The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri (good e books to read txt) š
- Author: Dante Alighieri
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Renews, in bitterness not far from death.
Yet to discourse of what there good befell, All else will I relate discoverād there.
How first I enterād it I scarce can say, Such sleepy dullness in that instant weighād My senses down, when the true path I left, But when a mountainās foot I reachād, where closād The valley, that had piercād my heart with dread, I lookād aloft, and saw his shoulders broad Already vested with that planetās beam, Who leads all wanderers safe through every way.
Then was a little respite to the fear, That in my heartās recesses deep had lain, All of that night, so pitifully passād: And as a man, with difficult short breath, Forespent with toiling, āscapād from sea to shore, Turns to the perilous wide waste, and stands At gaze; eāen so my spirit, that yet failād Struggling with terror, turnād to view the straits, That none hath passād and livād. My weary frame After short pause recomforted, again I journeyād on over that lonely steep, The hinder foot still firmer. Scarce the ascent Began, when, lo! a panther, nimble, light, And coverād with a speckled skin, appearād, Nor, when it saw me, vanishād, rather strove To check my onward going; that ofttimes With purpose to retrace my steps I turnād.
The hour was morningās prime, and on his way Aloft the sun ascended with those stars, That with him rose, when Love divine first movād Those its fair works: so that with joyous hope All things conspirād to fill me, the gay skin Of that swift animal, the matin dawn And the sweet season. Soon that joy was chasād, And by new dread succeeded, when in view A lion came, āgainst me, as it appearād, With his head held aloft and hunger-mad, That eāen the air was fear-struck. A she-wolf Was at his heels, who in her leanness seemād Full of all wants, and many a land hath made Disconsolate ere now. She with such fear Oāerwhelmed me, at the sight of her appallād, That of the height all hope I lost. As one, Who with his gain elated, sees the time When all unwares is gone, he inwardly Mourns with heart-griping anguish; such was I, Haunted by that fell beast, never at peace, Who coming oāer against me, by degrees Impellād me where the sun in silence rests.
While to the lower space with backward step I fell, my ken discernād the form one of one, Whose voice seemād faint through long disuse of speech.
When him in that great desert I espied, āHave mercy on me!ā cried I out aloud, āSpirit! or living man! what eāer thou be!ā
He answerād: āNow not man, man once I was, And born of Lombard parents, Mantuana both By country, when the power of Julius yet Was scarcely firm. At Rome my life was past Beneath the mild Augustus, in the time Of fabled deities and false. A bard Was I, and made Anchisesā upright son The subject of my song, who came from Troy, When the flames preyād on Iliumās haughty towers.
But thou, say wherefore to such perils past Returnāst thou? wherefore not this pleasant mount Ascendest, cause and source of all delight?ā
āAnd art thou then that Virgil, that well-spring, From which such copious floods of eloquence Have issued?ā I with front abashād replied.
āGlory and light of all the tuneful train!
May it avail me that I long with zeal Have sought thy volume, and with love immense Have connād it oāer. My master thou and guide!
Thou he from whom alone I have derivād That style, which for its beauty into fame Exalts me. See the beast, from whom I fled.
O save me from her, thou illustrious sage!
For every vein and pulse throughout my frame She hath made tremble.ā He, soon as he saw That I was weeping, answerād, āThou must needs Another way pursue, if thou wouldst āscape From out that savage wilderness. This beast, At whom thou criest, her way will suffer none To pass, and no less hindrance makes than death: So bad and so accursed in her kind, That never sated is her ravenous will, Still after food more craving than before.
To many an animal in wedlock vile
She fastens, and shall yet to many more, Until that greyhound come, who shall destroy Her with sharp pain. He will not life support By earth nor its base metals, but by love, Wisdom, and virtue, and his land shall be The land ātwixt either Feltro. In his might Shall safety to Italiaās plains arise, For whose fair realm, Camilla, virgin pure, Nisus, Euryalus, and Turnus fell.
He with incessant chase through every town Shall worry, until he to hell at length Restore her, thence by envy first let loose.
I for thy profit pondāring now devise, That thou mayst follow me, and I thy guide Will lead thee hence through an eternal space, Where thou shalt hear despairing shrieks, and see Spirits of old tormented, who invoke A second death; and those next view, who dwell Content in fire, for that they hope to come, Wheneāer the time may be, among the blest, Into whose regions if thou then desire Tā ascend, a spirit worthier then I Must lead thee, in whose charge, when I depart, Thou shalt be left: for that Almighty King, Who reigns above, a rebel to his law, Adjudges me, and therefore hath decreed, That to his city none through me should come.
He in all parts hath sway; there rules, there holds His citadel and throne. O happy those, Whom there he chooses!ā I to him in few: āBard! by that God, whom thou didst not adore, I do beseech thee (that this ill and worse I may escape) to lead me, where thou saidst, That I Saint Peterās gate may view, and those Who as thou tellāst, are in such dismal plight.ā
Onward he movād, I close his steps pursuād.
CANTO II
NOW was the day departing, and the air, Imbrownād with shadows, from their toils releasād All animals on earth; and I alone
Preparād myself the conflict to sustain, Both of sad pity, and that perilous road, Which my unerring memory shall retrace.
O Muses! O high genius! now vouchsafe Your aid! O mind! that all I saw hast kept Safe in a written record, here thy worth And eminent endowments come to proof.
I thus began: āBard! thou who art my guide, Consider well, if virtue be in me
Sufficient, ere to this high enterprise Thou trust me. Thou hast told that Silviusā sire, Yet clothād in corruptible flesh, among Thā immortal tribes had entrance, and was there Sensible present. Yet if heavenās great Lord, Almighty foe to ill, such favour shewād, In contemplation of the high effect, Both what and who from him should issue forth, It seems in reasonās judgment well deservād: Sith he of Rome, and of Romeās empire wide, In heavenās empyreal height was chosen sire: Both which, if truth be spoken, were ordainād And āstablishād for the holy place, where sits Who to great Peterās sacred chair succeeds.
He from this journey, in thy song renownād, Learnād things, that to his victory gave rise And to the papal robe. In after-times The chosen vessel also travelād there, To bring us back assurance in that faith, Which is the entrance to salvationās way.
But I, why should I there presume? or who Permits it? not, Aeneas I nor Paul.
Myself I deem not worthy, and none else Will deem me. I, if on this voyage then I venture, fear it will in folly end.
Thou, who art wise, better my meaning knowāst, Than I can speak.ā As one, who unresolves What he hath late resolvād, and with new thoughts Changes his purpose, from his first intent Removād; eāen such was I on that dun coast, Wasting in thought my enterprise, at first So eagerly embracād. āIf right thy words I scan,ā replied that shade magnanimous, āThy soul is by vile fear assailād, which oft So overcasts a man, that he recoils From noblest resolution, like a beast At some false semblance in the twilight gloom.
That from this terror thou mayst free thyself, I will instruct thee why I came, and what I heard in that same instant, when for thee Grief touchād me first. I was among the tribe, Who rest suspended, when a dame, so blest And lovely, I besought her to command, Callād me; her eyes were brighter than the star Of day; and she with gentle voice and soft Angelically tunād her speech addressād: āO courteous shade of Mantua! thou whose fame Yet lives, and shall live long as nature lasts!
A friend, not of my fortune but myself, On the wide desert in his road has met Hindrance so great, that he through fear has turnād.
Now much I dread lest he past help have strayād, And I be risān too late for his relief, From what in heaven of him I heard. Speed now, And by thy eloquent persuasive tongue, And by all means for his deliverance meet, Assist him. So to me will comfort spring.
I who now bid thee on this errand forth Am Beatrice; from a place I come
(Note: Beatrice. I use this word, as it is pronounced in the Italian, as consisting of four syllables, of which the third is a long one.) Revisited with joy. Love brought me thence, Who prompts my speech. When in my Masterās sight I stand, thy praise to him I oft will tell.ā
She then was silent, and I thus began: āO Lady! by whose influence alone, Mankind excels whatever is containād Within that heaven which hath the smallest orb, So thy command delights me, that to obey, If it were done already, would seem late.
No need hast thou farther to speak thy will; Yet tell the reason, why thou art not loth To leave that ample space, where to return Thou burnest, for this centre here beneath.ā
She then: āSince thou so deeply wouldst inquire, I will instruct thee briefly, why no dread Hinders my entrance here. Those things alone Are to be fearād, whence evil may proceed, None else, for none are terrible beside.
I am so framād by God, thanks to his grace!
That any suffārance of your misery Touches me not, nor flame of that fierce fire Assails me. In high heaven a blessed dame Besides, who mourns with such effectual grief That hindrance, which I send thee to remove, That Godās stern judgment to her will inclines.
To Lucia calling, her she thus bespake: āNow doth thy faithful servant need thy aid And I commend him to thee.ā At her word Sped Lucia, of all cruelty the foe, And coming to the place, where I abode Seated with Rachel, her of ancient days, She thus addressād me: āThou true praise of God!
Beatrice! why is not thy succour lent To him, who so much lovād thee, as to leave For thy sake all the multitude admires?
Dost thou not hear how pitiful his wail, Nor mark the death, which in the torrent flood, Swoln mightier than a sea, him struggling holds?ā
Neāer among men did any with such speed Haste to their profit, flee from their annoy, As when these words were spoken, I came here, Down from my blessed seat, trusting the force Of thy pure eloquence, which thee, and all Who well have markād it, into honour brings.ā
āWhen she had ended, her bright beaming eyes Tearful she turnād aside; whereat I felt Redoubled zeal to serve thee. As she willād, Thus am I come: I savād thee from the beast, Who thy near way across the goodly mount Prevented. What is this comes oāer thee then?
Why, why dost thou hang back? why in thy breast Harbour vile fear? why
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