CANTO XXVIWhile singly thus along the rim we walk’d,Oft the good master warn’d me: “Look thou well.Avail it that I caution thee.” The sunNow all the western clime irradiate chang’dFrom azure tinct to white; and, as I pass’d,My passing shadow made the umber’d flameBurn ruddier. At so strange a sight I mark’dThat many a spirit marvel’d on his way.This bred occasion first to speak of me,“He seems,” said they, “no insubstantial frame:”Then to obtain what certainty they might,Stretch’d towards me, careful not to overpassThe burning pale. “O thou, who followestThe others, haply not more slow than they,But mov’d by rev’rence, answer me, who burnIn thirst and fire: nor I alone, but theseAll for thine answer do more thirst, than dothIndian or Aethiop for the cooling stream.Tell us, how is it that thou mak’st thyselfA wall against the sun, as thou not yetInto th’ inextricable toils of deathHadst enter’d?” Thus spake one, and I had straightDeclar’d me, if attention had not turn’dTo new appearance. Meeting these, there came,Midway the burning path, a crowd, on whomEarnestly gazing, from each part I viewThe shadows all press forward, sev’rallyEach snatch a hasty kiss, and then away.E’en so the emmets, ’mid their dusky troops,Peer closely one at other, to spy outTheir mutual road perchance, and how they thrive.That friendly greeting parted, ere dispatchOf the first onward step, from either tribeLoud clamour rises: those, who newly come,Shout Sodom and Gomorrah!” these, “The cowPasiphae enter’d, that the beast she woo’dMight rush unto her luxury.” Then as cranes,That part towards the Riphaean mountains fly,Part towards the Lybic sands, these to avoidThe ice, and those the sun; so hasteth offOne crowd, advances th’ other; and resumeTheir first song weeping, and their several shout.Again drew near my side the very same,Who had erewhile besought me, and their looksMark’d eagerness to listen. I, who twiceTheir will had noted, spake: “O spirits secure,Whene’er the time may be, of peaceful end!My limbs, nor crude, nor in mature old age,Have I left yonder: here they bear me, fedWith blood, and sinew-strung. That I no moreMay live in blindness, hence I tend aloft.There is a dame on high, who wind for usThis grace, by which my mortal through your realmI bear. But may your utmost wish soon meetSuch full fruition, that the orb of heaven,Fullest of love, and of most ample space,Receive you, as ye tell (upon my pageHenceforth to stand recorded) who ye are,And what this multitude, that at your backsHave past behind us.” As one, mountain-bred,Rugged and clownish, if some city’s wallsHe chance to enter, round him stares agape,Confounded and struck dumb; e’en such appear’dEach spirit. But when rid of that amaze,(Not long the inmate of a noble heart)He, who before had question’d, thus resum’d:“O blessed, who, for death preparing, tak’stExperience of our limits, in thy bark!Their crime, who not with us proceed, was that,For which, as he did triumph, Caesar heardThe snout of ‘queen,’ to taunt him. Hence their cryOf ‘Sodom,’ as they parted, to rebukeThemselves, and aid the burning by their shame.Our sinning was Hermaphrodite: but we,Because the law of human kind we broke,Following like beasts our vile concupiscence,Hence parting from them, to our own disgraceRecord the name of her, by whom the beastIn bestial tire was acted. Now our deedsThou know’st, and how we sinn’d. If thou by nameWouldst haply know us, time permits not nowTo tell so much, nor can I. Of myselfLearn what thou wishest. Guinicelli I,Who having truly sorrow’d ere my last,Already cleanse me.” With such pious joy,As the two sons upon their mother gaz’dFrom sad Lycurgus rescu’d, such my joy(Save that I more represt it) when I heardFrom his own lips the name of him pronounc’d,Who was a father to me, and to thoseMy betters, who have ever us’d the sweetAnd pleasant rhymes of love. So nought I heardNor spake, but long time thoughtfully I went,Gazing on him; and, only for the fire,Approach’d not nearer. When my eyes were fedBy looking on him, with such solemn pledge,As forces credence, I devoted meUnto his service wholly. In replyHe thus bespake me: “What from thee I hearIs grav’d so deeply on my mind, the wavesOf Lethe shall not wash it off, nor makeA whit less lively. But as now thy oathHas seal’d the truth, declare what cause impelsThat love, which both thy looks and speech bewray.”“Those dulcet lays,” I answer’d, “which, as longAs of our tongue the beauty does not fade,Shall make us love the very ink that trac’d them.”“Brother!” he cried, and pointed at a shadeBefore him, “there is one, whose mother speechDoth owe to him a fairer ornament.He in love ditties and the tales of proseWithout a rival stands, and lets the foolsTalk on, who think the songster of LimogesO’ertops him. Rumour and the popular voiceThey look to more than truth, and so confirmOpinion, ere by art or reason taught.Thus many of the elder time cried upGuittone, giving him the prize, till truthBy strength of numbers vanquish’d. If thou ownSo ample privilege, as to have gain’dFree entrance to the cloister, whereof ChristIs Abbot of the college, say to himOne paternoster for me, far as needsFor dwellers in this world, where power to sinNo longer tempts us.” Haply to make wayFor one, that follow’d next, when that was said,He vanish’d through the fire, as through the waveA fish, that glances diving to the deep.I, to the spirit he had shown me, drewA little onward, and besought his name,For which my heart, I said, kept gracious room.He frankly thus began: “Thy courtesySo wins on me, I have nor power nor willTo hide me. I am Arnault; and with songs,Sorely lamenting for my folly past,Thorough this ford of fire I wade, and seeThe day, I hope for, smiling in my view.I pray ye by the worth that guides ye upUnto the summit of the scale, in timeRemember ye my suff’rings.” With such wordsHe disappear’d in the refining flame.
While singly thus along the rim we walk’d,Oft the good master warn’d me: “Look thou well.Avail it that I caution thee.” The sunNow all the western clime irradiate chang’dFrom azure tinct to white; and, as I pass’d,My passing shadow made the umber’d flameBurn ruddier. At so strange a sight I mark’dThat many a spirit marvel’d on his way.
This bred occasion first to speak of me,“He seems,” said they, “no insubstantial frame:”Then to obtain what certainty they might,Stretch’d towards me, careful not to overpassThe burning pale. “O thou, who followestThe others, haply not more slow than they,But mov’d by rev’rence, answer me, who burnIn thirst and fire: nor I alone, but theseAll for thine answer do more thirst, than dothIndian or Aethiop for the cooling stream.Tell us, how is it that thou mak’st thyselfA wall against the sun, as thou not yetInto th’ inextricable toils of deathHadst enter’d?” Thus spake one, and I had straightDeclar’d me, if attention had not turn’dTo new appearance. Meeting these, there came,Midway the burning path, a crowd, on whomEarnestly gazing, from each part I viewThe shadows all press forward, sev’rallyEach snatch a hasty kiss, and then away.E’en so the emmets, ’mid their dusky troops,Peer closely one at other, to spy outTheir mutual road perchance, and how they thrive.
That friendly greeting parted, ere dispatchOf the first onward step, from either tribeLoud clamour rises: those, who newly come,Shout Sodom and Gomorrah!” these, “The cowPasiphae enter’d, that the beast she woo’dMight rush unto her luxury.” Then as cranes,That part towards the Riphaean mountains fly,Part towards the Lybic sands, these to avoidThe ice, and those the sun; so hasteth offOne crowd, advances th’ other; and resumeTheir first song weeping, and their several shout.
Again drew near my side the very same,Who had erewhile besought me, and their looksMark’d eagerness to listen. I, who twiceTheir will had noted, spake: “O spirits secure,Whene’er the time may be, of peaceful end!My limbs, nor crude, nor in mature old age,Have I left yonder: here they bear me, fedWith blood, and sinew-strung. That I no moreMay live in blindness, hence I tend aloft.There is a dame on high, who wind for usThis grace, by which my mortal through your realmI bear. But may your utmost wish soon meetSuch full fruition, that the orb of heaven,Fullest of love, and of most ample space,Receive you, as ye tell (upon my pageHenceforth to stand recorded) who ye are,And what this multitude, that at your backsHave past behind us.” As one, mountain-bred,Rugged and clownish, if some city’s wallsHe chance to enter, round him stares agape,Confounded and struck dumb; e’en such appear’dEach spirit. But when rid of that amaze,(Not long the inmate of a noble heart)He, who before had question’d, thus resum’d:“O blessed, who, for death preparing, tak’stExperience of our limits, in thy bark!Their crime, who not with us proceed, was that,For which, as he did triumph, Caesar heardThe snout of ‘queen,’ to taunt him. Hence their cryOf ‘Sodom,’ as they parted, to rebukeThemselves, and aid the burning by their shame.Our sinning was Hermaphrodite: but we,Because the law of human kind we broke,Following like beasts our vile concupiscence,Hence parting from them, to our own disgraceRecord the name of her, by whom the beastIn bestial tire was acted. Now our deedsThou know’st, and how we sinn’d. If thou by nameWouldst haply know us, time permits not nowTo tell so much, nor can I. Of myselfLearn what thou wishest. Guinicelli I,Who having truly sorrow’d ere my last,Already cleanse me.” With such pious joy,As the two sons upon their mother gaz’dFrom sad Lycurgus rescu’d, such my joy(Save that I more represt it) when I heardFrom his own lips the name of him pronounc’d,Who was a father to me, and to thoseMy betters, who have ever us’d the sweetAnd pleasant rhymes of love. So nought I heardNor spake, but long time thoughtfully I went,Gazing on him; and, only for the fire,Approach’d not nearer. When my eyes were fedBy looking on him, with such solemn pledge,As forces credence, I devoted meUnto his service wholly. In replyHe thus bespake me: “What from thee I hearIs grav’d so deeply on my mind, the wavesOf Lethe shall not wash it off, nor makeA whit less lively. But as now thy oathHas seal’d the truth, declare what cause impelsThat love, which both thy looks and speech bewray.”
“Those dulcet lays,” I answer’d, “which, as longAs of our tongue the beauty does not fade,Shall make us love the very ink that trac’d them.”
“Brother!” he cried, and pointed at a shadeBefore him, “there is one, whose mother speechDoth owe to him a fairer ornament.He in love ditties and the tales of proseWithout a rival stands, and lets the foolsTalk on, who think the songster of LimogesO’ertops him. Rumour and the popular voiceThey look to more than truth, and so confirmOpinion, ere by art or reason taught.Thus many of the elder time cried upGuittone, giving him the prize, till truthBy strength of numbers vanquish’d. If thou ownSo ample privilege, as to have gain’dFree entrance to the cloister, whereof ChristIs Abbot of the college, say to himOne paternoster for me, far as needsFor dwellers in this world, where power to sinNo longer tempts us.” Haply to make wayFor one, that follow’d next, when that was said,He vanish’d through the fire, as through the waveA fish, that glances diving to the deep.
I, to the spirit he had shown me, drewA little onward, and besought his name,For which my heart, I said, kept gracious room.He frankly thus began: “Thy courtesySo wins on me, I have nor power nor willTo hide me. I am Arnault; and with songs,Sorely lamenting for my folly past,Thorough this ford of fire I wade, and seeThe day, I hope for, smiling in my view.I pray ye by the worth that guides ye upUnto the summit of the scale, in timeRemember ye my suff’rings.” With such wordsHe disappear’d in the refining flame.