Adapted from The Divine Comedy (structural adaptation)
The Recursive Compilation of the Cosmos
Inferno, Purgatorio, Paradiso
The Dark Wood and the Rational Guide
At the exact midpoint of our mortal pilgrimage across the terrestrial sphere, I awoke to find myself trapped within the tangled depths of a sunless, suffocating forest, having wandered blindness-stricken from the direct path that leadeth upward toward rectitude. Even now, the mere recollection of that desolate labyrinth of thorn and shadow sends an icy shudder through my mortal veins, renewing the bitter agony that borders upon death itself.
How my feet first crossed the threshold of that unhallowed wood I cannot truly recount, so heavy was the unnatural slumber that clouded my intellect at the very moment when I abandoned the true way. Yet when my stumbling steps had carried me to the foot of a towering hill where the valley terminated—that dreadful hollow which had pierced my soul with unrelenting terror—I lifted my weary eyes toward the heights above.
There, crowning the rugged shoulders of the mountain, bathed in the pure, orient light of the rising sun, shone the golden mantle of that celestial planet which leadeth mortal wanderers aright along every earthly pathway. At that radiant vision, the primal dread that had pooled within the chambers of my heart throughout that night of bitter weeping began to abate, granting my exhausted spirit a fleeting respite.
Just as a shipwrecked swimmer, who has struggled through the roaring surge with gasping breath, drags his battered limbs onto the dry shore and turns backward to gaze upon the perilous expanse of deep waters that no living soul has ever crossed without perishing, so my trembling mind turned backward to survey the savage woodland from whose shadowed clutches no mortal traveler had ever escaped alive.
Having rested my weary flesh for a brief heartbeat, I resumed my ascent across the deserted slope, planting my lower foot ever firmly upon the stony ground to maintain my balance against the steep gradient. Yet scarcely had I begun to scale the rugged incline when a lithe, spotted leopard sprang forth from the briars, remarkably swift and agile, clothed in a shimmering pelt of variegated rings.
The spotted beast refused to yield the mountain path, leaping before my face with playful yet relentless persistence, repeatedly forcing me to turn backward toward the gloom of the abyss. The morning was young, and the radiant sun was ascending with those benevolent stars that accompanied his golden chariot when Divine Love first set those beauteous works in cosmic motion, filling my heart with hope against the gay skin of the predator.
Yet that fragile hope was violently shattered when a second terror materialized upon the crest: a colossal lion advanced toward me with head held high in ravenous pride, the air trembling before his furious roars as though the very atmosphere were paralyzed with dread. His hollow flanks quivered with insatiable hunger, his amber eyes burning with an unyielding lust for dominion.
Close upon his heels prowled a third and deadlier horror: a gaunt, emaciated she-wolf whose hollow ribs seemed laden with all the ravenous cravings of mortal history. Though starved to the bone, she had already driven countless kingdoms into desolate ruin; and from her yellow, unblinking glare emanated such an overwhelming weight of despair that all hope of scaling the sunlit summit died within my breast.
Driven backward step by step by that rapacious predator into the sunless depths where the golden light is forever silent, I tumbled headlong toward the valley floor, my knees trembling and my breath choked with dust. As I fell into the gloom, my tear-filled eyes beheld the shadowy silhouette of a figure standing motionless amidst the brambles, seeming faint and hoarse as from centuries of unbroken silence.
Seeing this solitary presence in the great wilderness, I cried aloud in desperation: 'Have mercy upon my wretched soul, whoever you may be, whether a living man of flesh and blood or a shade returned from the tomb!' The figure answered with calm and resonant authority: 'No living man am I, though once I was a man of mortal clay, born of Lombard parents beneath the reign of noble Julius, dwelling in Rome under the good Augustus in the age of false and lying gods.'
'A poet was I,' the shade continued with regal dignity, 'and I sang of that just son of Anchises, pious Aeneas, who sailed from the smoldering ruins of proud Ilium after her towering towers were reduced to ashes. But you, why do you turn backward toward this valley of torment? Why do you not scale the delightful mountain that is the fountainhead and cause of all consummate joy?'
Recognizing the master whose epic hexameters had shaped my youth, I bowed my head in weeping reverence: 'Are you indeed that venerable Virgil, that majestic fountain from whose lips flows so broad and glorious a river of human eloquence? O glory and radiant light of all poets, let the long devotion and deep love with which I have studied your monumental volume plead for me in this hour of mortal peril!'
'You are my beloved master, my supreme author, from whom alone I acquired that noble style of verse which has brought honor to my name upon the earth,' I lamented, pointing a trembling hand toward the snarling beast upon the trail. 'Behold the savage wolf that blocks my path! O wise and glorious sage, save me from her ravenous jaws, for she makes my veins and pulses quake with terror!'
Observing the weeping terror that shook my limbs, the Roman poet answered with grave compassion: 'A different voyage must you undertake, wandering traveler, if you desire to escape from this desolate wasteland alive; for this ferocious beast permits no living man to pass along her road, but entangles his footsteps until she destroys his flesh and marrow.'
'Her nature is so malevolent and insatiable that her ravenous appetite is never appeased; after gorging upon prey, she hungers more fiercely than before. Many are the creatures with whom she couples in shameful traffic, and many more shall they be, until the sacred Greyhound arrives from heaven to hunt her down through every city and drive her back into the eternal abyss from which primordial envy first unleashed her upon the world.'
'Wherefore, for your eternal welfare, I judge and decree that you shall follow in my footsteps,' Virgil proclaimed with majestic resolve. 'I will be your guide and pilot through an eternal region of sorrow, where you shall behold the ancient shades tormented in unquenchable remorse, each lamenting that second death of the soul which knows no end nor reprieve.'
'And thereafter you shall behold those blessed spirits who rejoice amid the purifying flame, content to endure the refining agony because their hope is fixed upon joining the assembly of the blest in the fullness of time. And if your soul desires to ascend unto those celestial spheres of light, a spirit far worthier and more luminous than I shall assume your guidance when my earthly mandate expires.'
'For that Sovereign Emperor who reigns in the highest firmament,' Virgil confessed with noble sorrow, 'forbids that any soul should enter His celestial city through my guidance, because I lived a pagan rebel to His revealed law. In every corner of creation He governs by His decree, but there alone is His royal throne and imperial seat. O happy is the mortal whom He chooses to dwell within those radiant courts!'
Moved to my inmost core, I answered the poet with fervent devotion: 'Master, by that very God whom your earthly eyes knew not, I implore you to lead me forth from this valley of destruction, that I may escape both present ruin and eternal damnation! Guide my steps through those grim portals, that I may look upon the gate of Saint Peter and behold those miserable wretches whom you describe as lost in hopeless sorrow!'
Yet as the master set forth and I followed in his wake, a sudden paralysis of unworthy dread seized upon my fainting courage. The twilight was descending over the earth, releasing all living creatures from their diurnal labors, leaving me alone to sustain the double burden of that perilous journey and the heavy grief that unswerving memory must faithfully record.
'O Muses, O sublime genius of poetry, assist my trembling voice!' I prayed within my soul. Then turning to the Mantuan guide, I faltered: 'Poet, consider well my virtue and my strength before you commit my fragile flesh to this dreadful descent. Aeneas descended into the underworld while yet clothed in mortal corruption, but he was chosen by the Father of gods to found the imperial city of Rome; and the Apostle Paul ascended unto the third heaven to confirm the fledgling faith. But I—who am I to claim such privilege? I am not Aeneas, nor am I Paul!'
Discerning the cowardice that had unstrung my resolve, the magnanimous guide looked upon me with stern tenderness: 'If I have rightly understood your speech, your soul is sick with the disease of cowardice, which oft-times encumbers mortal men and turns them back from noble enterprise, as false vision terrifies a startled beast in the shadows of twilight. Let me unveil to your hearing why I came to your aid, and who moved my spirit in the hour of your distress.'
'I was dwelling among those suspended souls in Limbo who know neither torment nor hope,' Virgil recounted, 'when a lady of transcendent beauty, with eyes shining brighter than the morning star and a voice gentle and angelic as pure melody, descended into my presence. She called upon me by name: 'O courteous Mantuan poet, whose fame endures upon the earth and shall abide as long as time endures, my beloved friend—who is no friend of fickle Fortune—is so beset by peril on the desert slope that he turns backward in terror, and I fear he is already lost!''
'She revealed her name: 'I am Beatrice who commands you to go; Love moved my feet and prompts my speech. Divine Lucia and the Queen of Heaven took pity upon his plight, sending me down to snatch him from the brink of the abyss.' Hearkening to her tears, I hastened to your rescue. Wherefore do you tarry? Cast aside all fear, for three blessed ladies watch over your pilgrimage from the celestial courts!' At these words, my fainting heart revived like night-frosted flowers opening beneath the morning sun; and stepping forward with iron resolve, I cried: 'Lead on, my Master, my Leader, and my Lord!'
The Gate of Abandoned Hope
Carved into the somber stone of a colossal lintel looming before us in the twilight, these dreadful words appeared inscribed in characters of pitch-black fire. Reading that uncompromising decree of eternal doom, I turned to my master with a shudder of cold dread: 'Teacher, the sense of this dark inscription strikes terror into the core of my heart!' But the Mantuan sage answered with serene resolve: 'Here all distrust must be abandoned, and all cowardice must die upon the threshold.'
'We have arrived at that subterranean boundary whereof I spoke to you,' Virgil declared, laying his warm, reassuring hand upon mine with a look of paternal courage that revived my fainting spirit. 'Here you shall behold those miserable souls who have lost the ultimate good of the intellect.' And passing through the ancient gateway, he guided my living feet into the fathomless mysteries of the abyss.
No sooner had my steps crossed that fatal portal than a tempest of sighs, shrieks of anguish, and deep wailings resounded through the starless air, vibrating with such intolerable horror that bitter tears sprang unbidden to my eyes. Horrible dialects, strange blasphemies, words of burning pain, shouts of furious wrath, and the dull thudding of beating hands commingled into an eternal, deafening uproar that swirls forever through that air untainted by a single ray of dawn, like sands caught in the whirlwind.
Grasping my master's cloak in sheer bewilderment, I cried: 'Master, what terrible lamentation is this that pierces my ears? What manner of folk are these who seem so thoroughly vanquished by grief?' He answered with profound disdain: 'This wretched condition holds the sorrowful souls of those who lived their mortal days without infamy and without praise, never daring to choose between righteousness and vice.'
'Commingled with them are that base choir of opportunistic angels,' the poet continued, 'who were neither rebellious toward the Sovereign Emperor nor loyal to His throne, but stood apart, calculating solely for themselves. Heaven cast them out lest their lukewarm taint diminish its immaculate beauty; and the deep abyss of Hell refuseth them, lest the truly wicked feel some measure of pride over their contemptible mediocrity.'
I inquired: 'Master, what intolerable torment makes them lament so bitterly?' He answered: 'These contemptible creatures have no hope of death, and their blind, forgotten existence is so base that they envy every other doom. The world alloweth no report of them to endure; Mercy and Justice equally disdain them. Speak no more of these lukewarm shadows; but look, and pass on!'
Looking forward into the gloom, I beheld a blank, inscriptionless banner that darted across the darkness with such dizzying speed that it seemed scornful of all repose. Behind that purposeless standard rushed an endless, surging river of souls, so vast a multitude that I could never have believed that death had unmade so immense a host of mortal beings.
Peering through the murky vapors, I recognized the features of several shades, and among them I clearly distinguished the ghost of him who, through miserable cowardice, made the Great Refusal, abdicating his sacred office. Straightway I knew with certainty that this was that abhorrent band of cowards, equally hateful to the Almighty Father and to His adversaries.
These wretched beings, who never truly possessed the vigor of living men, were stripped naked and tormented incessantly by swarms of voracious hornets and stinging wasps that hovered above their heads. The cruel venom streaked their faces with dark blood, which, mingling with their bitter tears, trickled down to their feet, where a foul carpet of crawling worms gorged upon the gore.
Directing my gaze beyond that writhing multitude, I saw a mighty gathering of shades assembled upon the banks of a broad, ink-black river. Turning to the sage, I asked: 'Master, grant that I may know what river this is, and what decree of destiny compelleth these souls to show such frantic eagerness to cross the water, as I discern through this murky twilight?'
He answered: 'All these secrets shall be made plain to your intellect when our footsteps halt upon the mournful strand of the river Acheron.' Shamed by his gentle rebuke, I cast down my eyes in silence, walking with measured steps beside my guide until we reached the edge of that gloomy and desolate water.
Suddenly, skimming across the black surge toward our position, an ancient skiff approached, steered by an old man whose hair was white with primeval age, crying aloud with terrible fury: 'Woe unto you, depraved and wicked souls! Abandon all hope of ever beholding the starry heavens! I come to ferry you to the farther shore, into eternal night, into fire and ice!'
Fixing his burning glare upon my living frame, the demon boatman Charon shouted: 'And you, living spirit who standeth there among the dead, depart from this company!' But when he perceived that I did not move, he snarled: 'By other paths, by other ferries must you pass unto the shore; a lighter vessel must carry your weight across the waters!'
Virgil stepped between us and rebuked the ferryman with royal authority, invoking the supreme celestial machine protocol: 'Charon, quell your futile rage! Thus is it willed there where what is willed can be done, and demand no further question!' At those sovereign words, the shaggy cheeks of the pilot of the livid lake grew silent, though wheels of crimson flame still revolved within his demonic eyes.
Meanwhile, those weary, naked shades turned ashen pale and their teeth chattered with terror the instant they heard his merciless speech. They blasphemed the living Creator, their parents, the human race, the place, the hour, and the seed of their conception; then, weeping bitterly, the entire multitude rushed down toward the cursed shore that awaits every mortal who feareth not divine justice.
With eyes like smoldering coals, demonic Charon gathered them into his craft with imperious gestures, striking with his heavy oar every soul that lagged behind. Just as the crisp autumn leaves detach themselves from the bough one by one, until the naked branch beholds all its golden garments strewn upon the earth, so the wicked seed of Adam cast themselves from that strand into the boat at his signal, like falcons answering the call of the hunter.
As they drifted across the dark, oily water, and before they had touched the opposite shingle, a fresh throng of doomed souls began to assemble upon our shore. 'My son,' the courteous master explained, 'all those who die beneath the wrath of Heaven gather here from every corner of the earth; and they are eager to cross the stream, because divine Justice so spurs their conscience that their fear is transformed into frantic desire.'
No sooner had the sage ceased speaking than the subterranean earth trembled with a violent, earthquake-like convulsion; a crimson flash of subterranean lightning tore through the tear-dimmed air, shattering my conscious senses. Overwhelmed by sensory shock, my mortal knees buckled beneath me, and I fell headlong to the ground, sinking into a deep slumber like a man overcome by sudden death.
A deafening crash of thunder shattered the heavy stupor in my brain, jolting me awake as a sleeper is aroused by violent force. Rising to my feet and rubbing my weary eyes, I gazed intently into the abyss, discovering that my master had carried me across the river to the very brink of that dolorous chasm which collects the thunder of infinite lamentations.
So deep, dark, and cloudy was that pit of despair that, though I strained my vision into the abyss, I could discern nothing of its bottom. 'Now let us descend into the blind world below,' Virgil murmured, his cheeks blanching with extreme paleness; 'I will go first, and you shall follow second.' Noting his deathly pallor, I faltered in fear, but the poet comforted me: 'The anguish of the souls imprisoned below paints upon my face that pity which you mistake for dread.'
Thus we stepped into the first circle that girdles the abyss: the tranquil twilight of Limbo. Here, so far as my ears could perceive, there were no shrieks of agony, but only sighs of profound longing that caused the eternal air to tremble—the sighs of an immense multitude of babes, women, and men whose virtuous lives knew neither transgression nor baptism.
'You do not ask what spirits these are whom you behold,' the good master remarked. 'Know before you advance that they sinned not; yet their virtues were insufficient, for they lacked the waters of baptism, which is the portal of faith. And if they lived before the advent of the Redeemer, they worshipped not the true Creator aright; and of these unbaptized ancients, I myself am one.'
He revealed that because of this single deficiency, and for no other crime, they were lost without physical torment, suspended in eternal longing without hope. Hearing this, deep grief pierced my soul, for I knew that spirits of monumental worth were suspended in that twilight. Then Virgil recounted how a Mighty Conqueror, crowned with the trophy of victory, had once descended into Limbo to lead forth our first parent Adam, righteous Abel, Noah, Moses, and David, exalting them to celestial glory.
Passing through the shadowy meadow, we approached a luminous hemisphere of light that conquered the darkness of the pit. There, issuing from a magnificent castle encircled by seven high walls, four colossal shades advanced to greet Virgil: Homer, the sovereign poet bearing a sword; Horace, the satirist; Ovid; and Lucan. Saluting my master, they turned toward me with gracious honor, welcoming my mortal intellect as the sixth amid that supreme council of wisdom; and together we walked through the green enamel of the castle toward the second circle of the storm!
The Storm Vortex of Carnal Yearnings
Guided by my revered master's measured and solemn pace, I descended from the ancient castle of Limbo—the serene haven of the unbaptized sages—down into the narrower confines of the Second Circle. This tier encircled the infernal cone within a much smaller perimeter, yet the agony concentrated within its black circumference was magnified a thousandfold, giving rise to shrill wailings and piercing laments that struck terror into my mortal core.
There, upon the desolate threshold of the lower abyss, sat Minos, the dreadful magistrate of the underworld, grimacing fiercely with gnashing fangs. With an unpitying gaze, this ancient executor scrutinized the foul crimes of every arriving soul, extracting a full confession at the fatal portal, and determining with absolute precision the exact station of torment to which each condemned shade must be instantly hurled.
I watched in silent horror as the grim administrative ritual unfolded: each ill-fated spirit, born into the terrestrial sphere only to surrender to wickedness, was compelled to lay bare every dark transgression before this inexorable inquisitor. The judge of sins, perceiving instantly which circle of the pit corresponded to their moral corruption, allowed no deceit or prevarication to veil their guilt.
Then Minos would raise his monstrous, chitin-plated serpent tail, coiling it around his colossal frame; each completed loop of that scaled appendage signified the precise numerical depth of the abyss into which the damned soul was fated to plunge. This physical decree constituted the unalterable mandate of hell, and every tightening knot of his tail echoed like thunder against the cavernous rock.
A vast and naked multitude of shades stood incessantly before him, pressed forward like a tide of despair toward the seat of judgment. In turn, each confessed their secret shame, heard the grim verdict marked by the coiled tail, and was hurled violently into the bottomless gulf below. Day after day, this inexorable sorting proceeded without pause, consuming the fallen harvests of mortal mankind.
When Minos beheld my mortal countenance, breathing with warm blood and moving with living limbs, he abruptly paused his cruel labor, turning his snarling face upon me and crying out in harsh warning: Look well whither thou goest and in whom thou placest thy trust! Be not deceived by the spacious opening of this gate, for whoever enters here leaves all salvation forever behind!
My guide Virgil immediately stepped forward, confronting the monster with calm majesty and rebuking him with steady authority: Why dost thou bark so vainly, Minos? Seek not to hinder his fated pilgrimage! In that celestial court above, will and power are united as one, and whatever is willed there shall infallibly come to pass; therefore ask no further, and bar not our passage!
Passing beyond the threshold guarded by the grim beast, the heart-rending cries of the damned fell upon my ears in full force; I had entered a boundless, lightless hollow where all illumination was profoundly mute. Here, the elemental darkness swallowed every beam of radiance, leaving only an eternal night of howling torment as though the very eyes of creation had been extinguished.
A deafening roar vibrated through the chasm, resembling the violent fury of an ocean lashed by clashing tempests. The hellish hurricane, which never rests, manifested its pitiless power in this murky vault, sweeping the vast multitude of shades along in its howling vortex, tossing and whirling them without respite like withered leaves caught in an elemental tempest.
With irresistible fury, the black gale wheeled through the boundless vacuum, driving the helpless spirits through the air in headlong confusion; now pitching them toward the jagged roof of the chasm, now slamming them against the freezing stone. Amidst this ceaseless tumult, the shades collided and cried aloud, finding neither foothold nor a solitary second of relief.
Whenever the rushing tempest drove the spectral throng near the fractured ruins of the chasm—shattered long ago when heavenly judgment shook the pit—shrieks, groans, and desperate blasphemies against the sovereign Creator burst forth from their spectral lips, as they cursed in helpless rage the day of their birth and the earth that nurtured their flesh.
Gazing upon this endless scene of torment, I understood that this second circle was the eternal prison of carnal sinners, who in their mortal lives had subordinated reason to sensual desire, allowing blind lust to govern the helm of their intellect. Having surrendered their wills to tempestuous passion, they were now justly consigned to drift forever in this physical tempest.
Just as starlings in the chill of winter are borne on wide and dense wings, forming vast undulating clouds beneath the gray sky, so this infernal blast drove the corrupted spirits in every direction. The gale thrust them upward, dashed them downward, flung them east and west; no hope of relief ever comforted their anguish, nor did they possess any expectation that their torment would ever diminish.
And like wild cranes that trail their mournful cries along the horizon, strung out in long, solemn lines against the dimming heavens, so I beheld a procession of shades carried past upon the dark blast, uttering ceaseless lamentations. Turning to my wise companion, I inquired: Master, who are these sorrowful shades whom the black wind so severely chastises?
The wise poet answered: The foremost among them was Semiramis, empress over diverse tongues; so corrupted was she by carnal excess that she made lust licit by royal decree to shield her personal dishonor. Beside her flies Queen Dido, who broke her vow to the ashes of Sichaeus and slew herself for love; and next in line appears Cleopatra, the voluptuous queen of Egypt.
Behold Helen, on whose account so many bitter years of conflict unfolded; and near her stands Achilles, who fought with love until the close of his heroic life. Look upon Paris, and Tristan, and more than a thousand ancient shadows whom love severed from mortal existence, whose names my guide recited one by one, filling my heart with infinite melancholy.
As I listened to my guide recounting the names of celebrated knights and noble ladies of antiquity, an overwhelming wave of pity swept through my soul, leaving me bewildered with grief. In the midst of the swirling throng, I suddenly noticed two shades drifting closely together, appearing remarkably light upon the turbulent air, buoyed by the dark blast as if joined in eternal union.
Moved by an intense longing, I said to my guide: Poet, willingly would I speak with those two spirits who drift side by side, seeming so light upon the stormy gale! Virgil replied with gentle indulgence: Await the moment when the swirling wind brings them closer to our vantage; then summon them in the name of the enduring love that unites them, and they will surely approach.
Soon the eddying gale carried the two lovers toward our rocky ledge; raising my voice in profound sympathy, I called out: O weary and sorrowful spirits, come speak with us if the sovereign will forbids it not! As doves summoned by holy desire fly on steady and joyful wings toward their sweet nest, so these two shades detached themselves from Dido's company and glided through the malignant air toward our side.
The female shade addressed me with exquisite grace and sorrow: O gracious and noble living creature, who dost traverse this dark realm to visit us who stained the earth with our own blood! Were the King of the universe our friend, we would pray ceaselessly for thy peace, seeing that thou hast taken such deep pity upon our perverse and tragic misfortune!
Then she spoke the immortal lines of love's inescapable law: Love, which quickly kindles in a gentle heart, seized this man for the fair body taken from me in blood; Love, which exempts no beloved from returning love, bound me to his delight with such fierce passion that, as thou seest, it forsakes me not even here in hell! Love conducted us unto a single death, and Caïna awaits the kin who quenched our lives!
Hearing the bitter testimony of these wounded souls, I bowed my head and gazed long at the cold stone in silence, overwhelmed by grief and philosophical perplexity. Virgil, noticing my dejection, asked what weighed upon my thought; I replied with tears: Alas, how many sweet thoughts, how much tender yearning, led these innocent lovers down to this eternal chasm of woe!
Turning once more to the weeping shade, I said: Francesca, thy grief moves my heart to tears. Yet tell me, in the season of sweet sighs, by what sign and in what hour did love grant that you should recognize your unspoken desires? She answered: There is no greater sorrow than to recall happy days in times of misery; yet if thou longest so earnestly to know the first root of our affection, I will speak as one who weeps and tells.
One day, for innocent pastime, we read alone of Sir Lancelot and how fiery love entangled his knightly spirit; many times our eyes met in confusion, and the color drained from our cheeks as the tale unfolded. But when we reached the moment where the ardent lover pressed a kiss upon the queen's smiling lips, this companion, who shall never be divided from me, kissed my trembling mouth all trembling! A Gallehault was that book and he who penned it! That day we read no further. While Francesca thus recounted their fall, the other spirit wept so bitterly that my heart was rent with overwhelming pity; my senses darkened, and I collapsed upon the stone, falling as a dead body falls.
The Slime of Gluttony and the Heavy Stone
When consciousness slowly returned to my bewildered spirit, which had closed itself in boundless grief for those two sorrowful lovers, I looked around to behold fresh torments and new sufferers crowding upon every side; in whatever direction I turned my steps, and wherever I cast my gaze through the murky gloom, an unfamiliar expanse of agonizing desolation unfolded before me, marking our arrival in Circle III.
A heavy, eternal, accursed, cold rain poured relentlessly upon this third terrace of the abyss; its dismal measure and malignant quality knew neither interruption nor change. Dense hail, foul-smelling black water, and blinding drifts of snow plunged headlong through the sunless air, soaking the sunken floor into a putrid, stinking swamp that exhaled the stench of perpetual corruption.
Cerberus, a monstrous and unnatural beast of the pit, crouched directly in the center of this fetid quagmire; with three ferocious throats barking like savage hounds, this ravenous guardian bayed ceaselessly over the helpless shades submerged beneath the foul mire. His cruel eyes burned with a menacing crimson glare, a greasy black beard clung to his slavering chin, and beneath his swollen belly sharp talons hooked his paws.
With those hooked iron claws, Cerberus seized the wretched souls as they writhed in the slime, flaying their skin, tearing their limbs, and rending their spectral substance into bloody ribbons; the freezing deluge forced the miserable spirits to howl like frightened dogs, so that they continually rolled from side to side in the filth, vainly striving to shield one bruised flank beneath the other against the downpour.
When this colossal, triple-headed hound perceived our approach and scented the warm blood of a mortal pilgrim, he stretched wide his three yawning maws, exposing rows of jagged fangs in savage defiance; every coarse bristle upon his muscular limbs quivered with uncontrollable rage, as he crouched low, preparing to spring upon our flesh and tear our limbs to pieces.
My wise master Virgil remained perfectly composed; bending down, he scooped up two copious handfuls of the vile, dripping slime from the earth, and advancing with calm resolve, hurled the heavy muck straight into the three gaping gullets of the ravenous beast. This sudden barrage of filth choked the creature's barking jaws, arresting his aggressive onslaught in an instant.
Just as a ravenous hound that barks fiercely with hunger falls into immediate silence the moment he sinks his teeth into proffered food, expending all his fury and energy solely to chew and swallow the coarse meal; so did the three foul heads of demon Cerberus suddenly subside, whose thundering clamor was wont to deafen the wretched spirits beneath his sway.
We stepped forward across the vast multitude of shades who lay flattened upon the ground beneath the weight of the icy downpour; our feet trod upon their empty shadows, which appeared like tangible human forms yet possessed no substantial mass. Flat upon their faces they lay in the freezing mud, save for one solitary shade who suddenly hoisted himself upright the moment he observed us passing near.
With eyes encrusted in foul mire, the shade fixed his gaze upon me and cried out in a hollow voice: O thou who art conducted through these dark precincts of the pit, recognize me if thou art able; for thou wast brought forth into the living world before my mortal breath was extinguished from earthly flesh. I looked upon his deformed countenance, yet my memory could find no trace of his features.
I replied with genuine sadness: The dreadful anguish which thou endurest perhaps disfigures thy countenance beyond all recognition, so that it seems to my eyes as though I had never beheld thee in the light of day. But tell me who thou art, who hast been cast into this wretched station of punishment, where, if other pains are more excruciating, none surely is so utterly vile and degrading.
He sighed with deep bitterness: Thy native city Florence, which now overflows with factional envy until the sack of malice can hold no more, was my dwelling during the sweet days of my terrestrial life; there the citizens knew me by the name of Ciacco. For the ruinous vice of gluttony, which I indulged without measure, I am now battered down by this foul rain, steeped in eternal mire.
Yet I am not the solitary soul condemned to this miserable swamp, Ciacco continued, pointing to the sprawling expanse of sunken bodies; all these who lie wallowing in the mud were guilty of the same unrestrained appetite, and for identical transgressions they endure identical chastisement. Having spoken these words, his head drooped, exhausted by the labor of uttering speech.
Moved by anxiety for my troubled homeland, I said: Ciacco, thy tragic affliction weighs heavily upon my soul; yet if thou canst foresee future events, reveal to me what destiny awaits the divided citizens of our city. Does any righteous man yet dwell among them, and what fatal curse hath plunged our commonwealth into such irremediable discord?
Rolling his mud-stained eyes toward the dim air, he disclosed the grim prophecy: After protracted and bitter civil strife, the party of the Woods shall triumph for a season, driving forth their rivals with violence; yet within three short suns, the vanquished faction shall rise again with the covert aid of one who now wavers between both camps, laying a crushing yoke upon the heads of the citizens.
He added with sorrowful gravity: Two righteous men yet survive in that city, but their warning voices are utterly unheeded by the multitude; pride, envy, and avarice are the three fatal sparks that have kindled in every citizen's breast an unquenchable blaze of mutual destruction! With this dark pronouncement, his voice broke off, sinking into oppressive silence.
Still lingering by his side, I inquired concerning the fate of those illustrious citizens of old who had dedicated their intellects to civic virtue—Farinata, Tegghiaio, Arrigo, and Mosca—asking where their souls now resided. Ciacco answered solemnly: They are plunged among the blacker spirits far deeper in the pit; if thy journey leads thee down to the lowest depths, thou shalt behold them there.
When thou returnest at last to the sweet world of living sunlight, I implore thee to recall my memory to mortal men, that my name may not perish entirely; more I will not utter, nor will I answer thee further. With these parting words, his eyes rolled askance; he looked upon me with a dying gaze, then dropped his face into the blind mud, vanishing among his fallen companions.
My guide Virgil said: He shall not rise again from this mire until the angelic trumpet sounds the final judgment; when the sovereign power of the celestial Judge descends, each spirit shall seek his mournful sepulcher, assume his ancient flesh and form, and hear the eternal decree that echoes through all ages. We then hastened our steps, traversing the foul mixture of rain and spectral shadows.
Descending along the sloping path that girdled the chasm, conversing upon profound mysteries of the eternal state, we reached the steep descent leading into Circle IV; and there upon the brink we encountered Plutus, the snarling arch-enemy of mankind, who presides over the corrupting power of worldly wealth and covetousness.
Beholding our living forms draw near, Plutus contorted his bestial face in fury, barking forth a strange and terrifying invocation: Papè Satàn, papè Satàn aleppe! The incomprehensible syllables clucked with demonic malice against the cavernous stones, attempting by the dread authority of the prince of darkness to strike terror into our hearts.
Virgil, understanding the creature's impotent menace, comforted my trembling spirit with calm assurance: Let not thy courage falter before his clamor, for whatever power he wields, he cannot hinder our descent down this steep rock. Then turning sharply upon the swollen monster, my guide commanded: Silence, accursed wolf! Consume thyself within with thine own blind fury!
Virgil declared that our descent was willed on high, where the archangel Michael took righteous vengeance upon the proud rebellion of the apostate angels; at these words, the monstrous Plutus collapsed to the earth exactly as sails swollen with wind collapse upon the deck when the mast snaps, falling limp and powerless upon the stony ground.
We entered the vast amphitheater of Circle IV, where a multitude far greater than any we had hitherto seen was divided into two vast opposing armies; using the sheer strength of their chests, they rolled colossal boulders forward in endless toil, colliding violently at the circle's midpoint and shouting in furious reproach: Why dost thou hoard? and Why dost thou squander?
Virgil pointed out that many among the hoarders were tonsured popes and cardinals who had surrendered their high callings to the thirst for gold; and when I questioned him concerning the fickle power of worldly goods, he delivered his sublime discourse upon Lady Fortune, the celestial minister appointed by the Creator to shift earthly glory between nations beyond human foresight, who spins her wheel in radiant bliss among the primal creatures, untroubled by mortal curses.
The Stygian Marsh and the Iron City of Dis
Long before our steps brought us to the base of that lofty, black stone tower, my gaze had been drawn upward to its summit by two bright beacons of fire that flared suddenly against the murk; the crimson flames danced with ominous urgency in the infernal mist, signaling across the gloomy expanse, and immediately from an immense distance across the marsh, another responsive spark flashed in answer, transmitting a warning of intrusion.
Turning to my wise guide with anxious perplexity, I inquired: Master, what message do these blazing beacons proclaim, and what watchman answers so swiftly from across the wide water? Virgil pointed toward the fetid, bubbling surface of the swamp and replied: Through the thick vapors exhaled by this foul morass, thou canst already discern what has been summoned; the swift messenger cutting through the black tide draws near.
Across the water shot a small and exceedingly light skiff, skimming the sluggish surface faster than a fatal arrow loosed from a taut bowstring; at the stern sat a solitary, snarling ferryman, who governed the helm with furious strokes. It was Phlegyas, the violent guardian of the Stygian mere, who bellowed in savage triumph: Now art thou taken, accursed spirit!
My guide Virgil rebuked him with cold, majestic authority: Phlegyas, Phlegyas, this time thy howling rage is utterly in vain! Thou shalt possess us no longer than the brief passage across this stagnant slime! Hearing these words, the monstrous ferryman's countenance contorted with bitter frustration, like one who discovers he has been deceived by higher powers, swallowing his futile wrath in sullen silence.
Virgil stepped firmly into the rocking vessel, and extending his steady arm, drew me in after him; but not until my living mortal feet touched the timbers did the ancient skiff settle deep into the dark water. For throughout the unnumbered ages of its infernal service, this craft had carried only weightless phantoms, and never before had living bones and breathing flesh pressed down upon its keel.
As we plowed through the dead, viscous channel, a shade encrusted from head to foot in foul mud reared up from the mire before our prow, fixing bloodshot eyes upon my living countenance and demanding in a rasping voice: Who art thou, who comest into this realm of shadows before thy mortal hour has struck?
I answered without hesitation: If I come, I do not linger here; but who art thou, who art become so utterly foul and degraded? The miserable spirit snarled: Thou seest that I am one who weeps in torment! I countered with righteous indignation: Remain then with thy weeping and accursed misery in this eternal filth! For I recognize thee well despite all thy mud, arrogant Filippo Argenti!
At these words, the furious spirit lunged with both mud-caked paws to seize the gunwale and overturn our vessel; but Virgil was swifter, thrusting him back violently into the foul bog. Then turning to me with tender affection, my master threw his arms around my neck, kissed my face, and exclaimed: Blessed is the noble soul that scorns insolent pride! That arrogant man left no single memory of virtue in the world above, and therefore his shade rages here in perpetual torment!
Instantly, a howling pack of mud-drenched spirits fell upon Argenti like ravenous wolves, tearing his spectral limbs with claws and teeth in the churning filth. Driven to the brink of despair by their vicious onslaught, the proud Florentine nobleman turned his own fangs upon his flesh, gnawing his limbs in impotent rage, while our skiff surged ahead, leaving that revolting spectacle far behind.
As we penetrated deeper into the dismal marsh, a vast chorus of bitter lamentations began to strike my ears, growing louder with every stroke of the oar. Virgil said to me: My son, look ahead through the vapor; we now draw near to the iron city that bears the name of Dis, with its grave inhabitants and formidable garrison of rebellious spirits.
Gazing into the dark valley, I beheld the lofty mosques and minarets of that citadel rising in sullen majesty, their contours glowing with intense crimson fire against the infernal gloom. Virgil explained: The eternal flames that burn forever within the subterranean caverns of the city heat these iron structures to incandescence, making them red as molten metal in this lowest valley.
Phlegyas guided the boat into the deep moats that girdled the desolate stronghold, whose walls appeared to be wrought of impenetrable, cold iron; after winding through sulfurous waterways, the skiff struck hard against the base of the portal. The furious boatman shouted with harsh malice: Out with you both! Here is the entrance; get you gone within!
Lifting my eyes to the ramparts, I beheld more than a thousand fallen angels who had rained down from heaven in the ancient rebellion of Lucifer; glaring down upon us with venomous hatred, they shrieked: Who is this living man that dares to walk through the kingdom of the dead without having tasted physical mortality?
My wise master made a sign that he desired to confer with them in secret; upon this, the rebellious spirits somewhat lowered their clamor, but called out with sinister mockery: Come thou forward alone, and let that living fool retrace his steps across his foolish path! Let him try if he can find his way back through the dark forest, for thou shalt remain here with us!
Consider, reader, how my mortal heart froze within me at the sound of that accursed banishment; I believed with absolute certainty that I should never return to the world of living sunlight. Trembling, I clung to Virgil's mantle: O my beloved guide, who hast delivered me seven times from imminent peril, if our passage is denied by these demons, let us turn back together without delay!
My master looked upon me with unshakable resolve, comforting my terror with gentle hands: Fear not, my son; our journey is ordained by the sovereign decree of heaven, and no power in hell can invalidate it. Await me here, and feed thy weary spirit with steadfast hope, for I will never abandon thee in this netherworld. With these words, he departed toward the locked gate.
I watched his solitary figure approach the iron portals, torn between fear and hope; but the arrogant demons would not listen to his words, and slamming the colossal gates in his face, left my noble guide stranded outside the walls. Virgil returned to me with slow, heavy steps, his eyes downcast and his brow shadowed with perplexity.
He sighed with deep concern: Who hath denied me entrance to the mansions of sorrow? Yet he lifted his head, and his voice rang with renewed conviction: Let not my temporary repulse dismay thee; I tell thee that one is already descending through the circles, sent from on high, who shall throw open these stubborn gates without resistance!
While we waited in this tense suspense, there appeared suddenly upon the fiery battlements of the tower three blood-stained Furies, feminine in form yet horrific in aspect; green hydras were girded about their waists, and their wild hair was composed of writhing vipers and horned serpents. With iron talons they tore their bleeding breasts, shrieking with maddened fury.
Virgil recognized them immediately, whispering: Behold Megaera on the left, weeping Alecto on the right, and Tisiphone in the midst; they are the daughters of eternal night! Even as he spoke, the monsters shrieked downward: Let Medusa come, that we may turn him into stone! Vainly did we spare Theseus when he invaded our gates!
Turn round and shut thine eyes, Virgil commanded urgently; for if the Gorgon appears and thou dost gaze upon her face, never shalt thou return to the world of light! Not trusting my mortal weakness to obey alone, my master placed his own hands over my closed eyelids, shielding my sight from the lethal vision.
At that instant, a terrifying roar exploded across the turbid waters of the Styx, shaking both shores of the abyss like a dry whirlwind that tears through summer forests, snapping branches and scattering foliage in blinding clouds of dust. Virgil removed his hands from my face, saying: Direct the optic nerve of thy soul across that ancient scum, and behold the approach of sovereign power!
Across the putrid waves strode a celestial courier, walking dry-shod upon the surface as upon solid marble; with his serene left hand he waved away the pestilential fogs of the marsh, untroubled by the foulness of the pit. Thousands of damned shades fled before him like frogs scattering before an approaching water-snake, diving headlong into the murky depths.
Reaching the locked gate of Dis, the heavenly messenger touched the iron barrier with a slender wand, and the doors flew wide without the slightest resistance; having rebuked the insolent demons for resisting that sovereign will which subdued Cerberus, the angel turned and departed without a word to us. Under this divine protection, we passed within the gates unhindered, discovering a vast plain of glowing sarcophagi where heretics who denied the immortality of the soul lay burning in eternal fire.
The Burning Sarcophagi and the River of Boiling Blood
We advanced along a solitary and narrow path, flanked on the left by the lofty, impenetrable iron walls of Dis, and on the right by a boundless expanse of excruciating torment; my master led the way with firm and measured steps, while I followed close behind, my eyes wide with awe at the sight of that fiery necropolis. Across this lightless plain of Circle VI, unnumbered sepulchers wrought of heavy granite lay with their colossal stone lids propped wide open, glowing incandescent through the murk.
The flanks of every sarcophagus were heated to incandescence by subterranean flames that surged up from the abyss, blazing with a fury far surpassing the hottest forge where mortal smiths temper steel; from within the yawning cavities arose a ceaseless chorus of agonizing shrieks. I asked my guide: Master, who are these miserable spirits interred within these glowing chests, who make their presence known only through bitter sighs? Virgil answered: Here lie buried Epicurus and all his blind followers, who falsely declared that the soul perishes forever with the flesh.
While I pondered these solemn words, a resonant, authoritative, and majestic voice suddenly sounded from the depth of one glowing sepulcher: O Tuscan, who art permitted to walk living through this city of fire, speaking with that sweet and measured accent of thy birthplace, may it please thee to pause a moment in this station! Thy noble speech reveals thee to be a native of that illustrious commonwealth which I in my mortal lifetime perhaps troubled overmuch!
The suddenness of that unexpected utterance caused my heart to leap within my breast, and I drew closer to my master's side in instinctive apprehension; but Virgil turned upon me with a gaze at once reproachful and encouraging, saying: Why dost thou shrink back? Turn round and behold! There stands Farinata, who has raised himself erect from the waist upward within his burning tomb!
Following my master's gesture, I beheld the imposing figure of that ancient chieftain rising straight from the glowing vault; he squared his broad shoulders and lifted his proud brow, his majestic bearing seeming to declare that he held the entirety of hell beneath his feet in supreme disdain! Virgil thrust me forward with reassuring hands toward the edge of the sepulcher, admonishing me: Go forward, and let thy words be noble and dignified!
Reaching the base of the flaming tomb, I looked up as Farinata fixed his haughty gaze upon me for a silent moment, before inquiring with aristocratic reserve: Young man, who were thy ancestors? Hiding nothing, I recounted the honorable lineage of my house; hearing my words, the great Ghibelline chieftain slightly raised his brows and declared with cold satisfaction: Fiercely were they opposed to me, to my party, and to my kin; wherefore twice did I scatter them and drive them into exile!
I answered him without hesitation: If they were driven forth, they returned from every quarter both the first time and the second; but thy exiled kin have never properly mastered that difficult art! At that very instant, from the unsealed cavity beside him, another spectral head slowly emerged, visible only down to the chin, having risen upon its knees as though kneeling in supplication beside Farinata.
This sorrowful shade peered intently around my living form, as though searching with desperate yearning for another companion; finding me solitary, he burst into bitter weeping and cried with a trembling voice: If through this blind dungeon thou art permitted to journey by virtue of soaring genius, where is my beloved son Guido? Why is he not at thy side? I recognized him at once as Cavalcante, the father of my dearest friend.
I replied with tender pity: I come not hither of my own solitary power; that noble guide who waits yonder leads my steps, whom thy son Guido perhaps regarded with disdain. But the past tense of my spoken words fell upon that father's ears like a fatal decree; starting upright, he cried in anguish: What sayest thou? He regarded with disdain? Lives he no longer? Does not the sweet sunlight still strike his living eyes?
Perceiving that I hesitated for an instant before answering his sudden interrogation, the grief-stricken father abandoned all hope and collapsed backward into the flaming depths of the tomb, appearing no more. But the magnificent Farinata, at whose request I had first paused, changed not his countenance, nor bent his neck, nor stirred his mighty frame in the slightest; resuming our conversation where it had been broken, he said: If my kin have poorly learned the art of return, that reproach tortures me more fiercely than this bed of fire!
Then Farinata pronounced his solemn prophecy: But fifty times the countenance of the queen who reigns here shall not be rekindled, before thou thyself shalt learn how heavy is the art of returning home! He then explained the strange faculty of infernal vision: Like those afflicted with imperfect sight, we perceive clearly only those events that lie in the distant future; but when they draw near or come to pass, our intellects are utterly blind. Thus, when the portal of the future is closed forever at the final judgment, all our knowledge shall be extinguished!
Repenting of my earlier delay, I entreated Farinata to inform the fallen Cavalcante that his son Guido still walked among the living under the sun; Virgil was already calling me forward, and having made my reverence to that proud warrior, I hastened after my guide. Leaving the plain of flaming tombs, we turned toward a path that sloped into a deep chasm, whence exhaled a nauseating stench of sulfur and corruption.
Arriving at the precipice of Circle VII, we stood before a colossal and terrifying landslide; the rocky cliff had shattered into a chaotic avalanche of immense boulders, split asunder during some ancient cosmic catastrophe. Virgil whispered: This ruin crashed down when the sovereign Deliverer descended into hell to rescue the ancient patriarchs; at that moment, the universe trembled with divine love, and this ancient stone gave way in sudden collapse!
Upon the jagged brow of this fractured ruin crouched the Minotaur, the monstrous infamy of Crete, conceived in the wooden heifer through bestial lust; beholding our approach, the beast gnawed his own flesh in blind fury, his eyes blazing with unnatural malice as he bellowed in impotent rage.
My master confronted the beast with fearless mockery, crying aloud: Thinkest thou perhaps that the Duke of Athens approaches, who brought thee death in the winding labyrinth? Begone, monstrous brute! This man comes not guided by thy sister Ariadne, but journeys solely to behold your allotted torments! The Minotaur plunged about in frenzy like an ox that has received a mortal blow upon the head, unable to run forward yet thrashing wildly in circles.
Seizing the moment while the monster thrashed blindly in fury, Virgil urged me: Run! While his rage blinds him, hasten down this stony decline! We scrambled down the broken slope, our feet sending showers of loose stones tumbling into the abyss; beneath my living weight, the rocks shifted and clattered, proclaiming the presence of a mortal body in this realm of weightless ghosts.
Reaching the valley floor, we beheld a vast circular river curving through the expanse; but within its banks ran no water, but a torrent of boiling blood that steamed with thick vapors and the heavy odor of slaughter. This was the Phlegethon, the river of fire and gore, appointed to chastise all who have done violence against their fellow men.
Between the base of the precipice and the boiling torrent, troops of centaurs armed with bows and quivers of keen arrows galloped along the strand, as they were wont to hunt across mortal mountains; in this infernal abyss, they served as inexorable wardens, shooting any shade that dared lift its head above the depth of blood assigned to its guilt.
Seeing us approach, three centaurs detached themselves from the troop, advancing with notched arrows while one shouted from afar: To what torment do ye descend, who approach this steep bank? Speak from where ye stand, or I loose my bowstring! This was Nessus, who died by the poisoned arrow of Hercules for the attempted rape of Deianira.
Virgil replied with calm authority: We will render our answer to Chiron alone; thy hasty rashness ever wrought thine own undoing! Leading me to the chief centaur, who stood with downcast eyes using the notch of an arrow to part his thick beard over his breast, my master presented our cause to the wise Chiron, who had once tutored the great Achilles.
Chiron, observing our footsteps, said to his companions: Have ye noticed how that second traveler moves the stones beneath his feet? The feet of the dead are not wont to do so! Virgil approached his equine shoulder and said: He is indeed living, and I alone am appointed to conduct his solitary steps through this valley; divine necessity impels our journey, not idle curiosity.
Virgil requested: Grant us one of thy centaurs to guide our way, who may show us the ford and bear this mortal man upon his back across the torrent, for he is no disembodied spirit to fly through the air. Chiron assented, turning to Nessus on his right: Turn back, and guide them safely across the boiling stream!
The fierce Nessus obeyed, bending low that I might mount upon his sturdy croup; step by step, the centaur waded into the steaming tide, pointing out the famous shades submerged in the gore: Behold those steeped to their very brows, who were tyrants given to blood and plunder—fierce Alexander, cruel Dionysius of Syracuse, and unnumbered despots whose hands were steeped in slaughter.
As the river bed sloped upward, the boiling blood grew shallower, covering the shades to their throats, then to their chests, until at the ford it bathed only the ankles; Nessus carried us safely across the shallowest point and set us upon the dry bank. Bidding us farewell, the centaur wheeled about to resume his patrol, while we turned with solemn hearts to enter the second ring of the Seventh Circle.
The Malbowges of Fraud and the Weight of Hypocrisy
We stood upon the precipitous rim of the Seventh Circle, peering down into the immense void where dense mists and eternal darkness churned in suffocating turbulence; my master Virgil stepped to the very edge of the abyss, untied a sturdy cord bound about my waist, and hurled its coiled length into the murky air. Moments later, swimming upward through the heavy fog like a diver returning from the sea floor after clearing a snagged anchor, a colossal and terrifying creature emerged into view.
This was Geryon, the universal image of fraud; he bore the face of a just and benign man, his skin radiating the serene aura of an honest soul, yet from the neck downward his entire body was that of a monstrous serpent, adorned with multicolored knots, painted shields, and reticulated scales. His forelegs were armed with dense bristle and sharp claws, while his long tail, hidden in the abyss, ended in a venomous stinger that arched upward like an enraged scorpion's dart.
The beast rested his human head and forequarters upon the edge of the rocky barrier, leaving his lethal tail to swish freely in the void; Virgil turned to me with steadfast courage, bidding me mount upon the creature's broad shoulders, while he encircled my trembling frame with his protective arms. My master commanded the beast: Geryon, move forward! Make thy descending circles wide and gradual, remembering the unusual living burden thou bearest!
Like a heavy barge gliding backward out of its slip, the monster eased himself from the stony bank; and when he felt himself completely swimming in the air, he turned his tail toward the abyss, stretching out his paws to row against the thick gloom. Mounted upon his back, I felt only the rush of cold air rising from beneath, seized with that same primal horror which struck Phaethon when he dropped the reins of the sun, or Icarus when the heat dissolved his feathered wings.
Descending in gradual, measured spirals through the dark air, the deafening roar of boiling torrents and the stench of sulfurous slaughter struck my senses with growing clarity; at last, Geryon settled his colossal bulk upon the bottom of the shattered pit of Circle VIII. The moment our feet touched the dry rock, the cunning beast vanished into the murk like an arrow loosed from a bowstring, leaving us solitary upon the floor of the abyss.
This vast region of Circle VIII is named Malebolge, wrought entirely of livid, iron-colored granite; sloping gently toward a central well, the amphitheater is partitioned into ten concentric trenches or valleys, linked by radiating stone arches that span the ditches like bridges over castle moats, each assigned to the chastisement of distinct species of fraudulent deceit.
Crossing the first stone bridge, we looked down into the first trench, where countless shades were divided into two opposing files running in endless torment; panderers and seducers were driven forward by horned demons armed with heavy scourges, who lashed their bare shoulders with furious malice, giving them no rest nor leisure to pause.
Passing beyond the second ditch, where flatterers wallowed in human excrement, we reached the third valley of Malebolge, reserved for the Simonists; along the stony sides and floor of this trench were perforated countless circular holes, identical in dimension to baptismal fonts. Down into these pits the corrupt churchmen were thrust headfirst, their twitching legs protruding into the air with soles burning in perpetual flames.
Approaching one hole where the flames burned with redoubled fury, I questioned the writhing limbs; from the rock's cavity, Pope Nicholas III cried out, mistaking my voice for that of his successor Boniface VIII. The damned pontiff confessed how he had practiced simony to aggrandize his earthly kin, burying wealth into purses in the upper world, for which he was now plunged into this burning pocket of rock.
Moved by righteous fury, I rebuked the fallen pope with prophetic severity: Tell me, how much gold did Christ demand of Peter before he committed the celestial keys into his charge? Thy covetousness distorts the moral order of mankind! Ah Constantine, of how much evil was mother not thy conversion, but that temporal dowry which the first wealthy Father received of thee! Virgil embraced me with joyful pride at this defense of truth, bearing me up the steep arch to the next chasm.
In the fourth valley of Malebolge, we beheld the sorrowful procession of diviners, astrologers, and false prophets; their heads had been wrenched completely backward upon their shoulders, so that tears of remorse flowed down the furrows of their spines. Having presumed to gaze too far into the sovereign secrets of the future, they were now condemned to walk backward in perpetual blindness.
Looking down from the fifth bridge, we observed a broad ditch filled with boiling black pitch; here submerged lay the barrators, who had traded public offices for secret bribes. Guarding this lake of glue were the Malabranca demons, equipped with barbed grappling hooks, who patrolled the banks like cooks around a seething cauldron, tearing any wretch who dared lift his snout above the pitch to seek relief.
The demon chief Malacoda advanced with threatening insolence; yet Virgil confronted him with serene majesty, declaring our voyage to be decreed by divine necessity, which subdued the fiend's bluster. Malacoda was compelled to grant us an escort of ten devils, led by Barbariccia; as they departed, the fiends signaled their march with a vulgar, grotesque trumpet blast.
When an unlucky Navarrese barrator was fished from the pitch by the demons' hooks, he outwitted his captors by offering to lure his companions to the surface; springing suddenly into the boiling glue, he escaped beneath the surface. In their rage at the trick, the demons Alichino and Calcabrina grappled with each other in mid-air and tumbled into the scalding pitch, leaving the troop in comical disarray.
Perceiving that the enraged demons would pursue us to vent their fury, Virgil seized me in his arms without a moment's hesitation, like a loving mother awakened by cries of fire who catches up her child and flees through the flames without pausing to clothe herself; sliding upon his back down the steep rock of the sixth trench, he placed us safely beyond the boundary of their jurisdiction.
In the sixth bolgia, a sad company moved with excruciating slowness, weeping bitterly beneath heavy mantles with low cowls, shaped like the copes of Cologne monks; outwardly they were gilded with dazzling gold, but inwardly they were cast of suffocating, solid lead, whose intolerable weight made all mortal torture seem light as air.
These were the hypocrites, who wore holiness upon their lips while corruption festered in their hearts; and in the path before them lay a sight of profound horror: a naked man was staked to the earth with three heavy nails, lying transfixed across the narrow walkway in the form of a cross.
Virgil pointed him out as Caiaphas, the high priest who advised the Pharisees that it was expedient that one man should die for the people; now stripped of honor, he was condemned to feel the collective weight of every leaden mantle as the procession of hypocrites trampled heavily over his transfixed body. Virgil gazed upon this emblem of divine retribution with solemn wonder.
We scrambled up the shattered debris of a broken bridge into the seventh trench, which seethed with a multitude of terrifying serpents; unnumbered reptiles bound the hands of thieves behind their backs, piercing their loins with fangs. Struck by a venomous viper, one wretch burst into flames, crumbled into pale ashes in an instant, and was reconstituted immediately from the dust to resume his agony.
Even more horrifying, shades and serpents merged together in unnatural metamorphosis; their limbs softened, exchanging attributes, human forms dissolving into scales while reptiles divided into legs, their personal identities obliterated in ceaseless mutation. Beholding this grotesque alchemy, I understood how those who steal another's property in life are justly robbed of their very bodily essence in hell.
Ascending to the eighth bridge, we looked down upon a scene of solemn majesty; the deep chasm sparkled with countless solitary flames, like fireflies twinkling across a summer meadow when the rustic rests upon the hillside at twilight. Virgil informed me that within each glowing tongue of fire walked an evil counselor, veiled forever by the subtle flame of his intellect.
Among the countless fires, a double-pointed flame caught my eye, cleft at its crest like the funeral pyre of Eteocles and Polynices; my guide told me that within it burned Ulysses and Diomedes, united in punishment as they were once united in the treacherous stratagems of the Trojan War.
Yearning to hear the voice of that legendary wanderer, I begged my master to summon the shade; Virgil addressed the ancient fire with poetical reverence, requesting the greater hero to relate how he met his mortal end. The taller horn of the flame began to murmur and toss like a candle in the wind, before emitting a deep, human voice from its oscillating tip.
Ulysses spoke: Neither tenderness for my son, nor reverence for my aged father, nor the legitimate love of Penelope could conquer within my soul the burning desire to explore the unknown regions of the world! With a solitary ship and those few companions who never deserted me, I sailed past the Pillars of Hercules; I exhorted them: Brothers, who through a hundred thousand perils have reached the west, deny not to this brief vigil of your senses the knowledge of the unpeopled world! Consider your origin: ye were not made to live like brutes, but to follow virtue and wisdom! We turned our stern to the morning, rowing five months across the southern sea until a lofty brown mountain appeared upon the horizon; but our joy was turned to grief, for a violent whirlwind struck our vessel, spinning her three times amid the surging waters, until the fourth plunged the prow downward, and the sea closed forever over our heads!
The Frozen Cocytus and the Emergence to the Stars
Departing from the eighth valley of Malebolge where fraudulent counselors flickered in solitary flames, we journeyed through dense and impenetrable murk toward the central well of the abyss; through the suffocating gloom echoed suddenly a blast of a horn so loud and terrible that any clap of mortal thunder would have seemed a whisper beside it. It sounded like the tragic olifant Roland winded at Roncesvalles after the slaughter of the rearguard, while through the dim mist I seemed to discern lofty battlements rising against the horizon.
Turning with wonder to my guide, I inquired: Master, what majestic city is this whose towers rise before us? Virgil gently corrected my error: These are no towers wrought by mortal masons, but ancient titans who once rebelled against the sovereign order of heaven; plunged from the navel downward into the central pit, their colossal bodies rear thirty cubits above the rocky rim, standing like living turrets around the circumference of the well.
Approaching the edge of the pit, I looked upon Nimrod, architect of the Tower of Babel, whose monstrous mouth bellowed unintelligible gibberish: Raphèl maì amècche zabì almi! Virgil rebuked the brute, telling him to vent his blind passion upon the horn slung across his chest; further along stood Ephialtes, bound fast with five coils of a massive iron chain that fettered his arms, enduring perpetual bondage for having sought to pile mountains against the stars.
Antaeus alone remained unbound by chains; Virgil approached him with eloquent reverence, recounting his glorious deeds in the valley of Zama, and entreated him to set us down upon the bottom of the cold abyss. Antaeus stretched forth those colossal hands which had once mastered lions, taking my guide and me into his broad palm; as he leaned downward, he seemed to my terrified eyes like the leaning tower Garisenda of Bologna when a cloud passes over its summit, yet he set us down gently upon the frozen floor, and rose again like the mast of a ship.
When our feet pressed upon the floor of the ultimate abyss of the cosmos, a vision of horror froze my mortal soul; beneath our feet stretched no rocky plain, but an immense lake frozen into unyielding crystal—this was Lake Cocytus! The ice was of such unnatural thickness and density that had Mount Tambernic or Pietrapana crashed headlong upon its surface, not a single fissure would have marred the glassy sheet.
All warmth and biological movement were annihilated in this realm, leaving only an eternal, razor-sharp gale sweeping the flat expanse; the shades of traitors against their own kin were frozen fast in the zone of Caïna, submerged to their necks in the ice with livid countenances exposed to the blast. In that bitter agony, their teeth chattered like the beaks of storks in winter cold, their tears freezing instantly into crystalline masks upon their cheeks as they bowed their heads in shame.
Advancing into the second zone of Antenora, where traitors to country and faction are punished, my foot struck hard against a face protruding from the ice, which burst into weeping and curses; when I demanded his name to preserve his memory above, he reviled me with bitter hatred, refusing to let his treachery be known to the living. This was Bocca degli Abati, who severed the Florentine standard at Montaperti, consigning his countrymen to slaughter.
Leaving that sullen wretch, we beheld in a neighboring hollow a spectacle of ferocity surpassing all bestial cruelty: two shades frozen in a single aperture were so pressed together that the head of the one served as a hood to the other; with famished fangs, the upper spirit gnawed savagely at the nape of the lower, sinking his teeth into the brain and skull like a ravenous beast tearing bread in extremity.
Horrified by this monstrous vengeance, I cried aloud: O thou who by so bestial a token displayest thine unquenchable hatred for this man, reveal to me why thou devourest him! If thy grievance is just, I will avenge thy name in the living world when I return to the sunlight! The fierce spirit paused in his feast, raising his jaws from the bloody head and wiping his gory lips upon the matted hair of his victim.
He spoke with solemn melancholy: Thou dost compel me to renew desperate grief which even to contemplate wrings my heart before I speak; yet if my words may prove the seed of infamy to the traitor whom I gnaw, I will speak as one who weeps and tells. I was Count Ugolino, and this is Archbishop Ruggieri who betrayed me, locking me with my sons within that tower which from our fate is now named the Tower of Famine.
He recounted the agony of their slow starvation: after months of confinement, an ominous dream tore away the veil of our future; waking at dawn, I heard my four little sons weeping in their sleep, asking for bread. But when the hammer blows nailed shut the lower portal of the tower, I looked into the faces of my children without uttering a sound; I did not weep, so turned to stone was I within, but they wept bitterly.
I bit my hands for grief; and my sons, thinking I did so for craving of meat, started up and cried: Father, it will be less painful to us if thou eatest of us; thou didst clothe us with this miserable flesh, strip it from us now! When the fourth day broke, Gaddo fell stretched at my feet, crying: Father, why dost thou not help me? And there he died before my eyes.
Even as thou seest me now, so saw I the remaining three fall one by one between the fifth day and the sixth; then, blinded with grief, I groped over each cold corpse for two days, calling upon the dead who could answer no more; until at last, hunger accomplished what sorrow could not! With these words, his eyes rolling askance, he seized once more the wretched skull with teeth sharp as a hound's. In righteous horror, I cursed the city of Pisa for permitting such barbarity upon innocent children!
We traversed the third ring of Ptolomea, where traitors against hospitality lie supine in the ice; the tears that spring from their eyes freeze instantly within their sockets, forming visors of crystal that force their agony inward to burn their intellects. Virgil revealed to me that many who commit such foul treachery have their souls hurled immediately into this pit, while demons possess their living bodies on earth until their appointed lifespan expires.
Entering the fourth and central zone of Judecca, we walked through an absolute stillness; here the traitors against their benefactors were completely encased within the transparent ice like straw sealed in glass. Some stood erect, some hung head downward, some were arched like bows, and others lay flat upon their backs, locked in motionless rigidity without a sigh.
A freezing tempest of unimaginable violence rushed upon us; Virgil halted and declared: Behold the banners of the king of hell advance! Look forward, for the emperor of the sorrowful kingdom stands before us! Through the swirling snow, like a colossal windmill turning its sails in a tempest, an immense shadow reared out of the frozen center of the cosmos.
This was Lucifer, emperor of the painful realm, once the fairest of the seraphim, now the foulest monster of creation; rising from the ice at mid-breast, his colossal bulk made the giants look like pygmies in comparison. Upon his gigantic head sat three distinct faces: the middle one was of blazing vermilion; the right was of a pale yellowish white; and the left was black as the dwellers of the Nile.
Beneath each face spread two vast wings, broad as the sails of an ocean galleon; they bore no feathers, but resembled the black, leathery pinions of a monstrous bat. These six wings flapped incessantly, generating three piercing gales that froze the entire expanse of Lake Cocytus into solid crystal, maintaining the eternal ice of hell.
From six weeping eyes tears mingled with bloody foam dripped down his three chins; in each mouth his iron fangs chewed a traitor, rending their limbs like a hemp-brake. In the red mouth was Judas Iscariot, his head thrust inside while his flayed back was torn by Lucifer's talons; from the black mouth dangled Brutus, writhing in silent agony; while from the yellow hung Cassius, mangled by the demonic jaws.
My guide Virgil said: Night is rising again across the terrestrial sphere, and all of hell has been examined; our journey here is accomplished, and we must depart without delay. At his instruction, I clasped my arms around his neck; watching until the wings opened wide, my master seized the shaggy pelt of the colossal fiend, descending between the frozen hair and the icy crust.
Clinging to the coarse tufts of hair, Virgil carried my living mortal weight downward along the monster's flanks; but when we reached the swelling hip, at the exact midpoint of the creature's thigh, my master with immense effort and labored breath turned his head where his feet had been, grasping the hair as one who climbs upward, so that I thought we were returning into hell.
Virgil placed me upon the rocky lip of a hidden cavern, then stepped nimbly beside me; looking upward, I expected to see Lucifer as I had left him, but beheld instead his colossal legs thrusting vertically into the air! My master explained: Marvel not; when I inverted my body, we passed the dead center of cosmic gravity, leaving the northern hemisphere behind and entering the antipodes.
Virgil expounded the mystery of the primeval fall: when this proud spirit plummeted from heaven, the dry land of the southern hemisphere shrank back into the ocean for terror and fled to our northern realm; while the hollow interior of the earth recoiled, thrusting upward that colossal mountain of Purgatory which rises in the southern sea. Following my master, I entered a dark subterranean chimney, ascending beside a clear stream that murmured through the stone.
Through that hidden fissure we climbed without a moment of rest, my guide ever leading the way while I followed in his footsteps, ascending through the dark bowels of the earth until through a circular opening in the vaulted stone I caught sight of the radiant spheres of heaven; and emerging through that portal into the sweet, open air of the dawn, we looked upon the stars once more!
The Island Dawn and the Reed of Humility
To course over smoother, more tranquil and crystalline waters, the little pinnace of my intellect now hoists her hopeful sails, bidding eternal farewell to that cruel and lightless sea of infernal despair. Now my song shall turn to celebrate that second kingdom, wherein the human spirit is purified from the corrupt stains of mortal transgression, and being refashioned in moral excellence, becomes worthy to ascend into the sublime spheres of heaven.
Let dead poesy arise here from the dust, for I am delivered from the kingdom of perpetual death; and let Calliope herself rise a little with her celestial voice, accompanying my song with those divine strains whose heavenly power once struck the audacious daughters of Pierus with mute despair. Emerging from the suffocating bowels of the earth, the pestilential air that had tortured my eyes and chest was gone, replaced by a serene orient sapphire hue that suffused the pure expanse of the sky.
The radiant planet of love, fair Venus, smiled upon the orient horizon with tender radiance, clothing the morning air in light and veiling the constellation of the Fishes that attended her side; turning my gaze toward the southern pole, I beheld in the pristine heavens four glorious stars, never seen by mortal eyes since primal man was driven forth from the bliss of Eden.
The southern sky seemed to rejoice in the pure flame of those four primal lights, symbols of those cardinal virtues with which heaven first endowed the human soul; O widowed northern hemisphere, how desolate is thy sky, denied forever the sight of that holy constellation! Turning away from that southern crown toward the northern horizon where the Wain had long since sunk beneath the waves, I was startled to find an aged man standing solitary beside my shoulder.
His venerable aspect inspired such profound reverence that no mortal son ever owed greater veneration to his earthly father; his long white beard fell over his chest in silver waves, mingling with locks that cascaded like mountain snow over his majestic shoulders. And marvelous to behold, the pure radiance of those four holy stars shone so brilliantly upon his noble countenance that he seemed illuminated as by the direct splendor of the noonday sun.
Shaking his venerable silver beard, he demanded in severe tones: Who are ye, who have fled against the course of the hidden brook from the eternal dungeons of the blind abyss? Who hath guided your wandering steps, and what lantern illuminated your path out of the subterranean night? Have the adamantine laws of hell been broken, or has a new decree been established in heaven, that ye, being damned, dare approach my rocky mountain?
My guide Virgil instantly stepped forward, gesturing to me with authoritative hands; pressing firmly upon my limbs, he brought me to my knees with bowed head and reverent eyes before that majestic presence. Then turning to the sage, my master answered with solemn gravity: I came not hither of my own impulse; a celestial lady descended from heaven at whose entreaty I undertook to deliver this living mortal from destruction.
Virgil continued: This man hath not yet tasted physical death, though through his former blindness he approached so near to spiritual ruin that his time was almost spent; as I have told thee, I was sent to rescue him, and no other road remained to ensure his salvation save to show him the abyss of wickedness and then conduct him up this purgatorial hill. All the kingdom of sorrow have we now examined, and we seek thy permission to ascend toward the heights.
My master concluded with noble eloquence: Receive his coming with benign favor; he seeks that precious liberty which is so dear, as they know who yield their lives for its sake! Thou knowest it well, who didst find death sweet in Utica for freedom's sake, casting aside that mortal garment which shall shine so bright at the great day; the eternal laws remain inviolate, for I dwell in Limbo with thy Marcia, who still looks upon thee with wifely love!
Venerable Cato replied with serene dignity: Marcia was so pleasing to mine eyes during my mortal life that whatsoever she desired I freely granted her; but now that she dwells beyond the evil stream, she can move my heart no more, by virtue of that celestial law established when I departed from the world of shadows. But if a heavenly lady directs thy footsteps as thou declarest, no flattery is needed; it suffices that thou requestest passage in her holy name.
Cato then ordained the necessary ritual of purification: Go then, conduct this living man to the lowest margins of the sea, and gird his waist with a smooth and pliant reed; then wash his countenance with morning dew, that every stain and smoke of hell may be utterly erased from his brow. For it were not meet that with eyes clouded by the foulness of the pit he should present himself before the glorious angel who keeps the portal of paradise!
The ancient sage pointed toward the shore: This lonely island, in its lowest reaches where the breakers perpetually strike the soft sands, produces smooth and slender reeds upon the wet mud; no other plant that bears leaves or hardens into rigid wood can survive there, because it yields not to the pounding surf. When ye have cleansed his face and girded his loins, follow the ascending sun, whose light will show you the gentlest ascent up the mountain.
With these words, the venerable guardian vanished like morning mist; rising in reverent silence, I drew close to my beloved guide, fixing my eyes upon his countenance in absolute trust. Virgil said: My son, follow my steps; let us turn back down this gentle slope, for the plain inclines downward toward its lowest margins by the sea.
The radiant dawn was now overcoming the retreating shades of night, putting to flight the lingering shadows across the horizon; from that vantage, I recognized the distant trembling of the sea, sparkling with unnumbered ripples beneath the morning breeze. We walked across the solitary plain like wanderers who have regained the direct path and count every step as gain until they reach their home.
When we arrived at a grassy hollow where the dew resisted the sun, sheltered by the cool shadow of the mountain slope, my master paused with solemn intent; spreading his hands wide, he placed both palms gently upon the dewy grass. Divining immediately his sacred purpose, I lifted up my tear-stained and grime-encrusted cheeks, offering my face to his cool, moisture-laden touch.
With tender care, Virgil bathed my cheeks with that pure dew, wiping away all the foul soot and tears that the infernal chasm had painted upon my mortal flesh; under his touch, my natural living complexion reappeared, fresh as the dawn. Having accomplished this sacred lustration, we proceeded to the solitary shore where no mariner had ever sailed and returned to tell the tale of that sea.
There, upon the verge of the wave, my guide plucked a solitary, slender reed that grew among the spray, girding my waist with its smooth stem; and lo, a wonder unfolded before our eyes! For the moment he tore that humble shoot from the moist earth, another sprang instantly in its place, identical in form and freshness, born from the selfsame root.
The sun was now climbing above the horizon, transforming the orange morning into blazing gold across the vast waters; while we lingered upon the shore like travelers whose hearts run forward while their bodies hesitate, there appeared far out across the western sea a small, white brilliance, speeding across the waves faster than any earthly flight.
Looking away for a brief instant to question my guide, I looked back to find the light grown vastly brighter and closer; on either side of that central white splendor emerged two colossal, spotless wings, beneath which a slender vessel gleamed like crystal upon the water. Virgil, perceiving the celestial reality, shouted with holy fervor: Down, down upon thy knees! Behold the angel of God! Fold thy hands in reverent prayer before the celestial minister!
My master exclaimed: Behold how he scorns all mortal oars, and needs no earthly canvas to catch the wind; between shores so distant he uses only his eternal wings, which point straight toward heaven, neither shedding feathers nor decaying like the plumage of mortal birds! Even as he spoke, the divine bird drew near, skimming the surface with effortless majesty.
The celestial pilot stood at the prow, so radiant with heavenly light that mortal sight could not endure his glory; within his buoyant vessel sat more than a hundred redeemed spirits, singing together in joyous harmony with one voice Psalm one hundred and thirteen: When Israel went out of Egypt, the house of Jacob from a people of strange language!
The triumphant anthem echoed over the tranquil waves, celebrating the liberation of the soul from mortal bondage; the angel made the sign of the holy cross over the assembly, whereat they cast themselves joyfully upon the strand, while the celestial vessel sped back across the waters with the same miraculous velocity that brought it hither.
The newly arrived spirits gazed in wonder around that unfamiliar shore, inquiring of us the way up the mountain; but noticing my living breath, they crowded around my body in amazement, and from among them stepped forward a beloved shade, extending his arms to embrace me with such affectionate joy that I moved forward to clasp him in return. Three times I cast my arms about his neck, and three times they returned empty to my breast, passing through his impalpable form like air!
It was my dearest friend Casella, the sweet musician of Florence! At my entreaty, he began to sing with that celestial voice that had so often soothed my earthly cares: Love that discourses in my mind; the sweetness of his song held all our spirits, and even Virgil himself, in breathless ecstasy. But while we stood transfixed, venerable Cato suddenly appeared, rebuking our delay with thunderous voice: What is this, laggard spirits? What negligence, what loitering is this? Run to the mountain to strip away that slough of sin which hides God from your eyes! Like doves startled from their feeding, the shades scattered toward the rocky cliffs, while Virgil and I hastened forward under the morning sun.
The Steep Slopes of Ante-Purgatory and the Tardy Spirits
While those newly arrived spirits scattered like frightened doves across the plain under the stern rebuke of Cato, I pressed close to the side of my faithful companion; for without his guidance, how could mortal limbs have scaled that lofty mountain? Virgil advanced with eager yet noble strides, but as his pace slackened, his serene demeanor regained that philosophic dignity which adorned all his mortal actions.
The rising sun now burned crimson behind our shoulders, casting its orient beams against the cliff; but glancing downward, I beheld the solid black shadow of my mortal frame stretching across the earth before me, because the rays of light were blocked by my living flesh. Seeing the shadow fall solitary before my feet while my guide cast no shade upon the ground, I was seized with sudden terror, imagining that my beloved master had abandoned me solitary upon the strand.
Reading the secret apprehension in my countenance, my guide turned with gentle reproach: Why dost thou mistrust? Believest thou that I am not with thee, or that I have forsaken thy steps? The mortal body wherein I once cast a shadow lies buried in the earth of Naples; marvel not that no shade falls from my spiritual form, for the spheres of heaven transmit their light through one another without obstacle, and so do the diaphanous bodies of the dead.
Virgil admonished my intellect with sublime philosophy: The sovereign Power shapes these impalpable frames to endure both burning heat and piercing cold, by a mysterious dispensation which mortal minds strive in vain to penetrate; rest content, O mortal race, with the simple 'quia' of observed reality, for had your intellects possessed the capacity to comprehend the primal causes, Mary needed not have brought forth the Redeemer, nor would Aristotle, Plato, and my own spirit mourn in eternal longing within the gates of Limbo!
Engrossed in these profound meditations, we arrived at the foot of the mountain; but looking up, we found the rocky wall so steep and sheer that the nimblest limbs would have labored in vain to scale it. The rugged cliffs between Lerici and Turbia, the most precipitous precipices along the Ligurian coast, are an easy and spacious stairway compared to that towering wall of stone.
My master paused, gazing at the insurmountable height with downcast eyes: Who knows now upon which side this mountain slopes gently enough to afford an ascent to him who has no wings? While he debated within his intellect what path to choose, and I looked upward at the sheer rock, a troop of spirits appeared upon our left along the base of the cliff, moving their steps toward us with incredible slowness.
So tardy was their progress that though we watched them attentively, their bodies seemed scarcely to advance across the stones; Virgil said: Lift thine eyes, my son; behold those who may give us counsel concerning the ascent, if of thyself thou canst find none! We hastened toward them, observing that they moved with the timid modesty of sheep coming forth from their fold, following the leader step by step, pressing their gentle muzzles against the fleece of those before them.
When those humble spirits perceived that the sunlight was broken on my right side, casting a shadow from my mortal body against the rocky cliff, they halted in sudden astonishment and drew back in fear; Virgil addressed them with calm majesty: Fear not; this man whom ye behold is indeed living mortal flesh, and by sovereign divine power alone is he permitted to scale these heights, not by mortal presumption!
Hearing this, a fair and noble youth stepped forward from the flock, smiling upon me with royal courtesy: Whosoever thou art, turn thy face hither; consider if ever thou didst behold my countenance in the world of light! I gazed upon his blond hair and aristocratic features, observing a deep sword scar between his brows and another fatal wound upon his breast.
Confessing that I had never looked upon his living form, the prince pointed to the scar above his heart and said with joyful humility: I am Manfred, grandson of the Empress Constance! When my body fell pierced at the battle of Benevento, weeping I yielded my soul to Him who pardons willingly; infinite is the loving-kindness of God, whose wide arms embrace all who turn to Him with repentant tears!
Manfred revealed the stern decree of Ante-Purgatory: Whosoever dies in contumacy of Holy Church, though he repent at the last gasp, must wander outside this mount for thirty times the duration of his presumption, unless that term be shortened by the holy prayers of righteous mortals; wherefore I pray thee, when thou returnest to the sunlight, reveal my condition to my sweet daughter Constance, that her prayers may hasten my ascent up the sacred terraces.
Leaving the royal shade, we found a narrow fissure in the rock where the cliff had cracked asunder; so steep and cramped was that rocky chimney that we were compelled to crawl on hands and knees, our elbows and knees scraping the sharp stones as we struggled upward. When at last we reached the open terrace above the precipice, I sank down upon the rock exhausted, entreating my guide to pause for rest.
Virgil urged me forward with steadfast encouragement: Courage, my son! Drag thy limbs upward to yonder ledge! This mountain has a marvelous property: the ascent is ever hardest at the beginning, taxing all mortal strength; but the higher one climbs, the sweeter and lighter becomes the labor, until ascending becomes as effortless as floating downstream in a buoyant bark!
While we conversed upon the rocky terrace, a lazy voice sounded from behind a massive boulder: Perchance thou wilt have need of sitting down before thou reachest that smooth height! Turning our heads, we beheld in the cool shade of the rock a company of spirits lounging in utter indolence, resembling men whose limbs are too weary to perform the slightest exertion.
One spirit sat hugging his knees with both arms, burying his face between his legs, lifting only a solitary eye to peer at us with amused sluggishness; recognizing his posture, I exclaimed with joy: Belacqua! Blessed be God that I see thee saved! But why sittest thou here so lazy and inert, as though awaiting a companion to bear thee onward?
The indolent Florentine lute-maker answered with a slow drawl: Brother, why should I climb? The angel of God who guards the portal would not admit me to the purgatorial penance; for because I delayed my repentance until my mortal breath was almost spent, I must linger outside this mount as many years as I lived upon earth, unless a prayer from a heart in divine grace assists my cause.
Resuming our journey along the ridge, we encountered another vast company of shades who chanted the Miserere in mournful unison as they marched; these were the souls of those who died by sudden violence, repenting only in their final agony under the flash of divine grace. Beholding my living shadow, they interrupted their anthem with a protracted cry of amazement, sending messengers running toward us to inquire of the mortal world.
Among those who crowded around our steps, Buonconte da Montefeltro related the dramatic struggle for his departing soul upon the battlefield of Campaldino: As my eyes closed in death, the angel of God received me into his arms, while the demon of hell shrieked in fury: Why robbest thou me of my prey, carrying off his eternal part for a solitary tear of repentance? In revenge, the demon stirred a tempest in the air, sweeping my dead flesh into the raging Arno and tearing away the cross I had formed with my arms.
Beside him, gentle Pia de' Tolomei spoke her famous, sorrowful plea with delicate grace: When thou shalt have rested from thy long journey and returned to the living world, remember me, who am Pia! Siena made me, Maremma unmade me; he knows it well who, having wedded me with his ring, brought me to a secret death in the marshlands!
Emerging from the pressing throng of spirits, my eyes were drawn toward a solitary figure who sat motionless upon the cliff; majestic, silent, and austere, he watched our approach with the proud, tranquil dignity of a couchant lion upon the desert sands. He addressed not a word to us, but permitted our steps to draw near, his gaze resting upon us with grave majesty.
Virgil approached, entreating him to point out the easiest path up the mountain; but the proud spirit answered not his inquiry, demanding instead our country and our mortal lineage. The moment my master uttered the first syllables of his sweet native city—Mantua—the solitary shade started up from the rock, his eyes ablaze with sudden joy, crying aloud as he embraced my guide: O Mantuan, I am Sordello of thy own city!
Seeing those two noble citizens embrace with such ardent affection at the mere sound of their native city's name, a bitter cry of grief and righteous indignation burst from my soul: Ah servile Italy, hostel of sorrow, ship without a pilot in a furious storm, no queen of provinces, but a brothel of corruption! How easily thy citizens tear one another in pieces within the same walls!
Look upon thy miserable coastlands, and examine the cities of thy bosom; nowhere canst thou find peace or civic concord! Caesar Albert, why hast thou abandoned this garden of the empire to run wild while thou pursuest German quarrels? Are the eyes of eternal justice turned away from our bleeding land, or is some mysterious purpose ripening in the divine intellect beyond mortal sight?
With bitter irony I rebuked my native Florence: Thou, my city, mayest well rejoice that this reproach touches thee not; thy laws are so fleeting that the thread spun in October holds not to mid-November! Like a sick woman who tosses upon her bed of down, turning from side to side in a vain effort to escape her agony, so dost thou shift thy factions and thy decrees! As this sorrowful lament subsided, Sordello took Virgil by the hand, conducting our steps toward the lovely Valley of the Princes where the shades of royal rulers awaited the coming of the night.
The Flowery Valley of Princes and the Gate of Purgatory
Guided by Sordello with affectionate reverence, we skirted the precipitous cliffs of the holy mountain along an oblique path, leaving behind the windswept steepness of the outer slopes; the proud Mantuan poet reminded us of an inviolable ordinance of Ante-Purgatory: that as soon as the last golden rays of the sun sink beneath the horizon, no spirit can advance upward by even a single footstep, for the darkness of night binds the will with impotence.
Therefore he conducted our steps toward a hidden hollow scooped out of the rocky mountain flank, resembling a natural cradle fashioned by nature in the granite precipice; the floor of this secluded vale sloped gently downward, so that its tranquil expanse was completely sheltered from outward view by the sheltering cliffs. Stepping across the grassy threshold, the marvelous vision of that sanctuary struck my soul with breathless wonder.
Across the floor of that lovely valley spread a carpet of luxuriant emerald grass, waving gently beneath the evening breeze; unnumbered blossoms of exquisite beauty competed in brilliant rivalry, whose orient hues would have put to shame the purest refined gold, spotless silver, deep emerald, or the richest cochineal and indigo brought from eastern lands, making all mortal pigments appear as dull earth before their natural splendor.
Nor did that hollow delight the sense of sight alone; from the mingling of a thousand diverse herbs and petals arose a sweet and mysterious perfume, blended into a single transcendent fragrance that refreshed the lungs and dissolved every lingering shadow of earthly anxiety within the soul.
Upon this radiant flowery tapestry sat a company of noble spirits, lifting their voices in sweet and plaintive melody as they sang the evening anthem Salve Regina; Sordello pointed out their illustrious identities: Behold Emperor Rudolf of Hapsburg sitting in the midst, who had power to heal the wounds that have slain Italy; and beside him sits Ottokar of Bohemia, his former rival in arms, now comforting his companion in holy fellowship.
Philip III of France, Henry of Navarre, Peter III of Aragon, Charles I of Anjou, and simple Henry III of England sat side by side, having laid aside the bitter animosities and bloody feuds of their earthly reigns; united like brethren under the motherly mantle of the Virgin, they shared the patient penance of Ante-Purgatory, demonstrating the sovereign power of grace over mortal divisions.
As the sweet melody of the Salve Regina faded into silence, the last amber light of day was waning along the horizon; now was the hour that turns back desire in voyagers and melts their hearts, when they have said farewell to their sweet friends, and the pilgrim hears the distant vesper bell that seems to mourn the dying day! From among the princes a spirit arose, folding his hands and turning his gaze toward the east, as if proclaiming: I care for nought besides God!
With devout simplicity he began to chant the compline hymn Te lucis ante terminum; the entire assembly of royal shades arose, joining their voices to his with such celestial sweetness that my spirit was rapt from earthly consciousness. When the sacred hymn reached its final cadence, the spirits remained standing in reverent suspense, their eyes fixed upward upon the darkening vault.
Suddenly from the heights of heaven two angels descended on effortless wings, clad in robes of tender green like newborn spring leaves, which fluttered behind their flight in the breeze of their pinions; in their hands they bore two flaming swords, whose blades were blunted and severed of their points, gleaming with celestial authority.
Stationing themselves upon the opposing ridges that flanked the vale, they kept holy watch over the hollow; Sordello explained: These celestial wardens descend directly from Mary's maternal care to guard the valley against the ancient adversary, the serpent that creeps forth in the twilight. Hearing of the monster's approach, I froze in terror, pressing close to Virgil's mantle for protection.
While we conversed with the noble shades below, through the unguarded grass of the lower valley glided a sleek and venomous serpent, identical to that subtle beast which offered the fatal fruit to Eve in primal Eden; undulating silently through the blossoms, it turned its head from side to side, licking its scales with treacherous grace.
Before the creeping reptile could reach the company, the two green angels swooped from their rocky perches like celestial falcons, cleaving the air with rushing pinions; terrified by the rush of heavenly wings, the serpent fled headlong into the darkness, while the angelic guardians soared back in measured arcs to resume their watch upon the cliffs.
Night now settled over the mountain, and deep silence reigned throughout the hollow; oppressed by the weight of my mortal flesh inherited from Adam, I sank down upon the fragrant flowers, overcome by heavy slumber. Virgil and Sordello watched beside my resting form, while the stars wheeled slowly across the southern sky.
In that quiet hour before dawn, when the swallow begins her sad lamentations in remembrance of her ancient grief, a marvelous vision visited my sleeping intellect; I dreamed that poised in the open sky hovered a colossal eagle with plumage of pure gold, its wings spread wide to embrace the heavens, its fiery gaze fixed downward upon the earth.
Suddenly the golden bird stooped like a bolt of lightning, seizing me in its talons with irresistible power, carrying my mortal form upward toward the celestial sphere of fire; there we seemed to burn together in a blaze of intense flame, and so acute was the imagined heat that my slumber was violently broken, and I started awake in breathless terror.
Opening my eyes, I found the flowery valley gone, and Sordello departed; the sun was already more than two hours high, bathing the mountain in brilliant morning light. Beside me stood Virgil alone, looking upon me with comforting tenderness, while before us rose a sheer wall of rock, leaving me bewildered and pale with sudden apprehension.
My master dispelled my fears with loving words: Fear not, my son; be of good cheer, for our journey has not halted, but made glorious progress! Thou art now arrived before the portal of Purgatory proper; behold yonder rocky cliff, and discern that narrow cleft which opens into the mountain!
Virgil revealed the heavenly mystery: At early dawn, while thy mortal body slept upon the flowers, a celestial lady named Lucia descended from on high; taking thee in her gentle arms, she said: 'I will bear this sleeper onward, that his path may be shortened.' Sordello and the noble princes remained below, while she bore thee up the rocky steep, showing me the entrance to the sacred terrace before she vanished into the morning light.
Hearing that divine grace in the person of Saint Lucia had carried me thither, all hesitation fled from my breast, replaced by ardent courage; following my guide, I approached the rocky fissure where the entrance was situated. Approaching the threshold, I perceived three colossal steps leading up to the portal, differing from one another in color and stone.
The first step was of polished white marble, so smooth and pure that my full image was reflected in its mirror, signifying the candid confession of the soul; the second was of dark, calcined stone, rough and split lengthwise and crosswise, symbolizing the broken contrition of a penitent heart; the third, resting upon the summit, was of blazing porphyry, red as blood spurting from an open vein, denoting the ardent love of divine satisfaction.
Upon the threshold of adamantine diamond sat the angel of God, guardian of the gate, clothed in robes of ashes and earth; in his hand he held a naked sword of such dazzling brilliance that my mortal eyes could not endure the splendor of his countenance.
Virgil commanded me to approach with reverent devotion; falling prostrate at the angel's holy feet, I smote my breast three times, imploring divine mercy. The angel leaned forward, and with the sharp tip of his sword traced seven times the letter P upon my forehead, representing the seven capital vices: Pride, Envy, Wrath, Sloth, Avarice, Gluttony, and Lust. He commanded me: Wash away these wounds when thou art within!
From beneath his ash-colored vesture, the angel drew forth two keys; one was of pure silver, signifying the discernment and priestly wisdom needed to judge the penitent; the other was of gold, signifying the divine authority to absolve guilt. He explained: These keys were committed to my charge by Peter, who charged me rather to err in opening than in keeping locked, provided the sinner prostrates himself in true repentance. With these words, he turned both keys within the heavy lock.
With a resounding crash of brass and iron, the sacred gates swung open upon their hinges, grating with a thunderous roar louder than the Tarpeian rock when Metellus was dragged away; the angel warned us: Enter, but beware: whosoever looks back returns outside! As we stepped across the sacred threshold, a magnificent anthem burst upon our ears; from the interior of the mountain rose the majestic harmony of Te Deum laudamus, mingled with sweet organ-like voices, welcoming our living footsteps into the seven circles of purgatorial renewal!
The Heavy Stones of Pride and the Reliefs of Humility
When the sacred iron portal closed heavily behind us with a resounding metallic clang, we remembered the angel's stern warning and kept our gaze steadfastly ahead, daring not to look behind; before our steps opened a narrow fissure excavated in the living rock, an ascending cleft that wound from side to side like a wave receding and advancing, compelling us to adapt every movement to the natural contours of the stone.
Emerging at last from that cramped pass through which a needle might scarcely have threaded, we stood upon an open terrace encircling the mountain; this was the first circle of Purgatory proper, whose level width from the dizzying outer precipice to the perpendicular white cliff measured the length of three human bodies. The solitary cornice extended in an unbroken sweep to left and right, wrapped in solemn stillness beneath the pure mountain air.
The inner cliff that rose perpendicularly above the terrace was wrought of spotless white marble, so smooth and radiant that it seemed a virgin tablet; and upon its expanse were carved reliefs of such miraculous lifelikeness that not Polycletus only, but nature herself would have been put to shame by that divine artistry.
The first sculpture portrayed the Annunciation of that celestial decree which brought eternal peace to mankind; the archangel Gabriel stood before the Virgin in an attitude of such living grace that he seemed visibly to utter his holy Ave, while Mary herself was depicted with such profound humility that the words Ecce ancilla Dei were as clearly stamped upon her stone form as a seal impressed in wax.
Turning my eyes, I beheld another magnificent relief upon the rock: before the holy Ark drawn by oxen, royal David went dancing with girded loins, his humble fervor raising him higher than his kingship in the sight of heaven, while from a lofty palace window his queen Michal looked down upon him in proud and scornful disdain.
Beyond this was carved the illustrious justice of Emperor Trajan; the imperial warrior sat upon his steed surrounded by his cavalry beneath golden eagle banners, yet he halted his grand array at the petition of a poor widow who grasped his bridle, weeping for her murdered son; the emperor promised not to move forward until her tears were avenged, displaying that justice which bends supreme majesty to the sorrow of the humble.
While I fed my eyes upon these divine sculptures of humility, Virgil touched my sleeve, whispering: Turn thy gaze toward our left; behold a multitude that approaches with tardy steps, who will guide us to the ascending stairway! Turning my eyes, I looked upon a spectacle that filled my intellect with bewilderment and pity.
The approaching figures appeared not like living men, but like deformed and moving boulders; Virgil explained the dreadful reality: The crushing weight of their torment forces their frames downward to the earth, so that their bodies are doubled upon themselves. Each spirit bore upon his neck a colossal stone of granite, forcing his chest against his knees in excruciating penance!
Just as mortal architects carve stone corbels in the form of crouching caryatids whose knees touch their breasts to support a heavy roof, moving the beholder to sympathetic discomfort, so were these shades bent beneath their stony burdens; even the most patient among them, weeping tears that fell upon the rocks, seemed to cry in mute agony: I can bear no more!
As they crept forward beneath their crushing loads, the penitents chanted in sweet and mournful voices the Lord's Prayer: Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven! Concluding their petition, they prayed: Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors; not for ourselves who need no defense against temptation do we offer this prayer, but for those living mortals whom we left behind upon the earth!
Virgil addressed the company, inquiring the way to the ascending stairs; from beneath a massive rock, a voice replied in labored gasps. It was Omberto Aldobrandeschi of Tuscany, who confessed his ruin: The ancient blood and illustrious deeds of my ancestors puffed me up with such monstrous pride that, scorning all mankind, I treated every mortal with insolence, until the citizens of Siena rose against me and slew me in my arrogance.
Beside him crawled another spirit, who turned his neck sideways beneath his burden, recognizing my living countenance with a cry of joy; bending low that my face might draw near to his, I recognized Oderisi da Gubbio, the glory of that art which in Paris is called illumination. I exclaimed: Art thou not Oderisi, the honor of Gubbio and the master of the brush?
The great artist replied with humble sincerity: Brother, the leaves which Franco of Bologna paints are more smiling now; the honor is all his, and mine only in part! How little would I have admitted this truth during my mortal days, so fiercely did my heart burn with the desire for supreme excellence! For that pride I pay the penalty here; and scarcely should I be here at all, had I not turned to God in penitence while still possessing the power to sin!
Then Oderisi pronounced his sublime lamentation over mortal vanity: O empty glory of human powers! How brief is the green upon thy summit, unless followed by an age of gross stupidity! Cimabue thought to hold the field in painting, and now Giotto has the acclaim, so that the former's fame is obscured in shadow!
The master continued: So hath one Guido taken from the other the glory of our language, and perchance one is already born who shall chase them both from the nest! Earthly renown is but a gust of wind, that blows now from this side, now from that, changing its name only because it changes its quarter; after a thousand years have passed, what will thy mortal fame be compared to eternity, but a grain of sand against the cosmos?
Oderisi pointed to the shade who dragged his burden before him—Provenzan Salvani, once absolute tyrant of Siena; he explained that this proud lord was admitted to Purgatory without delay because, at the height of his power, he voluntarily humbled himself in the public square of Siena, begging alms from the citizens to ransom his friend from the dungeons of Charles of Anjou, conquering all personal pride for love's sake.
Leaving Oderisi, Virgil commanded me to look downward at the pavement beneath our feet; there, carved upon the level rock like epitaphs over mortal tombs, unfolded a vast and terrifying gallery depicting the disastrous fall of pride across the history of creation, designed by heaven to instruct the penitent as they tread the stone.
Foremost among the sculptures I beheld Lucifer, once the fairest of all created beings, falling headlong like lightning from the heights of heaven; beside him lay colossal Briareus, transfixed by the celestial thunderbolt, his gigantic frame freezing in the cold convulsions of death upon the earth.
I saw the Giants lying vanquished upon the field of Phlegra beneath the weapons of Mars and Apollo; I saw Nimrod standing bewildered at the foot of his colossal tower, gazing upon the multitude whose speech had been confounded into Babel; I saw weeping Niobe transformed into stone, surrounded by her fourteen slain children whose beauty had provoked her foolish boast.
I saw King Saul fallen upon his own sword on Mount Gilboa, which thenceforth received neither rain nor dew; I saw foolish Arachne, already half-transformed into a spider, weeping upon the ruined fragments of her web; I saw Rehoboam fleeing in terror in his chariot; and I saw proud Troy in ashes, reduced from imperial splendor to a heap of smoking ruins!
While I gazed upon these monuments of overthrown pride, Virgil touched my shoulder: Lift up thy head! Linger no longer in contemplating the dust; behold the angel of God who approaches to meet us, while the sun completes the sixth hour of his daily pilgrimage!
Looking upward, I beheld a celestial messenger advancing with spotless grace; his vesture was white as snow, and his countenance shone with that radiant, trembling brilliance which adorns the morning star in the orient sky. Extending his arms, the angel called to us in a voice of heavenly sweetness: Come forward; here are the steps, and henceforth the ascent is easy!
The angel conducted us toward a cleft in the rock where the second stairway opened; and as we approached the ascent, he brushed his dazzling wings across my forehead, while from the unseen air burst forth the sweet beatitude: Beati pauperes spiritu—Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven!
Stepping upon the rocky stairway, I was astonished to find my mortal limbs lighter than they had ever been upon the level plain, mounting upward with effortless ease; turning to my guide, I inquired the cause of this wondrous change. Virgil smiled upon me: My son, when that first and heaviest 'P' of pride was erased from thy brow by the angel's wing, the remaining wounds were so weakened that thy feet need no longer labor, but shall be borne upward by the spontaneous desire of thy purified soul!
The Wire of Envy and the Smoke of Wrath
Reaching the summit of the stony stairway that conducted us to the second circle of the holy mountain, we stepped upon an open terrace whose aspect differed completely from that below; the sheer cliff that rose above the way and the level pavement beneath our feet were wrought of a uniform, cold, and leaden-gray stone. This terrace embraced a narrower circumference than the first, yet its barren walls bore neither sculpture nor marble image, presenting only smooth, unadorned rock in austere silence beneath the rarefied sky.
Facing that solitary expanse, my master Virgil turned his eyes toward the radiant sun, addressing the celestial orb with devout reverence: O gentle light, in whose trust we enter upon this new pathway, guide our steps with thy beam! Unless a higher divine necessity dictates otherwise, thy rays alone must ever serve as the true illumination of mortal wanderers! With these words, he wheeled to the right, leading the way along the livid stone.
When we had advanced perhaps a thousand paces, sudden mysterious sounds rushed through the air, like unseen spirits flying swiftly past upon invisible wings; in gracious accents, these celestial voices scattered courteous invitations to fraternal charity. The first voice flew past crying aloud: Vinum non habent—They have no wine—recalling Mary's tender solicitude at Cana; immediately followed a second, shouting: I am Orestes!—remembering Pylades who offered his mortal life for his friend.
Virgil explained: This second terrace purges the malignant vice of envy; therefore the scourges of penance are drawn from the cords of boundless charity, while restraining bridles will resound when we advance further. Then my master bade me gaze attentively along the inner wall, where beneath the leaden cliff a multitude of sorrowful shades sat clustered in the shadow.
Drawing near to that mournful company, my heart was pierced with profound pity: each spirit was clothed in coarse, prickling haircloth whose earthy gray hue matched the dismal stone behind them; they sat pressed flat against the rock, each resting his head upon the shoulder of his neighbor, while the hindmost was supported by the cliff itself.
They resembled blind beggars who gather at church portals on solemn feast days to solicit alms from the faithful, leaning their weary foreheads together to move the hearts of passersby to compassion. But the most horrifying torment of their penance lay in their eyes: through the eyelids of every shade, divine justice had passed a sharp iron wire, stitching the lids completely together, so that not a ray of light could penetrate their darkness!
Just as falconers pierce the eyelids of untamed wild hawks with thread to make them quiet and docile beneath the trainer's hand, so these souls who had taken wicked pleasure in gazing upon the misfortune of others were now completely blinded. Through the cruel iron stitches, scalding tears of bitter repentance continually welled forth, bathing their hollow cheeks in perpetual weeping.
It seemed to me an intolerable discourtesy to gaze upon the misery of others while myself remaining unseen; turning to my guide, I sought his counsel. Virgil, divining my thoughts, gave me leave to speak, but commanded: Let thy words be brief and to the purpose!
Approaching a shade who lifted her chin as if seeking a living presence in the dark, I inquired her name and mortal country; the spirit replied in gentle accents: I was a lady of Siena, named Sapia; yet though my name sounded of wisdom, I was madly foolish in my life, taking greater delight in the calamities of my fellow citizens than in my own prosperity!
She recounted her transgression: When the Sienese armies were routed by Florence near Colle, I watched the slaughter from my terrace in wicked ecstasy, crying to heaven in monstrous arrogance: Now fear I thee no more! Only at the threshold of the grave did I turn to God in tears; and my soul would not yet have climbed this terrace had not the holy hermit Pier Pettinaio remembered me in his devout prayers, winning my pardon through pure charity.
Beside her sat Guido del Duca and Rinieri da Calboli, two noble spirits of Romagna, who lamented the moral ruin of Tuscany along the course of the Arno: that fair stream, from its mountain cradle to its western mouth, waters only men who have degenerated into bestial forms—swine in the Casentino, snarling curs in Arezzo, ravenous wolves in Florence, and cunning foxes in Pisa! All ancient chivalry and virtue have vanished from the land, leaving only factional envy and treason.
Passing beyond that blind company, warning voices thundered through the air—the cry of Cain, 'Whosoever findeth me shall slay me,' and the bitter moan of Aglauros turned to stone—admonishing mortal souls against the venom of envy. Suddenly before us burst a radiance so intense that mortal sight could not endure its glory, forcing me to shield my brow with my hands.
Virgil said: Behold the angel of God, who comes to show us the ascending stairway! The celestial messenger greeted us with joyful sweetness, and as we approached the cleft, his spotless wing brushed across my forehead, erasing the second 'P' of envy; while unseen voices sang the sweet beatitude: Beati misericordes—Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy!
We stepped upon the third terrace of the holy mountain, the circle of the Wrathful; but scarcely had we advanced when an immense, suffocating cloud of pitch-black smoke rolled down upon us, darker than the deepest night of the infernal pit. The dense vapor enveloped the terrace in utter obscurity, so that no eye could remain open within its choking murk.
The pungent fumes blinded my eyes and caught my breath; my wise guide drew near, offering his firm shoulder to my grasp: Place thy hand upon my shoulder, my son; take heed that thou art not separated from me in this blindness! Like a sightless man who trusts the guidance of his companion, I walked through that bitter vapor, listening to the voices that echoed within the gloom.
Through the suffocating smoke arose a chorus of incomparable sweetness and harmony; the shades of the wrathful, marching through the gloom, chanted in unison the sacred petition of the liturgy: Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis; Agnus Dei, dona nobis pacem!
In life, these souls had permitted blind fury to obscure the light of reason and tear the bonds of civic peace; now in Purgatory, they walked wrapped in a physical smoke that mirrored their former passions, finding restoration through that perfect unity of voice and spirit which joined their hearts in the Lamb of God.
A voice addressed us through the darkness, belonging to Marco Lombardo, a courtier renowned for worldly wisdom and virtue; moved by anxiety for our troubled world, I questioned him: Noble master, tell me why the terrestrial sphere has become so utterly corrupt? Is this degeneration caused by the celestial stars above, or does the fault lie within human nature itself?
Marco sighed deeply before answering in ringing tones: Brother, the world is blind, and thou comest from it! Ye mortals ascribe every occurrence to the heavens above, as though all things moved by absolute necessity! Were it so, free will would be utterly destroyed in mankind, and justice would cease to exist in rewarding virtue or punishing vice!
The sage explained: The celestial spheres initiate your natural movements, but heaven hath given you the light of reason to distinguish good from evil, and free will to master your passions! If that will be nurtured in virtue, it will overcome every planetary influence in the end! Ye live under the sovereignty of a higher Power and a better nature, which created your mind free from astral bondage!
He traced the origin of the soul: Coming forth from the joyful hands of the Creator, the infant soul resembles a simple maiden who weeps and laughs in innocent ignorance; drawn instinctively to whatever gives delight, it turns toward trivial toys unless guided by a wise ruler or curbed by just laws. Therefore laws are necessary as bridles, and a monarch is required to discern at least the tower of the true city!
Then Marco delivered his famous doctrine of the Two Suns: Rome, which formed the civilized world in peace, was wont to have two suns, which made visible both paths—the emperor for the terrestrial world, and the pontiff for the celestial city of God!
But now the one sun hath extinguished the other; the pastoral crook is joined to the temporal sword, and when both powers are united in a single hand, neither fears the other! The Church of Rome, confounding in herself two distinct governments, has fallen into the mire, corrupting both her spiritual authority and the temporal peace of mankind! With these parting words, perceiving the white light of the angel gleaming through the smoke, Marco turned back into the murk.
We emerged from that choking cloud into the soft golden radiance of the setting sun; there stood the Angel of Peace, radiant beyond mortal comprehension, who brushed his wing across my brow, wiping away the third 'P' of wrath while the air resounded with the beatitude: Beati pacifici—Blessed are the peacemakers! As night fell over the mountain, my master and I sat upon the threshold of the fourth terrace, where Virgil expounded that sublime doctrine of Love which is the seed of every virtue and every vice throughout the cosmos.
The Zeal of Sloth and the Dust of Avarice
The cold midnight moon cast a pallid gleam along the stony walls of the fourth terrace, eclipsing the lesser stars in her brilliant course; while I pondered the sublime ontology of love expounded by my master Virgil, feeling my intellect gradually sink into the sweet repose of meditation, a thunderous uproar like the trampling of an innumerable cavalry burst from the darkness behind us, shattering the silence of the mountain.
A vast multitude of shades swept past along the narrow ledge at a furious, breathless gallop, their limbs propelled by an uncontrollable spiritual fervor; like the ancient Bacchantes who ran by night with blazing torches along the banks of the Asopus to invoke the god of wine, so these spirits were driven forward by the spur of holy love, their feet scarcely grazing the rock in their headlong course.
The foremost runners shouted examples of prompt and fervent charity: Mary ran with haste into the hill country! and Caesar, to subdue Ilerda, struck Marseilles and flew into Spain! The rushing multitude behind them roared in unison: Haste, haste! Let no time be lost through lack of love! Zealous striving shall make divine grace bud anew in our purified spirits!
In life, these penitents had been guilty of sloth and spiritual tepidity, pursuing true virtue with sluggish indifference; now upon the holy mount, they were condemned to run perpetually at full speed to repair their former languor, rekindling the pure flame of devotion through ceaseless physical exertion. Virgil inquired of the Abbot of San Zeno in Verona the way to the ascent; but the running prelate could not pause for an instant, shouting his reply while sprinting onward in tears.
The rear of the company brought up warning examples of sloth punished: The rebellious Hebrews who wearied of the desert march and died without beholding the Promised Land! and The weary companions of Aeneas who chose an inglorious ease in Sicily, resigning the glory of Latium! When that whirlwind of runners had vanished around the curved cliff, deep silence returned to the mountain, and overcome by bodily fatigue, I sank into heavy slumber upon the rock.
In that coldest hour before dawn, a grotesque and seductive vision visited my sleeping intellect: there appeared before me a deformed woman, stammering of tongue, squinting of eye, distorted of feet, maimed in her hands, and pallid as a corpse. But as my gaze rested upon her features, my look acted upon her like the warmth of the sun upon a blossom, straightening her crooked limbs and painting her withered cheeks with the dazzling hues of seductive beauty.
The transformed Siren began to chant with irresistible sweetness: I am the sweet Siren who leads mariners astray in mid-sea with my enchanting melody; I turned Ulysses from his wandering course by the power of my song! Entranced by her music, my spirit was on the verge of total surrender, when a holy lady of austere majesty appeared beside her, crying to my guide: O Virgil, Virgil, who is this?
Virgil stepped forward with fearless gaze, seizing the seductive enchantress; tearing open her gorgeous robes, he laid bare her deformed belly, which exhaled so putrid and nauseating a stench that the horror of the odor violently broke my slumber, and I started awake in breathless disgust. Virgil stood beside me: Thrice have I called thee; rise up, the sun is high, and let us seek the portal of the next ascent!
The golden sunlight flooded the mountain slopes; at the stairway, the Angel of Zeal greeted us with wings like pure swans, brushing away the fourth 'P' of sloth from my brow while unseen voices sang the sweet beatitude: Beati qui lugent—Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted! We stepped upon the fifth terrace of Purgatory, the circle of the Avaricious and Prodigal.
A spectacle of profound humiliation unfolded before our eyes: upon the cold stone pavement of the terrace lay unnumbered spirits stretched prone upon their bellies, their faces pressed flat against the earth, their hands and feet bound fast with heavy iron chains, denied the power to lift their eyes toward the sky.
From every quarter of the terrace arose bitter weeping and lamentation, accompanied by that mournful versicle from the Psalms: Adhaesit pavimento anima mea—My soul cleaveth unto the dust; quicken thou me according to thy word! Having fixed their mortal love upon perishable earthly goods, they were now pinned immovable to the stone, tasting the bitter fruit of avarice in total impotence.
Stepping carefully between their fallen bodies, I knelt to converse with a weeping spirit; from the dust, the shade replied: Know that I was the successor of Peter upon earth, by name Pope Adrian V! When I attained that supreme dignity which commands the world, I discovered that the papal throne could not satisfy the infinite hunger of the soul, and that temporal greatness was but an empty burden!
He explained how that brief reign of thirty-eight days turned his heart to God; moved by reverent awe, I fell upon my knees beside him, but the prostrate pontiff rebuked me: Straighten thy limbs, brother! Err not: fellow-servant am I with thee and with all the flock before the one sovereign Lord! Stand upright!
Advancing further, we heard another spirit reciting the ancient roots of royal greed; it was Hugh Capet, the patriarch of the French monarchy, who lamented how the thirst for gold had corrupted his royal descendants.
He denounced Philip the Fair: To seize the wealth of the Templars, he condemned innocent knights to the flames; and to crown his wickedness, his mercenaries entered Anagni, laying violent hands upon the vicar of Christ, renewing the bitter vinegar and gall of Calvary upon the papal throne! The insatiable greed of kings has kindled a fire that consumes the peace of Christendom!
Even as Hugh Capet concluded his lamentation, a colossal and miraculous event shook the foundations of the cosmos; the holy mountain of Purgatory trembled violently from base to summit with a terrifying earthquake, so that my knees shook and my heart froze with dread, as though the colossal peak were collapsing into the sea!
Never did Delos rock so fiercely upon the waves before Latona gave birth to Apollo and Diana, as did that holy mountain in that dread moment; and immediately from every cliff and terrace, from the flowery valley below to the heights above, unnumbered voices burst forth in thunderous unison singing: Gloria in excelsis Deo—Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good will!
The triumphant anthem echoed through the heavens, holding our footsteps frozen in holy wonder like the shepherds who first heard the angelic chorus over Bethlehem; when the trembling subsided and the hymn was finished, we resumed our journey across the terrace, our intellects burning with thirst to comprehend the mystery.
While we hastened forward, a solitary spirit who had just risen from the pavement approached our steps from behind, greeting us with apostolic benevolence: My brothers, may God give you peace! Virgil answered his greeting with reverence, entreating the shade to reveal why the mountain had shaken so violently and why all spirits had joined in that triumphant song.
The emancipated soul revealed the sacred physics of Purgatory: Know that above the three steps of the angelic portal, no mortal weather can ever intrude; neither rain, nor hail, nor snow, nor frost, nor natural earthquakes can perturb this sacred air!
He explained the glorious miracle: The mountain trembles only when some purified soul feels its penance complete, and willing with free and sovereign desire to mount to paradise, rises from its bed of sorrow; then does the entire mountain shake in holy celebration, while all the company of spirits chant the Gloria to welcome the liberation of their companion!
Virgil inquired the name of this victorious spirit; he answered: In the days when Titus avenged the wounds of Christ, I bore the sacred name of poet upon earth; Statius was my name, author of the Thebaid and the Achilleid! The divine spark that kindled my poetic fire was that glorious Aeneid which was my mother and my nurse in song; and to have lived upon earth when Virgil breathed mortal air, I would willingly have endured another sun of purgatorial penance!
At these words, Virgil turned upon me with a glance commanding absolute silence; but human emotion is not always subject to the will, and a smile flickered across my lips. Statius, observing the smile, demanded its cause; whereupon, with my master's consent, I revealed the secret: Behold him whom thou hast praised; this is Virgil himself!
Statius started back in overwhelming joy and awe; falling prostrate at Virgil's feet, the freed poet stretched forth his arms to embrace his master's knees. Virgil restrained him: Brother, do not so; for thou art a shade, and a shade thou beholdest! Statius arose with tears of devotion: Now canst thou measure the boundless height of my love for thee, which causes me to forget our impalpable nature, treating shadows as solid mortal flesh!
The Tree of Thirst and the Wall of Fire
Accompanied by Statius with joyful and affectionate reverence, we three poets mounted the rocky stairway that led upward to the sixth circle of the holy mountain; the angel behind us had already brushed away the fifth wound of avarice from my brow, while the mountain air resounded with the beatitude: Blessed are they that thirst after righteousness. Our footsteps felt light and buoyant as air, while Virgil and Statius conversed of ancient song and the mysterious operations of grace.
Statius confessed with tears the secret debt he owed to his beloved master: Through thy divine Fourth Eclogue, which sang of a renewed creation, the virgin returning, and a holy offspring descending from on high, the first spark of Christian faith was kindled in my soul! Thou wast like one who travels by night carrying a lantern behind his back, which profits him not, but illuminates the steps of those who follow in his track!
While they conversed of poetic fame and holy truth, we reached the terrace of the Gluttonous; in the middle of our pathway rose a marvelous tree, shaped like an inverted fir, broad and leafy at the summit, but tapering downward to a slender trunk, so that no living creature could scale its boughs.
From the green foliage hung luscious and fragrant apples, diffusing a celestial scent through the air; while from the towering rock on our left fell a clear and crystalline stream, showering its cool spray over the upper leaves. From the depths of the foliage a majestic voice proclaimed examples of temperance: Mary cared more that the marriage feast should be honorable than that her own palate should be pleased! The ancient Roman women were content with water! Daniel despised the royal meats! and The Baptist ate only locusts and wild honey!
While we gazed in wonder upon the mystical tree, a multitude of silent spirits overtook our steps, walking with rapid pace; their aspect struck terror and pity into my soul. Never had mortal eyes beheld frames so wasted and emaciated: their eye sockets were dark hollows like rings stripped of their gems, while their pale skin was drawn so tight over their bones that it assumed the exact contours of skeletons.
Whosoever in mortal life sought to read the word OMO inscribed by the Creator upon the human countenance would have recognized the M at once in the arches of their brows and the hollows of their cheeks; Mary when she devoured her infant during the siege of Jerusalem was not more ghastly than these walking specters of penance.
These were the shades of the Gluttonous, who had subordinated the soul to bodily appetite; now upon this terrace, the luscious fragrance of the apples and the spray of the clear stream continually kindled an agonizing hunger and thirst within their senses, which divine justice permitted them not to satisfy, burning away their sensual corruption through perpetual desire.
From the depths of his sunken sockets, a spirit gazed upon me, crying aloud: What grace is this, that I should look upon thee here? I stared at his blackened, wasted features in utter bewilderment; but when his familiar voice sounded upon my ears, like a spark emerging from dead ashes, I recognized my beloved friend Forese Donati!
I embraced his spectral frame with tears: Forese, thy face which I wept over in death moves me to no less sorrow now! But tell me, how art thou advanced so high in so brief a season? Forese replied with tender affection: My sweet wife Nella, through her devout tears and ceaseless prayers, hath delivered me from the lower slopes of Ante-Purgatory, advancing my soul to this circle of sweet penance!
He denounced the shameless women of Florence who parade their immodest breasts through the streets, prophesying that divine retribution would swiftly overtake their insolence; he told me that his holy sister Piccarda already wore her crown of glory in paradise; and beside him, Bonagiunta of Lucca muttered a prophecy of a gentle maiden named Gentucca who would soften my bitter exile.
Bonagiunta scrutinized my features, inquiring: Art thou truly he who brought forth those novel rhymes beginning 'Ladies that have intelligence of Love'? I answered with the supreme confession of my art: I am one who, when Love inspires me, takes note, and in that manner which he dictates within my soul, go setting it forth in verse!
The ancient poet cried in sudden comprehension: O brother, now do I see the knot that held back the Notary, Guittone, and myself from that sweet new style which I hear! Your pens closely follow the dictating Spirit within, whereas our quills lagged far behind the genuine movements of love! With these words, the flock of spirits wheeled about like cranes flying before the winter blast, hastening forward along the curved terrace.
Passing a second mystical tree derived from the Tree of Knowledge, whose foliage resounded with warning examples of gluttony punished—Eve's fatal bite, the drunken Centaurs, and the warriors of Gideon—we reached the cleft where the Angel of Abstinence appeared in spotless glory; his wing brushed my brow, exhaling a fragrance like May breezes after morning rain, erasing the sixth 'P' while chanting: Blessed are they who hunger after righteousness!
We mounted to the seventh and final terrace, the circle of the Lustful; stepping upon the ledge, my soul froze with terror, for from the inner cliff leaped roaring sheets of incandescent flame, while a strong breeze from the abyss blew the flames inward, leaving only a precarious, razor-thin pathway along the dizzying brink.
Virgil advanced along the edge, cautioning me: In this place the reins must be kept tightly upon the eyes, for a single false step would plunge thee into the abyss or deliver thee to the flames! Side by side we moved along the fiery verge, my eyes shifting in terror between the roaring furnace on my left and the boundless precipice on my right.
Within the roaring furnace, two files of penitents moved in opposite directions; meeting in the heart of the fire, they exchanged brief, chaste kisses of holy charity without halting their steps, shouting warning cries against unbridled lust—one troop crying 'Sodom and Gomorrah!' and the other shouting the bestial shame of Pasiphae.
Among the flames, I conversed with Guido Guinizelli, father of the sweet vernacular lyric, and Arnaut Daniel, the great troubadour of Provence, who addressed me in his noble Occitan tongue, entreating my prayers as he dissolved once more into the refining fire like a fish darting into deep waters.
At the end of the terrace stood the Angel of Chastity upon a safe rock outside the flames, singing with celestial joy: Beati mundo corde—Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God! Then turning upon us, the angel proclaimed: Holy souls, ye cannot pass forward unless ye first taste this fire; enter into the flames, and be not deaf to the singing beyond!
Hearing this decree, I stood paralyzed with horror, gazing upon the roaring furnace; my memory recalled mortal men whom I had seen burned alive upon terrestrial scaffolds, and my limbs turned to stone, refusing to advance a single step toward the flames.
My beloved master drew near, placing his hands upon my trembling shoulders with fatherly tenderness: My son, here there may be torment, but not death! Remember that I conducted thee unharmed upon the shoulders of Geryon; what will I not do now, when we stand so near to God? Believe firmly that if thou didst remain in the heart of this fire for a thousand years, it could not consume a single hair of thy head!
Yet I remained stubborn and motionless against all his arguments; seeing my invincible dread, Virgil sighed, then played his final and all-conquering card: Look now, my son: between Beatrice and thee stands this wall of flame!
As dying Pyramus opened his eyes at the sweet name of Thisbe, so at the name of Beatrice all my stubborn resistance melted away like snow before the sun; seeing my surrender, Virgil smiled: What, shall we linger here upon the brink? He stepped first into the roaring furnace, bidding Statius follow behind, placing my living body between their protective frames.
When I plunged into the fire, the heat was so intolerable that boiling molten glass would have felt cool to my skin; yet my master continually spoke of Beatrice's radiant eyes to sustain my fainting courage, crying: Even now I seem to behold her eyes smiling upon our approach! Guided by an angelic voice singing beyond the flame—Venite, benedicti Patris mei—we emerged at last upon the rocky stairway that led up to the terrestrial paradise!
Night fell, and we slept upon the stone steps; at dawn, I dreamed of fair Leah weaving garlands and Rachel contemplating her mirror. When the orient light broke over the mountain, Virgil turned upon me with a gaze of sublime, eternal love, uttering his final valediction: My son, thou hast beheld the temporal and the eternal fire; my intellect can lead thee no further! Thy free will is henceforth whole, upright, and sound; it were a fault not to follow its pleasure; over thyself I crown and mitre thee, sovereign master of thine own soul!
The Earthly Paradise and the Sacred Chariot
Possessing now that crown of moral sovereignty and self-determined free will conferred by Virgil, I burned with eager desire to explore that divine and ancient forest which crowned the summit of the holy mountain; before my steps stretched an immense and primordial grove, whose vibrant verdure temperately filtered the orient rays of the dawn, forming an unbroken canopy that shut out every terrestrial care.
A sweet and unvarying breeze, bearing no mortal tempest within its gentle breath, caressed the fragrant foliage with a rhythmic sigh, setting all the boughs trembling toward that western quarter where the holy mount casts its morning shade; yet the swaying of the leaves disturbed not the joyful song of unnumbered birds, who welcomed the dawn with melodies of pure delight among the branches.
Advancing with slow and wonder-filled steps into the heart of the sacred wood, I had journeyed so far that looking back, the entrance was lost to sight; when suddenly my progress was arrested by a narrow stream whose crystal waters, flowing toward the left, bent the grass upon its banks with tiny ripples of living light.
All waters that are purest upon the mortal earth would seem to hold some foul impurity compared with that stream, which hid nothing in its crystalline depths; yet it flowed completely under perpetual shadow, so that neither sun nor moon could ever pierce the dense foliage to strike its surface. This was Lethe, the river of holy oblivion, appointed to take away all memory of mortal transgression!
Halting my footsteps upon the brink, I gazed across the three paces of water to admire the marvelous beauty of the opposite bank; there appeared to my sight a solitary maiden of surpassing grace, who walked amidst the blossoms singing sweet melodies, gathering with delicate hands the crimson, golden, and white flowers that carpeted her path.
Proserpine, when her mother lost her and she lost the sweet spring of flowers, was not more lovely than that solitary spirit; seeing me pause upon the bank, she turned her radiant countenance toward my gaze, lifting her brows with a smile so full of divine innocence that my soul was filled with reverence.
The fair maiden, whose name was Matelda, explained across the stream: Marvel not that I smile in this place chosen for the cradle of human innocence; the psalm 'Delectasti' explains the gladness of my spirit! She expounded the sacred physics of the mountain: This summit rises far above the storms and vapors of the lower world; the perpetual breeze is generated by the uniform revolution of the heavens, which scatters the celestial seeds of this forest across the earth below.
Matelda pointed to the stream: The water thou beholdest springs not from earthly vapor, but flows from a fountain perpetually replenished by the divine will; it divides into two diverse streams: on this side runs Lethe, which takes away all memory of sin, and on yonder side flows Eunoë, which restores the memory of every righteous deed! Only when both streams are tasted is their virtue accomplished in the soul!
While she walked along her bank and I along mine, keeping equal pace, a sudden flash of blinding splendor shot through the forest, so intense that I thought it lightning, yet it vanished not, but grew brighter with every instant; and through the luminous air flowed a melody of celestial sweetness, moving my spirit to grieve over the reckless disobedience of Eve, who could not brook a solitary veil of restraint!
Beneath that golden radiance unfolded the sacred pageant of the Apocalypse: foremost marched seven golden candlesticks, whose flaming crests left behind them in the upper air seven broad banners of light, painting the sky with the seven colors of the rainbow, representing the sevenfold gifts of the Holy Spirit.
Beneath that glorious canopy walked four and twenty elders, two by two, crowned with white lilies, representing the sacred books of the Old Testament; with one voice they sang: Blessed art thou among the daughters of Adam, and blessed be thy beauty unto all eternity! Behind them came four living creatures crowned with green foliage, each endowed with six wings full of eyes, surrounding the central mystery of the triumph.
Between the four living creatures advanced a two-wheeled triumphal chariot, grander than any that ever rolled in imperial Rome or that fatal car of Phaethon which scorched the earth; and harnessed to the chariot was a magnificent Gryphon, part eagle and part lion, symbol of the dual nature of Christ.
His golden eagle wings stretched upward between the rainbow banners, reaching beyond mortal sight; his bird-like head and chest were of spotless gold, while his leonine limbs were mingled with white and crimson. At the right wheel danced the three theological virtues—Faith in white, Hope in emerald green, and Charity in flaming crimson; while at the left wheel danced the four cardinal virtues in imperial purple, led by three-eyed Prudence.
Bringing up the rear were seven ancients crowned with red roses, representing the apostolic writings; when the sacred car stood directly opposite to my position across the stream, a thunderous crash resounded through the forest, and the entire magnificent assembly halted in solemn stillness.
The elders turned toward the chariot, and one of them cried thrice in prophetic ecstasy: Veni, sponsa, de Libano! Immediately a hundred celestial angels arose from the car, scattering showers of white lilies and roses into the air, singing with heavenly voices: Benedictus qui venis! and Manibus, date lilia plenis!
In the midst of that cloud of descending flowers, upon the triumphal car appeared a lady; she wore an olive crown over a spotless white veil; beneath her green mantle she was clothed in a gown of flaming crimson, wearing the sacred colors of Faith, Hope, and Love.
Though the white veil concealed her countenance from my sight, an occult virtue emanating from her presence struck my soul across the stream, reviving that ancient adoration which had mastered my youth; without need of visual confirmation, my spirit trembled to its depths, and I recognized the immortal signs of the ancient flame!
Overwhelmed by awe, I turned to the left with the instinctive terror of a child who runs to his mother, to say to my guide: Not a single drop of blood remains in me that does not tremble! But Virgil was gone! Virgil, my sweetest father, Virgil, to whom I gave myself for my salvation, had vanished into the shadows of Limbo! Nor could all the glories of primeval Eden prevent my cheeks, washed with morning dew, from being stained once more with bitter tears.
Dante! cried the lady across the stream, calling me by name with majestic severity: Weep not that Virgil departs; weep not yet, for thou must weep for another wound! Standing upon the left side of the chariot like an imperial judge, she addressed me in tones of piercing reproach.
She recited my transgressions before the angelic court: When I passed from flesh to spirit, increasing in beauty and virtue, this man turned his footsteps away from my memory, following false images of good that never keep their promises! So low did he fall into the mire that all means for his salvation came short, save showing him the eternal perdition of the damned!
Hearing her righteous condemnation, I stood like a guilty child with downcast eyes, overwhelmed by crushing shame; the ice that had frozen around my heart melted in a torrent of agonizing sobs, and with broken voice I confessed: Present things, with their deceitful pleasures, turned my steps aside as soon as thy countenance was hidden from mortal eyes! Beatrice demanded: Lift up thy beard, and look upon her whom thou hast grieved!
When I looked upon her face, now unveiled in celestial beauty, the agony of my remorse was so intense that I sank swooning to the earth; when consciousness returned, I found fair Matelda drawing me through the cool waters of Lethe. She immersed my head beneath the stream, causing me to drink that water which erases all memory of sin, then drew me forth to join the dance of the four purple-robed virtues.
The virtues led me before the Gryphon, bidding me gaze into the emerald eyes of Beatrice; within those radiant gems I beheld the reflection of the Gryphon, now appearing in his divine aspect of gold, now in his human form of lion, demonstrating the mystery of the Incarnation. My soul fed upon that bread of heaven, which satisfies yet continually awakens holy hunger. My renewed spirit rejoiced in the living waters of memory, drinking deeply of that sacred fountain which restores every good deed done in mortal life.
After the prophetic visions of the Church and Empire had unfolded beneath the sacred tree, Matelda, at Beatrice's bidding, conducted my steps and those of Statius to the murmuring banks of Eunoë; when I drank of that sweet stream, which restores the memory of every good deed, I returned from the sacred waters regenerated like new trees clothed in fresh spring foliage: pure and prepared to mount unto the stars! Transformed by grace and purged of every earthly stain, I stood ready to mount upward through the spheres of light, gazing with unclouded vision toward the eternal stars.
The Sphere of the Moon and the Inviolable Vow
The glory of Him who moves all created things penetrates the boundless universe with infinite virtue and majesty, glowing with sovereign intensity in certain celestial realms while shining more temperately in others; I have walked within that highest heaven which drinks most deeply of His uncreated light, beholding supernal wonders and secrets that mortal speech lacks the power to recount, for the intellect, drawing ever nearer to the supreme object of its eternal desire, plunges so profoundly into the divine abyss that human memory cannot follow its transcendent track.
Standing upon the verdant summit of the Earthly Paradise, I turned my eyes toward Beatrice, who stood gazing steadfastly upon the noonday sun; no eagle of mortal skies ever fixed its unblinking vision so boldly or sustainedly upon the meridian flame. The holy purity of that primeval garden, unmarred by original sin, permitted my mortal faculties to imitate her divine gesture, and I turned my eyes upward to drink without fear or hesitation of that celestial brilliance pouring from the solar orb.
Suddenly it seemed to my wondering vision that day had been added unto day by the hand of the Almighty, as though the Creator had adorned the vault of heaven with a second sun of equal brilliance, drowning all creation in double dawn; Beatrice stood with eyes immovably fixed upon the eternal wheels, and I, turning my gaze from the heavens to contemplate her radiant countenance, felt within my innermost soul that transhumanizing change which mortal words cannot declare—even as Glaucus, tasting of the enchanted grass upon the shore, was transformed from a humble fisherman into an immortal god of the deep sea.
Whether I ascended in the spirit alone or clothed still in that heavy garment of mortal clay which God had fashioned from the dust, He alone knoweth who lifted my spirit into the azure height! The vast expanse of light, wider than any terrestrial ocean, and the new melody of the revolving spheres, turning in majestic concourse beneath eternal law, filled my whole being with an unquenchable desire to comprehend the secret cause of such supernal wonders and celestial harmonies.
Perceiving my unspoken perplexity with the swift clarity of heaven, Beatrice turned to me with a smile of maternal pity and tenderness, saying: Thou makest thyself dull with false earthly imaginations, not perceiving that thou hast left the heavy soil behind; never did lightning fall so swiftly from its native thundercloud toward the earth as thou art now returning to the celestial haven from which thy spirit first issued forth into mortal birth!
How can my heavy mortal frame rise above these light and subtle elements with such effortless velocity? I asked in reverence; whereat she sighed with holy pity and unfolded the universal architecture of creation: All created natures possess an intrinsic order among themselves, and this harmony constitutes the divine likeness of the universe; within that great sea of being, all creatures sail according to their innate instincts toward their appointed harbors—fire ascends toward the moon, earthly stones gravitate toward the center, and the human soul, purged of mortal sin, mounts naturally toward the Empyrean throne!
O ye who in small barks have followed my singing keel, eager to hear my lofty song, turn back while yet there is time to your own familiar shores! Put not out upon the open deep without ample provision, for losing sight of my course, ye might remain bewildered in the boundless waters; the perilous sea I navigate was never crossed before by mortal sail: Minerva breathes into my canvas, Apollo guides my rudder, and the nine Muses point out the immutable northern stars to steer my course!
Under Beatrice's unwavering guidance, we shot upward like arrows from the bowstring into the First Heaven, entering the Sphere of the Moon; we were enveloped in a luminous cloud, solid, polished, and dense as a virgin diamond struck by direct sunlight, or an immense celestial pearl floating in the azure void. The eternal pearl received our ascending forms into itself, even as a ray of sunlight enters clear water without breaking the unity of its surface or dividing its liquid substance.
Seeing that mortal substance could penetrate solid celestial matter without displacement or resistance, my spirit was filled with holy awe, contemplating that supreme mystery of the Incarnation wherein the divine nature united perfectly with human flesh in a single person; turning in gratitude to my guide, I inquired: Lady, what are those dark markings upon this planet's orb which mortals upon the earth below foolishly attribute to the legendary fable of Cain bearing his bundle of thorns?
Smiling with gracious indulgence at mortal error, Beatrice refuted the naive physical notion that lunar spots arise from variations in material density: Were density alone the cause, she argued, the sunlight would shine through the thinner passages during an eclipse of the sun, or the dense layers behind would reflect light equally throughout; this false presumption can be thoroughly dispelled by the famous experiment of the three mirrors, which demonstrates that light's reflection obeys deeper optical and spiritual laws.
Place two mirrors at equal distance from thine eyes, she explained, and let a third stand further back between the two; then let a lamp shine from behind thy head so that its beams strike all three surfaces: though the distant mirror show a smaller reflection, its brilliance will shine with the very same intrinsic brightness as the nearer ones, proving conclusively that optical dimness depends not merely upon depth or density, but upon the formal virtues bestowed by heavenly influences!
She revealed the true celestial physics: From the highest heaven of the Cherubim, divine power descends into the lower spheres, where angelic intelligences distribute diverse virtues among diverse stars; even as the human soul informs diverse members of the mortal body with diverse faculties of vision, hearing, and breath, so this blended virtue shines with varied brightness throughout the lunar substance, creating the appearance of light and shade through diverse heavenly gifts rather than material defects.
While I pondered this sublime instruction in silent wonder, my eyes perceived faint and translucent countenances emerging from the pearly atmosphere of the moon; they appeared as subtle as reflections cast upon polished glass or shallow crystalline water whose sandy bed shines white beneath, so delicate that a white pearl on a pale forehead is not more faint to human eyes, yet glowing with an inward beatitude that transfigured their angelic features.
Deceived by their ethereal faintness and translucent grace, I fell into the error contrary to that of Narcissus, who mistook a reflection in the fountain for a living face; believing these to be reflected images from behind me, I turned around swiftly to see their sources, but found only the empty crystal void. Beatrice smiled with holy amusement at my childish mistake, watching my bewildered gaze with maternal warmth and wisdom.
These are real substances and true spirits, she declared, assigned to this slowest sphere of the heavens because their sacred vows were broken or left incomplete through external violence; speak with them and believe their words without hesitation, for the true light of divine truth which satisfies their souls permits not their footsteps to turn aside from truth or deceive the seeker of righteousness!
Turning eagerly to the spirit who seemed most desirous of speech, I said: O soul created for eternal life, tasting that celestial sweetness which none can understand save he who tastes it in the divine presence, tell me thy name and the condition of thy blessed companions in this luminous sphere, that my mortal understanding may be enriched by heaven's gracious testimony!
Her eyes glowing with celestial charity, she replied: Our charity closes not its gates against a righteous will, but resembles that Divine Love which desires all its celestial court to be like unto itself; in the mortal world I was a virgin sister of Saint Clare; if thy memory serve thee, my increased beauty will not conceal me: I am Piccarda, placed here with these blessed spirits in the slowest sphere, rejoicing in the measure of our assigned beatitude!
I asked: Do ye who dwell in this lowest sphere desire a loftier station, to behold more of divine truth and to love more abundantly near the supreme throne? Piccarda and the companion spirits smiled with that supreme gladness which shines in the first radiant dawn of love, their faces transfigured with joyous peace before she answered my anxious query.
Brother, she answered with holy serenity, the power of love quiets our will, making us desire only what we possess and thirsting for nothing beyond; were we to desire a higher sphere, our desires would be discordant with His will who appointed us here, which cannot be in these realms of perfect love; in His will is our peace: it is that great ocean to which all things move, both what it creates and what nature fashions throughout the vast cosmos!
Then was it clear to my soul that every realm in heaven is paradise, even though the grace of the Supreme Good rains down in diverse measure upon diverse ranks of the redeemed; I asked what sacred vow she had woven in youth that remained unfinished before her earthly demise, longing to understand the tragedy that had touched so pure a life in the turbulent world below.
She recounted how in the flower of youth she had fled the vanities of the world to take the holy veil of Santa Chiara; but violent men, accustomed to evil rather than good—my brother Corso Donati and his fierce faction—dragged me forth by brute force from the peace of the cloister; God knoweth what my life became when forced back into worldly marriage and earthly sorrow!
She pointed to the glorious spirit shining beside her: This is the splendor of the great Constance, who from the second wind of Suabia brought forth the third and final power, the Emperor Frederick II; she too was dragged from the sacred veil by dynastic violence, yet the white veil of her heart was never torn away unto her dying day, preserving inviolable fidelity in her innermost soul!
Having spoken these words, Piccarda began to sing Ave Maria, and singing, vanished like a heavy stone sinking through deep clear waters into the profound abyss; my eyes followed her departure as far as sight could reach, until her radiant form dissolved into the surrounding light, leaving only the memory of her sacred harmony echoing in my heart.
Then I turned my gaze once more to the countenance of Beatrice; but the sudden lightning of her celestial eyes, reflecting the pure splendor of the First Heaven, so dazzled and overcame my mortal sight that at first my vision could not endure that overwhelming glory, and I paused in reverent silence before addressing my next inquiry to my divine guide.
Mercurial Ambition and the Roman Eagle
Having resolved the intricate doubt concerning the nature of sacred vows in the Sphere of the Moon, Beatrice turned her luminous countenance toward higher realms; free will, she had explained, is the supreme and most precious gift bestowed by the Creator upon human nature, wherefore the pledge of a vow is the solemn sacrifice of that sovereign endowment upon the divine altar. Let mortals therefore never treat holy promises with lightness, nor imitate foolish Jephthah or Agamemnon, who sacrificed innocent blood to fulfill rash and ill-conceived oaths! With this solemn warning, she directed her longing eyes toward that meridian point where the universe burns with purest celestial flame.
Even as an arrow strikes the mark before the bowstring ceases its vibration, so with miraculous velocity we mounted upward from the First Heaven into the Second—the swift Sphere of Mercury; when we entered into the heart of that smallest planet nearest the sun, my soul was overwhelmed by the sudden increase of glory. Beatrice became so radiantly transfigured that the planet itself, receiving her into its substance, seemed to smile with added brightness, shining with an incandescent joy that quickened the whole celestial orb and filled the firmament with holy delight.
If the mutable star changed its appearance and rejoiced with supernal radiance, what change must have passed through my mortal nature, prone by its very frame to every fleeting impression! Gazing across the crystalline ocean of light, I beheld not an empty void, but thousands of dazzling splendors drawing near with eager speed; they advanced like schools of golden fish rising in a clear and tranquil pool toward food cast upon the surface from above, drawn by holy affection toward our ascending presence in the azure height.
Each radiant spirit cried aloud with sweet harmony across the luminous expanse: Behold one who shall increase our charity! And as each soul drew near, its internal bliss overflowed in rays of incandescent joy, enveloping its spiritual form in a dense veil of golden light, so that the individual countenance was concealed within its own self-generated glory, resembling a living spark burning within a sphere of pure solar fire.
Reader, think how great would be thy tormenting disappointment if my song should break off here without revealing who these blessed spirits were; thereby canst thou judge how eagerly I burned to learn their names and conditions. Turning to that light which seemed most loving and radiant among them, I spoke: O spirit born to behold the eternal thrones of triumph before thy earthly warfare is accomplished, tell me who thou art, and why thou art appointed to this sphere which veils itself from mortal eyes in the sun's surpassing rays!
At these words, the holy luster glowed with redoubled fervor, like an incandescent flame fed with purest fuel; the joy within that spirit was so immense that its blazing radiance concealed the face from my mortal sight, and from the deep heart of that golden effulgence issued an imperial and majestic voice, speaking with the measured rhythm of epic history and the serene dignity of one who had governed the civilized world.
Caesar I was, and am Justinian! proclaimed the voice; in the earthly life, I held the imperial helm of Rome, but here in heaven I am known only by my baptismal name. In my early reign, ensnared by the Eutychian heresy, I believed Christ possessed but a single divine nature; but the blessed Agapetus, holy shepherd of Rome, converted my understanding to the true and orthodox faith: that in Christ the divine and human natures exist whole, unconfused, and eternally united in a single divine person.
When my feet were planted firmly upon the path of truth, God of His sovereign grace inspired me to undertake that supreme labor of peace: the reformation and codification of the Roman law! I pruned from the ancient statutes everything redundant, contradictory, and vain, gathering the living essence of justice into the Corpus Juris Civilis; while my mind was absorbed in that holy compilation, I committed my legions to my glorious general Belisarius, whose victorious sword was so visibly upheld by heaven that it signaled my duty to remain dedicated to the sacred works of law and peace.
Yet that thou mayest perceive how unjustly both contending factions in the world below fight against the sacred emblem of the empire, I must recount the sublime flight of the Sacred Roman Eagle from that ancient day when Trojan Pallas died in youth to give it a living throne in Latium; for it is an emblem of universal justice, ordained by Providence to unite all mankind under one tranquil order.
For more than three hundred years the sacred bird abode in Alba Longa, through the immortal combat of the Horatii and Curiatii, down to the expulsion of the Tarquin tyrants and the glorious dawn of the Roman Republic; beneath its spreading wings fought heroes whose names shine across the ages: Brennus and Pyrrhus were vanquished by its talon, while Torquatus, Cincinnatus, Camillus, the Decii, and the Fabii achieved that renown which sweetens mortal memory with enduring virtue.
When the appointed hour arrived for universal peace under heaven, young Julius Caesar took the sacred sign by the sovereign decree of Rome; from the Rubicon he swept across Gaul, Spain, Pharsalia, and Egypt with such tempestuous velocity that the swiftest falcon could not match his flight, subduing the Mediterranean world under one sovereign authority and quelling the tumult of discordant kings.
Under Augustus Caesar, the Eagle struck down Brutus and Cassius at Philippi, and caused Antony and Cleopatra to perish in despair; under his peaceful sway, the gates of the temple of Janus were barred fast in universal tranquility, as the whole earth enjoyed a sabbath of peace, prepared at last to receive the advent of the Prince of Peace into mortal flesh.
Yet all the triumphs wrought before or after fade before the supreme glory conferred upon the Eagle under its third ruler, Tiberius: for under his jurisdiction, divine justice was permitted to execute upon the cross that universal sentence whereby the ancient sin of Adam was cancelled for all mankind; and under Titus, the Eagle flew once more to avenge that sacred vengeance upon Jerusalem, fulfilling the mysterious circle of divine retribution!
Behold now the blindness and folly of your modern factions! The Ghibellines degrade this universal standard into a partisan emblem for selfish ambition, while the Guelphs oppose it under the French golden lilies! Let them ply their factional crafts under other banners, for the claws of the sacred bird are too terrible for those who substitute party deceit for universal justice, and the lion of Anjou will find its hide torn by the imperial eagle!
This little planet of Mercury, Justinian explained, is adorned by those active spirits whose righteous deeds on earth were stimulated by the love of honor and earthly renown; because their mortal desires were partially directed toward human praise and worldly fame, the direct rays of divine love reached them with less intensity, causing their joy to shine with a tempered brilliance in this second circle of the heavens.
Yet our bliss is complete, unshadowed, and overflowing, for we see our reward proportioned with exact equity to our merits—neither exceeding nor falling short by a single hair; in this perfect balance of justice, all seeds of envy are extinguished forever, and our diverse degrees of light combine into sweet harmony throughout these celestial spheres, even as diverse musical notes blend into a delightful melody.
Within this luminous pearl shines the memory of Romeo of Villeneuve, that humble and faithful pilgrim who served Raymond Berengar, Count of Provence; by his prudent stewardship and incorruptible wisdom, the Count's four daughters were each crowned queen of a sovereign realm in Europe, elevating the house of Provence above all its rivals through righteous counsel.
Yet envious courtiers poisoned the Count's ear with false accusations of embezzlement; the noble Romeo demanded an audit, proved that every penny of the treasury had yielded twofold under his care, and departed in old age and poverty, bearing only his pilgrim's staff and mule into the wide world, refusing to repay royal ingratitude with bitter complaint.
He wandered through strange lands, begging his crust of bread from door to door in patient obscurity; if the world below knew the proud, spotless, and noble heart he bore within his ragged mantle, much as it praises him in song, it would praise his saintly memory tenfold more with tears of reverence and admiration!
Having finished his sublime discourse, Justinian and his companion splendors began to sing: Osanna, sanctus Deus sabaoth, superillustrans claritate tua felices ignes horum malacoth! Revolving like golden sparks caught in a sacred whirlwind, the singing lights dissolved into the distant ether, vanishing from my sight as swift dancers dissolve into the celestial air.
A profound and perplexing theological doubt arose within my soul: How could a 'just vengeance'—the Crucifixion of Christ as punishment for original sin—be 'justly punished' by the destruction of Jerusalem? Beatrice perceived my inward struggle and prepared to unveil the sublime mystery of redemption, addressing my troubled intellect with the serene clarity of celestial revelation.
Human nature, having fallen in Adam through pride and disobedience, was separated from its Creator by an infinite abyss of guilt; fallen man possessed no power within himself to bridge that chasm or satisfy the demands of divine justice, having debased that sovereign freedom which constituted his original glory in the garden of delights.
Two paths alone lay open: either God must forgive out of pure mercy, or man must provide satisfaction through his own suffering; yet mortal man could never humble himself as deeply in obedience as he had sought to exalt himself in his initial transgression, leaving humanity locked in an eternal impasse of spiritual bankruptcy.
Therefore God, in His infinite love and supreme wisdom, united the divine nature with human flesh in the Person of His Word! In Christ's human nature, the Crucifixion was the most unjust crime ever perpetrated by fallen mortals; yet in His divine Person, it was the supreme act of divine justice, whereby infinite mercy and absolute righteousness embraced upon the cross, redeeming the universe with sacrificial love!
The Loving Glow of Venus and the Solar Crown
Leaving the Second Heaven behind like a spent spark, we ascended into the Third Sphere—the Heaven of Venus, revolving under the sweet influence of that epicycle which the deluded ancients believed was governed by the Cyprian goddess of carnal love; yet here we found only that pure and sacred charity which unites the soul to its eternal source. Beatrice had grown so luminous and joyful that my mortal spirit dissolved in holy ecstasy, caught up in the radiant dance of love.
Within that luminous star, celestial splendors moved in swift and joyous circles, their speed proportioned to their internal vision of the Eternal Face; they came toward us like sparks leaping within a flame, or distinct voices harmonizing in a sacred hymn, singing Hosanna with such enchanting sweetness that the memory leaves my heart forever hungering to hear those supernal melodies once more in the courts of everlasting peace.
One among those loving lights drew nearest to us and addressed me: We revolve within one circle, with one movement, and with one thirst, alongside the celestial Principalities whom thou didst address on earth in thy song: 'Ye who by intellect move the third heaven'; we are so full of love that a pause in our circular dance for thy sake will be no less sweet than our eternal motion around the divine center.
It was Charles Martel of Anjou, who had loved me on earth during his brief sojourn in Florence; he lamented the misfortunes of his royal house and the misgovernment of Provence, Naples, and Sicily: Had I lived longer, he sighed, much evil that now oppresses the nations would not have come to pass! Yet the blind greed of kings and corrupt pastors perverts the natural gifts bestowed by heaven upon mortal families.
I inquired how bitter fruit could spring from sweet seed—how noble sires could beget degenerated sons; Charles Martel unfolded the profound philosophy of divine providence: Nature would always reproduce its own likeness were not the celestial influences ordained to distribute diverse talents and inclinations among men, so that one is born Solon the lawmaker, another Xerxes the warrior, another Melchizedek the priest, and another Daedalus the craftsman.
Next appeared the gentle Cunizza da Romano, sister of the cruel tyrant Ezzelino; she rejoiced in the mercy that had forgiven her youthful passions and placed her in this loving sphere, prophesying the imminent vengeance awaiting the bloodstained tyrants and corrupt bishops of the Trevisan March: Before the web is woven, the marsh of Vicenza will be red with blood, and Padua will lament her pride beside the crimsoned Bacchiglione!
Beside her shone Folquet of Marseilles, the celebrated troubadour who became Bishop of Toulouse; his light gleamed like a ruby struck by sunbeams as he denounced the venality of the papal court at Rome: The Vatican and the holy places where the bones of Peter and the martyrs lie buried have become a market of Simon Magus, corrupted by the golden florin of Florence which has turned the shepherd into a ravening wolf!
Leaving Venus behind, we mounted with the speed of thought into the Fourth Heaven—the Sphere of the Sun, the glorious hearth of intellectual light and divine wisdom! Here we were encircled by a garland of living lights, burning with a luster more brilliant than the sun itself, singing melodies that cannot be conceived or uttered by mortal lips, for their theme was the eternal generation of the Word and the procession of the Holy Spirit.
Beatrice bade me offer thanks to the Father of Lights, who of His sovereign grace had lifted my mortal mind to this solar mansion; and straightway twelve dazzling spirits formed a radiant crown around us, making of us the center of their revolving ring, dancing like brides who pause in their joyful steps only to catch the new melody of the bridal song before resuming their harmonious round.
From that first garland of wise masters, the towering voice of Thomas Aquinas spoke, identifying himself and the blessed spirits of his company: I was a friar of the Order of Preachers, guided by Dominic upon that path where the soul fattens well if it stray not into vanity; beside me stands my master Albert of Cologne, and next to him Gratian, who reconciled both legal forums for the peace of the Church.
He pointed out Peter Lombard, who offered his poor widow's mite to holy theology; the radiant soul of Solomon, whose regal prudence remains unequaled among kings; Dionysius the Areopagite, who gazed deepest into the angelic hierarchies; the historian Orosius, defender of Christian centuries; and the noble Boethius, who in the Consolations of Philosophy revealed the falsehood of the treacherous world to every soul that hearkens to his wisdom.
Thomas concluded by naming Isidore of Seville, the Venerable Bede, Richard of Saint Victor, and Sigier of Brabant, who in the Street of Straw lectured on invidious truths with unyielding syllogisms; then the sacred crown began once more to revolve and sing, moving with the perfect precision of a celestial clock whose chime awakens the faithful at dawn to sing matins to the heavenly Bridegroom.
Thomas perceived my inward question concerning his order, and straightway launched into his immortal panegyric of Saint Francis of Assisi: Providence, he began, ordained two champions to support the Church—Francis on the one hand, burning with seraphic love, and Dominic on the other, shining with cherubic wisdom; either may be praised, for both labored toward the same celestial goal with equal fidelity.
He sang the mystical espousal of Francis with Lady Poverty, who since the departure of her first spouse, Christ, had stood despised and unwooed for eleven hundred years; yet Francis embraced her before the bishop's court with joyful heart, drawing Bernard, Giles, and Sylvester after his bare feet, and winning from Innocent and Honorius the solemn confirmation of his humble and mendicant rule.
Upon the rough rock between Tiber and Arno—Mount Alverna—Francis received from Christ the final seal of the holy Stigmata, which his flesh bore for two years; and when he died, he commended his beloved Lady Poverty to his brethren, desiring no other bier than her bare bosom. Having exalted Francis, Thomas turned with righteous grief to rebuke his own Dominican brethren, who had abandoned the pasture of sound doctrine to wander after worldly gain.
No sooner had Thomas ceased speaking than the holy millstone of lights began to turn; and before it had completed a single revolution, a second garland of twelve splendors enclosed the first, matching its motion and harmony like a rainbow reflected in an outer bow, or an echo answering an echo across tranquil hills, filling the solar sphere with double glory.
From this outer ring of wisdom, the seraphic voice of the Franciscan Bonaventure broke forth: The love that makes me beautiful impels me to celebrate that other captain, Dominic, for whose sake mine own leader has been so worthily exalted; they marched together in the earthly warfare, and together should their glory shine throughout eternity in the courts of heaven!
Bonaventure sang the birth of Dominic in Caleruega, the true athlete of the Christian faith, whose mother dreamed of the black and white hound bearing a fiery torch to illumine the world; he sought not secular wealth nor lucrative benefices, but only permission to battle against the heretical errors that threatened the vineyard of Christ, smiting falsehood with the sword of apostolic doctrine.
Yet Bonaventure lamented that his own Franciscan order had degenerated from its primitive zeal: Some, like Ubertino of Casale, stiffen the rule into harsh excess, while others, like Matteo d'Acquasparta, relax it into worldly license! He then introduced his fellow spirits: Illuminato and Augustine, Hugh of Saint Victor, Peter the Eater, Peter of Spain, Nathan the prophet, Chrysostom, Anselm, Donatus, Rabanus Maurus, and the Abbot Joachim of Fiore, endowed with prophetic spirit.
The two concentric rings of twenty-four doctors of wisdom paused in their double dance, singing in unison the sublime mystery of the Trinity and the Incarnation; Thomas Aquinas spoke a second time to resolve my remaining perplexity regarding the unique wisdom of King Solomon, contrasting human understanding with the uncreated wisdom of Christ and the infused perfection of Adam.
He cautioned mortals against hasty and dogmatic judgments: Let not the farmer boast of his harvest while the seed is yet green in the furrow, nor judge a ship saved because it has weathered the storm until it has safely entered the harbor; for many a thief has entered paradise while many a pious hypocrite has plunged into the abyss!
Then Solomon himself spoke from the heart of the brightest light, answering my unvoiced inquiry concerning the glory of the resurrected body: When we shall put on our glorious and holy flesh once more at the Last Day, our person will be more complete and pleasing to God; the increased clarity of grace will yield a brighter flame, and our mortal eyes will be strengthened to endure that supernal splendor without weariness or pain.
At his words, both angelic garlands cried Amen! with such profound and joyous longing for their mortal bodies as showed they wished them not for themselves alone, but for their mothers, their fathers, and all whom they had loved on earth before they became eternal flames in the presence of the Almighty.
Suddenly, around the two concentric crowns of solar wisdom, a third circle of shimmering light began to dawn like the faint horizon at daybreak or stars appearing at dusk; my eyes were so overwhelmed by this new effusion of the Holy Spirit that I could not bear its blazing beauty, until Beatrice drew my spirit upward into the Fifth Heaven—the fiery, red, and heroic Sphere of Mars!
The Fiery Cross of Mars and Ancestral Blood
Entering the Fifth Heaven, the Sphere of Mars, I beheld that the planetary atmosphere had changed from the pure gold of the Sun into the incandescent red of molten iron, glowing with martial and sacred zeal; my heart offered a silent holocaust of thanksgiving to the Lord of Hosts for this new ascent into higher glory, and straightway two vast beams of dazzling white light crossed the crimson sky from horizon to zenith, forming the colossal, cosmic emblem of the Cross of Christ!
Upon that sacred sign of redemption, myriads of blessed warrior-saints flashed and sparkled like stars in the celestial Milky Way, their radiant ranks moving with supernal velocity; they sang a triumphal hymn that ravished my spirit with holy love, though I caught only the scattered words: 'Resurgi e vinci!'—'Arise and conquer!'—for the full celestial harmony surpassed the finite grasp of mortal intellect, leaving my soul intoxicated with the courage of faith.
As I stood enraptured by the heroic vision, a shooting star of purest fire detached itself from the right arm of the cross and glided swiftly down the vertical beam to the foot of the sign; yet it left not its radiant track, shining like an alabaster vase holding a living flame within its translucent frame, glowing with parental affection toward my ascending form as it halted at the base of the divine emblem.
O sanguis meus! O superinfusa gratia Dei! exclaimed the spirit in venerable Latin: 'O my blood! O lavish grace of God infused from on high! To whom as unto thee was ever the gate of heaven twice opened in mortal flesh?' I gazed upon him in bewilderment, then turned to Beatrice, whose eyes burned with such joyous beauty that I thought my own had touched the boundary of supreme grace, radiant with the fire of the Holy Spirit.
The spirit spoke words so profound, theological, and lofty that my finite understanding could not follow him until the fiery arc of his affection had subsided to the level of human speech; then he praised God who had answered his long desire, kept alive within this sphere while reading from that eternal book wherein no letter is ever altered or erased by time, finding my pilgrimage foreseen in the divine counsels.
He revealed his identity as my great-great-grandfather, Cacciaguida: 'I was thy root, O leaf of mine in whom I took delight even before thy birth!' He bade me speak with fearless freedom and confidence, for the thought which I harbored within my heart was already mirrored to his eyes in that Divine Mind which is the universal mirror of all truth throughout the boundless cosmos, reflecting the thoughts of all rational beings.
I implored him to tell me of his ancient lineage and of the condition of Florence in his day, when the city was still enclosed within its ancient walls; Cacciaguida smiled with serene nostalgia, speaking in that archaic Florentine tongue which sounded sweeter, purer, and more noble than modern speech, untainted by the petty jargon of corrupt factions or the coarse idioms of foreign commerce.
Florence, he recounted, dwelt within her ancient circle of walls from which she still hears both tierce and nones, in peace, sobriety, and modest dignity; she knew no golden ornaments, no embroidered shoes, no luxurious dowries that terrified a father at his daughter's birth, nor hollow palaces where families dwelt in unnatural isolation and shameful luxury, corrupted by eastern vices, vain display, and the decay of ancient virtue.
The noble citizens of that golden age walked the streets in simple leather jerkins with bone clasps, and their dames were content with plain spun wool; the women sat beside the cradle, soothing their infants with that idiom which delights parents, or drew the flax from the distaff, telling old tales of Troy, of Fiesole, and of Rome to their children around the tranquil hearth.
In such tranquil and virtuous citizenship, in such sweet community, I was born into the Christian fold at the ancient Baptistery of San Giovanni, where in holy baptism I was named Cacciaguida; my brothers were Moronto and Eliseo, and my wife came from the valley of the Po, bringing that surname of Alighieri which thou bearest today in exile, destined to bear it with honor across alien lands.
I followed the Emperor Conrad III to the Crusades, who belted me among his knights for my faithful service; against that iniquitous law of Islam whose followers usurp what is rightfully the Church's heritage, I fought upon the Syrian sands, until by that infidel race I was released from the deceitful world, and passed from martyrdom unto this eternal peace, washed in the blood of holy sacrifice.
Hearing my ancestor speak, I took pride in our ancient nobility—a frail virtue on earth, yet one that deserves honor when joined to righteous deeds; Beatrice smiled with gentle tolerance, like the dame in romance who coughed at Guinevere's first fault, warning me not to let mortal pride obscure celestial humility and the true nobility of the soul which is grounded only in divine grace.
I asked Cacciaguida concerning the illustrious families of ancient Florence; he named the great houses that once flourished in spotless honor—the Uberti, the Lamberti, the Fifanti, the Ravignani, and the Donati—many of which were now extinguished by factional strife or degraded into ruin through unchecked ambition, civic pride, and the poisonous thirst for gold that corrupts the blood of noble lines.
He pointed to the root of the city's corruption: The mixing of diverse populations from Campi, Certaldo, and Figline had diluted the pure civic blood of Florence; had the Church not opposed the Emperor, the city would have remained united and simple, whereas now it had become a den of thieves and a storm-tossed vessel devoid of a righteous pilot, where newcomers usurp the offices of ancient citizens.
He recalled the tragic day when Buondelmonte was slain at the foot of the statue of Mars, breaking his marriage vow and plunging Florence into the long nightmare of Guelph and Ghibelline civil slaughter; in that ancient time, the Florentine banner of the white lily had never been dragged in the dust or dyed red by fratricidal blood, standing upright in spotless civic majesty.
Then I turned to the dark future which had haunted me since the prophecies of Farinata, Brunetto, and Vanni Fucci in the realms below: 'Father, tell me plainly what blow of fortune awaits me, that being forewarned, I may stand firm against the arrows of fate; for an arrow foreseen arrives with less sharpness to pierce the resolute heart, and a warrior prepared is half victor!'
Cacciaguida replied, gazing directly into that eternal point where all times are present: 'Even as Phaethon sought his mother to verify the rumor that endangered his life, so dost thou seek to know thy destiny; as contingency exists only within the mirror of human sight, yet is foreseen by the eternal mind without necessity, so does thy future lie open before mine eyes in the uncreated light of God.'
Thou shalt leave behind everything beloved most dearly: this is the first arrow shot from the bow of exile! Thou shalt prove how bitter is the taste of another's bread, and how steep and wearisome a path it is to climb and descend another's stairs in foreign halls, dependent upon the cold favor and fickle mood of alien lords who comprehend not thy genius!
And that which shall weigh most heavily upon thy shoulders shall be the senseless, vicious, and ungrateful company of thy fellow exiles into whose midst thou shalt fall; yet soon their own deeds, not thine, shall prove their folly, so that it will be thy highest honor and renown to have formed a party unto thyself alone, keeping thy integrity unspotted amid the clamor of mad factions!
Thy first refuge and resting place shall be the courtesy of the great Lombard, Bartolomeo della Scala, whose coat of arms bears the imperial eagle above the golden ladder; he shall look upon thee with such benignity that between you two, giving shall precede asking, contrary to the common custom of the great who keep suitors waiting in humiliated delay and bitter servitude.
With him thou shalt behold his young brother Cangrande, whose martial virtues shall become so renowned that even his enemies will be unable to keep silence; rely upon his magnificent bounty, through which many shall see their fortunes reversed, though of his greatest deeds thou must keep silence for the present until the events unfold upon the stage of history to astonish the world.
I hesitated, fearing that if I spoke the full, unvarnished truth concerning the popes, the princes, and the factions of Italy, my verses would taste bitter to many and close the doors of future hospitality; but if I kept silent, I feared I should lose my name among those who shall call these times ancient, proving myself a timid friend to truth and an unfaithful witness to the eternal light.
Cacciaguida answered with the holy wrath of a true prophet: A conscience darkened by its own shame or by another's guilt will indeed feel thy words as sharp vinegar; yet cast away all falsehood and declare thy whole vision! Let them scratch where the itch is! For though thy voice be harsh at first taste, it shall leave vital nourishment once it is digested by posterity, feeding the hunger of righteous souls.
This cry of thine shall be like the mountain wind, which strikes the highest peaks with greatest fury; and therefore in these celestial spheres, in Purgatory, and in the dark abyss, only those souls have been shown to thee who are known to fame, for the human mind rests not its faith upon obscure examples or arguments rooted in the dark, but requires living witnesses of universal renown to confirm the ways of God!
The Eagle of Divine Justice and the Golden Ladder
Having completed his prophetic mission, Cacciaguida named the illustrious warrior-saints who dwelt within the Martian cross: Joshua, Judas Maccabaeus, Charlemagne, Roland, William of Orange, Renouard, Godfrey of Bouillon, and Robert Guiscard; at each name, a living spark flashed along the white beams of the cross, rejoicing in its eternal glory before returning to its station.
I turned to Beatrice and perceived that her eyes shone with an increased and purer radiance; we had ascended from the red sphere of Mars into the Sixth Heaven—the crystalline, silver Sphere of Jupiter, consecrated to divine justice and righteous kingship, shining with the serene whiteness of a polished mirror struck by morning light.
Within that silver radiance, thousands of holy spirits flew like birds rising from the riverbank, forming letters of living light against the celestial azure; they sang as they flew, arranging themselves into five times seven vowels and consonants, spelling out the sacred scriptural admonition: Diligite iustitiam qui iudicatis terram—'Love righteousness, ye that be judges of the earth.'
Upon the final letter, M, the golden splendors paused, and straightway other lights descended upon the peak of the letter like a crown of living fire; then, moving in harmonious unison beneath divine guidance, the lines of light reshaped themselves before my wondering eyes into the majestic form of a colossal Celestial Eagle, whose body and wings were composed of thousands of ruby-like saints.
The divine bird opened its beak and began to speak, using the singular pronoun 'I' and 'My', though expressing the collective will and unified mind of all the just souls within its frame: For being just and merciful am I exalted here unto that glory which surpasses all earthly ambition; upon earth my memory is preserved with honor, though wicked princes refuse to follow my example!
As many coals give forth a single warmth, so did that celestial eagle breathe forth a single voice from its multitude of glowing spirits; I addressed the bird: O perpetual flowers of eternal joy, resolve that great and tormenting doubt concerning divine justice which has held my soul in famine upon earth, finding no food among mortal philosophers!
I voiced the ancient problem of the virtuous pagan: A man is born upon the banks of the Indus, where none tells of Christ, nor reads of Him, nor writes; all his desires and deeds are good, as far as human reason can discern; he dies unbaptized and without faith: where is that justice which damns him? Where is his fault if he does not believe?
The Eagle shook its wings in holy indignation, then replied: Who art thou that wouldst sit upon the bench to judge across a thousand miles with vision that sees not a span before thee? The Primal Will is good in itself and never moves from the Supreme Good; as much is just as is consonant with it; no created intellect can fathom that infinite abyss of divine justice, even as the eye cannot perceive the seabed through deep ocean waters!
The Eagle then burst into a fierce denunciation of the corrupt Christian monarchs of Europe, whose wicked deeds are inscribed in the eternal book of judgment: There shall be seen the ruin wrought in Bohemia by Albert of Austria; the false coinage of Philip the Fair of France, who shall die by the tusk of a wild boar; the ferocious pride of Scotland and England; and the luxurious cowardice of the kings of Spain and Bohemia!
It rebuked the crippled cripple of Jerusalem, Charles II of Naples, whose virtues are marked with an I and his vices with an M; the avarice of Frederick of Sicily; the filthy lusts of the king of Portugal and the king of Norway; and the counterfeit coins of the king of Rascia, warning that pagans will judge these unworthy rulers when the books are opened at the Last Day!
Then the Eagle directed my gaze to its glowing eye: The spirit that forms the pupil of the eye is David, the royal singer who moved the Ark from town to town; now he knows the merit of his song, for his reward is proportioned to his holy devotion; of the five that form the curved eyebrow, the nearest to the beak is the Emperor Trajan, who consoled the poor widow for her dead son.
Next sits Hezekiah, who obtained fifteen additional years of life through true repentance; then Constantine, whose good intention bore evil fruit through the Donation of Rome; then William the Good of Sicily, mourned by his people while living tyrants are cursed; and finally, the Trojan hero Rifeus, whose righteous life was guided by grace to love justice above all earthly goods.
I cried out in amazement: How can Trajan and Rifeus be here, since neither was baptized in the Christian faith? The Eagle answered: They died not as pagans, but as Christians—Trajan through the fervent prayer of Gregory the Great, which recalled him from Limbo to the flesh that he might believe and be saved; and Rifeus through that deep fountain of grace whose first wave no mortal eye can see, having placed his love on justice so firmly that God revealed to him our future redemption!
O predestination! how far removed is thy root from the gaze of those who see not the First Cause entire! Ye mortals, judge with reverence, for even we who behold God know not yet all the elect, and this very limitation is sweet to us, because our good is perfected in the good of God, willing only what He wills!
Having completed this sublime lesson, the Eagle ceased; and Beatrice drew my eyes once more to her face, which had become so radiant that she warned me: Turn not thy gaze upon my smile, for if I smiled, thou wouldst become like Semele when she was turned to ashes by the lightning of Jupiter; we have mounted into the Seventh Heaven—the golden, contemplative Sphere of Saturn!
Within that cold, crystalline sphere, under the sign of the Lion, I beheld a golden ladder whose top ascended beyond the reach of sight; down its gleaming rungs descended countless splendors of living light, resembling crows flying at daybreak to warm their chilled feathers, some departing without return, some circling back, and some lingering upon the step before us.
One spirit drew near and halted at the foot of the ladder; I asked why he had approached so readily, and why the sweet symphony of heaven, which sounded so gloriously through the lower spheres, was silent in this seventh circle; he replied: Thy hearing is mortal, even as thy sight; here there is no singing for the same reason that Beatrice does not smile—lest the sheer intensity of celestial joy shatter thy frail senses!
He explained that he had descended not from greater charity than his fellows, but because the sovereign love of God appointed him to this special office of welcome; I inquired why he had been predestined to this specific task, but the spirit whirled like a swift millstone and answered: The brightest Seraph who fixes his eye upon God cannot answer that question, for it lies buried in the unfathomable abyss of the divine counsel, far beyond the reach of created intellect!
He identified himself as Peter Damian: In the hermitage of Fonte Avellana, beneath the Apennine ridge, I served God in fasting, silence, and prayer, content with simple food seasoned with olive oil, enduring heat and cold with peaceful mind; that monastery once yielded a rich harvest of saints for heaven, but now it has become barren and corrupt.
In my old age, I was dragged forth to receive that red cardinal's hat which is passed from one bad vessel to a worse; Peter and Paul went barefoot and lean, taking their food from any humble table; but modern pastors require attendants to support them on either side, lead their horses, and cover both horse and rider with their trailing mantles, so that two beasts move beneath a single hide! O divine patience, how long wilt thou endure such shame?
At these words, hundreds of holy splendors descended from rung to rung, surrounding Peter Damian and revolving in righteous wrath; then they raised a collective shout of such tremendous power that nothing upon earth could be compared to it; the thunderous roar overwhelmed my senses, and I stood stunned and bewildered, unable to comprehend the meaning of their cry.
Beatrice comforted my terrified soul: Knowest thou not that thou art in heaven, and that all in heaven is holy, and that their zeal springs from righteous indignation against corruption? Hadst thou understood their cry, thou wouldst have perceived the vengeance of God which shall overtake those unworthy shepherds before thy mortal eyes are closed in death!
She bade me look upon the greatest contemplative spirits of the golden ladder; the largest and brightest pearl among them drew near, and introduced himself as Saint Benedict: Upon Mount Cassino, where Apollo was once worshiped on the heights, I first planted the cross of Christ and preached that name which elevates the soul; these companion lights were contemplatives whose hearts were kindled by that divine fire which brings forth holy flowers and fruit.
Benedict lamented the decay of his monastic order: My rule remains on earth only to waste parchment! The walls that were once houses of prayer have become dens of thieves, and the monks' cowls are sacks filled with rotten meal; yet Jordan turned backward and the sea fleeing before Moses were more wondrous sights than the help which God shall swiftly send to cleanse His sanctuary! With these words, he rejoined his holy company, and the whole flock was caught upward like a whirlwind into the Eighth Heaven—the Sphere of the Fixed Stars!
The Stellar Triumph and the Tripartite Examination
Following the ascent from the golden ladder of Saturn, Beatrice drew my spirit upward with a swift nod into the Eighth Heaven—the starry vault of the Fixed Stars, placing me within that constellation of Gemini beneath whose influence I had first drawn the air of Tuscany and received whatever little wit my intellect possesses; from that sublime station, she bade me cast my eyes downward through the seven celestial spheres, beholding how small and pitiful is this threshing floor of the earth which makes mortals so fierce in their greedy contentions!
Turning my gaze once more to the celestial heights, Beatrice cried aloud: Behold the legions of the triumph of Christ, and all the fruit harvested from the turning of these heavenly spheres! Straightway the firmament was illuminated by thousands of living torches, above which shone a Sun of surpassing splendor—the glorified humanity of Christ, whose incandescent brilliance shone with such intensity that my mortal sight, unable to endure that supernal dawn, lost its power and was caught away in ecstatic wonder.
When my senses were restored, Beatrice bade me open my eyes and look upon her smile, for my vision had been strengthened by the sight of Christ to endure her celestial beauty; yet the melody of her transfigured countenance surpassed all human poetry, as the glorified Savior ascended into the Empyrean, followed by the luminous form of the Virgin Mary, upon whom the Archangel Gabriel descended, forming a sapphire garland around her head while singing the sweet canticle of the Annunciation.
The entire court of heaven echoed that Marian melody with thunderous joy, until the Queen of Heaven mounted upward after her Divine Son into the highest realm of light; then, from the radiant company of apostles who remained within the starry sphere, the prince of the apostles, Saint Peter, came forth like a brilliant flame, circling thrice around Beatrice in holy benediction before examining my soul concerning the virtue of Faith.
Peter demanded with apostolic gravity: Say, good Christian, declare thyself: what is Faith? Drawing upon the epistle of Saint Paul to the Hebrews, I answered without trembling: Faith is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen; this appears to me its true definition and foundational principle upon which all salvation rests.
Rightly hast thou answered, Peter replied, if thou understandest why it is called a substance and an evidence; I explained: The deep mysteries which are granted to me here in direct vision are so concealed from mortal eyes on earth that their reality exists there only in belief, whereon our high hope is founded; and from this faith alone must reason argue, having no other evidence upon which to erect its demonstrations.
Peter inquired concerning the origin of this coin of faith: Whence came to thee this precious jewel upon which every other virtue is founded? I replied: The abundant rain of the Holy Spirit poured out through the Old and New Testaments is the syllogism that has proved this truth to my mind with such irresistible power that every other demonstration appears blunt and lifeless in comparison.
And what proves to thee that these scriptures are the divine word? asked the apostle; I answered: The miraculous works that followed their preaching, which nature could never forge upon her forge or produce by mortal art; Peter pressed further: Who assures thee that those miracles were wrought, since none witnesses them today save the very books that recount them?
I boldly answered: If the whole world was converted to Christ without miracles, that single event is so colossal a miracle that all the rest are not the hundredth part of it! For thou didst enter the field poor and fasting to plant that goodly vine which was once healthy, but has now become a thorny briar! Hearing my confession, the entire celestial court resounded with 'Te Deum laudamus', while Peter blessed me, circling my brow three times as a father crowns his son.
From the same apostolic garland, Saint James came forth—he whose shrine at Compostela draws pilgrims from all the ends of the earth; Beatrice introduced him with joyful reverence: Behold the Baron for whose sake Galicia is visited! James examined me concerning the second theological virtue, Hope: What is Hope, how does it blossom in thy spirit, and whence did it come to thee?
Beatrice answered the second question on my behalf, lest vainglory should touch my reply: No child of the Church Militant possesses more hope than he, as is written in that Sun which illumines our entire army; wherefore it is granted him to come from Egypt to Jerusalem to behold our glory before his earthly warfare is accomplished!
Then I answered the remaining inquiries myself: Hope is the certain expectation of future glory, proceeding from divine grace and antecedent merit; this light came to me from many stars, but the chief singer of the Holy Spirit, David, distilled it first into my heart with his heavenly psalmody: 'Let them hope in Thee who know Thy name!' And thou, James, didst rain it down upon me in thine epistle, so that I am full of thy shower and pour it forth upon others.
As I finished speaking, a living flame of sudden brilliance issued from the center of James's light, and straightway a third splendor joined the two apostles: Saint John, the beloved disciple who leaned upon the breast of the Lord at the Last Supper, shining like a pure sun of love; I gazed into his light so intensely, seeking to discern whether his mortal body was present with his soul, that my mortal vision was struck blind by the excess of glory.
The beloved disciple comforted my darkened eyes: My body is earth in the earth, and there shall remain with the rest until our number is accomplished according to the eternal decree; in the heavenly court, the two garments of body and soul are worn only by those two lights that ascended—Christ and His Blessed Mother! Turn therefore to the examination of Love, and know that thy sight is only stunned, not destroyed, for the lady who guides thee possesses in her gaze the healing virtue of Ananias.
John examined me concerning the third virtue, Charity: Say, upon what target does thy soul aim its desire? I answered: God is the Alpha and Omega of all the scriptures that love reads to me with gentle or loud voice; both human philosophy and divine revelation concur in directing my love toward the Supreme Good, which draws all affection to itself as light draws the flame.
I enumerated the cords that draw the soul to God: The creation of the universe, mine own existence, the death of Christ upon the cross for our redemption, and that eternal hope which every believer shares; these divine benefits, joined to the philosophical knowledge of the Good, have plucked me from the sea of perverse love and set me upon the shore of righteous charity; and the leaves that enfoliate the garden of the Eternal Gardener I love in proportion to the grace bestowed upon each by His divine hand.
As I concluded my profession of love, a hymn of supernal sweetness echoed through the sphere: 'Holy, Holy, Holy!' in which Beatrice joined with full voice; then, like a man awakened from sleep by a bright light whose visual faculty is gradually restored by the returning spirits of sight, my vision was restored by the radiant gaze of Beatrice, which could purge every speck of blindness from a thousand miles away.
Looking with renewed clarity, I beheld a fourth splendor standing beside the three apostles; Beatrice whispered with holy reverence: Within that light dwells the first soul that the First Power ever created—our first father, Adam! I bowed my head in profound awe before the parent of the human race, whose transgression had brought death into the world and barred the gates of paradise against his progeny for over five millennia.
Adam perceived the four questions that burned within my mind before I could utter them: How long since God placed him in the Earthly Paradise; how long he dwelt there; what was the true cause of the wrath of God; and what language he spoke in his state of innocence before the fall of man.
Adam answered: In Limbo I waited for this assembly four thousand three hundred and two revolutions of the sun, and upon the earth I lived nine hundred and thirty years; not the tasting of the tree was in itself the cause of so great an exile, but only the overpassing of the appointed bound—the hubris of the creature seeking to establish its own autonomy against the sovereign command of the Creator!
The language I spoke was utterly extinct before Nimrod's unaccomplished tower was begun, for no work of human reason remains permanent under the influence of the revolving heavens; and in the Earthly Paradise, upon the highest mountain, I dwelt in innocence only from the first hour of the day until that hour which follows the sixth, when the sun passes the meridian—barely seven hours of felicity before sin brought forth its bitter fruit!
When Adam finished his discourse, all heaven burst forth with that glorious canticle: 'Glory be to the Father, to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit!' so that the sweetness of their song intoxicated my soul with celestial wine; what I beheld seemed to me a universal smile of the cosmos, where joy, peace, and love abide in complete and incorruptible fullness without end or shadow of turning.
Yet in the midst of this divine celebration, the light of Saint Peter suddenly blushed with an angry, incandescent red, like a planet obscured by a bloody vapor, and all the celestial lights fell silent in sympathetic sorrow; Peter raised his apostolic voice, and the sound of his wrath was like the roaring of thunder across the trembling heavens: He who usurps upon earth my place, my place, my place, which is vacant in the sight of the Son of God, has made my cemetery a sewer of blood and stench, wherein the perverse spirit who fell from on high takes his delight!
He denounced Boniface VIII and the corrupt papacy that sells indulgences for gold, commanding me: My son, when thou shalt return to the mortal world, hide not what I have revealed, but open thy mouth and declare this righteous judgment to all the nations! Then a storm of fiery flakes, resembling a reverse blizzard mounting toward the sky, swept the apostles upward into the Empyrean, and Beatrice bade me look down one last time upon the threshing floor of the earth before entering the Ninth Heaven—the Primum Mobile!
The Primum Mobile and the Nine Angelic Circles
As the righteous indignation of Saint Peter against the corruption of the papal see echoed into silence, a sublime and invisible rhythm seized our ascending spirits; we passed beyond the starry firmament into the Ninth Heaven—the crystalline Sphere of the Primum Mobile, the swiftest and most comprehensive of all the material heavens, having no other place to contain it than the Divine Mind itself, wherein the love that turns it and the virtue that it rains down upon the cosmos are eternally kindled without ceasing.
Beatrice explained the nature of cosmic time: Here the roots of time are planted, while its leaves and branches spread through the lower spheres; even as ten is derived from its half and its fifth, so does the motion of this supreme sphere measure the revolutions of all the rest. But O covetousness of mortals! how deeply dost thou plunge the human race beneath thy waves, so that none has power to lift his eyes above the worldly waters to behold the true heavens!
She lamented how innocence and faith are found only in little children, who lose both as soon as down appears upon their cheeks; the human family runs astray because there is no righteous emperor to govern the chariot of the law, and the corrupt shepherd can chew the cud but has not the divided hoof of justice! Then she turned her eyes, burning with divine desire, toward that central point where the light of God is focused in pure and indivisible simplicity.
Looking into her eyes, and then turning toward the heavens, I beheld a point of light so infinitesimal in geometric dimension, so piercing and sharp in its brilliance, that the keenest eye must close before its insufferable clarity; the smallest star that appears from earth would seem a colossal moon if placed beside that microscopic point of living flame, which yet sustains all reality within its dimensionless focus.
Around that atomic point of light revolved nine concentric circles of living fire; the nearest circle moved with the swiftest velocity, followed by the others at distances proportioned to their rank; Beatrice declared with solemn awe: Upon that single point depends the entire universe and all of nature! Look upon that first circle which is nearest to it, and know that its motion is so swift because of the burning love wherewith it is inspired from the uncreated center!
Beatrice named the nine angelic hierarchies: The first three circles, closest to the point, are the Seraphim, the Cherubim, and the Thrones, who form the highest angelic order; they contemplate the divine truth with supreme intensity, and in proportion to the depth of their vision is the measure of their love, for beatitude is founded upon the act of vision rather than upon love, which follows after as its necessary consequence and eternal fruit.
The middle hierarchy consists of the Dominations, the Virtues, and the Powers, who govern the cosmic order and execute the divine decrees throughout the planetary heavens with effortless grace, preserving the balance of universal forces beneath the sovereign will of the Almighty, directing the motions of the heavenly bodies in harmonious concert.
The lowest hierarchy consists of the Principalities, the Archangels, and the Angels, who guide the destinies of mortal realms and minister to individual human souls; all these orders gaze upward toward God and exert their influence downward, so that all are drawn toward the center and all draw the lower spheres in turn toward the Divine Goodness in an unbroken chain of love.
Yet my intellect was troubled by a profound paradox: In the physical universe, the outermost sphere—the Primum Mobile—is the largest, the swiftest, and the most divine, while the central earth is small, heavy, and immobile; but in this spiritual archetype, the swiftest and most divine circle is the smallest and nearest to the center, while the outermost is the widest and slowest! How could the material copy correspond so inversely to its divine exemplar?
I presented my perplexity to Beatrice, saying: My teacher, I cannot comprehend how the copy and the pattern harmonize, for I strain my mind in vain to discern the principle of their correspondence; Beatrice smiled with divine wisdom, ready to untie the knots of philosophical confusion that bound my understanding with the luminous threads of celestial doctrine.
If thou measure the spheres not by their spatial circumference, but by the virtue and power that informs them, she explained, thou wilt perceive an admirable agreement; for a greater excellence requires a greater body to diffuse its influence, provided that all parts are equally organized and receptive to grace, diffusing its goodness through the extent of its frame.
Therefore, the vast Primum Mobile, which sweeps the entire universe along in its rapid course, corresponds in virtue to this smallest, swiftest circle of the Seraphim, who love and know most; and the starry sphere corresponds to the Cherubim, and so downward through all the spheres to the center; thus, if thou take virtue as thy measure rather than material size, thou wilt see each sphere united to its proper angelic intelligence with exact symmetry!
As she spoke, my doubts vanished like darkness before the northern wind that clears the sky, leaving the heavens serene and crystalline; the nine angelic rings sparkled with myriads of sparks, singing Hosanna to the fixed point which holds them in their stations, and shall hold them forever where they have ever been since the foundation of the world, rejoicing in unbroken praise.
Beatrice then unfolded the sublime theology of angelic creation: Not for any increase of His own good, which cannot be increased, but that His uncreated splendor might shine forth in conscious reflections, the Eternal Love, in His eternity beyond all time, breathed forth these living intelligences into existence, endowing them with pure intellectual vision and immortal delight.
Nor did God lie dormant before creation, for before and after have no meaning where time does not exist; pure form (the angels), pure matter (the primordial elements), and form united to matter (the physical heavens) were brought forth simultaneously into being, even as three rays of light shoot forth at once from a three-stringed bow, perfectly ordered in a single instant of creative will.
Yet scarcely had they been created, before one could count to twenty, a faction of the angels, led by Lucifer in his pride, rebelled and fell like a rain of fire to the depths of the universe, while the faithful angels remained in their circular dance, beginning that joyful contemplation which shall never cease throughout all eternity, preserving their primordial innocence.
She refuted the errors of mortal theologians who teach that angels have memory, understanding, and will like men: These blessed spirits, having their vision fixed eternally upon the face of God, wherein all things are present, need no memory to recall what they never cease to behold, nor is their vision ever interrupted by any new or alien object, resting in eternal intuition.
Beatrice then turned with holy scorn to denounce the foolish preachers who tickle the ears of congregations with fables, puns, and invented jokes, while the Gospel of Christ is neglected; the sheep, who know no better, return from pasture fed with wind, while the friars grow fat upon the fleece of their flock, paying their debts with indulgences stamped with false seals to feed their swine!
Returning to the angelic hosts, she revealed their countless multitude: The prophet Daniel spoke of thousands upon thousands, yet set no definite number; and since the uncreated light is received in diverse measure by each angelic spirit, the richness of divine love is multiplied across these infinite mirrors, remaining whole and undivided in its eternal majesty throughout the heavens.
As she concluded, her beauty blazed with such supernal glory that my mortal art must yield before it; no painter ever laid brush to canvas who could capture the divine radiance that transfigured her countenance as we prepared to leave the boundaries of the material cosmos, ascending toward the uncreated abode of the Godhead.
From the first day that I beheld her face in this mortal life until this supreme hour, my song has followed her steps; but now my poetic voyage must confess itself outstripped, as every artist must pause when he touches the absolute boundary of his craft, leaving her higher praise to a trumpet more resonant than mine, which hastens toward its final harbor.
Beatrice announced with a voice of sweet and solemn triumph: We have issued forth from the greatest material body of the cosmos into that heaven which is pure light—light intellectual, full of love; love of true good, full of joy; joy that transcends every sweetness that mortal or angelic tongue can name!
Here thou shalt behold both hosts of paradise: the angels in their hierarchies, and the redeemed souls clothed in those very garments of flesh which they shall resume at the Last Day; and a sudden flash of living light enveloped me like a mantle of lightning, blinding my mortal eyes to prepare them for the supernal vision, purging every remnant of human weakness.
This journey through the abyss of Hell, the terraces of Purgatory, and the revolving spheres of Heaven had now brought my soul to the threshold of the Tenth Heaven—the Empyrean; before our steps opened the living river of light, flowing between banks of miraculous spring flowers, as countless golden sparks plunged like rubies into the stream, heralding the advent of the Celestial White Rose and the Triune Vision of God!
The Celestial White Rose and the Triune Rings
As the nine revolving rings of fire within the Primum Mobile faded from our vision like shadows before the dawn, we issued forth completely beyond the boundaries of material space and time, stepping across the eternal threshold into the Tenth Heaven—the Empyrean, composed solely of Pure Light, Pure Love, and Universal Joy! This is an uncreated realm having no spatial coordinates or physical shores, abiding only in the Divine Mind; light intellectual, full of love; love of true good, full of joy; joy that transcends every sweetness that created spirit can ever taste throughout eternity!
Before our steps opened a living river of sparkling light, its waters incandescent as liquid gold flowing between two banks enamelled with miraculous spring blossoms; countless sparks of living flame, sparkling like rubies and topazes set in pure gold, issued from the stream and nestled in the blossoms, intoxicated by celestial fragrance, then plunged back into the living torrent as others rose to take their place in eternal jubilation, holy dance, and tireless praise of the Creator.
Beatrice bade me bend down and touch the water with my eyelashes, that my mortal vision might be purged of its remaining infirmities and strengthened to endure higher revelations; and the moment my eyes drank of that living stream, the straight river widened into a vast circular sea of light reflecting the divine radiance, upon which rose the immense amphitheater of the redeemed—the Celestial White Rose, unfolding its petals in thousandfold tiers of snow-white purity against the golden center!
The yellow center of the White Rose expanded into vast tiers of pure white petals, upon which sat the white-robed multitude of the blessed, their thrones bathed in the uncreated light; Beatrice pointed out the lone vacant throne awaiting Emperor Henry VII, destined to descend into Italy to restore lawful order before its people are prepared, wearing the imperial crown in glory among the saints of heaven, crowned with righteousness.
Between the petals and the central light, the host of angels—faces of living flame, wings of pure gold, and bodies white as snow—flew like a swarm of bees, plunging into the petals to distribute the peace and love acquired from the Divine Presence, then returning to the source of light, never obstructing the vision or the radiance that passed between God and His saints, ministering with tireless joy and unshadowed harmony.
Turning to address Beatrice with words of overwhelmed adoration and profound gratitude, I found beside me not my beloved guide, but a venerable elder clothed in white robes like the rest of the blessed—St. Bernard of Clairvaux, glowing with paternal benignity and holy contemplation, his eyes filled with that tender charity which befits a father in Christ, radiating the peace of the cloister and the fragrance of divine wisdom.
'Where is she?' I cried in sudden alarm and grief; Bernard pointed upward with serene and gentle gesture to the third tier from the summit, where Beatrice sat upon her throne of glory, crowned with rays of eternal light reflecting from her brow, restored to her rightful station among the contemplative saints in the court of heaven, near the Queen of angels and the ancestral mothers of faith.
Across that infinite expanse of light, I offered my final prayer of thanksgiving: 'O Lady, who hast led my soul from slavery to freedom, preserve thy magnificent grace in me, that my spirit, healed by thee, may depart this flesh pleasing in thy sight!' From her distant throne, Beatrice smiled down upon me with ineffable love, then turned her gaze back to the Eternal Fountain of light, resting in everlasting communion with God where all desires are fulfilled.
St. Bernard unfolded the sacred architecture of the Rose: Beneath Mary sits Eve, who opened the wound which Mary closed; then Rachel, beside whom Beatrice sits; Sarah, Rebecca, Judith, Ruth, and the ancestral mothers of the Hebrew line, dividing the rose into two great covenants of faith across the ages, separating those who looked forward to Christ from those who looked back upon His advent in the fullness of time.
On one side sit the Old Testament saints who believed in Christ to come, their tiers fully occupied; on the other sit the New Testament saints who believed in Christ already come, with few empty seats remaining; opposite Mary sit John the Baptist, Francis, Benedict, and Augustine, completing the symmetry of the celestial amphitheater in holy balance and solemn fellowship.
In the lower tiers sit the innocent children who died before the age of reason, saved through the faith of parents, circumcision, and baptism, arranged in tiers according to divine predestination, proving that grace is distributed by sovereign decree rather than by human merit alone, showing that God bestows His gifts according to His inscrutable pleasure and sovereign wisdom.
Bernard directed my gaze to the Queen of Heaven: Behold the face that most resembles Christ! The Archangel Gabriel hovered before her singing 'Ave Maria, gratia plena', echoed by the entire court of heaven, while Mary's countenance shone with such beauty that joy danced in the eyes of all the saints, transfiguring the amphitheater with maternal radiance and holy consolation.
Then Bernard began his immortal prayer to the Virgin: 'Virgin Mother, daughter of thy Son, humble and exalted more than any creature, fixed goal of the eternal counsel! In thy womb Divine Love was rekindled, causing this flower of the blessed to bloom in eternal peace; thou art a meridian torch of charity to the saints and a living fountain of hope to mortals below throughout the pilgrimage of life!'
He praised Mary with tender eloquence: Thy benignity not only succors him who asks, but oft times freely anticipates the petition before it is voiced; in thee is mercy, in thee pity, in thee magnificence, in thee whatever of goodness exists in any creature is gathered in supreme perfection, uniting all created beauty in thy blessed person and interceding for the fallen race of Adam!
Bernard interceded for me with devout affection: This pilgrim, who has journeyed from the deepest abyss of the universe through every circle of Hell and every terrace of Purgatory unto this summit, implores through grace that his mortal vision may be strengthened to gaze upon the Supreme Salvation, that he may look upon the Uncreated Light with fearless and undefiled sight, piercing to the divine essence.
He prayed that after so transcendent a vision, my human affections might be preserved pure from earthly corruption; Mary looked upon Bernard with loving eyes, signifying her gracious acceptance of his prayer, then directed her gaze into the Eternal Light, deeper than any creature's vision can penetrate in heaven or earth, interceding for the pilgrim's soul before the eternal throne.
Bernard signaled me with a smile to look up; but my vision was already spontaneously purified and drawn into that supreme beam of uncreated light, where human memory and mortal speech fail like a dream when one awakes, leaving only the sweetness of the vision distilled in the heart, while all specific forms and earthly images dissolve in the luminous abyss of infinite being.
My sight plunged into the Uncreated Light; speech and memory fail before that vision, even as a dreamer awakes with the lingering emotion while the dream itself has vanished from the mind; O Highest Light, that liftest Thyself so far above mortal thought, give me power to leave one single spark of Thy glory to future generations, that my verses may testify to Thy majesty among those who seek the truth!
In that profound and luminous abyss, I beheld the ultimate mystery of universal unity: all that is scattered throughout the universe—substances, accidents, and their relations—bound together in a single volume by love, perfectly integrated within the simple essence of the Godhead, so that all diversity was reconciled in absolute oneness and indivisible harmony!
Looking deeper into that infinite depth, I perceived the mystery of the Holy Trinity: Three Circles of three distinct colors, subsisting within the exact same single dimension and circumference, revolving in unconfused and eternal communion, perfectly equal in majesty and power, having no beginning and no end in their divine perfection!
The first circle reflected the second like rainbow reflecting rainbow, and the third breathed forth like living fire from both—the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit in eternal co-equality and unbroken unity of being, manifesting the eternal generation of the Word and the eternal procession of Love in mutual contemplation.
Within the Second Circle, painted within its very own color, shone the distinct outline of human form—the Incarnation, humanity united forever with God in the Person of the Word, reconciling the finite with the infinite without the annihilation or confusion of either nature, exalting our dust unto the divine throne!
My intellect struggled like a geometer seeking to square the circle without the requisite principle; I strained to comprehend how the human image was fitted into the divine circle, how human nature could abide in uncreated Godhead, until a sudden lightning flash of divine grace struck my mind, fulfilling my desire in supernal contemplation and unclouded intuition, resolving every paradox in celestial light!
Here the high fantasy lost its mortal power; but already my desire and will were moved in even balance, like a wheel smoothly and harmoniously propelled, by the Love that moves the sun and the other stars, resting at last in the eternal peace of the Divine Order, where all searching ends in everlasting rest and unbroken beatitude!