Purgatorio VI

The loser, when a game of dice breaks up,
despondent, often lingers there as he,

learning the hard way, replays all his throws.

The crowd leaves with the winner: some in front,
some tugging at him from behind, the rest
close to his side beg to be recognized.

He keeps on going, listening to them all;
the ones who get a handout will not push,
and this is his protection from the crowd.

I was that man caught in a begging throng,

turning my face toward one and then the next,

buying my way out with my promises.

I saw the Aretine who met his death

at the revengeful hand of Ghin di Tacco;

I saw that soul who drowned giving pursuit.

I saw with hands outstretched, imploring me,
Federigo Novello, and the Pisan, too,

whose death inspired good Marzucco's strength.

I saw Count Orso, and I saw that soul
torn from its body, so he said, by hate
and envy — not for any wrong he did:

Pierre de la Brosse, I mean. And while still here
on earth, the Lady of Brabant might well
take care lest she end up in fouler flock.

Once I had freed myself from all those shades
who prayed only that others pray for them
and thus quicken their way to bliss, I said:

"It seems to me that somewhere in your verse,
you, O my Light, deny explicitly
the power of prayer to bend the laws of Heaven;

yet these souls ask precisely for such prayers.

Does this, then, mean their hopes are all in vain?
Or have I failed to understand your words?"

And he: "What I once wrote means what it says;
yet, if you think about it carefully,
you must see that their hopes are not deceived.

High justice would in no way be debased
if ardent love should cancel instantly
the debt these penitents must satisfy.

The words of mine you cite apply alone

to those whose sins could not be purged by prayer,
because their prayers had no access to God.

Do not try to resolve so deep a doubt;
wait until she shall make it clearer — she,
the light between truth and intelligence.

You understand me: I mean Beatrice,
she will appear upon this mountain top;
you will behold her smiling in her bliss."

I said: "My lord, let us make greater haste:
I'm not as tired as I was before;
and look! The mountain casts a shadow now."

"As long as daylight lasts we shall move on,
climbing as far as possible," he said,
"but things are not the way you think they are.

Before you reach the top you'll see the sun
come out from where the slope is hiding him,
preventing you from casting any shade.

But see that spirit stationed over there,
all by himself, the one who looks at us;
he will show us the quickest way to go."

We made our way toward him. (O Lombard soul,
how stately and disdainful you appeared,
what majesty was in your steady gaze!)

He did not say a word to us, but let
us keep on moving up toward him, while he
was watching like a couchant lion on guard.

But Virgil went straight up to him and asked
directions for the best way to ascend.
The shade ignored the question put to him,

asking of us, instead, where we were born
and who we were. My gentle guide began:
"Mantua ..." And the other, until then

all self-absorbed, sprang to his feet and came
toward him: "O Mantuan, I am Sordello
of your own town" — and the two shades embraced.

(Ah, slavish Italy, the home of grief,

ship without pilot caught in a raging storm,
no queen of provinces — whorehouse of shame!

How quick that noble soul was to respond
to the mere sound of his sweet city's name,
by welcoming his fellow citizen —

while, now, no one within your bounds knows rest
from war, and those enclosed by the same wall
and moat, even they are at each other's throats!

O wretched Italy, search all your coasts,
probe to your very center: can you find
within you any part that is at peace?

What matter if Justinian repaired

the bridle — if the saddle's empty now!

The shame would have been less if he had not.

You priests who should pursue your holiness,
remembering what God prescribes for you,
let Caesar take the saddle as he should —

see how this beast has grown viciously wild,
without the rider's spurs to set her straight,
since you dared take the reins into your hands!

O German Albert, you abandon her,
allowing her, ungoverned, to run wild.
You should have been astride her saddle-bow!

Let a just judgment fall down from the stars
upon your house: one unmistakable
and strange enough to terrify your heir!

You and your sire, whom greed for greater wealth
holds back up there, have let this come to pass :
the garden of the Empire is laid waste.

Come see the Cappelletti, callous heart,
see the Monaldi, the Montecchi ruined,
the Filippeschi fearful of their fate.

Come, heartless one, come see your noblemen

who suffer; help them heal their wounds; come see
how safe it is to dwell in Santafior.

Come see your city, Rome, in mourning now,
widowed, alone, lamenting night and day:
"My Caesar, why have you abandoned me?"

Come see how people love each other now!
If you cannot be moved to pity us,
then come and feel the shame your name has earned!

O Jove Supreme, crucified here on earth
for all mankind, have I the right to ask
if Your just eyes no longer look on us?

Or is this part of a great plan conceived
in Your deep intellect, to some good end
that we are powerless to understand?

For all the towns of Italy are filled

with tyrants: any dolt who plays the role
of partisan can pass for a Marcellus.

Florence, my Florence! How happy you must be
with this digression, for you're not involved —
thank your resourceful citizens for that!

Some men have justice in their hearts; they think
before they shoot their judgments from the bow —
your people merely shoot off words about it!

Some men think twice when offered public post;
your citizens accept before they're asked,
shouting, "I'll gladly sacrifice- myself!"

Rejoice, I say to you, you have good cause,
rich as you are, so wise, knowing such peace!
The facts bear out the truth of what I say. ijs

Athens and Lacedaemon, still well known
for ancient laws and civil discipline,

showed but the faintest signs of order then

compared to you, who plan so cleverly
that by the time November is half done
the laws spun in October are in shreds.

How often within memory have you changed
coinage and customs, laws and offices,

and members of your body politic!

Think back, and if you see the truth, you'll see
that you are like a woman, very sick,

who finds no rest on her soft, sumptuous bed,
but turns and tosses to escape her pain.)