Purgatorio: Canto X

First Ledge: the Proud.—Examples of Humility sculptured on the Rock.

When we were within the threshold of the gate, which the souls’ wrong love disuses, because it makes the crooked way seem straight, I heard by its resounding that it was closed again. And, if I had turned my eyes to it, what excuse would have been befitting for the fault?

We were ascending through a cloven rock, which moved on one side and on the other, even as the wave retreats and approaches. “Here must be used a little art,” began my Leader, “in keeping close, now here, now there to the side which recedes.” And this made our progress so slow that the waning disk of the moon regained its bed to go to rest, before we had come forth from that needle’s eye. But when we were free and open above, where the mountain backward withdraws, I weary, and both uncertain of our way, we stopped upon a level more solitary than roads through deserts. The space from its edge, where it borders the void, to the foot of the high bank which rises only, a human body would measure in three lengths; and as far as my eye could stretch its wings, now on the left and now on the right side, such did this cornice seem to me. Thereon our feet had not yet moved when I perceived that bank round about, which, being perpendicular, allowed no ascent, to be of white marble and adorned with such carvings, that not Polycletus merely but Nature would be put to shame there.

The Angel who came to earth with the announcement of the peace, wept for for many years, which opened Heaven from its long interdict, appeared before us here carved in a sweet attitude so truly that he did not seem an image that is silent. One would have sworn that he was saying “Ave;” for there was she imaged who turned the key to open the exalted love. And in her action she had these words impressed, “Ecce ancilla Dei!” as exactly as a shape is sealed in wax.

“Keep not thy mind only on one place,” said the sweet Master, who had me on that side where people have their heart. Wherefore I moved my eyes and saw behind Mary, upon that side where he was who was moving me, another story displayed upon the rock; whereupon I passed Virgil and drew near so that it might be set before my eyes. There in the very marble was carved the cart and the oxen drawing the holy ark, because of which men fear an office not given in charge. In front appeared people; and all of them, divided in seven choirs, of two of my senses made the one say “NO,” the other “YES, THEY ARE SINGING.” In like manner, by the smoke of the incense that was imaged there, mine eyes and nose were made in YES and NO discordant. There, preceding the blessed vessel, dancing, girt up, was the humble Psalmist, and more and less than king was he in that proceeding. Opposite, figured at a window of a great palace, Michal was looking on even as a lady scornful and troubled.

I moved my feet from the place where I was standing to look from near at another story which behind Michal was shining white on me. Here was storied the high glory of the Roman prince, whose worth incited Gregory to his great victory: I speak of Trajan the emperor; and a poor widow was at his bridle in attitude of weeping and of grief. Round about him there seemed a press and throng of knights, and the eagles in the gold above him to the sight were moving in the wind. The wretched woman among all these seemed to be saying, “Lord, do vengeance for me for my son who is slain, whereat I am broken-hearted.” And he to answer her, “Now wait till I return;” and she, “My Lord,”—like one in whom grief is hasty,—“if thou return not?” And he, “He who shall be where I am will do it for thee.” And she, “What will the good deed of another be to thee if thou art mindless of thine own?” Whereon he, “Now comfort thee; for it behoves that I discharge my own duty ere I go; justice requires it, and pity constrains me.” He who hath never seen new thing had produced that visible speech, novel to us, since on earth it is not found.

While I was delighting me with regarding the images of such great humilities, and for their Maker’s sake dear to behold, “Lo, on this side many people, but they make few steps,” murmured the Poet. “They will put us on the way to the high stairs.” My eyes that were intent on looking in order to see novelties whereof they are fain, in turning toward him were not slow.

I would not, indeed, Reader, that thou be dismayed at thy good purpose, through hearing how God wills that the debt be paid. Attend not to the form of the suffering; think on what follows; think that at worst beyond the Great Judgment it cannot go!

I began, “Master, that which I see moving toward us, seems to me not persons, but what I know not, my look is so in vain.” And he to me, “The heavy condition of their torment so presses them to earth, that mine own eyes at first had contention with it. But look fixedly there, and disentangle with thy sight that which cometh beneath those stones; now thou canst discern how each is smitten.”

O proud Christians, wretched weary ones, who, diseased in vision of the mind, have confidence in backward steps, are ye not aware that we are worms born to form the angelic butterfly which flies unto judgment without defence? Why doth your mind float up aloft, since ye are as it were defective insects, even as a worm in which formation fails?

As sometimes for support of ceiling or roof, by way of corbel, a figure is seen joining its knees to its breast, which out of its unreality makes a real pang rise in him who sees it, thus fashioned saw I these when I gave good heed. True it is that they were more or less contracted according as they had more or less upon their backs; and he who had most patience in his looks, weeping, appeared to say, “I can no more.”