The Divine Comedy Volume Ii Part 12

"So long as the great dowry of Provence[1] took not the sense of shame from my race, it was little worth, but still it did not ill. Then it began its rapine with force and with falsehood; and, after, for amends,[2] Ponthieu and Normandy it took, and Gascony; Charles[3] came to Italy, and, for amends, made a victim of Conradin,[4] and then thrust Thomas[5] back to heaven for amends.

A time I see, not long after this day, that draws forth another Charles[6] from France to make both himself and his the better known. Without arms he goes forth thence alone, but with the lance with which Judas jousted;[7] and that he thrusts so that he makes the paunch of Florence burst. Therefrom he will gain not land,[8] but sin and shame so much the heavier for himself, as he the lighter reckons such harm. The other,[9] who has already gone out a prisoner from his s.h.i.+p, I see selling his daughter, and bargaining over her, as do the corsairs with other female slaves.

O Avarice, what more canst thou do with us, since thou hast so drawn my race unto thyself that it cares not for its own flesh?

In order that the ill to come and that already done may seem the less, I see the fleur-de-lis entering Anagna, and in his Vicar Christ made a captive.[10] I see him being mocked a second time; I see the vinegar and the gall renewed, and between living thieves him put to death. I see the new Pilate so cruel that this does not sate him, but, without decretal, he bears his covetous sails into the Temple.[11] O my Lord, when shall I be glad in seeing thy vengeance which, concealed, makes sweet thine anger in thy secrecy?

[1] Through the marriage in 1245 of Charles of Anjou, brother of St. Louis (Louis IX.), with Beatrice, the heiress of the Count of Provence.

[2] The bitterness of Dante's irony is explained by the part which France had played in Italian affairs.

[3] Of Anjou.

[4] The youthful grandson of Frederick II., who, striving to wrest Naples and Sicily, his hereditary possessions, from the hands of Charles of Anjou, was defeated and taken prisoner by him in 1267, and put to deaths by him in 1268. His fate excited great compa.s.sion.

[5] Charles was believed to have had St. Thomas Aquinas poisoned.

[6] Charles of Valois, brother of Philip the Fair, sent by Boniface VIII., in 1301, to Florence as peacemaker. But there he wrought great harm, and siding with the Black party, the Whites, including Dante, were driven into exile.

[7] The lance of treachery.

[8] A reference to his nickname of Senza terra, or Lackland.

[9] Charles II., son of Charles of Anjou. In 1283 he was made captive in a sea fight, by Ruggieri de Loria, the Admiral of Peter II. of Aragon. In 1300, according to common report, he sold his young daughter in marriage to the old Marquis of Este.

[10] Spite of his hostility to Boniface VIII., the worst crime of the house of France was, in Dante's eyes, the seizure of the Pope at Anagni, in 1303, by the emissaries of Philip the Fair.

[11] The destruction of the Order of the Temple.

"What I was saying of that only bride of the Holy Spirit, and which made thee turn toward me for some gloss, is ordained for all our prayers so long as the day lasts, but when the night comes, we take up a contrary sound instead. Then we rehea.r.s.e Pygmalion,[1] whom his gluttonous longing for gold made a traitor and thief and parricide; and the wretchedness of the avaricious Midas which followed on his greedy demand, at which men must always laugh. Then of the foolish Achan each one recalls how he stole the spoils, so that the anger of Joshua seems still to sting him, here.[2] Then we accuse Sapphira with her husband; we praise the kicks that Heliodorus received,[3] and in infamy Polymnestor who slew Polydorus[4] circles the Whole mountain.

Finally our cry here is, 'Cra.s.sus, tell us, for thou knowest, what is the taste of gold?'[5] At times one speaks loud, and another low, according to the affection which spurs us to speak now at a greater, now at a less pace. Therefore in the good which by day is here discoursed of, of late I was not alone, but here near by no other person lifted up his voice."

[1] The brother of Dido, and the murderer of her husband for the sake of his riches--Aeneid, i. 353-4.

[2] Joshua, vii.

[3] For his attempt to plunder the treasury of the Temple.--2 Maccabees, iii. 25.

[4] Priam had entrusted Polydorus, his youngest son, to Polymnestor, King of Thrace, who, when the fortunes of Troy declined, slew Polydorus, that he might take possession of the treasure sent with him.

[5] Having been slain in battle with the Parthians, their king poured molten gold down his throat in derision, because of his fame as the richest of men.

We had already parted from him, and were striving to advance along the road so far as was permitted to our power, when I felt the Mountain tremble, like a thing that is falling; whereupon a chill seized me such as is wont to seize him who goes to death.

Surely Delos shook not so violently, before Latona made her nest therein to give birth to the two eyes of heaven.[1] Then began on all sides such a cry that the Master drew towards me, saying: "Distrust not, while I guide thee." "Gloria in excelsis Deo,"[2]

all were saying, according to what I gathered from those near at hand whose cry it was possible to understand. We stopped, motionless and in suspense, like the shepherds who first heard that song, until the trembling ceased, and it was ended. Then we took up again our holy journey, looking at the shades that were lying on the ground, returned already to their wonted plaint. No ignorance ever with so sharp attack made me desirous of knowing--if my memory err not in this--as it seemed to me I then experienced in thought. Nor, for our haste, did I dare to ask, nor of myself could I see aught there. So I went on timid and thoughtful.

[1] Apollo and Diana, the divinities of Sun and Moon.

[2] "Glory to G.o.d in the highest."

CANTO XXI. Fifth Ledge: the Avaricious.--Statius.--Cause of the trembling of the Mountain.--Statius does honor to Virgil.

The natural thirst,[1] which is never satisfied save with the water[2] whereof the poor woman of Samaria besought the grace, was tormenting me, and haste was goading me along the enc.u.mbered way behind my Leader, and I was grieving at the just vengeance; and lo,--as Luke writes for us that Christ, now risen forth from the sepulchral cave, appeared to the two who were on the way,--a shade appeared to us; and it was coming behind us looking at the crowd that lay at its feet: nor did we perceive it, so it spoke first saying, "My Brothers, may G.o.d give you peace!" We turned suddenly, and Virgil gave back to it the greeting which answers to that;[3] then he began: "In the a.s.sembly of the blest may the true court, which relegates me into eternal exile, place thee in peace." "How," said it,--and meanwhile we went on steadily,--"if ye are shades that G.o.d deigns not on high, who hath guided you so far along his stairs?" And my Teacher, "If thou regardest the marks which this one bears, and which the Angel traces, thou wilt clearly see it behoves that with the good he reign. But, because she who spinneth day and night[4] had not for him yet drawn the distaff off, which Clotho loads for each one and compacts, his soul, which is thy sister and mine, coming upwards could not come alone, because it sees not after our fas.h.i.+on. Wherefore I was drawn from out the ample throat of h.e.l.l to show him, and I shall show him so far on as my teaching can lead him. But tell us, if thou knowest, why just now the mountain gave such shocks, and why all seemed to cry together, even down to its moist feet."

Thus asking he shot for me through the needle's eye of my desire, so that only with the hope my thirst became less craving.

[1] "According to that buoyant and immortal sentence with which Aristotle begins his Metaphysics, 'All mankind naturally desire knowledge.'" Matthew Arnold, G.o.d and the Bible, cli. iv. This sentence of Aristotle is cited by Dante in the first chapter of the Convito.

[2] The living water of truth.

[3] To the salutation, "Peace be with you," the due answer is, "And with thy spirit."

[4] Lachesis.

The shade began: "There is nothing which without order the religion of the mountain can feel, or which can be outside its wont.[1] Free is this place from every alteration; of that which heaven receives from itself within itself there may be effect here, but of naught else;[2] because nor rain, nor hail, nor snow, nor dew, nor frost, falls higher up than the little stairway of the three short steps; clouds appear not, or thick or thin; nor lightning, nor the daughter of Thaumas[3] who yonder often changes her quarter; dry vapor[4] rises not farther up than the top of the three steps of which I spoke, where the vicar of Peter has his feet. It trembles perhaps lower down little or much; but up here it never trembles because of wind that is hidden, I know not how, in the earth. It trembles here when some soul feels itself pure, so that it rises or moves to ascend; and such a cry seconds it. Of the purity the will alone makes proof, which surprises the soul, wholly free to change its company, and helps it with the will. The soul wills at first indeed, but the inclination,--which, contrary to the will, Divine Justice sets to the torment, as erst to the sin,--allows it not.[5] And I who have lain in this pain five hundred years and more, only just now felt a free volition for a better seat. Wherefore thou didst feel the earthquake, and hear the pious spirits through the Mountain giving praise to that Lord, who--may He speed them upward soon!"

[1] The religion, the sacred rule, of the Mountain admits nothing that is not ordained and customary.

[2] Whatever happens here is occasioned only by the direct influences of the heavens.

[3] Iris = the rainbow, seen now to the west, now to the east.

[4] Dry vapor, according to Aristotle, was the source of wind and of earthquake.

[5] Until the soul is wholly purified from its sinful disposition,it desires the punishment through; which its purification is accomplished, as it had originally desired the object of its sin. But when it becomes pure, then the will possesses it to mount to Heaven, and becomes effective.

Thus he said to us, and since one enjoys drinking in proportion as the thirst is great, I could not say how much he did me good.

And the sage Leader, "Now I see the net which snares you here, and how it is unmeshed; wherefore it trembles here; and for what ye rejoice together. Now who thou wast may it please thee that I know, and that from thy words I learn why for so many centuries thou hast lain here?" "At the time when the good t.i.tus, with the aid of the Most High King, avenged the wounds wherefrom issued the blood sold by Judas, I was fatuous enough on earth with the name which lasts longest, and honors most,"[1] replied that spirit, "but not as yet with faith. So sweet was my vocal spirit, that me of Toulouse Rome drew to itself, where I deserved to adorn my temples with myrtle. Statius the people still on earth name me. I sang of Thebes, and then of the great Achilles, but I fell on the way with my second load.[2] Seed of my ardor were the sparks that warmed me of the divine flame whereby more than a thousand have been kindled; I speak of the Aeneid, which was mother to me, and was my nurse in poesy: without it I balanced not the weight of a drachm; and to have lived yonder, when Virgil lived, I would agree to one sun more than I owe for my issue from ban."[3]

[1] The name of Poet.

[2] Statius died before completing his Achilleid.

[3] A year more in Purgatory than is due for my punishment.

These words turned Virgil to me with a look which, silent, said, "Be silent:" but the power that wills cannot do everything; for smiles and tears are such followers on the emotion from which each springs, that in the most truthful they least follow the will. I merely smiled, like a man who makes a sign; whereat the shade became silent, and looked at me in the eyes where the expression is most fixed. And it said, "So mayst thou in good complete so great a labor, why aid thy face just now display to me a flash of a smile?" Now am I caught on one side and the other: one bids me be silent, the other conjures me to speak; wherefore I sigh and am understood by my Master, and "Have no fear to speak," he said to me, "but speak, and tell him what he asks so earnestly." Whereon I, "Perhaps thou marvellest, ancient spirit, at the smile I gave; but I would have more wonder seize thee. This one who guides my eyes on high is that Virgil from whom thou didst derive the strength to sing of men and of the G.o.ds. If thou didst believe other cause for my smile, dismiss it as untrue, and believe it to be those words which thou saidst of him." Already he was stooping to embrace the feet of my Leader, but he said to him, "Brother, do it not, for thou art a shade, and thou seest a shade." And he rising, "Now canst thou comprehend the sum of the love that warms me to thee when I forget our vanity, treating the shades as if a solid thing."[1]

[1] Sordello and Virgil (Canto VI.) embraced each other. The shades could thus express their mutual affection. Perhaps it is out of modesty that Virgil here represses Statius, and possibly there may be the under meaning that an act of reverence is not becoming from a soul redeemed, to one banned in eternal exile.

CANTO XXII. Ascent to the Sixth Ledge.--Discourse of Statius and Virgil.--Entrance to the Ledge: the Gluttonous.--The Mystic Tree.--Examples of Temperance.

Already was the Angel left behind us,--the Angel who had turned us to the sixth round,--having erased a stroke[1] from my face; and he had said to us that those who have their desire set on justice are Beati, and his words ended with sitiunt, without the rest.[2] And I, more light than through the other pa.s.ses, was going on so that without any labor I was following upward the swift spirits, when Virgil began, "Love kindled by virtue always kindles another, provided that its flame appear outwardly; wherefore from the hour when amid us Juvenal descended into the limbo of h.e.l.l, and made known to me thy affection, my own good will toward thee was such that more never bound one to an unseen person; so that these stairs will now seem short to me. But tell me (and as a friend pardon me, if too great confidence let loose my rein, and as a friend now talk with me) boxy avarice could find a place within thy breast, amid wisdom so great as that wherewith through thy diligence thou wast filled?"