Canto XXV
Discourse of Statius on Generation. The Seventh Circle: The Wanton.
4 mins to read
1095 words

Now was it the ascent no hindrance brooked,     Because the sun had his meridian circle     To Taurus left, and night to Scorpio;

Wherefore as doth a man who tarries not,     But goes his way, whate’er to him appear,     If of necessity the sting transfix him,

In this wise did we enter through the gap,     Taking the stairway, one before the other,     Which by its narrowness divides the climbers.

And as the little stork that lifts its wing     With a desire to fly, and does not venture     To leave the nest, and lets it downward droop,

Even such was I, with the desire of asking     Kindled and quenched, unto the motion coming     He makes who doth address himself to speak.

Not for our pace, though rapid it might be,     My father sweet forbore, but said: “Let fly     The bow of speech thou to the barb hast drawn.”

With confidence I opened then my mouth,     And I began: “How can one meagre grow     There where the need of nutriment applies not?”

“If thou wouldst call to mind how Meleager     Was wasted by the wasting of a brand,     This would not,” said he, “be to thee so sour;

And wouldst thou think how at each tremulous motion     Trembles within a mirror your own image;     That which seems hard would mellow seem to thee.

But that thou mayst content thee in thy wish     Lo Statius here; and him I call and pray     He now will be the healer of thy wounds.”

“If I unfold to him the eternal vengeance,”     Responded Statius, “where thou present art,     Be my excuse that I can naught deny thee.”

Then he began: “Son, if these words of mine     Thy mind doth contemplate and doth receive,     They’ll be thy light unto the How thou sayest.

The perfect blood, which never is drunk up     Into the thirsty veins, and which remaineth     Like food that from the table thou removest,

Takes in the heart for all the human members     Virtue informative, as being that     Which to be changed to them goes through the veins

Again digest, descends it where ’tis better     Silent to be than say; and then drops thence     Upon another’s blood in natural vase.

There one together with the other mingles,     One to be passive meant, the other active     By reason of the perfect place it springs from;

And being conjoined, begins to operate,     Coagulating first, then vivifying     What for its matter it had made consistent.

The active virtue, being made a soul     As of a plant, (in so far different,     This on the way is, that arrived already,)

Then works so much, that now it moves and feels     Like a sea-fungus, and then undertakes     To organize the powers whose seed it is.

Now, Son, dilates and now distends itself     The virtue from the generator’s heart,     Where nature is intent on all the members.

But how from animal it man becomes     Thou dost not see as yet; this is a point     Which made a wiser man than thou once err

So far, that in his doctrine separate     He made the soul from possible intellect,     For he no organ saw by this assumed.

Open thy breast unto the truth that’s coming,     And know that, just as soon as in the foetus     The articulation of the brain is perfect,

The primal Motor turns to it well pleased     At so great art of nature, and inspires     A spirit new with virtue all replete,

Which what it finds there active doth attract     Into its substance, and becomes one soul,     Which lives, and feels, and on itself revolves.

And that thou less may wonder at my word,     Behold the sun’s heat, which becometh wine,     Joined to the juice that from the vine distils.

Whenever Lachesis has no more thread,     It separates from the flesh, and virtually     Bears with itself the human and divine;

The other faculties are voiceless all;     The memory, the intelligence, and the will     In action far more vigorous than before.

Without a pause it falleth of itself     In marvellous way on one shore or the other;     There of its roads it first is cognizant.

Soon as the place there circumscribeth it,     The virtue informative rays round about,     As, and as much as, in the living members.

And even as the air, when full of rain,     By alien rays that are therein reflected,     With divers colours shows itself adorned,

So there the neighbouring air doth shape itself     Into that form which doth impress upon it     Virtually the soul that has stood still.

And then in manner of the little flame,     Which followeth the fire where’er it shifts,     After the spirit followeth its new form.

Since afterwards it takes from this its semblance,     It is called shade; and thence it organizes     Thereafter every sense, even to the sight.

Thence is it that we speak, and thence we laugh;     Thence is it that we form the tears and sighs,     That on the mountain thou mayhap hast heard.

According as impress us our desires     And other affections, so the shade is shaped,     And this is cause of what thou wonderest at.”

And now unto the last of all the circles     Had we arrived, and to the right hand turned,     And were attentive to another care.

There the embankment shoots forth flames of fire,     And upward doth the cornice breathe a blast     That drives them back, and from itself sequesters.

Hence we must needs go on the open side,     And one by one; and I did fear the fire     On this side, and on that the falling down.

My Leader said: “Along this place one ought     To keep upon the eyes a tightened rein,     Seeing that one so easily might err.”

“Summae Deus clementiae,” in the bosom     Of the great burning chanted then I heard,     Which made me no less eager to turn round;

And spirits saw I walking through the flame;     Wherefore I looked, to my own steps and theirs     Apportioning my sight from time to time.

After the close which to that hymn is made,     Aloud they shouted, “Virum non cognosco;”     Then recommenced the hymn with voices low.

This also ended, cried they: “To the wood     Diana ran, and drove forth Helice     Therefrom, who had of Venus felt the poison.”

Then to their song returned they; then the wives     They shouted, and the husbands who were chaste.     As virtue and the marriage vow imposes.

And I believe that them this mode suffices,     For all the time the fire is burning them;     With such care is it needful, and such food,

That the last wound of all should be closed up.

Read next chapter  >>
Canto XXVI
Sodomites. Guido Guinicelli and Arnaldo Daniello.
4 mins to read
1225 words
Return to J. Robert Oppenheimer's Favourite Books






Comments