CANTO XXIVOur journey was not slacken’d by our talk,Nor yet our talk by journeying. Still we spake,And urg’d our travel stoutly, like a shipWhen the wind sits astern. The shadowy forms,That seem’d things dead and dead again, drew inAt their deep-delved orbs rare wonder of me,Perceiving I had life; and I my wordsContinued, and thus spake; “He journeys upPerhaps more tardily then else he would,For others’ sake. But tell me, if thou know’st,Where is Piccarda? Tell me, if I seeAny of mark, among this multitude,Who eye me thus.”—“My sister (she for whom,’Twixt beautiful and good I cannot sayWhich name was fitter ) wears e’en now her crown,And triumphs in Olympus.” Saying this,He added: “Since spare diet hath so wornOur semblance out, ’tis lawful here to nameEach one. This,” and his finger then he rais’d,“Is Buonaggiuna,—Buonaggiuna, heOf Lucca: and that face beyond him, pierc’dUnto a leaner fineness than the rest,Had keeping of the church: he was of Tours,And purges by wan abstinence awayBolsena’s eels and cups of muscadel.”He show’d me many others, one by one,And all, as they were nam’d, seem’d well content;For no dark gesture I discern’d in any.I saw through hunger Ubaldino grindHis teeth on emptiness; and Boniface,That wav’d the crozier o’er a num’rous flock.I saw the Marquis, who tad time erewhileTo swill at Forli with less drought, yet soWas one ne’er sated. I howe’er, like him,That gazing ’midst a crowd, singles out one,So singled him of Lucca; for methoughtWas 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.“Spirit!” said I, “it seems as thou wouldst fainSpeak with me. Let me hear thee. Mutual wishTo converse prompts, which let us both indulge.”He, answ’ring, straight began: “Woman is born,Whose brow no wimple shades yet, that shall makeMy city please thee, blame it as they may.Go then with this forewarning. If aught falseMy whisper too implied, th’ event shall tellBut say, if of a truth I see the manOf that new lay th’ inventor, which beginsWith ‘Ladies, ye that con the lore of love’.”To whom I thus: “Count of me but as oneWho am the scribe of love; that, when he breathes,Take up my pen, and, as he dictates, write.”“Brother!” said he, “the hind’rance which once heldThe notary with Guittone and myself,Short of that new and sweeter style I hear,Is now disclos’d. I see how ye your plumesStretch, as th’ inditer guides them; which, no question,Ours did not. He that seeks a grace beyond,Sees not the distance parts one style from other.”And, as contented, here he held his peace.Like as the bird, that winter near the Nile,In squared regiment direct their course,Then stretch themselves in file for speedier flight;Thus all the tribe of spirits, as they turn’dTheir visage, faster deaf, nimble alikeThrough leanness and desire. And as a man,Tir’d With the motion of a trotting steed,Slacks pace, and stays behind his company,Till his o’erbreathed lungs keep temperate time;E’en so Forese let that holy crewProceed, 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;This know, how soon soever I return,My wishes will before me have arriv’d.Sithence the place, where I am set to live,Is, day by day, more scoop’d of all its good,And dismal ruin seems to threaten it.”“Go now,” he cried: “lo! he, whose guilt is most,Passes before my vision, dragg’d at heelsOf an infuriate beast. Toward the vale,Where guilt hath no redemption, on it speeds,Each step increasing swiftness on the last;Until a blow it strikes, that leaveth himA corse most vilely shatter’d. No long spaceThose wheels have yet to roll” (therewith his eyesLook’d up to heav’n) “ere thou shalt plainly seeThat which my words may not more plainly tell.I quit thee: time is precious here: I loseToo much, thus measuring my pace with shine.”As from a troop of well-rank’d chivalryOne knight, more enterprising than the rest,Pricks forth at gallop, eager to displayHis prowess in the first encounter prov’dSo 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 eyesNo nearer reach’d him, than my thought his words,The branches of another fruit, thick hung,And blooming fresh, appear’d. E’en as our stepsTurn’d thither, not far off it rose to view.Beneath it were a multitude, that rais’dTheir hands, and shouted forth I know not WhatUnto 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 wishAbove them holds aloft, and hides it not.At length, as undeceiv’d they went their way:And we approach the tree, who vows and tearsSue to in vain, the mighty tree. “Pass on,And come not near. Stands higher up the wood,Whereof Eve tasted, and from it was ta’enthis plant.” Such sounds from midst the thickets came.Whence I, with either bard, close to the sideThat rose, pass’d forth beyond. “Remember,” nextWe heard, “those noblest creatures of the clouds,How they their twofold bosoms overgorg’dOppos’d in fight to Theseus: call to mindThe Hebrews, how effeminate they stoop’dTo ease their thirst; whence Gideon’s ranks were thinn’d,As he to Midian march’d adown the hills.”Thus near one border coasting, still we heardThe sins of gluttony, with woe erewhileReguerdon’d. Then along the lonely path,Once more at large, full thousand paces onWe travel’d, each contemplative and mute.“Why pensive journey thus ye three alone?”Thus suddenly a voice exclaim’d: whereatI shook, as doth a scar’d and paltry beast;Then rais’d my head to look from whence it came.Was ne’er, in furnace, glass, or metal seenSo bright and glowing red, as was the shapeI now beheld. “If ye desire to mount,”He cried, “here must ye turn. This way he goes,Who goes in quest of peace.” His countenanceHad dazzled me; and to my guides I fac’dBackward, like one who walks, as sound directs.As when, to harbinger the dawn, springs upOn freshen’d wing the air of May, and breathesOf fragrance, all impregn’d with herb and flowers,E’en such a wind I felt upon my frontBlow gently, and the moving of a wingPerceiv’d, that moving shed ambrosial smell;And then a voice: “Blessed are they, whom graceDoth so illume, that appetite in themExhaleth no inordinate desire,Still hung’ring as the rule of temperance wills.”
Our journey was not slacken’d by our talk,Nor yet our talk by journeying. Still we spake,And urg’d our travel stoutly, like a shipWhen the wind sits astern. The shadowy forms,
That seem’d things dead and dead again, drew inAt their deep-delved orbs rare wonder of me,Perceiving I had life; and I my wordsContinued, and thus spake; “He journeys upPerhaps more tardily then else he would,For others’ sake. But tell me, if thou know’st,Where is Piccarda? Tell me, if I seeAny of mark, among this multitude,Who eye me thus.”—“My sister (she for whom,’Twixt beautiful and good I cannot sayWhich name was fitter ) wears e’en now her crown,And triumphs in Olympus.” Saying this,He added: “Since spare diet hath so wornOur semblance out, ’tis lawful here to nameEach one. This,” and his finger then he rais’d,“Is Buonaggiuna,—Buonaggiuna, heOf Lucca: and that face beyond him, pierc’dUnto a leaner fineness than the rest,Had keeping of the church: he was of Tours,And purges by wan abstinence awayBolsena’s eels and cups of muscadel.”
He show’d me many others, one by one,And all, as they were nam’d, seem’d well content;For no dark gesture I discern’d in any.I saw through hunger Ubaldino grindHis teeth on emptiness; and Boniface,That wav’d the crozier o’er a num’rous flock.I saw the Marquis, who tad time erewhileTo swill at Forli with less drought, yet soWas one ne’er sated. I howe’er, like him,That gazing ’midst a crowd, singles out one,So singled him of Lucca; for methoughtWas 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.
“Spirit!” said I, “it seems as thou wouldst fainSpeak with me. Let me hear thee. Mutual wishTo converse prompts, which let us both indulge.”
He, answ’ring, straight began: “Woman is born,Whose brow no wimple shades yet, that shall makeMy city please thee, blame it as they may.Go then with this forewarning. If aught falseMy whisper too implied, th’ event shall tellBut say, if of a truth I see the manOf that new lay th’ inventor, which beginsWith ‘Ladies, ye that con the lore of love’.”
To whom I thus: “Count of me but as oneWho am the scribe of love; that, when he breathes,Take up my pen, and, as he dictates, write.”
“Brother!” said he, “the hind’rance which once heldThe notary with Guittone and myself,Short of that new and sweeter style I hear,Is now disclos’d. I see how ye your plumesStretch, as th’ inditer guides them; which, no question,Ours did not. He that seeks a grace beyond,Sees not the distance parts one style from other.”And, as contented, here he held his peace.
Like as the bird, that winter near the Nile,In squared regiment direct their course,Then stretch themselves in file for speedier flight;Thus all the tribe of spirits, as they turn’dTheir visage, faster deaf, nimble alikeThrough leanness and desire. And as a man,Tir’d With the motion of a trotting steed,Slacks pace, and stays behind his company,Till his o’erbreathed lungs keep temperate time;E’en so Forese let that holy crewProceed, 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;This know, how soon soever I return,My wishes will before me have arriv’d.Sithence the place, where I am set to live,Is, day by day, more scoop’d of all its good,And dismal ruin seems to threaten it.”
“Go now,” he cried: “lo! he, whose guilt is most,Passes before my vision, dragg’d at heelsOf an infuriate beast. Toward the vale,Where guilt hath no redemption, on it speeds,Each step increasing swiftness on the last;Until a blow it strikes, that leaveth himA corse most vilely shatter’d. No long spaceThose wheels have yet to roll” (therewith his eyesLook’d up to heav’n) “ere thou shalt plainly seeThat which my words may not more plainly tell.I quit thee: time is precious here: I loseToo much, thus measuring my pace with shine.”
As from a troop of well-rank’d chivalryOne knight, more enterprising than the rest,Pricks forth at gallop, eager to displayHis prowess in the first encounter prov’dSo 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 eyesNo nearer reach’d him, than my thought his words,The branches of another fruit, thick hung,And blooming fresh, appear’d. E’en as our stepsTurn’d thither, not far off it rose to view.Beneath it were a multitude, that rais’dTheir hands, and shouted forth I know not WhatUnto 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 wishAbove them holds aloft, and hides it not.
At length, as undeceiv’d they went their way:And we approach the tree, who vows and tearsSue to in vain, the mighty tree. “Pass on,And come not near. Stands higher up the wood,Whereof Eve tasted, and from it was ta’enthis plant.” Such sounds from midst the thickets came.Whence I, with either bard, close to the sideThat rose, pass’d forth beyond. “Remember,” nextWe heard, “those noblest creatures of the clouds,How they their twofold bosoms overgorg’dOppos’d in fight to Theseus: call to mindThe Hebrews, how effeminate they stoop’dTo ease their thirst; whence Gideon’s ranks were thinn’d,As he to Midian march’d adown the hills.”
Thus near one border coasting, still we heardThe sins of gluttony, with woe erewhileReguerdon’d. Then along the lonely path,Once more at large, full thousand paces onWe travel’d, each contemplative and mute.
“Why pensive journey thus ye three alone?”Thus suddenly a voice exclaim’d: whereatI shook, as doth a scar’d and paltry beast;Then rais’d my head to look from whence it came.
Was ne’er, in furnace, glass, or metal seenSo bright and glowing red, as was the shapeI now beheld. “If ye desire to mount,”He cried, “here must ye turn. This way he goes,Who goes in quest of peace.” His countenanceHad dazzled me; and to my guides I fac’dBackward, like one who walks, as sound directs.
As when, to harbinger the dawn, springs upOn freshen’d wing the air of May, and breathesOf fragrance, all impregn’d with herb and flowers,E’en such a wind I felt upon my frontBlow gently, and the moving of a wingPerceiv’d, that moving shed ambrosial smell;And then a voice: “Blessed are they, whom graceDoth so illume, that appetite in themExhaleth no inordinate desire,Still hung’ring as the rule of temperance wills.”