Purgatorio: Canto XXXI“O thou who art beyond the sacred river,”Turning to me the point of her discourse,That edgewise even had seemed to me so keen,She recommenced, continuing without pause,“Say, say if this be true; to such a charge,Thy own confession needs must be conjoined.”My faculties were in so great confusion,That the voice moved, but sooner was extinctThan by its organs it was set at large.Awhile she waited; then she said: “What thinkest?Answer me; for the mournful memoriesIn thee not yet are by the waters injured.”Confusion and dismay together mingledForced such a Yes! from out my mouth, that sightWas needful to the understanding of it.Even as a cross-bow breaks, when ’tis dischargedToo tensely drawn the bowstring and the bow,And with less force the arrow hits the mark,So I gave way beneath that heavy burden,Outpouring in a torrent tears and sighs,And the voice flagged upon its passage forth.Whence she to me: “In those desires of mineWhich led thee to the loving of that good,Beyond which there is nothing to aspire to,What trenches lying traverse or what chainsDidst thou discover, that of passing onwardThou shouldst have thus despoiled thee of the hope?And what allurements or what vantagesUpon the forehead of the others showed,That thou shouldst turn thy footsteps unto them?”After the heaving of a bitter sigh,Hardly had I the voice to make response,And with fatigue my lips did fashion it.Weeping I said: “The things that present wereWith their false pleasure turned aside my steps,Soon as your countenance concealed itself.”And she: “Shouldst thou be silent, or denyWhat thou confessest, not less manifestWould be thy fault, by such a Judge ’tis known.But when from one’s own cheeks comes bursting forthThe accusal of the sin, in our tribunalAgainst the edge the wheel doth turn itself.But still, that thou mayst feel a greater shameFor thy transgression, and another timeHearing the Sirens thou mayst be more strong,Cast down the seed of weeping and attend;So shalt thou hear, how in an opposite wayMy buried flesh should have directed thee.Never to thee presented art or naturePleasure so great as the fair limbs whereinI was enclosed, which scattered are in earth.And if the highest pleasure thus did fail theeBy reason of my death, what mortal thingShould then have drawn thee into its desire?Thou oughtest verily at the first shaftOf things fallacious to have risen upTo follow me, who was no longer such.Thou oughtest not to have stooped thy pinions downwardTo wait for further blows, or little girl,Or other vanity of such brief use.The callow birdlet waits for two or three,But to the eyes of those already fledged,In vain the net is spread or shaft is shot.”Even as children silent in their shameStand listening with their eyes upon the ground,And conscious of their fault, and penitent;So was I standing; and she said: “If thouIn hearing sufferest pain, lift up thy beardAnd thou shalt feel a greater pain in seeing.”With less resistance is a robust holmUprooted, either by a native windOr else by that from regions of Iarbas,Than I upraised at her command my chin;And when she by the beard the face demanded,Well I perceived the venom of her meaning.And as my countenance was lifted up,Mine eye perceived those creatures beautifulHad rested from the strewing of the flowers;And, still but little reassured, mine eyesSaw Beatrice turned round towards the monster,That is one person only in two natures.Beneath her veil, beyond the margent green,She seemed to me far more her ancient selfTo excel, than others here, when she was here.So pricked me then the thorn of penitence,That of all other things the one which turned meMost to its love became the most my foe.Such self-conviction stung me at the heartO’erpowered I fell, and what I then becameShe knoweth who had furnished me the cause.Then, when the heart restored my outward sense,The lady I had found alone, above meI saw, and she was saying, “Hold me, hold me.”Up to my throat she in the stream had drawn me,And, dragging me behind her, she was movingUpon the water lightly as a shuttle.When I was near unto the blessed shore,“Asperges me,” I heard so sweetly sung,Remember it I cannot, much less write it.The beautiful lady opened wide her arms,Embraced my head, and plunged me underneath,Where I was forced to swallow of the water.Then forth she drew me, and all dripping broughtInto the dance of the four beautiful,And each one with her arm did cover me.‘We here are Nymphs, and in the Heaven are stars;Ere Beatrice descended to the world,We as her handmaids were appointed her.We’ll lead thee to her eyes; but for the pleasantLight that within them is, shall sharpen thineThe three beyond, who more profoundly look.’Thus singing they began; and afterwardsUnto the Griffin’s breast they led me with them,Where Beatrice was standing, turned towards us.“See that thou dost not spare thine eyes,” they said;“Before the emeralds have we stationed thee,Whence Love aforetime drew for thee his weapons.”A thousand longings, hotter than the flame,Fastened mine eyes upon those eyes relucent,That still upon the Griffin steadfast stayed.As in a glass the sun, not otherwiseWithin them was the twofold monster shining,Now with the one, now with the other nature.Think, Reader, if within myself I marvelled,When I beheld the thing itself stand still,And in its image it transformed itself.While with amazement filled and jubilant,My soul was tasting of the food, that whileIt satisfies us makes us hunger for it,Themselves revealing of the highest rankIn bearing, did the other three advance,Singing to their angelic saraband.“Turn, Beatrice, O turn thy holy eyes,”Such was their song, “unto thy faithful one,Who has to see thee ta’en so many steps.In grace do us the grace that thou unveilThy face to him, so that he may discernThe second beauty which thou dost conceal.”O splendour of the living light eternal!Who underneath the shadow of ParnassusHas grown so pale, or drunk so at its cistern,He would not seem to have his mind encumberedStriving to paint thee as thou didst appear,Where the harmonious heaven o’ershadowed thee,When in the open air thou didst unveil?
“O thou who art beyond the sacred river,”Turning to me the point of her discourse,That edgewise even had seemed to me so keen,
She recommenced, continuing without pause,“Say, say if this be true; to such a charge,Thy own confession needs must be conjoined.”
My faculties were in so great confusion,That the voice moved, but sooner was extinctThan by its organs it was set at large.
Awhile she waited; then she said: “What thinkest?Answer me; for the mournful memoriesIn thee not yet are by the waters injured.”
Confusion and dismay together mingledForced such a Yes! from out my mouth, that sightWas needful to the understanding of it.
Even as a cross-bow breaks, when ’tis dischargedToo tensely drawn the bowstring and the bow,And with less force the arrow hits the mark,
So I gave way beneath that heavy burden,Outpouring in a torrent tears and sighs,And the voice flagged upon its passage forth.
Whence she to me: “In those desires of mineWhich led thee to the loving of that good,Beyond which there is nothing to aspire to,
What trenches lying traverse or what chainsDidst thou discover, that of passing onwardThou shouldst have thus despoiled thee of the hope?
And what allurements or what vantagesUpon the forehead of the others showed,That thou shouldst turn thy footsteps unto them?”
After the heaving of a bitter sigh,Hardly had I the voice to make response,And with fatigue my lips did fashion it.
Weeping I said: “The things that present wereWith their false pleasure turned aside my steps,Soon as your countenance concealed itself.”
And she: “Shouldst thou be silent, or denyWhat thou confessest, not less manifestWould be thy fault, by such a Judge ’tis known.
But when from one’s own cheeks comes bursting forthThe accusal of the sin, in our tribunalAgainst the edge the wheel doth turn itself.
But still, that thou mayst feel a greater shameFor thy transgression, and another timeHearing the Sirens thou mayst be more strong,
Cast down the seed of weeping and attend;So shalt thou hear, how in an opposite wayMy buried flesh should have directed thee.
Never to thee presented art or naturePleasure so great as the fair limbs whereinI was enclosed, which scattered are in earth.
And if the highest pleasure thus did fail theeBy reason of my death, what mortal thingShould then have drawn thee into its desire?
Thou oughtest verily at the first shaftOf things fallacious to have risen upTo follow me, who was no longer such.
Thou oughtest not to have stooped thy pinions downwardTo wait for further blows, or little girl,Or other vanity of such brief use.
The callow birdlet waits for two or three,But to the eyes of those already fledged,In vain the net is spread or shaft is shot.”
Even as children silent in their shameStand listening with their eyes upon the ground,And conscious of their fault, and penitent;
So was I standing; and she said: “If thouIn hearing sufferest pain, lift up thy beardAnd thou shalt feel a greater pain in seeing.”
With less resistance is a robust holmUprooted, either by a native windOr else by that from regions of Iarbas,
Than I upraised at her command my chin;And when she by the beard the face demanded,Well I perceived the venom of her meaning.
And as my countenance was lifted up,Mine eye perceived those creatures beautifulHad rested from the strewing of the flowers;
And, still but little reassured, mine eyesSaw Beatrice turned round towards the monster,That is one person only in two natures.
Beneath her veil, beyond the margent green,She seemed to me far more her ancient selfTo excel, than others here, when she was here.
So pricked me then the thorn of penitence,That of all other things the one which turned meMost to its love became the most my foe.
Such self-conviction stung me at the heartO’erpowered I fell, and what I then becameShe knoweth who had furnished me the cause.
Then, when the heart restored my outward sense,The lady I had found alone, above meI saw, and she was saying, “Hold me, hold me.”
Up to my throat she in the stream had drawn me,And, dragging me behind her, she was movingUpon the water lightly as a shuttle.
When I was near unto the blessed shore,“Asperges me,” I heard so sweetly sung,Remember it I cannot, much less write it.
The beautiful lady opened wide her arms,Embraced my head, and plunged me underneath,Where I was forced to swallow of the water.
Then forth she drew me, and all dripping broughtInto the dance of the four beautiful,And each one with her arm did cover me.
‘We here are Nymphs, and in the Heaven are stars;Ere Beatrice descended to the world,We as her handmaids were appointed her.
We’ll lead thee to her eyes; but for the pleasantLight that within them is, shall sharpen thineThe three beyond, who more profoundly look.’
Thus singing they began; and afterwardsUnto the Griffin’s breast they led me with them,Where Beatrice was standing, turned towards us.
“See that thou dost not spare thine eyes,” they said;“Before the emeralds have we stationed thee,Whence Love aforetime drew for thee his weapons.”
A thousand longings, hotter than the flame,Fastened mine eyes upon those eyes relucent,That still upon the Griffin steadfast stayed.
As in a glass the sun, not otherwiseWithin them was the twofold monster shining,Now with the one, now with the other nature.
Think, Reader, if within myself I marvelled,When I beheld the thing itself stand still,And in its image it transformed itself.
While with amazement filled and jubilant,My soul was tasting of the food, that whileIt satisfies us makes us hunger for it,
Themselves revealing of the highest rankIn bearing, did the other three advance,Singing to their angelic saraband.
“Turn, Beatrice, O turn thy holy eyes,”Such was their song, “unto thy faithful one,Who has to see thee ta’en so many steps.
In grace do us the grace that thou unveilThy face to him, so that he may discernThe second beauty which thou dost conceal.”
O splendour of the living light eternal!Who underneath the shadow of ParnassusHas grown so pale, or drunk so at its cistern,
He would not seem to have his mind encumberedStriving to paint thee as thou didst appear,Where the harmonious heaven o’ershadowed thee,
When in the open air thou didst unveil?