Part 3

Now was the hour that wakens fond desire In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart, Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell, And pilgrim newly on his road with love Thrills, 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 mark One risen from its seat, which with its hand Audience implor’d. Both palms it join’d and rais’d, Fixing its steadfast gaze towards the east, As telling God, “I care for naught beside.” “Te Lucis Ante,” so devoutly then Came 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 gaze Directed to the bright supernal wheels. Here, reader! for the truth makes thine eyes keen: For of so subtle texture is this veil, That thou with ease mayst pass it through unmark’d. I saw that gentle band silently next Look 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-illumin’d swords, Broken and mutilated at their points. Green as the tender leaves but newly born, Their vesture was, the which by wings as green Beaten, they drew behind them, fann’d in air. A little over us one took his stand, 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 eye Was lost, as faculty that by too much Is overpower’d. “From Mary’s bosom both Are come,” exclaim’d Sordello, “as a guard Over the vale, ganst him, who hither tends, The serpent.” Whence, not knowing by which path He came, I turn’d me round, and closely press’d, All frozen, to my leader’s trusted side. Sordello paus’d not: “To the valley now (For it is time) let us descend; and hold Converse with those great shadows: haply much Their sight may please ye.” Only three steps down Methinks I measur’d, ere I was beneath, And noted one who look’d as with desire To know me. Time was now that air arrow dim; Yet not so dim, that ’twixt his eyes and mine It clear’d not up what was conceal’d before. Mutually tow’rds each other we advanc’d. Nino, thou courteous judge! what joy I felt, When I perceiv’d thou wert not with the bad! No salutation kind on either part Was left unsaid. He then inquir’d: “How long Since thou arrived’st at the mountain’s foot, Over the distant waves?”—“O!” 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 heard My words, he and Sordello backward drew, As suddenly amaz’d. To Virgil one, The other to a spirit turn’d, who near Was seated, crying: “Conrad! up with speed: Come, see what of his grace high God hath will’d.” Then turning round to me: “By that rare mark Of honour which thou ow’st to him, who hides So deeply his first cause, it hath no ford, When thou shalt be beyond the vast of waves. Tell my Giovanna, that for me she call There, where reply to innocence is made. Her mother, I believe, loves me no more; Since she has chang’d the white and wimpled folds, Which she is doom’d once more with grief to wish. By her it easily may be perceiv’d, How long in women lasts the flame of love, If sight and touch do not relume it oft. For her so fair a burial will not make The viper which calls Milan to the field, As had been made by shrill Gallura’s bird.” He spoke, and in his visage took the stamp Of that right seal, which with due temperature Glows in the bosom. My insatiate eyes Meanwhile to heav’n had travel’d, even there Where the bright stars are slowest, as a wheel Nearest the axle; when my guide inquir’d: “What there aloft, my son, has caught thy gaze?” I answer’d: “The three torches, with which here The pole is all on fire.” He then to me: “The four resplendent stars, thou saw’st this morn Are there beneath, and these ris’n in their stead.” While yet he spoke. Sordello to himself Drew him, and cry’d: “Lo there our enemy!” And with his hand pointed that way to look. Along the side, where barrier none arose Around the little vale, a serpent lay, Such haply as gave Eve the bitter food. Between the grass and flowers, the evil snake Came on, reverting oft his lifted head; And, as a beast that smoothes its polish’d coat, Licking his hack. I saw not, nor can tell, How those celestial falcons from their seat Mov’d, but in motion each one well descried, Hearing the air cut by their verdant plumes. The serpent fled; and to their stations back The 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 destin’d lot, of wax so much, As may suffice thee to the enamel’s height.” It thus began: “If any certain news Of Valdimagra and the neighbour part Thou know’st, tell me, who once was mighty there They call’d me Conrad Malaspina, not That old one, but from him I sprang. The love I bore my people is now here refin’d.” “In your dominions,” 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 route Prosper! your honour’d nation not impairs The value of her coffer and her sword. Nature and use give her such privilege, That while the world is twisted from his course By a bad head, she only walks aright, And has the evil way in scorn.” He then: “Now pass thee on: sev’n times the tired sun Revisits not the couch, which with four feet The forked Aries covers, ere that kind Opinion shall be nail’d into thy brain With stronger nails than other’s speech can drive, If the sure course of judgment be not stay’d.”

## CANTO IX

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 sign Of that chill animal, who with his train Smites 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, When I, who had so much of Adam with me, Sank down upon the grass, o’ercome with sleep, There where all five were seated. In that hour, When near the dawn the swallow her sad lay, Rememb’ring haply ancient grief, renews, And with our minds more wand’rers from the flesh, And less by thought restrain’d are, as ’t were, full Of holy divination in their dreams, Then in a vision did I seem to view A golden-feather’d eagle in the sky, With open wings, and hov’ring for descent, And I was in that place, methought, from whence Young Ganymede, from his associates ’reft, Was snatch’d aloft to the high consistory. “Perhaps,” thought I within me, “here alone He strikes his quarry, and elsewhere disdains To pounce upon the prey.” Therewith, it seem’d, A little wheeling in his airy tour Terrible as the lightning rush’d he down, And snatch’d me upward even to the fire.

There both, I thought, the eagle and myself Did burn; and so intense th’ imagin’d flames, That needs my sleep was broken off. As erst Achilles shook himself, and round him roll’d His waken’d eyeballs wond’ring where he was, Whenas his mother had from Chiron fled To Scyros, with him sleeping in her arms; E’en thus I shook me, soon as from my face The slumber parted, turning deadly pale, Like one ice-struck with dread. Solo at my side My comfort stood: and the bright sun was now More than two hours aloft: and to the sea My looks were turn’d. “Fear not,” my master cried, “Assur’d we are at happy point. Thy strength Shrink not, but rise dilated. Thou art come To Purgatory now. Lo! there the cliff That circling bounds it! Lo! the entrance there, Where it doth seem disparted! Ere the dawn Usher’d the daylight, when thy wearied soul Slept in thee, o’er the flowery vale beneath A lady came, and thus bespake me: I Am Lucia. Suffer me to take this man, Who slumbers. Easier so his way shall speed.” Sordello and the other gentle shapes Tarrying, 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 eyes That open entrance show’d me; then at once She vanish’d with thy sleep.” Like one, whose doubts Are chas’d by certainty, and terror turn’d To comfort on discovery of the truth, Such was the change in me: and as my guide Beheld me fearless, up along the cliff He mov’d, and I behind him, towards the height. Reader! thou markest how my theme doth rise, Nor wonder therefore, if more artfully I prop the structure! Nearer now we drew, Arriv’d’ whence in that part, where first a breach As of a wall appear’d, I could descry A portal, and three steps beneath, that led For 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, glanc’d back The rays so toward me, that I oft in vain My 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 skilless of these things,” Replied the’ instructor, “told us, even now, ‘Pass that way: here the gate is.”—“And may she Befriending prosper your ascent,” resum’d The courteous keeper of the gate: “Come then Before our steps.” We straightway thither came. The lowest stair was marble white so smooth And polish’d, that therein my mirror’d form Distinct I saw. The next of hue more dark Than sablest grain, a rough and singed block, Crack’d lengthwise and across. The third, that lay Massy above, seem’d porphyry, that flam’d Red as the life-blood spouting from a vein. On this God’s angel either foot sustain’d, Upon the threshold seated, which appear’d A rock of diamond. Up the trinal steps My leader cheerily drew me. “Ask,” said he, “With humble heart, that he unbar the bolt.” Piously at his holy feet devolv’d I cast me, praying him for pity’s sake That he would open to me: but first fell Thrice on my bosom prostrate. Seven times The letter, that denotes the inward stain, He on my forehead with the blunted point Of his drawn sword inscrib’d. 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 drew Two 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 one Faileth of these, that in the keyhole straight It turn not, to this alley then expect Access in vain.” Such were the words he spake. “One is more precious: but the other needs Skill and sagacity, large share of each, Ere its good task to disengage the knot Be worthily perform’d. From Peter these I hold, of him instructed, that I err Rather 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 ward The swivels turn’d, sonorous metal strong, Harsh was the grating; nor so surlily Roar’d the Tarpeian, when by force bereft Of good Metellus, thenceforth from his loss To leanness doom’d. Attentively I turn’d, List’ning the thunder, that first issued forth; And “We praise thee, O God,” methought I heard In accents blended with sweet melody. The strains came o’er mine ear, e’en as the sound Of choral voices, that in solemn chant With organ mingle, and, now high and clear, Come swelling, now float indistinct away.

## CANTO X

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 wound On either side alternate, as the wave Flies and advances. “Here some little art Behooves us,” said my leader, “that our steps Observe the varying flexure of the path.” Thus we so slowly sped, that with cleft orb The moon once more o’erhangs her wat’ry couch, Ere we that strait have threaded. But when free We came and open, where the mount above One solid mass retires, I spent, with toil, And both, uncertain of the way, we stood, Upon a plain more lonesome, than the roads That traverse desert wilds. From whence the brink Borders upon vacuity, to foot Of the steep bank, that rises still, the space Had measur’d thrice the stature of a man: And, distant as mine eye could wing its flight, To leftward now and now to right dispatch’d, That cornice equal in extent appear’d. Not yet our feet had on that summit mov’d, When I discover’d that the bank around, Whose proud uprising all ascent denied, Was marble white, and so exactly wrought With quaintest sculpture, that not there alone Had Polycletus, but e’en nature’s self Been sham’d. The angel who came down to earth With tidings of the peace so many years Wept for in vain, that op’d the heavenly gates From their long interdict before us seem’d, In a sweet act, so sculptur’d to the life, He look’d no silent image. One had sworn He had said, “Hail!” for she was imag’d there, By whom the key did open to God’s love, And in her act as sensibly impress That word, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord,” As figure seal’d on wax. “Fix not thy mind On one place only,” said the guide belov’d, Who had me near him on that part where lies The heart of man. My sight forthwith I turn’d And mark’d, behind the virgin mother’s form, Upon that side, where he, that mov’d me, stood, Another story graven on the rock. I passed athwart the bard, and drew me near, That it might stand more aptly for my view. There in the self-same marble were engrav’d The cart and kine, drawing the sacred ark, That from unbidden office awes mankind. Before it came much people; and the whole Parted in seven quires. One sense cried, “Nay,” Another, “Yes, they sing.” Like doubt arose Betwixt the eye and smell, from the curl’d fume Of incense breathing up the well-wrought toil. Preceding the blest vessel, onward came With light dance leaping, girt in humble guise, Sweet Israel’s harper: in that hap he seem’d Less and yet more than kingly. Opposite, At a great palace, from the lattice forth Look’d Michol, like a lady full of scorn And sorrow. To behold the tablet next, Which at the hack of Michol whitely shone, I mov’d me. There was storied on the rock The’ exalted glory of the Roman prince, Whose mighty worth mov’d Gregory to earn His mighty conquest, Trajan th’ Emperor. A widow at his bridle stood, attir’d In tears and mourning. Round about them troop’d Full throng of knights, and overhead in gold The 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 one Made hasty by her grief; “O sire, if thou Dost 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 well My duty be perform’d, ere I move hence: So justice wills; and pity bids me stay.” He, whose ken nothing new surveys, produc’d That visible speaking, new to us and strange The like not found on earth. Fondly I gaz’d Upon those patterns of meek humbleness, Shapes yet more precious for their artist’s sake, When “Lo,” the poet whisper’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 lov’d allurement, were not slow to turn. Reader! I would not that amaz’d thou miss Of thy good purpose, hearing how just God Decrees our debts be cancel’d. Ponder not The form of suff’ring. Think on what succeeds, Think that at worst beyond the mighty doom It cannot pass. “Instructor,” I began, “What I see hither tending, bears no trace Of human semblance, nor of aught beside That my foil’d sight can guess.” He answering thus: “So courb’d to earth, beneath their heavy teems Of torment stoop they, that mine eye at first Struggled as thine. But look intently thither, An disentangle with thy lab’ring view, What underneath those stones approacheth: now, E’en now, mayst thou discern the pangs of each.” Christians and proud! O poor and wretched ones! That feeble in the mind’s eye, lean your trust Upon unstaid perverseness! Know ye not That we are worms, yet made at last to form The winged insect, imp’d with angel plumes That to heaven’s justice unobstructed soars? Why buoy ye up aloft your unfleg’d 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’d In the beholder’s fancy; so I saw These fashion’d, when I noted well their guise. Each, as his back was laden, came indeed Or more or less contract; but it appear’d As he, who show’d most patience in his look, Wailing exclaim’d: “I can endure no more.”

## CANTO XI

“O thou Almighty Father, who dost make The heavens thy dwelling, not in bounds confin’d, But that with love intenser there thou view’st Thy primal effluence, hallow’d be thy name: Join each created being to extol Thy might, for worthy humblest thanks and praise Is thy blest Spirit. May thy kingdom’s peace Come unto us; for we, unless it come, With all our striving thither tend in vain. As of their will the angels unto thee Tender meet sacrifice, circling thy throne With loud hosannas, so of theirs be done By saintly men on earth. Grant us this day Our daily manna, without which he roams Through this rough desert retrograde, who most Toils to advance his steps. As we to each Pardon the evil done us, pardon thou Benign, and of our merit take no count. ’Gainst the old adversary prove thou not Our virtue easily subdu’d; but free From his incitements and defeat his wiles. This last petition, dearest Lord! is made Not 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 that We 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 behalf If there vows still be offer’d, what can here For them be vow’d and done by such, whose wills Have root of goodness in them? Well beseems That we should help them wash away the stains They carried hence, that so made pure and light, They may spring upward to the starry spheres.

“Ah! so may mercy-temper’d justice rid Your burdens speedily, that ye have power To stretch your wing, which e’en to your desire Shall lift you, as ye show us on which hand Toward 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 yet The 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 toil Of living man to climb: and were it not That I am hinder’d by the rock, wherewith This arrogant neck is tam’d, whence needs I stoop My 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 him? and to crave His pity for the fardel that I bear. I was of Latiun, of a Tuscan horn A mighty one: Aldobranlesco’s name My sire’s, I know not if ye e’er have heard. My old blood and forefathers’ gallant deeds Made me so haughty, that I clean forgot The 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 pride Hath injur’d, but my kindred all involv’d In mischief with her. Here my lot ordains Under this weight to groan, till I appease God’s angry justice, since I did it not Amongst the living, here amongst the dead.”

List’ning I bent my visage down: and one (Not he who spake) twisted beneath the weight That urg’d him, saw me, knew me straight, and call’d, Holding his eyes With difficulty fix’d Intent upon me, stooping as I went Companion of their way. “O!” I exclaim’d,

“Art thou not Oderigi, art not thou Agobbio’s glory, glory of that art Which they of Paris call the limmer’s skill?”