Purgatorio: Canto III

Although their sudden flight was scattering them o’er the plain, turned to the mount where justice probes us,

I drew me close to my faithful comrade; and how should I have sped without him? who would have brought me up the mountain?

Gnawed he seemed to me by self-reproach. O noble conscience and clear, how sharp a sting is a little fault to thee!

When his feet had lost that haste which mars the dignity of every act, my mind, that erewhile was centred within,

widened its scope as in eager search, and I set my face to the hillside which rises highest heavenward from the waters.

The sun, that behind us was flaming red, was broken in front of me in the figure in which it had its beams stayed by me.

I turned me aside from fear of being forsaken, when I saw only before me the earth darkened.

And my Comfort began to say to me, turning full round: “Why dost thou again distrust? believest thou not me with thee and that I do guide thee?

It is already evening there, where the body buried lies within which I made shadow: Naples possesses it, and from Brindisi ’tis taken.

Now, if before me no shadow falls, marvel not more than at the heavenly spheres, that one doth not obstruct the light from the other.

To suffer torments, heat and frost, bodies such as these that power disposes, which wills not that its workings be revealed to us.

Mad is he who hopes that our reason may compass that infinitude which one substance in three persons fills.

Be ye content, O human race, with the quia! For if ye had been able to see the whole, no need was there for Mary to give birth;

and ye have seen such sages desire fruitlessly, whose desire had else been satisfied, which is given them for eternal grief.

I speak of Aristotle and of Plato, and of many others.” And here he bent his brow, and said no more, and remained troubled.

We reached meanwhile the mountain’s foot: there found we the cliff so steep that vainly there would legs be nimble.

Twixt Lerici and Turbia, the way most desolate, most solitary, is a stairway easy and free, compared with that.

“Now who knows on which hand the scarp doth slope,” said my Master, halting his steps, “so that he may climb who wingless goes?”

And while he held his visage low, searching in thought anent the way, and I was looking up about the rocks,

on the left hand appeared to me a throng of souls, who moved their feet towards us, and yet seemed not to advance, so slow they came.

“Master,” said I, “lift up thine eyes, behold there one who will give us counsel, if of thyself thou mayest have it not.”

He looked at them, and with gladsome mien answered: “Go we thither, for slowly they come, and do thou confirm thy hope, sweet son.”

As yet that people were so far off (I mean after a thousand paces of ours) as a good slinger would carry with his hand,

when they all pressed close to the hard rocks of the steep cliff, and stood motionless and close, as he halts to gaze around who goes in dread.

“O ye whose end was happy, O spirits already chosen,” Virgil began, “by that same peace which I believe by you all is awaited,

tell us where the mountain slopes, so that it may be possible to go upward; for time lost irks him most who knoweth most.”

As sheep come forth from the pen, in ones, in twos, in threes, and the others stand all timid, casting eye and nose to earth,

and what the first one doeth, the others do also, huddling up to her if she stand still, silly and quiet, and know not why,

so saw I then the head of that happy flock move to come on, modest in countenance, in movement dignified.

When those in front saw the light broken on the ground on my right side, so that the shadow was from me to the rock,

they halted, and drew them back somewhat; and all the others that came after, knowing not why, did the like.

“Without your question I confess to you, that this is a human body ye see, by which the sun’s light on the ground is cleft.

Marvel ye not, but believe that not without virtue which cometh from heaven, he seeks to surmount this wall.”

So my Master; and that worthy people said: “Turn ye, enter then before us,” with the backs of their hands making sign.

And one of them began: “Whoever thou art, thus while going turn thy face, give heed if e’er thou sawest me yonder.”

I turned me to him, and steadfastly did look: golden-haired was he, and fair, and of noble mien; but one of his eyebrows a cut had cleft.

When I humbly had disclaimed ever to have seen him, he said: “Now look”; and he showed me a wound above his breast.

Then smiling said: “I am Manfred, grandson of Empress Constance; wherefore I pray thee, that when thou returnest,

thou go to my fair daughter, parent of the glory of Sicily and of Aragon, and tell her sooth, if other tale be told.

After I had my body pierced by two mortal stabs, I gave me up weeping to him who willingly doth pardon.

Horrible were my transgressions; but infinite goodness hath such wide arms that it accepteth all that turn to it.

If Cosenza’s Pastor, who to chase of me was set by Clement, then had well read that page in God,

the bones of my body would yet be at the bridgehead near Benevento, under the guard of the heavy cairn.

Now the rain washes them, and the wind stirs them, beyond the Realm, hard by the Verde, whither he translated them with tapers quenched.

By curse of theirs man is not so lost, that eternal love may not return, so long as hope retaineth aught of green.

True is it, that he who dies in contumacy of Holy Church, even though at the last he repent, needs must stay outside this bank

thirtyfold for all the time that he hath lived in his presumption, if such decree be not shortened by holy prayers.

Look now, if thou canst make me glad, by revealing to my good Constance how thou hast seen me, and also this ban: for here, through those yonder, much advancement comes.”