the mountain range, then burst them into 85
more torrential rain than earth could contain,
flooding to overflow gully and stream.
Bursting Archiano’s banks, they swept my corpse 88
into the Arno, breaking it apart.
The bits were sunk in mud.” A third shade said,
“When back on Earth and rested from your climb 91
tell people of La Pia. My birthplace
was Sienna. Maremma saw my death
as he knows well, the man who wedded me.” 94
6: Of Italian States
1 Gamblers breaking the bank are thronged upon
by some who hope good luck rubs off on them,
and others wanting shares in what they gain.
4 Souls pressed on me like that, so very thick
I waved my hands in air to drive them back,
promising all these violently slain
7 to do the best I could. First, the good judge
stabbed in court by that man of blood, Tacco;
Guccio who, fleeing Campoldino,
10 was swallowed too by Arno’s stormy flood;
the Pisan who forgave the enemies
who slew his son; Frederick Novello;
13 Count Orso; Peter Brosse wrongly hanged
by the Queen of Brabant. (Let her beware
of joining ugly company in Hell.)
16 When free of these and others begging me
to tell their kindred they needed prayers
I begged my guide, “Master, enlighten me.
19 Your Aeneid says that divine decree
cannot be altered by the human will.
Surely that means these beg my help in vain?”
“I wrote plain truth,” said he, “but wrote before 22
God came in mercy to humanity,
was born as a divinely honest man
who suffered and defeated wretched death. 25
Since then, when justice is embraced by love
in a last moment of pure penitence,
justice and mercy form one healing flame. 28
Be patient if you do not understand.
Enlightenment awaits you high above,
smiling in bliss. Her name is Beatrice.” 31
I shouted, “Master, let us hurry up!
I am not tired now, and before sun sets
will climb up very fast to reach the top.” 34
“Before that Heavenly event,” said he,
“the sun will set twice more, but just ahead
sits one who may know an easier ascent.” 37
Him we approached was Lombard. With calm pride
he gazed on us as resting lions do
out of moving eyes. When Virgil asked 40
where lay the way up he did not say,
but asked from where we came. My leader said,
“Mantua,” at which the soul, leaping up, 43
embraced him, cried, “My city! Know that I,
Sordello, am poet of Mantua,
only excelled by one born long ago.” 46
Then Virgil happily embraced him too.
O Italy, you hostelry of slaves!
49 You vessel, captainless in stormy sea!
Why cannot souls who love their cities well
co-operate to keep their country whole?
52 Even within a single city wall
new money fights with old, each wrestling for
a strangle-hold, making alliances
55 with foreigners through bribery, bad pacts
which are not kept, preventing unity.
There is no peace within Italian shores.
58 Unlike beehives who recognise a queen
you are a brothel, ruled by squabbling whores.
The Emperor Justinian once made
61 a legal code to pacify his land
which other lands employ – not Italy,
which won’t submit to legal spurs and bit.
64 None is allowed to take the reins in hand.
Devout priests should obey our Lord’s command
and let a Caesar ride our Latin steed.
67 O German Albert, Holy Roman King,
all Europe should be yours, but you don’t heed
its central garden which has run to seed.
70 Come, govern us! Our wretched noblemen,
Montagues, Capulets, Filippeschi,
Monaldi dread each other! Unite us
73 under one head we all should recognise!
Rome, a poor widow, weeps for your great work
of restoration. Pity and help Rome
become the Queen of Christendom again 76
or pity your reputation. And may
almighty
