Purgatorio

Canto II

The Celestial Pilot—Casella.

Already had the sun the horizon reached¹Whose circle of meridian covers o’erJerusalem with its most lofty point,And night that opposite to him revolvesWas issuing forth from Ganges with the ScalesThat fall from out her hand when she exceedeth;So that the white and the vermilion cheeks²Of beautiful Aurora, where I was,By too great age were changing into orange.We still were on the border of the sea,Like people who are thinking of their road,Who go in heart, and with the body stay;And lo! as when, upon the approach of morning,Through the gross vapors Mars grows fiery redDown in the West upon the ocean floor,Appeared to me—may I again behold it!—A light along the sea so swiftly coming,Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled;From which when I a little had withdrawnMine eyes, that I might question my Conductor,Again I saw it brighter grown and larger.Then on each side of it appeared to meI knew not what of white, and underneath itLittle by little there came forth another.My Master yet had uttered not a wordWhile the first whiteness into wings unfolded;But when he clearly recognized the pilot,He cried: “Make haste, make haste to bow the knee!Behold the Angel of God! fold thou thy hands!Henceforward shalt thou see such officers!See how he scorneth human arguments,³So that nor oar he wants, nor other sailThan his own wings, between so distant shores.See how he holds them pointed up to heaven,Fanning the air with the eternal pinions,That do not moult themselves like mortal hair!”Then as still nearer and more near us cameThe Bird Divine, more radiant he appeared,So that near by the eye could not endure him,But down I cast it; and he came to shoreWith a small vessel, very swift and light,So that the water swallowed naught thereof.Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot;Beatitude seemed written in his face,⁴And more than a hundred spirits sat within.“In exitu Israel de Aegypto!”They chanted all together in one voice,With whatso in that psalm is after written.Then made he sign of holy rood upon them,Whereat all cast themselves upon the shore,And he departed swiftly as he came.The throng which still remained there unfamiliarSeemed with the place, all round about them gazing,As one who in new matters makes essay.On every side was darting forth the dayThe sun, who had with his resplendent shaftsFrom the mid-heaven chased forth the Capricorn,⁵When the new people lifted up their facesTowards us, saying to us: “If ye know,Show us the way to go unto the mountain.”And answer made Virgilius: “Ye believePerchance that we have knowledge of this place,But we are strangers even as yourselves.Just now we came, a little while before you,Another way, which was so rough and steep,That mounting will henceforth seem sport to us.”The souls who had, from seeing me draw breath,Become aware that I was still alive,Pallid in their astonishment became;And as to messenger who bears the oliveThe people throng to listen to the news,And no one shows himself afraid of crowding,So at the sight of me stood motionlessThose fortunate spirits, all of them, as ifOblivious to go and make them fair.One from among them saw I coming forward,As to embrace me, with such great affection,That it incited me to do the like.O empty shadows, save in aspect only!Three times behind it did I clasp my hands,⁶As oft returned with them to my own breast!I think with wonder I depicted me;Whereat the shadow smiled and backward drew;And I, pursuing it, pressed farther forward.Gently it said that I should stay my steps;Then knew I who it was, and I entreatedThat it would stop awhile to speak with me.It made reply to me: “Even as I loved theeIn mortal body, so I love thee free;Therefore I stop; but wherefore goest thou?”“My own Casella! to return once more⁷There where I am, I make this journey,” said I;“But how from thee has so much time be taken?”And he to me: “No outrage has been done me,If he who takes both when and whom he pleasesHas many times denied to me this passage,For of a righteous will his own is made.He, sooth to say, for three months past has taken⁸Whoever wished to enter with all peace;Whence I, who now had turned unto that shore⁹Where salt the waters of the Tiber grow,Benignantly by him have been received.¹⁰Unto that outlet now his wing is pointed,Because for evermore assemble thereThose who tow’rds Acheron do not descend.”And I: “If some new law take not from theeMemory or practice of the song of love,Which used to quiet in me all my longings,Thee may it please to comfort therewithalSomewhat this soul of mine, that with its bodyHitherward coming is so much distressed.”“Love, that within my mind discourses with me,”Forthwith began he so melodiously,The melody within me still is sounding.My Master, and myself, and all that peopleWhich with him were, appeared as satisfiedAs if naught else might touch the mind of any.We all of us were moveless and attentiveUnto his notes; and lo! the grave old man,Exclaiming: “What is this, ye laggard spirits?What negligence, what standing still is this?Run to the mountain to strip off the slough,That lets not God be manifest to you.”Even as when, collecting grain or tares,The doves, together at their pasture met,Quiet, nor showing their accustomed pride,If aught appear of which they are afraid,Upon a sudden leave their food alone,Because they are assailed by greater care;So that fresh company did I beholdThe song relinquish, and go tow’rds the hill,As one who goes, and knows not whitherward;Nor was our own departure less in haste.

It was sunset at Jerusalem, night on the Ganges, and morning at the Mountain of Purgatory. The sun being in Aries, the night would “come forth with the scales,” or the sign of Libra, which is opposite Aries. These scales fall from the hand of night, or are not above the horizon by night, when the night exceeds, or is longer than the day. ↩
Boccaccio, Decamcerone, Prologue to the Third Day, imitates this passage:— “The Aurora, as the sun drew nigh, was already beginning to change from vermilion to orange.” ↩
Argument used in the sense of means, or appliances, as in Inferno XXXI 55. ↩
Cervantes says in Don Quixote, Pt. I ch. 12, that the student Crisostomo “had a face like a benediction.” ↩
Sackville, in his “Induction” to the Mirror for Magistrates, says:— “Whiles Scorpio dreading Sagittarius’ dart / Whose bow prest bent in fight the string had slipped, / Down slid into the ocean flood apart.” ↩
Odyssey, XI, Buckley’s Tr.:— “But I, meditating in my mind, wished to lay hold of the soul of my departed mother. Thrice indeed I essayed it, and my mind urged me to lay hold of it, but thrice it flew from my hands, like unto a shadow, or even to a dream.” And Aeneid, VI, Davidson’s Tr.:— “There thrice he attempted to throw his arms around his neck; thrice the phantom, grasped in vain, escaped his hold, like the fleet gales, or resembling most a fugitive dream.” ↩
Casella was a Florentine musician and friend of Dante, who here speaks to him with so much tenderness and affection as to make us regret that nothing more is known of him. Milton alludes to him in his Sonnet to Mr. H. Lawes:— “Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher / Than his Casella, whom he woo’d to sing / Met in the milder shades of Purgatory.” ↩
The first three months of the year of Jubilee, 1300. Milman, History of Latin Christianity, VI 285, thus describes it:— “All Europe was in a frenzy of religious zeal. Throughout the year the roads in the remotest parts of Germany, Hungary, Britain, were crowded with pilgrims of all ages, of both sexes. A Savoyard above one hundred years old determined to see the tombs of the Apostles before he died. There were at times two hundred thousand strangers at Rome. During the year (no doubt the calculations were loose and vague) the city was visited by millions of pilgrims. At one time, so vast was the press both within and without the walls, that openings were broken for ingress and egress. Many people were trampled down, and perished by suffocation. … Lodgings were exorbitantly dear, forage scarce; but the ordinary food of man, bread, meat, wine, and fish, was sold in great plenty and at moderate prices. The oblations were beyond calculation. It is reported by an eyewitness that two priests stood with rakes in their hands sweeping the uncounted gold and silver from the altars. Nor was this tribute, like offerings or subsidies for Crusades, to be devoted to special uses, the accoutrements, provisions, freight of armies. It was entirely at the free and irresponsible disposal of the Pope. Christendom of its own accord was heaping at the Pope’s feet this extraordinary custom; and receiving back the gift of pardon and everlasting life.” See also note 253. ↩
The seashore of Ostia at the mouth of the Tiber, where the souls of those who were saved assembled, and were received by the Celestial Pilot, who transported them to the island of Purgatory. Minutius Felix, a Roman lawyer of the third century, makes it the scene of his Octavius, and draws this pleasant picture of the sands and the sea. Reeves’s Tr., p. 37:— “It was vacation-time, and that gave me aloose from my business at the bar; for it was the season after the summer’s heat, when autumn promised fair, and put on the face of temperate. We set out, therefore, in the morning early, and as we were walking upon the seashore, and a kindly breeze fanned and refreshed our limbs, and the yielding sand softly submitted to our feet and made it delicious travelling, Cascilius on a sudden espied the statue of Serapis, and, according to the vulgar mode of superstition, raised his hand to his mouth, and paid his adoration in kisses. Upon which Octavius, addressing himself to me, said: ‘It is not well done, my brother Marcus, thus to leave your inseparable companion in the depth of Vulgar darkness, and to suffer him, in so clear a day, to stumble upon stones; stones, indeed, of figure, and anointed with oil, and crowned; but stones, however, still they are;—for you cannot but be sensible that your permitting so foul an error in your friend redounds no less to your disgrace than his.’ This discourse of his held us through half the city; and now we began to find ourselves upon the free and open shore. There the gently washing waves had spread the extremest sands into the order of an artificial walk; and as the sea always expresses some roughness in his looks, even when the winds are still, although he did not roll in foam and angry surges to the shore, yet were we much delighted, as we walked upon the edges of the water, to see the crisping, frizzly waves glide in snaky folds, one while playing against our feet, and then again retiring and lost in the devouring ocean. Softly, then, and calmly as the sea about us, we travelled on, and kept upon the brim of the gently declining shore, beguiling the way with our stories.” ↩
This is the first line of the second canzone of the Convito. ↩