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 X

• When past the threshold of the Gate we were,
• whose use the evil love of souls impairs,
• because it makes the crooked path seem straight,
• ’t was by its sound I knew that it had closed;
• and, had I turned mine eyes in its direction,
• what would have fittingly excused my fault?

• We mounted through a fissure in the rock,
• which moved about to this side and to that,
• as moves a wave that flees and draweth near.
• “A little skill must here be used by us,”
• my Leader then began, “in keeping close,
• now here, now there, to the receding side.”

• This caused our steps to be so slow and short,
• that to her bed the waning moon had gone
• to rest herself again, ere we had issued
• forth from that needle’s eye; but when set free
• we were, and in the open up above,
• where back the Mountain’s side recedes, I, weary,
• and both of us uncertain of our way,
• stopped short upon a level place up there,
• more lonely than are roads through desert lands.

• From where its margin borders on the void,
• up to the foot of that high rising bank,
• would measure thrice a human body’s length;
• and far as e’er mine eye could wing its flight,
• now on the right, and now upon the left,
• such did this girding ledge appear to me.

• Our feet had not been moving on it yet,
• when I perceived the bank surrounding it —
• which, being perpendicular, could not
• be climbed — white marble was, and so adorned
• with carvings, that not only Polyclètus,
• but Nature, too, would there be put to shame.

• The Angel who to earth came with the word
• of peace, which, wept-for during many years,
• had after its long closure opened Heaven,
• appeared before us there in gentle mien,
• sculptured so truthfully, it did not seem
• that he could be an image that is dumb.
• One would have sworn that he was saying: “Hail!”
• for She was there portrayed in effigy,
• who turned the key that opened Love on high;
• and in her mien and acts she had the words
• “Behold the handmaid of the Lord” impressed
• as clearly as a figure stamped in wax.

• “Keep not thy mind on one place only fixed!”
• my gentle Teacher said, who had me there
• on that side of him, where one has his heart;

• I therefore moved my eyes, and further on
• than Mary, on the side where him I had,
• who urged me to go on, I then beheld
• another story graven in the rock;
• passing by Virgil, therefore, I drew near
• so that it might be set before mine eyes.

• Cut in the marble there the cart and oxen
• were drawing up the holy Ark, which made
• men dread a charge not given them in trust.
• People in front appeared; and all of them,
• forming seven choirs, made one of my two senses
• say “No,” and the other one say “Yes, they sing.”
• So, too, by reason of the incense-smoke,
• which there was pictured forth, my eyes and nose
• became discordant as to Yes and No.
• The humble Psalmist there, with loins girt up,
• came dancing on, before the blessèd Vessel,
• and, doing so, was more and less than king.
• And Michal, opposite to this portrayed,
• was from a palace window looking down,
• as would an angry woman filled with scorn.

• From where I was, I onward moved my feet,
• that I might closely note another tale,
• which after Michal gleamed upon me white.
• The glorious action of that Roman prince
• was storied here, whose worth moved Gregory
• to win his mighty triumph; I refer

• to Emperor Trajan; at his bridle stood
• a widow who, in tears, showed signs of grief.
• The space around him there seemed trampled down
• and thronged with horsemen, while above his head
• eagles, it seemed, upon a field of gold
• were fluttering in the wind. Among all these
• the sorrowing woman seemed to say: “My lord,
• avenge me for the slaying of my son,
• which breaks my heart.” And he to answer her:
• “Wait now till I return.” And she, like one
• whom sorrow makes impatient, said: “But what,
• my lord, if thou shouldst not return?” And he:
• “That one will do it, who shall hold my place.”
• “How shall another’s goodness help thy case,”
• she answered him, “if thou forget thine own?”
• Then he: “Now be thou comforted; for needs
• must I perform my duty ere I leave;
• justice so wills, and pity keeps me here.”

• He to whose vision naught was ever new,
• created this seen language, new to us,
• since not found here on earth. While with delight
• I looked upon the pictures of such great
• humilities, which for their Maker’s sake
• are also dear to see, “On this side, lo,
• much people come, but slow the steps they take;”
• the Poet murmured, “toward the grades above
• these souls will send us forward on our way.”

• Mine eyes, intent on gazing, to behold
• new things, for which with eagerness they long,
• in turning toward him were not slow to move.
• Yet I ’d not have thee, Reader, shrink dismayed
• from thy good purposes, through hearing how
• God wills that what is due be paid. Heed not
• the nature of the torment! Think of what
• comes after! Think that, at the very worst,
• beyond the Judgment-day it cannot go.

• Then I began: “That, Teacher, which toward us
• I see advancing does not look like people,
• nor know I what, my sight is so deceived.”

• And he to me: “Their torment’s heavy nature
• so bows them toward the ground, that my eyes, too,
• struggled therewith at first. But steadily
• gaze there, and disentangle with thine eyes
• what underneath those stones is coming on;
• thou now canst see how each one smites himself.”

• O ye proud Christians, sad and weary creatures,
• who, sick in mental vision, put your trust
• in backward moving steps; perceive ye not
• that worms we are, created but to form
• the angelic butterfly, which flies unscreened
• to judgment? Why, then, is it that your mind
• soars up in pride, since ye are, as it were,
• defective insects, even as is a worm,
• in which formation is not yet complete?

• As, to hold up a ceiling or a roof,
• in lieu of corbel, one perceives at times
• a human figure joining knees to breast,
• which out of unreality gives birth
• to real distress in him who sees it; such
• seemed these to me, when I had given good heed.

• They were, in truth, both more and less bowed down,
• as each had more or less upon his back;
• but he that in his acts most patient was,
• seemed to say, weeping: “I can bear no more!”