us,
not turn away from our chaotic state. 79
Tyrants dominate Italian towns
where mob-rule is not led by rascal clowns.
My Florence, this digression won’t touch you 82
where citizens take public good to heart
and to their tongue. You are too smart for rule
by mob or tyrant. Athens and Sparta 85
did not legislate constantly like you.
Elsewhere folk dodge the burdens of the state –
your people grab for office before asked, 88
and so are peaceful, rich – except when not!
You change your constitution in a week,
laws, government and coinage restlessly, 91
improving nothing like a sick woman
tossing and turning in her bed and sure
each new position may achieve a cure. 94
7: The Climb Halts
1 Those Mantuans, Sordello and my guide,
embraced each other happily until
the first drew back enquiring, “Who are you?”
4 “A soul from Hell,” the greater poet said.
“Augustus, the first Emperor of Rome,
buried my bones before the Christian faith
7 let saved souls make a staircase of this hill,
so I, Virgil, will not reach paradise.”
Like one who thinks, “This is . . . it cannot be!
10 It must . . . but surely not?” Sordello stood
wondering, as if his eyes perceived
a marvel far too great to be believed,
13 then bowed as low as anybody could.
“You are the glory of the Latin race!”
he cried, “Through you our language is as strong,
16 will live as long, as Gospel scriptures do.
Tell me the miracle that brings you here,
and if you think me fit to know, from which
19 cloister of Hell.” Said Virgil, “I have come
through all the rings of Hell, but dwell with souls
who do not suffer pain. Ours is the state
of babies who die before christening 22
cleans off their sinful stain. We do not weep
but sigh for what we, living, could not know
so cannot now enjoy eternally – 25
true faith, hope, charity. But even so
Heaven has ordered me to lead this man
up to the mountain’s height. Since sunset casts 28
its shadow on us we will climb by night,
having not reached real Purgatory yet.
Sordello, can you tell us the right way?” 31
“Yes, I will be your guide a while,” said he,
“but not uphill at once. Now you must halt
and be escorted to a resting place 34
where you will find folk you’ll be glad to see.”
“Why? Who bans our divinely ordered climb?”
my master cried, “Do you?” Sordello stooped, 37
drew a line with his finger on the ground,
and said, “When light departs you won’t cross this.
None forbids night climbing here, but darkness 40
abolishes all wish to climb, though letting
any drift backward down the way they came.”
My master brooded, then said, “Lead us please 43
to where you say a rest will do us good.”
He led us in the gloaming a short way
toward a corrie hollowing the slope, 46
then said, “Here we will wait for a new day
deep in the mountain’s lap.” A winding path
49 that rose and fell brought us to that deep dell.
We stood upon the edge where, gazing down
there still was light enough to see below
52 a glowing lawn as green as emerald
with blossoms golden, crimson, pearly white,
silver and azure and pure indigo.
55 All colours of the rainbow were surpassed
by blooms feasting our eyes. Their fragrances
blent in one sweetness, lovely but unknown
58 to living men before I breathed that air,
and there sat souls unseen by lower folk
singing the Holy Hymn to Heaven’s Queen.
61 “Before the sun now setting leaves the sky,”
Sordello said, “we need descend no more.
Why? Those below are clearly seen from here.
64 He who sits highest of that kingly crew,
too glum to move his lips in sacred song
was Rudolph, Emperor, who failed to heal
67 wounds that have mangled Italy so long.
Trying to comfort him is Ottocar,
King of Bohemia, in his nappies
