Divine Comedy, Longfellow's Translation, Hell · Dante Alighieri
Chapter 1
But truly, if I well discern, a little Before His coming who the mighty spoil Bore off from Dis, in the supernal circle, Upon all sides the deep and loathsome valley Trembled so, that I thought the Universe Was thrilled with love, by which there are who think The world ofttimes converted into chaos; And at that moment this primeval crag Both here and elsewhere made such overthrow. But fix thine eyes below; for draweth near The river of blood, within which boiling is Whoe’er by violence doth injure others.” O blind cupidity, O wrath insane, That spurs us onward so in our short life, And in the eternal then so badly steeps us! I saw an ample moat bent like a bow, As one which all the plain encompasses, Conformable to what my Guide had said. And between this and the embankment’s foot Centaurs in file were running, armed with arrows, As in the world they used the chase to follow. Beholding us descend, each one stood still, And from the squadron three detached themselves, With bows and arrows in advance selected; And from afar one cried: “Unto what torment Come ye, who down the hillside are descending? Tell us from there; if not, I draw the bow.” My Master said: “Our answer will we make To Chiron, near you there; in evil hour, That will of thine was evermore so hasty.”
Then touched he me, and said: “This one is Nessus, Who perished for the lovely Dejanira, And for himself, himself did vengeance take. And he in the midst, who at his breast is gazing, Is the great Chiron, who brought up Achilles; That other Pholus is, who was so wrathful. Thousands and thousands go about the moat Shooting with shafts whatever soul emerges Out of the blood, more than his crime allots.” Near we approached unto those monsters fleet; Chiron an arrow took, and with the notch Backward upon his jaws he put his beard. After he had uncovered his great mouth, He said to his companions: “Are you ware That he behind moveth whate’er he touches? Thus are not wont to do the feet of dead men.” And my good Guide, who now was at his breast, Where the two natures are together joined, Replied: “Indeed he lives, and thus alone Me it behoves to show him the dark valley; Necessity, and not delight, impels us. Some one withdrew from singing Halleluja, Who unto me committed this new office; No thief is he, nor I a thievish spirit. But by that virtue through which I am moving My steps along this savage thoroughfare, Give us some one of thine, to be with us, And who may show us where to pass the ford, And who may carry this one on his back; For ’tis no spirit that can walk the air.”
Upon his right breast Chiron wheeled about, And said to Nessus: “Turn and do thou guide them, And warn aside, if other band may meet you.” We with our faithful escort onward moved Along the brink of the vermilion boiling, Wherein the boiled were uttering loud laments. People I saw within up to the eyebrows, And the great Centaur said: “Tyrants are these, Who dealt in bloodshed and in pillaging. Here they lament their pitiless mischiefs; here Is Alexander, and fierce Dionysius Who upon Sicily brought dolorous years. That forehead there which has the hair so black Is Azzolin; and the other who is blond, Obizzo is of Esti, who, in truth, Up in the world was by his stepson slain.” Then turned I to the Poet; and he said, “Now he be first to thee, and second I.” A little farther on the Centaur stopped Above a folk, who far down as the throat Seemed from that boiling stream to issue forth. A shade he showed us on one side alone, Saying: “He cleft asunder in God’s bosom The heart that still upon the Thames is honoured.” Then people saw I, who from out the river Lifted their heads and also all the chest; And many among these I recognised. Thus ever more and more grew shallower That blood, so that the feet alone it covered; And there across the moat our passage was.
Thou comest out upon the horrible sand; Therefore look well around, and thou shalt see Things that will credence give unto my speech.” I heard on all sides lamentations uttered, And person none beheld I who might make them, Whence, utterly bewildered, I stood still. I think he thought that I perhaps might think So many voices issued through those trunks From people who concealed themselves from us; Therefore the Master said: “If thou break off Some little spray from any of these trees, The thoughts thou hast will wholly be made vain.” Then stretched I forth my hand a little forward, And plucked a branchlet off from a great thorn; And the trunk cried, “Why dost thou mangle me?” After it had become embrowned with blood, It recommenced its cry: “Why dost thou rend me? Hast thou no spirit of pity whatsoever? Men once we were, and now are changed to trees; Indeed, thy hand should be more pitiful, Even if the souls of serpents we had been.” As out of a green brand, that is on fire At one of the ends, and from the other drips And hisses with the wind that is escaping; So from that splinter issued forth together Both words and blood; whereat I let the tip Fall, and stood like a man who is afraid.
And to the world if one of you return, Let him my memory comfort, which is lying Still prostrate from the blow that envy dealt it.” Waited awhile, and then: “Since he is silent,” The Poet said to me, “lose not the time, But speak, and question him, if more may please thee.” Whence I to him: “Do thou again inquire Concerning what thou thinks’t will satisfy me; For I cannot, such pity is in my heart.” Therefore he recommenced: “So may the man Do for thee freely what thy speech implores, Spirit incarcerate, again be pleased To tell us in what way the soul is bound Within these knots; and tell us, if thou canst, If any from such members e’er is freed.” Then blew the trunk amain, and afterward The wind was into such a voice converted: “With brevity shall be replied to you. When the exasperated soul abandons The body whence it rent itself away, Minos consigns it to the seventh abyss. It falls into the forest, and no part Is chosen for it; but where Fortune hurls it, There like a grain of spelt it germinates. It springs a sapling, and a forest tree; The Harpies, feeding then upon its leaves, Do pain create, and for the pain an outlet. Like others for our spoils shall we return; But not that any one may them revest, For ’tis not just to have what one casts off.
Here we shall drag them, and along the dismal Forest our bodies shall suspended be, Each to the thorn of his molested shade.” We were attentive still unto the trunk, Thinking that more it yet might wish to tell us, When by a tumult we were overtaken, In the same way as he is who perceives The boar and chase approaching to his stand, Who hears the crashing of the beasts and branches; And two behold! upon our left-hand side, Naked and scratched, fleeing so furiously, That of the forest, every fan they broke. He who was in advance: “Now help, Death, help!” And the other one, who seemed to lag too much, Was shouting: “Lano, were not so alert Those legs of thine at joustings of the Toppo!” And then, perchance because his breath was failing, He grouped himself together with a bush. Behind them was the forest full of black She-mastiffs, ravenous, and swift of foot As greyhounds, who are issuing from the chain. On him who had crouched down they set their teeth, And him they lacerated piece by piece, Thereafter bore away those aching members. Thereat my Escort took me by the hand, And led me to the bush, that all in vain Was weeping from its bloody lacerations. “O Jacopo,” it said, “of Sant’ Andrea, What helped it thee of me to make a screen? What blame have I in thy nefarious life?”
When near him had the Master stayed his steps, He said: “Who wast thou, that through wounds so many Art blowing out with blood thy dolorous speech?” And he to us: “O souls, that hither come To look upon the shameful massacre That has so rent away from me my leaves, Gather them up beneath the dismal bush; I of that city was which to the Baptist Changed its first patron, wherefore he for this Forever with his art will make it sad. And were it not that on the pass of Arno Some glimpses of him are remaining still, Those citizens, who afterwards rebuilt it Upon the ashes left by Attila, In vain had caused their labour to be done. Of my own house I made myself a gibbet.” Inferno: Canto XIV Because the charity of my native place Constrained me, gathered I the scattered leaves, And gave them back to him, who now was hoarse. Then came we to the confine, where disparted The second round is from the third, and where A horrible form of Justice is beheld. Clearly to manifest these novel things, I say that we arrived upon a plain, Which from its bed rejecteth every plant; The dolorous forest is a garland to it All round about, as the sad moat to that; There close upon the edge we stayed our feet.
The soil was of an arid and thick sand, Not of another fashion made than that Which by the feet of Cato once was pressed. Vengeance of God, O how much oughtest thou By each one to be dreaded, who doth read That which was manifest unto mine eyes! Of naked souls beheld I many herds, Who all were weeping very miserably, And over them seemed set a law diverse. Supine upon the ground some folk were lying; And some were sitting all drawn up together, And others went about continually. Those who were going round were far the more, And those were less who lay down to their torment, But had their tongues more loosed to lamentation. O’er all the sand-waste, with a gradual fall, Were raining down dilated flakes of fire, As of the snow on Alp without a wind. As Alexander, in those torrid parts Of India, beheld upon his host Flames fall unbroken till they reached the ground. Whence he provided with his phalanxes To trample down the soil, because the vapour Better extinguished was while it was single; Thus was descending the eternal heat, Whereby the sand was set on fire, like tinder Beneath the steel, for doubling of the dole. Without repose forever was the dance Of miserable hands, now there, now here, Shaking away from off them the fresh gleeds.
“Master,” began I, “thou who overcomest All things except the demons dire, that issued Against us at the entrance of the gate, Who is that mighty one who seems to heed not The fire, and lieth lowering and disdainful, So that the rain seems not to ripen him?” And he himself, who had become aware That I was questioning my Guide about him, Cried: “Such as I was living, am I, dead. If Jove should weary out his smith, from whom He seized in anger the sharp thunderbolt, Wherewith upon the last day I was smitten, And if he wearied out by turns the others In Mongibello at the swarthy forge, Vociferating, ‘Help, good Vulcan, help!’ Even as he did there at the fight of Phlegra, And shot his bolts at me with all his might, He would not have thereby a joyous vengeance.” Then did my Leader speak with such great force, That I had never heard him speak so loud: “O Capaneus, in that is not extinguished Thine arrogance, thou punished art the more; Not any torment, saving thine own rage, Would be unto thy fury pain complete.” Then he turned round to me with better lip, Saying: “One of the Seven Kings was he Who Thebes besieged, and held, and seems to hold God in disdain, and little seems to prize him; But, as I said to him, his own despites Are for his breast the fittest ornaments.
Now follow me, and mind thou do not place As yet thy feet upon the burning sand, But always keep them close unto the wood.” Speaking no word, we came to where there gushes Forth from the wood a little rivulet, Whose redness makes my hair still stand on end. As from the Bulicame springs the brooklet, The sinful women later share among them, So downward through the sand it went its way. The bottom of it, and both sloping banks, Were made of stone, and the margins at the side; Whence I perceived that there the passage was. “In all the rest which I have shown to thee Since we have entered in within the gate Whose threshold unto no one is denied, Nothing has been discovered by thine eyes So notable as is the present river, Which all the little flames above it quenches.” These words were of my Leader; whence I prayed him That he would give me largess of the food, For which he had given me largess of desire. “In the mid-sea there sits a wasted land,” Said he thereafterward, “whose name is Crete, Under whose king the world of old was chaste. There is a mountain there, that once was glad With waters and with leaves, which was called Ida; Now ’tis deserted, as a thing worn out.
Thou hast not yet through all the circle turned. Therefore if something new appear to us, It should not bring amazement to thy face.” And I again: “Master, where shall be found Lethe and Phlegethon, for of one thou’rt silent, And sayest the other of this rain is made?” “In all thy questions truly thou dost please me,” Replied he; “but the boiling of the red Water might well solve one of them thou makest. Thou shalt see Lethe, but outside this moat, There where the souls repair to lave themselves, When sin repented of has been removed.” Then said he: “It is time now to abandon The wood; take heed that thou come after me; A way the margins make that are not burning, And over them all vapours are extinguished.” Inferno: Canto XV Now bears us onward one of the hard margins, And so the brooklet’s mist o’ershadows it, From fire it saves the water and the dikes. Even as the Flemings, ’twixt Cadsand and Bruges, Fearing the flood that tow’rds them hurls itself, Their bulwarks build to put the sea to flight; And as the Paduans along the Brenta, To guard their villas and their villages, Or ever Chiarentana feel the heat; In such similitude had those been made, Albeit not so lofty nor so thick, Whoever he might be, the master made them.
Now were we from the forest so remote, I could not have discovered where it was, Even if backward I had turned myself, When we a company of souls encountered, Who came beside the dike, and every one Gazed at us, as at evening we are wont To eye each other under a new moon, And so towards us sharpened they their brows As an old tailor at the needle’s eye. Thus scrutinised by such a family, By some one I was recognised, who seized My garment’s hem, and cried out, “What a marvel!” And I, when he stretched forth his arm to me, On his baked aspect fastened so mine eyes, That the scorched countenance prevented not His recognition by my intellect; And bowing down my face unto his own, I made reply, “Are you here, Ser Brunetto?” And he: “May’t not displease thee, O my son, If a brief space with thee Brunetto Latini Backward return and let the trail go on.” I said to him: “With all my power I ask it; And if you wish me to sit down with you, I will, if he please, for I go with him.” “O son,” he said, “whoever of this herd A moment stops, lies then a hundred years, Nor fans himself when smiteth him the fire. Therefore go on; I at thy skirts will come, And afterward will I rejoin my band, Which goes lamenting its eternal doom.”
I did not dare to go down from the road Level to walk with him; but my head bowed I held as one who goeth reverently. And he began: “What fortune or what fate Before the last day leadeth thee down here? And who is this that showeth thee the way?” “Up there above us in the life serene,” I answered him, “I lost me in a valley, Or ever yet my age had been completed. But yestermorn I turned my back upon it; This one appeared to me, returning thither, And homeward leadeth me along this road.” And he to me: “If thou thy star do follow, Thou canst not fail thee of a glorious port, If well I judged in the life beautiful. And if I had not died so prematurely, Seeing Heaven thus benignant unto thee, I would have given thee comfort in the work. But that ungrateful and malignant people, Which of old time from Fesole descended, And smacks still of the mountain and the granite, Will make itself, for thy good deeds, thy foe; And it is right; for among crabbed sorbs It ill befits the sweet fig to bear fruit. Old rumour in the world proclaims them blind; A people avaricious, envious, proud; Take heed that of their customs thou do cleanse thee. Thy fortune so much honour doth reserve thee, One party and the other shall be hungry For thee; but far from goat shall be the grass.
Their litter let the beasts of Fesole Make of themselves, nor let them touch the plant, If any still upon their dunghill rise, In which may yet revive the consecrated Seed of those Romans, who remained there when The nest of such great malice it became.” “If my entreaty wholly were fulfilled,” Replied I to him, “not yet would you be In banishment from human nature placed; For in my mind is fixed, and touches now My heart the dear and good paternal image Of you, when in the world from hour to hour You taught me how a man becomes eternal; And how much I am grateful, while I live Behoves that in my language be discerned. What you narrate of my career I write, And keep it to be glossed with other text By a Lady who can do it, if I reach her. This much will I have manifest to you; Provided that my conscience do not chide me, For whatsoever Fortune I am ready. Such handsel is not new unto mine ears; Therefore let Fortune turn her wheel around As it may please her, and the churl his mattock.” My Master thereupon on his right cheek Did backward turn himself, and looked at me; Then said: “He listeneth well who noteth it.” Nor speaking less on that account, I go With Ser Brunetto, and I ask who are His most known and most eminent companions.
And he to me: “To know of some is well; Of others it were laudable to be silent, For short would be the time for so much speech. Know them in sum, that all of them were clerks, And men of letters great and of great fame, In the world tainted with the selfsame sin. Priscian goes yonder with that wretched crowd, And Francis of Accorso; and thou hadst seen there If thou hadst had a hankering for such scurf, That one, who by the Servant of the Servants From Arno was transferred to Bacchiglione, Where he has left his sin-excited nerves. More would I say, but coming and discoursing Can be no longer; for that I behold New smoke uprising yonder from the sand. A people comes with whom I may not be; Commended unto thee be my Tesoro, In which I still live, and no more I ask.” Then he turned round, and seemed to be of those Who at Verona run for the Green Mantle Across the plain; and seemed to be among them The one who wins, and not the one who loses. Inferno: Canto XVI Now was I where was heard the reverberation Of water falling into the next round, Like to that humming which the beehives make, When shadows three together started forth, Running, from out a company that passed Beneath the rain of the sharp martyrdom.
Towards us came they, and each one cried out: “Stop, thou; for by thy garb to us thou seemest To be some one of our depraved city.” Ah me! what wounds I saw upon their limbs, Recent and ancient by the flames burnt in! It pains me still but to remember it. Unto their cries my Teacher paused attentive; He turned his face towards me, and “Now wait,” He said; “to these we should be courteous. And if it were not for the fire that darts The nature of this region, I should say That haste were more becoming thee than them.” As soon as we stood still, they recommenced The old refrain, and when they overtook us, Formed of themselves a wheel, all three of them. As champions stripped and oiled are wont to do, Watching for their advantage and their hold, Before they come to blows and thrusts between them, Thus, wheeling round, did every one his visage Direct to me, so that in opposite wise His neck and feet continual journey made. And, “If the misery of this soft place Bring in disdain ourselves and our entreaties,” Began one, “and our aspect black and blistered, Let the renown of us thy mind incline To tell us who thou art, who thus securely Thy living feet dost move along through Hell.
He in whose footprints thou dost see me treading, Naked and skinless though he now may go, Was of a greater rank than thou dost think; He was the grandson of the good Gualdrada; His name was Guidoguerra, and in life Much did he with his wisdom and his sword. The other, who close by me treads the sand, Tegghiaio Aldobrandi is, whose fame Above there in the world should welcome be. And I, who with them on the cross am placed, Jacopo Rusticucci was; and truly My savage wife, more than aught else, doth harm me.” Could I have been protected from the fire, Below I should have thrown myself among them, And think the Teacher would have suffered it; But as I should have burned and baked myself, My terror overmastered my good will, Which made me greedy of embracing them. Then I began: “Sorrow and not disdain Did your condition fix within me so, That tardily it wholly is stripped off, As soon as this my Lord said unto me Words, on account of which I thought within me That people such as you are were approaching. I of your city am; and evermore Your labours and your honourable names I with affection have retraced and heard. I leave the gall, and go for the sweet fruits Promised to me by the veracious Leader; But to the centre first I needs must plunge.”
“So may the soul for a long while conduct Those limbs of thine,” did he make answer then, “And so may thy renown shine after thee, Valour and courtesy, say if they dwell Within our city, as they used to do, Or if they wholly have gone out of it; For Guglielmo Borsier, who is in torment With us of late, and goes there with his comrades, Doth greatly mortify us with his words.” “The new inhabitants and the sudden gains, Pride and extravagance have in thee engendered, Florence, so that thou weep’st thereat already!” In this wise I exclaimed with face uplifted; And the three, taking that for my reply, Looked at each other, as one looks at truth. “If other times so little it doth cost thee,” Replied they all, “to satisfy another, Happy art thou, thus speaking at thy will! Therefore, if thou escape from these dark places, And come to rebehold the beauteous stars, When it shall pleasure thee to say, ‘I was,’ See that thou speak of us unto the people.” Then they broke up the wheel, and in their flight It seemed as if their agile legs were wings. Not an Amen could possibly be said So rapidly as they had disappeared; Wherefore the Master deemed best to depart. I followed him, and little had we gone, Before the sound of water was so near us, That speaking we should hardly have been heard.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.