Purgatorio: Canto XXI

The natural thirst which never is sated, save with the water whereof the poor Samaritan woman asked the grace,

was burning within me, and haste was goading me along the encumbered way behind my Leader, and I was grieving at the just penance;

and lo, even as Luke writes to us that Christ appeared to the two who were on the way, already risen from the mouth of the tomb,

a shade appeared to us, and came on behind us, gazing at its feet on the prostrate crowd, nor did we perceive it until it first spake,

saying: “My brothers, God give you peace.” Quickly we turned us, and Virgil gave back to him the sign that is fitting thereto.

Then began: “May the true court, which binds me in eternal exile, bring thee in peace to the council of the blest.”

“How,” said he, and meantime we went sturdily, “if ye are shades that God deigns not above, who hath escorted you so far by his stairs?”

And my Teacher: “If thou lookest at the marks which this man bears, and which the angel outlines, clearly wilt thou see ’tis meet he reign with the good.

But since she who spins day and night, had not yet drawn for him the fibre which Clotho charges and packs on the distaff for each one,

his spirit, which is thy sister and mine, coming up, could not come alone, because it sees not after our fashion:

wherefore I was brought forth from Hell’s wide jaws to guide him, and I will guide him onward, so far as my school can lead him.

But tell us, if thou knowest, why the mount gave before such shakings, and wherefore all seemed to shout with one voice down to its soft base.”

Thus, by asking, did he thread the very needle’s eye of my desire, and with the hope alone my thirst was made less fasting.

That spirit began: “The holy rule of the mount suffereth naught that is arbitrary, or that is outside custom.

Here it is free from all terrestrial change; that which Heaven receives into itself from itself may here operate as cause, and naught else:

since neither rain, nor hail, nor snow, nor dew, nor hoarfrost, falls any higher than the short little stairway of the three steps.

Clouds, dense or thin, appear not, nor lightning flash, nor Thaumas’ daughter, who yonder oft changes her region.

Dry vapour rises not higher than the top of the three steps which I spake of, where Peter’s vicar hath his feet.

It quakes perchance lower down little or much, but by reason of wind which is hidden in the earth, I know not how, it has never quaked up here.

It quakes here when some soul feeleth herself cleansed, so that she may rise up, or set forth, to mount on high, and such a shout follows her.

Of the cleansing the will alone gives proof, which fills the soul, all free to change her cloister, and avails her to will.

She wills indeed before, but that desire permits it not which divine justice sets, counter to will, toward the penalty, even as it was toward the sin.

And I who have lain under this torment five hundred years and more, only now felt free will for a better threshold.

Therefore didst thou feel the earthquake, and hear the pious spirits about the mount give praises to that Lord—soon may he send them above.”

Thus he spake to us; and since we enjoy most the draught in proportion as our thirst is great, I could not tell how much he profited me.

And the wise Leader: “Now I see the net that catches you here, and how one breaks through, wherefore it quakes here, and whereat ye make glad together.

Now may it please thee that I know who thou wast; and why thou hast lain here so many ages, let me learn from thy words.”

“What time the good Titus with help of the Highest King avenged the wounds whence issued the blood by Judas sold,

with the name which most endures, and honours most,” answered that spirit, “I was yonder, great in fame, but not yet with faith.

So sweet was the music of my words, that me, a Toulousian, Rome drew to herself, where I did merit a crown of myrtle for my brow.

Statius folk yonder still do name me; I sang of Thebes, and then of the great Achilles; but I fell by the way with the second burden.

The sparks, which warmed me, from the divine flame whence more than a thousand have been kindled, were the seeds of my poetic fire:

of the Aeneid I speak, which was a mother to me, and was to me a nurse in poesy; without it I had not stayed the weight of a drachm.

And to have lived yonder, when Virgil was alive, I would consent to one sun more than I owe to my coming forth from exile.”

These words turned Virgil to me with a look that silently said: “Be silent.” But the virtue which wills is not all powerful;

for laughter and tears follow so closely the passion from which each springs, that they least obey the will in the most truthful.

I did but smile, like one who makes a sign; whereat the shade was silent and looked at me in the eyes, where most the soul is fixed,

And he said: “So may such great toil achieve its end; wherefore did thy face but now display to me a flash of laughter?”

Now am I caught on either side; one makes me keep silence, the other conjures me to speak; wherefore I sigh and am understood

by my Master, and he said to me, “Have no fear of speaking, but speak, and tell him that which he asketh with so great desire.”

Wherefore I: “Perchance thou dost marvel, O ancient spirit, at the laugh I gave, but I desire that yet greater wonder seize thee.

He who guideth mine eyes on high, is that Virgil from whom thou drewest power to sing of men and gods.

If thou didst believe other cause for my laughter, set it aside as untrue, and believe it was those words which thou spakest of him.”

Already was he stooping to embrace my Teacher’s feet; but he said: “Brother, do not so, for thou art a shade and a shade thou seest.”

And he, rising: “Now canst thou comprehend the measure of the love which warms me toward thee, when I forget our nothingness, and treat shades as a solid thing.”