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Published by BoD - Books on Demand, Norderstedt
ISBN: 9783748108306
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Table of contents
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 XVII
CANTO XXVIII
CANTO XXIX
CANTO XXX
CANTO XXXI
CANTO XXXII
CANTO XXXIII
CANTO XXXIV
CANTO I
IN
the midway 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,
Which to remember only, my dismay
Renews, in bitterness
not far from death.
Yet to discourse of what there good
befell,
All else will I relate discover'd there.
How first I
enter'd it I scarce can say,
Such sleepy dullness in that instant
weigh'd
My senses down, when the true path I left,
But when a
mountain's foot I reach'd, where clos'd
The valley, that had
pierc'd my heart with dread,
I look'd aloft, and saw his shoulders
broad
Already vested with that planet's beam,
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 pass'd:
And as a man, with difficult
short breath,
Forespent with toiling, 'scap'd 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,
That none hath pass'd and liv'd. My
weary frame
After short pause recomforted, again
I journey'd on
over that lonely steep,
The
hinder foot still firmer. Scarce the ascent
Began, when, lo!
a panther, nimble, light,
And cover'd with a speckled skin,
appear'd,
Nor, when it saw me, vanish'd, rather strove
To check
my onward going; that ofttimes
With purpose to retrace my steps I
turn'd.
The hour was morning's prime, and on his way
Aloft
the sun ascended with those stars,
That with him rose, when Love
divine first mov'd
Those its fair works: so that with joyous
hope
All things conspir'd to fill me, the gay skin
Of that
swift animal, the matin dawn
And the sweet season. Soon that
joy was chas'd,
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
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'erwhelmed
me, at the sight of her appall'd,
That of the height all hope I
lost. As one,
Who with his gain elated, sees the time
When
all unwares 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
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 one of one,
Whose
voice seem'd faint through long disuse of speech.
When him in that
great desert I espied,
"Have mercy on me!" cried I
out aloud,
"Spirit! or living man! what e'er thou be!"
He
answer'd: "Now not man, man once I was,
And born of Lombard
parents, Mantuana both
By country, when the power of Julius
yet
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,
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,
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
Have conn'd it o'er. My master
thou and guide!
Thou he from whom alone I have deriv'd
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!
"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,
At whom thou criest, her
way will suffer none
To pass, and no less hindrance makes than
death:
So bad and so accursed in her kind,
That never sated is
her ravenous will,
Still after food more craving than before.
To
many an animal in wedlock vile
She fastens, and shall yet to many
more,
Until that greyhound come, who shall destroy
Her with
sharp pain. He will not life support
By earth nor its base
metals, but by love,
Wisdom, and virtue, and his land shall be
The
land 'twixt either Feltro. In his might
Shall safety to
Italia's plains arise,
For whose fair realm, Camilla, virgin
pure,
Nisus, Euryalus, and Turnus fell.
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 pond'ring
now devise,
That thou mayst follow me, and I thy guide
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; and those next view, who dwell
Content in fire, for
that they hope to come,
Whene'er the time may be, among the
blest,
Into whose regions if thou then desire
T' ascend, a
spirit worthier then I
Must lead thee, in whose charge, when I
depart,
Thou shalt be left: for that Almighty King,
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,
Whom there he chooses!" 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 saidst,
That I Saint Peter's gate may view, and
those
Who as thou tell'st, are in such dismal plight."
Onward
he mov'd, I close his steps pursu'd.
CANTO II
NOW
was the day departing, and the air,
Imbrown'd with shadows, from
their toils releas'd
All animals on earth; and I alone
Prepar'd
myself the conflict to sustain,
Both of sad pity, and that
perilous road,
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.
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,
Yet cloth'd in corruptible flesh,
among
Th' immortal tribes had entrance, and was there
Sensible
present. Yet if heaven's great Lord,
Almighty foe to ill,
such favour shew'd,
In contemplation of the high effect,
Both
what and who from him should issue forth,
It seems in reason's
judgment well deserv'd:
Sith he of Rome, and of Rome's empire
wide,
In heaven's empyreal height was chosen sire:
Both which,
if truth be spoken, were ordain'd
And 'stablish'd for the holy
place, where sits
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 also travel'd there,
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, Aeneas I nor Paul.
Myself I deem not worthy, and
none else
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 resolv'd, and with new
thoughts
Changes his purpose, from his first intent
Remov'd;
e'en such was I on that dun coast,
Wasting in thought my
enterprise, at first
So eagerly embrac'd. "If right thy
words
I scan," replied that shade magnanimous,
"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,
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, when a dame, so blest
And
lovely, I besought her to command,
Call'd me; her eyes were
brighter than the star
Of day; and she with gentle voice and
soft
Angelically tun'd her speech address'd:
"O courteous
shade of Mantua! thou whose fame
Yet lives, and shall live long as
nature lasts!
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 ris'n too late for his relief,
From what in
heaven of him I heard. Speed now,
And by thy eloquent
persuasive tongue,
And by all means for his deliverance
meet,
Assist him. So to me will comfort spring.
I who now
bid thee on this errand forth
Am Beatrice; from a place I
come.
(Note:
Beatrice. I use this word, as it is
pronounced in the
Italian, as consisting of four
syllables, of which the third is a
long one.) 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:
"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.
No need hast thou farther 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,
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 fram'd by God, thanks to his grace!
That
any suff'rance of your misery
Touches me not, nor flame of that
fierce fire
Assails me. In high heaven a blessed
dame
Besides, who mourns with such effectual grief
That
hindrance, which I send thee to remove,
That God's stern judgment
to her will inclines."
To Lucia 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,
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 lov'd thee, as to leave
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
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 honour brings."
"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 sav'd thee from the beast,
Who thy
near way across the goodly mount
Prevented. What is this
comes o'er thee then?
Why, why dost thou hang back? why in
thy breast
Harbour vile fear? why hast not courage there
And
noble daring? Since three maids so blest
Thy safety plan,
e'en in the court of heaven;
And so much certain good my words
forebode."
As florets, by the frosty air of night
Bent
down and clos'd, when day has blanch'd their leaves,
Rise all
unfolded on their spiry stems;
So was my fainting vigour new
restor'd,
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
Thou hast dispos'd me to renew
my voyage,
That my first purpose fully is resum'd.
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 mov'd,
I
enter'd on the deep and woody way.
CANTO III
"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 mov'd:
To rear me was the task of power
divine,
Supremest wisdom, and primeval love.
Before me things
create were none, save things
Eternal, and eternal I
endure.
"All
hope abandon ye who enter here."
Such characters in
colour dim I mark'd
Over a portal's lofty arch inscrib'd:
Whereat
I thus: "Master, these words import
Hard meaning." He
as one prepar'd replied:
"Here thou must all distrust behind
thee leave;
Here be vile fear extinguish'd. We are come
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.
Here sighs
with lamentations and loud moans
Resounded through the air pierc'd
by no star,
That e'en I wept at entering. Various
tongues,
Horrible languages, outcries of woe,
Accents of anger,
voices deep and hoarse,
With hands together smote that swell'd the
sounds,
Made up a tumult, that for ever whirls
Round through
that air with solid darkness stain'd,
Like to the sand that in the
whirlwind flies.
I then, with error yet encompass'd, cried:
"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
liv'd
Without or praise or blame, with that ill band
Of angels
mix'd, who nor rebellious prov'd
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 th' accursed tribe
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
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,
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
recogniz'd, I saw
And knew the shade of him, who to base
fear
Yielding, abjur'd 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,
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 farther onwards I beheld
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:
"This shalt thou know, soon as
our steps arrive
Beside the woeful 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
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,
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,
"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 't is will'd,
Where
will and power are one: ask thou no more."
Straightway in
silence fell the shaggy cheeks
Of him the boatman o'er the livid
lake,
Around whose eyes glar'd wheeling flames. Meanwhile
Those
spirits, faint and naked, color chang'd,
And gnash'd their teeth,
soon as the cruel words
They heard. God and their parents
they blasphem'd,
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 curs'd strand, that every man
must pass
Who fears not God. Charon, demoniac form,
With
eyes of burning coal, collects them all,
Beck'ning, and each, that
lingers, with his oar
Strikes. As fall off the light
autumnal leaves,
One still another following, till the
bough
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.
Thus
go they over through the umber'd wave,
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,
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."
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
Down dropp'd,
as one with sudden slumber seiz'd.
CANTO IV
BROKE
the deep slumber in my brain a crash
Of heavy thunder, that I
shook myself,
As one by main force rous'd. Risen upright,
My
rested eyes I mov'd around, and search'd
With fixed ken to know
what place it was,
Wherein I stood. For certain on the
brink
I found me of the lamentable vale,
The dread abyss, that
joins a thund'rous sound
Of plaints innumerable. Dark and
deep,
And thick with clouds o'erspread, mine eye in vain
Explor'd
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:
"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
Urges to haste." Onward, this said, he
mov'd;
And ent'ring led me with him on the bounds
Of the first
circle, that surrounds th' abyss.
Here, as mine ear could note, no
plaint was heard
Except of sighs, that made th' eternal
air
Tremble, not caus'd by tortures, but from grief
Felt by
those multitudes, many and vast,
Of men, women, and infants. Then
to me
The gentle guide: "Inquir'st thou not what spirits
Are
these, which thou beholdest? Ere thou pass
Farther, I would
thou know, that these of sin
Were blameless; and if aught they
merited,
It profits not, since baptism was not theirs,
The
portal to thy faith. If they before
The Gospel liv'd, they
serv'd not God aright;
And among such am I. For these defects,
And
for no other evil, we are lost;
"Only
so far afflicted, that we live
Desiring without hope." So
grief assail'd
My heart at hearing this, for well I knew