Part 75

Exactly such an image rendered me That which I heard, as we are wont to catch, When people singing with the organ stand;

For now we hear, and now hear not, the words.

Purgatorio: Canto X

When we had crossed the threshold of the door Which the perverted love of souls disuses, Because it makes the crooked way seem straight,

Re-echoing I heard it closed again; And if I had turned back mine eyes upon it, What for my failing had been fit excuse?

We mounted upward through a rifted rock, Which undulated to this side and that, Even as a wave receding and advancing.

“Here it behoves us use a little art,” Began my Leader, “to adapt ourselves Now here, now there, to the receding side.”

And this our footsteps so infrequent made, That sooner had the moon’s decreasing disk Regained its bed to sink again to rest,

Than we were forth from out that needle’s eye; But when we free and in the open were, There where the mountain backward piles itself,

I wearied out, and both of us uncertain About our way, we stopped upon a plain More desolate than roads across the deserts.

From where its margin borders on the void, To foot of the high bank that ever rises, A human body three times told would measure;

And far as eye of mine could wing its flight, Now on the left, and on the right flank now, The same this cornice did appear to me.

Thereon our feet had not been moved as yet, When I perceived the embankment round about, Which all right of ascent had interdicted,

To be of marble white, and so adorned With sculptures, that not only Polycletus, But Nature’s self, had there been put to shame.

The Angel, who came down to earth with tidings Of peace, that had been wept for many a year, And opened Heaven from its long interdict,

In front of us appeared so truthfully There sculptured in a gracious attitude, He did not seem an image that is silent.

One would have sworn that he was saying, “Ave;” For she was there in effigy portrayed Who turned the key to ope the exalted love,

And in her mien this language had impressed, “Ecce ancilla Dei,” as distinctly As any figure stamps itself in wax.

“Keep not thy mind upon one place alone,” The gentle Master said, who had me standing Upon that side where people have their hearts;

Whereat I moved mine eyes, and I beheld In rear of Mary, and upon that side Where he was standing who conducted me,

Another story on the rock imposed; Wherefore I passed Virgilius and drew near, So that before mine eyes it might be set.

There sculptured in the self-same marble were The cart and oxen, drawing the holy ark, Wherefore one dreads an office not appointed.

People appeared in front, and all of them In seven choirs divided, of two senses Made one say “No,” the other, “Yes, they sing.”

Likewise unto the smoke of the frankincense, Which there was imaged forth, the eyes and nose Were in the yes and no discordant made.

Preceded there the vessel benedight, Dancing with girded loins, the humble Psalmist, And more and less than King was he in this.

Opposite, represented at the window Of a great palace, Michal looked upon him, Even as a woman scornful and afflicted.

I moved my feet from where I had been standing, To examine near at hand another story, Which after Michal glimmered white upon me.

There the high glory of the Roman Prince Was chronicled, whose great beneficence Moved Gregory to his great victory;