Not for our pace, though rapid it might be,

My father sweet forbore, but said: "Let fly
The bow of speech thou to the barb hast drawn."
With confidence I opened then my mouth,

And I began: "How can one meagre grow There where the need of nutriment applies not?' "If thou wouldst call to mind how Meleager

Was 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 motion Trembles within a mirror your own image;

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That which seems hard would mellow seem to thee.

But that thou mayst content thee in thy wish
Lo Statius here; and him I call and pray
He 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 mine

Thy mind doth contemplate and doth receive,
They'll be thy light unto the How thou sayest.
The perfect blood, which never is drunk up

Into the thirsty veins, and which remaineth
Like food that from the table thou removest,

Which to be changed to them goes through the veins.

Takes in the heart for all the human members

Virtue informative, as being that

Again digest, descends it where 'tis better

Silent to be than say; and then drops thence

Upon another's blood in natural vase.

There one together with the other mingles,
One to be passive meant, the other active

By reason of the perfect place it springs from ;

And being conjoined, begins to operate,
Coagulating first, then vivifying

What for its matter it had made consistent.

The active virtue, being made a soul

As of a plant, (in so far different,

This on the way is, that arrived already,)

Then works so much, that now it moves and feels
Like a sea-fungus, and then undertakes
To organize the powers whose seed it is.
Now, Son, dilates and now distends itself

The virtue from the generator's heart,

Where nature is intent on all the members.

But how from animal it man becomes

Thou dost not see as yet; this is a point
Which made a wiser man than thou once err

So far, that in his doctrine separate

He 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 fœtus
The articulation of the brain is perfect,
The primal Motor turns to it well pleased
At so great art of nature, and inspires
A spirit new with virtue all replete,
Which what it finds there active doth attract

Into 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 virtually
Bears with itself the human and divine;

The other faculties are voiceless all;

The memory, the intelligence, and the will
In action far more vigorous than before.

Without a pause it falleth of itself

In 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 itself
Into that form which doth impress upon it
Virtually 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 organizes
Thereafter 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 desires

And other affections, so the shade is shaped,
And this is cause of what thou wonderest at."
And now unto the last of all the circles

Had 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 blast
That 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 fire
On this side, and on that the falling down.
My Leader said: "Along this place one ought
To keep upon the eyes a tightened rein,
Seeing that one so easily might err."
"Summæ Deus clementiæ,” in the bosom

Of 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 theirs
Apportioning 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 wood

Diana ran, and drove forth Helice
Therefrom, who had of Venus felt the poison."
Then to their song returned they; then the wives

They 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.

CANTO XXVI.

WHILE on the brink thus one before the other

We went upon our way, oft the good Master

Said: "Take thou heed! suffice it that I warn thee."

On the right shoulder smote me now the sun,
That, raying out, already the whole west
Changed from its azure aspect into white.

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And with my shadow did I make the flame

Appear more red; and even to such a sign Shades saw I many, as they went, give heed. This was the cause that gave them a beginning

To speak of me; and to themselves began they To say: "That seems not a factitious body!" Then towards me, as far as they could come,

Came certain of them, always with regard Not to step forth where they would not be burned. "O thou who goest, not from being slower

But 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 it
Than for cold water Ethiop or Indian.
Tell us how is it that thou makest thyself

A wall unto the sun, as if thou hadst not
Entered as yet into the net of death."
Thus one of them addressed me, and I straight
Should have revealed myself, were I not bent
On other novelty that then appeared.
For through the middle of the burning road

There came a people face to face with these,
Which held me in suspense with gazing at them.

There see I hastening upon either side

Each of the shades, and kissing one another
Without a pause, content with brief salute.
Thus in the middle of their brown battalions

Muzzle to muzzle one ant meets another
Perchance 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 Riphæan mountains

Might 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.

ΙΟ

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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 remained

My members upon earth, but here are with me
With 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 satisfied

May soon become, so that the Heaven may house you
Which 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 multitude
Which goes upon its way behind your backs?"
Not otherwise with wonder is bewildered

The 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 offended
In that for which once Cæsar, triumphing,
Heard himself called in contumely, 'Queen.'
Therefore they separate, exclaiming, 'Sodom!'

Themselves reproving, even as thou hast heard,
And add unto their burning by their shame.
Our own transgression was hermaphrodite ;

But because we observed not human law,
Following like unto beasts our appetite,

In our opprobrium by us is read,

When we part company, the name of her
Who bestialized herself in bestial wood.

Now knowest thou our acts, and what our crime was ;
Wouldst thou perchance by name know who we are,
There is not time to tell, nor could I do it.

Thy wish to know me shall in sooth be granted;
I'm Guido Guinicelli, and now purge me,
Having repented ere the hour extreme."

The same that in the sadness of Lycurgus

Two sons became, their mother re-beholding,
Such I became, but rise not to such height,