PURGATORY. Данте Алигьери

I’ve squatted here for sixty years –

      the years before I gave my soul to God.

      No living souls will pray to lessen these 76

      and my despair. O how I envy you!”

      Virgil, climbing ahead, called back to me,

      “Time to go on!” I left Belacqua there. 79

      5: The Unconfessed

      1 I left these ghosts to follow him uphill,

      and then heard other voices shouting, “Look!

      Sunlight won’t pierce him, so he is not dead!”

      4 Turning my head I saw an eager crowd

      staring upon my shadow and at me.

      “Words should not turn you – face the uphill track,”

      7 my leader cried. “Good heads should imitate

      strong towers undisturbed by windy blast.

      Ignore what people say. Distracted minds

      10 go easily astray because each thought

      cancels the last.” “Coming!” I called (for what

      else could I say?) and blushing with shame,

      13 climbed up to him. From round the hill above

      penitents came, chanting King David’s psalm,

      The Miserere, grieving for past sin.

      16 At sight of me their chant became an “Oo!”

      and two ran down to us, crying, “Please say,

      what kind of man are you?” My guide replied,

      19 “Tell your folk that he (as his shadow proves)

      is flesh and blood, able to do them good

      if they respect him as they should.” No cloud

      soared swifter through the sky than they returned 22

      to that crowd who, hearing their news, then wheeled

      round like a troop of cavalry and then

      came charging down. My guide said, “Know that these 25

      will beg you to take word of them to Earth,

      but don’t stop climbing. Listen as you go.”

      “O lucky soul, ascending to delight,” 28

      one cried. “On legs your mother made, please

      look at us hard. Do you see any here

      whose names you could take back to those we love? 31

      They do not know the manner of our deaths,

      deaths so obscure that we could not confess

      but are not damned to Hell. A final pang of grief 34

      for our past sins admitted Heaven’s Grace,

      which brought us here where prayers from pure hearts

      can make us fit to see God’s face, and these 37

      are now our agonising need.” I said,

      “I see none here I know. Tell me your names,

      if that will ease your pains and speed your climb 40

      if it does not halt mine. I must obey

      one who forbids delay while leading me

      from world to world, but truly I declare, 43

      by peace we all desire, to do my best.”

      “No need to swear – we trust your kindly words,”

      their spokesman said. “I will first give my name: 46

      Jacopo Cassero, Fano my town

      between Naples ruled by Charles of Anjou

      49 and states claimed by the Pope. Please visit there.

      Ask people to say orisons that will

      help shed the sorry burden of my guilt.

      52 The Marquis of Ferrara spilt my blood

      in secret, just to gratify his wrath.

      At Oriaco near to Padua

      55 (that traitor’s town) his men ambushed my path.

      Stabbed and confused I fled quite the wrong way

      into the marsh, stumbled through mud and reeds,

      58 fell bleeding, and saw my heart’s blood at last

      stain a pool red.” Another spoke to me,

      “May you meet what you seek upon this hill,

      61 then back on Earth find some who’ll pray for me.

      I am from Montefeltro, once its count,

      foxy old Guido’s son, but few there now

      64 care for me. My widow Joan does not,

      and so you find me here with troubled brow.”

      Surprised, I cried, “But you and I once fought

      67 at Campoldino! Afterwards I heard

      your corpse was missing. None knew where it went.

      Was that through malice or by accident?”

      70 He said, “A demon drowned my solid part

      after my soul was saved. I will explain.

      I left that fight unhorsed and with slashed throat,

      73 my blood dabbling the plain until I reached

      a stream called Archiano that flows down

      into the Arno from the Apennines.

      Falling upon its bank I lost my sight 76

      praying to God, and died with Mary’s name

      on my wicked lips. Let the living know

      what happened then. God’s angel took my soul. 79

      The fiend from Satan yelled, “I have been robbed!

      You carry off this man’s eternal part

      all for one tiny tear! See what I do 82

      to his remains!” With wind and mist he swelled

      clouds over the plain from Protomagno

      to the mountain range, then burst them into 85

      more torrential rain than earth could contain,

      flooding to overflow gully and stream.

      Bursting Archiano’s banks, they swept my corpse 88

      into the Arno, breaking it apart.

      The bits were sunk in mud.” A third shade said,

      “When back on Earth and rested from your climb 91

      tell people of La Pia. My birthplace

      was Sienna. Maremma saw my death

      as he knows well, the man who wedded me.” 94

      6: Of Italian States

      1 Gamblers breaking the bank are thronged upon

      by some who hope good luck rubs off on them,

      and others wanting shares in what they gain.

      4 Souls pressed on me like that, so very thick

      I waved my hands in air to drive them back,

      promising