And far as eye of mine could wing its flight, Now on the left, and on the right flank now, The same this cornice did appear to me. Thereon our feet had not been moved as yet,
When I perceived the embankment round about, Which all right of ascent had interdicted, To be of marble white, and so adorned
With sculptures, that not only Polycletus, But Nature's self, had there been put to shame. The Angel, who came down to earth with tidings
Of peace, that had been wept for many a year, And opened Heaven from its long interdict, In front of us appeared so truthfully
There sculptured in a gracious attitude, He did not seem an image that is silent. One would have sworn that he was saying, For she was there in effigy portrayed Who turned the key to ope the exalted love, And in her mien this language had impressed, "Ecce ancilla Dei," as distinctly
As any figure stamps itself in wax.
Keep not thy mind upon one place alone,"
The gentle Master said, who had me standing Upon that side where people have their hearts; Whereat I moved mine eyes, and I beheld
In rear of Mary, and upon that side Where he was standing who conducted me, Another story on the rock imposed;
Wherefore I passed Virgilius and drew near, So that before mine eyes it might be set. There sculptured in the self-same marble were
The cart and oxen, drawing the holy ark, Wherefore one dreads an office not appointed.
People appeared in front, and all of them
In seven choirs divided, of two senses
Made one say "No," the other, "Yes, they sing." Likewise unto the smoke of the frankincense,
Which there was imaged forth, the eyes and nose Were in the yes and no discordant made. Preceded there the vessel benedight,
Dancing with girded loins, the humble Psalmist, And more and less than King was he in this. Opposite, represented at the window
Of a great palace, Michal looked upon him, Even as a woman scornful and afflicted.
I moved my feet from where I had been standing, To examine near at hand another story, Which after Michal glimmered white upon me, There the high glory of the Roman Prince
Was chronicled, whose great beneficence Moved Gregory to his great victory; 'Tis of the Emperor Trajan I am speaking; And a poor widow at his bridle stood, In attitude of weeping and of grief. Around about him seemed it thronged and full Of cavaliers, and the eagles in the gold Above them visibly in the wind were moving. The wretched woman in the midst of these
Seemed to be saying: "Give me vengeance, Lord, For my dead son, for whom my heart is breaking." And he to answer her: "Now wait until
I shall return." And she: "My Lord," like one In whom grief is impatient, "shouldst thou not Return?" And he: "Who shall be where I am
Will give it thee." And she: "Good deed of others What boots it thee, if thou neglect thine own?" Whence he: "Now comfort thee, for it behoves me
That I discharge my duty ere I move; Justice so wills, and pity doth retain me."
He who on no new thing has ever looked Was the creator of this visible language, Novel to us, for here it is not found.
While I delighted me in contemplating The images of such humility,
And dear to look on for their Maker's sake, "Behold, upon this side, but rare they make
Their steps," the Poet murmured, "many people; These will direct us to the lofty stairs."
Mine eyes, that in beholding were intent
To see new things, of which they curious are, In turning round towards him were not slow. But still I wish not, Reader, thou shouldst swerve From thy good purposes, because thou hearest How God ordaineth that the debt be paid; Attend not to the fashion of the torment,
Think of what follows; think that at the worst It cannot reach beyond the mighty sentence. Master," began I, "that which I behold
Moving towards us seems to me not persons, And what I know not, so in sight I waver."
And he to me: "The grievous quality
Of this their torment bows them so to earth, That my own eyes at first contended with it; But look there fixedly, and disentangle
By sight what cometh underneath those stones; Already canst thou see how each is stricken." O ye proud Christians! wretched, weary ones! Who, in the vision of the mind infirm, Confidence have in your backsliding steps, Do ye not comprehend that we are worms,
Born to bring forth the angelic butterfly That flieth unto judgment without screen? Why floats aloft your spirit high in air?
Like are ye unto insects undeveloped, Even as the worm in whom formation fails!
As to sustain a ceiling or a roof,
In place of corbel, oftentimes a figure Is seen to join its knees unto its breast, Which makes of the unreal real anguish
Arise in him who sees it; fashioned thus Beheld I those, when I had ta'en good heed. True is it, they were more or less bent down,
According as they more or less were laden; And he who had most patience in his looks Weeping did seem to say, "I can no more!"
"OUR Father, thou who dwellest in the heavens, Not circumscribed, but from the greater love Thou bearest to the first effects on high, Praised be thy name and thine omnipotence By every creature, as befitting is
To render thanks to thy sweet effluence. Come unto us the peace of thy dominion, For unto it we cannot of ourselves, If it come not, with all our intellect. Even as thine own Angels of their will Make sacrifice to thee, Hosanna singing, all men make sacrifice of theirs. Give unto us this day our daily manna,
Withouten which in this rough wilderness Backward goes he who toils most to advance.
And even as we the trespass we have suffered Pardon in one another, pardon thou Benignly, and regard not our desert. Our virtue, which is easily o'ercome,
Put not to proof with the old Adversary, But thou from him who spurs it so, deliver.
This last petition verily, dear Lord,
Not for ourselves is made, who need it not, But for their sake who have remained behind us." Thus for themselves and us good furtherance
Those shades imploring, went beneath a weight Like unto that of which we sometimes dream, Unequally in anguish round and round
And weary all, upon that foremost cornice, Purging away the smoke-stains of the world. If there good words are always said for us,
What may not here be said and done for them, By those who have a good root to their will? Well may we help them wash away the marks
That hence they carried, so that clean and light They may ascend unto the starry wheels! "Ah! so may pity and justice you disburden
Soon, that ye may have power to move the wing, That shall uplift you after your desire, Show us on which hand tow'rd the stairs the way Is shortest, and if more than one the passes, Point us out that which least abruptly falls; For he who cometh with me, through the burden Of Adam's flesh wherewith he is invested, Against his will is chary of his climbing." The words of theirs which they returned to those That he whom I was following had spoken, It was not manifest from whom they came, But it was said: "To the right hand come with us Along the bank, and ye shall find a pass Possible for living person to ascend.
And were I not impeded by the stone,
Which this proud neck of mine doth subjugate, Whence I am forced to hold my visage down, Him, who still lives and does not name himself, Would I regard, to see if I may know him And make him piteous unto this burden. A Latian was I, and born of a great Tuscan ; Guglielmo Aldobrandeschi was my father; I know not if his name were ever with you.
The ancient blood and deeds of gallantry
Of my progenitors so arrogant made me That, thinking not upon the common mother,
All men I held in scorn to such extent I died therefor, as know the Sienese, And every child in Campagnatico. I am Omberto; and not to me alone
Has pride done harm, but all my kith and kin Has with it dragged into adversity.
And here must I this burden bear for it
Till God be satisfied, since I did not Among the living, here among the dead.” Listening I downward bent my countenance;
And one of them, not this one who was speaking, Twisted himself beneath the weight that cramps him, And looked at me, and knew me, and called out,
Keeping his eyes laboriously fixed
On me, who all bowed down was going with them.
"O," asked I him, "art thou not Oderisi,
Agobbio's honour, and honour of that art Which is in Paris called illuminating?" Brother," said he, "more laughing are the leaves Touched by the brush of Franco Bolognese; All his the honour now, and mine in part, In sooth I had not been so courteous
While I was living, for the great desire Of excellence, on which my heart was bent. Here of such pride is paid the forfeiture ;
And yet I should not be here, were it not That, having power to sin, I turned to God. O thou vain glory of the human powers,
How little green upon thy summit lingers, If't be not followed by an age of grossness!
In painting Cimabue thought that he
Should hold the field, now Giotto has the cry, So that the other's fame is growing dim.
So has one Guido from the other taken
The glory of our tongue, and he perchance
Is born, who from the nest shall chase them both. Naught is this mundane rumour but a breath
Of wind, that comes now this way and now that, And changes name, because it changes side. What fame shalt thou have more, if old peel off
From thee thy flesh, than if thou hadst been dead Before thou left the pappo and the dindi,
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