# Purgatory Canto 15

*Exported from [Holy-Writings.com](https://www.holy-writings.com/) on 2026-06-18 — 1 clipping.*

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> Christianity Index  Divine Comedy Index  Previous: Purgatory Canto 14  Next: Purgatory Canto 16  
> 
> Canto XV
> 
> Argument
> 
>      An Angel invites them to ascend the next steep. On their way Dante
> suggests certain doubts, which are resolved by Virgil; and, when they reach
> the third cornice, where the sin of anger is purged, our Poet, in a kind of
> waking dream, beholds remarkable instances of patience; and soon after they
> are enveloped in a dense fog.
> 
> As much as 'twixt the third hour's close and dawn,
> Appeareth of Heaven's sphere, that ever whirls
> As restless as an infant in his play;
> So much appear'd remaining to the sun
> Of his slope journey towards the western goal.
> 
> Evening was there, and here the noon of night;
> And full upon our forehead smote the beams.
> For round the mountain, circling, so our path
> Had led us, that toward the sunset now
> Direct we journey'd; when I felt a weight
> Of more exceeding splendour, than before,
> Press on my front. The cause unknown, amaze
> Possess'd me! and both hands against my brows
> Lifting, I interposed them, as a screen,
> That of its gorgeous superflux of light
> Clips the diminish'd orb. As when the ray,
> Striking on water or the surface clear
> Of mirror, leaps unto the opposite part,
> Ascending at a glance, e'en as it fell,
> And as much differs from the stone, that falls
> Through equal space, (so practic skill hath shown);
> Thus, with refracted light, before me seem'd
> The ground there smitten; whence, in sudden haste,
> My sight recoil'd. "What is this, sire beloved!
> 'Gainst which I strive to shield the sight in vain?"
> Cried I, "and which toward us moving seems?"
> 
> "Marvel not, if the family of Heaven,"
> He answer'd, "yet with dazzling radiance dim
> Thy sense. It is a messenger who comes,
> Inviting man's ascent. Such sights ere long,
> Not grievous, shall impart to thee delight,
> As thy perception is by nature wrought
> Up to their pitch." The blessed Angel, soon
> As we had reach'd him, hail'd us with glad voice:
> "Here enter on a ladder far less steep
> Than ye have yet encounter'd." We forthwith
> Ascending, heard behind us chanted sweet,
> "Blessed the merciful,"[1] and "Happy thou,
> That conquer'st." Lonely each, my guide and I,
> Pursued our upward way; and as we went,
> Some profit from his words I hoped to win,
> And thus of him inquiring, framed my speech:
> "What meant Romagna's spirit,[2] when he spake
> Of bliss exclusive, with no partner shared?"
> 
> [1: "Blessed the merciful." Matt. v. 7.]
> 
> [2: Guido del Duca, of Brettinoro.]
> 
> He straight replied: "No wonder, since he knows
> What sorrow waits on his own worst defect,
> If he chide others, that they less may mourn.
> Because ye point your wishes at a mark,
> Where, by communion of possessors, part
> Is lessen'd, envy bloweth up men's sighs.
> No fear of that might touch ye, if the love
> Of higher sphere exalted your desire.
> For there, by how much more they call it ours,
> So much propriety of each in good
> Increases more, and heighten'd charity
> Wraps that fair cloister in a brighter flame."
> 
> "Now lack I satisfaction more," said I,
> "Than if thou hadst been silent at the first;
> And doubt more gathers on my labouring thought.
> How can it chance, that good distributed,
> The many, that possess it, makes more rich,
> Than if 't were shared by few?" He answering thus:
> "Thy mind, reverting still to things of earth,
> Strikes darkness from true light. The highest Good
> Unlimited, ineffable, doth so speed
> To love, as beam to lucid body darts,
> Giving as much of ardour as it finds.
> The sempiternal effluence streams abroad,
> Spreading, wherever charity extends;
> So that the more aspirants to that bliss
> Are multiplied, more good is there to love,
> And more is loved; as mirrors, that reflect,
> 
> Each unto other, propagated light.
> If these my words avail not to allay
> Thy thirsting, Beatrice thou shalt see,
> Who of this want, and of all else thou hast,
> Shall rid thee to the full. Provide but thou,
> That from thy temples may be soon erased,
> E'en as the two already, those five scars,
> That, when they pain thee worst, then kindliest heal."
> 
> "Thou," I had said, "content'st me"; when I saw
> The other round was gain'd, and wondering eyes
> Did keep me mute. There suddenly I seem'd
> By an ecstatic vision wrapt away;
> And in a temple saw, methought, a crowd
> Of many persons; and at the entrance stood
> A dame, whose sweet demeanour did express
> A mother's love, who said, "Child! why hast thou
> Dealt with us thus? Behold thy sire and I
> Sorrowing have sought thee"; and so held her peace;
> And straight the vision fled. A female next
> Appear'd before me, down whose visage coursed
> Those waters, that grief forces out from one
> By deep resentment stung, who seem'd to say:
> 'If thou, Pisistratus, be lord indeed
> Over this city,[3] named with such debate
> Of adverse gods, and whence each science sparkles,
> Avenge thee of those arms, whose bold embrace
> Hath clasp'd our daughter"; and to her, meseem'd,
> Benign and meek, with visage undisturb'd,
> Her sovran spake: "How shall we those requite[4]
> Who wish us evil, if we thus condemn
> The man that loves us?" After that I saw
> A multitude, in fury burning, slay
> With stones a stripling youth,[5] and shout amain
> "Destroy, destroy"; and him I saw, who bow'd
> 
> [3: "Over this city." Athens, named after Minerva (AONVN), in
> consequence of her having produced a more valuable gift for it in the olive
> than Neptune had done in the horse.]
> 
> [4: "How shall we those requite?" The answer of Pisistratus the
> tyrant to his wife, when she urged him to inflict the punishment of death on a
> young man, who, inflamed with love for his daughter, had snatched a kiss from
> her in public.]
> 
> [5: "A stripling youth." The Protomartyr Stephen.]
> 
> Heavy with death unto the ground, yet made
> His eyes, unfolded upward, gates to Heaven,
> Praying forgiveness of the Almighty Sire,
> Amidst that cruel conflict, on his foes,
> With looks that win compassion to their aim.
> 
> Soon as my spirit, from her airy flight
> Returning, sought again the things whose truth
> Depends not on her shaping, I observed
> She had not roved to falsehood in her dreams.
> 
> Meanwhile the leader, who might see I moved
> As one who struggles to shake off his sleep,
> Exclaim'd: "What ails thee, that thou canst not hold
> Thy footing firm; but more than half a league
> Hast travel'd with closed eyes and tottering gait,
> Like to a man by wine or sleep o'ercharged?"
> 
> "Beloved father! so thou deign," said I,
> "To listen, I will tell thee what appear'd
> Before me, when so fail'd my sinking steps."
> 
> He thus: "Not if thy countenance were mask'd
> With hundred vizards, could a thought of thine,
> How small soe'er, elude me. What thou saw'st
> Was shown, that freely thou mightst ope thy heart
> To the waters of peace, that flow diffused
> From their eternal fountain. I not ask'd,
> What ails thee? for such cause as he doth, who
> Looks only with that eye, which sees no more,
> When spiritless the body lies; but ask'd,
> To give fresh vigour to thy foot. Such goads,
> The slow and loitering need; that they be found
> Not wanting, when their hour of watch returns."
> 
> So on we journey'd, through the evening sky
> Gazing intent, far onward as our eyes,
> With level view, could stretch against the bright
> Vespertine ray: and lo! by slow degrees
> Gathering, a fog made towards us, dark as night.
> There was no room for 'scaping; and that mist
> Bereft us, both of sight and the pure air.
>
> — *Purgatory Canto 15*