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 VI

• Whene’er a game of dice is broken up,
• the one who loses sorrowing stays behind,
• and learns, as sadly he repeats the throws;
• while with the other all the people leave;
• one goes before, one grasps him from behind,
• and at his side one asks to be remembered.
• And he stops not, but that one heeds and this;
• the one whose hand he takes no longer crowds;
• and from the throng he thus defends himself.
• E’en such as he, was I in that dense crowd;
• for as I this and that way turned my face,
• and promised each, I freed myself therefrom.

• Here was the Aretine who met his death
• from Ghin di Tacco’s cruel arms, and he,
• who running madly in pursuit was drowned;
• here Frederick Novello prayed with hands
• outstretched, and he of Pisa, who induced
• worthy Marzucco to reveal his strength.
• Count Orso I beheld here, and the soul
• through spite and envy from its body parted,
• and not, so he maintained, through crime committed;

• Pierre de la Brosse, I mean; and here, while still
• on earth, let Brabant’s Lady see to it,
• that ’mong the worse flock she be not for this.

• When I was free from each and all those shades,
• who only prayed that others pray for them,
• that their becoming holy might be sped,
• “It seems that thou deniest,” I began,
• “O thou my Light, expressly in a text,
• that prayer can cause a change in Heaven’s decrees;
• and yet these people only pray for this;
• could it then be, that this their hope is vain,
• or is thy saying not quite clear to me?”

• And he to me: “That which I wrote is clear,
• nor yet delusive is this people’s hope,
• if it be looked at with a healthy mind;
• for Justice stoops not from her lofty height,
• because Love’s ardor all at once fulfils
• what he who dwelleth here must satisfy;
• and there where I decided on this point,
• the fault was not made good again by praying,
• because the prayer discordant was with God.
• Yet in so deep a doubt decide thou not,
• unless She bid thee do so, who a light
• shall be between thine intellect and truth.
• I know not if thou understand; I speak
• of Beatrice; thou ’lt see her up above,
• smiling and happy, on this Mountain’s top.”

• And I: “Let ’s go, then, Lord, with greater haste;
• for now I grow not weary as before;
• and see, the hillside casts its shadow now.”

• “We shall go forward with this day,” he answered,
• “as long as we are able; but the case
• is otherwise than what thou deemest it.
• Ere thou shalt be up there, thou him shalt see
• return, who now so shields him with the hill,
• that thou dost not compel his rays to break.
• But yonder see a soul who all alone
• is seated, and toward us is looking now;
• he will point out to us the quickest way.”

• We came to him. O Lombard soul, how full
• of self-respect and noble scorn thou wast,
• and in the moving of thine eyes how slow
• and dignified! Naught did he say to us;
• but let us go our way, and only gazed
• as would a couching lion in repose.

• Virgil, meanwhile, drew near to him, and begged
• that he would show to us the best ascent;
• and he to his request made no reply,
• but asked us of our country and condition;
• and my kind Leader was with “Mantua . . .”
• beginning, when the self-collected shade,
• from where he was, sprang up to meet him, saying:
• “O Mantuan, I ’m Sordello, of thy town!”
• and each the other thereupon embraced.

• Ah, Italy, thou slave, thou inn of woe,
• ship without pilot in a mighty storm,
• not queen of provinces, but house of shame!
• So instant ready was that noble soul,
• but at the sweet sound of his city’s name,
• to welcome here his fellow citizen;
• and yet within thee now, thy living sons
• are not exempt from war, and those one wall
• and moat enclose upon each other prey!
• All round thy coast-line search its shores, poor wretch,
• and then within thy bosom look, and learn
• if any part of thee be blest with peace.
• What boots it that Justinian rearranged
• thy bridle, if thy saddle vacant be?
• Had it not been for that, thy shame were less.

• And ye, ah, ye, that ought to be devout,
• and so let Caesar in his saddle sit,
• if well ye heeded God’s advice to you,
• behold how wild this animal has grown,
• through being uncorrected by the spur,
• since ye first set your hands upon her rein!

• O German Albert, thou that dost forsake
• this creature now become untamed and wild,
• and oughtest to bestride her saddle-bows,
• may some just judgment from the stars befall
• thy blood, and may it so unheard of be,
• and plain, that it may frighten thy successor!

• For, held by greed of lands outside its bounds,
• thou and thy father also have allowed
• the Empire’s Garden to become a waste.
• Come see the Montagues and Capulets,
• Monaldi and Filipeschi, careless man,
• already troubled those, and these in dread!
• Come, come, thou cruel man, and see the oppression
• of thy nobility, and right their wrongs;
• and thou shalt see how safe is Santafior!
• Come see thy Rome, that, widowed and alone,
• is shedding tears, and day and night is calling:
• “Why dost thou not, my Caesar, stay with me?”
• Come see the people, how they love each other!
• And if for us no pity move thy soul,
• come, then, and shame thee for thine own renown!
• And, if I be allowed, O Jove Supreme,
• Thou that for us wast crucified on earth,
• are Thy just eyes, too, turned away elsewhere?
• Or in Thy counsel’s depths art Thou in this
• a preparation making for some good,
• from our perception utterly cut off?
• For all Italia’s towns are full of tyrants,
• and a Marcellus every churl is deemed,
• who comes to play a party henchman’s rôle.

• My Florence, well mayst thou be satisfied
• with this digression, which concerns thee not,
• thanks to thy people, who look out for that!

• Many at heart are just, but slow to shoot,
• lest to the bow uncounselled they should come;
• but thy folk on their lips alone are just!
• Many refuse to bear the common burden;
• but thy folk eagerly respond, and cry,
• although uncalled: “I ’ll load myself therewith!”
• Be joyful, then, since thou hast cause to be;
• thou that art rich, that peaceful art, and wise!
• Whether I speak the truth, results conceal not.
• Athens and Lacedaemon, they that framed
• the ancient laws, and were so civilized,
• in living well made but a little mark
• compared with thee, that dost so carefully
• provide thee, that thy fine October spinning
• as far as mid-November reaches not.
• How many times, within thy memory,
• hast thou changed laws and coinage, offices
• and customs, and thy membership renewed!
• And if thou well recall and face the light,
• thou ’lt see thy likeness to a suffering woman,
• who on a feather-bed can find no rest,
• but seeks, by tossing, to relieve her pain.