CANTO XVIISuch as the youth, who came to ClymeneTo certify himself of that reproach,Which had been fasten’d on him, (he whose endStill makes the fathers chary to their sons,E’en such was I; nor unobserv’d was suchOf Beatrice, and that saintly lamp,Who had erewhile for me his station mov’d;When thus by lady: “Give thy wish free vent,That it may issue, bearing true reportOf the mind’s impress; not that aught thy wordsMay to our knowledge add, but to the end,That thou mayst use thyself to own thy thirstAnd men may mingle for thee when they hear.”“O plant! from whence I spring! rever’d and lov’d!Who soar’st so high a pitch, thou seest as clear,As earthly thought determines two obtuseIn one triangle not contain’d, so clearDost see contingencies, ere in themselvesExistent, looking at the point wheretoAll times are present, I, the whilst I scal’dWith Virgil the soul purifying mount,And visited the nether world of woe,Touching my future destiny have heardWords grievous, though I feel me on all sidesWell squar’d to fortune’s blows. Therefore my willWere satisfied to know the lot awaits me,The arrow, seen beforehand, slacks its flight.”So said I to the brightness, which erewhileTo me had spoken, and my will declar’d,As Beatrice will’d, explicitly.Nor with oracular response obscure,Such, as or ere the Lamb of God was slain,Beguil’d the credulous nations; but, in termsPrecise and unambiguous lore, repliedThe spirit of paternal love, enshrin’d,Yet in his smile apparent; and thus spake:“Contingency, unfolded not to viewUpon the tablet of your mortal mold,Is all depictur’d in the’ eternal sight;But hence deriveth not necessity,More then the tall ship, hurried down the flood,Doth from the vision, that reflects the scene.From thence, as to the ear sweet harmonyFrom organ comes, so comes before mine eyeThe time prepar’d for thee. Such as driv’n outFrom Athens, by his cruel stepdame’s wiles,Hippolytus departed, such must thouDepart from Florence. This they wish, and thisContrive, and will ere long effectuate, there,Where gainful merchandize is made of Christ,Throughout the livelong day. The common cry,Will, as ’tis ever wont, affix the blameUnto the party injur’d: but the truthShall, in the vengeance it dispenseth, findA faithful witness. Thou shall leave each thingBelov’d most dearly: this is the first shaftShot from the bow of exile. Thou shalt proveHow salt the savour is of other’s bread,How hard the passage to descend and climbBy other’s stairs, But that shall gall thee mostWill he the worthless and vile company,With whom thou must be thrown into these straits.For all ungrateful, impious all and mad,Shall turn ’gainst thee: but in a little whileTheirs and not thine shall be the crimson’d browTheir course shall so evince their brutishnessT’ have ta’en thy stand apart shall well become thee.“First refuge thou must find, first place of rest,In the great Lombard’s courtesy, who bearsUpon the ladder perch’d the sacred bird.He shall behold thee with such kind regard,That ’twixt ye two, the contrary to thatWhich falls ’twixt other men, the granting shallForerun the asking. With him shalt thou seeThat mortal, who was at his birth impressSo strongly from this star, that of his deedsThe nations shall take note. His unripe ageYet holds him from observance; for these wheelsOnly nine years have compass him about.But, ere the Gascon practice on great Harry,Sparkles of virtue shall shoot forth in him,In equal scorn of labours and of gold.His bounty shall be spread abroad so widely,As not to let the tongues e’en of his foesBe idle in its praise. Look thou to himAnd his beneficence: for he shall causeReversal of their lot to many people,Rich men and beggars interchanging fortunes.And thou shalt bear this written in thy soulOf him, but tell it not; “and things he toldIncredible to those who witness them;Then added: “So interpret thou, my son,What hath been told thee.—Lo! the ambushmentThat a few circling seasons hide for thee!Yet envy not thy neighbours: time extendsThy span beyond their treason’s chastisement.”Soon, as the saintly spirit, by his silence,Had shown the web, which I had streteh’d for himUpon the warp, was woven, I began,As one, who in perplexity desiresCounsel of other, wise, benign and friendly:“My father! well I mark how time spurs onToward me, ready to inflict the blow,Which falls most heavily on him, who mostAbandoned himself. Therefore ’tis goodI should forecast, that driven from the placeMost dear to me, I may not lose myselfAll others by my song. Down through the worldOf infinite mourning, and along the mountFrom whose fair height my lady’s eyes did lift me,And after through this heav’n from light to light,Have I learnt that, which if I tell again,It may with many woefully disrelish;And, if I am a timid friend to truth,I fear my life may perish among those,To whom these days shall be of ancient date.”The brightness, where enclos’d the treasure smil’d,Which I had found there, first shone glisteningly,Like to a golden mirror in the sun;Next answer’d: “Conscience, dimm’d or by its ownOr other’s shame, will feel thy saying sharp.Thou, notwithstanding, all deceit remov’d,See the whole vision be made manifest.And let them wince who have their withers wrung.What though, when tasted first, thy voice shall proveUnwelcome, on digestion it will turnTo vital nourishment. The cry thou raisest,Shall, as the wind doth, smite the proudest summits;Which is of honour no light argument,For this there only have been shown to thee,Throughout these orbs, the mountain, and the deep,Spirits, whom fame hath note of. For the mindOf him, who hears, is loth to acquiesceAnd fix its faith, unless the instance broughtBe palpable, and proof apparent urge.”
Such as the youth, who came to ClymeneTo certify himself of that reproach,Which had been fasten’d on him, (he whose endStill makes the fathers chary to their sons,E’en such was I; nor unobserv’d was suchOf Beatrice, and that saintly lamp,Who had erewhile for me his station mov’d;When thus by lady: “Give thy wish free vent,That it may issue, bearing true reportOf the mind’s impress; not that aught thy wordsMay to our knowledge add, but to the end,That thou mayst use thyself to own thy thirstAnd men may mingle for thee when they hear.”
“O plant! from whence I spring! rever’d and lov’d!Who soar’st so high a pitch, thou seest as clear,As earthly thought determines two obtuseIn one triangle not contain’d, so clearDost see contingencies, ere in themselvesExistent, looking at the point wheretoAll times are present, I, the whilst I scal’dWith Virgil the soul purifying mount,And visited the nether world of woe,Touching my future destiny have heardWords grievous, though I feel me on all sidesWell squar’d to fortune’s blows. Therefore my willWere satisfied to know the lot awaits me,The arrow, seen beforehand, slacks its flight.”
So said I to the brightness, which erewhileTo me had spoken, and my will declar’d,As Beatrice will’d, explicitly.Nor with oracular response obscure,Such, as or ere the Lamb of God was slain,Beguil’d the credulous nations; but, in termsPrecise and unambiguous lore, repliedThe spirit of paternal love, enshrin’d,Yet in his smile apparent; and thus spake:“Contingency, unfolded not to viewUpon the tablet of your mortal mold,Is all depictur’d in the’ eternal sight;But hence deriveth not necessity,More then the tall ship, hurried down the flood,Doth from the vision, that reflects the scene.From thence, as to the ear sweet harmonyFrom organ comes, so comes before mine eyeThe time prepar’d for thee. Such as driv’n outFrom Athens, by his cruel stepdame’s wiles,Hippolytus departed, such must thouDepart from Florence. This they wish, and thisContrive, and will ere long effectuate, there,Where gainful merchandize is made of Christ,Throughout the livelong day. The common cry,Will, as ’tis ever wont, affix the blameUnto the party injur’d: but the truthShall, in the vengeance it dispenseth, findA faithful witness. Thou shall leave each thingBelov’d most dearly: this is the first shaftShot from the bow of exile. Thou shalt proveHow salt the savour is of other’s bread,How hard the passage to descend and climbBy other’s stairs, But that shall gall thee mostWill he the worthless and vile company,With whom thou must be thrown into these straits.For all ungrateful, impious all and mad,Shall turn ’gainst thee: but in a little whileTheirs and not thine shall be the crimson’d browTheir course shall so evince their brutishnessT’ have ta’en thy stand apart shall well become thee.
“First refuge thou must find, first place of rest,In the great Lombard’s courtesy, who bearsUpon the ladder perch’d the sacred bird.He shall behold thee with such kind regard,That ’twixt ye two, the contrary to thatWhich falls ’twixt other men, the granting shallForerun the asking. With him shalt thou seeThat mortal, who was at his birth impressSo strongly from this star, that of his deedsThe nations shall take note. His unripe ageYet holds him from observance; for these wheelsOnly nine years have compass him about.But, ere the Gascon practice on great Harry,Sparkles of virtue shall shoot forth in him,In equal scorn of labours and of gold.His bounty shall be spread abroad so widely,As not to let the tongues e’en of his foesBe idle in its praise. Look thou to himAnd his beneficence: for he shall causeReversal of their lot to many people,Rich men and beggars interchanging fortunes.And thou shalt bear this written in thy soulOf him, but tell it not; “and things he toldIncredible to those who witness them;Then added: “So interpret thou, my son,What hath been told thee.—Lo! the ambushmentThat a few circling seasons hide for thee!Yet envy not thy neighbours: time extendsThy span beyond their treason’s chastisement.”
Soon, as the saintly spirit, by his silence,Had shown the web, which I had streteh’d for himUpon the warp, was woven, I began,As one, who in perplexity desiresCounsel of other, wise, benign and friendly:“My father! well I mark how time spurs onToward me, ready to inflict the blow,Which falls most heavily on him, who mostAbandoned himself. Therefore ’tis goodI should forecast, that driven from the placeMost dear to me, I may not lose myselfAll others by my song. Down through the worldOf infinite mourning, and along the mountFrom whose fair height my lady’s eyes did lift me,And after through this heav’n from light to light,Have I learnt that, which if I tell again,It may with many woefully disrelish;And, if I am a timid friend to truth,I fear my life may perish among those,To whom these days shall be of ancient date.”
The brightness, where enclos’d the treasure smil’d,Which I had found there, first shone glisteningly,Like to a golden mirror in the sun;Next answer’d: “Conscience, dimm’d or by its ownOr other’s shame, will feel thy saying sharp.Thou, notwithstanding, all deceit remov’d,See the whole vision be made manifest.And let them wince who have their withers wrung.What though, when tasted first, thy voice shall proveUnwelcome, on digestion it will turnTo vital nourishment. The cry thou raisest,Shall, as the wind doth, smite the proudest summits;Which is of honour no light argument,For this there only have been shown to thee,Throughout these orbs, the mountain, and the deep,Spirits, whom fame hath note of. For the mindOf him, who hears, is loth to acquiesceAnd fix its faith, unless the instance broughtBe palpable, and proof apparent urge.”