Ill strives the will against a will more wise. Dante prefers Virgil's pleasure to his own, and draws the sponge yet thirsty from the wave. They coast wherever the rock is vacant, as a man walks near battlements on a narrow wall, for those who wring out their malady drop by drop press the verge too closely. Accurst be thou, inveterate wolf, whose gorge ingluts more prey than every beast beside, yet is not filled. When is the day of his appearing, for whom fate reserves to chase her hence? With wary steps they pass, attentive to lament. One before them cries O blessed Virgin, as a dame in childbed, and How poor thou wast, witness that low roof. O good Fabricius, thou didst virtue choose with poverty before great wealth with vice. The gift of Nicholas to the maidens follows. Spirit who dost speak of deeds so worthy, tell me who thou wast, Dante says, that the boon may meet reward if I return.
Not for hell, which I look for, but because grace so exceeding shines in thee before thy time. I was root of that ill plant whose shade such poison sheds over all the Christian land that seldom thence good fruit is gathered. Vengeance soon should come, had Ghent and Douay, Lille and Bruges power. Hugh Capet was I high: from me descend the Philips and the Louis newly governing France, born of one who plied the slaughterer's trade at Paris. When the ancient kings had vanished, the reins fell in my gripe; the widow'd circlet was girt on my son's temples, from whose bones the anointed race begins. Till Provence's great dower, the sway was narrow and wrought no evil; then rapine, then Poitou, Navarre, Gascony. To Italy came Charles, and for amends slew young Conradine, and sent the angelic teacher back to heaven, still for amends. Another Charles issues unarmed save with the traitor's lance, and rives the bowels of poor Florence: no territory, but sin and shame. I see the other exposing his daughter to the mart as corsairs their slaves. O avarice, what canst thou more, who hast subdued our blood so wholly they feel no care of their own flesh? Lo, the flower-de-luce enters Alagna; in his Vicar Christ himself a captive, mockery acted again, vinegar and gall, a new Pilate pushing eager sails into the temple with no sanction.
By day the general theme is the Virgin, Fabricius, Nicholas. By dark a different strain: Pygmalion, Midas, Achan, Sapphira, Heliodorus, Thracia's king, and last a shout, Declare, O Crassus, the flavour of thy gold. The voice of each now high now low; therefore not singly I rehearsed that blessedness, but near me none beside his accent raised. They part and try to surmount the way when Dante feels the mountain tremble as nodding to its fall. An icy chill seizes him as one conveyed to death. So shook not Delos when Latona brought forth the twin-born eyes of heaven. From every side a shout so vehement Virgil draws near: Doubt not, while I conduct thee. Glory in the highest be to God. They stand immovably suspended, like the shepherds who first heard that song in Bethlehem's field, till trembling and song cease. The prostrate shadows renew their mourning. Never did ignorance so struggle with desire of knowledge; nor through haste dared he question, nor himself could aught discern. So on he fares in thoughtfulness and dread.
