The Portable Dante (42 page)

Look over there, and see. The angel comes! And, see—the sixth handmaiden has returned already from her service to the day.

Show reverence in your face and attitude, so that he will be glad to help us up; think that this day will never dawn again!”

I was well used to his admonishments not to waste time, so, anything he said to that effect could never be obscure.

Still closer to us, clothed in white, he came, the radiantly fair creature, and his face was shining like a trembling star at dawn.

He spread his arms out wide, and then his wings. He said: “Come, now, the steps are very close; henceforth, the climbing will be easier. ”

To such an invitation few respond: O race of men, born to fly heavenward, how can a breath of wind make you fall back?

He led us straight to where the rock was cleft. Once there, he brushed his wings against my brow, then he assured me of a safe ascent.

As, on the way up to the mountaintop crowned by the church, beyond the Rubaconte, set high, above that so well-governed town,

the steepness of the bold ascent is cut on the right hand by steps carved in the rock in times when one could trust ledgers and staves—

so here, the bank that from the second round falls steep has been made easier with steps though, on both sides, the high rock presses close.

While we were walking toward those steps, the song
Beati pauperes spiritu!
rang out more sweetly than could ever be described.

How different are these passageways from those of Hell! One enters here to music—there, below, to sounds of violent laments.

As we were climbing up the sacred steps, I seemed to feel myself much lighter now than I had been before on level ground.

“Master, ” I said, “tell me, what heavy thing has been removed from me? I feel as if to keep on climbing would be effortless. ”

He answered: “When the P’s that still remain (though they have almost faded) on your brow shall be erased completely like the first,

then will your feet be light with good desire; they will no longer feel the heavy road but will rejoice as they are urged to climb. ”

Then I did something anyone might do, made conscious by the way men looked at him that he must have some strange thing on his head:

his hand will try hard to investigate, feeling around to find, fulfilling thus the duty that the eyes cannot perform;

Now we are standing on the highest step, where, for a second time, we saw a ledge cut in the mount that heals all those who climb.

This terrace stretches all around the hill, exactly like the one below, although the arc of this one makes a sharper curve.

No sign of any souls or carvings here. The cliff face is all bare, the roadway bare— save for the livid color of the stone.

“If we wait here until somebody comes to give directions, ” said the Poet, “our choice, I am afraid, will be too long delayed. ”

6. This circle, being higher up the mountain, is smaller.
Then, looking up, and staring at the sun, he made of his right side a pivot point, bringing the left side of his body round.

“O cherished light in whom I place my trust, please guide us on this unfamiliar road, ” he said, “for in this place guidance we need.

You warm the world; you shed your light on it; unless there be some reason that opposes, your radiant light should always show the way. ”

We had already gone along that ledge as far as what is called a mile on earth—and quickly, too, because of our good will—

when spirits, who could not be seen, were heard, as they came flying towards us, speaking words of courteous invitation to love’s board.

The first voice that came flying past us sang out loud and clear the words
Vinum non habent;
then we could hear them echoing behind.

Before the notes had faded quietly into distance, another voice cried out: “I am Orestes!” And that voice too swept by.

“Oh, ” I said, “Father, what voices are these?” And just as I was asking this, a third said, passing by: “Love those who do you harm!”

Then my good master said: “The Envious this circle scourges—that is why the whip used here is fashioned from the cords of love.

The curb must sound the opposite of love; you will most likely hear it, I should think, before the pass of pardon has been reached.

Now look in front of you, look carefully and you will see some people over there, all of them with their backs against the cliff. ”

I looked ahead of me, straining my eyes: I saw a mass of spirits wrapped in cloaks the color of the stone they leaned against.

And then as we came closer to these souls, I heard the cry: “O Mary, pray for us”; then “Michael, Peter, and All Saints, ” they cried.

I do not think there is a man on earth with heart so hard that it would not be pierced with pity if he saw what I saw then:

when I had come up close enough to see the nature of the penance they endured, the sight squeezed bitter tears out of my eyes.

Their cloaks seemed to be made of coarsest cloth, and one’s head on another’s shoulder lay, the inner cliff supporting all of them.

They brought to mind blind beggars at church doors during Indulgences begging their bread: the one leaning his head upon the next

to stir up pity in their fellow man, not only by the sound of begging cries, but by the looks that plead no less than words.

Just as the blind cannot enjoy the sun, so, to the shades I saw before me here, the light of Heaven denies its radiance:

the eyelids of these shades had been sewn shut with iron threads, like falcons newly caught, whose eyes we stitch to tame their restlessness.

I felt that I was doing something wrong, walking along, staring at people who could not stare back. I turned to my wise guide,

who knew quite well what his mute ward would ask, and waiting not for me to speak, said, “Yes, but let your words be brief and to the point. ”

Virgil was walking on one side of me, along the terrace edge where one could fall (for there was no protective parapet),

while on the other side of me were massed those supplicating souls whose cheeks were wet with tears that seeped out through the horrid seams.

I turned to them and said: “O souls assured that someday you will see the light of Heaven which is the only goal that you desire,

so may God’s grace soon wash away the film clouding your consciousness, and thus allow the stream of memory to flow through pure,

please let me know—I would be very grateful—is someone here, perhaps, Italian? I could be very helpful if he were. ”

“My brother, all of us are citizens of one true city. You mean is there a soul who was a pilgrim once in Italy?”

70. This image is taken from falconry: the eyes of these birds, which were captured when they were no longer fledglings, were sewn shut (with waxed silk thread, however, not with iron wire) to facilitate domestication and training.
This answer to my question seemed to come from somewhere up ahead, so I moved on to where those souls could clearly hear my words.

Among them I discerned one shade that looked expectant. How could I tell? The chin was raised— that searching gesture of the blind. I said:

“O soul, learning to dominate yourself for the ascent—if it was you who spoke— tell me your name, or where you lived. ” She said:

“I was a Sienese; here with the rest I mend my evil life with tears and beg of Him that He reveal Himself to us.

Though named Sapìa, sapient I was not: I always reveled in another’s grief, enjoying that more than my own welfare.

If you do not believe me, listen now and you will see how far my folly went. In the declining arc of my long years,

it happened that my townsmen were engaged in battle just outside of Colle; I prayed God for what already He had willed.

Our men were scattered on the plain and forced to take the bitter course of flight. I watched the chase, seized with a surge of joy so fierce

I raised my shameless face to God and cried “I have lost all my fear of Thee!” I was the blackbird when the sun comes out awhile.

I did not seek my peace with God, not till my final hour came—and even then, penance would not yet have reduced my debt

had it not been for one Pier Pettinaio, who, moved by charity to grieve for me, remembered me in all his holy prayers.

But who are you, so eager to inquire about us here—you with your eyes unsewn, so I would guess, and breathing out your words?”

“My sight one day shall be sewn up, ” I said, “but not for long; my eyes have seldom sinned in casting envious looks on other folk.

It is a greater fear that shakes my soul: that of the penance done below—already I feel on me the weight those souls must bear. ”

And she: “Then who has led you here to us, if you count on returning down below?” And I: “This man with me who does not speak.

I am alive. And if you want me to, O chosen soul, I would be glad to move my mortal feet on earth on your behalf. ”

“Oh, what a miracle this is!” she said. “What evidence of God’s great love for you! Yes, help me with a prayer from time to time.

By what you hold most dear, I beg of you, if ever you set foot on Tuscan soil, restore my name among my kinsfolk there.