The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri (essential books to read TXT) 📕

CANTO XIX

It was the hour, when of diurnal heat No reliques chafe the cold beams of the moon, O’erpower’d by earth, or planetary sway Of Saturn; and the geomancer sees

His Greater Fortune up the east ascend, Where gray dawn checkers first the shadowy cone; When ‘fore me in my dream a woman’s shape There came, with lips that stammer’d, eyes aslant, Distorted feet, hands maim’d, and colour pale.

I look’d upon her; and as sunshine cheers Limbs numb’d by nightly cold, e’en thus my look Unloos’d her tongue, next in brief space her form Decrepit rais’d erect, and faded face With love’s own hue illum’d. Recov’ring speech She forthwith warbling such a strain began, That I, how loth soe’er, could scarce have held Attention from the song. “I,” thus she sang, “I am the Siren, she, whom mariners On the wide sea are wilder’d when they hear: Such fulness of delight the list’ner feels.

I from his course Ulysses by my lay Enchanted drew. Whoe’er frequents me once Parts seldom; so I charm him, and his heart Contented knows no void.” Or ere her mouth Was clos’d, to shame her at her side appear’d A dame of semblance holy. With stern voice She utter’d; “Say, O Virgil, who is this?”

Which hearing, he approach’d, with eyes still bent Toward that goodly presence: th’ other seiz’d her, And, her robes tearing, open’d her before, And show’d the belly to me, whence a smell, Exhaling loathsome, wak’d me. Round I turn’d Mine eyes, and thus the teacher: “At the least Three times my voice hath call’d thee. Rise, begone.

Let us the opening find where thou mayst pass.”

I straightway rose. Now day, pour’d down from high, Fill’d all the circuits of the sacred mount; And, as we journey’d, on our shoulder smote The early ray. I follow’d, stooping low My forehead, as a man, o’ercharg’d with thought, Who bends him to the likeness of an arch, That midway spans the flood; when thus I heard, “Come, enter here,” in tone so soft and mild, As never met the ear on mortal strand.

With swan-like wings dispread and pointing up, Who thus had spoken marshal’d us along, Where each side of the solid masonry The sloping, walls retir’d; then mov’d his plumes, And fanning us, affirm’d that those, who mourn, Are blessed, for that comfort shall be theirs.

“What aileth thee, that still thou look’st to earth?”

Began my leader; while th’ angelic shape A little over us his station took.

“New vision,” I replied, “hath rais’d in me 8urmisings strange and anxious doubts, whereon My soul intent allows no other thought Or room or entrance.—“Hast thou seen,” said he, “That old enchantress, her, whose wiles alone The spirits o’er us weep for? Hast thou seen How man may free him of her bonds? Enough.

Let thy heels spurn the earth, and thy rais’d ken Fix on the lure, which heav’n’s eternal King Whirls in the rolling spheres.” As on his feet The falcon first looks down, then to the sky Turns, and forth stretches eager for the food, That woos him thither; so the call I heard, So onward, far as the dividing rock Gave way, I journey’d, till the plain was reach’d.

On the fifth circle when I stood at large, A race appear’d before me, on the ground All downward lying prone and weeping sore.

“My soul hath cleaved to the dust,” I heard With sighs so deep, they well nigh choak’d the words.

“O ye elect of God, whose penal woes Both hope and justice mitigate, direct Tow’rds the steep rising our uncertain way.”

“If ye approach secure from this our doom, Prostration—and would urge your course with speed, See that ye still to rightward keep the brink.”

So them the bard besought; and such the words, Beyond us some short space, in answer came.

I noted what remain’d yet hidden from them: Thence to my liege’s eyes mine eyes I bent, And he, forthwith interpreting their suit, Beckon’d his glad assent. Free then to act, As pleas’d me, I drew near, and took my stand O`er that shade, whose words I late had mark’d.

And, “Spirit!” I said, “in whom repentant tears Mature that blessed hour, when thou with God Shalt find acceptance, for a while suspend For me that mightier care. Say who thou wast, Why thus ye grovel on your bellies prone, And if in aught ye wish my service there, Whence living I am come.” He answering spake “The cause why Heav’n our back toward his cope Reverses, shalt thou know: but me know first The successor of Peter, and the name And title of my lineage from that stream, That’ twixt Chiaveri and Siestri draws His limpid waters through the lowly glen.

A month and little more by proof I learnt, With what a weight that robe of sov’reignty Upon his shoulder rests, who from the mire Would guard it: that each other fardel seems But feathers in the balance. Late, alas!

Was my conversion: but when I became Rome’s pastor, I discern’d at once the dream And cozenage of life, saw that the heart Rested not there, and yet no prouder height Lur’d on the climber: wherefore, of that life No more enamour’d, in my bosom love Of purer being kindled. For till then I was a soul in misery, alienate

From God, and covetous of all earthly things; Now, as thou seest, here punish’d for my doting.

Such cleansing from the taint of avarice Do spirits converted need. This mount inflicts No direr penalty. E’en as our eyes Fasten’d below, nor e’er to loftier clime Were lifted, thus hath justice level’d us Here on the earth. As avarice quench’d our love Of good, without which is no working, thus Here justice holds us prison’d, hand and foot Chain’d down and bound, while heaven’s just Lord shall please.

So long to tarry motionless outstretch’d.”

My knees I stoop’d, and would have spoke; but he, Ere my beginning, by his ear perceiv’d I did him reverence; and “What cause,” said he, “Hath bow’d thee thus!”—” Compunction,” I rejoin’d.

“And inward awe of your high dignity.”

“Up,” he exclaim’d, “brother! upon thy feet Arise: err not: thy fellow servant I, (Thine and all others’) of one Sovran Power.

If thou hast ever mark’d those holy sounds Of gospel truth, ‘nor shall be given ill marriage,’

Thou mayst discern the reasons of my speech.

Go thy ways now; and linger here no more.

Thy tarrying is a let unto the tears, With which I hasten that whereof thou spak’st.

I have on earth a kinswoman; her name Alagia, worthy in herself, so ill

Example of our house corrupt her not: And she is all remaineth of me there.”

CANTO XX

Ill strives the will, ‘gainst will more wise that strives His pleasure therefore to mine own preferr’d, I drew the sponge yet thirsty from the wave.

Onward I mov’d: he also onward mov’d, Who led me, coasting still, wherever place Along the rock was vacant, as a man Walks near the battlements on narrow wall.

For those on th’ other part, who drop by drop Wring out their all-infecting malady, Too closely press the verge. Accurst be thou!

Inveterate wolf! whose gorge ingluts more prey, Than every beast beside, yet is not fill’d!

So bottomless thy maw! —Ye spheres of heaven!

To whom there are, as seems, who attribute All change in mortal state, when is the day Of his appearing, for whom fate reserves To chase her hence? —With wary steps and slow We pass’d; and I attentive to the shades, Whom piteously I heard lament and wail; And, ‘midst the wailing, one before us heard Cry out “O blessed Virgin!” as a dame In the sharp pangs of childbed; and “How poor Thou wast,” it added, “witness that low roof Where thou didst lay thy sacred burden down.

O good Fabricius! thou didst virtue choose With poverty, before great wealth with vice.”

The words so pleas’d me, that desire to know The spirit, from whose lip they seem’d to come, Did draw me onward. Yet it spake the gift Of Nicholas, which on the maidens he Bounteous bestow’d, to save their youthful prime Unblemish’d. “Spirit! who dost speak of deeds So worthy, tell me who thou was,” I said, “And why thou dost with single voice renew Memorial of such praise. That boon vouchsaf’d Haply shall meet reward; if I return To finish the Short pilgrimage of life, Still speeding to its close on restless wing.”

“I,” answer’d he, “will tell thee, not for hell, Which thence I look for; but that in thyself Grace so exceeding shines, before thy time Of mortal dissolution. I was root Of that ill plant, whose shade such poison sheds O’er all the Christian land, that seldom thence Good fruit is gather’d. Vengeance soon should come, Had Ghent and Douay, Lille and Bruges power; And vengeance I of heav’n’s great Judge implore.

Hugh Capet was I high: from me descend The Philips and the Louis, of whom France Newly is govern’d; born of one, who ply’d The slaughterer’s trade at Paris. When the race Of ancient kings had vanish’d (all save one Wrapt up in sable weeds) within my gripe I found the reins of empire, and such powers Of new acquirement, with full store of friends, That soon the widow’d circlet of the crown Was girt upon the temples of my son, He, from whose bones th’ anointed race begins.

Till the great dower of Provence had remov’d The stains, that yet obscur’d our lowly blood, Its sway indeed was narrow, but howe’er It wrought no evil: there, with force and lies, Began its rapine; after, for amends, Poitou it seiz’d, Navarre and Gascony.

To Italy came Charles, and for amends Young Conradine an innocent victim slew, And sent th’ angelic teacher back to heav’n, Still for amends. I see the time at hand, That forth from France invites another Charles To make himself and kindred better known.

Unarm’d he issues, saving with that lance, Which the arch-traitor tilted with; and that He carries with so home a thrust, as rives The bowels of poor Florence. No increase Of territory hence, but sin and shame Shall be his guerdon, and so much the more As he more lightly deems of such foul wrong.

I see the other, who a prisoner late Had steps on shore, exposing to the mart His daughter, whom he bargains for, as do The Corsairs for their slaves. O avarice!

What canst thou more, who hast subdued our blood So wholly to thyself, they feel no care Of their own flesh? To hide with direr guilt Past ill and future, lo! the flower-de-luce Enters Alagna! in his Vicar Christ Himself a captive, and his mockery Acted again! Lo! to his holy lip

The vinegar and gall once more applied!

And he ‘twixt living robbers doom’d to bleed!

Lo! the new Pilate, of whose cruelty Such violence cannot fill the measure up, With no degree to sanction, pushes on Into the temple his yet eager sails!

“O sovran Master! when shall I rejoice To see the vengeance, which thy wrath well-pleas’d In secret silence broods?—While daylight lasts, So long what thou didst hear of her, sole spouse Of the Great Spirit, and on which thou turn’dst To me for comment, is the general theme Of all our prayers: but when it darkens, then A different strain we utter, then record Pygmalion, whom his gluttonous thirst of gold Made traitor, robber, parricide: the woes Of Midas, which his greedy wish ensued, Mark’d for derision to all future times: And the fond Achan, how he stole the prey, That yet he seems by Joshua’s ire pursued.

Sapphira with her husband next, we blame; And praise the forefeet, that with