The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri (essential books to read TXT) đ
Restore her, thence by envy first let loose.
I for thy profit pond'ring now devise,
That thou mayst follow me, and I thy guide
Will lead thee hence through an eternal 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,
Whene'er the time may be, among the blest,
Into whose regions if thou then desire
T' ascend, a spirit worthier then I
Must lead thee, in whose charge, when I depart,
Thou shalt be left: for that Almighty King,
Who reigns above, a rebel to his law,
Adjudges me, and therefore hath decreed,
That to his city none through me should come.
He in all parts hath sway; there rules, there holds
His citadel and throne. O happy those,
Whom there he chooses!" I to him in few:
"Bard! by that God, whom thou didst not adore,
I do beseech thee (that this ill and worse
I may escap
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- Author: Dante Alighieri
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To follow it I hastenâd, but with voice Of sweetness it enjoinâd me to desist.
Then who it was I knew, and prayâd of it, To talk with me, it would a little pause.
It answered: âThee as in my mortal frame I lovâd, so loosâd forth it I love thee still, And therefore pause; but why walkest thou here?â
âNot without purpose once more to return, Thou findâst me, my Casella, where I am Journeying this way;â I said, âbut how of thee Hath so much time been lost?â He answerâd straight: âNo outrage hath been done to me, if he Who when and whom he chooses takes, me oft This passage hath denied, since of just will His will he makes. These three months past indeed, He, whose chose to enter, with free leave Hath taken; whence I wandâring by the shore Where Tyberâs wave grows salt, of him gainâd kind Admittance, at that riverâs mouth, towârd which His wings are pointed, for there always throng All such as not to Archeron descend.â
Then I: âIf new laws have not quite destroyâd Memory and use of that sweet song of love, That while all my cares had power to âswage; Please thee with it a little to console My spirit, that incumberâd with its frame, Travelling so far, of pain is overcome.â
âLove that discourses in my thoughts.â He then Began in such soft accents, that within The sweetness thrills me yet. My gentle guide And all who came with him, so well were pleasâd, That seemâd naught else might in their thoughts have room.
Fast fixâd in mute attention to his notes We stood, when lo! that old man venerable Exclaiming, âHow is this, ye tardy spirits?
What negligence detains you loitâring here?
Run to the mountain to cast off those scales, That from your eyes the sight of God conceal.â
As a wild flock of pigeons, to their food Collected, blade or tares, without their pride Accustomâd, and in still and quiet sort, If aught alarm them, suddenly desert Their meal, assailâd by more important care; So I that new-come troop beheld, the song Deserting, hasten to the mountainâs side, As one who goes yet where he tends knows not.
Nor with less hurried step did we depart.
CANTO III
Them sudden flight had scatterâd over the plain, Turnâd towârds the mountain, whither reasonâs voice Drives us; I to my faithful company Adhering, left it not. For how of him Deprivâd, might I have sped, or who beside Would oâer the mountainous tract have led my steps He with the bitter pang of self-remorse Seemâd smitten. O clear conscience and upright How doth a little fling wound thee sore!
Soon as his feet desisted (slackâning pace), From haste, that mars all decency of act, My mind, that in itself before was wrapt, Its thoughts expanded, as with joy restorâd: And full against the steep ascent I set My face, where highest to heavân its top oâerflows.
The sun, that flarâd behind, with ruddy beam Before my form was broken; for in me His rays resistance met. I turnâd aside With fear of being left, when I beheld Only before myself the ground obscurâd.
When thus my solace, turning him around, Bespake me kindly: âWhy distrustest thou?
Believâst not I am with thee, thy sure guide?
It now is evening there, where buried lies The body, in which I cast a shade, removâd To Naples from Brundusiumâs wall. Nor thou Marvel, if before me no shadow fall, More than that in the sky element
One ray obstructs not other. To endure Torments of heat and cold extreme, like frames That virtue hath disposâd, which how it works Wills not to us should be revealâd. Insane Who hopes, our reason may that space explore, Which holds three persons in one substance knit.
Seek not the wherefore, race of human kind; Could ye have seen the whole, no need had been For Mary to bring forth. Moreover ye Have seen such men desiring fruitlessly; To whose desires repose would have been givân, That now but serve them for eternal grief.
I speak of Plato, and the Stagyrite, And others many more.â And then he bent Downwards his forehead, and in troubled mood Broke off his speech. Meanwhile we had arrivâd Far as the mountainâs foot, and there the rock Found of so steep ascent, that nimblest steps To climb it had been vain. The most remote Most wild untrodden path, in all the tract âTwixt Lerice and Turbia were to this A ladder easyâ and open of access.
âWho knows on which hand now the steep declines?â
My master said and pausâd, âso that he may Ascend, who journeys without aid of wine,?â
And while with looks directed to the ground The meaning of the pathway he explorâd, And I gazâd upward round the stony height, Of spirits, that toward us movâd their steps, Yet moving seemâd not, they so slow approachâd.
I thus my guide addressâd: âUpraise thine eyes, Lo that way some, of whom thou mayâst obtain Counsel, if of thyself thou findâst it not!â
Straightway he lookâd, and with free speech replied: âLet us tend thither: they but softly come.
And thou be firm in hope, my son belovâd.â
Now was that people distant far in space A thousand paces behind ours, as much As at a throw the nervous arm could fling, When all drew backward on the messy crags Of the steep bank, and firmly stood unmovâd As one who walks in doubt might stand to look.
âO spirits perfect! O already chosen!â
Virgil to them began, âby that blest peace, Which, as I deem, is for you all preparâd, Instruct us where the mountain low declines, So that attempt to mount it be not vain.
For who knows most, him loss of time most grieves.â
As sheep, that step from forth their fold, by one, Or pairs, or three at once; meanwhile the rest Stand fearfully, bending the eye and nose To ground, and what the foremost does, that do The others, gathâring round her, if she stops, Simple and quiet, nor the cause discern; So saw I moving to advance the first, Who of that fortunate crew were at the head, Of modest mien and graceful in their gait.
When they before me had beheld the light From my right side fall broken on the ground, So that the shadow reachâd the cave, they stoppâd And somewhat back retirâd: the same did all, Who followâd, though unweeting of the cause âUnaskâd of you, yet freely I confess, This is a human body which ye see.
That the sunâs light is broken on the ground, Marvel not: but believe, that not without Virtue derivâd from Heaven, we to climb Over this wall aspire.â So them bespake My master; and that virtuous tribe rejoinâd; â Turn, and before you there the entrance lies,â
Making a signal to us with bent hands.
Then of them one began. âWhoeâer thou art, Who journeyâst thus this way, thy visage turn, Think if me elsewhere thou hast ever seen.â
I towârds him turnâd, and with fixâd eye beheld.
Comely, and fair, and gentle of aspect, He seemâd, but on one brow a gash was markâd.
When humbly I disclaimâd to have beheld Him ever: âNow behold!â he said, and showâd High on his breast a wound: then smiling spake.
âI am Manfredi, grandson to the Queen Costanza: whence I pray thee, when returnâd, To my fair daughter go, the parent glad Of Aragonia and Siciliaâs pride;
And of the truth inform her, if of me Aught else be told. When by two mortal blows My frame was shatterâd, I betook myself Weeping to him, who of free will forgives.
My sins were horrible; but so wide arms Hath goodness infinite, that it receives All who turn to it. Had this text divine Been of Cosenzaâs shepherd better scannâd, Who then by Clement on my hunt was set, Yet at the bridgeâs head my bones had lain, Near Benevento, by the heavy mole
Protected; but the rain now drenches them, And the wind drives, out of the kingdomâs bounds, Far as the stream of Verde, where, with lights Extinguishâd, he removâd them from their bed.
Yet by their curse we are not so destroyâd, But that the eternal love may turn, while hope Retains her verdant blossoms. True it is, That such one as in contumacy dies Against the holy church, though he repent, Must wander thirty-fold for all the time In his presumption past; if such decree Be not by prayers of good men shorter made Look therefore if thou canst advance my bliss; Revealing to my good Costanza, how Thou hast beheld me, and beside the terms Laid on me of that interdict; for here By means of those below much profit comes.â
CANTO IV
When by sensations of delight or pain, That any of our faculties hath seizâd, Entire the soul collects herself, it seems She is intent upon that power alone, And thus the error is disprovâd which holds The soul not singly lighted in the breast.
And therefore when as aught is heard or seen, That firmly keeps the soul toward it turnâd, Time passes, and a man perceives it not.
For that, whereby he hearken, is one power, Another that, which the whole spirit hash; This is as it were bound, while that is free.
This found I true by proof, hearing that spirit And wondâring; for full fifty steps aloft The sun had measurâd unobservâd of me, When we arrivâd where all with one accord The spirits shouted, âHere is what ye ask.â
A larger aperture ofttimes is stoppâd With forked stake of thorn by villager, When the ripe grape imbrowns, than was the path, By which my guide, and I behind him close, Ascended solitary, when that troop Departing left us. On Sanleoâs road Who journeys, or to Noli low descends, Or mounts Bismantuaâs height, must use his feet; But here a man had need to fly, I mean With the swift wing and plumes of high desire, Conducted by his aid, who gave me hope, And with light furnishâd to direct my way.
We through the broken rock ascended, close Pent on each side, while underneath the ground Askâd help of hands and feet. When we arrivâd Near on the highest ridge of the steep bank, Where the plain level openâd I exclaimâd, âO master! say which way can we proceed?â
He answerâd, âLet no step of thine recede.
Behind me gain the mountain, till to us Some practisâd guide appear.â That eminence Was lofty that no eye might reach its point, And the side proudly rising, more than line From the mid quadrant to the centre drawn.
I wearied thus began: âParent belovâd!
Turn, and behold how I remain alone, If thou stay not.â ââ My son!â He straight replyâd, âThus far put forth thy strength; âand to a track Pointed, that, on this side projecting, round Circles the hill. His words so spurrâd me on, That I behind him clambâring, forcâd myself, Till my feet pressâd the circuit plain beneath.
There both together seated, turnâd we round To eastward, whence was our ascent: and oft Many beside have with delight lookâd back.
First on the nether shores I turnâd my eyes, Then raisâd them to the sun, and wondâring markâd That from the left it smote us. Soon perceivâd That Poet sage how at the car of light Amazâd I stood, where âtwixt us and the north Its course it enterâd. Whence he thus to me: âWere Ledaâs offspring now in company Of that broad mirror, that high up and low Imparts his light beneath, thou mightâst behold The ruddy zodiac nearer to the bears Wheel, if its ancient course it not forsook.
How that may
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