CANTO XXIINow we had left the angel, who had turn’dTo the sixth circle our ascending step,One gash from off my forehead raz’d: while they,Whose wishes tend to justice, shouted forth:“Blessed!” and ended with, “I thirst:” and I,More nimble than along the other straits,So journey’d, that, without the sense of toil,I follow’d upward the swift-footed shades;When Virgil thus began: “Let its pure flameFrom virtue flow, and love can never failTo warm another’s bosom’ so the lightShine manifestly forth. Hence from that hour,When ’mongst us in the purlieus of the deep,Came down the spirit of Aquinum’s hard,Who told of thine affection, my good willHath been for thee of quality as strongAs ever link’d itself to one not seen.Therefore these stairs will now seem short to me.But tell me: and if too secure I looseThe rein with a friend’s license, as a friendForgive me, and speak now as with a friend:How chanc’d it covetous desire could findPlace in that bosom, ’midst such ample storeOf wisdom, as thy zeal had treasur’d there?”First somewhat mov’d to laughter by his words,Statius replied: “Each syllable of thineIs a dear pledge of love. Things oft appearThat minister false matters to our doubts,When their true causes are remov’d from sight.Thy question doth assure me, thou believ’stI was on earth a covetous man, perhapsBecause thou found’st me in that circle plac’d.Know then I was too wide of avarice:And e’en for that excess, thousands of moonsHave wax’d and wan’d upon my sufferings.And were it not that I with heedful careNoted where thou exclaim’st as if in ireWith human nature, ‘Why, thou cursed thirstOf gold! dost not with juster measure guideThe appetite of mortals?’ I had metThe fierce encounter of the voluble rock.Then was I ware that with too ample wingThe hands may haste to lavishment, and turn’d,As from my other evil, so from thisIn penitence. How many from their graveShall with shorn locks arise, who living, ayeAnd at life’s last extreme, of this offence,Through ignorance, did not repent. And know,The fault which lies direct from any sinIn level opposition, here With thatWastes its green rankness on one common heap.Therefore if I have been with those, who wailTheir avarice, to cleanse me, through reverseOf their transgression, such hath been my lot.”To whom the sovran of the pastoral song:“While thou didst sing that cruel warfare wag’dBy the twin sorrow of Jocasta’s womb,From thy discourse with Clio there, it seemsAs faith had not been shine: without the whichGood deeds suffice not. And if so, what sunRose on thee, or what candle pierc’d the darkThat thou didst after see to hoist the sail,And follow, where the fisherman had led?”He answering thus: “By thee conducted first,I enter’d the Parnassian grots, and quaff’dOf the clear spring; illumin’d first by theeOpen’d mine eyes to God. Thou didst, as one,Who, journeying through the darkness, hears a lightBehind, that profits not himself, but makesHis followers wise, when thou exclaimedst, ‘Lo!A renovated world! Justice return’d!Times of primeval innocence restor’d!And a new race descended from above!’Poet and Christian both to thee I owed.That thou mayst mark more clearly what I trace,My hand shall stretch forth to inform the linesWith livelier colouring. Soon o’er all the world,By messengers from heav’n, the true beliefTeem’d now prolific, and that word of thineAccordant, to the new instructors chim’d.Induc’d by which agreement, I was wontResort to them; and soon their sanctitySo won upon me, that, Domitian’s ragePursuing them, I mix’d my tears with theirs,And, while on earth I stay’d, still succour’d them;And their most righteous customs made me scornAll sects besides. Before I led the GreeksIn tuneful fiction, to the streams of Thebes,I was baptiz’d; but secretly, through fear,Remain’d a Christian, and conform’d long timeTo Pagan rites. Five centuries and more,T for that lukewarmness was fain to paceRound the fourth circle. Thou then, who hast rais’dThe covering, which did hide such blessing from me,Whilst much of this ascent is yet to climb,Say, if thou know, where our old Terence bides,Caecilius, Plautus, Varro: if condemn’dThey dwell, and in what province of the deep.”“These,” said my guide, “with Persius and myself,And others many more, are with that Greek,Of mortals, the most cherish’d by the Nine,In the first ward of darkness. There ofttimesWe of that mount hold converse, on whose topFor aye our nurses live. We have the bardOf Pella, and the Teian, Agatho,Simonides, and many a Grecian elseIngarlanded with laurel. Of thy trainAntigone is there, Deiphile,Argia, and as sorrowful as erstIsmene, and who show’d Langia’s wave:Deidamia with her sisters there,And blind Tiresias’ daughter, and the brideSea-born of Peleus.” Either poet nowWas silent, and no longer by th’ ascentOr the steep walls obstructed, round them castInquiring eyes. Four handmaids of the dayHad finish’d now their office, and the fifthWas at the chariot-beam, directing stillIts balmy point aloof, when thus my guide:“Methinks, it well behooves us to the brinkBend the right shoulder’ circuiting the mount,As we have ever us’d.” So custom thereWas usher to the road, the which we choseLess doubtful, as that worthy shade complied.They on before me went; I sole pursued,List’ning their speech, that to my thoughts convey’dMysterious lessons of sweet poesy.But soon they ceas’d; for midway of the roadA tree we found, with goodly fruitage hung,And pleasant to the smell: and as a firUpward from bough to bough less ample spreads,So downward this less ample spread, that none.Methinks, aloft may climb. Upon the side,That clos’d our path, a liquid crystal fellFrom the steep rock, and through the sprays aboveStream’d showering. With associate step the bardsDrew near the plant; and from amidst the leavesA voice was heard: “Ye shall be chary of me;”And after added: “Mary took more thoughtFor joy and honour of the nuptial feast,Than for herself who answers now for you.The women of old Rome were satisfiedWith water for their beverage. Daniel fedOn pulse, and wisdom gain’d. The primal ageWas beautiful as gold; and hunger thenMade acorns tasteful, thirst each rivuletRun nectar. Honey and locusts were the food,Whereon the Baptist in the wildernessFed, and that eminence of glory reach’dAnd greatness, which the’ Evangelist records.”
Now we had left the angel, who had turn’dTo the sixth circle our ascending step,One gash from off my forehead raz’d: while they,Whose wishes tend to justice, shouted forth:“Blessed!” and ended with, “I thirst:” and I,More nimble than along the other straits,So journey’d, that, without the sense of toil,I follow’d upward the swift-footed shades;When Virgil thus began: “Let its pure flameFrom virtue flow, and love can never failTo warm another’s bosom’ so the lightShine manifestly forth. Hence from that hour,When ’mongst us in the purlieus of the deep,Came down the spirit of Aquinum’s hard,Who told of thine affection, my good willHath been for thee of quality as strongAs ever link’d itself to one not seen.Therefore these stairs will now seem short to me.But tell me: and if too secure I looseThe rein with a friend’s license, as a friendForgive me, and speak now as with a friend:How chanc’d it covetous desire could findPlace in that bosom, ’midst such ample storeOf wisdom, as thy zeal had treasur’d there?”First somewhat mov’d to laughter by his words,Statius replied: “Each syllable of thineIs a dear pledge of love. Things oft appearThat minister false matters to our doubts,When their true causes are remov’d from sight.Thy question doth assure me, thou believ’stI was on earth a covetous man, perhapsBecause thou found’st me in that circle plac’d.Know then I was too wide of avarice:And e’en for that excess, thousands of moonsHave wax’d and wan’d upon my sufferings.And were it not that I with heedful careNoted where thou exclaim’st as if in ireWith human nature, ‘Why, thou cursed thirstOf gold! dost not with juster measure guideThe appetite of mortals?’ I had metThe fierce encounter of the voluble rock.Then was I ware that with too ample wingThe hands may haste to lavishment, and turn’d,As from my other evil, so from thisIn penitence. How many from their graveShall with shorn locks arise, who living, ayeAnd at life’s last extreme, of this offence,Through ignorance, did not repent. And know,The fault which lies direct from any sinIn level opposition, here With thatWastes its green rankness on one common heap.Therefore if I have been with those, who wailTheir avarice, to cleanse me, through reverseOf their transgression, such hath been my lot.”To whom the sovran of the pastoral song:“While thou didst sing that cruel warfare wag’dBy the twin sorrow of Jocasta’s womb,From thy discourse with Clio there, it seemsAs faith had not been shine: without the whichGood deeds suffice not. And if so, what sunRose on thee, or what candle pierc’d the darkThat thou didst after see to hoist the sail,And follow, where the fisherman had led?”He answering thus: “By thee conducted first,I enter’d the Parnassian grots, and quaff’dOf the clear spring; illumin’d first by theeOpen’d mine eyes to God. Thou didst, as one,Who, journeying through the darkness, hears a lightBehind, that profits not himself, but makesHis followers wise, when thou exclaimedst, ‘Lo!A renovated world! Justice return’d!Times of primeval innocence restor’d!And a new race descended from above!’Poet and Christian both to thee I owed.That thou mayst mark more clearly what I trace,My hand shall stretch forth to inform the linesWith livelier colouring. Soon o’er all the world,By messengers from heav’n, the true beliefTeem’d now prolific, and that word of thineAccordant, to the new instructors chim’d.Induc’d by which agreement, I was wontResort to them; and soon their sanctitySo won upon me, that, Domitian’s ragePursuing them, I mix’d my tears with theirs,And, while on earth I stay’d, still succour’d them;And their most righteous customs made me scornAll sects besides. Before I led the GreeksIn tuneful fiction, to the streams of Thebes,I was baptiz’d; but secretly, through fear,Remain’d a Christian, and conform’d long timeTo Pagan rites. Five centuries and more,T for that lukewarmness was fain to paceRound the fourth circle. Thou then, who hast rais’dThe covering, which did hide such blessing from me,Whilst much of this ascent is yet to climb,Say, if thou know, where our old Terence bides,Caecilius, Plautus, Varro: if condemn’dThey dwell, and in what province of the deep.”“These,” said my guide, “with Persius and myself,And others many more, are with that Greek,Of mortals, the most cherish’d by the Nine,In the first ward of darkness. There ofttimesWe of that mount hold converse, on whose topFor aye our nurses live. We have the bardOf Pella, and the Teian, Agatho,Simonides, and many a Grecian elseIngarlanded with laurel. Of thy trainAntigone is there, Deiphile,Argia, and as sorrowful as erstIsmene, and who show’d Langia’s wave:Deidamia with her sisters there,And blind Tiresias’ daughter, and the brideSea-born of Peleus.” Either poet nowWas silent, and no longer by th’ ascentOr the steep walls obstructed, round them castInquiring eyes. Four handmaids of the dayHad finish’d now their office, and the fifthWas at the chariot-beam, directing stillIts balmy point aloof, when thus my guide:“Methinks, it well behooves us to the brinkBend the right shoulder’ circuiting the mount,As we have ever us’d.” So custom thereWas usher to the road, the which we choseLess doubtful, as that worthy shade complied.They on before me went; I sole pursued,List’ning their speech, that to my thoughts convey’dMysterious lessons of sweet poesy.But soon they ceas’d; for midway of the roadA tree we found, with goodly fruitage hung,And pleasant to the smell: and as a firUpward from bough to bough less ample spreads,So downward this less ample spread, that none.Methinks, aloft may climb. Upon the side,That clos’d our path, a liquid crystal fellFrom the steep rock, and through the sprays aboveStream’d showering. With associate step the bardsDrew near the plant; and from amidst the leavesA voice was heard: “Ye shall be chary of me;”And after added: “Mary took more thoughtFor joy and honour of the nuptial feast,Than for herself who answers now for you.The women of old Rome were satisfiedWith water for their beverage. Daniel fedOn pulse, and wisdom gain’d. The primal ageWas beautiful as gold; and hunger thenMade acorns tasteful, thirst each rivuletRun nectar. Honey and locusts were the food,Whereon the Baptist in the wildernessFed, and that eminence of glory reach’dAnd greatness, which the’ Evangelist records.”