THE VISION

OF

HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE

BY DANTE ALIGHIERI

TRANSLATED BY

THE REV. H. F. CARY

PURGATORY

Part 3

Cantos 11 - 18

CANTO XI

"O thou Almighty Father, who dost makeThe heavens thy dwelling, not in bounds confin'd, But that with love intenser there thou view'stThy primal effluence, hallow'd be thy name:Join each created being to extolThy might, for worthy humblest thanks and praiseIs thy blest Spirit. May thy kingdom's peaceCome unto us; for we, unless it come, With all our striving thither tend in vain. As of their will the angels unto theeTender meet sacrifice, circling thy throneWith loud hosannas, so of theirs be doneBy saintly men on earth. Grant us this dayOur daily manna, without which he roamsThrough this rough desert retrograde, who mostToils to advance his steps. As we to eachPardon the evil done us, pardon thouBenign, and of our merit take no count. 'Gainst the old adversary prove thou notOur virtue easily subdu'd; but freeFrom his incitements and defeat his wiles. This last petition, dearest Lord! is madeNot for ourselves, since that were needless now, But for their sakes who after us remain. "

Thus for themselves and us good speed imploring, Those spirits went beneath a weight like thatWe sometimes feel in dreams, all, sore beset, But with unequal anguish, wearied all, Round the first circuit, purging as they go, The world's gross darkness off: In our behalfIf there vows still be offer'd, what can hereFor them be vow'd and done by such, whose willsHave root of goodness in them? Well beseemsThat we should help them wash away the stainsThey carried hence, that so made pure and light, They may spring upward to the starry spheres. 

"Ah! so may mercy-temper'd justice ridYour burdens speedily, that ye have powerTo stretch your wing, which e'en to your desireShall lift you, as ye show us on which handToward the ladder leads the shortest way. And if there be more passages than one, Instruct us of that easiest to ascend;For this man who comes with me, and bears yetThe charge of fleshly raiment Adam left him, Despite his better will but slowly mounts. "From whom the answer came unto these words, Which my guide spake, appear'd not; but 'twas said:

"Along the bank to rightward come with us, And ye shall find a pass that mocks not toilOf living man to climb: and were it notThat I am hinder'd by the rock, wherewithThis arrogant neck is tam'd, whence needs I stoopMy visage to the ground, him, who yet lives, Whose name thou speak'st not him I fain would view. To mark if e'er I knew himnd to craveHis pity for the fardel that I bear. I was of Latiun, of a Tuscan hornA mighty one: Aldobranlesco's nameMy sire's, I know not if ye e'er have heard. My old blood and forefathers' gallant deedsMade me so haughty, that I clean forgotThe common mother, and to such excess, Wax'd in my scorn of all men, that I fell, Fell therefore; by what fate Sienna's sons, Each child in Campagnatico, can tell. I am Omberto; not me only prideHath injur'd, but my kindred all involv'dIn mischief with her. Here my lot ordainsUnder this weight to groan, till I appeaseGod's angry justice, since I did it notAmongst the living, here amongst the dead. "

List'ning I bent my visage down: and one(Not he who spake) twisted beneath the weightThat urg'd him, saw me, knew me straight, and call'd, Holding his eyes With difficulty fix'dIntent upon me, stooping as I wentCompanion of their way. "O!" I exclaim'd, "Art thou not Oderigi, art not thouAgobbio's glory, glory of that artWhich they of Paris call the limmer's skill?"

"Brother!" said he, "with tints that gayer smile, Bolognian Franco's pencil lines the leaves. His all the honour now; mine borrow'd light. In truth I had not been thus courteous to him, The whilst I liv'd, through eagerness of zealFor that pre-eminence my heart was bent on. Here of such pride the forfeiture is paid. Nor were I even here; if, able stillTo sin, I had not turn'd me unto God. O powers of man! how vain your glory, nipp'dE'en in its height of verdure, if an ageLess bright succeed not! imbue thoughtTo lord it over painting's field; and nowThe cry is Giotto's, and his name eclips'd. Thus hath one Guido from the other snatch'dThe letter'd prize: and he perhaps is born, Who shall drive either from their nest. The noiseOf worldly fame is but a blast of wind, That blows from divers points, and shifts its nameShifting the point it blows from. Shalt thou moreLive in the mouths of mankind, if thy fleshPart shrivel'd from thee, than if thou hadst died, Before the coral and the pap were left, Or ere some thousand years have passed? and thatIs, to eternity compar'd, a space, Briefer than is the twinkling of an eyeTo the heaven's slowest orb. He there who treadsSo leisurely before me, far and wideThrough Tuscany resounded once; and nowIs in Sienna scarce with whispers nam'd:There was he sov'reign, when destruction caughtThe madd'ning rage of Florence, in that dayProud as she now is loathsome. Your renownIs as the herb, whose hue doth come and go, And his might withers it, by whom it sprangCrude from the lap of earth. " I thus to him:"True are thy sayings: to my heart they breatheThe kindly spirit of meekness, and allayWhat tumours rankle there. But who is heOf whom thou spak'st but now?"--"This, " he replied, "Is Provenzano. He is here, becauseHe reach'd, with grasp presumptuous, at the swayOf all Sienna. Thus he still hath gone, Thus goeth never-resting, since he died. Such is th' acquittance render'd back of him, Who, beyond measure, dar'd on earth. " I then:"If soul that to the verge of life delaysRepentance, linger in that lower space, Nor hither mount, unless good prayers befriend, How chanc'd admittance was vouchsaf'd to him?"

"When at his glory's topmost height, " said he, "Respect of dignity all cast aside, Freely He fix'd him on Sienna's plain, A suitor to redeem his suff'ring friend, Who languish'd in the prison-house of Charles, Nor for his sake refus'd through every veinTo tremble. More I will not say; and dark, I know, my words are, but thy neighbours soonShall help thee to a comment on the text. This is the work, that from these limits freed him. "

CANTO XII

With equal pace as oxen in the yoke, I with that laden spirit journey'd onLong as the mild instructor suffer'd me;But when he bade me quit him, and proceed(For "here, " said he, "behooves with sail and oarsEach man, as best he may, push on his bark"), Upright, as one dispos'd for speed, I rais'dMy body, still in thought submissive bow'd. 

I now my leader's track not loth pursued;And each had shown how light we far'd alongWhen thus he warn'd me: "Bend thine eyesight down:For thou to ease the way shall find it goodTo ruminate the bed beneath thy feet. "

As in memorial of the buried, drawnUpon earth-level tombs, the sculptur'd formOf what was once, appears (at sight whereofTears often stream forth by remembrance wak'd, Whose sacred stings the piteous only feel), So saw I there, but with more curious skillOf portraiture o'erwrought, whate'er of spaceFrom forth the mountain stretches. On one partHim I beheld, above all creatures erstCreated noblest, light'ning fall from heaven:On th' other side with bolt celestial pierc'dBriareus: cumb'ring earth he lay through dintOf mortal ice-stroke. The Thymbraean godWith Mars, I saw, and Pallas, round their sire, Arm'd still, and gazing on the giant's limbsStrewn o'er th' ethereal field. Nimrod I saw:At foot of the stupendous work he stood, As if bewilder'd, looking on the crowdLeagued in his proud attempt on Sennaar's plain. 

O Niobe! in what a trance of woeThee I beheld, upon that highway drawn, Sev'n sons on either side thee slain! Saul!How ghastly didst thou look! on thine own swordExpiring in Gilboa, from that hourNe'er visited with rain from heav'n or dew!

O fond Arachne! thee I also sawHalf spider now in anguish crawling upTh' unfinish'd web thou weaved'st to thy bane!

O Rehoboam! here thy shape doth seemLouring no more defiance! but fear-smoteWith none to chase him in his chariot whirl'd. 

Was shown beside upon the solid floorHow dear Alcmaeon forc'd his mother rateThat ornament in evil hour receiv'd:How in the temple on Sennacherib fellHis sons, and how a corpse they left him there. Was shown the scath and cruel mangling madeBy Tomyris on Cyrus, when she cried:"Blood thou didst thirst for, take thy fill of blood!"Was shown how routed in the battle fledTh' Assyrians, Holofernes slain, and e'enThe relics of the carnage. Troy I mark'dIn ashes and in caverns. Oh! how fall'n, How abject, Ilion, was thy semblance there!

What master of the pencil or the styleHad trac'd the shades and lines, that might have madeThe subtlest workman wonder? Dead the dead, The living seem'd alive; with clearer viewHis eye beheld not who beheld the truth, Than mine what I did tread on, while I wentLow bending. Now swell out; and with stiff necksPass on, ye sons of Eve! veil not your looks, Lest they descry the evil of your path!

I noted not (so busied was my thought)How much we now had circled of the mount, And of his course yet more the sun had spent, When he, who with still wakeful caution went, Admonish'd: "Raise thou up thy head: for knowTime is not now for slow suspense. BeholdThat way an angel hasting towards us! Lo!Where duly the sixth handmaid doth returnFrom service on the day. Wear thou in lookAnd gesture seemly grace of reverent awe, That gladly he may forward us aloft. Consider that this day ne'er dawns again. "

Time's loss he had so often warn'd me 'gainst, I could not miss the scope at which he aim'd. 

The goodly shape approach'd us, snowy whiteIn vesture, and with visage casting streamsOf tremulous lustre like the matin star. His arms he open'd, then his wings; and spake:"Onward: the steps, behold! are near; and nowTh' ascent is without difficulty gain'd. "

A scanty few are they, who when they hearSuch tidings, hasten. O ye race of menThough born to soar, why suffer ye a windSo slight to baffle ye? He led us onWhere the rock parted; here against my frontDid beat his wings, then promis'd I should fareIn safety on my way. As to ascendThat steep, upon whose brow the chapel stands(O'er Rubaconte, looking lordly downOn the well-guided city, ) up the rightTh' impetuous rise is broken by the stepsCarv'd in that old and simple age, when stillThe registry and label rested safe;Thus is th' acclivity reliev'd, which herePrecipitous from the other circuit falls:But on each hand the tall cliff presses close. 

As ent'ring there we turn'd, voices, in strainIneffable, sang: "Blessed are the poorIn spirit. " Ah how far unlike to theseThe straits of hell; here songs to usher us, There shrieks of woe! We climb the holy stairs:And lighter to myself by far I seem'dThan on the plain before, whence thus I spake:"Say, master, of what heavy thing have IBeen lighten'd, that scarce aught the sense of toilAffects me journeying?" He in few replied:"When sin's broad characters, that yet remainUpon thy temples, though well nigh effac'd, Shall be, as one is, all clean razed out, Then shall thy feet by heartiness of willBe so o'ercome, they not alone shall feelNo sense of labour, but delight much moreShall wait them urg'd along their upward way. "

Then like to one, upon whose head is plac'dSomewhat he deems not of but from the becksOf others as they pass him by; his handLends therefore help to' assure him, searches, finds, And well performs such office as the eyeWants power to execute: so stretching forthThe fingers of my right hand, did I findSix only of the letters, which his swordWho bare the keys had trac'd upon my brow. The leader, as he mark'd mine action, smil'd. 

CANTO XIII

We reach'd the summit of the scale, and stoodUpon the second buttress of that mountWhich healeth him who climbs. A cornice there, Like to the former, girdles round the hill;Save that its arch with sweep less ample bends. 

Shadow nor image there is seen; all smoothThe rampart and the path, reflecting noughtBut the rock's sullen hue. "If here we waitFor some to question, " said the bard, "I fearOur choice may haply meet too long delay. "

Then fixedly upon the sun his eyesHe fastn'd, made his right the central pointFrom whence to move, and turn'd the left aside. "O pleasant light, my confidence and hope, Conduct us thou, " he cried, "on this new way, Where now I venture, leading to the bournWe seek. The universal world to theeOwes warmth and lustre. If no other causeForbid, thy beams should ever be our guide. "

Far, as is measur'd for a mile on earth, In brief space had we journey'd; such prompt willImpell'd; and towards us flying, now were heardSpirits invisible, who courteouslyUnto love's table bade the welcome guest. The voice, that firstlew by, call'd forth aloud, "They have no wine;" so on behind us past, Those sounds reiterating, nor yet lostIn the faint distance, when another cameCrying, "I am Orestes, " and alikeWing'd its fleet way. "Oh father!" I exclaim'd, "What tongues are these?" and as I question'd, lo!A third exclaiming, "Love ye those have wrong'd you. "

"This circuit, " said my teacher, "knots the scourgeFor envy, and the cords are therefore drawnBy charity's correcting hand. The curbIs of a harsher sound, as thou shalt hear(If I deem rightly), ere thou reach the pass, Where pardon sets them free. But fix thine eyesIntently through the air, and thou shalt seeA multitude before thee seated, eachAlong the shelving grot. " Then more than erstI op'd my eyes, before me view'd, and sawShadows with garments dark as was the rock;And when we pass'd a little forth, I heardA crying, "Blessed Mary! pray for us, Michael and Peter! all ye saintly host!"

I do not think there walks on earth this dayMan so remorseless, that he hath not yearn'dWith pity at the sight that next I saw. Mine eyes a load of sorrow teemed, when nowI stood so near them, that their semblancesCame clearly to my view. Of sackcloth vileTheir cov'ring seem'd; and on his shoulder oneDid stay another, leaning, and all lean'dAgainst the cliff. E'en thus the blind and poor, Near the confessionals, to crave an alms, Stand, each his head upon his fellow's sunk, So most to stir compassion, not by soundOf words alone, but that, which moves not less, The sight of mis'ry. And as never beamOf noonday visiteth the eyeless man, E'en so was heav'n a niggard unto theseOf his fair light; for, through the orbs of all, A thread of wire, impiercing, knits them up, As for the taming of a haggard hawk. 

It were a wrong, methought, to pass and lookOn others, yet myself the while unseen. To my sage counsel therefore did I turn. He knew the meaning of the mute appeal, Nor waited for my questioning, but said:"Speak; and be brief, be subtle in thy words. "

On that part of the cornice, whence no rimEngarlands its steep fall, did Virgil come;On the' other side me were the spirits, their cheeksBathing devout with penitential tears, That through the dread impalement forc'd a way. 

I turn'd me to them, and "O shades!" said I, "Assur'd that to your eyes unveil'd shall shineThe lofty light, sole object of your wish, So may heaven's grace clear whatsoe'er of foamFloats turbid on the conscience, that thenceforthThe stream of mind roll limpid from its source, As ye declare (for so shall ye impartA boon I dearly prize) if any soulOf Latium dwell among ye; and perchanceThat soul may profit, if I learn so much. "

"My brother, we are each one citizensOf one true city. Any thou wouldst say, Who lived a stranger in Italia's land. "

So heard I answering, as appeal'd, a voiceThat onward came some space from whence I stood. 

A spirit I noted, in whose look was mark'dExpectance. Ask ye how? The chin was rais'dAs in one reft of sight. "Spirit, " said I, "Who for thy rise are tutoring (if thou beThat which didst answer to me, ) or by placeOr name, disclose thyself, that I may know thee. "

"I was, " it answer'd, "of Sienna: hereI cleanse away with these the evil life, Soliciting with tears that He, who is, Vouchsafe him to us. Though Sapia nam'dIn sapience I excell'd not, gladder farOf others' hurt, than of the good befell me. That thou mayst own I now deceive thee not, Hear, if my folly were not as I speak it. When now my years slop'd waning down the arch, It so bechanc'd, my fellow citizensNear Colle met their enemies in the field, And I pray'd God to grant what He had will'd. There were they vanquish'd, and betook themselvesUnto the bitter passages of flight. I mark'd the hunt, and waxing out of boundsIn gladness, lifted up my shameless brow, And like the merlin cheated by a gleam, Cried, "It is over. Heav'n! fear thee not. "Upon my verge of life I wish'd for peaceWith God; nor repentance had suppliedWhat I did lack of duty, were it notThe hermit Piero, touch'd with charity, In his devout orisons thought on me. "But who art thou that question'st of our state, Who go'st to my belief, with lids unclos'd, And breathest in thy talk?"--"Mine eyes, " said I, "May yet be here ta'en from me; but not long;For they have not offended grievouslyWith envious glances. But the woe beneathUrges my soul with more exceeding dread. That nether load already weighs me down. "

She thus: "Who then amongst us here aloftHath brought thee, if thou weenest to return?"

"He, " answer'd I, "who standeth mute beside me. I live: of me ask therefore, chosen spirit, If thou desire I yonder yet should moveFor thee my mortal feet. "--"Oh!" she replied, "This is so strange a thing, it is great signThat God doth love thee. Therefore with thy prayerSometime assist me: and by that I crave, Which most thou covetest, that if thy feetE'er tread on Tuscan soil, thou save my fameAmongst my kindred. Them shalt thou beholdWith that vain multitude, who set their hopeOn Telamone's haven, there to failConfounded, more shall when the fancied streamThey sought of Dian call'd: but they who leadTheir navies, more than ruin'd hopes shall mourn. "

CANTO XIV

"Say who is he around our mountain winds, Or ever death has prun'd his wing for flight, That opes his eyes and covers them at will?"

"I know not who he is, but know thus muchHe comes not singly. Do thou ask of him, For thou art nearer to him, and take heedAccost him gently, so that he may speak. "

Thus on the right two Spirits bending eachToward the other, talk'd of me, then bothAddressing me, their faces backward lean'd, And thus the one began: "O soul, who yetPent in the body, tendest towards the sky!For charity, we pray thee' comfort us, Recounting whence thou com'st, and who thou art:For thou dost make us at the favour shown theeMarvel, as at a thing that ne'er hath been. "

"There stretches through the midst of Tuscany, "I straight began: "a brooklet, whose well-headSprings up in Falterona, with his raceNot satisfied, when he some hundred milesHath measur'd. From his banks bring, I this frame. To tell you who I am were words misspent:For yet my name scarce sounds on rumour's lip. "

"If well I do incorp'rate with my thoughtThe meaning of thy speech, " said he, who firstAddrest me, "thou dost speak of Arno's wave. "

To whom the other: "Why hath he conceal'dThe title of that river, as a manDoth of some horrible thing?" The spirit, whoThereof was question'd, did acquit him thus:"I know not: but 'tis fitting well the nameShould perish of that vale; for from the sourceWhere teems so plenteously the Alpine steepMaim'd of Pelorus, (that doth scarcely passBeyond that limit, ) even to the pointWhereunto ocean is restor'd, what heavenDrains from th' exhaustless store for all earth's streams, Throughout the space is virtue worried down, As 'twere a snake, by all, for mortal foe, Or through disastrous influence on the place, Or else distortion of misguided wills, That custom goads to evil: whence in those, The dwellers in that miserable vale, Nature is so transform'd, it seems as theyHad shar'd of Circe's feeding. 'Midst brute swine, Worthier of acorns than of other foodCreated for man's use, he shapeth firstHis obscure way; then, sloping onward, findsCurs, snarlers more in spite than power, from whomHe turns with scorn aside: still journeying down, By how much more the curst and luckless fossSwells out to largeness, e'en so much it findsDogs turning into wolves. Descending stillThrough yet more hollow eddies, next he meetsA race of foxes, so replete with craft, They do not fear that skill can master it. Nor will I cease because my words are heardBy other ears than thine. It shall be wellFor this man, if he keep in memoryWhat from no erring Spirit I reveal. Lo! behold thy grandson, that becomesA hunter of those wolves, upon the shoreOf the fierce stream, and cows them all with dread:Their flesh yet living sets he up to sale, Then like an aged beast to slaughter dooms. Many of life he reaves, himself of worthAnd goodly estimation. Smear'd with goreMark how he issues from the rueful wood, Leaving such havoc, that in thousand yearsIt spreads not to prime lustihood again. "

As one, who tidings hears of woe to come, Changes his looks perturb'd, from whate'er partThe peril grasp him, so beheld I changeThat spirit, who had turn'd to listen, struckWith sadness, soon as he had caught the word. 

His visage and the other's speech did raiseDesire in me to know the names of both, whereof with meek entreaty I inquir'd. 

The shade, who late addrest me, thus resum'd:"Thy wish imports that I vouchsafe to doFor thy sake what thou wilt not do for mine. But since God's will is that so largely shineHis grace in thee, I will be liberal too. Guido of Duca know then that I am. Envy so parch'd my blood, that had I seenA fellow man made joyous, thou hadst mark'dA livid paleness overspread my cheek. Such harvest reap I of the seed I sow'd. O man, why place thy heart where there doth needExclusion of participants in good?This is Rinieri's spirit, this the boastAnd honour of the house of Calboli, Where of his worth no heritage remains. Nor his the only blood, that hath been stript('twixt Po, the mount, the Reno, and the shore, )Of all that truth or fancy asks for bliss;But in those limits such a growth has sprungOf rank and venom'd roots, as long would mockSlow culture's toil. Where is good LiziohereManardi, Traversalo, and Carpigna?O bastard slips of old Romagna's line!When in Bologna the low artisan, And in Faenza yon Bernardin sprouts, A gentle cyon from ignoble stem. Wonder not, Tuscan, if thou see me weep, When I recall to mind those once lov'd names, Guido of Prata, and of Azzo himThat dwelt with you; Tignoso and his troop, With Traversaro's house and Anastagio's, (Each race disherited) and beside these, The ladies and the knights, the toils and ease, That witch'd us into love and courtesy;Where now such malice reigns in recreant hearts. O Brettinoro! wherefore tarriest still, Since forth of thee thy family hath gone, And many, hating evil, join'd their steps?Well doeth he, that bids his lineage cease, Bagnacavallo; Castracaro ill, And Conio worse, who care to propagateA race of Counties from such blood as theirs. Well shall ye also do, Pagani, thenWhen from amongst you tries your demon child. Not so, howe'er, that henceforth there remainTrue proof of what ye were. O Hugolin!Thou sprung of Fantolini's line! thy nameIs safe, since none is look'd for after theeTo cloud its lustre, warping from thy stock. But, Tuscan, go thy ways; for now I takeFar more delight in weeping than in words. Such pity for your sakes hath wrung my heart. "

We knew those gentle spirits at parting heardOur steps. Their silence therefore of our wayAssur'd us. Soon as we had quitted them, Advancing onward, lo! a voice that seem'dLike vollied light'ning, when it rives the air, Met us, and shouted, "Whosoever findsWill slay me, " then fled from us, as the boltLanc'd sudden from a downward-rushing cloud. When it had giv'n short truce unto our hearing, Behold the other with a crash as loudAs the quick-following thunder: "Mark in meAglauros turn'd to rock. " I at the soundRetreating drew more closely to my guide. 

Now in mute stillness rested all the air:And thus he spake: "There was the galling bit. But your old enemy so baits his hook, He drags you eager to him. Hence nor curbAvails you, nor reclaiming call. Heav'n callsAnd round about you wheeling courts your gazeWith everlasting beauties. Yet your eyeTurns with fond doting still upon the earth. Therefore He smites you who discerneth all. "

CANTO XV

As much as 'twixt the third hour's close and dawn, Appeareth of heav'n's sphere, that ever whirlsAs restless as an infant in his play, So much appear'd remaining to the sunOf his slope journey towards the western goal. 

Evening was there, and here the noon of night;and full upon our forehead smote the beams. For round the mountain, circling, so our pathHad led us, that toward the sun-set nowDirect we journey'd: when I felt a weightOf more exceeding splendour, than before, Press on my front. The cause unknown, amazePossess'd me, and both hands against my browLifting, I interpos'd them, as a screen, That of its gorgeous superflux of lightClipp'd the diminish'd orb. As when the ray, Striking On water or the surface clearOf mirror, leaps unto the opposite part, Ascending at a glance, e'en as it fell, (And so much differs from the stone, that fallsThrough equal space, as practice skill hath shown);Thus with refracted light before me seemedThe ground there smitten; whence in sudden hasteMy sight recoil'd. "What is this, sire belov'd!'Gainst which I strive to shield the sight in vain?"Cried I, "and which towards us moving seems?"

"Marvel not, if the family of heav'n, "He answer'd, "yet with dazzling radiance dimThy sense it is a messenger who comes, Inviting man's ascent. Such sights ere long, Not grievous, shall impart to thee delight, As thy perception is by nature wroughtUp to their pitch. " The blessed angel, soonAs we had reach'd him, hail'd us with glad voice:"Here enter on a ladder far less steepThan ye have yet encounter'd. " We forthwithAscending, heard behind us chanted sweet, "Blessed the merciful, " and "happy thou!That conquer'st. " Lonely each, my guide and IPursued our upward way; and as we went, Some profit from his words I hop'd to win, And thus of him inquiring, fram'd my speech:

"What meant Romagna's spirit, when he spakeOf bliss exclusive with no partner shar'd?"

He straight replied: "No wonder, since he knows, What sorrow waits on his own worst defect, If he chide others, that they less may mourn. Because ye point your wishes at a mark, Where, by communion of possessors, partIs lessen'd, envy bloweth up the sighs of men. No fear of that might touch ye, if the loveOf higher sphere exalted your desire. For there, by how much more they call it ours, So much propriety of each in goodIncreases more, and heighten'd charityWraps that fair cloister in a brighter flame. "

"Now lack I satisfaction more, " said I, "Than if thou hadst been silent at the first, And doubt more gathers on my lab'ring thought. How can it chance, that good distributed, The many, that possess it, makes more rich, Than if 't were shar'd by few?" He answering thus:"Thy mind, reverting still to things of earth, Strikes darkness from true light. The highest goodUnlimited, ineffable, doth so speedTo love, as beam to lucid body darts, Giving as much of ardour as it finds. The sempiternal effluence streams abroadSpreading, wherever charity extends. So that the more aspirants to that blissAre multiplied, more good is there to love, And more is lov'd; as mirrors, that reflect, Each unto other, propagated light. If these my words avail not to allayThy thirsting, Beatrice thou shalt see, Who of this want, and of all else thou hast, Shall rid thee to the full. Provide but thouThat from thy temples may be soon eras'd, E'en as the two already, those five scars, That when they pain thee worst, then kindliest heal, "

"Thou, " I had said, "content'st me, " when I sawThe other round was gain'd, and wond'ring eyesDid keep me mute. There suddenly I seem'dBy an ecstatic vision wrapt away;And in a temple saw, methought, a crowdOf many persons; and at th' entrance stoodA dame, whose sweet demeanour did expressA mother's love, who said, "Child! why hast thouDealt with us thus? Behold thy sire and ISorrowing have sought thee;" and so held her peace, And straight the vision fled. A female nextAppear'd before me, down whose visage cours'dThose waters, that grief forces out from oneBy deep resentment stung, who seem'd to say:"If thou, Pisistratus, be lord indeedOver this city, nam'd with such debateOf adverse gods, and whence each science sparkles, Avenge thee of those arms, whose bold embraceHath clasp'd our daughter; "and to fuel, meseem'd, Benign and meek, with visage undisturb'd, Her sovran spake: "How shall we those requite, Who wish us evil, if we thus condemnThe man that loves us?" After that I sawA multitude, in fury burning, slayWith stones a stripling youth, and shout amain"Destroy, destroy:" and him I saw, who bow'dHeavy with death unto the ground, yet madeHis eyes, unfolded upward, gates to heav'n, Praying forgiveness of th' Almighty Sire, Amidst that cruel conflict, on his foes, With looks, that With compassion to their aim. 

Soon as my spirit, from her airy flightReturning, sought again the things, whose truthDepends not on her shaping, I observ'dHow she had rov'd to no unreal scenes

Meanwhile the leader, who might see I mov'd, As one, who struggles to shake off his sleep, Exclaim'd: "What ails thee, that thou canst not holdThy footing firm, but more than half a leagueHast travel'd with clos'd eyes and tott'ring gait, Like to a man by wine or sleep o'ercharg'd?"

"Beloved father! so thou deign, " said I, "To listen, I will tell thee what appear'dBefore me, when so fail'd my sinking steps. "

He thus: "Not if thy Countenance were mask'dWith hundred vizards, could a thought of thineHow small soe'er, elude me. What thou saw'stWas shown, that freely thou mightst ope thy heartTo the waters of peace, that flow diffus'dFrom their eternal fountain. I not ask'd, What ails theeor such cause as he doth, whoLooks only with that eye which sees no more, When spiritless the body lies; but ask'd, To give fresh vigour to thy foot. Such goadsThe slow and loit'ring need; that they be foundNot wanting, when their hour of watch returns. "

So on we journey'd through the evening skyGazing intent, far onward, as our eyesWith level view could stretch against the brightVespertine ray: and lo! by slow degreesGath'ring, a fog made tow'rds us, dark as night. There was no room for 'scaping; and that mistBereft us, both of sight and the pure air. 

CANTO XVI

Hell's dunnest gloom, or night unlustrous, dark, Of every planes 'reft, and pall'd in clouds, Did never spread before the sight a veilIn thickness like that fog, nor to the senseSo palpable and gross. Ent'ring its shade, Mine eye endured not with unclosed lids;Which marking, near me drew the faithful guide, Offering me his shoulder for a stay. 

As the blind man behind his leader walks, Lest he should err, or stumble unawaresOn what might harm him, or perhaps destroy, I journey'd through that bitter air and foul, Still list'ning to my escort's warning voice, "Look that from me thou part not. " Straight I heardVoices, and each one seem'd to pray for peace, And for compassion, to the Lamb of GodThat taketh sins away. Their prelude stillWas "Agnus Dei, " and through all the choir, One voice, one measure ran, that perfect seem'dThe concord of their song. "Are these I hearSpirits, O master?" I exclaim'd; and he:"Thou aim'st aright: these loose the bonds of wrath. "

"Now who art thou, that through our smoke dost cleave?And speak'st of us, as thou thyself e'en yetDividest time by calends?" So one voiceBespake me; whence my master said: "Reply;And ask, if upward hence the passage lead. "

"O being! who dost make thee pure, to standBeautiful once more in thy Maker's sight!Along with me: and thou shalt hear and wonder. "Thus I, whereto the spirit answering spake:

"Long as 't is lawful for me, shall my stepsFollow on thine; and since the cloudy smokeForbids the seeing, hearing in its steadShall keep us join'd. " I then forthwith began"Yet in my mortal swathing, I ascendTo higher regions, and am hither comeThrough the fearful agony of hell. And, if so largely God hath doled his grace, That, clean beside all modern precedent, He wills me to behold his kingly state, From me conceal not who thou wast, ere deathHad loos'd thee; but instruct me: and instructIf rightly to the pass I tend; thy wordsThe way directing as a safe escort. "

"I was of Lombardy, and Marco call'd:Not inexperienc'd of the world, that worthI still affected, from which all have turn'dThe nerveless bow aside. Thy course tends rightUnto the summit:" and, replying thus, He added, "I beseech thee pray for me, When thou shalt come aloft. " And I to him:"Accept my faith for pledge I will performWhat thou requirest. Yet one doubt remains, That wrings me sorely, if I solve it not, Singly before it urg'd me, doubled nowBy thine opinion, when I couple thatWith one elsewhere declar'd, each strength'ning other. The world indeed is even so forlornOf all good as thou speak'st it and so swarmsWith every evil. Yet, beseech thee, pointThe cause out to me, that myself may see, And unto others show it: for in heavenOne places it, and one on earth below. "

Then heaving forth a deep and audible sigh, "Brother!" he thus began, "the world is blind;And thou in truth com'st from it. Ye, who live, Do so each cause refer to heav'n above, E'en as its motion of necessityDrew with it all that moves. If this were so, Free choice in you were none; nor justice wouldThere should be joy for virtue, woe for ill. Your movements have their primal bent from heaven;Not all; yet said I all; what then ensues?Light have ye still to follow evil or good, And of the will free power, which, if it standFirm and unwearied in Heav'n's first assay, Conquers at last, so it be cherish'd well, Triumphant over all. To mightier force, To better nature subject, ye abideFree, not constrain'd by that, which forms in youThe reasoning mind uninfluenc'd of the stars. If then the present race of mankind err, Seek in yourselves the cause, and find it there. Herein thou shalt confess me no false spy. 

"Forth from his plastic hand, who charm'd beholdsHer image ere she yet exist, the soulComes like a babe, that wantons sportivelyWeeping and laughing in its wayward moods, As artless and as ignorant of aught, Save that her Maker being one who dwellsWith gladness ever, willingly she turnsTo whate'er yields her joy. Of some slight goodThe flavour soon she tastes; and, snar'd by that, With fondness she pursues it, if no guideRecall, no rein direct her wand'ring course. Hence it behov'd, the law should be a curb;A sovereign hence behov'd, whose piercing viewMight mark at least the fortress and main towerOf the true city. Laws indeed there are:But who is he observes them? None; not he, Who goes before, the shepherd of the flock, Who chews the cud but doth not cleave the hoof. Therefore the multitude, who see their guideStrike at the very good they covet most, Feed there and look no further. Thus the causeIs not corrupted nature in yourselves, But ill-conducting, that hath turn'd the worldTo evil. Rome, that turn'd it unto good, Was wont to boast two suns, whose several beamsCast light on either way, the world's and God's. One since hath quench'd the other; and the swordIs grafted on the crook; and so conjoin'dEach must perforce decline to worse, unaw'dBy fear of other. If thou doubt me, markThe blade: each herb is judg'd of by its seed. That land, through which Adice and the PoTheir waters roll, was once the residenceOf courtesy and velour, ere the day, That frown'd on Frederick; now secure may passThose limits, whosoe'er hath left, for shame, To talk with good men, or come near their haunts. Three aged ones are still found there, in whomThe old time chides the new: these deem it longEre God restore them to a better world:The good Gherardo, of Palazzo heConrad, and Guido of Castello, nam'dIn Gallic phrase more fitly the plain Lombard. On this at last conclude. The church of Rome, Mixing two governments that ill assort, Hath miss'd her footing, fall'n into the mire, And there herself and burden much defil'd. "

"O Marco!" I replied, shine argumentsConvince me: and the cause I now discernWhy of the heritage no portion cameTo Levi's offspring. But resolve me thisWho that Gherardo is, that as thou saystIs left a sample of the perish'd race, And for rebuke to this untoward age?"

"Either thy words, " said he, "deceive; or elseAre meant to try me; that thou, speaking Tuscan, Appear'st not to have heard of good Gherado;The sole addition that, by which I know him;Unless I borrow'd from his daughter GaiaAnother name to grace him. God be with you. I bear you company no more. BeholdThe dawn with white ray glimm'ring through the mist. I must away--the angel comes--ere heAppear. " He said, and would not hear me more. 

CANTO XVII

Call to remembrance, reader, if thou e'erHast, on a mountain top, been ta'en by cloud, Through which thou saw'st no better, than the moleDoth through opacous membrane; then, whene'erThe wat'ry vapours dense began to meltInto thin air, how faintly the sun's sphereSeem'd wading through them; so thy nimble thoughtMay image, how at first I re-beheldThe sun, that bedward now his couch o'erhung. 

Thus with my leader's feet still equaling paceFrom forth that cloud I came, when now expir'dThe parting beams from off the nether shores. 

O quick and forgetive power! that sometimes dostSo rob us of ourselves, we take no markThough round about us thousand trumpets clang!What moves thee, if the senses stir not? LightKindled in heav'n, spontaneous, self-inform'd, Or likelier gliding down with swift illapseBy will divine. Portray'd before me cameThe traces of her dire impiety, Whose form was chang'd into the bird, that mostDelights itself in song: and here my mindWas inwardly so wrapt, it gave no placeTo aught that ask'd admittance from without. 

Next shower'd into my fantasy a shapeAs of one crucified, whose visage spakeFell rancour, malice deep, wherein he died;And round him Ahasuerus the great king, Esther his bride, and Mordecai the just, Blameless in word and deed. As of itselfThat unsubstantial coinage of the brainBurst, like a bubble, Which the water failsThat fed it; in my vision straight uproseA damsel weeping loud, and cried, "O queen!O mother! wherefore has intemperate ireDriv'n thee to loath thy being? Not to loseLavinia, desp'rate thou hast slain thyself. Now hast thou lost me. I am she, whose tearsMourn, ere I fall, a mother's timeless end. "

E'en as a sleep breaks off, if suddenlyNew radiance strike upon the closed lids, The broken slumber quivering ere it dies;Thus from before me sunk that imageryVanishing, soon as on my face there struckThe light, outshining far our earthly beam. As round I turn'd me to survey what placeI had arriv'd at, "Here ye mount, " exclaim'dA voice, that other purpose left me none, Save will so eager to behold who spake, I could not choose but gaze. As 'fore the sun, That weighs our vision down, and veils his formIn light transcendent, thus my virtue fail'dUnequal. "This is Spirit from above, Who marshals us our upward way, unsought;And in his own light shrouds him. As a manDoth for himself, so now is done for us. For whoso waits imploring, yet sees needOf his prompt aidance, sets himself prepar'dFor blunt denial, ere the suit be made. Refuse we not to lend a ready footAt such inviting: haste we to ascend, Before it darken: for we may not then, Till morn again return. " So spake my guide;And to one ladder both address'd our steps;And the first stair approaching, I perceiv'dNear me as 'twere the waving of a wing, That fann'd my face and whisper'd: "Blessed theyThe peacemakers: they know not evil wrath. "

Now to such height above our heads were rais'dThe last beams, follow'd close by hooded night, That many a star on all sides through the gloomShone out. "Why partest from me, O my strength?"So with myself I commun'd; for I feltMy o'ertoil'd sinews slacken. We had reach'dThe summit, and were fix'd like to a barkArriv'd at land. And waiting a short space, If aught should meet mine ear in that new round, Then to my guide I turn'd, and said: "Lov'd sire!Declare what guilt is on this circle purg'd. If our feet rest, no need thy speech should pause. "

He thus to me: "The love of good, whate'erWanted of just proportion, here fulfils. Here plies afresh the oar, that loiter'd ill. But that thou mayst yet clearlier understand, Give ear unto my words, and thou shalt cullSome fruit may please thee well, from this delay. 

"Creator, nor created being, ne'er, My son, " he thus began, "was without love, Or natural, or the free spirit's growth. Thou hast not that to learn. The natural stillIs without error; but the other swerves, If on ill object bent, or through excessOf vigour, or defect. While e'er it seeksThe primal blessings, or with measure dueTh' inferior, no delight, that flows from it, Partakes of ill. But let it warp to evil, Or with more ardour than behooves, or less. Pursue the good, the thing created thenWorks 'gainst its Maker. Hence thou must inferThat love is germin of each virtue in ye, And of each act no less, that merits pain. Now since it may not be, but love intendThe welfare mainly of the thing it loves, All from self-hatred are secure; and sinceNo being can be thought t' exist apartAnd independent of the first, a barOf equal force restrains from hating that. 

"Grant the distinction just; and it remainsThe' evil must be another's, which is lov'd. Three ways such love is gender'd in your clay. There is who hopes (his neighbour's worth deprest, )Preeminence himself, and coverts henceFor his own greatness that another fall. There is who so much fears the loss of power, Fame, favour, glory (should his fellow mountAbove him), and so sickens at the thought, He loves their opposite: and there is he, Whom wrong or insult seems to gall and shameThat he doth thirst for vengeance, and such needsMust doat on other's evil. Here beneathThis threefold love is mourn'd. Of th' other sortBe now instructed, that which follows goodBut with disorder'd and irregular course. 

"All indistinctly apprehend a blissOn which the soul may rest, the hearts of allYearn after it, and to that wished bournAll therefore strive to tend. If ye beholdOr seek it with a love remiss and lax, This cornice after just repenting laysIts penal torment on ye. Other goodThere is, where man finds not his happiness:It is not true fruition, not that blestEssence, of every good the branch and root. The love too lavishly bestow'd on this, Along three circles over us, is mourn'd. Account of that division tripartiteExpect not, fitter for thine own research. "

CANTO XVIII

The teacher ended, and his high discourseConcluding, earnest in my looks inquir'dIf I appear'd content; and I, whom stillUnsated thirst to hear him urg'd, was mute, Mute outwardly, yet inwardly I said:"Perchance my too much questioning offends"But he, true father, mark'd the secret wishBy diffidence restrain'd, and speaking, gaveMe boldness thus to speak: 'Master, my SightGathers so lively virtue from thy beams, That all, thy words convey, distinct is seen. Wherefore I pray thee, father, whom this heartHolds dearest! thou wouldst deign by proof t' unfoldThat love, from which as from their source thou bring'stAll good deeds and their opposite. '" He then:"To what I now disclose be thy clear kenDirected, and thou plainly shalt beholdHow much those blind have err'd, who make themselvesThe guides of men. The soul, created aptTo love, moves versatile which way soe'erAught pleasing prompts her, soon as she is wak'dBy pleasure into act. Of substance trueYour apprehension forms its counterfeit, And in you the ideal shape presentingAttracts the soul's regard. If she, thus drawn, incline toward it, love is that inclining, And a new nature knit by pleasure in ye. Then as the fire points up, and mounting seeksHis birth-place and his lasting seat, e'en thusEnters the captive soul into desire, Which is a spiritual motion, that ne'er restsBefore enjoyment of the thing it loves. Enough to show thee, how the truth from thoseIs hidden, who aver all love a thingPraise-worthy in itself: although perhapsIts substance seem still good. Yet if the waxBe good, it follows not th' impression must. ""What love is, " I return'd, "thy words, O guide!And my own docile mind, reveal. Yet thenceNew doubts have sprung. For from without if loveBe offer'd to us, and the spirit knowsNo other footing, tend she right or wrong, Is no desert of hers. " He answering thus:"What reason here discovers I have powerTo show thee: that which lies beyond, expectFrom Beatrice, faith not reason's task. Spirit, substantial form, with matter join'dNot in confusion mix'd, hath in itselfSpecific virtue of that union born, Which is not felt except it work, nor prov'dBut through effect, as vegetable lifeBy the green leaf. From whence his intellectDeduced its primal notices of things, Man therefore knows not, or his appetitesTheir first affections; such in you, as zealIn bees to gather honey; at the first, Volition, meriting nor blame nor praise. But o'er each lower faculty supreme, That as she list are summon'd to her bar, Ye have that virtue in you, whose just voiceUttereth counsel, and whose word should keepThe threshold of assent. Here is the source, Whence cause of merit in you is deriv'd, E'en as the affections good or ill she takes, Or severs, winnow'd as the chaff. Those menWho reas'ning went to depth profoundest, mark'dThat innate freedom, and were thence induc'dTo leave their moral teaching to the world. Grant then, that from necessity ariseAll love that glows within you; to dismissOr harbour it, the pow'r is in yourselves. Remember, Beatrice, in her style, Denominates free choice by eminenceThe noble virtue, if in talk with theeShe touch upon that theme. " The moon, well nighTo midnight hour belated, made the starsAppear to wink and fade; and her broad diskSeem'd like a crag on fire, as up the vaultThat course she journey'd, which the sun then warms, When they of Rome behold him at his set. Betwixt Sardinia and the Corsic isle. And now the weight, that hung upon my thought, Was lighten'd by the aid of that clear spirit, Who raiseth Andes above Mantua's name. I therefore, when my questions had obtain'dSolution plain and ample, stood as oneMusing in dreary slumber; but not longSlumber'd; for suddenly a multitude, The steep already turning, from behind, Rush'd on. With fury and like random rout, As echoing on their shores at midnight heardIsmenus and Asopus, for his ThebesIf Bacchus' help were needed; so came theseTumultuous, curving each his rapid step, By eagerness impell'd of holy love. 

Soon they o'ertook us; with such swiftness mov'dThe mighty crowd. Two spirits at their headCried weeping; "Blessed Mary sought with hasteThe hilly region. Caesar to subdueIlerda, darted in Marseilles his sting, And flew to Spain. "--"Oh tarry not: away;"The others shouted; "let not time be lostThrough slackness of affection. Hearty zealTo serve reanimates celestial grace. "

"O ye, in whom intenser fervencyHaply supplies, where lukewarm erst ye fail'd, Slow or neglectful, to absolve your partOf good and virtuous, this man, who yet lives, (Credit my tale, though strange) desires t' ascend, So morning rise to light us. Therefore sayWhich hand leads nearest to the rifted rock?"

So spake my guide, to whom a shade return'd:"Come after us, and thou shalt find the cleft. We may not linger: such resistless willSpeeds our unwearied course. Vouchsafe us thenThy pardon, if our duty seem to theeDiscourteous rudeness. In Verona IWas abbot of San Zeno, when the handOf Barbarossa grasp'd Imperial sway, That name, ne'er utter'd without tears in Milan. And there is he, hath one foot in his grave, Who for that monastery ere long shall weep, Ruing his power misus'd: for that his son, Of body ill compact, and worse in mind, And born in evil, he hath set in placeOf its true pastor. " Whether more he spake, Or here was mute, I know not: he had spedE'en now so far beyond us. Yet thus muchI heard, and in rememb'rance treasur'd it. 

He then, who never fail'd me at my need, Cried, "Hither turn. Lo! two with sharp remorseChiding their sin!" In rear of all the troopThese shouted: "First they died, to whom the seaOpen'd, or ever Jordan saw his heirs:And they, who with Aeneas to the endEndur'd not suffering, for their portion choseLife without glory. " Soon as they had fledPast reach of sight, new thought within me roseBy others follow'd fast, and each unlikeIts fellow: till led on from thought to thought, And pleasur'd with the fleeting train, mine eyeWas clos'd, and meditation chang'd to dream.