The Divine Comedy E-Book

Dante Alighieri

• Herausgeber: АСТ
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Great Books
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 544

Beschreibung

English edition. The Divine Comedy is the greatest work of world literature, written in the XIV century by the Italian poet Dante Alighieri, which became the pinnacle of his work, as well as one of the key texts of Western literature. The poem is divided into three parts: hell, purgatory and paradise, and describes Dante's journey, which takes the reader through the world of sins and redemption, revealing the depths of the human soul and its pursuit of truth and grace. This great work will not only captivate the reader with its storyline, but will encourage reflections on eternal themes.: the meaning of life, faith, hope, truth and destiny. The work is given without adaptation and abbreviations, translated into English. Learn English with interest!

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Данте Алигьери The Divine Comedy

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Hell or the Inferno

Canto I

In the midway of this our mortal life,I found me in a gloomy wood, astrayGone from the path direct: and e'en to tellIt were no easy task, how savage wildThat forest, how robust and rough its growth,Which to remember only, my dismayRenews, in bitterness not far from death.Yet to discourse of what there good 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'dMy senses down, when the true path I left,But when a mountain's foot I reach'd, where clos'dThe valley, that had pierc'd my heart with dread,I look'd aloft, and saw his shoulders broadAlready 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 standsAt gaze; e'en so my spirit, that yet fail'dStruggling with terror, turn'd to view the straits,That none hath pass'd and liv'd. My weary frameAfter short pause recomforted, againI journey'd on over that lonely steep,The hinder foot still firmer. Scarce the ascentBegan, when, lo! a panther, nimble, light,And cover'd with a speckled skin, appear'd,Nor, when it saw me, vanish'd, rather stroveTo check my onward going; that ofttimesWith purpose to retrace my steps I turn'd.The hour was morning's prime, and on his wayAloft the sun ascended with those stars,That with him rose, when Love divine first mov'dThose its fair works: so that with joyous hopeAll things conspir'd to fill me, the gay skinOf that swift animal, the matin dawnAnd the sweet season. Soon that joy was chas'd,And by new dread succeeded, when in viewA lion came, 'gainst me, as it appear'd,With his head held aloft and hunger-mad,That e'en the air was fear-struck. A she-wolfWas at his heels, who in her leanness seem'dFull of all wants, and many a land hath madeDisconsolate ere now. She with such fearO'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 timeWhen all unwares is gone, he inwardlyMourns with heart-griping anguish; such was I,Haunted by that fell beast, never at peace,Who coming o'er against me, by degreesImpell'd me where the sun in silence rests.While to the lower space with backward stepI fell, my ken discern'd the form 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 bothBy country, when the power of Julius yetWas scarcely firm. At Rome my life was pastBeneath the mild Augustus, in the timeOf fabled deities and false. A bardWas I, and made Anchises' upright sonThe subject of my song, who came from Troy,When the flames prey'd on Ilium's haughty towers.But thou, say wherefore to such perils pastReturn'st thou? wherefore not this pleasant mountAscendest, cause and source of all delight?”“And art thou then that Virgil, that well-spring,From which such copious floods of eloquenceHave issued?” I with front abash'd replied.“Glory and light of all the tuneful train!May it avail me that I long with zealHave sought thy volume, and with love immenseHave conn'd it o'er. My master thou and guide!Thou he from whom alone I have deriv'dThat style, which for its beauty into fameExalts me. See the beast, from whom I fled.O save me from her, thou illustrious sage!“For every vein and pulse throughout my frameShe hath made tremble.” He, soon as he sawThat I was weeping, answer'd, “Thou must needsAnother way pursue, if thou wouldst 'scapeFrom out that savage wilderness. This beast,At whom thou criest, her way will suffer noneTo 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 vileShe fastens, and shall yet to many more,Until that greyhound come, who shall destroyHer with sharp pain. He will not life supportBy earth nor its base metals, but by love,Wisdom, and virtue, and his land shall beThe land 'twixt either Feltro. In his mightShall safety to Italia's plains arise,For whose fair realm, Camilla, virgin pure,Nisus, Euryalus, and Turnus fell.He with incessant chase through every townShall worry, until he to hell at lengthRestore her, thence by envy first let loose.I for thy profit pond'ring now devise,That thou mayst follow me, and I thy guideWill lead thee hence through an eternal space,Where thou shalt hear despairing shrieks, and seeSpirits of old tormented, who invokeA second death; and those next view, who dwellContent in fire, for that they hope to come,Whene'er the time may be, among the blest,Into whose regions if thou then desireT' ascend, a spirit worthier than IMust lead thee, in whose charge, when I depart,Thou shalt be left: for that Almighty King,Who reigns above, a rebel to his 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 holdsHis 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 worseI may escape) to lead me, where thou saidst,That I Saint Peter's gate may view, and thoseWho 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'dAll animals on earth; and I alonePrepar'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 vouchsafeYour aid! O mind! that all I saw hast keptSafe in a written record, here thy worthAnd eminent endowments come to proof.I thus began: “Bard! thou who art my guide,Consider well, if virtue be in meSufficient, ere to this high enterpriseThou trust me. Thou hast told that Silvius' sire,Yet cloth'd in corruptible flesh, amongTh' immortal tribes had entrance, and was thereSensible 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'dAnd 'stablish'd for the holy place, where sitsWho to great Peter's sacred chair succeeds.He from this journey, in thy song renown'd,Learn'd things, that to his victory gave riseAnd to the papal robe. In after-timesThe chosen vessel also travel'd there,To bring us back assurance in that faith,Which is the entrance to salvation's way.But I, why should I there presume? or whoPermits it? not Aeneas I nor Paul.Myself I deem not worthy, and none elseWill deem me. I, if on this voyage thenI venture, fear it will in folly end.Thou, who art wise, better my meaning know'st,Than I can speak.” As one, who unresolvesWhat he hath late resolv'd, and with new thoughtsChanges his purpose, from his first intentRemov'd; e'en such was I on that dun coast,Wasting in thought my enterprise, at firstSo eagerly embrac'd. “If right thy wordsI scan,” replied that shade magnanimous,“Thy soul is by vile fear assail'd, which oftSo overcasts a man, that he recoilsFrom noblest resolution, like a beastAt some false semblance in the twilight gloom.That from this terror thou mayst free thyself,I will instruct thee why I came, and whatI heard in that same instant, when for theeGrief touch'd me first. I was among the tribe,Who rest suspended, when a dame, so blestAnd lovely, I besought her to command,Call'd me; her eyes were brighter than the starOf day; and she with gentle voice and softAngelically tun'd her speech address'd:“O courteous shade of Mantua! thou whose fameYet lives, and shall live long as nature lasts!A friend, not of my fortune but myself,On the wide desert in his road has metHindrance so great, that he through fear has turn'd.Now much I dread lest he past help have stray'd,And I be 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 forthAm Beatrice; from a place I come.(Note: Beatrice. I use this word, as it ispronounced in the Italian, as consisting of foursyllables, of which the third is a long one.)Revisited with joy. Love brought me thence,Who prompts my speech. When in my Master's sightI stand, thy praise to him I oft will tell.”She then was silent, and I thus began:“O Lady! by whose influence alone,Mankind excels whatever is contain'dWithin that heaven which hath the smallest orb,So thy command delights me, that to obey,If it were done already, would seem late.No need hast thou farther to speak thy will;Yet tell the reason, why thou art not lothTo leave that ample space, where to returnThou burnest, for this centre here beneath.”She then: “Since thou so deeply wouldst inquire,I will instruct thee briefly, why no dreadHinders my entrance here. Those things aloneAre to be fear'd, whence evil may proceed,None else, for none are terrible beside.I am so fram'd by God, thanks to his grace!That any suff'rance of your miseryTouches me not, nor flame of that fierce fireAssails me. In high heaven a blessed dameBesides, who mourns with such effectual griefThat 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 aidAnd I commend him to thee.” At her wordSped Lucia, of all cruelty the foe,And coming to the place, where I abodeSeated with Rachel, her of ancient days,She thus address'd me: “Thou true praise of God!Beatrice! why is not thy succour lentTo him, who so much lov'd thee, as to leaveFor thy sake all the multitude admires?Dost thou not hear how pitiful his wail,Nor mark the death, which in the torrent flood,Swoln mightier than a sea, him struggling holds?”Ne'er among men did any with such speedHaste to their profit, flee from their annoy,As when these words were spoken, I came here,Down from my blessed seat, trusting the forceOf thy pure eloquence, which thee, and allWho well have mark'd it, into honour brings.”“When she had ended, her bright beaming eyesTearful she turn'd aside; whereat I feltRedoubled zeal to serve thee. As she will'd,Thus am I come: I sav'd thee from the beast,Who thy near way across the goodly mountPrevented. What is this comes o'er thee then?Why, why dost thou hang back? why in thy breastHarbour vile fear? why hast not courage thereAnd noble daring? Since three maids so blestThy safety plan, e'en in the court of heaven;And so much certain good my words forebode.”As florets, by the frosty air of nightBent down and 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 undertookMy succour! and thou kind who didst performSo soon her true behest! With such desireThou 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 thingsEternal, and eternal I endure.“All hope abandon ye who enter here.”Such characters in colour dim I mark'dOver a portal's lofty arch inscrib'd:Whereat I thus: “Master, these words importHard meaning.” He as one prepar'd replied:“Here thou must all distrust behind thee leave;Here be vile fear extinguish'd. We are comeWhere I have told thee we shall see the soulsTo misery doom'd, who intellectual goodHave lost.” And when his hand he had stretch'd forthTo mine, with pleasant looks, whence I was cheer'd,Into that secret place he led me on.Here sighs with lamentations and loud moansResounded 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 whirlsRound 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 raceAre these, who seem so overcome with woe?”He thus to me: “This miserable fateSuffer the wretched souls of those, who liv'dWithout or praise or blame, with that ill bandOf angels mix'd, who nor rebellious prov'dNor yet were true to God, but for themselvesWere only. From his bounds Heaven drove them forth,Not to impair his lustre, nor the depthOf Hell receives them, lest th' accursed tribeShould glory thence with exultation vain.”I then: “Master! what doth aggrieve them thus,That they lament so loud?” He straight replied:“That will I tell thee briefly. These of deathNo hope may entertain: and their blind lifeSo meanly passes, that all other lotsThey envy. Fame of them the world hath none,Nor suffers; mercy and justice scorn them both.Speak not of them, but look, and pass them by.”And I, who straightway look'd, beheld a flag,Which whirling ran around so rapidly,That it no pause obtain'd: and following cameSuch a long train of spirits, I should ne'erHave thought, that death so many had despoil'd.When some of these I recogniz'd, I sawAnd knew the shade of him, who to base fearYielding, abjur'd his high estate. ForthwithI understood for certain this the tribeOf those ill spirits both to God displeasingAnd to his foes. These wretches, who ne'er lived,Went on in nakedness, and sorely stungBy wasps and hornets, which bedew'd their cheeksWith blood, that mix'd with tears dropp'd to their feet,And by disgustful worms was gather'd there.Then looking farther onwards I beheldA throng upon the shore of a great stream:Whereat I thus: “Sir! grant me now to knowWhom here we view, and whence impell'd they seemSo eager to pass o'er, as I discernThrough the blear light?” He thus to me in few:“This shalt thou know, soon as our steps arriveBeside the 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 speechAbstain'd. And lo! toward us in a barkComes on an old man hoary white with eld,Crying, “Woe to you wicked spirits! hope notEver to see the sky again. I comeTo take you to the other shore across,Into eternal darkness, there to dwellIn fierce heat and in ice. And thou, who thereStandest, live spirit! get thee hence, and leaveThese who are dead.” But soon as he beheldI left them not, “By other way,” said he,“By other haven shalt thou come to shore,Not by this passage; thee a nimbler boatMust carry.” Then to him thus spake my guide:“Charon! thyself torment not: so 't is will'd,Where will and power are one: ask thou no more.”Straightway in silence fell the shaggy cheeksOf him the boatman o'er the livid lake,Around whose eyes glar'd wheeling flames. MeanwhileThose spirits, faint and naked, color chang'd,And gnash'd their teeth, soon as the cruel wordsThey heard. God and their parents they blasphem'd,The human kind, the place, the time, and seedThat did engender them and give them birth.Then all together sorely wailing drewTo the curs'd strand, that every man must passWho fears not God. Charon, demoniac form,With eyes of burning coal, collects them all,Beck'ning, and each, that lingers, with his oarStrikes. As fall off the light autumnal leaves,One still another following, till the boughStrews all its honours on the earth beneath;E'en in like manner Adam's evil broodCast themselves one by one down from the shore,Each at a beck, as falcon at his call.Thus go they over through the umber'd wave,And ever they on the opposing bankBe landed, on this side another throngStill gathers. “Son,” thus spake the courteous guide,“Those, who die subject to the wrath of 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 fearIs turn'd into desire. Hence ne'er hath pastGood spirit. If of thee Charon complain,Now mayst thou know the import of his words.”This said, the gloomy region trembling shookSo terribly, that yet with clammy dewsFear chills my brow. The sad earth gave a blast,That, lightening, shot forth a vermilion flame,Which all my senses conquer'd quite, and IDown dropp'd, as one with sudden slumber seiz'd.

Canto IV

Broke the deep slumber in my brain a crashOf heavy thunder, that I shook myself,As one by main force rous'd. Risen upright,My rested eyes I mov'd around, and search'dWith fixed ken to know what place it was,Wherein I stood. For certain on the brinkI found me of the lamentable vale,The dread abyss, that joins a thund'rous soundOf plaints innumerable. Dark and deep,And thick with clouds o'erspread, mine eye in vainExplor'd its bottom, nor could aught discern.“Now let us to the blind world there beneathDescend;” the bard began all pale of look:“I go the first, and thou shalt follow next.”Then I his alter'd hue perceiving, thus:“How may I speed, if thou yieldest to dread,Who still art wont to comfort me in doubt?”He then: “The anguish of that race belowWith pity stains my cheek, which thou for fearMistakest. Let us on. Our length of wayUrges to haste.” Onward, this said, he mov'd;And ent'ring led me with him on the boundsOf the first circle, that surrounds th' abyss.Here, as mine ear could note, no plaint was heardExcept of sighs, that made th' eternal airTremble, not caus'd by tortures, but from griefFelt by those multitudes, many and vast,Of men, women, and infants. Then to meThe gentle guide: “Inquir'st thou not what spiritsAre these, which thou beholdest? Ere thou passFarther, I would thou know, that these of sinWere blameless; and if aught they merited,It profits not, since baptism was not theirs,The portal to thy faith. If they beforeThe 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 liveDesiring without hope.” So grief assail'dMy heart at hearing this, for well I knewSuspended in that Limbo many a soulOf mighty worth. “O tell me, sire rever'd!Tell me, my master!” I began through wishOf full assurance in that holy faith,Which vanquishes all error; “say, did e'erAny, or through his own or other's merit,Come forth from thence, whom afterward was blest?”Piercing the secret purport of my speech,He answer'd: “I was new to that estate,When I beheld a puissant one arriveAmongst us, with victorious trophy crown'd.He forth the shade of our first parent drew,Abel his child, and Noah righteous man,Of Moses lawgiver for faith approv'd,Of patriarch Abraham, and David king,Israel with his sire and with his sons,Nor without Rachel whom so hard he won,And others many more, whom he to blissExalted. Before these, be thou assur'd,No spirit of human kind was ever sav'd.”We, while he spake, ceas'd not our onward road,Still passing through the wood; for so I nameThose spirits thick beset. We were not farOn this side from the summit, when I kenn'dA flame, that o'er the darken'd hemispherePrevailing shin'd. Yet we a little spaceWere distant, not so far but I in partDiscover'd, that a tribe in honour highThat place possess'd. “O thou, who every artAnd science valu'st! who are these, that boastSuch honour, separate from all the rest?”He answer'd: “The renown of their great namesThat echoes through your world above, acquiresFavour in heaven, which holds them thus advanc'd.”Meantime a voice I heard: “Honour the bardSublime! his shade returns that left us late!”No sooner ceas'd the sound, than I beheldFour mighty spirits toward us bend their steps,Of semblance neither sorrowful nor glad.When thus my master kind began: “Mark him,Who in his right hand bears that falchion keen,The other three preceding, as their lord.This is that Homer, of all bards supreme:Flaccus the next in satire's vein excelling;The third is Naso; Lucan is the last.Because they all that appellation own,With which the voice singly accosted me,Honouring they greet me thus, and well they judge.”So I beheld united the bright schoolOf him the monarch of sublimest song,That o'er the others like an eagle soars.When they together short discourse had held,They turn'd to me, with salutation kindBeck'ning me; at the which my master smil'd:Nor was this all; but greater honour stillThey gave me, for they made me of their tribe;And I was sixth amid so learn'd a band.Far as the luminous beacon on we pass'dSpeaking of matters, then befitting wellTo speak, now fitter left untold. At footOf a magnificent castle we arriv'd,Seven times with lofty walls begirt, and roundDefended by a pleasant stream. O'er thisAs o'er dry land we pass'd. Next through seven gatesI with those sages enter'd, and we cameInto a mead with lively verdure fresh.There dwelt a race, who slow their eyes aroundMajestically mov'd, and in their portBore eminent authority; they spakeSeldom, but all their words were tuneful sweet.We to one side retir'd, into a placeOpen and bright and lofty, whence each oneStood manifest to view. IncontinentThere on the green enamel of the plainWere shown me the great spirits, by whose sightI am exalted in my own esteem.Electra there I saw accompaniedBy many, among whom Hector I knew,Anchises' pious son, and with hawk's eyeCaesar all arm'd, and by Camilla therePenthesilea. On the other sideOld King Latinus, seated by his childLavinia, and that Brutus I beheld,Who Tarquin chas'd, Lucretia, Cato's wifeMarcia, with Julia and Cornelia there;And sole apart retir'd, the Soldan fierce.Then when a little more I rais'd my brow,I spied the master of the sapient throng,Seated amid the philosophic train.Him all admire, all pay him rev'rence due.There Socrates and Plato both I mark'd,Nearest to him in rank; Democritus,Who sets the world at chance, Diogenes,With Heraclitus, and Empedocles,And Anaxagoras, and Thales sage,Zeno, and Dioscorides well readIn nature's secret lore. Orpheus I mark'dAnd Linus, Tully and moral Seneca,Euclid and Ptolemy, Hippocrates,Galenus, Avicen, and him who madeThat commentary vast, Averroes.Of all to speak at full were vain attempt;For my wide theme so urges, that ofttimesMy words fall short of what bechanc'd. In twoThe six associates part. Another wayMy sage guide leads me, from that air serene,Into a climate ever vex'd with storms:And to a part I come where no light shines.

Canto V

From the first circle I descended thusDown to the second, which, a lesser spaceEmbracing, so much more of grief containsProvoking bitter moans. There, Minos standsGrinning with ghastly feature: he, of allWho enter, strict examining the crimes,Gives sentence, and dismisses them beneath,According as he foldeth him around:For when before him comes th' ill fated soul,It all confesses; and that judge severeOf sins, considering what place in hellSuits the transgression, with his tail so oftHimself encircles, as degrees beneathHe dooms it to descend. Before him standAlways a num'rous throng; and in his turnEach one to judgment passing, speaks, and hearsHis fate, thence downward to his dwelling hurl'd.“O thou! who to this residence of woeApproachest?” when he saw me coming, criedMinos, relinquishing his dread employ,“Look how thou enter here; beware in whomThou place thy trust; let not the entrance broadDeceive thee to thy harm.” To him my guide:“Wherefore exclaimest? Hinder not his wayBy destiny appointed; so 'tis will'dWhere will and power are one. Ask thou no more.”Now 'gin the rueful wailings to be heard.Now am I come where many a plaining voiceSmites on mine ear. Into a place I cameWhere light was silent all. Bellowing there groan'dA noise as of a sea in tempest tornBy warring winds. The stormy blast of hellWith restless fury drives the spirits onWhirl'd round and dash'd amain with sore annoy.When they arrive before the ruinous sweep,There shrieks are heard, there lamentations, moans,And blasphemies 'gainst the good Power in heaven.I understood that to this torment sadThe carnal sinners are condemn'd, in whomReason by lust is sway'd. As in large troopsAnd multitudinous, when winter reigns,The starlings on their wings are borne abroad;So bears the tyrannous gust those evil souls.On this side and on that, above, below,It drives them: hope of rest to solace themIs none, nor e'en of milder pang. As cranes,Chanting their dol'rous notes, traverse the sky,Stretch'd out in long array: so I beheldSpirits, who came loud wailing, hurried onBy their dire doom. Then I: “Instructor! whoAre these, by the black air so scourg'd?” – “The first'Mong those, of whom thou question'st,” he replied,“O'er many tongues was empress. She in viceOf luxury was so shameless, that she madeLiking be lawful by promulg'd decree,To clear the blame she had herself incurr'd.This is Semiramis, of whom 'tis writ,That she succeeded Ninus her espous'd;And held the land, which now the Soldan rules.The next in amorous fury slew herself,And to Sicheus' ashes broke her faith:Then follows Cleopatra, lustful queen.”There mark'd I Helen, for whose sake so longThe time was fraught with evil; there the greatAchilles, who with love fought to the end.Paris I saw, and Tristan; and besideA thousand more he show'd me, and by namePointed them out, whom love bereav'd of life.When I had heard my sage instructor nameThose dames and knights of antique days, o'erpower'dBy pity, well-nigh in amaze my mindWas lost; and I began: “Bard! willinglyI would address those two together coming,Which seem so light before the wind.” He thus:“Note thou, when nearer they to us approach.“Then by that love which carries them along,Entreat; and they will come.” Soon as the windSway'd them toward us, I thus fram'd my speech:“O wearied spirits! come, and hold discourseWith us, if by none else restrain'd.” As dovesBy fond desire invited, on wide wingsAnd firm, to their sweet nest returning home,Cleave the air, wafted by their will along;Thus issu'd from that troop, where Dido ranks,They through the ill air speeding; with such forceMy cry prevail'd by strong affection urg'd.“O gracious creature and benign! who go'stVisiting, through this element obscure,Us, who the world with bloody stain imbru'd;If for a friend the King of all we own'd,Our pray'r to him should for thy peace arise,Since thou hast pity on our evil plight.Of whatsoe'er to hear or to discourseIt pleases thee, that will we hear, of thatFreely with thee discourse, while e'er the wind,As now, is mute. The land, that gave me birth,Is situate on the coast, where Po descendsTo rest in ocean with his sequent streams.“Love, that in gentle heart is quickly learnt,Entangled him by that fair form, from meTa'en in such cruel sort, as grieves me still:Love, that denial takes from none belov'd,Caught me with pleasing him so passing well,That, as thou see'st, he yet deserts me not.“Love brought us to one death: Caina waitsThe soul, who spilt our life.” Such were their words;At hearing which downward I bent my looks,And held them there so long, that the bard cried:“What art thou pond'ring?” I in answer thus:“Alas! by what sweet thoughts, what fond desireMust they at length to that ill pass have reach'd!”Then turning, I to them my speech address'd.And thus began: “Francesca! your sad fateEven to tears my grief and pity moves.But tell me; in the time of your sweet sighs,By what, and how love granted, that ye knewYour yet uncertain wishes?” She replied:“No greater grief than to remember daysOf joy, when mis'ry is at hand! That kensThy learn'd instructor. Yet so eagerlyIf thou art bent to know the primal root,From whence our love gat being, I will do,As one, who weeps and tells his tale. One dayFor our delight we read of Lancelot,How him love thrall'd. Alone we were, and noSuspicion near us. Ofttimes by that readingOur eyes were drawn together, and the hueFled from our alter'd cheek. But at one pointAlone we fell. When of that smile we read,The wished smile, rapturously kiss'dBy one so deep in love, then he, who ne'erFrom me shall separate, at once my lipsAll trembling kiss'd. The book and writer bothWere love's purveyors. In its leaves that dayWe read no more.” While thus one spirit spake,The other wail'd so sorely, that heartstruckI through compassion fainting, seem'd not farFrom death, and like a corpse fell to the ground.

Canto VI

My sense reviving, that erewhile had droop'dWith pity for the kindred shades, whence griefO'ercame me wholly, straight around I seeNew torments, new tormented souls, which waySoe'er I move, or turn, or bend my sight.In the third circle I arrive, of show'rsCeaseless, accursed, heavy, and cold, unchang'dFor ever, both in kind and in degree.Large hail, discolour'd water, sleety flawThrough the dun midnight air stream'd down amain:Stank all the land whereon that tempest fell.Cerberus, cruel monster, fierce and strange,Through his wide threefold throat barks as a dogOver the multitude immers'd beneath.His eyes glare crimson, black his unctuous beard,His belly large, and claw'd the hands, with whichHe tears the spirits, flays them, and their limbsPiecemeal disparts. Howling there spread, as curs,Under the rainy deluge, with one sideThe other screening, oft they roll them round,A wretched, godless crew. When that great wormDescried us, savage Cerberus, he op'dHis jaws, and the fangs show'd us; not a limbOf him but trembled. Then my guide, his palmsExpanding on the ground, thence filled with earthRais'd them, and cast it in his ravenous maw.E'en as a dog, that yelling bays for foodHis keeper, when the morsel comes, lets fallHis fury, bent alone with eager hasteTo swallow it; so dropp'd the loathsome cheeksOf demon Cerberus, who thund'ring stunsThe spirits, that they for deafness wish in vain.We, o'er the shades thrown prostrate by the bruntOf the heavy tempest passing, set our feetUpon their emptiness, that substance seem'd.They all along the earth extended laySave one, that sudden rais'd 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 fram'dOr ere my frame was broken.” I replied:“The anguish thou endur'st perchance so takesThy form from my remembrance, that it seemsAs if I saw thee never. But informMe who thou art, that in a place so sadArt set, and in such torment, that althoughOther be greater, more disgustful noneCan be imagin'd.” He in answer thus:“Thy city heap'd with envy to the brim,Ay that the measure overflows its bounds,Held me in brighter days. Ye citizensWere wont to name me Ciacco. For the sinOf glutt'ny, damned vice, beneath this rain,E'en as thou see'st, I with fatigue am worn;Nor I sole spirit in this woe: all theseHave by like crime incurr'd like punishment.”No more he said, and I my speech resum'd:“Ciacco! thy dire affliction grieves me much,Even to tears. But tell me, if thou know'st,What shall at length befall the citizensOf the divided city; whether any just oneInhabit there: and tell me of the cause,Whence jarring discord hath assail'd it thus?”He then: “After long striving they will comeTo blood; and the wild party from the woodsWill chase the other with much injury forth.Then it behoves, that this must fall, withinThree solar circles; and the other riseBy borrow'd force of one, who under shoreNow rests. It shall a long space hold aloofIts forehead, keeping under heavy weightThe other oppress'd, indignant at the load,And grieving sore. The just are two in number,But they neglected. Av'rice, envy, pride,Three fatal sparks, have set the hearts of allOn fire.” Here ceas'd the lamentable sound;And I continu'd thus: “Still would I learnMore from thee, farther parley still entreat.Of Farinata and Tegghiaio say,They who so well deserv'd, of Giacopo,Arrigo, Mosca, and the rest, who bentTheir minds on working good. Oh! tell me whereThey bide, and to their knowledge let me come.For I am press'd with keen desire to hear,If heaven's sweet cup or poisonous drug of hellBe to their lip assign'd.” He answer'd straight:“These are yet blacker spirits. Various crimesHave sunk them deeper in the dark abyss.If thou so far descendest, thou mayst see them.But to the pleasant world when thou return'st,Of me make mention, I entreat thee, there.No more I tell thee, answer thee no more.”This said, his fixed eyes he turn'd askance,A little ey'd me, then bent down his head,And 'midst his blind companions with it fell.When thus my guide: “No more his bed he leaves,Ere the last angel-trumpet blow. The PowerAdverse to these shall then in glory come,Each one forthwith to his sad tomb repair,Resume his fleshly vesture and his form,And hear the eternal doom re-echoing rendThe vault.” So pass'd we through that mixture foulOf spirits and rain, with tardy steps; meanwhileTouching, though slightly, on the life to come.For thus I question'd: “Shall these tortures, Sir!When the great sentence passes, be increas'd,Or mitigated, or as now severe?”He then: “Consult thy knowledge; that decidesThat as each thing to more perfection grows,It feels more sensibly both good and pain.Though ne'er to true perfection may arriveThis race accurs'd, yet nearer then than nowThey shall approach it.” Compassing that pathCircuitous we journeyed, and discourseMuch more than I relate between us pass'd:Till at the point, where the steps led below,Arriv'd, there Plutus, the great foe, we found.

Canto VII

“Ah me! O Satan! Satan!” loud exclaim'dPlutus, in accent hoarse of wild alarm:And the kind sage, whom no event surpris'd,To comfort me thus spake: “Let not thy fearHarm thee, for power in him, be sure, is noneTo hinder down this rock thy safe descent.”Then to that sworn lip turning, “Peace!” he cried,“Curs'd wolf! thy fury inward on thyselfPrey, and consume thee! Through the dark profoundNot without cause he passes. So 't is will'dOn high, there where the great Archangel pour'dHeav'n's vengeance on the first adulterer proud.”As sails full spread and bellying with the windDrop suddenly collaps'd, if the mast split;So to the ground down dropp'd the cruel fiend.Thus we, descending to the fourth steep ledge,Gain'd on the dismal shore, that all the woeHems in of all the universe. Ah me!Almighty Justice! in what store thou heap'stNew pains, new troubles, as I here beheld!Wherefore doth fault of ours bring us to this?E'en as a billow, on Charybdis rising,Against encounter'd billow dashing breaks;Such is the dance this wretched race must lead,Whom more than elsewhere numerous here I found,From one side and the other, with loud voice,Both roll'd on weights by main forge of their breasts,Then smote together, and each one forthwithRoll'd them back voluble, turning again,Exclaiming these, “Why holdest thou so fast?”Those answering, “And why castest thou away?”So still repeating their despiteful song,They to the opposite point on either handTravers'd the horrid circle: then arriv'd,Both turn'd them round, and through the middle spaceConflicting met again. At sight whereofI, stung with grief, thus spake: “O say, my guide!What race is this? Were these, whose heads are shorn,On our left hand, all sep'rate to the church?”He straight replied: “In their first life these allIn mind were so distorted, that they made,According to due measure, of their wealth,No use. This clearly from their words collect,Which they howl forth, at each extremityArriving of the circle, where their crimeContrary in kind disparts them. To the churchWere separate those, that with no hairy cowlsAre crown'd, both Popes and Cardinals, o'er whomAv'rice dominion absolute maintains.”I then: “Mid such as these some needs must be,Whom I shall recognize, that with the blotOf these foul sins were stain'd.” He answering thus:“Vain thought conceiv'st thou. That ignoble life,Which made them vile before, now makes them dark,And to all knowledge indiscernible.Forever 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 worldDepriv'd, and set them at this strife, which needsNo labour'd phrase of mine to set it off.Now may'st thou see, my son! how brief, how vain,The goods committed into fortune's hands,For which the human race keep such a coil!Not all the gold, that is beneath the moon,Or ever hath been, of these toil-worn soulsMight purchase rest for one.” I thus rejoin'd:“My guide! of thee this also would I learn;This fortune, that thou speak'st of, what it is,Whose talons grasp the blessings of the world?”He thus: “O beings blind! what ignoranceBesets you? Now my judgment hear and mark.He, whose transcendent wisdom passes all,The heavens creating, gave them ruling powersTo guide them, so that each part shines to each,Their light in equal distribution pour'd.By similar appointment he ordain'dOver the world's bright images to ruleSuperintendence of a guiding handAnd general minister, which at due timeMay change the empty vantages of lifeFrom race to race, from one to other's blood,Beyond prevention of man's wisest care:Wherefore one nation rises into sway,Another languishes, e'en as her willDecrees, from us conceal'd, as in the grassThe serpent train. Against her nought availsYour utmost wisdom. She with foresight plans,Judges, and carries on her reign, as theirsThe other powers divine. Her changes knowNone intermission: by necessityShe is made swift, so frequent come who claimSuccession in her favours. This is she,So execrated e'en by those, whose debtTo her is rather praise; they wrongfullyWith blame requite her, and with evil word;But she is blessed, and for that recks not:Amidst the other primal beings gladRolls on her sphere, and in her bliss exults.Now on our way pass we, to heavier woeDescending: for each star is falling now,That mounted at our entrance, and forbidsToo long our tarrying.” We the circle cross'dTo the next steep, arriving at a well,That boiling pours itself down to a fossSluic'd from its source. Far murkier was the waveThan sablest grain: and we in companyOf the inky waters, journeying by their side,Enter'd, though by a different track, beneath.Into a lake, the Stygian nam'd, expandsThe dismal stream, when it hath reach'd the footOf the grey wither'd cliffs. Intent I stoodTo gaze, and in the marish sunk descriedA miry tribe, all naked, and with looksBetok'ning rage. They with their hands aloneStruck not, but with the head, the breast, the feet,Cutting each other piecemeal with their fangs.The good instructor spake; “Now seest thou, son!The souls of those, whom anger overcame.This too for certain know, that underneathThe water dwells a multitude, whose sighsInto these bubbles make the surface heave,As thine eye tells thee wheresoe'er it turn.Fix'd in the slime they say: 'Sad once were weIn the sweet air made gladsome by the sun,Carrying a foul and lazy mist within:Now in these murky settlings are we sad.'Such dolorous strain they gurgle in their throats.But word distinct can utter none.” Our routeThus compass'd we, a segment widely stretch'dBetween the dry embankment, and the coreOf the loath'd pool, turning meanwhile our eyesDownward on those who gulp'd its muddy lees;Nor stopp'd, till to a tower's low base we came.

Canto VIII

My theme pursuing, I relate that ereWe reach'd the lofty turret's base, our eyesIts height ascended, where two cressets hungWe mark'd, and from afar another lightReturn the signal, so remote, that scarceThe eye could catch its beam. I turning roundTo the deep source of knowledge, thus inquir'd:“Say what this means? and what that other lightIn answer set? what agency doth this?”“There on the filthy waters,” he replied,“E'en now what next awaits us mayst thou see,If the marsh-gender'd fog conceal it not.”Never was arrow from the cord dismiss'd,That ran its way so nimbly through the air,As a small bark, that through the waves I spiedToward us coming, under the sole swayOf one that ferried it, who cried aloud:“Art thou arriv'd, fell spirit?” – “Phlegyas, Phlegyas,This time thou criest in vain,” my lord replied;“No longer shalt thou have us, but while o'erThe slimy pool we pass.” As one who hearsOf some great wrong he hath sustain'd, whereatInly he pines; so Phlegyas inly pin'dIn his fierce ire. My guide descending stepp'dInto the skiff, and bade me enter nextClose at his side; nor till my entrance seem'dThe vessel freighted. Soon as both embark'd,Cutting the waves, goes on the ancient prow,More deeply than with others it is wont.While we our course o'er the dead channel held.One drench'd in mire before me came, and said;“Who art thou, that thou 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.To which I thus: “In mourning and in woe,Curs'd spirit! tarry thou. I know thee well,E'en thus in filth disguis'd.” Then stretch'd he forthHands to the bark; whereof my teacher sageAware, thrusting him back: “Away! down there,“To the other dogs!” then, with his arms my neckEncircling, kiss'd my cheek, and spake: “O soulJustly disdainful! blest was she in whomThou was conceiv'd! He in the world was oneFor arrogance noted; to his memoryNo virtue lends its lustre; even soHere is his shadow furious. There aboveHow many now hold themselves mighty kingsWho here like swine shall wallow in the mire,Leaving behind them horrible dispraise!”I then: “Master! him fain would I beholdWhelm'd in these dregs, before we quit the lake.”He thus: “Or ever to thy view the shoreBe offer'd, satisfied shall be that wish,Which well deserves completion.” Scarce his wordsWere ended, when I saw the miry tribesSet on him with such violence, that yetFor that render I thanks to God and praise“To Filippo Argenti:” cried they all:And on himself the moody FlorentineTurn'd his avenging fangs. Him here we left,Nor speak I of him more. But on mine earSudden a sound of lamentation smote,Whereat mine eye unbarr'd I sent abroad.And thus the good instructor: “Now, my son!Draws near the city, that of Dis is nam'd,With its grave denizens, a mighty throng.”I thus: “The minarets already, Sir!There certes in the valley I descry,Gleaming vermilion, as if they from fireHad issu'd.” He replied: “Eternal fire,That inward burns, shows them with ruddy flameIllum'd; as in this nether hell thou seest.”We came within the fosses deep, that moatThis region comfortless. The walls appear'dAs they were fram'd of iron. We had madeWide circuit, ere a place we reach'd, where loudThe mariner cried vehement: “Go forth!The entrance is here!” Upon the gates I spiedMore than a thousand, who of old from heavenWere hurl'd. With ireful gestures, “Who is this,”They cried, “that without death first felt, goes throughThe regions of the dead?” My sapient guideMade sign that he for secret parley wish'd;Whereat their angry scorn abating, thusThey spake: “Come thou alone; and let him goWho hath so hardily enter'd this realm.Alone return he by his witless way;If well he know it, let him prove. For thee,Here shalt thou tarry, who through clime so darkHast been his escort.” Now bethink thee, reader!What cheer was mine at sound of those curs'd words.I did believe I never should return.“O my lov'd guide! who more than seven timesSecurity hast render'd me, and drawnFrom peril deep, whereto I stood expos'd,Desert me not,” I cried, “in this extreme.And if our onward going be denied,Together trace we back our steps with speed.”My liege, who thither had conducted me,Replied: “Fear not: for of our passage noneHath power to disappoint us, by such highAuthority permitted. But do thouExpect me here; meanwhile thy wearied spiritComfort, and feed with kindly hope, assur'dI will not leave thee in this lower world.”This said, departs the sire benevolent,And quits me. Hesitating I remainAt war 'twixt will and will not in my thoughts.I could not hear what terms he offer'd them,But they conferr'd not long, for all at onceTo trial fled within. Clos'd were the gatesBy those our adversaries on the breastOf my liege lord: excluded he return'dTo me with tardy steps. Upon the groundHis eyes were bent, and from his brow eras'dAll confidence, while thus with sighs he spake:“Who hath denied me these abodes of woe?”Then thus to me: “That I am anger'd, thinkNo ground of terror: in this trial IShall vanquish, use what arts they may withinFor hindrance. This their insolence, not new,Erewhile at gate less secret they display'd,Which still is without bolt; upon its archThou saw'st the deadly scroll: and even nowOn this side of its entrance, down the steep,Passing the circles, unescorted, comesOne whose strong might can open us this land.”

Canto IX

The hue, which coward dread on my pale cheeksImprinted, when I saw my guide turn back,Chas'd that from his which newly they had worn,And inwardly restrain'd it. He, as oneWho listens, stood attentive: for his eyeNot far could lead him through the sable air,And the thick-gath'ring cloud. “It yet behoovesWe win this fight” – thus he began – “if not -Such aid to us is offer'd. – Oh, how longMe seems it, ere the promis'd help arrive!”I noted, how the sequel of his wordsClok'd their beginning; for the last he spakeAgreed not with the first. But not the lessMy fear was at his saying; sith I drewTo import worse perchance, than that he held,His mutilated speech. “Doth ever anyInto this rueful concave's extreme depthDescend, out of the first degree, whose painIs deprivation merely of sweet hope?”Thus I inquiring. “Rarely,” he replied,“It chances, that among us any makesThis journey, which I wend. Erewhile 'tis trueOnce came I here beneath, conjur'd by fellErictho, sorceress, who compell'd the shadesBack to their bodies. No long space my fleshWas naked of me, when within these wallsShe made me enter, to draw forth a spiritFrom out of Judas' circle. Lowest placeIs that of all, obscurest, and remov'dFarthest from heav'n's all-circling orb. The roadFull well I know: thou therefore rest secure.That lake, the noisome stench exhaling, roundThe city' of grief encompasses, which nowWe may not enter without rage.” Yet moreHe added: but I hold it not in mind,For that mine eye toward the lofty towerHad drawn me wholly, to its burning top.Where in an instant I beheld uprisenAt once three hellish furies stain'd with blood:In limb and motion feminine they seem'd;Around them greenest hydras twisting roll'dTheir volumes; adders and cerastes creptInstead of hair, and their fierce temples bound.He knowing well the miserable hagsWho tend the queen of endless woe, thus spake:“Mark thou each dire Erinnys. To the leftThis is Megaera; on the right hand she,Who wails, Alecto; and TisiphoneI' th' midst.” This said, in silence he remain'dTheir breast they each one clawing tore; themselvesSmote with their palms, and such shrill clamour rais'd,That to the bard I clung, suspicion-bound.“Hasten Medusa: so to adamantHim shall we change;” all looking down exclaim'd.“E'en when by Theseus' might assail'd, we tookNo ill revenge.” “Turn thyself round, and keepThy count'nance hid; for if the Gorgon direBe shown, and thou shouldst view it, thy returnUpwards would be for ever lost.” This said,Himself my gentle master turn'd me round,Nor trusted he my hands, but with his ownHe also hid me. Ye of intellectSound and entire, mark well the lore conceal'dUnder close texture of the mystic strain!And now there came o'er the perturbed wavesLoud-crashing, terrible, a sound that madeEither shore tremble, as if of a windImpetuous, from conflicting vapours sprung,That 'gainst some forest driving all its might,Plucks off the branches, beats them down and hurlsAfar; then onward passing proudly sweepsIts whirlwind rage, while beasts and shepherds fly.Mine eyes he loos'd, and spake: “And now directThy visual nerve along that ancient foam,There, thickest where the smoke ascends.” As frogsBefore their foe the serpent, through the wavePly swiftly all, till at the ground each oneLies on a heap; more than a thousand spiritsDestroy'd, so saw I fleeing before oneWho pass'd with unwet feet the Stygian sound.He, from his face removing the gross air,Oft his left hand forth stretch'd, and seem'd aloneBy that annoyance wearied. I perceiv'dThat he was sent from heav'n, and to my guideTurn'd me, who signal made that I should standQuiet, and bend to him. Ah me! how fullOf noble anger seem'd he! To the gateHe came, and with his wand touch'd it, whereatOpen without impediment it flew.“Outcasts of heav'n! O abject race and scorn'd!”Began he on the horrid grunsel standing,“Whence doth this wild excess of insolenceLodge in you? wherefore kick you 'gainst that willNe'er frustrate of its end, and which so oftHath laid on you enforcement of your pangs?What profits at the fays to but the horn?Your Cerberus, if ye remember, henceBears still, peel'd of their hair, his throat and maw.”This said, he turn'd back o'er the filthy way,And syllable to us spake none, but woreThe semblance of a man by other careBeset, and keenly press'd, than thought of himWho in his presence stands. Then we our stepsToward that territory mov'd, secureAfter the hallow'd words. We unoppos'dThere enter'd; and my mind eager to learnWhat state a fortress like to that might hold,I soon as enter'd throw mine eye around,And see on every part wide-stretching spaceReplete with bitter pain and torment ill.As where Rhone stagnates on the plains of Arles,Or as at Pola, near Quarnaro's gulf,That closes Italy and laves her bounds,The place is all thick spread with sepulchres;So was it here, save what in horror hereExcell'd: for 'midst the graves were scattered flames,Wherewith intensely all throughout they burn'd,That iron for no craft there hotter needs.Their lids all hung suspended, and beneathFrom them forth issu'd lamentable moans,Such as the sad and tortur'd well might raise.I thus: “Master! say who are these, interr'dWithin these vaults, of whom distinct we hearThe dolorous sighs?” He answer thus return'd:“The arch-heretics are here, accompaniedBy every sect their followers; and much more,Than thou believest, tombs are freighted: likeWith like is buried; and the monumentsAre different in degrees of heat.” This said,He to the right hand turning, on we pass'dBetwixt the afflicted and the ramparts high.

Canto X

Now by a secret pathway we proceed,Between the walls, that hem the region round,And the tormented souls: my master first,I close behind his steps. “Virtue supreme!”I thus began; “who through these ample orbsIn circuit lead'st me, even as thou will'st,Speak thou, and satisfy my wish. May those,Who lie within these sepulchres, be seen?Already all the lids are rais'd, and noneO'er them keeps watch.” He thus in answer spake“They shall be closed all, what-time they hereFrom Josaphat return'd shall come, and bringTheir bodies, which above they now have left.The cemetery on this part obtainWith Epicurus all his followers,Who with the body make the spirit die.Here therefore satisfaction shall be soonBoth to the question ask'd, and to the wish,Which thou conceal'st in silence.” I replied:“I keep not, guide belov'd! from thee my heartSecreted, but to shun vain length of words,A lesson erewhile taught me by thyself.”“O Tuscan! thou who through the city of fireAlive art passing, so discreet of speech!Here please thee stay awhile. Thy utteranceDeclares the place of thy nativityTo be that noble land, with which perchanceI too severely dealt.” Sudden that soundForth issu'd from a vault, whereat in fearI somewhat closer to my leader's sideApproaching, he thus spake: “What dost thou? Turn.Lo, Farinata, there! who hath himselfUplifted: from his girdle upwards allExpos'd behold him.” On his face was mineAlready fix'd; his breast and forehead thereErecting, seem'd as in high scorn he heldE'en hell. Between the sepulchres to himMy guide thrust me with fearless hands and prompt,This warning added: “See thy words be clear!”He, soon as there I stood at the tomb's foot,Ey'd me a space, then in disdainful moodAddress'd me: “Say, what ancestors were thine?”I, willing to obey him, straight reveal'dThe whole, nor kept back aught: whence he, his browSomewhat uplifting, cried: “Fiercely were theyAdverse to me, my party, and the bloodFrom whence I sprang: twice therefore I abroadScatter'd them.” “Though driv'n out, yet they each timeFrom all parts,” answer'd I, “return'd; an artWhich yours have shown, they are not skill'd to learn.”Then, peering forth from the unclosed jaw,Rose from his side a shade, high as the chin,Leaning, methought, upon its knees uprais'd.It look'd around, as eager to exploreIf there were other with me; but perceivingThat fond imagination quench'd, with tearsThus spake: “If thou through this blind prison go'st.Led by thy lofty genius and profound,Where is my son? and wherefore not with thee?”I straight replied: “Not of myself I come,By him, who there expects me, through this climeConducted, whom perchance Guido thy sonHad in contempt.” Already had his wordsAnd mode of punishment read me his name,Whence I so fully answer'd. He at onceExclaim'd, up starting, “How! said'st thou he HAD?No longer lives he? Strikes not on his eyeThe blessed daylight?” Then of some delayI made ere my reply aware, down fellSupine, not after forth appear'd he more.Meanwhile the other, great of soul, near whomI yet was station'd, chang'd not count'nance stern,Nor mov'd the neck, nor bent his ribbed side.“And if,” continuing the first discourse,“They in this art,” he cried, “small skill have shown,That doth torment me more e'en than this bed.But not yet fifty times shall be relum'dHer aspect, who reigns here Queen of this realm,Ere thou shalt know the full weight of that art.So to the pleasant world mayst thou return,As thou shalt tell me, why in all their laws,Against my kin this people is so fell?”“The slaughter and great havoc,” I replied,