The Online Library of Liberty

A project of Liberty Fund, Inc.

• The Peace of God
• Preface
• Purgatorio I
• Purgatorio Ii
• Purgatorio Iii
• Purgatorio Iv
• Purgatorio V
• Purgatorio Vi
• Purgatorio Vii
• Purgatorio Viii
• Purgatorio Ix
• Purgatorio X
• Purgatorio Xi
• Purgatorio Xii
• Purgatorio Xiii
• Purgatorio Xiv
• Purgatorio Xv
• Purgatorio Xvi
• Purgatorio Xvii
• Purgatorio Xviii
• Purgatorio Xix
• Purgatorio Xx
• Purgatorio Xxi
• Purgatorio Xxii
• Purgatorio Xxiii
• Purgatorio Xxiv
• Purgatorio Xxv
• Purgatorio Xxvi
• Purgatorio Xxvii
• Purgatorio Xxviii
• Purgatory Xxix
• Purgatorio Xxx
• Purgatorio Xxxi
• Purgatorio Xxxii
• Purgatorio Xxxiii

PURGATORIO IV

• Whene’er, because of pleasure or of pain
• received by any faculty of ours,
• our soul is wholly centered thereupon,
• it seems to heed no other faculty;
• and this is ’gainst that wrong belief which holds
• that one soul in us o’er another burns.
• Therefore, when anything is heard or seen,
• which toward it holds the soul intently turned,
• time passes by, and one perceives it not;
• since one thing is the faculty which harks,
• and that which holdeth all the soul another;
• this last is bound, as ’t were, the former free.

• Of this I real experience had, while hearing
• and wondering at that spirit; for the sun
• had climbed up fifty full degrees at least,
• though I had not perceived it, when we came
• to where those souls cried out to us together:
• “The place which you were asking for is here.”

• Oft doth a farmer, when the grapes grow dark,
• close up a wider opening in a hedge
• with but a little forkful of his thorns,

• than was the entrance there, through which my Leader,
• and I behind him, mounted all alone,
• when once the crowd had gone away from us.

• One climbs Sanlèo, and descends to Noli;
• one wins the summit of Bismàntova,
• helped solely by one’s feet; but one up here
• would have to fly; with the swift wings, I mean,
• and plumes of great desire, behind the Guide,
• who gave me hope and furnished me with light.

• As up within the cloven rock we climbed,
• its walls on each side closely hemmed us in,
• while under us the ground both feet and hands
• required. When on the high cliff’s upper edge
• we were, and out upon the open slope,
• “Which way, my Teacher, shall we go?” said I.

• And he to me: “Take thou no backward step;
• keep gaining ground behind me up the Mount,
• until some guide who knows appear to us.”

• So high the summit was, that it surpassed
• our sight, and steeper far the slope, than were
• a line from center to mid-quadrant drawn.

• Weary was I, when I began to speak:
• “O gentle Father, turn around, and see
• how I remain alone, unless thou stop!”

• “Draw thyself up, my son, as far as there!”
• he said, and somewhat higher pointed out
• a ledge on that side circling all the hill.

• His words so spurred me, that I forced myself
• to crawl behind him on my hands and knees,
• until the girding ledge was ’neath my feet.

• There both of us sat down, and faced the East,
• whence we had made the ascent; for looking back
• upon a traversed course is wont to help.
• First to the shores below I turned mine eyes;
• then raised them to the sun, and was amazed
• that we were smitten by it on our left.
• The Poet well perceived that I was gazing
• dumbfounded at the chariot of the light,
• which now was rising ’tween the North and us.

• “If Castor” said he then to me, “and Pollux
• were in the company of yonder mirror,
• which up and down in turn conducts its light,
• thou wouldst the Zodiac’s ruddy part behold
• revolving still more closely to the Bears,
• unless it issued from its ancient path.
• If thou wouldst understand how this can be,
• collect thy thoughts within thee, and imagine
• both Zion and this Mount so placed on earth,
• that both of them one sole horizon have,
• and different hemispheres; and thou wilt see
• how that the road which Phaëthon could not take,
• alas for him, must pass this Mount on one,
• while passing that one on the other side,
• if thine intelligence but clearly heed.”

• “Surely, my Teacher, never have I seen”
• said I, “as clearly as I now perceive,
• where once my mind appeared to be at fault,
• how the mid-circle of supernal motion,
• which in a certain art is called Equator,
• and ever ’tween the sun and winter stays,
• lies toward the North, for reasons giv’n by thee,
• as far on this side as the Hebrew people
• ever beheld it toward the heated parts.
• But, if it please thee, I would gladly know
• how far we have to go; because the Mount
• higher ascends than eyes of mine can rise.”

• “Such is this Mountain” said he then to me,
• “that, always hard to climb at first below,
• it pains one less, the higher one ascends.
• Hence, when so pleasant to thee it shall seem,
• that going up shall be to thee as easy
• as floating with the current in a boat,
• thou then shalt have attained this pathway’s end.
• Hope there to rest thee from thy breathless toil!
• No more I answer; this I know for truth.”

• When he had ended what he had to say,
• the voice of one near by cried out: “Perhaps,
• ere that shall happen, thou wilt need to sit!”

• On hearing this, we both of us turned round,
• and saw a massive boulder on our left,
• which neither I nor he had seen before.

• Thither we drew; and there some persons were,
• who lingered in the shade behind the rock,
• as one is wont to do through indolence.
• And one of them, who weary seemed to me,
• was sitting with his arms around his knees,
• and down between the latter held his face.

• “O my sweet Lord,” said I then, “turn thine eyes
• on yonder man, who shows himself to be
• more lazy than if sloth his sister were!”

• Then turning round toward us, and giving heed,
• he moved his face no more than o’er his thigh,
• and said: “Go up now, thou that active art!”

• I then knew who it was; nor did the strain,
• which quickened still my breath a little, hinder
• my going to him; yet, when at his side
• I was, he barely raised his head, and said:
• “Hast thou at last seen why it is the sun
• driveth his car o’er thy left shoulder here?”

• His lazy actions and his few short words
• impelled my lips to smile a little; then,
• “Belacqua,” I began, “I grieve for thee
• no more; but tell me why thou sittest here?
• Art waiting for a guide, or hast thou now
• merely resumed thy customary mood?”

• And he: “What, brother, is the use of climbing?
• The Bird of God who at the Gate is seated,
• would not allow me to approach the pangs.

• The sky must first turn round me here outside,
• as long as ever in my life it did,
• since I delayed good sighs until the end,
• unless before then I be helped by prayers
• arising from a heart that lives in grace;
• of what avail are those unheard in Heaven?”

• But now the Poet, climbing on ahead,
• was saying: “Come now on with me! Thou see’st
• that our meridian by the sun is touched,
• and that already from the Ganges’ banks
• Night covers up Morocco with her feet.”