Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Dante Alighieri (1265–1321). The Divine Comedy.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

Purgatory

Canto VI ARGUMENT.—Many besides, who are in like case with those spoken of in the last Canto, beseech our Poet to obtain for them the prayers of their friends, when he shall be returned to this world. This moves him to express a doubt to his guide, how the dead can be profited by the prayers of the living; for the solution of which doubt he is referred to Beatrice. Afterward he meets with Sordello the Mantuan, whose affection, shown to Virgil his countryman, leads Dante to break forth into an invective against the unnatural divisions with which Italy, and more especially Florence, was distracted.

WHEN from their game of dice men separate,

He who hath lost remains in sadness fix’d,

Revolving in his mind what luckless throws

He cast: but, meanwhile, all the company

Go with the other; one before him runs,

And one behind his mantle twitches, one

Fast by his side bids him remember him.

He stops not; and each one, to whom his hand

Is stretch’d, well knows he bids him stand aside;

And thus he from the press defends himself.

E’en such was I in that close-crowding throng;

And turning so my face around to all,

And promising, I ’scaped from it with pains.

Here of Arezzo him I saw, who fell

By Ghino’s cruel arm; and him beside,

Who in his chase was swallow’d by the stream.

Here Frederic Novello, with his hand

Stretch’d forth, entreated; and of Pisa he,

Who put the good Marzucco to such proof

Of constancy. Count Orso I beheld;

And from its frame a soul dismiss’d for spite

And envy, as it said, but for no crime;

I speak of Peter de la Brosse: and here,

While she yet lives, that Lady of Brabant,

Let her beware; lest for so false a deed

She herd with worse than these. When I was freed

From all those spirits, who pray’d for others’ prayers

To hasten on their state of blessedness;

Straight I began: “O thou, my luminary!

It seems expressly in thy text denied,

That Heaven’s supreme decree can ever bend

To supplication; yet with this design

Do these entreat. Can then their hope be vain?

Or is thy saying not to me reveal’d?”

He thus to me: “Both what I write is plain,

And these deceived not in their hope; if well

Thy mind consider, that the sacred height

Of judgment doth not stoop, because love’s flame

In a short moment all fulfills, which he,

Who sojourns here, in right should satisfy.

Besides, when I this point concluded thus,

By praying no defect could be supplied;

Because the prayer had none access to God.

Yet in this deep suspicion rest thou not

Contented, unless she assure thee so,

Who betwixt truth and mind infuses light:

I know not if thou take me right; I mean

Beatrice. Her thou shalt behold above,

Upon this mountain’s crown, fair seat of joy.”

Then I: “Sir! let us mend our speed; for now

I tire not as before: and lo! the hill

Stretches its shadow far.” He answer’d thus:

“Our progress with this day shall be as much

As we may now despatch; but otherwise

Than thou supposest is the truth. For there

Thou canst not be, ere thou once more behold

Him back returning, who behind the steep

Is now so hidden, that, as erst, his beam

Thou dost not break. But lo! a spirit there

Stands solitary, and toward us looks:

It will instruct us in the speediest way.”

We soon approach’d it. O thou Lombard spirit!

How didst thou stand, in high abstracted mood,

Scarce moving with slow dignity thine eyes.

It spoke not aught, but let us onward pass,

Eying us as a lion on his watch.

But Virgil, with entreaty mild, advanced,

Requesting it to show the best ascent.

It answer to his question none return’d;

But of our country and our kind of life

Demanded. When my courteous guide began,

“Mantua,” the shadow, in itself absorb’d,

Rose toward us from the place in which it stood,

And cried, “Mantuan! I am thy countryman,

Sordello.” Each the other then embraced.

Ah, slavish Italy! thou inn of grief!

Vessel without a pilot in loud storm!

Lady no longer of fair provinces,

But brothel-house impure! this gentle spirit,

Even from the pleasant sound of his dear land

Was prompt to greet a fellow citizen

With such glad cheer: while now thy living ones

In thee abide not without war; and one

Malicious gnaws another; ay, of those

Whom the same wall and the same moat contains.

Seek, wretched one! around the sea-coasts wide;

Then homeward to thy bosom turn; and mark,

If any part of thee sweet peace enjoy.

What boots it, that thy reins Justinian’s hand

Refitted, if thy saddle be unprest?

Naught doth he now but aggravate thy shame.

Ah, people! thou obedient still should’st live,

And in the saddle let thy Cæsar sit,

If well thou marked’st that which God commands.

Look how that beast to fellness hath relapsed,

From having lost correction of the spur,

Since to the bridle thou hast set thine hand,

O German Albert! who abandon’st her

That is grown savage and unmanageable,

When thou shouldst clasp her flanks with forked heels.

Just judgment from the stars fall on thy blood;

And be it strange and manifest to all;

Such as may strike thy successor with dread;

For that thy sire and thou have suffer’d thus,

Through greediness of yonder realms detain’d,

The garden of the empire to run waste.

Come, see the Capulets and Montagues,

The Filippeschi and Monaldi, man

Who carest for naught! those sunk in grief, and these

With dire suspicion rack’d. Come, cruel one!

Come, and behold the oppression of the nobles,

And mark their injuries; and thou mayst see

What safety Santafiore can supply.

Come and behold thy Rome, who calls on thee,

Desolate widow, day and night with moans,

“My Cæsar, why dost thou desert my side?”

Come, and behold what love among thy people:

And if no pity touches thee for us,

Come, and blush for thine own report. For me,

If it be lawful, O Almighty Power!

Who wast on earth for our sakes crucified,

Are thy just eyes turn’d elsewhere? or is this

A preparation, in the wondrous depth

Of thy sage counsel made, for some good end,

Entirely from our reach of thought cut off?

So are the Italian cities all o’erthrong’d

With tyrants, and a great Marcellus made

Of every petty factious villager.

My Florence! thou mayst well remain unmoved

At this digression, which affects not thee:

Thanks to thy people, who so wisely speed.

Many have justice in their heart, that long

Waiteth for counsel to direct the bow,

Or ere it dart unto its aim: but thine

Have it on their lips’ edge. Many refuse

To bear the common burdens: readier thine

Answer uncall’d, and cry, “Behold I stoop!”

Make thyself glad, for thou hast reason now,

Thou wealthy! thou at peace! thou wisdom-fraught!

Facts best will witness if I speak the truth.

Athens and Lacedæmon, who of old

Enacted laws, for civil arts renown’d,

Made little progress in improving life

Toward thee, who usest such nice subtlety,

That to the middle of November scarce

Reaches the thread thou in October weavest.

How many times within thy memory,

Customs, and laws, and coins, and offices

Have been by thee renew’d, and people changed.

If thou remember’st well and canst see clear,

Thou wilt perceive thyself like a sick wretch,

Who finds no rest upon her down, but oft

Shifting her side, short respite seeks from pain.