The Divine Comedy by Dante Part 25

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 s.p.a.ce 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 ill.u.s.trious 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 pa.s.s, 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 h.e.l.l 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 s.p.a.ce, 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 G.o.d, 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 a.s.surance 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 a.s.sail'd, which oft So overcasts a man, that he recoils From n.o.blest 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, a.s.sist 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 p.r.o.nounced 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 s.p.a.ce, 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 G.o.d, thanks to his grace!

That any suff'rance of your misery Touches me not, nor flame of that fierce fire a.s.sails me. In high heaven a blessed dame Besides, who mourns with such effectual grief That hindrance, which I send thee to remove, That G.o.d'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 G.o.d!

Beatrice! why is not thy succour lent To him, who so much lov'd thee, as to leave For thy sake all the mult.i.tude 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 n.o.ble 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 pa.s.s into the city of woe: Through me you pa.s.s 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 hoa.r.s.e, 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 encompa.s.s'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 G.o.d, but for themselves Were only. From his bounds Heaven drove them forth, Not to impair his l.u.s.tre, nor the depth Of h.e.l.l 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 pa.s.ses, 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 pa.s.s 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 G.o.d 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 sh.o.r.e 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 pa.s.s 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 h.o.a.ry 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 sh.o.r.e 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 sh.o.r.e, Not by this pa.s.sage; 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 s.h.a.ggy 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. G.o.d and their parents they blasphem'd, The human kind, the place, the time, and seed That did engender them and give them birth.