| |
| OUR journey was not slacken’d by our talk, | |
| Nor yet our talk by journeying. Still we spake, | |
| And urged our travel stoutly, like a ship | |
| When the wind sits astern. The shadowy forms, | |
| That seem’d things dead and dead again, drew in | 5 |
| At their deep-delved orbs rare wonder of me, | |
| Perceiving I had life; and I my words | |
| Continued, and thus spake: “He journeys up | |
| Perhaps more tardily than else he would, | |
| For others’ sake. But tell me, if thou know’st, | 10 |
| Where is Piccarda? Tell me, if I see | |
| Any of mark, among this multitude | |
| Who eye me thus.”—“My sister (she for whom, | |
| ’Twixt beautiful and good, I cannot say | |
| Which name was fitter) wears e’en now her crown, | 15 |
| And triumphs in Olympus.” Saying this, | |
| He added: Since spare diet hath so worn | |
| Our semblance out, ’tis lawful here to name | |
| Each one. This,” and his finger then he raised, | |
| ’Is Buonaggiunta, 1 —Buonaggiunta, he | 20 |
| Of Lucca: and that face beyond him, pierced | |
| Unto a leaner fineness than the rest, | |
| Had keeping of the Church; he was of Tours, 2 | |
| And purges by wan abstinence away | |
| Bolsena’s eels and cups of muscadel.” | 25 |
| He show’d me many others one by one: | |
| And all, as they were named, seem’d well content; | |
| For no dark gesture I discern’d in any. | |
| I saw, through hunger, Ubaldino 3 grind | |
| His teeth on emptiness; and Boniface, 4 | 30 |
| That waved the crozier o’er a numerous flock. | |
| I saw the Marquis, who had time erewhile | |
| To swill at Forli with less drought; yet so, | |
| Was one ne’er stated. I howe’er, like him | |
| That, gazing ’midst a crowd, singles out one, | 35 |
| So singled him of Lucca; for methought | |
| Was none amongst them took such note of me. | |
| Somewhat I heard him whisper of Gentucca: | |
| The sound was indistinct and murmur’d there, | |
| Where justice, that so strips them, fix’d her sting. | 40 |
| “Spirit!” said I, “it seems as thou wouldst fain | |
| Speak with me. Let me hear thee. Mutual wish | |
| To converse prompts, which let us both indulge.” | |
| He, answering, straight began: “Woman is born, | |
| Whose brow no wimple shades yet, that shall make | 45 |
| My city please thee, blame it as they may. | |
| Go then with this forewarning. If aught false | |
| My whisper too implied, the event shall tell. | |
| But say, if of a truth I see the man | |
| Of that new lay the inventor, which begins | 50 |
| With “Ladies, ye that con the lore of love.’” | |
| To whom I thus: “Count of me but as one, | |
| Who am the scribe of love; that, when he breathes, | |
| Take up my pen, and, as he dictates, write.” | |
| “Brother!” said he, “the hindrance, which once held | 55 |
| The notary, with Guittone and myself, | |
| Short of that new and sweeter style I hear, | |
| Is now disclosed: I see how ye your plumes | |
| Stretch, as the inditer guides them; which, no question, | |
| Ours did not. He that seeks a grace beyond, | 60 |
| Sees not the distance parts one style from other.” | |
| And, as contented, here he held his peace. | |
| Like as the birds, that winter near the Nile, | |
| In squared regiment direct their course, | |
| Then stretch themselves in file for speedier flight; | 65 |
| Thus all the tribe of spirits, as they turn’d | |
| Their visage, faster fled, nimble alike | |
| Through leanness and desire. And as a man, | |
| Tired with the motion of a trotting steed, | |
| Slacks pace, and stays behind his company, | 70 |
| Till his o’erbreathed lungs keep temperate time; | |
| E’en so Forese let that holy crew | |
| Proceed, behind them lingering at my side, | |
| And saying: “When shall I again behold thee?” | |
| “How long my life may last,” said I, “I know not: | 75 |
| This know, how soon soever I return, | |
| My wishes will before me have arrived: | |
| Sithence the place, 5 where I am set to live, | |
| Is, day by day, more scoop’d of all its good; | |
| And dismal ruin seems to threaten it,”. | 80 |
| “Go now,” he cried: “lo! he, 6 whose guilt is most, | |
| Passes before my vision, dragg’d at heels | |
| Of an infuriate beast. Toward the vale, | |
| Where guilt hath no redemption, on its speeds, | |
| Each step increasing swiftness on the last; | 85 |
| Until a blow it strikes, that leaveth him | |
| A corse most vilely shatter’d. No long space | |
| Those wheels have yet to roll,” (therewith his eyes | |
| Look’d up to Heaven,) “ere thou shalt plainly see | |
| That which my words may not more plainly tell. | 90 |
| I quit thee: time is precious here: I lose | |
| Too much, thus measuring my pace with thine.” | |
| As from a troop of well-rank’d chivalry, | |
| One knight, more enterprising than the rest, | |
| Pricks forth at gallop, eager to display | 95 |
| His prowess in the first encounter proved; | |
| So parted he from us, with lengthen’d strides; | |
| And left me on the way with those twain spirits, | |
| Who were such mighty marshals of the world. | |
| When he beyond us had so fled, mine eyes | 100 |
| No nearer reach’d him, than my thoughts his words, | |
| The branches of another fruit, thick hung, | |
| And blooming fresh, appear’d. E’en as our steps | |
| Turn’d thither; not far off, it rose to view. | |
| Beneath it were a multitude, that raised | 105 |
| Their hands, and shouted forth I know not what | |
| Unto the boughs; like greedy and fond brats, | |
| That beg, and answer none obtain from him, | |
| Of whom they beg; but more to draw them on, | |
| He, at arm’s length, the object of their wish | 110 |
| Above them holds aloft, and hides it not. | |
| At length, as undeceived, they went their way: | |
| And we approach the tree, whom vows and tears | |
| Sue to in vain; the mighty tree. “Pass on, | |
| And come not near. Stands higher up the wood, | 115 |
| Whereof Eve tasted: and from it was ta’en | |
| This plant.” Such sounds from midst the thickets came | |
| Whence I, with either bard, close to the side | |
| That rose, pass’d forth beyond. “Remember,” next | |
| We heard, “those unblest creatures of the clouds, 7 | 120 |
| How they their twofold bosoms, overgorged, | |
| Opposed on fight to Theseus: call to mind | |
| The Hebrews, how, effeminate, they stoop’d | |
| To ease their thirst; whence Gideon’s ranks were thinn’d, | |
| As he to Midian 8 march’d adown the hills.” | 125 |
| Thus near one border coasting, still we heard | |
| The sins of gluttony, with woe erewhile | |
| Reguerdon’d. Then along the lonely path, | |
| Once more at large, full thousand paces on | |
| We travel’d, each contemplative and mute. | 130 |
| “Why pensive journey so ye three alone?” | |
| thus suddenly a voice exclaim’d: whereat | |
| I shook, as doth a scared and paltry beast; | |
| Then raised my head, to look from whence it came. | |
| Was ne’er, in furnace, glass, or metal, seen | 135 |
| So bright and glowing red, as was the shape | |
| I now beheld. “If ye desire to mount,” | |
| He cried; “here must ye turn. This way he goes, | |
| Who goes in quest of peace.” His countenance | |
| Had dazzled me; and to my guides I faced | 140 |
| Backward, like one who walks as sound directs. | |
| As when, to harbinger the dawn, springs up | |
| On Freshen’d wing the air of May, and breathes | |
| Of fragrance, all impregn’d with herb and flowers; | |
| E’en such a wind I felt upon my front | 145 |
| Blow gently, and the moving of a wing | |
| Perceived, that, moving, shed ambrosial smell; | |
| And then a voice: “Blessed are they, whom grace | |
| Doth so illume, that appetite in them | |
| Exhaleth no inordinate desire, | 150 |
| Still hungering as the rule of temperance wills.” | |
