Canto XXXI
CANTO XXXI
Beatrice enjoins Dante to confess whether the charges she has brought against him are true or not. In confusion and fear the Penitent mutters a scarcely audible “yes” and, like a crossbow that snaps when drawn too taut, bursts into a fit of tears and sighs. His Lady demands to know what obstacle turned the Pilgrim away from his hope of attaining the true Good and what comforts or gains induced him to court false goods. With difficulty he replies that he was diverted by the allure of sham delights as soon as Beatrice’s face was withdrawn from him (1–36). His Lady now declares that his confession has blunted the sword of justice on the grindstone of mercy in Heaven’s court. But, that the Poet may resist the Siren-call of worldly goods henceforth, she instructs him that if her earthly beauty failed, which was greater than any other work either of art or of nature, he must learn to rise from all temporal beauties to seek the Eternal (37–63). Dante lowers his eyes like a scolded child and then, at Beatrice’s command, raises his chin with more resistance than an oak shows to uprooting gales. Having done so, he spies his Lady, still veiled but more resplendent than ever, gazing upon the griffin. At the sight of such beauty, the Pilgrim is stung by remorse and faints (64–90). As he regains his senses, he finds himself plunged up to his throat in the river Lethe and drawn forward by Matelda, who skims lightly upon its waters. Having neared the other shore, the Poet hears the Asperges me sung with ineffable sweetness, then has his head submerged by the lovely maiden so that he may imbibe the water (91–102). When he has emerged from the stream, four of Beatrice’s handmaids, as symbols of the cardinal moral virtues, lead him in song and dance to her. Filled with ardent longing as he gazes into her emerald eyes, Dante beholds the image of the griffin reflected there in its dual nature. Three other handmaids, as figures of the theological virtues, now join the Pilgrim in his wondrous delight and beg his Lady to reveal her mouth to him as well. Its beauty is such that the poet who had drunk most deeply of the Castalian spring would falter trying to describe it (103–145).
1 “O you beyond the sacred stream,” said she,
Continuing anew without delay,
And turning thus her speech’s point to me,
4 Although the edge had seemed quite sharp, “say, say
If this is true; confession now must be
Conjoined to accusations that so weigh.”
7 My power was confused to the degree
That voice was moved, and yet was spent, before
From speech’s organs it had been set free.
10 “Your thoughts?” she said—for little she forbore—
“Reply to me! The streams have not yet blurred[532]
Your sorry memories forevermore.”
13 Confusion mingled with my fear, and, slurred
Out of my mouth, there came forth such a “yes”
That eyes were needed so it could be heard.
16 And as a crossbow shot with too great stress
Snaps both the cord and bow in such a mode
The arrow’s force upon the mark is less,
19 So too I burst beneath the heavy load
That made me pour forth tears and so suspire
My voice grew slackened on its outward road.
22 And at that point she said: “In your desire
Of me, inducing you to love that Good
Past which there’s naught to which one may aspire,
25 What chain was found, what thwarting ditch there stood,
So that you should have let them strip away
The hope of passing onwards as one should?
28 And what advantages or comforts lay
On others’ brows to give some reason why
You dallied with them all in such a way?”
31 And after I had heaved a bitter sigh,
My voice could scarcely answer her aright;
My lips could hardly fashion a reply.
34 “The present things with all their false delight,”
I said while weeping, “turned my steps aside
No sooner than your face was hid from sight.”
37 She said: “Had you been silent or denied
What you confess, your fault would not have stayed
Less noted then—by such a Judge it’s spied![533]
40 When accusation of the sin is made
To burst from one’s own cheeks, within our court
The grindstone will turn back against the blade.
43 Yet, that you may be shamed for erring sport
And that on hearing Sirens sing anew
You still may prove yourself the stronger sort,
46 Put off the tears you sow and listen too:
You’ll hear how to another end my just
Sepulchered flesh should have directed you.
49 No art or Nature ever did entrust
To you delights like those fair limbs that then
Enclosed me, limbs now scattered in the dust.
52 And if the highest beauty failed you when
I had to die, what mortal thing, what crutch,
Could ever draw you with desire again?
55 Indeed, you should have risen at the touch
Of the first arrow of deceitful things
To follow me, who was no longer such.
58 And nothing should have weighted down your wings
To wait for other blows—no maiden got
Nor other novelty for such brief flings.
61 Young birds await them twice or thrice, but not
Full-feathered ones, before whose eyes the same
Old net is spread in vain, the arrow shot.”
64 Like children who are standing mute with shame
And listening with eyes upon the floor,
Repentant when they recognize their blame,
67 So too was I. “Since hearing leaves you sore,”
She said to me, “lift up the beard you stroke,
And what you see will make you grieve the more.”
70 With less resistance is the sturdy oak
Uprooted, whether by the wind blown in
From Iarba’s lands or that among our folk,[534]
73 Than I, at her command, raised up my chin;
And when she asked me for my face by “beard,”
I recognized what venom lay within
76 Her argument. Then with my face upreared,
My eyes perceived those primal creatures who[535]
Reposed from strewing flowers, it appeared.
79 And still but little self-assured, my view
Saw Beatrice turned towards that beast at last,
Who is in person one, in nature two.
82 Though veiled beyond the stream, she more surpassed
Her former self, it seemed, of long ago
Than she did others here before she passed.[536]
85 The nettle of remorse now stung me so
That, of all things, what drew me most and lit
My love of it had most become my foe.
88 And at my heart such self-conviction bit
That, crushed, I fell; and she knows well what thing
I then became who was the cause of it.
91 And when my heart made outward sense upspring,
I saw the maid, first found alone, afloat[537]
Above me, and she said: “Grab hold and cling!”
94 She’d plunged me in the river to my throat,
And, drawing me behind, she moved as light
Upon the waters as a shuttle boat.
97 When I was near that blessèd shoreline’s site,
I heard “Asperges me,” so sweet an air,[538]
Which I can not recall and less could write.
100 She spread her arms and clasped my head of hair,
And by that lovely maid was I submerged
So that I had to swallow water there.
103 She drew me forth and led me, bathed and purged,
Within the dance of four fair maids astir,[539]
Whose arms, upraised to cover me, converged.
106 “Here we are nymphs; in heaven, stars. We were,
Before your Beatrice came down to be
Of earth, ordained as handmaids unto her.
109 We’ll lead you to her eyes; the other three
Will sharpen yours in joyful light they shed,
For they see more profoundly than we see.”
112 Thus they began to sing, and then they led
Me forth with them; once at the griffin’s breast,
Where Beatrice stood facing us, they said:
115 “See to it that you give your gaze no rest;
We’ve brought you to the emeralds that shot[540]
At you one time the arrows Love possessed.”
118 A thousand longings (flames are no more hot!)
Held fast my orbs upon her shining eyes,
While hers were fastened on the griffin’s spot.
121 Like sunlight in a glass, not otherwise,
That twofold creature glistened there, now in
The one, now in the other nature’s guise.
124 Think, Reader, what my marvel must have been
To see that thing itself stand still at first,
Then in its image changing to its twin.
127 While, yet in wonder and delight immersed,
My soul was tasting of that food whose way
Is of itself to sate and yet cause thirst,
130 The other three, who in their mien display
That they are of a higher troop, came on,
All dancing in an angels’ roundelay.
133 “Turn, Beatrice, your holy eyes upon
Your faithful one,” so went their sung appeal,
“Who for your sight so many steps has gone!
136 Out of your grace, do us this grace: reveal
Your mouth to him, and may he thus discern
The second beauty, which you now conceal.”[541]
139 O life’s eternal light, whose splendors burn!
Who, having paled beneath Parnassus’ shade
Or drunk out of its cisterns’ depths in turn,[542]
142 Would not have had his mind quite overweighed
To render you in your appearance where
The harmonies of heaven veiled a maid[543]
145 Who stood disclosed now in the open air?