Divine Comedy, Longfellow's Translation, Complete · Dante Alighieri
INFERNO
Inferno: Canto I Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, For the straightforward pathway had been lost. Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say What was this forest savage, rough, and stern, Which in the very thought renews the fear. So bitter is it, death is little more; But of the good to treat, which there I found, Speak will I of the other things I saw there. I cannot well repeat how there I entered, So full was I of slumber at the moment In which I had abandoned the true way. But after I had reached a mountain’s foot, At that point where the valley terminated, Which had with consternation pierced my heart, Upward I looked, and I beheld its shoulders, Vested already with that planet’s rays Which leadeth others right by every road. Then was the fear a little quieted That in my heart’s lake had endured throughout The night, which I had passed so piteously. And even as he, who, with distressful breath, Forth issued from the sea upon the shore, Turns to the water perilous and gazes; So did my soul, that still was fleeing onward, Turn itself back to re-behold the pass Which never yet a living person left. After my weary body I had rested, The way resumed I on the desert slope, So that the firm foot ever was the lower.
And lo! almost where the ascent began, A panther light and swift exceedingly, Which with a spotted skin was covered o’er! And never moved she from before my face, Nay, rather did impede so much my way, That many times I to return had turned. The time was the beginning of the morning, And up the sun was mounting with those stars That with him were, what time the Love Divine At first in motion set those beauteous things; So were to me occasion of good hope, The variegated skin of that wild beast, The hour of time, and the delicious season; But not so much, that did not give me fear A lion’s aspect which appeared to me. He seemed as if against me he were coming With head uplifted, and with ravenous hunger, So that it seemed the air was afraid of him; And a she-wolf, that with all hungerings Seemed to be laden in her meagreness, And many folk has caused to live forlorn! She brought upon me so much heaviness, With the affright that from her aspect came, That I the hope relinquished of the height. And as he is who willingly acquires, And the time comes that causes him to lose, Who weeps in all his thoughts and is despondent, E’en such made me that beast withouten peace, Which, coming on against me by degrees Thrust me back thither where the sun is silent.
While I was rushing downward to the lowland, Before mine eyes did one present himself, Who seemed from long-continued silence hoarse. When I beheld him in the desert vast, “Have pity on me,” unto him I cried, “Whiche’er thou art, or shade or real man!” He answered me: “Not man; man once I was, And both my parents were of Lombardy, And Mantuans by country both of them. ‘Sub Julio’ was I born, though it was late, And lived at Rome under the good Augustus, During the time of false and lying gods. A poet was I, and I sang that just Son of Anchises, who came forth from Troy, After that Ilion the superb was burned. But thou, why goest thou back to such annoyance? Why climb’st thou not the Mount Delectable, Which is the source and cause of every joy?” “Now, art thou that Virgilius and that fountain Which spreads abroad so wide a river of speech?” I made response to him with bashful forehead. “O, of the other poets honour and light, Avail me the long study and great love That have impelled me to explore thy volume! Thou art my master, and my author thou, Thou art alone the one from whom I took The beautiful style that has done honour to me. Behold the beast, for which I have turned back; Do thou protect me from her, famous Sage, For she doth make my veins and pulses tremble.”
To whom, then, if thou wishest to ascend, A soul shall be for that than I more worthy; With her at my departure I will leave thee; Because that Emperor, who reigns above, In that I was rebellious to his law, Wills that through me none come into his city. He governs everywhere, and there he reigns; There is his city and his lofty throne; O happy he whom thereto he elects!” And I to him: “Poet, I thee entreat, By that same God whom thou didst never know, So that I may escape this woe and worse, Thou wouldst conduct me there where thou hast said, That I may see the portal of Saint Peter, And those thou makest so disconsolate.” Then he moved on, and I behind him followed. Inferno: Canto II Day was departing, and the embrowned air Released the animals that are on earth From their fatigues; and I the only one Made myself ready to sustain the war, Both of the way and likewise of the woe, Which memory that errs not shall retrace. O Muses, O high genius, now assist me! O memory, that didst write down what I saw, Here thy nobility shall be manifest! And I began: “Poet, who guidest me, Regard my manhood, if it be sufficient, Ere to the arduous pass thou dost confide me.
Thou sayest, that of Silvius the parent, While yet corruptible, unto the world Immortal went, and was there bodily. But if the adversary of all evil Was courteous, thinking of the high effect That issue would from him, and who, and what, To men of intellect unmeet it seems not; For he was of great Rome, and of her empire In the empyreal heaven as father chosen; The which and what, wishing to speak the truth, Were stablished as the holy place, wherein Sits the successor of the greatest Peter. Upon this journey, whence thou givest him vaunt, Things did he hear, which the occasion were Both of his victory and the papal mantle. Thither went afterwards the Chosen Vessel, To bring back comfort thence unto that Faith, Which of salvation’s way is the beginning. But I, why thither come, or who concedes it? I not Aeneas am, I am not Paul, Nor I, nor others, think me worthy of it. Therefore, if I resign myself to come, I fear the coming may be ill-advised; Thou’rt wise, and knowest better than I speak.” And as he is, who unwills what he willed, And by new thoughts doth his intention change, So that from his design he quite withdraws, Such I became, upon that dark hillside, Because, in thinking, I consumed the emprise, Which was so very prompt in the beginning.
“If I have well thy language understood,” Replied that shade of the Magnanimous, “Thy soul attainted is with cowardice, Which many times a man encumbers so, It turns him back from honoured enterprise, As false sight doth a beast, when he is shy. That thou mayst free thee from this apprehension, I’ll tell thee why I came, and what I heard At the first moment when I grieved for thee. Among those was I who are in suspense, And a fair, saintly Lady called to me In such wise, I besought her to command me. Her eyes where shining brighter than the Star; And she began to say, gentle and low, With voice angelical, in her own language: ‘O spirit courteous of Mantua, Of whom the fame still in the world endures, And shall endure, long-lasting as the world; A friend of mine, and not the friend of fortune, Upon the desert slope is so impeded Upon his way, that he has turned through terror, And may, I fear, already be so lost, That I too late have risen to his succour, From that which I have heard of him in Heaven. Bestir thee now, and with thy speech ornate, And with what needful is for his release, Assist him so, that I may be consoled. Beatrice am I, who do bid thee go; I come from there, where I would fain return; Love moved me, which compelleth me to speak.
When I shall be in presence of my Lord, Full often will I praise thee unto him.’ Then paused she, and thereafter I began: ‘O Lady of virtue, thou alone through whom The human race exceedeth all contained Within the heaven that has the lesser circles, So grateful unto me is thy commandment, To obey, if ’twere already done, were late; No farther need’st thou ope to me thy wish. But the cause tell me why thou dost not shun The here descending down into this centre, From the vast place thou burnest to return to.’ ‘Since thou wouldst fain so inwardly discern, Briefly will I relate,’ she answered me, ‘Why I am not afraid to enter here. Of those things only should one be afraid Which have the power of doing others harm; Of the rest, no; because they are not fearful. God in his mercy such created me That misery of yours attains me not, Nor any flame assails me of this burning. A gentle Lady is in Heaven, who grieves At this impediment, to which I send thee, So that stern judgment there above is broken. In her entreaty she besought Lucia, And said, “Thy faithful one now stands in need Of thee, and unto thee I recommend him.” Lucia, foe of all that cruel is, Hastened away, and came unto the place Where I was sitting with the ancient Rachel.
“O she compassionate, who succoured me, And courteous thou, who hast obeyed so soon The words of truth which she addressed to thee! Thou hast my heart so with desire disposed To the adventure, with these words of thine, That to my first intent I have returned. Now go, for one sole will is in us both, Thou Leader, and thou Lord, and Master thou.” Thus said I to him; and when he had moved, I entered on the deep and savage way. Inferno: Canto III “Through me the way is to the city dolent; Through me the way is to eternal dole; Through me the way among the people lost. Justice incited my sublime Creator; Created me divine Omnipotence, The highest Wisdom and the primal Love. Before me there were no created things, Only eterne, and I eternal last. All hope abandon, ye who enter in!” These words in sombre colour I beheld Written upon the summit of a gate; Whence I: “Their sense is, Master, hard to me!” And he to me, as one experienced: “Here all suspicion needs must be abandoned, All cowardice must needs be here extinct. We to the place have come, where I have told thee Thou shalt behold the people dolorous Who have foregone the good of intellect.” And after he had laid his hand on mine With joyful mien, whence I was comforted, He led me in among the secret things.
There sighs, complaints, and ululations loud Resounded through the air without a star, Whence I, at the beginning, wept thereat. Languages diverse, horrible dialects, Accents of anger, words of agony, And voices high and hoarse, with sound of hands, Made up a tumult that goes whirling on For ever in that air for ever black, Even as the sand doth, when the whirlwind breathes. And I, who had my head with horror bound, Said: “Master, what is this which now I hear? What folk is this, which seems by pain so vanquished?” And he to me: “This miserable mode Maintain the melancholy souls of those Who lived withouten infamy or praise. Commingled are they with that caitiff choir Of Angels, who have not rebellious been, Nor faithful were to God, but were for self. The heavens expelled them, not to be less fair; Nor them the nethermore abyss receives, For glory none the damned would have from them.” And I: “O Master, what so grievous is To these, that maketh them lament so sore?” He answered: “I will tell thee very briefly. These have no longer any hope of death; And this blind life of theirs is so debased, They envious are of every other fate. No fame of them the world permits to be; Misericord and Justice both disdain them. Let us not speak of them, but look, and pass.”
And I, who looked again, beheld a banner, Which, whirling round, ran on so rapidly, That of all pause it seemed to me indignant; And after it there came so long a train Of people, that I ne’er would have believed That ever Death so many had undone. When some among them I had recognised, I looked, and I beheld the shade of him Who made through cowardice the great refusal. Forthwith I comprehended, and was certain, That this the sect was of the caitiff wretches Hateful to God and to his enemies. These miscreants, who never were alive, Were naked, and were stung exceedingly By gadflies and by hornets that were there. These did their faces irrigate with blood, Which, with their tears commingled, at their feet By the disgusting worms was gathered up. And when to gazing farther I betook me. People I saw on a great river’s bank; Whence said I: “Master, now vouchsafe to me, That I may know who these are, and what law Makes them appear so ready to pass over, As I discern athwart the dusky light.” And he to me: “These things shall all be known To thee, as soon as we our footsteps stay Upon the dismal shore of Acheron.” Then with mine eyes ashamed and downward cast, Fearing my words might irksome be to him, From speech refrained I till we reached the river.
And lo! towards us coming in a boat An old man, hoary with the hair of eld, Crying: “Woe unto you, ye souls depraved! Hope nevermore to look upon the heavens; I come to lead you to the other shore, To the eternal shades in heat and frost. And thou, that yonder standest, living soul, Withdraw thee from these people, who are dead!” But when he saw that I did not withdraw, He said: “By other ways, by other ports Thou to the shore shalt come, not here, for passage; A lighter vessel needs must carry thee.” And unto him the Guide: “Vex thee not, Charon; It is so willed there where is power to do That which is willed; and farther question not.” Thereat were quieted the fleecy cheeks Of him the ferryman of the livid fen, Who round about his eyes had wheels of flame. But all those souls who weary were and naked Their colour changed and gnashed their teeth together, As soon as they had heard those cruel words. God they blasphemed and their progenitors, The human race, the place, the time, the seed Of their engendering and of their birth! Thereafter all together they drew back, Bitterly weeping, to the accursed shore, Which waiteth every man who fears not God. Charon the demon, with the eyes of glede, Beckoning to them, collects them all together, Beats with his oar whoever lags behind.
That they sinned not; and if they merit had, ’Tis not enough, because they had not baptism Which is the portal of the Faith thou holdest; And if they were before Christianity, In the right manner they adored not God; And among such as these am I myself. For such defects, and not for other guilt, Lost are we and are only so far punished, That without hope we live on in desire.” Great grief seized on my heart when this I heard, Because some people of much worthiness I knew, who in that Limbo were suspended. “Tell me, my Master, tell me, thou my Lord,” Began I, with desire of being certain Of that Faith which o’ercometh every error, “Came any one by his own merit hence, Or by another’s, who was blessed thereafter?” And he, who understood my covert speech, Replied: “I was a novice in this state, When I saw hither come a Mighty One, With sign of victory incoronate. Hence he drew forth the shade of the First Parent, And that of his son Abel, and of Noah, Of Moses the lawgiver, and the obedient Abraham, patriarch, and David, king, Israel with his father and his children, And Rachel, for whose sake he did so much, And others many, and he made them blessed; And thou must know, that earlier than these Never were any human spirits saved.”
We ceased not to advance because he spake, But still were passing onward through the forest, The forest, say I, of thick-crowded ghosts. Not very far as yet our way had gone This side the summit, when I saw a fire That overcame a hemisphere of darkness. We were a little distant from it still, But not so far that I in part discerned not That honourable people held that place. “O thou who honourest every art and science, Who may these be, which such great honour have, That from the fashion of the rest it parts them?” And he to me: “The honourable name, That sounds of them above there in thy life, Wins grace in Heaven, that so advances them.” In the mean time a voice was heard by me: “All honour be to the pre-eminent Poet; His shade returns again, that was departed.” After the voice had ceased and quiet was, Four mighty shades I saw approaching us; Semblance had they nor sorrowful nor glad. To say to me began my gracious Master: “Him with that falchion in his hand behold, Who comes before the three, even as their lord. That one is Homer, Poet sovereign; He who comes next is Horace, the satirist; The third is Ovid, and the last is Lucan. Because to each of these with me applies The name that solitary voice proclaimed, They do me honour, and in that do well.”
I saw Camilla and Penthesilea On the other side, and saw the King Latinus, Who with Lavinia his daughter sat; I saw that Brutus who drove Tarquin forth, Lucretia, Julia, Marcia, and Cornelia, And saw alone, apart, the Saladin. When I had lifted up my brows a little, The Master I beheld of those who know, Sit with his philosophic family. All gaze upon him, and all do him honour. There I beheld both Socrates and Plato, Who nearer him before the others stand; Democritus, who puts the world on chance, Diogenes, Anaxagoras, and Thales, Zeno, Empedocles, and Heraclitus; Of qualities I saw the good collector, Hight Dioscorides; and Orpheus saw I, Tully and Livy, and moral Seneca, Euclid, geometrician, and Ptolemy, Galen, Hippocrates, and Avicenna, Averroes, who the great Comment made. I cannot all of them pourtray in full, Because so drives me onward the long theme, That many times the word comes short of fact. The sixfold company in two divides; Another way my sapient Guide conducts me Forth from the quiet to the air that trembles; And to a place I come where nothing shines. Inferno: Canto V Thus I descended out of the first circle Down to the second, that less space begirds, And so much greater dole, that goads to wailing. There standeth Minos horribly, and snarls; Examines the transgressions at the entrance; Judges, and sends according as he girds him.
I say, that when the spirit evil-born Cometh before him, wholly it confesses; And this discriminator of transgressions Seeth what place in Hell is meet for it; Girds himself with his tail as many times As grades he wishes it should be thrust down. Always before him many of them stand; They go by turns each one unto the judgment; They speak, and hear, and then are downward hurled. “O thou, that to this dolorous hostelry Comest,” said Minos to me, when he saw me, Leaving the practice of so great an office, “Look how thou enterest, and in whom thou trustest; Let not the portal’s amplitude deceive thee.” And unto him my Guide: “Why criest thou too? Do not impede his journey fate-ordained; It is so willed there where is power to do That which is willed; and ask no further question.” And now begin the dolesome notes to grow Audible unto me; now am I come There where much lamentation strikes upon me. I came into a place mute of all light, Which bellows as the sea does in a tempest, If by opposing winds ’t is combated. The infernal hurricane that never rests Hurtles the spirits onward in its rapine; Whirling them round, and smiting, it molests them. When they arrive before the precipice, There are the shrieks, the plaints, and the laments, There they blaspheme the puissance divine.
I understood that unto such a torment The carnal malefactors were condemned, Who reason subjugate to appetite. And as the wings of starlings bear them on In the cold season in large band and full, So doth that blast the spirits maledict; It hither, thither, downward, upward, drives them; No hope doth comfort them for evermore, Not of repose, but even of lesser pain. And as the cranes go chanting forth their lays, Making in air a long line of themselves, So saw I coming, uttering lamentations, Shadows borne onward by the aforesaid stress. Whereupon said I: “Master, who are those People, whom the black air so castigates?” “The first of those, of whom intelligence Thou fain wouldst have,” then said he unto me, “The empress was of many languages. To sensual vices she was so abandoned, That lustful she made licit in her law, To remove the blame to which she had been led. She is Semiramis, of whom we read That she succeeded Ninus, and was his spouse; She held the land which now the Sultan rules. The next is she who killed herself for love, And broke faith with the ashes of Sichaeus; Then Cleopatra the voluptuous.” Helen I saw, for whom so many ruthless Seasons revolved; and saw the great Achilles, Who at the last hour combated with Love.
Paris I saw, Tristan; and more than a thousand Shades did he name and point out with his finger, Whom Love had separated from our life. After that I had listened to my Teacher, Naming the dames of eld and cavaliers, Pity prevailed, and I was nigh bewildered. And I began: “O Poet, willingly Speak would I to those two, who go together, And seem upon the wind to be so light.” And, he to me: “Thou’lt mark, when they shall be Nearer to us; and then do thou implore them By love which leadeth them, and they will come.” Soon as the wind in our direction sways them, My voice uplift I: “O ye weary souls! Come speak to us, if no one interdicts it.” As turtle-doves, called onward by desire, With open and steady wings to the sweet nest Fly through the air by their volition borne, So came they from the band where Dido is, Approaching us athwart the air malign, So strong was the affectionate appeal. “O living creature gracious and benignant, Who visiting goest through the purple air Us, who have stained the world incarnadine, If were the King of the Universe our friend, We would pray unto him to give thee peace, Since thou hast pity on our woe perverse. Of what it pleases thee to hear and speak, That will we hear, and we will speak to you, While silent is the wind, as it is now.
Sitteth the city, wherein I was born, Upon the sea-shore where the Po descends To rest in peace with all his retinue. Love, that on gentle heart doth swiftly seize, Seized this man for the person beautiful That was ta’en from me, and still the mode offends me. Love, that exempts no one beloved from loving, Seized me with pleasure of this man so strongly, That, as thou seest, it doth not yet desert me; Love has conducted us unto one death; Caina waiteth him who quenched our life!” These words were borne along from them to us. As soon as I had heard those souls tormented, I bowed my face, and so long held it down Until the Poet said to me: “What thinkest?” When I made answer, I began: “Alas! How many pleasant thoughts, how much desire, Conducted these unto the dolorous pass!” Then unto them I turned me, and I spake, And I began: “Thine agonies, Francesca, Sad and compassionate to weeping make me. But tell me, at the time of those sweet sighs, By what and in what manner Love conceded, That you should know your dubious desires?” And she to me: “There is no greater sorrow Than to be mindful of the happy time In misery, and that thy Teacher knows. But, if to recognise the earliest root Of love in us thou hast so great desire, I will do even as he who weeps and speaks.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.