The souls who had become aware concerning me by my breathing,
that I was still alive, marvelling became deadly pale. And as to
a messenger who bears an olive branch the folk press to hear
news, and no one shows himself shy of crowding, so, at the sight
of me, those fortunate souls stopped still, all of them, as if
forgetting to go to make themselves fair.

I saw one of them drawing forward to embrace me with so great
affection that it moved me to do the like. O shades empty save in
aspect! Three times behind it I clasped my hands and as oft
returned with them unto my breast. With marvel, I believe, I
painted me; wherefore the shade smiled and drew back, and I,
following it, pressed forward, Gently it said, that I should
pause; then I knew who it was, and I prayed it that to speak with
me it would stop a little. It replied to me, "So as I loved thee
in the mortal body, so loosed from it I love thee; therefore I
stop; but wherefore goest thou?"

"Casella mine, in order to return another time to this place
where I am, do I make this journey," said I, "but from thee how
has so much time been taken?"[1]

[1] "How has thy coming hither been delayed so long since thy
death?"


And he to me, "No wrong has been done me if he[1] who takes both
when and whom it pleases him ofttimes hath denied to me this
passage; for of a just will[2] his own is made. Truly for three
months he has taken with all peace whoso has wished to enter.
Wherefore I who was now turned to the seashore where the water of
Tiber grows salt was benignantly received by him.[3] To that
outlet has he now turned his wing, because always those assemble
there who towards Acheron do not descend."


[1] The Celestial Pilot.

[2] That is, of the Divine Will; but there is no explanation of
the motive of the delay.

[3] The Tiber is the local symbol of the Church of Rome, from
whose bosom those who die at peace with her pass to Purgatory.
The Jubilee, proclaimed by Boniface VIII., had begun at
Christmas, 1299, so that for three months now the Celestial Pilot
had received graciously all who had taken advantage of it to gain
remission of their sins.



And I, "If a new law take not from thee memory or practice of the
song of love which was wont to quiet in me all my longings, may
it please thee therewith somewhat to comfort my soul, which
coming hither with its body is so wearied."

"Love which in my mind discourseth with me,"[1] began he then so
sweetly that the sweetness still within me sounds.[2] My Master,
and I, and that folk who were with him, appeared so content as if
naught else could touch the mind of any.

[1] The first verse of a canzone by Dante; the canzone is the
second of those upon which he comments in his Convito.

[2] Every English reader recalls Milton's Sonnet to Mr. Henry
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."

Nothing is known of Casella beyond what is implied in Dante's
affectionate record of their meeting.


We were all fixed and attentive to his notes; and lo! the
venerable old man crying, "What is this, ye laggard spirits? What
negligence, what stay is this? Run to the mountain to strip off
the slough that lets not God be manifest to you."

As, when gathering grain or tare, the doves assembled at their
feeding, quiet, without display of their accustomed pride, if
aught appear of which they are afraid, suddenly let the food
alone, because they are assailed by a greater care, so I saw that
fresh troop leave the song, and go towards the hill-side, like
one that goes but knows not where he may come out. Nor was our
departure less speedy.



CANTO III. Ante-Purgatory.--Souls of those who have died in
contumacy of the Church.-- Manfred.


Inasmuch as the sudden flight had scattered them over the plain,
turned to the mount whereto reason spurs us, I drew me close to
my trusty companion. And how should I without him have run? Who
would have drawn me up over the mountain? He seemed to me of his
own self remorseful. O conscience, upright and stainless, how
bitter a sting to thee is little fault!

When his feet left the haste that takes the seemliness from every


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