[2] Brother of the famous Corso Donati, and related to Dante, whose wife was Gemma de’ Donati.
“Ah, strive not [1] with the dry scab that discolors my skin,” he prayed, “nor with my lack of flesh, but tell me the truth about thyself; and who are these two souls, who yonder make an escort for thee: stay not thou from speaking to me.” “Thy face, which once I wept for dead, now gives me for weeping no less a grief,” replied I, “seeing it so disfigured; therefore, tell me, for God’s sake, what so despoils you; make me not speak while I am marvelling; for ill can he speak who is full of another wish.” And he to me, “From the eternal council falls a power into the water and into the plant, now left behind, whereby I become so thin. All this folk who sing weeping, because of following their appetite beyond measure, here in hunger and in thirst make themselves holy again. The odour which issues from the apple and from the spray that spreads over the verdure kindles in us desire to eat and drink. And not once only as we circle this floor is our pain renewed; I say pain, and ought to say solace, for that will leads us to the tree which led Christ gladly to say, ‘Eli,’[2] when with his blood he delivered us.” And I to him, “Forese, from that day on which thou didst change world to a better life, up to this time five years have not rolled round. If the power of sinning further had ended in thee, ere the hour supervened of the good grief that to God reweds us, how hast thou come up hither?[3] I thought to find thee still down there below, where time is made good by time.” And he to me, “My Nella with her bursting tears has brought me thus quickly to drink of the sweet wormwood of these torments. With her devout prayers and with sighs has she drawn me from the shore where one waits, and has delivered me from the other circles. So much the more dear and more beloved of God is my little widow, whom I loved so much, as she is the more solitary in good works; for the Barbagia[4] of Sardinia is far more modest in its women than the Barbagia where I left her. O sweet brother, what wouldst thou that I say? A future time is already in my sight, to which this hour will not be very old, in which from the pulpit it shall be forbidden to the brazen-faced dames of Florence to go displaying the bosom with the paps. What Barbarian, what Saracen women were there ever who required either spiritual or other discipline to make them go covered? But if the shameless ones were aware of that which the swift heaven is preparing for them, already would they have their mouths open for howling. For if foresight here deceives me not, they will be sad ere he who is now consoled with the lullaby covers his cheeks with hair. Ak brother, now no longer conceal thyself from me; thou seest that not only I but all these people are gazing there where thou dost veil the sun.” Whereon I to him: “If thou bring back to mind what thou wast with me, and what I was with thee, the present remembrance will even now be grievous. From that life he who goes before me turned me the other day, when the sister of him yonder,” and I pointed to the sun, “showed herself round. Through the deep night, from the truly dead, he has led me, with this true flesh which follows him. Thence his counsels have drawn me up, ascending and circling the mountain that sets you straight whom the world made crooked. So long he says that he will bear me company till I shall be there where Beatrice will be; there it behoves that I remain without him. Virgil is he who says thus to me,” and I pointed to him, “and this other is that shade for whom just now your realm, which from itself releases him, shook every slope.”
[1] Do not, for striving to see me through my changed look, delay to speak.
[2] Willingly to accept his suffering, even when he exclaimed, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”—Matthew, xxvii. 46.
[3] If thou didst delay repentance until thou couldst sin no more, how is it that so speedily thou hast arrived here?
[4] A mountainous district in Sardinia, inhabited by people of barbarous customs.
CANTO XXIV.
Sixth Ledge: the Gluttonous.—Forese Donati.—Bonagiunta of Lucca—Pope Martin IV—Ubaldin dalla Pila.—Bonifazio.—Messer Marchese.—Prophecy of Bonagiunta concerning Gentucca, and of Forese concerning Corso de’ Donati.—Second Mystic Tree.—The Angel of the Pass.
Speech made not the going, nor the going made that more slow; but, talking, we went on apace even as a ship urged by good wind. And the shades, that seemed things doubly dead, through the pits of their eyes drew in wonder at me, perceiving that I was alive.
And I, continuing my discourse, said, “He[1] goeth up perchance for another’s sake more slowly than he would do. But, tell me, if thou knowest, where is Piccarda[2] tell me if I see person of note among this folk that so gazes at me.” “My sister, who, between fair and good, was I know not which the most, triumphs rejoicing in her crown already on high Olympus.” So he said first, and then, “Here it is not forbidden to name each other, since our semblance is so milked away by the diet.[3] This,” and he pointed with his finger, “is Bonagiunta,[4] Bonagiunta of Lucca; and that face beyond him, more sharpened than the others, had the Holy Church in his arms:[5]from Tours he was; and by fasting he purges the eels of Bolsena, and the Vernaccia wine.” Many others he named to me, one by one, and at their naming all appeared content; so that for this I saw not one dark mien. For hunger using their teeth on emptiness, I saw Ubaldin dalla Pila, and Boniface,[6] who shepherded many people with his crook. I saw Messer Marchese, who once had leisure to drink at Forum with less thirst, and even so was such that he felt not sated. But as one does who looks, and then makes account more of one than of another, did I of him of Lucca, who seemed to have most cognizance of me. He was murmuring; and I know not what, save that I heard “Gentucca” there[7] where he felt the chastisement of the justice which so strips them. “O soul,” said I, “who seemest so desirous to speak with me, do so that I may hear thee, and satisfy both thyself and me by thy speech.” “A woman is born, and wears not yet the veil,”[8] he began, “who will make my city pleasant to thee, however men may blame it.[9] Thou shalt go on with this prevision: if from my murmuring thou hast received error, the true things will yet clear it up for thee. But say, if I here see him, who drew forth the new rhymes, beginning, ‘Ladies who have intelligence of Love’?”[10] And I to him, “I am one, who, when Love inspires me, notes, and in that measure which he dictates within, I go revealing.” “O brother, now I see,” said he, “the knot which held back the Notary,[11] and Guittone,[12] and me short of the sweet new style that I hear. I see clearly how your pens go on close following the dictator, which surely befell not with ours. And he who most sets himself to look further sees nothing more between one style and the other.” [13] And, as if contented, he was silent.