For the Barbagia of Sardinia
By far more modest in its women isThan the Barbagia I have left her in.
O brother sweet, what wilt thou have me say?A future time is in my sight already,To which this hour will not be very old,
When from the pulpit shall be interdictedTo the unblushing womankind of FlorenceTo go about displaying breast and paps.
What savages were e’er, what Saracens,Who stood in need, to make them covered go,Of spiritual or other discipline?
But if the shameless women were assuredOf what swift Heaven prepares for them, alreadyWide open would they have their mouths to howl;
For if my foresight here deceive me not,They shall be sad ere he has bearded cheeksWho now is hushed to sleep with lullaby.
O brother, now no longer hide thee from me;See that not only I, but all these peopleAre gazing there, where thou dost veil the sun.”
Whence I to him: “If thou bring back to mindWhat thou with me hast been and I with thee,The present memory will be grievous still.
Out of that life he turned me back who goesIn front of me, two days agone when roundThe sister of him yonder showed herself,”
And to the sun I pointed. “Through the deepNight of the truly dead has this one led me,With this true flesh, that follows after him.
Thence his encouragements have led me up,Ascending and still circling round the mountThat you doth straighten, whom the world made crooked.
He says that he will bear me company,Till I shall be where Beatrice will be;There it behoves me to remain without him.
This is Virgilius, who thus says to me,”And him I pointed at; “the other isThat shade for whom just now shook every slope
Your realm, that from itself discharges him.”
Purgatorio: Canto XXIV
Nor speech the going, nor the going thatSlackened; but talking we went bravely on,Even as a vessel urged by a good wind.
And shadows, that appeared things doubly dead,From out the sepulchres of their eyes betrayedWonder at me, aware that I was living.
And I, continuing my colloquy,Said: “Peradventure he goes up more slowlyThan he would do, for other people’s sake.
But tell me, if thou knowest, where is Piccarda;Tell me if any one of note I seeAmong this folk that gazes at me so.”
“My sister, who, ’twixt beautiful and good,I know not which was more, triumphs rejoicingAlready in her crown on high Olympus.”
So said he first, and then: “’Tis not forbiddenTo name each other here, so milked awayIs our resemblance by our dieting.
This,” pointing with his finger, “is Buonagiunta,Buonagiunta, of Lucca; and that faceBeyond him there, more peaked than the others,
Has held the holy Church within his arms;From Tours was he, and purges by his fastingBolsena’s eels and the Vernaccia wine.”
He named me many others one by one;And all contented seemed at being named,So that for this I saw not one dark look.
I saw for hunger bite the empty airUbaldin dalla Pila, and Boniface,Who with his crook had pastured many people.
I saw Messer Marchese, who had leisureOnce at Forli for drinking with less dryness,And he was one who ne’er felt satisfied.
But as he does who scans, and then doth prizeOne more than others, did I him of Lucca,Who seemed to take most cognizance of me.
He murmured, and I know not what GentuccaFrom that place heard I, where he felt the woundOf justice, that doth macerate them so.
“O soul,” I said, “that seemest so desirousTo speak with me, do so that I may hear thee,And with thy speech appease thyself and me.”
“A maid is born, and wears not yet the veil,”Began he, “who to thee shall pleasant makeMy city, howsoever men may blame it.
Thou shalt go on thy way with this prevision;If by my murmuring thou hast been deceived,True things hereafter will declare it to thee.
But say if him I here behold, who forthEvoked the new-invented rhymes, beginning,‘Ladies, that have intelligence of love?’”
And I to him: “One am I, who, wheneverLove doth inspire me, note, and in that measureWhich he within me dictates, singing go.”
“O brother, now I see,” he said, “the knotWhich me, the Notary, and Guittone heldShort of the sweet new style that now I hear.
I do perceive full clearly how your pensGo closely following after him who dictates,Which with our own forsooth came not to pass;
And he who sets himself to go beyond,No difference sees from one style to another;”And as if satisfied, he held his peace.
Even as the birds, that winter tow’rds the Nile,Sometimes into a phalanx form themselves,Then fly in greater haste, and go in file;
In such wise all the people who were there,Turning their faces, hurried on their steps,Both by their leanness and their wishes light.
And as a man, who weary is with trotting,Lets his companions onward go, and walks,Until he vents the panting of his chest;
So did Forese let the holy flockPass by, and came with me behind it, saying,“When will it be that I again shall see thee?”
“How long,” I answered, “I may live, I know not;Yet my return will not so speedy be,But I shall sooner in desire arrive;
Because the place where I was set to liveFrom day to day of good is more depleted,And unto dismal ruin seems ordained.”
“Now go,” he said, “for him most guilty of itAt a beast’s tail behold I dragged alongTowards the valley where is no repentance.
Faster at every step the beast is going,Increasing evermore until it smites him,And leaves the body vilely mutilated.
Not long those wheels shall turn,” and he upliftedHis eyes to heaven, “ere shall be clear to theeThat which my speech no farther can declare.
Now stay behind; because the time so preciousIs in this kingdom, that I lose too muchBy coming onward thus abreast with thee.”
As sometimes issues forth upon a gallopA cavalier from out a troop that ride,And seeks the honour of the first encounter,
So he with greater strides departed from us;And on the road remained I with those two,Who were such mighty marshals of the world.
And when before us he had gone so farMine eyes became to him such pursuivantsAs was my understanding to his words,
Appeared to me with laden and living boughsAnother apple-tree, and not far distant,From having but just then turned thitherward.
People I saw beneath it lift their hands,And cry I know not what towards the leaves,Like little children eager and deluded,
Who pray, and he they pray to doth not answer,But, to make very keen their appetite,Holds their desire aloft, and hides it not.
Then they departed as if undeceived;And now we came unto the mighty treeWhich prayers and tears so manifold refuses.
“Pass farther onward without drawing near;The tree of which Eve ate is higher up,And out of that one has this tree been raised.”
Thus said I know not who among the branches;Whereat Virgilius, Statius, and myselfWent crowding forward on the side that rises.
“Be mindful,” said he, “of the accursed onesFormed of the cloud-rack, who inebriateCombated Theseus with their double breasts;
And of the Jews who showed them soft in drinking,Whence Gideon would not have them for companionsWhen he tow’rds Midian the hills descended.”
Thus, closely pressed to one of the two borders,On passed we, hearing sins of gluttony,Followed forsooth by miserable gains;
Then set at large upon the lonely road,A thousand steps and more we onward went,In contemplation, each without a word.
“What go ye thinking thus, ye three alone?”Said suddenly a voice, whereat I startedAs terrified and timid beasts are wont.
I raised my head to see who this might be,And never in a furnace was there seenMetals or glass so lucent and so red
As one I saw who said: “If it may please youTo mount aloft, here it behoves you turn;This way goes he who goeth after peace.”
His aspect had bereft me of my sight,So that I turned me back unto my Teachers,Like one who goeth as his hearing guides him.
And as, the harbinger of early dawn,The air of May doth move and breathe out fragrance,Impregnate all with herbage and with flowers,
So did I feel a breeze strike in the midstMy front, and felt the moving of the plumesThat breathed around an odour of ambrosia;
And heard it said: “Blessed are they whom graceSo much illumines, that the love of tasteExcites not in their breasts too great desire,
Hungering at all times so far as is just.”
Purgatorio: Canto XXV
Now was it the ascent no hindrance brooked,Because the sun had his meridian circleTo Taurus left, and night to Scorpio;
Wherefore as doth a man who tarries not,But goes his way, whate’er to him appear,If of necessity the sting transfix him,
In this wise did we enter through the gap,Taking the stairway, one before the other,Which by its narrowness divides the climbers.
And as the little stork that lifts its wingWith a desire to fly, and does not ventureTo leave the nest, and lets it downward droop,
Even such was I, with the desire of askingKindled and quenched, unto the motion comingHe makes who doth address himself to speak.
Not for our pace, though rapid it might be,My father sweet forbore, but said: “Let flyThe bow of speech thou to the barb hast drawn.”
With confidence I opened then my mouth,And I began: “How can one meagre growThere where the need of nutriment applies not?”
“If thou wouldst call to mind how MeleagerWas wasted by the wasting of a brand,This would not,” said he, “be to thee so sour;
And wouldst thou think how at each tremulous motionTrembles within a mirror your own image;That which seems hard would mellow seem to thee.
But that thou mayst content thee in thy wishLo Statius here; and him I call and prayHe now will be the healer of thy wounds.”
“If I unfold to him the eternal vengeance,”Responded Statius, “where thou present art,Be my excuse that I can naught deny thee.”
Then he began: “Son, if these words of mineThy mind doth contemplate and doth receive,They’ll be thy light unto the How thou sayest.
The perfect blood, which never is drunk upInto the thirsty veins, and which remainethLike food that from the table thou removest,
Takes in the heart for all the human membersVirtue informative, as being thatWhich to be changed to them goes through the veins
Again digest, descends it where ’tis betterSilent to be than say; and then drops thenceUpon another’s blood in natural vase.
There one together with the other mingles,One to be passive meant, the other activeBy reason of the perfect place it springs from;
And being conjoined, begins to operate,Coagulating first, then vivifyingWhat for its matter it had made consistent.
The active virtue, being made a soulAs of a plant, (in so far different,This on the way is, that arrived already,)
Then works so much, that now it moves and feelsLike a sea-fungus, and then undertakesTo organize the powers whose seed it is.
Now, Son, dilates and now distends itselfThe virtue from the generator’s heart,Where nature is intent on all the members.
But how from animal it man becomesThou dost not see as yet; this is a pointWhich made a wiser man than thou once err
So far, that in his doctrine separateHe made the soul from possible intellect,For he no organ saw by this assumed.
Open thy breast unto the truth that’s coming,And know that, just as soon as in the foetusThe articulation of the brain is perfect,
The primal Motor turns to it well pleasedAt so great art of nature, and inspiresA spirit new with virtue all replete,
Which what it finds there active doth attractInto its substance, and becomes one soul,Which lives, and feels, and on itself revolves.
And that thou less may wonder at my word,Behold the sun’s heat, which becometh wine,Joined to the juice that from the vine distils.
Whenever Lachesis has no more thread,It separates from the flesh, and virtuallyBears with itself the human and divine;
The other faculties are voiceless all;The memory, the intelligence, and the willIn action far more vigorous than before.
Without a pause it falleth of itselfIn marvellous way on one shore or the other;There of its roads it first is cognizant.
Soon as the place there circumscribeth it,The virtue informative rays round about,As, and as much as, in the living members.
And even as the air, when full of rain,By alien rays that are therein reflected,With divers colours shows itself adorned,
So there the neighbouring air doth shape itselfInto that form which doth impress upon itVirtually the soul that has stood still.
And then in manner of the little flame,Which followeth the fire where’er it shifts,After the spirit followeth its new form.
Since afterwards it takes from this its semblance,It is called shade; and thence it organizesThereafter every sense, even to the sight.
Thence is it that we speak, and thence we laugh;Thence is it that we form the tears and sighs,That on the mountain thou mayhap hast heard.
According as impress us our desiresAnd other affections, so the shade is shaped,And this is cause of what thou wonderest at.”
And now unto the last of all the circlesHad we arrived, and to the right hand turned,And were attentive to another care.
There the embankment shoots forth flames of fire,And upward doth the cornice breathe a blastThat drives them back, and from itself sequesters.
Hence we must needs go on the open side,And one by one; and I did fear the fireOn this side, and on that the falling down.
My Leader said: “Along this place one oughtTo keep upon the eyes a tightened rein,Seeing that one so easily might err.”
“Summae Deus clementiae,” in the bosomOf the great burning chanted then I heard,Which made me no less eager to turn round;
And spirits saw I walking through the flame;Wherefore I looked, to my own steps and theirsApportioning my sight from time to time.
After the close which to that hymn is made,Aloud they shouted, “Virum non cognosco;”Then recommenced the hymn with voices low.
This also ended, cried they: “To the woodDiana ran, and drove forth HeliceTherefrom, who had of Venus felt the poison.”
Then to their song returned they; then the wivesThey shouted, and the husbands who were chaste.As virtue and the marriage vow imposes.
And I believe that them this mode suffices,For all the time the fire is burning them;With such care is it needful, and such food,
That the last wound of all should be closed up.
Purgatorio: Canto XXVI
While on the brink thus one before the otherWe went upon our way, oft the good MasterSaid: “Take thou heed! suffice it that I warn thee.”
On the right shoulder smote me now the sun,That, raying out, already the whole westChanged from its azure aspect into white.
And with my shadow did I make the flameAppear more red; and even to such a signShades saw I many, as they went, give heed.
This was the cause that gave them a beginningTo speak of me; and to themselves began theyTo say: “That seems not a factitious body!”
Then towards me, as far as they could come,Came certain of them, always with regardNot to step forth where they would not be burned.
“O thou who goest, not from being slowerBut reverent perhaps, behind the others,Answer me, who in thirst and fire am burning.
Nor to me only is thine answer needful;For all of these have greater thirst for itThan for cold water Ethiop or Indian.
Tell us how is it that thou makest thyselfA wall unto the sun, as if thou hadst notEntered as yet into the net of death.”
Thus one of them addressed me, and I straightShould have revealed myself, were I not bentOn other novelty that then appeared.
For through the middle of the burning roadThere came a people face to face with these,Which held me in suspense with gazing at them.
There see I hastening upon either sideEach of the shades, and kissing one anotherWithout a pause, content with brief salute.
Thus in the middle of their brown battalionsMuzzle to muzzle one ant meets anotherPerchance to spy their journey or their fortune.
No sooner is the friendly greeting ended,Or ever the first footstep passes onward,Each one endeavours to outcry the other;
The new-come people: “Sodom and Gomorrah!”The rest: “Into the cow Pasiphae enters,So that the bull unto her lust may run!”
Then as the cranes, that to Riphaean mountainsMight fly in part, and part towards the sands,These of the frost, those of the sun avoidant,
One folk is going, and the other coming,And weeping they return to their first songs,And to the cry that most befitteth them;
And close to me approached, even as before,The very same who had entreated me,Attent to listen in their countenance.
I, who their inclination twice had seen,Began: “O souls secure in the possession,Whene’er it may be, of a state of peace,
Neither unripe nor ripened have remainedMy members upon earth, but here are with meWith their own blood and their articulations.
I go up here to be no longer blind;A Lady is above, who wins this grace,Whereby the mortal through your world I bring.
But as your greatest longing satisfiedMay soon become, so that the Heaven may house youWhich full of love is, and most amply spreads,
Tell me, that I again in books may write it,Who are you, and what is that multitudeWhich goes upon its way behind your backs?”
Not otherwise with wonder is bewilderedThe mountaineer, and staring round is dumb,When rough and rustic to the town he goes,
Than every shade became in its appearance;But when they of their stupor were disburdened,Which in high hearts is quickly quieted,
“Blessed be thou, who of our border-lands,”He recommenced who first had questioned us,“Experience freightest for a better life.
The folk that comes not with us have offendedIn that for which once Caesar, triumphing,Heard himself called in contumely, ‘Queen.’