CANTO XIX.
Fourth Ledge: the Slothful—Dante dreams of the Siren.—The Angel of the Pass.—Ascent to the Fifth Ledge.—Pope Adrian V.
At the hour when the diurnal heat, vanquished by the Earth or sometimes by Saturn,[1] can warm no more the coldness of the moon,—when the geomancers see their Greater Fortune[2] in the east, rising before the dawn along a path which short while stays dark for it,—there came to me in dream[3] a woman stammering, with eyes asquint, and crooked on her feet, with hands lopped off, and pallid in her color. I gazed at her; and as the sun comforts the cold limbs which the night bennmbs, so my look made her tongue nimble, and then set her wholly straight in little while, and so colored her wan face as love requires. Then, when she had her speech thus unloosed, she began to sing, so that with difficulty should I have turned my attention from her. “I am,” she sang, “I am the sweet Siren, and the mariners in mid sea I bewitch, so full am I of pleasantness to hear. I turned Ulysses from his wandering way by my song; and whoso abides with me seldom departs, so wholly I content him.”
[1] Toward dawn, when the warmth of the preceding day is exhausted, Saturn was supposed to exert a frigid influence.
[2] “Geomancy is divination by points in the ground, or pebbles arranged in certain figures, which have peculiar names. Among these is the figure called the Fortuna Major, which by an effort of imagination can also be formed out of some of the last stars of Aquarius and some of the first of Pisces.” These are the signs that immediately precede Aries, in which the Sun now was, and the stars forming the figure of the Greater Fortune would be in the east about two hours before sunrise.
[3] The hour when this dream comes to Dante is “post mediam noctem … cum somnia vera,”—the hour in which it was commonly believed that dreams have a true meaning. The woman seen by Dante is the deceitful Siren, who symbolizes the temptation to those sins of sense from which the spirits are purified in the three upper rounds of Purgatory.
Not yet was her mouth closed when at my side a Lady[1] appeared, holy, and ready to make her confused. “O Virgil, Virgil, who is this?” she sternly said; and he came with his eyes fixed only on that modest one. She took hold of the other, and in front she opened her, rending her garments, and showed me her belly; this waked me with the stench that issued from it. I turned my eyes, and the good Virgil said, “At least three calls have I given thee; arise and come; let us find the opening through which thou mayst enter.”
[1] This lady seems to be the type of the conscience, virtus intellectualis, that calls reason to rescue the tempted soul.
Up I rose, and now were all the circles of the sacred mountain full of the high day, and we went on with the new sun at our backs. Following him, I bore my forehead like one who has it laden with thought, and makes of himself the half arch of a bridge, when I heard, “Come ye! here is the passage,” spoken in a mode soft and benign, such as is not heard in this mortal region. With open wings, which seemed of a swan, he who thus had spoken to us turned us upward between the two walls of the hard rock. He moved his feathers then, and fanned us, affirming qui lugent[1] to be blessed, for they shall have their souls mistresses of consolation.[2] “What ails thee that ever on the ground thou lookest?” my Guide began to say to me, both of us having mounted up a little from the Angel. “With such apprehension a recent vision makes me go, which bends me to itself so that I cannot from the thought withdraw me.” “Hast thou seen,” said he, “that ancient sorceress who above us henceforth is alone lamented? Hast thou seen how from her man is unbound? Let it suffice thee, and strike thy heels on the ground;[3] turn thine eyes to the lure that the eternal King whirls with the great circles.”
[1] “They that mourn.”