Volume 16 — Dante's Purgatorio. Canto Sixth.

When from the game of hazard men depart,

The loser stays, and, casting o'er his throws,

Learns a hard lesson with a heavy heart;

While with the winner all the assembly goes:

One runs before, one plucks his robe behind,

But he delays not, though beside his way

Another comrade calls himself to mind;

And every one perceives that he would say:

“Press me no more!” to whom he lifts his hand,

And by so doing keeps the crowd at bay;

Such I was, freeing me from that dense band,

To this and that one bending my survey,

And promising to answer each demand.

Here was that Aretine whose lethal wound

The savage hands of Ghin' di Tacco made;

Also that knight who in pursuit was drowned.

Here with stretched palms Frederic Novello prayed,

The Pisan, too, at whose defeat his sire,

Good old Marzucco, showed a strength sublime.

I saw Count Orso, and that soul whom dire

Envy and spite, but no committed crime

Tore from his mortal frame, as he declared;

Pierre de la Brosse I mean: so, while she may,

Be that bad woman of Brabant prepared

Lest she go join a far worse flock than they.

When I had freed me from the gathering press

Of shadows praying still that others' prayers

Might hasten forward their own blessedness,

I thus began: “Thy page, my Light! declares

Expressly, in one text, that Heaven's decree

To no beseeching bendeth.214 Yet this race

[pg 582]

Prays with such purpose: will their praying be

Without avail? or have I in that place

Misread thy word?” He answered: “It is gross

And plain to reason: no fallacious hope

Is theirs, if thy sound mind consider close;

The topmost height of judgment doth not slope,

Because love's fire may instantly complete

The penance due from one of these: but where

I closed that point with words which you repeat,

A gulf betwixt the Most High was and prayer:

No praying there could cover past defect.

Yet verily, in so profound a doubt

Rest not, till she who, 'twixt thine intellect

And truth, shall be thy light, herself speak out.

Dost understand me? Beatrice I mean:

Thou shalt behold her in a loftier place,

This mountain summit, smiling and serene.”

“Good Guide,” said I, “then let us mend our pace,

I feel no more my weariness: o'er us

The mountain shadow grows and hides mine own.”

“We will go forward”—he gave answer thus—

“Far as we can, ere this day's light be gone;

But thy thought wanders from the fact. That height

Ere thou canst gain, thou shalt behold the day's

Returning orb, who now so hides his light

Behind the hill that thou break'st not his rays.

But yonder look! one spirit, all alone,

By itself stationed, bends toward us his gaze:

The readiest passage will by him be shown”

Sordello.

We came up tow'rds it: O proud Lombard soul!

How thou didst wait, in thy disdain unstirred,

And thy majestic eyes didst slowly roll!

Meanwhile to us it never uttered word,

But let us move, just giving us a glance,

Like as a lion looks in his repose.

Then Virgil, making a more near advance,

Prayed him to show us where the mountain rose

With easier slope, and still that soul replied

Nothing to his demand; but question made

About life, and our country. My sweet Guide

Began to answer: “Mantua”—and the shade

From where it had been, separate from his band,

All rapt in self, sprang up towards him in haste,

[pg 583]

Saying: “O Mantuan, I am of thy land,

I am Sordello.” And the twain embraced.

Ah slavish Italy! thou common inn

For woe to lodge at! without pilot, thou

Ship in great tempest! not what thou hast been,

Lady of provinces, but brothel now!

That gentle soul so quickly, at the dear

Sound that recalled his country, forward came

To grace his townsman with a greeting here;

And now thy living children, to their shame,

Are all at war, and they who dwell most near

Prey, each on each, with moat and wall the same!

Search, wretched! search all round thine either coast,

And then look inland, in thy bosom, see

If peace in any part of thee thou know'st!

What though Justinian made new reins for thee,

What boots it if the saddle remain void?

Without his mending thy disgrace were less.

And O ye tribe that ought to be employed

In your devotions, and let Cæsar press

The seat of Cæsar if God's word you heed,

See, since your hand hath on the bridle been,

How wanton grown and wicked is the steed,

Through want from you of the spur's discipline.

O German Albert! who abandonest

Her now run wild, unchecked by curb of thine,

When thou shouldst ride her with thy heels hard-pressed;

May heaven's just judgment light upon thy line,

And be it something strange, and manifest,

To make him tremble that comes after thee,

Because, for lust of barren fiefs out there,215

Thou and thy Father have not shamed to see

The empire's garden desolate and bare.

Come see the Capulets and Montagues,

Monaldi and Filippeschi, O thou being

Without concern! these wan with fears, and those

Already crushed: come sate thyself with seeing,

Thou cruel man, the outrage that is done

To thy best blood, and make their bruises well!

And thou shalt see too, thou cold looker-on,

Santafiore's lords how safe they dwell.

Come see thy Rome that mourning all alone

Weepeth, a widow, calling day and night,

Why, O my Cæsar, dost thou leave thine own?

Come see what love there—how all hearts unite!

And if no pity move thee at our moan

[pg 584]

Blush for thy fame beholding such a sight.

And, lawful if I speak, O most high Jove

Who wast for our sakes crucified on earth,

Are thy just eyes who watchest men above

Turned elsewhere?—Or is this before the birth

Of some great good a preparation hid

From us in the abyss of thy intent,

That all the Italian towns are tyrant-rid,

And every clown that comes on faction bent

Makes as much clamor as Marcellus did?

My Florence! well may'st thou remain content

At this digression; it concerns not thee,

Thanks to thy people, great in argument!

Many with justice in their hearts there be

Who stay the shaft lest, coming to the bow

Without discretion, it might err; but they

On their lips wear it. Many men are slow

To serve the state, and turn from place away;

Thy people do not—every one bends low,

Crying before he's called for: “I obey.”

Now make thee joyful, who may'st triumph well;

Thou who art rich—so wise! and so at peace!

If I speak true in this—let the truth tell.

Athens and Sparta, that raised civil Greece

To such a height, and framed the ancient laws,

Towards the well-ordered life made small beginning

Compared with thee, whose legislation draws

Threads out so fine that thy October spinning

Comes before mid-November to a pause.

How many times hast thou renewed thy men,

Yea, within days that in thy memory dwell,

And changed thy laws and offices, and then

Customs and coins! if thou remember well

Thou wilt behold thyself, unless quite blind,

Like a sick woman, restless, that in vain

Seeks on her pillow some repose to find,

And turns and turns as 'twere to parry pain.

[pg 585]