CANTO XXIV.
Argument.
Difficult ascent to the seventh valley, where theft is punished. — Strange metamorphoses. — One of the Shades discourses of the Bianchi and Neri .
O FT in the early spring-time of the year,
When 'neath Aquarius the sun lies low;
Ere Night doth equally with Day appear,
When the hoar-frost upon the earth doth show
The image of her white-robed sister (yet
But short the life her glistening plumes do know),
The country-swain who forage fain would get,
Rises and looks, beholding all the plains
Veilid with white, whence he doth fume and fret;
Home he returns, and here, and there, complains
With restless motion, as some wretch who strives
For what he knows not; then his hope regains,
Seeing the change which in short space arrives
O'er all the earth; and now he takes his crook
And forth the flocks he to the pasture drives.
Thus fear'd I greatly at my Master's look,
When I beheld the cloud upon his brow;
Then for my wound a healing balm I took.
For when unto the broken bridge below
We came, the self-same gentle mien he wore
That on the mountain's summit erst I saw.
First at the rocks he look'd, as though some lore
He conn'd within himself; and then embraced
Me with his arm, and softly upwards bore,
As one by whom each future step is traced
While nought of present toil doth he abate;
Thus me unto a jutting rock he raised,
And thence another ledge did indicate,
And said: " Now to yon stone thy hand extend;
But prove thou first if it will bear thy weight. "
This was no path in heavy stole to wend;
For I, supported, he, an airy sprite,
Yet scarcely could from stone to stone ascend.
And were it not that all this precinct's height
Is less than elsewhere, and the way more short,
For him I know not, but my earthly might
Had soon been vanquished. But towards the Court
Where Hell is deepest, Malibolgi tends,
And thus each vale is form'd in such a sort
That one side is raised up, and one descends;
And now unto the point we came, at last,
Where the first stone above the valley bends.
My breath with that sore labour came so fast,
I could no more, when I the height attain'd,
But, weary, on the ground my limbs I cast.
" Now needs must here thine every nerve be strain'd, "
My Master said, " for on a bed of down,
In cushion'd ease, no worthy fame is gain'd;
Without which, he whose mortal life hath flown,
Leaves such a vestige of himself on earth,
As smoke in air, or the white foam that shone
One moment on the wave. Then put thou forth
The energy that conquers in each fight,
If not weigh'd down by limbs of mortal birth.
For thou must mount unto a loftier height;
'Tis not enough, from these steep stairs to part:
Take courage, if thou understand'st aright,
The words wherewith to thee I'd teach this art. "
Then I arose with freer breath, and said:
" Go on, for I am strong and bold of heart. "
And up by the projecting rock we sped,
A path most straight and arduous; and eke
Far steeper than where first our feet did tread.
Yet I discoursed, lest he should think me weak;
Whereat a voice came forth from out the deep,
Unfit, in sooth, with accents clear to speak.
I know not what it said, though on the steep
Ridge of the archway did we now abide;
But in the tone was wrath. Yet did I keep
Downward mine eyes, but nought might be descried
By living wight, in that dim vale of woe;
Wherefore I said: " My Master, from this side
Let us descend, and to yon circle go;
For hence I hear, and nought I comprehend,
And downward see, and nothing clearly know. "
" None other answer unto thee I send "
He said, " but to comply; for deeds alone
Should follow silently each just demand. "
Then we descended from the bridge's crown,
Joining this circle to the eighth; and stood
Where I could see the things within its zone.
For in its depth I saw a fearful brood
Of serpent-forms; so hideous, that again,
E'en yet, their memory doth freeze my blood.
Less dire the snakes from Libya's sandy plain
That spring, the fiery flying serpent, each
Fierce speckled asp, and dreadful amphisbene
Nor doth all Ethiopia's wide reach
Show such a noisome race as here doth dwell,
Nor crawls such venom on the Red Sea beach.
Amid the swarm of pois'nous reptiles fell,
A naked and affrighted band abide,
Nor hope for shelter, nor the magic spell
Of heliotrope. Their hands behind were tied
With snakes, which as a girdle they did wear,
Whose folds before them in a knot were plied.
And lo! on one who to the bank was near
A serpent threw itself, and fix'd its bite
There where the shoulder-joint the throat doth bear.
Nor O nor I ye could so quickly write,
As with red fire he kindled, and became
A heap of burnt-out cinders, in my sight.
When thus consumed to ashes by the flame,
The dust, as though instinct with life, once more
Collected, and arose in form the same.
Even thus the tale is told, in sagest lore,
Of how the Phaenix dies, and doth renew
His life, when his five-hundredth year is o'er:
And never corn nor herb as food he knew,
But tears of incense and of balm alone;
And myrrh and spikenard he around him drew
For his last swaddling-clothes. As one who, thrown,
By force of evil demon, on the ground,
Or by some strange convulsion-fit unknown,
When he recovers, gazes all around,
Bewilder'd by his agonising woes;
And, while he looks, he moans with mournful sound:
Thus did this sinful soul when he arose.
O Heavenly Justice, how severe, I wis,
Art thou, who punishest with such sharp blows!
My leader ask'd him who he was, and thus,
" From Tuscany I fell, " he answer'd then,
" Not long ago, into this dire abyss.
I lived the life of beasts, and not of men;
Even like the mule I was: Fucci my name;
A beast, Pistoia was my worthy den. "
And I: " Now bid him stay; and ask what blame
Hath sent him here, this fearful path to tread:
I knew him once, a man of bloody fame. "
The sinner heard my words, and turn'd his head
Towards me willingly, nor strove to feign,
Though mournful shame upon his brow I read.
He spake: " In sooth, it causes me more pain
That thou shouldst see me in my bitter grief,
Than when I from my earthly life was ta'en.
I may not keep from thee this answer brief:
Here am I placed so low, because, of yore,
I of the precious jewels was the thief,
From out the sacristy; while falsely bore
Another all the blame. But, that to thee
Accrue no gladness from my torment sore,
I tell thee, from Pistoia thou shalt see
Cast out the Neri; Florence in her laws
And people then shall wholly changid be.
From Val di Magra Mars a vapour draws,
Robed in the dusky raiment of the storm;
And when, in furious wrath, the tempest blows,
Above Piceno's field with wild alarm,
Sudden he shall burst forth from the thick cloud,
And the Bianchi wound with deadly harm:
And this I tell thee now, to grieve thy humour proud. "
Argument.
Difficult ascent to the seventh valley, where theft is punished. — Strange metamorphoses. — One of the Shades discourses of the Bianchi and Neri .
O FT in the early spring-time of the year,
When 'neath Aquarius the sun lies low;
Ere Night doth equally with Day appear,
When the hoar-frost upon the earth doth show
The image of her white-robed sister (yet
But short the life her glistening plumes do know),
The country-swain who forage fain would get,
Rises and looks, beholding all the plains
Veilid with white, whence he doth fume and fret;
Home he returns, and here, and there, complains
With restless motion, as some wretch who strives
For what he knows not; then his hope regains,
Seeing the change which in short space arrives
O'er all the earth; and now he takes his crook
And forth the flocks he to the pasture drives.
Thus fear'd I greatly at my Master's look,
When I beheld the cloud upon his brow;
Then for my wound a healing balm I took.
For when unto the broken bridge below
We came, the self-same gentle mien he wore
That on the mountain's summit erst I saw.
First at the rocks he look'd, as though some lore
He conn'd within himself; and then embraced
Me with his arm, and softly upwards bore,
As one by whom each future step is traced
While nought of present toil doth he abate;
Thus me unto a jutting rock he raised,
And thence another ledge did indicate,
And said: " Now to yon stone thy hand extend;
But prove thou first if it will bear thy weight. "
This was no path in heavy stole to wend;
For I, supported, he, an airy sprite,
Yet scarcely could from stone to stone ascend.
And were it not that all this precinct's height
Is less than elsewhere, and the way more short,
For him I know not, but my earthly might
Had soon been vanquished. But towards the Court
Where Hell is deepest, Malibolgi tends,
And thus each vale is form'd in such a sort
That one side is raised up, and one descends;
And now unto the point we came, at last,
Where the first stone above the valley bends.
My breath with that sore labour came so fast,
I could no more, when I the height attain'd,
But, weary, on the ground my limbs I cast.
" Now needs must here thine every nerve be strain'd, "
My Master said, " for on a bed of down,
In cushion'd ease, no worthy fame is gain'd;
Without which, he whose mortal life hath flown,
Leaves such a vestige of himself on earth,
As smoke in air, or the white foam that shone
One moment on the wave. Then put thou forth
The energy that conquers in each fight,
If not weigh'd down by limbs of mortal birth.
For thou must mount unto a loftier height;
'Tis not enough, from these steep stairs to part:
Take courage, if thou understand'st aright,
The words wherewith to thee I'd teach this art. "
Then I arose with freer breath, and said:
" Go on, for I am strong and bold of heart. "
And up by the projecting rock we sped,
A path most straight and arduous; and eke
Far steeper than where first our feet did tread.
Yet I discoursed, lest he should think me weak;
Whereat a voice came forth from out the deep,
Unfit, in sooth, with accents clear to speak.
I know not what it said, though on the steep
Ridge of the archway did we now abide;
But in the tone was wrath. Yet did I keep
Downward mine eyes, but nought might be descried
By living wight, in that dim vale of woe;
Wherefore I said: " My Master, from this side
Let us descend, and to yon circle go;
For hence I hear, and nought I comprehend,
And downward see, and nothing clearly know. "
" None other answer unto thee I send "
He said, " but to comply; for deeds alone
Should follow silently each just demand. "
Then we descended from the bridge's crown,
Joining this circle to the eighth; and stood
Where I could see the things within its zone.
For in its depth I saw a fearful brood
Of serpent-forms; so hideous, that again,
E'en yet, their memory doth freeze my blood.
Less dire the snakes from Libya's sandy plain
That spring, the fiery flying serpent, each
Fierce speckled asp, and dreadful amphisbene
Nor doth all Ethiopia's wide reach
Show such a noisome race as here doth dwell,
Nor crawls such venom on the Red Sea beach.
Amid the swarm of pois'nous reptiles fell,
A naked and affrighted band abide,
Nor hope for shelter, nor the magic spell
Of heliotrope. Their hands behind were tied
With snakes, which as a girdle they did wear,
Whose folds before them in a knot were plied.
And lo! on one who to the bank was near
A serpent threw itself, and fix'd its bite
There where the shoulder-joint the throat doth bear.
Nor O nor I ye could so quickly write,
As with red fire he kindled, and became
A heap of burnt-out cinders, in my sight.
When thus consumed to ashes by the flame,
The dust, as though instinct with life, once more
Collected, and arose in form the same.
Even thus the tale is told, in sagest lore,
Of how the Phaenix dies, and doth renew
His life, when his five-hundredth year is o'er:
And never corn nor herb as food he knew,
But tears of incense and of balm alone;
And myrrh and spikenard he around him drew
For his last swaddling-clothes. As one who, thrown,
By force of evil demon, on the ground,
Or by some strange convulsion-fit unknown,
When he recovers, gazes all around,
Bewilder'd by his agonising woes;
And, while he looks, he moans with mournful sound:
Thus did this sinful soul when he arose.
O Heavenly Justice, how severe, I wis,
Art thou, who punishest with such sharp blows!
My leader ask'd him who he was, and thus,
" From Tuscany I fell, " he answer'd then,
" Not long ago, into this dire abyss.
I lived the life of beasts, and not of men;
Even like the mule I was: Fucci my name;
A beast, Pistoia was my worthy den. "
And I: " Now bid him stay; and ask what blame
Hath sent him here, this fearful path to tread:
I knew him once, a man of bloody fame. "
The sinner heard my words, and turn'd his head
Towards me willingly, nor strove to feign,
Though mournful shame upon his brow I read.
He spake: " In sooth, it causes me more pain
That thou shouldst see me in my bitter grief,
Than when I from my earthly life was ta'en.
I may not keep from thee this answer brief:
Here am I placed so low, because, of yore,
I of the precious jewels was the thief,
From out the sacristy; while falsely bore
Another all the blame. But, that to thee
Accrue no gladness from my torment sore,
I tell thee, from Pistoia thou shalt see
Cast out the Neri; Florence in her laws
And people then shall wholly changid be.
From Val di Magra Mars a vapour draws,
Robed in the dusky raiment of the storm;
And when, in furious wrath, the tempest blows,
Above Piceno's field with wild alarm,
Sudden he shall burst forth from the thick cloud,
And the Bianchi wound with deadly harm:
And this I tell thee now, to grieve thy humour proud. "