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 Like are ye unto insects undeveloped, 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!" 115 120 125 130 135 CANTO XI. "OUR Father, thou who dwellest in the heavens, To render thanks to thy sweet effluence. Make sacrifice to thee, Hosanna singing, Withouten which in this rough wilderness And even as we the trespass we have suffered Put not to proof with the old Adversary, This last petition verily, dear Lord, Not for ourselves is made, who need it not, 20 But for their sake who have remained behind us." 25 Thus for themselves and us good furtherance Those shades imploring, went beneath a weight Unequally in anguish round and round And weary all, upon that foremost cornice, 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 Soon, that ye may have power to move the wing, And were I not impeded by the stone, Which this proud neck of mine doth subjugate, The ancient blood and deeds of gallantry Of my progenitors so arrogant made me All men I held in scorn to such extent I died therefor, as know the Sienese, Has pride done harm, but all my kith and kin And here must I this burden bear for it Till God be satisfied, since I did not And one of them, not this one who was speaking, 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 "Brother," said he, "more laughing are the leaves While I was living, for the great desire And yet I should not be here, were it not How little green upon thy summit lingers, In painting Cimabue thought that he Should hold the field, now Giotto has the cry, 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, From thee thy flesh, than if thou hadst been dead Ere pass a thousand years? which is a shorter In front of me, all Tuscany resounded; Which comes and goes, and that discolours it And he is here because he had presumed He has gone thus, and goeth without rest E'er since he died; such money renders back In payment he who is on earth too daring." And I: "If every spirit who awaits The verge of life before that he repent, Remains below there and ascends not hither, Unless good orison shall him bestead,) Until as much time as he lived be passed, How was the coming granted him in largess? "When he in greatest splendour lived," said he, "Freely upon the Campo of Siena, All shame being laid aside, he placed himself; And there to draw his friend from the duress Which in the prison-house of Charles he suffered, I say no more, and know that I speak darkly; Yet little time shall pass before thy neighbours Will so demean themselves that thou canst gloss it. This action has released him from those confines." 110 115 120 1:5 130 135 140 CANTO XII. ABREAST, like oxen going in a yoke, I with that heavy-laden soul went on, As long as the sweet pedagogue permitted; But when he said, "Leave him, and onward pass, My person, notwithstanding that my thoughts The footsteps of my Master, and we both Above the buried dead their tombs in earth From pricking of remembrance, which alone So saw I there, but of a better semblance In point of artifice, with figures covered I saw that one who was created noble More than all other creatures, down from heaven I saw Briareus smitten by the dart Celestial, lying on the other side, I saw Thymbræus, Pallas saw, and Mars, Still clad in armour round about their father, Thee I beheld upon the pathway traced, Didst thou appear there lifeless in Gilboa, O mad Arachne! so I thee beheld E'en then half spider, sad upon the shreds Thine image there; but full of consternation |