第 39 节

me, stooping as I went Companion of their way. “O!” I exclaim’d,

“Art thou not Oderigi, art not thou Agobbio’s glory, glory of that art Which they of Paris call the limmer’s skill?”

“Brother!” said he, “with tints that gayer smile, Bolognian Franco’s pencil lines the leaves. His all the honour now; mine borrow’d light. In truth I had not been thus courteous to him, The whilst I liv’d, through eagerness of zeal For that pre-eminence my heart was bent on. Here of such pride the forfeiture is paid. Nor were I even here; if, able still To sin, I had not turn’d me unto God. O powers of man! how vain your glory, nipp’d E’en in its height of verdure, if an age Less bright succeed not! Cimabue thought To lord it over painting’s field; and now The cry is Giotto’s, and his name eclips’d. Thus hath one Guido from the other snatch’d The letter’d prize: and he perhaps is born, Who shall drive either from their nest. The noise Of worldly fame is but a blast of wind, That blows from divers points, and shifts its name Shifting the point it blows from. Shalt thou more Live in the mouths of mankind, if thy flesh Part shrivel’d from thee, than if thou hadst died, Before the coral and the pap were left, Or ere some thousand years have passed? and that Is, to eternity compar’d, a space, Briefer than is the twinkling of an eye To the heaven’s slowest orb. He there who treads So leisurely before me, far and wide Through Tuscany resounded once; and now Is in Sienna scarce with whispers nam’d: There was he sov’reign, when destruction caught The madd’ning rage of Florence, in that day Proud as she now is loathsome. Your renown Is as the herb, whose hue doth come and go, And his might withers it, by whom it sprang Crude from the lap of earth.” I thus to him: “True are thy sayings: to my heart they breathe The kindly spirit of meekness, and allay What tumours rankle there. But who is he Of whom thou spak’st but now?”—“This,” he replied, “Is Provenzano. He is here, because He reach’d, with grasp presumptuous, at the sway Of all Sienna. Thus he still hath gone, Thus goeth never-resting, since he died. Such is th’ acquittance render’d back of him, Who, beyond measure, dar’d on earth.” I then: “If soul that to the verge of life delays Repentance, linger in that lower space, Nor hither mount, unless good prayers befriend, How chanc’d admittance was vouchsaf’d to him?”

“When at his glory’s topmost height,” said he, “Respect of dignity all cast aside, Freely He fix’d him on Sienna’s plain, A suitor to redeem his suff’ring friend, Who languish’d in the prison-house of Charles, Nor for his sake refus’d through every vein To tremble. More I will not say; and dark, I know, my words are, but thy neighbours soon Shall help thee to a comment on the text. This is the work, that from these limits freed him.”

CANTO XII

With equal pace as oxen in the yoke, I with that laden spirit journey’d on Long as the mild instructor suffer’d me; But when he bade me quit him, and proceed (For “here,” said he, “behooves with sail and oars Each man, as best he may, push on his bark”), Upright, as one dispos’d for speed, I rais’d My body, still in thought submissive bow’d.

I now my leader’s track not loth pursued; And each had shown how light we far’d along When thus he warn’d me: “Bend thine eyesight down: For thou to ease the way shall find it good To ruminate the bed beneath thy feet.”

As in memorial of the buried, drawn Upon earth-level tombs, the sculptur’d form Of what was once, appears (at sight whereof Tears often stream forth by remembrance wak’d, Whose sacred stings the piteous only feel), So saw I there, but with more curious skill Of portraiture o’erwrought, whate’er of space From forth the mountain stretches. On one part Him I beheld, above all creatures erst Created noblest, light’ning fall from heaven: On th’ other side with bolt celestial pierc’d Briareus: cumb’ring earth he lay through dint Of mortal ice-stroke. The Thymbraean god With Mars, I saw, and Pallas, round their sire, Arm’d still, and gazing on the giant’s limbs Strewn o’er th’ ethereal field. Nimrod I saw: At foot of the stupendous work he stood, As if bewilder’d, looking on the crowd Leagued in his proud attempt on Sennaar’s plain.

O Niobe! in what a trance of woe Thee I beheld, upon that highway drawn, Sev’n sons on either side thee slain! O Saul! How ghastly didst thou look! on thine own sword Expiring in Gilboa, from that hour Ne’er visited with rain from heav’n or dew!

O fond Arachne! thee I also saw Half spider now in anguish crawling up Th’ unfinish’d web thou weaved’st to thy bane!

O Rehoboam! here thy shape doth seem Louring no more defiance! but fear-smote With none to chase him in his chariot whirl’d.

Was shown beside upon the solid floor How dear Alcmaeon forc’d his mother rate That ornament in evil hour receiv’d: How in the temple on Sennacherib fell His sons, and how a corpse they left him there. Was shown the scath and cruel mangling made By Tomyris on Cyrus, when she cried: “Blood thou didst thirst for, take thy fill of blood!” Was shown how routed in the battle fled Th’ Assyrians, Holofernes slain, and e’en The relics of the carnage. Troy I mark’d In ashes and in caverns. Oh! how fall’n, How abject, Ilion, was thy semblance there!

What master of the pencil or the style Had trac’d the shades and lines, that might have made The subtlest workman wonder? Dead the dead, The living seem’d alive; with clearer view His eye beheld not who beheld the truth, Than mine what I did tread on, while I went Low bending. Now swell out; and with stiff necks Pass on, ye sons of Eve! veil not your looks, Lest they descry the evil of your path!

I noted not (so busied was my thought) How much we now had circled of the mount, And of his course yet more the sun had spent, When he, who with still wakeful caution went, Admonish’d: “Raise thou up thy head: for know Time is not now for slow suspense. Behold That way an angel hasting towards us! Lo Where duly the sixth handmaid doth return From service on the day. Wear thou in look And gesture seemly grace of reverent awe, That gladly he may forward us aloft. Consider that this day ne’er dawns again.”

Time’s loss he had so often warn’d me ’gainst, I could not miss the scope at which he aim’d.

The goodly shape approach’d us, snowy white In vesture, and with visage casting streams Of tremulous lustre like the matin star. His arms he open’d, then his wings; and spake: “Onward: the steps, behold! are near; and now Th’ ascent is without difficulty gain’d.”

A scanty few are they, who when they hear Such tidings, hasten. O ye race of men Though born to soar, why suffer ye a wind So slight to baffle ye? He led us on Where the rock parted; here against my front Did beat his wings, then promis’d I should fare In safety on my way. As to ascend That steep, upon whose brow the chapel stands (O’er Rubaconte, looking lordly down On the well-guided city,) up the right Th’ impetuous rise is broken by the steps