Purgatorio
The Sculptures on the Pavement. Ascent to the Second Circle. Abreast, like oxen going
Yoked together, I walked on with that soul heavy with burden,
as long as my gentle teacher allowed.
But when he said, "Leave him and move forward—
here it's best that each soul push his own boat
with sail and oars, as much as he is able,"
I straightened my body upright, ready to walk,
though my thoughts remained downcast and ashamed within me.
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THE PRIDEFUL—ODERISI
“Yoked together, I walked on with that soul heavy with burden, / as long as my gentle teacher allowed.”
I had begun moving, willingly following
my Master's footsteps, and we both
already showed how light our steps had become,
when he said to me: "Cast your eyes downward.
To make the journey easier for you,
look at the ground beneath your feet."
Just as tombs above the buried dead
bear carved upon them what those souls once were,
so that we often weep for them anew
when memory's sharp point spurs our compassion—
so I saw there, but crafted with far greater skill,
figures covering whatever path jutted from the mountain.
I saw him who was created most noble
of all creatures, falling from heaven
like flaming lightning on one side.
I saw Briareus struck by heaven's dart,
lying on the other side,
heavy upon the earth in mortal cold.
I saw Thymbraeus, Pallas, and Mars,
still armed around their father,
gazing at the giants' scattered limbs.
I saw Nimrod at the foot of his great work,
bewildered, looking at the people
who had shared his pride in Shinar.
O Niobe! With what sorrowful eyes
I saw you traced upon the path,
between your seven sons and seven daughters slain!
O Saul! How you appeared there, fallen
lifeless upon your own sword in Gilboa,
which felt no rain or dew thereafter!
O mad Arachne! So I saw you,
already half-spider, grieving
over the threads you wove in your cursed hour!
O Rehoboam! Your image there no longer threatens—
filled with terror, a chariot carries it away
though no one pursues!
The adamantine pavement showed how Alcmaeon
made that fatal ornament costly
to his own mother.
It showed how Sennacherib's own sons
threw themselves upon him in the temple,
and how they left him dead there.
It displayed the ruin and cruel carnage
Tomyris wrought when she told Cyrus,
"You thirsted for blood—now I glut you with blood!"
It showed the Assyrians fleeing in rout
after Holofernes was slain,
and the remnants of that slaughter.
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ARACHNE
“though no one pursues! / The adamantine pavement showed how Alcmaeon”
I saw Troy there, reduced to ash and ruins.
O Ilion! How abject and debased
you appeared in the image carved there!
What master of brush or stylus could have portrayed
the shadows and features that would make
any subtle genius marvel?
The dead seemed dead, the living seemed alive.
I saw no better than the truth itself
as I walked bent over, treading on it all.
Now be proud, you sons of Eve,
and walk with faces lifted high,
and do not bow down to see your evil paths!
We had circled more of the mountain now,
and the sun's course was far more spent
than my preoccupied mind had imagined,
when he who always walked watchfully ahead
began: "Lift up your head.
This is no time to walk lost in thought.
Look—an Angel hurries toward us,
and the sixth handmaiden returns
from her service of the day.
Make your actions and looks reverent
so he may delight to speed us upward.
Remember, this day will never dawn again."
I was used to his warnings
never to waste time, so on this matter
he could not speak to me obscurely.
The beautiful being came toward us
clothed in white, his face
like the trembling morning star.
He opened his arms and spread his wings.
"Come," he said, "the steps are near,
and from now on the climb is easy."
To this invitation, how few respond!
O human creatures, born to fly on high,
why do you fall before a little wind?
He led us where the rock was split.
There he struck my forehead with his wings
and promised me safe passage.
As on the right side of the mountain
where the church sits that rules
over the well-governed city, above Rubaconte,
the bold steepness of the ascent is broken
by stairs built in that age
when ledger and measuring rod were still safe—
so the bank that falls sheer
from the second circle here is made gentler,
though the high rock still scrapes both sides.
As we turned our bodies toward it,
voices sang "Blessed are the poor in spirit"
so beautifully that words could not tell it.
Ah, how different these entrances are
from Hell's! Here one enters with hymns,
below with wild laments.
We were climbing the sacred stairs now,
and it seemed far easier to me
than it had appeared on the plain below.
So I said: "Master, tell me what heavy thing
has been lifted from me, that I hardly
feel any fatigue in walking?"
He answered: "When the P's that still remain
on your forehead, now nearly faded,
are completely erased like the first one,
your feet will be so conquered by good will
that they will not only feel no weariness
but will find climbing upward a delight."
Then I did as those do who walk
with something on their head unknown to them,
unless others' signs make them suspicious—
so the hand helps to find out,
searching and discovering, fulfilling the task
that sight cannot accomplish.
With the fingers of my right hand spread,
I found only six of the letters
that he who bears the keys had carved
upon my forehead.
Seeing this, my Guide smiled.