The Divine Comedy

by Dante Alighieri

  for it is not permitted that we stay.”

  And crossing over to the chasm’s edge

  we came to a spring that boiled and overflowed

  through a great crevice worn into the ledge.

  By that foul water, black from its very source,

  we found a nightmare path among the rocks

  and followed the dark stream along its course.

  Beyond its rocky race and wild descent

  the river floods and forms a marsh called Styx,

  a dreary swampland, vaporous and malignant.

  And I, intent on all our passage touched,

  made out a swarm of spirits in that bog

  savage with anger, naked, slime-besmutched.

  They thumped at one another in that slime

  with hands and feet, and they butted, and they bit

  as if each would tear the other limb from limb.

  And my kind Sage: “My son, behold the souls

  of those who lived in wrath. And do you see

  the broken surfaces of those water-holes

  on every hand, boiling as if in pain?

  There are souls beneath that water. Fixed in slime

  they speak their piece, end it, and start again:

  ‘Sullen were we in the air made sweet by the Sun;

  in the glory of his shining our hearts poured

  a bitter smoke. Sullen were we begun;

  sullen we lie forever in this ditch.’

  This litany they gargle in their throats

  as if they sang, but lacked the words and pitch.”

  Then circling on along that filthy wallow,

  we picked our way between the bank and fen,

  keeping our eyes on those foul souls that swallow

  the slime of Hell. And so at last we came

  to the foot of a Great Tower that has no name.

  NOTES

  1. Papa Satán, Papa Satán, aleppy: Virgil, the all-knowing, may understand these words, but no one familiar with merely human languages has deciphered them. In Canto XXXI the monster Nimrod utters a similar meaningless jargon, and Virgil there cites it as evidence of the dimness of his mind. Gibberish is certainly a characteristic appropriate to monsters, and since Dante takes pains to make the reference to Satan apparent in the gibberish, it is obviously infernal and debased, and that is almost certainly all he intended.

  The word “papa” as used here probably means “Pope” rather than “father.” “Il papa santo” is the Pope. “Papa Satán” would be his opposite number. In the original the last word is “aleppe.” On the assumption that jargon translates jargon I have twisted it a bit to rhyme with “me.”

  2. Plutus: In Greek mythology, Plutus was the God of Wealth. Many commentators suggest that Dante confused him with Pluto, the son of Saturn and God of the Underworld. But in that case, Plutus would be identical with Lucifer himself and would require a central place in Hell, whereas the classical function of Plutus as God of Material Wealth makes him the ideal overseer of the miserly and the prodigal.

  22. Charybdis: A famous whirlpool in the Straits of Sicily.

  68. Dame Fortune: A central figure in medieval mythology. She is almost invariably represented as a female figure holding an ever-revolving wheel symbolic of Chance. Dante incorporates her into his scheme of the universe, ranking her among the angels, and giving her a special office in the service of the Catholic God. This is the first of many passages in the Commedia in which Dante sets forth the details of the Divine Ordering of the universe.

  84. none may foresee where she will set her heel: A literal translation of the original would be “She is hidden like a snake in the grass.” To avoid the comic overtone of that figure in English, I have substituted another figure which I believe expresses Dante’s intent without destroying his tone.

  87. the other gods: Dante can only mean here “the other angels and ministers of God.”

  97. But the stars that marked our starting fall away: It is now past midnight of Good Friday.

  101. a spring: All the waters of Hell derive from one source (see Canto XIV, lines 82 ff.). This black spring must therefore be the waters of Acheron boiling out of some subterranean passage.

  THE FIFTH CIRCLE (THE WRATHFUL AND THE SULLEN).

  Dante’s symbolism here is self-evident, but his reaction to these sinners is different from any we have observed thus far. Up to now he has either been appalled, or overcome by pity. In his ironic description of the Sullen he ridicules the damned for the first time. And in the next Canto he is to take pleasure (if only a passing pleasure) in increasing the sufferings of Filippo Argenti.

  Dante will again be moved to pity as he descends the slopes of Hell. In fact, Virgil will find it necessary to scold him for pitying those whom God in His infinite wisdom has damned. Gradually, however, Dante’s heart hardens against the damned as he descends lower and lower into Hell, and this development should be followed through the Inferno along with many other themes Dante carries and builds upon. There is no way of grasping the genius of Dante’s architectonic power without noting his careful development of such themes. Even beyond the brilliance of his details, Dante’s power is structural: everything relates to everything else.

  107. Styx: The river Styx figures variously in classic mythology, but usually (and in later myths always) as a river of the Underworld. Dante, to heighten his symbolism, makes it a filthy marsh.

  This marsh marks the first great division of Hell. Between Acheron and Styx are punished the sins of Incontinence (the Sins of the She-Wolf). This is the Upper Hell. Beyond Styx rise the flaming walls of the infernal city of Dis, within which are punished Violence and Fraud (the Sins of the Lion, and the Sins of the Leopard). It is symbolically fitting that the approaches to the city of Hell should be across the filthiest of marshes.

  131. a Great Tower: No special significance need be attributed to the Tower. It serves as a signaling point for calling the ferryman from Dis.

  Canto VIII

  CIRCLE FIVE: STYX

  CIRCLE SIX: DIS

  The Wrathful, Phlegyas

  The Fallen Angels

  The Poets stand at the edge of the swamp, and a mysterious signal flames from the great tower. It is answered from the darkness of the other side, and almost immediately the Poets see PHLEGYAS, the Boatman of Styx, racing toward them across the water, fast as a flying arrow. He comes avidly, thinking to find new souls for torment, and he howls with rage when he discovers the Poets. Once again, however, Virgil conquers wrath with a word and Phlegyas reluctantly gives them passage.

  As they are crossing, a muddy soul rises before them. It is FILIPPO ARGENTI, one of the Wrathful. Dante recognizes him despite the filth with which he is covered, and he berates him soundly, even wishing to see him tormented further. Virgil approves Dante’s disdain and, as if in answer to Dante’s wrath, Argenti is suddenly set upon by all the other sinners present, who fall upon him and rip him to pieces.

  The boat meanwhile has sped on, and before Argenti’s screams have died away, Dante sees the flaming red towers of Dis, the Capital of Hell. The great walls of the iron city block the way to the Lower Hell. Properly speaking, all the rest of Hell lies within the city walls, which separate the Upper and the Lower Hell.

  Phlegyas deposits them at a great Iron Gate which they find to be guarded by the REBELLIOUS ANGELS. These creatures of Ultimate Evil, rebels against God Himself, refuse to let the Poets pass. Even Virgil is powerless against them, for Human Reason by itself cannot cope with the essence of Evil. Only Divine Aid can bring hope. Virgil accordingly sends up a prayer for assistance and waits anxiously for a Heavenly Messenger to appear.

  Returning to my theme, I say we came

  to the foot of a Great Tower; but long before

  we reached it through the marsh, two horns of flame

  flared from the summit, one from either side,

  and then, far off, so far we scarce could see it

  across the mist, another flame repli
ed.

  I turned to that sea of all intelligence

  saying: “What is this signal and counter-signal?

  Who is it speaks with fire across this distance?”

  And he then: “Look across the filthy slew:

  you may already see the one they summon,

  if the swamp vapors do not hide him from you.”

  No twanging bowspring ever shot an arrow

  that bored the air it rode dead to the mark

  more swiftly than the flying skiff whose prow

  shot toward us over the polluted channel

  with a single steersman at the helm who called:

  “So, do I have you at last, you whelp of Hell?”

  “Phlegyas, Phlegyas,” said my Lord and Guide,

  “this time you waste your breath: you have us only

  for the time it takes to cross to the other side.”

  Phlegyas, the madman, blew his rage among

  those muddy marshes like a cheat deceived,

  or like a fool at some imagined wrong.

  My Guide, whom all the fiend’s noise could not nettle,

  boarded the skiff, motioning me to follow:

  and not till I stepped aboard did it seem to settle

  into the water. At once we left the shore,

  that ancient hull riding more heavily

  than it had ridden in all of time before.

  And as we ran on that dead swamp, the slime

  rose before me, and from it a voice cried:

  “Who are you that come here before your time?”

  And I replied: “If I come, I do not remain.

  But you, who are you, so fallen and so foul?”

  And he: “I am one who weeps.” And I then:

  “May you weep and wail to all eternity,

  for I know you, hell-dog, filthy as you are.”

  Then he stretched both hands to the boat, but warily

  the Master shoved him back, crying, “Down! Down!

  with the other dogs!” Then he embraced me saying:

  “Indignant spirit, I kiss you as you frown.

  Blessed be she who bore you. In world and time

  this one was haughtier yet. Not one unbending

  graces his memory. Here is his shadow in slime.

  How many living now, chancellors of wrath,

  shall come to lie here yet in this pigmire,

  leaving a curse to be their aftermath!”

  And I: “Master, it would suit my whim

  to see the wretch scrubbed down into the swill

  before we leave this stinking sink and him.”

  And he to me: “Before the other side

  shows through the mist, you shall have all you ask.

  This is a wish that should be gratified.”

  And shortly after, I saw the loathsome spirit

  so mangled by a swarm of muddy wraiths

  that to this day I praise and thank God for it.

  “After Filippo Argenti!” all cried together.

  The maddog Florentine wheeled at their cry

  and bit himself for rage. I saw them gather.

  And there we left him. And I say no more.

  But such a wailing beat upon my ears,

  I strained my eyes ahead to the far shore.

  “My son,” the Master said, “the City called Dis

  lies just ahead, the heavy citizens,

  the swarming crowds of Hell’s metropolis.”

  And I then: “Master, I already see

  the glow of its red mosques, as if they came

  hot from the forge to smolder in this valley.”

  And my all-knowing Guide: “They are eternal

  flues to eternal fire that rages in them

  and makes them glow across this lower Hell.”

  And as he spoke we entered the vast moat

  of the sepulchre. Its wall seemed made of iron

  and towered above us in our little boat.

  We circled through what seemed an endless distance

  before the boatman ran his prow ashore

  crying: “Out! Out! Get out! This is the entrance.”

  Above the gates more than a thousand shades

  of spirits purged from Heaven for its glory

  cried angrily: “Who is it that invades

  Death’s Kingdom in his life?” My Lord and Guide

  advanced a step before me with a sign

  that he wished to speak to some of them aside.

  They quieted somewhat, and one called, “Come,

  but come alone. And tell that other one,

  who thought to walk so blithely through death’s kingdom,

  he may go back along the same fool’s way

  he came by. Let him try his living luck.

  You who are dead can come only to stay.”

  Reader, judge for yourself, how each black word

  fell on my ears to sink into my heart:

  I lost hope of returning to the world.

  “O my beloved Master, my Guide in peril,

  who time and time again have seen me safely

  along this way, and turned the power of evil,

  stand by me now,” I cried, “in my heart’s fright.

  And if the dead forbid our journey to them,

  let us go back together toward the light.”

  My Guide then, in the greatness of his spirit:

  “Take heart. Nothing can take our passage from us

  when such a power has given warrant for it.

  Wait here and feed your soul while I am gone

  on comfort and good hope; I will not leave you

  to wander in this underworld alone.”

  So the sweet Guide and Father leaves me here,

  and I stay on in doubt with yes and no

  dividing all my heart to hope and fear.

  I could not hear my Lord’s words, but the pack

  that gathered round him suddenly broke away

  howling and jostling and went pouring back,

  slamming the towering gate hard in his face.

  That great Soul stood alone outside the wall.

  Then he came back; his pain showed in his pace.

  His eyes were fixed upon the ground, his brow

  had sagged from its assurance. He sighed aloud:

  “Who has forbidden me the halls of sorrow?”

  And to me he said: “You need not be cast down

  by my vexation, for whatever plot

  these fiends may lay against us, we will go on.

  This insolence of theirs is nothing new:

  they showed it once at a less secret gate

  that still stands open for all that they could do—

  the same gate where you read the dead inscription;

  and through it at this moment a Great One comes.

  Already he has passed it and moves down

  ledge by dark ledge. He is one who needs no guide,

  and at his touch all gates must spring aside.”

  NOTES

  1. Returning to my theme: There is evidence that Dante stopped writing for a longer or shorter period between the seventh and eighth Cantos. None of the evidence is conclusive but it is quite clear that the plan of the Inferno changes from here on. Up to this point the Circles have been described in one canto apiece. If this was Dante’s original plan, Hell would have been concluded in five more Cantos, since there are only Nine Circles in all. But in the later journey the Eighth Circle alone occupies thirteen Cantos. Dante’s phrase may be simply transitional, but it certainly marks a change in the plan of the poem.

  19. Phlegyas: Mythological King of Boeotia. He was the son of Ares (Mars) by a human mother. Angry at Apollo, who had seduced his daughter (Aesculapius was born of this union), he set fire to Apollo’s temple at Delphi. For this offense, the God killed him and threw his soul into Hades under sentence of eternal torment. Dante’s choice of a ferryman is especially apt. Phlegyas is the link between the Wrathful (to whom his paterni
ty relates him) and the Rebellious Angels who menaced God (as he menaced Apollo).

  27. and not till I stepped aboard did it seem to settle: Because of his living weight.

  43. Blessed be she who bore you: These were Luke’s words to Christ. To have Virgil apply them to Dante after such violence seems shocking, even though the expression is reasonably common in Italian. But Dante does not use such devices lightly. The Commedia , it must be remembered, is a vision of the progress of man’s soul toward perfection. In being contemptuous of Wrath, Dante is purging it from his soul. He is thereby growing nearer to perfection, and Virgil, who has said nothing in the past when Dante showed pity for other sinners (though Virgil will later take him to task for daring to pity those whom God has shut off from pity), welcomes this sign of relentless rejection. Only by a ruthless enmity toward evil may the soul be purified, and as Christ is the symbol of ultimate perfection by rejection of Evil, so the birth of that rejection in Dante may aptly be greeted by the words of Luke, for it is from this that the soul must be reborn. Righteous indignation, moreover (giusto sdegno), is one of the virtues Christ practiced (e.g., against the money changers) and is the golden mean of right action between the evil extremes of wrath and sullenness.