Dante's Divine Comedy

Inferno, Song XXVII

2012-02-13T18:33:00.000-08:00

The story thus far: Dante, a poet and town prior in Florence, finds himself on a dark road of the soul. Before his spirit can fall to its ruin, he encounters Virgil, the greatest poet of classical Rome. Virgil, at the behest of Beatrice, a woman who was Dante's inspiration in life, offers Dante a journey through the realms of the afterworld, through which Dante may find his soul's salvation. He shall travel through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, with Virgil as his guide through the first two. Dante accepts Virgil's offer, and they embark. After passing through the gates of Hell, they encounter the souls of the cowards who took no stand in conflicts between good and evil, and then proceed to Limbo, the realm of the noble or innocent souls who were not baptized or otherwise not believers in the Christian faith. Dante and Virgil then travel through the first circles of damnation and the city of Dis, which punish those who embrace earthly appetites and goods at God's expense. Upon leaving the city, Virgil explains the plan of Hell to Dante. The circles that follow hold, in descending order of heinousness, those who commit violence, fraud, and betrayal. In the circle of the Violent, they encounter murderers, merciless conquerors, suicides, and who squandered or destroyed their belongings. From there, they walk alongside a desert where fire rains down. It is the prison for those who were violent against God and nature, including blasphemers, sodomites, and usurers. Dante and Virgil then descend to next level of Hell on the back of Geryon, a flying monster. It is the circle of the fraudulent, and along the way, they encounter the panderers, seducers, flatterers, corrupt clergy, fortune-tellers, diviners, and grafters. The last are overseen a gaggle of demons, from whom Dante and Virgil must escape before encountering the religious hypocrites and the thieves. Next are the false counselors and sowers of discord, whose punishment entails their transformation into moving pillars of fire. Their number includes Odysseus, who tells Virgil of his final voyage.

Guido da Montefeltro in flames

Now calm and standing tall, the flame
Spoke no more. It then left us
With the consent of the kind poet.

Then, another coming along behind
Made us turn our eyes toward its tip
By a confused sound that came out of it.

The sound was like the Sicilian bull--which first bellowed
Justly with the cries of him
Who sculpted it with his file--

Bellowed with the voice of its victim
In a way that, despite being made entirely of brass,
It still seemed impaled by sorrow.

And so, since there was no path or exit
From their origin within the fire, it was into the fire’s language that
The pathetic words were converted.

But after they had made their journey
Up through the point, giving it that vibration
The tongue had once given with the passage of words,

We heard it say, “O you to whom I direct
My voice, and who was speaking in Lombard,
Saying, ‘Go your way, I am not asking more,’

While I perhaps have joined you somewhat late,
Don’t let it irk you to stay and speak with me.
You see it doesn’t irk me, and I burn!

If now, into this blind world, you
Have fallen from that sweet land
Of Italy from where I bring all my guilt,

Tell me if the Romagnoles are at peace or war,
As I was from the hills there between Urbino
And the pass from which the Tiber pours.”

I was still crouched down and listening
When my leader tapped me on the side and
Said, “You speak. This one is Italian.”

And I, who was already prepared to answer,
Began to speak without hesitation:
“O soul who is hidden down there,

Your Romagna is not, and never was,
Without war in the hearts of its tyrants.
But none was showing itself when I left just now.

Ravenna stands as it has for many years.
The eagle of Polenta broods over it,
And covers Cervia with its pinions.

The land that once endured the long siege
And left the French in a bloody heap,
Again finds itself underneath the green claws.

The Old and Young Mastiff of Verrucchio,
Who treated Montagna with evil,
Sunk their teeth in the way they always do.

The cities along the Lamone and the Santerno
Are ruled by the Young Lion of the White Lair,
Who shifts sides from summer to winter.

And that one whose flank is bathed by the Savio,
As it lies between the plain and the mountain,
So it lives between tyranny and freedom.

Now who are you? I pray you tell us.
Do not be more unyielding than another has been.
Have your name maintain its fame in the world.”

After the fire had roared some
In its manner, it moved its sharp point
From here, from there, and then breathed like so:

If I believed my answer would be
To one who might ever return to the world,
This flame would stand without further movement.

But since never from this depth,
If I have heard the truth, has one returned alive,
I reply without fear of infamy.

I was a man of arms, and then I was a corded friar.
I thought, being so belted, I would make amends.
And indeed, my belief should have come to be

If it had not been for the great priest--may evil take him!--
Who set me back to my earlier sins.
And how and why, I want you to hear from me.

While I was still made of the flesh and bone
My mother gave me, my deeds
Were not of the lion, but of the fox.

The tricks and the covert ways--
I knew them all, and practiced their arts in such a way
That it resounded to the ends of the earth.

When I saw myself reach that part
Of my life when one should
Lower the sails and gather the ropes,

That which I had enjoyed before then grieved me,
And penitent and confessed I gave over.
Oh, woe is me--how I would have been rewarded!

The prince of the new Pharisees,
Making war near the Lateran,
And not with the Saracens nor the Jews.

For all of his enemies were Christian.
None had been at the conquest of Acre,
Nor traded in the land of the Sultan.

Neither the supreme office nor the sacred orders
Did he consider when it came to himself, nor with me that cord
That once made its wearers leaner.

But as Constantine sought out Sylvester
In Soracte to cure his leprosy,
So this one sought out me to be the doctor

To cure his pride’s fever.
He asked for my counsel, and I was silent,
For his words seemed drunken.

And then he again spoke, ‘Do not allow your heart to be suspicious.
I absolve you in advance, so instruct me in
How to drive Palestrina into the ground.

I can lock and unlock Heaven
As you know, for there are two keys
That my predecessor did not value.’

Then his weighty arguments drove me
To where silence seemed the worse advice,
So I said, “Father, since you cleanse me

Of that sin into which I now must fall,
Broad promises briefly honored
Will reap you triumph on your throne.’

Then, when I was dead, Francis came
For me. But one of the black cherubim
Said to him, 'Do not take him; do not cheat me.

He must come down among my minions
Because he counseled fraud.
From then till now I have been by his scalp's fringe.

One who does not repent cannot be absolved.
Nor can one decide to do something and repent at the same time.
The contradiction is not permitted.’

O wretched me! How I shuddered
When I was taken. He said to me, “Perhaps
It did not occur to you that I was a logician!”

He carried me off to Minos. That one coiled
His tail eight times around his scaly back,
And after biting it in a great rage,

He said, ‘This is one of the wicked of the thieves’ fire.’
As such, I am lost where you see me,
And so draped, I walk in bitterness.”

When he had finished his words,
The sorrowful flame left,
The pointed horn twisting and writhing.

We passed onward, my leader and I,
Over through the ridge to the next arch,
Which spanned the ditch where the price is paid

By those who earned imprisonment by sowing discord.

Inferno, Song XXVI

2011-12-06T14:27:00.000-08:00

The story thus far: Dante, a poet and town prior in Florence, finds himself on a dark road of the soul. Before his spirit can fall to its ruin, he encounters Virgil, the greatest poet of classical Rome. Virgil, at the behest of Beatrice, a woman who was Dante's inspiration in life, offers Dante a journey through the realms of the afterworld, through which Dante may find his soul's salvation. He shall travel through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, with Virgil as his guide through the first two. Dante accepts Virgil's offer, and they embark. After passing through the gates of Hell, they encounter the souls of the cowards who took no stand in conflicts between good and evil, and then proceed to Limbo, the realm of the noble or innocent souls who were not baptized or otherwise not believers in the Christian faith. Dante and Virgil then travel through the first circles of damnation and the city of Dis, which punish those who embrace earthly appetites and goods at God's expense. Upon leaving the city, Virgil explains the plan of Hell to Dante. The circles that follow hold, in descending order of heinousness, those who commit violence, fraud, and betrayal. In the circle of the Violent, they encounter murderers, merciless conquerors, suicides, and who squandered or destroyed their belongings. From there, they walk alongside a desert where fire rains down. It is the prison for those who were violent against God and nature, including blasphemers, sodomites, and usurers. Dante and Virgil then descend to next level of Hell on the back of Geryon, a flying monster. It is the circle of the fraudulent, and along the way, they encounter the panderers, seducers, flatterers, corrupt clergy, fortune-tellers, diviners, and grafters. The last are overseen a gaggle of demons, from whom Dante and Virgil must escape before encountering the religious hypocrites. The poets then move on to encounter the thieves, who are beset upon by snakes whose bite transforms them.

Dante and Virgil look down at Odysseus and the other evil counselors

Rejoice, Florence, as you are so great
That you beat your wings over sea and land,
And through Hell itself your name spreads far and wide!

Among the thieves, I found five such
Citizens of yours, making me ashamed.
And you do not ascend to great honor.

But if we dream the truth near morning,
You shall soon feel
What Prato, not to mention others, wishes for you.

And if it had already happened, it would not be too soon.
So let it happen, since it must!
For it will weigh upon me as I grow older.

We left the place, and by the stairway
Made by the jutting rocks by which we descended before,
My Leader again climbed up and pulled me after him.

And, proceeding along the lonely way
Between the ridge’s crags and rocks,
The foot did not move forward without the hand.

I grieved then, and now I grieve again
When I turn my mind to what I saw,
And I bridle my talent more than I am accustomed.

This is so I do not let it run where virtue does not guide it.
So if a gracious star or something better
Has given me this gift, I do not begrudge it to myself.

As many fireflies as the peasant, resting himself upon
the hillside sees below throughout
The valley—perhaps there where he harvests grapes and tills

The land—at the time when the one who lights
The world keeps his face least hidden
To us, at that time when the fly gives way to the mosquito,

In this way all was resplendent with the many flames in
The eighth pit, which I perceived as
Soon as I made it to the place where the bottom was visible.

And like the one avenged by bears
Saw the chariot of Elijah departing
When the horses reared and climbed to heaven,

And who could not follow it with his eyes
Beyond seeing anything but the flame alone—
It was like a small cloud climbing upward—

So each moves through the mouth
Of the ditch. For none shows its theft,
And every flame steals a sinner.

I was standing on the bridge to see from above.
As it was, if I had not held fast to a jutting rock,
I would have fallen below without being pushed.

And my Leader, who saw me so intent,
Said, “The spirits are inside the flames;
Each is bound in that which burns him.”

“My Master,” I replied, “Hearing your words
Makes me more certain, but I already thought
That was so, and I still want to ask you:

Who is in the flame that becomes so split
At the top that it seems to rise from the pyre
Where Eteocles was laid with his brother?”

He responded, “Tormented inside there are
Odysseus and Diomedes, and so together
They submit to vengeance as they once did to wrath.

And inside their flame they lament
The ruse of the horse that created the door
Through which the noble seed of the Romans came.

Inside it they mourn the guile that causes, even in death,
Deidamia to still grieve for Achilles.
And it is the way they are punished for the Palladium.”

“If, from within those flames, they are able
To speak,” I said, “Master, I so pray to you,
And pray again that my prayer becomes a thousand,

That you forbid my waiting
Until the horned flame comes here.
You see how my yearning draws me towards it!”

And he replied, “Your prayer is deserving
Of much praise, and therefore I accede to it.
But hold your tongue.

Leave speaking to me, for I understand
What you want. Since they were Greeks,
They might be put off by your saying it.”

When the flame had come to
Where it appeared to my leader the proper time and place,
I heard him speak with these words:

“O you who are two within one flame,
If I was worthy of you while I lived,
If I was worthy of you a great deal or a little

When in the world I wrote my high verses,
Do not move along. Rather, let one of you say
Where he, being lost, went to die.”

The greater horn of the ancient flame
Began to shake and murmur—
Just like it was being set upon by the wind.

Then, moving the tip back and forth
Like a tongue speaking,
It sent forth a voice and said, “When

I parted from Circe, who detained
Me more than a year there near Gaeta
Before Aeneas named the place that,

Not fondness for my son, not duty
To my elderly father, not the love I owed
Penelope to make her content,

Could conquer within me the passion
I had to gain knowledge of the world
And the vices and value of humanity.

But I set out on the high, open sea
With only one ship and that small
Crew who had not deserted me.

I saw one shore after another all the way to Spain,
As far as Morocco, including the island of Sardinia
And the others the sea bathed all around.

My crew and I were old and slow
When we came to that narrow strait
Where Hercules set up his landmarks

Indicating where men should not venture beyond.
On my right hand I left Seville behind,
And on the other I had already left Ceuta.

‘O brothers,’ I said, ‘who through a hundred thousand
Perils have reached the West,
To this so brief vigil

Of our remaining senses.
Do not wish to deny experience
Behind the sun, in the world without people.

Consider your heritage.
You were not born to live like brutes,
But to pursue virtue and knowledge.’

I made my crew so eager
For the journey with this little speech
That I hardly could have restrained them.

We then turned our stern toward the dawn,
Making wings of our oars in this mad flight,
Always gaining on the left-hand side.

All the stars of the other pole were now
Seen by the night, and our own was so low
That it did not rise from the ocean floor.

Five times rekindled and as often put out
Had the light been beneath the moon
Since we had entered the great passage,

When a mountain appeared before us, dark
In the distance, and it seemed so tall—
Higher than I had ever seen before.

We cheered, and soon turned to tears.
For a storm rose from the newfound land
And struck the front of the ship.

Three times it whirled us around with all the waters.
The fourth time it raised the stern upward,
And moved the prow below, as it pleased the Other,

Until the sea again closed over us.

Continue to Song XXVII

Inferno, Song XXV

2011-09-11T14:27:00.000-07:00

The story thus far: Dante, a poet and town prior in Florence, finds himself on a dark road of the soul. Before his spirit can fall to its ruin, he encounters Virgil, the greatest poet of classical Rome. Virgil, at the behest of Beatrice, a woman who was Dante's inspiration in life, offers Dante a journey through the realms of the afterworld, through which Dante may find his soul's salvation. He shall travel through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, with Virgil as his guide through the first two. Dante accepts Virgil's offer, and they embark. After passing through the gates of Hell, they encounter the souls of the cowards who took no stand in conflicts between good and evil, and then proceed to Limbo, the realm of the noble or innocent souls who were not baptized or otherwise not believers in the Christian faith. Dante and Virgil then travel through the first circles of damnation and the city of Dis, which punish those who embrace earthly appetites and goods at God's expense. Upon leaving the city, Virgil explains the plan of Hell to Dante. The circles that follow hold, in descending order of heinousness, those who commit violence, fraud, and betrayal. In the circle of the Violent, they encounter murderers, merciless conquerors, suicides, and who squandered or destroyed their belongings. From there, they walk alongside a desert where fire rains down. It is the prison for those who were violent against God and nature, including blasphemers, sodomites, and usurers. Dante and Virgil then descend to next level of Hell on the back of Geryon, a flying monster. It is the circle of the fraudulent, and along the way, they encounter the panderers, seducers, flatterers, corrupt clergy, fortune-tellers, diviners, and grafters. The last are overseen a gaggle of demons, from whom Dante and Virgil must escape before encountering the religious hypocrites. The poets then move on to encounter the thieves, who are beset upon by snakes whose bite transforms them. One thief, Vanni Fucci, tells Dante a dark prophecy about Florence.

The transformation of Agnello Brunelleschi

At the end of his words, the thief
Raised his hands--both of them figs--
And cried, “Take that, God, for they’re aimed directly at you!

From that point forward, the serpents were my friends,
For one wound itself around his neck,
As if to say, “You shall speak no more.”

And another went around his arms, and bound him again,
Clinching itself the same in front
So he could not move them.

Oh Pistoia, Pistoia! Why do you not condemn
Yourself to burning and continue no longer,
Since you have gone beyond your seed in evildoing?

Throughout all the dark circles of Hell
I did not see a spirit so arrogant towards God,
Not even the one who fell from the walls of Thebes.

He fled without saying another word,
And I saw a centaur full of rage
Come, calling out, “Where is he, where is the bitter one?”

I do not believe Maremma has as many
Snakes as he had upon his back
Up to where our human form begins.

Upon his shoulders, behind the back of his neck,
Lay a dragon with open wings,
And it set fire to any who got in the way.

My master said, “This is Cacus,
Who beneath the rock of Mount Aventine
Often made a lake of blood.

He does not walk the same path as his brothers,
Due to the theft--achieved by fraud--
Of the great herd that neighbored him.

This led to the end of his wicked doings
Under the club of Hercules, who struck
Him perhaps a hundred times, and he did not feel ten.”

While he spoke, the centaur went past,
And three spirits showed up below us.
Neither me nor my leader noticed them

Until they cried, “Who are you?”
At which our conversation broke off,
And we then gave all our attention to them.

I did not know them. But it happened
As it often happens by some chance:
One proceeded to name another,

Saying, “Cianfa--where has he left himself?”
At that, so my leader would continue paying attention,
I put my finger to my chin and nose.

If, Reader, you are now slow to believe
What I shall tell, it will be no wonder,
For I who saw it can barely admit it to myself.

While I kept my eyes fixed on them,
A serpent with six feet jumped
In front of one and gripped him all over.

It clasped the belly with its middle feet,
And with the front ones held the arms.
It then bit into both cheeks.

It extended the hind feet upon his thighs,
And thrust its tail between them,
And stretched it up behind over the loins.

Ivy never clung
To a tree as tightly as the horrible beast
Entwined the other’s limbs with its own.

They then melted together--they were
Like hot wax--and, mixing their colors,
Neither one nor the other now appeared as they had been.

It was like, ahead of the flame burning
on a piece of paper, a dark color appearing
That is not yet black while the white perishes.

The other two watched this, and each one
Cried out, “Oh my, Agnello, how you are changing!
Look at how already you are neither two nor one.”

The heads had now become one,
As the two shapes appeared to us blended
Into one face in which both were lost.

The two arms were made of the four limbs;
The thighs with the legs, and the belly and the chest
Became members that had never before been seen.

All their original features were erased:
Both and neither the perverted shape
Appeared. At that point, it slowly moved away.

Like the lizard under the great scourge
Of summer’s dog days, jumping between hedges,
Seeming like lightning as it crosses the road,

So appeared, heading toward the bellies
Of the other two, a fiery snakeling,
Black and as like a bruise as a peppercorn.

And at that part from which we first take
Our nourishment, it bit one, leaving him transfixed.
It then dropped in front of him, laying sprawled out.

The transfixed one stared at it, but said nothing.
He just stood still and yawned,
As if sleep or fever had seized him.

The serpent stared at him, and he stared at the serpent.
From the wound of one and the mouth of the other,
Smoke poured out, and the plumes collided.

Let Lucan be silent now with his stories
About poor Sabellus and Nasidius,
And let him wait to hear what comes now.

Let Ovid be silent about Cadmus and Arethusa,
For if the former into a serpent and her into a fountain
They are transformed in his poetry, I do not envy him.

For two natures never from face to face
Had he transformed so that both forms
Were ready to exchange their substance.

They responded as one in this way:
The serpent split its tail into a fork,
And the wounded one brought his feet together.

The legs became one at the thighs,
So adhering themselves that soon the juncture
Did not show a sign of itself.

The cleft tail took the form
That was lost there so, and its skin
Became soft, and the other’s hard.

I saw the arms recede into the armpits,
And the beast’s two paws, which were short,
Lengthen as much as the other one’s shortened.

Then the hind feet, they twisted together.
They became the member that man conceals,
And the wretch from his own brought forth two.

While the smoke veils each of them
With new color, and grows the hair out
On the one and strips it out from the other,

The one rose and the other fell down.
However, neither turned away from the wicked beacon
Underneath which they exchanged faces.

The one who was standing drew his toward the temples,
And from the excess matter that resulted,
The ears came out from the smooth cheeks.

The matter that stayed and didn’t go back there,
A nose for the face was made from that excess,
And the lips thickened to their appropriate size.

The one who was lying down thrust his face forward,
And his ears drew back into his head
Like the snail does with its horns.

As for his tongue, which was whole and given over
‘til then to speech, it split, and the forked one
Of the other fused together. The smoke then stopped.

The soul that had become a beast
Fled hissing through the valley,
With the other behind him talking and spitting.

He then turned his new shoulders
And said to the other: “I’ll have Buoso run,
As I have done, on all fours down this road.”

Thus ended my seeing the seventh bottom feeder
Change and transform, and pardon
My pen if the strangeness has made it falter.

And though my eyes were confused
To an extent, and my mind bewildered,
These ones could not flee without my notice.

The one whom I did not clearly see was Puccio Sciancato,
And he was the only one of the three companions
We first saw who had not changed.

The other, Gaville, was the one who made you mourn.

Continue to Song XXVI

Inferno, Song XXIV

2011-03-06T16:34:00.000-08:00

The story thus far: Dante, a poet and town prior in Florence, finds himself on a dark road of the soul. Before his spirit can fall to its ruin, he encounters Virgil, the greatest poet of classical Rome. Virgil, at the behest of Beatrice, a woman who was Dante's inspiration in life, offers Dante a journey through the realms of the afterworld, through which Dante may find his soul's salvation. He shall travel through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, with Virgil as his guide through the first two. Dante accepts Virgil's offer, and they embark. After passing through the gates of Hell, they encounter the souls of the cowards who took no stand in conflicts between good and evil, and then proceed to Limbo, the realm of the noble or innocent souls who were not baptized or otherwise not believers in the Christian faith. Dante and Virgil then travel through the first circles of damnation and the city of Dis, which punish those who embrace earthly appetites and goods at God's expense. Upon leaving the city, Virgil explains the plan of Hell to Dante. The circles that follow hold, in descending order of heinousness, those who commit violence, fraud, and betrayal. In the circle of the Violent, they encounter murderers, merciless conquerors, suicides, and who squandered or destroyed their belongings. From there, they walk alongside a desert where fire rains down. It is the prison for those who were violent against God and nature, including blasphemers, sodomites, and usurers. Dante and Virgil then descend to next level of Hell on the back of Geryon, a flying monster. It is the circle of the fraudulent, and along the way, they encounter the panderers, seducers, flatterers, corrupt clergy, fortune-tellers, diviners, and grafters. The last are overseen a gaggle of demons, from whom Dante and Virgil must escape before they move on to encounter the religious hypocrites.

The pit of thieves, where they are tortured by serpents.

In that part of the budding year
When the sun brightens its tresses under Aquarius
And the long nights are already heading south,

When the frost on the ground copies
The image of her white sister,
Although her pen’s point only lasts a little while.

The peasant who is lacking fodder
Rises and looks out and sees the countryside
Has turned all white, at which he smacks his thigh,

Goes back into the house, and complains here and there
Like a wretch who doesn’t know what to do.
He then goes back and regains hope,

Seeing the world has changed its face
In a short time, and takes his staff
To lead his lambs out to pasture.

My master left me dismayed in this way
When I saw his lowered face,
And the plaster also came quickly to the sore.

For when we came to the bridge’s ruins,
My leader turned to me with that look
Of sweetness that I first saw at the foot of the mountain.

He opened his arms, after some plan
He had decided on after first looking at
The ruin for a good bit. He then took hold of me,

Like one who works and evaluates,
And always seems prepared in advance.
So, lifting me up towards the top

Of a great boulder, he was sizing up another rock
Saying, “Up there, grab hold of that one next,
But first check if it will support you.”

It was not the way for one wearing a mantle,
For we--he weightless and I being pushed--hardly
Could climb upwards from jag to jag.

And if on that bank it had not been that
The slope was lower than the other--
I do not know about him--but I would have been well defeated.

But since all of Malebolge leans towards
The mouth of the lowest pit,
The site of each valley opens

So that one side descends and the other ascends.
We only came to the end above the point
Where the last stone breaks off.

The breath from my lungs was so spent
That when I reached the top I could go no further.
I sat down at the first opportunity.

“So you must now cast off all sloth,”
My master said. “For one does not come to fame
While sitting on cushions, nor while under blankets.

Without it, one uses up one’s life
Leaving on earth such traces of himself
As smoke in the air and foam on the water.

Therefore rise. Conquer your panting
With the soul that wins every battle
If the heavy body does not weigh one down.

There is a longer ladder that must be climbed.
It is not enough to leave these ones.
If you understand me, act now so it benefits you.

I then rose, pretending I was furnished
Better with breath than I felt,
And I said, “Go, for I am strong and daring.”

We made our way up through the ridge,
Which was craggy, narrow, and rough,
As well as steeper than the one before.

I spoke as I went, so as not to appear weak,
When a voice came forth from the next ditch,
One not able to properly form words.

I do not know what he said, though I was already at
The summit of the arch that crosses there.
However, he who spoke seemed moved to anger.

I turned to lean downward, but my sharp eyes
Could not reach the bottom through the darkness.
So I said, “Master, let us go on

To the next encirclement and descend the wall.
For at this point I not only hear but do not understand,
But I look down and make out nothing.”

He said, “I do not reply other
Than to do it, for an honest request
Should be followed with action, not words.”

We descended the bridge at the head
Where it connects with the eighth bank,
And the pit became clear to me.

For inside I saw a terrible mass
Of serpents, and of such diverse intrigue
That the memory still chills my blood.

Let Libya boast no more of her sands,
For if chelidrids, jaculi, and phareads
Are bred, as well as two-headed cenchres,

Plagues were neither so many nor so malignant
Did she ever show with all of Ethiopia,
Nor with the lands that lie upon the Red Sea.

Among this cruel and terribly grim throng,
People ran, naked and fearful,
Without hope of a hole to hide in, or a bloodstone to make one invisible.

Their hands were tied behind them with serpents.
These were run through the loins by the tail
And the head, which were knotted together in front.

And here, upon one who was by our bank,
Sprang a serpent that paralyzed him, striking
At the point where the neck and shoulders come together.

Neither "O" nor "I" was ever written as quickly
As he caught fire and burned, and ash was all that
Was left when he of course collapsed upon the ground.

And then, on the ground, thus disintegrated,
His dust gathered itself into the same form,
And in that shape returned from destruction.

It is in this way, according to the great sages, it is acknowledged
That the phœnix dies and then is reborn
When she approaches her five-hundredth year.

She does not feed on herbs or grain in her lifetime,
Only on balsam and tears of incense,
And nard and myrrh are her final shroud.

And as one who falls, not knowing how,
Pulled by force to the ground by a demon
Or by another oppression that binds him,

When he rises he looks around,
All disoriented by the great trauma
He has suffered, and sighs while he looks;

Such was the sinner when he got up.
Oh, the power of God, how severe it is,
Striking such blows for vengeance!

My leader then asked him who he was,
To which he answered, “I rained down from Tuscany
Into this wild gullet a short while ago.

I was suited to a beast’s life, not a man’s,
Bastard that I was. I am Vanni Fucci,
Beast, and Pistoia was my fitting den.”

I said to my leader, “Tell him not to slink off,
And ask what the crime was that sent him here.
For I just recall him as a man of blood and anger.”

And the sinner, who heard, did not dissemble.
Rather, he set his mind and gaze on me,
And a look of woeful shame appeared upon his face.

He then said, “I suffer more from your having found me
In the misery you see me in here
Than when I was taken from the other life.

I cannot refuse to answer what you ask.
I have been consigned to so low a place because I was
A thief in the sacristy of the beautiful ornaments,

and it was falsely blamed on another.
But so you do not enjoy this sight--
If you ever get out of this dark place--

Open your ears to what I say, and listen.
First, Pistoia all but empties herself of Blacks,
Then Florence begins again with new leaders and laws.

Mars draws a vapor from Val di Magra
That is enveloped in thick clouds.
And with a violent and bitter storm,

Battle will rage on Campo Piceno,
Where it will suddenly explode through the mist,
So that every White shall be struck by it.

And I have told you this to bring you grief!

Continue to Song XXV

Inferno, Song XXIII

2011-01-15T15:07:00.000-08:00

The story thus far: Dante, a poet and town prior in Florence, finds himself on a dark road of the soul. Before his spirit can fall to its ruin, he encounters Virgil, the greatest poet of classical Rome. Virgil, at the behest of Beatrice, a woman who was Dante's inspiration in life, offers Dante a journey through the realms of the afterworld, through which Dante may find his soul's salvation. He shall travel through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, with Virgil as his guide through the first two. Dante accepts Virgil's offer, and they embark. After passing through the gates of Hell, they encounter the souls of the cowards who took no stand in conflicts between good and evil, and then proceed to Limbo, the realm of the noble or innocent souls who were not baptized or otherwise not believers in the Christian faith. Dante and Virgil then travel through the first circles of damnation and the city of Dis, which punish those who embrace earthly appetites and goods at God's expense. Upon leaving the city, Virgil explains the plan of Hell to Dante. The circles that follow hold, in descending order of heinousness, those who commit violence, fraud, and betrayal. In the circle of the Violent, they encounter murderers, merciless conquerors, suicides, and who squandered or destroyed their belongings. From there, they walk alongside a desert where fire rains down. It is the prison for those who were violent against God and nature, including blasphemers, sodomites, and usurers. Dante and Virgil then descend to next level of Hell on the back of Geryon, a flying monster. It is the circle of the fraudulent, and along the way, they encounter the panderers, seducers, flatterers, corrupt clergy, fortune-tellers, diviners, and grafters. The last are overseen a gaggle of demons, who agree to lead Dante and Virgil to a ridge they can cross to continue their journey. The poets leave the demons after the latter are deceived by a sinner in their charge.

Dante and Virgil look back at the demons after escaping them.

Silent, alone, unaccompanied--
We went along, one in front and the other after,
Like Friars Minor going their way.

Turned towards a fable of Aesop’s were
My thoughts by the present scuffle,
The one where he spoke of the frog and the mouse.

The words “now” and “presently” are not more similar
Than one with the other, if one compares
The beginning and the end with careful attention.

And as one thought springs from another,
So then from the other came this one
That doubled my initial fears.

I thought this: “Because of us, those ones
Were played for fools, with pain and ridicule
To boot. I believe they are quite upset.

If anger is piled on top of ill will,
They will come after us more viciously
Than a dog snaps after a hare.”

Already I felt my hair standing up on end
From the fear, and I stood staring behind us
When I said, “Master, if you do not hide

You and me quickly, I am afraid
Of the Evilclaws. We already have them after us.
They so fill my thoughts that I already hear them.”

And he replied, “If I were a mirror,
I could not picture your outward appearance
More quickly than I see your inward state.

At this moment, your thoughts entered into mine,
With like attitude and like action,
So that I have made one counsel from both.

If it is so that the slope on the right lies so
That we can go down to the next pocket,
We shall escape the chase we imagine coming.”

He had not yet finished laying out his plan
When I saw them coming with their wings spread,
Not far away, looking to nab us.

My leader immediately pressed me to him,
Like a mother who is wakened by the noise
And sees flames burning beside her,

Taking her son and fleeing without stopping,
Having more concern for him than for herself--
So much so that she does not pause to put on anything over her nightshirt.

And down that ridge of the stony bank
He went, lying on his back, to the sloping rock
That on one side includes the next ditch.

Water had never coursed so quickly through a sluice
To turn a land-mill’s wheel
When nearest to the approaching paddles

As my master upon that cliff
Took me down with him, holding me to his breast
Like his son, not his companion.

His feet had barely made it to the bed
Of the ground down there when they made it atop the hill
Above us. But there was nothing to fear:

For the high providence that willed them
To serve as ministers of the fifth pit
Denied them any power to leave.

There below we found a painted people
Who were going round with very slow steps,
Weeping and, in their appearance, tired and defeated.

They had cloaks with hoods down
In front of their eyes, made to the size
That is made for the monks in Cluny.

They were gilded on the outside--so dazzling and deceptive.
But on the inside they were all lead, and so heavy
That, by comparison, the ones Frederick made people wear were straw.

What a burdening mantle for eternity!
We turned again, still to the left-hand side,
Together with them, focused on their tears of sadness.

But because of that burden, these weary people
Came along so slowly that we were in new
Company with every stride we made.

For then I asked my leader, “Pray find
One known by name or deed,
Looking around as we go.”

And one who understood the Tuscan tongue
Cried after us, “Hold your feet,
You who race through the gloomy air!

Perhaps you shall have from me that which you ask for.”
At this my leader turned and said, “Wait for him,
And then continue on at his pace.”

I stopped, and I saw two looking quite
Anxious to join me.
However, their burden and the crowded way hampered them.

When they reached us, looking askance for a while,
They stared at me without saying a word.
They then turned to each other and said,

“This one appears to be alive, given the action of his throat.
And if they are dead, by what privilege
Do they go uncovered by the weighty robes?”

They then said to me, “O Tuscan, who to the gathering
Of the woeful hypocrites has come,
Do not disdain to tell us who you are.”

And I to them: “I was born and raised
Upon the good river of Arno in the great town,
And am in the body I have always had.

But who are you to whom I see
So much sadness filtering down your cheeks?
And what punishment is this that glitters on you?

And one of them answered me, “The orange cloaks
Are made of lead so thick that the weight
Makes we, their balances, creak thus.

We were Jovial Friars, and Bolognese.
I am Catalano and this is Loderingo
By name, and your land chose us together.

It had been customary to choose a single man
To keep the peace. What we brought
Is still apparent around the Gardingo.”

I began, “O Friars, your evil doings…”,
But I said no more, for my eye was caught by
One crucified on the ground with three stakes.

When he saw me, he writhed all over,
Exhaling sighs into his beard.
And Friar Catalano, taking this to account,

Said to me, “That one you see nailed there
Advised the Pharisees that it was expedient
To have one man suffer for the people.

He is stretched naked in the path,
As you see, and must bear
The weight of each who passes.

And his father-in-law is racked in the same manner
In this ditch, as are the others of that council
That was a seed of evil for the Jews.”

I then saw Virgil marveling
Over the one who was crucified
So horribly in the eternal exile.

He then directed his voice at the friar:
“If it does not displease you, and you are permitted, tell us
If, on the right-hand side, there lies a passage

Where we two can leave
Without enlisting the black angels
To come and take us from this floor.”

He then replied, “Nearer than you
Expect is a ridge of rock that goes from the great
Perimeter and spans all the savage valleys,

Except that at this point it is broken and does not run across.
You will be able to get over through the debris
Where it slopes against the side and is piled up at the bottom.”

My leader stood looking down for a moment.
He then said, “A bad account was given by
The one who hooks the sinners over there.”

The friar replied, “I once heard talk in Bologna
Of the Devil’s many vices, among which I heard
That he is a liar and the father of lies.”

My leader then went forward taking great strides,
His face a bit upset with anger.
So I left these prisoners,

Following the trail of those beloved feet.

Continue to Song XXIV

Inferno, Song XXII

2010-09-26T07:22:00.000-07:00

The story thus far: Dante, a poet and town prior in Florence, finds himself on a dark road of the soul. Before his spirit can fall to its ruin, he encounters Virgil, the greatest poet of classical Rome. Virgil, at the behest of Beatrice, a woman who was Dante's inspiration in life, offers Dante a journey through the realms of the afterworld, through which Dante may find his soul's salvation. He shall travel through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, with Virgil as his guide through the first two. Dante accepts Virgil's offer, and they embark. After passing through the gates of Hell, they encounter the souls of the cowards who took no stand in conflicts between good and evil, and then proceed to Limbo, the realm of the noble or innocent souls who were not baptized or otherwise not believers in the Christian faith. Dante and Virgil then travel through the first circles of damnation and the city of Dis, which punish those who embrace earthly appetites and goods at God's expense. Upon leaving the city, Virgil explains the plan of Hell to Dante. The circles that follow hold, in descending order of heinousness, those who commit violence, fraud, and betrayal. In the circle of the Violent, they encounter murderers, merciless conquerors, suicides, and who squandered or destroyed their belongings. From there, they walk alongside a desert where fire rains down. It is the prison for those who were violent against God and nature, including blasphemers, sodomites, and usurers. Dante and Virgil then descend to next level of Hell on the back of Geryon, a flying monster. It is the circle of the fraudulent, and along the way, they encounter the panderers, seducers, flatterers, corrupt clergy, fortune-tellers, diviners, and grafters. The last are overseen a gaggle of demons, who agree to lead Dante and Virgil to a ridge they can cross to continue their journey.

The wily grafter escapes the clutches of the demons.

I have seen horsemen breaking camp before,
And commencing attack and assembling to present themselves,
As well as, at times, their fleeing to make their escape.

I have seen scouts going through your land,
O Aretines. I have also seen the march of plunderers,
The clashes in tournaments, and the charges in jousts,

At times with trumpets and at times with bells,
With drums and with signals from castles,
And with things of our own and those of foreigners.

Never yet at such a peculiar bugling
Have I seen horsemen advance, nor foot soldiers,
Nor ship by signal of land or star.

We went on with the ten demons--
oh, what a savage bunch--but, in church
With the saints and with boozers in the tavern.

My attention was entirely upon the tar--
To see all aspects of the pit
And the people burning within it.

It was like with dolphins when they make a sign
With the arch of their back, telling sailors
That they should take steps to save their ship.

Occasionally, in order to relieve the pain,
One of the sinners would show his back
And then hide it faster than a flash of lightning.

And like, at the edge of the water in a ditch,
Frogs linger with only their snout out,
So that they hide their feet and the rest of their bulk,

The sinners were standing in every part,
But as Thornybeard approached,
They then returned below the boiling surface.

I saw--and my heart still shudders at it--
One of them wait thus, in the way one finds
That one frog remains while the other dives.

And Dogscratch, who was closest to him,
Hooked him by his tar-soaked hair
And hauled him in, so that he looked to me like an otter.

I already knew all their names,
Noting them when they were picked,
And then what they called each other.

“Oh, Redface, do that so you put to him
Your claws--on his back--so that you flay it!”,
The fiends all cried out together.

I said, “My master, if you can, do
Find out who the wretched one is that
Has fallen into the hands of his enemies.”

My leader went up beside him,
Asking him where he came from, and he replied,
“I was born in the kingdom of Navarre.

My mother placed me in the service of a lord,
As she had borne me to a good-for-nothing
Who brought an end to himself and his possessions.

Then I was in the household of good King Thibault.
There I showed myself the practice of graft,
For which I now pay into this burning’s account.”

And then Pigface, from whose mouth protruded
A tusk on each side like a boar,
Had him feel how one of them could tear the flesh.

The mouse had found himself between some vicious cats,
But Thornybeard locked him up in his arms,
And said, “Stay over there while I skewer him.”

He then turned to face my master.
“Ask him questions,” he said, “if you still desire more
To learn from him, before the others tear him apart.”

The one who leads me then said to the man: “Now tell me, of the other sinners,
Are there any Italians you know
Underneath the pitch?” And he replied, “I left

One who was from nearby there just now.
Would that I were still down there with him,
So that I shouldn’t fear claw nor hook!”

“We have suffered too much,” Lustykins
Said, and, with his hook, took the sinner by the arm,
Tearing it and pulling off a muscle.

Viledragon also wanted to grab him,
Down there by the legs, at which point their captain
Turned round and round with an evil look.

After they had quieted down a bit,
To him who was still looking at his wound
My leader asked without delay,

“Who was the one from whom you unfortunately parted,
As you said, upon coming ashore?”
And he responded, “It was Fra Gomita,

He of Gallura, vessel of every fraud,
Who had the enemies of his benefactor in hand,
And dealt with them so that they each lauded him.

He took the money and let them off easy,
So he says, and in other affairs as well,
He was no small bribe-taker, but a majestic one.”

Keeping company with him is Don Michel Zanche
Of Logodoro, and when speaking of Sardinia,
Their tongues never grow tired.

Oh, my, look at that other one gritting his teeth.
I would tell you more, but I’m afraid that he
Is getting ready to flay my hide.”

The great marshal then turned to Browbeater,
Who was rolling his eyes preparing to attack,
And said to him, “Make your way over there, wicked bird!”

“If you would like to see or hear,”
The frightened one then began again,
“Tuscans or Lombards, I will make them come.

But have the Evilclaws stand back a little
So that the ones I speak of do not fear their reprisals.
And I, sitting in this same place,

Being the one that I am, I will make seven come
When I whistle, as is our custom
To do when one of us gets out.”

Dirthound raised his snout at these words,
Shaking his head, and he said, “Hear the mischief
He has thought up so he can jump back down below!”

Hearing that, he who had trickery in great supply
Replied, “I am exceedingly full of mischief
When it comes to getting my friends in more trouble.”

Gnarlback did not hold himself in, and against the will
Of the others, said to him, “If you jump down,
I will not come after you at a gallop,

But beating my wings over the pitch.
Let us leave the bank and hide behind the dike
Just to see if you alone are more than our match.”

O you who are reading, you shall hear of a new sport:
Each of their eyes turned towards the other bank--
He who had been most against doing it was first.

The Navarrese chose his time well.
He braced his feet against the ground and suddenly
Jumped, breaking free of their detention.

At this, each was stricken with guilt,
But he who was the biggest cause of the mistake,
He moved forward and cried, “You are caught!”

But it gained him little. Terror is a thing wings
Cannot outrace. That one went below,
And the other, flying upward, lifted his breast--

Not unlike the duck that, all of sudden,
Plunges down when the falcon approaches,
The latter returning to the air thwarted and demoralized.

Frostheel, angry at the trick,
Went flying after them, eager
For the sinner to escape so that he could start a fight.

And once the grafter had disappeared,
He turned his claws upon his companion,
Grabbing hold of him above the ditch.

The heat broke up the fight immediately,
But there was still no getting out,
As their wings had become so covered with tar.

Thornybeard, as disheartened as the others,
Made four fly to the other bank,
All with their hooks, and very quickly

On this side and that one, they descended to their posts,
Extending their hooks towards the trapped ones,
Who were already cooked inside their hides.

And we left them in their embarrassment.

Continue to Song XXIII

Inferno, Song XXI

2010-06-21T07:16:00.000-07:00

The demon torturers of the grafters confront Virgil and Dante.

And so from bridge to bridge, talking about other things
That my Comedy does not choose to sing of,
We did go. And when we reached the summit,

We stopped to see the next fissure
Of Malebolge and more tears cried in vain.
And I saw it was astonishingly dark.

As with the Venetian Arsenal:
In winter they boil the strong pitch
In order to caulk their unsound ships.

Because then they cannot sail, and instead
One makes himself a new boat, and another patches
The frame that has made many voyages for him,

One hammers at the prow and one at the stern.
Another makes oars and another twists ropes.
One patches the jib and mainsail.

So, by divine art--not fire--
A thick tar boiled there below,
Sticking to the bank on every side.

I saw it, but I saw in it
Nothing but the bubbles that the boiling raised,
And all the swelling and ebbing.

While I was staring down there,
My Master said, “Look out, look out!”,
And pulled me to him from where I was standing.

I then turned like one who is eager
To see that which he must flee,
And who is unnerved by sudden fear,

Though by looking he does not delay his departure.
And behind us I saw a black devil
Come running up through the ridge.

Ah, how savage his face was!
And how fierce his movements seemed to me,
With his wings open and so quick on his feet!

His shoulder, which was sharp and high,
Carried a sinner by both haunches,
And he held the sinner by the tendons of his feet.

At our bridge, he said, “Oh, Evil-claws,
Here is one of the elders of Santa Zita!
Put him below, while I go back for more

In that land, which is well supplied with them.
Every man there takes bribes, except for Bonturo.
For money, ‘No’ becomes ‘Yes’.”

He threw the sinner down, and through the stony ridge
He turned back. And never had a released mastiff been
With such haste to pursue the thief.

That sinner plunged in, and came up again backside first.
However, the demons that were underneath the bridge
Cried out, “Here is not the place for your Sacred Face!

Here swimming is different than that in the Serchio!
So, if you don’t want our hooks,
Do not break the surface of the overwhelming pitch.”

Then they gouged him with more than a hundred hooks,
Saying, “You must dance covered up here,
So that, if you can, you pilfer covertly.

It was not unlike how cooks have their helpers
Plunge to the center of the cauldrons
The meat with their hooks, all so it does not float.

The good master said to me, “So that you
May not be seen to be here, crouch down
Behind a rock that gives you some protection.

And whatever outrage may be done to me,
Don’t you fear, for I know about things here—
I was in such a situation another time.

He then passed from there to the end of the bridge;
And upon reaching the sixth bank,
It was necessary for him to show a confident manner.

With the fury and clamor
Of dogs that come out charging at a beggar,
Who then stops in his tracks pleading,

These came out from under the bridge
And raised their pitchforks against my master.
But he yelled out, “Not one of you shall act against me!

Before you nab me with your hooks,
Send one of your number to hear me out,
And then discuss whether to stick your forks in me.

They all cried in return, “You go, Evil-Tail!”
So one motioned forward--the others stood still--
And came to my master saying, “What benefit this?”

“Do you believe, Evil-Tail, that you see me here
Having come,” my master said,
“Still safe from all your defenses,

Without Divine will and fate’s benevolence?
Let us go by, for in Heaven it is willed
That I show another this savage way.”

His pride was then so sunken
That he let his hook drop to his feet
And said to the others, “He must not be harmed.”

And my leader said to me, “Oh, you sitting
In a crouch between the jagged rocks of the bridge,
You may now return to me safely.”

At that I moved and quickly came to him,
And the devils all pushed forward
In a way that made me afraid for their keeping of the pact.

So I once saw the infantrymen’s fear
At coming out of Caprona under treaty,
Seeing themselves among so many enemies.

With all of my will, I drew myself
Closely to my leader, and did not take my eyes off
Their faces, which were not heartening.

They lowered their hooks. “You want to give him a swipe
On the rump?” one said to another.
And they all responded, “Yes, give him a cut there.”

But the demon who was holding forth
With my leader turned around quickly
And said, “Settle down, settle down, Clutterhead!”

He then said to us, “To go further by this
Ridge is not something you can do, for lying
All broken at the bottom is the sixth arch.

But if it still pleases you to go forward,
Go along through this grotto.
You can make your way through another nearby ridge.

Yesterday, five hours later than now,
One thousand, two hundred, and sixty-six
Years have gone by since the road here was ruined.

I am sending these of my men there
To see if any have come up for air.
Travel with them, for they know you are not among the guilty.”

“To the front, Gnarlback and Frostheel,”
he began saying to them. “You too, Dirthound.
And let Thornybeard lead the squad.

Lustykins comes, too, along with Viledragon,
Pigface with the tusks, and Dogscratch,
As well as Browbeater and crazy Redface.

Search around the boiling tar.
Let these be safe up to the next ridge
That is all unbroken going over the pits.

“Ah me, master, what is that I see?”,
I said. “Oh! Let us go alone without escort,
If you know the way. As for me, I want none of it.

If you are as wary as has been your habit,
Do you not see them grinding their teeth
And threatening anguish to us with their brows?”

And he to me, “I do not want you afraid.
Leave them to grind at their pleasure,
As they do it for the boiling wretched.”

They wheeled around to the left-hand bank.
But first they each pressed their tongue
Between their teeth for a signal from their leader.

He then made a trumpet of his ass.

Continue to Song XXII

Inferno, Song XX

2010-04-01T16:10:00.000-07:00

The story thus far: Dante, a poet and town prior in Florence, finds himself on a dark road of the soul. Before his spirit can fall to its ruin, he encounters Virgil, the greatest poet of classical Rome. Virgil, at the behest of Beatrice, a woman who was Dante's inspiration in life, offers Dante a journey through the realms of the afterworld, through which Dante may find his soul's salvation. He shall travel through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, with Virgil as his guide through the first two. Dante accepts Virgil's offer, and they embark. After passing through the gates of Hell, they encounter the souls of the cowards who took no stand in conflicts between good and evil, and then proceed to Limbo, the realm of the noble or innocent souls who were not baptized or otherwise not believers in the Christian faith. Dante and Virgil then travel through the first circles of damnation and the city of Dis, which punish those who embrace earthly appetites and goods at God's expense. Upon leaving the city, Virgil explains the plan of Hell to Dante. The circles that follow hold, in descending order of heinousness, those who commit violence, fraud, and betrayal. In the circle of the Violent, they encounter murderers, merciless conquerors, suicides, and who squandered or destroyed their belongings. From there, they walk alongside a desert where fire rains down. It is the prison for those who were violent against God and nature, including blasphemers, sodomites, and usurers. Dante and Virgil then descend to next level of Hell on the back of Geryon, a flying monster who is the personification of fraud. It is the circle of the fraudulent, and in the first three bolgias, they encounter the panderers, seducers, flatterers, and the corrupt clergy.

Dante and Virgil look out upon the diviners and fortune-tellers.

I must create verses of new agonies
And give form to the twentieth song
Of my first canticle, which is about those forsaken underground.

I was now entirely preoccupied
With watching what was revealed there,
Which was bathed with anguished tears.

And I saw people around the circular valley
Coming, silent and tearful, at the pace
Made by the litany processions in this world.

As my eyes traveled down them,
Each appeared strangely twisted
Between the chin and collarbone.

For the face was turned to the back,
And they walked in reverse,
As if looking forward had been taken from them.

Perhaps palsy has
contorted one so completely,
But I have not seen it nor believe it to be so.

So, reader, may God grant that you gather the fruit
Of your readings here. Now contemplate
How I could keep my eyes dry

When nearby I saw our form
So twisted that the eyes’ tears
Bathed the buttocks at the cleft.

I certainly cried, leaning against one of the rocks
On that hardy ridge. And so my escort
Said to me, “Are you still as foolish as the rest?

Here lives pity when it is good and dead.
What is wickeder than the one
Who behaves so in the face of divine judgment?

Raise your head, raise it, and see the one for whom
The ground opened itself before the eyes of the Thebans--
For whom they all cried, “Where are you rushing,

Amphiaraus? Why have you left the war?’
And he did not stop his fall into the depths
That end with Minos, who seizes everyone.

Look at how he has made a breast of his shoulders.
Because he wished to see too far ahead,
He watches behind himself and makes his way backwards.

See Tiresias, who changed appearance
When from a male he became a female,
Transformed in every aspect of his body.

And then, like the first time, he had to again strike
The two entwined serpents with his rod
In order to regain his manly features.

Aruns is that one who backs up to the other’s belly.
He is the one who in the mountains of the Luni, where tilling the ground are
The Carraresi who live below them.

He had a cave among the white marble
For his home, where watching the stars
And the sea made for a boundless sight.

And she who cover her breasts--
Which you do not see--with her loose tresses,
And who has all her hairy parts there as well,

She was Manto, who searched through many lands
And settled in the place where I was born.
Please listen to me about this for a bit.

After her father had departed from life,
And the city of Bacchus became enslaved,
She roamed the world for a long while.

Above in beautiful Italy lies a lake
At the foot of the Alps that lock in Germany
Above Tyrol. It is called Benaco.

I believe a thousand springs or more wash down
Between Garda and Val Camonica and Appennine
With the water that settles in that aforementioned lake.

A place is there in the middle of it where the Trentian
Pastors, as well as those of Brescia and the Veronese,
Might give their blessing if they took that way.

Peschiera sits there, a beautiful and strong fortress
That stands against the Brescians and Bergamese
At the lowest point of the surrounding shore.

All the waterfalls gather there
That cannot stay in the bosom of Benaco,
And which become a river down through the green pastures.

As soon as the water begins to run,
It is no longer Benaco. It is called Mincio
Until it reaches Governolo, where it empties into the Po.

Its course is not long before it finds a level
In which it spreads and creates a marsh.
At times it becomes rank in the summer.

Passing through there, the wild maiden
Saw land in the middle of the bog,
Uncultivated and empty of inhabitants.

There, in order to avoid all human society,
She settled there with those who served her so she could practice her arts.
It was where she lived, and where she left her corpse.

The people who were scattered around then
Gathered in that place, which was secure
Because of the bog that surrounded it on every side.

They built the city over those dead bones.
And after her who first chose the place,
They, without further ado, named it Mantua.

Once there were more people within its boundaries—
Before the madness of Casalodi
Became the victim of Pinamonte’s deceit.

As such, I charge you, that if you ever hear
Another story of my city’s founding,
No lie shall distort the truth.”

I replied, “Master, your account
Is for me so certain and so holds my confidence
That any other for me would be spent coals.

Then he said to me, “That one who from his cheeks
Has grown a beard reaching to his dark shoulders
Was--when Greece was bereft of men

To the extent that few remained for the cradles--
The augur, and with Calchas gave the moment
In Aulis to cut the first cord.

Eurypylus was his name, and as such is sung by
My high tragedy in a certain place.
As you know well, knowing it in its entirety.

That other one, who in the flanks is so small,
He is Michael Scot, who certainly
Knew the game of magic frauds.

See Guido Bonatti. See Asdente,
Who, having talent for the leather and the thread,
Now wishes for it, but he has repented too late.

See the sad women who left behind the needle,
The shuttle, and the spindle and became fortune-tellers,
Casting spells with herbs and likenesses.

But come now, for he already holds the confines
Of both hemispheres and touch the waves
Below Seville. That is, Cain and his thorns.

And last night the moon was already round.
Remember that well, for it helped you
At times in the depth of the wood.”

So he said to me while we went onward.

Continue to Song XXI

Inferno, Song XIX

2009-11-21T15:40:00.000-08:00

The story thus far: Dante, a poet and town prior in Florence, finds himself on a dark road of the soul. Before his spirit can fall to its ruin, he encounters Virgil, the greatest poet of classical Rome. Virgil, at the behest of Beatrice, a woman who was Dante's inspiration in life, offers Dante a journey through the realms of the afterworld, through which Dante may find his soul's salvation. He shall travel through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, with Virgil as his guide through the first two. Dante accepts Virgil's offer, and they embark. After passing through the gates of Hell, they encounter the souls of the cowards who took no stand in conflicts between good and evil, and then proceed to Limbo, the realm of the noble or innocent souls who were not baptized or otherwise not believers in the Christian faith. Dante and Virgil then travel through the first circles of damnation and the city of Dis, which punish those who embrace earthly appetites and goods at God's expense. Upon leaving the city, Virgil explains the plan of Hell to Dante. The circles that follow hold, in descending order of heinousness, those who commit violence, fraud, and betrayal. In the circle of the Violent, they encounter murderers, merciless conquerors, suicides, and who squandered or destroyed their belongings. From there, they walk alongside a desert where fire rains down. It is the prison for those who were violent against God and nature, including blasphemers, sodomites, and usurers. Dante and Virgil then descend to next level of Hell on the back of Geryon, a flying monster who is the personification of fraud. It is the circle of the fraudulent, and in the first two bolgias, they encounter the panderers, seducers, and flatterers.

Virgil looks on while Dante speaks to the soul of Pope Nicholas II.

O Simon Magus, O his miserable followers,
Who, of the things of God, and of the goodness
That should be His brides, in your rapacity

For gold and silver you turned.
Now the trumpet must sound for you,
For your place is in the third bolgia.

We were now at the next tomb,
Having gone up the rock to that part
Which hangs over the middle of the trench.

O Highest Wisdom, how great is the art
You display in Heaven, on Earth, and in the world of the disgraced!
And how justly You wield Your power!

I saw the sides and bottom were
Full of holes in the bruise-like stone.
All were of one width, and all were round.

They did not seem of less or greater width
Than those that are in my beautiful San Giovanni,
Created as places of baptism.

One of which, not many years ago,
I broke open for one who was drowning inside.
And this matter I seal, clarifying it for everyone.

Stuck outside the mouth of each were
The feet and legs of a sinner
Up to the calf, and the rest was inside.

Their soles were all lit afire,
From which their joints writhed so strongly
That they would have snapped withes or tethers.

As flame on oily things just
Moves along the outer surface,
So it did there from the heels to the toes.

“Who is that one, Master, who in torment
Writhes more than his peers,”
I said, “and who is licked by a redder flame?”

He said to me, “If you would like for me to carry you
Down there by way of that steeper bank,
You should learn of him and his crimes from him.”

And I replied, “What pleases you is to my benefit.
You are my lord, and you know that I do not part
From your will. You also know what I am silent about.”

Then we came onto the fourth dike.
We turned and descended on the left-hand side
There down to the pitted and narrow floor.

The good master, from his side, still
Did not put me down until he brought me to the hole
Of the one whose feet lamented so for him.

“Oh, whoever you are, held upside down,
Sad soul, like an embedded post,”
I began to say. “If you can, speak.”

I stood like the friar who takes the confession of
The treacherous assassin, who, after being hung,
Calls him back in order to delay death.

And he cried, “Are you standing there already,
Are you standing there already, Boniface?
The writing lied to me by quite a few years.

Is it so soon that you are sated
By the things you were not afraid to take by guile from
The beautiful lady, and then torture her?”

And so I became like those who stand
Not understanding the reply made to them.
It was as if I had been mocked, and I did not know how to respond.

Then Virgil said, “Tell him quickly:
‘I am not him, I am not him who you think.’”
And I replied as I was told.

At that the spirit’s feet writhed hard.
Then, sighing and with a tearful voice,
He said, “So what are you asking of me?

If to know who I am is so important to you
That you have descended the bank for the answer,
Know that I wore the great mantle;

And I was truly a son of the she-bear,
So greedy to advance my cubs
That above I hoarded things in my purse, and here myself.

Beneath my head are dragged the others
Who preceded me in simony--
Squeezed flat through the fissures of the rock.

I shall sink down there when the other
Comes—him whom I believed you to be
When I asked my hasty question.

But I have already spent more time with my feet aflame
And upside down
Than he shall stay planted with his feet burning.

For after him will come one of fouler deeds
From the west, a lawless shepherd,
One fit to cover him and me.

He shall be a new Jason, of whom one reads about
In the Maccabees, and as that one was appeased by
His king, so shall this one be treated by the one who rules France.”

I do not know if I was too reckless here,
In that I replied to him in this manner:
“Pray tell me now: how much treasure was required by

Our Lord before, to Saint Peter’s
Care, he put the keys.
He certainly did not ask anything but ‘Follow me.’

Neither Peter nor the others took from Matthias
Gold or silver when he was chosen
For the place lost by the guilty soul.

So stay, for you are rightly punished,
And pay good mind to the ill-got wealth
That made you bold against Charles.

And were I not still forbidden by
My reverence for the supreme keys
That you held in the happy life,

I should use even harsher language.
For your avarice afflicts the world,
Trampling the good and exalting the wicked.

The Evangelist had you shepherds in mind
When she that sits upon the waters,
Fornicating with kings, was seen by him.

She was born with seven heads,
And was compelled in her actions by the ten horns,
As long as her husband took pleasure in her virtue.

You have made yourself a god of gold and silver.
And what is the difference between you and the idolaters,
Except that they worship one and you a hundred?

Ah, Constantine, to how much evil have you given birth?
Not your conversion, but that dowry
The first rich Father took from you!”

And while I sang this song to him,
Either anger or conscience bit at him—
He kicked hard with both feet.

I well believe that my leader was pleased.
He stood throughout with such a content look,
Listening to the words of truth I spoke.

After that he held me to him with both his arms,
And then, while he held me to his chest,
He again set out upon the way he had come down.

Nor did he tire of holding me close.
And so he carried me up to the top of the arch
That crosses from the fourth dike to the fifth.

Here he gently set his burden down—
Gently for the steep rockiness of the slope,
Which would have been a difficult climb for a goat.

From there another valley was revealed to me.

Continue to Song XX

Inferno, Song XVIII

2009-07-31T10:00:00.000-07:00

The story thus far: Dante, a poet and town prior in Florence, finds himself on a dark road of the soul. Before his spirit can fall to its ruin, he encounters Virgil, the greatest poet of classical Rome. Virgil, at the behest of Beatrice, a woman who was Dante's inspiration in life, offers Dante a journey through the realms of the afterworld, through which Dante may find his soul's salvation. He shall travel through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, with Virgil as his guide through the first two. Dante accepts Virgil's offer, and they embark. After passing through the gates of Hell, they encounter the souls of the cowards who took no stand in conflicts between good and evil, and then proceed to Limbo, the realm of the noble or innocent souls who were not baptized or otherwise not believers in the Christian faith. Dante and Virgil then travel through the first circles of damnation and the city of Dis, which punish those who embrace earthly appetites and goods at God's expense. Upon leaving the city, Virgil explains the plan of Hell to Dante. The circles that follow hold, in descending order of heinousness, those who commit violence, fraud, and betrayal. In the circle of the Violent, they encounter murderers, merciless conquerors, suicides, and who squandered or destroyed their belongings. From there, they walk alongside a desert where fire rains down. It is the prison for those who were violent against God and nature, including blasphemers, sodomites, and usurers. Dante and Virgil then come to a precipice, where Virgil summons Geryon, a flying monster who is the personification of fraud. The two descend to the next level of Hell on its back.

Virgil points out Thaïs among the flatterers.

There is a place in Hell called Malebolge,
All made of stones the color of iron
Like the wall that goes around it.

Right in the middle of the malign field
There yawns a very wide and deep pit,
The ordering of which I shall talk about here, in its place.

That belt that remains hooked is round;
It is between the pit and the foot of the high stony bank,
And it is divided into ten valleys at the bottom.

Like such places where, in order to guard the walls,
Increasing numbers of moats encircle the castles,
The site shaped into a pattern--

Such was the design those made there.
As such, fortresses from their thresholds
Have small bridges leading to their outside bank.

And so, from the base of the rock, ridges
Ran that cut across the dikes and embankments,
Ending at the pit where they are cut short and gathered in.

In this place, shaken from the back
Of Geryon, we found ourselves. The Poet
Held to the left, and I followed.

On my right side I saw new sorrows,
New torments, and new torturers.
The first ditch was full with them.

Those at the bottom were naked and sinners.
If they were between us and the middle, they came toward us.
And if they were on the other side, they went as we did, although with greater strides.

They were like those in Rome, because of the great numbers,
In the year of the Jubilee. In order for
The people to cross the bridge,

All on the one side were facing
Towards the Castle and went to St. Peter’s,
And on the other side they went towards the Mount.

On this side, on that side, all along the gloomy rock
I saw horned demons with heavy whips
Cruelly lashing them from behind.

Oh, how they were made to pick up their pace
At the first blow! Indeed, no one
Waited for the second or the third.

While I went on, my eyes by one of them
Were met, and I quickly said,
“Him I knew and would see more of.”

I stopped walking to better make him out,
And my gracious Leader stopped with me,
Agreeing to let me turn back a little.

And that one being tortured thought to conceal himself by
Hiding his face, but with little success,
As I said, “O you whose eyes are cast upon the ground,

If the features you bear are not false,
You are Venedico Caccianemico.
But what leads you to such a foul Salse?”

And he replied, “I do not answer voluntarily.
I am compelled by your plain speech,
Which reminds me of the past world.

I am the one who brought Ghisolabella
To do the will of the Marquis,
However the scandalous story is told.

And I am not the only one from Bologna grieving here.
On the contrary, this place is so full of them
That now many tongues have not learned

To say sipa between the Savena and the Reno.
And if you would like proof or confirmation of this,
Just remember our greedy natures.”

While he was speaking a demon struck him
With his whip, saying, “Get going,
Pimp! There are no women here to sell.”

I rejoined my escort.
A few steps later, we came
To where a rock jutted out of the bank.

We climbed that quite easily,
And turning to the right on through its crags
We left those who were circling eternally.

When we arrived at the place where it yawns
Below so those who have been whipped can pass,
My leader said, “ Stop, and let fall

Upon you the sight of these other misbegotten ones,
Whose faces you have not yet seen
Because they were walking the same way we were.”

From the ancient bridge we watched the procession
That came toward us from the other side,
And who, like the first, were chased by whips.

And without my asking, the good master
Said to me, “Look at that great one who approaches.
Despite his pain he does not appear to shed tears.

How he still retains his royal manner!
He is Jason, who through courage and savvy
Took the Fleece away from the Colchians.

He passed by the island of Lemnos
When the bold and pitiless women
Had put all their males to death.

There, with gifts and adorned words,
He beguiled Hypsipyle, the young woman
Who before had beguiled all the others.

There he left her: pregnant, shunned.
Such guilt condemns him to such torment,
And Medea is avenged as well.

All who deceive in this way go with him.
And let this be enough of the first valley
As well as knowledge of those held in its grip.”

Already we were there where the narrow path
Cuts across the second dike
And makes another arch of that shoulder.

Here we heard people moaning
In the other ditch, blubbering
And hitting themselves with their palms.

The banks were covered with mold.
It wafts up from below and sticks to them,
Assailing the eyes and nose.

The bottom is so dark that there is no
Place to see without going up to the top
Of the arch, where the ridge overhangs the most.

We went there, and then, below in the pit,
I saw people immersed in excrement
That appeared to come from men’s outhouses.

And while searching down there with my eyes
I saw one whose head was so filthy with shit
That one could not tell if he was layman or cleric.

“Why,” he scolded me, “do you so intently
Look at me more than the other filthy ones?”
And I replied, “Because, if I remember well,

I saw you once with dry hair,
And you are Alessio Interminelli of Lucca.
That is why I eye you more than all the others.”

And then, beating himself upon his crown, he replied,
“Down here I have been sunk by the flatteries
My tongue never grew weary of.”

After that my leader said to me, “Make yourself
Look ahead a bit further,
So that you may get a good look at the face

Of that filthy and disheveled wretch
Who is there scratching herself with shit-covered fingernails,
First squatting and now standing on her feet.

It is Thaïs, the whore whose response
To her lover when he said, ‘Has the favor
I have found with you great?,’ was, “On the contrary, beyond what any would believe.’

And with that let our sight be satisfied.

Continue to Song XIX

Inferno, Song XVII

2009-05-25T03:43:00.000-07:00

The story thus far: Dante, a poet and town prior in Florence, finds himself on a dark road of the soul. Before his spirit can fall to its ruin, he encounters Virgil, the greatest poet of classical Rome. Virgil, at the behest of Beatrice, a woman who was Dante's inspiration in life, offers Dante a journey through the realms of the afterworld, through which Dante may find his soul's salvation. He shall travel through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, with Virgil as his guide through the first two. Dante accepts Virgil's offer, and they embark. After passing through the gates of Hell, they encounter the souls of the cowards who took no stand in conflicts between good and evil, and then proceed to Limbo, the realm of the noble or innocent souls who were not baptized or otherwise not believers in the Christian faith. Dante and Virgil then travel through the first circles of damnation and the city of Dis, which punish those who embrace earthly appetites and goods at God's expense. Upon leaving the city, Virgil explains the plan of Hell to Dante. The circles that follow hold, in descending order of heinousness, those who commit violence, fraud, and betrayal. In the circle of the Violent, they travel along a river of boiling blood, in which the spirits of murderers and savage conquerors are imprisoned. They then enter the wood of the suicides, which also imprisons those who squandered or destroyed their belongings. From there, they walk alongside a desert where fire rains down. It is the prison for those who were violent against God and nature. The blasphemers are the first Dante takes note of, but they are only one of the many kinds of sinners who reside here, such as the sodomites. Among the latter is Brunetto Latini, who was Dante's mentor and role model while growing up, as well as Jacopo Rusticucci, Guido Guerra, and Tegghiaio Aldobrandi, three great Florentine leaders. Dante and Virgil then come to a precipice, where Virgil summons a flying monster from the depths.

Dante and Virgil descend further into Hell on Geryon's back

“Here is the beast with the pointed tail,
That crosses mountains and breaks down walls and weapons!
Here is the one who infects the entire world!”

So my leader began to say to me,
And signaled to it to come and land
Near the end of the stony passage.

And that filthy image of fraud
Came and set down its head and breast,
But it did not bring its tail up to the cliff’s edge.

Its face was the face of a just man,
So benign on the outside,
And all the rest was a serpent’s trunk.

It had two paws, hairy to the armpits.
Its back and chest and sides
Were painted with knots and circlets.

Fields and embroidery with more color
Were never made in Tartar or Turkish tapestries,
Nor was such cloth made by Arachne at her loom.

Like boats that sometimes are at the shore,
Partly in the water and partly on land,
Or like there, in the land of the German drunkards,

The beaver sets itself to struggle,
So the awful beast was there
On the edge where the stone bounds the sand.

Its entire tail was twitching in the void,
Twisting upward the venomous fork
That, like a scorpion’s, armed the tip.

My leader said, “Now we must twist
Our way a little, as far as that
Wicked beast crouching over there.”

So we descended on our right side,
And took ten steps along the edge
In order to keep well away from the sand and flame.

And when we came beside it,
I saw on the sand a bit further on
People sitting where it drops off.

Here my master said to me, “So that full
Experience of this round you may carry away,
Go and see the state of them.

Keep your talk there short.
Until you return, I will talk with this one,
So it will grant us the use of its strong shoulders.”

And so through still further along the outer edge
Of that seventh circle, all alone
I went, where the sad people were sitting.

Their sorrow exploded from their eyes.
From here and from there their hands moved, shielding themselves,
Sometimes from the flames, and sometimes from the burning ground.

What they were doing was no different than dogs in summer:
First with their snouts, then with their paws, when they are bitten
By fleas or flies or horseflies.

Then, when I set my eyes on some of the faces of those
Upon whom the fire of sorrow was falling,
I did not recognize anyone. However, I observed

That from around each one’s neck there hung a pouch
That had a certain color and insignia,
And upon these they feasted their eyes.

And when I came among them, looking around,
I saw, on a yellow purse, azure
In which a lion had its face and manner.

Then, proceeding with my looking about,
I saw another, blood-red,
Showing a goose whiter than butter.

And one, who had a large azure sow
Embossed on his white bag,
Said to me, “What are you doing in this pit?”

Go now, and because you are still alive,
Know that my neighbor Vitaliano
Will sit here on my left side.

I am a Paduan among these Florentines.
In my ears, they often
Cry, ‘Let the sovereign knight come

Who will bring the pouch with three goats!’”
Upon this he twisted his mouth and stuck out
His tongue, like an ox licking its nose.

And fearing that staying longer would irritate
Him who had warned me to stay just a bit,
I turned away from the spent souls.

I found my leader had gotten
Upon the back of that savage beast already.
And he said to me, “Now be strong and brave.

Now one descends by taking these stairs.
Mount in the front, as I wish to be in between
So the tail cannot harm you.”

Like one so close to the shivering
Of quartan fever, whose nails are white,
And who trembles all over at the sight of shade,

Such I became at his words.
But shame threatened me,
Which makes a servant strong before a good master.

I settled myself upon those shoulders,
And I wanted to speak, but my voice did not come
As I thought, “Make sure you hold me tight!”

But he, who at other times had saved me
From other perils, as soon as I mounted
He took me in his arms and supported me.

And he said, “Geryon, let’s move now--
Wide circles, and let your descent be gradual.
Think of the new burden you bear.”

Like a gondola leaving its place, moving
Back and back, so then did Geryon move out.
And then, when it felt itself all clear,

It turned its tail around to where its breast was,
And, extending it, he moved like an eel,
Gathering in the air with his paws.

I do not think that greater fear was had
When Phaethon abandoned the reins,
Which led to the sky being scorched, like it still appears,

Nor when poor Icarus felt his sides
Losing feathers from the melting wax,
His father crying to him, “You are taking the wrong way!,”

Than was my fear, when I saw that I was
In the air on all sides, and I saw lost
Sight of everything except the beast.

Slowly, slowly, it goes swimming onward,
Turning and descending, but I am not aware of it
Beyond the wind blowing in my face and from below.

On my right I already heard the whirlpool
Making a horrible roar below us,
At which I stretched out my head and looked down.

I was then more afraid of dismounting,
For I saw fires and heard lamenting,
And I recoiled, trembling all over.

And then I saw--for I had not seen it before--
Our descending and circling by the great torments
That pressed on us from so many sides.

Like the falcon that has been too long on the wing
Without seeing lure or bird
Makes the falconer say, “Oh my, you’re falling!”

Tired, it descends to where it swiftly set out from,
In a hundred spirals, and perches far
From its master, disdainful and sullen.

This was how Geryon brought us down to the bottom
Nearby the foot of the jagged rock.
And, unburdened of our bodies,

It vanished like an arrow from the string.

Continue to Song XVIII

Inferno, Song XVI

2009-05-18T09:44:00.000-07:00

The story thus far: Dante, a poet and town prior in Florence, finds himself on a dark road of the soul. Before his spirit can fall to its ruin, he encounters Virgil, the greatest poet of classical Rome. Virgil, at the behest of Beatrice, a woman who was Dante's inspiration in life, offers Dante a journey through the realms of the afterworld, through which Dante may find his soul's salvation. He shall travel through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, with Virgil as his guide through the first two. Dante accepts Virgil's offer, and they embark. After passing through the gates of Hell, they encounter the souls of the cowards who took no stand in conflicts between good and evil, and then proceed to Limbo, the realm of the noble or innocent souls who were not baptized or otherwise not believers in the Christian faith. Dante and Virgil then travel through the first circles of damnation and the city of Dis, which punish those who embrace earthly appetites and goods at God's expense. Upon leaving the city, Virgil explains the plan of Hell to Dante. The circles that follow hold, in descending order of heinousness, those who commit violence, fraud, and betrayal. In the circle of the Violent, they travel along a river of boiling blood, in which the spirits of murderers and savage conquerors are imprisoned. They then enter the wood of the suicides, which also imprisons those who squandered or destroyed their belongings. From there, they walk alongside a desert where fire rains down. It is the prison for those who were violent against God and nature. The blasphemers are the first Dante takes note of, but they are only one of the many kinds of sinners who reside here, such as the sodomites. Among the latter is Brunetto Latini, who was Dante's mentor and role model while growing up.

Dante and Virgil summon Geryon from the pit

I was already at the place where I heard the sound
Of water falling into the next circle--
It was like the buzzing of beehives--

When together three shades left, while
Running, a crowd that was passing
Beneath the rain of harsh torment.

They came towards us, and each was crying,
“Stop, you, whose clothes appear
To be of one from our degenerate land.”

Ah, me, what wounds I saw in their limbs,
Both new and old, from the burning flames!
The memory still makes me grieve when I recall it.

My teacher held back upon hearing their cries,
And he turned his face to me. “Wait now,”
He said. “To these we should show courtesy.

And if it weren’t for the strafing fire, borne from
The nature of the place, I would say
That haste is better for you than them.”

As we came to a stop, they again began their
Ancient song, and when they reached us,
The three of them made a wheel of themselves

Like only champions do, naked and oiled,
Watching for their grip and advantage
Before they trade thrusts and blows.

And wheeling around so, each one’s face
Was directed towards me, so that counter to their necks
Their feet were continually moving.

“If the misery of this sandy place
Treats us and our prayers with contempt,
As well as our darkened and hairless appearance,” one began,

“May your soul submit to our renown
And tell us who you are that your living feet
Travel safely through Hell.

This one, in whose tracks you see me tread,
Although he goes naked and peeling,
Was of a higher rank than you believe.

He was the grandson of the good Gualdrada.
His name was Guido Guerra, and in his life
He accomplished much with his judgment and sword.

The other, who treads the sand behind me,
Is Tegghiaio Aldobrandi, whose voice
Should have been welcomed in the world above.

And I, who has been placed with them in torment,
Am Jacopo Rusticucci, and certainly
More than anything my beast of a wife is what brought me low.”

If I had been shielded from the fire,
I would have thrown myself down among them,
And I believe my teacher would have tolerated it.

But because I would be burned and baked,
Fear conquered my goodwill,
Which had made me eager to embrace them.

I then began, “It is not contempt, but grief
Over your condition that is fixed inside me,
So much so that it will be a long time before it is entirely gone.

Because of this my lord said to me
Words that made me think
That men such as you were coming.

I am of your land, and always
Your deeds and honored names
I have heard and recounted with affection.

I am leaving the gall and heading towards the sweet fruit
Promised to me by my trustworthy leader.
However, I must first descend to the center.”

“So, long may your soul guide
Your limbs,” he replied in turn,
“and your fame shine after you.

Tell us if courtesy and valor live
In our city like they used to,
Or if they have entirely gone away.

For Guglielmo Borsiere, who has suffered
With us for a short time--he goes over there with our company--
Greatly torments us with his words.”

“The new people and sudden gains
Have created such pride and excess
In you, Florence, that it already has you crying.”

I cried this out with my face raised.
And the three, taking it for a reply,
Looked at one another as if they were hearing the truth.

“If at other times it costs you so little,”
They all replied, “to satisfy others,
You must be a happy man to speak so at your pleasure!

Therefore, if you escape from these dark places
And return to see the beautiful stars again,
When it will do you good to say, ‘I was there,’

Speak of us as such to others.”
They then broke their wheel, and as they fled
Their legs resembled wings.

An “Amen” could not have been said
As quickly as they had disappeared.
For my master, it appeared we should leave.

I followed him, and we had only gone a little onward
When the sound of water was so near
That it was difficult to hear each other speak.

Like that river whose course is
First from Mount Viso to the east,
On the left side of the Apennines--

It is called Acquacheta above, before
It pours into its lower bed
And loses that name at Forlì.

There it resounds over San Benedetto
Dell’Alpe by falling with one leap
Into a fissure where there might have been a thousand.

And so, down a steep bank,
We found that dark water echoing
So that in a short time it would have injured our ears.

I had a cord wrapped around me,
And with it I once thought
To take the leopard with the spotted fur.

After I had loosened all of it from me,
As my leader had ordered,
I passed it to him coiled and knotted.

Then he swung around to his right side,
And flung it some distance out from the edge
Into that deep abyss.

“Certainly something strange will respond,”
I said to myself, “to the odd signal
That my Master so follows with his eye.

Ah, how cautious men should be
Pressing those who not only look on our actions
With good judgment, but our thoughts as well!

He said to me, “Soon will arise
That which I wait for and of which your thoughts dream.
Soon your eyes will discover it for themselves.”

Always, to that truth that has the face of a lie,
A man should seal his lips as much as he can,
Since without guilt it makes one ashamed.

But here I cannot be silent. And by the lines
Of this Comedy, reader, I swear to you,
So they may not fail to gain lasting favor,

That through that heavy and murky air I saw
A figure come swimming up that would be
Astonishing to even the steadiest heart,

It was like one who returns from going down
On occasion to loosen an anchor that is stuck
In a reef, or something else that is hidden in the sea,

Stretching upward and drawing in his feet.

Continue to Song XVII

Inferno, Song XV

2009-04-26T14:03:00.000-07:00

The story thus far: Dante, a poet and town prior in Florence, finds himself on a dark road of the soul. Before his spirit can fall to its ruin, he encounters Virgil, the greatest poet of classical Rome. Virgil, at the behest of Beatrice, a woman who was Dante's inspiration in life, offers Dante a journey through the realms of the afterworld, through which Dante may find his soul's salvation. He shall travel through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, with Virgil as his guide through the first two. Dante accepts Virgil's offer, and they embark. After passing through the gates of Hell, they encounter the souls of the cowards who took no stand in conflicts between good and evil, and then proceed to Limbo, the realm of the noble or innocent souls who were not baptized or otherwise not believers in the Christian faith. Dante and Virgil then travel through the first circles of damnation and the city of Dis, which punish those who embrace earthly appetites and goods at God's expense. Upon leaving the city, Virgil explains the plan of Hell to Dante. The circles that follow hold, in descending order of heinousness, those who commit violence, fraud, and betrayal. In the circle of the Violent, they travel along a river of boiling blood, in which the spirits of murderers and savage conquerors are imprisoned. They then enter the wood of the suicides, which also imprisons those who squandered or destroyed their belongings. From there, they walk alongside a desert where fire rains down. It is the prison for those who were violent against God and nature. The blasphemers are the first Dante takes note of, but they are only one of the many kinds of sinners who reside here.

Dante and Virgil encounter Brunetto Latini

One of the stone margins bears us now,
And the steam from the flowing water gives shade above,
So that it protects the water and the banks from the fire.

Like the Flemings between Wissant and Bruges,
Afraid of a flood rushing in on them,
Who build a dike to drive back the sea,

And as the Paduans along the Brenta
Do to protect their towns and castles
Before Carentania feels the heat,

These were made in the same manner,
Although not so high nor wide
As that was made, whoever the builder was.

We were already outside the wood
So far that I could not have seen where it was
Even if I had turned back,

When we encountered a band of souls
Who were coming alongside the bank, and each
Looked at us like men at night

Looking at one another under a new moon.
And they furrowed their brows while looking at us,
Like an old tailor does with the eye of a needle.

Thus caught sight of by that group,
I was recognized by one, who took hold
Of my hem and cried, “How marvelous!”

And I, when he extended his arm to me,
Fixed my eyes upon his baked appearance
So that his scorched face did not keep

My mind from recognizing him,
And lowering my hand to his face
I replied, “Are you here, Ser Brunetto?”

And he said, “O my son, may it not displease you
If Brunetto Latini for a little while with you
Turns back and lets the train go on.

I said to him, “As much as I can I beg it of you,
And if you would like to sit down with me,
I will, if it pleases him with whom I go.”

“O son,” he said, “Of this flock, whoever
Stops for a moment then lies for a hundred years
Without shielding himself when the fire strikes him.

Therefore, go on. I will walk at your hem,
And then rejoin my group,
Who go crying over their eternal damnation.”

I did not dare to descend from the path
In order to walk at his level, but I bent my head,
Keeping it like a man who walks with reverence.

He began, “What fortune or destiny
Brings you down here before your last day?
And who is this that shows the way?”

“Up there in the bright light above,”
I answered him, “I lost my way in a valley
Before my age had reached its fullness.

Just yesterday morning I turned my back on it.
This one appeared to me as I was returning there,
And he is leading me home by this road.”

And he said to me, “If you follow your star
You cannot fall short of a glorious destination,
If I judged you well in the beautiful life.

And if I had not died at such a time,
Seeing Heaven so favorable to you,
I would have applauded you in your work.

But those ungrateful and malicious people
Who came down from Fiesole long ago,
And who still retain something of the mountain and the rock about them.

They shall become your enemy due to your good deeds.
And with reason, for among the sorb trees
It is all but impossible for the sweet fig to come to fruit.

An old saying in the world calls them blind:
An avaricious, envious, and proud people.
See that you purge yourself of their ways.

Your fortune holds so much honor for you
That one party and the other will be hungry
For you, but the grass shall be kept far from the goat.

Let the Fiesolan beasts feed
Upon themselves, and not touch the plant,
If any should yet grow from their manure

In whom the holy seed lives again--that
Of those Romans who remained there when
It was made the nest of so much wickedness.”

“If all I wished for was granted,”
I replied, “You would not yet have been
Banished from humanity,

For it is fixed in my memory, and now my heart,
The good, dear, fatherly image
Of you when, in the world, hour by hour,

You taught me how man makes himself immortal.
And I am so grateful that, while I live,
My voice shall declare it for all to hear.

That which you tell me of my course I write
And keep with another text for commentary
By a lady who will know, if I reach her.

I would like you to be aware of this much:
So that my conscience does not trouble me,
I am ready for Fortune to do as she will.

What you say is nothing new to my ears.
Let Fortune turn her wheel
As she pleases, and the peasant his spade.”

My master then turned his head
Backward and to the right and looked at me.
He then said, “He who takes note listens well.”

Nonetheless, I continued talking
With Ser Brunetto, and I asked who is
Highest and most noteworthy in his present company.

He replied, “It is good to know of some,
But of the others it is best to be silent,
For time is too short for so much talk.

Know in sum that all were clerks
And great and famous scholars
Who were stained by the same sin in the world.

Priscian goes along with that troubled crowd,
And Franciscus Accursius, too. And look there,
If you have a hankering for such slime,

You can see him whom the Servant of Servants
Transferred from the Arno to the Bacchiglione,
Where he left his senses ruined by sin.

I would say more, but to speak and walk with you
I can do no longer, as I see
A new cloud of smoke rising from the sand.

People come with whom I must not be.
Let my Tesoro be recommended to you,
In which I still live, and I ask no more.”

He then turned, and he seemed like one of those
Who run for the green cloth in Verona
At the field. And among them he seemed like

One of those who wins, not one who loses.

Continue to Song XVI

Inferno, Song XIV

2009-03-24T00:54:00.000-07:00

The story thus far: Dante, a poet and town prior in Florence, finds himself on a dark road of the soul. Before his spirit can fall to its ruin, he encounters Virgil, the greatest poet of classical Rome. Virgil, at the behest of Beatrice, a woman who was Dante's inspiration in life, offers Dante a journey through the realms of the afterworld, through which Dante may find his soul's salvation. He shall travel through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, with Virgil as his guide through the first two. Dante accepts Virgil's offer, and they embark. After passing through the gates of Hell, they encounter the souls of the cowards who took no stand in conflicts between good and evil, and then proceed to Limbo, the realm of the noble or innocent souls who were not baptized or otherwise not believers in the Christian faith. Dante and Virgil then travel through the first circles of damnation and the city of Dis, which punish those who embrace earthly appetites and goods at God's expense. Upon leaving the city, Virgil explains the plan of Hell to Dante. The circles that follow hold, in descending order of heinousness, those who commit violence, fraud, and betrayal. In the circle of the Violent, they travel along a river of boiling blood, in which the spirits of murderers and savage conquerors are imprisoned. They then enter the wood of the suicides, which also imprisons those who squandered or destroyed their belongings. The suicides are transformed into trees upon their imprisonment, and one has had its leaves painfully torn away in an encounter with one who wasted his property while alive.

Dante and Virgil watch the fire raining down on the Violent against God and Nature

Then, as the love of my native land
Compelled me, I gathered the scattered leaves
And returned them to he who was already hoarse.

Then we came to the point that divides
The second round from the third, and where
One sees a terrifying method of justice.

To make these new things clear,
I must say that we arrived at a plain
That rejects all plants from its bed.

The woods of sorrow are garlanded around it
Like the sad moat around themselves.
There we halted our steps at the edge.

The ground was a dry and deep sand,
Not different from the kind
That the feet of Cato had once walked upon.

O vengeance of God, how much you should
Be feared by those who read
That which appeared before my eyes!

I saw many herds of naked souls,
All weeping most miserably,
And they seemed subject to different laws.

Some of them were lying supine upon the ground,
Some were sitting all crouched,
And others were continually walking.

The ones moving around were the most numerous,
And the fewest those lying in torment,
Although their tongues were the most loosened by pain.

All over the sand, falling slowly,
Large flakes of fire rained down,
Like snow in mountains without wind.

Like Alexander in those hot regions
Of India saw--upon his army--
Flames fall unbroken to the ground,

For which he oversaw the trampling of the soil
By his troops, so that the fires
Were extinguished before they joined into one,

This was how the eternal fire fell.
It ignited the sands there like tinder
Under flint, doubling the pain.

There was the incessant action
Of their wretched hands--now here, now there,
Brushing the fresh flames off themselves.

I began, “Master, you who conquer
All things, except the obstinate demons
Who came out against us at the entrance of the gate,

Who is that great one who doesn’t seem to care about
The burning, and lies scornful and scowling,
As if the rain doesn’t seem to affect him?”

And that one himself, who realized
That I was asking my lord about him,
Cried out, “That which I was alive, such am I dead,

Though Jove exhausts his smith from whom,
In anger, he took the sharp-edged bolt
With which I was struck on my last day.

Although he wears out the others by turns
In Mongibello at the black forge,
Calling out, ‘Good Vulcan, help, help!,’

As he did at the battle of Phlegra,
And hurl thunderbolts at me with all his might,
He shall not have the joy of vengeance.”

And then my lord spoke forcefully--
So much so that I had not heard such intensity from him before:
“O Capaneus, insofar as you have not quelled

Your pride, you are punished the more:
No torment except your raving
Would be sorrow compared to your fury.”

Then he turned to me with a gentler look,
Saying, “That was one of the seven kings
Who laid siege to Thebes, and held--and still seems to hold--

God in disdain, appearing to hold Him in little regard.
But, like I said to him, his own spitefulness
He bears most fittingly upon his chest.

Now come behind me, and watch that you do not put
Your feet in the burning sand even now.
Always keep your feet close to the woods.”

We came silently to the place where gushing
Forth from the forest is a little stream
Whose redness still makes me shudder.

Like the stream that comes from the Bulicame
That the sinful women divide between them,
So this made its way across the sand.

Its bed and both its banks
Were made of stone, as were the margins alongside.
I realized from this that our passage was there.

“Among all the things I have shown you
Since we entered through the gate
Whose doorway is denied to no one,

Nothing has been shown to your eyes
As noteworthy as the river before you,
Which extinguishes all the flames above it.”

These words were my lord’s,
And I begged him to give me the food
For which he had given me the appetite.

“In the middle of the sea lies a wasteland,”
He then said to me, “that is called Crete,
Under whose king the world was once pure.

A mountain is there that once was bright
With water and greenery, that was called Ida.
Now it is deserted as a depleted, cast-off thing.

Rhea once chose it to be the faithful cradle
For her son, and, in order to best conceal him
When he cried, she made those there create a wailing.

A large old man stands inside the mountain.
He has his back turned to Damietta,
And he looks on Rome like he would his mirror.

His head is made of fine gold,
And his arms and breast are pure silver,
And then he is of solid brass to where the torso meets the legs.

From there on down, he is entirely of the choicest iron,
Except for the right foot being terra cotta,
And he stands upright on this foot more than on his other.

Each part, except for the gold, is split
By a fissure that drips tears,
Which gather and force their way down that cavern.

Their course in this valley is from rock to rock.
They form Acheron, Styx, and Phlegethon.
Then, going down through this narrow channel,

Ultimately to where there is no further to descend,
They form Cocytus, and what kind of pond that is
You shall see, but here I will not discuss it.”

And I replied, “If the stream before us
Flows down from our world as you say,
Why does it only appear at this border?”

He said to me, “You know that the place is round,
And although you have come far,
Only going by the left in descending to the bottom,

You still have not gone around the entire circle.
So if anything new appears to us,
It should not bring amazement to your face.”

So I then replied, “Master, where shall one find
Phlegethon and Lethe? For you are silent about one,
And of the other you say it is made from this rain of tears.”

I am certainly pleased with all you have asked me,”
He responded, “but the boiling of the red water
Might well have answered the one of which you ask.

You shall see Lethe, but outside this abyss--
There where souls go to bathe themselves
When their guilt is removed by penance.”

He then said, “Now is the time to leave
The woods. See that you follow behind me.
The margins are the way, as they are not on fire,

And above them all, the flames are quenched.”

Continue to Song XV

Inferno, Song XIII

2009-03-09T17:53:00.000-07:00

Virgil and Dante enter the Forest of Suicides, the home of the Harpies

Nessus had not yet arrived at the other side
When we started on through a wood
Of which no path was marked.

No green leaves, just ones of gloomy color.
No smooth branches, just ones knotted and twisted.
No fruit was there, just poisonous thorns.

Among these branches so rough and dense there are
None of the savage beasts that shun
The fields tended between Cecina and Corneto.

Here the terrible Harpies make their nests,
They who drove the Trojans from the Strophades
With prophecies they told of woe.

They have wide wings, human necks and faces,
Feet with talons, and large, feathered bellies.
They wail atop the strange trees.

And the good master--“Before you enter further,
Know that you are in the second round,”
He began to say to me. “And you shall be until

You come to the horrible sand.
Therefore, look well, and you will see
Things that shall shake faith in my epic.”

I think he thought that I was thinking
That many of the voices came from among the branches
From people who were hiding from us.

And so the master said, “If you break off
Any small branch from one of these bushes,
The thoughts you are thinking shall be brought short.”

So I put my hand out a little before me
And plucked a twig from a large thorny bush.
And its trunk cried out, “Why do you break me?”

And once it had turned dark with blood,
It began again, saying, “Why do you tear me?
Does your spirit have no pity?

We were men, and have now become twigs.
Your hand might have shown more pity
If we had been the souls of serpents.”

As a green branch made into a torch burns
At one end, and at the other drips sap
And hisses from the escaping air,

So together from the broken splinter came
Words and blood, at which I let the end of the branch
Fall, and stood like one who is afraid.

“If he could have believed before,
Wounded soul,” my sage replied,
“That which he had only seen in my verse,

He would not have extended his hand against you.
But this is so incredible that I was compelled to
Prompt him to do this thing that weighs upon me.

But tell him who you were, so that in order
To make some amends, he may refresh your fame
In the world above, where he is allowed to return.”

And the trunk: “The sweetness of what you say so coaxes me
That I cannot be silent. May it not burden you
Because I feel compelled to talk with you a little.

I am he who held both keys
To the heart of Frederick, and who turned them,
Locking and unlocking, so softly

That I kept almost all men from his secrets.
I brought faithfulness to the glorious office,
So much so that I lost both sleep and vigor.

The harlot that never from the home
Of Caesar turns her whore’s eyes,
The common death and vice of courts,

Inflamed all minds against me.
And those inflamed so inflamed Augustus
That happy honors turned to woeful mourning.

My mind, in its disdainful temper,
Thought to escape disdain by dying, and,
Contrary to my just self, did myself injustice.

By the new roots of this tree
I swear to you that I never broke faith
With my lord, who was so worthy of honor.

And if either of you returns to the world,
Offer sympathy to my memory, which lies felled
To this day by the blow envy dealt it.”

He waited a little, and then: “Since he is silent,”
The poet said to me, “do not lose time,
But speak. Ask him more if you wish.”

I answered him: “Continue to question him
About that which you believe will satisfy me,
As I cannot; so much pity fills my heart.”

So my master began again, “So the man may do for you
What you ask of him freely,
Imprisoned spirit, may it please you

To say more of how the soul is bound
In these knots, and say more, if you can,
If any of your kind is ever set free.”

Then the trunk blew strongly, and
That blowing turned into a voice:
“Briefly shall I respond to you.

When the fierce soul leaves
The body from which it has torn itself,
Minos sends it to the seventh ring.

It falls into the woods, and not in a place chosen,
But a place where fortune casts it.
There it sprouts like a grain of spelt wheat.

It grows to a sapling and to a wild plant.
The Harpies then graze upon the leaves,
Creating pain and pain’s outlet.

Like the others we shall come for our discarded forms,
But not so that any of us shall again wear them,
As it is not just to have that which one takes from oneself.

We shall drag them here, and through the gloomy
Woods shall our bodies be hung,
Each on the thorns of the shade that abused it.”

We were still at the trunk, waiting,
Thinking that it had other things it wanted to say,
When we were surprised by a noise,

Like one who first
Senses the boars and the chase where he stands,
Hearing the beasts and the rustling branches.

And there were two on the left,
Naked and scarred, running so quickly
They broke through every tangle in the wood.

The one in front said, “Now come on, come on, death!”
And the other, who appeared to be falling behind,
Cried, “Lano, not so nimble were

Your legs at the jousts of the Toppo!”
And then, perhaps because his breath failed him,
He crouched down beside a bush.

Behind them the wood was full
Of black bitches, eager and running
Like hounds cut loose from the leash.

They set their teeth on the cowering one,
And tore him apart piece by piece.
They then carried off his wretched limbs.

My escort then took me by the hand
And led me to the bush, which was crying
In vain through bleeding wounds.

“Jacopo of Santa Andrea,” it said,
“How has it served you to use me for cover?
What blame do I have for your sinful life?”

When my master stopped and stood over it,
He said, “Who were you, who through so many wounds
Blows blood with words of sorrow?”

And it said to us, “O souls who have come
Here to see the shameful torture
That has taken my leaves from me,

Collect them at the foot of the bush.
I was of the city that, in favor of the Baptist,
Changed its first patron--where he, for this,

Will always make it full of sorrow with his art.
And if there was not, at the passage of the Arno,
Some vestige of him still remaining,

Those citizens who then rebuilt it
On the ashes left by Attila,
Would have labored in vain.

As for me, I made a gallows for myself from my house.

Continue to Song XIV

Inferno, Song XII

2009-02-22T14:42:00.000-08:00

Virgil and Dante encounter the Minotaur

It was the place where one descends the ridge
To which we came. It was alpine steep, and because of what was there,
It was such that every eye would shun it.

Like that landslide that, on the side
Of Trent, struck the Adige,
Due to either earthquake or the land’s weak foundation--

From atop the mountain, where it began,
To the plain where the rock is so shattered.
That it would offer a path to one above--

Such was the descent down that ravine.
And at the edge of the broken chasm
Lay the infamy of Crete,

Who was conceived inside the false cow.
And when he saw us he bit himself
Like one whose rage blazes within.

My mentor cried out to him, “Perhaps
You think that this here is the Duke of Athens,
Who in the world above brought you to your death?

Leave, beast, for this one does not come
Instructed by your sister,
But goes here in order to see the sufferings of you all.”

Like the bull that breaks free the moment
It has received the killing blow,
And cannot turn and run, instead jumping this way and that--

This I saw the Minotaur do.
And the wise one yelled, “Run to the pass.
It is best to descend while he is enraged.”

And so we made our way down through the scattering
Of those rocks, which often moved
Underneath my feet thanks to the weight none before me brought to bear.

I was then thinking, and he said, “You are musing,
Perhaps, about this ruin that is watched over
By that bestial anger I quelled just now.

Know then that the other time
I descended into the lower Hell,
Those rocks had not yet fallen.

But certainly it was a bit before, if I figure rightly,
When He came, so that the great bounty
Of Dis be taken from the highest circle.

The deep, stinking valley in all parts
Trembled so, and I thought the universe
Had felt love, by which, some believe,

The world has many times been transformed into chaos.
And at that moment this ancient stone
Was therefore brought down, here and elsewhere.

But fix your eyes down yonder, for approaching is
The river of blood where those are boiled
Who through violence injure others.”

O blind greed and mad anger,
That so spur us on in our brief life,
And then, in the eternal, plunge us into such woe!

I saw a wide moat twisted into an arc
So that it encircled the entire plain
In accordance with what my escort had said.

And between it and the foot of the cliff, in file
Ran centaurs, armed with arrows,
As they did while hunting in our world.

Seeing us descend, they all stopped,
And from the group, three came forward,
With the bows and shafts they had just pulled out.

And one cried from a distance, “To what torment
Do you all come, you who descend the bank?
Tell us from there; if not, I draw my bow.”

My master said, “The reply
We make shall be to Chiron by your side.
Your sin was always to act too quickly upon your will.”

Then he nudged me, and said, “That is Nessus,
Who died for the beautiful Deianira,
And through himself had his revenge.

And the one in the middle, looking down upon his chest,
Is the great Chiron, he who raised Achilles.
That other is Pholus, who was so full of anger.

Around the moat they go by the thousands,
Shooting arrows at any soul that raises itself
From the blood more than its guilt allows.”

We came nearer to these swift beasts.
Chiron took an arrow, and with the notch
Pushed his beard back to his jaw.

When he had uncovered his great mouth,
He said to his companions, “Have you also noted
That the one behind moves what he touches?

The feet of the dead are not supposed to do so.”
And my good leader, who stood already at his breast,
Where the two natures were joined,

Replied, “He is indeed alive, and so alone.
I must show him the dark valley.
Necessity brings him here, not pleasure.

It was one who left singing Hallelujah
Who assigned me this unprecedented duty.
He is not a thief; nor am I such a soul.

But by that Power by whom I take
My steps through such a savage road,
Give us one of your own, whom we may follow,

And that he may show us where the ford is,
And that he may carry this one upon his back,
For he is not a spirit who may go through the air.”

Chiron turned round upon his right breast
And said to Nessus, “Go, and so guide them,
And turn back other posses if they prove an obstacle.”

We then moved along with our faithful guide
Along the banks of the boiling crimson,
Where the ones boiled made high-pitched shrieks.

I saw people immersed to the eyebrows,
And the great centaur said, “They are tyrants
Who gave themselves over to blood and plunder.

Here they weep to themselves over their ruthless crimes.
Here is Alexander, and savage Dionysius,
Who brought years of woe to Sicily.

And that forehead with such black hair
Is Ezzelino, and that other, who is blond,
He is Obizzo da Esti, who indeed

Was slain by his stepson in the world above.”
I then turned to the poet, and he said,
“In this he shall be first to you, and I second.”

A little farther on, the centaur stopped in his tracks
Above a group that were up to the throat,
It appeared, in where they came out of the boiling steam.

He pointed out to us a shade alone on one side,
Saying, “That one cut in the lap of God
The heart that still drips upon the Thames.”

Then I saw people who, above the river’s surface,
Held their head and even their whole chest,
And of these I recognized many.

And so it became more and more shallow--
That blood--until it only cooked the feet.
And here was our passage through the moat.

“So, as you see on this side
The boiling stream grows continually more shallow,”
The centaur said. “I would have you know

That, on the other side, the deeper and deeper
The bottom, until it again reaches
Where tyranny gathers to groan.

There divine justice stabs at
That Attila who was a scourge on Earth,
As well as Pyrrhus and Sextus. And it eternally milks

The tears, unlocked by the boiling,
From Rinier da Corneto to Rinier Pazzo,
Who on the highways caused so much strife.”

Then he turned around and again crossed the ford.

Continue to Song XIII

Inferno, Song XI

2009-01-12T14:30:00.000-08:00

Virgil and Dante recoil from the stench of the abyss

Up at the far end of a tall cliff
That was made by large broken rocks in a circle,
We came upon a harsher coop.

And there, overwhelmed by the horror
Of the stench spewed by the deep abyss,
We withdrew back behind a lid

Of a great vault, where I saw an inscription
That said, “I watch over Pope Anastasius,
Whom Photinus drew from the path of righteousness.”

“It is best to delay our descent,
So that the senses first accustom themselves a little
To the dismal air. Then we shall not mind it.”

So said my master. “Something to compensate,” I
Said to him. “Let’s find it, so that the time spent is not
Lost.” He replied, “You will see that these are my thoughts:

My son, within these rocks,”
He then began to say, “are three lesser circles,
One below the other, like those you are leaving.

All are full of accursed spirits.
But so that the sight will be enough for you,
Understand how and why they are confined.

Of all the vices that gain hatred in Heaven,
Injury is the goal, and all such goals,
Either by force or by fraud, afflict others.

But since fraud is mankind’s particular evil,
The more it displeases God. And since standing alone are
The fraudulent, the more sorrow assails them.

The first circle is entirely of the violent.
But since force is committed against three people,
It is constructed of three distinct rings.

Against God, against oneself, against one’s neighbor
Is violence done, I say, towards them and their belongings,
As you, with open mind, shall hear.

Death by violence and painful wounds
Are inflicted upon one’s neighbor, bringing what he has to
Ruin and burning, and taking destructive tolls.

So murderers and each who maliciously does harm,
Pillagers and plunderers, all are tormented in
The first ring at different levels.

A man can lay violent hands upon himself
And upon his belongings, and thus, in the second
Ring are gathered those who repent in vain:

Anyone who deprives oneself of your world,
Gambling and squandering away one’s assets,
And crying where one should rejoice.

Violence can be done to the Deity
By denying and blaspheming Him in one’s heart,
As well as despising Nature and her good tidings.

And thus the smallest ring marks
Sodom and Cahors with its insignia,
As well as one who speaks scornfully of God in one’s heart.

Fraud, which bites at every conscience,
Man can practice on one who has faith in him,
And on one who has not placed in him one’s trust.

This latter way appears to impinge upon
Just the bond of love that nature makes,
So that nesting in the second circle are

Hypocrisy, flattery, and those that commit sorcery,
Forgery, theft, and simony…
Pimps, grafters, and similar filth.

Through the other way is forsaken that love
That nature makes, and that which is then added to it,
From which a special trust is created.

Thus, in the smallest circle, at the center
Of the universe, upon which Dis sits,
Any and all traitors are consumed for eternity.”

And I said, “Master, with much clarity proceeds
Your reasoning, and very well does it distinguish
This abyss and the people that it holds.

But tell me, those of the oily marsh,
Those beaten by the wind, those battered by the rain,
And those who meet each other with such bitter tongues,

Why not inside the red city
Should they be punished, if God holds them in His wrath?
And if he does not, why are they held in such a manner?”

He replied, “Why such incoherence,”
He said, “That your reason wanders so?
Or where else is your mind looking?

Don’t you remember those words
With which your Ethics treats
The three dispositions that Heaven did not will—

Incontinence, malice, and insane
Beastliness? And how incontinence
Offends God less and earns less condemnation.

If you consider well this principle,
And call to mind who those are,
Who outside and above suffer punishment,

You shall well see why from these fallen
They are separated, and why with less torment
They are pummeled by the Divine vengeance.”

“O sun that restores all troubled sight,
You make me so content when you resolve
The doubts that grow within me, for which I am no less than grateful.

However, go back a little,”
I said, “to the point where usury offends
The good tidings of the Divine, and untangle that knot.”

“Philosophy,” he said to me, “for one who understands,
Nevertheless notes, and not just in one place,
How nature takes its course

From the Divine Intelligence and Its art.
And if you study your Physics well,
You will find, not many pages on,

That your art, to the extent it can,
Follows, such as the master makes the disciple,
So that your art, to God, is something of a grandchild.

By these two, if you recall to mind
Genesis at the beginning, it befits
Mankind to take hold of their lives and better themselves.

Continue to Song XII

Inferno, Song X

2008-11-14T21:24:00.000-08:00

Dante and Virgil encounter the soul of Farinata degli Uberti

Now, going along a narrow path,
Between the city wall and those tortured,
There is my master, and I behind him.

“O one of highest virtue, who through these impious circles
Turns me,” I began. “As it pleases you,
Speak to me and satisfy my longings.

The people who lie in these tombs--
Can they be seen? Already raised are
All the lids, and no one is keeping watch.”

He replied, “All will be shut
When they return here from Jehosh’aphat
With the bodies they left above.

Their cemetery has, on this side,
Epicurus with all his followers,
For whom the soul dies with the body.

As for the question that you put to me,
What you wish to know will soon be satisfied within,
As well as the desire of which, to me, you say nothing.”

I said, “Dear leader, I do not hold in reserve
My heart in order to speak little to you.
You have not, until now, inclined me towards this.”

“O Tuscan, who through the city of fire
Goes living, speaking with prudence,
May it please you to tarry in this place.

Your speech shows you to be
A native of that noble fatherland
Of which I was perhaps too great a scourge.”

Suddenly this sound came forth
From one of the tombs. I then drew near,
Frightened, a little closer to my leader.

And he said to me, "Turn around! What are you doing?
See Farinata there, standing up straight.
From the waist up you will be fully able to see him."

I had already fixed my eyes upon his.
And he rose, his breast and face
Seeming to hold Hell in contempt.

The fast and decisive hands of my leader
Thrust me through the tombs towards him,
Saying, "Make your words count."

As soon as I was at the foot of his grave,
He looked at me a bit, and then, somewhat disdainfully,
Asked me, "Who were your elders?"

I, who wished to obey,
Did not hide anything, but revealed everything,
Whereupon he raised his eyebrows a bit.

He then said, "They were fiercely opposed
To me, my forebears, and my party.
As such, I routed them on two occasions."

"If they were driven out, they returned from all parts
the first and the other time," I replied to him.
"But yours have not learned that art well."

At that point, there rose, uncovered to view,
A shade, from the head up, alongside him.
I think it had risen upon its knees.

It looked around me, as if, driven,
He had to see if another was with me.
And then, when all expectation of that was gone,

It said, weeping, "If through this blind
Prison you go by way of high genius,
Where is my son--and why is he not with you?"

I replied, "I did not come by myself.
I am led by him who waits for me there,
Whom perhaps your Guido had held in disdain."

His words and the mode of punishment
Had already told me this man's name.
As such, my reply was quite full.

He suddenly stood up and cried, "What
Did you say? He had? Isn't he still alive?
Doesn't the sweet light fill his eyes?"

When he saw the hesitation
On my part before I responded,
He laid down, falling back, and showed himself no further.

But that other noble one, in whose presence
I remained, did not change expression.
He neither moved his neck nor bent his back.

And, continuing from what was spoken of before,
He said, "If they have learned that art poorly,
That torments me more than this bed.

But not fifty times shall glow
The face of the lady who rules here,
When you shall learn how much the burden of that art weighs.

And, should you ever stand again in the sweet world,
Tell me, why are those people so cruel
Against my own in each of their laws?"

I answered, "The agony and great slaughter
That have colored the Arbia red
Have brought about such declarations in our assembly."

Then, having sighed, he shook his head.
"I was not alone in that," he said, "and certainly not
Without reason would I have engaged in that with the others.

But I was alone, there when it was decided
Unanimously that Florence be razed--
I was the one who openly championed her.

“Ah, so your descendants may one day know rest,”
I beseeched him, “solve for me that riddle
That has preoccupied my thoughts here.

It seems that you see, if I hear well,
What time brings with it in advance.
Although in the present, you have another tendency.

“We see, like those who see poorly,
He said, “the things that are far from us;
The Supreme Ruler still shines this much upon us.

When things occur or are at hand, all is in vain for
Our perceptions; if others do not bring us news,
We know nothing of life in the world above.

You can therefore understand that all is over
For what we know at that point
When the door shall be closed on the future.”

Then, out of guilt for my lapse,
I said to him, “Now would you then tell the one who fell back
That his son is still among the living?

And if I was, just now, silent to his response,
Let him know it was due to my thinking
Already about the riddle you have solved for me.”

And already my master called me back,
Leading me to more eagerly beseech the spirit
To tell me who was there with him.

He said, “More than a thousand lie here with me.
Among them is Frederick the Second
And the Cardinal. Of the others I will be silent.”

He then withdrew from view, and towards the ancient
Poet I turned my steps, thinking
About those words, which seemed hostile.

He moved along, and then, while walking,
He said to me, “Why are you so puzzled?”
And I answered his question.

“Keep in your memory what you have heard
Against yourself,” that sage directed me,
“And now pay attention here.” And he raised his finger.

“When you are before the sweet radiance
Of she whose beautiful eyes see all,
From her you will learn about your life’s journey.”

His feet moved to the left,
Leaving the wall and heading towards the center
Along a path that cut into a valley

That even there was foul from its stench.

Continue to Song XI

Inferno, Song IX

2008-11-06T18:35:00.000-08:00

Dante and Virgil encounter the three Furies

That color cowardice painted me,
Seeing my liege come back, in turn prompted
Him to restrain the change within himself.

He stopped, alert like one listening,
For the eye could not take him far
Through the black air and thick fog.

"Still, it is proper for us to win the fight,"
He began. "If not...offering so much of itself.
Oh, how much longer until the others arrive here!"

I saw very well how he covered up
How he started with the other words that followed,
For they were words that contradicted the ones with which he began.

But his words nonetheless made me afraid,
For I drew the broken words
To perhaps a worse conclusion than he intended.

"Into these dregs of the valley of sadness
Does anyone ever descend from the first level
Where the only punishment is to be separated from hope?"

This question I made, and to that--“Rarely
Is it encountered,” he responded, “that of us
One makes the journey upon which I go.

It is true that I descended another time,
Bewitched by that ruthless Erichtho,
Who recalls shades to their bodies.

Shortly after I was abandoned by the robes of flesh,
She made me enter within that wall
To bring back a spirit from the circle of Judas.

That is the lowest place and the darkest,
And the furthest from the Heaven around which all revolves.
I know the way well, so reassure yourself.

This marsh, which blows the great stench,
Encircles the woeful city,
Where we can never enter without rancor.”

And he said other things, but I do not remember them,
For my eyes were completely drawn
Towards the high tower and its glowing top.

Where, at that moment, there immediately arose
Three of Hell’s Furies, stained with blood,
Whose limbs and appearance were feminine.

They wore the greenest hydras as belts.
Their hair was of snakes and vipers,
Which framed their fierce temples.

And he, who well knew the handmaidens
Of the queen of eternal sorrow,
Said to me, “Behold the fierce Erinyes.

This is Magaera on the left corner.
The one crying on the right is Alecto.
Tisiphone is in the middle.” He was silent after that.

Each one tore at her breast with her nails,
Beating herself with her palms and screeching so loud
That I pressed myself to the Poet out of dread.

“Come, Medusa, so we may turn him to stone,”
They all shouted, looking downward.
“It is wrong for us to not avenge the assault of Theseus.”

“Turn your back and keep your eyes shut,
For if the Gorgon shows itself, and you should see it,
Nothing will ever return you to the above.”

And so said my master. And he himself
Turned me around and did not trust things to my hands;
My eyes were shut with his hands as well.

O all you of sound mind,
See the teaching ensconced
Beneath the veil of my strange verses.

And already, across the murky waves, there came
Crashing sounds, carrying fear.
Both sides trembled in response.

It was not different from a wind,
Made furious by clashing temperatures,
That torments the forest without restraint.

Branches snap, are knocked down, and carried away.
Proudly it goes, preceded by dust,
And makes the beasts and shepherds flee.

He freed my eyes and said, “Now direct the channel
Of your vision across that ancient foam
Where that smoke is harshest.”

Like frogs when confronted by their enemy,
The snake--they all vanish into the water
Until each one is huddling in the soil--

I saw more than a thousand ruined souls
So flee before one who, on foot,
Crossed the Styx with his soles dry.

He cleared the oily air from his face,
Repeatedly waving his left hand.
That annoyance was all he appeared tired of.

I well realized that he was sent from Heaven
And turned to my master, who then made a sign
That I should stay quiet and bow down to him.

Oh, how full of disdain he appeared to me!
He came to the gate and, with a little rod,
He opened it, for there was no resistance.

“O banished from Heaven, spiteful ones,”
He began at the horrible entrance,
“Where does this arrogance dwell within you?

Why do you stand fast against that Will
From whose ends one can never be cut loose
And which has many times increased your pain?

What good is there in clashing with fate?
Your Cerberus, as you well remember--
His chin and throat are still flayed.”

And then he returned to the filthy road
And made no remark to us, having the appearance
Of one whom another care holds and grips

Than that of those who are there before him.
And we motioned our feet towards the city,
Reassured and following his holy words.

We entered therein without further conflict.
And I, who wished to see
The state of things within such a fortress,

Cast my eye around as soon as I was inside,
And saw on every hand a great plain
Full of sorrow and hateful torment.

So as at Arles, where the Rhone becomes stagnant.
So as at Pola, nearby the Quarnaro,
Which encloses Italy and bathes its borders.

The graves make the entire place look odd,
As they will do everywhere,
Except that the mood here was more bitter.

For between the tombs, flames were scattered,
By which they all burned so
That iron is not asked more of any art.

All their lids were suspended,
And such lasting laments came from inside them
That they well appeared to be of the miserable and sinful.

And I said, “Master, who are those people
Who, buried within those tombs,
Make themselves heard with woeful sighs?”

He replied, “Here are the arch-heretics
With their followers, from all sects, and many
More than you would think are imprisoned within the tombs.

Here like is buried with like,
And the vaults are heated--some more, some less.”
And then he made a turn to the right.

We passed between those tortured and the high wall.

Continue to Song X

Inferno, Song VIII

2008-10-23T16:44:00.000-07:00

Phlegyas ferries Dante and Virgil across the Styx

I say, continuing, that long before
We reached the foot of the high tower
Our eyes traveled upward to the summit.

For we saw two flames placed there
And another returning the signal from far away,
So much so that it punished the eye's ability to take its measure.

And I turned to the sea of all wisdom.
I said, "What does this mean? And what is the response of
That other fire? And who are they that made it?"

And he replied, "On through the oily miasmas
You can already determine what is expected
If the fumes of the bog do not hide it from you."

An arrow was never shot from a bowstring
That raced so swiftly through the air
Like a small boat I saw

Coming towards us through the water at that moment
Under the guidance of a lone pilot
Who cried, "Now you are joined, fallen soul!"

"Phlegyas, Phlegyas, you cry out in vain,"
My liege said. "In this instance,
You will not have us beyond our passage through the mire."

Like one who heeds great deceit
That has been done to him and then regrets it,
So became Phlegyas in his accompanying rage.

My leader descended into the skiff
And then made me enter after him.
And only when I was inside did it seem tangible.

As soon as my leader and I were in the boat,
The ancient prow went slicing
Through the water more than it would have with others.

While we were crossing the dead channel,
One soaked with mud rose before me
And said, "Who are you who comes before the appointed time?"

I replied, "If I come, I do not remain.
But who are you, that you have become so miserable?"
He responded, "You see that I am one who weeps."

I replied "Among weeping and among mourning,
Sinful spirit, you remain.
For I know you, though you are filthy all over."

He then extended both hands to the boat,
For which my wary master pushed him back,
Saying, "Your way is there with the other dogs."

My master put his arms around my neck and then my shoulders,
Kissing me in turn and saying, "Affronted and judgmental soul,
Blesséd is she who carried you inside her!

That one, in the world, was a haughty person.
It is not goodness that adorns his memory,
So, here, his shade is full of resentment.

How many are now seen as great kings above
Who here will be like pigs in the mud,
Having left horrible condemnations in their wake!"

And I said, "Master, I should be very eager
To watch him being dunked in this soup
Before we depart from the lake."

He replied, "Before the shore that
You will leave this to see, you will be satisfied.
It is worthwhile that you enjoy such a desire."

Shortly after this, I saw that torture
Inflicted on him by the people of the mire,
For which I still praise and thank God.

"At Filippo Argenti," they all cried.
And the grotesque Florentine spirit
Turned his teeth upon himself.

There we left him, of whom I tell no more.
A wailing, however, beat upon my ears,
For which I opened my eyes wide and looked intently ahead.

The good master said, "Now, my son,
The city called Dis draws near
With solemn citizens in great multitudes."

I said, "Master, already its mosques
I make out with certainty in the valley.
A vermilion red as if emerged from fire

They are." And he said to me, "The eternal flame
Within the kindling appears as red
As that you see in this lower Hell."

We then arrived inside the upper moats
That contained that troubled ground.
The walls, it appeared to me, were iron.

Not without first circling wide
Did we come to the place where the boatman loudly
Cried, "Get out. Here is the entrance."

I saw above the gates more than a thousand of those
Rained down from Heaven, who angrily
Said, "Who is this whom without death

Goes through the kingdom of the dead?"
And my wise master made a sign
That he wished to speak with them privately.

They then quieted their great disdain a bit
And said, "You come alone and that one goes away,
He who so dares to enter through this kingdom.

Let him return alone along the road of madness,
Try as he may. For you will remain here,
You who has escorted him through so dark a way."

Consider, Reader, if I was disturbed
By the sound of those evil words.
For I believed I would never return here from there.

"Oh, my dear leader, who more than seven times
Has made me safe and led
Me from the high peril that stood before me,

Do not," I said, "leave me so undone.
And if further passage is denied us,
Let us quickly retrace our steps together."

And that liege who led me there
Said to me, "Do not be afraid, for our way
Cannot be taken from us by a few: by such a one is it given.

Wait for me here, though, and, weary soul,
Take comfort and feed upon good hope,
For I will not leave you in the netherworld."

So, he goes away and abandons me there,
The sweet sire, and I remain in doubt,
Such that yes and no struggle within my head.

I could not hear what he put forth to them,
But he did not stay among them long,
For each within the group returned to their rivalry.

Our adversaries shut the doors
In the face of my liege, who remained outside
And came back to me with slow steps.

His eyes to the ground and his eyelids stripped
Of all boldness, he said, amid sighs,
"Who has denied me the houses of sorrow?!?"

And to me he said, "You, because I've become angry,
Do not be dismayed, for I will overcome this trial
'Round which the guards within turn.

This stubbornness of theirs isn't new,
For they've already shown it at a less secret gate
That still finds itself without a latch.

You saw the fatal inscription above it.
And already he descends the steep slope from there,
Passing through the circles without escort.

Through him shall the city be opened."

Continue to Song IX

Inferno, Song VII

2008-10-23T16:42:00.000-07:00

Virgil and Dante encounter the souls of the wrathful

“Pape Satàn, pape Satàn, aleppe!,”
Plutus, with his clucking voice, began.
And that genial sage, who knew all,

Said, in order to comfort me, “Do not be harmed by
Your fear, for the power he may have
Shall not thwart us in our descent down this cliff.”

Then he turned to those swollen lips
And said, “Be silent, accurséd wolf!
Let your anger eat out your own insides.

This trip through the darkness is not without reason.
It is willed from on high, where Michael
Took vengeance on the proud rebellion.”

As puffed-out sails, by the wind,
Are made to flap around as the mast weakens, breaking,
So did that cruel beast crumple to the earth.

We thus descended into the fourth ring,
Making further headway along the banks of sorrow
Which contain all the universe’s evil.

O Justice of God! Accumulating so many
New travails and punishments--how many did I see?
And why do our sins wither us so?

Like the waves above Charybdis
That break over those they crash upon,
Thus are the people here who gather to dance their circling dance.

I saw more people here than elsewhere--too many--
And from one side and the other, with great screams,
They were rolling weights by pushing with their chests.

They collide and then
Turn themselves back,
Crying, “Why do you hoard?” and “Why do you squander?”

Thus they came back along the gloomy circle,
From either side to the opposite point
Again crying out their shameful chant.

Then each turned, when confronted,
Along his half-circle to the other confrontation.
And I, whose heart was all but impaled,

Said, “My Master, now explain to me
Who these people are, and if clergy were all
These tonsured ones on our left?”

He replied, “All of these were askew
In their minds to such an extent that, in the first life,
They made no expenditure with moderation.

Their voices bark this clear enough
When they come to the two points of the circle
Where opposing sins separate them.

These were clergy, those who have no
Hair on their heads, as well as popes and cardinals,
Whom greed used for its excesses.”

And I said, “Among such as these,
Well should I recognize a few
Whom these evils befouled.”

He replied, “You gather vain thoughts.
The indiscriminate life with which they soiled themselves
Now makes them dim to all recognition

They will collide one way and the other for eternity.
From the grave, they will rise again--these
Tight-fisted, and these with their hair sheared.

Sinful spending and sinful hoarding--the beautiful world
Has been taken from them, placing them in this conflagration.
As for what that is, I am not embellishing it with words.

Now you can, my son, see the slapstick
In dedicating fortune to the possessions
For which humanity struggles among itself.

For all the gold underneath the moon
Which ever was, these weary souls
Could not rest.”

“My Master,” I said, “now also tell me this:
This Fortune that you mention,
What is it, that it has the world’s possessions so within its clutches?”

He replied, “Oh, foolish creatures,
How much ignorance assails you all!
Now, through you, my judgment of her will be imparted to everyone.

He whose wisdom transcends everything
Made the heavens and gave them guides
So there is splendor from every part to every part,

Distributing the light equally.
Similarly, for the earthly splendors,
He ordained a general minister and leader

Who at times shifts the goods of vanity
From tribe to tribe and one bloodline to another,
Beyond the defenses of human judgment.

As such, one tribe reigns and the other languishes,
Following her decree,
She who is hidden like a snake in the grass.

To her, your wisdom has no resistance.
She foresees, judges, and exercises
Her rule like the others who are divine.

The changes she brings cannot be bargained with.
She is quick out of necessity.
Turning, for one, is followed by turning, and often.

This is she who is so crucified
Even by those who ought to give her praise,
Unjustly blaming her up and down and slandering her.

But she is blissful and does not hear it.
She, with the others of the First Created, is happy.
She turns her sphere and rejoices in her bliss.

We now descend into greater woe.
Already every star is falling that rose
When I set out. And loitering is not permitted.”

We crossed the circle to the other bank
Which stood upon a spring that boils and pours
Through a ditch which it had carved out.

The water was darker than the deepest purple,
And we, in the company of the gloomy waves,
Proceeded downward by a different path.

It goes into the swamp named Styx,
This stream of sorrow, when it has descended
To the foot of these noxious gray slopes.

And I, who was standing, watching intently,
Saw people muddied in that bog,
All of them naked with angry faces.

They struck each other, not only with hands
But with the head and the chest and the feet,
Tearing each other to pieces with their teeth.

The good master said, “Son, now you see
The souls of those whom wrath overcame.
And, also, I want you to know for certain

That underwater are people who sigh,
Making the water teem at the surface,
As your eyes tell you wherever you turn.

Fixed in slime, they say, “We were glum
In the sweet air with which the sun cheers itself;
We were carrying torpor inside.

Now we are glum in this black, scum-choked tide.”
They gurgle this hymn in their throats,
As they cannot speak in unbroken words.”

And so we turned from this filthy pond
And the great arc between its center and the dry bank.
With eyes turned towards those swallowing mud,

We came at last to the foot of a tower.

Continue to Song VIII

Inferno, Song VI

2008-10-23T16:40:00.000-07:00

Virgil feeds Cerberus dirt in the circle of the gluttons

At the return of consciousness, which was lost
In the presence of the two in-laws’ pathos,
Which confounded me entirely with sadness,

New torments and the newly tormented
I see around me, no matter where I move
Or how I turn, and no matter where I look.

I am in the third circle, that of the rain
Eternal--accursed, cold, and heavy--
Its nature and frequency never change.

Enormous hail, tainted water, and snow
Pour through the gloomy air.
The ground on which it lands is disgusting.

Cerberus, a cruel and freakish wild beast,
Barks with its three throats like a dog
Over the people submerged there.

His eyes are vermilion red, his beard oily and black,
And his stomach broad. His hands have talons;
He claws the spirits, flaying and quartering them.

The rain makes them howl like dogs.
They make one side a shield for the other;
The unholy wretches turn themselves often.

When Cerberus, the great worm, noticed us,
His mouths opened, showing the fangs;
He did not have a limb that held still.

And my leader extended his open hands,
Took the earth, and, with his fists full,
Threw it into the ravenous maws.

Like a dog who, barking hungrily,
Quiets down while chewing his food--
Devouring it is all he thinks of and struggles for--

So were the grimy faces
Of the demon Cerberus, who roared at
The souls with such force that they wished they were deaf.

We went amid the shades, who languished underneath
The heavy rain, putting our feet
Upon their emptiness, which seemed to be their bodies.

They lay upon the ground in all their numbers
Except for one who sat up as soon
As he saw us passing before him.

“O you who are being taken through this Hell,”
He said to me, “Remember me, if you are able:
Before I was undone, you were created.”

I replied, “The anguish you bear
Has perhaps displaced you from my memory,
Making it seem as if I haven’t seen you before.

But tell me who you are that into such a sorrowful
Place you are put, and why your punishment is such
That, if another is more extreme, none is more wretched.”

He replied, “Your city, which is full
Of so much envy that the sack overflows,
Held me within its bounds during life’s serenity.

You townspeople called me Ciacco
For the ruinous sin of gluttony.
As you see, the rain leaves me weak.

And I, a sad soul, am not alone,
For all these are similarly punished
For the same sin.” And then he spoke no more.

I answered him, “Ciacco, your torment
So weighs upon me that it brings me to tears.
But tell me, if you know, what will become of

The citizens of the divided city--
Are there any that are just? And tell me the reason
Why it is assailed upon by such discord.”

And he replied, “After long tensions,
They will come to blood, and the party of the woodlands
Will, with a great deal of spite, drive the others out.

Then, afterwards, the fallen party gathers itself
And, within three years, vanquishes the other
With the power of the one who now hangs his head.

Heads will be held high for a long time.
The other will be held under heavy burdens,
No matter how much it cries or is dishonored.

Two are just, and they are not understood there.
Pride, envy, and avarice are
The three sparks that have hearts lit.”

Here he put an end to his tearful utterance.
And I replied, “ Instruct me still
And make me a gift of continued words.

Farinata and Tegghiaio, who were so honored,
Jacopo Rusticucci, Arrigo, and Mosca,
And the others who dedicated their insignia to good deeds,

Tell me where they are and in such a way that I know them.
For great desire presses me to know
If they are sweetened by Heaven or poisoned by Hell.”

And he said, “They are among the blacker souls.
Different sins weigh them down towards the bottom.
If you descend far enough, you will there be able to see them.

But when you are once again within the world and it sweetness,
I pray you bring me to the memory of others.
No more will I tell you and no more will I respond.”

His eyes then went from focused to glassy.
He looked at me a bit and then lowered his head,
Falling with it to be among the other blind.

And my leader said to me, “He stirs no more
Until the sound of the angelic trumpet
When the hostile Judge comes.

Each will again see their unhappy tomb,
Again take their flesh and form,
And hear that which resounds throughout eternity.”

So we passed along through the putrid mix
Of the shades and rain, going by slowly,
Touching a bit on the future life.

For I said, “Master, these torments--
Will they grow after the great Judgment,
Or will they be lesser, or as searing as they are now?”

He replied, “Return to your system of knowledge,
Which would have it that, the more perfect a thing is,
The more it feels the good, and likewise the pain.

As all these condemned
Will never come to true perfection,
They are, in this way, waiting to be more than they are now.

We turned in a circle around that curving road,
Speaking of much that I do not repeat.
We came to the point, where, in our descent,

We found, Plutus, the great enemy, therein.

Continue to Song VII

Inferno, Song V

2008-10-23T16:38:00.000-07:00

The souls of Paolo Malatesta and Francesca da Rimini

So I descended from the first circle
Down into the second, which encircles less space
And so much more sorrow, spurring greater woe.

There was the horror of Minos standing there, snarling.
He examined one’s guilts at the entrance,
Judging those in his grip and sentencing them accordingly.

When, I tell you, the soul born evil
Comes before him, it confesses all.
And this expert judge of sin

Sees that place in Hell meant for it,
Encircling himself with his tail as many times
As levels down he wishes that soul put.

Many are always before him;
Each one in turn goes to judgment.
They speak and listen and are then sent down.

“O you who come to this inn of sorrows,
Said Minos when he saw me,
Interrupting the duties of his weighty office,

“Watch how you enter and in whom you trust.
Don’t be deceived because the gate is wide!”
And my master said to him, “Why do you also squawk?

Do not impede his destined journey.
This is so willed by where this can be
Because it is so willed. Ask no more.”

Now begin the notes of sorrow
Pressing upon me to hear. Now I have come to
The place where so much weeping flails upon me.

I came to a place absent of all light
That roared like the sea in a tempest,
As if from the battling of opposing winds.

The infernal storm, never resting,
Beats upon the spirits with its ravages;
Whirling and pummeling, it torments them.

When they arrive in front of the ruin,
There is the shrieking, the self-pity, the lament;
There they curse the Virtue Divine.

I understood that those tormented in this manner
The carnal sins had damned,
Those whose reason succumbed to their drives.

And like starlings carried by their wings
During cold weather into a large, full flock,
So were the sinful spirits blown about.

They are driven from here, from there, downward, upward.
No hope ever comforts them:
Not of being allowed down, nor of lesser sentence.

And like cranes that go forth singing their song,
Making a long line of themselves in the air,
So I saw coming, bringing forth lamentations,

Shades carried along by the aforementioned ordeal,
Leading me to say, “Master, who are these
People whom the black air punishes so?”

“The first of these, whose story
You wish to know,” he said to me of that particular group,
“Was empress of many tongues.

She had so given herself over to the vice of lust
That she sanctioned it in her law
In order to displace the guilt into which she had been led.

She is Semiramis, who, one reads,
Succeeded Ninus and was his wife.
She held the land the Sultan rules.

The other one is she who killed herself for love
And broke faith with the ashes of Sychæus.
And then there is lustful Cleopatra.

See Helen, around whom so many brutal
Seasons revolved. And see the great Achilles,
Who, at the end, battled with love.

See Paris, Tristan....” And more than a thousand
Shades he pointed out to me and named--
Those whom love had parted from our life.

After which, having listened to my teacher
Naming knights and the ladies of antiquity,
Pity befell me, and I was almost lost.

“Poet,” I began, “willingly
Would I speak to those two who go together
And appear so light upon the wind.”

He replied, “You will watch for when they are
Closer to us, and then call upon them
By that love that leads them. They will come.”

So, as soon as the wind yielded them to us,
I spoke up: “O weary souls,
Come speak to us if others do not forbid it!”

Like doves called by desire
To the sweet nest, with wings still and raised
Coming through the air, carried by yearning,

So did they depart from the group that includes Dido,
Coming to us through the noxious air,
So strong was my tender cry.

“O gracious and gentle creature,
Who, in his visit, goes through the dark and violet air,
We, who stained the world with blood,

If the King of the Universe were to be our friend,
We would pray to Him for your comfort,
For you took pity on our vile depravity.

Of that which pleases you to hear and speak,
We will, for you, hear and speak
While the wind, like it is now, is silent.

The land where I was born sits
Upon the coast where the Po descends
In order to make peace with its followers.

Love, which the gentle heart quickly finds within,
Obsessed him at my side with the fair persona
From which I was torn, in a manner that still brings me to anger.

Love, which spares no one loved from love,
Obsessed me so strongly with pleasing him at my side
That, as you see, I still am not abandoned.

Love led us to one death.
Caina awaits the one who took our lives.”
These words they conveyed to us.

When I understood these tormented souls,
I lowered my face and held it so low
That, finally, the Poet said, “What are you thinking?”

When I replied, I began, “Oh, alas,
How many sweet thoughts, how much desire,
Led these two to the way of sorrow?”

I then turned to them and spoke.
And I began, “Francesca, your agonies
Fill me with such sadness and pity that I am moved to tears.

But tell me: at the time of the sweet sighs,
With what and by how did Love grant
That you should know these treacherous desires?”

She replied: “There is no greater sorrow
Than to recall happy times
In misery—this your Teacher knows.

But, if knowing the beginning root
Of our love is that for which you have so great a longing,
I will tell of it, though as one who speaks through sobs.

One day, for pleasure, we were reading
Of Lancelot and how Love compelled him.
We were alone and suspected nothing.

Many times we breathed, our eyes coming together
While reading, and our faces paled.
But only one moment overwhelmed us.

When we read of the longing smile
Being kissed by a lover so loving at heart,
This one, who shall never be separated from me,

Kissed my mouth, trembling all over.
Galehaut was the book and he who wrote it:
That day we read no further.

While the one spirit said this,
The other wept. So much so that, out of pity,
I swooned as if I was dying.

And I fell like a dead body falls.

Continue to Song VI

Inferno, Song IV

2008-10-23T16:36:00.000-07:00

Dante and Virgil encounter Homer and the other classical poets in Limbo

The deep sleep within my head was broken by
A heavy thunderclap, so that I roused myself
Like one forcefully awakened,

Moving around my rested eyes.
Standing up straight, I fixed my gaze
In order to know the place wherein I was.

It is true: I found myself upon the edge
Of the valley of the abyss of sorrows
Which gathers the thunder of infinite woe.

It was dark and deep and murky.
So much so that, in focusing on its depths,
I could not discern anything there.

“Now let us descend down this way into the blind world,”
Began the poet, pale all over.
“I will be first, and you will be second.”

And I, alarmed by his color,
Said, “How can I come if you are afraid?
You, who are to be comfort to my doubts?”

He replied, “The anguish of those
Down here is depicted in my face as
Pity; you take it for fear.

Let us go, for the long road beckons.”
And so he commenced, and so compelled me to enter
The first circle bordering the abyss.

In that place, it seemed as if, from what I heard,
Sighs, rather than tears,
Made the eternal air tremble.

These came from sorrow without torment,
Borne by great scores
Of children and women and men.

The good master said to me, “You do not ask
Who these spirits you see are.
Now, I want you to know, before you go further,

That they did not sin. And if they had merit,
It is not enough, for they were not baptized,
Which is the door to the faith in which you believe.

Since they were before Christianity,
They were not properly loving to God;
Of these am I myself.

These failings, and not other crimes, are why
We are lost, and our only punishment, alone among the many, is
To live on, without hope, in yearning."

When I heard this, great sorrow took my heart,
For people of much worth
Were, I knew, suspended in that Limbo.

“Tell me, my master, tell me, sir,”
I began, wishing to be certain
Of that faith which conquers every error,

“Has anyone ever emerged from here, either by his own merit
Or another’s, who went on to be blesséd?”
And he, understanding the hidden meaning of my words,

Replied, “I was new to this state
When I saw a Mighty One come forth,
Crowned in the emblem of victory.

He took from here the shade of the first parent,
His son Abel, and that of Noah,
Of Moses, obedient lawgiver,

Abraham the patriarch and David the king,
Israel with both his father and children,
And with Rachel, for whose hand he did so much,

And many others, and made them blesséd.
And you--know this: Prior to these,
Human spirits were not saved.”

His words did not interrupt our walking;
We passed by the forest nevertheless.
That forest, I tell you, was thick with spirits.

Along our path, we still were not far
From where I had been sleeping, when I saw a fire
That overcame a hemisphere of darkness.

We still weren’t just a little far from there,
But not so much that I did not recognize
That people of honor occupied that place.

“O you who honor science and art,
Who are these people whose honor is so great
That they stand apart from the lot of the others?”

He replied, “The honored names
They hold sound up there in your life,
Gaining grace in Heaven, which grants them favor.

Meanwhile, I heard a voice:
“Honor the highest poet;
His shade, which had departed, returns.”

Then the voice abated and was quiet.
I saw four great spirits coming towards us,
Their demeanor neither sad nor joyful.

The good master began saying,
“See him with the sword in hand,
Who comes before the other three as if their sire.

That is Homer, sovereign poet;
The other coming is the satirist Horace.
Ovid is the third, and the final one Lucan.

Since each of them gathers around me
In that name which the lone voice sounded,
They do me honor, and, in that, do well.”

And so I saw assemble the school of beauty
Of that lord of the highest song,
Who stands above the others like an eagle soaring.

After some discussion amongst themselves,
They turned to me with gestures of salutation,
My master broadly smiling.

And they honored me still further:
Making me one of their number,
So that I was sixth among such genius.

Then we walked towards the light,
Speaking of things about which silence is golden.
Such were words in that place where I was.

We came to the foot of a noble castle,
Circled seven times by high walls,
Defended by a lovely stream around it.

This we crossed as if it were solid ground.
Through seven doors I went with these sages,
Arriving in a meadow of blossoming green.

People were there, their eyes deliberate and solemn
With great authority in their demeanor.
They spoke sparingly, with gentle voices.

And so we took ourselves to one side,
Into an open place, luminous and high,
In order to see their entire number.

There, directly ahead upon the green enamel,
The spirits embodying greatness were pointed out to me,
Those whom I feel myself exalted in seeing.

I saw Electra with many companions.
Among them I knew Hector and Aeneas,
And Cæsar, armored, with the eyes of a gyrfalcon.

I saw Camilla and Penthesilea,
And, on the other side, I saw the king Latinus,
Who was sitting with his daughter Lavinia.

I saw the Brutus who forced out Tarquin,
Lucretia, Julia, Marcia, and Cornelia.
And, alone and apart, I saw the Saladin.

And then, looking up a bit,
I saw the master of those with knowledge,
Sitting among philosophy’s family.

All look to him; all do him honor.
There I saw Socrates and Plato,
Who were in front of the others and nearest to him.

There was Democritus, who attributes the world to chance,
Diogenes, Anaxagoras and Thales,
Empedocles, Heraclitus, and Zeno.

And I saw the good collector of quality—
Dioscorides, I tell you. And I saw Orpheus,
Cicero, and Linus and Seneca the moralist,

Euclid the geometrician and Ptolemy,
Hippocrates, Avicenna and Galen,
Averroes, who produced the great commentary—

I cannot describe it all in full.
For my far-reaching theme so compels me
That, many times, words fall short of facts.

The company of six dwindles into two.
For my wise master leads me another way,
Out from the quiet and into the air that trembles.

And I come to a place where there is no light.

Continue to Song V

Inferno, Song III

2008-10-23T16:33:00.000-07:00

The story thus far: Dante, a poet and town prior in Florence, finds himself on a dark road of the soul. Before his spirit can fall to its ruin, he encounters Virgil, the greatest poet of classical Rome. Virgil offers Dante a journey through the realms of the afterworld, through which Dante may find his soul's salvation. He shall travel through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, with Virgil as his guide through the first two. Dante accepts Virgil's offer, and they embark. However, before they begin, Dante expresses doubts about being chosen for such a journey. To bolster his confidence, Virgil tells of Beatrice, a woman who was Dante's inspiration in life, descending from Heaven to Limbo to ask Virgil to help save Dante. Dante regains his confidence, and they continue.

Charon and the doomed souls on the banks of the Acheron

“Through me one enters the City of Sorrow,
Through me one enters the Eternity of Pain,
Through me one goes among those that are lost.

Justice moved my High Maker;
I was created by Divine Power,
The Highest Wisdom and Primordial Love.

Before me, there was nothing created
That was not eternal, and eternally I stand.
Leave all hope behind, you who enter.”

These words, in a dark color,
I saw written above a gateway,
Prompting me to say, “Master, their meaning, for me, is difficult.”

He knowingly replied:
“Here, one should leave behind all suspicion.
All cowardice, here, should be dead.

We are coming to the place where I’ve told you
That you will see the suffering ones
Who have lost the benefit of reason.”

And then, placing his hand in mine
With a pleasant face, comforting me,
He led me inside to secret things.

There sighs, tears, and shrieks
Resounded through the starless air,
Such that I began weeping.

Various languages, horrible dialects,
Words of sorrow, accents of rage,
Voices high and faint, and the sound of their hands

Creating a tumult—one which goes round
Forever in that air lacking the colors of the days we know,
Like sand when a whirlwind blows.

And I, my head surrounded by horror,
Said: “Master, what is this I hear?
And what people are these, so overwhelmed by pain?”

He replied: “This way of misery
Holds the sad souls of those
Who lived with neither infamy nor honor.

Also among them is that cowardly chorus
Of angels who were neither rebellious
Nor faithful to God, but stood apart.

Heaven drove them out in order to preserve Its beauty,
But they are not received in the depths of Hell,
Where the damned would gain prestige from them.

And I said, “Master, what is so grievous
To them that they mourn with such intensity?”
He answered, “I will tell you most briefly.

They have no hope of death,
And their blind life is so ignoble
That they are envious of every other plight.

They are not to be granted fame in the world;
Mercy and justice spurn them.
Let’s not discuss them; just look and move on.

And I, looking again, saw a banner
That, in its turning, moved so quickly
That it appeared to disdain all pause.

And from behind came so long a train
Of people that I would not have believed
That death had undone so many.

After recognizing some of them,
I saw and knew the shade of the one
Who made, through cowardice, the great refusal.

I understood immediately and with certainty
That these were the slavish ones,
Abhorrent to both God and His enemies.

These wretches, who never were alive,
Were naked and stung often
By the gadflies and wasps there.

This streamed their faces with blood,
Which, mixed with tears, ran to their feet
To be gathered by repulsive worms.

And then, feeling compelled to look again, and further,
I saw people at the bank of a great river,
Leading me to say, “Master, now grant me

Knowledge of who they are, and what custom
Has them appear so ready to cross over,
As I discern by the fiery light.”

He replied, “These things will be known to you
When we stop in our walk
Along the glum banks of Acheron.”

Then, with eyes ashamed and lowered,
Fearing my words had made him taciturn,
I held back from speaking until we reached the river.

And then, coming towards us in a boat, was
An old man, hair whitened by age,
Shouting, “Woe to you all, depraved souls!

Do not hope to see Heaven:
I come to lead you to the other shore,
Into eternal darkness, into heat, and into frost.

And you there at the shore—the living soul—
Get away from those that are dead.”
But then, when he saw that I wasn’t leaving,

He said, “By another way, through other ports,
Shall you come to the shore by which to cross. Not here.
Lighter craft is more appropriate to your crossing.”

And my master said to him, “Charon, don’t vex yourself.
This is so willed by where this can be
Because it is so willed. Ask no more.”

This quieted the woolly jowls
Of the ferryman of that marsh akin to a bruise,
Who had wheels of flame around his eyes.

But those souls, who were weary and naked,
Changed color and gnashed their teeth
Upon hearing the harsh words.

They cursed God and their parents,
The human race, and the place, time, and seed
Of their fostering and birth.

And then, all together, they drew back,
Intense in their weeping, at the evil shore
That awaits those who do not fear God.

The demon Charon, with eyes of burning coal
Beckoning them, gathered them all,
Beating with his oar those that dawdled.

As in autumn when the leaves fall
One after the other, until the branch
Sees all that grows upon it on the ground,

The evil seed of Adam, similarly,
Throws itself from this bank one by one
At this signal, like a bird to its lure.

It is in this way that they cross over through the dark waves.
And, on the other side, before they disembark,
A new crowd has gathered on this one.

“My son,” the gracious master said,
“Those that die in God’s wrath
All gather here from every nation

And they are ready to cross the river,
For Divine Justice spurs them
So that fear becomes desire.

A good soul never passes this way.
And, therefore, if Charon complains about you,
It is good if you now know the meaning of what he says.

This finished, the dark countryside
Shook so violently that, of the fear,
The memory of it still bathes me with sweat.

Wind arose from this land of tears
In a flash of vermilion light,
Overcoming each of my senses.

And I fell like one whom sleep has taken.

Continue to Song IV

Inferno, Song II

2008-10-23T12:18:00.000-07:00

The story thus far: Dante, a poet and town prior in Florence, finds himself on a dark road of the soul. Before his spirit can fall to its ruin, he encounters Virgil, the greatest poet of classical Rome. Virgil offers Dante a journey through the realms of the afterworld, through which Dante may find his soul's salvation. He shall travel through Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, with Virgil as his guide through the first two. Dante accepts Virgil's offer, and they embark.

Song I translation

Beatrice and Virgil in Limbo

The day was departing, and the dark air
Was taking Earth’s creatures
From their fatigue. I alone

Prepared myself to endure the war
Of both the path and the pathos
That the unerring mind shall retrace.

O Muses, O high genius, help me now;
O memory that inscribed what I saw,
Here shall your nobility appear.

I began: “Oh, poet who guides me,
Examine my character, to the extent that I possess it,
Before entrusting me to the high road.

You tell of Silvius’ father—Aeneas—
While he was still alive and capable of sin: To the spirit
World he went, alert and reflective.

But if the Enemy of all evil,
In His considered motives and contemplation of the ultimate consequence
Of that which must come from Him, as well as what and whom,

Does not appear unworthy to the man of intellect,
It was due to Aeneas and the fostering of Rome and its empire,
By the Father’s choice, into the empire of Heaven.

I wish to speak the truth: Both city and empire
Were established as the place of holiness
Where the successor of the great Peter sits.

You sang of Aeneas on this journey,
Gaining knowledge of what precipitated
His triumph and then the papal mantle.

The Chosen Vessel—Paul—then came here
In order to revive comfort in the Faith,
Which is the beginning of the road to salvation.

But me, why have I come here? Who grants this?
I am not Aeneas; I am not Paul.
Neither I nor others believe me worthy of this.

Therefore, if I abandon myself to this venture,
I fear it would be folly.
You are wise; you better understand what I do not fathom.”

And, such as one who undoes his own will,
Reconsidering and changing his stance
Until his principles are stripped of substance,

So I became on that gloomy shore,
Because, in mulling it over, I wore out the impetus
That, in the beginning, I had quickly embraced.

“If I properly understand your words,”
That spirit, so noble of mind, replied,
“Your soul is sick with cowardice,

Which often confuses a man,
Turning him away from noble venture
Like a skittish animal deceived by its own eyes.

In order for you to raise yourself from this fear,
I’ll tell why I came and what I understood
When I first grieved for you.

I was among the Suspended Ones,
And my name was called by a lady so saintly and beautiful
That I asked to be of her command.

Her eyes shone brighter than the stars,
And she began to say to me, sweetly and softly,
With an angelic voice, in her own language:

“O genial Mantuan soul,
Whose fame in the world still endures
And will last into the world’s distant future,

A friend—he is not a friend of fortune—
Is hindered on the Barren Slope
Of the Journey, turned by fear.

And already I am frightened that he is so very lost,
That I am too late in rising to his aid,
Based on what I have heard of him in Heaven.

Go now, and with the richness of your words
And the knowledge which will enable him to manage,
Help him so that I shall be consoled.

I am Beatrice, I who compels you to go.
I come from the place to which I long to return.
Love moved me, and compels me to speak.

When I shall again be before my Lord,
I will praise you often to Him.”
Then she was silent, and I began:

“O Lady of virtue, the only one through whom
The human race transcends all contained
Within the Heaven of the lesser circles,

So welcome to me is your command
That were it already obeyed, I would be too late;
No more is needed to open me to your wishes.

But tell me why you so selflessly
Descend to this center
From the vast place to which you are burning to return?”

“Since you feel so compelled to know,”
She replied to me, “I shall briefly tell you
Why I am not afraid to enter here.

One should only be afraid of things
That have the power to do harm.
Other than that, no; nothing else is frightening.

In His mercy, God created me so
That, to me, your misery cannot be felt.
Nor do the flames of this fire assail me.

A kind Lady in Heaven so pities
The hardship being suffered where I send you
That, there, lasting judgment from above is set aside.

She asked this of Lucia in her plea
And said to her, “Your faithful one now has need
Of you. I suggest you go to him.”

Lucia, enemy of all cruelty,
Stirred in reply, and came to me, to the place where
I sat with the elder, Rachel.

She said, “Beatrice, truly the praise of God,
Why do you not aid him who loved you so much
That, for you, he rose above the common herd?

Do you not hear the pathos of his cries?
Do you not see the death he struggles with
Beside the river to which even the ocean cannot compare?”

No one on Earth was ever so fast
In improving their lot or fleeing their peril
As I was after these words were spoken.

I descended to this place from my blesséd seat,
Trusting your exemplary words
Which honors both you and those that have heard them.”

After presenting this to me,
She turned, her shining eyes in tears,
Which prompted me to come, and quickly.

And so I came to you as she directed.
I saved you in defiance of that beast
Who thwarted the short journey up that beautiful mountain.

As such, what is this? Why, why do you hang back?
Why is cowardice allotted so much room in your heart?
Where is your resolve, your forthrightness,

Given that three such blesséd Ladies
Care for you in the court of Heaven,
As well as my words, which promise so much good?”

As budding flowers in the nighttime frost
Bend and close up, followed by the illuminating sun
Opening them all and standing them up straight on their stems,

It was this I made of myself with my fatigued virtue:
Good and abundant courage flowing to me through my heart,
So that, as a person honest and direct, I began:

“Oh, compassionate lady, who came to my aid,
And you, so gracious that you quickly obeyed
The words of truth presented to you!

You have filled my heart with desire,
Through your words, for what is to come.
I am once again of the mind with which I began.

Now go, for we are both of one will.
You are my leader, you are my lord, you are my master.”
I said this to him like so. And then, when he had moved on,

I began upon that deep and savage road.

Continue to Song III

Inferno, Song I

2008-10-23T11:30:00.000-07:00

Dante lost in the dark wilderness

Halfway upon the road of our life,
I found myself in a dark wilderness,
The path of righteousness lost to me.

Oh, to talk about it is difficult,
That wilderness. So brutal and harsh and unrelenting,
The very thought of it brings back my fear!

It was so bitter; death is hardly worse.
But, to convey the goodness I found,
I’ll tell of the other things I came across.

I can’t exactly say how I entered that place,
So sleepy was I at the point where
The road of virtue was left behind.

But then, when I’d arrived at the foot of the hill,
The place where the valley ended,
Fear overwhelmed my heart, which was already so filled with doubt.

I looked up and then…then I saw that the sides of the hill
Were draped already in the rays of the sphere
That show the straight road to those of every walk of life.

My fear then calmed a bit,
Although it lasted in the lake of my heart throughout
That night, which I spent wallowing in self-pity.

And like one who, exhausted and half-drowned,
Emerges from the sea at the shore
And looks back at the menacing waters,

My soul, still panicky,
Turned to look back on the pass
That no living person had yet left behind.

And then, at last, having rested my tired body a bit,
I continued to make my way up that barren hill,
So impatiently that the steady foot was always below the other.

And it was there, almost at the peak of that steep slope,
That a great cat, fast and sure on its feet, suddenly appeared,
The fur of its coat covered with spots.

And it would not leave my presence;
Instead, it headed me off from the many routes
That I turned and returned to time and again.

The time was the start of the morning
And the sun was rising with the stars,
Standing together when divine love

Began to move them, such things of beauty;
I was led to hope for better in my dealings
With this spot-covered beast—

Oh, the hour of time and the sweet season.
But it was not enough to dispel my fear:
I caught sight of a lion,

Which appeared to be charging towards me,
Head raised and hunger raging--
The very air around him seemed to tremble.

And then a she-wolf, of whom all hunger
Seemed embodied in her haggard form,
In addition to the many already made to live in misery.

This burdened me all the more;
With the fear brought by the vision of her,
I lost hope of scaling the heights.

And like one who lives for material gain
When he loses everything,
His every thought making him break down and cry,

Such was how the beast made me lose peace.
Her opposing me, little by little,
Drove me back beyond the sun’s reach.

And, as I fell into the lower depths,
Someone, before my eyes, offered himself to me,
One who, in the long silence, appeared dim.

When I saw him in this great wasteland,
I cried, “Take pity on me,
Whatever you may be, whether a ghost or a true man.”

He replied: “Not a man; a man I was once.
My parents were Lombards,
Mantuans by homeland, both of them.

I was born during the reign, though late, of Julius Cæsar,
And lived in Rome under the good Augustus
In the time of the false and lying gods.

A poet I was, and I sang of that righteous
Son of Anchises who came from Troy
After that splendid city of Ilium went up in flames.

But you—why step back to such great ennui?
Why not climb the Mountain of Delight
Which is the beginning and cause of all joy?”

“Now, are you Virgil, that spring
Which pours so wide a river of speech?,”
I answered him, my manner bashful.

“Oh, from other poets honored and bright,
I have realized the need for long study, as well as the great love,
That has compelled me to explore your work.

You are my master and progenitor;
It is from you alone that I’ve taken
The beautiful style that has brought me honor.

See the beast from whom I turn away.
Help me be rid of her, famous sage,
For she leaves my veins and pulse all atremble.”

“I would advise you to travel another road,”
He replied, upon seeing my tears.
“If you are to get by this savage place.

This beast, against whom you cry out,
Does not allow others to pass her way,
But, rather, thwarts them unto death.

And her nature is so wicked and base
That she can never satisfy her rapacious drives;
After a meal she is more ravenous than before.

Many are the animals with whom she mates,
And there will be more still, until, finally, the Greyhound
Will come, and make her die in pain.

This one will not sustain himself upon earth or tripods,
But upon wisdom, love, and virtue,
And his nation will stand between the cities of Feltro.

He will bring salvation to this humble Italy
For whom the maiden Camilla died
In blood, as did Euryalus, Turnus, and Nisus.

He will hunt the she-wolf through every village
Until he has sent her back to the hell
Where envy first unleashed her.

Therefore, I think and discern it best for you
That you follow me. I will be your guide,
And, from here, take you to an eternal place.

There you will hear the shrieks of despair.
You will see the ancient spirits, full of sorrow,
Each crying out in the second death of damnation.

You will also see those who are content
In the flames, for they hope of coming to
That day when they will be among the blessed people.

Then, if it is to the blessed that you wish to climb,
There will be, for that purpose, a soul worthier than my own.
With her I shall leave you upon my parting.

For the Emperor who reigns above,
Because I was rebellious to His law,
Does not will for others to come to His city through me.

He rules there, He rules everywhere.
By “there” I mean His city and His throne.
Oh, “there”--So happy is the one chosen for that place.”

And I said to him: “Poet, I beseech you,
By the God whom you did not know,
Grant that I escape this evil and worse,

That you will lead me to the places of which you’ve told,
So that I may see the gates of St. Peter
And those whom you make to be the despondent many.”

And then he moved on, and I kept behind him.

Continue to Song II

Preface

2008-10-23T10:42:00.000-07:00

I’ve wondered for quite some time how Dante comes across in Italian. My curiosity was first piqued when I was reading Robert Pinsky’s translation of the Inferno a few years back. The Pinsky edition, published by the Noonday Press, featured the original Italian text on the left-hand side and the English translation on the right. A woman I worked with was a native speaker of Italian and I asked her how close Pinsky’s version was to the original. This woman, whom, I add, had never read Dante before, looked back and forth between the Italian and the English and said, “Oh, it’s O.K.” Her tone indicated how unimpressed she was by the translation. She then stared at the Italian, looking absolutely transfixed. After a few seconds, she said, sounding as if she was coming out of a trance, “That’s beautiful.” She then looked at me and said, “That’s just beautifully written.”

My curiosity was further piqued a couple of years later when I read a translation of Giovanni Boccaccio’s Il filostrato while researching a paper on Chaucer’s Troilus and Criseyde. I had read a number of selections from a translation of Boccaccio’s Decameron right after finishing Pinsky’s Inferno, and I had been quite impressed by the grace and sophistication of Boccaccio’s sentences after they had been translated into English. While reading the translation of Il filostrato, I was astonished. Despite the works being translated by different people, I could immediately tell that they were by the same author. The writing style—the approach to sentence construction, the sophistication of the syntax—was identical. Boccaccio, it seemed, came across exactly the same regardless of the translator or what was translated. This was in stark contrast to Dante. I had scanned a number of other translations of the Inferno since reading the Pinsky and found that no two read alike. What was it about Dante’s and Boccaccio’s respective styles that created such a situation?

The answer, as I’ve discovered while working on the Inferno, Song I, is that Dante and Boccaccio are, stylistically, as far apart as two writers can be. Boccaccio’s language is very straightforward; he’s a very literal-minded writer. Dante, at least in the Commedia, is not. He blurs physical and metaphysical descriptions with abandon; he manages to be both literal and allegorical simultaneously. His writing, if one translates it directly into English, comes across as goofily arch.

In Italian, though, Dante makes it work and extraordinarily well. In my tutoring, one student I worked with had just a phenomenal sense of rhythm in his prose. His problem was that he crafted arguments very shoddily. For the longest time, he’d been able to get away with it; his prose style had allowed him to bluff his way past his teachers. But then he came to a teacher who was oblivious to everything but the quality of the argument. It was my job to help the kid get the arguments in his papers organized. Dante reminds me quite a bit of this student. His Italian allows him to get past a literal-minded reader’s dubiousness towards the mixing of the physical and metaphysical in his lines. When spoken aloud, the rhythms of the poem are so strong that they can transfix a listener who doesn’t understand a word of Italian. Dante employs a poetic form called terza rima: lines ten syllables long are organized into a rhyme scheme of ababcbcdcded and so on. The lines, aided by the heavy reliance on vowels in Italian words (and, of course, Dante’s extraordinary command of his language), barrel forth with a momentum unlike anything else in literature. (There are only three English-language writers who can generate rhythms with anywhere near the force of Dante’s: John Milton, in Paradise Lost and other works; Herman Melville, in the more ecstatic passages of Moby-Dick; and Henry Miller, during his better automatist flights in Tropic of Cancer and Tropic of Capricorn. And neither writer can manage it as consistently—or as elegantly.) Dante’s rhythms overwhelm an audience’s skepticism; the lines make one feel as if one is riding a never-ending wave.

(Terza rima is far more suited to Italian than English. As noted, Italian words rely heavily on vowels for their sound; English words are more notable for their consonants. Italian is melodic; English is percussive. As such, English sounds flatter than Italian; its rhythms are much less imposing. The most notable terza rima poem in English, Shelley’s "Ode to the West Wind," is lovely, but its tempos have nothing of the aggressiveness of its Italian counterpart.)

A translator of Dante can’t even hope to approximate the momentum of the original poem. Furthermore, a translator is faced with the problem of reader disbelief that Dante used terza rima structure to solve. A faithful translation of the poem is a near-impossibility; the task of rendering Dante’s lines in English pushes a translator’s ingenuity to its limits. Creative license is a necessity, which is why no two translations are alike.

While working on my own translation, I consulted the efforts of the three most accomplished American poets to try their hand at the poem: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, John Ciardi, and Robert Pinsky. Each takes a different approach. Longfellow attempts a line-by-line translation, relying on the language of the King James Version of the Bible (lots of thees and thys and thous, among other things) to aid the reader in the suspension of disbelief. The idea, I think, is that if the poem sounds appropriately dignified, the reader won’t balk at the constant shift between literal and metaphysical meaning in the lines. Longfellow provides the most faithful translation of the three, but, sadly, it is also the most pretentious. I didn’t much care for the Pinsky translation when I read it a few years ago, and, looking at it now, I think it’s an ambitious failure. Pinsky attempts to get the feel of terza rima across in his rendering by using rhyming and semi-rhyming consonantal syllables at the end of lines. The strategy backfires: The rhythms in his treatment proceed by fits and starts; the result is a homely, uncomfortable mess of a read. The heavy rewriting to which he subjects Dante’s stanzas compounds Pinsky’s failure. If one isn’t going to be faithful to the wording of the original poem, and one can’t provide an acceptable flow for the lines, then what’s the point? In Ciardi's translation, he takes considerable license with Dante’s wording as well (most of the more conspicuous flourishes in his treatment are original to him) but he makes the poem his own. The result is about three-quarters Dante and one-quarter Ciardi. The relationship of Ciardi’s translation to the Dante is a bit like the relationship of the Miles Davis-Gil Evans Porgy and Bess to Gershwin’s original. It’s not what the original creator intended, but it’s a damned fine piece of work. Ciardi even provides something of an approximation to the terza rima structure. The first and third lines of the stanzas (all of them tercets) are rhymed.

For my part, I have opted to forgo any attempt at approximating Dante’s terza rima. The poem is presented in three-line stanzas of free verse. I’ve remained faithful to Dante’s lines; each one in my rendering reflects, to a greater or lesser degree, the exact meaning of the original. None of the stanzas are reorganized for the purposes of clarity. This is the most faithful English translation I can muster.

Continue to Song I