Divine Comedy-Purgatory – Flashcards

Finally, the young woman speaks. She understands, she says, why he might be perplexed that here she smiles and takes such delight in a place where original sin was committed. But to understand why, she directs him to the Psalm beginning Delectasti, which translates as "gladdened." She asks him if he has any more questions, because she's here to satisfy him. Perplexed by the wind that seems to be blowing, Dante asks about it, since Statius told him before that Purgatory doesn't experience any atmospheric changes. The lovely lady explains that here man made the mistake of committing original sin and that for this his stay here has been cut short, as he exchanges "frank laughter and sweet sport for lamentation and for anxiousness." It's true what Statius told him, that all the atmospheric disturbances occur far below them, not up on the mountain. This place is indeed free of such earthly weather. But the sky above revolves in a circle and the music of the spheres - made by the stars - is echoed here in the Earthly Paradise. Because the foliage is so thick here, whenever this heavenly wind strikes a plant, it releases some seeds into the air; these are carried into the other hemisphere (the northern), where they might land in the soil and sprout. That is why, she explains, he shouldn't be surprised if he sees plants growing where no seeds can be seen. They come from here. She continues, reveling in her knowledge, that Dante should know that every type of plant flourishes here, even species not seen on earth. Even the water from the stream does not come from such a mundane source as melted snow or some watery runoff, but from a "pure and changeless fountain." On one side, she brags, it flows with the power of making one forget all his past sins, and on the other side, it has the power to restore memories of good deeds. The former is called Lethe and the latter called Eunoe, but in order for their powers to work, they must be drunk one right after the other. At this point, she stops to take a breath. Finally. She says that she realizes Dante's thirst may be satisfied, but that she'll give him one last tidbit of info: this is the place that old poets used to dream of, the only place in the world where man was once innocent. Hearing this, Dante turns to his two poet guides and finds them smiling; they're loving this information. Seeing them happy, Dante turns back to the beguiling lady.

Dante turns back to see a long line of people approaching at a snail's pace; he elegantly describes their pace as that of a bride coming down the aisle at her wedding. The nameless lady takes this moment to scold Dante for looking only at the "living lights" and for ignoring the people dressed in white behind them. Only at this point does Dante even realize that the people are there. They are dressed in white so brilliant that it is reflected in the stream, like a mirror. Dante moves to the very edge of the stream so he can see them more clearly. Still focused on the candles, Dante realizes that as they move forward, each one leaves a banner of light behind it, and that each is a different color. So, as they pass, a beautiful streamer of rainbows drifts along behind, as if a painter has just painted the sky. Ten paces behind the candelabra come twenty-four elders, all dressed in white and wearing wreaths of lilies on their heads. They sing as they proceed. After the twenty-four elders come four animals, each of them bearing green leaves as a crown on his head and each having six wings full of eyes, like the monster Argus. Dante cannot "squander more rhymes" describing the animals, but directs us to read the Biblical book of Ezekiel, for we'll find more about them there. After the animals comes a triumphal two-wheeled chariot drawn by a griffin. The wings of the griffin are lifted high, but they are positioned so that they don't break the seven bands of colored light, instead rising between the pennants. The griffin's wings are gold, as are the rest of his eagle parts, while the lion half of him is "white mixed with bloodred." The chariot is so grand that not even the famed sun chariot of Phaethon can rival it, nor those of such eminent generals as Africanus or Augustus. Then three women dance by, each dressed in a different color - the first in fiery red, the second in emerald green, and the third in snow white. They change places and paces as they dance, one sometimes leading and soon conceding the lead to another. On the left side, four more women dance by, all dressed in red, following the rhythm set by the first three. Behind them, a group of seven elders follows, divided up into groups of two, then four, then one. Dante identifies the first one as Luke, a follower of the "great Hippocrates," and the other one carries a naked sword. The next four pass by, followed by a "lone old man, his features keen...as if in sleep." These seven are dressed in white, just like first twenty-four, except they wear no lilies on their heads, but instead red roses. As the procession passes by Dante, a peal of sudden thunder rends the sky, seeming to block their path, and they stop; the chariot is right in front in Dante.

Showing a bit of arrogance herself, Beatrice says that nothing should've been as beautiful to Dante as herself, even after her death. If her supreme beauty couldn't keep him from sin, what could? When the first false arrow struck you, Dante, she says, you should've "lifted up your wings to follow me." Nothing else should've tempted you - no pretty girls or other novelties. You should've flown. As he gazes both with admiration and a little fear, she announces, "Look here! For I am Beatrice, I am!" Without mercy, she scolds Dante for crying here in the Earthly Paradise, where men are supposed to be happy. Ashamed, Dante bends his head and catches sight of his reflection in the stream, where he seems so incredibly shame-faced that he diverts his eyes back to the grass. Beatrice is compared to a mother scolding her child. Suddenly the angels surrounding Beatrice intervene, singing in Latin and then begging their lady to have pity on poor Dante. At this plea for mercy on his behalf, Dante is so moved that his tears burst forth like a stream fed by the melting runoff from the mountain snows. Beatrice turns to them, reprimands them gently for interrupting and explains to them why she wants Dante to understand and heed her words. She explains to them (though her speech is clearly meant for Dante) that when Dante was young, all the spheres and godly graces favored him so much that he could've succeeded with his great poetic talent. But, Beatrice says, Dante neglected to till his seed well and it has grown "wilder and more noxious." In other words, his talent has thus far been misguided. She goes on: when I was young, I used to lead him down the right path by virtue of his love for me. But as soon as I died, he abandoned me to follow someone else and began going down a crooked path where he "followed counterfeits of goodness." I tried to come to him in dreams and lead him back, but he never heeded me again. Finally, he strayed so far from the true path that the only way to save his soul was to show him all the horrors of Hell. For that task, I requested Virgil. He is meant to drink of the Lethe and to purge his soul in order to match the "deep design of God" destined for him. Way to go, Dante. You've gotten your true love upset with you.

As he listens, guilt-ridden, Dante compares himself to a fledgling bird, who must be struck a couple times by his parents before he learns. He stands like a child, sullen and silent but knowing the truth of his accuser's words. When Beatrice sees Dante looking down, she tells him to lift his eyes so that, by looking at her, he can increase the shame he feels just hearing her. But he meekly obeys and as he lifts his eyes, he sees her facing the griffin. Underneath her veil, she seems even more beautiful than he remembers, and this brings on more tears, because he cannot imagine being lured away from her. The sight of her beauty and his corresponding shame overwhelm him so that he faints. When he awakes, he finds himself being held by the nameless young lady, who plunges him into the Lethe up to his neck, and then draws him up into her gondola to take him to Beatrice. Near the shore, she dips him in the water again, this time so deeply that he's forced to drink some of the water. Then, she gently bathes him and leads him among the four dancing women. They introduce themselves in song as the handmaidens of Beatrice, though they're really stars in the sky; their task is to help Dante see into her eyes. Say what? They lead him over to where Beatrice stands beside the griffin and tell him to gaze into her eyes. He obeys and find himself lost in her brilliant green eyes. Her eyes seem full of emerald fires as they gaze serenely upon the griffin, but the flames make the reflection of the griffin waver and constantly shift shape. Dante is hypnotized. As one of the handmaidens stands beside Dante, the other three approach Beatrice and beseech her to look at her lover. Moreover, they ask her to reveal her face to him, "so that he may discern the second beauty you have kept concealed." At this Dante prays to the Muses again, pleading for the ability to stay sane when confronted with Beatrice's full beauty.

The lady answers: she's sitting alone on the root of the tree. All the others have ascended, following the griffin into Heaven. Dante stops listening when she reveals Beatrice's location. He finds Beatrice sitting beneath the tree, guarding the chariot, and surrounded by her seven handmaidens. As Dante approaches, she announces that he will stay with her now for a little while (though, after he dies, he'll be able to spend eternity with her), and his task for now will be to observe and write down what he sees, with the greatest possible adherence to the truth, so that his work can "profit that world which lives badly." What? Put his poetry to use? You KNOW Dante is completely psyched to be able to serve his Beatrice with his talent. Having grabbed Dante's attention now, Beatrice proceeds to show him what she wants him to write about. Like a lightning bolt from above, an eagle plummets from the sky, tears through the branches of the tree, and attacks the chariot with all its might, leaving the poor vehicle twisted like a storm-battered ship. After that, a ravenous fox leaps deviously into the seat of the chariot, looking like pure mischief. Beatrice herself "rail[s] against its squalid sins" and drives it out of the chariot. Suddenly, the eagle plummets again, this time leaving its feathers scattered all over the chariot. A disembodied voice from Heaven cries out, charging the chariot with carrying "freight" of "wickedness." As if this isn't strange enough, the ground beneath the chariot suddenly splits open and a massive dragon surfaces, only to drive its venomous tail through the poor chariot. When it withdraws its tail, it takes part of the chariot with it back into the earth. Eagle feathers, which Dante thinks look like they've been offered with kindness, cover what is left of the chariot. Out of nowhere, the chariot suddenly begins sprouting heads. Eek! Three of them, to be exact, all of them horned and monstrous. Then, just as suddenly, the chariot turns into a naked whore, who is guarded by a jealous giant. Over and over they "embrace" each other. But when the whore turns her seductive glance on Dante, the giant flies into a rage and proceeds to beat her thoroughly. Finally, he unties the "chariot-made-monster" from the tree, drags it and the whore away into the forest, and disappears. Weird.

Seeing that his intellect is blind to this, she urges him to copy her words down, so he doesn't forget them - even if it means bearing back to earth a pilgrim's staff as a reminder. He answers that there's no need; her words are already emblazoned on his mind. But, Dante finally asks, why her words escape his grasp, no matter how hard he tries to understand them? She answers that the difficulty of her words is proof of just how much distance there is between man's reasoning and God's. Man cannot hope to understand God. Dante finally works up the courage to say he doesn't remember her being so cold to him before. She says that he doesn't remember because his mind has just been washed by the Lethe. To soften her presentation a little, though, she promises that her words from now on will be "naked," so that Dante with his "still-crude" sight can understand them. At this point, Dante notices from the position of the sun that it's noon. The seven handmaidens suddenly stop walking before the banks of a river. To Dante, the twin streams seem like the Euphrates and Tigris, two familiar rivers that bring him comfort. He asks her what rivers these are, that come from a single source. She tells Dante to ask Matilda - the lovely lady - who is now finally named. Matilda explains that he's already heard of these two rivers. Even the Lethe can't have wiped that memory from him. They're the Lethe and Eunoe. Beatrice replies that perhaps some other concern has made Dante forget this important fact. So she orders Matilda to lead Dante into the Eunoe to restore his memory of good deeds. Just like a noble soul who doesn't try to make any excuses, Matilda leads him forward and asks Statius to come forth as well. At this point, Dante addresses his readers directly, telling us that all the pages allotted for Purgatorio have run out and that now it's time to stop. However, we get a final glimpse of him, after he's bathed in the Eunoe and has returned "remade" to Beatrice. Now, we learn, he's ready to climb up into the stars of the Heaven.