Purgatorio
Reproaches of Beatrice and Confession of Dante. The Passage of Lethe. The Seven Virtues. The Griffon. "
"You who stand beyond the sacred river,"
she said, turning toward me the sharp point
of words that even sideways had cut deep,
continuing without pause: "Speak now, speak—
is this true? Such an accusation
demands your own confession joined to it."
My mind was thrown into such confusion
that my voice stirred but died before
it could escape through lips and throat.
She waited briefly, then said: "What are you thinking?
Answer me—your painful memories
have not yet been washed away by these waters."
Confusion tangled with dismay
forced such a feeble "Yes" from my mouth
that you'd need eyes to understand the sound.
Like a crossbow that snaps when fired
with string and frame drawn far too tight,
sending its arrow weakly to the mark,
so I collapsed beneath that crushing weight,
bursting into a flood of tears and sighs,
my voice failing as it tried to form.
Then she said: "In those desires of mine
that led you to love the highest good—
beyond which nothing greater can be sought—
what ditches did you find blocking your path,
what chains did you discover
that you stripped yourself of hope to pass beyond?
What attractions, what advantages
did you see written on the faces of others
that made you turn your steps toward them?"
After heaving one bitter sigh,
I barely found voice enough to answer,
my lips struggling to shape the words.
Weeping, I said: "The things right before me,
with their false pleasures, led my steps astray
the moment your face was hidden from me."
She replied: "If you stayed silent or denied
what you confess, your guilt would be no less visible—
it's known by such a Judge as this.
But when the accusation of sin
bursts forth from one's own lips,
in our court the grinding wheel turns back against the blade.
Still, so you may bear greater shame
for your transgression, and next time
be stronger when you hear the Sirens' song,
cast aside this seed of weeping and listen—
you'll hear how my buried flesh
should have guided you the opposite way.
Never did art or nature offer you
pleasure as great as the beautiful body
that once enclosed me, now scattered in earth.
If that highest pleasure failed you
through my death, what mortal thing
should then have drawn you into its desire?
At the very first arrow shot
by deceptive things, you should have risen up
to follow me, who was no longer such.
You should not have bent your wings downward
to wait for more wounds—whether from some girl
or other vanity of such brief worth.
The young bird waits for two or three shots,
but before the eyes of those full-grown,
nets are spread and arrows shot in vain."
Like children standing silent in their shame,
eyes fixed on the ground,
aware of their fault and truly sorry—
that's how I stood. She said: "Since hearing
causes you such pain, lift up your chin
and you'll feel greater pain in seeing."
A mighty oak is uprooted with less resistance,
whether by wind from home
or from the lands of North Africa,
than I raised my face at her command.
When she called for my face by naming my beard,
I caught the full venom of her meaning.
As my face lifted up,
my eyes saw those beautiful creatures
had stopped scattering their flowers.
Still barely reassured, my eyes
saw Beatrice turned toward the beast
that is one person in two natures.
Beneath her veil, beyond the green margin,
she seemed to surpass her former self
more than she had surpassed all others when alive.
The thorn of remorse pierced me so sharply then
that whatever had most turned me to its love
became the thing I hated most.
Such self-knowledge stung my heart—
I collapsed, overcome. What I became then
is known to her who caused it.
When my heart restored my outward senses,
I saw above me the lady I had found alone,
saying, "Hold on to me, hold on."
She had drawn me into the stream up to my throat,
and pulling me behind her, moved
across the water light as a shuttle.
When I neared the blessed shore,
I heard "Cleanse me" sung so sweetly
I cannot remember it, much less write it down.
The beautiful lady opened her arms wide,
embraced my head, and plunged me under
where I was forced to swallow the water.
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SUBMERSION IN LETHE
“The beautiful lady opened her arms wide, / embraced my head, and plunged me under / where I was forced to swallow the water.”
Then she pulled me out and brought me, dripping,
into the dance of the four beautiful ones—
each covering me with her arm.
"Here we are nymphs, in heaven we are stars.
Before Beatrice descended to the world,
we were appointed as her handmaids.
We'll bring you to her eyes, but the three beyond,
who see more deeply, will sharpen yours
for the joyful light that shines within them."
Singing this way, they began, then led me
to the griffin's breast,
where Beatrice stood facing us.
"See that you don't spare your eyes," they said.
"We've placed you before the emeralds
from which Love once drew his weapons aimed at you."
A thousand desires, hotter than flame,
fixed my eyes on those shining eyes
that stayed steady on the griffin.
Like the sun reflected in a mirror,
the double-natured creature shone within them,
sometimes showing one nature, sometimes the other.
Think, reader, how amazed I was
to see the thing itself standing still
while transforming in its reflection.
As my soul, filled with wonder and joy,
tasted that food which satisfies
yet makes us hunger for more,
the other three, revealing by their bearing
they were of the highest rank,
came forward dancing to their angelic song:
"Turn, Beatrice, turn your holy eyes
toward your faithful one
who has taken so many steps to see you.
Do us the grace to unveil
your face to him, so he may see
the second beauty you keep hidden."
O splendor of eternal living light!
Who has grown so pale beneath Parnassus' shadow,
or drunk so deeply from its spring,
that his mind would not seem overwhelmed
trying to paint you as you appeared
when harmonious heaven cast its shade over you
and you unveiled yourself in the open air?