Canto 34
ARGUMENTIn the infernal pit Astolpho hearsOf Lydia’s woe, by smoke well-nigh opprest.He mounts anew, and him his courser bearsTo the terrestrial paradise addrest.By John advised in all, to heaven he steers;Of some of his lost sense here repossest,Orlando’s wasted wit as well he takes,Sees the Fates spin their threads, and earthward makes.
IO fierce and hungry harpies, that on blindAnd erring Italy so full have fed!Whom, for the scourge of ancient sins designed,Haply just Heaven to every board has sped.Innocent children, pious mothers, pinedWith hunger, die, and see their daily bread,—The orphan’s and the widow’s scanty food—Feed for a single feast that filthy brood.
IIToo foul a fault was his, who did uncloseThat cave long shut, and made the passage free,From whence that greediness, that filth arose,Our Italy’s infection doomed to be.Then was good life extinguished, and reposeSo banished, that with strife and poverty,With fear and trouble, is she still perplext,And shall for many a future year be vext:
IIITill she her sons has shaken by the hair,And from Lethaean sloth to life restored;Exclaiming, “Will none imitate that pair,Zethes and Calais, with avenging swordRescue from claws and stench our goodly fare,And cleanse and glad anew the genial board.As they king Phineus from those fowls released,And England’s peer restored the Nubian’s feast?”
IVHunting those hideous birds, that cavalierAye scared them with the bugle’s horrid sound;Till at the mountain-cave his long careerHe closed, and ran the monstrous troop to ground:Attentive to the vent he held his ear,And in that troubled cavern heard rebound,Weeping and wailing, and eternal yell;Proof certain that its entrance led to hell.
VAstolpho doubts if he within shall wend,And see those wretched ones expelled from day;Into the central pit of earth descend,And the infernal gulfs around survey.“Why should I fear, that on my horn dependFor certain succour?” (did the warrior say)“Satan and Pluto so will I confound,And drive before me their three-headed hound.”
VIHe speedily his winged horse forsook;(Him to a sapling near at hand he ties)The cavern entered next; but first he tookHis horn, whereon the knight in all relies.Not far has he advanced before a smoke,Obscure and foul, offends his nose and eyes.Ranker than pitch and sulphur is the stench,Yet not thereat does good Astolpho blench.
VIIBut as he more descends into that lair,So much he finds the smoke and vapour worse;And it appears he can no further fare;Nay, backward must retrace his way parforce.Lo! something (what he knows not) he in airEspies, that seems in motion, like a corse,Upon whose wasted form long time had beatThe winter’s rain and summers scorching heat.
VIIIIn that dim cavern was so little light,—Yea, well-nigh might be said that light was none—Nought sees or comprehends the English knightWhat wavers so, above that vapour dun:For surer proof, a stroke or two would smiteWith his good faulchion Otho’s valiant son:Then deemed that duke it was a spirit, whomHe seemed to strike amid the misty gloom.
IXWhen him a melancholy voice addressed;“Ah! without harming other, downward wend.Me but too sore the sable fumes molest,Which hither form the hellish fires ascend.”Thereat the duke, amazed, his steps represt,And to the spirit cried: “So may Heaven sendA respite from the vapours that exhale,As thou shalt deign to tell thy mournful tale!
X“And to be known on earth shouldst thou be fain,Thee will I satisfy.” To him the sprite:So sweet it seems to me, in fame againThus to return into the glorious light,My huge desire such favour to obtain,Forces my words from me in my despite,Constraining me to tell the things ye seek;Though ’tis annoyance and fatigue to speak.
XI“Lydia, the child of Lydia’s king, am I,To proud estate and princely honours born,Condemned by righteous doom of God on highIn murky smoke eternally to mourn:Because a kindly lover’s constancyI, while I lived, repaid with spite and scorn.With countless others swarm these grots below,For the same sin, condemned to the same woe.
XII“Yet lower down, harsh AnaxareteSuffers worse pain where thicker fumes arise;Heaven changed her flesh to stone, and here to beTormented, her afflicted spirit sties:In that unmoved she, hung in air, could seeA lover vest by her barbarities.Here Daphne learns how rashly she had doneIn having given Apollo such a run.”
XIII“Of hosts of ingrate women in this cellConfined, it would be tedious to recite,If, one by one, I upon these should dwell;So many, their amount is infinite.‘Twould be more tedious of the men to tell,Whose base ingratitude due pains requite;And whom, in a more dismal prison pent,Smoke blinds, and everlasting fires torment.
XIV“Since to belief soft woman is more prone,He that deceives her, merits heavier pain;To Theseus and to Jason this is known,And him that vexed of old the Latian reign,And him that of his brother AbsalonErewhile provoked the pestilent disdain,Because of Thamar; countless is the hordeOf those who left a wife or wedded lord.
XV“But, rather of my state than theirs to shew,And sin which brought me hither:—I was fair,But so much haughtier was than fair of hue,I know not if I ever equalled were:Nor which was most excessive of the two,My pride of beauty, could to thee declare.Though it is certain, Pride but took its riseIn that rare loveliness which pleased all eyes.
XVI“There lived a Thracian knight, for warlike skillAnd prowess, upon earth without a peer;Who, voiced by many a worthy witness still,The praises of my matchless charms did hear.So that, of forethought and his own free will,Fixed all his love on me that cavalier;Weening this wife that I, upon my part,Should for his valour duly prize his heart.
XVII“He came to Lydia, and by faster tieWas fettered at my sight; and there enrolledAmid my royal father’s chivalry,In mickle fame increased that baron bold.His feats of many a sort, and valour highWould make a tale too tedious to be told;With what his boundless merit had deserved,If a more grateful master he had served.
XVIII“Pamphylia, Caria, and Cilicia’s reign,Through him, my father brought beneath his sway,Who never moved a-field his martial train,But when that warrior pointed out the way:He, when he deemed he had deserved such gain,Pressed close the Lydian king, upon a day,And craved me from the monarch as his wife,As meed of all that booty made in strife.
XIX“Rejected of the monarch was the peer,Who was resolved his child should highly wed;Not him who was a simple cavalier;Who, saving valour, was with nought bested.For on my father, bent on gain and gearAnd avarice, of all vice the fountain-head,Manners and merit for as little pass,As the lute’s music on the lumpish ass.
XX“Alcestes, he of whom I speak (so hightThat warrior), when he sees his suit denied,Repulsed by one, by whom he had most rightTo think that he should most be gratified,Craves his discharge, and threatens he this slightWill make the Lydian monarch dear abide.The Armenian, an old rival of my sire,And mortal for, he sought with this desire;
XXI“And so the monarch urged, he made him rearHis banner, and attack my sire; and, throughHis famous feats, that Thracian cavalierWas named the captain of the invading crew.For the Armenian sovereign, far and near,All things (so said the knight) he would subdue;But claiming as his share, when all was won,My sovereign beauties for the service done.
XXII“I ill to you the mischief could expressAlcestes did us in that war; o’erthrownBy him four armies were, and he in lessThan one short twelvemonth left us neither town,Not tower, save one, where cliffs forbade access:’Twas here my sire, amid those of his ownWhom most he loved, took refuge, in his need,With all the wealth he could collect with speed.
XXIII“Us in this fortilage the knight attacked,And shortly to such desperation drave,That gladly would the king have made a pact,To yield me for his consort, yea his slave,With half our realm, if certain by that actHimself from every other loss to save;Right sure he otherwise should forfeit all,And, after, die in bonds, a captive thrall.
XXIV“Before this happened, to try every wayOf remedy the Lydian king was bent;And thither, where Alcestes’ army lay,Me, the first cause of all the mischief, sent.To yield my person to him as a preyI with intention to Alcestes went;To bid him take what portion of our reignHe pleased, and pacify his fierce disdain.
XXV“When of my coming that good knight does know,Me he encounters pale and trembling sore:‘Twould seem a vanquished man’s a prisoner’s brow,He, rather than a victor’s semblance, bore.I who perceive he loves, address not nowThe warrior as I was resolved before.My vantage I descry, and shift my ground,To fit the state wherein that knight was found.
XXVI“To curse the warrior’s passion I begun,And of his crying cruelty complained,Since foully by my father had he done,And me would have by violence constrained;Who with more grace my person would have won,Nor waited many days, had he maintainedHis course of courtship, as begun whilere.To king and all of us so passing dear;
XXVII“And if the honest suit he hoped to gainHad been at first rejected by my sire,’Twas, he was somedeal of a churlish vein,Nor ever yielded to a first desire;He should not therefore, restive to the rein,Have left his goodly task, so prompt to ire;Sure, passing aye from good to better deed,In little time to win the wished-for meed;
XXVIII“And if my father would not have been won,To him I would so earnestly have prayed,That he my lover should have made his son;Nay, had my royal sire my suit gainsayed,For him in secret that I would have done,Wherewith he should have deemed himself appaid:But since, it seemed, he other means designed,Never to love him had I fixed my mind;
XXIX“And, though I sought him, at my father’s hest,And pious love for him had been my guide,He might be sure, not long should be possestThe bliss that I, in my despite, supplied;For the red blood should issue from my breastAs soon as his ill will was satisfiedOn this my wretched person, which aloneHe so by brutal force should make his own.
XXX“With these, and words like these, I moved the peer,When I such puissance in myself espied;And him so contrite made, in desert drear,Was never seen a saint more mortified.Before my feet the doleful cavalierFell down, and snatched a poniard from his side;Which, he protested, I parforce should take,And for so foul a sin my vengeance slake.
XXXI“To push my mighty victory to an endI scheme, when him I see in such distress,And give him hopes he may even yet pretendThat I deservedly his love should bless,If he his ancient error will amend,Will of his realm my father repossess,And will in future time deserve my charmsBy love and service, not by force of arms.
XXXII“So promised he to do; and set me free,And let me, as I came, untouched, depart;Nor even to kiss my lips he ventured; seeIf he is yoked securely, if his heartLove has well touched with the desire of me,If he for him need feather other dart!He seeks the Armenian, why by pact should takeWhatever spoil the conquering armies make;
XXXIII“And him, as best he might, would fain persuadeTo leave to Lydia’s monarch his domain,Upon whose wasted lands his host had preyed,And rest content with his Armenian reign.—He would not hear of this (the monarch said,With cheers with fury swolen) nor would refrainFrom pressing Lydia’s king with armed band,So long as he possessed a palm of land;
XXXIV“And if the knight, when a vile woman sues,His purpose shift, let him the evil bear:He will not, for the warrior’s asking, loseWhat he has hardly conquered in a year.Alcestes to the king his suit renews,And next complains, that he rejects his prayer.At length the Thracian fires, and threatens high,By love or force the monarch shall comply.
XXXV“So kindling anger waxed between the two,It urged them from ill words to worser deed:Upon the king his sword Alcestes drew;Though thousands aid the monarch in his need,And, in despite of all, their sovereign slew;And made that day as well the Armenian bleed,Backed by the Thracians’ and Cilicians’ aidAnd other followers, by the warrior paid.
XXXVI“His conquest he pursued, and, at his cost,Without expense to us, in less than oneShort month, the kingdom by my father lostRestored; and, to repair the mischief done,(Beside spoil given) he conquered with his host,—Taxing or taking what his arms had won—Armenia and Cappadocia which confine;And scowered Hyrcania to the distant brine.
XXXVII“Him not to greet with triumphs, but to slay,Returning from that warfare, we intend;But, fearing failure, our design delayIn that we find too many him befriend.Feeding him aye with hope from day to day,I for the Thracian warrior love pretend:But first declare my will that he opposeAnd prove his valour on our other foes;
XXXVIII“And him, now sole, now ill accompanied,On strange and perilous emprize I speed;Wherein a thousand knights might well have died;But all things happily with him succeed:For Victory was ever on his side;And oft with horrid foes of monstrous breed,With Giants and with Lestrigons, who broughtDamage in our domains, the warrior fought.
XXXIXNor Juno, nor Eurystheus, in such chaseEver renowned Alcides vext so sore,In Erymanth, Nemaea, Lerna, Thrace,Aetolia, Africa, by Tyber’s shore,By Ebro’s sunny bank, or other place,As (hiding murderous hate, while I implore)I exercise my lover still in strife,With the same fell design upon his life.
XL“Unable to achieve my first intent,I on a scheme of no less mischief fall:Through me, all deemed his friends by him are shent,Who thus bring down on him the hate of all.The Thracian leader never more contentThan to obey, whatever be the call,Is at my bidding ever prompt to smite,Without regarding who or what the wight.
XLI“When I perceive that, through the warrior’s mean,Extinguished is my father’s every foe;And, conquered by himself, that knight is seen—Friendless, through us—I now the masque forego;What I, from him, beneath a flattering mien,Had hitherto concealed, I plainly show;—What deep and deadly hate by bosom fired,And that I but to work his death desired.
XLII“Then, thinking if such course I should pursue,That public shame would still the deed attend,(For men too well my obligations knew,And would be prompt my cruelty to shend.)Meseemed enough to drive him from my view,So that he should no more my eyes offend:Nor would I more address or see the peer,Nor letter would receive or message hear.
XLIII“This my ingratitude in him such painAt length produced, that mastered by his woe,After entreating mercy long in vain,He sickened sore and sank beneath the blow.For pain which fits my sin, dark fumes now stainMy cheek, and with salt rheum mine eyes o’erflow.Thus in eternal torment shall I dwell;For saving mercy helpeth not in hell.”
XLIVSince wretched Lydia spake no more, the peerWould fain discern if more in torment lay;But, those false ingrates’ curse, the darkness drearSo waxed before him, and obscured the way,That not one inch advanced the cavalier;Nay, back parforce returns that warrior; nay,Himself from that increasing smoke to save,Makes for the mouth of the disastrous cave.
XLVThe motion of his quickly shifting feetMore savours of a run than walk or trot.Thus mounting the ascent in swift retreat,Astolpho sees the outlet of the grot;Where, through the darkness of that dismal seatAnd those foul fumes, a dawn of daylight shot;He from the cavern, sorely pained and pined,Issues at last, and leaves the smoke behind;
XLVIAnd next to bar the way against that band,Whose greedy bellies so for victual crave,Picks stones, and trees lays level with his brand,Which charged with pepper or amomum wave;And what might seem a hedge, with busy hand,As best he can, constructs before the cave;And so succeeds in blocking that repair,The harpies shall no more revisit air.
XLVIIWhile in that cave Astolpho did remain,The fumes that from the sable pitch arose,Not only what appeared to sight did stain;But even so searched the flesh beneath his clothes,He sought some cleansing stream, long sought in vain;But found at length a limpid till, which roseOut of a living rock, within that wood,And bathed himself all over in the flood.
XLVIIIThen backed the griffin-horse, and soared a flightWhereby to reach that mountain’s top he schemes,Which little distant, with its haughty height,From the moon’s circle good Astolpho deems;And, such desire to see it warms the knight,That he aspires to heaven, nor earth esteems.Through air so more and more the warrior strains,That he at last the mountain-summit gains.
XLIXHere sapphire, ruby, gold, and topaz glow,Pearl, jacinth, chrysolite and diamond lie,Which well might pass for natural flowers which blow,Catching their colour from that kindly sky.So green the grass! could we have such below,We should prefer it to our emerald’s dye.As fair the foliage of those pleasant bowers!Whose trees are ever filled with fruit and flowers.
LWarble the wanton birds in verdant brake,Azure, and red, and yellow, green and white.The quavering rivulet and quiet lakeIn limpid hue surpass the crystal bright.A breeze, which with one breath appears to shake,Aye, without fill or fall, the foliage light,To the quick air such lively motion lends,That Day’s oppressive noon in nought offends;
LIAnd this, mid fruit and flower and verdure there,Evermore stealing divers odours, went;And made of those mixt sweets a medley rare,Which filled the spirit with a calm content.In the mid plain arose a palace fair,Which seemed as if with living flames it brent.Such passing splendour and such glorious lightShot from those walls, beyond all usage bright.
LIIThither where those transparent walls appear,Which cover more than thirty miles in measure,At ease and slowly moved the cavalier,And viewed the lovely region at his leisure;And deemed—compared with this—that sad and drear,And seen by heaven and nature with displeasure,Was the foul world, wherein we dwell below:So jocund this, so sweet and fair in show!
LIIIAstound with wonder, paused the adventurous knight,When to that shining palace he was nigh,For, than the carbuncle more crimson bright,It seemed one polished stone of sanguine dye.O mighty wonder! O Daedalian sleight!What fabric upon earth with this can vie?Let them henceforth be silent, that in storyExalt the world’s seven wonders to such glory!
LIVAn elder, in the shining entrance-hallOf that glad house, towards Astolpho prest;Crimson his waistcoat was, and white his pall;Vermillion seemed the mantle, milk the vest:White was that ancient’s hair, and white withalThe bushy beard descending to his breast;And from his reverend face such glory beamed,Of the elect of Paradise he seemed.
LVHe, with glad visage, to the paladin,Who humbly, from his sell had lighted, cries:“O gentle baron, that by will divineHave soared to this terrestrial paradise!Albeit nor you the cause of your design,Nor you the scope of your desire surmise,Believe, you not without high mystery steerHitherward, from your arctic hemisphere.
LVI“You for instruction, how to furnish aidTo Charles and to the Church in utmost need,With me to counsel, hither are conveyed,Who without counsel from such distance speed.But, son, ascribe not you the journey madeTo wit or worth; nor through your winged steed,Nor through your virtuous bugle had ye thriven,But that such helping grace from God was given.
LVII“We will discourse at better leisure more,And you what must be done shall after hear;But you that, through long fast, must hunger sore,First brace your strength with us, with genial cheer.”Continuing his discourse, that elder hoarRaised mighty wonder in the cavalier,When he avouched, as he his name disclosed,That he THE HOLY GOSPEL, had composed;
LVIIIHe of our Lord so loved, the blessed John;Of whom a speech among the brethren went,He never should see death, and hence the SonOf God with this rebuke St. Peter shent;In saying, “What is it to thee, if oneTarry on earth, till I anew be sent?”Albeit he said not that he should not die,That so he meant to say we plain descry.
LIXTranslated thither, he found company,The patriarch Enoch, and the mighty seerElias; nor as yet those sainted threeHave seen corruption, but in garden, clearOf earth’s foul air, will joy eternityOf spring, till they angelic trumpets hear,Sounding through heaven and earth, proclaim aloudChrist’s second advent on the silvery cloud.
LXThe holy ancients to a chamber lead,With welcome kind, the adventurous cavalier;And in another then his flying steedSufficiently with goodly forage cheer.Astolpho they with fruits of Eden feed,So rich, that in his judgment ‘twould appear,In some sort might our parents be excusedIf, for such fruits, obedience they refused.
LXIWhen with that daily payment which man owes,Nature had been contented by the peer,As well of due refreshment as repose,(For all and every comfort found he here)And now Aurora left her ancient spouse,Not for his many years to her less dear,Rising from bed, Astolpho at his sideThe apostle, so beloved of God, espied.
LXIIMuch that not lawfully could here be shown,Taking him by the hand, to him he read.“To you, though come from France, may be unknownWhat there hath happened,” next the apostle said;“Learn, your Orlando, for he hath foregoneThe way wherein he was enjoined to tread,Is visited of God, that ever shendsHim whom he loveth best, when he offends:
LXIII“He, your Orlando, at his birth endowedWith sovereign daring and with sovereign might,On whom, beyond all usage, God bestowedThe grace, that weapon him should vainly smite,Because he was selected from the crowdTo be defender of his Church’s right.As he elected Sampson, called whilereThe Jew against the Philistine to cheer;
LXIV“He, your Orlando, for such gifts has madeUnto his heavenly Lord an ill return:Who left his people, when most needing aid,Then most abandoned to the heathens’ scorn.Incestuous love for a fair paynim maidHad blinded so that knight, of grace forlorn,That twice and more in fell and impious strifeThe count has sought his faithful cousin’s life.
LXV“Hence God hath made him mad, and, in this vein,Belly, and breast, and naked flesh expose;And so diseased and troubled is his brain,That none, and least himself, the champion knows,Nebuchadnezzar whilom to such painGod in his vengeance doomed, as story shows;Sent, for seven years, of savage fury full,To feed on grass and hay, like slavering bull.
LXVI“But yet, because the Christian paladineHas sinned against his heavenly Maker less,He only for three months, by will divine,Is doomed to cleanse himself of his excess.Nor yet with other scope did your designOf wending hither the Redeemer bless,But that through us the mode you should explore,Orlando’s missing senses to restore.
LXVII“ ’Tis true to journey further ye will need,And wholly must you leave this nether sphere;To the moon’s circle you I have to lead,Of all the planets to our world most near,Because the medicine, that is fit to speedInsane Orlando’s cure, is treasured here.This night will we away, when over headHer downward rays the silver moon shall shed.”
LXVIIIIn talk the blest apostle is diffuseOn this and that, until the day is worn:But when the sun is sunk i’ the salt sea ooze,And overhead the moon uplifts her horn,A chariot is prepared, erewhile in useTo scower the heavens, wherein of old was borneFrom Jewry’s misty mountains to the sky,Sainted Elias, rapt from mortal eye.
LXIXFour goodly coursers next, and redder farThan flame, to that fair chariot yokes the sire;Who, when the knight and he well seated are,Collects the reins; and heavenward they aspire.In airy circles swiftly rose the car,And reached the region of eternal fire;Whose heat the saint by miracle suspends,While through the parted air the pair ascends.
LXXThe chariot, towering, threads the fiery sphere,And rises thence into the lunar reign.This, in its larger part they find as clearAs polished steel, when undefiled by stain;And such it seems, or little less, when near,As what the limits of our earth contain:Such as our earth, the last of globes below,Including seas, which round about it flow.
LXXIHere doubly waxed the paladin’s surprize,To see that place so large, when viewed at hand;Resembling that a little hoop in size,When from the globe surveyed whereon we stand,And that he both his eyes behoved to strain,If he would view Earth’s circling seas and land;In that, by reason of the lack of light,Their images attained to little height.
LXXIIHere other river, lake, and rich champaignAre seen, than those which are below descried;Here other valley, other hill and plain,With towns and cities of their own supplied;Which mansions of such mighty size contain,Such never he before of after spied.Here spacious hold and lonely forest lay,Where nymphs for ever chased the panting prey.
LXXIIIHe, that with other scope had thither soared,Pauses not all these wonder to peruse:But led by the disciple of our Lord,His way towards a spacious vale pursues;A place wherein is wonderfully storedWhatever on our earth below we lose.Collected there are all things whatsoe’er,Lost through time, chance, or our own folly, here.
LXXIVNor here alone of realm and wealthy dower,O’er which aye turns the restless wheel, I say:I speak of what it is not in the powerOf Fortune to bestow, or take away.Much fame is here, whereon Time and the Hour,Like wasting moth, in this our planet prey.Here countless vows, here prayers unnumbered lie,Made by us sinful men to God on high:
LXXVThe lover’s tears and sighs; what time in pleasureAnd play we here unprofitably spend;To this, of ignorant men the eternal leisure,And vain designs, aye frustrate of their end.Empty desires so far exceed all measure,They o’er that valley’s better part extend.There wilt thou find, if thou wilt thither post,Whatever thou on earth beneath hast lost.
LXXVIHe, passing by those heaps, on either hand,Of this and now of that the meaning sought;Formed of swollen bladders here a hill did stand,Whence he heard cries and tumults, as he thought.These were old crowns of the Assyrian landAnd Lydian—as that paladin was taught—Grecian and Persian, all of ancient fame;And now, alas! well-nigh without a name.
LXXVIIGolden and silver hooks to sight succeed,Heaped in a mass, the gifts which courtiers bear,—Hoping thereby to purchase future meed—To greedy prince and patron; many a snare,Concealed in garlands, did the warrior heed,Who heard, these signs of adulation were;And in cicalas, which their lungs had burst,Saw fulsome lays by venal poets versed.
LXXVIIILoves of unhappy end in imageryOf gold or jewelled bands he saw exprest;Then eagles’ talons, the authorityWith which great lords their delegates invest:Bellows filled every nook, the fume and feeWherein the favourites of kings are blest:Given to those Ganymedes that have their hour,And reft, when faded is their vernal flower.
LXXIXO’erturned, here ruined town and castle lies,With all their wealth: “The symbols” (said his guide)“Of treaties and of those conspiracies,Which their conductors seemed so ill to hide.”Serpents with female faces, feloniesOf coiners and of robbers, he descried;Next broken bottles saw of many sorts,The types of servitude in sorry courts.
LXXXHe marks mighty pool of porridge spilled,And asks what in that symbol should be read,And hears ’twas charity, by sick men willedFor distribution, after they were dead.He passed a heap of flowers, that erst distilledSweet savours, and now noisome odours shed;The gift (if it may lawfully be said)Which Constantine to good Sylvester made.
LXXXIA large provision, next, of twigs and lime—Your witcheries, O women!—he explored.The things he witnessed, to recount in rhymeToo tedious were; were myriads on record,To sum the remnant ill should I have time.’Tis here that all infirmities are stored,Save only Madness, seen not here at all,Which dwells below, nor leaves this earthly ball.
LXXXIIHe turns him back, upon some days and deedsTo look again, which he had lost of yore;But, save the interpreter the lesson reads,Would know them not, such different form they wore.He next saw that which man so little needs,—As it appears—none pray to Heaven for more;I speak of sense, whereof a lofty mountAlone surpast all else which I recount.
LXXXIIIIt was as ‘twere a liquor soft and thin,Which, save well corked, would from the vase have drained;Laid up, and treasured various flasks within,Larger or lesser, to that use ordained.That largest was which of the paladin,Anglantes’ lord, the mighty sense contained;And from those others was discerned, since writUpon the vessel was ORLANDO’S WIT.
LXXXIVThe names of those whose wits therein were pentHe thus on all those other flasks espied.Much of his own, but with more wonderment,The sense of many others he descried,Who, he believed, no dram of theirs had spent;But here, by tokens clear was satisfied,That scantily therewith were they purveyed;So large the quantity he here surveyed.
LXXXVSome waste on love, some seeking honour, loseTheir wits, some, scowering seas, for merchandise,Some, that on wealthy lords their hope repose,And some, befooled by silly sorceries;These upon pictures, upon jewels those;These on whatever else they highest prize.Astrologers’ and sophists’ wits mid these,And many a poet’s too, Astolpho sees.
LXXXVISince his consent the apostle signifiedWho wrote the obscure Apocalypse, his ownHe took, and only to his nose applied,When (it appeared) it to its place was gone;And henceforth, has Sir Turpin certified,That long time sagely lived king Otho’s son;Till other error (as he says) againDeprived the gentle baron of his brain.
LXXXVIIThe fullest vessel and of amplest roundWhich held the wit Orlando erst possessed,Astolpho took; nor this so light he found,As it appeared, when piled among the rest.Before, from those bright spheres, now earthward bound,His course is to our lower orb addressed,Him to a spacious palace, by whose sideA river ran, conducts his holy guide.
LXXXVIIIFilled full of fleeces all its chambers were,Of wool, silk, linen, cotton, in their hue,Of diverse dyes and colours, foul and fair.Yarns to her reel from all those fleeces drew,In the outer porch, a dame of hoary hair.On summer-day thus village wife we view,When the new silk is reeled, its filmy twineWind from the worm, and soak the slender line.
LXXXIXA second dame replaced the work when doneWith other; and one bore it off elsewhere;A third selected from the fleeces spun,And mingled by that second, foul from fair.“What is this labour?” said the peer to John;And the disciple answered Otho’s heir,“Know that the Parcae are those ancient wives,That in this fashion spin your feeble lives.
XC“As long as one fleece lasts, life in such wiseEndureth, nor outlasts it by a thought.For Death and Nature have their watchful eyesOn the hour when each should to his end be brought.The choicest threads are culled for Paradise,And, after, for its ornaments are wrought;And fashioned from the strands of foulest showAre galling fetters for the damned below.”
XCIOn all the fleeces that erewhile were laidUpon the reel, and culled for other care,The names were graved on little plates, which madeOf silver, or of gold, or iron, were,These piled in many heaps he next surveyed;Whence an old man some skins was seen to bear,Who, seemingly unwearied, hurried sore,His restless way retracing evermore.
XCIIThat elder is so nimble and so prest,That he seems born to run; he bears awayOut of those heaps by lapfulls in his vestThe tickets that the different names display.Wherefore and whither he his steps addrest,To you I shall in other canto say,If you, in sign of pleasure, will attend,With that kind audience ye are wont to lend.