On this terrace, those who were slothful in life, who loved the Good but who did not act to promote it as well as they might have expiate their sins. Their love is strengthened on this terrace - "the loitering oar resumes its regular stroke."
This terrace is of plain undecorated flinty rock. As one goes along it in search of the way up to the fifth terrace, a clamourous outcry arises from in the distance. This comes from a crowd of people running at speed along the terrace, weeping and crying aloud as they go. "Swiftly they came, and voices cried aloud amid their weeping. Two in front proclaimed: 'How quickly Mary to the mountain ran!' and: 'Caesar once, Ilerda to subdue, struck at Marseilles, and ere his foemen knew had entered Spain.' And other of the crowd, jostling behind, cried: 'Hasten! Hasten all! From insufficient love let love's pursuit not slacken, and the power of grace recruit from strain to reach it.' ... In the rear they ran, and shouted: 'Those who saw the seas divide to give them passage, in their sloth they died before the chosen heirs to Canaan came.' And: 'They who would not, with Anchises' son, toil to the end, they bought a life of shame with that reluctance.'"
The members of the crowd are quite spread out, but still move quite fast, as a mass, passing anyone who is merely walking and racing off into the distance. There are many such crowds, each one racing around the terrace. They are not allowed to pause in their running through night and day.
Dante was assailed by a dream of a Siren on this terrace, from which he was only rescued by the intervention of Virgil. "A woman crooked in deformity, squint-eyed, and stammering in her speech, with hands Ill-shaped to make caresses, and her hair it seemed disease had whitened. Such to see was little bliss, but as the light expands with morn, and the chilled limbs their strength renew which night hath stiffened, so my gaze on her had power for her transforming. Straight and tall she rose, and soft swift speech, and eyes of love, she gave, and in her face the warm blood beat, even as desire would have it. I could not stir mine eyes from that regard. Her speech was sweet as song, and song became. 'I am,' she sang, 'I am that siren who the seaman charms in distant ocean. Not to heed would wrong the fountains of delight. To find my arms I turned Ulysses once. Who once belong to what I gave them will but seldom go. Such peace I give.' She had not ceased her song when came another of a different hue, alert to foil her, holy and austere, 'Virgil,' who cried, 'behold, what meet we here?' And he came forward in my dream, as though he saw this last one only, on the first, rude hands who laid, and tore her garments through, Opening her before, and showed her belly bare. Whereat there issued from that womb accursed such stench as waked me."
Progressing further around the terrace, one arrives at the way upwards, at which is stationed an angel, who invites travellers to 'Come hither' with a voice far beyond those of mortals in its sweetness and benignity. He has white, swan-like wings, with which he fans those who ascend the stairway past him. For Dante, he removed one of the 'P's which had been inscribed on his forehead.
No comments:
Post a Comment