The Divine ComedyInferno [ Hell ]Canto I
¶ARGUMENT . — The writer, having lost his way in a gloomy forest, and being hindered by certain wild beasts from ascending a mountain, is met by Virgil, who promises to show him the punishments of Hell, and afterward of Purgatory; and that he shall then be conducted by Beatrice into Paradise. He follows the Roman poet.
¶IN the midway' of this our mortal life,I found me in a gloomy wood, astrayGone from the path direct: and e'en to tell,It were no easy task, how savage wildThat forest, how robust and rough its growth,Which to remember only, my dismayRenews, in bitterness not far from death.Yet, to discourse of what there good befel,All else will I relate discover'd there.How first I enter'd it I scarce can say,Such sleepy dulness in that instant weigh'dMy senses down, when the true path I left;But when a mountain's foot I reach'd, where closedThe valley that had pierced my heart with dread,I look'd aloft, and saw his shoulders broadAlready vested with that planet's beam, 2Who leads all wanderers safe through every way.Then was a little respite to the fear,That in my heart's recesses deep had lainAll of that night, so pitifully past:And as a man, with difficult short breath,Forespent with toiling, 'scaped from sea to shore,Turns to the perilous wide waste, and stands
¶' " In the midway." The era of the highest point of which is, in those well poem is intended by these words to be framed by nature, at their thirty-fifth fixed to the thirty-fifth year of the poet's year.
¶age, AJ>. 1300. In his Convito, human 2 "That planet's beam." The sun.
¶life is compared to an arch or bow, the
p. 6¶At gaze; e'en so my spirit, that yet fail'd,Struggling with terror, turn'd to view the straitsThat none hath passed and lived. My weary frameAfter short pause recomforted, againI journey'd on over that lonely steep,The hinder foot 3 still firmer. Scarce the ascentBegan, when, lo! a panther, 4 nimble, light,And cover'd with a speckled skin, appear'd;Nor, when it saw me, vanish'd; rather stroveTo check my onward going; that oft-times,With purpose to retrace my steps, I turn'd.The hour was morning's prime, and on his wayAloft the sun ascended with those stars, 5That with him rose when Love Divine first movedThose its fair works: so that with joyous hopeAll things conspired to fill me, the gay skinOf that swift animal, the matin dawn,And the sweet season. Soon that joy was chased.And by new dread succeeded, when in viewA lion came, 'gainst me as it appear'd,With his head held aloft and hunger-mad,That e'en the air was fear-struck. A she-wolfWas at his heels, who in her leanness seem'dFull of all wants, and many a land hath madeDisconsolate ere now. She with such fearO'erwhelm'd me, at the sight of her appall'd,That of the height all hope I lost. As one,Who, with his gain elated, sees the timeWhen all unawares is gone, he inwardlyMourns with heart-griping anguish; such was I,Haunted by that fell beast, never at peace,Who coming o'er against me, by degreesImpell'd me where the sun in silence rests.While to the lower space with backward stepI fell, my ken discern'd the form of oneWhose voice seem'd faint through long disuse of speech.When him in that great desert I espied,[7]"Have mercy on me," cried I out aloud,"Spirit! or living man! whate'er thou be."He answered: "Now not man, man once I was,And born of Lombard parents, Mantuans bothBy country, when the power of Julius yetWas scarcely firm. At Rome my life was past,Beneath the mild Augustus, in the timeOf fabled deities and false. A bardWas I, and made Anchises' upright sonThe subject of my song, who came from Troy,When the flames prey'd on Ilium's haughty towers.But thou, say wherefore to such perils pastReturn'st thou? wherefore not this pleasant mountAscendest, cause and source of all delight?""And art thou then that Virgil, that well-spring,From which such copious floods of eloquenceHave issued?" I with front abash'd replied."Glory and light of all the tuneful train!May it avail me, that I long with zealHave sought thy volume, and with love immenseHave conn'd it o'er. My master thou, and guide!Thou he from whom alone I have derivedThat style, which for its beauty into fameExalts me. See the beast, from whom I fled.O save me from her, thou illustrious sage!For every vein and pulse throughout my frameShe hath made tremble." He, soon as he sawThat I was weeping, answer'd, "Thou must needsAnother way pursue, if thou wouldst 'scapeFrom out that savage wilderness. This beast,At whom thou criest, her way will surfer noneTo pass, and no less hinderance makes than death:So bad and so accursed in her kind,That never sated is her ravenous will,Still after food more craving than before.To many an animal in wedlock vileShe fastens, and shall yet to many more,Until that greyhound1 come, who shall destroy[8]Her with sharp pain. He will not life supportBy earth nor its base metals, but by love,Wisdom, and virtue; and his land shall beThe land 'twixt either Feltro. 7 In his mightShall safety to Italia's plains arise,For whose fair realm, Camilla, virgin pure,Nisus, Euryalus, and Turnus fell.He, with incessant chase, through every townShall worry, until he to hell at lengthRestore her, thence by envy first let loose.I, for thy profit pondering, now deviseThat thou mayst follow me; and I, thy guide,Will lead thee hence through an eternal space,Where thou shalt hear despairing shrieks, and seeSpirits of old tormented, who invokeA second death; 8 and those next view, who dwellContent in fire, 9 for that they hope to come,Whene'er the time may be, among the blest,Into whose regions if thou then desireTo ascend, a spirit worthier 10 than IMust lead thee, in whose charge, when I depart,Thou shalt be left: for that Almighty King,Who reigns above, a rebel to His lawAdjudges me; and therefore hath decreedThat, to His city, none through me should come.He in all parts hath sway; there rules, there holdsHis citadel and throne. O happy those,Whom there He chuses!" I to him in few:"Bard! by that God, whom thou didst not adore,I do beseech thee (that this ill and worseI may escape) to lead me where thou said'st,That I Saint Peter's gate" may view, and thoseWho, as thou tell'st, are in such dismal plight."Onward he moved, I close his steps pursued.
p. 8¶T Verona, the country of Can della ' The spirits in Purgatory.Scala, is situated between Feltro, a city 1 0 " A spirit worthier." Beatrice, whoin the Marca Trivigiana, and Monte conducts the Poet through Paradise.Feltro, a city in the territory of Urbino. 1 1 The gate of Purgatory, which the
Canto II
¶ARGUMENT . — After the invocation, which poets are used to prefix to their works, he shows that, on a consideration of his own strength, he doubted whether it sufficed for the journey proposed to him, but that, being comforted by Virgil, he at last took courage, and followed him as his guide and master.
¶NOW was the day departing, and the air,Imbrown'd with shadows, from their toils releasedAll animals on earth; and I alonePrepared myself the conflict to sustain,Both of sad pity, and that perilous road,Which my unerring memory shall retrace.0 Muses! O high genius! now vouchsafeYour aid. O mind! that all I saw hast keptSafe in a written record, here thy worthAnd eminent endowments come to proof.I thus began: "Bard! thou who art my guide,Consider well, if virtue be in meSufficient, ere to this high enterpriseThou trust me. Thou hast told that Silvius' sire. 1Yet clothed in corruptible flesh, amongThe immortal tribes had entrance, and was thereSensibly present. Yet if Heaven's great Lord,Almighty foe to ill, such favor show'dIn contemplation of the high effect,Both what and who from him should issue forth,It seems in reason's judgment well deserved;Sith he of Rome and of Rome's empire wide,In Heaven's empyreal height was chosen sire:Both which, if truth be spoken, were ordain'dAnd stablish'd for the holy place, where sitsWho to great Peter's sacred chair succeeds.He from this journey, in thy song renown'd,Learn'd things, that to his victory gave riseAnd to the papal robe. In after-timesThe Chosen Vessel* also travel'd there,To bring us back assurance in that faithWhich is the entrance to salvation's way.But I, why should I there presume? or whoPermits it? not iEneas I, nor Paul.[10]Myself I deem not worthy, and none elseWill deem me. I, if on this voyage thenI venture, fear it will in folly end.Thou, who art wise, better my meaning know'st,Than I can speak." As one, who unresolvesWhat he hath late resolved, and with new thoughtsChanges his purpose, from his first intentRemoved; e'en such was I on that dun coast,Wasting in thought my enterprise, at firstSo eagerly embraced. "If right thy wordsI scan," replied that shade magnanimous,"Thy soul is by vile fear assail'd, which oftSo overcasts a man, that he recoilsFrom noblest resolution, like a beastAt some false semblance in the twilight gloom.That from this terror thou mayst free thyself,I will instruct thee why I came, and whatI heard in that same instant, when for theeGrief touch'd me first. I was among the tribe,Who rest suspended, 3 when a dame, so blestAnd lovely I besought her to command,Call'd me; her eyes were brighter than the starOf day; and she, with gentle voice and soft,Angelically tuned, her speech address'd:'O courteous shade of Mantua! thou whose fameYet lives, and shall live long as nature lasts!A friend, not of my fortune but myself,On the wide desert in his road has metHindrance so great, that he through fear has turn'd.Now much I dread lest he past help have stray'd,And I be risen too late for his relief,From what in heaven of him I heard. Speed now,And by thy eloquent persuasive tongue,And by all means for his deliverance meet,Assist him. So to me will comfort spring.I, who now bid thee on this errand forth,Am Beatrice; 4 from a place I come[11]Revisited with joy. Love brought me thence,Who prompts my speech. When in my Master's sightI stand, thy praise to him I oft will tell.'"She then was silent, and I thus began:'O Lady! by whose influence aloneMankind excels whatever is contain'dWithin that heaven which hath the smallest orb,So thy command delights me, that to obey,If it were done already, would seem late.No need hast thou further to speak thy will:Yet tell the reason, why thou art not lothTo leave that ample space, where to returnThou burnest, for this centre here beneath.'"She then: 'Since thou so deeply wouldst inquire,I will instruct thee briefly why no dreadHinders my entrance here. Those things aloneAre to be fear'd whence evil may proceed;None else, for none are terrible beside.I am so framed by God, thanks to His grace!That any sufferance of your miseryTouches me not, nor flame of that fierce fireAssails me. In high Heaven a blessed Dame 5Resides, who mourns with such effectual griefThat hindrance, which I send thee to remove,That God's stern judgment to her will inclines.*To Lucia, 6 calling, her she thus bespake:'Now doth thy faithful servant need thy aid,And I commend him to thee.' At her wordSped Lucia, of all cruelty the foe,And coming to the place, where I abodeSeated with Rachel, her of ancient days,She thus address'd me: "Thou true praise of God!Beatrice! why is not thy succour lentTo him, who so much loved thee, as to leaveFor thy sake all the multitude admires?Dost thou not hear how pitiful his wail,Nor mark the death, which in the torrent flood,Swoln mightier than a sea, him struggling holds?"[12]Ne'er among men did any with such speedHaste to their profit, flee from their annoy,As, when these words were spoken, I came here,Down from my blessed seat, trusting the forceOf thy pure eloquence, which thee, and allWho well have mark'd it, into honor brings.'"When she had ended, her bright beaming eyesTearful she turn'd aside; whereat I feltRedoubled zeal to serve thee. As she will'd,Thus am I come: I saved thee from the beast,Who thy near way across the goodly mountPrevented. What is this comes o'er thee then?Why, why dost thou hang back? why in thy breastHarbour vile fear? why hast not courage there,And noble daring; since three maids, 7 so blest,Thy safety plan, e'en in the court of Heaven;And so much certain good my words forebode?"As florets, by the frosty air of nightBent down and closed, when day has blanch'd their leaves,Rise all unfolded on their spiry stems;So was my fainting vigor new restored,And to my heart such kindly courage ran,That I as one undaunted soon replied:"O full of pity she, who undertookMy succour! and thou kind, who didst performSo soon her true behest! With such desireThou hast disposed me to renew my voyage,That my first purpose fully is resumed.Lead on: one only will is in us both.Thou art my guide, my master thou, and lord."So spake I; and when he had onward moved,I enter'd on the deep and woody way.
Canto III
¶ARGUMENT . — Dante , following Virgil, comes to the gate of Hell; where, after having read the dreadful words that are written thereon, they both enter. Here, as he understands from Virgil, those were punished who had passed their time (for living it could not be called) in a state of apathy and indifference both to good and evil. Then, pursuing their way, they arrive at the river Acheron; and there find the old ferryman Charon, who takes the spirits over to the opposite shore; which, as toon as Dante reaches, he is seized with terror, and falls into a trance.
¶• THROUGH me you pass into the city of woe:I Through me you pass into eternal pain:J Through me among the people lost for aye-Justice the founder of my fabric moved:To rear me was the task of Power divine,Supremest Wisdom, and primeval Love.'Before me things create were none, save thingsEternal, and eternal I endure.All hope abandon, ye who enter here."Such characters, in color dim, I mark'dOver a portal's lofty arch inscribed.Whereat I thus: "Master, these words importHard meaning." He as one prepared replied:"Here thou must all distrust behind thee leave;Here be vile fear extinguish'd. We are comeWhere I have told thee we shall see the soulsTo misery doom'd, who intellectual goodHave lost." And when his hand he had stretch'd forthTo mine, with pleasant looks, whence I was cheer'd,Into that secret place he led me on.Here sighs, with lamentations and loud moans,Resounded through the air pierced by no star,That e'en I wept at entering. Various tongues,Horrible languages, outcries of woe,Accents of anger, voices deep and hoarse,With hands together smote that swell'd the sounds,Made up a tumult, that forever whirlsRound through that air with solid darkness stain'd,Like to the sand that in the whirlwind flies.I then, with horror yet encompast, cried:"O master! what is this I hear? what raceAre these, who seem so overcome with woe?"[14]He thus to me: "This miserable fateSuffer the wretched souls of those, who livedWithout or praise or blame, with that ill bandOf angels mix'd, who nor rebellious proved,Nor yet were true to God, but for themselvesWere only. From his bounds Heaven drove them forthNot to impair his lustre; nor the depthOf Hell receives them, lest the accursed tribeShould glory thence with exultation vain."I then: "Master! what doth aggrieve them thus,That they lament so loud?" He straight replied:"That will I tell thee briefly. These of deathNo hope may entertain: and their blind lifeSo meanly passes, that all other lotsThey envy. Fame of them the world hath none,Nor suffers; Mercy and Justice scorn them both.Speak not of them, but look, and pass them by."And I, who straightway look'd, beheld a flag,Which whirling ran around so rapidly,That it no pause obtain'd: and following cameSuch a long train of spirits, I should ne'erHave thought that death so many had despoil'd.When some of these I recognized, I sawAnd knew the shade of him, who to base fear 1Yielding, abjured his high estate. ForthwithI understood, for certain, this the tribeOf those ill spirits both to God displeasingAnd to His foes. These wretches, who ne'er lived,Went on in nakedness, and sorely stungBy wasps and hornets, which bedew'd their cheeksWith blood, that, mix'd with tears, dropp'd to their feet,And by disgustful worms was gather'd there.Then looking further onwards, 1 beheld[15]A throng upon the shore of a great stream:Whereat I thus: "Sir! grant me now to knowWhom here we view, and whence impell'd they seemSo eager to pass o'er, as I discernThrough the blear light?" He thus to me in few:"This shalt thou know, soon as our steps arriveBeside the woful tide of Acheron."Then with eyes downward cast, and fill'd with shame,Fearing my words offensive to his ear,Till we had reach'd the river, I from speechAbstain'd. And lo! toward us in a barkComes on an old man, hoary white with eld,Crying, "Woe to you, wicked spirits! hope notEver to see the sky again. I comeTo take you to the other shore across,Into eternal darkness, there to dwellIn fierce heat and in ice. And thou, who thereStandest, live spirit! get thee hence, and leaveThese who are dead." But soon as he beheldI left them not, "By other way," said he,"By other haven shalt thou come to shore,Not by this passage; thee a nimbler boatMust carry." Then to him thus spake my guide:"Charon! thyself torment not: so 'tis will'd,Where will and power are one: ask thou no more."Straightway in silence fell the shaggy cheeksOf him, the boatman o'er the livid lake,Around whose eyes glared wheeling flames. MeanwhileThose spirits, faint and naked, color changed,And gnash'd their teeth, soon as the cruel wordsThey heard. God and their parents they blasphemed,The human kind, the place, the time, and seed,That did engender them and give them birth,Then all together sorely wailing drewTo the curst strand, that every man must passWho fears not God. Charon, demoniac form,With eyes of burning coal, collects them all,Beckoning, and each, that lingers, with his oarStrikes. As fall off the light autumnal leavesOne still another following, till the bough[16]Strews all its honours on the earth beneath;E'en in like manner Adam's evil broodCast themselves, one by one, down from the shore,Each at a beck, as falcon at his call. 3Thus go they over through the umber'd wave;And ever they on the opposing bankBe landed, on this side another throngStill gathers. "Son," thus spake the courteous guide,"Those who die subject to the wrath of GodAll here together come from every climeAnd to o'erpass the river are not loth:For so Heaven's justice goads them on, that fearIs turn'd into desire. Hence ne'er hath pastGood spirit. If of thee Charon complain,Now mayst thou know the import of his words."This said, the gloomy region trembling shookSo terribly, that yet with clammy dewsFear chills my brow. The sad earth gave a blast,That, lightening, shot forth a vermilion flame,Which all my senses conquer'd quite, and IDown dropp'd, as one with sudden slumber seized.
Canto IV
¶ARGUMENT . — The Poet, being roused by a clap of thunder, and following his guide onward, descends into Limbo, which is the first circle of Hell, where he finds the souls of those, who, although they have lived virtuously and have not to suffer for great sins, nevertheless, through lack of baptism, merit not the bliss of Paradise. Hence he is led on by Virgil to descend into the second circle.
¶ROKE the deep slumber in my brain a crashBOf heavy thunder, that I shook myself,As one by main force roused. Risen upright,My rested eyes I moved around, and search'dWith fixed ken, to know what place it wasWherein I stood. For certain, on the brinkI found me of the lamentable vale,The dread abyss, that joins a thundrous soundOf plaints innumerable. Dark and deep,
¶' " As a falcon at his call." This is bird that is enticed to the cage by the Vellutello's explanation, and seems pref- call of another."
¶erable to that commonly given: "as a
p. 17¶And thick with clouds o'erspread, mine eye in vainExplored its bottom, nor could aught discern."Now let us to the blind world there beneathDescend," the bard began, all pale of look:"I go the first, and thou shalt follow next."Then I, his alter'd hue perceiving, thus:"How may I speed, if thou yieldest to dread,Who still art wont to comfort me in doubt?"He then: "The anguish of that race belowWith pity stains my cheek, which thou for fearMistakest. Let us on. Our length of wayUrges to haste." Onward, this said, he moved;And entering led me with him, on the boundsOf the first circle that surrounds the abyss.Here, as mine ear could note, no plaint was heardExcept of sighs, that made the eternal airTremble, not caused by tortures, but from griefFelt by those multitudes, many and vast,Of men, women, and infants. Then to meThe gende guide: "Inquirest thou not what spiritsAre these which thou beholdest? Ere thou passFarther, I would thou know, that these of sinWere blameless; and if aught they merited,It profits not, since baptism was not theirs,The portal1 to thy faith. If they beforeThe Gospel lived, they served not God aright;And among such am I. For these defects,And for no other evil, we are lost;Only so far afflicted, that we liveDesiring without hope." Sore grief assail'dMy heart at hearing this, for well I knewSuspended in that Limbo many a soulOf mighty worth. "O tell me, sire revered!Tell me, my master!" I began, through wishOf full assurance in that holy faithWhich vanquishes all error; "say, did e'erAny, or through his own or other's merit,[18]Come forth from thence, who afterward was blest?"Piercing the secret purport* of my speech,He answer'd: "I was new to that estateWhen I beheld a puissant one 3 arriveAmongst us, with victorious trophy crown'd.He forth the shade of our first parent drew,Abel, his child, and Noah righteous man,Of Moses lawgiver for faith approved,Of patriarch Abraham, and David king,Israel with his sire and with his sons,Nor without Rachel whom so hard he won,And others many more, whom He to blissExalted. Before these, be thou assured,No spirit of human kind was ever saved."We, while he spake, ceased not our onward road,Still passing through the wood; for so I nameThose spirits thick beset. We were not farOn this side from the summit, when I kenn'dA Same, that o'er the darken'd hemispherePrevailing shined. Yet we a little spaceWere distant, not so far but I in partDiscover'd that a tribe in honour highThat place possess'd. "O thou, who every artAnd science valuest! who are these, that boastSuch honor, separate from all the rest?"He answer'd: "The renown of their great names,That echoes through your world above, acquiresFavor in Heaven, which holds them thus advanced."Meantime a voice I heard: "Honor the bardSublime! his shade returns, that left us late!"No sooner ceased the sound, than I beheldFour mighty spirits toward us bend their steps,Of semblance neither sorrowful nor glad.When thus my master kind began: "Mark him,Who in his right hand bears that falchion keen,The other three preceding, as their lord.[19]This is that Homer, of all bards supreme:Flaccus the next, in satire's vein excelling;The third is Naso; Lucan is the last.Because they all that appellation own,With which the voice singly accosted me,Honouring they greet me thus, and well they judge."So I beheld united the bright schoolOf him the monarch of sublimest song,*That o'er the others like an eagle soars.When they together short discourse had held,They turn'd to me, with salutation kindBeckoning me; at the which my master smiled:Nor was this all; but greater honour stillThey gave me, for they made me of their tribe;And I was sixth amid so learn'd a band.Far as the luminous beacon on we pass'd,Speaking of matters, then befitting wellTo speak, now fitter left untold. At footOf a magnificent castle we arrived,Seven times with lofty walls begirt, and roundDefended by a pleasant stream. O'er thisAs o'er dry land we pass'd. Next, through seven gates,I with those sages enter'd, and we cameInto a mead with lively verdure fresh.There dwelt a race, who slow their eyes aroundMajestically moved, and in their portBore eminent authority: they spakeSeldom, but all their words were tuneful sweet.We to one side retired, into a placeOpen and bright and lofty, whence each oneStood manifest to view. Incontinent,There on the green enamel of the plainWere shown me the great spirits, by whose sightI am exalted in my own esteem.Electra 5 there I saw accompaniedBy many, among whom Hector I knew,Anchises' pious son, and with hawk's eyeCxsar all arm'd, and by Camilla there[20]Penthesilea. On the other side,Old King Latinus seated by his childLavinia, and that Brutus I beheldWho Tarquin chased, Lucretia, Cato's wifeMarcia, with Julia 6 and Cornelia there;And sole apart retired, the Soldan fierce. 7Then when a little more I raised my brow,I spied the master of the sapient throng,"Seated amid the philosophic train.Him all admire, all pay him reverence due.There Socrates and Plato both I mark'dNearest to him in rank, Democritus,Who sets the world at chance, 9 Diogenes,With Heraclitus, and Empedocles,And Anaxagoras, and Thales sage,Zeno, and Dioscorides well readIn nature's secret lore. Orpheus I mark'dAnd Linus, Tully and moral Seneca,Euclid and Ptolemy, Hippocrates,Galenus, Avicen, and him who madeThat commentary vast, Averroes. 10Of all to speak at full were vain attempt;For my wide theme so urges, that oft-timesMy words fall short of what bechanced. In twoThe six associates part. Another wayMy sage guide leads me, from that air serene,Into a climate ever vex'd with storms:And to a part I come, where no light shines.
p. 20¶•"Julia." The daughter of Julius 9 " Who sets the world at chance." Caesar, and wife of Pompey. Democritus, who maintained the world to
Canto V
¶ARGUMENT . — Coming into the second circle of Hell, Dante at the entrance beholds Minos the Infernal Judge, by whom he is admonished to beware how he enters those regions. Here he witnesses the punishment of carnal sinners, who are tossed about ceaselessly in the dark air by the most furious winds. Among these, he meets with Francesca of Rimini, through pity at whose sad tale he falls fainting to the ground.
¶FROM the first circle I descended thusDown to the second, which, a lesser spaceEmbracing, so much more of grief contains,Provoking bitter moans. There Minos stands,Grinning with ghastly feature: he, of allWho enter, strict examining the crimes,Gives sentence, and dismisses them beneath,According as he foldeth him around:For when before him comes the ill-fated soul,It all confesses; and that judge severeOf sins, considering what place in HellSuits the transgression, with his tail so oftHimself encircles, as degrees beneathHe dooms it to descend. Before him standAlways a numerous throng; and in his turnEach one to judgment passing, speaks, and hearsHis fate, thence downward to his dwelling hurl'd."O thou! who to this residence of woeApproachest!" when he saw me coming, criedMinos, relinquishing his dread employ,"Look how thou enter here; beware in whomThou place thy trust; let not the entrance broadDeceive thee to thy harm." To him my guide:"Wherefore exclaimest? Hinder not his wayBy destiny appointed; so 'tis will'd,Where will and power are one. Ask thou no more."Now 'gin the rueful wailings to be heard.Now am I come where many a plaining voiceSmites on mine ear. Into a place I cameWhere light was silent all. Bellowing there groan'dA noise, as of a sea in tempest tornBy warring winds. The stormy blast of HellWith restless fury drives the spirits on,Whirl'd round and dash'd amain with sore annoy.[22]When they arrive before the ruinous sweep,There shrieks are heard, there lamentations, moans,And blasphemies 'gainst the good Power in Heaven.I understood, that to this torment sadThe carnal sinners are condemn'd, in whomReason by lust is sway'd. As, in large troopsAnd multitudinous, when winter reigns,The starlings on their wings are borne abroad;So bears the tyrannous gust those evil souls.On this side and on that, above, below,It drives them: hope of rest to solace themIs none, nor e'en of milder pang. As cranes,Chanting their dolorous notes, traverse the sky,Stretch'd out in long array; so I beheldSpirits, who came loud wailing, hurried onBy their dire doom. Then I: "Instructor! whoAre these, by the black air so scourged?" "The first'Mong those, of whom thou question'st," he replied,"O'er many tongues was empress. She in viceOf luxury was so shameless, that she madeLiking be lawful by promulged decree,To clear the blame she had herself incurr'd.This is Semiramis, of whom 'tis writ,That she succeeded Ninus her espoused;And held the land, which now the Soldan rules.The next in amorous fury slew herself,And to Sichams' ashes broke her faith:Then follows Cleopatra, lustful queen."There mark'd I Helen, for whose sake so longThe time was fraught with evil; there the greatAchilles, who with love fought to the end.Paris I saw, and Tristan; and beside,A thousand more he show'd me, and by namePointed them out, whom love bereaved of life.When I had heard my sage instructor nameThose dames and knights of antique days, o'erpower'dBy pity, well-nigh in amaze my mindWas lost; and I began: "Bard! willinglyI would address those two together coming,Which seem so light before the wind." He thus:[23]"Note thou, when nearer they to us approach.Then by that love which carries them along,Entreat; and they will come." Soon as the windSway'd them towards us, I thus framed my speech:"O wearied spirits! come, and hold discourseWith us, if by none else restrain'd." As dovesBy fond desire invited, on wide wingsAnd firm, to their sweet nest returning home,Cleave the air, wafted by their will along;Thus issued, from that troop where Dido ranks,They, through the ill air speeding: with such forceMy cry prevail'd, by strong affection urged."O gracious creature and benign! who go'stVisiting, through this element obscure,Us, who the world with bloody stain imbrued;If, for a friend, the King of all, we own'd,Our prayer to him should for thy peace arise,Since thou hast pity on our evil plight.Of whatsoe'er to hear or to discourseIt pleases thee, that will we hear, of thatFreely with thee discourse, while e'er the wind,As now, is mute. The land,' that gave me birth,Is situate on the coast, where Po descendsTo rest in ocean with his sequent streams."Love, that in gentle heart is quickly learnt,Entangled him by that fair form, from meTa'en in such cruel sort, as grieves me still:Love, that denial takes from none beloved,Caught me with pleasing him so passing well,That, as thou seest, he yet deserts me not.Love brought us to one death: Cai'na1 waitsThe soul, who spilt our life." Such were their words;At hearing which, downward I bent my looks,And held them there so long, that the bard cried:"What art thou pondering?" I in answer thus:"Alas! by what sweet thoughts, what fond desireMust they at length to that ill pass have reach'd!"Then turning, I to them my speech address'd,[24]And thus began: "Francesca!' your sad fateEven to tears my grief and pity moves.But tell me; in the time of your sweet sighs,By what, and how Love granted, that ye knewYour yet uncertain wishes?" She replied:"No greater grief than to remember daysOf joy, when misery is at hand. That kensThy learn'd instructor. Yet so eagerlyIf thou art bent to know the primal root,From whence our love gat being, I will doAs one, who weeps and tells his tale. One day,For our delight we read of Lancelot,1How him love thrall'd. Alone we were, and noSuspicion near us. Oft-times by that readingOur eyes were drawn together, and the hueFled from our alter'd cheek. But at one pointAlone we fell. When of that smile we read,The wished smile so rapturously kiss'dBy one so deep in love, then he, who ne'erFrom me shall separate, at once my lipsAll trembling kiss'd. The book and writer bothWere love's purveyors. In its leaves that dayWe read no more." While thus one spirit spake,The other wail'd so sorely, that heart-struckI, through compassion fainting, seem'd not farFrom death, and like a corse fell to the ground.
Canto VI
¶ARGUMENT . — On his recovery, the Poet finds himself in the third circle, where the gluttonous are punished. Their torment is, to lie in the mire, under a continual and heavy storm of hail, snow, and discolored water; Cerberus, meanwhile barking over them with his threefold throat, and rending them piecemeal. One of these, who on earth was named Ciacco, foretells the divisions with which Florence is about to be distracted. Dante proposes a question to his guide, who solves it; and they proceed toward the fourth circle.
¶MY sense reviving, that erewhile had droop'dWith pity for the kindred shades, whence griefO'ercame me wholly, straight around I seeNew torments, new tormented souls, which waySoe'er I move, or turn, or bend my sight.In the third circle I arrive, of showersCeaseless, accursed, heavy and cold, unchangedFor ever, both in kind and in degree.Large hail, discolor'd water, sleety flawThrough the dun midnight air stream'd down amain:Stank all the land whereon that tempest fell.Cerberus, cruel monster, fierce and strange,Through his wide threefold throat, barks as a dogOver the multitude immersed beneath.His eyes glare crimson, black his unctuous beard,His belly large, and claw'd the hands, with whichHe tears the spirits, flays them, and their limbsPiecemeal disparts. Howling there spread, as curs,Under the rainy deluge, with one sideThe other screening, oft they roll them round,A wretched, godless crew. When that great worm1Descried us, savage Cerberus, he opedHis jaws, and the fangs show'd us; not a limbOf him but trembled. Then my guide, his palmsExpanding on the ground, thence fill'd with earthRaised them, and cast it in his ravenous maw.E'en as a dog, that yelling bays for foodHis keeper, when the morsel comes, lets fallHis fury, bent alone with eager haste[26]To swallow it; so dropp'd the loathsome cheeksOf demon Cerberus, who thundering stunsThe spirits, that they for deafness wish in vain.We, o'er the shades thrown prostrate by the bruntOf the heavy tempest passing, set our feetUpon their emptiness, that substance seem'd.They all along the earth extended lay,Save one, that sudden raised himself to sit,Soon as that way he saw us pass. "O thou!"He cried, "who through the infernal shades art led,Own, if again thou know'st me. Thou wast framedOr ere my frame was broken." I replied:"The anguish thou endurest perchance so takesThy form from my remembrance, that it seemsAs if I saw thee never. But informMe who thou art, that in a place so sadArt set, and in such torment, that althoughOther be greater, none disgusteth more."He thus in answer to my words rejoin'd:"Thy city, heap'd with envy to the brim,Aye, that the measure overflows its bounds,Held me in brighter days. Ye citizensWere wont to name me Ciacco. 2 For the sinOf gluttony, damned vice, beneath this rain,E'en as thou seest, I with fatigue am worn:Nor I sole spirit in this woe: all theseHave by like crime incurr'd like punishment."No more he said, and I my speech resumed:"Ciacco! thy dire affliction grieves me much,Even to tears. But tell me, if thou know'st,What shall at length befall the citizensOf the divided city; 3 whether anyJust one inhabit there: and tell the cause,Whence jarring Discord hath assail'd it thus."He then: "After long striving they will come[27]To blood; and the wild party from the woods 4Will chase the other 4 with much injury forth.Then it behooves that this must fall,* withinThree solar circles; 7 and the other riseBy borrow'd force of one, who under shoreNow rests. 8 It shall a long space hold aloofIts forehead, keeping under heavy weightThe other opprest, indignant at the load,And grieving sore. The just are two in number.'But they neglected. Avarice, envy, pride,Three fatal sparks, have set the hearts of allOn fire." Here ceased the lamentable sound;And I continued thus: "Still would I learnMore from thee, further parley still entreat.Of Farinata and Tegghiaio 10 say,They who so well deserved; of Giacopo,"Arrigo, Mosca, 1* and the rest, who bentTheir minds on working good. Oh! tell me whereThey bide, and to their knowledge let me come.For I am prest with keen desire to hearIf Heaven's sweet cup, or poisonous drug of Hell,Be to their lip assign'd." He answer'd straight:"These are yet blacker spirits. Various crimesHave sunk them deeper in the dark abyss.If thou so far descendest, thou mayst see them.But to the pleasant world, when thou return'st,Of me make mention, I entreat thee, there.No more I tell thee, answer thee no more."[28]This said, his fixed eyes he turn'd askance,A little eyed me, then bent down his head,And 'midst his blind companions with it fell.When thus my guide: "No more his bed he leaves,Ere the last angel-trumpet blow. The PowerAdverse to these shall then in glory come,Each one forthwith to his sad tomb repair,Resume his fleshly vesture and his form,And hear the eternal doom re-echoing rendThe vault." So pass'd we through that mixture foulOf spirits and rain, with tardy steps; meanwhileTouching, though slightly, on the life to come.For thus I question'd: "Shall these tortures, Sir IWhen the great sentence passes, be increased,Or mitigated, or as now severe?"He then: "Consult thy knowledge; that decides,That, as each thing to more perfection grows,It feels more sensibly both good and pain.Though ne'er to true perfection may arriveThis race accurst, yet nearer then, than now,They shall approach it." Compassing that path,Circuitous we journey'd; and discourse,Much more than I relate, between us pass'd:Till at the point, whence the steps led below,Arrived, there Plutus, the great foe, we found.
Canto VII
¶ARGUMENT . — In the present Canto, Dante describes his descent into the fourth circle, at the beginning of which he sees Plutus stationed. Here one like doom awaits the prodigal and the avaricious; which is, to meet in direful conflict, rolling great weights against each other with mutual upbraidings. From hence Virgil takes occasion to show how vain the goods that are committed into the charge of Fortune; and this moves our author to inquire what being that Fortune is, of whom he speaks: which question being resolved, they go down into the fifth circle, where they find the wrathful and gloomy tormented in the Stygian lake. Having made a compass round great part of this lake, they come at last to the base of a lofty tower.
¶H me! O Satan! Satan!" I loud exdaim'dPlutus, in accent hoarse of wild alarm:And the kind sage, whom no event surprised,To comfort me thus spake: "Let not thy fearHarm thee, for power in him, be sure, is none
¶' " Pape Satan, Pape Satan, aleppe;" words without meaning.[29]To hinder down this rock thy safe descent."Then to that swoln lip turning, "Peace!" he cried,"Curst wolf! thy fury inward on thyselfPrey, and consume thee! Through the dark profound,Not without cause, he passes. So 'tis will'dOn high, there where the great Archangel pour'dHeaven's vengeance on the first adulterer proud."As sails, full spread and bellying with the wind,Drop suddenly collapsed, if the mast split;So to the ground down dropp'd the cruel fiend.Thus we, descending to the fourth steep ledge,Gain'd on the dismal shore, that all the woeHems in of all the universe. Ah me!Almighty Justice! in what store thou heap'stNew pains, new troubles, as I here beheld.Wherefore doth fault of ours bring us to this?E'en as a billow, on Charybdis rising,Against encounter'd billow dashing breaks;Such is the dance this wretched race must lead,Whom more than elsewhere numerous here I found.From one side and the other, with loud voice,Both roll'd on weights, by main force of their breasts,Then smote together, and each one forthwithRoll'd them back voluble, turning again;Exclaiming these, "Why holdest thou so fast?"Those answering, "And why easiest thou away?"So, still repeating their despiteful song,They to the opposite point, on either hand,Traversed the horrid circle; then arrived,Both turn'd them round, and through the middle space,Conflicting met again. At sight whereofI, stung with grief, thus spake: "O say, my guide!What race is this. Were these, whose heads are shorn,On our left hand, all separate to the Church?"He straight replied: "In their first life, these allIn mind were so distorted, that they made,According to due measure, of their wealthNo use. This clearly from their words collect,Which they howl forth, at each extremityArriving of the circle, where their crime[30]Contrary in kind disparts them. To the ChurchWere separate those, that with no hairy cowlsAre crowned, both Popes and Cardinals, o'er whomAvarice dominion absolute maintains."I then: " 'Mid such as these some needs must be,Whom I shall recognize, that with the blotOf these foul sins were stain'd." He answering thus:"Vain thought conceivest thou. That ignoble life,Which made them vile before, now makes them dark,And to all knowledge indiscernible.For ever they shall meet in this rude shock:These from the tomb with clenched grasp shall rise,Those with close-shaven locks. That ill they gave,And ill they kept, hath of the beauteous worldDeprived, and set them at this strife, which needsNo labor'd phrase of mine to set it off.Now mayst thou see, my son! how brief, how vain,The goods committed into Fortune's hands,For which the human race keep such a coil!Not all the gold that is beneath the moon,Or ever hath been, of these toil-worn soulsMight purchase rest for one." I thus rejoin'd:"My guide! of these this also would I learn;This Fortune, that thou speak'st of, what it is,Whose talons grasp the blessings of the world."He thus: "O beings blind! what ignoranceBesets you! Now my judgment hear and mark.He, whose transcendent wisdom passes all,The heavens creating, gave them ruling powersTo guide them; so that each part shines to each,Their light in equal distribution pour'd.By similar appointment he ordain'd,Over the world's bright images to rule,Superintendence of a guiding handAnd general minister, which, at due time,May change the empty vantages of lifeFrom race to race, from one to other's blood,Beyond prevention of man's wisest care:Wherefore one nation rises into sway,Another languishes, e'en as her will[31]Decrees, from us conceal'd, as in the grassThe serpent train. Against her nought availsYour utmost wisdom. She with foresight plans,Judges, and carries on her reign, as theirsThe other powers divine. Her changes knowNone intermission: by necessityShe is made swift, so frequent come who claimSuccession in her favors. This is she,So execrated e'en by those whose debtTo her is rather praise: they wrongfullyWith blame requite her, and with evil word;But she is blessed, and for that recks not:Amidst the other primal beings gladRolls on her sphere, and in her bliss exults.Now on our way pass we, to heavier woeDescending: for each star is falling now,That mounted at our entrance, and forbidsToo long our tarrying." We the circle cross'dTo the next steep, arriving at a well,That boiling pours itself down to a fossSluiced from its source. Far murkier was the waveThan sablest grain: and we in companyOf the inky waters, journeying by their side,Enter'd, though by a different track, beneath.Into a lake, the Stygian named, expandsThe dismal stream, when it hath reach'd the footOf the gray wither'd cliffs. Intent I stoodTo gaze, and in the marish sunk descriedA miry tribe, all naked, and with looksBetokening rage. They with their hands aloneStruck not, but with the head, the breast, the feet,Cutting each other piecemeal with their fangs.The good instructor spake: "Now seest thou, son!The souls of those, whom anger overcame.This too for certain know, that underneathThe water dwells a multitude, whose sighsInto these bubbles make the surface heave,As thine eye tells thee wheresoe'er it turn.Fix'd in the slime, they say: 'Sad once were we,In the sweet air made gladsome by the sun,[32]Carrying a foul and lazy mist within:Now in these murky settlings are we sad.'Such dolorous strain they gurgle in their throats,But word distinct can utter none." Our routeThus compass'd we, a segment widely stretch'dBetween the dry embankment, and the coreOf the loath'd pool, turning meanwhile our eyesDownward on those who gulp'd its muddy lees;Nor stopp'd, till to a tower's low base we came.
Canto VIII
¶ARGUMENT . — A signal having been made from the tower, Phlegyas, the ferryman of the lake, speedily crosses it, and conveys Virgil and Dante to the other side. On their passage, they meet with Filippo Argenti, whose fury and torment are described. They then arrive at the city of Dis, the entrance whereto is denied, and the portals closed against them by many Demons.
¶MY theme pursuing, I relate, that ereWe reach'd the lofty turret's base, our eyesIts height ascended, where we mark'd uphungTwo cressets, and another saw from farReturn the signal, so remote, that scarceThe eye could catch its beam. I, turning roundTo the deep source of knowledge, thus inquired:"Say what this means; and what, that other lightIn answer set: what agency doth this?""There on the filthy waters," he replied,"E'en now what next awaits us mayst thou see,If the marsh-gendered fog conceal it not."Never was arrow from the cord dismiss'd,That ran its way so nimbly through the air,As a small bark, that through the waves I spiedToward us coming, under the sole swayOf one that ferried it, who cried aloud:"Art thou arrived, fell spirit?"—"Phlegyas, Phlegyas,1This time thou criest in vain," my lord replied;"No longer shalt thou have us, but while o'erThe slimy pool we pass." As one who hearsOf some great wrong he hath sustain'd, whereat[33]Inly he pines: so Phlegyas inly pinedIn his fierce ire. My guide, descending, stepp'dInto the skiff, and bade me enter next,Close at his side; nor, till my entrance, seem'dThe vessel freighted. Soon as both embark'd,Cutting the waves, goes on the ancient prow,More deeply than with others it is wont.While we our course o'er the dead channel held,One drench'd in mire before me came, and said:"Who art thou, that thus comest ere thine hour?"I answer'd: "Though I come, I tarry not:But who art thou, that art become so foul?""One, as thou seest, who mourn:" he straightreplied.To which I thus: "In mourning and in woe,Curst spirit! tarry thou. I know thee well,E'en thus in filth disguised." Then stretch'd he forthHands to the bark; whereof my teacher sageAware, thrusting him back: "Away! down thereTo the other dogs!" then, with his arms my neckEncircling, kiss'd my cheek, and spake: "O soul,Justly disdainful! blest was she in whomThou wast conceived. He in the world was oneFor arrogance noted: to his memoryNo virtue lends its lustre; even soHere is his shadow furious. There above,How many now hold themselves mighty kings,Who here like swine shall wallow in the mire,Leaving behind them horrible dispraise."I then: "Master! him fain would I beholdWhelm'd in these dregs, before we quit the lake."He thus: "Or ever to thy view the shoreBe offer'd, satisfied shall be that wish,Which well deserves completion." Scarce his wordsWere ended, when I saw the miry tribesSet on him with such violence, that yetFor that render I thanks to God, and praise."To Filippo Argenti!" J cried they all:[34]And on himself the moody FlorentineTurn'd his avenging fangs. Him here we left,Nor speak I of him more. But on mine earSudden a sound of lamentation smote,Whereat mine eye unbarr'd I sent abroad.And thus the good instructor: "Now, my sonDraws near the city, that of Dis is named,With its grave denizens, a mighty throng."I thus: "The minarets already, Sir!There, certes, in the valley I descry,Gleaming vermilion, as if they from fireHad issued." He replied: "Eternal fire,That inward burns, shows them with ruddy flameIllumed; as in this nether Hell thou seest."We came within the fosses deep, that moatThis region comfortless. The walls appear'dAs they were framed of iron. We had madeWide circuit, ere a place we reach'd, where loudThe mariner cried vehement: "Go forth:The entrance is here." Upon the gates I spiedMore than a thousand, who of old from HeavenWere shower'd. With ireful gestures, "Who is this,"They cried, "that, without death first felt, goes throughThe regions of the dead?" My sapient guideMade sign that he for secret parley wish'd;Whereat their angry scorn abating, thusThey spake: "Come thou alone; and let him go,Who hath so hardily enter'd this realm.Alone return he by his widess way;If well he knew it, let him prove. For thee,Here shalt thou tarry, who through clime so darkHast been his escort." Now bethink thee, readerlWhat cheer was mine at sound of those curst words.I did believe I never should return."O my loved guide1 who more than seven times'[35]Security hast render'd me, and drawnFrom peril deep, whereto I stood exposed,Desert me not," I cried, "in this extreme.And, if our onward going be denied,Together trace we back our steps with speed."My liege, who thither had conducted me,Replied: "Fear not: for of our passage noneHath power to disappoint us, by such highAuthority permitted. But do thouExpect me here; meanwhile, thy wearied spiritComfort, and feed with kindly hope, assuredI will not leave thee in this lower world."This said, departs the sire benevolent,And quits me. Hesitating I remainAt war, 'twixt will and will not, in my thoughts.I could not hear what terms he offer'd them,But they conferr'd not long, for all at oncePellmell rush'd back within. Closed were the gates,By those our adversaries, on the breastOf my liege lord: excluded, he return'dTo me with tardy steps. Upon the groundHis eyes were bent, and from his brow erasedAll confidence, while thus in sighs he spake:"Who hath denied me these abodes of woe?"Then thus to me: "That I am anger'd, thinkNo ground of terror: in this trial IShall vanquish, use what arts they may withinFor hindrance. This their insolence, not new,1Erewhile at gate less secret they display'd,Which still is without bolt; upon its archThou saw'st the deadly scroll: and even now,On this side of its entrance, down the steep,Passing the circles, unescorted, comesOne whose strong might can open us this land."
Canto IX
¶ARGUMENT . — After some hindrances, and having seen the hellish furies and other monsters, the Poet, by the help of an angel, enters the city of Dis, wherein he discovers that the heretics are punished in tombs burning with intense fire; and he, together with Virgil, passes onward between the sepulchres and the walls of the city.
¶THE hue, 1 which coward dread on my pale cheeksImprinted when I saw my guide turn back,Chased that from his which newly they had worn,And inwardly restrain'd it. He, as oneWho listens, stood attentive: for his eyeNot (ar could lead him through the sable air,And the thick-gathering cloud. "It yet behovesWr win this fight;" thus he began: "if not,Such aid to us is offer'd—Oh! how longMe seems it, ere the promised help arrive."I noted, how the sequel of his wordsCloked their beginning; for the last he spakeAgreed not with the first. But not the lessMy fear was at his saying; sith I drewTo import worse, perchance, than that he held,His mutilated speech. "Doth ever anyInto this rueful concave's extreme depthDescend, out of the first degree, whose painIs deprivation merely of sweet hope?"Thus I inquiring. "Rarely," he replied,"It chances, that among us any makesThis journey, which I wend. Erewhile, 'tis true,Once came I here beneath, conjured by fellErichtho, 2 sorceress, who compell'd the shadesBack to their bodies. No long space my fleshWas naked of me, when within these wallsShe made me enter, to draw forth a spiritFrom out of Judas' circle. Lowest placeIs that of all, obscurest, and removed[37]Farthest from Heaven's all-circling orb. The roadFull well I know: thou therefore rest secure.That lake, the noisome stench exhaling, roundThe city of grief encompasses, which nowWe may not enter without rage." Yet moreHe added: but I hold it not in mind,For that mine eye toward the lofty towerHad drawn me wholly, to its burning top;Where, in an instant, I beheld uprisenAt once three hellish furies stain'd with blood.In limb and motion feminine they seem'd;Around them greenest hydras twisting roll'dTheir volumes; adders and cerastes creptInstead of hair, and their fierce temples bound.He, knowing well the miserable hagsWho tend the queen of endless woe, thus spake:"Mark thou each dire Erynnis. To the left,This is Megaera; on the right hand, sheWho wails, Alecto; and TisiphoneI' th' midst." This said, in silence he remain'd.Their breast they each one clawing tore; themselvesSmote with their palms, and such thrill clamour raised,That to the bard I clung, suspicion-bound."Hasten Medusa: so to adamantHim shall we change;" all looking down exclaim'd:"E'en when by Theseus' might assail'd, we tookNo ill revenge." "Turn thyself round and keepThy countenance hid; for if the Gorgon direBe shown, and thoa shouldst view it, thy returnUpwards would be forever lost." This said,Himself, my gentle master, turn'd me round;Nor trusted he my hands, but with his ownHe also hid me. Ye of intellectSound and entire, mark well the lore' conceal'd
p. 37¶' The Poet probably intends to call the perance, reason, figured under the person reader's attention to the allegorical and of Virgil, with the ordinary grace of God, mystic sense of the present Canto, and may be a sufficient safeguard; but that not, as Venturi supposes, to that of the in the instance of more heinous crimes, whole work. Landino supposes this hid- such as those we shall hereafter see punden meaning to be that in the case of ished, a special grace, represented by the those vices which proceed from intern- angel, is requisite for our defence.
p. 38¶Under close texture of the mystic strain.And now there came o'er the perturbed wavesLoud-crashing, terrible, a sound that madeEither shore tremble, as if of a windImpetuous, from conflicting vapors sprung,That 'gainst some forest driving all his might,Plucks off the branches, beats them down, and hurlsAfar; then, onward passing, proudly sweepsHis whirlwind rage, while beasts and shepherds fly.Mine eyes he loosed, and spake: "And now directThy visual nerve along that ancient foam,There, thickest where the smoke ascends." As frogsBefore their foe the serpent, through the wavePly swiftly all, till at the ground each oneLies on a heap; more than a thousand spiritsDestroy'd, so saw I fleeing before oneWho pass'd with unwet feet the Stygian sound.He, from his face removing the gross air,Oft his left hand forth stretch'd, and seem'd aloneBy that annoyance wearied. I perceivedThat he was sent from Heaven; and to my guideTurn'd me, who signal made, that I should standQuiet, and bend to him. Ah me! how fullOf noble anger seem'd he. To the gateHe came, and with his wand touch'd it, whereatOpen without impediment it flew."Outcasts of heaven! O abject race, scorn'd!"Began he, on the horrid grunsel standing,"Whence doth this wild excess of insolenceLodge in you? wherefore kick you 'gainst that willNe'er frustrate of its end, and which so oftHath laid on you enforcement of your pangs?What profits at the Fates to butt the horn?Your Cerberus,1 if ye remember, henceBears still, peel'd of their hair, his throat and maw."[39]This said, he turn'd back o'er the filthy way,And syllable to us spake none; but woreThe semblance of a man by other careBeset, and keenly prest, than thought of himWho in his presence stands. Then we our stepsToward that territory moved, secureAfter the hallow'd words. We, unopposed,There enter'd; and, my mind eager to learnWhat state a fortress like to that might hold,I, soon as enter'd, throw mine eye around,And see, on every part, wide-stretching space,Replete with bitter pain and torment ill.As where Rhone stagnates on the plains of Aries, 5Or as at Pola,* near Quarnaro's gulf,That closes Italy and laves her bounds,The place is all thick spread with sepulchres;So was it here, save what in horror hereExcell'd: for 'midst the graves were scattered flames,Wherewith intensely all throughout they burn'd,That iron for no craft there hotter needs.Their lids all hung suspended; and beneath,From them forth issued lamentable moans,Such as the sad and tortured well might raise.I thus: "Master! say who are these, interr'dWithin these vaults, of whom distinct we hearThe dolorous sighs." He answer thus return'd:"The arch-heretics are here, accompaniedBy every sect their followers; and much moreThan thou believest, the tombs are freighted: likeWith like is buried; and the monumentsAre different in degrees of heat." This said,He to the right hand turning, on we pass'dBetwixt the afflicted and the ramparts high.
Canto X
¶ARGUMENT . — Dante , having obtained permission from his guide, holds discourse with Farinata degli Ubcrti and Cavalcante Cavalcanti, who lie in their fiery tombs that are yet open, and not to be closed up till after the last judgment. Farinata predicts the Poet*s exile from Florence; and shows him that the condemned have knowledge of future things, but arc ignorant of what is at present passing, unless it be revealed by some newcomer from earth.
¶'OW by a secret pathway we proceed,Between the walls, that hem the region round,And the tormented souls: my master first,I close behind his steps. "Virtue supreme!"I thus began: "Who through these ample orbsIn circuit lead'st me, even as thou will'st;Speak thou, and satisfy my wish. May those,Who lie within these sepulchres, be seen?Already all the lids are raised, and noneO'er them keeps watch." He thus in answer spake:"They shall be closed all, what-time they hereFrom Josaphat 1 return'd shall come, and bringTheir bodies, which above they now have left.The cemetery on this part obtain,With Epicurus, all his followers,Who with the body make the spirit die.Here therefore satisfaction shall be soon,Both to the question ask'd, and to the wish*Which thou conceal'st in silence." I replied:"I keep not, guide beloved! from thee my heartSecreted, but to shun vain length of words;A lesson erewhile taught me by thyself.""O Tuscan! thou, who through the city of fireAlive art passing, so discreet of speech:Here, please thee, stay awhile. Thy utteranceDeclares the place of thy nativityTo be that noble land, with which perchance
¶' "Josaphat." It seems to have been a and for my heritage Israel, whom they common opinion among the Jews, as well have scattered among the nations, and as among many Christians, that the gen- parted my land."—Joel, iii. 2.
¶cral judgment will be held in the valley 2 " The wish." The wish that Dante of Josaphat, or Jehoshaphat. "I will also had not expressed was to see and con-gather all nations, and will bring them verse with the followers of Epicurus; down into the valley of Jehoshaphat, and among whom, we shall sec, were Farinata will plead with them there for my people, degli Uberti and Cavalcante Cavalcanti.
p. 41¶I too severely dealt." Sudden that soundForth issued from a vault, whereat, in fear,I somewhat closer to my leader's sideApproaching, he thus spake: "What dost thou? Turn:Lo! Farinata' there, who hath himselfUplifted: from his girdle upwards, allExposed, behold him." On his face was mineAlready fix'd: his breast and forehead thereErecting, seem'd as in high scorn he heldE'en Hell. Between the sepulchres, to himMy guide thrust me, with fearless hands and prompt;This warning added: "See thy words be clear."He, soon as there I stood at the tomb's foot,Eyed me a space; then in disdainful moodAddress'd me: "Say what ancestors were thine."I, willing to obey him, straight reveal'dThe whole, nor kept back aught: whence he, his browSomewhat uplifting, cried: "Fiercely were theyAdverse to me, my party, and the bloodFrom whence I sprang: twice, 4 therefore, I abroadScatter'd them." "Though driven out, yet they eachtimeFrom all parts," answer'd I, "return'd; an artWhich yours have shown they are not skill'd to learn."Then, peering forth from the unclosed jaw,Rose from his side a shade, 5 high as the chin,Leaning, methought, upon its knees upraised.It look'd around, as eager to exploreIf there were other with me; but perceivingThat fond imagination quench'd, with tearsThus spake: "If thou through this blind prison go'st,Led by thy lofty genius and profound,
Where is my son?* and wherefore not with thee?"I straight replied: "Not of myself I come;By him, who there expects me, through this climeConducted, whom perchance Guido thy sonHad in contempt." 7 Already had his wordsAnd mode of punishment read me his name,Whence I so fully answer'd. He at onceExclaim'd, up starting, "How! said'st thou, he had?No longer lives he? Strikes not on his eyeThe blessed daylight?" Then, of some delayI made ere my reply, aware, down fellSupine, nor after forth appear'd he more.Meanwhile the other, great of soul, near whomI yet was station'd, changed not countenance stern,Nor moved the neck, nor bent his ribbed side."And if," continuing the first discourse,"They in this art," he cried, "small skill have shown;That doth torment me more e'en than this bed.But not yet fifty times 8 shall be relumedHer aspect, who reigns here queen of this realm,*Ere thou shalt know the full weight of that art.So to the pleasant world mayst thou return,As thou shalt tell me why, in all their laws,Against my kin this people is so fell.""The slaughter 10 and great havoc," I replied,"That color'd Arbia's flood with crimson stain—
¶' " My son." Guido, the son of Caval months shall be passed, before thou shalt cante Cavalcanti; "he whom I call the learn, by woeful experience, the difficulty first of my friends," says Dante in his of returning from banishment to thy "Vita Nuova " where the commencement native city."
¶of their friendship is related. From the 9 "Queen of this realm." The moon, character given of him by contemporary one of whose titles in heathen mythology writers, his temper was well formed to was Proserpine, queen of the shades beassimilate with that of our Poet. "He low.
¶was," according to G. Villani, lib. viii. 1 0 " The slaughter." "By means of c. xli., "of a philosophical and elegant Farinata degli Ubcrti, the Guclfi were mind, if he had not been too delicate and conquered by the army of King Man-fastidious." fredi, near the river Arbia, with so great 7 " Guido they soon a slaughter, that those who escaped from
¶Had in contempt." that defeat took refuge, not in Florence, Guido Cavalcanti, being more given to which city they considered as lost to them, philosophy than poetry, was perhaps no but in Lucca."—Macchiavclli, "Hist, of great admirer of Virgil. Flor." b. ii. and G. Villani, lib. vi. c.
¶8 "Not yet fifty times." " Not fifty lxxx. and lxxxi.
To these impute, that in our hallow'd domeSuch orisons" ascend." Sighing he shookThe head, then thus resumed: "In that affrayI stood not singly, nor, without just cause,Assuredly, should with the rest have stirr'd;But singly there I stood, 12 when, by consentOf all, Florence had to the ground been razed,The one who openly forbade the deed.""So may thy lineage find at last repose,"I thus adjured him, "as thou solve this knot,Which now involves my mind. If right I hear,Ye seem to view beforehand that which timeLeads with him, of the present uninform'd.""We view, as one who hath an evil sight,"He answer'd, "plainly, objects far remote;So much of his large splendor yet impartsThe Almighty Ruler: but when they approach,
¶Or actually exist, our intellect
Then wholly fails; nor of your human state,Except what others bring us, know we aught.Hence therefore mayst thou understand, that allOur knowledge in that instant shall expire,When on futurity the portals close."Then conscious of my fault, 13 and by remorseSmitten, I added thus: "Now shalt thou sayTo him there fallen, that his offspring stillIs to the living join'd; and bid him know,That if from answer, silent, I abstain'd,
¶" "Such orisons." This appears to al the church to recover its strength. This lude to certain prayers which were of cruel sentence, passed upon so noble a fered up in the churches of Florence, for city, met with no opposition from any of deliverance from the hostile attempts of its citizens or friends, except Farinata the Uberti; or, it may be that the public degli Uberti, who openly and without councils being held in churches, the reserve forbade the measure; affirming, speeches delivered in them against the that he had endured so many hardships, Uberti are termed "orisons," or prayers. with no other view than that of being
¶1 1 "Singly there I stood." Guido Novcllo able to pass his days in his own country. assembled a council of the Ghibellini at Macchiavclli, Hist, of Flor. b. ii.
¶Empoli; where it was agreed by all, that, 1 3 "My fault." Dante felt remorse for in order to maintain the ascendancy of the not having returned an immediate anGhibellinc party in Tuscany, it was neces swer to the inquiry of Cavalcante, from sary to destroy Florence, which could which delay he was led to believe that serve only (the people of that city being his son Guido was no longer living.
¶Guelfi) to enable the party attached to
p. 44¶'Twas that my thought was occupied, intentUpon that error, which thy help hath solved."But now my master summoning me backI heard, and with more eager haste besoughtThe spirit to inform me, who with himPartook his lot. He answer thus return'd:"More than a thousand with me here are laid.Within is Frederick, 14 second of that name,And the Lord Cardinal, 15 and of the restI speak not." He, this said, from sight withdrew.But I my steps toward the ancient bardReverting, ruminated on the wordsBetokening me such ill. Onward he moved,And thus, in going, question'd: "Whence the amazeThat holds thy senses wrapt?" I satisfiedThe inquiry, and the sage enjoin'd me straight:"Let thy safe memory store what thou hast heard,To thee importing harm; and note thou this,"With his raised finger bidding me take heed,"When thou shalt stand before her gracious beam,"Whose bright eye all surveys, she of thy lifeThe future tenor will to thee unfold."Forthwith he to the left hand turn'd his feet:We left the wall, and toward the middle spaceWent by a path that to a valley strikes,Which e'en thus high exhaled its noisome steam.