November 2 The Harvard Classics, fifteen minutes a day
Journey Through a Hot Country
Dante recorded the awful scenes of a journey through the pits of the underworld, and wrote in such a vivid, realistic way that men tremble at the terrors depicted.
From the 1930 Reading Guide
Divine Comedy
Dante Alighieri
CANTO III
ARGUMENT.—Dante, following Virgil, comes to the gate of Hell; where, after having read the dreadful words that are written thereon, they both enter. Here, as he understands from Virgil, those were punished who had passed their time (for living it could not be called) in a state of apathy and indifference both to good and evil. Then, pursuing their way, they arrive at the river Acheron; and there find the old ferryman Charon, who takes the spirits over to the opposite shore; which, as soon as Dante reaches, he is seized with terror, and falls into a trance.
“THROUGH me you pass into the city of woe:Through me you pass into eternal pain:Through me among the people lost for aye.Justice the founder of my fabric moved:To rear me was the task of Power divine,Supremest Wisdom, and primeval Love.1Before me things create were none, save thingsEternal, and eternal I endure.All hope abandon, ye who enter here.”Such characters, in color dim, I mark’dOver a portal’s lofty arch inscribed.Whereat I thus: “Master, these words importHard meaning.” He as one prepared replied:“Here thou must all distrust behind thee leave;Here be vile fear extinguish’d. We are comeWhere I have told thee we shall see the soulsTo misery doom’d, who intellectual goodHave lost.” And when his hand he had stretch’d forthTo mine, with pleasant looks, whence I was cheer’d,Into that secret place he led me on.Here sighs, with lamentations and loud moans,Resounded through the air pierced by no star,That e’en I wept at entering. Various tongues,Horrible languages, outcries of woe,Accents of anger, voices deep and hoarse,With hands together smote that swell’d the sounds,Made up a tumult, that forever whirlsRound through that air with solid darkness stain’d,Like to the sand that in the whirlwind flies.I then, with horror yet encompast, cried:“O master! what is this I hear? what raceAre these, who seem so overcome with woe?”He thus to me: “This miserable fateSuffer the wretched souls of those, who livedWithout or praise or blame, with that ill bandOf angels mix’d, who nor rebellious proved,Nor yet were true to God, but for themselvesWere only. From his bounds Heaven drove them forthNot to impair his lustre; nor the depthOf Hell receives them, lest the accursed tribeShould glory thence with exultation vain.”I then: “Master! what doth aggrieve them thus,That they lament so loud?” He straight replied:“That will I tell thee briefly. These of deathNo hope may entertain: and their blind lifeSo meanly passes, that all other lotsThey envy. Fame of them the world hath none,Nor suffers; Mercy and Justice scorn them both.Speak not of them, but look, and pass them by.”And I, who straightway look’d, beheld a flag,Which whirling ran around so rapidly,That it no pause obtain’d: and following cameSuch a long train of spirits, I should ne’erHave thought that death so many had despoil’d.When some of these I recognized, I sawAnd knew the shade of him, who to base fear2Yielding, abjured his high estate. ForthwithI understood, for certain, this the tribeOf those ill spirits both to God displeasingAnd to His foes. These wretches, who ne’er lived,Went on in nakedness, and sorely stungBy wasps and hornets, which bedew’d their cheeksWith blood, that, mix’d with tears, dropp’d to their feet,And by disgustful worms was gather’d there.Then looking further onwards, I beheldA throng upon the shore of a great stream:Whereat I thus: “Sir! grant me now to knowWhom here we view, and whence impell’d they seemSo eager to pass o’er, as I discernThrough the blear light?” He thus to me in few:“This shalt thou know, soon as our steps arriveBeside the woful tide of Acheron.”Then with eyes downward cast, and fill’d with shame,Fearing my words offensive to his ear,Till we had reach’d the river, I from speechAbstain’d. And lo! toward us in a barkComes on an old man, hoary white with eld,Crying, “Woe to you, wicked spirits! hope notEver to see the sky again. I comeTo take you to the other shore across,Into eternal darkness, there to dwellIn fierce heat and in ice. And thou, who thereStandest, live spirit! get thee hence, and leaveThese who are dead.” But soon as he beheldI left them not, “By other way,” said he,“By other haven shalt thou come to shore,Not by this passage; thee a nimbler boatMust carry.” Then to him thus spake my guide:“Charon! thyself torment not: so ’tis will’d,Where will and power are one: ask thou no more.”Straightway in silence fell the shaggy cheeksOf him, the boatman o’er the livid lake,Around whose eyes glared wheeling flames. MeanwhileThose spirits, faint and naked, color changed,And gnash’d their teeth, soon as the cruel wordsThey heard. God and their parents they blasphemed,The human kind, the place, the time, and seed,That did engender them and give them birth,Then all together sorely wailing drewTo the curst strand, that every man must passWho fears not God. Charon, demoniac form,With eyes of burning coal, collects them all,Beckoning, and each, that lingers, with his oarStrikes. As fall off the light autumnal leavesOne still another following, till the boughStrews all its honours on the earth beneath;E’en in like manner Adam’s evil broodCast themselves, one by one, down from the shore,Each at a beck, as falcon at his call.3Thus go they over through the umber’d wave;And ever they on the opposing bankBe landed, on this side another throngStill gathers. “Son,” thus spake the courteous guide,“Those who die subject to the wrath of GodAll here together come from every climeAnd to o’erpass the river are not loth:For so Heaven’s justice goads them on, that fearIs turn’d into desire. Hence ne’er hath pastGood spirit. If of thee Charon complain,Now mayst thou know the import of his words.”This said, the gloomy region trembling shookSo terribly, that yet with clammy dewsFear chills my brow. The sad earth gave a blast,That, lightening, shot forth a vermilion flame,Which all my senses conquer’d quite, and IDown dropp’d, as one with sudden slumber seized.
CANTO IV
ARGUMENT.—The Poet, being roused by a clap of thunder, and following his guide onward, descends into Limbo, which is the first circle of Hell, where he finds the souls of those, who, although they have lived virtuously and have not to suffer for great sins, nevertheless, through lack of baptism, merit not the bliss of Paradise. Hence he is led on by Virgil to descend into the second circle.
BROKE the deep slumber in my brain a crashOf heavy thunder, that I shook myself,As one by main force roused. Risen upright,My rested eyes I moved around, and search’dWith fixed ken, to know what place it wasWherein I stood. For certain, on the brinkI found me of the lamentable vale,The dread abyss, that joins a thundrous soundOf plaints innumerable. Dark and deep,And thick with clouds o’erspread, mine eye in vainExplored its bottom, nor could aught discern.“Now let us to the blind world there beneathDescend,” the bard began, all pale of look:“I go the first, and thou shalt follow next.”Then I, his alter’d hue perceiving, thus:“How may I speed, if thou yieldest to dread,Who still art wont to comfort me in doubt?”He then: “The anguish of that race belowWith pity stains my cheek, which thou for fearMistakest. Let us on. Our length of wayUrges to haste.” Onward, this said, he moved;And entering led me with him, on the boundsOf the first circle that surrounds the abyss.Here, as mine ear could note, no plaint was heardExcept of sighs, that made the eternal airTremble, not caused by tortures, but from griefFelt by those multitudes, many and vast,Of men, women, and infants. Then to meThe gentle guide: “Inquirest thou not what spiritsAre these which thou beholdest? Ere thou passFarther, I would thou know, that these of sinWere blameless; and if aught they merited,It profits not, since baptism was not theirs,The portal4 to thy faith. If they beforeThe Gospel lived, they served not God aright;And among such am I. For these defects,And for no other evil, we are lost;Only so far afflicted, that we liveDesiring without hope.” Sore grief assail’dMy heart at hearing this, for well I knewSuspended in that Limbo many a soulOf mighty worth. “O tell me, sire revered!Tell me, my master!” I began, through wishOf full assurance in that holy faithWhich vanquishes all error; “say, did e’erAny, or through his own or other’s merit,Come forth from thence, who afterward was blest?”Piercing the secret purport5 of my speech,He answer’d: “I was new to that estateWhen I beheld a puissant one6 arriveAmongst us, with victorious trophy crown’d.He forth the shade of our first parent drew,Abel, his child, and Noah righteous man,Of Moses lawgiver for faith approved,Of patriarch Abraham, and David king,Israel with his sire and with his sons,Nor without Rachel whom so hard he won,And others many more, whom He to blissExalted. Before these, be thou assured,No spirit of human kind was ever saved.”We, while he spake, ceased not our onward road,Still passing through the wood; for so I nameThose spirits thick beset. We were not farOn this side from the summit, when I kenn’dA flame, that o’er the darken’d hemispherePrevailing shined. Yet we a little spaceWere distant, not so far but I in partDiscover’d that a tribe in honour highThat place possess’d. “O thou, who every artAnd science valuest! who are these, that boastSuch honor, separate from all the rest?”He answer’d: “The renown of their great names,That echoes through your world above, acquiresFavor in Heaven, which holds them thus advanced.”Meantime a voice I heard: “Honor the bardSublime! his shade returns, that left us late!”No sooner ceased the sound, than I beheldFour mighty spirits toward us bend their steps,Of semblance neither sorrowful nor glad.When thus my master kind began: “Mark him,Who in his right hand bears that falchion keen,The other three preceding, as their lord.This is that Homer, of all bards supreme:Flaccus the next, in satire’s vein excelling;The third is Naso; Lucan is the last.Because they all that appellation own,With which the voice singly accosted me,Honouring they greet me thus, and well they judge.”So I beheld united the bright schoolOf him the monarch of sublimest song,7That o’er the others like an eagle soars.When they together short discourse had held,They turn’d to me, with salutation kindBeckoning me; at the which my master smiled:Nor was this all; but greater honour stillThey gave me, for they made me of their tribe;And I was sixth amid so learn’d a band.Far as the luminous beacon on we pass’d,Speaking of matters, then befitting wellTo speak, now fitter left untold. At footOf a magnificent castle we arrived,Seven times with lofty walls begirt, and roundDefended by a pleasant stream. O’er thisAs o’er dry land we pass’d. Next, through seven gates,I with those sages enter’d, and we cameInto a mead with lively verdure fresh.There dwelt a race, who slow their eyes aroundMajestically moved, and in their portBore eminent authority: they spakeSeldom, but all their words were tuneful sweet.We to one side retired, into a placeOpen and bright and lofty, whence each oneStood manifest to view. Incontinent,There on the green enamel of the plainWere shown me the great spirits, by whose sightI am exalted in my own esteem.Electra8 there I saw accompaniedBy many, among whom Hector I knew,Anchises’ pious son, and with hawk’s eyeCaesar all arm’d, and by Camilla therePenthesilea. On the other side,Old King Latinus seated by his childLavinia, and that Brutus I beheldWho Tarquin chased, Lucretia, Cato’s wifeMarcia, with Julia9 and Cornelia there;And sole apart retired, the Soldan fierce.10Then when a little more I raised my brow,I spied the master of the sapient throng,11Seated amid the philosophic train.Him all admire, all pay him reverence due.There Socrates and Plato both I mark’dNearest to him in rank, Democritus,Who sets the world at chance,12 Diogenes,With Heraclitus, and Empedocles,And Anaxagoras, and Thales sage,Zeno, and Dioscorides well readIn nature’s secret lore. Orpheus I mark’dAnd Linus, Tully and moral Seneca,Euclid and Ptolemy, Hippocrates,Galenus, Avicen, and him who madeThat commentary vast, Averroes.13Of all to speak at full were vain attempt;For my wide theme so urges, that oft-timesMy words fall short of what bechanced. In twoThe six associates part. Another wayMy sage guide leads me, from that air serene,Into a climate ever vex’d with storms:And to a part I come, where no light shines.
Volume 20, pages 13–20 · See the scanned page on archive.org
This is the reading for November 2 in Fifteen Minutes a Day: The Reading Guide (1930 edition), page 84. There the assignment reads “Vol. 20, pp. 13–20.” Read it in the guide.