Verily oftentimes do things appear
Which give fallacious matter to our doubts,Instead of the true causes which are hidden!
Thy question shows me thy belief to beThat I was niggard in the other life,It may be from the circle where I was;
Therefore know thou, that avarice was removedToo far from me; and this extravaganceThousands of lunar periods have punished.
And were it not that I my thoughts uplifted,When I the passage heard where thou exclaimest,As if indignant, unto human nature,
‘To what impellest thou not, O cursed hungerOf gold, the appetite of mortal men?’Revolving I should feel the dismal joustings.
Then I perceived the hands could spread too wideTheir wings in spending, and repented meAs well of that as of my other sins;
How many with shorn hair shall rise againBecause of ignorance, which from this sinCuts off repentance living and in death!
And know that the transgression which rebutsBy direct opposition any sinTogether with it here its verdure dries.
Therefore if I have been among that folkWhich mourns its avarice, to purify me,For its opposite has this befallen me.”
“Now when thou sangest the relentless weaponsOf the twofold affliction of Jocasta,”The singer of the Songs Bucolic said,
“From that which Clio there with thee preludes,It does not seem that yet had made thee faithfulThat faith without which no good works suffice.
If this be so, what candles or what sunScattered thy darkness so that thou didst trimThy sails behind the Fisherman thereafter?”
And he to him: “Thou first directedst meTowards Parnassus, in its grots to drink,And first concerning God didst me enlighten.
Thou didst as he who walketh in the night,Who bears his light behind, which helps him not,But wary makes the persons after him,
When thou didst say: ‘The age renews itself,Justice returns, and man’s primeval time,And a new progeny descends from heaven.’
Through thee I Poet was, through thee a Christian;But that thou better see what I design,To colour it will I extend my hand.
Already was the world in every partPregnant with the true creed, disseminatedBy messengers of the eternal kingdom;
And thy assertion, spoken of above,With the new preachers was in unison;Whence I to visit them the custom took.
Then they became so holy in my sight,That, when Domitian persecuted them,Not without tears of mine were their laments;
And all the while that I on earth remained,Them I befriended, and their upright customsMade me disparage all the other sects.
And ere I led the Greeks unto the riversOf Thebes, in poetry, I was baptized,But out of fear was covertly a Christian,
For a long time professing paganism;And this lukewarmness caused me the fourth circleTo circuit round more than four centuries.
Thou, therefore, who hast raised the coveringThat hid from me whatever good I speak of,While in ascending we have time to spare,
Tell me, in what place is our friend Terentius,Caecilius, Plautus, Varro, if thou knowest;Tell me if they are damned, and in what alley.”
“These, Persius and myself, and others many,”Replied my Leader, “with that Grecian areWhom more than all the rest the Muses suckled,
In the first circle of the prison blind;Ofttimes we of the mountain hold discourseWhich has our nurses ever with itself.
Euripides is with us, Antiphon,Simonides, Agatho, and many otherGreeks who of old their brows with laurel decked.
There some of thine own people may be seen,Antigone, Deiphile and Argia,And there Ismene mournful as of old.
There she is seen who pointed out Langia;There is Tiresias’ daughter, and there Thetis,And there Deidamia with her sisters.”
Silent already were the poets both,Attent once more in looking round about,From the ascent and from the walls released;
And four handmaidens of the day alreadyWere left behind, and at the pole the fifthWas pointing upward still its burning horn,
What time my Guide: “I think that tow’rds the edgeOur dexter shoulders it behoves us turn,Circling the mount as we are wont to do.”
Thus in that region custom was our ensign;And we resumed our way with less suspicionFor the assenting of that worthy soul
They in advance went on, and I aloneBehind them, and I listened to their speech,Which gave me lessons in the art of song.
But soon their sweet discourses interruptedA tree which midway in the road we found,With apples sweet and grateful to the smell.
And even as a fir-tree tapers upwardFrom bough to bough, so downwardly did that;I think in order that no one might climb it.
On that side where our pathway was enclosedFell from the lofty rock a limpid water,And spread itself abroad upon the leaves.
The Poets twain unto the tree drew near,And from among the foliage a voiceCried: “Of this food ye shall have scarcity.”
Then said: “More thoughtful Mary was of makingThe marriage feast complete and honourable,Than of her mouth which now for you responds;
And for their drink the ancient Roman womenWith water were content; and DanielDisparaged food, and understanding won.
The primal age was beautiful as gold;Acorns it made with hunger savorous,And nectar every rivulet with thirst.
Honey and locusts were the alimentsThat fed the Baptist in the wilderness;Whence he is glorious, and so magnified
As by the Evangel is revealed to you.”
Purgatorio: Canto XXIII
The while among the verdant leaves mine eyesI riveted, as he is wont to doWho wastes his life pursuing little birds,
My more than Father said unto me: “Son,Come now; because the time that is ordained usMore usefully should be apportioned out.”
I turned my face and no less soon my stepsUnto the Sages, who were speaking soThey made the going of no cost to me;
And lo! were heard a song and a lament,“Labia mea, Domine,” in fashionSuch that delight and dolence it brought forth.
“O my sweet Father, what is this I hear?”Began I; and he answered: “Shades that goPerhaps the knot unloosing of their debt.”
In the same way that thoughtful pilgrims do,Who, unknown people on the road o’ertaking,Turn themselves round to them, and do not stop,
Even thus, behind us with a swifter motionComing and passing onward, gazed upon usA crowd of spirits silent and devout.
Each in his eyes was dark and cavernous,Pallid in face, and so emaciateThat from the bones the skin did shape itself.
I do not think that so to merest rindCould Erisichthon have been withered upBy famine, when most fear he had of it.
Thinking within myself I said: “Behold,This is the folk who lost Jerusalem,When Mary made a prey of her own son.”
Their sockets were like rings without the gems;Whoever in the face of men reads ‘omo’Might well in these have recognised the ‘m.’
Who would believe the odour of an apple,Begetting longing, could consume them so,And that of water, without knowing how?
I still was wondering what so famished them,For the occasion not yet manifestOf their emaciation and sad squalor;
And lo! from out the hollow of his headHis eyes a shade turned on me, and looked keenly;Then cried aloud: “What grace to me is this?”
Never should I have known him by his look;But in his voice was evident to meThat which his aspect had suppressed within it.
This spark within me wholly re-enkindledMy recognition of his altered face,And I recalled the features of Forese.
“Ah, do not look at this dry leprosy,”Entreated he, “which doth my skin discolour,Nor at default of flesh that I may have;
But tell me truth of thee, and who are thoseTwo souls, that yonder make for thee an escort;Do not delay in speaking unto me.”
“That face of thine, which dead I once bewept,Gives me for weeping now no lesser grief,”I answered him, “beholding it so changed!
But tell me, for God’s sake, what thus denudes you?Make me not speak while I am marvelling,For ill speaks he who’s full of other longings.”
And he to me: “From the eternal councilFalls power into the water and the treeBehind us left, whereby I grow so thin.
All of this people who lamenting sing,For following beyond measure appetiteIn hunger and thirst are here re-sanctified.
Desire to eat and drink enkindles in usThe scent that issues from the apple-tree,And from the spray that sprinkles o’er the verdure;
And not a single time alone, this groundEncompassing, is refreshed our pain,—I say our pain, and ought to say our solace,—
For the same wish doth lead us to the treeWhich led the Christ rejoicing to say ‘Eli,’When with his veins he liberated us.”
And I to him: “Forese, from that dayWhen for a better life thou changedst worlds,Up to this time five years have not rolled round.
If sooner were the power exhausted in theeOf sinning more, than thee the hour surprisedOf that good sorrow which to God reweds us,
How hast thou come up hitherward already?I thought to find thee down there underneath,Where time for time doth restitution make.”
And he to me: “Thus speedily has led meTo drink of the sweet wormwood of these torments,My Nella with her overflowing tears;
She with her prayers devout and with her sighsHas drawn me from the coast where one where one awaits,And from the other circles set me free.
So much more dear and pleasing is to GodMy little widow, whom so much I loved,As in good works she is the more alone;