Terrace 6: Gluttony
In the same way as below, the steps leading up from the sixth terrace lie to the right of those which lead up to it.
As one goes around the sixth terrace, in the middle of it an apple tree becomes visible. It branches hold ripe, sweet-smelling applies. In shape it brings to mind an inverted fir tree, growing broader the higher one goes, making it impossible to climb. A stream falls from the mountain above onto the tree, drenching all of its leaves.
Approaching the tree, a voice from out of the branches warns one not to eat of the fruit of the tree, as if one does, ones food will lack as if it were no food at all. There is no sign of the source of the voice. The voice will then continue on, giving examples of the virtue of Temperance. "More did it in her thoughts to Mary seem that all the wedding should be fitly set and furnished forth than that rich wines should wet the lips which answer now for you. And they, the Roman matrons of old time, would stay their thirst with water. Daniel counted naught the price of food, if wisdom might be bought with the same coin. The earliest age of men had golden beauty of simplicity: acorns were sweet, and brooks were nectar then. And so John Baptist in the wilderness ate honey and locusts only - wherefore he, the greatness of abstention to express, is glorious in the gospel's imagery."
Those on this terrace are expiating the sin of gluttony. As such, they are starved skeletons, with chalk-white cavernous faces, hollow eyes, skin tight to their bones and all the other signs of prolonged hunger. To those on this terrace, and indeed most likely to anyone who is at all hungry, the scent of the apples and the water falling on the tree is irresistible, and they cannot help but eat and drink of them. Unfortunately, that is part of their punishment, as in doing so they are left hungrier and thirstier than before.
A number of those on this ledge are former highly-placed members of the Church, now paying the price for their indulgences in life. At first reluctant to speak, as soon as one talks to a traveller, many those here will flock around visitors to speak to them, and tell their tale.
Continuing on around the terrace, one comes upon a second apple tree, with broad-spread fruit-laden branches bending low. This tree is concealed by the curve of the mountain so that one is close to it when it is first seen. Its fruit, although appearing to hang low, are in fact held up just too high to reach. There is a crowd of sinners around the tree, raising appealing hands towards its fruit, until they become disillusioned and depart.
A voice from the branches of this tree warns passers-by not to come too close, as the tree is one grown from a seed of the apple tree from which Eve plucked that fateful apple. "Pass warily, nor come too nigh; a tree there is beyond from which Eve plucked the knowledge of sad years, and this one from that fatal seed is bred." Having spoken its warning, the voice from the tree will continue on, speaking of the dangers of gluttony and the punishments awaiting those who succumb to it.
A thousand paces or so beyond this second tree a voice hails travellers. It comes from an angel, glowing with a fierce, bright clear red light. He points out the way up to next terrace.
When Dante passed, a wind smelling of sweet graces and a million flowers brushed his forehead, as the angel's wings, shedding an ambrosial fragrance, erased the penultimate 'P' from his forehead.
The staircase up to the seventh terrace is narrow, so that travellers must go in single file. As Dante ascended he was lectured by Statius on generation, the infusion of the Soul into the body, and the corporeal semblance of Souls after death.