal age Was beautiful as gold; and hunger then Made acorns tasteful, thirst each rivulet Run nectar. Honey and locusts were the food, Whereon the Baptist in the wilderness Fed, and that eminence of glory reach’d And greatness, which the’ Evangelist records.” CANTO XXIII On the green leaf mine eyes were fix’d, like his Who throws away his days in idle chase Of the diminutive, when thus I heard The more than father warn me: “Son! our time Asks thriftier using. Linger not: away.” Thereat my face and steps at once I turn’d Toward the sages, by whose converse cheer’d I journey’d on, and felt no toil: and lo! A sound of weeping and a song: “My lips, O Lord!” and these so mingled, it gave birth To pleasure and to pain. “O Sire, belov’d! Say what is this I hear?” Thus I inquir’d. “Spirits,” said he, “who as they go, perchance, Their debt of duty pay.” As on their road The thoughtful pilgrims, overtaking some Not known unto them, turn to them, and look, But stay not; thus, approaching from behind With speedier motion, eyed us, as they pass’d, A crowd of spirits, silent and devout. The eyes of each were dark and hollow: pale Their visage, and so lean withal, the bones Stood staring thro’ the skin. I do not think Thus dry and meagre Erisicthon show’d, When pinc’ed by sharp-set fam