DANTE'S SUBLIME COMEDY: PURGATORY: Chapter 21

                         Chapter 21: Statius

The thirst for truth that never can be quenched

           unless Christ give it, was tormenting me.

           I picked footsteps on that awkward way                                                3

while grieving for the mourners’ long delay

           when all at once I noticed we were three.

           Luke writes of how to followers of Christ                                              6

after his crucifixion, found themselves

           joined on a road by One they did not know

           at first, or recognize as He. We two                                                          9

were overtaken from behind, nor knew

           until we heard, “Brothers, God send you peace.”

           Said Virgil, “ May you find it with the blest                                  12

in that high court of God which exiles me.”

           “But why?” the stranger asked as we walked on,

           “If your souls excluded from God’s Grace,                                             15

how did you climb so high on Heaven’s stairs?”

           At this my poet said, “See this man’s face.

           It still has marks the Angel at the gate                                                   18

wrote on his brow. He’ll reach that great high place

           though still his thread of life is being spun.

           Death has not slit it yet. His soul— sister                                              21

of yours and mine— could not climb here alone,

           having no eyes like ours. I was released

           from Limbo as his guide and do my best.                                              24

But can you tell what shook this sacred hill?

           What made it ring with shouts of jubilee?”

           These questions chimed so well with my desires                               27

I listened for the answers eagerly.

           The shade replied, “ Nothing disorderly

           like rain, dew, hail, frost, snow can rise above                                    30

the three steps where Saint Peter’s curate sits.

          To wind and lightning also we’re immune

          and subterranean shocks. What shakes us                                             33 

is a soul love unties from chosen sin,

             free at last to rise where it wants to be.

             I lay in pain over five hundred years,                                                     36

and my release is a most glad surprise.

            You felt the tremor, heard the shout of praise

            from the devout. God send them soon above!”                                    39

The drink is more enjoyed the worst the thirst.

            How this intelligence delighted me!

            My wise guide said, “I now perceive the chords                                 42

of conscience that hold these mourners down,

            what freed you, why so many souls rejoiced.

            Please tell us who you were, and why you were                                 45

thus pinioned down for many centuries.”

            “I lived when Titus was our Emperor,

             he who made such stern warfare on the Jews.                                    48

My gift of song was such that from Toulouse,

             Rome drew me to itself, and placed the crown

             of myrtle on my brow for poetry.                                                            51

My name’s still spoken there— it’s Statius.

            I sang the wars of Thebes: and tried to make

            Achilles hero of an epic song,                                                          54

but that was rather more than I could do.

           The spark that kindled my poetic aim

           leapt from the flame of Virgil’s Aeneid,                                                   57

where many other poets have caught fire.

           He taught me how heroic history,

           the strife of gods and men in daily life                                                    60

is the pure substance of morality.

           Without his Aeneid none would believe

            my verses worth a penny. Could I live                                                   63

when Virgil lived I gladly would endure, what? . . .

            an extra Purgatorial year.”

            These words turned Virgil to me with a look                                       66

that silently said, “Silence!” willpower

            cannot do all. Laughter and tears are so

            near passions causing them, sometimes they show                          69 

whether we will or know. I only smiled,

           at which the spirit looked into my eyes

           where most expression is and said, “Forgive,                                       72

but I need to ask, why that gleam of mirth?”

          Between one commanding and one

          begging for speech, what could I do? I sighed.                                       75

My master understood for he too sighed

          and said, “Reply. Answer his eagerness.”

          “You wondered, ancient spirit, at my smiling,”                                     78

I began. “Hear now a greater wonder.

          He leading me is he who taught you how

          to sing of gods and men— Virgil, I mean.                                                81

  I only smiled because you spoke of him.”

          Statius, bending to embrace my teacher’s feet,

          was told by him, “Brother, that can’t be done.                                84

We are both of us shades, so bodiless,        

          and neither nobler than the other one.”

         Statius, rising, said, “It proves my love                                                    87

that I forgot we lack solidity.”