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 XXV

• The hour was when ascent brooked no delay,
• because the sun had left the noon-time ring
• to Taurus, as to Scorpio had the Night;
• therefore, as doth a man who, whatsoe’er
• appear to him, stops not, but goes his way,
• if spurred by goading of necessity;
• so, one before the other, through the gap
• we entered in, and took the flight of stairs,
• which by its narrowness parts those who climb.

• And like the little stork, which lifts its wings,
• because it longs to fly, but ventures not
• to leave its nest, and lets them droop again;
• even such was I, with kindled, and with quenched
• desire to ask, when coming to the act
• of one who starts to speak. Nor, though our pace
• was fast, did my dear Father check himself,
• but said to me: “Discharge the bow of speech,
• which to the arrow-head thou now hast drawn.”

• With confidence I opened then my mouth,
• and said: “How can one possibly grow lean,
• where need of nourishment doth not obtain?”

• “Shouldst thou recall” he said, “how, when the brand
• was burning, Meleager was consumed,
• this would not be so difficult for thee;
• and shouldst thou think how, at your quivering,
• your image quivers in the looking-glass,
• that which seems hard to thee would easy seem.
• But that thou ease thee to thy heart’s content,
• lo, here is Statius; him I call and beg
• that he be now a healer of thy wounds.”

• “If I unfold for him the eternal view,
• when in thy presence,” Statius then replied,
• “be my excuse that I cannot refuse thee.”
• He then began: “If, son, thy mind shall hear
• and understand my words, they ’ll prove a light
• for thee unto the ‘how’ which thou dost ask.

• The perfect blood, which by the thirsty veins
• is never drunk, but stays as doth the food
• which from the table thou dost take away,
• gets in the heart a power informative
• for all the human members, being that
• which floweth through the veins to form the same.
• When redigested, it flows down to parts,
• whereof more seemly silence is than speech;
• then on another’s blood it trickles thence
• into the natural vessel. There both meet,
• passive the one, the other active, since
• perfect the place from which it was distilled;

• joining the former, it begins to work,
• coagulating first, then quickening that,
• which it had formed as matter for itself.
• The active virtue, now become a soul, —
• as of a plant, though so far differing from it,
• that this is on its way, and that, arrived, —
• so worketh next, that now it moves and feels,
• like fungi of the sea; then undertakes
• to organize the powers whose germ it is.
• That virtue, son, now spreads, and now extends,
• which from the generator’s heart derives,
• where Nature on all members is intent.
• But how from animal it comes to be
• a child, thou see’st not yet; a point so hard,
• it led a wiser man than thou so far
• astray, that, in his teaching, from the soul
• he parted the potential intellect,
• because he saw no organ it assumed.
• Open thy mind unto the coming truth,
• and know that, when the brain’s organization
• is in the foetus to perfection brought,
• the Primal Mover, glad of such a work
• of Nature, turns toward it, and breathes therein
• a spirit new and full of powers, which draws
• into its substance what it active finds
• therein, and so becomes a single soul,
• which lives and feels, and on itself reflects.

• And that the less thou wonder at my words,
• consider how to wine the sun’s heat turns,
• when joined to juices flowing from the vine!
• When Lachesis hath no more thread, the soul
• frees itself from the flesh, and bears away
• potentially the human and divine;
• mute one and all the other faculties,
• with memory, intelligence, and will
• far keener in their action than before.
• Then, without stopping, of itself it falls
• in wondrous way to one or other shore;
• here first it learns its road. As soon as place
• has circumscribed it there, the forming virtue
• rays round it in the same degree and way,
• as when the members were alive it did;
• and as the air, when fully charged with rain,
• is by another’s rays, which it reflects
• within itself, adorned with many hues;
• so here the neighboring air takes on the shape
• the soul, which settled there, impresses on it,
• as would a seal, by its own forming power;
• and afterward, as doth the little flame,
• which follows fire where’er it changes place,
• so the new shape accompanies its spirit;
• which, since it hence takes visibility,
• is called a shade; and therewith organizes
• each of the senses, up to that of sight.

• By means of this we speak, by means of this
• we laugh, and by this means we make the tears
• and sighs, thou mayst have heard upon the Mount.
• As our desires and other passions move us,
• our shade takes shape accordingly; and this
• the reason is of what thou wonderest at.”

• We now had reached the final circling place,
• and, to the right hand having turned our steps,
• intent we were upon another care.
• The bank here outwardly shoots forth a flame,
• while upward from the ledge below a blast
• is breathed, which drives it back, and keeps it off;
• hence one by one along the open side
• we had to walk; while I on one hand feared
• the fire, and, on the other, falling down.
• My Leader said to me: “Along this path
• a tight rein must be kept upon one’s eyes,
• for one might very easily go wrong.”

• “O God of highest Clemency,” I then
• heard sung within the bosom of the fire,
• whose glowing no less made me wish to turn;
• and spirits moving through the flame I saw;
• hence at their steps I looked, and at mine own,
• lending my eyes to each from time to time.

• After the lines with which that hymn concludes,
• aloud they shouted: “I know not a man;”
• then in low tones began the hymn again.

• They cried again, this ended: “To the woods
• Diana kept, and thence drove Hèlicë,
• for having known the taste of Venus’ poison.”
• Then they resumed the song; and then proclaimed
• the names of wives and husbands who were chaste,
• as virtue and the marriage state enjoin.

• And this course, I believe, suffices them
• for all the period, during which the fire
• is burning them; and such the care and diet,
• wherewith the wound is finally sewed up.