Divine Comedy, Longfellow's Translation, Purgatory · Dante Alighieri
PURGATORIO
Imploring the high Lord, in so great strife, That he would pardon those his persecutors, With such an aspect as unlocks compassion. Soon as my soul had outwardly returned To things external to it which are true, Did I my not false errors recognize. My Leader, who could see me bear myself Like to a man that rouses him from sleep, Exclaimed: “What ails thee, that thou canst not stand? But hast been coming more than half a league Veiling thine eyes, and with thy legs entangled, In guise of one whom wine or sleep subdues?” “O my sweet Father, if thou listen to me, I’ll tell thee,” said I, “what appeared to me, When thus from me my legs were ta’en away.” And he: “If thou shouldst have a hundred masks Upon thy face, from me would not be shut Thy cogitations, howsoever small. What thou hast seen was that thou mayst not fail To ope thy heart unto the waters of peace, Which from the eternal fountain are diffused. I did not ask, ‘What ails thee?’ as he does Who only looketh with the eyes that see not When of the soul bereft the body lies, But asked it to give vigour to thy feet; Thus must we needs urge on the sluggards, slow To use their wakefulness when it returns.”
We passed along, athwart the twilight peering Forward as far as ever eye could stretch Against the sunbeams serotine and lucent; And lo! by slow degrees a smoke approached In our direction, sombre as the night, Nor was there place to hide one’s self therefrom. This of our eyes and the pure air bereft us. Purgatorio: Canto XVI Darkness of hell, and of a night deprived Of every planet under a poor sky, As much as may be tenebrous with cloud, Ne’er made unto my sight so thick a veil, As did that smoke which there enveloped us, Nor to the feeling of so rough a texture; For not an eye it suffered to stay open; Whereat mine escort, faithful and sagacious, Drew near to me and offered me his shoulder. E’en as a blind man goes behind his guide, Lest he should wander, or should strike against Aught that may harm or peradventure kill him, So went I through the bitter and foul air, Listening unto my Leader, who said only, “Look that from me thou be not separated.” Voices I heard, and every one appeared To supplicate for peace and misericord The Lamb of God who takes away our sins. Still “Agnus Dei” their exordium was; One word there was in all, and metre one, So that all harmony appeared among them.
“Master,” I said, “are spirits those I hear?” And he to me: “Thou apprehendest truly, And they the knot of anger go unloosing.” “Now who art thou, that cleavest through our smoke And art discoursing of us even as though Thou didst by calends still divide the time?” After this manner by a voice was spoken; Whereon my Master said: “Do thou reply, And ask if on this side the way go upward.” And I: “O creature that dost cleanse thyself To return beautiful to Him who made thee, Thou shalt hear marvels if thou follow me.” “Thee will I follow far as is allowed me,” He answered; “and if smoke prevent our seeing, Hearing shall keep us joined instead thereof.” Thereon began I: “With that swathing band Which death unwindeth am I going upward, And hither came I through the infernal anguish. And if God in his grace has me infolded, So that he wills that I behold his court By method wholly out of modern usage, Conceal not from me who ere death thou wast, But tell it me, and tell me if I go Right for the pass, and be thy words our escort.” “Lombard was I, and I was Marco called; The world I knew, and loved that excellence, At which has each one now unbent his bow.
And free volition; which, if some fatigue In the first battles with the heavens it suffers, Afterwards conquers all, if well ’tis nurtured. To greater force and to a better nature, Though free, ye subject are, and that creates The mind in you the heavens have not in charge. Hence, if the present world doth go astray, In you the cause is, be it sought in you; And I therein will now be thy true spy. Forth from the hand of Him, who fondles it Before it is, like to a little girl Weeping and laughing in her childish sport, Issues the simple soul, that nothing knows, Save that, proceeding from a joyous Maker, Gladly it turns to that which gives it pleasure. Of trivial good at first it tastes the savour; Is cheated by it, and runs after it, If guide or rein turn not aside its love. Hence it behoved laws for a rein to place, Behoved a king to have, who at the least Of the true city should discern the tower. The laws exist, but who sets hand to them? No one; because the shepherd who precedes Can ruminate, but cleaveth not the hoof; Wherefore the people that perceives its guide Strike only at the good for which it hankers, Feeds upon that, and farther seeketh not.
Clearly canst thou perceive that evil guidance The cause is that has made the world depraved, And not that nature is corrupt in you. Rome, that reformed the world, accustomed was Two suns to have, which one road and the other, Of God and of the world, made manifest. One has the other quenched, and to the crosier The sword is joined, and ill beseemeth it That by main force one with the other go, Because, being joined, one feareth not the other; If thou believe not, think upon the grain, For by its seed each herb is recognized. In the land laved by Po and Adige, Valour and courtesy used to be found, Before that Frederick had his controversy; Now in security can pass that way Whoever will abstain, through sense of shame, From speaking with the good, or drawing near them. True, three old men are left, in whom upbraids The ancient age the new, and late they deem it That God restore them to the better life: Currado da Palazzo, and good Gherardo, And Guido da Castel, who better named is, In fashion of the French, the simple Lombard: Say thou henceforward that the Church of Rome, Confounding in itself two governments, Falls in the mire, and soils itself and burden.” “O Marco mine,” I said, “thou reasonest well; And now discern I why the sons of Levi Have been excluded from the heritage.
But what Gherardo is it, who, as sample Of a lost race, thou sayest has remained In reprobation of the barbarous age?” “Either thy speech deceives me, or it tempts me,” He answered me; “for speaking Tuscan to me, It seems of good Gherardo naught thou knowest. By other surname do I know him not, Unless I take it from his daughter Gaia. May God be with you, for I come no farther. Behold the dawn, that through the smoke rays out, Already whitening; and I must depart— Yonder the Angel is—ere he appear.” Thus did he speak, and would no farther hear me. Purgatorio: Canto XVII Remember, Reader, if e’er in the Alps A mist o’ertook thee, through which thou couldst see Not otherwise than through its membrane mole, How, when the vapours humid and condensed Begin to dissipate themselves, the sphere Of the sun feebly enters in among them, And thy imagination will be swift In coming to perceive how I re-saw The sun at first, that was already setting. Thus, to the faithful footsteps of my Master Mating mine own, I issued from that cloud To rays already dead on the low shores. O thou, Imagination, that dost steal us So from without sometimes, that man perceives not, Although around may sound a thousand trumpets, Who moveth thee, if sense impel thee not? Moves thee a light, which in the heaven takes form, By self, or by a will that downward guides it.
So comes the captive soul into desire, Which is a motion spiritual, and ne’er rests Until she doth enjoy the thing beloved. Now may apparent be to thee how hidden The truth is from those people, who aver All love is in itself a laudable thing; Because its matter may perchance appear Aye to be good; but yet not each impression Is good, albeit good may be the wax.” “Thy words, and my sequacious intellect,” I answered him, “have love revealed to me; But that has made me more impregned with doubt; For if love from without be offered us, And with another foot the soul go not, If right or wrong she go, ’tis not her merit.” And he to me: “What reason seeth here, Myself can tell thee; beyond that await For Beatrice, since ’tis a work of faith. Every substantial form, that segregate From matter is, and with it is united, Specific power has in itself collected, Which without act is not perceptible, Nor shows itself except by its effect, As life does in a plant by the green leaves. But still, whence cometh the intelligence Of the first notions, man is ignorant, And the affection for the first allurements, Which are in you as instinct in the bee To make its honey; and this first desire Merit of praise or blame containeth not.
Now, that to this all others may be gathered, Innate within you is the power that counsels, And it should keep the threshold of assent. This is the principle, from which is taken Occasion of desert in you, according As good and guilty loves it takes and winnows. Those who, in reasoning, to the bottom went, Were of this innate liberty aware, Therefore bequeathed they Ethics to the world. Supposing, then, that from necessity Springs every love that is within you kindled, Within yourselves the power is to restrain it. The noble virtue Beatrice understands By the free will; and therefore see that thou Bear it in mind, if she should speak of it.” The moon, belated almost unto midnight, Now made the stars appear to us more rare, Formed like a bucket, that is all ablaze, And counter to the heavens ran through those paths Which the sun sets aflame, when he of Rome Sees it ’twixt Sardes and Corsicans go down; And that patrician shade, for whom is named Pietola more than any Mantuan town, Had laid aside the burden of my lading; Whence I, who reason manifest and plain In answer to my questions had received, Stood like a man in drowsy reverie. But taken from me was this drowsiness Suddenly by a people, that behind Our backs already had come round to us.
When geomancers their Fortuna Major See in the orient before the dawn Rise by a path that long remains not dim, There came to me in dreams a stammering woman, Squint in her eyes, and in her feet distorted, With hands dissevered and of sallow hue. I looked at her; and as the sun restores The frigid members which the night benumbs, Even thus my gaze did render voluble Her tongue, and made her all erect thereafter In little while, and the lost countenance As love desires it so in her did colour. When in this wise she had her speech unloosed, She ’gan to sing so, that with difficulty Could I have turned my thoughts away from her. “I am,” she sang, “I am the Siren sweet Who mariners amid the main unman, So full am I of pleasantness to hear. I drew Ulysses from his wandering way Unto my song, and he who dwells with me Seldom departs so wholly I content him.” Her mouth was not yet closed again, before Appeared a Lady saintly and alert Close at my side to put her to confusion. “Virgilius, O Virgilius! who is this?” Sternly she said; and he was drawing near With eyes still fixed upon that modest one. She seized the other and in front laid open, Rending her garments, and her belly showed me; This waked me with the stench that issued from it.
I turned mine eyes, and good Virgilius said: “At least thrice have I called thee; rise and come; Find we the opening by which thou mayst enter.” I rose; and full already of high day Were all the circles of the Sacred Mountain, And with the new sun at our back we went. Following behind him, I my forehead bore Like unto one who has it laden with thought, Who makes himself the half arch of a bridge, When I heard say, “Come, here the passage is,” Spoken in a manner gentle and benign, Such as we hear not in this mortal region. With open wings, which of a swan appeared, Upward he turned us who thus spake to us, Between the two walls of the solid granite. He moved his pinions afterwards and fanned us, Affirming those ‘qui lugent’ to be blessed, For they shall have their souls with comfort filled. “What aileth thee, that aye to earth thou gazest?” To me my Guide began to say, we both Somewhat beyond the Angel having mounted. And I: “With such misgiving makes me go A vision new, which bends me to itself, So that I cannot from the thought withdraw me.” “Didst thou behold,” he said, “that old enchantress, Who sole above us henceforth is lamented? Didst thou behold how man is freed from her?
Saying: “O Spirit, in whom weeping ripens That without which to God we cannot turn, Suspend awhile for me thy greater care. Who wast thou, and why are your backs turned upwards, Tell me, and if thou wouldst that I procure thee Anything there whence living I departed.” And he to me: “Wherefore our backs the heaven Turns to itself, know shalt thou; but beforehand ‘Scias quod ego fui successor Petri.’ Between Siestri and Chiaveri descends A river beautiful, and of its name The title of my blood its summit makes. A month and little more essayed I how Weighs the great cloak on him from mire who keeps it, For all the other burdens seem a feather. Tardy, ah woe is me! was my conversion; But when the Roman Shepherd I was made, Then I discovered life to be a lie. I saw that there the heart was not at rest, Nor farther in that life could one ascend; Whereby the love of this was kindled in me. Until that time a wretched soul and parted From God was I, and wholly avaricious; Now, as thou seest, I here am punished for it. What avarice does is here made manifest In the purgation of these souls converted, And no more bitter pain the Mountain has. Even as our eye did not uplift itself Aloft, being fastened upon earthly things, So justice here has merged it in the earth.
As avarice had extinguished our affection For every good, whereby was action lost, So justice here doth hold us in restraint, Bound and imprisoned by the feet and hands; And so long as it pleases the just Lord Shall we remain immovable and prostrate.” I on my knees had fallen, and wished to speak; But even as I began, and he was ’ware, Only by listening, of my reverence, “What cause,” he said, “has downward bent thee thus?” And I to him: “For your own dignity, Standing, my conscience stung me with remorse.” “Straighten thy legs, and upward raise thee, brother,” He answered: “Err not, fellow-servant am I With thee and with the others to one power. If e’er that holy, evangelic sound, Which sayeth ‘neque nubent,’ thou hast heard, Well canst thou see why in this wise I speak. Now go; no longer will I have thee linger, Because thy stay doth incommode my weeping, With which I ripen that which thou hast said. On earth I have a grandchild named Alagia, Good in herself, unless indeed our house Malevolent may make her by example, And she alone remains to me on earth.” Purgatorio: Canto XX Ill strives the will against a better will; Therefore, to pleasure him, against my pleasure I drew the sponge not saturate from the water.
Onward I moved, and onward moved my Leader, Through vacant places, skirting still the rock, As on a wall close to the battlements; For they that through their eyes pour drop by drop The malady which all the world pervades, On the other side too near the verge approach. Accursed mayst thou be, thou old she-wolf, That more than all the other beasts hast prey, Because of hunger infinitely hollow! O heaven, in whose gyrations some appear To think conditions here below are changed, When will he come through whom she shall depart? Onward we went with footsteps slow and scarce, And I attentive to the shades I heard Piteously weeping and bemoaning them; And I by peradventure heard “Sweet Mary!” Uttered in front of us amid the weeping Even as a woman does who is in child-birth; And in continuance: “How poor thou wast Is manifested by that hostelry Where thou didst lay thy sacred burden down.” Thereafterward I heard: “O good Fabricius, Virtue with poverty didst thou prefer To the possession of great wealth with vice.” So pleasurable were these words to me That I drew farther onward to have knowledge Touching that spirit whence they seemed to come. He furthermore was speaking of the largess Which Nicholas unto the maidens gave, In order to conduct their youth to honour.
“O soul that dost so excellently speak, Tell me who wast thou,” said I, “and why only Thou dost renew these praises well deserved? Not without recompense shall be thy word, If I return to finish the short journey Of that life which is flying to its end.” And he: “I’ll tell thee, not for any comfort I may expect from earth, but that so much Grace shines in thee or ever thou art dead. I was the root of that malignant plant Which overshadows all the Christian world, So that good fruit is seldom gathered from it; But if Douay and Ghent, and Lille and Bruges Had Power, soon vengeance would be taken on it; And this I pray of Him who judges all. Hugh Capet was I called upon the earth; From me were born the Louises and Philips, By whom in later days has France been governed. I was the son of a Parisian butcher, What time the ancient kings had perished all, Excepting one, contrite in cloth of gray. I found me grasping in my hands the rein Of the realm’s government, and so great power Of new acquest, and so with friends abounding, That to the widowed diadem promoted The head of mine own offspring was, from whom The consecrated bones of these began. So long as the great dowry of Provence Out of my blood took not the sense of shame, ’Twas little worth, but still it did no harm.
Then it began with falsehood and with force Its rapine; and thereafter, for amends, Took Ponthieu, Normandy, and Gascony. Charles came to Italy, and for amends A victim made of Conradin, and then Thrust Thomas back to heaven, for amends. A time I see, not very distant now, Which draweth forth another Charles from France, The better to make known both him and his. Unarmed he goes, and only with the lance That Judas jousted with; and that he thrusts So that he makes the paunch of Florence burst. He thence not land, but sin and infamy, Shall gain, so much more grievous to himself As the more light such damage he accounts. The other, now gone forth, ta’en in his ship, See I his daughter sell, and chaffer for her As corsairs do with other female slaves. What more, O Avarice, canst thou do to us, Since thou my blood so to thyself hast drawn, It careth not for its own proper flesh? That less may seem the future ill and past, I see the flower-de-luce Alagna enter, And Christ in his own Vicar captive made. I see him yet another time derided; I see renewed the vinegar and gall, And between living thieves I see him slain. I see the modern Pilate so relentless, This does not sate him, but without decretal He to the temple bears his sordid sails!
When, O my Lord! shall I be joyful made By looking on the vengeance which, concealed, Makes sweet thine anger in thy secrecy? What I was saying of that only bride Of the Holy Ghost, and which occasioned thee To turn towards me for some commentary, So long has been ordained to all our prayers As the day lasts; but when the night comes on, Contrary sound we take instead thereof. At that time we repeat Pygmalion, Of whom a traitor, thief, and parricide Made his insatiable desire of gold; And the misery of avaricious Midas, That followed his inordinate demand, At which forevermore one needs but laugh. The foolish Achan each one then records, And how he stole the spoils; so that the wrath Of Joshua still appears to sting him here. Then we accuse Sapphira with her husband, We laud the hoof-beats Heliodorus had, And the whole mount in infamy encircles Polymnestor who murdered Polydorus. Here finally is cried: ‘O Crassus, tell us, For thou dost know, what is the taste of gold?’ Sometimes we speak, one loud, another low, According to desire of speech, that spurs us To greater now and now to lesser pace. But in the good that here by day is talked of, Erewhile alone I was not; yet near by No other person lifted up his voice.”
Put me in travail, and haste goaded me Along the encumbered path behind my Leader And I was pitying that righteous vengeance; And lo! in the same manner as Luke writeth That Christ appeared to two upon the way From the sepulchral cave already risen, A shade appeared to us, and came behind us, Down gazing on the prostrate multitude, Nor were we ware of it, until it spake, Saying, “My brothers, may God give you peace!” We turned us suddenly, and Virgilius rendered To him the countersign thereto conforming. Thereon began he: “In the blessed council, Thee may the court veracious place in peace, That me doth banish in eternal exile!” “How,” said he, and the while we went with speed, “If ye are shades whom God deigns not on high, Who up his stairs so far has guided you?” And said my Teacher: “If thou note the marks Which this one bears, and which the Angel traces Well shalt thou see he with the good must reign. But because she who spinneth day and night For him had not yet drawn the distaff off, Which Clotho lays for each one and compacts, His soul, which is thy sister and my own, In coming upwards could not come alone, By reason that it sees not in our fashion. Whence I was drawn from out the ample throat Of Hell to be his guide, and I shall guide him As far on as my school has power to lead.
But tell us, if thou knowest, why such a shudder Erewhile the mountain gave, and why together All seemed to cry, as far as its moist feet?” In asking he so hit the very eye Of my desire, that merely with the hope My thirst became the less unsatisfied. “Naught is there,” he began, “that without order May the religion of the mountain feel, Nor aught that may be foreign to its custom. Free is it here from every permutation; What from itself heaven in itself receiveth Can be of this the cause, and naught beside; Because that neither rain, nor hail, nor snow, Nor dew, nor hoar-frost any higher falls Than the short, little stairway of three steps. Dense clouds do not appear, nor rarefied, Nor coruscation, nor the daughter of Thaumas, That often upon earth her region shifts; No arid vapour any farther rises Than to the top of the three steps I spake of, Whereon the Vicar of Peter has his feet. Lower down perchance it trembles less or more, But, for the wind that in the earth is hidden I know not how, up here it never trembled. It trembles here, whenever any soul Feels itself pure, so that it soars, or moves To mount aloft, and such a cry attends it. Of purity the will alone gives proof, Which, being wholly free to change its convent, Takes by surprise the soul, and helps it fly.
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