The Divine Comedy by Dante, Illustrated, Purgatory, Complete

by Dante Alighieri

That seem’d things dead and dead again, drew in
At their deep-delved orbs rare wonder of me,
Perceiving I had life; and I my words
Continued, and thus spake; “He journeys up
Perhaps more tardily then else he would,
For others’ sake. But tell me, if thou know’st,
Where is Piccarda? Tell me, if I see
Any of mark, among this multitude,
Who eye me thus.”—“My sister (she for whom,
’Twixt beautiful and good I cannot say
Which name was fitter ) wears e’en now her crown,
And triumphs in Olympus.” Saying this,
He added: “Since spare diet hath so worn
Our semblance out, ’t is lawful here to name
Each one. This,” and his finger then he rais’d,
“Is Buonaggiuna,—Buonaggiuna, he
Of Lucca: and that face beyond him, pierc’d
Unto a leaner fineness than the rest,
Had keeping of the church: he was of Tours,
And purges by wan abstinence away
Bolsena’s eels and cups of muscadel.”
He show’d me many others, one by one,
And all, as they were nam’d, seem’d well content;
For no dark gesture I discern’d in any.
I saw through hunger Ubaldino grind
His teeth on emptiness; and Boniface,
That wav’d the crozier o’er a num’rous flock.
I saw the Marquis, who tad time erewhile
To swill at Forli with less drought, yet so
Was one ne’er sated. I howe’er, like him,
That gazing ’midst a crowd, singles out one,
So singled him of Lucca; for methought
Was none amongst them took such note of me.
Somewhat I heard him whisper of Gentucca:
The sound was indistinct, and murmur’d there,
Where justice, that so strips them, fix’d her sting.
“Spirit!” said I, “it seems as thou wouldst fain
Speak with me. Let me hear thee. Mutual wish
To converse prompts, which let us both indulge.”
He, answ’ring, straight began: “Woman is born,
Whose brow no wimple shades yet, that shall make
My city please thee, blame it as they may.
Go then with this forewarning. If aught false
My whisper too implied, th’ event shall tell
But say, if of a truth I see the man
Of that new lay th’ inventor, which begins
With ‘Ladies, ye that con the lore of love’.”
To whom I thus: “Count of me but as one
Who am the scribe of love; that, when he breathes,
Take up my pen, and, as he dictates, write.”
“Brother!” said he, “the hind’rance which once held
The notary with Guittone and myself,
Short of that new and sweeter style I hear,
Is now disclos’d. I see how ye your plumes
Stretch, as th’ inditer guides them; which, no question,
Ours did not. He that seeks a grace beyond,
Sees not the distance parts one style from other.”
And, as contented, here he held his peace.
Like as the bird, that winter near the Nile,
In squared regiment direct their course,
Then stretch themselves in file for speedier flight;
Thus all the tribe of spirits, as they turn’d
Their visage, faster deaf, nimble alike
Through leanness and desire. And as a man,
Tir’d With the motion of a trotting steed,
Slacks pace, and stays behind his company,
Till his o’erbreathed lungs keep temperate time;
E’en so Forese let that holy crew
Proceed, behind them lingering at my side,
And saying: “When shall I again behold thee?”
“How long my life may last,” said I, “I know not;
This know, how soon soever I return,
My wishes will before me have arriv’d.
Sithence the place, where I am set to live,
Is, day by day, more scoop’d of all its good,
And dismal ruin seems to threaten it.”
“Go now,” he cried: “lo! he, whose guilt is most,
Passes before my vision, dragg’d at heels
Of an infuriate beast. Toward the vale,
Where guilt hath no redemption, on it speeds,
Each step increasing swiftness on the last;
Until a blow it strikes, that leaveth him
A corse most vilely shatter’d. No long space
Those wheels have yet to roll” (therewith his eyes
Look’d up to heav’n) “ere thou shalt plainly see
That which my words may not more plainly tell.
I quit thee: time is precious here: I lose
Too much, thus measuring my pace with shine.”
As from a troop of well-rank’d chivalry
One knight, more enterprising than the rest,
Pricks forth at gallop, eager to display
His prowess in the first encounter prov’d
So parted he from us with lengthen’d strides,
And left me on the way with those twain spirits,
Who were such mighty marshals of the world.
When he beyond us had so fled mine eyes
No nearer reach’d him, than my thought his words,
The branches of another fruit, thick hung,
And blooming fresh, appear’d. E’en as our steps
Turn’d thither, not far off it rose to view.
Beneath it were a multitude, that rais’d
Their hands, and shouted forth I know not What
Unto the boughs; like greedy and fond brats,
That beg, and answer none obtain from him,
Of whom they beg; but more to draw them on,
He at arm’s length the object of their wish
Above them holds aloft, and hides it not.

At length, as undeceiv’d they went their way:
And we approach the tree, who vows and tears
Sue to in vain, the mighty tree. “Pass on,
And come not near. Stands higher up the wood,
Whereof Eve tasted, and from it was ta’en
‘this plant.” Such sounds from midst the thickets came.
Whence I, with either bard, close to the side
That rose, pass’d forth beyond. “Remember,” next
We heard, “those noblest creatures of the clouds,
How they their twofold bosoms overgorg’d
Oppos’d in fight to Theseus: call to mind
The Hebrews, how effeminate they stoop’d
To ease their thirst; whence Gideon’s ranks were thinn’d,
As he to Midian march’d adown the hills.”
Thus near one border coasting, still we heard
The sins of gluttony, with woe erewhile
Reguerdon’d. Then along the lonely path,
Once more at large, full thousand paces on
We travel’d, each contemplative and mute.
“Why pensive journey thus ye three alone?”
Thus suddenly a voice exclaim’d: whereat
I shook, as doth a scar’d and paltry beast;
Then rais’d my head to look from whence it came.
Was ne’er, in furnace, glass, or metal seen
So bright and glowing red, as was the shape
I now beheld. “If ye desire to mount,”
He cried, “here must ye turn. This way he goes,
Who goes in quest of peace.” His countenance
Had dazzled me; and to my guides I fac’d
Backward, like one who walks, as sound directs.
As when, to harbinger the dawn, springs up
On freshen’d wing the air of May, and breathes
Of fragrance, all impregn’d with herb and flowers,
E’en such a wind I felt upon my front
Blow gently, and the moving of a wing
Perceiv’d, that moving shed ambrosial smell;
And then a voice: “Blessed are they, whom grace
Doth so illume, that appetite in them
Exhaleth no inordinate desire,
Still hung’ring as the rule of temperance wills.”

CANTO XXV

It was an hour, when he who climbs, had need
To walk uncrippled: for the sun had now
To Taurus the meridian circle left,
And to the Scorpion left the night. As one
That makes no pause, but presses on his road,
Whate’er betide him, if some urgent need
Impel: so enter’d we upon our way,
One before other; for, but singly, none
That steep and narrow scale admits to climb.
E’en as the young stork lifteth up his wing
Through wish to fly, yet ventures not to quit
The nest, and drops it; so in me desire
Of questioning my guide arose, and fell,
Arriving even to the act, that marks
A man prepar’d for speech. Him all our haste
Restrain’d not, but thus spake the sire belov’d:
“Fear not to speed the shaft, that on thy lip
Stands trembling for its flight.” Encourag’d thus
I straight began: “How there can leanness come,
Where is no want of nourishment to feed?”
“If thou,” he answer’d, “hadst remember’d thee,
How Meleager with the wasting brand
Wasted alike, by equal fires consum’d,
This would not trouble thee: and hadst thou thought,
How in the mirror your reflected form
With mimic motion vibrates, what now seems
Hard, had appear’d no harder than the pulp
Of summer fruit mature. But that thy will
In certainty may find its full repose,
Lo Statius here! on him I call, and pray
That he would now be healer of thy wound.”
“If in thy presence I unfold to him
The secrets of heaven’s vengeance, let me plead
Thine own injunction, to exculpate me.”
So Statius answer’d, and forthwith began:
“Attend my words, O son, and in thy mind
Receive them: so shall they be light to clear
The doubt thou offer’st. Blood, concocted well,
Which by the thirsty veins is ne’er imbib’d,
And rests as food superfluous, to be ta’en
From the replenish’d table, in the heart
Derives effectual virtue, that informs
The several human limbs, as being that,
Which passes through the veins itself to make them.
Yet more concocted it descends, where shame
Forbids to mention: and from thence distils
In natural vessel on another’s blood.
Then each unite together, one dispos’d
T’ endure, to act the other, through meet frame
Of its recipient mould: that being reach’d,
It ’gins to work, coagulating first;
Then vivifies what its own substance caus’d
To bear. With animation now indued,
The active virtue (differing from a plant
No further, than that this is on the way
And at its limit that) continues yet
To operate, that now it moves, and feels,
As sea sponge clinging to the rock: and there
Assumes th’ organic powers its seed convey’d.
‘This is the period, son! at which the virtue,
That from the generating heart proceeds,
Is pliant and expansive; for each limb
Is in the heart by forgeful nature plann’d.
How babe of animal becomes, remains
For thy consid’ring. At this point, more wise,
Than thou hast err’d, making the soul disjoin’d
From passive intellect, because he saw
No organ for the latter’s use assign’d.
“Open thy bosom to the truth that comes.
Know soon as in the embryo, to the brain,
Articulation is complete, then turns
The primal Mover with a smile of joy
On such great work of nature, and imbreathes
New spirit replete with virtue, that what here
Active it finds, to its own substance draws,
And forms an individual soul, that lives,
And feels, and bends reflective on itself.
And that thou less mayst marvel at the word,
Mark the sun’s heat, how that to wine doth change,
Mix’d with the moisture filter’d through the vine.
“When Lachesis hath spun the thread, the soul
Takes with her both the human and divine,
Memory, intelligence, and will, in act
Far keener than before, the other powers
Inactive all and mute. No pause allow’d,
In wond’rous sort self-moving, to one strand
Of those, where the departed roam, she falls,
Here learns her destin’d path. Soon as the place
Receives her, round the plastic virtue beams,
Distinct as in the living limbs before:
And as the air, when saturate with showers,
The casual beam refracting, decks itself
With many a hue; so here the ambient air
Weareth that form, which influence of the soul
Imprints on it; and like the flame, that where
The fire moves, thither follows, so henceforth
The new form on the spirit follows still:
Hence hath it semblance, and is shadow call’d,
With each sense even to the sight endued:
Hence speech is ours, hence laughter, tears, and sighs
Which thou mayst oft have witness’d on the mount
Th’ obedient shadow fails not to present
Whatever varying passion moves within us.
And this the cause of what thou marvel’st at.”

Now the last flexure of our way we reach’d,
And to the right hand turning, other care
Awaits us. Here the rocky precipice
Hurls forth redundant flames, and from the rim
A blast upblown, with forcible rebuff
Driveth them back, sequester’d from its bound.
Behoov’d us, one by one, along the side,
That border’d on the void, to pass; and I
Fear’d on one hand the fire, on th’ other fear’d
Headlong to fall: when thus th’ instructor warn’d:
“Strict rein must in this place direct the eyes.
A little swerving and the way is lost.”

Then from the bosom of the burning mass,
“O God of mercy!” heard I sung; and felt
No less desire to turn. And when I saw
Spirits along the flame proceeding, I
Between their footsteps and mine own was fain
To share by turns my view. At the hymn’s close
They shouted loud, “I do not know a man;”
Then in low voice again took up the strain,
Which once more ended, “To the wood,” they cried,
“Ran Dian, and drave forth Callisto, stung
With Cytherea’s poison:” then return’d
Unto their song; then marry a pair extoll’d,
Who liv’d in virtue chastely, and the bands
Of wedded love. Nor from that task, I ween,
Surcease they; whilesoe’er the scorching fire
Enclasps them. Of such skill appliance needs
To medicine the wound, that healeth last.