Purgatorio
Those who died by Violence, but repentant. Jacopo del Cassero. Buonconte da Montefeltro. La Pia.
I left those spirits behind and followed my guide,
when someone from the group pointed at me and shouted:
"Look! The sunlight doesn't shine through his left side—
he moves like a living man!"
At these words I turned
and saw them staring in amazement
at me, only me, and at the light my body blocked.
"Why does your mind get so distracted,"
my master said, "that you slow your pace?
What does it matter what they whisper here?
Follow me, and let people talk.
Stand like a tower that never sways
its peak no matter how the winds blow.
The person who lets thought pile upon thought
always moves further from his goal—
each new worry weakens his resolve."
What could I answer except "I'm coming"?
I said it with that flush of color
that sometimes makes a person worthy of forgiveness.
Meanwhile, a little ahead of us on the mountainside,
people approached singing the *Miserere* verse by verse.
When they noticed I cast no shadow,
that sunlight couldn't pass through my body,
their song changed to a long, hoarse "Oh!"
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THE LATE REPENTERS
“When they noticed I cast no shadow, / that sunlight couldn't pass through my body, / their song changed to a long, hoarse "Oh!"”
Two of them, like messengers,
ran toward us and asked:
"Tell us about your condition."
My master replied: "You can return
to those who sent you with this message:
this one's body is made of living flesh.
If they stopped because they saw his shadow,
as I suspect, that's answer enough.
Let them honor him—it may benefit them."
I've never seen flames streak so swiftly
through clear air at early nightfall,
or August clouds race at sunset,
but they returned even faster than that,
and when they arrived, they wheeled with the others
toward us like cavalry charging without reins.
"This crowd pressing toward us is vast
and comes to make requests of you," the poet said.
"Keep walking, but listen as you go."
"O soul traveling toward blessedness
in the same body you were born with!"
they shouted as they approached.
"Slow your steps a little.
Look—have you ever seen any of us,
so you can carry news of us back there?
Why do you keep going? Why not stay?
We were all killed by violence long ago,
sinners right until our final hour.
Then heavenly light warned us,
so we died both repentant and forgiving,
departing life reconciled with God,
who fills our hearts with longing to see Him."
I answered: "Though I study your faces,
I don't recognize anyone. But if there's anything
I can do for you, noble spirits,
speak, and I'll do it—I swear by that peace
which, following such a guide,
draws me from world to world."
One began: "We all trust
in your kindness without need for oaths,
unless inability prevents your will.
So I, speaking for all the others,
beg you: if you ever see that land
between Romagna and Charles's kingdom,
be so gracious as to ask those in Fano
to pray devoutly for me,
that I may purge away my grave sins.
I was from there, but the deep wounds
that drained the blood where my life resided
were dealt to me among the Antenori,
where I thought I was most secure.
He of Este had it done—his hatred
went far beyond what justice required.
If I had fled toward the Mira
when they overtook me at Oriaco,
I'd still be breathing up there.
Instead I ran toward the marsh, where reeds and mud
so entangled me that I fell
and watched a lake form from my veins on the ground."
Then another said: "May that desire
that draws you up the lofty mountain be fulfilled,
as you help mine with compassionate pity.
I was from Montefeltro—I'm Buonconte.
Giovanna and no one else cares for me,
so I walk among these with downcast face."
I asked him: "What violence or chance
led you so far astray from Campaldino
that your burial place was never found?"
"At the foot of the Casentino," he replied,
"flows a river called the Archiano,
born above the hermitage in the Apennines.
Where that river loses its name,
I arrived with my throat pierced through,
fleeing on foot and bloodying the plain.
There I lost my sight, and my voice
ended with Mary's name. There I fell,
and my flesh remained empty.
I'll tell you the truth—repeat it to the living:
God's angel took me up, but the one from hell
shouted: 'You from heaven! Why do you rob me?
You carry away his eternal part
for one small tear that takes him from me,
but I'll deal with the rest differently!'
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BUONCONTE DA MONTEFELTRO
“You carry away his eternal part / for one small tear that takes him from me,”
You know how humid vapor gathers in the air
and turns to water as soon as it rises
where the cold seizes it.
He joined that evil will, which always seeks evil,
to intelligence, and stirred the mist and wind
with the power his nature gave him.
When day was spent, he covered the valley
from Pratomagno to the great ridge with fog,
and made the sky above so dense
that the pregnant air changed to water.
Rain fell, and whatever the earth couldn't absorb
flowed into the gullies.
As it merged with the mighty torrents,
it rushed headlong toward the royal river
with such speed that nothing could stop it.
The swollen Archiano found my frozen body
near its mouth, swept it into the Arno,
and loosened from my chest the cross
I'd made with my arms when pain overcame me.
It rolled me along banks and bottom,
then covered and wrapped me with its debris."
After this second spirit, a third followed:
"When you've returned to the world
and rested from your long journey,
remember me—I am Pia.
Siena made me; the Maremma unmade me.
He knows this well, who first encircled
my finger with his jewel when he married me."
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PIA
“He knows this well, who first encircled / my finger with his jewel when he married me."”