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 XIV

• “Who is this spirit, who around our Mount
• is circling thus, ere death have giv’n him flight,
• and at his will opens and veils his eyes?”

• “I know not who he is, but know he ’s not
• alone; ask thou, that nearer art to him,
• and greet him fairly, so that he may speak.”

• Two spirits, who were leaning on each other,
• thus talked of me upon the right hand there;
• then turned their faces up, to speak to me;
• and one said: “Soul, that, still held in thy body,
• toward Heaven art going, of thy charity
• console us now, and tell us whence thou com’st,
• and who thou art; for thou dost cause in us
• such wonder at the grace accorded thee,
• as that demands which never was before.”

• And I: “A small stream winds through Tuscany,
• which up in Falterona hath its rise,
• and is not sated by a hundred miles.
• From somewhere on its banks I bring this body;
• vain would it be to tell you who I am,
• because my name makes no great sound as yet.”

• “If with my mind I rightly penetrate
• thy meaning,” that one then replied to me;
• who spoke before, “thou talkest of the Arno.”

• Thereat the other spirit said to him:
• “Why did this man conceal that river’s name,
• as people hide the name of dreadful things?”

• The shade who had been questioned as to this,
• discharged its duty thus: “I do not know;
• but meet it is that this vale’s name should die!
• For from its source — where that wild mountain-chain,
• whence severed is Pelorus, swells so greatly,
• that in few places doth it pass that mark —
• to there where it betakes it to restore
• whatever from the sea the sky sucks up,
• whence rivers get what goes along with them,
• virtue is, snake-like, as a foe pursued
• by all, or through the region’s evil luck,
• or through bad customs which incite men there;
• hence those that in this wretched valley dwell,
• have changed their nature so, that it would seem
• that Circe had them in her pasturage.

• Among foul hogs, of acorns worthier far
• than of all other food that’s fit for man
• to use, it first directs its sorry path.
• As down it comes, it afterward finds curs,
• that snarl more fiercely than their strength comports,
• and turns from these its snout aside in scorn.

• It keeps on falling; and the more it swells,
• the more that cursèd and unlucky ditch
• finds that the dogs are turning into wolves.
• Descending then through many a gloomy gorge,
• foxes it finds, so full of fraud, that naught
• have they to fear, lest cunning master them.
• Nor shall I cease to speak, though overheard;
• and for this man ’t were well, if he recall
• hereafter what a truthful spirit shows me.

• Thy grandson I behold, who first becomes
• a hunter of those wolves upon the banks
• of that fierce stream, and terrifies them all.
• He sells their flesh, while still alive; then kills them,
• as an old beast he would; of life depriving
• many, himself of honor he deprives.
• He issues bloody from the dismal wood,
• and leaves it such, that in a thousand years
• ’t will not rewood itself as once it was.”

• As at the announcement of some painful loss,
• the face of him who listens is disturbed,
• from wheresoe’er the danger may assail him;
• ev’n thus did I behold that other soul,
• who turned to listen, grow distressed and sad,
• as soon as he had gathered in that speech.

• The words of one soul and the other’s face
• had caused me to desire to know their names;
• therefore with prayers I mingled this request.

• That spirit, therefore, who addressed me first,
• began again: “Thou’dst have me condescend
• to do for thee what thou for me wilt not.
• But since God wills that so much of His Grace
• should shine in thee, I ’ll not be niggardly;
• Guido del Duca know, then, that I am.
• And so consumed by envy was my blood,
• that, had I seen a man becoming happy,
• livid with envy thou hadst seen me turn.
• Of what I sowed I ’m reaping now the straw.

• O human race, why set your heart on things,
• wherein companionship must be forbidden?

• This is Rinieri; this the honor is,
• and glory of the house of Calboli,
• whose worth, since him, none hath inherited.
• Nor hath his blood alone despoiled itself,
• ’tween Po and mountains, Reno and the sea,
• of those good things which truth and joy require;
• for in those bounds the country is so full
• of poisoned stocks, that only slowly now
• would they be lessened, ev’n if it were tilled.
• Where are good Lìzio, Arrigo Mainàrdi,
• Pier Traversaro and Guido di Carpigna?
• O Romagnoles, turned into bastards now!
• When in Bologna will a Fabbro rise?
• When, in Faenza, a Bernardin di Fosco,
• the noble scion of a little plant?

• Wonder not, Tuscan, if I weep now, when,
• with Guido da Prata, I recall to mind
• Ugolin d’Azzo, who among us dwelt,
• Frederick Tignoso and his company,
• the Traversara house, the Anastagi,
• (and both these families are void of heirs),
• the ladies and the knights, the toils and ease,
• which love and courtesy once made us crave,
• where hearts have grown so bad! O Brettinoro,
• wherefore not vanish, since thy family,
• and many people with them, have departed,
• that guiltless they might be? Bàgnacavàl,
• begetting sons no longer, doeth well;
• but Castrocaro ill, and Conio worse,
• which still takes trouble to beget such counts.
• Well the Pagani, too, will fare, when once
• their demon shall have gone, but not so well,
• that an unspotted fame will e’er remain
• to them. O Ugolin de’ Fàntoli,
• thy name is safe, since one can now no more
• be looked for, who, as a degenerate,
• can darken it! But go thy way now, Tuscan;
• for weeping now affords me far more zest
• than speech, our talk hath so distressed my mind!”

• We knew that those dear spirits heard us leaving;
• and therefore merely by their keeping still,
• they made us trust the path which we were taking.

• When we, advancing, found ourselves alone,
• a voice, which seemed like lightning when it cleaves
• the air, was heard, and, as it reached us there,
• said: “Whosoever findeth me shall slay me!”
• then vanished, as when thunder rolls away,
• if suddenly a cloud be rent apart.

• Soon as our hearing had a truce from this,
• behold another with so great a crash,
• it seemed to be its following thunder-clap:
• “I am Aglauros, who was turned to stone!”
• Then, to draw closer to the Poet’s side,
• I took a backward, not a forward, step.

• The air was calm on all sides now, when he:
• “That was the painful bit, which in his bounds
• should hold a man. But ye take in the bait,
• and so the ancient Adversary’s hook
• draweth you to him; hence of small avail
• is either curb or lure.
• Heaven calleth you,
• and, showing to you its eternal beauties,
• around you moves, and yet your eyes look down;
• hence He, who seeth all things, scourges you.”