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* * * * * FAME tells us that Verona’s court | |
| Was a fair place. The feet might still | |
| Wander forever at their will | |
| In many ways of sweet resort; | |
| And still in many a heart around | 5 |
| The poet’s name due honor found. | |
| |
| Watch we his steps. He comes upon | |
| The women at their palm-playing. | |
| The conduits round the gardens sing | |
| And meet in scoops of milk-white stone, | 10 |
| Where wearied damsels rest and hold | |
| Their hands in the wet spurt of gold. | |
| |
| One of whom, knowing well that he, | |
| By some found stern, was mild with them, | |
| Would run and pluck his garment’s hem, | 15 |
| Saying, “Messer Dante, pardon me,”— | |
| Praying that they might hear the song | |
| Which first of all he made, when young. | |
| |
| “Donne che avete!”… Thereunto | |
| Thus would he murmur, having first | 20 |
| Drawn near the fountain, while she nursed | |
| His hand against her side: a few | |
| Sweet words, and scarcely those, half said; | |
| Then turned, and changed, and bowed his head. * * * * * | |
| So you may read and marvel not | 25 |
| That such a man as Dante—one | |
| Who, while Can Grande’s deeds were done, | |
| Had drawn his robe round him and thought— | |
| Now at the same guest-table fared | |
| Where keen Uguccio wiped his beard. | 30 |
| |
| Through leaves and trellis-work the sun | |
| Left the wine cool within the glass. | |
| They feasting where no sun could pass; | |
| And when the women, all as one, | |
| Rose up with brightened cheeks to go, | 35 |
| It was a comely thing, we know. | |
| |
| But Dante recked not of the wine; | |
| Whether the women stayed or went, | |
| His visage held one stern intent: | |
| And when the music had its sign | 40 |
| To breathe upon them for more ease, | |
| Sometimes he turned and bade it cease. | |
| |
| And as he spared not to rebuke | |
| The mirth, so oft in council he | |
| To bitter truth bore testimony: | 45 |
| And when the crafty balance shook | |
| Well poised to make the wrong prevail, | |
| Then Dante’s hand would turn the scale. | |
| |
| And if some envoy from afar | |
| Sailed to Verona’s sovereign port | 50 |
| For aid or peace, and all the court | |
| Fawned on its lord, “the Mars of war, | |
| Sole arbiter of life and death,”— | |
| Be sure that Dante saved his breath. | |
| |
| And Can La Scala marked askance | 55 |
| These things, accepting them for shame | |
| And scorn, till Dante’s guestship came | |
| To be a peevish sufferance: | |
| His host sought ways to make his days | |
| Hateful; and such have many ways. | 60 |
| |
| There was a Jester, a foul lout | |
| Whom the court loved for graceless arts; | |
| Sworn scholiast of the bestial parts | |
| Of speech; a ribald mouth to shout | |
| In folly’s horny tympanum | 65 |
| Such things as make the wise man dumb. | |
| |
| Much loved, him Dante loathed. And so, | |
| One day when Dante felt perplexed | |
| If any day that could come next | |
| Were worth the waiting for or no, | 70 |
| And mute he sat amid their din, | |
| Can Grande called the Jester in. | |
| |
| Rank words, with such, are wit’s best wealth. | |
| Lords mouthed approval; ladies kept | |
| Twittering with clustered heads, except | 75 |
| Some few that took their trains by stealth | |
| And went. Can Grande shook his hair | |
| And smote his thighs and laughed i’ the air. | |
| |
| Then, facing on his guest, he cried,— | |
| “Say, Messer Dante, how it is | 80 |
| I get out of a clown like this | |
| More than your wisdom can provide.” | |
| And Dante: “’T is man’s ancient whim | |
| That still his like seems good to him.” | |
| |
| Also a tale is told, how once, | 85 |
| At clearing tables after meat, | |
| Piled for a jest at Dante’s feet | |
| Were found the dinner’s well-picked bones; | |
| So laid, to please the banquet’s lord, | |
| By one who crouched beneath the board. | 90 |
| |
| Then smiled Can Grande to the rest:— | |
| “Our Dante’s tuneful mouth indeed | |
| Lacks not the gift on flesh to feed!” | |
| “Fair host of mine,” replied the guest, | |
| “So many bones you ’d not descry | 95 |
| If so it chanced the dog were I.” * * * * * | |
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