| |
| FROM the first circle I descended thus | |
| Down to the second, which, a lesser space | |
| Embracing, so much more of grief contains, | |
| Provoking bitter moans. There Minos stands, | |
| Grinning with ghastly feature: he, of all | 5 |
| Who enter, strict examining the crimes, | |
| Gives sentence, and dismisses them beneath, | |
| According as he foldeth him around: | |
| For when before him comes the ill-fated soul, | |
| It all confesses; and that judge severe | 10 |
| Of sins, considering what place in Hell | |
| Suits the transgression, with his tail so oft | |
| Himself encircles, as degrees beneath | |
| He dooms it to descend. Before him stand | |
| Always a numerous throng; and in his turn | 15 |
| Each one to judgment passing, speaks, and hears | |
| His fate, thence downward to his dwelling hurl’d. | |
| “O thou! who to this residence of woe | |
| Approachest!” when he saw me coming, cried | |
| Minos, relinquishing his dread employ, | 20 |
| “Look how thou enter here; beware in whom | |
| Thou place thy trust; let not the entrance broad | |
| Deceive thee to thy harm.” To him my guide: | |
| “Wherefore exclaimest? Hinder not his way | |
| By destiny appointed; so ’tis will’d, | 25 |
| Where will and power are one. Ask thou no more.” | |
| Now ’gin the rueful wailings to be heard. | |
| Now am I come where many a plaining voice | |
| Smites on mine ear. Into a place I came | |
| Where light was silent all. Bellowing there groan’d | 30 |
| A noise, as of a sea in tempest torn | |
| By warring winds. The stormy blast of Hell | |
| With restless fury drives the spirits on, | |
| Whirl’d round and dash’d amain with sore annoy. | |
| When they arrive before the ruinous sweep, | 35 |
| There shrieks are heard, there lamentations, moans, | |
| And blasphemies ’gainst the good Power in Heaven. | |
| I understood, that to this torment sad | |
| The carnal sinners are condemn’d, in whom | |
| Reason by lust is sway’d. As, in large troops | 40 |
| And multitudinous, when winter reigns, | |
| The starlings on their wings are borne abroad; | |
| So bears the tyrannous gust those evil souls. | |
| On this side and on that, above, below, | |
| It drives them: hope of rest to solace them | 45 |
| Is none, nor e’en of milder pang. As cranes, | |
| Chanting their dolorous notes, traverse the sky, | |
| Stretch’d out in long array; so I beheld | |
| Spirits, who came loud wailing, hurried on | |
| By their dire doom. Then I: “Instructor! who | 50 |
| Are these, by the black air so scourged?” “The first | |
| ’Mong those, of whom thou question’st,” he replied, | |
| “O’er many tongues was empress. She in vice | |
| Of luxury was so shameless, that she made | |
| Liking be lawful by promulged decree, | 55 |
| To clear the blame she had herself incurr’d. | |
| This is Semiramis, of whom ’tis writ, | |
| That she succeeded Ninus her espoused; | |
| And held the land, which now the Soldan rules. | |
| The next in amorous fury slew herself, | 60 |
| And to Sichæus’ ashes broke her faith: | |
| Then follows Cleopatra, lustful queen.” | |
| There mark’d I Helen, for whose sake so long | |
| The time was fraught with evil; there the great | |
| Achilles, who with love fought to the end. | 65 |
| Paris I saw, and Tristan; and beside, | |
| A thousand more he show’d me, and by name | |
| Pointed them out, whom love bereaved of life. | |
| When I had heard my sage instructor name | |
| Those dames and knights of antique days, o’erpower’d | 70 |
| By pity, well-nigh in amaze my mind | |
| Was lost; and I began: “Bard! willingly | |
| I would address those two together coming, | |
| Which seem so light before the wind.” He thus: | |
| “Note thou, when nearer they to us approach. | 75 |
| Then by that love which carries them along, | |
| Entreat; and they will come.” Soon as the wind | |
| Sway’d them towards us, I thus framed my speech: | |
| “O wearied spirits! come, and hold discourse | |
| With us, if by none else restrain’d. As doves | 80 |
| By fond desire invited, on wide wings | |
| And firm, to their sweet nest returning home, | |
| Cleave the air, wafted by their will along; | |
| Thus issued, from that troop where Dido ranks, | |
| They, through the ill air speeding: with such force | 85 |
| My cry prevail’d, by strong affection urged. | |
| “O gracious creature and benign! who go’st | |
| Visiting, through this element obscure, | |
| Us, who the world with bloody stain imbrued; | |
| If, for a friend, the King of all, we own’d, | 90 |
| Our prayer to him should for thy peace arise, | |
| Since thou hast pity on our evil plight. | |
| Of whatsoe’er to hear or to discourse | |
| It pleases thee, that will we hear, of that | |
| Freely with thee discourse, while e’er the wind, | 95 |
| As now, is mute. The land, 1 that gave me birth, | |
| Is situate on the coast, where Po descends | |
| To rest in ocean with his sequent streams. | |
| “Love, that in gentle heart is quickly learnt, | |
| Entangled him by that fair form, from me | 100 |
| Ta’en in such cruel sort, as grieves me still: | |
| Love, that denial takes from none beloved, | |
| Caught me with pleasing him so passing well, | |
| That, as thou seest, he yet deserts me not. | |
| Love brought us to one death: Caïna 2 waits | 105 |
| The soul, who spilt our life.” Such were their words; | |
| At hearing which, downward I bent my looks, | |
| And held them there so long, that the bard cried: | |
| “What art thou pondering?” I in answer thus: | |
| “Alas! by what sweet thoughts, what fond desire | 110 |
| Must they at length to that ill pass have reach’d!” | |
| Then turning, I to them my speech address’d, | |
| And thus began: “Francesca! 3 your sad fate | |
| Even to tears my grief and pity moves. | |
| But tell me; in the time of your sweet sighs, | 115 |
| By what, and how Love granted, that ye knew | |
| Your yet uncertain wishes?” She replied: | |
| “No greater grief than to remember days | |
| Of joy, when misery is at hand. That kens | |
| Thy learn’d instructor. Yet so eagerly | 120 |
| If thou art bent to know the primal root, | |
| From whence our love gat being, I will do | |
| As one, who weeps and tells his tale. One day, | |
| For our delight we read of Lancelot, 4 | |
| How him love thrall’d. Alone we were, and no | 125 |
| Suspicion near us. Oft-times by that reading | |
| Our eyes were drawn together, and the hue | |
| Fled from our alter’d cheek. But at one point | |
| Alone we fell. When of that smile we read, | |
| The wished smile so raptorously kiss’d | 130 |
| By one so deep in love, then he, who ne’er | |
| From me shall separate, at once my lips | |
| All trembling kiss’d. The book and writer both | |
| Were love’s purveyors. In its leaves that day | |
| We read no more.” While thus one spirit spake, | 135 |
| The other wail’d so sorely, that heart-struck | |
| I, through compassion fainting, seem’d not far | |
| From death, and like a corse fell to the ground. | |
