THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY PURGATORY Part 1 Cantos 1 - 4 CANTO I O'er better waves to speed her rapid courseThe light bark of my genius lifts the sail, Well pleas'd to leave so cruel sea behind;And of that second region will I sing, In which the human spirit from sinful blotIs purg'd, and for ascent to Heaven prepares. Here, O ye hallow'd Nine! for in your trainI follow, here the deadened strain revive;Nor let Calliope refuse to soundA somewhat higher song, of that loud tone, Which when the wretched birds of chattering noteHad heard, they of forgiveness lost all hope. Sweet hue of eastern sapphire, that was spreadO'er the serene aspect of the pure air, High up as the first circle, to mine eyesUnwonted joy renew'd, soon as I 'scap'dForth from the atmosphere of deadly gloom, That had mine eyes and bosom fill'd with grief. The radiant planet, that to love invites, Made all the orient laugh, and veil'd beneathThe Pisces' light, that in his escort came. To the right hand I turn'd, and fix'd my mindOn the' other pole attentive, where I sawFour stars ne'er seen before save by the kenOf our first parents. Heaven of their raysSeem'd joyous. O thou northern site, bereftIndeed, and widow'd, since of these depriv'd! As from this view I had desisted, straightTurning a little tow'rds the other pole, There from whence now the wain had disappear'd, I saw an old man standing by my sideAlone, so worthy of rev'rence in his look, That ne'er from son to father more was ow'd. Low down his beard and mix'd with hoary whiteDescended, like his locks, which parting fellUpon his breast in double fold. The beamsOf those four luminaries on his faceSo brightly shone, and with such radiance clearDeck'd it, that I beheld him as the sun. "Say who are ye, that stemming the blind stream, Forth from th' eternal prison-house have fled?"He spoke and moved those venerable plumes. "Who hath conducted, or with lantern sureLights you emerging from the depth of night, That makes the infernal valley ever black?Are the firm statutes of the dread abyssBroken, or in high heaven new laws ordain'd, That thus, condemn'd, ye to my caves approach?" My guide, then laying hold on me, by wordsAnd intimations given with hand and head, Made my bent knees and eye submissive payDue reverence; then thus to him replied. "Not of myself I come; a Dame from heavenDescending, had besought me in my chargeTo bring. But since thy will implies, that moreOur true condition I unfold at large, Mine is not to deny thee thy request. This mortal ne'er hath seen the farthest gloom. But erring by his folly had approach'dSo near, that little space was left to turn. Then, as before I told, I was dispatch'dTo work his rescue, and no way remain'dSave this which I have ta'en. I have display'dBefore him all the regions of the bad;And purpose now those spirits to display, That under thy command are purg'd from sin. How I have brought him would be long to say. From high descends the virtue, by whose aidI to thy sight and hearing him have led. Now may our coming please thee. In the searchOf liberty he journeys: that how dearThey know, who for her sake have life refus'd. Thou knowest, to whom death for her was sweetIn Utica, where thou didst leave those weeds, That in the last great day will shine so bright. For us the' eternal edicts are unmov'd:He breathes, and I am free of Minos' power, Abiding in that circle where the eyesOf thy chaste Marcia beam, who still in lookPrays thee, O hallow'd spirit! to own her shine. Then by her love we' implore thee, let us passThrough thy sev'n regions; for which best thanksI for thy favour will to her return, If mention there below thou not disdain. " "Marcia so pleasing in my sight was found, "He then to him rejoin'd, "while I was there, That all she ask'd me I was fain to grant. Now that beyond the' accursed stream she dwells, She may no longer move me, by that law, Which was ordain'd me, when I issued thence. Not so, if Dame from heaven, as thou sayst, Moves and directs thee; then no flattery needs. Enough for me that in her name thou ask. Go therefore now: and with a slender reedSee that thou duly gird him, and his faceLave, till all sordid stain thou wipe from thence. For not with eye, by any cloud obscur'd, Would it be seemly before him to come, Who stands the foremost minister in heaven. This islet all around, there far beneath, Where the wave beats it, on the oozy bedProduces store of reeds. No other plant, Cover'd with leaves, or harden'd in its stalk, There lives, not bending to the water's sway. After, this way return not; but the sunWill show you, that now rises, where to takeThe mountain in its easiest ascent. " He disappear'd; and I myself uprais'dSpeechless, and to my guide retiring close, Toward him turn'd mine eyes. He thus began;"My son! observant thou my steps pursue. We must retreat to rearward, for that wayThe champain to its low extreme declines. " The dawn had chas'd the matin hour of prime, Which deaf before it, so that from afarI spy'd the trembling of the ocean stream. We travers'd the deserted plain, as oneWho, wander'd from his track, thinks every stepTrodden in vain till he regain the path. When we had come, where yet the tender dewStrove with the sun, and in a place, where freshThe wind breath'd o'er it, while it slowly dried;Both hands extended on the watery grassMy master plac'd, in graceful act and kind. Whence I of his intent before appriz'd, Stretch'd out to him my cheeks suffus'd with tears. There to my visage he anew restor'dThat hue, which the dun shades of hell conceal'd. Then on the solitary shore arriv'd, That never sailing on its waters sawMan, that could after measure back his course, He girt me in such manner as had pleas'dHim who instructed, and O, strange to tell!As he selected every humble plant, Wherever one was pluck'd, another thereResembling, straightway in its place arose. CANTO II Now had the sun to that horizon reach'd, That covers, with the most exalted pointOf its meridian circle, Salem's walls, And night, that opposite to him her orbSounds, from the stream of Ganges issued forth, Holding the scales, that from her hands are dropp'dWhen she reigns highest: so that where I was, Aurora's white and vermeil-tinctur'd cheekTo orange turn'd as she in age increas'd. Meanwhile we linger'd by the water's brink, Like men, who, musing on their road, in thoughtJourney, while motionless the body rests. When lo! as near upon the hour of dawn, Through the thick vapours Mars with fiery beamGlares down in west, over the ocean floor;So seem'd, what once again I hope to view, A light so swiftly coming through the sea, No winged course might equal its career. From which when for a space I had withdrawnThine eyes, to make inquiry of my guide, Again I look'd and saw it grown in sizeAnd brightness: thou on either side appear'dSomething, but what I knew not of bright hue, And by degrees from underneath it cameAnother. My preceptor silent yetStood, while the brightness, that we first discern'd, Open'd the form of wings: then when he knewThe pilot, cried aloud, "Down, down; bend lowThy knees; behold God's angel: fold thy hands:Now shalt thou see true Ministers indeed. "Lo how all human means he sets at naught!So that nor oar he needs, nor other sailExcept his wings, between such distant shores. Lo how straight up to heaven he holds them rear'd, Winnowing the air with those eternal plumes, That not like mortal hairs fall off or change!" As more and more toward us came, more brightAppear'd the bird of God, nor could the eyeEndure his splendor near: I mine bent down. He drove ashore in a small bark so swiftAnd light, that in its course no wave it drank. The heav'nly steersman at the prow was seen, Visibly written blessed in his looks. Within a hundred spirits and more there sat. "In Exitu Israel de Aegypto;"All with one voice together sang, with whatIn the remainder of that hymn is writ. Then soon as with the sign of holy crossHe bless'd them, they at once leap'd out on land, The swiftly as he came return'd. The crew, There left, appear'd astounded with the place, Gazing around as one who sees new sights. From every side the sun darted his beams, And with his arrowy radiance from mid heav'nHad chas'd the Capricorn, when that strange tribeLifting their eyes towards us: "If ye know, Declare what path will Lead us to the mount. " Them Virgil answer'd. "Ye suppose perchanceUs well acquainted with this place: but here, We, as yourselves, are strangers. Not long erstWe came, before you but a little space, By other road so rough and hard, that nowThe' ascent will seem to us as play. " The spirits, Who from my breathing had perceiv'd I liv'd, Grew pale with wonder. As the multitudeFlock round a herald, sent with olive branch, To hear what news he brings, and in their hasteTread one another down, e'en so at sightOf me those happy spirits were fix'd, each oneForgetful of its errand, to depart, Where cleans'd from sin, it might be made all fair. Then one I saw darting before the restWith such fond ardour to embrace me, ITo do the like was mov'd. O shadows vainExcept in outward semblance! thrice my handsI clasp'd behind it, they as oft return'dEmpty into my breast again. SurpriseI needs must think was painted in my looks, For that the shadow smil'd and backward drew. To follow it I hasten'd, but with voiceOf sweetness it enjoin'd me to desist. Then who it was I knew, and pray'd of it, To talk with me, it would a little pause. It answered: "Thee as in my mortal frameI lov'd, so loos'd forth it I love thee still, And therefore pause; but why walkest thou here?" "Not without purpose once more to return, Thou find'st me, my Casella, where I amJourneying this way;" I said, "but how of theeHath so much time been lost?" He answer'd straight:"No outrage hath been done to me, if heWho when and whom he chooses takes, me oftThis passage hath denied, since of just willHis will he makes. These three months past indeed, He, whose chose to enter, with free leaveHath taken; whence I wand'ring by the shoreWhere Tyber's wave grows salt, of him gain'd kindAdmittance, at that river's mouth, tow'rd whichHis wings are pointed, for there always throngAll such as not to Archeron descend. " Then I: "If new laws have not quite destroy'dMemory and use of that sweet song of love, That while all my cares had power to 'swage;Please thee with it a little to consoleMy spirit, that incumber'd with its frame, Travelling so far, of pain is overcome. " "Love that discourses in my thoughts. " He thenBegan in such soft accents, that withinThe sweetness thrills me yet. My gentle guideAnd all who came with him, so well were pleas'd, That seem'd naught else might in their thoughts have room. Fast fix'd in mute attention to his notesWe stood, when lo! that old man venerableExclaiming, "How is this, ye tardy spirits?What negligence detains you loit'ring here?Run to the mountain to cast off those scales, That from your eyes the sight of God conceal. " As a wild flock of pigeons, to their foodCollected, blade or tares, without their prideAccustom'd, and in still and quiet sort, If aught alarm them, suddenly desertTheir meal, assail'd by more important care;So I that new-come troop beheld, the songDeserting, hasten to the mountain's side, As one who goes yet where he tends knows not. Nor with less hurried step did we depart. CANTO III Them sudden flight had scatter'd over the plain, Turn'd tow'rds the mountain, whither reason's voiceDrives us; I to my faithful companyAdhering, left it not. For how of himDepriv'd, might I have sped, or who besideWould o'er the mountainous tract have led my stepsHe with the bitter pang of self-remorseSeem'd smitten. O clear conscience and uprightHow doth a little fling wound thee sore! Soon as his feet desisted (slack'ning pace), From haste, that mars all decency of act, My mind, that in itself before was wrapt, Its thoughts expanded, as with joy restor'd:And full against the steep ascent I setMy face, where highest to heav'n its top o'erflows. The sun, that flar'd behind, with ruddy beamBefore my form was broken; for in meHis rays resistance met. I turn'd asideWith fear of being left, when I beheldOnly before myself the ground obscur'd. When thus my solace, turning him around, Bespake me kindly: "Why distrustest thou?Believ'st not I am with thee, thy sure guide?It now is evening there, where buried liesThe body, in which I cast a shade, remov'dTo Naples from Brundusium's wall. Nor thouMarvel, if before me no shadow fall, More than that in the sky elementOne ray obstructs not other. To endureTorments of heat and cold extreme, like framesThat virtue hath dispos'd, which how it worksWills not to us should be reveal'd. InsaneWho hopes, our reason may that space explore, Which holds three persons in one substance knit. Seek not the wherefore, race of human kind;Could ye have seen the whole, no need had beenFor Mary to bring forth. Moreover yeHave seen such men desiring fruitlessly;To whose desires repose would have been giv'n, That now but serve them for eternal grief. I speak of Plato, and the Stagyrite, And others many more. " And then he bentDownwards his forehead, and in troubled moodBroke off his speech. Meanwhile we had arriv'dFar as the mountain's foot, and there the rockFound of so steep ascent, that nimblest stepsTo climb it had been vain. The most remoteMost wild untrodden path, in all the tract'Twixt Lerice and Turbia were to thisA ladder easy' and open of access. "Who knows on which hand now the steep declines?"My master said and paus'd, "so that he mayAscend, who journeys without aid of wine?"And while with looks directed to the groundThe meaning of the pathway he explor'd, And I gaz'd upward round the stony height, Of spirits, that toward us mov'd their steps, Yet moving seem'd not, they so slow approach'd. I thus my guide address'd: "Upraise thine eyes, Lo that way some, of whom thou may'st obtainCounsel, if of thyself thou find'st it not!" Straightway he look'd, and with free speech replied:"Let us tend thither: they but softly come. And thou be firm in hope, my son belov'd. " Now was that people distant far in spaceA thousand paces behind ours, as muchAs at a throw the nervous arm could fling, When all drew backward on the messy cragsOf the steep bank, and firmly stood unmov'dAs one who walks in doubt might stand to look. "O spirits perfect! O already chosen!"Virgil to them began, "by that blest peace, Which, as I deem, is for you all prepar'd, Instruct us where the mountain low declines, So that attempt to mount it be not vain. For who knows most, him loss of time most grieves. " As sheep, that step from forth their fold, by one, Or pairs, or three at once; meanwhile the restStand fearfully, bending the eye and noseTo ground, and what the foremost does, that doThe others, gath'ring round her, if she stops, Simple and quiet, nor the cause discern;So saw I moving to advance the first, Who of that fortunate crew were at the head, Of modest mien and graceful in their gait. When they before me had beheld the lightFrom my right side fall broken on the ground, So that the shadow reach'd the cave, they stopp'dAnd somewhat back retir'd: the same did all, Who follow'd, though unweeting of the cause. "Unask'd of you, yet freely I confess, This is a human body which ye see. That the sun's light is broken on the ground, Marvel not: but believe, that not withoutVirtue deriv'd from Heaven, we to climbOver this wall aspire. " So them bespakeMy master; and that virtuous tribe rejoin'd;"Turn, and before you there the entrance lies, "Making a signal to us with bent hands. Then of them one began. "Whoe'er thou art, Who journey'st thus this way, thy visage turn, Think if me elsewhere thou hast ever seen. " I tow'rds him turn'd, and with fix'd eye beheld. Comely, and fair, and gentle of aspect, He seem'd, but on one brow a gash was mark'd. When humbly I disclaim'd to have beheldHim ever: "Now behold!" he said, and show'dHigh on his breast a wound: then smiling spake. "I am Manfredi, grandson to the QueenCostanza: whence I pray thee, when return'd, To my fair daughter go, the parent gladOf Aragonia and Sicilia's pride;And of the truth inform her, if of meAught else be told. When by two mortal blowsMy frame was shatter'd, I betook myselfWeeping to him, who of free will forgives. My sins were horrible; but so wide armsHath goodness infinite, that it receivesAll who turn to it. Had this text divineBeen of Cosenza's shepherd better scann'd, Who then by Clement on my hunt was set, Yet at the bridge's head my bones had lain, Near Benevento, by the heavy moleProtected; but the rain now drenches them, And the wind drives, out of the kingdom's bounds, Far as the stream of Verde, where, with lightsExtinguish'd, he remov'd them from their bed. Yet by their curse we are not so destroy'd, But that the eternal love may turn, while hopeRetains her verdant blossoms. True it is, That such one as in contumacy diesAgainst the holy church, though he repent, Must wander thirty-fold for all the timeIn his presumption past; if such decreeBe not by prayers of good men shorter madeLook therefore if thou canst advance my bliss;Revealing to my good Costanza, howThou hast beheld me, and beside the termsLaid on me of that interdict; for hereBy means of those below much profit comes. " CANTO IV When by sensations of delight or pain, That any of our faculties hath seiz'd, Entire the soul collects herself, it seemsShe is intent upon that power alone, And thus the error is disprov'd which holdsThe soul not singly lighted in the breast. And therefore when as aught is heard or seen, That firmly keeps the soul toward it turn'd, Time passes, and a man perceives it not. For that, whereby he hearken, is one power, Another that, which the whole spirit hash;This is as it were bound, while that is free. This found I true by proof, hearing that spiritAnd wond'ring; for full fifty steps aloftThe sun had measur'd unobserv'd of me, When we arriv'd where all with one accordThe spirits shouted, "Here is what ye ask. " A larger aperture ofttimes is stopp'dWith forked stake of thorn by villager, When the ripe grape imbrowns, than was the path, By which my guide, and I behind him close, Ascended solitary, when that troopDeparting left us. On Sanleo's roadWho journeys, or to Noli low descends, Or mounts Bismantua's height, must use his feet;But here a man had need to fly, I meanWith the swift wing and plumes of high desire, Conducted by his aid, who gave me hope, And with light furnish'd to direct my way. We through the broken rock ascended, closePent on each side, while underneath the groundAsk'd help of hands and feet. When we arriv'dNear on the highest ridge of the steep bank, Where the plain level open'd I exclaim'd, "O master! say which way can we proceed?" He answer'd, "Let no step of thine recede. Behind me gain the mountain, till to usSome practis'd guide appear. " That eminenceWas lofty that no eye might reach its point, And the side proudly rising, more than lineFrom the mid quadrant to the centre drawn. I wearied thus began: "Parent belov'd!Turn, and behold how I remain alone, If thou stay not. "--" My son!" He straight reply'd, "Thus far put forth thy strength;" and to a trackPointed, that, on this side projecting, roundCircles the hill. His words so spurr'd me on, That I behind him clamb'ring, forc'd myself, Till my feet press'd the circuit plain beneath. There both together seated, turn'd we roundTo eastward, whence was our ascent: and oftMany beside have with delight look'd back. First on the nether shores I turn'd my eyes, Then rais'd them to the sun, and wond'ring mark'dThat from the left it smote us. Soon perceiv'dThat Poet sage now at the car of lightAmaz'd I stood, where 'twixt us and the northIts course it enter'd. Whence he thus to me:"Were Leda's offspring now in companyOf that broad mirror, that high up and lowImparts his light beneath, thou might'st beholdThe ruddy zodiac nearer to the bearsWheel, if its ancient course it not forsook. How that may be if thou would'st think; withinPond'ring, imagine Sion with this mountPlac'd on the earth, so that to both be oneHorizon, and two hemispheres apart, Where lies the path that Phaeton ill knewTo guide his erring chariot: thou wilt seeHow of necessity by this on oneHe passes, while by that on the' other side, If with clear view shine intellect attend. " "Of truth, kind teacher!" I exclaim'd, "so clearAught saw I never, as I now discernWhere seem'd my ken to fail, that the mid orbOf the supernal motion (which in termsOf art is called the Equator, and remainsEver between the sun and winter) for the causeThou hast assign'd, from hence toward the northDeparts, when those who in the Hebrew landInhabit, see it tow'rds the warmer part. But if it please thee, I would gladly know, How far we have to journey: for the hillMounts higher, than this sight of mine can mount. " He thus to me: "Such is this steep ascent, That it is ever difficult at first, But, more a man proceeds, less evil grows. When pleasant it shall seem to thee, so muchThat upward going shall be easy to thee. As in a vessel to go down the tide, Then of this path thou wilt have reach'd the end. There hope to rest thee from thy toil. No moreI answer, and thus far for certain know. "As he his words had spoken, near to usA voice there sounded: "Yet ye first perchanceMay to repose you by constraint be led. "At sound thereof each turn'd, and on the leftA huge stone we beheld, of which nor INor he before was ware. Thither we drew, find there were some, who in the shady placeBehind the rock were standing, as a manThru' idleness might stand. Among them one, Who seem'd to me much wearied, sat him down, And with his arms did fold his knees about, Holding his face between them downward bent. "Sweet Sir!" I cry'd, "behold that man, who showsHimself more idle, than if lazinessWere sister to him. " Straight he turn'd to us, And, o'er the thigh lifting his face, observ'd, Then in these accents spake: "Up then, proceedThou valiant one. " Straight who it was I knew;Nor could the pain I felt (for want of breathStill somewhat urg'd me) hinder my approach. And when I came to him, he scarce his headUplifted, saying "Well hast thou discern'd, How from the left the sun his chariot leads. " His lazy acts and broken words my lipsTo laughter somewhat mov'd; when I began:"Belacqua, now for thee I grieve no more. But tell, why thou art seated upright there?Waitest thou escort to conduct thee hence?Or blame I only shine accustom'd ways?"Then he: "My brother, of what use to mount, When to my suffering would not let me passThe bird of God, who at the portal sits?Behooves so long that heav'n first bear me roundWithout its limits, as in life it bore, Because I to the end repentant SighsDelay'd, if prayer do not aid me first, That riseth up from heart which lives in grace. What other kind avails, not heard in heaven?"' Before me now the Poet up the mountAscending, cried: "Haste thee, for see the sunHas touch'd the point meridian, and the nightNow covers with her foot Marocco's shore. "