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Purgatory Canto 23

Canto XXIII
Argument

They are overtaken by the spirit of Forese, who had been a friend of our Poet's on earth, and who now inveighs bitterly against the immodest dress of their countrywomen at Florence.

On the green leaf mine eyes were fix'd, like his Who throws away his days in idle chase Of the diminutive birds, when thus I heard The more than father warn me: "Son! our time Asks thriftier using. Linger not: away!"
Thereat my face and steps at once I turn'd Toward the sages, by whose converse cheer'd I journey'd on, and felt no toil: and lo!
A sound of weeping, and a song: "My lips, O Lord!" and these so mingled, it gave birth To pleasure and to pain. "O Sire beloved!
Say what is this I hear.
" Thus I inquired.

[1: "O Lord, open thou my lips; and my mouth shall show forth thy praise." - Psalm li. 15.]

\"Spirits," said he, "who, as they go, perchance, Their debt of duty pay." As on their road The thoughtful pilgrims, overtaking some Not known unto them, turn to them, and look, But stay not; thus, approaching from behind With speedier motion, eyed us, as they pass'd, A crowd of spirits, silent and devout.

The eyes of each were dark and hollow; pale Their visage, and so lean withal, the bones Stood staring through the skin. I do not think Thus dry and meagre Erisichthon show'd, When pinch'd by sharp - set famine to the quick.

"Lo!" to myself I mused, "the race, who lost Jerusalem, when Mary with dire beak Prey'd on her child." The sockets seem'd as rings, From which the gems were dropt. Who reads the name Of man upon his forehead, there the M Had traced most plainly. Who would deem, that scent Of water and an apple could have proved Powerful to generate such pining want, Not knowing how it wrought? While now I stood, Wondering what thus could waste them, (for the cause Of their gaunt hollowness and scaly rind Appear'd not,) lo! a spirit turn'd his eyes In their deep - sunken cells, and fasten'd them On me, then cried with vehemence aloud:
"What grace is this vouchsafed me?" By his looks I ne'er had recognized him: but the voice Brought to my knowledge what his cheer conceal'd.
Remembrance of his alter'd lineaments Was kindled from that spark; and I agnized The visage of Forese.. "Ah! respect This wan and leprous - wither'd skin," thus he Suppliant implored, "this macerated flesh.
Speak to me truly of thyself. And who Are those twain spirits, that escort thee there?
Be it not said thou scorn'st to talk with me."

[2: The temples, nose, and forehead are supposed to represent this letter [of the Latin word (H)OMO - man], and the eyes the two O's.]

[3: A
brother of Piccarda. See also Canto xxiv. and Paradise, Canto iii. Cionacci is referred to by Lombardi, in order to show that Forese was also the brother of Corso Donati, our author's political enemy.]

"That face of thine," I answer'd him, "which dead I once bewail'd, disposes me not less For weeping, when I see it thus transform'd.
Say then, by Heaven, what blasts ye thus? The whilst I wonder, ask not speech from me: unapt Is he to speak, whom other will employs."

He thus: "The water and the plant, we pass'd With power are gifted, by the eternal will Infused; the which so pines me. Every spirit, Whose song bewails his gluttony indulged Too grossly, here in hunger and in thirst Is purified. The odour, which the fruit, And spray that showers upon the verdure, breathe, Inflames us with desire to feed and drink.
Nor once alone, encompassing our route, We come to add fresh fuel to the pain: Pain, said I? solace rather: for that will, To the tree, leads us, by which Christ was led To call on Eli, joyful, when he paid Our ransom from his vein." I answering thus:
"Forese! from that day, in which the world For better life thou changedst, not five years Have circled. If the power of sinning more Were first concluded in thee, ere thou knew'st That kindly grief which re - espouses us To God, how hither art thou, come so soon?
I thought to find thee lower, there, where time Is recompense for time." He straight replied:
"To drink up the sweet wormwood of affliction I have been brought thus early, by the tears Stream'd down my Nella's cheeks. Her prayers devout, Her sighs have drawn me from the coast, where oft Expectance lingers; and have set me free From the other circles. In the sight of God So much the dearer is my widow prized, She whom I loved so fondly, as she ranks More singly eminent for virtuous deeds.
The tract, most barbarous of Sardinia's isle, Hath dames more chaste, and modester by far, Than that wherein I left her. O sweet brother!
What wouldst thou have me say? A time to come Stands full within my view, to which this hour Shall not be counted of an ancient date,

[4: In the Ante - Purgatory. See Canto ii.]

[5: The wife of Forese.]

[6: The Barbagia is a part of Sardinia, to which that name was given, on account of the uncivilized state of its inhabitants, who are said to have gone nearly naked.]

When from the pulpit shall be loudly warn'd The unblushing dames of Florence, lest they bare Unkerchief'd bosoms to the common gaze.
What savage women hath the world e'er seen, What Saracens, for whom there needed scourge Of spiritual or other discipline, To force them walk with covering on their limbs?
But did they see, the shameless ones, what Heaven Wafts on swift wing toward them while I speak, Their mouths were oped for howling: they shall taste Of sorrow (unless foresight cheat me here),
Or e'er the cheek of him be clothed with down, Who is now rock'd with lullaby asleep.
Ah! now, my brother, hide thyself no more: Thou seest how not I alone, but all, Gaze, where thou veil'st the intercepted sun."
Whence I replied: "If thou recall to mind What we were once together, even yet Remembrance of those days may grieve thee sore.
That I forsook that life, was due to him Who there precedes me, some few evenings past, When she was round, who shines with sister lamp To his that glisters yonder,
" and I show'd The sun. "'Tis. he, who through profoundest night Of the true dead has brought me, with this flesh As true, that follows. From that gloom the aid Of his sure comfort drew me on to climb, And, climbing, wind along this mountain - steep, Which rectifies in you whate'er the world Made crooked and depraved. I have his word, That he will bear me company as far As till I come where Beatrice dwells: But there must leave me. Virgil is that spirit, Who thus hath promised," and I pointed to him;
"The other is that shade, for whom so late Your realm, as he arose, exulting, shook Through every pendent cliff and rocky bound."

[7: "Saracens." This word, during the Middle Ages, was applied to all nations (except the Jews) who did not profess Christianity.]
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