The Portable Dante (56 page)

With less resistance is the sturdy oak uprooted by the winds of storms at home in Europe or by those that Iarbas blows,

than my soul offered to her curt command that I look up at her: she called my face my “beard”! I felt the venom in her words.

And when I raised my head, I did not look at her, but at those first-created ones: they had already ceased their rain of flowers.

Then when I turned my unsure eyes once more, I saw that Beatrice faced the beast who in two natures is one single being.

Though she was veiled and on the other shore, lovelier now, she seemed, than when alive on earth, when she was loveliest of all.

I felt the stabbing pain of my remorse: what I had loved the most of all the things that were not she, I hated now the most.

The recognition of my guilt so stunned my heart, I fainted. What happened then is known only to her who was the cause of it.

When I revived, that lady I first saw strolling alone was now bent over me, saying: “Hold on to me, hold tight. ” She had

led me into the stream up to my neck; now drawing me along she glided light, and with a shuttle’s ease, across the stream.

Before I reached the sacred bank I heard
Asperges me
—so sweetly sung, my mind cannot recall, far less my words retell.

The lovely lady, opening her arms, embraced my head and dipped it in the stream just deep enough to let me drink of it.

She took me from those waters, cleansed, and led me to the dance of the four lovely ones, who raised their arms to join hands over me.

“Here we are nymphs and in the heavens, stars; before Beatrice came into the world we were ordained her handmaids. It is for us

to lead you to her eyes. The other three, who see more deeply, will instruct your sight, as you bathe in her gaze of joyful light, ”

they sang to me; then they accompanied me up to the griffin’s breast, while Beatrice now faced us from the center of the cart.

“Look deeply, look with all your sight, ” they said, “for now you stand before those emeralds from which Love once shot loving darts at you. ”

A thousand yearning flames of my desire held my eyes fixed upon those brilliant eyes that held the griffin fixed within their range.

Like sunlight in a mirror, shining back, I saw the twofold creature in her eyes, reflecting its two natures, separately.

Imagine, reader, how amazed I was to see the creature standing there unchanged, yet, in its image, changing constantly,

And while my soul, delighted and amazed, was tasting of that food which satisfies and, at the same time, makes one hungrier,

the other three, revealing in their mien their more exalted rank, came dancing forth accompanied by angelic melody.

“Turn, Beatrice, turn your sacred eyes, ” they sang, “and look upon your faithful one who came so very far to look at you!

Of your own grace grant us this grace: unveil your mouth for him, allow him to behold that second beauty which you hide from him. ”

O splendor of the eternal living light! Who, having drunk at the Parnassian well, or become pale within that mountain’s shade,

could find with all of his poetic gifts those words that might describe the way you looked, with that harmonious heaven your only veil,

I fixed my eyes on her; they were intent on quenching their ten years of thirst at last— I was bereft of every other sense.

My eyes, walled in by barriers of high indifference, were drawn to her holy smile— they were entranced by her familiar spell.

But, suddenly, my gaze was forced away to where those goddesses stood at my left. “He should not look so hard!” I heard them say.

I was like one who had just strained his eyes by looking straight into the sun too long; indeed, I was left blinded for a while.

When I had grown accustomed to dim light— dim light, I mean, compared to that effulgence from which I had been forced to turn away—

the glorious host, I saw, had wheeled about on its right flank and now was moving back, facing the seven torches and the sun.

When squadrons under shields start to retreat, it is the front-line troops, bearing their colors, who turn before the others can begin—

just so, those soldiers who were in the front of the blest host had all marched past our post before the chariot had turned its pole.

The ladies took their place beside the wheels: the griffin moved, pulling his sacred charge, without a single feather being ruffled.

Statius and I, along with the fair maid who had towed me across the stream, now moved behind the wheel which made the smaller arc.

As we walked through that high wood, empty now because of her who listened to the snake, our steps kept time to strains of heavenly notes.

We had already walked perhaps three times the distance any arrow shot full strength could reach, when Beatrice left the cart.

I heard them all murmuring Adam’s name; and then they formed a circle ‘round a tree whose every branch was stripped of leaf and fruit.

A tree like this in India’s wooded lands would seem a very miracle of height: the more it rose, the wider spread its boughs.

“Blessed art thou, Griffin. Thy sacred beak tears not a shred of this tree’s savory bark, which makes the belly writhe in deadly pain!”

These words were sung by all the others there around the tree. And the two-natured beast: “Thus is preserved the seed of righteousness. ”

Then, turning to the pole which he had pulled, he brought it up against the widowed tree, returning to it what it once brought forth.

Just as the trees on earth in early spring— when the strong rays fall, mingled with the light that glows behind the heaven of the Fish—

begin to swell, burst into bloom, renew the color that was theirs, before the sun hitches his steeds beneath some other stars,

just so, that tree whose boughs had been so bare, renewed itself, and bloomed with color not quite roselike but brighter than a violet.

I did not recognize the hymn that group began to sing—it is not sung on earth, and then, I did not listen to the end.

Could I describe how those insistent eyes were lulled to sleep by the sad tale of Syrinx— the eyes that paid so dear for their long watch—

as painter painting from his model, I would try to show you how I fell asleep. But let whoever can paint sleep, paint sleep!

So, I shall tell you only how I woke: a splendor rent the veil of sleep, a voice was calling me: “What are you doing? Rise!”

When they were led to see that apple tree whose blossoms give the fruit that angels crave, providing an eternal marriage-feast,

Peter and John and James were overpowered by sleep, and then brought back to consciousness by that same word that broke a deeper sleep;

they saw their company had been reduced, for Moses and Elijah were not there; they saw their Master’s robe changed back again.

Just so, I woke to see, bent over me, the sympathetic lady who, before, had been my guide along the riverbank.

Fearful, I cried: “Oh, where is Beatrice?” The lady said: “See, she is sitting there on the tree’s roots beneath the newborn leaves;

behold the company surrounding her. The rest go with the griffin up to Heaven to sweeter music and to deeper strains. ”

I do not know if she said more than this, for now I was allowed to see again the one who reigned completely in my mind.

She sat there on the bare earth, left alone to guard the chariot that I had seen bound to the tree by the two-natured beast.

The circle of the seven nymphs now formed a cloister for the lady; in their hands they held those lights no wind on earth could quench.

“A short time you shall dwell outside the walls; then you, with me, shall live eternally, citizen of that Rome where Christ is Roman.

Now, for the good of sinners in your world, observe the chariot well, and what you see, put into writing, when you have returned. ”

Thus Beatrice. I obediently, devoutly, at the feet of her commands, gave mind and eye to satisfying her.

No bolt of lightning flashing through dense cloud, shot from the farthest region of the sky, has ever struck with such velocity

as moved the bird of Jove who then swooped down and through the tree, tearing off newborn leaves, rending the bark, destroying all the blooms;

with his full force he struck the chariot, which staggered like a ship caught in a storm, careened by waves, tilting starboard and port.

Into the cradle of the glorious car I saw a fox leap up, so lean it seemed the food it fed on had no nourishment.

My lady made it turn and run away, as fast as its weak skin and bones could go, accusing it of foul abominations.

Once more the eagle swooped down through the tree: this time into the framework of the car, to shed some of its golden feathers there;

like sorrow pouring from a grieving heart a voice from Heaven was heard: “My little ship, O what ill-fated cargo you must bear!”