LITMIR.BIZ

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know him

       And make him piteous unto this burden.

      A Latian was I, and born of a great Tuscan;

       Guglielmo Aldobrandeschi was my father;

       I know not if his name were ever with you.

      The ancient blood and deeds of gallantry

       Of my progenitors so arrogant made me

       That, thinking not upon the common mother,

      All men I held in scorn to such extent

       I died therefor, as know the Sienese,

       And every child in Campagnatico.

      I am Omberto; and not to me alone

       Has pride done harm, but all my kith and kin

       Has with it dragged into adversity.

      And here must I this burden bear for it

       Till God be satisfied, since I did not

       Among the living, here among the dead."

      Listening I downward bent my countenance;

       And one of them, not this one who was speaking,

       Twisted himself beneath the weight that cramps him,

      And looked at me, and knew me, and called out,

       Keeping his eyes laboriously fixed

       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

       Which is in Paris called illuminating?"

      "Brother," said he, "more laughing are the leaves

       Touched by the brush of Franco Bolognese;

       All his the honour now, and mine in part.

      In sooth I had not been so courteous

       While I was living, for the great desire

       Of excellence, on which my heart was bent.

      Here of such pride is paid the forfeiture;

       And yet I should not be here, were it not

       That, having power to sin, I turned to God.

      O thou vain glory of the human powers,

       How little green upon thy summit lingers,

       If't be not followed by an age of grossness!

      In painting Cimabue thought that he

       Should hold the field, now Giotto has the cry,

       So that the other's fame is growing dim.

      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,

       And changes name, because it changes side.

      What fame shalt thou have more, if old peel off

       From thee thy flesh, than if thou hadst been dead

       Before thou left the 'pappo' and the 'dindi,'

      Ere pass a thousand years? which is a shorter

       Space to the eterne, than twinkling of an eye

       Unto the circle that in heaven wheels slowest.

      With him, who takes so little of the road

       In front of me, all Tuscany resounded;

       And now he scarce is lisped of in Siena,

      Where he was lord, what time was overthrown

       The Florentine delirium, that superb

       Was at that day as now 'tis prostitute.

      Your reputation is the colour of grass

       Which comes and goes, and that discolours it

       By which it issues green from out the earth."

      And I: "Thy true speech fills my heart with good

       Humility, and great tumour thou assuagest;

       But who is he, of whom just now thou spakest?"

      "That," he replied, "is Provenzan Salvani,

       And he is here because he had presumed

       To bring Siena all into his hands.

      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,

       He brought himself to tremble in each vein.

      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."

      XII. The Sculptures on the Pavement. Ascent to the Second Circle.

       Table of Contents

      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,

       For here 'tis good that with the sail and oars,

       As much as may be, each push on his barque;"

      Upright, as walking wills it, I redressed

       My person, notwithstanding that my thoughts

       Remained within me downcast and abashed.

      I had moved on, and followed willingly

       The footsteps of my Master, and we both

       Already showed how light of foot we were,

      When unto me he said: "Cast down thine eyes;

       'Twere well for thee, to alleviate the way,

       To look upon the bed beneath thy feet."

      As, that some memory may exist of them,

       Above the buried dead their tombs in earth

       Bear sculptured on them what they were before;

      Whence often there we weep for them afresh,

       From pricking of remembrance, which alone

       To the compassionate doth set its spur;

      So saw I there, but of a better semblance

       In point of artifice, with figures covered

       Whate'er as pathway from the mount projects.

      I

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