Purgatorio
The River Lethe. Matilda. The Nature of the Terrestrial Paradise. Eager already to search
Into the heavenly forest, dense and living-green,
which softened the newborn day for my eyes,
I left the riverbank without delay,
walking slowly across the level ground
over soil that breathed fragrance everywhere.
A gentle breeze that never changed
struck my forehead no harder than a soft wind.
The branches, trembling lightly in the air,
all swayed toward the side where the Holy Mountain
cast its first shadow, yet stayed upright enough
that the small birds perched on their tops
never stopped practicing their songs.
With pure delight they welcomed the dawn hours,
singing among leaves that kept perfect time,
like the sound that gathers from branch to branch
through the pine forest along Chiassi's shore
when the wind god releases the south wind.
My slow steps had already carried me
so deep into the ancient wood
that I could no longer see where I'd entered.
Then a stream blocked my path,
bending leftward with small waves
that pressed down the grass along its banks.
All the clearest waters on earth
would seem clouded in comparison
to this stream that concealed nothing,
though it flowed with a dark current
under perpetual shade that never let in
a ray of sun or moon.
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TERRESTRIAL PARADISE
“bending leftward with small waves / that pressed down the grass along its banks. / All the clearest waters on earth”
I stopped walking and let my eyes travel
across the stream to see
the rich variety of fresh blooms.
And there appeared to me—as suddenly
as something that drives away all other thoughts
through pure wonder—a woman walking alone,
singing and gathering flower after flower
that painted her entire path with color.
"Beautiful lady, who warms herself
in love's rays," I called to her,
"if I can trust what I see in your face,
which usually reveals the heart's truth,
would you draw near this riverbank
so I might hear what you're singing?
You remind me of where Proserpina was
and what she was doing when her mother lost her
and she herself lost the spring."
Like a dancing woman who turns
with feet pressed together to the ground,
barely placing one foot before the other,
she turned toward me among the red and yellow flowers
the way a maiden casts down modest eyes.
She granted my request, coming so close
that the sweet sound reached me
along with its meaning.
When she reached the place where grass
is bathed by the beautiful river's waters,
she gave me the gift of lifting her eyes.
I don't think such brilliant light ever shone
beneath Venus's eyelids when her son
pierced her with his arrow.
Standing upright on the far bank, she smiled,
holding in her hands the many colors
that this high land produces without seeds.
The river kept us three paces apart—
but the Hellespont, where Xerxes crossed
(still a lesson for human pride),
never suffered more hatred from Leander
for rolling between Sestos and Abydos
than I felt for that stream because it wouldn't open.
"You are newcomers," she began, "and perhaps
because I smile here in this place
chosen as humanity's true home,
some wonder keeps you marveling.
But the psalm 'You have made me glad' gives light
that can clear the clouds from your understanding.
And you who stand in front and asked me to come near—
speak if you want to hear more.
I came ready to answer all your questions."
"The water and the forest's sound," I said,
"are battling in me against new faith
in something I heard that contradicts this."
"I will tell you how the cause produces
what makes you wonder," she replied,
"and clear away the cloud that strikes you.
The Supreme Good, delighting in itself alone,
created humanity good, and gave this lovely place
as a pledge of eternal peace.
Through human failure, we stayed here briefly;
through human failure, innocent laughter and sweet play
were changed to weeping and toil.
So that the disturbances made below
by vapors from earth and water
following heat as far as they can
might wage no war against humanity,
this mountain rose so high toward heaven
and stands free from the point where it is sealed.
Now since the universal atmosphere
turns in a circle with the primal motion,
unless that circle breaks somewhere,
upon this height that stands entirely free
in living air, this motion strikes
and makes the forest sound because it's dense.
The struck plant has such power
that it fills the air with its essence,
and the air, revolving, scatters this around.
The earth below, according to its worth
in soil or climate, conceives and bears
different trees of different qualities.
Hearing this, it shouldn't seem miraculous
when any plant takes root on earth
without visible seed.
And you must know this sacred plateau
where you stand is full of every seed,
and bears fruit never harvested elsewhere.
The water you see doesn't spring from veins
restored by vapor that cold condenses,
like a stream that gains or loses strength,
but flows from a fountain sure and constant
that regains by God's will as much
as it pours out on two sides.
On this side it descends with the power
to take away all memory of sin;
on the other side, it restores memory of every good deed.
Here it's called Lethe, on the other side Eunoe,
and it doesn't work unless first tasted
on both sides.
This surpasses every other taste.
And though your thirst might be satisfied
without my revealing more,
I'll give you one more grace as gift—
I don't think my words will be less dear to you
if they go beyond what I promised.
Those who in ancient times sang of
the Golden Age and its happiness
perhaps dreamed of this place on Parnassus.
Here the human race lived in innocence;
here spring was eternal, and every fruit;
this is the nectar everyone speaks of."
I turned completely around to my guides
and saw that they had been listening
to these final words with smiles.
Then I turned my eyes back to the beautiful lady.