As morning dawned and the poets slowly climbed out of the infernal region
and stepped upon the isle from which the Mount of Purgatory rises, they
were accosted by an old man with long white hair and beard, Cato of Utica,
who demanded the reason of their coming, and only permitted them to remain
when he heard that a lady from Heaven had given the command. Then he
ordered Vergil to lave the smoke of Hell from Dante's face in the waves of
the sea, and to gird him with the reed of humility. As the sun rose a
radiant angel, guiding a boat laden with souls, appeared, and the poets
fell on their knees until he departed.
As the newly-landed spirits questioned Vergil of the way up the mountain,
Dante recognized among them his beloved friend Casella, the musician, and
tried in vain to embrace his spirit body. At Dante's request, Casella
began to sing, and the enchanted spirits were scattered only by the
chiding voice of Cato.
Vergil surveyed the insurmountable height before them, and hastened with
Dante to inquire the way of a troop of souls coming towards them. As they
talked, Dante recognized one, blond and smiling, with a gash over one
eyebrow and another over his heart. It was Manfredi, King of Apulia and
Sicily, who was slain at Benevento by Charles of Anjou, and, being under
excommunication, was not allowed Christian burial. He asked Dante to make
him happy by telling his daughter that by faith he was saved from eternal
destruction, but because of his sins he must spend thirty times the time
that his presumption had endured at the foot of the mount, unless his time
was shortened by the righteous prayers of his friends on earth.
It was with the greatest difficulty that the poets clambered up the steep
and narrow path to the next terrace, and only the assurance that the
ascent would grow easier as he neared the summit sustained Dante. As
Vergil explained to him while resting on the next terrace that the sun
appeared on his left because Purgatory and Jerusalem were in different
hemispheres, some one spoke, and turning they saw a group of persons in an
attitude of indolence, among them a Florentine acquaintance, Belacqua, a
maker of musical instruments, who sat waiting the length of another
lifetime for admission above because he had postponed conversion from time
to time, through negligence.
Proceeding, the poets met a concourse of souls who had suffered violent
death, chanting the Miserere, who perceiving Dante to be living, sent
messages to their friends on earth. Among these were Giacopo del Cassero
and Buonconte di Montefeltro, son of Dante's friend, Guido di Montefeltro,
who fell in the battle of Campaldino, in which Dante had taken part.
Wounded in the neck, he fell, and had just time to breathe a prayer to
Mary, thus saving his soul from the Evil One, who was so incensed that,
raising a great storm, he caused the rivers to overflow and sweep away the
lifeless body, tearing from it the cross he had made with his arms in his
last agony, and burying it in the mire of the Arno. The third shade bade
him think of her when, returned home, he sang of his journey. She was Pia,
born at Sienna, who died at Maremma, by the hand of her husband.
Dante at last managed to escape from these shades, who implored him to ask
for prayers for them on earth, and moved on with Vergil until they met the
haughty shade of Sordello, who clasped Vergil in his arms when he learned
he was a Mantuan. Touched by this expression of love for his native land,
Dante launched into an apostrophe to degenerate Italy, to that German
Albert who refused to save the country groaning under oppression, and to
lost Florence, torn by internecine wars.
When Sordello learned that the Mantuan shade was Vergil, he humbled
himself before him, and paid him reverence, asking eagerly in what part of
the underworld he dwelt. The sun was sinking, and as the poets could not
ascend by night, he urged them to pass the night with him. Leading them to
a vale carpeted with emerald grass and brilliant with flowers, he pointed
out the shades singing "Salve Regina" as the Emperor Rudolph,--he who made
an effort to heal sick Italy,--Philip III. of France, Charles I. of
Naples, and Henry III. of England. As the hour of twilight approached,
that hour in which the sailor thinks of home, and the pilgrim thrills at
the sound of vesper bells, Dante beheld a shade arise, and lifting its
palms begin to sing the vesper hymn. Soon two radiant angels clad in
delicate green descended from Heaven, holding flaming swords. These,
Sordello explained, were to keep off the serpent that threatened this fair
vale at night.
As the hour of night approached in which the swallow laments its woes,
Dante fell asleep on the grass and dreamed that he was Ganymede snatched
from Mt. Ida by Jove's eagle. Awaking, he found himself alone with Vergil
in a strange place, with the sun two hours high. Lucia, symbolical of the
enlightening grace of Heaven, had conveyed him to the spot and pointed out
to Vergil the gate of Purgatory. Cheered and confident, he rose, and they
went together to the portal and mounted the three steps, the first of
shining white marble, the second of purple stone, cracked and burnt, and
the third of flaming red porphyry. There, on the diamond threshold, sat an
angel with a naked sword, clad in a robe of ashen gray, whose face was too
bright to look upon. When Dante fell on his knees and implored entrance,
the angel imprinted on his forehead seven "P"'s for the seven sins
(Peccata), and opening the gate with the gold and silver keys, ushered
them into the mighty portals. "From Peter I have these keys. Me he
instructed to err rather in opening than in keeping shut. But see that ye
look not behind, or ye will at once return."
With much difficulty the two poets ascended the steep and winding path,
and paused to view the wonderful sculptures on the embankment, that would
put Nature herself to shame, so natural were they. Many examples of
Humility were there portrayed,--the Virgin Mary, the Holy Ark, drawn by
oxen, the Psalmist dancing before the Lord, while Michal looked forth in
scorn from her palace window, and Trajan, yielding to the widow's prayer.
As they stood there, the souls came in sight. "Reader, attend not to the
fashion of the torment, but think of what follows." The unhappy ones crept
around the terrace, bowed under a heavy burden of stones, and the most
patient, as he bent under his burden, exclaimed, with tears, "I can do no
more!" As they walked they repeated the Lord's Prayer, and kept their eyes
fixed on the life-like sculptures on the floor of those who had suffered
before them for the sins of pride: Lucifer, falling from Heaven; Briareus
and Nimrod overcome by the bolts of Jove; Niobe, weeping among her dead
children; Cyrus's head taunted by Tomyris; Troy humbled in ashes.
As Vergil approached the penitents to inquire the way to the next terrace,
he and Dante were invited to join the procession and talk with one who
could not lift his face enough to see them. This was Omberto, who had been
slain by the Siennese for his unbearable pride. Dante also talked with his
friend Oderigi, an illuminator of manuscript, who now humbly acknowledged
that he was far surpassed by Franco Bolognese. "What is mundane glory?" he
exclaimed, as he pointed out Provenzano Salvani, with whose fame Tuscany
once rang, but who barely escaped Hell by his voluntary humiliation for a
friend. "Lift up thy face!" commanded Vergil, as Dante walked with his
head bowed, absorbed in the floor-sculptures; and as he looked, the
white-robed angel whose face was like "a tremulous flame" approached, and
struck Dante's forehead with his wings. Dante marvelled at the ease with
which he mounted, until his master explained that the heaviest sin, the
sin that underlies all others, had fallen from him when the angel struck
the "P" from his forehead, and that the ascent would grow still lighter
from terrace to terrace. "Blessed are the poor in spirit!" sung by sweet
voices, greeted the mounting poets.
The second terrace was of livid stone unrelieved by any sculpture. The air
was full of voices inculcating charity and self-denial, and others
lamenting the sin of envy. Here envy was punished, and here the sharpest
pain pierced Dante's heart as he saw the penitents sit shoulder to
shoulder against the cliff, robed in sackcloth of the same livid color,
their eyelids, through which bitter tears trickled, sewed together with
wire. Sapia of Sienna first greeted Dante and entreated him to pray for
her. When she had told how, after having been banished from her city, she
had prayed that her townsman might be defeated by the Florentines, Dante
passed on and spoke with Guido of Duca, who launched into an invective
against Florence to his companion Rinieri. "The whole valley of the Arno
is so vile that its very name should die. Wonder not at my tears, Tuscan,
when I recall the great names of the past, and compare them with the curs
who have fallen heir to them. Those counts are happiest who have left no
families." Guido himself was punished on this terrace because of his envy
of every joyous man, and the spirit with whom he talked was Rinieri, whose
line had once been highly honored. "Go, Tuscan," exclaimed Guido, "better
now I love my grief than speech." As the poets passed on, the air was
filled with the lamentations of sinful but now repentant spirits.
Dazzled by the Angel's splendor, the poets passed up the stairs to the
third terrace, Dante in the mean time asking an explanation of Guido's
words on joint resolve and trust.
"The less one thinks of another's possessions," replied his guide, "and
the more he speaks of 'our' instead of 'my,' the more of the Infinite Good
flows towards him. If you thirst for further instruction, await the coming
of Beatrice."
As they attained the next height, Dante, rapt in vision, saw the sweet
Mother questioning her Son in the Temple, saw Pisistratus, his queen, and
the martyred Stephen blessing his enemies in death. As he awoke, they
passed on, to become involved in a thick cloud of smoke, through which it
was impossible to distinguish any object, and whose purpose was to purge
away anger, the sin-cloud that veils the mortal eye.
As they passed from the thick smoke into the sunset, Dante fell into a
trance, and saw Itys, Haman, and other notable examples of unbridled
angers, and as the visions faded away, was blinded by the splendor of the
angel guide who directed them to the fourth terrace. As they waited for
the dawn, Vergil answered Dante's eager questions. "Love," he said, "is
the seed of every virtue, and also of every act for which God punished
man. Natural love is without error; but if it is bent on evil aims, if it
lacks sufficiency, or if it overleaps its bounds and refuses to be
governed by wise laws, it causes those sins that are punished on this
mount. The defective love which manifests itself as slothfulness is
punished on this terrace."
A troop of spirits rushed past them as morning broke, making up by their
haste for the sloth that had marked their lives on earth. As they hurried
on they urged themselves to diligence by cries of "In haste the mountains
blessed Mary won!" "Caesar flew to Spain!" "Haste! Grace grows best in
those who ardor feel!" As the poet meditated on their words, he lapsed
into a dream in which he saw the Siren who drew brave mariners from their
courses; and even as he listened to her melodious song, he beheld her
exposed by a saint-like lady, Lucia, or Illuminating Grace. Day dawned,
the Angel fanned the fourth "P" from his forehead, and the poet ascended
to the fifth terrace, where lay the shades of the avaricious, prostrate on
the earth, weeping over their sins. They who in life had resolutely turned
their gaze from Heaven and fixed it on the things of the earth, must now
grovel in the dust, denouncing avarice, and extolling the poor and liberal
until the years have worn away their sin.
Bending over Pope Adrian the Fifth, Dante heard his confession that he was
converted while he held the Roman shepherd's staff. Then he learned how
false a dream was life, but too late, alas! to escape this punishment. As
Dante spoke with the shade of Capet the elder, a mighty trembling shook
the mountain, which chilled his heart until he learned from the shade of
Statius, whom they next met, that it was caused by the moving upward of a
purified soul, his own, that had been undergoing purgation on this terrace
five hundred years and more. "Statius was I," said the shade, "and my
inspiration came from that bright fountain of heavenly fire, the Aeneid;
it was my mother; to it I owe my fame. Gladly would I have added a year to
my banishment here, could I have known the Mantuan." Vergil's glance said
"Be mute!" but Dante's smile betrayed the secret, and Statius fell at
Vergil's feet adoring. Statius had suffered for the sin of prodigality,
which was punished, together with avarice, on this terrace.
The three proceeded upward to the sixth terrace, the ascent growing easier
on the disappearance of the "P" of avarice from Dante's forehead. Vergil
and Statius moved on in loving conversation, Dante reverently following.
"Your Pollio led me to Christianity," said Statius, "but my cowardice
caused me long to conceal it. Prodigality brought me hither."
On the sixth terrace two trees stood in opposite parts of the pathway that
the gluttons were compelled to tread, the first with branches broad at the
top and tapering downward, so that it was impossible to mount it; upon it
fell a fount of limpid water. From its branches a voice cried, "Of this
food ye shall have a scarcity. In the primal age, acorns furnished sweet
food and each rivulet seemed nectar." Towards the next tree, grown from a
twig of the tree of knowledge, the gluttons stretched eager hands, but a
voice cried, "Pass on; approach not!" Such desire for food was excited by
these tempting fruits, that the gluttons were emaciated beyond
recognition. By his voice alone did Dante recognize his kinsman Forese,
whose time in Purgatory had been shortened by the prayers of his wife
Nella. Forese talked with Dante for a while on the affairs of Florence,
and predicted the fall of his brother Corso Donati.
The dazzling splendor of the angel of the seventh terrace warned them of
his approach, and, lightened of one more "P," Dante and his companions
climbed to where two bands of spirits, lascivious on earth, moved through
paths of purifying flames, stopping as they passed to greet each other,
and singing penitential hymns. Here, Statius explained to Dante why the
shades of the sixth terrace were lean from want of food when they
possessed no longer their physical bodies. "After death the soul keeps its
memory, intelligence, and will more active than before, and as soon as it
reaches either the banks of Acheron or the Tiber, a shade form is attached
to it which acquires the soul's semblance, and has every sense given it,
even that of sight."
Guido Guinicelli, from out the flame-furnace, explained to Dante the
punishments of the terrace: "Thus are our base appetites burned out that
we may enjoy future happiness," and Arnaud the Troubadour, hating his past
follies, weeping and singing, implored Dante's prayers. It was only by
telling him that the fire lay between him and Beatrice that Vergil
prevailed on Dante to walk into the flames, which, though they tortured
him by the intensity of their heat, did not consume even his garments. As
they left the fire, the sun was setting, and they passed the night on the
steps of the next terrace, Statius and Vergil watching Dante as the
goatherds watch their flocks. In a dream the sleeping poet saw Leah,
symbolical of the active life, in contrast to her sister Rachel, of
contemplative life. On waking, Vergil told him that he would accompany him
further, but not as a guide; henceforth his own free will must lead him.
"Crowned, mitred, now thyself thou 'lt rule aright."
Dense green were the heavenly woodlands of the terrestrial paradise; sweet
were the bird songs, as sweet the songs of the whispering foliage; and on
the pleasant mead, beyond the dimpling waters of a stream so small that
three paces would span it, walked a beautiful lady, Matilda, gathering
flowers and singing an enchanting melody. At Dante's request, she came
nearer, and explained to him that God had created the terrestrial paradise
from which man was banished by his fault alone. To vex him it was raised
to this height. Its atmosphere was not that of the earth below, but given
it from the free sphere of ether. Here every plant had its origin; here
each river had its virtue; Lethe destroyed the memory of sin; Eunoë
restored to the mind the memory of things good.
As they talked, Hosannas were heard, and in the greatest splendor appeared
the Car of the Church Triumphant. First came the seven golden
candlesticks; following them, many people in resplendent white garments;
next, the four and twenty elders, lily crowned--the twenty-four books of
the Old Testament--singing to Beatrice "O blessed Thou!" Then four
six-winged, many-eyed living creatures described both by Ezekiel and John
surrounded the massive car drawn by the Gryphon, emblem of our Lord in his
divine and human nature, white, gold, and vermilion-hued, part lion, part
eagle, whose wings pierced the heavens.
Three maidens, red, emerald, and white, the Theological Virtues, Faith,
Hope, and Charity, danced at the right wheel of the car; four clad in
purple, Prudence, Justice, Fortitude, and Temperance, walked at the left
wheel. With them came two old men, Luke and Paul; then four together,
James, Peter, John, and Jude, and last an aged man walking in slumber,
Saint John, writer of the Revelation. These last were crowned with red
roses and other tinted flowers. With a crash as of thunder, the car
stopped before Dante, and a hundred angels, chanting, showered on it roses
and lilies. In the midst of the shower, Beatrice descended, clad in a
crimson robe, with a green mantle and a white veil, and crowned with an
olive wreath. Thrilling with his ancient love, Dante turned to Vergil to
sustain him, but Vergil was gone. As he looked again, her eyes, less
severe from the veil that enveloped her, were fixed on him as she rebuked
him, and he was sustained only by the compassion in the sweet voices of
the angels, which soothed him until the tears rained down his cheeks.
After her death, when she had arisen from flesh to spirit, Beatrice
complained that her influence was dimmed, and that he had sought such
depths that she had been compelled to go to the gates of hell to implore
Vergil to bring him hither that he might learn his future sufferings if he
did not repent. As he answered her, blaming the things that had led him
aside with joys deceitful, he tried to gaze into her eyes, but stung with
penitential thorns, fell senseless to the ground. Matilda, who stood by,
seized him and plunged him into the river Lethe, that he might forget his
past sin. Dripping, he was given to the four lovely maidens, who led him
before Beatrice that he might look into her eyes, fixed on the Gryphon. A
thousand longings held him fast while, "weary from ten years' thirsting,"
he gazed upon her lovely eyes, now unveiled in their full splendor.
Reproached at last by the seven virtues for his too intent gaze, Dante
watched the car move on to the Tree of Knowledge, to which its pole was
attached by the Gryphon. Dante, lulled to sleep by the hymn, was aroused
by Matilda, who pointed out to him the radiant Beatrice, sitting under a
tree surrounded by the bright forms of her attendants. The other
attendants of the car had followed the Gryphon to the skies.
"Observe the car," said Beatrice, "and write what thou hast seen when thou
returnest home." As she spoke, the car was attacked in turn by the eagle
of persecution, the fox of heresy, and the dragon of Islamism; these
driven away, it was disturbed by inward dissensions, the alliance between
Boniface and Philip the Fair.
Rising, Beatrice called Dante, Statius, and Matilda to her, and as they
walked upon that pleasant mead, she asked Dante the meaning of his
continued silence. She explained the attacks on the chariot to him, but he
declared that he could not understand her language. Then, at Beatrice's
nod, Matilda called him and Statius, and plunged them into Eunoë, whence
he rose regenerate, and prepared to mount to the stars.