PURGATORY. Данте Алигьери

astern

      of ship so light that the prow cleft no wave.

      More than a hundred souls within it sat 28

      singing King David’s psalm, When Israel

      escaped from Egypt’s land, chanting Amen

      on feeling that their vessel touched the strand. 31

      The angel signed the cross over these souls

      who sprang ashore. His ferry sped away

      fast as it came. Passengers on the beach 34

      stood looking round like strangers anywhere.

      The sun had chased stars from the sky when one

      approached and said, “Sirs, there is a mountain 37

      we must climb. We do not know where to start,

      can you show the way?” My guide said, “We two

      are pilgrims just as ignorant as you, 40

      come by a road so rough that further climb

      to us will be child’s play.” A whisper grew

      among these spirits that I lived and breathed. 43

      They stared as if I were good news. One face

      I knew, so ran to embrace that man. Alas,

      my hands passed through his shade and hit my chest. 46

      He smiled, withdrew. I cried, “Stay Casella –

      I love you – tunes you gave my poems

      49 make them popular! Why die before me?

      And months ago! Why so long getting here?”

      The sweet voice I knew said, “And I love you,

      52 though gladly Heavenward bound. Remember

      exactly thirteen centuries ago

      Christ died for us. Our Pope proclaims this year

      55 a Jubilee. All who hear mass in Rome

      will have their sins forgiven. Hope of that

      draws hoards of ancient dying pilgrims there.

      58 The port for all not damned to Hell is where

      Tiber joins the sea. Queues for that ferry

      are very long these days, hence some delay

      61 not troublesome to me. Heaven’s decree

      is best, but say why you stand breathing here!”

      I said, “I live, so must return this way

      64 when dead, like you, by the same ferry. Please,

      if death has not deprived you of your art

      sing verses I once wrote to cheer my heart.”

      67 He sang, Love that converses with my mind,

      so sweetly that it sounds within me still.

      My master and the others listened too,

      70 as if it wholly occupied their will

      till, like a thunderclap, Cato appeared

      shouting, “You lazy louts, why linger here?

      73 Run to the mountain! There strip off the sins

      hiding your souls from God!” As pigeon flock

      pecking the ground for seed, at sudden shock,

      explodes into the air, these travellers 76

      in panic fled that terrible old man

      and spread across the plain, at the same time

      racing blindly uphill, wholly unsure 79

      what he or she was bound to find ahead.

      Having no clue what better we could do

      I and my leader were not far behind. 82

      3: The Foothills

      1 Our pace became more dignified upon

      the foothills of that mount where climbing joins

      goodness and reason. Since he had let me halt

      4 to hear a song, Virgil had said no word.

      His noble mind, believing no fault small,

      suffered the sting of being in the wrong.

      7 The rising sun shone rosy on our backs.

      I gladly viewed the upward slope ahead

      then felt it incomplete, for only one

      10 shadow lay on the ground before my feet.

      Afraid that suddenly I climbed alone

      I gasped with dread. My comforter enquired,

      13 “Why, even now, do you distrust my aid?

      In Naples, underneath a monument

      my shadow is entombed among my dust.

      16 That I am shadowless is not more strange

      than all the starry spheres of Heaven are.

      Admiring wonder is the right response

      19 to everything beyond your wisdom’s range.

      Thought alone cannot know the infinite

      eternal Three-in-One creating all.

      If human science could bring men to God 22

      Mary need never have borne Jesus Christ,

      or we in Limbo live unsatisfied

      in outer Hell, far from the greatest good 25

      where Homer, Plato, Aristotle dwell

      with many more.” He fell silent again,

      staring with troubled face on ground we trod 28

      until we reached Mount Purgatory’s base.

      The wildest mountainside in Italy

      would look an easy staircase seen beside 31

      this cliff too sheer, this granite precipice

      too high and smooth for any mountaineer.

      My master sighed and murmured, “Lacking wings, 34

      we need to find a slope that legs can use.

      It must exist. Do we turn left or right?”

      He pondered where the ground met the rock wall. 37

      I, looking round, saw, a sling-shot away,

      a group of souls approaching from our left,

      walking so slowly that at first I thought 40

      they did not move at all. I shouted out,

      “See Master! These may know where we should go.”

      He looked, then spoke with confidence renewed. 43

      “Indeed they may, my son. Let us enquire

      and never cease to hope.” A thousand steps

      brought us to where the flock of souls, like sheep, 46

      walked timidly, heads bowed, behind a few

      dignified leaders pacing slowly too.

      49 “Hail, holy ones!” cried Virgil. “You have died

      as Christians, so are sure of Heaven’s grace.

      Unlike you we must ascend at once. Please

      52 where is