As, to support1 incumbent floor or roof,
For corbel, is a figure sometimes seen,
That crumples up its knees unto its breast;
With the feign'd posture, stirring ruth unfeign'd
In the beholder's fancy; so I saw

These fashion'd, when I noted well their guise.
Each, as his back was laden, came indeed
Or more or less contracted; and it seem'd
As he, who show'd most patience in his look,
Wailing exclaim'd: "I can endure no more.”

CANTO XI.

ARGUMENT.

After a prayer uttered by the spirits, who were spoken of in the last Canto, Virgil inquires the way upwards, and is answered by one, who declares himself to have been Omberto, son of the Count of Santafiore. Next our Poet distinguishes Oderigi, the illuminator, who discourses on the vanity of worldly fame, and points out to him the soul of Provenzano Salvani.

"O THOU Almighty Father 2! who dost make
The heavens thy dwelling, not in bounds confined,
But that, with love intenser, there thou view'st
Thy primal effluence; hallow'd be thy name:
Join, each created being, to extol

Thy might; for worthy humblest thanks and praise
Is thy blest Spirit. May thy kingdom's peace
Come unto us; for we, unless it come,

With all our striving, thither tend in vain.
As, of their will, the angels unto thee
Tender meet sacrifice, circling thy throne
With loud hosannas; so of their's be done
By saintly men on earth. Grant us, this day,
Our daily manna, without which he roams

1 As, to support.] Chillingworth, cap. vi. § 54, speaks of "those crouching anticks, which seem in great buildings to labour under the weight they bear." And Lord Shaftesbury has a similar illustration in his Essay on Wit and Humour, p. 4. § 3.

20 thou Almighty Father.] The first four lines are borrowed by Pulci, Morg. Magg. c. vi. Dante, in his 'Credo,' has again versified the Lord's Prayer, if, indeed, the 'Credo' be Dante's, which some have doubted; and in the preface to Allacci's Collection it is ascribed to Antonio di Ferrara.

Through this rough desert retrogade, who most
Toils to advance his steps. As we to each
Pardon the evil done us, pardon thou
Benign, and of our merit take no count.
'Gainst the old adversary, prove thou not
Our virtue, easily subdued; but free
From his incitements, and defeat his wiles.
This last petition, dearest Lord! is made
Not for ourselves; since that were needless now;
But for their sakes who after us remain."

Thus for themselves and us good speed imploring,
Those spirits went beneath a weight like that
We sometimes feel in dreams; all, sore beset,
But with unequal anguish; wearied all;
Round the first circuit; purging as they go
The world's gross darkness off. In our behoof
If their vows still be offer'd, what can here
For them be vow'd and done by such, whose wills
Have root of goodness in them1? Well beseems
That we should help them wash away the stains
They carried hence; that so, made pure and light,
They may spring upward to the starry spheres.

"Ah! so may mercy-temper'd justice rid
Your burdens speedily; that ye have power
To stretch your wing, which e'en to your desire
Shall lift you; as ye show us on which hand
Toward the ladder leads the shortest way.
And if there be more passages than one,
Instruct us of that easiest to ascend:

For this man, who comes with me, and bears yet
The charge of fleshly raiment Adam left him,
Despite his better will, but slowly mounts."
From whom the answer came unto these words,

Which my guide spake, appear'd not; but 'twas said:

Along the bank to rightward come with us;

And ye shall find a pass that mocks not toil

Of living man to climb: and were it not

Such, whose wills

Have root of goodness in them.] The Poet has before told us, that there are no others on earth whose prayers avail to shorten the pains of those who are in Purgatory.

That I am hinder'd by the rock, wherewith

This arrogant neck is tamed, whence needs I stoop
My visage to the ground; him, who yet lives,

Whose name thou speak'st not, him I fain would view ;
To mark if e'er I knew him, and to crave
His pity for the fardel that I bear.

I was of Latium1; of a Tuscan born,
A mighty one: Aldobrandesco's name,
My sire's, I know not if ye e'er have heard.
My old blood and forefathers' gallant deeds
Made me so haughty, that I clean forgot
The common mother; and to such excess
Wax'd in my scorn of all men, that I fell,
Fell therefore; by what fate, Sienna's sons,
Each child in Campagnatico, can tell.
I am Omberto: not me, only, pride
Hath injured, but my kindred all involved
In mischief with her. Here my lot ordains
Under this weight to groan, till I
God's angry justice, since I did it not
Amongst the living, here amongst the dead."
Listening I bent my visage down: and one
(Not he who spake) twisted beneath the weight
That urged him, saw me, knew me straight, and call'd;
Holding his eyes with difficultly fix'd

Intent upon me, stooping as I went

66

appease

Companion of their way. "O!" I exclaim'd,

"Art thou not Oderigi?? art not thou

Agobbio's glory, glory of that art

Which they of Paris call the limner's skill?"

"Brother!" said he, "with tints, that gayer smile,
Bolognian Franco's3 pencil lines the leaves.
His all the honour now; my light obscured.
In truth, I had not been thus courteous to him
The whilst I lived, through eagerness of zeal
For that pre-eminence my heart was bent on.

1 I was of Latium.] Omberto, the son of Guglielmo Aldobrandesco, Count of Santafiore, in the territory of Sienna. His arrogance provoked his countrymen to such a pitch of fury against him, that he was murdered by them at Campagnatico. Oderigi.] The illuminator, or miniature painter, a friend of Giotto and Dante. 3 Bolognian Franco.] Franco of Bologna, who is said to have been a pupil of Oderigi's.

2

Here, of such pride, the forfeiture is paid'.
Nor were I even here, if, able still

To sin, I had not turn'd me unto God.

O powers of man! how vain your glory, nipt
E'en in its height of verdure, if an age
Less bright succeed not2. Cimabue thought
To lord it over painting's field; and now
The cry is Giotto's, and his name eclipsed.
Thus hath one Guido from the other 5 snatch'd

1 The forfeiture is paid.] Di tal So in the Inferno, c. xxvii. 135. And Ariosto, Orl. Fur. c. xxii. 59.

2

If an age

superbia quì si paga il fio.

in che si paga il fio.
Prestate olà, che quì si paga il fio.

Less bright succeed not.] If a generation of men do not follow, among whom none exceeds or equals those who have immediately preceded them. "Etati grosse; to which Volpi remarks a similar expression in Boileau. Villon sût le premier, dans ces siécles grossiers, Debrouiller l'art confus de nos vieux romanciers. 3 Cimabue.] Giovanni Cimabue, the restorer of painting, was born at Florence, of a noble family, in 1240, and died in 1300. The passage in the text is an allusion to his epitaph.

Credidit ut Cimabos picturæ castra tenere,

Sic tenuit vivens: nunc tenet astra poli.

Art Poetique, ch. i.

The cry is Giotto's.] In Giotto we have a proof at how early a period the fine arts were encouraged in Italy. His talents were discovered by Cimabue, while he was tending sheep for his father in the neighbourhood of Florence, and he was afterwards patronized by Pope Benedict XI. and Robert King of Naples; and enjoyed the society and friendship of Dante, whose likeness he has transmitted to posterity. He died in 1336, at the age of 60. 5 One Guido from the other.] Guido Cavalcanti, the friend of our Poet, (see Hell, Canto x. 59,) had eclipsed the literary fame of Guido Guinicelli, of a noble family in Bologna, whom we shall meet with in the twentysixth Canto, and of whom frequent and honourable mention is made by our Poet in his treatise de Vulg. Eloq. Guinicelli died in 1276, as is proved by Fantuzzi, on the Bolognian writers, tom. iv. p. 345. See Mr. Mathias's Tiraboschi, tom. i. p. 110. There are more of Guinicelli's poems to be found in Allacci's Collection, than Tiraboschi, who tells us he had not seen it, supposed. From these I have selected two which appear to me singularly pathetic. It must however be observed that the former of them is attributed in the Vatican MS. 3213, to Cino da Pistoia, as Bottari informs us in the notes to Lettere di Fra Guittone d'Arezzo, p. 171. Many of Cavalcanti's writings, hitherto in MS. are said to be publishing at Florence. See Esprit des Journaux, Jan. 1813. [They were edited there in that year, but not for sale, by Antonio Cicciaporci, as I learn from Gamba's Testi di Lingua Ital. 272.] Noi provamo ch' in questo cieco mondo Ciascun si vive in angosciosa doglia, Ch' in onni avversita ventura 'l tira. Beata l'alma che lassa tal pondo. E va nel ciel, dove è compita zoglia, Zoglioso cor far de corrotto e dira. Or dunque di chel vostro cor sospira

The letter'd prize : and he, perhaps, is born',

Who shall drive either from their nest. The noise

Che rallegrar si dè del suo migliore,

Che Dio, nostro signore,

Volse di lei, come avea l'angel detto,
Fare il ciel perfetto.

Per nuova cosa ogni santo la mira:

Ed ella sta d'avante alla salute;

Ed in ver lei parla ogni vertute. Allacci, Ediz. Napoli, 1661, p. 378.

By proof, in this blind mortal world, we know,

That each one lives in grief and sore annoy;
Such ceaseless strife of fortune we sustain.
Blessed the soul, that leaves this weight below,
And goes its way to heaven, where it hath joy
Entire, without a touch of wrath or pain.
Now then what reason hath thy heart to sigh,
That should be glad, as for desire fulfill'd,
That God, our Sovereign, will'd

She, as He told His angel, should be given
To bless and perfect heaven?

Each saint looks on her with admiring eye;
And she stands ever in salvation's sight;
And every virtue bends on her its light.
Conforto già conforto l'amor chiama,
E pietà prega per Dio, fatti resto;
Or v' inchinate a sì dolce preghiera ;
Spogliatevi di questa vesta grama,
Da che voi sete per ragion richiesto.
Che l'uomo per dolor more e dispera.
Con voi vedeste poi la bella ciera.
Se v' accogliesse morte in disperanza,
De si grave pesanza

Traete il vostro cor ormai per Dio,
Che non sia cosi rio

Ver l'alma vostra che ancora spiera
Vederla in ciel e star nelle sue braccia,
Dunque spene dè confortar vi piaccia.

Allacci, Ediz. Napoli, 1661, p. 380.

"Comfort thee, comfort thee," exclaimeth Love;
And Pity by thy God adjures thee "rest: "
Oh then incline ye to such gentle prayer;
Nor Reason's plea should ineffectual prove,
Who bids ye lay aside this dismal vest :

For man meets death through sadness and despair.
Amongst you ye have seen a face so fair:

Be this in mortal mourning some relief.

And, for more balm of grief,

Rescue thy spirit from its heavy load,
Remembering thy God;

And that in heaven thou hopest again to share
In sight of her, and with thine arms to fold:
Hope then; nor of this comfort quit thy hold.
For note, see p. 236.