¶ARGUMENT . — The Poet describes the delight he experienced at issuing a little before dawn from the infernal regions, into the pure air that surrounds the isle of Purgatory; and then relates how, turning to the right, he beheld four stars never seen before, but by our first parents, and met on his left the shade of Cato of Utica, who, having warned him and Virgil what is needful to be done before they proceed on their way through Purgatory, disappears; and the two poets go toward the shore, where Virgil cleanses Dante's face with the dew, and girds him with a reed, as Cato had commanded.
And of that second region will I sing,In which the human spirit from sinful blotIs purged, and for ascent to Heaven prepares.Here, O ye hallow'd Nine! for in your trainI follow, here the deaden'd strain revive;
A somewhat higher song, of that loud toneWhich when the wretched birds of chattering note 1Had heard, they of forgiveness lost all hope.Sweet hue of eastern sapphire, that was spreadO'er the serene aspect of the pure air,High up as the first circle, 2 to mine eyesUnwonted joy renew'd, soon as I 'scapedForth from the atmosphere of deadly gloom,That had mine eyes and bosom fill'd with grief.The radiant planet, 5 that to love invites,Made all the orient laugh, and veil'd beneathThe Pisces' light,' I that in his [her] escort came.
¶1 "Birds of chattering note." For the likes to be as far off the rest of the corn-fable of the daughters of Pierus who mentators as possible) will have it, the challenged the muses to sing, and were highest circle of the stars.
¶by them changed into magpies, sec Ovid, 5 "Planet." Venus.
¶Met. lib. v. fab. 5. 4 The constellation of the Fish veiled by
¶2 " The first circle." Either, as some the more luminous body of Venus, then suppose, the moon; or, as Lombardi ( who a morning star.
M5
p. 146¶To the right hand I turn'd, and fix'd my mindOn the other pole attentive, where I sawFour stars 5 ne'er seen before save by the kenOf our first parents." Heaven of their raysSeem'd joyous. O thou northern site! bereftIndeed, and widow'd, since of these deprived.As from this view I had desisted, straightTurning a little toward the other pole,There from whence now the wain 7 had disappear'd,I saw an old man 8 standing by my sideAlone, so worthy of reverence in his look,That ne'er from son to father more was owed.Low down his beard, and mix'd with hoary white,Descended, like his locks, which, parting, fellUpon his breast in double fold. The beamsOf those four luminaries on his faceSo brightly shone, and with such radiance clearDeck'd it, that I beheld him as the sun."Say who are ye, that stemming the blind stream,Forth from the eternal prison-house have fled?"He spoke and moved those venerable plumes."Who hath conducted, or with lantern sureLights you emerging from the depth of night,That makes the infernal valley ever black?Are the firm statutes of the dread abyssBroken, or in high Heaven new laws ordain'd,That thus, condemn'd, ye to my caves approach?"My guide, then laying hold on me, by wordsAnd intimations given with hand and head,Made my bent knees and eye submissive payDue reverence; then thus to him replied:"Not of myself I come; a Dame from heaven'Descending, him besought me in my chargeTo bring. But since thy will implies, that moreOur true condition I unfold at large,Mine is not to deny thee thy request.[147]This mortal ne'er hath seen the farthest gloom;But erring by his folly had approach'dSo near, that little space was left to turn.Then, as before I told, I was despatch'dTo work his rescue; and no way remain'dSave this which I have ta'en. I have display'dBefore him all the regions of the bad;And purpose now those spirits to display,That under thy command are purged from sin.How I have brought him would be long to say.From high descends the virtue, by whose aidI to thy sight and hearing him have led.Now may our coming please thee. In the searchOf liberty he journeys: that how dear,They know who for her sake have life refused.Thou knowest, to whom death for her was sweetIn Utica, where thou didst leave those weeds,That in the last great day will shine so bright.For us the eternal edicts are unmoved;He breathes, and I of Minos am not bound,Abiding in that circle, where the eyesOf thy chaste Marcia beam, who still in lookPrays thee, O hallow'd spirit! to own her thine.Then by her love we implore thee, let us passThrough thy seven regions; 10 for which, best thanksI for thy favour will to her return,If mention there below thou not disdain.""Marcia so pleasing in my sight was found,"He then to him rejoin'd, "while I was there,That all she ask'd me I was fain to grant.Now that beyond the accursed stream she dwells,She may no longer move me, by that law,"Which was ordain'd me, when I issued thence.Not so, if Dame from Heaven, as thou sayst,Moves and directs thee; then no flattery needs.Enough for me that in her name thou ask.[148]Go therefore now: and with a slender reed"See that thou duly gird him, and his faceLave, till all sordid stain thou wipe from thence.For not with eye, by any cloud obscured,Would it be seemly before him to come,Who stands the foremost minister in Heaven.This islet all around, there far beneath,Where the wave beats it, on the oozy bedProduces store of reeds. No other plant,Cover'd with leaves, or harden'd in its stalk,There lives, not bending to the water's sway.After, this way return not; but the sunWill show you, that now rises, where to takeThe mountain in its easiest ascent."He disappear'd; and I myself upraisedSpeechless, and to my guide retiring close,Toward him turn'd mine eyes. He thus began:"My son! observant thou my steps pursue.We must retreat to rereward; for that wayThe champain to its low extreme declines."The dawn had chased the matin hour of prime,Which fled before it, so that from afarI spied the trembling of the ocean stream.We traversed the deserted plain, as oneWho, wander'd from his track, thinks every stepTrodden in vain till he regain the path.When we had come, where yet the tender dewStrove with the sun, and in a place where freshThe wind breathed o'er it, while it slowly dried;Both hands extended on the watery grassMy master placed, in graceful act and kind.Whence I of his intent before apprised,Stretch'd out to him my cheeks suffused with tears.There to my visace he anew restoredThat hue which the dun shades of Hell conceal'd.Then on the solitary shore arrived,That never sailing on its waters sawMan that could after measure back his course,He girt me in such manner as had pleased" A type of simplicity and patience.[149]Him who instructed; and, oh strange to tell!As he selected every humble plant,Wherever one was pluck'd another thereResembling, straightway in its place arose.
¶ARGUMENT . — They behold a vessel under conduct of an angel, coming over the waves with spirits to Purgatory, among whom, when the passengers have landed, Dante recognizes his friend Casella; but, while they are entertained by him with a song, they hear Cato exclaiming against their negligent loitering, and at that rebuke hasten forward to the mountain.
¶NOW had the sun' to that horizon reach'd,That covers, with the most exalted pointOf its meridian circle, Salem's walls;And night, that opposite to him her orbRounds, from the stream of Ganges issued forth,Holding the scales,1 that from her hands are droptWhen she reigns highest:2 so that where I was,Aurora's white and vermeil-tinctured cheekTo orange turn'd as she in age increased.Meanwhile we linger'd by the water's brink,Like men, who, musing on their road, in thoughtJourney, while motionless the body rests.When lo! as, near upon the hour of dawn,Through the thick vapors Mars with fiery beamGlares down in west, over the ocean floor;So seem'd, what once again I hope to view,A light, so swiftly coming through the sea,No winged course might equal its career.From which when for a space I had withdrawnMine eyes, to make inquiry of my guide,Again I look'd, and saw it grown in sizeAnd brightness: then on either side appear'dSomething, but what I knew not, of bright hue,[150]And by degrees from underneath it cameAnother. My preceptor silent yetStood, while the brightness, that we first discern'd,Open'd the form of wings: then when he knewThe pilot, cried aloud, "Down, down; bend lowThy knees; behold God's angel: fold thy hands:Now shalt thou see true ministers indeed.Lo! how all human means he sets at naught;So that nor oar he needs, nor other sailExcept his wings, between such distant shores.Lo! how straight up to Heaven he holds them rear'd,Winnowing the air with those eternal plumes,That not like mortal hairs fall off or change."As more and more toward us came, more brightAppear'd the bird of God, nor could the eyeEndure his splendor near: I mine bent down.He drove ashore in a small bark so swiftAnd light, that in its course no wave it drank.The heavenly steersman at the prow was seen,Visibly written Blessed in his looks.Within a hundred spirits and more there sat."In Exitu* Israel de Egypto,"All with one voice together sang, with whatIn the remainder of that hymn is writ.Then soon as with the sign of holy crossHe bless'd them, they at once leap'd out on land:He, swiftly as he came, return'd. The crew,There left, appear'd astounded with the place,Gazing around, as one who sees new sights.From every side the sun darted his beams,And with his arrowy radiance from mid heavenHad chased the Capricorn, when that strange tribe,Lifting their eyes toward us: "If ye know,Declare what path will lead us to the mount."Them Virgil answer'd: "Ye suppose, perchance,Us well acquainted with this place: but here,We, as yourselves, are strangers. Not long erstWe came, before you but a little space,By other road so rough and hard, that now
p. 150¶' I n Exitu." " When Israel came out of Egypt." Ps. cxiv.[151]The ascent will seem to us as play." The spirits,Who from my breathing had perceived I lived,Grew pale with wonder. As the multitudeFlock round a herald sent with olive branch,To hear what news he brings, and in their hasteTread one another down; e'en so at sightOf me those happy spirits were fix'd, each oneForgetful of its errand to departWhere, cleansed from sin, it might be made all fair.Then one I saw darting before the restWith such fond ardour to embrace me, ITo do the like was moved. O shadows vain!Except in outward semblance: thrice my handsI clasp'd behind it, they as oft return'dEmpty into my breast again. SurpriseI need must think was painted in my looks,For that the shadow smiled and backward drew.To follow it I hasten'd, but with voiceOf sweetness it enjoin'd me to desist.Then who it was I knew, and pray'd of it,To talk with me it would a little pause.It answer'd: "Thee as in my mortal frameI loved, so loosed from it I love thee still,And therefore pause: but why walkest thou here?""Not without purpose once more to return,Thou find'st me, my Casella, 5 where I am,Journeying this way;" I said: "but how of theeHath so much time been lost?" He answer'd straight:"No outrage hath been done to me, if he, 6Who when and whom he chooses takes, hath oftDenied me passage here; since of just willHis will he makes. These three months past 7 indeed,He, who so chose to enter, with free leave
¶s "My Casella." A Florentine, cele Than his Casella, whom he wooed to brated for his skill in music, "in whose sing,
¶company, says Landino, "Dante often re Met in the milder shades of Purgatory." created his spirits, wearied by severer 6 "He." The conducting angel.
¶studies." See Dr. Burncy's History of 7 "These three months past." Since the Music, vol. ii. cap. i v „ p. 322. See also time of the Jubilee, during which all Milton's sonnet to Henry Lawes: spirits not condemned to eternal punish"Dante shall give fame leave to set thee ment were supposed to pass over to
p. 152¶Hath taken; whence I wandering by the shore'Where Tiber's wave grows salt, of him gain'd kindAdmittance, at that river's mouth, toward whichHis wings are pointed; for there always throngAll such as not to Acheron descend."Then I: "If new law taketh not from theeMemory or custom of love-tuned song,That whilom all my cares had power to 'swage;Please thee therewith a little to consoleMy spirit, that encumber'd with its frame,Travelling so far, of pain is overcome.""Love, that discourses in my thoughts," he thenBegan in such soft accents, that withinThe sweetness thrills me yet. My gentle guide,And all who came with him, so well were pleased,That seem'd naught else might in their thoughts haveroom.Fast fix'd in mute attention to his notesWe stood, when lo! that old man venerableExclaiming, "How is this, ye tardy spirits?What negligence detains you loitering here?Run to the mountain to cast off those scales,That from your eyes the sight of God conceal."As a wild flock of pigeons, to their foodCollected, blade or tares, without their prideAccustom'd, and in still and quiet sort,If aught alarm them, suddenly desertTheir meal, assail'd by more important care;So I that new-come troop beheld, the songDeserting, hasten to the mountain's side,As one who goes, yet, where he tends, knows not.Nor with less hurried step did we depart.
¶ARGUMENT . — Our Poet, perceiving no shadow except that cast by his own body, is fearful that Virgil has deserted him; but he is freed from that error, and both arrive together at the foot of the mountain; on finding it too steep to climb, they inquire the way from a troop of spirits that are coming toward them, and are by them shown which is the easiest ascent. Manfredi, King of Naples, who is one of these spirits, bids Dante inform his daughter Costanza, Queen of Arragon, of the manner in which he
¶had died. T Drives us: I, to my faithful company Turn'd toward the mountain, whither reason's HEM sudden flight had scatter'd o'er the plain, voiceAdhering, left it not. For how, of himDeprived, might I have sped? or who, beside,Would o'er the mountainous tract have led my steps?He, with the bitter pang of self-remorse,Seem'd smitten. O clear conscience, and upright!How doth a little failing wound thee sore.Soon as his feet desisted (slackening pace)From haste, that mars all decency of act,My mind, that in itself before was wrapt,Its thought expanded, as with joy restored;And full against the steep ascent I setMy face, where highest to Heaven its top o'erflows.The sun, that flared behind, with ruddy beamBefore my form was broken; for in meHis rays resistance met. I turn'd asideWith fear of being left, when I beheldOnly before myself the ground obscured.When thus my solace, turning him around,Bespake me kindly: "Why distrustest thou?Believest not I am with thee, thy sure guide?It now is evening there, where buried liesThe body in which I cast a shade, removedTo Naples' from Brundusium's wall. Nor thouMarvel, if before me no shadow fall,More than that in the skyey elementOne ray obstructs not other. To endureTorments of heat and cold extreme, like frames[154]That virtue hath disposed, which, how it works,Wills not to us should be reveal'd. Insane,Who hopes our reason may that space explore,Which holds three persons in one substance knit.Seek not the wherefore, race of human kind;Could ye have seen the whole, no need had beenFor Mary to bring forth. Moreover, yeHave seen such men desiring fruitlessly;To whose desires, repose would have been given,That now but serve them for eternal grief.I speak of Plato, and the Stagirite,And others many more." And then he bentDownward his forehead, and in troubled moodBroke off his speech. Meanwhile we had arrivedFar as the mountain's foot, and there the rockFound of so steep ascent, that nimblest stepsTo climb it had been vain. The most remote,Most wild, untrodden path, in all the tractTwixt Lerice and Turbia,1 were to thisA ladder easy and open of access."Who knows on which hand now the steep declines?**My master said, and paused; "so that he mayAscend, who journeys without aid of wing?"And while, with looks directed to the ground,The meaning of the pathway he explored,And I gazed upward round the stony height;On the left hand appear'd to us a troopOf spirits, that toward us moved their steps;Yet moving seem'd not, they so slow approach'd.I thus my guide address'd: "Upraise thine eyes:Lo! that way some, of whom thou mayst obtainCounsel, if of thyself thou find'st it not."Straightway he look'd, and with free speech replied;"Let us tend thither: they but softly come.And thou be firm in hope, my son beloved."Now was that crowd from us distant as far,(When we some thousand steps, I say, had past,)As at a throw the nervous arm could fling;[155]When all drew backward on the massy cragsOf the steep bank, and firmly stood unmoved,As one, who walks in doubt, might stand to look."O spirits perfect! O already chosenl"Virgil to them began: "by that blest peace,Which, as I deem, is for you all prepared,Instruct us where the mountain low declines,So that attempt to mount it be not vain.For who knows most, him loss of time most grieves."As sheep, that step from forth their fold, by one,Or pairs, or three at once; meanwhile the restStand fearfully, bending the eye and noseTo ground, and what the foremost does, that doThe others, gathering round her if she stops,Simple and quiet, nor the cause discern;So saw I moving to advance the first,Who of that fortunate crew were at the head,Of modest mien, and graceful in their gait.When they before me had beheld the lightFrom my right side fall broken on the ground,So that the shadow reach'd the cave; they stopp'd,And somewhat back retired: the same did allWho follow'd, though unweeting of the cause."Unask'd of you, yet freely I confess,This is a human body which ye see.That the sun's light is broken on the ground,Marvel not: but believe, that not withoutVirtue derived from Heaven, we to climbOver this wall aspire." So them bespakeMy master; and that virtuous tribe rejoin'd:"Turn, and before you there the entrance lies;"Making a signal to us with bent hands.Then of them one began. "Whoe'er thou art,Who journey'st thus this way, thy visage turn;Think if me elsewhere thou hast ever seen."I toward him turn'd, and with fix'd eye beheld.Comely and fair, and gende of aspectHe seem'd, but on one brow a gash was mark'd.When humbly I disclaim'd to have beheldHim ever: "Now behold!" he said, and show'd
High on his breast a wound: then smiling spake."I am Manfredi, 3 grandson to the QueenCostanza: 4 whence I pray thee, when return'd,To my fair daughter 5 go, the parent glad
And of the truth inform her, if of meAught else be told. When by two mortal blowsMy frame was shatter'd, I betook myselfWeeping to Him, who of free will forgives.My sins were horrible: but so wide armsHath goodness infinite, that it receivesAll who turn to it. Had this text divineBeen of Cosenza's shepherd better scann'd,Who then by Clement 8 on my hunt was set,Yet at the bridge's head my bones had lain,Near Benevento, by the heavy moleProtected; but the rain now drenches them,And the wind drives, out of the kingdom's bounds,Far as the stream of Verde, 7 where, with lightsExtinguish'd, he removed them from their bed.Yet by their curse we are not so destroy'd,But that the eternal love may turn, while hopeRetains her verdant blossom. True it is,That such one as in contumacy dies
¶5 "Manfredi." King of Naples and said, that afterward, by command of the Sicily, and the natural son of Frederick Pope, the Bishop of Cosenza took up his II. He was lively and agreeable in his body and sent it out of the kingdom, bemanners, delighted in poetry, music, and cause it was the land of the Church; and dancing. But he was luxurious and am that it was buried by the river Verde, on bitious, void of religion, and in his the borders of the kingdom and of Cam-philosophy an Epicurean. He fell in the pagna."
¶battle with Charles of Anjou in 1265, 4 See Paradise, Canto iii. 1 2 1 .
¶alluded to in Canto xxviii of Hell, vcr. 6 Costanza, the daughter of Manfredi, 13, or rather in that of Benevento. The and wife of Peter III, King of Arragon, successes of Charles were so rapidly fol by whom she was mother to Frederick, lowed up, that our author, exact as he King of Sicily, and James, King of Argenerally is, might not have thought it ragon. With the latter of these she was necessary to distinguish them in point of at Rome, 1296.
¶time. "Dying excommunicated, King 6 "Clement." Pope Clement IV.
¶Charles did not allow of his being buried 7 "The stream of Verde." A river near in sacred ground, but he was interred Ascoli, that falls into the Tronto. The near the bridge of Benevento; and on his "extinguished lights" formed part of the grave there was cast a stone by every one ceremony at the interment of one exof the army, whence there was formed communicated.
p. 157¶Against the holy Church, though he repent,Must wander thirty-fold for all the timeIn his presumption past: if such decreeBe not by prayers of good men shorter made.Look therefore if thou canst advance my bliss;Revealing to my good Costanza, howThou hast beheld me, and beside, the termsLaid on me of that interdict; for hereBy means of those below much profit comes."
Canto IV
¶ARGUMENT . — Dante and Virgil ascend the mountain of Purgatory, by a steep and narrow path pent in on each side by rock, till they reach a part of it that opens into a ledge or cornice. There seating themselves, and turning to the east, Dante wonders at seeing the sun on their left, the cause of which is explained to him by Virgil; and while they continue their discourse, a voice addresses them, at which they turn, and find several spirits behind the rock, and among the rest one named Belacqua, who had been known to our Poet on earth, and who tells that he is doomed to linger
¶there on account of his having delayed his repentance to the last.
¶HEN by sensations of delight or pain,WThat any of our faculties hath seized,Entire the soul collects herself, it seemsShe is intent upon that power alone;And thus the error is disproved, which holdsThe soul not singly lighted in the breast.And therefore whenas aught is heard or seen,That firmly keeps the soul toward it turn'd,Time passes, and a man perceives it not.For that, whereby we hearken, is one power;Another that, which the whole spirit hath:This is as it were bound, while that is free.This found I true by proof, hearing that spiritAnd wondering; for full fifty steps1 aloftThe sun had measured, unobserved of me,When we arrived where all with one accordThe spirits shouted, "Here is what ye ask."A larger aperture oft-times is stopt,With forked stake of thorn by villager,When the ripe grape imbrowns, than was the path,[158]By which my guide, and I behind him close,Ascended solitary, when that troopDeparting left us. On Sanleo's 2 roadWho journeys, or to Noli 3 low descends,Or mounts Bismantua's 4 height, must use his feet;But here a man had need to fly, I meanWith the swift wing and plumes of high desire,Conducted by his aid, who gave me hope,And with light furnish'd to direct my way.We through the broken rock ascended, closePent on each side, while underneath the groundAsk'd help of hands and feet. When we arrivedNear on the highest ridge of the steep bank,Where the plain level open'd, I exclaim'd,"O Master! say, which way can we proceed."He answer'd, "Let no step of thine recede.Behind me gain the mountain, till to usSome practised guide appear." That eminenceWas lofty, that no eye might reach its point;And the side proudly rising, more than lineFrom the mid quadrant to the centre drawn.I, wearied, thus began: "Parent beloved!Turn and behold how I remain alone,If thou stay not."—"My son!" he straight replied,"Thus far put forth thy strength;" and to a trackPointed, that, on this side projecting, roundCircles the hill. His words so spurr'd me on,That I, behind him, clambering, forced myself,Till my feet press'd the circuit plain beneath.There both together seated, turn'd we roundTo eastward, whence was our ascent: and oftMany beside have with delight look'd back.First on the nether shores I turn'd mine eyes,Then raised them to the sun, and wondering mark'dThat from the left it smote us. Soon perceivedThat poet sage, how at the car of light
Amazed 51 stood, where 'twixt us and the northIts course it enter'd. Whence he thus to me:"Were Leda's offspring 6 now in companyOf that broad mirror, that high up and lowImparts his light beneath, thou mightst beholdThe ruddy Zodiac nearer to the BearsWheel, if its ancient course it not forsook.How that may be, if thou wouldst think; withinPondering, imagine Sion with this mountPlaced on the earth, so that to both be oneHorizon, and two hemispheres apart,Where lies the path 7 that Phaeton ill knewTo guide his erring chariot: thou wilt see 8
He passes, while by that on the other side;If with clear view thine intellect attend.""Of truth, kind teacher!" I exclaim'd, "so clearAught saw I never, as I now discern,Where seem'd my ken to fail, that the mid orb 9Of the supernal motion (which in termsOf art is call'd the Equator, and remainsStill 'twixt the sun and winter) for the causeThou hast assign'd, from hence toward the northDeparts, when those, who in the Hebrew landWere dwellers, saw it towards the warmer part.But if it please thee, I would gladly know,
¶5 "Amazed." He wonders that being the Zodiac never changes, nor appears to turned to the east he should see the sun change, with respect to the remainder of on his left, since in all the regions on this the heavens."—Lombardi.
¶side of the tropic of Cancer it is seen on 7 "The path." The ecliptic.
¶the right of one who turns his face 8 "Thou wilt see." "If you consider toward the cast; not recollecting that he that this mountain of Purgatory, and that was now antipodal to Europe, from of Sion, are antipodal to each other, you whence he had seen the sun taking an will perceive that the sun must rise on opposite course. opposite sides of the respective emi
¶• " As the constellation of the Gemini is nences."
¶nearer the Bears than Aries is, it is certain * "That the mid orb." "That the equathat if the sun, instead of being in Aries, tor (which is always situated between that had been in Gemini, both the sun and part where, when the sun is, he causes that portion of the Zodiac made 'ruddy' summer, and the other where his absence by the sun, would have been seen to produces winter) recedes from this moun'wheel nearer to the Bears.' By the 'ruddy tain toward the north, at the time when Zodiac' must necessarily be understood the Jews inhabiting Mount Sion saw it that portion of the Zodiac affected or depart toward the south."—Lombardi.
p. 160¶How far we have to journey: for the hillMounts higher, than this sight of mine can mount."He thus to me: "Such is this steep ascent,That it is ever difficult at first,But more a man proceeds, less evil grows. 10When pleasant it shall seem to thee, so muchThat upward going shall be easy to theeAs in a vessel to go down the tide,Then of this path thou wilt have reach'd the end.There hope to rest thee from thy toil. No moreI answer, and thus far from certain know."As he his words had spoken, near to usA voice there sounded: "Yet ye first perchanceMay to repose you by constraint be led."At sound thereof each turn'd; and on the leftA huge stone we beheld, of which nor INor he before was ware. Thither we drew;And there were some, who in the shady placeBehind the rock were standing, as a manThrough idleness might stand. Among them one,Who seem'd to be much wearied, sat him down,And with his arms did fold his knees about,Holding his face between them downward bent."Sweet Sir!" I cried, "behold that man who showsHimself more idle than if lazinessWere sister to him." Straight he turn'd to us,And, o'er the thigh lifting his face, observed,Then in these accents spake: "Up then, proceed,Thou valiant one." Straight who it was I knew;Nor could the pain I felt (for want of breathStill somewhat urged me) hinder my approach.And when I came to him, he scarce his headUplifted, saying, "Well hast thou discern'd,How from the left the sun his chariot leads?"His lazy acts and broken words my lipsTo laughter somewhat moved; when I began:"Belacqua," now for thee I grieve no more.
¶" Because in ascending he gets rid of Belacqua was an excellent master of the the weight of his sins. harp and lute, but very negligent in his
p. 161¶But tell, why thou art seated upright there.Waitest thou escort to conduct thee hence?Or blame I only thine accustom'd ways?"Then he: "My brother! of what use to mount,When, to my suffering, would not let me passThe bird of God, who at the portal sits?Behoves so long that Heaven first bear me roundWithout its limits, as in life it bore;Because I, to the end, repentant sighsDelay'd; if prayer do not aid me first,That riseth up from heart which lives in grace.What other kind avails, not heard in Heaven?"Before me now the poet, up the mountAscending, cried: "Haste thee: for see the sunHas touch'd the point meridian; and the nightNow covers with her foot Marocco's shore."
Canto V
¶ARGUMENT . — They meet with others, who had deferred their repentance till overtaken by a violent death, when sufficient space being allowed them, they were then saved; and among these, Giacopo del Casscro, Buoncontc da Montefeltro, and Pia, a lady of Siena.
¶NOW had I left those spirits, and pursuedThe steps of my conductor; when behind,Pointing the finger at me, one exclaim'd:oee, now it seems as if the light not shoneFrom the left hand 1 of him beneath, 2 and he,As living, seems to be led on." Mine eyes,I at that sound reverting, saw them gaze,Through wonder, first at me; and then at meAnd the light broken underneath, by turns."Why are thy thoughts thus riveted," my guideExclaim'd, "that thou hast slack'd thy pace? or howImports it thee, what thing is whisper'd here?Come after me, and to their babblings leave
¶•The sun was, therefore, on the right left; so now that they are again going of our travellers. For, as before, when forward, it must be on the opposite side seated and looking to the east whence of them,
¶they had ascended, the sun was on their 2 Of Dante, following Virgil.
p. 162¶The crowd. Be as a tower, that, firmly set,Shakes not its top for any blast that blows.He, in whose bosom thought on thought shoots out,Still of his aim is wide, in that the oneSicklies and wastes to naught the other's strength."What other could I answer, save "I come"?I said it, somewhat with that color tinged,Which oft-times pardon meritcth for man.Meanwhile traverse along the hill there came,A little way before us, some who sangThe "Miserere" in responsive strains.When they perceived that through my body IGave way not for the rays to pass, their songStraight to a long and hoarse exclaim they changed;And two of them, in guise of messengers,Ran on to meet us, and inquiring ask'd:"Of your condition we would gladly learn."To them my guide: "Ye may return, and bearTidings to them who sent you, that his frameIs real flesh. If, as I deem, to viewHis shade they paused, enough is answer'd them:Him let them honor: they may prize him well."Ne'er saw I fiery vapors with such speedCut through the serene air at fall of night,Nor August's clouds athwart the setting sun,That upward these did not in shorter spaceReturn; and, there arriving, with the restWheel back on us, as with loose rein a troop."Many," exclaim'd the bard, "are these, who throngAround us: to petition thee, they come.Go therefore on, and listen as thou go'st.""O spirit! who go'st on to blessedness,With the same limbs that clad thee at thy birth,"Shouting they came: "a little rest thy step.Look if thou any one amongst our tribeHast e'er beheld, that tidings of him there'Thou mayst report. Ah, wherefore go'st thou on?Ah, wherefore tarriest thou not? We allBy violence died, and to our latest hour* "There." Upon the earth.[163]Were sinners, but then warn'd by light from Heaven;So that, repenting and forgiving, weDid issue out of life at peace with God,Who, with desire to see Him, fills our heart."Then I: "The visages of all I scan,Yet none of ye remember. But if aughtThat I can do may please you, gentle spirits!Speak, and I will perform it; by that peace,Which, on the steps of guide so excellentFollowing, from world to world, intent I seek."In answer he began: "None here distrustsThy kindness, though not promised with an oath;So as the will fail not for want of power.Whence I, who sole before the other speak,Entreat thee, if thou ever see that land 4Which lies between Romagna and the realmOf Charles, that of thy courtesy thou prayThose who inhabit Fano, that for meTheir adorations duly be put up.By which I may purge off my grievous sins.From thence I came. 5 But the deep passages,Whence issued out the blood 6 wherein I dwelt,Upon my bosom in Antenor's land 7Were made, where to be more secure I thought.The author of the deed was Este's prince,Who, more than right could warrant, with his wrathPursued me. Had I toward Mira fled,When overta'en at Oriaco, stillMight I have breathed. But to the marsh I sped;And in the mire and rushes tangled thereFell, and beheld my life-blood float the plain."Then said another: "Ah! so may the wish,That takes thee o'er the mountain, be fulfill'd,As thou shalt graciously give aid to mine.[164]Of Montefeltro I;* Buonconte I:Giovanna' nor none else have care for me;Sorrowing with these I therefore go." I thus:"From Campaldino's field what force or chanceDrew thee, that ne'er thy sepulture was known?""Oh!" answer'd he, "at Casentino's footA stream there courseth, named Archiano, sprungIn Apennine above the hermit's seat. 10E'en where its name is cancel'd," there came I,Pierced in the throat, fleeing away on foot,And bloodying the plain. Here sight and speechFail'd me; and, finishing with Mary's name,I fell, and tenandess my flesh remain'd.I will report the truth; which thou againTell to the living. Me God's angel took,Whilst he of Hell exclaim'd: 'O thou from Heaven!Say wherefore hast thou robb'd me? Thou of himThe eternal portion bear'st with thee away,For one poor tear that he deprives me of.But of the other, other rule I make.'"Thou know'st how in the atmosphere collectsThat vapour dank, returning into waterSoon as it mounts where cold condenses it.That evil will," which in his intellectStill follows evil, came; and raised the windAnd smoky mist, by virtue of the powerGiven by his nature. Thence the valley, soonAs day was spent, he cover'd o'er with cloud,From Pratomagno to the mountain range;"And stretch'd the sky above; so that the airImpregnate changed to water. Fell the rain;And to the fosses came all that the land[165]Contain'd not; and, as mightiest streams are wont,To the great river, with such headlong sweep,Rush'd, that naught stay'd its course. My stiffen'd frameLaid at his mouth, the fell Archiano found,And dashed it into Arno; from my breastLoosening the cross, that of myself I madeWhen overcome with pain. He hurl'd me on,Along the banks and bottom of his course;Then in his muddy spoils encircling wrapt.""Ah! when thou to the world shalt be return'd,And rested after thy long road," so spakeNext the third spirit; "then remember me.I once was Pia. u Sienna gave me life;Maremma took it from me. That he knows,Who me with jewel'd ring had first espoused."
¶ARGUMENT . — Many besides, who arc in like case with those spoken of in the last Canto, beseech our Poet to obtain for them the prayers of their friends, when he shall be returned to this world. This moves him to express a doubt to his guide, how the dead can be profited by the prayers of the living; for the solution of which doubt he is referred to Beatrice. Afterward he meets with Sordello the Mantuan. whose affection, shown to Virgil his countryman, leads Dante to break forth into an invective against the unnatural divisions with which Italy, and more especially Florence, was distracted.
¶WHEN from their game of dice men separate,He who hath lost remains in sadness fix'd,Revolving in his mind what luckless throwsHe cast: but, meanwhile, all the companyGo with the other; one before him runs,And one behind his mantle twitches, oneFast by his side bids him remember him.He stops not; and each one, to whom his handIs stretch'd, well knows he bids him stand aside;And thus 1 he from the press defends himself.E'en such was I in that close-crowding throng;
¶M "Pia." She is said to have been a Maremma, where he had some possesSicnnesc lady, of the family of Tolommei, sions.
¶secretly made away with by her husband, 1 " And thus." It was usual for money Nello delta Pietra, of the same city, in to be given to bystanders at play by
And turning so my face around to all,And promising, I 'scaped from it with pains.Here of Arezzo him 1 I saw, who fellBy Ghino's cruel arm; and him beside, 3Who in his chase was swallow'd by the stream.Here Frederic Novello, 4 with his handStretch'd forth, entreated; and of Pisa he,*Who put the good Marzucco to such proofOf constancy. Count Orso" I beheld;And from its frame a soul dismiss'd for spiteAnd envy, as it said, but for no crime;I speak of Peter de la Brosse: 7 and here,While she yet lives, that Lady of Brabant,Let her beware; lest for so false a deedShe herd with worse than these. When I was freedFrom all those spirits, who pray'd for others' prayersTo hasten on their state of blessedness;Straight I began: "O thou, my luminary!It seems expressly in thy text denied,That Heaven's supreme decree can ever bendTo supplication; yet with this designDo these entreat. Can then their hope be vain?
¶* Benincasa of Arezzo, eminent for his came his resentment, that he even kissed skill in jurisprudence, who having con the hands of the slayer of his son, and demned to death Turrino da Turrita, as he was following the funeral, exhorted brother of Ghino di Tacco, for his rob his kinsmen to reconciliation.
¶beries in Maremma, was murdered by 6 "Count Orso." Son of Napoleonc da Ghino, in an apartment of his own house, Ccrbaia, slain by Alberto da Mangona, his in the presence of many witnesses. Ghino uncle.
¶was not only suffered to escape in safety, 7 Secretary of Philip HI of France. The but obtained so high a reputation by the courtiers envying the high place which liberality with which he dispensed the he held in the King's favor, prevailed on fruits of his plunder, and treated those Mary of Brabant to charge him falsely who fell into his hands with so much with an attempt upon her person; for courtesy, that he was afterward invited to which supposed crime he suffered death. Rome, and knighted by Boniface VIII. So say the Italian commentators. Hcnault
¶3 Cione, or Ciacco de' Tarlatti of represents the matter very differently: Arezzo, carried by his horse into the "Pierre de la Brosse, formerly barber to Arno, and there drowned, while in pur St. Louis, afterward the favorite of suit of enemies. Philip, fearing the too great attachment
¶4 "Frederic Novello." Son of the Conte of the King for his wife Mary, accuses this Guido da Battifolle, and slain by one of princess of having poisoned Louis, eldest the family of Bostoli. son of Philip, by his first marriage. This
¶5 Farinata dc' Scornigiani, of Pisa. His calumny is discovered by a nun of Nivelle, father, Marzucco, who had entered the in Flanders. La Brosse is hanged."
p. 167¶Or is thy saying not to me reveal'd?"He thus to me: "Both what I write is plain,And these deceived not in their hope; if wellThy mind consider, that the sacred heightOf judgment doth not stoop, because love's flameIn a short moment all fulfills, which he,Who sojourns here, in right should satisfy.Besides, when I this point concluded thus,By praying no defect could be supplied;Because the prayer had none access to God.Yet in this deep suspicion rest thou notContented, unless she assure thee so,Who betwixt truth and mind infuses light:I know not if thou take me right; I meanBeatrice. Her thou shalt behold above,Upon this mountain's crown, fair seat of joy."Then I: "Sir! let us mend our speed; for nowI tire not as before: and lo! the hill*Stretches its shadow far." He answer'd thus:"Our progress with this day shall be as muchAs we may now despatch; but otherwiseThan thou supposest is the truth. For thereThou canst not be, ere thou once more beholdHim back returning, who behind the steepIs now so hidden, that, as erst, his beamThou dost not break. But lo! a spirit thereStands solitary, and toward us looks:It will instruct us in the speediest way."We soon approach'd it. O thou Lombard spirit!How didst thou stand, in high abstracted mood,Scarce moving with slow dignity thine eyes.It spoke not aught, but let us onward pass,Eying us as a lion on his watch.But Virgil, with entreaty mild, advanced,Requesting it to show the best ascent.It answer to his question none return'd;But of our country and our kind of lifeDemanded. When my courteous guide began,"Mantua," the shadow, in itself absorb'd,* "The hill." It was now past the moon.[168]Rose toward us from the place in which it stood,And cried, "Mantuan! I am thy countryman,Sordello."' Each the other then embraced.Ah, slavish Italy! thou inn of grief!Vessel without a pilot in loud storm!Lady no longer of fair provinces,But brothel-house impure! this gentle spirit,Even from the pleasant sound of his dear landWas prompt to greet a fellow citizenWith such glad cheer: while now thy living onesIn thee abide not without war; and oneMalicious gnaws another; ay, of thoseWhom the same wall and the same moat contains.Seek, wretched one! around the sea-coasts wide;Then homeward to thy bosom turn; and mark,If any part of thee sweet peace enjoy.What boots it, that thy reins Justinian's handRefitted, if thy saddle be unprest?Naught doth he now but aggravate thy shame.Ah, people! thou obedient still should'st live,And in the saddle let thy Cxsar sit,If well thou marked'st that which God commands.Look how that beast to fellness hath relapsed,From having lost correction of the spur,Since to the bridle thou hast set thine hand,O German Albert! 10 who abandon'st herThat is grown savage and unmanageable,When thou shouldst clasp her flanks with forked heels.Just judgment from the stars fall on thy blood;And be it strange and manifest to all;Such as may strike thy successor 11 with dread;For that thy sire" and thou have suffer'd thus,[169]Through greediness of yonder realms detain'd,The garden of the empire to run waste.Come, see the Capulets and Montagues,"The Filippeschi and Monaldi, u manWho carest for naught! those sunk in grief, and theseWith dire suspicion rack'd. Come, cruel one!Come, and behold the oppression of the nobles,And mark their injuries; and thou mayst seeWhat safety Santafiore can supply. 15Come and behold thy Rome, who calls on thee,Desolate widow, day and night with moans,"My Caisar, why dost thou desert my side?"Come, and behold what love among thy people:And if no pity touches thee for us,Come, and blush for thine own report. For me,If it be lawful, O Almighty Power!Who wast on earth for our sakes crucified,Are thy just eyes turn'd elsewhere? or is thisA preparation, in the wondrous depthOf thy sage counsel made, for some good end,Entirely from our reach of thought cut off?So are the Italian cities all o'erthrong'dWith tyrants, and a great Marcellus madeOf every petty factious villager.My Florence! thou mayst well remain unmovedAt this digression, which affects not thee:Thanks to thy people, who so wisely speed.Many have justice in their heart, that longWaiteth for counsel to direct the bow,Or ere it dart unto its aim: but thineHave it on their lips' edge. Many refuseTo bear the common burdens: readier thineAnswer uncall'd, and cry, "Behold I stoop!"Make thyself glad, for thou hast reason now,Thou wealthy! thou at peace! thou wisdom-fraught!Facts best will witness if I speak the truth.Athens and Lacedxmon, who of oldEnacted laws, for civil arts renown'd,
p. 169¶" Two powerful Ghibelline families of 1 4 Two rival families in Orvieto.Verona. 1 5 A place between Pisa and Siena.[170]Made little progress in improving lifeToward thee, who usest such nice subdety,That to the middle of November scarceReaches the thread thou in October weavest.How many times within thy memory,Customs, and laws, and coins, and officesHave been by thee renew'd, and people changed.If thou remember'st well and canst see clear,Thou wilt perceive thyself like a sick wretch,Who finds no rest upon her down, but oftShifting her side, short respite seeks from pain.
Canto VII
¶ARGUMENT . — The approach of night hindering further ascent, Sordello conducts our Poet apart to an eminence, from whence they behold a pleasant recess, in form of a flowery valley, scooped out of the mountain; where are many famous spirits, and among them the Emperor Rodolph, Ottocar, King of Bohemia, Philip III of France, Henry of Navarre, Peter III of Arragon, Charles I of Naples, Henry III of England, and William, Marquis of Montferrat.
¶A FTER their courteous greetings joyfully/ \ Seven times exchanged, Sordello backward drewJ % Exclaiming, "Who are ye?"—"Before this mountBy spirits worthy of ascent to GodWas sought, my bones had by Octavius' careBeen buried. I am Virgil; for no sinDeprived of Heaven, except for lack of faith."So answer'd him in few my gende guide.As one, who aught before him suddenlyBeholding, whence his wonder riseth, cries,"It is, yet is not," wavering in belief;Such he appear'd; then downward bent his eyes,And, drawing near with reverential step,Caught him, where one of mean estate might claspHis lord. "Glory of Lauum!" he exclaim'd,"In whom our tongue its utmost power display'd;Boast of my honor'd birth-place! what desertOf mine, what favour, rather, undeserved,Shows thee to me? If I to hear that voiceAm worthy, say if from below thou comest,[171]And from what cloister's pale."—"Through everyorbOf that sad region," he replied, "thus farAm I arrived, by heavenly influence led:And with such aid I come. Not for my doing,But for not doing, have I lost the sightOf that high Sun, whom thou desirest, and whoBy me too late was known. There is a place 1There underneath, not made by torments sad,But by dun shades alone; where mourning's voiceSounds not of anguish sharp, but breathes in sighs.There I with little innocents abide,Who by death's fangs were bitten, ere exemptFrom human taint. There I with those abide,Who the three holy virtues 2 put not on,But understood the rest, 3 and without blameFollow'd them all. But, if thou know'st, and canst,Direct us how we soonest may arrive,Where Purgatory its true beginning takes."He answer'd thus: "We have no certain placeAssign'd us: upward I may go, or round.Far as I can, I join thee for thy guide.But thou beholdest now how day declines;And upward to proceed by night, our powerExcels: therefore it may be well to chooseA place of pleasant sojourn. To the rightSome spirits sit apart retired. If thouConsentest, I to these will lead thy steps:And thou wilt know them, not without delight.""How chances this?" was answer'd: "whoso wish'dTo ascend by night, would he be thence debarr'dBy other, or through his own weakness fail?"The good Sordello then, along the groundTrailing his finger, spoke: "Only this lineThou shalt not overpass, soon as the sunHath disappear'd; not that aught else impedesThy going upward, save the shades of night.These, with the want of power, perplex the will.[172]With them thou haply mightst return beneath,Or to and fro around the mountain's sideWander, while day is in the horizon shut."My master straight, as wondering at his speech,Exclaim'd: "Then lead us quickly, where thou saystThat, while we stay, we may enjoy delight."A little space we were removed from thence,When I perceived the mountain hollow'd out,Even as large valleys hollow'd out on earth."That way," the escorting spirit cried, "we go,Where in a bosom the high bank recedes:And thou await renewal of the day."Betwixt the steep and plain, a crooked pathLed us traverse into the ridge's side,Where more than half the sloping edge expires.Refulgent gold, and silver thrice refined,And scarlet grain and ceruse, Indian woodOf lucid dye serene, fresh emeraldsBut newly broken, by the herbs and flowersPlaced in that fair recess, in color allHad been surpass'd, as great surpasses less.Nor nature only there lavish'd her hues,But of the sweetness of a thousand smellsA rare and undistinguish'd fragrance made."Salve Regina," 4 on the grass and flowers,Here chanting, I beheld those spirits sit,Who not beyond the valley could be seen."Before the westering sun sink to his bed,"Began the Mantuan, who our steps had turn'd," 'Mid those, desire not that I lead ye on.For from this eminence ye shall discernBetter the acts and visages of all,Than, in the nether vale, among them mix'd.He, who sits high above the rest, and seemsTo have neglected that he should have done,And to the others' song moves not his lip,The Emperor Rodolph call, who might have heal'dThe wounds whereof fair Italy hath died,
So that by others she revives but slowly.He, who with kindly visage comforts him,Sway'd in that country, 1 where the water springs,That Moldaw's river to the Elbe, and ElbeRolls to the ocean: Ottocar* his name:Who in his swaddling-clothes was of more worthThan Wenceslaus his son, a bearded man,Pamper'd with rank luxuriousness and ease.And that one with the nose deprest, 7 who closeIn counsel seems with him of gende look,"Flying expired, withering the lily's flower.Look there, how he doth knock against his breast.The other ye behold, who for his cheekMakes of one hand a couch, with frequent sighs.They are the father and the father-in-lawOf Gallia's bane:' his vicious life they knowAnd foul; thence comes the grief that rends them thus."He, so robust of limb, 10 who measure keepsIn song with him of feature prominent,"With every virtue bore his girdle braced.
¶s ' That country." Bohemia. ransomed; for which he was much
¶* "Ottocar." King of Bohemia, who blamed and held in great abhorrence, was killed in the battle of Marchficld, And from thenceforth the realm of fought with Rodolph, August 26, 1278. France fell evermore into degradation and Wenceslaus II, his son, who succeeded decline. And it is observable that between him in the Kingdom of Bohemia, died in the taking of Acre and this seizure in 1305. The latter is again taxed with lux- France, the merchants of Florence reury in the Paradise, xix. 123. ceived great damage and ruin of their
¶Philip III, of France, father of Philip IV. 1 0 "He, so robust of limb." Peter III, He died in 1285, at Perpignan, in his re- called the Great, King of Arragon, who treat from Arragon. died in 1285, leaving four sons, Alonzo,
¶* "Him of gentle look." Henry of James, Frederick, and Peter. The two for-Navarre, father of Jane, married to Philip mer succeeded him in the Kingdom of IV, of France, whom Dante calls "mal di Arragon, and Frederick in that of Sicily. Francia."—"Gallia's bane." 1 1 " Him of feature prominent." "Dal
¶'"Gallia's bane." G. Villani, lib. vii. maschio naso"—"with the masculine cap. cxlvi, speaks with equal resentment nose." Charles I, King of Naples, Count of Philip IV. "In 1291, on the night of of Anjou, and brother of St. Louis. He the calends of May, Philip le Bel, King of died in 1284. The annalist of Florence France, by advice of Biccio and Musciatto remarks that "there had been no sov-Franzcsi, ordered all the Italians, who ereign of the house of France, since the were in his country and realm, to be time of Charlemagne, by whom Charles seized, under pretence of seizing the was surpassed either in military renown money-lenders, but thus he caused the and prowess, or in the loftiness of his good merchants also to be seized and understanding."
And if that stripling, 12 who behind him sits,King after him had lived, his virtue thenFrom vessel to like vessel had been pour'd;Which may not of the other heirs be said.By James and Frederick his realms are held;Neither the better heritage obtains.Rarely into the branches of the treeDoth human worth mount up: and so ordainsHe who bestows it, that as His free giftIt may be call'd. To Charles 13 my words applyNo less than to his brother in song;Which Pouille and Provence now with grief confess.So much that plant degenerates from its seed,As, more than Beatrix and Margaret,Costanza u still boasts of her valorous spouse."Behold the King of simple life and plain,Harry of England, 15 sitting there alone:He through his branches better issue 16 spreads."That one, who, on the ground, beneath the rest,Sits lowest, yet his gaze directs aloft,Is William, that brave Marquis, 17 for whose cause,The deed of Alexandria and his warMakes Montferrat and Canavese weep."
¶1 1 "That stripling." Either (as the old 1 5 "Harry of England." Henry III. The commentators suppose) Alonzo III, King contemporary annalist speaks of this king of Arragon, the eldest son of Peter III, in similar terms. G. Villani, lib. v. cap. iv. who died in 1291, at the age of 27; or, "From Richard was born Henry, who according to Venturi, Peter, the youngest reigned after him, who was a plain man son. The former was a young prince of of good faith, but of little courage."
¶virtue sufficient to have justified the 1 6 "Better issue." Edward I, of whose culogium and the hopes of Dante. glory our Poet was perhaps a witness, in
¶1 3 " To Charles." " A l Nausto"—Charles his visit to England. "From the said II, King of Naples, is no less inferior to Henry was born the good King Edward, his father, Charles I, than James and who reigns in our times, who has done Frederick to theirs, Peter III. great things, whereof we shall make men
¶1 4 "Costanza." Widow of Peter III. tion in due place."—G. Villani, ibid.
¶She has been already mentioned in the " "William, that brave Marquis." Wilthird Canto, v. 1 1 2 . By Beatrix and ham, Marquis of Montferrat, was treachMargaret are probably meant two of the erously seized by his own subjects, at daughters of Raymond Bercnger, Count Alessandria in Lombardy, A . D . 1290, and of Provence; the latter married to St. ended his life in prison. A war ensued Louis of France, the former to his brother between the people of Alessandria and Charles of Anjou, King of Naples. See those of Montferrat and the Canavese, Paradise, Canto vi. 135. Dante therefore now part of Piedmont.
¶ARGUMENT . — Two Angels, with flaming swords broken at the points, descend to keep watch over the valley, into which Virgil and Dante entering by desire of Sordello, our Poet meets with joy the spirit of Nino, the judge of Gallura, one who was well known to him. Meantime three exceedingly bright stars appear near the pole, and a serpent creeps subtly into the valley, but flees at hearing the approach of those angelic guards. Lastly, Conrad Malaspina predicts to our Poet his future banishment.
¶NOW was the hour that wakens fond desireIn men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heartWho in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell,And pilgrim newly on his road with loveThrills, if he hear the vesper bell from far,That seems to mourn for the expiring day:When I, no longer taking heed to hear,Began, with wonder, from those spirits to markOne risen from its seat, which with its handAudience implored. Both palms it join'd and raised,Fixing its stedfast gaze toward the east,As telling God, "I care for naught beside.""Te Lucis Ante,"1 so devoudy thenCame from its lip, and in so soft a strain,That all my sense in ravishment was lost.And the rest after, softly and devout,Follow'd through all the hymn, with upward gazeDirected to the bright supernal wheels.Here, reader! for the truth make thine eyes keen:For of so subtle texture is this veil,That thou with ease mayst pass it through unmark'd.I saw that gende band silently nextLook up, as if in expectation held,Pale and in lowly guise; and, from on high,I saw, forth issuing descend beneath,Two Angels, with two flame-illumined swords,Broken and mutilated of their points.Green as the tender leaves but newly born,Their vesture was, the which, by wings as greenBeaten, they drew behind them, fann'd in air.A little over us one took his stand;[176]The other lighted on the opposing hill;So that the troop were in the midst contain'd.Well I descried the whiteness on their heads;But in their visages the dazzled eyeWas lost, as faculty that by too muchIs overpower'd. "From Mary's bosom bothAre come," exclaim'd Sordello, "as a guardOver the vale, 'gainst him, who hither tends,The serpent." Whence, not knowing by which pathHe came, I turn'd me round; and closely press'd,All frozen, to my leader's trusted side.Sordello paused not: "To the valley now(For it is time) let us descend; and holdConverse with those great shadows: haply muchTheir sight may please ye." Only three steps downMethinks I measured, ere I was beneath,And noted one who look'd as with desireTo know me. Time was now that air grew dim;Yet not so dim, that, 'twixt his eyes and mine,It clear'd not up what was conceal'd before.Mutually toward each other we advanced.Nino, thou courteous judge! I what joy I felt,When I perceived thou wert not with the bad.No salutation kind on either partWas left unsaid. He then inquired: "How long,Since thou arrived'st at the mountain's foot,Over the distant waves?"—"Oh!" answer'd I,"Through the sad seats of woe this morn I came;And still in my first life, thus journeying on,The other strive to gain." Soon as they heardMy words, he and Sordello backward drew,As suddenly amazed. To Virgil one,The other to a spirit turn'd, who nearWas seated, crying: "Conrad! 3 up with speed:Come, see what of His grace high God hath will'd."Then turning round to me: "By that rare markOf honour, which thou owest to Him, who hidesSo deeply His first cause it hath no ford;[177]When thou shalt be beyond the vast of waves,Tell my Giovanna, 4 that for me she callThere, where reply to innocence is made.Her mother, 5 I believe, loves me no more;Since she has changed the white and wimpled folds*Which she is doom'd once more with grief to wish.By her it easily may be perceived,How long in woman lasts the flame of love,If sight and touch do not relume it oft.For her so fair a burial will not makeThe viper, 7 which calls Milan to the field,As had been made by shrill Gallura's bird." 8He spoke, and in his visage took the stampOf that right zeal, which with due temperatureGlows in the bosom. My insatiate eyesMeanwhile to Heaven had travel'd, even thereWhere the bright stars are slowest, as a wheelNearest the axle; when my guide inquired:"What there aloft, my son, has caught thy gaze?"I answer'd: "The three torches, 9 with which hereThe pole is all on fire." He then to me:"The four resplendent stars, thou saw'st this morn,Are there beneath; and these, risen in their stead."While yet he spoke, Sordello to himselfDrew him, and cried: "Lo there our enemy!"And with his hand pointed that way to look.Along the side, where barrier none aroseAround the little vale, a serpent lay,Such haply as gave Eve the bitter food.Between the grass and flowers, the evil snakeCame on, reverting oft his lifted head;[178]And, as a beast that smooths its polish'd coat,Licking his back. I saw not, nor can tell,How those celestial falcons from their seatMoved, but in motion each one well descried.Hearing the air cut by their verdant plumes,The serpent fled; and, to their stations, backThe Angels up return'd with equal flight.The spirit, (who to Nino, when he call'd,Had come), from viewing me with fixed ken,Through all that conflict, loosen'd not his sight."So may the lamp, which leads thee up on high,Find, in thy free resolve, of wax so much,As may suffice thee to the enamel'd height."It thus began: "If any certain newsOf Valdimagra and the neighbour partThou know'st, tell me, who once was mighty there.They call'd me Conrad Malaspina; notThat old one, but from him I sprang. The loveI bore my people is now here refined.""In your domains," I answer'd, "ne'er was I.But, through all Europe, where do those men dwell,To whom their glory is not manifest?The fame, that honours your illustrious house,Proclaims the nobles, and proclaims the land;So that he knows it, who was never there.I swear to you, so may my upward routeProsper, your honoured nation not impairsThe value of her coffer and her sword.Nature and use give her such privilege,That while the world is twisted from his courseBy a bad head, she only walks aright,And has the evil way in scorn." He then:"Now pass thee on: seven times the tired sun 10Revisits not the couch, which with four feetThe forked Aries covers, ere that kindOpinion shall be nail'd into thy brain
p. 178¶" " The sun shall not enter into the shalt there meet with." Dante was hosconstellation of Aries seven times more, pitably received by the Marchese Marcello, before thou shalt have still better cause or Morcllo Malaspina, during his banish-for the good opinion thou expressest of mcnt, A . D . 1307.
p. 179¶With stronger nails than other's speech can drive;If the sure course of judgment be not stay'd."
Canto IX
¶ARGUMENT . — Dante is carried up the mountain, asleep and dreaming, by Lucia; and, on awakening, finds himself, two hours after sunrise, with Virgil, near the gate of Purgatory, through which they are admitted by the Angel deputed by St. Peter to keep it.
¶NOW the fair consort of Tithonus old,Arisen from her mate's beloved arms,Look'd palely o'er the eastern cliff; her brow,Lucent with jewels, glitter'd, set in signOf that chill animal, 1 who with his trainSmites fearful nations: and where then we were,Two steps of her ascent the night had past;And now the third was closing up its wing, 2When I, who had so much of Adam with me,Sank down upon the grass, o'ercome with sleep,There where all five 3 were seated. In that hour,When near the dawn the swallow her sad lay,Remembering haply ancient grief, 4 renews;And when our minds, more wanderers from the flesh,And less by thought restrain'd, are, as't were, fullOf holy divination in their dreams;Then, in a vision, did I seem to viewA golden-feather'd eagle in the sky,With open wings, and hovering for descent;And I was in that place, methought, from whenceYoung Ganymede, from his associates 'reft,Was snatch'd aloft to the high consistory."Perhaps," thought I within me, "here aloneHe strikes his quarry, and elsewhere disdains[180]To pounce upon the prey." Therewith, it seem'd,A little wheeling in his aery tour,Terrible as the lightning, rush'd he down,And snatch'd me upward even to the lire.There both, I thought, the eagle and myselfDid burn; and so intense the imagined flames,That needs my sleep was broken off. As erstAchilles shook himself, and round him roll'dHis waken'd eyeballs, wondering where he was,Whenas his mother had from Chiron fledTo Scyros, with him sleeping in her arms;There whence the Greeks did after sunder him;E'en thus I shook me, soon as from my faceThe slumber parted, turning deadly pale,Like one ice-struck with dread. Sole at my sideMy comfort stood: and the bright sun was nowMore than two hours aloft: and to the seaMy looks were turn'd. "Fear not," my master cried,"Assured we are at happy point. Thy strengthShrink not, but rise dilated. Thou art comeTo Purgatory now. Lo! there the cliffThat circling bounds it. Lo! the entrance there,Where it doth seem disparted. Ere the dawnUsher'd the day-light, when thy wearied soulSlept in thee, o'er the flowery vale beneathA lady came, and thus bespake me: 'IAm Lucia. 5 Suffer me to take this man,Who slumbers. Easier so his way shall speed.'Sordello and the other gentle shapesTarrying, she bare thee up: and, as day shone,This summit reach'd: and I pursued her steps.Here did she place thee. First, her lovely eyesThat open entrance show'd me; then at onceShe vanish'd with thy sleep." Like one, whose doubtsAre chased by certainty, and terror turn'dTo comfort on discovery of the truth,Such was the change in me: and as my guideBeheld me fearless, up along the cliffHe moved, and I behind him, toward the height.'"Lucia." See Hell, c. ii 97 and Paradise, c. xxxii. 123.[181]Reader! thou markest how my theme doth rise;Nor wonder therefore, if more artfullyI prop the structure. Nearer now we drew,Arrived whence, in that part, where first a breachAs of a wall appear'd, I could descryA portal, and three steps beneath, that ledFor inlet there, of different colour each;And one who watch'd, but spake not yet a word.As more and more mine eye did stretch its view,I mark'd him seated on the highest step,In visage such, as past my power to bear.Grasp'd in his hand, a naked sword glanced backThe rays so toward me, that I oft in vainMy sight directed. "Speak, from whence ye stand;"He cried: "What would ye? Where is your escort?Take heed your coming upward harm ye not.""A heavenly dame, not skill-less of these things,"Replied the instructor, "told us, even now,'Pass that way: here the gate is.'"—"And may she,Befriending, prosper your ascent," resumedThe courteous keeper of the gate: "Come thenBefore our steps." We straightway thither came.The lowest stair 6 was marble white, so smoothAnd polish'd, that therein my mirror'd formDistinct I saw. The next of hue more darkThan sablest grain, a rough and singed block,Crack'd lengthwise and across. The third, that layMassy above, seem'd porphyry, that flamedRed as the life-blood spouting from a vein.On this God's angel either foot sustain'd,Upon the threshold seated, which appear'dA rock of diamond. Up the trinal stepsMy leader cheerly drew me. "Ask," said he,"With humble heart, that he unbar the bolt."Piously at his holy feet devolvedI cast me, praying him for pity's sakeThat he would open to me; but first fell
p. 181¶• The white step suggests the con- contrition on their account; the porphyry, science of the penitent reflecting his of- the fervor with which he resolves on the fences; the burnt and cracked one, his future pursuit of piety and virtue.
p. 182¶Thrice on my bosom prostrate. Seven times1The letter, that denotes the inward stain,He, on my forehead, with the blunted pointOf his drawn sword, inscribed. And "Look," he cried,"When enter'd, that thou wash these scars away."Ashes, or earth ta'en dry out of the ground,Were of one colour with the robe he wore.From underneath that vestment forth he drewTwo keys," of metal twain: the one was gold,Its fellow silver. With the pallid first,And next the burnish'd, he so ply'd the gate,As to content me well. "Whenever oneFaileth of these, that in the key-hole straightIt turn not, to this alley then expectAccess in vain." Such were the words he spake."One is more precious:2 but the other needsSkill and sagacity, large share of each,Ere its good task to disengage the knotBe worthily perform'd. From Peter theseI hold, of him instructed that I errRather in opening, than in keeping fast;So but the suppliant at my feet implore."Then of that hallow'd gate he thrust the door,Exclaiming, "Enter, but this warning hear:He forth again departs who looks behind."As in the hinges of that sacred wardThe swivels turn'd, sonorous metal strong,Harsh was the grating; nor so surlilyRoar'd the Tarpeian, when by force bereftOf good Metellus, thenceforth from his lossTo leanness doom'd. Attentively I turn'd,Listening the thunder that first issued forth;And "We praise thee, O God," methought I heard,[183]In accents blended with sweet melody.The strains came o'er mine ear, e'en as the soundOf choral voices, that in solemn chantWith organ 10 mingle, and now high and clearCome swelling, now float indistinct away.
¶ARGUMENT . — Being admitted at the gate of Purgatory, our Poets ascend a winding path up the rock, till they reach an open and level space that extends each way round the mountain. On the side that rises, and which is of white marble, are seen artfully engraven many stories of humility, which whilst they are contemplating, there approach the souls of those who expiate the sin of pride, and who are bent down beneath the weight of heavy stones.
¶WHEN we had passed the threshold of the gate,(Which the soul's ill affection doth disuse,Making the crooked seem the straighter path,)I heard its closing sound. Had mine eyes turn'd,For that offence what plea might have avail'd?We mounted up the riven rock, that woundOn either side alternate, as the waveFlies and advances. "Here some little artBehoves us," said my leader, "that our stepsObserve the varying flexure of the path."Thus we so slowly sped, that with cleft orbThe moon once more o'erhangs her watery couch,Ere we that strait have threaded. But when free,We came, and open, where the mount aboveOne solid mass retires; I spent with toil,And both uncertain of the way, we stood,Upon a plain more lonesome than the roadsThat traverse desert wilds. From whence the brinkBorders upon vacuity, to footOf the steep bank that rises still, the spaceHad measured thrice the stature of a man:And, distant as mine eye could wing its flight,To leftward now and now to right despatch'd,That cornice equal in extent appear'd.[184]Not yet our feet had on that summit moved,When I discovered that the bank, around,Whose proud uprising all ascent denied,Was marble white; and so exactly wroughtWith quaintest sculpture, that not there aloneHad Polycletus, but e'en nature's selfBeen shamed. The Angel (who came down to eiWith tidings of the peace so many yearsWept for in vain, that oped the heavenly gatesFrom their long interdict) before us seem'd,In a sweet act, so sculptured to the life,He look'd no silent image. One had swornHe had said "Hail!" for she was imaged there,By whom the key did open to God's love;And in her act as sensibly imprestThat word, "Behold the handmaid of the Lord,"As figure seal'd on wax. "Fix not thy mindOn one place only," said the guide beloved,Who had me near him on that part where liesThe heart of man. My sight forthwith I turn'd,And mark'd, behind the Virgin Mother's form,Upon that side where he that moved me stood,Another story graven on the rock.I past athwart the bard, and drew me near,That it might stand more aptly for my view.There, in the self-same marble, were engravedThe cart and kine, drawing the sacred ark,That from unbidden office awes mankind.Before it came much people; and the wholeParted in seven quires. One sense cried "Nay,"Another, "Yes, they sing." Like doubt aroseBetwixt the eye and smell, from the curl'd fumeOf incense breathing up the well-wrought toil.Preceding the blest vessel, onward cameWith light dance leaping, girt in humble guise,Israel's sweet harper: in that hap he seem'dLess, and yet more, than kingly. OppositeAt a great palace, from the lattice forthLook'd Michol, like a lady full of scornAnd sorrow. To behold the tablet next,[185]Which, at the back of Michol, whitely shone,I moved me. There, was storied on the rockThe exalted glory of the Roman prince,Whose mighty worth moved Gregory1 to earnHis mighty conquest, Trajan the Emperor.A widow at his bridle stood, attiredIn tears and mourning. Round about them troop'dFull throng of knights; and overhead in goldThe eagles floated, struggling with the wind.The wretch appear'd amid all these to say:"Grant vengeance, Sire! for, woe beshrew this heart,My son is murder'd." He replying seem'd:"Wait now till I return." And she, as oneMade hasty by her grief: "O Sire! if thouDost not return?"—"Where I am, who then is,May right thee."—"What to thee is other's good,If thou neglect thy own?"—"Now comfort thee;"At length he answers. "It beseemeth wellMy duty be perform'd, ere I move hence:So justice wills; and pity bids me stay."He, whose ken nothing new surveys, producedThat visible speaking, new to us and strange,The like not found on earth. Fondly I gazedUpon those patterns of meek humbleness,Shapes yet more precious for their artist's sake;When "Lo!" the poet whispcr'd, "where this way(But slack their pace) a multitude advance,These to the lofty steps shall guide us on."Mine eyes, though bent on view of novel sights,Their loved allurement, were not slow to turn.Reader! I would not that amazed thou missOf thy good purpose, hearing how just GodDecrees our debts be cancel'd. Ponder notThe form of suffering. Think on what succeeds:Think that, at worst, beyond the mighty doomIt cannot pass. "Instructor!" I began,"What I see hither tending, bears no traceOf human semblance, nor of aught beside[186]That my foil'd sight can guess." He answering thus:"So curb'd to earth, beneath their heavy termsOf torment stoop they, that mine eye at firstStruggled as thine. But look intendy thither;And disentangle with thy laboring view,What, underneath those stones, approacheth: now,E'en now, mayst thou discern the pangs of each."Christians and proud! O poor and wretched oneslThat, feeble in the mind's eye, lean your trustUpon unstaid perverseness: know ye notThat we are worms, yet made at last to formThe winged insect, 2 imp'd with angel plumes,That to Heaven's justice unobstructed soars?Why buoy ye up aloft your unfledged souls?Abortive then and shapeless ye remain,Like the untimely embryon of a worm.As, to support incumbent floor or roof,For corbel, is a figure sometimes seen,That crumples up its knees unto its breast;With the feign'd posture, stirring ruth unfeign'dIn the beholder's fancy; so I sawThese fashion'd, when I noted well their guise.Each, as his back was laden, came indeedOr more or less contracted; and it seem'dAs he, who show'd most patience in his look,Wailing exclaim'd: "I can endure no more."