Purgatory
Canto 6
Ante-Purgatory.—More spirits who had deferred repentance till they were overtaken by a violent death.—Efficacy of prayer.—Sordello.—Apostrophe to Italy.
Ante-Purgatory. More spirits who put off repenting until they died violently. The power of prayer. Sordello. An address to Italy.
When a game of dice is broken up, he who loses remains sorrowful, repeating the throws, and, saddened, learns; with the other all the folk go along; one goes before and one plucks him from behind, and at his side one brings himself to mind. He does not stop; listens to one and the other the man to whom he reaches forth his hand presses on him no longer, and thus from the throng he defends himself. Such was I in that dense crowd, turning my face to them this way and that; and, promising, I loosed myself from them.
When a dice game ends, the loser stays behind, sorrowfully replaying the throws and learning from them. Everyone goes with the winner. One walks ahead of him, another tugs at him from behind, and someone at his side reminds him he is there. The winner does not stop. He listens to one person and then another. Anyone he reaches out to stops pressing him, and so he makes his way through the crowd. That was how I moved through the dense crowd, turning my face toward them this way and that. By making promises, I freed myself from them.
Here was the Aretine, who from the fierce arms of Ghin di Tacco had his death; and the other who was drowned when running in pursuit. Here Federigo Novello was praying with hands outstretched, and he of Pisa, who made the good Marzucco seem strong. I saw Count Orso; and the soul divided from its body by spite and by envy, as it said, and not for fault committed, Pierre do la Brosse, I mean; and here let the Lady of Brabant take forethought, while she is on earth, so that for this she be not of the worse flock.
Here was the Aretine, who had been killed by the fierce Ghin di Tacco. Here too was the other man, who drowned while pursuing someone. Here Federigo Novello was praying with his hands outstretched, along with the man from Pisa who made the good Marzucco seem strong. I saw Count Orso and the soul of Pierre do la Brosse. Pierre said he had been killed out of spite and envy, not for any fault he had committed. Let the Lady of Brabant take care while she is still on earth, so that she is not condemned for this.
The Aretine was Messer Benincasa da Laterina, a learned judge. He had sentenced two relatives of Ghin di Tacco to death for their crimes. Ghin was the most famous outlaw of the day, with headquarters between Siena and Rome. Some time later, while Messer Benincasa was serving as a judge in Rome, Ghino entered the city with a band of followers. He went to the court, killed Benincasa, and escaped unharmed.
Another Aretine of the Tarlati family, whose death is described differently by the early commentators. Benvenuto da Imola says that, while he was fiercely pursuing his enemies, his horse carried him into a marsh. He could not get out, so his enemies turned on him and killed him with arrows.
Federigo was the son of Count Guido Novello. He is said to have died in 1291, but nothing certain is known about the circumstances of his death. Benvenuto says he was multum probus, a good youth, and that Dante mentions him for this reason.
Different stories are told about the man from Pisa. Benvenuto says, “I have heard from the good Boccaccio, whom I trust more than the others, that Marzucco was a good man of the city of Pisa, whose son was beheaded by order of Count Ugolino, the tyrant, who commanded that his body should remain unburied. In the evening his father went to the Count, as a stranger unconcerned in the matter, and, without tears or other sign of grief, said, ‘Surely, my lord, it would be to your honor that that poor body should be buried, and not left cruelly as food for dogs.’ Then the Count, recognizing him, said astonished, ‘Go, your patience overcomes my obduracy,’ and immediately Marzucco went and buried his son.”
Nothing is known for certain about Count Orso.
Pierre de is Brosse was chamberlain and confidant to Philip the Bold of France. He lost the king’s favor and was hanged after being accused of wrongdoing. It was reported that Mary of Brabant, Philip’s second wife, had caused his death out of jealousy. She lived until 1321, so Dante’s warning may have reached her.
When I was free from each and all those shades who prayed only that some one else should pray, so that their becoming holy may be speeded, I began, “It seems that thou deniest to me, O Light of mine, expressly, in a certain text, that orison can bend decree of Heaven, and this folk pray only for this,—shall then their hope be vain? or is thy saying not rightly clear to me?
When I was free of all those souls, who asked only for others to pray for them so that they might become holy sooner, I began, “O my Light, in a certain passage, you seem to say plainly that prayer cannot change Heaven’s decree. Yet these souls pray only for this. Is their hope then in vain? Or have I misunderstood your words?
Virgil describes Palinurus begging to cross the Styx. His body was still unburied and had not received the proper funeral rites. The Sibyl answers his plea: Desine fata Deum flecti sperare precando: “Cease to hope that the decrees of the gods can be changed by prayer.” Aeneid, vi. 376.
And he to me, “My writing is plain, and the hope of these is not fallacious, if well it is regarded with sound mind; for top of judgment vails not itself because a fire of love may, in one instant, fulfil that which he who is stationed here must satisfy. And there where I affirmed this proposition, defect was not amended by a prayer, because the prayer was disjoined from God. But truly in regard to so deep a doubt decide thou not, unless she tell thee who shall be a light between the truth and the understanding. I know not if thou understandest; I speak of Beatrice. Thou shalt see her above, smiling and happy, upon the summit of this mountain.”
And he said to me, “My writing is clear, and these souls’ hope is not false, if you consider it carefully. For the highest judgment is not weakened if a fire of love can instantly fulfill what someone here must satisfy. And in the passage where I made that statement, prayer did not make amends for the fault because the prayer was separated from God. But do not settle such a deep question unless she tells you, the one who will illuminate the truth for your understanding. I do not know if you understand me. I mean Beatrice. You will see her above, smiling and happy, at the summit of this mountain.”
Because the question concerns God's will, human reason cannot answer it with complete certainty.
And I, “My lord, let us go on with greater speed, for now I mu not weary as before; and behold now how the bill casts its shadow.” “We will go forward with this day,” he answered, “as much further as we shall yet be able; but the fact is of other form than thou supposest. Before thou art there-above thou wilt see him return, who is now hidden by the hill-side so that thou dost not make his rays to break. But see there a soul which seated all alone is looking toward us; it will point out to us the speediest way.” We came to it. O Lombard soul, how lofty and scornful wast thou; and in the movement of thine eyes grave and slow! It said not anything to us, but let us go on, looking only in manner of a lion when he couches. Virgil, however, drew near to it, praying that it would show to us the best ascent; and it answered not to his request, but of our country and life it asked us. And the sweet Leader began, “Mantua,”—and the shade, all in itself recluse, rose toward him from the place where erst it was, saying, “O Mantuan, I am Sordello of thy city,”—and they embraced each other.
And I said, “My lord, let us go faster. I am not as tired as before, and look how the hill casts its shadow.” “We will go as far as we can today,” he answered, “but things are not as you suppose. Before you reach the top, you will see the sun return. The hillside now hides it, so that your body does not interrupt its rays. But look there. A soul is sitting all alone, watching us. It will point out the quickest way.” We came to the soul. O Lombard soul, how proud and scornful you were! How grave and slow were the movements of your eyes! The soul said nothing to us, but let us approach, watching us like a lion at rest. Virgil, however, drew near and asked the soul to show us the best way up. The soul did not answer his request, but asked us about our country and our lives. My gentle guide began, “Mantua,” and the shade, so withdrawn into itself, rose from its place toward him. It said, “O Mantuan, I am Sordello of your city,” and they embraced each other.
Sordello lived in the early thirteenth century and belonged to the Visconti family of Mantua. He left his homeland and gave up his native language to live and write as a troubadour in Provence. But his fame belonged to Italy.
Ah, servile Italy, hostel of grief! ship without pilot in great tempest! not lady of provinces, but a brothel! that gentle soul was so ready, only at the sweet sound of his native land, to give glad welcome here unto his fellow-citizen: and now in thee thy living men exist not without war, and of those whom one wall and one moat shut in one doth gnaw the other. Search, wretched one, around the shores, thy seaboard, and then look within thy bosom, if any part in thee enjoyeth peace! What avails it that for thee Justinian should mend the bridle, if the saddle be empty? Without this, the shame would be less. Ah folk, that oughtest to be devout and let Caesar sit in the saddle, if thou rightly understandest what God notes for thee! Look how fell this wild beast has become, through not being corrected by the spurs, since thou didst put thy hand upon the bridle. O German Albert, who abandonest her who has become untamed and savage, and oughtest to bestride her saddle-bows, may a just judgment from the stars fall upon thy blood, and may it be strange and manifest, so that thy successor may have fear of it! For thou and thy father, retained up there by greed, have suffered the garden of the empire to become desert. Come thou to see Montecchi and Cappelletti, Monaldi and Filippeschi, thou man without care: those already wretched, and these in dread. Come, cruel one, come, and see the distress of thy nobility, and cure their hurts; and thou shalt see Santafiora how safe it is. Come to see thy Rome, that weeps, widowed and alone, and day and night cries, “My Caesar, wherefore dost thou not keep me company?” Come to see the people, how loving it is; and, if no pity for us move thee, come to be shamed by thine own renown! And if it be lawful for me, O Supreme Jove that wast on earth crucified for us, are thy just eyes turned aside elsewhere? Or is it preparation, that in the abyss of thy counsel thou art making for some good utterly cut off from our perception? For the cities of Italy are all full of tyrants, and every churl that comes playing the partisan becomes a Marcellus?
Ah, enslaved Italy, house of grief! A ship without a pilot in a great storm! No longer a lady ruling provinces, but a brothel! That noble soul was so ready to welcome a fellow citizen here, just at the sweet sound of his native land. Yet now your living people cannot live without war. Even those enclosed by the same wall and moat tear at one another. Search your shores, wretched Italy, and then look within yourself. Is there any place in you that enjoys peace? What good is it that Justinian repaired your bridle, if the saddle is empty? Without his work, the shame would be less. Ah, people, you should be devout and let Caesar sit in the saddle, if you rightly understand what God tells you! Look how savage this wild beast has become. You took hold of the bridle, and now no spurs correct it. O German Albert, you have abandoned her, though you should be in her saddle. She has become untamed and savage. May a just judgment from the stars fall upon your blood! May it be extraordinary and clear, so that your successor may fear it! For you and your father, kept up there by greed, have let the garden of the empire become a desert. Come and see the Montecchi and Cappelletti, the Monaldi and Filippeschi, you careless man. The first are already in misery, and the others live in dread. Come, cruel man, come and see the suffering of your nobles, and heal their wounds. Then you will see how safe Santafiora is. Come and see your Rome, weeping, widowed and alone. Day and night she cries, “My Caesar, why do you not keep me company?” Come and see how loving the people are. And if no pity for us moves you, come and be shamed by your own renown! And if I may ask, O Supreme Jove, who was crucified on earth for us, have your just eyes turned elsewhere? Or are you preparing, in the depths of your wisdom, some good entirely beyond our understanding? For the cities of Italy are all full of tyrants. And does every brute who takes up a faction become a Marcellus?
The Church-folk, or clergy, for whom God has ordained: “Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s.”
Albert of Hapsburg, son of Emperor Rudolph, was elected King of the Romans in 1298. But like his father, he never went to Italy to be crowned. In 1308, his nephew John, called the parricide, murdered him at Konigsfelden. Albert was succeeded by Henry VII. of Luxemborg, who came to Italy in 1311. Henry was crowned at Rome in 1312 and died at Buonconvento the next year. His death ended Dante's hopes.
Famous families, the first two from Verona and the last two from Orvieto, were enemies in their respective cities. Their feuds were typical of a common condition.
The Counts of Santafiora were once the most powerful Ghibelline nobles in the Sienese territory. Their power declined after the Hapsburgs succeeded the Hohenstaufen Emperors. The Counts were now under the control of the Guelphs of Siena.
That is, a bitter opponent of the empire, just as the Consul M. Claudius Marcellus opposed Caesar.
My Florence! surely thou mayst be content with this digression, which toucheth thee not, thanks to thy people that for itself takes heed. Many have justice at heart but shoot slowly, in order not to come without counsel to the bow; but thy people has it on the edge of its lips. Many reject the common burden, but thy people, eager, replies without being called on, and cries, “I load myself.” Now be thou glad, for thou hast truly wherefore: thou rich, thou in peace, thou wise. If I speak the truth, the result hides it not. Athens and Lacedaemon, that made the ancient laws and were so civilized, made toward living well a little sign, compared with thee that makest such finespun provisions, that to mid November reaches not, what thou in October spinnest. How often in the time that thou rememberest, law, money, office, and custom, hast thou changed, and renewed thy members! And if thou mind thee well and see the light, thou wilt see thyself resembling a sick woman, who cannot find repose upon the feathers, but with her tossing seeks to relieve her pain.
My Florence! Surely you can be pleased with this digression, which does not touch you, thanks to your people who look after themselves. Many people hold justice in their hearts but are slow to shoot, so they do not draw the bow without taking counsel. But your people have justice on the tips of their tongues. Many refuse the burden of public office, but your people eagerly answer without being called. They cry, “I will take it on.” Now rejoice, for you truly have reason to. You are rich, at peace, and wise. If I speak the truth, the results do not hide it. Athens and Lacedaemon made the ancient laws and were so civilized. Yet compared with you, they made little progress toward living well. You make such finely spun laws that what you spin in October does not last until mid-November. How often, within your own memory, have you changed your laws, money, offices, and customs, and replaced your members! And if you remember rightly and see the light, you will see that you resemble a sick woman. She cannot rest on her feather bed, but tosses about, trying to relieve her pain.