Dante Alighieri (1265–1321).  The Divine Comedy.


Introductory Note
 
Inferno [Hell]
Canto I
Canto II
Canto III
Canto IV
Canto V
Canto VI
Canto VII
Canto VIII
Canto IX
Canto X
Canto XI
Canto XII
Canto XIII
Canto XIV
Canto XV
Canto XVI
Canto XVII
Canto XVIII
Canto XIX
Canto XX
Canto XXI
Canto XXII
Canto XXIII
Canto XXIV
Canto XXV
Canto XXVI
Canto XXVII
Canto XXVIII
Canto XXIX
Canto XXX
Canto XXXI
Canto XXXII
Canto XXXIII
Canto XXXIV
 
Purgatory
Canto I
Canto II
Canto III
Canto IV
Canto V
Canto VI
Canto VII
Canto VIII
Canto IX
Canto X
Canto XI
Canto XII
Canto XIII
Canto XIV
Canto XV
Canto XVI
Canto XVII
Canto XVIII
Canto XIX
Canto XX
Canto XXI
Canto XXII
Canto XXIII
Canto XXIV
Canto XXV
Canto XXVI
Canto XXVII
Canto XXVIII
Canto XXIX
Canto XXX
Canto XXXI
Canto XXXII
Canto XXXIII
 
Paradise
Canto I
Canto II
Canto III
Canto IV
Canto V
Canto VI
Canto VII
Canto VIII
Canto IX
Canto X
Canto XI
Canto XII
Canto XIII
Canto XIV
Canto XV
Canto XVI
Canto XVII
Canto XVIII
Canto XIX
Canto XX
Canto XXI
Canto XXII
Canto XXIII
Canto XXIV
Canto XXV
Canto XXVI
Canto XXVII
Canto XXVIII
Canto XXIX
Canto XXX
Canto XXXI
Canto XXXII
Canto XXXIII
 
Glossary

Introductory Note   
   
   
  MUCH of the life of Dante Alighieri is obscure, and the known facts are surrounded by a haze of legend and conjecture. He was born in Florence in 1265, of a family noble but not wealthy. His early education is a matter of inference, but we know that he learned the art of writing verse from the poets of France and Provence, and that after he reached manhood he devoted much time to study and became profoundly learned. As a young man he saw military service and shared in the recreations of his contemporaries; and he married some time before he was thirty-two. In Dante’s day politics in Florence were exciting and dangerous; and after a few years of participation in public affairs he was condemned to death by his political enemies in 1302. He saved himself by exile, and never returned to his native town. The rest of his life was mainly spent wandering about the north of Italy, in Verona, Bologna, Pisa, Lucca, and finally Ravenna, where he died in 1321. During the years of his exile he found generous patrons in men like the heads of the Scala family in Verona and Guido Novello da Polenta in Ravenna; and at Bologna and elsewhere he was welcomed as a teacher.     1   
  In the early part of the century in which Dante was born, the literary language of Tuscany was still Latin, and not the least of his services to his country was his influence in finally establishing the dignity of Italian as a medium for great literature. He himself used Latin in at least three works: his lecture “De Aqua et Terra”; his “De Monarchâ,” in which he expounded his Political theory of the relation of the Empire and the Papacy; and his unfinished “De Vulgari Eloquentia,” containing his defense of the use of Italian. More important, however, were his two great works in the vernacular, the “Vita Nuova,” a series of poems with prose commentary, on his love for Beatrice, and the “Divina Commedia.”     2   
  The Beatrice, real or ideal, who plays so important a part in the poetry of Dante, is stated by Boccaccio to have been the daughter of Folco Portinari, a rich Florentine, and wife of the banker Simone dei Bardi. With this actual person Dante’s acquaintance seems to have been of the slightest; but, after the fashion of the chivalric lovers of the day, he took her as the object of his ideal devotion. She became for him, especially after her death in 1290, the center of a mystical devotion of extraordinary intensity, and appears in his masterpiece as the personification of heavenly enlightenment.     3   
  The “Divine Comedy” was entitled by Dante himself merely “Commedia,” meaning a poetic composition in a style intermediate between the sustained nobility of tragedy, and the popular tone of elegy.” The word had no dramatic implication at that time, though it did involve a happy ending. The poem is the narrative of a journey down through Hell, up the mountain of Purgatory, and through the revolving heavens into the presence of God. In this aspect it belongs to the two familiar medieval literary types of the Journey and the Vision. It is also an allegory, representing under the symbolism of the stages and experiences of the journey, the history of a human soul, painfully struggling from sin through purification to the Beatific Vision. Other schemes of interpretation have been worked out and were probably intended, for Dante granted the medieval demand for a threefold and even fourfold signification in this type of writing.     4   
  But the “Divine Comedy” belongs to still other literary forms than those mentioned. Professor Grandgent has pointed out that it is also an encyclopedia, a poem in praise of Woman, and an autobiography. It contains much of what Dante knew of theology and philosophy, of astronomy and cosmography, and fragments of a number of other branches of learning, so that its encyclopedia character is obvious. In making it a monument to Beatrice, he surpassed infinitely all the poetry devoted to the praise of women in an age when the deification of women was the commonplace of poetry. And finally he made it an autobiography—not a narrative of the external events of his life, but of the agony of his soul.     5   
  Thus, in an altogether unique way, Dante summarizes the literature, the philosophy, the science, and the religion of the Middle Ages. Through the intensity of his capacity for experience, the splendor of his power of expression, and the depth of his spiritual and philosophic insight, he at once sums up and transcends a whole era of human history.

   
Inferno [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 1 of this our mortal life,      
I found me in a gloomy wood, astray      
Gone from the path direct: and e’en to tell,      
It were no easy task, how savage wild      
That forest, how robust and rough its growth,           5   
Which to remember only, my dismay      
Renews, 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,           10   
Such sleepy dulness in that instant weigh’d      
My senses down, when the true path I left;      
But when a mountain’s foot I reach’d, where closed      
The valley that had pierced my heart with dread,      
I look’d aloft, and saw his shoulders broad           15   
Already vested with that planet’s beam, 2      
Who leads all wanderers safe through every way.      
  Then was a little respite to the fear,      
That in my heart’s recesses deep had lain      
All of that night, so pitifully past:           20   
And as a man, with difficult short breath,      
Forespent with toiling, ’scaped from sea to shore,      
Turns to the perilous wide waste, and stands      
At gaze; e’en so my spirit, that yet fail’d,      
Struggling with terror, turn’d to view the straits           25   
That none hath passed and lived. My weary frame      
After short pause recomforted, again      
I journey’d on over that lonely steep,      
The hinder foot 3 still firmer. Scarce the ascent      
Began, when, lo! a panther, 4 nimble, light,           30   
And cover’d with a speckled skin, appear’d;      
Nor, when it saw me, vanish’d; rather strove      
To 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 way           35   
Aloft the sun ascended with those stars, 5      
That with him rose when Love Divine first moved      
Those its fair works: so that with joyous hope      
All things conspired to fill me, the gay skin      
Of that swift animal, the matin dawn,           40   
And the sweet season. Soon that joy was chased.      
And by new dread succeeded, when in view      
A 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-wolf           45   
Was at his heels, who in her leanness seem’d      
Full of all wants, and many a land hath made      
Disconsolate ere now. She with such fear      
O’erwhelm’d me, at the sight of her appall’d,      
That of the height all hope I lost. As one,           50   
Who, with his gain elated, sees the time      
When all unawares is gone, he inwardly      
Mourns with heart-griping anguish; such was I,      
Haunted by that fell beast, never at peace,      
Who coming o’er against me, by degrees           55   
Impell’d me where the sun in silence rests.      
  While to the lower space with backward step      
I fell, my ken discern’d the form of one      
Whose voice seem’d faint through long disuse of speech.      
When him in that great desert I espied,           60   
“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 both      
By country, when the power of Julius yet           65   
Was scarcely firm. At Rome my life was past,      
Beneath the mild Augustus, in the time      
Of fabled deities and false. A bard      
Was I, and made Anchises’ upright son      
The subject of my song, who came from Troy,           70   
When the flames prey’d on Ilium’s haughty towers.      
But thou, say wherefore to such perils past      
Return’st thou? wherefore not this pleasant mount      
Ascendest, cause and source of all delight?”      
“And art thou then that Virgil, that well-spring,           75   
From which such copious floods of eloquence      
Have issued?” I with front abash’d replied.      
“Glory and light of all the tuneful train!      
May it avail me, that I long with zeal      
Have sought thy volume, and with love immense           80   
Have conn’d it o’er. My master thou, and guide!      
Thou he from whom alone I have derived      
That style, which for its beauty into fame      
Exalts me. See the beast, from whom I fled.      
O save me from her, thou illustrious sage!           85   
For every vein and pulse throughout my frame      
She hath made tremble.” He, soon as he saw      
That I was weeping, answer’d, “Thou must needs      
Another way pursue, if thou wouldst ’scape      
From out that savage wilderness. This beast,           90   
At whom thou criest, her way will suffer none      
To 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.           95   
To many an animal in wedlock vile      
She fastens, and shall yet to many more,      
Until that greyhound 6 come, who shall destroy      
Her with sharp pain. He will not life support      
By earth nor its base metals, but by love,           100   
Wisdom, and virtue; and his land shall be      
The land ’twixt either Feltro. 7 In his might      
Shall safety to Italia’s plains arise,      
For whose fair realm, Camilla, virgin pure,      
Nisus, Euryalus, and Turnus fell.           105   
He, with incessant chase, through every town      
Shall worry, until he to hell at length      
Restore her, thence by envy first let loose.      
I, for thy profit pondering, now devise      
That thou mayst follow me; and I, thy guide,           110   
Will lead thee hence through an eternal space,      
Where thou shalt hear despairing shrieks, and see      
Spirits of old tormented, who invoke      
A second death; 8 and those next view, who dwell      
Content in fire, 9 for that they hope to come,           115   
Whene’er the time may be, among the blest,      
Into whose regions if thou then desire      
To ascend, a spirit worthier 10 than I      
Must lead thee, in whose charge, when I depart,      
Thou shalt be left; for that Almighty King,           120   
Who reigns above, a rebel to His law      
Adjudges me; and therefore hath decreed      
That, to His city, none through me should come.      
He in all parts hath sway; there rules, there holds      
His citadel and throne. O happy those,           125   
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 worse      
I may escape) to lead me where thou said’st,      
That I Saint Peter’s gate 11 may view, and those           130   
Who, as thou tell’st, are in such dismal plight.”      
  Onward he moved, I close his steps pursued.      
    
Note 1. “In the midway.” The era of the poem is intended by these words to be fixed to the thirty-fifth year of the poet’s age, A. D. 1300. In this Convito, human life is compared to an arch or bow, the highest point of which is, in those well framed by nature, at their thirty-fifth year. [back]   
Note 2. “That planet’s beam.” The sun. [back]   
Note 3. “The hinder foot.” In ascending a hill the weight of the body rests on the hinder foot. [back]   
Note 4. “A panther.” Pleasure or luxury. [back]   
Note 5. “With those stars.” The sun was in Aries, in which sign he supposes it to have begun its course at the creation. [back]   
Note 6. This passage has been commonly understood as a eulogium on the liberal spirit of his Veronese patron, Can Grande della Scala. [back]   
Note 7. Verona, the country of Can della Scala, is situated between Feltro, a city in the Marca Trivigiana, and Monte Feltro, a city in the territory of Urbino. [back]   
Note 8. “A second death.” “And in these days men shall seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.” Rev. ix. 6 [back]   
Note 9. The spirits in Purgatory. [back]   
Note 10. “A spirit worthier.” Beatrice, who conducts the Poet through Paradise. [back]   
Note 11. The gate of Purgatory, which the Poet feigns to be guarded by an angel placed there by St. Peter.

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 released      
All animals on earth; and I alone      
Prepared myself the conflict to sustain,      
Both of sad pity, and that perilous road,           5   
Which my unerring memory shall retrace.      
  O Muses! O high genius! now vouchsafe      
Your aid. O mind! that all I saw hast kept      
Safe in a written record, here thy worth      
And eminent endowments come to proof.           10   
  I thus began: “Bard! thou who art my guide,      
Consider well, if virtue be in me      
Sufficient, ere to this high enterprise      
Thou trust me. Thou hast told that Silvius’ sire, 1      
Yet clothed in corruptible flesh, among           15   
The immortal tribes had entrance, and was there      
Sensibly present. Yet if Heaven’s great Lord,      
Almighty foe to ill, such favor show’d      
In contemplation of the high effect,      
Both what and who from him should issue forth,           20   
It seems in reason’s judgment well deserved;      
Sith he of Rome and of Rome’s empire wide,      
In Heaven’s imperial height was chosen sire:      
Both which, if truth be spoken, were ordain’d      
And stablish’d for the holy place, where sits           25   
Who to great Peter’s sacred chair succeeds.      
He from this journey, in thy song renown’d,      
Learn’d things, that to his victory gave rise      
And to the papal robe. In after-times      
The Chosen Vessel 2 also travel’d there,           30   
To bring us back assurance in that faith      
Which is the entrance to salvation’s way.      
But I, why should I there presume? or who      
Permits it? not Æneas I, nor Paul.      
Myself I deem not worthy, and none else           35   
Will deem me. I, if on this voyage then      
I venture, fear it will in folly end.      
Thou, who art wise, better my meaning know’st,      
Than I can speak.” As one, who unresolves      
What he hath late resolved, and with new thoughts           40   
Changes his purpose, from his first intent      
Removed; e’en such was I on that dun coast,      
Wasting in thought my enterprise, at first      
So eagerly embraced. “If right thy words      
I scan,” replied that shade magnanimous,           45   
“Thy soul is by vile fear assail’d, which oft      
So overcasts a man, that he recoils      
From noblest resolution, like a beast      
At some false semblance in the twilight gloom.      
That from this terror thou mayst free thyself,           50   
I will instruct thee why I came, and what      
I heard in that same instant, when for thee      
Grief touch’d me first. I was among the tribe,      
Who rest suspended, 3 when a dame, so blest      
And lovely I besought her to command,           55   
Call’d me; her eyes were brighter than the star      
Of day; and she, with gentle voice and soft,      
Angelically tuned, her speech address’d:      
‘O courteous shade of Mantua! thou whose fame      
Yet lives, and shall live long as nature lasts!           60   
A friend, not of my fortune but myself,      
On the wide desert in his road has met      
Hindrance 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,           65   
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,           70   
Am Beatrice; 4 from a place I come      
Revisited with joy. Love brought me thence,      
Who prompts my speech. When in my Master’s sight      
I stand, thy praise to him I oft will tell.’      
  “She then was silent, and I thus began:           75   
‘O Lady! by whose influence alone      
Mankind excels whatever is contain’d      
Within that heaven which hath the smallest orb,      
So thy command delights me, that to obey,      
If it were done already, would seem late.           80   
No need hast thou further to speak thy will:      
Yet tell the reason, why thou art not loth      
To leave that ample space, where to return      
Thou burnest, for this centre here beneath.’      
  “She then: ‘Since thou so deeply wouldst inquire,           85   
I will instruct thee briefly why no dread      
Hinders my entrance here. Those things alone      
Are 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!           90   
That any sufferance of your misery      
Touches me not, nor flame of that fierce fire      
Assails me. In high Heaven a blessed Dame 5      
Resides, who mourns with such effectual grief      
That hindrance, which I send thee to remove,           95   
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 word      
Sped Lucia, of all cruelty the foe,           100   
And coming to the place, where I abode      
Seated with Rachel, her of ancient days,      
She thus address’d me: “Thou true praise of God!      
Beatrice! why is not thy succour lent      
To him, who so much loved thee, as to leave           105   
For 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?”      
Ne’er among men did any with such speed           110   
Haste to their profit, flee from their annoy,      
As, when these words were spoken, I came here,      
Down from my blessed seat, trusting the force      
Of thy pure eloquence, which thee, and all      
Who well have mark’d it, into honor brings.’           115   
  “When she had ended, her bright beaming eyes      
Tearful she turn’d aside; whereat I felt      
Redoubled 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 mount           120   
Prevented. What is this comes o’er thee than?      
Why, why dost thou hang back? why in thy breast      
Harbour 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;           125   
And so much certain good my words forebode?”      
  As florets, by the frosty air of night      
Bent down and closed, when day has blanch’d their leaves,      
Rise all unfolded on their spiry stems;      
So was my fainting vigor new restored,           130   
And to my heart such kindly courage ran,      
That I as one undaunted soon replied:      
“O full of pity she, who undertook      
My succour! and thou kind, who didst perform      
So soon her true behest! With such desire           135   
Thou 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,           140   
I enter’d on the deep and woody way.      
    
Note 1. “Silvius’ sire.” Æneas. [back]   
Note 2. “The Chosen Vessel.” St. Paul. [back]   
Note 3. The spirits in Limbo, neither admitted to a state of glory nor doomed to punishment. [back]   
Note 4. “Beatrice.” The daughter of Folco Portinari, who is here invested with the character of celestial wisdom or theology. [back]   
Note 5. “A blessed Dame.” The Divine Mercy. [back]   
Note 6. “Lucia.” The enlightening Grace of Heaven; as it is commonly explained. [back]   
Note 7. “Three maids.” The Divine Mercy, Lucia and Beatrice.

   
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 soon as Dante reaches, he is seized with terror, and falls into a trance.   
    
    
“THROUGH me you pass into the city of woe:      
Through me you pass into eternal pain:      
Through me among the people lost for aye.      
Justice the founder of my fabric moved:      
To rear me was the task of Power divine,           5   
Supremest Wisdom, and primeval Love. 1      
Before me things create were none, save things      
Eternal, and eternal I endure.      
All hope abandon, ye who enter here.”      
  Such characters, in color dim, I mark’d           10   
Over a portal’s lofty arch inscribed.      
Whereat I thus: “Master, these words import      
Hard meaning.” He as one prepared replied:      
“Here thou must all distrust behind thee leave;      
Here be vile fear extinguish’d. We are come           15   
Where I have told thee we shall see the souls      
To misery doom’d, who intellectual good      
Have lost.” And when his hand he had stretch’d forth      
To mine, with pleasant looks, whence I was cheer’d,      
Into that secret place he led me on.           20   
  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,           25   
With hands together smote that swell’d the sounds,      
Made up a tumult, that forever whirls      
Round through that air with solid darkness stain’d,      
Like to the sand that in the whirlwind flies.      
  I then, with horror yet encompast, cried:           30   
“O master! what is this I hear? what race      
Are these, who seem so overcome with woe?”      
  He thus to me: “This miserable fate      
Suffer the wretched souls of those, who lived      
Without or praise or blame, with that ill band           35   
Of angels mix’d, who nor rebellious proved,      
Nor yet were true to God, but for themselves      
Were only. From his bounds Heaven drove them forth      
Not to impair his lustre; nor the depth      
Of Hell receives them, lest the accursed tribe           40   
Should 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 death      
No hope may entertain: and their blind life           45   
So meanly passes, that all other lots      
They 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,           50   
Which whirling ran around so rapidly,      
That it no pause obtain’d: and following came      
Such a long train of spirits, I should ne’er      
Have thought that death so many had despoil’d.      
  When some of these I recognized, I saw           55   
And knew the shade of him, who to base fear 2      
Yielding, abjured his high estate. Forthwith      
I understood, for certain, this the tribe      
Of those ill spirits both to God displeasing      
And to His foes. These wretches, who ne’er lived,           60   
Went on in nakedness, and sorely stung      
By wasps and hornets, which bedew’d their cheeks      
With blood, that, mix’d with tears, dropp’d to their feet,      
And by disgustful worms was gather’d there.      
  Then looking further onwards, I beheld           65   
A throng upon the shore of a great stream:      
Whereat I thus: “Sir! grant me now to know      
Whom here we view, and whence impell’d they seem      
So eager to pass o’er, as I discern      
Through the blear light?” He thus to me in few:           70   
“This shalt thou know, soon as our steps arrive      
Beside 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 speech           75   
Abstain’d. And lo! toward us in a bark      
Comes on an old man, hoary white with eld,      
Crying, “Woe to you, wicked spirits! hope not      
Ever to see the sky again. I come      
To take you to the other shore across,           80   
Into eternal darkness, there to dwell      
In fierce heat and in ice. And thou, who there      
Standest, live spirit! get thee hence, and leave      
These who are dead.” But soon as he beheld      
I left them not, “By other way,” said he,           85   
“By other haven shalt thou come to shore,      
Not by this passage; thee a nimbler boat      
Must 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.”           90   
  Straightway in silence fell the shaggy cheeks      
Of him, the boatman o’er the livid lake,      
Around whose eyes glared wheeling flames. Meanwhile      
Those spirits, faint and naked, color changed,      
And gnash’d their teeth, soon as the cruel words           95   
They 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 drew      
To the curst strand, that every man must pass           100   
Who fears not God. Charon, demoniac form,      
With eyes of burning coal, collects them all,      
Beckoning, and each, that lingers, with his oar      
Strikes. As fall off the light autumnal leaves      
One still another following, till the bough           105   
Strews all its honours on the earth beneath;      
E’en in like manner Adam’s evil brood      
Cast themselves, one by one, down from the shore,      
Each at a beck, as falcon at his call. 3      
  Thus go they over through the umber’d wave;           110   
And ever they on the opposing bank      
Be landed, on this side another throng      
Still gathers. “Son,” thus spake the courteous guide,      
“Those who die subject to the wrath of God      
All here together come from every clime           115   
And to o’erpass the river are not loth:      
For so Heaven’s justice goads them on, that fear      
Is turn’d into desire. Hence ne’er hath past      
Good spirit. If of thee Charon complain,      
Now mayst thou know the import of his words.”           120   
  This said, the gloomy region trembling shook      
So terribly, that yet with clammy dews      
Fear chills my brow. The sad earth gave a blast,      
That, lightening, shot forth a vermilion flame,      
Which all my senses conquer’d quite, and I           125   
Down dropp’d, as one with sudden slumber seized.      
    
Note 1. “Power,” Wisdom,” “Love,” the three Persons of the Blessed Trinity. [back]   
Note 2. This is commonly understood of Celestine V, who abdicated the papal power in 1249. Venturi mentions a work written by Innocenzio Barcellini, of the Celestine order, and printed at Milan in 1701, in which an attempt is made to put a different interpretation on this passage. Lombardi would apply it to some one of Dante’s fellow-citizens, who, refusing, through avarice or want of spirit, to support the party of the Bianchi at Florence, had been the main occasion of the miseries that befell them. But the testimony of Fazio degli Uberti, who lived so near the time of our author, seems almost decisive on this point. He expressly speaks of the Pope Celestine as being in Hell. [back]   
Note 3. “As a falcon at his call.” This is Vellutello’s explanation, and seems preferable to that commonly given: “as a bird that is enticed to the cage by the call of another.”

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.   
    
    
BROKE the deep slumber in my brain a crash      
Of heavy thunder, that I shook myself,      
As one by main force roused. Risen upright,      
My rested eyes I moved around, and search’d      
With fixed ken, to know what place it was           5   
Wherein I stood. For certain, on the brink      
I found me of the lamentable vale,      
The dread abyss, that joins a thunderous sound      
Of plaints innumerable. Dark and deep,      
And thick with clouds o’erspread, mine eye in vain           10   
Explored its bottom, nor could aught discern.      
  “Now let us to the blind world there beneath      
Descend,” the bard began, all pale of look:      
“I go the first, and thou shalt follow next.”      
  Then I, his alter’d hue perceiving, thus:           15   
“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 below      
With pity stains my cheek, which thou for fear      
Mistakest. Let us on. Our length of way           20   
Urges to haste.” Onward, this said, he moved;      
And entering led me with him, on the bounds      
Of the first circle that surrounds the abyss.      
  Here, as mine ear could note, no plaint was heard      
Except of sighs, that made the eternal air           25   
Tremble, not caused by tortures, but from grief      
Felt by those multitudes, many and vast,      
Of men, women, and infants. Then to me      
The gentle guide: “Inquirest thou not what spirits      
Are these which thou beholdest? Ere thou pass           30   
Farther, I would thou know, that these of sin      
Were blameless; and if aught they merited,      
If profits not, since baptism was not heirs,      
The portal 1 to thy faith. If they before      
The Gospel lived, they served not God aright;           35   
And among such am I. For these defects,      
And for no other evil, we are lost;      
Only so far afflicted, that we live      
Desiring without hope.” Sore grief assail’d      
My heart at hearing this, for well I knew           40   
Suspended in that Limbo many a soul      
Of mighty worth. “O tell me, sire revered!      
Tell me, my master!” I began, through wish      
Of full assurance in that holy faith      
Which vanquishes all error; “say, did e’er           45   
Any, or through his own or other’s merit,      
Come forth from thence, who afterward was blest?”      
  Piercing the secret purport 2 of my speech,      
He answer’d: “I was new to that estate      
When I beheld a puissant one 3 arrive           50   
Amongst 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,           55   
Israel with his sire and with his sons,      
Nor without Rachel whom so hard he won,      
And others many more, whom He to bliss      
Exalted. Before these, be thou assured,      
No spirit of human kind was ever saved.”           60   
  We, while he spake, ceased not our onward road,      
Still passing through the wood; for so I name      
Those spirits thick beset. We were not far      
On this side from the summit, when I kenn’d      
A flame, that o’er the darken’d hemisphere           65   
Prevailing shined. Yet we a little space      
Were distant, not so far but I in part      
Discover’d that a tribe in honour high      
That placed possess’d. “O thou, who every art      
And science valuest! who are these, that boast           70   
Such honor, separate from all the rest?”      
  He answer’d: “The renown of their great names,      
That echoes through your world above, acquires      
Favor in Heaven, which holds them thus advanced.”      
Meantime a voice I heard: “Honor the bard           75   
Sublime! his shade returns, that left us late!”      
No sooner ceased the sound, that I beheld      
Four mighty spirits toward us bend their steps,      
Of semblance neither sorrowful nor glad.      
  When thus my master kind began: “Mark him,           80   
Who in his right hand bears that falchion keen,      
The other three preceding, as their lord.      
This is that Homer, of all bards supreme:      
Flaccus the next, in satire’s vein excelling;      
The third is Naso; Lucan is the last.           85   
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 school      
Of him the monarch of sublimest song, 4           90   
That o’er the others like an eagle soars.      
  When they together short discourse had held,      
They turn’d to me, with salutation kind      
Beckoning me; at the which my master smiled:      
Nor was this all; but greater honour still           95   
They 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 well      
To speak, now fitter left untold. At foot           100   
Of a magnificent castle we arrived,      
Seven times with lofty walls begirt, and around      
Defended by a pleasant stream. O’er this      
As o’er dry land we pass’d. Next, through seven gates,      
I with those sages enter’d, and we came           105   
Into a mead with lively verdure fresh.      
  There dwelt a race, who slow their eyes around      
Majestically moved, and in their port      
Bore eminent authority: they spake      
Seldom, but all their words were tuneful sweet.           110   
  We to one side retired, into a place      
Open and bright and lofty, whence each one      
Stood manifest to view. Incontinent,      
There on the green enamel of the plain      
Were shown me the great spirits, by whose sight           115   
I am exalted in my own esteem.      
  Electra 5 there I saw accompanied      
By many, among whom Hector I knew,      
Anchises’ pious son, and with hawk’s eye      
Cæsar all arm’d, and by Camilla there           120   
Penthesilea. On the other side,      
Old King Latinus seated by his child      
Lavinia, and that Brutus I beheld      
Who Tarquin chased, Lucretia, Cato’s wife      
Marcia, with Julia 6 and Cornelia there;           125   
And sole apart retired, the Soldan fierce. 7      
  Then when a little more I raised my brow,      
I spied the master of the sapient throng, 8      
Seated amid the philosophic train.      
Him all admire, all pay him reverence due.           130   
There Socrates and Plato both I mark’d      
Nearest to him in rank, Democritus,      
Who sets the world at chance, 9 Diogenes,      
With Heraclitus, and Empedocles,      
And Anaxagoras, and Thales sage,           135   
Zeno, and Dioscorides well read      
In nature’s secret lore. Orpheus I mark’d      
And Linus, Tully and moral Seneca,      
Euclid and Ptolemy, Hippocrates,      
Galenus, Avicen, and him who made           140   
That commentary vast, Averroes. 10      
  Of all to speak at full were vain attempt;      
For my wide theme so urges, that oft-times      
My words fall short of what bechanced. In two      
The six associates part. Another way           145   
My 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.      
    
Note 1. “Portal.” “Porta della fede.” This was an alteration made in the text by the Academicians della Crusca, on the authority, as it would appear, of only two manuscripts. The other reading is, “parte della fede,” “part of the faith.” [back]   
Note 2. “Secret purport.” Lombardi well observes that Dante seems to have been restrained by awe and reverence from uttering the name of Christ in this place of torment; and that for the same cause, probably, it does not occur once throughout the whole of this first part of the poem. [back]   
Note 3. “A puissant one.” Our Savior. [back]   
Note 4. “The monarch of sublimest song.” Homer. [back]   
Note 5. Daughter of Atlas, and mother of Dardanus, founder of Troy. [back]   
Note 6. “Julia.” The daughter of Julius Cæsar, and wife of Pompey. [back]   
Note 7. “The Soldan fierce.” Saladin, or Salaheddin, the rival of Richard Cœur de Lion. [back]   
Note 8. “The master of the sapient throng.” “Maestro di color che sanno.” Aristotle. [back]   
Note 9. “Who sets the world at chance.” Democritus, who maintained the world to have been formed by the fortuitous concourse of atoms. [back]   
Note 10. Averroes, called by the Arabians Ibn Roschd, translated and commented on the works of Aristotle.

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 thus      
Down to the second, which, a lesser space      
Embracing, so much more of grief contains,      
Provoking bitter moans. There Minos stands,      
Grinning with ghastly feature: he, of all           5   
Who 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 severe           10   
Of sins, considering what place in Hell      
Suits the transgression, with his tail so oft      
Himself encircles, as degrees beneath      
He dooms it to descend. Before him stand      
Always a numerous throng; and in his turn           15   
Each one to judgment passing, speaks, and hears      
His fate, thence downward to his dwelling hurl’d.      
“O thou! who to this residence of woe      
Approachest!” when he saw me coming, cried      
Minos, relinquishing his dread employ,           20   
“Look how thou enter here; beware in whom      
Thou place thy trust; let not the entrance broad      
Deceive thee to thy harm.” To him my guide:      
“Wherefore exclaimest? Hinder not his way      
By destiny appointed; so ’tis will’d,           25   
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 voice      
Smites on mine ear. Into a place I came      
Where light was silent all. Bellowing there groan’d           30   
A noise, as of a sea in tempest torn      
By warring winds. The stormy blast of Hell      
With restless fury drives the spirits on,      
Whirl’d round and dash’d amain with sore annoy.      
When they arrive before the ruinous sweep,           35   
There shrieks are heard, there lamentations, moans,      
And blasphemies ’gainst the good Power in Heaven.      
I understood, that to this torment sad      
The carnal sinners are condemn’d, in whom      
Reason by lust is sway’d. As, in large troops           40   
And 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 them           45   
Is none, nor e’en of milder pang. As cranes,      
Chanting their dolorous notes, traverse the sky,      
Stretch’d out in long array; so I beheld      
Spirits, who came loud wailing, hurried on      
By their dire doom. Then I: “Instructor! who           50   
Are 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 vice      
Of luxury was so shameless, that she made      
Liking be lawful by promulged decree,           55   
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,           60   
And to Sichæus’ ashes broke her faith:      
Then follows Cleopatra, lustful queen.”      
  There mark’d I Helen, for whose sake so long      
The time was fraught with evil; there the great      
Achilles, who with love fought to the end.           65   
Paris I saw, and Tristan; and beside,      
A thousand more he show’d me, and by name      
Pointed them out, whom love bereaved of life.      
  When I had heard my sage instructor name      
Those dames and knights of antique days, o’erpower’d           70   
By pity, well-nigh in amaze my mind      
Was lost; and I began: “Bard! willingly      
I would address those two together coming,      
Which seem so light before the wind.” He thus:      
“Note thou, when nearer they to us approach.           75   
Then by that love which carries them along,      
Entreat; and they will come.” Soon as the wind      
Sway’d them towards us, I thus framed my speech:      
“O wearied spirits! come, and hold discourse      
With us, if by none else restrain’d. As doves           80   
By fond desire invited, on wide wings      
And 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 force           85   
My cry prevail’d, by strong affection urged.      
  “O gracious creature and benign! who go’st      
Visiting, through this element obscure,      
Us, who the world with bloody stain imbrued;      
If, for a friend, the King of all, we own’d,           90   
Our prayer to him should for thy peace arise,      
Since thou hast pity on our evil plight.      
Of whatsoe’er to hear or to discourse      
It pleases thee, that will we hear, of that      
Freely with thee discourse, while e’er the wind,           95   
As now, is mute. The land, 1 that gave me birth,      
Is situate on the coast, where Po descends      
To rest in ocean with his sequent streams.      
  “Love, that in gentle heart is quickly learnt,      
Entangled him by that fair form, from me           100   
Ta’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: Caïna 2 waits           105   
The 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 desire           110   
Must they at length to that ill pass have reach’d!”      
  Then turning, I to them my speech address’d,      
And thus began: “Francesca! 3 your sad fate      
Even to tears my grief and pity moves.      
But tell me; in the time of your sweet sighs,           115   
By what, and how Love granted, that ye knew      
Your yet uncertain wishes?” She replied:      
“No greater grief than to remember days      
Of joy, when misery is at hand. That kens      
Thy learn’d instructor. Yet so eagerly           120   
If thou art bent to know the primal root,      
From whence our love gat being, I will do      
As one, who weeps and tells his tale. One day,      
For our delight we read of Lancelot, 4      
How him love thrall’d. Alone we were, and no           125   
Suspicion near us. Oft-times by that reading      
Our eyes were drawn together, and the hue      
Fled from our alter’d cheek. But at one point      
Alone we fell. When of that smile we read,      
The wished smile so raptorously kiss’d           130   
By one so deep in love, then he, who ne’er      
From me shall separate, at once my lips      
All trembling kiss’d. The book and writer both      
Were love’s purveyors. In its leaves that day      
We read no more.” While thus one spirit spake,           135   
The other wail’d so sorely, that heart-struck      
I, through compassion fainting, seem’d not far      
From death, and like a corse fell to the ground.      
    
Note 1. “The land.” Ravenna. [back]   
Note 2. “Caïna.” The place to which murderers are doomed. [back]   
Note 3. “Francesca.” Francesca, the daughter of Guido da Polenta, Lord of Ravenna, was given by her father in marriage to Gianciotto, son of Malatesta, Lord of Rimini, a man of extraordinary courage, but deformed in his person. His brother Paolo, who unhappily possessed those graces which the husband of Francesca wanted, engaged her affections; and being taken in adultery, they were both put to death by the enraged Gianciotto. [back]   
Note 4. “Lancelot.” One of the Knights of the Round Table, and the lover of Ginevra, or Guinever, celebrated in romance. The incident alluded to seems to have made a strong impression on the imagination of Dante, who introduces it again, in the Paradise, Canto xvi.

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’d      
With pity for the kindred shades, whence grief      
O’ercame me wholly, straight around I see      
New torments, new tormented souls, which way      
Soe’er I move, or turn, or bend my sight.           5   
In the third circle I arrive, of showers      
Ceaseless, accursed, heavy and cold, unchanged      
For ever, both in kind and in degree.      
Large hail, discolor’d water, sleety flaw      
Through the dun midnight air stream’d down amain:           10   
Stank all the land whereon that tempest fell.      
  Cerberus, cruel monster, fierce and strange,      
Through his wide threefold throat, barks as a dog      
Over the multitude immersed beneath.      
His eyes glare crimson, black his unctuous beard,           15   
His belly large, and claw’d the hands, with which      
He tears the spirits, flays them, and their limbs      
Piecemeal disparts. Howling there spread, as curs,      
Under the rainy deluge, with one side      
The other screening, oft they roll them round,           20   
A wretched, godless crew. When that great worm 1      
Descried us, savage Cerberus, he oped      
His jaws, and the fangs show’d us; not a limb      
Of him but trembled. Then my guide, his palms      
Expanding on the ground, thence fill’d with earth           25   
Raised them, and cast it in his ravenous maw.      
E’en as a dog, that yelling bays for food      
His keeper, when the morsel comes, lets fall      
His fury, bent alone with eager haste      
To swallow it; so dropp’d the loathsome cheeks           30   
Of demon Cerberus, who thundering stuns      
The spirits, that they for deafness wish in vain.      
  We, o’er the shades thrown prostrate by the brunt      
Of the heavy tempest passing, set our feet      
Upon their emptiness, that substance seem’d.           35   
  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 framed           40   
Or ere my frame was broken.” I replied:      
“The anguish thou endurest perchance so takes      
Thy form from my remembrance, that it seems      
As if I saw thee never. But inform      
Me thou art, that in a place so sad           45   
Art set, and in such torment, that although      
Other 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,           50   
Held me in brighter days. Ye citizens      
Were wont to name me Ciacco. 2 For the sin      
Of gluttony, damned vice, beneath this rain,      
E’en as thou seest, I with fatigue am worn:      
Nor I sole spirit in this woe: all these           55   
Have 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 citizens           60   
of the divided city; 3 whether any      
Just one inhabit there: and tell the cause,      
Whence jarring Discord hath assail’d it thus.”      
  He then: “After long striving they will come      
To blood; and the wild party from the woods 4           65   
Will chase the other 5 with much injury forth.      
Then it behooves that this must fall, 6 within      
Three solar circles; 7 and the other rise      
By borrow’d force of one, who under shore      
Now rests. 8 It shall a long space hold aloof           70   
Its forehead, keeping under heavy weight      
The other opprest, indignant at the load,      
And grieving sore. The just are two in number. 9      
But they neglected. Avarice, envy, pride,      
Three fatal sparks, have set the hearts of all           75   
On fire.” Here ceased the lamentable sound;      
And I continued thus: “Still would I learn      
More from thee, further parley still entreat.      
Of Farinata and Tegghiaio 10 say,      
They who so well deserved; of Giacopo, 11           80   
Arrigo, Mosca, 12 and the rest, who bent      
Their minds on working good. Oh! tell me where      
They bide, and to their knowledge let me come.      
For I am prest with keen desire to hear      
If Heaven’s sweet cup, or poisonous drug of Hell,           85   
Be to their lip assign’d.” He answer’d straight:      
“These are yet blacker spirits. Various crimes      
Have 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,           90   
Of me make mention, I entreat thee, there.      
No more I tell thee, answer thee no more.”      
  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.           95   
  When thus my guide: “No more his bed he leaves,      
Ere the last angel-trumpet blow. The Power      
Adverse to these shall then in glory come,      
Each one forthwith to his sad tomb repair,      
Resume his fleshly vesture and his form,           100   
And hear the eternal doom re-echoing rend      
The vault.” So pass’d we through that mixture foul      
Of spirits and rain, with tardy steps; meanwhile      
Touching, though slightly, on the life to come.      
For thus I question’d: “Shall these tortures, Sir!           105   
When 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.           110   
Though ne’er to true perfection may arrive      
This 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:           115   
Till at the point, whence the steps led below,      
Arrived, there Plutus, the great foe, we found.      
    
Note 1. “When that great worm, descried us … he opened his jaws.” In Canto xxxiv. Lucifer is called
               “The abhorred worm, that boreth through the world.”   
 [back]   
Note 2. “Ciriaco.” So called from his inordinate appetite; “ciacco,” in Italian, signifying a pig. The real name of this glutton has not been transmitted to us. [back]   
Note 3. “The divided city.” The city of Florence, divided into the Bianchi and Neri factions. [back]   
Note 4. The wild party from the woods.” So called, because it was headed by Veri de’ Cerchi, whose family had lately come into the city from Acona, and the woody country of the Val di Nievole. [back]   
Note 5. “The other.” The opposite party of the Neri, at the head of which was Corso Donati. [back]   
Note 6. “This must fall.” The Bianchi. [back]   
Note 7. “Three solar circles.” Three years. [back]   
Note 8. “Of one, who under shore now rests.” Charles of Valois, by whose means the Neri were replaced. [back]   
Note 9. “The just are two in number.” Who these two were, the commentators are not agreed. Some understand them to be Dante himself and his friend Guido Cavalcanti. [back]   
Note 10. “Of Farinata and Tegghiaio.” See Canto x. and notes, and Canto xvi. and notes. [back]   
Note 11. “Giacopo.” Giacopo Rusticucci. See Canto xvi. and notes. [back]   
Note 12. “Arrigo, Mosca.” Of Arrigo, who is said by the commentators to have been of the noble family of the Fifanti, no mention afterward occurs. Mosca degli Uberti, or de’ Lamberti, is introduced in Canto xxviii.

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.   
   
   
“AH me! O Satan! Satan!” 1 loud exclaim’d      
Plutus, in accent hoarse of wild alarm:      
And the kind sage, whom no event surprised,      
To comfort me thus spake: “Let not thy fear      
Harm thee, for power in him, be sure, is none           5   
To hinder down this rock thy safe descent.”      
Then to that swoln lip turning, “Peace!” he cried,      
“Curst wolf! thy fury inward on thyself      
Prey, and consume thee! Through the dark profound,      
Not without cause, he passes. So ’tis will’d           10   
On high, there where the great Archangel pour’d      
Heaven’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.           15   
  Thus we, descending to the fourth steep ledge,      
Gain’d on the dismal shore, that all the woe      
Hems in of all the universe. Ah me!      
Almighty Justice! in what store thou heap’st      
New pains, new troubles, as I here beheld.           20   
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.           25   
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 forthwith      
Roll’d them back voluble, turning again;      
Exclaiming these, “Why holdest thou so fast?”           30   
Those answering, “And why castest 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,           35   
Conflicting met again. At sight whereof      
I, 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 all           40   
In mind were so distorted, that they made,      
According to due measure, of their wealth      
No use. This clearly from their words collect,      
Which they howl forth, at each extremity      
Arriving of the circle, where their crime           45   
Contrary in kind disparts them. To the Church      
Were separate those, that with no hairy cowls      
Are crowned, both Popes and Cardinals, o’er whom      
Avarice dominion absolute maintains.”      
  I then: “’Mid such as these some needs must be,           50   
Whom I shall recognize, that with the blot      
Of 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.           55   
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 world      
Deprived, and set them at this strife, which needs           60   
No 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,           65   
Or ever hath been, of these toil-worn souls      
Might 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.”           70   
  He thus: “O beings blind! what ignorance      
Besets you! Now my judgment hear and mark.      
He, whose transcendent wisdom passes all,      
The heavens creating, gave them ruling powers      
To guide them; so that each part shines to each,           75   
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 hand      
And general minister, which, at due time,           80   
May change the empty vantages of life      
From 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           85   
Decrees, from us conceal’d, as in the grass      
The serpent train. Against her nought avails      
Your utmost wisdom. She with foresight plans,      
Judges, and carries on her reign, as theirs      
The other powers divine. Her changes know           90   
None intermission: by necessity      
She is made swift, so frequent come who claim      
Succession in her favors. This is she,      
So execrated e’en by those whose debt      
To her is rather praise: they wrongfully           95   
With blame requite her, and with evil word;      
But she is blessed, and for that recks not:      
Amidst the other primal beings glad      
Rolls on her sphere, and in her bliss exults.      
Now on our way pass we, to heavier woe           100   
Descending: for each star is falling now,      
That mounted at our entrance, and forbids      
Too long our tarrying.” We the circle cross’d      
To the next steep, arriving at a well,      
That boiling pours itself down to a foss           105   
Sluiced from its source. Far murkier was the wave      
Than sablest grain: and we in company      
Of the inky waters, journeying by their side,      
Enter’d, though by a different track, beneath.      
Into a lake, the Stygian named, expands           110   
The dismal stream, when it hath reach’d the foot      
Of the gray wither’d cliffs. Intent I stood      
To gaze, and in the marish sunk descried      
A miry tribe, all naked, and with looks      
Betokening rage. They with their hands alone           115   
Struck 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 underneath           120   
The water dwells a multitude, whose sighs      
Into 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,           125   
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 route      
Thus compass’d we, a segment widely stretch’d           130   
Between the dry embankment, and the core      
Of the loath’d pool, turning meanwhile our eyes      
Downward on those who gulp’d its muddy lees;      
Nor stopp’d, till to a tower’s low base we came.      
   
Note 1. “Pape Satan, Pape Satan, aleppe;” words without meaning

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 ere      
We reach’d the lofty turret’s base, our eyes      
Its height ascended, where we mark’d uphung      
Two cressets, and another saw from far      
Return the signal, so remote, that scarce           5   
The eye could catch its beam. I, turning round      
To the deep source of knowledge, thus inquired:      
“Say what this means; and what, that other light      
In answer set: what agency doth this?”      
  “There on the filthy waters,” he replied,           10   
“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 spied           15   
Toward us coming, under the sole sway      
Of one that ferried it, who cried aloud:      
“Art thou arrived, fell spirit?”—“Phlegyas, Phlegyas, 1      
This time thou criest in vain,” my lord replied;      
“No longer shalt thou have us, but while o’er           20   
The slimy pool we pass.” As one who hears      
Of some great wrong he hath sustain’d, whereat      
Inly he pines: so Phlegyas inly pined      
In his fierce ire. My guide, descending, stepp’d      
Into the skiff, and bade me enter next,           25   
Close at his side; nor, till my entrance, seem’d      
The 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,           30   
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 straight replied.           35   
  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 forth      
Hands to the bark; whereof my teacher sage      
Aware, thrusting him back: “Away! down there           40   
To the other dogs!” then, with his arms my neck      
Encircling, kiss’d my cheek, and spake: “O soul,      
Justly disdainful! blest was she in whom      
Thou wast conceived. He in the world was one      
For arrogance noted: to his memory           45   
No virtue lends its lustre; even so      
Here 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.”           50   
  I then: “Master! him fain would I behold      
Whelm’d in these dregs, before we quit the lake.”      
  He thus: “Or ever to thy view the shore      
Be offer’d, satisfied shall be that wish,      
Which well deserves completion.” Scarce his words           55   
Were ended, when I saw the miry tribes      
Set on him with such violence, that yet      
For that render I thanks to God, and praise.      
“To Filippo Argenti!” 2 cried they all:      
And on himself the moody Florentine           60   
Turn’d his avenging fangs. Him here we left,      
Nor speak I of him more. But on mine ear      
Sudden a sound of lamentation smote,      
Whereat mine eye unbarr’d I sent abroad.      
  And thus the good instructor: “Now, my son           65   
Draws 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 fire           70   
Had issued.” He replied: “Eternal fire,      
That inward burns, shows them with ruddy flame      
Illumed; as in this nether Hell thou seest.”      
  We came within the fosses deep, that moat      
This region comfortless. The walls appear’d           75   
As they were framed of iron. We had made      
Wide circuit, ere a place we reach’d, where loud      
The mariner cried vehement: “Go forth:      
The entrance is here.” Upon the gates I spied      
More than a thousand, who of old from Heaven           80   
Were shower’d. With ireful gestures, “Who is this,”      
They cried, “that, without death first felt, goes through      
The regions of the dead?” My sapient guide      
Made sign that he for secret parley wish’d;      
Whereat their angry scorn abating, thus           85   
They spake: “Come thou alone; and let him go,      
Who hath so hardily enter’d this realm.      
Alone return he by his witless way;      
If well he knew it, let him prove. For thee,      
Here shalt thou tarry, who through clime so dark           90   
Hast been his escort.” Now bethink thee, reader!      
What cheer was mine at sound of those curst words.      
I did believe I never should return.      
  “O my loved guide! who more than seven times 3      
Security hast render’d me, and drawn           95   
From 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,           100   
Replied: “Fear not: for of our passage none      
Hath power to disappoint us, by such high      
Authority permitted. But do thou      
Expect me here; meanwhile, thy wearied spirit      
Comfort, and feed with kindly hope, assured           105   
I will not leave thee in this lower world.”      
This said, departs the sire benevolent,      
And quits me. Hesitating I remain      
At war, ’twixt will and will not, in my thoughts.      
  I could not hear what terms he offer’d them,           110   
But they conferr’d not long, for all at once      
Pellmell rush’d back within. Closed were the gates,      
By those our adversaries, on the breast      
Of my liege lord: excluded, he return’d      
To me with tardy steps. Upon the ground           115   
His eyes were bent, and from his brow erased      
All confidence, while thus in sighs he spake:      
“Who hath denied me these abodes of woe?”      
Then thus to me: “That I am anger’d, think      
No ground of terror: in this trial I           120   
Shall vanquish, use what arts they may within      
For hindrance. This their insolence, not new, 4      
Erewhile at gate less secret they display’d,      
Which still is without bolt; upon its arch      
Thou saw’st the deadly scroll: and even now,           125   
On this side of its entrance, down the steep,      
Passing the circles, unescorted, comes      
One whose strong might can open us this land.”      
    
Note 1. Phlegyas, so incensed against Apollo for having violated his daughter Coronis, that he set fire to the temple of that deity, by whose vengeance he was cast into Tartarus. See Virgil, Æneas, 1. vi. 618. [back]   
Note 2. Boccaccio tells us, “he was a man remarkable for the large proportions and extraordinary vigor of his bodily frame, and the extreme waywardness and irascibility of his temper.”—“Decameron,” G. ix. N. 8. [back]   
Note 3. Seven times.” The commentators, says Venturi, perplex themselves with the inquiry what seven perils these were from which Dante had been delivered by Virgil. Reckoning the beasts in the first Canto as one of them, and adding Charon, Minos, Cerberus, Plutus, Phlegyas, and Filippo Argenti, as so many others, we shall have the number; and if this be not satisfactory, we may suppose a determinate to have been put for an indeterminate number. [back]   
Note 4. Virgil assures our poet that these evil spirits had formerly shown the same insolence when our Saviour descended into hell. They attempted to prevent him from entering at the gate, over which Dante had read the fatal inscription. “That gate which,” says the Roman poet, “an angel had just passed, by whose aid we shall overcome this opposition, and gain admittance into the city.”