| |
| NOW had I left those spirits, and pursued | |
| The steps of my conductor; when behind, | |
| Pointing the finger at me, one exclaim’d: | |
| “See, how it seems as if the light not shone | |
| From the left hand 1 of him beneath, 2 and he, | 5 |
| As living, seems to be led on.” Mine eyes, | |
| I at that sound reverting, saw them gaze, | |
| Through wonder, first at me; and then at me | |
| And the light broken underneath, by turns. | |
| “Why are thy thoughts thus riveted,” my guide | 10 |
| Exclaim’d, “that thou hast slack’d thy pace? or how | |
| Imports it thee, what thing is whisper’d here? | |
| Come after me, and to their babblings leave | |
| The crowd. Be as a tower, that, firmly set, | |
| Shakes not its top for any blast that blows. | 15 |
| He, in whose bosom thought on thought shoots out, | |
| Still of his aim is wide, in that the one | |
| Sicklies and wastes to naught the other’s strength.” | |
| What other could I answer, save “I come”? | |
| I said it, somewhat with that color tinged, | 20 |
| Which oft-times pardon meriteth for man. | |
| Meanwhile traverse along the hill there came, | |
| A little way before us, some who sang | |
| The “Miserere” in responsive strains. | |
| When they perceived that through my body I | 25 |
| Gave way not for the rays to pass, their song | |
| Straight to a long and hoarse exclaim they changed; | |
| And two of them, in guise of messengers, | |
| Ran on to meet us, and inquiring ask’d: | |
| “Of your condition we would gladly learn.” | 30 |
| To them my guide: “Ye may return, and bear | |
| Tidings to them who sent you, that his frame | |
| Is real flesh. If, as I deem, to view | |
| His shade they paused, enough is answer’d them: | |
| Him let them honor: they may prize him well.” | 35 |
| Ne’er saw I fiery vapors with such speed | |
| Cut through the serene air at fall of night, | |
| Nor August’s clouds athwart the setting sun, | |
| That upward these did not in shorter space | |
| Return; and, there arriving, with the rest | 40 |
| Wheel back on us, as with loose rein a troop. | |
| “Many,” exclaim’d the bard, “are these, who throng | |
| Around us: to petition thee, they come. | |
| Go therefore on, and listen as thou go’st.” | |
| “O spirit! who go’st on to blessedness, | 45 |
| With the same limbs that clad thee at thy birth,” | |
| Shouting they came: “a little rest thy step. | |
| Look, if thou any one amongst our tribe | |
| Hast e’er beheld, that tidings of him there 3 | |
| Thou mayst report. Ah, wherefore go’st thou on? | 50 |
| Ah, wherefore tarriest thou not? We all | |
| By violence died, and to our latest hour | |
| Were sinners, but then warn’d by light from Heaven; | |
| So that, repenting and forgiving, we | |
| Did issue out of life at peace with God, | 55 |
| Who, with desire to see Him, fills our heart.” | |
| Then I: “The visages of all I scan, | |
| Yet none of ye remember. But if aught | |
| That I can do may please you, gentle spirits! | |
| Speak, and I will perform it; by that peace, | 60 |
| Which, on the steps of guide so excellent | |
| Following, from world to world, intent I seek.” | |
| In answer he began: “None here distrusts | |
| Thy kindness, though not promised with an oath; | |
| So as the will fail not for want of power. | 65 |
| Whence I, who sole before the other speak, | |
| Entreat thee, if thou ever see that land 4 | |
| Which lies between Romagna and the realm | |
| Of Charles, that of thy courtesy thou pray | |
| Those who inhabit Fano, that for me | 70 |
| Their adorations duly be put up, | |
| By which I may purge off my grievous sins. | |
| From thence I came. 5 But the deep passages, | |
| Whence issued out the blood 6 wherein I dwelt, | |
| Upon my bosom in Antenor’s land 7 | 75 |
| Were made, where to be more secure I thought. | |
| The author of the deed was Este’s prince, | |
| Who, more than right could warrant, with his wrath | |
| Pursued me. Had I toward Mira fled, | |
| When overta’en at Oriaco, still | 80 |
| Might I have breathed. But to the marsh I sped; | |
| And in the mire and rushes tangled there | |
| Fell, and beheld my life-blood float the plain.” | |
| Then said another: “Ah! so may the wish, | |
| That takes thee o’er the mountain, be fulfill’d, | 85 |
| As thou shalt graciously give aid to mine. | |
| Of Montefeltro I; 8 Buonconte I: | |
| Giovanna 9 nor none else have care for me; | |
| Sorrowing with these I therefore go.” I thus: | |
| “From Campaldino’s field what force or chance | 90 |
| Drew thee, that ne’er thy sepulture was known?” | |
| “Oh!” answer’d he, “at Casentino’s foot | |
| A stream there courseth, named Archiano, sprung | |
| In Apennine above the hermit’s seat. 10 | |
| E’en where its name is cancel’d, 11 there came I, | 95 |
| Pierced in the throat, fleeing away on foot, | |
| And bloodying the plain. Here sight and speech | |
| Fail’d me; and, finishing with Mary’s name, | |
| I fell, and tenantless my flesh remain’d. | |
| I will report the truth; which thou again | 100 |
| Tell to the living. Me God’s angel took, | |
| Whilst he of Hell exclaim’d: ‘O thou from Heaven! | |
| Say wherefore hast thou robb’d me? Thou of him | |
| The eternal portion bear’st with thee away, | |
| For one poor tear that he deprives me of. | 105 |
| But of the other, other rule I make.’ | |
| “Thou know’st how in the atmosphere collects | |
| That vapour dank, returning into water | |
| Soon as it mounts where cold condenses it. | |
| That evil will, 12 which in his intellect | 110 |
| Still follows evil, came; and raised the wind | |
| And smoky mist, by virtue of the power | |
| Given by his nature. Thence the valley, soon | |
| As day was spent, he cover’d o’er with cloud, | |
| From Pratomagno to the mountain range; 13 | 115 |
| And stretch’d the sky above; so that the air | |
| Impregnate changed to water. Fell the rain; | |
| And to the fosses came all that the land | |
| Contain’d not; and, as mightiest streams are wont, | |
| To the great river, with such headlong sweep, | 120 |
| Rush’d, that naught stay’d its course. My stiffen’d frame | |
| Laid at his mouth, the fell Archiano found, | |
| And dashed it into Arno; from my breast | |
| Loosening the cross, that of myself I made | |
| When overcome with pain. He hurl’d me on, | 125 |
| Along the banks and bottom of his course; | |
| Then in his muddy spoils encircling wrapt.” | |
| “Ah! when thou to the world shalt be return’d, | |
| And rested after thy long road,” so spake | |
| Next the third spirit; “then remember me. | 130 |
| I once was Pia. 14 Sienna gave me life; | |
| Maremma took it from me. That he knows, | |
| Who me with jewel’d ring had first espoused.” | |
