[Dante is perhaps the most famous poet of the Middle Ages. An accomplished prose and verse stylist in both Latin and Italian, he was the first major author to compose literature in the Italian vernacular. His most famous work is the Commedia (c. 1320), later known as the Divina Commedia, which consists of three sections: Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paridiso, and details Dante's journey through the locales of medieval theology. In the following excerpt from the Purgatorio (c. 1307-20), Dante and Vergil experience a joyous encounter in the underworld with the Mantuan Sordello, who serves as their companion and guide, revealing to them the spirits of great rulers. Dante, who was significantly influenced by Sordello, links the troubadour with Roman history and extols him as a symbol of patriotic pride.]

CANTO VI

     "… But see—beyond—a soul who is
   completely
apart, and seated, looking toward us; he
will show us where to climb most speedily."
     We came to him. O Lombard soul, what
  pride
and what disdain were in your stance! Your eyes
moved with such dignity, such gravity!
   He said no thing to us but let us pass,
his eyes intent upon us only as
a lion watches when it is at rest.
     Yet Virgil made his way to him, appealing
to him to show us how we'd best ascend;
and he did not reply to that request,
    but asked us what our country was and who
we were, at which my gentle guide began
"Mantua"—and that spirit, who had been
    so solitary, rose from his position
saying: "O Mantuan, I am Sordello,
from your own land!" And each embraced the
    other.
Ah, abject Italy, you inn of sorrows,
you ship without a helmsman in harsh seas,
no queen of provinces but of bordellos!
    That noble soul had such enthusiasm:
his city's sweet name was enough for him
to welcome—there—his fellow-citizen.
    But those who are alive within you now
can't live without their warring—even those
whom one same wall and one same moat enclose
    gnaw at each other. Squalid Italy,
search round your shores and then look inland—
   see
if any part of you delight in peace.
     What use was there in a Justinian
mending your bridle, when the saddle's empty?
Indeed, were there no reins, your shame were
  less.
     Ah you—who if you understood what God
ordained, would then attend to things devout
and in the saddle surely would allow
     Caesar to sit—see how this beast turns
  fierce
because there are no spurs that would correct it,
since you have laid your hands upon the bit!
     O German Albert, you who have abandoned
that steed become recalcitrant and savage,
you who should ride astride its saddlebows—
     upon your blood may the just judgment of
the stars descend with signs so strange and plain

that your successor has to feel its terror!
     For both you and your father, in your greed
for lands that lay more close at hand, allowed
the garden of the Empire to be gutted.
     Come—you who pay no heed—do come
  and see
Montecchi, Cappelletti, sad already,
and, filled with fear, Monaldi, Filippeschi.
     Come, cruel one, come see the tribulation
of your nobility and heal their hurts;
see how disconsolate is Santafior!
     Come, see your Rome who, widowed and
  alone,
weeps bitterly; both day and night, she moans:
"My Caesar, why are you not at my side?"
     Come, see how much your people love each
  other!
And if no pity for us moves you, may
shame for your own repute move you to act.
    And if I am allowed, o highest Jove,
to ask: You who on earth were crucified
for us—have You turned elsewhere Your just
  eyes?
    Or are You, in Your judgment's depth,
  devising
a good that we cannot foresee, completely
dissevered from our way of understanding?
     For all the towns of Italy are full
of tyrants, and each townsman who becomes
a partisan is soon a new Marcellus.
     My Florence, you indeed may be content
that this digression would leave you exempt:
your people's strivings spare you this lament.
     Others have justice in their hearts, and
  thought
is slow to let it fly off from their bow;
but your folk keep it ready—on their lips.
     Others refuse the weight of public service;
whereas your people—eagerly—respond,
even unasked, and shout: "I'll take it on."
    You might be happy now, for you have
  cause!
You with your riches, peace, judiciousness!
If I speak truly, facts won't prove me wrong.
     Compared to you, Athens and Lacedaemon,
though civil cities, with their ancient laws,
had merely sketched the life of righteousness;
    for you devise provisions so ingenious—
whatever threads October sees you spin,
when mid-November comes, will be unspun.
    How often, in the time you can remember,
have you changed laws and coinage, offices
and customs, and revised your citizens!
    And if your memory has some clarity,
then you will see yourself like that sick woman
who finds no rest upon her feather-bed,
    but, turning, tossing, tries to ease her pain.

CANTO VII

    When glad and gracious welcomings had
  been
repeated three and four times, then Sordello
drew himself back and asked: "But who are
  you?"
    "Before the spirits worthy of ascent
to God had been directed to this mountain,
my bones were buried by Octavian.
   I am Virgil, and I am deprived of Heaven
for no fault other than my lack of faith."
This was the answer given by my guide.
    Even like one who, suddenly, has seen
something before him and then, marveling,
does and does not believe, saying, "It is …
    is not," so did Sordello seem, and then
he bent his brow, returned to Virgil humbly,
and clasped him where the lesser presence
  clasps.
     He said: "O glory of the Latins, you
through whom our tongue revealed its power,
  you,
eternal honor of my native city,
     what merit or what grace shows you to me?
If I deserve to hear your word, then answer:
tell me if you're from Hell and from what
   cloister."
     "Through every circle of the sorry
   kingdom,"
he answered him, "I journeyed here; a power
from Heaven moved me, and with that, I come.
    Not for the having—but not having—done,
I lost the sight that you desire, the Sun—
that high Sun I was late in recognizing.
     There is a place below that only shadows—
not torments—have assigned to sadness; there,
lament is not an outcry, but a sigh.
    There I am with the infant innocents,
those whom the teeth of death had seized before
they were set free from human sinfulness;
    there I am with those souls who were not
  clothed
in the three holy virtues—but who knew
and followed after all the other virtues.
    But if you know and you are able to,
would you point out the path that leads more
  quickly
to the true entry point of Purgatory?"
He answered: "No fixed place has been
  assigned
to us; I'm free to range about and climb;
as far as I may go, I'll be your guide.
     But see now how the day declines; by night
we cannot climb; and therefore it is best
to find some pleasant place where we can rest.
     Here to the right are spirits set apart;
if you allow me, I shall lead you to them;
and not without delight, you'll come to know
  them."
    "How is that?" he was asked. "Is it that he
who tried to climb by night would be impeded
by others, or by his own lack of power?"
     And good Sordello, as his finger traced
along the ground, said: "Once the sun has set,
then—look—even this line cannot be crossed.

    And not that anything except the dark
of night prevents your climbing up; it is
the night itself that implicates your will.
    Once darkness falls, one can indeed retreat
below and wander aimlessly about
the slopes, while the horizon has enclosed
    the day." At which my lord, as if in
  wonder,
said: "Lead us then to there where, as you say,
we may derive delight from this night's stay."
   We had not gone far off, when I perceived
that, just as valleys hollow mountains here
in our world, so that mountain there was
   hollowed.
     That shade said: "It is there that we shall
  go—
to where the slope forms, of itself, a lap;
at that place we'll await the new day's coming."
     There was a slanting path, now steep, now
   flat;
it led us to a point beside the valley,
just where its bordering edge had dropped by
  half.
    Gold and fine silver, cochineal, white lead,
and Indian lychnite, highly polished, bright,
fresh emerald at the moment it is dampened,
    if placed within that valley, all would be
defeated by the grass and flowers' colors,
just as the lesser gives way to the greater.
     And nature there not only was a painter,
but from the sweetness of a thousand odors,
she had derived an unknown, mingled scent.
    Upon the green grass and the flowers, I
saw seated spirits singing "Salve, Regina";
they were not visible from the outside.
    "Before the meager sun seeks out its nest,"
began the Mantuan who led us here,
"do not ask me to guide you down among them.
   From this bank, you'll be better able to
make out the acts and features of them all
than if you were to join them in the hollow.
     He who is seated highest, with the look
of one too lax in what he undertook—
whose mouth, although the rest sing, does not
  move—
    was Emperor Rudolph, one who could have
  healed
the wounds that were the death of Italy,
so that another, later, must restore her.
    His neighbor, whose appearance comforts
  him,
governed the land in which are born the waters
the Moldau carries to the Elbe and
    the Elbe to the sea: named Ottokar—
in swaddling-bands he was more valiant than
his son, the bearded Wenceslaus, who feeds
     on wantonness and ease. That small-nosed
   man,
who seems so close in counsel with his kindly
friend, died in flight, deflowering the lily:
     see how he beats his breast there! And you
  see
the other shade, who, as he sighs, would rest
his cheek upon his palm as on a bed.
     Father and father-in-law of the pest
of France, they know his life—its filth, its vice;
out of that knowledge grows the grief that has
    pierced them. That other, who seems so
  robust
and sings in time with him who has a nose
so manly, wore the cord of every virtue;
    and if the young man seated there behind
  him
had only followed him as king, then valor
might have been poured from vessel unto vessel;
    one cannot say this of his other heirs;
his kingdoms now belong to James and
  Frederick—
but they do not possess his best bequest.
     How seldom human worth ascends from
  branch
to branch, and this is willed by Him who grants
that gift, that one may pray to Him for it!
     My words suggest the large-nosed one no
  less
than they refer to Peter, singing with him,
whose heir brings Puglia and Provence distress:
   the plant is lesser than its seed, just as
the man whom Beatrice and Margaret wed
is lesser than the husband Constance has.
     You see the king who led the simple life
seated alone: Henry of England—he
has better fortune with his progeny.
    He who is seated lowest on the ground,
and looking up, is William the Marquis—
for him, both Alexandria and its war
     make Monferrato and Canavese mourn."

CANTO VIII

    It was the hour that turns seafarers'
  longings
homeward—the hour that makes their hearts
  grow tender
upon the day they bid sweet friends farewell;
    the hour that pierces the new traveler
with love when he has heard, far off, the bell
that seems to mourn the dying of the day;
     when I began to let my hearing fade
and watched one of those souls who, having
  risen,
had signaled with his hand for our attention.
    He joined his palms and, lifting them, he
  fixed
all his attention on the east, as if
to say to God: "I care for nothing else."
     "Te lucis ante" issued from his lips
with such devotion and with notes so sweet
that I was moved to move beyond my mind.
     And then the other spirits followed him—
devoutly, gently—through all of that hymn,
their eyes intent on the supernal spheres.
     Here, reader, let your eyes look sharp at
  truth,

for now the veil has grown so very thin—
it is not difficult to pass within.
      I saw that company of noble spirits,
silent and looking upward, pale and humble,
as if in expectation; and I saw,
     emerging and descending from above,
two angels bearing flaming swords, of which
the blades were broken off, without their tips.
     Their garments, just as green as newborn
   leaves,
were agitated, fanned by their green wings,
and trailed behind them; and one angel came
     and stood somewhat above us, while the
  other
descended on the opposite embankment,
flanking that company of souls between them.
     My eyes made out their blond heads clearly,
  but
my sight was dazzled by their faces—just
like any sense bewildered by excess.
     "Both come from Mary's bosom," said
Sordello,
"to serve as the custodians of the valley
against the serpent that will soon appear."
     At this, not knowing where its path might
  be,
frozen with fear, I turned around, pressing
close to the trusty shoulders. And Sordello
     continued: "Let us now descend among
the great shades in the valley; we shall speak
with them; and seeing you, they will be
  pleased."
    I think that I had taken but three steps
to go below, when I saw one who watched
attentively, trying to recognize me.
     The hour had now arrived when air grows
dark,
but not so dark that it deprived my eyes
and his of what—before—they were denied.
    He moved toward me, and I advanced
  toward him.
Noble Judge Nino—what delight was mine
when I saw you were not among the damned!
    There was no gracious greeting we
 neglected
before he asked me: "When did you arrive,
across long seas, beneath this mountainside?"
     I told him, "Oh, by way of the sad regions,
I came this morning; I am still within
the first life—although, by this journeying,
     I earn the other." When they heard my
   answer,
Sordello and Judge Nino, just behind him,
drew back like people suddenly astonished.
    One turned to Virgil, and the other turned
and called to one who sat there: "Up, Currado!
Come see what God, out of His grace, has
  willed!"
    Then, when he turned to me: "By that
  especial
gratitude you owe to Him who hides
his primal aim so that no human mind
may find the ford to it, when you return
across the wide waves, ask my own Giovanna—
there where the pleas of innocents are
  answered—
    to pray for me. I do not think her mother
still loves me: she gave up her white veils—
   surely,
poor woman, she will wish them back again.
    Through her, one understands so easily
how brief, in woman, is love's fire—when not
rekindled frequently by eye or touch.
     The serpent that assigns the Milanese
their camping place will not provide for her
a tomb as fair as would Gallura's rooster."
    So Nino spoke; his bearing bore the seal
of that unswerving zeal which, though it flames
within the heart, maintains a sense of measure.
     My avid eyes were steadfast, staring at
that portion of the sky where stars are slower,
even as spokes when they approach the axle.
     And my guide: "Son, what are you staring
   at?"
And I replied: "I'm watching those three torches
with which this southern pole is all aflame."
    Then he to me: "The four bright stars you
  saw
this morning now are low, beyond the pole,
and where those four stars were, these three now
  are."
    Even as Virgil spoke, Sordello drew
my guide to him: "See there—our adversary!"
he said; and then he pointed with his finger.
     At the unguarded edge of that small valley,
there was a serpent—similar, perhaps,
to that which offered Eve the bitter food.
     Through grass and flowers the evil streak
   advanced;
from time to time it turned its head and licked
its back, like any beast that preens and sleeks.
     I did not see—and therefore cannot say—
just how the hawks of heaven made their move,
but I indeed saw both of them in motion.
     Hearing the green wings cleave the air, the
  serpent
fled, and the angels wheeled around as each
of them flew upward, back to his high station.
    The shade who, when the judge had called,
  had drawn
closer to him, through all of that attack,
had not removed his eyes from me one moment.
    "So may the lantern that leads you on high
discover in your will the wax one needs—
enough for reaching the enameled peak,"
    that shade began, "if you have heard true
  tidings
of Val di Magra or the lands nearby,
tell them to me—for there I once was mighty.
      Currado Malaspina was my name;
I'm not the old Currado, but I am
descended from him: to my own I bore
    the love that here is purified." I answered:
"I never visited your lands; but can

there be a place in all of Europe where
     they are not celebrated? Such renown
honors your house, acclaims your lords and
  lands—
even if one has yet to journey there.
     And so may I complete my climb, I swear
to you: your honored house still claims the
  prize—
the glory of the purse and of the sword.
     Custom and nature privilege it so
that, though the evil head contorts the world,
your kin alone walk straight and shun the path
of wickedness." And he: "Be sure of that.
The sun will not have rested seven times
within the bed that's covered and held fast
    by all the Ram's four feet before this
  gracious
opinion's squarely nailed into your mind
with stouter nails than others' talk provides—
    if the divine decree has not been stayed."

CANTO IX

    Now she who shares the bed of old
  Tithonus,
abandoning the arms of her sweet lover,
grew white along the eastern balcony;
    the heavens facing her were glittering
with gems set in the semblance of the chill
animal that assails men with its tail;
     while night within the valley where we were
had moved across two of the steps it climbs,
and now the third step made night's wings
  incline;
    when I, who bore something of Adam with
  me,
feeling the need for sleep, lay down upon
the grass where now all five of us were seated.
     At that hour close to morning when the
   swallow
begins her melancholy songs, perhaps
in memory of her ancient sufferings,
    when, free to wander farther from the flesh
and less held fast by cares, our intellect's
envisionings become almost divine—
    in dream I seemed to see an eagle poised
with golden pinions, in the sky: its wings
were open; it was ready to swoop down.
    And I seemed to be there where Ganymede
deserted his own family when he
was snatched up for the high consistory.
    Within myself I thought: "This eagle may
be used to hunting only here; its claws
refuse to carry upward any prey
     found elsewhere." Then it seemed to me
   that, wheeling
slightly and terrible as lightning, it
swooped, snatching me up to the fire's orbit.
    And there it seemed that he and I were
burning;
and this imagined conflagration scorched
me so—I was compelled to break my sleep.
    Just like the waking of Achilles when
he started up, casting his eyes about him,
not knowing where he was (after his mother
    had stolen him, asleep, away from Chiron
and in her arms had carried him to Skyros,
the isle the Greeks would—later—make him
  leave);
    such was my starting up, as soon as sleep
had left my eyes, and I went pale, as will
a man who, terrified, turns cold as ice.
    The only one beside me was my comfort;
by now the sun was more than two hours high;
it was the sea to which I turned my eyes.
    My lord said: "Have no fear; be confident,
for we are well along our way; do not
restrain, but give free rein to, all your strength.
     You have already come to Purgatory;
see there the rampart wall enclosing it;
see, where that wall is breached, the point of
  entry.
    Before, at dawn that ushers in the day,
when soul was sleeping in your body, on
the flowers that adorn the ground below,
     a lady came; she said: 'I am Lucia;
let me take hold of him who is asleep,
that I may help to speed him on his way.'
     Sordello and the other noble spirits
stayed there; and she took you, and once the day
was bright, she climbed—I following behind.
    And here she set you down, but first her
  lovely
eyes showed that open entryway to me;
then she and sleep together took their leave."
    Just like a man in doubt who then grows
  sure,
exchanging fear for confidence, once truth
has been revealed to him, so was I changed;
    and when my guide had seen that I was free
from hesitation, then he moved, with me
behind him, up the rocks and toward the heights.
    Reader, you can see clearly how I lift
my matter; do not wonder, therefore, if
I have to call on more art to sustain it.
    Now we were drawing closer; we had
  reached
the part from which—where first I'd seen a
  breach,
precisely like a gap that cleaves a wall—
    I now made out a gate and, there below it,
three steps—their colors different—leading to it,
and a custodian who had not yet spoken.
    As I looked more and more directly at him,
I saw him seated on the upper step—
his face so radiant, I could not bear it;
     and in his hand he held a naked sword,
which so reflected rays toward us that I,
time and again, tried to sustain that sight
    in vain. "Speak out from there; what are
  you seeking?"
so he began to speak. "Where is your escort?
Take care, lest you be harmed by climbing
here."

    My master answered him: "But just before,
a lady came from Heaven and, familiar
with these things, told us: 'That's the gate; go
  there.'"
    "And may she speed you on your path of
  goodness!"
the gracious guardian of the gate began
again. "Come forward, therefore, to our stairs."
    There we approached, and the first step was
  white
marble, so polished and so clear that I
was mirrored there as I appear in life.
    The second step, made out of crumbling
  rock,
rough-textured, scorched, with cracks that ran
  across
its length and width, was darker than deep
   purple.
     The third, resting above more massively,
appeared to me to be of porphyry,
as flaming red as blood that spurts from veins.
     And on this upper step, God's angel—seated
upon the threshold, which appeared to me
to be of adamant—kept his feet planted.
    My guide, with much good will, had me
  ascend
by way of these three steps, enjoining me:
"Do ask him humbly to unbolt the gate."
   I threw myself devoutly at his holy
feet, asking him to open out of mercy;
but first I beat three times upon my breast.
    Upon my forehead, he traced seven P's
with his sword's point and said: "When you
  have entered
within, take care to wash away these wounds."
    Ashes, or dry earth that has just been
  quarried,
would share one color with his robe, and from
beneath that robe he drew two keys; the one
    was made of gold, the other was of silver;
first with the white, then with the yellow key,
he plied the gate so as to satisfy me.
    "Whenever one of these keys fails, not
  turning
appropriately in the lock," he said
to us, "this gate of entry does not open.
    One is more precious, but the other needs
much art and skill before it will unlock—
that is the key that must undo the knot.
    These I received from Peter; and he taught
  me
rather to err in opening than in keeping
this portal shut—whenever souls pray humbly."
     Then he pushed back the panels of the holy
gate, saying: "Enter; but I warn you—he
who would look back, returns—again—outside."
    And when the panels of that sacred portal,
which are of massive and resounding metal,
turned in their hinges, then even Tarpeia
    (when good Metellus was removed from it,
for which that rock was left impoverished)
did not roar so nor show itself so stubborn.
     Hearing that gate resound, I turned,
   attentive;
I seemed to hear, inside, in words that mingled
with gentle music, "Te Deum laudamus."
    And what I heard gave me the very same
impression one is used to getting when
one hears a song accompanied by organ,
    and now the words are clear and now are
  lost.