Between Siestri and Chiaveri descends
A river beautiful, and of its nameThe title of my blood its summit makes.
A month and little more essayed I howWeighs the great cloak on him from mire who keeps it,For all the other burdens seem a feather.
Tardy, ah woe is me! was my conversion;But when the Roman Shepherd I was made,Then I discovered life to be a lie.
I saw that there the heart was not at rest,Nor farther in that life could one ascend;Whereby the love of this was kindled in me.
Until that time a wretched soul and partedFrom God was I, and wholly avaricious;Now, as thou seest, I here am punished for it.
What avarice does is here made manifestIn the purgation of these souls converted,And no more bitter pain the Mountain has.
Even as our eye did not uplift itselfAloft, being fastened upon earthly things,So justice here has merged it in the earth.
As avarice had extinguished our affectionFor every good, whereby was action lost,So justice here doth hold us in restraint,
Bound and imprisoned by the feet and hands;And so long as it pleases the just LordShall we remain immovable and prostrate.”
I on my knees had fallen, and wished to speak;But even as I began, and he was ’ware,Only by listening, of my reverence,
“What cause,” he said, “has downward bent thee thus?”And I to him: “For your own dignity,Standing, my conscience stung me with remorse.”
“Straighten thy legs, and upward raise thee, brother,”He answered: “Err not, fellow-servant am IWith thee and with the others to one power.
If e’er that holy, evangelic sound,Which sayeth ‘neque nubent,’ thou hast heard,Well canst thou see why in this wise I speak.
Now go; no longer will I have thee linger,Because thy stay doth incommode my weeping,With which I ripen that which thou hast said.
On earth I have a grandchild named Alagia,Good in herself, unless indeed our houseMalevolent may make her by example,
And she alone remains to me on earth.”
Purgatorio: Canto XX
Ill strives the will against a better will;Therefore, to pleasure him, against my pleasureI drew the sponge not saturate from the water.
Onward I moved, and onward moved my Leader,Through vacant places, skirting still the rock,As on a wall close to the battlements;
For they that through their eyes pour drop by dropThe malady which all the world pervades,On the other side too near the verge approach.
Accursed mayst thou be, thou old she-wolf,That more than all the other beasts hast prey,Because of hunger infinitely hollow!
O heaven, in whose gyrations some appearTo think conditions here below are changed,When will he come through whom she shall depart?
Onward we went with footsteps slow and scarce,And I attentive to the shades I heardPiteously weeping and bemoaning them;
And I by peradventure heard “Sweet Mary!”Uttered in front of us amid the weepingEven as a woman does who is in child-birth;
And in continuance: “How poor thou wastIs manifested by that hostelryWhere thou didst lay thy sacred burden down.”
Thereafterward I heard: “O good Fabricius,Virtue with poverty didst thou preferTo the possession of great wealth with vice.”
So pleasurable were these words to meThat I drew farther onward to have knowledgeTouching that spirit whence they seemed to come.
He furthermore was speaking of the largessWhich Nicholas unto the maidens gave,In order to conduct their youth to honour.
“O soul that dost so excellently speak,Tell me who wast thou,” said I, “and why onlyThou dost renew these praises well deserved?
Not without recompense shall be thy word,If I return to finish the short journeyOf that life which is flying to its end.”
And he: “I’ll tell thee, not for any comfortI may expect from earth, but that so muchGrace shines in thee or ever thou art dead.
I was the root of that malignant plantWhich overshadows all the Christian world,So that good fruit is seldom gathered from it;