# Purgatory Canto 26

*Exported from [Holy-Writings.com](https://www.holy-writings.com/) on 2026-06-20 — 1 clipping.*

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> 
> Canto XXVI
> 
> Argument
> 
>      The spirits wonder at seeing the shadow cast by the body of Dante on the
> flame as he passes it. This moves one of them to address him. It proves to be
> Guido Guinicelli, the Italian poet, who points out to him the spirit of
> Arnault Daniel, the Provencal, with whom he also speaks.
> 
> While singly thus along the rim we walk'd,
> Oft the good master warn'd me: "Look thou
> Avail it that I caution thee." The sun [well.
> Now all the western clime irradiate changed
> From azure tinct to white; and, as I pass'd,
> My passing shadow made the umber'd flame
> Burn ruddier. At so strange a sight I mark'd
> That many a spirit marvel'd on his way.
> 
> This bred occasion first to speak of me.
> "He seems," said they, "no insubstantial frame:"
> Then, to obtain what certainty they might,
> Stretch'd tow'rd me, careful not to overpass
> The burning pale. "O thou, who followest
> The others, haply not more slow than they,
> But moved by reverence; answer me, who burn
> In thirst and fire: nor I alone, but these
> All for thine answer do more thirst, than doth
> Indian or Aethiop for the cooling stream.
> Tell us, how is it that thou makest thyself
> A wall against the sun, as thou not yet
> Into the inextricable toils of death
> Hadst enter'd?" Thus spake one; and I had straight
> Declared me, if attention had not turn'd
> To new appearance. Meeting these, there came,
> Midway the burning path, a crowd, on whom
> Earnestly gazing, from each part I view
> The shadows all press forward, severally
> Each snatch a hasty kiss, and then away.
> E'en so the emmets, 'mid their dusky troops,
> Peer closely one at other, to spy out
> Their mutual road perchance, and how they thrive.
> 
> That friendly greeting parted, ere despatch
> Of the first onward step, from either tribe
> Loud clamour rises: those, who newly come,
> Shout "Sodom and Gomorrah!" these, "The cow
> Pasiphae enter'd, that the beast she woo'd
> Might rush unto her luxury." Then as cranes,
> That part toward the Riphaean mountains fly,
> Part toward the Lybic sands, these to avoid
> The ice, and those the sun; so hasteth off
> One crowd, advances the other; and resume
> Their first song, weeping, and their several shout.
> 
> Again drew near my side the very same,
> Who had erewhile besought me; and their looks
> Mark'd eagerness to listen. I, who twice
> Their will had noted, spake: "O spirits! secure,
> Whene'er the time may be, of peaceful end;
> My limbs, nor crude, nor in mature old age,
> Have I left yonder: here they bear me, fed
> With blood, and sinew - strung. That I no more
> May live in blindness, hence I tend aloft.
> There is a Dame on high, who wins for us
> This grace, by which my mortal through your realm
> I bear. But may your utmost wish soon meet
> Such full fruition, that the orb of heaven,
> Fullest of love, and of most ample space,
> Receive you; as ye tell (upon my page
> Henceforth to stand recorded) who ye are;
> And what this multitude, that at your backs
> Have pass'd behind us." As one, mountain - bred,
> Rugged and clownish, if some city's walls
> He chance to enter, round him stares agape,
> Confounded and struck dumb; e'en such appear'd
> Each spirit. But when rid of that amaze,
> (Not long the inmate of a noble heart,)
> He, who before had question'd thus resumed:
> "O blessed! who, for death preparing, takest
> Experience of our limits, in thy bark;
> Their crime, who not with us proceed, was that
> For which, as he did triumph, Caesar heard
> The shout of 'queen,' to taunt him. Hence their cry
> Of 'Sodom,' as they parted; to rebuke
> Themselves, and aid the burning by their shame.
> Our sinning was hermaphrodite: but we,
> Because the law of human kind we broke,
> Following like beasts our vile concupiscence,
> Hence parting from them, to our own disgrace
> Record the name of her, by whom the beast
> In bestial tire was acted. Now our deeds
> Thou know'st, and how we sinn'd. If thou by name
> Wouldst haply know us, time permits not now
> To tell so much, nor can I. Of myself
> Learn what thou wishest. Guinicelli I;
> Who having truly sorrow'd ere my last,
> Already cleanse me." With such pious joy,
> As the two sons upon their mother gazed
> From sad Lycurgus[1] rescued; such my joy
> (Save that I more repress'd it) when I heard
> From his own lips the name of him pronounced,
> Who was a father to me, and to those
> My betters, who have ever used the sweet
> And pleasant rhymes of love. So naught I heard,
> Nor spake; but long time thoughtfully I went,
> Gazing on him; and, only for the fire,
> Approached not nearer. When my eyes were fed
> By looking on him; with such solemn pledge,
> As forces credence, I devoted me
> Unto his service wholly. In reply
> He thus bespake me: "What from thee I hear
> Is graved so deeply on my mind, the waves
> Of Lethe shall not wash it off, nor make
> A whit less lively. But as now thy oath
> Has seal'd the truth, declare what cause impels
> 
> [1: Hypsipile had left her infant charge, the son of Lycurgus, on a
> bank, where it was destroyed by a serpent, when she went to show the Argive
> army the river of Langia; and on her escaping the effects of Lycurgus'
> resentment, the joy her own children felt at the sight of her was such as our
> Poet felt on beholding his predecessor Guinicelli.]
> 
> That love, which both thy looks and speech bewray."
> 
> "Those dulcet lays," I answer'd; "which, as long
> As of our tongue the beauty does not fade,
> Shall make us love the very ink that traced them."
> 
> "Brother!" he cried, and pointed at the shade
> Before him, "there is one, whose mother speech
> Doth owe to him a fairer ornament.
> He[2] in love ditties, and the tales of prose,
> Without a rival stands; and lets the fools
> Talk on, who think the songster of Limoges[3]
> O'ertops him. Rumour and the popular voice
> They look to, more than truth; and so confirm
> Opinion, ere by art or reason taught.
> Thus many of the elder time cried up
> Guittone, giving him the prize, till truth
> By strength of numbers vanquish'd. If thou own
> So ample privilege, as to have gain'd
> Free entrance to the cloister, whereof Christ
> Is Abbot of the college; say to him
> One paternoster for me, far as needs
> For dwellers in this world, where power to sin
> No longer tempts us." Haply to make way
> For one that follow'd next, when that was said,
> He vanish'd through the fire, as through the wave
> A fish, that glances diving to the deep.
> 
> [2: Dante and Petrarch place Arnault Daniel first among Povencal
> poets.]
> 
> [3: Giraud de Borneil, of Sideuil, a castle in Limoges. He was a
> Troubadour, much admired and caressed in his day, and appears to have been in
> favor with the monarchs of Castile, Leon, Navarre, and Arragon.]
> 
> I, to the spirit he had shown me, drew
> A little onward, and besought his name,
> For which my heart, I said, kept gracious room.
> He frankly thus began: "Thy courtesy[4]
> So wins on me, I have nor power nor will
> To hide me. I am Arnault; and with songs,
> Sorely waymenting for my folly past,
> Thorough this ford of fire I wade, and see
> The day, I hope for, smiling in my view.
> I pray ye by the worth that guides ye up
> 
> [4: Arnault is here made to speak in his own tongue, the Provencal.]
> 
> Unto the summit of the scale, in time
> Remember ye my sufferings." With such words
> He disappear'd in the refining flame.
>
> — *Purgatory Canto 26*