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Gloria in excelsis, all sang, Deo — at least, this is what those close by sang out, whose words I could hear clearly as they cried.
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As had the shepherds who first heard that song, we stood fixed with our souls suspended there until the hymn ended, the tremor ceased.
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Then we continued on our sacred road: beneath our eyes the prostrate souls once more were wholly given up to their laments.
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Never before, unless my memory errs, had my blind ignorance stirred up in me so violent a desire for the truth
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130. Delos is an island in the Cyclades, where Latona went to escape the wrath of Juno and to bring forth her two children by Jupiter: Apollo and Diana.
136. The song “Glory to God in the Highest” was sung by the angels on the eve of the Nativity and heard by the shepherds (139) in the fields.
as I felt now, racking my brain to know. I dared not slow our pace with questioning, and I could see no explanation there.
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I walked along, timid, deep in my thoughts.
CANTO XXI
AS THE PILGRIM and Virgil walk along the Terrace of the Avaricious, a shade appears and speaks to them. Virgil explains that the Pilgrim is still alive, and he relates the nature and purpose of their journey, finally asking the shade why the mountain has just trembled. The shade explains that the mountain of Purgatory is not subject to the vicissitudes of Nature such as rain, wind, and lightning, but that when a soul feels that the time of its purification has come to an end and it is ready to ascend to Heaven, then the mountain shakes and voices shout praises to God. The shade speaking is the one who has just experienced this release after more than five hundred years of purgation. He identifies himself as Statius, the author of the Thebaid and the unfinished Achilleid. Statius claims that he has derived his poetic inspiration from the Aeneid, and he expresses his ardent wish to have lived when Virgil was alive, and to have met the great poet. At these words the Pilgrim smiles knowingly, and with his guide’s permission, reveals to Statius that he is standing in the presence of his mentor. Forgetting himself, Statius bends down to embrace Virgil’s knees, but is gently reminded by that prince of poets that they are only empty shades.
The natural thirst which nothing satisfies except that water begged for long ago by the poor woman of Samaria
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tormented me, and haste was urging me along the crowded path, and I was still grieving at the just pain those souls must pay,
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3. The story of Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well is told in John 4:5-15.
when suddenly—just as we read in Luke that Christ, new-risen from the tomb, appeared to the two men on the Emmaus road—
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a shade appeared! He had come from behind while we were trying not to step on shades, quite unaware of him until he spoke:
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“May God, my brothers, give you peace. ” At that, we quickly turned around, and Virgil then responded to his words appropriately,
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and said: “May God’s True Court which sentenced me to eternal banishment, lead you in peace into the Congregation of the Blest. ”
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“What’s that?” he said as we kept forging on. “If you are souls whom God will not receive, who let you climb His stairway this far up?”
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And then my teacher said: “If you observe those marks the angel has traced on his brow, you’ll see that he must dwell among the Just.
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But she who labors spinning day and night, had not spun out for him the flax which Clotho packs on her distaff for each one of us;
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therefore, his soul, sister to yours and mine, in coming up, could not come by itself, because it does not see as our eyes do.
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And so I was brought up from Hell’s wide throat to serve him as a guide, and guide I shall as far as my own knowledge will permit.
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But can you tell me why the mountain shook so hard just now, and why all of the souls down to its marshy base, cried out as one?”
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15. In the liturgy, the proper response to Pax vobis (Statius’s greeting or salutation of peace in line 13) is the kiss of peace.
25-27. The spinner is Lachesis, one of the three Fates. She spins the thread of a man’s life from a certain quantity of wool, which her sister, Clotho, has loaded onto the distaff.
My leader’s question pierced the needle’s eye of my desire, and with the eager hope that this aroused, I felt my thirst relieved.
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The shade said: “Sacred laws that rule this mount will not let anything take place that is uncustomary or irregular.
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This place is not subject to any change: what Heaven takes from itself into itself, and nothing else, can serve as cause up here;
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therefore no rain, no hail, no snow can fall, nor dew nor hoarfrost form at any point beyond the three-step stairway down below.
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There are no clouds, misty or dense, no sign of lightning or of Thaumas’ daughter, she who often moves from place to place below;
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nor can dry vapors rise beyond the height of those three steps of which I just now spoke, whereon Saint Peter’s vicar rests his feet.
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Quakes may occur below, slight or severe, but tremors caused by winds hid in the earth (I know not why) have never reached this high.
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Up here the mountain trembles when some soul feels itself pure enough to stand erect or start at once to climb—then, comes the shout.
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The will to rise, alone, proves purity: once freed, it takes possession of the soul and wills the soul to change its company.
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It willed to climb before, but the desire High Justice set against it, inspired it to wish to suffer—as once it wished to sin.
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And I, who for five hundred years and more, have lain here in my pain, felt only now will free to raise me to a higher sill.
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That’s why you felt the quake and why you heard the pious dwellers on the mount praise God. May He soon call them up to be with Him. ”
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This was his explanation. And my joy was inexpressible: the more the thirst, the more enjoyable becomes the drink.
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And my wise leader: “Now I see what net holds you bound here, and how the mesh is torn, why the mount shakes, why you rejoice as one.
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Now, if it please you, I would like to know who you once were, and learn from your own words why you have lain so many centuries here. ”
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“During the rule of the good Titus, who, assisted by the King of Kings, avenged the wounds that poured forth blood which Judas sold,
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I bore the title that endures the most and which is honored most, ” that soul replied; “renown I had, not yet the Christian faith.
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The spirit of my verses was so sweet that from Toulouse, Rome called me to herself, and judged me worthy of the myrtle crown.
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My name is Statius, still well known on earth. I sang of Thebes, then of Achilles’ might, but found that second weight too great to bear.
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The spark that kindled my poetic ardor came from the sacred flame that set on fire more than a thousand poets: I mean the Aeneid.
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That was the mother of my poetry, the nurse that gave it suck. Without that poem, my verses would have not been worth a thing.
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82. Titus, son and successor of Vespasian, served as Roman emperor from A.D. 79 to 81.
91. Publius Papinus Statius was born in Naples ca. A.D. 45 and died in 96. He was the major poet of the Silver Age of Latin literature and spent most of his life in Rome.
And
if only I could have been alive when Virgil lived, I would consent to spend an extra year of exile on the mount. ”
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At these words Virgil turned to me. His look told me in silence: “Silence!” But the power of a man’s will is often powerless:
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laughter and tears follow so close upon the passions that provoke them that the more sincere the man, the less they obey his will.
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I smiled and unsmilcd quicker than a blink, but he stopped speaking; staring straight at me, into the eyes, where secrets are betrayed:
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“So may your toiling win you grace, ” he said, “tell me the reason for your smile just now—that smile that quickly came and quickly went. ”
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Here I am caught between opposing sides: the one tells me be quiet, the other bids me to speak up. And so, I sigh. My guide
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perfectly understood: “Don’t be afraid to speak, ” he said: “speak to him, answer now the question he has asked so earnestly. ”
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“You seem to find my smiling very strange, ” I said to him, “O ancient spirit, but I have to tell you something stranger still:
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This shade here who directs my eyes to Heaven is the poet Virgil, who bequeathed to you the power to sing the deeds of men and gods.
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In truth, the only reason for my smile, is that you chose to mention Virgil here: your very words are guilty of my smile. ”
129
Already he was bending to embrace my teacher’s feet, but Virgil: “Brother, no! You are a shade; it is a shade you see. ”
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And Statius, rising: “Now you understand how much my love for you burns deep in me, when I forget about our emptiness
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and deal with shadows as with solid things. ”
CANTO XXII
LEAVING THE FIFTH Terrace, the Pilgrim and Virgil, now accompanied by Statius, are directed to the next ledge by an angel who removes another P from the Pilgrim’s forehead and pronounces those blessed who thirst for righteousness. Virgil tells Statius that he has felt a great deal of good will toward him ever since Juvenal had come down to Limbo with the report of Statius’s love and admiration for Virgil. But he is puzzled as to how such a magnanimous spirit could find room in its heart for avarice. Statius explains that his sin was not Avarice, but Prodigality, and that whenever two sins are the immediate opposite of one another, they are purged together on the same terrace of the mountain of Purgatory. Virgil then asks Statius how he came to be a Christian, and Statius replies that it was Virgil’s Fourth Eclogue that eventually led him to give ear to the Christian preachers. Once converted, however, he kept his faith a secret, and for this lack of zeal was consigned to spend four hundred years on the Terrace of the Slothful. As the poets finish their conversation, they step out onto the Sixth Terrace, where they encounter a tree with sweet-smelling fruit in the middle of the road. A cascade of clear water rains down on its uppermost leaves. As they draw closer to the tree, a voice from within the branches shouts the exempla of the virtue opposed to gluttony.
By now we had already left behind the angel who directs to the Sixth Round and from my brow erased another scar,
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saying that all who looked for righteousness are blest—omitting the esuriunt, and predicating only sitiunt. 6 And I, lighter than I had felt before at any other stairs, moved easily upward, behind those swiftly climbing shades.
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Now, Virgil was already speaking: “Love, kindled by virtue, always kindles love, if the first flame is clearly visible;
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thus, ever since the day that Juvenal came down to Hell’s Limbo to be with us, and told me of the love you felt for me,
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I have felt more good will toward you, more than was felt toward any person not yet seen; and so, these stairs will seem much shorter now.
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But tell me—speak to me as to a friend, and as a friend, forgive me if I seem too bold in slackening decorum’s reins—
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how could your heart find room for avarice, with that abundant store of sound, good sense which you acquired with such diligence?”
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These words of Virgil brought to Statius’ lips a briefly lingering smile; then he replied: “All you have said reveals your love for me.
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Appearances will often, it is true, give rise to false assumptions, when the truth to be revealed is hidden from our eyes.
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5. The angel, as always, recites a beatitude. The entire beatitude is “Blessed are they who hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be satisfied” (Vulgate: Beati qui esuriunt et sitiunt justitiam …). Here the verse is recited only with sitiunt (“thirst”), the other word, esuriunt (“hunger”), being omitted: “Blessed are they who thirst after righteousness. ” “Hunger” is saved for use on the Terrace of the Gluttons.
13. Juvenal (Decimus Junius Juvenalis, ca. A.D. 60-ca. 140) was the Roman satirical poet and author of the Satires. He mentions in his Seventh Satire the poverty of Statius, his contemporary.
Your question makes it clear to me that you believe my sin on earth was Avarice—perhaps because you found me where you did.
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In truth, I had no part of Avarice; in fact, too little! The sin I purged below, thousands of months, was Prodigality.
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And if I had not come to change my ways while meditating on those lines you wrote, where you, enraged by human nature, cry.
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To what extremes, O cursed lust for gold will you not drive man’s appetite?’—I would be rolling weights now in the dismal jousts.
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But when I understood how hands could spread their wings too wide in spending, then that sin, and all my others, I repented of.
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How many shall rise bald the Final Day through ignorance of this vice, forbidding them repentance during life or on death’s bed?
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And know that when the vice of any sin is the rebuttal of its opposite, the two of them wither together here.
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So, though to purge myself I spent my time among those souls who weep for Avarice, my sin was just the opposite of theirs. ”
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“Now, when you sang about the bitter strife of the twin sources of Jocasta’s grief, ” the bard of the Bucolics said to him,
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56. Jocasta was the mother of Oedipus, whom she later unwittingly married, giving birth to Eteocles and Polynices. In the struggle for the throne of Thebes, these two brothers killed one another, thus producing the twin sorrows of their mother. This fratricidal conflict was the subject of Statius’s Thebaid.
57. The Bucolics of Virgil contain the Eclogues, from which there is a quotation in line 70.
“from what you wrote in Clio’s company, it does not seem that you were faithful then to that faith without which virtue is vain.
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If this be so, tell me what heavenly sun or earthly beam lit up your course so that you could set sail behind the Fisherman. ”
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Statius said: “It was you directed me to drink Parnassus’ waters—it was you whose radiance revealed the way to God.
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You were the lonely traveller in the dark who holds his lamp behind him, shedding light not for himself but to make others wise;
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for you once wrote: ‘The world is born again; Justice returns, and the first age of man, and a new progeny descends from heaven. ’
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Through you I was a poet, through you, a Christian. And now, to show you better what I mean, I shall fill in my outline with more color.
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By then, the world was laboring in the birth of the true faith, sown by the messengers of the Eternal Kingdom; and your words,
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which I just quoted now, so harmonized with what the new preachers were saying then, that I would often go to hear them speak.
81
These men became so holy in my eyes that when Domitian persecuted them, I wept, as they wept in their suffering,
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and, for as long as I remained alive, I helped them, and their righteous way of life taught me to scorn all other faiths but theirs.
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58. Clio is the Muse of history, whom Statius invokes at the beginning of the Thebaid.
83. Domitian (Titus Flavius Domitianus Augustus) succeeded his brother Titus as emperor of Rome in A.D. 81 and was murdered in 96. Statius’s Thebaid is dedicated to him.
Before I brought the Greeks to Theban streams with my poetic art, I was baptized, but was a secret Christian out of fear,
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pretending to be pagan many years; and for this lack of zeal, I had to run four hundred years on the Fourth Circle. Now,
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please tell me, you who did remove the veil that once concealed from me the good I praise, tell me, while there is still some time to climb,
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where is our ancient Terence, do you know? And Plautus, and Caecilius and Varius? Have they been damned? If so, where are they lodged?”
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“They all, along with Persius and me and others, ” said my guide, “are with that Greek the Muses suckled more than all the rest,
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in the First Round of Hell’s unlighted jail. We often talk about the mountain slope where our nine nurses dwell eternally.
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Euripides walks with us; Antiphon, Simonides, and Agathon are there, and other Greeks who wear the laurel crown.
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88. The Greeks draw near the Theban rivers, the Ismenus and the Asopus, in the seventh book of the Thebaid; it was before Statius had reached that point in writing his first epic that he was baptized.
100. Aulus Persius Flaccus was a Roman satirist (A.D. 34-62).
101. The Greek is Homer.
105. The nurses are the nine Muses.
106-107. Virgil proceeds to mention four Greek poets that are with him in Limbo. Euripides (485?-406 B.C.) was a Greek playwright, eighteen of whose tragedies have survived in more or less completed form. Antiphon was a Greek tragic poet, whom Plutarch mentions among the great tragic authors; only fragments of three of his tragedies survive. Simonides, a Greek lyric poet, was born ca. 556 B.C and died 467 B.C. None of the works of Agathon (ca. 448-ca. 402 B.C.), a Greek tragic poet, has survived.