April 16 The Harvard Classics, fifteen minutes a day
Inside the Gates of Hell
The city of Dis, within the gates of Hell, was guarded by monsters and surrounded by a moat filled with the tormented. Dante, protected by Virgil, entered the forbidden city, and viewed sights never before seen by living man.
- Dante urges attack on the city of Florence, April 16, 1311.
From the 1930 Reading Guide
Divine Comedy
Dante Alighieri
Page 32 opens with the end of another poem; the reading starts at “CANTO VIII”.
CANTO VIII
ARGUMENT.—A signal having been made from the tower, Phlegyas, the ferryman of the lake, speedily crosses it, and conveys Virgil and Dante to the other side. On their passage, they meet with Filippo Argenti, whose fury and torment are described. They then arrive at the city of Dis, the entrance whereto is denied, and the portals closed against them by many Demons.
MY theme pursuing, I relate, that ereWe reach’d the lofty turret’s base, our eyesIts height ascended, where we mark’d uphungTwo cressets, and another saw from farReturn the signal, so remote, that scarceThe eye could catch its beam. I, turning roundTo the deep source of knowledge, thus inquired:“Say what this means; and what, that other lightIn answer set: what agency doth this?”“There on the filthy waters,” he replied,“E’en now what next awaits us mayst thou see,If the marsh-gendered fog conceal it not.”Never was arrow from the cord dismiss’d,That ran its way so nimbly through the air,As a small bark, that through the waves I spiedToward us coming, under the sole swayOf one that ferried it, who cried aloud:“Art thou arrived, fell spirit?”—“Phlegyas, Phlegyas,1This time thou criest in vain,” my lord replied;“No longer shalt thou have us, but while o’erThe slimy pool we pass.” As one who hearsOf some great wrong he hath sustain’d, whereatInly he pines: so Phlegyas inly pinedIn his fierce ire. My guide, descending, stepp’dInto the skiff, and bade me enter next,Close at his side; nor, till my entrance, seem’dThe vessel freighted. Soon as both embark’d,Cutting the waves, goes on the ancient prow,More deeply than with others it is wont.While we our course o’er the dead channel held,One drench’d in mire before me came, and said:“Who art thou, that thus comest ere thine hour?”I answer’d: “Though I come, I tarry not:But who art thou, that art become so foul?”“One, as thou seest, who mourn:” he straight replied.To which I thus: “In mourning and in woe,Curst spirit! tarry thou. I know thee well,E’en thus in filth disguised.” Then stretch’d he forthHands to the bark; whereof my teacher sageAware, thrusting him back: “Away! down thereTo the other dogs!” then, with his arms my neckEncircling, kiss’d my cheek, and spake: “O soul,Justly disdainful! blest was she in whomThou wast conceived. He in the world was oneFor arrogance noted: to his memoryNo virtue lends its lustre; even soHere is his shadow furious. There above,How many now hold themselves mighty kings,Who here like swine shall wallow in the mire,Leaving behind them horrible dispraise.”I then: “Master! him fain would I beholdWhelm’d in these dregs, before we quit the lake.”He thus: “Or ever to thy view the shoreBe offer’d, satisfied shall be that wish,Which well deserves completion.” Scarce his wordsWere ended, when I saw the miry tribesSet on him with such violence, that yetFor that render I thanks to God, and praise.“To Filippo Argenti!”2 cried they all:And on himself the moody FlorentineTurn’d his avenging fangs. Him here we left,Nor speak I of him more. But on mine earSudden a sound of lamentation smote,Whereat mine eye unbarr’d I sent abroad.And thus the good instructor: “Now, my sonDraws near the city, that of Dis is named,With its grave denizens, a mighty throng.”I thus: “The minarets already, Sir!There, certes, in the valley I descry,Gleaming vermilion, as if they from fireHad issued.” He replied: “Eternal fire,That inward burns, shows them with ruddy flameIllumed; as in this nether Hell thou seest.”We came within the fosses deep, that moatThis region comfortless. The walls appear’dAs they were framed of iron. We had madeWide circuit, ere a place we reach’d, where loudThe mariner cried vehement: “Go forth:The entrance is here.” Upon the gates I spiedMore than a thousand, who of old from HeavenWere shower’d. With ireful gestures, “Who is this,”They cried, “that, without death first felt, goes throughThe regions of the dead?” My sapient guideMade sign that he for secret parley wish’d;Whereat their angry scorn abating, thusThey spake: “Come thou alone; and let him go,Who hath so hardily enter’d this realm.Alone return he by his witless way;If well he knew it, let him prove. For thee,Here shalt thou tarry, who through clime so darkHast been his escort.” Now bethink thee, reader!What cheer was mine at sound of those curst words.I did believe I never should return.“O my loved guide! who more than seven times3Security hast render’d me, and drawnFrom peril deep, whereto I stood exposed,Desert me not,” I cried, “in this extreme.And, if our onward going be denied,Together trace we back our steps with speed.”My liege, who thither had conducted me,Replied: “Fear not: for of our passage noneHath power to disappoint us, by such highAuthority permitted. But do thouExpect me here; meanwhile, thy wearied spiritComfort, and feed with kindly hope, assuredI will not leave thee in this lower world.”This said, departs the sire benevolent,And quits me. Hesitating I remainAt war, ’twixt will and will not, in my thoughts.I could not hear what terms he offer’d them,But they conferr’d not long, for all at oncePellmell rush’d back within. Closed were the gates,By those our adversaries, on the breastOf my liege lord: excluded, he return’dTo me with tardy steps. Upon the groundHis eyes were bent, and from his brow erasedAll confidence, while thus in sighs he spake:“Who hath denied me these abodes of woe?”Then thus to me: “That I am anger’d, thinkNo ground of terror: in this trial IShall vanquish, use what arts they may withinFor hindrance. This their insolence, not new,4Erewhile at gate less secret they display’d,Which still is without bolt; upon its archThou saw’st the deadly scroll: and even now,On this side of its entrance, down the steep,Passing the circles, unescorted, comesOne whose strong might can open us this land.”
CANTO IX
ARGUMENT.—After some hindrances, and having seen the hellish furies and other monsters, the Poet, by the help of an angel, enters the city of Dis, wherein he discovers that the heretics are punished in tombs burning with intense fire; and he, together with Virgil, passes onward between the sepulchres and the walls of the city.
THE hue,5 which coward dread on my pale cheeksImprinted when I saw my guide turn back,Chased that from his which newly they had worn,And inwardly restrain’d it. He, as oneWho listens, stood attentive: for his eyeNot far could lead him through the sable air,And the thick-gathering cloud. “It yet behovesWe win this fight;” thus he began: “if not,Such aid to us is offer’d—Oh! how longMe seems it, ere the promised help arrive.”I noted, how the sequel of his wordsCloked their beginning; for the last he spakeAgreed not with the first. But not the lessMy fear was at his saying; sith I drewTo import worse, perchance, than that he held,His mutilated speech. “Doth ever anyInto this rueful concave’s extreme depthDescend, out of the first degree, whose painIs deprivation merely of sweet hope?”Thus I inquiring. “Rarely,” he replied,“It chances, that among us any makesThis journey, which I wend. Erewhile, ’tis true,Once came I here beneath, conjured by fellErichtho,6 sorceress, who compell’d the shadesBack to their bodies. No long space my fleshWas naked of me, when within these wallsShe made me enter, to draw forth a spiritFrom out of Judas’ circle. Lowest placeIs that of all, obscurest, and removedFarthest from Heaven’s all-circling orb. The roadFull well I know: thou therefore rest secure.That lake, the noisome stench exhaling, roundThe city of grief encompasses, which nowWe may not enter without rage.” Yet moreHe added: but I hold it not in mind,For that mine eye toward the lofty towerHad drawn me wholly, to its burning top;Where, in an instant, I beheld uprisenAt once three hellish furies stain’d with blood.In limb and motion feminine they seem’d;Around them greenest hydras twisting roll’dTheir volumes; adders and cerastes creptInstead of hair, and their fierce temples bound.He, knowing well the miserable hagsWho tend the queen of endless woe, thus spake:“Mark thou each dire Erynnis. To the left,This is Megaera; on the right hand, sheWho wails, Alecto; and TisiphoneI’ th’ midst.” This said, in silence he remain’d.Their breast they each one clawing tore; themselvesSmote with their palms, and such thrill clamour raised,That to the bard I clung, suspicion-bound.“Hasten Medusa: so to adamantHim shall we change;” all looking down exclaim’d:“E’en when by Theseus’ might assail’d, we tookNo ill revenge.” “Turn thyself round and keepThy countenance hid; for if the Gorgon direBe shown, and thou shouldst view it, thy returnUpwards would be forever lost.” This said,Himself, my gentle master, turn’d me round;Nor trusted he my hands, but with his ownHe also hid me. Ye of intellectSound and entire, mark well the lore7 conceal’dUnder close texture of the mystic strain.And now there came o’er the perturbed wavesLoud-crashing, terrible, a sound that madeEither shore tremble, as if of a windImpetuous, from conflicting vapors sprung,That ’gainst some forest driving all his might,Plucks off the branches, beats them down, and hurlsAfar; then, onward passing, proudly sweepsHis whirlwind rage, while beasts and shepherds fly.Mine eyes he loosed, and spake: “And now directThy visual nerve along that ancient foam,There, thickest where the smoke ascends.” As frogsBefore their foe the serpent, through the wavePly swiftly all, till at the ground each oneLies on a heap; more than a thousand spiritsDestroy’d, so saw I fleeing before oneWho pass’d with unwet feet the Stygian sound.He, from his face removing the gross air,Oft his left hand forth stretch’d, and seem’d aloneBy that annoyance wearied. I perceivedThat he was sent from Heaven; and to my guideTurn’d me, who signal made, that I should standQuiet, and bend to him. Ah me! how fullOf noble anger seem’d he. To the gateHe came, and with his wand touch’d it, whereatOpen without impediment it flew.“Outcasts of heaven! O abject race, scorn’d!”Began he, on the horrid grunsel standing,“Whence doth this wild excess of insolenceLodge in you? wherefore kick you ’gainst that willNe’er frustrate of its end, and which so oftHath laid on you enforcement of your pangs?What profits at the Fates to butt the horn?Your Cerberus,8 if ye remember, henceBears still, peel’d of their hair, his throat and maw.”This said, he turn’d back o’er the filthy way,And syllable to us spake none; but woreThe semblance of a man by other careBeset, and keenly prest, than thought of himWho in his presence stands. Then we our stepsToward that territory moved, secureAfter the hallow’d words. We, unopposed,There enter’d; and, my mind eager to learnWhat state a fortress like to that might hold,I, soon as enter’d, throw mine eye around,And see, on every part, wide-stretching space,Replete with bitter pain and torment ill.As where Rhone stagnates on the plains of Arles,9Or as at Pola,10 near Quarnaro’s gulf,That closes Italy and laves her bounds,The place is all thick spread with sepulchres;So was it here, save what in horror hereExcell’d: for ’midst the graves were scattered flames,Wherewith intensely all throughout they burn’d,That iron for no craft there hotter needs.Their lids all hung suspended; and beneath,From them forth issued lamentable moans,Such as the sad and tortured well might raise.I thus: “Master! say who are these, interr’dWithin these vaults, of whom distinct we hearThe dolorous sighs.” He answer thus return’d:“The arch-heretics are here, accompaniedBy every sect their followers; and much moreThan thou believest, the tombs are freighted: likeWith like is buried; and the monumentsAre different in degrees of heat.” This said,He to the right hand turning, on we pass’dBetwixt the afflicted and the ramparts high.
Volume 20, pages 32–39 · See the scanned page on archive.org
This is the reading for April 16 in Fifteen Minutes a Day: The Reading Guide (1930 edition), page 44. There the assignment reads “Vol. 20, pp. 32–39.” Read it in the guide.