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 XXXIII

• “O God, the heathen folk are come,” now three,
• now four, alternately, and shedding tears,
• the Ladies a sweet psalmody began;
• and Beatrice with sighs of sympathy
• was listening to their words with such a look,
• that Mary at the cross changed little more.

• But when the other maids had given way
• that she might speak, she rose upon her feet,
• and, colored with the hue of fire, replied;
• “A little while, and ye shall not behold me;
• and then again, belovèd sisters mine,
• a little while, and me ye shall behold.”

• All seven she thereupon before her placed,
• and, merely by a nod, behind her moved
• me and the Lady, and the Sage who stayed.

• She thus was going on, nor do I think
• her tenth step had been set upon the ground,
• when with her eyes she forcibly met mine;
• then with a tranquil face she said to me:
• “More quickly come, that, if I speak to thee,
• for listening to me thou mayst be well placed.”

• As soon as I was with her as I ought,
• she said to me: “Why, brother, dost not venture
• to question me, now that thou comest with me?”

• As unto those who show excessive reverence,
• when speaking in the presence of their elders,
• and therefore draw no clear voice to their teeth,
• to me it happed that with imperfect tones
• “Madonna,” I began, “my welfare’s needs
• you know, and that which may be good for it.”

• And she to me: “From fear and bashfulness
• I wish thee now to extricate thyself,
• that thou mayst speak no more like one who dreams.
• Know that the Vessel which the Serpent broke,
• was, and is not; but let whose fault it is,
• believe God’s vengeance fears not human sops.
• Nor shall the Eagle heirless for all time
• remain, who left his feathers on the Car,
• whence monstrous it became, and then a prey;
• for I see well, and therefore tell it, stars
• now near, and from all checks and obstacles
• secure, which for us shall a time obtain,
• within which a Five Hundred Ten and Five,
• sent forth by God, shall kill the female Thief,
• and that great Giant who with her is guilty.
• And my prediction, which is dark, perhaps,
• as Themis and the Sphinx, persuades thee less,
• because, as theirs did, it beclouds thy mind;

• but facts will soon become the Naiades,
• which shall this difficult enigma solve,
• without the loss of either sheep or grain.
• Give heed; and ev’n as uttered by myself,
• see that thou teach these words of mine to those
• that live the life which is a race toward death;
• and bear in mind, when thou art writing them,
• not to conceal in what state thou hast seen
• the Tree, which twice now hath been here despoiled.
• Whoever robs or teareth that apart,
• with blasphemy of deed offendeth God,
• who for His own use only made it holy.
• For biting it, in pain and in desire
• the first soul longed for Him five thousand years
• and more, who punished in Himself the bite.
• Thy mind is sleeping, if it deemeth not
• that for a special cause it soars so high,
• and at its summit so inverted is.
• And if the vain thoughts which surround thy mind
• had not been Elsa water, and their pleasure
• as to the mulberry a Pyramus,
• thou, by so many circumstances only,
• wouldst in the interdict upon the Tree
• see morally God’s Justice. But, since made
• of stone I see thee in thine understanding,
• and, being petrified, so dark in mind
• that thou art blinded by my speech’s light,

• I also, if not written, wish that painted,
• at least, thou bear it in thee, for the reason
• the pilgrim’s staff is carried wreathed with palm.”

• And I: “As sealing-wax, which changes not
• the shape imprinted on it by the seal,
• so likewise is my brain now stamped by you.
• But why so far above my mental sight
• are your desired words now flying up,
• it loses them the more, the more it strives?”

• “That thou,” she said, “mayst thus appraise the school
• which thou hast followed, and perceive how able
• its teaching is to carry out my word;
• and also see that your ways are removed
• as far from the divine, as e’er the heaven
• which speeds most high is distant from the earth.”

• Whence her I answered: “I do not recall
• that I have e’er estranged myself from you,
• nor am I conscious of remorse therefor.”

• “And if thou canst not call it to thy mind,”
• she answered with a smile, “remember now
• that this same day thou hast of Lethe drunk;
• and if from smoke a fire may be inferred,
• this thy forgetfulness but clearly proves
• a fault in thy desire intent elsewhere.
• Truly my words shall naked be henceforth,
• as much at least as it shall needful seem
• to make them clear to thine untutored sight.”

• Both more refulgent and with slower steps
• the sun was holding now the noonday circle,
• which, with each point of view, moves here and there;
• when, even as he, who as a leader goes
• ahead of people, stops, if something new
• he find upon his path, the Ladies seven
• stopped at a death-pale shadow’s edge,
• like that which ’neath green leaves and darkling boughs
• the Alps cast o’er their icy mountain-streams.
• In front of them I seemed to see Euphrates
• and Tigris from one fountain issue forth,
• and from each other slowly part as friends.

• “O Light and Glory of the human race,
• what stream is this which from one source unfolds,
• and then from its own self itself withdraws?”

• In answer to this question I was told:
• “Pray that Matelda tell thee.” Whereupon,
• like one who frees himself from blame, replied
• the lovely Lady: “This, with other things,
• hath he been told by me; and I am sure
• that Lethe’s water hath not hid it from him.”

• And Beatrice: “Perhaps a greater care
• which oft deprives one’s memory of its power,
• hath made the vision of his mind’s eye dark.
• But Eunoë behold, which yonder now
• is flowing forth; conduct him to its bank,
• and, as thou ’rt wont, revive his lifeless power.”

• Even as a noble soul makes no excuse,
• but to another’s will its own conforms,
• as soon as e’er by outward signs disclosed;
• even so, when she had taken hold of me,
• the lovely Lady moved, and then to Statius
• said with a lady’s manner: “Come with him.”

• If, Reader, I had now more space for writing,
• I’d sing, at least in part, of that sweet drink,
• which never would have satisfied my thirst;
• but inasmuch as filled are all the pages
• planned warp-like for this second Canticle,
• no further doth art’s bridle let me go.

• From that most holy water I returned
• made young again, as new trees are in spring,
• when with new foliage they renew themselves,
• pure, and disposed to rise up to the stars.

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