Purgatory Page 6

  We reach’d the summit of the scale, and stood

  And lighter to myself by far I seem’d

  Upon the second buttress of that mount

  Than on the plain before, whence thus I spake:

  Which healeth him who climbs. A cornice there,

  “Say, master, of what heavy thing have I

  Like to the former, girdles round the hill;

  Been lighten’d, that scarce aught the sense of toil Save that its arch with sweep less ample bends.

  Affects me journeying?” He in few replied:

  Shadow nor image there is seen; all smooth

  “When sin’s broad characters, that yet remain

  The rampart and the path, reflecting nought

  Upon thy temples, though well nigh effac’d,

  But the rock’s sullen hue. “If here we wait

  Shall be, as one is, all clean razed out,

  For some to question,” said the bard, “I fear

  Then shall thy feet by heartiness of will

  Our choice may haply meet too long delay.”

  Be so o’ercome, they not alone shall feel

  Then fixedly upon the sun his eyes

  No sense of labour, but delight much more

  He fastn’d, made his right the central point

  Shall wait them urg’d along their upward way.”

  From whence to move, and turn’d the left aside.

  Then like to one, upon whose head is plac’d

  “O pleasant light, my confidence and hope,

  Somewhat he deems not of but from the becks

  Conduct us thou,” he cried, “on this new way,

  Of others as they pass him by; his hand

  Where now I venture, leading to the bourn

  Lends therefore help to’ assure him, searches, finds, We seek. The universal world to thee

  And well performs such office as the eye

  Owes warmth and lustre. If no other cause

  Wants power to execute: so stretching forth

  Forbid, thy beams should ever be our guide.”

  The fingers of my right hand, did I find

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  The Divine Comedy of Dante - Purgatory Far, as is measur’d for a mile on earth,

  A crying, “Blessed Mary! pray for us,

  In brief space had we journey’d; such prompt will

  Michael and Peter! all ye saintly host!”

  Impell’d; and towards us flying, now were heard

  I do not think there walks on earth this day

  Spirits invisible, who courteously

  Man so remorseless, that he hath not yearn’d

  Unto love’s table bade the welcome guest.

  With pity at the sight that next I saw.

  The voice, that first? flew by, call’d forth aloud, Mine eyes a load of sorrow teemed, when now

  “They have no wine;“ so on behind us past,

  I stood so near them, that their semblances

  Those sounds reiterating, nor yet lost

  Came clearly to my view. Of sackcloth vile

  In the faint distance, when another came

  Their cov’ring seem’d; and on his shoulder one

  Crying, “I am Orestes,” and alike

  Did stay another, leaning, and all lean’d

  Wing’d its fleet way. “Oh father!” I exclaim’d,

  Against the cliff. E’en thus the blind and poor,

  “What tongues are these?” and as I question’d, lo!

  Near the confessionals, to crave an alms,

  A third exclaiming, “Love ye those have wrong’d you.”

  Stand, each his head upon his fellow’s sunk,

  “This circuit,” said my teacher, “knots the scourge So most to stir compassion, not by sound

  For envy, and the cords are therefore drawn

  Of words alone, but that, which moves not less,

  By charity’s correcting hand. The curb

  The sight of mis’ry. And as never beam

  Is of a harsher sound, as thou shalt hear

  Of noonday visiteth the eyeless man,

  (If I deem rightly), ere thou reach the pass,

  E’en so was heav’n a niggard unto these

  Where pardon sets them free. But fix thine eyes

  Of his fair light; for, through the orbs of all,

  Intently through the air, and thou shalt see

  A thread of wire, impiercing, knits them up,

  A multitude before thee seated, each

  As for the taming of a haggard hawk.

  Along the shelving grot.” Then more than erst

  It were a wrong, methought, to pass and look

  I op’d my eyes, before me view’d, and saw

  On others, yet myself the while unseen.

  Shadows with garments dark as was the rock;

  To my sage counsel therefore did I turn.

  And when we pass’d a little forth, I heard

  He knew the meaning of the mute appeal,

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  The Divine Comedy of Dante - Purgatory Nor waited for my questioning, but said:

  “Who for thy rise are tutoring (if thou be

  “Speak; and be brief, be subtle in thy words.”

  That which didst answer to me,) or by place

  On that part of the cornice, whence no rim

  Or name, disclose thyself, that I may know thee.”

  Engarlands its steep fall, did Virgil come;

  “I was,” it answer’d, “of Sienna: here

  On the’ other side me were the spirits, their cheeks I cleanse away with these the evil life,

  Bathing devout with penitential tears,

  Soliciting with tears that He, who is,

  That through the dread impalement forc’d a way.

  Vouchsafe him to us. Though Sapia nam’d

  I turn’d me to them, and “O shades!” said I,

  In sapience I excell’d not, gladder far

  “Assur’d that to your eyes unveil’d shall shine Of others’ hurt, than of the good befell me.

  The lofty light, sole object of your wish,

  That thou mayst own I now deceive thee not,

  So may heaven’s grace clear whatsoe’er of foam

  Hear, if my folly were not as I speak it.

  Floats turbid on the conscience, that thenceforth

  When now my years slop’d waning down the arch,

  The stream of mind roll limpid from its source,

  It so bechanc’d, my fellow citizens

  As ye declare (for so shall ye impart

  Near Colle met their enemies in the field,

  A boon I dearly prize) if any soul

  And I pray’d God to grant what He had will’d.

  Of Latium dwell among ye; and perchance

  There were they vanquish’d, and betook themselves

  That soul may profit, if I learn so much.”

  Unto the bitter passages of flight.

  “My brother, we are each one citizens

  I mark’d the hunt, and waxing out of bounds

  Of one true city. Any thou wouldst say,

  In gladness, lifted up my shameless brow,

  Who lived a stranger in Italia’s land.”

  And like the merlin cheated by a gleam,

  So heard I answering, as appeal’d, a voice

  Cried, “It is over. Heav’n! I fear thee not.”

  That onward came some space from whence I stood.

  Upon my verge of life I wish’d for peace

  A spirit I noted, in whose look was mark’d

  With God; nor repentance had supplied

  Expectance. Ask ye how? The chin was rais’d

  What I did lack of duty, were it not

  As in one reft of sight. “Spirit,” said I,

  The hermit Piero, touch’d with charity,

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  The Divine Comedy of Dante - Purgatory In his devout orisons thought on me.

  Their navies, more than ruin’d hopes shall mou
rn.”

  But who art thou that question’st of our state,

  Who go’st to my belief, with lids unclos’d,

  CANTO XIV

  And breathest in thy talk?”—”Mine eyes,” said I,

  “Say who is he around our mountain winds,

  “May yet be here ta’en from me; but not long;

  Or ever death has prun’d his wing for flight,

  For they have not offended grievously

  That opes his eyes and covers them at will?”

  With envious glances. But the woe beneath

  “I know not who he is, but know thus much

  Urges my soul with more exceeding dread.

  He comes not singly. Do thou ask of him,

  That nether load already weighs me down.”

  For thou art nearer to him, and take heed

  She thus: “Who then amongst us here aloft

  Accost him gently, so that he may speak.”

  Hath brought thee, if thou weenest to return?”

  Thus on the right two Spirits bending each

  “He,” answer’d I, “who standeth mute beside me.

  Toward the other, talk’d of me, then both

  I live: of me ask therefore, chosen spirit,

  Addressing me, their faces backward lean’d,

  If thou desire I yonder yet should move

  And thus the one began: “O soul, who yet

  For thee my mortal feet.”—”Oh!” she replied,

  Pent in the body, tendest towards the sky!

  “This is so strange a thing, it is great sign

  For charity, we pray thee’ comfort us,

  That God doth love thee. Therefore with thy prayer

  Recounting whence thou com’st, and who thou art:

  Sometime assist me: and by that I crave,

  For thou dost make us at the favour shown thee

  Which most thou covetest, that if thy feet

  Marvel, as at a thing that ne’er hath been.”

  E’er tread on Tuscan soil, thou save my fame

  “There stretches through the midst of Tuscany, Amongst my kindred. Them shalt thou behold

  I straight began: “a brooklet, whose well-head

  With that vain multitude, who set their hope

  Springs up in Falterona, with his race

  On Telamone’s haven, there to fail

  Not satisfied, when he some hundred miles

  Confounded, more shall when the fancied stream

  Hath measur’d. From his banks bring, I this frame.

  They sought of Dian call’d: but they who lead

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  The Divine Comedy of Dante - Purgatory To tell you who I am were words misspent:

  Created for man’s use, he shapeth first

  For yet my name scarce sounds on rumour’s lip.”

  His obscure way; then, sloping onward, finds

  “If well I do incorp’rate with my thought

  Curs, snarlers more in spite than power, from whom

  The meaning of thy speech,” said he, who first

  He turns with scorn aside: still journeying down,

  Addrest me, “thou dost speak of Arno’s wave.”

  By how much more the curst and luckless foss

  To whom the other: “Why hath he conceal’d

  Swells out to largeness, e’en so much it finds

  The title of that river, as a man

  Dogs turning into wolves. Descending still

  Doth of some horrible thing?” The spirit, who

  Through yet more hollow eddies, next he meets

  Thereof was question’d, did acquit him thus:

  A race of foxes, so replete with craft,

  “I know not: but ‘tis fitting well the name

  They do not fear that skill can master it.

  Should perish of that vale; for from the source

  Nor will I cease because my words are heard

  Where teems so plenteously the Alpine steep

  By other ears than thine. It shall be well

  Maim’d of Pelorus, (that doth scarcely pass

  For this man, if he keep in memory

  Beyond that limit,) even to the point

  What from no erring Spirit I reveal.

  Whereunto ocean is restor’d, what heaven

  Lo! I behold thy grandson, that becomes

  Drains from th’ exhaustless store for all earth’s streams, A hunter of those wolves, upon the shore

  Throughout the space is virtue worried down,

  Of the fierce stream, and cows them all with dread: As ‘twere a snake, by all, for mortal foe,

  Their flesh yet living sets he up to sale,

  Or through disastrous influence on the place,

  Then like an aged beast to slaughter dooms.

  Or else distortion of misguided wills,

  Many of life he reaves, himself of worth

  That custom goads to evil: whence in those,

  And goodly estimation. Smear’d with gore

  The dwellers in that miserable vale,

  Mark how he issues from the rueful wood,

  Nature is so transform’d, it seems as they

  Leaving such havoc, that in thousand years

  Had shar’d of Circe’s feeding. ‘Midst brute swine,

  It spreads not to prime lustihood again.”

  Worthier of acorns than of other food

  As one, who tidings hears of woe to come,

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  The Divine Comedy of Dante - Purgatory Changes his looks perturb’d, from whate’er part

  But in those limits such a growth has sprung

  The peril grasp him, so beheld I change

  Of rank and venom’d roots, as long would mock

  That spirit, who had turn’d to listen, struck

  Slow culture’s toil. Where is good Lizio? where

  With sadness, soon as he had caught the word.

  Manardi, Traversalo, and Carpigna?

  His visage and the other’s speech did raise

  O bastard slips of old Romagna’s line!

  Desire in me to know the names of both,

  When in Bologna the low artisan,

  whereof with meek entreaty I inquir’d.

  And in Faenza yon Bernardin sprouts,

  The shade, who late addrest me, thus resum’d:

  A gentle cyon from ignoble stem.

  “Thy wish imports that I vouchsafe to do

  Wonder not, Tuscan, if thou see me weep,

  For thy sake what thou wilt not do for mine.

  When I recall to mind those once lov’d names,

  But since God’s will is that so largely shine

  Guido of Prata, and of Azzo him

  His grace in thee, I will be liberal too.

  That dwelt with you; Tignoso and his troop,

  Guido of Duca know then that I am.

  With Traversaro’s house and Anastagio s,

  Envy so parch’d my blood, that had I seen

  (Each race disherited) and beside these,

  A fellow man made joyous, thou hadst mark’d

  The ladies and the knights, the toils and ease,

  A livid paleness overspread my cheek.

  That witch’d us into love and courtesy;

  Such harvest reap I of the seed I sow’d.

  Where now such malice reigns in recreant hearts.

  O man, why place thy heart where there doth need

  O Brettinoro! wherefore tarriest still,

  Exclusion of participants in good?

  Since forth of thee thy family hath gone,

  This is Rinieri’s spirit, this the boast

  And many, hating evil, join’d their steps?

  And honour of the house of Calboli,

  Well doeth he, that bids his lineage cease,

  Where of his worth no heritage remains.

  Bagnacavallo; Castracaro ill,

  Nor his the only blood, that hath been stript

  And Conio worse, who care to pr
opagate

  (‘twixt Po, the mount, the Reno, and the shore,)

  A race of Counties from such blood as theirs.

  Of all that truth or fancy asks for bliss;

  Well shall ye also do, Pagani, then

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  The Divine Comedy of Dante - Purgatory When from amongst you tries your demon child.

  He drags you eager to him. Hence nor curb

  Not so, howe’er, that henceforth there remain

  Avails you, nor reclaiming call. Heav’n calls

  True proof of what ye were. O Hugolin!

  And round about you wheeling courts your gaze

  Thou sprung of Fantolini’s line! thy name

  With everlasting beauties. Yet your eye

  Is safe, since none is look’d for after thee

  Turns with fond doting still upon the earth.

  To cloud its lustre, warping from thy stock.

  Therefore He smites you who discerneth all.”

  But, Tuscan, go thy ways; for now I take

  Far more delight in weeping than in words.

  CANTO XV

  Such pity for your sakes hath wrung my heart.”

  As much as ‘twixt the third hour’s close and dawn,

  We knew those gentle spirits at parting heard

  Appeareth of heav’n’s sphere, that ever whirls

  Our steps. Their silence therefore of our way

  As restless as an infant in his play,

  Assur’d us. Soon as we had quitted them,

  So much appear’d remaining to the sun

  Advancing onward, lo! a voice that seem’d

  Of his slope journey towards the western goal.

  Like vollied light’ning, when it rives the air,

  Evening was there, and here the noon of night; Met us, and shouted, “Whosoever finds

  and full upon our forehead smote the beams.

  Will slay me,” then fled from us, as the bolt

  For round the mountain, circling, so our path

  Lanc’d sudden from a downward-rushing cloud.

  Had led us, that toward the sun-set now

  When it had giv’n short truce unto our hearing,

  Direct we journey’d: when I felt a weight

  Behold the other with a crash as loud

  Of more exceeding splendour, than before,

  As the quick-following thunder: “Mark in me

  Press on my front. The cause unknown, amaze

  Aglauros turn’d to rock.” I at the sound

  Possess’d me, and both hands against my brow

  Retreating drew more closely to my guide.

  Lifting, I interpos’d them, as a screen,

  Now in mute stillness rested all the air:

  That of its gorgeous superflux of light

  And thus he spake: “There was the galling bit.