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
36
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,
37
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,
38
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
39
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,
40
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
41
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.
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