1995	----	None 
1005	----	HELL OR THE INFERNO FROM THE DIVINE COMEDY BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL Cantos 1 - 34 CANTO I IN the midway of this our mortal life, I found me in a gloomy wood, astray Gone from the path direct: and e'en to tell It were no easy task, how savage wild That forest, how robust and rough its growth, Which to remember only, my dismay Renews, in bitterness not far from death. Yet to discourse of what there good befell, All else will I relate discover'd there. How first I enter'd it I scarce can say, Such sleepy dullness in that instant weigh'd My senses down, when the true path I left, But when a mountain's foot I reach'd, where clos'd The valley, that had pierc'd my heart with dread, I look'd aloft, and saw his shoulders broad Already vested with that planet's beam, Who leads all wanderers safe through every way. Then was a little respite to the fear, That in my heart's recesses deep had lain, All of that night, so pitifully pass'd: And as a man, with difficult short breath, Forespent with toiling, 'scap'd from sea to shore, Turns to the perilous wide waste, and stands At gaze; e'en so my spirit, that yet fail'd Struggling with terror, turn'd to view the straits, That none hath pass'd and liv'd. My weary frame After short pause recomforted, again I journey'd on over that lonely steep, The hinder foot still firmer. Scarce the ascent Began, when, lo! a panther, nimble, light, And cover'd with a speckled skin, appear'd, Nor, when it saw me, vanish'd, rather strove To check my onward going; that ofttimes With purpose to retrace my steps I turn'd. The hour was morning's prime, and on his way Aloft the sun ascended with those stars, That with him rose, when Love divine first mov'd Those its fair works: so that with joyous hope All things conspir'd to fill me, the gay skin Of that swift animal, the matin dawn And the sweet season. Soon that joy was chas'd, And by new dread succeeded, when in view A lion came, 'gainst me, as it appear'd, With his head held aloft and hunger-mad, That e'en the air was fear-struck. A she-wolf Was at his heels, who in her leanness seem'd Full of all wants, and many a land hath made Disconsolate ere now. She with such fear O'erwhelmed me, at the sight of her appall'd, That of the height all hope I lost. As one, Who with his gain elated, sees the time When all unwares is gone, he inwardly Mourns with heart-griping anguish; such was I, Haunted by that fell beast, never at peace, Who coming o'er against me, by degrees Impell'd me where the sun in silence rests. While to the lower space with backward step I fell, my ken discern'd the form one of one, Whose voice seem'd faint through long disuse of speech. When him in that great desert I espied, "Have mercy on me!" cried I out aloud, "Spirit! or living man! what e'er thou be!" He answer'd: "Now not man, man once I was, And born of Lombard parents, Mantuana both By country, when the power of Julius yet Was scarcely firm. At Rome my life was past Beneath the mild Augustus, in the time Of fabled deities and false. A bard Was I, and made Anchises' upright son The subject of my song, who came from Troy, When the flames prey'd on Ilium's haughty towers. But thou, say wherefore to such perils past Return'st thou? wherefore not this pleasant mount Ascendest, cause and source of all delight?" "And art thou then that Virgil, that well-spring, From which such copious floods of eloquence Have issued?" I with front abash'd replied. "Glory and light of all the tuneful train! May it avail me that I long with zeal Have sought thy volume, and with love immense Have conn'd it o'er. My master thou and guide! Thou he from whom alone I have deriv'd That style, which for its beauty into fame Exalts me. See the beast, from whom I fled. O save me from her, thou illustrious sage!" "For every vein and pulse throughout my frame She hath made tremble." He, soon as he saw That I was weeping, answer'd, "Thou must needs Another way pursue, if thou wouldst 'scape From out that savage wilderness. This beast, At whom thou criest, her way will suffer none To pass, and no less hindrance makes than death: So bad and so accursed in her kind, That never sated is her ravenous will, Still after food more craving than before. To many an animal in wedlock vile She fastens, and shall yet to many more, Until that greyhound come, who shall destroy Her with sharp pain. He will not life support By earth nor its base metals, but by love, Wisdom, and virtue, and his land shall be The land 'twixt either Feltro. In his might Shall safety to Italia's plains arise, For whose fair realm, Camilla, virgin pure, Nisus, Euryalus, and Turnus fell. He with incessant chase through every town Shall worry, until he to hell at length 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 escape) to lead me, where thou saidst, That I Saint Peter's gate may view, and those Who as thou tell'st, are in such dismal plight." Onward he mov'd, I close his steps pursu'd. CANTO II NOW was the day departing, and the air, Imbrown'd with shadows, from their toils releas'd All animals on earth; and I alone Prepar'd myself the conflict to sustain, Both of sad pity, and that perilous road, Which my unerring memory shall retrace. O Muses! O high genius! now vouchsafe Your aid! O mind! that all I saw hast kept Safe in a written record, here thy worth And eminent endowments come to proof. I thus began: "Bard! thou who art my guide, Consider well, if virtue be in me Sufficient, ere to this high enterprise Thou trust me. Thou hast told that Silvius' sire, Yet cloth'd in corruptible flesh, among Th' immortal tribes had entrance, and was there Sensible present. Yet if heaven's great Lord, Almighty foe to ill, such favour shew'd, In contemplation of the high effect, Both what and who from him should issue forth, It seems in reason's judgment well deserv'd: Sith he of Rome, and of Rome's empire wide, In heaven's empyreal height was chosen sire: Both which, if truth be spoken, were ordain'd And 'stablish'd for the holy place, where sits Who to great Peter's sacred chair succeeds. He from this journey, in thy song renown'd, Learn'd things, that to his victory gave rise And to the papal robe. In after-times The chosen vessel also travel'd there, To bring us back assurance in that faith, Which is the entrance to salvation's way. But I, why should I there presume? or who Permits it? not, Aeneas I nor Paul. Myself I deem not worthy, and none else Will deem me. I, if on this voyage then I venture, fear it will in folly end. Thou, who art wise, better my meaning know'st, Than I can speak." As one, who unresolves What he hath late resolv'd, and with new thoughts Changes his purpose, from his first intent Remov'd; e'en such was I on that dun coast, Wasting in thought my enterprise, at first So eagerly embrac'd. "If right thy words I scan," replied that shade magnanimous, "Thy soul is by vile fear assail'd, which oft So overcasts a man, that he recoils From noblest resolution, like a beast At some false semblance in the twilight gloom. That from this terror thou mayst free thyself, I will instruct thee why I came, and what I heard in that same instant, when for thee Grief touch'd me first. I was among the tribe, Who rest suspended, when a dame, so blest And lovely, I besought her to command, Call'd me; her eyes were brighter than the star Of day; and she with gentle voice and soft Angelically tun'd her speech address'd: "O courteous shade of Mantua! thou whose fame Yet lives, and shall live long as nature lasts! A friend, not of my fortune but myself, On the wide desert in his road has met Hindrance so great, that he through fear has turn'd. Now much I dread lest he past help have stray'd, And I be ris'n too late for his relief, From what in heaven of him I heard. Speed now, And by thy eloquent persuasive tongue, And by all means for his deliverance meet, Assist him. So to me will comfort spring. I who now bid thee on this errand forth Am Beatrice; from a place I come (Note: Beatrice. I use this word, as it is pronounced in the Italian, as consisting of four syllables, of which the third is a long one.) Revisited with joy. Love brought me thence, Who prompts my speech. When in my Master's sight I stand, thy praise to him I oft will tell." She then was silent, and I thus began: "O Lady! by whose influence alone, Mankind excels whatever is contain'd Within that heaven which hath the smallest orb, So thy command delights me, that to obey, If it were done already, would seem late. No need hast thou farther to speak thy will; Yet tell the reason, why thou art not loth To leave that ample space, where to return Thou burnest, for this centre here beneath." She then: "Since thou so deeply wouldst inquire, I will instruct thee briefly, why no dread Hinders my entrance here. Those things alone Are to be fear'd, whence evil may proceed, None else, for none are terrible beside. I am so fram'd by God, thanks to his grace! That any suff'rance of your misery Touches me not, nor flame of that fierce fire Assails me. In high heaven a blessed dame Besides, who mourns with such effectual grief That hindrance, which I send thee to remove, That God's stern judgment to her will inclines." To Lucia calling, her she thus bespake: "Now doth thy faithful servant need thy aid And I commend him to thee." At her word Sped Lucia, of all cruelty the foe, And coming to the place, where I abode Seated with Rachel, her of ancient days, She thus address'd me: "Thou true praise of God! Beatrice! why is not thy succour lent To him, who so much lov'd thee, as to leave For thy sake all the multitude admires? Dost thou not hear how pitiful his wail, Nor mark the death, which in the torrent flood, Swoln mightier than a sea, him struggling holds?" "Ne'er among men did any with such speed Haste to their profit, flee from their annoy, As when these words were spoken, I came here, Down from my blessed seat, trusting the force Of thy pure eloquence, which thee, and all Who well have mark'd it, into honour brings." "When she had ended, her bright beaming eyes Tearful she turn'd aside; whereat I felt Redoubled zeal to serve thee. As she will'd, Thus am I come: I sav'd thee from the beast, Who thy near way across the goodly mount Prevented. What is this comes o'er thee then? Why, why dost thou hang back? why in thy breast Harbour vile fear? why hast not courage there And noble daring? Since three maids so blest Thy safety plan, e'en in the court of heaven; And so much certain good my words forebode." As florets, by the frosty air of night Bent down and clos'd, when day has blanch'd their leaves, Rise all unfolded on their spiry stems; So was my fainting vigour new restor'd, And to my heart such kindly courage ran, That I as one undaunted soon replied: "O full of pity she, who undertook My succour! and thou kind who didst perform So soon her true behest! With such desire Thou hast dispos'd me to renew my voyage, That my first purpose fully is resum'd. Lead on: one only will is in us both. Thou art my guide, my master thou, and lord." So spake I; and when he had onward mov'd, I enter'd on the deep and woody way. CANTO III "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 mov'd: To rear me was the task of power divine, Supremest wisdom, and primeval love. Before me things create were none, save things Eternal, and eternal I endure. "All hope abandon ye who enter here." Such characters in colour dim I mark'd Over a portal's lofty arch inscrib'd: Whereat I thus: "Master, these words import Hard meaning." He as one prepar'd replied: "Here thou must all distrust behind thee leave; Here be vile fear extinguish'd. We are come Where I have told thee we shall see the souls To misery doom'd, who intellectual good Have lost." And when his hand he had stretch'd forth To 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 pierc'd 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 for ever whirls Round through that air with solid darkness stain'd, Like to the sand that in the whirlwind flies. I then, with error yet encompass'd, cried: "O master! What is this I hear? What race Are these, who seem so overcome with woe?" He thus to me: "This miserable fate Suffer the wretched souls of those, who liv'd Without or praise or blame, with that ill band Of angels mix'd, who nor rebellious prov'd Nor yet were true to God, but for themselves Were only. From his bounds Heaven drove them forth, Not to impair his lustre, nor the depth Of Hell receives them, lest th' accursed tribe Should 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 death No hope may entertain: and their blind life So meanly passes, that all other lots They 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 came Such a long train of spirits, I should ne'er Have thought, that death so many had despoil'd. When some of these I recogniz'd, I saw And knew the shade of him, who to base fear Yielding, abjur'd his high estate. Forthwith I understood for certain this the tribe Of those ill spirits both to God displeasing And to his foes. These wretches, who ne'er lived, Went on in nakedness, and sorely stung By wasps and hornets, which bedew'd their cheeks With blood, that mix'd with tears dropp'd to their feet, And by disgustful worms was gather'd there. Then looking farther onwards I beheld A throng upon the shore of a great stream: Whereat I thus: "Sir! grant me now to know Whom here we view, and whence impell'd they seem So eager to pass o'er, as I discern Through the blear light?" He thus to me in few: "This shalt thou know, soon as our steps arrive Beside the woeful 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 speech Abstain'd. And lo! toward us in a bark Comes on an old man hoary white with eld, Crying, "Woe to you wicked spirits! hope not Ever to see the sky again. I come To take you to the other shore across, Into eternal darkness, there to dwell In fierce heat and in ice. And thou, who there Standest, live spirit! get thee hence, and leave These who are dead." But soon as he beheld I left them not, "By other way," said he, "By other haven shalt thou come to shore, Not by this passage; thee a nimbler boat Must carry." Then to him thus spake my guide: "Charon! thyself torment not: so 't is will'd, Where will and power are one: ask thou no more." Straightway in silence fell the shaggy cheeks Of him the boatman o'er the livid lake, Around whose eyes glar'd wheeling flames. Meanwhile Those spirits, faint and naked, color chang'd, And gnash'd their teeth, soon as the cruel words They heard. God and their parents they blasphem'd, The human kind, the place, the time, and seed That did engender them and give them birth. Then all together sorely wailing drew To the curs'd strand, that every man must pass Who fears not God. Charon, demoniac form, With eyes of burning coal, collects them all, Beck'ning, and each, that lingers, with his oar Strikes. As fall off the light autumnal leaves, One still another following, till the bough Strews all its honours on the earth beneath; E'en in like manner Adam's evil brood Cast themselves one by one down from the shore, Each at a beck, as falcon at his call. Thus go they over through the umber'd wave, And ever they on the opposing bank Be landed, on this side another throng Still gathers. "Son," thus spake the courteous guide, "Those, who die subject to the wrath of God, All here together come from every clime, And to o'erpass the river are not loth: For so heaven's justice goads them on, that fear Is turn'd into desire. Hence ne'er hath past Good spirit. If of thee Charon complain, Now mayst thou know the import of his words." This said, the gloomy region trembling shook So terribly, that yet with clammy dews Fear chills my brow. The sad earth gave a blast, That, lightening, shot forth a vermilion flame, Which all my senses conquer'd quite, and I Down dropp'd, as one with sudden slumber seiz'd. CANTO IV BROKE the deep slumber in my brain a crash Of heavy thunder, that I shook myself, As one by main force rous'd. Risen upright, My rested eyes I mov'd around, and search'd With fixed ken to know what place it was, Wherein I stood. For certain on the brink I found me of the lamentable vale, The dread abyss, that joins a thund'rous sound Of plaints innumerable. Dark and deep, And thick with clouds o'erspread, mine eye in vain Explor'd its bottom, nor could aught discern. "Now let us to the blind world there beneath Descend;" 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 below With pity stains my cheek, which thou for fear Mistakest. Let us on. Our length of way Urges to haste." Onward, this said, he mov'd; And ent'ring led me with him on the bounds Of the first circle, that surrounds th' abyss. Here, as mine ear could note, no plaint was heard Except of sighs, that made th' eternal air Tremble, not caus'd by tortures, but from grief Felt by those multitudes, many and vast, Of men, women, and infants. Then to me The gentle guide: "Inquir'st thou not what spirits Are these, which thou beholdest? Ere thou pass Farther, I would thou know, that these of sin Were blameless; and if aught they merited, It profits not, since baptism was not theirs, The portal to thy faith. If they before The Gospel liv'd, they serv'd 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 live Desiring without hope." So grief assail'd My heart at hearing this, for well I knew Suspended in that Limbo many a soul Of mighty worth. "O tell me, sire rever'd! Tell me, my master!" I began through wish Of full assurance in that holy faith, Which vanquishes all error; "say, did e'er Any, or through his own or other's merit, Come forth from thence, whom afterward was blest?" Piercing the secret purport of my speech, He answer'd: "I was new to that estate, When I beheld a puissant one arrive Amongst 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 approv'd, 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 bliss Exalted. Before these, be thou assur'd, No spirit of human kind was ever sav'd." We, while he spake, ceas'd not our onward road, Still passing through the wood; for so I name Those spirits thick beset. We were not far On this side from the summit, when I kenn'd A flame, that o'er the darken'd hemisphere Prevailing shin'd. Yet we a little space Were distant, not so far but I in part Discover'd, that a tribe in honour high That place possess'd. "O thou, who every art And science valu'st! who are these, that boast Such honour, separate from all the rest?" He answer'd: "The renown of their great names That echoes through your world above, acquires Favour in heaven, which holds them thus advanc'd." Meantime a voice I heard: "Honour the bard Sublime! his shade returns that left us late!" No sooner ceas'd the sound, than I beheld Four 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 school Of him the monarch of sublimest song, That o'er the others like an eagle soars. When they together short discourse had held, They turn'd to me, with salutation kind Beck'ning me; at the which my master smil'd: Nor was this all; but greater honour still They 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 well To speak, now fitter left untold. At foot Of a magnificent castle we arriv'd, Seven times with lofty walls begirt, and round Defended by a pleasant stream. O'er this As o'er dry land we pass'd. Next through seven gates I with those sages enter'd, and we came Into a mead with lively verdure fresh. There dwelt a race, who slow their eyes around Majestically mov'd, and in their port Bore eminent authority; they spake Seldom, but all their words were tuneful sweet. We to one side retir'd, into a place Open and bright and lofty, whence each one Stood manifest to view. Incontinent There on the green enamel of the plain Were shown me the great spirits, by whose sight I am exalted in my own esteem. Electra there I saw accompanied By many, among whom Hector I knew, Anchises' pious son, and with hawk's eye Caesar all arm'd, and by Camilla there Penthesilea. On the other side Old King Latinus, seated by his child Lavinia, and that Brutus I beheld, Who Tarquin chas'd, Lucretia, Cato's wife Marcia, with Julia and Cornelia there; And sole apart retir'd, the Soldan fierce. Then when a little more I rais'd my brow, I spied the master of the sapient throng, Seated amid the philosophic train. Him all admire, all pay him rev'rence due. There Socrates and Plato both I mark'd, Nearest to him in rank; Democritus, Who sets the world at chance, Diogenes, With Heraclitus, and Empedocles, And Anaxagoras, and Thales sage, Zeno, and Dioscorides well read In nature's secret lore. Orpheus I mark'd And Linus, Tully and moral Seneca, Euclid and Ptolemy, Hippocrates, Galenus, Avicen, and him who made That commentary vast, Averroes. Of all to speak at full were vain attempt; For my wide theme so urges, that ofttimes My words fall short of what bechanc'd. In two The six associates part. Another way My 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. CANTO V 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 Who enter, strict examining the crimes, Gives sentence, and dismisses them beneath, According as he foldeth him around: For when before him comes th' ill fated soul, It all confesses; and that judge severe 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 num'rous throng; and in his turn 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, "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 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 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, 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 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 Is none, nor e'en of milder pang. As cranes, Chanting their dol'rous 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 Are these, by the black air so scourg'd?"--"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 promulg'd decree, To clear the blame she had herself incurr'd. This is Semiramis, of whom 'tis writ, That she succeeded Ninus her espous'd; And held the land, which now the Soldan rules. The next in amorous fury slew herself, And to Sicheus' 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. Paris I saw, and Tristan; and beside A thousand more he show'd me, and by name Pointed them out, whom love bereav'd of life. When I had heard my sage instructor name Those dames and knights of antique days, o'erpower'd 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." "Then by that love which carries them along, Entreat; and they will come." Soon as the wind Sway'd them toward us, I thus fram'd my speech: "O wearied spirits! come, and hold discourse With us, if by none else restrain'd." As doves By fond desire invited, on wide wings And firm, to their sweet nest returning home, Cleave the air, wafted by their will along; Thus issu'd from that troop, where Dido ranks, They through the ill air speeding; with such force My cry prevail'd by strong affection urg'd. "O gracious creature and benign! who go'st Visiting, through this element obscure, Us, who the world with bloody stain imbru'd; If for a friend the King of all we own'd, Our pray'r to him should for thy peace arise, Since thou hast pity on our evil plight. ()f 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, As now, is mute. The land, 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 Ta'en in such cruel sort, as grieves me still: Love, that denial takes from none belov'd, Caught me with pleasing him so passing well, That, as thou see'st, he yet deserts me not. "Love brought us to one death: Caina waits 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 pond'ring?" I in answer thus: "Alas! by what sweet thoughts, what fond desire Must they at length to that ill pass have reach'd!" Then turning, I to them my speech address'd. And thus began: "Francesca! your sad fate Even to tears my grief and pity moves. But tell me; in the time of your sweet sighs, 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 mis'ry is at hand! That kens Thy learn'd instructor. Yet so eagerly 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, How him love thrall'd. Alone we were, and no Suspicion near us. Ofttimes 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, rapturously kiss'd 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, The other wail'd so sorely, that heartstruck I through compassion fainting, seem'd not far From death, and like a corpse fell to the ground. CANTO VI MY sense reviving, that erewhile had droop'd With pity for the kindred shades, whence grief O'ercame me wholly, straight around I see New torments, new tormented souls, which way Soe'er I move, or turn, or bend my sight. In the third circle I arrive, of show'rs Ceaseless, accursed, heavy, and cold, unchang'd For ever, both in kind and in degree. Large hail, discolour'd water, sleety flaw Through the dun midnight air stream'd down amain: Stank all the land whereon that tempest fell. Cerberus, cruel monster, fierce and strange, Through his wide threefold throat barks as a dog Over the multitude immers'd beneath. His eyes glare crimson, black his unctuous beard, His belly large, and claw'd the hands, with which He tears the spirits, flays them, and their limbs Piecemeal disparts. Howling there spread, as curs, Under the rainy deluge, with one side The other screening, oft they roll them round, A wretched, godless crew. When that great worm Descried us, savage Cerberus, he op'd His jaws, and the fangs show'd us; not a limb Of him but trembled. Then my guide, his palms Expanding on the ground, thence filled with earth Rais'd them, and cast it in his ravenous maw. E'en as a dog, that yelling bays for food His keeper, when the morsel comes, lets fall His fury, bent alone with eager haste To swallow it; so dropp'd the loathsome cheeks Of demon Cerberus, who thund'ring stuns The spirits, that they for deafness wish in vain. We, o'er the shades thrown prostrate by the brunt Of the heavy tempest passing, set our feet Upon their emptiness, that substance seem'd. They all along the earth extended lay Save one, that sudden rais'd himself to sit, Soon as that way he saw us pass. "O thou!" He cried, "who through the infernal shades art led, Own, if again thou know'st me. Thou wast fram'd Or ere my frame was broken." I replied: "The anguish thou endur'st perchance so takes Thy form from my remembrance, that it seems As if I saw thee never. But inform Me who thou art, that in a place so sad Art set, and in such torment, that although Other be greater, more disgustful none Can be imagin'd." He in answer thus: "Thy city heap'd with envy to the brim, Ay that the measure overflows its bounds, Held me in brighter days. Ye citizens Were wont to name me Ciacco. For the sin Of glutt'ny, damned vice, beneath this rain, E'en as thou see'st, I with fatigue am worn; Nor I sole spirit in this woe: all these Have by like crime incurr'd like punishment." No more he said, and I my speech resum'd: "Ciacco! thy dire affliction grieves me much, Even to tears. But tell me, if thou know'st, What shall at length befall the citizens Of the divided city; whether any just one Inhabit there: and tell me of the cause, Whence jarring discord hath assail'd it thus?" He then: "After long striving they will come To blood; and the wild party from the woods Will chase the other with much injury forth. Then it behoves, that this must fall, within Three solar circles; and the other rise By borrow'd force of one, who under shore Now rests. It shall a long space hold aloof Its forehead, keeping under heavy weight The other oppress'd, indignant at the load, And grieving sore. The just are two in number, But they neglected. Av'rice, envy, pride, Three fatal sparks, have set the hearts of all On fire." Here ceas'd the lamentable sound; And I continu'd thus: "Still would I learn More from thee, farther parley still entreat. Of Farinata and Tegghiaio say, They who so well deserv'd, of Giacopo, Arrigo, Mosca, and the rest, who bent Their minds on working good. Oh! tell me where They bide, and to their knowledge let me come. For I am press'd with keen desire to hear, If heaven's sweet cup or poisonous drug of hell Be to their lip assign'd." He answer'd straight: "These are yet blacker spirits. Various crimes Have sunk them deeper in the dark abyss. If thou so far descendest, thou mayst see them. But to the pleasant world when thou return'st, Of me make mention, I entreat thee, there. No more I tell thee, answer thee no more." This said, his fixed eyes he turn'd askance, A little ey'd me, then bent down his head, And 'midst his blind companions with it fell. When thus my guide: "No more his bed he leaves, Ere the last angel-trumpet blow. The Power Adverse to these shall then in glory come, Each one forthwith to his sad tomb repair, Resume his fleshly vesture and his form, And hear the eternal doom re-echoing rend The vault." So pass'd we through that mixture foul Of spirits and rain, with tardy steps; meanwhile Touching, though slightly, on the life to come. For thus I question'd: "Shall these tortures, Sir! When the great sentence passes, be increas'd, Or mitigated, or as now severe?" He then: "Consult thy knowledge; that decides That as each thing to more perfection grows, It feels more sensibly both good and pain. Though ne'er to true perfection may arrive This race accurs'd, yet nearer then than now They shall approach it." Compassing that path Circuitous we journeyed, and discourse Much more than I relate between us pass'd: Till at the point, where the steps led below, Arriv'd, there Plutus, the great foe, we found. CANTO VII "AH me! O Satan! Satan!" loud exclaim'd Plutus, in accent hoarse of wild alarm: And the kind sage, whom no event surpris'd, To comfort me thus spake: "Let not thy fear Harm thee, for power in him, be sure, is none To hinder down this rock thy safe descent." Then to that sworn lip turning, "Peace!" he cried, "Curs'd wolf! thy fury inward on thyself Prey, and consume thee! Through the dark profound Not without cause he passes. So 't is will'd On high, there where the great Archangel pour'd Heav'n's vengeance on the first adulterer proud." As sails full spread and bellying with the wind Drop suddenly collaps'd, if the mast split; So to the ground down dropp'd the cruel fiend. Thus we, descending to the fourth steep ledge, Gain'd on the dismal shore, that all the woe Hems in of all the universe. Ah me! Almighty Justice! in what store thou heap'st New pains, new troubles, as I here beheld! Wherefore doth fault of ours bring us to this? E'en as a billow, on Charybdis rising, Against encounter'd billow dashing breaks; Such is the dance this wretched race must lead, Whom more than elsewhere numerous here I found, From one side and the other, with loud voice, Both roll'd on weights by main forge of their breasts, Then smote together, and each one forthwith Roll'd them back voluble, turning again, Exclaiming these, "Why holdest thou so fast?" Those answering, "And why castest thou away?" So still repeating their despiteful song, They to the opposite point on either hand Travers'd the horrid circle: then arriv'd, Both turn'd them round, and through the middle space Conflicting met again. At sight whereof I, stung with grief, thus spake: "O say, my guide! What race is this? Were these, whose heads are shorn, On our left hand, all sep'rate to the church?" He straight replied: "In their first life these all In mind were so distorted, that they made, According to due measure, of their wealth, No use. This clearly from their words collect, Which they howl forth, at each extremity Arriving of the circle, where their crime Contrary' in kind disparts them. To the church Were separate those, that with no hairy cowls Are crown'd, both Popes and Cardinals, o'er whom Av'rice dominion absolute maintains." I then: "Mid such as these some needs must be, Whom I shall recognize, that with the blot Of these foul sins were stain'd." He answering thus: "Vain thought conceiv'st thou. That ignoble life, Which made them vile before, now makes them dark, And to all knowledge indiscernible. Forever they shall meet in this rude shock: These from the tomb with clenched grasp shall rise, Those with close-shaven locks. That ill they gave, And ill they kept, hath of the beauteous world Depriv'd, and set them at this strife, which needs No labour'd phrase of mine to set if off. Now may'st thou see, my son! how brief, how vain, The goods committed into fortune's hands, For which the human race keep such a coil! Not all the gold, that is beneath the moon, Or ever hath been, of these toil-worn souls Might purchase rest for one." I thus rejoin'd: "My guide! of thee this also would I learn; This fortune, that thou speak'st of, what it is, Whose talons grasp the blessings of the world?" He thus: "O beings blind! what ignorance Besets you? Now my judgment hear and mark. He, whose transcendent wisdom passes all, The heavens creating, gave them ruling powers To guide them, so that each part shines to each, Their light in equal distribution pour'd. By similar appointment he ordain'd Over the world's bright images to rule. Superintendence of a guiding hand And general minister, which at due time May change the empty vantages of life From race to race, from one to other's blood, Beyond prevention of man's wisest care: Wherefore one nation rises into sway, Another languishes, e'en as her will Decrees, from us conceal'd, as in the grass The serpent train. Against her nought avails Your utmost wisdom. She with foresight plans, Judges, and carries on her reign, as theirs The other powers divine. Her changes know Nore intermission: by necessity She is made swift, so frequent come who claim Succession in her favours. This is she, So execrated e'en by those, whose debt To her is rather praise; they wrongfully With blame requite her, and with evil word; But she is blessed, and for that recks not: Amidst the other primal beings glad Rolls on her sphere, and in her bliss exults. Now on our way pass we, to heavier woe Descending: for each star is falling now, That mounted at our entrance, and forbids Too long our tarrying." We the circle cross'd To the next steep, arriving at a well, That boiling pours itself down to a foss Sluic'd from its source. Far murkier was the wave Than sablest grain: and we in company Of the' inky waters, journeying by their side, Enter'd, though by a different track, beneath. Into a lake, the Stygian nam'd, expands The dismal stream, when it hath reach'd the foot Of the grey wither'd cliffs. Intent I stood To gaze, and in the marish sunk descried A miry tribe, all naked, and with looks Betok'ning rage. They with their hands alone Struck not, but with the head, the breast, the feet, Cutting each other piecemeal with their fangs. The good instructor spake; "Now seest thou, son! The souls of those, whom anger overcame. This too for certain know, that underneath The water dwells a multitude, whose sighs Into these bubbles make the surface heave, As thine eye tells thee wheresoe'er it turn." Fix'd in the slime they say: "Sad once were we In the sweet air made gladsome by the sun, Carrying a foul and lazy mist within: Now in these murky settlings are we sad." Such dolorous strain they gurgle in their throats. But word distinct can utter none." Our route Thus compass'd we, a segment widely stretch'd Between the dry embankment, and the core Of the loath'd pool, turning meanwhile our eyes Downward on those who gulp'd its muddy lees; Nor stopp'd, till to a tower's low base we came. CANTO VIII MY theme pursuing, I relate that ere We reach'd the lofty turret's base, our eyes Its height ascended, where two cressets hung We mark'd, and from afar another light Return the signal, so remote, that scarce The eye could catch its beam. I turning round To the deep source of knowledge, thus inquir'd: "Say what this means? and what that other light In 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-gender'd 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 spied Toward us coming, under the sole sway Of one that ferried it, who cried aloud: "Art thou arriv'd, fell spirit?"--"Phlegyas, Phlegyas, This time thou criest in vain," my lord replied; "No longer shalt thou have us, but while o'er The slimy pool we pass." As one who hears Of some great wrong he hath sustain'd, whereat Inly he pines; so Phlegyas inly pin'd In his fierce ire. My guide descending stepp'd Into the skiff, and bade me enter next Close at his side; nor till my entrance seem'd The 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 thou 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, Curs'd spirit! tarry thou.g I know thee well, E'en thus in filth disguis'd." Then stretch'd he forth Hands to the bark; whereof my teacher sage Aware, thrusting him back: "Away! down there; "To the' other dogs!" then, with his arms my neck Encircling, kiss'd my cheek, and spake: "O soul Justly disdainful! blest was she in whom Thou was conceiv'd! He in the world was one For arrogance noted; to his memory No virtue lends its lustre; even so Here 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 behold Whelm'd in these dregs, before we quit the lake." He thus: "Or ever to thy view the shore Be offer'd, satisfied shall be that wish, Which well deserves completion." Scarce his words Were ended, when I saw the miry tribes Set on him with such violence, that yet For that render I thanks to God and praise "To Filippo Argenti:" cried they all: And on himself the moody Florentine Turn'd his avenging fangs. Him here we left, Nor speak I of him more. But on mine ear Sudden a sound of lamentation smote, Whereat mine eye unbarr'd I sent abroad. And thus the good instructor: "Now, my son! Draws near the city, that of Dis is nam'd, 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 fire Had issu'd." He replied: "Eternal fire, That inward burns, shows them with ruddy flame Illum'd; as in this nether hell thou seest." We came within the fosses deep, that moat This region comfortless. The walls appear'd As they were fram'd of iron. We had made Wide circuit, ere a place we reach'd, where loud The mariner cried vehement: "Go forth! The' entrance is here!" Upon the gates I spied More than a thousand, who of old from heaven Were hurl'd. With ireful gestures, "Who is this," They cried, "that without death first felt, goes through The regions of the dead?" My sapient guide Made sign that he for secret parley wish'd; Whereat their angry scorn abating, thus They 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 know it, let him prove. For thee, Here shalt thou tarry, who through clime so dark Hast been his escort." Now bethink thee, reader! What cheer was mine at sound of those curs'd words. I did believe I never should return. "O my lov'd guide! who more than seven times Security hast render'd me, and drawn From peril deep, whereto I stood expos'd, 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 none Hath power to disappoint us, by such high Authority permitted. But do thou Expect me here; meanwhile thy wearied spirit Comfort, and feed with kindly hope, assur'd I will not leave thee in this lower world." This said, departs the sire benevolent, And quits me. Hesitating I remain At 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 once To trial fled within. Clos'd were the gates By those our adversaries on the breast Of my liege lord: excluded he return'd To me with tardy steps. Upon the ground His eyes were bent, and from his brow eras'd All confidence, while thus with sighs he spake: "Who hath denied me these abodes of woe?" Then thus to me: "That I am anger'd, think No ground of terror: in this trial I Shall vanquish, use what arts they may within For hindrance. This their insolence, not new, Erewhile at gate less secret they display'd, Which still is without bolt; upon its arch Thou saw'st the deadly scroll: and even now On this side of its entrance, down the steep, Passing the circles, unescorted, comes One whose strong might can open us this land." CANTO IX THE hue, which coward dread on my pale cheeks Imprinted, when I saw my guide turn back, Chas'd that from his which newly they had worn, And inwardly restrain'd it. He, as one Who listens, stood attentive: for his eye Not far could lead him through the sable air, And the thick-gath'ring cloud. "It yet behooves We win this fight"--thus he began--"if not-- Such aid to us is offer'd.--Oh, how long Me seems it, ere the promis'd help arrive!" I noted, how the sequel of his words Clok'd their beginning; for the last he spake Agreed not with the first. But not the less My fear was at his saying; sith I drew To import worse perchance, than that he held, His mutilated speech. "Doth ever any Into this rueful concave's extreme depth Descend, out of the first degree, whose pain Is deprivation merely of sweet hope?" Thus I inquiring. "Rarely," he replied, "It chances, that among us any makes This journey, which I wend. Erewhile 'tis true Once came I here beneath, conjur'd by fell Erictho, sorceress, who compell'd the shades Back to their bodies. No long space my flesh Was naked of me, when within these walls She made me enter, to draw forth a spirit From out of Judas' circle. Lowest place Is that of all, obscurest, and remov'd Farthest from heav'n's all-circling orb. The road Full well I know: thou therefore rest secure. That lake, the noisome stench exhaling, round The city' of grief encompasses, which now We may not enter without rage." Yet more He added: but I hold it not in mind, For that mine eye toward the lofty tower Had drawn me wholly, to its burning top. Where in an instant I beheld uprisen At once three hellish furies stain'd with blood: In limb and motion feminine they seem'd; Around them greenest hydras twisting roll'd Their volumes; adders and cerastes crept Instead of hair, and their fierce temples bound. He knowing well the miserable hags Who tend the queen of endless woe, thus spake: "Mark thou each dire Erinnys. To the left This is Megaera; on the right hand she, Who wails, Alecto; and Tisiphone I' th' midst." This said, in silence he remain'd Their breast they each one clawing tore; themselves Smote with their palms, and such shrill clamour rais'd, That to the bard I clung, suspicion-bound. "Hasten Medusa: so to adamant Him shall we change;" all looking down exclaim'd. "E'en when by Theseus' might assail'd, we took No ill revenge." "Turn thyself round, and keep Thy count'nance hid; for if the Gorgon dire Be shown, and thou shouldst view it, thy return Upwards would be for ever lost." This said, Himself my gentle master turn'd me round, Nor trusted he my hands, but with his own He also hid me. Ye of intellect Sound and entire, mark well the lore conceal'd Under close texture of the mystic strain! And now there came o'er the perturbed waves Loud-crashing, terrible, a sound that made Either shore tremble, as if of a wind Impetuous, from conflicting vapours sprung, That 'gainst some forest driving all its might, Plucks off the branches, beats them down and hurls Afar; then onward passing proudly sweeps Its whirlwind rage, while beasts and shepherds fly. Mine eyes he loos'd, and spake: "And now direct Thy visual nerve along that ancient foam, There, thickest where the smoke ascends." As frogs Before their foe the serpent, through the wave Ply swiftly all, till at the ground each one Lies on a heap; more than a thousand spirits Destroy'd, so saw I fleeing before one Who 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 alone By that annoyance wearied. I perceiv'd That he was sent from heav'n, and to my guide Turn'd me, who signal made that I should stand Quiet, and bend to him. Ah me! how full Of noble anger seem'd he! To the gate He came, and with his wand touch'd it, whereat Open without impediment it flew. "Outcasts of heav'n! O abject race and scorn'd!" Began he on the horrid grunsel standing, "Whence doth this wild excess of insolence Lodge in you? wherefore kick you 'gainst that will Ne'er frustrate of its end, and which so oft Hath laid on you enforcement of your pangs? What profits at the fays to but the horn? Your Cerberus, if ye remember, hence Bears 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 wore The semblance of a man by other care Beset, and keenly press'd, than thought of him Who in his presence stands. Then we our steps Toward that territory mov'd, secure After the hallow'd words. We unoppos'd There enter'd; and my mind eager to learn What 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, Or as at Pola, 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 here Excell'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 issu'd lamentable moans, Such as the sad and tortur'd well might raise. I thus: "Master! say who are these, interr'd Within these vaults, of whom distinct we hear The dolorous sighs?" He answer thus return'd: "The arch-heretics are here, accompanied By every sect their followers; and much more, Than thou believest, tombs are freighted: like With like is buried; and the monuments Are different in degrees of heat." This said, He to the right hand turning, on we pass'd Betwixt the afflicted and the ramparts high. CANTO X NOW by a secret pathway we proceed, Between the walls, that hem the region round, And the tormented souls: my master first, I close behind his steps. "Virtue supreme!" I thus began; "who through these ample orbs In circuit lead'st me, even as thou will'st, Speak thou, and satisfy my wish. May those, Who lie within these sepulchres, be seen? Already all the lids are rais'd, and none O'er them keeps watch." He thus in answer spake "They shall be closed all, what-time they here From Josaphat return'd shall come, and bring Their bodies, which above they now have left. The cemetery on this part obtain With Epicurus all his followers, Who with the body make the spirit die. Here therefore satisfaction shall be soon Both to the question ask'd, and to the wish, Which thou conceal'st in silence." I replied: "I keep not, guide belov'd! from thee my heart Secreted, but to shun vain length of words, A lesson erewhile taught me by thyself." "O Tuscan! thou who through the city of fire Alive art passing, so discreet of speech! Here please thee stay awhile. Thy utterance Declares the place of thy nativity To be that noble land, with which perchance I too severely dealt." Sudden that sound Forth issu'd from a vault, whereat in fear I somewhat closer to my leader's side Approaching, he thus spake: "What dost thou? Turn. Lo, Farinata, there! who hath himself Uplifted: from his girdle upwards all Expos'd behold him." On his face was mine Already fix'd; his breast and forehead there Erecting, seem'd as in high scorn he held E'en hell. Between the sepulchres to him My guide thrust me with fearless hands and prompt, This warning added: "See thy words be clear!" He, soon as there I stood at the tomb's foot, Ey'd me a space, then in disdainful mood Address'd me: "Say, what ancestors were thine?" I, willing to obey him, straight reveal'd The whole, nor kept back aught: whence he, his brow Somewhat uplifting, cried: "Fiercely were they Adverse to me, my party, and the blood From whence I sprang: twice therefore I abroad Scatter'd them." "Though driv'n out, yet they each time From all parts," answer'd I, "return'd; an art Which yours have shown, they are not skill'd to learn." Then, peering forth from the unclosed jaw, Rose from his side a shade, high as the chin, Leaning, methought, upon its knees uprais'd. It look'd around, as eager to explore If there were other with me; but perceiving That fond imagination quench'd, with tears Thus spake: "If thou through this blind prison go'st. Led by thy lofty genius and profound, Where is my son? and wherefore not with thee?" I straight replied: "Not of myself I come, By him, who there expects me, through this clime Conducted, whom perchance Guido thy son Had in contempt." Already had his words And mode of punishment read me his name, Whence I so fully answer'd. He at once Exclaim'd, up starting, "How! said'st thou he HAD? No longer lives he? Strikes not on his eye The blessed daylight?" Then of some delay I made ere my reply aware, down fell Supine, not after forth appear'd he more. Meanwhile the other, great of soul, near whom I yet was station'd, chang'd not count'nance stern, Nor mov'd the neck, nor bent his ribbed side. "And if," continuing the first discourse, "They in this art," he cried, "small skill have shown, That doth torment me more e'en than this bed. But not yet fifty times shall be relum'd Her aspect, who reigns here Queen of this realm, Ere thou shalt know the full weight of that art. So to the pleasant world mayst thou return, As thou shalt tell me, why in all their laws, Against my kin this people is so fell?" "The slaughter and great havoc," I replied, "That colour'd Arbia's flood with crimson stain-- To these impute, that in our hallow'd dome Such orisons ascend." Sighing he shook The head, then thus resum'd: "In that affray I stood not singly, nor without just cause Assuredly should with the rest have stirr'd; But singly there I stood, when by consent Of all, Florence had to the ground been raz'd, The one who openly forbad the deed." "So may thy lineage find at last repose," I thus adjur'd him, "as thou solve this knot, Which now involves my mind. If right I hear, Ye seem to view beforehand, that which time Leads with him, of the present uninform'd." "We view, as one who hath an evil sight," He answer'd, "plainly, objects far remote: So much of his large spendour yet imparts The' Almighty Ruler; but when they approach Or actually exist, our intellect Then wholly fails, nor of your human state Except what others bring us know we aught. Hence therefore mayst thou understand, that all Our knowledge in that instant shall expire, When on futurity the portals close." Then conscious of my fault, and by remorse Smitten, I added thus: "Now shalt thou say To him there fallen, that his offspring still Is to the living join'd; and bid him know, That if from answer silent I abstain'd, 'Twas that my thought was occupied intent Upon that error, which thy help hath solv'd." But now my master summoning me back I heard, and with more eager haste besought The spirit to inform me, who with him Partook his lot. He answer thus return'd: "More than a thousand with me here are laid Within is Frederick, second of that name, And the Lord Cardinal, and of the rest I speak not." He, this said, from sight withdrew. But I my steps towards the ancient bard Reverting, ruminated on the words Betokening me such ill. Onward he mov'd, And thus in going question'd: "Whence the' amaze That holds thy senses wrapt?" I satisfied The' inquiry, and the sage enjoin'd me straight: "Let thy safe memory store what thou hast heard To thee importing harm; and note thou this," With his rais'd finger bidding me take heed, "When thou shalt stand before her gracious beam, Whose bright eye all surveys, she of thy life The future tenour will to thee unfold." Forthwith he to the left hand turn'd his feet: We left the wall, and tow'rds the middle space Went by a path, that to a valley strikes; Which e'en thus high exhal'd its noisome steam. CANTO XI UPON the utmost verge of a high bank, By craggy rocks environ'd round, we came, Where woes beneath more cruel yet were stow'd: And here to shun the horrible excess Of fetid exhalation, upward cast From the profound abyss, behind the lid Of a great monument we stood retir'd, Whereon this scroll I mark'd: "I have in charge Pope Anastasius, whom Photinus drew From the right path.--Ere our descent behooves We make delay, that somewhat first the sense, To the dire breath accustom'd, afterward Regard it not." My master thus; to whom Answering I spake: "Some compensation find That the time past not wholly lost." He then: "Lo! how my thoughts e'en to thy wishes tend! My son! within these rocks," he thus began, "Are three close circles in gradation plac'd, As these which now thou leav'st. Each one is full Of spirits accurs'd; but that the sight alone Hereafter may suffice thee, listen how And for what cause in durance they abide. "Of all malicious act abhorr'd in heaven, The end is injury; and all such end Either by force or fraud works other's woe But fraud, because of man peculiar evil, To God is more displeasing; and beneath The fraudulent are therefore doom'd to' endure Severer pang. The violent occupy All the first circle; and because to force Three persons are obnoxious, in three rounds Hach within other sep'rate is it fram'd. To God, his neighbour, and himself, by man Force may be offer'd; to himself I say And his possessions, as thou soon shalt hear At full. Death, violent death, and painful wounds Upon his neighbour he inflicts; and wastes By devastation, pillage, and the flames, His substance. Slayers, and each one that smites In malice, plund'rers, and all robbers, hence The torment undergo of the first round In different herds. Man can do violence To himself and his own blessings: and for this He in the second round must aye deplore With unavailing penitence his crime, Whoe'er deprives himself of life and light, In reckless lavishment his talent wastes, And sorrows there where he should dwell in joy. To God may force be offer'd, in the heart Denying and blaspheming his high power, And nature with her kindly law contemning. And thence the inmost round marks with its seal Sodom and Cahors, and all such as speak Contemptuously' of the Godhead in their hearts. "Fraud, that in every conscience leaves a sting, May be by man employ'd on one, whose trust He wins, or on another who withholds Strict confidence. Seems as the latter way Broke but the bond of love which Nature makes. Whence in the second circle have their nest Dissimulation, witchcraft, flatteries, Theft, falsehood, simony, all who seduce To lust, or set their honesty at pawn, With such vile scum as these. The other way Forgets both Nature's general love, and that Which thereto added afterwards gives birth To special faith. Whence in the lesser circle, Point of the universe, dread seat of Dis, The traitor is eternally consum'd." I thus: "Instructor, clearly thy discourse Proceeds, distinguishing the hideous chasm And its inhabitants with skill exact. But tell me this: they of the dull, fat pool, Whom the rain beats, or whom the tempest drives, Or who with tongues so fierce conflicting meet, Wherefore within the city fire-illum'd Are not these punish'd, if God's wrath be on them? And if it be not, wherefore in such guise Are they condemned?" He answer thus return'd: "Wherefore in dotage wanders thus thy mind, Not so accustom'd? or what other thoughts Possess it? Dwell not in thy memory The words, wherein thy ethic page describes Three dispositions adverse to Heav'n's will, Incont'nence, malice, and mad brutishness, And how incontinence the least offends God, and least guilt incurs? If well thou note This judgment, and remember who they are, Without these walls to vain repentance doom'd, Thou shalt discern why they apart are plac'd From these fell spirits, and less wreakful pours Justice divine on them its vengeance down." "O Sun! who healest all imperfect sight, Thou so content'st me, when thou solv'st my doubt, That ignorance not less than knowledge charms. Yet somewhat turn thee back," I in these words Continu'd, "where thou saidst, that usury Offends celestial Goodness; and this knot Perplex'd unravel." He thus made reply: "Philosophy, to an attentive ear, Clearly points out, not in one part alone, How imitative nature takes her course From the celestial mind and from its art: And where her laws the Stagyrite unfolds, Not many leaves scann'd o'er, observing well Thou shalt discover, that your art on her Obsequious follows, as the learner treads In his instructor's step, so that your art Deserves the name of second in descent From God. These two, if thou recall to mind Creation's holy book, from the beginning Were the right source of life and excellence To human kind. But in another path The usurer walks; and Nature in herself And in her follower thus he sets at nought, Placing elsewhere his hope. But follow now My steps on forward journey bent; for now The Pisces play with undulating glance Along the' horizon, and the Wain lies all O'er the north-west; and onward there a space Is our steep passage down the rocky height." CANTO XII THE place where to descend the precipice We came, was rough as Alp, and on its verge Such object lay, as every eye would shun. As is that ruin, which Adice's stream On this side Trento struck, should'ring the wave, Or loos'd by earthquake or for lack of prop; For from the mountain's summit, whence it mov'd To the low level, so the headlong rock Is shiver'd, that some passage it might give To him who from above would pass; e'en such Into the chasm was that descent: and there At point of the disparted ridge lay stretch'd The infamy of Crete, detested brood Of the feign'd heifer: and at sight of us It gnaw'd itself, as one with rage distract. To him my guide exclaim'd: "Perchance thou deem'st The King of Athens here, who, in the world Above, thy death contriv'd. Monster! avaunt! He comes not tutor'd by thy sister's art, But to behold your torments is he come." Like to a bull, that with impetuous spring Darts, at the moment when the fatal blow Hath struck him, but unable to proceed Plunges on either side; so saw I plunge The Minotaur; whereat the sage exclaim'd: "Run to the passage! while he storms, 't is well That thou descend." Thus down our road we took Through those dilapidated crags, that oft Mov'd underneath my feet, to weight like theirs Unus'd. I pond'ring went, and thus he spake: "Perhaps thy thoughts are of this ruin'd steep, Guarded by the brute violence, which I Have vanquish'd now. Know then, that when I erst Hither descended to the nether hell, This rock was not yet fallen. But past doubt (If well I mark) not long ere He arrived, Who carried off from Dis the mighty spoil Of the highest circle, then through all its bounds Such trembling seiz'd the deep concave and foul, I thought the universe was thrill'd with love, Whereby, there are who deem, the world hath oft Been into chaos turn'd: and in that point, Here, and elsewhere, that old rock toppled down. But fix thine eyes beneath: the river of blood Approaches, in the which all those are steep'd, Who have by violence injur'd." O blind lust! O foolish wrath! who so dost goad us on In the brief life, and in the eternal then Thus miserably o'erwhelm us. I beheld An ample foss, that in a bow was bent, As circling all the plain; for so my guide Had told. Between it and the rampart's base On trail ran Centaurs, with keen arrows arm'd, As to the chase they on the earth were wont. At seeing us descend they each one stood; And issuing from the troop, three sped with bows And missile weapons chosen first; of whom One cried from far: "Say to what pain ye come Condemn'd, who down this steep have journied? Speak From whence ye stand, or else the bow I draw." To whom my guide: "Our answer shall be made To Chiron, there, when nearer him we come. Ill was thy mind, thus ever quick and rash." Then me he touch'd, and spake: "Nessus is this, Who for the fair Deianira died, And wrought himself revenge for his own fate. He in the midst, that on his breast looks down, Is the great Chiron who Achilles nurs'd; That other Pholus, prone to wrath." Around The foss these go by thousands, aiming shafts At whatsoever spirit dares emerge From out the blood, more than his guilt allows. We to those beasts, that rapid strode along, Drew near, when Chiron took an arrow forth, And with the notch push'd back his shaggy beard To the cheek-bone, then his great mouth to view Exposing, to his fellows thus exclaim'd: "Are ye aware, that he who comes behind Moves what he touches? The feet of the dead Are not so wont." My trusty guide, who now Stood near his breast, where the two natures join, Thus made reply: "He is indeed alive, And solitary so must needs by me Be shown the gloomy vale, thereto induc'd By strict necessity, not by delight. She left her joyful harpings in the sky, Who this new office to my care consign'd. He is no robber, no dark spirit I. But by that virtue, which empowers my step To treat so wild a path, grant us, I pray, One of thy band, whom we may trust secure, Who to the ford may lead us, and convey Across, him mounted on his back; for he Is not a spirit that may walk the air." Then on his right breast turning, Chiron thus To Nessus spake: "Return, and be their guide. And if ye chance to cross another troop, Command them keep aloof." Onward we mov'd, The faithful escort by our side, along The border of the crimson-seething flood, Whence from those steep'd within loud shrieks arose. Some there I mark'd, as high as to their brow Immers'd, of whom the mighty Centaur thus: "These are the souls of tyrants, who were given To blood and rapine. Here they wail aloud Their merciless wrongs. Here Alexander dwells, And Dionysius fell, who many a year Of woe wrought for fair Sicily. That brow Whereon the hair so jetty clust'ring hangs, Is Azzolino; that with flaxen locks Obizzo' of Este, in the world destroy'd By his foul step-son." To the bard rever'd I turned me round, and thus he spake; "Let him Be to thee now first leader, me but next To him in rank." Then farther on a space The Centaur paus'd, near some, who at the throat Were extant from the wave; and showing us A spirit by itself apart retir'd, Exclaim'd: "He in God's bosom smote the heart, Which yet is honour'd on the bank of Thames." A race I next espied, who held the head, And even all the bust above the stream. 'Midst these I many a face remember'd well. Thus shallow more and more the blood became, So that at last it but imbru'd the feet; And there our passage lay athwart the foss. "As ever on this side the boiling wave Thou seest diminishing," the Centaur said, "So on the other, be thou well assur'd, It lower still and lower sinks its bed, Till in that part it reuniting join, Where 't is the lot of tyranny to mourn. There Heav'n's stern justice lays chastising hand On Attila, who was the scourge of earth, On Sextus, and on Pyrrhus, and extracts Tears ever by the seething flood unlock'd From the Rinieri, of Corneto this, Pazzo the other nam'd, who fill'd the ways With violence and war." This said, he turn'd, And quitting us, alone repass'd the ford. CANTO XIII ERE Nessus yet had reach'd the other bank, We enter'd on a forest, where no track Of steps had worn a way. Not verdant there The foliage, but of dusky hue; not light The boughs and tapering, but with knares deform'd And matted thick: fruits there were none, but thorns Instead, with venom fill'd. Less sharp than these, Less intricate the brakes, wherein abide Those animals, that hate the cultur'd fields, Betwixt Corneto and Cecina's stream. Here the brute Harpies make their nest, the same Who from the Strophades the Trojan band Drove with dire boding of their future woe. Broad are their pennons, of the human form Their neck and count'nance, arm'd with talons keen The feet, and the huge belly fledge with wings These sit and wail on the drear mystic wood. The kind instructor in these words began: "Ere farther thou proceed, know thou art now I' th' second round, and shalt be, till thou come Upon the horrid sand: look therefore well Around thee, and such things thou shalt behold, As would my speech discredit." On all sides I heard sad plainings breathe, and none could see From whom they might have issu'd. In amaze Fast bound I stood. He, as it seem'd, believ'd, That I had thought so many voices came From some amid those thickets close conceal'd, And thus his speech resum'd: "If thou lop off A single twig from one of those ill plants, The thought thou hast conceiv'd shall vanish quite." Thereat a little stretching forth my hand, From a great wilding gather'd I a branch, And straight the trunk exclaim'd: "Why pluck'st thou me?" Then as the dark blood trickled down its side, These words it added: "Wherefore tear'st me thus? Is there no touch of mercy in thy breast? Men once were we, that now are rooted here. Thy hand might well have spar'd us, had we been The souls of serpents." As a brand yet green, That burning at one end from the' other sends A groaning sound, and hisses with the wind That forces out its way, so burst at once, Forth from the broken splinter words and blood. I, letting fall the bough, remain'd as one Assail'd by terror, and the sage replied: "If he, O injur'd spirit! could have believ'd What he hath seen but in my verse describ'd, He never against thee had stretch'd his hand. But I, because the thing surpass'd belief, Prompted him to this deed, which even now Myself I rue. But tell me, who thou wast; That, for this wrong to do thee some amends, In the upper world (for thither to return Is granted him) thy fame he may revive." "That pleasant word of thine," the trunk replied "Hath so inveigled me, that I from speech Cannot refrain, wherein if I indulge A little longer, in the snare detain'd, Count it not grievous. I it was, who held Both keys to Frederick's heart, and turn'd the wards, Opening and shutting, with a skill so sweet, That besides me, into his inmost breast Scarce any other could admittance find. The faith I bore to my high charge was such, It cost me the life-blood that warm'd my veins. The harlot, who ne'er turn'd her gloating eyes From Caesar's household, common vice and pest Of courts, 'gainst me inflam'd the minds of all; And to Augustus they so spread the flame, That my glad honours chang'd to bitter woes. My soul, disdainful and disgusted, sought Refuge in death from scorn, and I became, Just as I was, unjust toward myself. By the new roots, which fix this stem, I swear, That never faith I broke to my liege lord, Who merited such honour; and of you, If any to the world indeed return, Clear he from wrong my memory, that lies Yet prostrate under envy's cruel blow." First somewhat pausing, till the mournful words Were ended, then to me the bard began: "Lose not the time; but speak and of him ask, If more thou wish to learn." Whence I replied: "Question thou him again of whatsoe'er Will, as thou think'st, content me; for no power Have I to ask, such pity' is at my heart." He thus resum'd; "So may he do for thee Freely what thou entreatest, as thou yet Be pleas'd, imprison'd Spirit! to declare, How in these gnarled joints the soul is tied; And whether any ever from such frame Be loosen'd, if thou canst, that also tell." Thereat the trunk breath'd hard, and the wind soon Chang'd into sounds articulate like these; "Briefly ye shall be answer'd. When departs The fierce soul from the body, by itself Thence torn asunder, to the seventh gulf By Minos doom'd, into the wood it falls, No place assign'd, but wheresoever chance Hurls it, there sprouting, as a grain of spelt, It rises to a sapling, growing thence A savage plant. The Harpies, on its leaves Then feeding, cause both pain and for the pain A vent to grief. We, as the rest, shall come For our own spoils, yet not so that with them We may again be clad; for what a man Takes from himself it is not just he have. Here we perforce shall drag them; and throughout The dismal glade our bodies shall be hung, Each on the wild thorn of his wretched shade." Attentive yet to listen to the trunk We stood, expecting farther speech, when us A noise surpris'd, as when a man perceives The wild boar and the hunt approach his place Of station'd watch, who of the beasts and boughs Loud rustling round him hears. And lo! there came Two naked, torn with briers, in headlong flight, That they before them broke each fan o' th' wood. "Haste now," the foremost cried, "now haste thee death!" The' other, as seem'd, impatient of delay Exclaiming, "Lano! not so bent for speed Thy sinews, in the lists of Toppo's field." And then, for that perchance no longer breath Suffic'd him, of himself and of a bush One group he made. Behind them was the wood Full of black female mastiffs, gaunt and fleet, As greyhounds that have newly slipp'd the leash. On him, who squatted down, they stuck their fangs, And having rent him piecemeal bore away The tortur'd limbs. My guide then seiz'd my hand, And led me to the thicket, which in vain Mourn'd through its bleeding wounds: "O Giacomo Of Sant' Andrea! what avails it thee," It cried, "that of me thou hast made thy screen? For thy ill life what blame on me recoils?" When o'er it he had paus'd, my master spake: "Say who wast thou, that at so many points Breath'st out with blood thy lamentable speech?" He answer'd: "Oh, ye spirits: arriv'd in time To spy the shameful havoc, that from me My leaves hath sever'd thus, gather them up, And at the foot of their sad parent-tree Carefully lay them. In that city' I dwelt, Who for the Baptist her first patron chang'd, Whence he for this shall cease not with his art To work her woe: and if there still remain'd not On Arno's passage some faint glimpse of him, Those citizens, who rear'd once more her walls Upon the ashes left by Attila, Had labour'd without profit of their toil. I slung the fatal noose from my own roof." CANTO XIV SOON as the charity of native land Wrought in my bosom, I the scatter'd leaves Collected, and to him restor'd, who now Was hoarse with utt'rance. To the limit thence We came, which from the third the second round Divides, and where of justice is display'd Contrivance horrible. Things then first seen Clearlier to manifest, I tell how next A plain we reach'd, that from its sterile bed Each plant repell'd. The mournful wood waves round Its garland on all sides, as round the wood Spreads the sad foss. There, on the very edge, Our steps we stay'd. It was an area wide Of arid sand and thick, resembling most The soil that erst by Cato's foot was trod. Vengeance of Heav'n! Oh! how shouldst thou be fear'd By all, who read what here my eyes beheld! Of naked spirits many a flock I saw, All weeping piteously, to different laws Subjected: for on the' earth some lay supine, Some crouching close were seated, others pac'd Incessantly around; the latter tribe, More numerous, those fewer who beneath The torment lay, but louder in their grief. O'er all the sand fell slowly wafting down Dilated flakes of fire, as flakes of snow On Alpine summit, when the wind is hush'd. As in the torrid Indian clime, the son Of Ammon saw upon his warrior band Descending, solid flames, that to the ground Came down: whence he bethought him with his troop To trample on the soil; for easier thus The vapour was extinguish'd, while alone; So fell the eternal fiery flood, wherewith The marble glow'd underneath, as under stove The viands, doubly to augment the pain. Unceasing was the play of wretched hands, Now this, now that way glancing, to shake off The heat, still falling fresh. I thus began: "Instructor! thou who all things overcom'st, Except the hardy demons, that rush'd forth To stop our entrance at the gate, say who Is yon huge spirit, that, as seems, heeds not The burning, but lies writhen in proud scorn, As by the sultry tempest immatur'd?" Straight he himself, who was aware I ask'd My guide of him, exclaim'd: "Such as I was When living, dead such now I am. If Jove Weary his workman out, from whom in ire He snatch'd the lightnings, that at my last day Transfix'd me, if the rest be weary out At their black smithy labouring by turns In Mongibello, while he cries aloud; "Help, help, good Mulciber!" as erst he cried In the Phlegraean warfare, and the bolts Launch he full aim'd at me with all his might, He never should enjoy a sweet revenge." Then thus my guide, in accent higher rais'd Than I before had heard him: "Capaneus! Thou art more punish'd, in that this thy pride Lives yet unquench'd: no torrent, save thy rage, Were to thy fury pain proportion'd full." Next turning round to me with milder lip He spake: "This of the seven kings was one, Who girt the Theban walls with siege, and held, As still he seems to hold, God in disdain, And sets his high omnipotence at nought. But, as I told him, his despiteful mood Is ornament well suits the breast that wears it. Follow me now; and look thou set not yet Thy foot in the hot sand, but to the wood Keep ever close." Silently on we pass'd To where there gushes from the forest's bound A little brook, whose crimson'd wave yet lifts My hair with horror. As the rill, that runs From Bulicame, to be portion'd out Among the sinful women; so ran this Down through the sand, its bottom and each bank Stone-built, and either margin at its side, Whereon I straight perceiv'd our passage lay. "Of all that I have shown thee, since that gate We enter'd first, whose threshold is to none Denied, nought else so worthy of regard, As is this river, has thine eye discern'd, O'er which the flaming volley all is quench'd." So spake my guide; and I him thence besought, That having giv'n me appetite to know, The food he too would give, that hunger crav'd. "In midst of ocean," forthwith he began, "A desolate country lies, which Crete is nam'd, Under whose monarch in old times the world Liv'd pure and chaste. A mountain rises there, Call'd Ida, joyous once with leaves and streams, Deserted now like a forbidden thing. It was the spot which Rhea, Saturn's spouse, Chose for the secret cradle of her son; And better to conceal him, drown'd in shouts His infant cries. Within the mount, upright An ancient form there stands and huge, that turns His shoulders towards Damiata, and at Rome As in his mirror looks. Of finest gold His head is shap'd, pure silver are the breast And arms; thence to the middle is of brass. And downward all beneath well-temper'd steel, Save the right foot of potter's clay, on which Than on the other more erect he stands, Each part except the gold, is rent throughout; And from the fissure tears distil, which join'd Penetrate to that cave. They in their course Thus far precipitated down the rock Form Acheron, and Styx, and Phlegethon; Then by this straiten'd channel passing hence Beneath, e'en to the lowest depth of all, Form there Cocytus, of whose lake (thyself Shall see it) I here give thee no account." Then I to him: "If from our world this sluice Be thus deriv'd; wherefore to us but now Appears it at this edge?" He straight replied: "The place, thou know'st, is round; and though great part Thou have already pass'd, still to the left Descending to the nethermost, not yet Hast thou the circuit made of the whole orb. Wherefore if aught of new to us appear, It needs not bring up wonder in thy looks." Then I again inquir'd: "Where flow the streams Of Phlegethon and Lethe? for of one Thou tell'st not, and the other of that shower, Thou say'st, is form'd." He answer thus return'd: "Doubtless thy questions all well pleas'd I hear. Yet the red seething wave might have resolv'd One thou proposest. Lethe thou shalt see, But not within this hollow, in the place, Whither to lave themselves the spirits go, Whose blame hath been by penitence remov'd." He added: "Time is now we quit the wood. Look thou my steps pursue: the margins give Safe passage, unimpeded by the flames; For over them all vapour is extinct." CANTO XV One of the solid margins bears us now Envelop'd in the mist, that from the stream Arising, hovers o'er, and saves from fire Both piers and water. As the Flemings rear Their mound, 'twixt Ghent and Bruges, to chase back The ocean, fearing his tumultuous tide That drives toward them, or the Paduans theirs Along the Brenta, to defend their towns And castles, ere the genial warmth be felt On Chiarentana's top; such were the mounds, So fram'd, though not in height or bulk to these Made equal, by the master, whosoe'er He was, that rais'd them here. We from the wood Were not so far remov'd, that turning round I might not have discern'd it, when we met A troop of spirits, who came beside the pier. They each one ey'd us, as at eventide One eyes another under a new moon, And toward us sharpen'd their sight as keen, As an old tailor at his needle's eye. Thus narrowly explor'd by all the tribe, I was agniz'd of one, who by the skirt Caught me, and cried, "What wonder have we here!" And I, when he to me outstretch'd his arm, Intently fix'd my ken on his parch'd looks, That although smirch'd with fire, they hinder'd not But I remember'd him; and towards his face My hand inclining, answer'd: "Sir! Brunetto! "And art thou here?" He thus to me: "My son! Oh let it not displease thee, if Brunetto Latini but a little space with thee Turn back, and leave his fellows to proceed." I thus to him replied: "Much as I can, I thereto pray thee; and if thou be willing, That I here seat me with thee, I consent; His leave, with whom I journey, first obtain'd." "O son!" said he, "whoever of this throng One instant stops, lies then a hundred years, No fan to ventilate him, when the fire Smites sorest. Pass thou therefore on. I close Will at thy garments walk, and then rejoin My troop, who go mourning their endless doom." I dar'd not from the path descend to tread On equal ground with him, but held my head Bent down, as one who walks in reverent guise. "What chance or destiny," thus he began, "Ere the last day conducts thee here below? And who is this, that shows to thee the way?" "There up aloft," I answer'd, "in the life Serene, I wander'd in a valley lost, Before mine age had to its fullness reach'd. But yester-morn I left it: then once more Into that vale returning, him I met; And by this path homeward he leads me back." "If thou," he answer'd, "follow but thy star, Thou canst not miss at last a glorious haven: Unless in fairer days my judgment err'd. And if my fate so early had not chanc'd, Seeing the heav'ns thus bounteous to thee, I Had gladly giv'n thee comfort in thy work. But that ungrateful and malignant race, Who in old times came down from Fesole, Ay and still smack of their rough mountain-flint, Will for thy good deeds shew thee enmity. Nor wonder; for amongst ill-savour'd crabs It suits not the sweet fig-tree lay her fruit. Old fame reports them in the world for blind, Covetous, envious, proud. Look to it well: Take heed thou cleanse thee of their ways. For thee Thy fortune hath such honour in reserve, That thou by either party shalt be crav'd With hunger keen: but be the fresh herb far From the goat's tooth. The herd of Fesole May of themselves make litter, not touch the plant, If any such yet spring on their rank bed, In which the holy seed revives, transmitted From those true Romans, who still there remain'd, When it was made the nest of so much ill." "Were all my wish fulfill'd," I straight replied, "Thou from the confines of man's nature yet Hadst not been driven forth; for in my mind Is fix'd, and now strikes full upon my heart The dear, benign, paternal image, such As thine was, when so lately thou didst teach me The way for man to win eternity; And how I priz'd the lesson, it behooves, That, long as life endures, my tongue should speak, What of my fate thou tell'st, that write I down: And with another text to comment on For her I keep it, the celestial dame, Who will know all, if I to her arrive. This only would I have thee clearly note: That so my conscience have no plea against me; Do fortune as she list, I stand prepar'd. Not new or strange such earnest to mine ear. Speed fortune then her wheel, as likes her best, The clown his mattock; all things have their course." Thereat my sapient guide upon his right Turn'd himself back, then look'd at me and spake: "He listens to good purpose who takes note." I not the less still on my way proceed, Discoursing with Brunetto, and inquire Who are most known and chief among his tribe. "To know of some is well;" thus he replied, "But of the rest silence may best beseem. Time would not serve us for report so long. In brief I tell thee, that all these were clerks, Men of great learning and no less renown, By one same sin polluted in the world. With them is Priscian, and Accorso's son Francesco herds among that wretched throng: And, if the wish of so impure a blotch Possess'd thee, him thou also might'st have seen, Who by the servants' servant was transferr'd From Arno's seat to Bacchiglione, where His ill-strain'd nerves he left. I more would add, But must from farther speech and onward way Alike desist, for yonder I behold A mist new-risen on the sandy plain. A company, with whom I may not sort, Approaches. I commend my TREASURE to thee, Wherein I yet survive; my sole request." This said he turn'd, and seem'd as one of those, Who o'er Verona's champain try their speed For the green mantle, and of them he seem'd, Not he who loses but who gains the prize. CANTO XVI NOW came I where the water's din was heard, As down it fell into the other round, Resounding like the hum of swarming bees: When forth together issu'd from a troop, That pass'd beneath the fierce tormenting storm, Three spirits, running swift. They towards us came, And each one cried aloud, "Oh do thou stay! Whom by the fashion of thy garb we deem To be some inmate of our evil land." Ah me! what wounds I mark'd upon their limbs, Recent and old, inflicted by the flames! E'en the remembrance of them grieves me yet. Attentive to their cry my teacher paus'd, And turn'd to me his visage, and then spake; "Wait now! our courtesy these merit well: And were 't not for the nature of the place, Whence glide the fiery darts, I should have said, That haste had better suited thee than them." They, when we stopp'd, resum'd their ancient wail, And soon as they had reach'd us, all the three Whirl'd round together in one restless wheel. As naked champions, smear'd with slippery oil, Are wont intent to watch their place of hold And vantage, ere in closer strife they meet; Thus each one, as he wheel'd, his countenance At me directed, so that opposite The neck mov'd ever to the twinkling feet. "If misery of this drear wilderness," Thus one began, "added to our sad cheer And destitute, do call forth scorn on us And our entreaties, let our great renown Incline thee to inform us who thou art, That dost imprint with living feet unharm'd The soil of Hell. He, in whose track thou see'st My steps pursuing, naked though he be And reft of all, was of more high estate Than thou believest; grandchild of the chaste Gualdrada, him they Guidoguerra call'd, Who in his lifetime many a noble act Achiev'd, both by his wisdom and his sword. The other, next to me that beats the sand, Is Aldobrandi, name deserving well, In the' upper world, of honour; and myself Who in this torment do partake with them, Am Rusticucci, whom, past doubt, my wife Of savage temper, more than aught beside Hath to this evil brought." If from the fire I had been shelter'd, down amidst them straight I then had cast me, nor my guide, I deem, Would have restrain'd my going; but that fear Of the dire burning vanquish'd the desire, Which made me eager of their wish'd embrace. I then began: "Not scorn, but grief much more, Such as long time alone can cure, your doom Fix'd deep within me, soon as this my lord Spake words, whose tenour taught me to expect That such a race, as ye are, was at hand. I am a countryman of yours, who still Affectionate have utter'd, and have heard Your deeds and names renown'd. Leaving the gall For the sweet fruit I go, that a sure guide Hath promis'd to me. But behooves, that far As to the centre first I downward tend." "So may long space thy spirit guide thy limbs," He answer straight return'd; "and so thy fame Shine bright, when thou art gone; as thou shalt tell, If courtesy and valour, as they wont, Dwell in our city, or have vanish'd clean? For one amidst us late condemn'd to wail, Borsiere, yonder walking with his peers, Grieves us no little by the news he brings." "An upstart multitude and sudden gains, Pride and excess, O Florence! have in thee Engender'd, so that now in tears thou mourn'st!" Thus cried I with my face uprais'd, and they All three, who for an answer took my words, Look'd at each other, as men look when truth Comes to their ear. "If thou at other times," They all at once rejoin'd, "so easily Satisfy those, who question, happy thou, Gifted with words, so apt to speak thy thought! Wherefore if thou escape this darksome clime, Returning to behold the radiant stars, When thou with pleasure shalt retrace the past, See that of us thou speak among mankind." This said, they broke the circle, and so swift Fled, that as pinions seem'd their nimble feet. Not in so short a time might one have said "Amen," as they had vanish'd. Straight my guide Pursu'd his track. I follow'd; and small space Had we pass'd onward, when the water's sound Was now so near at hand, that we had scarce Heard one another's speech for the loud din. E'en as the river, that holds on its course Unmingled, from the mount of Vesulo, On the left side of Apennine, toward The east, which Acquacheta higher up They call, ere it descend into the vale, At Forli by that name no longer known, Rebellows o'er Saint Benedict, roll'd on From the' Alpine summit down a precipice, Where space enough to lodge a thousand spreads; Thus downward from a craggy steep we found, That this dark wave resounded, roaring loud, So that the ear its clamour soon had stunn'd. I had a cord that brac'd my girdle round, Wherewith I erst had thought fast bound to take The painted leopard. This when I had all Unloosen'd from me (so my master bade) I gather'd up, and stretch'd it forth to him. Then to the right he turn'd, and from the brink Standing few paces distant, cast it down Into the deep abyss. "And somewhat strange," Thus to myself I spake, "signal so strange Betokens, which my guide with earnest eye Thus follows." Ah! what caution must men use With those who look not at the deed alone, But spy into the thoughts with subtle skill! "Quickly shall come," he said, "what I expect, Thine eye discover quickly, that whereof Thy thought is dreaming." Ever to that truth, Which but the semblance of a falsehood wears, A man, if possible, should bar his lip; Since, although blameless, he incurs reproach. But silence here were vain; and by these notes Which now I sing, reader! I swear to thee, So may they favour find to latest times! That through the gross and murky air I spied A shape come swimming up, that might have quell'd The stoutest heart with wonder, in such guise As one returns, who hath been down to loose An anchor grappled fast against some rock, Or to aught else that in the salt wave lies, Who upward springing close draws in his feet. CANTO XVII "LO! the fell monster with the deadly sting! Who passes mountains, breaks through fenced walls And firm embattled spears, and with his filth Taints all the world!" Thus me my guide address'd, And beckon'd him, that he should come to shore, Near to the stony causeway's utmost edge. Forthwith that image vile of fraud appear'd, His head and upper part expos'd on land, But laid not on the shore his bestial train. His face the semblance of a just man's wore, So kind and gracious was its outward cheer; The rest was serpent all: two shaggy claws Reach'd to the armpits, and the back and breast, And either side, were painted o'er with nodes And orbits. Colours variegated more Nor Turks nor Tartars e'er on cloth of state With interchangeable embroidery wove, Nor spread Arachne o'er her curious loom. As ofttimes a light skiff, moor'd to the shore, Stands part in water, part upon the land; Or, as where dwells the greedy German boor, The beaver settles watching for his prey; So on the rim, that fenc'd the sand with rock, Sat perch'd the fiend of evil. In the void Glancing, his tail upturn'd its venomous fork, With sting like scorpion's arm'd. Then thus my guide: "Now need our way must turn few steps apart, Far as to that ill beast, who couches there." Thereat toward the right our downward course We shap'd, and, better to escape the flame And burning marle, ten paces on the verge Proceeded. Soon as we to him arrive, A little further on mine eye beholds A tribe of spirits, seated on the sand Near the wide chasm. Forthwith my master spake: "That to the full thy knowledge may extend Of all this round contains, go now, and mark The mien these wear: but hold not long discourse. Till thou returnest, I with him meantime Will parley, that to us he may vouchsafe The aid of his strong shoulders." Thus alone Yet forward on the' extremity I pac'd Of that seventh circle, where the mournful tribe Were seated. At the eyes forth gush'd their pangs. Against the vapours and the torrid soil Alternately their shifting hands they plied. Thus use the dogs in summer still to ply Their jaws and feet by turns, when bitten sore By gnats, or flies, or gadflies swarming round. Noting the visages of some, who lay Beneath the pelting of that dolorous fire, One of them all I knew not; but perceiv'd, That pendent from his neck each bore a pouch With colours and with emblems various mark'd, On which it seem'd as if their eye did feed. And when amongst them looking round I came, A yellow purse I saw with azure wrought, That wore a lion's countenance and port. Then still my sight pursuing its career, Another I beheld, than blood more red. A goose display of whiter wing than curd. And one, who bore a fat and azure swine Pictur'd on his white scrip, addressed me thus: "What dost thou in this deep? Go now and know, Since yet thou livest, that my neighbour here Vitaliano on my left shall sit. A Paduan with these Florentines am I. Ofttimes they thunder in mine ears, exclaiming 'O haste that noble knight! he who the pouch With the three beaks will bring!'" This said, he writh'd The mouth, and loll'd the tongue out, like an ox That licks his nostrils. I, lest longer stay He ill might brook, who bade me stay not long, Backward my steps from those sad spirits turn'd. My guide already seated on the haunch Of the fierce animal I found; and thus He me encourag'd. "Be thou stout; be bold. Down such a steep flight must we now descend! Mount thou before: for that no power the tail May have to harm thee, I will be i' th' midst." As one, who hath an ague fit so near, His nails already are turn'd blue, and he Quivers all o'er, if he but eye the shade; Such was my cheer at hearing of his words. But shame soon interpos'd her threat, who makes The servant bold in presence of his lord. I settled me upon those shoulders huge, And would have said, but that the words to aid My purpose came not, "Look thou clasp me firm!" But he whose succour then not first I prov'd, Soon as I mounted, in his arms aloft, Embracing, held me up, and thus he spake: "Geryon! now move thee! be thy wheeling gyres Of ample circuit, easy thy descent. Think on th' unusual burden thou sustain'st." As a small vessel, back'ning out from land, Her station quits; so thence the monster loos'd, And when he felt himself at large, turn'd round There where the breast had been, his forked tail. Thus, like an eel, outstretch'd at length he steer'd, Gath'ring the air up with retractile claws. Not greater was the dread when Phaeton The reins let drop at random, whence high heaven, Whereof signs yet appear, was wrapt in flames; Nor when ill-fated Icarus perceiv'd, By liquefaction of the scalded wax, The trusted pennons loosen'd from his loins, His sire exclaiming loud, "Ill way thou keep'st!" Than was my dread, when round me on each part The air I view'd, and other object none Save the fell beast. He slowly sailing, wheels His downward motion, unobserv'd of me, But that the wind, arising to my face, Breathes on me from below. Now on our right I heard the cataract beneath us leap With hideous crash; whence bending down to' explore, New terror I conceiv'd at the steep plunge: For flames I saw, and wailings smote mine ear: So that all trembling close I crouch'd my limbs, And then distinguish'd, unperceiv'd before, By the dread torments that on every side Drew nearer, how our downward course we wound. As falcon, that hath long been on the wing, But lure nor bird hath seen, while in despair The falconer cries, "Ah me! thou stoop'st to earth!" Wearied descends, and swiftly down the sky In many an orbit wheels, then lighting sits At distance from his lord in angry mood; So Geryon lighting places us on foot Low down at base of the deep-furrow'd rock, And, of his burden there discharg'd, forthwith Sprang forward, like an arrow from the string. CANTO XVIII THERE is a place within the depths of hell Call'd Malebolge, all of rock dark-stain'd With hue ferruginous, e'en as the steep That round it circling winds. Right in the midst Of that abominable region, yawns A spacious gulf profound, whereof the frame Due time shall tell. The circle, that remains, Throughout its round, between the gulf and base Of the high craggy banks, successive forms Ten trenches, in its hollow bottom sunk. As where to guard the walls, full many a foss Begirds some stately castle, sure defence Affording to the space within, so here Were model'd these; and as like fortresses E'en from their threshold to the brink without, Are flank'd with bridges; from the rock's low base Thus flinty paths advanc'd, that 'cross the moles And dikes, struck onward far as to the gulf, That in one bound collected cuts them off. Such was the place, wherein we found ourselves From Geryon's back dislodg'd. The bard to left Held on his way, and I behind him mov'd. On our right hand new misery I saw, New pains, new executioners of wrath, That swarming peopled the first chasm. Below Were naked sinners. Hitherward they came, Meeting our faces from the middle point, With us beyond but with a larger stride. E'en thus the Romans, when the year returns Of Jubilee, with better speed to rid The thronging multitudes, their means devise For such as pass the bridge; that on one side All front toward the castle, and approach Saint Peter's fane, on th' other towards the mount. Each divers way along the grisly rock, Horn'd demons I beheld, with lashes huge, That on their back unmercifully smote. Ah! how they made them bound at the first stripe! None for the second waited nor the third. Meantime as on I pass'd, one met my sight Whom soon as view'd; "Of him," cried I, "not yet Mine eye hath had his fill." With fixed gaze I therefore scann'd him. Straight the teacher kind Paus'd with me, and consented I should walk Backward a space, and the tormented spirit, Who thought to hide him, bent his visage down. But it avail'd him nought; for I exclaim'd: "Thou who dost cast thy eye upon the ground, Unless thy features do belie thee much, Venedico art thou. But what brings thee Into this bitter seas'ning?" He replied: "Unwillingly I answer to thy words. But thy clear speech, that to my mind recalls The world I once inhabited, constrains me. Know then 'twas I who led fair Ghisola To do the Marquis' will, however fame The shameful tale have bruited. Nor alone Bologna hither sendeth me to mourn Rather with us the place is so o'erthrong'd That not so many tongues this day are taught, Betwixt the Reno and Savena's stream, To answer SIPA in their country's phrase. And if of that securer proof thou need, Remember but our craving thirst for gold." Him speaking thus, a demon with his thong Struck, and exclaim'd, "Away! corrupter! here Women are none for sale." Forthwith I join'd My escort, and few paces thence we came To where a rock forth issued from the bank. That easily ascended, to the right Upon its splinter turning, we depart From those eternal barriers. When arriv'd, Where underneath the gaping arch lets pass The scourged souls: "Pause here," the teacher said, "And let these others miserable, now Strike on thy ken, faces not yet beheld, For that together they with us have walk'd." From the old bridge we ey'd the pack, who came From th' other side towards us, like the rest, Excoriate from the lash. My gentle guide, By me unquestion'd, thus his speech resum'd: "Behold that lofty shade, who this way tends, And seems too woe-begone to drop a tear. How yet the regal aspect he retains! Jason is he, whose skill and prowess won The ram from Colchos. To the Lemnian isle His passage thither led him, when those bold And pitiless women had slain all their males. There he with tokens and fair witching words Hypsipyle beguil'd, a virgin young, Who first had all the rest herself beguil'd. Impregnated he left her there forlorn. Such is the guilt condemns him to this pain. Here too Medea's inj'ries are avenged. All bear him company, who like deceit To his have practis'd. And thus much to know Of the first vale suffice thee, and of those Whom its keen torments urge." Now had we come Where, crossing the next pier, the straighten'd path Bestrides its shoulders to another arch. Hence in the second chasm we heard the ghosts, Who jibber in low melancholy sounds, With wide-stretch'd nostrils snort, and on themselves Smite with their palms. Upon the banks a scurf From the foul steam condens'd, encrusting hung, That held sharp combat with the sight and smell. So hollow is the depth, that from no part, Save on the summit of the rocky span, Could I distinguish aught. Thus far we came; And thence I saw, within the foss below, A crowd immers'd in ordure, that appear'd Draff of the human body. There beneath Searching with eye inquisitive, I mark'd One with his head so grim'd, 't were hard to deem, If he were clerk or layman. Loud he cried: "Why greedily thus bendest more on me, Than on these other filthy ones, thy ken?" "Because if true my mem'ry," I replied, "I heretofore have seen thee with dry locks, And thou Alessio art of Lucca sprung. Therefore than all the rest I scan thee more." Then beating on his brain these words he spake: "Me thus low down my flatteries have sunk, Wherewith I ne'er enough could glut my tongue." My leader thus: "A little further stretch Thy face, that thou the visage well mayst note Of that besotted, sluttish courtezan, Who there doth rend her with defiled nails, Now crouching down, now risen on her feet. "Thais is this, the harlot, whose false lip Answer'd her doting paramour that ask'd, 'Thankest me much!'--'Say rather wondrously,' And seeing this here satiate be our view." CANTO XIX WOE to thee, Simon Magus! woe to you, His wretched followers! who the things of God, Which should be wedded unto goodness, them, Rapacious as ye are, do prostitute For gold and silver in adultery! Now must the trumpet sound for you, since yours Is the third chasm. Upon the following vault We now had mounted, where the rock impends Directly o'er the centre of the foss. Wisdom Supreme! how wonderful the art, Which thou dost manifest in heaven, in earth, And in the evil world, how just a meed Allotting by thy virtue unto all! I saw the livid stone, throughout the sides And in its bottom full of apertures, All equal in their width, and circular each, Nor ample less nor larger they appear'd Than in Saint John's fair dome of me belov'd Those fram'd to hold the pure baptismal streams, One of the which I brake, some few years past, To save a whelming infant; and be this A seal to undeceive whoever doubts The motive of my deed. From out the mouth Of every one, emerg'd a sinner's feet And of the legs high upward as the calf The rest beneath was hid. On either foot The soles were burning, whence the flexile joints Glanc'd with such violent motion, as had snapt Asunder cords or twisted withs. As flame, Feeding on unctuous matter, glides along The surface, scarcely touching where it moves; So here, from heel to point, glided the flames. "Master! say who is he, than all the rest Glancing in fiercer agony, on whom A ruddier flame doth prey?" I thus inquir'd. "If thou be willing," he replied, "that I Carry thee down, where least the slope bank falls, He of himself shall tell thee and his wrongs." I then: "As pleases thee to me is best. Thou art my lord; and know'st that ne'er I quit Thy will: what silence hides that knowest thou." Thereat on the fourth pier we came, we turn'd, And on our left descended to the depth, A narrow strait and perforated close. Nor from his side my leader set me down, Till to his orifice he brought, whose limb Quiv'ring express'd his pang. "Whoe'er thou art, Sad spirit! thus revers'd, and as a stake Driv'n in the soil!" I in these words began, "If thou be able, utter forth thy voice." There stood I like the friar, that doth shrive A wretch for murder doom'd, who e'en when fix'd, Calleth him back, whence death awhile delays. He shouted: "Ha! already standest there? Already standest there, O Boniface! By many a year the writing play'd me false. So early dost thou surfeit with the wealth, For which thou fearedst not in guile to take The lovely lady, and then mangle her?" I felt as those who, piercing not the drift Of answer made them, stand as if expos'd In mockery, nor know what to reply, When Virgil thus admonish'd: "Tell him quick, I am not he, not he, whom thou believ'st." And I, as was enjoin'd me, straight replied. That heard, the spirit all did wrench his feet, And sighing next in woeful accent spake: "What then of me requirest? If to know So much imports thee, who I am, that thou Hast therefore down the bank descended, learn That in the mighty mantle I was rob'd, And of a she-bear was indeed the son, So eager to advance my whelps, that there My having in my purse above I stow'd, And here myself. Under my head are dragg'd The rest, my predecessors in the guilt Of simony. Stretch'd at their length they lie Along an opening in the rock. 'Midst them I also low shall fall, soon as he comes, For whom I took thee, when so hastily I question'd. But already longer time Hath pass'd, since my souls kindled, and I thus Upturn'd have stood, than is his doom to stand Planted with fiery feet. For after him, One yet of deeds more ugly shall arrive, From forth the west, a shepherd without law, Fated to cover both his form and mine. He a new Jason shall be call'd, of whom In Maccabees we read; and favour such As to that priest his king indulgent show'd, Shall be of France's monarch shown to him." I know not if I here too far presum'd, But in this strain I answer'd: "Tell me now, What treasures from St. Peter at the first Our Lord demanded, when he put the keys Into his charge? Surely he ask'd no more But, Follow me! Nor Peter nor the rest Or gold or silver of Matthias took, When lots were cast upon the forfeit place Of the condemned soul. Abide thou then; Thy punishment of right is merited: And look thou well to that ill-gotten coin, Which against Charles thy hardihood inspir'd. If reverence of the keys restrain'd me not, Which thou in happier time didst hold, I yet Severer speech might use. Your avarice O'ercasts the world with mourning, under foot Treading the good, and raising bad men up. Of shepherds, like to you, th' Evangelist Was ware, when her, who sits upon the waves, With kings in filthy whoredom he beheld, She who with seven heads tower'd at her birth, And from ten horns her proof of glory drew, Long as her spouse in virtue took delight. Of gold and silver ye have made your god, Diff'ring wherein from the idolater, But he that worships one, a hundred ye? Ah, Constantine! to how much ill gave birth, Not thy conversion, but that plenteous dower, Which the first wealthy Father gain'd from thee!" Meanwhile, as thus I sung, he, whether wrath Or conscience smote him, violent upsprang Spinning on either sole. I do believe My teacher well was pleas'd, with so compos'd A lip, he listen'd ever to the sound Of the true words I utter'd. In both arms He caught, and to his bosom lifting me Upward retrac'd the way of his descent. Nor weary of his weight he press'd me close, Till to the summit of the rock we came, Our passage from the fourth to the fifth pier. His cherish'd burden there gently he plac'd Upon the rugged rock and steep, a path Not easy for the clamb'ring goat to mount. Thence to my view another vale appear'd CANTO XX AND now the verse proceeds to torments new, Fit argument of this the twentieth strain Of the first song, whose awful theme records The spirits whelm'd in woe. Earnest I look'd Into the depth, that open'd to my view, Moisten'd with tears of anguish, and beheld A tribe, that came along the hollow vale, In silence weeping: such their step as walk Quires chanting solemn litanies on earth. As on them more direct mine eye descends, Each wondrously seem'd to be revers'd At the neck-bone, so that the countenance Was from the reins averted: and because None might before him look, they were compell'd To' advance with backward gait. Thus one perhaps Hath been by force of palsy clean transpos'd, But I ne'er saw it nor believe it so. Now, reader! think within thyself, so God Fruit of thy reading give thee! how I long Could keep my visage dry, when I beheld Near me our form distorted in such guise, That on the hinder parts fall'n from the face The tears down-streaming roll'd. Against a rock I leant and wept, so that my guide exclaim'd: "What, and art thou too witless as the rest? Here pity most doth show herself alive, When she is dead. What guilt exceedeth his, Who with Heaven's judgment in his passion strives? Raise up thy head, raise up, and see the man, Before whose eyes earth gap'd in Thebes, when all Cried out, 'Amphiaraus, whither rushest? 'Why leavest thou the war?' He not the less Fell ruining far as to Minos down, Whose grapple none eludes. Lo! how he makes The breast his shoulders, and who once too far Before him wish'd to see, now backward looks, And treads reverse his path. Tiresias note, Who semblance chang'd, when woman he became Of male, through every limb transform'd, and then Once more behov'd him with his rod to strike The two entwining serpents, ere the plumes, That mark'd the better sex, might shoot again. "Aruns, with more his belly facing, comes. On Luni's mountains 'midst the marbles white, Where delves Carrara's hind, who wons beneath, A cavern was his dwelling, whence the stars And main-sea wide in boundless view he held. "The next, whose loosen'd tresses overspread Her bosom, which thou seest not (for each hair On that side grows) was Manto, she who search'd Through many regions, and at length her seat Fix'd in my native land, whence a short space My words detain thy audience. When her sire From life departed, and in servitude The city dedicate to Bacchus mourn'd, Long time she went a wand'rer through the world. Aloft in Italy's delightful land A lake there lies, at foot of that proud Alp, That o'er the Tyrol locks Germania in, Its name Benacus, which a thousand rills, Methinks, and more, water between the vale Camonica and Garda and the height Of Apennine remote. There is a spot At midway of that lake, where he who bears Of Trento's flock the past'ral staff, with him Of Brescia, and the Veronese, might each Passing that way his benediction give. A garrison of goodly site and strong Peschiera stands, to awe with front oppos'd The Bergamese and Brescian, whence the shore More slope each way descends. There, whatsoev'er Benacus' bosom holds not, tumbling o'er Down falls, and winds a river flood beneath Through the green pastures. Soon as in his course The steam makes head, Benacus then no more They call the name, but Mincius, till at last Reaching Governo into Po he falls. Not far his course hath run, when a wide flat It finds, which overstretchmg as a marsh It covers, pestilent in summer oft. Hence journeying, the savage maiden saw 'Midst of the fen a territory waste And naked of inhabitants. To shun All human converse, here she with her slaves Plying her arts remain'd, and liv'd, and left Her body tenantless. Thenceforth the tribes, Who round were scatter'd, gath'ring to that place Assembled; for its strength was great, enclos'd On all parts by the fen. On those dead bones They rear'd themselves a city, for her sake, Calling it Mantua, who first chose the spot, Nor ask'd another omen for the name, Wherein more numerous the people dwelt, Ere Casalodi's madness by deceit Was wrong'd of Pinamonte. If thou hear Henceforth another origin assign'd Of that my country, I forewarn thee now, That falsehood none beguile thee of the truth." I answer'd: "Teacher, I conclude thy words So certain, that all else shall be to me As embers lacking life. But now of these, Who here proceed, instruct me, if thou see Any that merit more especial note. For thereon is my mind alone intent." He straight replied: "That spirit, from whose cheek The beard sweeps o'er his shoulders brown, what time Graecia was emptied of her males, that scarce The cradles were supplied, the seer was he In Aulis, who with Calchas gave the sign When first to cut the cable. Him they nam'd Eurypilus: so sings my tragic strain, In which majestic measure well thou know'st, Who know'st it all. That other, round the loins So slender of his shape, was Michael Scot, Practis'd in ev'ry slight of magic wile. "Guido Bonatti see: Asdente mark, Who now were willing, he had tended still The thread and cordwain; and too late repents. "See next the wretches, who the needle left, The shuttle and the spindle, and became Diviners: baneful witcheries they wrought With images and herbs. But onward now: For now doth Cain with fork of thorns confine On either hemisphere, touching the wave Beneath the towers of Seville. Yesternight The moon was round. Thou mayst remember well: For she good service did thee in the gloom Of the deep wood." This said, both onward mov'd. CANTO XXI THUS we from bridge to bridge, with other talk, The which my drama cares not to rehearse, Pass'd on; and to the summit reaching, stood To view another gap, within the round Of Malebolge, other bootless pangs. Marvelous darkness shadow'd o'er the place. In the Venetians' arsenal as boils Through wintry months tenacious pitch, to smear Their unsound vessels; for th' inclement time Sea-faring men restrains, and in that while His bark one builds anew, another stops The ribs of his, that hath made many a voyage; One hammers at the prow, one at the poop; This shapeth oars, that other cables twirls, The mizen one repairs and main-sail rent So not by force of fire but art divine Boil'd here a glutinous thick mass, that round Lim'd all the shore beneath. I that beheld, But therein nought distinguish'd, save the surge, Rais'd by the boiling, in one mighty swell Heave, and by turns subsiding and fall. While there I fix'd my ken below, "Mark! mark!" my guide Exclaiming, drew me towards him from the place, Wherein I stood. I turn'd myself as one, Impatient to behold that which beheld He needs must shun, whom sudden fear unmans, That he his flight delays not for the view. Behind me I discern'd a devil black, That running, up advanc'd along the rock. Ah! what fierce cruelty his look bespake! In act how bitter did he seem, with wings Buoyant outstretch'd and feet of nimblest tread! His shoulder proudly eminent and sharp Was with a sinner charg'd; by either haunch He held him, the foot's sinew griping fast. "Ye of our bridge!" he cried, "keen-talon'd fiends! Lo! one of Santa Zita's elders! Him Whelm ye beneath, while I return for more. That land hath store of such. All men are there, Except Bonturo, barterers: of 'no' For lucre there an 'aye' is quickly made." Him dashing down, o'er the rough rock he turn'd, Nor ever after thief a mastiff loos'd Sped with like eager haste. That other sank And forthwith writing to the surface rose. But those dark demons, shrouded by the bridge, Cried "Here the hallow'd visage saves not: here Is other swimming than in Serchio's wave. Wherefore if thou desire we rend thee not, Take heed thou mount not o'er the pitch." This said, They grappled him with more than hundred hooks, And shouted: "Cover'd thou must sport thee here; So, if thou canst, in secret mayst thou filch." E'en thus the cook bestirs him, with his grooms, To thrust the flesh into the caldron down With flesh-hooks, that it float not on the top. Me then my guide bespake: "Lest they descry, That thou art here, behind a craggy rock Bend low and screen thee; and whate'er of force Be offer'd me, or insult, fear thou not: For I am well advis'd, who have been erst In the like fray." Beyond the bridge's head Therewith he pass'd, and reaching the sixth pier, Behov'd him then a forehead terror-proof. With storm and fury, as when dogs rush forth Upon the poor man's back, who suddenly From whence he standeth makes his suit; so rush'd Those from beneath the arch, and against him Their weapons all they pointed. He aloud: "Be none of you outrageous: ere your time Dare seize me, come forth from amongst you one, "Who having heard my words, decide he then If he shall tear these limbs." They shouted loud, "Go, Malacoda!" Whereat one advanc'd, The others standing firm, and as he came, "What may this turn avail him?" he exclaim'd. "Believ'st thou, Malacoda! I had come Thus far from all your skirmishing secure," My teacher answered, "without will divine And destiny propitious? Pass we then For so Heaven's pleasure is, that I should lead Another through this savage wilderness." Forthwith so fell his pride, that he let drop The instrument of torture at his feet, And to the rest exclaim'd: "We have no power To strike him." Then to me my guide: "O thou! Who on the bridge among the crags dost sit Low crouching, safely now to me return." I rose, and towards him moved with speed: the fiends Meantime all forward drew: me terror seiz'd Lest they should break the compact they had made. Thus issuing from Caprona, once I saw Th' infantry dreading, lest his covenant The foe should break; so close he hemm'd them round. I to my leader's side adher'd, mine eyes With fixt and motionless observance bent On their unkindly visage. They their hooks Protruding, one the other thus bespake: "Wilt thou I touch him on the hip?" To whom Was answer'd: "Even so; nor miss thy aim." But he, who was in conf'rence with my guide, Turn'd rapid round, and thus the demon spake: "Stay, stay thee, Scarmiglione!" Then to us He added: "Further footing to your step This rock affords not, shiver'd to the base Of the sixth arch. But would you still proceed, Up by this cavern go: not distant far, Another rock will yield you passage safe. Yesterday, later by five hours than now, Twelve hundred threescore years and six had fill'd The circuit of their course, since here the way Was broken. Thitherward I straight dispatch Certain of these my scouts, who shall espy If any on the surface bask. With them Go ye: for ye shall find them nothing fell. Come Alichino forth," with that he cried, "And Calcabrina, and Cagnazzo thou! The troop of ten let Barbariccia lead. With Libicocco Draghinazzo haste, Fang'd Ciriatto, Grafflacane fierce, And Farfarello, and mad Rubicant. Search ye around the bubbling tar. For these, In safety lead them, where the other crag Uninterrupted traverses the dens." I then: "O master! what a sight is there! Ah! without escort, journey we alone, Which, if thou know the way, I covet not. Unless thy prudence fail thee, dost not mark How they do gnarl upon us, and their scowl Threatens us present tortures?" He replied: "I charge thee fear not: let them, as they will, Gnarl on: 't is but in token of their spite Against the souls, who mourn in torment steep'd." To leftward o'er the pier they turn'd; but each Had first between his teeth prest close the tongue, Toward their leader for a signal looking, Which he with sound obscene triumphant gave. CANTO XXII IT hath been heretofore my chance to see Horsemen with martial order shifting camp, To onset sallying, or in muster rang'd, Or in retreat sometimes outstretch'd for flight; Light-armed squadrons and fleet foragers Scouring thy plains, Arezzo! have I seen, And clashing tournaments, and tilting jousts, Now with the sound of trumpets, now of bells, Tabors, or signals made from castled heights, And with inventions multiform, our own, Or introduc'd from foreign land; but ne'er To such a strange recorder I beheld, In evolution moving, horse nor foot, Nor ship, that tack'd by sign from land or star. With the ten demons on our way we went; Ah fearful company! but in the church With saints, with gluttons at the tavern's mess. Still earnest on the pitch I gaz'd, to mark All things whate'er the chasm contain'd, and those Who burn'd within. As dolphins, that, in sign To mariners, heave high their arched backs, That thence forewarn'd they may advise to save Their threaten'd vessels; so, at intervals, To ease the pain his back some sinner show'd, Then hid more nimbly than the lightning glance. E'en as the frogs, that of a wat'ry moat Stand at the brink, with the jaws only out, Their feet and of the trunk all else concealed, Thus on each part the sinners stood, but soon As Barbariccia was at hand, so they Drew back under the wave. I saw, and yet My heart doth stagger, one, that waited thus, As it befalls that oft one frog remains, While the next springs away: and Graffiacan, Who of the fiends was nearest, grappling seiz'd His clotted locks, and dragg'd him sprawling up, That he appear'd to me an otter. Each Already by their names I knew, so well When they were chosen, I observ'd, and mark'd How one the other call'd. "O Rubicant! See that his hide thou with thy talons flay," Shouted together all the cursed crew. Then I: "Inform thee, master! if thou may, What wretched soul is this, on whom their hand His foes have laid." My leader to his side Approach'd, and whence he came inquir'd, to whom Was answer'd thus: "Born in Navarre's domain My mother plac'd me in a lord's retinue, For she had borne me to a losel vile, A spendthrift of his substance and himself. The good king Thibault after that I serv'd, To peculating here my thoughts were turn'd, Whereof I give account in this dire heat." Straight Ciriatto, from whose mouth a tusk Issued on either side, as from a boar, Ript him with one of these. 'Twixt evil claws The mouse had fall'n: but Barbariccia cried, Seizing him with both arms: "Stand thou apart, While I do fix him on my prong transpierc'd." Then added, turning to my guide his face, "Inquire of him, if more thou wish to learn, Ere he again be rent." My leader thus: "Then tell us of the partners in thy guilt; Knowest thou any sprung of Latian land Under the tar?"--"I parted," he replied, "But now from one, who sojourn'd not far thence; So were I under shelter now with him! Nor hook nor talon then should scare me more."--. "Too long we suffer," Libicocco cried, Then, darting forth a prong, seiz'd on his arm, And mangled bore away the sinewy part. Him Draghinazzo by his thighs beneath Would next have caught, whence angrily their chief, Turning on all sides round, with threat'ning brow Restrain'd them. When their strife a little ceas'd, Of him, who yet was gazing on his wound, My teacher thus without delay inquir'd: "Who was the spirit, from whom by evil hap Parting, as thou has told, thou cam'st to shore?"-- "It was the friar Gomita," he rejoin'd, "He of Gallura, vessel of all guile, Who had his master's enemies in hand, And us'd them so that they commend him well. Money he took, and them at large dismiss'd. So he reports: and in each other charge Committed to his keeping, play'd the part Of barterer to the height: with him doth herd The chief of Logodoro, Michel Zanche. Sardinia is a theme, whereof their tongue Is never weary. Out! alas! behold That other, how he grins! More would I say, But tremble lest he mean to maul me sore." Their captain then to Farfarello turning, Who roll'd his moony eyes in act to strike, Rebuk'd him thus: "Off! cursed bird! Avaunt!"-- "If ye desire to see or hear," he thus Quaking with dread resum'd, "or Tuscan spirits Or Lombard, I will cause them to appear. Meantime let these ill talons bate their fury, So that no vengeance they may fear from them, And I, remaining in this self-same place, Will for myself but one, make sev'n appear, When my shrill whistle shall be heard; for so Our custom is to call each other up." Cagnazzo at that word deriding grinn'd, Then wagg'd the head and spake: "Hear his device, Mischievous as he is, to plunge him down." Whereto he thus, who fail'd not in rich store Of nice-wove toils; "Mischief forsooth extreme, Meant only to procure myself more woe!" No longer Alichino then refrain'd, But thus, the rest gainsaying, him bespake: "If thou do cast thee down, I not on foot Will chase thee, but above the pitch will beat My plumes. Quit we the vantage ground, and let The bank be as a shield, that we may see If singly thou prevail against us all." Now, reader, of new sport expect to hear! They each one turn'd his eyes to the' other shore, He first, who was the hardest to persuade. The spirit of Navarre chose well his time, Planted his feet on land, and at one leap Escaping disappointed their resolve. Them quick resentment stung, but him the most, Who was the cause of failure; in pursuit He therefore sped, exclaiming; "Thou art caught." But little it avail'd: terror outstripp'd His following flight: the other plung'd beneath, And he with upward pinion rais'd his breast: E'en thus the water-fowl, when she perceives The falcon near, dives instant down, while he Enrag'd and spent retires. That mockery In Calcabrina fury stirr'd, who flew After him, with desire of strife inflam'd; And, for the barterer had 'scap'd, so turn'd His talons on his comrade. O'er the dyke In grapple close they join'd; but the' other prov'd A goshawk able to rend well his foe; And in the boiling lake both fell. The heat Was umpire soon between them, but in vain To lift themselves they strove, so fast were glued Their pennons. Barbariccia, as the rest, That chance lamenting, four in flight dispatch'd From the' other coast, with all their weapons arm'd. They, to their post on each side speedily Descending, stretch'd their hooks toward the fiends, Who flounder'd, inly burning from their scars: And we departing left them to that broil. CANTO XXIII IN silence and in solitude we went, One first, the other following his steps, As minor friars journeying on their road. The present fray had turn'd my thoughts to muse Upon old Aesop's fable, where he told What fate unto the mouse and frog befell. For language hath not sounds more like in sense, Than are these chances, if the origin And end of each be heedfully compar'd. And as one thought bursts from another forth, So afterward from that another sprang, Which added doubly to my former fear. For thus I reason'd: "These through us have been So foil'd, with loss and mock'ry so complete, As needs must sting them sore. If anger then Be to their evil will conjoin'd, more fell They shall pursue us, than the savage hound Snatches the leveret, panting 'twixt his jaws." Already I perceiv'd my hair stand all On end with terror, and look'd eager back. "Teacher," I thus began, "if speedily Thyself and me thou hide not, much I dread Those evil talons. Even now behind They urge us: quick imagination works So forcibly, that I already feel them." He answer'd: "Were I form'd of leaded glass, I should not sooner draw unto myself Thy outward image, than I now imprint That from within. This moment came thy thoughts Presented before mine, with similar act And count'nance similar, so that from both I one design have fram'd. If the right coast Incline so much, that we may thence descend Into the other chasm, we shall escape Secure from this imagined pursuit." He had not spoke his purpose to the end, When I from far beheld them with spread wings Approach to take us. Suddenly my guide Caught me, ev'n as a mother that from sleep Is by the noise arous'd, and near her sees The climbing fires, who snatches up her babe And flies ne'er pausing, careful more of him Than of herself, that but a single vest Clings round her limbs. Down from the jutting beach Supine he cast him, to that pendent rock, Which closes on one part the other chasm. Never ran water with such hurrying pace Adown the tube to turn a landmill's wheel, When nearest it approaches to the spokes, As then along that edge my master ran, Carrying me in his bosom, as a child, Not a companion. Scarcely had his feet Reach'd to the lowest of the bed beneath, When over us the steep they reach'd; but fear In him was none; for that high Providence, Which plac'd them ministers of the fifth foss, Power of departing thence took from them all. There in the depth we saw a painted tribe, Who pac'd with tardy steps around, and wept, Faint in appearance and o'ercome with toil. Caps had they on, with hoods, that fell low down Before their eyes, in fashion like to those Worn by the monks in Cologne. Their outside Was overlaid with gold, dazzling to view, But leaden all within, and of such weight, That Frederick's compar'd to these were straw. Oh, everlasting wearisome attire! We yet once more with them together turn'd To leftward, on their dismal moan intent. But by the weight oppress'd, so slowly came The fainting people, that our company Was chang'd at every movement of the step. Whence I my guide address'd: "See that thou find Some spirit, whose name may by his deeds be known, And to that end look round thee as thou go'st." Then one, who understood the Tuscan voice, Cried after us aloud: "Hold in your feet, Ye who so swiftly speed through the dusk air. Perchance from me thou shalt obtain thy wish." Whereat my leader, turning, me bespake: "Pause, and then onward at their pace proceed." I staid, and saw two Spirits in whose look Impatient eagerness of mind was mark'd To overtake me; but the load they bare And narrow path retarded their approach. Soon as arriv'd, they with an eye askance Perus'd me, but spake not: then turning each To other thus conferring said: "This one Seems, by the action of his throat, alive. And, be they dead, what privilege allows They walk unmantled by the cumbrous stole?" Then thus to me: "Tuscan, who visitest The college of the mourning hypocrites, Disdain not to instruct us who thou art." "By Arno's pleasant stream," I thus replied, "In the great city I was bred and grew, And wear the body I have ever worn. but who are ye, from whom such mighty grief, As now I witness, courseth down your cheeks? What torment breaks forth in this bitter woe?" "Our bonnets gleaming bright with orange hue," One of them answer'd, "are so leaden gross, That with their weight they make the balances To crack beneath them. Joyous friars we were, Bologna's natives, Catalano I, He Loderingo nam'd, and by thy land Together taken, as men used to take A single and indifferent arbiter, To reconcile their strifes. How there we sped, Gardingo's vicinage can best declare." "O friars!" I began, "your miseries--" But there brake off, for one had caught my eye, Fix'd to a cross with three stakes on the ground: He, when he saw me, writh'd himself, throughout Distorted, ruffling with deep sighs his beard. And Catalano, who thereof was 'ware, Thus spake: "That pierced spirit, whom intent Thou view'st, was he who gave the Pharisees Counsel, that it were fitting for one man To suffer for the people. He doth lie Transverse; nor any passes, but him first Behoves make feeling trial how each weighs. In straits like this along the foss are plac'd The father of his consort, and the rest Partakers in that council, seed of ill And sorrow to the Jews." I noted then, How Virgil gaz'd with wonder upon him, Thus abjectly extended on the cross In banishment eternal. To the friar He next his words address'd: "We pray ye tell, If so be lawful, whether on our right Lies any opening in the rock, whereby We both may issue hence, without constraint On the dark angels, that compell'd they come To lead us from this depth." He thus replied: "Nearer than thou dost hope, there is a rock From the next circle moving, which o'ersteps Each vale of horror, save that here his cope Is shatter'd. By the ruin ye may mount: For on the side it slants, and most the height Rises below." With head bent down awhile My leader stood, then spake: "He warn'd us ill, Who yonder hangs the sinners on his hook." To whom the friar: At Bologna erst "I many vices of the devil heard, Among the rest was said, 'He is a liar, And the father of lies!'" When he had spoke, My leader with large strides proceeded on, Somewhat disturb'd with anger in his look. I therefore left the spirits heavy laden, And following, his beloved footsteps mark'd. CANTO XXIV IN the year's early nonage, when the sun Tempers his tresses in Aquarius' urn, And now towards equal day the nights recede, When as the rime upon the earth puts on Her dazzling sister's image, but not long Her milder sway endures, then riseth up The village hind, whom fails his wintry store, And looking out beholds the plain around All whiten'd, whence impatiently he smites His thighs, and to his hut returning in, There paces to and fro, wailing his lot, As a discomfited and helpless man; Then comes he forth again, and feels new hope Spring in his bosom, finding e'en thus soon The world hath chang'd its count'nance, grasps his crook, And forth to pasture drives his little flock: So me my guide dishearten'd when I saw His troubled forehead, and so speedily That ill was cur'd; for at the fallen bridge Arriving, towards me with a look as sweet, He turn'd him back, as that I first beheld At the steep mountain's foot. Regarding well The ruin, and some counsel first maintain'd With his own thought, he open'd wide his arm And took me up. As one, who, while he works, Computes his labour's issue, that he seems Still to foresee the' effect, so lifting me Up to the summit of one peak, he fix'd His eye upon another. "Grapple that," Said he, "but first make proof, if it be such As will sustain thee." For one capp'd with lead This were no journey. Scarcely he, though light, And I, though onward push'd from crag to crag, Could mount. And if the precinct of this coast Were not less ample than the last, for him I know not, but my strength had surely fail'd. But Malebolge all toward the mouth Inclining of the nethermost abyss, The site of every valley hence requires, That one side upward slope, the other fall. At length the point of our descent we reach'd From the last flag: soon as to that arriv'd, So was the breath exhausted from my lungs, I could no further, but did seat me there. "Now needs thy best of man;" so spake my guide: "For not on downy plumes, nor under shade Of canopy reposing, fame is won, Without which whosoe'er consumes his days Leaveth such vestige of himself on earth, As smoke in air or foam upon the wave. Thou therefore rise: vanish thy weariness By the mind's effort, in each struggle form'd To vanquish, if she suffer not the weight Of her corporeal frame to crush her down. A longer ladder yet remains to scale. From these to have escap'd sufficeth not. If well thou note me, profit by my words." I straightway rose, and show'd myself less spent Than I in truth did feel me. "On," I cried, "For I am stout and fearless." Up the rock Our way we held, more rugged than before, Narrower and steeper far to climb. From talk I ceas'd not, as we journey'd, so to seem Least faint; whereat a voice from the other foss Did issue forth, for utt'rance suited ill. Though on the arch that crosses there I stood, What were the words I knew not, but who spake Seem'd mov'd in anger. Down I stoop'd to look, But my quick eye might reach not to the depth For shrouding darkness; wherefore thus I spake: "To the next circle, Teacher, bend thy steps, And from the wall dismount we; for as hence I hear and understand not, so I see Beneath, and naught discern."--"I answer not," Said he, "but by the deed. To fair request Silent performance maketh best return." We from the bridge's head descended, where To the eighth mound it joins, and then the chasm Opening to view, I saw a crowd within Of serpents terrible, so strange of shape And hideous, that remembrance in my veins Yet shrinks the vital current. Of her sands Let Lybia vaunt no more: if Jaculus, Pareas and Chelyder be her brood, Cenchris and Amphisboena, plagues so dire Or in such numbers swarming ne'er she shew'd, Not with all Ethiopia, and whate'er Above the Erythraean sea is spawn'd. Amid this dread exuberance of woe Ran naked spirits wing'd with horrid fear, Nor hope had they of crevice where to hide, Or heliotrope to charm them out of view. With serpents were their hands behind them bound, Which through their reins infix'd the tail and head Twisted in folds before. And lo! on one Near to our side, darted an adder up, And, where the neck is on the shoulders tied, Transpierc'd him. Far more quickly than e'er pen Wrote O or I, he kindled, burn'd, and chang'd To ashes, all pour'd out upon the earth. When there dissolv'd he lay, the dust again Uproll'd spontaneous, and the self-same form Instant resumed. So mighty sages tell, The' Arabian Phoenix, when five hundred years Have well nigh circled, dies, and springs forthwith Renascent. Blade nor herb throughout his life He tastes, but tears of frankincense alone And odorous amomum: swaths of nard And myrrh his funeral shroud. As one that falls, He knows not how, by force demoniac dragg'd To earth, or through obstruction fettering up In chains invisible the powers of man, Who, risen from his trance, gazeth around, Bewilder'd with the monstrous agony He hath endur'd, and wildly staring sighs; So stood aghast the sinner when he rose. Oh! how severe God's judgment, that deals out Such blows in stormy vengeance! Who he was My teacher next inquir'd, and thus in few He answer'd: "Vanni Fucci am I call'd, Not long since rained down from Tuscany To this dire gullet. Me the beastial life And not the human pleas'd, mule that I was, Who in Pistoia found my worthy den." I then to Virgil: "Bid him stir not hence, And ask what crime did thrust him hither: once A man I knew him choleric and bloody." The sinner heard and feign'd not, but towards me His mind directing and his face, wherein Was dismal shame depictur'd, thus he spake: "It grieves me more to have been caught by thee In this sad plight, which thou beholdest, than When I was taken from the other life. I have no power permitted to deny What thou inquirest. I am doom'd thus low To dwell, for that the sacristy by me Was rifled of its goodly ornaments, And with the guilt another falsely charged. But that thou mayst not joy to see me thus, So as thou e'er shalt 'scape this darksome realm Open thine ears and hear what I forebode. Reft of the Neri first Pistoia pines, Then Florence changeth citizens and laws. From Valdimagra, drawn by wrathful Mars, A vapour rises, wrapt in turbid mists, And sharp and eager driveth on the storm With arrowy hurtling o'er Piceno's field, Whence suddenly the cloud shall burst, and strike Each helpless Bianco prostrate to the ground. This have I told, that grief may rend thy heart." CANTO XXV WHEN he had spoke, the sinner rais'd his hands Pointed in mockery, and cried: "Take them, God! I level them at thee!" From that day forth The serpents were my friends; for round his neck One of then rolling twisted, as it said, "Be silent, tongue!" Another to his arms Upgliding, tied them, riveting itself So close, it took from them the power to move. Pistoia! Ah Pistoia! why dost doubt To turn thee into ashes, cumb'ring earth No longer, since in evil act so far Thou hast outdone thy seed? I did not mark, Through all the gloomy circles of the' abyss, Spirit, that swell'd so proudly 'gainst his God, Not him, who headlong fell from Thebes. He fled, Nor utter'd more; and after him there came A centaur full of fury, shouting, "Where Where is the caitiff?" On Maremma's marsh Swarm not the serpent tribe, as on his haunch They swarm'd, to where the human face begins. Behind his head upon the shoulders lay, With open wings, a dragon breathing fire On whomsoe'er he met. To me my guide: "Cacus is this, who underneath the rock Of Aventine spread oft a lake of blood. He, from his brethren parted, here must tread A different journey, for his fraudful theft Of the great herd, that near him stall'd; whence found His felon deeds their end, beneath the mace Of stout Alcides, that perchance laid on A hundred blows, and not the tenth was felt." While yet he spake, the centaur sped away: And under us three spirits came, of whom Nor I nor he was ware, till they exclaim'd; "Say who are ye?" We then brake off discourse, Intent on these alone. I knew them not; But, as it chanceth oft, befell, that one Had need to name another. "Where," said he, "Doth Cianfa lurk?" I, for a sign my guide Should stand attentive, plac'd against my lips The finger lifted. If, O reader! now Thou be not apt to credit what I tell, No marvel; for myself do scarce allow The witness of mine eyes. But as I looked Toward them, lo! a serpent with six feet Springs forth on one, and fastens full upon him: His midmost grasp'd the belly, a forefoot Seiz'd on each arm (while deep in either cheek He flesh'd his fangs); the hinder on the thighs Were spread, 'twixt which the tail inserted curl'd Upon the reins behind. Ivy ne'er clasp'd A dodder'd oak, as round the other's limbs The hideous monster intertwin'd his own. Then, as they both had been of burning wax, Each melted into other, mingling hues, That which was either now was seen no more. Thus up the shrinking paper, ere it burns, A brown tint glides, not turning yet to black, And the clean white expires. The other two Look'd on exclaiming: "Ah, how dost thou change, Agnello! See! Thou art nor double now, "Nor only one." The two heads now became One, and two figures blended in one form Appear'd, where both were lost. Of the four lengths Two arms were made: the belly and the chest The thighs and legs into such members chang'd, As never eye hath seen. Of former shape All trace was vanish'd. Two yet neither seem'd That image miscreate, and so pass'd on With tardy steps. As underneath the scourge Of the fierce dog-star, that lays bare the fields, Shifting from brake to brake, the lizard seems A flash of lightning, if he thwart the road, So toward th' entrails of the other two Approaching seem'd, an adder all on fire, As the dark pepper-grain, livid and swart. In that part, whence our life is nourish'd first, One he transpierc'd; then down before him fell Stretch'd out. The pierced spirit look'd on him But spake not; yea stood motionless and yawn'd, As if by sleep or fev'rous fit assail'd. He ey'd the serpent, and the serpent him. One from the wound, the other from the mouth Breath'd a thick smoke, whose vap'ry columns join'd. Lucan in mute attention now may hear, Nor thy disastrous fate, Sabellus! tell, Nor shine, Nasidius! Ovid now be mute. What if in warbling fiction he record Cadmus and Arethusa, to a snake Him chang'd, and her into a fountain clear, I envy not; for never face to face Two natures thus transmuted did he sing, Wherein both shapes were ready to assume The other's substance. They in mutual guise So answer'd, that the serpent split his train Divided to a fork, and the pierc'd spirit Drew close his steps together, legs and thighs Compacted, that no sign of juncture soon Was visible: the tail disparted took The figure which the spirit lost, its skin Soft'ning, his indurated to a rind. The shoulders next I mark'd, that ent'ring join'd The monster's arm-pits, whose two shorter feet So lengthen'd, as the other's dwindling shrunk. The feet behind then twisting up became That part that man conceals, which in the wretch Was cleft in twain. While both the shadowy smoke With a new colour veils, and generates Th' excrescent pile on one, peeling it off From th' other body, lo! upon his feet One upright rose, and prone the other fell. Not yet their glaring and malignant lamps Were shifted, though each feature chang'd beneath. Of him who stood erect, the mounting face Retreated towards the temples, and what there Superfluous matter came, shot out in ears From the smooth cheeks, the rest, not backward dragg'd, Of its excess did shape the nose; and swell'd Into due size protuberant the lips. He, on the earth who lay, meanwhile extends His sharpen'd visage, and draws down the ears Into the head, as doth the slug his horns. His tongue continuous before and apt For utt'rance, severs; and the other's fork Closing unites. That done the smoke was laid. The soul, transform'd into the brute, glides off, Hissing along the vale, and after him The other talking sputters; but soon turn'd His new-grown shoulders on him, and in few Thus to another spake: "Along this path Crawling, as I have done, speed Buoso now!" So saw I fluctuate in successive change Th' unsteady ballast of the seventh hold: And here if aught my tongue have swerv'd, events So strange may be its warrant. O'er mine eyes Confusion hung, and on my thoughts amaze. Yet 'scap'd they not so covertly, but well I mark'd Sciancato: he alone it was Of the three first that came, who chang'd not: thou, The other's fate, Gaville, still dost rue. CANTO XXVI FLORENCE exult! for thou so mightily Hast thriven, that o'er land and sea thy wings Thou beatest, and thy name spreads over hell! Among the plund'rers such the three I found Thy citizens, whence shame to me thy son, And no proud honour to thyself redounds. But if our minds, when dreaming near the dawn, Are of the truth presageful, thou ere long Shalt feel what Prato, (not to say the rest) Would fain might come upon thee; and that chance Were in good time, if it befell thee now. Would so it were, since it must needs befall! For as time wears me, I shall grieve the more. We from the depth departed; and my guide Remounting scal'd the flinty steps, which late We downward trac'd, and drew me up the steep. Pursuing thus our solitary way Among the crags and splinters of the rock, Sped not our feet without the help of hands. Then sorrow seiz'd me, which e'en now revives, As my thought turns again to what I saw, And, more than I am wont, I rein and curb The powers of nature in me, lest they run Where Virtue guides not; that if aught of good My gentle star, or something better gave me, I envy not myself the precious boon. As in that season, when the sun least veils His face that lightens all, what time the fly Gives way to the shrill gnat, the peasant then Upon some cliff reclin'd, beneath him sees Fire-flies innumerous spangling o'er the vale, Vineyard or tilth, where his day-labour lies: With flames so numberless throughout its space Shone the eighth chasm, apparent, when the depth Was to my view expos'd. As he, whose wrongs The bears aveng'd, at its departure saw Elijah's chariot, when the steeds erect Rais'd their steep flight for heav'n; his eyes meanwhile, Straining pursu'd them, till the flame alone Upsoaring like a misty speck he kenn'd; E'en thus along the gulf moves every flame, A sinner so enfolded close in each, That none exhibits token of the theft. Upon the bridge I forward bent to look, And grasp'd a flinty mass, or else had fall'n, Though push'd not from the height. The guide, who mark'd How I did gaze attentive, thus began: "Within these ardours are the spirits, each Swath'd in confining fire."--"Master, thy word," I answer'd, "hath assur'd me; yet I deem'd Already of the truth, already wish'd To ask thee, who is in yon fire, that comes So parted at the summit, as it seem'd Ascending from that funeral pile, where lay The Theban brothers?" He replied: "Within Ulysses there and Diomede endure Their penal tortures, thus to vengeance now Together hasting, as erewhile to wrath. These in the flame with ceaseless groans deplore The ambush of the horse, that open'd wide A portal for that goodly seed to pass, Which sow'd imperial Rome; nor less the guile Lament they, whence of her Achilles 'reft Deidamia yet in death complains. And there is rued the stratagem, that Troy Of her Palladium spoil'd."--"If they have power Of utt'rance from within these sparks," said I, "O master! think my prayer a thousand fold In repetition urg'd, that thou vouchsafe To pause, till here the horned flame arrive. See, how toward it with desire I bend." He thus: "Thy prayer is worthy of much praise, And I accept it therefore: but do thou Thy tongue refrain: to question them be mine, For I divine thy wish: and they perchance, For they were Greeks, might shun discourse with thee." When there the flame had come, where time and place Seem'd fitting to my guide, he thus began: "O ye, who dwell two spirits in one fire! If living I of you did merit aught, Whate'er the measure were of that desert, When in the world my lofty strain I pour'd, Move ye not on, till one of you unfold In what clime death o'ertook him self-destroy'd." Of the old flame forthwith the greater horn Began to roll, murmuring, as a fire That labours with the wind, then to and fro Wagging the top, as a tongue uttering sounds, Threw out its voice, and spake: "When I escap'd From Circe, who beyond a circling year Had held me near Caieta, by her charms, Ere thus Aeneas yet had nam'd the shore, Nor fondness for my son, nor reverence Of my old father, nor return of love, That should have crown'd Penelope with joy, Could overcome in me the zeal I had T' explore the world, and search the ways of life, Man's evil and his virtue. Forth I sail'd Into the deep illimitable main, With but one bark, and the small faithful band That yet cleav'd to me. As Iberia far, Far as Morocco either shore I saw, And the Sardinian and each isle beside Which round that ocean bathes. Tardy with age Were I and my companions, when we came To the strait pass, where Hercules ordain'd The bound'ries not to be o'erstepp'd by man. The walls of Seville to my right I left, On the' other hand already Ceuta past. "O brothers!" I began, "who to the west Through perils without number now have reach'd, To this the short remaining watch, that yet Our senses have to wake, refuse not proof Of the unpeopled world, following the track Of Phoebus. Call to mind from whence we sprang: Ye were not form'd to live the life of brutes But virtue to pursue and knowledge high. With these few words I sharpen'd for the voyage The mind of my associates, that I then Could scarcely have withheld them. To the dawn Our poop we turn'd, and for the witless flight Made our oars wings, still gaining on the left. Each star of the' other pole night now beheld, And ours so low, that from the ocean-floor It rose not. Five times re-illum'd, as oft Vanish'd the light from underneath the moon Since the deep way we enter'd, when from far Appear'd a mountain dim, loftiest methought Of all I e'er beheld. Joy seiz'd us straight, But soon to mourning changed. From the new land A whirlwind sprung, and at her foremost side Did strike the vessel. Thrice it whirl'd her round With all the waves, the fourth time lifted up The poop, and sank the prow: so fate decreed: And over us the booming billow clos'd." CANTO XVII NOW upward rose the flame, and still'd its light To speak no more, and now pass'd on with leave From the mild poet gain'd, when following came Another, from whose top a sound confus'd, Forth issuing, drew our eyes that way to look. As the Sicilian bull, that rightfully His cries first echoed, who had shap'd its mould, Did so rebellow, with the voice of him Tormented, that the brazen monster seem'd Pierc'd through with pain; thus while no way they found Nor avenue immediate through the flame, Into its language turn'd the dismal words: But soon as they had won their passage forth, Up from the point, which vibrating obey'd Their motion at the tongue, these sounds we heard: "O thou! to whom I now direct my voice! That lately didst exclaim in Lombard phrase, "Depart thou, I solicit thee no more, Though somewhat tardy I perchance arrive Let it not irk thee here to pause awhile, And with me parley: lo! it irks not me And yet I burn. If but e'en now thou fall into this blind world, from that pleasant land Of Latium, whence I draw my sum of guilt, Tell me if those, who in Romagna dwell, Have peace or war. For of the mountains there Was I, betwixt Urbino and the height, Whence Tyber first unlocks his mighty flood." Leaning I listen'd yet with heedful ear, When, as he touch'd my side, the leader thus: "Speak thou: he is a Latian." My reply Was ready, and I spake without delay: "O spirit! who art hidden here below! Never was thy Romagna without war In her proud tyrants' bosoms, nor is now: But open war there left I none. The state, Ravenna hath maintain'd this many a year, Is steadfast. There Polenta's eagle broods, And in his broad circumference of plume O'ershadows Cervia. The green talons grasp The land, that stood erewhile the proof so long, And pil'd in bloody heap the host of France. "The' old mastiff of Verruchio and the young, That tore Montagna in their wrath, still make, Where they are wont, an augre of their fangs. "Lamone's city and Santerno's range Under the lion of the snowy lair. Inconstant partisan! that changeth sides, Or ever summer yields to winter's frost. And she, whose flank is wash'd of Savio's wave, As 'twixt the level and the steep she lies, Lives so 'twixt tyrant power and liberty. "Now tell us, I entreat thee, who art thou? Be not more hard than others. In the world, So may thy name still rear its forehead high." Then roar'd awhile the fire, its sharpen'd point On either side wav'd, and thus breath'd at last: "If I did think, my answer were to one, Who ever could return unto the world, This flame should rest unshaken. But since ne'er, If true be told me, any from this depth Has found his upward way, I answer thee, Nor fear lest infamy record the words. "A man of arms at first, I cloth'd me then In good Saint Francis' girdle, hoping so T' have made amends. And certainly my hope Had fail'd not, but that he, whom curses light on, The' high priest again seduc'd me into sin. And how and wherefore listen while I tell. Long as this spirit mov'd the bones and pulp My mother gave me, less my deeds bespake The nature of the lion than the fox. All ways of winding subtlety I knew, And with such art conducted, that the sound Reach'd the world's limit. Soon as to that part Of life I found me come, when each behoves To lower sails and gather in the lines; That which before had pleased me then I rued, And to repentance and confession turn'd; Wretch that I was! and well it had bested me! The chief of the new Pharisees meantime, Waging his warfare near the Lateran, Not with the Saracens or Jews (his foes All Christians were, nor against Acre one Had fought, nor traffic'd in the Soldan's land), He his great charge nor sacred ministry In himself, rev'renc'd, nor in me that cord, Which us'd to mark with leanness whom it girded. As in Socrate, Constantine besought To cure his leprosy Sylvester's aid, So me to cure the fever of his pride This man besought: my counsel to that end He ask'd: and I was silent: for his words Seem'd drunken: but forthwith he thus resum'd: 'From thy heart banish fear: of all offence I hitherto absolve thee. In return, Teach me my purpose so to execute, That Penestrino cumber earth no more. Heav'n, as thou knowest, I have power to shut And open: and the keys are therefore twain, The which my predecessor meanly priz'd.'" Then, yielding to the forceful arguments, Of silence as more perilous I deem'd, And answer'd: "Father! since thou washest me Clear of that guilt wherein I now must fall, Large promise with performance scant, be sure, Shall make thee triumph in thy lofty seat." "When I was number'd with the dead, then came Saint Francis for me; but a cherub dark He met, who cried: 'Wrong me not; he is mine, And must below to join the wretched crew, For the deceitful counsel which he gave. E'er since I watch'd him, hov'ring at his hair, No power can the impenitent absolve; Nor to repent and will at once consist, By contradiction absolute forbid.'" Oh mis'ry! how I shook myself, when he Seiz'd me, and cried, "Thou haply thought'st me not A disputant in logic so exact." To Minos down he bore me, and the judge Twin'd eight times round his callous back the tail, Which biting with excess of rage, he spake: "This is a guilty soul, that in the fire Must vanish. Hence perdition-doom'd I rove A prey to rankling sorrow in this garb." When he had thus fulfill'd his words, the flame In dolour parted, beating to and fro, And writhing its sharp horn. We onward went, I and my leader, up along the rock, Far as another arch, that overhangs The foss, wherein the penalty is paid Of those, who load them with committed sin. CANTO XXVIII WHO, e'en in words unfetter'd, might at full Tell of the wounds and blood that now I saw, Though he repeated oft the tale? No tongue So vast a theme could equal, speech and thought Both impotent alike. If in one band Collected, stood the people all, who e'er Pour'd on Apulia's happy soil their blood, Slain by the Trojans, and in that long war When of the rings the measur'd booty made A pile so high, as Rome's historian writes Who errs not, with the multitude, that felt The grinding force of Guiscard's Norman steel, And those the rest, whose bones are gather'd yet At Ceperano, there where treachery Branded th' Apulian name, or where beyond Thy walls, O Tagliacozzo, without arms The old Alardo conquer'd; and his limbs One were to show transpierc'd, another his Clean lopt away; a spectacle like this Were but a thing of nought, to the' hideous sight Of the ninth chasm. A rundlet, that hath lost Its middle or side stave, gapes not so wide, As one I mark'd, torn from the chin throughout Down to the hinder passage: 'twixt the legs Dangling his entrails hung, the midriff lay Open to view, and wretched ventricle, That turns th' englutted aliment to dross. Whilst eagerly I fix on him my gaze, He ey'd me, with his hands laid his breast bare, And cried; "Now mark how I do rip me! lo! "How is Mohammed mangled! before me Walks Ali weeping, from the chin his face Cleft to the forelock; and the others all Whom here thou seest, while they liv'd, did sow Scandal and schism, and therefore thus are rent. A fiend is here behind, who with his sword Hacks us thus cruelly, slivering again Each of this ream, when we have compast round The dismal way, for first our gashes close Ere we repass before him. But say who Art thou, that standest musing on the rock, Haply so lingering to delay the pain Sentenc'd upon thy crimes?"--"Him death not yet," My guide rejoin'd, "hath overta'en, nor sin Conducts to torment; but, that he may make Full trial of your state, I who am dead Must through the depths of hell, from orb to orb, Conduct him. Trust my words, for they are true." More than a hundred spirits, when that they heard, Stood in the foss to mark me, through amazed, Forgetful of their pangs. "Thou, who perchance Shalt shortly view the sun, this warning thou Bear to Dolcino: bid him, if he wish not Here soon to follow me, that with good store Of food he arm him, lest impris'ning snows Yield him a victim to Novara's power, No easy conquest else." With foot uprais'd For stepping, spake Mohammed, on the ground Then fix'd it to depart. Another shade, Pierc'd in the throat, his nostrils mutilate E'en from beneath the eyebrows, and one ear Lopt off, who with the rest through wonder stood Gazing, before the rest advanc'd, and bar'd His wind-pipe, that without was all o'ersmear'd With crimson stain. "O thou!" said he, "whom sin Condemns not, and whom erst (unless too near Resemblance do deceive me) I aloft Have seen on Latian ground, call thou to mind Piero of Medicina, if again Returning, thou behold'st the pleasant land That from Vercelli slopes to Mercabo; "And there instruct the twain, whom Fano boasts Her worthiest sons, Guido and Angelo, That if 't is giv'n us here to scan aright The future, they out of life's tenement Shall be cast forth, and whelm'd under the waves Near to Cattolica, through perfidy Of a fell tyrant. 'Twixt the Cyprian isle And Balearic, ne'er hath Neptune seen An injury so foul, by pirates done Or Argive crew of old. That one-ey'd traitor (Whose realm there is a spirit here were fain His eye had still lack'd sight of) them shall bring To conf'rence with him, then so shape his end, That they shall need not 'gainst Focara's wind Offer up vow nor pray'r." I answering thus: "Declare, as thou dost wish that I above May carry tidings of thee, who is he, In whom that sight doth wake such sad remembrance?" Forthwith he laid his hand on the cheek-bone Of one, his fellow-spirit, and his jaws Expanding, cried: "Lo! this is he I wot of; He speaks not for himself: the outcast this Who overwhelm'd the doubt in Caesar's mind, Affirming that delay to men prepar'd Was ever harmful." Oh how terrified Methought was Curio, from whose throat was cut The tongue, which spake that hardy word. Then one Maim'd of each hand, uplifted in the gloom The bleeding stumps, that they with gory spots Sullied his face, and cried: "'Remember thee Of Mosca, too, I who, alas! exclaim'd, 'The deed once done there is an end,' that prov'd A seed of sorrow to the Tuscan race." I added: "Ay, and death to thine own tribe." Whence heaping woe on woe he hurried off, As one grief stung to madness. But I there Still linger'd to behold the troop, and saw Things, such as I may fear without more proof To tell of, but that conscience makes me firm, The boon companion, who her strong breast-plate Buckles on him, that feels no guilt within And bids him on and fear not. Without doubt I saw, and yet it seems to pass before me, A headless trunk, that even as the rest Of the sad flock pac'd onward. By the hair It bore the sever'd member, lantern-wise Pendent in hand, which look'd at us and said, "Woe's me!" The spirit lighted thus himself, And two there were in one, and one in two. How that may be he knows who ordereth so. When at the bridge's foot direct he stood, His arm aloft he rear'd, thrusting the head Full in our view, that nearer we might hear The words, which thus it utter'd: "Now behold This grievous torment, thou, who breathing go'st To spy the dead; behold if any else Be terrible as this. And that on earth Thou mayst bear tidings of me, know that I Am Bertrand, he of Born, who gave King John The counsel mischievous. Father and son I set at mutual war. For Absalom And David more did not Ahitophel, Spurring them on maliciously to strife. For parting those so closely knit, my brain Parted, alas! I carry from its source, That in this trunk inhabits. Thus the law Of retribution fiercely works in me." CANTO XXIX SO were mine eyes inebriate with view Of the vast multitude, whom various wounds Disfigur'd, that they long'd to stay and weep. But Virgil rous'd me: "What yet gazest on? Wherefore doth fasten yet thy sight below Among the maim'd and miserable shades? Thou hast not shewn in any chasm beside This weakness. Know, if thou wouldst number them That two and twenty miles the valley winds Its circuit, and already is the moon Beneath our feet: the time permitted now Is short, and more not seen remains to see." "If thou," I straight replied, "hadst weigh'd the cause For which I look'd, thou hadst perchance excus'd The tarrying still." My leader part pursu'd His way, the while I follow'd, answering him, And adding thus: "Within that cave I deem, Whereon so fixedly I held my ken, There is a spirit dwells, one of my blood, Wailing the crime that costs him now so dear." Then spake my master: "Let thy soul no more Afflict itself for him. Direct elsewhere Its thought, and leave him. At the bridge's foot I mark'd how he did point with menacing look At thee, and heard him by the others nam'd Geri of Bello. Thou so wholly then Wert busied with his spirit, who once rul'd The towers of Hautefort, that thou lookedst not That way, ere he was gone."--"O guide belov'd! His violent death yet unaveng'd," said I, "By any, who are partners in his shame, Made him contemptuous: therefore, as I think, He pass'd me speechless by; and doing so Hath made me more compassionate his fate." So we discours'd to where the rock first show'd The other valley, had more light been there, E'en to the lowest depth. Soon as we came O'er the last cloister in the dismal rounds Of Malebolge, and the brotherhood Were to our view expos'd, then many a dart Of sore lament assail'd me, headed all With points of thrilling pity, that I clos'd Both ears against the volley with mine hands. As were the torment, if each lazar-house Of Valdichiana, in the sultry time 'Twixt July and September, with the isle Sardinia and Maremma's pestilent fen, Had heap'd their maladies all in one foss Together; such was here the torment: dire The stench, as issuing steams from fester'd limbs. We on the utmost shore of the long rock Descended still to leftward. Then my sight Was livelier to explore the depth, wherein The minister of the most mighty Lord, All-searching Justice, dooms to punishment The forgers noted on her dread record. More rueful was it not methinks to see The nation in Aegina droop, what time Each living thing, e'en to the little worm, All fell, so full of malice was the air (And afterward, as bards of yore have told, The ancient people were restor'd anew From seed of emmets) than was here to see The spirits, that languish'd through the murky vale Up-pil'd on many a stack. Confus'd they lay, One o'er the belly, o'er the shoulders one Roll'd of another; sideling crawl'd a third Along the dismal pathway. Step by step We journey'd on, in silence looking round And list'ning those diseas'd, who strove in vain To lift their forms. Then two I mark'd, that sat Propp'd 'gainst each other, as two brazen pans Set to retain the heat. From head to foot, A tetter bark'd them round. Nor saw I e'er Groom currying so fast, for whom his lord Impatient waited, or himself perchance Tir'd with long watching, as of these each one Plied quickly his keen nails, through furiousness Of ne'er abated pruriency. The crust Came drawn from underneath in flakes, like scales Scrap'd from the bream or fish of broader mail. "O thou, who with thy fingers rendest off Thy coat of proof," thus spake my guide to one, "And sometimes makest tearing pincers of them, Tell me if any born of Latian land Be among these within: so may thy nails Serve thee for everlasting to this toil." "Both are of Latium," weeping he replied, "Whom tortur'd thus thou seest: but who art thou That hast inquir'd of us?" To whom my guide: "One that descend with this man, who yet lives, From rock to rock, and show him hell's abyss." Then started they asunder, and each turn'd Trembling toward us, with the rest, whose ear Those words redounding struck. To me my liege Address'd him: "Speak to them whate'er thou list." And I therewith began: "So may no time Filch your remembrance from the thoughts of men In th' upper world, but after many suns Survive it, as ye tell me, who ye are, And of what race ye come. Your punishment, Unseemly and disgustful in its kind, Deter you not from opening thus much to me." "Arezzo was my dwelling," answer'd one, "And me Albero of Sienna brought To die by fire; but that, for which I died, Leads me not here. True is in sport I told him, That I had learn'd to wing my flight in air. And he admiring much, as he was void Of wisdom, will'd me to declare to him The secret of mine art: and only hence, Because I made him not a Daedalus, Prevail'd on one suppos'd his sire to burn me. But Minos to this chasm last of the ten, For that I practis'd alchemy on earth, Has doom'd me. Him no subterfuge eludes." Then to the bard I spake: "Was ever race Light as Sienna's? Sure not France herself Can show a tribe so frivolous and vain." The other leprous spirit heard my words, And thus return'd: "Be Stricca from this charge Exempted, he who knew so temp'rately To lay out fortune's gifts; and Niccolo Who first the spice's costly luxury Discover'd in that garden, where such seed Roots deepest in the soil: and be that troop Exempted, with whom Caccia of Asciano Lavish'd his vineyards and wide-spreading woods, And his rare wisdom Abbagliato show'd A spectacle for all. That thou mayst know Who seconds thee against the Siennese Thus gladly, bend this way thy sharpen'd sight, That well my face may answer to thy ken; So shalt thou see I am Capocchio's ghost, Who forg'd transmuted metals by the power Of alchemy; and if I scan thee right, Thus needs must well remember how I aped Creative nature by my subtle art." CANTO XXX WHAT time resentment burn'd in Juno's breast For Semele against the Theban blood, As more than once in dire mischance was rued, Such fatal frenzy seiz'd on Athamas, That he his spouse beholding with a babe Laden on either arm, "Spread out," he cried, "The meshes, that I take the lioness And the young lions at the pass:" then forth Stretch'd he his merciless talons, grasping one, One helpless innocent, Learchus nam'd, Whom swinging down he dash'd upon a rock, And with her other burden self-destroy'd The hapless mother plung'd: and when the pride Of all-presuming Troy fell from its height, By fortune overwhelm'd, and the old king With his realm perish'd, then did Hecuba, A wretch forlorn and captive, when she saw Polyxena first slaughter'd, and her son, Her Polydorus, on the wild sea-beach Next met the mourner's view, then reft of sense Did she run barking even as a dog; Such mighty power had grief to wrench her soul. Bet ne'er the Furies or of Thebes or Troy With such fell cruelty were seen, their goads Infixing in the limbs of man or beast, As now two pale and naked ghost I saw That gnarling wildly scamper'd, like the swine Excluded from his stye. One reach'd Capocchio, And in the neck-joint sticking deep his fangs, Dragg'd him, that o'er the solid pavement rubb'd His belly stretch'd out prone. The other shape, He of Arezzo, there left trembling, spake; "That sprite of air is Schicchi; in like mood Of random mischief vent he still his spite." To whom I answ'ring: "Oh! as thou dost hope, The other may not flesh its jaws on thee, Be patient to inform us, who it is, Ere it speed hence."--"That is the ancient soul Of wretched Myrrha," he replied, "who burn'd With most unholy flame for her own sire, "And a false shape assuming, so perform'd The deed of sin; e'en as the other there, That onward passes, dar'd to counterfeit Donati's features, to feign'd testament The seal affixing, that himself might gain, For his own share, the lady of the herd." When vanish'd the two furious shades, on whom Mine eye was held, I turn'd it back to view The other cursed spirits. One I saw In fashion like a lute, had but the groin Been sever'd, where it meets the forked part. Swoln dropsy, disproportioning the limbs With ill-converted moisture, that the paunch Suits not the visage, open'd wide his lips Gasping as in the hectic man for drought, One towards the chin, the other upward curl'd. "O ye, who in this world of misery, Wherefore I know not, are exempt from pain," Thus he began, "attentively regard Adamo's woe. When living, full supply Ne'er lack'd me of what most I coveted; One drop of water now, alas! I crave. The rills, that glitter down the grassy slopes Of Casentino, making fresh and soft The banks whereby they glide to Arno's stream, Stand ever in my view; and not in vain; For more the pictur'd semblance dries me up, Much more than the disease, which makes the flesh Desert these shrivel'd cheeks. So from the place, Where I transgress'd, stern justice urging me, Takes means to quicken more my lab'ring sighs. There is Romena, where I falsified The metal with the Baptist's form imprest, For which on earth I left my body burnt. But if I here might see the sorrowing soul Of Guido, Alessandro, or their brother, For Branda's limpid spring I would not change The welcome sight. One is e'en now within, If truly the mad spirits tell, that round Are wand'ring. But wherein besteads me that? My limbs are fetter'd. Were I but so light, That I each hundred years might move one inch, I had set forth already on this path, Seeking him out amidst the shapeless crew, Although eleven miles it wind, not more Than half of one across. They brought me down Among this tribe; induc'd by them I stamp'd The florens with three carats of alloy." "Who are that abject pair," I next inquir'd, "That closely bounding thee upon thy right Lie smoking, like a band in winter steep'd In the chill stream?"--"When to this gulf I dropt," He answer'd, "here I found them; since that hour They have not turn'd, nor ever shall, I ween, Till time hath run his course. One is that dame The false accuser of the Hebrew youth; Sinon the other, that false Greek from Troy. Sharp fever drains the reeky moistness out, In such a cloud upsteam'd." When that he heard, One, gall'd perchance to be so darkly nam'd, With clench'd hand smote him on the braced paunch, That like a drum resounded: but forthwith Adamo smote him on the face, the blow Returning with his arm, that seem'd as hard. "Though my o'erweighty limbs have ta'en from me The power to move," said he, "I have an arm At liberty for such employ." To whom Was answer'd: "When thou wentest to the fire, Thou hadst it not so ready at command, Then readier when it coin'd th' impostor gold." And thus the dropsied: "Ay, now speak'st thou true. But there thou gav'st not such true testimony, When thou wast question'd of the truth, at Troy." "If I spake false, thou falsely stamp'dst the coin," Said Sinon; "I am here but for one fault, And thou for more than any imp beside." "Remember," he replied, "O perjur'd one, The horse remember, that did teem with death, And all the world be witness to thy guilt." "To thine," return'd the Greek, "witness the thirst Whence thy tongue cracks, witness the fluid mound, Rear'd by thy belly up before thine eyes, A mass corrupt." To whom the coiner thus: "Thy mouth gapes wide as ever to let pass Its evil saying. Me if thirst assails, Yet I am stuff'd with moisture. Thou art parch'd, Pains rack thy head, no urging would'st thou need To make thee lap Narcissus' mirror up." I was all fix'd to listen, when my guide Admonish'd: "Now beware: a little more. And I do quarrel with thee." I perceiv'd How angrily he spake, and towards him turn'd With shame so poignant, as remember'd yet Confounds me. As a man that dreams of harm Befall'n him, dreaming wishes it a dream, And that which is, desires as if it were not, Such then was I, who wanting power to speak Wish'd to excuse myself, and all the while Excus'd me, though unweeting that I did. "More grievous fault than thine has been, less shame," My master cried, "might expiate. Therefore cast All sorrow from thy soul; and if again Chance bring thee, where like conference is held, Think I am ever at thy side. To hear Such wrangling is a joy for vulgar minds." CANTO XXXI THE very tongue, whose keen reproof before Had wounded me, that either cheek was stain'd, Now minister'd my cure. So have I heard, Achilles and his father's javelin caus'd Pain first, and then the boon of health restor'd. Turning our back upon the vale of woe, W cross'd th' encircled mound in silence. There Was twilight dim, that far long the gloom Mine eye advanc'd not: but I heard a horn Sounded aloud. The peal it blew had made The thunder feeble. Following its course The adverse way, my strained eyes were bent On that one spot. So terrible a blast Orlando blew not, when that dismal rout O'erthrew the host of Charlemagne, and quench'd His saintly warfare. Thitherward not long My head was rais'd, when many lofty towers Methought I spied. "Master," said I, "what land Is this?" He answer'd straight: "Too long a space Of intervening darkness has thine eye To traverse: thou hast therefore widely err'd In thy imagining. Thither arriv'd Thou well shalt see, how distance can delude The sense. A little therefore urge thee on." Then tenderly he caught me by the hand; "Yet know," said he, "ere farther we advance, That it less strange may seem, these are not towers, But giants. In the pit they stand immers'd, Each from his navel downward, round the bank." As when a fog disperseth gradually, Our vision traces what the mist involves Condens'd in air; so piercing through the gross And gloomy atmosphere, as more and more We near'd toward the brink, mine error fled, And fear came o'er me. As with circling round Of turrets, Montereggion crowns his walls, E'en thus the shore, encompassing th' abyss, Was turreted with giants, half their length Uprearing, horrible, whom Jove from heav'n Yet threatens, when his mutt'ring thunder rolls. Of one already I descried the face, Shoulders, and breast, and of the belly huge Great part, and both arms down along his ribs. All-teeming nature, when her plastic hand Left framing of these monsters, did display Past doubt her wisdom, taking from mad War Such slaves to do his bidding; and if she Repent her not of th' elephant and whale, Who ponders well confesses her therein Wiser and more discreet; for when brute force And evil will are back'd with subtlety, Resistance none avails. His visage seem'd In length and bulk, as doth the pine, that tops Saint Peter's Roman fane; and th' other bones Of like proportion, so that from above The bank, which girdled him below, such height Arose his stature, that three Friezelanders Had striv'n in vain to reach but to his hair. Full thirty ample palms was he expos'd Downward from whence a man his garments loops. "Raphel bai ameth sabi almi," So shouted his fierce lips, which sweeter hymns Became not; and my guide address'd him thus: "O senseless spirit! let thy horn for thee Interpret: therewith vent thy rage, if rage Or other passion wring thee. Search thy neck, There shalt thou find the belt that binds it on. Wild spirit! lo, upon thy mighty breast Where hangs the baldrick!" Then to me he spake: "He doth accuse himself. Nimrod is this, Through whose ill counsel in the world no more One tongue prevails. But pass we on, nor waste Our words; for so each language is to him, As his to others, understood by none." Then to the leftward turning sped we forth, And at a sling's throw found another shade Far fiercer and more huge. I cannot say What master hand had girt him; but he held Behind the right arm fetter'd, and before The other with a chain, that fasten'd him From the neck down, and five times round his form Apparent met the wreathed links. "This proud one Would of his strength against almighty Jove Make trial," said my guide; "whence he is thus Requited: Ephialtes him they call. "Great was his prowess, when the giants brought Fear on the gods: those arms, which then he piled, Now moves he never." Forthwith I return'd: "Fain would I, if 't were possible, mine eyes Of Briareus immeasurable gain'd Experience next." He answer'd: "Thou shalt see Not far from hence Antaeus, who both speaks And is unfetter'd, who shall place us there Where guilt is at its depth. Far onward stands Whom thou wouldst fain behold, in chains, and made Like to this spirit, save that in his looks More fell he seems." By violent earthquake rock'd Ne'er shook a tow'r, so reeling to its base, As Ephialtes. More than ever then I dreaded death, nor than the terror more Had needed, if I had not seen the cords That held him fast. We, straightway journeying on, Came to Antaeus, who five ells complete Without the head, forth issued from the cave. "O thou, who in the fortunate vale, that made Great Scipio heir of glory, when his sword Drove back the troop of Hannibal in flight, Who thence of old didst carry for thy spoil An hundred lions; and if thou hadst fought In the high conflict on thy brethren's side, Seems as men yet believ'd, that through thine arm The sons of earth had conquer'd, now vouchsafe To place us down beneath, where numbing cold Locks up Cocytus. Force not that we crave Or Tityus' help or Typhon's. Here is one Can give what in this realm ye covet. Stoop Therefore, nor scornfully distort thy lip. He in the upper world can yet bestow Renown on thee, for he doth live, and looks For life yet longer, if before the time Grace call him not unto herself." Thus spake The teacher. He in haste forth stretch'd his hands, And caught my guide. Alcides whilom felt That grapple straighten'd score. Soon as my guide Had felt it, he bespake me thus: "This way That I may clasp thee;" then so caught me up, That we were both one burden. As appears The tower of Carisenda, from beneath Where it doth lean, if chance a passing cloud So sail across, that opposite it hangs, Such then Antaeus seem'd, as at mine ease I mark'd him stooping. I were fain at times T' have pass'd another way. Yet in th' abyss, That Lucifer with Judas low ingulfs, Lightly he plac'd us; nor there leaning stay'd, But rose as in a bark the stately mast. CANTO XXXII COULD I command rough rhimes and hoarse, to suit That hole of sorrow, o'er which ev'ry rock His firm abutment rears, then might the vein Of fancy rise full springing: but not mine Such measures, and with falt'ring awe I touch The mighty theme; for to describe the depth Of all the universe, is no emprize To jest with, and demands a tongue not us'd To infant babbling. But let them assist My song, the tuneful maidens, by whose aid Amphion wall'd in Thebes, so with the truth My speech shall best accord. Oh ill-starr'd folk, Beyond all others wretched! who abide In such a mansion, as scarce thought finds words To speak of, better had ye here on earth Been flocks or mountain goats. As down we stood In the dark pit beneath the giants' feet, But lower far than they, and I did gaze Still on the lofty battlement, a voice Bespoke me thus: "Look how thou walkest. Take Good heed, thy soles do tread not on the heads Of thy poor brethren." Thereupon I turn'd, And saw before and underneath my feet A lake, whose frozen surface liker seem'd To glass than water. Not so thick a veil In winter e'er hath Austrian Danube spread O'er his still course, nor Tanais far remote Under the chilling sky. Roll'd o'er that mass Had Tabernich or Pietrapana fall'n, Not e'en its rim had creak'd. As peeps the frog Croaking above the wave, what time in dreams The village gleaner oft pursues her toil, So, to where modest shame appears, thus low Blue pinch'd and shrin'd in ice the spirits stood, Moving their teeth in shrill note like the stork. His face each downward held; their mouth the cold, Their eyes express'd the dolour of their heart. A space I look'd around, then at my feet Saw two so strictly join'd, that of their head The very hairs were mingled. "Tell me ye, Whose bosoms thus together press," said I, "Who are ye?" At that sound their necks they bent, And when their looks were lifted up to me, Straightway their eyes, before all moist within, Distill'd upon their lips, and the frost bound The tears betwixt those orbs and held them there. Plank unto plank hath never cramp clos'd up So stoutly. Whence like two enraged goats They clash'd together; them such fury seiz'd. And one, from whom the cold both ears had reft, Exclaim'd, still looking downward: "Why on us Dost speculate so long? If thou wouldst know Who are these two, the valley, whence his wave Bisenzio slopes, did for its master own Their sire Alberto, and next him themselves. They from one body issued; and throughout Caina thou mayst search, nor find a shade More worthy in congealment to be fix'd, Not him, whose breast and shadow Arthur's land At that one blow dissever'd, not Focaccia, No not this spirit, whose o'erjutting head Obstructs my onward view: he bore the name Of Mascheroni: Tuscan if thou be, Well knowest who he was: and to cut short All further question, in my form behold What once was Camiccione. I await Carlino here my kinsman, whose deep guilt Shall wash out mine." A thousand visages Then mark'd I, which the keen and eager cold Had shap'd into a doggish grin; whence creeps A shiv'ring horror o'er me, at the thought Of those frore shallows. While we journey'd on Toward the middle, at whose point unites All heavy substance, and I trembling went Through that eternal chillness, I know not If will it were or destiny, or chance, But, passing 'midst the heads, my foot did strike With violent blow against the face of one. "Wherefore dost bruise me?" weeping, he exclaim'd, "Unless thy errand be some fresh revenge For Montaperto, wherefore troublest me?" I thus: "Instructor, now await me here, That I through him may rid me of my doubt. Thenceforth what haste thou wilt." The teacher paus'd, And to that shade I spake, who bitterly Still curs'd me in his wrath. "What art thou, speak, That railest thus on others?" He replied: "Now who art thou, that smiting others' cheeks Through Antenora roamest, with such force As were past suff'rance, wert thou living still?" "And I am living, to thy joy perchance," Was my reply, "if fame be dear to thee, That with the rest I may thy name enrol." "The contrary of what I covet most," Said he, "thou tender'st: hence; nor vex me more. Ill knowest thou to flatter in this vale." Then seizing on his hinder scalp, I cried: "Name thee, or not a hair shall tarry here." "Rend all away," he answer'd, "yet for that I will not tell nor show thee who I am, Though at my head thou pluck a thousand times." Now I had grasp'd his tresses, and stript off More than one tuft, he barking, with his eyes Drawn in and downward, when another cried, "What ails thee, Bocca? Sound not loud enough Thy chatt'ring teeth, but thou must bark outright? What devil wrings thee?"--"Now," said I, "be dumb, Accursed traitor! to thy shame of thee True tidings will I bear."--"Off," he replied, "Tell what thou list; but as thou escape from hence To speak of him whose tongue hath been so glib, Forget not: here he wails the Frenchman's gold. 'Him of Duera,' thou canst say, 'I mark'd, Where the starv'd sinners pine.' If thou be ask'd What other shade was with them, at thy side Is Beccaria, whose red gorge distain'd The biting axe of Florence. Farther on, If I misdeem not, Soldanieri bides, With Ganellon, and Tribaldello, him Who op'd Faenza when the people slept." We now had left him, passing on our way, When I beheld two spirits by the ice Pent in one hollow, that the head of one Was cowl unto the other; and as bread Is raven'd up through hunger, th' uppermost Did so apply his fangs to th' other's brain, Where the spine joins it. Not more furiously On Menalippus' temples Tydeus gnaw'd, Than on that skull and on its garbage he. "O thou who show'st so beastly sign of hate 'Gainst him thou prey'st on, let me hear," said I "The cause, on such condition, that if right Warrant thy grievance, knowing who ye are, And what the colour of his sinning was, I may repay thee in the world above, If that, wherewith I speak be moist so long." CANTO XXXIII HIS jaws uplifting from their fell repast, That sinner wip'd them on the hairs o' th' head, Which he behind had mangled, then began: "Thy will obeying, I call up afresh Sorrow past cure, which but to think of wrings My heart, or ere I tell on't. But if words, That I may utter, shall prove seed to bear Fruit of eternal infamy to him, The traitor whom I gnaw at, thou at once Shalt see me speak and weep. Who thou mayst be I know not, nor how here below art come: But Florentine thou seemest of a truth, When I do hear thee. Know I was on earth Count Ugolino, and th' Archbishop he Ruggieri. Why I neighbour him so close, Now list. That through effect of his ill thoughts In him my trust reposing, I was ta'en And after murder'd, need is not I tell. What therefore thou canst not have heard, that is, How cruel was the murder, shalt thou hear, And know if he have wrong'd me. A small grate Within that mew, which for my sake the name Of famine bears, where others yet must pine, Already through its opening sev'ral moons Had shown me, when I slept the evil sleep, That from the future tore the curtain off. This one, methought, as master of the sport, Rode forth to chase the gaunt wolf and his whelps Unto the mountain, which forbids the sight Of Lucca to the Pisan. With lean brachs Inquisitive and keen, before him rang'd Lanfranchi with Sismondi and Gualandi. After short course the father and the sons Seem'd tir'd and lagging, and methought I saw The sharp tusks gore their sides. When I awoke Before the dawn, amid their sleep I heard My sons (for they were with me) weep and ask For bread. Right cruel art thou, if no pang Thou feel at thinking what my heart foretold; And if not now, why use thy tears to flow? Now had they waken'd; and the hour drew near When they were wont to bring us food; the mind Of each misgave him through his dream, and I Heard, at its outlet underneath lock'd up The' horrible tower: whence uttering not a word I look'd upon the visage of my sons. I wept not: so all stone I felt within. They wept: and one, my little Anslem, cried: "Thou lookest so! Father what ails thee?" Yet I shed no tear, nor answer'd all that day Nor the next night, until another sun Came out upon the world. When a faint beam Had to our doleful prison made its way, And in four countenances I descry'd The image of my own, on either hand Through agony I bit, and they who thought I did it through desire of feeding, rose O' th' sudden, and cried, 'Father, we should grieve Far less, if thou wouldst eat of us: thou gav'st These weeds of miserable flesh we wear, 'And do thou strip them off from us again.' Then, not to make them sadder, I kept down My spirit in stillness. That day and the next We all were silent. Ah, obdurate earth! Why open'dst not upon us? When we came To the fourth day, then Geddo at my feet Outstretch'd did fling him, crying, 'Hast no help For me, my father!' There he died, and e'en Plainly as thou seest me, saw I the three Fall one by one 'twixt the fifth day and sixth: "Whence I betook me now grown blind to grope Over them all, and for three days aloud Call'd on them who were dead. Then fasting got The mastery of grief." Thus having spoke, Once more upon the wretched skull his teeth He fasten'd, like a mastiff's 'gainst the bone Firm and unyielding. Oh thou Pisa! shame Of all the people, who their dwelling make In that fair region, where th' Italian voice Is heard, since that thy neighbours are so slack To punish, from their deep foundations rise Capraia and Gorgona, and dam up The mouth of Arno, that each soul in thee May perish in the waters! What if fame Reported that thy castles were betray'd By Ugolino, yet no right hadst thou To stretch his children on the rack. For them, Brigata, Ugaccione, and the pair Of gentle ones, of whom my song hath told, Their tender years, thou modern Thebes! did make Uncapable of guilt. Onward we pass'd, Where others skarf'd in rugged folds of ice Not on their feet were turn'd, but each revers'd. There very weeping suffers not to weep; For at their eyes grief seeking passage finds Impediment, and rolling inward turns For increase of sharp anguish: the first tears Hang cluster'd, and like crystal vizors show, Under the socket brimming all the cup. Now though the cold had from my face dislodg'd Each feeling, as 't were callous, yet me seem'd Some breath of wind I felt. "Whence cometh this," Said I, "my master? Is not here below All vapour quench'd?"--"'Thou shalt be speedily," He answer'd, "where thine eye shall tell thee whence The cause descrying of this airy shower." Then cried out one in the chill crust who mourn'd: "O souls so cruel! that the farthest post Hath been assign'd you, from this face remove The harden'd veil, that I may vent the grief Impregnate at my heart, some little space Ere it congeal again!" I thus replied: "Say who thou wast, if thou wouldst have mine aid; And if I extricate thee not, far down As to the lowest ice may I descend!" "The friar Alberigo," answered he, "Am I, who from the evil garden pluck'd Its fruitage, and am here repaid, the date More luscious for my fig."--"Hah!" I exclaim'd, "Art thou too dead!"--"How in the world aloft It fareth with my body," answer'd he, "I am right ignorant. Such privilege Hath Ptolomea, that ofttimes the soul Drops hither, ere by Atropos divorc'd. And that thou mayst wipe out more willingly The glazed tear-drops that o'erlay mine eyes, Know that the soul, that moment she betrays, As I did, yields her body to a fiend Who after moves and governs it at will, Till all its time be rounded; headlong she Falls to this cistern. And perchance above Doth yet appear the body of a ghost, Who here behind me winters. Him thou know'st, If thou but newly art arriv'd below. The years are many that have pass'd away, Since to this fastness Branca Doria came." "Now," answer'd I, "methinks thou mockest me, For Branca Doria never yet hath died, But doth all natural functions of a man, Eats, drinks, and sleeps, and putteth raiment on." He thus: "Not yet unto that upper foss By th' evil talons guarded, where the pitch Tenacious boils, had Michael Zanche reach'd, When this one left a demon in his stead In his own body, and of one his kin, Who with him treachery wrought. But now put forth Thy hand, and ope mine eyes." I op'd them not. Ill manners were best courtesy to him. Ah Genoese! men perverse in every way, With every foulness stain'd, why from the earth Are ye not cancel'd? Such an one of yours I with Romagna's darkest spirit found, As for his doings even now in soul Is in Cocytus plung'd, and yet doth seem In body still alive upon the earth. CANTO XXXIV "THE banners of Hell's Monarch do come forth Towards us; therefore look," so spake my guide, "If thou discern him." As, when breathes a cloud Heavy and dense, or when the shades of night Fall on our hemisphere, seems view'd from far A windmill, which the blast stirs briskly round, Such was the fabric then methought I saw, To shield me from the wind, forthwith I drew Behind my guide: no covert else was there. Now came I (and with fear I bid my strain Record the marvel) where the souls were all Whelm'd underneath, transparent, as through glass Pellucid the frail stem. Some prone were laid, Others stood upright, this upon the soles, That on his head, a third with face to feet Arch'd like a bow. When to the point we came, Whereat my guide was pleas'd that I should see The creature eminent in beauty once, He from before me stepp'd and made me pause. "Lo!" he exclaim'd, "lo Dis! and lo the place, Where thou hast need to arm thy heart with strength." How frozen and how faint I then became, Ask me not, reader! for I write it not, Since words would fail to tell thee of my state. I was not dead nor living. Think thyself If quick conception work in thee at all, How I did feel. That emperor, who sways The realm of sorrow, at mid breast from th' ice Stood forth; and I in stature am more like A giant, than the giants are in his arms. Mark now how great that whole must be, which suits With such a part. If he were beautiful As he is hideous now, and yet did dare To scowl upon his Maker, well from him May all our mis'ry flow. Oh what a sight! How passing strange it seem'd, when I did spy Upon his head three faces: one in front Of hue vermilion, th' other two with this Midway each shoulder join'd and at the crest; The right 'twixt wan and yellow seem'd: the left To look on, such as come from whence old Nile Stoops to the lowlands. Under each shot forth Two mighty wings, enormous as became A bird so vast. Sails never such I saw Outstretch'd on the wide sea. No plumes had they, But were in texture like a bat, and these He flapp'd i' th' air, that from him issued still Three winds, wherewith Cocytus to its depth Was frozen. At six eyes he wept: the tears Adown three chins distill'd with bloody foam. At every mouth his teeth a sinner champ'd Bruis'd as with pond'rous engine, so that three Were in this guise tormented. But far more Than from that gnawing, was the foremost pang'd By the fierce rending, whence ofttimes the back Was stript of all its skin. "That upper spirit, Who hath worse punishment," so spake my guide, "Is Judas, he that hath his head within And plies the feet without. Of th' other two, Whose heads are under, from the murky jaw Who hangs, is Brutus: lo! how he doth writhe And speaks not! Th' other Cassius, that appears So large of limb. But night now re-ascends, And it is time for parting. All is seen." I clipp'd him round the neck, for so he bade; And noting time and place, he, when the wings Enough were op'd, caught fast the shaggy sides, And down from pile to pile descending stepp'd Between the thick fell and the jagged ice. Soon as he reach'd the point, whereat the thigh Upon the swelling of the haunches turns, My leader there with pain and struggling hard Turn'd round his head, where his feet stood before, And grappled at the fell, as one who mounts, That into hell methought we turn'd again. "Expect that by such stairs as these," thus spake The teacher, panting like a man forespent, "We must depart from evil so extreme." Then at a rocky opening issued forth, And plac'd me on a brink to sit, next join'd With wary step my side. I rais'd mine eyes, Believing that I Lucifer should see Where he was lately left, but saw him now With legs held upward. Let the grosser sort, Who see not what the point was I had pass'd, Bethink them if sore toil oppress'd me then. "Arise," my master cried, "upon thy feet. The way is long, and much uncouth the road; And now within one hour and half of noon The sun returns." It was no palace-hall Lofty and luminous wherein we stood, But natural dungeon where ill footing was And scant supply of light. "Ere from th' abyss I sep'rate," thus when risen I began, "My guide! vouchsafe few words to set me free From error's thralldom. Where is now the ice? How standeth he in posture thus revers'd? And how from eve to morn in space so brief Hath the sun made his transit?" He in few Thus answering spake: "Thou deemest thou art still On th' other side the centre, where I grasp'd Th' abhorred worm, that boreth through the world. Thou wast on th' other side, so long as I Descended; when I turn'd, thou didst o'erpass That point, to which from ev'ry part is dragg'd All heavy substance. Thou art now arriv'd Under the hemisphere opposed to that, Which the great continent doth overspread, And underneath whose canopy expir'd The Man, that was born sinless, and so liv'd. Thy feet are planted on the smallest sphere, Whose other aspect is Judecca. Morn Here rises, when there evening sets: and he, Whose shaggy pile was scal'd, yet standeth fix'd, As at the first. On this part he fell down From heav'n; and th' earth, here prominent before, Through fear of him did veil her with the sea, And to our hemisphere retir'd. Perchance To shun him was the vacant space left here By what of firm land on this side appears, That sprang aloof." There is a place beneath, From Belzebub as distant, as extends The vaulted tomb, discover'd not by sight, But by the sound of brooklet, that descends This way along the hollow of a rock, Which, as it winds with no precipitous course, The wave hath eaten. By that hidden way My guide and I did enter, to return To the fair world: and heedless of repose We climbed, he first, I following his steps, Till on our view the beautiful lights of heav'n Dawn'd through a circular opening in the cave: Thus issuing we again beheld the stars. 
31349	----	This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe, September 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. _It is not always easy to laugh at Satan, or take pleasure in his antics. But when the Prince of Darkness goes on a vacation or holds a mirror up to human nature at its most Luciferian chuckles are certain to arise and follow one another in hilarious profusion. Here is a yarn contrived by a craftsman with ironic lightning bolts at his fingertips, as mordantly compelling as it is jovial and Jovian. If you liked _SATAN ON HOLIDAY_, and were hoping for a sequel you can now rejoice in full measure, for Ralph Bennitt has provided that longed-for delight._ SATAN AND THE COMRADES _by ... Ralph Bennitt_ Lucifer wasn't sure that just the right improvements had been made in Hell. So he used a dash of sulfur with Satanic skill. Nick felt almost good-humoredly buoyant after his year's holiday as a college boy. About a second after leaving Earth he slowed his traveling speed down to the medium velocity of light by shifting from fifth dimension to fourth. Though still a million miles above the wastes of Chaos and twice that distance from the gates of Hell, his X-ray eyes were quick to discern a difference in the road far below him. Sin and Death had built that broad highway eons before. On leaving Hell, presumedly forever to carry on their work among men, they had done a mighty good job of the original construction. But time had worked its ravages with the primrose-lined path, and it was not surprising that on starting his sabbatical leave, Nick had ordered his chief engineer to repair the road as a first step in his plan to modernize Hell. Apparently, old Mulciber had done a bang-up job, and Nick roared in laughter at evidences of the engineer's genius and those of wily Belial, the handsome court wag. The Propaganda Chief had added advertising at numerous new roadhouses along the way, and unwary shades traveling hellward gazed at beautiful scenes of lush vegetation instead of a dreary expanse like the Texas Panhandle. This "devilish cantraip sleight" also changed the raw Chaos climate to a steady 72°F and gave off a balmy fragrance of fruits and flowers. Ten thousand drachmas, a fictitious unit of currency established by foxy old Mammon, was the flat fee for use of the road. Blissfully unaware of this "Transportation Charge," or how it would be paid, numerous phantom pilgrims were sliding down the steeper hills--and having a swell time. Their shouts of glee reached Nick's largish ears despite the lack of air as mortals know it. Clever old Mulcie had installed freezing plants here and there to surface the road with glare ice. Nick poised above a party of phantom men and girls sliding downhill on their _derrieres_ and ending in a heap at the bottom. A nice change from traveling under their own power. Their maximum speed while swift and incomprehensible to mortals, seemed relatively slow to one of Hell's old timers. Only Nick and his best scout, Cletus, could move at thought speed--"Click-Click Transportation." Drifting on, a pleased smile on his red, bony face, Nick paused several times to read Belial's welcomings. "Die and see the original Naples in all its natural beauty," said one sign. "Try our hot sulphur springs and become a new soul." Gayest pleasures were promised to all and golfers had special attention. "Register with the pro at your favorite golf club so you can qualify. No charge for pro's services who'll teach you to break 80. Free lunch and drinks at all Nineteenth Holes." No fool shade would wonder what he'd qualify for, nor suspect he'd have to shovel eighty million tons of coal and ashes before his handicap would be lowered enough to earn him a set of golf clubs or that the free lunch and drinks were chunks of brimstone, the sulphurous air and Styx River water which is always just below boiling point at 3,000°F. Hell's thousand of new golf courses, gambling joints and bars would be available only after downtrodden souls had worked a millennia or two at common labor jobs. A shady deal, indeed, but all a part of Nick's master plan to get him and his legions back to Heaven. By modernizing Hades he hoped to annoy "The Big Boss Upstairs" while diverting the attention of those two vigilant celestial watchers, Michael and Raphael, from the main idea. In a series of bold moves, known only to Nick and his Board or Inner Council, mankind would be wiped off the earth--and thus bring The BBU to time. Or so Nick hoped. As a first step, he had spent a year as Pudzy, a college boy, studying electronics and modern skills of all kinds. He had enjoyed the holiday on Earth though it irked him to recall that he'd been obliged to do good here and there. The thought of these satanic lapses caused him to frown, but his jolly mood returned when he saw the familiar gates of Hell wide open in obedience to his whistle. The whistle's high frequency waves also awakened Cerberus, the three-headed watch dog, besides actuating "The Dingus." This electronic device Nick had stolen to operate the three ponderous triple-fold gates of adamantine, brass and iron. He slowed to supersonic speed, brought back his great red wings and made a neat three-point landing without injuring the needle-sharp dart at the end of his long, black tail. Still feeling jovial, he kicked all three of Cerberus's heads, then zoomed down through the tunnel to the north bank of the River Styx. There he halted to view the ten-lane suspension bridge Mulciber had thrown across the steamy black water. Nick was wondering how the old genius had accomplished such a feat when a thick black wall dropped across the bridgehead. "Cost you five thousand rubles to cross, mister," Charon called in a thick voice. The old riverman who had ferried new shades across the earth-hell boundary for eons of time, had just returned after a year's vacation in Moscow. He hid a bottle under his brimstone bench, then straightened a gaudy red tie as he weaved forward. A changed devil, Charon. His year in Redland had done more than put him into a natty summer suit. Although not very bright, he had unusual powers of observation. He liked to ape the odd speech of his customers, especially American prospectors. These truculent but harmless old timers worked at odd jobs around the nearby palace grounds, and in the ferryman they found a kindred spirit. Nick eyed the loyal old fellow's red tie with amazement. "What, for St. Pete's sake, are you drinking, Char?" "Vodka," Charon gasped. Recognizing the stern voice, he tried to focus his bleary eyes. "'Scuse it, Your Majesty. I've come a long way and alone. Your substitute, Pudzy, gimme a bottle 'fore he returned to Ameriky, and it's durn cold up there in Musk-Cow, and so I took a few nips, and I felt so goldurned glad to git back I polished off what was left, so I didn't recognize Your Majesty when you came zoomin' along, and if you'll sort of overlook--" Nick patted the frightened old fellow's scrawny shoulder. "Better check in and sleep it off, Char." "Gosh, stoppin' _you_!" "You let everybody in till I tell you different. Forget the toll charge too, you old conniver." "Yeah, and look!" Chortling with glee, Charon tottered back to his station and put one hand across the beam of a photo-electric eye. The ponderous gate slid silently upward. "It weighs fifteen hundred tons, Mulcie says, and I don't even push a button." "You still smell like a Communist, Char," Nick said, sniffing the good sulphurous air. "How come you're on the job as bridgekeeper if you've just returned from Moscow?" "Orders from Beelzebub, and it's nigh a half hour by now since this fella came across the bridge. I'm sauntering home, friends with everybody, I am--" "What fellow?" Charon scratched his grisly thatch. "Come to think of it, I never see 'im afore this. I'm standing back there, looking down at my old skiff and wondering about my job, when this fella comes up. 'This is for you, Charon,' he says, and held out your official incombusterible letterhead with the cross-bones and dripping blood--" "Yeah, yeah. What does this stranger look like? What's his name? Who signed the paper?" "Beelzebub signed it. I guess I know the John Henry of your Number Two devil even if I am a dumb ferryman." Perhaps sensing he had blundered, Charon almost wept. "This paper appoints me head bridge-tender from now to the _end_ of eternity, and, bein' worried about my job, I hopped right to it. You're the first--" "Which way did he go? What's he look like?" Charon almost said "Thataway," as he shook his head and pointed a trembling finger to the distant shore. "Lemme see. He wore neat clothes about like mine, and he zoomed off like the upper crust shades do when in a hurry--which ain't often. He has mean little eyes, sort of pale blue, is built wide and short, and talks American good as I do. Now't I think of it, he had an impederiment in his speech, and he smelt like a bed of sweet peas." "Very good, indeed." Scanning the paper, Nick smiled as he recognized a forgery of the Beelzebub signature. He drew out his pen which writes under fire as well as water, and scribbled "Nick," then put the document into the eager hands. "This gives you the job forever--or till I revoke the appointment." "Boydy-dumb-deals!" Charon shouted. "Boss, you oughta hear about my adventures in Redland. I had a real gabfest with the new Premier, Andrei Broncov, and his Minister of Culture, Vichy Volonsky." Nick grinned sardonically. "I heard a little about the most recent changes in the Kremlin. Are my old sidekicks well? And are they having any particular trouble since liquidating the old gang?" "How come you call that fat crumb, Broncov, your sidekick?" Charon frowned, trying to collect his wits in the dread presence. "He didn't ask about you. He took me for an illegitimate son of Joe Stalin's, so how would he know you and I are pals? I bought this red tie and hired a sleeping dictionary to catch onto the language better, and--" "Your dictionary probably spilled things to the MVD." "Not while my gold held out. Anyhow, those punks are way overrated. Tricky, maybe, and they lie good. They'd rather bump you off than eat breakfast." "Purge is the word. The old comrades Broncov threw out a month ago now fully understand its meaning. How is the comrade?" "Gosh, boss, I'm sick of hearing that word. They say it just before they knife you. Broncov's been busy, all right. Since taking over the Number One job he's been sending a lot of his best friends down this way. To keep Joe Stalin company, he told me. He looks fat even if Bill Shakespeare says this new lot--" "I suppose he and his pals plied you with liquor," Nick said. "They tried to drink me under the table." Charon cut a laugh in half. "Gosh, I durn near forgot. Y'know what the sidewinder, Bronco, babbled 'fore he passed out? Top drawer stuff. Only he and this Vichy Volonskyvich know about it. Seems Bronco learned, somehow, about your taking a vacation, so he's been torturing a lot of his friends into confessing they plotted agin 'im. He promised them an easy death if they'd carry on down here. How you like that?" "The fools. What's his plan?" "I ain't sure I got it all as his tongue got thicker from the vodka. But I learned Hell's full of comrades who've sworn to their god, Lee-Nine, they'll toss you to the wolves. They aim to pull Joe Stalin off his clinker-picking job and make him secretary here." "Go on," Nick urged in ominous tones. "How?" "They've swiped some new secret weapon and figure to obliterate you and every devil in authority so things will be organized nice and cozy when they finally get here. The Dumb--" "Good report, Char." The new weapon did not bother Nick much, but from his profound studies of atom smashing he decided anything can happen these days even to a top devil. He continued briskly: "Hereafter, sniff all your customers and make sure they don't _smell_ like a Red. You know the aroma by now--sweet peas with an underlying stink--so keep your nose peeled. When you spot a comrade, radio-phone the guard. Those lads will know what to do you can bet your last ruble." II The rousing welcome home Nick received as he climbed the hill to his great palace would have warmed his heart if he'd owned one. "Thanks, boys and girls," he intoned in his best golden voice. "It's swell to be back among you. I haven't time for a speech now, but tune in to Channel Thirteen tomorrow evening for my fireside chat." He wanted to take off for Moscow immediately, but decided to start the war by calling The Board. Also, the boys would be hurt if he didn't inspect what they'd done during his absence. After a hasty, Russian-style dinner of caviar, cabbage and cold horse with a gold flagon of vodka, he ordered Azazel, Flag Bearer and Statistician Chief, to call a meeting in the throne room. Little Cletus waylaid his big boss. The scout among the celestials looked like a chubby cherub what with his dimpled cheeks and curly black hair, but he'd proved to be the trickiest imp south of the pearly gates. Knowing that Raphael had cajoled the little imp into revealing something of the improvements in Hades, Nick suspected treachery by one of his most trusted scouts. "I hear you've been seeing Raphael!" he barked. "Aw, I told 'im a pack of lies," Cletus scoffed. "Maybe Rafe figured out something; he's a smart apple. I told 'im everybody here is hot and unhappy like you ordered me to say if they ever caught me. I said our air-conditioning system goes haywire and that we were ripping out a thousand old boilers and coolers. Stuff like that." "Don't lie to me, you ornery little brat. Okay to anybody else but not to me. I happened to hear Rafe talking to Mike, and they're wise to my plan of making Hell attractive." "Well, hell," Cletus protested, "they saw Mulcie's gangs fixing the road. If Rafe and them extra-extrapopulated that dope to figure out the truth, why blame me?" "We'll forget it," Nick said, vastly relieved to believe his scout had not betrayed him. "I have a job for you. I'm going to Moscow and I want your help. Light out as soon as you can. Requisition as much gold as you can handle by the usual translation method, and include a sack of polished diamonds and rubies. I'll tell Mammon it's okay when I arrange for my own supply." "Okay, boss. Where do we meet? And what am I supposed to look like, and do?" "Make yourself bellhop size and register at the Droshky Hotel as Prince Navi from Baghdad with fifty Persian oil wells to sell. Let 'em see your gold and jewels. And, remember, you'll account for any dough you toss away to women and bribes. Get going!" Nick could see into the _near_ future, at least, and he chuckled after Cletus vanished through the wall. "The little devil doesn't know what's in store for him." In the throne room, sage old Beelzebub sat at the right of His Majesty's chair; huge Moloch with his evil grin and snaggle teeth, at the left. Tall, prissy Azazel, always acting important, planted Satan's flag and then sat down at a table opposite wide-shouldered Mulciber and handsome Belial. Charter members all of the original organization booted out of Heaven some eighteen million years ago when Nick's first but not last rebellion flopped. After the customary ritual of renewing their vow to get back to Heaven, the gang sat down. Nick rapped the arm of his throne and glared at Chemos, the lustful one. "Cheme," he said, "if you will quit flirting with Astarte, The Board will take up business." Belial snickered when the culprits' red faces grew even redder, and after a wink at the court wit, Nick went on: "I intend to take off for Moscow after a quick look about with Mulcie and Belial. Incidentally, my compliments on the good work you did on the road." "Egad, boss," Moloch complained, "why can't you stay home more and line things up for us?" "Time enough--" Nick sniffed, scowled, then pointed toward a thick pillar near the rear of the big room. "I smell an interloper. Thammuz, Dagon, drag 'im up here! Beel, I fancy he's the one who forged your signature." Beelzebub rose in anger when a shadowy figure darted for the door. The intruder moved as fast as any wraith but the two former gods were too quick for him. A brief struggle, then they dragged the eavesdropper before the throne where they held him upside down. "It's the Paperhanger!" Beelzebub roared. "I guessed that from Charon's description," Nick said calmly. "He's siding with the Reds again--Smell him? Stand up, Adolf, and hear your sentence!" "I didn't do a thing, Your Majesty," Hitler began, but the hot, glowing eyes were too much to face. His knees buckled and he sank, groveling, on the floor. "Didn't I send you millions of customers?" he wailed. "Haven't I done a good job of sweeping out and collecting garbage? Have a heart, Nick. I came in here to sweep, and how would I know about this private conference?" "You talk about hearts?" Nick flared. "You hung around to listen. You forged Beelzebub's signature on my official paper, then put Charon in charge of the bridge, thinking he's too dumb to report any Commies coming here." "I can prove--" "You get the same chance at that which you gave people in Berlin. Down the chute with him, boys!" The chute, connecting with a main one leading down to the burning lake, has a flap which Belial gleefully lifted. Since shades have no mass worth mentioning, the long duct acts like a department store vacuum tube. "Oh, my beloved emperor, forgive me," Adolf yelled as he felt the suction. "I only wanted to organize a counter-revolution against the Communists and--" "Ratting on your pals again, eh?" Nick sneered. "You stay in the burning lake a thousand earth years. You'll have plenty of time and company for your plotting. Let 'im rip!" "No! I'll be forgotten--" "No one remembers you now except as a dung heap." Nick turned a thumb downward, and the screeching shade vanished. "Like a paper towel in a gale," Belial said as he let the flap clang shut. "How'd that creep get a job where he could snoop?" "My fault," Beelzebub admitted. "He's a smooth talker. I saw him not long after you left, Your Majesty, when I went out to inspect the garbage incinerator. He had shaved off his dinky mustache and changed the color of his eyes, but I recognized him." "It's okay, Beel." Nick patted the heavy shoulder of his top assistant. "The punk did us a left-handed favor in bringing things to a head." He told of how Charon had discovered the Red plot, then outlined his general plan. "Those Commies can't stand ridicule," Nick summed up. "While I'm gone I want every Communist son tossed into the burning lake. Alarm all guards and tell them how to identify them--the fragrance of sweet peas with an underlying stink. No one in the USSR has used up a cake of soap in twenty years, and the perfume they add can't quite cover the BO." "Must be a lot of Commies here," Mulciber commented. "How many guards have we, Azzy?" Azazel, Statistics Chief, glanced at a roll of incombustible microfilm, and cleared his throat. He liked being called upon, and since he had the history of every shade while on Earth, he was the second most feared devil in Hades. "After promoting the last batch who qualified for better jobs during the minimum millennium at common labor," Azazel said, "and adding--" "Never mind the commercial!" grouchy Moloch roared. "Boss, how do we know all our guards are to be trusted?" "We don't," Nick said. "When did we ever trust anybody? But our system of checkers, checkers checking the checkers, super-checkers on up to charter members, hasn't failed yet." "If His Eminence, The Corpse-Snatcher, is satisfied," Azazel said, smoothing his sleek black hair, "I shall answer Prince Mulciber's polite question. We now have on the guards' roll exactly thirteen million four hundred--" "That's close enough." Plainly pleased with his title, Moloch grinned at the big engineer. "Mulcie, why not build a chute straight up into Moscow? Save the boss trouble. He could take along a few gorillas and toss all those troublemaking stinkers straight into a hot bath." Nick joined in the laughter. "Trouble with that, Molly, The BBU wouldn't stand for it. Only Death can give the final sting, and even he has to wait for the call. Our game is to play it cagey, stick by the few rules The BBU laid down, and stay out of trouble." "How do you aim to handle those fellas?" Belial asked. "Tell you after I do it." Nick guessed the fun-loving Propaganda Chief wanted to go along, but decided Cletus would be a better assistant in a plan already formulated. A boon companion, Belial, for any nefarious project. True, he had the quickest wit of the lot, but had worked over-long in the advertising racket, and many of his schemes resembled those of a hen on a hot griddle. Nick turned to the secretary. "If you have all this down, Asta, I'll consider a motion to adjourn." III It was an hour short of midnight and snowing in Moscow when Nick landed in the printing room of Pravda, the official Red journal. As he had calculated, several sample newspapers had been run off. Vichy Volonsky, a short, roundheaded man, had held up the rest of the issue while he studied the content through his nose-glasses. Editor Blochensk and the mechanics anxiously awaited the great man's verdict. An unfavorable one meant the concentration camp for everybody. As Minister of Culture, Volonsky previewed all news personally when not running errands for Andrei Broncov at a meeting of the Inner Council. The Number Two ranking man in the Kremlin clique frowned most frighteningly, then, moved by an odd compulsion, walked into a sound-insulated telephone room. He closed the door and stared at it stupidly while looking through the invisible Nick. "Why did I come in here?" he said. "There's only the usual bilge in the sheet, nothing to telephone the fat slob about. Yet something made me." "I did," Nick said, suddenly visible. "When I finish, Pravda will never be the same again. Lie down, Vichy!" Volonsky opened his mouth, but Nick wiggled a finger, and no yell came out. In the wink of an eye, he squeezed out the Minister's shade and took its place. "Pretty cramped and smelly quarters," Nick told himself, "but do or die for good old Hades." "What? Who are you?" Volonsky's phantom teeth chattered. "You must be Nick, himself." "Russia's patron saint till you amateurs took over. I have business with your boss. I mean Andrei Broncov. Not that it matters, but who conceived the idea of deposing Satan? Talk, _mujik_, and tell the truth. All of it." "Blame Broncov, not me," Volonsky pleaded. "It was his scheme to kill off several thousand loyal party comrades. They got a choice: Be tortured to death, or die quickly and work for a revolution in Hell as soon as they arrived. Naturally--" "I've heard enough, rat." Nick spat contemptuously, and a puff of gray smoke spread rapidly over walls, ceiling and floor. "That will hold you," he jeered, and opened the door. Aping the Minister's important waddle, he walked over to the great press. Editor Blochensk stared with fear-bulged eyes. "Anything--anything wrong, Your Excellency comrade?" he asked shakily. "Nothing I can't fix." "Oh!" The editor clutched his throat. "Thank--uh--uh--" "Never mind, I know Who you mean." Muttering words in Hell's silent language, Nick walked completely around the press. "It's perfect, Blochy. Don't let the content worry you. It's part of The PLAN. Roll out your papers and deliver them fast. Don't question anything. Orders from--you know." Only minutes ahead of the new Volonsky, Cletus had entered the lobby of the Droshky Hotel on Red Square. The cherubic scout had obeyed orders and made himself bellhop size, large size. He didn't exactly resemble the one in the cigarette ad but he had the kid's twinkle in his dark eyes. And he had already latched onto a luscious blonde; or, more likely, Nick concluded, the reverse. Having just registered as a Persian prince, Cletus again clanked down a large sack of gold pieces and a smaller one of jewels. "Put these diamonds and rubies into your best safe," he ordered in perfect Russian. The clerk's eyes began popping, so did the blonde's and those of a score of spectators, including four hard-faced MVD boys. "And I'll take care of you, Honey-Navi," the blonde said. "Ah, you just love me for my two billion dollars," the imp retorted, and winked at her. As did Nick, Cletus could plainly see the twist operated on the MVD payroll as well as in her own interests. "I'm selling out my fifty oil wells," he announced, "and I've come to town to see the head man, whoever he is today. I thought I'd let you dumb _mujiks_ bid for the wells before I practically give them to Super-San Oil company for a measly two hundred million dollars." "Of course, Prince Navi," the clerk said loudly. He nodded toward the four tough lads who, likewise, had not yet noticed the great Volonsky. Nick rapped on the counter with his six-carat diamond ring. "How about a little service here, comrade?" "One moment, comrade," the clerk said nervously. "What you mean, one moment?" Nick roared. "I haven't flown all the way from New York to have a two-bit clerk tell me to wait. I represent Super-San Oil and I'm here to meet a Persian Prince Navi." "Quiet, Amerikaner, till--Oh, Your Excellency Comrade Vychy Volonsky!" The mouth of the astonished clerk fell open. Then, fearful of making a wrong move in the Red game of dirty politics, he failed to guess why the great one should act as a miserable capitalist. "A thousand pardons, Your Excellency Comrade. What can I do for the beloved comrade? I didn't recognize you--" "Hush, fool!" Nick looked toward Cletus just then gazing into the blonde's blue eyes. The four MVD agents went into a quick huddle, then the one with a broken nose bowed to the fake Volonsky. "If Your Excellency Comrade will step aside with us, we'll explain this fool's mistake." "Put him in the can and question him tomorrow," Nick snarled. "Anybody can see he's working for the filthy capitalists." "Of course, Your Excellency Comrade." Broken nose and his three pals escorted Nick to a chair beside a column. "I'm Lieutenant Putov of the MVD," he whispered. "We picked up this Prince Navi the instant he entered, and have been watching him." "Skip the commercial," Nick said, almost laughing as he gave Moloch's favorite expression. "How come you didn't spot him at one of our airports?" "He must have landed on an abandoned field in his private plane, Your Excellency Comrade." Lieutenant Putov glanced at the other three equally worried looking plug-uglies. "He's a prince, all right. Look at the gold and jewels he tossed to the clerk, several million dol--I mean, several billion rubles. We haven't checked his story, but he claims he's here to sell fifty Persian oil wells." "I know _that_, idiot. Our spies in Baghdad advised us yesterday. That's why I pretend to be with the stinking Super-San--Wggh!" "What are Your Excellency Comrade's wishes?" "Get him away from that blonde before she ruins our plans." "Ah, that's Nishka, one of us." Astonishment widened Putov's watery blue eyes. "Have you forgotten the night you and she drank--" "You talk too much, Putov." Nick flapped a hand. "Get a car to take me and the prince to the Kremlin. Hurry it! Comrade Andrei Broncov and I have a Council meeting at midnight. You three, bring the prince to me here." Cletus and Nishka had withdrawn to a sofa in an alcove off the lobby. Without effort, Nick could see them and hear the female agent saying: "How do I know you have all that money, Navi-Honey? I'll bet you brought gilt lead and fake jewels just to impress me." "No, but I've been to America," Cletus bragged, knowing well his boss would be listening. "So be nice and I'll prove they're real. I've been everywhere but this lousy place. I even lived in Egypt." "Talk some Egyptian for me," Nishka wheedled. "I've forgotten most of it," Cletus said, cannily dodging the trap. "But I once made a study of the ancient language." He ripped out a stream of what had once been his native tongue. Then, partly at least to test Nishka's knowledge, he added in English, "How's for looking at my room before we go out on the town?" "Wha-at? Why, you bad boy!" The girl winked at her three fellow agents coming toward them in a crablike walk, then spoke in Cletus' ear: "It's the LAW, Navi-Honey, but don't let them worry you. Little Nishka will stay with you--to the limit." Cletus leered at her and rose to accompany the MVD to the front of the lobby. He and Nick put on an act, then went to the street followed by a chattering crowd. Once inside the sleek car Putov had conjured up, Nick said: "The heap is wired so we'll talk only in Hell language." IV It wasn't far to the grim walls of the Kremlin, and as the big car purred across the snowy, radio-stricken square, Nick gave Cletus the main points of his plan. Obviously warned, the police gave a snappy salute and let the car enter the courtyard. A few moments later, Hell's emissaries were zooming through long corridors and up to the second floor; walking the last fifty yards. Six husky guards armed with sub-machine guns opened the great doors to the Premier's private study. "He's been asking for you," a huge guard whispered. "He would, the brainless pup," Nick snarled, reading the big fellow's thoughts. A Volonsky man called Gorkzy. "Don't announce us." Inside the great room, at a desk almost large enough for a roller skating rink, Andrei Broncov appeared to be studying a document. True executive, he went on reading till Nick coughed. "Your Excellency Comrade Broncov, I have brought Prince Navi. Where is the rest of the Council?" "Ah!" Broncov's plump face widened in a smile for Cletus. "This is an honor, Your Highness. I trust you will pardon my preoccupation with affairs of state. They're in a mess--as are all capitals when the old order departs. I supposed you'd be announced." Andrei Broncov glared at the pseudo Volonsky and whispered in a dialect, "The Council is waiting below, fool." "Nuts," Cletus said. "Talk English, will you? I can hardly understand your outlandish language. Or, speak Persian." "My knowledge of your native tongue is not good, but I'm quite at home in English or Amerikaner. A Russian invented--" "Yeah, he knows," Nick cut in. "Forget the malarkey, Bronco. This lad is here on business and has no time for our phoney hooptedo. From his grandfather, the old Shah, he inherited fifty of the richest oil wells in Asia, and he's giving us a chance to bid on them instead of carrying on a, quote, cold, unquote, war, and steal--" "I understand," Broncov said through his big teeth. His lips tightened in his rage over Volonsky's direct speech, but he managed to say fairly suavely: "Your Highness, we appreciate your giving us a chance to buy your wells. Surely, a banquet is in order." "No, I want to get out of this place. It's too cold." Nick peered over his Volonsky nose-glasses. "How much, kid? No fooling." "Volonsky!" Broncov barked. "Mind your speech. I'll handle this little deal. You're excused." "Uh-uh." Nick grinned. "I stay for _my_ cut." "You both look like a couple of crooks to me," said the young prince. "I want two hundred million dollars--in gold." Broncov's hand shook as he reached for a row of buttons. "How about a bit of tea and cakes, or, perhaps something stronger before we discuss this matter with the Council? They're waiting just below us, and I'd like to present the deal already consummated." "Got any Old Style Lager around?" Cletus asked. "We have some good Bavarian beer, a stock we--ah--bought some time ago." "I've heard how much you paid the Heinies. The beer I want is made in Wisconsin, USA, so I think I'll fly over there tonight. Super-San Oil keeps begging me to visit their country. Offered me two hundred million for my wells but only half in gold. I want all gold, and I won't discuss any other terms." "Bungler!" Broncov whispered in dialect. "Why didn't you get him drunk, first? Without oil we can't carry on this cold war or kid the peasants much longer. Where in hell could we get even two hundred dollars in gold?" "Go to hell and find all you want," Nick said with a wicked grin. "I understood what you high-binders said," Cletus put in. "My cousin told me before I left home Communist clucks don't savvy Saturday from Sunday. Everybody knows you top boys have stolen everything not nailed down, and have stashed it away against the time your own people kick out Communism for good." "Oh, come, Prince Navi, I don't understand how such an evil story started. Our people wouldn't dare--" "Wouldn't they?" Cletus laughed nastily. "We have spies too, and we know your common herd would settle for anything else. Most of them want their church and their Tsar back, bad as he was." "Bah! The capitalist press started that myth." "Why, Bronco," Nick protested, "you can read that story in Pravda, 'The Organ of Truth.'" The fake Minister of Culture cleared his throat to keep from laughing when the glowering Premier began thinking of various ways to torture unsympathetic comrades. In silent Hell language, Nick added: "Good work, Cleet. I'll take it from here." "Lies put out by the war mongerers of Wall Street," Broncov shouted. He continued raving, but Nick no longer listened. Sounds outside the window told him time had begun pressing. He shook the hat he'd been carrying. "Gold, is it you want, Prince Navi? You think we have none? How about this?" A glittering gold piece tinkled on the floor and rolled toward the amazed Red Premier. Puffing, he bent over and scooped up a newly minted coin the size of the American gold eagle. "It's a new issue--I--never mind. We have lots more where this came from, haven't we, comrade Vychy?" "I'll say," Nick said. "Watch!" Gold pieces continued falling from the hat, one by one, then in a steady stream. Stunned, Broncov clutched his throat, muttering: "It can't be true. Miracles don't happen." He watched in silence while his Minister of Culture made a pile of gold coins four feet high. When the floor timbers began creaking, Nick made another similar heap; then, others, till the thick walls began bulging inward. "Stop!" Broncov cried. "A couple of tons is enough." Eyes now popping, he waved his arms as the floor sagged under fifty times that weight. "There's the two hundred million for you, Prince. The rest is for--us. We'll sign the papers in another room." Ignoring frightened cries, Nick made more piles of gold next to the windows. Outside on Red Square, people were running in all directions, shouting and waving newspapers. A cannon roared. A hundred or more machine guns began rattling. Plainly, the bullets were not fired at any one, for the people were laughing and weeping, singing and dancing. "Come here and have a look, Bronco," Nick suggested. "It's--a trick, a revolution," Broncov panted. "Damn you, Volonsky, you started it." He snatched a heavy revolver from his desk and fired it at Nick without warning. The false Volonsky laughed when five of the slugs bounced off the invisible shield around him. A sixth bullet splintered the window glass. The other five returned and struck the raging Red boss, cutting his face and arms enough to bring streams of blood. He dashed for the door but collided with the six guards who burst into the room. Broncov wiped off some of the blood running into his eyes well enough to see all six waving copies of Pravda. "What's going on here?" he screamed. "Read about it in Pravda," bellowed Gorkzy, the huge guard. "It always prints the truth--you've taught us." "What truth?" quavered the Premier. "Put down those guns!" "Oh, no. Pravda says you were shot trying to escape, and for once it really told the truth." Implacably, the big guard brought up his Tommy-gun and let it rattle. The stricken Red leader took two steps backward and fell to the floor as the other five guns opened up on him in a hell's chatter of death. His falling weight added the last straw to the overstrained floor timbers. They gave way in a roar, and a hundred tons of yellow gold streamed downward in a cataclysmic wave of wealth and death to the Council members below. * * * * * Poised on air, Nick and Cletus became invisible to mortal eyes. "That wraps it, Cleet. Let's see how the boys take it." The six guards were peering down into the ruin below, and at some of the fortune still clinging to the slanting floor. "Great Nicholas!" Gorkzy yelled. "Gold!" "Just like Pravda says," howled another man. "Listen! It says: 'Volonsky and the mysterious Persian prince have disappeared. Broncov executed by heroic guards. All members of the once-feared Inner Council crushed almost beyond recognition when floor crashed upon them from the weight of the gold brought by the prince.'" "And look at this!" roared the big Gorkzy. "'All soldiers and police throw down their arms. Refuse to shoot the people shouting they want their Tsar and church back. Satellite countries freed of the odious Communist yoke. Concentration camps, collective farming, and slave labor abolished. All spies and saboteurs recalled to Moscow for trial and punishment. Ivan, the Tsar, to issue proclamation.'" "What Tsar?" The six stared stupidly at one another. One man picked up a shiny gold piece and tested it with his teeth. "The Bolsheviks murdered the old goat and all his family. How can this be?" "He probably left plenty of bastards," another man hazarded. "I get it," Gorkzy shouted. "Prince Navi is a grandson. His name is N-a-v-i--Ivan spelled backward. Why, the smart little devil! And now he's here some place to reign over us." "Oh, no," Cletus protested as he and Nick slithered through the wall. "You aren't going to make me rule over these dopes, boss. Have a heart. It's cold here, and the whole country stinks." "That's your punishment, m'lad, for letting Raphael and Michael catch onto you. You can't prowl around Heaven just now so you'll have to work here in Hell's Rear Annex for a while. Look!" Nick thumbed one of the gold pieces. "Your image stamped on all of them. Also 'Ivan--Tsar. In God We Trust.'" "Okay," Cletus said, shuffling a little, then brightening. "Anyhow, I'll have Nishka." "Not if the common folks find out she worked for the MVD." As if to punctuate Nick's prophesy, a dozen bombs exploded inside police headquarters. "Heck!" Cletus shrugged resignedly. "Well, lend me that hat, and conjure up a couple million tons of soap--not perfumed." Roaring with laughter, Nick promised to spread soap over the entire country, then watched the little imp zooming back and forth across Red Square--sprinkling the snowy pavement with Ivan-Tsar pieces of gold. * * * * * The Satanic laughter lasted till Nick had whizzed half way across Chaos. "That caper," he told himself gleefully, "will fool The BBU about my plan. Or, will it? Great Hades! I did a _good_ deed." A million miles above the wastes of Chaos, he remembered he still wore Volonsky whose shade would still be imprisoned in the Pravda room. Nick shucked out of his unpleasant quarters, halted to watch the thing spinning downward. "Cheer up, Vych," he laughed. "Next century I'll gather up what's left and give it back to you--maybe." 
1001	----	THE DIVINE COMEDY OF DANTE ALIGHIERI (1265-1321) TRANSLATED BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW (1807-1882) CANTICLE I: INFERNO CREDITS The base text for this edition has been provided by Digital Dante, a project sponsored by Columbia University's Institute for Learning Technologies. Specific thanks goes to Jennifer Hogan (Project Editor/Director), Tanya Larkin (Assistant to Editor), Robert W. Cole (Proofreader/Assistant Editor), and Jennifer Cook (Proofreader). The Digital Dante Project is a digital 'study space' for Dante studies and scholarship. The project is multi-faceted and fluid by nature of the Web. Digital Dante attempts to organize the information most significant for students first engaging with Dante and scholars researching Dante. The digital of Digital Dante incurs a new challenge to the student, the scholar, and teacher, perusing the Web: to become proficient in the new tools, e.g., Search, the Discussion Group, well enough to look beyond the technology and delve into the content. For more information and access to the project, please visit its web site at: http://www.ilt.columbia.edu/projects/dante/ For this Project Gutenberg edition the e-text was rechecked. The editor greatly thanks Dian McCarthy for her assistance in proofreading the Paradiso. Also deserving praise are Herbert Fann for programming the text editor "Desktop Tools/Edit" and the late August Dvorak for designing his keyboard layout. Please refer to Project Gutenberg's e-text listings for other editions or translations of 'The Divine Comedy.' For this three part edition of 'The Divine Comedy' please refer to the end of the Paradiso for supplemental materials. Dennis McCarthy, July 1997 imprimatur@juno.com CONTENTS Inferno I. The Dark Forest. The Hill of Difficulty. The Panther, the Lion, and the Wolf. Virgil. II. The Descent. Dante's Protest and Virgil's Appeal. The Intercession of the Three Ladies Benedight. III. The Gate of Hell. The Inefficient or Indifferent. Pope Celestine V. The Shores of Acheron. Charon. The Earthquake and the Swoon. IV. The First Circle, Limbo: Virtuous Pagans and the Unbaptized. The Four Poets, Homer, Horace, Ovid, and Lucan. The Noble Castle of Philosophy. V. The Second Circle: The Wanton. Minos. The Infernal Hurricane. Francesca da Rimini. VI. The Third Circle: The Gluttonous. Cerberus. The Eternal Rain. Ciacco. Florence. VII. The Fourth Circle: The Avaricious and the Prodigal. Plutus. Fortune and her Wheel. The Fifth Circle: The Irascible and the Sullen. Styx. VIII. Phlegyas. Philippo Argenti. The Gate of the City of Dis. IX. The Furies and Medusa. The Angel. The City of Dis. The Sixth Circle: Heresiarchs. X. Farinata and Cavalcante de' Cavalcanti. Discourse on the Knowledge of the Damned. XI. The Broken Rocks. Pope Anastasius. General Description of the Inferno and its Divisions. XII. The Minotaur. The Seventh Circle: The Violent. The River Phlegethon. The Violent against their Neighbours. The Centaurs. Tyrants. XIII. The Wood of Thorns. The Harpies. The Violent against themselves. Suicides. Pier della Vigna. Lano and Jacopo da Sant' Andrea. XIV. The Sand Waste and the Rain of Fire. The Violent against God. Capaneus. The Statue of Time, and the Four Infernal Rivers. XV. The Violent against Nature. Brunetto Latini. XVI. Guidoguerra, Aldobrandi, and Rusticucci. Cataract of the River of Blood. XVII. Geryon. The Violent against Art. Usurers. Descent into the Abyss of Malebolge. XVIII. The Eighth Circle, Malebolge: The Fraudulent and the Malicious. The First Bolgia: Seducers and Panders. Venedico Caccianimico. Jason. The Second Bolgia: Flatterers. Allessio Interminelli. Thais. XIX. The Third Bolgia: Simoniacs. Pope Nicholas III. Dante's Reproof of corrupt Prelates. XX. The Fourth Bolgia: Soothsayers. Amphiaraus, Tiresias, Aruns, Manto, Eryphylus, Michael Scott, Guido Bonatti, and Asdente. Virgil reproaches Dante's Pity. Mantua's Foundation. XXI. The Fifth Bolgia: Peculators. The Elder of Santa Zita. Malacoda and other Devils. XXII. Ciampolo, Friar Gomita, and Michael Zanche. The Malabranche quarrel. XXIII. Escape from the Malabranche. The Sixth Bolgia: Hypocrites. Catalano and Loderingo. Caiaphas. XXIV. The Seventh Bolgia: Thieves. Vanni Fucci. Serpents. XXV. Vanni Fucci's Punishment. Agnello Brunelleschi, Buoso degli Abati, Puccio Sciancato, Cianfa de' Donati, and Guercio Cavalcanti. XXVI. The Eighth Bolgia: Evil Counsellors. Ulysses and Diomed. Ulysses' Last Voyage. XXVII. Guido da Montefeltro. His deception by Pope Boniface VIII. XXVIII. The Ninth Bolgia: Schismatics. Mahomet and Ali. Pier da Medicina, Curio, Mosca, and Bertrand de Born. XXIX. Geri del Bello. The Tenth Bolgia: Alchemists. Griffolino d' Arezzo and Capocchino. XXX. Other Falsifiers or Forgers. Gianni Schicchi, Myrrha, Adam of Brescia, Potiphar's Wife, and Sinon of Troy. XXXI. The Giants, Nimrod, Ephialtes, and Antaeus. Descent to Cocytus. XXXII. The Ninth Circle: Traitors. The Frozen Lake of Cocytus. First Division, Caina: Traitors to their Kindred. Camicion de' Pazzi. Second Division, Antenora: Traitors to their Country. Dante questions Bocca degli Abati. Buoso da Duera. XXXIII. Count Ugolino and the Archbishop Ruggieri. The Death of Count Ugolino's Sons. Third Division of the Ninth Circle, Ptolomaea: Traitors to their Friends. Friar Alberigo, Branco d' Oria. XXXIV. Fourth Division of the Ninth Circle, the Judecca: Traitors to their Lords and Benefactors. Lucifer, Judas Iscariot, Brutus, and Cassius. The Chasm of Lethe. The Ascent. Incipit Comoedia Dantis Alagherii, Florentini natione, non moribus. The Divine Comedy translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (e-text courtesy ILT's Digital Dante Project) INFERNO Inferno: Canto I Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, For the straightforward pathway had been lost. Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say What was this forest savage, rough, and stern, Which in the very thought renews the fear. So bitter is it, death is little more; But of the good to treat, which there I found, Speak will I of the other things I saw there. I cannot well repeat how there I entered, So full was I of slumber at the moment In which I had abandoned the true way. But after I had reached a mountain's foot, At that point where the valley terminated, Which had with consternation pierced my heart, Upward I looked, and I beheld its shoulders, Vested already with that planet's rays Which leadeth others right by every road. Then was the fear a little quieted That in my heart's lake had endured throughout The night, which I had passed so piteously. And even as he, who, with distressful breath, Forth issued from the sea upon the shore, Turns to the water perilous and gazes; So did my soul, that still was fleeing onward, Turn itself back to re-behold the pass Which never yet a living person left. After my weary body I had rested, The way resumed I on the desert slope, So that the firm foot ever was the lower. And lo! almost where the ascent began, A panther light and swift exceedingly, Which with a spotted skin was covered o'er! And never moved she from before my face, Nay, rather did impede so much my way, That many times I to return had turned. The time was the beginning of the morning, And up the sun was mounting with those stars That with him were, what time the Love Divine At first in motion set those beauteous things; So were to me occasion of good hope, The variegated skin of that wild beast, The hour of time, and the delicious season; But not so much, that did not give me fear A lion's aspect which appeared to me. He seemed as if against me he were coming With head uplifted, and with ravenous hunger, So that it seemed the air was afraid of him; And a she-wolf, that with all hungerings Seemed to be laden in her meagreness, And many folk has caused to live forlorn! She brought upon me so much heaviness, With the affright that from her aspect came, That I the hope relinquished of the height. And as he is who willingly acquires, And the time comes that causes him to lose, Who weeps in all his thoughts and is despondent, E'en such made me that beast withouten peace, Which, coming on against me by degrees Thrust me back thither where the sun is silent. While I was rushing downward to the lowland, Before mine eyes did one present himself, Who seemed from long-continued silence hoarse. When I beheld him in the desert vast, "Have pity on me," unto him I cried, "Whiche'er thou art, or shade or real man!" He answered me: "Not man; man once I was, And both my parents were of Lombardy, And Mantuans by country both of them. 'Sub Julio' was I born, though it was late, And lived at Rome under the good Augustus, During the time of false and lying gods. A poet was I, and I sang that just Son of Anchises, who came forth from Troy, After that Ilion the superb was burned. But thou, why goest thou back to such annoyance? Why climb'st thou not the Mount Delectable, Which is the source and cause of every joy?" "Now, art thou that Virgilius and that fountain Which spreads abroad so wide a river of speech?" I made response to him with bashful forehead. "O, of the other poets honour and light, Avail me the long study and great love That have impelled me to explore thy volume! Thou art my master, and my author thou, Thou art alone the one from whom I took The beautiful style that has done honour to me. Behold the beast, for which I have turned back; Do thou protect me from her, famous Sage, For she doth make my veins and pulses tremble." "Thee it behoves to take another road," Responded he, when he beheld me weeping, "If from this savage place thou wouldst escape; Because this beast, at which thou criest out, Suffers not any one to pass her way, But so doth harass him, that she destroys him; And has a nature so malign and ruthless, That never doth she glut her greedy will, And after food is hungrier than before. Many the animals with whom she weds, And more they shall be still, until the Greyhound Comes, who shall make her perish in her pain. He shall not feed on either earth or pelf, But upon wisdom, and on love and virtue; 'Twixt Feltro and Feltro shall his nation be; Of that low Italy shall he be the saviour, On whose account the maid Camilla died, Euryalus, Turnus, Nisus, of their wounds; Through every city shall he hunt her down, Until he shall have driven her back to Hell, There from whence envy first did let her loose. Therefore I think and judge it for thy best Thou follow me, and I will be thy guide, And lead thee hence through the eternal place, Where thou shalt hear the desperate lamentations, Shalt see the ancient spirits disconsolate, Who cry out each one for the second death; And thou shalt see those who contented are Within the fire, because they hope to come, Whene'er it may be, to the blessed people; To whom, then, if thou wishest to ascend, A soul shall be for that than I more worthy; With her at my departure I will leave thee; Because that Emperor, who reigns above, In that I was rebellious to his law, Wills that through me none come into his city. He governs everywhere, and there he reigns; There is his city and his lofty throne; O happy he whom thereto he elects!" And I to him: "Poet, I thee entreat, By that same God whom thou didst never know, So that I may escape this woe and worse, Thou wouldst conduct me there where thou hast said, That I may see the portal of Saint Peter, And those thou makest so disconsolate." Then he moved on, and I behind him followed. Inferno: Canto II Day was departing, and the embrowned air Released the animals that are on earth From their fatigues; and I the only one Made myself ready to sustain the war, Both of the way and likewise of the woe, Which memory that errs not shall retrace. O Muses, O high genius, now assist me! O memory, that didst write down what I saw, Here thy nobility shall be manifest! And I began: "Poet, who guidest me, Regard my manhood, if it be sufficient, Ere to the arduous pass thou dost confide me. Thou sayest, that of Silvius the parent, While yet corruptible, unto the world Immortal went, and was there bodily. But if the adversary of all evil Was courteous, thinking of the high effect That issue would from him, and who, and what, To men of intellect unmeet it seems not; For he was of great Rome, and of her empire In the empyreal heaven as father chosen; The which and what, wishing to speak the truth, Were stablished as the holy place, wherein Sits the successor of the greatest Peter. Upon this journey, whence thou givest him vaunt, Things did he hear, which the occasion were Both of his victory and the papal mantle. Thither went afterwards the Chosen Vessel, To bring back comfort thence unto that Faith, Which of salvation's way is the beginning. But I, why thither come, or who concedes it? I not Aeneas am, I am not Paul, Nor I, nor others, think me worthy of it. Therefore, if I resign myself to come, I fear the coming may be ill-advised; Thou'rt wise, and knowest better than I speak." And as he is, who unwills what he willed, And by new thoughts doth his intention change, So that from his design he quite withdraws, Such I became, upon that dark hillside, Because, in thinking, I consumed the emprise, Which was so very prompt in the beginning. "If I have well thy language understood," Replied that shade of the Magnanimous, "Thy soul attainted is with cowardice, Which many times a man encumbers so, It turns him back from honoured enterprise, As false sight doth a beast, when he is shy. That thou mayst free thee from this apprehension, I'll tell thee why I came, and what I heard At the first moment when I grieved for thee. Among those was I who are in suspense, And a fair, saintly Lady called to me In such wise, I besought her to command me. Her eyes where shining brighter than the Star; And she began to say, gentle and low, With voice angelical, in her own language: 'O spirit courteous of Mantua, Of whom the fame still in the world endures, And shall endure, long-lasting as the world; A friend of mine, and not the friend of fortune, Upon the desert slope is so impeded Upon his way, that he has turned through terror, And may, I fear, already be so lost, That I too late have risen to his succour, From that which I have heard of him in Heaven. Bestir thee now, and with thy speech ornate, And with what needful is for his release, Assist him so, that I may be consoled. Beatrice am I, who do bid thee go; I come from there, where I would fain return; Love moved me, which compelleth me to speak. When I shall be in presence of my Lord, Full often will I praise thee unto him.' Then paused she, and thereafter I began: 'O Lady of virtue, thou alone through whom The human race exceedeth all contained Within the heaven that has the lesser circles, So grateful unto me is thy commandment, To obey, if 'twere already done, were late; No farther need'st thou ope to me thy wish. But the cause tell me why thou dost not shun The here descending down into this centre, From the vast place thou burnest to return to.' 'Since thou wouldst fain so inwardly discern, Briefly will I relate,' she answered me, 'Why I am not afraid to enter here. Of those things only should one be afraid Which have the power of doing others harm; Of the rest, no; because they are not fearful. God in his mercy such created me That misery of yours attains me not, Nor any flame assails me of this burning. A gentle Lady is in Heaven, who grieves At this impediment, to which I send thee, So that stern judgment there above is broken. In her entreaty she besought Lucia, And said, "Thy faithful one now stands in need Of thee, and unto thee I recommend him." Lucia, foe of all that cruel is, Hastened away, and came unto the place Where I was sitting with the ancient Rachel. "Beatrice" said she, "the true praise of God, Why succourest thou not him, who loved thee so, For thee he issued from the vulgar herd? Dost thou not hear the pity of his plaint? Dost thou not see the death that combats him Beside that flood, where ocean has no vaunt?" Never were persons in the world so swift To work their weal and to escape their woe, As I, after such words as these were uttered, Came hither downward from my blessed seat, Confiding in thy dignified discourse, Which honours thee, and those who've listened to it.' After she thus had spoken unto me, Weeping, her shining eyes she turned away; Whereby she made me swifter in my coming; And unto thee I came, as she desired; I have delivered thee from that wild beast, Which barred the beautiful mountain's short ascent. What is it, then? Why, why dost thou delay? Why is such baseness bedded in thy heart? Daring and hardihood why hast thou not, Seeing that three such Ladies benedight Are caring for thee in the court of Heaven, And so much good my speech doth promise thee?" Even as the flowerets, by nocturnal chill, Bowed down and closed, when the sun whitens them, Uplift themselves all open on their stems; Such I became with my exhausted strength, And such good courage to my heart there coursed, That I began, like an intrepid person: "O she compassionate, who succoured me, And courteous thou, who hast obeyed so soon The words of truth which she addressed to thee! Thou hast my heart so with desire disposed To the adventure, with these words of thine, That to my first intent I have returned. Now go, for one sole will is in us both, Thou Leader, and thou Lord, and Master thou." Thus said I to him; and when he had moved, I entered on the deep and savage way. Inferno: Canto III "Through me the way is to the city dolent; Through me the way is to eternal dole; Through me the way among the people lost. Justice incited my sublime Creator; Created me divine Omnipotence, The highest Wisdom and the primal Love. Before me there were no created things, Only eterne, and I eternal last. All hope abandon, ye who enter in!" These words in sombre colour I beheld Written upon the summit of a gate; Whence I: "Their sense is, Master, hard to me!" And he to me, as one experienced: "Here all suspicion needs must be abandoned, All cowardice must needs be here extinct. We to the place have come, where I have told thee Thou shalt behold the people dolorous Who have foregone the good of intellect." And after he had laid his hand on mine With joyful mien, whence I was comforted, He led me in among the secret things. There sighs, complaints, and ululations loud Resounded through the air without a star, Whence I, at the beginning, wept thereat. Languages diverse, horrible dialects, Accents of anger, words of agony, And voices high and hoarse, with sound of hands, Made up a tumult that goes whirling on For ever in that air for ever black, Even as the sand doth, when the whirlwind breathes. And I, who had my head with horror bound, Said: "Master, what is this which now I hear? What folk is this, which seems by pain so vanquished?" And he to me: "This miserable mode Maintain the melancholy souls of those Who lived withouten infamy or praise. Commingled are they with that caitiff choir Of Angels, who have not rebellious been, Nor faithful were to God, but were for self. The heavens expelled them, not to be less fair; Nor them the nethermore abyss receives, For glory none the damned would have from them." And I: "O Master, what so grievous is To these, that maketh them lament so sore?" He answered: "I will tell thee very briefly. These have no longer any hope of death; And this blind life of theirs is so debased, They envious are of every other fate. No fame of them the world permits to be; Misericord and Justice both disdain them. Let us not speak of them, but look, and pass." And I, who looked again, beheld a banner, Which, whirling round, ran on so rapidly, That of all pause it seemed to me indignant; And after it there came so long a train Of people, that I ne'er would have believed That ever Death so many had undone. When some among them I had recognised, I looked, and I beheld the shade of him Who made through cowardice the great refusal. Forthwith I comprehended, and was certain, That this the sect was of the caitiff wretches Hateful to God and to his enemies. These miscreants, who never were alive, Were naked, and were stung exceedingly By gadflies and by hornets that were there. These did their faces irrigate with blood, Which, with their tears commingled, at their feet By the disgusting worms was gathered up. And when to gazing farther I betook me. People I saw on a great river's bank; Whence said I: "Master, now vouchsafe to me, That I may know who these are, and what law Makes them appear so ready to pass over, As I discern athwart the dusky light." And he to me: "These things shall all be known To thee, as soon as we our footsteps stay Upon the dismal shore of Acheron." Then with mine eyes ashamed and downward cast, Fearing my words might irksome be to him, From speech refrained I till we reached the river. And lo! towards us coming in a boat An old man, hoary with the hair of eld, Crying: "Woe unto you, ye souls depraved! Hope nevermore to look upon the heavens; I come to lead you to the other shore, To the eternal shades in heat and frost. And thou, that yonder standest, living soul, Withdraw thee from these people, who are dead!" But when he saw that I did not withdraw, He said: "By other ways, by other ports Thou to the shore shalt come, not here, for passage; A lighter vessel needs must carry thee." And unto him the Guide: "Vex thee not, Charon; It is so willed there where is power to do That which is willed; and farther question not." Thereat were quieted the fleecy cheeks Of him the ferryman of the livid fen, Who round about his eyes had wheels of flame. But all those souls who weary were and naked Their colour changed and gnashed their teeth together, As soon as they had heard those cruel words. God they blasphemed and their progenitors, The human race, the place, the time, the seed Of their engendering and of their birth! Thereafter all together they drew back, Bitterly weeping, to the accursed shore, Which waiteth every man who fears not God. Charon the demon, with the eyes of glede, Beckoning to them, collects them all together, Beats with his oar whoever lags behind. As in the autumn-time the leaves fall off, First one and then another, till the branch Unto the earth surrenders all its spoils; In similar wise the evil seed of Adam Throw themselves from that margin one by one, At signals, as a bird unto its lure. So they depart across the dusky wave, And ere upon the other side they land, Again on this side a new troop assembles. "My son," the courteous Master said to me, "All those who perish in the wrath of God Here meet together out of every land; And ready are they to pass o'er the river, Because celestial Justice spurs them on, So that their fear is turned into desire. This way there never passes a good soul; And hence if Charon doth complain of thee, Well mayst thou know now what his speech imports." This being finished, all the dusk champaign Trembled so violently, that of that terror The recollection bathes me still with sweat. The land of tears gave forth a blast of wind, And fulminated a vermilion light, Which overmastered in me every sense, And as a man whom sleep hath seized I fell. Inferno: Canto IV Broke the deep lethargy within my head A heavy thunder, so that I upstarted, Like to a person who by force is wakened; And round about I moved my rested eyes, Uprisen erect, and steadfastly I gazed, To recognise the place wherein I was. True is it, that upon the verge I found me Of the abysmal valley dolorous, That gathers thunder of infinite ululations. Obscure, profound it was, and nebulous, So that by fixing on its depths my sight Nothing whatever I discerned therein. "Let us descend now into the blind world," Began the Poet, pallid utterly; "I will be first, and thou shalt second be." And I, who of his colour was aware, Said: "How shall I come, if thou art afraid, Who'rt wont to be a comfort to my fears?" And he to me: "The anguish of the people Who are below here in my face depicts That pity which for terror thou hast taken. Let us go on, for the long way impels us." Thus he went in, and thus he made me enter The foremost circle that surrounds the abyss. There, as it seemed to me from listening, Were lamentations none, but only sighs, That tremble made the everlasting air. And this arose from sorrow without torment, Which the crowds had, that many were and great, Of infants and of women and of men. To me the Master good: "Thou dost not ask What spirits these, which thou beholdest, are? Now will I have thee know, ere thou go farther, That they sinned not; and if they merit had, 'Tis not enough, because they had not baptism Which is the portal of the Faith thou holdest; And if they were before Christianity, In the right manner they adored not God; And among such as these am I myself. For such defects, and not for other guilt, Lost are we and are only so far punished, That without hope we live on in desire." Great grief seized on my heart when this I heard, Because some people of much worthiness I knew, who in that Limbo were suspended. "Tell me, my Master, tell me, thou my Lord," Began I, with desire of being certain Of that Faith which o'ercometh every error, "Came any one by his own merit hence, Or by another's, who was blessed thereafter?" And he, who understood my covert speech, Replied: "I was a novice in this state, When I saw hither come a Mighty One, With sign of victory incoronate. Hence he drew forth the shade of the First Parent, And that of his son Abel, and of Noah, Of Moses the lawgiver, and the obedient Abraham, patriarch, and David, king, Israel with his father and his children, And Rachel, for whose sake he did so much, And others many, and he made them blessed; And thou must know, that earlier than these Never were any human spirits saved." We ceased not to advance because he spake, But still were passing onward through the forest, The forest, say I, of thick-crowded ghosts. Not very far as yet our way had gone This side the summit, when I saw a fire That overcame a hemisphere of darkness. We were a little distant from it still, But not so far that I in part discerned not That honourable people held that place. "O thou who honourest every art and science, Who may these be, which such great honour have, That from the fashion of the rest it parts them?" And he to me: "The honourable name, That sounds of them above there in thy life, Wins grace in Heaven, that so advances them." In the mean time a voice was heard by me: "All honour be to the pre-eminent Poet; His shade returns again, that was departed." After the voice had ceased and quiet was, Four mighty shades I saw approaching us; Semblance had they nor sorrowful nor glad. To say to me began my gracious Master: "Him with that falchion in his hand behold, Who comes before the three, even as their lord. That one is Homer, Poet sovereign; He who comes next is Horace, the satirist; The third is Ovid, and the last is Lucan. Because to each of these with me applies The name that solitary voice proclaimed, They do me honour, and in that do well." Thus I beheld assemble the fair school Of that lord of the song pre-eminent, Who o'er the others like an eagle soars. When they together had discoursed somewhat, They turned to me with signs of salutation, And on beholding this, my Master smiled; And more of honour still, much more, they did me, In that they made me one of their own band; So that the sixth was I, 'mid so much wit. Thus we went on as far as to the light, Things saying 'tis becoming to keep silent, As was the saying of them where I was. We came unto a noble castle's foot, Seven times encompassed with lofty walls, Defended round by a fair rivulet; This we passed over even as firm ground; Through portals seven I entered with these Sages; We came into a meadow of fresh verdure. People were there with solemn eyes and slow, Of great authority in their countenance; They spake but seldom, and with gentle voices. Thus we withdrew ourselves upon one side Into an opening luminous and lofty, So that they all of them were visible. There opposite, upon the green enamel, Were pointed out to me the mighty spirits, Whom to have seen I feel myself exalted. I saw Electra with companions many, 'Mongst whom I knew both Hector and Aeneas, Caesar in armour with gerfalcon eyes; I saw Camilla and Penthesilea On the other side, and saw the King Latinus, Who with Lavinia his daughter sat; I saw that Brutus who drove Tarquin forth, Lucretia, Julia, Marcia, and Cornelia, And saw alone, apart, the Saladin. When I had lifted up my brows a little, The Master I beheld of those who know, Sit with his philosophic family. All gaze upon him, and all do him honour. There I beheld both Socrates and Plato, Who nearer him before the others stand; Democritus, who puts the world on chance, Diogenes, Anaxagoras, and Thales, Zeno, Empedocles, and Heraclitus; Of qualities I saw the good collector, Hight Dioscorides; and Orpheus saw I, Tully and Livy, and moral Seneca, Euclid, geometrician, and Ptolemy, Galen, Hippocrates, and Avicenna, Averroes, who the great Comment made. I cannot all of them pourtray in full, Because so drives me onward the long theme, That many times the word comes short of fact. The sixfold company in two divides; Another way my sapient Guide conducts me Forth from the quiet to the air that trembles; And to a place I come where nothing shines. Inferno: Canto V Thus I descended out of the first circle Down to the second, that less space begirds, And so much greater dole, that goads to wailing. There standeth Minos horribly, and snarls; Examines the transgressions at the entrance; Judges, and sends according as he girds him. I say, that when the spirit evil-born Cometh before him, wholly it confesses; And this discriminator of transgressions Seeth what place in Hell is meet for it; Girds himself with his tail as many times As grades he wishes it should be thrust down. Always before him many of them stand; They go by turns each one unto the judgment; They speak, and hear, and then are downward hurled. "O thou, that to this dolorous hostelry Comest," said Minos to me, when he saw me, Leaving the practice of so great an office, "Look how thou enterest, and in whom thou trustest; Let not the portal's amplitude deceive thee." And unto him my Guide: "Why criest thou too? Do not impede his journey fate-ordained; It is so willed there where is power to do That which is willed; and ask no further question." And now begin the dolesome notes to grow Audible unto me; now am I come There where much lamentation strikes upon me. I came into a place mute of all light, Which bellows as the sea does in a tempest, If by opposing winds 't is combated. The infernal hurricane that never rests Hurtles the spirits onward in its rapine; Whirling them round, and smiting, it molests them. When they arrive before the precipice, There are the shrieks, the plaints, and the laments, There they blaspheme the puissance divine. I understood that unto such a torment The carnal malefactors were condemned, Who reason subjugate to appetite. And as the wings of starlings bear them on In the cold season in large band and full, So doth that blast the spirits maledict; It hither, thither, downward, upward, drives them; No hope doth comfort them for evermore, Not of repose, but even of lesser pain. And as the cranes go chanting forth their lays, Making in air a long line of themselves, So saw I coming, uttering lamentations, Shadows borne onward by the aforesaid stress. Whereupon said I: "Master, who are those People, whom the black air so castigates?" "The first of those, of whom intelligence Thou fain wouldst have," then said he unto me, "The empress was of many languages. To sensual vices she was so abandoned, That lustful she made licit in her law, To remove the blame to which she had been led. She is Semiramis, of whom we read That she succeeded Ninus, and was his spouse; She held the land which now the Sultan rules. The next is she who killed herself for love, And broke faith with the ashes of Sichaeus; Then Cleopatra the voluptuous." Helen I saw, for whom so many ruthless Seasons revolved; and saw the great Achilles, Who at the last hour combated with Love. Paris I saw, Tristan; and more than a thousand Shades did he name and point out with his finger, Whom Love had separated from our life. After that I had listened to my Teacher, Naming the dames of eld and cavaliers, Pity prevailed, and I was nigh bewildered. And I began: "O Poet, willingly Speak would I to those two, who go together, And seem upon the wind to be so light." And, he to me: "Thou'lt mark, when they shall be Nearer to us; and then do thou implore them By love which leadeth them, and they will come." Soon as the wind in our direction sways them, My voice uplift I: "O ye weary souls! Come speak to us, if no one interdicts it." As turtle-doves, called onward by desire, With open and steady wings to the sweet nest Fly through the air by their volition borne, So came they from the band where Dido is, Approaching us athwart the air malign, So strong was the affectionate appeal. "O living creature gracious and benignant, Who visiting goest through the purple air Us, who have stained the world incarnadine, If were the King of the Universe our friend, We would pray unto him to give thee peace, Since thou hast pity on our woe perverse. Of what it pleases thee to hear and speak, That will we hear, and we will speak to you, While silent is the wind, as it is now. Sitteth the city, wherein I was born, Upon the sea-shore where the Po descends To rest in peace with all his retinue. Love, that on gentle heart doth swiftly seize, Seized this man for the person beautiful That was ta'en from me, and still the mode offends me. Love, that exempts no one beloved from loving, Seized me with pleasure of this man so strongly, That, as thou seest, it doth not yet desert me; Love has conducted us unto one death; Caina waiteth him who quenched our life!" These words were borne along from them to us. As soon as I had heard those souls tormented, I bowed my face, and so long held it down Until the Poet said to me: "What thinkest?" When I made answer, I began: "Alas! How many pleasant thoughts, how much desire, Conducted these unto the dolorous pass!" Then unto them I turned me, and I spake, And I began: "Thine agonies, Francesca, Sad and compassionate to weeping make me. But tell me, at the time of those sweet sighs, By what and in what manner Love conceded, That you should know your dubious desires?" And she to me: "There is no greater sorrow Than to be mindful of the happy time In misery, and that thy Teacher knows. But, if to recognise the earliest root Of love in us thou hast so great desire, I will do even as he who weeps and speaks. One day we reading were for our delight Of Launcelot, how Love did him enthral. Alone we were and without any fear. Full many a time our eyes together drew That reading, and drove the colour from our faces; But one point only was it that o'ercame us. When as we read of the much-longed-for smile Being by such a noble lover kissed, This one, who ne'er from me shall be divided, Kissed me upon the mouth all palpitating. Galeotto was the book and he who wrote it. That day no farther did we read therein." And all the while one spirit uttered this, The other one did weep so, that, for pity, I swooned away as if I had been dying, And fell, even as a dead body falls. Inferno: Canto VI At the return of consciousness, that closed Before the pity of those two relations, Which utterly with sadness had confused me, New torments I behold, and new tormented Around me, whichsoever way I move, And whichsoever way I turn, and gaze. In the third circle am I of the rain Eternal, maledict, and cold, and heavy; Its law and quality are never new. Huge hail, and water sombre-hued, and snow, Athwart the tenebrous air pour down amain; Noisome the earth is, that receiveth this. Cerberus, monster cruel and uncouth, With his three gullets like a dog is barking Over the people that are there submerged. Red eyes he has, and unctuous beard and black, And belly large, and armed with claws his hands; He rends the spirits, flays, and quarters them. Howl the rain maketh them like unto dogs; One side they make a shelter for the other; Oft turn themselves the wretched reprobates. When Cerberus perceived us, the great worm! His mouths he opened, and displayed his tusks; Not a limb had he that was motionless. And my Conductor, with his spans extended, Took of the earth, and with his fists well filled, He threw it into those rapacious gullets. Such as that dog is, who by barking craves, And quiet grows soon as his food he gnaws, For to devour it he but thinks and struggles, The like became those muzzles filth-begrimed Of Cerberus the demon, who so thunders Over the souls that they would fain be deaf. We passed across the shadows, which subdues The heavy rain-storm, and we placed our feet Upon their vanity that person seems. They all were lying prone upon the earth, Excepting one, who sat upright as soon As he beheld us passing on before him. "O thou that art conducted through this Hell," He said to me, "recall me, if thou canst; Thyself wast made before I was unmade." And I to him: "The anguish which thou hast Perhaps doth draw thee out of my remembrance, So that it seems not I have ever seen thee. But tell me who thou art, that in so doleful A place art put, and in such punishment, If some are greater, none is so displeasing." And he to me: "Thy city, which is full Of envy so that now the sack runs over, Held me within it in the life serene. You citizens were wont to call me Ciacco; For the pernicious sin of gluttony I, as thou seest, am battered by this rain. And I, sad soul, am not the only one, For all these suffer the like penalty For the like sin;" and word no more spake he. I answered him: "Ciacco, thy wretchedness Weighs on me so that it to weep invites me; But tell me, if thou knowest, to what shall come The citizens of the divided city; If any there be just; and the occasion Tell me why so much discord has assailed it." And he to me: "They, after long contention, Will come to bloodshed; and the rustic party Will drive the other out with much offence. Then afterwards behoves it this one fall Within three suns, and rise again the other By force of him who now is on the coast. High will it hold its forehead a long while, Keeping the other under heavy burdens, Howe'er it weeps thereat and is indignant. The just are two, and are not understood there; Envy and Arrogance and Avarice Are the three sparks that have all hearts enkindled." Here ended he his tearful utterance; And I to him: "I wish thee still to teach me, And make a gift to me of further speech. Farinata and Tegghiaio, once so worthy, Jacopo Rusticucci, Arrigo, and Mosca, And others who on good deeds set their thoughts, Say where they are, and cause that I may know them; For great desire constraineth me to learn If Heaven doth sweeten them, or Hell envenom." And he: "They are among the blacker souls; A different sin downweighs them to the bottom; If thou so far descendest, thou canst see them. But when thou art again in the sweet world, I pray thee to the mind of others bring me; No more I tell thee and no more I answer." Then his straightforward eyes he turned askance, Eyed me a little, and then bowed his head; He fell therewith prone like the other blind. And the Guide said to me: "He wakes no more This side the sound of the angelic trumpet; When shall approach the hostile Potentate, Each one shall find again his dismal tomb, Shall reassume his flesh and his own figure, Shall hear what through eternity re-echoes." So we passed onward o'er the filthy mixture Of shadows and of rain with footsteps slow, Touching a little on the future life. Wherefore I said: "Master, these torments here, Will they increase after the mighty sentence, Or lesser be, or will they be as burning?" And he to me: "Return unto thy science, Which wills, that as the thing more perfect is, The more it feels of pleasure and of pain. Albeit that this people maledict To true perfection never can attain, Hereafter more than now they look to be." Round in a circle by that road we went, Speaking much more, which I do not repeat; We came unto the point where the descent is; There we found Plutus the great enemy. Inferno: Canto VII "Pape Satan, Pape Satan, Aleppe!" Thus Plutus with his clucking voice began; And that benignant Sage, who all things knew, Said, to encourage me: "Let not thy fear Harm thee; for any power that he may have Shall not prevent thy going down this crag." Then he turned round unto that bloated lip, And said: "Be silent, thou accursed wolf; Consume within thyself with thine own rage. Not causeless is this journey to the abyss; Thus is it willed on high, where Michael wrought Vengeance upon the proud adultery." Even as the sails inflated by the wind Involved together fall when snaps the mast, So fell the cruel monster to the earth. Thus we descended into the fourth chasm, Gaining still farther on the dolesome shore Which all the woe of the universe insacks. Justice of God, ah! who heaps up so many New toils and sufferings as I beheld? And why doth our transgression waste us so? As doth the billow there upon Charybdis, That breaks itself on that which it encounters, So here the folk must dance their roundelay. Here saw I people, more than elsewhere, many, On one side and the other, with great howls, Rolling weights forward by main force of chest. They clashed together, and then at that point Each one turned backward, rolling retrograde, Crying, "Why keepest?" and, "Why squanderest thou?" Thus they returned along the lurid circle On either hand unto the opposite point, Shouting their shameful metre evermore. Then each, when he arrived there, wheeled about Through his half-circle to another joust; And I, who had my heart pierced as it were, Exclaimed: "My Master, now declare to me What people these are, and if all were clerks, These shaven crowns upon the left of us." And he to me: "All of them were asquint In intellect in the first life, so much That there with measure they no spending made. Clearly enough their voices bark it forth, Whene'er they reach the two points of the circle, Where sunders them the opposite defect. Clerks those were who no hairy covering Have on the head, and Popes and Cardinals, In whom doth Avarice practise its excess." And I: "My Master, among such as these I ought forsooth to recognise some few, Who were infected with these maladies." And he to me: "Vain thought thou entertainest; The undiscerning life which made them sordid Now makes them unto all discernment dim. Forever shall they come to these two buttings; These from the sepulchre shall rise again With the fist closed, and these with tresses shorn. Ill giving and ill keeping the fair world Have ta'en from them, and placed them in this scuffle; Whate'er it be, no words adorn I for it. Now canst thou, Son, behold the transient farce Of goods that are committed unto Fortune, For which the human race each other buffet; For all the gold that is beneath the moon, Or ever has been, of these weary souls Could never make a single one repose." "Master," I said to him, "now tell me also What is this Fortune which thou speakest of, That has the world's goods so within its clutches?" And he to me: "O creatures imbecile, What ignorance is this which doth beset you? Now will I have thee learn my judgment of her. He whose omniscience everything transcends The heavens created, and gave who should guide them, That every part to every part may shine, Distributing the light in equal measure; He in like manner to the mundane splendours Ordained a general ministress and guide, That she might change at times the empty treasures From race to race, from one blood to another, Beyond resistance of all human wisdom. Therefore one people triumphs, and another Languishes, in pursuance of her judgment, Which hidden is, as in the grass a serpent. Your knowledge has no counterstand against her; She makes provision, judges, and pursues Her governance, as theirs the other gods. Her permutations have not any truce; Necessity makes her precipitate, So often cometh who his turn obtains. And this is she who is so crucified Even by those who ought to give her praise, Giving her blame amiss, and bad repute. But she is blissful, and she hears it not; Among the other primal creatures gladsome She turns her sphere, and blissful she rejoices. Let us descend now unto greater woe; Already sinks each star that was ascending When I set out, and loitering is forbidden." We crossed the circle to the other bank, Near to a fount that boils, and pours itself Along a gully that runs out of it. The water was more sombre far than perse; And we, in company with the dusky waves, Made entrance downward by a path uncouth. A marsh it makes, which has the name of Styx, This tristful brooklet, when it has descended Down to the foot of the malign gray shores. And I, who stood intent upon beholding, Saw people mud-besprent in that lagoon, All of them naked and with angry look. They smote each other not alone with hands, But with the head and with the breast and feet, Tearing each other piecemeal with their teeth. Said the good Master: "Son, thou now beholdest The souls of those whom anger overcame; And likewise I would have thee know for certain Beneath the water people are who sigh And make this water bubble at the surface, As the eye tells thee wheresoe'er it turns. Fixed in the mire they say, 'We sullen were In the sweet air, which by the sun is gladdened, Bearing within ourselves the sluggish reek; Now we are sullen in this sable mire.' This hymn do they keep gurgling in their throats, For with unbroken words they cannot say it." Thus we went circling round the filthy fen A great arc 'twixt the dry bank and the swamp, With eyes turned unto those who gorge the mire; Unto the foot of a tower we came at last. Inferno: Canto VIII I say, continuing, that long before We to the foot of that high tower had come, Our eyes went upward to the summit of it, By reason of two flamelets we saw placed there, And from afar another answer them, So far, that hardly could the eye attain it. And, to the sea of all discernment turned, I said: "What sayeth this, and what respondeth That other fire? and who are they that made it?" And he to me: "Across the turbid waves What is expected thou canst now discern, If reek of the morass conceal it not." Cord never shot an arrow from itself That sped away athwart the air so swift, As I beheld a very little boat Come o'er the water tow'rds us at that moment, Under the guidance of a single pilot, Who shouted, "Now art thou arrived, fell soul?" "Phlegyas, Phlegyas, thou criest out in vain For this once," said my Lord; "thou shalt not have us Longer than in the passing of the slough." As he who listens to some great deceit That has been done to him, and then resents it, Such became Phlegyas, in his gathered wrath. My Guide descended down into the boat, And then he made me enter after him, And only when I entered seemed it laden. Soon as the Guide and I were in the boat, The antique prow goes on its way, dividing More of the water than 'tis wont with others. While we were running through the dead canal, Uprose in front of me one full of mire, And said, "Who 'rt thou that comest ere the hour?" And I to him: "Although I come, I stay not; But who art thou that hast become so squalid?" "Thou seest that I am one who weeps," he answered. And I to him: "With weeping and with wailing, Thou spirit maledict, do thou remain; For thee I know, though thou art all defiled." Then stretched he both his hands unto the boat; Whereat my wary Master thrust him back, Saying, "Away there with the other dogs!" Thereafter with his arms he clasped my neck; He kissed my face, and said: "Disdainful soul, Blessed be she who bore thee in her bosom. That was an arrogant person in the world; Goodness is none, that decks his memory; So likewise here his shade is furious. How many are esteemed great kings up there, Who here shall be like unto swine in mire, Leaving behind them horrible dispraises!" And I: "My Master, much should I be pleased, If I could see him soused into this broth, Before we issue forth out of the lake." And he to me: "Ere unto thee the shore Reveal itself, thou shalt be satisfied; Such a desire 'tis meet thou shouldst enjoy." A little after that, I saw such havoc Made of him by the people of the mire, That still I praise and thank my God for it. They all were shouting, "At Philippo Argenti!" And that exasperate spirit Florentine Turned round upon himself with his own teeth. We left him there, and more of him I tell not; But on mine ears there smote a lamentation, Whence forward I intent unbar mine eyes. And the good Master said: "Even now, my Son, The city draweth near whose name is Dis, With the grave citizens, with the great throng." And I: "Its mosques already, Master, clearly Within there in the valley I discern Vermilion, as if issuing from the fire They were." And he to me: "The fire eternal That kindles them within makes them look red, As thou beholdest in this nether Hell." Then we arrived within the moats profound, That circumvallate that disconsolate city; The walls appeared to me to be of iron. Not without making first a circuit wide, We came unto a place where loud the pilot Cried out to us, "Debark, here is the entrance." More than a thousand at the gates I saw Out of the Heavens rained down, who angrily Were saying, "Who is this that without death Goes through the kingdom of the people dead?" And my sagacious Master made a sign Of wishing secretly to speak with them. A little then they quelled their great disdain, And said: "Come thou alone, and he begone Who has so boldly entered these dominions. Let him return alone by his mad road; Try, if he can; for thou shalt here remain, Who hast escorted him through such dark regions." Think, Reader, if I was discomforted At utterance of the accursed words; For never to return here I believed. "O my dear Guide, who more than seven times Hast rendered me security, and drawn me From imminent peril that before me stood, Do not desert me," said I, "thus undone; And if the going farther be denied us, Let us retrace our steps together swiftly." And that Lord, who had led me thitherward, Said unto me: "Fear not; because our passage None can take from us, it by Such is given. But here await me, and thy weary spirit Comfort and nourish with a better hope; For in this nether world I will not leave thee." So onward goes and there abandons me My Father sweet, and I remain in doubt, For No and Yes within my head contend. I could not hear what he proposed to them; But with them there he did not linger long, Ere each within in rivalry ran back. They closed the portals, those our adversaries, On my Lord's breast, who had remained without And turned to me with footsteps far between. His eyes cast down, his forehead shorn had he Of all its boldness, and he said, with sighs, "Who has denied to me the dolesome houses?" And unto me: "Thou, because I am angry, Fear not, for I will conquer in the trial, Whatever for defence within be planned. This arrogance of theirs is nothing new; For once they used it at less secret gate, Which finds itself without a fastening still. O'er it didst thou behold the dead inscription; And now this side of it descends the steep, Passing across the circles without escort, One by whose means the city shall be opened." Inferno: Canto IX That hue which cowardice brought out on me, Beholding my Conductor backward turn, Sooner repressed within him his new colour. He stopped attentive, like a man who listens, Because the eye could not conduct him far Through the black air, and through the heavy fog. "Still it behoveth us to win the fight," Began he; "Else. . .Such offered us herself. . . O how I long that some one here arrive!" Well I perceived, as soon as the beginning He covered up with what came afterward, That they were words quite different from the first; But none the less his saying gave me fear, Because I carried out the broken phrase, Perhaps to a worse meaning than he had. "Into this bottom of the doleful conch Doth any e'er descend from the first grade, Which for its pain has only hope cut off?" This question put I; and he answered me: "Seldom it comes to pass that one of us Maketh the journey upon which I go. True is it, once before I here below Was conjured by that pitiless Erictho, Who summoned back the shades unto their bodies. Naked of me short while the flesh had been, Before within that wall she made me enter, To bring a spirit from the circle of Judas; That is the lowest region and the darkest, And farthest from the heaven which circles all. Well know I the way; therefore be reassured. This fen, which a prodigious stench exhales, Encompasses about the city dolent, Where now we cannot enter without anger." And more he said, but not in mind I have it; Because mine eye had altogether drawn me Tow'rds the high tower with the red-flaming summit, Where in a moment saw I swift uprisen The three infernal Furies stained with blood, Who had the limbs of women and their mien, And with the greenest hydras were begirt; Small serpents and cerastes were their tresses, Wherewith their horrid temples were entwined. And he who well the handmaids of the Queen Of everlasting lamentation knew, Said unto me: "Behold the fierce Erinnys. This is Megaera, on the left-hand side; She who is weeping on the right, Alecto; Tisiphone is between;" and then was silent. Each one her breast was rending with her nails; They beat them with their palms, and cried so loud, That I for dread pressed close unto the Poet. "Medusa come, so we to stone will change him!" All shouted looking down; "in evil hour Avenged we not on Theseus his assault!" "Turn thyself round, and keep thine eyes close shut, For if the Gorgon appear, and thou shouldst see it, No more returning upward would there be." Thus said the Master; and he turned me round Himself, and trusted not unto my hands So far as not to blind me with his own. O ye who have undistempered intellects, Observe the doctrine that conceals itself Beneath the veil of the mysterious verses! And now there came across the turbid waves The clangour of a sound with terror fraught, Because of which both of the margins trembled; Not otherwise it was than of a wind Impetuous on account of adverse heats, That smites the forest, and, without restraint, The branches rends, beats down, and bears away; Right onward, laden with dust, it goes superb, And puts to flight the wild beasts and the shepherds. Mine eyes he loosed, and said: "Direct the nerve Of vision now along that ancient foam, There yonder where that smoke is most intense." Even as the frogs before the hostile serpent Across the water scatter all abroad, Until each one is huddled in the earth. More than a thousand ruined souls I saw, Thus fleeing from before one who on foot Was passing o'er the Styx with soles unwet. From off his face he fanned that unctuous air, Waving his left hand oft in front of him, And only with that anguish seemed he weary. Well I perceived one sent from Heaven was he, And to the Master turned; and he made sign That I should quiet stand, and bow before him. Ah! how disdainful he appeared to me! He reached the gate, and with a little rod He opened it, for there was no resistance. "O banished out of Heaven, people despised!" Thus he began upon the horrid threshold; "Whence is this arrogance within you couched? Wherefore recalcitrate against that will, From which the end can never be cut off, And which has many times increased your pain? What helpeth it to butt against the fates? Your Cerberus, if you remember well, For that still bears his chin and gullet peeled." Then he returned along the miry road, And spake no word to us, but had the look Of one whom other care constrains and goads Than that of him who in his presence is; And we our feet directed tow'rds the city, After those holy words all confident. Within we entered without any contest; And I, who inclination had to see What the condition such a fortress holds, Soon as I was within, cast round mine eye, And see on every hand an ample plain, Full of distress and torment terrible. Even as at Arles, where stagnant grows the Rhone, Even as at Pola near to the Quarnaro, That shuts in Italy and bathes its borders, The sepulchres make all the place uneven; So likewise did they there on every side, Saving that there the manner was more bitter; For flames between the sepulchres were scattered, By which they so intensely heated were, That iron more so asks not any art. All of their coverings uplifted were, And from them issued forth such dire laments, Sooth seemed they of the wretched and tormented. And I: "My Master, what are all those people Who, having sepulture within those tombs, Make themselves audible by doleful sighs?" And he to me: "Here are the Heresiarchs, With their disciples of all sects, and much More than thou thinkest laden are the tombs. Here like together with its like is buried; And more and less the monuments are heated." And when he to the right had turned, we passed Between the torments and high parapets. Inferno: Canto X Now onward goes, along a narrow path Between the torments and the city wall, My Master, and I follow at his back. "O power supreme, that through these impious circles Turnest me," I began, "as pleases thee, Speak to me, and my longings satisfy; The people who are lying in these tombs, Might they be seen? already are uplifted The covers all, and no one keepeth guard." And he to me: "They all will be closed up When from Jehoshaphat they shall return Here with the bodies they have left above. Their cemetery have upon this side With Epicurus all his followers, Who with the body mortal make the soul; But in the question thou dost put to me, Within here shalt thou soon be satisfied, And likewise in the wish thou keepest silent." And I: "Good Leader, I but keep concealed From thee my heart, that I may speak the less, Nor only now hast thou thereto disposed me." "O Tuscan, thou who through the city of fire Goest alive, thus speaking modestly, Be pleased to stay thy footsteps in this place. Thy mode of speaking makes thee manifest A native of that noble fatherland, To which perhaps I too molestful was." Upon a sudden issued forth this sound From out one of the tombs; wherefore I pressed, Fearing, a little nearer to my Leader. And unto me he said: "Turn thee; what dost thou? Behold there Farinata who has risen; From the waist upwards wholly shalt thou see him." I had already fixed mine eyes on his, And he uprose erect with breast and front E'en as if Hell he had in great despite. And with courageous hands and prompt my Leader Thrust me between the sepulchres towards him, Exclaiming, "Let thy words explicit be." As soon as I was at the foot of his tomb Somewhat he eyed me, and, as if disdainful, Then asked of me, "Who were thine ancestors?" I, who desirous of obeying was, Concealed it not, but all revealed to him; Whereat he raised his brows a little upward. Then said he: "Fiercely adverse have they been To me, and to my fathers, and my party; So that two several times I scattered them." "If they were banished, they returned on all sides," I answered him, "the first time and the second; But yours have not acquired that art aright." Then there uprose upon the sight, uncovered Down to the chin, a shadow at his side; I think that he had risen on his knees. Round me he gazed, as if solicitude He had to see if some one else were with me, But after his suspicion was all spent, Weeping, he said to me: "If through this blind Prison thou goest by loftiness of genius, Where is my son? and why is he not with thee?" And I to him: "I come not of myself; He who is waiting yonder leads me here, Whom in disdain perhaps your Guido had." His language and the mode of punishment Already unto me had read his name; On that account my answer was so full. Up starting suddenly, he cried out: "How Saidst thou,--he had? Is he not still alive? Does not the sweet light strike upon his eyes?" When he became aware of some delay, Which I before my answer made, supine He fell again, and forth appeared no more. But the other, magnanimous, at whose desire I had remained, did not his aspect change, Neither his neck he moved, nor bent his side. "And if," continuing his first discourse, "They have that art," he said, "not learned aright, That more tormenteth me, than doth this bed. But fifty times shall not rekindled be The countenance of the Lady who reigns here, Ere thou shalt know how heavy is that art; And as thou wouldst to the sweet world return, Say why that people is so pitiless Against my race in each one of its laws?" Whence I to him: "The slaughter and great carnage Which have with crimson stained the Arbia, cause Such orisons in our temple to be made." After his head he with a sigh had shaken, "There I was not alone," he said, "nor surely Without a cause had with the others moved. But there I was alone, where every one Consented to the laying waste of Florence, He who defended her with open face." "Ah! so hereafter may your seed repose," I him entreated, "solve for me that knot, Which has entangled my conceptions here. It seems that you can see, if I hear rightly, Beforehand whatsoe'er time brings with it, And in the present have another mode." "We see, like those who have imperfect sight, The things," he said, "that distant are from us; So much still shines on us the Sovereign Ruler. When they draw near, or are, is wholly vain Our intellect, and if none brings it to us, Not anything know we of your human state. Hence thou canst understand, that wholly dead Will be our knowledge from the moment when The portal of the future shall be closed." Then I, as if compunctious for my fault, Said: "Now, then, you will tell that fallen one, That still his son is with the living joined. And if just now, in answering, I was dumb, Tell him I did it because I was thinking Already of the error you have solved me." And now my Master was recalling me, Wherefore more eagerly I prayed the spirit That he would tell me who was with him there. He said: "With more than a thousand here I lie; Within here is the second Frederick, And the Cardinal, and of the rest I speak not." Thereon he hid himself; and I towards The ancient poet turned my steps, reflecting Upon that saying, which seemed hostile to me. He moved along; and afterward thus going, He said to me, "Why art thou so bewildered?" And I in his inquiry satisfied him. "Let memory preserve what thou hast heard Against thyself," that Sage commanded me, "And now attend here;" and he raised his finger. "When thou shalt be before the radiance sweet Of her whose beauteous eyes all things behold, From her thou'lt know the journey of thy life." Unto the left hand then he turned his feet; We left the wall, and went towards the middle, Along a path that strikes into a valley, Which even up there unpleasant made its stench. Inferno: Canto XI Upon the margin of a lofty bank Which great rocks broken in a circle made, We came upon a still more cruel throng; And there, by reason of the horrible Excess of stench the deep abyss throws out, We drew ourselves aside behind the cover Of a great tomb, whereon I saw a writing, Which said: "Pope Anastasius I hold, Whom out of the right way Photinus drew." "Slow it behoveth our descent to be, So that the sense be first a little used To the sad blast, and then we shall not heed it." The Master thus; and unto him I said, "Some compensation find, that the time pass not Idly;" and he: "Thou seest I think of that. My son, upon the inside of these rocks," Began he then to say, "are three small circles, From grade to grade, like those which thou art leaving. They all are full of spirits maledict; But that hereafter sight alone suffice thee, Hear how and wherefore they are in constraint. Of every malice that wins hate in Heaven, Injury is the end; and all such end Either by force or fraud afflicteth others. But because fraud is man's peculiar vice, More it displeases God; and so stand lowest The fraudulent, and greater dole assails them. All the first circle of the Violent is; But since force may be used against three persons, In three rounds 'tis divided and constructed. To God, to ourselves, and to our neighbour can we Use force; I say on them and on their things, As thou shalt hear with reason manifest. A death by violence, and painful wounds, Are to our neighbour given; and in his substance Ruin, and arson, and injurious levies; Whence homicides, and he who smites unjustly, Marauders, and freebooters, the first round Tormenteth all in companies diverse. Man may lay violent hands upon himself And his own goods; and therefore in the second Round must perforce without avail repent Whoever of your world deprives himself, Who games, and dissipates his property, And weepeth there, where he should jocund be. Violence can be done the Deity, In heart denying and blaspheming Him, And by disdaining Nature and her bounty. And for this reason doth the smallest round Seal with its signet Sodom and Cahors, And who, disdaining God, speaks from the heart. Fraud, wherewithal is every conscience stung, A man may practise upon him who trusts, And him who doth no confidence imburse. This latter mode, it would appear, dissevers Only the bond of love which Nature makes; Wherefore within the second circle nestle Hypocrisy, flattery, and who deals in magic, Falsification, theft, and simony, Panders, and barrators, and the like filth. By the other mode, forgotten is that love Which Nature makes, and what is after added, From which there is a special faith engendered. Hence in the smallest circle, where the point is Of the Universe, upon which Dis is seated, Whoe'er betrays for ever is consumed." And I: "My Master, clear enough proceeds Thy reasoning, and full well distinguishes This cavern and the people who possess it. But tell me, those within the fat lagoon, Whom the wind drives, and whom the rain doth beat, And who encounter with such bitter tongues, Wherefore are they inside of the red city Not punished, if God has them in his wrath, And if he has not, wherefore in such fashion?" And unto me he said: "Why wanders so Thine intellect from that which it is wont? Or, sooth, thy mind where is it elsewhere looking? Hast thou no recollection of those words With which thine Ethics thoroughly discusses The dispositions three, that Heaven abides not,-- Incontinence, and Malice, and insane Bestiality? and how Incontinence Less God offendeth, and less blame attracts? If thou regardest this conclusion well, And to thy mind recallest who they are That up outside are undergoing penance, Clearly wilt thou perceive why from these felons They separated are, and why less wroth Justice divine doth smite them with its hammer." "O Sun, that healest all distempered vision, Thou dost content me so, when thou resolvest, That doubting pleases me no less than knowing! Once more a little backward turn thee," said I, "There where thou sayest that usury offends Goodness divine, and disengage the knot." "Philosophy," he said, "to him who heeds it, Noteth, not only in one place alone, After what manner Nature takes her course From Intellect Divine, and from its art; And if thy Physics carefully thou notest, After not many pages shalt thou find, That this your art as far as possible Follows, as the disciple doth the master; So that your art is, as it were, God's grandchild. From these two, if thou bringest to thy mind Genesis at the beginning, it behoves Mankind to gain their life and to advance; And since the usurer takes another way, Nature herself and in her follower Disdains he, for elsewhere he puts his hope. But follow, now, as I would fain go on, For quivering are the Fishes on the horizon, And the Wain wholly over Caurus lies, And far beyond there we descend the crag." Inferno: Canto XII The place where to descend the bank we came Was alpine, and from what was there, moreover, Of such a kind that every eye would shun it. Such as that ruin is which in the flank Smote, on this side of Trent, the Adige, Either by earthquake or by failing stay, For from the mountain's top, from which it moved, Unto the plain the cliff is shattered so, Some path 'twould give to him who was above; Even such was the descent of that ravine, And on the border of the broken chasm The infamy of Crete was stretched along, Who was conceived in the fictitious cow; And when he us beheld, he bit himself, Even as one whom anger racks within. My Sage towards him shouted: "Peradventure Thou think'st that here may be the Duke of Athens, Who in the world above brought death to thee? Get thee gone, beast, for this one cometh not Instructed by thy sister, but he comes In order to behold your punishments." As is that bull who breaks loose at the moment In which he has received the mortal blow, Who cannot walk, but staggers here and there, The Minotaur beheld I do the like; And he, the wary, cried: "Run to the passage; While he wroth, 'tis well thou shouldst descend." Thus down we took our way o'er that discharge Of stones, which oftentimes did move themselves Beneath my feet, from the unwonted burden. Thoughtful I went; and he said: "Thou art thinking Perhaps upon this ruin, which is guarded By that brute anger which just now I quenched. Now will I have thee know, the other time I here descended to the nether Hell, This precipice had not yet fallen down. But truly, if I well discern, a little Before His coming who the mighty spoil Bore off from Dis, in the supernal circle, Upon all sides the deep and loathsome valley Trembled so, that I thought the Universe Was thrilled with love, by which there are who think The world ofttimes converted into chaos; And at that moment this primeval crag Both here and elsewhere made such overthrow. But fix thine eyes below; for draweth near The river of blood, within which boiling is Whoe'er by violence doth injure others." O blind cupidity, O wrath insane, That spurs us onward so in our short life, And in the eternal then so badly steeps us! I saw an ample moat bent like a bow, As one which all the plain encompasses, Conformable to what my Guide had said. And between this and the embankment's foot Centaurs in file were running, armed with arrows, As in the world they used the chase to follow. Beholding us descend, each one stood still, And from the squadron three detached themselves, With bows and arrows in advance selected; And from afar one cried: "Unto what torment Come ye, who down the hillside are descending? Tell us from there; if not, I draw the bow." My Master said: "Our answer will we make To Chiron, near you there; in evil hour, That will of thine was evermore so hasty." Then touched he me, and said: "This one is Nessus, Who perished for the lovely Dejanira, And for himself, himself did vengeance take. And he in the midst, who at his breast is gazing, Is the great Chiron, who brought up Achilles; That other Pholus is, who was so wrathful. Thousands and thousands go about the moat Shooting with shafts whatever soul emerges Out of the blood, more than his crime allots." Near we approached unto those monsters fleet; Chiron an arrow took, and with the notch Backward upon his jaws he put his beard. After he had uncovered his great mouth, He said to his companions: "Are you ware That he behind moveth whate'er he touches? Thus are not wont to do the feet of dead men." And my good Guide, who now was at his breast, Where the two natures are together joined, Replied: "Indeed he lives, and thus alone Me it behoves to show him the dark valley; Necessity, and not delight, impels us. Some one withdrew from singing Halleluja, Who unto me committed this new office; No thief is he, nor I a thievish spirit. But by that virtue through which I am moving My steps along this savage thoroughfare, Give us some one of thine, to be with us, And who may show us where to pass the ford, And who may carry this one on his back; For 'tis no spirit that can walk the air." Upon his right breast Chiron wheeled about, And said to Nessus: "Turn and do thou guide them, And warn aside, if other band may meet you." We with our faithful escort onward moved Along the brink of the vermilion boiling, Wherein the boiled were uttering loud laments. People I saw within up to the eyebrows, And the great Centaur said: "Tyrants are these, Who dealt in bloodshed and in pillaging. Here they lament their pitiless mischiefs; here Is Alexander, and fierce Dionysius Who upon Sicily brought dolorous years. That forehead there which has the hair so black Is Azzolin; and the other who is blond, Obizzo is of Esti, who, in truth, Up in the world was by his stepson slain." Then turned I to the Poet; and he said, "Now he be first to thee, and second I." A little farther on the Centaur stopped Above a folk, who far down as the throat Seemed from that boiling stream to issue forth. A shade he showed us on one side alone, Saying: "He cleft asunder in God's bosom The heart that still upon the Thames is honoured." Then people saw I, who from out the river Lifted their heads and also all the chest; And many among these I recognised. Thus ever more and more grew shallower That blood, so that the feet alone it covered; And there across the moat our passage was. "Even as thou here upon this side beholdest The boiling stream, that aye diminishes," The Centaur said, "I wish thee to believe That on this other more and more declines Its bed, until it reunites itself Where it behoveth tyranny to groan. Justice divine, upon this side, is goading That Attila, who was a scourge on earth, And Pyrrhus, and Sextus; and for ever milks The tears which with the boiling it unseals In Rinier da Corneto and Rinier Pazzo, Who made upon the highways so much war." Then back he turned, and passed again the ford. Inferno: Canto XIII Not yet had Nessus reached the other side, When we had put ourselves within a wood, That was not marked by any path whatever. Not foliage green, but of a dusky colour, Not branches smooth, but gnarled and intertangled, Not apple-trees were there, but thorns with poison. Such tangled thickets have not, nor so dense, Those savage wild beasts, that in hatred hold 'Twixt Cecina and Corneto the tilled places. There do the hideous Harpies make their nests, Who chased the Trojans from the Strophades, With sad announcement of impending doom; Broad wings have they, and necks and faces human, And feet with claws, and their great bellies fledged; They make laments upon the wondrous trees. And the good Master: "Ere thou enter farther, Know that thou art within the second round," Thus he began to say, "and shalt be, till Thou comest out upon the horrible sand; Therefore look well around, and thou shalt see Things that will credence give unto my speech." I heard on all sides lamentations uttered, And person none beheld I who might make them, Whence, utterly bewildered, I stood still. I think he thought that I perhaps might think So many voices issued through those trunks From people who concealed themselves from us; Therefore the Master said: "If thou break off Some little spray from any of these trees, The thoughts thou hast will wholly be made vain." Then stretched I forth my hand a little forward, And plucked a branchlet off from a great thorn; And the trunk cried, "Why dost thou mangle me?" After it had become embrowned with blood, It recommenced its cry: "Why dost thou rend me? Hast thou no spirit of pity whatsoever? Men once we were, and now are changed to trees; Indeed, thy hand should be more pitiful, Even if the souls of serpents we had been." As out of a green brand, that is on fire At one of the ends, and from the other drips And hisses with the wind that is escaping; So from that splinter issued forth together Both words and blood; whereat I let the tip Fall, and stood like a man who is afraid. "Had he been able sooner to believe," My Sage made answer, "O thou wounded soul, What only in my verses he has seen, Not upon thee had he stretched forth his hand; Whereas the thing incredible has caused me To put him to an act which grieveth me. But tell him who thou wast, so that by way Of some amends thy fame he may refresh Up in the world, to which he can return." And the trunk said: "So thy sweet words allure me, I cannot silent be; and you be vexed not, That I a little to discourse am tempted. I am the one who both keys had in keeping Of Frederick's heart, and turned them to and fro So softly in unlocking and in locking, That from his secrets most men I withheld; Fidelity I bore the glorious office So great, I lost thereby my sleep and pulses. The courtesan who never from the dwelling Of Caesar turned aside her strumpet eyes, Death universal and the vice of courts, Inflamed against me all the other minds, And they, inflamed, did so inflame Augustus, That my glad honours turned to dismal mournings. My spirit, in disdainful exultation, Thinking by dying to escape disdain, Made me unjust against myself, the just. I, by the roots unwonted of this wood, Do swear to you that never broke I faith Unto my lord, who was so worthy of honour; And to the world if one of you return, Let him my memory comfort, which is lying Still prostrate from the blow that envy dealt it." Waited awhile, and then: "Since he is silent," The Poet said to me, "lose not the time, But speak, and question him, if more may please thee." Whence I to him: "Do thou again inquire Concerning what thou thinks't will satisfy me; For I cannot, such pity is in my heart." Therefore he recommenced: "So may the man Do for thee freely what thy speech implores, Spirit incarcerate, again be pleased To tell us in what way the soul is bound Within these knots; and tell us, if thou canst, If any from such members e'er is freed." Then blew the trunk amain, and afterward The wind was into such a voice converted: "With brevity shall be replied to you. When the exasperated soul abandons The body whence it rent itself away, Minos consigns it to the seventh abyss. It falls into the forest, and no part Is chosen for it; but where Fortune hurls it, There like a grain of spelt it germinates. It springs a sapling, and a forest tree; The Harpies, feeding then upon its leaves, Do pain create, and for the pain an outlet. Like others for our spoils shall we return; But not that any one may them revest, For 'tis not just to have what one casts off. Here we shall drag them, and along the dismal Forest our bodies shall suspended be, Each to the thorn of his molested shade." We were attentive still unto the trunk, Thinking that more it yet might wish to tell us, When by a tumult we were overtaken, In the same way as he is who perceives The boar and chase approaching to his stand, Who hears the crashing of the beasts and branches; And two behold! upon our left-hand side, Naked and scratched, fleeing so furiously, That of the forest, every fan they broke. He who was in advance: "Now help, Death, help!" And the other one, who seemed to lag too much, Was shouting: "Lano, were not so alert Those legs of thine at joustings of the Toppo!" And then, perchance because his breath was failing, He grouped himself together with a bush. Behind them was the forest full of black She-mastiffs, ravenous, and swift of foot As greyhounds, who are issuing from the chain. On him who had crouched down they set their teeth, And him they lacerated piece by piece, Thereafter bore away those aching members. Thereat my Escort took me by the hand, And led me to the bush, that all in vain Was weeping from its bloody lacerations. "O Jacopo," it said, "of Sant' Andrea, What helped it thee of me to make a screen? What blame have I in thy nefarious life?" When near him had the Master stayed his steps, He said: "Who wast thou, that through wounds so many Art blowing out with blood thy dolorous speech?" And he to us: "O souls, that hither come To look upon the shameful massacre That has so rent away from me my leaves, Gather them up beneath the dismal bush; I of that city was which to the Baptist Changed its first patron, wherefore he for this Forever with his art will make it sad. And were it not that on the pass of Arno Some glimpses of him are remaining still, Those citizens, who afterwards rebuilt it Upon the ashes left by Attila, In vain had caused their labour to be done. Of my own house I made myself a gibbet." Inferno: Canto XIV Because the charity of my native place Constrained me, gathered I the scattered leaves, And gave them back to him, who now was hoarse. Then came we to the confine, where disparted The second round is from the third, and where A horrible form of Justice is beheld. Clearly to manifest these novel things, I say that we arrived upon a plain, Which from its bed rejecteth every plant; The dolorous forest is a garland to it All round about, as the sad moat to that; There close upon the edge we stayed our feet. The soil was of an arid and thick sand, Not of another fashion made than that Which by the feet of Cato once was pressed. Vengeance of God, O how much oughtest thou By each one to be dreaded, who doth read That which was manifest unto mine eyes! Of naked souls beheld I many herds, Who all were weeping very miserably, And over them seemed set a law diverse. Supine upon the ground some folk were lying; And some were sitting all drawn up together, And others went about continually. Those who were going round were far the more, And those were less who lay down to their torment, But had their tongues more loosed to lamentation. O'er all the sand-waste, with a gradual fall, Were raining down dilated flakes of fire, As of the snow on Alp without a wind. As Alexander, in those torrid parts Of India, beheld upon his host Flames fall unbroken till they reached the ground. Whence he provided with his phalanxes To trample down the soil, because the vapour Better extinguished was while it was single; Thus was descending the eternal heat, Whereby the sand was set on fire, like tinder Beneath the steel, for doubling of the dole. Without repose forever was the dance Of miserable hands, now there, now here, Shaking away from off them the fresh gleeds. "Master," began I, "thou who overcomest All things except the demons dire, that issued Against us at the entrance of the gate, Who is that mighty one who seems to heed not The fire, and lieth lowering and disdainful, So that the rain seems not to ripen him?" And he himself, who had become aware That I was questioning my Guide about him, Cried: "Such as I was living, am I, dead. If Jove should weary out his smith, from whom He seized in anger the sharp thunderbolt, Wherewith upon the last day I was smitten, And if he wearied out by turns the others In Mongibello at the swarthy forge, Vociferating, 'Help, good Vulcan, help!' Even as he did there at the fight of Phlegra, And shot his bolts at me with all his might, He would not have thereby a joyous vengeance." Then did my Leader speak with such great force, That I had never heard him speak so loud: "O Capaneus, in that is not extinguished Thine arrogance, thou punished art the more; Not any torment, saving thine own rage, Would be unto thy fury pain complete." Then he turned round to me with better lip, Saying: "One of the Seven Kings was he Who Thebes besieged, and held, and seems to hold God in disdain, and little seems to prize him; But, as I said to him, his own despites Are for his breast the fittest ornaments. Now follow me, and mind thou do not place As yet thy feet upon the burning sand, But always keep them close unto the wood." Speaking no word, we came to where there gushes Forth from the wood a little rivulet, Whose redness makes my hair still stand on end. As from the Bulicame springs the brooklet, The sinful women later share among them, So downward through the sand it went its way. The bottom of it, and both sloping banks, Were made of stone, and the margins at the side; Whence I perceived that there the passage was. "In all the rest which I have shown to thee Since we have entered in within the gate Whose threshold unto no one is denied, Nothing has been discovered by thine eyes So notable as is the present river, Which all the little flames above it quenches." These words were of my Leader; whence I prayed him That he would give me largess of the food, For which he had given me largess of desire. "In the mid-sea there sits a wasted land," Said he thereafterward, "whose name is Crete, Under whose king the world of old was chaste. There is a mountain there, that once was glad With waters and with leaves, which was called Ida; Now 'tis deserted, as a thing worn out. Rhea once chose it for the faithful cradle Of her own son; and to conceal him better, Whene'er he cried, she there had clamours made. A grand old man stands in the mount erect, Who holds his shoulders turned tow'rds Damietta, And looks at Rome as if it were his mirror. His head is fashioned of refined gold, And of pure silver are the arms and breast; Then he is brass as far down as the fork. From that point downward all is chosen iron, Save that the right foot is of kiln-baked clay, And more he stands on that than on the other. Each part, except the gold, is by a fissure Asunder cleft, that dripping is with tears, Which gathered together perforate that cavern. From rock to rock they fall into this valley; Acheron, Styx, and Phlegethon they form; Then downward go along this narrow sluice Unto that point where is no more descending. They form Cocytus; what that pool may be Thou shalt behold, so here 'tis not narrated." And I to him: "If so the present runnel Doth take its rise in this way from our world, Why only on this verge appears it to us?" And he to me: "Thou knowest the place is round, And notwithstanding thou hast journeyed far, Still to the left descending to the bottom, Thou hast not yet through all the circle turned. Therefore if something new appear to us, It should not bring amazement to thy face." And I again: "Master, where shall be found Lethe and Phlegethon, for of one thou'rt silent, And sayest the other of this rain is made?" "In all thy questions truly thou dost please me," Replied he; "but the boiling of the red Water might well solve one of them thou makest. Thou shalt see Lethe, but outside this moat, There where the souls repair to lave themselves, When sin repented of has been removed." Then said he: "It is time now to abandon The wood; take heed that thou come after me; A way the margins make that are not burning, And over them all vapours are extinguished." Inferno: Canto XV Now bears us onward one of the hard margins, And so the brooklet's mist o'ershadows it, From fire it saves the water and the dikes. Even as the Flemings, 'twixt Cadsand and Bruges, Fearing the flood that tow'rds them hurls itself, Their bulwarks build to put the sea to flight; And as the Paduans along the Brenta, To guard their villas and their villages, Or ever Chiarentana feel the heat; In such similitude had those been made, Albeit not so lofty nor so thick, Whoever he might be, the master made them. Now were we from the forest so remote, I could not have discovered where it was, Even if backward I had turned myself, When we a company of souls encountered, Who came beside the dike, and every one Gazed at us, as at evening we are wont To eye each other under a new moon, And so towards us sharpened they their brows As an old tailor at the needle's eye. Thus scrutinised by such a family, By some one I was recognised, who seized My garment's hem, and cried out, "What a marvel!" And I, when he stretched forth his arm to me, On his baked aspect fastened so mine eyes, That the scorched countenance prevented not His recognition by my intellect; And bowing down my face unto his own, I made reply, "Are you here, Ser Brunetto?" And he: "May't not displease thee, O my son, If a brief space with thee Brunetto Latini Backward return and let the trail go on." I said to him: "With all my power I ask it; And if you wish me to sit down with you, I will, if he please, for I go with him." "O son," he said, "whoever of this herd A moment stops, lies then a hundred years, Nor fans himself when smiteth him the fire. Therefore go on; I at thy skirts will come, And afterward will I rejoin my band, Which goes lamenting its eternal doom." I did not dare to go down from the road Level to walk with him; but my head bowed I held as one who goeth reverently. And he began: "What fortune or what fate Before the last day leadeth thee down here? And who is this that showeth thee the way?" "Up there above us in the life serene," I answered him, "I lost me in a valley, Or ever yet my age had been completed. But yestermorn I turned my back upon it; This one appeared to me, returning thither, And homeward leadeth me along this road." And he to me: "If thou thy star do follow, Thou canst not fail thee of a glorious port, If well I judged in the life beautiful. And if I had not died so prematurely, Seeing Heaven thus benignant unto thee, I would have given thee comfort in the work. But that ungrateful and malignant people, Which of old time from Fesole descended, And smacks still of the mountain and the granite, Will make itself, for thy good deeds, thy foe; And it is right; for among crabbed sorbs It ill befits the sweet fig to bear fruit. Old rumour in the world proclaims them blind; A people avaricious, envious, proud; Take heed that of their customs thou do cleanse thee. Thy fortune so much honour doth reserve thee, One party and the other shall be hungry For thee; but far from goat shall be the grass. Their litter let the beasts of Fesole Make of themselves, nor let them touch the plant, If any still upon their dunghill rise, In which may yet revive the consecrated Seed of those Romans, who remained there when The nest of such great malice it became." "If my entreaty wholly were fulfilled," Replied I to him, "not yet would you be In banishment from human nature placed; For in my mind is fixed, and touches now My heart the dear and good paternal image Of you, when in the world from hour to hour You taught me how a man becomes eternal; And how much I am grateful, while I live Behoves that in my language be discerned. What you narrate of my career I write, And keep it to be glossed with other text By a Lady who can do it, if I reach her. This much will I have manifest to you; Provided that my conscience do not chide me, For whatsoever Fortune I am ready. Such handsel is not new unto mine ears; Therefore let Fortune turn her wheel around As it may please her, and the churl his mattock." My Master thereupon on his right cheek Did backward turn himself, and looked at me; Then said: "He listeneth well who noteth it." Nor speaking less on that account, I go With Ser Brunetto, and I ask who are His most known and most eminent companions. And he to me: "To know of some is well; Of others it were laudable to be silent, For short would be the time for so much speech. Know them in sum, that all of them were clerks, And men of letters great and of great fame, In the world tainted with the selfsame sin. Priscian goes yonder with that wretched crowd, And Francis of Accorso; and thou hadst seen there If thou hadst had a hankering for such scurf, That one, who by the Servant of the Servants From Arno was transferred to Bacchiglione, Where he has left his sin-excited nerves. More would I say, but coming and discoursing Can be no longer; for that I behold New smoke uprising yonder from the sand. A people comes with whom I may not be; Commended unto thee be my Tesoro, In which I still live, and no more I ask." Then he turned round, and seemed to be of those Who at Verona run for the Green Mantle Across the plain; and seemed to be among them The one who wins, and not the one who loses. Inferno: Canto XVI Now was I where was heard the reverberation Of water falling into the next round, Like to that humming which the beehives make, When shadows three together started forth, Running, from out a company that passed Beneath the rain of the sharp martyrdom. Towards us came they, and each one cried out: "Stop, thou; for by thy garb to us thou seemest To be some one of our depraved city." Ah me! what wounds I saw upon their limbs, Recent and ancient by the flames burnt in! It pains me still but to remember it. Unto their cries my Teacher paused attentive; He turned his face towards me, and "Now wait," He said; "to these we should be courteous. And if it were not for the fire that darts The nature of this region, I should say That haste were more becoming thee than them." As soon as we stood still, they recommenced The old refrain, and when they overtook us, Formed of themselves a wheel, all three of them. As champions stripped and oiled are wont to do, Watching for their advantage and their hold, Before they come to blows and thrusts between them, Thus, wheeling round, did every one his visage Direct to me, so that in opposite wise His neck and feet continual journey made. And, "If the misery of this soft place Bring in disdain ourselves and our entreaties," Began one, "and our aspect black and blistered, Let the renown of us thy mind incline To tell us who thou art, who thus securely Thy living feet dost move along through Hell. He in whose footprints thou dost see me treading, Naked and skinless though he now may go, Was of a greater rank than thou dost think; He was the grandson of the good Gualdrada; His name was Guidoguerra, and in life Much did he with his wisdom and his sword. The other, who close by me treads the sand, Tegghiaio Aldobrandi is, whose fame Above there in the world should welcome be. And I, who with them on the cross am placed, Jacopo Rusticucci was; and truly My savage wife, more than aught else, doth harm me." Could I have been protected from the fire, Below I should have thrown myself among them, And think the Teacher would have suffered it; But as I should have burned and baked myself, My terror overmastered my good will, Which made me greedy of embracing them. Then I began: "Sorrow and not disdain Did your condition fix within me so, That tardily it wholly is stripped off, As soon as this my Lord said unto me Words, on account of which I thought within me That people such as you are were approaching. I of your city am; and evermore Your labours and your honourable names I with affection have retraced and heard. I leave the gall, and go for the sweet fruits Promised to me by the veracious Leader; But to the centre first I needs must plunge." "So may the soul for a long while conduct Those limbs of thine," did he make answer then, "And so may thy renown shine after thee, Valour and courtesy, say if they dwell Within our city, as they used to do, Or if they wholly have gone out of it; For Guglielmo Borsier, who is in torment With us of late, and goes there with his comrades, Doth greatly mortify us with his words." "The new inhabitants and the sudden gains, Pride and extravagance have in thee engendered, Florence, so that thou weep'st thereat already!" In this wise I exclaimed with face uplifted; And the three, taking that for my reply, Looked at each other, as one looks at truth. "If other times so little it doth cost thee," Replied they all, "to satisfy another, Happy art thou, thus speaking at thy will! Therefore, if thou escape from these dark places, And come to rebehold the beauteous stars, When it shall pleasure thee to say, 'I was,' See that thou speak of us unto the people." Then they broke up the wheel, and in their flight It seemed as if their agile legs were wings. Not an Amen could possibly be said So rapidly as they had disappeared; Wherefore the Master deemed best to depart. I followed him, and little had we gone, Before the sound of water was so near us, That speaking we should hardly have been heard. Even as that stream which holdeth its own course The first from Monte Veso tow'rds the East, Upon the left-hand slope of Apennine, Which is above called Acquacheta, ere It down descendeth into its low bed, And at Forli is vacant of that name, Reverberates there above San Benedetto From Alps, by falling at a single leap, Where for a thousand there were room enough; Thus downward from a bank precipitate, We found resounding that dark-tinted water, So that it soon the ear would have offended. I had a cord around about me girt, And therewithal I whilom had designed To take the panther with the painted skin. After I this had all from me unloosed, As my Conductor had commanded me, I reached it to him, gathered up and coiled, Whereat he turned himself to the right side, And at a little distance from the verge, He cast it down into that deep abyss. "It must needs be some novelty respond," I said within myself, "to the new signal The Master with his eye is following so." Ah me! how very cautious men should be With those who not alone behold the act, But with their wisdom look into the thoughts! He said to me: "Soon there will upward come What I await; and what thy thought is dreaming Must soon reveal itself unto thy sight." Aye to that truth which has the face of falsehood, A man should close his lips as far as may be, Because without his fault it causes shame; But here I cannot; and, Reader, by the notes Of this my Comedy to thee I swear, So may they not be void of lasting favour, Athwart that dense and darksome atmosphere I saw a figure swimming upward come, Marvellous unto every steadfast heart, Even as he returns who goeth down Sometimes to clear an anchor, which has grappled Reef, or aught else that in the sea is hidden, Who upward stretches, and draws in his feet. Inferno: Canto XVII "Behold the monster with the pointed tail, Who cleaves the hills, and breaketh walls and weapons, Behold him who infecteth all the world." Thus unto me my Guide began to say, And beckoned him that he should come to shore, Near to the confine of the trodden marble; And that uncleanly image of deceit Came up and thrust ashore its head and bust, But on the border did not drag its tail. The face was as the face of a just man, Its semblance outwardly was so benign, And of a serpent all the trunk beside. Two paws it had, hairy unto the armpits; The back, and breast, and both the sides it had Depicted o'er with nooses and with shields. With colours more, groundwork or broidery Never in cloth did Tartars make nor Turks, Nor were such tissues by Arachne laid. As sometimes wherries lie upon the shore, That part are in the water, part on land; And as among the guzzling Germans there, The beaver plants himself to wage his war; So that vile monster lay upon the border, Which is of stone, and shutteth in the sand. His tail was wholly quivering in the void, Contorting upwards the envenomed fork, That in the guise of scorpion armed its point. The Guide said: "Now perforce must turn aside Our way a little, even to that beast Malevolent, that yonder coucheth him." We therefore on the right side descended, And made ten steps upon the outer verge, Completely to avoid the sand and flame; And after we are come to him, I see A little farther off upon the sand A people sitting near the hollow place. Then said to me the Master: "So that full Experience of this round thou bear away, Now go and see what their condition is. There let thy conversation be concise; Till thou returnest I will speak with him, That he concede to us his stalwart shoulders." Thus farther still upon the outermost Head of that seventh circle all alone I went, where sat the melancholy folk. Out of their eyes was gushing forth their woe; This way, that way, they helped them with their hands Now from the flames and now from the hot soil. Not otherwise in summer do the dogs, Now with the foot, now with the muzzle, when By fleas, or flies, or gadflies, they are bitten. When I had turned mine eyes upon the faces Of some, on whom the dolorous fire is falling, Not one of them I knew; but I perceived That from the neck of each there hung a pouch, Which certain colour had, and certain blazon; And thereupon it seems their eyes are feeding. And as I gazing round me come among them, Upon a yellow pouch I azure saw That had the face and posture of a lion. Proceeding then the current of my sight, Another of them saw I, red as blood, Display a goose more white than butter is. And one, who with an azure sow and gravid Emblazoned had his little pouch of white, Said unto me: "What dost thou in this moat? Now get thee gone; and since thou'rt still alive, Know that a neighbour of mine, Vitaliano, Will have his seat here on my left-hand side. A Paduan am I with these Florentines; Full many a time they thunder in mine ears, Exclaiming, 'Come the sovereign cavalier, He who shall bring the satchel with three goats;'" Then twisted he his mouth, and forth he thrust His tongue, like to an ox that licks its nose. And fearing lest my longer stay might vex Him who had warned me not to tarry long, Backward I turned me from those weary souls. I found my Guide, who had already mounted Upon the back of that wild animal, And said to me: "Now be both strong and bold. Now we descend by stairways such as these; Mount thou in front, for I will be midway, So that the tail may have no power to harm thee." Such as he is who has so near the ague Of quartan that his nails are blue already, And trembles all, but looking at the shade; Even such became I at those proffered words; But shame in me his menaces produced, Which maketh servant strong before good master. I seated me upon those monstrous shoulders; I wished to say, and yet the voice came not As I believed, "Take heed that thou embrace me." But he, who other times had rescued me In other peril, soon as I had mounted, Within his arms encircled and sustained me, And said: "Now, Geryon, bestir thyself; The circles large, and the descent be little; Think of the novel burden which thou hast." Even as the little vessel shoves from shore, Backward, still backward, so he thence withdrew; And when he wholly felt himself afloat, There where his breast had been he turned his tail, And that extended like an eel he moved, And with his paws drew to himself the air. A greater fear I do not think there was What time abandoned Phaeton the reins, Whereby the heavens, as still appears, were scorched; Nor when the wretched Icarus his flanks Felt stripped of feathers by the melting wax, His father crying, "An ill way thou takest!" Than was my own, when I perceived myself On all sides in the air, and saw extinguished The sight of everything but of the monster. Onward he goeth, swimming slowly, slowly; Wheels and descends, but I perceive it only By wind upon my face and from below. I heard already on the right the whirlpool Making a horrible crashing under us; Whence I thrust out my head with eyes cast downward. Then was I still more fearful of the abyss; Because I fires beheld, and heard laments, Whereat I, trembling, all the closer cling. I saw then, for before I had not seen it, The turning and descending, by great horrors That were approaching upon divers sides. As falcon who has long been on the wing, Who, without seeing either lure or bird, Maketh the falconer say, "Ah me, thou stoopest," Descendeth weary, whence he started swiftly, Thorough a hundred circles, and alights Far from his master, sullen and disdainful; Even thus did Geryon place us on the bottom, Close to the bases of the rough-hewn rock, And being disencumbered of our persons, He sped away as arrow from the string. Inferno: Canto XVIII There is a place in Hell called Malebolge, Wholly of stone and of an iron colour, As is the circle that around it turns. Right in the middle of the field malign There yawns a well exceeding wide and deep, Of which its place the structure will recount. Round, then, is that enclosure which remains Between the well and foot of the high, hard bank, And has distinct in valleys ten its bottom. As where for the protection of the walls Many and many moats surround the castles, The part in which they are a figure forms, Just such an image those presented there; And as about such strongholds from their gates Unto the outer bank are little bridges, So from the precipice's base did crags Project, which intersected dikes and moats, Unto the well that truncates and collects them. Within this place, down shaken from the back Of Geryon, we found us; and the Poet Held to the left, and I moved on behind. Upon my right hand I beheld new anguish, New torments, and new wielders of the lash, Wherewith the foremost Bolgia was replete. Down at the bottom were the sinners naked; This side the middle came they facing us, Beyond it, with us, but with greater steps; Even as the Romans, for the mighty host, The year of Jubilee, upon the bridge, Have chosen a mode to pass the people over; For all upon one side towards the Castle Their faces have, and go unto St. Peter's; On the other side they go towards the Mountain. This side and that, along the livid stone Beheld I horned demons with great scourges, Who cruelly were beating them behind. Ah me! how they did make them lift their legs At the first blows! and sooth not any one The second waited for, nor for the third. While I was going on, mine eyes by one Encountered were; and straight I said: "Already With sight of this one I am not unfed." Therefore I stayed my feet to make him out, And with me the sweet Guide came to a stand, And to my going somewhat back assented; And he, the scourged one, thought to hide himself, Lowering his face, but little it availed him; For said I: "Thou that castest down thine eyes, If false are not the features which thou bearest, Thou art Venedico Caccianimico; But what doth bring thee to such pungent sauces?" And he to me: "Unwillingly I tell it; But forces me thine utterance distinct, Which makes me recollect the ancient world. I was the one who the fair Ghisola Induced to grant the wishes of the Marquis, Howe'er the shameless story may be told. Not the sole Bolognese am I who weeps here; Nay, rather is this place so full of them, That not so many tongues to-day are taught 'Twixt Reno and Savena to say 'sipa;' And if thereof thou wishest pledge or proof, Bring to thy mind our avaricious heart." While speaking in this manner, with his scourge A demon smote him, and said: "Get thee gone Pander, there are no women here for coin." I joined myself again unto mine Escort; Thereafterward with footsteps few we came To where a crag projected from the bank. This very easily did we ascend, And turning to the right along its ridge, From those eternal circles we departed. When we were there, where it is hollowed out Beneath, to give a passage to the scourged, The Guide said: "Wait, and see that on thee strike The vision of those others evil-born, Of whom thou hast not yet beheld the faces, Because together with us they have gone." From the old bridge we looked upon the train Which tow'rds us came upon the other border, And which the scourges in like manner smite. And the good Master, without my inquiring, Said to me: "See that tall one who is coming, And for his pain seems not to shed a tear; Still what a royal aspect he retains! That Jason is, who by his heart and cunning The Colchians of the Ram made destitute. He by the isle of Lemnos passed along After the daring women pitiless Had unto death devoted all their males. There with his tokens and with ornate words Did he deceive Hypsipyle, the maiden Who first, herself, had all the rest deceived. There did he leave her pregnant and forlorn; Such sin unto such punishment condemns him, And also for Medea is vengeance done. With him go those who in such wise deceive; And this sufficient be of the first valley To know, and those that in its jaws it holds." We were already where the narrow path Crosses athwart the second dike, and forms Of that a buttress for another arch. Thence we heard people, who are making moan In the next Bolgia, snorting with their muzzles, And with their palms beating upon themselves The margins were incrusted with a mould By exhalation from below, that sticks there, And with the eyes and nostrils wages war. The bottom is so deep, no place suffices To give us sight of it, without ascending The arch's back, where most the crag impends. Thither we came, and thence down in the moat I saw a people smothered in a filth That out of human privies seemed to flow; And whilst below there with mine eye I search, I saw one with his head so foul with ordure, It was not clear if he were clerk or layman. He screamed to me: "Wherefore art thou so eager To look at me more than the other foul ones?" And I to him: "Because, if I remember, I have already seen thee with dry hair, And thou'rt Alessio Interminei of Lucca; Therefore I eye thee more than all the others." And he thereon, belabouring his pumpkin: "The flatteries have submerged me here below, Wherewith my tongue was never surfeited." Then said to me the Guide: "See that thou thrust Thy visage somewhat farther in advance, That with thine eyes thou well the face attain Of that uncleanly and dishevelled drab, Who there doth scratch herself with filthy nails, And crouches now, and now on foot is standing. Thais the harlot is it, who replied Unto her paramour, when he said, 'Have I Great gratitude from thee?'--'Nay, marvellous;' And herewith let our sight be satisfied." Inferno: Canto XIX O Simon Magus, O forlorn disciples, Ye who the things of God, which ought to be The brides of holiness, rapaciously For silver and for gold do prostitute, Now it behoves for you the trumpet sound, Because in this third Bolgia ye abide. We had already on the following tomb Ascended to that portion of the crag Which o'er the middle of the moat hangs plumb. Wisdom supreme, O how great art thou showest In heaven, in earth, and in the evil world, And with what justice doth thy power distribute! I saw upon the sides and on the bottom The livid stone with perforations filled, All of one size, and every one was round. To me less ample seemed they not, nor greater Than those that in my beautiful Saint John Are fashioned for the place of the baptisers, And one of which, not many years ago, I broke for some one, who was drowning in it; Be this a seal all men to undeceive. Out of the mouth of each one there protruded The feet of a transgressor, and the legs Up to the calf, the rest within remained. In all of them the soles were both on fire; Wherefore the joints so violently quivered, They would have snapped asunder withes and bands. Even as the flame of unctuous things is wont To move upon the outer surface only, So likewise was it there from heel to point. "Master, who is that one who writhes himself, More than his other comrades quivering," I said, "and whom a redder flame is sucking?" And he to me: "If thou wilt have me bear thee Down there along that bank which lowest lies, From him thou'lt know his errors and himself." And I: "What pleases thee, to me is pleasing; Thou art my Lord, and knowest that I depart not From thy desire, and knowest what is not spoken." Straightway upon the fourth dike we arrived; We turned, and on the left-hand side descended Down to the bottom full of holes and narrow. And the good Master yet from off his haunch Deposed me not, till to the hole he brought me Of him who so lamented with his shanks. "Whoe'er thou art, that standest upside down, O doleful soul, implanted like a stake," To say began I, "if thou canst, speak out." I stood even as the friar who is confessing The false assassin, who, when he is fixed, Recalls him, so that death may be delayed. And he cried out: "Dost thou stand there already, Dost thou stand there already, Boniface? By many years the record lied to me. Art thou so early satiate with that wealth, For which thou didst not fear to take by fraud The beautiful Lady, and then work her woe?" Such I became, as people are who stand, Not comprehending what is answered them, As if bemocked, and know not how to answer. Then said Virgilius: "Say to him straightway, 'I am not he, I am not he thou thinkest.'" And I replied as was imposed on me. Whereat the spirit writhed with both his feet, Then, sighing, with a voice of lamentation Said to me: "Then what wantest thou of me? If who I am thou carest so much to know, That thou on that account hast crossed the bank, Know that I vested was with the great mantle; And truly was I son of the She-bear, So eager to advance the cubs, that wealth Above, and here myself, I pocketed. Beneath my head the others are dragged down Who have preceded me in simony, Flattened along the fissure of the rock. Below there I shall likewise fall, whenever That one shall come who I believed thou wast, What time the sudden question I proposed. But longer I my feet already toast, And here have been in this way upside down, Than he will planted stay with reddened feet; For after him shall come of fouler deed From tow'rds the west a Pastor without law, Such as befits to cover him and me. New Jason will he be, of whom we read In Maccabees; and as his king was pliant, So he who governs France shall be to this one." I do not know if I were here too bold, That him I answered only in this metre: "I pray thee tell me now how great a treasure Our Lord demanded of Saint Peter first, Before he put the keys into his keeping? Truly he nothing asked but 'Follow me.' Nor Peter nor the rest asked of Matthias Silver or gold, when he by lot was chosen Unto the place the guilty soul had lost. Therefore stay here, for thou art justly punished, And keep safe guard o'er the ill-gotten money, Which caused thee to be valiant against Charles. And were it not that still forbids it me The reverence for the keys superlative Thou hadst in keeping in the gladsome life, I would make use of words more grievous still; Because your avarice afflicts the world, Trampling the good and lifting the depraved. The Evangelist you Pastors had in mind, When she who sitteth upon many waters To fornicate with kings by him was seen; The same who with the seven heads was born, And power and strength from the ten horns received, So long as virtue to her spouse was pleasing. Ye have made yourselves a god of gold and silver; And from the idolater how differ ye, Save that he one, and ye a hundred worship? Ah, Constantine! of how much ill was mother, Not thy conversion, but that marriage dower Which the first wealthy Father took from thee!" And while I sang to him such notes as these, Either that anger or that conscience stung him, He struggled violently with both his feet. I think in sooth that it my Leader pleased, With such contented lip he listened ever Unto the sound of the true words expressed. Therefore with both his arms he took me up, And when he had me all upon his breast, Remounted by the way where he descended. Nor did he tire to have me clasped to him; But bore me to the summit of the arch Which from the fourth dike to the fifth is passage. There tenderly he laid his burden down, Tenderly on the crag uneven and steep, That would have been hard passage for the goats: Thence was unveiled to me another valley. Inferno: Canto XX Of a new pain behoves me to make verses And give material to the twentieth canto Of the first song, which is of the submerged. I was already thoroughly disposed To peer down into the uncovered depth, Which bathed itself with tears of agony; And people saw I through the circular valley, Silent and weeping, coming at the pace Which in this world the Litanies assume. As lower down my sight descended on them, Wondrously each one seemed to be distorted From chin to the beginning of the chest; For tow'rds the reins the countenance was turned, And backward it behoved them to advance, As to look forward had been taken from them. Perchance indeed by violence of palsy Some one has been thus wholly turned awry; But I ne'er saw it, nor believe it can be. As God may let thee, Reader, gather fruit From this thy reading, think now for thyself How I could ever keep my face unmoistened, When our own image near me I beheld Distorted so, the weeping of the eyes Along the fissure bathed the hinder parts. Truly I wept, leaning upon a peak Of the hard crag, so that my Escort said To me: "Art thou, too, of the other fools? Here pity lives when it is wholly dead; Who is a greater reprobate than he Who feels compassion at the doom divine? Lift up, lift up thy head, and see for whom Opened the earth before the Thebans' eyes; Wherefore they all cried: 'Whither rushest thou, Amphiaraus? Why dost leave the war?' And downward ceased he not to fall amain As far as Minos, who lays hold on all. See, he has made a bosom of his shoulders! Because he wished to see too far before him Behind he looks, and backward goes his way: Behold Tiresias, who his semblance changed, When from a male a female he became, His members being all of them transformed; And afterwards was forced to strike once more The two entangled serpents with his rod, Ere he could have again his manly plumes. That Aruns is, who backs the other's belly, Who in the hills of Luni, there where grubs The Carrarese who houses underneath, Among the marbles white a cavern had For his abode; whence to behold the stars And sea, the view was not cut off from him. And she there, who is covering up her breasts, Which thou beholdest not, with loosened tresses, And on that side has all the hairy skin, Was Manto, who made quest through many lands, Afterwards tarried there where I was born; Whereof I would thou list to me a little. After her father had from life departed, And the city of Bacchus had become enslaved, She a long season wandered through the world. Above in beauteous Italy lies a lake At the Alp's foot that shuts in Germany Over Tyrol, and has the name Benaco. By a thousand springs, I think, and more, is bathed, 'Twixt Garda and Val Camonica, Pennino, With water that grows stagnant in that lake. Midway a place is where the Trentine Pastor, And he of Brescia, and the Veronese Might give his blessing, if he passed that way. Sitteth Peschiera, fortress fair and strong, To front the Brescians and the Bergamasks, Where round about the bank descendeth lowest. There of necessity must fall whatever In bosom of Benaco cannot stay, And grows a river down through verdant pastures. Soon as the water doth begin to run, No more Benaco is it called, but Mincio, Far as Governo, where it falls in Po. Not far it runs before it finds a plain In which it spreads itself, and makes it marshy, And oft 'tis wont in summer to be sickly. Passing that way the virgin pitiless Land in the middle of the fen descried, Untilled and naked of inhabitants; There to escape all human intercourse, She with her servants stayed, her arts to practise And lived, and left her empty body there. The men, thereafter, who were scattered round, Collected in that place, which was made strong By the lagoon it had on every side; They built their city over those dead bones, And, after her who first the place selected, Mantua named it, without other omen. Its people once within more crowded were, Ere the stupidity of Casalodi From Pinamonte had received deceit. Therefore I caution thee, if e'er thou hearest Originate my city otherwise, No falsehood may the verity defraud." And I: "My Master, thy discourses are To me so certain, and so take my faith, That unto me the rest would be spent coals. But tell me of the people who are passing, If any one note-worthy thou beholdest, For only unto that my mind reverts." Then said he to me: "He who from the cheek Thrusts out his beard upon his swarthy shoulders Was, at the time when Greece was void of males, So that there scarce remained one in the cradle, An augur, and with Calchas gave the moment, In Aulis, when to sever the first cable. Eryphylus his name was, and so sings My lofty Tragedy in some part or other; That knowest thou well, who knowest the whole of it. The next, who is so slender in the flanks, Was Michael Scott, who of a verity Of magical illusions knew the game. Behold Guido Bonatti, behold Asdente, Who now unto his leather and his thread Would fain have stuck, but he too late repents. Behold the wretched ones, who left the needle, The spool and rock, and made them fortune-tellers; They wrought their magic spells with herb and image. But come now, for already holds the confines Of both the hemispheres, and under Seville Touches the ocean-wave, Cain and the thorns, And yesternight the moon was round already; Thou shouldst remember well it did not harm thee From time to time within the forest deep." Thus spake he to me, and we walked the while. Inferno: Canto XXI From bridge to bridge thus, speaking other things Of which my Comedy cares not to sing, We came along, and held the summit, when We halted to behold another fissure Of Malebolge and other vain laments; And I beheld it marvellously dark. As in the Arsenal of the Venetians Boils in the winter the tenacious pitch To smear their unsound vessels o'er again, For sail they cannot; and instead thereof One makes his vessel new, and one recaulks The ribs of that which many a voyage has made; One hammers at the prow, one at the stern, This one makes oars, and that one cordage twists, Another mends the mainsail and the mizzen; Thus, not by fire, but by the art divine, Was boiling down below there a dense pitch Which upon every side the bank belimed. I saw it, but I did not see within it Aught but the bubbles that the boiling raised, And all swell up and resubside compressed. The while below there fixedly I gazed, My Leader, crying out: "Beware, beware!" Drew me unto himself from where I stood. Then I turned round, as one who is impatient To see what it behoves him to escape, And whom a sudden terror doth unman, Who, while he looks, delays not his departure; And I beheld behind us a black devil, Running along upon the crag, approach. Ah, how ferocious was he in his aspect! And how he seemed to me in action ruthless, With open wings and light upon his feet! His shoulders, which sharp-pointed were and high, A sinner did encumber with both haunches, And he held clutched the sinews of the feet. From off our bridge, he said: "O Malebranche, Behold one of the elders of Saint Zita; Plunge him beneath, for I return for others Unto that town, which is well furnished with them. All there are barrators, except Bonturo; No into Yes for money there is changed." He hurled him down, and over the hard crag Turned round, and never was a mastiff loosened In so much hurry to pursue a thief. The other sank, and rose again face downward; But the demons, under cover of the bridge, Cried: "Here the Santo Volto has no place! Here swims one otherwise than in the Serchio; Therefore, if for our gaffs thou wishest not, Do not uplift thyself above the pitch." They seized him then with more than a hundred rakes; They said: "It here behoves thee to dance covered, That, if thou canst, thou secretly mayest pilfer." Not otherwise the cooks their scullions make Immerse into the middle of the caldron The meat with hooks, so that it may not float. Said the good Master to me: "That it be not Apparent thou art here, crouch thyself down Behind a jag, that thou mayest have some screen; And for no outrage that is done to me Be thou afraid, because these things I know, For once before was I in such a scuffle." Then he passed on beyond the bridge's head, And as upon the sixth bank he arrived, Need was for him to have a steadfast front. With the same fury, and the same uproar, As dogs leap out upon a mendicant, Who on a sudden begs, where'er he stops, They issued from beneath the little bridge, And turned against him all their grappling-irons; But he cried out: "Be none of you malignant! Before those hooks of yours lay hold of me, Let one of you step forward, who may hear me, And then take counsel as to grappling me." They all cried out: "Let Malacoda go;" Whereat one started, and the rest stood still, And he came to him, saying: "What avails it?" "Thinkest thou, Malacoda, to behold me Advanced into this place," my Master said, "Safe hitherto from all your skill of fence, Without the will divine, and fate auspicious? Let me go on, for it in Heaven is willed That I another show this savage road." Then was his arrogance so humbled in him, That he let fall his grapnel at his feet, And to the others said: "Now strike him not." And unto me my Guide: "O thou, who sittest Among the splinters of the bridge crouched down, Securely now return to me again." Wherefore I started and came swiftly to him; And all the devils forward thrust themselves, So that I feared they would not keep their compact. And thus beheld I once afraid the soldiers Who issued under safeguard from Caprona, Seeing themselves among so many foes. Close did I press myself with all my person Beside my Leader, and turned not mine eyes From off their countenance, which was not good. They lowered their rakes, and "Wilt thou have me hit him," They said to one another, "on the rump?" And answered: "Yes; see that thou nick him with it." But the same demon who was holding parley With my Conductor turned him very quickly, And said: "Be quiet, be quiet, Scarmiglione;" Then said to us: "You can no farther go Forward upon this crag, because is lying All shattered, at the bottom, the sixth arch. And if it still doth please you to go onward, Pursue your way along upon this rock; Near is another crag that yields a path. Yesterday, five hours later than this hour, One thousand and two hundred sixty-six Years were complete, that here the way was broken. I send in that direction some of mine To see if any one doth air himself; Go ye with them; for they will not be vicious. Step forward, Alichino and Calcabrina," Began he to cry out, "and thou, Cagnazzo; And Barbariccia, do thou guide the ten. Come forward, Libicocco and Draghignazzo, And tusked Ciriatto and Graffiacane, And Farfarello and mad Rubicante; Search ye all round about the boiling pitch; Let these be safe as far as the next crag, That all unbroken passes o'er the dens." "O me! what is it, Master, that I see? Pray let us go," I said, "without an escort, If thou knowest how, since for myself I ask none. If thou art as observant as thy wont is, Dost thou not see that they do gnash their teeth, And with their brows are threatening woe to us?" And he to me: "I will not have thee fear; Let them gnash on, according to their fancy, Because they do it for those boiling wretches." Along the left-hand dike they wheeled about; But first had each one thrust his tongue between His teeth towards their leader for a signal; And he had made a trumpet of his rump. Inferno: Canto XXII I have erewhile seen horsemen moving camp, Begin the storming, and their muster make, And sometimes starting off for their escape; Vaunt-couriers have I seen upon your land, O Aretines, and foragers go forth, Tournaments stricken, and the joustings run, Sometimes with trumpets and sometimes with bells, With kettle-drums, and signals of the castles, And with our own, and with outlandish things, But never yet with bagpipe so uncouth Did I see horsemen move, nor infantry, Nor ship by any sign of land or star. We went upon our way with the ten demons; Ah, savage company! but in the church With saints, and in the tavern with the gluttons! Ever upon the pitch was my intent, To see the whole condition of that Bolgia, And of the people who therein were burned. Even as the dolphins, when they make a sign To mariners by arching of the back, That they should counsel take to save their vessel, Thus sometimes, to alleviate his pain, One of the sinners would display his back, And in less time conceal it than it lightens. As on the brink of water in a ditch The frogs stand only with their muzzles out, So that they hide their feet and other bulk, So upon every side the sinners stood; But ever as Barbariccia near them came, Thus underneath the boiling they withdrew. I saw, and still my heart doth shudder at it, One waiting thus, even as it comes to pass One frog remains, and down another dives; And Graffiacan, who most confronted him, Grappled him by his tresses smeared with pitch, And drew him up, so that he seemed an otter. I knew, before, the names of all of them, So had I noted them when they were chosen, And when they called each other, listened how. "O Rubicante, see that thou do lay Thy claws upon him, so that thou mayst flay him," Cried all together the accursed ones. And I: "My Master, see to it, if thou canst, That thou mayst know who is the luckless wight, Thus come into his adversaries' hands." Near to the side of him my Leader drew, Asked of him whence he was; and he replied: "I in the kingdom of Navarre was born; My mother placed me servant to a lord, For she had borne me to a ribald knave, Destroyer of himself and of his things. Then I domestic was of good King Thibault; I set me there to practise barratry, For which I pay the reckoning in this heat." And Ciriatto, from whose mouth projected, On either side, a tusk, as in a boar, Caused him to feel how one of them could rip. Among malicious cats the mouse had come; But Barbariccia clasped him in his arms, And said: "Stand ye aside, while I enfork him." And to my Master he turned round his head; "Ask him again," he said, "if more thou wish To know from him, before some one destroy him." The Guide: "Now tell then of the other culprits; Knowest thou any one who is a Latian, Under the pitch?" And he: "I separated Lately from one who was a neighbour to it; Would that I still were covered up with him, For I should fear not either claw nor hook!" And Libicocco: "We have borne too much;" And with his grapnel seized him by the arm, So that, by rending, he tore off a tendon. Eke Draghignazzo wished to pounce upon him Down at the legs; whence their Decurion Turned round and round about with evil look. When they again somewhat were pacified, Of him, who still was looking at his wound, Demanded my Conductor without stay: "Who was that one, from whom a luckless parting Thou sayest thou hast made, to come ashore?" And he replied: "It was the Friar Gomita, He of Gallura, vessel of all fraud, Who had the enemies of his Lord in hand, And dealt so with them each exults thereat; Money he took, and let them smoothly off, As he says; and in other offices A barrator was he, not mean but sovereign. Foregathers with him one Don Michael Zanche Of Logodoro; and of Sardinia To gossip never do their tongues feel tired. O me! see that one, how he grinds his teeth; Still farther would I speak, but am afraid Lest he to scratch my itch be making ready." And the grand Provost, turned to Farfarello, Who rolled his eyes about as if to strike, Said: "Stand aside there, thou malicious bird." "If you desire either to see or hear," The terror-stricken recommenced thereon, "Tuscans or Lombards, I will make them come. But let the Malebranche cease a little, So that these may not their revenges fear, And I, down sitting in this very place, For one that I am will make seven come, When I shall whistle, as our custom is To do whenever one of us comes out." Cagnazzo at these words his muzzle lifted, Shaking his head, and said: "Just hear the trick Which he has thought of, down to throw himself!" Whence he, who snares in great abundance had, Responded: "I by far too cunning am, When I procure for mine a greater sadness." Alichin held not in, but running counter Unto the rest, said to him: "If thou dive, I will not follow thee upon the gallop, But I will beat my wings above the pitch; The height be left, and be the bank a shield To see if thou alone dost countervail us." O thou who readest, thou shalt hear new sport! Each to the other side his eyes averted; He first, who most reluctant was to do it. The Navarrese selected well his time; Planted his feet on land, and in a moment Leaped, and released himself from their design. Whereat each one was suddenly stung with shame, But he most who was cause of the defeat; Therefore he moved, and cried: "Thou art o'ertakern." But little it availed, for wings could not Outstrip the fear; the other one went under, And, flying, upward he his breast directed; Not otherwise the duck upon a sudden Dives under, when the falcon is approaching, And upward he returneth cross and weary. Infuriate at the mockery, Calcabrina Flying behind him followed close, desirous The other should escape, to have a quarrel. And when the barrator had disappeared, He turned his talons upon his companion, And grappled with him right above the moat. But sooth the other was a doughty sparhawk To clapperclaw him well; and both of them Fell in the middle of the boiling pond. A sudden intercessor was the heat; But ne'ertheless of rising there was naught, To such degree they had their wings belimed. Lamenting with the others, Barbariccia Made four of them fly to the other side With all their gaffs, and very speedily This side and that they to their posts descended; They stretched their hooks towards the pitch-ensnared, Who were already baked within the crust, And in this manner busied did we leave them. Inferno: Canto XXIII Silent, alone, and without company We went, the one in front, the other after, As go the Minor Friars along their way. Upon the fable of Aesop was directed My thought, by reason of the present quarrel, Where he has spoken of the frog and mouse; For 'mo' and 'issa' are not more alike Than this one is to that, if well we couple End and beginning with a steadfast mind. And even as one thought from another springs, So afterward from that was born another, Which the first fear within me double made. Thus did I ponder: "These on our account Are laughed to scorn, with injury and scoff So great, that much I think it must annoy them. If anger be engrafted on ill-will, They will come after us more merciless Than dog upon the leveret which he seizes," I felt my hair stand all on end already With terror, and stood backwardly intent, When said I: "Master, if thou hidest not Thyself and me forthwith, of Malebranche I am in dread; we have them now behind us; I so imagine them, I already feel them." And he: "If I were made of leaded glass, Thine outward image I should not attract Sooner to me than I imprint the inner. Just now thy thoughts came in among my own, With similar attitude and similar face, So that of both one counsel sole I made. If peradventure the right bank so slope That we to the next Bolgia can descend, We shall escape from the imagined chase." Not yet he finished rendering such opinion, When I beheld them come with outstretched wings, Not far remote, with will to seize upon us. My Leader on a sudden seized me up, Even as a mother who by noise is wakened, And close beside her sees the enkindled flames, Who takes her son, and flies, and does not stop, Having more care of him than of herself, So that she clothes her only with a shift; And downward from the top of the hard bank Supine he gave him to the pendent rock, That one side of the other Bolgia walls. Ne'er ran so swiftly water through a sluice To turn the wheel of any land-built mill, When nearest to the paddles it approaches, As did my Master down along that border, Bearing me with him on his breast away, As his own son, and not as a companion. Hardly the bed of the ravine below His feet had reached, ere they had reached the hill Right over us; but he was not afraid; For the high Providence, which had ordained To place them ministers of the fifth moat, The power of thence departing took from all. A painted people there below we found, Who went about with footsteps very slow, Weeping and in their semblance tired and vanquished. They had on mantles with the hoods low down Before their eyes, and fashioned of the cut That in Cologne they for the monks are made. Without, they gilded are so that it dazzles; But inwardly all leaden and so heavy That Frederick used to put them on of straw. O everlastingly fatiguing mantle! Again we turned us, still to the left hand Along with them, intent on their sad plaint; But owing to the weight, that weary folk Came on so tardily, that we were new In company at each motion of the haunch. Whence I unto my Leader: "See thou find Some one who may by deed or name be known, And thus in going move thine eye about." And one, who understood the Tuscan speech, Cried to us from behind: "Stay ye your feet, Ye, who so run athwart the dusky air! Perhaps thou'lt have from me what thou demandest." Whereat the Leader turned him, and said: "Wait, And then according to his pace proceed." I stopped, and two beheld I show great haste Of spirit, in their faces, to be with me; But the burden and the narrow way delayed them. When they came up, long with an eye askance They scanned me without uttering a word. Then to each other turned, and said together: "He by the action of his throat seems living; And if they dead are, by what privilege Go they uncovered by the heavy stole?" Then said to me: "Tuscan, who to the college Of miserable hypocrites art come, Do not disdain to tell us who thou art." And I to them: "Born was I, and grew up In the great town on the fair river of Arno, And with the body am I've always had. But who are ye, in whom there trickles down Along your cheeks such grief as I behold? And what pain is upon you, that so sparkles?" And one replied to me: "These orange cloaks Are made of lead so heavy, that the weights Cause in this way their balances to creak. Frati Gaudenti were we, and Bolognese; I Catalano, and he Loderingo Named, and together taken by thy city, As the wont is to take one man alone, For maintenance of its peace; and we were such That still it is apparent round Gardingo." "O Friars," began I, "your iniquitous. . ." But said no more; for to mine eyes there rushed One crucified with three stakes on the ground. When me he saw, he writhed himself all over, Blowing into his beard with suspirations; And the Friar Catalan, who noticed this, Said to me: "This transfixed one, whom thou seest, Counselled the Pharisees that it was meet To put one man to torture for the people. Crosswise and naked is he on the path, As thou perceivest; and he needs must feel, Whoever passes, first how much he weighs; And in like mode his father-in-law is punished Within this moat, and the others of the council, Which for the Jews was a malignant seed." And thereupon I saw Virgilius marvel O'er him who was extended on the cross So vilely in eternal banishment. Then he directed to the Friar this voice: "Be not displeased, if granted thee, to tell us If to the right hand any pass slope down By which we two may issue forth from here, Without constraining some of the black angels To come and extricate us from this deep." Then he made answer: "Nearer than thou hopest There is a rock, that forth from the great circle Proceeds, and crosses all the cruel valleys, Save that at this 'tis broken, and does not bridge it; You will be able to mount up the ruin, That sidelong slopes and at the bottom rises." The Leader stood awhile with head bowed down; Then said: "The business badly he recounted Who grapples with his hook the sinners yonder." And the Friar: "Many of the Devil's vices Once heard I at Bologna, and among them, That he's a liar and the father of lies." Thereat my Leader with great strides went on, Somewhat disturbed with anger in his looks; Whence from the heavy-laden I departed After the prints of his beloved feet. Inferno: Canto XXIV In that part of the youthful year wherein The Sun his locks beneath Aquarius tempers, And now the nights draw near to half the day, What time the hoar-frost copies on the ground The outward semblance of her sister white, But little lasts the temper of her pen, The husbandman, whose forage faileth him, Rises, and looks, and seeth the champaign All gleaming white, whereat he beats his flank, Returns in doors, and up and down laments, Like a poor wretch, who knows not what to do; Then he returns and hope revives again, Seeing the world has changed its countenance In little time, and takes his shepherd's crook, And forth the little lambs to pasture drives. Thus did the Master fill me with alarm, When I beheld his forehead so disturbed, And to the ailment came as soon the plaster. For as we came unto the ruined bridge, The Leader turned to me with that sweet look Which at the mountain's foot I first beheld. His arms he opened, after some advisement Within himself elected, looking first Well at the ruin, and laid hold of me. And even as he who acts and meditates, For aye it seems that he provides beforehand, So upward lifting me towards the summit Of a huge rock, he scanned another crag, Saying: "To that one grapple afterwards, But try first if 'tis such that it will hold thee." This was no way for one clothed with a cloak; For hardly we, he light, and I pushed upward, Were able to ascend from jag to jag. And had it not been, that upon that precinct Shorter was the ascent than on the other, He I know not, but I had been dead beat. But because Malebolge tow'rds the mouth Of the profoundest well is all inclining, The structure of each valley doth import That one bank rises and the other sinks. Still we arrived at length upon the point Wherefrom the last stone breaks itself asunder. The breath was from my lungs so milked away, When I was up, that I could go no farther, Nay, I sat down upon my first arrival. "Now it behoves thee thus to put off sloth," My Master said; "for sitting upon down, Or under quilt, one cometh not to fame, Withouten which whoso his life consumes Such vestige leaveth of himself on earth, As smoke in air or in the water foam. And therefore raise thee up, o'ercome the anguish With spirit that o'ercometh every battle, If with its heavy body it sink not. A longer stairway it behoves thee mount; 'Tis not enough from these to have departed; Let it avail thee, if thou understand me." Then I uprose, showing myself provided Better with breath than I did feel myself, And said: "Go on, for I am strong and bold." Upward we took our way along the crag, Which jagged was, and narrow, and difficult, And more precipitous far than that before. Speaking I went, not to appear exhausted; Whereat a voice from the next moat came forth, Not well adapted to articulate words. I know not what it said, though o'er the back I now was of the arch that passes there; But he seemed moved to anger who was speaking. I was bent downward, but my living eyes Could not attain the bottom, for the dark; Wherefore I: "Master, see that thou arrive At the next round, and let us descend the wall; For as from hence I hear and understand not, So I look down and nothing I distinguish." "Other response," he said, "I make thee not, Except the doing; for the modest asking Ought to be followed by the deed in silence." We from the bridge descended at its head, Where it connects itself with the eighth bank, And then was manifest to me the Bolgia; And I beheld therein a terrible throng Of serpents, and of such a monstrous kind, That the remembrance still congeals my blood Let Libya boast no longer with her sand; For if Chelydri, Jaculi, and Phareae She breeds, with Cenchri and with Amphisbaena, Neither so many plagues nor so malignant E'er showed she with all Ethiopia, Nor with whatever on the Red Sea is! Among this cruel and most dismal throng People were running naked and affrighted. Without the hope of hole or heliotrope. They had their hands with serpents bound behind them; These riveted upon their reins the tail And head, and were in front of them entwined. And lo! at one who was upon our side There darted forth a serpent, which transfixed him There where the neck is knotted to the shoulders. Nor 'O' so quickly e'er, nor 'I' was written, As he took fire, and burned; and ashes wholly Behoved it that in falling he became. And when he on the ground was thus destroyed, The ashes drew together, and of themselves Into himself they instantly returned. Even thus by the great sages 'tis confessed The phoenix dies, and then is born again, When it approaches its five-hundredth year; On herb or grain it feeds not in its life, But only on tears of incense and amomum, And nard and myrrh are its last winding-sheet. And as he is who falls, and knows not how, By force of demons who to earth down drag him, Or other oppilation that binds man, When he arises and around him looks, Wholly bewildered by the mighty anguish Which he has suffered, and in looking sighs; Such was that sinner after he had risen. Justice of God! O how severe it is, That blows like these in vengeance poureth down! The Guide thereafter asked him who he was; Whence he replied: "I rained from Tuscany A short time since into this cruel gorge. A bestial life, and not a human, pleased me, Even as the mule I was; I'm Vanni Fucci, Beast, and Pistoia was my worthy den." And I unto the Guide: "Tell him to stir not, And ask what crime has thrust him here below, For once a man of blood and wrath I saw him." And the sinner, who had heard, dissembled not, But unto me directed mind and face, And with a melancholy shame was painted. Then said: "It pains me more that thou hast caught me Amid this misery where thou seest me, Than when I from the other life was taken. What thou demandest I cannot deny; So low am I put down because I robbed The sacristy of the fair ornaments, And falsely once 'twas laid upon another; But that thou mayst not such a sight enjoy, If thou shalt e'er be out of the dark places, Thine ears to my announcement ope and hear: Pistoia first of Neri groweth meagre; Then Florence doth renew her men and manners; Mars draws a vapour up from Val di Magra, Which is with turbid clouds enveloped round, And with impetuous and bitter tempest Over Campo Picen shall be the battle; When it shall suddenly rend the mist asunder, So that each Bianco shall thereby be smitten. And this I've said that it may give thee pain." Inferno: Canto XXV At the conclusion of his words, the thief Lifted his hands aloft with both the figs, Crying: "Take that, God, for at thee I aim them." From that time forth the serpents were my friends; For one entwined itself about his neck As if it said: "I will not thou speak more;" And round his arms another, and rebound him, Clinching itself together so in front, That with them he could not a motion make. Pistoia, ah, Pistoia! why resolve not To burn thyself to ashes and so perish, Since in ill-doing thou thy seed excellest? Through all the sombre circles of this Hell, Spirit I saw not against God so proud, Not he who fell at Thebes down from the walls! He fled away, and spake no further word; And I beheld a Centaur full of rage Come crying out: "Where is, where is the scoffer?" I do not think Maremma has so many Serpents as he had all along his back, As far as where our countenance begins. Upon the shoulders, just behind the nape, With wings wide open was a dragon lying, And he sets fire to all that he encounters. My Master said: "That one is Cacus, who Beneath the rock upon Mount Aventine Created oftentimes a lake of blood. He goes not on the same road with his brothers, By reason of the fraudulent theft he made Of the great herd, which he had near to him; Whereat his tortuous actions ceased beneath The mace of Hercules, who peradventure Gave him a hundred, and he felt not ten." While he was speaking thus, he had passed by, And spirits three had underneath us come, Of which nor I aware was, nor my Leader, Until what time they shouted: "Who are you?" On which account our story made a halt, And then we were intent on them alone. I did not know them; but it came to pass, As it is wont to happen by some chance, That one to name the other was compelled, Exclaiming: "Where can Cianfa have remained?" Whence I, so that the Leader might attend, Upward from chin to nose my finger laid. If thou art, Reader, slow now to believe What I shall say, it will no marvel be, For I who saw it hardly can admit it. As I was holding raised on them my brows, Behold! a serpent with six feet darts forth In front of one, and fastens wholly on him. With middle feet it bound him round the paunch, And with the forward ones his arms it seized; Then thrust its teeth through one cheek and the other; The hindermost it stretched upon his thighs, And put its tail through in between the two, And up behind along the reins outspread it. Ivy was never fastened by its barbs Unto a tree so, as this horrible reptile Upon the other's limbs entwined its own. Then they stuck close, as if of heated wax They had been made, and intermixed their colour; Nor one nor other seemed now what he was; E'en as proceedeth on before the flame Upward along the paper a brown colour, Which is not black as yet, and the white dies. The other two looked on, and each of them Cried out: "O me, Agnello, how thou changest! Behold, thou now art neither two nor one." Already the two heads had one become, When there appeared to us two figures mingled Into one face, wherein the two were lost. Of the four lists were fashioned the two arms, The thighs and legs, the belly and the chest Members became that never yet were seen. Every original aspect there was cancelled; Two and yet none did the perverted image Appear, and such departed with slow pace. Even as a lizard, under the great scourge Of days canicular, exchanging hedge, Lightning appeareth if the road it cross; Thus did appear, coming towards the bellies Of the two others, a small fiery serpent, Livid and black as is a peppercorn. And in that part whereat is first received Our aliment, it one of them transfixed; Then downward fell in front of him extended. The one transfixed looked at it, but said naught; Nay, rather with feet motionless he yawned, Just as if sleep or fever had assailed him. He at the serpent gazed, and it at him; One through the wound, the other through the mouth Smoked violently, and the smoke commingled. Henceforth be silent Lucan, where he mentions Wretched Sabellus and Nassidius, And wait to hear what now shall be shot forth. Be silent Ovid, of Cadmus and Arethusa; For if him to a snake, her to fountain, Converts he fabling, that I grudge him not; Because two natures never front to front Has he transmuted, so that both the forms To interchange their matter ready were. Together they responded in such wise, That to a fork the serpent cleft his tail, And eke the wounded drew his feet together. The legs together with the thighs themselves Adhered so, that in little time the juncture No sign whatever made that was apparent. He with the cloven tail assumed the figure The other one was losing, and his skin Became elastic, and the other's hard. I saw the arms draw inward at the armpits, And both feet of the reptile, that were short, Lengthen as much as those contracted were. Thereafter the hind feet, together twisted, Became the member that a man conceals, And of his own the wretch had two created. While both of them the exhalation veils With a new colour, and engenders hair On one of them and depilates the other, The one uprose and down the other fell, Though turning not away their impious lamps, Underneath which each one his muzzle changed. He who was standing drew it tow'rds the temples, And from excess of matter, which came thither, Issued the ears from out the hollow cheeks; What did not backward run and was retained Of that excess made to the face a nose, And the lips thickened far as was befitting. He who lay prostrate thrusts his muzzle forward, And backward draws the ears into his head, In the same manner as the snail its horns; And so the tongue, which was entire and apt For speech before, is cleft, and the bi-forked In the other closes up, and the smoke ceases. The soul, which to a reptile had been changed, Along the valley hissing takes to flight, And after him the other speaking sputters. Then did he turn upon him his new shoulders, And said to the other: "I'll have Buoso run, Crawling as I have done, along this road." In this way I beheld the seventh ballast Shift and reshift, and here be my excuse The novelty, if aught my pen transgress. And notwithstanding that mine eyes might be Somewhat bewildered, and my mind dismayed, They could not flee away so secretly But that I plainly saw Puccio Sciancato; And he it was who sole of three companions, Which came in the beginning, was not changed; The other was he whom thou, Gaville, weepest. Inferno: Canto XXVI Rejoice, O Florence, since thou art so great, That over sea and land thou beatest thy wings, And throughout Hell thy name is spread abroad! Among the thieves five citizens of thine Like these I found, whence shame comes unto me, And thou thereby to no great honour risest. But if when morn is near our dreams are true, Feel shalt thou in a little time from now What Prato, if none other, craves for thee. And if it now were, it were not too soon; Would that it were, seeing it needs must be, For 'twill aggrieve me more the more I age. We went our way, and up along the stairs The bourns had made us to descend before, Remounted my Conductor and drew me. And following the solitary path Among the rocks and ridges of the crag, The foot without the hand sped not at all. Then sorrowed I, and sorrow now again, When I direct my mind to what I saw, And more my genius curb than I am wont, That it may run not unless virtue guide it; So that if some good star, or better thing, Have given me good, I may myself not grudge it. As many as the hind (who on the hill Rests at the time when he who lights the world His countenance keeps least concealed from us, While as the fly gives place unto the gnat) Seeth the glow-worms down along the valley, Perchance there where he ploughs and makes his vintage; With flames as manifold resplendent all Was the eighth Bolgia, as I grew aware As soon as I was where the depth appeared. And such as he who with the bears avenged him Beheld Elijah's chariot at departing, What time the steeds to heaven erect uprose, For with his eye he could not follow it So as to see aught else than flame alone, Even as a little cloud ascending upward, Thus each along the gorge of the intrenchment Was moving; for not one reveals the theft, And every flame a sinner steals away. I stood upon the bridge uprisen to see, So that, if I had seized not on a rock, Down had I fallen without being pushed. And the Leader, who beheld me so attent, Exclaimed: "Within the fires the spirits are; Each swathes himself with that wherewith he burns." "My Master," I replied, "by hearing thee I am more sure; but I surmised already It might be so, and already wished to ask thee Who is within that fire, which comes so cleft At top, it seems uprising from the pyre Where was Eteocles with his brother placed." He answered me: "Within there are tormented Ulysses and Diomed, and thus together They unto vengeance run as unto wrath. And there within their flame do they lament The ambush of the horse, which made the door Whence issued forth the Romans' gentle seed; Therein is wept the craft, for which being dead Deidamia still deplores Achilles, And pain for the Palladium there is borne." "If they within those sparks possess the power To speak," I said, "thee, Master, much I pray, And re-pray, that the prayer be worth a thousand, That thou make no denial of awaiting Until the horned flame shall hither come; Thou seest that with desire I lean towards it." And he to me: "Worthy is thy entreaty Of much applause, and therefore I accept it; But take heed that thy tongue restrain itself. Leave me to speak, because I have conceived That which thou wishest; for they might disdain Perchance, since they were Greeks, discourse of thine." When now the flame had come unto that point, Where to my Leader it seemed time and place, After this fashion did I hear him speak: "O ye, who are twofold within one fire, If I deserved of you, while I was living, If I deserved of you or much or little When in the world I wrote the lofty verses, Do not move on, but one of you declare Whither, being lost, he went away to die." Then of the antique flame the greater horn, Murmuring, began to wave itself about Even as a flame doth which the wind fatigues. Thereafterward, the summit to and fro Moving as if it were the tongue that spake, It uttered forth a voice, and said: "When I From Circe had departed, who concealed me More than a year there near unto Gaeta, Or ever yet Aeneas named it so, Nor fondness for my son, nor reverence For my old father, nor the due affection Which joyous should have made Penelope, Could overcome within me the desire I had to be experienced of the world, And of the vice and virtue of mankind; But I put forth on the high open sea With one sole ship, and that small company By which I never had deserted been. Both of the shores I saw as far as Spain, Far as Morocco, and the isle of Sardes, And the others which that sea bathes round about. I and my company were old and slow When at that narrow passage we arrived Where Hercules his landmarks set as signals, That man no farther onward should adventure. On the right hand behind me left I Seville, And on the other already had left Ceuta. 'O brothers, who amid a hundred thousand Perils,' I said, 'have come unto the West, To this so inconsiderable vigil Which is remaining of your senses still Be ye unwilling to deny the knowledge, Following the sun, of the unpeopled world. Consider ye the seed from which ye sprang; Ye were not made to live like unto brutes, But for pursuit of virtue and of knowledge.' So eager did I render my companions, With this brief exhortation, for the voyage, That then I hardly could have held them back. And having turned our stern unto the morning, We of the oars made wings for our mad flight, Evermore gaining on the larboard side. Already all the stars of the other pole The night beheld, and ours so very low It did not rise above the ocean floor. Five times rekindled and as many quenched Had been the splendour underneath the moon, Since we had entered into the deep pass, When there appeared to us a mountain, dim From distance, and it seemed to me so high As I had never any one beheld. Joyful were we, and soon it turned to weeping; For out of the new land a whirlwind rose, And smote upon the fore part of the ship. Three times it made her whirl with all the waters, At the fourth time it made the stern uplift, And the prow downward go, as pleased Another, Until the sea above us closed again." Inferno: Canto XXVII Already was the flame erect and quiet, To speak no more, and now departed from us With the permission of the gentle Poet; When yet another, which behind it came, Caused us to turn our eyes upon its top By a confused sound that issued from it. As the Sicilian bull (that bellowed first With the lament of him, and that was right, Who with his file had modulated it) Bellowed so with the voice of the afflicted, That, notwithstanding it was made of brass, Still it appeared with agony transfixed; Thus, by not having any way or issue At first from out the fire, to its own language Converted were the melancholy words. But afterwards, when they had gathered way Up through the point, giving it that vibration The tongue had given them in their passage out, We heard it said: "O thou, at whom I aim My voice, and who but now wast speaking Lombard, Saying, 'Now go thy way, no more I urge thee,' Because I come perchance a little late, To stay and speak with me let it not irk thee; Thou seest it irks not me, and I am burning. If thou but lately into this blind world Hast fallen down from that sweet Latian land, Wherefrom I bring the whole of my transgression, Say, if the Romagnuols have peace or war, For I was from the mountains there between Urbino and the yoke whence Tiber bursts." I still was downward bent and listening, When my Conductor touched me on the side, Saying: "Speak thou: this one a Latian is." And I, who had beforehand my reply In readiness, forthwith began to speak: "O soul, that down below there art concealed, Romagna thine is not and never has been Without war in the bosom of its tyrants; But open war I none have left there now. Ravenna stands as it long years has stood; The Eagle of Polenta there is brooding, So that she covers Cervia with her vans. The city which once made the long resistance, And of the French a sanguinary heap, Beneath the Green Paws finds itself again; Verrucchio's ancient Mastiff and the new, Who made such bad disposal of Montagna, Where they are wont make wimbles of their teeth. The cities of Lamone and Santerno Governs the Lioncel of the white lair, Who changes sides 'twixt summer-time and winter; And that of which the Savio bathes the flank, Even as it lies between the plain and mountain, Lives between tyranny and a free state. Now I entreat thee tell us who thou art; Be not more stubborn than the rest have been, So may thy name hold front there in the world." After the fire a little more had roared In its own fashion, the sharp point it moved This way and that, and then gave forth such breath: "If I believed that my reply were made To one who to the world would e'er return, This flame without more flickering would stand still; But inasmuch as never from this depth Did any one return, if I hear true, Without the fear of infamy I answer, I was a man of arms, then Cordelier, Believing thus begirt to make amends; And truly my belief had been fulfilled But for the High Priest, whom may ill betide, Who put me back into my former sins; And how and wherefore I will have thee hear. While I was still the form of bone and pulp My mother gave to me, the deeds I did Were not those of a lion, but a fox. The machinations and the covert ways I knew them all, and practised so their craft, That to the ends of earth the sound went forth. When now unto that portion of mine age I saw myself arrived, when each one ought To lower the sails, and coil away the ropes, That which before had pleased me then displeased me; And penitent and confessing I surrendered, Ah woe is me! and it would have bestead me; The Leader of the modern Pharisees Having a war near unto Lateran, And not with Saracens nor with the Jews, For each one of his enemies was Christian, And none of them had been to conquer Acre, Nor merchandising in the Sultan's land, Nor the high office, nor the sacred orders, In him regarded, nor in me that cord Which used to make those girt with it more meagre; But even as Constantine sought out Sylvester To cure his leprosy, within Soracte, So this one sought me out as an adept To cure him of the fever of his pride. Counsel he asked of me, and I was silent, Because his words appeared inebriate. And then he said: 'Be not thy heart afraid; Henceforth I thee absolve; and thou instruct me How to raze Palestrina to the ground. Heaven have I power to lock and to unlock, As thou dost know; therefore the keys are two, The which my predecessor held not dear.' Then urged me on his weighty arguments There, where my silence was the worst advice; And said I: 'Father, since thou washest me Of that sin into which I now must fall, The promise long with the fulfilment short Will make thee triumph in thy lofty seat.' Francis came afterward, when I was dead, For me; but one of the black Cherubim Said to him: 'Take him not; do me no wrong; He must come down among my servitors, Because he gave the fraudulent advice From which time forth I have been at his hair; For who repents not cannot be absolved, Nor can one both repent and will at once, Because of the contradiction which consents not.' O miserable me! how I did shudder When he seized on me, saying: 'Peradventure Thou didst not think that I was a logician!' He bore me unto Minos, who entwined Eight times his tail about his stubborn back, And after he had bitten it in great rage, Said: 'Of the thievish fire a culprit this;' Wherefore, here where thou seest, am I lost, And vested thus in going I bemoan me." When it had thus completed its recital, The flame departed uttering lamentations, Writhing and flapping its sharp-pointed horn. Onward we passed, both I and my Conductor, Up o'er the crag above another arch, Which the moat covers, where is paid the fee By those who, sowing discord, win their burden. Inferno: Canto XXVIII Who ever could, e'en with untrammelled words, Tell of the blood and of the wounds in full Which now I saw, by many times narrating? Each tongue would for a certainty fall short By reason of our speech and memory, That have small room to comprehend so much. If were again assembled all the people Which formerly upon the fateful land Of Puglia were lamenting for their blood Shed by the Romans and the lingering war That of the rings made such illustrious spoils, As Livy has recorded, who errs not, With those who felt the agony of blows By making counterstand to Robert Guiscard, And all the rest, whose bones are gathered still At Ceperano, where a renegade Was each Apulian, and at Tagliacozzo, Where without arms the old Alardo conquered, And one his limb transpierced, and one lopped off, Should show, it would be nothing to compare With the disgusting mode of the ninth Bolgia. A cask by losing centre-piece or cant Was never shattered so, as I saw one Rent from the chin to where one breaketh wind. Between his legs were hanging down his entrails; His heart was visible, and the dismal sack That maketh excrement of what is eaten. While I was all absorbed in seeing him, He looked at me, and opened with his hands His bosom, saying: "See now how I rend me; How mutilated, see, is Mahomet; In front of me doth Ali weeping go, Cleft in the face from forelock unto chin; And all the others whom thou here beholdest, Disseminators of scandal and of schism While living were, and therefore are cleft thus. A devil is behind here, who doth cleave us Thus cruelly, unto the falchion's edge Putting again each one of all this ream, When we have gone around the doleful road; By reason that our wounds are closed again Ere any one in front of him repass. But who art thou, that musest on the crag, Perchance to postpone going to the pain That is adjudged upon thine accusations?" "Nor death hath reached him yet, nor guilt doth bring him," My Master made reply, "to be tormented; But to procure him full experience, Me, who am dead, behoves it to conduct him Down here through Hell, from circle unto circle; And this is true as that I speak to thee." More than a hundred were there when they heard him, Who in the moat stood still to look at me, Through wonderment oblivious of their torture. "Now say to Fra Dolcino, then, to arm him, Thou, who perhaps wilt shortly see the sun, If soon he wish not here to follow me, So with provisions, that no stress of snow May give the victory to the Novarese, Which otherwise to gain would not be easy." After one foot to go away he lifted, This word did Mahomet say unto me, Then to depart upon the ground he stretched it. Another one, who had his throat pierced through, And nose cut off close underneath the brows, And had no longer but a single ear, Staying to look in wonder with the others, Before the others did his gullet open, Which outwardly was red in every part, And said: "O thou, whom guilt doth not condemn, And whom I once saw up in Latian land, Unless too great similitude deceive me, Call to remembrance Pier da Medicina, If e'er thou see again the lovely plain That from Vercelli slopes to Marcabo, And make it known to the best two of Fano, To Messer Guido and Angiolello likewise, That if foreseeing here be not in vain, Cast over from their vessel shall they be, And drowned near unto the Cattolica, By the betrayal of a tyrant fell. Between the isles of Cyprus and Majorca Neptune ne'er yet beheld so great a crime, Neither of pirates nor Argolic people. That traitor, who sees only with one eye, And holds the land, which some one here with me Would fain be fasting from the vision of, Will make them come unto a parley with him; Then will do so, that to Focara's wind They will not stand in need of vow or prayer." And I to him: "Show to me and declare, If thou wouldst have me bear up news of thee, Who is this person of the bitter vision." Then did he lay his hand upon the jaw Of one of his companions, and his mouth Oped, crying: "This is he, and he speaks not. This one, being banished, every doubt submerged In Caesar by affirming the forearmed Always with detriment allowed delay." O how bewildered unto me appeared, With tongue asunder in his windpipe slit, Curio, who in speaking was so bold! And one, who both his hands dissevered had, The stumps uplifting through the murky air, So that the blood made horrible his face, Cried out: "Thou shalt remember Mosca also, Who said, alas! 'A thing done has an end!' Which was an ill seed for the Tuscan people." "And death unto thy race," thereto I added; Whence he, accumulating woe on woe, Departed, like a person sad and crazed. But I remained to look upon the crowd; And saw a thing which I should be afraid, Without some further proof, even to recount, If it were not that conscience reassures me, That good companion which emboldens man Beneath the hauberk of its feeling pure. I truly saw, and still I seem to see it, A trunk without a head walk in like manner As walked the others of the mournful herd. And by the hair it held the head dissevered, Hung from the hand in fashion of a lantern, And that upon us gazed and said: "O me!" It of itself made to itself a lamp, And they were two in one, and one in two; How that can be, He knows who so ordains it. When it was come close to the bridge's foot, It lifted high its arm with all the head, To bring more closely unto us its words, Which were: "Behold now the sore penalty, Thou, who dost breathing go the dead beholding; Behold if any be as great as this. And so that thou may carry news of me, Know that Bertram de Born am I, the same Who gave to the Young King the evil comfort. I made the father and the son rebellious; Achitophel not more with Absalom And David did with his accursed goadings. Because I parted persons so united, Parted do I now bear my brain, alas! From its beginning, which is in this trunk. Thus is observed in me the counterpoise." Inferno: Canto XXIX The many people and the divers wounds These eyes of mine had so inebriated, That they were wishful to stand still and weep; But said Virgilius: "What dost thou still gaze at? Why is thy sight still riveted down there Among the mournful, mutilated shades? Thou hast not done so at the other Bolge; Consider, if to count them thou believest, That two-and-twenty miles the valley winds, And now the moon is underneath our feet; Henceforth the time allotted us is brief, And more is to be seen than what thou seest." "If thou hadst," I made answer thereupon, "Attended to the cause for which I looked, Perhaps a longer stay thou wouldst have pardoned." Meanwhile my Guide departed, and behind him I went, already making my reply, And superadding: "In that cavern where I held mine eyes with such attention fixed, I think a spirit of my blood laments The sin which down below there costs so much." Then said the Master: "Be no longer broken Thy thought from this time forward upon him; Attend elsewhere, and there let him remain; For him I saw below the little bridge, Pointing at thee, and threatening with his finger Fiercely, and heard him called Geri del Bello. So wholly at that time wast thou impeded By him who formerly held Altaforte, Thou didst not look that way; so he departed." "O my Conductor, his own violent death, Which is not yet avenged for him," I said, "By any who is sharer in the shame, Made him disdainful; whence he went away, As I imagine, without speaking to me, And thereby made me pity him the more." Thus did we speak as far as the first place Upon the crag, which the next valley shows Down to the bottom, if there were more light. When we were now right over the last cloister Of Malebolge, so that its lay-brothers Could manifest themselves unto our sight, Divers lamentings pierced me through and through, Which with compassion had their arrows barbed, Whereat mine ears I covered with my hands. What pain would be, if from the hospitals Of Valdichiana, 'twixt July and September, And of Maremma and Sardinia All the diseases in one moat were gathered, Such was it here, and such a stench came from it As from putrescent limbs is wont to issue. We had descended on the furthest bank From the long crag, upon the left hand still, And then more vivid was my power of sight Down tow'rds the bottom, where the ministress Of the high Lord, Justice infallible, Punishes forgers, which she here records. I do not think a sadder sight to see Was in Aegina the whole people sick, (When was the air so full of pestilence, The animals, down to the little worm, All fell, and afterwards the ancient people, According as the poets have affirmed, Were from the seed of ants restored again,) Than was it to behold through that dark valley The spirits languishing in divers heaps. This on the belly, that upon the back One of the other lay, and others crawling Shifted themselves along the dismal road. We step by step went onward without speech, Gazing upon and listening to the sick Who had not strength enough to lift their bodies. I saw two sitting leaned against each other, As leans in heating platter against platter, From head to foot bespotted o'er with scabs; And never saw I plied a currycomb By stable-boy for whom his master waits, Or him who keeps awake unwillingly, As every one was plying fast the bite Of nails upon himself, for the great rage Of itching which no other succour had. And the nails downward with them dragged the scab, In fashion as a knife the scales of bream, Or any other fish that has them largest. "O thou, that with thy fingers dost dismail thee," Began my Leader unto one of them, "And makest of them pincers now and then, Tell me if any Latian is with those Who are herein; so may thy nails suffice thee To all eternity unto this work." "Latians are we, whom thou so wasted seest, Both of us here," one weeping made reply; "But who art thou, that questionest about us?" And said the Guide: "One am I who descends Down with this living man from cliff to cliff, And I intend to show Hell unto him." Then broken was their mutual support, And trembling each one turned himself to me, With others who had heard him by rebound. Wholly to me did the good Master gather, Saying: "Say unto them whate'er thou wishest." And I began, since he would have it so: "So may your memory not steal away In the first world from out the minds of men, But so may it survive 'neath many suns, Say to me who ye are, and of what people; Let not your foul and loathsome punishment Make you afraid to show yourselves to me." "I of Arezzo was," one made reply, "And Albert of Siena had me burned; But what I died for does not bring me here. 'Tis true I said to him, speaking in jest, That I could rise by flight into the air, And he who had conceit, but little wit, Would have me show to him the art; and only Because no Daedalus I made him, made me Be burned by one who held him as his son. But unto the last Bolgia of the ten, For alchemy, which in the world I practised, Minos, who cannot err, has me condemned." And to the Poet said I: "Now was ever So vain a people as the Sienese? Not for a certainty the French by far." Whereat the other leper, who had heard me, Replied unto my speech: "Taking out Stricca, Who knew the art of moderate expenses, And Niccolo, who the luxurious use Of cloves discovered earliest of all Within that garden where such seed takes root; And taking out the band, among whom squandered Caccia d'Ascian his vineyards and vast woods, And where his wit the Abbagliato proffered! But, that thou know who thus doth second thee Against the Sienese, make sharp thine eye Tow'rds me, so that my face well answer thee, And thou shalt see I am Capocchio's shade, Who metals falsified by alchemy; Thou must remember, if I well descry thee, How I a skilful ape of nature was." Inferno: Canto XXX 'Twas at the time when Juno was enraged, For Semele, against the Theban blood, As she already more than once had shown, So reft of reason Athamas became, That, seeing his own wife with children twain Walking encumbered upon either hand, He cried: "Spread out the nets, that I may take The lioness and her whelps upon the passage;" And then extended his unpitying claws, Seizing the first, who had the name Learchus, And whirled him round, and dashed him on a rock; And she, with the other burthen, drowned herself;-- And at the time when fortune downward hurled The Trojan's arrogance, that all things dared, So that the king was with his kingdom crushed, Hecuba sad, disconsolate, and captive, When lifeless she beheld Polyxena, And of her Polydorus on the shore Of ocean was the dolorous one aware, Out of her senses like a dog she barked, So much the anguish had her mind distorted; But not of Thebes the furies nor the Trojan Were ever seen in any one so cruel In goading beasts, and much more human members, As I beheld two shadows pale and naked, Who, biting, in the manner ran along That a boar does, when from the sty turned loose. One to Capocchio came, and by the nape Seized with its teeth his neck, so that in dragging It made his belly grate the solid bottom. And the Aretine, who trembling had remained, Said to me: "That mad sprite is Gianni Schicchi, And raving goes thus harrying other people." "O," said I to him, "so may not the other Set teeth on thee, let it not weary thee To tell us who it is, ere it dart hence." And he to me: "That is the ancient ghost Of the nefarious Myrrha, who became Beyond all rightful love her father's lover. She came to sin with him after this manner, By counterfeiting of another's form; As he who goeth yonder undertook, That he might gain the lady of the herd, To counterfeit in himself Buoso Donati, Making a will and giving it due form." And after the two maniacs had passed On whom I held mine eye, I turned it back To look upon the other evil-born. I saw one made in fashion of a lute, If he had only had the groin cut off Just at the point at which a man is forked. The heavy dropsy, that so disproportions The limbs with humours, which it ill concocts, That the face corresponds not to the belly, Compelled him so to hold his lips apart As does the hectic, who because of thirst One tow'rds the chin, the other upward turns. "O ye, who without any torment are, And why I know not, in the world of woe," He said to us, "behold, and be attentive Unto the misery of Master Adam; I had while living much of what I wished, And now, alas! a drop of water crave. The rivulets, that from the verdant hills Of Cassentin descend down into Arno, Making their channels to be cold and moist, Ever before me stand, and not in vain; For far more doth their image dry me up Than the disease which strips my face of flesh. The rigid justice that chastises me Draweth occasion from the place in which I sinned, to put the more my sighs in flight. There is Romena, where I counterfeited The currency imprinted with the Baptist, For which I left my body burned above. But if I here could see the tristful soul Of Guido, or Alessandro, or their brother, For Branda's fount I would not give the sight. One is within already, if the raving Shades that are going round about speak truth; But what avails it me, whose limbs are tied? If I were only still so light, that in A hundred years I could advance one inch, I had already started on the way, Seeking him out among this squalid folk, Although the circuit be eleven miles, And be not less than half a mile across. For them am I in such a family; They did induce me into coining florins, Which had three carats of impurity." And I to him: "Who are the two poor wretches That smoke like unto a wet hand in winter, Lying there close upon thy right-hand confines?" "I found them here," replied he, "when I rained Into this chasm, and since they have not turned, Nor do I think they will for evermore. One the false woman is who accused Joseph, The other the false Sinon, Greek of Troy; From acute fever they send forth such reek." And one of them, who felt himself annoyed At being, peradventure, named so darkly, Smote with the fist upon his hardened paunch. It gave a sound, as if it were a drum; And Master Adam smote him in the face, With arm that did not seem to be less hard, Saying to him: "Although be taken from me All motion, for my limbs that heavy are, I have an arm unfettered for such need." Whereat he answer made: "When thou didst go Unto the fire, thou hadst it not so ready: But hadst it so and more when thou wast coining." The dropsical: "Thou sayest true in that; But thou wast not so true a witness there, Where thou wast questioned of the truth at Troy." "If I spake false, thou falsifiedst the coin," Said Sinon; "and for one fault I am here, And thou for more than any other demon." "Remember, perjurer, about the horse," He made reply who had the swollen belly, "And rueful be it thee the whole world knows it." "Rueful to thee the thirst be wherewith cracks Thy tongue," the Greek said, "and the putrid water That hedges so thy paunch before thine eyes." Then the false-coiner: "So is gaping wide Thy mouth for speaking evil, as 'tis wont; Because if I have thirst, and humour stuff me Thou hast the burning and the head that aches, And to lick up the mirror of Narcissus Thou wouldst not want words many to invite thee." In listening to them was I wholly fixed, When said the Master to me: "Now just look, For little wants it that I quarrel with thee." When him I heard in anger speak to me, I turned me round towards him with such shame That still it eddies through my memory. And as he is who dreams of his own harm, Who dreaming wishes it may be a dream, So that he craves what is, as if it were not; Such I became, not having power to speak, For to excuse myself I wished, and still Excused myself, and did not think I did it. "Less shame doth wash away a greater fault," The Master said, "than this of thine has been; Therefore thyself disburden of all sadness, And make account that I am aye beside thee, If e'er it come to pass that fortune bring thee Where there are people in a like dispute; For a base wish it is to wish to hear it." Inferno: Canto XXXI One and the selfsame tongue first wounded me, So that it tinged the one cheek and the other, And then held out to me the medicine; Thus do I hear that once Achilles' spear, His and his father's, used to be the cause First of a sad and then a gracious boon. We turned our backs upon the wretched valley, Upon the bank that girds it round about, Going across it without any speech. There it was less than night, and less than day, So that my sight went little in advance; But I could hear the blare of a loud horn, So loud it would have made each thunder faint, Which, counter to it following its way, Mine eyes directed wholly to one place. After the dolorous discomfiture When Charlemagne the holy emprise lost, So terribly Orlando sounded not. Short while my head turned thitherward I held When many lofty towers I seemed to see, Whereat I: "Master, say, what town is this?" And he to me: "Because thou peerest forth Athwart the darkness at too great a distance, It happens that thou errest in thy fancy. Well shalt thou see, if thou arrivest there, How much the sense deceives itself by distance; Therefore a little faster spur thee on." Then tenderly he took me by the hand, And said: "Before we farther have advanced, That the reality may seem to thee Less strange, know that these are not towers, but giants, And they are in the well, around the bank, From navel downward, one and all of them." As, when the fog is vanishing away, Little by little doth the sight refigure Whate'er the mist that crowds the air conceals, So, piercing through the dense and darksome air, More and more near approaching tow'rd the verge, My error fled, and fear came over me; Because as on its circular parapets Montereggione crowns itself with towers, E'en thus the margin which surrounds the well With one half of their bodies turreted The horrible giants, whom Jove menaces E'en now from out the heavens when he thunders. And I of one already saw the face, Shoulders, and breast, and great part of the belly, And down along his sides both of the arms. Certainly Nature, when she left the making Of animals like these, did well indeed, By taking such executors from Mars; And if of elephants and whales she doth not Repent her, whosoever looketh subtly More just and more discreet will hold her for it; For where the argument of intellect Is added unto evil will and power, No rampart can the people make against it. His face appeared to me as long and large As is at Rome the pine-cone of Saint Peter's, And in proportion were the other bones; So that the margin, which an apron was Down from the middle, showed so much of him Above it, that to reach up to his hair Three Frieslanders in vain had vaunted them; For I beheld thirty great palms of him Down from the place where man his mantle buckles. "Raphael mai amech izabi almi," Began to clamour the ferocious mouth, To which were not befitting sweeter psalms. And unto him my Guide: "Soul idiotic, Keep to thy horn, and vent thyself with that, When wrath or other passion touches thee. Search round thy neck, and thou wilt find the belt Which keeps it fastened, O bewildered soul, And see it, where it bars thy mighty breast." Then said to me: "He doth himself accuse; This one is Nimrod, by whose evil thought One language in the world is not still used. Here let us leave him and not speak in vain; For even such to him is every language As his to others, which to none is known." Therefore a longer journey did we make, Turned to the left, and a crossbow-shot oft We found another far more fierce and large. In binding him, who might the master be I cannot say; but he had pinioned close Behind the right arm, and in front the other, With chains, that held him so begirt about From the neck down, that on the part uncovered It wound itself as far as the fifth gyre. "This proud one wished to make experiment Of his own power against the Supreme Jove," My Leader said, "whence he has such a guerdon. Ephialtes is his name; he showed great prowess. What time the giants terrified the gods; The arms he wielded never more he moves." And I to him: "If possible, I should wish That of the measureless Briareus These eyes of mine might have experience." Whence he replied: "Thou shalt behold Antaeus Close by here, who can speak and is unbound, Who at the bottom of all crime shall place us. Much farther yon is he whom thou wouldst see, And he is bound, and fashioned like to this one, Save that he seems in aspect more ferocious." There never was an earthquake of such might That it could shake a tower so violently, As Ephialtes suddenly shook himself. Then was I more afraid of death than ever, For nothing more was needful than the fear, If I had not beheld the manacles. Then we proceeded farther in advance, And to Antaeus came, who, full five ells Without the head, forth issued from the cavern. "O thou, who in the valley fortunate, Which Scipio the heir of glory made, When Hannibal turned back with all his hosts, Once brought'st a thousand lions for thy prey, And who, hadst thou been at the mighty war Among thy brothers, some it seems still think The sons of Earth the victory would have gained: Place us below, nor be disdainful of it, There where the cold doth lock Cocytus up. Make us not go to Tityus nor Typhoeus; This one can give of that which here is longed for; Therefore stoop down, and do not curl thy lip. Still in the world can he restore thy fame; Because he lives, and still expects long life, If to itself Grace call him not untimely." So said the Master; and in haste the other His hands extended and took up my Guide,-- Hands whose great pressure Hercules once felt. Virgilius, when he felt himself embraced, Said unto me: "Draw nigh, that I may take thee;" Then of himself and me one bundle made. As seems the Carisenda, to behold Beneath the leaning side, when goes a cloud Above it so that opposite it hangs; Such did Antaeus seem to me, who stood Watching to see him stoop, and then it was I could have wished to go some other way. But lightly in the abyss, which swallows up Judas with Lucifer, he put us down; Nor thus bowed downward made he there delay, But, as a mast does in a ship, uprose. Inferno: Canto XXXII If I had rhymes both rough and stridulous, As were appropriate to the dismal hole Down upon which thrust all the other rocks, I would press out the juice of my conception More fully; but because I have them not, Not without fear I bring myself to speak; For 'tis no enterprise to take in jest, To sketch the bottom of all the universe, Nor for a tongue that cries Mamma and Babbo. But may those Ladies help this verse of mine, Who helped Amphion in enclosing Thebes, That from the fact the word be not diverse. O rabble ill-begotten above all, Who're in the place to speak of which is hard, 'Twere better ye had here been sheep or goats! When we were down within the darksome well, Beneath the giant's feet, but lower far, And I was scanning still the lofty wall, I heard it said to me: "Look how thou steppest! Take heed thou do not trample with thy feet The heads of the tired, miserable brothers!" Whereat I turned me round, and saw before me And underfoot a lake, that from the frost The semblance had of glass, and not of water. So thick a veil ne'er made upon its current In winter-time Danube in Austria, Nor there beneath the frigid sky the Don, As there was here; so that if Tambernich Had fallen upon it, or Pietrapana, E'en at the edge 'twould not have given a creak. And as to croak the frog doth place himself With muzzle out of water,--when is dreaming Of gleaning oftentimes the peasant-girl,-- Livid, as far down as where shame appears, Were the disconsolate shades within the ice, Setting their teeth unto the note of storks. Each one his countenance held downward bent; From mouth the cold, from eyes the doleful heart Among them witness of itself procures. When round about me somewhat I had looked, I downward turned me, and saw two so close, The hair upon their heads together mingled. "Ye who so strain your breasts together, tell me," I said, "who are you;" and they bent their necks, And when to me their faces they had lifted, Their eyes, which first were only moist within, Gushed o'er the eyelids, and the frost congealed The tears between, and locked them up again. Clamp never bound together wood with wood So strongly; whereat they, like two he-goats, Butted together, so much wrath o'ercame them. And one, who had by reason of the cold Lost both his ears, still with his visage downward, Said: "Why dost thou so mirror thyself in us? If thou desire to know who these two are, The valley whence Bisenzio descends Belonged to them and to their father Albert. They from one body came, and all Caina Thou shalt search through, and shalt not find a shade More worthy to be fixed in gelatine; Not he in whom were broken breast and shadow At one and the same blow by Arthur's hand; Focaccia not; not he who me encumbers So with his head I see no farther forward, And bore the name of Sassol Mascheroni; Well knowest thou who he was, if thou art Tuscan. And that thou put me not to further speech, Know that I Camicion de' Pazzi was, And wait Carlino to exonerate me." Then I beheld a thousand faces, made Purple with cold; whence o'er me comes a shudder, And evermore will come, at frozen ponds. And while we were advancing tow'rds the middle, Where everything of weight unites together, And I was shivering in the eternal shade, Whether 'twere will, or destiny, or chance, I know not; but in walking 'mong the heads I struck my foot hard in the face of one. Weeping he growled: "Why dost thou trample me? Unless thou comest to increase the vengeance of Montaperti, why dost thou molest me?" And I: "My Master, now wait here for me, That I through him may issue from a doubt; Then thou mayst hurry me, as thou shalt wish." The Leader stopped; and to that one I said Who was blaspheming vehemently still: "Who art thou, that thus reprehendest others?" "Now who art thou, that goest through Antenora Smiting," replied he, "other people's cheeks, So that, if thou wert living, 'twere too much?" "Living I am, and dear to thee it may be," Was my response, "if thou demandest fame, That 'mid the other notes thy name I place." And he to me: "For the reverse I long; Take thyself hence, and give me no more trouble; For ill thou knowest to flatter in this hollow." Then by the scalp behind I seized upon him, And said: "It must needs be thou name thyself, Or not a hair remain upon thee here." Whence he to me: "Though thou strip off my hair, I will not tell thee who I am, nor show thee, If on my head a thousand times thou fall." I had his hair in hand already twisted, And more than one shock of it had pulled out, He barking, with his eyes held firmly down, When cried another: "What doth ail thee, Bocca? Is't not enough to clatter with thy jaws, But thou must bark? what devil touches thee?" "Now," said I, "I care not to have thee speak, Accursed traitor; for unto thy shame I will report of thee veracious news." "Begone," replied he, "and tell what thou wilt, But be not silent, if thou issue hence, Of him who had just now his tongue so prompt; He weepeth here the silver of the French; 'I saw,' thus canst thou phrase it, 'him of Duera There where the sinners stand out in the cold.' If thou shouldst questioned be who else was there, Thou hast beside thee him of Beccaria, Of whom the gorget Florence slit asunder; Gianni del Soldanier, I think, may be Yonder with Ganellon, and Tebaldello Who oped Faenza when the people slep." Already we had gone away from him, When I beheld two frozen in one hole, So that one head a hood was to the other; And even as bread through hunger is devoured, The uppermost on the other set his teeth, There where the brain is to the nape united. Not in another fashion Tydeus gnawed The temples of Menalippus in disdain, Than that one did the skull and the other things. "O thou, who showest by such bestial sign Thy hatred against him whom thou art eating, Tell me the wherefore," said I, "with this compact, That if thou rightfully of him complain, In knowing who ye are, and his transgression, I in the world above repay thee for it, If that wherewith I speak be not dried up." Inferno: Canto XXXIII His mouth uplifted from his grim repast, That sinner, wiping it upon the hair Of the same head that he behind had wasted. Then he began: "Thou wilt that I renew The desperate grief, which wrings my heart already To think of only, ere I speak of it; But if my words be seed that may bear fruit Of infamy to the traitor whom I gnaw, Speaking and weeping shalt thou see together. I know not who thou art, nor by what mode Thou hast come down here; but a Florentine Thou seemest to me truly, when I hear thee. Thou hast to know I was Count Ugolino, And this one was Ruggieri the Archbishop; Now I will tell thee why I am such a neighbour. That, by effect of his malicious thoughts, Trusting in him I was made prisoner, And after put to death, I need not say; But ne'ertheless what thou canst not have heard, That is to say, how cruel was my death, Hear shalt thou, and shalt know if he has wronged me. A narrow perforation in the mew, Which bears because of me the title of Famine, And in which others still must be locked up, Had shown me through its opening many moons Already, when I dreamed the evil dream Which of the future rent for me the veil. This one appeared to me as lord and master, Hunting the wolf and whelps upon the mountain For which the Pisans cannot Lucca see. With sleuth-hounds gaunt, and eager, and well trained, Gualandi with Sismondi and Lanfianchi He had sent out before him to the front. After brief course seemed unto me forespent The father and the sons, and with sharp tushes It seemed to me I saw their flanks ripped open. When I before the morrow was awake, Moaning amid their sleep I heard my sons Who with me were, and asking after bread. Cruel indeed art thou, if yet thou grieve not, Thinking of what my heart foreboded me, And weep'st thou not, what art thou wont to weep at? They were awake now, and the hour drew nigh At which our food used to be brought to us, And through his dream was each one apprehensive; And I heard locking up the under door Of the horrible tower; whereat without a word I gazed into the faces of my sons. I wept not, I within so turned to stone; They wept; and darling little Anselm mine Said: 'Thou dost gaze so, father, what doth ail thee?' Still not a tear I shed, nor answer made All of that day, nor yet the night thereafter, Until another sun rose on the world. As now a little glimmer made its way Into the dolorous prison, and I saw Upon four faces my own very aspect, Both of my hands in agony I bit; And, thinking that I did it from desire Of eating, on a sudden they uprose, And said they: 'Father, much less pain 'twill give us If thou do eat of us; thyself didst clothe us With this poor flesh, and do thou strip it off.' I calmed me then, not to make them more sad. That day we all were silent, and the next. Ah! obdurate earth, wherefore didst thou not open? When we had come unto the fourth day, Gaddo Threw himself down outstretched before my feet, Saying, 'My father, why dost thou not help me?' And there he died; and, as thou seest me, I saw the three fall, one by one, between The fifth day and the sixth; whence I betook me, Already blind, to groping over each, And three days called them after they were dead; Then hunger did what sorrow could not do." When he had said this, with his eyes distorted, The wretched skull resumed he with his teeth, Which, as a dog's, upon the bone were strong. Ah! Pisa, thou opprobrium of the people Of the fair land there where the 'Si' doth sound, Since slow to punish thee thy neighbours are, Let the Capraia and Gorgona move, And make a hedge across the mouth of Arno That every person in thee it may drown! For if Count Ugolino had the fame Of having in thy castles thee betrayed, Thou shouldst not on such cross have put his sons. Guiltless of any crime, thou modern Thebes! Their youth made Uguccione and Brigata, And the other two my song doth name above! We passed still farther onward, where the ice Another people ruggedly enswathes, Not downward turned, but all of them reversed. Weeping itself there does not let them weep, And grief that finds a barrier in the eyes Turns itself inward to increase the anguish; Because the earliest tears a cluster form, And, in the manner of a crystal visor, Fill all the cup beneath the eyebrow full. And notwithstanding that, as in a callus, Because of cold all sensibility Its station had abandoned in my face, Still it appeared to me I felt some wind; Whence I: "My Master, who sets this in motion? Is not below here every vapour quenched?" Whence he to me: "Full soon shalt thou be where Thine eye shall answer make to thee of this, Seeing the cause which raineth down the blast." And one of the wretches of the frozen crust Cried out to us: "O souls so merciless That the last post is given unto you, Lift from mine eyes the rigid veils, that I May vent the sorrow which impregns my heart A little, e'er the weeping recongeal." Whence I to him: "If thou wouldst have me help thee Say who thou wast; and if I free thee not, May I go to the bottom of the ice." Then he replied: "I am Friar Alberigo; He am I of the fruit of the bad garden, Who here a date am getting for my fig." "O," said I to him, "now art thou, too, dead?" And he to me: "How may my body fare Up in the world, no knowledge I possess. Such an advantage has this Ptolomaea, That oftentimes the soul descendeth here Sooner than Atropos in motion sets it. And, that thou mayest more willingly remove From off my countenance these glassy tears, Know that as soon as any soul betrays As I have done, his body by a demon Is taken from him, who thereafter rules it, Until his time has wholly been revolved. Itself down rushes into such a cistern; And still perchance above appears the body Of yonder shade, that winters here behind me. This thou shouldst know, if thou hast just come down; It is Ser Branca d' Oria, and many years Have passed away since he was thus locked up." "I think," said I to him, "thou dost deceive me; For Branca d' Oria is not dead as yet, And eats, and drinks, and sleeps, and puts on clothes." "In moat above," said he, "of Malebranche, There where is boiling the tenacious pitch, As yet had Michel Zanche not arrived, When this one left a devil in his stead In his own body and one near of kin, Who made together with him the betrayal. But hitherward stretch out thy hand forthwith, Open mine eyes;"--and open them I did not, And to be rude to him was courtesy. Ah, Genoese! ye men at variance With every virtue, full of every vice Wherefore are ye not scattered from the world? For with the vilest spirit of Romagna I found of you one such, who for his deeds In soul already in Cocytus bathes, And still above in body seems alive! Inferno: Canto XXXIV "'Vexilla Regis prodeunt Inferni' Towards us; therefore look in front of thee," My Master said, "if thou discernest him." As, when there breathes a heavy fog, or when Our hemisphere is darkening into night, Appears far off a mill the wind is turning, Methought that such a building then I saw; And, for the wind, I drew myself behind My Guide, because there was no other shelter. Now was I, and with fear in verse I put it, There where the shades were wholly covered up, And glimmered through like unto straws in glass. Some prone are lying, others stand erect, This with the head, and that one with the soles; Another, bow-like, face to feet inverts. When in advance so far we had proceeded, That it my Master pleased to show to me The creature who once had the beauteous semblance, He from before me moved and made me stop, Saying: "Behold Dis, and behold the place Where thou with fortitude must arm thyself." How frozen I became and powerless then, Ask it not, Reader, for I write it not, Because all language would be insufficient. I did not die, and I alive remained not; Think for thyself now, hast thou aught of wit, What I became, being of both deprived. The Emperor of the kingdom dolorous From his mid-breast forth issued from the ice; And better with a giant I compare Than do the giants with those arms of his; Consider now how great must be that whole, Which unto such a part conforms itself. Were he as fair once, as he now is foul, And lifted up his brow against his Maker, Well may proceed from him all tribulation. O, what a marvel it appeared to me, When I beheld three faces on his head! The one in front, and that vermilion was; Two were the others, that were joined with this Above the middle part of either shoulder, And they were joined together at the crest; And the right-hand one seemed 'twixt white and yellow; The left was such to look upon as those Who come from where the Nile falls valley-ward. Underneath each came forth two mighty wings, Such as befitting were so great a bird; Sails of the sea I never saw so large. No feathers had they, but as of a bat Their fashion was; and he was waving them, So that three winds proceeded forth therefrom. Thereby Cocytus wholly was congealed. With six eyes did he weep, and down three chins Trickled the tear-drops and the bloody drivel. At every mouth he with his teeth was crunching A sinner, in the manner of a brake, So that he three of them tormented thus. To him in front the biting was as naught Unto the clawing, for sometimes the spine Utterly stripped of all the skin remained. "That soul up there which has the greatest pain," The Master said, "is Judas Iscariot; With head inside, he plies his legs without. Of the two others, who head downward are, The one who hangs from the black jowl is Brutus; See how he writhes himself, and speaks no word. And the other, who so stalwart seems, is Cassius. But night is reascending, and 'tis time That we depart, for we have seen the whole." As seemed him good, I clasped him round the neck, And he the vantage seized of time and place, And when the wings were opened wide apart, He laid fast hold upon the shaggy sides; From fell to fell descended downward then Between the thick hair and the frozen crust. When we were come to where the thigh revolves Exactly on the thickness of the haunch, The Guide, with labour and with hard-drawn breath, Turned round his head where he had had his legs, And grappled to the hair, as one who mounts, So that to Hell I thought we were returning. "Keep fast thy hold, for by such stairs as these," The Master said, panting as one fatigued, "Must we perforce depart from so much evil." Then through the opening of a rock he issued, And down upon the margin seated me; Then tow'rds me he outstretched his wary step. I lifted up mine eyes and thought to see Lucifer in the same way I had left him; And I beheld him upward hold his legs. And if I then became disquieted, Let stolid people think who do not see What the point is beyond which I had passed. "Rise up," the Master said, "upon thy feet; The way is long, and difficult the road, And now the sun to middle-tierce returns." It was not any palace corridor There where we were, but dungeon natural, With floor uneven and unease of light. "Ere from the abyss I tear myself away, My Master," said I when I had arisen, "To draw me from an error speak a little; Where is the ice? and how is this one fixed Thus upside down? and how in such short time From eve to morn has the sun made his transit?" And he to me: "Thou still imaginest Thou art beyond the centre, where I grasped The hair of the fell worm, who mines the world. That side thou wast, so long as I descended; When round I turned me, thou didst pass the point To which things heavy draw from every side, And now beneath the hemisphere art come Opposite that which overhangs the vast Dry-land, and 'neath whose cope was put to death The Man who without sin was born and lived. Thou hast thy feet upon the little sphere Which makes the other face of the Judecca. Here it is morn when it is evening there; And he who with his hair a stairway made us Still fixed remaineth as he was before. Upon this side he fell down out of heaven; And all the land, that whilom here emerged, For fear of him made of the sea a veil, And came to our hemisphere; and peradventure To flee from him, what on this side appears Left the place vacant here, and back recoiled." A place there is below, from Beelzebub As far receding as the tomb extends, Which not by sight is known, but by the sound Of a small rivulet, that there descendeth Through chasm within the stone, which it has gnawed With course that winds about and slightly falls. The Guide and I into that hidden road Now entered, to return to the bright world; And without care of having any rest We mounted up, he first and I the second, Till I beheld through a round aperture Some of the beauteous things that Heaven doth bear; Thence we came forth to rebehold the stars. 
37699	----	HELL WARM WORDS ON THE CHEERFUL AND COMFORTING DOCTRINE OF ETERNAL DAMNATION COL. INGERSOLL'S AMERICAN SECULAR LECTURES By Col. Robert G. Ingersoll Minister Of The Gospel Of Free Thought In America Rev. HENRY WARD BEECHER says:--"I admire Ingersoll because he is not afraid to speak what he honestly thinks, and I am only sorry he does not think as I do. I never heard so much brilliancy and pith put into a two hours' Speech as I did on that night. I wish my whole Congregation had been there to hear it. I regard him as one of the greatest Men of the Age."--New York Herald. HELL. THE idea of a hell was born of revenge and brutality on the one side, and cowardice on the other. In my judgment the American people are too brave, too charitable, too generous, too magnanimous, to believe in the infamous dogma of an eternal hell. I have no respect for any human being who believes in it. I have no respect for any man who preaches it. I have no respect for the man who will pollute the imagination of childhood with that infamous lie. I have no respect for the man who will add to the sorrows of this world with the frightful dogma. I have no respect for any man who endeavours to put that infinite cloud, that infinite shadow, over the heart of humanity. For a good many years the learned intellects of Christendom have been examining into the religions of other countries in the world, the religions of the thousands that have passed away. They examined into the religions of Egypt, the religion of Greece, the religion of Rome and of the Scandinavian countries. In the presence of the ruins of those religions the learned men of Christendom insisted that those religions were baseless, that they were fraudulent. But they have all passed away. While this was being done the Christianity of our day applauded, and when the learned men got through with the religions of other countries they turned their attention to our religion. By the same mode of reasoning, by the same methods, by the same arguments that they used with the old religions, they were overturning the religion of our day. Why? Every religion in this world is the work of man. Every book has been written by man. Men existed before the books. If books had existed before man, I might admit there was such a thing as a sacred volume. Man never had an idea--man will never have an idea, except those supplied to him by his surroundings. Every idea in the world that man has came to him by nature. You can imagine an animal with the hoof of a bison, with the pouch of the kangaroo, with the wings of an eagle, with the beak of a bird, and with the tail of the lion; and yet every point of this monster you borrowed from nature. Every thing you can think of, every thing you can dream of, is borrowed from your surroundings. And there is nothing on this earth coming from any other sphere whatever. Man has produced every religion in the world. And why? Because each religion bodes forth the knowledge and the belief of the people at the time it was made, and in no book is there any knowledge found, except that of the people who wrote it. In no book is there found any knowledge, except that of the time in which it was written. Barbarians have produced, and always will produce barbarian religions; barbarians have produced and always will produce ideas in harmony with their surroundings, and all the religions of the past were produced by barbarians. We are making religions to-day. That is to say, we are changing them, and the religion of to-day is not the religion of one year ago. What changed it? Science has done it; education and the growing heart of man has done it. And just to the extent that we become civilized ourselves, will we improve the religion of our fathers. If the religion of one hundred years ago, compared with the religion of to-day is so low, what will it be in one thousand years? If we continue making the inroads upon orthodoxy which we have been making during the last twenty-five years, what will it be fifty years from to-night? It will have to be remonetized by that time, or else it will not be legal tender. In my judgment, every religion that stands by appealing to miracles is dishonoured. Every religion in the world has denounced every other religion as a fraud. That proves to me that they all tell the truth--about others. Why? suppose Mr. Smith should tell Mr. Brown that he--Smith--saw a corpse get out of the grave, and that when he first saw it, it was covered with the worms of death, and that in his presence it was re-clothed in healthy, beautiful flesh. And then suppose Mr. Brown should tell Mr. Smith, "I saw the same thing myself. I was in a graveyard once, and I saw a dead man rise." Suppose then that Smith should say to Brown, "You're a liar," and Brown should reply to Smith, "And you're a liar," what would you think? It would simply be because Smith, never having seen it himself, didn't believe Brown; and Brown, never having seen it, didn't believe Smith had. Now, if Smith had really seen it, and Brown told him he had seen it too, then Smith would regard it as a corroboration of his story, and he would regard Brown as one of his principal witnesses. But, on the contrary, he says, "You never saw it." So when a man says, "I was upon Mount Sinai, and there I met God, and he told me, 'Stand aside and let me drown these people;'" and another man says to him, "I was up upon a mountain, and there I met the Supreme Brahma," and Moses says, "That's not true," and contends that the other man never did see Brahma, and he contends that Moses never did see God, that is in my judgment proof that they both speak truly. Every religion, then, has charged every other religion with having been an unmitigated fraud; and yet, if any man had ever seen the miracle himself, his mind would be prepared to believe that another man had seen the same thing. Whenever a man appeals to a miracle he tells what is not true. Truth relies upon reason, and the undeviating course of all the laws of nature. Now, we have a religion--that is, some people have. I do not pretend to have religion myself. I believe in living for this world--that's my doctrine--to make everybody happy that you can. Let the future take care of itself, and if I ever touch the shores of another world, I will be just as ready and anxious to get into some remunerative employment as anybody else. Now, we have got in this country a religion which men have preached for about eighteen hundred years, and just in proportion as their belief in that religion has grown great, men have grown mean and wicked; just in proportion as they have ceased to believe it, men have become just and charitable. And if they believed it to-night as they once believed it, I wouldn't be allowed to speak in the city of New York. It is from the coldness and infidelity of the churches that I get my right to preach; and I say it to their credit. Now we have a religion. What is it? They say in the first place that all this vast universe was created by a Deity. I don't know whether it was or not. They say, too, that had it not been for the first sin of Adam there would never have been any devil in this world, and if there had been no devil there would have been no sin, and if there had been no sin there never would have been any death. For my part I am glad there was death in this world, because that gave me a chance. Somebody had to die to give me room, and when my turn comes I'll be willing to let somebody else take my place. But whether there is another life or not, if there is any being who gave me this, I shall thank him from the bottom of my heart, because, upon the whole, my life has been a joy. Now they say, because of this first sin all man was consigned to eternal hell. And this because Adam was our representative. Well, I always had an idea that my representative ought to live somewhere about the same time I do. I always had an idea that I should have some voice in choosing my representative. And if I had a voice I never should have voted for the old gentleman called Adam. Now in order to regain man from the frightful hell of eternity, Christ himself came to this world and took upon himself flesh, and in order that we might know the road to eternal salvation he gave us a book, and that book is called the Bible, and wherever that Bible has been read men have immediately commenced cutting each others' throats. Wherever that Bible has been circulated, they have invented inquisitions and instruments of torture, and have commenced hating each other with all their hearts. But I am told now, we are all told, that this Bible is the foundation of civilization; I say that this Bible is the foundation of hell, and we never shall get rid of the dogma of hell until we get rid of the idea that it is an inspired book. Now, what does the Bible teach? I am not going to talk about what this minister or that minister says it teaches; the question is, "Ought a man to be sent to eternal hell for not believing this Bible to be the work of a merciful Father?" and the only way to find out is to read it; and as very few people do read it now, I will read a few passages. This is the book to be read in the schools, in order to make our children charitable and good; this is the book that we must read in order that our children may have ideas of mercy, charity, and justice. Does the Bible teach mercy? Now be honest. I read: "_I will make mine arrows drunk with blood; and my sword shall devour flesh?_" (Deut. xxxii. 42.) Pretty good start for a merciful God! "_That thy foot may be dipped in the blood of thine enemies, and the tongue of thy dogs in the same?_" (Ps. lxviii. 23.) Again: "_And the Lord thy God will put out those nations before thee by little and little; thou mayest not consume them at once, lest the beasts of the field increase upon thee?_" (Deut vii. 22.) Read the glorious exploits of Joshua, chosen captain of the Lord, and note how, having coveted the fertile land of Goshen, he smote the people, houghed their horses, despoiled their cities, and put all that breathed to the edge of the sword, as the moral God had commanded. Moreover he came against them suddenly, not a solitary trumpet blast from the celestial orchestra was there calling upon the people to yield, or to move out their country, bag and baggage. No; instantaneous fire and butchery. Observe, too, the charming naivete of the statement: "_There was not a city that made peace with the children of Israel, save the Hivites_." Why? Because the Lord "_hardened their hearts, that they should come against Israel in battle that he might destroy them utterly_." Do you wish further examples of a God of mercy? Read in Exodus how the Lord ordered the harrying of cities and the wholesale slaughter of the inhabitants. "_Thou shalt save alive nothing that breatheth; but thou shalt utterly destroy them._" The old men and the maidens, and the sweet dimpled babe smiling upon the lap of its mother. Recollect, these instructions were given to an army of invasion, and the people who were fighting were guilty of the crime of fighting for their homes. The Old Testament is full of curses, vengeance, jealousy, and hatred; of barbarity and brutality. Now, do not for one moment believe that these words were written by the most merciful God. Don't pluck from the heart the sweet flowers of piety and crush them by superstition. Do not believe that God ever ordered the murder of innocent women and helpless babes. Do not let this supposition turn your hearts into stone. When anything is said to have been written by the most merciful God, and the thing is not merciful, then I deny it, and say he never wrote it. I will live by the standard of reason, and if thinking in accordance with reason takes me to perdition, then I will go to hell with my reason rather than to heaven without it. Now, does this Bible teach political freedom, or does it teach political tyranny? Does it teach a man to resist oppression? Does it teach a man to tear from the throne of tyranny the crowned thing and robber called a king? Let us see. "_Let every soul be subject to the higher powers; for there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God_." (Rom. xiii. 1.) All the kings, and princes, and governors, and thieves, and robbers that happened to be in authority were placed there by the infinite father of all! "_Whosoever therefore resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of God._" And when George Washington resisted the power of George the Third, he resisted the power of God. And when our fathers said "resistance to tyrants is obedience to God," they falsified the Bible itself. "_For he is the minister of God to thee for good. But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid; for he beareth not the sword in vain; for he is the minister of God, revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil. Wherefore ye must needs be subject not only for wrath, but also for conscience's sake._" (Rom. xiii. 4. 5.) I deny this wretched doctrine. Wherever the sword of rebellion is drawn to protect the rights of man, I am a rebel. Wherever the sword of rebellion is drawn to give man liberty, to clothe him in all his just rights, I am on the side of that rebellion. I deny that rulers are crowned by the Most High; the rulers are the people, and the presidents and others are but the servants of the people. All authority comes from the people, and not from the aristocracy of the air. Upon these texts of Scripture which I have just read rest the thrones of Europe, and these are the voices that are repeated from age to age by brainless kings and heartless kings. Does the Bible give woman her rights? Is this Bible humane? Does it treat woman as she ought to be treated, or is it barbarian? Let us see. "_Let women learn in silence with all subjection_." (1 Timothy ii. 11.) If a woman would know anything let her ask her husband. Imagine the ignorance of a lady who had only that source of information. "_But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but be in silence._" Observe the magnificent reason. "_For Adam was first formed, then Eve, And Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived, was in the transgression._" Splendid! "_But I would have you know that the head of every man is Christ; and the head of the woman is the man; and the head of Christ is God_." That is to say, there is as much difference between the woman and the man as there is between Christ and man. There is the liberty of woman. "_For the man is not of the woman, but the woman is of the man. Neither was the man created for the woman._" Well, what was he created for? "_But the woman was created for the man. Wives, submit yourselves unto your husbands, as unto the Lord_." There's liberty! "_For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church; and he is the saviour of the body. Therefore, as the church is subject unto Christ so let the wives to be their own husbands in every thing_." Even the Saviour didn't put man and woman upon any equality. The man could divorce the wife, but the wife could not divorce the husband, and according to the Old Testament, the mother had to ask forgiveness for being the mother of babes. Splendid! Here is something from the Old Testament: "_When thou goest forth to war against thine enemies, and the Lord thy God hath delivered them into thine hands, and thou hast taken them captive. And seest among the captives a beautiful woman, and hast a desire unto her, that thou wouldst have her to thy wife. Then thou shalt bring her home to thine house; and she shall shave her head, and pare her nails_," (Deut. xxi. 10, 11, 12.) That is in self-defence, I suppose! This sacred book, this foundation of human liberty, of morality, does it teach concubinage and polygamy? Read the thirty-first chapter of Numbers, read the twenty-first chapter of Deuteronomy, read the blessed lives of Abraham, of David, or of Solomon, and then tell me that the sacred scripture does not teach polygamy and concubinage? All the language of the world is not sufficient to express the infamy of polygamy; it makes man a beast and woman a stone. It destroys the fireside and makes virtue an outcast. And yet it is the doctrine of the Bible. The doctrine defended by Luther and Melancthon! It takes from our language those sweetest words--father, husband, wife, and mother, and takes us back to barbarism and fills our hearts with the crawling, slimy serpents. Does the Bible teach the existence of devils? Of course it does. Yes, it teaches not only the existence of a good Being, but a bad being. This good Being had to have a home; that home was heaven. This bad being had to have a home; and that home was hell. This hell is supposed to be nearer to earth than I would care to have it, and to be peopled with spirits, hobgoblins, and all the fiery shapes with which the imagination of ignorance and fear could people that horrible place; and the Bible teaches the existence of hell and this big devil and all these little devils. The Bible teaches the doctrine of witchcraft, and makes us believe that there are sorcerers and witches, and that the dead could be raised by the power of sorcery. Read the account of the spiritual seance at which Saul and the Witch of Endor assisted, and which resulted in the calling up of Samuel. Does any one believe that now? In another place it is declared that witchcraft is an abomination unto the Lord. He wanted no rivals in this business. Now what does the New Testament teach? Turn to the story of Jesus being led into the wilderness for the devil to experiment upon him. He was starved forty days and forty nights, and then asked to work a miracle! After that the devil placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, and asked him to cast himself down to prove that he was the Son of God. Is it possible that any one can believe that the devil absolutely took God Almighty, and put him on the pinnacle of the temple, and endeavoured to persuade him to jump down? "_Again the devil taketh him into an exceeding high mountain, and showeth him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them; and saith unto him, All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me. Then saith Jesus unto him, Get thee hence, Satan, for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve_." (Matt. iv. 8-11.) Now, the devil must have known at that time that he was God, and God at that time must have known that the other was the devil. How could the latter be conceived to have the impudence to promise God a world in which he did not have a tax-title to an inch of land. Then there is that pig story. When the "boss" devil had left Jesus and angels had ministered unto him, and he had taken a short sea voyage, there came out to meet him a man possessed of a number of minor devils, and a man whom no one could tame, nor bind, no not with chains, and who dwelt among the tombs. A nice quiet citizen truly! And after some parley the devils beseech Jesus, saying:--"_Send us into the swine that we may enter into them. And forthwith Jesus gave them leave. And the unclean spirits went out, and entered into the swine; and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the sea_ (there were about two thousand) _and were choked in the sea._" No doubt a good riddance; but what the owner of the swine thought of the transaction, or whether he was indemnified for the loss of his porkers deponent cannot say. Are we reasonable men in the nineteenth century in the United States of America and believe this? I deny it. These fables of devils have covered the world with blood; they have filled the world with fear, and I am going to do what I can to free the world of these insatiate monsters. Small and great they have filled the world with monsters, they have made the world a synonym of liar and ferocity. And it is this book that ought to be read in all the schools--this book that teaches man to enslave his brother. If it is larceny to steal the result of labour, how much more is it larceny to steal the labourer himself. "_Moreover, of the children of the strangers that do so sojourn among you, of them shall ye buy, and of their families that are with you, which they begat in your land; and they shall be your possession. And ye shall take them as an inheritance for your children after you, to inherit them for a possession; they shall be your bondmen for ever; but over your brethren the children of Israel, ye shall not rule one over another with rigour_." (Lev. xv. 45, 46.) Why? Because they are not as good as you will buy of the heathen roundabout. These are edifying texts. Consult also Exod. xxi. 1, where you will find a complete slave code. No detail is wanting. Under certain conditions the master is to bring his servant to the judges, then he is to lug him to the doorpost and bore his ear through with an awl--; "_And he shall serve him for ever_." This is the doctrine which has ever lent itself to the chains of slavery, and makes a man imprison himself rather than desert wife and children. I hate it! What does this same book with its glad tidings of great joy for all people say of the rights of children? Let us see how they are treated by the "most merciful God." "_If a man hath a stubborn and rebellious son, which will not obey the voice of his father, or the voice of his mother, and that when they have chastened him, will not hearken unto them. Then shall his father and his mother lay hold of him, and bring him out unto the elders of his city, and unto the gate of his place. And they shall say unto the elders of his city: This our son is stubborn and rebellious, he will not obey our voice, he is a glutton, and a drunkard. And all the men of his city shall stone him with stones, that he die; so shalt thou put evil away from among you; and all Israel shall hear and fear_." (Deut. xxi. 18.) Abraham was commanded to offer his son Isaac as a sacrifice, and he intended to obey. The boy was not consulted. Did you ever hear the story of Jepthah's daughter? Is there in the history of the world a sadder story than that? Can a God who would accept such a sacrifice be worthy of the worship of civilized men? I believe in the rights of children, I plead for the republic at home, for the democracy of the fireside, and for this I am called a heathen and a devil by those who believe in the cheerful and comforting doctrine of eternal damnation. Read the book of Job! God met the devil and asked him where he had been, and he said: "Walking up and down the country," and the Lord said to him: "Have you noticed my man Job over here, how good he is?" And the devil said: "Of course he's good, you give him everything he wants. Just take away his property and he'll curse you. You just try it." And he did try it, and took away his goods, but Job still remained good. The devil laughed and said that he had not been tried enough. Then the Lord touched his flesh, but he was still true. Then he took away his children, but he remained faithful, and in the end, to show how much Job made by this fidelity, his property was all doubled, and he had more children than ever. If you have a child, and you love it, would you be satisfied with a God who would destroy it, and endeavour to make it up by giving you another that was better looking? No, you want that one; you want no other, and yet this is the idea of the love of children taught in the Bible. Does the Bible teach you freedom of religion? To-day we say that every man has a right to worship God or not, to worship him as he pleases. Is it the doctrine of the Bible? Read Deut. xii. 6. If a brother, or son, or daughter, or wife proposes to serve any god but your own, or that of your fathers, thou shalt not pity, nor spare, nor conceal. "_Thou shalt surely kill him; thine hand shall be the first upon him to put him to death, and thou shalt stone him with stones that he die_." And do you know, according to that, if you had lived in Palestine, and your wife that you love as your own soul had said to you, "Let us worship the sun whose golden beams clothe the world in glory; let us bow to that great luminary; I love the sun because it gave me your face; because it gave me the features of my babe; let us worship the sun;" it was then your duty to lay your hands upon her, your eye must not pity her, but it was your duty to cast the first stone against that tender and loving breast! I hate such doctrine! I hate such books! I hate gods that will write such books 1 I tell you that it is infamous! That is the religious liberty of the Bible--that's it And this God taught that doctrine to the Jews, and said to them, "Any one that teaches a different religion, kill him!" Now, let me ask, and I want to do it reverently: If, as is contended, God gave these frightful laws to the Jews, and afterwards this same God took upon himself flesh, and came among the Jews, and taught a different religion, and these Jews, in accordance with the laws which this same God gave them, crucified him, did he not reap what he had sown? The mercy of all this comes in what is called "the plan of salvation." What is that plan? According to this great plan, the innocent suffer for the guilty to satisfy a law. What sort of a law must it be that would be satisfied with the suffering of innocence? According to this plan, the salvation of the whole world depends upon the bigotry of the Jews and the treachery of Judas. According to the same plan, there would have been no death in the world if there had been no sin, and if there had been no death you and I would not have been called into existence, and if we did not exist we could not have been saved; so we owe our salvation to the bigotry of the Jews and the treachery of Judas, and we are indebted to the devil for our existence. I speak this reverently. It strikes me that what they call the atonement is a kind of moral bankruptcy. Under its merciful provisions man is allowed the privilege of sinning credit, and whenever he is guilty of a mean action, he says, "Charge it." In my judgment, this kind of bookkeeping breeds extravagance in sin. Suppose we had a law in New York that every merchant should give credit to every man who asked it, under pain and penitentiary, and that every man should take the benefit of the bankruptcy statute any Saturdays night? Doesn't the credit system in morals breed extravagance in sin? That's the question. Who's afraid of punishment which is so far away? Whom does the doctrine of hell stop? The great, the rich, the powerful? No; the poor, the weak, the despised, the mean. Did you ever hear of a man going to hell who died in New York worth a million of dollars, or with an income of twenty-five thousand a year? Did you ever hear of a man going to hell who rode in a carriage? Never. They are the gentlemen who talk about their assets, and who say, "Hell is not for me; it is for the poor. I have all the luxuries I want, give that to the poor." Who go to hell? Tramps! Let me tell you a story. There was once a frightful rain, and all the animals held a convention, to see whose fault it was, and the fox nominated the lion for chairman. The wolf seconded the motion, and the hyena said that suits. When the convention was called to order the fox was called upon to confess his sins. He stated, however, that it would be much more appropriate for the lion to commence first. Thereupon the lion said: "I am not conscious of having committed evil. It is true I have devoured a few men, but for what other purpose were men made?" And they all cheered, and were satisfied. The fox gave his views upon the goose question, and the wolf admitted that he had devoured sheep, and occasionally had killed a shepherd, but "all acquainted with the history of my family will bear me out when I say that shepherds have been the enemies of my family from the beginning of the world." Then away in the rear there arose a simple donkey, with a kind of Abrahamic countenance. He said, "I expect it's me, I had eaten nothing for three days except three thistles. I was passing a monastery; the monks were at mass. The gates were open leading to a yard full of sweet clover. I knew it was wrong, but I did slip in and I took a mouthful, but my conscience smote me and I went out," and all the animals shouted, "He's the fellow!" and in two minutes they had his hide on the fence. That's the kind of people that go to hell. Now this doctrine of hell, that has been such a comfort to my race, which so many ministers are pleading for, has been defended for ages by the fathers of the church. Your preacher says that the sovereignty of God implies that he has an absolute, unlimited, and independent right to dispose of his creatures as he will, because he made them. Has he? Suppose I take this book and change it immediately into a servient human being. Would I have a right to torture it because I made it? No; on the contrary. I would say, having brought you into existence, it is my duty to do the best for you I can. They say God has a right to damn me because he made me. I deny it. Another one says, God is not obliged to save even those who believe in Christ, and that he can either bestow salvation upon his children or retain it without any diminution of his glory. Another one says, God may save any sinner whatsoever, consistently with his justice. Let a natural person--and I claim to be one--moral or immoral, wise or unwise, let him be as just as he can, no matter what his prayers may be, what pains he may have taken to be saved, or whatever circumstances he may be in, God, according to this writer, can deny him salvation, without the least disparagement of his glory. His glories will not be in the least obscured; there is no natural man, be his character what it may, but God may cast down to hell without being charged with unfair dealing in any respect with regard to that man. Theologians tell us that God's design in the creation was simply to glorify himself. Magnificent object! "_The same shall drink of the wine of the wrath of God, which is poured out without mixture into the cup of his indignation; and he shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels, and in the presence of the Lamb_." (Rev. i. 10.) Do you know nobody would have had an idea of hell in this world if it hadn't been for volcanoes? They were looked upon as the chimneys of hell. The idea of eternal fire never would have polluted the imagination of man but for them. An eminent theologian, describing hell, says, "There is no recounting up the million of ages the damned shall suffer. All arithmetic ends here"--and all sense, too! "They shall have nothing to do in passing away this eternity but to conflict with torments. God shall have no other use or employment for them." These words were said by gentlemen who died Christians, and who are now in the harp business in the world to come. Another declares there is nothing to keep any man or Christian out of hell except the mere pleasure of God, and their pains never grow any easier by their becoming accustomed to them. It is also declared that the devil goes about like a lion, ready to doom the wicked. Did it never occur to you what a contradiction it is to say that the devil will persecute his own friends? He wants all the recruits he can get; why then should he persecute his friends? In my judgment he should give them the best hell affords. It is in the very nature of things that torments inflicted have no tendency to bring a wicked man to repentance. Then why torment him if it will not do him good? It is simply unadulterated revenge. All the punishment in the world will not reform a man, unless he knows that he who inflicts it upon him does it for the sake of reformation, and really and truly loves him, and has his good at heart. Punishment inflicted for gratifying the appetite makes man afraid but debases him. Various reasons are given for punishing the wicked? first, that God will vindicate his injured majesty. Weil, I am glad of that! Second, he will glorify his justice--think of that. Third, he will show and glorify his grace. Every time the saved shall look upon the damned in hell it will cause in them a lively and admiring sense of the grace of God. Every look upon the damned will double the ardour and the joy of the saints in heaven. Can the believing husband in heaven look down upon the torments of the unbelieving wife in hell and then feel a thrill of joy? That is the old doctrine--that if you saw your wife in hell--the wife you love, who, in your last sickness, nursed you, that perhaps supported you by her needle when you were ill; the wife who watched by your couch night and day, and held your corpse in her loving arms when you were dead--the sight would give you great joy. That doctrine is not preached to-day. They do not preach that the sight would give you joy! but they do preach that it will not diminish your happiness. That is the doctrine of every orthodox minister in New York, and I repeat that I have no respect for men who preach such doctrines. The sight of the torments of the damned in hell will increase the ecstasy of the saints for ever! On this principle a man never enjoys a good dinner so much as when a fellow-creature is dying of famine before his eyes, or he never enjoys the cheerful warmth of his own fireside so greatly as when a poor and abandoned wretch is dying on his door-step. The saints enjoy the ecstasy, and the groans of the tormented are music to them. I say here to-night that you cannot commit a sin against an infinite being. I can sin against my brother or my neighbour, because I can injure them. There can be no sin where there is no injury. Neither can a finite being commit infinite sin. An old saint believed that hell was in the interior of the earth, and that the rotation of the earth was caused by the souls trying to get away from the fire. The old church at Stratford-on-Avon, Shakespeare's home, is adorned with pictures of hell and the like. One of the pictures represents resurrection-morning. People are getting out of their graves, and devils are catching hold of their heels. In one place there is a huge brass monster, and devils are driving scores of lost souls into his mouth. Over hot fires hang caldrons with fifty or sixty people in each, and devils are poking the fires. People are hung up on hooks by their tongues, and devils are lashing them. Up in the right-hand corner are some of the saved, with grins on their faces stretching from ear to ear. They seem to say: "Aha, what did I tell you?" Some of the old saints--gentlemen who died in the odour of sanctity and are now in glory--insisted that heaven and hell would be plainly in view of each other. Only a few years ago, the Rev. J. Furness (an appropriate name), published a little pamphlet called "A Sight in Hell" I remember when I first read that. My little child, seven years old, was ill and in bed. I thought she would not hear me, and I read some of it aloud. She arose and asked "Who says that?" I answered, "That's what they preach in some of the churches." "I never will enter a church as long as I live!" she said, and she never has. The doctrine of orthodox Christianity is that the damned shall suffer torment for ever and for ever. And if you were a wanderer, footsore, weary, with parched tongue, dying for a drop of water, and you met one who divided his poor portion with you, and died as he saw you reviving --if he was an unbeliever and you a believer, and you died and went to heaven, and he called to you from hell for a draught of water, it would be your duty to laugh at him. Rev. Mr Spurgeon says that everywhere in hell will be written the words "for ever." They will be branded on every wave of flame, they will be forged in every link of every chain, they will be seen in every lurid flash of brimstone--everywhere will be those words "for ever." Everybody will be yelling and screaming them. Just think of that picture of the mercy and justice of the eternal Father of us all. If these words are necessary why are they not written now everywhere in the world, on every tree, and every field, and on every blade of grass? I say I am entitled to have it so. I say that, it is God's duty to furnish me with the evidence. In old times they had to find a place for hell, and they found a hundred places for it. One says that it was under Lake Avernus, but the Christian thought differently. One divine tells us that it must be below the earth because Christ descended into hell. Another gives it as his opinion that hell is in the sun, and he tells us that nobody, without an express revelation from God, can prove that it is not there. Most likely. Well, he had the idea at all events of utilizing the damned as fuel to warm the earth. Another divine preached a sermon no further back than 1876, in which he said that the damned will grow worse, and the same divine says that the devil was the first Universalist. Then I am on the side of the devil. The fact is, that you have got not merely to believe the Bible, but you must also believe in a certain interpretation of it, and, mind you, you must also believe in the doctrine of the Trinity. If you don't understand it, it is your own fault. You must believe in it all the same. If you do not, all the orthodox churches agree in condemning you to everlasting flames. We have got to burn through all our lives simply with the view of making them happy. We are taught to love our enemies, to pray for those that persecute us, to forgive. Should not the merciful God practice what he preaches? I say that reverently. Why should he say "Forgive your enemies" if he will not himself forgive? Why should he say "Pray for those that despise and persecute you, but if they refuse to believe my doctrine I will burn them for ever?" I cannot believe it. Here is a little child, residing in the purlieus of the city--some little boy who is taught that it is his duty to steal by his mother who applauds his success, and pats him on the head and calls him a good boy--would it be just to condemn him to an eternity of torture? Suppose there is a God; let us bring to this question some common sense. I care nothing about the doctrines or religions or creeds of the past. Let us come to the bar of the nineteenth century and judge the matter by what we know, by what we think, by what we love. But they say to us, "If you throw away the Bible what are we to depend on then?" But no two persons in the world agree as to what the Bible is, what they are to believe, or what they are not to believe. It is like a guide-post that has been thrown down in some time of disaster, and has been put up the wrong way. Nobody can accept its guidance, for nobody knows where it would direct him. I say, "Tear down the useless guide-post," but they answer, "Oh, do not do that or we will have nothing to go by." I would say, "Old Church, you take that road, and I will take this." Another minister has said that the Bible is the great town-clock, at which we may all set our watches. But I have said to a friend of that minister, "Suppose we all should set our watches by that town-clock, there would be many persons to tell you that in old times the long hand was the hour hand, and beside, the clock hasn't been wound up for a long time." I say, let us wait till the sun rises and set our watches by nature. For my part, I am willing to give up heaven to get rid of hell. I had rather there should be no heaven than that any solitary soul should be condemned to suffer for ever and ever. But they tell me that the Bible is the book of hope. Now, in the Old Testament there is not, in my judgment, a single reference to another life. Is there a burial-service mentioned in it in which a word of hope is spoken at the grave of the dead? The idea of eternal life was not born of any book. That wave of hope and joy ebbs and flows, and will continue to ebb and flow as long as love kisses the lips of death. Let me tell you a tale of the Persian religion--of a man who, having done good for long years of his life, presented himself at the gates of Paradise, but the gates remained closed against him. He went back and followed up his good works for seven years longer, and the gates of Paradise still remaining shut against him, he toiled in works of charity until at last they were opened unto him. Think of that, and send out your missionaries among those people. There is no religion but goodness, but justice, but charity. Religion is not theory--it is life. It is not intellectual conviction--it is divine humanity, and nothing else. There is another tale from the Hindoo of a man who refused to enter Paradise without a faithful dog, urging that ingratitude was the blackest of all sins. "And the god," he said, "admitted him, dog and all." Compare that religion with the orthodox tenets of the city of New York. There is a prayer which every Brahmin prays, in which he declares that he will never enter into a final state of bliss alone, but that everywhere he will strive for universal redemption; that never will he leave the world of sin and sorrow, but remain suffering and striving and sorrowing after universal salvation. Compare that with the orthodox idea, and send out your missionaries to the benighted Hindoos. The doctrine of hell is infamous beyond all power to express. I wish there were words mean enough to express my feelings of loathing on this subject. What harm has it not done? What waste places has it not made? It has planted misery and wretchedness in this world; it peoples the future with selfish joys and lurid abysses of eternal flame. But we are getting more sense every day. We begin to despise those monstrous doctrines. If you want to better men and women change their conditions here. Don't promise them something somewhere else. One biscuit will do more good than all the tracts that were ever peddled in the world. Give them more whitewash, more light, more air. You have to change men physically before you change them intellectually. I believe the time will come when every criminal will be treated as we now treat the diseased and sick, when every penitentiary will become a reformatory; and that if criminals go to them with hatred in their bosoms, they will leave them without feelings of revenge. Let me tell you the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. Eurydice had been carried away by the god of hell, and Orpheus, her lover, went in quest of her. He took with him his lyre, and played such exquisite music that all hell was amazed. Ixion forgot his labours at the wheel, the daughters of Danaus ceased from their hopeless task, Tantalus forgot his thirst, even Pluto smiled, and, for the first time in the history of hell, the eyes of the Furies were wet with tears. As it was with the lyre of Orpheus, so it is to-day with the great harmonies of science, which are rescuing from the prisons of superstition the torn and bleeding heart of man. 
40207	----	THE CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE OF HELL By J. M. Wheeler 1890. THE CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE OF HELL I WOULD not willingly quit this world without having said my say upon the most terrible of all its superstitions, the doctrine of eternal torments--which Archdeacon Farrar describes as the "hideous incubus of atrocious conceptions"--and which, in my own experience, is the cause of appalling apprehensions and even insanity in the minds of the sensitive and weak-minded. If there is a hell, that is the most important fact in the universe. Compared with an eternity of torment, all that this little life has to offer is but as nothing. If there is no hell, then, it seems to me, the faith in Jesus is vain, for no such salvation as that offered by orthodox Christianity is necessary. Not only is the doctrine of eternal torments clearly taught in Scripture, but it is, as I shall show, historically bound up with the creed of Christendom. It may be said, why attack a superstition confessedly falling into decay? Satan, that once excellent scapegoat for all misdeeds, is superannuated. Hell is never mentioned to ears polite. Since Freethought came into the world its temperature has considerably decreased. The brimstone business threatens to become obsolete. It is none the less the corner-stone of the whole system, and when it finally collapses it will bring down other doctrines with it. The Salvationist, no less than the Jesuit, knows its power. As the old beadle said, "A kirk without a hell is'na worth a damn." Upon the healthy-minded the doctrine of eternal torments will soon have no more effect than water upon a duck's back. But mental health and strength are not the inheritance of all. If the dogma was not taught until minds were mature enough to examine it, it might safely be left; but while it is continually taught to infancy, to seek to eradicate it is the duty of those who regard it as a pernicious error. To me it appears that the best way to do this is to show what the doctrine has actually been in the days when Christianity was unquestioned. Christians are becoming ashamed of their hell--which they rarely realise as possibly the fate of themselves or their friends; that way madness lies. They cannot get rid of the definite statements in the New Testament, but they avoid dwelling on them, or attempt to construe them figuratively. Hell was hot enough when religion was powerful. As it declines it is discovered that hell is not so terrible after all. Modern exegesis, striving to explain hell away, only steps in when conscience and freethought have declared against it. It is taught in the plainest terms. Take but the passage, Matt. xxv. 46, "These shall go away into _everlasting_ punishment, but the righteous into life _eternal_." It is said everlasting does not mean lasting for ever, and in some cases this might be granted, but surely it is a different matter when eternal punishment is, without any limitation, directly compared with eternal life, and the same word is applied to both. Again, exactly the same expression which is used to signify the eternity of God, that of his being _for ever and ever_, as in Rev. iv. 9, v. 14, x. 6, and xv. 7, is used of the torments of those in hell in Rev. xiv. 11. In the explanation of the parable of the tares, Jesus tells his prosaic disciples: "The enemy that sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the world; and the reapers are the angels. As therefore the tares are gathered and burned in the fire; so shall it be in the end of this world" (Matt. xiii. 39-40). There we see the simile is used to illustrate hell; not hell used as a simile to illustrate something else. The early Christians undoubtedly believed in a literal Devil, angels, and end of the world, and with equal certainty in a literal hell and material fire. Yet we are now asked to believe that when Jesus spoke of hell, "where the worm dieth not and the fire is not quenched" (Mark ix. 46), since there is _no_ fire it cannot require quenching. Jesus relates, in the most matter-of-fact way (Luke xvi.), that a certain rich man died, and "in hell," "being in torments," he lifted up his eyes and beheld Lazarus in Abraham's bosom. He cried for a drop of water to cool his tongue, "for I am tormented in this flame." The man had committed no other recorded offence than faring sumptuously, yet he was met with the stern response, "between us and you there is a great gulf fixed." He then asks that his brethren may be warned of his fate, and this, too, is denied. The voice of humanity cried from hell, and heaven answered with inhumanity. If this picture of heaven and hell is true, God and his saints are monsters of infamy. If false, what other "revealed" doctrine can be credited, since this is so devised for the benefit of those who trade in terrorism? If hell is a metaphor, of which there is no indication in the narrative, so also is heaven. Give up material fire and brimstone, you must resign the bodily resurrection, the visible coming of Christ, and the New Jerusalem. Allegorise hell, you make heaven unreal. A figurative Devil suggests a figment God. The Revelation of St. John expressly speaks of the worshippers of the beast, or enemies of God, being "tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels, and in the presence of the Lamb. And the smoke of their torment ascendeth up for ever and ever" (xiv. 10-11). Nice enjoyment, this, for the elect. Fancy parents regarding the eternal anguish of their children! Converted wives looking on while their unbelieving husbands are tormented and "have no rest day nor night" in "the lake that burneth with fire and brimstone"! Picture it, think of it, Christian, and then offer praises to your God for having provided this place of eternal torture for some other than yourself. Who go to hell? According to the Bible and the creeds the immense majority of mankind. "Strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it" (Matt. vii. 14). Many are called but few chosen; and there is no other name under heaven, save that of Jesus, whereby men can be saved. The proportion of those who lived before Christ must be, even according to Bible chronology, immensely larger than all who have lived since, and of these now, after eighteen centuries of the divine religion, not more than a third of the world's inhabitants are even nominal Christians. When we consider how few Christians are really believers, and how scarcely any of them attempt to carry out the precepts of their Master, it must be allowed that the population of hell is out of all proportion to that of heaven. The doctrine of the church has been "He that believeth and is baptised shall be saved, and he that believeth not shall be damned." The idea of this text has probably done more harm to humanity than it has benefited from the rest of the gospel, for it has countenanced all the ill-will and persecution that has everywhere followed in the train of Christianity. I know it will be said that this passage, indeed the whole of the sixteenth of Mark from the ninth verse to the end, is wanting in some of the ancient manuscripts; but while the Authorised version is circulated as the word of God, it is properly cited. And indeed if this doctrine is discarded there is much else that must go with it. Freethought having discredited the doctrine of eternal torments as absurd and dishonoring to God, stress is now laid upon passages indicating a more hopeful doctrine. To one who looks at the general tenor of Scripture, these are of no weight in opposition to the clear and emphatic declarations I have cited. There is no express statement that punishment hereafter will be terminable. On the contrary, the evident teaching is that as the tree falls so it must lie. No hope is extended to the rich man in hell. That the current belief in the time of Jesus was in the eternity of punishments, we have the testimony of Josephus, who declares this both of the Pharisees and the Essenes.* We have also the testimony of the Fathers. Clement, the apostolic father, said to be the "fellow laborer" of Paul, mentioned in Philip iv. 3, says in his Second Epistle, chap. viii., "Once cast into the furnace of fire there is no longer any help for it. For after we have gone out of the world no further power of confessing or repenting will belong to us." Polycarp, when threatened with martyrdom, is said to have made answer (Ep. to Philippians, xi.), "Thou threatenest me with fire which burneth for an hour, and after a little is extinguished, but art ignorant of the fire of the coming judgment and of eternal punishment reserved for the ungodly." Ignatius too speaks of "the unquenchable fire" (Ep. to Ephesians, 16). *Antiq. xviii. 1-3; Wars ii, 8, 11-14. All the early Fathers considered the fire of hell as a real material fire. Justin Martyr, who wrote before the collection of the Gospels, said in his first Apology, chap. xxi., "We believe that those who live wickedly and do not repent are punished in everlasting fire." In numerous other passages he refers to punishment in eternal fire; and says (First Apol., chap. hi), "then shall they repent, when it profits them not." Athenagoras, too (chap. xxxvi.), declares that "the body which has ministered to the irrational impulses of the soul, and to its desires, will be punished along with it." St. Irenæus, the first of the Fathers who definitely alludes to the four Gospels, says, in his work against heresies (bk. ii., chap. 28, § 7), "That eternal fire is prepared for sinners, both the Lord has plainly declared, and the rest of the Scriptures demonstrate. And that God foreknew that this would happen, the Scriptures do in like manner demonstrate, since He prepared eternal fire from the beginning for those who were afterwards to transgress His commandments." What a blessed thing is Christianity to reveal such a nice loving Father as this! So Bishop Hippolytus, in his _Refutation of all Heresies_, bk. x. chap. 30, speaks of "the boiling flood of hell's eternal lake of fire, and the eye ever fixed in menacing glare of [wicked] angels chained in Tartarus as punishment for their sins." Tertullian, in his treatise on the Resurrection of the Flesh, chap. xxxv., declares "The fire of hell is eternal--expressly announced as an everlasting penalty," and he asks, "whence shall come the weeping and gnashing of teeth if not from _eyes and teeth?_" In his treatise, _De Anima_, chap. vii., he thus alludes to the story of Dives. "Do you suppose that this end of the blessed poor man and the miserable rich man is only imaginary? Then why the name of Lazarus in this narrative, if the circumstance is not in [the category of] a real occurrence?" This Christian Father absolutely gloats over the prospect of witnessing these torments:--"Which sight gives me Joy? which rouses me to exultation?--as I see so many illustrious monarchs, whose reception into the heavens was publicly announced, groaning now in the lowest darkness with great Jove himself, and those, too, who bore witness of their exaltation; governors of provinces, too, who persecuted the Christian name, in fires more fierce than those which in the days of their pride they raged against the followers of Christ!" He exultingly continues: "I shall have a better opportunity then of hearing the tragedians, louder-voiced in their own calamity; of viewing the play-actors much more 'dissolute' in the dissolving flame; of looking upon the charioteer, all glowing in his chariot of fire; of witnessing the wrestlers, not in their gymnasia, but tossing in the fiery billows."* An echo of this famous passage may be traced in Cardinal Newman's sermon "On Neglect of Divine Calls and Warnings." St. Cyprian, in his address to Demetrianus, says: "We are rendered patient by our security of a vindication to come. The innocent give place to the guilty; the guileless acquiesce in their punishments and tortures, certain and assured that anything we suffer will not remain unavenged.... What joy for the believers, what sorrow for the faithless; to have refused to believe here, and now be unable to return in order that they may believe! Hell ever burning will consume the accursed, and a devouring punishment of lively flames; nor will there be that from whence their torments can ever receive either repose or end. Souls with their bodies will be saved unto suffering in tortures infinite. There that man will be seen by us for ever, who made us his spectacle here for a season; what brief enjoyment those cruel eyes received from the persecutions wrought upon us will be balanced against a spectacle eternal." And the savage saint backs up his pleasant prospect with "Holy Scripture." * De Spectaculis, c. 30. I have quoted the rendering in the orthodox Ante-Nicene Christian Library, vol. xi., pp. 34-35. Gibbon's version is more forcible. Lactantius, in his Divine Institutes, bk. vi., chap. 3, contrasts the immortality promised to the righteous with "everlasting punishment threatened to the unrighteous." In bk. vii. chap. 21, he says, "because they have committed sins in their bodies, they will again be clothed with flesh that they may make atonement in their bodies; and yet it will not be that flesh with which God clothed man, like this our earthly body, but indestructible and abiding for ever, that it may be able to hold out against tortures and everlasting fire." St. Chrysostom represents the torments of the damned in a variety of horrid pictures. He says: "But if you are speaking against luxury, and introduce discourse by the way concerning hell, the thing will cheer you and beget much pleasure. Let us not then avoid discourses concerning hell, that we may avoid hell. Let us not banish the remembrance of punishment, that we may escape punishment. If the rich man had reflected upon that fire, he would not have sinned; but because he never was mindful of it, therefore he fell into it."* * Homily on 2 Thess. i., 1-2. In Homily on 2 Thess. i., 9-10, "It is not only not milder, but much more terrible than is threatened." Hear the golden-mouthed Father (Homily on Heb. i., 1-2): "Let us then consider how great a misery it must be to be for ever burning, and to be in darkness, and to utter unnumbered groanings, and to gnash the teeth and not even to be heard.... Think what it is when we are burning with all the murderers of the whole world neither seeing, nor being seen.... Wherefore I entreat you," continues the saint, "to be _ever_ revolving these things with yourselves, and to submit to the pain of the words, that we may not have the things to undergo as our punishment." Again he says (Hom. Heb. xi. 37-38), "Why, what are ten thousand years to ages boundless and without end? Not so much as one drop to the boundless ocean.... Were it not well to be cut [by scourging] times out of number, to be slain, to be burned, to undergo ten thousand deaths, to endure everything whatsoever that is dreadful both in word and deed?"* Origen, for considering that the punishment of the wicked consisted in separation from God, was condemned as heretical by the Council of Carthage, A.D. 398, and afterwards by other Councils. St. Augustine (_City of God_, bk, xxi. chap. 17) censures Origen for his merciful view, and says "the Church, not without reason, condemned him for this and other errors." In the same book (chap. 23) this great father declares that everlasting is used by Jesus (Matt. xxv. 41) as meaning "for ever" and nothing else than "endless duration." He argues, with ingenious varieties of reasoning, to show how the material bodies of the damned may withstand annihilation in everlasting fire. He held that hell was in the centre of the earth, and that God supplied the central fire with earth by a miracle. Jerome and the other orthodox Fathers no less held to a material hell. In the middle ages Christian literature was mainly composed of the legendary visions of saints, in which views across the gulf had a large share. The Devil was represented bound by red-hot chains, on a burning gridiron in the centre of hell. The screams of his never-ending agony made its rafters to resound; but his hands were free, and with these he seized the lost souls, crushed them like grapes against his teeth, and then drew them by his breath down the fiery cavern of his throat. Demons with hooks of red-hot iron plunged souls alternately into fire and sea. Some of the lost were hung up by their tongues, others were sawn asunder, others gnawed by serpents, others beaten together on an anvil and welded into a single mass, others boiled and then strained through a cloth, others twined in the embrace of demons whose limbs were of flame.** * Library of the Fathers, pp. 15-16. * Lecky, History of European Morals, vol. ii., p. 222. Is it strange that the ages when Christian barbarism overcame Pagan civilisation were known as the Dark Ages? "George Eliot" well says that "where the tremendous alternative of everlasting torments is believed in--believed in so that it becomes a motive determining the life--not only persecution, but every other form of severity and gloom are the legitimate consequences." Grandly horrible is the reflection in Dante's _Inferno_ of the doctrine of hell, held in the palmiest days of Christianity. The gloom of that poem is relieved by a few touches of compunction at the doom of noble heathen and of tenderness for those who sinned through love; proving the poet superior to his creed. Yet consider the punishment of heretics, buried in burning sepulchres while from their furnace tombs rise endless wails. Think of the terrible inscription, _Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch'entrate_. Remember that Dante placed in this hell his political opponents, and how he depicts himself as striking the faces and pulling the hair of the tormented; then answer, is not this great poem a lasting monument of Christian barbarity? St. Thomas Aquinas, the angelic doctor, treats of the punishment of hell under the title _Poena Damnatorum_,* and teaches (1) that the damned will suffer other punishments besides that of fire; (2) that the "undying worm" is remorse of conscience; (3) that the darkness of hell is physical darkness, only so much light being admitted as will allow the lost to see and apprehend the punishments of the place; (4) that as both body and soul are punished, the fire of hell will be a material fire, of the same nature as ordinary fire but with different properties; and the place of punishment, though not certainly known, is probably under the earth. Hagenbach, in his _History of Doctrines_, 209, note cliv., says of the blessed, "They witness the suffering of the damned without being seen by the latter," and refers to Peter Lombard and Thomas Aquinas. Even the mystic Suso expressed himself as follows:-- 'Give us a millstone,' say the damned, 'as large as the whole earth, and so wide in circumference as to touch the sky all around and let a little bird come once in a hundred thousand years and pick off a small particle of the stone, not larger than the tenth part of a grain of millet, and after another hundred thousand years let him come again, so that in ten hundred thousand years he would pick off as much as a grain of millet, we wretched sinners would desire nothing but that the stone might have an end, and thus our pains also; yet even that cannot be.'** * Summæ Suppl. qu 97. ** Quoted in Hagenbach's History of Doctrines, 210, vol. ii., p. 152 The work of Father Pinamonti, entitled _Hell Opened to Christians_, has been for over two hundred years one of the most popular among Catholic Christians. It has also circulated among Protestants. An English version, with horrible pictures of the torments of the damned, has gone through many editions. We recommend its purchase to those who complain of the illustrations in the _Freethinker_, or who desire to see how savage the Christian religion is at bottom. The Christian Father of course accepts the literal meaning of hell fire. He says (p. 28): "Every one that is damned will be like a lighted furnace, which has its own flames in itself; all the filthy blood will boil in the veins, the brains in the skull, the heart in the breast, the bowels within the unfortunate body, surrounded with an abyss of' fire out of which it cannot escape." _The Sight of Hell_, by the Rev. J. Fumiss, C.S.S.R., is another popular work issued "permissu superiorum" among "Books for Children and Young Persons." A more atrocious composition it is difficult to conceive. The agony is piled on as though the imagination of the writer revelled in the description of torture. One specimen, a mild one, will suffice:-- Perhaps at this moment, seven o'clock in the evening, a child is just going into Hell. To-morrow evening at seven o'clock, go and knock at the gates of Hell and ask what the child is doing. The devils will go and look. Then they will come back again and say, _the child is burning!_ Go in a week and ask what the child is doing; you will get the same answer--_it is burning!_ Go in a year and ask, the same answer comes--_it is burning!_ Go in a million of years and ask the same question; the answer is just the same--_it is burning!_ So if you go for ever and ever, you will always get the same answer--_it is burning in the fire!_ I declare I would rather put into the hands of any young child Boccaccio's _Decameron_, or any of the works put on the Roman _Index Librorum Prohibitorum_, with which I am acquainted, than this pious work by a Christian Father. Protestantism did nothing to lighten the realm of outer darkness. Rather, by its repudiation of the priest-serving doctrine of purgatory, it rendered more glaring the contrast between the condition of the saved and that of the non-elect. Calvin asks: "How is it that the fall of Adam involves so many nations, _with their infant children_, to eternal death without remedy, unless that it so seemed meet to God?" The same holy Christian says of the damned: "For ever harassed with a dreadful tempest, they shall feel themselves torn asunder by an angry God, and transfixed and penetrated by mortal stings, terrified by the thunderbolts of God, and broken by the weight of his hand, so that to sink into any gulf would be more tolerable than to stand for a moment in these terrors." According to the _Westminster Confession_, ch. xxxiii.: "The wicked who know not God and obey not the gospel of Jesus Christ, shall be cast into eternal torments." And the _Larger Catechism_, A. 29, declares: "The punishments of sin in the world to come are everlasting separation from the comfortable presence of God, and most grievous torments in soul and body, without intermission, in hell fire forever." "They that have done good shall go into life everlasting; and they that have done evil into everlasting _fire_," is the doctrine of the _Book of Common Prayer_. Bishop Jeremy Taylor, the prose poet of the Church of England, says in his discourse on the Pains of Hell*: "We are amazed at the inhumanity of Phalaris, who roasted men in his brazen bull: this was joy in respect of that fire of hell which penetrates the very entrails without consuming them." "Husbands shall see their wives, parents shall see their children, tormented before their eyes." Picture it, think of it, Christian, and then give praises to your demon God. The good, really good, bishop tells us the bodies of the damned shall be crowded together in hell like grapes in a wine press, which press one another till they burst. "Every distinct sense and organ shall be assailed with its own appropriate and most exquisite sufferings." Surely the creed is accursed which led so worthy a man as Taylor to paint with unction this description of the Pains of Hell. * Contemplation of the State of Man, ch. 68. Our own Milton, liberal in theology though he was, adheres to the Biblical idea of Regions of Sorrow! doleful Shades! where Peace And Rest can never dwell; Hope never comes, That comes to all: but Torture without End Still urges, and a fiery Deluge fed With ever-burning sulphur unconsum'd. Bishop Hall says: "What, oh, what is it to conceive of lying in a _fire more intense than nature can kindle_, for hundreds, thousands, millions, yea millions of millions of years, which, after all, are only a minute of time compared with eternity." Dr. Barrow asserts that "our bodies will be afflicted continually by a sulphurous flame piercing the inmost smews." Wesley says: Eternity and deep despair On every flame is written there. Again he says: "From the moment wherein they are plunged into the lake of fire, _burning with brimstone_, their torments are not only without intermission, but likewise without end." The sight of the torments of the damned in hell will increase the ecstacy of the saints in heaven. This is the doctrine of St. John, and it has been repeated by orthodox Christian preachers times without number. And though orthodox Christian preachers dare not preach it now, it is the legitimate outcome of their belief. In heaven the angels see all, and must therefore witness the torments of the damned; and these do not diminish their happiness, though the damned be their own parents or their own children. Jonathan Edwards, one of the most consistent Christians that ever breathed, devoted a work to the subject. The Thirteenth Sermon of his _Works_ is entitled "The End of the Wicked contemplated by the Righteous," and is particularly devoted to the illustration of the doctrine that "the sight of hell torments will exalt the happiness of the saints forever." "It will," he continues, "not only make them more sensible of the greatness and freeness of the grace of God in their happiness, but it really makes their happiness the greater, as it will make them more _sensible_ of their own happiness. It will give them a more lively relish of it; it will make them prize it more. When they see others who were of the same nature, and born under the same circumstances, plunged in such misery, and they so distinguished, it will make them the more sensible how happy they are."* In his direful poem on the Last Day, the once popular Dr. Young makes one of God's victims vainly ask: This one, this slender, almost no request: When I have wept a thousand lives away, When torment is grown weary of its prey, When I have ran of anguish'd years in fire Ten thousand thousands, let me then expire. The pious Dr. Samuel Hopkins thus displays the Divine character and illustrates the loving kindness of the blessed Scripture promises: "The smoke of their torment shall ascend up in the sight of the blessed for ever and ever, and serve, as a most clear glass before their eyes, to give them a bright and most effective view. This display of the Divine character will be most entertaining to all who love God, will give them the highest and most ineffable pleasure. Should the fire of this eternal punishment cease, it would in a great measure obscure the light of heaven and put an end to a great part of the happiness and glory of the blessed." Contrast with this holy utterance of the pious Christian, the burning words of the Atheist poet, James Thomson: If any human soul at all Must die the second death, must fall Into that gulph of quenchless flame Which keeps its victims still the same, Unpurified as unconsumed, To everlasting torments doomed; Then I give God my scorn and hate, And turning back from Heaven's gate (Suppose me got there!) bow, Adieu! Almighty Devil, damn me too.** Baxter, in his _Saint's Everlasting Best_, declares: "The principal author of hell torments is God himself. As it was no less than God whom the sinner had offended, so it is no less than God who will punish them for their offences. He has prepared those torments for his enemies.... The everlasting flames of hell will not be thought too hot for the rebellious; and when they have burnt there for millions of ages, he will not repent him of the evil which is befallen them." * The Eternity of Hell Torments, p. 25 (London. 1789). ** Vane's Story. Was not Shelley right when he described the Christian God:-- A vengeful, pitiless and almighty fiend, Whose mercy is a nick-name for the rage Of tameless tigers hungering for blood. It would be easy to multiply citations. Spurgeon, among living divines, has preached hell as hot as anybody. But the doctrine is decaying together with real faith in Christianity. Walter Savage Landor well says: "The priesthood in all religions sings the same anthem. First, the abuses are stoutly defended, but when the ground is no longer tenable, then these abuses are to be distinguished and separated from the true faith." But what are we to think of the sudden conversion of a church that has taught falsity so long? If it did not know the truth on this important point, how can it be credited with knowing it upon any other matter? The rejection of hell cuts the ground from under the gospel. Salvation supposes a prior damnation. If there is no hell no Savior is needed. Christianity is all of a piece, and, its main prop gone it must fall like a house of cards. 
45315	----	THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL BY WILLIAM BLAKE [Illustration] BOSTON JOHN W. LUCE AND COMPANY 1906 THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL THE ARGUMENT Rintrah roars and shakes his fires in the burden'd air, Hungry clouds swag on the deep. Once meek, and in a perilous path The just man kept his course along The Vale of Death. Roses are planted where thorns grow, And on the barren heath Sing the honey bees. Then the perilous path was planted, And a river and a spring On every cliff and tomb; And on the bleached bones Red clay brought forth: Till the villain left the paths of ease To walk in perilous paths, and drive The just man into barren climes. Now the sneaking serpent walks In mild humility; And the just man rages in the wilds Where lions roam. Rintrah roars and shakes his fires in the burden'd air, Hungry clouds swag on the deep. As a new heaven is begun, and it is now thirty-three years since its advent, the Eternal Hell revives. And lo! Swedenborg is the angel sitting at the tomb: his writings are the linen clothes folded up. Now is the dominion of Edom, and the return of Adam into Paradise.--See Isaiah xxxiv. and xxxv. chap. Without contraries is no progression. Attraction and repulsion, reason and energy, love and hate, are necessary to human existence. From these contraries spring what the religious call Good and Evil. Good is the passive that obeys reason; Evil is the active springing from Energy. Good is heaven. Evil is hell. THE VOICE OF THE DEVIL All Bibles or sacred codes have been the cause of the following errors:-- 1. That man has two real existing principles, viz., a Body and a Soul. 2. That Energy, called Evil, is alone from the Body; and that Reason, called Good, is alone from the Soul. 3. That God will torment man in Eternity for following his Energies. But the following contraries to these are true:-- 1. Man has no Body distinct from his Soul. For that called Body is a portion of Soul discerned by the five senses, the chief inlets of Soul in this age. 2. Energy is the only life, and is from the Body; and Reason is the bound or outward circumference of Energy. 3. Energy is Eternal Delight. Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained; and the restrainer or reason usurps its place and governs the unwilling. And being restrained, it by degrees becomes passive, till it is only the shadow of desire. The history of this is written in Paradise Lost, and the Governor or Reason is called Messiah. And the original Archangel or possessor of the command of the heavenly host is called the Devil, or Satan, and his children are called Sin and Death. But in the book of Job, Milton's Messiah is called Satan. For this history has been adopted by both parties. It indeed appeared to Reason as if desire was cast out, but the Devil's account is, that the Messiah fell, and formed a heaven of what he stole from the abyss. This is shown in the Gospel, where he prays to the Father to send the Comforter or desire that Reason may have ideas to build on, the Jehovah of the Bible being no other than he who dwells in flaming fire. Know that after Christ's death he became Jehovah. But in Milton, the Father is Destiny, the Son a ratio of the five senses, and the Holy Ghost vacuum! _Note._--The reason Milton wrote in fetters when he wrote of Angels and God, and at liberty when of Devils and Hell, is because he was a true poet, and of the Devil's party without knowing it. A MEMORABLE FANCY As I was walking among the fires of Hell, delighted with the enjoyments of Genius, which to Angels look like torment and insanity, I collected some of their proverbs, thinking that as the sayings used in a nation mark its character, so the proverbs of Hell show the nature of infernal wisdom better than any description of buildings or garments. When I came home, on the abyss of the five senses, where a flat-sided steep frowns over the present world, I saw a mighty Devil folded in black clouds hovering on the sides of the rock; with corroding fires he wrote the following sentence now perceived by the minds of men, and read by them on earth:-- "How do you know but every bird that cuts the airy way Is an immense world of delight, closed by your senses five?" PROVERBS OF HELL In seed-time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy. Drive your cart and your plough over the bones of the dead. The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by Incapacity. He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence. The cut worm forgives the plough. Dip him in the river who loves water. A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees. He whose face gives no light shall never become a star. Eternity is in love with the productions of time. The busy bee has no time for sorrow. The hours of folly are measured by the clock, but of wisdom no clock can measure. All wholesome food is caught without a net or a trap. Bring out number, weight, and measure in a year of dearth. No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings. A dead body revenges not injuries. The most sublime act is to set another before you. If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise. Folly is the cloak of knavery. Shame is Pride's cloak. Prisons are built with stones of law, brothels with bricks of religion. The pride of the peacock is the glory of God. The lust of the goat is the bounty of God. The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God. The nakedness of woman is the work of God. Excess of sorrow laughs, excess of joy weeps. The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of Eternity too great for the eye of man. The fox condemns the trap, not himself. Joys impregnate, sorrows bring forth. Let man wear the fell of the lion, woman the fleece of the sheep. The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship. The selfish smiling fool and the sullen frowning fool shall be both thought wise that they may be a rod. What is now proved was once only imagined. The rat, the mouse, the fox, the rabbit watch the roots; the lion, the tiger, the horse, the elephant watch the fruits. The cistern contains, the fountain overflows. One thought fills immensity. Always be ready to speak your mind, and a base man will avoid you. Everything possible to be believed is an image of truth. The eagle never lost so much time as when he submitted to learn of the crow. The fox provides for himself, but God provides for the lion. Think in the morning, act in the noon, eat in the evening, sleep in the night. He who has suffered you to impose on him knows you. As the plough follows words, so God rewards prayers. The tigers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction. Expect poison from the standing water. You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough. Listen to the fool's reproach; it is a kingly title. The eyes of fire, the nostrils of air, the mouth of water, the beard of earth. The weak in courage is strong in cunning. The apple tree never asks the beech how he shall grow, nor the lion the horse how he shall take his prey. The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest. If others had not been foolish we should have been so. The soul of sweet delight can never be defiled. When thou seest an eagle, thou seest a portion of Genius. Lift up thy head! As the caterpillar chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on, so the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys. To create a little flower is the labour of ages. Damn braces; bless relaxes. The best wine is the oldest, the best water the newest. Prayers plough not; praises reap not; joys laugh not; sorrows weep not. The head Sublime, the heart Pathos, the genitals Beauty, the hands and feet Proportion. As the air to a bird, or the sea to a fish, so is contempt to the contemptible. The crow wished everything was black; the owl that everything was white. Exuberance is Beauty. If the lion was advised by the fox, he would be cunning. Improvement makes straight roads, but the crooked roads without Improvement are roads of Genius. Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires. Where man is not, nature is barren. Truth can never be told so as to be understood and not to be believed. Enough! or Too much. * * * * * The ancient poets animated all sensible objects with Gods or Geniuses, calling them by the names and adorning them with properties of woods, rivers, mountains, lakes, cities, nations, and whatever their enlarged and numerous senses could perceive. And particularly they studied the Genius of each city and country, placing it under its mental deity. Till a system was formed, which some took advantage of and enslaved the vulgar by attempting to realize or abstract the mental deities from their objects. Thus began Priesthood. Choosing forms of worship from poetic tales. And at length they pronounced that the Gods had ordered such things. Thus men forgot that all deities reside in the human breast. A MEMORABLE FANCY The Prophets Isaiah and Ezekiel dined with me, and I asked them how they dared so roundly to assert that God spoke to them, and whether they did not think at the time that they would be misunderstood, and so be the cause of imposition. Isaiah answered: "I saw no God, nor heard any, in a finite organical perception: but my senses discovered the infinite in everything; and as I was then persuaded, and remained confirmed, that the voice of honest indignation is the voice of God, I cared not for consequences, but wrote." Then I asked: "Does a firm persuasion that a thing is so, make it so?" He replied: "All poets believe that it does, and in ages of imagination this firm persuasion removed mountains; but many are not capable of a firm persuasion of anything." Then Ezekiel said: "The philosophy of the East taught the first principles of human perception; some nations held one principle for the origin, and some another. We of Israel taught that the Poetic Genius (as you now call it) was the first principle, and all the others merely derivative, which was the cause of our despising the Priests and Philosophers of other countries, and prophesying that all Gods would at last be proved to originate in ours, and to be the tributaries of the Poetic Genius. It was this that our great poet King David desired so fervently, and invokes so pathetically, saying by this he conquers enemies and governs kingdoms; and we so loved our God that we cursed in His name all the deities of surrounding nations, and asserted that they had rebelled. From these opinions the vulgar came to think that all nations would at last be subject to the Jews. "This," said he, "like all firm persuasions, is come to pass, for all nations believe the Jews' code, and worship the Jews' God; and what greater subjection can be?" I heard this with some wonder, and must confess my own conviction. After dinner I asked Isaiah to favour the world with his lost works; he said none of equal value was lost. Ezekiel said the same of his. I also asked Isaiah what made him go naked and barefoot three years. He answered: "The same that made our friend Diogenes the Grecian." I then asked Ezekiel why he ate dung, and lay so long on his right and left side. He answered: "The desire of raising other men into a perception of the infinite. This the North American tribes practise. And is he honest who resists his genius or conscience, only for the sake of present ease or gratification?" * * * * * The ancient tradition that the world will be consumed in fire at the end of six thousand years is true, as I have heard from Hell. For the cherub with his flaming sword is hereby commanded to leave his guard at [the] tree of life, and when he does, the whole creation will be consumed and appear infinite and holy, whereas it now appears finite and corrupt. This will come to pass by an improvement of sensual enjoyment. But first the notion that man has a body distinct from his soul is to be expunged; this I shall do by printing in the infernal method by corrosives, which in Hell are salutary and medicinal, melting apparent surfaces away, and displaying the infinite which was hid. If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things through narrow chinks of his cavern. A MEMORABLE FANCY I was in a printing-house in Hell, and saw the method in which knowledge is transmitted from generation to generation. In the first chamber was a dragon-man, clearing away the rubbish from a cave's mouth; within, a number of dragons were hollowing the cave. In the second chamber was a viper folding round the rock and the cave, and others adorning it with gold, silver, and precious stones. In the third chamber was an eagle with wings and feathers of air; he caused the inside of the cave to be infinite; around were numbers of eagle-like men, who built palaces in the immense cliffs. In the fourth chamber were lions of flaming fire raging around and melting the metals into living fluids. In the fifth chamber were unnamed forms, which cast the metals into the expanse. There they were received by men who occupied the sixth chamber, and took the forms of books, and were arranged in libraries. * * * * * The Giants who formed this world into its sensual existence and now seem to live in it in chains are in truth the causes of its life and the sources of all activity, but the chains are the cunning of weak and tame minds, which have power to resist energy, according to the proverb, "The weak in courage is strong in cunning." Thus one portion of being is the Prolific, the other the Devouring. To the devourer it seems as if the producer was in his chains; but it is not so, he only takes portions of existence, and fancies that the whole. But the Prolific would cease to be prolific unless the Devourer as a sea received the excess of his delights. Some will say, "Is not God alone the Prolific?" I answer: "God only acts and is in existing beings or men." These two classes of men are always upon earth, and they should be enemies: whoever tries to reconcile them seeks to destroy existence. Religion is an endeavour to reconcile the two. _Note._--Jesus Christ did not wish to unite but to separate them, as in the parable of sheep and goats; and He says: "I came not to send peace, but a sword." Messiah, or Satan, or Tempter, was formerly thought to be one of the antediluvians who are our Energies. A MEMORABLE FANCY An Angel came to me and said: "O pitiable foolish young man! O horrible, O dreadful state! Consider the hot burning dungeon thou art preparing for thyself to all Eternity, to which thou art going in such career." I said: "Perhaps you will be willing to show me my eternal lot, and we will contemplate together upon it, and see whether your lot or mine is most desirable." So he took me through a stable, and through a church, and down into the church vault, at the end of which was a mill; through the mill we went, and came to a cave; down the winding cavern we groped our tedious way, till a void boundless as a nether sky appeared beneath us, and we held by the roots of trees, and hung over this immensity; but I said: "If you please, we will commit ourselves to this void, and see whether Providence is here also; if you will not, I will." But he answered: "Do not presume, O young man; but as we here remain, behold thy lot, which will soon appear when the darkness passes away." So I remained with him sitting in the twisted root of an oak; he was suspended in a fungus, which hung with the head downward into the deep. By degrees we beheld the infinite abyss, fiery as the smoke of a burning city; beneath us at an immense distance was the sun, black but shining; round it were fiery tracks on which revolved vast spiders, crawling after their prey, which flew, or rather swum, in the infinite deep, in the most terrific shapes of animals sprung from corruption; and the air was full of them, and seemed composed of them. These are Devils, and are called powers of the air. I now asked my companion which was my eternal lot. He said: "Between the black and white spiders." But now, from between the black and white spiders, a cloud and fire burst and rolled through the deep, blackening all beneath so that the nether deep grew black as a sea, and rolled with a terrible noise. Beneath us was nothing now to be seen but a black tempest, till looking East between the clouds and the waves, we saw a cataract of blood mixed with fire, and not many stones' throw from us appeared and sunk again the scaly fold of a monstrous serpent. At last to the East, distant about three degrees, appeared a fiery crest above the waves; slowly it reared like a ridge of golden rocks, till we discovered two globes of crimson fire, from which the sea fled away in clouds of smoke; and now we saw it was the head of Leviathan. His forehead was divided into streaks of green and purple, like those on a tiger's forehead; soon we saw his mouth and red gills hang just above the raging foam, tinging the black deeps with beams of blood, advancing toward us with all the fury of a spiritual existence. My friend the Angel climbed up from his station into the mill. I remained alone, and then this appearance was no more; but I found myself sitting on a pleasant bank beside a river by moonlight, hearing a harper who sung to the harp; and his theme was: "The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind." But I arose, and sought for the mill, and there I found my Angel, who, surprised, asked me how I escaped. I answered: "All that we saw was owing to your metaphysics; for when you ran away, I found myself on a bank by moonlight, hearing a harper. But now we have seen my eternal lot, shall I show you yours?" He laughed at my proposal; but I by force suddenly caught him in my arms, and flew Westerly through the night, till we were elevated above the earth's shadow; then I flung myself with him directly into the body of the sun; here I clothed myself in white, and taking in my hand Swedenborg's volumes, sunk from the glorious clime, and passed all the planets till we came to Saturn. Here I stayed to rest, and then leaped into the void between Saturn and the fixed stars. "Here," said I, "is your lot; in this space, if space it may be called." Soon we saw the stable and the church, and I took him to the altar and opened the Bible, and lo! it was a deep pit, into which I descended, driving the Angel before me. Soon we saw seven houses of brick. One we entered. In it were a number of monkeys, baboons, and all of that species, chained by the middle, grinning and snatching at one another, but withheld by the shortness of their chains. However, I saw that they sometimes grew numerous, and then the weak were caught by the strong, and with a grinning aspect, first coupled with and then devoured by plucking off first one limb and then another till the body was left a helpless trunk; this, after grinning and kissing it with seeming fondness, they devoured too. And here and there I saw one savourily picking the flesh off his own tail. As the stench terribly annoyed us both, we went into the mill; and I in my hand brought the skeleton of a body, which in the mill was Aristotle's Analytics. So the Angel said: "Thy phantasy has imposed upon me, and thou oughtest to be ashamed." I answered: "We impose on one another, and it is but lost time to converse with you whose works are only Analytics." * * * * * "I have always found that Angels have the vanity to speak of themselves as the only wise; this they do with a confident insolence sprouting from systematic reasoning. "Thus Swedenborg boasts that what he writes is new; though it is only the contents or index of already published books. "A man carried a monkey about for a show, and because he was a little wiser than the monkey, grew vain, and conceived himself as much wiser than seven men. It is so with Swedenborg; he shows the folly of churches, and exposes hypocrites, till he imagines that all are religious, and himself the single one on earth that ever broke a net. "Now hear a plain fact: Swedenborg has not written one new truth. Now hear another: he has written all the old falsehoods. "And now hear the reason: he conversed with Angels who are all religious, and conversed not with Devils who all hate religion, for he was incapable through his conceited notions. "Thus Swedenborg's writings are a recapitulation of all superficial opinions, and an analysis of the more sublime, but no further. "Have now another plain fact: any man of mechanical talents may from the writings of Paracelsus or Jacob Behmen produce ten thousand volumes of equal value with Swedenborg's, and from those of Dante or Shakespeare an infinite number. "But when he has done this, let him not say that he knows better than his master, for he only holds a candle in sunshine." A MEMORABLE FANCY Once I saw a Devil in a flame of fire, who arose before an Angel that sat on a cloud, and the Devil uttered these words: "The worship of God is, honouring His gifts in other men each according to his genius, and loving the greatest men best. Those who envy or calumniate great men hate God, for there is no other God." The Angel hearing this became almost blue, but mastering himself he grew yellow, and at last white-pink and smiling, and then replied: "Thou idolater, is not God One? and is not He visible in Jesus Christ? and has not Jesus Christ given His sanction to the law of ten commandments? and are not all other men fools, sinners, and nothings?" The Devil answered: "Bray a fool in a mortar with wheat, yet shall not his folly be beaten out of him. If Jesus Christ is the greatest man, you ought to love Him in the greatest degree. Now hear how He has given His sanction to the law of ten commandments. Did He not mock at the Sabbath, and so mock the Sabbath's God? murder those who were murdered because of Him? turn away the law from the woman taken in adultery, steal the labour of others to support Him? bear false witness when He omitted making a defence before Pilate? covet when He prayed for His disciples, and when He bid them shake off the dust of their feet against such as refused to lodge them? I tell you, no virtue can exist without breaking these ten commandments. Jesus was all virtue, and acted from impulse, not from rules." When he had so spoken, I beheld the Angel, who stretched out his arms embracing the flame of fire, and he was consumed, and arose as Elijah. _Note._--This Angel, who is now become a Devil, is my particular friend; we often read the Bible together in its infernal or diabolical sense, which the world shall have if they behave well. I have also the Bible of Hell, which the world shall have whether they will or no. One law for the lion and ox is Oppression. A SONG OF LIBERTY 1. The Eternal Female groan'd; it was heard over all the earth: 2. Albion's coast is sick silent; the American meadows faint. 3. Shadows of prophecy shiver along by the lakes and the rivers, and mutter across the ocean. France, rend down thy dungeon! 4. Golden Spain, burst the barriers of old Rome! 5. Cast thy keys, O Rome, into the deep--down falling, even to eternity down falling; 6. And weep! 7. In her trembling hands she took the new-born terror, howling. 8. On those infinite mountains of light now barr'd out by the Atlantic sea, the new-born fire stood before the starry king. 9. Flagg'd with grey-brow'd snows and thunderous visages, the jealous wings wav'd over the deep. 10. The speary hand burn'd aloft; unbuckled was the shield; forth went the hand of jealousy among the flaming hair, and hurl'd the new-born wonder through the starry night. 11. The fire, the fire is falling! 12. Look up! look up! O citizen of London, enlarge thy countenance! O Jew, leave counting gold; return to thy oil and wine! O African, black African! (Go, winged thought, widen his forehead.) 13. The fiery limbs, the flaming hair shot like the sinking sun into the Western sea. 14. Wak'd from his eternal sleep, the hoary element roaring fled away. 15. Down rush'd, beating his wings in vain, the jealous king, his grey-brow'd councillors, thunderous warriors, curl'd veterans, among helms and shields, and chariots, horses, elephants, banners, castles, slings, and rocks. 16. Falling, rushing, ruining; buried in the ruins, on Urthona's dens. 17. All night beneath the ruins; then their sullen flames, faded, emerge round the gloomy king. 18. With thunder and fire, leading his starry hosts through the waste wilderness, he promulgates his ten commandments, glancing his beamy eyelids over the deep in dark dismay. 19. Where the Son of Fire in his Eastern cloud, while the Morning plumes her golden breast, 20. Spurning the clouds written with curses, stamps the stony law to dust, loosing the eternal horses from the dens of night, crying: "Empire is no more! and now the lion and wolf shall cease." CHORUS Let the Priests of the Raven of Dawn, no longer in deadly black, with hoarse note curse the Sons of Joy. Nor his accepted brethren whom, tyrant, he calls free, lay the bound or build the roof. Nor pale religious lechery call that virginity that wishes, but acts not! For everything that lives is holy. 
8779	----	THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL OR THE INFERNO Part 1 Cantos 1 - 2 CANTO I IN the midway of this our mortal life, I found me in a gloomy wood, astray Gone from the path direct: and e'en to tell It were no easy task, how savage wild That forest, how robust and rough its growth, Which to remember only, my dismay Renews, in bitterness not far from death. Yet to discourse of what there good befell, All else will I relate discover'd there. How first I enter'd it I scarce can say, Such sleepy dullness in that instant weigh'd My senses down, when the true path I left, But when a mountain's foot I reach'd, where clos'd The valley, that had pierc'd my heart with dread, I look'd aloft, and saw his shoulders broad Already vested with that planet's beam, Who leads all wanderers safe through every way. Then was a little respite to the fear, That in my heart's recesses deep had lain, All of that night, so pitifully pass'd: And as a man, with difficult short breath, Forespent with toiling, 'scap'd from sea to shore, Turns to the perilous wide waste, and stands At gaze; e'en so my spirit, that yet fail'd Struggling with terror, turn'd to view the straits, That none hath pass'd and liv'd. My weary frame After short pause recomforted, again I journey'd on over that lonely steep, The hinder foot still firmer. Scarce the ascent Began, when, lo! a panther, nimble, light, And cover'd with a speckled skin, appear'd, Nor, when it saw me, vanish'd, rather strove To check my onward going; that ofttimes With purpose to retrace my steps I turn'd. The hour was morning's prime, and on his way Aloft the sun ascended with those stars, That with him rose, when Love divine first mov'd Those its fair works: so that with joyous hope All things conspir'd to fill me, the gay skin Of that swift animal, the matin dawn And the sweet season. Soon that joy was chas'd, And by new dread succeeded, when in view A lion came, 'gainst me, as it appear'd, With his head held aloft and hunger-mad, That e'en the air was fear-struck. A she-wolf Was at his heels, who in her leanness seem'd Full of all wants, and many a land hath made Disconsolate ere now. She with such fear O'erwhelmed me, at the sight of her appall'd, That of the height all hope I lost. As one, Who with his gain elated, sees the time When all unwares is gone, he inwardly Mourns with heart-griping anguish; such was I, Haunted by that fell beast, never at peace, Who coming o'er against me, by degrees Impell'd me where the sun in silence rests. While to the lower space with backward step I fell, my ken discern'd the form one of one, Whose voice seem'd faint through long disuse of speech. When him in that great desert I espied, "Have mercy on me!" cried I out aloud, "Spirit! or living man! what e'er thou be!" He answer'd: "Now not man, man once I was, And born of Lombard parents, Mantuana both By country, when the power of Julius yet Was scarcely firm. At Rome my life was past Beneath the mild Augustus, in the time Of fabled deities and false. A bard Was I, and made Anchises' upright son The subject of my song, who came from Troy, When the flames prey'd on Ilium's haughty towers. But thou, say wherefore to such perils past Return'st thou? wherefore not this pleasant mount Ascendest, cause and source of all delight?" "And art thou then that Virgil, that well-spring, From which such copious floods of eloquence Have issued?" I with front abash'd replied. "Glory and light of all the tuneful train! May it avail me that I long with zeal Have sought thy volume, and with love immense Have conn'd it o'er. My master thou and guide! Thou he from whom alone I have deriv'd That style, which for its beauty into fame Exalts me. See the beast, from whom I fled. O save me from her, thou illustrious sage!" "For every vein and pulse throughout my frame She hath made tremble." He, soon as he saw That I was weeping, answer'd, "Thou must needs Another way pursue, if thou wouldst 'scape From out that savage wilderness. This beast, At whom thou criest, her way will suffer none To pass, and no less hindrance makes than death: So bad and so accursed in her kind, That never sated is her ravenous will, Still after food more craving than before. To many an animal in wedlock vile She fastens, and shall yet to many more, Until that greyhound come, who shall destroy Her with sharp pain. He will not life support By earth nor its base metals, but by love, Wisdom, and virtue, and his land shall be The land 'twixt either Feltro. In his might Shall safety to Italia's plains arise, For whose fair realm, Camilla, virgin pure, Nisus, Euryalus, and Turnus fell. He with incessant chase through every town Shall worry, until he to hell at length 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 escape) to lead me, where thou saidst, That I Saint Peter's gate may view, and those Who as thou tell'st, are in such dismal plight." Onward he mov'd, I close his steps pursu'd. CANTO II NOW was the day departing, and the air, Imbrown'd with shadows, from their toils releas'd All animals on earth; and I alone Prepar'd myself the conflict to sustain, Both of sad pity, and that perilous road, Which my unerring memory shall retrace. O Muses! O high genius! now vouchsafe Your aid! O mind! that all I saw hast kept Safe in a written record, here thy worth And eminent endowments come to proof. I thus began: "Bard! thou who art my guide, Consider well, if virtue be in me Sufficient, ere to this high enterprise Thou trust me. Thou hast told that Silvius' sire, Yet cloth'd in corruptible flesh, among Th' immortal tribes had entrance, and was there Sensible present. Yet if heaven's great Lord, Almighty foe to ill, such favour shew'd, In contemplation of the high effect, Both what and who from him should issue forth, It seems in reason's judgment well deserv'd: Sith he of Rome, and of Rome's empire wide, In heaven's empyreal height was chosen sire: Both which, if truth be spoken, were ordain'd And 'stablish'd for the holy place, where sits Who to great Peter's sacred chair succeeds. He from this journey, in thy song renown'd, Learn'd things, that to his victory gave rise And to the papal robe. In after-times The chosen vessel also travel'd there, To bring us back assurance in that faith, Which is the entrance to salvation's way. But I, why should I there presume? or who Permits it? not, Aeneas I nor Paul. Myself I deem not worthy, and none else Will deem me. I, if on this voyage then I venture, fear it will in folly end. Thou, who art wise, better my meaning know'st, Than I can speak." As one, who unresolves What he hath late resolv'd, and with new thoughts Changes his purpose, from his first intent Remov'd; e'en such was I on that dun coast, Wasting in thought my enterprise, at first So eagerly embrac'd. "If right thy words I scan," replied that shade magnanimous, "Thy soul is by vile fear assail'd, which oft So overcasts a man, that he recoils From noblest resolution, like a beast At some false semblance in the twilight gloom. That from this terror thou mayst free thyself, I will instruct thee why I came, and what I heard in that same instant, when for thee Grief touch'd me first. I was among the tribe, Who rest suspended, when a dame, so blest And lovely, I besought her to command, Call'd me; her eyes were brighter than the star Of day; and she with gentle voice and soft Angelically tun'd her speech address'd: "O courteous shade of Mantua! thou whose fame Yet lives, and shall live long as nature lasts! A friend, not of my fortune but myself, On the wide desert in his road has met Hindrance so great, that he through fear has turn'd. Now much I dread lest he past help have stray'd, And I be ris'n too late for his relief, From what in heaven of him I heard. Speed now, And by thy eloquent persuasive tongue, And by all means for his deliverance meet, Assist him. So to me will comfort spring. I who now bid thee on this errand forth Am Beatrice; from a place I come (Note: Beatrice. I use this word, as it is pronounced in the Italian, as consisting of four syllables, of which the third is a long one.) Revisited with joy. Love brought me thence, Who prompts my speech. When in my Master's sight I stand, thy praise to him I oft will tell." She then was silent, and I thus began: "O Lady! by whose influence alone, Mankind excels whatever is contain'd Within that heaven which hath the smallest orb, So thy command delights me, that to obey, If it were done already, would seem late. No need hast thou farther to speak thy will; Yet tell the reason, why thou art not loth To leave that ample space, where to return Thou burnest, for this centre here beneath." She then: "Since thou so deeply wouldst inquire, I will instruct thee briefly, why no dread Hinders my entrance here. Those things alone Are to be fear'd, whence evil may proceed, None else, for none are terrible beside. I am so fram'd by God, thanks to his grace! That any suff'rance of your misery Touches me not, nor flame of that fierce fire Assails me. In high heaven a blessed dame Besides, who mourns with such effectual grief That hindrance, which I send thee to remove, That God's stern judgment to her will inclines." To Lucia calling, her she thus bespake: "Now doth thy faithful servant need thy aid And I commend him to thee." At her word Sped Lucia, of all cruelty the foe, And coming to the place, where I abode Seated with Rachel, her of ancient days, She thus address'd me: "Thou true praise of God! Beatrice! why is not thy succour lent To him, who so much lov'd thee, as to leave For thy sake all the multitude admires? Dost thou not hear how pitiful his wail, Nor mark the death, which in the torrent flood, Swoln mightier than a sea, him struggling holds?" "Ne'er among men did any with such speed Haste to their profit, flee from their annoy, As when these words were spoken, I came here, Down from my blessed seat, trusting the force Of thy pure eloquence, which thee, and all Who well have mark'd it, into honour brings." "When she had ended, her bright beaming eyes Tearful she turn'd aside; whereat I felt Redoubled zeal to serve thee. As she will'd, Thus am I come: I sav'd thee from the beast, Who thy near way across the goodly mount Prevented. What is this comes o'er thee then? Why, why dost thou hang back? why in thy breast Harbour vile fear? why hast not courage there And noble daring? Since three maids so blest Thy safety plan, e'en in the court of heaven; And so much certain good my words forebode." As florets, by the frosty air of night Bent down and clos'd, when day has blanch'd their leaves, Rise all unfolded on their spiry stems; So was my fainting vigour new restor'd, And to my heart such kindly courage ran, That I as one undaunted soon replied: "O full of pity she, who undertook My succour! and thou kind who didst perform So soon her true behest! With such desire Thou hast dispos'd me to renew my voyage, That my first purpose fully is resum'd. Lead on: one only will is in us both. Thou art my guide, my master thou, and lord." So spake I; and when he had onward mov'd, I enter'd on the deep and woody way. 
8780	----	THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE OR THE INFERNO BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL Part 2 Cantos 3 - 4 CANTO III "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 mov'd: To rear me was the task of power divine, Supremest wisdom, and primeval love. Before me things create were none, save things Eternal, and eternal I endure. "All hope abandon ye who enter here." Such characters in colour dim I mark'd Over a portal's lofty arch inscrib'd: Whereat I thus: "Master, these words import Hard meaning." He as one prepar'd replied: "Here thou must all distrust behind thee leave; Here be vile fear extinguish'd. We are come Where I have told thee we shall see the souls To misery doom'd, who intellectual good Have lost." And when his hand he had stretch'd forth To 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 pierc'd 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 for ever whirls Round through that air with solid darkness stain'd, Like to the sand that in the whirlwind flies. I then, with error yet encompass'd, cried: "O master! What is this I hear? What race Are these, who seem so overcome with woe?" He thus to me: "This miserable fate Suffer the wretched souls of those, who liv'd Without or praise or blame, with that ill band Of angels mix'd, who nor rebellious prov'd Nor yet were true to God, but for themselves Were only. From his bounds Heaven drove them forth, Not to impair his lustre, nor the depth Of Hell receives them, lest th' accursed tribe Should 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 death No hope may entertain: and their blind life So meanly passes, that all other lots They 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 came Such a long train of spirits, I should ne'er Have thought, that death so many had despoil'd. When some of these I recogniz'd, I saw And knew the shade of him, who to base fear Yielding, abjur'd his high estate. Forthwith I understood for certain this the tribe Of those ill spirits both to God displeasing And to his foes. These wretches, who ne'er lived, Went on in nakedness, and sorely stung By wasps and hornets, which bedew'd their cheeks With blood, that mix'd with tears dropp'd to their feet, And by disgustful worms was gather'd there. Then looking farther onwards I beheld A throng upon the shore of a great stream: Whereat I thus: "Sir! grant me now to know Whom here we view, and whence impell'd they seem So eager to pass o'er, as I discern Through the blear light?" He thus to me in few: "This shalt thou know, soon as our steps arrive Beside the woeful 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 speech Abstain'd. And lo! toward us in a bark Comes on an old man hoary white with eld, Crying, "Woe to you wicked spirits! hope not Ever to see the sky again. I come To take you to the other shore across, Into eternal darkness, there to dwell In fierce heat and in ice. And thou, who there Standest, live spirit! get thee hence, and leave These who are dead." But soon as he beheld I left them not, "By other way," said he, "By other haven shalt thou come to shore, Not by this passage; thee a nimbler boat Must carry." Then to him thus spake my guide: "Charon! thyself torment not: so 't is will'd, Where will and power are one: ask thou no more." Straightway in silence fell the shaggy cheeks Of him the boatman o'er the livid lake, Around whose eyes glar'd wheeling flames. Meanwhile Those spirits, faint and naked, color chang'd, And gnash'd their teeth, soon as the cruel words They heard. God and their parents they blasphem'd, The human kind, the place, the time, and seed That did engender them and give them birth. Then all together sorely wailing drew To the curs'd strand, that every man must pass Who fears not God. Charon, demoniac form, With eyes of burning coal, collects them all, Beck'ning, and each, that lingers, with his oar Strikes. As fall off the light autumnal leaves, One still another following, till the bough Strews all its honours on the earth beneath; E'en in like manner Adam's evil brood Cast themselves one by one down from the shore, Each at a beck, as falcon at his call. Thus go they over through the umber'd wave, And ever they on the opposing bank Be landed, on this side another throng Still gathers. "Son," thus spake the courteous guide, "Those, who die subject to the wrath of God, All here together come from every clime, And to o'erpass the river are not loth: For so heaven's justice goads them on, that fear Is turn'd into desire. Hence ne'er hath past Good spirit. If of thee Charon complain, Now mayst thou know the import of his words." This said, the gloomy region trembling shook So terribly, that yet with clammy dews Fear chills my brow. The sad earth gave a blast, That, lightening, shot forth a vermilion flame, Which all my senses conquer'd quite, and I Down dropp'd, as one with sudden slumber seiz'd. CANTO IV BROKE the deep slumber in my brain a crash Of heavy thunder, that I shook myself, As one by main force rous'd. Risen upright, My rested eyes I mov'd around, and search'd With fixed ken to know what place it was, Wherein I stood. For certain on the brink I found me of the lamentable vale, The dread abyss, that joins a thund'rous sound Of plaints innumerable. Dark and deep, And thick with clouds o'erspread, mine eye in vain Explor'd its bottom, nor could aught discern. "Now let us to the blind world there beneath Descend;" 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 below With pity stains my cheek, which thou for fear Mistakest. Let us on. Our length of way Urges to haste." Onward, this said, he mov'd; And ent'ring led me with him on the bounds Of the first circle, that surrounds th' abyss. Here, as mine ear could note, no plaint was heard Except of sighs, that made th' eternal air Tremble, not caus'd by tortures, but from grief Felt by those multitudes, many and vast, Of men, women, and infants. Then to me The gentle guide: "Inquir'st thou not what spirits Are these, which thou beholdest? Ere thou pass Farther, I would thou know, that these of sin Were blameless; and if aught they merited, It profits not, since baptism was not theirs, The portal to thy faith. If they before The Gospel liv'd, they serv'd 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 live Desiring without hope." So grief assail'd My heart at hearing this, for well I knew Suspended in that Limbo many a soul Of mighty worth. "O tell me, sire rever'd! Tell me, my master!" I began through wish Of full assurance in that holy faith, Which vanquishes all error; "say, did e'er Any, or through his own or other's merit, Come forth from thence, whom afterward was blest?" Piercing the secret purport of my speech, He answer'd: "I was new to that estate, When I beheld a puissant one arrive Amongst 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 approv'd, 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 bliss Exalted. Before these, be thou assur'd, No spirit of human kind was ever sav'd." We, while he spake, ceas'd not our onward road, Still passing through the wood; for so I name Those spirits thick beset. We were not far On this side from the summit, when I kenn'd A flame, that o'er the darken'd hemisphere Prevailing shin'd. Yet we a little space Were distant, not so far but I in part Discover'd, that a tribe in honour high That place possess'd. "O thou, who every art And science valu'st! who are these, that boast Such honour, separate from all the rest?" He answer'd: "The renown of their great names That echoes through your world above, acquires Favour in heaven, which holds them thus advanc'd." Meantime a voice I heard: "Honour the bard Sublime! his shade returns that left us late!" No sooner ceas'd the sound, than I beheld Four 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 school Of him the monarch of sublimest song, That o'er the others like an eagle soars. When they together short discourse had held, They turn'd to me, with salutation kind Beck'ning me; at the which my master smil'd: Nor was this all; but greater honour still They 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 well To speak, now fitter left untold. At foot Of a magnificent castle we arriv'd, Seven times with lofty walls begirt, and round Defended by a pleasant stream. O'er this As o'er dry land we pass'd. Next through seven gates I with those sages enter'd, and we came Into a mead with lively verdure fresh. There dwelt a race, who slow their eyes around Majestically mov'd, and in their port Bore eminent authority; they spake Seldom, but all their words were tuneful sweet. We to one side retir'd, into a place Open and bright and lofty, whence each one Stood manifest to view. Incontinent There on the green enamel of the plain Were shown me the great spirits, by whose sight I am exalted in my own esteem. Electra there I saw accompanied By many, among whom Hector I knew, Anchises' pious son, and with hawk's eye Caesar all arm'd, and by Camilla there Penthesilea. On the other side Old King Latinus, seated by his child Lavinia, and that Brutus I beheld, Who Tarquin chas'd, Lucretia, Cato's wife Marcia, with Julia and Cornelia there; And sole apart retir'd, the Soldan fierce. Then when a little more I rais'd my brow, I spied the master of the sapient throng, Seated amid the philosophic train. Him all admire, all pay him rev'rence due. There Socrates and Plato both I mark'd, Nearest to him in rank; Democritus, Who sets the world at chance, Diogenes, With Heraclitus, and Empedocles, And Anaxagoras, and Thales sage, Zeno, and Dioscorides well read In nature's secret lore. Orpheus I mark'd And Linus, Tully and moral Seneca, Euclid and Ptolemy, Hippocrates, Galenus, Avicen, and him who made That commentary vast, Averroes. Of all to speak at full were vain attempt; For my wide theme so urges, that ofttimes My words fall short of what bechanc'd. In two The six associates part. Another way My 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. 
8781	----	THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE OR THE INFERNO BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL Part 3 Cantos 5 - 6 CANTO V 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 Who enter, strict examining the crimes, Gives sentence, and dismisses them beneath, According as he foldeth him around: For when before him comes th' ill fated soul, It all confesses; and that judge severe 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 num'rous throng; and in his turn 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, "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 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 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, 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 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 Is none, nor e'en of milder pang. As cranes, Chanting their dol'rous 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 Are these, by the black air so scourg'd?"--"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 promulg'd decree, To clear the blame she had herself incurr'd. This is Semiramis, of whom 'tis writ, That she succeeded Ninus her espous'd; And held the land, which now the Soldan rules. The next in amorous fury slew herself, And to Sicheus' 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. Paris I saw, and Tristan; and beside A thousand more he show'd me, and by name Pointed them out, whom love bereav'd of life. When I had heard my sage instructor name Those dames and knights of antique days, o'erpower'd 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." "Then by that love which carries them along, Entreat; and they will come." Soon as the wind Sway'd them toward us, I thus fram'd my speech: "O wearied spirits! come, and hold discourse With us, if by none else restrain'd." As doves By fond desire invited, on wide wings And firm, to their sweet nest returning home, Cleave the air, wafted by their will along; Thus issu'd from that troop, where Dido ranks, They through the ill air speeding; with such force My cry prevail'd by strong affection urg'd. "O gracious creature and benign! who go'st Visiting, through this element obscure, Us, who the world with bloody stain imbru'd; If for a friend the King of all we own'd, Our pray'r to him should for thy peace arise, Since thou hast pity on our evil plight. ()f 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, As now, is mute. The land, 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 Ta'en in such cruel sort, as grieves me still: Love, that denial takes from none belov'd, Caught me with pleasing him so passing well, That, as thou see'st, he yet deserts me not. "Love brought us to one death: Caina waits 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 pond'ring?" I in answer thus: "Alas! by what sweet thoughts, what fond desire Must they at length to that ill pass have reach'd!" Then turning, I to them my speech address'd. And thus began: "Francesca! your sad fate Even to tears my grief and pity moves. But tell me; in the time of your sweet sighs, 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 mis'ry is at hand! That kens Thy learn'd instructor. Yet so eagerly 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, How him love thrall'd. Alone we were, and no Suspicion near us. Ofttimes 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, rapturously kiss'd 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, The other wail'd so sorely, that heartstruck I through compassion fainting, seem'd not far From death, and like a corpse fell to the ground. CANTO VI MY sense reviving, that erewhile had droop'd With pity for the kindred shades, whence grief O'ercame me wholly, straight around I see New torments, new tormented souls, which way Soe'er I move, or turn, or bend my sight. In the third circle I arrive, of show'rs Ceaseless, accursed, heavy, and cold, unchang'd For ever, both in kind and in degree. Large hail, discolour'd water, sleety flaw Through the dun midnight air stream'd down amain: Stank all the land whereon that tempest fell. Cerberus, cruel monster, fierce and strange, Through his wide threefold throat barks as a dog Over the multitude immers'd beneath. His eyes glare crimson, black his unctuous beard, His belly large, and claw'd the hands, with which He tears the spirits, flays them, and their limbs Piecemeal disparts. Howling there spread, as curs, Under the rainy deluge, with one side The other screening, oft they roll them round, A wretched, godless crew. When that great worm Descried us, savage Cerberus, he op'd His jaws, and the fangs show'd us; not a limb Of him but trembled. Then my guide, his palms Expanding on the ground, thence filled with earth Rais'd them, and cast it in his ravenous maw. E'en as a dog, that yelling bays for food His keeper, when the morsel comes, lets fall His fury, bent alone with eager haste To swallow it; so dropp'd the loathsome cheeks Of demon Cerberus, who thund'ring stuns The spirits, that they for deafness wish in vain. We, o'er the shades thrown prostrate by the brunt Of the heavy tempest passing, set our feet Upon their emptiness, that substance seem'd. They all along the earth extended lay Save one, that sudden rais'd himself to sit, Soon as that way he saw us pass. "O thou!" He cried, "who through the infernal shades art led, Own, if again thou know'st me. Thou wast fram'd Or ere my frame was broken." I replied: "The anguish thou endur'st perchance so takes Thy form from my remembrance, that it seems As if I saw thee never. But inform Me who thou art, that in a place so sad Art set, and in such torment, that although Other be greater, more disgustful none Can be imagin'd." He in answer thus: "Thy city heap'd with envy to the brim, Ay that the measure overflows its bounds, Held me in brighter days. Ye citizens Were wont to name me Ciacco. For the sin Of glutt'ny, damned vice, beneath this rain, E'en as thou see'st, I with fatigue am worn; Nor I sole spirit in this woe: all these Have by like crime incurr'd like punishment." No more he said, and I my speech resum'd: "Ciacco! thy dire affliction grieves me much, Even to tears. But tell me, if thou know'st, What shall at length befall the citizens Of the divided city; whether any just one Inhabit there: and tell me of the cause, Whence jarring discord hath assail'd it thus?" He then: "After long striving they will come To blood; and the wild party from the woods Will chase the other with much injury forth. Then it behoves, that this must fall, within Three solar circles; and the other rise By borrow'd force of one, who under shore Now rests. It shall a long space hold aloof Its forehead, keeping under heavy weight The other oppress'd, indignant at the load, And grieving sore. The just are two in number, But they neglected. Av'rice, envy, pride, Three fatal sparks, have set the hearts of all On fire." Here ceas'd the lamentable sound; And I continu'd thus: "Still would I learn More from thee, farther parley still entreat. Of Farinata and Tegghiaio say, They who so well deserv'd, of Giacopo, Arrigo, Mosca, and the rest, who bent Their minds on working good. Oh! tell me where They bide, and to their knowledge let me come. For I am press'd with keen desire to hear, If heaven's sweet cup or poisonous drug of hell Be to their lip assign'd." He answer'd straight: "These are yet blacker spirits. Various crimes Have sunk them deeper in the dark abyss. If thou so far descendest, thou mayst see them. But to the pleasant world when thou return'st, Of me make mention, I entreat thee, there. No more I tell thee, answer thee no more." This said, his fixed eyes he turn'd askance, A little ey'd me, then bent down his head, And 'midst his blind companions with it fell. When thus my guide: "No more his bed he leaves, Ere the last angel-trumpet blow. The Power Adverse to these shall then in glory come, Each one forthwith to his sad tomb repair, Resume his fleshly vesture and his form, And hear the eternal doom re-echoing rend The vault." So pass'd we through that mixture foul Of spirits and rain, with tardy steps; meanwhile Touching, though slightly, on the life to come. For thus I question'd: "Shall these tortures, Sir! When the great sentence passes, be increas'd, Or mitigated, or as now severe?" He then: "Consult thy knowledge; that decides That as each thing to more perfection grows, It feels more sensibly both good and pain. Though ne'er to true perfection may arrive This race accurs'd, yet nearer then than now They shall approach it." Compassing that path Circuitous we journeyed, and discourse Much more than I relate between us pass'd: Till at the point, where the steps led below, Arriv'd, there Plutus, the great foe, we found. 
8783	----	THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL OR THE INFERNO Part 5 Cantos 9 - 12 CANTO IX THE hue, which coward dread on my pale cheeks Imprinted, when I saw my guide turn back, Chas'd that from his which newly they had worn, And inwardly restrain'd it. He, as one Who listens, stood attentive: for his eye Not far could lead him through the sable air, And the thick-gath'ring cloud. "It yet behooves We win this fight"--thus he began--"if not-- Such aid to us is offer'd.--Oh, how long Me seems it, ere the promis'd help arrive!" I noted, how the sequel of his words Clok'd their beginning; for the last he spake Agreed not with the first. But not the less My fear was at his saying; sith I drew To import worse perchance, than that he held, His mutilated speech. "Doth ever any Into this rueful concave's extreme depth Descend, out of the first degree, whose pain Is deprivation merely of sweet hope?" Thus I inquiring. "Rarely," he replied, "It chances, that among us any makes This journey, which I wend. Erewhile 'tis true Once came I here beneath, conjur'd by fell Erictho, sorceress, who compell'd the shades Back to their bodies. No long space my flesh Was naked of me, when within these walls She made me enter, to draw forth a spirit From out of Judas' circle. Lowest place Is that of all, obscurest, and remov'd Farthest from heav'n's all-circling orb. The road Full well I know: thou therefore rest secure. That lake, the noisome stench exhaling, round The city' of grief encompasses, which now We may not enter without rage." Yet more He added: but I hold it not in mind, For that mine eye toward the lofty tower Had drawn me wholly, to its burning top. Where in an instant I beheld uprisen At once three hellish furies stain'd with blood: In limb and motion feminine they seem'd; Around them greenest hydras twisting roll'd Their volumes; adders and cerastes crept Instead of hair, and their fierce temples bound. He knowing well the miserable hags Who tend the queen of endless woe, thus spake: "Mark thou each dire Erinnys. To the left This is Megaera; on the right hand she, Who wails, Alecto; and Tisiphone I' th' midst." This said, in silence he remain'd Their breast they each one clawing tore; themselves Smote with their palms, and such shrill clamour rais'd, That to the bard I clung, suspicion-bound. "Hasten Medusa: so to adamant Him shall we change;" all looking down exclaim'd. "E'en when by Theseus' might assail'd, we took No ill revenge." "Turn thyself round, and keep Thy count'nance hid; for if the Gorgon dire Be shown, and thou shouldst view it, thy return Upwards would be for ever lost." This said, Himself my gentle master turn'd me round, Nor trusted he my hands, but with his own He also hid me. Ye of intellect Sound and entire, mark well the lore conceal'd Under close texture of the mystic strain! And now there came o'er the perturbed waves Loud-crashing, terrible, a sound that made Either shore tremble, as if of a wind Impetuous, from conflicting vapours sprung, That 'gainst some forest driving all its might, Plucks off the branches, beats them down and hurls Afar; then onward passing proudly sweeps Its whirlwind rage, while beasts and shepherds fly. Mine eyes he loos'd, and spake: "And now direct Thy visual nerve along that ancient foam, There, thickest where the smoke ascends." As frogs Before their foe the serpent, through the wave Ply swiftly all, till at the ground each one Lies on a heap; more than a thousand spirits Destroy'd, so saw I fleeing before one Who 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 alone By that annoyance wearied. I perceiv'd That he was sent from heav'n, and to my guide Turn'd me, who signal made that I should stand Quiet, and bend to him. Ah me! how full Of noble anger seem'd he! To the gate He came, and with his wand touch'd it, whereat Open without impediment it flew. "Outcasts of heav'n! O abject race and scorn'd!" Began he on the horrid grunsel standing, "Whence doth this wild excess of insolence Lodge in you? wherefore kick you 'gainst that will Ne'er frustrate of its end, and which so oft Hath laid on you enforcement of your pangs? What profits at the fays to but the horn? Your Cerberus, if ye remember, hence Bears 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 wore The semblance of a man by other care Beset, and keenly press'd, than thought of him Who in his presence stands. Then we our steps Toward that territory mov'd, secure After the hallow'd words. We unoppos'd There enter'd; and my mind eager to learn What 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, Or as at Pola, 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 here Excell'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 issu'd lamentable moans, Such as the sad and tortur'd well might raise. I thus: "Master! say who are these, interr'd Within these vaults, of whom distinct we hear The dolorous sighs?" He answer thus return'd: "The arch-heretics are here, accompanied By every sect their followers; and much more, Than thou believest, tombs are freighted: like With like is buried; and the monuments Are different in degrees of heat." This said, He to the right hand turning, on we pass'd Betwixt the afflicted and the ramparts high. CANTO X NOW by a secret pathway we proceed, Between the walls, that hem the region round, And the tormented souls: my master first, I close behind his steps. "Virtue supreme!" I thus began; "who through these ample orbs In circuit lead'st me, even as thou will'st, Speak thou, and satisfy my wish. May those, Who lie within these sepulchres, be seen? Already all the lids are rais'd, and none O'er them keeps watch." He thus in answer spake "They shall be closed all, what-time they here From Josaphat return'd shall come, and bring Their bodies, which above they now have left. The cemetery on this part obtain With Epicurus all his followers, Who with the body make the spirit die. Here therefore satisfaction shall be soon Both to the question ask'd, and to the wish, Which thou conceal'st in silence." I replied: "I keep not, guide belov'd! from thee my heart Secreted, but to shun vain length of words, A lesson erewhile taught me by thyself." "O Tuscan! thou who through the city of fire Alive art passing, so discreet of speech! Here please thee stay awhile. Thy utterance Declares the place of thy nativity To be that noble land, with which perchance I too severely dealt." Sudden that sound Forth issu'd from a vault, whereat in fear I somewhat closer to my leader's side Approaching, he thus spake: "What dost thou? Turn. Lo, Farinata, there! who hath himself Uplifted: from his girdle upwards all Expos'd behold him." On his face was mine Already fix'd; his breast and forehead there Erecting, seem'd as in high scorn he held E'en hell. Between the sepulchres to him My guide thrust me with fearless hands and prompt, This warning added: "See thy words be clear!" He, soon as there I stood at the tomb's foot, Ey'd me a space, then in disdainful mood Address'd me: "Say, what ancestors were thine?" I, willing to obey him, straight reveal'd The whole, nor kept back aught: whence he, his brow Somewhat uplifting, cried: "Fiercely were they Adverse to me, my party, and the blood From whence I sprang: twice therefore I abroad Scatter'd them." "Though driv'n out, yet they each time From all parts," answer'd I, "return'd; an art Which yours have shown, they are not skill'd to learn." Then, peering forth from the unclosed jaw, Rose from his side a shade, high as the chin, Leaning, methought, upon its knees uprais'd. It look'd around, as eager to explore If there were other with me; but perceiving That fond imagination quench'd, with tears Thus spake: "If thou through this blind prison go'st. Led by thy lofty genius and profound, Where is my son? and wherefore not with thee?" I straight replied: "Not of myself I come, By him, who there expects me, through this clime Conducted, whom perchance Guido thy son Had in contempt." Already had his words And mode of punishment read me his name, Whence I so fully answer'd. He at once Exclaim'd, up starting, "How! said'st thou he HAD? No longer lives he? Strikes not on his eye The blessed daylight?" Then of some delay I made ere my reply aware, down fell Supine, not after forth appear'd he more. Meanwhile the other, great of soul, near whom I yet was station'd, chang'd not count'nance stern, Nor mov'd the neck, nor bent his ribbed side. "And if," continuing the first discourse, "They in this art," he cried, "small skill have shown, That doth torment me more e'en than this bed. But not yet fifty times shall be relum'd Her aspect, who reigns here Queen of this realm, Ere thou shalt know the full weight of that art. So to the pleasant world mayst thou return, As thou shalt tell me, why in all their laws, Against my kin this people is so fell?" "The slaughter and great havoc," I replied, "That colour'd Arbia's flood with crimson stain-- To these impute, that in our hallow'd dome Such orisons ascend." Sighing he shook The head, then thus resum'd: "In that affray I stood not singly, nor without just cause Assuredly should with the rest have stirr'd; But singly there I stood, when by consent Of all, Florence had to the ground been raz'd, The one who openly forbad the deed." "So may thy lineage find at last repose," I thus adjur'd him, "as thou solve this knot, Which now involves my mind. If right I hear, Ye seem to view beforehand, that which time Leads with him, of the present uninform'd." "We view, as one who hath an evil sight," He answer'd, "plainly, objects far remote: So much of his large spendour yet imparts The' Almighty Ruler; but when they approach Or actually exist, our intellect Then wholly fails, nor of your human state Except what others bring us know we aught. Hence therefore mayst thou understand, that all Our knowledge in that instant shall expire, When on futurity the portals close." Then conscious of my fault, and by remorse Smitten, I added thus: "Now shalt thou say To him there fallen, that his offspring still Is to the living join'd; and bid him know, That if from answer silent I abstain'd, 'Twas that my thought was occupied intent Upon that error, which thy help hath solv'd." But now my master summoning me back I heard, and with more eager haste besought The spirit to inform me, who with him Partook his lot. He answer thus return'd: "More than a thousand with me here are laid Within is Frederick, second of that name, And the Lord Cardinal, and of the rest I speak not." He, this said, from sight withdrew. But I my steps towards the ancient bard Reverting, ruminated on the words Betokening me such ill. Onward he mov'd, And thus in going question'd: "Whence the' amaze That holds thy senses wrapt?" I satisfied The' inquiry, and the sage enjoin'd me straight: "Let thy safe memory store what thou hast heard To thee importing harm; and note thou this," With his rais'd finger bidding me take heed, "When thou shalt stand before her gracious beam, Whose bright eye all surveys, she of thy life The future tenour will to thee unfold." Forthwith he to the left hand turn'd his feet: We left the wall, and tow'rds the middle space Went by a path, that to a valley strikes; Which e'en thus high exhal'd its noisome steam. CANTO XI UPON the utmost verge of a high bank, By craggy rocks environ'd round, we came, Where woes beneath more cruel yet were stow'd: And here to shun the horrible excess Of fetid exhalation, upward cast From the profound abyss, behind the lid Of a great monument we stood retir'd, Whereon this scroll I mark'd: "I have in charge Pope Anastasius, whom Photinus drew From the right path.--Ere our descent behooves We make delay, that somewhat first the sense, To the dire breath accustom'd, afterward Regard it not." My master thus; to whom Answering I spake: "Some compensation find That the time past not wholly lost." He then: "Lo! how my thoughts e'en to thy wishes tend! My son! within these rocks," he thus began, "Are three close circles in gradation plac'd, As these which now thou leav'st. Each one is full Of spirits accurs'd; but that the sight alone Hereafter may suffice thee, listen how And for what cause in durance they abide. "Of all malicious act abhorr'd in heaven, The end is injury; and all such end Either by force or fraud works other's woe But fraud, because of man peculiar evil, To God is more displeasing; and beneath The fraudulent are therefore doom'd to' endure Severer pang. The violent occupy All the first circle; and because to force Three persons are obnoxious, in three rounds Hach within other sep'rate is it fram'd. To God, his neighbour, and himself, by man Force may be offer'd; to himself I say And his possessions, as thou soon shalt hear At full. Death, violent death, and painful wounds Upon his neighbour he inflicts; and wastes By devastation, pillage, and the flames, His substance. Slayers, and each one that smites In malice, plund'rers, and all robbers, hence The torment undergo of the first round In different herds. Man can do violence To himself and his own blessings: and for this He in the second round must aye deplore With unavailing penitence his crime, Whoe'er deprives himself of life and light, In reckless lavishment his talent wastes, And sorrows there where he should dwell in joy. To God may force be offer'd, in the heart Denying and blaspheming his high power, And nature with her kindly law contemning. And thence the inmost round marks with its seal Sodom and Cahors, and all such as speak Contemptuously' of the Godhead in their hearts. "Fraud, that in every conscience leaves a sting, May be by man employ'd on one, whose trust He wins, or on another who withholds Strict confidence. Seems as the latter way Broke but the bond of love which Nature makes. Whence in the second circle have their nest Dissimulation, witchcraft, flatteries, Theft, falsehood, simony, all who seduce To lust, or set their honesty at pawn, With such vile scum as these. The other way Forgets both Nature's general love, and that Which thereto added afterwards gives birth To special faith. Whence in the lesser circle, Point of the universe, dread seat of Dis, The traitor is eternally consum'd." I thus: "Instructor, clearly thy discourse Proceeds, distinguishing the hideous chasm And its inhabitants with skill exact. But tell me this: they of the dull, fat pool, Whom the rain beats, or whom the tempest drives, Or who with tongues so fierce conflicting meet, Wherefore within the city fire-illum'd Are not these punish'd, if God's wrath be on them? And if it be not, wherefore in such guise Are they condemned?" He answer thus return'd: "Wherefore in dotage wanders thus thy mind, Not so accustom'd? or what other thoughts Possess it? Dwell not in thy memory The words, wherein thy ethic page describes Three dispositions adverse to Heav'n's will, Incont'nence, malice, and mad brutishness, And how incontinence the least offends God, and least guilt incurs? If well thou note This judgment, and remember who they are, Without these walls to vain repentance doom'd, Thou shalt discern why they apart are plac'd From these fell spirits, and less wreakful pours Justice divine on them its vengeance down." "O Sun! who healest all imperfect sight, Thou so content'st me, when thou solv'st my doubt, That ignorance not less than knowledge charms. Yet somewhat turn thee back," I in these words Continu'd, "where thou saidst, that usury Offends celestial Goodness; and this knot Perplex'd unravel." He thus made reply: "Philosophy, to an attentive ear, Clearly points out, not in one part alone, How imitative nature takes her course From the celestial mind and from its art: And where her laws the Stagyrite unfolds, Not many leaves scann'd o'er, observing well Thou shalt discover, that your art on her Obsequious follows, as the learner treads In his instructor's step, so that your art Deserves the name of second in descent From God. These two, if thou recall to mind Creation's holy book, from the beginning Were the right source of life and excellence To human kind. But in another path The usurer walks; and Nature in herself And in her follower thus he sets at nought, Placing elsewhere his hope. But follow now My steps on forward journey bent; for now The Pisces play with undulating glance Along the' horizon, and the Wain lies all O'er the north-west; and onward there a space Is our steep passage down the rocky height." CANTO XII THE place where to descend the precipice We came, was rough as Alp, and on its verge Such object lay, as every eye would shun. As is that ruin, which Adice's stream On this side Trento struck, should'ring the wave, Or loos'd by earthquake or for lack of prop; For from the mountain's summit, whence it mov'd To the low level, so the headlong rock Is shiver'd, that some passage it might give To him who from above would pass; e'en such Into the chasm was that descent: and there At point of the disparted ridge lay stretch'd The infamy of Crete, detested brood Of the feign'd heifer: and at sight of us It gnaw'd itself, as one with rage distract. To him my guide exclaim'd: "Perchance thou deem'st The King of Athens here, who, in the world Above, thy death contriv'd. Monster! avaunt! He comes not tutor'd by thy sister's art, But to behold your torments is he come." Like to a bull, that with impetuous spring Darts, at the moment when the fatal blow Hath struck him, but unable to proceed Plunges on either side; so saw I plunge The Minotaur; whereat the sage exclaim'd: "Run to the passage! while he storms, 't is well That thou descend." Thus down our road we took Through those dilapidated crags, that oft Mov'd underneath my feet, to weight like theirs Unus'd. I pond'ring went, and thus he spake: "Perhaps thy thoughts are of this ruin'd steep, Guarded by the brute violence, which I Have vanquish'd now. Know then, that when I erst Hither descended to the nether hell, This rock was not yet fallen. But past doubt (If well I mark) not long ere He arrived, Who carried off from Dis the mighty spoil Of the highest circle, then through all its bounds Such trembling seiz'd the deep concave and foul, I thought the universe was thrill'd with love, Whereby, there are who deem, the world hath oft Been into chaos turn'd: and in that point, Here, and elsewhere, that old rock toppled down. But fix thine eyes beneath: the river of blood Approaches, in the which all those are steep'd, Who have by violence injur'd." O blind lust! O foolish wrath! who so dost goad us on In the brief life, and in the eternal then Thus miserably o'erwhelm us. I beheld An ample foss, that in a bow was bent, As circling all the plain; for so my guide Had told. Between it and the rampart's base On trail ran Centaurs, with keen arrows arm'd, As to the chase they on the earth were wont. At seeing us descend they each one stood; And issuing from the troop, three sped with bows And missile weapons chosen first; of whom One cried from far: "Say to what pain ye come Condemn'd, who down this steep have journied? Speak From whence ye stand, or else the bow I draw." To whom my guide: "Our answer shall be made To Chiron, there, when nearer him we come. Ill was thy mind, thus ever quick and rash." Then me he touch'd, and spake: "Nessus is this, Who for the fair Deianira died, And wrought himself revenge for his own fate. He in the midst, that on his breast looks down, Is the great Chiron who Achilles nurs'd; That other Pholus, prone to wrath." Around The foss these go by thousands, aiming shafts At whatsoever spirit dares emerge From out the blood, more than his guilt allows. We to those beasts, that rapid strode along, Drew near, when Chiron took an arrow forth, And with the notch push'd back his shaggy beard To the cheek-bone, then his great mouth to view Exposing, to his fellows thus exclaim'd: "Are ye aware, that he who comes behind Moves what he touches? The feet of the dead Are not so wont." My trusty guide, who now Stood near his breast, where the two natures join, Thus made reply: "He is indeed alive, And solitary so must needs by me Be shown the gloomy vale, thereto induc'd By strict necessity, not by delight. She left her joyful harpings in the sky, Who this new office to my care consign'd. He is no robber, no dark spirit I. But by that virtue, which empowers my step To treat so wild a path, grant us, I pray, One of thy band, whom we may trust secure, Who to the ford may lead us, and convey Across, him mounted on his back; for he Is not a spirit that may walk the air." Then on his right breast turning, Chiron thus To Nessus spake: "Return, and be their guide. And if ye chance to cross another troop, Command them keep aloof." Onward we mov'd, The faithful escort by our side, along The border of the crimson-seething flood, Whence from those steep'd within loud shrieks arose. Some there I mark'd, as high as to their brow Immers'd, of whom the mighty Centaur thus: "These are the souls of tyrants, who were given To blood and rapine. Here they wail aloud Their merciless wrongs. Here Alexander dwells, And Dionysius fell, who many a year Of woe wrought for fair Sicily. That brow Whereon the hair so jetty clust'ring hangs, Is Azzolino; that with flaxen locks Obizzo' of Este, in the world destroy'd By his foul step-son." To the bard rever'd I turned me round, and thus he spake; "Let him Be to thee now first leader, me but next To him in rank." Then farther on a space The Centaur paus'd, near some, who at the throat Were extant from the wave; and showing us A spirit by itself apart retir'd, Exclaim'd: "He in God's bosom smote the heart, Which yet is honour'd on the bank of Thames." A race I next espied, who held the head, And even all the bust above the stream. 'Midst these I many a face remember'd well. Thus shallow more and more the blood became, So that at last it but imbru'd the feet; And there our passage lay athwart the foss. "As ever on this side the boiling wave Thou seest diminishing," the Centaur said, "So on the other, be thou well assur'd, It lower still and lower sinks its bed, Till in that part it reuniting join, Where 't is the lot of tyranny to mourn. There Heav'n's stern justice lays chastising hand On Attila, who was the scourge of earth, On Sextus, and on Pyrrhus, and extracts Tears ever by the seething flood unlock'd From the Rinieri, of Corneto this, Pazzo the other nam'd, who fill'd the ways With violence and war." This said, he turn'd, And quitting us, alone repass'd the ford. 
8782	----	THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL OR THE INFERNO Part 4 Cantos 7 - 8 CANTO VII "AH me! O Satan! Satan!" loud exclaim'd Plutus, in accent hoarse of wild alarm: And the kind sage, whom no event surpris'd, To comfort me thus spake: "Let not thy fear Harm thee, for power in him, be sure, is none To hinder down this rock thy safe descent." Then to that sworn lip turning, "Peace!" he cried, "Curs'd wolf! thy fury inward on thyself Prey, and consume thee! Through the dark profound Not without cause he passes. So 't is will'd On high, there where the great Archangel pour'd Heav'n's vengeance on the first adulterer proud." As sails full spread and bellying with the wind Drop suddenly collaps'd, if the mast split; So to the ground down dropp'd the cruel fiend. Thus we, descending to the fourth steep ledge, Gain'd on the dismal shore, that all the woe Hems in of all the universe. Ah me! Almighty Justice! in what store thou heap'st New pains, new troubles, as I here beheld! Wherefore doth fault of ours bring us to this? E'en as a billow, on Charybdis rising, Against encounter'd billow dashing breaks; Such is the dance this wretched race must lead, Whom more than elsewhere numerous here I found, From one side and the other, with loud voice, Both roll'd on weights by main forge of their breasts, Then smote together, and each one forthwith Roll'd them back voluble, turning again, Exclaiming these, "Why holdest thou so fast?" Those answering, "And why castest thou away?" So still repeating their despiteful song, They to the opposite point on either hand Travers'd the horrid circle: then arriv'd, Both turn'd them round, and through the middle space Conflicting met again. At sight whereof I, stung with grief, thus spake: "O say, my guide! What race is this? Were these, whose heads are shorn, On our left hand, all sep'rate to the church?" He straight replied: "In their first life these all In mind were so distorted, that they made, According to due measure, of their wealth, No use. This clearly from their words collect, Which they howl forth, at each extremity Arriving of the circle, where their crime Contrary' in kind disparts them. To the church Were separate those, that with no hairy cowls Are crown'd, both Popes and Cardinals, o'er whom Av'rice dominion absolute maintains." I then: "Mid such as these some needs must be, Whom I shall recognize, that with the blot Of these foul sins were stain'd." He answering thus: "Vain thought conceiv'st thou. That ignoble life, Which made them vile before, now makes them dark, And to all knowledge indiscernible. Forever they shall meet in this rude shock: These from the tomb with clenched grasp shall rise, Those with close-shaven locks. That ill they gave, And ill they kept, hath of the beauteous world Depriv'd, and set them at this strife, which needs No labour'd phrase of mine to set if off. Now may'st thou see, my son! how brief, how vain, The goods committed into fortune's hands, For which the human race keep such a coil! Not all the gold, that is beneath the moon, Or ever hath been, of these toil-worn souls Might purchase rest for one." I thus rejoin'd: "My guide! of thee this also would I learn; This fortune, that thou speak'st of, what it is, Whose talons grasp the blessings of the world?" He thus: "O beings blind! what ignorance Besets you? Now my judgment hear and mark. He, whose transcendent wisdom passes all, The heavens creating, gave them ruling powers To guide them, so that each part shines to each, Their light in equal distribution pour'd. By similar appointment he ordain'd Over the world's bright images to rule. Superintendence of a guiding hand And general minister, which at due time May change the empty vantages of life From race to race, from one to other's blood, Beyond prevention of man's wisest care: Wherefore one nation rises into sway, Another languishes, e'en as her will Decrees, from us conceal'd, as in the grass The serpent train. Against her nought avails Your utmost wisdom. She with foresight plans, Judges, and carries on her reign, as theirs The other powers divine. Her changes know Nore intermission: by necessity She is made swift, so frequent come who claim Succession in her favours. This is she, So execrated e'en by those, whose debt To her is rather praise; they wrongfully With blame requite her, and with evil word; But she is blessed, and for that recks not: Amidst the other primal beings glad Rolls on her sphere, and in her bliss exults. Now on our way pass we, to heavier woe Descending: for each star is falling now, That mounted at our entrance, and forbids Too long our tarrying." We the circle cross'd To the next steep, arriving at a well, That boiling pours itself down to a foss Sluic'd from its source. Far murkier was the wave Than sablest grain: and we in company Of the' inky waters, journeying by their side, Enter'd, though by a different track, beneath. Into a lake, the Stygian nam'd, expands The dismal stream, when it hath reach'd the foot Of the grey wither'd cliffs. Intent I stood To gaze, and in the marish sunk descried A miry tribe, all naked, and with looks Betok'ning rage. They with their hands alone Struck not, but with the head, the breast, the feet, Cutting each other piecemeal with their fangs. The good instructor spake; "Now seest thou, son! The souls of those, whom anger overcame. This too for certain know, that underneath The water dwells a multitude, whose sighs Into these bubbles make the surface heave, As thine eye tells thee wheresoe'er it turn." Fix'd in the slime they say: "Sad once were we In the sweet air made gladsome by the sun, Carrying a foul and lazy mist within: Now in these murky settlings are we sad." Such dolorous strain they gurgle in their throats. But word distinct can utter none." Our route Thus compass'd we, a segment widely stretch'd Between the dry embankment, and the core Of the loath'd pool, turning meanwhile our eyes Downward on those who gulp'd its muddy lees; Nor stopp'd, till to a tower's low base we came. CANTO VIII MY theme pursuing, I relate that ere We reach'd the lofty turret's base, our eyes Its height ascended, where two cressets hung We mark'd, and from afar another light Return the signal, so remote, that scarce The eye could catch its beam. I turning round To the deep source of knowledge, thus inquir'd: "Say what this means? and what that other light In 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-gender'd 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 spied Toward us coming, under the sole sway Of one that ferried it, who cried aloud: "Art thou arriv'd, fell spirit?"--"Phlegyas, Phlegyas, This time thou criest in vain," my lord replied; "No longer shalt thou have us, but while o'er The slimy pool we pass." As one who hears Of some great wrong he hath sustain'd, whereat Inly he pines; so Phlegyas inly pin'd In his fierce ire. My guide descending stepp'd Into the skiff, and bade me enter next Close at his side; nor till my entrance seem'd The 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 thou 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, Curs'd spirit! tarry thou.g I know thee well, E'en thus in filth disguis'd." Then stretch'd he forth Hands to the bark; whereof my teacher sage Aware, thrusting him back: "Away! down there; "To the' other dogs!" then, with his arms my neck Encircling, kiss'd my cheek, and spake: "O soul Justly disdainful! blest was she in whom Thou was conceiv'd! He in the world was one For arrogance noted; to his memory No virtue lends its lustre; even so Here 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 behold Whelm'd in these dregs, before we quit the lake." He thus: "Or ever to thy view the shore Be offer'd, satisfied shall be that wish, Which well deserves completion." Scarce his words Were ended, when I saw the miry tribes Set on him with such violence, that yet For that render I thanks to God and praise "To Filippo Argenti:" cried they all: And on himself the moody Florentine Turn'd his avenging fangs. Him here we left, Nor speak I of him more. But on mine ear Sudden a sound of lamentation smote, Whereat mine eye unbarr'd I sent abroad. And thus the good instructor: "Now, my son! Draws near the city, that of Dis is nam'd, 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 fire Had issu'd." He replied: "Eternal fire, That inward burns, shows them with ruddy flame Illum'd; as in this nether hell thou seest." We came within the fosses deep, that moat This region comfortless. The walls appear'd As they were fram'd of iron. We had made Wide circuit, ere a place we reach'd, where loud The mariner cried vehement: "Go forth! The' entrance is here!" Upon the gates I spied More than a thousand, who of old from heaven Were hurl'd. With ireful gestures, "Who is this," They cried, "that without death first felt, goes through The regions of the dead?" My sapient guide Made sign that he for secret parley wish'd; Whereat their angry scorn abating, thus They 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 know it, let him prove. For thee, Here shalt thou tarry, who through clime so dark Hast been his escort." Now bethink thee, reader! What cheer was mine at sound of those curs'd words. I did believe I never should return. "O my lov'd guide! who more than seven times Security hast render'd me, and drawn From peril deep, whereto I stood expos'd, 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 none Hath power to disappoint us, by such high Authority permitted. But do thou Expect me here; meanwhile thy wearied spirit Comfort, and feed with kindly hope, assur'd I will not leave thee in this lower world." This said, departs the sire benevolent, And quits me. Hesitating I remain At 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 once To trial fled within. Clos'd were the gates By those our adversaries on the breast Of my liege lord: excluded he return'd To me with tardy steps. Upon the ground His eyes were bent, and from his brow eras'd All confidence, while thus with sighs he spake: "Who hath denied me these abodes of woe?" Then thus to me: "That I am anger'd, think No ground of terror: in this trial I Shall vanquish, use what arts they may within For hindrance. This their insolence, not new, Erewhile at gate less secret they display'd, Which still is without bolt; upon its arch Thou saw'st the deadly scroll: and even now On this side of its entrance, down the steep, Passing the circles, unescorted, comes One whose strong might can open us this land." 
8784	----	THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL OR THE INFERNO Part 6 Cantos 13 - 17 CANTO XIII ERE Nessus yet had reach'd the other bank, We enter'd on a forest, where no track Of steps had worn a way. Not verdant there The foliage, but of dusky hue; not light The boughs and tapering, but with knares deform'd And matted thick: fruits there were none, but thorns Instead, with venom fill'd. Less sharp than these, Less intricate the brakes, wherein abide Those animals, that hate the cultur'd fields, Betwixt Corneto and Cecina's stream. Here the brute Harpies make their nest, the same Who from the Strophades the Trojan band Drove with dire boding of their future woe. Broad are their pennons, of the human form Their neck and count'nance, arm'd with talons keen The feet, and the huge belly fledge with wings These sit and wail on the drear mystic wood. The kind instructor in these words began: "Ere farther thou proceed, know thou art now I' th' second round, and shalt be, till thou come Upon the horrid sand: look therefore well Around thee, and such things thou shalt behold, As would my speech discredit." On all sides I heard sad plainings breathe, and none could see From whom they might have issu'd. In amaze Fast bound I stood. He, as it seem'd, believ'd, That I had thought so many voices came From some amid those thickets close conceal'd, And thus his speech resum'd: "If thou lop off A single twig from one of those ill plants, The thought thou hast conceiv'd shall vanish quite." Thereat a little stretching forth my hand, From a great wilding gather'd I a branch, And straight the trunk exclaim'd: "Why pluck'st thou me?" Then as the dark blood trickled down its side, These words it added: "Wherefore tear'st me thus? Is there no touch of mercy in thy breast? Men once were we, that now are rooted here. Thy hand might well have spar'd us, had we been The souls of serpents." As a brand yet green, That burning at one end from the' other sends A groaning sound, and hisses with the wind That forces out its way, so burst at once, Forth from the broken splinter words and blood. I, letting fall the bough, remain'd as one Assail'd by terror, and the sage replied: "If he, O injur'd spirit! could have believ'd What he hath seen but in my verse describ'd, He never against thee had stretch'd his hand. But I, because the thing surpass'd belief, Prompted him to this deed, which even now Myself I rue. But tell me, who thou wast; That, for this wrong to do thee some amends, In the upper world (for thither to return Is granted him) thy fame he may revive." "That pleasant word of thine," the trunk replied "Hath so inveigled me, that I from speech Cannot refrain, wherein if I indulge A little longer, in the snare detain'd, Count it not grievous. I it was, who held Both keys to Frederick's heart, and turn'd the wards, Opening and shutting, with a skill so sweet, That besides me, into his inmost breast Scarce any other could admittance find. The faith I bore to my high charge was such, It cost me the life-blood that warm'd my veins. The harlot, who ne'er turn'd her gloating eyes From Caesar's household, common vice and pest Of courts, 'gainst me inflam'd the minds of all; And to Augustus they so spread the flame, That my glad honours chang'd to bitter woes. My soul, disdainful and disgusted, sought Refuge in death from scorn, and I became, Just as I was, unjust toward myself. By the new roots, which fix this stem, I swear, That never faith I broke to my liege lord, Who merited such honour; and of you, If any to the world indeed return, Clear he from wrong my memory, that lies Yet prostrate under envy's cruel blow." First somewhat pausing, till the mournful words Were ended, then to me the bard began: "Lose not the time; but speak and of him ask, If more thou wish to learn." Whence I replied: "Question thou him again of whatsoe'er Will, as thou think'st, content me; for no power Have I to ask, such pity' is at my heart." He thus resum'd; "So may he do for thee Freely what thou entreatest, as thou yet Be pleas'd, imprison'd Spirit! to declare, How in these gnarled joints the soul is tied; And whether any ever from such frame Be loosen'd, if thou canst, that also tell." Thereat the trunk breath'd hard, and the wind soon Chang'd into sounds articulate like these; "Briefly ye shall be answer'd. When departs The fierce soul from the body, by itself Thence torn asunder, to the seventh gulf By Minos doom'd, into the wood it falls, No place assign'd, but wheresoever chance Hurls it, there sprouting, as a grain of spelt, It rises to a sapling, growing thence A savage plant. The Harpies, on its leaves Then feeding, cause both pain and for the pain A vent to grief. We, as the rest, shall come For our own spoils, yet not so that with them We may again be clad; for what a man Takes from himself it is not just he have. Here we perforce shall drag them; and throughout The dismal glade our bodies shall be hung, Each on the wild thorn of his wretched shade." Attentive yet to listen to the trunk We stood, expecting farther speech, when us A noise surpris'd, as when a man perceives The wild boar and the hunt approach his place Of station'd watch, who of the beasts and boughs Loud rustling round him hears. And lo! there came Two naked, torn with briers, in headlong flight, That they before them broke each fan o' th' wood. "Haste now," the foremost cried, "now haste thee death!" The' other, as seem'd, impatient of delay Exclaiming, "Lano! not so bent for speed Thy sinews, in the lists of Toppo's field." And then, for that perchance no longer breath Suffic'd him, of himself and of a bush One group he made. Behind them was the wood Full of black female mastiffs, gaunt and fleet, As greyhounds that have newly slipp'd the leash. On him, who squatted down, they stuck their fangs, And having rent him piecemeal bore away The tortur'd limbs. My guide then seiz'd my hand, And led me to the thicket, which in vain Mourn'd through its bleeding wounds: "O Giacomo Of Sant' Andrea! what avails it thee," It cried, "that of me thou hast made thy screen? For thy ill life what blame on me recoils?" When o'er it he had paus'd, my master spake: "Say who wast thou, that at so many points Breath'st out with blood thy lamentable speech?" He answer'd: "Oh, ye spirits: arriv'd in time To spy the shameful havoc, that from me My leaves hath sever'd thus, gather them up, And at the foot of their sad parent-tree Carefully lay them. In that city' I dwelt, Who for the Baptist her first patron chang'd, Whence he for this shall cease not with his art To work her woe: and if there still remain'd not On Arno's passage some faint glimpse of him, Those citizens, who rear'd once more her walls Upon the ashes left by Attila, Had labour'd without profit of their toil. I slung the fatal noose from my own roof." CANTO XIV SOON as the charity of native land Wrought in my bosom, I the scatter'd leaves Collected, and to him restor'd, who now Was hoarse with utt'rance. To the limit thence We came, which from the third the second round Divides, and where of justice is display'd Contrivance horrible. Things then first seen Clearlier to manifest, I tell how next A plain we reach'd, that from its sterile bed Each plant repell'd. The mournful wood waves round Its garland on all sides, as round the wood Spreads the sad foss. There, on the very edge, Our steps we stay'd. It was an area wide Of arid sand and thick, resembling most The soil that erst by Cato's foot was trod. Vengeance of Heav'n! Oh! how shouldst thou be fear'd By all, who read what here my eyes beheld! Of naked spirits many a flock I saw, All weeping piteously, to different laws Subjected: for on the' earth some lay supine, Some crouching close were seated, others pac'd Incessantly around; the latter tribe, More numerous, those fewer who beneath The torment lay, but louder in their grief. O'er all the sand fell slowly wafting down Dilated flakes of fire, as flakes of snow On Alpine summit, when the wind is hush'd. As in the torrid Indian clime, the son Of Ammon saw upon his warrior band Descending, solid flames, that to the ground Came down: whence he bethought him with his troop To trample on the soil; for easier thus The vapour was extinguish'd, while alone; So fell the eternal fiery flood, wherewith The marble glow'd underneath, as under stove The viands, doubly to augment the pain. Unceasing was the play of wretched hands, Now this, now that way glancing, to shake off The heat, still falling fresh. I thus began: "Instructor! thou who all things overcom'st, Except the hardy demons, that rush'd forth To stop our entrance at the gate, say who Is yon huge spirit, that, as seems, heeds not The burning, but lies writhen in proud scorn, As by the sultry tempest immatur'd?" Straight he himself, who was aware I ask'd My guide of him, exclaim'd: "Such as I was When living, dead such now I am. If Jove Weary his workman out, from whom in ire He snatch'd the lightnings, that at my last day Transfix'd me, if the rest be weary out At their black smithy labouring by turns In Mongibello, while he cries aloud; "Help, help, good Mulciber!" as erst he cried In the Phlegraean warfare, and the bolts Launch he full aim'd at me with all his might, He never should enjoy a sweet revenge." Then thus my guide, in accent higher rais'd Than I before had heard him: "Capaneus! Thou art more punish'd, in that this thy pride Lives yet unquench'd: no torrent, save thy rage, Were to thy fury pain proportion'd full." Next turning round to me with milder lip He spake: "This of the seven kings was one, Who girt the Theban walls with siege, and held, As still he seems to hold, God in disdain, And sets his high omnipotence at nought. But, as I told him, his despiteful mood Is ornament well suits the breast that wears it. Follow me now; and look thou set not yet Thy foot in the hot sand, but to the wood Keep ever close." Silently on we pass'd To where there gushes from the forest's bound A little brook, whose crimson'd wave yet lifts My hair with horror. As the rill, that runs From Bulicame, to be portion'd out Among the sinful women; so ran this Down through the sand, its bottom and each bank Stone-built, and either margin at its side, Whereon I straight perceiv'd our passage lay. "Of all that I have shown thee, since that gate We enter'd first, whose threshold is to none Denied, nought else so worthy of regard, As is this river, has thine eye discern'd, O'er which the flaming volley all is quench'd." So spake my guide; and I him thence besought, That having giv'n me appetite to know, The food he too would give, that hunger crav'd. "In midst of ocean," forthwith he began, "A desolate country lies, which Crete is nam'd, Under whose monarch in old times the world Liv'd pure and chaste. A mountain rises there, Call'd Ida, joyous once with leaves and streams, Deserted now like a forbidden thing. It was the spot which Rhea, Saturn's spouse, Chose for the secret cradle of her son; And better to conceal him, drown'd in shouts His infant cries. Within the mount, upright An ancient form there stands and huge, that turns His shoulders towards Damiata, and at Rome As in his mirror looks. Of finest gold His head is shap'd, pure silver are the breast And arms; thence to the middle is of brass. And downward all beneath well-temper'd steel, Save the right foot of potter's clay, on which Than on the other more erect he stands, Each part except the gold, is rent throughout; And from the fissure tears distil, which join'd Penetrate to that cave. They in their course Thus far precipitated down the rock Form Acheron, and Styx, and Phlegethon; Then by this straiten'd channel passing hence Beneath, e'en to the lowest depth of all, Form there Cocytus, of whose lake (thyself Shall see it) I here give thee no account." Then I to him: "If from our world this sluice Be thus deriv'd; wherefore to us but now Appears it at this edge?" He straight replied: "The place, thou know'st, is round; and though great part Thou have already pass'd, still to the left Descending to the nethermost, not yet Hast thou the circuit made of the whole orb. Wherefore if aught of new to us appear, It needs not bring up wonder in thy looks." Then I again inquir'd: "Where flow the streams Of Phlegethon and Lethe? for of one Thou tell'st not, and the other of that shower, Thou say'st, is form'd." He answer thus return'd: "Doubtless thy questions all well pleas'd I hear. Yet the red seething wave might have resolv'd One thou proposest. Lethe thou shalt see, But not within this hollow, in the place, Whither to lave themselves the spirits go, Whose blame hath been by penitence remov'd." He added: "Time is now we quit the wood. Look thou my steps pursue: the margins give Safe passage, unimpeded by the flames; For over them all vapour is extinct." CANTO XV One of the solid margins bears us now Envelop'd in the mist, that from the stream Arising, hovers o'er, and saves from fire Both piers and water. As the Flemings rear Their mound, 'twixt Ghent and Bruges, to chase back The ocean, fearing his tumultuous tide That drives toward them, or the Paduans theirs Along the Brenta, to defend their towns And castles, ere the genial warmth be felt On Chiarentana's top; such were the mounds, So fram'd, though not in height or bulk to these Made equal, by the master, whosoe'er He was, that rais'd them here. We from the wood Were not so far remov'd, that turning round I might not have discern'd it, when we met A troop of spirits, who came beside the pier. They each one ey'd us, as at eventide One eyes another under a new moon, And toward us sharpen'd their sight as keen, As an old tailor at his needle's eye. Thus narrowly explor'd by all the tribe, I was agniz'd of one, who by the skirt Caught me, and cried, "What wonder have we here!" And I, when he to me outstretch'd his arm, Intently fix'd my ken on his parch'd looks, That although smirch'd with fire, they hinder'd not But I remember'd him; and towards his face My hand inclining, answer'd: "Sir! Brunetto! "And art thou here?" He thus to me: "My son! Oh let it not displease thee, if Brunetto Latini but a little space with thee Turn back, and leave his fellows to proceed." I thus to him replied: "Much as I can, I thereto pray thee; and if thou be willing, That I here seat me with thee, I consent; His leave, with whom I journey, first obtain'd." "O son!" said he, "whoever of this throng One instant stops, lies then a hundred years, No fan to ventilate him, when the fire Smites sorest. Pass thou therefore on. I close Will at thy garments walk, and then rejoin My troop, who go mourning their endless doom." I dar'd not from the path descend to tread On equal ground with him, but held my head Bent down, as one who walks in reverent guise. "What chance or destiny," thus he began, "Ere the last day conducts thee here below? And who is this, that shows to thee the way?" "There up aloft," I answer'd, "in the life Serene, I wander'd in a valley lost, Before mine age had to its fullness reach'd. But yester-morn I left it: then once more Into that vale returning, him I met; And by this path homeward he leads me back." "If thou," he answer'd, "follow but thy star, Thou canst not miss at last a glorious haven: Unless in fairer days my judgment err'd. And if my fate so early had not chanc'd, Seeing the heav'ns thus bounteous to thee, I Had gladly giv'n thee comfort in thy work. But that ungrateful and malignant race, Who in old times came down from Fesole, Ay and still smack of their rough mountain-flint, Will for thy good deeds shew thee enmity. Nor wonder; for amongst ill-savour'd crabs It suits not the sweet fig-tree lay her fruit. Old fame reports them in the world for blind, Covetous, envious, proud. Look to it well: Take heed thou cleanse thee of their ways. For thee Thy fortune hath such honour in reserve, That thou by either party shalt be crav'd With hunger keen: but be the fresh herb far From the goat's tooth. The herd of Fesole May of themselves make litter, not touch the plant, If any such yet spring on their rank bed, In which the holy seed revives, transmitted From those true Romans, who still there remain'd, When it was made the nest of so much ill." "Were all my wish fulfill'd," I straight replied, "Thou from the confines of man's nature yet Hadst not been driven forth; for in my mind Is fix'd, and now strikes full upon my heart The dear, benign, paternal image, such As thine was, when so lately thou didst teach me The way for man to win eternity; And how I priz'd the lesson, it behooves, That, long as life endures, my tongue should speak, What of my fate thou tell'st, that write I down: And with another text to comment on For her I keep it, the celestial dame, Who will know all, if I to her arrive. This only would I have thee clearly note: That so my conscience have no plea against me; Do fortune as she list, I stand prepar'd. Not new or strange such earnest to mine ear. Speed fortune then her wheel, as likes her best, The clown his mattock; all things have their course." Thereat my sapient guide upon his right Turn'd himself back, then look'd at me and spake: "He listens to good purpose who takes note." I not the less still on my way proceed, Discoursing with Brunetto, and inquire Who are most known and chief among his tribe. "To know of some is well;" thus he replied, "But of the rest silence may best beseem. Time would not serve us for report so long. In brief I tell thee, that all these were clerks, Men of great learning and no less renown, By one same sin polluted in the world. With them is Priscian, and Accorso's son Francesco herds among that wretched throng: And, if the wish of so impure a blotch Possess'd thee, him thou also might'st have seen, Who by the servants' servant was transferr'd From Arno's seat to Bacchiglione, where His ill-strain'd nerves he left. I more would add, But must from farther speech and onward way Alike desist, for yonder I behold A mist new-risen on the sandy plain. A company, with whom I may not sort, Approaches. I commend my TREASURE to thee, Wherein I yet survive; my sole request." This said he turn'd, and seem'd as one of those, Who o'er Verona's champain try their speed For the green mantle, and of them he seem'd, Not he who loses but who gains the prize. CANTO XVI NOW came I where the water's din was heard, As down it fell into the other round, Resounding like the hum of swarming bees: When forth together issu'd from a troop, That pass'd beneath the fierce tormenting storm, Three spirits, running swift. They towards us came, And each one cried aloud, "Oh do thou stay! Whom by the fashion of thy garb we deem To be some inmate of our evil land." Ah me! what wounds I mark'd upon their limbs, Recent and old, inflicted by the flames! E'en the remembrance of them grieves me yet. Attentive to their cry my teacher paus'd, And turn'd to me his visage, and then spake; "Wait now! our courtesy these merit well: And were 't not for the nature of the place, Whence glide the fiery darts, I should have said, That haste had better suited thee than them." They, when we stopp'd, resum'd their ancient wail, And soon as they had reach'd us, all the three Whirl'd round together in one restless wheel. As naked champions, smear'd with slippery oil, Are wont intent to watch their place of hold And vantage, ere in closer strife they meet; Thus each one, as he wheel'd, his countenance At me directed, so that opposite The neck mov'd ever to the twinkling feet. "If misery of this drear wilderness," Thus one began, "added to our sad cheer And destitute, do call forth scorn on us And our entreaties, let our great renown Incline thee to inform us who thou art, That dost imprint with living feet unharm'd The soil of Hell. He, in whose track thou see'st My steps pursuing, naked though he be And reft of all, was of more high estate Than thou believest; grandchild of the chaste Gualdrada, him they Guidoguerra call'd, Who in his lifetime many a noble act Achiev'd, both by his wisdom and his sword. The other, next to me that beats the sand, Is Aldobrandi, name deserving well, In the' upper world, of honour; and myself Who in this torment do partake with them, Am Rusticucci, whom, past doubt, my wife Of savage temper, more than aught beside Hath to this evil brought." If from the fire I had been shelter'd, down amidst them straight I then had cast me, nor my guide, I deem, Would have restrain'd my going; but that fear Of the dire burning vanquish'd the desire, Which made me eager of their wish'd embrace. I then began: "Not scorn, but grief much more, Such as long time alone can cure, your doom Fix'd deep within me, soon as this my lord Spake words, whose tenour taught me to expect That such a race, as ye are, was at hand. I am a countryman of yours, who still Affectionate have utter'd, and have heard Your deeds and names renown'd. Leaving the gall For the sweet fruit I go, that a sure guide Hath promis'd to me. But behooves, that far As to the centre first I downward tend." "So may long space thy spirit guide thy limbs," He answer straight return'd; "and so thy fame Shine bright, when thou art gone; as thou shalt tell, If courtesy and valour, as they wont, Dwell in our city, or have vanish'd clean? For one amidst us late condemn'd to wail, Borsiere, yonder walking with his peers, Grieves us no little by the news he brings." "An upstart multitude and sudden gains, Pride and excess, O Florence! have in thee Engender'd, so that now in tears thou mourn'st!" Thus cried I with my face uprais'd, and they All three, who for an answer took my words, Look'd at each other, as men look when truth Comes to their ear. "If thou at other times," They all at once rejoin'd, "so easily Satisfy those, who question, happy thou, Gifted with words, so apt to speak thy thought! Wherefore if thou escape this darksome clime, Returning to behold the radiant stars, When thou with pleasure shalt retrace the past, See that of us thou speak among mankind." This said, they broke the circle, and so swift Fled, that as pinions seem'd their nimble feet. Not in so short a time might one have said "Amen," as they had vanish'd. Straight my guide Pursu'd his track. I follow'd; and small space Had we pass'd onward, when the water's sound Was now so near at hand, that we had scarce Heard one another's speech for the loud din. E'en as the river, that holds on its course Unmingled, from the mount of Vesulo, On the left side of Apennine, toward The east, which Acquacheta higher up They call, ere it descend into the vale, At Forli by that name no longer known, Rebellows o'er Saint Benedict, roll'd on From the' Alpine summit down a precipice, Where space enough to lodge a thousand spreads; Thus downward from a craggy steep we found, That this dark wave resounded, roaring loud, So that the ear its clamour soon had stunn'd. I had a cord that brac'd my girdle round, Wherewith I erst had thought fast bound to take The painted leopard. This when I had all Unloosen'd from me (so my master bade) I gather'd up, and stretch'd it forth to him. Then to the right he turn'd, and from the brink Standing few paces distant, cast it down Into the deep abyss. "And somewhat strange," Thus to myself I spake, "signal so strange Betokens, which my guide with earnest eye Thus follows." Ah! what caution must men use With those who look not at the deed alone, But spy into the thoughts with subtle skill! "Quickly shall come," he said, "what I expect, Thine eye discover quickly, that whereof Thy thought is dreaming." Ever to that truth, Which but the semblance of a falsehood wears, A man, if possible, should bar his lip; Since, although blameless, he incurs reproach. But silence here were vain; and by these notes Which now I sing, reader! I swear to thee, So may they favour find to latest times! That through the gross and murky air I spied A shape come swimming up, that might have quell'd The stoutest heart with wonder, in such guise As one returns, who hath been down to loose An anchor grappled fast against some rock, Or to aught else that in the salt wave lies, Who upward springing close draws in his feet. CANTO XVII "LO! the fell monster with the deadly sting! Who passes mountains, breaks through fenced walls And firm embattled spears, and with his filth Taints all the world!" Thus me my guide address'd, And beckon'd him, that he should come to shore, Near to the stony causeway's utmost edge. Forthwith that image vile of fraud appear'd, His head and upper part expos'd on land, But laid not on the shore his bestial train. His face the semblance of a just man's wore, So kind and gracious was its outward cheer; The rest was serpent all: two shaggy claws Reach'd to the armpits, and the back and breast, And either side, were painted o'er with nodes And orbits. Colours variegated more Nor Turks nor Tartars e'er on cloth of state With interchangeable embroidery wove, Nor spread Arachne o'er her curious loom. As ofttimes a light skiff, moor'd to the shore, Stands part in water, part upon the land; Or, as where dwells the greedy German boor, The beaver settles watching for his prey; So on the rim, that fenc'd the sand with rock, Sat perch'd the fiend of evil. In the void Glancing, his tail upturn'd its venomous fork, With sting like scorpion's arm'd. Then thus my guide: "Now need our way must turn few steps apart, Far as to that ill beast, who couches there." Thereat toward the right our downward course We shap'd, and, better to escape the flame And burning marle, ten paces on the verge Proceeded. Soon as we to him arrive, A little further on mine eye beholds A tribe of spirits, seated on the sand Near the wide chasm. Forthwith my master spake: "That to the full thy knowledge may extend Of all this round contains, go now, and mark The mien these wear: but hold not long discourse. Till thou returnest, I with him meantime Will parley, that to us he may vouchsafe The aid of his strong shoulders." Thus alone Yet forward on the' extremity I pac'd Of that seventh circle, where the mournful tribe Were seated. At the eyes forth gush'd their pangs. Against the vapours and the torrid soil Alternately their shifting hands they plied. Thus use the dogs in summer still to ply Their jaws and feet by turns, when bitten sore By gnats, or flies, or gadflies swarming round. Noting the visages of some, who lay Beneath the pelting of that dolorous fire, One of them all I knew not; but perceiv'd, That pendent from his neck each bore a pouch With colours and with emblems various mark'd, On which it seem'd as if their eye did feed. And when amongst them looking round I came, A yellow purse I saw with azure wrought, That wore a lion's countenance and port. Then still my sight pursuing its career, Another I beheld, than blood more red. A goose display of whiter wing than curd. And one, who bore a fat and azure swine Pictur'd on his white scrip, addressed me thus: "What dost thou in this deep? Go now and know, Since yet thou livest, that my neighbour here Vitaliano on my left shall sit. A Paduan with these Florentines am I. Ofttimes they thunder in mine ears, exclaiming 'O haste that noble knight! he who the pouch With the three beaks will bring!'" This said, he writh'd The mouth, and loll'd the tongue out, like an ox That licks his nostrils. I, lest longer stay He ill might brook, who bade me stay not long, Backward my steps from those sad spirits turn'd. My guide already seated on the haunch Of the fierce animal I found; and thus He me encourag'd. "Be thou stout; be bold. Down such a steep flight must we now descend! Mount thou before: for that no power the tail May have to harm thee, I will be i' th' midst." As one, who hath an ague fit so near, His nails already are turn'd blue, and he Quivers all o'er, if he but eye the shade; Such was my cheer at hearing of his words. But shame soon interpos'd her threat, who makes The servant bold in presence of his lord. I settled me upon those shoulders huge, And would have said, but that the words to aid My purpose came not, "Look thou clasp me firm!" But he whose succour then not first I prov'd, Soon as I mounted, in his arms aloft, Embracing, held me up, and thus he spake: "Geryon! now move thee! be thy wheeling gyres Of ample circuit, easy thy descent. Think on th' unusual burden thou sustain'st." As a small vessel, back'ning out from land, Her station quits; so thence the monster loos'd, And when he felt himself at large, turn'd round There where the breast had been, his forked tail. Thus, like an eel, outstretch'd at length he steer'd, Gath'ring the air up with retractile claws. Not greater was the dread when Phaeton The reins let drop at random, whence high heaven, Whereof signs yet appear, was wrapt in flames; Nor when ill-fated Icarus perceiv'd, By liquefaction of the scalded wax, The trusted pennons loosen'd from his loins, His sire exclaiming loud, "Ill way thou keep'st!" Than was my dread, when round me on each part The air I view'd, and other object none Save the fell beast. He slowly sailing, wheels His downward motion, unobserv'd of me, But that the wind, arising to my face, Breathes on me from below. Now on our right I heard the cataract beneath us leap With hideous crash; whence bending down to' explore, New terror I conceiv'd at the steep plunge: For flames I saw, and wailings smote mine ear: So that all trembling close I crouch'd my limbs, And then distinguish'd, unperceiv'd before, By the dread torments that on every side Drew nearer, how our downward course we wound. As falcon, that hath long been on the wing, But lure nor bird hath seen, while in despair The falconer cries, "Ah me! thou stoop'st to earth!" Wearied descends, and swiftly down the sky In many an orbit wheels, then lighting sits At distance from his lord in angry mood; So Geryon lighting places us on foot Low down at base of the deep-furrow'd rock, And, of his burden there discharg'd, forthwith Sprang forward, like an arrow from the string. ===7 THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE OR THE INFERNO BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL Part 7 Cantos 18 - 22 CANTO XVIII THERE is a place within the depths of hell Call'd Malebolge, all of rock dark-stain'd With hue ferruginous, e'en as the steep That round it circling winds. Right in the midst Of that abominable region, yawns A spacious gulf profound, whereof the frame Due time shall tell. The circle, that remains, Throughout its round, between the gulf and base Of the high craggy banks, successive forms Ten trenches, in its hollow bottom sunk. As where to guard the walls, full many a foss Begirds some stately castle, sure defence Affording to the space within, so here Were model'd these; and as like fortresses E'en from their threshold to the brink without, Are flank'd with bridges; from the rock's low base Thus flinty paths advanc'd, that 'cross the moles And dikes, struck onward far as to the gulf, That in one bound collected cuts them off. Such was the place, wherein we found ourselves From Geryon's back dislodg'd. The bard to left Held on his way, and I behind him mov'd. On our right hand new misery I saw, New pains, new executioners of wrath, That swarming peopled the first chasm. Below Were naked sinners. Hitherward they came, Meeting our faces from the middle point, With us beyond but with a larger stride. E'en thus the Romans, when the year returns Of Jubilee, with better speed to rid The thronging multitudes, their means devise For such as pass the bridge; that on one side All front toward the castle, and approach Saint Peter's fane, on th' other towards the mount. Each divers way along the grisly rock, Horn'd demons I beheld, with lashes huge, That on their back unmercifully smote. Ah! how they made them bound at the first stripe! None for the second waited nor the third. Meantime as on I pass'd, one met my sight Whom soon as view'd; "Of him," cried I, "not yet Mine eye hath had his fill." With fixed gaze I therefore scann'd him. Straight the teacher kind Paus'd with me, and consented I should walk Backward a space, and the tormented spirit, Who thought to hide him, bent his visage down. But it avail'd him nought; for I exclaim'd: "Thou who dost cast thy eye upon the ground, Unless thy features do belie thee much, Venedico art thou. But what brings thee Into this bitter seas'ning?" He replied: "Unwillingly I answer to thy words. But thy clear speech, that to my mind recalls The world I once inhabited, constrains me. Know then 'twas I who led fair Ghisola To do the Marquis' will, however fame The shameful tale have bruited. Nor alone Bologna hither sendeth me to mourn Rather with us the place is so o'erthrong'd That not so many tongues this day are taught, Betwixt the Reno and Savena's stream, To answer SIPA in their country's phrase. And if of that securer proof thou need, Remember but our craving thirst for gold." Him speaking thus, a demon with his thong Struck, and exclaim'd, "Away! corrupter! here Women are none for sale." Forthwith I join'd My escort, and few paces thence we came To where a rock forth issued from the bank. That easily ascended, to the right Upon its splinter turning, we depart From those eternal barriers. When arriv'd, Where underneath the gaping arch lets pass The scourged souls: "Pause here," the teacher said, "And let these others miserable, now Strike on thy ken, faces not yet beheld, For that together they with us have walk'd." From the old bridge we ey'd the pack, who came From th' other side towards us, like the rest, Excoriate from the lash. My gentle guide, By me unquestion'd, thus his speech resum'd: "Behold that lofty shade, who this way tends, And seems too woe-begone to drop a tear. How yet the regal aspect he retains! Jason is he, whose skill and prowess won The ram from Colchos. To the Lemnian isle His passage thither led him, when those bold And pitiless women had slain all their males. There he with tokens and fair witching words Hypsipyle beguil'd, a virgin young, Who first had all the rest herself beguil'd. Impregnated he left her there forlorn. Such is the guilt condemns him to this pain. Here too Medea's inj'ries are avenged. All bear him company, who like deceit To his have practis'd. And thus much to know Of the first vale suffice thee, and of those Whom its keen torments urge." Now had we come Where, crossing the next pier, the straighten'd path Bestrides its shoulders to another arch. Hence in the second chasm we heard the ghosts, Who jibber in low melancholy sounds, With wide-stretch'd nostrils snort, and on themselves Smite with their palms. Upon the banks a scurf From the foul steam condens'd, encrusting hung, That held sharp combat with the sight and smell. So hollow is the depth, that from no part, Save on the summit of the rocky span, Could I distinguish aught. Thus far we came; And thence I saw, within the foss below, A crowd immers'd in ordure, that appear'd Draff of the human body. There beneath Searching with eye inquisitive, I mark'd One with his head so grim'd, 't were hard to deem, If he were clerk or layman. Loud he cried: "Why greedily thus bendest more on me, Than on these other filthy ones, thy ken?" "Because if true my mem'ry," I replied, "I heretofore have seen thee with dry locks, And thou Alessio art of Lucca sprung. Therefore than all the rest I scan thee more." Then beating on his brain these words he spake: "Me thus low down my flatteries have sunk, Wherewith I ne'er enough could glut my tongue." My leader thus: "A little further stretch Thy face, that thou the visage well mayst note Of that besotted, sluttish courtezan, Who there doth rend her with defiled nails, Now crouching down, now risen on her feet. "Thais is this, the harlot, whose false lip Answer'd her doting paramour that ask'd, 'Thankest me much!'--'Say rather wondrously,' And seeing this here satiate be our view." CANTO XIX WOE to thee, Simon Magus! woe to you, His wretched followers! who the things of God, Which should be wedded unto goodness, them, Rapacious as ye are, do prostitute For gold and silver in adultery! Now must the trumpet sound for you, since yours Is the third chasm. Upon the following vault We now had mounted, where the rock impends Directly o'er the centre of the foss. Wisdom Supreme! how wonderful the art, Which thou dost manifest in heaven, in earth, And in the evil world, how just a meed Allotting by thy virtue unto all! I saw the livid stone, throughout the sides And in its bottom full of apertures, All equal in their width, and circular each, Nor ample less nor larger they appear'd Than in Saint John's fair dome of me belov'd Those fram'd to hold the pure baptismal streams, One of the which I brake, some few years past, To save a whelming infant; and be this A seal to undeceive whoever doubts The motive of my deed. From out the mouth Of every one, emerg'd a sinner's feet And of the legs high upward as the calf The rest beneath was hid. On either foot The soles were burning, whence the flexile joints Glanc'd with such violent motion, as had snapt Asunder cords or twisted withs. As flame, Feeding on unctuous matter, glides along The surface, scarcely touching where it moves; So here, from heel to point, glided the flames. "Master! say who is he, than all the rest Glancing in fiercer agony, on whom A ruddier flame doth prey?" I thus inquir'd. "If thou be willing," he replied, "that I Carry thee down, where least the slope bank falls, He of himself shall tell thee and his wrongs." I then: "As pleases thee to me is best. Thou art my lord; and know'st that ne'er I quit Thy will: what silence hides that knowest thou." Thereat on the fourth pier we came, we turn'd, And on our left descended to the depth, A narrow strait and perforated close. Nor from his side my leader set me down, Till to his orifice he brought, whose limb Quiv'ring express'd his pang. "Whoe'er thou art, Sad spirit! thus revers'd, and as a stake Driv'n in the soil!" I in these words began, "If thou be able, utter forth thy voice." There stood I like the friar, that doth shrive A wretch for murder doom'd, who e'en when fix'd, Calleth him back, whence death awhile delays. He shouted: "Ha! already standest there? Already standest there, O Boniface! By many a year the writing play'd me false. So early dost thou surfeit with the wealth, For which thou fearedst not in guile to take The lovely lady, and then mangle her?" I felt as those who, piercing not the drift Of answer made them, stand as if expos'd In mockery, nor know what to reply, When Virgil thus admonish'd: "Tell him quick, I am not he, not he, whom thou believ'st." And I, as was enjoin'd me, straight replied. That heard, the spirit all did wrench his feet, And sighing next in woeful accent spake: "What then of me requirest? If to know So much imports thee, who I am, that thou Hast therefore down the bank descended, learn That in the mighty mantle I was rob'd, And of a she-bear was indeed the son, So eager to advance my whelps, that there My having in my purse above I stow'd, And here myself. Under my head are dragg'd The rest, my predecessors in the guilt Of simony. Stretch'd at their length they lie Along an opening in the rock. 'Midst them I also low shall fall, soon as he comes, For whom I took thee, when so hastily I question'd. But already longer time Hath pass'd, since my souls kindled, and I thus Upturn'd have stood, than is his doom to stand Planted with fiery feet. For after him, One yet of deeds more ugly shall arrive, From forth the west, a shepherd without law, Fated to cover both his form and mine. He a new Jason shall be call'd, of whom In Maccabees we read; and favour such As to that priest his king indulgent show'd, Shall be of France's monarch shown to him." I know not if I here too far presum'd, But in this strain I answer'd: "Tell me now, What treasures from St. Peter at the first Our Lord demanded, when he put the keys Into his charge? Surely he ask'd no more But, Follow me! Nor Peter nor the rest Or gold or silver of Matthias took, When lots were cast upon the forfeit place Of the condemned soul. Abide thou then; Thy punishment of right is merited: And look thou well to that ill-gotten coin, Which against Charles thy hardihood inspir'd. If reverence of the keys restrain'd me not, Which thou in happier time didst hold, I yet Severer speech might use. Your avarice O'ercasts the world with mourning, under foot Treading the good, and raising bad men up. Of shepherds, like to you, th' Evangelist Was ware, when her, who sits upon the waves, With kings in filthy whoredom he beheld, She who with seven heads tower'd at her birth, And from ten horns her proof of glory drew, Long as her spouse in virtue took delight. Of gold and silver ye have made your god, Diff'ring wherein from the idolater, But he that worships one, a hundred ye? Ah, Constantine! to how much ill gave birth, Not thy conversion, but that plenteous dower, Which the first wealthy Father gain'd from thee!" Meanwhile, as thus I sung, he, whether wrath Or conscience smote him, violent upsprang Spinning on either sole. I do believe My teacher well was pleas'd, with so compos'd A lip, he listen'd ever to the sound Of the true words I utter'd. In both arms He caught, and to his bosom lifting me Upward retrac'd the way of his descent. Nor weary of his weight he press'd me close, Till to the summit of the rock we came, Our passage from the fourth to the fifth pier. His cherish'd burden there gently he plac'd Upon the rugged rock and steep, a path Not easy for the clamb'ring goat to mount. Thence to my view another vale appear'd CANTO XX AND now the verse proceeds to torments new, Fit argument of this the twentieth strain Of the first song, whose awful theme records The spirits whelm'd in woe. Earnest I look'd Into the depth, that open'd to my view, Moisten'd with tears of anguish, and beheld A tribe, that came along the hollow vale, In silence weeping: such their step as walk Quires chanting solemn litanies on earth. As on them more direct mine eye descends, Each wondrously seem'd to be revers'd At the neck-bone, so that the countenance Was from the reins averted: and because None might before him look, they were compell'd To' advance with backward gait. Thus one perhaps Hath been by force of palsy clean transpos'd, But I ne'er saw it nor believe it so. Now, reader! think within thyself, so God Fruit of thy reading give thee! how I long Could keep my visage dry, when I beheld Near me our form distorted in such guise, That on the hinder parts fall'n from the face The tears down-streaming roll'd. Against a rock I leant and wept, so that my guide exclaim'd: "What, and art thou too witless as the rest? Here pity most doth show herself alive, When she is dead. What guilt exceedeth his, Who with Heaven's judgment in his passion strives? Raise up thy head, raise up, and see the man, Before whose eyes earth gap'd in Thebes, when all Cried out, 'Amphiaraus, whither rushest? 'Why leavest thou the war?' He not the less Fell ruining far as to Minos down, Whose grapple none eludes. Lo! how he makes The breast his shoulders, and who once too far Before him wish'd to see, now backward looks, And treads reverse his path. Tiresias note, Who semblance chang'd, when woman he became Of male, through every limb transform'd, and then Once more behov'd him with his rod to strike The two entwining serpents, ere the plumes, That mark'd the better sex, might shoot again. "Aruns, with more his belly facing, comes. On Luni's mountains 'midst the marbles white, Where delves Carrara's hind, who wons beneath, A cavern was his dwelling, whence the stars And main-sea wide in boundless view he held. "The next, whose loosen'd tresses overspread Her bosom, which thou seest not (for each hair On that side grows) was Manto, she who search'd Through many regions, and at length her seat Fix'd in my native land, whence a short space My words detain thy audience. When her sire From life departed, and in servitude The city dedicate to Bacchus mourn'd, Long time she went a wand'rer through the world. Aloft in Italy's delightful land A lake there lies, at foot of that proud Alp, That o'er the Tyrol locks Germania in, Its name Benacus, which a thousand rills, Methinks, and more, water between the vale Camonica and Garda and the height Of Apennine remote. There is a spot At midway of that lake, where he who bears Of Trento's flock the past'ral staff, with him Of Brescia, and the Veronese, might each Passing that way his benediction give. A garrison of goodly site and strong Peschiera stands, to awe with front oppos'd The Bergamese and Brescian, whence the shore More slope each way descends. There, whatsoev'er Benacus' bosom holds not, tumbling o'er Down falls, and winds a river flood beneath Through the green pastures. Soon as in his course The steam makes head, Benacus then no more They call the name, but Mincius, till at last Reaching Governo into Po he falls. Not far his course hath run, when a wide flat It finds, which overstretchmg as a marsh It covers, pestilent in summer oft. Hence journeying, the savage maiden saw 'Midst of the fen a territory waste And naked of inhabitants. To shun All human converse, here she with her slaves Plying her arts remain'd, and liv'd, and left Her body tenantless. Thenceforth the tribes, Who round were scatter'd, gath'ring to that place Assembled; for its strength was great, enclos'd On all parts by the fen. On those dead bones They rear'd themselves a city, for her sake, Calling it Mantua, who first chose the spot, Nor ask'd another omen for the name, Wherein more numerous the people dwelt, Ere Casalodi's madness by deceit Was wrong'd of Pinamonte. If thou hear Henceforth another origin assign'd Of that my country, I forewarn thee now, That falsehood none beguile thee of the truth." I answer'd: "Teacher, I conclude thy words So certain, that all else shall be to me As embers lacking life. But now of these, Who here proceed, instruct me, if thou see Any that merit more especial note. For thereon is my mind alone intent." He straight replied: "That spirit, from whose cheek The beard sweeps o'er his shoulders brown, what time Graecia was emptied of her males, that scarce The cradles were supplied, the seer was he In Aulis, who with Calchas gave the sign When first to cut the cable. Him they nam'd Eurypilus: so sings my tragic strain, In which majestic measure well thou know'st, Who know'st it all. That other, round the loins So slender of his shape, was Michael Scot, Practis'd in ev'ry slight of magic wile. "Guido Bonatti see: Asdente mark, Who now were willing, he had tended still The thread and cordwain; and too late repents. "See next the wretches, who the needle left, The shuttle and the spindle, and became Diviners: baneful witcheries they wrought With images and herbs. But onward now: For now doth Cain with fork of thorns confine On either hemisphere, touching the wave Beneath the towers of Seville. Yesternight The moon was round. Thou mayst remember well: For she good service did thee in the gloom Of the deep wood." This said, both onward mov'd. CANTO XXI THUS we from bridge to bridge, with other talk, The which my drama cares not to rehearse, Pass'd on; and to the summit reaching, stood To view another gap, within the round Of Malebolge, other bootless pangs. Marvelous darkness shadow'd o'er the place. In the Venetians' arsenal as boils Through wintry months tenacious pitch, to smear Their unsound vessels; for th' inclement time Sea-faring men restrains, and in that while His bark one builds anew, another stops The ribs of his, that hath made many a voyage; One hammers at the prow, one at the poop; This shapeth oars, that other cables twirls, The mizen one repairs and main-sail rent So not by force of fire but art divine Boil'd here a glutinous thick mass, that round Lim'd all the shore beneath. I that beheld, But therein nought distinguish'd, save the surge, Rais'd by the boiling, in one mighty swell Heave, and by turns subsiding and fall. While there I fix'd my ken below, "Mark! mark!" my guide Exclaiming, drew me towards him from the place, Wherein I stood. I turn'd myself as one, Impatient to behold that which beheld He needs must shun, whom sudden fear unmans, That he his flight delays not for the view. Behind me I discern'd a devil black, That running, up advanc'd along the rock. Ah! what fierce cruelty his look bespake! In act how bitter did he seem, with wings Buoyant outstretch'd and feet of nimblest tread! His shoulder proudly eminent and sharp Was with a sinner charg'd; by either haunch He held him, the foot's sinew griping fast. "Ye of our bridge!" he cried, "keen-talon'd fiends! Lo! one of Santa Zita's elders! Him Whelm ye beneath, while I return for more. That land hath store of such. All men are there, Except Bonturo, barterers: of 'no' For lucre there an 'aye' is quickly made." Him dashing down, o'er the rough rock he turn'd, Nor ever after thief a mastiff loos'd Sped with like eager haste. That other sank And forthwith writing to the surface rose. But those dark demons, shrouded by the bridge, Cried "Here the hallow'd visage saves not: here Is other swimming than in Serchio's wave. Wherefore if thou desire we rend thee not, Take heed thou mount not o'er the pitch." This said, They grappled him with more than hundred hooks, And shouted: "Cover'd thou must sport thee here; So, if thou canst, in secret mayst thou filch." E'en thus the cook bestirs him, with his grooms, To thrust the flesh into the caldron down With flesh-hooks, that it float not on the top. Me then my guide bespake: "Lest they descry, That thou art here, behind a craggy rock Bend low and screen thee; and whate'er of force Be offer'd me, or insult, fear thou not: For I am well advis'd, who have been erst In the like fray." Beyond the bridge's head Therewith he pass'd, and reaching the sixth pier, Behov'd him then a forehead terror-proof. With storm and fury, as when dogs rush forth Upon the poor man's back, who suddenly From whence he standeth makes his suit; so rush'd Those from beneath the arch, and against him Their weapons all they pointed. He aloud: "Be none of you outrageous: ere your time Dare seize me, come forth from amongst you one, "Who having heard my words, decide he then If he shall tear these limbs." They shouted loud, "Go, Malacoda!" Whereat one advanc'd, The others standing firm, and as he came, "What may this turn avail him?" he exclaim'd. "Believ'st thou, Malacoda! I had come Thus far from all your skirmishing secure," My teacher answered, "without will divine And destiny propitious? Pass we then For so Heaven's pleasure is, that I should lead Another through this savage wilderness." Forthwith so fell his pride, that he let drop The instrument of torture at his feet, And to the rest exclaim'd: "We have no power To strike him." Then to me my guide: "O thou! Who on the bridge among the crags dost sit Low crouching, safely now to me return." I rose, and towards him moved with speed: the fiends Meantime all forward drew: me terror seiz'd Lest they should break the compact they had made. Thus issuing from Caprona, once I saw Th' infantry dreading, lest his covenant The foe should break; so close he hemm'd them round. I to my leader's side adher'd, mine eyes With fixt and motionless observance bent On their unkindly visage. They their hooks Protruding, one the other thus bespake: "Wilt thou I touch him on the hip?" To whom Was answer'd: "Even so; nor miss thy aim." But he, who was in conf'rence with my guide, Turn'd rapid round, and thus the demon spake: "Stay, stay thee, Scarmiglione!" Then to us He added: "Further footing to your step This rock affords not, shiver'd to the base Of the sixth arch. But would you still proceed, Up by this cavern go: not distant far, Another rock will yield you passage safe. Yesterday, later by five hours than now, Twelve hundred threescore years and six had fill'd The circuit of their course, since here the way Was broken. Thitherward I straight dispatch Certain of these my scouts, who shall espy If any on the surface bask. With them Go ye: for ye shall find them nothing fell. Come Alichino forth," with that he cried, "And Calcabrina, and Cagnazzo thou! The troop of ten let Barbariccia lead. With Libicocco Draghinazzo haste, Fang'd Ciriatto, Grafflacane fierce, And Farfarello, and mad Rubicant. Search ye around the bubbling tar. For these, In safety lead them, where the other crag Uninterrupted traverses the dens." I then: "O master! what a sight is there! Ah! without escort, journey we alone, Which, if thou know the way, I covet not. Unless thy prudence fail thee, dost not mark How they do gnarl upon us, and their scowl Threatens us present tortures?" He replied: "I charge thee fear not: let them, as they will, Gnarl on: 't is but in token of their spite Against the souls, who mourn in torment steep'd." To leftward o'er the pier they turn'd; but each Had first between his teeth prest close the tongue, Toward their leader for a signal looking, Which he with sound obscene triumphant gave. CANTO XXII IT hath been heretofore my chance to see Horsemen with martial order shifting camp, To onset sallying, or in muster rang'd, Or in retreat sometimes outstretch'd for flight; Light-armed squadrons and fleet foragers Scouring thy plains, Arezzo! have I seen, And clashing tournaments, and tilting jousts, Now with the sound of trumpets, now of bells, Tabors, or signals made from castled heights, And with inventions multiform, our own, Or introduc'd from foreign land; but ne'er To such a strange recorder I beheld, In evolution moving, horse nor foot, Nor ship, that tack'd by sign from land or star. With the ten demons on our way we went; Ah fearful company! but in the church With saints, with gluttons at the tavern's mess. Still earnest on the pitch I gaz'd, to mark All things whate'er the chasm contain'd, and those Who burn'd within. As dolphins, that, in sign To mariners, heave high their arched backs, That thence forewarn'd they may advise to save Their threaten'd vessels; so, at intervals, To ease the pain his back some sinner show'd, Then hid more nimbly than the lightning glance. E'en as the frogs, that of a wat'ry moat Stand at the brink, with the jaws only out, Their feet and of the trunk all else concealed, Thus on each part the sinners stood, but soon As Barbariccia was at hand, so they Drew back under the wave. I saw, and yet My heart doth stagger, one, that waited thus, As it befalls that oft one frog remains, While the next springs away: and Graffiacan, Who of the fiends was nearest, grappling seiz'd His clotted locks, and dragg'd him sprawling up, That he appear'd to me an otter. Each Already by their names I knew, so well When they were chosen, I observ'd, and mark'd How one the other call'd. "O Rubicant! See that his hide thou with thy talons flay," Shouted together all the cursed crew. Then I: "Inform thee, master! if thou may, What wretched soul is this, on whom their hand His foes have laid." My leader to his side Approach'd, and whence he came inquir'd, to whom Was answer'd thus: "Born in Navarre's domain My mother plac'd me in a lord's retinue, For she had borne me to a losel vile, A spendthrift of his substance and himself. The good king Thibault after that I serv'd, To peculating here my thoughts were turn'd, Whereof I give account in this dire heat." Straight Ciriatto, from whose mouth a tusk Issued on either side, as from a boar, Ript him with one of these. 'Twixt evil claws The mouse had fall'n: but Barbariccia cried, Seizing him with both arms: "Stand thou apart, While I do fix him on my prong transpierc'd." Then added, turning to my guide his face, "Inquire of him, if more thou wish to learn, Ere he again be rent." My leader thus: "Then tell us of the partners in thy guilt; Knowest thou any sprung of Latian land Under the tar?"--"I parted," he replied, "But now from one, who sojourn'd not far thence; So were I under shelter now with him! Nor hook nor talon then should scare me more."--. "Too long we suffer," Libicocco cried, Then, darting forth a prong, seiz'd on his arm, And mangled bore away the sinewy part. Him Draghinazzo by his thighs beneath Would next have caught, whence angrily their chief, Turning on all sides round, with threat'ning brow Restrain'd them. When their strife a little ceas'd, Of him, who yet was gazing on his wound, My teacher thus without delay inquir'd: "Who was the spirit, from whom by evil hap Parting, as thou has told, thou cam'st to shore?"-- "It was the friar Gomita," he rejoin'd, "He of Gallura, vessel of all guile, Who had his master's enemies in hand, And us'd them so that they commend him well. Money he took, and them at large dismiss'd. So he reports: and in each other charge Committed to his keeping, play'd the part Of barterer to the height: with him doth herd The chief of Logodoro, Michel Zanche. Sardinia is a theme, whereof their tongue Is never weary. Out! alas! behold That other, how he grins! More would I say, But tremble lest he mean to maul me sore." Their captain then to Farfarello turning, Who roll'd his moony eyes in act to strike, Rebuk'd him thus: "Off! cursed bird! Avaunt!"-- "If ye desire to see or hear," he thus Quaking with dread resum'd, "or Tuscan spirits Or Lombard, I will cause them to appear. Meantime let these ill talons bate their fury, So that no vengeance they may fear from them, And I, remaining in this self-same place, Will for myself but one, make sev'n appear, When my shrill whistle shall be heard; for so Our custom is to call each other up." Cagnazzo at that word deriding grinn'd, Then wagg'd the head and spake: "Hear his device, Mischievous as he is, to plunge him down." Whereto he thus, who fail'd not in rich store Of nice-wove toils; "Mischief forsooth extreme, Meant only to procure myself more woe!" No longer Alichino then refrain'd, But thus, the rest gainsaying, him bespake: "If thou do cast thee down, I not on foot Will chase thee, but above the pitch will beat My plumes. Quit we the vantage ground, and let The bank be as a shield, that we may see If singly thou prevail against us all." Now, reader, of new sport expect to hear! They each one turn'd his eyes to the' other shore, He first, who was the hardest to persuade. The spirit of Navarre chose well his time, Planted his feet on land, and at one leap Escaping disappointed their resolve. Them quick resentment stung, but him the most, Who was the cause of failure; in pursuit He therefore sped, exclaiming; "Thou art caught." But little it avail'd: terror outstripp'd His following flight: the other plung'd beneath, And he with upward pinion rais'd his breast: E'en thus the water-fowl, when she perceives The falcon near, dives instant down, while he Enrag'd and spent retires. That mockery In Calcabrina fury stirr'd, who flew After him, with desire of strife inflam'd; And, for the barterer had 'scap'd, so turn'd His talons on his comrade. O'er the dyke In grapple close they join'd; but the' other prov'd A goshawk able to rend well his foe; And in the boiling lake both fell. The heat Was umpire soon between them, but in vain To lift themselves they strove, so fast were glued Their pennons. Barbariccia, as the rest, That chance lamenting, four in flight dispatch'd From the' other coast, with all their weapons arm'd. They, to their post on each side speedily Descending, stretch'd their hooks toward the fiends, Who flounder'd, inly burning from their scars: And we departing left them to that broil. ===8 THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE OR THE INFERNO BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL Part 8 Cantos 23 - 28 CANTO XXIII IN silence and in solitude we went, One first, the other following his steps, As minor friars journeying on their road. The present fray had turn'd my thoughts to muse Upon old Aesop's fable, where he told What fate unto the mouse and frog befell. For language hath not sounds more like in sense, Than are these chances, if the origin And end of each be heedfully compar'd. And as one thought bursts from another forth, So afterward from that another sprang, Which added doubly to my former fear. For thus I reason'd: "These through us have been So foil'd, with loss and mock'ry so complete, As needs must sting them sore. If anger then Be to their evil will conjoin'd, more fell They shall pursue us, than the savage hound Snatches the leveret, panting 'twixt his jaws." Already I perceiv'd my hair stand all On end with terror, and look'd eager back. "Teacher," I thus began, "if speedily Thyself and me thou hide not, much I dread Those evil talons. Even now behind They urge us: quick imagination works So forcibly, that I already feel them." He answer'd: "Were I form'd of leaded glass, I should not sooner draw unto myself Thy outward image, than I now imprint That from within. This moment came thy thoughts Presented before mine, with similar act And count'nance similar, so that from both I one design have fram'd. If the right coast Incline so much, that we may thence descend Into the other chasm, we shall escape Secure from this imagined pursuit." He had not spoke his purpose to the end, When I from far beheld them with spread wings Approach to take us. Suddenly my guide Caught me, ev'n as a mother that from sleep Is by the noise arous'd, and near her sees The climbing fires, who snatches up her babe And flies ne'er pausing, careful more of him Than of herself, that but a single vest Clings round her limbs. Down from the jutting beach Supine he cast him, to that pendent rock, Which closes on one part the other chasm. Never ran water with such hurrying pace Adown the tube to turn a landmill's wheel, When nearest it approaches to the spokes, As then along that edge my master ran, Carrying me in his bosom, as a child, Not a companion. Scarcely had his feet Reach'd to the lowest of the bed beneath, When over us the steep they reach'd; but fear In him was none; for that high Providence, Which plac'd them ministers of the fifth foss, Power of departing thence took from them all. There in the depth we saw a painted tribe, Who pac'd with tardy steps around, and wept, Faint in appearance and o'ercome with toil. Caps had they on, with hoods, that fell low down Before their eyes, in fashion like to those Worn by the monks in Cologne. Their outside Was overlaid with gold, dazzling to view, But leaden all within, and of such weight, That Frederick's compar'd to these were straw. Oh, everlasting wearisome attire! We yet once more with them together turn'd To leftward, on their dismal moan intent. But by the weight oppress'd, so slowly came The fainting people, that our company Was chang'd at every movement of the step. Whence I my guide address'd: "See that thou find Some spirit, whose name may by his deeds be known, And to that end look round thee as thou go'st." Then one, who understood the Tuscan voice, Cried after us aloud: "Hold in your feet, Ye who so swiftly speed through the dusk air. Perchance from me thou shalt obtain thy wish." Whereat my leader, turning, me bespake: "Pause, and then onward at their pace proceed." I staid, and saw two Spirits in whose look Impatient eagerness of mind was mark'd To overtake me; but the load they bare And narrow path retarded their approach. Soon as arriv'd, they with an eye askance Perus'd me, but spake not: then turning each To other thus conferring said: "This one Seems, by the action of his throat, alive. And, be they dead, what privilege allows They walk unmantled by the cumbrous stole?" Then thus to me: "Tuscan, who visitest The college of the mourning hypocrites, Disdain not to instruct us who thou art." "By Arno's pleasant stream," I thus replied, "In the great city I was bred and grew, And wear the body I have ever worn. but who are ye, from whom such mighty grief, As now I witness, courseth down your cheeks? What torment breaks forth in this bitter woe?" "Our bonnets gleaming bright with orange hue," One of them answer'd, "are so leaden gross, That with their weight they make the balances To crack beneath them. Joyous friars we were, Bologna's natives, Catalano I, He Loderingo nam'd, and by thy land Together taken, as men used to take A single and indifferent arbiter, To reconcile their strifes. How there we sped, Gardingo's vicinage can best declare." "O friars!" I began, "your miseries--" But there brake off, for one had caught my eye, Fix'd to a cross with three stakes on the ground: He, when he saw me, writh'd himself, throughout Distorted, ruffling with deep sighs his beard. And Catalano, who thereof was 'ware, Thus spake: "That pierced spirit, whom intent Thou view'st, was he who gave the Pharisees Counsel, that it were fitting for one man To suffer for the people. He doth lie Transverse; nor any passes, but him first Behoves make feeling trial how each weighs. In straits like this along the foss are plac'd The father of his consort, and the rest Partakers in that council, seed of ill And sorrow to the Jews." I noted then, How Virgil gaz'd with wonder upon him, Thus abjectly extended on the cross In banishment eternal. To the friar He next his words address'd: "We pray ye tell, If so be lawful, whether on our right Lies any opening in the rock, whereby We both may issue hence, without constraint On the dark angels, that compell'd they come To lead us from this depth." He thus replied: "Nearer than thou dost hope, there is a rock From the next circle moving, which o'ersteps Each vale of horror, save that here his cope Is shatter'd. By the ruin ye may mount: For on the side it slants, and most the height Rises below." With head bent down awhile My leader stood, then spake: "He warn'd us ill, Who yonder hangs the sinners on his hook." To whom the friar: At Bologna erst "I many vices of the devil heard, Among the rest was said, 'He is a liar, And the father of lies!'" When he had spoke, My leader with large strides proceeded on, Somewhat disturb'd with anger in his look. I therefore left the spirits heavy laden, And following, his beloved footsteps mark'd. CANTO XXIV IN the year's early nonage, when the sun Tempers his tresses in Aquarius' urn, And now towards equal day the nights recede, When as the rime upon the earth puts on Her dazzling sister's image, but not long Her milder sway endures, then riseth up The village hind, whom fails his wintry store, And looking out beholds the plain around All whiten'd, whence impatiently he smites His thighs, and to his hut returning in, There paces to and fro, wailing his lot, As a discomfited and helpless man; Then comes he forth again, and feels new hope Spring in his bosom, finding e'en thus soon The world hath chang'd its count'nance, grasps his crook, And forth to pasture drives his little flock: So me my guide dishearten'd when I saw His troubled forehead, and so speedily That ill was cur'd; for at the fallen bridge Arriving, towards me with a look as sweet, He turn'd him back, as that I first beheld At the steep mountain's foot. Regarding well The ruin, and some counsel first maintain'd With his own thought, he open'd wide his arm And took me up. As one, who, while he works, Computes his labour's issue, that he seems Still to foresee the' effect, so lifting me Up to the summit of one peak, he fix'd His eye upon another. "Grapple that," Said he, "but first make proof, if it be such As will sustain thee." For one capp'd with lead This were no journey. Scarcely he, though light, And I, though onward push'd from crag to crag, Could mount. And if the precinct of this coast Were not less ample than the last, for him I know not, but my strength had surely fail'd. But Malebolge all toward the mouth Inclining of the nethermost abyss, The site of every valley hence requires, That one side upward slope, the other fall. At length the point of our descent we reach'd From the last flag: soon as to that arriv'd, So was the breath exhausted from my lungs, I could no further, but did seat me there. "Now needs thy best of man;" so spake my guide: "For not on downy plumes, nor under shade Of canopy reposing, fame is won, Without which whosoe'er consumes his days Leaveth such vestige of himself on earth, As smoke in air or foam upon the wave. Thou therefore rise: vanish thy weariness By the mind's effort, in each struggle form'd To vanquish, if she suffer not the weight Of her corporeal frame to crush her down. A longer ladder yet remains to scale. From these to have escap'd sufficeth not. If well thou note me, profit by my words." I straightway rose, and show'd myself less spent Than I in truth did feel me. "On," I cried, "For I am stout and fearless." Up the rock Our way we held, more rugged than before, Narrower and steeper far to climb. From talk I ceas'd not, as we journey'd, so to seem Least faint; whereat a voice from the other foss Did issue forth, for utt'rance suited ill. Though on the arch that crosses there I stood, What were the words I knew not, but who spake Seem'd mov'd in anger. Down I stoop'd to look, But my quick eye might reach not to the depth For shrouding darkness; wherefore thus I spake: "To the next circle, Teacher, bend thy steps, And from the wall dismount we; for as hence I hear and understand not, so I see Beneath, and naught discern."--"I answer not," Said he, "but by the deed. To fair request Silent performance maketh best return." We from the bridge's head descended, where To the eighth mound it joins, and then the chasm Opening to view, I saw a crowd within Of serpents terrible, so strange of shape And hideous, that remembrance in my veins Yet shrinks the vital current. Of her sands Let Lybia vaunt no more: if Jaculus, Pareas and Chelyder be her brood, Cenchris and Amphisboena, plagues so dire Or in such numbers swarming ne'er she shew'd, Not with all Ethiopia, and whate'er Above the Erythraean sea is spawn'd. Amid this dread exuberance of woe Ran naked spirits wing'd with horrid fear, Nor hope had they of crevice where to hide, Or heliotrope to charm them out of view. With serpents were their hands behind them bound, Which through their reins infix'd the tail and head Twisted in folds before. And lo! on one Near to our side, darted an adder up, And, where the neck is on the shoulders tied, Transpierc'd him. Far more quickly than e'er pen Wrote O or I, he kindled, burn'd, and chang'd To ashes, all pour'd out upon the earth. When there dissolv'd he lay, the dust again Uproll'd spontaneous, and the self-same form Instant resumed. So mighty sages tell, The' Arabian Phoenix, when five hundred years Have well nigh circled, dies, and springs forthwith Renascent. Blade nor herb throughout his life He tastes, but tears of frankincense alone And odorous amomum: swaths of nard And myrrh his funeral shroud. As one that falls, He knows not how, by force demoniac dragg'd To earth, or through obstruction fettering up In chains invisible the powers of man, Who, risen from his trance, gazeth around, Bewilder'd with the monstrous agony He hath endur'd, and wildly staring sighs; So stood aghast the sinner when he rose. Oh! how severe God's judgment, that deals out Such blows in stormy vengeance! Who he was My teacher next inquir'd, and thus in few He answer'd: "Vanni Fucci am I call'd, Not long since rained down from Tuscany To this dire gullet. Me the beastial life And not the human pleas'd, mule that I was, Who in Pistoia found my worthy den." I then to Virgil: "Bid him stir not hence, And ask what crime did thrust him hither: once A man I knew him choleric and bloody." The sinner heard and feign'd not, but towards me His mind directing and his face, wherein Was dismal shame depictur'd, thus he spake: "It grieves me more to have been caught by thee In this sad plight, which thou beholdest, than When I was taken from the other life. I have no power permitted to deny What thou inquirest. I am doom'd thus low To dwell, for that the sacristy by me Was rifled of its goodly ornaments, And with the guilt another falsely charged. But that thou mayst not joy to see me thus, So as thou e'er shalt 'scape this darksome realm Open thine ears and hear what I forebode. Reft of the Neri first Pistoia pines, Then Florence changeth citizens and laws. From Valdimagra, drawn by wrathful Mars, A vapour rises, wrapt in turbid mists, And sharp and eager driveth on the storm With arrowy hurtling o'er Piceno's field, Whence suddenly the cloud shall burst, and strike Each helpless Bianco prostrate to the ground. This have I told, that grief may rend thy heart." CANTO XXV WHEN he had spoke, the sinner rais'd his hands Pointed in mockery, and cried: "Take them, God! I level them at thee!" From that day forth The serpents were my friends; for round his neck One of then rolling twisted, as it said, "Be silent, tongue!" Another to his arms Upgliding, tied them, riveting itself So close, it took from them the power to move. Pistoia! Ah Pistoia! why dost doubt To turn thee into ashes, cumb'ring earth No longer, since in evil act so far Thou hast outdone thy seed? I did not mark, Through all the gloomy circles of the' abyss, Spirit, that swell'd so proudly 'gainst his God, Not him, who headlong fell from Thebes. He fled, Nor utter'd more; and after him there came A centaur full of fury, shouting, "Where Where is the caitiff?" On Maremma's marsh Swarm not the serpent tribe, as on his haunch They swarm'd, to where the human face begins. Behind his head upon the shoulders lay, With open wings, a dragon breathing fire On whomsoe'er he met. To me my guide: "Cacus is this, who underneath the rock Of Aventine spread oft a lake of blood. He, from his brethren parted, here must tread A different journey, for his fraudful theft Of the great herd, that near him stall'd; whence found His felon deeds their end, beneath the mace Of stout Alcides, that perchance laid on A hundred blows, and not the tenth was felt." While yet he spake, the centaur sped away: And under us three spirits came, of whom Nor I nor he was ware, till they exclaim'd; "Say who are ye?" We then brake off discourse, Intent on these alone. I knew them not; But, as it chanceth oft, befell, that one Had need to name another. "Where," said he, "Doth Cianfa lurk?" I, for a sign my guide Should stand attentive, plac'd against my lips The finger lifted. If, O reader! now Thou be not apt to credit what I tell, No marvel; for myself do scarce allow The witness of mine eyes. But as I looked Toward them, lo! a serpent with six feet Springs forth on one, and fastens full upon him: His midmost grasp'd the belly, a forefoot Seiz'd on each arm (while deep in either cheek He flesh'd his fangs); the hinder on the thighs Were spread, 'twixt which the tail inserted curl'd Upon the reins behind. Ivy ne'er clasp'd A dodder'd oak, as round the other's limbs The hideous monster intertwin'd his own. Then, as they both had been of burning wax, Each melted into other, mingling hues, That which was either now was seen no more. Thus up the shrinking paper, ere it burns, A brown tint glides, not turning yet to black, And the clean white expires. The other two Look'd on exclaiming: "Ah, how dost thou change, Agnello! See! Thou art nor double now, "Nor only one." The two heads now became One, and two figures blended in one form Appear'd, where both were lost. Of the four lengths Two arms were made: the belly and the chest The thighs and legs into such members chang'd, As never eye hath seen. Of former shape All trace was vanish'd. Two yet neither seem'd That image miscreate, and so pass'd on With tardy steps. As underneath the scourge Of the fierce dog-star, that lays bare the fields, Shifting from brake to brake, the lizard seems A flash of lightning, if he thwart the road, So toward th' entrails of the other two Approaching seem'd, an adder all on fire, As the dark pepper-grain, livid and swart. In that part, whence our life is nourish'd first, One he transpierc'd; then down before him fell Stretch'd out. The pierced spirit look'd on him But spake not; yea stood motionless and yawn'd, As if by sleep or fev'rous fit assail'd. He ey'd the serpent, and the serpent him. One from the wound, the other from the mouth Breath'd a thick smoke, whose vap'ry columns join'd. Lucan in mute attention now may hear, Nor thy disastrous fate, Sabellus! tell, Nor shine, Nasidius! Ovid now be mute. What if in warbling fiction he record Cadmus and Arethusa, to a snake Him chang'd, and her into a fountain clear, I envy not; for never face to face Two natures thus transmuted did he sing, Wherein both shapes were ready to assume The other's substance. They in mutual guise So answer'd, that the serpent split his train Divided to a fork, and the pierc'd spirit Drew close his steps together, legs and thighs Compacted, that no sign of juncture soon Was visible: the tail disparted took The figure which the spirit lost, its skin Soft'ning, his indurated to a rind. The shoulders next I mark'd, that ent'ring join'd The monster's arm-pits, whose two shorter feet So lengthen'd, as the other's dwindling shrunk. The feet behind then twisting up became That part that man conceals, which in the wretch Was cleft in twain. While both the shadowy smoke With a new colour veils, and generates Th' excrescent pile on one, peeling it off From th' other body, lo! upon his feet One upright rose, and prone the other fell. Not yet their glaring and malignant lamps Were shifted, though each feature chang'd beneath. Of him who stood erect, the mounting face Retreated towards the temples, and what there Superfluous matter came, shot out in ears From the smooth cheeks, the rest, not backward dragg'd, Of its excess did shape the nose; and swell'd Into due size protuberant the lips. He, on the earth who lay, meanwhile extends His sharpen'd visage, and draws down the ears Into the head, as doth the slug his horns. His tongue continuous before and apt For utt'rance, severs; and the other's fork Closing unites. That done the smoke was laid. The soul, transform'd into the brute, glides off, Hissing along the vale, and after him The other talking sputters; but soon turn'd His new-grown shoulders on him, and in few Thus to another spake: "Along this path Crawling, as I have done, speed Buoso now!" So saw I fluctuate in successive change Th' unsteady ballast of the seventh hold: And here if aught my tongue have swerv'd, events So strange may be its warrant. O'er mine eyes Confusion hung, and on my thoughts amaze. Yet 'scap'd they not so covertly, but well I mark'd Sciancato: he alone it was Of the three first that came, who chang'd not: thou, The other's fate, Gaville, still dost rue. CANTO XXVI FLORENCE exult! for thou so mightily Hast thriven, that o'er land and sea thy wings Thou beatest, and thy name spreads over hell! Among the plund'rers such the three I found Thy citizens, whence shame to me thy son, And no proud honour to thyself redounds. But if our minds, when dreaming near the dawn, Are of the truth presageful, thou ere long Shalt feel what Prato, (not to say the rest) Would fain might come upon thee; and that chance Were in good time, if it befell thee now. Would so it were, since it must needs befall! For as time wears me, I shall grieve the more. We from the depth departed; and my guide Remounting scal'd the flinty steps, which late We downward trac'd, and drew me up the steep. Pursuing thus our solitary way Among the crags and splinters of the rock, Sped not our feet without the help of hands. Then sorrow seiz'd me, which e'en now revives, As my thought turns again to what I saw, And, more than I am wont, I rein and curb The powers of nature in me, lest they run Where Virtue guides not; that if aught of good My gentle star, or something better gave me, I envy not myself the precious boon. As in that season, when the sun least veils His face that lightens all, what time the fly Gives way to the shrill gnat, the peasant then Upon some cliff reclin'd, beneath him sees Fire-flies innumerous spangling o'er the vale, Vineyard or tilth, where his day-labour lies: With flames so numberless throughout its space Shone the eighth chasm, apparent, when the depth Was to my view expos'd. As he, whose wrongs The bears aveng'd, at its departure saw Elijah's chariot, when the steeds erect Rais'd their steep flight for heav'n; his eyes meanwhile, Straining pursu'd them, till the flame alone Upsoaring like a misty speck he kenn'd; E'en thus along the gulf moves every flame, A sinner so enfolded close in each, That none exhibits token of the theft. Upon the bridge I forward bent to look, And grasp'd a flinty mass, or else had fall'n, Though push'd not from the height. The guide, who mark'd How I did gaze attentive, thus began: "Within these ardours are the spirits, each Swath'd in confining fire."--"Master, thy word," I answer'd, "hath assur'd me; yet I deem'd Already of the truth, already wish'd To ask thee, who is in yon fire, that comes So parted at the summit, as it seem'd Ascending from that funeral pile, where lay The Theban brothers?" He replied: "Within Ulysses there and Diomede endure Their penal tortures, thus to vengeance now Together hasting, as erewhile to wrath. These in the flame with ceaseless groans deplore The ambush of the horse, that open'd wide A portal for that goodly seed to pass, Which sow'd imperial Rome; nor less the guile Lament they, whence of her Achilles 'reft Deidamia yet in death complains. And there is rued the stratagem, that Troy Of her Palladium spoil'd."--"If they have power Of utt'rance from within these sparks," said I, "O master! think my prayer a thousand fold In repetition urg'd, that thou vouchsafe To pause, till here the horned flame arrive. See, how toward it with desire I bend." He thus: "Thy prayer is worthy of much praise, And I accept it therefore: but do thou Thy tongue refrain: to question them be mine, For I divine thy wish: and they perchance, For they were Greeks, might shun discourse with thee." When there the flame had come, where time and place Seem'd fitting to my guide, he thus began: "O ye, who dwell two spirits in one fire! If living I of you did merit aught, Whate'er the measure were of that desert, When in the world my lofty strain I pour'd, Move ye not on, till one of you unfold In what clime death o'ertook him self-destroy'd." Of the old flame forthwith the greater horn Began to roll, murmuring, as a fire That labours with the wind, then to and fro Wagging the top, as a tongue uttering sounds, Threw out its voice, and spake: "When I escap'd From Circe, who beyond a circling year Had held me near Caieta, by her charms, Ere thus Aeneas yet had nam'd the shore, Nor fondness for my son, nor reverence Of my old father, nor return of love, That should have crown'd Penelope with joy, Could overcome in me the zeal I had T' explore the world, and search the ways of life, Man's evil and his virtue. Forth I sail'd Into the deep illimitable main, With but one bark, and the small faithful band That yet cleav'd to me. As Iberia far, Far as Morocco either shore I saw, And the Sardinian and each isle beside Which round that ocean bathes. Tardy with age Were I and my companions, when we came To the strait pass, where Hercules ordain'd The bound'ries not to be o'erstepp'd by man. The walls of Seville to my right I left, On the' other hand already Ceuta past. "O brothers!" I began, "who to the west Through perils without number now have reach'd, To this the short remaining watch, that yet Our senses have to wake, refuse not proof Of the unpeopled world, following the track Of Phoebus. Call to mind from whence we sprang: Ye were not form'd to live the life of brutes But virtue to pursue and knowledge high. With these few words I sharpen'd for the voyage The mind of my associates, that I then Could scarcely have withheld them. To the dawn Our poop we turn'd, and for the witless flight Made our oars wings, still gaining on the left. Each star of the' other pole night now beheld, And ours so low, that from the ocean-floor It rose not. Five times re-illum'd, as oft Vanish'd the light from underneath the moon Since the deep way we enter'd, when from far Appear'd a mountain dim, loftiest methought Of all I e'er beheld. Joy seiz'd us straight, But soon to mourning changed. From the new land A whirlwind sprung, and at her foremost side Did strike the vessel. Thrice it whirl'd her round With all the waves, the fourth time lifted up The poop, and sank the prow: so fate decreed: And over us the booming billow clos'd." CANTO XVII NOW upward rose the flame, and still'd its light To speak no more, and now pass'd on with leave From the mild poet gain'd, when following came Another, from whose top a sound confus'd, Forth issuing, drew our eyes that way to look. As the Sicilian bull, that rightfully His cries first echoed, who had shap'd its mould, Did so rebellow, with the voice of him Tormented, that the brazen monster seem'd Pierc'd through with pain; thus while no way they found Nor avenue immediate through the flame, Into its language turn'd the dismal words: But soon as they had won their passage forth, Up from the point, which vibrating obey'd Their motion at the tongue, these sounds we heard: "O thou! to whom I now direct my voice! That lately didst exclaim in Lombard phrase, "Depart thou, I solicit thee no more, Though somewhat tardy I perchance arrive Let it not irk thee here to pause awhile, And with me parley: lo! it irks not me And yet I burn. If but e'en now thou fall into this blind world, from that pleasant land Of Latium, whence I draw my sum of guilt, Tell me if those, who in Romagna dwell, Have peace or war. For of the mountains there Was I, betwixt Urbino and the height, Whence Tyber first unlocks his mighty flood." Leaning I listen'd yet with heedful ear, When, as he touch'd my side, the leader thus: "Speak thou: he is a Latian." My reply Was ready, and I spake without delay: "O spirit! who art hidden here below! Never was thy Romagna without war In her proud tyrants' bosoms, nor is now: But open war there left I none. The state, Ravenna hath maintain'd this many a year, Is steadfast. There Polenta's eagle broods, And in his broad circumference of plume O'ershadows Cervia. The green talons grasp The land, that stood erewhile the proof so long, And pil'd in bloody heap the host of France. "The' old mastiff of Verruchio and the young, That tore Montagna in their wrath, still make, Where they are wont, an augre of their fangs. "Lamone's city and Santerno's range Under the lion of the snowy lair. Inconstant partisan! that changeth sides, Or ever summer yields to winter's frost. And she, whose flank is wash'd of Savio's wave, As 'twixt the level and the steep she lies, Lives so 'twixt tyrant power and liberty. "Now tell us, I entreat thee, who art thou? Be not more hard than others. In the world, So may thy name still rear its forehead high." Then roar'd awhile the fire, its sharpen'd point On either side wav'd, and thus breath'd at last: "If I did think, my answer were to one, Who ever could return unto the world, This flame should rest unshaken. But since ne'er, If true be told me, any from this depth Has found his upward way, I answer thee, Nor fear lest infamy record the words. "A man of arms at first, I cloth'd me then In good Saint Francis' girdle, hoping so T' have made amends. And certainly my hope Had fail'd not, but that he, whom curses light on, The' high priest again seduc'd me into sin. And how and wherefore listen while I tell. Long as this spirit mov'd the bones and pulp My mother gave me, less my deeds bespake The nature of the lion than the fox. All ways of winding subtlety I knew, And with such art conducted, that the sound Reach'd the world's limit. Soon as to that part Of life I found me come, when each behoves To lower sails and gather in the lines; That which before had pleased me then I rued, And to repentance and confession turn'd; Wretch that I was! and well it had bested me! The chief of the new Pharisees meantime, Waging his warfare near the Lateran, Not with the Saracens or Jews (his foes All Christians were, nor against Acre one Had fought, nor traffic'd in the Soldan's land), He his great charge nor sacred ministry In himself, rev'renc'd, nor in me that cord, Which us'd to mark with leanness whom it girded. As in Socrate, Constantine besought To cure his leprosy Sylvester's aid, So me to cure the fever of his pride This man besought: my counsel to that end He ask'd: and I was silent: for his words Seem'd drunken: but forthwith he thus resum'd: 'From thy heart banish fear: of all offence I hitherto absolve thee. In return, Teach me my purpose so to execute, That Penestrino cumber earth no more. Heav'n, as thou knowest, I have power to shut And open: and the keys are therefore twain, The which my predecessor meanly priz'd.'" Then, yielding to the forceful arguments, Of silence as more perilous I deem'd, And answer'd: "Father! since thou washest me Clear of that guilt wherein I now must fall, Large promise with performance scant, be sure, Shall make thee triumph in thy lofty seat." "When I was number'd with the dead, then came Saint Francis for me; but a cherub dark He met, who cried: 'Wrong me not; he is mine, And must below to join the wretched crew, For the deceitful counsel which he gave. E'er since I watch'd him, hov'ring at his hair, No power can the impenitent absolve; Nor to repent and will at once consist, By contradiction absolute forbid.'" Oh mis'ry! how I shook myself, when he Seiz'd me, and cried, "Thou haply thought'st me not A disputant in logic so exact." To Minos down he bore me, and the judge Twin'd eight times round his callous back the tail, Which biting with excess of rage, he spake: "This is a guilty soul, that in the fire Must vanish. Hence perdition-doom'd I rove A prey to rankling sorrow in this garb." When he had thus fulfill'd his words, the flame In dolour parted, beating to and fro, And writhing its sharp horn. We onward went, I and my leader, up along the rock, Far as another arch, that overhangs The foss, wherein the penalty is paid Of those, who load them with committed sin. CANTO XXVIII WHO, e'en in words unfetter'd, might at full Tell of the wounds and blood that now I saw, Though he repeated oft the tale? No tongue So vast a theme could equal, speech and thought Both impotent alike. If in one band Collected, stood the people all, who e'er Pour'd on Apulia's happy soil their blood, Slain by the Trojans, and in that long war When of the rings the measur'd booty made A pile so high, as Rome's historian writes Who errs not, with the multitude, that felt The grinding force of Guiscard's Norman steel, And those the rest, whose bones are gather'd yet At Ceperano, there where treachery Branded th' Apulian name, or where beyond Thy walls, O Tagliacozzo, without arms The old Alardo conquer'd; and his limbs One were to show transpierc'd, another his Clean lopt away; a spectacle like this Were but a thing of nought, to the' hideous sight Of the ninth chasm. A rundlet, that hath lost Its middle or side stave, gapes not so wide, As one I mark'd, torn from the chin throughout Down to the hinder passage: 'twixt the legs Dangling his entrails hung, the midriff lay Open to view, and wretched ventricle, That turns th' englutted aliment to dross. Whilst eagerly I fix on him my gaze, He ey'd me, with his hands laid his breast bare, And cried; "Now mark how I do rip me! lo! "How is Mohammed mangled! before me Walks Ali weeping, from the chin his face Cleft to the forelock; and the others all Whom here thou seest, while they liv'd, did sow Scandal and schism, and therefore thus are rent. A fiend is here behind, who with his sword Hacks us thus cruelly, slivering again Each of this ream, when we have compast round The dismal way, for first our gashes close Ere we repass before him. But say who Art thou, that standest musing on the rock, Haply so lingering to delay the pain Sentenc'd upon thy crimes?"--"Him death not yet," My guide rejoin'd, "hath overta'en, nor sin Conducts to torment; but, that he may make Full trial of your state, I who am dead Must through the depths of hell, from orb to orb, Conduct him. Trust my words, for they are true." More than a hundred spirits, when that they heard, Stood in the foss to mark me, through amazed, Forgetful of their pangs. "Thou, who perchance Shalt shortly view the sun, this warning thou Bear to Dolcino: bid him, if he wish not Here soon to follow me, that with good store Of food he arm him, lest impris'ning snows Yield him a victim to Novara's power, No easy conquest else." With foot uprais'd For stepping, spake Mohammed, on the ground Then fix'd it to depart. Another shade, Pierc'd in the throat, his nostrils mutilate E'en from beneath the eyebrows, and one ear Lopt off, who with the rest through wonder stood Gazing, before the rest advanc'd, and bar'd His wind-pipe, that without was all o'ersmear'd With crimson stain. "O thou!" said he, "whom sin Condemns not, and whom erst (unless too near Resemblance do deceive me) I aloft Have seen on Latian ground, call thou to mind Piero of Medicina, if again Returning, thou behold'st the pleasant land That from Vercelli slopes to Mercabo; "And there instruct the twain, whom Fano boasts Her worthiest sons, Guido and Angelo, That if 't is giv'n us here to scan aright The future, they out of life's tenement Shall be cast forth, and whelm'd under the waves Near to Cattolica, through perfidy Of a fell tyrant. 'Twixt the Cyprian isle And Balearic, ne'er hath Neptune seen An injury so foul, by pirates done Or Argive crew of old. That one-ey'd traitor (Whose realm there is a spirit here were fain His eye had still lack'd sight of) them shall bring To conf'rence with him, then so shape his end, That they shall need not 'gainst Focara's wind Offer up vow nor pray'r." I answering thus: "Declare, as thou dost wish that I above May carry tidings of thee, who is he, In whom that sight doth wake such sad remembrance?" Forthwith he laid his hand on the cheek-bone Of one, his fellow-spirit, and his jaws Expanding, cried: "Lo! this is he I wot of; He speaks not for himself: the outcast this Who overwhelm'd the doubt in Caesar's mind, Affirming that delay to men prepar'd Was ever harmful." Oh how terrified Methought was Curio, from whose throat was cut The tongue, which spake that hardy word. Then one Maim'd of each hand, uplifted in the gloom The bleeding stumps, that they with gory spots Sullied his face, and cried: "'Remember thee Of Mosca, too, I who, alas! exclaim'd, 'The deed once done there is an end,' that prov'd A seed of sorrow to the Tuscan race." I added: "Ay, and death to thine own tribe." Whence heaping woe on woe he hurried off, As one grief stung to madness. But I there Still linger'd to behold the troop, and saw Things, such as I may fear without more proof To tell of, but that conscience makes me firm, The boon companion, who her strong breast-plate Buckles on him, that feels no guilt within And bids him on and fear not. Without doubt I saw, and yet it seems to pass before me, A headless trunk, that even as the rest Of the sad flock pac'd onward. By the hair It bore the sever'd member, lantern-wise Pendent in hand, which look'd at us and said, "Woe's me!" The spirit lighted thus himself, And two there were in one, and one in two. How that may be he knows who ordereth so. When at the bridge's foot direct he stood, His arm aloft he rear'd, thrusting the head Full in our view, that nearer we might hear The words, which thus it utter'd: "Now behold This grievous torment, thou, who breathing go'st To spy the dead; behold if any else Be terrible as this. And that on earth Thou mayst bear tidings of me, know that I Am Bertrand, he of Born, who gave King John The counsel mischievous. Father and son I set at mutual war. For Absalom And David more did not Ahitophel, Spurring them on maliciously to strife. For parting those so closely knit, my brain Parted, alas! I carry from its source, That in this trunk inhabits. Thus the law Of retribution fiercely works in me." ===9 THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE OR THE INFERNO BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL Part 9 Cantos 29 - 31 CANTO XXIX SO were mine eyes inebriate with view Of the vast multitude, whom various wounds Disfigur'd, that they long'd to stay and weep. But Virgil rous'd me: "What yet gazest on? Wherefore doth fasten yet thy sight below Among the maim'd and miserable shades? Thou hast not shewn in any chasm beside This weakness. Know, if thou wouldst number them That two and twenty miles the valley winds Its circuit, and already is the moon Beneath our feet: the time permitted now Is short, and more not seen remains to see." "If thou," I straight replied, "hadst weigh'd the cause For which I look'd, thou hadst perchance excus'd The tarrying still." My leader part pursu'd His way, the while I follow'd, answering him, And adding thus: "Within that cave I deem, Whereon so fixedly I held my ken, There is a spirit dwells, one of my blood, Wailing the crime that costs him now so dear." Then spake my master: "Let thy soul no more Afflict itself for him. Direct elsewhere Its thought, and leave him. At the bridge's foot I mark'd how he did point with menacing look At thee, and heard him by the others nam'd Geri of Bello. Thou so wholly then Wert busied with his spirit, who once rul'd The towers of Hautefort, that thou lookedst not That way, ere he was gone."--"O guide belov'd! His violent death yet unaveng'd," said I, "By any, who are partners in his shame, Made him contemptuous: therefore, as I think, He pass'd me speechless by; and doing so Hath made me more compassionate his fate." So we discours'd to where the rock first show'd The other valley, had more light been there, E'en to the lowest depth. Soon as we came O'er the last cloister in the dismal rounds Of Malebolge, and the brotherhood Were to our view expos'd, then many a dart Of sore lament assail'd me, headed all With points of thrilling pity, that I clos'd Both ears against the volley with mine hands. As were the torment, if each lazar-house Of Valdichiana, in the sultry time 'Twixt July and September, with the isle Sardinia and Maremma's pestilent fen, Had heap'd their maladies all in one foss Together; such was here the torment: dire The stench, as issuing steams from fester'd limbs. We on the utmost shore of the long rock Descended still to leftward. Then my sight Was livelier to explore the depth, wherein The minister of the most mighty Lord, All-searching Justice, dooms to punishment The forgers noted on her dread record. More rueful was it not methinks to see The nation in Aegina droop, what time Each living thing, e'en to the little worm, All fell, so full of malice was the air (And afterward, as bards of yore have told, The ancient people were restor'd anew From seed of emmets) than was here to see The spirits, that languish'd through the murky vale Up-pil'd on many a stack. Confus'd they lay, One o'er the belly, o'er the shoulders one Roll'd of another; sideling crawl'd a third Along the dismal pathway. Step by step We journey'd on, in silence looking round And list'ning those diseas'd, who strove in vain To lift their forms. Then two I mark'd, that sat Propp'd 'gainst each other, as two brazen pans Set to retain the heat. From head to foot, A tetter bark'd them round. Nor saw I e'er Groom currying so fast, for whom his lord Impatient waited, or himself perchance Tir'd with long watching, as of these each one Plied quickly his keen nails, through furiousness Of ne'er abated pruriency. The crust Came drawn from underneath in flakes, like scales Scrap'd from the bream or fish of broader mail. "O thou, who with thy fingers rendest off Thy coat of proof," thus spake my guide to one, "And sometimes makest tearing pincers of them, Tell me if any born of Latian land Be among these within: so may thy nails Serve thee for everlasting to this toil." "Both are of Latium," weeping he replied, "Whom tortur'd thus thou seest: but who art thou That hast inquir'd of us?" To whom my guide: "One that descend with this man, who yet lives, From rock to rock, and show him hell's abyss." Then started they asunder, and each turn'd Trembling toward us, with the rest, whose ear Those words redounding struck. To me my liege Address'd him: "Speak to them whate'er thou list." And I therewith began: "So may no time Filch your remembrance from the thoughts of men In th' upper world, but after many suns Survive it, as ye tell me, who ye are, And of what race ye come. Your punishment, Unseemly and disgustful in its kind, Deter you not from opening thus much to me." "Arezzo was my dwelling," answer'd one, "And me Albero of Sienna brought To die by fire; but that, for which I died, Leads me not here. True is in sport I told him, That I had learn'd to wing my flight in air. And he admiring much, as he was void Of wisdom, will'd me to declare to him The secret of mine art: and only hence, Because I made him not a Daedalus, Prevail'd on one suppos'd his sire to burn me. But Minos to this chasm last of the ten, For that I practis'd alchemy on earth, Has doom'd me. Him no subterfuge eludes." Then to the bard I spake: "Was ever race Light as Sienna's? Sure not France herself Can show a tribe so frivolous and vain." The other leprous spirit heard my words, And thus return'd: "Be Stricca from this charge Exempted, he who knew so temp'rately To lay out fortune's gifts; and Niccolo Who first the spice's costly luxury Discover'd in that garden, where such seed Roots deepest in the soil: and be that troop Exempted, with whom Caccia of Asciano Lavish'd his vineyards and wide-spreading woods, And his rare wisdom Abbagliato show'd A spectacle for all. That thou mayst know Who seconds thee against the Siennese Thus gladly, bend this way thy sharpen'd sight, That well my face may answer to thy ken; So shalt thou see I am Capocchio's ghost, Who forg'd transmuted metals by the power Of alchemy; and if I scan thee right, Thus needs must well remember how I aped Creative nature by my subtle art." CANTO XXX WHAT time resentment burn'd in Juno's breast For Semele against the Theban blood, As more than once in dire mischance was rued, Such fatal frenzy seiz'd on Athamas, That he his spouse beholding with a babe Laden on either arm, "Spread out," he cried, "The meshes, that I take the lioness And the young lions at the pass:" then forth Stretch'd he his merciless talons, grasping one, One helpless innocent, Learchus nam'd, Whom swinging down he dash'd upon a rock, And with her other burden self-destroy'd The hapless mother plung'd: and when the pride Of all-presuming Troy fell from its height, By fortune overwhelm'd, and the old king With his realm perish'd, then did Hecuba, A wretch forlorn and captive, when she saw Polyxena first slaughter'd, and her son, Her Polydorus, on the wild sea-beach Next met the mourner's view, then reft of sense Did she run barking even as a dog; Such mighty power had grief to wrench her soul. Bet ne'er the Furies or of Thebes or Troy With such fell cruelty were seen, their goads Infixing in the limbs of man or beast, As now two pale and naked ghost I saw That gnarling wildly scamper'd, like the swine Excluded from his stye. One reach'd Capocchio, And in the neck-joint sticking deep his fangs, Dragg'd him, that o'er the solid pavement rubb'd His belly stretch'd out prone. The other shape, He of Arezzo, there left trembling, spake; "That sprite of air is Schicchi; in like mood Of random mischief vent he still his spite." To whom I answ'ring: "Oh! as thou dost hope, The other may not flesh its jaws on thee, Be patient to inform us, who it is, Ere it speed hence."--"That is the ancient soul Of wretched Myrrha," he replied, "who burn'd With most unholy flame for her own sire, "And a false shape assuming, so perform'd The deed of sin; e'en as the other there, That onward passes, dar'd to counterfeit Donati's features, to feign'd testament The seal affixing, that himself might gain, For his own share, the lady of the herd." When vanish'd the two furious shades, on whom Mine eye was held, I turn'd it back to view The other cursed spirits. One I saw In fashion like a lute, had but the groin Been sever'd, where it meets the forked part. Swoln dropsy, disproportioning the limbs With ill-converted moisture, that the paunch Suits not the visage, open'd wide his lips Gasping as in the hectic man for drought, One towards the chin, the other upward curl'd. "O ye, who in this world of misery, Wherefore I know not, are exempt from pain," Thus he began, "attentively regard Adamo's woe. When living, full supply Ne'er lack'd me of what most I coveted; One drop of water now, alas! I crave. The rills, that glitter down the grassy slopes Of Casentino, making fresh and soft The banks whereby they glide to Arno's stream, Stand ever in my view; and not in vain; For more the pictur'd semblance dries me up, Much more than the disease, which makes the flesh Desert these shrivel'd cheeks. So from the place, Where I transgress'd, stern justice urging me, Takes means to quicken more my lab'ring sighs. There is Romena, where I falsified The metal with the Baptist's form imprest, For which on earth I left my body burnt. But if I here might see the sorrowing soul Of Guido, Alessandro, or their brother, For Branda's limpid spring I would not change The welcome sight. One is e'en now within, If truly the mad spirits tell, that round Are wand'ring. But wherein besteads me that? My limbs are fetter'd. Were I but so light, That I each hundred years might move one inch, I had set forth already on this path, Seeking him out amidst the shapeless crew, Although eleven miles it wind, not more Than half of one across. They brought me down Among this tribe; induc'd by them I stamp'd The florens with three carats of alloy." "Who are that abject pair," I next inquir'd, "That closely bounding thee upon thy right Lie smoking, like a band in winter steep'd In the chill stream?"--"When to this gulf I dropt," He answer'd, "here I found them; since that hour They have not turn'd, nor ever shall, I ween, Till time hath run his course. One is that dame The false accuser of the Hebrew youth; Sinon the other, that false Greek from Troy. Sharp fever drains the reeky moistness out, In such a cloud upsteam'd." When that he heard, One, gall'd perchance to be so darkly nam'd, With clench'd hand smote him on the braced paunch, That like a drum resounded: but forthwith Adamo smote him on the face, the blow Returning with his arm, that seem'd as hard. "Though my o'erweighty limbs have ta'en from me The power to move," said he, "I have an arm At liberty for such employ." To whom Was answer'd: "When thou wentest to the fire, Thou hadst it not so ready at command, Then readier when it coin'd th' impostor gold." And thus the dropsied: "Ay, now speak'st thou true. But there thou gav'st not such true testimony, When thou wast question'd of the truth, at Troy." "If I spake false, thou falsely stamp'dst the coin," Said Sinon; "I am here but for one fault, And thou for more than any imp beside." "Remember," he replied, "O perjur'd one, The horse remember, that did teem with death, And all the world be witness to thy guilt." "To thine," return'd the Greek, "witness the thirst Whence thy tongue cracks, witness the fluid mound, Rear'd by thy belly up before thine eyes, A mass corrupt." To whom the coiner thus: "Thy mouth gapes wide as ever to let pass Its evil saying. Me if thirst assails, Yet I am stuff'd with moisture. Thou art parch'd, Pains rack thy head, no urging would'st thou need To make thee lap Narcissus' mirror up." I was all fix'd to listen, when my guide Admonish'd: "Now beware: a little more. And I do quarrel with thee." I perceiv'd How angrily he spake, and towards him turn'd With shame so poignant, as remember'd yet Confounds me. As a man that dreams of harm Befall'n him, dreaming wishes it a dream, And that which is, desires as if it were not, Such then was I, who wanting power to speak Wish'd to excuse myself, and all the while Excus'd me, though unweeting that I did. "More grievous fault than thine has been, less shame," My master cried, "might expiate. Therefore cast All sorrow from thy soul; and if again Chance bring thee, where like conference is held, Think I am ever at thy side. To hear Such wrangling is a joy for vulgar minds." CANTO XXXI THE very tongue, whose keen reproof before Had wounded me, that either cheek was stain'd, Now minister'd my cure. So have I heard, Achilles and his father's javelin caus'd Pain first, and then the boon of health restor'd. Turning our back upon the vale of woe, W cross'd th' encircled mound in silence. There Was twilight dim, that far long the gloom Mine eye advanc'd not: but I heard a horn Sounded aloud. The peal it blew had made The thunder feeble. Following its course The adverse way, my strained eyes were bent On that one spot. So terrible a blast Orlando blew not, when that dismal rout O'erthrew the host of Charlemagne, and quench'd His saintly warfare. Thitherward not long My head was rais'd, when many lofty towers Methought I spied. "Master," said I, "what land Is this?" He answer'd straight: "Too long a space Of intervening darkness has thine eye To traverse: thou hast therefore widely err'd In thy imagining. Thither arriv'd Thou well shalt see, how distance can delude The sense. A little therefore urge thee on." Then tenderly he caught me by the hand; "Yet know," said he, "ere farther we advance, That it less strange may seem, these are not towers, But giants. In the pit they stand immers'd, Each from his navel downward, round the bank." As when a fog disperseth gradually, Our vision traces what the mist involves Condens'd in air; so piercing through the gross And gloomy atmosphere, as more and more We near'd toward the brink, mine error fled, And fear came o'er me. As with circling round Of turrets, Montereggion crowns his walls, E'en thus the shore, encompassing th' abyss, Was turreted with giants, half their length Uprearing, horrible, whom Jove from heav'n Yet threatens, when his mutt'ring thunder rolls. Of one already I descried the face, Shoulders, and breast, and of the belly huge Great part, and both arms down along his ribs. All-teeming nature, when her plastic hand Left framing of these monsters, did display Past doubt her wisdom, taking from mad War Such slaves to do his bidding; and if she Repent her not of th' elephant and whale, Who ponders well confesses her therein Wiser and more discreet; for when brute force And evil will are back'd with subtlety, Resistance none avails. His visage seem'd In length and bulk, as doth the pine, that tops Saint Peter's Roman fane; and th' other bones Of like proportion, so that from above The bank, which girdled him below, such height Arose his stature, that three Friezelanders Had striv'n in vain to reach but to his hair. Full thirty ample palms was he expos'd Downward from whence a man his garments loops. "Raphel bai ameth sabi almi," So shouted his fierce lips, which sweeter hymns Became not; and my guide address'd him thus: "O senseless spirit! let thy horn for thee Interpret: therewith vent thy rage, if rage Or other passion wring thee. Search thy neck, There shalt thou find the belt that binds it on. Wild spirit! lo, upon thy mighty breast Where hangs the baldrick!" Then to me he spake: "He doth accuse himself. Nimrod is this, Through whose ill counsel in the world no more One tongue prevails. But pass we on, nor waste Our words; for so each language is to him, As his to others, understood by none." Then to the leftward turning sped we forth, And at a sling's throw found another shade Far fiercer and more huge. I cannot say What master hand had girt him; but he held Behind the right arm fetter'd, and before The other with a chain, that fasten'd him From the neck down, and five times round his form Apparent met the wreathed links. "This proud one Would of his strength against almighty Jove Make trial," said my guide; "whence he is thus Requited: Ephialtes him they call. "Great was his prowess, when the giants brought Fear on the gods: those arms, which then he piled, Now moves he never." Forthwith I return'd: "Fain would I, if 't were possible, mine eyes Of Briareus immeasurable gain'd Experience next." He answer'd: "Thou shalt see Not far from hence Antaeus, who both speaks And is unfetter'd, who shall place us there Where guilt is at its depth. Far onward stands Whom thou wouldst fain behold, in chains, and made Like to this spirit, save that in his looks More fell he seems." By violent earthquake rock'd Ne'er shook a tow'r, so reeling to its base, As Ephialtes. More than ever then I dreaded death, nor than the terror more Had needed, if I had not seen the cords That held him fast. We, straightway journeying on, Came to Antaeus, who five ells complete Without the head, forth issued from the cave. "O thou, who in the fortunate vale, that made Great Scipio heir of glory, when his sword Drove back the troop of Hannibal in flight, Who thence of old didst carry for thy spoil An hundred lions; and if thou hadst fought In the high conflict on thy brethren's side, Seems as men yet believ'd, that through thine arm The sons of earth had conquer'd, now vouchsafe To place us down beneath, where numbing cold Locks up Cocytus. Force not that we crave Or Tityus' help or Typhon's. Here is one Can give what in this realm ye covet. Stoop Therefore, nor scornfully distort thy lip. He in the upper world can yet bestow Renown on thee, for he doth live, and looks For life yet longer, if before the time Grace call him not unto herself." Thus spake The teacher. He in haste forth stretch'd his hands, And caught my guide. Alcides whilom felt That grapple straighten'd score. Soon as my guide Had felt it, he bespake me thus: "This way That I may clasp thee;" then so caught me up, That we were both one burden. As appears The tower of Carisenda, from beneath Where it doth lean, if chance a passing cloud So sail across, that opposite it hangs, Such then Antaeus seem'd, as at mine ease I mark'd him stooping. I were fain at times T' have pass'd another way. Yet in th' abyss, That Lucifer with Judas low ingulfs, Lightly he plac'd us; nor there leaning stay'd, But rose as in a bark the stately mast. ===10 THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE OR THE INFERNO BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL Part 10 Cantos 32 - 34 CANTO XXXII COULD I command rough rhimes and hoarse, to suit That hole of sorrow, o'er which ev'ry rock His firm abutment rears, then might the vein Of fancy rise full springing: but not mine Such measures, and with falt'ring awe I touch The mighty theme; for to describe the depth Of all the universe, is no emprize To jest with, and demands a tongue not us'd To infant babbling. But let them assist My song, the tuneful maidens, by whose aid Amphion wall'd in Thebes, so with the truth My speech shall best accord. Oh ill-starr'd folk, Beyond all others wretched! who abide In such a mansion, as scarce thought finds words To speak of, better had ye here on earth Been flocks or mountain goats. As down we stood In the dark pit beneath the giants' feet, But lower far than they, and I did gaze Still on the lofty battlement, a voice Bespoke me thus: "Look how thou walkest. Take Good heed, thy soles do tread not on the heads Of thy poor brethren." Thereupon I turn'd, And saw before and underneath my feet A lake, whose frozen surface liker seem'd To glass than water. Not so thick a veil In winter e'er hath Austrian Danube spread O'er his still course, nor Tanais far remote Under the chilling sky. Roll'd o'er that mass Had Tabernich or Pietrapana fall'n, Not e'en its rim had creak'd. As peeps the frog Croaking above the wave, what time in dreams The village gleaner oft pursues her toil, So, to where modest shame appears, thus low Blue pinch'd and shrin'd in ice the spirits stood, Moving their teeth in shrill note like the stork. His face each downward held; their mouth the cold, Their eyes express'd the dolour of their heart. A space I look'd around, then at my feet Saw two so strictly join'd, that of their head The very hairs were mingled. "Tell me ye, Whose bosoms thus together press," said I, "Who are ye?" At that sound their necks they bent, And when their looks were lifted up to me, Straightway their eyes, before all moist within, Distill'd upon their lips, and the frost bound The tears betwixt those orbs and held them there. Plank unto plank hath never cramp clos'd up So stoutly. Whence like two enraged goats They clash'd together; them such fury seiz'd. And one, from whom the cold both ears had reft, Exclaim'd, still looking downward: "Why on us Dost speculate so long? If thou wouldst know Who are these two, the valley, whence his wave Bisenzio slopes, did for its master own Their sire Alberto, and next him themselves. They from one body issued; and throughout Caina thou mayst search, nor find a shade More worthy in congealment to be fix'd, Not him, whose breast and shadow Arthur's land At that one blow dissever'd, not Focaccia, No not this spirit, whose o'erjutting head Obstructs my onward view: he bore the name Of Mascheroni: Tuscan if thou be, Well knowest who he was: and to cut short All further question, in my form behold What once was Camiccione. I await Carlino here my kinsman, whose deep guilt Shall wash out mine." A thousand visages Then mark'd I, which the keen and eager cold Had shap'd into a doggish grin; whence creeps A shiv'ring horror o'er me, at the thought Of those frore shallows. While we journey'd on Toward the middle, at whose point unites All heavy substance, and I trembling went Through that eternal chillness, I know not If will it were or destiny, or chance, But, passing 'midst the heads, my foot did strike With violent blow against the face of one. "Wherefore dost bruise me?" weeping, he exclaim'd, "Unless thy errand be some fresh revenge For Montaperto, wherefore troublest me?" I thus: "Instructor, now await me here, That I through him may rid me of my doubt. Thenceforth what haste thou wilt." The teacher paus'd, And to that shade I spake, who bitterly Still curs'd me in his wrath. "What art thou, speak, That railest thus on others?" He replied: "Now who art thou, that smiting others' cheeks Through Antenora roamest, with such force As were past suff'rance, wert thou living still?" "And I am living, to thy joy perchance," Was my reply, "if fame be dear to thee, That with the rest I may thy name enrol." "The contrary of what I covet most," Said he, "thou tender'st: hence; nor vex me more. Ill knowest thou to flatter in this vale." Then seizing on his hinder scalp, I cried: "Name thee, or not a hair shall tarry here." "Rend all away," he answer'd, "yet for that I will not tell nor show thee who I am, Though at my head thou pluck a thousand times." Now I had grasp'd his tresses, and stript off More than one tuft, he barking, with his eyes Drawn in and downward, when another cried, "What ails thee, Bocca? Sound not loud enough Thy chatt'ring teeth, but thou must bark outright? What devil wrings thee?"--"Now," said I, "be dumb, Accursed traitor! to thy shame of thee True tidings will I bear."--"Off," he replied, "Tell what thou list; but as thou escape from hence To speak of him whose tongue hath been so glib, Forget not: here he wails the Frenchman's gold. 'Him of Duera,' thou canst say, 'I mark'd, Where the starv'd sinners pine.' If thou be ask'd What other shade was with them, at thy side Is Beccaria, whose red gorge distain'd The biting axe of Florence. Farther on, If I misdeem not, Soldanieri bides, With Ganellon, and Tribaldello, him Who op'd Faenza when the people slept." We now had left him, passing on our way, When I beheld two spirits by the ice Pent in one hollow, that the head of one Was cowl unto the other; and as bread Is raven'd up through hunger, th' uppermost Did so apply his fangs to th' other's brain, Where the spine joins it. Not more furiously On Menalippus' temples Tydeus gnaw'd, Than on that skull and on its garbage he. "O thou who show'st so beastly sign of hate 'Gainst him thou prey'st on, let me hear," said I "The cause, on such condition, that if right Warrant thy grievance, knowing who ye are, And what the colour of his sinning was, I may repay thee in the world above, If that, wherewith I speak be moist so long." CANTO XXXIII HIS jaws uplifting from their fell repast, That sinner wip'd them on the hairs o' th' head, Which he behind had mangled, then began: "Thy will obeying, I call up afresh Sorrow past cure, which but to think of wrings My heart, or ere I tell on't. But if words, That I may utter, shall prove seed to bear Fruit of eternal infamy to him, The traitor whom I gnaw at, thou at once Shalt see me speak and weep. Who thou mayst be I know not, nor how here below art come: But Florentine thou seemest of a truth, When I do hear thee. Know I was on earth Count Ugolino, and th' Archbishop he Ruggieri. Why I neighbour him so close, Now list. That through effect of his ill thoughts In him my trust reposing, I was ta'en And after murder'd, need is not I tell. What therefore thou canst not have heard, that is, How cruel was the murder, shalt thou hear, And know if he have wrong'd me. A small grate Within that mew, which for my sake the name Of famine bears, where others yet must pine, Already through its opening sev'ral moons Had shown me, when I slept the evil sleep, That from the future tore the curtain off. This one, methought, as master of the sport, Rode forth to chase the gaunt wolf and his whelps Unto the mountain, which forbids the sight Of Lucca to the Pisan. With lean brachs Inquisitive and keen, before him rang'd Lanfranchi with Sismondi and Gualandi. After short course the father and the sons Seem'd tir'd and lagging, and methought I saw The sharp tusks gore their sides. When I awoke Before the dawn, amid their sleep I heard My sons (for they were with me) weep and ask For bread. Right cruel art thou, if no pang Thou feel at thinking what my heart foretold; And if not now, why use thy tears to flow? Now had they waken'd; and the hour drew near When they were wont to bring us food; the mind Of each misgave him through his dream, and I Heard, at its outlet underneath lock'd up The' horrible tower: whence uttering not a word I look'd upon the visage of my sons. I wept not: so all stone I felt within. They wept: and one, my little Anslem, cried: "Thou lookest so! Father what ails thee?" Yet I shed no tear, nor answer'd all that day Nor the next night, until another sun Came out upon the world. When a faint beam Had to our doleful prison made its way, And in four countenances I descry'd The image of my own, on either hand Through agony I bit, and they who thought I did it through desire of feeding, rose O' th' sudden, and cried, 'Father, we should grieve Far less, if thou wouldst eat of us: thou gav'st These weeds of miserable flesh we wear, 'And do thou strip them off from us again.' Then, not to make them sadder, I kept down My spirit in stillness. That day and the next We all were silent. Ah, obdurate earth! Why open'dst not upon us? When we came To the fourth day, then Geddo at my feet Outstretch'd did fling him, crying, 'Hast no help For me, my father!' There he died, and e'en Plainly as thou seest me, saw I the three Fall one by one 'twixt the fifth day and sixth: "Whence I betook me now grown blind to grope Over them all, and for three days aloud Call'd on them who were dead. Then fasting got The mastery of grief." Thus having spoke, Once more upon the wretched skull his teeth He fasten'd, like a mastiff's 'gainst the bone Firm and unyielding. Oh thou Pisa! shame Of all the people, who their dwelling make In that fair region, where th' Italian voice Is heard, since that thy neighbours are so slack To punish, from their deep foundations rise Capraia and Gorgona, and dam up The mouth of Arno, that each soul in thee May perish in the waters! What if fame Reported that thy castles were betray'd By Ugolino, yet no right hadst thou To stretch his children on the rack. For them, Brigata, Ugaccione, and the pair Of gentle ones, of whom my song hath told, Their tender years, thou modern Thebes! did make Uncapable of guilt. Onward we pass'd, Where others skarf'd in rugged folds of ice Not on their feet were turn'd, but each revers'd. There very weeping suffers not to weep; For at their eyes grief seeking passage finds Impediment, and rolling inward turns For increase of sharp anguish: the first tears Hang cluster'd, and like crystal vizors show, Under the socket brimming all the cup. Now though the cold had from my face dislodg'd Each feeling, as 't were callous, yet me seem'd Some breath of wind I felt. "Whence cometh this," Said I, "my master? Is not here below All vapour quench'd?"--"'Thou shalt be speedily," He answer'd, "where thine eye shall tell thee whence The cause descrying of this airy shower." Then cried out one in the chill crust who mourn'd: "O souls so cruel! that the farthest post Hath been assign'd you, from this face remove The harden'd veil, that I may vent the grief Impregnate at my heart, some little space Ere it congeal again!" I thus replied: "Say who thou wast, if thou wouldst have mine aid; And if I extricate thee not, far down As to the lowest ice may I descend!" "The friar Alberigo," answered he, "Am I, who from the evil garden pluck'd Its fruitage, and am here repaid, the date More luscious for my fig."--"Hah!" I exclaim'd, "Art thou too dead!"--"How in the world aloft It fareth with my body," answer'd he, "I am right ignorant. Such privilege Hath Ptolomea, that ofttimes the soul Drops hither, ere by Atropos divorc'd. And that thou mayst wipe out more willingly The glazed tear-drops that o'erlay mine eyes, Know that the soul, that moment she betrays, As I did, yields her body to a fiend Who after moves and governs it at will, Till all its time be rounded; headlong she Falls to this cistern. And perchance above Doth yet appear the body of a ghost, Who here behind me winters. Him thou know'st, If thou but newly art arriv'd below. The years are many that have pass'd away, Since to this fastness Branca Doria came." "Now," answer'd I, "methinks thou mockest me, For Branca Doria never yet hath died, But doth all natural functions of a man, Eats, drinks, and sleeps, and putteth raiment on." He thus: "Not yet unto that upper foss By th' evil talons guarded, where the pitch Tenacious boils, had Michael Zanche reach'd, When this one left a demon in his stead In his own body, and of one his kin, Who with him treachery wrought. But now put forth Thy hand, and ope mine eyes." I op'd them not. Ill manners were best courtesy to him. Ah Genoese! men perverse in every way, With every foulness stain'd, why from the earth Are ye not cancel'd? Such an one of yours I with Romagna's darkest spirit found, As for his doings even now in soul Is in Cocytus plung'd, and yet doth seem In body still alive upon the earth. CANTO XXXIV "THE banners of Hell's Monarch do come forth Towards us; therefore look," so spake my guide, "If thou discern him." As, when breathes a cloud Heavy and dense, or when the shades of night Fall on our hemisphere, seems view'd from far A windmill, which the blast stirs briskly round, Such was the fabric then methought I saw, To shield me from the wind, forthwith I drew Behind my guide: no covert else was there. Now came I (and with fear I bid my strain Record the marvel) where the souls were all Whelm'd underneath, transparent, as through glass Pellucid the frail stem. Some prone were laid, Others stood upright, this upon the soles, That on his head, a third with face to feet Arch'd like a bow. When to the point we came, Whereat my guide was pleas'd that I should see The creature eminent in beauty once, He from before me stepp'd and made me pause. "Lo!" he exclaim'd, "lo Dis! and lo the place, Where thou hast need to arm thy heart with strength." How frozen and how faint I then became, Ask me not, reader! for I write it not, Since words would fail to tell thee of my state. I was not dead nor living. Think thyself If quick conception work in thee at all, How I did feel. That emperor, who sways The realm of sorrow, at mid breast from th' ice Stood forth; and I in stature am more like A giant, than the giants are in his arms. Mark now how great that whole must be, which suits With such a part. If he were beautiful As he is hideous now, and yet did dare To scowl upon his Maker, well from him May all our mis'ry flow. Oh what a sight! How passing strange it seem'd, when I did spy Upon his head three faces: one in front Of hue vermilion, th' other two with this Midway each shoulder join'd and at the crest; The right 'twixt wan and yellow seem'd: the left To look on, such as come from whence old Nile Stoops to the lowlands. Under each shot forth Two mighty wings, enormous as became A bird so vast. Sails never such I saw Outstretch'd on the wide sea. No plumes had they, But were in texture like a bat, and these He flapp'd i' th' air, that from him issued still Three winds, wherewith Cocytus to its depth Was frozen. At six eyes he wept: the tears Adown three chins distill'd with bloody foam. At every mouth his teeth a sinner champ'd Bruis'd as with pond'rous engine, so that three Were in this guise tormented. But far more Than from that gnawing, was the foremost pang'd By the fierce rending, whence ofttimes the back Was stript of all its skin. "That upper spirit, Who hath worse punishment," so spake my guide, "Is Judas, he that hath his head within And plies the feet without. Of th' other two, Whose heads are under, from the murky jaw Who hangs, is Brutus: lo! how he doth writhe And speaks not! Th' other Cassius, that appears So large of limb. But night now re-ascends, And it is time for parting. All is seen." I clipp'd him round the neck, for so he bade; And noting time and place, he, when the wings Enough were op'd, caught fast the shaggy sides, And down from pile to pile descending stepp'd Between the thick fell and the jagged ice. Soon as he reach'd the point, whereat the thigh Upon the swelling of the haunches turns, My leader there with pain and struggling hard Turn'd round his head, where his feet stood before, And grappled at the fell, as one who mounts, That into hell methought we turn'd again. "Expect that by such stairs as these," thus spake The teacher, panting like a man forespent, "We must depart from evil so extreme." Then at a rocky opening issued forth, And plac'd me on a brink to sit, next join'd With wary step my side. I rais'd mine eyes, Believing that I Lucifer should see Where he was lately left, but saw him now With legs held upward. Let the grosser sort, Who see not what the point was I had pass'd, Bethink them if sore toil oppress'd me then. "Arise," my master cried, "upon thy feet. The way is long, and much uncouth the road; And now within one hour and half of noon The sun returns." It was no palace-hall Lofty and luminous wherein we stood, But natural dungeon where ill footing was And scant supply of light. "Ere from th' abyss I sep'rate," thus when risen I began, "My guide! vouchsafe few words to set me free From error's thralldom. Where is now the ice? How standeth he in posture thus revers'd? And how from eve to morn in space so brief Hath the sun made his transit?" He in few Thus answering spake: "Thou deemest thou art still On th' other side the centre, where I grasp'd Th' abhorred worm, that boreth through the world. Thou wast on th' other side, so long as I Descended; when I turn'd, thou didst o'erpass That point, to which from ev'ry part is dragg'd All heavy substance. Thou art now arriv'd Under the hemisphere opposed to that, Which the great continent doth overspread, And underneath whose canopy expir'd The Man, that was born sinless, and so liv'd. Thy feet are planted on the smallest sphere, Whose other aspect is Judecca. Morn Here rises, when there evening sets: and he, Whose shaggy pile was scal'd, yet standeth fix'd, As at the first. On this part he fell down From heav'n; and th' earth, here prominent before, Through fear of him did veil her with the sea, And to our hemisphere retir'd. Perchance To shun him was the vacant space left here By what of firm land on this side appears, That sprang aloof." There is a place beneath, From Belzebub as distant, as extends The vaulted tomb, discover'd not by sight, But by the sound of brooklet, that descends This way along the hollow of a rock, Which, as it winds with no precipitous course, The wave hath eaten. By that hidden way My guide and I did enter, to return To the fair world: and heedless of repose We climbed, he first, I following his steps, Till on our view the beautiful lights of heav'n Dawn'd through a circular opening in the cave: Thus issuing we again beheld the stars. 
8786	----	THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL OR THE INFERNO Part 8 Cantos 23 - 28 CANTO XXIII IN silence and in solitude we went, One first, the other following his steps, As minor friars journeying on their road. The present fray had turn'd my thoughts to muse Upon old Aesop's fable, where he told What fate unto the mouse and frog befell. For language hath not sounds more like in sense, Than are these chances, if the origin And end of each be heedfully compar'd. And as one thought bursts from another forth, So afterward from that another sprang, Which added doubly to my former fear. For thus I reason'd: "These through us have been So foil'd, with loss and mock'ry so complete, As needs must sting them sore. If anger then Be to their evil will conjoin'd, more fell They shall pursue us, than the savage hound Snatches the leveret, panting 'twixt his jaws." Already I perceiv'd my hair stand all On end with terror, and look'd eager back. "Teacher," I thus began, "if speedily Thyself and me thou hide not, much I dread Those evil talons. Even now behind They urge us: quick imagination works So forcibly, that I already feel them." He answer'd: "Were I form'd of leaded glass, I should not sooner draw unto myself Thy outward image, than I now imprint That from within. This moment came thy thoughts Presented before mine, with similar act And count'nance similar, so that from both I one design have fram'd. If the right coast Incline so much, that we may thence descend Into the other chasm, we shall escape Secure from this imagined pursuit." He had not spoke his purpose to the end, When I from far beheld them with spread wings Approach to take us. Suddenly my guide Caught me, ev'n as a mother that from sleep Is by the noise arous'd, and near her sees The climbing fires, who snatches up her babe And flies ne'er pausing, careful more of him Than of herself, that but a single vest Clings round her limbs. Down from the jutting beach Supine he cast him, to that pendent rock, Which closes on one part the other chasm. Never ran water with such hurrying pace Adown the tube to turn a landmill's wheel, When nearest it approaches to the spokes, As then along that edge my master ran, Carrying me in his bosom, as a child, Not a companion. Scarcely had his feet Reach'd to the lowest of the bed beneath, When over us the steep they reach'd; but fear In him was none; for that high Providence, Which plac'd them ministers of the fifth foss, Power of departing thence took from them all. There in the depth we saw a painted tribe, Who pac'd with tardy steps around, and wept, Faint in appearance and o'ercome with toil. Caps had they on, with hoods, that fell low down Before their eyes, in fashion like to those Worn by the monks in Cologne. Their outside Was overlaid with gold, dazzling to view, But leaden all within, and of such weight, That Frederick's compar'd to these were straw. Oh, everlasting wearisome attire! We yet once more with them together turn'd To leftward, on their dismal moan intent. But by the weight oppress'd, so slowly came The fainting people, that our company Was chang'd at every movement of the step. Whence I my guide address'd: "See that thou find Some spirit, whose name may by his deeds be known, And to that end look round thee as thou go'st." Then one, who understood the Tuscan voice, Cried after us aloud: "Hold in your feet, Ye who so swiftly speed through the dusk air. Perchance from me thou shalt obtain thy wish." Whereat my leader, turning, me bespake: "Pause, and then onward at their pace proceed." I staid, and saw two Spirits in whose look Impatient eagerness of mind was mark'd To overtake me; but the load they bare And narrow path retarded their approach. Soon as arriv'd, they with an eye askance Perus'd me, but spake not: then turning each To other thus conferring said: "This one Seems, by the action of his throat, alive. And, be they dead, what privilege allows They walk unmantled by the cumbrous stole?" Then thus to me: "Tuscan, who visitest The college of the mourning hypocrites, Disdain not to instruct us who thou art." "By Arno's pleasant stream," I thus replied, "In the great city I was bred and grew, And wear the body I have ever worn. but who are ye, from whom such mighty grief, As now I witness, courseth down your cheeks? What torment breaks forth in this bitter woe?" "Our bonnets gleaming bright with orange hue," One of them answer'd, "are so leaden gross, That with their weight they make the balances To crack beneath them. Joyous friars we were, Bologna's natives, Catalano I, He Loderingo nam'd, and by thy land Together taken, as men used to take A single and indifferent arbiter, To reconcile their strifes. How there we sped, Gardingo's vicinage can best declare." "O friars!" I began, "your miseries--" But there brake off, for one had caught my eye, Fix'd to a cross with three stakes on the ground: He, when he saw me, writh'd himself, throughout Distorted, ruffling with deep sighs his beard. And Catalano, who thereof was 'ware, Thus spake: "That pierced spirit, whom intent Thou view'st, was he who gave the Pharisees Counsel, that it were fitting for one man To suffer for the people. He doth lie Transverse; nor any passes, but him first Behoves make feeling trial how each weighs. In straits like this along the foss are plac'd The father of his consort, and the rest Partakers in that council, seed of ill And sorrow to the Jews." I noted then, How Virgil gaz'd with wonder upon him, Thus abjectly extended on the cross In banishment eternal. To the friar He next his words address'd: "We pray ye tell, If so be lawful, whether on our right Lies any opening in the rock, whereby We both may issue hence, without constraint On the dark angels, that compell'd they come To lead us from this depth." He thus replied: "Nearer than thou dost hope, there is a rock From the next circle moving, which o'ersteps Each vale of horror, save that here his cope Is shatter'd. By the ruin ye may mount: For on the side it slants, and most the height Rises below." With head bent down awhile My leader stood, then spake: "He warn'd us ill, Who yonder hangs the sinners on his hook." To whom the friar: At Bologna erst "I many vices of the devil heard, Among the rest was said, 'He is a liar, And the father of lies!'" When he had spoke, My leader with large strides proceeded on, Somewhat disturb'd with anger in his look. I therefore left the spirits heavy laden, And following, his beloved footsteps mark'd. CANTO XXIV IN the year's early nonage, when the sun Tempers his tresses in Aquarius' urn, And now towards equal day the nights recede, When as the rime upon the earth puts on Her dazzling sister's image, but not long Her milder sway endures, then riseth up The village hind, whom fails his wintry store, And looking out beholds the plain around All whiten'd, whence impatiently he smites His thighs, and to his hut returning in, There paces to and fro, wailing his lot, As a discomfited and helpless man; Then comes he forth again, and feels new hope Spring in his bosom, finding e'en thus soon The world hath chang'd its count'nance, grasps his crook, And forth to pasture drives his little flock: So me my guide dishearten'd when I saw His troubled forehead, and so speedily That ill was cur'd; for at the fallen bridge Arriving, towards me with a look as sweet, He turn'd him back, as that I first beheld At the steep mountain's foot. Regarding well The ruin, and some counsel first maintain'd With his own thought, he open'd wide his arm And took me up. As one, who, while he works, Computes his labour's issue, that he seems Still to foresee the' effect, so lifting me Up to the summit of one peak, he fix'd His eye upon another. "Grapple that," Said he, "but first make proof, if it be such As will sustain thee." For one capp'd with lead This were no journey. Scarcely he, though light, And I, though onward push'd from crag to crag, Could mount. And if the precinct of this coast Were not less ample than the last, for him I know not, but my strength had surely fail'd. But Malebolge all toward the mouth Inclining of the nethermost abyss, The site of every valley hence requires, That one side upward slope, the other fall. At length the point of our descent we reach'd From the last flag: soon as to that arriv'd, So was the breath exhausted from my lungs, I could no further, but did seat me there. "Now needs thy best of man;" so spake my guide: "For not on downy plumes, nor under shade Of canopy reposing, fame is won, Without which whosoe'er consumes his days Leaveth such vestige of himself on earth, As smoke in air or foam upon the wave. Thou therefore rise: vanish thy weariness By the mind's effort, in each struggle form'd To vanquish, if she suffer not the weight Of her corporeal frame to crush her down. A longer ladder yet remains to scale. From these to have escap'd sufficeth not. If well thou note me, profit by my words." I straightway rose, and show'd myself less spent Than I in truth did feel me. "On," I cried, "For I am stout and fearless." Up the rock Our way we held, more rugged than before, Narrower and steeper far to climb. From talk I ceas'd not, as we journey'd, so to seem Least faint; whereat a voice from the other foss Did issue forth, for utt'rance suited ill. Though on the arch that crosses there I stood, What were the words I knew not, but who spake Seem'd mov'd in anger. Down I stoop'd to look, But my quick eye might reach not to the depth For shrouding darkness; wherefore thus I spake: "To the next circle, Teacher, bend thy steps, And from the wall dismount we; for as hence I hear and understand not, so I see Beneath, and naught discern."--"I answer not," Said he, "but by the deed. To fair request Silent performance maketh best return." We from the bridge's head descended, where To the eighth mound it joins, and then the chasm Opening to view, I saw a crowd within Of serpents terrible, so strange of shape And hideous, that remembrance in my veins Yet shrinks the vital current. Of her sands Let Lybia vaunt no more: if Jaculus, Pareas and Chelyder be her brood, Cenchris and Amphisboena, plagues so dire Or in such numbers swarming ne'er she shew'd, Not with all Ethiopia, and whate'er Above the Erythraean sea is spawn'd. Amid this dread exuberance of woe Ran naked spirits wing'd with horrid fear, Nor hope had they of crevice where to hide, Or heliotrope to charm them out of view. With serpents were their hands behind them bound, Which through their reins infix'd the tail and head Twisted in folds before. And lo! on one Near to our side, darted an adder up, And, where the neck is on the shoulders tied, Transpierc'd him. Far more quickly than e'er pen Wrote O or I, he kindled, burn'd, and chang'd To ashes, all pour'd out upon the earth. When there dissolv'd he lay, the dust again Uproll'd spontaneous, and the self-same form Instant resumed. So mighty sages tell, The' Arabian Phoenix, when five hundred years Have well nigh circled, dies, and springs forthwith Renascent. Blade nor herb throughout his life He tastes, but tears of frankincense alone And odorous amomum: swaths of nard And myrrh his funeral shroud. As one that falls, He knows not how, by force demoniac dragg'd To earth, or through obstruction fettering up In chains invisible the powers of man, Who, risen from his trance, gazeth around, Bewilder'd with the monstrous agony He hath endur'd, and wildly staring sighs; So stood aghast the sinner when he rose. Oh! how severe God's judgment, that deals out Such blows in stormy vengeance! Who he was My teacher next inquir'd, and thus in few He answer'd: "Vanni Fucci am I call'd, Not long since rained down from Tuscany To this dire gullet. Me the beastial life And not the human pleas'd, mule that I was, Who in Pistoia found my worthy den." I then to Virgil: "Bid him stir not hence, And ask what crime did thrust him hither: once A man I knew him choleric and bloody." The sinner heard and feign'd not, but towards me His mind directing and his face, wherein Was dismal shame depictur'd, thus he spake: "It grieves me more to have been caught by thee In this sad plight, which thou beholdest, than When I was taken from the other life. I have no power permitted to deny What thou inquirest. I am doom'd thus low To dwell, for that the sacristy by me Was rifled of its goodly ornaments, And with the guilt another falsely charged. But that thou mayst not joy to see me thus, So as thou e'er shalt 'scape this darksome realm Open thine ears and hear what I forebode. Reft of the Neri first Pistoia pines, Then Florence changeth citizens and laws. From Valdimagra, drawn by wrathful Mars, A vapour rises, wrapt in turbid mists, And sharp and eager driveth on the storm With arrowy hurtling o'er Piceno's field, Whence suddenly the cloud shall burst, and strike Each helpless Bianco prostrate to the ground. This have I told, that grief may rend thy heart." CANTO XXV WHEN he had spoke, the sinner rais'd his hands Pointed in mockery, and cried: "Take them, God! I level them at thee!" From that day forth The serpents were my friends; for round his neck One of then rolling twisted, as it said, "Be silent, tongue!" Another to his arms Upgliding, tied them, riveting itself So close, it took from them the power to move. Pistoia! Ah Pistoia! why dost doubt To turn thee into ashes, cumb'ring earth No longer, since in evil act so far Thou hast outdone thy seed? I did not mark, Through all the gloomy circles of the' abyss, Spirit, that swell'd so proudly 'gainst his God, Not him, who headlong fell from Thebes. He fled, Nor utter'd more; and after him there came A centaur full of fury, shouting, "Where Where is the caitiff?" On Maremma's marsh Swarm not the serpent tribe, as on his haunch They swarm'd, to where the human face begins. Behind his head upon the shoulders lay, With open wings, a dragon breathing fire On whomsoe'er he met. To me my guide: "Cacus is this, who underneath the rock Of Aventine spread oft a lake of blood. He, from his brethren parted, here must tread A different journey, for his fraudful theft Of the great herd, that near him stall'd; whence found His felon deeds their end, beneath the mace Of stout Alcides, that perchance laid on A hundred blows, and not the tenth was felt." While yet he spake, the centaur sped away: And under us three spirits came, of whom Nor I nor he was ware, till they exclaim'd; "Say who are ye?" We then brake off discourse, Intent on these alone. I knew them not; But, as it chanceth oft, befell, that one Had need to name another. "Where," said he, "Doth Cianfa lurk?" I, for a sign my guide Should stand attentive, plac'd against my lips The finger lifted. If, O reader! now Thou be not apt to credit what I tell, No marvel; for myself do scarce allow The witness of mine eyes. But as I looked Toward them, lo! a serpent with six feet Springs forth on one, and fastens full upon him: His midmost grasp'd the belly, a forefoot Seiz'd on each arm (while deep in either cheek He flesh'd his fangs); the hinder on the thighs Were spread, 'twixt which the tail inserted curl'd Upon the reins behind. Ivy ne'er clasp'd A dodder'd oak, as round the other's limbs The hideous monster intertwin'd his own. Then, as they both had been of burning wax, Each melted into other, mingling hues, That which was either now was seen no more. Thus up the shrinking paper, ere it burns, A brown tint glides, not turning yet to black, And the clean white expires. The other two Look'd on exclaiming: "Ah, how dost thou change, Agnello! See! Thou art nor double now, "Nor only one." The two heads now became One, and two figures blended in one form Appear'd, where both were lost. Of the four lengths Two arms were made: the belly and the chest The thighs and legs into such members chang'd, As never eye hath seen. Of former shape All trace was vanish'd. Two yet neither seem'd That image miscreate, and so pass'd on With tardy steps. As underneath the scourge Of the fierce dog-star, that lays bare the fields, Shifting from brake to brake, the lizard seems A flash of lightning, if he thwart the road, So toward th' entrails of the other two Approaching seem'd, an adder all on fire, As the dark pepper-grain, livid and swart. In that part, whence our life is nourish'd first, One he transpierc'd; then down before him fell Stretch'd out. The pierced spirit look'd on him But spake not; yea stood motionless and yawn'd, As if by sleep or fev'rous fit assail'd. He ey'd the serpent, and the serpent him. One from the wound, the other from the mouth Breath'd a thick smoke, whose vap'ry columns join'd. Lucan in mute attention now may hear, Nor thy disastrous fate, Sabellus! tell, Nor shine, Nasidius! Ovid now be mute. What if in warbling fiction he record Cadmus and Arethusa, to a snake Him chang'd, and her into a fountain clear, I envy not; for never face to face Two natures thus transmuted did he sing, Wherein both shapes were ready to assume The other's substance. They in mutual guise So answer'd, that the serpent split his train Divided to a fork, and the pierc'd spirit Drew close his steps together, legs and thighs Compacted, that no sign of juncture soon Was visible: the tail disparted took The figure which the spirit lost, its skin Soft'ning, his indurated to a rind. The shoulders next I mark'd, that ent'ring join'd The monster's arm-pits, whose two shorter feet So lengthen'd, as the other's dwindling shrunk. The feet behind then twisting up became That part that man conceals, which in the wretch Was cleft in twain. While both the shadowy smoke With a new colour veils, and generates Th' excrescent pile on one, peeling it off From th' other body, lo! upon his feet One upright rose, and prone the other fell. Not yet their glaring and malignant lamps Were shifted, though each feature chang'd beneath. Of him who stood erect, the mounting face Retreated towards the temples, and what there Superfluous matter came, shot out in ears From the smooth cheeks, the rest, not backward dragg'd, Of its excess did shape the nose; and swell'd Into due size protuberant the lips. He, on the earth who lay, meanwhile extends His sharpen'd visage, and draws down the ears Into the head, as doth the slug his horns. His tongue continuous before and apt For utt'rance, severs; and the other's fork Closing unites. That done the smoke was laid. The soul, transform'd into the brute, glides off, Hissing along the vale, and after him The other talking sputters; but soon turn'd His new-grown shoulders on him, and in few Thus to another spake: "Along this path Crawling, as I have done, speed Buoso now!" So saw I fluctuate in successive change Th' unsteady ballast of the seventh hold: And here if aught my tongue have swerv'd, events So strange may be its warrant. O'er mine eyes Confusion hung, and on my thoughts amaze. Yet 'scap'd they not so covertly, but well I mark'd Sciancato: he alone it was Of the three first that came, who chang'd not: thou, The other's fate, Gaville, still dost rue. CANTO XXVI FLORENCE exult! for thou so mightily Hast thriven, that o'er land and sea thy wings Thou beatest, and thy name spreads over hell! Among the plund'rers such the three I found Thy citizens, whence shame to me thy son, And no proud honour to thyself redounds. But if our minds, when dreaming near the dawn, Are of the truth presageful, thou ere long Shalt feel what Prato, (not to say the rest) Would fain might come upon thee; and that chance Were in good time, if it befell thee now. Would so it were, since it must needs befall! For as time wears me, I shall grieve the more. We from the depth departed; and my guide Remounting scal'd the flinty steps, which late We downward trac'd, and drew me up the steep. Pursuing thus our solitary way Among the crags and splinters of the rock, Sped not our feet without the help of hands. Then sorrow seiz'd me, which e'en now revives, As my thought turns again to what I saw, And, more than I am wont, I rein and curb The powers of nature in me, lest they run Where Virtue guides not; that if aught of good My gentle star, or something better gave me, I envy not myself the precious boon. As in that season, when the sun least veils His face that lightens all, what time the fly Gives way to the shrill gnat, the peasant then Upon some cliff reclin'd, beneath him sees Fire-flies innumerous spangling o'er the vale, Vineyard or tilth, where his day-labour lies: With flames so numberless throughout its space Shone the eighth chasm, apparent, when the depth Was to my view expos'd. As he, whose wrongs The bears aveng'd, at its departure saw Elijah's chariot, when the steeds erect Rais'd their steep flight for heav'n; his eyes meanwhile, Straining pursu'd them, till the flame alone Upsoaring like a misty speck he kenn'd; E'en thus along the gulf moves every flame, A sinner so enfolded close in each, That none exhibits token of the theft. Upon the bridge I forward bent to look, And grasp'd a flinty mass, or else had fall'n, Though push'd not from the height. The guide, who mark'd How I did gaze attentive, thus began: "Within these ardours are the spirits, each Swath'd in confining fire."--"Master, thy word," I answer'd, "hath assur'd me; yet I deem'd Already of the truth, already wish'd To ask thee, who is in yon fire, that comes So parted at the summit, as it seem'd Ascending from that funeral pile, where lay The Theban brothers?" He replied: "Within Ulysses there and Diomede endure Their penal tortures, thus to vengeance now Together hasting, as erewhile to wrath. These in the flame with ceaseless groans deplore The ambush of the horse, that open'd wide A portal for that goodly seed to pass, Which sow'd imperial Rome; nor less the guile Lament they, whence of her Achilles 'reft Deidamia yet in death complains. And there is rued the stratagem, that Troy Of her Palladium spoil'd."--"If they have power Of utt'rance from within these sparks," said I, "O master! think my prayer a thousand fold In repetition urg'd, that thou vouchsafe To pause, till here the horned flame arrive. See, how toward it with desire I bend." He thus: "Thy prayer is worthy of much praise, And I accept it therefore: but do thou Thy tongue refrain: to question them be mine, For I divine thy wish: and they perchance, For they were Greeks, might shun discourse with thee." When there the flame had come, where time and place Seem'd fitting to my guide, he thus began: "O ye, who dwell two spirits in one fire! If living I of you did merit aught, Whate'er the measure were of that desert, When in the world my lofty strain I pour'd, Move ye not on, till one of you unfold In what clime death o'ertook him self-destroy'd." Of the old flame forthwith the greater horn Began to roll, murmuring, as a fire That labours with the wind, then to and fro Wagging the top, as a tongue uttering sounds, Threw out its voice, and spake: "When I escap'd From Circe, who beyond a circling year Had held me near Caieta, by her charms, Ere thus Aeneas yet had nam'd the shore, Nor fondness for my son, nor reverence Of my old father, nor return of love, That should have crown'd Penelope with joy, Could overcome in me the zeal I had T' explore the world, and search the ways of life, Man's evil and his virtue. Forth I sail'd Into the deep illimitable main, With but one bark, and the small faithful band That yet cleav'd to me. As Iberia far, Far as Morocco either shore I saw, And the Sardinian and each isle beside Which round that ocean bathes. Tardy with age Were I and my companions, when we came To the strait pass, where Hercules ordain'd The bound'ries not to be o'erstepp'd by man. The walls of Seville to my right I left, On the' other hand already Ceuta past. "O brothers!" I began, "who to the west Through perils without number now have reach'd, To this the short remaining watch, that yet Our senses have to wake, refuse not proof Of the unpeopled world, following the track Of Phoebus. Call to mind from whence we sprang: Ye were not form'd to live the life of brutes But virtue to pursue and knowledge high. With these few words I sharpen'd for the voyage The mind of my associates, that I then Could scarcely have withheld them. To the dawn Our poop we turn'd, and for the witless flight Made our oars wings, still gaining on the left. Each star of the' other pole night now beheld, And ours so low, that from the ocean-floor It rose not. Five times re-illum'd, as oft Vanish'd the light from underneath the moon Since the deep way we enter'd, when from far Appear'd a mountain dim, loftiest methought Of all I e'er beheld. Joy seiz'd us straight, But soon to mourning changed. From the new land A whirlwind sprung, and at her foremost side Did strike the vessel. Thrice it whirl'd her round With all the waves, the fourth time lifted up The poop, and sank the prow: so fate decreed: And over us the booming billow clos'd." CANTO XVII NOW upward rose the flame, and still'd its light To speak no more, and now pass'd on with leave From the mild poet gain'd, when following came Another, from whose top a sound confus'd, Forth issuing, drew our eyes that way to look. As the Sicilian bull, that rightfully His cries first echoed, who had shap'd its mould, Did so rebellow, with the voice of him Tormented, that the brazen monster seem'd Pierc'd through with pain; thus while no way they found Nor avenue immediate through the flame, Into its language turn'd the dismal words: But soon as they had won their passage forth, Up from the point, which vibrating obey'd Their motion at the tongue, these sounds we heard: "O thou! to whom I now direct my voice! That lately didst exclaim in Lombard phrase, "Depart thou, I solicit thee no more, Though somewhat tardy I perchance arrive Let it not irk thee here to pause awhile, And with me parley: lo! it irks not me And yet I burn. If but e'en now thou fall into this blind world, from that pleasant land Of Latium, whence I draw my sum of guilt, Tell me if those, who in Romagna dwell, Have peace or war. For of the mountains there Was I, betwixt Urbino and the height, Whence Tyber first unlocks his mighty flood." Leaning I listen'd yet with heedful ear, When, as he touch'd my side, the leader thus: "Speak thou: he is a Latian." My reply Was ready, and I spake without delay: "O spirit! who art hidden here below! Never was thy Romagna without war In her proud tyrants' bosoms, nor is now: But open war there left I none. The state, Ravenna hath maintain'd this many a year, Is steadfast. There Polenta's eagle broods, And in his broad circumference of plume O'ershadows Cervia. The green talons grasp The land, that stood erewhile the proof so long, And pil'd in bloody heap the host of France. "The' old mastiff of Verruchio and the young, That tore Montagna in their wrath, still make, Where they are wont, an augre of their fangs. "Lamone's city and Santerno's range Under the lion of the snowy lair. Inconstant partisan! that changeth sides, Or ever summer yields to winter's frost. And she, whose flank is wash'd of Savio's wave, As 'twixt the level and the steep she lies, Lives so 'twixt tyrant power and liberty. "Now tell us, I entreat thee, who art thou? Be not more hard than others. In the world, So may thy name still rear its forehead high." Then roar'd awhile the fire, its sharpen'd point On either side wav'd, and thus breath'd at last: "If I did think, my answer were to one, Who ever could return unto the world, This flame should rest unshaken. But since ne'er, If true be told me, any from this depth Has found his upward way, I answer thee, Nor fear lest infamy record the words. "A man of arms at first, I cloth'd me then In good Saint Francis' girdle, hoping so T' have made amends. And certainly my hope Had fail'd not, but that he, whom curses light on, The' high priest again seduc'd me into sin. And how and wherefore listen while I tell. Long as this spirit mov'd the bones and pulp My mother gave me, less my deeds bespake The nature of the lion than the fox. All ways of winding subtlety I knew, And with such art conducted, that the sound Reach'd the world's limit. Soon as to that part Of life I found me come, when each behoves To lower sails and gather in the lines; That which before had pleased me then I rued, And to repentance and confession turn'd; Wretch that I was! and well it had bested me! The chief of the new Pharisees meantime, Waging his warfare near the Lateran, Not with the Saracens or Jews (his foes All Christians were, nor against Acre one Had fought, nor traffic'd in the Soldan's land), He his great charge nor sacred ministry In himself, rev'renc'd, nor in me that cord, Which us'd to mark with leanness whom it girded. As in Socrate, Constantine besought To cure his leprosy Sylvester's aid, So me to cure the fever of his pride This man besought: my counsel to that end He ask'd: and I was silent: for his words Seem'd drunken: but forthwith he thus resum'd: 'From thy heart banish fear: of all offence I hitherto absolve thee. In return, Teach me my purpose so to execute, That Penestrino cumber earth no more. Heav'n, as thou knowest, I have power to shut And open: and the keys are therefore twain, The which my predecessor meanly priz'd.'" Then, yielding to the forceful arguments, Of silence as more perilous I deem'd, And answer'd: "Father! since thou washest me Clear of that guilt wherein I now must fall, Large promise with performance scant, be sure, Shall make thee triumph in thy lofty seat." "When I was number'd with the dead, then came Saint Francis for me; but a cherub dark He met, who cried: 'Wrong me not; he is mine, And must below to join the wretched crew, For the deceitful counsel which he gave. E'er since I watch'd him, hov'ring at his hair, No power can the impenitent absolve; Nor to repent and will at once consist, By contradiction absolute forbid.'" Oh mis'ry! how I shook myself, when he Seiz'd me, and cried, "Thou haply thought'st me not A disputant in logic so exact." To Minos down he bore me, and the judge Twin'd eight times round his callous back the tail, Which biting with excess of rage, he spake: "This is a guilty soul, that in the fire Must vanish. Hence perdition-doom'd I rove A prey to rankling sorrow in this garb." When he had thus fulfill'd his words, the flame In dolour parted, beating to and fro, And writhing its sharp horn. We onward went, I and my leader, up along the rock, Far as another arch, that overhangs The foss, wherein the penalty is paid Of those, who load them with committed sin. CANTO XXVIII WHO, e'en in words unfetter'd, might at full Tell of the wounds and blood that now I saw, Though he repeated oft the tale? No tongue So vast a theme could equal, speech and thought Both impotent alike. If in one band Collected, stood the people all, who e'er Pour'd on Apulia's happy soil their blood, Slain by the Trojans, and in that long war When of the rings the measur'd booty made A pile so high, as Rome's historian writes Who errs not, with the multitude, that felt The grinding force of Guiscard's Norman steel, And those the rest, whose bones are gather'd yet At Ceperano, there where treachery Branded th' Apulian name, or where beyond Thy walls, O Tagliacozzo, without arms The old Alardo conquer'd; and his limbs One were to show transpierc'd, another his Clean lopt away; a spectacle like this Were but a thing of nought, to the' hideous sight Of the ninth chasm. A rundlet, that hath lost Its middle or side stave, gapes not so wide, As one I mark'd, torn from the chin throughout Down to the hinder passage: 'twixt the legs Dangling his entrails hung, the midriff lay Open to view, and wretched ventricle, That turns th' englutted aliment to dross. Whilst eagerly I fix on him my gaze, He ey'd me, with his hands laid his breast bare, And cried; "Now mark how I do rip me! lo! "How is Mohammed mangled! before me Walks Ali weeping, from the chin his face Cleft to the forelock; and the others all Whom here thou seest, while they liv'd, did sow Scandal and schism, and therefore thus are rent. A fiend is here behind, who with his sword Hacks us thus cruelly, slivering again Each of this ream, when we have compast round The dismal way, for first our gashes close Ere we repass before him. But say who Art thou, that standest musing on the rock, Haply so lingering to delay the pain Sentenc'd upon thy crimes?"--"Him death not yet," My guide rejoin'd, "hath overta'en, nor sin Conducts to torment; but, that he may make Full trial of your state, I who am dead Must through the depths of hell, from orb to orb, Conduct him. Trust my words, for they are true." More than a hundred spirits, when that they heard, Stood in the foss to mark me, through amazed, Forgetful of their pangs. "Thou, who perchance Shalt shortly view the sun, this warning thou Bear to Dolcino: bid him, if he wish not Here soon to follow me, that with good store Of food he arm him, lest impris'ning snows Yield him a victim to Novara's power, No easy conquest else." With foot uprais'd For stepping, spake Mohammed, on the ground Then fix'd it to depart. Another shade, Pierc'd in the throat, his nostrils mutilate E'en from beneath the eyebrows, and one ear Lopt off, who with the rest through wonder stood Gazing, before the rest advanc'd, and bar'd His wind-pipe, that without was all o'ersmear'd With crimson stain. "O thou!" said he, "whom sin Condemns not, and whom erst (unless too near Resemblance do deceive me) I aloft Have seen on Latian ground, call thou to mind Piero of Medicina, if again Returning, thou behold'st the pleasant land That from Vercelli slopes to Mercabo; "And there instruct the twain, whom Fano boasts Her worthiest sons, Guido and Angelo, That if 't is giv'n us here to scan aright The future, they out of life's tenement Shall be cast forth, and whelm'd under the waves Near to Cattolica, through perfidy Of a fell tyrant. 'Twixt the Cyprian isle And Balearic, ne'er hath Neptune seen An injury so foul, by pirates done Or Argive crew of old. That one-ey'd traitor (Whose realm there is a spirit here were fain His eye had still lack'd sight of) them shall bring To conf'rence with him, then so shape his end, That they shall need not 'gainst Focara's wind Offer up vow nor pray'r." I answering thus: "Declare, as thou dost wish that I above May carry tidings of thee, who is he, In whom that sight doth wake such sad remembrance?" Forthwith he laid his hand on the cheek-bone Of one, his fellow-spirit, and his jaws Expanding, cried: "Lo! this is he I wot of; He speaks not for himself: the outcast this Who overwhelm'd the doubt in Caesar's mind, Affirming that delay to men prepar'd Was ever harmful." Oh how terrified Methought was Curio, from whose throat was cut The tongue, which spake that hardy word. Then one Maim'd of each hand, uplifted in the gloom The bleeding stumps, that they with gory spots Sullied his face, and cried: "'Remember thee Of Mosca, too, I who, alas! exclaim'd, 'The deed once done there is an end,' that prov'd A seed of sorrow to the Tuscan race." I added: "Ay, and death to thine own tribe." Whence heaping woe on woe he hurried off, As one grief stung to madness. But I there Still linger'd to behold the troop, and saw Things, such as I may fear without more proof To tell of, but that conscience makes me firm, The boon companion, who her strong breast-plate Buckles on him, that feels no guilt within And bids him on and fear not. Without doubt I saw, and yet it seems to pass before me, A headless trunk, that even as the rest Of the sad flock pac'd onward. By the hair It bore the sever'd member, lantern-wise Pendent in hand, which look'd at us and said, "Woe's me!" The spirit lighted thus himself, And two there were in one, and one in two. How that may be he knows who ordereth so. When at the bridge's foot direct he stood, His arm aloft he rear'd, thrusting the head Full in our view, that nearer we might hear The words, which thus it utter'd: "Now behold This grievous torment, thou, who breathing go'st To spy the dead; behold if any else Be terrible as this. And that on earth Thou mayst bear tidings of me, know that I Am Bertrand, he of Born, who gave King John The counsel mischievous. Father and son I set at mutual war. For Absalom And David more did not Ahitophel, Spurring them on maliciously to strife. For parting those so closely knit, my brain Parted, alas! I carry from its source, That in this trunk inhabits. Thus the law Of retribution fiercely works in me." 
8787	----	THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL OR THE INFERNO Part 9 Cantos 29 - 31 CANTO XXIX SO were mine eyes inebriate with view Of the vast multitude, whom various wounds Disfigur'd, that they long'd to stay and weep. But Virgil rous'd me: "What yet gazest on? Wherefore doth fasten yet thy sight below Among the maim'd and miserable shades? Thou hast not shewn in any chasm beside This weakness. Know, if thou wouldst number them That two and twenty miles the valley winds Its circuit, and already is the moon Beneath our feet: the time permitted now Is short, and more not seen remains to see." "If thou," I straight replied, "hadst weigh'd the cause For which I look'd, thou hadst perchance excus'd The tarrying still." My leader part pursu'd His way, the while I follow'd, answering him, And adding thus: "Within that cave I deem, Whereon so fixedly I held my ken, There is a spirit dwells, one of my blood, Wailing the crime that costs him now so dear." Then spake my master: "Let thy soul no more Afflict itself for him. Direct elsewhere Its thought, and leave him. At the bridge's foot I mark'd how he did point with menacing look At thee, and heard him by the others nam'd Geri of Bello. Thou so wholly then Wert busied with his spirit, who once rul'd The towers of Hautefort, that thou lookedst not That way, ere he was gone."--"O guide belov'd! His violent death yet unaveng'd," said I, "By any, who are partners in his shame, Made him contemptuous: therefore, as I think, He pass'd me speechless by; and doing so Hath made me more compassionate his fate." So we discours'd to where the rock first show'd The other valley, had more light been there, E'en to the lowest depth. Soon as we came O'er the last cloister in the dismal rounds Of Malebolge, and the brotherhood Were to our view expos'd, then many a dart Of sore lament assail'd me, headed all With points of thrilling pity, that I clos'd Both ears against the volley with mine hands. As were the torment, if each lazar-house Of Valdichiana, in the sultry time 'Twixt July and September, with the isle Sardinia and Maremma's pestilent fen, Had heap'd their maladies all in one foss Together; such was here the torment: dire The stench, as issuing steams from fester'd limbs. We on the utmost shore of the long rock Descended still to leftward. Then my sight Was livelier to explore the depth, wherein The minister of the most mighty Lord, All-searching Justice, dooms to punishment The forgers noted on her dread record. More rueful was it not methinks to see The nation in Aegina droop, what time Each living thing, e'en to the little worm, All fell, so full of malice was the air (And afterward, as bards of yore have told, The ancient people were restor'd anew From seed of emmets) than was here to see The spirits, that languish'd through the murky vale Up-pil'd on many a stack. Confus'd they lay, One o'er the belly, o'er the shoulders one Roll'd of another; sideling crawl'd a third Along the dismal pathway. Step by step We journey'd on, in silence looking round And list'ning those diseas'd, who strove in vain To lift their forms. Then two I mark'd, that sat Propp'd 'gainst each other, as two brazen pans Set to retain the heat. From head to foot, A tetter bark'd them round. Nor saw I e'er Groom currying so fast, for whom his lord Impatient waited, or himself perchance Tir'd with long watching, as of these each one Plied quickly his keen nails, through furiousness Of ne'er abated pruriency. The crust Came drawn from underneath in flakes, like scales Scrap'd from the bream or fish of broader mail. "O thou, who with thy fingers rendest off Thy coat of proof," thus spake my guide to one, "And sometimes makest tearing pincers of them, Tell me if any born of Latian land Be among these within: so may thy nails Serve thee for everlasting to this toil." "Both are of Latium," weeping he replied, "Whom tortur'd thus thou seest: but who art thou That hast inquir'd of us?" To whom my guide: "One that descend with this man, who yet lives, From rock to rock, and show him hell's abyss." Then started they asunder, and each turn'd Trembling toward us, with the rest, whose ear Those words redounding struck. To me my liege Address'd him: "Speak to them whate'er thou list." And I therewith began: "So may no time Filch your remembrance from the thoughts of men In th' upper world, but after many suns Survive it, as ye tell me, who ye are, And of what race ye come. Your punishment, Unseemly and disgustful in its kind, Deter you not from opening thus much to me." "Arezzo was my dwelling," answer'd one, "And me Albero of Sienna brought To die by fire; but that, for which I died, Leads me not here. True is in sport I told him, That I had learn'd to wing my flight in air. And he admiring much, as he was void Of wisdom, will'd me to declare to him The secret of mine art: and only hence, Because I made him not a Daedalus, Prevail'd on one suppos'd his sire to burn me. But Minos to this chasm last of the ten, For that I practis'd alchemy on earth, Has doom'd me. Him no subterfuge eludes." Then to the bard I spake: "Was ever race Light as Sienna's? Sure not France herself Can show a tribe so frivolous and vain." The other leprous spirit heard my words, And thus return'd: "Be Stricca from this charge Exempted, he who knew so temp'rately To lay out fortune's gifts; and Niccolo Who first the spice's costly luxury Discover'd in that garden, where such seed Roots deepest in the soil: and be that troop Exempted, with whom Caccia of Asciano Lavish'd his vineyards and wide-spreading woods, And his rare wisdom Abbagliato show'd A spectacle for all. That thou mayst know Who seconds thee against the Siennese Thus gladly, bend this way thy sharpen'd sight, That well my face may answer to thy ken; So shalt thou see I am Capocchio's ghost, Who forg'd transmuted metals by the power Of alchemy; and if I scan thee right, Thus needs must well remember how I aped Creative nature by my subtle art." CANTO XXX WHAT time resentment burn'd in Juno's breast For Semele against the Theban blood, As more than once in dire mischance was rued, Such fatal frenzy seiz'd on Athamas, That he his spouse beholding with a babe Laden on either arm, "Spread out," he cried, "The meshes, that I take the lioness And the young lions at the pass:" then forth Stretch'd he his merciless talons, grasping one, One helpless innocent, Learchus nam'd, Whom swinging down he dash'd upon a rock, And with her other burden self-destroy'd The hapless mother plung'd: and when the pride Of all-presuming Troy fell from its height, By fortune overwhelm'd, and the old king With his realm perish'd, then did Hecuba, A wretch forlorn and captive, when she saw Polyxena first slaughter'd, and her son, Her Polydorus, on the wild sea-beach Next met the mourner's view, then reft of sense Did she run barking even as a dog; Such mighty power had grief to wrench her soul. Bet ne'er the Furies or of Thebes or Troy With such fell cruelty were seen, their goads Infixing in the limbs of man or beast, As now two pale and naked ghost I saw That gnarling wildly scamper'd, like the swine Excluded from his stye. One reach'd Capocchio, And in the neck-joint sticking deep his fangs, Dragg'd him, that o'er the solid pavement rubb'd His belly stretch'd out prone. The other shape, He of Arezzo, there left trembling, spake; "That sprite of air is Schicchi; in like mood Of random mischief vent he still his spite." To whom I answ'ring: "Oh! as thou dost hope, The other may not flesh its jaws on thee, Be patient to inform us, who it is, Ere it speed hence."--"That is the ancient soul Of wretched Myrrha," he replied, "who burn'd With most unholy flame for her own sire, "And a false shape assuming, so perform'd The deed of sin; e'en as the other there, That onward passes, dar'd to counterfeit Donati's features, to feign'd testament The seal affixing, that himself might gain, For his own share, the lady of the herd." When vanish'd the two furious shades, on whom Mine eye was held, I turn'd it back to view The other cursed spirits. One I saw In fashion like a lute, had but the groin Been sever'd, where it meets the forked part. Swoln dropsy, disproportioning the limbs With ill-converted moisture, that the paunch Suits not the visage, open'd wide his lips Gasping as in the hectic man for drought, One towards the chin, the other upward curl'd. "O ye, who in this world of misery, Wherefore I know not, are exempt from pain," Thus he began, "attentively regard Adamo's woe. When living, full supply Ne'er lack'd me of what most I coveted; One drop of water now, alas! I crave. The rills, that glitter down the grassy slopes Of Casentino, making fresh and soft The banks whereby they glide to Arno's stream, Stand ever in my view; and not in vain; For more the pictur'd semblance dries me up, Much more than the disease, which makes the flesh Desert these shrivel'd cheeks. So from the place, Where I transgress'd, stern justice urging me, Takes means to quicken more my lab'ring sighs. There is Romena, where I falsified The metal with the Baptist's form imprest, For which on earth I left my body burnt. But if I here might see the sorrowing soul Of Guido, Alessandro, or their brother, For Branda's limpid spring I would not change The welcome sight. One is e'en now within, If truly the mad spirits tell, that round Are wand'ring. But wherein besteads me that? My limbs are fetter'd. Were I but so light, That I each hundred years might move one inch, I had set forth already on this path, Seeking him out amidst the shapeless crew, Although eleven miles it wind, not more Than half of one across. They brought me down Among this tribe; induc'd by them I stamp'd The florens with three carats of alloy." "Who are that abject pair," I next inquir'd, "That closely bounding thee upon thy right Lie smoking, like a band in winter steep'd In the chill stream?"--"When to this gulf I dropt," He answer'd, "here I found them; since that hour They have not turn'd, nor ever shall, I ween, Till time hath run his course. One is that dame The false accuser of the Hebrew youth; Sinon the other, that false Greek from Troy. Sharp fever drains the reeky moistness out, In such a cloud upsteam'd." When that he heard, One, gall'd perchance to be so darkly nam'd, With clench'd hand smote him on the braced paunch, That like a drum resounded: but forthwith Adamo smote him on the face, the blow Returning with his arm, that seem'd as hard. "Though my o'erweighty limbs have ta'en from me The power to move," said he, "I have an arm At liberty for such employ." To whom Was answer'd: "When thou wentest to the fire, Thou hadst it not so ready at command, Then readier when it coin'd th' impostor gold." And thus the dropsied: "Ay, now speak'st thou true. But there thou gav'st not such true testimony, When thou wast question'd of the truth, at Troy." "If I spake false, thou falsely stamp'dst the coin," Said Sinon; "I am here but for one fault, And thou for more than any imp beside." "Remember," he replied, "O perjur'd one, The horse remember, that did teem with death, And all the world be witness to thy guilt." "To thine," return'd the Greek, "witness the thirst Whence thy tongue cracks, witness the fluid mound, Rear'd by thy belly up before thine eyes, A mass corrupt." To whom the coiner thus: "Thy mouth gapes wide as ever to let pass Its evil saying. Me if thirst assails, Yet I am stuff'd with moisture. Thou art parch'd, Pains rack thy head, no urging would'st thou need To make thee lap Narcissus' mirror up." I was all fix'd to listen, when my guide Admonish'd: "Now beware: a little more. And I do quarrel with thee." I perceiv'd How angrily he spake, and towards him turn'd With shame so poignant, as remember'd yet Confounds me. As a man that dreams of harm Befall'n him, dreaming wishes it a dream, And that which is, desires as if it were not, Such then was I, who wanting power to speak Wish'd to excuse myself, and all the while Excus'd me, though unweeting that I did. "More grievous fault than thine has been, less shame," My master cried, "might expiate. Therefore cast All sorrow from thy soul; and if again Chance bring thee, where like conference is held, Think I am ever at thy side. To hear Such wrangling is a joy for vulgar minds." CANTO XXXI THE very tongue, whose keen reproof before Had wounded me, that either cheek was stain'd, Now minister'd my cure. So have I heard, Achilles and his father's javelin caus'd Pain first, and then the boon of health restor'd. Turning our back upon the vale of woe, W cross'd th' encircled mound in silence. There Was twilight dim, that far long the gloom Mine eye advanc'd not: but I heard a horn Sounded aloud. The peal it blew had made The thunder feeble. Following its course The adverse way, my strained eyes were bent On that one spot. So terrible a blast Orlando blew not, when that dismal rout O'erthrew the host of Charlemagne, and quench'd His saintly warfare. Thitherward not long My head was rais'd, when many lofty towers Methought I spied. "Master," said I, "what land Is this?" He answer'd straight: "Too long a space Of intervening darkness has thine eye To traverse: thou hast therefore widely err'd In thy imagining. Thither arriv'd Thou well shalt see, how distance can delude The sense. A little therefore urge thee on." Then tenderly he caught me by the hand; "Yet know," said he, "ere farther we advance, That it less strange may seem, these are not towers, But giants. In the pit they stand immers'd, Each from his navel downward, round the bank." As when a fog disperseth gradually, Our vision traces what the mist involves Condens'd in air; so piercing through the gross And gloomy atmosphere, as more and more We near'd toward the brink, mine error fled, And fear came o'er me. As with circling round Of turrets, Montereggion crowns his walls, E'en thus the shore, encompassing th' abyss, Was turreted with giants, half their length Uprearing, horrible, whom Jove from heav'n Yet threatens, when his mutt'ring thunder rolls. Of one already I descried the face, Shoulders, and breast, and of the belly huge Great part, and both arms down along his ribs. All-teeming nature, when her plastic hand Left framing of these monsters, did display Past doubt her wisdom, taking from mad War Such slaves to do his bidding; and if she Repent her not of th' elephant and whale, Who ponders well confesses her therein Wiser and more discreet; for when brute force And evil will are back'd with subtlety, Resistance none avails. His visage seem'd In length and bulk, as doth the pine, that tops Saint Peter's Roman fane; and th' other bones Of like proportion, so that from above The bank, which girdled him below, such height Arose his stature, that three Friezelanders Had striv'n in vain to reach but to his hair. Full thirty ample palms was he expos'd Downward from whence a man his garments loops. "Raphel bai ameth sabi almi," So shouted his fierce lips, which sweeter hymns Became not; and my guide address'd him thus: "O senseless spirit! let thy horn for thee Interpret: therewith vent thy rage, if rage Or other passion wring thee. Search thy neck, There shalt thou find the belt that binds it on. Wild spirit! lo, upon thy mighty breast Where hangs the baldrick!" Then to me he spake: "He doth accuse himself. Nimrod is this, Through whose ill counsel in the world no more One tongue prevails. But pass we on, nor waste Our words; for so each language is to him, As his to others, understood by none." Then to the leftward turning sped we forth, And at a sling's throw found another shade Far fiercer and more huge. I cannot say What master hand had girt him; but he held Behind the right arm fetter'd, and before The other with a chain, that fasten'd him From the neck down, and five times round his form Apparent met the wreathed links. "This proud one Would of his strength against almighty Jove Make trial," said my guide; "whence he is thus Requited: Ephialtes him they call. "Great was his prowess, when the giants brought Fear on the gods: those arms, which then he piled, Now moves he never." Forthwith I return'd: "Fain would I, if 't were possible, mine eyes Of Briareus immeasurable gain'd Experience next." He answer'd: "Thou shalt see Not far from hence Antaeus, who both speaks And is unfetter'd, who shall place us there Where guilt is at its depth. Far onward stands Whom thou wouldst fain behold, in chains, and made Like to this spirit, save that in his looks More fell he seems." By violent earthquake rock'd Ne'er shook a tow'r, so reeling to its base, As Ephialtes. More than ever then I dreaded death, nor than the terror more Had needed, if I had not seen the cords That held him fast. We, straightway journeying on, Came to Antaeus, who five ells complete Without the head, forth issued from the cave. "O thou, who in the fortunate vale, that made Great Scipio heir of glory, when his sword Drove back the troop of Hannibal in flight, Who thence of old didst carry for thy spoil An hundred lions; and if thou hadst fought In the high conflict on thy brethren's side, Seems as men yet believ'd, that through thine arm The sons of earth had conquer'd, now vouchsafe To place us down beneath, where numbing cold Locks up Cocytus. Force not that we crave Or Tityus' help or Typhon's. Here is one Can give what in this realm ye covet. Stoop Therefore, nor scornfully distort thy lip. He in the upper world can yet bestow Renown on thee, for he doth live, and looks For life yet longer, if before the time Grace call him not unto herself." Thus spake The teacher. He in haste forth stretch'd his hands, And caught my guide. Alcides whilom felt That grapple straighten'd score. Soon as my guide Had felt it, he bespake me thus: "This way That I may clasp thee;" then so caught me up, That we were both one burden. As appears The tower of Carisenda, from beneath Where it doth lean, if chance a passing cloud So sail across, that opposite it hangs, Such then Antaeus seem'd, as at mine ease I mark'd him stooping. I were fain at times T' have pass'd another way. Yet in th' abyss, That Lucifer with Judas low ingulfs, Lightly he plac'd us; nor there leaning stay'd, But rose as in a bark the stately mast. 
8788	----	THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL OR THE INFERNO Part 10 Cantos 32 - 34 CANTO XXXII COULD I command rough rhimes and hoarse, to suit That hole of sorrow, o'er which ev'ry rock His firm abutment rears, then might the vein Of fancy rise full springing: but not mine Such measures, and with falt'ring awe I touch The mighty theme; for to describe the depth Of all the universe, is no emprize To jest with, and demands a tongue not us'd To infant babbling. But let them assist My song, the tuneful maidens, by whose aid Amphion wall'd in Thebes, so with the truth My speech shall best accord. Oh ill-starr'd folk, Beyond all others wretched! who abide In such a mansion, as scarce thought finds words To speak of, better had ye here on earth Been flocks or mountain goats. As down we stood In the dark pit beneath the giants' feet, But lower far than they, and I did gaze Still on the lofty battlement, a voice Bespoke me thus: "Look how thou walkest. Take Good heed, thy soles do tread not on the heads Of thy poor brethren." Thereupon I turn'd, And saw before and underneath my feet A lake, whose frozen surface liker seem'd To glass than water. Not so thick a veil In winter e'er hath Austrian Danube spread O'er his still course, nor Tanais far remote Under the chilling sky. Roll'd o'er that mass Had Tabernich or Pietrapana fall'n, Not e'en its rim had creak'd. As peeps the frog Croaking above the wave, what time in dreams The village gleaner oft pursues her toil, So, to where modest shame appears, thus low Blue pinch'd and shrin'd in ice the spirits stood, Moving their teeth in shrill note like the stork. His face each downward held; their mouth the cold, Their eyes express'd the dolour of their heart. A space I look'd around, then at my feet Saw two so strictly join'd, that of their head The very hairs were mingled. "Tell me ye, Whose bosoms thus together press," said I, "Who are ye?" At that sound their necks they bent, And when their looks were lifted up to me, Straightway their eyes, before all moist within, Distill'd upon their lips, and the frost bound The tears betwixt those orbs and held them there. Plank unto plank hath never cramp clos'd up So stoutly. Whence like two enraged goats They clash'd together; them such fury seiz'd. And one, from whom the cold both ears had reft, Exclaim'd, still looking downward: "Why on us Dost speculate so long? If thou wouldst know Who are these two, the valley, whence his wave Bisenzio slopes, did for its master own Their sire Alberto, and next him themselves. They from one body issued; and throughout Caina thou mayst search, nor find a shade More worthy in congealment to be fix'd, Not him, whose breast and shadow Arthur's land At that one blow dissever'd, not Focaccia, No not this spirit, whose o'erjutting head Obstructs my onward view: he bore the name Of Mascheroni: Tuscan if thou be, Well knowest who he was: and to cut short All further question, in my form behold What once was Camiccione. I await Carlino here my kinsman, whose deep guilt Shall wash out mine." A thousand visages Then mark'd I, which the keen and eager cold Had shap'd into a doggish grin; whence creeps A shiv'ring horror o'er me, at the thought Of those frore shallows. While we journey'd on Toward the middle, at whose point unites All heavy substance, and I trembling went Through that eternal chillness, I know not If will it were or destiny, or chance, But, passing 'midst the heads, my foot did strike With violent blow against the face of one. "Wherefore dost bruise me?" weeping, he exclaim'd, "Unless thy errand be some fresh revenge For Montaperto, wherefore troublest me?" I thus: "Instructor, now await me here, That I through him may rid me of my doubt. Thenceforth what haste thou wilt." The teacher paus'd, And to that shade I spake, who bitterly Still curs'd me in his wrath. "What art thou, speak, That railest thus on others?" He replied: "Now who art thou, that smiting others' cheeks Through Antenora roamest, with such force As were past suff'rance, wert thou living still?" "And I am living, to thy joy perchance," Was my reply, "if fame be dear to thee, That with the rest I may thy name enrol." "The contrary of what I covet most," Said he, "thou tender'st: hence; nor vex me more. Ill knowest thou to flatter in this vale." Then seizing on his hinder scalp, I cried: "Name thee, or not a hair shall tarry here." "Rend all away," he answer'd, "yet for that I will not tell nor show thee who I am, Though at my head thou pluck a thousand times." Now I had grasp'd his tresses, and stript off More than one tuft, he barking, with his eyes Drawn in and downward, when another cried, "What ails thee, Bocca? Sound not loud enough Thy chatt'ring teeth, but thou must bark outright? What devil wrings thee?"--"Now," said I, "be dumb, Accursed traitor! to thy shame of thee True tidings will I bear."--"Off," he replied, "Tell what thou list; but as thou escape from hence To speak of him whose tongue hath been so glib, Forget not: here he wails the Frenchman's gold. 'Him of Duera,' thou canst say, 'I mark'd, Where the starv'd sinners pine.' If thou be ask'd What other shade was with them, at thy side Is Beccaria, whose red gorge distain'd The biting axe of Florence. Farther on, If I misdeem not, Soldanieri bides, With Ganellon, and Tribaldello, him Who op'd Faenza when the people slept." We now had left him, passing on our way, When I beheld two spirits by the ice Pent in one hollow, that the head of one Was cowl unto the other; and as bread Is raven'd up through hunger, th' uppermost Did so apply his fangs to th' other's brain, Where the spine joins it. Not more furiously On Menalippus' temples Tydeus gnaw'd, Than on that skull and on its garbage he. "O thou who show'st so beastly sign of hate 'Gainst him thou prey'st on, let me hear," said I "The cause, on such condition, that if right Warrant thy grievance, knowing who ye are, And what the colour of his sinning was, I may repay thee in the world above, If that, wherewith I speak be moist so long." CANTO XXXIII HIS jaws uplifting from their fell repast, That sinner wip'd them on the hairs o' th' head, Which he behind had mangled, then began: "Thy will obeying, I call up afresh Sorrow past cure, which but to think of wrings My heart, or ere I tell on't. But if words, That I may utter, shall prove seed to bear Fruit of eternal infamy to him, The traitor whom I gnaw at, thou at once Shalt see me speak and weep. Who thou mayst be I know not, nor how here below art come: But Florentine thou seemest of a truth, When I do hear thee. Know I was on earth Count Ugolino, and th' Archbishop he Ruggieri. Why I neighbour him so close, Now list. That through effect of his ill thoughts In him my trust reposing, I was ta'en And after murder'd, need is not I tell. What therefore thou canst not have heard, that is, How cruel was the murder, shalt thou hear, And know if he have wrong'd me. A small grate Within that mew, which for my sake the name Of famine bears, where others yet must pine, Already through its opening sev'ral moons Had shown me, when I slept the evil sleep, That from the future tore the curtain off. This one, methought, as master of the sport, Rode forth to chase the gaunt wolf and his whelps Unto the mountain, which forbids the sight Of Lucca to the Pisan. With lean brachs Inquisitive and keen, before him rang'd Lanfranchi with Sismondi and Gualandi. After short course the father and the sons Seem'd tir'd and lagging, and methought I saw The sharp tusks gore their sides. When I awoke Before the dawn, amid their sleep I heard My sons (for they were with me) weep and ask For bread. Right cruel art thou, if no pang Thou feel at thinking what my heart foretold; And if not now, why use thy tears to flow? Now had they waken'd; and the hour drew near When they were wont to bring us food; the mind Of each misgave him through his dream, and I Heard, at its outlet underneath lock'd up The' horrible tower: whence uttering not a word I look'd upon the visage of my sons. I wept not: so all stone I felt within. They wept: and one, my little Anslem, cried: "Thou lookest so! Father what ails thee?" Yet I shed no tear, nor answer'd all that day Nor the next night, until another sun Came out upon the world. When a faint beam Had to our doleful prison made its way, And in four countenances I descry'd The image of my own, on either hand Through agony I bit, and they who thought I did it through desire of feeding, rose O' th' sudden, and cried, 'Father, we should grieve Far less, if thou wouldst eat of us: thou gav'st These weeds of miserable flesh we wear, 'And do thou strip them off from us again.' Then, not to make them sadder, I kept down My spirit in stillness. That day and the next We all were silent. Ah, obdurate earth! Why open'dst not upon us? When we came To the fourth day, then Geddo at my feet Outstretch'd did fling him, crying, 'Hast no help For me, my father!' There he died, and e'en Plainly as thou seest me, saw I the three Fall one by one 'twixt the fifth day and sixth: "Whence I betook me now grown blind to grope Over them all, and for three days aloud Call'd on them who were dead. Then fasting got The mastery of grief." Thus having spoke, Once more upon the wretched skull his teeth He fasten'd, like a mastiff's 'gainst the bone Firm and unyielding. Oh thou Pisa! shame Of all the people, who their dwelling make In that fair region, where th' Italian voice Is heard, since that thy neighbours are so slack To punish, from their deep foundations rise Capraia and Gorgona, and dam up The mouth of Arno, that each soul in thee May perish in the waters! What if fame Reported that thy castles were betray'd By Ugolino, yet no right hadst thou To stretch his children on the rack. For them, Brigata, Ugaccione, and the pair Of gentle ones, of whom my song hath told, Their tender years, thou modern Thebes! did make Uncapable of guilt. Onward we pass'd, Where others skarf'd in rugged folds of ice Not on their feet were turn'd, but each revers'd. There very weeping suffers not to weep; For at their eyes grief seeking passage finds Impediment, and rolling inward turns For increase of sharp anguish: the first tears Hang cluster'd, and like crystal vizors show, Under the socket brimming all the cup. Now though the cold had from my face dislodg'd Each feeling, as 't were callous, yet me seem'd Some breath of wind I felt. "Whence cometh this," Said I, "my master? Is not here below All vapour quench'd?"--"'Thou shalt be speedily," He answer'd, "where thine eye shall tell thee whence The cause descrying of this airy shower." Then cried out one in the chill crust who mourn'd: "O souls so cruel! that the farthest post Hath been assign'd you, from this face remove The harden'd veil, that I may vent the grief Impregnate at my heart, some little space Ere it congeal again!" I thus replied: "Say who thou wast, if thou wouldst have mine aid; And if I extricate thee not, far down As to the lowest ice may I descend!" "The friar Alberigo," answered he, "Am I, who from the evil garden pluck'd Its fruitage, and am here repaid, the date More luscious for my fig."--"Hah!" I exclaim'd, "Art thou too dead!"--"How in the world aloft It fareth with my body," answer'd he, "I am right ignorant. Such privilege Hath Ptolomea, that ofttimes the soul Drops hither, ere by Atropos divorc'd. And that thou mayst wipe out more willingly The glazed tear-drops that o'erlay mine eyes, Know that the soul, that moment she betrays, As I did, yields her body to a fiend Who after moves and governs it at will, Till all its time be rounded; headlong she Falls to this cistern. And perchance above Doth yet appear the body of a ghost, Who here behind me winters. Him thou know'st, If thou but newly art arriv'd below. The years are many that have pass'd away, Since to this fastness Branca Doria came." "Now," answer'd I, "methinks thou mockest me, For Branca Doria never yet hath died, But doth all natural functions of a man, Eats, drinks, and sleeps, and putteth raiment on." He thus: "Not yet unto that upper foss By th' evil talons guarded, where the pitch Tenacious boils, had Michael Zanche reach'd, When this one left a demon in his stead In his own body, and of one his kin, Who with him treachery wrought. But now put forth Thy hand, and ope mine eyes." I op'd them not. Ill manners were best courtesy to him. Ah Genoese! men perverse in every way, With every foulness stain'd, why from the earth Are ye not cancel'd? Such an one of yours I with Romagna's darkest spirit found, As for his doings even now in soul Is in Cocytus plung'd, and yet doth seem In body still alive upon the earth. CANTO XXXIV "THE banners of Hell's Monarch do come forth Towards us; therefore look," so spake my guide, "If thou discern him." As, when breathes a cloud Heavy and dense, or when the shades of night Fall on our hemisphere, seems view'd from far A windmill, which the blast stirs briskly round, Such was the fabric then methought I saw, To shield me from the wind, forthwith I drew Behind my guide: no covert else was there. Now came I (and with fear I bid my strain Record the marvel) where the souls were all Whelm'd underneath, transparent, as through glass Pellucid the frail stem. Some prone were laid, Others stood upright, this upon the soles, That on his head, a third with face to feet Arch'd like a bow. When to the point we came, Whereat my guide was pleas'd that I should see The creature eminent in beauty once, He from before me stepp'd and made me pause. "Lo!" he exclaim'd, "lo Dis! and lo the place, Where thou hast need to arm thy heart with strength." How frozen and how faint I then became, Ask me not, reader! for I write it not, Since words would fail to tell thee of my state. I was not dead nor living. Think thyself If quick conception work in thee at all, How I did feel. That emperor, who sways The realm of sorrow, at mid breast from th' ice Stood forth; and I in stature am more like A giant, than the giants are in his arms. Mark now how great that whole must be, which suits With such a part. If he were beautiful As he is hideous now, and yet did dare To scowl upon his Maker, well from him May all our mis'ry flow. Oh what a sight! How passing strange it seem'd, when I did spy Upon his head three faces: one in front Of hue vermilion, th' other two with this Midway each shoulder join'd and at the crest; The right 'twixt wan and yellow seem'd: the left To look on, such as come from whence old Nile Stoops to the lowlands. Under each shot forth Two mighty wings, enormous as became A bird so vast. Sails never such I saw Outstretch'd on the wide sea. No plumes had they, But were in texture like a bat, and these He flapp'd i' th' air, that from him issued still Three winds, wherewith Cocytus to its depth Was frozen. At six eyes he wept: the tears Adown three chins distill'd with bloody foam. At every mouth his teeth a sinner champ'd Bruis'd as with pond'rous engine, so that three Were in this guise tormented. But far more Than from that gnawing, was the foremost pang'd By the fierce rending, whence ofttimes the back Was stript of all its skin. "That upper spirit, Who hath worse punishment," so spake my guide, "Is Judas, he that hath his head within And plies the feet without. Of th' other two, Whose heads are under, from the murky jaw Who hangs, is Brutus: lo! how he doth writhe And speaks not! Th' other Cassius, that appears So large of limb. But night now re-ascends, And it is time for parting. All is seen." I clipp'd him round the neck, for so he bade; And noting time and place, he, when the wings Enough were op'd, caught fast the shaggy sides, And down from pile to pile descending stepp'd Between the thick fell and the jagged ice. Soon as he reach'd the point, whereat the thigh Upon the swelling of the haunches turns, My leader there with pain and struggling hard Turn'd round his head, where his feet stood before, And grappled at the fell, as one who mounts, That into hell methought we turn'd again. "Expect that by such stairs as these," thus spake The teacher, panting like a man forespent, "We must depart from evil so extreme." Then at a rocky opening issued forth, And plac'd me on a brink to sit, next join'd With wary step my side. I rais'd mine eyes, Believing that I Lucifer should see Where he was lately left, but saw him now With legs held upward. Let the grosser sort, Who see not what the point was I had pass'd, Bethink them if sore toil oppress'd me then. "Arise," my master cried, "upon thy feet. The way is long, and much uncouth the road; And now within one hour and half of noon The sun returns." It was no palace-hall Lofty and luminous wherein we stood, But natural dungeon where ill footing was And scant supply of light. "Ere from th' abyss I sep'rate," thus when risen I began, "My guide! vouchsafe few words to set me free From error's thralldom. Where is now the ice? How standeth he in posture thus revers'd? And how from eve to morn in space so brief Hath the sun made his transit?" He in few Thus answering spake: "Thou deemest thou art still On th' other side the centre, where I grasp'd Th' abhorred worm, that boreth through the world. Thou wast on th' other side, so long as I Descended; when I turn'd, thou didst o'erpass That point, to which from ev'ry part is dragg'd All heavy substance. Thou art now arriv'd Under the hemisphere opposed to that, Which the great continent doth overspread, And underneath whose canopy expir'd The Man, that was born sinless, and so liv'd. Thy feet are planted on the smallest sphere, Whose other aspect is Judecca. Morn Here rises, when there evening sets: and he, Whose shaggy pile was scal'd, yet standeth fix'd, As at the first. On this part he fell down From heav'n; and th' earth, here prominent before, Through fear of him did veil her with the sea, And to our hemisphere retir'd. Perchance To shun him was the vacant space left here By what of firm land on this side appears, That sprang aloof." There is a place beneath, From Belzebub as distant, as extends The vaulted tomb, discover'd not by sight, But by the sound of brooklet, that descends This way along the hollow of a rock, Which, as it winds with no precipitous course, The wave hath eaten. By that hidden way My guide and I did enter, to return To the fair world: and heedless of repose We climbed, he first, I following his steps, Till on our view the beautiful lights of heav'n Dawn'd through a circular opening in the cave: Thus issuing we again beheld the stars. 
8785	----	THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL OR THE INFERNO Part 7 Cantos 18 - 22 CANTO XVIII THERE is a place within the depths of hell Call'd Malebolge, all of rock dark-stain'd With hue ferruginous, e'en as the steep That round it circling winds. Right in the midst Of that abominable region, yawns A spacious gulf profound, whereof the frame Due time shall tell. The circle, that remains, Throughout its round, between the gulf and base Of the high craggy banks, successive forms Ten trenches, in its hollow bottom sunk. As where to guard the walls, full many a foss Begirds some stately castle, sure defence Affording to the space within, so here Were model'd these; and as like fortresses E'en from their threshold to the brink without, Are flank'd with bridges; from the rock's low base Thus flinty paths advanc'd, that 'cross the moles And dikes, struck onward far as to the gulf, That in one bound collected cuts them off. Such was the place, wherein we found ourselves From Geryon's back dislodg'd. The bard to left Held on his way, and I behind him mov'd. On our right hand new misery I saw, New pains, new executioners of wrath, That swarming peopled the first chasm. Below Were naked sinners. Hitherward they came, Meeting our faces from the middle point, With us beyond but with a larger stride. E'en thus the Romans, when the year returns Of Jubilee, with better speed to rid The thronging multitudes, their means devise For such as pass the bridge; that on one side All front toward the castle, and approach Saint Peter's fane, on th' other towards the mount. Each divers way along the grisly rock, Horn'd demons I beheld, with lashes huge, That on their back unmercifully smote. Ah! how they made them bound at the first stripe! None for the second waited nor the third. Meantime as on I pass'd, one met my sight Whom soon as view'd; "Of him," cried I, "not yet Mine eye hath had his fill." With fixed gaze I therefore scann'd him. Straight the teacher kind Paus'd with me, and consented I should walk Backward a space, and the tormented spirit, Who thought to hide him, bent his visage down. But it avail'd him nought; for I exclaim'd: "Thou who dost cast thy eye upon the ground, Unless thy features do belie thee much, Venedico art thou. But what brings thee Into this bitter seas'ning?" He replied: "Unwillingly I answer to thy words. But thy clear speech, that to my mind recalls The world I once inhabited, constrains me. Know then 'twas I who led fair Ghisola To do the Marquis' will, however fame The shameful tale have bruited. Nor alone Bologna hither sendeth me to mourn Rather with us the place is so o'erthrong'd That not so many tongues this day are taught, Betwixt the Reno and Savena's stream, To answer SIPA in their country's phrase. And if of that securer proof thou need, Remember but our craving thirst for gold." Him speaking thus, a demon with his thong Struck, and exclaim'd, "Away! corrupter! here Women are none for sale." Forthwith I join'd My escort, and few paces thence we came To where a rock forth issued from the bank. That easily ascended, to the right Upon its splinter turning, we depart From those eternal barriers. When arriv'd, Where underneath the gaping arch lets pass The scourged souls: "Pause here," the teacher said, "And let these others miserable, now Strike on thy ken, faces not yet beheld, For that together they with us have walk'd." From the old bridge we ey'd the pack, who came From th' other side towards us, like the rest, Excoriate from the lash. My gentle guide, By me unquestion'd, thus his speech resum'd: "Behold that lofty shade, who this way tends, And seems too woe-begone to drop a tear. How yet the regal aspect he retains! Jason is he, whose skill and prowess won The ram from Colchos. To the Lemnian isle His passage thither led him, when those bold And pitiless women had slain all their males. There he with tokens and fair witching words Hypsipyle beguil'd, a virgin young, Who first had all the rest herself beguil'd. Impregnated he left her there forlorn. Such is the guilt condemns him to this pain. Here too Medea's inj'ries are avenged. All bear him company, who like deceit To his have practis'd. And thus much to know Of the first vale suffice thee, and of those Whom its keen torments urge." Now had we come Where, crossing the next pier, the straighten'd path Bestrides its shoulders to another arch. Hence in the second chasm we heard the ghosts, Who jibber in low melancholy sounds, With wide-stretch'd nostrils snort, and on themselves Smite with their palms. Upon the banks a scurf From the foul steam condens'd, encrusting hung, That held sharp combat with the sight and smell. So hollow is the depth, that from no part, Save on the summit of the rocky span, Could I distinguish aught. Thus far we came; And thence I saw, within the foss below, A crowd immers'd in ordure, that appear'd Draff of the human body. There beneath Searching with eye inquisitive, I mark'd One with his head so grim'd, 't were hard to deem, If he were clerk or layman. Loud he cried: "Why greedily thus bendest more on me, Than on these other filthy ones, thy ken?" "Because if true my mem'ry," I replied, "I heretofore have seen thee with dry locks, And thou Alessio art of Lucca sprung. Therefore than all the rest I scan thee more." Then beating on his brain these words he spake: "Me thus low down my flatteries have sunk, Wherewith I ne'er enough could glut my tongue." My leader thus: "A little further stretch Thy face, that thou the visage well mayst note Of that besotted, sluttish courtezan, Who there doth rend her with defiled nails, Now crouching down, now risen on her feet. "Thais is this, the harlot, whose false lip Answer'd her doting paramour that ask'd, 'Thankest me much!'--'Say rather wondrously,' And seeing this here satiate be our view." CANTO XIX WOE to thee, Simon Magus! woe to you, His wretched followers! who the things of God, Which should be wedded unto goodness, them, Rapacious as ye are, do prostitute For gold and silver in adultery! Now must the trumpet sound for you, since yours Is the third chasm. Upon the following vault We now had mounted, where the rock impends Directly o'er the centre of the foss. Wisdom Supreme! how wonderful the art, Which thou dost manifest in heaven, in earth, And in the evil world, how just a meed Allotting by thy virtue unto all! I saw the livid stone, throughout the sides And in its bottom full of apertures, All equal in their width, and circular each, Nor ample less nor larger they appear'd Than in Saint John's fair dome of me belov'd Those fram'd to hold the pure baptismal streams, One of the which I brake, some few years past, To save a whelming infant; and be this A seal to undeceive whoever doubts The motive of my deed. From out the mouth Of every one, emerg'd a sinner's feet And of the legs high upward as the calf The rest beneath was hid. On either foot The soles were burning, whence the flexile joints Glanc'd with such violent motion, as had snapt Asunder cords or twisted withs. As flame, Feeding on unctuous matter, glides along The surface, scarcely touching where it moves; So here, from heel to point, glided the flames. "Master! say who is he, than all the rest Glancing in fiercer agony, on whom A ruddier flame doth prey?" I thus inquir'd. "If thou be willing," he replied, "that I Carry thee down, where least the slope bank falls, He of himself shall tell thee and his wrongs." I then: "As pleases thee to me is best. Thou art my lord; and know'st that ne'er I quit Thy will: what silence hides that knowest thou." Thereat on the fourth pier we came, we turn'd, And on our left descended to the depth, A narrow strait and perforated close. Nor from his side my leader set me down, Till to his orifice he brought, whose limb Quiv'ring express'd his pang. "Whoe'er thou art, Sad spirit! thus revers'd, and as a stake Driv'n in the soil!" I in these words began, "If thou be able, utter forth thy voice." There stood I like the friar, that doth shrive A wretch for murder doom'd, who e'en when fix'd, Calleth him back, whence death awhile delays. He shouted: "Ha! already standest there? Already standest there, O Boniface! By many a year the writing play'd me false. So early dost thou surfeit with the wealth, For which thou fearedst not in guile to take The lovely lady, and then mangle her?" I felt as those who, piercing not the drift Of answer made them, stand as if expos'd In mockery, nor know what to reply, When Virgil thus admonish'd: "Tell him quick, I am not he, not he, whom thou believ'st." And I, as was enjoin'd me, straight replied. That heard, the spirit all did wrench his feet, And sighing next in woeful accent spake: "What then of me requirest? If to know So much imports thee, who I am, that thou Hast therefore down the bank descended, learn That in the mighty mantle I was rob'd, And of a she-bear was indeed the son, So eager to advance my whelps, that there My having in my purse above I stow'd, And here myself. Under my head are dragg'd The rest, my predecessors in the guilt Of simony. Stretch'd at their length they lie Along an opening in the rock. 'Midst them I also low shall fall, soon as he comes, For whom I took thee, when so hastily I question'd. But already longer time Hath pass'd, since my souls kindled, and I thus Upturn'd have stood, than is his doom to stand Planted with fiery feet. For after him, One yet of deeds more ugly shall arrive, From forth the west, a shepherd without law, Fated to cover both his form and mine. He a new Jason shall be call'd, of whom In Maccabees we read; and favour such As to that priest his king indulgent show'd, Shall be of France's monarch shown to him." I know not if I here too far presum'd, But in this strain I answer'd: "Tell me now, What treasures from St. Peter at the first Our Lord demanded, when he put the keys Into his charge? Surely he ask'd no more But, Follow me! Nor Peter nor the rest Or gold or silver of Matthias took, When lots were cast upon the forfeit place Of the condemned soul. Abide thou then; Thy punishment of right is merited: And look thou well to that ill-gotten coin, Which against Charles thy hardihood inspir'd. If reverence of the keys restrain'd me not, Which thou in happier time didst hold, I yet Severer speech might use. Your avarice O'ercasts the world with mourning, under foot Treading the good, and raising bad men up. Of shepherds, like to you, th' Evangelist Was ware, when her, who sits upon the waves, With kings in filthy whoredom he beheld, She who with seven heads tower'd at her birth, And from ten horns her proof of glory drew, Long as her spouse in virtue took delight. Of gold and silver ye have made your god, Diff'ring wherein from the idolater, But he that worships one, a hundred ye? Ah, Constantine! to how much ill gave birth, Not thy conversion, but that plenteous dower, Which the first wealthy Father gain'd from thee!" Meanwhile, as thus I sung, he, whether wrath Or conscience smote him, violent upsprang Spinning on either sole. I do believe My teacher well was pleas'd, with so compos'd A lip, he listen'd ever to the sound Of the true words I utter'd. In both arms He caught, and to his bosom lifting me Upward retrac'd the way of his descent. Nor weary of his weight he press'd me close, Till to the summit of the rock we came, Our passage from the fourth to the fifth pier. His cherish'd burden there gently he plac'd Upon the rugged rock and steep, a path Not easy for the clamb'ring goat to mount. Thence to my view another vale appear'd CANTO XX AND now the verse proceeds to torments new, Fit argument of this the twentieth strain Of the first song, whose awful theme records The spirits whelm'd in woe. Earnest I look'd Into the depth, that open'd to my view, Moisten'd with tears of anguish, and beheld A tribe, that came along the hollow vale, In silence weeping: such their step as walk Quires chanting solemn litanies on earth. As on them more direct mine eye descends, Each wondrously seem'd to be revers'd At the neck-bone, so that the countenance Was from the reins averted: and because None might before him look, they were compell'd To' advance with backward gait. Thus one perhaps Hath been by force of palsy clean transpos'd, But I ne'er saw it nor believe it so. Now, reader! think within thyself, so God Fruit of thy reading give thee! how I long Could keep my visage dry, when I beheld Near me our form distorted in such guise, That on the hinder parts fall'n from the face The tears down-streaming roll'd. Against a rock I leant and wept, so that my guide exclaim'd: "What, and art thou too witless as the rest? Here pity most doth show herself alive, When she is dead. What guilt exceedeth his, Who with Heaven's judgment in his passion strives? Raise up thy head, raise up, and see the man, Before whose eyes earth gap'd in Thebes, when all Cried out, 'Amphiaraus, whither rushest? 'Why leavest thou the war?' He not the less Fell ruining far as to Minos down, Whose grapple none eludes. Lo! how he makes The breast his shoulders, and who once too far Before him wish'd to see, now backward looks, And treads reverse his path. Tiresias note, Who semblance chang'd, when woman he became Of male, through every limb transform'd, and then Once more behov'd him with his rod to strike The two entwining serpents, ere the plumes, That mark'd the better sex, might shoot again. "Aruns, with more his belly facing, comes. On Luni's mountains 'midst the marbles white, Where delves Carrara's hind, who wons beneath, A cavern was his dwelling, whence the stars And main-sea wide in boundless view he held. "The next, whose loosen'd tresses overspread Her bosom, which thou seest not (for each hair On that side grows) was Manto, she who search'd Through many regions, and at length her seat Fix'd in my native land, whence a short space My words detain thy audience. When her sire From life departed, and in servitude The city dedicate to Bacchus mourn'd, Long time she went a wand'rer through the world. Aloft in Italy's delightful land A lake there lies, at foot of that proud Alp, That o'er the Tyrol locks Germania in, Its name Benacus, which a thousand rills, Methinks, and more, water between the vale Camonica and Garda and the height Of Apennine remote. There is a spot At midway of that lake, where he who bears Of Trento's flock the past'ral staff, with him Of Brescia, and the Veronese, might each Passing that way his benediction give. A garrison of goodly site and strong Peschiera stands, to awe with front oppos'd The Bergamese and Brescian, whence the shore More slope each way descends. There, whatsoev'er Benacus' bosom holds not, tumbling o'er Down falls, and winds a river flood beneath Through the green pastures. Soon as in his course The steam makes head, Benacus then no more They call the name, but Mincius, till at last Reaching Governo into Po he falls. Not far his course hath run, when a wide flat It finds, which overstretchmg as a marsh It covers, pestilent in summer oft. Hence journeying, the savage maiden saw 'Midst of the fen a territory waste And naked of inhabitants. To shun All human converse, here she with her slaves Plying her arts remain'd, and liv'd, and left Her body tenantless. Thenceforth the tribes, Who round were scatter'd, gath'ring to that place Assembled; for its strength was great, enclos'd On all parts by the fen. On those dead bones They rear'd themselves a city, for her sake, Calling it Mantua, who first chose the spot, Nor ask'd another omen for the name, Wherein more numerous the people dwelt, Ere Casalodi's madness by deceit Was wrong'd of Pinamonte. If thou hear Henceforth another origin assign'd Of that my country, I forewarn thee now, That falsehood none beguile thee of the truth." I answer'd: "Teacher, I conclude thy words So certain, that all else shall be to me As embers lacking life. But now of these, Who here proceed, instruct me, if thou see Any that merit more especial note. For thereon is my mind alone intent." He straight replied: "That spirit, from whose cheek The beard sweeps o'er his shoulders brown, what time Graecia was emptied of her males, that scarce The cradles were supplied, the seer was he In Aulis, who with Calchas gave the sign When first to cut the cable. Him they nam'd Eurypilus: so sings my tragic strain, In which majestic measure well thou know'st, Who know'st it all. That other, round the loins So slender of his shape, was Michael Scot, Practis'd in ev'ry slight of magic wile. "Guido Bonatti see: Asdente mark, Who now were willing, he had tended still The thread and cordwain; and too late repents. "See next the wretches, who the needle left, The shuttle and the spindle, and became Diviners: baneful witcheries they wrought With images and herbs. But onward now: For now doth Cain with fork of thorns confine On either hemisphere, touching the wave Beneath the towers of Seville. Yesternight The moon was round. Thou mayst remember well: For she good service did thee in the gloom Of the deep wood." This said, both onward mov'd. CANTO XXI THUS we from bridge to bridge, with other talk, The which my drama cares not to rehearse, Pass'd on; and to the summit reaching, stood To view another gap, within the round Of Malebolge, other bootless pangs. Marvelous darkness shadow'd o'er the place. In the Venetians' arsenal as boils Through wintry months tenacious pitch, to smear Their unsound vessels; for th' inclement time Sea-faring men restrains, and in that while His bark one builds anew, another stops The ribs of his, that hath made many a voyage; One hammers at the prow, one at the poop; This shapeth oars, that other cables twirls, The mizen one repairs and main-sail rent So not by force of fire but art divine Boil'd here a glutinous thick mass, that round Lim'd all the shore beneath. I that beheld, But therein nought distinguish'd, save the surge, Rais'd by the boiling, in one mighty swell Heave, and by turns subsiding and fall. While there I fix'd my ken below, "Mark! mark!" my guide Exclaiming, drew me towards him from the place, Wherein I stood. I turn'd myself as one, Impatient to behold that which beheld He needs must shun, whom sudden fear unmans, That he his flight delays not for the view. Behind me I discern'd a devil black, That running, up advanc'd along the rock. Ah! what fierce cruelty his look bespake! In act how bitter did he seem, with wings Buoyant outstretch'd and feet of nimblest tread! His shoulder proudly eminent and sharp Was with a sinner charg'd; by either haunch He held him, the foot's sinew griping fast. "Ye of our bridge!" he cried, "keen-talon'd fiends! Lo! one of Santa Zita's elders! Him Whelm ye beneath, while I return for more. That land hath store of such. All men are there, Except Bonturo, barterers: of 'no' For lucre there an 'aye' is quickly made." Him dashing down, o'er the rough rock he turn'd, Nor ever after thief a mastiff loos'd Sped with like eager haste. That other sank And forthwith writing to the surface rose. But those dark demons, shrouded by the bridge, Cried "Here the hallow'd visage saves not: here Is other swimming than in Serchio's wave. Wherefore if thou desire we rend thee not, Take heed thou mount not o'er the pitch." This said, They grappled him with more than hundred hooks, And shouted: "Cover'd thou must sport thee here; So, if thou canst, in secret mayst thou filch." E'en thus the cook bestirs him, with his grooms, To thrust the flesh into the caldron down With flesh-hooks, that it float not on the top. Me then my guide bespake: "Lest they descry, That thou art here, behind a craggy rock Bend low and screen thee; and whate'er of force Be offer'd me, or insult, fear thou not: For I am well advis'd, who have been erst In the like fray." Beyond the bridge's head Therewith he pass'd, and reaching the sixth pier, Behov'd him then a forehead terror-proof. With storm and fury, as when dogs rush forth Upon the poor man's back, who suddenly From whence he standeth makes his suit; so rush'd Those from beneath the arch, and against him Their weapons all they pointed. He aloud: "Be none of you outrageous: ere your time Dare seize me, come forth from amongst you one, "Who having heard my words, decide he then If he shall tear these limbs." They shouted loud, "Go, Malacoda!" Whereat one advanc'd, The others standing firm, and as he came, "What may this turn avail him?" he exclaim'd. "Believ'st thou, Malacoda! I had come Thus far from all your skirmishing secure," My teacher answered, "without will divine And destiny propitious? Pass we then For so Heaven's pleasure is, that I should lead Another through this savage wilderness." Forthwith so fell his pride, that he let drop The instrument of torture at his feet, And to the rest exclaim'd: "We have no power To strike him." Then to me my guide: "O thou! Who on the bridge among the crags dost sit Low crouching, safely now to me return." I rose, and towards him moved with speed: the fiends Meantime all forward drew: me terror seiz'd Lest they should break the compact they had made. Thus issuing from Caprona, once I saw Th' infantry dreading, lest his covenant The foe should break; so close he hemm'd them round. I to my leader's side adher'd, mine eyes With fixt and motionless observance bent On their unkindly visage. They their hooks Protruding, one the other thus bespake: "Wilt thou I touch him on the hip?" To whom Was answer'd: "Even so; nor miss thy aim." But he, who was in conf'rence with my guide, Turn'd rapid round, and thus the demon spake: "Stay, stay thee, Scarmiglione!" Then to us He added: "Further footing to your step This rock affords not, shiver'd to the base Of the sixth arch. But would you still proceed, Up by this cavern go: not distant far, Another rock will yield you passage safe. Yesterday, later by five hours than now, Twelve hundred threescore years and six had fill'd The circuit of their course, since here the way Was broken. Thitherward I straight dispatch Certain of these my scouts, who shall espy If any on the surface bask. With them Go ye: for ye shall find them nothing fell. Come Alichino forth," with that he cried, "And Calcabrina, and Cagnazzo thou! The troop of ten let Barbariccia lead. With Libicocco Draghinazzo haste, Fang'd Ciriatto, Grafflacane fierce, And Farfarello, and mad Rubicant. Search ye around the bubbling tar. For these, In safety lead them, where the other crag Uninterrupted traverses the dens." I then: "O master! what a sight is there! Ah! without escort, journey we alone, Which, if thou know the way, I covet not. Unless thy prudence fail thee, dost not mark How they do gnarl upon us, and their scowl Threatens us present tortures?" He replied: "I charge thee fear not: let them, as they will, Gnarl on: 't is but in token of their spite Against the souls, who mourn in torment steep'd." To leftward o'er the pier they turn'd; but each Had first between his teeth prest close the tongue, Toward their leader for a signal looking, Which he with sound obscene triumphant gave. CANTO XXII IT hath been heretofore my chance to see Horsemen with martial order shifting camp, To onset sallying, or in muster rang'd, Or in retreat sometimes outstretch'd for flight; Light-armed squadrons and fleet foragers Scouring thy plains, Arezzo! have I seen, And clashing tournaments, and tilting jousts, Now with the sound of trumpets, now of bells, Tabors, or signals made from castled heights, And with inventions multiform, our own, Or introduc'd from foreign land; but ne'er To such a strange recorder I beheld, In evolution moving, horse nor foot, Nor ship, that tack'd by sign from land or star. With the ten demons on our way we went; Ah fearful company! but in the church With saints, with gluttons at the tavern's mess. Still earnest on the pitch I gaz'd, to mark All things whate'er the chasm contain'd, and those Who burn'd within. As dolphins, that, in sign To mariners, heave high their arched backs, That thence forewarn'd they may advise to save Their threaten'd vessels; so, at intervals, To ease the pain his back some sinner show'd, Then hid more nimbly than the lightning glance. E'en as the frogs, that of a wat'ry moat Stand at the brink, with the jaws only out, Their feet and of the trunk all else concealed, Thus on each part the sinners stood, but soon As Barbariccia was at hand, so they Drew back under the wave. I saw, and yet My heart doth stagger, one, that waited thus, As it befalls that oft one frog remains, While the next springs away: and Graffiacan, Who of the fiends was nearest, grappling seiz'd His clotted locks, and dragg'd him sprawling up, That he appear'd to me an otter. Each Already by their names I knew, so well When they were chosen, I observ'd, and mark'd How one the other call'd. "O Rubicant! See that his hide thou with thy talons flay," Shouted together all the cursed crew. Then I: "Inform thee, master! if thou may, What wretched soul is this, on whom their hand His foes have laid." My leader to his side Approach'd, and whence he came inquir'd, to whom Was answer'd thus: "Born in Navarre's domain My mother plac'd me in a lord's retinue, For she had borne me to a losel vile, A spendthrift of his substance and himself. The good king Thibault after that I serv'd, To peculating here my thoughts were turn'd, Whereof I give account in this dire heat." Straight Ciriatto, from whose mouth a tusk Issued on either side, as from a boar, Ript him with one of these. 'Twixt evil claws The mouse had fall'n: but Barbariccia cried, Seizing him with both arms: "Stand thou apart, While I do fix him on my prong transpierc'd." Then added, turning to my guide his face, "Inquire of him, if more thou wish to learn, Ere he again be rent." My leader thus: "Then tell us of the partners in thy guilt; Knowest thou any sprung of Latian land Under the tar?"--"I parted," he replied, "But now from one, who sojourn'd not far thence; So were I under shelter now with him! Nor hook nor talon then should scare me more."--. "Too long we suffer," Libicocco cried, Then, darting forth a prong, seiz'd on his arm, And mangled bore away the sinewy part. Him Draghinazzo by his thighs beneath Would next have caught, whence angrily their chief, Turning on all sides round, with threat'ning brow Restrain'd them. When their strife a little ceas'd, Of him, who yet was gazing on his wound, My teacher thus without delay inquir'd: "Who was the spirit, from whom by evil hap Parting, as thou has told, thou cam'st to shore?"-- "It was the friar Gomita," he rejoin'd, "He of Gallura, vessel of all guile, Who had his master's enemies in hand, And us'd them so that they commend him well. Money he took, and them at large dismiss'd. So he reports: and in each other charge Committed to his keeping, play'd the part Of barterer to the height: with him doth herd The chief of Logodoro, Michel Zanche. Sardinia is a theme, whereof their tongue Is never weary. Out! alas! behold That other, how he grins! More would I say, But tremble lest he mean to maul me sore." Their captain then to Farfarello turning, Who roll'd his moony eyes in act to strike, Rebuk'd him thus: "Off! cursed bird! Avaunt!"-- "If ye desire to see or hear," he thus Quaking with dread resum'd, "or Tuscan spirits Or Lombard, I will cause them to appear. Meantime let these ill talons bate their fury, So that no vengeance they may fear from them, And I, remaining in this self-same place, Will for myself but one, make sev'n appear, When my shrill whistle shall be heard; for so Our custom is to call each other up." Cagnazzo at that word deriding grinn'd, Then wagg'd the head and spake: "Hear his device, Mischievous as he is, to plunge him down." Whereto he thus, who fail'd not in rich store Of nice-wove toils; "Mischief forsooth extreme, Meant only to procure myself more woe!" No longer Alichino then refrain'd, But thus, the rest gainsaying, him bespake: "If thou do cast thee down, I not on foot Will chase thee, but above the pitch will beat My plumes. Quit we the vantage ground, and let The bank be as a shield, that we may see If singly thou prevail against us all." Now, reader, of new sport expect to hear! They each one turn'd his eyes to the' other shore, He first, who was the hardest to persuade. The spirit of Navarre chose well his time, Planted his feet on land, and at one leap Escaping disappointed their resolve. Them quick resentment stung, but him the most, Who was the cause of failure; in pursuit He therefore sped, exclaiming; "Thou art caught." But little it avail'd: terror outstripp'd His following flight: the other plung'd beneath, And he with upward pinion rais'd his breast: E'en thus the water-fowl, when she perceives The falcon near, dives instant down, while he Enrag'd and spent retires. That mockery In Calcabrina fury stirr'd, who flew After him, with desire of strife inflam'd; And, for the barterer had 'scap'd, so turn'd His talons on his comrade. O'er the dyke In grapple close they join'd; but the' other prov'd A goshawk able to rend well his foe; And in the boiling lake both fell. The heat Was umpire soon between them, but in vain To lift themselves they strove, so fast were glued Their pennons. Barbariccia, as the rest, That chance lamenting, four in flight dispatch'd From the' other coast, with all their weapons arm'd. They, to their post on each side speedily Descending, stretch'd their hooks toward the fiends, Who flounder'd, inly burning from their scars: And we departing left them to that broil. ===8 THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE OR THE INFERNO BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL Part 8 Cantos 23 - 28 CANTO XXIII IN silence and in solitude we went, One first, the other following his steps, As minor friars journeying on their road. The present fray had turn'd my thoughts to muse Upon old Aesop's fable, where he told What fate unto the mouse and frog befell. For language hath not sounds more like in sense, Than are these chances, if the origin And end of each be heedfully compar'd. And as one thought bursts from another forth, So afterward from that another sprang, Which added doubly to my former fear. For thus I reason'd: "These through us have been So foil'd, with loss and mock'ry so complete, As needs must sting them sore. If anger then Be to their evil will conjoin'd, more fell They shall pursue us, than the savage hound Snatches the leveret, panting 'twixt his jaws." Already I perceiv'd my hair stand all On end with terror, and look'd eager back. "Teacher," I thus began, "if speedily Thyself and me thou hide not, much I dread Those evil talons. Even now behind They urge us: quick imagination works So forcibly, that I already feel them." He answer'd: "Were I form'd of leaded glass, I should not sooner draw unto myself Thy outward image, than I now imprint That from within. This moment came thy thoughts Presented before mine, with similar act And count'nance similar, so that from both I one design have fram'd. If the right coast Incline so much, that we may thence descend Into the other chasm, we shall escape Secure from this imagined pursuit." He had not spoke his purpose to the end, When I from far beheld them with spread wings Approach to take us. Suddenly my guide Caught me, ev'n as a mother that from sleep Is by the noise arous'd, and near her sees The climbing fires, who snatches up her babe And flies ne'er pausing, careful more of him Than of herself, that but a single vest Clings round her limbs. Down from the jutting beach Supine he cast him, to that pendent rock, Which closes on one part the other chasm. Never ran water with such hurrying pace Adown the tube to turn a landmill's wheel, When nearest it approaches to the spokes, As then along that edge my master ran, Carrying me in his bosom, as a child, Not a companion. Scarcely had his feet Reach'd to the lowest of the bed beneath, When over us the steep they reach'd; but fear In him was none; for that high Providence, Which plac'd them ministers of the fifth foss, Power of departing thence took from them all. There in the depth we saw a painted tribe, Who pac'd with tardy steps around, and wept, Faint in appearance and o'ercome with toil. Caps had they on, with hoods, that fell low down Before their eyes, in fashion like to those Worn by the monks in Cologne. Their outside Was overlaid with gold, dazzling to view, But leaden all within, and of such weight, That Frederick's compar'd to these were straw. Oh, everlasting wearisome attire! We yet once more with them together turn'd To leftward, on their dismal moan intent. But by the weight oppress'd, so slowly came The fainting people, that our company Was chang'd at every movement of the step. Whence I my guide address'd: "See that thou find Some spirit, whose name may by his deeds be known, And to that end look round thee as thou go'st." Then one, who understood the Tuscan voice, Cried after us aloud: "Hold in your feet, Ye who so swiftly speed through the dusk air. Perchance from me thou shalt obtain thy wish." Whereat my leader, turning, me bespake: "Pause, and then onward at their pace proceed." I staid, and saw two Spirits in whose look Impatient eagerness of mind was mark'd To overtake me; but the load they bare And narrow path retarded their approach. Soon as arriv'd, they with an eye askance Perus'd me, but spake not: then turning each To other thus conferring said: "This one Seems, by the action of his throat, alive. And, be they dead, what privilege allows They walk unmantled by the cumbrous stole?" Then thus to me: "Tuscan, who visitest The college of the mourning hypocrites, Disdain not to instruct us who thou art." "By Arno's pleasant stream," I thus replied, "In the great city I was bred and grew, And wear the body I have ever worn. but who are ye, from whom such mighty grief, As now I witness, courseth down your cheeks? What torment breaks forth in this bitter woe?" "Our bonnets gleaming bright with orange hue," One of them answer'd, "are so leaden gross, That with their weight they make the balances To crack beneath them. Joyous friars we were, Bologna's natives, Catalano I, He Loderingo nam'd, and by thy land Together taken, as men used to take A single and indifferent arbiter, To reconcile their strifes. How there we sped, Gardingo's vicinage can best declare." "O friars!" I began, "your miseries--" But there brake off, for one had caught my eye, Fix'd to a cross with three stakes on the ground: He, when he saw me, writh'd himself, throughout Distorted, ruffling with deep sighs his beard. And Catalano, who thereof was 'ware, Thus spake: "That pierced spirit, whom intent Thou view'st, was he who gave the Pharisees Counsel, that it were fitting for one man To suffer for the people. He doth lie Transverse; nor any passes, but him first Behoves make feeling trial how each weighs. In straits like this along the foss are plac'd The father of his consort, and the rest Partakers in that council, seed of ill And sorrow to the Jews." I noted then, How Virgil gaz'd with wonder upon him, Thus abjectly extended on the cross In banishment eternal. To the friar He next his words address'd: "We pray ye tell, If so be lawful, whether on our right Lies any opening in the rock, whereby We both may issue hence, without constraint On the dark angels, that compell'd they come To lead us from this depth." He thus replied: "Nearer than thou dost hope, there is a rock From the next circle moving, which o'ersteps Each vale of horror, save that here his cope Is shatter'd. By the ruin ye may mount: For on the side it slants, and most the height Rises below." With head bent down awhile My leader stood, then spake: "He warn'd us ill, Who yonder hangs the sinners on his hook." To whom the friar: At Bologna erst "I many vices of the devil heard, Among the rest was said, 'He is a liar, And the father of lies!'" When he had spoke, My leader with large strides proceeded on, Somewhat disturb'd with anger in his look. I therefore left the spirits heavy laden, And following, his beloved footsteps mark'd. CANTO XXIV IN the year's early nonage, when the sun Tempers his tresses in Aquarius' urn, And now towards equal day the nights recede, When as the rime upon the earth puts on Her dazzling sister's image, but not long Her milder sway endures, then riseth up The village hind, whom fails his wintry store, And looking out beholds the plain around All whiten'd, whence impatiently he smites His thighs, and to his hut returning in, There paces to and fro, wailing his lot, As a discomfited and helpless man; Then comes he forth again, and feels new hope Spring in his bosom, finding e'en thus soon The world hath chang'd its count'nance, grasps his crook, And forth to pasture drives his little flock: So me my guide dishearten'd when I saw His troubled forehead, and so speedily That ill was cur'd; for at the fallen bridge Arriving, towards me with a look as sweet, He turn'd him back, as that I first beheld At the steep mountain's foot. Regarding well The ruin, and some counsel first maintain'd With his own thought, he open'd wide his arm And took me up. As one, who, while he works, Computes his labour's issue, that he seems Still to foresee the' effect, so lifting me Up to the summit of one peak, he fix'd His eye upon another. "Grapple that," Said he, "but first make proof, if it be such As will sustain thee." For one capp'd with lead This were no journey. Scarcely he, though light, And I, though onward push'd from crag to crag, Could mount. And if the precinct of this coast Were not less ample than the last, for him I know not, but my strength had surely fail'd. But Malebolge all toward the mouth Inclining of the nethermost abyss, The site of every valley hence requires, That one side upward slope, the other fall. At length the point of our descent we reach'd From the last flag: soon as to that arriv'd, So was the breath exhausted from my lungs, I could no further, but did seat me there. "Now needs thy best of man;" so spake my guide: "For not on downy plumes, nor under shade Of canopy reposing, fame is won, Without which whosoe'er consumes his days Leaveth such vestige of himself on earth, As smoke in air or foam upon the wave. Thou therefore rise: vanish thy weariness By the mind's effort, in each struggle form'd To vanquish, if she suffer not the weight Of her corporeal frame to crush her down. A longer ladder yet remains to scale. From these to have escap'd sufficeth not. If well thou note me, profit by my words." I straightway rose, and show'd myself less spent Than I in truth did feel me. "On," I cried, "For I am stout and fearless." Up the rock Our way we held, more rugged than before, Narrower and steeper far to climb. From talk I ceas'd not, as we journey'd, so to seem Least faint; whereat a voice from the other foss Did issue forth, for utt'rance suited ill. Though on the arch that crosses there I stood, What were the words I knew not, but who spake Seem'd mov'd in anger. Down I stoop'd to look, But my quick eye might reach not to the depth For shrouding darkness; wherefore thus I spake: "To the next circle, Teacher, bend thy steps, And from the wall dismount we; for as hence I hear and understand not, so I see Beneath, and naught discern."--"I answer not," Said he, "but by the deed. To fair request Silent performance maketh best return." We from the bridge's head descended, where To the eighth mound it joins, and then the chasm Opening to view, I saw a crowd within Of serpents terrible, so strange of shape And hideous, that remembrance in my veins Yet shrinks the vital current. Of her sands Let Lybia vaunt no more: if Jaculus, Pareas and Chelyder be her brood, Cenchris and Amphisboena, plagues so dire Or in such numbers swarming ne'er she shew'd, Not with all Ethiopia, and whate'er Above the Erythraean sea is spawn'd. Amid this dread exuberance of woe Ran naked spirits wing'd with horrid fear, Nor hope had they of crevice where to hide, Or heliotrope to charm them out of view. With serpents were their hands behind them bound, Which through their reins infix'd the tail and head Twisted in folds before. And lo! on one Near to our side, darted an adder up, And, where the neck is on the shoulders tied, Transpierc'd him. Far more quickly than e'er pen Wrote O or I, he kindled, burn'd, and chang'd To ashes, all pour'd out upon the earth. When there dissolv'd he lay, the dust again Uproll'd spontaneous, and the self-same form Instant resumed. So mighty sages tell, The' Arabian Phoenix, when five hundred years Have well nigh circled, dies, and springs forthwith Renascent. Blade nor herb throughout his life He tastes, but tears of frankincense alone And odorous amomum: swaths of nard And myrrh his funeral shroud. As one that falls, He knows not how, by force demoniac dragg'd To earth, or through obstruction fettering up In chains invisible the powers of man, Who, risen from his trance, gazeth around, Bewilder'd with the monstrous agony He hath endur'd, and wildly staring sighs; So stood aghast the sinner when he rose. Oh! how severe God's judgment, that deals out Such blows in stormy vengeance! Who he was My teacher next inquir'd, and thus in few He answer'd: "Vanni Fucci am I call'd, Not long since rained down from Tuscany To this dire gullet. Me the beastial life And not the human pleas'd, mule that I was, Who in Pistoia found my worthy den." I then to Virgil: "Bid him stir not hence, And ask what crime did thrust him hither: once A man I knew him choleric and bloody." The sinner heard and feign'd not, but towards me His mind directing and his face, wherein Was dismal shame depictur'd, thus he spake: "It grieves me more to have been caught by thee In this sad plight, which thou beholdest, than When I was taken from the other life. I have no power permitted to deny What thou inquirest. I am doom'd thus low To dwell, for that the sacristy by me Was rifled of its goodly ornaments, And with the guilt another falsely charged. But that thou mayst not joy to see me thus, So as thou e'er shalt 'scape this darksome realm Open thine ears and hear what I forebode. Reft of the Neri first Pistoia pines, Then Florence changeth citizens and laws. From Valdimagra, drawn by wrathful Mars, A vapour rises, wrapt in turbid mists, And sharp and eager driveth on the storm With arrowy hurtling o'er Piceno's field, Whence suddenly the cloud shall burst, and strike Each helpless Bianco prostrate to the ground. This have I told, that grief may rend thy heart." CANTO XXV WHEN he had spoke, the sinner rais'd his hands Pointed in mockery, and cried: "Take them, God! I level them at thee!" From that day forth The serpents were my friends; for round his neck One of then rolling twisted, as it said, "Be silent, tongue!" Another to his arms Upgliding, tied them, riveting itself So close, it took from them the power to move. Pistoia! Ah Pistoia! why dost doubt To turn thee into ashes, cumb'ring earth No longer, since in evil act so far Thou hast outdone thy seed? I did not mark, Through all the gloomy circles of the' abyss, Spirit, that swell'd so proudly 'gainst his God, Not him, who headlong fell from Thebes. He fled, Nor utter'd more; and after him there came A centaur full of fury, shouting, "Where Where is the caitiff?" On Maremma's marsh Swarm not the serpent tribe, as on his haunch They swarm'd, to where the human face begins. Behind his head upon the shoulders lay, With open wings, a dragon breathing fire On whomsoe'er he met. To me my guide: "Cacus is this, who underneath the rock Of Aventine spread oft a lake of blood. He, from his brethren parted, here must tread A different journey, for his fraudful theft Of the great herd, that near him stall'd; whence found His felon deeds their end, beneath the mace Of stout Alcides, that perchance laid on A hundred blows, and not the tenth was felt." While yet he spake, the centaur sped away: And under us three spirits came, of whom Nor I nor he was ware, till they exclaim'd; "Say who are ye?" We then brake off discourse, Intent on these alone. I knew them not; But, as it chanceth oft, befell, that one Had need to name another. "Where," said he, "Doth Cianfa lurk?" I, for a sign my guide Should stand attentive, plac'd against my lips The finger lifted. If, O reader! now Thou be not apt to credit what I tell, No marvel; for myself do scarce allow The witness of mine eyes. But as I looked Toward them, lo! a serpent with six feet Springs forth on one, and fastens full upon him: His midmost grasp'd the belly, a forefoot Seiz'd on each arm (while deep in either cheek He flesh'd his fangs); the hinder on the thighs Were spread, 'twixt which the tail inserted curl'd Upon the reins behind. Ivy ne'er clasp'd A dodder'd oak, as round the other's limbs The hideous monster intertwin'd his own. Then, as they both had been of burning wax, Each melted into other, mingling hues, That which was either now was seen no more. Thus up the shrinking paper, ere it burns, A brown tint glides, not turning yet to black, And the clean white expires. The other two Look'd on exclaiming: "Ah, how dost thou change, Agnello! See! Thou art nor double now, "Nor only one." The two heads now became One, and two figures blended in one form Appear'd, where both were lost. Of the four lengths Two arms were made: the belly and the chest The thighs and legs into such members chang'd, As never eye hath seen. Of former shape All trace was vanish'd. Two yet neither seem'd That image miscreate, and so pass'd on With tardy steps. As underneath the scourge Of the fierce dog-star, that lays bare the fields, Shifting from brake to brake, the lizard seems A flash of lightning, if he thwart the road, So toward th' entrails of the other two Approaching seem'd, an adder all on fire, As the dark pepper-grain, livid and swart. In that part, whence our life is nourish'd first, One he transpierc'd; then down before him fell Stretch'd out. The pierced spirit look'd on him But spake not; yea stood motionless and yawn'd, As if by sleep or fev'rous fit assail'd. He ey'd the serpent, and the serpent him. One from the wound, the other from the mouth Breath'd a thick smoke, whose vap'ry columns join'd. Lucan in mute attention now may hear, Nor thy disastrous fate, Sabellus! tell, Nor shine, Nasidius! Ovid now be mute. What if in warbling fiction he record Cadmus and Arethusa, to a snake Him chang'd, and her into a fountain clear, I envy not; for never face to face Two natures thus transmuted did he sing, Wherein both shapes were ready to assume The other's substance. They in mutual guise So answer'd, that the serpent split his train Divided to a fork, and the pierc'd spirit Drew close his steps together, legs and thighs Compacted, that no sign of juncture soon Was visible: the tail disparted took The figure which the spirit lost, its skin Soft'ning, his indurated to a rind. The shoulders next I mark'd, that ent'ring join'd The monster's arm-pits, whose two shorter feet So lengthen'd, as the other's dwindling shrunk. The feet behind then twisting up became That part that man conceals, which in the wretch Was cleft in twain. While both the shadowy smoke With a new colour veils, and generates Th' excrescent pile on one, peeling it off From th' other body, lo! upon his feet One upright rose, and prone the other fell. Not yet their glaring and malignant lamps Were shifted, though each feature chang'd beneath. Of him who stood erect, the mounting face Retreated towards the temples, and what there Superfluous matter came, shot out in ears From the smooth cheeks, the rest, not backward dragg'd, Of its excess did shape the nose; and swell'd Into due size protuberant the lips. He, on the earth who lay, meanwhile extends His sharpen'd visage, and draws down the ears Into the head, as doth the slug his horns. His tongue continuous before and apt For utt'rance, severs; and the other's fork Closing unites. That done the smoke was laid. The soul, transform'd into the brute, glides off, Hissing along the vale, and after him The other talking sputters; but soon turn'd His new-grown shoulders on him, and in few Thus to another spake: "Along this path Crawling, as I have done, speed Buoso now!" So saw I fluctuate in successive change Th' unsteady ballast of the seventh hold: And here if aught my tongue have swerv'd, events So strange may be its warrant. O'er mine eyes Confusion hung, and on my thoughts amaze. Yet 'scap'd they not so covertly, but well I mark'd Sciancato: he alone it was Of the three first that came, who chang'd not: thou, The other's fate, Gaville, still dost rue. CANTO XXVI FLORENCE exult! for thou so mightily Hast thriven, that o'er land and sea thy wings Thou beatest, and thy name spreads over hell! Among the plund'rers such the three I found Thy citizens, whence shame to me thy son, And no proud honour to thyself redounds. But if our minds, when dreaming near the dawn, Are of the truth presageful, thou ere long Shalt feel what Prato, (not to say the rest) Would fain might come upon thee; and that chance Were in good time, if it befell thee now. Would so it were, since it must needs befall! For as time wears me, I shall grieve the more. We from the depth departed; and my guide Remounting scal'd the flinty steps, which late We downward trac'd, and drew me up the steep. Pursuing thus our solitary way Among the crags and splinters of the rock, Sped not our feet without the help of hands. Then sorrow seiz'd me, which e'en now revives, As my thought turns again to what I saw, And, more than I am wont, I rein and curb The powers of nature in me, lest they run Where Virtue guides not; that if aught of good My gentle star, or something better gave me, I envy not myself the precious boon. As in that season, when the sun least veils His face that lightens all, what time the fly Gives way to the shrill gnat, the peasant then Upon some cliff reclin'd, beneath him sees Fire-flies innumerous spangling o'er the vale, Vineyard or tilth, where his day-labour lies: With flames so numberless throughout its space Shone the eighth chasm, apparent, when the depth Was to my view expos'd. As he, whose wrongs The bears aveng'd, at its departure saw Elijah's chariot, when the steeds erect Rais'd their steep flight for heav'n; his eyes meanwhile, Straining pursu'd them, till the flame alone Upsoaring like a misty speck he kenn'd; E'en thus along the gulf moves every flame, A sinner so enfolded close in each, That none exhibits token of the theft. Upon the bridge I forward bent to look, And grasp'd a flinty mass, or else had fall'n, Though push'd not from the height. The guide, who mark'd How I did gaze attentive, thus began: "Within these ardours are the spirits, each Swath'd in confining fire."--"Master, thy word," I answer'd, "hath assur'd me; yet I deem'd Already of the truth, already wish'd To ask thee, who is in yon fire, that comes So parted at the summit, as it seem'd Ascending from that funeral pile, where lay The Theban brothers?" He replied: "Within Ulysses there and Diomede endure Their penal tortures, thus to vengeance now Together hasting, as erewhile to wrath. These in the flame with ceaseless groans deplore The ambush of the horse, that open'd wide A portal for that goodly seed to pass, Which sow'd imperial Rome; nor less the guile Lament they, whence of her Achilles 'reft Deidamia yet in death complains. And there is rued the stratagem, that Troy Of her Palladium spoil'd."--"If they have power Of utt'rance from within these sparks," said I, "O master! think my prayer a thousand fold In repetition urg'd, that thou vouchsafe To pause, till here the horned flame arrive. See, how toward it with desire I bend." He thus: "Thy prayer is worthy of much praise, And I accept it therefore: but do thou Thy tongue refrain: to question them be mine, For I divine thy wish: and they perchance, For they were Greeks, might shun discourse with thee." When there the flame had come, where time and place Seem'd fitting to my guide, he thus began: "O ye, who dwell two spirits in one fire! If living I of you did merit aught, Whate'er the measure were of that desert, When in the world my lofty strain I pour'd, Move ye not on, till one of you unfold In what clime death o'ertook him self-destroy'd." Of the old flame forthwith the greater horn Began to roll, murmuring, as a fire That labours with the wind, then to and fro Wagging the top, as a tongue uttering sounds, Threw out its voice, and spake: "When I escap'd From Circe, who beyond a circling year Had held me near Caieta, by her charms, Ere thus Aeneas yet had nam'd the shore, Nor fondness for my son, nor reverence Of my old father, nor return of love, That should have crown'd Penelope with joy, Could overcome in me the zeal I had T' explore the world, and search the ways of life, Man's evil and his virtue. Forth I sail'd Into the deep illimitable main, With but one bark, and the small faithful band That yet cleav'd to me. As Iberia far, Far as Morocco either shore I saw, And the Sardinian and each isle beside Which round that ocean bathes. Tardy with age Were I and my companions, when we came To the strait pass, where Hercules ordain'd The bound'ries not to be o'erstepp'd by man. The walls of Seville to my right I left, On the' other hand already Ceuta past. "O brothers!" I began, "who to the west Through perils without number now have reach'd, To this the short remaining watch, that yet Our senses have to wake, refuse not proof Of the unpeopled world, following the track Of Phoebus. Call to mind from whence we sprang: Ye were not form'd to live the life of brutes But virtue to pursue and knowledge high. With these few words I sharpen'd for the voyage The mind of my associates, that I then Could scarcely have withheld them. To the dawn Our poop we turn'd, and for the witless flight Made our oars wings, still gaining on the left. Each star of the' other pole night now beheld, And ours so low, that from the ocean-floor It rose not. Five times re-illum'd, as oft Vanish'd the light from underneath the moon Since the deep way we enter'd, when from far Appear'd a mountain dim, loftiest methought Of all I e'er beheld. Joy seiz'd us straight, But soon to mourning changed. From the new land A whirlwind sprung, and at her foremost side Did strike the vessel. Thrice it whirl'd her round With all the waves, the fourth time lifted up The poop, and sank the prow: so fate decreed: And over us the booming billow clos'd." CANTO XVII NOW upward rose the flame, and still'd its light To speak no more, and now pass'd on with leave From the mild poet gain'd, when following came Another, from whose top a sound confus'd, Forth issuing, drew our eyes that way to look. As the Sicilian bull, that rightfully His cries first echoed, who had shap'd its mould, Did so rebellow, with the voice of him Tormented, that the brazen monster seem'd Pierc'd through with pain; thus while no way they found Nor avenue immediate through the flame, Into its language turn'd the dismal words: But soon as they had won their passage forth, Up from the point, which vibrating obey'd Their motion at the tongue, these sounds we heard: "O thou! to whom I now direct my voice! That lately didst exclaim in Lombard phrase, "Depart thou, I solicit thee no more, Though somewhat tardy I perchance arrive Let it not irk thee here to pause awhile, And with me parley: lo! it irks not me And yet I burn. If but e'en now thou fall into this blind world, from that pleasant land Of Latium, whence I draw my sum of guilt, Tell me if those, who in Romagna dwell, Have peace or war. For of the mountains there Was I, betwixt Urbino and the height, Whence Tyber first unlocks his mighty flood." Leaning I listen'd yet with heedful ear, When, as he touch'd my side, the leader thus: "Speak thou: he is a Latian." My reply Was ready, and I spake without delay: "O spirit! who art hidden here below! Never was thy Romagna without war In her proud tyrants' bosoms, nor is now: But open war there left I none. The state, Ravenna hath maintain'd this many a year, Is steadfast. There Polenta's eagle broods, And in his broad circumference of plume O'ershadows Cervia. The green talons grasp The land, that stood erewhile the proof so long, And pil'd in bloody heap the host of France. "The' old mastiff of Verruchio and the young, That tore Montagna in their wrath, still make, Where they are wont, an augre of their fangs. "Lamone's city and Santerno's range Under the lion of the snowy lair. Inconstant partisan! that changeth sides, Or ever summer yields to winter's frost. And she, whose flank is wash'd of Savio's wave, As 'twixt the level and the steep she lies, Lives so 'twixt tyrant power and liberty. "Now tell us, I entreat thee, who art thou? Be not more hard than others. In the world, So may thy name still rear its forehead high." Then roar'd awhile the fire, its sharpen'd point On either side wav'd, and thus breath'd at last: "If I did think, my answer were to one, Who ever could return unto the world, This flame should rest unshaken. But since ne'er, If true be told me, any from this depth Has found his upward way, I answer thee, Nor fear lest infamy record the words. "A man of arms at first, I cloth'd me then In good Saint Francis' girdle, hoping so T' have made amends. And certainly my hope Had fail'd not, but that he, whom curses light on, The' high priest again seduc'd me into sin. And how and wherefore listen while I tell. Long as this spirit mov'd the bones and pulp My mother gave me, less my deeds bespake The nature of the lion than the fox. All ways of winding subtlety I knew, And with such art conducted, that the sound Reach'd the world's limit. Soon as to that part Of life I found me come, when each behoves To lower sails and gather in the lines; That which before had pleased me then I rued, And to repentance and confession turn'd; Wretch that I was! and well it had bested me! The chief of the new Pharisees meantime, Waging his warfare near the Lateran, Not with the Saracens or Jews (his foes All Christians were, nor against Acre one Had fought, nor traffic'd in the Soldan's land), He his great charge nor sacred ministry In himself, rev'renc'd, nor in me that cord, Which us'd to mark with leanness whom it girded. As in Socrate, Constantine besought To cure his leprosy Sylvester's aid, So me to cure the fever of his pride This man besought: my counsel to that end He ask'd: and I was silent: for his words Seem'd drunken: but forthwith he thus resum'd: 'From thy heart banish fear: of all offence I hitherto absolve thee. In return, Teach me my purpose so to execute, That Penestrino cumber earth no more. Heav'n, as thou knowest, I have power to shut And open: and the keys are therefore twain, The which my predecessor meanly priz'd.'" Then, yielding to the forceful arguments, Of silence as more perilous I deem'd, And answer'd: "Father! since thou washest me Clear of that guilt wherein I now must fall, Large promise with performance scant, be sure, Shall make thee triumph in thy lofty seat." "When I was number'd with the dead, then came Saint Francis for me; but a cherub dark He met, who cried: 'Wrong me not; he is mine, And must below to join the wretched crew, For the deceitful counsel which he gave. E'er since I watch'd him, hov'ring at his hair, No power can the impenitent absolve; Nor to repent and will at once consist, By contradiction absolute forbid.'" Oh mis'ry! how I shook myself, when he Seiz'd me, and cried, "Thou haply thought'st me not A disputant in logic so exact." To Minos down he bore me, and the judge Twin'd eight times round his callous back the tail, Which biting with excess of rage, he spake: "This is a guilty soul, that in the fire Must vanish. Hence perdition-doom'd I rove A prey to rankling sorrow in this garb." When he had thus fulfill'd his words, the flame In dolour parted, beating to and fro, And writhing its sharp horn. We onward went, I and my leader, up along the rock, Far as another arch, that overhangs The foss, wherein the penalty is paid Of those, who load them with committed sin. CANTO XXVIII WHO, e'en in words unfetter'd, might at full Tell of the wounds and blood that now I saw, Though he repeated oft the tale? No tongue So vast a theme could equal, speech and thought Both impotent alike. If in one band Collected, stood the people all, who e'er Pour'd on Apulia's happy soil their blood, Slain by the Trojans, and in that long war When of the rings the measur'd booty made A pile so high, as Rome's historian writes Who errs not, with the multitude, that felt The grinding force of Guiscard's Norman steel, And those the rest, whose bones are gather'd yet At Ceperano, there where treachery Branded th' Apulian name, or where beyond Thy walls, O Tagliacozzo, without arms The old Alardo conquer'd; and his limbs One were to show transpierc'd, another his Clean lopt away; a spectacle like this Were but a thing of nought, to the' hideous sight Of the ninth chasm. A rundlet, that hath lost Its middle or side stave, gapes not so wide, As one I mark'd, torn from the chin throughout Down to the hinder passage: 'twixt the legs Dangling his entrails hung, the midriff lay Open to view, and wretched ventricle, That turns th' englutted aliment to dross. Whilst eagerly I fix on him my gaze, He ey'd me, with his hands laid his breast bare, And cried; "Now mark how I do rip me! lo! "How is Mohammed mangled! before me Walks Ali weeping, from the chin his face Cleft to the forelock; and the others all Whom here thou seest, while they liv'd, did sow Scandal and schism, and therefore thus are rent. A fiend is here behind, who with his sword Hacks us thus cruelly, slivering again Each of this ream, when we have compast round The dismal way, for first our gashes close Ere we repass before him. But say who Art thou, that standest musing on the rock, Haply so lingering to delay the pain Sentenc'd upon thy crimes?"--"Him death not yet," My guide rejoin'd, "hath overta'en, nor sin Conducts to torment; but, that he may make Full trial of your state, I who am dead Must through the depths of hell, from orb to orb, Conduct him. Trust my words, for they are true." More than a hundred spirits, when that they heard, Stood in the foss to mark me, through amazed, Forgetful of their pangs. "Thou, who perchance Shalt shortly view the sun, this warning thou Bear to Dolcino: bid him, if he wish not Here soon to follow me, that with good store Of food he arm him, lest impris'ning snows Yield him a victim to Novara's power, No easy conquest else." With foot uprais'd For stepping, spake Mohammed, on the ground Then fix'd it to depart. Another shade, Pierc'd in the throat, his nostrils mutilate E'en from beneath the eyebrows, and one ear Lopt off, who with the rest through wonder stood Gazing, before the rest advanc'd, and bar'd His wind-pipe, that without was all o'ersmear'd With crimson stain. "O thou!" said he, "whom sin Condemns not, and whom erst (unless too near Resemblance do deceive me) I aloft Have seen on Latian ground, call thou to mind Piero of Medicina, if again Returning, thou behold'st the pleasant land That from Vercelli slopes to Mercabo; "And there instruct the twain, whom Fano boasts Her worthiest sons, Guido and Angelo, That if 't is giv'n us here to scan aright The future, they out of life's tenement Shall be cast forth, and whelm'd under the waves Near to Cattolica, through perfidy Of a fell tyrant. 'Twixt the Cyprian isle And Balearic, ne'er hath Neptune seen An injury so foul, by pirates done Or Argive crew of old. That one-ey'd traitor (Whose realm there is a spirit here were fain His eye had still lack'd sight of) them shall bring To conf'rence with him, then so shape his end, That they shall need not 'gainst Focara's wind Offer up vow nor pray'r." I answering thus: "Declare, as thou dost wish that I above May carry tidings of thee, who is he, In whom that sight doth wake such sad remembrance?" Forthwith he laid his hand on the cheek-bone Of one, his fellow-spirit, and his jaws Expanding, cried: "Lo! this is he I wot of; He speaks not for himself: the outcast this Who overwhelm'd the doubt in Caesar's mind, Affirming that delay to men prepar'd Was ever harmful." Oh how terrified Methought was Curio, from whose throat was cut The tongue, which spake that hardy word. Then one Maim'd of each hand, uplifted in the gloom The bleeding stumps, that they with gory spots Sullied his face, and cried: "'Remember thee Of Mosca, too, I who, alas! exclaim'd, 'The deed once done there is an end,' that prov'd A seed of sorrow to the Tuscan race." I added: "Ay, and death to thine own tribe." Whence heaping woe on woe he hurried off, As one grief stung to madness. But I there Still linger'd to behold the troop, and saw Things, such as I may fear without more proof To tell of, but that conscience makes me firm, The boon companion, who her strong breast-plate Buckles on him, that feels no guilt within And bids him on and fear not. Without doubt I saw, and yet it seems to pass before me, A headless trunk, that even as the rest Of the sad flock pac'd onward. By the hair It bore the sever'd member, lantern-wise Pendent in hand, which look'd at us and said, "Woe's me!" The spirit lighted thus himself, And two there were in one, and one in two. How that may be he knows who ordereth so. When at the bridge's foot direct he stood, His arm aloft he rear'd, thrusting the head Full in our view, that nearer we might hear The words, which thus it utter'd: "Now behold This grievous torment, thou, who breathing go'st To spy the dead; behold if any else Be terrible as this. And that on earth Thou mayst bear tidings of me, know that I Am Bertrand, he of Born, who gave King John The counsel mischievous. Father and son I set at mutual war. For Absalom And David more did not Ahitophel, Spurring them on maliciously to strife. For parting those so closely knit, my brain Parted, alas! I carry from its source, That in this trunk inhabits. Thus the law Of retribution fiercely works in me." ===9 THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE OR THE INFERNO BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL Part 9 Cantos 29 - 31 CANTO XXIX SO were mine eyes inebriate with view Of the vast multitude, whom various wounds Disfigur'd, that they long'd to stay and weep. But Virgil rous'd me: "What yet gazest on? Wherefore doth fasten yet thy sight below Among the maim'd and miserable shades? Thou hast not shewn in any chasm beside This weakness. Know, if thou wouldst number them That two and twenty miles the valley winds Its circuit, and already is the moon Beneath our feet: the time permitted now Is short, and more not seen remains to see." "If thou," I straight replied, "hadst weigh'd the cause For which I look'd, thou hadst perchance excus'd The tarrying still." My leader part pursu'd His way, the while I follow'd, answering him, And adding thus: "Within that cave I deem, Whereon so fixedly I held my ken, There is a spirit dwells, one of my blood, Wailing the crime that costs him now so dear." Then spake my master: "Let thy soul no more Afflict itself for him. Direct elsewhere Its thought, and leave him. At the bridge's foot I mark'd how he did point with menacing look At thee, and heard him by the others nam'd Geri of Bello. Thou so wholly then Wert busied with his spirit, who once rul'd The towers of Hautefort, that thou lookedst not That way, ere he was gone."--"O guide belov'd! His violent death yet unaveng'd," said I, "By any, who are partners in his shame, Made him contemptuous: therefore, as I think, He pass'd me speechless by; and doing so Hath made me more compassionate his fate." So we discours'd to where the rock first show'd The other valley, had more light been there, E'en to the lowest depth. Soon as we came O'er the last cloister in the dismal rounds Of Malebolge, and the brotherhood Were to our view expos'd, then many a dart Of sore lament assail'd me, headed all With points of thrilling pity, that I clos'd Both ears against the volley with mine hands. As were the torment, if each lazar-house Of Valdichiana, in the sultry time 'Twixt July and September, with the isle Sardinia and Maremma's pestilent fen, Had heap'd their maladies all in one foss Together; such was here the torment: dire The stench, as issuing steams from fester'd limbs. We on the utmost shore of the long rock Descended still to leftward. Then my sight Was livelier to explore the depth, wherein The minister of the most mighty Lord, All-searching Justice, dooms to punishment The forgers noted on her dread record. More rueful was it not methinks to see The nation in Aegina droop, what time Each living thing, e'en to the little worm, All fell, so full of malice was the air (And afterward, as bards of yore have told, The ancient people were restor'd anew From seed of emmets) than was here to see The spirits, that languish'd through the murky vale Up-pil'd on many a stack. Confus'd they lay, One o'er the belly, o'er the shoulders one Roll'd of another; sideling crawl'd a third Along the dismal pathway. Step by step We journey'd on, in silence looking round And list'ning those diseas'd, who strove in vain To lift their forms. Then two I mark'd, that sat Propp'd 'gainst each other, as two brazen pans Set to retain the heat. From head to foot, A tetter bark'd them round. Nor saw I e'er Groom currying so fast, for whom his lord Impatient waited, or himself perchance Tir'd with long watching, as of these each one Plied quickly his keen nails, through furiousness Of ne'er abated pruriency. The crust Came drawn from underneath in flakes, like scales Scrap'd from the bream or fish of broader mail. "O thou, who with thy fingers rendest off Thy coat of proof," thus spake my guide to one, "And sometimes makest tearing pincers of them, Tell me if any born of Latian land Be among these within: so may thy nails Serve thee for everlasting to this toil." "Both are of Latium," weeping he replied, "Whom tortur'd thus thou seest: but who art thou That hast inquir'd of us?" To whom my guide: "One that descend with this man, who yet lives, From rock to rock, and show him hell's abyss." Then started they asunder, and each turn'd Trembling toward us, with the rest, whose ear Those words redounding struck. To me my liege Address'd him: "Speak to them whate'er thou list." And I therewith began: "So may no time Filch your remembrance from the thoughts of men In th' upper world, but after many suns Survive it, as ye tell me, who ye are, And of what race ye come. Your punishment, Unseemly and disgustful in its kind, Deter you not from opening thus much to me." "Arezzo was my dwelling," answer'd one, "And me Albero of Sienna brought To die by fire; but that, for which I died, Leads me not here. True is in sport I told him, That I had learn'd to wing my flight in air. And he admiring much, as he was void Of wisdom, will'd me to declare to him The secret of mine art: and only hence, Because I made him not a Daedalus, Prevail'd on one suppos'd his sire to burn me. But Minos to this chasm last of the ten, For that I practis'd alchemy on earth, Has doom'd me. Him no subterfuge eludes." Then to the bard I spake: "Was ever race Light as Sienna's? Sure not France herself Can show a tribe so frivolous and vain." The other leprous spirit heard my words, And thus return'd: "Be Stricca from this charge Exempted, he who knew so temp'rately To lay out fortune's gifts; and Niccolo Who first the spice's costly luxury Discover'd in that garden, where such seed Roots deepest in the soil: and be that troop Exempted, with whom Caccia of Asciano Lavish'd his vineyards and wide-spreading woods, And his rare wisdom Abbagliato show'd A spectacle for all. That thou mayst know Who seconds thee against the Siennese Thus gladly, bend this way thy sharpen'd sight, That well my face may answer to thy ken; So shalt thou see I am Capocchio's ghost, Who forg'd transmuted metals by the power Of alchemy; and if I scan thee right, Thus needs must well remember how I aped Creative nature by my subtle art." CANTO XXX WHAT time resentment burn'd in Juno's breast For Semele against the Theban blood, As more than once in dire mischance was rued, Such fatal frenzy seiz'd on Athamas, That he his spouse beholding with a babe Laden on either arm, "Spread out," he cried, "The meshes, that I take the lioness And the young lions at the pass:" then forth Stretch'd he his merciless talons, grasping one, One helpless innocent, Learchus nam'd, Whom swinging down he dash'd upon a rock, And with her other burden self-destroy'd The hapless mother plung'd: and when the pride Of all-presuming Troy fell from its height, By fortune overwhelm'd, and the old king With his realm perish'd, then did Hecuba, A wretch forlorn and captive, when she saw Polyxena first slaughter'd, and her son, Her Polydorus, on the wild sea-beach Next met the mourner's view, then reft of sense Did she run barking even as a dog; Such mighty power had grief to wrench her soul. Bet ne'er the Furies or of Thebes or Troy With such fell cruelty were seen, their goads Infixing in the limbs of man or beast, As now two pale and naked ghost I saw That gnarling wildly scamper'd, like the swine Excluded from his stye. One reach'd Capocchio, And in the neck-joint sticking deep his fangs, Dragg'd him, that o'er the solid pavement rubb'd His belly stretch'd out prone. The other shape, He of Arezzo, there left trembling, spake; "That sprite of air is Schicchi; in like mood Of random mischief vent he still his spite." To whom I answ'ring: "Oh! as thou dost hope, The other may not flesh its jaws on thee, Be patient to inform us, who it is, Ere it speed hence."--"That is the ancient soul Of wretched Myrrha," he replied, "who burn'd With most unholy flame for her own sire, "And a false shape assuming, so perform'd The deed of sin; e'en as the other there, That onward passes, dar'd to counterfeit Donati's features, to feign'd testament The seal affixing, that himself might gain, For his own share, the lady of the herd." When vanish'd the two furious shades, on whom Mine eye was held, I turn'd it back to view The other cursed spirits. One I saw In fashion like a lute, had but the groin Been sever'd, where it meets the forked part. Swoln dropsy, disproportioning the limbs With ill-converted moisture, that the paunch Suits not the visage, open'd wide his lips Gasping as in the hectic man for drought, One towards the chin, the other upward curl'd. "O ye, who in this world of misery, Wherefore I know not, are exempt from pain," Thus he began, "attentively regard Adamo's woe. When living, full supply Ne'er lack'd me of what most I coveted; One drop of water now, alas! I crave. The rills, that glitter down the grassy slopes Of Casentino, making fresh and soft The banks whereby they glide to Arno's stream, Stand ever in my view; and not in vain; For more the pictur'd semblance dries me up, Much more than the disease, which makes the flesh Desert these shrivel'd cheeks. So from the place, Where I transgress'd, stern justice urging me, Takes means to quicken more my lab'ring sighs. There is Romena, where I falsified The metal with the Baptist's form imprest, For which on earth I left my body burnt. But if I here might see the sorrowing soul Of Guido, Alessandro, or their brother, For Branda's limpid spring I would not change The welcome sight. One is e'en now within, If truly the mad spirits tell, that round Are wand'ring. But wherein besteads me that? My limbs are fetter'd. Were I but so light, That I each hundred years might move one inch, I had set forth already on this path, Seeking him out amidst the shapeless crew, Although eleven miles it wind, not more Than half of one across. They brought me down Among this tribe; induc'd by them I stamp'd The florens with three carats of alloy." "Who are that abject pair," I next inquir'd, "That closely bounding thee upon thy right Lie smoking, like a band in winter steep'd In the chill stream?"--"When to this gulf I dropt," He answer'd, "here I found them; since that hour They have not turn'd, nor ever shall, I ween, Till time hath run his course. One is that dame The false accuser of the Hebrew youth; Sinon the other, that false Greek from Troy. Sharp fever drains the reeky moistness out, In such a cloud upsteam'd." When that he heard, One, gall'd perchance to be so darkly nam'd, With clench'd hand smote him on the braced paunch, That like a drum resounded: but forthwith Adamo smote him on the face, the blow Returning with his arm, that seem'd as hard. "Though my o'erweighty limbs have ta'en from me The power to move," said he, "I have an arm At liberty for such employ." To whom Was answer'd: "When thou wentest to the fire, Thou hadst it not so ready at command, Then readier when it coin'd th' impostor gold." And thus the dropsied: "Ay, now speak'st thou true. But there thou gav'st not such true testimony, When thou wast question'd of the truth, at Troy." "If I spake false, thou falsely stamp'dst the coin," Said Sinon; "I am here but for one fault, And thou for more than any imp beside." "Remember," he replied, "O perjur'd one, The horse remember, that did teem with death, And all the world be witness to thy guilt." "To thine," return'd the Greek, "witness the thirst Whence thy tongue cracks, witness the fluid mound, Rear'd by thy belly up before thine eyes, A mass corrupt." To whom the coiner thus: "Thy mouth gapes wide as ever to let pass Its evil saying. Me if thirst assails, Yet I am stuff'd with moisture. Thou art parch'd, Pains rack thy head, no urging would'st thou need To make thee lap Narcissus' mirror up." I was all fix'd to listen, when my guide Admonish'd: "Now beware: a little more. And I do quarrel with thee." I perceiv'd How angrily he spake, and towards him turn'd With shame so poignant, as remember'd yet Confounds me. As a man that dreams of harm Befall'n him, dreaming wishes it a dream, And that which is, desires as if it were not, Such then was I, who wanting power to speak Wish'd to excuse myself, and all the while Excus'd me, though unweeting that I did. "More grievous fault than thine has been, less shame," My master cried, "might expiate. Therefore cast All sorrow from thy soul; and if again Chance bring thee, where like conference is held, Think I am ever at thy side. To hear Such wrangling is a joy for vulgar minds." CANTO XXXI THE very tongue, whose keen reproof before Had wounded me, that either cheek was stain'd, Now minister'd my cure. So have I heard, Achilles and his father's javelin caus'd Pain first, and then the boon of health restor'd. Turning our back upon the vale of woe, W cross'd th' encircled mound in silence. There Was twilight dim, that far long the gloom Mine eye advanc'd not: but I heard a horn Sounded aloud. The peal it blew had made The thunder feeble. Following its course The adverse way, my strained eyes were bent On that one spot. So terrible a blast Orlando blew not, when that dismal rout O'erthrew the host of Charlemagne, and quench'd His saintly warfare. Thitherward not long My head was rais'd, when many lofty towers Methought I spied. "Master," said I, "what land Is this?" He answer'd straight: "Too long a space Of intervening darkness has thine eye To traverse: thou hast therefore widely err'd In thy imagining. Thither arriv'd Thou well shalt see, how distance can delude The sense. A little therefore urge thee on." Then tenderly he caught me by the hand; "Yet know," said he, "ere farther we advance, That it less strange may seem, these are not towers, But giants. In the pit they stand immers'd, Each from his navel downward, round the bank." As when a fog disperseth gradually, Our vision traces what the mist involves Condens'd in air; so piercing through the gross And gloomy atmosphere, as more and more We near'd toward the brink, mine error fled, And fear came o'er me. As with circling round Of turrets, Montereggion crowns his walls, E'en thus the shore, encompassing th' abyss, Was turreted with giants, half their length Uprearing, horrible, whom Jove from heav'n Yet threatens, when his mutt'ring thunder rolls. Of one already I descried the face, Shoulders, and breast, and of the belly huge Great part, and both arms down along his ribs. All-teeming nature, when her plastic hand Left framing of these monsters, did display Past doubt her wisdom, taking from mad War Such slaves to do his bidding; and if she Repent her not of th' elephant and whale, Who ponders well confesses her therein Wiser and more discreet; for when brute force And evil will are back'd with subtlety, Resistance none avails. His visage seem'd In length and bulk, as doth the pine, that tops Saint Peter's Roman fane; and th' other bones Of like proportion, so that from above The bank, which girdled him below, such height Arose his stature, that three Friezelanders Had striv'n in vain to reach but to his hair. Full thirty ample palms was he expos'd Downward from whence a man his garments loops. "Raphel bai ameth sabi almi," So shouted his fierce lips, which sweeter hymns Became not; and my guide address'd him thus: "O senseless spirit! let thy horn for thee Interpret: therewith vent thy rage, if rage Or other passion wring thee. Search thy neck, There shalt thou find the belt that binds it on. Wild spirit! lo, upon thy mighty breast Where hangs the baldrick!" Then to me he spake: "He doth accuse himself. Nimrod is this, Through whose ill counsel in the world no more One tongue prevails. But pass we on, nor waste Our words; for so each language is to him, As his to others, understood by none." Then to the leftward turning sped we forth, And at a sling's throw found another shade Far fiercer and more huge. I cannot say What master hand had girt him; but he held Behind the right arm fetter'd, and before The other with a chain, that fasten'd him From the neck down, and five times round his form Apparent met the wreathed links. "This proud one Would of his strength against almighty Jove Make trial," said my guide; "whence he is thus Requited: Ephialtes him they call. "Great was his prowess, when the giants brought Fear on the gods: those arms, which then he piled, Now moves he never." Forthwith I return'd: "Fain would I, if 't were possible, mine eyes Of Briareus immeasurable gain'd Experience next." He answer'd: "Thou shalt see Not far from hence Antaeus, who both speaks And is unfetter'd, who shall place us there Where guilt is at its depth. Far onward stands Whom thou wouldst fain behold, in chains, and made Like to this spirit, save that in his looks More fell he seems." By violent earthquake rock'd Ne'er shook a tow'r, so reeling to its base, As Ephialtes. More than ever then I dreaded death, nor than the terror more Had needed, if I had not seen the cords That held him fast. We, straightway journeying on, Came to Antaeus, who five ells complete Without the head, forth issued from the cave. "O thou, who in the fortunate vale, that made Great Scipio heir of glory, when his sword Drove back the troop of Hannibal in flight, Who thence of old didst carry for thy spoil An hundred lions; and if thou hadst fought In the high conflict on thy brethren's side, Seems as men yet believ'd, that through thine arm The sons of earth had conquer'd, now vouchsafe To place us down beneath, where numbing cold Locks up Cocytus. Force not that we crave Or Tityus' help or Typhon's. Here is one Can give what in this realm ye covet. Stoop Therefore, nor scornfully distort thy lip. He in the upper world can yet bestow Renown on thee, for he doth live, and looks For life yet longer, if before the time Grace call him not unto herself." Thus spake The teacher. He in haste forth stretch'd his hands, And caught my guide. Alcides whilom felt That grapple straighten'd score. Soon as my guide Had felt it, he bespake me thus: "This way That I may clasp thee;" then so caught me up, That we were both one burden. As appears The tower of Carisenda, from beneath Where it doth lean, if chance a passing cloud So sail across, that opposite it hangs, Such then Antaeus seem'd, as at mine ease I mark'd him stooping. I were fain at times T' have pass'd another way. Yet in th' abyss, That Lucifer with Judas low ingulfs, Lightly he plac'd us; nor there leaning stay'd, But rose as in a bark the stately mast. ===10 THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE OR THE INFERNO BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL Part 10 Cantos 32 - 34 CANTO XXXII COULD I command rough rhimes and hoarse, to suit That hole of sorrow, o'er which ev'ry rock His firm abutment rears, then might the vein Of fancy rise full springing: but not mine Such measures, and with falt'ring awe I touch The mighty theme; for to describe the depth Of all the universe, is no emprize To jest with, and demands a tongue not us'd To infant babbling. But let them assist My song, the tuneful maidens, by whose aid Amphion wall'd in Thebes, so with the truth My speech shall best accord. Oh ill-starr'd folk, Beyond all others wretched! who abide In such a mansion, as scarce thought finds words To speak of, better had ye here on earth Been flocks or mountain goats. As down we stood In the dark pit beneath the giants' feet, But lower far than they, and I did gaze Still on the lofty battlement, a voice Bespoke me thus: "Look how thou walkest. Take Good heed, thy soles do tread not on the heads Of thy poor brethren." Thereupon I turn'd, And saw before and underneath my feet A lake, whose frozen surface liker seem'd To glass than water. Not so thick a veil In winter e'er hath Austrian Danube spread O'er his still course, nor Tanais far remote Under the chilling sky. Roll'd o'er that mass Had Tabernich or Pietrapana fall'n, Not e'en its rim had creak'd. As peeps the frog Croaking above the wave, what time in dreams The village gleaner oft pursues her toil, So, to where modest shame appears, thus low Blue pinch'd and shrin'd in ice the spirits stood, Moving their teeth in shrill note like the stork. His face each downward held; their mouth the cold, Their eyes express'd the dolour of their heart. A space I look'd around, then at my feet Saw two so strictly join'd, that of their head The very hairs were mingled. "Tell me ye, Whose bosoms thus together press," said I, "Who are ye?" At that sound their necks they bent, And when their looks were lifted up to me, Straightway their eyes, before all moist within, Distill'd upon their lips, and the frost bound The tears betwixt those orbs and held them there. Plank unto plank hath never cramp clos'd up So stoutly. Whence like two enraged goats They clash'd together; them such fury seiz'd. And one, from whom the cold both ears had reft, Exclaim'd, still looking downward: "Why on us Dost speculate so long? If thou wouldst know Who are these two, the valley, whence his wave Bisenzio slopes, did for its master own Their sire Alberto, and next him themselves. They from one body issued; and throughout Caina thou mayst search, nor find a shade More worthy in congealment to be fix'd, Not him, whose breast and shadow Arthur's land At that one blow dissever'd, not Focaccia, No not this spirit, whose o'erjutting head Obstructs my onward view: he bore the name Of Mascheroni: Tuscan if thou be, Well knowest who he was: and to cut short All further question, in my form behold What once was Camiccione. I await Carlino here my kinsman, whose deep guilt Shall wash out mine." A thousand visages Then mark'd I, which the keen and eager cold Had shap'd into a doggish grin; whence creeps A shiv'ring horror o'er me, at the thought Of those frore shallows. While we journey'd on Toward the middle, at whose point unites All heavy substance, and I trembling went Through that eternal chillness, I know not If will it were or destiny, or chance, But, passing 'midst the heads, my foot did strike With violent blow against the face of one. "Wherefore dost bruise me?" weeping, he exclaim'd, "Unless thy errand be some fresh revenge For Montaperto, wherefore troublest me?" I thus: "Instructor, now await me here, That I through him may rid me of my doubt. Thenceforth what haste thou wilt." The teacher paus'd, And to that shade I spake, who bitterly Still curs'd me in his wrath. "What art thou, speak, That railest thus on others?" He replied: "Now who art thou, that smiting others' cheeks Through Antenora roamest, with such force As were past suff'rance, wert thou living still?" "And I am living, to thy joy perchance," Was my reply, "if fame be dear to thee, That with the rest I may thy name enrol." "The contrary of what I covet most," Said he, "thou tender'st: hence; nor vex me more. Ill knowest thou to flatter in this vale." Then seizing on his hinder scalp, I cried: "Name thee, or not a hair shall tarry here." "Rend all away," he answer'd, "yet for that I will not tell nor show thee who I am, Though at my head thou pluck a thousand times." Now I had grasp'd his tresses, and stript off More than one tuft, he barking, with his eyes Drawn in and downward, when another cried, "What ails thee, Bocca? Sound not loud enough Thy chatt'ring teeth, but thou must bark outright? What devil wrings thee?"--"Now," said I, "be dumb, Accursed traitor! to thy shame of thee True tidings will I bear."--"Off," he replied, "Tell what thou list; but as thou escape from hence To speak of him whose tongue hath been so glib, Forget not: here he wails the Frenchman's gold. 'Him of Duera,' thou canst say, 'I mark'd, Where the starv'd sinners pine.' If thou be ask'd What other shade was with them, at thy side Is Beccaria, whose red gorge distain'd The biting axe of Florence. Farther on, If I misdeem not, Soldanieri bides, With Ganellon, and Tribaldello, him Who op'd Faenza when the people slept." We now had left him, passing on our way, When I beheld two spirits by the ice Pent in one hollow, that the head of one Was cowl unto the other; and as bread Is raven'd up through hunger, th' uppermost Did so apply his fangs to th' other's brain, Where the spine joins it. Not more furiously On Menalippus' temples Tydeus gnaw'd, Than on that skull and on its garbage he. "O thou who show'st so beastly sign of hate 'Gainst him thou prey'st on, let me hear," said I "The cause, on such condition, that if right Warrant thy grievance, knowing who ye are, And what the colour of his sinning was, I may repay thee in the world above, If that, wherewith I speak be moist so long." CANTO XXXIII HIS jaws uplifting from their fell repast, That sinner wip'd them on the hairs o' th' head, Which he behind had mangled, then began: "Thy will obeying, I call up afresh Sorrow past cure, which but to think of wrings My heart, or ere I tell on't. But if words, That I may utter, shall prove seed to bear Fruit of eternal infamy to him, The traitor whom I gnaw at, thou at once Shalt see me speak and weep. Who thou mayst be I know not, nor how here below art come: But Florentine thou seemest of a truth, When I do hear thee. Know I was on earth Count Ugolino, and th' Archbishop he Ruggieri. Why I neighbour him so close, Now list. That through effect of his ill thoughts In him my trust reposing, I was ta'en And after murder'd, need is not I tell. What therefore thou canst not have heard, that is, How cruel was the murder, shalt thou hear, And know if he have wrong'd me. A small grate Within that mew, which for my sake the name Of famine bears, where others yet must pine, Already through its opening sev'ral moons Had shown me, when I slept the evil sleep, That from the future tore the curtain off. This one, methought, as master of the sport, Rode forth to chase the gaunt wolf and his whelps Unto the mountain, which forbids the sight Of Lucca to the Pisan. With lean brachs Inquisitive and keen, before him rang'd Lanfranchi with Sismondi and Gualandi. After short course the father and the sons Seem'd tir'd and lagging, and methought I saw The sharp tusks gore their sides. When I awoke Before the dawn, amid their sleep I heard My sons (for they were with me) weep and ask For bread. Right cruel art thou, if no pang Thou feel at thinking what my heart foretold; And if not now, why use thy tears to flow? Now had they waken'd; and the hour drew near When they were wont to bring us food; the mind Of each misgave him through his dream, and I Heard, at its outlet underneath lock'd up The' horrible tower: whence uttering not a word I look'd upon the visage of my sons. I wept not: so all stone I felt within. They wept: and one, my little Anslem, cried: "Thou lookest so! Father what ails thee?" Yet I shed no tear, nor answer'd all that day Nor the next night, until another sun Came out upon the world. When a faint beam Had to our doleful prison made its way, And in four countenances I descry'd The image of my own, on either hand Through agony I bit, and they who thought I did it through desire of feeding, rose O' th' sudden, and cried, 'Father, we should grieve Far less, if thou wouldst eat of us: thou gav'st These weeds of miserable flesh we wear, 'And do thou strip them off from us again.' Then, not to make them sadder, I kept down My spirit in stillness. That day and the next We all were silent. Ah, obdurate earth! Why open'dst not upon us? When we came To the fourth day, then Geddo at my feet Outstretch'd did fling him, crying, 'Hast no help For me, my father!' There he died, and e'en Plainly as thou seest me, saw I the three Fall one by one 'twixt the fifth day and sixth: "Whence I betook me now grown blind to grope Over them all, and for three days aloud Call'd on them who were dead. Then fasting got The mastery of grief." Thus having spoke, Once more upon the wretched skull his teeth He fasten'd, like a mastiff's 'gainst the bone Firm and unyielding. Oh thou Pisa! shame Of all the people, who their dwelling make In that fair region, where th' Italian voice Is heard, since that thy neighbours are so slack To punish, from their deep foundations rise Capraia and Gorgona, and dam up The mouth of Arno, that each soul in thee May perish in the waters! What if fame Reported that thy castles were betray'd By Ugolino, yet no right hadst thou To stretch his children on the rack. For them, Brigata, Ugaccione, and the pair Of gentle ones, of whom my song hath told, Their tender years, thou modern Thebes! did make Uncapable of guilt. Onward we pass'd, Where others skarf'd in rugged folds of ice Not on their feet were turn'd, but each revers'd. There very weeping suffers not to weep; For at their eyes grief seeking passage finds Impediment, and rolling inward turns For increase of sharp anguish: the first tears Hang cluster'd, and like crystal vizors show, Under the socket brimming all the cup. Now though the cold had from my face dislodg'd Each feeling, as 't were callous, yet me seem'd Some breath of wind I felt. "Whence cometh this," Said I, "my master? Is not here below All vapour quench'd?"--"'Thou shalt be speedily," He answer'd, "where thine eye shall tell thee whence The cause descrying of this airy shower." Then cried out one in the chill crust who mourn'd: "O souls so cruel! that the farthest post Hath been assign'd you, from this face remove The harden'd veil, that I may vent the grief Impregnate at my heart, some little space Ere it congeal again!" I thus replied: "Say who thou wast, if thou wouldst have mine aid; And if I extricate thee not, far down As to the lowest ice may I descend!" "The friar Alberigo," answered he, "Am I, who from the evil garden pluck'd Its fruitage, and am here repaid, the date More luscious for my fig."--"Hah!" I exclaim'd, "Art thou too dead!"--"How in the world aloft It fareth with my body," answer'd he, "I am right ignorant. Such privilege Hath Ptolomea, that ofttimes the soul Drops hither, ere by Atropos divorc'd. And that thou mayst wipe out more willingly The glazed tear-drops that o'erlay mine eyes, Know that the soul, that moment she betrays, As I did, yields her body to a fiend Who after moves and governs it at will, Till all its time be rounded; headlong she Falls to this cistern. And perchance above Doth yet appear the body of a ghost, Who here behind me winters. Him thou know'st, If thou but newly art arriv'd below. The years are many that have pass'd away, Since to this fastness Branca Doria came." "Now," answer'd I, "methinks thou mockest me, For Branca Doria never yet hath died, But doth all natural functions of a man, Eats, drinks, and sleeps, and putteth raiment on." He thus: "Not yet unto that upper foss By th' evil talons guarded, where the pitch Tenacious boils, had Michael Zanche reach'd, When this one left a demon in his stead In his own body, and of one his kin, Who with him treachery wrought. But now put forth Thy hand, and ope mine eyes." I op'd them not. Ill manners were best courtesy to him. Ah Genoese! men perverse in every way, With every foulness stain'd, why from the earth Are ye not cancel'd? Such an one of yours I with Romagna's darkest spirit found, As for his doings even now in soul Is in Cocytus plung'd, and yet doth seem In body still alive upon the earth. CANTO XXXIV "THE banners of Hell's Monarch do come forth Towards us; therefore look," so spake my guide, "If thou discern him." As, when breathes a cloud Heavy and dense, or when the shades of night Fall on our hemisphere, seems view'd from far A windmill, which the blast stirs briskly round, Such was the fabric then methought I saw, To shield me from the wind, forthwith I drew Behind my guide: no covert else was there. Now came I (and with fear I bid my strain Record the marvel) where the souls were all Whelm'd underneath, transparent, as through glass Pellucid the frail stem. Some prone were laid, Others stood upright, this upon the soles, That on his head, a third with face to feet Arch'd like a bow. When to the point we came, Whereat my guide was pleas'd that I should see The creature eminent in beauty once, He from before me stepp'd and made me pause. "Lo!" he exclaim'd, "lo Dis! and lo the place, Where thou hast need to arm thy heart with strength." How frozen and how faint I then became, Ask me not, reader! for I write it not, Since words would fail to tell thee of my state. I was not dead nor living. Think thyself If quick conception work in thee at all, How I did feel. That emperor, who sways The realm of sorrow, at mid breast from th' ice Stood forth; and I in stature am more like A giant, than the giants are in his arms. Mark now how great that whole must be, which suits With such a part. If he were beautiful As he is hideous now, and yet did dare To scowl upon his Maker, well from him May all our mis'ry flow. Oh what a sight! How passing strange it seem'd, when I did spy Upon his head three faces: one in front Of hue vermilion, th' other two with this Midway each shoulder join'd and at the crest; The right 'twixt wan and yellow seem'd: the left To look on, such as come from whence old Nile Stoops to the lowlands. Under each shot forth Two mighty wings, enormous as became A bird so vast. Sails never such I saw Outstretch'd on the wide sea. No plumes had they, But were in texture like a bat, and these He flapp'd i' th' air, that from him issued still Three winds, wherewith Cocytus to its depth Was frozen. At six eyes he wept: the tears Adown three chins distill'd with bloody foam. At every mouth his teeth a sinner champ'd Bruis'd as with pond'rous engine, so that three Were in this guise tormented. But far more Than from that gnawing, was the foremost pang'd By the fierce rending, whence ofttimes the back Was stript of all its skin. "That upper spirit, Who hath worse punishment," so spake my guide, "Is Judas, he that hath his head within And plies the feet without. Of th' other two, Whose heads are under, from the murky jaw Who hangs, is Brutus: lo! how he doth writhe And speaks not! Th' other Cassius, that appears So large of limb. But night now re-ascends, And it is time for parting. All is seen." I clipp'd him round the neck, for so he bade; And noting time and place, he, when the wings Enough were op'd, caught fast the shaggy sides, And down from pile to pile descending stepp'd Between the thick fell and the jagged ice. Soon as he reach'd the point, whereat the thigh Upon the swelling of the haunches turns, My leader there with pain and struggling hard Turn'd round his head, where his feet stood before, And grappled at the fell, as one who mounts, That into hell methought we turn'd again. "Expect that by such stairs as these," thus spake The teacher, panting like a man forespent, "We must depart from evil so extreme." Then at a rocky opening issued forth, And plac'd me on a brink to sit, next join'd With wary step my side. I rais'd mine eyes, Believing that I Lucifer should see Where he was lately left, but saw him now With legs held upward. Let the grosser sort, Who see not what the point was I had pass'd, Bethink them if sore toil oppress'd me then. "Arise," my master cried, "upon thy feet. The way is long, and much uncouth the road; And now within one hour and half of noon The sun returns." It was no palace-hall Lofty and luminous wherein we stood, But natural dungeon where ill footing was And scant supply of light. "Ere from th' abyss I sep'rate," thus when risen I began, "My guide! vouchsafe few words to set me free From error's thralldom. Where is now the ice? How standeth he in posture thus revers'd? And how from eve to morn in space so brief Hath the sun made his transit?" He in few Thus answering spake: "Thou deemest thou art still On th' other side the centre, where I grasp'd Th' abhorred worm, that boreth through the world. Thou wast on th' other side, so long as I Descended; when I turn'd, thou didst o'erpass That point, to which from ev'ry part is dragg'd All heavy substance. Thou art now arriv'd Under the hemisphere opposed to that, Which the great continent doth overspread, And underneath whose canopy expir'd The Man, that was born sinless, and so liv'd. Thy feet are planted on the smallest sphere, Whose other aspect is Judecca. Morn Here rises, when there evening sets: and he, Whose shaggy pile was scal'd, yet standeth fix'd, As at the first. On this part he fell down From heav'n; and th' earth, here prominent before, Through fear of him did veil her with the sea, And to our hemisphere retir'd. Perchance To shun him was the vacant space left here By what of firm land on this side appears, That sprang aloof." There is a place beneath, From Belzebub as distant, as extends The vaulted tomb, discover'd not by sight, But by the sound of brooklet, that descends This way along the hollow of a rock, Which, as it winds with no precipitous course, The wave hath eaten. By that hidden way My guide and I did enter, to return To the fair world: and heedless of repose We climbed, he first, I following his steps, Till on our view the beautiful lights of heav'n Dawn'd through a circular opening in the cave: Thus issuing we again beheld the stars. 
41537	----	produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) THE DIVINE COMEDY OF DANTE ALIGHIERI [Illustration] THE DIVINE COMEDY OF DANTE ALIGHIERI A TRANSLATION BY JAMES ROMANES SIBBALD EDINBURGH PUBLISHED BY DAVID DOUGLAS MDCCCLXXXIV _All Rights Reserved._ Edinburgh University Press: T. AND A. CONSTABLE, PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY. THE INFERNO A TRANSLATION WITH NOTES AND AN INTRODUCTORY ESSAY BY JAMES ROMANES SIBBALD EDINBURGH PUBLISHED BY DAVID DOUGLAS MDCCCLXXXIV PREFACE. A Translator who has never felt his self-imposed task to be a light one may be excused from entering into explanations that would but too naturally take the form of apologies. I will only say that while I have striven to be as faithful as I could to the words as well as to the sense of my author, the following translation is not offered as being always closely literal. The kind of verse employed I believe to be that best fitted to give some idea, however faint, of the rigidly measured and yet easy strength of Dante's _terza rima_; but whoever chooses to adopt it with its constantly recurring demand for rhymes necessarily becomes in some degree its servant. Such students as wish to follow the poet word by word will always find what they need in Dr. J. A. Carlyle's excellent prose version of the _Inferno_, a work to which I have to acknowledge my own indebtedness at many points. The matter of the notes, it is needless to say, has been in very great part found ready to my hand in existing Commentaries. My edition of John Villani is that of Florence, 1823. The Note at page cx was printed before it had been resolved to provide the volume with a copy of Giotto's portrait of Dante. I have to thank the Council of the Arundel Society for their kind permission to Messrs. Dawson to make use of their lithograph of Mr. Seymour Kirkup's invaluable sketch in the production of the Frontispiece--a privilege that would have been taken more advantage of had it not been deemed advisable to work chiefly from the photograph of the same sketch, given in the third volume of the late Lord Vernon's sumptuous and rare edition of the _Inferno_ (Florence, 1865). In this Vernon photograph, as well as in the Arundel Society's chromolithograph, the disfiguring mark on the face caused by the damage to the plaster of the fresco is faithfully reproduced. A less degree of fidelity has been observed in the Frontispiece; although the restoration has not been carried the length of replacing the lost eye. EDINBURGH, _February_, 1884. CONTENTS. PAGE FLORENCE AND DANTE, xvii GIOTTO'S PORTRAIT OF DANTE, cx The Inferno. CANTO I. The Slumber--the Wood--the Hill--the three Beasts--Virgil--the Veltro or Greyhound, 1 CANTO II. Dante's misgivings--Virgil's account of how he was induced to come to his help--the three Heavenly Ladies--the beginning of the Journey, 9 CANTO III. The Gate of Inferno--the Vestibule of the Caitiffs--the Great Refusal--Acheron--Charon--the Earthquake--the Slumber of Dante, 17 CANTO IV. The First Circle, which is the Limbo of the Unbaptized and of the Virtuous Heathen--the Great Poets--the Noble Castle--the Sages and Worthies of the ancient world, 24 CANTO V. The Second Circle, which is that of Carnal Sinners--Minos--the Tempest--The Troop of those who died because of their Love-- Francesca da Rimini--Dante's Swoon, 32 CANTO VI. The Third Circle, which is that of the Gluttonous--the Hail and Rain and Snow--Cerberus--Ciacco and his Prophecy, 40 CANTO VII. The Fourth Circle, which is that of the Avaricious and the Thriftless--Plutus--the Great Weights rolled by the sinners in opposite directions--Fortune--the Fifth Circle, which is that of the Wrathful--Styx--the Lofty Tower, 47 CANTO VIII. The Fifth Circle continued--the Signals--Phlegyas--the Skiff-- Philip Argenti--the City of Dis--the Fallen Angels--the Rebuff of Virgil, 55 CANTO IX. The City of Dis, which is the Sixth Circle and that of the Heretics--the Furies and the Medusa head--the Messenger of Heaven who opens the gates for Virgil and Dante--the entrance to the City--the red-hot Tombs, 62 CANTO X. The Sixth Circle continued--Farinata degli Uberti--Cavalcante dei Cavalcanti--Farinata's prophecy--Frederick II., 69 CANTO XI. The Sixth Circle continued--Pope Anastasius--Virgil explains on what principle sinners are classified in Inferno--Usury, 77 CANTO XII. The Seventh Circle, First Division--the Minotaur--the River of Blood, which forms the Outer Ring of the Seventh Circle-- in it are those guilty of Violence against others--the Centaurs--Tyrants--Robbers and Murderers--Ezzelino Romano-- Guy of Montfort--the Passage of the River of Blood, 84 CANTO XIII. The Seventh Circle continued--the Second Division consisting of a Tangled Wood in which are those guilty of Violence against themselves--the Harpies--Pier delle Vigne--Lano--Jacopo da Sant' Andrea--Florence and its Patrons, 91 CANTO XIV. The Seventh Circle continued--the Third Division of it, consisting of a Waste of Sand on which descends an unceasing Shower of Fire-- in it are those guilty of Violence against God, against Nature, and against Art--Capaneus--the Crimson Brook--the Statue of Time-- the Infernal Rivers, 98 CANTO XV. The Seventh Circle continued--the Violent against Nature-- Brunetto Latini--Francesco d'Accorso--Andrea de' Mozzi, Bishop of Florence, 106 CANTO XVI. The Seventh Circle continued--the Violent against Nature-- Guidoguerra, Tegghiaio Aldobrandi, and Jacopo Rusticucci-- the Cataract--the Cord--Geryon, 115 CANTO XVII. The Seventh Circle continued--the Violent against Art--Usurers-- the descent on Geryon's back into the Eighth Circle, 123 CANTO XVIII. The Eighth Circle, otherwise named Malebolge, which consists of ten concentric Pits or Moats connected by bridges of rock--in these are punished those guilty of Fraud of different kinds-- First Bolgia or Moat, where are Panders and Seducers, scourged by Demons--Venedico Caccianimico--Jason--Second Bolgia, where are Flatterers plunged in filth--Alessio Interminei, 130 CANTO XIX. The Eighth Circle--Third Bolgia, where are the Simoniacs, stuck head downwards in holes in the rock--Pope Nicholas III.--the Donation of Constantine, 137 CANTO XX. The Eighth Circle--Fourth Bolgia, where are Diviners and Sorcerers in endless procession, with their heads twisted on their necks-- Amphiaräus--Tiresias--Aruns--Manto and the foundation of Mantua-- Eurypylus--Michael Scott--Guido Bonatti--Asdente, 145 CANTO XXI. The Eighth Circle--Fifth Bolgia, where the Barrators, or corrupt officials, are plunged in the boiling pitch which fills the Bolgia--a Senator of Lucca is thrown in--the Malebranche, or Demons who guard the Moat--the Devilish Escort, 153 CANTO XXII. The Eighth Circle--Fifth Bolgia continued--the Navarese--trick played by him on the Demons--Fra Gomita--Michael Zanche--the Demons fall foul of one another, 161 CANTO XXIII. The Eighth Circle--escape from the Fifth to the Sixth Bolgia, where the Hypocrites walk at a snail's pace, weighed down by Gilded Cloaks of lead--the Merry Friars Catalano and Loderingo--Caiaphas, 168 CANTO XXIV. The Eighth Circle--arduous passage over the cliff into the Seventh Bolgia, where the Thieves are tormented by Serpents, and are constantly undergoing a hideous metamorphosis--Vanni Fucci, 176 CANTO XXV. The Eighth Circle--Seventh Bolgia continued--Cacus--Agnello Brunelleschi, Buoso degli Abati, Puccio Sciancato, Cianfa Donati, and Guercio Cavalcanti, 184 CANTO XXVI. The Eighth Circle--Eighth Bolgia, where are the Evil Counsellors, wrapped each in his own Flame--Ulysses tells how he met with death, 192 CANTO XXVII. The Eighth Circle--Eighth Bolgia continued--Guido of Montefeltro-- the Cities of Romagna--Guido and Boniface VIII., 200 CANTO XXVIII. The Eighth Circle--Ninth Bolgia, where the Schismatics in Church and State are for ever being dismembered--Mahomet--Fra Dolcino-- Pier da Medicina--Curio--Mosca--Bertrand de Born, 209 CANTO XXIX. The Eighth Circle--Ninth Bolgia continued--Geri del Bello--Tenth Bolgia, where Counterfeiters of various kinds, as Alchemists and Forgers, are tormented with loathsome diseases--Griffolino of Arezzo--Capocchio on the Sienese, 217 CANTO XXX. The Eighth Circle--Tenth Bolgia continued--Myrrha--Gianni Schicchi--Master Adam and his confession--Sinon, 225 CANTO XXXI. The Ninth Circle, outside of which they remain till the end of this Canto--this, the Central Pit of Inferno, is encircled and guarded by Giants--Nimrod, Ephialtes, and Antæus--entrance to the Pit, 233 CANTO XXXII. The Ninth Circle--that of the Traitors, is divided into four concentric rings, in which the sinners are plunged more or less deep in the ice of the frozen Cocytus--the Outer Ring is Caïna, where are those who contrived the murder of their Kindred-- Camicion de' Pazzi--Antenora, the Second Ring, where are such as betrayed their Country--Bocca degli Abati--Buoso da Duera-- Ugolino, 241 CANTO XXXIII. The Ninth Circle--Antenora continued--Ugolino and his tale--the Third Ring, or Ptolomæa, where are those treacherous to their Friends--Friar Alberigo--Branca d'Oria, 249 CANTO XXXIV. The Ninth Circle--the Fourth Ring or Judecca, the deepest point of the Inferno and the Centre of the Universe--it is the place of those treacherous to their Lords or Benefactors--Lucifer with Judas, Brutus, and Cassius hanging from his mouths--passage through the Centre of the Earth--ascent from the depths to the light of the stars in the Southern Hemisphere, 260 INDEX, 269 FLORENCE AND DANTE. Dante is himself the hero of the _Divine Comedy_, and ere many stages of the _Inferno_ have been passed the reader feels that all his steps are being taken in a familiar companionship. When every allowance has been made for what the exigencies of art required him to heighten or suppress, it is still impossible not to be convinced that the author is revealing himself much as he really was--in some of his weakness as well as in all his strength. The poem itself, by many an unconscious touch, does for his moral portraiture what the pencil of Giotto has done for the features of his face. The one likeness answers marvellously to the other; and, together, they have helped the world to recognise in him the great example of a man of genius who, though at first sight he may seem to be austere, is soon found to attract our love by the depth of his feelings as much as he wins our admiration by the wealth of his fancy, and by the clearness of his judgment on everything concerned with the lives and destiny of men. His other writings in greater or less degree confirm the impression of Dante's character to be obtained from the _Comedy_. Some of them are partly autobiographical; and, studying as a whole all that is left to us of him, we can gain a general notion of the nature of his career--when he was born and what was his condition in life; his early loves and friendships; his studies, military service, and political aims; his hopes and illusions, and the weary purgatory of his exile. To the knowledge of Dante's life and character which is thus to be acquired, the formal biographies of him have but little to add that is both trustworthy and of value. Something of course there is in the traditional story of his life that has come down from his time with the seal of genuineness; and something that has been ascertained by careful research among Florentine and other documents. But when all that old and modern _Lives_ have to tell us has been sifted, the additional facts regarding him are found to be but few; such at least as are beyond dispute. Boccaccio, his earliest biographer, swells out his _Life_, as the earlier commentators on the _Comedy_ do their notes, with what are plainly but legendary amplifications of hints supplied by Dante's own words; while more recent and critical writers succeed with infinite pains in little beyond establishing, each to his own satisfaction, what was the order of publication of the poet's works, where he may have travelled to, and when and for how long a time he may have had this or that great lord for a patron. A very few pages would therefore be enough to tell the events of Dante's life as far as they are certainly known. But, to be of use as an introduction to the study of his great poem, any biographical sketch must contain some account--more or less full--of Florentine affairs before and during his lifetime; for among the actors in these are to be found many of the persons of the _Comedy_. In reading the poem we are never suffered for long to forget his exile. From one point of view it is an appeal to future ages from Florentine injustice and ingratitude; from another, it is a long and passionate plea with his native town to shake her in her stubborn cruelty. In spite of the worst she can do against him he remains no less her son. In the early copies of it, the _Comedy_ is well described as the work of Dante Alighieri, the Florentine; since not only does he people the other world by preference with Florentines, but it is to Florence that, even when his words are bitter against her, his heart is always feeling back. Among the glories of Paradise he loves to let his memory rest on the church in which he was baptized and the streets he used to tread. He takes pleasure in her stones; and with her towers and palaces Florence stands for the unchanging background to the changing scenes of his mystical pilgrimage. The history of Florence during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries agrees in general outline with that of most of its neighbours. At the beginning of the period it was a place of but little importance, ranking far below Pisa both in wealth and political influence. Though retaining the names and forms of municipal government, inherited from early times, it was in reality possessed of no effective control over its own affairs, and was subject to its feudal superior almost as completely as was ever any German village planted in the shadow of a castle. To Florence, as to many a city of Northern and Central Italy, the first opportunity of winning freedom came with the contest between Emperor and Pope in the time of Hildebrand. In this quarrel the Church found its best ally in Matilda, Countess of Tuscany. She, to secure the goodwill of her subjects as against the Emperor, yielded first one and then another of her rights in Florence, generally by way of a pious gift--an endowment for a religious house or an increase of jurisdiction to the bishop--these concessions, however veiled, being in effect so many additions to the resources and liberties of the townsmen. She made Rome her heir, and then Florence was able to play off the Papal against the Imperial claims, yielding a kind of barren homage to both Emperor and Pope, and only studious to complete a virtual independence of both. Florence had been Matilda's favourite place of residence; and, benefiting largely as it did by her easy rule, it is no wonder that her name should have been cherished by the Florentines for ages after as a household word.[1] Nor is the greatest Florentine unmindful of her. Foe of the Empire though she was, he only remembers her piety; and it is by Matilda, as representing the active religious life, that Dante is ushered into the presence of Beatrice in the Earthly Paradise.[2] It was a true instinct which led Florence and other cities to side rather with the Pope than with the Emperor in the long-continued struggle between them for predominance in Italy. With the Pope for overlord they would at least have a master who was an Italian, and one who, his title being imperfect, would in his own interest be led to treat them with indulgence; while, in the permanent triumph of the Emperor, Italy must have become subject and tributary to Germany, and would have seen new estates carved out of her fertile soil for members of the German garrison. The danger was brought home to many of the youthful commonwealths during the eventful reign of Frederick Barbarossa (1152-1190). Strong in Germany beyond most of his predecessors, that monarch ascended the throne with high prerogative views, in which he was confirmed by the slavish doctrine of some of the new civilians. According to these there could be only one master in the world; as far as regarded the things of time, but one source of authority in Christendom. They maintained everything to be the Emperor's that he chose to take. When he descended into Italy to enforce his claims, the cities of the Lombard League met him in open battle. Those of Tuscany, and especially Florence, bent before the blast, temporising as long as they were able, and making the best terms they could when the choice lay between submission and open revolt. Even Florence, it is true, strong in her allies, did once take arms against an Imperial lieutenant; but as a rule she never refused obedience in words, and never yielded it in fact beyond what could not be helped. In her pursuit of advantages, skilfully using every opportunity, and steadfast of aim even when most she appeared to waver, she displayed something of the same address that was long to be noted as a trait in the character of the individual Florentine. The storm was weathered, although not wholly without loss. When, towards the close of his life, and after he had broken his strength against the obstinate patriotism of Lombardy, Frederick visited Florence in 1185, it was as a master justly displeased with servants who, while they had not openly rebelled against him, had yet proved eminently unprofitable, and whom he was concerned to punish if not to destroy. On the complaint of the neighbouring nobles, that they were oppressed and had been plundered by the city, he gave orders for the restoration to them of their lands and castles. This accomplished, all the territory left to Florence was a narrow belt around the walls. Villani even says that for the four years during which Frederick still lived the Commonwealth was wholly landless. And here, rather than lose ourselves among the endless treaties, leagues, and campaigns which fill so many pages of the chronicles, it may be worth while shortly to glance at the constitution of Florentine society, and especially at the place held in it by the class which found its protector in Barbarossa. Much about the time at which the Commonwealth was relieved of its feudal trammels, as a result of the favour or the necessities of Matilda, it was beginning to extend its commerce and increase its industry. Starting somewhat late on the career on which Venice, Genoa, and Pisa were already far advanced, Florence was as if strenuous to make up for lost time, and soon displayed a rare comprehension of the nature of the enterprise. It may be questioned if ever, until quite modern times, there has been anywhere so clear an understanding of the truth that public wellbeing is the sum of private prosperity, or such an enlightened perception of what tends to economical progress. Florence had no special command of raw material for her manufactures, no sea-port of her own, and no monopoly unless in the natural genius of her people. She could therefore thrive only by dint of holding open her communications with the world at large, and grudged no pains either of war or diplomacy to keep at Pisa a free way out and in for her merchandise. Already in the twelfth century she received through that port the rough woollens of Flanders, which, after being skilfully dressed and dyed, were sent out at great profit to every market of Europe. At a somewhat later period the Florentines were to give as strong a proof of their financial capacity as this was of their industrial. It was they who first conducted a large business in bills of exchange, and who first struck a gold coin which, being kept of invariable purity, passed current in every land where men bought and sold--even in countries where the very name of Florence was unknown.[3] In a community thus devoted to industry and commerce, it was natural that a great place should be filled by merchants. These were divided into six guilds, the members of which, with the notaries and lawyers, who composed a seventh, formed the true body of the citizens. Originally the consuls of these guilds were the only elected officials in the city, and in the early days of its liberty they were even charged with political duties, and are found, for example, signing a treaty of peace with a neighbouring state. In the fully developed commune it was only the wealthier citizens--the members, we may assume, of these guilds--who, along with the nobles,[4] were eligible for and had the right of electing to the public offices. Below them was the great body of the people; all, that is, of servile condition or engaged in the meaner kinds of business. From one point of view, the liberties of the citizens were only their privileges. But although the labourers and humbler tradesmen were without franchises, their interests were not therefore neglected, being bound up with those of the one or two thousand citizens who shared with the patricians the control of public affairs. There were two classes of nobles with whom Florence had to reckon as she awoke to life--those within the walls, and those settled in the neighbouring country. In later times it was a favourite boast among the noble citizens--a boast indulged in by Dante--that they were descended from ancient Roman settlers on the banks of the Arno. A safer boast would in many cases have been that their ancestors had come to Italy in the train of Otho and other conquering Emperors. Though settled in the city, in some cases for generations, the patrician families were not altogether of it, being distinguished from the other citizens, if not always by the possession of ancestral landward estates, at least by their delight in war and contempt for honest industry. But with the faults of a noble class they had many of its good qualities. Of these the Republic suffered them to make full proof, allowing them to lead in war and hold civil offices out of all proportion to their numbers. Like the city itself, the nobles in the country around had been feudally subject to the Marquis of Tuscany. After Matilda's death they claimed to hold direct from the Empire; which meant in practice to be above all law. They exercised absolute jurisdiction over their serfs and dependants, and, when favoured by the situation of their castles, took toll, like the robber barons of Germany, of the goods which passed beneath their walls. Already they had proved to be thorns in the side of the industrious burghers; but at the beginning of the twelfth century their neighbourhood became intolerable, and for a couple of generations the chief political work of Florence was to bring them to reason. Those whose lands came up almost to the city gates were first dealt with, and then in a widening circle the country was cleared of the pest. Year after year, when the days were lengthening out in spring, the roughly organised city militia was mustered, war was declared against some specially obnoxious noble and his fortress was taken by surprise, or, failing that, was subjected to a siege. In the absence of a more definite grievance, it was enough to declare his castle dangerously near the city. These expeditions were led by the nobles who were already citizens, while the country neighbours of the victim looked on with indifference, or even helped to waste the lands or force the stronghold of a rival. The castle once taken, it was either levelled with the ground, or was restored to the owner on condition of his yielding service to the Republic. And, both by way of securing a hold upon an unwilling vassal and of adding a wealthy house and some strong arms to the Commonwealth, he was compelled, along with his family, to reside in Florence for a great part of every year. With a wider territory and an increasing commerce, it was natural for Florence to assume more and more the attitude of a sovereign state, ready, when need was, to impose its will upon its neighbours, or to join with them for the common defence of Tuscany. In the noble class and its retainers, recruited as has been described, it was possessed of a standing army which, whether from love of adventure or greed of plunder, was never so well pleased as when in active employment. Not that the commons left the fighting wholly to the men of family, for they too, at the summons of the war-bell, had to arm for the field; but at the best they did it from a sense of duty, and, without the aid of professional men-at-arms, they must have failed more frequently in their enterprises, or at any rate have had to endure a greatly prolonged absence from their counters and workshops. And yet, esteem this advantage as highly as we will, Florence surely lost more than it gained by compelling the crowd of idle gentlemen to come within its walls. In the course of time some of them indeed condescended to engage in trade--sank, as the phrase went, into the ranks of the _Popolani_, or mere wealthy citizens; but the great body of them, while their landed property was being largely increased in value in consequence of the general prosperity, held themselves haughtily aloof from honest industry in every form. Each family, or rather each clan of them, lived apart in its own group of houses, from among which towers shot aloft for scores of yards into the air, dominating the humbler dwellings of the common burghers. These, whenever they came to the front for a time in the government, were used to decree that all private towers were to be lopped down to within a certain distance from the ground. It is a favourite exercise of Villani and other historians to trace the troubles and revolutions in the state of Florence to chance quarrels between noble families, arising from an angry word or a broken troth. Here, they tell, was sown the seed of the Guelf and Ghibeline wars in Florence; and here that of the feuds of Black and White. Such quarrels and party names were symptoms and nothing more. The enduring source of trouble was the presence within the city of a powerful idle class, constantly eager to recover the privilege it had lost, and to secure itself by every available means, including that of outside help, in the possession of what it still retained; which chafed against the curbs put upon its lawlessness, and whose ambitions were all opposed to the general interest. The citizens, for their part, had nothing better to hope for than that Italy should be left to the Italians, Florence to the Florentines. On the occasion of the celebrated Buondelmonti feud (1215), some of the nobles definitely went over to the side of the people, either because they judged it likely to win in the long-run, or impelled unconsciously by the forces that in every society divide ambitious men into two camps, and in one form or another develop party strife. They who made a profession of popular sympathy did it with a view of using rather than of helping the people at large. Both of the noble parties held the same end in sight--control of the Commonwealth; and this would be worth the more the fewer there were to share it. The faction irreconcilable with the Republic on any terms included many of the oldest and proudest houses. Their hope lay in the advent of a strong Emperor, who should depute to them his rights over the money-getting, low-born crowd. II. The opportunity of this class might seem to have come when the Hohenstaufen Frederick II., grandson of Barbarossa, ascended the throne, and still more when, on attaining full age, he claimed the whole of the Peninsula as his family inheritance. Other Emperors had withstood the Papal claims, but none had ever proved an antagonist like Frederick. His quarrel seemed indeed to be with the Church itself, with its doctrines and morals as well as with the ambition of churchmen; and he offered the strange spectacle of a Roman Emperor--one of the twin lights in the Christian firmament--whose favour was less easily won by Christian piety, however eminent, than by the learning of the Arab or the Jew. When compelled at last to fulfil a promise extorted from him of conducting a crusade to the Holy Land, he scandalised Christendom by making friends of the Sultan, and by using his presence in the East, not for the deliverance of the Sepulchre, but for the furtherance of learning and commerce. Thrice excommunicated, he had his revenge by proving with how little concern the heaviest anathemas of the Church could be met by one who was armed in unbelief. Literature, art, and manners were sedulously cultivated in his Sicilian court, and among the able ministers whom he selected or formed, the modern idea of the State may be said to have had its birth. Free thinker and free liver, poet, warrior, and statesman, he stood forward against the sombre background of the Middle Ages a figure in every respect so brilliant and original as well to earn from his contemporaries the title of the Wonder of the World. On the goodwill of Italians Frederick had the claim of being the most Italian of all the Emperors since the revival of the Western Empire, and the only one of them whose throne was permanently set on Italian soil. Yet he never won the popular heart. To the common mind he always appeared as something outlandish and terrible--as the man who had driven a profitable but impious trade in the Sultan's land. Dante, in his childhood, must have heard many a tale of him; and we find him keenly interested in the character of the Emperor who came nearest to uniting Italy into a great nation, in whose court there had been a welcome for every man of intellect, and in whom a great original poet would have found a willing and munificent patron. In the _Inferno_, by the mouth of Pier delle Vigne, the Imperial Chancellor, he pronounces Frederick to have been worthy of all honour;[5] yet justice requires him to lodge this flower of kings in the burning tomb of the Epicureans, as having been guilty of the arch-heresy of denying the moral government of the world, and holding that with the death of the body all is ended.[6] It was a heresy fostered by the lives of many churchmen, high and low; but the example of Frederick encouraged the profession of it by nobles and learned laymen. On Frederick's character there was a still darker stain than this of religious indifference--that of cold-blooded cruelty. Even in an age which had produced Ezzelino Romano, the Emperor's cloaks of lead were renowned as the highest refinement in torture.[7] But, with all his genius, and his want of scruple in the choice of means, he built nothing politically that was not ere his death crumbling to dust. His enduring work was that of an intellectual reformer under whose protection and with whose personal help his native language was refined, Europe was enriched with a learning new to it or long forgotten, and the minds of men, as they lost their blind reverence for Rome, were prepared for a freer treatment of all the questions with which religion deals. He was thus in some respects a precursor of Dante. More than once in the course of Frederick's career it seemed as if he might become master of Tuscany in fact as well as in name, had Florence only been as well affected to him as were Siena and Pisa. But already, as has been said, the popular interest had been strengthened by accessions from among the nobles. Others of them, without descending into the ranks of the citizens, had set their hopes on being the first in a commonwealth rather than privates in the Imperial garrison. These men, with their restless and narrow ambitions, were as dangerous to have for allies as for foes, but by throwing their weight into the popular scale they at least served to hold the Imperialist magnates in check, and established something like a balance in the fighting power of Florence; and so, as in the days of Barbarossa, the city was preserved from taking a side too strongly. The hearts of the Florentine traders were in their own affairs--in extending their commerce and increasing their territory and influence in landward Tuscany. As regarded the general politics of Italy, their sympathy was still with the Roman See; but it was a sympathy without devotion or gratitude. For refusing to join in the crusade of 1238 the town was placed under interdict by Gregory IX. The Emperor meanwhile was acknowledged as its lawful overlord, and his vicar received something more than nominal obedience, the choice of the chief magistrates being made subject to his approval. Yet with all this, and although his party was powerful in the city, it was but a grudging service that was yielded to Frederick. More than once fines were levied on the Florentines; and worse punishments were threatened for their persevering and active enmity to Siena, now dominated by its nobles and held in the Imperial interest. Volunteers from Florence might join the Emperor in his Lombard campaigns; but they were left equally free by the Commonwealth to join the other side. At last, when he was growing old, and when like his grandfather he had been foiled by the stubborn Lombards, he turned on the Florentines as an easier prey, and sent word to the nobles of his party to seize the city. For months the streets were filled with battle. In January 1248, Frederick of Antioch, the natural son of the Emperor, entered Florence with some squadrons of men-at-arms, and a few days later the nobles that had fought on the popular side were driven into banishment. This is known in the Florentine annals as the first dispersion of the Guelfs. Long before they were adopted in Italy, the names of Guelf and Ghibeline had been employed in Germany to mark the partisans of the Bavarian Welf and of the Hohenstaufen lords of Waiblingen. On Italian soil they received an extended meaning: Ghibeline stood for Imperialist; Guelf for anti-Imperialist, Papalist, or simply Nationalist. When the names began to be freely used in Florence, which was towards the close of Frederick's reign and about a century after their first invention, they denoted no new start in politics, but only supplied a nomenclature for parties already in existence. As far as Florence was concerned, the designations were the more convenient that they were not too closely descriptive. The Ghibeline was the Emperor's man, when it served his purpose to be so; while the Guelf, constant only in his enmity to the Ghibelines, was free to think of the Pope as he chose, and to serve him no more than he wished or needed to. Ultimately, indeed, all Florence may be said to have become Guelf. To begin with, the name distinguished the nobles who sought alliance with the citizens, from the nobles who looked on these as they might have done on serfs newly thriven into wealth. Each party was to come up in turn. Within a period of twenty years each was twice driven into banishment, a measure always accompanied with decrees of confiscation and the levelling of private strongholds in Florence. The exiles kept well together, retreating, as it were in the order of war, to camps of observation they found ready prepared for them in the nearest cities and fortresses held by those of their own way of thinking. All their wits were then bent on how, by dint of some fighting and much diplomacy, they might shake the strength and undermine the credit of their successful rivals in the city, and secure their own return in triumph. It was an art they were proud to be adepts in.[8] In a rapid sketch like this it would be impossible to tell half the changes made on the constitution of Florence during the second part of the thirteenth century. Dante in a well-known passage reproaches Florence with the political restlessness which afflicted her like a disease. Laws, he says, made in October were fallen into desuetude ere mid-November.[9] And yet it may be that in this constant readiness to change, lies the best proof of the political capacity of the Florentines. It was to meet new necessities that they made provision of new laws. Especial watchfulness was called for against the encroachments of the grandees, whose constant tendency--whatever their party name--was to weaken legal authority, and play the part of lords and masters of the citizens. But these were no mere weavers and quill-drivers to be plundered at will. Even before the return of the Guelfs, banished in 1248, the citizens, taking advantage of a check suffered in the field by the dominant Ghibelines, had begun to recast the constitution in a popular sense, and to organise the townsmen as a militia on a permanent footing. When, on the death of Frederick in 1250, the Imperialist nobles were left without foreign aid, there began a period of ten years, favourably known in Florentine history as the Government of the _Primo Popolo_ or _Popolo Vecchio_; that is, of the true body of the citizens, commoners possessed of franchises, as distinguished from the nobles above them and the multitude below. For it is never to be forgotten that Florence, like Athens, and like the other Italian Republics, was far from being a true democracy. The time was yet to come, and it was not far distant, when the ranks of citizenship were to be more widely opened than now to those below, and more closely shut to those above. In the meantime the comparatively small number of wealthy citizens who legally composed the 'People' made good use of their ten years of breathing-time, entering on commercial treaties and widening the possessions of the Commonwealth, now by war, and now by shrewd bargains with great barons. To balance the influence of the Podesta, who had hitherto been the one great officer of State--criminal judge, civil governor, and commander-in-chief all in one--they created the office of Captain of the People. The office of Podesta was not peculiar to Florence. There, as in other cities, in order to secure his impartiality, it was provided that he should be a foreigner, and hold office only for six months. But he was also required to be of gentle birth; and his councils were so composed that, like his own, their sympathies were usually with the nobles. The Captain of the People was therefore created partly as a tribune for the protection of the popular rights, and partly to act as permanent head of the popular forces. Like the Podesta, he had two councils assigned to him; but these were strictly representative of the citizens, and sat to control his conduct as well as to lend to his action the weight of public opinion. Such of the Ghibelines as had not been banished from Florence on the death of Frederick, lived there on sufferance, as it were, and under a rigid supervision. Once more they were to find a patron and ally in a member of the great house of Hohenstaufen; and with his aid they were again for a few years to become supreme in Florence, and to prove by their abuse of power how well justified was the mistrust the people had of them. In many ways Manfred, one of Frederick's bastards, was a worthy son of his father. Like him he was endowed with great personal charm, and was enamoured of all that opened new regions to intellectual curiosity or gave refinement to sensual pleasure. In his public as well as in his private behaviour, he was reckless of what the Church and its doctrines might promise or threaten; and equally so, his enemies declared, of the dictates of common humanity. Hostile eyes detected in the green clothes which were his favourite dress a secret attachment to Islam; and hostile tongues charged him with the murder of a father and of a brother, and the attempted murder of a nephew. His ambition did not aim at the Empire, but only at being King of Sicily and Naples, lands which the Hohenstaufens claimed as their own through the Norman mother of Frederick. Of these kingdoms he was actual ruler, even while his legitimate brother Conrad lived. On the death of that prince he brushed aside the claims of Conradin, his nephew, and bid boldly for recognition by the Pope, who claimed to be overlord of the southern kingdoms--a recognition refused, or given only to be immediately withdrawn. In the eyes of Rome he was no more than Prince of Tarentum, but by arms and policy he won what seemed a firm footing in the South; and eight years after the rule of the _Popolo Vecchio_ began in Florence he was the acknowledged patron of all in Italy who had been Imperialist--for the Imperial throne was now practically vacant. And Manfred was trusted all the more that he cared nothing for Germany, and stood out even more purely an Italian monarch than his father had ever been. The Ghibelines of Florence looked to him to free them of the yoke under which they groaned. When it was discovered that they were treating with Manfred, there was an outburst of popular wrath against the disaffected nobles. Some of them were seized and put to death, a fate shared by the Abbot of Vallombrosa, whom neither his priestly office nor his rank as Papal Legate availed to save from torture and a shameful end.[10] Well accustomed as was the age to violence and cruelty, it was shocked at this free disposal of a great ecclesiastic by a mercantile community; and even to the Guelf chronicler Villani the terrible defeat of Montaperti seemed no more than a just vengeance taken by Heaven upon a crime so heinous.[11] In the meantime the city was laid under interdict, and those concerned in the Abbot's death were excommunicated; while the Ghibelines, taking refuge in Siena, began to plot and scheme with the greater spirit against foes who, in the very face of a grave peril, had offended in the Pope their strongest natural ally. The leader of the exiles was Farinata, one of the Uberti, a family which, so long ago as 1180, had raised a civil war to force their way into the consulship. Ever since, they had been the most powerful, perhaps, and certainly the most restless, clan in Florence, rich in men of strong character, fiercely tenacious of their purpose. Such was Farinata. To the Florentines of a later age he was to stand for the type of the great Ghibeline gentleman, haughty as Lucifer, a Christian in name though scarcely by profession, and yet almost beloved for his frank excess of pride. It detracted nothing from the grandeur of his character, in the judgment of his countrymen, that he could be cunning as well as brave. Manfred was coy to afford help to the Tuscan Ghibelines, standing out for an exorbitant price for the loan of his men-at-arms; and to Farinata was attributed the device by which his point of honour was effectually touched.[12] When at last a reinforcement of eight hundred cavalry entered Siena, the exiles and their allies felt themselves more than a match for the militia of Florence, and set themselves to decoy it into the field. Earlier in the same year the Florentines had encamped before Siena, and sought in vain to bring on a general engagement. They were now misled by false messengers, primed by Farinata, into a belief that the Sienese, weary of the arrogance of Provenzano Salvani,[13] then all-powerful in Siena, were ready to betray a gate to them. In vain did Tegghiaio Aldobrandi,[14] one of the Guelf nobles, counsel delay till the German men-at-arms, wearied with waiting on and perhaps dissatisfied with their wages, should be recalled by Manfred. A march in full strength upon the hostile city was resolved on by the eager townsmen. The battle of Montaperti was fought in September 1260, among the earthy hills washed by the Arbia and its tributary rivulets, a few miles to the east of Siena. It marked the close of the rule of the _Popolo Vecchio_. Till then no such disastrous day had come to Florence; and the defeat was all the more intolerable that it was counted for a victory to Siena. Yet the battle was far from being a test of the strength of the two rival cities. Out of the thirty thousand foot in the Guelf army, there were only about five thousand Florentines. In the host which poured out on them from Siena, beside the militia of that city and the Florentine exiles, were included the Ghibelines of Arezzo, the retainers of great lords still unsubdued by any city, and, above all, the German men-at-arms of Manfred.[15] But the worst enemies of Florence were the traitors in her own ranks. She bore it long in mind that it was her merchants and handicraftsmen who stood stubbornly at bay, and tinged the Arbia red with their life-blood; while it was among the men of high degree that the traitors were found. On one of them, Bocca degli Abati, who struck off the right hand of the standard-bearer of the cavalry, and so helped on the confusion and the rout, Dante takes vengeance in his pitiless verse.[16] The fortifications of Florence had been recently completed and strengthened, and it was capable of a long defence. But the spirit of the people was broken for the time, and the conquerors found the gates open. Then it was that Farinata almost atoned for any wrong he ever did his native town, by withstanding a proposal made by the Ghibelines of the rival Tuscan cities, that Florence should be destroyed, and Empoli advanced to fill her room. 'Alone, with open face I defended her,' Dante makes him say.[17] But the wonder would rather be if he had voted to destroy a city of which he was about to be one of the tyrants. Florence had now a fuller experience than ever of the oppression which it was in the character of the Ghibelines to exercise. A rich booty lay ready to their hands; for in the panic after Montaperti crowds of the best in Florence had fled, leaving all behind them except their wives and children, whom they would not trust to the cruel mercy of the victors. It was in this exile that for the first time the industrious citizen was associated with the Guelf noble. From Lucca, not powerful enough to grant them protection for long, they were driven to Bologna, suffering terribly on the passage of the Apennines from cold and want of food, but safe when the mountains lay between them and the Val d'Arno. While the nobles and young men with a taste for fighting found their livelihood in service against the Lombard Ghibelines, the more sober-minded scattered themselves to seek out their commercial correspondents and increase their acquaintance with the markets of Europe. When at length the way was open for them to return home, they came back educated by travel, as men must always be who travel for a purpose; and from this second exile of the Guelfs dates a vast extension of the commerce of Florence. Their return was a fruit of the policy followed by the Papal Court The interests of both were the same. The Roman See could have as little independence of action while a hostile monarch was possessed of the southern kingdoms, as the people of Florence could have freedom while the Ghibeline nobility had for patron a military prince, to whom their gates lay open by way of Siena and Pisa. To Sicily and Naples the Pope laid claim by an alternative title--they were either dependent on the See of Rome, or, if they were Imperial fiefs, then, in the vacancy of the Empire, the Pope, as the only head of Christendom, had a right to dispose of them as he would. A champion was needed to maintain the claim, and at length the man was found in Charles of Anjou, brother of St. Louis. This was a prince of intellectual powers far beyond the common, of untiring industry in affairs, pious, 'chaste as a monk,' and cold-hearted as a usurer; gifted with all the qualities, in short, that make a man feared and well served, and with none that make him beloved. He was not one to risk failure for want of deliberation and foresight, and his measures were taken with such prudence that by the time he landed in Italy his victory was almost assured. He found his enemy at Benevento, in the Neapolitan territory (February 1266). In order to get time for reinforcements to come up, Manfred sought to enter into negotiations; but Charles was ready, and knew his advantage. He answered with the splendid confidence of a man sure of a heavenly if he missed an earthly triumph. 'Go tell the Sultan of Lucera,'[18] was his reply, 'that to-day I shall send him to Hell, or he will send me to Paradise.' Manfred was slain, and his body, discovered only after long search, was denied Christian burial. Yet, excommunicated though he was, and suspected of being at heart as much Mohammedan as Christian, he, as well as his great rival, is found by Dante in Purgatory.[19] And, while the Christian poet pours his invective on the pious Charles,[20] he is at no pains to hide how pitiful appeared to him the fate of the frank and handsome Manfred, all whose followers adored him. He, as more than once it happens in the _Comedy_ to those whose memory is dear to the poet, is saved from Inferno by the fiction that in the hour of death he sent one thought heavenward--'so wide is the embrace of infinite mercy.'[21] To Florence Charles proved a useful if a greedy and exacting protector. Under his influence as Pacificator of Tuscany--an office created for him by the Pope--the Guelfs were enabled slowly to return from exile, and the Ghibelines were gradually depressed into a condition of dependence on the goodwill of the citizens over whom they had so lately domineered. Henceforth failure attended every effort they made to lift their heads. The stubbornly irreconcilable were banished or put to death. Elaborate provisions were enacted in obedience to the Pope's commands, by which the rest were to be at peace with their old foes. Now they were to live in the city, but under disabilities as regarded eligibility to offices; now they were to be represented in the public councils, but so as to be always in a minority. The result of the measures taken, and of the natural drift of things, was that ere many more years had passed there were no avowed Ghibelines in Florence. One influence constantly at work in this direction was that of the _Parte Guelfa_, a Florentine society formed to guard the interests of the Guelfs, and which was possessed of the greater part of the Ghibeline property confiscated after the triumph of Charles had turned the balance of power in Italy. This organisation has been well described as a state within a state, and it seems as if the part it played in the Florentine politics of this period were not yet fully known. This much seems sure, that the members of the Society were mostly Guelf nobles; that its power, derived from the administration of vast wealth to a political end, was so great that the Captain of the _Parte Guelfa_ held a place almost on a level with that of the chief officials of the Commonwealth; and that it made loans of ready money to Florence and the Pope, on condition of their being used to the damage of the Ghibelines.[22] The Commonwealth, busy in resettling its government, was but slightly interested in much that went on around it. The boy Conradin, grandson of Frederick, nephew of Manfred, and in a sense the last of the Hohenstaufens, came to Italy to measure himself with Charles, and paid for his audacity upon the scaffold.[23] Charles deputed Guy of Montfort, son of the great Earl Simon, to be his vicar in Florence. The Pope smiled and frowned in turn on the Florentines, as their devotion to him waxed and waned; and so he did on his champion Charles, whose ambition was apt to outrun his piety. All this was of less importance to the Commonwealth than the promotion of its domestic interests. It saw with equanimity a check given to Charles by the election of a new Emperor in Rudolf of Hapsburg (1273), and a further check by the Sicilian Vespers, which lost him half his kingdom (1283). But Siena and Pisa, Arezzo, and even Pistoia, were the objects of a sleepless anxiety. Pisa was the chief source of danger, being both from sentiment and interest stubbornly Ghibeline. When at length its power was broken by Genoa, its great maritime rival, in the naval battle of Meloria (1284), there was no longer any city in Tuscany to be compared for wealth and strength with Florence. III. It was at this period that Dante, reaching the age of manhood, began to perform the duties that fell to him as a youthful citizen--duties which, till the age of thirty was reached, were chiefly those of military service. The family to which he belonged was a branch of the Elisei, who are included by Villani in the earliest catalogue given by him of the great Florentine houses. Cacciaguida, one of the Elisei, born in 1106, married a daughter of the Aldighieri, a family of Ferrara. Their son was christened Aldighiero, and this was adopted by the family as a surname, afterwards changed to Alighieri. The son of Aldighiero was Bellincione, father of Aldighiero II., the father of Dante. It serves no purpose to fill a page of biography with genealogical details when the hero's course in life was in no way affected by the accident of who was his grandfather. In the case of Dante, his position in the State, his political creed, and his whole fashion of regarding life, were vitally influenced by the circumstances of his birth. He knew that his genius, and his genius alone, was to procure him fame; he declares a virtuous and gentle life to be the true proof of nobility: and yet his family pride is always breaking through. In real life, from his family's being decayed in wealth and fallen in consideration compared with its neighbours, he may have been led to put emphasis on his assertion of gentility; and amid the poverty and humiliations of his exile he may have found a tonic in the thought that by birth, not to speak of other things, he was the equal of those who spurned him or coldly lent him aid. However this may be, there is a tacit claim of equality with them in the easy grace with which he encounters great nobles in the world of shades. The bent of his mind in relation to this subject is shown by such a touch as that when he esteems it among the glories of Francis of Assisi not to have been ashamed of his base extraction.[24] In Paradise he meets his great crusading ancestor Cacciaguida, and feigns contrition for the pleasure with which he listens to a declaration of the unmixed purity of their common blood.[25] In Inferno he catches a glimpse, sudden and terrible, of a kinsman whose violent death had remained unavenged; and, for the nonce, the philosopher-poet is nothing but the member of an injured Florentine clan, and winces at the thought of a neglected blood feud.[26] And when Farinata, the great Ghibeline, and haughtiest of all the Florentines of the past generation, asks him, 'Who were thine ancestors?' Dante says with a proud pretence of humility, 'Anxious to obey, I hid nothing, but told him all he demanded.'[27] Dante was born in Florence in the May of 1265.[28] A brother of his father had been one of the guards of the Florentine Caroccio, or standard-bearing car, at the battle of Montaperti (1260). Whether Dante's father necessarily shared in the exile of his party may be doubted. He is said--on slight authority--to have been a jurisconsult: there is no reason to suppose he was at Montaperti. It is difficult to believe that Florence was quite emptied of its lawyers and merchants as a consequence of the Ghibeline victory. In any case, it is certain that while the fugitive Guelfs were mostly accompanied by their wives, and did not return till 1267, we have Dante's own word for it that he was born in the great city by the Arno,[29] and was baptized in the Baptistery, his beautiful St. John's.[30] At the font he received the name of Durante, shortened, as he bore it, into Dante. It is in this form that it finds a place in the _Comedy_,[31] once, and only once, written down of necessity, the poet says--the necessity of being faithful in the report of Beatrice's words: from the wider necessity, we may assume, of imbedding in the work itself the name by which the author was commonly known, and by which he desired to be called for all time. When Dante was about ten years old he lost his father. Of his mother nothing but her Christian name of Bella is known. Neither of them is mentioned in the _Comedy_,[32] nor indeed are his wife and children. Boccaccio describes the Alighieri as having been in easy though not in wealthy circumstances; and Leonardo Bruni, who in the fifteenth century sought out what he could learn of Dante, says of him that he was possessed of a patrimony sufficient for an honourable livelihood. That he was so might be inferred from the character of the education he received. His studies, says Boccaccio, were not directed to any object of worldly profit. That there is no sign of their having been directed by churchmen tends to prove the existence in his native town of a class of cultivated laymen; and that there was such appears from the ease with which, when, passing from boyhood to manhood, he felt a craving for intellectual and congenial society, he found in nobles of the stamp of Guido Cavalcanti men like-minded with himself. It was indeed impossible but that the revival of the study of the civil law, the importation of new learning from the East, and the sceptical spirit fostered in Italy by the influence of Frederick II. and his court, should all have told on the keen-witted Florentines, of whom a great proportion--even of the common people--could read; while the class with leisure had every opportunity of knowing what was going on in the world.[33] Heresy, the rough word for intellectual life as well as for religious aspiration, had found in Florence a congenial soil.[34] In the thirteenth century, which modern ignorance loves to reckon as having been in a special sense an age of faith, there were many Florentines who, in spite of their outward conformity, had drifted as far from spiritual allegiance to the Church as the furthest point reached by any of their descendants who some two ages later belonged to the school of Florentine Platonists. Chief among these free-thinkers, and, sooth to say, free-livers--though in this respect they were less distinguished from the orthodox--was Brunetto Latini, for some time Secretary to the Republic, and the foremost Italian man of letters of his day. Meagre though his greatest work, the _Tesoro_, or _Treasure_, must seem to any one who now glances over its pages, to his contemporaries it answered the promise of its title and stood for a magazine of almost complete information in the domains of natural history, ethics, and politics. It was written in French, as being a more agreeable language than Italian; and was composed, there is reason to believe, while Latini lived in Paris as an exiled Guelf after Montaperti. His _Tesoretto_, or _Little Treasure_, a poem in jingling eight-syllabled Italian verse, has been thought by some to have supplied hints to Dante for the _Comedy_.[35] By neither of these works is he evinced a man of strong intellect, or even of good taste. Yet there is the testimony of Villani that he did much to refine the language of his contemporaries, and to apply fixed principles to the conduct of State affairs.[36] Dante meets him in Inferno, and hails him as his intellectual father--as the master who taught him from day to day how fame is to be won.[37] But it is too much to infer from these words that Latini served as his teacher, in the common sense of the word. It is true they imply an intimacy between the veteran scholar and his young townsman; but the closeness of their intercourse is perhaps best accounted for by supposing that Latini had been acquainted with Dante's father, and by the great promise of Dante's boyhood was led to take a warm interest in his intellectual development. Their intimacy, to judge from the tone of their conversation down in Inferno, had lasted till Latini's death. But no tender reminiscence of the days they spent together avails to save him from condemnation at the hands of his severe disciple. By the manners of Brunetto, and the Epicurean heresies of others of his friends, Dante, we may be sure, was never infected or defiled. Dante describes himself as having begun the serious study of philosophy and theology only at the mature age of twenty-seven. But ere that time he had studied to good effect, and not books alone, but the world around him too, and the world within. The poet was formed before the theologian and philosopher. From his earliest years he was used to write in verse; and he seems to have esteemed as one of his best endowments the easy command of his mother tongue acquired by him while still in boyhood. Of the poems written in his youth he made a selection, and with a commentary gave them to the world as his first work.[38] All the sonnets and canzoni contained in it bear more or less directly on his love for Beatrice Portinari. This lady, whose name is so indissolubly associated with that of Dante, was the daughter of a rich citizen of good family. When Dante saw her first he was a child of nine, and she a few months younger. It would seem fabulous, he says, if he related what things he did, and of what a passion he was the victim during his boyhood. He seized opportunities of beholding her, but for long never passed beyond a silent worship; and he was eighteen before she spoke to him, and then only in the way of a passing salutation. On this he had a vision, and that inspired him with a sonnet, certainly not the first he had written, but the first he put into circulation. The mode of publication he adopted was the common one of sending copies of it to such other poets as were within reach. The sonnet in itself contains a challenge to interpret his dream. Several poets attempted the riddle--among them the philosopher and poet Guido Cavalcanti. They all failed in the solution; but with some of them he was thus brought into terms of intimacy, and with Cavalcanti of the closest friendship. Some new grace of style in Dante's verse, some art in the presentation of his mystical meaning that escapes the modern reader, may have revealed to the middle-aged man of letters that a new genius had arisen. It was by Guido's advice that the poems of which this sonnet stands the first were some years later collected and published with the explanatory narrative. To him, in a sense, the whole work is addressed; and it agreed with his taste, as well as Dante's own, that it should contain nothing but what was written in the vulgar tongue. Others besides Guido must have recognised in the little book, as it passed from hand to hand, the masterpiece of Italian prose, as well as of Italian verse. In the simple title of _Vita Nuova_, or _The New Life_,[39] we can fancy that a claim is laid to originality of both subject and treatment. Through the body of the work, though not so clearly as in the _Comedy_, there rings the note of assurance of safety from present neglect and future oblivion. It may be owing to the free use of personification and symbol in the _Vita Nuova_ that some critics, while not denying the existence of a real Beatrice, have held that she is introduced only to help out an allegory, and that, under the veil of love for her, the poet would express his youthful passion for truth. Others, going to the opposite extreme, are found wondering why he never sought, or, seeking, failed to win, the hand of Beatrice. To those who would refine the Beatrice of the early work into a being as purely allegorical as she of the _Comedy_, it may be conceded that the _Vita Nuova_ is not so much the history of a first love as of the new emotional and intellectual life to which a first love, as Dante experienced it, opens the door. Out of the incidents of their intercourse he chooses only such as serve for motives to the joys and sorrows of the passionate aspiring soul. On the other hand, they who seek reasons why Dante did not marry Beatrice have this to justify their curiosity, that she did marry another man. But her husband was one of the rich and powerful Bardi; and her father was so wealthy that after providing for his children he could endow a hospital in Florence. The marriage was doubtless arranged as a matter of family convenience, due regard being had to her dower and her husband's fortune; and we may assume that when Dante, too, was married later on, his wife was found for him by the good offices of his friends.[40] Our manners as regards these things are not those of the Italy of the thirteenth century. It may safely be said that Dante never dreamed of Beatrice for his wife; that the expectation of wedding her would have sealed his lips from uttering to the world any word of his love; and that she would have lost something in his esteem if, out of love for him, she had refused the man her father chose for her. We must not seek in the _Vita Nuova_ what it does not profess to give. There was a real Beatrice Portinari, to a careless glance perhaps not differing much from other Florentine ladies of her age and condition; but her we do not find in Dante's pages. These are devoted to a record of the dreams and visions, the new thoughts and feelings of which she was the occasion or the object. He worshipped at a distance, and in a single glance found reward enough for months of adoration; he read all heaven into a smile. So high strung is the narrative, that did we come on any hint of loving dalliance it would jar with all the rest She is always at a distance from him, less a woman than an angel. In all this there is certainly as much of reticence as of exaggeration. When he comes to speak of her death he uses a phrase on which it would seem as if too little value had been set. He cannot dwell on the circumstances of her departure, he says, without being his own panegyrist. Taken along with some other expressions in the _Vita Nuova_, and the tone of her words to him when they meet in the Earthly Paradise, we may gather from this that not only was she aware of his long devotion, but that, ere she died, he had been given to understand how highly she rated it. And on the occasion of her death, one described as being her nearest relative by blood and, after Cavalcanti, Dante's chief friend--her brother, no doubt--came to him and begged him to write something concerning her. It would be strange indeed if they had never looked frankly into one another's faces; and yet, for anything that is directly told in the _Vita Nuova_, they never did. The chief value of the _Vita Nuova_ is therefore psychological. It is a mine of materials illustrative of the author's mental and emotional development, but as regards historical details it is wanting in fulness and precision. Yet, even in such a sketch of Dante's life as this tries to be, it is necessary to dwell on the turning-points of the narrative contained in the _Vita Nuova_; the reader always remembering that on one side Dante says more than the fact that so he may glorify his love, and less on another that he may not fail in consideration for Beatrice. She is first a maiden whom no public breath is to disturb in her virgin calm; and afterwards a chaste wife, whose lover is as jealous of her reputation as any husband could be. The youthful lover had begun by propounding the riddle of his love so obscurely that even by his fellow-poets it had been found insoluble, adepts though they themselves were in the art of smothering a thought. Then, though all his longing is for Beatrice, lest she become the subject of common talk he feigns that he is in love first with one lady and then with another.[41] He even pushes his deceit so far that she rebukes him for his fickleness to one of his sham loves by denying him the customary salutation when they meet--this salutation being the only sign of friendship she has ever shown. It is already some few years since the first sonnet was written. Now, in a ballad containing a more direct avowal of his love than he has yet ventured on,[42] he protests that it was always Beatrice his heart was busy with, and that to her, though his eyes may have seemed to wander, his affection was always true. In the very next poem we find him as if debating with himself whether he shall persevere. He weighs the ennobling influence of a pure love and the sweetness it gives to life, against the pains and self-denial to which it condemns its servant. Here, he tells us in his commentary, he was like a traveller who has come to where the ways divide. His only means of escape--and he feels it is a poor one--is to throw himself into the arms of Pity. From internal evidence it seems reasonably certain that the marriage of Beatrice fell at the time when he describes himself as standing at the parting of the ways. Before that he has been careful to write of his love in terms so general as to be understood only by those in possession of the key. Now he makes direct mention of her, and seeks to be in her company; and he even leads us to infer that it was owing to his poems that she became a well-known personage in the streets of Florence. Immediately after the sonnet in which he has recourse to Pity, he tells how he was led by a friend into the house of a lady, married only that day, whom they find surrounded by her lady friends, met to celebrate her home-coming after marriage. It was the fashion for young gentlemen to offer their services at such a feast. On this occasion Dante for one can give no help. A sudden trembling seizes him; he leans for support against the painted wall of the chamber; then, lifting his eyes to see if the ladies have remarked his plight, he is troubled at beholding Beatrice among them, with a smile on her lips, as, leaning towards her, they mock at her lover's weakness. To his friend, who, as he leads him from the chamber, asks what ails him, he replies: 'My feet have reached that point beyond which if they pass they can never return.' It was only matrons that gathered round a bride at her home-coming; Beatrice was therefore by this time a married woman. That she was but newly married we may infer from Dante's confusion on finding her there.[43] His secret has now been discovered, and he must either renounce his love, or, as he is at length free to do, Beatrice being married, declare it openly, and spend his life in loyal devotion to her as the mistress of his imagination and of his heart.[44] But how is he to pursue his devotion to her, and make use of his new privilege of freer intercourse, when the very sight of her so unmans him? He writes three sonnets explaining what may seem pusillanimity in him, and resolves to write no more. Now comes the most fruitful episode in the history. Questioned by a bevy of fair ladies what is the end of a love like his, that cannot even face the object of its desire, he answers that his happiness lies in the words by which he shows forth the praises of his mistress. He has now discovered that his passion is its own reward. In other words, he has succeeded in spiritualising his love; although to a careless reader it might seem in little need of passing through the process. Then, soon after, as he walks by a crystal brook, he is inspired with the words which begin the noblest poem he had yet produced,[45] and that as the author of which he is hailed by a fellow-poet in Purgatory. It is the first to glorify Beatrice as one in whom Heaven is more concerned than Earth; and in it, too, he anticipates his journey through the other world. She dies,[46] and we are surprised to find that within a year of her death he wavers in his allegiance to her memory. A fair face, expressing a tender compassion, looks down on him from a window as he goes nursing his great sorrow; and he loves the owner of the face because she pities him. But seeing Beatrice in a vision he is restored, and the closing sonnet tells how his whole desire goes forth to her, and how his spirit is borne above the highest sphere to behold her receiving honour, and shedding radiance on all around her. The narrative closes with a reference to a vision which he does not recount, but which incites him to severe study in order that he may learn to write of her as she deserves. And the last sentence of the _Vita Nuova_ expresses a hope--a hope which would be arrogant coming after anything less perfect than the _Vita Nuova_--that, concerning her, he shall yet say things never said before of any woman. Thus the poet's earliest work contains an earnest of the latest, and his morning makes one day with his evening. The narrative of the _Vita Nuova_ is fluent and graceful, in this contrasting strongly with the analytical arguments attached to the various poems. Dante treats his readers as if they were able to catch the meaning of the most recondite allegory, and yet were ignorant of the alphabet of literary form. And, as is the case with other poets of the time, the free movement of his fancy is often hampered by the necessity he felt of expressing himself in the language of the popular scholastic philosophy. All this is but to say that he was a man of his period, as well as a great genius. And even in this his first work he bettered the example of Guido Cavalcanti, Guido of Bologna, and the others whom he found, but did not long suffer to remain, the masters of Italian verse.[47] These inherited from the Provençal and Sicilian poets much of the cant of which European poetry has been so slow to clear itself; and chiefly that of presenting all human emotion and volition under the figure of love for a mistress, who was often merely a creature of fancy, set up to act as Queen of Beauty while the poet ran his intellectual jousts. But Dante dealt in no feigned inspiration, and distinguishes himself from the whole school of philosophical and artificial poets as 'one who can only speak as love inspires.'[48] He may deal in allegory and utter sayings dark enough, but the first suggestions of his thoughts are obtained from facts of emotion or of real life. His lady was no creature of fancy, but his neighbour Beatrice Portinari: and she who ends in the _Paradiso_ as the embodied beauty of holiness was, to begin with, a fair Florentine girl. The instance of Beatrice is the strongest, although others might be adduced, to illustrate Dante's economy of actual experience; the skilful use, that is, of real emotions and incidents to serve for suggestion and material of poetical thought. As has been told, towards the close of the _Vita Nuova_ he describes how he found a temporary consolation for the loss of Beatrice in the pity of a fair and noble lady. In his next work, the _Convito_, or _Banquet_, she appears as the personification of philosophy. The plan of the _Convito_ is that of a commentary on odes which are interpreted as having various meanings--among others the literal as distinguished from the allegorical or essentially true. As far as this lady is concerned, Dante shows some eagerness to pass from the literal meaning; desirous, it may be, to correct the belief that he had ever wavered in his exclusive devotion to Beatrice. That for a time he did transfer his thoughts from Beatrice in Heaven to the fair lady of the window is almost certain, and by the time he wrote the _Purgatorio_ he was able to make confession of such a fault. But at the earlier period at which the _Convito_[49] was written, he may have come to regard the avowal in the _Vita Nuova_ as an oversight dishonouring to himself as well as to his first love, and so have slurred it over, leaving the fact to stand enveloped in an allegory. At any rate, to his gloss upon this passage in his life we are indebted for an interesting account of how, at the age of twenty-seven, he put himself to school:-- 'After losing the earliest joy of my life, I was so smitten with sorrow that in nothing could I find any comfort. Yet after some time my mind, eager to recover its tone, since nought that I or others could do availed to restore me, directed itself to find how people, being disconsolate, had been comforted. And so I took to reading that little-known book by Boethius, by writing which he, captive and in exile, had obtained relief. Next, hearing that Tully as well had written a book in which, treating of friendship, he had consoled the worthy Laelius on the occasion of the loss of his friend Scipio, I read that too. And though at the first I found their meaning hard, at last I comprehended it as far as my knowledge of the language and some little command of mother-wit enabled me to do: which same mother-wit had already helped me to much, as may be seen by the _Vita Nuova_. And as it often happens that a man goes seeking silver, and lights on gold he is not looking for--the result of chance, or of some divine provision; so I, besides finding the consolation I was in search of to dry my tears, became possessed of wisdom from authors and sciences and books. Weighing this well, I deemed that philosophy, the mistress of these authors, sciences, and books, must be the best of all things. And imagining her to myself fashioned like a great lady, rich in compassion, my admiration of her was so unbounded that I was always delighting myself in her image. And from thus beholding her in fancy I went on to frequent the places where she is to be found in very deed--in the schools of theology, to wit, and the debates of philosophers. So that in a little time, thirty months or so, I began to taste so much of her sweetness that the love I bore to her effaced or banished every other thought.'[50] No one would guess from this description of how he grew enamoured of philosophy, that at the beginning of his arduous studies Dante took a wife. She was Gemma, the daughter of Manetto Donati, but related only distantly, if at all, to the great Corso Donati. They were married in 1292, he being twenty-seven; and in the course of the nine years that elapsed till his exile she bore him five sons and two daughters.[51] From his silence regarding her in his works, and from some words of Boccaccio's which apply only to the period of his exile, it has been inferred that the union was unhappy. But Dante makes no mention in his writings of his parents or children any more than of Gemma.[52] And why should not his wife be included among the things dearest to him which, he tells us, he had to leave behind him on his banishment? For anything we know to the contrary, their wedded life up to the time of his exile may have been happy enough; although most probably the marriage was one of convenience, and almost certainly Dante found little in Gemma's mind that answered to his own.[53] In any case it is not safe to lay stress upon his silence. During the period covered by the _Vita Nuova_ he served more than once in the field, and to this none of his earlier works make any reference. In 1289, Arezzo having warmly espoused the Ghibeline cause, the Florentines, led by Corso Donati and the great merchant Vieri dei Cerchi, took up arms and met the foe in the field of Campaldino, on the edge of the upland region of the Casentino. Dante, as a young man of means and family, fought in the vanguard;[54] and in a letter partly preserved by one of his early biographers[55] he describes himself as being then no tiro in arms, and as having with varying emotions watched the fortunes of the day. From this it is clear that he had served before, probably in an expedition into the Aretine territory made in the previous year, and referred to in the _Inferno_.[56] In the same year as Campaldino was won he was present at the surrender of Caprona, a fortress belonging to Pisa.[57] But of all this he is silent in his works, or only makes casual mention of it by way of illustration. It is, therefore, a waste of time trying to prove his domestic misery from his silence about his marriage. IV. So hard a student was Dante that he now for a time nearly lost the use of his eyes.[58] But he was cured by regimen, and came to see as well as ever, he tells us; which we can easily believe was very well indeed. For his work, as he planned it out, he needed all his powers. The _Convito_, for example, was designed to admit of a full treatment of all that concerns philosophy. It marks an earlier stage of his intellectual and spiritual life than does the opening of the _Inferno_. In it we have the fruit of the years during which he was wandering astray from his early ideal, misled by what he afterwards came to count as a vain and profitless curiosity. Most of its contents, as we have it,[59] are only indirectly interesting. It is impossible for most people to care for discussions, conducted with all the nicety of scholastic definition, on such subjects as the system of the universe as it was evolved out of the brains of philosophers; the subject-matter of knowledge; and how we know. But there is one section of it possessed of a very special interest, the Fourth, in which he treats of the nature of nobility. This he affirms to be independent of wealth or ancestry, and he finds every one to be noble who practises the virtues proper to his time of life. 'None of the Uberti of Florence or the Visconti of Milan can say he is noble because belonging to such or such a race; for the Divine seed is sown not in a family but in the individual man.' This amounts, it must be admitted, to no more than saying that high birth is one thing, and nobility of character another; but it is significant of what were the current opinions, that Dante should be at such pains to distinguish between the two qualities. The canzone which supplies the text for the treatise closes with a picture of the noble soul at every stage of life, to which Chaucer may well have been indebted for his description of the true gentleman:[60]--'The soul that is adorned by this grace does not keep it hid, but from the day when soul is wed to body shows it forth even until death. In early life she is modest, obedient, and gentle, investing the outward form and all its members with a gracious beauty: in youth she is temperate and strong, full of love and courteous ways, delighting in loyal deeds: in mature age she is prudent, and just, and apt to liberality, rejoicing to hear of others' good. Then in the fourth stage of life she is married again to God,[61] and contemplates her approaching end with thankfulness for all the past.'[62] In this passage it is less the poet that is heard than the sober moralist, one with a ripe experience of life, and contemptuous of the vulgar objects of ambition. The calm is on the surface. As has been said above, he was proud of his own birth, the more proud perhaps that his station was but a middling one; and to the close of his life he hated upstarts with their sudden riches, while the Philip Argenti on whom in the _Inferno_ he takes what has much the air of a private revenge may have been only a specimen of the violent and haughty nobles with whom he stood on an uneasy footing. Yet the impression we get of Dante's surroundings in Florence from the _Vita Nuova_ and other poems, from references in the _Comedy_, and from some anecdotes more or less true which survive in the pages of Boccaccio and elsewhere, is on the whole a pleasant one. We should mistake did we think of him as always in the guise of absorbed student or tearful lover. Friends he had, and society of various kinds. He tells how in a severe illness he was nursed by a young and noble lady, nearly related to him by blood--his sister most probably; and other ladies are mentioned as watching in his sick-chamber.[63] With Forese and Piccarda Donati, brother and sister of the great Corso Donati, he was on terms of the warmest friendship.[64] From the _Vita Nuova_ we can gather that, even when his whole heart fainted and failed at the mere sight of Beatrice, he was a favourite with other ladies and conversed familiarly with them. The brother of Beatrice was his dear friend; while among those of the elder generation he could reckon on the friendship of such men as Guido Cavalcanti and Brunetto Latini. Through Latini he would, even as a young man, get the entry of the most lettered and intellectually active society of Florence. The tradition of his intimacy with Giotto is supported by the mention he makes of the painter,[65] and by the fact, referred to in the _Vita Nuova_, that he was himself a draughtsman. It is to be regretted there are not more anecdotes of him on record like that which tells how one day as he drew an angel on his tablets he was broken in upon by 'certain people of importance.' The musician Casella, whom he 'woes to sing in Purgatory'[66] and Belacqua, the indolent good-humoured lutemaker,[67] are greeted by him in a tone of friendly warmth in the one case and of easy familiarity in the other, which help us to know the terms on which he stood with the quick-witted artist class in Florence.[68] Already he was in the enjoyment of a high reputation as a poet and scholar, and there seemed no limit to the greatness he might attain to in his native town as a man of action as well as a man of thought. In most respects the Florence of that day was as fitting a home for a man of genius as could well be imagined. It was full of a life which seemed restless only because the possibilities of improvement for the individual and the community seemed infinite. A true measure of its political progress and of the activity of men's minds is supplied by the changes then being made in the outward aspect of the city. The duties of the Government were as much municipal as political, and it would have surprised a Florentine to be told that the one kind of service was of less dignity than the other. The population grew apace, and, to provide the means for extending the city walls, every citizen, on pain of his testament being found invalid, was required to bequeath a part of his estate to the public. Already the banks of the Arno were joined by three bridges of stone, and the main streets were paved with the irregularly-shaped blocks of lava still familiar to the sojourner in Florence. But between the time of Dante's boyhood and the close of the century the other outstanding features of the city were greatly altered, or were in the course of change. The most important churches of Florence, as he first knew it, were the Baptistery and the neighbouring small cathedral church of Santa Reparata; after these ranked the church of the Trinity, Santo Stefano, and some other churches which are now replaced by larger ones, or of which the site alone can be discovered. On the other side of the river, Samminiato with its elegant façade rose as now upon its hill.[69] The only great civic building was the Palace of the Podesta. The Old Market was and had long been the true centre of the city's life. At the time Dante went into exile Arnolfo was already working on the great new cathedral of St. Mary of the Flowers, the spacious Santa Croce, and the graceful Badia; and Santa Maria Novella was slowly assuming the perfection of form that was later to make it the favourite of Michel Angelo. The Palace of the Signory was already planned, though half a century was to elapse before its tower soared aloft to daunt the private strongholds which bristled, fierce and threatening, all over the city. The bell-tower of Giotto, too, was of later erection--the only pile we can almost regret that Dante never saw. The architect of it was however already adorning the walls of palace and cloister with paintings whose inspiration was no longer, like that of the works they overshadowed, drawn from the outworn motives of Byzantine art, but from the faithful observation of nature.[70] He in painting and the Pisan school in sculpture were furnishing the world with novel types of beauty in the plastic arts, answering to the 'sweet new style' in verse of which it was Dante that discovered the secret.[71] Florence was now by far the leading city in Tuscany. Its merchants and money-dealers were in correspondence with every Mediterranean port and with every country of the West. Along with bales of goods and letters of exchange new ideas and fresh intelligence were always on the road to Florence. The knowledge of what was going on in the world, and of what men were thinking, was part of the stock-in-trade of the quick-witted citizens, and they were beginning to be employed throughout Europe in diplomatic work, till then almost a monopoly of churchmen. 'These Florentines seem to me to form a fifth element,' said Boniface, who had ample experience of how accomplished they were. At home they had full employment for their political genius; and still upon the old problem, of how to curb the arrogance of the class that, in place of being satisfied to share in the general prosperity, sought its profit in the maintenance of privilege. It is necessary, at the cost of what may look like repetition, to revert to the presence and activity of this class in Florence, if we are to form a true idea of the circumstances of Dante's life, and enter into the spirit with which much of the _Comedy_ is informed. Though many of the nobles were now engaged in commerce and figured among the popular leaders, most of the greater houses stood proudly aloof from everything that might corrupt their gentility. These were styled the magnates: they found, as it were, a vocation for themselves in being nobles. Among them the true distinctive spirit of Ghibelinism survived, although none of them would now have dared to describe himself as a Ghibeline. Their strength lay partly in the unlimited control they retained over the serfs on their landward estates; in the loyalty with which the members of a family held by one another; in their great command of resources as the administrators of the _Parte Guelfa_; and in the popularity they enjoyed with the smaller people in consequence of their lavish expenditure, and frank if insolent manners. By law scarcely the equals of the full citizens, in point of fact they tyrannised over them. Their houses, set like fortresses in the crowded streets, frequently served as prisons and torture-chambers for the low-born traders or artisans who might offend them. Measures enough had been passed towards the close of the century with a view to curb the insolence of the magnates; but the difficulty was to get them put in force. At length, in 1294, they, with many additional reforms, were embodied in the celebrated Ordinances of Justice. These for long were counted back to as the Great Charter of Florence--a Great Charter defining the popular rights and the disabilities of the baronage. Punishments of special severity were enacted for nobles who should wrong a plebeian, and the whole of a family or clan was made responsible for the crimes and liabilities of its several members. The smaller tradesmen were conciliated by being admitted to a share in political influence. If serfage was already abolished in the State of Florence, it was the Ordinances which made it possible for the serf to use his liberty.[72] But the greatest blow dealt to the nobles by the new laws was their exclusion, as nobles, from all civil and political offices. These they could hold only by becoming members of one of the trade guilds.[73] And to deprive a citizen of his rights it was enough to inscribe his name in the list of magnates. It is not known in what year Dante became a member of the Guild of Apothecaries. Without much reason it has been assumed that he was one of the nobles who took advantage of the law of 1294. But there is no evidence that in his time the Alighieri ranked as magnates, and much ground for believing that for some considerable time past they had belonged to the order of full citizens. It was not necessary for every guildsman to practise the art or engage in the business to which his guild was devoted, and we are not required to imagine Dante as having anything to do with medicine or with the spices and precious stones in which the apothecaries traded. The guilds were political as much as industrial associations, and of the public duties of his membership he took his full share. The constitution of the Republic, jealously careful to limit the power of the individual citizen, provided that the two chief executive officers, the Podesta and the Captain of the People, should always be foreigners. They held office only for six months. To each of them was assigned a numerous Council, and before a law could be abrogated or a new one passed it needed the approval of both these Councils, as well as that of the Priors, and of the heads of the principal guilds. The Priors were six in number, one for each district of the city. With them lay the administration in general of the laws, and the conduct of foreign affairs. Their office was elective, and held for two months.[74] Of one or other of the Councils Dante is known to have been a member in 1295, 1296, 1300, and 1301.[75] In 1299 he is found engaged on a political mission to the little hill-city of San Gemigniano, where in the town-house they still show the pulpit from which he addressed the local senate.[76] From the middle of June till the middle of August 1300 he served as one of the Priors.[77] At the time when Dante entered on this office, Florence was distracted by the feud of Blacks and Whites, names borrowed from the factions of Pistoia, but fated to become best known from their use in the city which adopted them. The strength of the Blacks lay in the nobles whom the Ordinances of Justice had been designed to depress; both such of them as had retained their standing as magnates, and such as, under the new law, had unwillingly entered the ranks of the citizens. Already they had succeeded in driving into exile Giano della Bella,[78] the chief author of the Ordinances; and their efforts--and those of the citizens who, fearing the growing power of the lesser guilds, were in sympathy with them--were steadily directed to upset the reforms. An obvious means to this end was to lower in popular esteem the public men whose policy it was to govern firmly on the new lines. The leader of the discontented party was Corso Donati, a man of small fortune, but of high birth; of splendid personal appearance, open-handed, and of popular manners. He and they who went with him affected a violent Guelfism, their chance of recovering the control of domestic affairs being the better the more they could frighten the Florentines with threats of evils like those incurred by the Aretines and Pisans from Ghibeline oppression. It may be imagined what meaning the cry of Ghibeline possessed in days when there was still a class of beggars in Florence--men of good names--whose eyes had been torn out by Farinata and his kind. One strong claim which Corso Donati had on the goodwill of his fellow-townsmen was that by his ready courage in pushing on the reserves, against superior orders, at the battle of Campaldino,[79] the day had been won to Florence and her allies. As he rode gallantly through the streets he was hailed as the Baron (_il Barone_), much as in the last generation the victor of Waterloo was sufficiently distinguished as the Duke. At the same battle, Vieri dei Cerchi, the leader of the opposite party of the Whites, had shown no less bravery, but he was ignorant of the art, or despised it, of making political capital out of the performance of his duty. In almost every respect he offered a contrast to Donati. He was of a new family, and his influence depended not on landed possessions, though he had these too, but on wealth derived from commerce.[80] According to John Villani, a competent authority on such a point,[81] he was at the head of one of the greatest trading houses in the world. The same crowds that cheered Corso as the great Baron sneered at the reticent and cold-tempered merchant as the Ghibeline. It was a strange perversion of ideas, and yet had this of justification, that all the nobles of Ghibeline tendency and all the citizens who, on account of their birth, were suspected of leaning that way were driven into the party of the Whites by the mere fact of the Blacks hoisting so defiantly the Guelf flag, and commanding the resources of the _Parte Guelfa_. But if Ghibelinism meant, as fifty years previously it did mean, a tendency to exalt privilege as against the general liberties and to court foreign interference in the affairs of Florence, it was the Blacks and not the Whites who had served themselves heirs to Ghibelinism. That the appeal was now taken to the Pope instead of to the Emperor did not matter; or that French soldiers in place of German were called in to settle domestic differences. The Roman See was at this time filled by Boniface VIII., who six years previously, by violence and fraud, had procured the resignation of Celestine V.--him who made the great refusal.[82] Boniface was at once arrogant and subtle, wholly faithless, and hampered by no scruple either of religion or humanity. But these qualities were too common among those who before and after him filled the Papal throne, to secure him in a special infamy. That he has won from the ruthless hatred which blazes out against him in many a verse of Dante's,[83] and for this hatred he is indebted to his interference in the affairs of Florence, and what came as one of the fruits of it--the poet's exile. And yet, from the point of view not only of the interest of Rome but also of Italy, there is much to be said for the policy of Boniface. German domination was a just subject of fear, and the Imperialist element was still so strong in Northern and Central Italy, that if the Emperor Albert[84] had been a man of a more resolute ambition, he might--so contemporaries deemed--have conquered Italy at the cost of a march through it. The cities of Romagna were already in Ghibeline revolt, and it was natural that the Pope should seek to secure Florence on the Papal side. It was for the Florentines rather than for him to judge what they would lose or gain by being dragged into the current of general politics. He made a fair beginning with an attempt to reconcile the two parties. The Whites were then the dominant faction, and to them reconciliation meant that their foes would at once divide the government with them, and at the long-run sap the popular liberties, while the Pope's hand would soon be allowed to dip freely into the communal purse. The policy of the Whites was therefore one of steady opposition to all foreign meddling with Florence. But it failed to secure general support, for without being Ghibeline in fact it had the air of being so; and the name of Ghibeline was one that no reasoning could rob of its terrors.[85] As was usual in Florence when political feeling ran high, the hotter partisans came to blows, and the streets were more than once disturbed by violence and bloodshed. To an onlooker it must have seemed as if the interposition of some external authority was desirable; and almost on the same day as the new Priors, of whom Dante was one and who were all Whites, took office in the June of 1300, the Cardinal Acquasparta entered the city, deputed by the Pope to establish peace. His proposals were declined by the party in power, and having failed in his mission he left the city, and took the priestly revenge upon it of placing it under interdict.[86] Ere many months were passed, the Blacks, at a meeting of the heads of the party, resolved to open negotiations anew with Boniface. For this illegal step some of them, including Corso Donati, were ordered into exile by the authorities, who, to give an appearance of impartiality to their proceedings, at the same time banished some of the Whites, and among them Guido Cavalcanti. It was afterwards made a charge against Dante that he had procured the recall of his friend Guido and the other Whites from exile; but to this he could answer that he was not then in office.[87] Corso in the meantime was using his enforced absence from Florence to treat freely with the Pope. Boniface had already entered into correspondence with Charles of Valois, brother of Philip, the reigning King of France, with the view of securing the services of a strongly-connected champion. It was the game that had been played before by the Roman Court when Charles of Anjou was called to Italy to crush the Hohenstaufens. This second Charles was a man of ability of a sort, as he had given cruel proof in his brother's Flemish wars. By the death of his wife, daughter of his kinsman Charles II. of Naples and so grand-daughter of Charles of Anjou, he had lost the dominions of Maine and Anjou, and had got the nickname of Lackland from his want of a kingdom. He lent a willing ear to Boniface, who presented him with the crown of Sicily on condition that he first wrested it from the Spaniard who wore it.[88] All the Papal influence was exerted to get money for the expenses of the descent on Sicily. Even churchmen were required to contribute, for it was a holy war, and the hope was that when Charles, the champion of the Church, had reduced Italy to obedience, won Sicily for himself by arms, and perhaps the Eastern Empire by marriage, he would win the Holy Sepulchre for Christendom. Charles crossed the Alps in August 1301, with five hundred men-at-arms, and, avoiding Florence on his southward march, found Boniface at his favourite residence of Anagni. He was created Pacificator of Tuscany, and loaded with other honours. What better served the purpose of his ambition, he was urged to retrace his steps and justify his new title by restoring peace to Florence. There the Whites were still in power, but they dared not declare themselves openly hostile to the Papal and Guelf interest by refusing him admission to the city. He came with gentle words, and ready to take the most stringent oaths not to tamper with the liberties of the Commonwealth; but once he had gained an entrance (November 1301) and secured his hold on Florence, he threw off every disguise, gave full play to his avarice, and amused himself with looking on at the pillage of the dwellings and warehouses of the Whites by the party of Corso Donati. By all this, says Dante, Charles 'gained no land,' Lackland as he was, 'but only sin and shame.'[89] There is a want of precise information as to the events of this time. But it seems probable that Dante formed one of an embassy sent by the rulers of Florence to the Pope in the autumn of this year; and that on the occasion of the entrance of Charles he was absent from Florence. What the embassy had to propose which Boniface could be expected to be satisfied with, short of complete submission, is not known and is not easy to guess. It seems clear at least that Dante cannot have been chosen as a person likely to be specially pleasing to the Roman Court. Within the two years preceding he had made himself prominent in the various Councils of which he was a member, by his sturdy opposition to affording aid to the Pope in his Romagnese wars. It is even possible that his theory of the Empire was already more or less known to Boniface, and as that Pontiff claimed Imperial authority over such states as Florence, this would be sufficient to secure him a rough reception.[90] Where he was when the terrible news came to him that for some days there had been no law in Florence, and that Corso Donati was sharing in the triumph of Charles, we do not know. Presageful of worse things to come, he did not seek to return, and is said to have been in Siena when he heard that, on the 27th January 1302, he had been sentenced to a heavy fine and political disabilities for having been guilty of extortion while a Prior, of opposing the coming of Charles, and of crimes against the peace of Florence and the interest of the _Parte Guelfa_. If the fine was not paid within three days his goods and property were to be confiscated. This condemnation he shared with three others. In the following March he was one of twelve condemned, for contumacy, to be burned alive if ever they fell into the hands of the Florentine authorities. We may perhaps assume that the cruel sentence, as well as the charge of peculation, was uttered only in order to conform to some respectable precedents. V. Besides Dante many other Whites had been expelled from Florence.[91] Whether they liked it or not, they were forced to seek aid from the Ghibelines of Arezzo and Romagna. This led naturally to a change of political views, and though at the time of their banishment all of them were Guelfs in various degrees, as months and years went on they developed into Ghibelines, more or less declared. Dissensions, too, would be bred among them out of recriminations touching the past, and charges of deserting the general interest for the sake of securing private advantage in the way of making peace with the Republic. For a time, however, the common desire of gaining a return to Florence held them together. Of the Council constituted to bring this about, Dante was a member. Once only with his associates does he appear to have come the length of formal negotiations with a view to getting back. Charles of Valois had passed away from the temporary scene of his extortions and treachery, upon the futile quest of a crown. Boniface, ere being persecuted to death by his old ally, Philip of France (1303), had vainly attempted to check the cruelty of the Blacks; and Benedict, his successor, sent the Cardinal of Ostia to Florence with powers to reconcile the two parties. Dante is usually credited with the composition of the letter in which Vieri dei Cerchi and his fellow-exiles answered the call of the Cardinal to discuss the conditions of their return home. All that had been done by the banished party, said the letter, had been done for the public good.[92] The negotiations came to nothing; nor were the exiles more fortunate in arms. Along with their allies they did once succeed by a sudden dash in penetrating to the market-place, and Florence lay within their grasp when, seized with panic, they turned and fled from the city, which many of them were never to see again. Almost certainly Dante took no active part in this attempt, and indeed there is little to show that he was ever heartily associated with the exiles. In his own words, he was compelled to break with his companions owing to their imbecility and wickedness, and to form a party by himself.[93] With the Whites, then, he had little more to do; and the story of their fortunes need not longer detain us. It is enough to say that while, like Dante, the chief men among them were for ever excluded from Florence, the principles for which they had contended survived, and even obtained something like a triumph within its walls. The success of Donati and his party, though won with the help of the people, was too clearly opposed to the popular interest to be permanent. Ere long the inveterate contradiction between magnate and merchant was again to change the course of Florentine politics; the disabilities against lawless nobles were again to be enforced; and Corso Donati himself was to be crushed in the collision of passions he had evoked but could not control (1308). Though tenderly attached to members of his family, Dante bore Corso a grudge as having been the chief agent in procuring his exile--a grudge which years could do nothing to wipe out. He places in the mouth of Forese Donati a prophecy of the great Baron's shameful death, expressed in curt and scornful words, terrible from a brother.[94] It is no figure of speech to say that Dante nursed revenge. For some few years his hopes were set on Henry of Luxemburg, elected Emperor in 1308. A Ghibeline, in the ordinary sense of the term, Dante never was. We have in his _De Monarchia_ a full account of the conception he had formed of the Empire--that of authority in temporal affairs embodied in a just ruler, who, being already supreme, would be delivered from all personal ambition; who should decree justice and be a refuge for all that were oppressed. He was to be the captain of Christian society and the guardian of civil right; as in another sphere the Pope was to be the shepherd of souls and the guardian of the deposit of Divine truth. In Dante's eyes the one great officer was as much God's vicegerent as the other. While the most that a Ghibeline or a moderate Guelf would concede was that there should be a division of power between Pope and Emperor--the Ghibeline leaving it to the Emperor and the Guelf to the Pope to define their provinces--Dante held, and in this he stood almost alone among politicians, that they ought to be concerned with wholly different kingdoms, and that Christendom was wronged by the trespass of either upon the other's domain. An equal wrong was done by the neglect by either of his duty, and both, as Dante judged, had been shamefully neglecting it. For more than half a century no Emperor had set foot in Italy; and since the Papal Court had under Clement V. been removed to Avignon (1305), the Pope had ceased to be a free agent, owing to his neighbourhood to France and the unscrupulous Philip.[95] Dante trusted that the virtuous single-minded Henry VII. would prove a monarch round whom all the best in Italy might gather to make him Emperor in deed as well as in name. His judgment took the colour of his hopes, for under the awful shadow of the Emperor he trusted to enter Florence. Although no Ghibeline or Imperialist in the vulgar sense, he constituted himself Henry's apologist and herald; and in letters addressed to the 'wicked Florentines,' to the Emperor, and to the Princes and Peoples of Italy, he blew as it were a trumpet-blast of triumph over the Emperor's enemies and his own. Henry had crossed the Alps, and was tarrying in the north of Italy, when Dante, with a keen eye for where the key of the situation lay, sharpened by his own wishes, urged him to lose no more time in reducing the Lombard cities to obedience, but to descend on Florence, the rotten sheep which was corrupting all the Italian flock. The men of Florence he bids prepare to receive the just reward of their crimes. The Florentines answered Dante's bitter invective and the Emperor's milder promises by an unwearied opposition with the arms which their increasing command of all that tends to soften life made them now less willing to take up, and by the diplomacy in which they were supreme The exiles were recalled, always excepting the more stubborn or dangerous; and among these was reckoned Dante. Alliances were made on all hands, an art which Henry was notably wanting in the trick of. Wherever he turned he was met and checkmated by the Florentines, who, wise by experience, were set on retaining control of their own affairs. After his coronation at Rome (1312),[96] he marched northwards, and with his Pisan and Aretine allies for six weeks laid fruitless siege to Florence. King Robert of Naples, whose aid he had hoped to gain by means of a family alliance, was joined to the league of Guelfs, and Henry passed away from Florence to engage in an enterprise against the Southern Kingdom, a design cut short by his death (1313). He was the last Emperor that ever sought to take the part in Italian affairs which on Dante's theory belonged to the Imperial office. Well-meaning but weak, he was not the man to succeed in reducing to practice a scheme of government which had broken down even in the strong hands of the two Fredericks, and ere the Commonwealths of Italy had become each as powerful as a Northern kingdom. To explain his failure, Dante finds that his descent into Italy was unseasonable: he came too soon. Rather, it may be said, he came far too late.[97] When, on the death of Henry, Dante was disappointed in his hopes of a true revival of the Empire, he devoted himself for a time to urging the restoration of the Papal Court to Rome, so that Italy might at least not be left without some centre of authority. In a letter addressed to the Italian Cardinals, he besought them to replace Clement V., who died in 1314,[98] by an Italian Pope. Why should they, he asked, resign this great office into Gascon hands? Why should Rome, the true centre of Christendom, be left deserted and despised? His appeal was fruitless, as indeed it could not fail to be with only six Italian Cardinals in a College of twenty-four; and after a vacancy of two years the Gascon Clement was succeeded by another Gascon. Although Dante's motives in making this attempt were doubtless as purely patriotic as those which inspired Catherine of Siena to similar action a century later, he met, we may be sure, with but little sympathy from his former fellow-citizens. They were intent upon the interests of Florence alone, and even of these they may sometimes have taken a narrow view. His was the wider patriotism of the Italian, and it was the whole Peninsula that he longed to see delivered from French influence and once more provided with a seat of authority in its midst, even if it were only that of spiritual power. The Florentines for their part, desirous of security against the incursions of the northern horde, were rather set on retaining the goodwill of France than on enjoying the neighbourhood of the Pope. In this they were guilty of no desertion of their principles. Their Guelfism had never been more than a mode of minding themselves. For about three years (1313-1316) the most dangerous foe of Florence was Uguccione de la Faggiuola, a partisan Ghibeline chief, sprung from the mountain-land of Urbino, which lies between Tuscany and Romagna. He made himself lord of Pisa and Lucca, and defeated the Florentines and their allies in the great battle of Montecatini (1315). To him Dante is believed to have attached himself.[99] It would be easy for the Republic to form an exaggerated idea of the part which the exile had in shaping the policy or contributing to the success of his patron; and we are not surprised to find that, although Dante's fighting days were done, he was after the defeat subjected to a third condemnation (November 1315). If caught, he was to lose his head; and his sons, or some of them, were threatened with the same fate. The terms of the sentence may again have been more severe than the intentions of those who uttered it. However this may be, an amnesty was passed in the course of the following year, and Dante was urged to take advantage of it. He found the conditions of pardon too humiliating. Like a malefactor he would require to walk, taper in hand and a shameful mitre on his head, to the church of St John, and there make an oblation for his crimes. It was not in this fashion that in his more hopeful hours the exile had imagined his restoration. If ever he trod again the pavement of his beautiful St John's, it was to be proudly, as a patriot touching whom his country had confessed her sins; or, with a poet's more bashful pride, to receive the laurel crown beside the font in which he was baptized. But as he would not enter his well beloved, well hated Florence on the terms imposed by his enemies, so he never had the chance of entering it on his own. The spirit in which he, as it were, turned from the open gates of his native town is well expressed in a letter to a friend, who would seem to have been a churchman who had tried to win his compliance with the terms of the pardon. After thanking his correspondent for his kindly eagerness to recover him, and referring to the submission required, he says:--'And is it in this glorious fashion that Dante Alighieri, wearied with an almost trilustral exile, is recalled to his country? Is this the desert of an innocence known to all, and of laborious study which for long has kept him asweat?... But, Father, this is no way for me to return to my country by; though if by you or others one can be hit upon through which the honour and fame of Dante will take no hurt, it shall be followed by me with no tardy steps. If by none such Florence is to be entered, I will never enter Florence. What then! Can I not, wherever I may be, behold the sun and stars? Is not meditation upon the sweetness of truth as free to me in one place as another? To enjoy this, no need to submit myself ingloriously and with ignominy to the State and People of Florence! And wherever I may be thrown, in any case I trust at least to find daily bread.' The cruelty and injustice of Florence to her greatest son have been the subject of much eloquent blame. But, in justice to his contemporaries, we must try to see Dante as they saw him, and bear in mind that the very qualities fame makes so much of--his fervent temper and devotion to great ideas--placed him out of the reach of common sympathy. Others besides him had been banished from Florence, with as much or as little reason, and had known the saltness of bread which has been begged, and the steepness of strange stairs. The pains of banishment made them the more eager to have it brought to a close. With Dante all that he suffered went to swell the count of grievances for which a reckoning was some day to be exacted. The art of returning was, as he himself knew well, one he was slow to learn.[100] His noble obstinacy, which would stoop to no loss of dignity or sacrifice of principle, must excite our admiration; it also goes far to account for his difficulty in getting back. We can even imagine that in Florence his refusal to abate one tittle of what was due to him in the way of apology was, for a time, the subject of wondering speculation to the citizens, ere they turned again to their everyday affairs of politics and merchandise. Had they been more used to deal with men in whom a great genius was allied to a stubborn sense of honour, they would certainly have left less room in their treatment of Dante for happier ages to cavil at. How did the case stand? In the letter above quoted from, Dante says that his innocence was known to all. As far as the charge of corruption in his office-bearing went, his banishment--no one can doubt it for a moment--was certainly unjust; and the political changes in Florence since the death of Corso Donati had taken all the life out of the other charges. But by his eager appeals to the Emperor to chastise the Florentines he had raised fresh barriers against his return. The governors of the Republic could not be expected to adopt his theory of the Empire and share his views of the Imperial claims; and to them Dante must have seemed as much guilty of disloyalty to the Commonwealth in inviting the presence of Henry, as Corso Donati had been in Dante's eyes for his share in bringing Charles of Valois to harry Florence. His political writings since his exile--and all his writings were more or less political--had been such as might well confirm or create an opinion of him as a man difficult to live with, as one whose intellectual arrogance had a ready organ in his unsparing tongue or pen. Rumour would most willingly dwell upon and distort the features of his character and conduct that separated him from the common herd. And to add to all this, even after he had deserted the party of the Whites in exile, and had become a party to himself, he found his friends and patrons--for where else could he find them?--among the foes of Florence. VI. History never abhors a vacuum so much as when she has to deal with the life of a great man, and for those who must have details of Dante's career during the nineteen years which elapsed between his banishment and his death, the industry of his biographers has exhausted every available hint, while some of them press into their service much that has only the remotest bearing on their hero. If even one-half of their suppositions were adopted, we should be forced to the conclusion that the _Comedy_ and all the other works of his exile were composed in the intervals of a very busy life. We have his own word for this much, (_Convito_ i. 3,) that since he was cast forth out of Florence--in which he would 'fain rest his wearied soul and fulfil his appointed time'--he had been 'a pilgrim, nay, even a mendicant,' in every quarter of Italy,[101] and had 'been held cheap by many who, because of his fame, had looked to find him come in another guise.' But he gives no journal of his wanderings, and, as will have been observed, says no word of any country but Italy. Keeping close to well-ascertained facts, it seems established that in the earlier period of his exile he sojourned with members of the great family of the Counts Guidi,[102] and that he also found hospitality with the Malaspini,[103] lords of the Val di Magra, between Genoa and Lucca. At a still earlier date (August 1306) he is found witnessing a deed in Padua. It was most probably in the same year that Dante found Giotto there, painting the walls of the Scrovegni Chapel, and was courteously welcomed by the artist, and taken to his house.[104] At some time of his life he studied at Bologna: John Villani says, during his exile.[105] Of his supposed residence in Paris, though it is highly probable, there is a want of proof; of a visit to England, none at all that is worth a moment's consideration. Some of his commentators and biographers seem to think he was so short-witted that he must have been in a place before it could occur to him to name it in his verse. We have Dante's own word for it that he found his exile almost intolerable. Besides the bitter resentment which he felt at the injustice of it, he probably cherished the conviction that his career had been cut short when he was on the point of acquiring great influence in affairs. The illusion may have been his--one not uncommon among men of a powerful imagination--that, given only due opportunity, he could mould the active life of his time as easily as he moulded and fashioned the creations of his fancy. It was, perhaps, owing to no fault of his own that when a partial opportunity had offered itself, he failed to get his views adopted in Florence; indeed, to judge from the kind of employment in which he was more than once engaged for his patrons, he must have been possessed of no little business tact. Yet, as when his feelings were deeply concerned his words knew no restraint, so his hopes would partake of the largeness of his genius. In the restored Empire, which he was almost alone in longing for as he conceived of it, he may have imagined for himself a place beside Henry like what in Frederick's court had been filled by Pier delle Vigne--the man who held both keys to the Emperor's heart, and opened and shut it as he would.[106] Thus, as his exile ran on it would grow sadder with the accumulating memories of hopes deferred and then destroyed, and of dreams which had faded away in the light of a cheerless reality. But some consolations he must have found even in the conditions of his exile. He had leisure for meditation, and time enough to spend in that other world which was all his own. With the miseries of a wanderer's life would come not a few of its sweets--freedom from routine, and the intellectual stimulus supplied by change of place. Here and there he would find society such as he cared for--that of scholars, theologians, and men familiar with every court and school of Christendom. And, beyond all, he would get access to books that at home he might never have seen. It was no spare diet that would serve his mind while he was making such ample calls on it for his great work. As it proceeds we seem to detect a growing fulness of knowledge, and it is by reason of the more learned treatment, as well as the loftier theme of the Third Cantica, that so many readers, when once well at sea in the _Paradiso_, recognise the force of the warning with which it begins.[107] What amount of intercourse he was able to maintain with Florence during his wanderings is a matter of mere speculation, although of a more interesting kind than that concerned with the chronology of his uneasy travels. That he kept up at least some correspondence with his friends is proved by the letter regarding the terms of his pardon. There is also the well-known anecdote told by Boccaccio as to the discovery and despatch to him of the opening Cantos of the _Inferno_--an anecdote we may safely accept as founded on fact, although Boccaccio's informants may have failed to note at the time what the manuscript consisted of, and in the course of years may have magnified the importance of their discovery. With his wife he would naturally communicate on subjects of common interest--as, for instance, that of how best to save or recover part of his property--and especially regarding the welfare of his sons, of whom two are found to be with him when he acquires something like a settlement in Verona. It is quite credible that, as Boccaccio asserts, he would never after his exile was once begun 'go to his wife or suffer her to join him where he was;' although the statement is probably an extension of the fact that she never did join him. In any case it is to make too large a use of the words to find in them evidence, as has frequently been done, of the unhappiness of all his married life, and of his utter estrangement from Gemma during his banishment. The union--marriage of convenience though it was--might be harmonious enough as long as things went moderately well with the pair. Dante was never wealthy, but he seems to have had his own house in Florence and small landed possessions in its neighbourhood.[108] That before his banishment he was considerably in debt appears to be ascertained;[109] but, without knowing the circumstances in which he borrowed, it is impossible to be sure whether he may not only have been making use of his credit in order to put out part of his means to advantage in some of the numerous commercial enterprises in which his neighbours were engaged. In any case his career must have seemed full of promise till he was driven into banishment. When that blow had fallen, it is easy to conceive how what if it was not mutual affection had come to serve instead of it--esteem and forbearance--would be changed into indifference with the lapse of months and years of enforced separation, embittered and filled on both sides with the mean cares of indigence, and, it may be, on Gemma's side with the conviction that her husband had brought her with himself into disgrace. If all that is said by Boccaccio and some of Dante's enemies as to his temperament and behaviour were true, we could only hope that Gemma's indifference was deep enough to save her from the pangs of jealousy. And on the other hand, if we are to push suspicion to its utmost length, we may find an allusion to his own experience in the lines where Dante complains of how soon a widow forgets her husband.[110] But this is all matter of the merest speculation. Gemma is known to have been alive in 1314.[111] She brought up her children, says Boccaccio, upon a trifling part of her husband's confiscated estate, recovered on the plea that it was a portion of her dowry. There may have been difficulties of a material kind, insuperable save to an ardent love that was not theirs, in the way of Gemma's joining her husband in any of his cities of refuge. Complete evidence exists of Dante's having in his later years lived for a longer or shorter time in the three cities of Lucca, Verona, and Ravenna. In Purgatory he meets a shade from Lucca, in the murmur of whose words he catches he 'knows not what of Gentucca;'[112] and when he charges the Lucchese to speak plainly out, he is told that Lucca shall yet be found pleasant by him because of a girl not yet grown to womanhood. Uguccione, acting in the interest of Pisa, took possession of Lucca in 1314, and Dante is supposed to have taken up his residence there for some considerable time. What we may certainly infer from his own words in the _Purgatorio_ is that they were written after a stay in Lucca had been sweetened to him by the society of a lady named Gentucca. He cannot well have found shelter there before the city was held by Uguccione; and research has established that at least two ladies of the uncommon name of Gentucca were resident there in 1314. From the whole tone of his allusion--the mention of her very name and of her innocent girlhood--we may gather that there was nothing in his liking for her of which he had any reason to feel ashamed. In the _Inferno_ he had covered the whole people of Lucca with his scorn.[113] By the time he got thus far with the _Purgatorio_ his thoughts of the place were all softened by his memory of one fair face--or shall we rather say, of one compassionate and womanly soul? That Dante was more than susceptible to feminine charms is coarsely asserted by Boccaccio.[114] But on such a matter Boccaccio is a prejudiced witness, and, in the absence of sufficient proof to the contrary, justice requires us to assume that the tenor of Dante's life was not at variance with that of his writings. He who was so severe a judge of others was not, as we can infer from more than one passage of the _Comedy_, a lenient judge when his own failings were concerned.[115] That his conduct never fell short of his standard no one will venture to maintain. But what should have hindered him, in his hours of weariness and when even his hold on the future seemed to slacken, in lonely castle or strange town, to seek sympathy from some fair woman who might remind him in something of Beatrice?[116] When, in 1316, Uguccione was driven out of Lucca and Pisa, that great partisan took military service with Can Grande. It has been disputed whether Dante had earlier enjoyed the hospitality of the Scaligers, or was indebted for his first reception in Verona to the good offices of Uguccione. It is barely credible that by this time in his life he stood in need of any one to answer for him in the court of Can Grande. His fame as a political writer must have preceded him; and it was of a character to commend him to the good graces of the great Imperialist. In his _De Monarchia_ he had, by an exhaustive treatment of propositions which now seem childish or else the mere commonplaces of everyday political argument, established the right of the civil power to independence of Church authority; and though to the Scaliger who aimed at becoming Imperial lieutenant for all the North of Italy he might seem needlessly tender to the spiritual lordship of the Holy Father, yet the drift of his reasoning was all in favour of the Ghibeline position.[117] Besides this he had written on the need of refining the dialects of Italian, and reducing them to a language fit for general use in the whole of the Peninsula; and this with a novelty of treatment and wealth of illustration unequalled before or since in any first work on such a subject.[118] And, what would recommend him still more to a youthful prince of lofty taste, he was the poet of the 'sweet new style' of the _Vita Nuova_, and of sonnets, ballads, and canzoni rich in language and thought beyond the works of all previous poets in the vulgar tongues. Add to this that the _Comedy_ was already written, and published up, perhaps, to the close of the _Purgatorio_, and that all Italy was eager to find who had a place, and what kind of place, in the strange new world from which the veil was being withdrawn; and it is easy to imagine that Dante's reception at Can Grande's court was rather that of a man both admired and feared for his great genius, than that of a wandering scholar and grumbling exile. At what time Dante came to Verona, and for how long he stayed, we have no means of fixing with certainty. He himself mentions being there in 1320,[119] and it is usually supposed that his residence covered three years previous to that date; as also that it was shared by his two sons, Piero and Jacopo. One of these was afterwards to find a settlement at Verona in a high legal post. Except some frivolous legends, there is no evidence that Dante met with anything but generous treatment from Can Grande. A passage of the _Paradiso_, written either towards the close of the poet's residence at Verona, or after he had left it, is full of a praise of the great Scaliger so magnificent[120] as fully to make amends for the contemptuous mention in the _Purgatorio_ of his father and brother.[121] To Can Grande the _Paradiso_ was dedicated by the author in a long epistle containing an exposition of how the first Canto of that Cantica, and, by implication, the whole of the poem, is to be interpreted. The letter is full of gratitude for favours already received, and of expectation of others yet to come. From the terms of the dedication it has been assumed that ere it was made the whole of the _Paradiso_ was written, and that Dante praises the lord of Verona after a long experience of his bounty.[122] Whether owing to the restlessness of an exile, or to some prospect of attaining a state of greater ease or of having the command of more congenial society, we cannot tell; but from the splendid court of Can Grande he moved down into Romagna, to Ravenna, the city which of all in Italy would now be fixed upon by the traveller as the fittest place for a man of genius, weighed down by infinite sorrows, to close his days in and find a tomb. Some writers on the life of Dante will have it that in Ravenna he spent the greater part of his exile, and that when he is found elsewhere--in Lucca or Verona--he is only on a temporary absence from his permanent home.[123] But this conclusion requires some facts to be ignored, and others unduly dwelt on. In any case his patron there, during at least the last year or two of his life, was Guido Novello of Polenta, lord of Ravenna, the nephew of her who above all the persons of the _Comedy_ lives in the hearts of its readers. Bernardino, the brother of Francesca and uncle of Guido, had fought on the side of Florence at the battle of Campaldino, and Dante may then have become acquainted with him. The family had the reputation of being moderate Guelfs; but ere this the exile, with his ripe experience of men, had doubtless learned, while retaining intact his own opinions as to what was the true theory of government, to set good-heartedness and a noble aim in life above political orthodoxy. This Guido Novello--the younger Guido--bears the reputation of having been well-informed, of gentle manners, and fond of gathering around him men accomplished in literature and the fine arts. On the death of Dante he made a formal oration in honour of the poet. If his welcome of Dante was as cordial as is generally supposed, and as there is no reason to doubt that it was, it proved his magnanimity; for in the _Purgatorio_ a family specially hostile to the Polentas had been mentioned with honour,[124] while that to which his wife belonged had been lightly spoken of. How he got over the condemnation of his kinswoman to Inferno--even under such gentle conditions--it would be more difficult to understand were there not reason to believe that ere Dante went to Ravenna it had come to be a matter of pride in Italy for a family to have any of its members placed anywhere in that other world of which Dante held the key. It seems as if we might assume that the poet's last months or years were soothed by the society of his daughter--the child whom he had named after the object of his first and most enduring love.[125] Whether or not he was acting as Ambassador for Guido to Venice when he caught his last illness, it appears to be pretty well established that he was held in honour by his patron and all around him.[126] For his hours of meditation he had the solemn churches of Ravenna with their storied walls,[127] and the still more solemn pine forest of Classis, by him first annexed to the world of Romance.[128] For hours of relaxation, when they came, he had neighbours who dabbled in letters and who could at any rate sympathise with him in his love of study. He maintained correspondence with poets and scholars in other cities. In at least one instance this was conducted in the bitter fashion with which the humanists of a century or two later were to make the world familiar;[129] but with the Bolognese scholar, Giovanni del Virgilio, he engaged in a good-humoured, half-bantering exchange of Latin pastoral poems, through the artificial imagery of which there sometimes breaks a natural thought, as when in answer to the pedant's counsel to renounce the vulgar tongue and produce in Latin something that will entitle him to receive the laurel crown in Bologna, he declares that if ever he is crowned as a poet it will be on the banks of the Arno. Most of the material for forming a judgment of how Dante stood affected to the religious beliefs of his time is to be gathered from the _Comedy_, and the place for considering it would rather be in an essay on that work than in a sketch of his life which necessity compels to be swift. A few words may however be here devoted to the subject, as it is one with some bearing on the manner in which he would be regarded by those around him, and through that on the tenor of his life. That Dante conformed to Church observances, and, except with a few malevolent critics, bore the reputation of a good Catholic, there can be no doubt. It was as a politician and not as a heretic that he suffered persecution; and when he died he was buried in great honour within the Franciscan Church at Ravenna. Some few years after his death, it is true, his _De Monarchia_ was burned as heretical by orders of the Papal Legate in Lombardy, who would gladly, if he could, have had the bones of the author exhumed to share the fate of his book. But all this was only because the partisans of Lewis of Bavaria were making political capital out of the treatise. Attempts have been made to demonstrate that in spite of his outward conformity Dante was an unbeliever at heart, and that the _Comedy_ is devoted to the promulgation of a Ghibeline heresy--of which, we may be sure, no Ghibeline ever heard--and to the overthrow of all that the author professed most devoutly to believe.[130] Other critics of a more sober temper in speculation would find in him a Catholic who held the Catholic beliefs with the same slack grasp as the teaching of Luther was held by Lessing or Goethe.[131] But this is surely to misread the _Comedy_, which is steeped from beginning to end in a spirit of the warmest faith in the great Christian doctrines. It was no mere intellectual perception of these that Dante had--or professed to have--for when in Paradise he has satisfied Saint Peter of his being possessed of a just conception of the nature of faith, and is next asked if, besides knowing what is the alloy of the coin and the weight of it, he has it in his own purse, he answers boldly, 'Yea, and so shining and round that of a surety it has the lawful stamp.'[132] And further on, when required to declare in what he believes, nothing against the fulness of his creed is to be inferred from the fact that he stops short after pronouncing his belief in the existence of God and in the Trinity. This article he gives as implying all the others; it is 'the spark which spreads out into a vivid flame.'[133] Yet if the inquiry were to be pushed further, and it were sought to find how much of free thought he allowed himself in matters of religion, Dante might be discovered to have reached his orthodox position by ways hateful to the bigots who then took order for preserving the purity of the faith. The office of the Pope he deeply revered, but the Papal absolution avails nothing in his eyes compared with one tear of heartfelt repentance.[134] It is not on the word of Pope or Council that he rests his faith, but on the Scriptures, and on the evidences of the truth of Christianity, freely examined and weighed.[135] Chief among these evidences, it must however be noted, he esteemed the fact of the existence of the Church as he found it;[136] and in his inquiries he accepted as guides the Scholastic Doctors on whose reasonings the Church had set its seal of approbation. It was a foregone conclusion he reached by stages of his own. Yet that he sympathised at least as much with the honest search for truth as with the arrogant profession of orthodoxy, is shown by his treatment of heretics. He could not condemn severely such as erred only because their reason would not consent to rest like his in the prevalent dogmatic system; and so we find that he makes heresy consist less in intellectual error than in beliefs that tend to vitiate conduct, or to cause schism in societies divinely constituted.[137] For his own part, orthodox although he was, or believed himself to be--which is all that needs to be contended for,--in no sense was he priest-ridden. It was liberty that he went seeking on his great journey;[138] and he gives no hint that it is to be gained by the observance of forms or in submission to sacerdotal authority. He knows it is in his reach only when he has been crowned, and mitred too, lord of himself[139]--subject to Him alone of whom even Popes were servants.[140] Although in what were to prove his last months Dante might amuse himself with the composition of learned trifles, and in the society and correspondence of men who along with him, if on lines apart from his, were preparing the way for the revival of classical studies, the best part of his mind, then as for long before, was devoted to the _Comedy_; and he was counting on the suffrages of a wider audience than courts and universities could supply. Here there is no room to treat at length of that work, to which when we turn our thoughts all else he wrote--though that was enough to secure him fame--seems to fall into the background as if unworthy of his genius. What can hardly be passed over in silence is that in the _Comedy_, once it was begun, he must have found a refuge for his soul from all petty cares, and a shield against all adverse fortune. We must search its pages, and not the meagre records of his biographers, to find what was the life he lived during the years of his exile; for, in a sense, it contains the true journal of his thoughts, of his hopes, and of his sorrows. The plan was laid wide enough to embrace the observations he made of nature and of man, the fruits of his painful studies, and the intelligence he gathered from those experienced in travel, politics, and war. It was not only his imagination and artistic skill that were spent upon the poem: he gave his life to it. The future reward he knew was sure--an immortal fame; but he hoped for a nearer profit on his venture. Florence might at last relent, if not because of his innocence and at the spectacle of his inconsolable exile, at least on hearing the rumour of his genius borne to her from every corner of Italy:-- If e'er it comes that this my sacred Lay, To which both Heaven and Earth have set their hand-- Through which these many years I waste away-- Shall quell the cruelty that keeps me banned From the fair fold where I, a lamb, was found Hostile to wolves who 'gainst it violence planned; With other fleece and voice of other sound, Poet will I return, and at the font Where I was christened be with laurel crowned.[141] But with the completion of the _Comedy_ Dante's life too came to a close. He died at Ravenna in the month of September 1321. FOOTNOTES: [1] Matilda died in 1115. The name Tessa, the contraction of Contessa, was still, long after her time, sometimes given to Florentine girls. See Perrens, _Histoire de Florence_, vol. i. p. 126. [2] Whether by Matilda the great Countess is meant has been eagerly disputed, and many of the best critics--such as Witte and Scartazzini--prefer to find in her one of the ladies of the _Vita Nuova_. In spite of their pains it seems as if more can be said for the great Matilda than for any other. The one strong argument against her is, that while she died old, in the poem she appears as young. [3] See note on _Inferno_ xxx. 73. [4] It might, perhaps, be more correct to say that to some offices the nobles were eligible, but did not elect. [5] _Inf._ xiii. 75. [6] _Inf._ x. 119. [7] _Inf._ xxiii. 66. [8] _Inf._ x. 51. [9] _Purg._ vi. 144. [10] Dante sets the Abbot among the traitors in Inferno, and says scornfully of him that his throat was cut at Florence (_Inf._ xxxii. 119). [11] Villani throws doubt on the guilt of the Abbot. There were some cases of churchmen being Ghibelines, as for instance that of the Cardinal Ubaldini (_Inf._ x. 120). Twenty years before the Abbot's death the General of the Franciscans had been jeered at in the streets of Florence for turning his coat and joining the Emperor. On the other hand, many civilians were to be found among the Guelfs. [12] Manfred, says John Villani (_Cronica_, vi. 74 and 75), at first sent only a hundred men. Having by Farinata's advice been filled with wine before a skirmish in which they were induced to engage, they were easily cut in pieces by the Florentines; and the royal standard was dragged in the dust. The truth of the story matters less than that it was believed in Florence. [13] Provenzano is found by Dante in Purgatory, which he has been admitted to, in spite of his sins, because of his self-sacrificing devotion to a friend (_Purg._ xi. 121). [14] For this good advice he gets a word of praise in Inferno (_Inf._ xvi. 42). [15] These mercenaries, though called Germans, were of various races. There were even Greeks and Saracens among them. The mixture corresponded with the motley civilisation of Manfred's court. [16] _Inf._ xxxii. 79. [17] _Inf._ x. 93. [18] Lucera was a fortress which had been peopled with Saracens by Frederick. [19] Manfred, _Purg._ iii. 112; Charles, _Purg._ vii. 113. [20] _Purg._ xx. 67. [21] _Purg._ iii. 122. [22] For an account of the constitution and activity of the _Parte Guelfa_ at a later period, see Perrens, _Hist. de Florence_, vol. iv. p. 482. [23] _Purg._ xx. 68. [24] _Parad._ xi. 89. [25] _Parad._ xvi. 40, etc. [26] _Inf._ xxix. 31. [27] _Inf._ x. 42. Though Dante was descended from nobles, his rank in Florence was not that of a noble or magnate, but of a commoner. [28] The month is indicated by Dante himself, _Parad._ xxii. 110. The year has recently been disputed. For 1265 we have J. Villani and the earliest biographers; and Dante's own expression at the beginning of the _Comedy_ is in favour of it. [29] _Inf._ xxiii. 95. [30] _Inf._ xix. 17; _Parad._ xxv. 9. [31] _Purg._ xxx. 55. [32] _Inf._ viii. 45, where Virgil says of Dante that blessed was she that bore him, can scarcely be regarded as an exception to this statement. [33] In 1326, out of a population of ninety thousand, from eight to ten thousand children were being taught to read; and from five to six hundred were being taught grammar and logic in four high schools. There was not in Dante's time, or till much later, a University in Florence. See J. Villani, xi. 94, and Burckhardt, _Cultur der Renaissance_, vol. i. p. 76. [34] For an interesting account of Heresy in Florence from the eleventh to the thirteenth centuries, see Perrens, _Hist. de Florence_, vol. i. livre ii. chap. iii. [35] It opens with Brunetto's being lost in the forest of Roncesvalles, and there are some other features of resemblance--all on the surface--between his experience and Dante's. [36] G. Villani, viii. 10. Latini died in 1294. Villani gives the old scholar a very bad moral character. [37] _Inf._ xv. 84. [38] We may, I think, assume the _Vita Nuova_ to have been published some time between 1291 and 1300; but the dates of Dante's works are far from being ascertained. [39] So long as even Italian critics are not agreed as to whether the title means _New Life_, or _Youth_, I suppose one is free to take his choice; and it seems most natural to regard it as referring to the new world into which the lover is transported by his passion. [40] As, indeed, Boccaccio, _Vita di Dante_, expressly says was the case. [41] In this adopting a device frequently used by the love-poets of the period.--Witte, _Dante-Forschungen_, vol. ii. p. 312. [42] The _Vita Nuova_ contains some thirty poems. [43] See Sir Theodore Martin's Introduction to his Translation of _Vita Nuova_, page xxi. [44] In this matter we must not judge the conduct of Dante by English customs. [45] _Donne, ch' avete intelletto d' amore_: Ladies that are acquainted well with love. Quoted in _Purg._ xxiv. 51. [46] Beatrice died in June 1290, having been born in April 1266. [47] _Purg._ xi. 98. [48] _Purg._ xxiv. 52. [49] The date of the _Convito_ is still the subject of controversy, as is that of most of Dante's works. But it certainly was composed between the _Vita Nuova_ and the _Comedy_. There is a remarkable sonnet by Guido Cavalcanti addressed to Dante, reproaching him for the deterioration in his thoughts and habits, and urging him to rid himself of the woman who has bred the trouble. This may refer to the time after the death of Beatrice. See also _Purg._ xxx. 124. [50] _Convito_ ii. 13. [51] Some recent writers set his marriage five years later, and reduce the number of his children to three. [52] His sister is probably meant by the 'young and gentle lady, most nearly related to him by blood' mentioned in the _Vita Nuova_. [53] The difference between the Teutonic and Southern conception of marriage must be kept in mind. [54] He describes the weather on the day of the battle with the exactness of one who had been there (_Purg._ v. 155). [55] Leonardo Bruni. [56] _Inf._ xxii. 4. [57] _Inf._ xxi. 95. [58] _Conv._ iii. 9, where he illustrates what he has to say about the nature of vision, by telling that for some time the stars, when he looked at them, seemed lost in a pearly haze. [59] The _Convito_ was to have consisted of fifteen books. Only four were written. [60] _Wife of Bath's Tale._ In the context he quotes _Purg._ vii. 121, and takes ideas from the _Convito_. [61] Dies to sensual pleasure and is abstracted from all worldly affairs and interests. See _Convito_ iv. 28. [62] From the last canzone of the _Convito_. [63] In the _Vita Nuova_. [64] _Purg._ xxiii. 115, xxiv. 75; _Parad._ iii. 49. [65] _Purg._ xi. 95. [66] _Purg._ ii. 91. [67] _Purg._ iv. 123. [68] Sacchetti's stories of how Dante showed displeasure with the blacksmith and the donkey-driver who murdered his _canzoni_ are interesting only as showing what kind of legends about him were current in the streets of Florence.--Sacchetti, _Novelle_, cxiv, cxv. [69] _Purg._ xii. 101. [70] _Purg._ xi. 94:-- 'In painting Cimabue deemed the field His own, but now on Giotto goes the cry, Till by his fame the other's is concealed.' [71] Giotto is often said to have drawn inspiration from the _Comedy_; but that Dante, on his side, was indebted to the new school of painting and sculpture appears from many a passage of the _Purgatorio_. [72] Serfage had been abolished in 1289. But doubt has been thrown on the authenticity of the deed of abolition. See Perrens, _Hist. de Florence_, vol. ii. p. 349. [73] No unusual provision in the industrious Italian cities. Harsh though it may seem, it was probably regarded as a valuable concession to the nobles, for their disaffection appears to have been greatly caused by their uneasiness under disabilities. There is much obscurity on several points. How, for example, came the nobles to be allowed to retain the command of the vast resources of the _Parte Guelfa_? This made them almost independent of the Commonwealth. [74] At a later period the Priors were known as the Signory. [75] Fraticelli, _Storia della Vita di Dante_, page 112 and note. [76] It is to be regretted that Ampère in his charming _Voyage Dantesque_ devoted no chapter to San Gemigniano, than which no Tuscan city has more thoroughly preserved its mediæval character. There is no authority for the assertion that Dante was employed on several Florentine embassies. The tendency of his early biographers is to exaggerate his political importance and activity. [77] Under the date of April 1301 Dante is deputed by the Road Committee to see to the widening, levelling, and general improvement of a street in the suburbs.--Witte, _Dante-Forschungen_, vol. ii. p. 279. [78] Dante has a word of praise for Giano, at _Parad._ xvi. 127. [79] At which Dante fought. See page lxii. [80] Vieri was called Messer, a title reserved for magnates, knights, and lawyers of a certain rank--notaries and jurisconsults; Dante, for example, never gets it. [81] Villani acted for some time as an agent abroad of the great business house of Peruzzi. [82] _Inf._ iii. 60. [83] He is 'the Prince of the modern Pharisees' (_Inf._ xxvii. 85); his place is ready for him in hell (_Inf._ xix. 53); and he is elsewhere frequently referred to. In one great passage Dante seems to relent towards him (_Purg._ xx. 86). [84] Albert of Hapsburg was chosen Emperor in 1298, but was never crowned at Rome. [85] As in the days of Guelf and Ghibeline, so now in those of Blacks and Whites, the common multitude of townsmen belonged to neither party. [86] An interdict means that priests are to refuse sacred offices to all in the community, who are thus virtually subjected to the minor excommunication. [87] Guido died soon after his return in 1301. He had suffered in health during his exile. See _Inf._ x. 63. [88] Charles of Anjou had lost Sicily at the Sicilian Vespers, 1282. [89] _Purg._ xx. 76. [90] Witte attributes the composition of the _De Monarchia_ to a period before 1301 (_Dante-Forschungen_, vol. i. Fourth Art.), but the general opinion of critics sets it much later. [91] _Inf._ vi. 66, where their expulsion is prophesied. [92] Dante's authorship of the letter is now much questioned. The drift of recent inquiries has been rather to lessen than to swell the bulk of materials for his biography. [93] _Parad._ xvii. 61. [94] _Purg._ xxiv. 82. [95] See at _Purg._ xx. 43 Dante's invective against Philip and the Capets in general. [96] Henry had come to Italy with the Pope's approval. He was crowned by the Cardinals who were in Rome as Legates. [97] _Parad._ xxx. 136. High in Heaven Dante sees an ample chair with a crown on it, and is told it is reserved for Henry. He is to sit among those who are clothed in white. The date assigned to the action of the _Comedy_, it will be remembered, is the year 1300. [98] _Inf._ xix. 82, where the Gascon Clement is described as a 'Lawless Pastor from the West.' [99] The ingenious speculations of Troya (_Del Veltro Allegorico di Dante_) will always mark a stage in the history of the study of Dante, but as is often the case with books on the subject, his shows a considerable gap between the evidence adduced and the conclusions drawn from it. He would make Dante to have been for many years a satellite of the great Ghibeline chief. Dante's temper or pride, however we call it, seems to have been such as to preserve him from ever remaining attached for long to any patron. [100] _Inf._ x. 81. [101] The _Convito_ is in Italian, and his words are: 'wherever this language is spoken.' [102] His letter to the Florentines and that to the Emperor are dated in 1311, from 'Near the sources of the Arno'--that is, from the Casentino, where the Guidi of Romena dwelt. If the letter of condolence with the Counts Oberto and Guido of Romena on the death of their uncle is genuine, it has great value for the passage in which he excuses himself for not having come to the funeral:--'It was not negligence or ingratitude, but the poverty into which I am fallen by reason of my exile. This, like a cruel persecutor, holds me as in a prison-house where I have neither horse nor arms; and though I do all I can to free myself, I have failed as yet.' The letter has no date. Like the other ten or twelve epistles attributed to Dante, it is in Latin. [103] There is a splendid passage in praise of this family, _Purg._ viii. 121. A treaty is on record in which Dante acts as representative of the Malaspini in settling the terms of a peace between them and the Bishop of Luni in October 1306. [104] The authority for this is Benvenuto of Imola in his comment on the _Comedy_ (_Purg._ xi.). The portrait of Dante by Giotto, still in Florence, but ruined by modern bungling restoration, is usually believed to have been executed in 1301 or 1302. But with regard to this, see the note at the end of this essay. [105] It is true that Villani not only says that 'he went to study at Bologna,' but also that 'he went to Paris and many parts of the world' (_Cronica_, ix. 136), and that Villani, of all contemporary or nearly contemporary writers, is by far the most worthy of credence. But he proves to be more than once in error regarding Dante; making him, _e.g._, die in a wrong month and be buried in a wrong church at Ravenna. And the 'many parts of the world' shows that here he is dealing in hearsay of the vaguest sort. Nor can much weight be given to Boccaccio when he sends Dante to Bologna and Paris. But Benvenuto of Imola, who lectured on the _Comedy_ at Bologna within fifty years of Dante's death, says that Dante studied there. It would indeed be strange if he did not, and at more than one period, Bologna being the University nearest Florence. Proof of Dante's residence in Paris has been found in his familiar reference to the Rue du Fouarre (_Parad._ x. 137). His graphic description of the coast between Lerici and Turbia (_Purg._ iii. 49, iv. 25) certainly seems to show a familiarity with the Western as well as the Eastern Rivieras of Genoa. But it scarcely follows that he was on his way to Paris when he visited them. [106] _Inf._ xiii. 58. [107] 'O ye, who have hitherto been following me in some small craft, ... put not further to sea, lest, losing sight of me, you lose yourselves' (_Parad._ ii. 1). But, to tell the truth, Dante is never so weak as a poet as when he is most the philosopher or the theologian. The following list of books more or less known to him is not given as complete:--The Vulgate, beginning with St. Jerome's Prologue; Aristotle, through the Latin translation then in vogue; Averroes, etc.; Thomas Aquinas and the other Schoolmen; much of the Civil and Canon law; Boethius; Homer only in scraps, through Aristotle, etc.; Virgil, Cicero in part, Livy, Horace, Ovid, Terence, Lucan, and Statius; the works of Brunetto Latini; the poetical literature of Provence, France, and Italy, including the Arthurian Romances--the favourite reading of the Italian nobles, and the tales of Charlemagne and his Peers--equally in favour with the common people. There is little reason to suppose that among the treatises of a scientific and quasi-scientific kind that he fell in with, and of which he was an eager student, were included the works of Roger Bacon. These there was a conspiracy among priests and schoolmen to keep buried. Dante seems to have set little store on ecclesiastical legends of wonder; at least he gives them a wide berth in his works. [108] In the notes to Fraticelli's _Vita di Dante_ (Florence 1861) are given copies of documents relating to the property of the Alighieri, and of Dante in particular. In 1343 his son Jacopo, by payment of a small fine, recovered vineyards and farms that had been his father's.--Notes to Chap. iii. Fraticelli's admirable Life is now in many respects out of date. He accepts, _e.g._, Dino Compagni as an authority, and believes in the romantic story of the letter of Fra Ilario. [109] The details are given by Witte, _Dante-Forschungen_, vol ii. p. 61. The amount borrowed by Dante and his brother (and a friend) comes to nearly a thousand gold florins. Witte takes this as equivalent to 37,000 francs, _i.e._ nearly £1500. But the florin being the eighth of an ounce, or about ten shillings' worth of gold, a thousand florins would be equal only to £500--representing, of course, an immensely greater sum now-a-days. [110] _Purg._ viii. 76. [111] See in Scartazzini, _Dante Alighieri_, 1879, page 552, extract from the will of her mother Maria Donati, dated February 1314. Many of these Florentine dates are subject to correction, the year being usually counted from Lady-Day. 'In 1880 a document was discovered which proves Gemma to have been engaged in a law-suit in 1332.--_Il Propugnatore_, xiii^a. 156,'--Scheffer-Boichorst, _Aus Dantes Verbannung_, page 213. [112] _Purg._ xxiv. 37. [113] _Inf._ xxi. 40. [114] _In questo mirifico poeta trovò ampissimo luego la lussuria; e non solamente ne' giovanili anni, ma ancora ne' maturi._--Boccaccio, _La Vita di Dante_. After mentioning that Dante was married, he indulges in a long invective against marriage; confessing, however, that he is ignorant of whether Dante experienced the miseries he describes. His conclusion on the subject is that philosophers should leave marriage to rich fools, to nobles, and to handicraftsmen. [115] In Purgatory his conscience accuses him of pride, and he already seems to feel the weight of the grievous burden beneath which the proud bend as they purge themselves of their sin (_Purg._ xiii. 136). Some amount of self-accusation seems to be implied in such passages as _Inf._, v. 142 and _Purg._ xxvii. 15, etc.; but too much must not be made of it. [116] In a letter of a few lines to one of the Marquises Malaspina, written probably in the earlier years of his exile, he tells how his purpose of renouncing ladies' society and the writing of love-songs had been upset by the view of a lady of marvellous beauty who 'in all respects answered to his tastes, habits, and circumstances.' He says he sends with the letter a poem containing a fuller account of his subjection to this new passion. The poem is not found attached to the copy of the letter, but with good reason it is guessed to be the Canzone beginning _Amor, dacchè convien_, which describes how he was overmastered by a passion born 'in the heart of the mountains in the valley of that river beside which he had always been the victim of love.' This points to the Casentino as the scene. He also calls the Canzone his 'mountain song.' The passion it expresses may be real, but that he makes the most of it appears from the close, which is occupied by the thought of how the verses will be taken in Florence. [117] However early the _De Monarchia_ may have been written, it is difficult to think that it can be of a later date than the death of Henry. [118] The _De Vulgari Eloquio_ is in Latin. Dante's own Italian is richer and more elastic than that of contemporary writers. Its base is the Tuscan dialect, as refined by the example of the Sicilian poets. His Latin, on the contrary, is I believe regarded as being somewhat barbarous, even for the period. [119] In his _Quæstio de Aqua et Terra_. In it he speaks of having been in Mantua. The thesis was maintained in Verona, but of course he may, after a prolonged absence, have returned to that city. [120] _Parad._ xvii. 70. [121] _Purg._ xviii. 121. [122] But in urgent need of more of it.--He says of 'the sublime Cantica, adorned with the title of the _Paradiso_', that '_illam sub præsenti epistola, tamquam sub epigrammate proprio dedicatam, vobis adscribo, vobis offero, vobis denique recommendo_.' But it may be questioned if this involves that the Cantica was already finished. [123] As, for instance, Herr Scheffer-Boichorst in his _Aus Dantes Verbannung_, 1882. [124] The Traversari (_Purg._ xiv. 107). Guido's wife was of the Bagnacavalli (_Purg._ xiv. 115). The only mention of the Polenta family, apart from that of Francesca, is at _Inf._ xxvii. 41. [125] In 1350 a sum of ten gold florins was sent from Florence by the hands of Boccaccio to Beatrice, daughter of Dante; she being then a nun at Ravenna. [126] The embassy to Venice is mentioned by Villani, and there was a treaty concluded in 1321 between the Republic and Guido. But Dante's name does not appear in it among those of the envoys from Ravenna. A letter, probably apocryphal, to Guido from Dante in Venice is dated 1314. If Dante, as is maintained by some writers, was engaged in tuition while in Ravenna, it is to be feared that his pupils would find in him an impatient master. [127] Not that Dante ever mentions these any more than a hundred other churches in which he must have spent thoughtful hours. [128] _Purg._ xxviii. 20. [129] A certain Cecco d'Ascoli stuck to him like a bur, charging him, among other things, with lust, and a want of religious faith which would one day secure him a place in his own Inferno. Cecco was himself burned in Florence, in 1327, for making too much of evil spirits, and holding that human actions are necessarily affected by the position of the stars. He had been at one time a professor of astronomy. [130] Gabriel Rossetti, _Comment on the Divina Commedia_, 1826, and Aroux, _Dante, Hérétique, Révolutionnaire et Socialiste_, 1854. [131] Scartazzini, _Dante Alighieri, Seine Zeit_, etc., 1879, page 268. [132] _Parad._ xxiv. 86. [133] _Parad._ xxiv. 145. [134] _Inf._ xxvii. 101; _Purg._ iii. 118. [135] _Parad._ xxiv. 91. [136] _Parad._ xxiv. 106. [137] _Inf._ x. and xxviii. There is no place in Purgatory where those who in their lives had once held heretical opinions are purified of the sin; leaving us to infer that it could be repented of in the world so as to obliterate the stain. See also _Parad._ iv. 67. [138] _Purg._ i. 71. [139] _Purg._ xxvii. 139. [140] _Purg._ xix. 134. [141] _Parad._ xxv. 1. GIOTTO'S PORTRAIT OF DANTE.[142] Vasari, in his _Lives of the Painters_, tells that in his day the portrait of Dante by Giotto was still to be seen in the chapel of the Podesta's palace in Florence. Writers of an earlier date had already drawn attention to this work.[143] But in the course of an age when Italians cared little for Dante, and less for Giotto, it was allowed to be buried out of sight; and when at length there came a revival of esteem for these great men, the alterations in the interior arrangement of the palace were found to have been so sweeping that it was even uncertain which out of many chambers had formerly served as the chapel. Twenty years after a fruitless attempt had been made to discover whether or not the portrait was still in existence, Signor Aubrey Bezzi, encouraged by Mr. Wilde and Mr. Kirkup, took the first step in a search (1839) which was to end by restoring to the world what is certainly the most interesting of all portraits, if account be taken of its beauty, as well as of who was its author and who its subject. On the removal from it of a layer of lime, one of the end walls of what had been the chapel was found to be covered by a fresco painting, evidently the work of Giotto, and representing a Paradise--the subject in which Dante's portrait was known to occur. As is usual in such works, from the time of Giotto downwards, the subject is treated so as to allow of the free introduction of contemporary personages. Among these was a figure in a red gown, which there was no difficulty in recognising as the portrait of Dante. It shows him younger and with a sweeter expression than does Raphael's Dante, or Masaccio's,[144] or that in the Cathedral of Florence,[145] or that of the mask said to have been taken after his death. But to all of them it bears a strong resemblance. The question of when this portrait was painted will easily be seen to be one of much importance in connection with Dante's biography. The fresco it belongs to is found to contain a cardinal, and a young man, who, because he wears his hair long and has a coronet set on his cap, is known to be meant for a French prince.[146] If, as is usually assumed, this prince is Charles of Valois, then the date of the event celebrated in the fresco is 1301 or 1302. With regard to when the work was executed, Messrs Crowe and Cavalcaselle, in their valuable book, say as follows:[147]-- 'All inferences to be deduced from the subject and form of these frescos point to the date of 1301-2. It may be inquired whether they were executed by Giotto at the time, and this inquiry can only be satisfied approximatively. It may be inferred that Dante's portrait would hardly have been introduced into a picture so conspicuously visible as this, had not the poet at the time been influent in Florence.... Dante's age in the fresco corresponds with the date of 1302, and is that of a man of thirty-five. He had himself enjoyed the highest office of Florence from June to August 1300.[148] In the fresco he does not wear the dress of the "Priori," but he holds in the ranks of those near Charles of Valois an honourable place. It may be presumed that the frescos were executed previous[149] to Dante's exile, and this view is confirmed by the technical and artistic progress which they reveal. They exhibit, indeed, the master in a higher sphere of development than at Assisi and Rome.' This account of the subject of the work and the probable date of its execution may, I think, be accepted as containing all that is to be said in favour of the current opinion on the matter. That writer after writer has adopted that opinion without a sign of doubt as to its credibility must surely have arisen from failure to observe the insuperable difficulties it presents. Both Charles of Valois and the Cardinal Acquasparta were in Florence during part of the winter of 1301-1302; but the circumstances under which they were there make it highly improbable that the Commonwealth was anxious to do them honour beyond granting them the outward show of respect which it would have been dangerous to refuse. Earlier in the year 1301 the Cardinal Acquasparta, having failed in gaining the object which brought him to Florence, had, as it were, shaken the dust of the city from off his feet and left the people of it under interdict. While Charles of Valois was in Florence the Cardinal returned to make a second attempt to reconcile the opposing parties, failed a second time, and again left the city under an interdict--if indeed the first had ever been raised. On the occasion of his first visit, the Whites, who were then in power, would have none of his counsels; on his second, the Blacks in their turn despised them.[150] There would therefore have been something almost satirical in the compliment, had the Commonwealth resolved to give him a place in a triumphal picture. As for Charles of Valois, though much was expected from an alliance with him while he was still at a distance, the very party that invited his presence was soon disgusted with him owing to his faithlessness and greed. The earlier part of his stay was disturbed by pillage and bloodshed. Nor is it easy to imagine how, at any time during his residence of five months, the leading citizens could have either the time or the wish to arrange for honouring him in a fashion he was not the man to care for. His one craving was for money, and still more money; and any leisure the members of public bodies had to spare from giving heed to their own interests and securing vengeance upon their opponents, was devoted to holding the common purse shut as tightly as they could against their avaricious Pacificator. When he at last delivered the city from his presence no one would have the heart to revive the memory of his disastrous visit. But if, in all this confusion of Florentine affairs, Giotto did receive a commission to paint in the palace of the Podesta, yet it remains incredible that he should have been suffered to assign to Dante, of all men, a place of honour in the picture. No citizen had more stubbornly opposed the policy which brought Charles of Valois to Florence, and that Charles was in the city was reason enough for Dante to keep out of it. In his absence, he was sentenced in January 1302 to pay a ruinously heavy fine, and in the following March he was condemned to be put to death if ever he was caught. On fuller acquaintance his fellow-citizens liked the Frenchman as little as he, but this had no effect in softening their dislike or removing their fear of Dante. We may be sure that any friends he may still have had in Florence, as their influence could not protect his goods from confiscation or him from banishment, would hardly care to risk their own safety by urging, while his condemnation was still fresh, the admission of his portrait among those of illustrious Florentines.[151] It is true that there have been instances of great artists having reached so high a pitch of fame as to be able to dictate terms to patrons, however exalted. In his later years Giotto could perhaps have made such a point a matter of treaty with his employers, but in 1301 he was still young,[152] and great although his fame already was, he could scarcely have ventured to insist on the Republic's confessing its injustice to his friend; as it would have done had it consented that Dante, newly driven into exile, should obtain a place of honour in a work painted at the public cost. These considerations seem to make it highly improbable that Giotto's wall-painting was meant to do honour to Charles of Valois and the Cardinal Acquasparta. But if it should still be held that it was painted in 1302, we must either cease to believe, in spite of all that Vasari and the others say, that the portrait is meant for Dante; or else confess it to be inexplicable how it got there. A way out of the difficulty begins to open up as soon as we allow ourselves some latitude in speculating as to when Giotto may have painted the fresco. The order in which that artist's works were produced is very imperfectly settled; and it may easily be that the position in Vasari's pages of the mention made by him of this fresco has given rise to a misunderstanding regarding the date of it. He speaks of it at the very beginning of his Life of Giotto. But this he does because he needs an illustration of what he has been saying in his opening sentences about the advance that painter made on Cimabue. Only after making mention of Dante's portrait does he begin his chronological list of Giotto's works; to the portrait he never returns, and so, as far as Vasari is concerned, it is without a date. Judging of it by means of Mr. Kirkup's careful and beautiful sketch--and unfortunately we have now no other means of knowing what the original was like--it may safely be asserted to be in Giotto's ripest style.[153] Everything considered, it is therefore allowable to search the Florentine chronicles lower down for an event more likely to be the subject of Giotto's fresco than that usually fixed upon. We read in John Villani that in the middle of the year 1326 the Cardinal Gianni Orsini came to Florence as Papal Legate and Pacificator of Tuscany. The city was greatly pleased at his coming, and as an earnest of gratitude for his services presented him with a cup containing a thousand florins.[154] A month later there arrived Charles Duke of Calabria, the eldest son of King Robert of Naples, and great-grandson of Charles of Anjou. He came as Protector of the Commonwealth, which office--an extraordinary one, and with a great salary attached to it--he had been elected to hold for five years. Never before had a spectacle like that of his entry been offered to Florence. Villani gives a long list of the barons who rode in his train, and tells that in his squadrons of men-at-arms there were no fewer than two hundred knights. The chronicler pauses to bid the reader note how great an enterprise his fellow-citizens had shown in bringing to sojourn among them, and in their interest, not only such a powerful lord as the Duke of Calabria was, but a Papal Legate as well. Italy counted it a great thing, he says, and he deems that the whole world ought to know of it.[155] Charles took up his abode in the Podesta's palace. He appears to have gained a better place in the hearts of the Florentines than what they were used to give to strangers and princes. When a son was born to him, all the city rejoiced, and it mourned with him when, in a few weeks, he lost the child. After seventeen months' experience of his rule the citizens were sorry to lose him, and bade him a farewell as hearty as their welcome had been. To some of them, it is true, the policy seemed a dangerous one which bore even the appearance of subjecting the Republic to the Royal House of Naples; and some of them could have wished that he 'had shown more vigour in civil and military affairs. But he was a gentle lord, popular with the townsfolk, and in the course of his residence he greatly improved the condition of things in Florence, and brought to a close many feuds.'[156] They felt that the nine hundred thousand gold florins spent on him and his men had, on the whole, been well laid out. One detail of the Duke's personal appearance deserves remark. We have seen that the prince in the fresco has long hair. John Villani had known the Duke well by sight, and when he comes to record his death and describe what kind of man he was to look upon, he specially says that 'he wore his hair loose.'[157] A subject worthy of Giotto's pencil, and one likely to be offered to him if he was then in Florence, we have therefore found in this visit of the Duke and the Cardinal. But that Giotto was in Florence at that time is certain. He painted a portrait[158] of the Duke in the Palace of the Signory; and through that prince, as Vasari tells, he was invited by King Robert to go down to work in Naples. All this, in the absence of evidence of any value in favour of another date, makes it, at the very least, highly probable that the fresco was a work of 1326 or 1327. In 1326 Dante had been dead for five years. The grudge his fellow-townsmen had nourished against him for so long was now worn out. We know that very soon after his death Florence began to be proud of him; and even such of his old enemies as still survived would be willing that Giotto should set him in a place of honour among the great Florentines who help to fill the fresco of the Paradise. That he was already dead would be no hindrance to his finding room alongside of Charles of Calabria; for the age was wisely tolerant of such anachronisms.[159] Had Dante been still living the painter would have been less at liberty to create, out of the records he doubtless possessed of the features of the friend who had paid him beforehand with one immortal line, the face which, as we look into it, we feel to be a glorified transcript of what it was in the flesh. It is the face of one who has wellnigh forgotten his earthly life, instead of having the worst of it still before him; of one who, from that troubled Italy which like his own Sapia he knew but as a pilgrim, has passed to the 'true city,' of which he remains for evermore a citizen--the city faintly imaged by Giotto upon the chapel wall. FOOTNOTES: [142] It is best known, and can now be judged of only through the lithograph after a tracing made by Mr. Seymour Kirkup before it was restored and ruined: published by the Arundel Society. [143] Antonio Pucci, born in 1300, in his _Centiloquio_, describes the figure of Dante as being clothed in blood-red. Philip Villani also mentions it. He wrote towards the close of the fourteenth century; Vasari towards the middle of the sixteenth. [144] In the Munich collection of drawings, and ascribed to Masaccio, but with how much reason I do not know. [145] Painted by Domenico Michelino in 1465, after a sketch by Alessio Baldovinetto. [146] 'Wearing over the long hair of the Frenchmen of the period a coroneted cap.'--Crowe and Cavalcaselle, _History of Painting in Italy_ (1864), i. 264. [147] Vol. i. p. 269. [148] The Priorate was the highest office to which a citizen could aspire, but by no means the highest in Florence. [149] I suppose the meaning is 'immediately previous.' [150] John Villani, _Cronica_, viii. 40 and 49; and Perrens, _Hist. de Florence_, under date of 1301. Charles entered Florence on the 1st of November of that year, and left it in the following April. [151] Who the other Florentines in the fresco are does not greatly affect the present question. Villani says that along with Dante Giotto painted Corso Donati and Brunetto Latini. [152] Only twenty-five, if the commonly accepted date of his birth is correct. In any case, he was still a young man. [153] It is true that, on technical grounds, it has been questioned if it is Giotto's at all; but there is more than sufficient reason to think it is. With such doubts however we are scarcely here concerned. Even were it proved to be by a pupil, everything in the text that applies to the question of date would still remain in point. [154] J. Villani, ix. 353. [155] J. Villani, x. 1. [156] _Ibid._ x. 49. [157] J. Villani, x. 107. [158] Long since destroyed. [159] An anachronism of another kind would have been committed by Giotto, if, before the _Comedy_ was even begun, he had represented Dante as holding the closed book and cluster of three pomegranates--emblematical of the three regions described by him and of the completion of his work.--I say nothing of the Inferno found on another wall of the chapel, since there seems good reason to doubt if it is by Giotto. THE INFERNO. CANTO I. In middle[160] of the journey of our days I found that I was in a darksome wood[161]-- The right road lost and vanished in the maze. Ah me! how hard to make it understood How rough that wood was, wild, and terrible: By the mere thought my terror is renewed. More bitter scarce were death. But ere I tell At large of good which there by me was found, I will relate what other things befell. Scarce know I how I entered on that ground, 10 So deeply, at the moment when I passed From the right way, was I in slumber drowned. But when beneath a hill[162] arrived at last, Which for the boundary of the valley stood, That with such terror had my heart harassed, I upwards looked and saw its shoulders glowed, Radiant already with that planet's[163] light Which guideth surely upon every road. A little then was quieted by the sight The fear which deep within my heart had lain 20 Through all my sore experience of the night. And as the man, who, breathing short in pain, Hath 'scaped the sea and struggled to the shore, Turns back to gaze upon the perilous main; Even so my soul which fear still forward bore Turned to review the pass whence I egressed, And which none, living, ever left before. My wearied frame refreshed with scanty rest, I to ascend the lonely hill essayed; The lower foot[164] still that on which I pressed. 30 And lo! ere I had well beginning made, A nimble leopard,[165] light upon her feet, And in a skin all spotted o'er arrayed: Nor ceased she e'er me full in the face to meet, And to me in my path such hindrance threw That many a time I wheeled me to retreat. It was the hour of dawn; with retinue Of stars[166] that were with him when Love Divine In the beginning into motion drew Those beauteous things, the sun began to shine; 40 And I took heart to be of better cheer Touching the creature with the gaudy skin, Seeing 'twas morn,[167] and spring-tide of the year; Yet not so much but that when into sight A lion[168] came, I was disturbed with fear. Towards me he seemed advancing in his might, Rabid with hunger and with head high thrown: The very air was tremulous with fright. A she-wolf,[169] too, beheld I further on; All kinds of lust seemed in her leanness pent: 50 Through her, ere now, much folk have misery known. By her oppressed, and altogether spent By the terror breathing from her aspect fell, I lost all hope of making the ascent. And as the man who joys while thriving well, When comes the time to lose what he has won In all his thoughts weeps inconsolable, So mourned I through the brute which rest knows none: She barred my way again and yet again, And thrust me back where silent is the sun. 60 And as I downward rushed to reach the plain, Before mine eyes appeared there one aghast, And dumb like those that silence long maintain. When I beheld him in the desert vast, 'Whate'er thou art, or ghost or man,' I cried, 'I pray thee show such pity as thou hast.' 'No man,[170] though once I was; on either side Lombard my parents were, and both of them For native place had Mantua,' he replied. 'Though late, _sub Julio_,[171] to the world I came, 70 And lived at Rome in good Augustus' day, While yet false gods and lying were supreme. Poet I was, renowning in my lay Anchises' righteous son, who fled from Troy What time proud Ilion was to flames a prey. But thou, why going back to such annoy? The hill delectable why fear to mount, The origin and ground of every joy?' 'And thou in sooth art Virgil, and the fount Whence in a stream so full doth language flow?' 80 Abashed, I answered him with humble front. 'Of other poets light and honour thou! Let the long study and great zeal I've shown In searching well thy book, avail me now! My master thou, and author[172] thou, alone! From thee alone I, borrowing, could attain The style[173] consummate which has made me known. Behold the beast which makes me turn again: Deliver me from her, illustrious Sage; Because of her I tremble, pulse and vein.' 90 'Thou must attempt another pilgrimage,' Observing that I wept, he made reply, 'If from this waste thyself thou 'dst disengage. Because the beast thou art afflicted by Will suffer none along her way to pass, But, hindering them, harasses till they die. So vile a nature and corrupt she has, Her raging lust is still insatiate, And food but makes it fiercer than it was. Many a creature[174] hath she ta'en for mate, 100 And more she'll wed until the hound comes forth To slay her and afflict with torment great. He will not batten upon pelf or earth; But he shall feed on valour, love, and lore; Feltro and Feltro[175] 'tween shall be his birth. He will save humbled Italy, and restore, For which of old virgin Camilla[176] died; Turnus, Euryalus, Nisus, died of yore. Her through all cities chasing far and wide, He at the last to Hell will thrust her down, 110 Whence envy[177] first unloosed her. I decide Therefore and judge that thou hadst best come on With me for guide;[178] and hence I'll lead thee where A place eternal shall to thee be shown. There shalt thou hear the howlings of despair In which the ancient spirits make lament, All of them fain the second death to share. Next shalt thou them behold who are content, Because they hope some time, though now in fire, To join the blessed they will win consent. 120 And if to these thou later wouldst aspire, A soul[179] shall guide thee, worthier far than I; When I depart thee will I leave with her. Because the Emperor[180] who reigns on high Wills not, since 'gainst His laws I did rebel,[181] That to His city I bring any nigh. O'er all the world He rules, there reigns as well; There is His city and exalted seat: O happy whom He chooses there to dwell!' And I to him: 'Poet, I thee entreat, 130 Even by that God who was to thee unknown, That I may 'scape this present ill, nor meet With worse, conduct me whither thou hast shown, That I may see Saint Peter's gate,[182] and those Whom thou reportest in such misery thrown.' He moved away; behind him held I close. FOOTNOTES: [160] _Middle_: In his _Convito_ (iv. 23), comparing human life to an arch, Dante says that at the age of thirty-five a man has reached the top and begins to go down. As he was born in 1265 that was his own age in 1300, the year in which the action of the poem is laid. [161] _Darksome wood_: A state of spiritual darkness or despair into which he has gradually drifted, not without fault of his own. [162] _A hill_: Lower down this hill is termed 'the origin and cause of all joy.' It is symbolical of spiritual freedom--of the peace and security that spring from the practice of virtue. Only, as it seems, by gaining such a vantage-ground can he escape from the wilderness of doubt--the valley of the shadow of death--in which he is lost. [163] _That planet_: On the Ptolemaic system, which, as perfected by the Arabian astronomers, and with some Christian additions, was that followed by Dante, the sun is reckoned as one of the seven planets; all the others as well as the earth and the fixed stars deriving their light from it. Here the sunlight may signify the Divine help granted to all men in their efforts after virtue. [164] _The lower foot, etc._: This describes a cautious, slow ascent. [165] _A nimble leopard_: The leopard and the lion and wolf that come with it are suggested by Jeremiah v. 6: 'A lion out of the forest shall slay them,' etc. We have Dante's own authority for it, in his letter to Can Grande, that several meanings are often hidden under the incidents of the _Comedy_. But whatever else the beasts may signify, their chief meaning is that of moral hindrances. It is plain that the lion and wolf are the sins of others--pride and avarice. If the leopard agrees with them in this, it most probably stands for the envy of those among whom Dante lived: at _Inf._ vi. 74 we find envy, pride, and avarice classed together as the sins that have corrupted Florence. But from _Inf._ xvi. 106 it appears that Dante hoped to get the better of the leopard by means of a cord which he wore girt about his loins. The cord is emblematical of self-control; and hence the leopard seems best to answer the idea of sensual pleasure in the sense of a temptation that makes difficult the pursuit of virtue. But it will be observed that this hindrance Dante trusts to overcome. [166] _Stars, etc._: The sun being then in Aries, as it was believed to have been at the creation. [167] _Morn, etc._: It is the morning of Friday the 25th of March in the year 1300, and by the use of Florence, which began the year on the anniversary of the incarnation, it is the first day of the New Year. The Good Friday of 1300 fell a fortnight later; but the 25th of March was held to be the true anniversary of the crucifixion as well as of the incarnation and of the creation of the world. The date of the action is fixed by _Inf._ xxi. 112. The day was of good omen for success in the struggle with his lower self. [168] _A lion_: Pride or arrogance; to be taken in its widest sense of violent opposition to all that is good. [169] _A she-wolf_: Used elsewhere in the _Comedy_ to represent avarice. Dante may have had specially in his mind the greed and worldly ambition of the Pope and the Court of Rome, but it is plain from line 110 that the wolf stands primarily for a sin, and not for a person or corporate body. [170] _No man_: Brunetto Latini, the friend and master of Dante, says 'the soul is the life of man, but without the body is not man.' [171] _Sub Julio_: Julius was not even consul when Virgil was born. But Dante reckoned Julius as the founder of the Empire, and therefore makes the time in which he flourished his. Virgil was only twenty-five years of age when Cæsar was slain; and thus it was under Augustus that his maturer life was spent. [172] _Author_: Dante defines an author as 'one worthy to be believed and obeyed' (_Convito_ iv. 6). For a guide and companion on his great pilgrimage he chooses Virgil, not only because of his fame as a poet, but also because he had himself described a descent to the Shades--had been already there. The vulgar conception of Virgil was that of a virtuous great magician. [173] _The style, etc._: Some at least of Dante's minor works had been given to the world before 1300, certainly the _Vita Nuova_ and others of his poems. To his study of Virgil he may have felt himself indebted for the purity of taste that kept him superior to the frigid and artificial style of his contemporaries, He prided himself on suiting his language to his theme, as well as on writing straight from the heart. [174] _Many a creature, etc._: Great men and states, infected with avarice in its extended sense of encroachment on the rights of others. [175] _Feltro and Feltro, etc._: Who the deliverer was that Dante prophesies the coming of is not known, and perhaps never can be. Against the claims of Can Grande of Verona the objection is that, at any date which can reasonably be assigned for the publication of the _Inferno_, he had done nothing to justify such bright hopes of his future career. There seems proof, too, that till the _Paradiso_ was written Dante entertained no great respect for the Scala family (_Purg._ xvi. 118, xviii. 121). Neither is Verona, or the widest territory over which Can Grande ever ruled, at all described by saying it lay between Feltro and Feltro.--I have preferred to translate _nazi-one_ as birth rather than as nation or people. 'The birth of the deliverer will be found to have been between feltro and feltro.' Feltro, as Dante wrote it, would have no capital letter; and according to an old gloss the deliverer is to be of humble birth; _feltro_ being the name of a poor sort of cloth. This interpretation I give as a curiosity more than anything else; for the most competent critics have decided against it, or ignored it.--Henry of Luxemburg, chosen Emperor in November 1308, is an old claimant for the post of the allegorical _veltro_ or greyhound. On him Dante's hopes were long set as the man who should 'save Italy;' and it seems not out of place to draw attention to what is said of him by John Villani, the contemporary and fellow-townsman of Dante: 'He was of a magnanimous nature, though, as regarded his family, of poor extraction' (_Cronica_, ix. 1). Whatever may be made of the Feltros, the description in the text of the deliverer as one superior to all personal ambition certainly answers better to Dante's ideal of a righteous Emperor than to the character of a partisan leader like Uguccione della Faggiuola, or an ambitious prince like Can Grande. [176] _Camilla, etc._: All persons of the _Æneid_. [177] _Envy_: That of Satan. [178] _Thou hadst best, etc._: As will be seen from the next Canto, Virgil has been sent to the relief of Dante; but how that is to be wrought out is left to his own judgment. He might secure a partial deliverance for his ward by conducting him up the Delectable Mount--the peaceful heights familiar to himself, and which are to be won by the practice of natural piety. He chooses the other course, of guiding Dante through the regions of the future state, where the pilgrim's trust in the Divine government will be strengthened by what he sees, and his soul acquire a larger peace. [179] _A soul_: Beatrice. [180] _The Emperor_: The attribution of this title to God is significant of Dante's lofty conception of the Empire. [181] _'Gainst his laws, etc._: Virgil was a rebel only in the sense of being ignorant of the Christian revelation (_Inf._ iv. 37). [182] _Saint Peter's gate_: Virgil has not mentioned Saint Peter. Dante names him as if to proclaim that it is as a Christian, though under heathen guidance, that he makes the pilgrimage. Here the gate seems to be spoken of as if it formed the entrance to Paradise, as it was popularly believed to do, and as if it were at that point Virgil would cease to guide him. But they are to find it nearer at hand, and after it has been passed Virgil is to act as guide through Purgatory. CANTO II. It was the close of day;[183] the twilight brown All living things on earth was setting free From toil, while I preparing was alone[184] To face the battle which awaited me, As well of ruth as of the perilous quest, Now to be limned by faultless memory. Help, lofty genius! Muses,[185] manifest Goodwill to me! Recording what befell, Do thou, O mind, now show thee at thy best! I thus began: 'Poet, and Guide as well, 10 Ere trusting me on this adventure wide, Judge if my strength of it be capable. Thou say'st that Silvius' father,[186] ere he died, Still mortal to the world immortal went, There in the body some time to abide. Yet that the Foe of evil was content That he should come, seeing what high effect, And who and what should from him claim descent, No room for doubt can thoughtful man detect: For he of noble Rome, and of her sway 20 Imperial, in high Heaven grew sire elect. And both of these,[187] the very truth to say, Were founded for the holy seat, whereon The Greater Peter's follower sits to-day. Upon this journey, praised by thee, were known And heard things by him, to the which he owed His triumph, whence derives the Papal gown.[188] That path the Chosen Vessel[189] later trod So of the faith assurance to receive, Which is beginning of salvation's road. 30 But why should I go? Who will sanction give? For I am no Æneas and no Paul; Me worthy of it no one can believe, Nor I myself. Hence venturing at thy call, I dread the journey may prove rash. But vain For me to reason; wise, thou know'st it all.' Like one no more for what he wished for fain, Whose purpose shares mutation with his thought Till from the thing begun he turns again; On that dim slope so grew I all distraught, 40 Because, by brooding on it, the design I shrank from, which before I warmly sought. 'If well I understand these words of thine,' The shade of him magnanimous made reply, 'Thy soul 'neath cowardice hath sunk supine, Which a man often is so burdened by, It makes him falter from a noble aim, As beasts at objects ill-distinguished shy. To loose thee from this terror, why I came, And what the speech I heard, I will relate, 50 When first of all I pitied thee. A dame[190] Hailed me where I 'mongst those in dubious state[191] Had my abode: so blest was she and fair, Her to command me I petitioned straight. Her eyes were shining brighter than the star;[192] And she began to say in accents sweet And tuneable as angel's voices are: "O Mantuan Shade, in courtesy complete, Whose fame survives on earth, nor less shall grow Through all the ages, while the world hath seat; 60 A friend of mine, with fortune for his foe, Has met with hindrance on his desert way, And, terror-smitten, can no further go, But turns; and that he is too far astray, And that I rose too late for help, I dread, From what in Heaven concerning him they say. Go, with thy speech persuasive him bestead, And with all needful help his guardian prove, That touching him I may be comforted. Know, it is Beatrice seeks thee thus to move. 70 Thence come I where I to return am fain: My coming and my plea are ruled by love. When I shall stand before my Lord again, Often to Him I will renew thy praise." And here she ceased, nor did I dumb remain: "O virtuous Lady, thou alone the race Of man exaltest 'bove all else that dwell Beneath the heaven which wheels in narrowest space.[193] To do thy bidding pleases me so well, Though 'twere already done 'twere all too slow; 80 Thy wish at greater length no need to tell. But say, what tempted thee to come thus low, Even to this centre, from the region vast,[194] Whither again thou art on fire to go?" "This much to learn since a desire thou hast," She answered, "briefly thee I'll satisfy, How, coming here, I through no terrors passed. We are, of right, such things alarmèd by, As have the power to hurt us; all beside Are harmless, and not fearful. Wherefore I-- 90 Thus formed by God, His bounty is so wide-- Am left untouched by all your miseries, And through this burning[195] unmolested glide. A noble lady[196] is in Heaven, who sighs O'er the obstruction where I'd have thee go, And breaks the rigid edict of the skies. Calling on Lucia,[197] thus she made her know What she desired: 'Thy vassal[198] now hath need Of help from thee; do thou then helpful show.' Lucia, who hates all cruelty, in speed 100 Rose, and approaching where I sat at rest, To venerable Rachel[199] giving heed, Me: 'Beatrice, true praise of God,' addressed; 'Why not help him who had such love for thee, And from the vulgar throng to win thee pressed? Dost thou not hear him weeping pitiably, Nor mark the death now threatening him upon A flood[200] than which less awful is the sea?' Never on earth did any ever run, Allured by profit or impelled by fear, 110 Swifter than I, when speaking she had done, From sitting 'mong the blest descended here, My trust upon thy comely rhetoric cast, Which honours thee and those who lend it ear." When of these words she spoken had the last, She turned aside bright eyes which tears[201] did fill, And I by this was urged to greater haste. And so it was I joined thee by her will, And from that raging beast delivered thee, Which barred the near way up the beauteous hill. 120 What ails thee then? Why thus a laggard be? Why cherish in thy heart a craven fear? Where is thy franchise, where thy bravery, When three such blessed ladies have a care For thee in Heaven's court, and these words of mine Thee for such wealth of blessedness prepare?' As flowers, by chills nocturnal made to pine And shut themselves, when touched by morning bright Upon their stems arise, full-blown and fine; So of my faltering courage changed the plight, 130 And such good cheer ran through my heart, it spurred Me to declare, like free-born generous wight: 'O pitiful, who for my succour stirred! And thou how full of courtesy to run, Alert in service, hearkening her true word! Thou with thine eloquence my heart hast won To keen desire to go, and the intent Which first I held I now no longer shun. Therefore proceed; my will with thine is blent: Thou art my Guide, Lord, Master;[202] thou alone!' 140 Thus I; and with him, as he forward went, The steep and rugged road I entered on. FOOTNOTES: [183] _Close of day_: The evening of the Friday. It comes on us with something of a surprise that a whole day has been spent in the attempt to ascend the hill, and in conference with Virgil. [184] _Alone_: Of earthly creatures, though in company with Virgil, a shade. In these words is to be found the keynote to the Canto. With the sense of deliverance from immediate danger his enthusiasm has died away. After all, Virgil is only a shade; and his heart misgives him at the thought of engaging, in the absence of all human companionship, upon a journey so full of terrors. He is not reassured till Virgil has displayed his commission. [185] _Muses_: The invocation comes now, the First Canto being properly an introduction. Here it may be pointed out, as illustrating the refinement of Dante's art, that the invocation in the _Purgatorio_ is in a higher strain, and that in the _Paradiso_ in a nobler still. [186] _Silvius' father_: Æneas, whose visit to the world of shades is described in the Sixth _Æneid_. He finds there his father Anchises, who foretells to him the fortunes of his descendants down to the time of Augustus. [187] _Both of these_: Dante uses language slightly apologetic as he unfolds to Virgil, the great Imperialist poet, the final cause of Rome and the Empire. But while he thus exalts the Papal office, making all Roman history a preparation for its establishment, Dante throughout his works is careful to refuse any but a spiritual or religious allegiance to the Pope, and leaves himself free, as will be frequently seen in the course of the _Comedy_, to blame the Popes as men, while yielding all honour to their great office. In this emphatic mention of Rome as the divinely-appointed seat of Peter's Chair may be implied a censure on the Pope for the transference of the Holy See to Avignon, which was effected in 1305, between the date assigned to the action of the poem and the period when it was written. [188] _Papal gown_: 'The great mantle' Dante elsewhere terms it; the emblem of the Papal dignity. It was only in Dante's own time that coronation began to take the place of investiture with the mantle. [189] _Chosen Vessel_: Paul, who like Æneas visited the other world, though not the same region of it. Throughout the poem instances drawn from profane history, and even poetry and mythology, are given as of authority equal to those from Christian sources. [190] _A dame_: Beatrice, the heroine of the _Vita Nuova_, at the close of which Dante promises some day to say of her what was never yet said of any woman. She died in 1290, aged twenty-four. In the _Comedy_ she fills different parts: she is the glorified Beatrice Portinari whom Dante first knew as a fair Florentine girl; but she also represents heavenly truth, or the knowledge of it--the handmaid of eternal life. Theology is too hard and technical a term to bestow on her. Virgil, for his part, represents the knowledge that men may acquire of Divine law by the use of their reason, helped by such illumination as was enjoyed by the virtuous heathen. In other words, he is the exponent of the Divine revelation involved in the Imperial system--for the Empire was never far from Dante's thoughts. To him it meant the perfection of just rule, in which due cognisance is taken of every right and of every duty. The relation Dante bears to these two is that of erring humanity struggling to the light. Virgil leads him as far as he can, and then commits him to the holier rule of Beatrice. But the poem would lose its charm if the allegorical meaning of every passage were too closely insisted on. And, worse than that, it cannot always be found. [191] _Dubious state_: The limbo of the virtuous heathen (Canto iv.). [192] _The star_: In the _Vita Nuova_ Dante speaks of the star in the singular when he means the stars. [193] _In narrowest space_: The heaven of the moon, on the Ptolemaic system the lowest of the seven planets. Below it there is only the heaven of fire, to which all the flames of earth are attracted. The meaning is, above all on earth. [194] _The region vast_: The empyrean, or tenth and highest heaven of all. It is an addition by the Christian astronomers to the heavens of the Ptolemaic system, and extends above the _primum mobile_, which imparts to all beneath it a common motion, while leaving its own special motion to each. The empyrean is the heaven of Divine rest. [195] _Burning_: 'Flame of this burning,' allegorical, as applied to the limbo where Virgil had his abode. He and his companions suffer only from unfulfilled but lofty desire (_Inf._ iv. 41). [196] _A noble lady_: The Virgin Mary, of whom it is said (_Parad._ xxxiii. 16) that her 'benignity not only succours those who ask, but often anticipates their demand;' as here. She is the symbol of Divine grace in its widest sense. Neither Christ nor Mary is mentioned by name in the _Inferno_. [197] _Lucia_: The martyr saint of Syracuse. Witte (_Dante-Forschungen_, vol. ii. 30) suggests that Lucia Ubaldini may be meant, a thirteenth-century Florentine saint, and sister of the Cardinal (_Inf._ x. 120). The day devoted to her memory was the 30th of May. Dante was born in May, and if it could be proved that he was born on the 30th of the month the suggestion would be plausible. But for the greater Lucy is to be said that she was especially helpful to those troubled in their eyesight, as Dante was at one time of his life. Here she is the symbol of illuminating grace. [198] _Thy vassal_: Saint Lucy being held in special veneration by Dante; or only that he was one that sought light. The word _fedele_ may of course, as it usually is, be read in its primary sense of 'faithful one;' but it is old Italian for vassal; and to take the reference to be to the duty of the overlord to help his dependant in need seems to give force to the appeal. [199] _Rachel_: Symbol of the contemplative life. [200] _A flood, etc._: 'The sea of troubles' in which Dante is involved. [201] _Tears_: Beatrice weeps for human misery--especially that of Dante--though unaffected by the view of the sufferings of Inferno. [202] _My Guide, etc._: After hearing how Virgil was moved to come, Dante accepts him not only for his guide, as he did at the close of the First Canto, but for his lord and master as well. CANTO III. Through me to the city dolorous lies the way, Who pass through me shall pains eternal prove, Through me are reached the people lost for aye. 'Twas Justice did my Glorious Maker move; I was created by the Power Divine,[203] The Highest Wisdom, and the Primal Love. No thing's creation earlier was than mine, If not eternal;[204] I for aye endure: Ye who make entrance, every hope resign! These words beheld I writ in hue obscure 10 On summit of a gateway; wherefore I: 'Hard[205] is their meaning, Master.' Like one sure Beforehand of my thought, he made reply: 'Here it behoves to leave all fears behind; All cowardice behoveth here to die. For now the place I told thee of we find, Where thou the miserable folk shouldst see Who the true good[206] of reason have resigned.' Then, with a glance of glad serenity, He took my hand in his, which made me bold, 20 And brought me in where secret things there be. There sighs and plaints and wailings uncontrolled The dim and starless air resounded through; Nor at the first could I from tears withhold. The various languages and words of woe, The uncouth accents,[207] mixed with angry cries And smiting palms and voices loud and low, Composed a tumult which doth circling rise For ever in that air obscured for aye; As when the sand upon the whirlwind flies. 30 And, horror-stricken,[208] I began to say: 'Master, what sound can this be that I hear, And who the folk thus whelmed in misery?' And he replied: 'In this condition drear Are held the souls of that inglorious crew Who lived unhonoured, but from guilt kept clear. Mingled they are with caitiff angels, who, Though from avowed rebellion they refrained, Disloyal to God, did selfish ends pursue. Heaven hurled them forth, lest they her beauty stained; Received they are not by the nether hell, 41 Else triumph[209] thence were by the guilty gained.' And I: 'What bear they, Master, to compel Their lamentations in such grievous tone?' He answered: 'In few words I will thee tell. No hope of death is to the wretches known; So dim the life and abject where they sigh They count all sufferings easier than their own. Of them the world endures no memory; Mercy and justice them alike disdain. 50 Speak we not of them: glance, and pass them by.' I saw a banner[210] when I looked again, Which, always whirling round, advanced in haste As if despising steadfast to remain. And after it so many people chased In long procession, I should not have said That death[211] had ever wrought such countless waste. Some first I recognised, and then the shade I saw and knew of him, the search to close, Whose dastard soul the great refusal[212] made. 60 Straightway I knew and was assured that those Were of the tribe of caitiffs,[213] even the race Despised of God and hated of His foes. The wretches, who when living showed no trace Of life, went naked, and were fiercely stung By wasps and hornets swarming in that place. Blood drawn by these out of their faces sprung And, mingled with their tears, was at their feet Sucked up by loathsome worms it fell among. Casting mine eyes beyond, of these replete, 70 People I saw beside an ample stream, Whereon I said: 'O Master, I entreat, Tell who these are, and by what law they seem Impatient till across the river gone; As I distinguish by this feeble gleam.' And he: 'These things shall unto thee be known What time our footsteps shall at rest be found Upon the woful shores of Acheron.' Then with ashamèd eyes cast on the ground, Fearing my words were irksome in his ear, 80 Until we reached the stream I made no sound. And toward us, lo, within a bark drew near A veteran[214] who with ancient hair was white, Shouting: 'Ye souls depraved, be filled with fear. Hope never more of Heaven to win the sight; I come to take you to the other strand, To frost and fire and everlasting night. And thou, O living soul, who there dost stand, From 'mong the dead withdraw thee.' Then, aware That not at all I stirred at his command, 90 'By other ways,[215] from other ports thou'lt fare; But they will lead thee to another shore, And 'tis a skiff more buoyant must thee bear.' And then my leader: 'Charon, be not sore, For thus it has been willed where power ne'er came Short of the will; thou therefore ask no more.' And hereupon his shaggy cheeks grew tame Who is the pilot of the livid pool, And round about whose eyes glowed wheels of flame. But all the shades, naked and spent with dool, 100 Stood chattering with their teeth, and changing hue Soon as they heard the words unmerciful. God they blasphemed, and families whence they grew; Mankind, the time, place, seed in which began Their lives, and seed whence they were born. Then drew They crowding all together, as they ran, Bitterly weeping, to the accursed shore Predestinate for every godless man. The demon Charon, with eyes evermore Aglow, makes signals, gathering them all; 110 And whoso lingers smiteth with his oar. And as the faded leaves of autumn fall One after the other, till at last the bough Sees on the ground spread all its coronal; With Adam's evil seed so haps it now: At signs each falls in turn from off the coast, As fowls[216] into the ambush fluttering go. The gloomy waters thus by them are crossed, And ere upon the further side they land, On this, anew, is gathering a host. 120 'Son,' said the courteous Master,[217] 'understand, All such as in the wrath of God expire, From every country muster on this strand. To cross the river they are all on fire; Their wills by Heavenly justice goaded on Until their terror merges in desire. This way no righteous soul has ever gone; Wherefore[218] of thee if Charon should complain, Now art thou sure what by his words is shown.' When he had uttered this the dismal plain 130 Trembled[219] so violently, my terror past Recalling now, I'm bathed in sweat again. Out of the tearful ground there moaned a blast Whence lightning flashed forth red and terrible, Which vanquished all my senses; and, as cast In sudden slumber, to the ground I fell. FOOTNOTES: [203] _Power Divine, etc._: The Persons of the Trinity, described by their attributes. [204] _If not eternal_: Only the angels and the heavenly spheres were created before Inferno. The creation of man came later. But from _Inf._ xxxiv. 124 it appears that Inferno was hollowed out of the earth; and at _Parad._ vii. 124 the earth is declared to be 'corruptible and enduring short while;' therefore not eternal. [205] _Hard, etc._: The injunction to leave all hope behind makes Dante hesitate to enter. Virgil anticipates the objection before it is fully expressed, and reminds him that the passage through Inferno is to be only one stage of his journey. Not by this gate will he seek to quit it. [206] _True good, etc._: Truth in its highest form--the contemplation of God. [207] _Uncouth accents_: 'Like German,' says Boccaccio. [208] _Horror-stricken_: 'My head enveloped in horror.' Some texts have 'error,' and this yields a better meaning--that Dante is amazed to have come full into the crowd of suffering shades before he has even crossed Acheron. If with the best texts 'horror' be read, the meaning seems to be that he is so overwhelmed by fear as to lose his presence of mind. They are not yet in the true Inferno, but only in the vestibule or forecourt of it--the flat rim which runs round the edge of the pit. [209] _Else triumph, etc._: The satisfaction of the rebel angels at finding that they endured no worse punishment than that of such as remained neutral. [210] _A banner_: Emblem of the instability of those who would never take a side. [211] _That death, etc._: The touch is very characteristic of Dante. He feigns astonishment at finding that such a proportion of mankind can preserve so pitiful a middle course between good and evil, and spend lives that are only 'a kind of--as it were.' [212] _The great refusal_: Dante recognises him, and so he who made the great refusal must have been a contemporary. Almost beyond doubt Celestine V. is meant, who was in 1294 elected Pope against his will, and resigned the tiara after wearing it a few months; the only Pope who ever resigned it, unless we count Clement I. As he was not canonized till 1326, Dante was free to form his own judgment of his conduct. It has been objected that Dante would not treat with contumely a man so devout as Celestine. But what specially fits him to be the representative caitiff is just that, being himself virtuous, he pusillanimously threw away the greatest opportunity of doing good. By his resignation Boniface VIII. became Pope, to whose meddling in Florentine affairs it was that Dante owed his banishment. Indirectly, therefore, he owed it to the resignation of Celestine; so that here we have the first of many private scores to be paid off in the course of the _Comedy_. Celestine's resignation is referred to (_Inf._ xxvii. 104).--Esau and the rich young man in the Gospel have both been suggested in place of Celestine. To either of them there lies the objection that Dante could not have recognised him. And, besides, Dante's contemporaries appear at once to have discovered Celestine in him who made the great refusal. In Paradise the poet is told by his ancestor Cacciaguida that his rebuke is to be like the wind, which strikes most fiercely on the loftiest summits (_Parad._ xvii. 133); and it agrees well with such a profession, that the first stroke he deals in the _Comedy_ is at a Pope. [213] _Caitiffs_: To one who had suffered like Dante for the frank part he took in affairs, neutrality may well have seemed the unpardonable sin in politics; and no doubt but that his thoughts were set on the trimmers in Florence when he wrote, 'Let us not speak of them!' [214] _A veteran_: Charon. In all this description of the passage of the river by the shades, Dante borrows freely from Virgil. It has been already remarked on _Inf._ ii. 28 that he draws illustrations from Pagan sources. More than that, as we begin to find, he boldly introduces legendary and mythological characters among the persons of his drama. With Milton in mind, it surprises, on a first acquaintance with the _Comedy_, to discover how nearly independent of angels is the economy invented by Dante for the other world. [215] _Other ways, etc._: The souls bound from earth to Purgatory gather at the mouth of the Tiber, whence they are wafted on an angel's skiff to their destination (_Purg._ ii. 100). It may be here noted that never does Dante hint a fear of one day becoming a denizen of Inferno. It is only the pains of Purgatory that oppress his soul by anticipation. So here Charon is made to see at a glance that the pilgrim is not of those 'who make descent to Acheron.' [216] _As fowls, etc._: 'As a bird to its lure'--generally interpreted of the falcon when called back. But a witness of the sport of netting thrushes in Tuscany describes them as 'flying into the vocal ambush in a hurried, half-reluctant, and very remarkable manner.' [217] _Courteous Master_: Virgil here gives the answer promised at line 76; and Dante by the epithet he uses removes any impression that his guide had been wanting in courtesy when he bade him wait. [218] _Wherefore_: Charon's displeasure only proves that he feels he has no hold on Dante. [219] _Trembled, etc._: Symbolical of the increase of woe in Inferno when the doomed souls have landed on the thither side of Acheron. Hell opens to receive them. Conversely, when any purified soul is released from Purgatory the mountain of purification trembles to its base with joy (_Purg._ xxi. 58). CANTO IV. Resounding thunder broke the slumber deep That drowsed my senses, and myself I shook Like one by force awakened out of sleep. Then rising up I cast a steady look, With eyes refreshed, on all that lay around, And cognisance of where I found me took. In sooth, me on the valley's brink I found Of the dolorous abyss, where infinite Despairing cries converge with thundering sound.[220] Cloudy it was, and deep, and dark as night; 10 So dark that, peering eagerly to find What its depths held, no object met my sight. 'Descend we now into this region blind,' Began the Poet with a face all pale; 'I will go first, and do thou come behind.' Marking the wanness on his cheek prevail, I asked, 'How can I, seeing thou hast dread, My wonted comforter when doubts assail?' 'The anguish of the people,' then he said, 'Who are below, has painted on my face 20 Pity,[221] by thee for fear interpreted. Come! The long journey bids us move apace.' Then entered he and made me enter too The topmost circle girding the abyss. Therein, as far as I by listening knew, There was no lamentation save of sighs, Whence throbbed the air eternal through and through. This, sorrow without suffering made arise From infants and from women and from men, Gathered in great and many companies. 30 And the good Master: 'Wouldst thou[222] nothing then Of who those spirits are have me relate? Yet know, ere passing further, although when On earth they sinned not, worth however great Availed them not, they being unbaptized-- Part[223] of the faith thou holdest. If their fate Was to be born ere man was Christianised, God, as behoved, they never could adore: And I myself am with this folk comprised. For such defects--our guilt is nothing more-- 40 We are thus lost, suffering from this alone That, hopeless, we our want of bliss deplore.' Greatly I sorrowed when he made this known, Because I knew that some who did excel In worthiness were to that limbo[224] gone. 'Tell me, O Sir,' I prayed him, 'Master,[225] tell,' --That I of the belief might surety win, Victorious every error to dispel-- 'Did ever any hence to bliss attain By merit of another or his own?' 50 And he, to whom my hidden drift[226] was plain: 'I to this place but lately[227] had come down, When I beheld one hither make descent; A Potentate[228] who wore a victor's crown. The shade of our first sire forth with him went, And his son Abel's, Noah's forth he drew, Moses' who gave the laws, the obedient Patriarch Abram's, and King David's too; And, with his sire and children, Israel, And Rachel, winning whom such toils he knew; 60 And many more, in blessedness to dwell. And I would have thee know, earlier than these No human soul was ever saved from Hell.' While thus he spake our progress did not cease, But we continued through the wood to stray; The wood, I mean, with crowded ghosts for trees. Ere from the summit far upon our way We yet had gone, I saw a flame which glowed, Holding a hemisphere[229] of dark at bay. 'Twas still a little further on our road, 70 Yet not so far but that in part I guessed That honourable people there abode. 'Of art and science Ornament confessed! Who are these honoured in such high degree, And in their lot distinguished from the rest?' He said: 'For them their glorious memory, Still in thy world the subject of renown, Wins grace[230] by Heaven distinguished thus to be.' Meanwhile I heard a voice: 'Be honour shown To the illustrious poet,[231] for his shade 80 Is now returning which a while was gone.' When the voice paused nor further utterance made, Four mighty shades drew near with one accord, In aspect neither sorrowful nor glad. 'Consider that one, armèd with a sword,'[232] Began my worthy Master in my ear, 'Before the three advancing like their lord; For he is Homer, poet with no peer: Horace the satirist is next in line, Ovid comes third, and Lucan in the rear. 90 And 'tis because their claim agrees with mine Upon the name they with one voice did cry, They to their honour[233] in my praise combine.' Thus I beheld their goodly company-- The lords[234] of song in that exalted style Which o'er all others, eagle-like, soars high. Having conferred among themselves a while They turned toward me and salutation made, And, this beholding, did my Master smile.[235] And honour higher still to me was paid, 100 For of their company they made me one; So I the sixth part 'mong such genius played. Thus journeyed we to where the brightness shone, Holding discourse which now 'tis well to hide, As, where I was, to hold it was well done. At length we reached a noble castle's[236] side Which lofty sevenfold walls encompassed round, And it was moated by a sparkling tide. This we traversed as if it were dry ground; I through seven gates did with those sages go; 110 Then in a verdant mead people we found Whose glances were deliberate and slow. Authority was stamped on every face; Seldom they spake, in tuneful voices low. We drew apart to a high open space Upon one side which, luminously serene, Did of them all a perfect view embrace. Thence, opposite, on the enamel green Were shown me mighty spirits; with delight I still am stirred them only to have seen. 120 With many more, Electra was in sight; 'Mong them I Hector and Æneas spied, Cæsar in arms,[237] his eyes, like falcon's, bright. And, opposite, Camilla I descried; Penthesilea too; the Latian King Sat with his child Lavinia by his side. Brutus[238] I saw, who Tarquin forth did fling; Cornelia, Marcia,[239] Julia, and Lucrece. Saladin[240] sat alone. Considering What lay beyond with somewhat lifted eyes, 130 The Master[241] I beheld of those that know, 'Mong such as in philosophy were wise. All gazed on him as if toward him to show Becoming honour; Plato in advance With Socrates: the others stood below. Democritus[242] who set the world on chance; Thales, Diogenes, Empedocles, Zeno, and Anaxagoras met my glance; Heraclitus, and Dioscorides, Wise judge of nature. Tully, Orpheus, were 140 With ethic Seneca and Linus.[243] These, And Ptolemy,[244] too, and Euclid, geometer, Galen, Hippocrates, and Avicen,[245] Averroes,[246] the same who did prepare The Comment, saw I; nor can tell again The names of all I saw; the subject wide So urgent is, time often fails me. Then Into two bands the six of us divide; Me by another way my Leader wise Doth from the calm to air which trembles, guide. 150 I reach a part[247] which all benighted lies. FOOTNOTES: [220] _Thundering sound_: In a state of unconsciousness, Dante, he knows not how, has been conveyed across Acheron, and is awakened by what seems like the thunder-peal following the lightning-flash which made him insensible. He now stands on the brink of Inferno, where the sounds peculiar to each region of it converge and are reverberated from its rim. These sounds are not again to be heard by him except in their proper localities. No sooner does he actually pass into the First Circle than he hears only sighs.--As regards the topography of Inferno, it is enough, as yet, to note that it consists of a cavity extending from the surface to the centre of the earth; narrowing to its base, and with many circular ledges or terraces, of great width in the case of the upper ones, running round its wall--that is, round the sides of the pit. Each terrace or circle is thus less in circumference than the one above it. From one circle to the next there slopes a bank of more or less height and steepness. Down the bank which falls to the comparatively flat ground of the First Circle they are now about to pass.--To put it otherwise, the Inferno is an inverted hollow cone. [221] _Pity_: The pity felt by Virgil has reference only to those in the circle they are about to enter, which is his own. See also _Purg._ iii. 43. [222] _Wouldst thou, etc._: He will not have Dante form a false opinion of the character of those condemned to the circle which is his own. [223] _Part_: _parte_, altered by some editors into _porta_; but though baptism is technically described as the gate of the sacraments, it never is as the gate of the faith. A tenet of Dante's faith was that all the unbaptized are lost. He had no choice in the matter. [224] _Limbo_: Border, or borderland. Dante makes the First Circle consist of the two limbos of Thomas Aquinas: that of unbaptized infants, _limbus puerorum_, and that of the fathers of the old covenant, _limbus sanctorum patrum_. But the second he finds is now inhabited only by the virtuous heathen. [225] _Sir_--_Master_: As a delicate means of expressing sympathy, Dante redoubles his courtesy to Virgil. [226] _Hidden drift_: to find out, at first hand as it were, if the article in the creed is true which relates to the Descent into Hell; and, perhaps, to learn if when Christ descended He delivered none of the virtuous heathen. [227] _Lately_: Virgil died about half a century before the crucifixion. [228] _A Potentate_: The name of Christ is not mentioned in the _Inferno_. [229] _A hemisphere, etc._: An elaborate way of saying that part of the limbo was clearly lit. The flame is symbolical of the light of genius, or of virtue; both in Dante's eyes being modes of worth. [230] _Wins grace, etc._: The thirst for fame was one keenly felt and openly confessed by Dante. See, _e.g._ _De Monarchia_, i. 1. In this he anticipated the humanists of the following century. Here we find that to be famous on earth helps the case of disembodied souls. [231] _Poet_: Throughout the _Comedy_, with the exception of _Parad._ i. 29, and xxv. 8, the term 'poet' is confined to those who wrote in Greek and Latin. In _Purg._ xxi. 85 the name of poet is said to be that 'which is most enduring and honourable.' [232] _A sword_: Because Homer sings of battles. Dante's acquaintance with his works can have been but slight, as they were not then translated into Latin, and Dante knew little or no Greek. [233] _To their honour_: 'And in that they do well:' perhaps as showing themselves free from jealousy. But the remark of Benvenuto of Imola is: 'Poets love and honour one another, and are never envious and quarrelsome like those who cultivate the other arts and sciences.'--I quote with misgiving from Tamburini's untrustworthy Italian translation. Benvenuto lectured on the _Comedy_ in Bologna for some years about 1370. It is greatly to be wished that his commentary, lively and full of side-lights as it is, should be printed in full from the original Latin. [234] _The lords, etc._: Not the company of him--Homer or Virgil--who is lord of the great song, and soars above all others; but the company of the great masters, whose verse, etc. [235] _Did my Master smile_: To see Dante made free of the guild of great poets; or, it may be, to think they are about to discover in him a fellow poet. [236] _A noble castle_: Where the light burns, and in which, as their peculiar seat, the shades of the heathen distinguished for virtue and genius reside. The seven walls are in their number symbolical of the perfect strength of the castle; or, to take it more pedantically, may mean the four moral virtues and the three speculative. The gates will then stand for the seven liberal arts of grammar, rhetoric, etc. The moat may be eloquence, set outside the castle to signify that only as reflected in the eloquent words of inspired men can the outside world get to know wisdom. Over the stream Dante passes easily, as being an adept in learned speech. The castle encloses a spacious mead enamelled with eternal green. [237] _Cæsar in arms, etc._: Suetonius says of Cæsar that he was of fair complexion, but had black and piercing eyes. Brunetto Latini, Dante's teacher, says in his _Tesoro_ (v. 11), of the hawk here mentioned--the _grifagno_--that its eyes 'flame like fire.' [238] _Brutus_: Introduced here that he may not be confounded with the later Brutus, for whom is reserved the lowest place of all in Inferno. [239] _Marcia_: Wife of Cato; mentioned also in _Purg._ i. _Julia_: daughter of Cæsar and wife of Pompey. [240] _Saladin_: Died 1193. To the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries he supplied the ideal of a just Mohammedan ruler. Here are no other such. 'He sits apart, because not of gentle birth,' says Boccaccio; which shows what even a man of genius risks when he becomes a commentator. [241] _The Master_: Aristotle, often spoken of by Dante as the Philosopher, and reverenced by him as the genius to whom the secrets of nature lay most open. [242] _Democritus, etc._: According to whom the world owes its form to a chance arrangement of atoms. [243] _Linus_: Not Livy, into which some have changed it. Linus is mentioned by Virgil along with Orpheus, _Egl._ iv. [244] _Ptolemy_: Greek geographer of the beginning of the second century, and author of the system of the world believed in by Dante, and freely used by him throughout the poem. [245] _Avicenna_: A physician, born in Bokhara, and died at Ispahan, 1037. His _Medical Canon_ was for centuries used as a text-book in Europe. [246] _Averroes_: A Mohammedan philosopher of Cordova, died 1198. In his great Commentary on Aristotle he gives and explains every sentence of that philosopher's works. He was himself ignorant of Greek, and made use of Arabic versions. Out of his Arabic the Commentary was translated into Hebrew, and thence into Latin. The presence of the three Mohammedans in this honourable place greatly puzzles the early commentators. [247] _A part, etc._: He passes into the darkness of the Limbo out of the brightly-lit, fortified enclosure. It is worth remarking, as one reads, how vividly he describes his first impression of a new scene, while when he comes to leave it a word is all he speaks. CANTO V. From the First Circle thus I downward went Into the Second,[248] which girds narrower space, But greater woe compelling loud lament. Minos[249] waits awful there and snarls, the case Examining of all who enter in; And, as he girds him, dooms them to their place. I say, each ill-starred spirit must begin On reaching him its guilt in full to tell; And he, omniscient as concerning sin, Sees to what circle it belongs in Hell; 10 Then round him is his tail as often curled As he would have it stages deep to dwell. And evermore before him stand a world Of shades; and all in turn to judgment come, Confess and hear, and then are downward hurled.[250] 'O thou who comest to the very home Of woe,' when he beheld me Minos cried, Ceasing a while from utterance of doom, 'Enter not rashly nor in all confide; By ease of entering be not led astray.' 20 'Why also[251] growling?' answered him my Guide; 'Seek not his course predestinate to stay; For thus 'tis willed[252] where nothing ever fails Of what is willed. No further speech essay.' And now by me are agonising wails Distinguished plain; now am I come outright Where grievous lamentation me assails. Now had I reached a place devoid of light, Raging as in a tempest howls the sea When with it winds, blown thwart each other, fight. 30 The infernal storm is raging ceaselessly, Sweeping the shades along with it, and them It smites and whirls, nor lets them ever be. Arrived at the precipitous extreme,[253] In shrieks and lamentations they complain, And even the Power Divine itself blaspheme. I understood[254] that to this mode of pain Are doomed the sinners of the carnal kind, Who o'er their reason let their impulse reign. As starlings in the winter-time combined 40 Float on the wing in crowded phalanx wide, So these bad spirits, driven by that wind, Float up and down and veer from side to side; Nor for their comfort any hope they spy Of rest, or even of suffering mollified. And as the cranes[255] in long-drawn company Pursue their flight while uttering their song, So I beheld approach with wailing cry Shades lifted onward by that whirlwind strong. 'Master, what folk are these,'[256] I therefore said, 50 'Who by the murky air are whipped along?' 'She, first of them,' his answer thus was made, 'Of whom thou wouldst a wider knowledge win, O'er many tongues and peoples, empire swayed. So ruined was she by licentious sin That she decreed lust should be uncontrolled, To ease the shame that she herself was in. She is Semiramis, of whom 'tis told She followed Ninus, and his wife had been. Hers were the realms now by the Sultan ruled. 60 The next[257] is she who, amorous and self-slain, Unto Sichæus' dust did faithless show: Then lustful Cleopatra.' Next was seen Helen, for whom so many years in woe Ran out; and I the great Achilles knew, Who at the last[258] encountered love for foe. Paris I saw and Tristram.[259] In review A thousand shades and more, he one by one Pointed and named, whom love from life withdrew. And after I had heard my Teacher run 70 O'er many a dame of yore and many a knight, I, lost in pity, was wellnigh undone. Then I: 'O Poet, if I only might Speak with the two that as companions hie, And on the wind appear to be so light!'[260] And he to me: 'When they shall come more nigh Them shalt thou mark, and by the love shalt pray Which leads them onward, and they will comply.' Soon as the wind bends them to where we stay I lift my voice: 'O wearied souls and worn! 80 Come speak with us if none[261] the boon gainsay.' Then even as doves,[262] urged by desire, return On outspread wings and firm to their sweet nest As through the air by mere volition borne, From Dido's[263] band those spirits issuing pressed Towards where we were, athwart the air malign; My passionate prayer such influence possessed. 'O living creature,[264] gracious and benign, Us visiting in this obscurèd air, Who did the earth with blood incarnadine; 90 If in the favour of the King we were Who rules the world, we for thy peace[265] would pray, Since our misfortunes thy compassion stir. Whate'er now pleases thee to hear or say We listen to, or tell, at your demand;[266] While yet the wind, as now, doth silent stay. My native city[267] lies upon the strand Where to the sea descends the river Po For peace, with all his tributary band. Love, in a generous heart set soon aglow, 100 Seized him for the fair form was mine above; And still it irks me to have lost it so.[268] Love, which absolves[269] no one beloved from love, So strong a passion for him in me wrought That, as thou seest, I still its mastery prove. Love led us where we in one death were caught. For him who slew us waits Caïna[270] now.' Unto our ears these words from them were brought. When I had heard these troubled souls, my brow I downward bent, and long while musing stayed, 110 Until the Poet asked: 'What thinkest thou?' And when I answered him, 'Alas!' I said, 'Sweet thoughts how many, and what strong desire, These to their sad catastrophe betrayed!' Then, turned once more to them, I to inquire Began: 'Francesca, these thine agonies Me with compassion unto tears inspire. But tell me, at the season of sweet sighs What sign made love, and what the means he chose To strip your dubious longings of disguise?' 120 And she to me: 'The bitterest of woes Is to remember in the midst of pain A happy past; as well thy teacher[271] knows. Yet none the less, and since thou art so fain The first occasion of our love to hear, Like one I speak that cannot tears restrain. As we for pastime one day reading were How Lancelot[272] by love was fettered fast-- All by ourselves and without any fear-- Moved by the tale our eyes we often cast 130 On one another, and our colour fled; But one word was it, vanquished us at last. When how the smile, long wearied for, we read Was kissed by him who loved like none before, This one, who henceforth never leaves me, laid A kiss on my mouth, trembling the while all o'er. The book was Galahad,[273] and he as well Who wrote the book. That day we read no more.' And while one shade continued thus to tell, The other wept so bitterly, I swooned 140 Away for pity, and as dead I fell: Yea, as a corpse falls, fell I on the ground. FOOTNOTES: [248] _The Second_: The Second Circle of the Inferno, and the first of punishment. The lower the circle, the more rigorous the penalty endured in it. Here is punished carnal sin. [249] _Minos_: Son of Jupiter and King of Crete, so severely just as to be made after death one of the judges of the under world. He is degraded by Dante, as many other noble persons of the old mythology are by him, into a demon. Unlike the fallen angels of Milton, Dante's devils have no interest of their own. Their only function is to help in working out human destinies. [250] _Downward hurled_: Each falls to his proper place without lingering by the way. All through Inferno there is an absence of direct Divine interposition. It is ruled, as it were, by a course of nature. The sinners, compelled by a fatal impulse, advance to hear their doom, just as they fall inevitably one by one into Charon's boat. Minos by a sort of devilish instinct sentences each sinner to his appropriate punishment. In _Inf._ xxvii. 127 we find the words in which Minos utters his judgment. In _Inf._ xxi. 29 a devil bears the sinner to his own place. [251] _Why also, etc._: Like Charon. If Minos represents conscience, as some would have it, Dante is here again assailed by misgivings as to his enterprise, and is quieted by reason in the person of Virgil. [252] _Thus 'tis willed, etc._: These two lines are the same as those to Charon, _Inf._ iii. 95, 96. [253] _Precipitous extreme_: Opinions vary as to what is meant by _ruina_. As Dante is certainly still on the outer edge of the Second Circle or terrace, and while standing there hears distinctly the words the spirits say when they reach the _ruina_, it most likely denotes the steep slope falling from the First to the Second Circle. The spirits, driven against the wall which hems them in, burst into sharp lamentations against their irremediable fate. [254] _I understood, etc._: From the nature of the punishment, which, like all the others invented by Dante, bears some relation to the sin to which it is assigned. They who on earth failed to exercise self-restraint are beaten hither and thither by every wind that blows; and, as once they were blinded by passion, so now they see nothing plainly in that dim and obscure place. That Dante should assign the least grievous punishment of all to this sin throws light upon his views of life. In his eyes it had more than any other the excuse of natural bent, and had least of malice. Here, it must be remarked, are no seducers. For them a lower depth is reserved (_Inf._ xviii. See also _Purg._ xxvii. 15). [255] _The cranes_: 'The cranes are a kind of bird that go in a troop, as cavaliers go to battle, following one another in single file. And one of them goes always in front as their gonfalonier, guiding and leading them with its voice' (Brunetto Latini, _Tesoro_, v. 27). [256] _What folk are these_: The general crowd of sinners guilty of unlawful love are described as being close packed like starlings. The other troop, who go in single file like cranes, are those regarding whom Dante specially inquires; and they prove to be the nobler sort of sinners--lovers with something tragic or pathetic in their fate. [257] _The next_: Dido, perhaps not named by Virgil because to him she owed her fame. For love of Æneas she broke the vow of perpetual chastity made on the tomb of her husband. [258] _At the last, etc._: Achilles, when about to espouse Polyxena, and when off his guard, was slain. [259] _Paris ... and Tristram_: Paris of Troy, and the Tristram of King Arthur's Table. [260] _So light_: Denoting the violence of the passion to which they had succumbed. [261] _If none_: If no Superior Power. [262] _Doves_: The motion of the tempest-driven shades is compared to the flight of birds--starlings, cranes, and doves. This last simile prepares us for the tenderness of Francesca's tale. [263] _Dido_: Has been already indicated, and is now named. This association of the two lovers with Virgil's Dido is a further delicate touch to engage our sympathy; for her love, though illicit, was the infirmity of a noble heart. [264] _Living creature_: 'Animal.' No shade, but an animated body. [265] _Thy peace_: Peace from all the doubts that assail him, and which have compelled him to the journey: peace, it may be, from temptation to sin cognate to her own. Even in the gloom of Inferno her great goodheartedness is left her--a consolation, if not a grace. [266] _Your demand_: By a refinement of courtesy, Francesca, though addressing only Dante, includes Virgil in her profession of willingness to tell all they care to hear. But as almost always, he remains silent. It is not for his good the journey is being made. [267] _Native city_: Ravenna. The speaker is Francesca, daughter of Guido of Polenta, lord of Ravenna. About the year 1275 she was married to Gianciotto (Deformed John) Malatesta, son of the lord of Rimini; the marriage, like most of that time in the class to which she belonged, being one of political convenience. She allowed her affections to settle on Paolo, her husband's handsome brother; and Gianciotto's suspicions having been aroused, he surprised the lovers and slew them on the spot. This happened at Pesaro. The association of Francesca's name with Rimini is merely accidental. The date of her death is not known. Dante can never have set eyes on Francesca; but at the battle of Campaldino in 1289, where he was present, a troop of cavaliers from Pistoia fought on the Florentine side under the command of her brother Bernardino; and in the following year, Dante being then twenty-five years of age, her father, Guido, was Podesta in Florence. The Guido of Polenta, lord of Ravenna, whom Dante had for his last and most generous patron, was grandson of that elder Guido, and nephew of Francesca. [268] _To have lost it so_: A husband's right and duty were too well defined in the prevalent social code for her to complain that Gianciotto avenged himself. What she does resent is that she was left no breathing-space for repentance and farewells. [269] _Which absolves, etc._: Which compels whoever is beloved to love in return. Here is the key to Dante's comparatively lenient estimate of the guilt of Francesca's sin. See line 39, and _Inf._ xi. 83. The Church allowed no distinctions with regard to the lost. Dante, for his own purposes, invents a scale of guilt; and in settling the degrees of it he is greatly influenced by human feeling--sometimes by private likes and dislikes. The vestibule of the caitiffs, _e.g._, is his own creation. [270] _Caïna_: The Division of the Ninth and lowest Circle, assigned to those treacherous to their kindred (_Inf._ xxxii. 58). Her husband was still living in 1300.--May not the words of this line be spoken by Paolo? It is as a fratricide even more than as the slayer of his wife that Gianciotto is to find his place in Caïna. The words are more in keeping with the masculine than the feminine character. They certainly jar somewhat with the gentler censure of line 102. And, immediately after, Dante speaks of what the 'souls' have said. [271] _Thy teacher_: Boethius, one of Dante's favourite authors (_Convito_ ii. 13), says in his _De Consol. Phil._, 'The greatest misery in adverse fortune is once to have been happy.' But, granting that Dante found the idea in Boethius, it is clearly Virgil that Francesca means. She sees that Dante's guide is a shade, and gathers from his grave passionless aspect that he is one condemned for ever to look back with futile regret upon his happier past. [272] _Lancelot_: King Arthur's famous knight, who was too bashful to make his love for Queen Guinivere known to her. Galahad, holding the secret of both, persuaded the Queen to make the first declaration of love at a meeting he arranged for between them. Her smile, or laugh, as she 'took Lancelot by the chin and kissed him,' assured her lover of his conquest. The Arthurian Romances were the favourite reading of the Italian nobles of Dante's time. [273] _Galahad_: From the part played by Galahad, or Galeotto, in the tale of Lancelot, his name grew to be Italian for Pander. The book, says Francesca, was that which tells of Galahad; and the author of it proved a very Galahad to us. The early editions of the _Decameron_ bear the second title of 'The Prince Galeotto.' CANTO VI. When I regained my senses, which had fled At my compassion for the kindred two, Which for pure sorrow quite had turned my head, New torments and a crowd of sufferers new I see around me as I move again,[274] Where'er I turn, where'er I bend my view. In the Third Circle am I of the rain Which, heavy, cold, eternal, big with woe, Doth always of one kind and force remain. Large hail and turbid water, mixed with snow, 10 Keep pouring down athwart the murky air; And from the ground they fall on, stenches grow. The savage Cerberus,[275] a monster drear, Howls from his threefold throat with canine cries Above the people who are whelmèd there. Oily and black his beard, and red his eyes, His belly huge: claws from his fingers sprout. The shades he flays, hooks, rends in cruel wise. Beat by the rain these, dog-like, yelp and shout, And shield themselves in turn with either side; 20 And oft[276] the wretched sinners turn about. When we by Cerberus, great worm,[277] were spied, He oped his mouths and all his fangs he showed, While not a limb did motionless abide. My Leader having spread his hands abroad, Filled both his fists with earth ta'en from the ground, And down the ravening gullets flung the load. Then, as sharp set with hunger barks the hound, But is appeased when at his meat he gnaws, And, worrying it, forgets all else around; 30 So with those filthy faces there it was Of the fiend Cerberus, who deafs the crowd Of souls till they from hearing fain would pause. We, travelling o'er the spirits who lay cowed And sorely by the grievous showers harassed, Upon their semblances[278] of bodies trod. Prone on the ground the whole of them were cast, Save one of them who sat upright with speed When he beheld that near to him we passed. 'O thou who art through this Inferno led,[279] 40 Me if thou canst,' he asked me, 'recognise; For ere I was dismantled thou wast made.' And I to him: 'Thy present tortured guise Perchance hath blurred my memory of thy face, Until it seems I ne'er on thee set eyes. But tell me who thou art, within this place So cruel set, exposed to such a pain, Than which, if greater, none has more disgrace.' And he: 'Thy city, swelling with the bane Of envy till the sack is running o'er, 50 Me in the life serene did once contain. As Ciacco[280] me your citizens named of yore; And for the damning sin of gluttony I, as thou seest, am beaten by this shower. No solitary woful soul am I, For all of these endure the selfsame doom For the same fault.' Here ended his reply. I answered him, 'O Ciacco, with such gloom Thy misery weighs me, I to weep am prone; But, if thou canst, declare to what shall come 60 The citizens[281] of the divided town. Holds it one just man? And declare the cause Why 'tis of discord such a victim grown.' Then he to me: 'After[282] contentious pause Blood will be spilt; the boorish party[283] then Will chase the others forth with grievous loss. The former it behoves to fall again Within three suns, the others to ascend, Holpen[284] by him whose wiles ere now are plain. Long time, with heads held high, they'll make to bend The other party under burdens dire, 71 Howe'er themselves in tears and rage they spend. There are two just[285] men, at whom none inquire. Envy, and pride, and avarice, even these Are the three sparks have set all hearts on fire.' With this the tearful sound he made to cease: And I to him, 'Yet would I have thee tell-- And of thy speech do thou the gift increase-- Tegghiaio[286] and Farinata, honourable, James Rusticucci,[287] Mosca, Arrigo, 80 With all the rest so studious to excel In good; where are they? Help me this to know; Great hunger for the news hath seizèd me; Delights them Heaven, or tortures Hell below?' He said: 'Among the blackest souls they be; Them to the bottom weighs another sin. Shouldst thou so far descend, thou mayst them see. But when[288] the sweet world thou again dost win, I pray thee bring me among men to mind; No more I tell, nor new reply begin.' 90 Then his straightforward eyes askance declined; He looked at me a moment ere his head He bowed; then fell flat 'mong the other blind. 'Henceforth he waketh not,' my Leader said, 'Till he shall hear the angel's trumpet sound, Ushering the hostile Judge. By every shade Its dismal sepulchre shall then be found, Its flesh and ancient form it shall resume, And list[289] what echoes in eternal round.' So passed we where the shades and rainy spume 100 Made filthy mixture, with steps taken slow; Touching a little on the world to come.[290] Wherefore I said: 'Master, shall torments grow After the awful sentence hath been heard, Or lesser prove and not so fiercely glow?' 'Repair unto thy Science,'[291] was his word; 'Which tells, as things approach a perfect state To keener joy or suffering they are stirred. Therefore although this people cursed by fate Ne'er find perfection in its full extent, 110 To it they then shall more approximate Than now.'[292] Our course we round the circle bent, Still holding speech, of which I nothing say, Until we came where down the pathway went: There found we Plutus, the great enemy. FOOTNOTES: [274] _As I move again_: In his swoon he has been conveyed from the Second Circle down to the Third. [275] _Cerberus_: In the Greek mythology Cerberus is the watch-dog of the under world. By Dante he is converted into a demon, and with his three throats, canine voracity, and ugly inflamed bulk, is appropriately set to guard the entrance to the circle of the gluttonous and wine-bibbers. [276] _And oft, etc._: On entering the circle the shades are seized and torn by Cerberus; once over-nice in how they fed, they are now treated as if they were food for dogs. But their enduring pain is to be subjected to every kind of physical discomfort. Their senses of hearing, touch, and smell are assailed by the opposite of what they were most used to enjoy at their luxurious feasts. [277] _Great worm_: Though human in a monstrous form, Cerberus is so called as being a disgusting brute. [278] _Semblances, etc._: 'Emptiness which seems to be a person.' To this conception of the shades as only seeming to have bodies, Dante has difficulty in remaining true. For instance, at line 101 they mix with the sleet to make a sludgy mass; and cannot therefore be impalpable. [279] Ciacco at once perceives by the weight of Dante's tread that he is a living man. [280] _Ciacco_: The name or nickname of a Florentine wit, and, in his day, a great diner-out. Boccaccio, in his commentary, says that, though poor, Ciacco associated with men of birth and wealth, especially such as ate and drank delicately. In the _Decameron_, ix. 8, he is introduced as being on such terms with the great Corso Donati as to be able to propose himself to dinner with him. Clearly he was not a bad fellow, and his pitiful case, perhaps contrasted with the high spirits and jovial surroundings in which he was last met by Dante, almost, though not quite, win a tear from the stern pilgrim. [281] _The citizens, etc._: Dante eagerly confers on Florentine politics with the first Florentine he encounters in Inferno. [282] _After, etc._: In the following nine lines the party history of Florence for two years after the period of the poem (March 1300) is roughly indicated. The city was divided into two factions--the Whites, led by the great merchant Vieri dei Cerchi, and the Blacks, led by Corso Donati, a poor and turbulent noble. At the close of 1300 there was a bloody encounter between the more violent members of the two parties. In May 1301 the Blacks were banished. In the autumn of that year they returned in triumph to the city in the train of Charles of Valois, and got the Whites banished in April 1302, within three years, that is, of the poet's talk with Ciacco. Dante himself was associated with the Whites, but not as a violent partisan; for though he was a strong politician no party quite answered his views. From the middle of June till the middle of August 1300 he was one of the Priors. In the course of 1301 he is believed to have gone on an embassy to Rome to persuade the Pope to abstain from meddling in Florentine affairs. He never entered Florence again, being condemned virtually to banishment in January 1302. [283] _The boorish party_: _la parte selvaggia_. The Whites; but what is exactly meant by _selvaggia_ is not clear. Literally it is 'woodland,' and some say it refers to the Cerchi having originally come from a well-wooded district; which is absurd. Nor, taking the word in its secondary meaning of savage, does it apply better to one party than another--not so well, perhaps, to the Whites as to the Blacks. Villani also terms the Cerchi _salvatichi_ (viii. 39), and in a connection where it may mean rude, ill-mannered. I take it that Dante here indulges in a gibe at the party to which he once belonged, but which, ere he began the _Comedy_, he had quite broken with. In _Parad._ xvii. 62 he terms the members of it 'wicked and stupid.' The sneer in the text would come well enough from the witty and soft-living Ciacco. [284] _Holpen, etc._: Pope Boniface, already intriguing to gain the preponderance in Florence, which for a time he enjoyed, with the greedy and faithless Charles of Valois for his agent. [285] _Two just_: Dante and another, unknown. He thus distinctly puts from himself any blame for the evil turn things had taken in Florence. How thoroughly he had broken with his party ere he wrote this is proved by his exclusion of the irresolute but respectable Vieri dei Cerchi from the number of the just men. He, in Dante's judgment, was only too much listened to.--It will be borne in mind that, at the time assigned to the action of the _Comedy_, Dante was still resident in Florence. [286] _Tegghiaio_: See _Inf._ xvi. 42. _Farinata_: _Inf._ x. 32. [287] _Rusticucci_: _Inf._ xvi. 44. _Mosca_: _Inf._ xxviii. 106. _Arrigo_: Cannot be identified. All these distinguished Florentines we may assume to have been hospitable patrons of Ciacco's. [288] _But when, etc._: In the Inferno many such prayers are addressed to Dante. The shades in Purgatory ask to have their friends on earth stirred to offer up petitions for their speedy purification and deliverance; but the only alleviation possible for the doomed spirits is to know that they are not yet forgotten up in the 'sweet world.' A double artistic purpose is served by representing them as feeling thus. It relieves the mind to think that in such misery there is any source of comfort at all. And by making them be still interested on their own account in the thoughts of men, the eager colloquies in which they engage with Dante on such unequal terms gain in verisimilitude. [289] _And list, etc._: The final sentence against them is to echo, in its results, through all eternity. [290] _The world to come_: The life after doomsday. [291] _Thy Science_: To Aristotle. In the _Convito_, iv. 16, he quotes 'the Philosopher' as teaching that 'everything is then at its full perfection when it thoroughly fulfils its special functions.' [292] _Than now_: Augustine says that 'after the resurrection of the flesh the joys of the blessed and the sufferings of the wicked will be enhanced.' And, according to Thomas Aquinas, 'the soul, without the body, is wanting in the perfection designed for it by Nature.' CANTO VII. Pape[293] Satan! Pape Satan! Aleppe! Plutus[294] began in accents rough and hard: And that mild Sage, all-knowing, said to me, For my encouragement: 'Pay no regard Unto thy fear; whatever power he sways Thy passage down this cliff shall not be barred.' Then turning round to that inflamèd face He bade: 'Accursed wolf,[295] at peace remain; And, pent within thee, let thy fury blaze. Down to the pit we journey not in vain: 10 So rule they where by Michael in Heaven's height On the adulterous pride[296] was vengeance ta'en.' Then as the bellied sails, by wind swelled tight, Suddenly drag whenever snaps the mast; Such, falling to the ground, the monster's plight. To the Fourth Cavern so we downward passed, Winning new reaches of the doleful shore Where all the vileness of the world is cast. Justice of God! which pilest more and more Pain as I saw, and travail manifold! 20 Why will we sin, to be thus wasted sore? As at Charybdis waves are forward rolled To break on other billows midway met, The people here a counterdance must hold. A greater crowd than I had seen as yet, With piercing yells advanced on either track, Rolling great stones to which their chests were set. They crashed together, and then each turned back Upon the way he came, while shouts arise, 'Why clutch it so?' and 'Why to hold it slack?' 30 In the dark circle wheeled they on this wise From either hand to the opposing part, Where evermore they raised insulting cries. Thither arrived, each, turning, made fresh start Through the half circle[297] a new joust to run; And I, stung almost to the very heart, Said, 'O my Master, wilt thou make it known Who the folk are? Were these all clerks[298] who go Before us on the left, with shaven crown?' And he replied: 'All of them squinted so 40 In mental vision while in life they were, They nothing spent by rule. And this they show, And with their yelping voices make appear When half-way round the circle they have sped, And sins opposing them asunder tear. Each wanting thatch of hair upon his head Was once a clerk, or pope, or cardinal, In whom abound the ripest growths of greed.' And I: 'O Master, surely among all Of these I ought[299] some few to recognise, 50 Who by such filthy sins were held in thrall.' And he to me: 'Vain thoughts within thee rise; Their witless life, which made them vile, now mocks-- Dimming[300] their faces still--all searching eyes. Eternally they meet with hostile shocks; These rising from the tomb at last shall stand With tight clenched fists, and those with ruined locks.[301] Squandering or hoarding, they the happy land[302] Have lost, and now are marshalled for this fray; Which to describe doth no fine words demand. 60 Know hence, my Son, how fleeting is the play Of goods at the dispose of Fortune thrown, And which mankind to such fierce strife betray. Not all the gold which is beneath the moon Could purchase peace, nor all that ever was, To but one soul of these by toil undone.' 'Master,' I said, 'tell thou, ere making pause, Who Fortune is of whom thou speak'st askance, Who holds all worldly riches in her claws.'[303] 'O foolish creatures, lost in ignorance!' 70 He answer made. 'Now see that the reply Thou store, which I concerning her advance. He who in knowledge is exalted high, Framing[304] all Heavens gave such as should them guide, That so each part might shine to all; whereby Is equal light diffused on every side: And likewise to one guide and governor, Of worldly splendours did control confide, That she in turns should different peoples dower 79 With this vain good; from blood should make it pass To blood, in spite of human wit. Hence, power, Some races failing,[305] other some amass, According to her absolute decree Which hidden lurks, like serpent in the grass. Vain 'gainst her foresight yours must ever be. She makes provision, judges, holds her reign, As doth his power supreme each deity. Her permutations can no truce sustain; Necessity[306] compels her to be swift, So swift they follow who their turn must gain. 90 And this is she whom they so often[307] lift Upon the cross, who ought to yield her praise; And blame on her and scorn unjustly shift. But she is blest nor hears what any says, With other primal creatures turns her sphere, Jocund and glad, rejoicing in her ways. To greater woe now let us downward steer. The stars[308] which rose when I began to guide Are falling now, nor may we linger here.' We crossed the circle to the other side, 100 Arriving where a boiling fountain fell Into a brooklet by its streams supplied. In depth of hue the flood did perse[309] excel, And we, with this dim stream to lead us on, Descended by a pathway terrible. A marsh which by the name of Styx is known, Fed by this gloomy brook, lies at the base Of threatening cliffs hewn out of cold grey stone. And I, intent on study of the place,[310] Saw people in that ditch, mud-smeared. In it 110 All naked stood with anger-clouded face. Nor with their fists alone each fiercely hit The other, but with feet and chest and head, And with their teeth to shreds each other bit. 'Son, now behold,' the worthy Master said, 'The souls of those whom anger made a prize; And, further, I would have thee certified That 'neath the water people utter sighs, And make the bubbles to the surface come; As thou mayst see by casting round thine eyes. 120 Fixed in the mud they say: "We lived in gloom[311] In the sweet air made jocund by the day, Nursing within us melancholy fume. In this black mud we now our gloom display." This hymn with gurgling throats they strive to sound, Which they in speech unbroken fail to say.' And thus about the loathsome pool we wound For a wide arc, between the dry and soft, With eyes on those who gulp the filth, turned round. At last we reached a tower that soared aloft. 130 FOOTNOTES: [293] _Pape, etc._: These words have exercised the ingenuity of many scholars, who on the whole lean to the opinion that they contain an appeal to Satan against the invasion of his domain. Virgil seems to have understood them, but the text leaves it doubtful whether Dante himself did. Later on, but there with an obvious purpose, we find a line of pure gibberish (_Inf._ xxxi. 67). [294] _Plutus_: The god of riches; degraded here into a demon. He guards the Fourth Circle, which is that of the misers and spendthrifts. [295] _Wolf_: Frequently used by Dante as symbolical of greed. [296] _Pride_: Which in its way was a kind of greed--that of dominion. Similarly, the avarice represented by the wolf of Canto i. was seen to be the lust of aggrandisement. Virgil here answers Plutus's (supposed) appeal to Satan by referring to the higher Power, under whose protection he and his companion come. [297] _The half circle_: This Fourth Circle is divided half-way round between the misers and spendthrifts, and the two bands at set periods clash against one another in their vain effort to pass into the section belonging to the opposite party. Their condition is emblematical of their sins while in life. They were one-sided in their use of wealth; so here they can never complete the circle. The monotony of their employment and of their cries represents their subjection to one idea, and, as in life, so now, their displeasure is excited by nothing so much as by coming into contact with the failing opposite to their own. Yet they are set in the same circle because the sin of both arose from inordinate desire of wealth, the miser craving it to hoard, and the spendthrift to spend. In Purgatory also they are placed together (see _Purg._ xxii. 40). So, on Dante's scheme, liberality is allied to and dependent on a wise and reasonable frugality.--There is no hint of the enormous length of the course run by these shades. Far lower down, when the circles of the Inferno have greatly narrowed, the circuit is twenty-two miles (_Inf._ xxix. 9). [298] _Clerks_: Churchmen. The tonsure is the sign that a man is of ecclesiastical condition. Many took the tonsure who never became priests. [299] _I ought, etc._: Dante is astonished that he can pick out no greedy priest or friar of his acquaintance, when he had known so many. [300] _Dimming, etc._: Their original disposition is by this time smothered by the predominance of greed. Dante treats these sinners with a special contemptuous bitterness. Scores of times since he became dependent on the generosity of others he must have watched how at a bare hint the faces of miser and spendthrift fell, while their eyes travelled vaguely beyond him, and their voices grew cold. [301] _Ruined locks_: 'A spendthrift will spend his very hair,' says an Italian proverb. [302] _The happy land_: Heaven. [303] _Her claws_: Dante speaks of Fortune as if she were a brutal and somewhat malicious power. In Virgil's answer there is a refutation of the opinion of Fortune given by Dante himself, in the _Convito_ (iv. 11). After describing three ways in which the goods of Fortune come to men he says: 'In each of these three ways her injustice is manifest.' This part of the _Convito_ Fraticelli seems almost to prove was written in 1297. [304] _Framing, etc._: According to the scholastic theory of the world, each of the nine heavens was directed in its motion by intelligences, called angels by the vulgar, and by the heathen, gods (_Convito_ ii. 5). As these spheres and the influences they exercise on human affairs are under the guidance of divinely-appointed ministers, so, Virgil says, is the distribution of worldly wealth ruled by Providence through Fortune. [305] _Some races failing_: It was long believed, nor is the belief quite obsolete, that one community can gain only at the expense of another. Sir Thomas Browne says: 'All cannot be happy at once; for because the glory of one state depends upon the ruin of another, there is a revolution and vicissitude of their greatness, and all must obey the swing of that wheel, not moved by intelligences, but by the hand of God, whereby all states arise to their zeniths and vertical points according to their predestinated periods.'--_Rel. Med._ i. 17. [306] _Necessity, etc._: Suggested, perhaps, by Horace's _Te semper anteit sæva necessitas_ (_Od._ i. 35). The question of how men can be free in the face of necessity, here associated with Fortune, more than once emerges in the _Comedy_. Dante's belief on the subject was substantially that of his favourite author Boethius, who holds that ultimately 'it is Providence that turns the wheel of all things;' and who says, that 'if you spread your sails to the wind you will be carried, not where you would, but whither you are driven by the gale: if you choose to commit yourself to Fortune, you must endure the manners of your mistress.' [307] _Whom they so often, etc._: Treat with contumely. [308] _The stars, etc._: It is now past midnight, and towards the morning of Saturday, the 26th of March 1300. Only a few hours have been employed as yet upon the journey. [309] _Perse_: 'Perse is a colour between purple and black, but the black predominates' (_Conv._ iv. 20). The hue of the waters of Styx agrees with the gloomy temper of the sinners plunged in them. [310] _The place_: They are now in the Fifth Circle, where the wrathful are punished. [311] _In gloom_: These submerged spirits are, according to the older commentators, the slothful--those guilty of the sin of slackness in the pursuit of good, as, _e.g._ neglect of the means of grace. This is, theologically speaking, the sin directly opposed to the active grace of charity. By more modern critics it has been ingeniously sought to find in this circle a place not only for the slothful but for the proud and envious as well. To each of these classes of sinners--such of them as have repented in this life--a terrace of Purgatory is assigned, and at first sight it does seem natural to expect that the impenitent among them should be found in Inferno. But, while in Purgatory souls purge themselves of every kind of mortal sin, Inferno, as Dante conceived of it, contains only such sinners as have been guilty of wicked acts. Drift and bent of heart and mind are taken no account of. The evil seed must have borne a harvest, and the guilt of every victim of Justice must be plain and open. Now, pride and envy are sins indeed, but sins that a man may keep to himself. If they have betrayed the subject of them into the commission of crimes, in those crimes they are punished lower down, as is indicated at xii. 49. And so we find that Lucifer is condemned as a traitor, though his treachery sprang from envy: the greater guilt includes the less. For sluggishness in the pursuit of good the vestibule of the caitiffs seems the appropriate place.--There are two kinds of wrath. One is vehement, and declares itself in violent acts; the other does not blaze out, but is grudging and adverse to all social good--the wrath that is nursed. One as much as the other affects behaviour. So in this circle, as in the preceding, we have represented the two excesses of one sin.--Dante's theory of sins is ably treated of in Witte's _Dante-Forschungen_, vol. ii. p. 121. CANTO VIII. I say, continuing,[312] that long before To its foundations we approachèd nigh Our eyes went travelling to the top of the tower; For, hung out there, two flames[313] we could espy. Then at such distance, scarce our eyesight made It clearly out, another gave reply. And, to the Sea of Knowledge turned, I said: 'What meaneth this? and what reply would yield That other light, and who have it displayed?' 'Thou shouldst upon the impure watery field,' 10 He said, 'already what approaches know, But that the fen-fog holds it still concealed.' Never was arrow yet from sharp-drawn bow Urged through the air upon a swifter flight Than what I saw a tiny vessel show, Across the water shooting into sight; A single pilot served it for a crew, Who shouted: 'Art thou come, thou guilty sprite?'[314] 'O Phlegyas, Phlegyas,[315] this thy loud halloo! For once,' my Lord said, 'idle is and vain. 20 Thou hast us only till the mud we're through.' And, as one cheated inly smarts with pain When the deceit wrought on him is betrayed, His gathering ire could Phlegyas scarce contain. Into the bark my Leader stepped, and made Me take my place beside him; nor a jot, Till I had entered, was it downward weighed. Soon as my Guide and I were in the boat, To cleave the flood began the ancient prow, Deeper[316] than 'tis with others wont to float. 30 Then, as the stagnant ditch we glided through, One smeared with filth in front of me arose And said: 'Thus coming ere thy period,[317] who Art thou?' And I: 'As one who forthwith goes I come; but thou defiled, how name they thee?' 'I am but one who weeps,'[318] he said. 'With woes,' I answered him, 'with tears and misery, Accursèd soul, remain; for thou art known Unto me now, all filthy though thou be.' Then both his hands were on the vessel thrown; 40 But him my wary Master backward heaved, Saying: 'Do thou 'mong the other dogs be gone!' Then to my neck with both his arms he cleaved, And kissed my face, and, 'Soul disdainful,'[319] said, 'O blessed she in whom thou wast conceived! He in the world great haughtiness displayed. No deeds of worth his memory adorn; And therefore rages here his sinful shade. And many are there by whom crowns are worn On earth, shall wallow here like swine in mire, 50 Leaving behind them names o'erwhelmed[320] in scorn.' And I: 'O Master, I have great desire To see him well soused in this filthy tide, Ere from the lake we finally retire.' And he: 'Or ever shall have been descried The shore by thee, thy longing shall be met; For such a wish were justly gratified.' A little after in such fierce onset The miry people down upon him bore, I praise and bless God for it even yet. 60 'Philip Argenti![321] at him!' was the roar; And then that furious spirit Florentine Turned with his teeth upon himself and tore. Here was he left, nor wins more words of mine. Now in my ears a lamentation rung, Whence I to search what lies ahead begin. And the good Master told me: 'Son, ere long We to the city called of Dis[322] draw near, Where in great armies cruel burghers[323] throng.' And I: 'Already, Master, I appear 70 Mosques[324] in the valley to distinguish well, Vermilion, as if they from furnace were Fresh come.' And he: 'Fires everlasting dwell Within them, whence appear they glowing hot, As thou discernest in this lower hell.' We to the moat profound at length were brought, Which girds that city all disconsolate; The walls around it seemed of iron wrought. Not without fetching first a compass great, We came to where with angry cry at last: 80 'Get out,' the boatman yelled; 'behold the gate!'[325] More than a thousand, who from Heaven[326] were cast, I saw above the gates, who furiously Demanded: 'Who, ere death on him has passed, Holds through the region of the dead his way?' And my wise Master made to them a sign That he had something secretly to say. Then ceased they somewhat from their great disdain, And said: 'Come thou, but let that one be gone Who thus presumptuous enters on this reign. 90 Let him retrace his madcap way alone, If he but can; thou meanwhile lingering here, Through such dark regions who hast led him down.' Judge, reader, if I was not filled with fear, Hearing the words of this accursèd threat; For of return my hopes extinguished were. 'Beloved Guide, who more than seven times[327] set Me in security, and safely brought Through frightful dangers in my progress met, Leave me not thus undone;' I him besought: 100 'If further progress be to us denied, Let us retreat together, tarrying not.' The Lord who led me thither then replied: 'Fear not: by One so great has been assigned Our passage, vainly were all hindrance tried. Await me here, and let thy fainting mind Be comforted and with good hope be fed, Not to be left in this low world behind.' Thus goes he, thus am I abandonèd By my sweet Father. I in doubt remain, 110 With Yes and No[328] contending in my head. I could not hear what speech he did maintain, But no long time conferred he in that place, Till, to be first, all inward raced again. And then the gates were closed in my Lord's face By these our enemies; outside stood he; Then backward turned to me with lingering pace, With downcast eyes, and all the bravery Stripped from his brows; and he exclaimed with sighs; 'Who dare[329] deny the doleful seats to me!' 120 And then he said: 'Although my wrath arise, Fear not, for I to victory will pursue, Howe'er within they plot, the enterprise. This arrogance of theirs is nothing new; They showed it[330] once at a less secret door Which stands unbolted since. Thou didst it view, And saw the dark-writ legend which it bore. Thence, even now, is one who hastens down Through all the circles, guideless, to this shore, And he shall win us entrance to the town.' 130 FOOTNOTES: [312] _Continuing_: The account of the Fifth Circle, begun in the preceding Canto, is continued in this. It is impossible to adopt Boccaccio's story of how the first seven Cantos were found among a heap of other papers, years after Dante's exile began; and that 'continuing' marks the resumption of his work. The word most probably suggested the invention of the incident, or at least led to the identification of some manuscript that may have been sent to Dante, with the opening pages of the _Comedy_. If the tale were true, not only must Ciacco's prophecy (_Inf._ vi.) have been interpolated, but we should be obliged to hold that Dante began the poem while he was a prosperous citizen.--Boccaccio himself in his Comment on the _Comedy_ points out the difficulty of reconciling the story with Ciacco's prophecy. [313] _Two flames_: Denoting the number of passengers who are to be conveyed across the Stygian pool. It is a signal for the ferryman, and is answered by a light hung out on the battlements of the city of Dis. [314] _Guilty sprite_: Only one is addressed; whether Virgil or Dante is not clear. [315] _Phlegyas_: Who burnt the temple of Apollo at Delphi in revenge for the violation of his daughter by the god. [316] _Deeper, etc._: Because used to carry only shades. [317] _Ere thy period_: The curiosity of the shade is excited by the sinking of the boat in the water. He assumes that Dante will one day be condemned to Inferno. Neither Francesca nor Ciacco made a like mistake. [318] _One who weeps_: He is ashamed to tell his name, and hopes in his vile disguise to remain unknown by Dante, whose Florentine speech and dress, and perhaps whose features, he has now recognised. [319] _Soul disdainful_: Dante has been found guilty of here glorying in the same sin which he so severely reprobates in others. But, without question, of set purpose he here contrasts righteous indignation with the ignoble rage punished in this circle. With his quick temper and zeal so often kindling into flame, he may have felt a special personal need of emphasising the distinction. [320] _Names o'erwhelmed, etc._: 'Horrible reproaches.' [321] _Philip Argenti_: A Florentine gentleman related to the great family of the Adimari, and a contemporary of Dante's. Boccaccio in his commentary describes him as a cavalier, very rich, and so ostentatious that he once shod his horse with silver, whence his surname. In the _Decameron_ (ix. 8) he is introduced as violently assaulting--tearing out his hair and dragging him in the mire--the victim of a practical joke played by the Ciacco of Canto vi. Some, without reason, suppose that Dante shows such severity to him because he was a Black, and so a political opponent of his own. [322] _Dis_: A name of Pluto, the god of the infernal regions. [323] _Burghers_: The city of Dis composes the Sixth Circle, and, as immediately appears, is populated by demons. The sinners punished in it are not mentioned at all in this Canto, and it seems more reasonable to apply _burghers_ to the demons than to the shades. They are called _gravi_, generally taken to mean sore burdened, and the description is then applicable to the shades; but _grave_ also bears the sense of cruel, and may describe the fierceness of the devils. Though the city is inhabited by the subjects of Dis, he is found as Lucifer at the very bottom of the pit. By some critics the whole of the lower Inferno, all that lies beyond this point, is regarded as being the city of Dis. But it is the Sixth Circle, with its minarets, that is the city; its walls, however, serving as bulwarks for all the lower Inferno. The shape of the city is, of course, that of a circular belt. Here it may be noted that the Fifth and Sixth Circles are on the same level; the water of Styx, which as a marsh covers the Fifth, is gathered into a moat to surround the walls of the Sixth. [324] _Mosques_: The feature of an Infidel city that first struck crusader and pilgrim. [325] _The gate_: They have floated across the stagnant marsh into the deeper waters of the moat, and up to the gate where Phlegyas is used to land his passengers. It may be a question whether his services are required for all who are doomed to the lower Inferno, or only for those bound to the city. [326] _From Heaven_: 'Rained from Heaven.' Fallen angels. [327] _Seven times_: Given as a round number. [328] _Yes and No_: He will return--He will not return. The demons have said that Virgil shall remain, and he has promised Dante not to desert him. [329] _Who dare, etc._: Virgil knows the hindrance is only temporary, but wonders what superior devilish power can have incited the demons to deny him entrance. The incident displays the fallen angels as being still rebellious, and is at the same time skilfully conceived to mark a pause before Dante enters on the lower Inferno. [330] _They showed it, etc._: At the gate of Inferno, on the occasion of Christ's descent to Limbo. The reference is to the words in the Missal service for Easter Eve: 'This is the night in which, having burst the bonds of death, Christ victoriously ascended from Hell.' CANTO IX. The hue which cowardice on my face did paint When I beheld my guide return again, Put his new colour[331] quicker 'neath restraint. Like one who listens did he fixed remain; For far to penetrate the air like night, And heavy mist, the eye was bent in vain. 'Yet surely we must vanquish in the fight;' Thus he, 'unless[332]--but with such proffered aid-- O how I weary till he come in sight!' Well I remarked how he transition made, 10 Covering his opening words with those behind, Which contradicted what at first he said. Nath'less his speech with terror charged my mind, For, haply, to the word which broken fell Worse meaning than he purposed, I assigned. Down to this bottom[333] of the dismal shell Comes ever any from the First Degree,[334] Where all their pain is, stripped of hope to dwell? To this my question thus responded he: 'Seldom it haps to any to pursue 20 The journey now embarked upon by me. Yet I ere this descended, it is true, Beneath a spell of dire Erichtho's[335] laid, Who could the corpse with soul inform anew. Short while my flesh of me was empty made When she required me to o'erpass that wall, From Judas' circle[336] to abstract a shade. That is the deepest, darkest place of all, And furthest from the heaven[337] which moves the skies; I know the way; fear nought that can befall. 30 These fens[338] from which vile exhalations rise The doleful city all around invest, Which now we reach not save in angry wise.' Of more he spake nought in my mind doth rest, For, with mine eyes, my every thought had been Fixed on the lofty tower with flaming crest, Where, in a moment and upright, were seen Three hellish furies, all with blood defaced, And woman-like in members and in mien. Hydras of brilliant green begirt their waist; 40 Snakes and cerastes for their tresses grew, And these were round their dreadful temples braced. That they the drudges were, full well he knew, Of her who is the queen of endless woes, And said to me: 'The fierce Erynnyes[339] view! Herself upon the left Megæra shows; That is Alecto weeping on the right; Tisiphone's between.' Here made he close. Each with her nails her breast tore, and did smite Herself with open palms. They screamed in tone 50 So fierce, I to the Poet clove for fright. 'Medusa,[340] come, that we may make him stone!' All shouted as they downward gazed; 'Alack! Theseus[341] escaped us when he ventured down.' 'Keep thine eyes closed and turn to them thy back, For if the Gorgon chance to be displayed And thou shouldst look, farewell the upward track!' Thus spake the Master, and himself he swayed Me round about; nor put he trust in mine But his own hands upon mine eyelids laid. 60 O ye with judgment gifted to divine Look closely now, and mark what hidden lore Lies 'neath the veil of my mysterious line![342] Across the turbid waters came a roar And crash of sound, which big with fear arose: Because of it fell trembling either shore. The fashion of it was as when there blows A blast by cross heats made to rage amain, Which smites the forest and without repose The shattered branches sweeps in hurricane; 70 In clouds of dust, majestic, onward flies, Wild beasts and herdsmen driving o'er the plain. 'Sharpen thy gaze,' he bade--and freed mine eyes-- 'Across the foam-flecked immemorial lake, Where sourest vapour most unbroken lies.' And as the frogs before the hostile snake Together of the water get them clear, And on the dry ground, huddling, shelter take; More than a thousand ruined souls in fear Beheld I flee from one who, dry of feet, 80 Was by the Stygian ferry drawing near. Waving his left hand he the vapour beat Swiftly from 'fore his face, nor seemed he spent Save with fatigue at having this to meet. Well I opined that he from Heaven[343] was sent, And to my Master turned. His gesture taught I should be dumb and in obeisance bent. Ah me, how with disdain appeared he fraught! He reached the gate, which, touching with a rod,[344] He oped with ease, for it resisted not. 90 'People despised and banished far from God,' Upon the awful threshold then he spoke, 'How holds in you such insolence abode? Why kick against that will which never broke Short of its end, if ever it begin, And often for you fiercer torments woke? Butting 'gainst fate, what can ye hope to win? Your Cerberus,[345] as is to you well known, Still bears for this a well-peeled throat and chin.' Then by the passage foul he back was gone, 100 Nor spake to us, but like a man was he By other cares[346] absorbed and driven on Than that of those who may around him be. And we, confiding in the sacred word, Moved toward the town in all security. We entered without hindrance, and I, spurred By my desire the character to know And style of place such strong defences gird, Entering, begin mine eyes around to throw, And see on every hand a vast champaign, 110 The teeming seat of torments and of woe. And as at Arles[347] where Rhone spreads o'er the plain, Or Pola,[348] hard upon Quarnaro sound Which bathes the boundaries Italian, The sepulchres uneven make the ground; So here on every side, but far more dire And grievous was the fashion of them found. For scattered 'mid the tombs blazed many a fire, Because of which these with such fervour burned No arts which work in iron more require. 120 All of the lids were lifted. I discerned By keen laments which from the tombs arose That sad and suffering ones were there inurned. I said: 'O Master, tell me who are those Buried within the tombs, of whom the sighs Come to our ears thus eloquent of woes?' And he to me: 'The lords of heresies[349] With followers of all sects, a greater band Than thou wouldst think, these sepulchres comprise. To lodge them like to like the tombs are planned. 130 The sepulchres have more or less of heat.'[350] Then passed we, turning to the dexter hand,[351] 'Tween torments and the lofty parapet. FOOTNOTES: [331] _New colour_: Both have changed colour, Virgil in anger and Dante in fear. [332] _Unless_: To conceal his misgiving from Dante, Virgil refrains from expressing all his thought. The 'unless' may refer to what the lying demons had told him or threatened him with; the 'proffered aid,' to that involved in Beatrice's request. [333] _This bottom_: The lower depths of Inferno. How much still lies below him is unknown to Dante. [334] _First Degree_: The limbo where Virgil resides. Dante by an indirect question, seeks to learn how much experience of Inferno is possessed by his guide. [335] _Erichtho_: A Thessalian sorceress, of whom Lucan (_Pharsalia_ vi.) tells that she evoked a shade to predict to Sextus Pompey the result of the war between his father and Cæsar. This happened thirty years before the death of Virgil. [336] _Judas' circle_: The Judecca, or very lowest point of the Inferno. Virgil's death preceded that of Judas by fifty years. He gives no hint of whose the shade was that he went down to fetch; but Lucan's tale was probably in Dante's mind. In the Middle Ages the memory of Virgil was revered as that of a great sorcerer, especially in the neighbourhood of Naples. [337] _The heaven, etc._: The _Primum Mobile_; but used here for the highest heaven. See _Inf._ ii. 83, _note_. [338] _These fens, etc._: Virgil knows the locality. They have no choice, but must remain where they are, for the same moat and wall gird the city all around. [339] _Erynnyes_: The Furies. The Queen of whom they are handmaids is Proserpine, carried off by Dis, or Pluto, to the under world. [340] _Medusa_: One of the Gorgons. Whoever looked on the head of Medusa was turned into stone. [341] _Theseus_: Who descended into the infernal regions to rescue Proserpine, and escaped by the help of Hercules. [342] _Mysterious line_: 'Strange verses:' That the verses are called strange, as Boccaccio and others of the older commentators say, because treating of such a subject in the vulgar tongue for the first time, and in rhyme, is difficult to believe. Rather they are strange because of the meaning they convey. What that is, Dante warns the reader of superior intellect to pause and consider. It has been noted (_Inf._ ii. 28) how he uses the characters of the old mythology as if believing in their real existence. But this is for his poetical ends. Here he bids us look below the surface and seek for the truth hidden under the strange disguise.--The opposition to their progress offered by the powers of Hell perplexes even Virgil, while Dante is reduced to a state of absolute terror, and is afflicted with still sharper misgivings than he had at the first as to the issue of his adventure. By an indirect question he seeks to learn how much Virgil really knows of the economy of the lower world; but he cannot so much as listen to all of his Master's reassuring answer, terrified as he is by the sudden appearance of the Furies upon the tower, which rises out of the city of unbelief. These symbolise the trouble of his conscience, and, assailing him with threats, shake his already trembling faith in the Divine government. How, in the face of such foes, is he to find the peace and liberty of soul of which he is in search? That this is the city of unbelief he has not yet been told, and without knowing it he is standing under the very walls of Doubting Castle. And now, if he chance to let his eyes rest on the Gorgon's head, his soul will be petrified by despair; like the denizens of Hell, he will lose the 'good of the intellect,' and will pass into a state from which Virgil--or reason--will be powerless to deliver him. But Virgil takes him in time, and makes him avert his eyes; which may signify that the only safe course for men is to turn their backs on the deep and insoluble problem of how the reality of the Divine government can be reconciled with the apparent triumph of evil. [343] _From Heaven_: The messenger comes from Heaven, and his words are holy. Against the obvious interpretation, that he is a good angel, there lies the objection that no other such is met with in Inferno, and also that it is spoken of as a new sight for him when Dante first meets with one in Purgatory. But the obstruction now to be overcome is worthy of angelic interference; and Dante can hardly be said to meet the messenger, who does not even glance in his direction. The commentators have made this angel mean all kind of outlandish things. [344] _A rod_: A piece of the angelic outfit, derived from the _caduceus_ of Mercury. [345] _Cerberus_: Hercules, when Cerberus opposed his entrance to the infernal regions, fastened a chain round his neck and dragged him to the gate. The angel's speech answers Dante's doubts as to the limits of diabolical power. [346] _By other cares, etc._: It is not in Inferno that Dante is to hold converse with celestial intelligences. The angel, like Beatrice when she sought Virgil in Limbo, is all on fire to return to his own place. [347] _Arles_: The Alyscampo (Elysian Fields) at Arles was an enormous cemetery, of which ruins still exist. It had a circumference of about six miles, and contained numerous sarcophagi dating from Roman times. [348] _Pola_: In Istria, near the Gulf of Quarnaro, said to have contained many ancient tombs. [349] _Lords of heresies_: 'Heresiarchs.' Dante now learns for the first time that Dis is the city of unbelief. Each class of heretics has its own great sepulchre. [350] _More or less of heat_: According to the heinousness of the heresy punished in each. It was natural to associate heretics and punishment by fire in days when Dominican monks ruled the roast. [351] _Dexter hand_: As they move across the circles, and down from one to the other, their course is usually to the left hand. Here for some reason Virgil turns to the right, so as to have the tombs on the left as he advances. It may be that a special proof of his knowledge of the locality is introduced when most needed--after the repulse by the demons--to strengthen Dante's confidence in him as a guide; or, as some subtly think, they being now about to enter the abode of heresy, the movement to the right signifies the importance of the first step in forming opinion. The only other occasion on which their course is taken to the right hand is at _Inf._ xvii. 31. CANTO X. And now advance we by a narrow track Between the torments and the ramparts high, My Master first, and I behind his back. 'O mighty Virtue,[352] at whose will am I Wheeled through these impious circles,' then I said, 'Speak, and in full my longing satisfy. The people who within the tombs are laid, May they be seen? The coverings are all thrown Open, nor is there[353] any guard displayed.' And he to me: 'All shall be fastened down 10 When hither from Jehoshaphat[354] they come Again in bodies which were once their own. All here with Epicurus[355] find their tomb Who are his followers, and by whom 'tis held That the soul shares the body's mortal doom. Things here discovered then shall answer yield, And quickly, to thy question asked of me; As well as[356] to the wish thou hast concealed.' And I: 'Good Leader, if I hide from thee My heart, it is that I may little say; 20 Nor only now[357] learned I thus dumb to be.' 'O Tuscan, who, still living, mak'st thy way, Modest of speech, through the abode of flame, Be pleased[358] a little in this place to stay. The accents of thy language thee proclaim To be a native of that state renowned Which I, perchance, wronged somewhat.' Sudden came These words from out a tomb which there was found 'Mongst others; whereon I, compelled by fright, A little toward my Leader shifted ground. 30 And he: 'Turn round, what ails thee? Lo! upright Beginneth Farinata[359] to arise; All of him 'bove the girdle comes in sight.' On him already had I fixed mine eyes. Towering erect with lifted front and chest, He seemed Inferno greatly to despise. And toward him I among the tombs was pressed By my Guide's nimble and courageous hand, While he, 'Choose well thy language,' gave behest. Beneath his tomb when I had ta'en my stand 40 Regarding me a moment, 'Of what house Art thou?' as if in scorn, he made demand. To show myself obedient, anxious, I nothing hid, but told my ancestors; And, listening, he gently raised his brows.[360] 'Fiercely to me they proved themselves adverse, And to my sires and party,' then he said; 'Because of which I did them twice disperse.'[361] I answered him: 'And what although they fled! Twice from all quarters they returned with might, 50 An art not mastered yet by these you[362] led.' Beside him then there issued into sight Another shade, uncovered to the chin, Propped on his knees, if I surmised aright. He peered around as if he fain would win Knowledge if any other was with me; And then, his hope all spent, did thus begin, Weeping: 'By dint of genius if it be Thou visit'st this dark prison, where my son? And wherefore not found in thy company?' 60 And I to him: 'I come not here alone: He waiting yonder guides me: but disdain Of him perchance was by your Guido[363] shown.' The words he used, and manner of his pain, Revealed his name to me beyond surmise; Hence was I able thus to answer plain. Then cried he, and at once upright did rise, 'How saidst thou--was? Breathes he not then the air? The pleasant light no longer smites his eyes?' When he of hesitation was aware 70 Displayed by me in forming my reply, He fell supine, no more to reappear. But the magnanimous, at whose bidding I Had halted there, the same expression wore, Nor budged a jot, nor turned his neck awry. 'And if'--resumed he where he paused before-- 'They be indeed but slow that art to learn, Than this my bed, to hear it pains me more. But ere the fiftieth time anew shall burn The lady's[364] face who reigneth here below, 80 Of that sore art thou shalt experience earn. And as to the sweet world again thou'dst go, Tell me, why is that people so without Ruth for my race,[365] as all their statutes show?' And I to him: 'The slaughter and the rout Which made the Arbia[366] to run with red, Cause in our fane[367] such prayers to be poured out.' Whereon he heaved a sigh and shook his head: 'There I was not alone, nor to embrace That cause was I, without good reason, led. 90 But there I was alone, when from her place All granted Florence should be swept away. 'Twas I[368] defended her with open face.' 'So may your seed find peace some better day,' I urged him, 'as this knot you shall untie In which my judgment doth entangled stay. If I hear rightly, ye, it seems, descry Beforehand what time brings, and yet ye seem 'Neath other laws[369] as touching what is nigh.' 'Like those who see best what is far from them, 100 We see things,' said he, 'which afar remain; Thus much enlightened by the Guide Supreme. To know them present or approaching, vain Are all our powers; and save what they relate Who hither come, of earth no news we gain. Hence mayst thou gather in how dead a state Shall all our knowledge from that time be thrown When of the future shall be closed the gate.' Then, for my fault as if repentant grown, I said: 'Report to him who fell supine, 110 That still among the living breathes his son. And if I, dumb, seemed answer to decline, Tell him it was that I upon the knot Was pondering then, you helped me to untwine.' Me now my Master called, whence I besought With more than former sharpness of the shade, To tell me what companions he had got. He answered me: 'Some thousand here are laid With me; 'mong these the Second Frederick,[370] The Cardinal[371] too; of others nought be said.' 120 Then was he hid; and towards the Bard antique I turned my steps, revolving in my brain The ominous words[372] which I had heard him speak. He moved, and as we onward went again Demanded of me: 'Wherefore thus amazed?' And to his question I made answer plain. 'Within thy mind let there be surely placed,' The Sage bade, 'what 'gainst thee thou heardest say. Now mark me well' (his finger here he raised), 'When thou shalt stand within her gentle ray 130 Whose beauteous eye sees all, she will make known The stages[373] of thy journey on life's way.' Turning his feet, he to the left moved on; Leaving the wall, we to the middle[374] went Upon a path that to a vale strikes down, Which even to us above its foulness sent. FOOTNOTES: [352] _Virtue_: Virgil is here addressed by a new title, which, with the words of deep respect that follow, marks the full restoration of Dante's confidence in him as his guide. [353] _Nor is there, etc._: The gate was found to be strictly guarded, but not so are the tombs. [354] _Jehoshaphat_: 'I will also gather all nations, and will bring them down into the valley of Jehoshaphat' (Joel iii. 2). [355] _Epicurus_: The unbelief in a future life, or rather the indifference to everything but the calls of ambition and worldly pleasure, common among the nobles of Dante's age and that preceding it, went by the name of Epicureanism. It is the most radical of heresies, because adverse to the first principles of all religions. Dante, in his treatment of heresy, dwells more on what affects conduct as does the denial of the Divine government--than on intellectual divergence from orthodox belief. [356] _As well as, etc._: The question is: 'May they be seen?' The wish is a desire to speak with them. [357] _Nor only now, etc._: Virgil has on previous occasions imposed silence on Dante, as, for instance, at _Inf._ iii. 51. [358] _Be pleased, etc._: From one of the sepulchres, to be imagined as a huge sarcophagus, come words similar to the _Siste Viator!_ common on Roman tombs. [359] _Farinata_: Of the great Florentine family of the Uberti, and, in the generation before Dante, leader of the Ghibeline or Imperialist party in Florence. His memory long survived among his fellow-townsmen as that of the typical noble, rough-mannered, unscrupulous, and arrogant; but yet, for one good action that he did, he at the same time ranked in the popular estimation as a patriot and a hero. Boccaccio, misled perhaps by the mention of Epicurus, says that he loved rich and delicate fare. It is because all his thoughts were worldly that he is condemned to the city of unbelief. Dante has already (_Inf._ vi. 79) inquired regarding his fate. He died in 1264. [360] _His brows_: When Dante tells he is of the Alighieri, a Guelf family, Farinata shows some slight displeasure. Or, as a modern Florentine critic interprets the gesture, he has to think a moment before he can remember on which side the Alighieri ranged themselves--they being of the small gentry, while he was a great noble, But this gloss requires Dante to have been more free from pride of family than he really was. [361] _Twice disperse_: The Alighieri shared in the exile of the Guelfs in 1248 and 1260. [362] _You_: See also line 95. Dante never uses the plural form to a single person except when desirous of showing social as distinguished from, or over and above, moral respect. [363] _Guido_: Farinata's companion in the tomb is Cavalcante Cavalcanti, who, although a Guelf, was tainted with the more specially Ghibeline error of Epicureanism. When in order to allay party rancour some of the Guelf and Ghibeline families were forced to intermarry, his son Guido took a daughter of Farinata's to wife. This was in 1267, so that Guido was much older than Dante. Yet they were very intimate, and, intellectually, had much in common. With him Dante exchanged poems of occasion, and he terms him more than once in the _Vita Nuova_ his chief friend. The disdain of Virgil need not mean more than is on the surface. Guido died in 1301. He is the hero of the _Decameron_, vi. 9. [364] _The Lady_: Proserpine; _i.e._ the moon. Ere fifty months from March 1300 were past, Dante was to see the failure of more than one attempt made by the exiles, of whom he was one, to gain entrance to Florence. The great attempt was in the beginning of 1304. [365] _Ruth for my race_: When the Ghibeline power was finally broken in Florence the Uberti were always specially excluded from any amnesty. There is mention of the political execution of at least one descendant of Farinata's. His son when being led to the scaffold said, 'So we pay our fathers' debts!'--It has been so long common to describe Dante as a Ghibeline, though no careful writer does it now, that it may be worth while here to remark that Ghibelinism, as Farinata understood it, was practically extinct in Florence ere Dante entered political life. [366] _The Arbia_: At Montaperti, on the Arbia, a few miles from Siena, was fought in 1260 a great battle between the Guelf Florence and her allies on the one hand, and on the other the Ghibelines of Florence, then in exile, under Farinata; the Sienese and Tuscan Ghibelines in general; and some hundreds of men-at-arms lent by Manfred. Notwithstanding the gallant behaviour of the Florentine burghers, the Guelf defeat was overwhelming, and not only did the Arbia run red with Florentine blood--in a figure--but the battle of Montaperti ruined for a time the cause of popular liberty and general improvement in Florence. [367] _Our fane_: The Parliament of the people used to meet in Santa Reparata, the cathedral; and it is possible that the maintenance of the Uberti disabilities was there more than once confirmed by the general body of the citizens. The use of the word is in any case accounted for by the frequency of political conferences in churches. And the temple having been introduced, edicts are converted into 'prayers.' [368] _'Twas I, etc._: Some little time after the victory of Montaperti there was a great Ghibeline gathering from various cities at Empoli, when it was proposed, with general approval, to level Florence with the ground in revenge for the obstinate Guelfism of the population. Farinata roughly declared that as long as he lived and had a sword he would defend his native place, and in the face of this protest the resolution was departed from. It is difficult to understand how of all the Florentine nobles, whose wealth consisted largely in house property, Farinata should have stood alone in protesting against the ruin of the city. But so it seems to have been; and in this great passage Farinata is repaid for his service, in despite of Inferno. [369] _Other laws_: Ciacco, in Canto vi., prophesied what was to happen in Florence, and Farinata has just told him that four years later than now he will have failed in an attempt to return from exile: yet Farinata does not know if his family is still being persecuted, and Cavalcanti fears that his son Guido is already numbered with the dead. Farinata replies that like the longsighted the shades can only see what is some distance off, and are ignorant of what is going on, or about to happen; which seems to imply that they forget what they once foresaw. Guido was to die within a few months, and the event was too close at hand to come within the range of his father's vision. [370] _The Second Frederick_: The Emperor of that name who reigned from 1220 to 1250, and waged a life-long war with the Popes for supremacy in Italy. It is not however for his enmity with Rome that he is placed in the Sixth Circle, but for his Epicureanism--as Dante understood it. From his Sicilian court a spirit of free inquiry spread through the Peninsula. With men of the stamp of Farinata it would be converted into a crude materialism. [371] _The Cardinal_: Ottaviano, of the powerful Tuscan family of the Ubaldini, a man of great political activity, and known in Tuscany as 'The Cardinal.' His sympathies were not with the Roman Court. The news of Montaperti filled him with delight, and later, when the Tuscan Ghibelines refused him money he had asked for, he burst out with 'And yet I have lost my soul for the Ghibelines--if I have a soul.' He died not earlier than 1273. After these illustrious names Farinata scorns to mention meaner ones. [372] _Ominous words_: Those in which Farinata foretold Dante's exile. [373] _The stages, etc._: It is Cacciaguida, his ancestor, who in Paradise instructs Dante in what his future life is to be--one of poverty and exile (_Parad._ xvii.). This is, however, done at the request of Beatrice. [374] _To the middle_: Turning to the left they cut across the circle till they reach the inner boundary of the city of tombs. Here there is no wall. CANTO XI. We at the margin of a lofty steep Made of great shattered stones in circle bent, Arrived where worser torments crowd the deep. So horrible a stench and violent Was upward wafted from the vast abyss,[375] Behind the cover we for shelter went Of a great tomb where I saw written this: 'Pope Anastasius[376] is within me thrust, Whom the straight way Photinus made to miss.' 'Now on our course a while we linger must,' 10 The Master said, 'be but our sense resigned A little to it, and the filthy gust We shall not heed.' Then I: 'Do thou but find Some compensation lest our time should run Wasted.' And he: 'Behold, 'twas in my mind. Girt by the rocks before us, O my son, Lie three small circles,'[377] he began to tell, 'Graded like those with which thou now hast done, All of them filled with spirits miserable. That sight[378] of them may thee henceforth suffice. 20 Hear how and wherefore in these groups they dwell. Whate'er in Heaven's abhorred as wickedness Has injury[379] for its end; in others' bane By fraud resulting or in violent wise. Since fraud to man alone[380] doth appertain, God hates it most; and hence the fraudulent band, Set lowest down, endure a fiercer pain. Of the violent is the circle next at hand To us; and since three ways is violence shown, 'Tis in three several circuits built and planned. 30 To God, ourselves, or neighbours may be done Violence, or on the things by them possessed; As reasoning clear shall unto thee make known. Our neighbour may by violence be distressed With grievous wounds, or slain; his goods and lands By havoc, fire, and plunder be oppressed. Hence those who wound and slay with violent hands, Robbers, and spoilers, in the nearest round Are all tormented in their various bands. Violent against himself may man be found, 40 And 'gainst his goods; therefore without avail They in the next are in repentance drowned Who on themselves loss of your world entail, Who gamble[381] and their substance madly spend, And who when called to joy lament and wail. And even to God may violence extend By heart denial and by blasphemy, Scorning what nature doth in bounty lend. Sodom and Cahors[382] hence are doomed to lie Within the narrowest circlet surely sealed; 50 And such as God within their hearts defy. Fraud,[383] 'gainst whose bite no conscience findeth shield, A man may use with one who in him lays Trust, or with those who no such credence yield. Beneath this latter kind of it decays The bond of love which out of nature grew; Hence, in the second circle[384] herd the race To feigning given and flattery, who pursue Magic, false coining, theft, and simony, Pimps, barrators, and suchlike residue. 60 The other form of fraud makes nullity Of natural bonds; and, what is more than those, The special trust whence men on men rely. Hence in the place whereon all things repose, The narrowest circle and the seat of Dis,[385] Each traitor's gulfed in everlasting woes.' 'Thy explanation, Master, as to this Is clear,' I said, 'and thou hast plainly told Who are the people stowed in the abyss. But tell why those the muddy marshes hold, 70 The tempest-driven, those beaten by the rain, And such as, meeting, virulently scold, Are not within the crimson city ta'en For punishment, if hateful unto God; And, if not hateful, wherefore doomed to pain?' And he to me: 'Why wander thus abroad, More than is wont, thy wits? or how engrossed Is now thy mind, and on what things bestowed? Hast thou the memory of the passage lost In which thy Ethics[386] for their subject treat 80 Of the three moods by Heaven abhorred the most-- Malice and bestiality complete; And how, compared with these, incontinence Offends God less, and lesser blame doth meet? If of this doctrine thou extract the sense, And call to memory what people are Above, outside, in endless penitence, Why from these guilty they are sundered far Thou shalt discern, and why on them alight The strokes of justice in less angry war.' 90 'O Sun that clearest every troubled sight, So charmed am I by thy resolving speech, Doubt yields me joy no less than knowing right. Therefore, I pray, a little backward reach,' I asked, 'to where thou say'st that usury Sins 'gainst God's bounty; and this mystery teach.' He said: 'Who gives ear to Philosophy Is taught by her, nor in one place alone, What nature in her course is governed by, Even Mind Divine, and art which thence hath grown; 100 And if thy Physics[387] thou wilt search within, Thou'lt find ere many leaves are open thrown, This art by yours, far as your art can win, Is followed close--the teacher by the taught; As grandchild then to God your art is kin. And from these two--do thou recall to thought How Genesis[388] begins--should come supplies Of food for man, and other wealth be sought. And, since another plan the usurer plies, Nature and nature's child have his disdain;[389] 110 Because on other ground his hope relies. But come,[390] for to advance I now am fain: The Fishes[391] over the horizon line Quiver; o'er Caurus now stands all the Wain; And further yonder does the cliff decline.' FOOTNOTES: [375] _Vast abyss_: They are now at the inner side of the Sixth Circle, and upon the verge of the rocky steep which slopes down from it into the Seventh. All the lower Hell lies beneath them, and it is from that rather than from the next circle in particular that the stench arises, symbolical of the foulness of the sins which are punished there. The noisome smells which make part of the horror of Inferno are after this sometimes mentioned, but never dwelt upon (_Inf._ xviii. 106, and xxix. 50). [376] _Pope Anastasius_: The second of the name, elected Pope in 496. Photinus, bishop of Sirenium, was infected with the Sabellian heresy, but he was deposed more than a century before the time of Anastasius. Dante follows some obscure legend in charging Anastasius with heresy. The important point is that the one heretic, in the sense usually attached to the term, named as being in the city of unbelief, is a Pope. [377] _Three small circles_: The Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth; small in circumference compared with those above. The pilgrims are now deep in the hollow cone. [378] _That sight, etc._: After hearing the following explanation Dante no longer asks to what classes the sinners met with belong, but only as to the guilt of individual shades. [379] _Injury_: They have left above them the circles of those whose sin consists in the exaggeration or misdirection of a wholesome natural instinct. Below them lie the circles filled with such as have been guilty of malicious wickedness. This manifests itself in two ways: by violence or by fraud. After first mentioning in a general way that the fraudulent are set lowest in Inferno, Virgil proceeds to define violence, and to tell how the violent occupy the circle immediately beneath them--the Seventh. For division of the maliciously wicked into two classes Dante is supposed to be indebted to Cicero: 'Injury may be wrought by force or by fraud.... Both are unnatural for man, but fraud is the more hateful.'--_De Officiis_, i. 13. It is remarkable that Virgil says nothing of those in the Sixth Circle in this account of the classes of sinners. [380] _To man alone, etc._: Fraud involves the corrupt use of the powers that distinguish us from the brutes. [381] _Who gamble, etc._: A different sin from the lavish spending punished in the Fourth Circle (_Inf._ vii.). The distinction is that between thriftlessness and the prodigality which, stripping a man of the means of living, disgusts him with life, as described in the following line. It is from among prodigals that the ranks of suicides are greatly filled, and here they are appropriately placed together. It may seem strange that in his classification of guilt Dante should rank violence to one's self as a more heinous sin than that committed against one's neighbour. He may have in view the fact that none harm their neighbours so much as they who are oblivious of their own true interest. [382] _Sodom and Cahors_: Sins against nature are reckoned sins against God, as explained lower down in this Canto. Cahors in Languedoc had in the Middle Ages the reputation of being a nest of usurers. These in old English Chronicles are termed Caorsins. With the sins of Sodom and Cahors are ranked the denial of God and blasphemy against Him--deeper sins than the erroneous conceptions of the Divine nature and government punished in the Sixth Circle. The three concentric rings composing the Seventh Circle are all on the same level, as we shall find. [383] _Fraud, etc._: Fraud is of such a nature that conscience never fails to give due warning against the sin. This is an aggravation of the guilt of it. [384] _The second circle_: The second now beneath them; that is, the Eighth. [385] _Seat of Dis_: The Ninth and last Circle. [386] _Thy Ethics_: The Ethics of Aristotle, in which it is said: 'With regard to manners, these three things are to be eschewed: incontinence, vice, and bestiality.' Aristotle holds incontinence to consist in the immoderate indulgence of propensities which under right guidance are adapted to promote lawful pleasure. It is, generally speaking, the sin of which those about whom Dante has inquired were guilty.--It has been ingeniously sought by Philalethes (_Gött. Com._) to show that Virgil's disquisition is founded on this threefold classification of Aristotle's--violence being taken to be the same as bestiality, and malice as vice. But the reference to Aristotle is made with the limited purpose of justifying the lenient treatment of incontinence; in the same way as a few lines further on Genesis is referred to in support of the harsh treatment of usury. [387] _Physics_: The Physics of Aristotle, in which it is said: 'Art imitates nature.' Art includes handicrafts. [388] _Genesis_: 'And the Lord God took the man, and put him into the garden to dress it and to keep it.' 'In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread.' [389] _His disdain_: The usurer seeks to get wealth independently of honest labour or reliance on the processes of nature. This far-fetched argument against usury closes one of the most arid passages of the _Comedy_. The shortness of the Canto almost suggests that Dante had himself got weary of it. [390] _But come, etc._: They have been all this time resting behind the lid of the tomb. [391] _The Fishes, etc._: The sun being now in Aries the stars of Pisces begin to rise about a couple of hours before sunrise. The Great Bear lies above Caurus, the quarter of the N.N.W. wind. It seems impossible to harmonise the astronomical indications scattered throughout the _Comedy_, there being traces of Dante's having sometimes used details belonging rather to the day on which Good Friday fell in 1300, the 8th of April, than to the (supposed) true anniversary of the crucifixion. That this, the 25th of March, is the day he intended to conform to appears from _Inf._ xxi. 112.--The time is now near dawn on the Saturday morning. It is almost needless to say that Virgil speaks of the stars as he knows they are placed, but without seeing them. By what light they see in Inferno is nowhere explained. We have been told that it was dark as night (_Inf._ iv. 10, v. 28). CANTO XII. The place of our descent[392] before us lay Precipitous, and there was something more From sight of which all eyes had turned away. As at the ruin which upon the shore Of Adige[393] fell upon this side of Trent-- Through earthquake or by slip of what before Upheld it--from the summit whence it went Far as the plain, the shattered rocks supply Some sort of foothold to who makes descent; Such was the passage down the precipice high. 10 And on the riven gully's very brow Lay spread at large the Cretan Infamy[394] Which was conceived in the pretended cow. Us when he saw, he bit himself for rage Like one whose anger gnaws him through and through. 'Perhaps thou deemest,' called to him the Sage, 'This is the Duke of Athens[395] drawing nigh, Who war to the death with thee on earth did wage. Begone, thou brute, for this one passing by Untutored by thy sister has thee found, 20 And only comes thy sufferings to spy,' And as the bull which snaps what held it bound On being smitten by the fatal blow, Halts in its course, and reels upon the ground, The Minotaur I saw reel to and fro; And he, the alert, cried: 'To the passage haste; While yet he chafes 'twere well thou down shouldst go.' So we descended by the slippery waste[396] Of shivered stones which many a time gave way 'Neath the new weight[397] my feet upon them placed. 30 I musing went; and he began to say: 'Perchance this ruined slope thou thinkest on, Watched by the brute rage I did now allay. But I would have thee know, when I came down The former time[398] into this lower Hell, The cliff had not this ruin undergone. It was not long, if I distinguish well, Ere He appeared who wrenched great prey from Dis[399] From out the upmost circle. Trembling fell Through all its parts the nauseous abyss 40 With such a violence, the world, I thought, Was stirred by love; for, as they say, by this She back to Chaos[400] has been often brought. And then it was this ancient rampart strong Was shattered here and at another spot.[401] But toward the valley look. We come ere long Down to the river of blood[402] where boiling lie All who by violence work others wrong.' O insane rage! O blind cupidity! By which in our brief life we are so spurred, 50 Ere downward plunged in evil case for aye! An ample ditch I now beheld engird And sweep in circle all around the plain, As from my Escort I had lately heard. Between this and the rock in single train Centaurs[403] were running who were armed with bows, As if they hunted on the earth again. Observing us descend they all stood close, Save three of them who parted from the band With bow, and arrows they in coming chose. 60 'What torment,' from afar one made demand, 'Come ye to share, who now descend the hill? I shoot unless ye answer whence ye stand.' My Master said: 'We yield no answer till We come to Chiron[404] standing at thy side; But thy quick temper always served thee ill.' Then touching me: ''Tis Nessus;[405] he who died With love for beauteous Dejanire possessed, And who himself his own vendetta plied. He in the middle, staring on his breast, 70 Is mighty Chiron, who Achilles bred; And next the wrathful Pholus. They invest The fosse and in their thousands round it tread, Shooting whoever from the blood shall lift, More than his crime allows, his guilty head.' As we moved nearer to those creatures swift Chiron drew forth a shaft and dressed his beard Back on his jaws, using the arrow's cleft. And when his ample mouth of hair was cleared, He said to his companions: 'Have ye seen 80 The things the second touches straight are stirred, As they by feet of shades could ne'er have been?' And my good Guide, who to his breast had gone-- The part where join the natures,[406] 'Well I ween He lives,' made answer; 'and if, thus alone, He seeks the valley dim 'neath my control, Necessity, not pleasure, leads him on. One came from where the alleluiahs roll, Who charged me with this office strange and new: No robber he, nor mine a felon soul. 90 But, by that Power which makes me to pursue The rugged journey whereupon I fare, Accord us one of thine to keep in view, That he may show where lies the ford, and bear This other on his back to yonder strand; No spirit he, that he should cleave the air.' Wheeled to the right then Chiron gave command To Nessus: 'Turn, and lead them, and take tent They be not touched by any other band.'[407] We with our trusty Escort forward went, 100 Threading the margin of the boiling blood Where they who seethed were raising loud lament. People I saw up to the chin imbrued, 'These all are tyrants,' the great Centaur said, 'Who blood and plunder for their trade pursued. Here for their pitiless deeds tears now are shed By Alexander,[408] and Dionysius fell, Through whom in Sicily dolorous years were led. The forehead with black hair so terrible Is Ezzelino;[409] that one blond of hue, 110 Obizzo[410] d'Este, whom, as rumours tell, His stepson murdered, and report speaks true.' I to the Poet turned, who gave command: 'Regard thou chiefly him. I follow you.' Ere long the Centaur halted on the strand, Close to a people who, far as the throat, Forth of that bulicamë[411] seemed to stand. Thence a lone shade to us he pointed out Saying: 'In God's house[412] ran he weapon through The heart which still on Thames wins cult devout.' 120 Then I saw people, some with heads in view, And some their chests above the river bore; And many of them I, beholding, knew. And thus the blood went dwindling more and more, Until at last it covered but the feet: Here took we passage[413] to the other shore. 'As on this hand thou seest still abate In depth the volume of the boiling stream,' The Centaur said, 'so grows its depth more great, Believe me, towards the opposite extreme, 130 Until again its circling course attains The place where tyrants must lament. Supreme Justice upon that side involves in pains, With Attila,[414] once of the world the pest, Pyrrhus[415] and Sextus: and for ever drains Tears out of Rinier of Corneto[416] pressed And Rinier Pazzo[417] in that boiling mass, Whose brigandage did so the roads infest.' Then turned he back alone, the ford to pass. FOOTNOTES: [392] _Our descent_: To the Seventh Circle. [393] _Adige_: Different localities in the valley of the Adige have been fixed on as the scene of this landslip. The Lavini di Marco, about twenty miles south of Trent, seem best to answer to the description. They 'consist of black blocks of stone and fragments of a landslip which, according to the Chronicle of Fulda, fell in the year 883 and overwhelmed the valley for four Italian miles' (Gsell-Fels, _Ober. Ital._ i. 35). [394] _The Cretan Infamy_: The Minotaur, the offspring of Pasiphaë; a half-bovine monster who inhabited the Cretan labyrinth, and to whom a human victim was offered once a year. He lies as guard upon the Seventh Circle--that of the violent (_Inf._ xi. 23, _note_)--and is set at the top of the rugged slope, itself the scene of a violent convulsion. [395] _Duke of Athens_: Theseus, instructed by Ariadne, daughter of Pasiphaë and Minos, how to outwit the Minotaur, entered the labyrinth in the character of a victim, slew the monster, and then made his way out, guided by a thread he had unwound as he went in. [396] _The slippery waste_: The word used here, _scarco_, means in modern Tuscan a place where earth or stones have been carelessly shot into a heap. [397] _The new weight_: The slope had never before been trodden by mortal foot. [398] _The former time_: When Virgil descended to evoke a shade from the Ninth Circle (_Inf._ ix. 22). [399] _Prey from Dis_: The shades delivered from Limbo by Christ (_Inf._ iv. 53). The expression in the text is probably suggested by the words of the hymn _Vexilla: Prædamque tulit Tartaris_. [400] _To Chaos_: The reference is to the theory of Empedocles, known to Dante through the refutation of it by Aristotle. The theory was one of periods of unity and division in nature, according as love or hatred prevailed. [401] _Another spot_: See _Inf._ xxi. 112. The earthquake at the Crucifixion shook even Inferno to its base. [402] _The river of blood_: Phlegethon, the 'boiling river.' Styx and Acheron have been already passed. Lethe, the fourth infernal river, is placed by Dante in Purgatory. The first round or circlet of the Seventh Circle is filled by Phlegethon. [403] _Centaurs_: As this round is the abode of such as are guilty of violence against their neighbours, it is guarded by these brutal monsters, half-man and half-horse. [404] _Chiron_: Called the most just of the Centaurs. [405] _Nessus_: Slain by Hercules with a poisoned arrow. When dying he gave Dejanira his blood-stained shirt, telling her it would insure the faithfulness to her of any whom she loved. Hercules wore it and died of the venom; and thus Nessus avenged himself. [406] The natures: The part of the Centaur where the equine body is joined on to the human neck and head. [407] _Other band_: Of Centaurs. [408] _Alexander_: It is not known whether Alexander the Great or a petty Thessalian tyrant is here meant. _Dionysius_: The cruel tyrant of Syracuse. [409] _Ezzelino_: Or Azzolino of Romano, the greatest Lombard Ghibeline of his time. He was son-in-law of Frederick II., and was Imperial Vicar of the Trevisian Mark. Towards the close of Fredrick's life, and for some years after, he exercised almost independent power in Vicenza, Padua, and Verona. Cruelty, erected into a system, was his chief instrument of government, and 'in his dungeons men found something worse than death.' For Italians, says Burckhardt, he was the most impressive political personage of the thirteenth century; and around his memory, as around Frederick's, there gathered strange legends. He died in 1259, of a wound received in battle. When urged to confess his sins by the monk who came to shrive him, he declared that the only sin on his conscience was negligence in revenge. But this may be mythical, as may also be the long black hair between his eyebrows, which rose up stiff and terrible as his anger waxed. [410] _Obizzo_: The second Marquis of Este of that name. He was lord of Ferrara. There seems little, if any, evidence extant of his being specially cruel. As a strong Guelf he took sides with Charles of Anjou against Manfred. He died in 1293, smothered, it was believed, by a son, here called a stepson for his unnatural conduct. But though Dante vouches for the truth of the rumour it seems to have been an invention. [411] _That bulicamë_: The stream of boiling blood is probably named from the bulicamë, or hot spring, best known to Dante--that near Viterbo (see _Inf._ xiv. 79). And it may be that the mention of the bulicamë suggests the reference at line 119. [412] _In God's house_: Literally, 'In the bosom of God.' The shade is that of Guy, son of Simon of Montfort and Vicar in Tuscany of Charles of Anjou. In 1271 he stabbed, in the Cathedral of Viterbo, Henry, son of Richard of Cornwall and cousin of Edward I. of England. The motive of the murder was to revenge the death of his father, Simon, at Evesham. The body of the young prince was conveyed to England, and the heart was placed in a vase upon the tomb of the Confessor. The shade of Guy stands up to the chin in blood among the worst of the tyrants, and alone, because of the enormity of his crime. [413] _Here took we passage_: Dante on Nessus' back. Virgil has fallen behind to allow the Centaur to act as guide; and how he crosses the stream Dante does not see. [414] _Attila_: King of the Huns, who invaded part of Italy in the fifth century; and who, according to the mistaken belief of Dante's age, was the devastator of Florence. [415] _Pyrrhus_: King of Epirus. _Sextus_: Son of Pompey; a great sea-captain who fought against the Triumvirs. The crime of the first, in Dante's eyes, is that he fought with Rome; of the second, that he opposed Augustus. [416] _Rinier of Corneto_: Who in Dante's time disturbed the coast of the States of the Church by his robberies and violence. [417] _Rinier Pazzo_: Of the great family of the Pazzi of Val d'Arno, was excommunicated in 1269 for robbing ecclesiastics. CANTO XIII. Ere Nessus landed on the other shore We for our part within a forest[418] drew, Which of no pathway any traces bore. Not green the foliage, but of dusky hue; Not smooth the boughs, but gnarled and twisted round; For apples, poisonous thorns upon them grew. No rougher brakes or matted worse are found Where savage beasts betwixt Corneto[419] roam And Cecina,[419] abhorring cultured ground. The loathsome Harpies[420] nestle here at home, 10 Who from the Strophades the Trojans chased With dire predictions of a woe to come. Great winged are they, but human necked and faced, With feathered belly, and with claw for toe; They shriek upon the bushes wild and waste. 'Ere passing further, I would have thee know,' The worthy Master thus began to say, 'Thou'rt in the second round, nor hence shalt go Till by the horrid sand thy footsteps stay. Give then good heed, and things thou'lt recognise 20 That of my words will prove[421] the verity.' Wailings on every side I heard arise: Of who might raise them I distinguished nought; Whereon I halted, smitten with surprise. I think he thought that haply 'twas my thought The voices came from people 'mong the trees, Who, to escape us, hiding-places sought; Wherefore the Master said: 'From one of these Snap thou a twig, and thou shalt understand How little with thy thought the fact agrees.' 30 Thereon a little I stretched forth my hand And plucked a tiny branch from a great thorn. 'Why dost thou tear me?' made the trunk demand. When dark with blood it had begun to turn, It cried a second time: 'Why wound me thus? Doth not a spark of pity in thee burn? Though trees we be, once men were all of us; Yet had our souls the souls of serpents been Thy hand might well have proved more piteous.' As when the fire hath seized a fagot green 40 At one extremity, the other sighs, And wind, escaping, hisses; so was seen, At where the branch was broken, blood to rise And words were mixed with it. I dropped the spray And stood like one whom terror doth surprise. The Sage replied: 'Soul vexed with injury, Had he been only able to give trust To what he read narrated in my lay,[422] His hand toward thee would never have been thrust. 'Tis hard for faith; and I, to make it plain, 50 Urged him to trial, mourn it though I must. But tell him who thou wast; so shall remain This for amends to thee, thy fame shall blow Afresh on earth, where he returns again.' And then the trunk: 'Thy sweet words charm me so, I cannot dumb remain; nor count it hard If I some pains upon my speech bestow. For I am he[423] who held both keys in ward Of Frederick's heart, and turned them how I would, And softly oped it, and as softly barred, 60 Till scarce another in his counsel stood. To my high office I such loyalty bore, It cost me sleep and haleness of my blood. The harlot[424] who removeth nevermore From Cæsar's house eyes ignorant of shame-- A common curse, of courts the special sore-- Set against me the minds of all aflame, And these in turn Augustus set on fire, Till my glad honours bitter woes became. My soul, filled full with a disdainful ire, 70 Thinking by means of death disdain to flee, 'Gainst my just self unjustly did conspire. I swear even by the new roots of this tree My fealty to my lord I never broke, For worthy of all honour sure was he. If one of you return 'mong living folk, Let him restore my memory, overthrown And suffering yet because of envy's stroke.' Still for a while the poet listened on, Then said: 'Now he is dumb, lose not the hour, 80 But make request if more thou'dst have made known.' And I replied: 'Do thou inquire once more Of what thou thinkest[425] I would gladly know; I cannot ask; ruth wrings me to the core.' On this he spake: 'Even as the man shall do, And liberally, what thou of him hast prayed, Imprisoned spirit, do thou further show How with these knots the spirits have been made Incorporate; and, if thou canst, declare If from such members e'er is loosed a shade.' 90 Then from the trunk came vehement puffs of air; Next, to these words converted was the wind: 'My answer to you shall be short and clear. When the fierce soul no longer is confined In flesh, torn thence by action of its own, To the Seventh Depth by Minos 'tis consigned. No choice is made of where it shall be thrown Within the wood; but where by chance 'tis flung It germinates like seed of spelt that's sown. A forest tree it grows from sapling young; 100 Eating its leaves, the Harpies cause it pain, And open loopholes whence its sighs are wrung. We for our vestments shall return again Like others, but in them shall ne'er be clad:[426] Men justly lose what from themselves they've ta'en. Dragged hither by us, all throughout the sad Forest our bodies shall be hung on high; Each on the thorn of its destructive shade.' While to the trunk we listening lingered nigh, Thinking he might proceed to tell us more, 110 A sudden uproar we were startled by Like him who, that the huntsman and the boar To where he stands are sweeping in the chase, Knows by the crashing trees and brutish roar. Upon our left we saw a couple race Naked[427] and scratched; and they so quickly fled The forest barriers burst before their face. 'Speed to my rescue, death!' the foremost pled. The next, as wishing he could use more haste; 'Not thus, O Lano,[428] thee thy legs bested 120 When one at Toppo's tournament thou wast.' Then, haply wanting breath, aside he stepped, Merged with a bush on which himself he cast. Behind them through the forest onward swept A pack of dogs, black, ravenous, and fleet, Like greyhounds from their leashes newly slipped. In him who crouched they made their teeth to meet, And, having piecemeal all his members rent, Haled them away enduring anguish great. Grasping my hand, my Escort forward went 130 And led me to the bush which, all in vain, Through its ensanguined openings made lament. 'James of St. Andrews,'[429] it we heard complain; 'What profit hadst thou making me thy shield? For thy bad life doth blame to me pertain?' Then, halting there, this speech my Master held: 'Who wast thou that through many wounds dost sigh, Mingled with blood, words big with sorrow swelled?' 'O souls that hither come,' was his reply, 'To witness shameful outrage by me borne, 140 Whence all my leaves torn off around me lie, Gather them to the root of this drear thorn. My city[430] for the Baptist changed of yore Her former patron; wherefore, in return, He with his art will make her aye deplore; And were it not some image doth remain Of him where Arno's crossed from shore to shore, Those citizens who founded her again On ashes left by Attila,[431] had spent Their labour of a surety all in vain. 150 In my own house[432] I up a gibbet went.' FOOTNOTES: [418] _A forest_: The second round of the Seventh Circle consists of a belt of tangled forest, enclosed by the river of blood, and devoted to suicides and prodigals. [419] _Corneto and Cecina_: Corneto is a town on the coast of what used to be the States of the Church; Cecina a stream not far south of Leghorn. Between them lies the Maremma, a district of great natural fertility, now being restored again to cultivation, but for ages a neglected and poisonous wilderness. [420] _Harpies_: Monsters with the bodies of birds and the heads of women. In the _Æneid_ iii., they are described as defiling the feast of which the Trojans were about to partake on one of the Strophades--islands of the Ægean; and on that occasion the prophecy was made that Æneas and his followers should be reduced to eat their tables ere they acquired a settlement in Italy. Here the Harpies symbolise shameful waste and disgust with life. [421] _Will prove, etc._: The things seen by Dante are to make credible what Virgil tells (_Æn._ iii.) of the blood and piteous voice that issued from the torn bushes on the tomb of Polydorus. [422] _My lay_: See previous note. Dante thus indirectly acknowledges his debt to Virgil; and, perhaps, at the same time puts in his claim to an imaginative licence equal to that taken by his master. On a modern reader the effect of the reference is to weaken the verisimilitude of the incident. [423] _For I am he, etc._: The speaker is Pier delle Vigne, who from being a begging student of Bologna rose to be the Chancellor of the Emperor Frederick II., the chief councillor of that monarch, and one of the brightest ornaments of his intellectual court. Peter was perhaps the more endeared to his master because, like him, he was a poet of no mean order. There are two accounts of what caused his disgrace. According to one of these he was found to have betrayed Frederick's interests in favour of the Pope's; and according to the other he tried to poison him. Neither is it known whether he committed suicide; though he is said to have done so after being disgraced, by dashing his brains out against a church wall in Pisa. Dante clearly follows this legend. The whole episode is eloquent of the esteem in which Peter's memory was held by Dante. His name is not mentioned in Inferno, but yet the promise is amply kept that it shall flourish on earth again, freed from unmerited disgrace. He died about 1249. [424] _The harlot_: Envy. [425] _Of what thou thinkest, etc._: Virgil never asks a question for his own satisfaction. He knows who the spirits are, what brought them there, and which of them will speak honestly out on the promise of having his fame refreshed in the world. It should be noted how, by a hint, he has made Peter aware of who he is (line 48); a delicate attention yielded to no other shade in the Inferno, except Ulysses (_Inf._ xxvi. 79), and, perhaps, Brunetto Latini (_Inf._ xv. 99). [426] _In them shall ne'er be clad_: Boccaccio is here at great pains to save Dante from a charge of contradicting the tenet of the resurrection of the flesh. [427] _Naked_: These are the prodigals; their nakedness representing the state to which in life they had reduced themselves. [428] _Lano_: Who made one of a club of prodigals in Siena (_Inf._ xxix. 130) and soon ran through his fortune. Joining in a Florentine expedition in 1288 against Arezzo, he refused to escape from a defeat encountered by his side at Pieve del Toppo, preferring, as was supposed, to end his life at once rather than drag it out in poverty. [429] _James of St. Andrews_: Jacopo da Sant' Andrea, a Paduan who inherited enormous wealth which did not last him for long. He literally threw money away, and would burn a house for the sake of the blaze. His death has been placed in 1239. [430] _My city, etc._: According to tradition the original patron of Florence was Mars. In Dante's time an ancient statue, supposed to be of that god, stood upon the Old Bridge of Florence. It is referred to in _Parad._ xvi. 47 and 145. Benvenuto says that he had heard from Boccaccio, who had frequently heard it from old people, that the statue was regarded with great awe. If a boy flung stones or mud at it, the bystanders would say of him that he would make a bad end. It was lost in the great flood of 1333. Here the Florentine shade represents Mars as troubling Florence with wars in revenge for being cast off as a patron. [431] _Attila_: A confusion with Totila. Attila was never so far south as Tuscany. Neither is there reason to believe that when Totila took the city he destroyed it. But the legend was that it was rebuilt in the time of Charles the Great. [432] _My own house, etc._: It is not settled who this was who hanged himself from the beams of his own roof. One of the Agli, say some; others, one of the Mozzi. Boccaccio and Peter Dante remark that suicide by hanging was common in Florence. But Dante's text seems pretty often to have suggested the invention of details in support or illustration of it. CANTO XIV. Me of my native place the dear constraint[433] Led to restore the leaves which round were strewn, To him whose voice by this time was grown faint. Thence came we where the second round joins on Unto the third, wherein how terrible The art of justice can be, is well shown. But, clearly of these wondrous things to tell, I say we entered on a plain of sand Which from its bed doth every plant repel. The dolorous wood lies round it like a band, 10 As that by the drear fosse is circled round. Upon its very edge we came to a stand. And there was nothing within all that bound But burnt and heavy sand; like that once trod Beneath the feet of Cato[434] was the ground. Ah, what a terror, O revenge of God! Shouldst thou awake in any that may read Of what before mine eyes was spread abroad. I of great herds of naked souls took heed. Most piteously was weeping every one; 20 And different fortunes seemed to them decreed. For some of them[435] upon the ground lay prone, And some were sitting huddled up and bent, While others, restless, wandered up and down. More numerous were they that roaming went Than they that were tormented lying low; But these had tongues more loosened to lament. O'er all the sand, deliberate and slow, Broad open flakes of fire were downward rained, As 'mong the Alps[436] in calm descends the snow. 30 Such Alexander[437] saw when he attained The hottest India; on his host they fell And all unbroken on the earth remained; Wherefore he bade his phalanxes tread well The ground, because when taken one by one The burning flakes they could the better quell. So here eternal fire[438] was pouring down; As tinder 'neath the steel, so here the sands Kindled, whence pain more vehement was known. And, dancing up and down, the wretched hands[439] 40 Beat here and there for ever without rest; Brushing away from them the falling brands. And I: 'O Master, by all things confessed Victor, except by obdurate evil powers Who at the gate[440] to stop our passage pressed, Who is the enormous one who noway cowers Beneath the fire; with fierce disdainful air Lying as if untortured by the showers?' And that same shade, because he was aware That touching him I of my Guide was fain 50 To learn, cried: 'As in life, myself I bear In death. Though Jupiter should tire again His smith, from whom he snatched in angry bout The bolt by which I at the last was slain;[441] Though one by one he tire the others out At the black forge in Mongibello[442] placed, While "Ho, good Vulcan, help me!" he shall shout-- The cry he once at Phlegra's[443] battle raised; Though hurled with all his might at me shall fly His bolts, yet sweet revenge he shall not taste.' 60 Then spake my Guide, and in a voice so high Never till then heard I from him such tone: 'O Capaneus, because unquenchably Thy pride doth burn, worse pain by thee is known. Into no torture save thy madness wild Fit for thy fury couldest thou be thrown.' Then, to me turning with a face more mild, He said: 'Of the Seven Kings was he of old, Who leaguered Thebes, and as he God reviled Him in small reverence still he seems to hold; 70 But for his bosom his own insolence Supplies fit ornament,[444] as now I told. Now follow; but take heed lest passing hence Thy feet upon the burning sand should tread; But keep them firm where runs the forest fence.'[445] We reached a place--nor any word we said-- Where issues from the wood a streamlet small; I shake but to recall its colour red. Like that which does from Bulicamë[446] fall, And losel women later 'mong them share; 80 So through the sand this brooklet's waters crawl. Its bottom and its banks I was aware Were stone, and stone the rims on either side. From this I knew the passage[447] must be there. 'Of all that I have shown thee as thy guide Since when we by the gateway[448] entered in, Whose threshold unto no one is denied, Nothing by thee has yet encountered been So worthy as this brook to cause surprise, O'er which the falling fire-flakes quenched are seen.' 90 These were my Leader's words. For full supplies I prayed him of the food of which to taste Keen appetite he made within me rise. 'In middle sea there lies a country waste, Known by the name of Crete,' I then was told, 'Under whose king[449] the world of yore was chaste. There stands a mountain, once the joyous hold Of woods and streams; as Ida 'twas renowned, Now 'tis deserted like a thing grown old. For a safe cradle 'twas by Rhea found. 100 To nurse her child[450] in; and his infant cry, Lest it betrayed him, she with clamours drowned. Within the mount an old man towereth high. Towards Damietta are his shoulders thrown; On Rome, as on his mirror, rests his eye. His head is fashioned of pure gold alone; Of purest silver are his arms and chest; 'Tis brass to where his legs divide; then down From that is all of iron of the best, Save the right foot, which is of baken clay; 110 And upon this foot doth he chiefly rest. Save what is gold, doth every part display A fissure dripping tears; these, gathering all Together, through the grotto pierce a way. From rock to rock into this deep they fall, Feed Acheron[451] and Styx and Phlegethon, Then downward travelling by this strait canal, Far as the place where further slope is none, Cocytus form; and what that pool may be I say not now. Thou'lt see it further on.' 120 'If this brook rises,' he was asked by me, 'Within our world, how comes it that no trace We saw of it till on this boundary?' And he replied: 'Thou knowest that the place Is round, and far as thou hast moved thy feet, Still to the left hand[452] sinking to the base, Nath'less thy circuit is not yet complete. Therefore if something new we chance to spy, Amazement needs not on thy face have seat.' I then: 'But, Master, where doth Lethe lie, 130 And Phlegethon? Of that thou sayest nought; Of this thou say'st, those tears its flood supply.' 'It likes me well to be by thee besought; But by the boiling red wave,' I was told, 'To half thy question was an answer brought. Lethe,[453] not in this pit, shalt thou behold. Thither to wash themselves the spirits go, When penitence has made them spotless souled.' Then said he: 'From the wood 'tis fitting now That we depart; behind me press thou nigh. 140 Keep we the margins, for they do not glow, And over them, ere fallen, the fire-flakes die.' FOOTNOTES: [433] _Dear constraint_: The mention of Florence has awakened Dante to pity, and he willingly complies with the request of the unnamed suicide (_Inf._ xiii. 142). As a rule, the only service he consents to yield the souls with whom he converses in Inferno is to restore their memory upon earth; a favour he does not feign to be asked for in this case, out of consideration, it may be, for the family of the sinner. [434] _Cato_: Cato of Utica, who, after the defeat of Pompey at Pharsalia, led his broken army across the Libyan desert to join King Juba. [435] _Some of them, etc._: In this the third round of the Seventh Circle are punished those guilty of sins of violence against God, against nature, and against the arts by which alone a livelihood can honestly be won. Those guilty as against God, the blasphemers, lie prone like Capaneus (line 46), and are subject to the fiercest pain. Those guilty of unnatural vice are stimulated into ceaseless motion, as described in Cantos XV. and XVI. The usurers, those who despise honest industry and the humanising arts of life, are found crouching on the ground (_Inf._ xvii. 43). [436] _The Alps_: Used here for mountains in general. [437] _Such Alexander, etc._: The reference is to a pretended letter of Alexander to Aristotle, in which he tells of the various hindrances met with by his army from snow and rain and showers of fire. But in that narrative it is the snow that is trampled down, while the flakes of fire are caught by the soldiers upon their outspread cloaks. The story of the shower of fire may have been suggested by Plutarch's mention of the mineral oil in the province of Babylon, a strange thing to the Greeks; and of how they were entertained by seeing the ground, which had been sprinkled with it, burst into flame. [438] _Eternal fire_: As always, the character of the place and of the punishment bears a relation to the crimes of the inhabitants. They sinned against nature in a special sense, and now they are confined to the sterile sand where the only showers that fall are showers of fire. [439] _The wretched hands_: The dance, named in the original the _tresca_, was one in which the performers followed a leader and imitated him in all his gestures, waving their hands as he did, up and down, and from side to side. The simile is caught straight from common life. [440] _At the gate_: Of the city of Dis (_Inf._ viii. 82). [441] _Was slain, etc._: Capaneus, one of the Seven Kings, as told below, when storming the walls of Thebes, taunted the other gods with impunity, but his blasphemy against Jupiter was answered by a fatal bolt. [442] _Mongibello_: A popular name of Etna, under which mountain was situated the smithy of Vulcan and the Cyclopes. [443] _Phlegra_: Where the giants fought with the gods. [444] _Fit ornament, etc._: Even if untouched by the pain he affects to despise, he would yet suffer enough from the mad hatred of God that rages in his breast. Capaneus is the nearest approach to the Satan of Milton found in the _Inferno_. From the need of getting law enough by which to try the heathen Dante is led into some inconsistency. After condemning the virtuous heathen to Limbo for their ignorance of the one true God, he now condemns the wicked heathen to this circle for despising false gods. Jupiter here stands for, as need scarcely be said, the Supreme Ruler; and in that sense he is termed God (line 69). But it remains remarkable that the one instance of blasphemous defiance of God should be taken from classical fable. [445] _The forest fence_: They do not trust themselves so much as to step upon the sand, but look out on it from the verge of the forest which encircles it, and which as they travel they have on the left hand. [446] _Bulicamë_: A hot sulphur spring a couple of miles from Viterbo, greatly frequented for baths in the Middle Ages; and, it is said, especially by light women. The water boils up into a large pool, whence it flows by narrow channels; sometimes by one and sometimes by another, as the purposes of the neighbouring peasants require. Sulphurous fumes rise from the water as it runs. The incrustation of the bottom, sides, and edges of those channels gives them the air of being solidly built. [447] _The passage_: On each edge of the canal there is a flat pathway of solid stone; and Dante sees that only by following one of these can a passage be gained across the desert, for to set foot on the sand is impossible for him owing to the falling flakes of fire. There may be found in his description of the solid and flawless masonry of the canal a trace of the pleasure taken in good building by the contemporaries of Arnolfo. Nor is it without meaning that the sterile sands, the abode of such as despised honest labour, is crossed by a perfect work of art which they are forbidden ever to set foot upon. [448] _The gateway_: At the entrance to Inferno. [449] _Whose king_: Saturn, who ruled the world in the Golden Age. He, as the devourer of his own offspring, is the symbol of Time; and the image of Time is therefore set by Dante in the island where he reigned. [450] _Her child_: Jupiter, hidden in the mountain from his father Saturn. [451] _Feed Acheron, etc._: The idea of this image is taken from the figure in Nebuchadnezzar's dream in Daniel ii. But here, instead of the Four Empires, the materials of the statue represent the Four Ages of the world; the foot of clay on which it stands being the present time, which is so bad that even iron were too good to represent it. Time turns his back to the outworn civilisations of the East, and his face to Rome, which, as the seat of the Empire and the Church, holds the secret of the future. The tears of time shed by every Age save that of Gold feed the four infernal streams and pools of Acheron, Styx, Phlegethon, and Cocytus. Line 117 indicates that these are all fed by the same water; are in fact different names for the same flood of tears. The reason why Dante has not hitherto observed the connection between them is that he has not made a complete circuit of each or indeed of any circle, as Virgil reminds him at line 124, etc. The rivulet by which they stand drains the boiling Phlegethon--where the water is all changed to blood, because in it the murderers are punished--and flowing through the forest of the suicides and the desert of the blasphemers, etc., tumbles into the Eighth Circle as described in Canto xvi. 103. Cocytus they are afterward to reach. An objection to this account of the infernal rivers as being all fed by the same waters may be found in the difference of volume of the great river of Acheron (_Inf._ iii. 71) and of this brooklet. But this difference is perhaps to be explained by the evaporation from the boiling waters of Phlegethon and of this stream which drains it. Dante is almost the only poet applied to whom such criticism would not be trifling. Another difficult point is how Cocytus should not in time have filled, and more than filled, the Ninth Circle. [452] _To the left hand_: Twice only as they descend they turn their course to the right hand (_Inf._ ix. 132, and xvii. 31). The circuit of the Inferno they do not complete till they reach the very base. [453] _Lethe_: Found in the Earthly Paradise, as described in _Purgatorio_ xxviii. 130. CANTO XV. Now lies[454] our way along one of the margins hard; Steam rising from the rivulet forms a cloud, Which 'gainst the fire doth brook and borders guard. Like walls the Flemings, timorous of the flood Which towards them pours betwixt Bruges and Cadsand,[455] Have made, that ocean's charge may be withstood; Or what the Paduans on the Brenta's strand To guard their castles and their homesteads rear, Ere Chiarentana[456] feel the spring-tide bland; Of the same fashion did those dikes appear, 10 Though not so high[457] he made them, nor so vast, Whoe'er the builder was that piled them here. We, from the wood when we so far had passed I should not have distinguished where it lay Though I to see it backward glance had cast, A group of souls encountered on the way, Whose line of march was to the margin nigh. Each looked at us--as by the new moon's ray Men peer at others 'neath the darkening sky-- Sharpening his brows on us and only us, 20 Like an old tailor on his needle's eye. And while that crowd was staring at me thus, One of them knew me, caught me by the gown, And cried aloud: 'Lo, this is marvellous!'[458] And straightway, while he thus to me held on, I fixed mine eyes upon his fire-baked face, And, spite of scorching, seemed his features known, And whose they were my memory well could trace; And I, with hand[459] stretched toward his face below, Asked: 'Ser Brunetto![460] and is this your place?' 30 'O son,' he answered, 'no displeasure show, If now Brunetto Latini shall some way Step back with thee, and leave his troop to go.' I said: 'With all my heart for this I pray, And, if you choose, I by your side will sit; If he, for I go with him, grant delay.' 'Son,' said he, 'who of us shall intermit Motion a moment, for an age must lie Nor fan himself when flames are round him lit. On, therefore! At thy skirts I follow nigh, 40 Then shall I overtake my band again, Who mourn a loss large as eternity.' I dared not from the path step to the plain To walk with him, but low I bent my head,[461] Like one whose steps are all with reverence ta'en. 'What fortune or what destiny,' he said, 'Hath brought thee here or e'er thou death hast seen; And who is this by whom thou'rt onward led?' 'Up yonder,' said I, 'in the life serene, I in a valley wandered all forlorn 50 Before my years had full accomplished been. I turned my back on it but yestermorn;[462] Again I sought it when he came in sight Guided by whom[463] I homeward thus return.' And he to me: 'Following thy planet's light[464] Thou of a glorious haven canst not fail, If in the blithesome life I marked aright. And had my years known more abundant tale, Seeing the heavens so held thee in their grace I, heartening thee, had helped thee to prevail. 60 But that ungrateful and malignant race Which down from Fiesole[465] came long ago, And still its rocky origin betrays, Will for thy worthiness become thy foe; And with good reason, for 'mong crab-trees wild It ill befits the mellow fig to grow. By widespread ancient rumour are they styled A people blind, rapacious, envious, vain: See by their manners thou be not defiled. Fortune reserves such honour for thee, fain 70 Both sides[466] will be to enlist thee in their need; But from the beak the herb shall far remain. Let beasts of Fiesole go on to tread Themselves to litter, nor the plants molest, If any such now spring on their rank bed, In whom there flourishes indeed the blest Seed of the Romans who still lingered there When of such wickedness 'twas made the nest.' 'Had I obtained full answer to my prayer, You had not yet been doomed,' I then did say, 80 'This exile from humanity to bear. For deep within my heart and memory Lives the paternal image good and dear Of you, as in the world, from day to day, How men escape oblivion you made clear; My thankfulness for which shall in my speech While I have life, as it behoves, appear. I note what of my future course you teach. Stored with another text[467] it will be glozed By one expert, should I that Lady reach. 90 Yet would I have this much to you disclosed: If but my conscience no reproaches yield, To all my fortune is my soul composed. Not new to me the hint by you revealed; Therefore let Fortune turn her wheel apace, Even as she will; the clown[468] his mattock wield.' Thereon my Master right about[469] did face, And uttered this, with glance upon me thrown: 'He hears[470] to purpose who doth mark the place.' And none the less I, speaking, still go on 100 With Ser Brunetto; asking him to tell Who of his band[471] are greatest and best known. And he to me: 'To hear of some is well, But of the rest 'tis fitting to be dumb, And time is lacking all their names to spell. That all of them were clerks, know thou in sum, All men of letters, famous and of might; Stained with one sin[472] all from the world are come. Priscian[473] goes with that crowd of evil plight, Francis d'Accorso[474] too; and hadst thou mind 110 For suchlike trash thou mightest have had sight Of him the Slave[475] of Slaves to change assigned From Arno's banks to Bacchiglione, where His nerves fatigued with vice he left behind. More would I say, but neither must I fare Nor talk at further length, for from the sand I see new dust-clouds[476] rising in the air, I may not keep with such as are at hand. Care for my _Treasure_;[477] for I still survive In that my work. I nothing else demand.' 120 Then turned he back, and ran like those who strive For the Green Cloth[478] upon Verona's plain; And seemed like him that shall the first arrive, And not like him that labours all in vain. FOOTNOTES: [454] _Now lies, etc._: The stream on issuing from the wood flows right across the waste of sand which that encompasses. To follow it they must turn to the right, as always when, their general course being to the left, they have to cross a Circle. But such a veering to the right is a consequence of their leftward course, and not an exception to it. [455] _Cadsand_: An island opposite to the mouth of the great canal of Bruges. [456] _Chiarentana_: What district or mountain is here meant has been much disputed. It can be taken for Carinthia only on the supposition that Dante was ignorant of where the Brenta rises. At the source of that river stands the Monte Chiarentana, but it may be a question how old that name is. The district name of it is Canzana, or Carenzana. [457] _Not so high, etc._: This limitation is very characteristic of Dante's style of thought, which compels him to a precision that will produce the utmost possible effect of verisimilitude in his description. Most poets would have made the walls far higher and more vast, by way of lending grandeur to the conception. [458] _Marvellous_: To find Dante, whom he knew, still living, and passing through the Circle. [459] _With hand, etc._: 'With my face bent to his' is another reading, but there seems to be most authority for that in the text.--The fiery shower forbids Dante to stoop over the edge of the causeway. To Brunetto, who is some feet below him, he throws out his open hand, a gesture of astonishment mingled with pity. [460] _Ser Brunetto_: Brunetto Latini, a Florentine, was born in 1220. As a notary he was entitled to be called Ser, or Messer. As appears from the context, Dante was under great intellectual obligations to him, not, we may suppose, as to a tutor so much as to an active-minded and scholarly friend of mature age, and possessed of a ripe experience of affairs. The social respect that Dante owed him is indicated by the use of the plural form of address. See note, _Inf._ x. 51. Brunetto held high appointments in the Republic. Perhaps with some exaggeration, Villani says of him that he was the first to refine the Florentines, teaching them to speak correctly, and to administer State affairs on fixed principles of politics (_Cronica_, viii. 10). A Guelf in politics, he shared in the exile of his party after the Ghibeline victory of Montaperti in 1260, and for some years resided in Paris. There is reason to suppose that he returned to Florence in 1269, and that he acted as prothonotary of the court of Charles of Valois' vicar-general in Tuscany. His signature as secretary to the Council of Florence is found under the date of 1273. He died in 1294, when Dante was twenty-nine, and was buried in the cloister of Santa Maria Maggiore, where his tombstone may still be seen. (Not in Santa Maria Novella.) Villani mentions him in his Chronicle with some reluctance, seeing he was a 'worldly man.' His life must indeed have been vicious to the last, before Dante could have had the heart to fix him in such company. Brunetto's chief works are the _Tesoro_ and _Tesoretto_. For the _Tesoro_, see note at line 119. The _Tesoretto_, or _Little Treasure_, is an allegorical poem in Italian rhymed couplets. In it he imagines himself, as he is on his return from an embassy to Alphonso of Castile, meeting a scholar of Bologna of whom he asks 'in smooth sweet words for news of Tuscany.' Having been told of the catastrophe of Montaperti he wanders out of the beaten way into the Forest of Roncesvalles, where he meets with various experiences; he is helped by Ovid, is instructed by Ptolemy, and grows penitent for his sins. In this, it will be seen, there is a general resemblance to the action of the _Comedy_. There are even turns of expression that recall Dante (_e.g._ beginning of _Cap._ iv.); but all together amounts to little. [461] _Low I bent my head_: But not projecting it beyond the line of safety, strictly defined by the edge of the causeway. We are to imagine to ourselves the fire of Sodom falling on Brunetto's upturned face, and missing Dante's head only by an inch. [462] _Yestermorn_: This is still the Saturday. It was Friday when Dante met Virgil. [463] _Guided by whom_: Brunetto has asked who the guide is, and Dante does not tell him. A reason for the refusal has been ingeniously found in the fact that among the numerous citations of the _Treasure_ Brunetto seldom quotes Virgil. See also the charge brought against Guido Cavalcanti (_Inf._ x. 63), of holding Virgil in disdain. But it is explanation enough of Dante's omission to name his guide that he is passing through Inferno to gain experience for himself, and not to satisfy the curiosity of the shades he meets. See note on line 99. [464] _Thy planet's light_: Some think that Brunetto had cast Dante's horoscope. In a remarkable passage (_Parad._ xxii. 112) Dante attributes any genius he may have to the influence of the Twins, which constellation was in the ascendant when he was born. See also _Inf._ xxvi. 23. But here it is more likely that Brunetto refers to his observation of Dante's good qualities, from which he gathered that he was well starred. [465] _Fiesole_: The mother city of Florence, to which also most of the Fiesolans were believed to have migrated at the beginning of the eleventh century. But all the Florentines did their best to establish a Roman descent for themselves; and Dante among them. His fellow-citizens he held to be for the most part of the boorish Fiesolan breed, rude and stony-hearted as the mountain in whose cleft the cradle of their race was seen from Florence. [466] _Both sides_: This passage was most likely written not long after Dante had ceased to entertain any hope of winning his way back to Florence in the company of the Whites, whose exile he shared, and when he was already standing in proud isolation from Black and White, from Guelf and Ghibeline. There is nothing to show that his expectation of being courted by both sides ever came true. Never a strong partisan, he had, to use his own words, at last to make a party by himself, and stood out an Imperialist with his heart set on the triumph of an Empire far nobler than that the Ghibeline desired. Dante may have hoped to hold a place of honour some day in the council of a righteous Emperor; and this may be the glorious haven with the dream of which he was consoled in the wanderings of his exile. [467] _Another text_: Ciacco and Farinata have already hinted at the troubles that lie ahead of him (_Inf._ vi. 65, and x. 79). [468] _The clown, etc._: The honest performance of duty is the best defence against adverse fortune. [469] _Right about_: In traversing the sands they keep upon the right-hand margin of the embanked stream, Virgil leading the way, with Dante behind him on the right so that Brunetto may see and hear him well. [470] _He hears, etc._: Of all the interpretations of this somewhat obscure sentence that seems the best which applies it to Virgil's _Quicquid erit, superanda omnis fortuna ferendo est_--'Whatever shall happen, every fate is to be vanquished by endurance' (_Æn._ v. 710). Taking this way of it, we have in the form of Dante's profession of indifference to all the adverse fortune that may be in store for him a refined compliment to his Guide; and in Virgil's gesture and words an equally delicate revelation of himself to Brunetto, in which is conveyed an answer to the question at line 48, 'Who is this that shows the way?'--Otherwise, the words convey Virgil's approbation of Dante's having so well attended to his advice to store Farinata's prophecy in his memory (_Inf._ x.127). [471] _His band_: That is, the company to which Brunetto specially belongs, and from which for the time he has separated himself. [472] _Stained with one sin_: Dante will not make Brunetto individually confess his sin. [473] _Priscian_: The great grammarian of the sixth century; placed here without any reason, except that he is a representative teacher of youth. [474] _Francis d'Accorso_: Died about 1294. The son of a great civil lawyer, he was himself professor of the civil law at Bologna, where his services were so highly prized that the Bolognese forbade him, on pain of the confiscation of his goods, to accept an invitation from Edward I. to go to Oxford. [475] _Of him the Slave, etc._: One of the Pope's titles is _Servus Servorum Domini_. The application of it to Boniface, so hated by Dante, may be ironical: 'Fit servant of such a slave to vice!' The priest referred to so contemptuously is Andrea, of the great Florentine family of the Mozzi, who was much engaged in the political affairs of his time, and became Bishop of Florence in 1286. About ten years later he was translated to Vicenza, which stands on the Bacchiglione; and he died shortly afterwards. According to Benvenuto he was a ridiculous preacher and a man of dissolute manners. What is now most interesting about him is that he was Dante's chief pastor during his early manhood, and is consigned by him to the same disgraceful circle of Inferno as his beloved master Brunetto Latini--a terrible evidence of the corruption of life among the churchmen as well as the scholars of the thirteenth century. [476] _New dust-clouds_: Raised by a band by whom they are about to be met. [477] _My Treasure_: The _Trésor_, or _Tesoro_, Brunetto's principal work, was written by him in French as being 'the pleasantest language, and the most widely spread.' In it he treats of things in general in the encyclopedic fashion set him by Alphonso of Castile. The first half consists of a summary of civil and natural history. The second is devoted to ethics, rhetoric, and politics. To a great extent it is a compilation, containing, for instance, a translation, nearly complete, of the Ethics of Aristotle--not, of course, direct from the Greek. It is written in a plodding style, and speaks to more industry than genius. To it Dante is indebted for some facts and fables. [478] _The Green Cloth_: To commemorate a victory won by the Veronese there was instituted a race to be run on the first Sunday of Lent. The prize was a piece of green cloth. The competitors ran naked.--Brunetto does not disappear into the gloom without a parting word of applause from his old pupil. Dante's rigorous sentence on his beloved master is pronounced as softly as it can be. We must still wonder that he has the heart to bring him to such an awful judgment. CANTO XVI. Now could I hear the water as it fell To the next circle[479] with a murmuring sound Like what is heard from swarming hives to swell; When three shades all together with a bound Burst from a troop met by us pressing on 'Neath rain of that sharp torment. O'er the ground Toward us approaching, they exclaimed each one: 'Halt thou, whom from thy garb[480] we judge to be A citizen of our corrupted town.' Alas, what scars I on their limbs did see, 10 Both old and recent, which the flames had made: Even now my ruth is fed by memory. My Teacher halted at their cry, and said: 'Await a while:' and looked me in the face; 'Some courtesy to these were well displayed. And but that fire--the manner of the place-- Descends for ever, fitting 'twere to find Rather than them, thee quickening thy pace.' When we had halted, they again combined In their old song; and, reaching where we stood, 20 Into a wheel all three were intertwined. And as the athletes used, well oiled and nude, To feel their grip and, wary, watch their chance, Ere they to purpose strike and wrestle could; So each of them kept fixed on me his glance As he wheeled round,[481] and in opposing ways His neck and feet seemed ever to advance. 'Ah, if the misery of this sand-strewn place Bring us and our petitions in despite,' One then began, 'and flayed and grimy face; 30 Let at the least our fame goodwill incite To tell us who thou art, whose living feet Thus through Inferno wander without fright. For he whose footprints, as thou see'st, I beat, Though now he goes with body peeled and nude, More than thou thinkest, in the world was great. The grandson was he of Gualdrada good; He, Guidoguerra,[482] with his armèd hand Did mighty things, and by his counsel shrewd. The other who behind me treads the sand 40 Is one whose name should on the earth be dear; For he is Tegghiaio[483] Aldobrand. And I, who am tormented with them here, James Rusticucci[484] was; my fierce and proud Wife of my ruin was chief minister.' If from the fire there had been any shroud I should have leaped down 'mong them, nor have earned Blame, for my Teacher sure had this allowed. But since I should have been all baked and burned, Terror prevailed the goodwill to restrain 50 With which to clasp them in my arms I yearned. Then I began: ''Twas not contempt but pain Which your condition in my breast awoke, Where deeply rooted it will long remain, When this my Master words unto me spoke, By which expectancy was in me stirred That ye who came were honourable folk. I of your city[485] am, and with my word Your deeds and honoured names oft to recall Delighted, and with joy of them I heard. 60 To the sweet fruits I go, and leave the gall, As promised to me by my Escort true; But first I to the centre down must fall.' 'So may thy soul thy members long endue With vital power,' the other made reply, 'And after thee thy fame[486] its light renew; As thou shalt tell if worth and courtesy Within our city as of yore remain, Or from it have been wholly forced to fly. For William Borsier,[487] one of yonder train, 70 And but of late joined with us in this woe, Causeth us with his words exceeding pain.' 'Upstarts, and fortunes suddenly that grow, Have bred in thee pride and extravagance,[488] Whence tears, O Florence! thou art shedding now.' Thus cried I with uplifted countenance. The three, accepting it for a reply, Glanced each at each as hearing truth men glance. And all: 'If others thou shalt satisfy As well at other times[489] at no more cost, 80 Happy thus at thine ease the truth to cry! Therefore if thou escap'st these regions lost, Returning to behold the starlight fair, Then when "There was I,"[490] thou shalt make thy boast, Something of us do thou 'mong men declare.' Then broken was the wheel, and as they fled Their nimble legs like pinions beat the air. So much as one _Amen!_ had scarce been said Quicker than what they vanished from our view. On this once more the way my Master led. 90 I followed, and ere long so near we drew To where the water fell, that for its roar Speech scarcely had been heard between us two. And as the stream which of all those which pour East (from Mount Viso counting) by its own Course falls the first from Apennine to shore-- As Acquacheta[491] in the uplands known By name, ere plunging to its bed profound; Name lost ere by Forlì its waters run-- Above St. Benedict with one long bound, 100 Where for a thousand[492] would be ample room, Falls from the mountain to the lower ground; Down the steep cliff that water dyed in gloom We found to fall echoing from side to side, Stunning the ear with its tremendous boom. There was a cord about my middle tied, With which I once had thought that I might hold Secure the leopard with the painted hide. When this from round me I had quite unrolled To him I handed it, all coiled and tight; 110 As by my Leader I had first been told. Himself then bending somewhat toward the right,[493] He just beyond the edge of the abyss Threw down the cord,[494] which disappeared from sight. 'That some strange thing will follow upon this Unwonted signal which my Master's eye Thus follows,' so I thought, 'can hardly miss.' Ah, what great caution need we standing by Those who behold not only what is done, But who have wit our hidden thoughts to spy! 120 He said to me: 'There shall emerge, and soon, What I await; and quickly to thy view That which thou dream'st of shall be clearly known.'[495] From utterance of truth which seems untrue A man, whene'er he can, should guard his tongue; Lest he win blame to no transgression due. Yet now I must speak out, and by the song Of this my Comedy, Reader, I swear-- So in good liking may it last full long!-- I saw a shape swim upward through that air. 130 All indistinct with gross obscurity, Enough to fill the stoutest heart with fear: Like one who rises having dived to free An anchor grappled on a jagged stone, Or something else deep hidden in the sea; With feet drawn in and arms all open thrown. FOOTNOTES: [479] _The next circle_: The Eighth. [480] _Thy garb_: 'Almost every city,' says Boccaccio, 'had in those times its peculiar fashion of dress distinct from that of neighboring cities.' [481] _As he wheeled round_: Virgil and Dante have come to a halt upon the embankment. The three shades, to whom it is forbidden to be at rest for a moment, clasping one another as in a dance, keep wheeling round in circle upon the sand. [482] _Guidoguerra_: A descendant of the Counts Guidi of Modigliana. Gualdrada was the daughter of Bellincion Berti de' Ravignani, praised for his simple habits in the _Paradiso_, xv. 112. Guidoguerra was a Guelf leader, and after the defeat of Montaperti acted as Captain of his party, in this capacity lending valuable aid to Charles of Anjou at the battle of Benevento, 1266, when Manfred was overthrown. He had no children, and left the Commonwealth of Florence his heir. [483] _Tegghiaio_: Son of Aldobrando of the Adimari. His name should be dear in Florence, because he did all he could to dissuade the citizens from the campaign which ended so disastrously at Montaperti. [484] _James Rusticucci_: An accomplished cavalier of humble birth, said to have been a retainer of Dante's friends the Cavalcanti. The commentators have little to tell of him except that he made an unhappy marriage, which is evident from the text. Of the sins of him and his companions there is nothing known beyond what is to be inferred from the poet's words, and nothing to say, except that when Dante consigned men of their stamp, frank and amiable, to the Infernal Circles, we may be sure that he only executed a verdict already accepted as just by the whole of Florence. And when we find him impartially damning Guelf and Ghibeline we may be equally sure that he looked for the aid of neither party, and of no family however powerful in the State, to bring his banishment to a close. He would even seem to be careful to stop any hole by which he might creep back to Florence. When he did return, it was to be in the train of the Emperor, so he hoped, and as one who gives rather than seeks forgiveness. [485] _Of your city, etc._: At line 32 Rusticucci begs Dante to tell who he is. He tells that he is of their city, which they have already gathered from his _berretta_ and the fashion of his gown; but he tells nothing, almost, of himself. Unless to Farinata, indeed, he never makes an open breast to any one met in Inferno. But here he does all that courtesy requires. [486] _Thy fame_: Dante has implied in his answer that he is gifted with oratorical powers and is the object of a special Divine care; and the illustrious Florentine, frankly acknowledging the claim he makes, adjures him by the fame which is his in store to appease an eager curiosity about the Florence which even in Inferno is the first thought of every not ignoble Florentine. [487] _William Borsiere_: A Florentine, witty and well bred, according to Boccaccio. Being once at Genoa he was shown a fine new palace by its miserly owner, and was asked to suggest a subject for a painting with which to adorn the hall. The subject was to be something that nobody had ever seen. Borsiere proposed liberality as something that the miser at any rate had never yet got a good sight of; an answer of which it is not easy to detect either the wit or the courtesy, but which is said to have converted the churl to liberal ways (_Decam._ i. 8). He is here introduced as an authority on the noble style of manners. [488] _Pride and extravagance_: In place of the nobility of mind that leads to great actions, and the gentle manners that prevail in a society where there is a due subordination of rank to rank and well-defined duties for every man. This, the aristocratic in a noble sense, was Dante's ideal of a social state; for all his instincts were those of a Florentine aristocrat, corrected though they were by his good sense and his thirst for a reign of perfect justice. During his own time he had seen Florence grow more and more democratic; and he was irritated--unreasonably, considering that it was only a sign of the general prosperity--at the spectacle of the amazing growth of wealth in the hands of low-born traders, who every year were coming more to the front and monopolising influence at home and abroad at the cost of their neighbours and rivals with longer pedigrees and shorter purses. In _Paradiso_ xvi. Dante dwells at length on the degeneracy of the Florentines. [489] _At other times_: It is hinted that his outspokenness will not in the future always give equal satisfaction to those who hear. [490] _There was I, etc._: _Forsan et hæc olim meminisse juvabit._--_Æn._ i. 203. [491] _Acquacheta_: The fall of the water of the brook over the lofty cliff that sinks from the Seventh to the Eighth Circle is compared to the waterfall upon the Montone at the monastery of St. Benedict, in the mountains above Forlì. The Po rises in Monte Viso. Dante here travels in imagination from Monte Viso down through Italy, and finds that all the rivers which rise on the left hand, that is, on the north-east of the Apennine, fall into the Po, till the Montone is reached, that river falling into the Adriatic by a course of its own. Above Forlì it was called Acquacheta. The Lamone, north of the Montone, now follows an independent course to the sea, having cut a new bed for itself since Dante's time. [492] _Where for a thousand, etc._: In the monastery there was room for many more monks, say most of the commentators; or something to the like effect. Mr. Longfellow's interpretation seems better: Where the height of the fall is so great that it would divide into a thousand falls. [493] _Toward the right_: The attitude of one about to throw. [494] _The cord_: The services of Geryon are wanted to convey them down the next reach of the pit; and as no voice could be heard for the noise of the waterfall, and no signal be made to catch the eye amid the gloom, Virgil is obliged to call the attention of the monster by casting some object into the depth where he lies concealed. But, since they are surrounded by solid masonry and slack sand, one or other of them must supply something fit to throw down; and the cord worn by Dante is fixed on as what can best be done without. There may be a reference to the cord of Saint Francis, which Dante, according to one of his commentators, wore when he was a young man, following in this a fashion common enough among pious laymen who had no thought of ever becoming friars. But the simile of the cord, as representing sobriety and virtuous purpose, is not strange to Dante. In _Purg._ vii. 114 he describes Pedro of Arragon as being girt with the cord of every virtue; and Pedro was no Franciscan. Dante's cord may therefore be taken as standing for vigilance or self-control. With it he had hoped to get the better of the leopard (_Inf._ i. 32), and may have trusted in it for support as against the terrors of Inferno. But although he has been girt with it ever since he entered by the gate, it has not saved him from a single fear, far less from a single danger; and now it is cast away as useless. Henceforth, more than ever, he is to confide wholly in Virgil and have no confidence in himself. Nor is he to be girt again till he reaches the coast of Purgatory, and then it is to be with a reed, the emblem of humility.--But, however explained, the incident will always be somewhat of a puzzle. [495] Dante attributes to Virgil full knowledge of all that is in his own mind. He thus heightens our conception of his dependence on his guide, with whose will his will is blent, and whose thoughts are always found to be anticipating his own. Few readers will care to be constantly recalling to mind that Virgil represents enlightened human reason. But even if we confine ourselves to the easiest sense of the narrative, the study of the relations between him and Dante will be found one of the most interesting suggested by the poem--perhaps only less so than that of Dante's moods of wonder, anger, and pity. CANTO XVII. 'Behold the monster[496] with the pointed tail, Who passes mountains[497] and can entrance make Through arms and walls! who makes the whole world ail, Corrupted by him!' Thus my Leader spake, And beckoned him that he should land hard by, Where short the pathways built of marble break. And that foul image of dishonesty Moving approached us with his head and chest, But to the bank[498] drew not his tail on high. His face a human righteousness expressed, 10 'Twas so benignant to the outward view; A serpent was he as to all the rest. On both his arms hair to the arm-pits grew: On back and chest and either flank were knot[499] And rounded shield portrayed in various hue; No Turk or Tartar weaver ever brought To ground or pattern a more varied dye;[500] Nor by Arachne[501] was such broidery wrought. As sometimes by the shore the barges lie Partly in water, partly on dry land; 20 And as afar in gluttonous Germany,[502] Watching their prey, alert the beavers stand; So did this worst of brutes his foreparts fling Upon the stony rim which hems the sand. All of his tail in space was quivering, Its poisoned fork erecting in the air, Which scorpion-like was armèd with a sting. My Leader said: 'Now we aside must fare A little distance, so shall we attain Unto the beast malignant crouching there.' 30 So we stepped down upon the right,[503] and then A half score steps[504] to the outer edge did pace, Thus clearing well the sand and fiery rain. And when we were hard by him I could trace Upon the sand a little further on Some people sitting near to the abyss. 'That what this belt containeth may be known Completely by thee,' then the Master said; 'To see their case do thou advance alone. Let thy inquiries be succinctly made. 40 While thou art absent I will ask of him, With his strong shoulders to afford us aid.' Then, all alone, I on the outmost rim Of that Seventh Circle still advancing trod, Where sat a woful folk.[505] Full to the brim Their eyes with anguish were, and overflowed; Their hands moved here and there to win some ease, Now from the flames, now from the soil which glowed. No otherwise in summer-time one sees, Working its muzzle and its paws, the hound 50 When bit by gnats or plagued with flies or fleas. And I, on scanning some who sat around Of those on whom the dolorous flames alight, Could recognise[506] not one. I only found A purse hung from the throat of every wight, Each with its emblem and its special hue; And every eye seemed feasting on the sight. As I, beholding them, among them drew, I saw what seemed a lion's face and mien Upon a yellow purse designed in blue. 60 Still moving on mine eyes athwart the scene I saw another scrip, blood-red, display A goose more white than butter could have been. And one, on whose white wallet blazoned lay A pregnant sow[507] in azure, to me said: 'What dost thou in this pit? Do thou straightway Begone; and, seeing thou art not yet dead, Know that Vitalian,[508] neighbour once of mine, Shall on my left flank one day find his bed. A Paduan I: all these are Florentine; 70 And oft they stun me, bellowing in my ear: "Come, Pink of Chivalry,[509] for whom we pine, Whose is the purse on which three beaks appear:"' Then he from mouth awry his tongue thrust out[510] Like ox that licks its nose; and I, in fear Lest more delay should stir in him some doubt Who gave command I should not linger long, Me from those wearied spirits turned about. I found my Guide, who had already sprung Upon the back of that fierce animal: 80 He said to me: 'Now be thou brave and strong. By stairs like this[511] we henceforth down must fall. Mount thou in front, for I between would sit So thee the tail shall harm not nor appal.' Like one so close upon the shivering fit Of quartan ague that his nails grow blue, And seeing shade he trembles every whit, I at the hearing of that order grew; But his threats shamed me, as before the face Of a brave lord his man grows valorous too. 90 On the great shoulders then I took my place, And wished to say, but could not move my tongue As I expected: 'Do thou me embrace!' But he, who other times had helped me 'mong My other perils, when ascent I made Sustained me, and strong arms around me flung, And, 'Geryon, set thee now in motion!' said; 'Wheel widely; let thy downward flight be slow; Think of the novel burden on thee laid.' As from the shore a boat begins to go 100 Backward at first, so now he backward pressed, And when he found that all was clear below, He turned his tail where earlier was his breast; And, stretching it, he moved it like an eel, While with his paws he drew air toward his chest. More terror Phaëthon could hardly feel What time he let the reins abandoned fall, Whence Heaven was fired,[512] as still its tracts reveal; Nor wretched Icarus, on finding all His plumage moulting as the wax grew hot, 110 While, 'The wrong road!' his father loud did call; Than what I felt on finding I was brought Where nothing was but air and emptiness; For save the brute I could distinguish nought. He slowly, slowly swims; to the abyss Wheeling he makes descent, as I surmise From wind felt 'neath my feet and in my face. Already on the right I heard arise From out the caldron a terrific roar,[513] Whereon I stretch my head with down-turned eyes. 120 Terror of falling now oppressed me sore; Hearing laments, and seeing fires that burned, My thighs I tightened, trembling more and more. Earlier I had not by the eye discerned That we swept downward; scenes of torment now Seemed drawing nearer wheresoe'er we turned. And as a falcon (which long time doth go Upon the wing, not finding lure[514] or prey), While 'Ha!' the falconer cries, 'descending so!' Comes wearied back whence swift it soared away; 130 Wheeling a hundred times upon the road, Then, from its master far, sulks angrily: So we, by Geryon in the deep bestowed, Were 'neath the sheer-hewn precipice set down: He, suddenly delivered from our load, Like arrow from the string was swiftly gone. FOOTNOTES: [496] _The monster_: Geryon, a mythical king of Spain, converted here into the symbol of fraud, and set as the guardian demon of the Eighth Circle, where the fraudulent are punished. There is nothing in the mythology to justify this account of Geryon; and it seems that Dante has created a monster to serve his purpose. Boccaccio, in his _Genealogy of the Gods_ (Lib. i.), repeats the description of Geryon given by 'Dante the Florentine, in his poem written in the Florentine tongue, one certainly of no little importance among poems;' and adds that Geryon reigned in the Balearic Isles, and was used to decoy travellers with his benignant countenance, caressing words, and every kind of friendly lure, and then to murder them when asleep. [497] _Who passes mountains, etc._: Neither art nor nature affords any defence against fraud. [498] _The bank_: Not that which confines the brook but the inner limit of the Seventh Circle, from which the precipice sinks sheer into the Eighth, and to which the embankment by which the travellers have crossed the sand joins itself on. Virgil has beckoned Geryon to come to that part of the bank which adjoins the end of the causeway. [499] _Knot and rounded shield_: Emblems of subtle devices and subterfuges. [500]_ Varied dye_: Denoting the various colours of deceit. [501] _Arachne_: The Lydian weaver changed into a spider by Minerva. See _Purg._ xii. 43. [502] _Gluttonous Germany_: The habits of the German men-at-arms in Italy, odious to the temperate Italians, explains this gibe. [503] _The right_: This is the second and last time that, in their course through Inferno, they turn to the right. See _Inf._ ix. 132. The action may possibly have a symbolical meaning, and refer to the protection against fraud which is obtained by keeping to a righteous course. But here, in fact, they have no choice, for, traversing the Inferno as they do to the left hand, they came to the right bank of the stream which traverses the fiery sands, followed it, and now, when they would leave its edge, it is from the right embankment that they have to step down, and necessarily to the right hand. [504] _A half score steps, etc._: Traversing the stone-built border which lies between the sand and the precipice. Had the brook flowed to the very edge of the Seventh Circle before tumbling down the rocky wall it is clear that they might have kept to the embankment until they were clear beyond the edge of the sand. We are therefore to figure to ourselves the water as plunging down at a point some yards, perhaps the width of the border, short of the true limit of the circle; and this is a touch of local truth, since waterfalls in time always wear out a funnel for themselves by eating back the precipice down which they tumble. It was into this funnel that Virgil flung the cord, and up it that Geryon was seen to ascend, as if by following up the course of the water he would find out who had made the signal. To keep to the narrow causeway where it ran on by the edge of this gulf would seem too full of risk. [505] _Woful folk_: Usurers; those guilty of the unnatural sin of contemning the legitimate modes of human industry. They sit huddled up on the sand, close to its bound of solid masonry, from which Dante looks down on them. But that the usurers are not found only at the edge of the plain is evident from _Inf._ xiv. 19. [506] _Could recognise, etc._: Though most of the group prove to be from Florence Dante recognises none of them; and this denotes that nothing so surely creates a second nature in a man, in a bad sense, as setting the heart on money. So in the Fourth Circle those who, being unable to spend moderately, are always thinking of how to keep or get money are represented as 'obscured from any recognition' (_Inf._ vii. 44). [507] _A pregnant sow_: The azure lion on a golden field was the arms of the Gianfigliazzi, eminent usurers of Florence; the white goose on a red ground was the arms of the Ubriachi of Florence; the azure sow, of the Scrovegni of Padua. [508] _Vitalian_: A rich Paduan noble, whose palace was near that of the Scrovegni. [509] _Pink of Chivalry_: 'Sovereign Cavalier;' identified by his arms as Ser Giovanni Buiamonte, still alive in Florence in 1301, and if we are to judge from the text, the greatest usurer of all. A northern poet of the time would have sought his usurers in the Jewry of some town he knew, but Dante finds his among the nobles of Padua and Florence. He ironically represents them as wearing purses ornamented with their coats of arms, perhaps to hint that they pursued their dishonourable trade under shelter of their noble names--their shop signs, as it were. The whole passage may have been planned by Dante so as to afford him the opportunity of damning the still living Buiamonte without mentioning his name. [510] _His tongue thrust out_: As if to say: We know well what sort of fine gentleman Buiamonte is. [511] _By stairs like this_: The descent from one circle to another grows more difficult the further down they come. They appear to have found no special obstacle in the nature of the ground till they reached the bank sloping down to the Fifth Circle, the pathway down which is described as terrible (_Inf._ vii. 105). The descent into the Seventh Circle is made practicable, and nothing more (_Inf._ xii. I). [512] _Heaven was fired_: As still appears in the Milky Way. In the _Convito_, ii. 15, Dante discusses the various explanations of what causes the brightness of that part of the heavens. [513] _A terrific roar_: Of the water falling to the ground. On beginning the descent they had left the waterfall on the left hand, but Geryon, after fetching one or more great circles, passes in front of it, and then they have it on the right. There is no further mention of the waters of Phlegethon till they are found frozen in Cocytus (_Inf._ xxxii. 23). Philalethes suggests that they flow under the Eighth Circle. [514] _Lure_: An imitation bird used in training falcons. Dante describes the sulky, slow descent of a falcon which has either lost sight of its prey, or has failed to discover where the falconer has thrown the lure. Geryon has descended thus deliberately owing to the command of Virgil. CANTO XVIII. Of iron colour, and composed of stone, A place called Malebolge[515] is in Hell, Girt by a cliff of substance like its own. In that malignant region yawns a well[516] Right in the centre, ample and profound; Of which I duly will the structure tell. The zone[517] that lies between them, then, is round-- Between the well and precipice hard and high; Into ten vales divided is the ground. As is the figure offered to the eye, 10 Where numerous moats a castle's towers enclose That they the walls may better fortify; A like appearance was made here by those. And as, again, from threshold of such place Many a drawbridge to the outworks goes; So ridges from the precipice's base Cutting athwart the moats and barriers run, Till at the well join the extremities.[518] From Geryon's back when we were shaken down 'Twas here we stood, until the Poet's feet 20 Moved to the left, and I, behind, came on. New torments on the right mine eyes did meet With new tormentors, novel woe on woe; With which the nearer Bolgia was replete. Sinners, all naked, in the gulf below, This side the middle met us; while they strode On that side with us, but more swift did go.[519] Even so the Romans, that the mighty crowd Across the bridge, the year of Jubilee, Might pass with ease, ordained a rule of road[520]-- 30 Facing the Castle, on that side should be The multitude which to St. Peter's hied; So to the Mount on this was passage free. On the grim rocky ground, on either side, I saw horned devils[521] armed with heavy whip Which on the sinners from behind they plied. Ah, how they made the wretches nimbly skip At the first lashes; no one ever yet But sought from the second and the third to slip. And as I onward went, mine eyes were set 40 On one of them; whereon I called in haste: 'This one already I have surely met!' Therefore to know him, fixedly I gazed; And my kind Leader willingly delayed, While for a little I my course retraced. On this the scourged one, thinking to evade My search, his visage bent without avail, For: 'Thou that gazest on the ground,' I said, 'If these thy features tell trustworthy tale, Venedico Caccianimico[522] thou! 50 But what has brought thee to such sharp regale?'[523] And he, 'I tell it 'gainst my will, I trow, But thy clear accents[524] to the old world bear My memory, and make me all avow. I was the man who Ghisola the fair To serve the Marquis' evil will led on, Whatever[525] the uncomely tale declare. Of Bolognese here weeping not alone Am I; so full the place of them, to-day 'Tween Reno and Savena[526] are not known 60 So many tongues that _Sipa_ deftly say: And if of this thou'dst know the reason why, Think but how greedy were our hearts alway.' To him thus speaking did a demon cry: 'Pander, begone!' and smote him with his thong; 'Here are no women for thy coin to buy.' Then, with my Escort joined, I moved along. Few steps we made until we there had come, Where from the bank a rib of rock was flung. With ease enough up to its top we clomb, 70 And, turning on the ridge, bore to the right;[527] And those eternal circles[528] parted from. When we had reached where underneath the height A passage opes, yielding the scourged a way, My Guide bade: 'Tarry, so to hold in sight Those other spirits born in evil day, Whose faces until now from thee have been Concealed, because with ours their progress lay.' Then from the ancient bridge by us were seen The troop which toward us on that circuit sped, 80 Chased onward, likewise, by the scourges keen. And my good Master, ere I asked him, said: 'That lordly one now coming hither, see, By whom, despite of pain, no tears are shed. What mien he still retains of majesty! 'Tis Jason, who by courage and by guile The Colchians of the ram deprived. 'Twas he Who on his passage by the Lemnian isle, Where all of womankind with daring hand Upon their males had wrought a murder vile, 90 With loving pledges and with speeches bland The tender-yeared Hypsipyle betrayed, Who had herself a fraud on others planned. Forlorn he left her then, when pregnant made. That is the crime condemns him to this pain; And for Medea[529] too is vengeance paid. Who in his manner cheat compose his train. Of the first moat sufficient now is known, And those who in its jaws engulfed remain.' Already had we by the strait path gone 100 To where 'tis with the second bank dovetailed-- The buttress whence a second arch is thrown. Here heard we who in the next Bolgia wailed[530] And puffed for breath; reverberations told They with their open palms themselves assailed. The sides were crusted over with a mould Plastered upon them by foul mists that rise, And both with eyes and nose a contest hold. The bottom is so deep, in vain our eyes Searched it till further up the bridge we went, 110 To where the arch o'erhangs what under lies. Ascended there, our eyes we downward bent, And I saw people in such ordure drowned, A very cesspool 'twas of excrement. And while I from above am searching round, One with a head so filth-smeared I picked out, I knew not if 'twas lay, or tonsure-crowned. 'Why then so eager,' asked he with a shout, 'To stare at me of all the filthy crew?' And I to him: 'Because I scarce can doubt 120 That formerly thee dry of hair I knew, Alessio Interminei[531] the Lucchese; And therefore thee I chiefly hold in view.' Smiting his head-piece, then, his words were these: ''Twas flattery steeped me here; for, using such, My tongue itself enough could never please.' 'Now stretch thou somewhat forward, but not much,' Thereon my Leader bade me, 'and thine eyes Slowly advance till they her features touch And the dishevelled baggage recognise, 130 Clawing her yonder with her nails unclean, Now standing up, now squatting on her thighs. 'Tis harlot Thais,[532] who, when she had been Asked by her lover, "Am I generous And worthy thanks?" said, "Greatly so, I ween." Enough[533] of this place has been seen by us.' FOOTNOTES: [515] _Malebolge_: Or Evil Pits; literally, Evil Pockets. [516] _A well_: The Ninth and lowest Circle, to be described in Canto xxxii., etc. [517] _The zone_: The Eighth Circle, in which the fraudulent of all species are punished, lies between the precipice and the Ninth Circle. A vivid picture of the enormous height of the enclosing wall has been presented to us at the close of the preceding Canto. As in the description of the Second Circle the atmosphere is represented as malignant, being murky and disturbed with tempest; so the Malebolge is called malignant too, being all of barren iron-coloured rock. In both cases the surroundings of the sinners may well be spoken of as malign, adverse to any thought of goodwill and joy. [518] _The extremities_: The _Malebolge_ consists of ten circular pits or fosses, one inside of another. The outermost lies under the precipice which falls sheer from the Seventh Circle; the innermost, and of course the smallest, runs immediately outside of the 'Well,' which is the Ninth Circle. The Bolgias or valleys are divided from each other by rocky banks; and, each Bolgia being at a lower level than the one that encloses it, the inside of each bank is necessarily deeper than the outside. Ribs or ridges of rock--like spokes of a wheel to the axle-tree--run from the foot of the precipice to the outer rim of the 'Well,' vaulting the moats at right angles with the course of them. Thus each rib takes the form of a ten-arched bridge. By one or other of these Virgil and Dante now travel towards the centre and the base of Inferno; their general course being downward, though varied by the ascent in turn of the hog-backed arches over the moats. [519] _More swift_: The sinners in the First Bolgia are divided into two gangs, moving in opposite directions, the course of those on the outside being to the right, as looked at by Dante. These are the shades of panders; those in the inner current are such as seduced on their own account. Here a list of the various classes of sinners contained in the Bolgias of the Eighth Circle may be given:-- 1st Bolgia--Seducers, CANTO XVIII. 2d " Flatterers, " " 3d " Simoniacs, " XIX. 4th " Soothsayers, " XX. 5th " Barrators, " XXI. XXII. 6th " Hypocrites, " XXIII. 7th " Thieves, " XXIV. XXV. 8th " Evil Counsellors, " XXVI. XXVII. 9th " Scandal and Heresy Mongers, " XXVIII. XXIX. 10th " Falsifiers, " XXIX. XXX. [520] _A rule of road_: In the year 1300 a Jubilee was held in Rome with Plenary Indulgence for all pilgrims. Villani says that while it lasted the number of strangers in Rome was never less than two hundred thousand. The bridge and castle spoken of in the text are those of St. Angelo. The Mount is probably the Janiculum. [521] _Horned devils_: Here the demons are horned--terrible remembrancers to the sinner of the injured husband. [522] _Venedico Caccianimico_: A Bolognese noble, brother of Ghisola, whom he inveigled into yielding herself to the Marquis of Este, lord of Ferrara. Venedico died between 1290 and 1300. [523] _Such sharp regale_: 'Such pungent sauces.' There is here a play of words on the _Salse_, the name of a wild ravine outside the walls of Bologna, where the bodies of felons were thrown. Benvenuto says it used to be a taunt among boys at Bologna: Your father was pitched into the Salse. [524] _Thy clear accents_: Not broken with sobs like his own and those of his companions. [525] _Whatever, etc._: Different accounts seem to have been current about the affair of Ghisola. [526] _'Tween Reno, etc._: The Reno and Savena are streams that flow past Bologna. _Sipa_ is Bolognese for Maybe, or for Yes. So Dante describes Tuscany as the country where _Si_ is heard (_Inf._ xxxiii. 80). With regard to the vices of the Bolognese, Benvenuto says: 'Dante had studied in Bologna, and had seen and observed all these things.' [527] _To the right_: This is only an apparent departure from their leftward course. Moving as they were to the left along the edge of the Bolgia, they required to turn to the right to cross the bridge that spanned it. [528] _Those eternal circles_: The meaning is not clear; perhaps it only is that they have now done with the outer stream of sinners in this Bolgia, left by them engaged in endless procession round and round. [529] _Medea_: When the Argonauts landed on Lemnos, they found it without any males, the women, incited by Venus, having put them all to death, with the exception of Thoas, saved by his daughter Hypsipyle. When Jason deserted her he sailed for Colchis, and with the assistance of Medea won the Golden Fleece. Medea, who accompanied him from Colchis, was in turn deserted by him. [530] _Who in the next Bolgia wailed_: The flatterers in the Second Bolgia. [531] _Alessio Interminei_: Of the Great Lucchese family of the Interminelli, to which the famous Castruccio Castrucani belonged. Alessio is know to have been living in 1295. Dante may have known him personally. Benvenuto says he was so liberal of his flattery that he spent it even on menial servants. [532] _Thais_: In the _Eunuch_ of Terence, Thraso, the lover of that courtesan, asks Gnatho, their go-between, if she really sent him many thanks for the present of a slave-girl he had sent her. 'Enormous!' says Gnatho. It proves what great store Dante set on ancient instances when he thought this worth citing. [533] _Enough, etc._: Most readers will agree with Virgil. CANTO XIX. O Simon Magus![534] ye his wretched crew! The gifts of God, ordained to be the bride Of righteousness, ye prostitute that you With gold and silver may be satisfied; Therefore for you let now the trumpet[535] blow, Seeing that ye in the Third Bolgia 'bide. Arrived at the next tomb,[536] we to the brow Of rock ere this had finished our ascent, Which hangs true plumb above the pit below. What perfect art, O Thou Omniscient, 10 Is Thine in Heaven and earth and the bad world found! How justly does Thy power its dooms invent! The livid stone, on both banks and the ground, I saw was full of holes on every side, All of one size, and each of them was round. No larger seemed they to me nor less wide Than those within my beautiful St. John[537] For the baptizers' standing-place supplied; And one of which, not many years agone, I broke to save one drowning; and I would 20 Have this for seal to undeceive men known. Out of the mouth of each were seen protrude A sinner's feet, and of the legs the small Far as the calves; the rest enveloped stood. And set on fire were both the soles of all, Which made their ankles wriggle with such throes As had made ropes and withes asunder fall. And as flame fed by unctuous matter goes Over the outer surface only spread; So from their heels it flickered to the toes. 30 'Master, who is he, tortured more,' I said, 'Than are his neighbours, writhing in such woe; And licked by flames of deeper-hearted red?' And he: 'If thou desirest that below I bear thee by that bank[538] which lowest lies, Thou from himself his sins and name shalt know.' And I: 'Thy wishes still for me suffice: Thou art my Lord, and knowest I obey Thy will; and dost my hidden thoughts surprise.' To the fourth barrier then we made our way, 40 And, to the left hand turning, downward went Into the narrow hole-pierced cavity; Nor the good Master caused me make descent From off his haunch till we his hole were nigh Who with his shanks was making such lament. 'Whoe'er thou art, soul full of misery, Set like a stake with lower end upcast,' I said to him, 'Make, if thou canst, reply.' I like a friar[539] stood who gives the last Shrift to a vile assassin, to his side 50 Called back to win delay for him fixed fast. 'Art thou arrived already?' then he cried, 'Art thou arrived already, Boniface? By several years the prophecy[540] has lied. Art so soon wearied of the wealthy place, For which thou didst not fear to take with guile, Then ruin the fair Lady?'[541] Now my case Was like to theirs who linger on, the while They cannot comprehend what they are told, And as befooled[542] from further speech resile. 60 But Virgil bade me: 'Speak out loud and bold, "I am not he thou thinkest, no, not he!"' And I made answer as by him controlled. The spirit's feet then twisted violently, And, sighing in a voice of deep distress, He asked: 'What then requirest thou of me? If me to know thou hast such eagerness, That thou the cliff hast therefore ventured down, Know, the Great Mantle sometime was my dress. I of the Bear, in sooth, was worthy son: 70 As once, the Cubs to help, my purse with gain I stuffed, myself I in this purse have stown. Stretched out at length beneath my head remain All the simoniacs[543] that before me went, And flattened lie throughout the rocky vein. I in my turn shall also make descent, Soon as he comes who I believed thou wast, When I asked quickly what for him was meant. O'er me with blazing feet more time has past, While upside down I fill the topmost room, 80 Than he his crimsoned feet shall upward cast; For after him one viler still shall come, A Pastor from the West,[544] lawless of deed: To cover both of us his worthy doom. A modern Jason[545] he, of whom we read In Maccabees, whose King denied him nought: With the French King so shall this man succeed.' Perchance I ventured further than I ought, But I spake to him in this measure free: 'Ah, tell me now what money was there sought 90 Of Peter by our Lord, when either key He gave him in his guardianship to hold? Sure He demanded nought save: "Follow me!" Nor Peter, nor the others, asked for gold Or silver when upon Matthias fell The lot instead of him, the traitor-souled. Keep then thy place, for thou art punished well,[546] And clutch the pelf, dishonourably gained, Which against Charles[547] made thee so proudly swell. And, were it not that I am still restrained 100 By reverence[548] for those tremendous keys, Borne by thee while the glad world thee contained, I would use words even heavier than these; Seeing your avarice makes the world deplore, Crushing the good, filling the bad with ease. 'Twas you, O Pastors, the Evangelist bore In mind what time he saw her on the flood Of waters set, who played with kings the whore; Who with seven heads was born; and as she would By the ten horns to her was service done, 110 Long as her spouse[549] rejoiced in what was good. Now gold and silver are your god alone: What difference 'twixt the idolater and you, Save that ye pray a hundred for his one? Ah, Constantine,[550] how many evils grew-- Not from thy change of faith, but from the gift Wherewith thou didst the first rich Pope endue!' While I my voice continued to uplift To such a tune, by rage or conscience stirred Both of his soles he made to twist and shift. 120 My Guide, I well believe, with pleasure heard; Listening he stood with lips so well content To me propounding truthful word on word. Then round my body both his arms he bent, And, having raised me well upon his breast, Climbed up the path by which he made descent. Nor was he by his burden so oppressed But that he bore me to the bridge's crown, Which with the fourth joins the fifth rampart's crest. And lightly here he set his burden down, 130 Found light by him upon the precipice, Up which a goat uneasily had gone. And thence another valley met mine eyes. FOOTNOTES: [534] _Simon Magus_: The sin of simony consists in setting a price on the exercise of a spiritual grace or the acquisition of a spiritual office. Dante assails it at headquarters, that is, as it was practised by the Popes; and in their case it took, among other forms, that of ecclesiastical nepotism. [535] _The trumpet_: Blown at the punishment of criminals, to call attention to their sentence. [536] _The next tomb_: The Third Bolgia, appropriately termed a tomb, because its manner of punishment is that of a burial, as will be seen. [537] _St. John_: The church of St. John's, in Dante's time, as now, the Baptistery of Florence. In _Parad._ xxv. he anticipates the day, if it should ever come, when he shall return to Florence, and in the church where he was baptized a Christian be crowned as a Poet. Down to the middle of the sixteenth century all baptisms, except in cases of urgent necessity, were celebrated in St. John's; and, even there, only on the eves of Easter and Pentecost. For protection against the crowd, the officiating priests were provided with standing-places, circular cavities disposed around the great font. To these Dante compares the holes of this Bolgia, for the sake of introducing a defence of himself from a charge of sacrilege. Benvenuto tells that once when some boys were playing about the church one of them, to hide himself from his companions, squeezed himself into a baptizer's standing-place, and made so tight a fit of it that he could not be rescued till Dante with his own hands plied a hammer upon the marble, and so saved the child from drowning. The presence of water in the cavity may be explained by the fact of the church's being at that time lighted by an unglazed opening in the roof; and as baptisms were so infrequent the standing-places, situated as they were in the centre of the floor, may often have been partially flooded. It is easy to understand how bitterly Dante would resent a charge of irreverence connected with his 'beautiful St. John's;' 'that fair sheep-fold' (_Parad._ xxv. 5). [538] _That bank, etc._: Of each Bolgia the inner bank is lower than the outer; the whole of Malebolge sloping towards the centre of the Inferno. [539] _Like a friar, etc._: In those times the punishment of an assassin was to be stuck head downward in a pit, and then to have earth slowly shovelled in till he was suffocated. Dante bends down, the better to hear what the sinner has to say, like a friar recalled by the felon on the pretence that he has something to add to his confession. [540] _The prophecy_: 'The writing.' The speaker is Nicholas III., of the great Roman family of the Orsini, and Pope from 1277 to 1280; a man of remarkable bodily beauty and grace of manner, as well as of great force of character. Like many other Holy Fathers he was either a great hypocrite while on his promotion, or else he degenerated very quickly after getting himself well settled on the Papal Chair. He is said to have been the first Pope who practised simony with no attempt at concealment. Boniface VIII., whom he is waiting for to relieve him, became Pope in 1294, and died in 1303. None of the four Popes between 1280 and 1294 were simoniacs; so that Nicholas was uppermost in the hole for twenty-three years. Although ignorant of what is now passing on the earth, he can refer back to his foreknowledge of some years earlier (see _Inf._ x. 99) as if to a prophetic writing, and finds that according to this it is still three years too soon, it being now only 1300, for the arrival of Boniface. This is the usual explanation of the passage. To it lies the objection that foreknowledge of the present that can be referred back to is the same thing as knowledge of it, and with this the spirits in Inferno are not endowed. But Dante elsewhere shows that he finds it hard to observe the limitation. The alternative explanation, supported by the use of _scritto_ (writing) in the text, is that Nicholas refers to some prophecy once current about his successors in Rome. [541] _The fair Lady_: The Church. The guile is that shown by Boniface in getting his predecessor Celestine v. to abdicate (_Inf._ iii. 60). [542] _As befooled_: Dante does not yet suspect that it is with a Pope he is speaking. He is dumbfounded at being addressed as Boniface. [543] _All the simoniacs_: All the Popes that had been guilty of the sin. [544] _A Pastor from the West_: Boniface died in 1303, and was succeeded by Benedict XI., who in his turn was succeeded by Clement V., the Pastor from the West. Benedict was not stained with simony, and so it is Clement that is to relieve Boniface; and he is to come from the West, that is, from Avignon, to which the Holy See was removed by him. Or the reference may simply be to the country of his birth. Elsewhere he is spoken of as 'the Gascon who shall cheat the noble Henry' of Luxemburg (_Parad._ xvii. 82).--This passage has been read as throwing light on the question of when the _Inferno_ was written. Nicholas says that from the time Boniface arrives till Clement relieves him will be a shorter period than that during which he has himself been in Inferno, that is to say, a shorter time than twenty years. Clement died in 1314; and so, it is held, we find a date before which the _Inferno_ was, at least, not published. But Clement was known for years before his death to be ill of a disease usually soon fatal. He became Pope in 1305, and the wonder was that he survived so long as nine years. Dante keeps his prophecy safe--if it is a prophecy; and there does seem internal evidence to prove the publication of the _Inferno_ to have taken place long before 1314.--It is needless to point out how the censure of Clement gains in force if read as having been published before his death. [545] _Jason_: Or Joshua, who purchased the office of High Priest from Antiochus Epiphanes, and innovated the customs of the Jews (2 Maccab. iv. 7). [546] _Punished well_: At line 12 Dante has admired the propriety of the Divine distribution of penalties. He appears to regard with a special complacency that which he invents for the simoniacs. They were industrious in multiplying benefices for their kindred; Boniface, for example, besides Cardinals, appointed about twenty Archbishops and Bishops from among his own relatives. Here all the simoniacal Popes have to be contented with one place among them. They paid no regard to whether a post was well filled or not: here they are set upside down. [547] _Charles_: Nicholas was accused of taking a bribe to assist Peter of Arragon in ousting Charles of Anjou from the kingdom of Sicily. [548] _By reverence, etc._: Dante distinguishes between the office and the unworthy holder of it. So in Purgatory he prostrates himself before a Pope (_Purg._ xix. 131). [549] _Her spouse_: In the preceding lines the vision of the Woman in the Apocalypse is applied to the corruption of the Church, represented under the figure of the seven-hilled Rome seated in honour among the nations and receiving observance from the kings of the earth till her spouse, the Pope, began to prostitute her by making merchandise of her spiritual gifts. Of the Beast there is no mention here, his qualities being attributed to the Woman. [550] _Ah, Constantine, etc._: In Dante's time, and for some centuries later, it was believed that Constantine, on transferring the seat of empire to Byzantium, had made a gift to the Pope of rights and privileges almost equal to those of the Emperor. Rome was to be the Pope's; and from his court in the Lateran he was to exercise supremacy over all the West. The Donation of Constantine, that is, the instrument conveying these rights, was a forgery of the Middle Ages. CANTO XX. Now of new torment must my verses tell, And matter for the Twentieth Canto win Of Lay the First,[551] which treats of souls in Hell. Already was I eager to begin To peer into the visible profound,[552] Which tears of agony was bathèd in: And I saw people in the valley round; Like that of penitents on earth the pace At which they weeping came, nor uttering[553] sound. When I beheld them with more downcast gaze,[554] 10 That each was strangely screwed about I learned, Where chest is joined to chin. And thus the face Of every one round to his loins was turned; And stepping backward[555] all were forced to go, For nought in front could be by them discerned. Smitten by palsy although one might show Perhaps a shape thus twisted all awry, I never saw, and am to think it slow. As, Reader,[556] God may grant thou profit by Thy reading, for thyself consider well 20 If I could then preserve my visage dry When close at hand to me was visible Our human form so wrenched that tears, rained down Out of the eyes, between the buttocks fell. In very sooth I wept, leaning upon A boss of the hard cliff, till on this wise My Escort asked: 'Of the other fools[557] art one? Here piety revives as pity dies; For who more irreligious is than he In whom God's judgments to regret give rise? 30 Lift up, lift up thy head, and thou shalt see Him for whom earth yawned as the Thebans saw, All shouting meanwhile: "Whither dost thou flee, Amphiaraüs?[558] Wherefore thus withdraw From battle?" But he sinking found no rest Till Minos clutched him with all-grasping claw. Lo, how his shoulders serve him for a breast! Because he wished to see too far before Backward he looks, to backward course addressed. Behold Tiresias,[559] who was changed all o'er, 40 Till for a man a woman met the sight, And not a limb its former semblance bore; And he behoved a second time to smite The same two twisted serpents with his wand, Ere he again in manly plumes was dight. With back to him, see Aruns next at hand, Who up among the hills of Luni, where Peasants of near Carrara till the land, Among the dazzling marbles[560] held his lair Within a cavern, whence could be descried 50 The sea and stars of all obstruction bare. The other one, whose flowing tresses hide Her bosom, of the which thou seest nought, And all whose hair falls on the further side, Was Manto;[561] who through many regions sought: Where I was born, at last her foot she stayed. It likes me well thou shouldst of this be taught. When from this life her father exit made, And Bacchus' city had become enthralled, She for long time through many countries strayed. 60 'Neath mountains by which Germany is walled And bounded at Tirol, a lake there lies High in fair Italy, Benacus[562] called. The waters of a thousand springs that rise 'Twixt Val Camonica and Garda flow Down Pennine; and their flood this lake supplies. And from a spot midway, if they should go Thither, the Pastors[563] of Verona, Trent, And Brescia might their blessings all bestow. Peschiera,[564] with its strength for ornament, 70 Facing the Brescians and the Bergamese Lies where the bank to lower curve is bent. And there the waters, seeking more of ease, For in Benacus is not room for all, Forming a river, lapse by green degrees. The river, from its very source, men call No more Benacus--'tis as Mincio known, Which into Po does at Governo fall. A flat it reaches ere it far has run, Spreading o'er which it feeds a marshy fen, 80 Whence oft in summer pestilence has grown. Wayfaring here the cruel virgin, when She found land girdled by the marshy flood, Untilled and uninhabited of men, That she might 'scape all human neighbourhood Stayed on it with her slaves, her arts to ply; And there her empty body was bestowed. On this the people from the country nigh Into that place came crowding, for the spot, Girt by the swamp, could all attack defy, 90 And for the town built o'er her body sought A name from her who made it first her seat, Calling it Mantua, without casting lot.[565] The dwellers in it were in number great, Till stupid Casalodi[566] was befooled And victimised by Pinamonte's cheat. Hence, shouldst thou ever hear (now be thou schooled!) Another story to my town assigned, Let by no fraud the truth be overruled.' And I: 'Thy reasonings, Master, to my mind 100 So cogent are, and win my faith so well, What others say I shall black embers find. But of this people passing onward tell, If thou, of any, something canst declare, For all my thoughts[567] on that intently dwell.' And then he said: 'The one whose bearded hair Falls from his cheeks upon his shoulders dun, Was, when the land of Greece[568] of males so bare Was grown the very cradles scarce held one, An augur;[569] he with Calchas gave the sign 110 In Aulis through the first rope knife to run. Eurypylus was he called, and in some line Of my high Tragedy[570] is sung the same, As thou know'st well, who mad'st it wholly thine. That other, thin of flank, was known to fame As Michael Scott;[571] and of a verity He knew right well the black art's inmost game. Guido Bonatti,[572] and Asdente see Who mourns he ever should have parted from His thread and leather; but too late mourns he. 120 Lo the unhappy women who left loom, Spindle, and needle that they might divine; With herb and image[573] hastening men's doom. But come; for where the hemispheres confine Cain and the Thorns[574] is falling, to alight Underneath Seville on the ocean line. The moon was full already yesternight; Which to recall thou shouldst be well content, For in the wood she somewhat helped thy plight.' Thus spake he to me while we forward went. 130 FOOTNOTES: [551] _Lay the First_: The _Inferno_. [552] _The visible profound_: The Fourth Bolgia, where soothsayers of every kind are punished. Their sin is that of seeking to find out what God has made secret. That such discoveries of the future could be made by men, Dante seems to have had no doubt; but he regards the exercise of the power as a fraud on Providence, and also credits the adepts in the black art with ruining others by their spells (line 123). [553] _Nor uttering, etc._: They who on earth told too much are now condemned to be for ever dumb. It will be noticed that with none of them does Dante converse. [554] _More downcast gaze_: Standing as he does on the crown of the arch, the nearer they come to him the more he has to decline his eyes. [555] _Stepping backward_: Once they peered far into the future; now they cannot see a step before them. [556]_ As, Reader, etc._: Some light may be thrown on this unusual, and, at first sight, inexplicable display of pity, by the comment of Benvenuto da Imola:--'It is the wisest and most virtuous of men that are most subject to this mania of divination; and of this Dante is himself an instance, as is well proved by this book of his.' Dante reminds the reader how often since the journey began he has sought to have the veil of the future lifted; and would have it understood that he was seized by a sudden misgiving as to whether he too had not overstepped the bounds of what, in that respect, is allowed and right. [557] _Of the other fools_: Dante, weeping like the sinners in the Bolgia, is asked by Virgil: 'What, art thou then one of them?' He had been suffered, without reproof, to show pity for Francesca and Ciacco. The terrors of the Lord grow more cogent as they descend, and even pity is now forbidden. [558] _Amphiaraüs_: One of the Seven Kings who besieged Thebes. He foresaw his own death, and sought by hiding to evade it; but his wife revealed his hiding-place, and he was forced to join in the siege. As he fought, a thunderbolt opened a chasm in the earth, into which he fell. [559] _Tiresias_: A Theban soothsayer whose change of sex is described by Ovid (_Metam._ iii.). [560] _The dazzling marbles_: Aruns, a Tuscan diviner, is introduced by Lucan as prophesying great events to come to pass in Rome--the Civil War and the victories of Cæsar. His haunt was the deserted city of Luna, situated on the Gulf of Spezia, and under the Carrara mountains (_Phars._ i. 586). [561] _Manto_: A prophetess, a native of Thebes the city of Bacchus, and daughter of Tiresias.--Here begins a digression on the early history of Mantua, the native city of Virgil. In his account of the foundation of it Dante does not agree with Virgil, attributing to a Greek Manto what his master attributes to an Italian one (_Æn._ x. 199). [562] _Benacus_: The ancient Benacus, now known as the Lake of Garda. [563] _The Pastors, etc._: About half-way down the western side of the lake a stream falls into it, one of whose banks, at its mouth, is in the diocese of Trent, and the other in that of Brescia, while the waters of the lake are in that of Verona. The three Bishops, standing together, could give a blessing each to his own diocese. [564] _Peschiera_: Where the lake drains into the Mincio. It is still a great fortress. [565] _Without casting lot_; Without consulting the omens, as was usual when a city was to be named. [566] _Casalodi_: Some time in the second half of the thirteenth century Alberto Casalodi was befooled out of the lordship of Mantua by Pinamonte Buonacolsi. Benvenuto tells the tale as follows:--Pinamonte was a bold, ambitious man, with a great troop of armed followers; and, the nobility being at that time in bad odour with the people at large, he persuaded the Count Albert that it would be a popular measure to banish the suspected nobles for a time. Hardly was this done when he usurped the lordship; and by expelling some of the citizens and putting others of them to death he greatly thinned the population of the city. [567] _All my thoughts, etc._: The reader's patience is certainly abused by this digression of Virgil's, and Dante himself seems conscious that it is somewhat ill-timed. [568] _The land of Greece, etc._: All the Greeks able to bear arms being engaged in the Trojan expedition. [569] _An augur_: Eurypylus, mentioned in the Second _Æneid_ as being employed by the Greeks to consult the oracle of Apollo regarding their return to Greece. From the auspices Calchas had found at what hour they should set sail for Troy. Eurypylus can be said only figuratively to have had to do with cutting the cable. [570] _Tragedy_: The _Æneid_. Dante defines Comedy as being written in a style inferior to that of Tragedy, and as having a sad beginning and a happy ending (Epistle to Can Grande, 10). Elsewhere he allows the comic poet great licence in the use of common language (_Vulg. El._ ii. 4). By calling his own poem a Comedy he, as it were, disarms criticism. [571] _Michael Scott_: Of Balwearie in Scotland, familiar to English readers through the _Lay of the Last Minstrel_. He flourished in the course of the thirteenth century, and made contributions to the sciences, as they were then deemed, of astrology, alchemy, and physiognomy. He acted for some time as astrologer to the Emperor Frederick II., and the tradition of his accomplishments powerfully affected the Italian imagination for a century after his death. It was remembered that the terrible Frederick, after being warned by him to beware of Florence, had died at a place called Firenzuola; and more than one Italian city preserved with fear and trembling his dark sayings regarding their fate. Villani frequently quotes his prophecies; and Boccaccio speaks of him as a great necromancer who had been in Florence. A commentary of his on Aristotle was printed at Venice in 1496. The thinness of his flanks may refer to a belief that he could make himself invisible at will. [572] _Guido Bonatti_: Was a Florentine, a tiler by trade, and was living in 1282. When banished from his own city he took refuge at Forlì and became astrologer to Guido of Montefeltro (_Inf._ xxvii.), and was credited with helping his master to a great victory.--_Asdente_: A cobbler of Parma, whose prophecies were long renowned, lived in the twelfth century. He is given in the _Convito_ (iv. 16) as an instance that a man may be very notorious without being truly noble. [573] _Herb and image_: Part of the witch's stock in trade. All that was done to a waxen image of him was suffered by the witch's victim. [574] _Cain and the Thorns_: The moon. The belief that the spots in the moon are caused by Cain standing in it with a bundle of thorns is referred to at _Parad._ ii. 51. Although it is now the morning of the Saturday, the 'yesternight' refers to the night of Thursday, when Dante found some use of the moon in the Forest. The moon is now setting on the line dividing the hemisphere of Jerusalem, in which they are, from that of the Mount of Purgatory. According to Dante's scheme of the world, Purgatory is the true opposite of Jerusalem; and Seville is ninety degrees from Jerusalem. As it was full moon the night before last, and the moon is now setting, it is now fully an hour after sunrise. But, as has already been said, it is not possible to reconcile the astronomical indications thoroughly with one another.--Virgil serves as clock to Dante, for they can see nothing of the skies. CANTO XXI. Conversing still from bridge to bridge[575] we went; But what our words I in my Comedy Care not to tell. The top of the ascent Holding, we halted the next pit to spy Of Malebolge, with plaints bootless all: There, darkness[576] full of wonder met the eye. As the Venetians[577] in their Arsenal Boil the tenacious pitch at winter-tide, To caulk the ships with for repairs that call; For then they cannot sail; and so, instead, 10 One builds his bark afresh, one stops with tow His vessel's ribs, by many a voyage tried; One hammers at the poop, one at the prow; Some fashion oars, and others cables twine, And others at the jib and main sails sew: So, not by fire, but by an art Divine, Pitch of thick substance boiled in that low Hell, And all the banks did as with plaster line. I saw it, but distinguished nothing well Except the bubbles by the boiling raised, 20 Now swelling up and ceasing now to swell. While down upon it fixedly I gazed, 'Beware, beware!' my Leader to me said, And drew me thence close to him. I, amazed, Turned sharply round, like him who has delayed, Fain to behold the thing he ought to flee, Then, losing nerve, grows suddenly afraid, Nor lingers longer what there is to see; For a black devil I beheld advance Over the cliff behind us rapidly. 30 Ah me, how fierce was he of countenance! What bitterness he in his gesture put, As with spread wings he o'er the ground did dance! Upon his shoulders, prominent and acute, Was perched a sinner[578] fast by either hip; And him he held by tendon of the foot. He from our bridge: 'Ho, Malebranche![579] Grip An Elder brought from Santa Zita's town:[580] Stuff him below; myself once more I slip Back to the place where lack of such is none. 40 There, save Bonturo, barrates[581] every man, And No grows Yes that money may be won.' He shot him down, and o'er the cliff began To run; nor unchained mastiff o'er the ground, Chasing a robber, swifter ever ran. The other sank, then rose with back bent round; But from beneath the bridge the devils cried: 'Not here the Sacred Countenance[582] is found, One swims not here as on the Serchio's[583] tide; So if thou wouldst not with our grapplers deal 50 Do not on surface of the pitch abide.' Then he a hundred hooks[584] was made to feel. 'Best dance down there,' they said the while to him, 'Where, if thou canst, thou on the sly mayst steal.' So scullions by the cooks are set to trim The caldrons and with forks the pieces steep Down in the water, that they may not swim. And the good Master said to me: 'Now creep Behind a rocky splinter for a screen; So from their knowledge thou thyself shalt keep. 60 And fear not thou although with outrage keen I be opposed, for I am well prepared, And formerly[585] have in like contest been.' Then passing from the bridge's crown he fared To the sixth bank,[586] and when thereon he stood He needed courage doing what he dared. In the same furious and tempestuous mood In which the dogs upon the beggar leap, Who, halting suddenly, seeks alms or food, They issued forth from underneath the deep 70 Vault of the bridge, with grapplers 'gainst him stretched; But he exclaimed: 'Aloof, and harmless keep! Ere I by any of your hooks be touched, Come one of you and to my words give ear; And then advise you if I should be clutched.' All cried: 'Let Malacoda then go near;' On which one moved, the others standing still. He coming said: 'What will this[587] help him here?' 'O Malacoda, is it credible That I am come,' my Master then replied, 80 'Secure your opposition to repel, Without Heaven's will, and fate, upon my side? Let me advance, for 'tis by Heaven's behest That I on this rough road another guide.' Then was his haughty spirit so depressed, He let his hook drop sudden to his feet, And, 'Strike him not!' commanded all the rest My Leader charged me thus: 'Thou, from thy seat Where 'mid the bridge's ribs thou crouchest low, Rejoin me now in confidence complete.' 90 Whereon I to rejoin him was not slow; And then the devils, crowding, came so near, I feared they to their paction false might show. So at Caprona[588] saw I footmen fear, Spite of their treaty, when a multitude Of foes received them, crowding front and rear. With all my body braced I closer stood To him, my Leader, and intently eyed The aspect of them, which was far from good. Lowering their grapplers, 'mong themselves they cried: 'Shall I now tickle him upon the thigh?' 101 'Yea, see thou clip him deftly,' one replied. The demon who in parley had drawn nigh Unto my Leader, upon this turned round; 'Scarmiglione, lay thy weapon by!' He said; and then to us: 'No way is found Further along this cliff, because, undone, All the sixth arch lies ruined on the ground. But if it please you further to pass on, Over this rocky ridge advancing climb 110 To the next rib,[589] where passage may be won. Yestreen,[590] but five hours later than this time, Twelve hundred sixty-six years reached an end, Since the way lost the wholeness of its prime. Thither I some of mine will straightway send To see that none peer forth to breathe the air: Go on with them; you they will not offend. You, Alichin[591] and Calcabrin, prepare To move,' he bade; 'Cagnazzo, thou as well; Guiding the ten, thou, Barbariccia, fare. 120 With Draghignazzo, Libicocco fell, Fanged Ciriatto, Graffiacane too, Set on, mad Rubicant and Farfarel: Search on all quarters round the boiling glue. Let these go safe, till at the bridge they be, Which doth unbroken[592] o'er the caverns go.' 'Alas, my Master, what is this I see?' Said I, 'Unguided, let us forward set, If thou know'st how. I wish no company. If former caution thou dost not forget, 130 Dost thou not mark how each his teeth doth grind, The while toward us their brows are full of threat?' And he: 'I would not fear should fill thy mind; Let them grin all they will, and all they can; 'Tis at the wretches in the pitch confined.' They wheeled and down the left hand bank began To march, but first each bit his tongue,[593] and passed The signal on to him who led the van. He answered grossly as with trumpet blast. FOOTNOTES: [575] _From bridge to bridge_: They cross the barrier separating the Fourth from the Fifth Bolgia, and follow the bridge which spans the Fifth until they have reached the crown of it. We may infer that the conversation of Virgil and Dante turned on foreknowledge of the future. [576] _Darkness, etc._: The pitch with which the trench of the Bolgia is filled absorbs most of the scanty light accorded to Malebolge. [577] _The Venetians_: But for this picturesque description of the old Arsenal, and a passing mention of the Rialto in one passage of the _Paradiso_, and of the Venetian coinage in another, it could not be gathered from the _Comedy_, with all its wealth of historical and geographical references, that there was such a place as Venice in the Italy of Dante. Unlike the statue of Time (_Inf._ xiv.), the Queen of the Adriatic had her face set eastwards. Her back was turned and her ears closed as in a proud indifference to the noise of party conflicts which filled the rest of Italy. [578] _A sinner_: This is the only instance in the _Inferno_ of the arrival of a sinner at his special place of punishment. See _Inf._ v. 15, _note_. [579] _Malebranche_: Evil Claws, the name of the devils who have the sinners of this Bolgia in charge. [580] _Santa Zita's town_: Zita was a holy serving-woman of Lucca, who died some time between 1270 and 1280, and whose miracle-working body is still preserved in the church of San Frediano. Most probably, although venerated as a saint, she was not yet canonized at the time Dante writes of, and there may be a Florentine sneer hidden in the description of Lucca as her town. Even in Lucca there was some difference of opinion as to her merits, and a certain unlucky Ciappaconi was pitched into the Serchio for making fun of the popular enthusiasm about her. See Philalethes, _Gött. Com._ In Lucca the officials that were called Priors in Florence, were named Elders. The commentators give a name to this sinner, but it is only guesswork. [581] _Save Bonturo_, _barrates, etc._: It is the barrators, those who trafficked in offices and sold justice, that are punished in this Bolgia. The greatest barrator of all in Lucca, say the commentators, was this Bonturo; but there seems no proof of it, though there is of his arrogance. He was still living in 1314. [582] _The Sacred Countenance_: An image in cedar wood, of Byzantine workmanship, still preserved and venerated in the cathedral of Lucca. According to the legend, it was carved from memory by Nicodemus, and after being a long time lost was found again in the eighth century by an Italian bishop travelling in Palestine. He brought it to the coast at Joppa, where it was received by a vessel without sail or oar, which, with its sacred freight, floated westwards and was next seen at the port of Luna. All efforts to approach the bark were vain, till the Bishop of Lucca descended to the seashore, and to him the vessel resigned itself and suffered him to take the image into his keeping. 'Believe what you like of all this,' says Benvenuto; 'it is no article of faith.'--The sinner has come to the surface, bent as if in an attitude of prayer, when he is met by this taunt. [583] _The Serchio_: The stream which flows past Lucca. [584] _A hundred hooks_: So many devils with their pronged hooks were waiting to receive the victim. The punishment of the barrators bears a relation to their sins. They wrought their evil deeds under all kinds of veils and excuses, and are now themselves effectually buried out of sight. The pitch sticks as close to them as bribes ever did to their fingers. They misused wards and all subject to them, and in their turn are clawed and torn by their devilish guardians. [585] _Formerly, etc._: On the occasion of his previous descent (_Inf._ ix. 22). [586] _The sixth bank_: Dante remains on the crown of the arch overhanging the pitch-filled moat. Virgil descends from the bridge by the left hand to the bank on the inner side of the Fifth Bolgia. [587] _What will this, etc._: As if he said: What good will this delay do him in the long-run? [588] _At Caprona_: Dante was one of the mounted militia sent by Florence in 1289 to help the Lucchese against the Pisans, and was present at the surrender by the Pisan garrison of the Castle of Caprona. Some make the reference to be to a siege of the same stronghold by the Pisans in the following year, when the Lucchese garrison, having surrendered on condition of having their lives spared, were met as they issued forth with cries of 'Hang them! Hang them!' But of this second siege it is only a Pisan commentator that speaks. [589] _The next rib_: Malacoda informs them that the arch of rock across the Sixth Bolgia in continuation of that by which they have crossed the Fifth is in ruins, but that they will find a whole bridge if they keep to the left hand along the rocky bank on the inner edge of the pitch-filled moat. But, as appears further on, he is misleading them. It will be remembered that from the precipice enclosing the Malebolge there run more than one series of bridges or ribs into the central well of Inferno. [590] _Yestreen, etc._: This is the principal passage in the _Comedy_ for fixing the date of the journey. It is now, according to the text, twelve hundred and sixty-six years and a day since the crucifixion. Turning to the _Convito_, iv. 23, we find Dante giving his reasons for believing that Jesus, at His death, had just completed His thirty-fourth year. This brings us to the date of 1300 A.D. But according to Church tradition the crucifixion happened on the 25th March, and to get thirty-four years His life must be counted from the incarnation, which was held to have taken place on the same date, namely the 25th March. It was in Dante's time optional to reckon from the incarnation or the birth of Christ. The journey must therefore be taken to have begun on Friday the 25th March, a fortnight before the Good Friday of 1300; and, counting strictly from the incarnation, on the first day of 1301--the first day of the new century. So we find Boccaccio in his unfinished commentary saying in _Inf._ iii. that it will appear from Canto xxi. that Dante began his journey in MCCCI.--The hour is now five hours before that at which the earthquake happened which took place at the death of Jesus. This is held by Dante (_Convito_ iv. 23), who professes to follow the account by Saint Luke, to have been at the sixth hour, that is, at noon; thus the time is now seven in the morning. [591] _Alichino, etc._: The names of the devils are all descriptive: Alichino, for instance, is the Swooper; but in this and the next Canto we have enough of the horrid crew without considering too closely how they are called. [592] _Unbroken_: Malacoda repeats his lie. [593] _Each bit his tongue, etc._: The demons, aware of the cheat played by Malacoda, show their devilish humour by making game of Virgil and Dante.--Benvenuto is amazed that a man so involved in his own thoughts as Dante was, should have been such a close observer of low life as this passage shows him. He is sure that he laughed to himself as he wrote the Canto. CANTO XXII. Horsemen I've seen in march across the field, Hastening to charge, or, answering muster, stand, And sometimes too when forced their ground to yield; I have seen skirmishers upon your land, O Aretines![594] and those on foray sent; With trumpet and with bell[595] to sound command Have seen jousts run and well-fought tournament, With drum, and signal from the castle shown, And foreign music with familiar blent; But ne'er by blast on such a trumpet blown 10 Beheld I horse or foot to motion brought, Nor ship by star or landmark guided on. With the ten demons moved we from the spot; Ah, cruel company! but 'with the good In church, and in the tavern with the sot.' Still to the pitch was my attention glued Fully to see what in the Bolgia lay, And who were in its burning mass imbrued. As when the dolphins vaulted backs display, Warning to mariners they should prepare 20 To trim their vessel ere the storm makes way; So, to assuage the pain he had to bear, Some wretch would show his back above the tide, Then swifter plunge than lightnings cleave the air. And as the frogs close to the marsh's side With muzzles thrust out of the water stand, While feet and bodies carefully they hide; So stood the sinners upon every hand. But on beholding Barbariccia nigh Beneath the bubbles[596] disappeared the band. 30 I saw what still my heart is shaken by: One waiting, as it sometimes comes to pass That one frog plunges, one at rest doth lie; And Graffiacan, who nearest to him was, Him upward drew, clutching his pitchy hair: To me he bore the look an otter has. I of their names[597] ere this was well aware, For I gave heed unto the names of all When they at first were chosen. 'Now prepare, And, Rubicante, with thy talons fall 40 Upon him and flay well,' with many cries And one consent the accursed ones did call. I said: 'O Master, if in any wise Thou canst, find out who is the wretched wight Thus at the mercy of his enemies.' Whereon my Guide drew full within his sight, Asking him whence he came, and he replied: 'In kingdom of Navarre[598] I first saw light. Me servant to a lord my mother tied; Through her I from a scoundrel sire did spring, 50 Waster of goods and of himself beside. As servant next to Thiebault,[599] righteous king, I set myself to ply barratorship; And in this heat discharge my reckoning.' And Ciriatto, close upon whose lip On either side a boar-like tusk did stand, Made him to feel how one of them could rip. The mouse had stumbled on the wild cat band; But Barbariccia locked him in embrace, And, 'Off while I shall hug him!' gave command. 60 Round to my Master then he turned his face: 'Ask more of him if more thou wouldest know, While he against their fury yet finds grace.' My Leader asked: 'Declare now if below The pitch 'mong all the guilty there lies here A Latian?'[600] He replied: 'Short while ago From one[601] I parted who to them lived near; And would that I might use him still for shield, Then hook or claw I should no longer fear,' Said Libicocco: 'Too much grace we yield.' 70 And in the sinner's arm he fixed his hook, And from it clean a fleshy fragment peeled. But seeing Draghignazzo also took Aim at his legs, the leader of the Ten Turned swiftly round on them with angry look. On this they were a little quieted; then Of him who still gazed on his wound my Guide Without delay demanded thus again: 'Who was it whom, in coming to the side, Thou say'st thou didst do ill to leave behind?' 80 'Gomita of Gallura,'[602] he replied, 'A vessel full of fraud of every kind, Who, holding in his power his master's foes, So used them him they bear in thankful mind; For, taking bribes, he let slip all of those, He says; and he in other posts did worse, And as a chieftain 'mong barrators rose. Don Michael Zanche[603] doth with him converse, From Logodoro, and with endless din They gossip[604] of Sardinian characters. 90 But look, ah me! how yonder one doth grin. More would I say, but that I am afraid He is about to claw me on the skin.' To Farfarel the captain turned his head, For, as about to swoop, he rolled his eye, And, 'Cursed hawk, preserve thy distance!' said. 'If ye would talk with, or would closer spy,' The frighted wretch began once more to say, 'Tuscans or Lombards, I will bring them nigh. But let the Malebranche first give way, 100 That of their vengeance they may not have fear, And I to this same place where now I stay For me, who am but one, will bring seven near When I shall whistle as we use to do Whenever on the surface we appear.' On this Cagnazzo up his muzzle threw, Shaking his head and saying: 'Hear the cheat He has contrived, to throw himself below.' Then he who in devices was complete: 'Far too malicious, in good sooth,' replied, 110 'When for my friends I plan a sorer fate.' This, Alichin withstood not but denied The others' counsel,[605] saying: 'If thou fling Thyself hence, thee I strive not to outstride. But o'er the pitch I'll dart upon the wing. Leave we the ridge,[606] and be the bank a shield; And see if thou canst all of us outspring.' O Reader, hear a novel trick revealed. All to the other side turned round their eyes, He first[607] who slowest was the boon to yield. 120 In choice of time the Navarrese was wise; Taking firm stand, himself he forward flung, Eluding thus their hostile purposes. Then with compunction each of them was stung, But he the most[608] whose slackness made them fail; Therefore he started, 'Caught!' upon his tongue. But little it bested, nor could prevail His wings 'gainst fear. Below the other went, While he with upturned breast aloft did sail. And as the falcon, when, on its descent, 130 The wild duck suddenly dives out of sight, Returns outwitted back, and malcontent; To be befooled filled Calcabrin with spite. Hovering he followed, wishing in his mind The wretch escaping should leave cause for fight. When the barrator vanished, from behind He on his comrade with his talons fell And clawed him, 'bove the moat with him entwined. The other was a spar-hawk terrible To claw in turn; together then the two 140 Plunged in the boiling pool. The heat full well How to unlock their fierce embraces knew; But yet they had no power[609] to rise again, So were their wings all plastered o'er with glue. Then Barbariccia, mourning with his train, Caused four to fly forth to the other side With all their grapplers. Swift their flight was ta'en. Down to the place from either hand they glide, Reaching their hooks to those who were limed fast, And now beneath the scum were being fried. 150 And from them thus engaged we onward passed. FOOTNOTES: [594] _O Aretines_: Dante is mentioned as having taken part in the campaign of 1289 against Arezzo, in the course of which the battle of Campaldino was fought. But the text can hardly refer to what he witnessed in that campaign, as the field of it was almost confined to the Casentino, and little more than a formal entrance was made on the true Aretine territory; while the chronicles make no mention of jousts and forays. There is, however, no reason to think but that Dante was engaged in the attack made by Florence on the Ghibeline Arezzo in the early summer of the preceding year. In a few days the Florentines and their allies had taken above forty castles and strongholds, and devastated the enemy's country far and near; and, though unable to take the capital, they held all kinds of warlike games in front of it. Dante was then twenty-three years of age, and according to the Florentine constitution of that period would, in a full muster of the militia, be required to serve as a cavalier without pay, and providing his own horse and arms. [595] _Bell_: The use of the bell for martial music was common in the Italy of the thirteenth century. The great war-bell of the Florentines was carried with them into the field. [596] _Beneath the bubbles, etc._: As the barrators took toll of the administration of justice and appointment to offices, something always sticking to their palms, so now they are plunged in the pitch; and as they denied to others what should be the common blessing of justice, now they cannot so much as breathe the air without paying dearly for it to the demons. [597] _Their names_: The names of all the demons. All of them urge Rubicante, the 'mad red devil,' to flay the victim, shining and sleek with the hot pitch, who is held fast by Graffiacane. [598] _In kingdom of Navarre, etc._: The commentators give the name of John Paul to this shade, but all that is known of him is found in the text. [599] _Thiebault_: King of Navarre and second of that name. He accompanied his father-in-law, Saint Louis, to Tunis, and died on his way back, in 1270. [600] _A Latian_: An Italian. [601] _From one, etc._: A Sardinian. The barrator prolongs his answer so as to procure a respite from the fangs of his tormentors. [602] _Gomita of Gallura_: 'Friar Gomita' was high in favour with Nino Visconti (_Purg._ viii. 53), the lord of Gallura, one of the provinces into which Sardinia was divided under the Pisans. At last, after bearing long with him, the 'gentle Judge Nino' hanged Gomita for setting prisoners free for bribes. [603] _Don Michael Zanche_: Enzo, King of Sardinia, married Adelasia, the lady of Logodoro, one of the four Sardinian judgedoms or provinces. Of this province Zanche, seneschal to Enzo, acquired the government during the long imprisonment of his master, or upon his death in 1273. Zanche's daughter was married to Branca d'Oria, by whom Zanche was treacherously slain in 1275 (_Inf._ xxxiii. 137). There seems to be nothing extant to support the accusation implied in the text. [604] _They gossip, etc._: Zanche's experience of Sardinia was of an earlier date than Gomita's. It has been claimed for, or charged against, the Sardinians, that more than other men they delight in gossip touching their native country. These two, if it can be supposed that, plunged among and choked with pitch, they still cared for Sardinian talk, would find material enough in the troubled history of their land. In 1300 it belonged partly to Genoa and partly to Pisa. [605] _The others' counsel_: Alichino, confident in his own powers, is willing to risk an experiment with the sinner. The other devils count a bird in the hand worth two in the bush. [606] _The ridge_: Not the crown of the great rocky barrier between the Fifth and the Sixth Bolgias, for it is not on that the devils are standing; neither are they allowed to pass over it (_Inf._ xxiii. 55). We are to figure them to ourselves as standing on a ledge running between the fosse and the foot of the enclosing rocky steep--a pathway continued under the bridges and all round the Bolgia for their convenience as guardians of it. The bank adjoining the pitch will serve as a screen for the sinner if the demons retire to the other side of this ledge. [607] _He first, etc._: Cagnazzo. See line 106. [608] _He the most, etc._: Alichino, whose confidence in his agility had led to the outwitting of the band. [609] _No power_: The foolish ineptitude of the devils for anything beyond their special function of hooking up and flaying those who appear on the surface of the pitch, and their irrational fierce playfulness as of tiger cubs, convey a vivid impression of the limits set to their diabolical power, and at the same time heighten the sense of what Dante's feeling of insecurity must have been while in such inhuman companionship. CANTO XXIII. Silent, alone, not now with company We onward went, one first and one behind, As Minor Friars[610] use to make their way. On Æsop's fable[611] wholly was my mind Intent, by reason of that contest new-- The fable where the frog and mouse we find; For _Mo_ and _Issa_[612] are not more of hue Than like the fable shall the fact appear, If but considered with attention due. And as from one thought springs the next, so here 10 Out of my first arose another thought, Until within me doubled was my fear. For thus I judged: Seeing through us[613] were brought Contempt upon them, hurt, and sore despite, They needs must be to deep vexation wrought. If anger to malevolence unite, Then will they us more cruelly pursue Than dog the hare which almost feels its bite. All my hair bristled, I already knew, With terror when I spake: 'O Master, try 20 To hide us quick' (and back I turned to view What lay behind), 'for me they terrify, These Malebranche following us; from dread I almost fancy I can feel them nigh.' And he: 'Were I a mirror backed with lead I should no truer glass that form of thine, Than all thy thought by mine is answered. For even now thy thoughts accord with mine, Alike in drift and featured with one face; And to suggest one counsel they combine. 30 If the right bank slope downward at this place, To the next Bolgia[614] offering us a way, Swiftly shall we evade the imagined chase.' Ere he completely could his purpose say, I saw them with their wings extended wide, Close on us; as of us to make their prey. Then quickly was I snatched up by my Guide: Even as a mother when, awaked by cries, She sees the flames are kindling at her side, Delaying not, seizes her child and flies; 40 Careful for him her proper danger mocks, Nor even with one poor shift herself supplies. And he, stretched out upon the flinty rocks, Himself unto the precipice resigned Which one side of the other Bolgia blocks. A swifter course ne'er held a stream confined, That it may turn a mill, within its race, Where near the buckets 'tis the most declined Than was my Master's down that rock's sheer face; Nor seemed I then his comrade, as we sped, 50 But like a son locked in a sire's embrace. And barely had his feet struck on the bed Of the low ground, when they were seen to stand Upon the crest, no more a cause of dread.[615] For Providence supreme, who so had planned In the Fifth Bolgia they should minister, Them wholly from departure thence had banned. 'Neath us we saw a painted people fare, Weeping as on their way they circled slow, Crushed by fatigue to look at, and despair. 60 Cloaks had they on with hoods pulled down full low Upon their eyes, and fashioned, as it seemed, Like those which at Cologne[616] for monks they sew. The outer face was gilt so that it gleamed; Inside was all of lead, of such a weight Frederick's[617] to these had been but straw esteemed. O weary robes for an eternal state! With them we turned to the left hand once more, Intent upon their tears disconsolate. But those folk, wearied with the loads they bore, 70 So slowly crept that still new company Was ours at every footfall on the floor. Whence to my Guide I said: 'Do thou now try To find some one by name or action known, And as we go on all sides turn thine eye.' And one, who recognised the Tuscan tone, Called from behind us: 'Halt, I you entreat Who through the air obscure are hastening on; Haply in me thou what thou seek'st shalt meet.' Whereon my Guide turned round and said: 'Await, And keep thou time with pacing of his feet.' 81 I stood, and saw two manifesting great Desire to join me, by their countenance; But their loads hampered them and passage strait.[618] And, when arrived, me with an eye askance[619] They gazed on long time, but no word they spoke; Then, to each other turned, held thus parlance: 'His heaving throat[620] proves him of living folk. If they are of the dead, how could they gain To walk uncovered by the heavy cloak?' 90 Then to me: 'Tuscan, who dost now attain To the college of the hypocrites forlorn, To tell us who thou art show no disdain.' And I to them: 'I was both bred and born In the great city by fair Arno's stream, And wear the body I have always worn. But who are ye, whose suffering supreme Makes tears, as I behold, to flood the cheek; And what your mode of pain that thus doth gleam?' 'Ah me, the yellow mantles,' one to speak 100 Began, 'are all of lead so thick, its weight Maketh the scales after this manner creak. We, Merry Friars[621] of Bologna's state, I Catalano, Loderingo he, Were by thy town together designate, As for the most part one is used to be, To keep the peace within it; and around Gardingo,[622] what we were men still may see.' I made beginning: 'Friars, your profound--' But said no more, on suddenly seeing there 110 One crucified by three stakes to the ground, Who, when he saw me, writhed as in despair, Breathing into his beard with heavy sigh. And Friar Catalan, of this aware, Said: 'He thus fixed, on whom thou turn'st thine eye, Counselled the Pharisees that it behoved One man as victim[623] for the folk should die. Naked, thou seest, he lies, and ne'er removed From where, set 'cross the path, by him the weight Of every one that passes by is proved. 120 And his wife's father shares an equal fate, With others of the Council, in this fosse; For to the Jews they proved seed reprobate.' Meanwhile at him thus stretched upon the cross Virgil,[624] I saw, displayed astonishment-- At his mean exile and eternal loss. And then this question to the Friars he sent: 'Be not displeased, but, if ye may, avow If on the right[625] hand there lies any vent By which we, both of us,[626] from hence may go, 130 Nor need the black angelic company To come to help us from this valley low.' 'Nearer than what thou think'st,' he made reply, 'A rib there runs from the encircling wall,[627] The cruel vales in turn o'erarching high; Save that at this 'tis rent and ruined all. Ye can climb upward o'er the shattered heap Where down the side the piled-up fragments fall.' His head bent down a while my Guide did keep, Then said: 'He warned us[628] in imperfect wise, 140 Who sinners with his hook doth clutch and steep.' The Friar: 'At Bologna[629] many a vice I heard the Devil charged with, and among The rest that, false, he father is of lies.' Then onward moved my Guide with paces long, And some slight shade of anger on his face. I with him parted from the burdened throng, Stepping where those dear feet had left their trace. FOOTNOTES: [610] _Minor Friars_: In the early years of their Order the Franciscans went in couples upon their journeys, not abreast but one behind the other. [611] _Æsop's fable_: This fable, mistakenly attributed to Æsop, tells of how a frog enticed a mouse into a pond, and how they were then both devoured by a kite. To discover the aptness of the simile would scarcely be reward enough for the continued mental effort Dante enjoins. So much was everything Greek or Roman then held in reverence, that the mention even of Æsop is held to give dignity to the page. [612] _Mo_ and _Issa_: Two words for _now_. [613] _Through us_: The quarrel among the fiends arose from Dante's insatiable desire to confer with 'Tuscan or Lombard.' [614] _To the next Bolgia_: The Sixth. They are now on the top of the circular ridge that divides it from the Fifth. From the construction of Malebolge the ridge is deeper on the inner side than on that up which they have travelled from the pitch. [615] _No more a cause of dread_: There seems some incongruity between Virgil's dread of these smaller devils and the ease with which he cowed Minos, Charon, and Pluto. But his character gains in human interest the more he is represented as sympathising with Dante in his terrors; and in this particular case the confession of fellow-feeling prepares the way for the beautiful passage which follows it (line 38, etc.), one full of an almost modern tenderness. [616] _Cologne_: Some make it Clugny, the great Benedictine monastery; but all the old commentators and most of the mss. read Cologne. All that the text necessarily carries is that the cloaks had great hoods. If, in addition, a reproach of clumsiness is implied, it would agree well enough with the Italian estimate of German people and things. [617] _Frederick's, etc._: The Emperor Frederick II.; but that he used any torture of leaden sheets seems to be a fabrication of his enemies. [618] _Passage strait_: Through the crowd of shades, all like themselves weighed down by the leaden cloaks. There is nothing in all literature like this picture of the heavily-burdened shades. At first sight it seems to be little of a torture compared with what we have already seen, and yet by simple touch after touch an impression is created of the intolerable weariness of the victims. As always, too, the punishment answers to the sin. The hypocrites made a fair show in the flesh, and now their mantles which look like gold are only of base lead. On earth they were of a sad countenance, trying to seem better than they were, and the load which to deceive others they voluntarily assumed in life is now replaced by a still heavier weight, and one they cannot throw off if they would. The choice of garb conveys an obvious charge of hypocrisy against the Friars, then greatly fallen away from the purity of their institution, whether Franciscans or Dominicans. [619] _An eye askance_: They cannot turn their heads. [620] _His heaving throat_: In Purgatory Dante is known for a mortal by his casting a shadow. Here he is known to be of flesh and blood by the act of respiration; yet, as appears from line 113, the shades, too, breathe as well as perform other functions of living bodies. At least they seem so to do, but this is all only in appearance. They only seem to be flesh and blood, having no weight, casting no shadow, and drawing breath in a way of their own. Dante, as has been said (_Inf._ vi. 36), is hard put to it to make them subject to corporal pains and yet be only shadows. [621] _Merry Friars_: Knights of the Order of Saint Mary, instituted by Urban IV. in 1261. Whether the name of Frati Godenti which they here bear was one of reproach or was simply descriptive of the easy rule under which they lived, is not known. Married men might, under certain conditions, enter the Order. The members were to hold themselves aloof from public office, and were to devote themselves to the defence of the weak and the promotion of justice and religion. The two monkish cavaliers of the text were in 1266 brought to Florence as Podestas, the Pope himself having urged them to go. There is much uncertainty as to the part they played in Florence, but none as to the fact of their rule having been highly distasteful to the Florentines, or as to the other fact, that in Florence they grew wealthy. The Podesta, or chief magistrate, was always a well-born foreigner. Probably some monkish rule or custom forbade either Catalano or Loderingo to leave the monastery singly. [622] _Gardingo_: A quarter of Florence, in which many palaces were destroyed about the time of the Podestaship of the Frati. [623] _One man as victim_: _St. John_ xi. 50. Caiaphas and Annas, with the Scribes and Pharisees who persecuted Jesus to the death, are the vilest hypocrites of all. They lie naked across the path, unburdened by the leaden cloak, it is true, but only that they may feel the more keenly the weight of the punishment of all the hypocrites of the world. [624] _Virgil_: On Virgil's earlier journey through Inferno Caiaphas and the others were not here, and he wonders as at something out of a world to him unknown. [625] _On the right_: As they are moving round the Bolgia to the left, the rocky barrier between them and the Seventh Bolgia is on their right. [626] _We, both of us_: Dante, still in the body, as well as Virgil, the shade. [627] _The encircling wall_: That which encloses all the Malebolge. [628] _He warned us_: Malacoda (_Inf._ xxi. 109) had assured him that the next rib of rock ran unbroken across all the Bolgias, but it too, like all the other bridges, proves to have been, at the time of the earthquake, shattered where it crossed this gulf of the hypocrites. The earthquake told most on this Bolgia, because the death of Christ and the attendant earthquake were, in a sense, caused by the hypocrisy of Caiaphas and the rest. [629] _At Bologna_: Even in Inferno the Merry Friar must have his joke. He is a gentleman, but a bit of a scholar too; and the University of Bologna is to him what Marischal College was to Captain Dalgetty. CANTO XXIV. In season of the new year, when the sun Beneath Aquarius[630] warms again his hair, And somewhat on the nights the days have won; When on the ground the hoar-frost painteth fair A mimic image of her sister white-- But soon her brush of colour is all bare-- The clown, whose fodder is consumed outright, Rises and looks abroad, and, all the plain Beholding glisten, on his thigh doth smite. Returned indoors, like wretch that seeks in vain 10 What he should do, restless he mourns his case; But hope revives when, looking forth again, He sees the earth anew has changed its face. Then with his crook he doth himself provide, And straightway doth his sheep to pasture chase: So at my Master was I terrified, His brows beholding troubled; nor more slow To where I ailed[631] the plaster was applied. For when the broken bridge[632] we stood below My Guide turned to me with the expression sweet 20 Which I beneath the mountain learned to know. His arms he opened, after counsel meet Held with himself, and, scanning closely o'er The fragments first, he raised me from my feet; And like a man who, working, looks before, With foresight still on that in front bestowed, Me to the summit of a block he bore And then to me another fragment showed, Saying: 'By this thou now must clamber on; But try it first if it will bear thy load.' 30 The heavy cowled[633] this way could ne'er have gone, For hardly we, I holpen, he so light, Could clamber up from shattered stone to stone. And but that on the inner bank the height Of wall is not so great, I say not he, But for myself I had been vanquished quite. But Malebolge[634] to the cavity Of the deep central pit is planned to fall; Hence every Bolgia in its turn must be High on the out, low on the inner wall; 40 So to the summit we attained at last, Whence breaks away the topmost stone[635] of all. My lungs were so with breathlessness harassed, The summit won, I could no further go; And, hardly there, me on the ground I cast 'Well it befits that thou shouldst from thee throw All sloth,' the Master said; 'for stretched in down Or under awnings none can glory know. And he who spends his life nor wins renown Leaves in the world no more enduring trace 50 Than smoke in air, or foam on water blown. Therefore arise; o'ercome thy breathlessness By force of will, victor in every fight When not subservient to the body base. Of stairs thou yet must climb a loftier flight:[636] 'Tis not enough to have ascended these. Up then and profit if thou hear'st aright.' Rising I feigned to breathe with greater ease Than what I felt, and spake: 'Now forward plod, For with my courage now my strength agrees.' 60 Up o'er the rocky rib we held our road; And rough it was and difficult and strait, And steeper far[637] than that we earlier trod. Speaking I went, to hide my wearied state, When from the neighbouring moat a voice we heard Which seemed ill fitted to articulate. Of what it said I knew not any word, Though on the arch[638] that vaults the moat set high; But he who spake appeared by anger stirred. Though I bent downward yet my eager eye, 70 So dim the depth, explored it all in vain; I then: 'O Master, to that bank draw nigh, And let us by the wall descent obtain, Because I hear and do not understand, And looking down distinguish nothing plain.' 'My sole reply to thee,' he answered bland, 'Is to perform; for it behoves,' he said, 'With silent act to answer just demand.' Then we descended from the bridge's head,[639] Where with the eighth bank is its junction wrought; 80 And full beneath me was the Bolgia spread. And I perceived that hideously 'twas fraught With serpents; and such monstrous forms they bore, Even now my blood is curdled at the thought. Henceforth let sandy Libya boast no more! Though she breed hydra, snake that crawls or flies, Twy-headed, or fine-speckled, no such store Of plagues, nor near so cruel, she supplies, Though joined to all the land of Ethiop, And that which by the Red Sea waters lies. 90 'Midst this fell throng and dismal, without hope A naked people ran, aghast with fear-- No covert for them and no heliotrope.[640] Their hands[641] were bound by serpents at their rear, Which in their reins for head and tail did get A holding-place: in front they knotted were. And lo! to one who on our side was set A serpent darted forward, him to bite At where the neck is by the shoulders met. Nor _O_ nor _I_ did any ever write 100 More quickly than he kindled, burst in flame, And crumbled all to ashes. And when quite He on the earth a wasted heap became, The ashes[642] of themselves together rolled, Resuming suddenly their former frame. Thus, as by mighty sages we are told, The Phoenix[643] dies, and then is born again, When it is close upon five centuries old. In all its life it eats not herb nor grain, But only tears that from frankincense flow; 110 It, for a shroud, sweet nard and myrrh contain. And as the man who falls and knows not how, By force of demons stretched upon the ground, Or by obstruction that makes life run low, When risen up straight gazes all around In deep confusion through the anguish keen He suffered from, and stares with sighs profound: So was the sinner, when arisen, seen. Justice of God, how are thy terrors piled, Showering in vengeance blows thus big with teen! 120 My Guide then asked of him how he was styled. Whereon he said: 'From Tuscany I rained, Not long ago, into this gullet wild. From bestial life, not human, joy I gained, Mule that I was; me, Vanni Fucci,[644] brute, Pistoia, fitting den, in life contained.' I to my Guide: 'Bid him not budge a foot, And ask[645] what crime has plunged him here below. In rage and blood I knew him dissolute.' The sinner heard, nor insincere did show, 130 But towards me turned his face and eke his mind, With spiteful shame his features all aglow; Then said: 'It pains me more thou shouldst me find And catch me steeped in all this misery, Than when the other life I left behind. What thou demandest I can not deny: I'm plunged[646] thus low because the thief I played Within the fairly furnished sacristy; And falsely to another's charge 'twas laid. Lest thou shouldst joy[647] such sight has met thy view If e'er these dreary regions thou evade, 141 Give ear and hearken to my utterance true: The Neri first out of Pistoia fail, Her laws and parties Florence shapes anew; Mars draws a vapour out of Magra's vale, Which black and threatening clouds accompany: Then bursting in a tempest terrible Upon Piceno shall the war run high; The mist by it shall suddenly be rent, And every Bianco[648] smitten be thereby: 150 And I have told thee that thou mayst lament.' FOOTNOTES: [630] _Aquarius_: The sun is in the constellation of Aquarius from the end of January till the end of February; and already, say in the middle of February, the day is nearly as long as the night. [631] _Where I ailed, etc._: As the peasant is in despair at seeing the earth white with what he thinks is snow, so was Dante at the signs of trouble on Virgil's face. He has mistaken anger at the cheat for perplexity as to how they are to escape from the Bolgia; and his Master's smile is grateful and reassuring to him as the spectacle of the green earth to the despairing shepherd. [632] _The broken bridge_: They are about to escape from the bottom of the Sixth Bolgia by climbing the wall between it and the Seventh, at the point where the confused fragments of the bridge Friar Catalano told them of (_Inf._ xxiii. 133) lie piled up against the wall, and yield something of a practicable way. [633] _The heavy cowled_: He finds his illustration on the spot, his mind being still full of the grievously burdened hypocrites. [634] _But Malebolge, etc._: Each Bolgia in turn lies at a lower level than the one before it, and consequently the inner side of each dividing ridge or wall is higher than the outer; or, to put it otherwise, in each Bolgia the wall they come to last--that nearest the centre of the Inferno, is lower than that they first reach--the one enclosing the Bolgia. [635] _The topmost stone_: The stone that had formed the beginning of the arch at this end of it. [636] _A loftier flight_: When he ascends the Mount of Purgatory. [637] _Steeper far, etc._: Rougher and steeper than the rib of rock they followed till they had crossed the Fifth Bolgia. They are now travelling along a different spoke of the wheel. [638] _The arch, etc._: He has gone on hiding his weariness till he is on the top of the arch that overhangs the Seventh Bolgia--that in which thieves are punished. [639] _Front the bridge's head_: Further on they climb up again (_Inf._ xxvi. 13) by the projecting stones which now supply them with the means of descent. It is a disputed point how far they do descend. Clearly it is further than merely from the bridge to the lower level of the wall dividing the Seventh from the Eighth Bolgia; but not so far as to the ground of the moat. Most likely the stones jut forth at the angle formed by the junction of the bridge and the rocky wall. On one of the lowest of these they find a standing-place whence they can see clearly what is in the Bolgia. [640] _Heliotrope_: A stone supposed to make the bearer of it invisible. [641] _Their hands, etc._: The sinners in this Bolgia are the thieves, not the violent robbers and highwaymen but those crime involves a betrayal of trust. After all their cunning thefts they are naked now; and, though here is nothing to steal, hands are firmly bound behind them. [642] _The ashes, etc._: The sufferings of the thieves, if looked closely into, will be found appropriate to their sins. They would fain but cannot steal themselves away, and in addition to the constant terror of being found out they are subject to pains the essence of which consists in the deprivation--the theft from them--of their unsubstantial bodies, which are all that they now have to lose. In the case of this victim the deprivation is only temporary. [643] _The Phoenix_: Dante here borrows very directly from Ovid (_Metam._ xv.). [644] _Vanni Fucci_: Natural son of a Pistoiese noble and a poet of some merit, who bore a leading part in the ruthless feuds of Blacks and Whites which distracted Pistoia towards the close of the thirteenth century. [645] _And ask, etc._: Dante wishes to find out why Fucci is placed among the thieves, and not in the circle of the violent. The question is framed so as to compel confession of a crime for which the sinner had not been condemned in life; and he flushes with rage at being found among the cowardly thieves. [646] _I'm plunged, etc._: Fucci was concerned in the theft of treasure from the Cathedral Church of St. James at Pistoia. Accounts vary as to the circumstances under which the crime was committed, and as to who suffered for it. Neither is it certainly known when Fucci died, though his recent arrival in the Bolgia agrees with the view that he was still active on the side of the Blacks in the last year of the century. In the fierceness of his retort to Dante we have evidence of their old acquaintance and old enmity. [647] _Lest thou shouldst joy_: Vanni, a _Nero_ or Black, takes his revenge for being found here by Dante, who was, as he knew, associated with the _Bianchi_ or Whites, by prophesying an event full of disaster to these. [648] _Every Bianco, etc._: The Blacks, according to Villani (viii. 45), were driven from Pistoia in May 1301. They took refuge in Florence, where their party, in the following November under the protection of Charles of Valois, finally gained the upper hand, and began to persecute and expel the Whites, among whom was Dante. Mars, the god of war, or, more probably, the planet of war, draws a vapour from the valley of the Magra, a small stream which flows into the Mediterranean on the northern confine of Tuscany. This vapour is said to signify Moroello Malaspina, a noble of that district and an active leader of the Blacks, who here figure as murky clouds. The Campo Piceno is the country west of Pistoia. There Moroello bursts on his foes like a lightning-flash out of its cloud. This seems to refer to a pitched battle that should have happened soon after the Blacks recovered their strength; but the chroniclers tell of none such, though some of the commentators do. The fortress of Seravalle was taken from the Pistoiese, it is true, in 1302, and Moroello is said to have been the leader of the force which starved it into submission. He was certainly present at the great siege of Pistoia in 1305, when the citizens suffered the last rigours of famine.--This prophecy by Fucci recalls those by Farinata and Ciacco. CANTO XXV. The robber,[649] when his words were ended so, Made both the figs and lifted either fist, Shouting: 'There, God! for them at thee I throw.' Then were the snakes my friends; for one 'gan twist And coiled itself around the sinner's throat, As if to say: 'Now would I have thee whist.' Another seized his arms and made a knot, Clinching itself upon them in such wise He had no power to move them by a jot. Pistoia![650] thou, Pistoia, shouldst devise 10 To burn thyself to ashes, since thou hast Outrun thy founders in iniquities. The blackest depths of Hell through which I passed Showed me no soul 'gainst God so filled with spite, No, not even he who down Thebes' wall[651] was cast. He spake no further word, but turned to flight; And I beheld a Centaur raging sore Come shouting: 'Of the ribald give me sight!' I scarce believe Maremma[652] yieldeth more Snakes of all kinds than what composed the load 20 Which on his back, far as our form, he bore. Behind his nape, with pinions spread abroad, A dragon couchant on his shoulders lay To set on fire whoever bars his road. 'This one is Cacus,'[653] did my Master say, 'Who underneath the rock of Aventine Watered a pool with blood day after day. Not with his brethren[654] runs he in the line, Because of yore the treacherous theft he wrought Upon the neighbouring wealthy herd of kine: 30 Whence to his crooked course an end was brought 'Neath Hercules' club, which on him might shower down A hundred blows; ere ten he suffered nought.' While this he said, the other had passed on; And under us three spirits forward pressed Of whom my Guide and I had nothing known But that: 'Who are ye?' they made loud request. Whereon our tale[655] no further could proceed; And toward them wholly we our wits addressed. I recognised them not, but gave good heed; 40 Till, as it often haps in such a case, To name another, one discovered need, Saying: 'Now where stopped Cianfa[656] in the race?' Then, that my Guide might halt and hearken well, On chin[657] and nose I did my finger place. If, Reader, to believe what now I tell Thou shouldst be slow, I wonder not, for I Who saw it all scarce find it credible. While I on them my brows kept lifted high A serpent, which had six feet, suddenly flew 50 At one of them and held him bodily. Its middle feet about his paunch it drew, And with the two in front his arms clutched fast, And bit one cheek and the other through and through. Its hinder feet upon his thighs it cast, Thrusting its tail between them till behind, Distended o'er his reins, it upward passed. The ivy to a tree could never bind Itself so firmly as this dreadful beast Its members with the other's intertwined. 60 Each lost the colour that it once possessed, And closely they, like heated wax, unite, The former hue of neither manifest: Even so up o'er papyrus,[658] when alight, Before the flame there spreads a colour dun, Not black as yet, though from it dies the white. The other two meanwhile were looking on, Crying: 'Agnello, how art thou made new! Thou art not twain, and yet no longer one.' A single head was moulded out of two; 70 And on our sight a single face arose, Which out of both lost countenances grew. Four separate limbs did but two arms compose; Belly with chest, and legs with thighs did grow To members such as nought created shows. Their former fashion was all perished now: The perverse shape did both, yet neither seem; And, thus transformed, departed moving slow. And as the lizard, which at fierce extreme Of dog-day heat another hedge would gain, 80 Flits 'cross the path swift as the lightning's gleam; Right for the bellies of the other twain A little snake[659] quivering with anger sped, Livid and black as is a pepper grain, And on the part by which we first are fed Pierced one of them; and then upon the ground It fell before him, and remained outspread. The wounded gazed on it, but made no sound. Rooted he stood[660] and yawning, scarce awake, As seized by fever or by sleep profound. 90 It closely watched him and he watched the snake, While from its mouth and from his wound 'gan swell Volumes of smoke which joined one cloud to make. Be Lucan henceforth dumb, nor longer tell Of plagued Sabellus and Nassidius,[661] But, hearkening to what follows, mark it well. Silent be Ovid: of him telling us How Cadmus[662] to a snake, and to a fount Changed Arethuse,[663] I am not envious; For never of two natures front to front 100 In metamorphosis, while mutually The forms[664] their matter changed, he gives account. 'Twas thus that each to the other made reply: Its tail into a fork the serpent split; Bracing his feet the other pulled them nigh: And then in one so thoroughly were knit His legs and thighs, no searching could divine At where the junction had been wrought in it. The shape, of which the one lost every sign, The cloven tail was taking; then the skin 110 Of one grew rough, the other's soft and fine. I by the armpits saw the arms drawn in; And now the monster's feet, which had been small, What the other's lost in length appeared to win. Together twisted, its hind feet did fall And grew the member men are used to hide: For his the wretch gained feet with which to crawl. Dyed in the smoke they took on either side A novel colour: hair unwonted grew On one; the hair upon the other died. 120 The one fell prone, erect the other drew, With cruel eyes continuing to glare, 'Neath which their muzzles metamorphose knew. The erect to his brows drew his. Of stuff to spare Of what he upward pulled, there was no lack; So ears were formed on cheeks that erst were bare. Of that which clung in front nor was drawn back, Superfluous, on the face was formed a nose, And lips absorbed the skin that still was slack. His muzzle who lay prone now forward goes; 130 Backward into his head his ears he draws Even as a snail appears its horns to lose. The tongue, which had been whole and ready was For speech, cleaves now; the forked tongue of the snake Joins in the other: and the smoke has pause.[665] The soul which thus a brutish form did take, Along the valley, hissing, swiftly fled; The other close behind it spluttering spake, Then, toward it turning his new shoulders, said Unto the third: 'Now Buoso down the way 140 May hasten crawling, as I earlier sped.' Ballast which in the Seventh Bolgia lay Thus saw I shift and change. Be my excuse The novel theme,[666] if swerves my pen astray. And though these things mine eyesight might confuse A little, and my mind with fear divide, Such secrecy they fleeing could not use But that Puccio Sciancatto plain I spied; And he alone of the companions three Who came at first, was left unmodified. 150 For the other, tears, Gaville,[667] are shed by thee. FOOTNOTES: [649] _The robber, etc._: By means of his prophecy Fucci has, after a fashion, taken revenge on Dante for being found by him among the cheating thieves instead of among the nobler sinners guilty of blood and violence. But in the rage of his wounded pride he must insult even Heaven, and this he does by using the most contemptuous gesture in an Italian's repertory. The fig is made by thrusting the thumb between the next two fingers. In the English 'A fig for him!' we have a reference to the gesture. [650] _Pistoia_: The Pistoiese bore the reputation of being hard and pitiless. The tradition was that their city had been founded by such of Catiline's followers as survived his defeat on the Campo Piceno. 'It is no wonder,' says Villani (i. 32) 'that, being the descendants as they are of Catiline and his followers, the Pistoiese have always been ruthless and cruel to strangers and to one another.' [651] _Who down Thebes' wall_: Capaneus (_Inf._ xiv. 63). [652] _Maremma_: See note, _Inf._ xiii. 8. [653] _Cacus_: Dante makes him a Centaur, but Virgil (_Æn._ viii.) only describes him as half human. The pool was fed with the blood of his human victims. The herd was the spoil Hercules took from Geryon. In the _Æneid_ Cacus defends himself from Hercules by vomiting a fiery smoke; and this doubtless suggested the dragon of the text. [654] _His brethren_: The Centaurs who guard the river of blood (_Inf._ xii. 56). In Fucci, as a sinner guilty of blood and violence above most of the thieves, the Centaur Cacus takes a special malign interest. [655] _Our tale_: Of Cacus. It is interrupted by the arrival of three sinners whom Dante does not at first recognise as he gazes down on them, but only when they begin to speak among themselves. They are three noble citizens of Florence: Agnello Brunelleschi, Buoso degli Abati, and Puccio Sciancatto de' Galigai--all said to have pilfered in private life, or to have abused their tenure of high office by plundering the Commonwealth. What is certainly known of them is that they were Florentine thieves of quality. [656] _Cianfa_: Another Florentine gentleman, one of the Donati. Since his companions lost sight of him he has been transformed into a six-footed serpent. Immediately appearing, he darts upon Agnello. [657] _On chin, etc._: A gesture by which silence is requested. The mention of Cianfa shows Dante that he is among Florentines. [658] _Papyrus_: The original is _papiro_, the word used in Dante's time for a wick made out of a reed like the papyrus; _papér_ being still the name for a wick in some dialects.--(Scartazzini.) It cannot be shown that _papiro_ was ever employed for paper in Italian. This, however, does not prove that Dante may not so use it in this instance, adopting it from the Latin _papyrus_. Besides, he says that the brown colour travels up over the _papiro_; while it goes downward on a burning wick. Nor would the simile, if drawn from a slowly burning lamp-wick, agree with the speed of the change described in the text. [659] _A little snake_: As transpires from the last line of the Canto, this is Francesco, of the Florentine family of the Cavalcanti, to which Dante's friend Guido belonged. He wounds Buoso in the navel, and then, instead of growing into one new monster as was the case with Cianfa and Agnello, they exchange shapes, and when the transformation is complete Buoso is the serpent and Francesco is the human shade. [660] _Rooted he stood, etc._: The description agrees with the symptoms of snake-bite, one of which is extreme drowsiness. [661] _Sabellus and Nassidius_: Were soldiers of Cato's army whose death by snake-bite in the Libyan desert is described by Lucan, _Pharsal._ ix. Sabbellus was burned up by the poison, bones and all; Nassidius swelled up and burst. [662] _Cadmus_: _Metam._ iv. [663] _Arethusa_: _Metam._ v. [664] _The forms, etc._: The word _form_ is here to be taken in its scholastic sense of _virtus formativa_, the inherited power of modifying matter into an organised body. 'This, united to the divinely implanted spark of reason,' says Philalethes, 'constitutes, on Dante's system, a human soul. Even after death this power continues to be an essential constituent of the soul, and constructs out of the elements what seems to be a body. Here the sinners exchange the matter they have thus made their own, each retaining, however, his proper plastic energy as part of his soul.' Dante in his _Convito_ (iii. 2) says that 'the human soul is the noblest form of all that are made under the heavens, receiving more of the Divine nature than any other.' [665] _The smoke has pause_: The sinners have robbed one another of all they can lose. In the punishment is mirrored the sin that plunged them here. [666] _The novel theme_: He has lingered longer than usual on this Bolgia, and pleads wonder of what he saw in excuse either of his prolixity or of some of the details of his description. The expression is perhaps one of feigned humility, to balance his recent boast of excelling Ovid and Lucan in inventive power. [667] _Gaville_: The other, and the only one of those five Florentine thieves not yet named in the text, is he who came at first in the form of a little black snake, and who has now assumed the shape of Buoso. In reality he is Francesco Cavalcanti, who was slain by the people of Gaville in the upper Valdarno. Many of them were in their turn slaughtered in revenge by the Cavalcanti and their associates. It should be remarked that some of these five Florentines were of one party, some of the other. It is also noteworthy that Dante recruits his thieves as he did his usurers from the great Florentine families.--As the 'shifting and changing' of this rubbish is apt to be found confusing, the following may be useful to some readers:--There first came on the scene Agnello, Buoso, and Puccio. Cianfa, in the shape of a six-footed serpent, comes and throws himself on Agnello, and then, grown incorporate in a new strange monster, two in one, they disappear. Buoso is next wounded by Francesco, and they exchange members and bodies. Only Puccio remains unchanged. CANTO XXVI. Rejoice, O Florence, in thy widening fame! Thy wings thou beatest over land and sea, And even through Inferno spreads thy name. Burghers of thine, five such were found by me Among the thieves; whence I ashamed[668] grew, Nor shall great glory thence redound to thee. But if 'tis toward the morning[669] dreams are true, Thou shalt experience ere long time be gone The doom even Prato[670] prays for as thy due. And came it now, it would not come too soon. 10 Would it were come as come it must with time: 'Twill crush me more the older I am grown. Departing thence, my Guide began to climb The jutting rocks by which we made descent Some while ago,[671] and pulled me after him. And as upon our lonely way we went 'Mong splinters[672] of the cliff, the feet in vain, Without the hand to help, had labour spent. I sorrowed, and am sorrow-smit again, Recalling what before mine eyes there lay, 20 And, more than I am wont, my genius rein From running save where virtue leads the way; So that if happy star[673] or holier might Have gifted me I never mourn it may. At time of year when he who gives earth light His face shows to us longest visible, When gnats replace the fly at fall of night, Not by the peasant resting on the hill Are seen more fire-flies in the vale below, Where he perchance doth field and vineyard[674] till, 30 Than flamelets I beheld resplendent glow Throughout the whole Eighth Bolgia, when at last I stood whence I the bottom plain could know. And as he whom the bears avenged, when passed From the earth Elijah, saw the chariot rise With horses heavenward reared and mounting fast, And no long time had traced it with his eyes Till but a flash of light it all became, Which like a rack of cloud swept to the skies: Deep in the valley's gorge, in mode the same, 40 These flitted; what it held by none was shown, And yet a sinner[675] lurked in every flame. To see them well I from the bridge peered down, And if a jutting crag I had not caught I must have fallen, though neither thrust nor thrown. My Leader me beholding lost in thought: 'In all the fires are spirits,' said to me; 'His flame round each is for a garment wrought.' 'O Master!' I replied, 'by hearing thee I grow assured, but yet I knew before 50 That thus indeed it was, and longed to be Told who is in the flame which there doth soar, Cloven, as if ascending from the pyre Where with Eteocles[676] there burned of yore His brother.' He: 'Ulysses in that fire And Diomedes[677] burn; in punishment Thus held together, as they held in ire. And, wrapped within their flame, they now repent The ambush of the horse, which oped the door Through which the Romans' noble seed[678] forth went. 60 For guile Deïdamia[679] makes deplore In death her lost Achilles, tears they shed, And bear for the Palladium[680] vengeance sore.' 'Master, I pray thee fervently,' I said, 'If from those flames they still can utter speech-- Give ear as if a thousand times I pled! Refuse not here to linger, I beseech, Until the cloven fire shall hither gain: Thou seest how toward it eagerly I reach.' And he: 'Thy prayers are worthy to obtain 70 Exceeding praise; thou hast what thou dost seek: But see that thou from speech thy tongue refrain. I know what thou wouldst have; leave me to speak, For they perchance would hear contemptuously Shouldst thou address them, seeing they were Greek.'[681] Soon as the flame toward us had come so nigh That to my Leader time and place seemed met, I heard him thus adjure it to reply: 'O ye who twain within one fire are set, If what I did your guerdon meriteth, 80 If much or little ye are in my debt For the great verse I built while I had breath, By one of you be openly confessed Where, lost to men, at last he met with death.' Of the ancient flame the more conspicuous crest Murmuring began to waver up and down Like flame that flickers, by the wind distressed. At length by it was measured motion shown, Like tongue that moves in speech; and by the flame Was language uttered thus: 'When I had gone 90 From Circe[682] who a long year kept me tame Beside her, ere the near Gaeta had Receivèd from Æneas that new name; No softness for my son, nor reverence sad For my old father, nor the love I owed Penelope with which to make her glad, Could quench the ardour that within me glowed A full experience of the world to gain-- Of human vice and worth. But I abroad Launched out upon the high and open main[683] 100 With but one bark and but the little band Which ne'er deserted me.[684] As far as Spain I saw the sea-shore upon either hand, And as Morocco; saw Sardinia's isle, And all of which those waters wash the strand. I and my comrades were grown old the while And sluggish, ere we to the narrows came Where Hercules of old did landmarks pile For sign to men they should no further aim; And Seville lay behind me on the right, 110 As on the left lay Ceuta. Then to them I spake: "O Brothers, who through such a fight Of hundred thousand dangers West have won, In this short watch that ushers in the night Of all your senses, ere your day be done, Refuse not to obtain experience new Of worlds unpeopled, yonder, past the sun. Consider whence the seed of life ye drew; Ye were not born to live like brutish herd, But righteousness and wisdom to ensue." 120 My comrades to such eagerness were stirred By this short speech the course to enter on, They had no longer brooked restraining word. Turning our poop to where the morning shone We of the oars made wings for our mad flight, Still tending left the further we had gone. And of the other pole I saw at night Now all the stars; and 'neath the watery plain Our own familiar heavens were lost to sight. Five times afresh had kindled, and again 130 The moon's face earthward was illumed no more, Since out we sailed upon the mighty main;[685] Then we beheld a lofty mountain[686] soar, Dim in the distance; higher, as I thought, By far than any I had seen before. We joyed; but with despair were soon distraught When burst a whirlwind from the new-found world And the forequarter of the vessel caught. With all the waters thrice it round was swirled; At the fourth time the poop, heaved upward, rose, 140 The prow, as pleased Another,[687] down was hurled; And then above us did the ocean close.' FOOTNOTES: [668] _Whence I ashamed, etc._: There is here a sudden change from irony to earnest. 'Five members of great Florentine families, eternally engaged among themselves in their shameful metamorphoses--nay, but it is too sad!' [669] _Toward the morning, etc._: There was a widespread belief in the greater truthfulness of dreams dreamed as the night wears away. See _Purg._ ix. 13. The dream is Dante's foreboding of what is to happen to Florence. Of its truth he has no doubt, and the only question is how soon will it be answered by the fact. Soon, he says, if it is near to the morning that we dream true dreams--morning being the season of waking reality in which dreams are accomplished. [670] _Even Prato_: A small neighbouring city, much under the influence of Florence, and somewhat oppressed by it. The commentators reckon up the disasters that afflicted Florence in the first years of the fourteenth century, between the date of Dante's journey and the time he wrote--fires, falls of bridges, and civil strife. But such misfortunes were too much in keeping with the usual course of Florentine history to move Dante thus deeply in the retrospect; and as he speaks here in his own person the 'soon' is more naturally counted from the time at which he writes than from the date assigned by him to his pilgrimage. He is looking forward to the period when his own return in triumph to Florence was to be prepared by grievous national reverses; and, as a patriot, he feels that he cannot be wholly reconciled by his private advantage to the public misfortune. But it was all only a dream. [671] _Some while ago_: See note, _Inf._ xxiv. 79. [672] _'Mong splinters, etc._: They cross the wall or barrier between the Seventh and Eighth Bolgias. From _Inf._ xxiv. 63 we have learned that the rib of rock, on the line of which they are now proceeding, with its arches which overhang the various Bolgias, is rougher and worse to follow than that by which they began their passage towards the centre of Malebolge. [673] _Happy star_: See note, _Inf._ xv. 55. Dante seems to have been uncertain what credence to give to the claims of astrology. In a passage of the _Purgatorio_ (xvi. 67) he tries to establish that whatever influence the stars may possess over us we can never, except with our own consent, be influenced by them to evil.--His sorrow here, as elsewhere, is not wholly a feeling of pity for the suffering shades, but is largely mingled with misgivings for himself. The punishment of those to whose sins he feels no inclination he always beholds with equanimity. Here, as he looks down upon the false counsellors and considers what temptations there are to misapply intellectual gifts, he is smitten with dread lest his lot should one day be cast in that dismal valley and he find cause to regret that the talent of genius was ever committed to him. The memory even of what he saw makes him recollect himself and resolve to be wary. Then, as if to justify the claim to superior powers thus clearly implied, there comes a passage which in the original is of uncommon beauty. [674] _Field and vineyard_: These lines, redolent of the sweet Tuscan midsummer gloaming, give us amid the horrors of Malebolge something like the breath of fresh air the peasant lingers to enjoy. It may be noted that in Italy the village is often found perched above the more fertile land, on a site originally chosen with a view to security from attack. So that here the peasant is at home from his labour. [675] _And yet a sinner, etc._: The false counsellors who for selfish ends hid their true minds and misused their intellectual light to lead others astray are for ever hidden each in his own wandering flame. [676] _Eteocles_: Son of Oedipus and twin brother of Polynices. The brothers slew one another, and were placed on the same funeral pile, the flame of which clove into two as if to image the discord that had existed between them (_Theb._ xii.). [677] _And Diomedes_: The two are associated in deeds of blood and guile at the siege of Troy. [678] _The Romans' noble seed_: The trick of the wooden horse led to the capture of Troy, and that led Æneas to wander forth on the adventures that ended in the settlement of the Trojans in Italy. [679] _Deïdamia_: That Achilles might be kept from joining the Greek expedition to Troy he was sent by his mother to the court of Lycomedes, father of Deïdamia. Ulysses lured him away from his hiding-place and from Deïdamia, whom he had made a mother. [680] _The Palladium_: The Trojan sacred image of Pallas, stolen by Ulysses and Diomed (_Æn._ ii.). Ulysses is here upon his own ground. [681] _They were Greek_: Some find here an allusion to Dante's ignorance of the Greek language and literature. But Virgil addresses them in the Lombard dialect of Italian (_Inf._ xxvii. 21). He acts as spokesman because those ancient Greeks were all so haughty that to a common modern mortal they would have nothing to say. He, as the author of the _Æneid_, has a special claim on their good-nature. It is but seldom that the shades are told who Virgil is, and never directly. Here Ulysses may infer it from the mention of the 'lofty verse.' [682] _From Circe_: It is Ulysses that speaks. [683] _The open main_: The Mediterranean as distinguished from the Ægean. [684] _Which ne'er deserted me_: There seems no reason for supposing, with Philalethes, that Ulysses is here represented as sailing on his last voyage from the island of Circe and not from Ithaca. Ulysses, on the contrary, represents himself as breaking away afresh from all the ties of home. According to Homer, Ulysses had lost all his companions ere he returned to Ithaca; and in the _Odyssey_ Tiresias prophesies to him that his last wanderings are to be inland. But any acquaintance that Dante had with Homer can only have been vague and fragmentary. He may have founded his narrative of how Ulysses ended his days upon some floating legend; or, eager to fill up what he took to be a blank in the world of imagination, he may have drawn wholly on his own creative power. In any case it is his Ulysses who, through the version of him given by a living poet, is most familiar to the English reader. [685] _The mighty main_: The Atlantic Ocean. They bear to the left as they sail, till their course is due south, and crossing the Equator, they find themselves under the strange skies of the southern hemisphere. For months they have seen no land. [686] _A lofty mountain_: This is the Mountain of Purgatory, according to Dante's geography antipodal to Jerusalem, and the only land in the southern hemisphere. [687] _As pleased Another_: Ulysses is proudly resigned to the failure of his enterprise, 'for he was Greek.' CANTO XXVII. Now, having first erect and silent grown (For it would say no more), from us the flame, The Poet sweet consenting,[688] had moved on; And then our eyes were turned to one that came[689] Behind it on the way, by sounds that burst Out of its crest in a confusèd stream. As the Sicilian bull,[690] which bellowed first With his lamenting--and it was but right-- Who had prepared it with his tools accurst,[691] Roared with the howlings of the tortured wight, 10 So that although constructed all of brass Yet seemed it pierced with anguish to the height; So, wanting road and vent by which to pass Up through the flame, into the flame's own speech The woeful language all converted was. But when the words at length contrived to reach The top, while hither thither shook the crest As moved the tongue[692] at utterance of each, We heard: 'Oh thou, to whom are now addressed My words, who spakest now in Lombard phrase: 20 "Depart;[693] of thee I nothing more request." Though I be late arrived, yet of thy grace Let it not irk thee here a while to stay: It irks not me, yet, as thou seest, I blaze. If lately to this world devoid of day From that sweet Latian land thou art come down Whence all my guilt I bring, declare and say Has now Romagna peace? because my own Native abode was in the mountain land 'Tween springs[694] of Tiber and Urbino town.' 30 While I intent and bending low did stand, My Leader, as he touched me on the side, 'Speak thou, for he is Latian,' gave command. Whereon without delay I thus replied-- Because already[695] was my speech prepared: 'Soul, that down there dost in concealment 'bide, In thy Romagna[696] wars have never spared And spare not now in tyrants' hearts to rage; But when I left it there was none declared. No change has fallen Ravenna[697] for an age. 40 There, covering Cervia too with outspread wing, Polenta's Eagle guards his heritage. Over the city[698] which long suffering Endured, and Frenchmen slain on Frenchmen rolled, The Green Paws[699] once again protection fling. The Mastiffs of Verrucchio,[700] young and old, Who to Montagna[701] brought such evil cheer, Still clinch their fangs where they were wont to hold. Cities,[702] Lamone and Santerno near, The Lion couched in white are governed by 50 Which changes party with the changing year. And that to which the Savio[703] wanders nigh As it is set 'twixt mountain and champaign Lives now in freedom now 'neath tyranny. But who thou art I to be told am fain: Be not more stubborn than we others found, As thou on earth illustrious wouldst remain.' When first the fire a little while had moaned After its manner, next the pointed crest Waved to and fro; then in this sense breathed sound: 'If I believed my answer were addressed 61 To one that earthward shall his course retrace, This flame should forthwith altogether rest. But since[704] none ever yet out of this place Returned alive, if all be true I hear, I yield thee answer fearless of disgrace. I was a warrior, then a Cordelier;[705] Thinking thus girt to purge away my stain: And sure my hope had met with answer clear Had not the High Priest[706]--ill with him remain! 70 Plunged me anew into my former sin: And why and how, I would to thee make plain. While I the frame of bones and flesh was in My mother gave me, all the deeds I wrought Were fox-like and in no wise leonine. Of every wile and hidden way I caught The secret trick, and used them with such sleight That all the world with fame of it was fraught. When I perceived I had attainèd quite The time of life when it behoves each one 80 To furl his sails and coil his cordage tight, Sorrowing for deeds I had with pleasure done, Contrite and shriven, I religious grew. Ah, wretched me! and well it was begun But for the Chieftain of the Pharisees new,[707] Then waging war hard by the Lateran, And not with Saracen nor yet with Jew; For Christian[708] were his enemies every man, And none had at the siege of Acre been Or trafficked in the Empire of Soldàn. 90 His lofty office he held cheap, and e'en His Sacred Orders and the cord I wore, Which used[709] to make the wearers of it lean. As from Soracte[710] Constantine of yore Sylvester called to cure his leprosy, I as a leech was called this man before To cure him of his fever which ran high; My counsel he required, but I stood dumb, For drunken all his words appeared to be. He said; "For fear be in thy heart no room; 100 Beforehand I absolve thee, but declare How Palestrina I may overcome. Heaven I unlock, as thou art well aware, And close at will; because the keys are twin My predecessor[711] was averse to bear." Then did his weighty reasoning on me win Till to be silent seemed the worst of all; And, "Father," I replied, "since from this sin Thou dost absolve me into which I fall-- The scant performance[712] of a promise wide 110 Will yield thee triumph in thy lofty stall." Francis came for me soon as e'er I died; But one of the black Cherubim was there And "Take him not, nor rob me of him" cried, "For him of right among my thralls I bear Because he offered counsel fraudulent; Since when I've had him firmly by the hair. None is absolved unless he first repent; Nor can repentance house with purpose ill, For this the contradiction doth prevent." 120 Ah, wretched me! How did I shrinking thrill When clutching me he sneered: "Perhaps of old Thou didst not think[713] I had in logic skill." He carried me to Minos:[714] Minos rolled His tail eight times round his hard back; in ire Biting it fiercely, ere of me he told: "Among the sinners of the shrouding fire!" Therefore am I, where thou beholdest, lost; And, sore at heart, go clothed in such attire.' What he would say thus ended by the ghost, 130 Away from us the moaning flame did glide While to and fro its pointed horn was tossed. But we passed further on, I and my Guide, Along the cliff to where the arch is set O'er the next moat, where paying they reside, As schismatics who whelmed themselves in debt. FOOTNOTES: [688] _Consenting_: See line 21. [689] _One that came_: This is the fire-enveloped shade of Guido of Montefeltro, the colloquy with whom occupies the whole of the Canto. [690] _The Sicilian bull_: Perillus, an Athenian, presented Phalaris, the tyrant of Agrigentum, with a brazen bull so constructed that when it was heated from below the cries of the victim it contained were converted into the bellowing of a bull. The first trial of the invention was made upon the artist. [691] _Accurst_: Not in the original. 'Rime in English hath such scarcity,' as Chaucer says. [692] _As moved the tongue, etc._: The shade being enclosed in the hollow fire all his words are changed into a sound like the roaring of a flame. At last, when an opening has been worked through the crested point, the speech becomes articulate. [693] _Depart, etc._: One at least of the words quoted as having been used by Virgil is Lombard. There is something very quaint in making him use the Lombard dialect of Dante's time. [694] _'Tween springs, etc._: Montefeltro lies between Urbino and the mountain where the Tiber has its source. [695] _Already_: Dante knew that Virgil would refer to him for an answer to Guido's question, bearing as it did on modern Italian affairs. [696] _Romagna_: The district of Italy lying on the Adriatic, south of the Po and east of Tuscany, of which Bologna and the cities named in the text were the principal towns. During the last quarter of the thirteenth century it was the scene of constant wars promoted in the interest of the Church, which claimed Romagna as the gift of the Emperor Rudolf, and in that of the great nobles of the district, who while using the Guelf and Ghibeline war-cries aimed at nothing but the lordship of the various cities. Foremost among these nobles was he with whose shade Dante speaks. Villani calls him 'the most sagacious and accomplished warrior of his time in Italy' (_Cronica_, vii. 80). He was possessed of lands of his own near Forlì and Cesena, and was lord in turn of many of the Romagnese cities. On the whole he appears to have remained true to his Ghibeline colours in spite of Papal fulminations, although once and again he was reconciled to the Church; on the last occasion in 1294. In the years immediately before this he had greatly distinguished himself as a wise governor and able general in the service of the Ghibeline Pisa--or rather as the paid lord of it. [697] _Ravenna_: Ravenna and the neighbouring town of Cervia were in 1300 under the lordship of members of the Polenta family--the father and brothers of the ill-fated Francesca (_Inf._ v.). Their arms were an eagle, half white on an azure and half red on a gold field. It was in the court of the generous Guido, son of one of these brothers, that Dante was to find his last refuge and to die. [698] _Over the city, etc._: Forlì. The reference is to one of the most brilliant feats of war performed by Guido of Montefeltro. Frenchmen formed great part of an army sent in 1282 against Forlì by the Pope, Martin IV., himself a Frenchman. Guido, then lord of the city, led them into a trap and overthrew them with great slaughter. Like most men of his time Guido was a believer in astrology, and is said on this occasion to have acted on the counsel of Guido Bonatti, mentioned among the diviners in the Fourth Bolgia (_Inf._ xx. 118). [699] _The Green Paws_: In 1300 the Ordelaffi were lords of Forlì. Their arms were a green lion on a gold ground. During the first years of his exile Dante had to do with Scarpetta degli Ordelaffi, under whose command the exiled Florentines put themselves for a time, and there is even a tradition that he acted as his secretary. [700] _The Mastiffs of Verrucchio_: Verrucchio was the castle of the Malatestas, lords of Rimini, called the Mastiffs on account of their cruel tenacity. The elder was the father of Francesca's husband and lover; the younger was a brother of these. [701] _Montagna_: Montagna de' Parcitati, one of a Ghibeline family that contested superiority in Rimini with the Guelf Malatestas, was taken prisoner by guile and committed by the old Mastiff to the keeping of the young one, whose fangs were set in him to such purpose that he soon died in his dungeon. [702] _Cities, etc._: Imola and Faenza, situated on the rivers named in the text. Mainardo Pagani, lord of these towns, had for arms an azure lion on a white field. During his minority he was a ward of the Commonwealth of Florence. By his cunning and daring he earned the name of the Demon (_Purg._ xiv. 118). He died at Imola in 1302, and was buried in the garb of a monk of Vallombrosa. Like most of his neighbours he changed his party as often as his interest required. He was a Guelf in Florence and a Ghibeline in Romagna, say some. [703] _Savio_: Cesena, on the Savio, was distinguished among the cities of Romagna by being left more frequently than the others were to manage its own affairs. The Malatestas and Montefeltros were in turn possessed of the tyranny of it. [704] _But since, etc._: The shades, being enveloped in fire, are unable to see those with whom they speak; and so Guido does not detect in Dante the signs of a living man, but takes him to be like himself a denizen of Inferno. He would not have the truth regarding his fate to be known in the world, where he is supposed to have departed life in the odour of sanctity. Dante's promise to refresh his fame he either regards as meaningless, or as one made without the power of fulfilling it. Dante leaves him in his error, for he is there to learn all he can, and not to bandy personal confessions with the shades. [705] _A Cordelier_: In 1296 Guido entered the Franciscan Order. He died in 1298, but where is not known; some authorities say at Venice and others at Assisi. Benvenuto tells: 'He was often seen begging his bread in Ancona, where he was buried. Many good deeds are related of him, and I cherish a sweet hope that he may have been saved.' [706] _The High Priest_: Boniface VIII. [707] _The Pharisees new_: The members of the Court of Rome. Saint Jerome calls the dignified Roman clergy of his day 'the Senate of the Pharisees.' [708] _For Christian, etc._: The foes of Boniface, here spoken of, were the Cardinals Peter and James Colonna. He destroyed their palace in Rome (1297) and carried the war against them to their country seat at Palestrina, the ancient Præneste, then a great stronghold. Dante here bitterly blames Boniface for instituting a crusade against Christians at a time when, by the recent loss of Acre, the gate of the Holy Land had been lost to Christendom. The Colonnas were innocent, too, of the crime of supplying the Infidel with munitions of war--a crime condemned by the Lateran Council of 1215, and by Boniface himself, who excluded those guilty of it from the benefits of the great Jubilee of 1300. [709] _Which used, etc._: In former times, when the rule of the Order was faithfully observed. Dante charges the Franciscans with degeneracy in the _Paradiso_, xi. 124. [710] _From Soracte_: Referring to the well-known legend. The fee for the cure was the fabulous Donation. See _Inf._ xix. 115. [711] _My predecessor_: Celestine v. See _Inf._ iii. 60. [712] _The scant performance, etc._: That Guido gave such counsel is related by a contemporary chronicler: 'The Pope said: Tell me how to get the better of those mine enemies, thou who art so knowing in these things. Then he answered: Promise much, and perform little; which he did.' But it seems odd that the wily and unscrupulous Boniface should have needed to put himself to school for such a simple lesson. [713] _Thou didst not think, etc._: Guido had forgot that others could reason besides the Pope. With regard to the inefficacy of the Papal absolution an old commentator says, following Origen: 'The Popes that walk in the footsteps of Peter have this power of binding and loosing; but only such as do so walk.' But on Dante's scheme of what fixes the fate of the soul absolution matters little to save, or priestly curses to damnify. See _Purg._ iii. 133. It is unfeigned repentance that can help a sinner even at the last; and it is remarkable that in the case of Buonconte, the gallant son of this same Guido, the infernal angel who comes for him as he expires complains that he has been cheated of his victim by one poor tear. See _Purg._ v. 88, etc. Why then is no indulgence shown in Dante's court to Guido, who might well have been placed in Purgatory and made to have repented effectually of this his last sin? That Dante had any personal grudge against him we can hardly think. In the Fourth Book of the _Convito_ (written, according to Fraticelli, in 1297), he calls him 'our most noble Guido Montefeltrano;' and praises him as one of the wise and noble souls that refuse to run with full sails into the port of death, but furl the sails of their worldly undertakings, and, relinquishing all earthly pleasures and business, give themselves up in their old age to a religious life. Either, then, he sets Guido here in order that he may have a modern false counsellor worthy to be ranked with Ulysses; or because, on longer experience, he had come to reprobate more keenly the abuse of the Franciscan habit; or, most likely of all, that he might, even at the cost of Guido, load the hated memory of Boniface with another reproach. [714] _Minos_: Here we have Minos represented in the act of pronouncing judgment in words as well as by the figurative rolling of his tail around his body (_Inf._ v. 11). CANTO XXVIII. Could any, even in words unclogged by rhyme Recount the wounds that now I saw,[715] and blood, Although he aimed at it time after time? Here every tongue must fail of what it would, Because our human speech and powers of thought To grasp so much come short in aptitude. If all the people were together brought Who in Apulia,[716] land distressed by fate, Made lamentation for the bloodshed wrought By Rome;[717] and in that war procrastinate[718] 10 When the large booty of the rings was won, As Livy writes whose every word has weight; With those on whom such direful deeds were done When Robert Guiscard[719] they as foes assailed; And those of whom still turns up many a bone At Ceperan,[720] where each Apulian failed In faith; and those at Tagliacozzo[721] strewed, Where old Alardo, not by arms, prevailed; And each his wounds and mutilations showed, Yet would they far behind by those be left 20 Who had the vile Ninth Bolgia for abode. No cask, of middle stave or end bereft, E'er gaped like one I saw the rest among, Slit from the chin all downward to the cleft. Between his legs his entrails drooping hung; The pluck and that foul bag were evident Which changes what is swallowed into dung. And while I gazed upon him all intent, Opening his breast his eyes on me he set, Saying: 'Behold, how by myself I'm rent! 30 See how dismembered now is Mahomet![722] Ali[723] in front of me goes weeping too; With visage from the chin to forelock split. By all the others whom thou seest there grew Scandal and schism while yet they breathed the day; Because of which they now are cloven through. There stands behind a devil on the way, Us with his sword thus cruelly to trim: He cleaves again each of our company As soon as we complete the circuit grim; 40 Because the wounds of each are healed outright Or e'er anew he goes in front of him. But who art thou that peerest from the height, It may be putting off to reach the pain Which shall the crimes confessed by thee requite?' 'Death has not seized him yet, nor is he ta'en To torment for his sins,' my Master said; 'But, that he may a full experience gain, By me, a ghost, 'tis doomed he should be led Down the Infernal circles, round on round; 50 And what I tell thee is the truth indeed.' A hundred shades and more, to whom the sound Had reached, stood in the moat to mark me well, Their pangs forgot; so did the words astound. 'Let Fra Dolcin[724] provide, thou mayst him tell-- Thou, who perchance ere long shalt sunward go-- Unless he soon would join me in this Hell, Much food, lest aided by the siege of snow The Novarese should o'er him victory get, Which otherwise to win they would be slow.' 60 While this was said to me by Mahomet One foot he held uplifted; to the ground He let it fall, and so he forward set Next, one whose throat was gaping with a wound, Whose nose up to the brows away was sheared And on whose head a single ear was found, At me, with all the others, wondering peered; And, ere the rest, an open windpipe made, The outside of it all with crimson smeared. 'O thou, not here because of guilt,' he said; 70 'And whom I sure on Latian ground did know Unless by strong similitude betrayed, Upon Pier da Medicin[725] bestow A thought, shouldst thou revisit the sweet plain That from Vercelli[726] slopes to Marcabò. And make thou known to Fano's worthiest twain-- To Messer Guido and to Angiolel-- They, unless foresight here be wholly vain, Thrown overboard in gyve and manacle Shall drown fast by Cattolica, as planned 80 By treachery of a tyrant fierce and fell. Between Majolica[727] and Cyprus strand A blacker crime did Neptune never spy By pirates wrought, or even by Argives' hand. The traitor[728] who is blinded of an eye, Lord of the town which of my comrades one Had been far happier ne'er to have come nigh, To parley with him will allure them on, Then so provide, against Focara's[729] blast No need for them of vow or orison.' 90 And I: 'Point out and tell, if wish thou hast To get news of thee to the world conveyed, Who rues that e'er his eyes thereon were cast?' On a companion's jaw his hand he laid, And shouted, while the mouth he open prised: ''Tis this one here by whom no word is said. He quenched all doubt in Cæsar, and advised-- Himself an outlaw--that a man equipped For strife ran danger if he temporised.' Alas, to look on, how downcast and hipped 100 Curio,[730] once bold in counsel, now appeared; With gorge whence by the roots the tongue was ripped. Another one, whose hands away were sheared, In the dim air his stumps uplifted high So that his visage was with blood besmeared, And, 'Mosca,[731] too, remember!' loud did cry, 'Who said, ah me! "A thing once done is done!" An evil seed for all in Tuscany.' I added: 'Yea, and death to every one Of thine!' whence he, woe piled on woe, his way 110 Went like a man with grief demented grown. But I to watch the gang made longer stay, And something saw which I should have a fear, Without more proof, so much as even to say, But that my conscience bids me have good cheer-- The comrade leal whose friendship fortifies A man beneath the mail of purpose clear. I saw in sooth (still seems it 'fore mine eyes), A headless trunk; with that sad company It forward moved, and on the selfsame wise. 120 The severed head, clutched by the hair, swung free Down from the fist, yea, lantern-like hung down; Staring at us it murmured: 'Wretched me!' A lamp he made of head-piece once his own; And he was two in one and one in two; But how, to Him who thus ordains is known. Arrived beneath the bridge and full in view, With outstretched arm his head he lifted high To bring his words well to us. These I knew: 'Consider well my grievous penalty, 130 Thou who, though still alive, art visiting The people dead; what pain with this can vie? In order that to earth thou news mayst bring Of me, that I'm Bertrand de Born[732] know well, Who gave bad counsel to the Younger King. I son and sire made each 'gainst each rebel: David and Absalom were fooled not more By counsels of the false Ahithophel. Kinsmen so close since I asunder tore, Severed, alas! I carry now my brain 140 From what[733] it grew from in this trunk of yore: And so I prove the law of pain for pain.'[734] FOOTNOTES: [715] _That now I saw_: In the Ninth Bolgia, on which he is looking down, and in which are punished the sowers of discord in church and state. [716] _Apulia_: The south-eastern district of Italy, owing to its situation a frequent battle-field in ancient and modern times. [717] _Rome_: 'Trojans' in most MSS.; and then the Romans are described as descended from Trojans. The reference may be to the defeat of the Apulians with considerable slaughter by P. Decius Mus, or to their losses in general in the course of the Samnite war. [718] _War procrastinate_: The second Punic war lasted fully fifteen years, and in the course of it the battle of Cannæ was gained by Hannibal, where so many Roman knights fell that the spoil of rings amounted to a peck. [719] _Guiscard_: One of the Norman conquerors of the regions which up to our own time constituted the kingdom of Naples. In Apulia he did much fighting against Lombards, Saracens, and Greeks. He is found by Dante in Paradise among those who fought for the faith (_Par._ xviii. 48). His death happened in Cephalonia in 1085, at the age of seventy, when he was engaged on an expedition against Constantinople. [720] _Ceperan_: In the swift and decisive campaign undertaken by Charles of Anjou against Manfred, King of Sicily and Naples, the first victory was obtained at Ceperano; but it was won owing to the treachery of Manfred's lieutenant, and not by the sword. The true battle was fought at Benevento (_Purg._ iii. 128). Ceperano may be named by Dante as the field where the defeat of Manfred was virtually begun, and where the Apulians first failed in loyalty to their gallant king. Dante was a year old at the time of Manfred's overthrow (1266). [721] _Tagliacozzo_: The crown Charles had won from Manfred he had to defend against Manfred's nephew Conradin (grandson and last representative of Frederick II. and the legitimate heir to the kingdom of Sicily), whom, in 1268, he defeated near Tagliacozzo in the Abruzzi. He made his victory the more complete by acting on the advice of Alardo or Erard de Valery, an old Crusader, to hold good part of his force in reserve. Charles wrote to the Pope that the slaughter was so great as far to exceed that at Benevento. The feet of all the low-born prisoners not slain on the field were cut off, while the gentlemen were beheaded or hanged. [722] _Mahomet_: It has been objected to Dante by M. Littré that he treats Mahomet, the founder of a new religion, as a mere schismatic. The wonder would have been had he dwelt on the good qualities of the Prophet at a time when Islam still threatened Europe. He goes on the fact that Mahomet and his followers rent great part of the East and South from Christendom; and for this the Prophet is represented as being mutilated in a sorer degree than the other schismatics. [723] _Ali_: Son-in-law of Mahomet. [724] _Fra Dolcin_: At the close of the thirteenth century, Boniface being Pope, the general discontent with the corruption of the higher clergy found expression in the north of Italy in the foundation of a new sect, whose leader was Fra Dolcino. What he chiefly was--enthusiast, reformer, or impostor--it is impossible to ascertain; all we know of him being derived from writers in the Papal interest. Among other crimes he was charged with that of teaching the lawfulness of telling an Inquisitor a lie to save your life, and with prophesying the advent of a pious Pope. A holy war on a small scale was preached against him. After suffering the extremities of famine, snowed up as he was among the mountains, he was taken prisoner and cruelly put to death (1307). It may have been in order to save himself from being suspected of sympathy with him, that Dante, whose hatred of Boniface and the New Pharisees was equal to Dolcino's, provides for him by anticipation a place with Mahomet. [725] _Pier da Medicin_: Medicina is in the territory of Bologna. Piero is said to have stirred up dissensions between the Polentas of Ravenna and the Malatestas of Rimini. [726] _From Vercelli, etc._: From the district of Vercelli to where the castle of Marcabò once stood, at the mouth of the Po, is a distance of two hundred miles. The plain is Lombardy. [727] _Majolica, etc._: On all the Mediterranean, from Cyprus in the east to Majorca in the west. [728] _The traitor, etc._: The one-eyed traitor is Malatesta, lord of Rimini, the Young Mastiff of the preceding Canto. He invited the two chief citizens of Fano, named in the text, to hold a conference with him, and procured that on their way they should be pitched overboard opposite the castle of Cattolica, which stood between Fano and Rimini. This is said to have happened in 1304. [729] _Focara_: The name of a promontory near Cattolica, subject to squalls. The victims were never to double the headland. [730] _Curio_: The Roman Tribune who, according to Lucan--the incident is not historically correct--found Cæsar hesitating whether to cross the Rubicon, and advised him: _Tolle moras: semper nocuit differre paratis_. 'No delay! when men are ready they always suffer by putting off.' The passage of the Rubicon was counted as the beginning of the Civil War.--Curio gets scant justice, seeing that in Dante's view Cæsar in all he did was only carrying out the Divine purpose regarding the Empire. [731] _Mosca_: In 1215 one of the Florentine family of the Buondelmonti jilted a daughter of the Amidei. When these with their friends met to take counsel touching revenge for the insult, Mosca, one of the Uberti or of the Lamberti, gave his opinion in the proverb, _Cosa fatta ha capo_: 'A thing once done is done with.' The hint was approved of, and on the following Easter morning the young Buondelmonte, as, mounted on a white steed and dressed in white he rode across the Ponte Vecchio, was dragged to the ground and cruelly slain. All the great Florentine families took sides in the feud, and it soon widened into the civil war between Florentine Guelf and Ghibeline. [732] _Bertrand de Born_: Is mentioned by Dante in his Treatise _De Vulgari Eloquio_, ii. 2, as specially the poet of warlike deeds. He was a Gascon noble who used his poetical gift very much to stir up strife. For patron he had the Prince Henry, son of Henry II. of England. Though Henry never came to the throne he was, during his father's lifetime, crowned as his successor, and was known as the young King. After the death of the Prince, Bertrand was taken prisoner by the King, and, according to the legend, was loaded with favours because he had been so true a friend to his young master. That he had a turn for fomenting discord is shown by his having also led a revolt in Aquitaine against Richard I.--All the old MSS. and all the earlier commentators read _Re Giovanni_, King John; _Re Giovane_, the young King, being a comparatively modern emendation. In favour of adopting this it may be mentioned that in his poems Bertrand calls Prince Henry _lo Reys joves_, the young King; that it was Henry and not John that was his friend and patron; and that in the old _Cento Novelle_ Henry is described as the young King: in favour of the older reading, that John as well as his brother was a rebel to Henry; and that the line is hurt by the change from _Giovanni_ to _Giovane_. Considering that Dante almost certainly wrote _Giovanni_ it seems most reasonable to suppose that he may have confounded the _Re Giovane_ with King John. [733] _From what, etc._: The spinal cord, as we should now say, though Dante may have meant the heart. [734] _Pain for pain_: In the City of Dis we found the heresiarchs, those who lead others to think falsely. The lower depth of the Malebolge is reserved for such as needlessly rend any Divinely-constituted order of society, civil or religious. Conduct counts more with Dante than opinion--in this case. CANTO XXIX. The many folk and wounds of divers kind Had flushed mine eyes and set them on the flow, Till I to weep and linger had a mind; But Virgil said to me: 'Why gazing so? Why still thy vision fastening on the crew Of dismal shades dismembered there below? Thou didst not[735] thus the other Bolgias view: Think, if to count them be thine enterprise, The valley circles twenty miles and two.[736] Beneath our feet the moon[737] already lies; 10 The time[738] wears fast away to us decreed; And greater things than these await thine eyes.' I answered swift: 'Hadst thou but given heed To why it was my looks were downward bent, To yet more stay thou mightest have agreed.' My Guide meanwhile was moving, and I went Behind him and continued to reply, Adding: 'Within the moat on which intent I now was gazing with such eager eye I trow a spirit weeps, one of my kin, 20 The crime whose guilt is rated there so high.' Then said the Master: 'Henceforth hold thou in Thy thoughts from wandering to him: new things claim Attention now, so leave him with his sin. Him saw I at thee from the bridge-foot aim A threatening finger, while he made thee known; Geri del Bello[739] heard I named his name. But, at the time, thou wast with him alone Engrossed who once held Hautefort,[740] nor the place Didst look at where he was; so passed he on.' 30 'O Leader mine! death violent and base, And not avenged as yet,' I made reply, 'By any of his partners in disgrace, Made him disdainful; therefore went he by And spake not with me, if I judge aright; Which does the more my ruth[741] intensify.' So we conversed till from the cliff we might Of the next valley have had prospect good Down to the bottom, with but clearer light.[742] When we above the inmost Cloister stood 40 Of Malebolge, and discerned the crew Of such as there compose the Brotherhood,[743] So many lamentations pierced me through-- And barbed with pity all the shafts were sped-- My open palms across my ears I drew. From Valdichiana's[744] every spital bed All ailments to September from July, With all in Maremma and Sardinia[745] bred, Heaped in one pit a sickness might supply Like what was here; and from it rose a stink 50 Like that which comes from limbs that putrefy. Then we descended by the utmost brink Of the long ridge[746]--leftward once more we fell-- Until my vision, quickened now, could sink Deeper to where Justice infallible, The minister of the Almighty Lord, Chastises forgers doomed on earth[747] to Hell. Ægina[748] could no sadder sight afford, As I believe (when all the people ailed And all the air was so with sickness stored, 60 Down to the very worms creation failed And died, whereon the pristine folk once more, As by the poets is for certain held, From seed of ants their family did restore), Than what was offered by that valley black With plague-struck spirits heaped upon the floor. Supine some lay, each on the other's back Or stomach; and some crawled with crouching gait For change of place along the doleful track. Speechless we moved with step deliberate, 70 With eyes and ears on those disease crushed down Nor left them power to lift their bodies straight. I saw two sit, shoulder to shoulder thrown As plate holds plate up to be warmed, from head Down to the feet with scurf and scab o'ergrown. Nor ever saw I curry-comb so plied By varlet with his master standing by, Or by one kept unwillingly from bed, As I saw each of these his scratchers ply Upon himself; for nought else now avails 80 Against the itch which plagues them furiously. The scab[749] they tore and loosened with their nails, As with a knife men use the bream to strip, Or any other fish with larger scales. 'Thou, that thy mail dost with thy fingers rip,' My Guide to one of them began to say, 'And sometimes dost with them as pincers nip, Tell, is there any here from Italy Among you all, so may thy nails suffice For this their work to all eternity.'[750] 90 'Latians are both of us in this disguise Of wretchedness,' weeping said one of those; 'But who art thou, demanding on this wise?' My Guide made answer: 'I am one who goes Down with this living man from steep to steep That I to him Inferno may disclose.' Then broke their mutual prop; trembling with deep Amazement each turned to me, with the rest To whom his words had echoed in the heap. Me the good Master cordially addressed: 100 'Whate'er thou hast a mind to ask them, say.' And since he wished it, thus I made request: 'So may remembrance of you not decay Within the upper world out of the mind Of men, but flourish still for many a day, As ye shall tell your names and what your kind: Let not your vile, disgusting punishment To full confession make you disinclined.' 'An Aretine,[751] I to the stake was sent By Albert of Siena,' one confessed, 110 'But came not here through that for which I went To death. 'Tis true I told him all in jest, I through the air could float in upward gyre; And he, inquisitive and dull at best, Did full instruction in the art require: I could not make him Dædalus,[752] so then His second father sent me to the fire. But to the deepest Bolgia of the ten, For alchemy which in the world I wrought, The unerring Minos doomed me.' 'Now were men E'er found,' I of the Poet asked, 'so fraught 121 With vanity as are the Sienese?[753] French vanity to theirs is surely nought.' The other leper hearing me, to these My words: 'Omit the Stricca,'[754] swift did shout, 'Who knew his tastes with temperance to please; And Nicholas,[755] who earliest found out The lavish custom of the clove-stuffed roast Within the garden where such seed doth sprout. Nor count the club[756] where Caccia d' Ascian lost 130 Vineyards and woods; 'mid whom away did throw His wit the Abbagliato.[757] But whose ghost It is, that thou mayst weet, that backs thee so Against the Sienese, make sharp thine eyes That thou my countenance mayst surely know. In me Capocchio's[758] shade thou'lt recognise, Who forged false coin by means of alchemy: Thou must remember, if I well surmise, How I of nature very ape could be.' FOOTNOTES: [735] _Thou didst not, etc._: It is a noteworthy feature in the conduct of the Poem that when Dante has once gained sufficient knowledge of any group in the Inferno he at once detaches his mind from it, and, carrying on as little arrear of pity as he can, gives his thoughts to further progress on the journey. The departure here made from his usual behaviour is presently accounted for. Virgil knows why he lingers, but will not seem to approve of the cause. [736] _Twenty miles and two_: The Ninth Bolgia has a circumference of twenty-two miles, and as the procession of the shades is slow it would indeed involve a protracted halt to wait till all had passed beneath the bridge. Virgil asks ironically if he wishes to count them all. This precise detail, taken along with one of the same kind in the following Canto (line 86), has suggested the attempt to construct the Inferno to a scale. Dante wisely suffers us to forget, if we will, that--taking the diameter of the earth at 6500 miles, as given by him in the _Convito_--he travels from the surface of the globe to the centre at the rate of more than two miles a minute, counting downward motion alone. It is only when he has come to the lowest rings that he allows himself to give details of size; and probably the mention of the extent of the Ninth Bolgia, which comes on the reader as a surprise, is thrown out in order to impress on the imagination some sense of the enormous extent of the regions through which the pilgrim has already passed. Henceforth he deals in exact measurement. [737] _The moon_: It is now some time after noon on the Saturday. The last indication of time was at Canto xxi. 112. [738] _The time, etc._: Before nightfall they are to complete their exploration of the Inferno, and they will have spent twenty-four hours in it. [739] _Geri del Bello_: One of the Alighieri, a full cousin of Dante's father. He was guilty of encouraging dissension, say the commentators; which is to be clearly inferred from the place assigned him in Inferno: but they do not agree as to how he met his death, nor do they mention the date of it. 'Not avenged till thirty years after,' says Landino; but does not say if this was after his death or the time at which Dante writes. [740] _Hautefort_: Bertrand de Born's castle in Gascony. [741] _My ruth_: Enlightened moralist though Dante is, he yet shows himself man of his age enough to be keenly alive to the extremest claims of kindred; and while he condemns the _vendetta_ by the words put into Virgil's mouth, he confesses to a feeling of meanness not to have practised it on behoof of a distant relative. There is a high art in this introduction of Geri del Bello. Had they conferred together Dante must have seemed either cruel or pusillanimous, reproaching or being reproached. As it is, all the poetry of the situation comes out the stronger that they do not meet face to face: the threatening finger, the questions hastily put to Geri by the astonished shades, and his disappearance under the dark vault when by the law of his punishment the sinner can no longer tarry. [742] _With but clearer light_: They have crossed the rampart dividing the Ninth Bolgia from the Tenth, of which they would now command a view, were it not so dark. [743] _The Brotherhood_: The word used properly describes the Lay Brothers of a monastery. Philalethes suggests that Dante may regard the devils as the true monks of the monastery of Malebolge. The simile involves no contempt for the monastic life, but is naturally used with reference to those who live secluded and under a fixed rule. He elsewhere speaks of the College of the Hypocrites (_Inf._ xxiii. 91) and of Paradise as the Cloister where Christ is Abbot (_Purg._ xxvi.129). [744] _Valdichiana_: The district lying between Arezzo and Chiusi; in Dante's time a hotbed of malaria, but now, owing to drainage works promoted by the enlightened Tuscan minister Fossombroni (1823), one of the most fertile and healthy regions of Italy. [745] _Sardinia_: Had in the middle ages an evil reputation for its fever-stricken air. The Maremma has been already mentioned (_Inf._ xxv.19). In Dante's time it was almost unpeopled. [746] _The long ridge_: One of the ribs of rock which, like the spokes of a wheel, ran from the periphery to the centre of Malebolge, rising into arches as they crossed each successive Bolgia. The utmost brink is the inner bank of the Tenth and last Bolgia. To the edge of this moat they descend, bearing as usual to the left hand. [747] _Doomed on earth, etc._: 'Whom she here registers.' While they are still on earth their doom is fixed by Divine justice. [748] _Ægina_: The description is taken from Ovid (_Metam._ vii.). [749] _The scab, etc._: As if by an infernal alchemy the matter of the shadowy bodies of these sinners is changed into one loathsome form or another. [750] _To all eternity_: This may seem a stroke of sarcasm, but is not. Himself a shade, Virgil cannot, like Dante, promise to refresh the memory of the shades on earth, and can only wish for them some slight alleviation of their suffering. [751] _An Aretine_: Called Griffolino, and burned at Florence or Siena on a charge of heresy. Albert of Siena is said to have been a relative, some say the natural son, of the Bishop of Siena. A man of the name figures as hero in some of Sacchetti's novels, always in a ridiculous light. There seems to be no authentic testimony regarding the incident in the text. [752] _Dædalus_: Who escaped on wings of his invention from the Cretan Labyrinth he had made and lost himself in. [753] _The Sienese_: The comparison of these to the French would have the more cogency as Siena boasted of having been founded by the Gauls. 'That vain people,' says Dante of the Sienese in the _Purgatory_ (xiii. 151). Among their neighbours they still bear the reputation of light-headedness; also, it ought to be added, of great urbanity. [754] _The Stricca_: The exception in his favour is ironical, as is that of all the others mentioned. [755] _Nicholas_: 'The lavish custom of the clove' which he invented is variously described. I have chosen the version which makes it consist of stuffing pheasants with cloves, then very costly. [756] _The club_: The commentators tell that the two young Sienese nobles above mentioned were members of a society formed for the purpose of living luxuriously together. Twelve of them contributed a fund of above two hundred thousand gold florins; they built a great palace and furnished it magnificently, and launched out into every other sort of extravagance with such assiduity that in a few months their capital was gone. As that amounted to more than a hundred thousand pounds of our money, equal in those days to a million or two, the story must be held to savour of romance. That Dante refers to a prodigal's club that actually existed some time before he wrote we cannot doubt. But it seems uncertain, to say the least, whether the sonnets addressed by the Tuscan poet Folgore da Gemignano to a jovial crew in Siena can be taken as having been inspired by the club Dante speaks of. A translation of them is given by Mr. Rossetti in his _Circle of Dante_. (See Mr. Symonds's _Renaissance_, vol. iv. page 54, _note_, for doubts as to the date of Folgore.)--_Caccia d' Ascian_: Whose short and merry club life cost him his estates near Siena. [757] _The Abbagliato_: Nothing is known, though a great deal is guessed, about this member of the club. It is enough to know that, having a scant supply of wit, he spent it freely. [758] _Capocchio_: Some one whom Dante knew. Whether he was a Florentine or a Sienese is not ascertained, but from the strain of his mention of the Sienese we may guess Florentine. He was burned in Siena in 1293.--(Scartazzini.) They had studied together, says the _Anonimo_. Benvenuto tells of him that one Good Friday, while in a cloister, he painted on his nail with marvellous completeness a picture of the crucifixion. Dante came up, and was lost in wonder, when Capocchio suddenly licked his nail clean--which may be taken for what it is worth. CANTO XXX. Because of Semele[759] when Juno's ire Was fierce 'gainst all that were to Thebes allied, As had been proved by many an instance dire; So mad grew Athamas[760] that when he spied His wife as she with children twain drew near, Each hand by one encumbered, loud he cried: 'Be now the nets outspread, that I may snare Cubs with the lioness at yon strait ground!' And stretching claws of all compassion bare He on Learchus seized and swung him round, 10 And shattered him upon a flinty stone; Then she herself and the other burden drowned. And when by fortune was all overthrown The Trojans' pride, inordinate before-- Monarch and kingdom equally undone-- Hecuba,[761] sad and captive, mourning o'er Polyxena, when dolorous she beheld The body of her darling Polydore Upon the coast, out of her wits she yelled, And spent herself in barking like a hound; 20 So by her sorrow was her reason quelled. But never yet was Trojan fury[762] found, Nor that of Thebes, to sting so cruelly Brute beasts, far less the human form to wound, As two pale naked shades were stung, whom I Saw biting run, like swine when they escape Famished and eager from the empty sty. Capocchio[763] coming up to, in his nape One fixed his fangs, and hauling at him made His belly on the stony pavement scrape. 30 The Aretine[764] who stood, still trembling, said: 'That imp is Gianni Schicchi,[765] and he goes Rabid, thus trimming others.' 'O!' I prayed, 'So may the teeth of the other one of those Not meet in thee, as, ere she pass from sight, Thou freely shalt the name of her disclose.' And he to me: 'That is the ancient sprite Of shameless Myrrha,[766] who let liking rise For him who got her, past all bounds of right. As, to transgress with him, she in disguise 40 Came near to him deception to maintain; So he, departing yonder from our eyes, That he the Lady of the herd might gain, Bequeathed his goods by formal testament While he Buoso Donate's[767] form did feign.' And when the rabid couple from us went, Who all this time by me were being eyed, Upon the rest ill-starred I grew intent; And, fashioned like a lute, I one espied, Had he been only severed at the place 50 Where at the groin men's lower limbs divide. The grievous dropsy, swol'n with humours base, Which every part of true proportion strips Till paunch grows out of keeping with the face, Compelled him widely ope to hold his lips Like one in fever who, by thirst possessed, Has one drawn up while the other chinward slips. 'O ye![768] who by no punishment distressed, Nor know I why, are in this world of dool,' He said; 'a while let your attention rest 60 On Master Adam[769] here of misery full. Living, I all I wished enjoyed at will; Now lust I for a drop of water cool. The water-brooks that down each grassy hill Of Casentino to the Arno fall And with cool moisture all their courses fill-- Always, and not in vain, I see them all; Because the vision of them dries me more Than the disease 'neath which my face grows small. For rigid justice, me chastising sore, 70 Can in the place I sinned at motive find To swell the sighs in which I now deplore. There lies Romena, where of the money coined[770] With the Baptist's image I made counterfeit, And therefore left my body burnt behind. But could I see here Guido's[771] wretched sprite, Or Alexander's, or their brother's, I For Fonte Branda[772] would not give the sight. One is already here, unless they lie-- Mad souls with power to wander through the crowd-- What boots it me, whose limbs diseases tie? 81 But were I yet so nimble that I could Creep one poor inch a century, some while Ago had I begun to take the road Searching for him among this people vile; And that although eleven miles[773] 'tis long, And has a width of more than half a mile. Because of them am I in such a throng; For to forge florins I by them was led, Which by three carats[774] of alloy were wrong,' 90 'Who are the wretches twain,' I to him said, 'Who smoke[775] like hand in winter-time fresh brought From water, on thy right together spread?' 'Here found I them, nor have they budged a jot,' He said, 'since I was hurled into this vale; And, as I deem, eternally they'll not. One[776] with false charges Joseph did assail; False Sinon,[777] Greek from Troy, is the other wight. Burning with fever they this stink exhale.' Then one of them, perchance o'ercome with spite 100 Because he thus contemptuously was named, Smote with his fist upon the belly tight. It sounded like a drum; and then was aimed A blow by Master Adam at his face With arm no whit less hard, while he exclaimed: 'What though I can no longer shift my place Because my members by disease are weighed! I have an arm still free for such a case.' To which was answered: 'When thou wast conveyed Unto the fire 'twas not thus good at need, 110 But even more so when the coiner's trade Was plied by thee.' The swol'n one: 'True indeed! But thou didst not bear witness half so true When Trojans[778] at thee for the truth did plead.' 'If I spake falsely, thou didst oft renew False coin,' said Sinon; 'one fault brought me here; Thee more than any devil of the crew.' 'Bethink thee of the horse, thou perjurer,' He of the swol'n paunch answered; 'and that by All men 'tis known should anguish in thee stir.' 120 'Be thirst that cracks thy tongue thy penalty, And putrid water,' so the Greek replied, 'Which 'fore thine eyes thy stomach moundeth high.' The coiner then: 'Thy mouth thou openest wide, As thou art used, thy slanderous words to vent; But if I thirst and humours plump my hide Thy head throbs with the fire within thee pent. To lap Narcissus' mirror,[779] to implore And urge thee on would need no argument.' While I to hear them did attentive pore 130 My Master said: 'Thy fill of staring take! To rouse my anger needs but little more.' And when I heard that he in anger spake Toward him I turned with such a shame inspired, Recalled, it seems afresh on me to break. And, as the man who dreams of hurt is fired With wish that he might know his dream a dream, And so what is, as 'twere not, is desired; So I, struck dumb and filled with an extreme Craving to find excuse, unwittingly 140 The meanwhile made the apology supreme. 'Less shame,' my Master said, 'would nullify A greater fault, for greater guilt atone; All sadness for it, therefore, lay thou by. But bear in mind that thou art not alone, If fortune hap again to bring thee near Where people such debate are carrying on. To things like these 'tis shame[780] to lend an ear.' FOOTNOTES: [759] _Semele_: The daughter of Cadmus, founder and king of Thebes, was beloved by Jupiter and therefore hated by Juno, who induced her to court destruction by urging the god to visit her, as he was used to come to Juno, in all his glory. And in other instances the goddess took revenge (Ovid, _Metam._ iv.). [760] _Athamas_: Married to a sister of Semele, was made insane by the angry Juno, with the result described in the text. [761] _Hecuba_: Wife of Priam, king of Troy, and mother of Polyxena and Polydorus. While she was lamenting the death of her daughter, slain as an offering on the tomb of Achilles, she found the corpse of her son, slain by the king of Thrace, to whose keeping she had committed him (Ovid, _Metam._ xiii.). [762] _Trojan fury, etc._: It was by the agency of a Fury that Athamas was put out of his mind; but the Trojan and Theban furies here meant are the frenzies of Athamas and Hecuba, wild with which one of them slew his son, and the other scratched out the eyes of the Thracian king. [763] _Capocchio_: See close of the preceding Canto. Here as elsewhere sinners are made ministers of vengeance on one another. [764] _The Aretine_: Griffolino, who boasted he could fly; already represented as trembling (_Inf._ xxix. 97). [765] _Gianni Schicchi_: Giovanni Schicchi, one of the Cavalcanti of Florence. [766] _Myrrha_: This is a striking example of Dante's detestation of what may be called heartless sins. It is covered by the classification of Canto xi. Yet it is almost with a shock that we find Myrrha here for personation, and not rather condemned to some other circle for another sin. [767] _Buoso Donati_: Introduced as a thief in the Seventh Bolgia (_Inf._ xxv. 140). Buoso was possessed of a peerless mare, known as the Lady of the herd. To make some amends for his unscrupulous acquisition of wealth, he made a will bequeathing legacies to various religious communities. When he died his nephew Simon kept the fact concealed long enough to procure a personation of him as if on his death-bed by Gianni Schicchi, who had great powers of mimicry. Acting in the character of Buoso, the rogue professed his wish to make a new disposition of his means, and after specifying some trifling charitable bequests the better to maintain his assumed character, named Simon as general legatee, and bequeathed Buoso's mare to himself. [768] _O ye, etc._: The speaker has heard and noted Virgil's words of explanation given in the previous Canto, line 94. [769] _Master Adam_: Adam of Brescia, an accomplished worker in metals, was induced by the Counts Guidi of Romena in the Casentino, the upland district of the upper Arno, to counterfeit the gold coin of Florence. This false coin is mentioned in a Chronicle as having been in circulation in 1281. It must therefore have been somewhat later that Master Adam was burned, as he was by sentence of the Republic, upon the road which led from Romena to Florence. A cairn still existing near the ruined castle bears the name of the 'dead man's cairn.' [770] _The money coined, etc._: The gold florin, afterwards adopted in so many countries, was first struck in 1252; 'which florins weighed eight to the ounce, and bore the lily on the one side, and on the other Saint John.'--(Villani, vi. 54.) The piece was thus of about the weight of our half-sovereign. The gold was of twenty-four carats; that is, it had no alloy. The coin soon passed into wide circulation, and to maintain its purity became for the Florentines a matter of the first importance. Villani, in the chapter above cited, tells how the King of Tunis finding the florin to be of pure gold sent for some of the Pisans, then the chief traders in his ports, and asked who were the Florentines that they coined such money. 'Only our Arabs,' was the answer; meaning that they were rough country folk, dependent on Pisa. 'Then what is your coin like?' he asked. A Florentine of Oltrarno named Pera Balducci, who was present, took the opportunity of informing him how great Florence was compared with Pisa, as was shown by that city having no gold coinage of its own; whereupon the King made the Florentines free of Tunis, and allowed them to have a factory there. 'And this,' adds Villani, who had himself been agent abroad for a great Florentine house of business, 'we had at first hand from the aforesaid Pera, a man worthy of credit, and with whom we were associated in the Priorate.' [771] _Guido, etc._: The Guidi of Romena were a branch of the great family of the Counts Guidi. The father of the three brothers in the text was grandson of the old Guido that married the Good Gualdrada, and cousin of the Guidoguerra met by Dante in the Seventh Circle (_Inf._ xvi. 38). How the third brother was called is not settled, nor which of the three was already dead in the beginning of 1300. The Alexander of Romena, who for some time was captain of the banished Florentine Whites, was, most probably, he of the text. A letter is extant professing to be written by Dante to two of Alexander's nephews on the occasion of his death, in which the poet excuses himself for absence from the funeral on the plea of poverty. By the time he wrote the _Inferno_ he may, owing to their shifty politics, have lost all liking for the family, yet it seems harsh measure that is here dealt to former friends and patrons. [772] _Fonte Branda_: A celebrated fountain in the city of Siena. Near Romena is a spring which is also named Fonte Branda; and this, according to the view now most in favour, was meant by Master Adam. But was it so named in Dante's time? Or was it not so called only when the _Comedy_ had begun to awaken a natural interest in the old coiner, which local ingenuity did its best to meet? The early commentators know nothing of the Casentino Fonte Branda, and, though it is found mentioned under the date of 1539, that does not take us far enough back. In favour of the Sienese fountain is the consideration that it was the richest of any in the Tuscan cities; that it was a great architectural as well as engineering work; and that, although now more than half a century old, it was still the subject of curiosity with people far and near. Besides, Adam has already recalled the brooks of Casentino, and so the mention of the paltry spring at Romena would introduce no fresh idea like that of the abundant waters of the great fountain which daily quenched the thirst of thousands. [773] _Eleven miles_: It will be remembered that the previous Bolgia was twenty-two miles in circumference. [774] _Three carats_: Three carats in twenty-four being of some foreign substance. [775] _Who smoke, etc._: This description of sufferers from high fever, like that of Master Adam with his tympanitis, has the merit, such as it is, of being true to the life. [776] _One, etc._: Potiphar's wife. [777] _Sinon_: Called of Troy, as being known through his conduct at the siege. He pretended to have deserted from the Greeks, and by a false story persuaded the Trojans to admit the fatal wooden horse. [778] _When Trojans, etc._: When King Priam sought to know for what purpose the wooden horse was really constructed. [779] _Narcissus' mirror_: The pool in which Narcissus saw his form reflected. [780] _'Tis shame_: Dante knows that Virgil would have scorned to portray such a scene of low life as this, but he must allow himself a wider licence and here as elsewhere refuses nothing, even in the way of mean detail, calculated to convey to his readers 'a full experience of the Inferno' as he conceived of it--the place 'where all the vileness of the world is cast.' CANTO XXXI. The very tongue that first had caused me pain, Biting till both my cheeks were crimsoned o'er, With healing medicine me restored again. So have I heard, the lance Achilles[781] bore, Which earlier was his father's, first would wound And then to health the wounded part restore. From that sad valley[782] we our backs turned round, Up the encircling rampart making way Nor uttering, as we crossed it, any sound. Here was it less than night and less than day, 10 And scarce I saw at all what lay ahead; But of a trumpet the sonorous bray-- No thunder-peal were heard beside it--led Mine eyes along the line by which it passed, Till on one spot their gaze concentrated. When by the dolorous rout was overcast The sacred enterprise of Charlemagne Roland[783] blew not so terrible a blast. Short time my head was that way turned, when plain I many lofty towers appeared to see. 20 'Master, what town is this?' I asked. 'Since fain Thou art,' he said, 'to pierce the obscurity While yet through distance 'tis inscrutable, Thou must of error needs the victim be. Arriving there thou shalt distinguish well How much by distance was thy sense betrayed; Therefore to swifter course thyself compel.' Then tenderly[784] he took my hand, and said: 'Ere we pass further I would have thee know, That at the fact thou mayst be less dismayed, 30 These are not towers but giants; in a row Set round the brink each in the pit abides, His navel hidden and the parts below.' And even as when the veil of mist divides Little by little dawns upon the sight What the obscuring vapour earlier hides; So, piercing the gross air uncheered by light, As I step after step drew near the bound My error fled, but I was filled with fright. As Montereggion[785] with towers is crowned 40 Which from the walls encircling it arise; So, rising from the pit's encircling mound, Half of their bodies towered before mine eyes-- Dread giants, still by Jupiter defied From Heaven whene'er it thunders in the skies. The face of one already I descried, His shoulders, breast, and down his belly far, And both his arms dependent by his side. When Nature ceased such creatures as these are To form, she of a surety wisely wrought 50 Wresting from Mars such ministers of war. And though she rue not that to life she brought The whale and elephant, who deep shall read Will justify her wisdom in his thought; For when the powers of intellect are wed To strength and evil will, with them made one, The race of man is helpless left indeed. As large and long as is St. Peter's cone[786] At Rome, the face appeared; of every limb On scale like this was fashioned every bone. 60 So that the bank, which covered half of him As might a tunic, left uncovered yet So much that if to his hair they sought to climb Three Frisians[787] end on end their match had met; For thirty great palms I of him could see, Counting from where a man's cloak-clasp is set. _Rafel[788] mai amech zabi almi!_ Out of the bestial mouth began to roll, Which scarce would suit more dulcet psalmody. And then my Leader charged him: 'Stupid soul, 70 Stick to thy horn. With it relieve thy mind When rage or other passions pass control. Feel at thy neck, round which the thong is twined O puzzle-headed wretch! from which 'tis slung; Clipping thy monstrous breast thou shalt it find.' And then to me: 'From his own mouth is wrung Proof of his guilt. 'Tis Nimrod, whose insane Whim hindered men from speaking in one tongue. Leave we him here nor spend our speech in vain; For words to him in any language said, 80 As unto others his, no sense contain.' Turned to the left, we on our journey sped, And at the distance of an arrow's flight We found another huger and more dread. By what artificer thus pinioned tight I cannot tell, but his left arm was bound In front, as at his back was bound the right, By a chain which girt him firmly round and round; About what of his frame there was displayed Below the neck, in fivefold gyre 'twas wound. 90 'Incited by ambition this one made Trial of prowess 'gainst Almighty Jove,' My Leader told, 'and he is thus repaid. 'Tis Ephialtes,[789] mightily who strove What time the giants to the gods caused fright: The arms he wielded then no more will move.' And I to him: 'Fain would I, if I might, On the enormous Briareus set eye, And know the truth by holding him in sight.' 'Antæus[790] thou shalt see,' he made reply, 100 'Ere long, and he can speak, nor is in chains. Us to the depth of all iniquity He shall let down. The one thou'dst see[791] remains Far off, like this one bound and like in make, But in his face far more of fierceness reigns.' Never when earth most terribly did quake Shook any tower so much as what all o'er And suddenly did Ephialtes shake. Terror of death possessed me more and more; The fear alone had served my turn indeed, 110 But that I marked the ligatures he wore. Then did we somewhat further on proceed, Reaching Antæus who for good five ell,[792] His head not counted, from the pit was freed. 'O thou who from the fortune-haunted dell[793]-- Where Scipio of glory was made heir When with his host to flight turned Hannibal-- A thousand lions didst for booty bear Away, and who, hadst thou but joined the host And like thy brethren fought, some even aver 120 The victory to earth's sons had not been lost, Lower us now, nor disobliging show, To where Cocytus[794] fettered is by frost. To Tityus[795] nor to Typhon make us go. To grant what here is longed for he hath power, Cease them to curl thy snout, but bend thee low. He can for wage thy name on earth restore; He lives, and still expecteth to live long, If Grace recall him not before his hour.' So spake my Master. Then his hands he swung 130 Downward and seized my Leader in all haste-- Hands in whose grip even Hercules once was wrung. And Virgil when he felt them round him cast Said: 'That I may embrace thee, hither tend,' And in one bundle with him made me fast. And as to him that under Carisend[796] Stands on the side it leans to, while clouds fly Counter its slope, the tower appears to bend; Even so to me who stood attentive by Antæus seemed to stoop, and I, dismayed, 140 Had gladly sought another road to try. But us in the abyss he gently laid, Where Lucifer and Judas gulfed remain; Nor to it thus bent downward long time stayed, But like a ship's mast raised himself again. FOOTNOTES: [781] _Achilles_: The rust upon his lance had virtue to heal the wound. [782] _From that sad valley_: Leaving the Tenth and last Bolgia they climb the inner bank of it and approach the Ninth and last Circle, which consists of the pit of the Inferno. [783] _Roland_: Charles the Great, on his march north after defeating the Saracens at Saragossa, left Roland to bring up his rear-guard. The enemy fell on this in superior strength, and slew the Christians almost to a man. Then Roland, mortally wounded, sat down under a tree in Roncesvalles and blew upon his famous horn a blast so loud that it was heard by Charles at a distance of several miles.--The _Chansons de Geste_ were familiarly known to Italians of all classes. [784] _Then tenderly, etc._: The wound inflicted by his reproof has been already healed, but Virgil still behaves to Dante with more than his wonted gentleness. He will have him assured of his sympathy now that they are about to descend into the 'lowest depth of all wickedness.' [785] _Montereggioni_: A fortress about six miles from Siena, of which ample ruins still exist. It had no central keep, but twelve towers rose from its circular wall like spikes from the rim of a coronet. They had been added by the Sienese in 1260, and so were comparatively new in Dante's time.--As the towers stood round Montereggioni so the giants at regular intervals stand round the central pit. They have their foothold within the enclosing mound; and thus, to one looking at them from without, they are hidden by it up to their middle. As the embodiment of superhuman impious strength and pride they stand for warders of the utmost reach of Hell. [786] _St. Peter's cone_: The great pine cone of bronze, supposed to have originally crowned the mausoleum of Hadrian, lay in Dante's time in the forecourt of St Peter's. When the new church was built it was removed to the gardens of the Vatican, where it still remains. Its size, it will be seen, is of importance as helping us to a notion of the stature of the giants; and, though the accounts of its height are strangely at variance with one another, I think the measurement made specially for Philalethes may be accepted as substantially correct. According to that, the cone is ten palms long--about six feet. Allowing something for the neck, down to 'where a man clasps his cloak' (line 66), and taking the thirty palms as eighteen feet, we get twenty-six feet or so for half his height. The giants vary in bulk; whether they do so in height is not clear. We cannot be far mistaken if we assume them to stand from fifty to sixty feet high. Virgil and Dante must throw their heads well back to look up into the giant's face; and Virgil must raise his voice as he speaks.--With regard to the height of the cone it may be remarked that Murray's Handbook for Rome makes it eleven feet high; Gsell-Fels two and a half metres, or eight feet and three inches. It is so placed as to be difficult of measurement. [787] _Three Frisians_: Three very tall men, as Dante took Frisians to be, if standing one on the head of the other would not have reached his hair. [788] _Rafel, etc._: These words, like the opening line of the Seventh Canto, have, to no result, greatly exercised the ingenuity of scholars. From what follows it is clear that Dante meant them to be meaningless. Part of Nimrod's punishment is that he who brought about the confusion of tongues is now left with a language all to himself. It seems strange that commentators should have exhausted themselves in searching for a sense in words specially invented to have none.--In his _De Vulg. El._, i. 7, Dante enlarges upon the confusion of tongues, and speaks of the tower of Babel as having been begun by men on the persuasion of a giant. [789] _Ephialtes_: One of the giants who in the war with the gods piled Ossa on Pelion. [790] _Antæus_: Is to be asked to lift them over the wall, because, unlike Nimrod, he can understand what is said to him, and, unlike Ephialtes, is not bound. Antæus is free-handed because he took no part in the war with the gods. [791] _The one thou'dst see_: Briareus. Virgil here gives Dante to know what is the truth about Briareus (see line 97, etc.). He is not, as he was fabled, a monster with a hundred hands, but is like Ephialtes, only fiercer to see. Hearing himself thus made light of Ephialtes trembles with anger, like a tower rocking in an earthquake. [792] _Five ell_: Five ells make about thirty palms, so that Antæus is of the same stature as that assigned to Nimrod at line 65. This supports the view that the 'huger' of line 84 may apply to breadth rather than to height. [793] _The fortune-haunted dell_: The valley of the Bagrada near Utica, where Scipio defeated Hannibal and won the surname of Africanus. The giant Antæus had, according to the legend, lived in that neighbourhood, with the flesh of lions for his food and his dwelling in a cave. He was son of the Earth, and could not be vanquished so long as he was able to touch the ground; and thus ere Hercules could give him a mortal hug he needed to swing him aloft. In the _Monarchia_, ii. 10, Dante refers to the combat between Hercules and Antæus as an instance of the wager of battle corresponding to that between David and Goliath. Lucan's _Pharsalia_, a favourite authority with Dante, supplies him with these references to Scipio and Antæus. [794] _Cocytus_: The frozen lake fed by the waters of Phlegethon. See Canto xiv. at the end. [795] _Tityus, etc._: These were other giants, stated by Lucan to be less strong than Antæus. This introduction of their names is therefore a piece of flattery to the monster. A light contemptuous turn is given by Virgil to his flattery when in the following sentence he bids Antæus not curl his snout, but at once comply with the demand for aid. There is something genuinely Italian in the picture given of the giants in this Canto, as of creatures whose intellect bears no proportion to their bulk and brute strength. Mighty hunters like Nimrod, skilled in sounding the horn but feeble in reasoned speech, Frisians with great thews and long of limb, and German men-at-arms who traded in their rude valour, to the subtle Florentine in whom the ferment of the Renaissance was beginning to work were all specimens of Nature's handicraft that had better have been left unmade, were it not that wiser people could use them as tools. [796] _Carisenda_: A tower still standing in Bologna, built at the beginning of the twelfth century, and, like many others of its kind in the city, erected not for strength but merely in order to dignify the family to whom it belonged. By way of further distinction to their owners, some of these towers were so constructed as to lean from the perpendicular. Carisenda, like its taller neighbour the Asinelli, still supplies a striking feature to the near and distant views of Bologna. What is left of it hangs for more than two yards off the plumb. In the half-century after Dante's time it had, according to Benvenuto, lost something of its height. It would therefore as the poet saw it seem to be bending down even more than it now does to any one standing under it on the side it slopes to, when a cloud is drifting over it in the other direction. CANTO XXXII. Had I sonorous rough rhymes at command, Such as would suit the cavern terrible Rooted on which all the other ramparts stand, The sap of fancies which within me swell Closer I'd press; but since I have not these, With some misgiving I go on to tell. For 'tis no task to play with as you please, Of all the world the bottom to portray, Nor one that with a baby speech[797] agrees. But let those ladies help me with my lay 10 Who helped Amphion[798] walls round Thebes to pile, And faithful to the facts my words shall stay. O 'bove all creatures wretched, for whose vile Abode 'tis hard to find a language fit, As sheep or goats ye had been happier! While We still were standing in the murky pit-- Beneath the giant's feet[799] set far below-- And at the high wall I was staring yet, When this I heard: 'Heed to thy steps[800] bestow, Lest haply by thy soles the heads be spurned 20 Of wretched brothers wearied in their woe.' Before me, as on hearing this I turned, Beneath my feet a frozen lake,[801] its guise Rather of glass than water, I discerned. In all its course on Austrian Danube lies No veil in time of winter near so thick, Nor on the Don beneath its frigid skies, As this was here; on which if Tabernicch[802] Or Mount Pietrapana[803] should alight Not even the edge would answer with a creak. 30 And as the croaking frog holds well in sight Its muzzle from the pool, what time of year[804] The peasant girl of gleaning dreams at night; The mourning shades in ice were covered here, Seen livid up to where we blush[805] with shame. In stork-like music their teeth chattering were. With downcast face stood every one of them: To cold from every mouth, and to despair From every eye, an ample witness came. And having somewhat gazed around me there 40 I to my feet looked down, and saw two pressed So close together, tangled was their hair, 'Say, who are you with breast[806] thus strained to breast?' I asked; whereon their necks they backward bent, And when their upturned faces lay at rest Their eyes, which earlier were but moistened, sent Tears o'er their eyelids: these the frost congealed And fettered fast[807] before they further went. Plank set to plank no rivet ever held More firmly; wherefore, goat-like, either ghost 50 Butted the other; so their wrath prevailed. And one who wanted both ears, which the frost Had bitten off, with face still downward thrown, Asked: 'Why with us art thou so long engrossed? If who that couple are thou'dst have made known-- The vale down which Bisenzio's floods decline Was once their father Albert's[808] and their own. One body bore them: search the whole malign Caïna,[809] and thou shalt not any see More worthy to be fixed in gelatine; 60 Not he whose breast and shadow equally Were by one thrust of Arthur's lance[810] pierced through: Nor yet Focaccia;[811] nor the one that me With his head hampers, blocking out my view, Whose name was Sassol Mascheroni:[812] well Thou must him know if thou art Tuscan too. And that thou need'st not make me further tell-- I'm Camicion de' Pazzi,[813] and Carlin[814] I weary for, whose guilt shall mine excel.' A thousand faces saw I dog-like grin, 70 Frost-bound; whence I, as now, shall always shake Whenever sight of frozen pools I win. While to the centre[815] we our way did make To which all things converging gravitate, And me that chill eternal caused to quake; Whether by fortune, providence, or fate, I know not, but as 'mong the heads I went I kicked one full in the face; who therefore straight 'Why trample on me?' snarled and made lament, 'Unless thou com'st to heap the vengeance high 80 For Montaperti,[816] why so virulent 'Gainst me?' I said: 'Await me here till I By him, O Master, shall be cleared of doubt;[817] Then let my pace thy will be guided by.' My Guide delayed, and I to him spake out, While he continued uttering curses shrill: 'Say, what art thou, at others thus to shout?' 'But who art thou, that goest at thy will Through Antenora,[818] trampling on the face Of others? 'Twere too much if thou wert still 90 In life.' 'I live, and it may help thy case,' Was my reply, 'if thou renown wouldst gain, Should I thy name[819] upon my tablets place.' And he: 'I for the opposite am fain. Depart thou hence, nor work me further dool; Within this swamp thou flatterest all in vain.' Then I began him by the scalp to pull, And 'Thou must tell how thou art called,' I said, 'Or soon thy hair will not be plentiful.' And he: 'Though every hair thou from me shred 100 I will not tell thee, nor my face turn round; No, though a thousand times thou spurn my head.' His locks ere this about my fist were wound, And many a tuft I tore, while dog-like wails Burst from him, and his eyes still sought the ground. Then called another: 'Bocca, what now ails? Is't not enough thy teeth go chattering there, But thou must bark? What devil thee assails?' 'Ah! now,' said I, 'thou need'st not aught declare, Accursed traitor; and true news of thee 110 To thy disgrace I to the world will bear.' 'Begone, tell what thou wilt,' he answered me; 'But, if thou issue hence, not silent keep[820] Of him whose tongue but lately wagged so free. He for the Frenchmen's money[821] here doth weep. Him of Duera saw I, mayst thou tell, Where sinners shiver in the frozen deep. Shouldst thou be asked who else within it dwell-- Thou hast the Beccheria[822] at thy side; Across whose neck the knife at Florence fell. 120 John Soldanieri[823] may be yonder spied With Ganellon,[824] and Tribaldell[825] who threw Faenza's gates, when slept the city, wide.' Him had we left, our journey to pursue, When frozen in a hole[826] a pair I saw; One's head like the other's hat showed to the view. And, as their bread men hunger-driven gnaw, The uppermost tore fiercely at his mate Where nape and brain-pan to a junction draw. No worse by Tydeus[827] in his scornful hate 130 Were Menalippus' temples gnawed and hacked Than skull and all were torn by him irate. 'O thou who provest by such bestial act Hatred of him who by thy teeth is chewed, Declare thy motive,' said I, 'on this pact-- That if with reason thou with him hast feud, Knowing your names and manner of his crime I in the world[828] to thee will make it good; If what I speak with dry not ere the time.' FOOTNOTES: [797] _A baby speech_: 'A tongue that cries _mamma_ and _papa_' For his present purpose, he complains, he has not in Italian an adequate supply of rough high-sounding rhymes; but at least he will use only the best words that can be found. In another work (_De Vulg. El._ ii. 7) he instances _mamma_ and _babbo_ as words of a kind to be avoided by all who would write nobly in Italian. [798] _Amphion_: Who with his music charmed rocks from the mountain and heaped them in order for walls to Thebes. [799] _The giant's feet_: Antæus. A bank slopes from where the giants stand inside the wall down to the pit which is filled with the frozen Cocytus. This is the Ninth and inmost Circle, and is divided into four concentric rings--Caïna, Antenora, Ptolomæa, and Judecca--where traitors of different kinds are punished. [800] _Thy steps_: Dante alone is addressed, the speaker having seen him set heavily down upon the ice by Antæus. [801] _A frozen lake_: Cocytus. See _Inf._ xiv. 119. [802] _Tabernicch_: It is not certain what mountain is here meant; probably Yavornick near Adelsberg in Carniola. It is mentioned, not for its size, but the harshness of its name. [803] _Pietrapana_: A mountain between Modena and Lucca, visible from Pisa: Petra Apuana. [804] _Time of year_: At harvest-time, when in the warm summer nights the wearied gleaner dreams of her day's work. [805] _To where we blush_: The bodies of the shades are seen buried in the clear glassy ice, out of which their heads and necks stand free--as much as 'shows shame,' that is, blushes. [806] _With breast, etc._: As could be seen through the clear ice. [807] _Fettered fast_: Binding up their eyes. In the punishment of traitors is symbolised the hardness and coldness of their hearts to all the claims of blood, country, or friendship. [808] _Their father Albert's_: Albert, of the family of the Counts Alberti, lord of the upper valley of the Bisenzio, near Florence. His sons, Alexander and Napoleon, slew one another in a quarrel regarding their inheritance. [809] _Caïna_: The outer ring of the Ninth Circle, and that in which are punished those treacherous to their kindred.--Here a place is reserved for Gianciotto Malatesta, the husband of Francesca (_Inf._ v. 107). [810] _Arthur's lance_: Mordred, natural son of King Arthur, was slain by him in battle as a rebel and traitor. 'And the history says that after the lance-thrust Girflet plainly saw a ray of the sun pass through the hole of the wound.'--_Lancelot du Lac_. [811] _Focaccia_: A member of the Pistoiese family of Cancellieri, in whose domestic feuds the parties of Whites and Blacks took rise. He assassinated one of his relatives and cut off the hand of another. [812] _Sassol Mascheroni_: Of the Florentine family of the Toschi. He murdered his nephew, of whom by some accounts he was the guardian. For this crime he was punished by being rolled through the streets of Florence in a cask and then beheaded. Every Tuscan would be familiar with the story of such a punishment. [813] _Camicion de' Pazzi_: To distinguish the Pazzi to whom Camicione belonged from the Pazzi of Florence they were called the Pazzi of Valdarno, where their possessions lay. Like his fellow-traitors he had slain a kinsman. [814] _Carlin_: Also one of the Pazzi of Valdarno. Like all the spirits in this circle Camicione is eager to betray the treachery of others, and prophesies the guilt of his still living relative, which is to cast his own villany into the shade. In 1302 or 1303 Carlino held the castle of Piano de Trevigne in Valdarno, where many of the exiled Whites of Florence had taken refuge, and for a bribe he betrayed it to the enemy. [815] _The centre_: The bottom of Inferno is the centre of the earth, and, on the system of Ptolemy, the central point of the universe. [816] _Montaperti_: See _Inf._ x. 86. The speaker is Bocca, of the great Florentine family of the Abati, who served as one of the Florentine cavaliers at Montaperti. When the enemy was charging towards the standard of the Republican cavalry Bocca aimed a blow at the arm of the knight who bore it and cut off his hand. The sudden fall of the flag disheartened the Florentines, and in great measure contributed to the defeat. [817] _Cleared of doubt_: The mention of Montaperti in this place of traitors suggests to Dante the thought of Bocca. He would fain be sure as to whether he has the traitor at his feet. Montaperti was never very far from the thoughts of the Florentine of that day. It is never out of Bocca's mind. [818] _Antenora_: The second ring of the Ninth Circle, where traitors to their country are punished, named after Antenor the Trojan prince who, according to the belief of the middle ages, betrayed his native city to the Greeks. [819] _Should I thy name, etc._: 'Should I put thy name among the other notes.' It is the last time that Dante is to offer such a bribe; and here the offer is most probably ironical. [820] _Not silent keep, etc._: Like all the other traitors Bocca finds his only pleasure in betraying his neighbours. [821] _The Frenchmen's money_: He who had betrayed the name of Bocca was Buoso of Duera, one of the Ghibeline chiefs of Cremona. When Guy of Montfort was leading an army across Lombardy to recruit Charles of Anjou in his war against Manfred in 1265 (_Inf._ xxviii. 16 and _Purg._ iii.), Buoso, who had been left to guard the passage of the Oglio, took a bribe to let the French army pass. [822] _Beccheria_: Tesauro of the Pavian family Beccheria, Abbot of Vallombrosa and legate in Florence of Pope Alexander IV. He was accused of conspiring against the Commonwealth along with the exiled Ghibelines (1258). All Europe was shocked to hear that a great churchman had been tortured and beheaded by the Florentines. The city was placed under Papal interdict, proclaimed by the Archbishop of Pisa from the tower of S. Pietro in Vincoli at Rome. Villani seems to think the Abbot was innocent of the charge brought against him (_Cron._ vi. 65), but he always leans to the indulgent view when a priest is concerned. [823] _Soldanieri_: Deserted from the Florentine Ghibelines after the defeat of Manfred. [824] _Ganellon_: Whose treacherous counsel led to the defeat of Roland at Roncesvalles. [825] _Tribaldello_: A noble of Faenza, who, as one account says, to revenge himself for the loss of a pig, sent a cast of the key of the city gate to John of Apia, then prowling about Romagna in the interest of the French Pope, Martin IV. He was slain at the battle of Forlì in 1282 (_Inf._ xxvii. 43). [826] _Frozen in a hole, etc._: The two are the Count Ugolino and the Archbishop Roger. [827] _Tydeus_: One of the Seven against Thebes, who, having been mortally wounded by Menalippus the Theban, whom he slew, got his friends to bring him the head of his foe and gnawed at it with his teeth. Dante found the incident in his favourite author Statius (_Theb._ viii.). [828] _I in the world, etc._: Dante has learned from Bocca that the prospect of having their memory refreshed on earth has no charm for the sinners met with here. The bribe he offers is that of loading the name of a foe with ignominy--but only if from the tale it shall be plain that the ignominy is deserved. CANTO XXXIII. His mouth uplifting from the savage feast, The sinner[829] rubbed and wiped it free of gore On the hair of the head he from behind laid waste; And then began: 'Thou'dst have me wake once more A desperate grief, of which to think alone, Ere I have spoken, wrings me to the core. But if my words shall be as seed that sown May fructify unto the traitor's shame Whom thus I gnaw, I mingle speech[830] and groan. Of how thou earnest hither or thy name 10 I nothing know, but that a Florentine[831] In very sooth thou art, thy words proclaim. Thou then must know I was Count Ugolin, The Archbishop Roger[832] he. Now hearken well Why I prove such a neighbour. How in fine, And flowing from his ill designs, it fell That I, confiding in his words, was caught Then done to death, were waste of time[833] to tell. But that of which as yet thou heardest nought Is how the death was cruel which I met: 20 Hearken and judge if wrong to me he wrought. Scant window in the mew whose epithet Of Famine[834] came from me its resident, And cooped in which shall many languish yet, Had shown me through its slit how there were spent Full many moons,[835] ere that bad dream I dreamed When of my future was the curtain rent. Lord of the hunt and master this one seemed, Chasing the wolf and wolf-cubs on the height[836] By which from Pisan eyes is Lucca hemmed. 30 With famished hounds well trained and swift of flight, Lanfranchi[837] and Gualandi in the van, And Sismond he had set. Within my sight Both sire and sons--nor long the chase--began To grow (so seemed it) weary as they fled; Then through their flanks fangs sharp and eager ran. When I awoke before the morning spread I heard my sons[838] all weeping in their sleep-- For they were with me--and they asked for bread. Ah! cruel if thou canst from pity keep 40 At the bare thought of what my heart foreknew; And if thou weep'st not, what could make thee weep? Now were they 'wake, and near the moment drew At which 'twas used to bring us our repast; But each was fearful[839] lest his dream came true. And then I heard the under gate[840] made fast Of the horrible tower, and thereupon I gazed In my sons' faces, silent and aghast. I did not weep, for I to stone was dazed: They wept, and darling Anselm me besought: 50 "What ails thee, father? Wherefore thus amazed?" And yet I did not weep, and answered not The whole day, and that night made answer none, Till on the world another sun shone out. Soon as a feeble ray of light had won Into our doleful prison, made aware Of the four faces[841] featured like my own, Both of my hands I bit at in despair; And they, imagining that I was fain To eat, arose before me with the prayer: 60 "O father, 'twere for us an easier pain If thou wouldst eat us. Thou didst us array In this poor flesh: unclothe us now again." I calmed me, not to swell their woe. That day And the next day no single word we said. Ah! pitiless earth, that didst unyawning stay! When we had reached the fourth day, Gaddo, spread Out at my feet, fell prone; and made demand: "Why, O my father, offering us no aid?" There died he. Plain as I before thee stand 70 I saw the three as one by one they failed, The fifth day and the sixth; then with my hand, Blind now, I groped for each of them, and wailed On them for two days after they were gone. Famine[842] at last, more strong than grief, prevailed,' When he had uttered this, his eyes all thrown Awry, upon the hapless skull he fell With teeth that, dog-like, rasped upon the bone. Ah, Pisa! byword of the folk that dwell In the sweet country where the Si[843] doth sound, 80 Since slow thy neighbours to reward thee well Let now Gorgona and Capraia[844] mound Themselves where Arno with the sea is blent, Till every one within thy walls be drowned. For though report of Ugolino went That he betrayed[845] thy castles, thou didst wrong Thus cruelly his children to torment. These were not guilty, for they were but young, Thou modern Thebes![846] Brigata and young Hugh, And the other twain of whom above 'tis sung. 90 We onward passed to where another crew[847] Of shades the thick-ribbed ice doth fettered keep; Their heads not downward these, but backward threw. Their very weeping will not let them weep, And grief, encountering barriers at their eyes, Swells, flowing inward, their affliction deep; For the first tears that issue crystallise, And fill, like vizor fashioned out of glass, The hollow cup o'er which the eyebrows rise. And though, as 'twere a callus, now my face 100 By reason of the frost was wholly grown Benumbed and dead to feeling, I could trace (So it appeared), a breeze against it blown, And asked: 'O Master, whence comes this? So low As where we are is any vapour[848] known?' And he replied: 'Thou ere long while shalt go Where touching this thine eye shall answer true, Discovering that which makes the wind to blow.' Then from the cold crust one of that sad crew Demanded loud: 'Spirits, for whom they hold 110 The inmost room, so truculent were you, Back from my face let these hard veils be rolled, That I may vent the woe which chokes my heart, Ere tears again solidify with cold.' And I to him: 'First tell me who thou art If thou'dst have help; then if I help not quick To the bottom[849] of the ice let me depart.' He answered: 'I am Friar Alberic[850]-- He of the fruit grown in the orchard fell-- And here am I repaid with date for fig.' 120 'Ah!' said I to him, 'art thou dead as well?' 'How now my body fares,' he answered me, 'Up in the world, I have no skill to tell; For Ptolomæa[851] has this quality-- The soul oft plunges hither to its place Ere it has been by Atropos[852] set free. And that more willingly from off my face Thou mayst remove the glassy tears, know, soon As ever any soul of man betrays As I betrayed, the body once his own 130 A demon takes and governs until all The span allotted for his life be run. Into this tank headlong the soul doth fall; And on the earth his body yet may show Whose shade behind me wintry frosts enthral. But thou canst tell, if newly come below: It is Ser Branca d'Oria,[853] and complete Is many a year since he was fettered so.' 'It seems,' I answered, 'that thou wouldst me cheat, For Branca d'Oria never can have died: 140 He sleeps, puts clothes on, swallows drink and meat.' 'Or e'er to the tenacious pitchy tide Which boils in Malebranche's moat had come The shade of Michael Zanche,' he replied, 'That soul had left a devil in its room Within its body; of his kinsmen one[854] Treacherous with him experienced equal doom. But stretch thy hand and be its work begun Of setting free mine eyes.' This did not I. Twas highest courtesy to yield him none.[855] 150 Ah, Genoese,[856] strange to morality! Ye men infected with all sorts of sin! Out of the world 'tis time that ye should die. Here, to Romagna's blackest soul[857] akin, I chanced on one of you; for doing ill His soul o'erwhelmed Cocytus' floods within, Though in the flesh he seems surviving still. NOTE ON THE COUNT UGOLINO. Ugolino della Gherardesca, Count of Donoratico, a wealthy noble and a man fertile in political resource, was deeply engaged in the affairs of Pisa at a critical period of her history. He was born in the first half of the thirteenth century. By giving one of his daughters in marriage to the head of the Visconti of Pisa--not to be confounded with those of Milan--he came under the suspicion of being Guelf in his sympathies; the general opinion of Pisa being then, as it always had been, strongly Ghibeline. When driven into exile, as he was along with the Visconti, he improved the occasion by entering into close relations with the leading Guelfs of Tuscany, and in 1278 a free return for him to Pisa was made by them a condition of peace with that city. He commanded one of the divisions of the Pisan fleet at the disastrous battle of Meloria in 1284, when Genoa wrested from her rival the supremacy of the Western Mediterranean, and carried thousands of Pisan citizens into a captivity which lasted many years. Isolated from her Ghibeline allies, and for the time almost sunk in despair, the city called him to the government with wellnigh dictatorial powers; and by dint of crafty negotiations in detail with the members of the league formed against Pisa, helped as was believed by lavish bribery, he had the glory of saving the Commonwealth from destruction though he could not wholly save it from loss. This was in 1285. He soon came to be suspected of being in a secret alliance with Florence and of being lukewarm in the negotiations for the return of the prisoners in Genoa, all with a view to depress the Ghibeline element in the city that he might establish himself as an absolute tyrant with the greater ease. In order still further to strengthen his position he entered into a family compact with his Guelf grandson Nino (_Purg._ viii. 53), now at the head of the Visconti. But without the support of the people it was impossible for him to hold his ground against the Ghibeline nobles, who resented the arrogance of his manners and were embittered by the loss of their own share in the government; and these contrived that month by month the charges of treachery brought against him should increase in virulence. He had, by deserting his post, caused the defeat at Meloria, it was said; and had bribed the other Tuscan cities to favour him, by ceding to them distant Pisan strongholds. His fate was sealed when, having quarrelled with his grandson Nino, he sought alliance with the Archbishop Roger who now led the Ghibeline opposition. With Ugo's connivance an onslaught was planned upon the Guelfs. To preserve an appearance of impartiality he left the city for a neighbouring villa. On returning to enjoy his riddance from a rival he was invited to a conference, at which he resisted a proposal that he should admit partners with him in the government. On this the Archbishop's party raised the cry of treachery; the bells rang out for a street battle, in which he was worsted; and with his sons he had to take refuge in the Palace of the People. There he stood a short siege against the Ghibeline families and the angry mob; and in the same palace he was kept prisoner for twenty days. Then, with his sons and grandsons, he was carried in chains to the tower of the Gualandi, which stood where seven ways met in the heart of Pisa. This was in July 1288. The imprisonment lasted for months, and seems to have been thus prolonged with the view of extorting a heavy ransom. It was only in the following March that the Archbishop ordered his victims to be starved to death; for, being a churchman, says one account, he would not shed blood. Not even a confessor was allowed to Ugo and his sons. After the door of the tower had been kept closed for eight days it was opened, and the corpses, still fettered, were huddled into a tomb in the Franciscan church.--The original authorities are far from being agreed as to the details of Ugo's overthrow and death.--For the matter of this note I am chiefly indebted to the careful epitome of the Pisan history of that time by Philalethes in his note on this Canto (_Göttliche Comödie_). FOOTNOTES: [829] _The sinner_: Count Ugolino. See note at the end of the Canto. [830] _Mingle speech, etc._: A comparison of these words with those of Francesca (_Inf._ v. 124) will show the difference in moral tone between the Second Circle of Inferno and the Ninth. [831] _A Florentine_: So Farinata (_Inf._ x. 25) recognises Dante by his Florentine speech. The words heard by Ugo are those at xxxii. 133. [832] _The Archbishop Roger_: Ruggieri, of the Tuscan family of the Ubaldini, to which the Cardinal of _Inf._ x. 120 also belonged. Towards the end of his life he was summoned to Rome to give an account of his evil deeds, and on his refusal to go was declared a rebel to the Church. Ugolino was a traitor to his country; Roger, having entered into some sort of alliance with Ugolino, was a traitor to him. This has led some to suppose that while Ugolino is in Antenora he is so close to the edge of it as to be able to reach the head of Roger, who, as a traitor to his friend, is fixed in Ptolomæa. Against this view is the fact that they are described as being in the same hole (xxxii. 125), and also that in Ptolomæa the shades are set with head thrown back, and with only the face appearing above the ice, while Ugo is described as biting his foe at where the skull joins the nape. From line 91 it is clear that Ptolomæa lay further on than where Roger is. Like Ugo he is therefore here as a traitor to his country. [833] _Were waste, etc._: For Dante knows it already, all Tuscany being familiar with the story of Ugo's fate. [834] _Whose epithet of Famine_: It was called the Tower of Famine. Its site is now built over. Buti, the old Pisan commentator of Dante, says it was called the Mew because the eagles of the Republic were kept in it at moulting-time. But this may have been an after-thought to give local truth to Dante's verse, which it does at the expense of the poetry. [835] _Many moons_: The imprisonment having already lasted for eight months. [836] _The height, etc._: Lucca is about twelve miles from Pisa, Mount Giuliano rising between them. [837] _Lanfranchi, etc._: In the dream, these, the chief Ghibeline families of Pisa, are the huntsmen, Roger being master of the hunt, and the populace the hounds. Ugo and his sons and grandsons are the wolf and wolf-cubs. In Ugo's dream of himself as a wolf there may be an allusion to his having engaged in the Guelf interest. [838] _My sons_: According to Dante, taken literally, four of Ugo were imprisoned with him. It would have hampered him to explain that two were grandsons--Anselmuccio and Nino, called the Brigata at line 89, grandsons by their mother of King Enzo, natural son of Frederick II.--the sons being Gaddo and Uguccione, the latter Ugo's youngest son. [839] _Each was fearful, etc._: All the sons had been troubled by dreams of famine. Had their rations been already reduced? [840] _The under gate, etc._: The word translated _made fast_ (_chiavare_) may signify either to nail up or to lock. The commentators and chroniclers differ as to whether the door was locked, nailed, or built up. I would suggest that the lower part of the tower was occupied by a guard, and that the captives had not been used to hear the main door locked. Now, when they hear the great key creaking in the lock, they know that the tower is deserted. [841] _The four faces, etc._: Despairing like his own, or possibly that, wasted by famine, the faces of the young men had become liker than ever to Ugo's own time-worn face. [842] _Famine, etc._: This line, quite without reason, has been held to mean that Ugo was driven by hunger to eat the flesh of his children. The meaning is, that poignant though his grief was it did not shorten his sufferings from famine. [843] _Where the Si, etc._: Italy, _Si_ being the Italian for _Yes_. In his _De Vulg. El._, i. 8, Dante distinguishes the Latin languages--French, Italian, etc.--by their words of affirmation, and so terms Italian the language of _Si_. But Tuscany may here be meant, where, as a Tuscan commentator says, the _Si_ is more sweetly pronounced than in any other part of Italy. In Canto xviii. 61 the Bolognese are distinguished as the people who say _Sipa_. If Pisa be taken as being specially the opprobrium of Tuscany the outburst against Genoa at the close of the Canto gains in distinctness and force. [844] _Gorgona and Capraia_: Islands not far from the mouth of the Arno. [845] _That he betrayed, etc._: Dante seems here to throw doubt on the charge. At the height of her power Pisa was possessed of many hundreds of fortified stations in Italy and scattered over the Mediterranean coasts. The charge was one easy to make and difficult to refute. It seems hard on Ugo that he should get the benefit of the doubt only after he has been, for poetical ends, buried raging in Cocytus. [846] _Modern Thebes_: As Thebes was to the race of Cadmus, so was Pisa to that of Ugolino. [847] _Another crew_: They are in Ptolomæa, the third division of the circle, and that assigned to those treacherous to their friends, allies, or guests. Here only the faces of the shades are free of the ice. [848] _Is any vapour_: Has the sun, so low down as this, any influence upon the temperature, producing vapours and wind? In Dante's time wind was believed to be the exhalation of a vapour. [849] _To the bottom, etc._: Dante is going there in any case, and his promise is nothing but a quibble. [850] _Friar Alberic_: Alberigo of the Manfredi, a gentleman of Faenza, who late in life became one of the Merry Friars. See _Inf._ xxiii. 103. In the course of a dispute with his relative Manfred he got a hearty box on the ear from him. Feigning to have forgiven the insult he invited Manfred with a youthful son to dinner in his house, having first arranged that when they had finished their meat, and he called for fruit, armed men should fall on his guests. 'The fruit of Friar Alberigo' passed into a proverb. Here he is repaid with a date for a fig--gets more than he bargained for. [851] _Ptolomæa_: This division is named from the Hebrew Ptolemy, who slew his relatives at a banquet, they being then his guests (1 Maccab. xvi.). [852] _Atropos_: The Fate who cuts the thread of life and sets the soul free from the body. [853] _Branca d'Oria_: A Genoese noble who in 1275 slew his father-in-law Michael Zanche (_Inf._ xxii. 88) while the victim sat at table as his invited guest.--This mention of Branca is of some value in helping to ascertain when the _Inferno_ was finished. He was in imprisonment and exile for some time before and up to 1310. In 1311 he was one of the citizens of Genoa heartiest in welcoming the Emperor Henry to their city. Impartial as Dante was, we can scarcely think that he would have loaded with infamy one who had done what he could to help the success of Henry, on whom all Dante's hopes were long set, and by their reception of whom on his descent into Italy he continued to judge his fellow-countrymen. There is considerable reason to believe that the _Inferno_ was published in 1309; this introduction of Branca helps to prove that at least it was published before 1311. If this was so, then Branca d'Oria lived long enough to read or hear that for thirty-five years his soul had been in Hell.--It is significant of the detestation in which Dante held any breach of hospitality, that it is as a treacherous host and not as a treacherous kinsman that Branca is punished--in Ptolomæa and not in Caïna. Cast as the poet was on the hospitality of the world, any disloyalty to its obligations came home to him. For such disloyalty he has invented one of the most appalling of the fierce retributions with the vision of which he satisfied his craving for vengeance upon prosperous sin.--It may be that the idea of this demon-possession of the traitor is taken from the words, 'and after the sop Satan entered into Judas.' [854] _Of his kinsmen one_: A cousin or nephew of Branca was engaged with him in the murder of Michael Zanche. The vengeance came on them so speedily that their souls were plunged in Ptolomæa ere Zanche breathed his last. [855] _To yield him none_: Alberigo being so unworthy of courtesy. See note on 117. But another interpretation of the words has been suggested which saves Dante from the charge of cruelty and mean quibbling; namely, that he did not clear the ice from the sinner's eyes because then he would have been seen to be a living man--one who could take back to the world the awful news that Alberigo's body was the dwelling-place of a devil. [856] _Ah, Genoese, etc._: The Genoese, indeed, held no good character. One of their annalists, under the date of 1293, describes the city as suffering from all kinds of crime. [857] _Romagna's blackest soul_: Friar Alberigo. CANTO XXXIV. '_Vexilla_[858] _Regis prodeunt Inferni_ Towards where we are; seek then with vision keen,' My Master bade, 'if trace of him thou spy.' As, when the exhalations dense have been, Or when our hemisphere grows dark with night, A windmill from afar is sometimes seen, I seemed to catch of such a structure sight; And then to 'scape the blast did backward draw Behind my Guide--sole shelter in my plight. Now was I where[859] (I versify with awe) 10 The shades were wholly covered, and did show Visible as in glass are bits of straw. Some stood[860] upright and some were lying low, Some with head topmost, others with their feet; And some with face to feet bent like a bow. But we kept going on till it seemed meet Unto my Master that I should behold The creature once[861] of countenance so sweet. He stepped aside and stopped me as he told: 'Lo, Dis! And lo, we are arrived at last 20 Where thou must nerve thee and must make thee bold,' How I hereon stood shivering and aghast, Demand not, Reader; this I cannot write; So much the fact all reach of words surpassed. I was not dead, yet living was not quite: Think for thyself, if gifted with the power, What, life and death denied me, was my plight. Of that tormented realm the Emperor Out of the ice stood free to middle breast; And me a giant less would overtower 30 Than would his arm a giant. By such test Judge then what bulk the whole of him must show,[862] Of true proportion with such limb possessed. If he was fair of old as hideous now, And yet his brows against his Maker raised, Meetly from him doth all affliction flow. O how it made me horribly amazed When on his head I saw three faces[863] grew! The one vermilion which straight forward gazed; And joining on to it were other two, 40 One rising up from either shoulder-bone, Till to a junction on the crest they drew. 'Twixt white and yellow seemed the right-hand one; The left resembled them whose country lies Where valleywards the floods of Nile flow down. Beneath each face two mighty wings did rise, Such as this bird tremendous might demand: Sails of sea-ships ne'er saw I of such size. Not feathered were they, but in style were planned Like a bat's wing:[864] by them a threefold breeze-- 50 For still he flapped them--evermore was fanned, And through its depths Cocytus caused to freeze. Down three chins tears for ever made descent From his six eyes; and red foam mixed with these. In every mouth there was a sinner rent By teeth that shred him as a heckle[865] would; Thus three at once compelled he to lament. To the one in front 'twas little to be chewed Compared with being clawed and clawed again, Till his back-bone of skin was sometimes nude.[866] 60 'The soul up yonder in the greater pain Is Judas 'Scariot, with his head among The teeth,' my Master said, 'while outward strain His legs. Of the two whose heads are downward hung, Brutus is from the black jowl pendulous: See how he writhes, yet never wags his tongue. The other, great of thew, is Cassius:[867] But night is rising[868] and we must be gone; For everything hath now been seen by us.' Then, as he bade, I to his neck held on 70 While he the time and place of vantage chose; And when the wings enough were open thrown He grasped the shaggy ribs and clutched them close, And so from tuft to tuft he downward went Between the tangled hair and crust which froze. We to the bulging haunch had made descent, To where the hip-joint lies in it; and then My Guide, with painful twist and violent, Turned round his head to where his feet had been, And like a climber closely clutched the hair: 80 I thought to Hell[869] that we returned again. 'Hold fast to me; it needs by such a stair,' Panting, my Leader said, like man foredone, 'That we from all that wretchedness repair.' Right through a hole in a rock when he had won, The edge of it he gave me for a seat And deftly then to join me clambered on. I raised mine eyes, expecting they would meet With Lucifer as I beheld him last, But saw instead his upturned legs[870] and feet. 90 If in perplexity I then was cast, Let ignorant people think who do not see What point[871] it was that I had lately passed. 'Rise to thy feet,' my Master said to me; 'The way is long and rugged the ascent, And at mid tierce[872] the sun must almost be.' 'Twas not as if on palace floors we went: A dungeon fresh from nature's hand was this; Rough underfoot, and of light indigent. 'Or ever I escape from the abyss, 100 O Master,' said I, standing now upright, 'Correct in few words where I think amiss. Where lies the ice? How hold we him in sight Set upside down? The sun, how had it skill In so short while to pass to morn from night?'[873] And he: 'In fancy thou art standing, still, On yon side of the centre, where I caught The vile worm's hair which through the world doth drill. There wast thou while our downward course I wrought; But when I turned, the centre was passed by 110 Which by all weights from every point is sought. And now thou standest 'neath the other sky, Opposed to that which vaults the great dry ground And 'neath whose summit[874] there did whilom die The Man[875] whose birth and life were sinless found. Thy feet are firm upon the little sphere, On this side answering to Judecca's round. 'Tis evening yonder when 'tis morning here; And he whose tufts our ladder rungs supplied. Fixed as he was continues to appear. 120 Headlong from Heaven he fell upon this side; Whereon the land, protuberant here before, For fear of him did in the ocean hide, And 'neath our sky emerged: land, as of yore[876] Still on this side, perhaps that it might shun His fall, heaved up, and filled this depth no more.' From Belzebub[877] still widening up and on, Far-stretching as the sepulchre,[878] extends A region not beheld, but only known By murmur of a brook[879] which through it wends, 130 Declining by a channel eaten through The flinty rock; and gently it descends. My Guide and I, our journey to pursue To the bright world, upon this road concealed Made entrance, and no thought of resting knew. He first, I second, still ascending held Our way until the fair celestial train Was through an opening round to me revealed: And, issuing thence, we saw the stars[880] again. FOOTNOTES: [858] _Vexilla, etc._: '_The banners of the King of Hell advance._' The words are adapted from a hymn of the Cross used in Holy Week; and they prepare us to find in Lucifer the opponent of 'the Emperor who reigns on high' (_Inf._ i. 124). It is somewhat odd that Dante should have put a Christian hymn into Virgil's mouth. [859] _Now was I where_: In the fourth and inner division or ring of the Ninth Circle. Here are punished those guilty of treachery to their lawful lords or to their benefactors. From Judas Iscariot, the arch-traitor, it takes the name of Judecca. [860] _Some stood, etc._: It has been sought to distinguish the degrees of treachery of the shades by means of the various attitudes assigned to them. But it is difficult to make more out of it than that some are suffering more than others. All of them are the worst of traitors, hard-hearted and cold-hearted, and now they are quite frozen in the ice, sealed up even from the poor relief of intercourse with their fellow-sinners. [861] _The creature once, etc._: Lucifer, guilty of treachery against the Highest, at _Purg._ xii. 25 described as 'created noble beyond all other creatures.' Virgil calls him Dis, the name used by him for Pluto in the _Æneid_, and the name from which that of the City of Unbelief is taken (_Inf._ viii. 68). [862] _Judge then what bulk_: The arm of Lucifer was as much longer than the stature of one of the giants as a giant was taller than Dante. We have seen (_Inf._ xxxi. 58) that the giants were more than fifty feet in height--nine times the stature of a man. If a man's arm be taken as a third of his stature, then Satan is twenty-seven times as tall as a giant, that is, he is fourteen hundred feet or so. For a fourth of this, or nearly so--from the middle of the breast upwards--he stands out of the ice, that is, some three hundred and fifty feet. It seems almost too great a height for Dante's purpose; and yet on the calculations of some commentators his stature is immensely greater--from three to five thousand feet. [863] _Three faces_: By the three faces are represented the three quarters of the world from which the subjects of Lucifer are drawn: vermilion or carnation standing for Europe, yellow for Asia, and black for Africa. Or the faces may symbolise attributes opposed to the Wisdom, Power, and Love of the Trinity (_Inf._ iii. 5). See also note on line 1. [864] _A bat's wing_: Which flutters and flaps in dark and noisome places. The simile helps to bring more clearly before us the dim light and half-seen horrors of the Judecca. [865] _A heckle_: Or brake; the instrument used to clear the fibre of flax from the woody substance mixed with it. [866] _Sometimes nude_: We are to imagine that the frame of Judas is being for ever renewed and for ever mangled and torn. [867] _Cassius_: It has been surmised that Dante here confounds the pale and lean Cassius who was the friend of Brutus with the L. Cassius described as corpulent by Cicero in the Third Catiline Oration. Brutus and Cassius are set with Judas in this, the deepest room of Hell, because, as he was guilty of high treason against his Divine Master, so they were guilty of it against Julius Cæsar, who, according to Dante, was chosen and ordained by God to found the Roman Empire. As the great rebel against the spiritual authority Judas has allotted to him the fiercer pain. To understand the significance of this harsh treatment of the great Republicans it is necessary to bear in mind that Dante's devotion to the idea of the Empire was part of his religion, and far surpassed in intensity all we can now well imagine. In the absence of a just and strong Emperor the Divine government of the world seemed to him almost at a stand. [868] _Night is rising_: It is Saturday evening, and twenty-four hours since they entered by the gate of Inferno. [869] _I thought to Hell, etc._: Virgil, holding on to Lucifer's hairy sides, descends the dark and narrow space between him and the ice as far as to his middle, which marks the centre of the earth. Here he swings himself round so as to have his feet to the centre as he emerges from the pit to the southern hemisphere. Dante now feels that he is being carried up, and, able to see nothing in the darkness, deems they are climbing back to the Inferno. Virgil's difficulty in turning himself round and climbing up the legs of Lucifer arises from his being then at the 'centre to which all weights tend from every part.' Dante shared the erroneous belief of the time, that things grew heavier the nearer they were to the centre of the earth. [870] _His upturned legs_: Lucifer's feet are as far above where Virgil and Dante are as was his head above the level of the Judecca. [871] _What point, etc._: The centre of the earth. Dante here feigns to have been himself confused--a fiction which helps to fasten attention on the wonderful fact that if we could make our way through the earth we should require at the centre to reverse our posture. This was more of a wonder in Dante's time than now. [872] _Mid tierce_: The canonical day was divided into four parts, of which Tierce was the first and began at sunrise. It is now about half-past seven in the morning. The night was beginning when they took their departure from the Judecca: the day is now as far advanced in the southern hemisphere as they have spent time on the passage. The journey before them is long indeed, for they have to ascend to the surface of the earth. [873] _To morn from night_: Dante's knowledge of the time of day is wholly derived from what Virgil tells him. Since he began his descent into the Inferno he has not seen the sun. [874] _'Neath whose summit_: Jerusalem is in the centre of the northern hemisphere--an opinion founded perhaps on _Ezekiel_ v. 5: 'Jerusalem I have set in the midst of the nations and countries round about her.' In the _Convito_, iii. 5, we find Dante's belief regarding the distribution of land and sea clearly given: 'For those I write for it is enough to know that the Earth is fixed and does not move, and that, with the ocean, it is the centre of the heavens. The heavens, as we see, are for ever revolving around it as a centre; and in these revolutions they must of necessity have two fixed poles.... Of these one is visible to almost all the dry land of the Earth; and that is our north pole [star]. The other, that is, the south, is out of sight of almost all the dry land.' [875] _The Man_: The name of Christ is not mentioned in the _Inferno_. [876] _Land, as of yore, etc._: On the fall of Lucifer from the southern sky all the dry land of that hemisphere fled before him under the ocean and took refuge in the other; that is, as much land emerged in the northern hemisphere as sank in the southern. But the ground in the direct line of his descent to the centre of the earth heaped itself up into the Mount of Purgatory--the only dry land left in the southern hemisphere. The Inferno was then also hollowed out; and, as Mount Calvary is exactly antipodal to Purgatory, we may understand that on the fall of the first rebels the Mount of Reconciliation for the human race, which is also that of Purification, rose out of the very realms of darkness and sin.--But, as Todeschini points out, the question here arises of whether the Inferno was not created before the earth. At _Parad_. vii. 124, the earth, with the air and fire and water, is described as 'corruptible and lasting short while;' but the Inferno is to endure for aye, and was made before all that is not eternal (_Inf._ iii. 8). [877] _Belzebub_: Called in the Gospel the prince of the devils. It may be worth mentioning here that Dante sees in Purgatory (_Purg._ viii. 99) a serpent which he says may be that which tempted Eve. The identification of the great tempter with Satan is a Miltonic, or at any rate a comparatively modern idea. [878] _The sepulchre_: The Inferno, tomb of Satan and all the wicked. [879] _A brook_: Some make this to be the same as Lethe, one of the rivers of the Earthly Paradise. It certainly descends from the Mount of Purgatory. [880] _The stars_: Each of the three divisions of the Comedy closes with 'the stars.' These, as appears from _Purg._ i. are the stars of dawn. It was after sunrise when they began their ascent to the surface of the earth, and so nearly twenty-four hours have been spent on the journey--the time it took them to descend through Inferno. It is now the morning of Easter Sunday--that is, of the true anniversary of the Resurrection although not of the day observed that year by the Church. See _Inf._ xxi. 112. INDEX OF PROPER NAMES AND PRINCIPAL SUBJECTS OF THE INFERNO. Abati, Bocca degli, xxxii. 106. ---- Buoso, xxv. 140. Abbagliato, xxix. 132. Abel, iv. 56. Abraham, iv. 58. Absalom, xxviii. 137. Accorso, Francis d', xv. 110. Acheron, iii. 78, xiv. 116. Achilles, v. 65, xii. 71, xxvi. 62, xxxi. 4. Acquacheta, xvi. 97. Acre, xxvii. 89. Adam, iii. 115, iv. 55. ---- Master, xxx. 61, etc. Adige, xii. 5. Ægina, xxix. 58. Æneas, ii. 32, iv. 122, xxvi. 93. Æsop, xxiii. 4. Agnello Brunelleschi, xxv. 68. Ahithophel, xxviii. 138. Alardo, xxviii. 18. Alberigo, Friar, xxxiii. 118. Alberto of Siena, xxix. 110. ---- degli Alberti, xxxii. 57. Alchemists, xxix. 43, etc. Aldobrandi, Tegghiaio, vi. 79, xvi. 42. Alecto, ix. 47. Alexander, Count of Romena, xxx. 77. ---- degli Alberti, xxxii. 55. ---- xii. 107, xiv. 31. Alessio Interminei, xviii. 122. Ali, xxviii. 32. Alichino, xxi. 118, xxii. 112. Alps, xiv. 30. Amphiaraüs, xx. 34. Amphion, xxxii. 11. Anastasius, Pope, xi. 8. Anaxagoras, iv. 138. Anchises, i. 74. Andrea, Jacopo da Sant', xiii. 133. Angels, fallen, iii. 37. Anger, those guilty of, vii. 110, etc. Angiolello, xxviii. 77. Annas, xxiii. 121. Anselmuccio, xxxiii. 50. Antæus, xxxi. 100. Antenora, xxxii. 89. Antiochus, xix. 86. Apennines, xvi. 96, xxvii. 29. Apocalypse, xix. 106. Apulia, xxviii. 8. Apulians, xxviii. 16. Aquarius, xxiv. 2. Arachne, xvii. 18. Arbia, x. 86. Aretines, xxii. 5, xxix. 109, xxx. 31. Arethusa, xxv. 99. Argenti, Philip, viii. 61. Argives, xxviii. 84. Ariadne, xii. 20. Aristotle, iv. 131. Arles, ix. 112. Arno, xiii. 147, xv. 113, xxiii. 95, xxx. 65, xxxiii. 83. Arrigo, vi. 80. Arrogance, viii. 46, etc. Arsenal of Venice, xxi. 7. Arthur, King, xxxii. 62. Aruns, xx. 46. Asciano, Caccia d', xxix. 130. Asdente, xx. 118. Athamas, xxx. 4. Athens, xii. 17. Atropos, xxxiii. 126. Attila, xii. 134, xiii. 149. Augustus, i. 71. Aulis, xx. III. Austrian, xxxii. 25. Avarice, i. 49. ---- those guilty of, vii. 25, etc. Aventine, xxv. 26. Averroës, iv. 144. Avicenna, iv. 143. Bacchiglione, xv. 113. Bacchus, xx. 59. Baptism, iv. 36. Baptist, St John, xiii. 143, xxx. 74. Barbariccia, xxi. 120, xxii. 29, 59, 145. Barrators, xxi. xxii. Beatrice, ii. 70, 103, x. 131, xii. 88, xv. 90. Beccheria, Abbot, xxxii. 119. Bello, Geri del, xxix. 27. Belzebub, xxxiv. 127. Benacus, xx. 63, etc. Benedict, Abbey of St., xvi. 100. Bergamese, xx. 71. Bertrand de Born, xxviii. 134. Bianchi, the party of the, vi. 65, xxiv. 150. Bisensio, xxxii. 56. Blacks, the party of the, vi. 65, xxiv. 143. Blasphemy, xiv. 46, etc. Bocca degli Abati, xxxii. 106. Bologna, xxiii. 142. Bolognese, xviii. 58, xxiii. 104. Bonatti, Guido, xx. 118. Boniface VII., xix. 53, xxvii. 70, 85. Bonturo, xxi. 41. Born, Bertrand de, xxviii. 134. Borsieri, William, xvi. 70. Branca Doria, xxxiii. 137, 140. Branda, Fonte, xxx. 78. Brenta, xv. 7. Brescia, xx. 69. Brescians, xx. 71. Briareus, xxxi. 98. Bridge of St. Angelo, xviii. 29. Brigata, xxxiii. 89. Bruges, xv. 5. Brunelleschi, Agnello, xxv. 68. Brunetto Latini, xv. 30, etc. Brutus, Lucius Junius, iv. 127. ---- Marcus Junius, xxxiv. 65. Buiamonte, xvii. 72. Bulicamë, xiv. 79. Buoso da Duera, xxxii. 116. ---- degli Abati, xxv. 140. ---- Donati, xxx. 45. Caccia D' Asciano, xxix. 130. Caccianimico Venedico, xviii. 50. Cacus, xxv. 25. Cadmus, xxv. 98. Cadsand, xv. 5. Cæsar, Frederick II, xiii. 65. ---- Julius, i. 70, iv. 123, xxviii. 97. Cahors, xi. 49. Caiaphas, xxiii. 115. Cain, xx. 125. Caïna, v. 107, xxxii. 59. Caitiffs, iii. 35. Calcabrina, xxi. 118, xxii. 133. Calchas, xx. 110. Camicion de' Pazzi, xxxii. 68. Camilla, i. 107, iv. 124. Camonica, Val, xx. 65. Cancellieri, xxxii. 63. Capaneus, xiv. 63, xxv. 15. Capocchio, xxix. 136, xxx. 28. Capraia, xxxiii. 82. Caprona, xxi. 94. Cardinal, the Octavian Ubaldini, x. 120. Cardinals, vii. 47. Carisenda, xxxi. 136. Carlino de' Pazzi, xxxii. 68. Carnal sinners, v. Carrarese, xx. 48. Casalodi, xx. 95. Casentino, xxx. 65. Cassero, Guido del, xxviii. 77. Cassius, xxxiv. 67. Castle of St. Angelo, xviii. 31. Catalano, Friar, xxiii. 104, 114. Cato of Utica, xiv. 15. Cattolica, xxviii. 80. Caurus, xi. 114. Cavalcanti, Cavalcante, x. 53. ---- Francesco, xxv. 151. ---- Gianni, xxx. 32, 42. ---- Guido, x. 63. Cecina, xiii. 9. Celestine V., iii. 59, xxvii. 105. Centaurs, xii. 56, etc., xxv. 17. Centre of the universe, xxxiv. 110. Ceperano, xxviii. 16. Cerberus, vi. 13, ix. 98. Cervia, xxvii. 41. Cesena, xxvii. 52. Ceuta, xxvi. 111. Chaos, xii. 43. Charlemagne, xxxi. 17. Charles's Wain, xi. 114. Charon, iii. 94, etc. Charybdis, vii. 22. Cherubim, Black, xxvii. 113. Chiana, Val di, xxix. 46. Chiarentana, xv. 9. Chiron, xii. 65, etc. Christ, iv. 53, xxxiv. 115. Ciacco, vi. 52. Cianfa de' Donati, xxv. 43. Circe, xxvi. 91. Ciriatto, xxi. 122, xxii. 55. City of Dis, viii. 68, etc. Clement V., xix. 83. Cleopatra, v. 63. Clergy, vii. 46, xv. 106. Cocytus, xiv. 119, xxxi. 123, xxxiii. 156, xxxiv. 52. Coiners, false, xxix. Colchians, xviii. 87. Cologne, xxiii. 63. Colonna, family, xxvii. 86. Comedy, the, xvi. 128. Constantine, xix. 115, xxvii. 94. Cord, Dante's, xvi. 106. Cornelia, iv. 128. Corneto, xiii. 8. ---- Rinier da, xii. 136. Counsellors, false, xxvi. xxvii. Counterfeiters of all kinds, xxix. xxx. Crete, xii. 12, xiv. 95. Crucifixion, xxi. 112. Curio, xxviii. 93, etc. Cyclopes, xiv. 55. Cyprus, xxviii. 82. Dædalus, xvii. 111, xxix. 116. Damietta, xiv. 104. Danube, xxxii. 25. David, iv. 58, xxviii. 137. Deidamia, xxvi. 61. Dejanira, xii. 68. Democritus, iv. 136. Demons, viii. 82, etc., xxi. 29, etc., xxxiii. 131. Dido, v. 61, 85. Diogenes, iv. 137. Diomedes, xxvi. 56. Dionysius, xii. 107. Dioscorides, iv. 139. Dis (Satan), xi. 65, xii. 38, xxxiv. 20. ---- City of, viii. 68, etc. Dolcino, Fra, xxviii. 55. Don, xxxii. 27. Donati, Buoso, xxx. 45. ---- Cianfa, xxv. 43. Doria, Branca, xxxiii. 137, 140. Duera, Buoso, xxxii. 116. Duke of Athens, ix. 54, xii. 17. Elder of Lucca, xxi. 38. Electra, iv. 121. Elijah, xxvi. 35. Elisha, xxvi. 34. Empedocles, iv. 137. Ephialtes, xxxi. 94, 108. Epicurus, x. 13. Erichtho, ix. 23. Erinnyes, ix. 45. Este, Obizzo d', xii. 111. Eteocles, xxvi. 54. Ethiopia, xxiv. 89, xxxii. 44. Euclid, iv. 142. Euryalus, i. 108. Eurypylus, xx. 112. Ezzelino, xii. 110. Faenza, xxvii. 49, xxxiii. 123. False coiners, xxix. xxx. ---- counsellors, xxvi. xxvii. Fano, xxviii. 76. Farfarello, xxi. 123, xxii. 94. Farinata, vi. 79, x. 32. Fishes, the, xi. 113. Flatterers, xviii. Flemings, xv. 4. Florence, x. 92, xiii. 143, xvi. 75, xxiii. 95, xxiv. 144, xxvi. 1, xxxii. 120. Florentines, viii. 62, xv. 61, xvi. 73, xvii. 70, xxxiii. 11. Florin, xxx. 89. Focara, xxviii. 89. Foccaccia, xxxii. 63. Forlì, xvi. 99, xxvii. 43. Fortune, vii. 62, etc. France, xix. 87. Francesca da Rimini, v. 116. Francis d'Accorso, xv. 110. Francis of Assisi, xxvii. 112. Frederick II., x. 119, xiii. 59, 68, xxiii. 66. French, xxvii. 44, xxix. 123, xxxii. 115. Friars, Merry--Frati Godenti, xxiii. 103. ---- Minor, xxiii. 3. Frisians, xxxi. 64. Fucci, Vanni, xxiv. 125. Furies, ix. 38. Gaddo, xxxiii. 67. Gaeta, xxvi. 92. Galen, iv. 143. Galahad, v. 137. Gallura, Gomita of, xxii. 81. Ganellone, xxxii. 122. Garda, xx. 65. Gardingo, xxiii. 108. Gate of Inferno, iii. 1. ---- St. Peter, i. 134. Gaville, xxv. 151. Genesis, xi. 107. Genoese, xxxiii. 151. Geri del Bello, xxix. 27. Germany, xvii. 21, xx. 61. Geryon, xvii. 97, etc. Ghisola, xviii. 55. Gianni Schicchi, xxx. 32, 42. ---- del Soldanieri, xxxii. 121. Giants, xxxi. Gibraltar, xxvi. 107. Gloomy, the, vii. 118. Gluttons, vi. Godenti, Frati, xxiii. 103. Gomita, Fra, xxii. 81. Gorgon, ix. 56. Gorgona, xxxiii. 82. Governo, xx. 78. Greece, xx. 108. Greeks, xxvi. 75, xxx. 98, 122. Greyhound, i. 101. Griffolino, xxix. 109, xxx. 31. Gualandi, xxxiii. 32. Gualdrada, xvi. 37. Guidi, Counts, xxx. 76. Guido Bonatti, xx. 118. ---- Cavalcanti, x. 63. ---- del Cassero, xxviii. 77. Guido of Montefeltro, xxvii. 4, etc. ---- of Romena, xxx. 76. Guidoguerra, xvi. 38. Guiscard, Robert, xxviii. 14. Guy of Montfort, xii. 119. Hannibal, xxxi. 117. Harpies, xiii. 10, etc. Hautefort, xxix. 29. Heathen, the virtuous, iv. 37. Hector, iv. 122. Hecuba, xxx. 16. Helen, v. 64. Henry of England, the Young King, xxviii. 135. Heraclitus, iv. 139. Hercules, xxv. 32, xxvi. 108, xxxi. 132. Heretics, x. and xxviii. Hippocrates, iv. 143. Homer, iv. 88. Homicides, xii. Horace, iv. 89. Hypocrites, xxiii. Hypsipyle, xviii. 92. Icarus, xvii. 109. Ida, xiv. 98. Ilion, i. 75. Imola, xxvii. 49. India, xiv. 32. Infants, unbaptized, iv. 29. Infidels, x. Interminei, Alessio, xviii. 122. Irascible, the, vii. and viii. Isaac, iv. 59. Israel, iv. 59. Italy, i. 106, ix. 114, xx. 63. Jacopo da Sant' Andrea (James of St. Andrews), xiii. 133. ---- (James) Rusticucci, vi. 80, xvi. 44. Jason, xviii. 86. ---- Hebrew, xix. 85. Jehoshaphat, x. 11. Jerusalem, xxxiv. 114. Jesus Christ, iv. 53, xxxiv. 115. Jews, xxiii. 123, xxvii. 87. John Baptist, St., xiii. 143, xxx. 74. ---- ---- Church of, xix. 17. John, St., Evangelist, xix. 106. Joseph, xxx. 97. Jove, xiv. 52, xxxi. 44, 92. Jubilee, year of, xviii. 29. Judas Iscariot, ix. 27, xix. 96, xxxi. 143, xxxiv. 62. Judecca, xxxiv. 117. Julia, iv. 128. Julius Cæsar, i. 70, iv. 123, xxviii. 97. Juno, xxx. 1. Jupiter, xiv. 52, xxxi. 44, 92. Lamone, xxvii. 49. Lancelot, v. 128. Lanfranchi, xxxiii. 32. Lano, xiii. 120. Lateran, xxvii. 86. Latian land, xxvii. 26, xxviii. 71. Latians (Italians), xxii. 66, xxvii. 33, xxix. 88, 91. Latinus, King, iv. 125. Latini, Brunetto, xv. 30, etc. Lavinia, iv. 126. Learchus, xxx. 10. Lemnos, xviii. 88. Leopard, i. 32. Lethe, xiv. 130, 136. Libicocco, xxi. 121, xxii. 70. Libya, xxiv. 85. Limbo, iv. 24, etc. Linus, iv. 141. Lion, i. 45. Livy, xxviii. 12. Loderingo, Friar, xxiii. 104. Logodoro, xxii. 89. Lombard, i. 68, xxii. 99. ---- dialect, xxvii. 20. Lombardy, xxviii. 74. Lucan, iv. 90, xxv. 94. Lucca, xviii. 122, xxi. 38, xxxiii. 30. Lucia, ii. 97, 100. Lucifer, xxxi. 143, xxxiv. 89. Lucretia, iv. 128. Luni, xx. 47. Maccabees, xix. 86. Magra, Val di, xxiv. 145. Magus, Simon, xix. 1. Mahomet, xxviii. 31, etc. Mainardo Pagani, xxvii. 50. Majorca, xxviii. 82. Malacoda, xxi. 76, xxiii. 140. Malatestas of Rimini, v. 97, xxvii. 46, xxviii. 85. Malebolge, xviii. 1, xxi. 5, xxiv. 37, xxix. 41. Malebranche, xxi. 37, xxii. 100, xxiii. 23. Manfredi, Alberigo, xxxiii. 118. Manto, xx. 55. Mantua, xx. 93. Mantuans, i. 69, ii. 58. Marcabò, xxviii. 75. Marcia, iv. 128. Maremma, xxv. 19, xxix. 48. Marquis of Este, xviii. 56. Mars, xiii. 144, xxiv. 145, xxxi. 51. Mascheroni, Sassol, xxxii. 65. Matthias, Apostle, xix. 95. Medea, xviii. 96. Medicina, Pier da, xxviii. 73. Medusa, ix. 52. Megæra, ix. 46. Menalippus, xxxii. 131. Messenger of heaven, ix. 85. Michael, Archangel, vii. 11. ---- Scott, xx. 116. ---- Zanche, xxii. 88, xxxiii. 144. Mincio, xx. 77. Minos, v. 4, xiii. 96, xx. 36, xxvii. 124, xxix. 120. Minotaur, xii. 12, 25. Mongibello, xiv. 56. Montagna, xxvii. 47. Montaperti, x. 85, xxxii. 81. Montereggione, xxxi. 40. Montfort, Guy of, xii. 119. Montone, xvi. 94. Moon, the, x. 80, xx. 127. Mordred, xxxii. 61. Morocco, xxvi. 104. Mosca, vi. 80, xxviii. 106. Moses, iv. 57. Mozzi, Andrea de', xv. 112. Murderers, xii. Myrrha, xxx. 38. Napoleone Degli Alberti, xxxii. 55. Narcissus, xxx. 128. Nasidius, xxv. 95. Navarre, xxii. 48. Navarese, xxii. 121. Neptune, xxviii 83. Neri, vi. 65, xxiv. 143. Nessus, xii. 67, etc., xiii. 1. Nicholas of Siena, xxix. 127. ---- III., Pope, xix. 31. Nile, xxxiv. 45. Nimrod, xxxi. 77. Ninus, v. 59. Nisus, i. 108. Novarese, xxviii. 59. Obizzo d'Este, xii. 111. Ordelaffi, xxvii. 45. Orpheus, iv. 140. Orsini, xix. 70. Ovid, iv. 90, xxv. 97. Paduans, xv. 7, xvii. 70. Pagani, Mainardo, xxvii. 50. Palestrina, xxvii. 102. Palladium, xxvi. 63. Panders, xviii. Paris, v. 67. Pasiphaë, xii. 13. Patriarchs, iv. 55. Paul, Apostle, ii. 32. Pazzi, Camicion de', xxxii. 68. ---- Rinier de', xii. 137. Peculators, xxi. xxii. Penelope, xxvi. 96. Pennine Alps, xx. 66. Penthesilea, iv. 125. Perillus, xxvii. 8. Peschiera, xx. 70. Peter, Apostle, i. 134, ii. 24, xix. 91, 94. Peter's, St., Church, xviii. 32, xxxi. 59. Phaëthon, xvii. 106. Phalaris, xxvii. 7. Pharisees, xxiii. 116, xxvii. 85. Philip Argenti, viii. 61. ---- the Fair, xix. 87. Phlegethon, xiv. 116, 131. Phlegra, xiv. 58. Phlegyas, viii. 19, 24. Phoenix, xxiv. 107. Pholus, xii. 72. Photinus, xi. 9. Piceno, Campo, xxiv. 148. Pier da Medicina, xxviii. 73. ---- delle Vigne, xiii. 58. Pietrapana, xxxii. 29. Pinamonte, xx. 96. Pine cone of St. Peter's, xxxi. 59. Pisa, xxxiii. 79. Pisans, xxxiii. 30. Pistoia, xxiv. 126, 143, xxv. 10. Plato, iv. 134. Plutus, vi. 115, vii. 2. Po, v. 98, xx. 78. Pola, ix. 113. Pole, South, xxvi. 127. Polenta, v. 97, xxvii. 42. Polydorus, xxx. 18. Polynices, xxvi. 54. Polyxena, xxx. 17. Pope Anastasius, xi. 8. ---- Boniface VIII., xix. 53, xxvii. 70, 85. Pope Celestine V., iii. 59, xxvii. 105. ---- Clement V., xix. 83. ---- Nicholas III., xix. 31. ---- Sylvester, xix. 117, xxvii. 95. Popes, ii. 24, vii. 47, xix. 104. Potiphar's wife, xxx. 97. Prato, xxvi. 9. Priam, xxx. 15. Priest, the High, Boniface VIII., xxvii. 70. Priscian, xv. 109. Prodigals, xiii. 115, xxix. 125. Proserpine, ix. 44, x. 80. Ptolemy, iv. 142. Ptolomæa, xxxiii. 124. Puccio Sciancato, xxv. 148. Pyrrhus, xii. 135. Quarnaro, ix. 113. Rachel, ii. 102, iv. 60. Ravenna, v. 97, xxvii. 40. Red Sea, xxiv. 90. Refusal, the great, iii. 60. Reno, xviii. 61. Rhea, xiv. 100. Rhone, ix. 112. Rimini, xxviii. 86. Rinier da Corneto, xii. 136. ---- Pazzo, xii. 137. Robbers, xii. 137. Robert Guiscard, xxviii. 14. Roger, the Archbishop, xxxiii. 14. Roland, xxxi. 18. Romagna, xxvii. 28, 37, xxxiii. 154. Roman Church, xix. 57. Romans, xv. 77, xviii. 28, xxvi. 60, xxviii. 10. Rome, i. 71, ii. 20, xiv. 105, xxxi. 59. Romena, xxx. 73. Roncesvalles, xxxi. 17. Rubicante, xxi. 123, xxii. 40. Rusticucci, Jacopo, vi. 80, xvi. 44. Sabellus, xxv. 95. Saladin, iv. 129. Santerno, xxvii. 49. Saracens, xxvii. 87. Sardinia, xxii. 90, xxix. 48. Sassol Mascheroni, xxxii. 65. Satan, vii. 1. _See_ Dis. Saturn, xiv. 96. Savena, xviii. 60. Savio, xxvii. 52. Scarmiglione, xxi. 105. Schicchi, Gianni, xxx. 32. Schismatics, xxviii. Sciancatto, Puccio, xxv. 148. Scipio, xxxi. 116. Scott, Michael, xx. 116. Seducers, xviii. Semele, xxx. 1. Semiramis, v. 58. Seneca, iv. 141. Serchio, xxi. 49. Serpents, xxiv. 83, etc. Seven Kings against Thebes, xiv. 68. Seville, xx. 126, xxvi. 110. Sichæus, v. 62. Sicilian Bull, xxvii. 7. Sicily, xii. 108. Siena, xxix. 110, 129. Sienese, xxix. 122. Silvius, ii. 13. Simon Magus, xix. 1. Simoniacs, xix. Sinon, xxx. 98. Sismondi, xxxiii. 33. Socrates, iv. 135. Sodom, xi. 49. Soldanieri, Gianni del, xxii. 121. Soothsayers, xx. Soracte, xxvii. 94. Spain, xxvi. 102. Spendthrifts, vii. Statue of Time, xiv. 103. ---- Mars, xiii. 147. Stricca, xxix. 125. Strophades, xiii. 11. Styx, vii. 106, ix. 81, xiv. 116. Suicides, xiii. Sultan, v. 60, xxvii. 90. Sylvester, Pope, xix. 117, xxvii. 95. Tabernicch, xxxii. 28. Tagliacozzo, xxviii. 17. Tarquin, iv. 127. Tartars, xvii. 16. Tegghiaio Aldobrandi, vi. 79, xvi. 42. Thais, xviii. 133. Thales, iv. 137. Thames, xii. 120. Thebes, xiv. 69, xx. 32, 59, xxv. 15, xxx. 2, 23, xxxii. 11. ---- modern, Pisa, xxxiii. 89. Theseus, ix. 54, xii. 17. Thibault, xxii. 52. Thieves, xxiv. xxv. Tiber, xxvii. 30. Time, statue of, xiv. 103. Tiresias, xx. 40. Tirol, xx. 62. Tisiphone, ix. 48. Tityus, xxxi. 124. Tombs, the red-hot, ix. 116, etc. Toppo, xiii. 121. Traitors, xxxii., etc. _Treasure_ of B. Latini, xv. 119. Trent, xii. 5, xx. 68. Tribaldello, xxxii. 122. Tristam, v. 67. Trojan Furies, xxx. 22. Trojans, xxviii. 10, xxx. 14. Troy, i. 74, xxx. 98. Tully, iv. 140. Turks, xvii. 16. Turnus, i. 108. Tuscan, xxii. 99, xxiii. 76, 91, xxiv. 122, xxviii. 108, xxxii. 66. Tydeus, xxxii. 130. Tyrants, xii. 103, etc. Typhon, xxxi. 124. Ubaldini, the Cardinal Octavian, x. 120. ---- Archbishop Roger, xxxiii. 14. Uberti, Farinata, vi. 79, x. 32. Ugolino, xxxii. 125, etc. Uguccione, xxxiii. 89. Ulysses, xxvi. 55, etc. Unbelievers, x. Urbino, xxvii. 30. Usurers, xvii. 45. Usury, xi. 95. Val Camonica, xx. 65. Valdichiana, xxix. 46. Valdimagra, xxiv. 145. Vanni Fucci, xxiv. 125. Veltro, the, i. 101. Vendetta, the, and Dante, xxix. 32. Venetians, xxi. 7. Vercelli, xxviii. 75. Verona, xv. 122, xx. 68. Verucchio, xxvii. 46. Vigne, Pier delle, xiii. 58. Violent, the, against others, xii.; against themselves, xiii.; against God and Nature, xiv., etc. Virgil, i. 79. And elsewhere in the _Inferno_ mentioned by name, though usually by some title, as, _e.g._ Master, Leader, or Lord. Viso, Monte, xvi. 95. Vitaliano, xvii. 68. Volto, the Santo, xxi. 48. Wain, Charles's, xi. 114. Wanton, the, v. Whites, the party of the, vi. 65, xxiv. 150. Witches and wizards, xx. Wolf, i. 49. Wrathful, the, vii. 110. Zanche, Michael, xxii. 88, xxxiii. 144. Zeno, iv. 138. Zita, Santa, xxi. 38. Edinburgh University Press: T. AND A. CONSTABLE, PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY. 
17368	----	E-text donated by the Kempton Project, submitted by William Rotella Heaven and its Wonders and Hell From Things Heard and Seen by Emanuel Swedenborg. Translated by John Ager. 1. The Lord, speaking in the presence of His disciples of the consummation of the age, which is the final period of the church,{1} says, near the end of what He foretells about its successive states in respect to love and faith:{2} Immediately after the tribulation of those days the sun shall be darkened, and the moon shall not give her light, and the stars shall fall from heaven, and the powers of the heavens shall be shaken. And then shall appear the sign of the Son of man in heaven; and then shall all the tribes of the earth mourn; and they shall see the Son of man coming in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory. And He shall send forth His angels with a trumpet and a great sound; and they shall gather together His elect from the four winds, from the end to end of the heavens (Matt. 24:29-31). Those who understood these words according to the sense of the letter have no other belief than that during that latest period, which is called the final judgment, all these things are to come to pass just as they are described in the literal sense, that is, that the sun and moon will be darkened and the stars will fall from the sky, that the sign of the Lord will appear in the sky, and He Himself will be seen in the clouds, attended by angels with trumpets; and furthermore, as is foretold else where, that the whole visible universe will be destroyed, and afterwards a new heaven with a new earth will come into being. Such is the opinion of most men in the church at the present day. But those who so believe are ignorant of the arcana that lie hid in every particular of the Word. For in every particular of the Word there is an internal sense which treats of things spiritual and heavenly, not of things natural and worldly, such as are treated of in the sense of the letter. And this is true not only of the meaning of groups of words, it is true of each particular word.{3} For the Word is written solely by correspondences,{4} to the end that there may be an internal sense in every least particular of it. What that sense is can be seen from all that has been said and shown about it in the Arcana Coelestia; also from quotations gathered from that work in the explanation of The White Horse spoken of in the Apocalypse. It is according to that sense that what the Lord says in the passage quoted above respecting His coming in the clouds of heaven is to be understood. The "sun" there that is to be darkened signifies the Lord in respect to love;{5} the "moon" the Lord in respect to faith;{6} "stars" knowledges of good and truth, or of love and faith;{7} "the sign of the Son of man in heaven" the manifestation of Divine truth; "the tribes of the earth" that shall mourn, all things relating to truth and good or to faith and love;{8} "the coming of the Lord in the clouds of heaven with power and glory" His presence in the Word, and revelation,{9} "clouds" signifying the sense of the letter of the Word,{10} and "glory" the internal sense of the Word;{11} "the angels with a trumpet and great voice" signify heaven as a source of Divine truth.{12} All this makes clear that these words of the Lord mean that at the end of the church, when there is no longer any love, and consequently no faith, the Lord will open the internal meaning of the Word and reveal arcana of heaven. The arcana revealed in the following pages relate to heaven and hell, and also to the life of man after death. The man of the church at this date knows scarcely anything about heaven and hell or about his life after death, although all these matters are set forth and described in the Word; and yet many of those born within the church refuse to believe in them, saying in their hearts, "Who has come from that world and told us?" Lest, therefore, such a spirit of denial, which especially prevails with those who have much worldly wisdom, should also infect and corrupt the simple in heart and the simple in faith, it has been granted me to associate with angels and to talk with them as man with man, also to see what is in the heavens and what is in the hells, and this for thirteen years; so now from what I have seen and heard it has been granted me to describe these, in the hope that ignorance may thus be enlightened and unbelief dissipated. Such immediate revelation is granted at this day because this is what is meant by the Coming of the Lord. [REFERENCES TO THE AUTHOR'S ARCANA COELESTIA.] {Footnote 1} The consummation of the age is the final period of the church (n. 4535, 10622). {Footnote 2} The Lord's predictions in Matthew (24 and 25), respecting the consummation of the age and His coming, and the consequent successive vastation of the church and the final judgment, are explained in the prefaces to chapters 26-40 of Genesis (n. 3353-3356, 3486-3489, 3650-3655, 3751-3757, 3897-3901, 4056-4060, 4229-4231, 4332-4335, 4422-4424, 4635- 4638, 4661-4664, 4807-4810, 4954-4959, 5063-5071). {Footnote 3} Both in the wholes and in the particulars of the Word there is an internal or spiritual sense (n. 1143, 1984, 2135, 2333, 2395, 2495, 4442, 9048, 9063, 9086). {Footnote 4} The Word is written solely by correspondences, and for this reason each thing and all things in it have a spiritual meaning (n. 1404, 1408, 1409, 1540, 1619, 1659, 1709, 1783, 2900, 9086). {Footnote 5} In the Word the "sun" signifies the Lord in respect to love, and in consequence love to the Lord (n. 1529, 1837, 2441, 2495, 4060, 4696, 7083, 10809). {Footnote 6} In the Word the "moon" signifies the Lord in respect to faith, and in consequence faith in the Lord (n. 1529, 1530, 2495, 4060, 4696, 7083). {Footnote 7} In the Word "stars" signify knowledges of good and truth (n. 2495, 2849,4697). {Footnote 8} "Tribes" signify all truths and goods in the complex, thus all things of faith and love (n. 3858, 3926, 4060, 6335). {Footnote 9} The coming of the Lord signifies His presence in the Word, and revelation (n 3900,4060). {Footnote 10} In the Word clouds signify the Word in the letter or the sense of its letter (n. 4060, 4391, 5922, 6343, 6752, 8106, 8781, 9430, 10551, 10574). {Footnote 11} In the Word "glory" signifies Divine truth as it is in heaven and as it is in the internal sense of the Word (n. 4809, 5922, 8267, 8427, 9429, 10574). {Footnote 12} A "trumpet" or "horn" signifies Divine truth in heaven, and revealed from heaven (n. 8158, 8823, 8915); and "voice" has a like signification (n. 6771, 9926). 2. I. THE GOD OF HEAVEN IS THE LORD First of all it must be known who the God of heaven is, since upon that all the other things depend. Throughout all heaven no other than the Lord alone is acknowledged as the God of heaven. There it is said, as He Himself taught, That He is one with the Father; that the Father is in Him, and He in the Father; that he who sees Him sees the Father; and that everything that is holy goes forth from Him (John 10:30, 35; 14:9-11; 16:13-15). I have often talked with angels on this subject, and they have invariably declared that in heaven they are unable to divide the Divine into three, because they know and perceive that the Divine is One and this One is in the Lord. They also said that those of the church who come from this world having an idea of three Divine beings cannot be admitted into heaven, since their thought wanders from one Divine being to another; and it is not allowable there to think three and say one.{1} Because in heaven everyone speaks from his thought, since speech there is the immediate product of the thought, or the thought speaking. Consequently, those in this world who have divided the Divine into three, and have adopted a different idea of each, and have not made that idea one and centered it in the Lord, cannot be received into heaven, because in heaven there is a sharing of all thoughts, and therefore if any one came thinking three and saying one, he would be at once found out and rejected. But let it be known that all those who have not separated what is true from what is good, or faith from love, accept in the other life, when they have been taught, the heavenly idea of the Lord, that He is the God of the universe. It is otherwise with those who have separated faith from life, that is, who have not lived according to the precepts of true faith. {Footnote 1} Christians were examined in the other life in regard to their idea of the one God and it was found that they held the idea of three Gods (n. 2329, 5256, 10736, 10738, 10821). A Divine trinity in the Lord is acknowledged in heaven (n. 14, 15, 1729, 2005, 5256, 9303). 3. Those within the church who have denied the Lord and have acknowledged the Father only, and have confirmed themselves in that belief, are not in heaven; and as they are unable to receive any influx from heaven, where the Lord alone is worshiped, they gradually lose the ability to think what is true about any subject whatever; and finally they become as if dumb, or they talk stupidly, and ramble about with their arms dangling and swinging as if weak in the joints. Again, those who, like the Socinians, have denied the Divinity of the Lord and have acknowledged His Humanity only, are likewise outside of heaven; they are brought forward a little towards the right and are let down into the deep, and are thus wholly separated from the rest that come from the Christian world. Finally, those who profess to believe in an invisible Divine, which they call the soul of the universe [Ens universi], from which all things originated, and who reject all belief in the Lord, find out that they believe in no God; since this invisible Divine is to them a property of nature in her first principles, which cannot be an object of faith and love, because it is not an object of thought.{1} Such have their lot among those called Naturalists. It is otherwise with those born outside the church, who are called the heathen; these will be treated of hereafter. {Footnote 1} A Divine that cannot be perceived by any idea cannot be received by faith (n. 4733, 5110, 5663, 6982, 6996, 7004, 7211, 9356, 9359, 9972, 10067, 10267). 4. Infants, who form a third part of heaven, are all initiated into the acknowledgment and belief that the Lord is their Father, and afterwards that He is the Lord of all, thus the God of heaven and earth. That children grow up in heaven and are perfected by means of knowledges, even to angelic intelligence and wisdom, will be seen in the following pages. 5. Those who are of the church cannot doubt that the Lord is the God of heaven, for He Himself taught, That all things of the Father are His (Matt. 11:27; John 16:15; 17:2). And that He hath all power in heaven and on earth (Matt. 28:18). He says "in heaven and on earth," because He that rules heaven rules the earth also, for the one depends upon the other.{1} "Ruling heaven and earth" means to receive from the Lord every good pertaining to love and every truth pertaining to faith, thus all intelligence and wisdom, and in consequence all happiness, in a word, eternal life. This also the Lord taught when He said: He that believeth on the Son hath eternal life; but he that believeth not the Son shall not see life (John 3:36). Again: I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth on Me, though he die yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth on Me shall never die (John 11:26, 26). And again: I am the way, the truth, and the life (John 14:6). {Footnote 1} The entire heaven is the Lord's (n. 2751, 7086). He has all power in the heavens and on the earths (n. 1607, 10089, 10827). As the Lord rules heaven He rules also all things that depend thereon, thus all things in the world (n. 2026, 2027, 4523, 4524). The Lord alone has power to remove the hells, to withhold from evil and hold in good, and thus to save (n. 10019). 6. There were certain spirits who while living in the world had professed to believe in the Father; but of the Lord they had the same idea as of any other man, and therefore did not believe Him to be the God of heaven. For this reason they were permitted to wander about and inquire wherever they wished whether there were any other heaven than the heaven of the Lord. They searched for several days, but nowhere found any. These were such as place the happiness of heaven in glory and dominion; and as they were unable to get what they desired, and were told that heaven does not consist in such things, they became indignant, and wished for a heaven where they could lord it over others and be eminent in glory like that in the world. 7. II. IT IS THE DIVINE OF THE LORD THAT MAKES HEAVEN. The angels taken collectively are called heaven, for they constitute heaven; and yet that which makes heaven in general and in particular is the Divine that goes forth from the Lord and flows into the angels and is received by them. And as the Divine that goes forth from the Lord is the good of love and the truth of faith, the angels are angels and are heaven in the measure in which they receive good and truth from the Lord. 8. Everyone in the heavens knows and believes and even perceives that he wills and does nothing of good from himself, and that he thinks and believes nothing of truth from himself, but only from the Divine, thus from the Lord; also that good from himself is not good, and truth from himself is not truth, because these have in them no life from the Divine. Moreover, the angels of the inmost heaven clearly perceive and feel the influx, and the more of it they receive the more they seem to themselves to be in heaven, because the more are they in love and faith and in the light of intelligence and wisdom, and in heavenly joy therefrom; and since all these go forth from the Divine of the Lord, and in these the angels have their heaven, it is clear that it is the Divine of the Lord, and not the angels from anything properly their own that makes heaven.{1} This is why heaven is called in the Word the "dwelling-place" of the Lord and "His throne," and those who are there are said to be in the Lord.{2} But in what manner the Divine goes forth from the Lord and fills heaven will be told in what follows. {Footnote 1} The angels of heaven acknowledge all good to be from the Lord, and nothing from themselves, and the Lord dwells in them in His own and not in their own (n. 9338, 10125, 10151, 10157). Therefore in the Word by "angels" something of the Lord is meant (n. 1925, 2821, 3039, 4085, 8192, 10528). Furthermore, angels are called "gods" from the reception of the Divine from the Lord (n. 4295, 4402, 7268, 7873, 8192, 8301). Again, all good that is good, and all truth that is truth, consequently all peace, love, charity, and faith, are from the Lord (n. 1614, 2016, 2751, 2882, 2883, 2891, 2892, 2904). Also all wisdom and intelligence (n. 109, 112, 121, 124). {Footnote 2} Those who are in heaven are said to be in the Lord (n. 3637, 3638). 9. Angels from their wisdom go still further. They say that not only everything good and true is from the Lord, but everything of life as well. They confirm it by this, that nothing can spring from itself, but only from something prior to itself; therefore all things spring from a First, which they call the very Being [Esse] of the life of all things. And in like manner all things continue to exist, for continuous existence is a ceaseless springing forth, and whatever is not continually held by means of intermediates in connection with the First instantly disperses and is wholly dissipated. They say also that there is but One Fountain of life, and that man's life is a rivulet therefrom, which if it did not unceasingly continue from its fountain would immediately flow away. [2] Again, they say that from this One Fountain of life, which is the Lord, nothing goes forth except Divine good and Divine truth, and that each one is affected by these in accordance with his reception of them, those who receive them in faith and life find heaven in them while those who reject them or stifle them change them into hell; for they change good into evil and truth into falsity, thus life into death. Again, that everything of life is from the Lord they confirm by this: that all things in the universe have relation to good and truth,-the life of man's will, which is the life of his love, to good; and the life of his understanding, which is the life of his faith, to truth; and since everything good and true comes from above it follows that everything of life must come from above. [3] This being the belief of the angels they refuse all thanks for the good they do, and are displeased and withdraw if any one attributes good to them. They wonder how any one can believe that he is wise from himself or does anything good from himself. Doing good for one's own sake they do not call good, because it is done from self. But doing good for the sake of good they call good from the Divine; and this they say is the good that makes heaven, because this good is the Lord.{1} {Footnote 1} Good from the Lord has the Lord inwardly in it, but good from one's own has not (n. 1802, 3951, 8480). 10. Such spirits as have confirmed themselves during their life in the world in the belief that the good they do and the truth they believe is from themselves, or is appropriated to them as their own (which is the belief of all who place merit in good actions and claim righteousness to themselves) are not received into heaven. Angels avoid them. They look upon them as stupid and as thieves; as stupid because they continually have themselves in view and not the Divine; and as thieves because they steal from the Lord what is His. These are averse to the belief of heaven, that it is the Divine of the Lord in the angels that makes heaven. 11. The Lord teaches that those that are in heaven and in the church are in the Lord and the Lord is in them, when He says: Abide in Me and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself except it abide in the vine, so neither can ye, except ye abide in Me. I am the Vine, ye are the branches. He that abideth in Me and I in him, the same beareth much fruit; for apart from Me ye can do nothing (John 15:4,5). 12. From all this it can now be seen that the Lord dwells in the angels of heaven in what is His own, and thus that the Lord is the all in all things of heaven; and this for the reason that good from the Lord is the Lord in angels, for what is from the Lord is the Lord; consequently heaven to the angels is good from the Lord, and not anything of their own. 13. III. IN HEAVEN THE DIVINE OF THE LORD IS LOVE TO HIM AND CHARITY TOWARDS THE NEIGHBOR. The Divine that goes forth from the Lord is called in heaven Divine truth, for a reason that will presently appear. This Divine truth flows into heaven from the Lord from His Divine love. The Divine love and the Divine truth therefrom are related to each other as the fire of the sun and the light therefrom in the world, love resembling the fire of the sun and truth therefrom light from the sun. Moreover, by correspondence fire signifies love, and light truth going forth from love.{1} From this it is clear what the Divine truth that goes forth from the Lord's Divine love is-that in its essence it is Divine good joined to Divine truth, and being so conjoined it vivifies all things of heaven; just as in the world when the sun's heat is joined to light it makes all things of the earth fruitful, which takes place in spring and summer. It is otherwise when the heat is not joined with the light, that is, when the light is cold; then all things become torpid and lie dead. With the angels this Divine good, which is compared to heat, is the good of love; and Divine truth, which is compared to light, is that through which and out of which good of love comes. {Footnote 1} In the Word "fire" signifies heavenly love and infernal love (n. 934, 4906, 5215). "Holy and heavenly fire" signifies Divine love, and every affection that belongs to that love (n. 934, 6314, 6832). "Light" from fire signifies truth going forth from good of love; and light in heaven signifies Divine truth (n. 3195, 3485, 3636, 3643, 3993, 4302, 4413, 4415, 9548, 9684). 14. The Divine in heaven which makes heaven is love, because love is spiritual conjunction. It conjoins angels to the Lord and conjoins them to one another, so conjoining them that in the Lord's sight they are all as one. Moreover, love is the very being [esse] of everyone's life; consequently from love both angels and men have life. Everyone who reflects can know that the inmost vitality of man is from love, since he grows warm from the presence of love and cold from its absence, and when deprived of it he dies.{1} But it is to be remembered that the quality of his love is what determines the quality of each one's life. {Footnote 1} Love is the fire of life, and life itself is actually therefrom (n. 4906, 5071, 6032, 6314). 15. In heaven there are two distinct loves, love to the Lord and love towards the neighbor, in the inmost or third heaven love to the Lord, in the second or middle heaven love towards the neighbor. They both go forth from the Lord, and they both make heaven. How these two loves are distinct and how they are conjoined is seen in heaven in clear light, but in the world only obscurely. In heaven loving the Lord does not mean loving Him in respect to His person, but it means loving the good that is from Him; and to love good is to will and do good from love; and to love the neighbor does not mean loving a companion in respect to his person, but loving the truth that is from the Word; and to love truth is to will and do it. This makes clear that these two loves are distinct as good and truth are distinct, and that they are conjoined as good is conjoined with truth.{1} But this can scarcely be comprehended by men unless it is known what love is, what good is, and what the neighbor is.{2} {Footnote 1} To love the Lord and the neighbor is to live according to the Lord's commandments (n. 10143, 10153, 10310, 10578, 10648). {Footnote 2} To love the neighbor is not to love the person, but to love that in him from which he is what he is, that is, his truth and good (n. 5028. 10336). Those who love the person, and not that in him from which he is what he is, love evil and good alike (n. 3820). Charity is willing truths and being affected by truths for the sake of truths (n. 3876, 3877). Charity towards the neighbor is doing what is good, just, and right, in every work and in every function (n. 8120-8122). 16. I have repeatedly talked with angels about this matter. They were astonished, they said, that men of the church do not know that to love the Lord and to love the neighbor is to love what is good and true, and to do this from the will, when they ought to know that one evinces love by willing and doing what another wishes, and it is this that brings reciprocal love and conjunction, and not loving another without doing what he wishes, which in itself is not loving; also that men should know that the good that goes forth from the Lord is a likeness of Him, since He is in it; and that those who make good and truth to belong to their life by willing them and doing them become likenesses of the Lord and are conjoined to Him. Willing is loving to do. That this is so the Lord teaches in the Word, saying, He that hath My commandments and doeth them, he it is that loveth Me; and I will love him and will make My abode with him (John 14:21, 23). And again: If ye do My commandments ye shall abide in My love (John 15:10). 17. All experience in heaven attests that the Divine that goes forth from the Lord and that affects angels and makes heaven is love; for all who are in heaven are forms of love and charity, and appear in ineffable beauty, with love shining forth from their faces, and from their speech and from every particular of their life.{1} Moreover, there are spiritual spheres of life emanating from and surrounding every angel and every spirit, by which their quality in respect to the affections of their love is known, sometimes at a great distance. For with everyone these spheres flow forth from the life of his affection and consequent thought, or from the life of his love and consequent faith. The spheres that go forth from angels are so full of love as to affect the inmosts of life of those who are with them. They have repeatedly been perceived by me and have thus affected me.{2} That it is love from which angels have their life is further evident from the fact that in the other life everyone turns himself in accordance with his love-those who are in love to the Lord and in love towards the neighbor turning themselves always to the Lord, while those who are in love of self turn themselves always away from the Lord. This is so, however their bodies may turn, since with those in the other life spaces conform to the states of their interiors, likewise quarters, which are not constant as they are in this world, but are determined in accordance with the direction of their faces. And yet it is not the angels that turn themselves to the Lord; but the Lord turns to Himself those that love to do the things that are from Him.{3} But more on this subject hereafter, where the quarters in the other life are treated of. {Footnote 1} Angels are forms of love and charity (n. 3804, 4735, 4797, 4985, 5199, 5530, 9879, 10177). {Footnote 2} A spiritual sphere, which is a sphere of the life, overflows and pours forth from every man, spirit, and angel, and encompasses them (n. 4464, 5179, 7454, 8630). It flows from the life of their affection and consequent thought (n. 2489, 4464, 6206). {Footnote 3} Spirits and angels turn themselves constantly to their loves, and those in the heavens turn themselves constantly to the Lord (n. 10130, 10189, 10420, 10702). Quarters in the other life are to each one in accordance with the direction of his face, and are thereby determined, otherwise than in the world (n. 10130, 10189, 10420, 10702). 18. The Divine of the Lord in heaven is love, for the reason that love is receptive of all things of heaven, such as peace, intelligence, wisdom and happiness. For love is receptive of each and all things that are in harmony with it; it longs for them, seeks them, and drinks them in as it were spontaneously, for it desires unceasingly to be enriched and perfected by them.{1} This, too, man well knows, for with him love searches as it were the stores of his memory and draws forth all things that are in accord with itself, collecting and arranging them in and under itself-in itself that they may be its own, and under itself that they may be its servants; but other things not in accord with it it discards and expels. That there is present in love every capacity for receiving truths in harmony with itself, and a longing to conjoin them to itself, has been made clear also by the fact that some who were simple-minded in the world were taken up into heaven, and yet when they were with the angels they came into angelic wisdom and heavenly blessedness, and for the reason that they had loved what is good and true for its own sake, and had implanted it in their life, and had thereby become capacities for receiving heaven with all that is ineffable there. But those who are in love of self and of the world have no capacity for receiving what is good and true; they loathe and reject it, and at its first touch and entrance they flee and associate themselves with those in hell who are in loves like their own. There were spirits who had doubts about there being such capacities in heavenly love, and who wished to know whether it were true; whereupon they were let into a state of heavenly love, whatever opposed being for the time removed, and were brought forward some distance, where there was an angelic heaven, and from it they talked with me, saying that they perceived a more interior happiness than they could possibly express in words, and they lamented greatly that they must return into their former state. Others also were taken up into heaven; and the higher or more interiorly they were exalted the more of intelligence and wisdom were they admitted into, such as enabled them to perceive what had before been incomprehensible to them. From this it is clear that the love that goes forth from the Lord is receptive of heaven and all things therein. {Footnote 1} Innumerable things are contained in love, and love gathers to itself all things that are in harmony with it (n. 2500, 2572, 3078, 3189, 6323, 7490, 7750). 19. That love to the Lord and love towards the neighbor include in themselves all Divine truths is made evident by what the Lord Himself said of these two loves: Thou shalt love thy God with all thy heart and with all thy soul. This is the greatest and first commandment. And the second, like unto it, is, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang the law and the prophets (Matt. 22:37-40). "The law and the prophets" are the whole Word, thus all Divine truth. 20. IV. HEAVEN IS DIVIDED INTO TWO KINGDOMS. As there are infinite varieties in heaven, and no one society nor any one angel is exactly like any other,{1} there are in heaven general, specific, and particular divisions. The general division is into two kingdoms, the specific into three heavens, and the particular into innumerable societies. Each of these will be treated of in what follows. The general division is said to be into kingdoms, because heaven is called "the kingdom of God." {Footnote 1} There is infinite variety, and nowhere any thing the same as another (n. 7236, 9002). Also in the heavens there is infinite variety (n. 684, 690, 3744, 5598, 7236). Varieties in heaven are varieties of good (n. 3744, 4005, 7236, 7833, 7836, 9002). All societies in the heavens, and all angels in a society, are thereby distinguished from each other (n. 690, 3241, 3519, 3804, 3986, 4067, 4149, 4263, 7236, 7833, 7836). Nevertheless they are all made one by love from the Lord (n. 457, 3986). 21. There are angels that receive more interiorly the Divine that goes forth from the Lord, and others that receive it less interiorly; the former are called celestial angels, and the latter spiritual angels. Because of this difference heaven is divided into two kingdoms, one called the Celestial Kingdom, the other the Spiritual Kingdom.{1} {Footnote 1} Heaven as a whole is divided into two kingdoms, a celestial kingdom and a spiritual kingdom (n. 3887, 4138). The angels of the celestial kingdom receive the Divine of the lord in their voluntary part, thus more interiorly than the spiritual angels, who receive it in their intellectual part (n. 5113, 6367, 8521, 9936, 9995, 10124). 22. As the angels that constitute the celestial kingdom receive the Divine of the Lord more interiorly they are called interior and also higher angels; and for the same reason the heavens that they constitute are called interior and higher heavens.{1} They are called higher and lower, because these terms designate what is interior and what is exterior.{2} {Footnote 1} The heavens that constitute the celestial kingdom are called higher while those that constitute the spiritual kingdom are called lower (n. 10068). {Footnote 2} Interior things are portrayed by higher things, and higher things signify interior things (n. 2148, 3084, 4599, 5146, 8325). 23. The love in which those are, who are in the celestial kingdom is called celestial love, and the love in which those are who are in the spiritual kingdom is called spiritual love. Celestial love is love to the Lord, and spiritual love is love towards the neighbor. And as all good pertains to love (for good to any one is what he loves) the good also of the other kingdom is called celestial, and the good of the other spiritual. Evidently, then, the two kingdoms are distinguished from each other in the same way as good of love to the Lord is distinguished from good of love towards the neighbor.{1} And as the good of love to the Lord is an interior good, and that love is interior love, so the celestial angels are interior angels, and are called higher angels. {Footnote 1} The good of the celestial kingdom is good of love to the Lord, and the good of the spiritual kingdom is good of charity towards the neighbor (n. 3691, 6435, 9468, 9680, 9683, 9780). 24. The celestial kingdom is called also the Lord's priestly kingdom, and in the Word "His dwelling-place;" while the spiritual kingdom is called His royal kingdom, and in the Word "His throne." And from the celestial Divine the Lord in the world was called "Jesus," while from the spiritual Divine He was called "Christ." 25. The angels in the Lord's celestial kingdom, from their more interior reception of the Divine of the Lord, far excel in wisdom and glory the angels that are in His spiritual kingdom; for they are in love to the Lord, and consequently are nearer and more closely conjoined to Him.{1} These angels are such because they have received and continue to receive Divine truths at once in their life, and not first in memory and thought, as the spiritual angels do. Consequently they have Divine truths written in their hearts, and they perceive them, and as it were see them, in themselves; nor do they ever reason about them whether they are true or not.{2} They are such as are described in Jeremiah: I will put my law in their mind, and will write it in their heart. They shall teach no more everyone his friend and everyone his brother, saying, Know ye Jehovah. They shall know Me, from the least of them even to the greatest of them (31:33, 34). And they are called in Isaiah: Taught of Jehovah (54:13). That the "taught of Jehovah" are those who are taught by the Lord He Himself teaches in John (6:45, 46). {Footnote 1} The celestial angels immeasurably surpass in wisdom the spiritual angels (n. 2718, 9995). The nature of the distinction between celestial angels and spiritual angels (n. 2088, 2669, 2708, 2715, 3235, 3240, 4788, 7068, 8521, 9277, 10295). {Footnote 2} The celestial angels do not reason about truths of faith, because they perceive them in themselves; but the spiritual angels reason about them whether they are true or not (n. 202, 337, 597, 607, 784, 1121, 1384, 1898, 1919, 3246, 4448, 7680, 7877, 8780, 9277, 10786). 26. It has been said that these angels have wisdom and glory above others for the reason that they have received and continue to receive Divine truths at once in their life. For as soon as they hear Divine truths, they will and do them, instead of storing them up in the memory and afterwards considering whether they are true. They know at once by influx from the Lord whether the truth they hear is true; for the Lord flows directly into man's willing, but mediately through his willing into his thinking. Or what is the same, the Lord flows directly into good, but mediately through good into truth.{1} That is called good which belongs to the will and action therefrom, while that is called truth that belongs to the memory and to the thought therefrom. Moreover, every truth is turned into good and implanted in love as soon as it enters into the will; but so long as truth remains in the memory and in the thought therefrom it does not become good, nor does it live, nor is it appropriated to man, since man is a man from his will and understanding therefrom, and not from his understanding separated from his will.{2} {Footnote 1} The Lord's influx is into good and through good into truth, and not the reverse; thus into the will and through that into the understanding, and not the reverse (n. 5482, 5649, 6027, 8685, 8701, 10153). {Footnote 2} The will of man is the very being [esse] of his life, and the receptacle of the good of love, while his understanding is the outgo [existere] of his life therefrom, and the receptacle of the truth and good of faith (n. 3619, 5002, 9282). Thus the will's life is the chief life of man, and the life of the understanding goes forth therefrom (n. 585, 590, 3619, 7342, 8885, 9282, 10076, 10109, 10110). Whatever is received by the will comes to be the life, and is appropriated to man (n. 3161, 9386, 9393). Man is a man from his will and his understanding therefrom (n. 8911, 9069, 9071, 10076, 10109, 10110). Moreover, everyone who wills and understands rightly is loved and valued by others, while he that understands rightly and does not will rightly is rejected and despised (n. 8911, 10076). Also, after death man remains such as his will and his understanding therefrom have been, while the things that pertain to the understanding and not also to the will then vanish, because they are not in the man (n. 9069, 9071, 9282, 9386, 10153). 27. Because of this difference between the angels of the celestial kingdom and the angels of the spiritual kingdom they are not together, and have no interaction with each other. They are able to communicate only through intermediate angelic societies, which are called celestial-spiritual. Through these the celestial kingdom flows into the spiritual;{1} and from this it comes to pass that although heaven is divided into two kingdoms it nevertheless makes one. The Lord always provides such intermediate angels through whom there is communication and conjunction. {Footnote 1} Between the two kingdoms there is communication and conjunction by mean's of angelic societies which are called celestial-spiritual (n. 4047, 6435, 8796, 8802). The influx of the Lord through the celestial kingdom into the spiritual (n. 3969, 6366). 28. As the angels of these two kingdoms will be fully treated of in what follows, particulars are here omitted. 29. V. THERE ARE THREE HEAVENS. There are three heavens, entirely distinct from each other, an inmost or third, a middle or second, and an outmost or first. These have a like order and relation to each other as the highest part of man, or his head, the middle part, or body, and the lowest, or feet; or as the upper, the middle, and the lower stories of a house. In the same order is the Divine that goes forth and descends from the Lord; consequently heaven, from the necessity of order, is threefold. 30. The interiors of man, which belong to his mind and disposition, are also in like order. He has an inmost, a middle, and an outmost part; for when man was created all things of Divine order were brought together in him, so that he became Divine order in form, and consequently a heaven in miniature.{1} For this reason also man, as regards his interiors, has communication with the heavens and comes after death among the angels, either among those of the inmost, or of the middle, or of the outmost heaven, in accordance with his reception of Divine good and truth from the Lord during his life in the world. {Footnote 1} All things of Divine order are brought together in man, and by creation man is Divine order in form (n. 3628, 4219, 4220, 4223, 4523, 4524, 5114, 5168, 6013, 6057, 6605, 6626, 9706, 10156, 10472). In man the internal man was formed after the image of heaven, and the external after the image of the world, and this is why man was called by the ancients a microcosm (n. 3628, 4523, 5115, 6013, 6057, 9279, 9706, 10156, 10472). Thus man is respect to his interiors is by creation a heaven in least form after the image of the greatest; and such also man becomes when he has been created anew or regenerated by the Lord (n. 911, 1900, 1928, 3624-3631, 3634, 3884, 4041, 4279, 4523, 4524, 4625, 6013, 6057, 9279, 9632). 31. The Divine that flows in from the Lord and is received in the third or inmost heaven is called celestial, and in consequence the angels there are called celestial angels; the Divine that flows in from the Lord and is received in the second or middle heaven is called spiritual, and in consequence the angels there are called spiritual angels; while the Divine that flows in from the Lord and is received in the outmost or first heaven is called natural; but as the natural of that heaven is not like the natural of the world, but has the spiritual and the celestial within it, that heaven is called the spiritual-natural and the celestial-natural, and in consequence the angels there are called spiritual-natural and celestial-natural.{1} Those who receive influx from the middle or second heaven, which is the spiritual heaven, are called spiritual-natural; and those who receive influx from the third or inmost heaven, which is the celestial heaven, are called celestial-natural. The spiritual-natural angels and the celestial-natural angels are distinct from each other; nevertheless they constitute one heaven, because they are in one degree. {Footnote 1} There are three heavens, inmost, middle, and outmost, or third, second, and first (n. 684 9594, 10270). Goods therein also follow in triple order (n. 4938, 4939, 9992, 10005, 10017). The good of the inmost or third heaven is called celestial, the good of the middle or second is called spiritual, and the good of the outmost or first, spiritual-natural (n. 4279, 4286, 4938, 4939, 9992, 10005, 10017, 10068). 32. In each heaven there is an internal and an external; those in the internal are called there internal angels, while those in the external are called external angels. The internal and the external in the heavens, or in each heaven, hold the same relation as the voluntary and intellectual in man-the internal corresponding to the voluntary, and the external to the intellectual. Everything voluntary has its intellectual; one cannot exist without the other. The voluntary may be compared to a flame and the intellectual to the light therefrom. 33. Let it be clearly understood that with the angels it is the interiors that cause them to be in one heaven or another; for as their interiors are more open to the Lord they are in a more interior heaven. There are three degrees of interiors in each angel and spirit, and also in man. Those in whom the third degree is opened are in the inmost heaven. Those in whom the second degree is opened, or only the first, are in the middle or in the outmost heaven. The interiors are opened by reception of Divine good and Divine truth. Those who are affected by Divine truths and admit them at once into the life, thus into the will and into action therefrom, are in the inmost or third heaven, and have their place there in accordance with their reception of good from affection for truth. Those who do not admit truths at once into the will but into the memory, and thence into the understanding, and from the understanding will and do them, are in the middle or second heaven. But those who live morally and who believe in a Divine, and who care very little about being taught, are in the outmost or first heaven.{1} From this it is clear that the states of the interiors are what make heaven, and that heaven is within everyone, and not outside of him; as the Lord teaches when He says: The kingdom of God cometh not with observation, neither shall they say, Lo here, or Lo there; for behold the kingdom of God ye have within you (Luke 17:20, 21). {Footnote 1} There are as many degrees of life in man as there are heavens, and these are opened after death in accordance with his life (n. 3747, 9594). Heaven is in man (n. 3884). Therefore he that has received heaven into himself in the world, comes into heaven after death (n. 10717). 34. Furthermore, all perfection increases towards interiors and decreases towards exteriors, since interiors are nearer to the Divine, and are in themselves pure, while exteriors are more remote from the Divine and are in themselves grosser.{1} Intelligence, wisdom, love, everything good and the resulting happiness, are what constitute angelic perfection; but not happiness apart from these, for such happiness is external and not internal. Because in the angels of the inmost heaven the interiors have been opened in the third degree their perfection immeasurably surpasses the perfection of angels in the middle heaven, whose interiors have been opened in the second degree. So the perfection of these angels exceeds in like measure the perfection of angels of the outmost heaven. {Footnote 1} Interiors are more perfect because nearer to the Divine (n. 3405, 5146, 5147). In the internal there are thousands and thousands of things that appear in the external as one general thing (n. 5707). As far as man is raised from externals towards interiors, so far he comes into light and thus into intelligence and the elevation is like rising out of a cloud into clearness (n. 4598, 6183, 6313). 35. Because of this distinction an angel of one heaven cannot go among the angels of another heaven, that is, no one can ascend from a lower heaven and no one can descend from a higher heaven. One ascending from a lower heaven is seized with a distress even to anguish, and is unable to see those who are there, still less to talk with them; while one descending from a higher heaven is deprived of his wisdom, stammers in his speech, and is in despair. There were some from the outmost heaven who had not yet been taught that the interiors of angels are what constitute heaven, and who believed that they might come into a higher heavenly happiness by simply gaining access to a heaven where higher angels are. These were permitted to enter among such angels. But when they were there they could see no one, however much they searched, although there was a great multitude present; for the interiors of the newcomers not having been opened in the same degree as the interiors of the angels there, their sight was not so opened. Presently they were seized with such anguish of heart that they scarcely knew whether they were alive or not. Therefore they hastily betook themselves to the heaven from which they came, glad to get back among their like, and pledging themselves that they would no longer covet higher things than were in agreement with their life. Again, I have seen some let down from a higher heaven; and these were deprived of their wisdom until they no longer knew what their own heaven was. It is otherwise when, as is often done, angels are raised up by the Lord out of a lower heaven into a higher that they may behold its glory; for then they are prepared beforehand, and are encompassed by intermediate angels, through whom they have communication with those they come among. From all this it is plain that the three heavens are entirely distinct from each other. 36. Those, however, who are in the same heaven can affiliate with any who are there; but the delights of such affiliation are measured by the kinships of good they have come into; of which more will be said in the following chapters. 37. But although the heavens are so distinct that there can be no companionship between the angels of one heaven and the angels of another, still the Lord joins all the heavens together by both direct and mediate influx-direct from Himself into all the heavens, and mediate from one heaven into another.{1} He thus makes the three heavens to be one, and all to be in such connection from the First to the Last that nothing unconnected is possible. Whatever is not connected through intermediates with the First can have no permanent existence, but is dissipated and becomes nothing.{2} {Footnote 1} Influx from the Lord is direct from Himself and also mediate through on heaven into another, and in like manner into man's interiors (n. 6063, 6307, 6472, 9682, 9683). Direct influx of the Divine from the Lord (n. 6058, 6474-6478, 8717, 8728). Mediate influx through the spiritual world into the natural world (n. 4067, 6982, 6985, 6996). {Footnote 2} All things spring from things prior to themselves, thus from a First, and in like inner subsist, because subsistence is unceasing springing forth; therefore nothing unconnected is possible (n. 3626-3628, 3648, 4523, 4524, 6040, 6056). 38. Only he who knows how degrees are related to Divine order can comprehend how the heavens are distinct, or even what is meant by the internal and the external man. Most men in the world have no other idea of what is interior and what is exterior, or of what is higher and what is lower, than as something continuous, or coherent by continuity, from purer to grosser. But the relation of what is interior to what is exterior is discrete, not continuous. Degrees are of two kinds, those that are continuous and those that are not. Continuous degrees are related like the degrees of the waning of a light from its bright blaze to darkness, or like the degrees of the decrease of vision from objects in the light to those in the shade, or like degrees of purity in the atmosphere from bottom to top. These degrees are determined by distance. [2] On the other hand, degrees that are not continuous, but discrete, are distinguished like prior and posterior, like cause and effect, and like what produces and what is produced. Whoever looks into the matter will see that in each thing and all things in the whole world, whatever they are, there are such degrees of producing and compounding, that is, from one a second, and from that a third, and so on. [3] Until one has acquired for himself a perception of these degrees he cannot possibly understand the differences between the heavens, nor between the interior and exterior faculties of man, nor the differences between the spiritual world and the natural world, nor between the spirit of man and his body. So neither can he understand the nature and source of correspondences and representations, or the nature of influx. Sensual men do not apprehend these differences, for they make increase and decrease, even according to these degrees, to be continuous, and are therefore unable to conceive of what is spiritual otherwise than as a purer natural. And in consequence they remain outside of and a great way off from intelligence.{1} {Footnote 1} Things interior and things exterior are not continuous but distinct and discrete according to degrees, and each degree has its bounds (n. 3691, 5114, 5145, 8603, 10099). One thing is formed from another, and the things so formed are not continuously purer and grosser (n. 6326, 6465). Until the difference between what is interior and what is exterior according to such degrees is perceived, neither the internal and external man nor the interior and exterior heavens can be clearly understood (n. 5146, 6465, 10099, 10181). 39. Finally, a certain arcanum respecting the angels of the three heavens, which has not hitherto come into any one's mind, because degrees have not been understood, may be related. In every angel and also in every man there is an inmost or highest degree, or an inmost or highest something, into which the Divine of the Lord primarily or proximately flows, and from which it disposes the other interiors in him that follow in accordance with the degrees of order. This inmost or highest degree may be called the entrance of the Lord to the angel or man, and His veriest dwelling-place in them. It is by virtue of this inmost or highest that a man is a man, and is distinguished from irrational animals, for these do not have it. From this it is that man, unlike the animals, is capable, in respect to all his interiors which pertain to his mind and disposition, of being raised up by the Lord to Himself, of believing in the Lord, of being moved by love to the Lord, and thereby beholding Him, and of receiving intelligence and wisdom, and speaking from reason. Also, it is by virtue of this that he lives to eternity. But what is arranged and provided by the Lord in this inmost does not distinctly flow into the perception of any angel, because it is above his thought and transcends his wisdom. 40. These now are the general truths respecting the three heavens; but in what follows each heaven will be particularly treated of. 41. VI. THE HEAVENS CONSIST OF INNUMERABLE SOCIETIES. The angels of each heaven are not together in one place, but are divided into larger and smaller societies in accordance with the differences of good of love and of faith in which they are, those who are in like good forming a single society. Goods in the heavens are in infinite variety, and each angel is as it were his own good.{1} {Footnote 1} There is infinite variety, and never any thing the same with any other (n. 7236, 9002). So in the heavens there is infinite variety (n. 684, 690, 3744, 5598, 7236). Varieties in the heavens, which are infinite, are varieties of good (n. 3744, 4005, 7236, 7833, 7836, 9002). These varieties exist through truths, which are manifold from which is each one's good (n. 3470, 3804, 4149, 6917, 7236). It is because of this that all the societies in the heavens, and all angels in a society, are distinct from each other (n. 690, 3241, 3519, 3804, 3986, 4067, 4149, 4263, 7236, 7833, 836). Nevertheless they all make one through love from the Lord (n. 457, 3986). 42. Moreover, the angelic societies in the heavens are at a distance from each other as their goods differ in general and in particular. For in the spiritual world the only ground of distance is difference in the state of interiors, thus in the heavens difference in the states of love, those who differ much being far apart, and those who differ but little being but little apart, and likeness causing them to be together.{1} {Footnote 1} All the societies of heaven have a constant position in accordance with the differences of their state of life, thus in accordance with the differences of love and faith (n. 1274, 3638, 3639). Wonderful things in the other life, that is, in the spiritual world, respecting distance, situation, place space and time (n. 1273-1277). 43. All who are in the same society are arranged in like manner in respect to each other; those who are more perfect, that is, who excel in good, thus in love, wisdom, and intelligence, being in the middle; those who are less pre-eminent being round about at a distance in accordance with the decrease of their perfection. The arrangement is like light diminishing from the middle to the circumference, those who are in the middle being in the greatest light, and those towards the circumference in less and less. 44. Like are drawn spontaneously as it were to their like; for with their like they are as if with their own and at home, but with others they are as if with strangers and abroad; also when with their like they are in their freedom, and consequently in every delight of life. 45. All this makes clear that all in the heavens are affiliated by good, and are distinguished according to the quality of the good. Nevertheless it is not the angels who thus affiliate themselves, but the Lord, from whom the good is. The Lord leads them, conjoins and separates them, and preserves them in freedom proportionate to their good. Thus He holds everyone in the life of his love and faith, of his intelligence and wisdom, and the resulting happiness.{1} {Footnote 1} All freedom pertains to love and affection, since what a man loves, that he does freely (n. 2870, 3158, 8987, 8990, 9555, 9591). Because freedom pertains to love everyone's life and delight is therefrom (n. 2873). Nothing appears as one's own, except what is from his freedom (n. 2880). The veriest freedom is to be led by the Lord, because one is thus led by the love of good and truth (n. 892, 905, 2872, 2886, 2890-2892, 9096, 9586-9591). 46. Again, all who are in like good, even though they have never seen each other before, know each other, just as men in the world do their kinsmen, near relations, and friends; and for the reason that in the other life there are none but spiritual kinships, relationships, and friendships, thus such as spring from love and faith.{1} This it has sometimes been granted me to see, when I have been in the spirit, and thus withdrawn from the body, and in the society of angels. Some of those I then saw seemed as if I had known them from childhood, but others as if not known at all. Those whom I seemed to have known from childhood were such as were in a state similar to that of my spirit; but those who seemed unknown were in a dissimilar state. {Footnote 1} All nearness, relationship, connections, and as it were ties of blood, in heaven are from good and in accordance with its agreements and differences (n. 685, 917, 1394, 2739, 3612, 3815, 4121). 47. All who form the same angelic society resemble each other in countenance in a general way, but not in particulars. How these general resemblances are related to differences in particulars can in some measure be seen from like things in the world. It is well known that with every race there is a certain general resemblance of face and eyes, by which it is known and distinguished from all other races. This is still more true of different families. In the heavens this is much more fully the case, because there all the interior affections appear in and shine forth from the face, for there the face is the external and representative form of those affections. No one there can have any other face than that of his own affection. It was also shown how this general likeness is varied in particulars with individuals in the same society. A face like an angel's appeared to me, and this was varied in accordance with such affections for good and truth as are in those who belong to a single society. These changes went on for a long time, and I noticed that the same face in general continued as a ground work, all besides being what was derived and produced from that. Thus by means of this face the affections of the whole society were exhibited, whereby the faces of those in it are varied. For, as has been said above, the faces of angels are the forms of their interiors, thus of the affections that belong to their love and faith. 48. From this it also comes to pass that an angel who excels in wisdom instantly sees the quality of another from his face. In heaven no one can conceal his interiors by his expression, or feign, or really deceive and mislead by craft or hypocrisy. There are hypocrites who are experts in disguising their interiors and fashioning their exteriors into the form of that good in which those are who belong to a society, and who thus make themselves appear angels of light; and these sometimes insinuate themselves into a society; but they cannot stay there long, for they begin to suffer inward pain and torture, to grow livid in the face, and to become as it were lifeless. These changes arise from the contrariety of the life that flows in and affects them. Therefore they quickly cast themselves down into hell where their like are, and no longer want to ascend. These are such as are meant by the man found among the invited guests at the feast not clothed with a wedding garment, who was cast out into outer darkness (Matt. 22:11, seq.). 49. All the societies of heaven have communication with one another, though not by open interaction; for few go out of their own society into another, since going out of their own society is like going away from themselves or from their own life, and passing into another life which is less congenial. But all the societies communicate by an extension of the sphere that goes forth from the life of each. This sphere of the life is the sphere of the affections of love and faith. This sphere extends itself far and wide into the surrounding societies, and farther and wider in proportion as the affections are the more interior and perfect.{1} In the measure of that extension do the angels have intelligence and wisdom. Those that are in the inmost heaven and in the middle of it have extension into the entire heavens; thus there is a sharing of all in heaven with each one, and of each one with all.{2} But this extension will be considered more fully hereafter, where the form of heaven in accord with which the angelic societies are arranged, and also the wisdom and intelligence of angels, will be treated of, for in accordance with that form all extension of affections and thoughts proceeds. {Footnote 1} A spiritual sphere, which is the sphere of life flows out from every man, spirit, and angel, and encompasses them (n. 4464, 5179, 7454, 5630). It flows forth from the life of their affection and thought (n. 2459, 4464, 6206). These spheres extend themselves far into angelic societies in accordance with the quality and quantity of their good (n. 6598-6612, 8063, 5794, 5797). {Footnote 2} In the heavens a sharing of all goods is possible because heavenly love shares with another everything that is its own (n. 549, 550, 1390, 1391, 1399, 10130, 10723). 50. It has been said above that in the heavens there are larger and smaller societies. The larger consist of myriads of angels, the smaller of some thousands, and the least of some hundreds. There are also some that dwell apart, house by house as it were, and family by family. Although these live in this scattered way, they are arranged in order like those who live in societies, the wiser in the middle and the more simple in the borders. Such are more closely under the Divine auspices of the Lord, and are the best of the angels. 51. VII. EACH SOCIETY IS A HEAVEN IN A SMALLER FORM, AND EACH ANGEL IN THE SMALLEST FORM. Each society is a heaven in a smaller form, and each angel in the smallest form, because it is the good of love and of faith that makes heaven, and this good is in each society of heaven and in each angel of a society. It does not matter that this good everywhere differs and varies, it is still the good of heaven; and there is no difference except that heaven has one quality here and another there. So when any one is raised up into any society of heaven he is said to come into heaven; and those who are there are said to be in heaven, and each one in his own. This is known to all in the other life; consequently those standing outside of or beneath heaven, when they see at a distance companies of angels, say that heaven is in this or that place. It is comparatively like civil and military officers and attendants in a royal palace or castle, who, although dwelling apart in their own quarters or chambers above and below, are yet in the same palace or castle, each in his own position in the royal service. This makes evident the meaning of the Lord's words, that: In His Father's house are many abiding places (John 14:2); also what is meant by the dwelling-places of heaven, and the heavens of heavens, in the prophets. 52. That each society is a heaven in a smaller form can be seen from this also, that each society there has a heavenly form like that of heaven as a whole. In the whole heavens those who are superior to the rest are in the middle, with the less excellent round about in a decreasing order even to the borders (as stated in a preceding chapter, n. 43). It can be seen also from this, that the Lord directs all in the whole heaven as if they were a single angel; and the same is true of all in each society; and as a consequence an entire angelic society sometimes appears in angelic form like a single angel, as I have been permitted by the Lord to see. Moreover, when the Lord appears in the midst of the angels He does not appear as one surrounded by many, but the appearance is as a one, in an angelic form. This is why the Lord is called "an angel" in the Word, and why an entire society is so called. "Michael," "Gabriel," and "Raphael" are no other than angelic societies so named from their function.{1} {Footnote 1} In the Word the Lord is called an angel (n. 6280, 6831, 8192, 9303). A whole angelic society is called an angel, and Michael and Raphael are angelic societies, so called from their functions (n. 8192). The societies of heaven and the angels have no names, but are distinguished by the quality of their good, and by the idea of it (n. 1705, 1754). 53. As an entire society is a heaven in a smaller form, so an angel is a heaven in the smallest form. For heaven is not outside of the angel, but is within him, since the interior things which belong to his mind are arranged into the form of heaven, thus for the reception of all things of heaven that are outside of him. These also he receives according to the quality of the good that is in him from the Lord. It is from this that an angel is a heaven. 54. It can in no sense be said that heaven is outside of any one; it is within him. For it is in accordance with the heaven that is within him that each angel receives the heaven that is outside of him. This makes clear how greatly misled is he who believes that to come into heaven is simply to be taken up among angels, without regard to what one's interior life may be, thus that heaven is granted to each one by mercy apart from means;{1} when, in fact, unless heaven is within one, nothing of the heaven that is outside can flow in and be received. There are many spirits who have this idea. Because of this belief they have been taken up into heaven; but when they came there, because their interior life was contrary to the angelic life, their intellectual faculties began to be blinded until they became like fools; and they began to be tortured in their voluntary faculties until they became like madmen. In a word, if those that have lived wickedly come into heaven they gasp for breath and writhe about, like fishes out of water in the air, or like animals in ether in an airpump when the air has been exhausted. From this it can be seen that heaven is not outside of a man, but within him.{2} {Footnote 1} Heaven is not granted from mercy apart from means, but in accordance with the life; yet everything of the life by which man is led to heaven by the Lord belongs to mercy; this is what is meant by mercy (n. 5057, 10659). If heaven were granted from mercy apart from means it would be granted to all (n. 2401). About some evil spirits cast down from heaven who believed that heaven was granted to everyone from mercy apart from means (n. 4226). {Footnote 2} Heaven is in man (n. 3884). 55. As everyone receives the heaven that is outside of him in accordance with the quality of the heaven that is within him, so in like manner does everyone receive the Lord, since it is the Divine of the Lord that makes heaven. And for this reason when the Lord becomes manifestly present in any society His appearance there is in accord with the quality of the good in which the society is, thus not the same in one society as in another. This diversity is not in the Lord; it is in the angels who behold Him from their own good, and thus in accordance with their good. And they are affected by His appearance in accordance with the quality of their love, those who love Him inmostly being inmostly affected, and those who love Him less being less affected; while the evil who are outside of heaven are tortured by His presence. When the Lord is seen in any society He is seen as an angel, but is distinguished from others by the Divine that shines through. 56. Again, heaven is where the Lord is acknowledged, believed in, and loved. Variety in worship of the Lord from the variety of good in different societies is not harmful, but beneficial, for the perfection of heaven is therefrom. This can scarcely be made clear to the comprehension without employing terms that are in common use in the learned world, and showing by means of these how unity, that it may be perfect, must be formed from variety. Every whole exists from various parts, since a whole without constituents is not anything; it has no form, and therefore no quality. But when a whole exists from various parts, and the various parts are in a perfect form, in which each attaches itself like a congenial friend to another in series, then the quality is perfect. So heaven is a whole from various parts arranged in a most perfect form, for the heavenly form is the most perfect of all forms. That this is the ground of all perfection is evident from the nature of all beauty, agreeableness and delight, by which the senses and the mind are affected; for these qualities spring and flow from no other source than the concert and harmony of many concordant and congenial parts, either coexisting in order or following in order, and never from a whole without many parts. From this is the saying that variety gives delight; and the nature of variety, as is known, is what determines the delight. From all this it can be seen as in a mirror how perfection comes from variety even in heaven. For from the things that exist in the natural world the things of the spiritual world can be seen as in a mirror.{1} {Footnote 1} Every whole is from the harmony and concert of many parts. Otherwise it has no quality (n. 457). From this the entire heaven is a whole (n. 457). And for the reason that all there have regard to one end, which is the Lord (n. 9828). 57. What has been said of heaven may be said also of the church, for the church is the Lord's heaven on earth. There are also many churches, each one of which is called a church, and so far as the good of love and faith reigns therein is a church. Here, too, the Lord out of various parts forms a unity, that is, one church out of many churches.{1} And the like may be said of the man of the church in particular that is said of the church in general, namely, that the church is within man and not outside of him; and that every man is a church in whom the Lord is present in the good of love and of faith.{2} Again, the same may be said of a man that has the church in him as of an angel that has heaven in him, namely, that he is a church in the smallest form, as an angel is a heaven in the smallest form; and furthermore that a man that has the church in him, equally with an angel, is a heaven. For man was created that he might come into heaven and become an angel; consequently he that has good from the Lord is a man-angel.{3} What man has in common with an angel and what he has in contrast with angels may be mentioned. It is granted to man, equally with the angel, to have his interiors conformed to the image of heaven, and to become, so far as he is in the good of love and faith, an image of heaven. But it is granted to man and not to angels to have his exteriors conform to the image of the world; and so far as he is in good to have the world in him subordinated to heaven and made to serve heaven.{4} And then the Lord is present in him both in the world and in heaven just as if he were in his heaven. For the Lord is in His Divine order in both worlds, since God is order.{5} {Footnote 1} If good were the characteristic and essential of the church, and not truth apart from good, the church would be one (n. 1255, 1316, 2952, 3267, 3445, 3451. 3452). From good all churches make one church before the Lord (n. 7396, 9276). {Footnote 2} The church is in man, and not outside of him, and the church in general is made up of men that have the church in them (n. 3884 [6637]). {Footnote 3} A man who is a church is a heaven in the smallest form after the image of the greatest, because his interiors, which belong to his mind, are arranged after the form of heaven, and consequently for reception of all things of heaven (n. 911, 1900, 1928, 3624-3631, 3634, 3884, 4041, 4279, 4523, 4524, 4625, 6013, 6057 9279, 9632). {Footnote 4} Man has an internal and an external; hid internal is formed by creation after the image of heaven, and his external after the image of the world; and for this reason man was called by the ancients a microcosm (n. 3628, 4523, 4524, 5115, 5368, 6013, 6057, 9279, 9706, 10156, 10472). Therefore man was created to have the world in him serve heaven, and this takes place with the good; but it is the reverse with the evil, in whom heaven serves the world (n. 9278, 9283). {Footnote 5} The Lord is order, since the Divine good and truth that go forth from the Lord make order (n. 1728, 1919, 2011, 2258, 5110, 5703, 8988, 10336, 10619). Divine truths are laws of order (n. 2447, 7995). So far as a man lives according to order, that is, so far as he lives in good in accordance with Divine truths, he is a man, and the church and heaven are in him (n. 4839, 6605, 8513, [8547]). 58. Finally it should be said that he who has heaven in himself has it not only in the largest or most general things pertaining to him but also in every least or particular thing, and that these least things repeat in an image the greatest. This comes from the fact that everyone is his own love, and is such as his ruling love is. That which reigns flows into the particulars and arranges them, and every where induces a likeness of itself.{1} In the heavens love to the Lord is the ruling love, for there the Lord is loved above all things. Hence the Lord there is the All-in-all, flowing into all and each, arranging them, clothing them with a likeness of Himself, and making it to be heaven wherever He is. This is what makes an angel to be a heaven in the smallest form, a society to be a heaven in a larger form, and all the societies taken together a heaven in the largest form. That the Divine of the Lord is what makes heaven, and that He is the All-in-all, may be seen above (n. 7-12). {Footnote 1} The ruling or dominant love with everyone is in each thing and all things of his life, thus in each thing and all things of his thought and will (n. 6159, 7648, 8067, 8853). Man is such as is the ruling quality of his life (n. 987, 1040, 1568, 3570, 6571, 6935, 6938, 8853-8858, 10076, 10109, 10110, 10284). When love and faith rule they are in all the particulars of man's life, although he does not know it (n. 8854, 8864, 8865). 59. VIII. ALL HEAVEN IN THE AGGREGATE REFLECTS A SINGLE MAN. That heaven in its whole complex reflects a single man is an arcanum hitherto unknown in the world, but fully recognized in the heavens. To know this and the specific and particular things relating to it is the chief thing in the intelligence of the angels there, and on it many things depend which without it as their general principle would not enter distinctly and clearly into the ideas of their minds. Knowing that all the heavens with their societies reflect a single man they call heaven the Greatest Man and the Divine Man;{1}--Divine because it is the Divine of the Lord that makes heaven (see above, n. 7-12). {Footnote 1} Heaven in the whole complex appears in form like a man, and for this reason heaven is called the Greatest Man (n. 2996, 2998, 3624-3649, 3741-3745, 4625). 60. That into such a form and image celestial and spiritual things are arranged and joined cannot be seen by those who have no right idea of spiritual and heavenly things. Such think that the earthy and material things of which man's outmost nature is composed are what makes the man; and that apart from these man is not a man. But let them know that it is not from these that man is a man, but from his ability to understand what is true and to will what is good. Such understanding and willing are the spiritual and celestial things of which man is made. Moreover, it is known that everyone's quality is determined by the quality of his understanding and will; and it can also be known that his earthly body is formed to serve the understanding and the will in the world, and to skillfully accomplish their uses in the outmost sphere of nature. For this reason the body by itself can do nothing, but is moved always in entire subservience to the bidding of the understanding and will, even to the extent that whatever a man thinks he speaks with his tongue and lips, and whatever he wills he does with his body and limbs, and thus the understanding and the will are what act, while the body by itself does nothing. Evidently, then, the things of the understanding and will are what make man; and as these act into the minutest particulars of the body, as what is internal into what is external, they must be in a like form, and on this account man is called an internal or spiritual man. Heaven is such a man in its greatest and most perfect form. 61. Such being the angelic idea of man, the angels give no thought to what a man does with his body, but only to the will from which the body acts. This they call the man himself, and the understanding they call the man so far as it acts in unison with the will.{1} {Footnote 1} The will of man is the very being [esse] of his life, and his understanding is the outgo [existere] of his life therefrom (n. 3619, 5002, 9282). The chief life of man is the life of his will, and from that the life of the understanding proceeds (n. 585, 590, 3619, 7342, 8885, 9282, 10076, 10109, 10110). Man is man by virtue of his will and his understanding therefrom (n. 8911, 9069, 9071, 10076, 10109, 10110). 62. The angels, it is true, do not see heaven in its whole complex in the human form, for heaven as a whole does not come within view of any angel; but remote societies, consisting of many thousands of angels, they sometimes see as a one in the human form; and from a society, as from a part, they draw their conclusion as to the general, which is heaven. For in the most perfect form generals are like the parts, and parts are like the generals, with simply such a difference as there is between like things of greater or less magnitude; consequently, the angels say that since the Divine from what is inmost or highest sees all things, so in the Lord's sight heaven as a whole must be in the human form. 63. Heaven being such, it is ruled by the Lord as a single man is ruled, thus as a one. For although man, as we know, consists of an innumerable variety of parts, not only as a whole but also in each part-as a whole, of members, organs, and viscera; and in each part, of series of fibers, nerves, and blood-vessels, thus of members within members, and of parts within parts-nevertheless, when he acts he acts as a single man. Such likewise is heaven under the auspices and direction of the Lord. 64. So many different things in man act as a one, because there is no least thing in him that does not do something for the general welfare and perform some use. The general performs a use for its parts, and the parts for the general, for the general is composed of the parts and the parts constitute the general; therefore they provide for each other, have regard for each other, and are joined together in such a form that each thing and all things have reference to the general and its good; thus it is that they act as one. [2] In the heavens there are like affiliations. Those there are conjoined according to uses in a like form; and consequently those who do not perform uses for the common good are cast out of heaven as something heterogeneous. To perform use is to will well to others for the sake of the common good; but to will well to others not for the sake of the common good but for the sake of self is not to perform use. These latter are such as love themselves supremely, while the former are such as love the Lord supremely. Thence it is that those who are in heaven act as a one; and this they do from the Lord, not from themselves, for they look to Him as the Only One, the source of all things, and they regard His kingdom as the general, the good of which is to be sought. This is what is meant by the Lord's words, Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all things shall be added unto you (Matt. 6:33). "To seek His righteousness" means to seek His good.{1} [3] Those who in the world love their country's good more than their own, and their neighbor's good as their own, are they who in the other life love and seek the Lord's kingdom; for there the Lord's kingdom takes the place of country; and those who love doing good to others, not with self as an end but with good as an end, love the neighbor; for in heaven good is the neighbor.{2} All such are in the Greatest Man, that is, heaven. {Footnote 1} In the Wood "righteousness" is predicated of good, and "judgment" of truth; therefore "to do righteousness and judgment" is to do what is good and true (n. 2235, 9857). {Footnote 2} In the highest sense the Lord is the neighbor; consequently to love the Lord is to love that which is from Him, that is to love good and truth because the Lord is in everything that is from Him (n. 2425, 3419, 6706, 6711 6819, 6823, 8123). Therefore all good that is from the Lord is the neighbor, and to will and do that good is to love the neighbor (n. 5028, 10336). 65. As the whole heaven reflects a single man, and is a Divine spiritual man in the largest form, even in figure, so heaven like a man is arranged into members and parts, and these are similarly named. Moreover, angels know in what member this or that society is. This society, they say, is in a certain part or province of the head, that in a certain part or province of the breast, that in a certain part or province of the loins, and so on. In general, the highest or third heaven forms the head down to the neck; the middle or second heaven forms the breast down to the loins and knees; the lowest or first heaven forms the feet down to the soles, and also the arms down to the fingers. For the arms and hands belong to the lowest parts of man, although at the sides. From this again it is plain why there are three heavens. 66. The spirits that are beneath heaven are greatly astonished when they hear that heaven is not only above but below, for they have a like faith and opinion as men in the world, that heaven is nowhere but above, for they do not know that the arrangement of the heavens is like the arrangement of the members, organs, and viscera in man, some of which are above and some below; or like the arrangement of the parts in each of the members, organs, and viscera, some of which are within and some without. Hence their confused notions about heaven. 67. These things about heaven as the Greatest Man are set forth, because what follows in regard to heaven cannot be at all comprehended until these things are known, neither can there be any clear idea of the form of heaven, of the conjunction of the Lord with heaven, of the conjunction of heaven with man, of the influx of the spiritual world into the natural, or any idea at all of correspondence-subjects to be treated of in their proper order in what now follows. To throw some light on these subjects, therefore, the above has been premised. 68. IX. EACH SOCIETY IN HEAVEN REFLECTS A SINGLE MAN. I have frequently been permitted to see that each society of heaven reflects a single man, and is in the likeness of a man. There was a society into which several had insinuated themselves who knew how to counterfeit angels of light. These were hypocrites. When these were being separated from the angels I saw that the entire society appeared at first like a single indistinct body, then by degrees in a human form, but still indistinctly, and at last clearly as a man. Those that were in that man and made up the man were such as were in the good of that society; the others who were not in the man and did not make up the man were hypocrites; these were cast out and the former were retained; and thus a separation was effected. Hypocrites are such as talk well and also do well, but have regard to themselves in everything. They talk as angels do about the Lord, heaven, love, and heavenly life, and also act rightly, so that they may appear to be what they profess to be. But their thinking is different; they believe nothing; and they wish good to none but themselves. Their doing good is for the sake of self, or if for the sake of others it is only for the appearance, and thus still for the sake of self. 69. I have also been permitted to see that an entire angelic society, where the Lord is visibly present, appears as a one in the human form. There appeared on high towards the east something like a cloud, from glowing white becoming red, and with little stars round about, which was descending; and as it gradually descended it became brighter, and at last appeared in a perfect human form. The little stars round about the cloud were angels, who so appeared by virtue of light from the Lord. 70. It must be understood that although all in a heavenly society when seen together as one appear in the likeness of a man; yet no one society is just such a man as another. Societies differ from one another like the faces of different individuals of the same family, for the reason given above (n. 47), that is, they differ in accordance with the varieties of good in which they are and which determines their form. The societies of the inmost or highest heaven, and in the center there, are those that appear in the most perfect and beautiful human form. 71. It is worthy of mention that the greater the number in any society in heaven and the more these make a one, the more perfect is its human form, for variety arranged in a heavenly form is what constitutes perfection, as has been shown above (n. 56), and number gives variety. Moreover, every society of heaven increases in number daily, and as it increases it becomes more perfect. Thus not only the society becomes more perfect, but also heaven in general, because it is made up of societies. As heaven gains in perfection by increase of numbers, it is evident how mistaken those are who believe that heaven may be closed by becoming full; for the opposite is true, that it will never be closed, but is perfected by greater and greater fullness. Therefore, the angels desire nothing so much as to have new angel guests come to them. 72. Each society, when it appears as one whole is in the form of a man, for the reason that heaven as a whole has that form (as has been shown in the preceding chapter); moreover, in the most perfect form, such as the form of heaven is, there is a likeness of the parts to the whole, and of lesser forms to the greatest. The lesser forms and parts of heaven are the societies of which it consists, which are also heavens in lesser form (see 51-58). This likeness is perpetual because in the heavens the goods of all are from a single love, that is, from a single origin. The single love, which is the origin of the good of all in heaven, is love to the Lord from the Lord. It is from this that the entire heaven in general, each society less generally, and each angel in particular, is a likeness of the Lord, as has been shown above (n. 58). 73. X. THEREFORE EVERY ANGEL IS IN A COMPLETE HUMAN FORM. In the two preceding chapters it has been shown that heaven in its whole complex, and likewise each society in heaven, reflects a single man. From the sequence of reasons there set forth it follows that this is equally true of each angel. As heaven is a man in largest form, and a society of heaven in a less form, so is an angel in least. For in the most perfect form, such as the form of heaven is, there is a likeness of the whole in the part and of the part in the whole. This is so for the reason that heaven is a common sharing, for it shares all it has with each one, and each one receives all he has from that sharing. Because an angel is thus a recipient he is a heaven in least form, as shown above in its chapter; and a man also, so far as he receives heaven, is a recipient, a heaven, and an angel (see above, n. 57). This is thus described in the Apocalypse: He measured the wall of the holy Jerusalem, a hundred and forty and four cubits, the measure of a man, which is that of an angel (21:17). "Jerusalem" means here the Lord's church, and in a more eminent sense, heaven;{1} the "wall" means truth, which is a defence against the assault of falsities and evils;{2} "a hundred and forty and four" means all goods and truths in the complex;{3} "measure" means what a thing is,{4} a "man" means one in whom are goods and truths in general and in particular, thus in whom is heaven. And as it is from this that an angel is a man, it is said "the measure of a man, which is that of an angel." This is the spiritual meaning of these words. Without that meaning how could it be seen that "the wall of the Holy Jerusalem" is "the measure of a man, which is that of an angel?"{5} {Footnote 1} "Jerusalem" means the church (n. 402, 3654, 9166). {Footnote 2} The "wall" means truth defending against the assault of falsities and evils (n. 6419). {Footnote 3} "Twelve" means all truths and goods in the complex (n. 577, 2089, 2129, 2130, 3272, 3858, 3913). Likewise "seventy-two," and "a hundred and forty-four," since this comes from twelve multiplied into itself (n. 7973). All numbers in the Word signify things (n. 482, 487, 647, 648, 755, 813, 1963, 1988, 2075, 2252, 3252, 4264, 4495, 5265). Multiplied numbers have a like signification as the simple numbers from which they arise by multiplication (n. 5291, 5335, 5708, 7973). {Footnote 4} "Measure" in the Word signifies the quality of a thing in respect to truth and good (n. 3104, 9603). {Footnote 5} In regard to the spiritual or internal sense of the Word see the explanation of The White Horse in the Apocalypse, and the Appendix to The Heavenly Doctrine. 74. Let us now turn to experience. That angels are human forms, or men, has been seen by me a thousand times. I have talked with them as man with man, sometimes with one, sometimes with many together; and I have seen nothing whatever in their form different from the human form; and have occasionally been surprised to find them such. And that this might not be said to be a delusion or a vision of fancy, I have been permitted to see angels when fully awake or in possession of all my bodily senses, and in a state of clear perception. And I have often told them that men in the Christian world are in such blind ignorance in regard to angels and spirits as to believe them to be minds without form, even pure thoughts, of which they have no idea except as something ethereal in which there is some vitality. And as they thus ascribe to angels nothing human except a thinking faculty, they believe that having no eyes they do not see, having no ears they do not hear, and having no mouth or tongue they do not speak. [2] To this the angels replied that they are aware that such a belief is held by many in the world, and is prevalent among the learned, and to their surprise, even among the clergy. The reason, they said, is that the learned, who were the leaders and who first concocted such an idea of angels and spirits, conceived of them from the sense-conceptions of the external man; and those who think from these, and not from interior light and from the general idea implanted in everyone, must needs fabricate such notions, since the sense-conceptions of the external man take in only what belongs to nature, and nothing above nature, thus nothing whatever of the spiritual world.{1} From these leaders as guides this falsity of thought about angels extended to others who did not think from themselves but adopted the thoughts of their leaders; and those who first take their thoughts from others and make that thought their belief, and then view it with their own understanding, cannot easily recede from it, and are therefore in most cases satisfied with confirming it. [3] The angels said, furthermore, that the simple in faith and heart have no such idea about angels, but think of them as the men of heaven, and for the reason that they have not extinguished by learning what is implanted in them from heaven, and have no conception of anything apart from form. This is why angels in churches, whether sculptured or painted, are always depicted as men. In respect to this insight from heaven they said that it is the Divine flowing into such as are in the good of faith and life. {Footnote 1} Unless man is raised above the sense-conceptions of the external man he has very little wisdom (n. 5089). The wise man thinks above these sense-conceptions (n. 5089, 5094). When man is raised above these, he comes into clearer light, and finally into heavenly light (n. 6183, 6313, 6315, 9407, 9730, 9922). Elevation and withdrawal from these was known to the ancients (n. 6313). 75. From all my experience, which is now of many years, I am able to say and affirm that angels are wholly men in form, having faces, eyes, ears, bodies, arms, hands, and feet; that they see and hear one another, and talk together, and in a word lack nothing whatever that belongs to men except that they are not clothed in material bodies. I have seen them in their own light, which exceeds by many degrees the noonday light of the world, and in that light all their features could be seen more distinctly and clearly than the faces of men are seen on the earth. It has also been granted me to see an angel of the inmost heaven. He had a more radiant and resplendent face than the angels of the lower heavens. I observed him attentively, and he had a human form in all completeness. 76. But it must be remembered that a man cannot see angels with his bodily eyes, but only with the eyes of the spirit within him,{1} because his spirit is in the spiritual world, and all things of the body are in the natural world. Like sees like from being like. Moreover, as the bodily organ of sight, which is the eye, is too gross, as everyone knows, to see even the smaller things of nature except through magnifying glasses, still less can it see what is above the sphere of nature, as all things in the spiritual world are. Nevertheless these things can be seen by man when he has been withdrawn from the sight of the body, and the sight of his spirit has been opened; and this can be effected instantly whenever it is the pleasure of the Lord that man should see these things; and in that case man does not know but what he is seeing them with his bodily eyes. Thus were angels seen by Abraham, Lot, Manoah, and the prophets; and thus, too, the Lord was seen by the disciples after the resurrection; and in the same way angels have been seen by me. Because the prophets saw in this way they were called "seers," and were said "to have their eyes opened" (1 Sam. 9:8; Num. 24:3); and enabling them to see thus was called "opening their eyes," as with Elisha's servant, of whom we read: Elisha prayed and said, Jehovah, I pray Thee open his eyes that he may see; and Jehovah opened the eyes of the young man and he saw, and behold the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire round about Elisha (2 Kings 6:17). {Footnote 1} In respect to his interiors man is a spirit (n. 1594). And that spirit is the man himself, and it is from that spirit that the body lived (n. 447, 4622, 6054). 77. Good spirits, with whom I have spoken about this matter, have been deeply grieved at such ignorance in the church about the condition of heaven and of spirits and angels; and in their displeasure they charged me to declare positively that they are not formless minds nor ethereal breaths, but are men in very form, and see, hear, and feel equally with those who are in this world.{1} {Footnote 1} Inasmuch as each angel is a recipient of Divine order from the Lord, he is in a human form, perfect and beautiful in the measure of his reception (n. 322, 1880, 1881, 3633, 3804, 4622, 4735, 4797, 4985, 5199, 5530, 6054, 9879, 10177, 10594). It is by means of Divine truth that order exists; and Divine good is the essential of order (n. 2451, 3166, 4390, 4409, 5232, 7256, 10122, 10555). 78. XI. IT IS FROM THE LORD'S DIVINE HUMAN THAT HEAVEN AS A WHOLE AND IN PART REFLECTS MAN. That it is from the Lord's Divine Human that heaven as a whole and in part reflects man, follows as a conclusion from all that has been stated and shown in the preceding chapters, namely: (i) That the God of heaven is the Lord. (ii) It is the Divine of the Lord that makes heaven. (iii) Heaven consists of innumerable societies; and each society is a heaven in a smaller form, and each angel in the smallest form. (iv) All heaven in the aggregate reflects a single man. (v) Each society in the heavens reflects a single man. (vi) Therefore every angel is in a complete human form. All this leads to the conclusion that as it is the Divine that makes heaven, heaven must be human in form. That this Divine is the Lord's Divine Human can be seen still more clearly, because in a compendium, in what has been collected, brought together and collated from the Arcana Coelestia and placed as a supplement at the end of this chapter. That the Lord's Human is Divine, and that it is not true that His Human is not Divine, as those with in the church believe, may also be seen in the same extracts, also in the chapter on The Lord, in The New Jerusalem and its Heavenly Doctrine, at the end. 79. That this is true has been proved to me by much experience, about which something shall now be said. No angel in the heavens ever perceives the Divine as being in any other than a human form; and what is remarkable, those in the higher heavens are unable to think of the Divine in any other way. The necessity of thinking in this way comes from the Divine itself that flows in, and also from the form of heaven in harmony with which their thoughts spread forth. For every thought of an angel spreads forth into heaven; and the angels have intelligence and wisdom in the measure of that extension. It is in consequence of this that all in heaven acknowledge the Lord, because only in Him does the Divine Human exist. Not only have I been told all this by angels, but when elevated into the inner sphere of heaven I have been able to perceive it. From this it is evident that the wiser the angels are the more clearly they perceive this truth; and it is from this that the Lord is seen by them; for the Lord is seen in a Divine angelic form, which is the human form, by those who acknowledge and believe in a visible Divine Being, but not by those who believe in an invisible Divine. For the former can see their Divine Being, but the latter cannot. 80. Because the angels have no perception of an invisible Divine, which they call a Divine devoid of form, but perceive only a visible Divine in human form, they are accustomed to say that the Lord alone is man, and that it is from Him that they are men, and that each one is a man in the measure of his reception of the Lord. By receiving the Lord they understand receiving good and truth which are from Him, since the Lord is in His good and in His truth, and this they call wisdom and intelligence. Everyone knows, they say, that intelligence and wisdom make man, and not a face without these. The truth of this is made evident from the appearance of the angels of the interior heavens, for these, being in good and truth from the Lord and in consequent wisdom and intelligence, are in a most beautiful and most perfect human form; while the angels of the lower heavens are in human form of less perfection and beauty. On the other hand, those who are in hell appear in the light of heaven hardly as men, but rather as monsters, since they are not in good and truth but in evil and falsity, and consequently in the opposites of wisdom and intelligence. For this reason their life is not called life, but spiritual death. 81. Because heaven as a whole and in part, from the Lord's Divine Human, reflects a man, the angels say that they are in the Lord; and some say that they are in His body, meaning that they are in the good of His love. And this the Lord Himself teaches, saying, Abide in Me and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself except it abide in the vine, so neither can ye, except ye abide in Me. For apart from Me ye can do nothing. Abide in My love. If ye keep My commandments ye shall abide in My love (John 15:4-10). 82. Because such a perception of the Divine exists in the heavens, to think of God as in a human form is implanted in every man who receives any influx from heaven. Thus did the ancients think of Him; and thus do the moderns think of Him both outside of the church and within it. The simple see Him in thought as the Ancient One in shining light. But this insight has been extinguished in all those that by self-intelligence and by a life of evil have rejected influx from heaven. Those that have extinguished it by self-intelligence prefer an invisible God; while those that have extinguished it by a life of evil prefer no God. Neither of these are aware that such an insight exists, because they do not have it; and yet it is the Divine heavenly itself that primarily flows into man out of heaven, because man is born for heaven, and no one without a conception of a Divine can enter heaven. 83. For this reason he that has no conception of heaven, that is, no conception of the Divine from which heaven is, cannot be raised up to the first threshold of heaven. As soon as such a one draws near to heaven a resistance and a strong repulsion are perceived; and for the reason that his interiors, which should be receptive of heaven, are closed up from their not being in the form of heaven, and the nearer he comes to heaven the more tightly are they closed up. Such is the lot of those within the church who deny the Lord, and of those who, like the Socinians, deny His Divinity. But the lot of those who are born out of the church, and who are ignorant of the Lord because they do not have the Word, will be described hereafter. 84. That the men of old time had an idea of the Divine as human is evident from the manifestation of the Divine to Abraham, Lot, Joshua, Gideon, Manoah and his wife, and others. These saw God as a man, but nevertheless adored Him as the God of the universe, calling Him the God of heaven and earth, and Jehovah. That it was the Lord who was seen by Abraham He Himself teaches in John (8:56); and that it was He who was seen by the rest is evident from His words: No one hath seen the Father, nor heard His voice, nor seen His form (John 1:18; 5:37). 85. But that God is man can scarcely be comprehended by those who judge all things from the sense-conceptions of the external man, for the sensual man must needs think of the Divine from the world and what is therein, and thus of a Divine and spiritual man in the same way as of a corporeal and natural man. From this he concludes that if God were a man He would be as large as the universe; and if He ruled heaven and earth it would be done through many others, after the manner of kings in the world. If told that in heaven there is no extension of space as in the world, he would not in the least comprehend it. For he that thinks only from nature and its light must needs think in accord with such extension as appears before his eyes. But it is the greatest mistake to think in this way about heaven. Extension there is not like extension in the world. In the world extension is determinate, and thus measurable; but in heaven it is not determinate, and thus not measurable. But extension in heaven will be further treated of hereafter in connection with space and time in the spiritual world. Furthermore, everyone knows how far the sight of the eye extends, namely, to the sun and to the stars, which are so remote; and whoever thinks deeply knows that the internal sight, which is of thought, has a still wider extension, and that a yet more interior sight must extend more widely still. What then must be said of Divine sight, which is the inmost and highest of all? Because thoughts have such extension, all things of heaven are shared with everyone there, so, too, are all things of the Divine which makes heaven and fills it, as has been shown in the preceding chapters. 86. Those in heaven wonder that men can believe themselves to be intelligent who, in thinking of God, think about something invisible, that is, inconceivable under any form; and that they can call those who think differently unintelligent and simple, when the reverse is the truth. They add, "Let those who thus believe themselves to be intelligent examine themselves, whether they do not look upon nature as God, some the nature that is before their eyes, others the invisible side of nature; and whether they are not so blind as not to know what God is, what an angel is, what a spirit is, what their soul is which is to live after death, what the life of heaven in man is, and many other things that constitute intelligence; when yet those whom they call simple know all these things in their way, having an idea of their God that He is the Divine in a human form, of an angel that he is a heavenly man, of their soul that is to live after death that it is like an angel, and of the life of heaven in man that it is living in accord with the Divine commandments." Such the angels call intelligent and fitted for heaven; but the others, on the other hand, they call not intelligent. EXTRACTS FROM THE ARCANA COELESTIA RELATING TO THE LORD AND HIS DIVINE HUMAN. [2] The Divine was in the Lord from very conception (n. 4641, 4963, 5041, 5157, 6716, 10125). The Lord alone had a Divine seed (n. 1438). His soul was Jehovah (n. 1999, 2004, 2005, 2018, 2025). Thus the Lord's inmost was the Divine Itself, while the clothing was from the mother (n. 5041). The Divine Itself was the Being [Esse] of the Lord's life, and from this the Human afterwards went forth and became the outgo [existere] from that Being [Esse] (n. 3194, 3210, 10269, 10738). [3] Within the church where the Word is and by it the Lord is known, the Lord's Divine ought not to be denied, nor the Holy that goes forth from Him (n. 2359). Those within the church who do not acknowledge the Lord have no conjunction with the Divine; but it is otherwise with those outside of the church (n. 10205). The essential of the church is to acknowledge the Lord's Divine and His union with the Father (n. 10083, 10112, 10370, 10730, 10738, 10816-10820). [4] The glorification of the Lord is treated of in the Word in many passages (n. 10828). And in the internal sense of the Word everywhere (n. 2249, 2523, 3245). The Lord glorified His Human, but not the Divine, since this was glorified in itself (n. 10057). The Lord came into the world to glorify His Human (n. 3637, 4287, 9315). The Lord glorified His Human by means of the Divine love that was in Him from conception (n. 4727). The Lord's life in the world was His love towards the whole human race (n. 2253). The Lord's love transcends all human understanding (n. 2077). The Lord saved the human race by glorifying His Human (n. 4180, 10019; 10152, 10655, 10659 10828). Otherwise the whole human race would have perished in eternal death (n. 1676). The state of the Lord's glorification and humiliation (n. 1785, 1999, 2159, 6866). Glorification in respect to the Lord is the uniting of His Human with the Divine; and to glorify is to make Divine (n. 1603, 10053, 10828). When the Lord glorified His Human He put off everything human that was from the mother, until at last He was not her son (n. 2159, 2574, 2649, 3036, 10830). [5] The Son of God from eternity was the Divine truth in heaven (n. 2628, 2798, 2803, 3195, 3704). When the Lord was in the world He made His Human Divine truth from the Divine good that was in Him (n. 2803, 3194, 3195, 3210, 6716, 6864, 7014, 7499, 8127, 8724, 9199). The Lord then arranged all things in Himself into a heavenly form, which is in accord with Divine truth (n. 1928, 3633). For this reason the Lord was called the Word, which is Divine truth (n. 2533, 2813, 2859, 2894, 3393, 3712). The Lord alone had perception and thought from Himself, and this was above all angelic perception and thought (n. 1904, 1914, 1919). The Divine truth which was Himself, the Lord united with Divine good which was in Himself (n. 10047, 10052, 10076). The union was reciprocal (n. 2004, 10067). [6] In passing out of the world the Lord also made His Human Divine good (n. 3194, 3210, 6864, 7499, 8724, 9199, 10076). This is what is meant by His coming forth from the Father and returning to the Father (n. 3194, 3210). Thus He became one with the Father (n. 2751, 3704, 4766). Since that union Divine truth goes forth from the Lord (n. 3704, 3712, 3969, 4577, 5704, 7499, 8127, 8241, 9199, 9398). How Divine truth goes forth, illustrated (n. 7270, 9407). It was from His own power that the Lord united the Human with the Divine (n. 1616, 1749, 1752, 1813, 1921, 2025, 2026, 2523, 3141, 5005, 5045, 6716). From this it is clear that the Lord's Human was not like the human of any other man, in that it was conceived from the Divine Itself (n. 10125, 10825, 10826). His union with the Father, from whom was His soul, was not as between two persons, but as between soul and body (n. 3737, 10824). [7] The most ancient people could not worship the Divine being [esse], but could worship only the Divine Outgo [existere], which is the Divine Human; therefore the Lord came into the world in order to become the Divine Existere from the Divine Esse (n. 4687, 5321). The ancients acknowledged the Divine because He appeared to them in a human form, and this was the Divine Human (n. 5110, 5663, 6845, 10737). The Infinite Being [Esse] could flow into heaven with the angels and with men only by means of the Divine Human (n. 1676, 1990, 2016, 2034). In heaven no other Divine than the Divine Human is perceived (n. 6475, 9303, 10067, 10267). The Divine Human from eternity was the Divine truth in heaven and the Divine passing through heaven; thus it was the Divine Outgo [existere] which afterwards in the Lord became the Divine Being [Esse] per se, from which is the Divine Existere in heaven (n. 3061, 6280, 6880, 10579). What the state of heaven was before the Lord's coming (n. 6371-6373). The Divine was not perceptible except when it passed through heaven (n. 6982, 6996, 7004). [8] The inhabitants of all the earth worship the Divine under a human form, that is, the Lord (n. 6700, 8541-8547, 10736-10738). They rejoice when they hear that God actually became Man (n. 9361). All who are in good and who worship the Divine under the human form, are received by the Lord (n. 9359). God cannot be thought of except in human form; and what is incomprehensible does not fall into any idea, so neither into belief (n. 9359, 9972). Man is able to worship that of which he has some idea, but not that of which he has no idea (n. 4733, 5110, 5663, 7211, 9356, 10067, 10267). Therefore the Divine is worshiped under a human form by most of the inhabitants of the entire globe, and this is the effect of influx from heaven (n. 10159). All who are in good in regard to their life, when they think of the Lord, think of the Divine Human, and not of the Human separate from the Divine; it is otherwise with those who are not in good in regard to their life (n. 2326, 4724, 4731, 4766, 8878, 9193, 9198). In the church at this day those that are in evil in regard to their life, and those that are in faith separate from charity, think of the Human of the Lord apart from the Divine, and do not even comprehend what the Divine Human is,-why they do not (n. 3212, 3241, 4689, 4692, 4724, 4731, 5321, 6872, 8878, 9193, 9198). The Lord's Human is Divine because it is from the Being [Esse] of the Father, and this was His soul,--illustrated by a father's likeness in children (n. 10269, 10372, 10823). Also because it was from the Divine love, which was the very Being [Esse] of His life from conception (n. 6872). Every man is such as his love is, and is his love (n. 6872, 10177, 10284). The Lord made all His Human, both internal and external, Divine (n. 1603, 1815, 1902, 1926, 2083, 2093). Therefore, differently from any man, He rose again as to His whole body (n. 1729, 2083, 5078, 10825). [9] That the Lord's Human is Divine is acknowledged from His omnipresence in the Holy Supper (n. 2343, 2359). Also from His transfiguration before His three disciples (n. 3212). Also from the Word of the Old Testament, in that He is called God (n. 10154); and is called Jehovah (n. 1603, 1736, 1815, 1902, 2921, 3035, 5110, 6281, 6303, 8864, 9194, 9315). In the sense of the letter a distinction is made between the Father and the Son, that is, between Jehovah and the Lord, but not in the internal sense of the Word, in which the angels of heaven are (n. 3035). In the Christian world the Lord's Human has been declared not to be Divine; this was done in a council for the pope's sake, that he might be acknowledged as the Lord's vicar (n. 4738). [10] Christians were examined in the other life in regard to their idea of one God, and it was found they held an idea of three gods (n. 2329, 5256, 10736-10738, 10821). A Divine trinity or trine in one person, constituting one God, is conceivable, but not in three persons (n. 10738, 10821, 10824). A Divine trine in the Lord is acknowledged in heaven (n. 14, 15, 1729, 2004, 5256, 9303). The trine in the Lord is the Divine Itself, called the Father, the Divine Human, called the Son, and the Divine going forth, called the Holy Spirit and this Divine trine is a One (n. 2149, 2156, 2288, 2319, 2329, 2447, 3704, 6993, 7182, 10738, 10822, 10823). The Lord Himself teaches that the Father and He are One (n. 1729, 2004, 2005, 2018, 2025, 2751, 3704, 3736, 4766); also that the Holy Divine goes forth from Him and is His (n. 3969, 4673, 6788, 6993, 7499, 8127, 8302, 9199, 9228, 9229, 9264, 9407, 9818, 9820, 10330). [11] The Divine Human flows into heaven and makes heaven (n. 3038). The Lord is the all in heaven and is the life of heaven (n. 7211, 9128). In the angels the Lord dwells in what is His own (n. 9338, 10125, 10151, 10157). Consequently those who are in heaven are in the Lord (n. 3637, 3638). The Lord's conjunction with angels is measured by their reception of the good of love and charity from Him (n. 904, 4198, 4205, 4211, 4220, 6280, 6832, 7042, 8819, 9680, 9682, 9683, 10106, 10810). The entire heaven has reference to the Lord (n. 551, 552). The Lord is the common center of heaven (n. 3633, 3641). All in heaven turn themselves to the Lord, who is above the heavens (n. 9828, 10130, 10189). Nevertheless angels do not turn themselves to the Lord, but the Lord turns them to Himself (n. 10189). It is not a presence of angels with the Lord, but the Lord's presence with angels (n. 9415). In heaven there is no conjunction with the Divine Itself, but conjunction with the Divine Human (n. 4211, 4724, 5663). [12] Heaven corresponds to the Divine Human of the Lord; consequently heaven in general is as a single man, and for this reason heaven is called the Greatest Man (n. 2996, 2998, 3624-3649, 3741-3745, 4625). The Lord is the Only Man, and those only are men who receive the Divine from Him (n. 1894). So far as they receive are they men and images of Him (n. 8547). Therefore angels are forms of love and charity in human form, and this from the Lord (n. 3804, 4735, 4797, 4985, 5199, 5530, 9879, 10177). [13] The whole heaven is the Lord's (n. 2751, 7086). He has all power in the heavens and on earth (n. 1607, 10089, 10827). As the Lord rules the whole heaven He also rules all things depending thereon, thus all things in the world (n. 2025, 2026, 4523, 4524). The Lord alone has the power to remove the hells, to withhold from evils, and to hold in good, thus to save (n. 10019). 87. XII. THERE IS A CORRESPONDENCE OF ALL THINGS OF HEAVEN WITH ALL THINGS OF MAN. What correspondence is is not known at the present day, for several reasons, the chief of which is that man has withdrawn himself from heaven by the love of self and love of the world. For he that loves self and the world above all things gives heed only to worldly things, since these appeal to the external senses and gratify the natural longings; and he does not give heed to spiritual things, since these appeal to the internal senses and gratify the mind, therefore he casts them aside, saying that they are too high for his comprehension. This was not so with the ancient people. To them the knowledge of correspondences was the chief of knowledges. By means of it they acquired intelligence and wisdom; and by means of it those who were of the church had communication with heaven; for the knowledge of correspondences is angelic knowledge. The most ancient people, who were celestial men, thought from correspondence itself, as the angels do. And therefore they talked with angels, and the Lord frequently appeared to them, and they were taught by Him. But at this day that knowledge has been so completely lost that no one knows what correspondence is.{1} {Footnote 1} How far the knowledge of correspondences excels other knowledges (n. 4280). The knowledge of correspondences was the chief knowledge of the ancient people; but at the present day it is wholly forgotten (n. 3021, 3419, 4280, 4749, 4844, 4964, 4966, 6004, 7729, 10252). The knowledge of correspondences flourished among the Eastern nations and in Egypt (5702, 6692, 7097, 7779, 9391, 10407). 88. Since, then, without a perception of what correspondence is there can be no clear knowledge of the spiritual world or of its inflow into the natural world, neither of what the spiritual is in its relation to the natural, nor any clear knowledge of the spirit of man, which is called the soul, and its operation into the body, neither of man's state after death, it is necessary to explain what correspondence is and the nature of it. This will prepare the way for what is to follow. 89. First, what correspondence is. The whole natural world corresponds to the spiritual world, and not merely the natural world in general, but also every particular of it; and as a consequence everything in the natural world that springs from the spiritual world is called a correspondent. It must be understood that the natural world springs from and has permanent existence from the spiritual world, precisely like an effect from its effecting cause. All that is spread out under the sun and that receives heat and light from the sun is what is called the natural world; and all things that derive their subsistence therefrom belong to that world. But the spiritual world is heaven; and all things in the heavens belong to that world. 90. Since man is both a heaven and a world in least form after the image of the greatest (see above, n. 57), there is in him both a spiritual and a natural world. The interior things that belong to his mind, and that have relation to understanding and will, constitute his spiritual world; while the exterior things that belong to his body, and that have relation to its senses and activities, constitute his natural world. Consequently, everything in his natural world (that is, in his body and its senses and activities), that has its existence from his spiritual world (that is, from his mind and its understanding and will) is called a correspondent. 91. From the human face it can be seen what correspondence is. In a face that has not been taught to dissemble, all the affections of the mind present themselves to view in a natural form, as in their type. This is why the face is called the index of the mind; that is, it is man's spiritual world presented in his natural world. So, too, what pertains to the understanding is presented in speech, and what pertains to the will is presented in the movements of the body. So whatever effects are produced in the body, whether in the face, in speech, or in bodily movements, are called correspondences. 92. All this shows also what the internal man is and what the external, namely, that the internal is what is called the spiritual man, and the external what is called the natural man; also that the one is distinct from the other as heaven is from the world; also that all things that take place and come forth in the external or natural man take place and come forth from the internal or spiritual man. 93. This much has been said about the correspondence of man's internal or spiritual with his external or natural; now the correspondence of the whole heaven with everything pertaining to man shall be treated of. 94. It has been shown that the entire heaven reflects a single man, and that it is in image a man and is therefore called the Greatest Man. It has also been shown that the angelic societies, of which heaven consists, are therefore arranged as the members, organs, and viscera are in man, that is, some are in the head, some in the breast, some in the arms, and some in each of their particulars (see above, n. 59-72); consequently the societies in any member there correspond to the like member in man; those in the head corresponding to the head in man, those in the breast to the breast in man, those in the arms to the arms in man; and so with all the rest. It is from this correspondence that man has permanent existence, for from heaven alone does man have permanent existence. 95. That heaven is divided into two kingdoms, one called the celestial kingdom and the other the spiritual kingdom, may be seen above in its own chapter. The celestial kingdom corresponds in general to the heart and all things of the heart in the whole body, and the spiritual kingdom to the lungs and to all things of the lungs in the whole body. Likewise in man heart and lungs form two kingdoms, the heart ruling there through the arteries and veins, and the lungs through the tendinous and motor fibers, both together in every exertion and movement. So in every man, in his spiritual world, which is called his spiritual man, there are two kingdoms, one of the will and the other of the understanding, the will ruling through affections for good, and the understanding through affections for truth; and these kingdoms correspond to the kingdoms of the heart and of the lungs in the body. It is the same in the heavens; the celestial kingdom is the voluntary part of heaven, and in it good of love reigns; the spiritual kingdom is the intellectual part of heaven, and in it truth reigns. These are what correspond to the functions of the heart and lungs in man. It is on account of this correspondence that in the Word the "heart" signifies the will and also good of love, and the "breath" of the lungs signifies the understanding and the truth of faith. For the same reason affections are ascribed to the heart, although they are neither in it nor from it.{1} {Footnote 1} The correspondence of the heart and lungs with the Greatest Man, which is heaven, from experience (n. 3883-3896), The heart corresponds to those in the celestial kingdom, and the lungs to those in the spiritual kingdom (n. 3885-3887). There is in heaven a pulse like that of the heart, and a respiration like that of the lungs but interior (n. 3884, 3885, 3887). There the pulse of the heart varies in conformity to states of love, and the respiration in conformity to states of charity and faith (n. 3886, 3887, 3889). In the Word the "heart" means the will, and "from the heart" means from the will (n. 2930, 7542, 8910, 9113, 10336). In the Word the "heart" also signifies love, and "from the heart" means from love (7542, 9050, 10336). 96. The correspondence of the two kingdoms of heaven with the heart and lungs is the general correspondence of heaven with man. There is a less general correspondence with each one of his members, organs, and viscera; and what this is shall also be explained. In the Greatest Man, which is heaven, those that are in the head excel all others in every good, being in love, peace, innocence, wisdom, intelligence, and consequent joy and happiness. These flow into the head of man and the things belonging to the head and corresponding thereto. In the Greatest Man, or heaven, those that are in the breast are in the good of charity and of faith, and these flow into the breast of man and correspond to it. In the Greatest Man, or heaven, those that are in the loins and the organs devoted to generation are in marriage love. Those in the feet are in the lowest good of heaven, which is called spiritual natural good. Those in the arms and hands are in the power of truth from good. Those that are in the eyes are in understanding; those in the ears are in attention and obedience; those in the nostrils are in perception; those in the mouth and tongue are in the ability to converse from understanding and perception; those in the kidneys are in truths searching, separating, and correcting; those in the liver, pancreas, and spleen are in various purifications of good and truth; and so with the rest. All these flow into the like things of man and correspond to them. This inflow of heaven is into the functions and uses of the bodily members; and the uses, since they are from the spiritual world, take on a form by means of such things as are in the natural world, and thus present themselves in effect. From this is the correspondence. 97. For the same reason these same members, organs, and viscera have a like significance in the Word; for everything there has a meaning in accordance with correspondence. Thus the "head" signifies intelligence and wisdom; the "breast" charity; the "loins" marriage love; the "arms and hands" power of truth; the "feet" what is natural; the "eyes" understanding; the "nostrils" perception; the "ears" obedience, the "kidneys" the scrutiny of truth, and so on.{1} So, too, in the common speech of man it is said of one who is intelligent and wise that he has a good head; of one who is charitable that he is a bosom friend; of one who has clear perception that he is keen scented; of one who is intelligent that he is sharp sighted; of one who is powerful that he is long handed; of one who exercises his will from love that it is done from the heart. These and many other expressions in the speech of men are from correspondence, for they are from the spiritual world, although man is ignorant of it. {Footnote 1} In the Word the "breast" signifies charity (n. 3934, 10081, 10087). The "loins" and organs of generation signify marriage love (n. 3021, 4280, 4462, 5050-5052). The "arms" and "hands" signify the power of truth (n. 878, 3091, 4931-4937, 6947, 7205, 10019). The "feet" signify the natural (n. 2162, 3147, 3761, 3986, 4280, 4938-4952). The "eye" signifies understanding (n. 2701, 4403-4421, 4523-4534, 6923, 9051, 10569). The "nostrils" signify perception (n. 3577, 4624, 4625, 4748, 5621, 8286, 10054, 10292). The "ears" signify obedience (n. 2542, 3869, 4523, 4653, 5017, 7216, 8361, 8990, 9311, 9397, 10061). The "kidneys" signify the scrutiny and correction of truth (n. 5380-5386, 10032). 98. That there is such a correspondence of all things of heaven with all things of man has been made clear to me by much experience, by so much that I am as convinced of it as of any evident fact that admits of no doubt. But it is not necessary to describe all this experience here; nor would it be permissible on account of its abundance. It may be seen set forth in the Arcana Coelestia, where correspondences, representations, the influx of the spiritual world into the natural world, and the interaction between soul and body, are treated of.{1} {Footnote 1} The correspondence of all the members of the body with the Greatest Man, or heaven, in general and in particular, from experience (n. 3021, 3624-3649, 3741-3750, 3883-3895, 4039-4054, 4218-4228, 4318-4331, 4403-4421, 4523-4533, 4622-4633, 4652-4660, 4791-4805, 4931-4953, 5050-5061, 5171-5189, 5377-5396, 5552-5573, 5711-5727, 10030). The influx of the spiritual world into the natural world or of heaven into the world, and the influx of the soul into all things of the body, from experience (n. 6053-6058, 6189-6215, 6307-6326, 6466-6495, 6598-6626). The interaction between soul and body, from experience (n. 6053-6058, 6189-6215, 6307-6327, 6466-6495, 6598-6626). 99. But notwithstanding that all things of man's body correspond to all things of heaven, it is not in respect to his external form that man is an image of heaven, but in respect to his internal form; for man's interiors are what receive heaven, while his exteriors receive the world. So far, therefore, as his interiors receive heaven man is in respect to them a heaven in least form, after the image of the greatest. But so far as his interiors do not receive heaven he is not a heaven and an image of the greatest, although his exteriors, which receive the world, may be in a form in accordance with the order of the world, and thus variously beautiful. For the source of outward beauty which pertains to the body is in parents and formation in the womb, and it is preserved afterwards by general influx from the world. For this reason the form of one's natural man differs greatly from the form of his spiritual man. What the form of a man's spirit is I have been shown occasionally; and in some who were beautiful and charming in appearance the spirit was seen to be so deformed, black and monstrous that it might be called an image of hell, not of heaven; while in others not beautiful there was a spirit beautifully formed, pure, and angelic. Moreover, the spirit of man appears after death such as it has been in the body while it lived therein in the world. 100. But correspondence applies far more widely than to man; for there is a correspondence of the heavens with one another. To the third or inmost heaven the second or middle heaven corresponds, and to the second or middle heaven the first or outmost heaven corresponds, and this corresponds to the bodily forms in man called his members, organs, and viscera. Thus it is the bodily part of man in which heaven finally terminates, and upon which it stands as upon its base. But this arcanum will be more fully unfolded elsewhere. 101. Especially it must be understood that all correspondence with heaven is with the Lord's Divine Human, because heaven is from Him, and He is heaven, as has been shown in previous chapters. For if the Divine Human did not flow into all things of heaven, and in accordance with correspondences into all things of the world, no angel or man could exist. From this again it is evident why the Lord became Man and clothed His Divine from first to last with a Human. It was because the Divine Human, from which heaven existed before the Lord's coming, was no longer sufficient to sustain all things, for the reason that man, who is the foundation of the heavens, had subverted and destroyed order. What the Divine Human was before the Lord's coming, and what the condition of heaven was at that time may be seen in the extracts appended to the preceding chapter. 102. Angels are amazed when they hear that there are men who attribute all things to nature and nothing to the Divine, and who also believe that their body, into which so many wonders of heaven are gathered, is a product of nature. Still more are they amazed that the rational part of man is believed to be from nature, when, if men will but lift their minds a little, they can see that such effects are not from nature but from the Divine; and that nature has been created simply for clothing the spiritual and for presenting it in a correspondent form in the outmost of order. Such men they liken to owls, which see in darkness, but in light see nothing. 103. XIII. THERE IS A CORRESPONDENCE OF HEAVEN WITH ALL THINGS OF THE EARTH. What correspondence is has been told in the preceding chapter, and it has there been shown that each thing and all things of the animal body are correspondences. The next step is to show that all things of the earth, and in general all things of the universe, are correspondences. 104. All things of the earth are distinguished into three kinds, called kingdoms, namely, the animal kingdom, the vegetable kingdom, and the mineral kingdom. The things of the animal kingdom are correspondences in the first degree, because they live; the things of the vegetable kingdom are correspondences in the second degree, because they merely grow; the things of the mineral kingdom are correspondences in the third degree, because they neither live nor grow. Correspondences in the animal kingdom are living creatures of various kinds, both those that walk and creep on the ground and those that fly in the air; these need not be specially named, as they are well known. Correspondences in the vegetable kingdom are all things that grow and abound in gardens, forests, fields, and meadows; these, too, need not be named, because they are well known. Correspondences in the mineral kingdom are metals more and less noble, stones precious and not precious, earths of various kinds, and also the waters. Besides these the things prepared from them by human activity for use are correspondences, as foods of every kind, clothing, dwellings and other buildings, with many other things. 105. Also the things above the earth, as the sun, moon, and stars, and those in the atmosphere, as clouds, mists, rain, lightning and thunder, are likewise correspondences. Things resulting from the presence and absence of the sun, as light and shade, heat and cold, are also correspondences, as well as those that follow in succession therefrom, as the seasons of the year, spring, summer, autumn, and winter; and the times of day, morning, noon, evening, and night. 106. In a word, all things that have existence in nature, from the least to the greatest thereof, are correspondences.{1} They are correspondences because the natural world with all things in it springs forth and subsists from the spiritual world, and both worlds from the Divine. They are said to subsist also, because everything subsists from that from which it springs forth, subsistence being a permanent springing forth; also because nothing can subsist from itself, but only from that which is prior to itself, thus from a First, and if separated from that it would utterly perish and vanish. {Footnote 1} All things that are in the world and its three kingdoms correspond to the heavenly things that are in heaven, that is, the things in the natural world correspond to the things in the spiritual world (n. 1632, 1881, 2758, 2760-2763, 2987-3003, 3213-3227, 3483, 3624-3649, 4044, 4053, 4116, 4366, 4939, 5116, 5377, 5428, 5477, 9280). By correspondences the natural world is conjoined to the spiritual world (n. 8615). For this reason all nature is a theatre representative of the Lord's kingdom (n. 2758, 2999, 3000, 3483, 4938, 4939, 8848, 9280). 107. Everything in nature that springs forth and subsists in accordance with Divine order is a correspondence. Divine order is caused by the Divine good that flows forth from the Lord. It begins in Him, goes forth from Him through the heavens in succession into the world, and is terminated there in outmosts; and everything there that is in accordance with order is a correspondence. Everything there is in accordance with order that is good and perfect for use, because everything good is good in the measure of its use; while its form has relation to truth, truth being the form of good. And for this reason everything in the whole world and of the nature thereof that is in Divine order has reference to good and truth.{1} {Footnote 1} Everything in the universe, both in heaven and in the world, that is in accordance with order, has reference to good and truth (n. 2451, 3166, 4390, 4409, 5232, 7256, 10122); and to the conjunction of these, in order to be anything (n. 10555). 108. That all things in the world spring from the Divine, and are clothed with such things in nature as enable them to exist there and perform use, and thus to correspond, is clearly evident from the various things seen in both the animal and vegetable kingdoms. In both there are things that any one who thinks interiorly can see to be from heaven. For illustration a few things out of a countless number may be mentioned; and first some things from the animal kingdom. Many are aware what knowledge there is engrafted as it were in every animal. Bees know how to gather honey from flowers, to build cells out of wax in which to store their honey, and thus provide food for themselves and their families, even for a coming winter. That a new generation may be born their queen lays eggs, and the rest take care of them and cover them. They live under a sort of government which all know by instinct. They preserve the working bees and cast out the drones, depriving them of their wings; besides other wonderful things implanted in them from heaven for the sake of their use, their wax everywhere serving the human race for candles, their honey for adding sweetness to food. [2] Again, what wonders do we see in worms, the meanest creatures in the animal kingdom! They know how to get food from the juice of the leaves suited to them, and afterward at the appointed time to invest themselves with a covering and enter as it were into a womb, and thus hatch offspring of their own kind. Some are first turned into nymphs and chrysalides, spinning threads about themselves; and this travail being over they come forth clad with a different body, furnished with wings with which they fly in the air as in their heaven, and celebrate marriages and lay eggs and provide posterity for themselves. [3] Besides these special instances all creatures in general that fly in the air know the proper food for their nourishment, not only what it is but where to find it; they know how to build nests for themselves, one kind in one way and another kind in another way; how to lay their eggs in the nests, how to sit upon them, how to hatch their young and feed them, and to turn them out of their home when they are able to shift for themselves. They know, too, their enemies that they must avoid and their friends with whom they may associate, and this from early infancy; not to mention the wonders in the eggs themselves, in which all things lie ready in their order for the formation and nourishment of the chicks; besides numberless other things. [4] Who that thinks from any wisdom of reason will ever say that these instincts are from any other source than the spiritual world, which the natural serves in clothing what is from it with a body, or in presenting in effect what is spiritual in the cause? The beasts of the earth and the birds of the air are born into all this knowledge, while man, who is far superior to them, is not; for the reason that animals are in the order of their life, and have not been able to destroy what is in them from the spiritual world, because they have no rational faculty. Man, on the other hand, whose thought is from the spiritual world, having perverted what is in him from that world by a life contrary to order, which his rational faculty has favored, must needs be born into mere ignorance and afterwards be led back by Divine means into the order of heaven. 109. How the things in the vegetable kingdom correspond can be seen from many instances, as that little seeds grow into trees, put forth leaves, produce flowers, and then fruit, in which again they deposit seed, these things taking place in succession and existing together in an order so wonderful as to be indescribable in a few words. Volumes might be filled, and yet there would be still deeper arcana, relating more closely to their uses, which science would be unable to exhaust. Since these things, too, are from the spiritual world, that is, from heaven, which is in the human form (as has been shown above in its own chapter), so all the particulars in this kingdom have a certain relation to such things as are in man, as some in the learned world know. That all things in this kingdom also are correspondences has been made clear to me by much experience. Often when I have been in gardens and have been looking at the trees, fruits, flowers, and plants there, I have recognized their correspondences in heaven, and have spoken with those with whom these were, and have been taught whence and what they were. 110. But at the present day no one can know the spiritual things in heaven to which the natural things in the world correspond except from heaven, since the knowledge of correspondences is now wholly lost. But the nature of the correspondence of spiritual things with natural I shall be glad to illustrate by some examples. The animals of the earth correspond in general to affection, mild and useful animals to good affections, fierce and useless ones to evil affections. In particular, cattle and their young correspond to the affections of the natural mind, sheep and lambs to the affections of the spiritual mind; while birds correspond, according to their species, to the intellectual things of the natural or the spiritual mind.{1} For this reason various animals, as cattle and their young, rams, sheep, he-goats, and she-goats, he-lambs and she-lambs, also pigeons and turtledoves, were devoted to a sacred use in the Israelitish Church, which was a representative church, and sacrifices and burnt offerings were made of them. For they correspond in that use to spiritual things, and in heaven these were understood in accordance with the correspondences. Moreover, animals according to their kinds and species, because they have life, are affections; and the life of each one is solely from affection and in accordance with affection; consequently every animal has an innate knowledge that is in accord with its life's affection. Man is like an animal so far as his natural man is concerned, and is therefore likened to animals in common speech; for example, if he is gentle he is called a sheep or lamb, if fierce a bear or wolf, if cunning a fox or serpent, and so on. {Footnote 1} From correspondence animals signify affections; mild and useful animals good affections, fierce and useless ones evil affections (n. 41, 45, 46, 142, 143, 246, 714, 716, 719, 2179, 2180, 3519, 9280); illustrated by experience from the spiritual world (n. 3218, 5198, 9090). Influx of the spiritual world into the lives of animals (n. 1633, 3646). Cattle and their young from correspondence signify affections of the natural mind (n. 2180, 2566, 9391, 10132, 10407). What sheep signify (n. 4169, 4809); and lambs (n. 3994, 10132). Flying creatures signify intellectual things (n. 40, 745, 776, 778, 866, 988, 991, 5149, 7441); with a difference according to their genera and species, from experience in the spiritual world (n. 3219). 111. There is a like correspondence with things in the vegetable kingdom. In general, a garden corresponds to the intelligence and wisdom of heaven; and for this reason heaven is called the Garden of God, and Paradise;{1} and men call it the heavenly paradise. Trees, according to their species, correspond to the perceptions and knowledges of good and truth which are the source of intelligence and wisdom. For this reason the ancient people, who were acquainted with correspondences, held their sacred worship in groves;{2} and for the same reason trees are so often mentioned in the Word, and heaven, the church, and man are compared to them; as the vine, the olive, the cedar, and others, and the good works done by men are compared to fruits. Also the food derived from trees, and more especially from the grain harvests of the field, corresponds to affections for good and truth, because these affections feed the spiritual life, as the food of the earth does the natural life;{3} and bread from grain, in a general sense, because it is the food that specially sustains life, and because it stands for all food, corresponds to an affection for all good. It is on account of this correspondence that the Lord calls Himself the bread of life; and that loaves of bread had a holy use in the Israelitish Church, being placed on the table in the tabernacle and called "the bread of faces;" also the Divine worship that was performed by sacrifices and burnt offerings was called "bread." Moreover, because of this correspondence the most holy act of worship in the Christian Church is the Holy Supper, in which bread is given, and wine.{4} From these few examples the nature of correspondence can be seen. {Footnote 1} From correspondence a garden and a paradise signify intelligence and wisdom (n. 100, 108); from experience (n. 3220). All things that have a correspondence have in the Word the same significance (n. 2896, 2987, 2989, 2990, 2991, 3002, 3225). {Footnote 2} Trees signify perceptions and knowledges (n. 103, 2163, 2682, 2722, 2972, 7692). For this reason the ancient people held Divine worship in groves under trees according to their correspondence (n. 2722, 4552). Influx of heaven into subjects of the vegetable kingdom, as into trees and plants (n. 3648). {Footnote 3} From correspondence foods signify such things as nourish the spiritual life (n. 3114, 4459, 4792, 4976, 5147, 5293, 5340, 5342, 5410, 5426, 5576, 5582, 5588, 5655, 5915, 6277, 8562, 9003). {Footnote 4} Bread signifies every good that nourishes the spiritual life of man (n. 2165, 2177, 3478, 3735, 3813, 4211, 4217, 4735, 4976, 9323, 9545, 10686). Such was the signification of the loaves that were on the table in the tabernacle (n. 3478, 9545). Sacrifices in general were called bread (n. 2165). Bread includes all food (n. 2165). Thus it signifies all heavenly and spiritual food (n. 276, 680, 2165, 2177, 3478, 6118, 8410). 112. How conjunction of heaven with the world is effected by means of correspondences shall also be told in a few words. The Lord's kingdom is a kingdom of ends, which are uses; or what is the same thing, a kingdom of uses which are ends. For this reason the universe has been so created and formed by the Divine that uses may be every where clothed in such a way as to be presented in act, or in effect, first in heaven and afterwards in the world, thus by degrees and successively, down to the outmost things of nature. Evidently, then, the correspondence of natural things with spiritual things, or of the world with heaven, is through uses, and uses are what conjoin; and the form in which uses are clothed are correspondences and are conjunctions just to the extent that they are forms of uses. In the nature of the world in its threefold kingdom, all things that exist in accordance with order are forms of uses, or effects formed from use for use, and this is why the things in nature are correspondences. But in the case of man, so far as he is in accordance with Divine order, that is, so far as he is in love to the Lord and in charity towards the neighbor, are his acts uses in form, and correspondences, and through these he is conjoined to heaven. To love the Lord and the neighbor means in general to perform uses.{1} Furthermore, it must be understood that man is the means by which the natural world and the spiritual world are conjoined, that is, man is the medium of conjunction, because in him there is a natural world and there is a spiritual world (see above, n. 57); consequently to the extent that man is spiritual he is the medium of conjunction; but to the extent that a man is natural, and not spiritual, he is not a medium of conjunction. Nevertheless, apart from this mediumship of man, a Divine influx into the world and into the things pertaining to man that are of the world goes on, but not into man's rational faculty. {Footnote 1} Every good has its delight as well as its quality from use and in accordance with use; therefore such as the use is, such is the good (n. 3049, 4984, 7038). Angelic life consists in the goods of love and charity, that is, in performing uses (n. 454). The Lord, and consequently the angels, look only, in regard to man, to ends, which are uses (n. 1317, 1645, 5854). The Lord's kingdom is a kingdom of uses that is, of ends (n. 454, 696, 1103, 3645, 4054, 7038). Serving the Lord is performing uses (n. 7038). Each thing and all things in man have been formed for use (n. 3626, 4104, 5189 9297; also from use, that is, the use is prior to the organic forms in man through which the use is performed, because use is from the inflowing of the Lord through heaven (n. 4223, 4926). Moreover man's interiors, which constitute his mind, when he grows to maturity are formed from use and for use (n. 1964, 6815, 9297). Consequently man is such as are the uses with him (n. 1568, 3570, 4054, 6571, 6935, 6938, 10284). Uses are the ends for the sake of which (n. 3565, 4054, 4104, 6815). Use is the first and the last, thus the all of man (n. 1964). 113. As all things that are in accord with Divine order correspond to heaven, so all things contrary to Divine order correspond to hell. All things that correspond to heaven have relation to good and truth; but those that correspond to hell have relation to evil and falsity. 114. Something shall now be said about the knowledge of correspondences and its use. It has been said above that the spiritual world, which is heaven, is conjoined with the natural world by means of correspondences; therefore by means of correspondences communication with heaven is granted to man. For the angels of heaven do not think from natural things, as man does; but when man has acquired a knowledge of correspondences he is able, in respect to the thoughts of his mind, to be associated with the angels, and thus in respect to his spiritual or internal man to be conjoined with them. That there might be such a conjunction of heaven with man the Word was written wholly by correspondences, each thing and all things in it being correspondent.{1} If man, therefore, had a knowledge of correspondences he would understand the spiritual sense of the Word, and from that it would be given him to know arcana of which he sees nothing in the sense of the letter. For there is a literal sense and there is a spiritual sense in the Word, the literal sense made up of such things as are in the world, and the spiritual sense of such things as are in heaven. And such a Word, in which everything down to the least jot is a correspondence, was given to men because the conjunction of heaven with the world is effected by means of correspondences.{2} {Footnote 1} The Word was written wholly by correspondences (n. 8615). By means, of the Word man has conjunction with heaven (n. 2899, 6943, 9396, 9400, 9401, 10375, 10452). {Footnote 2} Concerning the spiritual sense of the Word see the little work on The White Horse referred to in the Apocalypse. 115. I have been taught from heaven that the most ancient men on our earth, who were celestial men, thought from correspondences themselves, the natural things of the world before their eyes serving them as means of thinking in this way; and that they could be in fellowship with angels and talk with them because they so thought, and that thus through them heaven was conjoined to the world. For this reason that period was called the Golden Age, of which it is said by ancient writers that the inhabitants of heaven dwelt with men and associated with them as friends with friends. But after this there followed a period when men thought, not from correspondences themselves, but from a knowledge of correspondences, and there was then also a conjunction of heaven with man, but less intimate. This period was called the Silver Age. After this there followed men who had a knowledge of correspondences but did not think from that knowledge, because they were in natural good, and not, like those before them in spiritual good. This period was called the Copper Age. After this man gradually became external, and finally corporeal, and then the knowledge of correspondences was wholly lost, and with it a knowledge of heaven and of the many things pertaining to heaven. It was from correspondence that these ages were named from gold, silver, and copper,{1} and for the reason that from correspondence gold signifies celestial good in which were the most ancient people, silver spiritual good in which were the ancient people that followed, and copper natural good in which were the next posterity; while iron, from which the last age takes its name, signifies hard truth apart from good. {Footnote 1} Gold from correspondence signifies celestial good (n. 113, 1551, 1552, 5658, 6914, 6917, 9510, 9874, 9881). Silver signifies spiritual good, that is, truth from a celestial origin (n. 1551, 1552, 2954, 5658). Copper signifies natural good (n. 425, 1551). Iron signifies truth in the outmost of order (n. 425, 426). 116. XIV. THE SUN IN HEAVEN. In heaven neither the sun of the world, nor anything from that sun, is seen, because it is wholly natural. For nature has its beginning from that sun, and whatever is produced by means of it is called natural. But the spiritual, to which heaven belongs, is above nature and wholly distinct from what is natural; and there is no communication between the two except by correspondences. What the distinction between them is may be understood from what has been already said about degrees (n. 38), and what the communication is from what has been said in the two preceding chapters about correspondences. 117. Although the sun of the world is not seen in heaven, nor anything from that sun, there is nevertheless a sun there, and light and heat, and all things that are in the world, with innumerable others, but not from a like origin; since the things in heaven are spiritual, and those in the world are natural. The sun of heaven is the Lord; the light there is the Divine truth and the heat the Divine good that go forth from the Lord as a sun. From this origin are all things that spring forth and are seen in the heavens. This light and heat and things existing therefrom in heaven will be treated of in the following chapters; in this chapter we will speak only of the sun there. In heaven the Lord is seen as a sun, for the reason that He is Divine love, from which all spiritual things, and by means of the sun of the world all natural things, have their existence. That love is what shines as a sun. 118. That the Lord is actually seen in heaven as a sun I have not only been told by angels, but it has occasionally been granted me to see it; and therefore what I have heard and seen respecting the Lord as a sun I shall be glad to tell in a few words. The Lord is seen as a sun, not in heaven, but high above the heavens; and not directly overhead or in the zenith, but before the faces of the angels at a middle height. He is seen at a considerable distance, in two places, one before the right eye and the other before the left eye. Before the right eye He is seen exactly like a sun, as it were, with a glow and size like that of the sun of the world. But before the left eye He is not seen as a sun, but as a moon, glowing white like the moon of our earth, and of like size, but more brilliant, and surrounded with many little moons, as it were, each of them of similar whiteness and splendor. The Lord is seen so differently in two places because every person sees the Lord in accordance with the quality of his reception of the Lord, thus He is seen in one way by those that receive Him with the good of love, and in another by those that receive Him with the good of faith. Those that receive Him with the good of love see Him as a sun, fiery and flaming, in accordance with their reception of Him; these are in His celestial kingdom; while those that receive Him with the good of faith see Him as a moon, white and brilliant in accordance with their reception of Him, and these are in His spiritual kingdom.{1} This is so because good of love corresponds to fire; therefore in the spiritual sense fire is love; and the good of faith corresponds to light, and in the spiritual sense light is faith.{2} And the Lord appears before the eyes because the interiors, which belong to the mind, see through the eyes, from good of love through the right eye, and from good of faith through the left eye;{3} since with angels and also with men all things at the right correspond to good from which truth is derived, and all at the left to truth that is from good.{4} Good of faith is in its essence truth from good. {Footnote 1} The Lord is seen in heaven as a sun, and is the sun of heaven (n. 1053, 3636, 3643, 4060). The Lord is seen as a sun by those who are in His celestial kingdom, where love to Him reigns, and as a moon by those who are in His spiritual kingdom, where charity to the neighbor and faith reign (n. 1521, 1529-1531, 1837, 4696). The Lord is seen as a sun at a middle height before the right eye, and an a moon before the left eye (n. 1053, 1521, 1529-1531, 3636, 3643, 4321, 5097, 7078, 7083, 7173, 7270, 8812, 10809). The Lord is seen as a sun and as a moon (n. 1531, 7173). The Lord's Divine Itself is far above His Divine in heaven (n. 7270, 8760). {Footnote 2} "Fire" in the Word signifies love, both in a good sense and in a bad sense (n. 934, 4906, 5215). Holy or heavenly fire signifies the Divine Love (n. 934, 6314, 6832). Infernal fire signifies love of self and of the world and every lust of those loves (n. 1861, 5071, 6314, 6832, 7575, 10747). Love is the fire of life and life itself is really from it (n. 4906, 5071, 6032, 6314). "Light" signifies the truth of faith (n. 3195, 3485, 3636, 3643, 3993, 4302, 4413, 4415, 9548, 9684). {Footnote 3} The sight of the left eye corresponds to truths of faith, and the sight of the right eye to their goods (n. 4410, 6923). {Footnote 4} The things on man's right have relation to good from which is truth, and those on his left to truth from good (n. 9495, 9604). 119. This is why in the Word the Lord in respect to love is likened to the sun, and in respect to faith to the moon; also that the "sun" signifies love from the Lord to the Lord, and the "moon" signifies faith from the Lord in the Lord, as in the following passages: The light of the moon shall be as the light of the sun, and the light of the sun shall be sevenfold, as the light of seven days (Isa. 30:26). And when I shall extinguish thee I will cover the heavens and make the stars thereof dark; I will cover the sun with a cloud, and the moon shall not make her light to shine. All luminaries of light in the heavens will I make dark over thee, and I will set darkness upon thy land (Ezek. 32:7, 8). I will darken the sun in his going forth, and the moon shall not make her light to shine (Isa. 13:10) The sun and the moon shall be darkened, and the stars shall withdraw their shining. The sun shall be turned into darkness and the moon into blood (Joel 2:2, 10, 31; 3:16). The sun became black as sackcloth and hair, and the moon became as blood, and the stars fell unto the earth (Apoc. 6:12, 13). Immediately after the affliction of those days the sun shall be darkened, and the moon shall not give her light, and the stars shall fall from heaven (Matt. 24:29). And elsewhere. In these passages the "sun" signifies love, and the "moon" faith, and the "stars" knowledges of good and truth.{1} These are said to be darkened, to lose their light, and to fall from heaven, when they are no more. That the Lord is seen as a sun in heaven is evident also from His appearance when transfigured before Peter, James, and John, That His face did shine as the sun (Matt. 17:2). These disciples thus saw the Lord when they were withdrawn from the body, and were in the light of heaven. It was because of this correspondence that the ancient people, with whom was a representative church, turned the face to the sun in the east when they were in Divine worship; and for the same reason they gave to their temples an eastern aspect. {Footnote 1} "Stars" and "constellations" in the Word signify knowledges of good and truth (n. 2495, 2849, 4697). 120. How great the Divine love is and what it is can be seen by comparison with the sun of the world, that it is most ardent, if you will believe it, much more ardent than that sun. For this reason the Lord as a sun does not flow without mediums into the heavens, but the ardor of His love is gradually tempered on the way. These temperings appear as radiant belts about the sun; furthermore, the angels are veiled with a thin adapting cloud to prevent their being harmed by the influx.{1} For this reason the heavens are more or less near in accordance with reception. As the higher heavens are in good of love they are nearest to the Lord as the sun; and as the lower heavens are in good of faith they are farther away from Him. But those that are in no good, like those in hell, are farthest away, at different distances in accordance with their opposition to good.{2} {Footnote 1} What the Lord's Divine love is, and how great it is, illustrated by comparison with the fire of this world's sun (n. 6834, 6849, 8644). The Lord's Divine love is love toward the whole human race to save it (n. 1820, 1865, 2253, 6872). The love that first goes forth from the fire of the Lord's love does not enter heaven, but is seen as radiant belts about the sun (n. 7270). The angels are veiled with a corresponding thin cloud, to prevent their being harmed by the glow of burning love (n. 6849). {Footnote 2} The Lord's presence with the angels is in proportion to their reception of good of love and faith from Him (n. 904, 4198, 4320, 6280, 6832, 7042, 8819, 9680, 9682, 9683, 10106, 10811). The Lord appears to each one in accordance with what he is (n. 1861, 3235, 4198, 4206). The hells are at a distance from the heavens because they cannot bear the presence of Divine love from the Lord (n. 4299, 7519, 7738, 7989, 8137, 8265, 9327). For this reason the hells are very far away from the heavens, and this is the "great gulf" (n. 9346, 10187). 121. When, however, the Lord appears in heaven, which often occurs, He does not appear encompassed with a sun, but in the form of an angel, yet distinguished from angels by the Divine shining through from His face, since He is not there in person, for in person the Lord is constantly encompassed by the sun, but He is present by look. For it is a common occurrence in heaven for persons to appear to be present in a place where their look is fixed or is terminated, even when this place is far away from where they really are. This presence is called the presence of internal sight, which will be treated of further on. I have also seen the Lord out of the sun in an angelic form, at a height a little below the sun; also near by in a like form, with shining face, and once in the midst of angels as a flame-like radiance. 122. To the angels the sun of the world appears like a dense darkness opposite to the sun of heaven, and the moon like a darkness opposite to the moon of heaven, and this constantly; and for the reason that the world's fieriness corresponds to the love of self, and the light from it corresponds to what is false from that love; and the love of self is the direct opposite of the Divine love; and what is false from that love is the direct opposite of the Divine truth; and the opposite of the Divine love and the Divine truth is to the angels thick darkness. Therefore, in the Word, to worship the sun and moon of this world and bow down to them, signifies to love self and the falsities that spring from the love of self, and it is said that such would be cut off. (Deut. 4:19; 16:3-5; Jer. 8:1, 2; Ezek. 8:15, 16, 18; Apoc. 16:8; Matt. 13:6).{1} {Footnote 1} The sun of the world is not seen by the angels, but in its place something dark behind, opposite to the sun of heaven or the Lord (n. 7078, 9755). In the opposite sense the sun signifies the love of self (n. 2441); and in this sense "to worship the sun" signifies to worship what is contrary to heavenly love or to the Lord (n. 2441, 10584). To those in the hells the sun of heaven is thick darkness (n. 2441). 123. As it is from the Divine love that is in and from Him that the Lord appears in heaven like a sun, so all in the heavens are turned constantly to Him those in the celestial kingdom to Him as a sun and those in the spiritual kingdom to Him as a moon. But those that are in hell turn themselves to an opposite darkness and dense darkness, that is, they turn backwards, away from the Lord; and for the reason that all in the hells are in love of self and the world, thus antagonistic to the Lord. Those who turn themselves to the dense darkness that is in the place where this world's sun is are in the hells behind, and are called genii; while those that turn themselves to the darkness that is in the place of the moon are in the hells more in front, and are called spirits. This is why those in the hells are said to be in darkness, and those in the heavens in light, "darkness" signifying falsity from evil, and "light" truth from good. They so turn themselves because all in the other life look towards what rules in their interiors, thus to their loves; and with angels and spirits the interiors determine the face; and in the spiritual world quarters are not fixed, as in the natural world, but are determined by the face. In respect to his spirit man turns himself in like manner as a spirit does, backwards from the Lord if he is in love of self and the world, and towards the Lord if he is in love to the Lord and the neighbor. But of this man is ignorant, because he is in the natural world where quarters are determined by the rising and setting of the sun. But as this cannot be easily comprehended by men it will be elucidated hereafter when Quarters, Space, and Time in Heaven are treated of. 124. Because the Lord is the sun of heaven and everything that is from Him looks to Him, He is also the common center, the source of all direction and determination.{1} So, too, all things beneath are in His presence and under His auspices, both in the heavens and on the earths. {Footnote 1} The Lord is the common center to which all things of heaven turn (n. 3633, 3641). 125. From all this what has been said and shown in previous chapters about the Lord may now be seen in clearer light, namely: That He is the God of heaven (n. 2-6). That it is His Divine that makes heaven (n. 7-12). That the Lord's Divine in heaven is love to Him and charity towards the neighbor (n. 13-19). That there is a correspondence of all things of the world with heaven, and through heaven with the Lord (n. 87-115). Also that the sun and moon of the world are correspondences (n. 105). 126. XV. LIGHT AND HEAT IN HEAVEN. That there is light in the heavens those who think from nature alone cannot comprehend; and yet such is the light in the heavens that it exceeds by many degrees the noon-day light of the world. That light I have often seen, even during the evening and night. At first I wondered when I heard the angels say that the light of this world is little more than a shadow in comparison with the light of heaven; but having seen it I can testify that it is so. The brightness and splendor of the light of heaven are such as cannot be described. All things that I have seen in the heavens have been seen in that light, thus more clearly and distinctly than things in this world. 127. The light of heaven is not a natural light, like the light of the world, but a spiritual light, because it is from the Lord as a sun, and that sun is the Divine love (as has been shown in the foregoing chapter). That which goes forth from the Lord as a sun is called in the heavens Divine truth, but in its essence it is Divine good united to Divine truth. From this the angels have light and heat, light from Divine truth, and heat from Divine good. As the light of heaven, and the heat also, are from such a source, it is evident that they are spiritual and not natural.{1} {Footnote 1} All light in the heavens is from the Lord as a sun (n. 1053, 1521, 3195, 3341, 3636, 3643, 4415, 9548, 9684, 10809). The Divine truth that goes forth from the Lord appears in heaven as light, and furnishes all the light of heaven (n. 3195, 3222, 3223, 5400, 8644, 9399, 9548, 9684). 128. The Divine truth is light to the angels because the angels are spiritual and not natural. Spiritual beings see from their sun, and natural beings from theirs. It is from Divine truth that angels have understanding, and their understanding is their inner sight, which flows into and produces their outer sight; therefore in heaven whatever is seen from the Lord as the sun is seen in light.{1} This being the source of light in heaven the light is varied there in accordance with the reception of Divine truth from the Lord; or what is the same, in accordance with the intelligence and wisdom in which the angels are, thus differently in the celestial kingdom and in the spiritual kingdom, and differently in each society. In the celestial kingdom the light appears flaming because the angels there receive light from the Lord as a sun; but in the spiritual kingdom the light is shining white, because the angels there receive light from the Lord as a moon (see above, n. 118). So, too, the light differs in different societies, and again in each society, those that are at the center being in greater light and those in the circumference in less light (see n. 43). In a word, the angels have light in the same degree in which they are recipients of Divine truth, that is, are in intelligence and wisdom from the Lord;{2} and this is why the angels of heaven are called angels of light. {Footnote 1} The light of heaven illumines both the sight and the understanding of angels and spirits (n. 2776, 3138). {Footnote 2} The light in heaven is in harmony with the intelligence and wisdom of the angels (n. 1524, 1529, 1530, 3339). Differences of light in the heavens are as many as there are angelic societies; and as there are in the heavens endless varieties of good and truth, so are there of wisdom and intelligence (n. 684, 690, 3241, 3744, 3745, 4414, 5598, 7236, 7833, 7836). 129. As the Lord in the heavens is Divine truth, and the Divine truth there is light, so in the Word He is called Light, likewise all truth is from Him, as in the following passages: Jesus said, I am the light of the world; he that followeth Me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life (John 8:12). As long as I am in the world I am the light of the world (John 9:5). Jesus said, Yet a little while is the light with you. Walk while ye have the light, lest darkness overtake you. While ye have the light believe in the light, that ye may be sons of light. I have come a light into the world, that whosoever believeth in Me may not abide in darkness (John 12:35, 36, 46). Light has come into the world, but men have loved the darkness rather than the light (John 3:19). John says of the Lord: This is the true light which lighteneth every man (John 1:9). The people that sit in darkness have seen a great light, and to them that were sitting in the shadow of death light is sprung up (Matt. 4:16). I will give thee for a covenant of the people, for a light of the Gentiles (Isa. 13:6). I have established Thee for a light of the Gentiles that Thou mayest be My salvation unto the end of the earth (Isa. 19:6). The nations of them that are saved shall walk in His light (Apoc. 21:24). Send out Thy light and Thy truth; let them lead me (Psalm 43:3). In these and other passages the Lord is called light from Divine truth, which is from Him; and the truth itself is likewise called light. As light in the heavens is from the Lord as a sun, so when He was transfigured before Peter, James, and John: His face did shine as the sun, and His raiment was white as the light (Matt. 17:2). And His garments became shining, exceeding white as snow, so as no fuller on earth can whiten them (Mark 9:3; Matt. 17:2). The Lord's garments had this appearance because they represented Divine truth which is from Him in the heavens, "garments" also in the Word signifying truths,{1} consequently it is said in David: O Jehovah, Thou coverest Thyself with light as with a garment (Psalm 104:2). {Footnote 1} In the Word "garments" signify truths, because truths clothe good (n. 1073, 2576, 5248, 5319, 5954, 9216, 9952, 10536). The Lord's garments when He was transfigured signified Divine truth going forth from His Divine love (n. 9212, 9216). 130. That light in the heavens is spiritual and that this light is Divine truth may be inferred also from the fact that men as well as angels have spiritual light, and have enlightenment from that light so far as they are in intelligence and wisdom from Divine truth. Man's spiritual light is the light of his understanding, and the objects of that light are truths, which he arranges analytically into groups, forms into reason, and from them draws conclusions in series.{1} The natural man does not know that the light from which the understanding sees such things is a real light, for he neither sees it with his eyes nor perceives it by thought. And yet there are many who recognize this light, and distinguish it from the natural light in which those are who think naturally and not spiritually. Those think naturally who take account of the world only, and attribute all things to nature; while those think spiritually who take account of heaven and attribute all things to the Divine. It has often been granted me to perceive and also to see that there is a true light that enlightens the mind, wholly distinct from the light that is called natural light [lumen]. I have been raised up interiorly into that light by degrees; and as I was raised up my understanding became so enlightened as to enable me to perceive what I did not perceive before, and finally such things as I could not even comprehend by thought from natural light. Sometimes I felt indignant that I could not comprehend these things when they were so clearly and plainly perceived in the light of heaven.{2} Because there is a light that belongs to the understanding, the same things are said of it as of the eye, as that it sees and is in light when it perceives, and is in obscurity and shade when it does not perceive, and so on. {Footnote 1} Man is rational because his understanding is illumined by the light of heaven (n. 1524, 3138, 3167, 4408, 6608, 8707, 9128, 9399, 10569). The understanding is enlightened because it is a recipient of truth (n. 6222, 6608, 10659). The understanding is enlightened to the extent that man receives truth in good from the lord (n. 3619). The understanding is such as are the truths from good by which it is formed (n. 10064). The understanding has light from heaven, as the sight has light from the world (n. 1524, 5114, 6608, 9128). The light of heaven from the Lord is always present with man, but it flows in only in the degree that man is in truth from good (n. 4060, 4214). {Footnote 2} When man is raised up from the sensual he comes into a milder light, and at length into heavenly light (n. 6313, 6315, 9407). When man is raised up into intelligence there is an actual elevation into the light of heaven (n. 3190). How great a light was perceived when I was withdrawn from worldly ideas (n. 1526, 6608). 131. As the light of heaven is Divine truth, that light is also Divine wisdom and intelligence; therefore to be raised up into the light of heaven means the same as to be raised up into intelligence and wisdom and enlightened. For this reason the angels have light in just the same degree as they have intelligence and wisdom. Because the light of heaven is Divine wisdom, in that light the character of everyone is recognized. The interiors of everyone lie open to view in his face just as they are, with not the least thing hidden. And interior angels love to have all things that pertain to them lying open, since they will nothing but good. It is otherwise with those beneath heaven, who do not will what is good, and for that reason fear greatly to be seen in the light of heaven. And wonderful to tell, while those in hell appear to one another as men, in the light of heaven they appear as monsters, with a horrid face and body, the exact form of their own evil.{1} In respect to his spirit man appears, when seen by angels, in a like way; if good as a man, beautiful in accord with his good; if evil as a monster, ugly in accord with his evil. From this it is clear that in the light of heaven all things are made manifest, and for the reason that the light of heaven is Divine truth. {Footnote 1} Those in the hells, in their own light, which is like the light from burning coals, appear to themselves as men but in the light of heaven they appear as monsters (n. 4531, 4533, 4674, 5057, 5058, 6605, 6626). 132. As Divine truth is light in the heavens, so all truths wherever they are, whether within an angel or outside of him, or whether within the heavens or outside of them, emit light. Nevertheless, truths outside of the heavens do not shine as truths within the heavens do. Truths outside of the heavens shine coldly, like something snowy, without heat, because they do not draw their essence from good, as truths within the heavens do; therefore that cold light vanishes as soon as the light of heaven falls on it, and if there is evil underneath it it is turned into darkness. This I have occasionally seen, with many other noteworthy things about the shining of truth, which must be omitted here. 133. Something shall now be said about the heat of heaven. That heat in its essence is love. It goes forth from the Lord as a sun, which is Divine love in the Lord and from the Lord, as has been shown in the preceding chapter. It is evident, therefore, that the heat of heaven, like the light of heaven, is spiritual, because from the same source.{1} There are two things that go forth from the Lord as a sun, Divine truth and Divine good; Divine truth is manifested in the heavens as light, and Divine good as heat; and yet Divine truth and Divine good are so united that they are not two, but one. Nevertheless, with angels they are separate, for there are angels that receive more of Divine good than of Divine truth, and there are those that receive more of Divine truth than of Divine good. Those who receive more of Divine good are in the Lord's celestial kingdom, and those who receive more of Divine truth are in His spiritual kingdom. Those that receive both in a like degree are the most perfect angels. {Footnote 1} There are two sources of heat and also two sources of light, the sun of the world and the sun of heaven (n. 3338, 5215, 7324). Heat from the Lord as a sun is affection of love (n. 3636, 3643). Therefore spiritual heat in its essence is love (n. 2146, 3338, 3339, 6314). 134. The heat of heaven, like the light of heaven, is everywhere different. It is different in the celestial kingdom from what it is in the spiritual kingdom, and it is different in each society therein. It differs both in degree and in quality. It is more intense and more pure in the Lord's celestial kingdom, because the angels there receive more of Divine good; and it is less intense and pure in His spiritual kingdom, because the angels there receive more of Divine truth. Also in each society the heat differs in accordance with reception. There is heat in the hells, but it is unclean heat.{1} The heat in heaven is what is meant by holy and heavenly fire, and the heat of hell by profane and infernal fire. Both mean love--heavenly fire meaning love to the Lord and love to the neighbor and every affection of those loves, and infernal fire meaning love of self and love of the world and every lust of those loves. That love is heat from a spiritual source is shown from one's growing warm with love; for in accordance with the strength and nature of his love a man is inflamed and grows warm; and the heat of his love is made manifest when it is opposed. From this also it is customary to speak of being inflamed, growing hot, burning, boiling, being on fire, both in regard to the affections of the love of good and the lusts of the love of evil. {Footnote 1} There is heat in the hells, but it is unclean (n. 1773, 2757, 3340). The odor from it is like the odor from dung and excrement in the world and in the worst hells like the odor of dead bodies (n. 814, 815, 817, 819, 820, 943, 944, 5394). 135. Love going forth from the Lord as a sun is felt in heaven as heat, because the interiors of the angels are in a state of love from the Divine good that is from the Lord; and in consequence their exteriors which grow warm therefrom are in a state of heat. For this reason heat and love so correspond to each other in heaven that everyone there is in heat such as his love is, according to what has been said just above. This world's heat does not enter heaven at all, because it is too gross, and is natural, and not spiritual; but with men it is otherwise, because they are in both the spiritual world and the natural world. As to their spirits they grow warm in exact accordance with their loves; but as to the body they grow warm both from the heat of their spirit and from the heat of the world. The former flows into the latter, because they correspond. The nature of the correspondence of the two kinds of heat can be seen from animal life, in that the love of animals-the chief of which is the love of propagating offspring of their kind-bursts forth and becomes active in accordance with the presence and influence of heat from the sun of the world, which is the heat of the spring and the summer seasons. Those who believe that the world's heat flows in and excites these loves are greatly mistaken, for there can be no influx from the natural into the spiritual, but only from the spiritual into the natural. This influx is of Divine order, but the other would be contrary to Divine order.{1} {Footnote 1} There is spiritual influx, but not physical, that is, there is influx from the spiritual world into the natural, but not from the natural world into the spiritual (n. 3219, 5119, 5259, 5427, 5428, 5477, 6322, 9109, 9110, 9111). 136. Angels, like men, have understanding and will. The light of heaven constitutes the life of their understanding, because that light is Divine truth and Divine wisdom therefrom; and the heat of heaven constitutes the life of their will, because that heat is Divine good and Divine love therefrom. The veriest life of the angels is from heat, and from light only so far as heat is in it. That life is from heat is shown by the fact that when heat is taken away life perishes. The same is true of faith without love or of truth without good; since the truth that is called truth of faith is light, and the good that is called good of love is heat. {1} This is more clearly shown by the heat and light of the world, to which the heat and light of heaven correspond. By the world's heat when conjoined with light, as in spring and summer, all things on the earth are quickened and grow, but by light separate from heat nothing is quickened or grows, but everything lies torpid and dies. They are not conjoined in winter, when heat is absent though light remains. From this correspondence heaven is called paradise, since truth is there joined with good, or faith with love, as light is with heat in springtime on the earth. All this makes more clear the truth set forth in its own chapter (n. 13-19), that the Divine of the Lord in Heaven is love to Him and charity towards the neighbor. {Footnote 1} Truths apart from good are not in themselves truths because they have no life; for truths have all their life from good (n. 9603). Thus truths apart from good are like a body without a soul (n. 3180, 9154). Truths apart from good are not accepted by the Lord (n. 4368). What truth apart from good, that is, what faith apart from love is, and what truth from good or faith from love is (n. 1949-1951, 1964, 5830, 5951). It amounts to the same thing whether you say truth or faith, or whether you say good or love, since truth is of faith and good is of love (n. 2839, 4352, 4353, 4997, 7178, 7623, 7624, 10367). 137. It is said in John: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and God was the Word. All things were made through Him, and without Him was not any thing made that hath been made. In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. He was in the world, and the world was made through Him. And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory (1:1-14). Evidently the Lord is here meant by "the Word," for it is said that "the Word became flesh." But what is specifically meant by "the Word" is not known and shall therefore be explained. Here "the Word" means the Divine truth which is in the Lord and from the Lord;{1} and this is why it is also called "the Light," which is the Divine truth, as has been already shown in this chapter. That it was by means of Divine truth that all things were created and made shall now be explained. [2] In heaven Divine truth has all power, and apart from it there is no power whatever.{2} From the Divine truth angels are called powers, and are powers to the extent that they are recipients or receptacles of it. By means of it they prevail over the hells and over all that oppose them. A thousand enemies there cannot stand against a single ray of the light of heaven, which is Divine truth. As angels are angels by their reception of Divine truth it follows that the entire heaven is from no other source, since heaven consists of angels. [3] That there is such power in Divine truth those cannot believe that have no other idea of truth than that it is thought or speech, which has in it no power except as others do it from obedience. But Divine truth has power in itself, and such power that by means of it heaven was created and the world with all things therein. That there is such power in Divine truth may be shown by two comparisons-by the power of truth and good in man, and by the power of light and heat from the sun in the world. By the power of good and truth in man, in that everything that a man does he does from his understanding and will-from his will by means of good and from his understanding by means of truth; for all things in the will have relation to good and all things in the understanding have relation to truth.{3} Therefore it is from good and truth that man moves his whole body, and a thousand things therein rush with one accord to do their will and pleasure. This makes clear that the whole body is formed for subservience to good and truth, consequently is formed by good and truth. [4] By the power of heat and light from the sun in the world, in that all things that grow in the world, as trees, cereals, flowers, grasses, fruits, and seeds, come into existence wholly by means of the heat and light of the sun; which shows what power of producing there is in them. What, then, must be the power in Divine light, which is Divine truth, and in Divine heat, which is Divine good? Because heaven has its existence from these, so does the world have its existence therefrom, since the world has its existence by means of heaven, as has been already shown. From all this the meaning of these words can be seen that "all things were made through the Word, and without the Word was not anything made that has been made;" also that "the world was made through Him," that is, through Divine truth from the Lord.{4} For the same reason, in the Book of Creation, light is first spoken of, and then the things that are from light (Gen. 1:3, 4). For this reason also all things in the universe, both in heaven and in the world, have relation to good and truth and to their conjunction, in order to be anything. {Footnote 1} In the Sacred Scripture word signifies various things, namely, speech, thought of the mind, any thing that really exists, also something, and in the highest sense Divine truth, and the Lord (n. 9987). "Word" signifies Divine truth (n. 2803, 2894, 4692, 5075, 5272, 9383, 9987). "Word" signifies the Lord (n. 2533, 2859). {Footnote 2} Divine truth going forth from the Lord has all power (n. 6948, 8200). Truth from good has all power in heaven (n. 3091, 3563, 6344, 6423, 8304, 9643, 10019, 10182). Angels are called powers, and are powers by the reception of Divine truth from the Lord (n. 9639). Angels are recipients of Divine truth from the Lord and therefore in the Word are sometimes called gods (n. 4295, 4402, 7873, 8192, 8301). {Footnote 3} The understanding is a recipient of truth, and the will a recipient of good (n. 3623, 6125, 7503, 9300, 9930). Therefore all things in the understanding have relation to truths, whether they are really truths or are believed by man to be truths, and all things in the will in like manner have relation to goods (n. 803, 10122). {Footnote 4} Divine truth going forth from the Lord is the only real thing (n. 6880, 7004, 8200). By means of Divine truth all things were created and made (n. 2803, 2884, 5272, 7678). 139.{1} It must be understood that the Divine good and the Divine truth that are from the Lord as a sun in the heavens are not in the Lord, but are from the Lord. In the Lord there is only Divine love, which is the Being [Esse] from which the Divine good and the Divine truth spring. Outgo [existere] from being [esse] is meant by going forth [procedere]. This, too, can be made clear by comparison with the world's sun. The heat and light that are in the world are not in the sun, but are from the sun. In the sun there is fire only, and it is from this that heat and light spring and go forth. {Footnote 1} [There is no n. 138 in the original. -- Editor.] 140. Since the Lord as a sun is Divine love, and Divine love is Divine good itself, the Divine that goes forth from the Lord, which is His Divine in heaven, is called, for the sake of distinction, Divine truth, although it is in fact Divine good united to Divine truth. This Divine truth is what is called the Holy that goes forth from Him. 141. XVI. THE FOUR QUARTERS IN HEAVEN. Both in heaven and in the world there are four quarters, east, south, west, and north, determined in each world by its own sun; in heaven by the sun of heaven, which is the Lord, in the world by the sun of the world. And yet there are great differences between them. In the first place, in the world that is called the south where the sun is in its greatest altitude above the earth, north where it is in its opposite position beneath the earth, east where it rises at an equinox, and west where it then sets. Thus in the world it is from the south that all the quarters are determined. But in heaven that is called the east where the Lord is seen as a sun, opposite to this is the west, at the right is the south in heaven, and at the left the north; and this in whatever direction the face and the body are turned. Thus in heaven it is from the east that all the quarters are determined. That is called the east [oriens] where the Lord is seen as a sun, because all origin [origo] of life is from Him as a sun; moreover, so far as angels receive heat and light or love and intelligence from the Lord He is said to arise [exoriri] upon them. For the same reason the Lord is called the East [Oriens] in the Word.{1} {Footnote 1} In the highest sense the Lord is the east [oriens], because He is the sun of heaven, which is always rising and never setting (n. 101, 5097, 9668). 142. Another difference is that to the angels the east is always before the face, the west behind, the south to the right, and the north to the left. But since this cannot be easily comprehended in the world, for the reason that men turn the face to every quarter, it shall be explained. The entire heaven turns itself to the Lord as to its common center; to that center do all the angels turn themselves. Also on the earth, as is well known, there is a directing of all things towards a common center; but there is this difference between this directing in the world and that in heaven, that in heaven the front parts are turned to the common center, but in the world the lower parts of the body. In the world this directing is called centripetal force, also gravitation. The interiors of angels are actually turned forwards; and since interiors manifest themselves in the face it is the face that determines the quarters.{1} {Footnote 1} In heaven all turn themselves to the Lord (n. 9828, 10130, 10189, 10420). Nevertheless, it is not the angels that turn themselves to the Lord, but the Lord turns the angels to Himself (n. 10189). It is not that the angels are present with the Lord, but the Lord is present with the angels (n. 9415). 143. It is still more difficult to comprehend in the world that in every turning of their face and body the angels have the east before the face, since man according as he turns, has every quarter before his face. This shall also be explained. Although angels, like men, turn and direct their faces and bodies in every direction, they nevertheless have the east always before their eyes. But the turnings of angels are unlike the turnings of men, because they are from a different origin. They appear alike, but they are not. The origin of these turnings is their ruling love, and from this all directions with angels and spirits are determined, for, as just said, their interiors are actually turned towards their common center, which in heaven is the Lord as a sun; consequently their ruling love is always before their face, because their love is always before their interiors, and the face has existence from the interiors, for it is their outward form; and in the heavens this love is the Lord as a sun because it is from Him that they have their love.{1} And as the Lord Himself is in angels in His love, it is the Lord who causes them to look to Him whithersoever they turn. This cannot be explained any farther now; but it will be made clearer to the understanding in subsequent chapters, especially where representations and appearances, and time and space in heaven, are treated of. That the angels have the Lord constantly before their faces it has been granted me to know and also to perceive from much experience; for whenever I have been in company with angels I have noticed the Lord's presence before my face, not actually seen, and yet perceptible in a light; and angels have often testified that this is so. As the Lord is constantly before the faces of the angels, so it is said in the world of those who believe in the Lord and love Him that they have God before their eyes and their face, and that they look to God, and see God. These expressions have their origin in the spiritual world, from which are many things in human speech, although their source is unknown to men. {Footnote 1} In the spiritual world all constantly turn themselves to their loves; and the quarters there have their beginning in the face and are determined by it (n. 10130, 10189, 10420, 10702). The face is formed to a correspondence with the interiors (n. 4791-4805, 5695). Therefore the interiors shine forth from the face (n. 3527, 4066, 4796). With angels the face makes one with the interiors (n. 4796, 4797, 4799, 5695, 8250). The influx of the interiors into the face and its muscles (n. 3631, 4800). 144. This turning to the Lord is among the wonderful things in heaven. There may be many together in one place, some turning the face and body one way and some another, and yet all see the Lord before them, and have everyone has the south at his right, the north at his left, and the west behind him. Another wonderful thing is that, although the angels look only to the east they have also a look towards the other three quarters; but the look to these is from their interior sight, which pertains to their thought. And it is yet another wonderful thing that in heaven no one is ever permitted to stand behind another and look at the back of his head, for this would disturb the influx of good and truth from the Lord. 145. The Lord is seen by the angels, and the angels are seen by the Lord in another way. Angels see the Lord through their eyes; but the Lord sees the angels in the forehead, and this for the reason that the forehead corresponds to love, and it is through love that the Lord flows into their will, while it is through the understanding, to which the eyes correspond, that He causes Himself to be seen.{1} {Footnote 1} The forehead corresponds to heavenly love; therefore in the Word the "forehead" signifies that love (n. 9936). The eye corresponds to the understanding, because the understanding is internal sight (n. 2701, 4410, 4526, 9051, 10569). For this reason "to lift up the eyes" and "to see" signifies to understand, perceive, and observe (n. 2789, 2829, 3198, 3202, 4083, 4086, 4339, 5684). 146. The quarters in the heavens that give form to the Lord's celestial kingdom differ from the quarters in the heavens that give form to His spiritual kingdom, for the reason that He is seen by the angels in His celestial kingdom as a sun, but by the angels in His spiritual kingdom as a moon; and where the Lord is seen is the east. The distance there between the position of the sun and that of the moon is thirty degrees, and there is a like difference in the position of the quarters. That heaven is divided into two kingdoms, called the celestial kingdom and the spiritual kingdom, may be seen in its own chapter (n. 20-28); and that the Lord is seen in the celestial kingdom as a sun, and in the spiritual kingdom as a moon (n. 118). But it does not follow that the quarters of heaven become confused on this account, for neither can the spiritual angels ascend among the celestial angels, nor the celestial descend among the spiritual, as may be seen above (n. 35). 147. This makes clear the nature of the Lord's presence in the heavens, that He is every where and with everyone in the good and truth that go forth from Him; consequently He is with angels in what is His own, as has been said above (n. 12). The perception of the Lord's presence is in their interiors; and it is from these that their eyes see, and it is by this continuity that they see the Lord outside of themselves. This shows what is meant by the Lord's being in them and they in Him, according to His own words: Abide in Me and I in you (John 15:4). He that eateth My flesh and drinketh My blood abideth in Me and I in him (John 6:56). "The Lord's flesh" signifies Divine good and "His blood" Divine truth.{1} {Footnote 1} In the Word "the Lord's flesh" signifies His Divine Human, and the Divine good of His love (n. 3813, 7850, 9127, 10283). And "the Lord's blood" signifies Divine truth and the holy of faith (n. 4735, 4978, 6978, 7317, 7326, 7846, 7850, 7877, 9127, 9393, 10026, 10033, 10152, 10210). 148. All in the heavens have their own places of abode in accordance with the quarters. Those who are in the good of love dwell towards the east and west, those who are in clear perception of it towards the east, and those who are in obscure perception of it towards the west. Those who are in wisdom from the good of love dwell towards the south and north-those who are in the clear light of wisdom towards the south, and those who are in obscure light of it towards the north. The angels of the Lord's spiritual kingdom and those of His celestial kingdom dwell in a like order, but differently as their good of love and light of truth from good differ; for in the celestial kingdom the love is love to the Lord, and the light of truth therefrom is wisdom; while in the spiritual kingdom there is love towards the neighbor, which is called charity, and the light of truth therefrom is intelligence, which is also called faith (see above, n. 23). The quarters differ also in the two kingdoms by thirty degrees, as has been said just above (n. 146). 149. In like order the angels in each society in heaven dwell in relation to one another-towards the east there those who are in greater degree of love and charity, towards the west those who are in less degree; towards the south those who are in greater light of wisdom and intelligence, and towards the north those who are in less. This arrangement prevails because each society represents heaven, and is a heaven in a smaller form (see above, n. 51-58). The same arrangement prevails in their assemblies. They are brought into this order by virtue of the form of heaven, from which everyone knows his own place. The Lord also provides that there be in each society those of every kind, for the reason that in form heaven is every where like itself; and yet the arrangement of the whole heaven differs from the arrangement of a society as what is general from its parts, since the societies towards the east surpass those towards the west, and those towards the south surpass those towards the north. 150. Because of this the quarters in the heavens signify such things as pertain to those that dwell in them,--the east signifying love and its good clearly perceived, the west the same obscurely perceived, the south wisdom and intelligence in clear light, and the north the same in obscure light. And because of this signification of the quarters in heaven they have a like signification in the internal or spiritual sense of the Word,{1} since the internal or spiritual sense of the Word is in entire accord with what is in heaven. {Footnote 1} In the Word the "east" signifies love clearly perceived (n. 1250, 3708); the "west" love obscurely perceived (n. 3708, 9653); the "south" a state of light, that is, of wisdom and intelligence (n. 1458, 3708, 5672); and the "north" that state in obscurity (n. 3708). 151. The reverse is true of those in the hells. Those who are there do not look to the Lord as a sun nor as a moon; but they look backward away from the Lord to that dense darkness that is in the place of the sun of the world, and to the darkness that is in the place of the earth's moon. Those that are called genii look to that dense darkness that is in the place of the world's sun, and those called spirits look to the darkness that is in the place of the earth's moon.{1} It has been shown above (n. 122) that the world's sun and the earth's moon are not seen in the spiritual world, but in place of that sun a dense darkness over against the sun of heaven, and in place of that moon a darkness over against the moon of heaven. For this reason the quarters with those in the hells are opposite to the quarters of heaven. The east to them is where that dense darkness and darkness are, the west is where the sun of heaven is, the south is to their right, and the north to their left, and this also in every turning of their bodies. Nor can they face otherwise, because the whole bent and consequent determination of their interiors tends and strives that way. It has been shown above (n. 143) that the bent and consequent actual determination of the interiors of all in the other life are in harmony with their love. The love of those in the hells is the love of self and the world, and these loves are what are signified by the world's sun and the earth's moon (see n. 122); and these loves are opposite to love to the Lord and love towards the neighbor;{2} and this is the cause of their turning themselves backwards away from the Lord to this dense darkness. Moreover, those in the hells dwell likewise in accordance with their quarters, those who are in evil from love of self dwelling from their east to their west, and those who are in the falsities of evil from their south to their north. But more will be said about this below, where the hells are treated of. {Footnote 1} Who and what those are who are called genii, and who and what those are who are called spirits (n. 947, 5035, 5977, 8593, 8622, 8625). {Footnote 2} Those that are in the loves of self and of the world turn themselves backwards from the Lord (n. 10130, 10189, 10420, 10702). Love to the Lord and charity towards the neighbor make heaven, while love of self and love of the world make hell, because the two are opposite (n. 2041, 3610, 4225, 4776 6210, 7366, 7369, 7490, 8232, 8678, 10455, 10741-10745). 152. When an evil spirit comes among good spirits the quarters are usually so confused that the good scarcely know where their east is. This I have sometimes seen take place, and have also heard about it from spirits who complained of it. 153. Evil spirits are sometimes seen turned towards the quarters of heaven; and they then have intelligence and perception of truth, but no affection for good; but as soon as they turn back to their own quarters they have no intelligence or perception of truth; and then they declare that the truths they heard and perceived are falsities and not truths, and they wish falsities to be truths. In respect to this turning I have been told that with the evil the intellectual part of the mind can be so turned, but not the voluntary part; and that this is provided by the Lord to the end that everyone may have the ability to see and acknowledge truths, but that no one can receive truths unless he is in good, since it is good, and never evil, that receives them; also that man has a like ability to the end that he may be made better by means of truths. Nevertheless, he is made better only so far as he is in good; consequently a man can in like manner be turned to the Lord; but if his life is evil he immediately turns himself back and confirms in himself the falsities of his evil, which are contrary to the truths he had understood and seen; and this takes place when he thinks in himself from his interior states. 154. XVII. CHANGES OF STATE OF THE ANGELS IN HEAVEN. By changes of state of angels their changes in respect to love and faith, and wisdom and intelligence therefrom, are meant, thus their changes in respect to states of life. States are predicated of life and of what belongs to life; and as angelic life is a life of love and faith, and of wisdom and intelligence therefrom, states are predicated of these and are called states of love and faith, and states of wisdom and intelligence. How with angels these states are changed shall now be told. 155. Angels are not constantly in the same state in respect to love, and in consequence in the same state in respect to wisdom; for all their wisdom is from their love and in accordance with their love. Sometimes they are in a state of intense love, sometimes in a state of love not so intense. The state decreases by degrees from its greatest degree to its least. When in their greatest degree of love they are in the light and warmth of their life, or in a clear and delightful state; but in their least degree they are in shade and cold, or in an obscure and undelightful state. From this last state they return again to the first, and so on, these alternations following one after another with variety. There is a sequence of these states like the varied states of light and shade, or of heat and cold, or like morning, noon, evening, and night, day after day in the world, with unceasing variety throughout the year. There is also a correspondence, morning corresponding to the state of their love in its clearness, noon to the state of their wisdom in its clearness, evening to the state of their wisdom in its obscurity, and night to a state of no love or wisdom. But it must be understood that there is no correspondence of night with the states of life of those in heaven, although there is what corresponds to the dawn that precedes morning; what corresponds to night is with those in hell.{1} From this correspondence "day" and "year" signify in the Word states of life in general; "heat" and "light" signify love and wisdom; "morning" the first and highest degree of love "noon" wisdom in its light; "evening" wisdom in its shade; "dawn" the obscurity that precedes the morning; and "night" the absence of love and wisdom.{2} {Footnote 1} In heaven there is a state corresponding to the dawn that precedes morning, but no state corresponding to night (n. 6110). The "dawn" signifies a middle state between the last and the first (n. 10134). {Footnote 2} Alternations of state in respect to enlightenment and perception occur in heaven, like the times of day in the world (n. 5672, 5962, 6110, 8426, 9213, 10605). In the Word "day" and "year" signify all states in general (n. 23, 487, 488, 493, 893, 2788, 3462, 4850, 10656). "Morning" signifies the beginning of a new state, and a state of love (n. 7218, 8426, 8427, 10114, 10134). "Evening" signifies a state of declining light and love (n. 10134, 10135). "Night" signifies a state of no love or faith (n. 221, 709, 2353, 6000, 6110, 7870, 7947). 156. Together with the state of the angels' interiors which pertain to their love and wisdom, the states of various things that are outside of them and that they see with their eyes are changed; for the things outside of them take on an appearance that is in accord with the things within them. But what things these are, and what kind of things they are, shall be told presently in the chapter on Representatives and Appearances in Heaven. 157. Every angel undergoes and passes through such changes of state, and also every society in general, and yet each one differently, for the reason that they differ in love and wisdom, those in the middle being in a more perfect state than those round about even to the circumference (see above, n. 43, 128). But it would be tedious to specify the differences, since the changes each one undergoes are in accord with the quality of his love and faith. From this it happens that while one may be in clearness and delight another may be in obscurity and lack of delight, and this at the same time within the same society. So, too, the state differs in different societies; it is different in the societies of the celestial kingdom from what it is in those of the spiritual kingdom. These differences in the changes of state are in general like the variations of the states of days in different climates on the earth, for with some it is morning when with others it is evening, and with some it is hot when with others it is cold. 158. I have been taught from heaven why there are such changes of state there. The angels said that there are many reasons-first, the delight of life and of heaven, which they have from love and wisdom from the Lord, would gradually lose its value if they were in it continually, as happens with those that are in allurements and pleasures without variety. A second reason is that angels, as well as men, have what is their own [proprium], which is loving self; and all that are in heaven are withheld from what is their own, and so far as they are withheld from it by the Lord are in love and wisdom; but so far as they are not withheld they are in the love of self; and because everyone loves what is his own and is drawn by it{1} they have changes of state or successive alternations. A third reason is that they are in this way perfected, for they thus become accustomed to being held in love to the Lord and withheld from love of self; also that by alternations between delight and lack of delight the perception and sense of good becomes more exquisite.{2} The angels added that their changes of state are not caused by the Lord, since the Lord as a sun is unceasingly flowing in with heat and light, that is, with love and wisdom; but the cause is in themselves, in that they love what is their own, and this continually leads them away. This was illustrated by comparison with the sun of the world, that the cause of the changes of state of heat and cold and of light and shade, year by year and day by day, is not in that sun, since it stands unchanged, but the cause is in the earth. {Footnote 1} Man's own [proprium] is loving self (n. 694, 731, 4317, 5660). The Lord cannot be present unless what is man's own is set aside (n. 1023, 1044). It is actually set aside when one is held in good by the Lord (n. 9334-9336, 9447, 9452-9454, 9938). {Footnote 2} The angels are being perfected to eternity (n. 4803, 6648). In the heavens one state is never just like another, and from this there is an unceasing process of perfection (n. 10200). 159. I have been shown how the Lord as a sun appears to the angels of the celestial kingdom in their first state, in their second state, and in their third state. I saw the Lord as a sun, at first glowing and brilliant with a splendor that cannot be described; and I was told that such is the appearance of the Lord as a sun to the angels in their first state. Afterwards there appeared a great obscure belt about the sun, and by this its first glow and brilliancy, which gave it such splendor, began to be dulled, and I was told that such is the appearance of the sun to them in their second state. Then the belt seemed by degrees to grow darker, and the sun to appear less glowing, and this by degrees until at length it took on a shining whiteness; and I was told that such is the appearance of the sun to them in their third state. After this, that shining whiteness was seen to move to the left towards the moon of heaven, and to add itself to her light; and in consequence the moon shone forth with unwonted splendor; and I was told that such is the fourth state of those in the celestial kingdom and the first state of those in the spiritual kingdom, and that in both kingdoms changes of state have such alternations; yet not in the whole kingdom at once, but in one society after another. Furthermore, I was told that these alternations are not fixed, but come upon them sooner or later without their knowledge. And it was added that the sun in itself is not thus changed or moved; but it takes on this appearance in accord with their successive progressions of state, since the Lord appears to everyone in accord with what his state is, thus glowing when one is in intense love and less glowing and finally shining white as his love subsides; and the quality of each one's state was represented by the obscure belt that induced upon the sun these apparent variations in its glow and light. 160. When angels are in the last of these states, which is when they are in what is their own, they begin to be sad. I have talked with them when they were in that state and have seen their sadness; but they said that they hoped to return soon to their former state, and thus into heaven again, as it were; for to them it is heaven to be withheld from what is their own. 161. There are also changes of state in the hells, but these will be described later when hell is treated of. 162. XVIII. TIME IN HEAVEN. Although there is a succession and a progression of all things in heaven, as in the world, yet angels have no notion or idea of time and space; and this so completely that they do not even know at all what time and space are. Time in heaven will here be considered, and space in its own chapter. 163. Angels do not know what time is, although with them there is a successive progression of all things, as there is in the world, and this so completely that there is no difference whatever; and the reason is that in heaven instead of years and days there are changes of state; and where there are years and days there are times, but where there are changes of state there are states. 164. In the world there are times because the sun of the world seemingly advances in succession from one degree to another, producing times that are called seasons of the year; and besides, it revolves about the earth, producing times that are called times of day; both of these by fixed alternations. With the sun of heaven it is different. This does not mark years and days by successive progressions and revolutions, but in its appearance it marks changes of state; and this, as has been shown in the preceding chapter, is not done by fixed alternations. Consequently no idea of time is possible to angels; but in its place they have an idea of state (see above n. 154). 165. As angels have no idea derived from time, such as men in the world have, so neither do they have any idea about time and what pertains to it. They do not even know what is meant by the terms of time, such as year, month, week, day, hour, to-day, to-morrow, yesterday. When angels hear these terms used by man (for angels are always associated with man by the Lord) in place of them they perceive state and what pertains to states. Thus the natural thought of man is turned into spiritual thought with angels. This is why times in the Word signify states, and the terms of time, as enumerated above, signify corresponding spiritual things.{1} {Footnote 1} Times in the Word signify states (n. 2788, 2837, 3254, 3356, 4814, 4901, 4916, 7218, 8070, 10133, 10605). Angels think apart from the idea of time and space (n. 3404); the reasons why (n. 1274, 1382, 3356, 4882, 4901, 6110, 7218, 7381). What a "year" signifies in the Word (n. 487, 488, 493, 893, 2906, 7828, 10209). What a "month" (n. 3814). What a "week" (n. 2044, 3845). What a "day" (n. 23, 487, 488, 6110, 7680, 8426, 9213, 10132, 10605). What "today" (n. 2838, 3998, 4304, 6165, 6984, 9939). What "to-morrow" (n. 3998, 10497). What "yesterday" (n. 6983, 7114, 7140). 166. The like is true of all things that exist from time, as the four seasons of the year, called spring, summer, autumn, and winter; the four periods of the day, morning, noon, evening, and night; and the four ages of man, infancy, youth, manhood, and old age; and all other things that either exist from time or have a succession in accordance with time. In thinking of these a man thinks from time, but an angel from state; and in consequence what there is in them from time with man is with the angels turned into an idea of state. Spring and morning are turned into an idea of the state of love and wisdom such as they are in angels in their first state; summer and noon are turned into an idea of love and wisdom such as they are in the second state; autumn and evening such as they are in the third state; night and winter into an idea of such a state as exists in hell. This is why these periods have a like significance in the Word (see above, n. 155). This makes clear how natural things in the thought of man become spiritual with the angels who are with man. 167. As angels have no notion of time so they have an idea of eternity different from that which men on the earth have. Eternity means to the angels infinite state, not infinite time.{1} I was once thinking about eternity, and was able, with the idea of time, to perceive what to eternity means, namely, without end, but not what from eternity means, thus not what God did from eternity before creation. When anxiety on this account arose in my mind I was raised up into the sphere of heaven, and thus into the perception that angels have in respect to eternity; and it was then made clear to me that eternity must be thought of, not from time but from state; and then the meaning of from eternity can be seen. This then happened to me. {Footnote 1} Men have an idea of eternity associated with time, but angels apart from time (n. 1382, 3404, 8325). 168. When angels speak with men they never express themselves in natural ideas proper to man, all of which are from time, space, matter, and things analogous thereto, but in spiritual ideas, all of which are from states and their various changes within the angels and outside of them. Nevertheless, when these angelic ideas, which are spiritual, flow into men, they are turned in a moment and of themselves into natural ideas proper to man, that correspond perfectly to the spiritual ideas. Neither angels nor men know that this takes place; but such is all influx of heaven into man. Certain angels were permitted to enter more nearly into my thoughts, even into the natural thoughts in which there were many things from time and space; but as they then understood nothing they suddenly withdrew; and after they had withdrawn I heard them talking, and saying that they had been in darkness. [2] It has been granted me to know by experience how ignorant the angels are about time. There was a certain one from heaven who was able to enter into natural ideas, such as man has; and after he had done this I talked with him as man with man. At first he did not know what it was that I called time, and I was therefore obliged to tell him all about it, how the sun appears to be carried about our earth, and to produce years and days, and how years are thereby divided into four seasons, and also into months and weeks, and days into twenty-four hours; and how these times recur by fixed alternations, and how this is the source of times. On hearing this he was surprised, saying that he knew nothing about such things, but only what states are. [3] In speaking with him I added that it is known in the world, for men speak as if they knew that there is no time in heaven, saying of those who die that they "leave the things of time," and that they "pass out of time," meaning by this out of the world. I said also that some know that times in their origin are states, for they know that times are in exact accord with the states of their affections, short to those who are in pleasant and joyous states, long to those who are in unpleasant and sorrowful states, and various in a state of hope and expectation; and this therefore leads learned men to inquire what time and space are, and some know that time belongs to the natural man. 169. The natural man might think that he would be deprived of all thought if the ideas of time, space, and material things were taken away; for upon these all the thought of man rests.{1} But let him know that so far as thoughts partake of time, space, and matter they are limited and confined, but are unlimited and extended so far as they do not partake of these, since the mind is in that measure raised above bodily and worldly things. This is the source of wisdom to the angels; and such wisdom as is called incomprehensible, because it does not fall into ideas that are wholly made up of what is material. {Footnote 1} Man does not think, as angels do, apart from the idea of time (n. 3404). 170. XIX. REPRESENTATIVES AND APPEARANCES IN HEAVEN. The man who thinks from natural light alone is unable to comprehend that there is any thing in heaven like what is in the world; and for the reason that from natural light he has previously thought, and established himself in the idea, that angels are nothing but minds, and that minds are like ethereal breaths, having no senses like those of men, thus no eyes, and if no eyes no objects of sight; and yet the angels have every sense that a man has, and far more exquisite senses; and the light by which angels see is far brighter than the light by which man sees. That angels are men in the most complete form, and enjoy every sense, may be seen above (n. 73-77); and that the light in heaven is far brighter than the light in the world (n. 126-132). 171. The nature of the objects that are visible to angels in heaven cannot be described in a few words. For the most part they are like things on earth, but in form far more perfect, and in number more abundant. That such things exist in the heavens is evident from things seen by the prophets,--as by Ezekiel in relation to the new temple and the new earth (as described from chaps. 40 to 48); by Daniel (from chap. 7 to 12); by John (from the first chapter of the Apocalypse to the last); and by others, as described both in the historic and the prophetic part of the Word. These things were seen by them when heaven was open to them, and heaven is said to be opened when the interior sight, which is the sight of man's spirit, is opened. For what is in the heavens cannot be seen by the eyes of a man's body, but are seen by the eyes of his spirit; and when it seems good to the Lord these are opened, and man is then withdrawn from the natural light that he is in from the bodily senses and is raised up into spiritual light, which he is in from his spirit. In that light the things in heaven have been seen by me. 172. But although the things seen in heaven are in large part like those on the earth, in essence they are unlike them; for the things in heaven come forth from the sun of heaven, and those on the earth from the sun of the world. The things that come forth from the sun of heaven are called spiritual; those that come forth from the sun of the world are called natural. 173. The things that come forth in heaven do not come forth in the same manner as those on the earth. All things in heaven come forth from the Lord in correspondence with the interiors of the angels. For angels have both interiors and exteriors. All things in their interiors have relation to love and faith, thus to the will and understanding, since the will and understanding are their receptacles; while their exteriors correspond to their interiors. That exterior things correspond to interior things may be seen above (n. 87-115). This is illustrated by what has been said above about the heat and light of heaven, that angels have heat in accordance with the quality of their love, and light in accordance with the quality of their wisdom (n. 128-134). The like is true of all other things that present themselves to the senses of angels. 174. When I have been permitted to be in company with angels, the things there appeared precisely the same as those in the world; and so plainly that I would not have known that I was not in the world and in a king's palace. I also talked with the angels as man with man. 175. As all things that correspond to interiors also represent them they are called representatives; and as they differ in each case in accordance with the state of the interiors they are called appearances. Nevertheless, the things that appear before the eyes of angels in heaven and are perceived by their senses appear to their eyes and senses as fully living as things on earth appear to man, and even much more clearly, distinctly and perceptibly. Appearances from this source in heaven are called real appearances, because they have real existence. There are appearances also that are not real, which are things that become visible, but do not correspond to interiors.{1} These will be treated of further on. {Footnote 1} All things that are visible to the angels are representative (n. 1971, 3213-3226, 3342, 3457, 3475, 3485, 9481, 9457, 9576, 9577). The heavens are full of representatives (n. 1521, 1532, 1619). The representatives are more beautiful as they are more interior in the heavens (n. 3475). As the representatives there are from the light of heaven they are real appearances (n. 3485). The Divine influx is turned into representatives in the higher heavens, and therefrom in the lower heavens also (n. 2179, 3213, 9457, 9481, 9576, 9577). Those things are called representative that appear before the eyes of the angels in such form as are in nature, that is, such as are in the world (n. 9457). Internal things are thus turned into external (n. 1632, 2987-3002). What representatives in the heavens are; this made clear by various examples (n. 1521, 1532, 1619-1628, 1807, 1973, 1974, 1977, 1980, 1981, 2299, 2601, 2761, 2762, 3217, 3219, 3220, 3348, 3350, 5198, 9090, 10276). All things seen in the heavens are in accordance with correspondences and are called representatives (n. 3213-3226, 3342, 3475, 3485, 9481, 9457, 9576, 9577). All things that correspond also represent and likewise signify what they correspond to (n. 2896, 2987, 2989-2991, 3002, 3225). 176. To show what the things are that appear to the angels in accordance with correspondences, I will here mention one only for the sake of illustration. By those who are intelligent, gardens and parks full of trees and flowers of every kind are seen. The trees are planted in a most beautiful order, combined to form arbors with arched approaches and encircling walks, all more beautiful than words can describe. There the intelligent walk, and gather flowers and weave garlands with which they adorn little children. Moreover, there are kinds of trees and flowers there that are never seen and cannot exist on earth. The trees bear fruit that are in accordance with the good of love, in which the intelligent are. These things are seen by them because a garden or park and fruit trees and flowers correspond to intelligence and wisdom.{1} That there are such things in heaven is known also on the earth, but only to those who are in good, and who have not extinguished in themselves the light of heaven by means of natural light and its fallacies; for when such think about heaven they think and say that there are such things there as ear hath not heard and eye hath not seen. {Footnote 1} A "garden" or "park" signifies intelligence and wisdom (n. 100, 108, 3220). What is meant by "the garden of Eden" and "the garden of Jehovah" (n. 99, 100, 1588). How magnificent the things seen in parks are in the other life (n. 1122, 1622, 2296, 4528, 4529). "Trees" signify perceptions and knowledges, from which wisdom and intelligence are derived (n. 103, 2163, 2682, 2722, 2972, 7692). "Fruits" signify goods of love and goods of charity (n. 3146, 7690, 9337). 177. XX. THE GARMENTS WITH WHICH ANGELS APPEAR CLOTHED. Since angels are men, and live among themselves as men do on the earth, they have garments and dwellings and other such things, with the difference, however, that as they are in a more perfect state all things with them are in greater perfection. For as angelic wisdom surpasses human wisdom to such a degree as to be called ineffable, so is it with all things that are perceived and seen by angels, inasmuch as all things perceived and seen by them correspond to their wisdom (see above, n. 173). 178. The garments with which angels are clothed, like all other things with them, correspond; and because they correspond they have real existence (see above n. 175). Their garments correspond to their intelligence, and therefore all in the heavens appear clothed in accordance with their intelligence; and as one is more intelligent than another so the garments of one surpass those of another. The most intelligent have garments that blaze as if with flame, others have garments that glisten as if with light; the less intelligent have garments that are glistening white or white without the effulgence; and the still less intelligent have garments of various colors. But the angels of the inmost heaven are not clothed. 179. As the garments of angels correspond to their intelligence they correspond also to truth, since all intelligence is from Divine truth; and therefore it is the same thing whether you say that angels are clothed in accordance with intelligence or in accordance with Divine truth. The garments of some blaze as if with flame, and those of others glisten as if with light, because flame corresponds to good, and light corresponds to truth from good.{1} Some have garments that are glistening white and white without the effulgence, and others garments of various colors, because with the less intelligent the Divine good and truth are less effulgent, and are also received in various ways,{2} glistening white and white corresponding to truth,{3} and colors to its varieties.{4} Those in the inmost heaven are not clothed, because they are in innocence, and innocence corresponds to nakedness.{5} {Footnote 1} From correspondence "garments" in the Word signify truths (n. 1073, 2576, 5319, 5954, 9212, 9216, 9952, 10536). For the reason that truths clothe good (n. 5248). A "covering" signifies something intellectual, because the intellect is the recipient of truth (n. 6378). "Shining garments of fine linen" signify truths from the Divine (n. 5319, 9469). "Flame" signifies spiritual good, and the light therefrom truth from that good (n. 3222, 6832). {Footnote 2} Angels and spirits appear clothed with garments in accordance with their truths, thus in accordance with their intelligence (n. 165, 5248, 5954, 9212, 9216, 9814, 9952, 10536). The garments of some angels are resplendent, others are not (n. 5248). {Footnote 3} In the Word "glistening white" and "white" signify truth because they are from light in heaven (n. 3301, 3993, 4007). {Footnote 4} Colors in heaven are variegations of the light there (n. 1042, 1043, 1053, 1624, 3993, 4530, 4742, 4922). Colors signify various things pertaining to intelligence and wisdom (n. 4530, 4677, 4922, 9466). The precious stones in the Urim and Thummim signified, in accordance with their colors, all things of truth from good in the heavens (n. 9865, 9868, 9905). So far as colors partake of red they signify good; so far as they partake of white they signify truth (n. 9466). {Footnote 5} All in the inmost heavens are innocences, and in consequence appear naked (n. 154, 165, 297, 2736, 3887, 8375, 9960). Innocence is presented in heaven as nakedness (n. 165, 8375, 9960). To the innocent and the chaste nakedness is no shame, because without offence (n. 165, 213, 8375). 180. As in heaven the angels are clothed with garments, so when seen in the world they have appeared clothed with garments, as those seen by the prophets and those seen at the Lord's sepulchre: Whose appearance was as lightning, and their garments glistening and white (Matt. 28:3; Mark 16:5; Luke 24:4; John 20:12, 13); and those seen in heaven by John: Who had garments of fine linen and white (Apoc. 4:4; 19:14). And because intelligence is from Divine truth: The garments of the Lord, when He was transfigured, were radiant and glistening white like the light (Matt. 17:2; Mark 9:3; Luke 9:29). As light is Divine truth going forth from the Lord (see above, n. 129), so in the Word garments signify truths and intelligence from truths, as in the Apocalypse: Those that have not defiled their garments shall walk with Me in white, for they are worthy. He that overcometh shall be clothed in white garments (3:4, 5); Blessed is he that is awake and keepeth his garments (16:15). And of Jerusalem, which means a church that is in truth,{1} it is written in Isaiah: Awake, put on thy strength, O Zion; put on the garments of thy beauty, O Jerusalem (52:1). And in Ezekiel: Jerusalem, I girded thee about with fine linen, and covered thee with silk. Thy garments were of fine linen and silk (16:10, 13); besides many other passages. But he who is not in truths is said "not to be clothed with a wedding garment," as in Matthew: When the king came in he saw a man that had not on a wedding garment; and he said unto him, Friend, how camest thou in hither not having a wedding garment? Wherefore he was cast out into the outer darkness (22:11-13). The house of the wedding feast means heaven and the church because of the conjunction of the Lord with heaven and the church by means of His Divine truth; and for this reason the Lord is called in the Word the Bridegroom and Husband; and heaven, with the church, is called the bride and the wife. {Footnote 1} "Jerusalem" signifies a church in which there is genuine doctrine (n. 402, 3654, 9166). 181. That the garments of angels do not merely appear as garments, but are real garments, is evident from the fact that angels both see them and feel them, that they have many garments, and that they put them off and put them on, that they care for those that are not in use, and put them on again when they need them. That they are clothed with a variety of garments I have seen a thousand times. When I asked where they got their garments, they said from the Lord, and that they receive them as gifts, and sometimes they are clothed with them unconsciously. They said also that their garments are changed in accordance with their changes of state, that in the first and second state their garments are shining and glistening white, and in the third and fourth state a little less bright; and this likewise from correspondence, because their changes of state have respect to intelligence and wisdom (of which see above, n. 154, 161). 182. As everyone in the spiritual world has garments in accordance with his intelligence, that is, in accordance with truths which are the source of intelligence, so those in the hells, because they have no truths, appear clothed in garments, but in ragged, squalid, and filthy garments, each one in accordance with his insanity; and they can be clothed in no others. It is granted them by the Lord to be clothed, lest they be seen naked. 183. XXI. THE PLACES OF ABODE AND DWELLINGS OF ANGELS. As there are societies in heaven and the angels live as men, they have also places of abode, and these differ in accordance with each one's state of life. They are magnificent for those in higher dignity, and less magnificent for those in lower condition. I have frequently talked with angels about the places of abode in heaven, saying that scarcely any one will believe at the present day that they have places of abode and dwellings; some because they do not see them, some because they do not know that angels are men, and some because they believe that the angelic heaven is the heaven that they see with their eyes around them, and as this appears empty and they suppose that angels are ethereal forms, they conclude that they live in ether. Moreover, they do not comprehend how there can be such things in the spiritual world as there are in the natural world, because they know nothing about the spiritual. [2] The angels replied that they are aware that such ignorance prevails at this day in the world, and to their astonishment, chiefly within the church, and more with the intelligent than with those whom they call simple. They said also that it might be known from the Word that angels are men, since those that have been seen have been seen as men; and the Lord, who took all His Human with Him, appeared in like manner. It might be known also that as angels are men they have dwellings and places of abode, and do not fly about in air, as some think in their ignorance, which the angels call insanity, and that although they are called spirits they are not winds. This they said might be apprehended if men would only think independently of their acquired notions about angels and spirits, as they do when they are not bringing into question and submitting to direct thought whether it is so. For everyone has a general idea that angels are in the human form, and have homes which are called the mansions of heaven, which surpass in magnificence earthly dwellings; but this general idea, which flows in from heaven, at once falls to nothing when it is brought under direct scrutiny and inquiry whether it is so, as happens especially with the learned, who by their own intelligence have closed up heaven to themselves and the entrance of heavenly light. [3] The like is true of the belief in the life of man after death. When one speaks of it, not thinking at the same time about the soul from the light of worldly learning or from the doctrine of its reunion with the body, he believes that after death he is to live a man, and among angels if he has lived well, and that he will then see magnificent things and perceive joys; but as soon as he turns his thoughts to the doctrine of reunion with the body, or to his theory about the soul, and the question arises whether the soul be such, and thus whether this can be true, his former idea is dissipated. 184. But it is better to present the evidence of experience. Whenever I have talked with angels face to face, I have been with them in their abodes. These abodes are precisely like abodes on the earth which we call houses, but more beautiful. In them there are chambers, parlors, and bedrooms in great number; there are also courts, and there are gardens and flower beds and lawns round about. Where they live together their houses are near each other, arranged one next to the other in the form of a city, with avenues, streets, and public squares, exactly like cities on the earth. I have been permitted to pass through them, looking about on every side, and sometimes entering the houses. This occurred when my inner sight was opened, and I was fully awake.{1} {Footnote 1} Angels have cities, palaces and houses (n. 940-942, 1116, 1626-1631, 4622). 185. I have seen palaces in heaven of such magnificence as cannot be described. Above they glittered as if made of pure gold, and below as if made of precious stones, some more splendid than others. It was the same within. Both words and knowledge are inadequate to describe the decorations that adorned the rooms. On the side looking to the south there were parks, where, too, everything shone, in some places the leaves glistening as if made of silver, and fruit as if made of gold; while the flowers in their beds formed rainbows with their colors. Beyond the borders, where the view terminated, were seen other palaces. Such is the architecture of heaven that you would say that art there is in its art; and no wonder, because the art itself is from heaven. The angels said that such things and innumerable others still more perfect are presented before their eyes by the Lord; and yet these things are more pleasing to their minds than to their eyes, because in everyone of them they see a correspondence, and through the correspondences what is Divine. 186. As to these correspondences I have also been told that not only the palaces and houses, but all things and each thing, both inside and outside of them, correspond to the interior things which they have from the Lord, the house itself in general corresponding to their good, the particular things inside of a house to the various things of which their good consists,{1} and the things outside to truths derived from good, and also to their perceptions and knowledges {2} and as these things correspond to the goods and truths they have from the Lord they correspond to their love, and to their wisdom and intelligence from love, since love belongs to good, wisdom to good and truth together, and intelligence to truth from good. These are what the angels perceive when they behold what is around them, and thus their minds are more delighted and moved by them than their eyes. {Footnote 1} "Houses," with their contents, signify the things in man that belong to his mind, thus his interiors (n. 710, 2233, 2331, 2559, 3128, 3538, 4973, 5023, 6639, 6690, 7353, 7848, 7910, 7929, 9150); consequently the things relating to good and truth (n. 2233, 2331, 2559, 4982, 7848, 7929). "Rooms" and "bed-chambers" signify interior things there (n. 3900, 5694, 7353). The "roof of a house" signifies what is inmost (n. 3652, 10184). A "house of wood" signifies what relates to good, and a "house of stone" what relates to truth (n. 3720). {Footnote 2} A "garden" or "park" signifies intelligence and wisdom (n. 100, 108, 3220). What is meant by "the garden of Eden" and "the garden of Jehovah" (n. 99, 100, 1588). How magnificent the things seen in parks are in the other life (n. 1122, 1622, 2296, 4528, 4529). "Trees" signify perceptions and knowledges, from which wisdom and intelligence are derived (n. 103, 2163, 2682, 2722, 2972, 7692). "Fruits" signify goods of love and goods of charity (n. 3146, 7690, 9337). 187. This makes clear why the Lord called Himself the temple at Jerusalem (John 2:19, 21),{1} namely, because the temple represented His Divine Human; also why the New Jerusalem was seen to be of pure gold, its gates of pearls, and its foundations of precious stones (Apoc. 21), namely, because the New Jerusalem signifies the church which was afterwards to be established, the twelve gates its truths leading to good, and the foundations the truths on which the church is founded.{2} {Footnote 1} In the highest sense "the house of God" signifies the Lord's Divine Human in respect to Divine good, and "the temple" the same in respect to Divine truth; and in a relative sense, heaven and the church in respect to good and truth (n. 3720). {Footnote 2} "Jerusalem" signifies the church in which is genuine doctrine (n. 402, 3654, 9166). "Gates" signify introduction to the doctrine of the church, and through doctrine introduction into the church (n. 2943, 4477, 4478). "Foundation" signifies the truth on which heaven, the church, and doctrine are founded (n. 9643). 188. The angels of whom the Lord's celestial kingdom consists dwell for the most part in elevated places that appear as mountains of soil; the angels of whom the Lord's spiritual kingdom consists dwell in less elevated places that appear like hills; while the angels in the lowest parts of heaven dwell in places that appear like ledges of stone. These things spring from correspondence, for interior things correspond to higher things, and exterior things to lower things;{1} and this is why in the Word "mountains" signify celestial love, "hills" spiritual love, and "rocks" faith.{2} {Footnote 1} In the Word what is interior is expressed by what is higher and what is higher signifies what is interior (n. 2148, 3084, 4599, 5146, 8325). What is "high" signifies what is internal, and likewise heaven (n. 1735, 2148, 4210, 4599, 8153). {Footnote 2} In heaven, mountains, hills, rocks, valleys, and lands are seen exactly the same as in the world (n. 10608). On the mountains angels who are in the good of love dwell, on the hills those who are in the good of charity, on the rocks those who are in the good of faith (n. 10438). Therefore in the Word "mountains" signify the good of love (n. 795, 4210, 6435, 8327, 8758, 10438, 10608). "Hills" signify the good of charity (n. 6435, 10438). "Rocks" signify the good and truth of faith (n. 8581, 10580). "Stone," of which rock consists, in like manner signifies the truth of faith (n. 114, 643, 1298, 3720, 6426, 8609, 10376). This is why "mountains" signify heaven (n. 8327, 8805, 9420). And "the summit of a mountain" signifies the highest part of heaven (n. 9422, 9434, 10608). Also why the ancients had their holy worship on mountains (n. 796, 2722). 189. There are also angels who do not live associated together, but apart, house by house. These dwell in the midst of heaven, since they are the best of angels. 190. The houses in which angels dwell are not erected, as houses in the world are, but are given to them gratuitously by the Lord, to everyone in accordance with his reception of good and truth. They also change a little in accordance with changes of the state of interiors of the angels (of which above, n. 154-160). Everything whatsoever that the angels possess they hold as received from the Lord; and everything they have need of is given them. 191. XXII. SPACE IN HEAVEN. All things in heaven appear, just as in the world, to be in place and in space, and yet the angels have no notion or idea of place and space. As this must needs sounds like a paradox, I will endeavor to present the matter in a clear light, as it is of great importance. 192. All changes of place in the spiritual world are effected by changes of state of the interiors, which means that change of place is nothing else than change of state.{1} In this way I have been taken by the Lord into the heavens and also to the earths in the universe; and it was my spirit that so journeyed, while my body remained in the same place.{2} Such are all movements of the angels; and in consequence they have no distances, and having no distances they have no spaces, but in place of spaces they have states and their changes. {Footnote 1} In the Word places and spaces signify states (n. 2625, 2837, 3356, 3387, 7381, 10580); from experience (n. 1274, 1277, 1376-1381, 4321, 4882, 10146, 10580). Distance signifies difference of state of life (n. 9104, 9967). In the spiritual world movements and changes of place are changes of the state of life, because they originate in these (n. 1273-1275, 1377, 3356, 9440). The same is true of journeyings (n. 9440, 10734); illustrated by experience (n. 1273-1277, 5605). For this reason "to journey" signifies in the Word to live and progress in life; and "to sojourn has a like meaning (n. 3335, 4554, 4585, 4882, 5493, 5605, 5996, 8345, 8397, 8417, 8420, 8557). To go with the Lord means to live with Him (n. 10567). {Footnote 2} Man may be led a long distance in respect to his spirit by means of changes of state, while his body remains in its place, also from experience (n. 9440, 9967, 10734). What it is to be "led by the spirit to another place" (n. 1884). 193. As changes of place are thus effected it is evident that approaches are likenesses of state of the interiors, and separations are unlikenesses; and for this reason those are near each other who are in like states, and those are at a distance who are in unlike states; and spaces in heaven are simply the external conditions corresponding to the internal states. For the same reason the heavens are distinct from each other, also the societies of each heaven and the individuals in each society; and this is why also that the hells are entirely separated from the heavens, because they are in a contrary state. 194. For the same reason, again, any one in the spiritual world who intensely desires the presence of another comes into his presence, for he thereby sees him in thought, and puts himself in his state; and conversely, one is separated from another so far as he is averse to him. And since all aversion comes from contrariety of affection and from disagreement of thought, whenever in that world several are together in one place they are visible [to one another] so long as they agree, but vanish as soon as they disagree. 195. Again, when any one goes from one place to another, whether it be in his own city, or in courts or in gardens, or to others out of his own society, he arrives more quickly when he eagerly desires it, and less quickly when he does not, the way itself being lengthened and shortened in accordance with the desire, although it remains the same. This I have often seen to my surprise. All this again makes clear how distances, and consequently spaces, are wholly in accord with states of the interiors of the angels;{1} and this being so, no notion or idea of space can enter their thought, although there are spaces with them equally as in the world. {Footnote 1} Places and spaces are presented to the sight in accordance with the states of the interiors of angels and spirits (n. 5605, 9440, 10146). 196. This can be illustrated by the thoughts of man, in that space does not pertain to thought, for whatever is thought of intently is set before one as present. Again, whoever reflects about it knows that his sight recognizes space only by intermediate objects on the earth that are seen at the same time, or by recalling what he already knows about the distance. This happens because of the continuity; and in what is continuous there is no appearance of distance except from things not continuous. This is even more true of the angels, because their sight acts as one with their thought, and their thought acts as one with their affection, and things appear near or remote, and also varied, in accordance with the states of their interiors, as has been said above. 197. It follows from this that in the Word places and spaces, and all things that in any way relate to space, signify such things as relate to states, such as distances, near, far off, ways, journeys, sojourning, miles and furlongs, plains, fields, gardens, cities and streets, motions, measures of various kinds, long, broad, high, and deep, and innumerable other things; for most things in man's thought from the world take on something from space and time. [2] I will mention here only what is signified in the Word by length, breadth, and height. In this world, that is called long or broad which is long or broad in relation to space, and the same is true of height. But in heaven, where there is no thought from space, length means a state of good, breadth a state of truth, and height the distinction between them in accordance with degrees (see n. 38). Such is the meaning of these three dimensions, because length in heaven is from east to west, and those that dwell there are in good of love; while breadth in heaven is from south to north, and those that dwell there are in truth from good (see n. 148); while height in heaven applies to both of these in respect to degrees. This is why length, breadth, and height have these significations in the Word, as in Ezekiel (from chap. 40 to 48), where the new temple and the new earth, with the courts, chambers, gates, doors, windows, and surroundings are described by measures giving the length, breadth, and height, by which a new church, and the goods and truths that are in it are signified. Otherwise to what purpose would be all those measures? [3] In like manner the New Jerusalem is described in the Apocalypse in these words: The city lieth foursquare, and the length thereof is as great as the breadth; and he measured the city with the reed, twelve thousand furlongs; the length, the breadth, and the height are equal (21:16). Because "the New Jerusalem" here signifies a new church these measures signify the things of the church, "length" its good of love, "breadth" truth from that good, "height" good and truth in respect to degrees, "twelve thousand furlongs" all good and truth in the complex. Otherwise, how could there be said to be a height of twelve thousand furlongs, the same as the length and the breadth? That "breadth" in the Word signifies truth is evident from David:- Jehovah, Thou hast not shut me up into the hand of the enemy, Thou hast made my feet to stand in a broad place (Psalm 31:8). Out of straitness I called upon Jah; He answereth me in a broad place (Psalm 118:5). Besides other passages (as in Isaiah 8:8; and in Habakkuk 1:6). So in all other cases. 198. From all this it can be seen that although there are spaces in heaven as in the world, still nothing there is reckoned in accordance with spaces but in accordance with states; and in consequence spaces there cannot be measured as in the world, but can be seen only from the state and in accordance with the state of the interiors there.{1} {Footnote 1} In the Word length signifies good (n. 1613, 9487). "Breadth" signifies truth (n. 1613, 3433, 3434, 4482, 9487, 10179). Height signifies good and truth in respect to their degrees (n. 9489, 9773, 10181). 199. The primary and veriest cause of this is that the Lord is present with everyone in the measure of his love and faith,{1} and that it is in accordance with the Lord's presence that all things appear near or far away, for it is from this that all things in the heavens are determined. Also it is through this that angels have wisdom, for it is through this that they have extension of thought and through this a sharing of all things in the heavens; in a word, it is through this that they think spiritually, and not naturally like men. {Footnote 1} The conjunction and presence of the Lord with the angels is according to their reception of love and charity from Him (n. 290, 681, 1954, 2658, 2886, 2888, 2889, 3001, 3741-3743, 4318 4319, 4524, 7211, 9128). 200. XXIII. THE FORM OF HEAVEN WHICH DETERMINES AFFILIATIONS AND COMMUNICATIONS THERE. What the form of heaven is can be seen in some measure from what has been shown in the preceding chapters; as that heaven is like itself both in its greatest and in its least divisions (n. 72); that consequently each society is a heaven in a lesser form, and each angel in the least form (n. 51-58); that as the entire heaven reflects a single man, so each society of heaven reflects a man in a lesser form, and each angel in the least form (n. 59-77); that the wisest are at the center, and the less wise are round about even to the borders, and the like is true of each society (n. 43); and that those who are in the good of love dwell from the east to the west in heaven, and those who are in truths from good from the south to the north; and the same is true of each society (n. 148, 149). All this is in accord with the form of heaven; consequently it may be concluded from this what this form is in general.{1} {Footnote 1} The entire heaven in respect to all angelic societies, is arranged by the Lord in accordance with His Divine order, since it is the Divine of the Lord with the angels that makes heaven (n. 3038, 7211, 9128, 9338, 10125, 10151, 10157). Concerning the heavenly form (n. 4040-4043, 6607, 9877). 201. It is important to know what the form of heaven is, because not only is all affiliation there in accordance with it, but also all mutual communication, and in consequence of this all extension of thoughts and affections, and thus all the intelligence and wisdom of angels. From this it follows that each one there is wise just to the extent that he is in the form of heaven, and is thus a form of heaven. It makes no difference whether you say in the form of heaven, or in the order of heaven, since the form of any thing is from its order and in accordance with its order.{1} {Footnote 1} The form of heaven is a form in accordance with the Divine order (n. 4040-4043, 6607, 9877). 202. Let us consider first what is meant by being in the form of heaven. Man was created both in the image of heaven and in the image of the world; his internal in the image of heaven, and his external in the image of the world (see above, n. 57); and in the image means the same thing as in accordance with the form. But as man by the evils of his will and consequent falsities of thought has destroyed in himself the image of heaven, that is, the form of heaven, and in place of it has brought in the image and form of hell, his internal is closed up from his very birth; and this is why man is born into pure ignorance, while animals of every kind are not. And that man may have the image of heaven or form of heaven restored to him he must be taught the things that pertain to order; since form, as has been said, is in accord with order. The Word contains all the laws of Divine order, for its precepts are the laws of Divine order; therefore to the extent that man knows these and lives in accordance with them his internal is opened and the order or image of heaven is there formed anew. This makes clear what is meant by being in the form of heaven, namely, that it is to live in accordance with those things that are in the Word.{1} {Footnote 1} Divine truths are the laws of order (n. 2447, 7995). Man is a man to the extent that he lives in accordance with order, that is, to the extent that he is in good in accordance with Divine truths (n. 4839, 6605, 6626). All things of Divine order are gathered up in man and he is from creation Divine order in form (n. 4219, 4220, 4222, 4223, 4523, 4524, 5114, 6013, 6057, 6605, 6626, 9706, 10156, 10472). Man is not born into good and truth, but into evil and falsity, that is, into the opposite of Divine order, and consequently into pure ignorance; and for this reason he must needs be born anew that is, be regenerated, which is effected by means of Divine truths from the Lord, that he may be introduced into order (n. 1047, 2307, 2308, 3518, 3812, 8480, 8550, 10283, 10284, 10286, 10731). When the Lord forms man anew, that is, regenerates him, He arranges all things in him in accordance with order, which means, into the form of heaven (n. 5700, 6690, 9931, 10303). 203. So far as any one is in the form of heaven he is in heaven, and is, in fact, a heaven in the least form (n. 57); consequently he is to the same extent in intelligence and wisdom; for as has been said above, all the thought of his understanding and all the affection of his will extend themselves on every side into heaven in accord with its form, and wonderfully communicate with the societies there, and these in turn with him.{1} [2] There are some who do not believe that thoughts and affections really extend themselves around about them, but believe that they are within them, because whatever they think they see within in themselves, and not as distant; but such are greatly mistaken. For as the sight of the eye has extension to remote objects, and is affected in accordance with the order of the things seen in that extension, so the interior sight, which is that of the understanding, has a like extension in the spiritual world, although not perceived by man, for the reason given above (n. 196). The only difference is that the sight of the eye is affected in a natural way, because it is affected by the things in the natural world, while the sight of the understanding is affected in a spiritual way, because by the things in the spiritual world, all of which have relation to good and truth; and man's ignorance of this is because of his not knowing that there is any light that enlightens the understanding; and yet without the light that enlightens the understanding man could not think at all (of which light see above, n. 126-132). [3] There was a certain spirit who believed that his thought was from himself, thus without any extension outside of himself and communication thereby with societies outside of him. That he might learn that this was not true his communication with neighboring societies was cut off, and in consequence, not only was he deprived of thought but he fell down as if lifeless, although tossing his arms about like a new-born infant. After a while the communication was restored to him, and then as it was gradually restored he returned into the state of his thought. [4] When other spirits had seen this they confessed that all thought and affection, and in consequence, everything of life, flow in in accordance with communication, since everything of man's life consists in his ability to think and be moved by affection, or what is the same, in his ability to understand and will.{2} {Footnote 1} Everyone in heaven has communication of life, which may be called its extension into angelic societies round about, according to the quantity and quality of his good (n. 8794, 8797). Thoughts and affections have such extension (n. 2470, 6598-6613). They are united and separated in accordance with the ruling affections (n. 4111). {Footnote 2} There is only one Life, from which all, both in heaven and in the world, live (n. 1954, 2021, 2536, 2658, 2886-2889, 3001, 3484, 3742, 5847, 6467). That life is from the Lord above (n. 2886-2889, 3344, 3484, 4319, 4320, 4524, 4882, 5986, 6325, 6468-6470, 9276, 10196). It flows into angels, spirits, and men, in a wonderful manner (n. 2886-2889, 3337, 3338, 3484, 3742). The Lord flows in from His Divine love, which is such that what is its own it wills should be another's (n. 3472, 4320). For this reason life appears to be in man, and not flowing in (n. 3742, 4320). Of the joy of angels, perceived and confirmed by what they told me, because of their not living from themselves but from the Lord (n. 6469). The evil are unwilling to be convinced that life flows in (n. 3743). Life from the Lord flows in also with the evil (n. 2706, 3743, 4417, 10196). But they turn good into evil, and truth into falsity; for such as man is such is his reception of life illustrated (n. 4319, 4320, 4417). 204. But let it be understood that intelligence and wisdom vary with everyone in accordance with this communication, those whose intelligence and wisdom are formed out of genuine truths and goods having communication with societies in accordance with the form of heaven; while those whose intelligence and wisdom are not formed out of genuine truths and goods, and yet out of what is in accord therewith, have a broken and variously coherent communication, since it is not with societies that are in a series in which there is a form of heaven. On the other hand, those that are not in intelligence and wisdom, because they are in falsities from evil, have communication with societies in hell; and their extension is determined by the degree of their confirmation. Let it also be known that this communication with societies is not such a communication with them as is clearly perceptible to those there, but is a communication with what they really are, which is in them and flows from them.{1} {Footnote 1} Thought pours itself into societies of spirits and of angels round about (n. 6600-6605). Still it does not move or disturb the thoughts of the societies (n. 6601, 6603). 205. There is an affiliation of all in heaven in accordance with spiritual relationships, that is, relationships of good and truth in their order. It is so in the whole heaven; so in each society, and so in each house. Because of this angels who are in like good and truth recognize each other, as relatives by blood and marriage do on the earth, precisely as if they had been acquainted from infancy. The good and truth in each angel, which constitute his wisdom and intelligence, are affiliated in like manner; they recognize each other in like manner, and as they recognize each other they join themselves together;{1} and in consequence those in whom truths and goods are thus joined in accordance with a form of heaven see things following one another in series, and how they cohere widely round about; but those in whom goods and truths are not conjoined in accordance with the form of heaven do not see this. {Footnote 1} Good recognizes its truth, and truth its good (n. 2429, 3101, 3102, 3161, 3179, 3180, 4358, 5704, 5835, 9637). In this way good and truth are conjoined (n. 3834, 4096, 4097, 4301, 4345, 4353, 4364, 4368, 5365, 7623-7627, 7752-7762, 8530, 9258, 10555). This is effected by influx from heaven (n. 9079). 206. In each heaven there is such a form, and in accordance with it the angels have communication and extension of thoughts and affections, and thus in accordance with it they have intelligence and wisdom. But the communication of one heaven with another is different, that is, of the third or inmost with the second or middle, and of this with the first or outmost. But the communication between the heavens should not be called communication but influx. About this something shall now be said. That there are three heavens distinct from each other can be seen above in its own chapter (n. 29-40). 207. That between one heaven and another there is influx but not communication can be seen from their relative position. The third or inmost heaven is above, the second or middle heaven is below, and the first or outmost heaven is still lower. There is a like arrangement in all the societies in each heaven, for example, some dwell on elevated places that appear like mountains (n. 188); on the top of which those of the inmost heaven dwell; below these are the societies of the second heaven, below these again the societies of the outmost heaven. The same is true every where, both in elevated places and in those not elevated. A society of a higher heaven has no communication with a society of a lower except by correspondences (see above, n. 100); and communication by correspondences is what is called influx. 208. One heaven is joined with another, or a society of one heaven with the society of another, by the Lord alone, both by direct and by mediate influx, directly from Himself, and mediately through the higher heavens in order into the lower.{1} As the conjunction of the heavens by this inflowing is from the Lord alone there is a most careful precaution against any angel of a higher heaven looking down into a society of a lower heaven and talking with any one there; for the angel is thus immediately deprived of his intelligence and wisdom. The reason of this also shall be told. As there are three degrees of heaven, so each angel has three degrees of life, those in the inmost heaven having the third or inmost degree open, while the second and first degrees are closed; those in the middle heaven have the second degree opened and the first and third closed; and those in the lowest heaven have the first degree opened and the second and third closed. Consequently, as soon as an angel of the third heaven looks down into a society of the second heaven and talks with any one there his third degree is at once closed; and as his wisdom resides in that degree, if that is closed he is deprived of his wisdom, for he has none in the second or first degree. This is what is meant by the words of the Lord in Matthew: He that is on the housetop, let him not go down to take what is in his house; and he that is in the field, let him not turn back to take his garment (24:17, 18). And in Luke: In that day he that shall be on the housetop and his goods in the house, let him not go down to take them away; and he that is in the field let him not turn back. Remember Lot's wife (17:31, 32). {Footnote 1} There is direct influx from the Lord and mediate influx through heaven (n. 6063, 6307, 6472, 9682, 9683). There is a direct influx of the Lord into the minutest parts of all things (n. 6058, 6474-6478, 8717, 8728). Of the mediate influx of the Lord through the heavens (n. 4067, 6982, 6985, 6996). 209. No influx is possible from the lower heavens into the higher, because this is contrary to order; but there is influx from the higher heavens into the lower. Moreover, the wisdom of the angels of a higher heaven surpasses the wisdom of the angels of a lower heaven as a myriad to one; and this is another reason why the angels of a lower heaven cannot converse with those of a higher heaven; and in fact when they look towards them they do not see them, the higher heaven appearing like a cloudy something over their heads. But the angels of a higher heaven can see those in a lower heaven, although if permitted to talk with them they would lose their wisdom, as has been said above. 210. The thoughts and affections as well as the speech of the angels of the inmost heaven are never perceived in the middle heaven, because they so transcend what is there. But when it pleases the Lord there is seen in the lower heavens from that source something like a flame, and from the thoughts and affections in the middle heaven there is seen in the outmost heaven something luminous, and sometimes a cloud glowing white and variegated. From that cloud, its ascent, descent, and form, what is being said there is in some measure known. 211. From all this it can be seen what the form of heaven is, namely, that it is the most perfect of all in the inmost heaven; in the middle heaven it is also perfect, but in a lower degree, and in the outmost heaven in a degree still lower; also that the form of one heaven has its permanent existence from another by means of influx from the Lord. But what communication by influx is cannot be understood unless it is known what degrees of height are, and how they differ from degrees of length and breadth. What these different degrees are may be seen above (n 38). 212. When it comes to the particulars of the form of heaven and how it proceeds and flows, this not even the angels can comprehend. Some conception of it can be gained from the form of all things in the human body, when this is scanned and investigated by an acute and wise man; for it has been shown above, in their respective chapters, that the entire heaven reflects a single man (see n. 59-72) and that all things in man correspond to the heavens (n. 87-102). How incomprehensible and inexplicable that form is is evident only in a general way from the nervous fibers, by which each part and all parts of the body are woven together. What these fibers are, and how they proceed and flow in the brain, the eye cannot at all perceive; for innumerable fibers are there so interwoven that taken together they appear like a soft continuous mass; and yet it is in accord with these that each thing and all things of the will and understanding flow with the utmost distinctness into acts. How again they interweave themselves in the body is clear from the various plexuses, such as those of the heart, the mesentery, and others; and also from the knots called ganglions, into which many fibers enter from every region and there intermingle, and when variously joined together go forth to their functions, and this again and again; besides like things in every viscus, member, organ, and muscle. Whoever examines these fibers and their many wonders with the eye of wisdom will be utterly bewildered. And yet the things seen with the eye are few, and those not seen are still more wonderful because they belong to an inner realm of nature. It is clearly evident that this form corresponds to the form of heaven, because all the workings of the understanding and the will are within it and are in accordance with it; for it is in accordance with this form that whatever a man wills passes spontaneously into act, and whatever he thinks spreads through the fibers from their beginnings even to their terminations, which is the source of sensations; and inasmuch as it is the form of thought and will, it is the form of intelligence and wisdom. Such is the form that corresponds to the form of heaven. And from this it can be known that such is the form in accordance with which every affection and thought of angels extends itself, and that so far as the angels are in that form they are in intelligence and wisdom. That this form of heaven is from the Divine Human of the Lord can be seen above (n. 78-86). All this has been said to make clear also that the heavenly form is such that even as to its generals it can never be completely known, thus that it is incomprehensible even to the angels, as has been said above. 213. XXIV. GOVERNMENTS IN HEAVEN. As heaven is divided into societies, and the larger societies consist of some hundreds of thousands of angels (n. 50), and all within a society, although in like good, are not in like wisdom (n. 43), it must needs follow that governments exist there, since order must be observed, and all things of order must be guarded. But the governments in the heavens differ; they are of one sort in societies that constitute the Lord's celestial kingdom, and of another sort in the societies that constitute His spiritual kingdom; they differ also in accordance with the functions of the several societies. Nevertheless, no other government than the government of mutual love is possible in the heavens, and the government of mutual love is heavenly government. 214. Government in the Lord's celestial kingdom is called righteousness because all in that kingdom are in the good of love to the Lord from the Lord, and whatever is from that good is called righteous. Government there belongs to the Lord alone. He leads them and teaches them in the affairs of life. The truths that are called truths of judgment are written on their hearts; everyone knows them, perceives them, and sees them;{1} and in consequence matters of judgment there never come into question, but only matters of righteousness, which belong to the life. About these matters the less wise consult the more wise, and these consult the Lord and receive answers. Their heaven, that is, their inmost joy, is to live rightly from the Lord. {Footnote 1} The celestial angels do not think and speak from truths, as the spiritual angels do, because they have from the Lord a perception of all things of truth (n. 202, 597, 607, 784, 1121, 1384, 1398, 1442, 1919, 7680, 7877, 8780, 9277, 10336). In respect to truths the celestial angels say, Yea, yea, or Nay, nay; but the spiritual angels reason about them whether they are true or not (n. 2715, 3246, 4448, 9166, 10786, where the Lord's words, Let your speech be Yea, yea, Nay, nay; what is beyond these is from evil (Matt. 5:37). are explained). 215. In the Lord's spiritual kingdom the government is called judgment; because those in that kingdom are in spiritual good, which is the good of charity towards the neighbor, and that good in its essence is truth;{1} and truth pertains to judgment, as good pertains to righteousness.{2} These, too, are led by the Lord, but mediately (n. 208); and in consequence they have governors, few or many according to the need of the society in which they are. They also have laws according to which they live together. The governors administer all things in accordance with the laws, which they understand because they are wise, and in doubtful matters they are enlightened by the Lord. {Footnote 1} Those in the spiritual kingdom are in truths, and those in the celestial kingdom are in good (n. 863, 875, 927, 1023, 1043, 1044, 1555, 2256, 4328, 4493, 5113, 9596). The good of the spiritual kingdom is the good of charity towards the neighbor and this good in its essence is truth (n. 8042, 10296). {Footnote 2} In the Word "righteousness" is predicated of good, and "Judgment" of truth therefore "to do righteousness and judgment" means good and truth (n. 2235, 9857). "Great judgments" means the law of Divine order, thus Divine truths (n. 7206). 216. As government from good, which is the kind of government that exists in the Lord's celestial kingdom, is called righteousness; and government from truth, which is the kind of government that exists in the Lord's spiritual kingdom, is called judgment, so the terms "righteousness and judgment" are used in the Word when heaven and the church are treated of, "righteousness" signifying celestial good, and "judgment" spiritual good, which good, as has been said above, is in its essence truth, as in the following passages: Of peace there shall be no end upon the throne of David and upon His kingdom, to establish it and to uphold it in judgment and in righteousness from henceforth and even to eternity (Isaiah 9:7). By "David" here the Lord is meant;{1} and by "His kingdom" heaven, as is evident from the following passage: I will raise unto David a righteous Branch, and He shall reign as King, and shall deal intelligently and shall execute judgment and righteousness in the land (Jer. 23:5). Jehovah is exalted, for He dwelleth on high; He hath filled Zion with judgment and righteousness (Isaiah 33:5). "Zion" also means heaven and the church.{2} I, Jehovah, doing judgment and righteousness on the earth, for in these things I delight (Jer. 9:24). I will betroth thee unto Me forever, and I will betroth thee unto Me in righteousness and judgment (Hosea 2:19). O Jehovah, in the heavens Thy righteousness is like the mountains of God, and Thy judgments are like the great deep (Psalm 36:5, 6). They ask of Me the judgments of righteousness, they long for an approach unto God (Isaiah 58:2). So in other places. {Footnote 1} By "David" in the prophetic parts of the Word, the Lord is meant (n. 1888, 9954). {Footnote 2} In the Word "Zion" means the church, and specifically the celestial church (n. 2362, 9055). 217. In the Lord's spiritual kingdom there are various forms of government, differing in different societies, the variety being in accord with the functions performed by the societies; and the functions of these are in accord with the functions of all things in man to which they correspond. That these are various is well known, the heart having one function, the lungs another, the liver another, the pancreas and spleen another, and each sensory organ another. As in the body these organs perform various services, so there are various services pertaining to the societies in the Greatest Man, which is heaven for the societies there correspond to these organs. That there is a correspondence of all things of heaven with all things of man may be seen in its own chapter above (n. 87-102). But all these forms of government agree in this, that they look to the public good as their end, and in that good to the good of the individual.{1} And this is so because everyone in the whole heaven is under the auspices of the Lord, who loves all, and from Divine love ordains that there shall be a common good, from which each individual shall receive his own good. Each one, moreover, receives good according as he loves the common good; for so far as he loves the common good he loves all and everyone; and as that love is love of the Lord he is to that extent loved by the Lord, and good comes to him. {Footnote 1} Every man and every community, also one's country and the church and in the universal sense the kingdom of the Lord, is a neighbor, and to do good to these from love of good in accordance with their state is to love the neighbor; that is, the neighbor is the good of these, which is the common good that must be consulted (n. 6818-6824, 8123). Civil good also, which is justice, is a neighbor (n. 2915, 4730, 8120-8123). Therefore charity towards the neighbor extends itself to all things and each thing of the life of man; and loving good and doing good from love of good and truth, and also doing what is just from a love of what is just in every function and in every work, is loving the neighbor (n. 2417, 8121-8124). 218. From all this it can be seen what the governors there are, namely, that they are such as are preeminent in love and wisdom, and therefore desire the good of all, and from wisdom know how to provide for the realization of that good. Such governors do not domineer or dictate, but they minister and serve (to serve meaning to do good to others from a love of the good, and to minister meaning to see to it that the good is done); nor do they make themselves greater than others, but less, for they put the good of society and of the neighbor in the first place, and put their own good last; and whatever is in the first place is greater and what is last is less. Nevertheless, the rulers have honor and glory; they dwell in the midst of the society, in higher position than the rest, and also in magnificent palaces; and this glory and honor they accept not for the sake of themselves but for the sake of obedience; for all there know that they have this honor and glory from the Lord, and on that account should be obeyed. This is what is meant by the Lord's words to His disciples: Whosoever would become great among you let him be your minister; and whosoever would be first among you let him be your servant; as the Son of man came not to be ministered unto but to minister (Matt. 20:27, 28). He that is greatest among you let him be as the least, and he that is chief as he that doth minister (Luke 22:26). 219. Also in each house there is a like government in a lesser form. In every house there is a master and there are servants; the master loves the servants and the servants love the master, consequently they serve each other from love. The master teaches how they ought to live, and tells what is to be done; the servants obey and perform their duties. To perform use is the delight of everyone's life. This shows that the Lord's kingdom is a kingdom of uses. 220. Also in the hells there are governments, for without governments they could not be kept in restraint; but the governments there are opposite to the governments in the heavens; they are governments of the love of self. Everyone there wishes to dictate to others and to be over others. They hate those that do not favor them, and make them objects of their vengeance and fury, for such is the nature of the love of self. Therefore the more malignant are set over them as governors, and these they obey from fear.{1} But of this below, where the hells are treated of. {Footnote 1} There are two kinds of rule, one from love towards the neighbor the other from love of self (n. 10814). From the rule that is from love towards the neighbor flow all goods and all happinesses (n. 10160, 10814). In heaven no one desires to rule from the love of self, but all desire to minister, which means to rule from love to the neighbor; this is the source of their great power (n. 5732). From rule from the love of self all evils flow in (n. 10038). When the loves of self and the world had begun to prevail men were compelled to subject themselves to governments as a means of security (n. 7364, 10160, 10814). 221. XXV. DIVINE WORSHIP IN HEAVEN. Divine worship in the heavens is not unlike in externals Divine worship on the earth, but in internals it is different. In the heavens, as on the earth, there are doctrines, preachings, and church edifices. In essentials the doctrines there are everywhere the same; but in the higher heavens they contain more interior wisdom than in the lower. The preachings are in harmony with the doctrines; and as they have houses and palaces (n. 183-190), so they have also church edifices, in which there is preaching. Such things exist in heaven, because the angels are being perfected continually in wisdom and love. For they possess, as men do, understanding and will; and both their understanding and their will are capable of being continually perfected, the understanding by means of truths of intelligence, and the will by means of the goods of love.{1} {Footnote 1} The understanding is receptive of truth, and the will of good (n. 3623, 6125, 7503, 9300, 9930). As all things have relation to truth and good, so everything of man's life has relation to understanding and will (n. 803, 10122). Angels are perfected to eternity (n. 4803, 6648). 222. But essential Divine worship in the heavens does not consist in going to church and hearing preaching, but in a life of love, charity, and faith, in accordance with doctrine; preachings in churches serve solely as means of instruction in matters of life. I have talked with angels on this subject, and have told them that it is believed in the world that Divine worship consists solely in attending church, listening to the preaching, observing the sacrament of the Supper three or four times a year, and performing other acts of worship according to the requirements of the church; also devoting special times to prayers, and at such times, behaving devoutly. The angels said that these are outward acts that ought to be done, but are of no avail unless there is an internal from which they proceed, which is a life in accordance with the precepts that doctrine teaches. 223. That I might learn about their meeting in places of worship, I have been permitted at times to attend and to hear the preaching. The preacher stands in a pulpit at the east. Those who are in the light of wisdom more than others sit in front of him; those who are in less light sit to the right and left of these. There is a circular arrangement of the seats, so that all are in the preacher's view, no one so sitting at either side as to be out of his view. At the entrance, which is at the east of the building and on the left of the pulpit, those stand who are being initiated. No one is permitted to stand behind the pulpit; when there is any one there the preacher becomes confused. It is the same if any one in the congregation dissents; and for this reason the dissenter must needs turn away his face. The wisdom of the preachings is such as to be above all comparison with the preachings of this world, for those in the heavens are in interior light. The church edifices in the spiritual kingdom are apparently built of stone, and those in the celestial kingdom of wood; because stone corresponds to truth, and those who are in the spiritual kingdom are in truth, while wood corresponds to good, and those in the celestial kingdom are in good.{1} In that kingdom the sacred edifices are not called churches but houses of God. In that kingdom they are without magnificence; but in the spiritual kingdom they are more or less magnificent. {Footnote 1} "Stone" signifies truth (n. 114, 643, 1298, 3720, 6426, 8609, 10376). "Wood" signifies good (n. 643, 3720, 8354). For this reason the most ancient people, who were in celestial good, had sacred buildings of wood (n. 3720). 224. I have also talked with one of the preachers about the holy state in which those are who listen to the preaching in the churches. He said that everyone is pious, devout, and holy in harmony with his interiors, which pertain to love and faith, for holiness itself is in love and faith, because the Divine of the Lord is in them. He also said that he did not know what outward holiness is apart from love and faith; and when he thought about it he said that perhaps it is something counterfeiting holiness in outward appearance, either conventional or hypocritical; and that such holiness is kindled and sustained by spurious fire from the love of self and the world. 225. All the preachers are from the Lord's spiritual kingdom; none are from the celestial kingdom. They are from the spiritual kingdom because the angels there are in truths from good, and all preaching must be from truths. There are no preachers from the celestial kingdom because those who are there are in the good of love, and they see and perceive truths from good, but do not talk about them. But although the angels in the celestial kingdom perceive and see truths there are preachings there, since by means of preachings they are enlightened in the truths that they already know, and are perfected by many truths that they did not know before. As soon as they hear truths they acknowledge them and thus perceive them; and the truths they perceive they love, and by living in accordance with them they make them to be of their life, declaring that living in accordance with truths is loving the Lord.{1} {Footnote 1} Loving the Lord and the neighbor is living in accordance with the Lord's commandments (n. 10143, 10153, 10310, 10578, 10645, 10683). 226. All preachers are appointed by the Lord, and have therefrom a gift for preaching. No others are permitted to preach in the churches. They are not called priests, but preachers. They are not called priests because the celestial kingdom is the priesthood of heaven; for priesthood signifies the good of love to the Lord, and those in the celestial kingdom are in that good; while the spiritual kingdom is the kingship of heaven, for kingship signifies truth from good, and those in the spiritual kingdom are in that truth (see above, n. 24).{1} {Footnote 1} Priests represented the Lord in respect to the Divine good, kings in respect to Divine truth (n. 2015, 6148). Therefore, in the Word a "priest" signifies those who are in the good of love to the Lord, and the priesthood signifies that good (n. 9806, 9809). A "king" in the Word signifies those who are in Divine truth, and therefrom kingship signifies truth from good (n. 1672, 2015, 2069, 4575, 4581, 4966, 5044). 227. The doctrines with which their preachings are in accord all look to life as their end, and none look to faith separate from the life. The doctrine of the inmost heaven is more full of wisdom than the doctrine of the middle heaven, and this more full of intelligence than the doctrine of the outmost heaven; for in each heaven the doctrines are adapted to the perceptions of the angels. The essential of all doctrines is acknowledging the Divine Human of the Lord. 228. XXVI. THE POWER OF THE ANGELS OF HEAVEN. That the angels possess power cannot be comprehended by those who know nothing about the spiritual world and its influx into the natural world. Such think that angels can have no power because they are spiritual and are even so pure and unsubstantial that no eye can see them. But those who look more interiorly into the causes of things take a different view. Such know that all the power that a man has is from his understanding and will (for apart from these he is powerless to move a particle of his body), and his understanding and will are his spiritual man. This moves the body and its members at its pleasure; for whatever it thinks the mouth and tongue speak, and whatever it wills the body does; and it bestows its strength at pleasure. As man's will and understanding are ruled by the Lord through angels and spirits, so also are all things of his body, because these are from the will and understanding; and if you will believe it, without influx from heaven man cannot even move a step. That this is so has been shown me by much experience. Angels have been permitted to move my steps, my actions, and my tongue and speech, as they pleased, and this by influx into my will and thought; and I have learned thereby that of myself I could do nothing. I was afterwards told by them that every man is so ruled, and that he can know this from the doctrine of the church and from the Word, for he prays that God may send His angels to lead him, direct his steps, teach him, and inspire in him what to think and what to say, and other like things; although he says and believes otherwise when he is thinking by himself apart from doctrine. All this has been said to make known what power angels have with man. 229. But so great is the power of angels in the spiritual world that if I should make known all that I have witnessed in regard to it it would exceed belief. Any obstruction there that ought to be removed because it is contrary to Divine order the angels cast down or overthrow merely by an effort of the will and a look. Thus I have seen mountains that were occupied by the evil cast down and overthrown, and sometimes shaken from end to end as in earthquakes; also rocks cleft asunder to their bottoms, and the evil who were upon them swallowed up. I have seen also hundreds of thousands of evil spirits dispersed by angels and cast down into hell. Numbers are of no avail against them; neither are devices, cunning, or combinations; for they see through them all, and disperse them in a moment. (But more may be seen on this subject in the account of The Destruction of Babylon.) Such power do angels have in the spiritual world. It is evident from the Word that they have like power in the natural world also when it is permitted; for instance, that they have given to destruction entire armies; and that they brought on a pestilence from which seventy thousand men died. Of this angel it is said: The angel stretched out his hand against Jerusalem to destroy it but Jehovah repented Him of the evil, and said to the angel that destroyed the people, It is enough, now stay thy hand. And David saw the angel that smote the people (2 Samuel 24:16, 17); besides other passages. Because the angels have such power they are called powers; as in David: Bless Jehovah, ye angels, mighty in power (Psalm 103:20). 230. But it must be understood that the angels have no power whatever from themselves, but that all their power is from the Lord; and that they are powers only so far as they acknowledge this. Whoever of them believes that he has power from himself instantly becomes so weak as not to be able to resist even a single evil spirit. For this reason angels ascribe no merit whatever to themselves, and are averse to all praise and glory on account of any thing they do, ascribing all the praise and glory to the Lord. 231. It is the Divine truth that goes forth from the Lord that has all power in the heavens, for the Lord in heaven is Divine truth united to Divine good (see n. 126-140). To the extent that angels are receptions of this truth they are powers.{1} Moreover each one is his own truth and his own good because each one is such as his understanding and will are. The understanding pertains to truth because everything of it is from truths, and the will pertains to good because everything of it is from goods; for whatever any one understands he calls truth, and whatever he wills he calls good. From this it is that everyone is his own truth and his own good.{2} Therefore so far as an angel is truth from the Divine and good from the Divine he is a power, because to that extent the Lord is in him. And as no one's good and truth are wholly like or the same as another's, since in heaven, as in the world, there is endless variety (n. 20), so the power of one angel is not like the power of another. Those who constitute the arms in the Greatest Man, or heaven, have the greatest power because such are more in truths than others, and into their truths good flows from the entire heaven. Moreover, the power of the whole man passes into the arms, and by means of these the whole body exercises its powers. It is for this reason that in the Word "arms" and "hand" signify powers.{3} Sometimes on this account a naked arm is seen in heaven so powerful as to be able to break in pieces everything in its way, even though it were a great rock on the earth. Once it was moved towards me, and I perceived that it was able to crush my bones to atoms. {Footnote 1} Angels are called powers and are powers from their reception of Divine truth from the Lord (n. 9639). Angels are recipients of Divine truth from the Lord and on this account are sometimes called "gods" in the Word (n. 4295, 4402, 7268, 7873, 8192, 8301, 9160). {Footnote 2} A man or an angel is his own good and his own truth, thus his own love and his own faith (n. 10298, 10367). He is his own understanding and his own will, for everything of life is there from; the life of good is from the will, and the life of truth is from the understanding (n. 10076, 10177, 10264, 10284). {Footnote 3} The correspondence of the hands, arms, and shoulders, with the Greatest man or heaven (n. 4931-4937). In the Word, "arms" and hands signify power (n. 878, 3091, 4932, 4933, 6947, 10019). 232. It has been shown above (n. 137) that the Divine truth that goes forth from the Lord has all power, and that angels have power to the extent that they are receptions of Divine truth from the Lord. But angels are so far receptions of Divine truth as they are receptions of Divine good, for truths have all their power from good, and none apart from good. So, too, good has all its power through truths, and none apart from truths. Power springs from the conjunction of these two. The same is true of faith and love; for it is the same whether you say truth or faith, since everything of faith is truth; also it is the same whether you say good or love, since everything of love is good.{1} The great power that angels have by means of truths from good is shown also from this, that when an evil spirit is merely looked at by the angels he falls into a swoon, and does not appear like a man, and this until the angel turns away his eyes. Such an effect is produced by the look of the eyes of angels, because the sight of angels is from the light of heaven, and the light of heaven is Divine truth (see above, n. 126-132). Moreover, the eyes correspond to truths from good.{2} {Footnote 1} All power in heaven is the power of truth from good, thus of faith from loves (n. 3091, 3563, 6423, 8304, 9643, 10019, 10182). All power is from the Lord, because from Him is every truth of faith and every good of love (n. 9327, 9410). This power is meant by the keys given to Peter (n. 6344). It is Divine truth going forth from the Lord that has all power (n. 6948, 8200). This power of the lord is what is meant by "sitting at the right hand of Jehovah" (n. 3387, 4592, 4933, 7518, 7673, 8281, 9133). The right had means power (n. 10019). {Footnote 2} The eyes correspond to truths from good (n. 4403-4421, 4523-4534, 6923). 233. As truths from good have all power, so falsities from evil have no power at all;{1} and as all in hell are in falsities from evil they have no power against truth and good. But what power they have among themselves, and what power evil spirits have before they are cast into hell, will be told hereafter. {Footnote 1} Falsity from evil has no power, because truth from food has all power (n. 6784, 10481). 234. XXVII. THE SPEECH OF ANGELS. Angels talk with each other just as men do in the world, and on various subjects, as on domestic matters, and on matters of the civil state, and of moral, and spiritual life. And there is no difference except that their talk is more intelligent than that of men, because it is from more interior thought. I have been permitted to associate with them frequently, and to talk with them as friend with friend, and sometimes as stranger with stranger; and as I was then in a state like theirs I knew no otherwise than that I was talking with men on the earth. 235. Angelic speech, like human speech, is distinguished into words; it is also audibly uttered and heard; for angels, like men, have mouth, tongue, and ears, and an atmosphere in which the sound of their speech is articulated, although it is a spiritual atmosphere adapted to angels, who are spiritual. In their atmosphere angels breathe and utter words by means of their breath, as men do In their atmosphere.{1} {Footnote 1} In the heavens there is respiration, but it is of an interior kind (n. 3884, 3885) from experience (n. 3884, 3885, 3891, 3893). There are differing respirations there, varying in accordance with their states (n. 1119, 3886, 3887, 3889, 3892, 3893). The evil are wholly unable to breathe in heaven, and they are suffocated if they go there (n. 3894). 236. In the entire heaven all have the same language, and they all understand one another, to whatever society, near or remote, they belong. Language there is not learned but is instinctive with everyone, for it flows from their very affection and thought, the tones of their speech corresponding to their affections, and the vocal articulations which are words corresponding to the ideas of thought that spring from the affections; and because of this correspondence the speech itself is spiritual, for it is affection sounding and thought speaking. [2] Any one who gives any thought to it can see that all thought is from affection which pertains to love, and that the ideas of thought are the various forms into which the general affection is distributed; for no thought or idea is possible apart from affection-the soul and life of thought is from affection. This enables angels to know, merely from another's speech, what he is-from the tone what his affection is, and from the vocal articulations or words what his mind is. The wiser angels know what the ruling affection is from a single series of words, for that affection is what they chiefly attend to. [3] It is known that each individual has a variety of affections, one affection when in joy, another when in grief, another when in sympathy and compassion, another when in sincerity and truth, another when in love and charity, another when in zeal or in anger, another when in simulation and deceit, another when in quest of honor and glory, and so on. But the ruling affection or love is in all of these; and for this reason the wiser angels, because they perceive that love, know from the speech the whole state of another. [4] This it has been granted me to know from much experience. I have heard angels disclosing the character of another's life merely from hearing him speak. They also said that from any ideas of another's thought they could know all things of his life, because from those ideas they know his ruling love, in which are all things in their order. They know also that man's book of life is nothing else. 237. Angelic language has nothing in common with human languages except certain words that are the sounds of a specific affection; yet this is true not of the words themselves but of their sounds; on which subject something will be said in what follows That angelic language has nothing in common with human languages is evident from the fact that angels are unable to utter a single word of human language. This was tried but they could not do it, because they can utter nothing except what is in entire agreement with their affections; whatever is not in agreement is repugnant to their very life, for life belongs to affection, and their speech is from their life. I have been told that the first language of men on our earth coincided with angelic language because they had it from heaven; and that the Hebrew language coincides with it in some respects. 238. As the speech of angels corresponds to their affection, and their affection belongs to their love, and as the love of heaven is love to the Lord and love towards the neighbor (see above, n. 13-19), it is evident how choice and delightful their talk must be, affecting not the ears only but also the interiors of the mind of those who listen to it. There was a certain hard-hearted spirit with whom an angel spoke. At length he was so affected by what was said that he shed tears, saying that he had never wept before, but he could not refrain, for it was love speaking. 239. The speech of angels is likewise full of wisdom because it proceeds from their interior thoughts, and their interior thought is wisdom, as their interior affection is love, and in their speech their love and wisdom unite. For this reason their speech is so full of wisdom that they can express in a single word what man cannot express in a thousand words also the ideas of their thought include things that are beyond man's comprehension, and still more his power of expression. This is why the things that have been heard and seen in heaven are said to be ineffable, and such as ear hath never heard nor eye seen. [2] That this is true I have also been permitted to learn by experience. At times I have entered into the state in which angels are, and in that state have talked with them, and I then understood everything. But when I was brought back into my former state, and thus into the natural thought proper to man, and wished to recall what I had heard I could not; for there were thousands of things unadapted to the ideas of natural thought, and therefore inexpressible except by variegations of heavenly light, and thus not at all by human words. [3] Also the ideas of thought of the angels from which their words spring are modifications of the light of heaven, and the affections from which the tones of the words spring are variations of the heat of heaven, the light of heaven being Divine truth or wisdom, and the heat of heaven the Divine good or love (see above, n. 126-140); and the angels have their affection from the Divine love, and their thought from the Divine wisdom.{1} {Footnote 1} The ideas of angels, from which they speak, are expressed by wonderful variegations of the light of heaven (n. 1646, 3343, 3993). 240. Because the speech of angels proceeds directly from their affection, and the ideas of their thought are the various forms into which their general affection is distributed (see above, n. 236), angels can express in a moment what a man cannot express in half an hour; also they can set forth in a few words what has been expressed in writing on many pages; and this, too, has been proved to me by much experience.{1} Thus the angels' ideas of thought and the words of their speech make one, like effecting cause and effect; for what is in the ideas of thought as cause is presented in the words as effect, and this is why every word comprehends in itself so many things. Also all the particulars of angelic thought, and thus of angelic speech, appear when presented to view like a thin wave or circumfluent atmosphere, in which are innumerable things in their order derived from angelic wisdom, and these enter another's thought and affect him. The ideas of thought of everyone, both angel and man, are presented to view in the light of heaven, whenever the Lord pleases.{2} {Footnote 1} Angels can express by their speech in a moment more than a man can express by his in half an hour; and they can also express things that do not fall into the expressions of human speech (n. 1641-1643, 1645, 4609, 7089). {Footnote 2} The innumerable things contained in one idea of thought (n. 1008, 1869, 4946, 6613-6618). The ideas of man's thought are opened in the other life, and what they are is presented to view to the life (n. 1869, 3310, 5510). What their appearance is (n. 6601, 8885). The ideas of angels of the inmost heaven present an appearance of flamy light (n. 6615). The ideas of angels of the outmost heaven present an appearance of thin white clouds (n. 6614). An angelic idea seen, from which there was a radiation towards the Lord (n. 6620). Ideas of thought extend themselves widely into the societies of angels round about (n. 6598-6613). 241. The speech of angels of the Lord's celestial kingdom resembles the speech of the angels of His spiritual kingdom, but it is from more interior thought. Celestial angels are in good of love to the Lord, and therefore speak from wisdom; while spiritual angels are in the good of charity towards the neighbor, which in its essence is truth (n. 215), and therefore speak from intelligence, for wisdom is from good, and intelligence is from truth. For this reason the speech of celestial angels is like a gentle stream, soft, and as it were continuous; but the speech of spiritual angels is slightly vibratory and divided. The speech of celestial angels has much of the tones of the vowels u and o; while the speech of spiritual angels has much of the tones of e and i;{1} for the vowels stand for tone, and in the tone there is affection, the tone of the speech of angels corresponding to their affection, as has been said above (n. 236); while the vocal articulations, which are words, correspond to the ideas of thought which spring from affection. As the vowels are not essential to a language, but serve by means of tones to elevate the words to the various affections according to each one's state, so in the Hebrew tongue the vowels are not expressed, and are also variously pronounced. From this a man's quality in respect to his affection and love is known to the angels. Also in the speech of celestial angels there are no hard consonants, and it rarely passes from one consonant to another without the interposition of a word beginning with a vowel. This is why in the Word the particle "and" is so often interposed, as can be seen by those who read the Word in the Hebrew, in which this particle is soft, beginning and ending with a vowel sound. Again, in the Word, in Hebrew, it can in some measure be seen from the words used whether they belong to the celestial class or the spiritual class, that is, whether they involve good or truth. Those involving good partake largely of the sounds of u and o, and also somewhat of a, while those involving truth partake of the sounds of e and i. Because it is especially in tones that affections express themselves, so in human speech, when great subjects are discussed, such as heaven [caelum] and God [Deus], those words are preferred that contain the vowels u and o; and musical tones, whenever such themes are to be expressed, rise to the same fullness; but not when less exalted themes are rendered. By such means musical art is able to express affections of various kinds. {Footnote 1} [As these vowels are pronounced in European language. -- Tr.] 242. In angelic speech there is a kind of symphony that cannot be described;{1} which comes from the pouring forth and diffusion of the thoughts and affections from which speech flows, in accordance with the form of heaven, and all affiliation and all communication in heaven is in accordance with that form. That angels are affiliated in accordance with the form of heaven, and that their thoughts and affections flow in accordance with it may be seen above (n. 200-212). {Footnote 1} In angelic speech there is a symphony with harmonious cadence (n. 1648, 1649, 7191). 243. Speech like that in the spiritual world is inherent in every man in his interior intellectual part; but man does not know this, because this speech does not with man, as with angels, fall into words analogous to affection; nevertheless this is what causes man, when he enters the other life, to come into the same speech as spirits and angels, and thus to know how to speak without instruction.{1} But more on this subject hereafter. {Footnote 1} There is spiritual or angelic speech belonging to man, though he does not know it (n. 4104). The ideas of the internal man are spiritual, but during his life in the world man perceives them naturally, because he then thinks in what is natural (n. 10236, 10237, 10551). Man comes after death into his interior ideas (n. 3226, 3342, 3343, 10568, 10604). Those ideas then form his speech (n. 2470-2479). 244. In heaven, as has been said above, all have one speech; but it is varied in this respect, that the speech of the wise is more interior and more full of variations of affections and ideas of thought, while the speech of the less wise is more external and less full; and the speech of the simple is still more external, consisting of words from which the meaning is to be gathered in the same way as when men are talking to one another. There is also speech by the face, terminating in something sonorous modified by ideas. Again, there is speech in which heavenly representatives are mingled with the ideas, and go forth from ideas to sight. There is also speech by gestures that correspond to affections, and represent things like those expressed by their words. There is speech by means of the generals of affections and the generals of thoughts. There is speech like thunder; besides other kinds. 245. The speech of evil and infernal spirits is likewise natural to them because it is from affections; but it is from evil affections and consequent filthy ideas, to which angels are utterly averse. Thus the modes of speaking in hell are opposite to those of heaven; and in consequence evil spirits cannot endure angelic speech, and angels cannot endure infernal speech. To the angels infernal speech is like a bad odor striking the nostrils. The speech of hypocrites, who are such as are able to feign themselves angels of light, resembles in respect to words the speech of angels, but in respect to affections and consequent ideas of thought it is the direct opposite. Consequently, when the inner nature of their speech is perceived as wise angels perceive it, it is heard as the gnashing of teeth, and strikes with horror. 246. XXVIII. THE SPEECH OF ANGELS WITH MAN. Angels who talk with man do not talk in their own language, nor in any language unknown to man, but in the man's own language, or in some other language with which he is acquainted. This is so because when angels speak with man they turn themselves to him and conjoin themselves with him; and this conjunction of angel with man causes the two to be in like thought; and as man's thought coheres to his memory, and this is the source of his speech, the two have the same language. Moreover, when an angel or a spirit comes to a man, and by turning to him is conjoined to him, he so enters into the entire memory of the man that he is scarcely conscious that he does not himself know whatever the man knows, including his languages. [2] I have talked with angels about this, and have said that perhaps they thought that they were addressing me in my mother tongue, since it is so perceived; and yet it was I and not they that spoke; and that this is evident from the fact that angels cannot utter a single word of human language (see n. 237); furthermore, human language is natural and they are spiritual, and spiritual beings cannot give expression to any thing in a natural way. To this they replied that they are aware that their conjunction with the man with whom they are speaking is with his spiritual thought; but because his spiritual thought flows into his natural thought, and his natural thought coheres to his memory, the language of the man and all his knowledge appear to them to be their own; and that this is so for this reason, that while it is the Lord's pleasure that there should be such a conjunction with and sort of insertion of man into heaven, yet the state of man is now such that there can no longer be such conjunction with angels, but only with spirits who are not in heaven. [3] When I talked about this with spirits also they were unwilling to believe that it is the man that speaks, insisting that they spoke in man, also that man's knowledge is their knowledge and not the man's knowledge, consequently that everything that man knows is from them. I tried to convince them by many proofs that this is not true, but in vain. Who are meant by spirits and who are meant by angels will be told further on when the world of spirits is treated of. 247. There is another reason why angels and spirits conjoin themselves so closely with man as not to know but that what is man's is their own, namely, that there is such conjunction between the spiritual world and the natural world in man that the two are seemingly one. But inasmuch as man has separated himself from heaven the Lord has provided that there should be angels and spirits with each individual, and that man should be ruled by the Lord through these. This is the reason for such close conjunction. It would have been otherwise if man had not separated himself; for in that case he might have been ruled by the Lord through the general influx from heaven, without spirits and angels being adjoined to him. But this subject will be specially considered in what follows when the conjunction of heaven with man is treated of. 248. The speech of an angel or spirit with man is heard by him as audibly as the speech of man with man, yet by himself only, and not by others who stand near; and for the reason that the speech of an angel or spirit flows first into a man's thought, and by an inner way into his organ of hearing, and thus moves it from within; while the speech of man with man flows first into the air and by an outward way into his organ of hearing, and moves it from without. Evidently, then, the speech of an angel or spirit with man is heard within him; but as the organs of hearing are thus equally moved, the speech is equally audible. That the speech of an angel or a spirit flows down from within even into the ear has been made clear to me by the fact that it flows also into the tongue, causing a slight vibration, but without any such motion as when the man himself by means of the tongue forms the sound of speech into words. 249. But at the present day to talk with spirits is rarely granted because it is dangerous;{1} for then the spirits know, what otherwise they do not know, that they are with man; and evil spirits are such that they hold man in deadly hatred, and desire nothing so much as to destroy him both soul and body, and this they do in the case of those who have so indulged themselves in fantasies as to have separated from themselves the enjoyments proper to the natural man. Some also who lead a solitary life sometimes hear spirits talking with them, and without danger; but that the spirits with them may not know that they are with man they are at intervals removed by the Lord; for most spirits are not aware that there is any other world than that in which they live, and therefore are unaware that there are men anywhere else; and this is why man is not permitted to speak with them in return. If he did they would know. Again, those who meditate much on religious subjects, and are so intent upon them as to see them as it were inwardly within themselves, begin to hear spirits speaking with them; for religious persuasions, whatever they are, when man dwells upon them by himself and does not adapt them to the various things of use in the world, penetrate to the interiors and rest there, and occupy the whole spirit of the man, and even enter into the spiritual world and act upon the spirits there. But such persons are visionaries and enthusiasts; and whatever spirit they hear they believe to be the Holy Spirit, when, in fact, such spirits are enthusiastic spirits. Such spirits see falsities as truths, and so seeing them they induce not themselves only but also those they flow into to believe them. Such spirits, however, have been gradually removed, because they began to lure others into evil and to gain control over them. Enthusiastic spirits are distinguished from other spirits by their believing themselves to be the Holy Spirit, and believing what they say to be Divine. As man honors such spirits with Divine worship they do not attempt to harm him. I have sometimes talked with them, and the wicked things they infused into their worshipers were then disclosed. They dwell together towards the left, in a desert place. {Footnote 1} Man is able to talk with spirits and angels; and the ancient people frequently talked with them (n. 67-69, 784, 1634, 1636, 7802). In some earths angels and spirits appear in human form and talk with the inhabitants (n. 10751, 10752). But on this earth at this day it is dangerous to talk with spirits, unless man is in true faith, and is led by the Lord (n. 784, 9438, 10751). 250. But to speak with the angels of heaven is granted only to those who are in truths from good, especially to those who are in the acknowledgment of the Lord and of the Divine in His Human, because this is the truth in which the heavens are. For, as it has been shown above, the Lord is the God of heaven (n. 2-6); it is the Divine of the Lord that makes heaven (n. 7-12); the Divine of the Lord in heaven is love to Him and charity towards the neighbor from Him (n. 13-19); the whole heaven in one complex reflects a single man; also every society of heaven; and every angel is in complete human form, and this from the Divine Human of the Lord (n. 59-86). All of which makes evident that only those whose interiors are opened by Divine Truths, even to the Lord, are able to speak with the angels of heaven, since it is into these truths with man that the Lord flows, and when the Lord flows in heaven also flows in. Divine truths open the interiors of man because man was so created as to be in respect to his internal man an image of heaven, and in respect to his external an image of the world (n. 57); and the internal man is opened only by means of Divine truth going forth from the Lord, because that is the light of heaven and the life of heaven (n. 126-140). 251. The influx of the Lord Himself into man is into his forehead, and from that into the whole face, because the forehead of man corresponds to love, and the face corresponds to all his interiors.{1} The influx of spiritual angels into man is into his head every where, from the forehead and temples to the whole part that contains the cerebrum, because that region of the head corresponds to intelligence; but the influx of celestial angels is into that part of the head that contains the cerebellum, and is called the occiput, from the ears all around even to the neck, for that region corresponds to wisdom. All the speech of angels with man enters by these ways into his thought; and by this means I have perceived what angels they were that spoke with me. {Footnote 1} The "forehead" corresponds to heavenly love, and consequently in the Word signifies that love (n. 9936). The "face" corresponds to the interiors of man, which belong to thought and affection (n. 1568, 2988 2989, 3631, 4796, 4797, 4800, 5165, 5168, 5695, 9306). The face is formed to correspondence with the interiors (n. 4791-4805, 5695). Consequently the "face," in the Word, signifies the interiors (n. 1999, 2434, 3527, 4066, 4796). 252. Those who talk with the angels of heaven also see the things that exist in heaven, because they are then seeing in the light of heaven, for their interiors are in that light; also the angels through them see the things that are on the earth,{1} because in them heaven is conjoined to the world and the world is conjoined to heaven. For (as has been said above n. 246), when the angels turn themselves to man they so conjoin themselves to him as to be wholly unaware that what pertains to the man is not theirs--not only what pertains to his speech but also to his sight and hearing; while man, on the other hand, is wholly unaware that the things that flow in through the angels are not his. Such was the conjunction that existed between angels of heaven and the most ancient people on this earth, and for this reason their times were called the Golden Age. Because this race acknowledged the Divine under a human form, that is, the Lord, they talked with the angels of heaven as with their friends, and angels of heaven talked with them as with their friends; and in them heaven and the world made one. But after those times man gradually separated himself from heaven by loving himself more than the Lord and the world more than heaven, and in consequence began to feel the delights of the love of self and the world as separate from the delights of heaven, and finally to such an extent as to be ignorant of any other delight. Then his interiors that had been open into heaven were closed up, while his exteriors were open to the world; and when this takes place man is in light in regard to all things of the world, but in thick darkness in regard to all things of heaven. {Footnote 1} Spirits are unable to see through man any thing that is in this solar world, but they have seen through my eyes; the reason (n. 1880). 253. Since those times it is only rarely that any one has talked with the angels of heaven; but some have talked with spirits who are not in heaven. This is so because man's interior and exterior faculties are such that they are turned either towards the Lord as their common center (n. 124), or towards self, that is, backwards from the Lord. Those that are turned towards the Lord are also turned towards heaven. But those that are turned towards self, are turned also towards the world. And to elevate these is a difficult matter; nevertheless the Lord elevates them as much as is possible, by turning the love about; which is done by means of truths from the Word. 254. I have been told how the Lord spoke with the prophets through whom the Word was given. He did not speak with them as He did with the ancients, by an influx into their interiors, but through spirits who were sent to them, whom He filled with His look, and thus inspired with the words which they dictated to the prophets; so that it was not influx but dictation. And as the words came forth directly from the Lord, each one of them was filled with the Divine and contains within it an internal sense, which is such that the angels of heaven understand the words in a heavenly and spiritual sense, while men understand them in a natural sense. Thus has the Lord conjoined heaven and the world by means of the Word. How the Lord fills spirits with the Divine by His look has also been made clear. A spirit that has been filled by the Lord with the Divine does not know otherwise than that he is the Lord, and that it is the Divine that is speaking; and this continues until he has finished speaking. After that he perceives and acknowledges that he is a spirit, and that he spoke from the Lord and not from himself. Because this was the state of the spirits who spoke with the prophets they said that it was Jehovah that spoke; the spirits even called themselves Jehovah, as can be seen both from the prophetical and historical parts of the Word. 255. That the nature of the conjunction of angels and spirits with man may be understood I am permitted to mention some notable things by which it may be elucidated and verified. When angels and spirits turn themselves to man they do not know otherwise than that the man's language is their own and that they have no other language; and for the reason that they are there in the man's language, and not in their own, which they have forgotten. But as soon as they turn themselves away from the man they are in their own angelic and spiritual language, and know nothing about the man's language. I have had a like experience when in company with angels and in a state like theirs. I then talked with them in their language and knew nothing of my own, having forgotten it; but as soon as I ceased to be present with them I was in my own language. [2] Another notable fact is that when angels and spirits turn themselves to a man they are able to talk with him at any distance; they have talked with me at a considerable distance as audibly as when they were near. But when they turn themselves away from man and talk with each other man hears nothing at all of what they are saying, even if it be close to his ear. From this it was made clear that all conjunction in the spiritual world is determined by the way they turn. [3] Another notable fact is that many spirits together can talk with a man, and the man with them; for they send one of their number to the man with whom they wish to speak, and the spirit sent turns himself to the man and the rest of them turn to their spirit and thus concentrate their thoughts, which the spirit utters; and the spirit then does not know otherwise than that he is speaking from himself, and they do not know otherwise than that they are speaking. Thus also is the conjunction of many with one effected by turning.{1} But of these emissary spirits, who are also called subjects, and of communication by means of them, more will be said hereafter. {Footnote 1} Spirits sent from one society of spirits to other societies are called subjects (n. 4403, 5856). Communications in the spiritual world are effected by such emissary spirits (n. 4403, 5856, 5983). A spirit when he is sent forth, and serves as a subject thinks from those by whom he is sent forth and not from himself (n. 5985-5987). 256. An angel or spirit is not permitted to speak with a man from his own memory, but only from the man's memory; for angels and spirits have a memory as well as man. If a spirit were to speak from his own memory with a man the man would not know otherwise than that the thoughts then in his mind were his own, although they were the spirit's thoughts. This would be like the recollection of something which the man had never heard or seen. That this is so has been given me to know from experience. This is the source of the belief held by some of the ancients that after some thousands of years they were to return into their former life, and into everything they had done, and in fact, had returned. This they concluded because at times there came to them a sort of recollection of things that they had never seen or heard. This came from an influx from the memory of spirits into their ideas of thought. 257. There are also spirits called natural and corporeal spirits. When these come to a man they do not conjoin themselves with his thought, like other spirits, but enter into his body, and occupy all his senses, and speak through his mouth, and act through his members, believing at the time that all things of the man are theirs. These are the spirits that obsess man. But such spirits have been cast into hell by the Lord, and thus wholly removed; and in consequence such obsessions are not possible at the present time.{1} {Footnote 1} External or bodily obsessions are not permitted at the present time, as they were formerly (n. 1983). But at present internal obsessions, which pertain to the mind, are permitted more than formerly (n. 1983, 4793). Man is inwardly obsessed when he has filthy and scandalous thoughts about God and the neighbor, and is withheld from making them known only by external consideration, which are fear of the loss of reputation, honor, gain and fear of the law and of loss of life (n. 5990). Of the devilish spirits who chiefly obsess the interiors of man (n. 4793). Of the devilish spirits who long to obsess the exteriors of man; that such are shut up in hell (n. 2752, 5990). 258. XXIX. WRITINGS IN HEAVEN. As the angels have speech, and their speech consists of words, they also have writings; and by writing as well as by speech they give expression to what is in their minds. At times I have had papers sent to me, traced with written words precisely like manuscripts in the world, and others like printed sheets; and I was able to read them in a like way, but was allowed to get from them only an idea here and there; for the reason that it is not in accordance with Divine order for man to be taught by writings from heaven; but he must be taught by means of the Word only; for it is only by means of the Word that there is communication and conjunction of heaven with the world, thus of the Lord with man. That papers written in heaven were seen also by the prophets is shown in Ezekiel: When I looked, behold a hand was put forth by a spirit unto me, and a roll of a book was therein which he unrolled in my sight; it was written on the front and on the back (2:9, 10). And in John: I saw upon the right hand of Him that sat on the throne a book written within and on the back, sealed up with seven seals (Apoc. 5:1). 259. The existence of writings in the heavens is a provision of the Lord for the sake of the Word; for the Word in its essence is Divine truth, and from it is all heavenly wisdom, both with men and with angels; for the Word was dictated by the Lord, and what is dictated by the Lord passes through all the heavens in order and terminates with man. Thereby it is adapted both to the wisdom of angels and the intelligence of men. Thereby, too, the angels have a Word, and read it the same as men do on the earth, and also draw from it their doctrinals, and preach from it (n. 221). It is the same Word; but its natural sense, which is the sense of the letter with us, does not exist in heaven, but only the spiritual sense, which is its internal sense. What this sense is can be seen in the small treatise on The White Horse spoken of in the Apocalypse. 260. A little paper was at one time sent to me from heaven, on which there were a few words only written in Hebrew letters, and I was told that every letter involved arcana of wisdom, and that these arcana were contained in the inflections and curvatures of the letters, and thus also in the sounds. This made clear to me what is signified by these words of the Lord: Verily I say unto you, until heaven and earth pass away, one iota or one tittle shall not pass away from the law (Matt. 5:18). That the Word in every tittle of it is Divine is known in the church; but just where the Divine lies hid in every tittle has not been known heretofore, and therefore shall be told. In the inmost heaven the writing consists of various inflected and circumflected forms, and the inflections and circumflections are in accordance with the forms of heaven. By means of these angels express the arcana of their wisdom, and also many things that they are unable to express in spoken words; and what is wonderful, the angels know this writing without training or a teacher, it being implanted in them like their speech (see n. 236); therefore this writing is heavenly writing. It is implanted because all extension of thoughts and affections and consequent communication of intelligence and wisdom of the angels proceeds in accordance with the form of heaven (n. 201); and for the same reason their writing flows into that form. I have been told that the most ancient people on this earth, before letters were invented, had such writing; and that it was transferred into the letters of the Hebrew language, and these letters in ancient times were all inflected, and none of them, as at present, were bounded by straight lines. Thus it is that in the Word Divine things and arcana of heaven are contained even in its iotas, points and tittles. 261. This writing in characters of a heavenly form is in use in the inmost heaven, the angels of which surpass all others in wisdom. By means of these characters they express the affections, from which thoughts flow and follow in order in accordance with the subject treated of. Consequently these writings, which I have also been permitted to see, involve arcana which thought cannot exhaust. But such writings do not exist in the lower heavens. The writings there resemble the writings in the world, having like characters, and yet they are not intelligible to man, because they are in angelic language; and angelic language is such that it has nothing in common with human languages (n. 237), since by the vowels they express affections, and by the consonants the ideas of thought from the affections, and by the words from these the sense of the matter (see above, n. 236, 241). Moreover, in this writing, which I have also seen, more is involved in a few words than a man can express in several pages. In this way they have the Word written in the lower heavens; but in the inmost heaven in heavenly characters. 262. It is a notable fact that the writings in the heavens flow naturally from their very thoughts, and this so easily that the thought puts itself forth, as it were, and the hand never hesitates in the choice of a word, because both the words they speak and those they write correspond to the ideas of their thought; and all correspondence is natural and spontaneous. There are also writings in the heavens that exist without the aid of the hand, from mere correspondence with the thoughts; but these are not permanent. 263. I have also seen writings from heaven made up of mere numbers set down in order and in a series, just as in writings made up of letters and words; and I have been taught that this writing is from the inmost heaven, and that their heavenly writing (spoken of above, n. 260, 261), when the thought from it flows down, is set forth before the angels of the lower heavens in numbers, and that this numerical writing likewise involves arcana, some of which can neither be comprehended by thought nor expressed by words. For all numbers correspond, and have a meaning, the same as words do, in accordance with the correspondence;{1} yet with the difference that in numbers generals are involved, and in words particulars; and as one general involves innumerable particulars, so more arcana are involved in numerical writing than in literal writing. From this I could see that in the Word numbers as well as words signify things. What the simple numbers signify, as 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 12, and what the compound numbers, as 20, 30, 50, 70, 100, 144, 1000, 10,000, 12,000, and others, may be seen in the Arcana Celestia, where they are treated of. In this writing in heaven, a number is always prefixed on which those following in a series depend as on their subject; for that number is as it were an index to the matter treated of, and from it is the determination of the numbers that follow to the particular point. {Footnote 1} All numbers in the Word signify things (n. 482, 487, 647, 648, 755, 813, 1963, 1988, 2075, 2252, 3252, 4264, 6470, 6175, 9488, 9659, 10217, 10253). Shown from heaven (n. 4495, 5265). Composite numbers have the same signification as the simple numbers from which they result by multiplication (n. 5291, 5335, 5708, 7973). The most ancient people possessed heavenly arcana expressed in numbers forming a kind of computation of states of the church (n. 575). 264. Those who know nothing about heaven, and who are unwilling to have any other idea of it than as of something purely atmospherical, in which the angels fly about as intellectual minds, having no sense of hearing or seeing, are unable to conceive that the angels have speech and writing; for they place the existence of everything real in what is material; and yet the writings in heaven have as real an existence as those in the world, and the angels there have everything that is useful for life and useful for wisdom. 265. XXX. THE WISDOM OF THE ANGELS OF HEAVEN. The nature of angelic wisdom can scarcely be comprehended, because it so greatly transcends human wisdom that the two cannot be compared; and whatever is thus transcendent does not seem to be any thing. Moreover, some truths that must enter into a description of it are as yet unknown, and until these become known they exist in the mind as shadows, and thus hide the thing as it is in itself. Nevertheless, these truths can be known, and when known be comprehended, provided the mind takes any interest in them; for interest carries light with it because it is from love; and upon those who love the things pertaining to Divine and heavenly wisdom light shines forth from heaven and gives enlightenment. 266. What the wisdom of the angels is can be inferred from the fact that they are in the light of heaven, and the light of heaven in its essence is Divine truth or Divine wisdom; and this light enlightens at the same time their inner sight, or sight of the mind, and their outer sight, or sight of the eyes. (That the light of heaven is Divine truth or Divine wisdom may be seen above, n. 126-133.) The angels are also in heavenly heat, which in its essence is Divine good or Divine love, and from that they have an affection and longing to become wise. (That the heat of heaven is Divine good or Divine love may be seen above, n. 133-140.) That the angels are in wisdom, even to the extent that they may be called wisdoms, follows from the fact that their thoughts and affections all flow in accordance with the heavenly form, and this form is the form of Divine wisdom; also that their interiors, which are recipients of wisdom, are arranged in that form. (That the thoughts and affections of angels flow in accordance with the form of heaven, and consequently their intelligence and wisdom, may be seen above, n. 201-212.) [2] That the angels have supereminent wisdom is shown also by the fact that their speech is the speech of wisdom, for it flows directly and spontaneously from thought, and their thought from their affection, thus their speech is thought from affection in outward form; consequently there is nothing to withdraw them from the Divine influx, and nothing from without such as enters into the speech of man from other thoughts. (That the speech of angels is the speech of their thought and affection may be seen above, n. 234-235.) That the angels have such wisdom is in accord with the fact that all things that they behold with their eyes and perceive by their senses agree with their wisdom, since they are correspondences of it, and thus the objects perceived are representative forms of the things that constitute their wisdom. (That all things seen in the heavens are correspondences with the interiors of angels and representations of their wisdom may be seen above, n. 170-182.) [3] Furthermore, the thoughts of angels are not limited and contracted by ideas from space and time, as human thoughts are, for spaces and times belong to nature, and the things that belong to nature withdraw the mind from spiritual things, and deprive intellectual sight of its proper range. (That the ideas of angels are apart from time and space, and thus less limited than human ideas, may be seen above, n. 162-169 and 191-199.) Again, the thoughts of angels are neither brought down to earthly and material things, nor interrupted by anxieties about the necessities of life; thus they are not withdrawn by such things from the delights of wisdom, as the thoughts of men in the world are; for all things come to them gratuitously from the Lord; they are clothed gratuitously, are fed gratuitously, are housed gratuitously (n. 181-190), and besides this they receive delights and pleasures in the degree of their reception of wisdom from the Lord. These things have been said to make clear why it is that angels have so great wisdom.{1} {Footnote 1} The wisdom of angels, that it is incomprehensible and ineffable (n. 2795, 2796, 2802, 3314, 3404, 3405, 9094, 9176). 267. Angels are capable of receiving such wisdom because their interiors are open; and wisdom, like every other perfection, increases towards the interiors, thus to the extent that interiors are opened.{1} In every angel there are three degrees of life, corresponding to the three heavens (see n. 29-40)--those in whom the first degree has been opened are in the first or outmost heaven; those in whom the second degree has been opened are in the second or middle heaven; while those in whom the third degree has been opened are in the third or inmost heaven. The wisdom of angels in the heavens is in accordance with these degrees. Therefore the wisdom of the angels of the inmost heaven immeasurably surpasses the wisdom of angels of the middle heaven, and the wisdom of these immeasurably surpasses the wisdom of angels of the outmost heaven (see above, n. 209, 210; and what degrees are, n. 38). There are such differences because the things which are in the higher degree are particulars, and those in the lower degree are generals, and generals are containants of particulars. Particulars compared with generals are as thousands or myriads to one; and such is the wisdom of the angels of a higher heaven compared with the wisdom of the angels of a lower heaven. In like manner the wisdom of the latter surpasses the wisdom of man, for man is in a bodily state and in those things that belong to the bodily senses, and man's bodily sense belongs to the lowest degree. This makes clear what kind of wisdom those possess who think from things of sense, that is, who are called sensual men, namely, that they have no wisdom, but merely knowledge.{2} But it is otherwise with men whose thoughts are raised above the things of sense, and especially with those whose interiors have been opened even into the light of heaven. {Footnote 1} So far as man is raised up from outward towards inward things he comes into light, that is, into intelligence (n. 6183, 6313). There is an actual elevation (n. 7816, 10330). Elevation from outward to inward things is like elevation out of a mist into light (n. 4598). As outer things in man are farther removed from the Divine they are relatively obscure (n. 6451). Likewise relatively confused (n. 996, 3855). Inner things are more perfect because they are nearer to the Divine (n. 5146, 5147). In what is internal there are thousands and thousands of things that appear in what is external as one general thing (n. 5707). Consequently as thought and perception are more interior they are clearer (n. 5920). {Footnote 2} The sensual is the outmost of man's life adhering to and inhering in his bodily part (n. 5077, 5767, 9212, 9216, 9331, 9730). He is called a sensual man who judges all things and draws all his conclusions from the bodily senses, and believes nothing except what he sees with his eyes and touches with his hands (n. 5094, 7693). Such a man thinks in externals, and not interiorly in himself (n. 5089, 5094, 6564, 7693). His interiors are so closed up that he sees nothing of spiritual truth in them (n. 6564, 6844, 6845). In a word, he is in gross natural light and thus perceives nothing that is from the light of heaven (n. 6201, 6310, 6564, 6598, 6612, 6614, 6622, 6624, 6844, 6845). Interiorly he is antagonistic to the things of heaven and the church (n. 6201, 6316, 6844, 6845, 6948, 6949). The learned who have confirmed themselves against the truths of the church come to be such (n. 6316). Sensual men are more cunning and malicious than others (n. 7693, 10236). They reason keenly and cunningly, but from the bodily memory, in which they place all intelligence (n. 195, 196, 5700, 10236). But they reason from the fallacies of the senses (n. 5084, 6948, 6949, 7693). 268. It can be seen how great the wisdom of angels is from the fact that in the heavens there is a communication of all things; intelligence and wisdom are communicated from one to another, and heaven is a common sharing of all goods; and this for the reason that heavenly love is such that it wishes what is its own to be another's; consequently no one in heaven perceives his own good in himself to be good unless it is also in another; and this is the source of the happiness of heaven. This the angels derive from the Lord, for such is His Divine love. That there is such a communication of all things in the heavens it has been permitted me to know by experience. Certain simple spirits were at one time taken up into heaven, and when there they entered into angelic wisdom, and then understood things that they were never before able to comprehend, and spoke things that they were unable to utter in their former state. 269. The wisdom of the angels is indescribable in words; it can only be illustrated by some general things. Angels can express in a single word what a man cannot express in a thousand words. Again, a single angelic word contains innumerable things that cannot be expressed in the words of human language; for in each of the things uttered by angels there are arcana of wisdom in continuous connection that human knowledges never reach. Again, what the angels fail to express in the words of their speech they make up by the tone, in which there is an affection for the things in their order; for (as has been said above, n. 236, 241) tones express affections, as words express ideas of thought from the affections; and for this reason the things heard in heaven are said to be ineffable. So, too, the angels are able to express in a few words every least thing written in an entire volume, and give to every word meanings that elevate the mind to interior wisdom; for their speech is such as to be in accord with their affections, and each word is in accord with their ideas; and their words are varied in infinite ways in accord with the series of things which in complex are in the thought. [2] Still again, the interior angels are able to perceive from the tone and from a few words the entire life of one speaking; for from the tone as varied by the ideas in the words they perceive his ruling love upon which, as it were, every particular of his life is inscribed.{1} All this makes clear the nature of angelic wisdom. In comparison with human wisdom it is as a myriad to one, or as the moving forces of the whole body, which are numberless, to the activities from them which appear to human sense as a single thing, or as the thousand particulars of an object seen under a perfect microscope to the one obscure thing seen by the naked eye. [3] Let me illustrate the subject by an example. An angel from his wisdom was describing regeneration, and brought forward arcana respecting it in their order even to some hundreds, filling each of them with ideas in which there were interior arcana, and this from beginning to end; for he explained how the spiritual man is conceived anew, is carried as it were in the womb, is born, grows up and is gradually perfected. He said that the number of arcana could be increased even to thousands, and that those told were only about the regeneration of the external man, while there were numberless more about the regeneration of the internal man. From these and other like things heard from the angels it has been made clear to me how great is their wisdom, and how great in comparison is the ignorance of man, who scarcely knows what regeneration is, and is ignorant of every least step of the process when he is being regenerated. {Footnote 1} That which universally rules or is dominant in man is in every particular of his life, thus in each thing and all things of his thought and affection (n. 4459, 5949, 6159, 6571, 7648, 8067, 8853-8858). A man is such as his ruling love is (n. 917, 1040, 8858); illustrated by examples (n. 8854, 8857). That which rules universally constitutes the life of the spirit of man (n. 7648). It is his very will, his very love, and the end of his life, since that which a man will he loves, and that which he loves he has as an end (n. 1317, 1568, 1571, 1909, 3796, 5949, 6936). Therefore man is such as his will is, or such as his ruling love is, or such as the end of his life is (n. 1568, 1571, 3570, 4054, 6571, 6935, 6938, 8856, 10076, 10109, 10110, 10284). 270. The wisdom of the angels of the third or inmost heaven shall now be described, and also how far it surpasses the wisdom of the angels of the first or outmost heaven. The wisdom of the angels of the third or inmost heaven is incomprehensible even to those who are in the outmost heaven, for the reason that the interiors of the angels of the third heaven have been opened to the third degree, while the interiors of angels of the first heaven have been opened only to the first degree; and all wisdom increases towards interiors and is perfected as these are opened (n. 208, 267). [2] Because the interiors of the angels of the third or inmost heaven have been opened to the third degree, Divine truths are as it were inscribed on them; for the interiors of the third degree are more in the form of heaven than the interiors of the second and first degrees, and the form of heaven is from the Divine truth, thus in accord with the Divine wisdom, and this is why the truth is as it were inscribed on these angels, or are as it were instinctive or inborn in them. Therefore as soon as these angels hear genuine Divine truths they instantly acknowledge and perceive them, and afterwards see them as it were inwardly in themselves. As the angels of that heaven are such they never reason about Divine truths, still less do they dispute about any truth whether it is so or not; nor do they know what it is to believe or to have faith. They say, "What is faith? for I perceive and see that a thing is so." This they illustrate by comparisons; for example, that it would be as when any one with a companion, seeing a house and the various things in it and around it, should say to his companion that he ought to believe that these things exist, and that they are such as he sees them to be; or seeing a garden and trees and fruit in it, should say to his companion that he ought to have faith that there is a garden and trees and fruits, when yet he is seeing them clearly with his eyes. For this reason these angels never mention faith, and have no idea what it is; neither do they reason about Divine truths, still less do they dispute about any truth whether it is so or not.{1} [3] But the angels of the first or outmost heaven do not have Divine truths thus inscribed on their interiors, because with them only the first degree of life is opened; therefore they reason about truths, and those who reason see almost nothing beyond the fact of the matter about which they are reasoning, or go no farther beyond the subject than to confirm it by certain considerations, and having confirmed it they say that it must be a matter of faith and must be believed. [4] I have talked with angels about this, and they said that the difference between the wisdom of the angels of the third heaven and the wisdom of the angels of the first heaven is like that between what is clear and what is obscure; and the former they compared to a magnificent palace full of all things for use, surrounded on all sides by parks, with magnificent things of many kinds round about them; and as these angels are in the truths of wisdom they can enter into the palace and behold all things, and wander about in the parks in every direction and delight in it all. But it is not so with those who reason about truths, especially with those who dispute about them, as such do not see truths from the light of truth, but accept truths either from others or from the sense of the letter of the Word, which they do not interiorly understand, declaring that truths must be believed, or that one must have faith, and are not willing to have any interior sight admitted into these things. The angels said that such are unable to reach the first threshold of the palace of wisdom, still less to enter into it and wander about in its grounds, for they stop at the first step. It is not so with those that are in truths themselves; nothing impedes these from going on and progressing without limit, for the truths they see lead them wherever they go, and into wide fields, for every truth has infinite extension and is in conjunction with manifold others. [5] They said still further that the wisdom of the angels of the inmost heaven consists principally in this, that they see Divine and heavenly things in every single object, and wonderful things in a series of many objects; for everything that appears before their eyes is a correspondent; as when they see palaces and gardens their view does not dwell upon the things that are before their eyes, but they see the interior things from which they spring, that is, to which they correspond, and this with all variety in accordance with the aspect of the objects; thus they see innumerable things at the same time in their order and connection; and this so fills their minds with delight that they seem to be carried away from themselves. That all things that are seen in the heavens correspond to the Divine things that are in the angels from the Lord may be seen above (n. 170-176). {Footnote 1} The celestial angels know innumerable things, and are immeasurably wiser than the spiritual angels (n. 2718). The celestial angels do not think and talk from faith, as the spiritual angels do, for they have from the Lord a perception of all things that constitute faith (n. 202, 597, 607, 784, 1121, 1384, 1442, 1898, 1919, 7680, 7877, 8780, 9277, 10336). In regard to the truths of faith they say only "Yea, yea, or Nay, nay," while the spiritual angels reason about whether a thing is true (n. 2715, 3246, 4448, 9166, 10786, where the Lord's words, "Let your discourse be Yea, yea, Nay nay" (Matt. 5:37), are explained). 271. Such are the angels of the third heaven because they are in love to the Lord, and that love opens the interiors of the mind to the third degree, and is a receptacle of all things of wisdom. It must be understood also that the angels of the inmost heaven are still being continually perfected in wisdom, and this differently from the angels of the outmost heaven. The angels of the inmost heaven do not store up Divine truths in the memory and thus make out of them a kind of science; but as soon as they hear them they perceive them and apply them to the life. For this reason Divine truths are as permanent with them as if they were inscribed on them, for what is committed in such a way to the life is contained in it. But it is not so with the angels of the outmost heaven. These first store up Divine truths in the memory and stow them away with their knowledge, and draw them out therefrom to perfect their understanding by them, and will them and apply them to the life, but with no interior perception whether they are truths; and in consequence they are in comparative obscurity. It is a notable fact that the angels of the third heaven are perfected in wisdom by hearing and not by seeing. What they hear from preachings does not enter into their memory, but enters directly into their perception and will, and comes to be a matter of life; but what they see with their eyes enters into their memory, and they reason and talk about it; which shows that with them the way of hearing is the way of wisdom. This, too, is from correspondence, for the ear corresponds to obedience, and obedience belongs to the life; while the eye corresponds to intelligence, and intelligence is a matter of doctrine.{1} The state of these angels is described in different parts of the Word, as in Jeremiah: I will put My law in their mind, and write it on their heart. They shall teach no more everyone his friend and everyone his brother, saying, Know ye Jehovah; for they shall all know Me, from the least of them even unto the greatest of them (31:33, 34). And in Matthew, Let your speech be Yea, yea, Nay, nay; what is more than these is from evil (5:37). "What is more than these is from evil" because it is not from the Lord; and inasmuch as the angels of the third heaven are in love to the Lord the truths that are in them are from the Lord. In that heaven love to the Lord is willing and doing Divine truth, for Divine truth is the Lord in heaven. {Footnote 1} Of the correspondence of the ear and of hearing (n. 4652-4660). The ear corresponds to and therefore signifies perception and obedience (n. 2542, 3869, 4653, 5017, 7216, 8361, 9311, 9397, 10061). The ear signifies the reception of truths (n. 5471, 5475, 9926). The correspondence of the eye and its sight (n. 4403-4421, 4523-4534); from which the sight of the eye signifies the intelligence that belongs to faith, and also faith (n. 2701, 4410, 4526, 6923 9051, 10569). 272. There is a still further reason, and this is in heaven the primary reason, why the angels are able to receive so great wisdom, namely, that they are without the love of self; for to the extent that any one is without the love of self he can become wise in Divine things. It is that love that closes up the interiors against the Lord and heaven, and opens the exteriors and turns them toward itself; and in consequence all in whom that love rules are in thick darkness in respect to the things of heaven, however much light they may have in worldly matters. The angels, on the other hand, are in the light of wisdom because they are without the love of self, for the heavenly loves in which they are, which are love to the Lord and love towards the neighbor, open the interiors, because these loves are from the Lord and the Lord Himself is in them. (That these loves constitute heaven in general, and form heaven in each one in particular, may be seen above, n. 13-19). As heavenly loves open the interiors to the Lord so all angels turn their faces towards the Lord (n. 142); because in the spiritual world the love turns the interiors of everyone to itself, and whichever way it turns the interiors it also turns the face, since the face there makes one with the interiors, for it is their outward form. Because the love turns the interiors and the face to itself, it also conjoins itself to them (love being spiritual conjunction), and shares its own with them. From that turning and consequent conjunction and sharing the angels have their wisdom. That all conjunction and all turning in the spiritual world are in accord may be seen above (n. 255). 273. Although the angels are continually perfected in wisdom,{1} their wisdom, even to eternity, cannot become so perfect that there can be any ratio between it and the Lord's Divine wisdom; for the Lord's Divine wisdom is infinite and the wisdom of angels finite; and between what is Infinite and what is finite no ratio is possible. {Footnote 1} Angels are perfected to eternity (n. 4803, 6648). 274. As it is wisdom that makes the angels perfect and constitutes their life, and as heaven with its goods flows into everyone in accordance with his wisdom, so all in heaven desire and hunger for wisdom much as a hungry man hungers for food. So, too, knowledge, intelligence, and wisdom are spiritual nutriment, as food is natural nutriment; and the one corresponds to the other. 275. The angels in the same heaven, or in the same society of heaven, are not all in like wisdom; their wisdom differs. Those at the center are in the greatest wisdom, and those round about even to the borders are in less wisdom. The decrease of wisdom in accord with the distance from the center is like the decrease of light verging to shade (see n. 43 and 128). Their light is in the same degree as their wisdom, since the light of heaven is the Divine wisdom, and everyone is in light in the measure of his reception of wisdom. Respecting the light of heaven and the varying kinds of reception of it see above (n. 126-132). 276. XXXI. THE STATE OF INNOCENCE OF ANGELS IN HEAVEN. What innocence is and its nature few in the world know, and those who are in evil know nothing about it. It is, indeed, visible to the eyes, as seen in the face, speech and movements, particularly of children; and yet what innocence is, and especially that it is that in which heaven is stored up in man is unknown. In making this known let us proceed in order, and consider first the innocence of childhood, then the innocence of wisdom, and lastly the state of heaven in regard to innocence. 277. The innocence of childhood or of children is not genuine innocence, for it is innocence not in internal form but only in external form. Nevertheless one may learn from it what innocence is, since it shines forth from the face of children and from some of their movements and from their first speech, and affects those about them. It can be seen that children have no internal thought, for they do not yet know what is good and what is evil, or what is true and what is false, of which such thought consists. [2] Consequently they have no prudence from what is their own, no purpose or deliberation, thus no end that looks to evil; neither have they anything of their own acquired from love of self and the world; they do not attribute anything to themselves, regarding all that they have as received from their parents; they are content with the few and paltry things presented to them, and find delight in them; they have no solicitude about food and clothing, and none about the future; they do not look to the world and covet many things from it; they love their parents and nurses and their child companions with whom they play in innocence; they suffer themselves to be led; they give heed and obey. [3] And being in this state they receive everything as a matter of life; and therefore, without knowing why, they have becoming manners, and also learn to talk, and have the beginning of memory and thought, their state of innocence serving as a medium whereby these things are received and implanted. But this innocence, as has been said above, is external because it belongs to the body alone, and not to the mind;{1} for their minds are not yet formed, the mind being understanding and will and thought and affection therefrom. [4] I have been told from heaven that children are specially under the Lord's auspices, and that they receive influx from the inmost heaven, where there is a state of innocence that this influx passes through their interiors, and that in its passing through, their interiors are affected solely by the innocence; and for this reason innocence is shown in their faces and in some of their movements and becomes evident; and that it is this innocence by which parents are inmostly affected, and that gives rise to the love that is called storge. {Footnote 1} The innocence of children is not true innocence, but true innocence has its abode in wisdom (n. 1616, 2305, 2306, 3494, 4563, 4797, 5608, 9301, 10021). The good of childhood is not spiritual good, but it becomes such by the implantation of truth (n. 3504). Nevertheless the good of childhood is a medium whereby intelligence is implanted (n. 1616, 3183, 9301, 10110). Without the good of innocence in childhood man would be a wild man (n. 3494). Whatever the mind is imbued with in childhood appears natural (n. 3494). 278. The innocence of wisdom is genuine innocence, because it is internal, for it belongs to the mind itself, that is, to the will itself and from that to the understanding. And when there is innocence in these there is also wisdom, for wisdom belongs to the will and understanding. This is why it is said in heaven that innocence has its abode in wisdom, and that an angel has just so much of innocence as he has of wisdom. This is confirmed by the fact that those who are in a state of innocence attribute nothing of good to themselves, but regard all things as received and ascribe them to the Lord; that they wish to be led by Him and not by themselves; that they love everything that is good and find delight in everything that is true, because they know and perceive that loving what is good, that is, willing and doing it, is loving the Lord, and loving truth is loving the neighbor; that they live contented with their own, whether it be little or much, because they know that they receive just as much as is good for them-those receiving little for whom a little is useful, and those receiving much for whom much is useful; also that they do not themselves know what is good for them, the Lord alone knowing this, who looks in all things that He provides to what is eternal. [2] Neither are they anxious about the future; anxiety about the future they call care for the morrow, which they define as grief on account of losing or not receiving things that are not necessary for the uses of life. With companions they never act from an evil end but from what is good, just, and sincere. Acting from an evil end they call cunning, which they shun as the poison of a serpent, since it is wholly antagonistic to innocence. As they love nothing so much as to be led of the Lord, attributing all things they receive to Him, they are kept apart from what is their own [proprium]; and to the extent that they are kept apart from what is their own the Lord flows into them; and in consequence of this whatever they hear from the Lord, whether through the Word or by means of preaching, they do not store up in the memory, but instantly obey it, that is, will it and do it, their will being itself their memory. These for the most part outwardly appear simple, but inwardly they are wise and prudent. These are meant by the Lord in the words, Be ye prudent as serpents and simple as doves (Matt. 10:16). Such is the innocence that is called the innocence of wisdom. [3] Because innocence attributes nothing of good to itself, but ascribes all good to the Lord, and because it thus loves to be led by the Lord, and is the source of the reception of all good and truth, from which wisdom comes,--because of this man is so created as to be during his childhood in external innocence, and when he becomes old in internal innocence, to the end that he may come by means of the former into the latter, and from the latter return into the former. For the same reason when a man becomes old he dwindles in body and becomes again like a child, but like a wise child, that is, an angel, for a wise child is in an eminent sense an angel. This is why in the Word, "a little child" signifies one who is innocent, and "an old man" signifies one who is wise in whom is innocence.{1} {Footnote 1} In the Word "little children" signify innocence (n. 5608); likewise "sucklings" (n. 3183). An "old man" signifies one who is wise, and in an abstract sense wisdom (n. 3183, 6524). Man is so created that in proportion as he verges towards old age he may become like a little child, and that innocence may then be in his wisdom, and in that state he may pass into heaven and become an angel (n. 3183, 5608). 279. The same is true of everyone who is being regenerated. Regeneration, as regards the spiritual man, is re-birth. Man is first introduced into the innocence of childhood, which is that one knows no truth and can do no good from himself, but only from the Lord, and desires and seeks truth only because it is truth, and good only because it is good. As man afterwards advances in age good and truth are given him by the Lord. At first he is led into a knowledge of them, then from knowledge into intelligence, and finally from intelligence into wisdom, innocence always accompanying, which consists, as has been said, in his knowing nothing of truth, and being unable to do anything good from himself but only from the Lord. Without such a belief and such a perception of it no one can receive any thing of heaven. Therein does the innocence of wisdom chiefly consist. 280. As innocence consists in being led by the Lord and not by self, so all who are in heaven are in innocence; for all who are there love to be led by the Lord, knowing that to lead themselves is to be led by what is their own, and what is one's own is loving oneself, he that loves himself not permitting himself to be led by any one else. Therefore, so far as an angel is in innocence he is in heaven, in other words, is in Divine good and Divine truth, for to be in these is to be in heaven. Consequently the heavens are distinguished by degrees of innocence-those who are in the outmost or first heaven are in innocence of the first or outmost degree; those who are in the middle or second heaven are in innocence of the second or middle degree; while those who are in the inmost or third heaven are in innocence of the third or inmost degree, and are therefore the veriest innocences of heaven, for more than all others they love to be led by the Lord as little children by their father; and for the same reason the Divine truth that they hear immediately from the Lord or mediately through the Word and preaching they take directly into their will and do it, thus committing it to life. And this is why their wisdom is so superior to that of the angels of the lower heavens (see n. 270, 271). These angels of the inmost heaven, being such are nearest to the Lord from whom they receive innocence, and are so separated from what is their own that they live as it were in the Lord. Externally they appear simple, and before the eyes of the angels of the lower heavens they appear like children, that is, as very small, and not very wise, although they are the wisest of the angels of heaven; since they know that they have nothing of wisdom from themselves, and that acknowledging this is being wise. They know also that what they know is as nothing compared to what they do not know; and they say that knowing, acknowledging, and perceiving this is the first step towards wisdom. These angels have no clothing, because nakedness corresponds to innocence.{1} {Footnote 1} All in the inmost heaven are innocences (n. 154, 2736, 3887). Therefore they appear to others like children (n. 154). They are also naked (n. 165, 8375, 9960). Nakedness belongs to innocence (n. 165, 8375). Spirits have a custom of exhibiting innocence by laying aside their garments and presenting themselves naked (n. 165, 8375, 9960). 281. I have talked much with angels about innocence, and have been told that innocence is the being [esse] of all good, and that good is therefore so far good as it has innocence in it, consequently that wisdom is so far wisdom as it partakes of innocence; and the same is true of love, charity, and faith;{1} and therefore no one can enter heaven unless he possesses innocence; and this the Lord teaches when He says: Suffer little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of the heavens. Verily I say unto you, Whoever shall not receive the kingdom of the heavens as a little child, he shall not enter into it (Mark 10:14, 16; Luke 18:16, 17), Here as elsewhere In the Word "little children" mean those who are innocent. A state of innocence is also described by the Lord in Matthew (6:25-34), but by correspondences only. Good is good so far as it has innocence in it, for the reason that all good is from the Lord, and innocence is a willingness to be led by the Lord. I have also been told that truth can be conjoined to good and good to truth only by means of innocence, and therefore an angel is not an angel of heaven unless he has innocence in him; for heaven is not in any one until good is conjoined to truth in him; and this is why the conjunction of truth and good is called the heavenly marriage, and the heavenly marriage is heaven. Again, I have been told that true marriage love derives its existence from innocence, because it derives its existence from the conjunction of good and truth, and the two minds of husband and wife are in that conjunction, and when that conjunction descends it presents the appearance of marriage love; for consorts are in mutual love, as their minds are. This is why in marriage love there is a playfulness like that of childhood and like that of innocence.{2} {Footnote 1} Every good of love and truth of faith, to be good and true must have innocence in it (n. 2526, 2780, 3111, 3994, 6013, 7840, 9262, 10134). Innocence is the essential of good and truth (n. 2780, 7840). No one is admitted into heaven unless he possesses something of innocence (4797). {Footnote 2} True marriage love is innocence (n. 2736). Marriage love consists in willing what the other wills, thus mutually and reciprocally (n. 2731). They who are in marriage love dwell together in the inmosts of life (n. 2732). There is a union of the two minds, and thus from love they are a one (n. 10168, 10169). True marriage love derives its origin and essence from the marriage of good and truth (n. 2728, 2729). About angelic spirits who have a perception from the idea of the conjunction of good and truth whether anything of marriage exists (n. 10756). Marriage love is wholly like the conjunction of good and truth (n. 1904, 2173, 2508, 2729, 3103, 3132, 3155, 3179, 3180, 4358, 5807, 5835, 9206, 9207, 9495, 9637). Therefore in the Word "marriage" means the marriage of good and truth, such as there is in heaven and such as there will be in the church (n. 3132, 4434, 4835). 282. Because innocence With the angels of heaven is the very being [esse] of good, it is evident that the Divine good that goes forth from the Lord is innocence itself, for it is that good that flows into angels, and affects their inmosts, and arranges and fits them for receiving all the good of heaven. It is the same with children, whose interiors are not only formed by means of innocence flowing through them from the Lord, but also are continually being fitted and arranged for receiving the good of heavenly love, since the good of innocence acts from the inmost; for that good, as has been said, is the being [esse] of all good. From all this it can be seen that all innocence is from the Lord. For this reason the Lord is called in the Word a "lamb," a lamb signifying innocence.{1} Because innocence is the inmost in all the good of heaven, it so affects minds that when it is felt by any one-as when an angel of the inmost heaven approaches-he seems to himself to be no longer his own master and is moved and as it were carried away by such a delight that no delight of the world seems to be anything in comparison with it. This I say from having perceived it. {Footnote 1} In the Word a "lamb" signifies innocence and its good. (n. 3994, 10132). 283. Everyone who is in the good of innocence is affected by innocence, and is affected to the extent that he is in that good; but those who are not in the good of innocence are not affected by innocence. For this reason all who are in hell are wholly antagonistic to innocence; they do not know what it is; their antagonism is such that so far as any one is innocent they burn to do him mischief; therefore they cannot bear to see little children; and as soon as they see them they are inflamed with a cruel desire to do them harm. From this it is clear that what is man's own, and therefore the love of self, is antagonistic to innocence; for all who are in hell are in what is their own, and therefore in the love of self.{1} {Footnote 1} What is man's own is loving self more than God, and the world more than heaven, and making one's neighbor of no account as compared with oneself; thus it is the love of self and of the world (n. 694, 731, 4317, 5660). The evil are wholly antagonistic to innocence, even to the extent that they cannot endure its presence (n. 2126). 284. XXXII. THE STATE OF PEACE IN HEAVEN. Only those that have experienced the peace of heaven can have any perception of the peace in which the angels are. As man is unable, as long as he is in the body, to receive the peace of heaven, so he can have no perception of it, because his perception is confined to what is natural. To perceive it he must be able, in respect to thought, to be raised up and withdrawn from the body and kept in the spirit, and at the same time be with angels. In this way has the peace of heaven been perceived by me; and for this reason I am able to describe it, yet not in words as that peace is in itself, because human words are inadequate, but only as it is in comparison with that rest of mind that those enjoy who are content in God. 285. There are two inmost things of heaven, namely, innocence and peace. These are said to be inmost things because they proceed directly from the Lord. From innocence comes every good of heaven, and from peace every delight of good. Every good has its delight; and both good and delight spring from love, for whatever is loved is called good, and is also perceived as delightful. From this it follows that these two inmost things, innocence and peace, go forth from the Lord's Divine love and move the angels from what is inmost. That innocence is the inmost of good may be seen in the preceding chapter, where the state of innocence of the angels of heaven is described. That peace is the inmost of delight from the good of innocence shall now be explained. 286. The origin of peace shall be first considered. Divine peace is in the Lord; it springs from the union of the Divine Itself and the Divine Human in Him. The Divine of peace in heaven is from the Lord, springing from His conjunction with the angels of heaven, and in particular from the conjunction of good and truth in each angel. These are the origins of peace. From this it can be seen that peace in the heavens is the Divine inmostly affecting with blessedness everything good therefrom, and from this is every joy of heaven; also that it is in its essence the Divine joy of the Lord's Divine love, resulting from His conjunction with heaven and with everyone there. This joy, felt by the Lord in angels and by angels from the Lord, is peace. By derivation from this the angels have everything that is blessed, delightful, and happy, or that which is called heavenly joy.{1} {Footnote 1} By peace in the highest sense the Lord is meant, because peace is from Him, and in the internal sense heaven is meant, because those are in a state of peace (n. 3780, 4681). Peace in the heavens is the Divine inmostly affecting with blessedness everything good and true there, and this peace is incomprehensible to man (n. 92, 3780, 5662, 8455, 8665). Divine peace is in good, but not in truth apart from good (n. 8722). 287. Because these are the origins of peace the Lord is called "the Prince of peace," and He declares that from Him is peace and in Him is peace; and the angels are called angels of peace, and heaven is called a habitation of peace, as in the following passages: Unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given, and the government shall be upon His shoulder; and His name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, God, Mighty, Father of eternity, Prince of peace. Of the increase of His government and peace there shall be no end (Isa. 9:6, 7). Jesus said, Peace I leave with you, My peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth give I unto you (John 14:27). These things have I spoken unto you that in Me ye may have peace (John 16:33). Jehovah lift up His countenance upon thee and give thee peace (Num. 6:26). The angels of peace weep bitterly, the highways are wasted (Isa. 33:7, 8). The work of righteousness shall be peace; and My people shall dwell in a habitation of peace (Isa. 32:17, 18). [2] That it is Divine and heavenly peace that is meant in the Word by "peace" can be seen also from other passages where it is mentioned (As Isa. 52:7; 54:10; 59:8; Jer. 16:5; 25:37; 29:11; Hag. 2:9; Zech. 8:12; Psalm 37:37; and elsewhere.) Because "peace" means the Lord and heaven, and also heavenly joy and the delight of good, "Peace be with you" was an ancient form of salutation that is still in use; and it was ratified by the Lord in His saying to the disciples whom He sent forth: Into whatsoever house ye enter, first say, Peace be to this house; and if a son of peace be there, your peace shall rest upon it (Luke 10:5, 6). And when the Lord Himself appeared to the apostles, He said Peace be with you (John 20:19, 21, 26). [3] A state of peace is also meant in the Word where it is said that: Jehovah smelled an odor of rest (as Exod. 29:18, 25, 41; Lev. 1:9, 13, 17; 2:2, 9; 6:8, 14; 23:12, 13, 18; Num, 15:3, 7, 13; 28:6, 8, 13; 29:2, 6, 8, 13, 36). "Odor of rest" in the heavenly sense signifies a perception of peace.{1} As peace signifies the union of the Divine Itself and the Divine Human in the Lord, also the conjunction of the Lord with heaven and with the church, and with all who are in heaven, and with all in the church who receive Him, so the Sabbath was instituted as a reminder of these things, its name meaning rest or peace, and was the most holy representative of the church. For the same reason the Lord called Himself "the Lord of the Sabbath" (Matt. 12:8; Mark 2:27, 28; Luke 6:5).{2} {Footnote 1} In the word an "odor" signifies the perception of agreeableness or disagreeableness, according to the quality of the love and faith of which it is predicated (n. 3577, 4626, 4628, 4748, 5621, 10292). An "odor of rest," in reference to Jehovah, means a perception of peace (n. 925, 10054). This is why frankincense, incense, and odors in oils and ointments, became representative (n. 925, 4748, 5621, 10177). {Footnote 2} The "Sabbath" signifies in the highest sense the union of the Divine Itself and the Divine Human in the Lord; in the internal sense the conjunction of the Divine Human of the Lord with heaven and with the church; in general, the conjunction of good and truth, thus the heavenly marriage (n. 8495, 10356, 10730). Therefore "rest on the Sabbath day" signified the state of that union, because then the Lord had rest, and thereby there is peace and salvation in the heavens and on the earth; and in a relative sense it signified the conjunction of the Lord with man, because man then has peace and salvation (n. 8494, 8510, 10360, 10367, 10370, 10374, 10668, 10730). 288. Because the peace of heaven is the Divine inmostly affecting with blessedness the veriest good in angels, it can be clearly perceived by them only in the delight of their hearts when they are in the good of their life, in the pleasure with which they hear truth that agrees with their good, and in gladness of mind when they perceive the conjunction of good and truth. From this it flows into all the acts and thoughts of their life, and there presents itself as joy, even in outward appearance. [2] But peace in the heavens differs in quality and quantity in agreement with the innocence of those who are there; since innocence and peace walk hand in hand; for every good of heaven, as said above, is from innocence, and every delight of that good is from peace. Evidently, then, the same that has been said in the foregoing chapter about the state of innocence in the heavens may be said here of the state of peace there, since innocence and peace are conjoined like good and its delight; for good is felt in its delight, and delight is known from its good. This being so, it is evident that angels of the inmost or third heaven are in the third or inmost degree of peace, because they are in the third or inmost degree of innocence; and that angels of the lower heavens are in a less degree of peace, because they are in a less degree of innocence (see above n. 280). [3] That innocence and peace go together like good and its delight can be seen in little children, who are in peace because they are in innocence, and because they are in peace are in their whole nature full of play. Yet the peace of little children is external peace; while internal peace, like internal innocence, is possible only in wisdom, and for this reason only in the conjunction of good and truth, since wisdom is from that conjunction. Heavenly or angelic peace is also possible in men who are in wisdom from the conjunction of good and truth, and who in consequence have a sense of content in God; nevertheless, while they live in the world this peace lies hidden in their interiors, but it is revealed when they leave the body and enter heaven, for their interiors are then opened. 289. As the Divine peace springs from the conjunction of the Lord with heaven, and specially from the conjunction of good and truth in each angel, so when the angels are in a state of love they are in a state of peace; for then good and truth are conjoined in them. (That the states of angels undergo successive changes may be seen above, n. 154-160.) The like is true also of a man who is being regenerated. As soon as good and truth come to be conjoined in him, which takes place especially after temptations, he comes into a state of delight from heavenly peace.{1} This peace may be likened to morning or dawn in spring time, when, the night being passed, with the rising of the sun all things of the earth begin to live anew, the fragrance of growing vegetation is spread abroad with the dew that descends from heaven, and the mild vernal temperature gives fertility to the ground and imparts pleasure to the minds of men, and this because morning or dawn in the time of spring corresponds to the state of peace of angels in heaven (see n. 155).{2} {Footnote 1} The conjunction of good and truth in a man who is being regenerated is effected in a state of peace (n. 3696, 8517). {Footnote 2} The state of peace in the heavens is like a state of dawn or springtime on the earth (n. 1726, 2780, 5662). 290. I have talked with the angels about peace, saying that what is called peace in the world is when wars and hostilities cease between kingdoms, and when enmities or hostilities cease among men; also that internal peace is believed to consist in rest of mind when cares are removed, especially in tranquility and enjoyment from success in affairs. But the angels said that rest of mind and tranquility and enjoyment from the removal of cares and success in affairs seem to be constituents of peace, but are so only with those who are in heavenly good, for only in that good is peace possible. For peace flows in from the Lord into the inmost of such, and from their inmost descends and flows down into the lower faculties, producing a sense of rest in the mind, tranquility of disposition, and joy therefrom. But to those who are in evil peace is impossible.{1} There is an appearance of rest, tranquility, and delight when things succeed according to their wishes; but it is external peace and not at all internal, for inwardly they burn with enmity, hatred, revenge, cruelty, and many evil lusts, into which their disposition is carried whenever any one is seen to be unfavorable to them, and which burst forth when they are not restrained by fear. Consequently the delight of such dwells in insanity, while the delight of those who are in good dwells in wisdom. The difference is like that between hell and heaven. {Footnote 1} The lusts that originate in love of self and of the world wholly take away peace (n. 3170, 5662). There are some who think to find peace in restlessness, and in such things as are contrary to peace (n. 5662). Peace is possible only when the lusts of evil are removed (n. 5662). 291. XXXIII. THE CONJUNCTION OF HEAVEN WITH THE HUMAN RACE. It is well known in the church that all good is from God, and that nothing of good is from man, consequently that no one ought to ascribe any good to himself as his own. It is also well known that evil is from the devil. Therefore those who speak from the doctrine of the church say of those who behave well, and of those who speak and preach piously, that they are led by God; but the opposite of those who do not behave well and who speak impiously. For this to be true man must have conjunction with heaven and with hell; and this conjunction must be with man's will and with his understanding; for it is from these that the body acts and the mouth speaks. What this conjunction is shall now be told. 292. With every individual there are good spirits and evil spirits. Through good spirits man has conjunction with heaven, and through evil spirits with hell. These spirits are in the world of spirits, which lies midway between heaven and hell. This world will be described particularly hereafter. When these spirits come to a man they enter into his entire memory, and thus into his entire thought, evil spirits into the evil things of his memory and thought, and good spirits into the good things of his memory and thought. These spirits have no knowledge whatever that they are with man; but when they are with him they believe that all things of his memory and thought are their own; neither do they see the man, because nothing that is in our solar world falls into their sight.{1} The Lord exercises the greatest care that spirits may not know that they are with man; for if they knew it they would talk with him, and in that case evil spirits would destroy him; for evil spirits, being joined with hell, desire nothing so much as to destroy man, not alone his soul, that is, his faith and love, but also his body. It is otherwise when spirits do not talk with man, in which case they are not aware that what they are thinking and also what they are saying among themselves is from man; for although it is from man that they talk with one another, they believe that what they are thinking and saying is their own, and everyone esteems and loves what is their own. In this way spirits are constrained to love and esteem man, although they do not know it. That such is the conjunction of spirits with man has become so well known to me from a continual experience of many years that nothing is better known to me. {Footnote 1} There are angels and spirits with every man, and by means of them man has communication with the spiritual world (n. 697, 2796, 2886, 2887, 4047, 4048, 5846-5866, 5976-5993). Man without spirits attending him cannot live (n. 5993). Man is not seen by spirits, even as spirits are not seen by man (n. 5862). Spirits can see nothing in our solar world pertaining to any man except the one with whom they are speaking (n. 1880). 293. The reason why spirits that communicate with hell are also associated with man is that man is born into evils of every kind, consequently his whole life is wholly from evil; and therefore unless spirits like himself were associated with him he could not live, nor indeed could he be withdrawn from his evils and reformed. He is therefore both held in his own life by means of evil spirits and withheld from it by means of good spirits; and by the two he is kept in equilibrium; and being in equilibrium he is in freedom, and can be drawn away from evils and turned towards good, and thus good can be implanted in him, which would not be possible at all if he were not in freedom; and freedom is possible to man only when the spirits from hell act on one side and spirits from heaven on the other, and man is between the two. Again, it has been shown that so far as a man's life is from what he inherits, and thus from self, if he were not permitted to be in evil he would have no life; also if he were not in freedom he would have no life; also that he cannot be forced to what is good, and that what is forced does not abide; also that the good that man receives in freedom is implanted in his will and becomes as it were his own.{1} These are the reasons why man has communication with hell and communication with heaven. {Footnote 1} All freedom pertains to love and affection, since what a man loves, that he does freely (n. 2870, 3158, 8987, 8990, 9585, 9591). As freedom belongs to man's love, so it belongs to man's life (n. 2873). Nothing appears as man's own except what is from freedom (n. 2880). Man must have freedom that he may be reformed (n. 1937, 1947, 2876, 2881, 3145, 3146, 3158, 4031, 8700). Otherwise no love of good and truth can be implanted in man and be appropriated seemingly as his own (n. 2877, 2879, 2880, 2883, 8700). Nothing that comes from compulsion is conjoined to man (n. 2875, 8700). If man could be reformed by compulsion everyone would be reformed (n. 2881). Compulsion in reformation is harmful (n. 4031). What states of compulsion are (n. 8392). 294. What the communication of heaven is with good spirits, and what the communication of hell is with evil spirits, and the consequent conjunction of heaven and hell with man, shall also be told. All spirits who are in the world of spirits have communication with heaven or with hell, evil spirits with hell, and good spirits with heaven. Heaven is divided into societies, and hell also. Every spirit belongs to some society, and continues to exist by influx from it, thus acting as one with it. Consequently as man is conjoined with spirits so is he conjoined with heaven or with hell, even with the society there to which he is attached by his affection or his love; for the societies of heaven are all distinguished from each other in accordance with their affections for good and truth, and the societies of hell in accordance with their affections for evil and falsity. (As to the societies of heaven see above, n. 41-45 also n. 148-151.) 295. The spirits associated with man are such as he himself is in respect to his affection or love; but the Lord associates good spirits with him, while evil spirits are invited by the man himself. The spirits with man, however, are changed in accordance with the changes of his affections; thus there are some spirits that are with him in early childhood, others in boyhood, others in youth and manhood, and others in old age. In early childhood those spirits are present who are in innocence and who thus communicate with the heaven of innocence, which is the inmost or third heaven; in boyhood those spirits are present who are in affection for knowing, and who thus communicate with the outmost or first heaven; in youth and manhood spirits are present who are in affection for what is true and good, and in consequent intelligence, and who thus communicate with the second or middle heaven; while in old age spirits are present who are in wisdom and innocence, and who thus communicate with the inmost or third heaven. But the Lord maintains this association with such as can be reformed and regenerated. It is otherwise with such as cannot be reformed or regenerated. While with these also good spirits are associated, that they may be thereby withheld from evil as much as possible, they are directly conjoined with evil spirits who communicate with hell, whereby they have such spirits with them as are like themselves. If they are lovers of self or lovers of gain, or lovers of revenge, or lovers of adultery, like spirits are present, and as it were dwell in their evil affections; and man is incited by these, except so far as he can be kept from evil by good spirits, and they cling to him, and do not withdraw, so far as the evil affection prevails. Thus it is that a bad man is conjoined to hell and a good man is conjoined to heaven. 296. Man is governed by the Lord through spirits because he is not in the order of heaven, for he is born into evils which are of hell, thus into the complete opposite of Divine order; consequently he needs to be brought back into order, and this can only be done mediately by means of spirits. It would be otherwise if man were born into the good that is in accord with the order of heaven; then he would be governed by the Lord not through spirits, but by means of the order itself, thus by means of general influx. By means of this influx man is governed in respect to whatever goes forth from his thought and will into act, that is, in respect to speech and acts; for both of these proceed in harmony with natural order, and therefore with these the spirits associated with man have nothing in common. Animals also are governed by means of this general influx from the spiritual world, because they are in the order of their life, and animals have not been able to pervert and destroy that order because they have no rational faculty.{1} What the difference between man and beasts is may be seen above (n. 39). {Footnote 1} The difference between men and beasts is, that men are capable of being raised up by the Lord to Himself, of thinking about the Divine, loving it, and being thereby conjoined to the Lord, from which they have eternal life; but it is otherwise with beasts (n. 4525, 6323, 9231). Beasts are in the order of their life, and are therefore born into things suitable to their nature, but man is not, and he must therefore be led into the order of his life by intellectual means (n. 637, 5850, 6323). According to general influx thought with man falls into speech and will into movements (n. 5862, 5990, 6192, 6211). The general influx of the spiritual world into the lives of beasts (n. 1633, 3646). 297. As to what further concerns the conjunction of heaven with the human race, let it be noted that the Lord Himself flows into each man, in accord with the order of heaven, both into his inmosts and into his outmosts, and arranges him for receiving heaven, and governs his outmosts from his inmosts, and at the same time his inmosts from his outmosts, thus holding in connection each thing and all things in man. This influx of the Lord is called direct influx; while the other influx that is effected through spirits is called mediate influx. The latter is maintained by means of the former. Direct influx, which is that of the Lord Himself, is from His Divine Human, and is into man's will and through his will into his understanding, and thus into his good and through his good into his truth, or what is the same thing, into his love and through his love into his faith; and not the reverse, still less is it into faith apart from love or into truth apart from good or into understanding that is not from will. This Divine influx is unceasing, and in the good is received in good, but not in the evil; for in them it is either rejected or suffocated or perverted; and in consequence they have an evil life which in a spiritual sense is death.{1} {Footnote 1} There is direct influx from the Lord, and also mediate influx through the spiritual world (n. 6063, 6307, 6472, 9682, 9683). The Lord's direct influx is into the least particulars of all things (n. 6058, 6474-6478, 8717, 8728). The Lord flows in into firsts and at the same time into lasts-in what manner (n. 5147, 5150, 6473, 7004, 7007, 7270). The Lord's influx is into the good in man, and through the good into truth and not the reverse (n. 5482, 5649, 6027, 8685, 8701, 10153). The life that flows in from the Lord varies in accordance with the state of man and in accordance with reception (n. 2069, 5986, 6472, 7343). With the evil the good that flows in from the Lord is turned into evil and the truth into falsity; from experience (n. 3642, 4632). The good and the truth therefrom that continually flow in from the Lord are received just to the extent that evil and falsity therefrom do not obstruct (n. 2411, 3142, 3147, 5828). 298. The spirits who are with man, both those conjoined with heaven and those conjoined with hell, never flow into man from their own memory and its thought, for if they should flow in from their own thought, whatever belonged to them would seem to man to be his (see above n. 256). Nevertheless there flows into man through them out of heaven an affection belonging to the love of good and truth, and out of hell an affection belonging to the love of evil and falsity. Therefore as far as man's affection agrees with the affection that flows in, so far that affection is received by him in his thought, since man's interior thought is wholly in accord with his affection or love; but so far as man's affection does not agree with that affection it is not received. Evidently, then, since thought is not introduced into man through spirits, but only an affection for good and an affection for evil, man has choice, because he has freedom; and is thus able by his thought to receive good and reject evil, since he knows from the Word what is good and what is evil. Moreover, whatever he receives by thought from affection is appropriated to him; but whatever he does not receive by thought from affection is not appropriated to him. All this makes evident the nature of the influx of good out of heaven with man, and the nature of the influx of evil out of hell. 299. I have also been permitted to learn the source of human anxiety, grief of mind, and interior sadness, which is called melancholy. There are spirits not as yet in conjunction with hell, because they are in their first state; these will be described hereafter when treating of the world of spirits. Such spirits love things undigested and pernicious, such as pertain to food becoming foul in the stomach; consequently they are present with man in such things because they find delight in them; and they talk there with one another from their own evil affection. The affection that is in their speech flows in from this source into man; and when this affection is the opposite of man's affection there arises in him sadness and melancholy anxiety; but when it agrees with it it becomes in him gladness and cheerfulness. These spirits appear near to the stomach, some to the left and some to the right of it, and some beneath and some above, also nearer and more remote, thus variously in accordance with their affections. That this is the source of anxiety of mind has been shown and proved to me by much experience. I have seen these spirits, I have heard them, I have felt the anxieties arising from them, and I have talked with them; when they have been driven away the anxiety ceased; when they returned the anxiety returned; and I have noted the increase and decrease of it according to their approach and removal. From this it has been made clear to me why some who do not know what conscience is, because they have no conscience, ascribe its pangs to the stomach.{1} {Footnote 1} Those who have no conscience do not know what conscience is (n. 7490, 9121). There are some who laugh at conscience when they hear what it is (n. 7217). Some believe that conscience is nothing; some that it is something natural that is sad and mournful, arising either from causes in the body or from causes in the world; some that it is something that the common people get from their religion (n. 206, 831, 950; [TCR n. 665]). There is true conscience, spurious conscience, and false conscience (n. 1033). Pain of conscience is an anxiety of mind on account of what is unjust, insincere, or in any respect evil, which man believes to be against God and against the good of the neighbor (n. 7217). Those have conscience who are in love to God and in charity towards the neighbor, but those who are not so have no conscience (n. 831, 965, 2380, 7490). 300. The conjunction of heaven with man is not like the conjunction of one man with another, but the conjunction is with the interiors of man's mind, that is, with his spiritual or internal man; although there is a conjunction with his natural or external man by means of correspondences, which will be described in the next chapter where the conjunction of heaven with man by means of the Word will be treated of. 301. It will also be shown in the next chapter that the conjunction of heaven with the human race and of the human race with heaven is such that one has its permanent existence with the other. 302. I have talked with angels about the conjunction of heaven with the human race, saying that while the man of the church declares that all good is from God, and that angels are with man, yet few believe that angels are conjoined to man, still less that they are in his thought and affection. The angels replied that they knew that such a belief and such a mode of speaking still exist in the world, and especially, to their surprise, within the church, where the Word is present to teach men about heaven and its conjunction with man; nevertheless, there is such a conjunction that man is unable to think the least thing unless spirits are associated with him, and on this his spiritual life depends. They said that the cause of ignorance in this matter is man's belief that he lives from himself, and that he has no connection with the First Being [Esse] of life; together with his not knowing that this connection exists by means of the heavens; and yet if that connection were broken man would instantly fall dead. If man only believed, as is really true, that all good is from the Lord and all evil from hell, he would neither make the good in him a matter of merit nor would evil be imputed to him; for he would then look to the Lord in all the good he thinks and does, and all the evil that flows in would be cast down to hell from which it comes. But because man does not believe that anything flows into him either from heaven or from hell, and therefore supposes that all things that he thinks and wills are in himself and therefore from himself, he appropriates the evil to himself, and the good that flows in he defiles with merit. 303. XXXIV. CONJUNCTION OF HEAVEN WITH MAN BY MEANS OF THE WORD. Those who think from interior reason can see that there is a connection of all things through intermediates with the First, and that whatever is not in connection is dissipated. For they know, when they think about it, that nothing can have permanent existence from itself, but only from what is prior to itself, thus all things from a First; also that the connection with what is prior is like the connection of an effect with its effecting cause; for when the effecting cause is taken away from its effect the effect is dissolved and dispersed. Because the learned thought thus they saw and said that permanent existence is a perpetual springing forth; thus that all things have permanent existence from a First; and as they sprang from that First so they perpetually spring forth, that is, have permanent existence from it. But what the connection of everything is with that which is prior to itself, thus with the First which is the source of all things, cannot be told in a few words, because it is various and diverse. It can only be said in general that there is a connection of the natural world with the spiritual world, and that in consequence there is a correspondence of all things in the natural world with all things in the spiritual (see n. 103-115); also that there is a connection and consequently a correspondence of all things of man with all things of heaven (see n. 87-102). 304. Man is so created as to have a conjunction and connection with the Lord, but with the angels of heaven only an affiliation. Man has affiliation with the angels, but not conjunction, because in respect to the interiors of his mind man is by creation like an angel, having a like will and a like understanding. Consequently if a man has lived in accordance with the Divine order he becomes after death an angel, with the same wisdom as an angel. Therefore when the conjunction of man with heaven is spoken of his conjunction with the Lord and affiliation with the angels is meant; for heaven is heaven from the Lord's Divine, and not from what is strictly the angels' own [proprium]. That it is the Lord's Divine that makes heaven may be seen above (n. 7-12). [2] But man has, beyond what the angels have, that he is not only in respect to his interiors in the spiritual world, but also at the same time in respect to his exteriors in the natural world. His exteriors which are in the natural world are all things of his natural or external memory and of his thought and imagination therefrom; in general, knowledges and sciences with their delights and pleasures so far as they savor of the world, also many pleasures belonging to the senses of the body, together with his senses themselves, his speech, and his actions. And all these are the outmosts in which the Lord's Divine influx terminates; for that influx does not stop midway, but goes on to its outmosts. All this shows that the outmost of Divine order is in man; and being the outmost it is also the base and foundation. [3] As the Lord's Divine influx does not stop midway but goes on to its outmosts, as has been said, and as this middle part through which it passes is the angelic heaven, while the outmost is in man, and as nothing can exist unconnected, it follows that the connection and conjunction of heaven with the human race is such that one has its permanent existence from the other, and that the human race apart from heaven would be like a chain without a hook; and heaven without the human race would be like a house without a foundation.{1} {Footnote 1} Nothing springs from itself, but from what is prior to itself, thus all things from a First, and they also have permanent existence from Him from whom they spring forth, and permanent existence is a perpetual springing forth (n. 2886, 2888, 3627, 3628, 3648, 4523, 4524, 6040, 6056). Divine order does not stop midway, but terminates in an outmost, and that outmost is man, thus Divine order terminates in man (n. 634, 2853, 3632, 5897, 6239, 6451, 6465, 9215, 9216, 9824, 9828, 9836, 9905, 10044, 10329, 10335, 10548). Interior things flow into external things, even into the extreme or outmost in successive order, and there they spring forth and have permanent existence (n. 634, 6239, 6465, 9215, 9216). Interior things spring forth and have permanent existence in what is outmost in simultaneous order (n. 5897, 6451, 8603, 10099). Therefore all interior things are held together in connection from a First by means of a Last (n. 9828). Therefore "the First and the Last" signify all things and each thing, that is, the whole (n. 10044, 10329, 10335). Consequently in outmosts there is strength and power (n. 9836). 305. But man has severed this connection with heaven by turning his exteriors away from heaven, and turning them to the world and to self by means of his love of self and of the world, thereby so withdrawing himself that he no longer serves as a basis and foundation for heaven; therefore the Lord has provided a medium to serve in place of this base and foundation for heaven, and also for the conjunction of heaven with man. This medium is the Word. How the Word serves as such a medium has been shown in many places in the Arcana Coelestia, all of which may be seen gathered up in the little work on The White Horse mentioned in the Apocalypse; also in the Appendix to the New Jerusalem and Its Heavenly Doctrine, from which some notes are here appended.{1} {Footnote 1} The Word in the sense of the letter is natural (n. 8783). For the reason that the natural is the outmost in which spiritual and heavenly things, which are interior things, terminate and on which they rest, like a house upon its foundation (n. 9430, 9433, 9824, 10044, 10436). That the Word may be such it is composed wholly of correspondences (n. 1404, 1408, 1409, 1540, 1619, 1659, 1709, 1783, 8615, 10687). Because the Word is such in the sense of the letter it is the containant of the spiritual and heavenly sense (n. 9407). And it is adapted both to men and to angels (n. 1769-1772, 1887, 2143, 2157, 2275, 2333, 2395, 2540, 2541, 2547, 2553, 7381, 8862, 10322). And it is what makes heaven and earth one (n. 2310, 2495, 9212, 9216, 9357, 9396, 10375). The conjunction of the Lord with man is through the Word, by means of the internal sense (n. 10375). There is conjunction by means of all things and each particular thing of the Word, and in consequence the Word is wonderful above all other writing (n. 10632-10634). Since the Word was written the Lord speaks with men by means of it (n. 10290). The church, where the Word is and the Lord is known by means of it, in relation to those who are out of the church where there is no Word and the Lord is unknown is like the heart and lungs in man in comparison with the other parts of the body, which live from them as from the fountains of their life (n. 637, 931, 2054, 2853). Before the Lord the universal church on the earth is as a single man (n. 7396, 9276). Consequently unless there were on this earth a church where the Word is, and where the Lord is known by means of it, the human race here would perish (n. 468, 637, 931, 4545, 10452). 306. I have been told from heaven that the most ancient people, because their interiors were turned heavenwards, had direct revelation, and by this means there was at that time a conjunction of the Lord with the human race. After their times, however, there was no such direct revelation, but there was a mediate revelation by means of correspondences, inasmuch as all their Divine worship then consisted of correspondences, and for this reason the churches of that time were called representative churches. For it was then known what correspondence is and what representation is, and that all things on the earth correspond to spiritual things in heaven and in the church, or what is the same, represent them; and therefore the natural things that constituted the externals of their worship served them as mediums for thinking spiritually, that is, thinking with the angels. When the knowledge of correspondences and representations had been blotted out of remembrance a Word was written, in which all the words and their meanings are correspondences, and thus contain a spiritual or internal sense, in which are the angels; and in consequence, when a man reads the Word and perceives it according to the sense of the letter or the outer sense the angels perceive it according to the internal or spiritual sense; for all the thought of angels is spiritual while the thought of man is natural. These two kinds of thought appear diverse; nevertheless they are one because they correspond. Thus it was that when man had separated himself from heaven and had severed the bond the Lord provided a medium of conjunction of heaven with man by means of the Word. 307. How heaven is conjoined with man by means of the Word I will illustrate by some passages from it. "The New Jerusalem" is described in the Apocalypse in these words: I saw a new heaven and a new earth, and the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. And I saw the holy city New Jerusalem coming down from God out of heaven. The city was foursquare, its length as great as its breadth; and an angel measured the city with a reed, twelve thousand furlongs; the length, the breadth, and the height of it are equal. And he measured the wall thereof, an hundred and forty-four cubits, the measure of a man, that is, of an angel. The building of the wall was of jasper; but the city itself was pure gold, and like unto pure glass; and the foundations of the wall were adorned with every precious stone. The twelve gates were twelve pearls; and the street of the city was pure gold, as it were transparent glass (21:1, 2, 16-19, 21). When man reads these words he understands them merely in accordance with the sense of the letter, namely, that the visible heaven with the earth is to perish, and a new heaven is to come into existence; and upon the new earth the holy city Jerusalem is to descend, with all its dimensions as here described. But the angels that are with man understand these things in a wholly different way, that is, everything that man understands naturally they understand spiritually. [2] By "the new heaven and the new earth" they understand a new church; by "the city Jerusalem coming down from God out of heaven" they understand its heavenly doctrine revealed by the Lord; by "its length, breadth, and height, which are equal," and "twelve thousand furlongs," they understand all the goods and truths of that doctrine in the complex; by its "wall" they understand the truths protecting it; by "the measure of the wall, a hundred and forty-four cubits, which is the measure of a man, that is, of an angel," they understand all those protecting truths in the complex and their character; by its "twelve gates, which were of pearls," they understand introductory truths, "pearls" signifying such truths; by "the foundations of the wall, which were of precious stones," they understand the knowledge on which that doctrine is founded; by "the gold like unto pure glass," of which the city and its street were made, they understand the good of love which makes the doctrine and its truths transparent. Thus do the angels perceive all these things; and therefore not as man perceives them. The natural ideas of man thus pass into the spiritual ideas with the angels without their knowing anything of the sense of the letter of the Word, that is, about "a new heaven and a new earth," "a new city Jerusalem," its "wall, the foundations of the wall, and its dimensions." And yet the thoughts of angels make one with the thoughts of man, because they correspond; they make one almost the same as the words of a speaker make one with the understanding of them by a hearer who attends solely to the meaning and not to the words. All this shows how heaven is conjoined with man by means of the Word: [3] Let us take another example from the Word: In that day there shall be a highway from Egypt to Assyria, and Assyria shall come into Egypt and Egypt into Assyria; and the Egyptians shall serve Assyria. In that day shall Israel be a third to Egypt and to Assyria, a blessing in the midst of the land, Which Jehovah of hosts shall bless, saying, Blessed be My people the Egyptian, and the Assyrian the work of My hands, and Israel Mine inheritance (Isaiah 19:23-25). What man thinks when these words are read, and what the angels think, can be seen from the sense of the letter of the Word and from its internal sense. Man from the sense of the letter thinks that the Egyptians and Assyrians are to be converted to God and accepted, and are then to become one with the Israelitish nation; but angels in accordance with the internal sense think of the man of the spiritual church who is here described in that sense, whose spiritual is "Israel," whose natural is the "Egyptian," and whose rational, which is the middle, is the "Assyrian."{1} Nevertheless, these two senses are one because they correspond; and therefore when the angels thus think spiritually and man naturally they are conjoined almost as body and soul are; in fact, the internal sense of the Word is its soul and the sense of the letter is its body. Such is the Word throughout. This shows that it is a medium of conjunction of heaven with man, and that its literal sense serves as a base and foundation. {Footnote 1} In the Word "Egypt" and "Egyptian" signify the natural and its knowledge (n. 4967, 5079, 5080, 5095, 5160, 5460, 5799, 6015, 6147, 6252, 7355, 7648, 9340, 9391). "Assyria" signifies the rational (n. 119, 1186). "Israel" signifies the spiritual (n. 5414, 5801, 5803, 5806, 5812, 5817, 5819, 5826, 5833, 5879, 5951, 6426, 6637, 6862, 6868, 7035, 7062, 7198, 7201, 7215, 7223, 7957, 8234, 8805, 9340). 308. There is also a conjunction of heaven by means of the Word with those who are outside of the church where there is no Word; for the Lord's church is universal, and is with all who acknowledge the Divine and live in charity. Moreover, such are taught after death by the angels and receive Divine truths;{1} on which subject more may be seen below, in the chapter on the heathen. The universal church on the earth in the sight of the Lord resembles a single man, just as heaven does (see n. 59-72); but the church where the Word is and where the Lord is known by means of it is like the heart and lungs in that man. It is known that all the viscera and members of the entire body draw their life from the heart and lungs through various derivations; and it is thus that those of the human race live who are outside of the church where the Word is, and who constitute the members of that man. Again, the conjunction of heaven with those who are at a distance by means of the Word may be compared to light radiating from a center all around. The Divine light is in the Word, and there the Lord with heaven is present, and from that presence those at a distance are in light; but it would be otherwise if there were no Word. This may be more clearly seen from what has been shown above respecting the form of heaven in accordance with which all who are in heaven have affiliation and communication. But while this arcanum may be comprehended by those who are in spiritual light, it cannot be comprehended by those who are only in natural light; for innumerable things are clearly seen by those who are in spiritual light that are not seen or are seen obscurely as a single thing by those who are only in natural light. {Footnote 1} The church specifically is where the Word is and where the Lord is known by means of it, thus where Divine truths from heaven are revealed (n. 3857, 10761). The Lord's church is with all in the whole globe who live in good in accordance with the principles of their religion (n. 3263, 6637, 10765). All wherever they are who live in good in accordance with the principles of their religion and who acknowledge the Divine are accepted of the Lord (n. 2589-2604, 2861, 2863, 3263, 4190, 4197, 6700, 9256). And besides these all children wheresoever they are born (n. 2289-2309, 4792). 309. Unless such a Word had been given on this earth the man of this earth would have been separated from heaven; and if separated from heaven he would have ceased to be rational, for the human rational exists by an influx of the light of heaven. Again, the man of this earth is such that he is not capable of receiving direct revelation and of being taught about Divine truths by such revelation, as the inhabitants of other earths are, that have been especially described in another small work. For the man of this earth is more in worldly things, that is, in externals, than the men of other earths, and it is internal things that are receptive of revelation; if it were received in external things the truth would not be understood. That such is the man of this earth is clearly evident from the state of those who are within the church, which is such that while they know from the Word about heaven, about hell, about the life after death, still in heart they deny these things; although among them there are some who have acquired a pre-eminent reputation for learning, and who might for that reason be supposed to be wiser than others. 310. I have at times talked with angels about the Word, saying that it is despised by some on account of its simple style; and that nothing whatever is known about its internal sense, and for this reason it is not believed that so much wisdom lies hid in it. The angels said that although the style of the Word seems simple in the sense of the letter, it is such that nothing can ever be compared to it in excellence, since Divine wisdom lies concealed not only in the meaning as a whole but also in each word; and that in heaven this wisdom shines forth. They wished to declare that this wisdom is the light of heaven, because it is Divine truth, for that which shines in heaven is the Divine truth (see n. 132). Again, they said that without such a Word there would be no light of heaven with the men of our earth, nor would there be any conjunction of heaven with them; for there is conjunction only so far as the light of heaven is present with man, and that light is present only so far as Divine truth is revealed to man by means of the Word. This conjunction by means of the correspondence of the spiritual sense of the Word with its natural sense is unknown to man, because the man of this earth knows nothing about the spiritual thought and speech of angels, and how it differs from the natural thought and speech of men; and until this is known it cannot in the least be known what the internal sense is, and that such conjunction is therefore possible by means of that sense. They said, furthermore, that if this sense were known to man, and if man in reading the Word were to think in accordance with some knowledge of it, he would come into interior wisdom, and would be still more conjoined with heaven, since by this means he would enter into ideas like the ideas of the angels. 311. XXXV. HEAVEN AND HELL ARE FROM THE HUMAN RACE. In the Christian world it is wholly unknown that heaven and hell are from the human race, for it is believed that in the beginning angels were created and heaven was thus formed; also that the devil or Satan was an angel of light, but having rebelled he was cast down with his crew, and thus hell was formed. The angels never cease to wonder at such a belief in the Christian world, and still more that nothing is really known about heaven, when in fact that is the primary principle of all doctrine in the church. But since such ignorance prevails they rejoice in heart that it has pleased the Lord to reveal to mankind at this time many things about heaven and about hell, thereby dispelling as far as possible the darkness that has been daily increasing because the church has come to its end. [2] They wish for this reason that I should declare from their lips that in the entire heaven there is not a single angel who was created such from the beginning, nor in hell any devil who was created an angel of light and cast down; but that all, both in heaven and in hell, are from the human race; in heaven those who lived in the world in heavenly love and belief, in hell those who lived in infernal love and belief, also that it is hell taken as a whole that is called the Devil and Satan-the name Devil being given to the hell that is behind, where those are that are called evil genii, and the name Satan being given to the hell that is in front, where those are that are called evil spirits.{1} The character of these hells will be described in the following pages. [3] The angels said that the Christian world had gathered such a belief about those in heaven and those in hell from some passages in the Word understood according to the mere sense of the letter not illustrated and explained by genuine doctrine from the Word; although the sense of the letter of the Word until illuminated by genuine doctrine, draws the mind in different directions, and this begets ignorance, heresies, and errors.{2} {Footnote 1} The hells taken together, or the infernals taken together, are called the Devil and Satan (n. 694). Those that have been devils in the world become devils after death (n. 968). {Footnote 2} The doctrine of the church must be derived from the Word (n. 3464, 5402, 6822, 6832, 10763, 10765). Without doctrine the Word is not understood (n. 9025, 9409, 9424, 9430, 10324, 10431, 10582). True doctrine is a lamp to those who read the Word (n. 10400). Genuine doctrine must be from those who are enlightened by the Lord (n. 2510, 2516, 2519, 9424, 10105). Those who are in the sense of the letter without doctrine come into no understanding of Divine truths (n. 9409, 9410, 10582). And they are led away into many errors (n. 10431). The difference between those who teach and learn from the doctrine of the church derived from the Word and those who teach and learn from the sense of the letter alone (n. 9025). 312. The man of the church also derives this belief from his believing that no man comes into heaven or into hell until the time of the final judgment; and about that he has accepted the opinion that all visible things will perish at that time and new things will come into existence, and that the soul will then return into its body, and from that union man will again live as a man. This belief involves the other-that angels were created such from the beginning; for it is impossible to believe that heaven and hell are from the human race when it is believed that no man can go there until the end of the world. [2] But that men might be convinced that this is not true it has been granted me to be in company with angels, and also to talk with those who are in hell, and this now for some years, sometimes continuously from morning until evening, and thus be informed about heaven and hell. This has been permitted that the man of the church may no longer continue in his erroneous belief about the resurrection at the time of judgment, and about the state of the soul in the meanwhile, also about angels and the devil. As this belief is a belief in what is false it involves the mind in darkness, and with those who think about these things from their own intelligence it induces doubt and at length denial, for they say in heart, "How can so vast a heaven, with so many constellations and with the sun and moon, be destroyed and dissipated; and how can the stars which are larger than the earth fall from heaven to the earth; and can bodies eaten up by worms, consumed by corruption, and scattered to all the winds, be gathered together again to their souls; and where in the meantime is the soul, and what is it when deprived of the senses it had in the body?" [3] With many other like things, which being incomprehensible cannot be believed, and which destroy the belief of many in the life of the soul after death, and their belief in heaven and hell, and with these other matters pertaining to the faith of the church. That this belief has been destroyed is evident from its being said, "Who has ever come to us from heaven and told us that there is a heaven? What is hell? is there any? What is this about man's being tormented with fire to eternity? What is the day of judgment? has it not been expected in vain for ages?" with other things that involve a denial of everything. [4] Therefore lest those who think in this way-as many do who from their worldly wisdom are regarded as erudite and learned-should any longer confound and mislead the simple in faith and heart, and induce infernal darkness respecting God and heaven and eternal life, and all else that depends on these, the interiors of my spirit have been opened by the Lord, and I have thus been permitted to talk with all after their decease with whom I was ever acquainted in the life of the body-with some for days, with some for months, and with some for a year, and also with so many others that I should not exaggerate if I should say a hundred thousand; many of whom were in heaven, and many in hell. I have also talked with some two days after their decease, and have told them that their funeral services and obsequies were then being held in preparation for their interment; to which they replied that it was well to cast aside that which had served them as a body and for bodily functions in the world; and they wished me to say that they were not dead, but were living as men the same as before, and had merely migrated from one world into the other, and were not aware of having lost anything, since they had a body and its senses just as before, also understanding and will just as before, with thoughts and affections, sensations and desires, like those they had in the world. [5] Most of those who had recently died, when they saw themselves to be living men as before, and in a like state (for after death everyone's state of life is at first such as it was in the world, but there is a gradual change in it either into heaven or into hell), were moved by new joy at being alive, saying that they had not believed that it would be so. But they greatly wondered that they should have lived in such ignorance and blindness about the state of their life after death; and especially that the man of the church should be in such ignorance and blindness, when above all others in the whole world he might be clearly enlightened in regard to these things.{1} Then they began to see the cause of that blindness and ignorance, which is, that external things which are things, relating to the world and the body, had so occupied and filled their minds that they could not be raised into the light of heaven and look into the things of the church beyond its doctrinals; for when matters relating to the body and the world are loved, as they are at the present day, nothing but darkness flows into the mind when men go beyond those doctrines. {Footnote 1} There are few in Christendom at this day who believe that man rises again immediately after death (preface to Genesis, chap. 16 and n. 4622, 10758); but it is believed that he will rise again at the time of the final judgment, when the visible world will perish (n. 10595). The reason of this belief (n. 10595, 10758). Nevertheless man does rise again immediately after death, and then he is a man in all respects, and in every least respect (n. 4527, 5006, 5078, 8939, 8991, 10594, 10758). The soul that lives after death is the spirit of man, which in man is the man himself, and in the other life is in a complete human form (n. 322, 1880, 1881, 3633, 4622, 4735, 5883, 6054, 6605, 6626, 7021, 10594); from experience (n. 4527, 5006, 8939); from the Word (n. 10597). What is meant by the dead seen in the holy city (Matt. 27:53) explained (n. 9229). In what manner man is raised from the dead, from experience (n. 168-189). His state after his resurrection (n. 317-319, 2119, 5079, 10596). False opinions about the soul and its resurrection (n. 444, 445, 4527, 4622, 4658). 313. Very many of the learned from the Christian world are astonished when they find themselves after death in a body, in garments, and in houses, as in the world. And when they recall what they had thought about the life after death, the soul, spirits, and heaven and hell, they are ashamed and confess that they thought foolishly, and that the simple in faith thought much more wisely than they. When the minds of learned men who had confirmed themselves in such ideas and had ascribed all things to nature were examined, it was found that their interiors were wholly closed up and their exteriors were opened, that they looked towards the world and thus towards hell and not towards heaven. For to the extent that man's interiors are opened he looks towards heaven, but to the extent that his interiors are closed and his exteriors opened he looks towards hell, because the interiors of man are formed for the reception of all things of heaven, but the exteriors for the reception of all things of the world; and those who receive the world, and not heaven also, receive hell.{1} {Footnote 1} In man the spiritual world and the natural world are conjoined (n. 6057). The internal of man is formed after the image of heaven, but the external after the image of the world (n. 3628, 4523, 4524, 6013, 6057, 9706, 10156, 10472). 314. That heaven is from the human race can be seen also from the fact that angelic minds and human minds are alike, both enjoying the ability to understand, perceive and will, and both formed to receive heaven; for the human mind is just as capable of becoming wise as the angelic mind; and if it does not attain to such wisdom in the world it is because it is in an earthly body, and in that body its spiritual mind thinks naturally. But it is otherwise when the mind is loosed from the bonds of that body; then it no longer thinks naturally, but spiritually, and when it thinks spiritually its thoughts are incomprehensible and ineffable to the natural man; thus it becomes wise like an angel, all of which shows that the internal part of man, called his spirit, is in its essence an angel (see above, n. 57);{1} and when loosed from the earthly body is, equally with the angel, in the human form. (That an angel is in a complete human form may be seen above, n. 73-77.) When, however, the internal of man is not open above but only beneath, it is still, after it has been loosed from the body, in a human form, but a horrible and diabolical form, for it is able only to look downwards towards hell, and not upwards towards heaven. {Footnote 1} There are as many degrees of life in man as there are heavens, and they are opened after death in accordance with his life (n. 3747, 9594). Heaven is in man (n. 3884). Men who are living a life of love and charity have in them angelic wisdom, although it is for the time hidden, but they come into that wisdom after death (n. 2494). The man who receives from the Lord the good of love and of faith is called in the Word an angel (n. 10528). 315. Moreover, any one who has been taught about Divine order can understand that man was created to become an angel, because the outmost of order is in him (n. 304), in which what pertains to heavenly and angelic wisdom can be brought into form and can be renewed and multiplied. Divine order never stops midway to form there a something apart from an outmost, for it is not in its fullness and completion there; but it goes on to the outmost; and when it is in its outmost it takes on its form, and by means there collected it renews itself and produces itself further, which is accomplished through procreations. Therefore the seed-ground of heaven is in the outmost. 316. The Lord rose again not as to His spirit alone but also as to His body, because when He was in the world He glorified His whole Human, that is, made it Divine; for His soul which He had from the Father was of Itself the very Divine, while His body became a likeness of the soul, that is, of the Father, thus also Divine. This is why He, differently from any man, rose again as to both;{1} and this He made manifest to the disciples (who when they saw Him believed that they saw a spirit), by saying: See My hands and My feet, that it is I Myself; handle Me and see, for a spirit hath not flesh and bones as ye behold Me having (Luke 24:36-39); indicating thereby that He was a man both in respect to His spirit and in respect to His body. {Footnote 1} Man rises again only as to his spirit (n. 10593, 10594). The Lord alone rose again in respect also to His body (n. 1729, 2083, 5078, 10825). 317. That it might be made clear that man lives after death and enters in accordance with his life in the world either into heaven or into hell, many things have been disclosed to me about the state of man after death, which will be presented in due order in the following pages, where the world of spirits is treated of. 318. XXXVI. THE HEATHEN, OR PEOPLES OUTSIDE OF THE CHURCH, IN HEAVEN. There is a general opinion that those born outside of the church, who are called the nations, or heathen, cannot be saved, because not having the Word they know nothing about the Lord, and apart from the Lord there is no salvation. But that these also are saved this alone makes certain, that the mercy of the Lord is universal, that is, extends to every individual; that these equally with those within the church, who are few in comparison, are born men, and that their ignorance of the Lord is not their fault. Any one who thinks from any enlightened reason can see that no man is born for hell, for the Lord is love itself and His love is to will the salvation of all. Therefore He has provided a religion for everyone, and by it acknowledgment of the Divine and interior life; for to live in accordance with one's religion is to live interiorly, since one then looks to the Divine, and so far as he looks to the Divine he does not look to the world but separates himself from the world, that is, from the life of the world, which is exterior life.{1} {Footnote 1} The heathen equally with the Christians are saved (n. 932, 1032, 1059, 2284, 2589, 2590, 3778, 4190, 4197). The lot of the nations and peoples outside of the church in the other life (n. 2589-2604). The church is specifically where the Word is, and by it the Lord is known (n. 3857, 10761). Nevertheless, those born where the Word is and where the Lord is known are not on that account of the church, but only those who live a life of charity and of faith (n. 6637, 10143, 10153, 10578, 10645, 10829). The Lord's church is with all in the whole world who live in good in accordance with their religion and acknowledge a Divine, and such are accepted of the Lord and come into heaven (n. 2589-2604, 2861, 2863, 3263, 4190, 4197, 6700, 9256). 319. That the heathen equally with Christians are saved any one can see who knows what it is that makes heaven in man; for heaven is within man, and those that have heaven within them come into heaven. Heaven with man is acknowledging the Divine and being led by the Divine. The first and chief thing of every religion is to acknowledge the Divine. A religion that does not acknowledge the Divine is no religion. The precepts of every religion look to worship; thus to the way in which the Divine is to be worshiped that the worship may be acceptable to Him; and when this has been settled in one's mind, that is, so far as one wills this or so far as he loves it, he is led by the Lord. Everyone knows that the heathen as well as Christians live a moral life, and many of them a better life than Christians. Moral life may be lived either out of regard to the Divine or out of regard to men in the world; and a moral life that is lived out of regard to the Divine is a spiritual life. In outward form the two appear alike, but in inward form they are wholly different; the one saves man, the other does not. For he who lives a moral life out of regard to the Divine is led by the Divine; while he who leads a moral life out of regard to men in the world is led by himself. [2] But this may be illustrated by an example. He that refrains from doing evil to his neighbor because it is antagonistic to religion, that is, antagonistic to the Divine, refrains from doing evil from a spiritual motive; but he that refrains from doing evil to another merely from fear of the law, or the loss of reputation, of honor, or gain, that is, from regard to self and the world, refrains from doing evil from a natural motive, and is led by himself. The life of the latter is natural, that of the former is spiritual. A man whose moral life is spiritual has heaven within him; but he whose moral life is merely natural does not have heaven within him; and for the reason that heaven flows in from above and opens man's interiors, and through his interiors flows into his exteriors; while the world flows in from beneath and opens the exteriors but not the interiors. For there can be no flowing in from the natural world into the spiritual, but only from the spiritual world into the natural; therefore if heaven is not also received, the interiors remain closed. All this makes clear who those are that receive heaven within them, and who do not. [3] And yet heaven is not the same in one as in another. It differs in each one in accordance with his affection for good and its truth. Those that are in an affection for good out of regard to the Divine, love Divine truth, since good and truth love each other and desire to be conjoined.{1} This explains why the heathen, although they are not in genuine truths in the world, yet because of their love receive truths in the other life. {Footnote 1} Between good and truth there is a kind of marriage (n. 1904, 2173, 2508). Good and truth are in a perpetual endeavor to be conjoined, and good longs for truth and for conjunction with it (n. 9206, 9207, 9495). How the conjunction of good and truth takes place, and in whom (n. 3834, 3843, 4096, 4097, 4301, 4345, 4353, 4364, 4368, 5365, 7623-7627, 9258). 320. A certain spirit from among the heathen who had lived in the world in good of charity in accordance with his religion, hearing Christian spirits reasoning about what must be believed, (for spirits reason with each other far more thoroughly and acutely than men, especially about what is good and true,) wondered at such contentions, and said that he did not care to listen to them, for they reasoned from appearances and fallacies; and he gave them this instruction: "If I am good I can know from the good itself what is true; and what I do not know I can receive." 321. I have been taught in many ways that the heathen who have led a moral life and have lived in obedience and subordination and mutual charity in accordance with their religion, and have thus received something of conscience, are accepted in the other life, and are there instructed with solicitous care by the angels in the goods and truths of faith; and that when they are being taught they behave themselves modestly, intelligently, and wisely, and readily accept truths and adopt them. They have not worked out for themselves any principles of falsity antagonistic to the truths of faith that will need to be shaken off, still less cavils against the Lord, as many Christians have who cherish no other idea of Him than that He is an ordinary man. The heathen on the contrary when they hear that God has become a Man, and has thus manifested Himself in the world, immediately acknowledge it and worship the Lord, saying that because God is the God of heaven and of earth, and because the human race is His, He has fully disclosed Himself to men.{1} It is a Divine truth that apart from the Lord there is no salvation; but this is to be understood to mean that there is no salvation except from the Lord. There are many earths in the universe, and all of them full of inhabitants, scarcely any of whom know that the Lord took on the Human on our earth. Yet because they worship the Divine under a human form they are accepted and led by the Lord. On this subject more may be seen in the little work on The Earths in the Universe. {Footnote 1} Difference between the good in which the heathen are and that in which Christians are (n. 4189, 4197). Truths with the heathen (n. 3263, 3778, 4190). The interiors cannot be so closed up with the heathen as with Christians (n. 9256). Neither can so thick a cloud exist with the heathen who live in mutual charity in accordance with their religion as with Christians who live in no charity; the reasons (n. 1059, 9256). The heathen cannot profane the holy things of the church as the Christians do, because they are ignorant of them (n. 1327, 1328, 2051). They have a fear of Christians on account of their lives (n. 2596, 2597). Those that have lived well in accordance with their religion are taught by angels and readily accept the truths of faith and acknowledge the Lord (n. 2049, 2595, 2598, 2600, 2601, 2603, 2861, 2863, 3263). 322. Among the heathen, as among Christians, there are both wise and simple. That I might learn about them I have been permitted to speak with both, sometimes for hours and days. But there are no such wise men now as in ancient times, especially in the Ancient Church, which extended over a large part of the Asiatic world, and from which religion spread to many nations. That I might wholly know about them I have been permitted to have familiar conversation with some of these wise men. There was with me one who was among the wiser of his time, and consequently well known in the learned world, with whom I talked on various subjects, and had reason to believe that it was Cicero. Knowing that he was a wise man I talked with him about wisdom, intelligence, order, and the Word, and lastly about the Lord. [2] Of wisdom he said that there is no other wisdom than the wisdom of life, and that wisdom can be predicated of nothing else; of intelligence that it is from wisdom; of order, that it is from the Supreme God, and that to live in that order is to be wise and intelligent. As to the Word, when I read to him something from the prophets he was greatly delighted, especially with this, that every name and every word signified interior things; and he wondered greatly that learned men at this day are not delighted with such study. I saw plainly that the interiors of his thought or mind had been opened. He said that he was unable to hear more, as he perceived something more holy than he could bear, being affected so interiorly. [3] At length I spoke with him about the Lord, saying that while He was born a man He was conceived of God, and that He put off the maternal human and put on the Divine Human, and that it is He that governs the universe. To this he replied that he knew some things concerning the Lord, and perceived in his way that if mankind were to be saved it could not have been done otherwise. In the meantime some bad Christians infused various cavils; but to these he gave no attention, remarking that this was not strange, since in the life of the body they had imbibed unbecoming ideas on the subject, and until they got rid of these they could not admit ideas that confirmed the truth, as the ignorant can. 323. It has also been granted me to talk with others who lived in ancient times, and who were then among the more wise. At first they appeared in front at a distance, and were able then to perceive the interiors of my thoughts, thus many things fully. From one idea of thought they were able to discern the entire series and fill it with delightful things of wisdom combined with charming representations. From this they were perceived to be among the more wise, and I was told that they were some of the ancient people; and when they came nearer I read to them something from the Word, and they were delighted beyond measure. I perceived the essence of their delight and gratification, which arose chiefly from this, that all things and each thing they heard from the Word were representative and significative of heavenly and spiritual things. They said that in their time, when they lived in the world, their mode of thinking and speaking and also of writing was of this nature, and that this was their pursuit of wisdom. 324. But as regards the heathen of the present day, they are not so wise, but most of them are simple in heart. Nevertheless, those of them that have lived in mutual charity receive wisdom in the other life, and of these one or two examples may be cited. When I read the seventeenth and eighteenth chapters of Judges (about Micah, and how the sons of Dan carried away his graven image and teraphim and Levite) a heathen spirit was present who in the life of the body had worshiped a graven image. He listened attentively to the account of what was done to Micah, and his grief on account of his graven image which the Danites took away, and such grief came upon him and moved him that he scarcely knew, by reason of inward distress, what to think. Not only was this grief perceived, but also the innocence that was in all his affections. The Christian spirits that were present watched him and wondered that a worshiper of a graven image should have so great a feeling of sympathy and innocence stirred in him. Afterwards some good spirits talked with him, saying that graven images should not be worshiped, and that being a man he was capable of understanding this; that he ought, apart from a graven image, to think of God the Creator and Ruler of the whole heaven and the whole earth, and that God is the Lord. When this was said I was permitted to perceive the interior nature of his adoration, which was communicated to me; and it was much more holy than is the case of Christians, This makes clear that at the present day the heathen come into heaven with less difficulty than Christians, according to the Lord's words in Luke: Then shall they come from the east and the west, and from the north and the south, and shall recline in the kingdom of God. And behold, there are last who shall be first, and there are first who shall be last (13:29, 30). For in the state in which that spirit was he could be imbued with all things of faith and receive them with interior affection; there was in him the mercy of love, and in his ignorance there was innocence; and when these are present all things of faith are received as it were spontaneously and with joy. He was afterwards received among angels. 325. A choir at a distance was heard one morning, and from the choir's representations I was permitted to know that they were Chinese, for they exhibited a kind of woolly goat, then a cake of millet, and an ebony spoon, also the idea of a floating city. They desired to come nearer to me, and when they had joined me they said that they wished to be alone with me, that they might disclose their thoughts. But they were told that they were not alone, and that some were displeased at their wishing to be alone, although they were guests. When they perceived this displeasure they began to think whether they had transgressed against the neighbor, and whether they had claimed any thing to themselves that belonged to others. All thought in the other life being communicated I was permitted to perceive the agitation of their minds. It consisted of a recognition that possibly they had injured those who were displeased, of shame on that account, together with other worthy affections; and it was thus known that they were endowed with charity. Soon after I spoke with them, and at last about the Lord. When I called Him "Christ" I perceived a certain repugnance in them; but the reason was disclosed, namely, that they had brought this from the world, from their having learned that Christians lived worse lives than they did, and were destitute of charity. But when I called Him simply "Lord" they were interiorly moved. Afterwards, they were taught by the angels that the Christian doctrine beyond every other in the world prescribes love and charity, but that there are few who live in accordance with it. There are heathen who have come to know while they lived in the world, both from interaction and report, that Christians lead bad lives, are addicted to adultery, hatred, quarreling, drunkenness, and the like, which they themselves abhor because such things are contrary to their religion. These in the other life are more timid than others about accepting the truths of faith; but they are taught by the angels that the Christian doctrine, as well as the faith itself, teaches a very different life, but that the lives of Christians are less in accord with their doctrine than the lives of heathen. When they recognize this they receive the truths of faith, and adore the Lord, but less readily than others. 326. It is a common thing for heathen that have worshiped any god under an image or statue, or any graven thing to be introduced, when they come into the other life, to certain spirits in place of their gods or idols, in order that they may rid themselves of their fantasies. When they have been with these for some days, the fantasies are put away. Also those that have worshiped men are sometimes introduced to the men they have worshiped, or to others in their place--as many of the Jews to Abraham, Jacob, Moses, and David-but when they come to see that they are human the same as others, and that they can give them no help, they become ashamed, and are carried to their own places in accordance with their lives. Among the heathen in heaven the Africans are most beloved, for they receive the goods and truths of heaven more readily than others. They especially wish to be called obedient, but not faithful. They say that as Christians possess the doctrine of faith they may be called faithful; but not they unless they accept that doctrine, or as they say, have the ability to accept it. 327. I have talked with some who were in the Ancient Church. That is called the Ancient Church that was established after the deluge, and extended through many kingdoms, namely, Assyria, Mesopotamia, Syria, Ethiopia, Arabia, Libya, Egypt, Philistia as far as Tyre and Zidon, and through the land of Canaan on both sides of the Jordan.{1} The men of this church knew about the Lord that He was to come, and were imbued with the goods of faith, and yet they fell away and became idolaters. These spirits were in front towards the left, in a dark place and in a miserable state. Their speech was like the sound of a pipe of one tone, almost without rational thought. They said they had been there for many centuries, and that they are sometimes taken out that they may serve others for certain uses of a low order. From this I was led to think about many Christians--who are inwardly though not outwardly idolaters, since they are worshipers of self and of the world, and in heart deny the Lord-what lot awaits such in the other life. {Footnote 1} The first and Most Ancient Church on this earth was that which is described in the first chapters of Genesis, and that church above all others was celestial (n. 607, 895, 920, 1121-1124, 2896, 4493, 8891, 9942, 10545). What the celestial are in heaven (n. 1114-1125). There were various churches after the flood which are called ancient churches (n. 1125-1127, 1327, 10355). What the men of the Ancient Church were (n. 609, 895). The ancient churches were representative churches (n. 519, 521, 2896). In the Ancient Church there was a Word, but it has been lost (n. 2897). The character of the Ancient Church when it began to decline (n. 1128). The difference between the Most Ancient Church and the Ancient Church (n. 597, 607, 640, 641, 765, 784, 895, 4493). The statutes, the judgments, and the laws, which were commanded in the Jewish Church, were in part like those in the Ancient Church (n. 4288, 4449, 10149). The God of the Most Ancient Church and of the Ancient Church was the Lord, and He was called Jehovah (n. 1343, 6846). 328. That the church of the Lord is spread over all the globe, and is thus universal; and that all those are in it who have lived in the good of charity in accordance with their religion; and that the church, where the Word is and by means of it the Lord is known, is in relation to those who are out of the church like the heart and lungs in man, from which all the viscera and members of the body have their life, variously according to their forms, positions, and conjunctions, may be seen above (n. 308). 329. XXXVII. LITTLE CHILDREN IN HEAVEN. It is a belief of some that only such children as are born within the church go to heaven, and that those born out of the church do not, and for the reason that the children within the church are baptized and by baptism are initiated into faith of the church. Such are not aware that no one receives heaven or faith through baptism; for baptism is merely for a sign and memorial that man should be regenerated, and that those born within the church can be regenerated because the Word is there, and in the Word are the Divine truths by means of which regeneration is effected, and there the Lord who regenerates is known.{1} Let them know therefore that every child, wherever he is born, whether within the church or outside of it, whether of pious parents or impious, is received when he dies by the Lord and trained up in heaven, and taught in accordance with Divine order, and imbued with affections for what is good, and through these with knowledges of what is true; and afterwards as he is perfected in intelligence and wisdom is introduced into heaven and becomes an angel. Everyone who thinks from reason can be sure that all are born for heaven and no one for hell, and if man comes into hell he himself is culpable; but little children cannot be held culpable. {Footnote 1} Baptism signifies regeneration by the Lord by means of the truths of faith from the Word (n. 4255, 5120, 9088, 10239, 10386-10388, 10392). Baptism is a sign that the man baptized is of the church in which the Lord, who regenerates, is acknowledged, and where the Word is from which are the truths of faith, by means of which regeneration is effected (n. 10386-10388). Baptism confers neither faith nor salvation, but it is a witness that those who are being regenerated will receive faith and salvation (n. 10391). 330. When children die they are still children in the other life, having a like infantile mind, a like innocence in ignorance, and a like tenderness in all things. They are merely in the rudiments of a capacity to become angels, for children are not angels but become angels. For everyone passing out of this world enters the other in the same state of life, a little child in the state of a little child, a boy in the state of a boy, a youth, a man, an old man, in the state of a youth, a man, or an old man; but subsequently each one's state is changed. The state of little children surpasses the state of all others in that they are in innocence, and evil has not yet been rooted in them by actual life; and in innocence all things of heaven can be implanted, for it is a receptacle of the truth of faith and of the good of love. 331. The state of children in the other life far surpasses their state in the world, for they are not clothed with an earthly body, but with such a body as the angels have. The earthly body is in itself gross, and receives its first sensations and first motions not from the inner or spiritual world, but from the outer or natural world; and in consequence in this world children must be taught to walk, to guide their motions, and to speak; and even their senses, as seeing and hearing, must be opened by use. It is not so with children in the other life. As they are spirits they act at once in accordance with their interiors, walking without practice, and also talking, but at first from general affections not yet distinguished into ideas of thought; but they are quickly initiated into these also, for the reason that their exteriors are homogeneous with their interiors. The speech of angels (as may be seen above, n, 234-245) so flows forth from affection modified by ideas of thought that their speech completely conforms to their thoughts from affection. 332. As soon as little children are resuscitated, which takes place immediately after death, they are taken into heaven and confided to angel women who in the life of the body tenderly loved little children and at the same time loved God. Because these during their life in the world loved all children with a kind of motherly tenderness, they receive them as their own; while the children, from an implanted instinct, love them as their own mothers. There are as many children in each one's care as she desires from a spiritual parental affection. This heaven appears in front before the forehead, directly in the line or radius in which the angels look to the Lord. It is so situated because all little children are under the immediate auspices of the Lord; and the heaven of innocence, which is the third heaven, flows into them. 333. Little children have various dispositions, some that of the spiritual angels and some that of the celestial angels. Those who are of a celestial disposition are seen in that heaven to the right, and those of a spiritual disposition to the left. All children in the Greatest Man, which is heaven, are in the province of the eyes-those of a spiritual disposition in the province of the left eye, and those of a celestial disposition in the province of the right eye. This is because the angels who are in the spiritual kingdom see the Lord before the left eye, and those who are in the celestial kingdom before the right eye (see above, n. 118). This fact that in the Greatest Man or heaven children are in the province of the eyes is a proof that they are under the immediate sight and auspices of the Lord. 334. How children are taught in heaven shall also be briefly told. From their nurses they learn to talk. Their earliest speech is simply a sound of affection; this by degrees becomes more distinct as ideas of thought enter; for ideas of thought from affections constitute all angelic speech (as may be seen in its own chapter, n. 234-245). Into their affections, all of which proceed from innocence, such things as appear before their eyes and cause delight are first instilled; and as these things are from a spiritual origin the things of heaven at once flow into them, and by means of these heavenly things their interiors are opened, and they are thereby daily perfected. But when this first age is completed they are transferred to another heaven, where they are taught by masters; and so on. 335. Children are taught chiefly by representatives suited to their capacity. These are beautiful and full of wisdom from within, beyond all belief. In this way an intelligence that derives its soul from good is gradually instilled into them. I will here describe two representatives that I have been permitted to see, from which the nature of others may be inferred. First there was a representation of the Lord's rising from the sepulchre, and at the same time of the uniting of His Human with the Divine. This was done in a manner so wise as to surpass all human wisdom, and at the same time in an innocent infantile manner. An idea of a sepulchre was presented, and with it an idea of the Lord, but in so remote a way that there was scarcely any perception of its being the Lord, except seemingly afar off; and for the reason that in the idea of a sepulchre there is something funereal, and this was thus removed, after wards they cautiously admitted into the sepulchre something atmospheric, with an appearance of thin vapor, by which with proper remoteness they signified spiritual life in baptism. Afterwards I saw a representation by the angels of the Lord's descent to those that are "bound," and of His ascent with these into heaven, and this with incomparable prudence and gentleness. In adaptation to the infantile mind they let down little cords almost invisible, very soft and tender, by which they lightened the Lord's ascent, always with a holy solicitude that there should be nothing in the representation bordering upon anything that did not contain what is spiritual and heavenly. Other representations are there given, whereby, as by plays adapted to the minds of children, they are guided into knowledges of truth and affections for good. 336. It was also shown how tender their understanding is. When I was praying the Lord's Prayer, and from their under standing they flowed into the ideas of my thought, their influx was perceived to be so tender and soft as to be almost solely a matter of affection; and at the same time it was observed that their understanding was open even from the Lord, for what flowed forth from them was as if it simply flowed through them. Moreover, the Lord flows into the ideas of little children chiefly from inmosts, for there is nothing, as with adults, to close up their ideas, no principles of falsity to close the way to the understanding of truth, nor any life of evil to close the way to the reception of good, and thereby to the reception of wisdom. All this makes clear that little children do not come at once after death into an angelic state, but are gradually brought into it by means of knowledges of good and truth, and in harmony with all heavenly order; for the least particulars of their nature are known to the Lord, and thus they are led, in accord with each and every movement of their inclination, to receive the truths of good and the goods of truth. 337. I have also been shown how all things are instilled into them by delightful and pleasant means suited to their genius. I have been permitted to see children most charmingly attired, having garlands of flowers resplendent with most beautiful and heavenly colors twined about their breasts and around their tender arms; and once to see them accompanied by those in charge of them and by maidens, in a park most beautifully adorned, not so much with trees, as with arbors and covered walks of laurel, with paths leading inward; and when the children entered attired as they were the flowers over the entrance shone forth most joyously. This indicates the nature of their delights, also how they are led by means of pleasant and delightful things into the goods of innocence and charity, which goods the Lord continually instilled into these delights and pleasures. 338. It was shown me, by a mode of communication common in the other life, what the ideas of children are when they see objects of any kind. Each and every object seemed to them to be alive; and thus in every least idea of their thought there is life. And it was perceived that children on the earth have nearly the same ideas when they are at their little plays; for as yet they have no such reflection as adults have about what is inanimate. 339. It has been said above that children are of a genius either celestial or spiritual. Those of a celestial genius are easily distinguished from those of a spiritual genius. Their thought, speech, and action, is so gentle that hardly anything appears except what flows from a love of good to the Lord and from a love for other children. But those of a spiritual genius are not so gentle; but in everything with them there appears a sort of vibration, as of wings. The difference is seen also in their ill-feeling and in other things. 340. Many may suppose that in heaven little children remain little children, and continue as such among the angels. Those who do not know what an angel is may have had this opinion confirmed by paintings and images in churches, in which angels are represented as children. But it is wholly otherwise. Intelligence and wisdom are what constitute an angel, and as long as children do not possess these they are not angels, although they are with the angels; but as soon as they become intelligent and wise they become angels; and what is wonderful, they do not then appear as children, but as adults, for they are no longer of an infantile genius, but of a more mature angelic genius. Intelligence and wisdom produce this effect. The reason why children appear more mature, thus as youths and young men, as they are perfected in intelligence and wisdom, is that intelligence and wisdom are essential spiritual nourishment;{1} and thus the things that nourish their minds also nourish their bodies, and this from correspondence; for the form of the body is simply the external form of the interiors. But it should be understood that in heaven children advance in age only to early manhood, and remain in this to eternity. That I might be assured that this is so I have been permitted to talk with some who had been educated as children in heaven, and had grown up there; with some also while they were children, and again with the same when they had become young men; and I have heard from them about the progress of their life from one age to another. {Footnote 1} Spiritual food is knowledge, intelligence, and wisdom, thus the good and truth from which these are (n. 3114, 4459, 4792, 5147, 5293, 5340, 5342, 5410, 5426, 5576, 5582, 5588, 5655, 8562, 9003). Therefore in a spiritual sense everything that comes forth from the mouth of the Lord is food (n. 681). Because bread means all food in general it signifies every good, celestial and spiritual (n. 276, 680, 2165, 2177, 3478, 6118, 8410). And for the reason that these nourish the mind, which belongs to the internal man (n. 4459, 5293, 5576, 6277, 8410). 341. That innocence is a receptacle of all things of heaven, and thus the innocence of children is a plane for all affections for good and truth, can be seen from what has been shown above (n. 276-283) in regard to the innocence of angels in heaven, namely, that innocence is a willingness to be led by the Lord and not by oneself; consequently so far as a man is in innocence he is separated from what is his own, and so far as one is separated from what is his own he is in what is the Lord's own. The Lord's own is what is called His righteousness and merit. But the innocence of children is not genuine innocence, because as yet it is without wisdom. Genuine innocence is wisdom, since so far as any one is wise he loves to be led by the Lord; or what is the same, so far as any one is led by the Lord he is wise. [2] Therefore children are led from the external innocence in which they are at the beginning, and which is called the innocence of childhood, to internal innocence, which is the innocence of wisdom. This innocence is the end that directs all their instruction and progress; and therefore when they have attained to the innocence of wisdom, the innocence of childhood, which in the meanwhile has served them as a plane, is joined to them. [3] The innocence of children has been represented to me as a wooden sort of thing, almost devoid of life, which becomes vivified as they are perfected by knowledges of truth and affections for good. Afterwards genuine innocence was represented by a most beautiful child, naked and full of life; for the really innocent, who are in the inmost heaven and thus nearest to the Lord, always appear before the eyes of other angels as little children, and some of them naked; for innocence is represented by nakedness unaccompanied by shame, as is said of the first man and his wife in Paradise (Gen. 2:25); so when their state of innocence perished they were ashamed of their nakedness, and hid themselves (chap. 3:7, 10, 11). In a word, the wiser the angels are the more innocent they are, and the more innocent they are the more they appear to themselves as little children. This is why in the Word "childhood" signifies innocence (see above, n. 278). 342. I have talked with angels about little children, whether they are free from evils, inasmuch as they have no actual evil as adults have; and I was told that they are equally in evil, and in fact are nothing but evil;{1} but, like all angels, they are so withheld from evil and held in good by the Lord as to seem to themselves to be in good from themselves. For this reason when children have become adults in heaven, that they may not have the false idea about themselves that the good in them is from themselves and not from the Lord, they are now and then let down into their evils which they inherited, and are left in them until they know, acknowledge and believe the truth of the matter. [2] There was one, the son of a king, who died in childhood and grew up in heaven, who held this opinion. Therefore he was let down into that life of evils into which he was born, and he then perceived from the sphere of his life that he had a disposition to domineer over others, and regarded adulteries as of no account; these evils he had inherited from his parents; but after he had been brought to recognize his real character he was again received among the angels with whom he had before been associated. [3] In the other life no one ever suffers punishment on account of his inherited evil, because it is not his evil, that is, it is not his fault that he is such; he suffers only on account of actual evil that is his, that is, only so far as he has appropriated to himself inherited evil by actual life. When, therefore, the children that have become adults are let down into the state of their inherited evil it is not that they may suffer punishment for it, but that they may learn that of themselves they are nothing but evil, and that it is by the mercy of the Lord that they are taken up into heaven from the hell in which they are, and that it is from the Lord that they are in heaven and not from any merit of their own; and therefore they may not boast before others of the good that is in them, since this is contrary to the good of mutual love, as it is contrary to the truth of faith. {Footnote 1} All kinds of men are born into evils of every kind, even to the extent that what is their own is nothing but evil (n. 210, 215, 731, 874-876, 987, 1047, 2307, 2308, 3518, 3701, 3812, 8480, 8550, 10283, 10284, 10286, 10731). Consequently man must needs be reborn, that is, regenerated (n. 3701). Man's inherited evil consists in his loving himself more than God, and the world more than heaven and in making his neighbor, in comparison with himself, of no account, except for the sake of self, that is, himself alone, thus it consists in the love of self and of the world (n. 694, 731, 4317, 5660). All evils are from the love of self and of the world, when those loves rule (n. 1307, 1308, 1321, 1594, 1691, 3413, 7255, 7376, 7488, 7490, 8318, 9335, 9348, 10038, 10742). These evils are contempt of others, enmity, hatred revenge, cruelty, deceit (n. 6667, 7370-7374, 9348, 10038, 10742). And from these evils comes all falsity (n. 1047, 10283, 10284, 10286). These loves, so far as the reins are given them, rush headlong; and the love of self aspires even to the throne of God (n. 7375, 8678). 343. Several times when a number of children that were in a purely infantile state have been with me in choirs, they were heard as a tender unarranged mass, that is, as not yet acting as one, as they do later when they have become more mature. To my surprise the spirits with me could not refrain from inducing them to talk. This desire is innate in spirits. But I noticed, each time, that the children resisted, unwilling to talk in this way. This refusal and resistance, which were accompanied by a kind of indignation, I have often perceived; and when an opportunity to talk was given them they would say nothing except that "It is not so." I have been taught that little children are so tempted in order that they may get accustomed to resisting, and may begin to resist falsity and evil, and also that they may learn not to think, speak, and act, from another, and in consequence may learn to permit themselves to be led by no one but the Lord. 344. From what has been said it can be seen what child education is in heaven, namely, that it is leading them by means of an understanding of truth and the wisdom of good into the angelic life, which is love to the Lord and mutual love, in which is innocence. But how different in many cases is the education of children on the earth can be seen from this example. I was in the street of a large city, and saw little boys fighting with each other; a crowd flocked around and looked on with much pleasure; and I was told that little boys are incited to such fights by their own parents. Good spirits and angels who saw this through my eyes so revolted at it that I felt their horror; and especially that parents should incite their children to such things, saying that in this way parents extinguish in the earliest age all the mutual love and all the innocence that children have from the Lord, and initiate them into the spirit of hatred and revenge; consequently by their own endeavors they shut their children out of heaven, where there is nothing but mutual love. Let parents therefore who wish well to their children beware of such things. 345. What the difference is between those who die in childhood and those who die in mature life shall also be told. Those dying in mature life have a plane acquired from the earthly and material world, and this they carry with them. This plane is their memory and its bodily natural affection. This remains fixed and becomes quiescent, but still serves their thought after death as an outmost plane, since the thought flows into it. Consequently such as this plane is, and such as the correspondence is between the things that are in it and the rational faculty, such is the man after death. But the children who die in childhood and are educated in heaven have no such plane, since they derive nothing from the material world and the earthly body; but they have a spiritual-natural plane. For this reason they cannot be in such gross affections and consequent thoughts, since they derive all things from heaven. Moreover, these children do not know that they were born in the world, but believe that they were born in heaven. Neither do they know about any other than spiritual birth, which is effected through knowledges of good and truth and through intelligence and wisdom, from which man is a man; and as these are from the Lord they believe themselves to be the Lord's own, and love to be so. Nevertheless it is possible for the state of men who grow up on the earth to become as perfect as the state of children who grow up in heaven, provided they put away bodily and earthly loves, which are the loves of self and the world, and receive in their place spiritual loves. 346. XXXVIII. THE WISE AND THE SIMPLE IN HEAVEN. It is believed that in heaven the wise will have more glory and eminence than the simple, because it is said in Daniel: They that are intelligent shall shine as with the brightness of the firmament, and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever (12:3). But few know who are meant by the "intelligent" and by those that "turn many to righteousness." The common belief is that they are such as are called the accomplished and learned, especially such as have taught in the church and have surpassed others in acquirements and in preaching, and still more such among them as have converted many to the faith. In the world all such are regarded as the intelligent; nevertheless such are not the intelligent in heaven that are spoken of in these words, unless their intelligence is heavenly intelligence. What this is will now be told. 347. Heavenly intelligence is interior intelligence, arising from a love for truth, not with any glory in the world nor any glory in heaven as an end, but with the truth itself as an end, by which they are inmostly affected and with which they are inmostly delighted. Those who are affected by and delighted with the truth itself are affected by and delighted with the light of heaven; and those who are affected by and delighted with the light of heaven are also affected by and delighted with Divine truth, and indeed with the Lord Himself; for the light of heaven is Divine truth, and Divine truth is the Lord in heaven (see above, n. 126-140). This light enters only into the interiors of the mind; for the interiors of the mind are formed for the reception of that light, and are affected by and delighted with that light as it enters; for whatever flows in and is received from heaven has in it what is delightful and pleasant. From this comes a genuine affection for truth, which is an affection for truth for truth's sake. Those who are in this affection, or what is the same thing, in this love, are in heavenly intelligence, and "shine in heaven as with the brightness of the firmament." They so shine because Divine truth, wherever it is in heaven, is what gives light (see above, n. 132); and the "firmament" of heaven signifies from correspondence the intellectual faculty, both with angels and men, that is in the light of heaven. [2] But those that love the truth, either with glory in the world or glory in heaven as an end, cannot shine in heaven, since they are delighted with and affected by the light of the world, and not with the very light of heaven; and the light of the world without the light of heaven is in heaven mere thick darkness.{1} For the glory of self is what rules, because it is the end in view; and when that glory is the end man puts himself in the first place, and such truths as can be made serviceable to his glory he looks upon simply as means to the end and as instruments of service. For he that loves Divine truths for the sake of his own glory regards himself and not the Lord in Divine truths, thereby turning the sight pertaining to his understanding and faith away from heaven to the world, and away from the Lord to himself. Such, therefore, are in the light of the world and not in the light of heaven. [3] In outward form or in the sight of men they appear just as intelligent and learned as those who are in the light of heaven, because they speak in a like manner; and sometimes to outward appearance they even appear wiser, because they are moved by love of self, and are skilled in counterfeiting heavenly affections; but in their inward form in which they appear before the angels they are wholly different. All this shows in some degree who those are that are meant by "the intelligent that will shine in heaven as with the brightness of the firmament." Who are meant by those that "turn many to righteousness," who will shine as the stars, shall now be told. {Footnote 1} The light of the world is for the external man, the light of heaven for the internal man (n. 3222-3224, 3337). The light of heaven flows into the natural light, and so far as the natural man receives the light of heaven he becomes wise (n. 4302, 4408). The things that are in the light of heaven can be seen in the light of heaven but not in the light of the world, which is called natural light (n. 9755). Therefore those who are solely in the light of the world do not perceive those things that are in the light of heaven (n. 3108). To the angels the light of the world is thick darkness (n. 1521, 1783, 1880). 348. By those who "turn many to righteousness" are meant those who are wise, and in heaven those are called wise who are in good, and those are in good that apply Divine truths at once to the life; for as soon as Divine truth comes to be of the life it becomes good, since it comes to be of will and love, and whatever is of will and love is called good; therefore such are called wise because wisdom is of the life. But those that do not commit Divine truths at once to the life, but first to the memory, from which they afterwards draw them and apply them to the life, are called the "intelligent." What and how great the difference is between the wise and the intelligent in the heavens can be seen in the chapter that treats of the two kingdoms of heaven, the celestial and the spiritual (n. 20-28), and in the chapter that treats of the three heavens (n. 29-40). Those who are in the Lord's celestial kingdom, and consequently in the third or inmost heaven, are called "the righteous" because they attribute all righteousness to the Lord and none to themselves. The Lord's righteousness in heaven is the good that is from the Lord.{1} Such, then, are here meant by those that "turn to righteousness;" and such are meant also in the Lord's words, The righteous shall shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of their Father (Matt. 13:43). Such "shine forth as the Sun" because they are in love to the Lord from the Lord, and that love is meant by the "sun" (see above, n. 116-125). The light of such is flame-colored; and the ideas of their thought are so tinged with what is flaming because they receive the good of love directly from the Lord as the sun in heaven. {Footnote 1} The merit and righteousness of the Lord is the good that rules in heaven (n. 9486, 9983). He that is "righteous" or "made righteous" is one to whom the merit and righteousness of the Lord is ascribed; and he is "unrighteous" who holds to his own righteousness and merit (n. 5069, 9263). The quality of those in the other life who claim righteousness to themselves (n. 942, 2027). In the Word "righteousness" is predicated of good and judgment of truth; therefore "doing righteousness and judgment" is doing good and truth (n. 2235, 9857). 349. All who have acquired intelligence and wisdom in the world are received in heaven and become angels, each in accordance with the quality and degree of his intelligence and wisdom. For whatever a man acquires in the world abides, and he takes it with him after death; and it is further increased and filled out, but within and not beyond the degree of his affection and desire for truth and its good, those with but little affection and desire receiving but little, and yet as much as they are capable of receiving within that degree; while those with much affection and desire receive much. The degree itself of affection and desire is like a measure that is filled to the full, he that has a large measure receiving more, and he that has a small measure receiving less. This is so because man's love, to which affection and desire belong, receives all that accords with itself; consequently reception is measured by the love. This is what is meant by the Lord's words, To him that hath it shall be given, that he may have more abundantly (Matt. 13:12; 25:29). Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over, shall be given into your bosom (Luke 6:38). 350. All are received into heaven who have loved truth and good for the sake of truth and good; therefore those that have loved much are called the wise, and those that have loved little are called the simple. The wise in heaven are in much light, the simple in less light, everyone in accordance with the degree of his love for good and truth. To love truth and good for the sake of truth and good is to will and do them; for those love who will and do, while those who do not will and do do not love. Such also love the Lord and are loved by the Lord, because good and truth are from the Lord. And inasmuch as good and truth are from the Lord the Lord is in good and truth; and He is in those who receive good and truth in their life by willing and doing. Moreover, when man is viewed in himself he is nothing but his own good and truth, because good is of his will and truth of his understanding, and man is such as his will and understanding are. Evidently, then, man is loved by the Lord just to the extent that his will is formed from good and his understanding from truth. Also to be loved by the Lord is to love the Lord, since love is reciprocal; for upon him who is loved the Lord bestows ability to love. 351. It is believed in the world that those who have much knowledge, whether it be knowledge of the teachings of the church and the Word or of the sciences, have a more interior and keen vision of truth than others, that is, are more intelligent and wise; and such have this opinion of themselves. But what true intelligence and wisdom are, and what spurious and false intelligence and wisdom are, shall be told in what now follows. [2] True intelligence and wisdom is seeing and perceiving what is true and good, and thereby what is false and evil, and clearly distinguishing between them, and this from an interior intuition and perception. With every man there are interior faculties and exterior faculties; interior faculties belonging to the internal or spiritual man, and exterior faculties belonging to the exterior or natural man. Accordingly as man's interiors are formed and made one with his exteriors man sees and perceives. His interiors can be formed only in heaven, his exteriors are formed in the world. When his interiors have been formed in heaven the things they contain flow into his exteriors which are from the world, and so form them that they correspond with, that is, act as one with, his interiors; and when this is done man sees and perceives from what is interior. The interiors can be formed only in one way, namely, by man's looking to the Divine and to heaven, since, as has been said, the interiors are formed in heaven; and man looks to the Divine when he believes in the Divine, and believes that all truth and good and consequently all intelligence and wisdom are from the Divine; and man believes in the Divine when he is willing to be led by the Divine. In this way and none other are the interiors of man opened. [3] The man who is in that belief and in a life that is in accordance with his belief has the ability and capacity to understand and be wise; but to become intelligent and wise he must learn many things, both things pertaining to heaven and things pertaining to the world--things pertaining to heaven from the Word and from the church, and things pertaining to the world from the sciences. To the extent that man learns and applies to life he becomes intelligent and wise, for to that extent the interior sight belonging to his understanding and the interior affection belonging to his will are perfected. The simple of this class are those whose interiors have been opened, but not so enriched by spiritual, moral, civil and natural truths. Such perceive truths when they hear them, but do not see them in themselves. But the wise of this class are those whose interiors have been both opened and enriched. Such both see truths inwardly and perceive them. All this makes clear what true intelligence is and what true wisdom is. 352. Spurious intelligence and wisdom is failing to see and perceive from within what is true and what is good, and thereby what is false and what is evil, but merely believing that to be true and good and that to be false and evil which is said by others to be so, and then confirming it. Because such see truth from some one else, and not from the truth itself, they can seize upon and believe what is false as readily as what is true, and can confirm it until it appears true; for whatever is confirmed puts on the appearance of truth; and there is nothing that can not be confirmed. The interiors of such are opened only from beneath; but their exteriors are opened to the extent that they have confirmed themselves. For this reason the light from which they see is not the light of heaven but the light of the world, which is called natural light [lumen]; and in that light falsities can shine like truths; and when confirmed they can even appear resplendent, but not in the light of heaven. Of this class those are less intelligent and wise who have strongly confirmed themselves, and those are more intelligent and wise who have less strongly confirmed themselves. All this shows what spurious intelligence and wisdom are. [2] But those are not included in this class who in childhood supposed what they heard from their masters to be true, if in a riper age, when they think from their own understanding, they do not continue to hold fast to it, but long for truth, and from that longing seek for it, and when they find it are interiorly moved by it. Because such are moved by the truth for the truth's sake they see the truth before they confirm it.{1} [3] This may be illustrated by an example. There was a discussion among spirits why animals are born into all the knowledge suited to their nature, but man is not; and the reason was said to be that animals are in the order of their life, and man is not, consequently man must needs be led into order by means of what he learns of internal and external things. But if man were born into the order of his life, which is to love God above all things and his neighbor as himself, he would be born into intelligence and wisdom, and as knowledges are acquired would come into a belief in all truth. Good spirits saw this at once and perceived it to be true, and this merely from the light of truth; while the spirits who had confirmed themselves in faith alone, and had thereby set aside love and charity, were unable to understand it, because the light of falsity which they had confirmed had made obscure to them the light of truth. {Footnote 1} It is the part of the wise to see and perceive whether a thing is true before it is confirmed and not merely to confirm what is said by others (n. 1017, 4741, 7012, 7680, 7950). Only those can see and perceive whether a thing is true before it is confirmed who are affected by truth for the sake of truth and for the sake of life (n. 8521). The light of confirmation is not spiritual light but natural light, and is even sensual light which the wicked may have (n. 8780). All things, even falsities, may be so confirmed as to appear like truths (n. 2477, 2480, 5033, 6865, 8521). 353. False intelligence and wisdom is all intelligence and wisdom that is separated from the acknowledgment of the Divine; for all such as do not acknowledge the Divine, but acknowledge nature in the place of the Divine, think from the bodily-sensual, and are merely sensual, however highly they may be esteemed in the world for their accomplishments and learning.{1} For their learning does not ascend beyond such things as appear before their eyes in the world; these they hold in the memory and look at them in an almost material way, although the same knowledges serve the truly intelligent in forming their understanding. By sciences the various kinds of experimental knowledge are meant, such as physics, astronomy, chemistry, mechanics, geometry, anatomy, psychology, philosophy, the history of kingdoms and of the literary world, criticism, and languages. [2] The clergy who deny the Divine do not raise their thoughts above the sensual things of the external man; and regard the things of the Word in the same way as others regard the sciences, not making them matters of thought or of any intuition by an enlightened rational mind; and for the reason that their interiors are closed up, together with those exteriors that are nearest to their interiors. These are closed up because they have turned themselves away from heaven, and have retroverted those faculties that were capable of looking heavenward, which are, as has been said above, the interiors of the human mind. For this reason they are incapable of seeing anything true or good, this being to them in thick darkness, while whatever is false and evil is in light. [3] And yet sensual men can reason, some of them more cunningly and keenly than any one else; but they reason from the fallacies of the senses confirmed by their knowledges; and because they are able to reason in this way they believe themselves to be wiser than others.{2} The fire that kindles with affection their reasonings is the fire of the love of self and the world. Such are those who are in false intelligence and wisdom, and who are meant by the Lord in Matthew: Seeing they see not, and hearing they hear not, neither do they understand (13:13-15). And again: These things are hid from the intelligent and wise, and revealed unto babes (11:25, 26). {Footnote 1} The sensual is the outmost of man's life, clinging to and inhering in his bodily part (n. 5077, 5767, 9212, 9216, 9331, 9730). He is called a sensual man who forms all his judgments and conclusions from the bodily senses, and who believes nothing except what he sees with his eyes and touches with his hands (n. 5094, 7693). Such a man thinks in things outermost and not interiorly in himself (n. 5089, 5094, 6564, 7693). His interiors are so closed up that he sees nothing of Divine truth (n. 6564, 6844, 6845). In a word he is in gross natural light and thus perceives nothing that is from the light of heaven (n. 6201, 6310, 6564, 6598, 6612, 6614, 6622, 6624, 6844, 6845). Therefore he is inwardly opposed to all things pertaining to heaven and the church (n. 6201, 6310, 6844, 6845, 6948, 6949). The learned that have confirmed themselves against the truths of the church are sensual (n. 6316). A description of the sensual man (n. 10236). {Footnote 2} Sensual men reason keenly and cunningly, since they place all intelligence in speaking from the bodily memory (n. 195, 196, 5700, 10236). But they reason from the fallacies of the senses (n. 5084, 6948, 6949, 7693). Sensual men are more cunning and malicious than others (n. 7693, 10236). By the ancients such were called serpents of the tree of knowledge (n. 195-197, 6398, 6949, 10313). 354. It has been granted me to speak with many of the learned after their departure from the world; with some of distinguished reputation and celebrated in the literary world for their writings, and with some not so celebrated, although endowed with profound wisdom. Those that in heart had denied the Divine, whatever their professions may have been, had become so stupid as to have little comprehension even of anything truly civil, still less of anything spiritual. I perceived and also saw that the interiors of their minds were so closed up as to appear black (for in the spiritual world such things become visible), and in consequence they were unable to endure any heavenly light or admit any influx from heaven. This blackness which their interiors presented was more intense and extended with those that had confirmed themselves against the Divine by the knowledges they had acquired. In the other life such accept all falsity with delight, imbibing it as a sponge does water; and they repel all truth as an elastic bony substance repels what falls upon it. In fact, it is said that the interiors of those that have confirmed themselves against the Divine and in favor of nature become bony, and their heads down to the nose appear callous like ebony, which is a sign that they no longer have any perception. Those of this description are immersed in quagmires that appear like bogs; and there they are harassed by the fantasies into which their falsities are turned. Their infernal fire is a lust for glory and reputation, which prompts them to assail one another, and from an infernal ardor to torment those about them who do not worship them as deities; and this they do one to another in turns. Into such things is all the learning of the world changed that has not received into itself light from heaven through acknowledgment of the Divine. 355. That these are such in the spiritual world when they come into it after death may be inferred from this alone, that all things that are in the natural memory and are in immediate conjunction with the things of bodily sense (which is true of such knowledges as are mentioned above) then become quiescent; and only such rational principles as are drawn from these then serve for thought and speech. For man carries with him his entire natural memory, but its contents are not then under his view, and do not come into his thought as when he lived in the world. He can take nothing from that memory and bring it forth into spiritual light because its contents are not objects of that light. But those things of the reason and understanding that man has acquired from knowledges while living in the body are in accord with the light of the spiritual world; consequently so far as the spirit of man has been made rational in the world through knowledge and science it is to the same extent rational after being loosed from the body; for man is then a spirit, and it is the spirit that thinks in the body.{1} {Footnote 1} Knowledges belong to the natural memory that man has while he is in the body (n. 5212, 9922). Man carries with him after death his whole natural memory (n. 2475) from experience (n. 2481-2486). But he is not able, as he was in the world, to draw anything out of that memory, for several reasons (n. 2476, 2477, 2479). 356. But in respect to those that have acquired intelligence and wisdom through knowledge and science, who are such as have applied all things to the use of life, and have also acknowledged the Divine, loved the Word, and lived a spiritual moral life (of which above, n. 319), to such the sciences have served as a means of becoming wise, and also of corroborating the things pertaining to faith. The interiors of the mind of such have been perceived by me, and were seen as transparent from light of a glistening white, flamy, or blue color, like that of translucent diamonds, rubies, and sapphires; and this in accordance with confirmations in favor of the Divine and Divine truths drawn from science. Such is the appearance of true intelligence and wisdom when they are presented to view in the spiritual world. This appearance is derived from the light of heaven; and that light is Divine truth going forth from the Lord, which is the source of all intelligence and wisdom (see above, n. 126-133). [2] The planes of that light, in which variegations like those of colors exist, are the interiors of the mind; and these variegations are produced by confirmations of Divine truths by means of such things as are in nature, that is, in the sciences.{1} For the interior mind of man looks into the things of the natural memory, and the things there that will serve as proofs it sublimates as it were by the fire of heavenly love, and withdraws and purifies them even into spiritual ideas. This is unknown to man as long as he lives in the body, because there he thinks both spiritually and naturally, and he has no perception of the things he then thinks spiritually, but only of those he thinks naturally. But when he has come into the spiritual world he has no perception of what he thought naturally in the world, but only of what he thought spiritually. Thus is his state changed. [3] All this makes clear that it is by means of knowledges and sciences that man is made spiritual, also that these are the means of becoming wise, but only with those who have acknowledged the Divine in faith and life. Such also before others are accepted in heaven, and are among those there who are at the center (n. 43), because they are in light more than others. These are the intelligent and wise in heaven, who "shine as with the brightness of the firmament" and "who shine as the stars," while the simple there are those that have acknowledged the Divine, have loved the Word, and have lived a spiritual and moral life, but the interiors of their minds have not been so enriched by knowledges and sciences. The human mind is like soil which is such as it is made by cultivation. {Footnote 1} Most beautiful colors are seen in heaven (n. 1053, 1624). Colors in heaven are from the light there, and are modifications or variegations of that light (n. 1042, 1043, 1053, 1624, 3993, 4530, 4742, 4922). Thus they are manifestations of truth from good, and they signify such things as pertain to intelligence and wisdom (n. 4530, 4677, 4922, 9466). EXTRACTS FROM THE ARCANA COELESTIA RESPECTING KNOWLEDGES. [In these extracts scientia, scientificum and cognitio are alike rendered knowledge, because any distinction between them intended by the author is not sufficiently obvious to be uniformly indicated in English. -- Tr.] Man ought to be fully instructed in knowledges [scientiis et cognitionibus], since by means of them he learns to think [cogitare], afterwards to understand what is true and good, and finally to be wise (n. 129, 1450, 1451, 1453, 1548, 1802). Knowledges [scientifica] are the first things on which the life of man, civil, moral, and spiritual, is built and founded, and they are to be learned for the sake of use as an end (n. 1489, 3310). Knowledges [cognitiones] open the way to the internal man, and afterwards conjoin that man with the external in accordance with uses (n. 1563, 1616). The rational faculty has its birth by means of knowledges [scientias et cognitiones] (n. 1895, 1900, 3086). But not by means of knowledges [cognitiones] themselves, but by means of affection for the uses derived from them (n. 1895). [2] There are knowledges [scientifica] that give entrance to Divine truths, and knowledges [scientifica] that do not (n. 5213). Empty knowledges [scientifica] are to be destroyed (n. 1489, 1492, 1499, 1581). Empty knowledges [scientifica] are such as have the loves of self and of the world as an end, and sustain those loves, and withdraw from love to God and love towards the neighbor, because such knowledges close up the internal man, even to the extent that man becomes unable to receive any thing from heaven (n. 1563, 1600). Knowledges [scientifica] are means to becoming wise and means to becoming insane and by them the internal man is either opened or closed, and thus the rational is either enriched or destroyed (n. 4156, 8628, 9922). [3] The internal man is opened and gradually perfected by means of knowledges [scientifica] if man has good use as an end, especially use that looks to external life (n. 3086). Then knowledges [scientificis], which are in the natural man, are met by spiritual and heavenly things from the spiritual man, and these adopt such of them as are suitable (n. 1495). Then the uses of heavenly life are drawn forth by the Lord and perfected and raised up out of the knowledges [scientificis] in the natural man by means of the internal man (n. 1895, 1896, 1900, 1901, 1902, 5871, 5874, 5901). While incongruous and opposing knowledges [scientifica] are rejected to the sides and banished (n. 5871, 5886, 5889). [4] The sight of the internal man calls forth from the knowledges [scientificis] of the external man only such things as are in accord with its love (n. 9394). As seen by the internal man what pertains to the love is at the center and in brightness, but what is not of the love is at the sides and in obscurity (n. 6068, 6084). Suitable knowledges [scientifica] are gradually implanted in man's loves and as it were dwell in them (n. 6325). If man were born into love towards the neighbor he would be born into intelligence, but because he is born into the loves of self and of the world he is born into total ignorance (n. 6323, 6325). Knowledge [scientia], intelligence, and wisdom are sons of love to God and of love towards the neighbor (n. 1226, 2049, 2116). [5] It is one thing to be wise, another thing to understand, another to know [scire], and another to do; nevertheless, in those that possess spiritual life these follow in order, and exist together in doing or deeds (n. 10331). Also it is one thing to know [scire], another to acknowledge, and another to have faith (n. 896). [6] Knowledges [scientifica], which pertain to the external or natural man, are in the light of the world, but truths that have been made truths of faith and of love, and have thus acquired life, are in the light of heaven (n. 5212). The truths that have acquired spiritual life are comprehended by means of natural ideas (n. 5510). Spiritual influx is from the internal or spiritual man into the knowledges [scientifica] that are in the external or natural man (n. 1940, 8005). Knowledges [scientifica] are receptacles, and as it were vessels, for the truth and good that belong to the internal man (n. 1469, 1496, 3068, 5489, 6004, 6023, 6052, 6071, 6077, 7770, 9922). Knowledges [scientifica] are like mirrors in which the truths and goods of the internal man appear as an image (n. 5201). There they are together as in their outmost (n. 5373, 5874, 5886, 5901, 6004, 6023, 6052, 6071). [7] Influx is not physical but spiritual, that is, influx is from the internal man into the external, thus into the knowledges of the external; and not from the external into the internal, thus not from the knowledges [scientificis] of the external into truths of faith (n. 3219, 5119, 5259, 5427, 5428, 5478, 6322, 9110). A beginning must be made from the truths of doctrine of the church, which are from the Word, and those truths must first be acknowledged, and then it is permissible to consult knowledges [scientifica] (n. 6047). Thus it is permissible for those who are in an affirmative state in regard to truths of faith to confirm them intellectually by means of knowledges [scientifica], but not for those who are in a negative state (n. 2568, 2588, 4760, 6047). He that will not believe Divine truths until he is convinced by means of knowledges [scientificis] will never believe (n. 2094, 2832). To enter from knowledge [scientificis] into the truths of faith is contrary to order (n. 10236). Those who do so become demented respecting the things of heaven and the church (n. 128, 129, 130). They fall into the falsities of evil (n. 232, 233, 6047). In the other life when they think about spiritual matters they become as it were drunken (n. 1072). More respecting the character of such (n. 196). Examples showing that things spiritual cannot be comprehended when entered into through knowledges [scientifica] (n. 233, 2094, 2196, 2203, 2209). In spiritual things many of the learned are more demented than the simple, for the reason that they are in a negative state, which they confirm by means of the knowledges [scientifica] which they have continually and in abundance before their sight (n. 4760, 8629). [8] Those who reason from knowledges [scientificis] against the truths of faith reason keenly because they reason from the fallacies of the senses, which are engaging and convincing, because they cannot easily be dispelled (n. 5700). What things are fallacies of the senses, and what they are (n. 5084, 5094, 6400, 6948). Those that have no understanding of truth, and also those that are in evil, are able to reason about the truths and goods of faith, but are not able to understand them (n. 4214). Intelligence does not consist in merely confirming dogma but in seeing whether it is true or not before it is confirmed (n. 4741, 6047). [9] Knowledges [scientiae] are of no avail after death, but only that which man has imbibed in his understanding and life by means of knowledges [scientias] (n. 2480). Still all knowledge [scientifica] remains after death, although it is quiescent (n. 2476-2479, 2481-2486). [10] Knowledge [scientifica] with the evil are falsities, because they are adapted to evils, but with the good the same knowledges are truths, because applied to what is good (n. 6917). True knowledges [scientifica] with the evil are not true, however much they may appear to be true when uttered, because there is evil within them (n. 10331). [11] An example of the desire to know [sciendi], which spirits have (n. 1974). Angels have an illimitable longing to know [sciendi] and to become wise, since learning [scientia], intelligence, and wisdom are spiritual food (n. 3114, 4459, 4792, 4976, 5147, 5293, 5340, 5342, 5410, 5426, 5576, 5582, 5588, 5655, 6277, 8562, 9003). The knowledge [scientia] of the ancients was the knowledge [scientia] of correspondences and representations, by which they gained entrance into the knowledge [cognitionem] of spiritual things; but that knowledge [scientia] at this day is wholly lost (n. 4749, 4844, 4964, 4965). [12] For spiritual truths to be comprehended the following universals must be known [scientur]. (i) All things in the universe have relation to good and truth and to their conjunction that they may be anything, thus to love and faith and their conjunction. (ii) Man has understanding and will; and the understanding is the receptacle of truth and the will of good; and all things in man have relation to these two and to their conjunction, as all things have relation to truth and good and their conjunction. (iii) There is an internal man and an external man, which are as distinct from each other as heaven and the world are, and yet for a man to be truly a man, these must make one. (iv) The internal man is in the light of heaven, and the external man is in the light of the world; and the light of heaven is Divine truth itself, from which is all intelligence. (v) Between the things in the internal man and those in the external there is a correspondence, therefore the different aspect they present is such that they can be distinguished only by means of a knowledge [scientiam] of correspondences. Unless these and many other things are known [scientur], nothing but incongruous ideas of spiritual and heavenly truths can be conceived and formed; therefore without these universals the knowledges [scientifica et cognitiones] of the natural man can be of but little service to the rational man for understanding and growth. This makes clear how necessary knowledges [scientifica] are. 357. XXXIX. THE RICH AND THE POOR IN HEAVEN. There are various opinions about reception into heaven. Some are of the opinion that the poor are received and the rich are not; some that the rich and the poor are equally received; some that the rich can be received only by giving up their wealth and becoming like the poor; and proofs are found in the Word for all of these opinions. But those who make a distinction in regard to heaven between the rich and the poor do not understand the Word. In its interiors the Word is spiritual, but in the letter it is natural; consequently those who understand the Word only in accordance with its literal sense, and not according to any spiritual sense, err in many respects, especially about the rich and the poor; for example, that it is as difficult for the rich to enter into heaven as for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle; and that it is easy for the poor because they are poor, since it is said, Blessed are the poor, for theirs is the kingdom of the heavens (Matt. 5:3; Luke 6:20, 21). But those who know anything of the spiritual sense of the Word think otherwise; they know that heaven is for all who live a life of faith and love, whether rich or poor. But who are meant in the Word by "the rich" and who by "the poor" will be told in what follows. From much conversation and interaction with angels it has been granted me to know with certainty that the rich enter heaven just as easily as the poor, and that no man is shut out of heaven on account of his wealth, or received into heaven on account of his poverty. Both the rich and the poor are in heaven, and many of the rich in greater glory and happiness than the poor. 358. It should be said to begin with that a man may acquire riches and accumulate wealth as far as opportunity is given, if it is not done by craft or fraud; that he may enjoy the delicacies of food and drink if he does not place his life therein; that he may have a palatial dwelling in accord with his condition, have interaction with others in like condition, frequent places of amusement, talk about the affairs of the world, and need not go about like a devotee with a sad and sorrowful countenance and drooping head, but may be joyful and cheerful; nor need he give his goods to the poor except so far as affection leads him; in a word, he may live outwardly precisely like a man of the world; and all this will be no obstacle to his entering heaven, provided that inwardly in himself he thinks about God as he ought, and acts sincerely and justly in respect to his neighbor. For a man is such as his affection and thought are, or such as his love and faith are, and from these all his outward acts derive their life; since acting is willing, and speaking is thinking, acting being from the will, and speaking from the thought. So where it is said in the Word that man will be judged according to his deeds, and will be rewarded according to his works, it is meant that he will be judged and rewarded in accordance with his thought and affection, which are the source of his deeds, or which are in his deeds; for deeds are nothing apart from these, and are precisely such as these are.{1} All this shows that the man's external accomplishes nothing, but only his internal, which is the source of the external. For example: if a man acts honestly and refrains from fraud solely because he fears the laws and the loss of reputation and thereby of honor or gain, and if that fear did not restrain him would defraud others whenever he could; although such a man's deeds outwardly appear honest, his thought and will are fraud; and because he is inwardly dishonest and fraudulent he has hell in himself. But he who acts honestly and refrains from fraud because it is against God and against the neighbor would have no wish to defraud another if he could; his thought and will are conscience, and he has heaven in himself. The deeds of these two appear alike in outward form, but inwardly they are wholly unlike. {Footnote 1} It is frequently said in the Word that man will be judged and will be rewarded according to his deeds and works (n. 3934). By "deeds and works" deeds and works in their internal form are meant, not in their external form, since good works in external form are likewise done by the wicked, but in internal and external form together only by the good (n. 3934, 6073). Works, like all activities, have their being and outgo [esse et existere] and their quality from the interiors of man, which pertain to his thought and will, since they proceed from these; therefore such as the interiors are such are the works (n. 3934, 8911, 10331). That is, such as the interiors are in regard to love and faith (n. 3934, 6073, 10331, 10332). Thus works contain love and faith, and are love and faith in effect (n. 10331). Therefore to be judged and rewarded in accordance with deeds and works, means in accordance with love and faith (n. 3147, 3934, 6073, 8911, 10331, 10332). So far as works look to self and the world they are not good, but they are good so far as they look to the Lord and the neighbor (n. 3147). 359. Since a man can live outwardly as others do, can grow rich, keep a plentiful table, dwell in an elegant house and wear fine clothing according to his condition and function, can enjoy delights and gratifications, and engage in worldly affairs for the sake of his occupation and business and for the life both of the mind and body, provided he inwardly acknowledges the Divine and wishes well to the neighbor, it is evident that to enter upon the way to heaven is not so difficult as many believe. The sole difficulty lies in being able to resist the love of self and the world, and to prevent their becoming dominant; for this is the source of all evils.{1} That this is not so difficult as is believed is meant by these words of the Lord: Learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly of heart, and ye shall find rest to your souls; for My yoke is easy and My burden is light (Matt. 11:29, 30). The Lord's yoke is easy and His burden light because a man is led by the Lord and not by self just to the extent that he resists the evils that flow forth from love of self and of the world; and because the Lord then resists these evils in man and removes them. {Footnote 1} All evils are from the love of self and of the world (n. 1307, 1308, 1321, 1594, 1691, 3413, 7255, 7376, 7488, 7490, 8318, 9335, 9348, 10038, 10742). These are contempt of others, enmities, hatred, revenge, cruelty, deceit (n. 6667, 7370-7374, 9348, 10038, 10742). Into such loves man is born, thus in them are his inherited evils (n. 694, 4317, 5660). 360. I have spoken with some after death who, while they lived in the world, renounced the world and gave themselves up to an almost solitary life, in order that by an abstraction of the thoughts from worldly things they might have opportunity for pious meditations, believing that thus they might enter the way to heaven. But these in the other life are of a sad disposition; they despise others who are not like themselves; they are indignant that they do not have a happier lot than others, believing that they have merited it; they have no interest in others, and turn away from the duties of charity by which there is conjunction with heaven. They desire heaven more than others; but when they are taken up among the angels they induce anxieties that disturb the happiness of the angels; and in consequence they are sent away; and when sent away they betake themselves to desert places, where they lead a life like that which they lived in the world. [2] Man can be formed for heaven only by means of the world. In the world are the outmost effects in which everyone's affection must be terminated; for unless affection puts itself forth or flows out into acts, which is done in association with others, it is suffocated to such a degree finally that man has no longer any regard for the neighbor, but only for himself. All this makes clear that a life of charity towards the neighbor, which is doing what is just and right in every work and in every employment, is what leads to heaven, and not a life of piety apart from charity;{1} and from this it follows that only to the extent that man is engaged in the employments of life can charity be exercised and the life of charity grow; and this is impossible to the extent that man separates himself from those employments. [3] On this subject I will speak now from experience. Of those who while in the world were employed in trade and commerce and became rich through these pursuits there are many in heaven, but not so many of those who were in stations of honor and became rich through those employments; and for the reason that these latter by the gains and honors that resulted from their dispensing justice and equity, and also by the lucrative and honorable positions bestowed on them were led into loving themselves and the world, and thereby separating their thoughts and affections from heaven and turning them to themselves. For to the extent that a man loves self and the world and looks to self and the world in everything, he alienates himself from the Divine and separates himself from heaven. {Footnote 1} Charity towards the neighbor is doing what is good, just, and right, in every work and every employment (n. 8120-8122). Thus charity towards the neighbor extends to all things and each thing that a man thinks, wills, and does (n. 8124). A life of piety apart from a life of charity is of no avail, but together they are profitable for all things (n. 8252, 8253). 361. As to the lot of the rich in heaven, they live more splendidly than others. Some of them dwell in palaces within which everything is resplendent as if with gold and silver. They have an abundance of all things for the uses of life, but they do not in the least set their heart on these things, but only on uses. Uses are clearly seen as if they were in light, but the gold and silver are seen obscurely, and comparatively as if in shade. This is because while they were in the world they loved uses, and loved gold and silver only as means and instruments. It is the uses that are thus resplendent in heaven, the good of use like gold and the truth of use like silver.{1} Therefore their wealth in heaven is such as their uses were in the world, and such, too, are their delight and happiness. Good uses are providing oneself and one's own with the necessaries of life; also desiring wealth for the sake of one's country and for the sake of one's neighbor, whom a rich man can in many ways benefit more than a poor man. These are good uses because one is able thereby to withdraw his mind from an indolent life which is harmful, since in such a life man's thoughts run to evil because of the evil inherent in him. These uses are good to the extent that they have the Divine in them, that is, to the extent that man looks to the Divine and to heaven, and finds his good in these, and sees in wealth only a subservient good. {Footnote 1} Every good has its delight from use and in accordance with use (n. 3049, 4984, 7038); also its quality; and in consequence such as the use is such is the good (n. 3049). All the happiness and delight of life is from uses (n. 997). In general, life is a life of uses (n. 1964). Angelic life consists in the goods of love and charity, thus in performing uses (n. 454). The ends that man has in view, which are uses, are the only things that the Lord, and thus the angels, consider (n. 1317, 1645, 5844). The kingdom of the Lord is a kingdom of uses (n. 454, 696, 1103, 3645, 4054, 7038). Performing uses is serving the Lord (n. 7038). Everyone's character is such as are the uses he performs (n. 4054, 6315); illustrated (n. 7038). 362. But the lot of the rich that have not believed in the Divine, and have cast out of their minds the things pertaining to heaven and the church, is the opposite of this. Such are in hell, where filth, misery, and want exist; and into these riches that are loved as an end are changed; and not only riches, but also their very uses, which are either a wish to live as they like and indulge in pleasures, and to have opportunity to give the mind more fully and freely to shameful practices, or a wish to rise above others whom they despise. Such riches and such uses, because they have nothing spiritual, but only what is earthly in them, become filthy; for a spiritual purpose in riches and their uses is like a soul in the body, or like the light of heaven in moist ground; and such riches and uses become putrid as a body does without a soul, or as moist ground does without the light of heaven. Such are those that have been led and drawn away from heaven by riches. 363. Every man's ruling affection or love remains with him after death, nor is it rooted out to eternity, since a man's spirit is wholly what his love is, and what is unknown, the body of every spirit and angel is the outward form of his love, exactly corresponding to his inward form, which is the form of his disposition and mind; consequently the quality of his spirit is known from his face, movements, and speech. While a man is living in the world the quality of the spirit would be known if he had not learned to counterfeit in his face, movements, and speech what is not his own. All this shows that man remains to eternity such as his ruling affection or love is. It has been granted me to talk with some who lived seventeen hundred years ago, and whose lives are well known from writings of that time, and it was found that the same love still rules them as when they were on the earth. This makes clear also that the love of riches, and of uses from riches, remains with everyone to eternity, and that it is exactly the same as the love acquired in the world, yet with the difference that in the case of those who devoted their riches to good uses riches are changed in the other world into delights which are in accord with the uses performed; while in the case of those who devoted their riches to evil uses riches are turned into mere filth, in which they then take the same delight as they did in the world in their riches devoted to evil uses. Such then take delight in filth because filthy pleasures and shameful acts, which had been the uses to which they had devoted their riches, and also avarice, which is a love of riches without regard to use, correspond to filth. Spiritual filth is nothing else. 364. The poor come into heaven not on account of their poverty but because of their life. Everyone's life follows him, whether he be rich or poor. There is no peculiar mercy for one in preference to another;{1} he that has lived well is received, while he that has not lived well is rejected. Moreover, poverty leads and draws man away from heaven just as much as wealth does. There are many among the poor who are not content with their lot, who strive after many things, and believe riches to be blessings;{2} and when they do not gain them are much provoked, and harbor ill thoughts about the Divine providence; they also envy others the good things they possess, and are as ready as any one to defraud others whenever they have opportunity, and to indulge in filthy pleasures. But this is not true of the poor who are content with their lot, and are careful and diligent in their work, who love labor better than idleness, and act sincerely and faithfully, and at the same time live a Christian life. I have now and then talked with those belonging to the peasantry and common people, who while living in the world believed in God and did what was just and right in their occupations. Since they had an affection for knowing truth they inquired about charity and about faith, having heard in this world much about faith and in the other life much about charity. They were therefore told that charity is everything that pertains to life, and faith everything that pertains to doctrine; consequently charity is willing and doing what is just and right in every work, and faith is thinking justly and rightly; and faith and charity are conjoined, the same as doctrine and a life in accordance with it, or the same as thought and will; and faith becomes charity when that which a man thinks justly and rightly he also wills and does, and then they are not two but one. This they well understood, and rejoiced, saying that in the world they did not understand believing to be anything else but living. {Footnote 1} There can be no mercy apart from means, but only mercy through means, that is, to those who live in accordance with the commandments of the Lord; such the Lord by His mercy leads continually in the world, and afterwards to eternity (n. 8700, 10659). {Footnote 2} Dignities and riches are not real blessings, therefore they are granted both to the wicked and to the good (n. 8939, 10775, 10776). The real blessing is reception of love and faith from the Lord, and conjunction thereby, for this is the source of eternal happiness (n. 1420, 1422, 2846, 3017, 3406, 3504, 3514, 3530, 3565, 3584, 4216, 4981, 8939, 10495). 365. All this makes clear that the rich and the poor alike come into heaven, the one as easily as the other. The belief that the poor enter heaven easily and the rich with difficulty comes from not understanding the Word where the rich and the poor are mentioned. In the Word those that have an abundance of knowledges of good and truth, thus who are within the church where the Word is, are meant in the spiritual sense by the "rich;" while those who lack these knowledges, and yet desire them, thus who are outside of the church and where there is no Word, are meant by the "poor." [2] The rich man clothed in purple and fine linen, and cast into hell, means the Jewish nation, which is called rich because it had the Word and had an abundance of knowledges of good and truth therefrom, "garments of purple" signifying knowledges of good, and "garments of fine linen" knowledges of truth.{1} But the poor man who lay at the rich man's gate and longed to be fed with the crumbs that fell from the rich man's table, and who was carried by angels into heaven, means the nations that have no knowledges of good and truth and yet desired them (Luke 16:19-31). Also the rich that were called to a great supper and excused themselves mean the Jewish nation, and the poor brought in in their place mean the nations outside of the church (Luke 14:16-24). [3] By the rich man of whom the Lord says: It is easier for a camel to go through a needle's eye than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God (Matt. 19:24), the rich in both the natural sense and the spiritual sense are meant. In the natural sense the rich are those that have an abundance of riches and set their heart upon them; but in the spiritual sense they are those that have an abundance of knowledges and learning, which are spiritual riches, and who desire by means of these to introduce themselves into the things of heaven and the church from their own intelligence. And because this is contrary to Divine order it is said to be "easier for a camel to go through a needle's eye," a "camel" signifying in general in the spiritual sense the knowing faculty and things known, and a "needle's eye" signifying spiritual truth.{2} That such is the meaning of a "camel" and a "needle's eye" is not at present known, because the knowledge that teaches what is signified in the spiritual sense by the things said in the literal sense of the Word has not up to this time been disclosed. In every particular of the Word there is a spiritual sense and also a natural sense; for the Word was made to consist wholly of correspondences between natural and spiritual things in order that conjunction of heaven with the world, or of angels with men might thereby be effected, direct conjunction having ceased. This makes clear who in particular are meant in the Word by the "rich man." [4] That the "rich" in the Word mean in the spiritual sense those who are in knowledges of truth and good, and "riches" the knowledges themselves, which are spiritual riches, can be seen from various passages (as in Isa. 10:12-14; 30:6, 7; 45:3; Jer. 17:3; 48:7; 50:36, 37; 51:13; Dan. 5:2-4; Ezek. 26:7, 12; 27:1 to the end; Zech. 9:3, 4; Psalm 45:12; Hosea 12:9; Apoc. 3:17, 18; Luke 14:33; and elsewhere). Also that the "poor" in the spiritual sense signify those who do not possess knowledges of good and of truth, and yet desire them (Matt. 11:5; Luke 6:20, 21; 14:21; Isa. 14:30; 29:19; 41:17, 18; Zeph. 3:12, 13). All these passages may be seen explained in accordance with the spiritual sense in the Arcana Coelestia (n. 10227). {Footnote 1} "Garments" signify truths, thus knowledges (n. 1073, 2576, 5319, 5954, 9212, 9216, 9952, 10536). "Purple" signifies celestial good (n. 9467). "Fine linen" signifies truth from a celestial origin (n. 5319, 9469, 9744). {Footnote 2} A "camel" signifies in the Word the knowing faculty and knowledge in general (n. 3048, 3071, 3143, 3145). What is meant by "needlework, working with a needle," and therefore by a "needle" (n. 9688). To enter from knowledge into the truths of faith is contrary to Divine order (n. 10236). Those that do this become demented in respect to the thing of heaven and the church (n. 128-130, 232, 233, 6047). And in the other life, when they think about spiritual things they become as it were drunken (n. 1072). Further about such (n. 196). Examples showing that when spiritual things are entered into through knowledges they cannot be comprehended (n. 233, 2094, 2196, 2203, 2209). It is permissible to enter from spiritual truth into knowledges which pertain to the natural man, but not the reverse, because there can be spiritual influx into the natural, but not natural influx into the spiritual (n. 3219, 5119, 5259, 5427, 5428, 5478, 6322, 9110). The truths of the word and of the church must first be acknowledged, after which it is permissible to consider knowledges, but not before (n. 6047). 366. XL. MARRIAGES IN HEAVEN. As heaven is from the human race, and angels therefore are of both sexes, and from creation woman is for man and man is for woman, thus the one belongs to the other, and this love is innate in both, it follows that there are marriages in heaven as well as on the earth. But marriages in heaven differ widely from marriages on the earth. Therefore what marriages in heaven are, and how they differ from marriages on the earth and wherein they are like them, shall now be told. 367. Marriage in heaven is a conjunction of two into one mind. It must first be explained what this conjunction is. The mind consists of two parts, one called the understanding and the other the will. When these two parts act as one they are called one mind. In heaven the husband acts the part called the understanding and the wife acts the part called the will. When this conjunction, which belongs to man's interiors, descends into the lower parts pertaining to the body, it is perceived and felt as love, and this love is marriage love. This shows that marriage love has its origin in the conjunction of two into one mind. This in heaven is called cohabitation; and the two are not called two but one. So in heaven a married pair is spoken of, not as two, but as one angel.{1} {Footnote 1} It is not known at this day what marriage love is, or whence it is (n. 2727). Marriage love is willing what another wills, thus willing mutually and reciprocally (n. 2731). Those that are in marriage love dwell together in the inmosts of life (n. 2732). It is such a union of two minds that from love they are one (n. 10168, 10169). For the love of minds, which is spiritual love, is a union (n. 1594, 2057, 3939, 4018, 5807, 6195, 7081-7086, 7501, 10130). 368. Moreover, such a conjunction of husband and wife in the inmosts of their minds comes from their very creation; for man is born to be intellectual, that is, to think from the understanding, while woman is born to be affectional, that is, to think from her will; and this is evident from the inclination or natural disposition of each, also from their form; from the disposition, in that man acts from reason and woman from affection; from the form in that man has a rougher and less beautiful face, a deeper voice and a harder body; while woman has a smoother and more beautiful face, a softer voice, and a more tender body. There is a like difference between understanding and will, or between thought and affection; so, too, between truth and good and between faith and love; for truth and faith belong to the understanding, and good and love to the will. From this it is that in the Word "youth" or "man" means in the spiritual sense the understanding of truth, and "virgin" or "woman" affection for good; also that the church, on account of its affection for good and truth, is called a "woman" and a "virgin;" also that all those that are in affection for good are called "virgins" (as in Apoc. 14:4).{1} {Footnote 1} In the Word "young men" signify understanding of truth, or the intelligent (n. 7668). "Men" have the same signification (n. 158, 265, 749, 915, 1007, 2517, 3134, 3236, 4823, 9007). "Woman" signifies affection for good and truth (n. 568, 3160, 6014, 7337, 8994); likewise the church (n. 252, 253, 749, 770); "wife" has the same signification (n. 252, 253, 409, 749, 770); with what difference (n. 915, 2517, 3236, 4510, 4823). In the highest sense "husband and wife" are predicated of the Lord and of His conjunction with heaven and the church (n. 7022). A "virgin" signifies affection for good (n. 3067, 3110, 3179, 3189, 6729, 6742); likewise the church (n. 2362, 3081, 3963, 4638, 6729, 6775, 6788). 369. Everyone, whether man or woman, possesses understanding and will; but with the man the understanding predominates, and with the woman the will predominates, and the character is determined by that which predominates. Yet in heavenly marriages there is no predominance; for the will of the wife is also the husband's will, and the understanding of the husband is also the wife's understanding, since each loves to will and to think like the other, that is mutually and reciprocally. Thus are they conjoined into one. This conjunction is actual conjunction, for the will of the wife enters into the understanding of the husband, and the understanding of the husband into the will of the wife, and this especially when they look into one another's faces; for, as has been repeatedly said above, there is in the heavens a sharing of thoughts and affections, more especially with husband and wife, because they reciprocally love each other. This makes clear what the conjunction of minds is that makes marriage and produces marriage love in the heavens, namely, that one wishes what is his own to be the others, and this reciprocally. 370. I have been told by angels that so far as a married pair are so conjoined they are in marriage love, and also to the same extent in intelligence, wisdom and happiness, because Divine truth and Divine good which are the source of all intelligence, wisdom, and happiness, flow chiefly into marriage love; consequently marriage love, since it is also the marriage of good and truth, is the very plane of Divine influx. For that love, as it is a conjunction of the understanding and will, is also a conjunction of truth and good, since the understanding receives Divine truth and is formed out of truths, and the will receives Divine good and is formed out of goods. For what a man wills is good to him, and what he understands is truth to him; therefore it is the same whether you say conjunction of understanding and will or conjunction of truth and good. Conjunction of truth and good is what makes an angel; it makes his intelligence, wisdom, and happiness; for an angel is an angel accordingly as good in him is conjoined with truth and truth with good; or what is the same, accordingly as love in him is conjoined with faith and faith with love. 371. The Divine that goes forth from the Lord flows chiefly into marriage love because marriage love descends from a conjunction of good and truth; for it is the same thing as has been said above, whether you say conjunction of understanding and will or conjunction of good and truth. Conjunction of good and truth has its origin in the Lord's Divine love towards all who are in heaven and on earth. From Divine love Divine good goes forth, and Divine good is received by angels and men in Divine truths. As truth is the sole receptacle of good nothing can be received from the Lord and from heaven by any one who is not in truths; therefore just to the extent that the truths in man are conjoined to good is man conjoined to the Lord and to heaven. This, then, is the very origin of marriage love, and for this reason that love is the very plane of Divine influx. This shows why the conjunction of good and truth in heaven is called the heavenly marriage, and heaven is likened in the Word to a marriage, and is called a marriage; and the Lord is called the "Bridegroom" and "Husband," and heaven and also the church are called the "bride" and the "wife."{1} {Footnote 1} The origin, cause, and essence of true marriage love is the marriage of good and truth; thus it is from heaven (n. 2728, 2729). Respecting angelic spirit, who have a perception whether there is anything of marriage from the idea of a conjunction of good and truth (n. 10756). It is with marriage love in every respect the same as it is with the conjunction of good and truth (n. 1904, 2173, 2429, 2508, 3101, 3102, 3155, 3179, 3180, 4358, 5807, 5835, 9206, 9495, 9637). How and with whom the conjunction of good and truth is effected (n. 3834, 4096, 4097, 4301, 4345, 4353, 4364, 4368, 5365, 7623-7627, 9258). Only those that are in good and truth from the Lord know what true marriage love is (n. 10171). In the Word "marriage" signifies the marriage of good and truth (n. 3132, 4434, 4835). The kingdom of the Lord and heaven are in true marriage love (n. 2737). 372. Good and truth conjoined in an angel or a man are not two but one, since good is then good of truth and truth is truth of good. This conjunction may be likened to a man's thinking what he wills and willing what he thinks, when the thought and will make one, that is, one mind; for thought forms, that is, presents in form that which the will wills, and the will gives delight to it; and this is why a married pair in heaven are not called two, but one angel. This also is what is meant by the Lord's words: Have ye not read that He who made them from the beginning made them male and female, and said, For this cause shall a man leave father and mother and shall cleave to his wife, and they twain shall become one flesh? Therefore, they are no more twain, but one flesh. What, therefore, God hath joined together let not man put asunder. Not all can receive this word but they to whom it is given (Matt. 19:4-6, 11; Mark 10:6-9; Gen. 2:24). This is a description both of the heavenly marriage in which the angels are and of the marriage of good and truth, "man's not putting asunder what God has joined together" meaning that good is not to be separated from truth. 373. From all this the origin of true marriage love is made clear, namely, that it is formed first in the minds of those who are in marriage, and descends therefrom and is derived into the body, where it is perceived and felt as love; for whatever is felt and perceived in the body has its origin in the spiritual, because it is from the understanding and the will. The understanding and the will constitute the spiritual man. Whatever descends from the spiritual man into the body presents itself there under another aspect, although it is similar and accordant, like soul and body, and like cause and effect; as can be seen from what has been said and shown in the two chapters on Correspondences. 374. I heard an angel describing true marriage love and its heavenly delights in this manner: That it is the Lord's Divine in the heavens, which is Divine good and Divine truth so united in two persons, that they are not as two but as one. He said that in heaven the two consorts are marriage love, since everyone is his own good and his own truth in respect both to mind and to body, the body being an image of the mind because it is formed after its likeness. From this he drew the conclusion that the Divine is imaged in the two that are in true marriage love; and as the Divine is so imaged so is heaven, because the entire heaven is Divine good and Divine truth going forth from the Lord; and this is why all things of heaven are inscribed on marriage love with more blessings and delights than it is possible to number. He expressed the number by a term that involved myriads of myriads. He wondered that the man of the church should know nothing about this, seeing that the church is the Lord's heaven on the earth, and heaven is a marriage of good and truth. He said he was astounded to think that within the church, even more than outside of it, adulteries are committed and even justified; the delight of which in itself is nothing else in a spiritual sense, and consequently in the spiritual world, than the delight of the love of falsity conjoined to evil, which delight is infernal delight, because it is the direct opposite of the delight of heaven, which is the delight of the love of truth conjoined with good. 375. Everyone knows that a married pair who love each other are interiorly united, and that the essential of marriage is the union of dispositions and minds. And from this it can be seen that such as their essential dispositions or minds are, such is their union and such their love for each other. The mind is formed solely out of truths and goods, for all things in the universe have relation to good and truth and to their conjunction; consequently such as the truths and goods are out of which the minds are formed, exactly such is the union of minds; and consequently the most perfect union is the union of minds that are formed out of genuine truths and goods. Let it be known that no two things mutually love each other more than truth and good do; and therefore it is from that love that true marriage love descends.{1} Falsity and evil also love each other, but this love is afterwards changed into hell. {Footnote 1} All things in the universe, both in heaven and in the world, have relation to good and truth (n. 2452, 3166, 4390, 4409, 5232, 7256, 10122). And to the conjunction of these (n. 10555). Between good and truth there is marriage (n. 1904, 2173, 2508). Good loves truth, and from love longs for truth and for the conjunction of truth with itself, and from this they are in a perpetual endeavor to be conjoined (n. 9206, 9207, 9495). The life of truth is from good (n. 1589, 1997, 2572, 4070, 4096, 4097, 4736, 4757, 4884, 5147, 9667). Truth is the form of good (n. 3049, 3180, 4574, 9154). Truth is to good as water is to bread (n. 4976). 376. From what has now been said about the origin of marriage love one may conclude who are in that love and who are not; namely, that those are in marriage love who are in Divine good from Divine truths; and that marriage love is genuine just to the extent that the truths are genuine with which the good is conjoined. And as all the good that is conjoined with truths is from the Lord, it follows that no one can be in true marriage love unless he acknowledges the Lord and His Divine; for without that acknowledgment the Lord cannot flow in and be conjoined with the truths that are in man. 377. Evidently, then, those that are in falsities, and especially those that are in falsities from evil, are not in marriage love. Moreover, those that are in evil and in falsities therefrom have the interiors of their minds closed up; and in such, therefore, there can be no source of marriage love; but below those interiors, in the external or natural man separated from the internal, there can be a conjunction of falsity and evil, which is called infernal marriage. I have been permitted to see what this marriage is between those that are in the falsities of evil, which is called infernal marriage. Such converse together, and are united by a lustful desire, but inwardly they burn with a deadly hatred towards each other, too intense to be described. 378. Nor can marriage love exist between two partners belonging to different religions, because the truth of the one does not agree with the good of the other; and two unlike and discordant kinds of good and truth cannot make one mind out of two; and in consequence the love of such does not have its origin in any thing spiritual. If they live together in harmony it is solely on natural grounds.{1} And this is why in the heavens marriages are found only with those who are in the same society, because such are in like good and truth and not with those outside of the society. It may be seen above (n. 41, seq.) that all there in a society are in like good and truth, and differ from those outside the society. This was represented in the Israelitish nation by marriages being contracted within tribes, and particularly within families, and not outside of them. {Footnote 1} Marriages between those of different religions are not permissible, because there can be no conjunction of like good and truth in the interiors (n. 8998). 379. Nor is true marriage love possible between one husband and several wives; for its spiritual origin, which is the formation of one mind out of two, is thus destroyed; and in consequence interior conjunction, which is the conjunction of good and truth, from which is the very essence of that love, is also destroyed. Marriage with more than one is like an understanding divided among several wills; or it is like a man attached not to one but to several churches, since his faith is so distracted thereby as to come to naught. The angels declare that marrying several wives is wholly contrary to Divine order, and that they know this from several reasons, one of which is that as soon as they think of marriage with more than one they are alienated from internal blessedness and heavenly happiness, and become like drunken men, because good is separated from its truth in them. And as the interiors of their mind are brought into such a state merely by thinking about it with some intention, they see clearly that marriage with more than one would close up their internal mind, and cause marriage to be displaced by lustful love, which love withdraws from heaven.{1} [2] They declare further that this is not easily comprehended by men because there are few who are in genuine marriage love, and those who are not in it know nothing whatever of the interior delight that is in that love, knowing only the delight of lust, and this delight is changed into what is undelightful after living together a short time; while the delight of true marriage love not only endures to old age in the world, but after death becomes the delight of heaven and is there filled with an interior delight that grows more and more perfect to eternity. They said also that the varieties of blessedness of true marriage love could be enumerated even to many thousands, not even one of which is known to man, or could enter into the comprehension of any one who is not in the marriage of good and truth from the Lord. {Footnote 1} As husband and wife should be one, and should live together in the inmost of life, and as they together make one angel in heaven, so true marriage love is impossible between one husband and several wives (n. 1907, 2740). To marry several wives at the same time is contrary to Divine order (n. 10837). That there is no marriage except between one husband and one wife is clearly perceived by those who are in the Lord's celestial kingdom (n. 865, 3246, 9002, 10172). For the reason that the angels there are in the marriage of good and truth (n. 3246). The Israelitish nation were permitted to marry several wives, and to add concubines to wives, but not Christians, for the reason that that nation was in externals separate from internals, while Christians are able to enter into internals, thus into the marriage of good and truth (n. 3246, 4837, 8809.) 380. The love of dominion of one over the other entirely takes away marriage love and its heavenly delight, for as has been said above, marriage love and its delight consists in the will of one being that of the other, and this mutually and reciprocally. This is destroyed by love of dominion in marriage, since he that domineers wishes his will alone to be in the other, and nothing of the other's will to be reciprocally in himself, which destroys all mutuality, and thus all sharing of any love and its delight one with the other. And yet this sharing and consequent conjunction are the interior delight itself that is called blessedness in marriage. This blessedness, with everything that is heavenly and spiritual in marriage love, is so completely extinguished by love of dominion as to destroy even all knowledge of it; and if that love were referred to it would be held in such contempt that any mention of blessedness from that source would excite either laughter or anger. [2] When one wills or loves what the other wills or loves each has freedom, since all freedom is from love; but where there is dominion no one has freedom; one is a servant, and the other who rules is also a servant, for he is led as a servant by the lust of ruling. But all this is wholly beyond the comprehension of one who does not know what the freedom of heavenly love is. Nevertheless from what has been said above about the origin and essence of marriage love it can be seen that so far as dominion enters, minds are not united but divided. Dominion subjugates, and a subjugated mind has either no will or an opposing will. If it has no will it has also no love; and if it has an opposing will there is hatred in place of love. [3] The interiors of those who live in such marriage are in mutual collision and strife, as two opposites are wont to be, however their exteriors may be restrained and kept quiet for the sake of tranquillity. The collision and antagonism of the interiors of such are disclosed after their death, when commonly they come together and fight like enemies and tear each other; for they then act in accordance with the state of the interiors. Frequently I have been permitted to see them fighting and tearing one another, sometimes with great vengeance and cruelty. For in the other life everyone's interiors are set at liberty; and they are no longer restrained by outward bounds or by worldly considerations, everyone then being just such as he is interiorly. 381. To some a likeness of marriage love is granted. Yet unless they are in the love of good and truth there is no marriage love, but only a love which from several causes appears like marriage love, namely, that they may secure good service at home; that they may be free from care, or at peace, or at ease; that they may be cared for in sickness or in old age; or that the children whom they love may be attended to. Some are constrained by fear of the other consort, or by fear of the loss of reputation, or other evil consequences, and some by a controlling lust. Moreover, in the two consorts marriage love may differ, in one there may be more or less of it, in the other little or none; and because of this difference heaven may be the portion of one and hell the portion of the other. 382. [a.] In the inmost heaven there is genuine marriage love because the angels there are in the marriage of good and truth, and also in innocence. The angels of the lower heavens are also in marriage love, but only so far as they are in innocence; for marriage love viewed in itself is a state of innocence; and this is why consorts who are in the marriage love enjoy heavenly delights together, which appear before their minds almost like the sports of innocence, as between little children; for everything delights their minds, since heaven with its joy flows into every particular of their lives. For the same reason marriage love is represented in heaven by the most beautiful objects. I have seen it represented by a maiden of indescribable beauty encompassed with a bright white cloud. It is said that the angels in heaven have all their beauty from marriage love. Affections and thought flowing from that love are represented by diamond-like auras with scintillations as if from carbuncles and rubies, which are attended by delights that affect the interiors of the mind. In a word, heaven itself is represented in marriage love, because heaven with the angels is the conjunction of good and truth, and it is this conjunction that makes marriage love. 382. [b.] Marriages in heaven differ from marriages on the earth in that the procreation of offspring is another purpose of marriages on the earth, but not of marriages in heaven, since in heaven the procreation of good and truth takes the place of procreation of offspring. The former takes the place of the latter because marriage in heaven is a marriage of good and truth (as has been shown above); and as in that marriage good and truth and their conjunction are loved above all things so these are what are propagated by marriages in heaven. And because of this, in the Word births and generations signify spiritual births and generations, which are births and generations of good and truth; mother and father signify truth conjoined to good, which is what procreates; sons and daughters signify the truths and goods that are procreated; and sons-in-law and daughters-in-law conjunction of these, and so on.{1} All this makes clear that marriages in heaven are not like marriages on earth. In heaven marryings are spiritual, and cannot properly be called marryings, but conjunctions of minds from the conjunction of good and truth. But on earth there are marryings, because these are not of the spirit alone but also of the flesh. And as there are no marryings in heaven, consorts there are not called husband and wife; but from the angelic idea of the joining of two minds into one, each consort designates the other by a name signifying one's own, mutually and reciprocally. This shows how the Lord's words in regard to marrying and giving in marriage (Luke 20:35, 36), are to be understood. {Footnote 1} Conceptions, pregnancies, births, and generations signify those that are spiritual, that is, such as pertain to good and truth, or to love and faith (n. 613, 1145, 1255, 2020, 2584, 3860, 3868, 4070, 4668, 6239, 8042, 9325, 10249). Therefore generation and birth signify regeneration and rebirth through faith and love (n. 5160, 5598, 9042, 9845). Mother signifies the church in respect to truth, and thus the truth of the church; father the church in respect to good, and thus the good of the church (n. 2691, 2717, 3703, 5581, 8897). Sons signify affections for truth, and thus truths (n. 489, 491, 533, 2623, 3373, 4257, 8649, 9807). Daughters signify affections for good, and the goods (n. 489-491, 2362, 3963, 6729, 6775, 6778, 9055). Son-in-law signifies truth associated with affection for good (n. 2389). Daughter-in-law signifies good associated with its truth (n. 4843). 383. I have also been permitted to see how marriages are contracted in the heavens. As everywhere in heaven those who are alike are united and those who are unlike are separated, so every society in heaven consists of those who are alike. Like are brought to like not by themselves but by the Lord (see above, n. 41, 43, 44, seq.); and equally consort to consort whose minds can be joined into one are drawn together; and consequently at first sight they inmostly love each other, and see themselves to be consorts, and enter into marriage. For this reason all marriages in heaven are from the Lord alone. They have also marriage feasts; and these are attended by many; but the festivities differ in different societies. 384. Marriages on the earth are most holy in the sight of the angels of heaven because they are seminaries of the human race, and also of the angels of heaven (heaven being from the human race, as already shown under that head), also because these marriages are from a spiritual origin, namely, from the marriage of good and truth, and because the Lord's Divine flows especially into marriage love. Adulteries on the other hand are regarded by the angels as profane because they are contrary to marriage love; for as in marriages the angels behold the marriage of good and truth, which is heaven, so in adulteries they behold the marriage of falsity and evil, which is hell. If, then, they but hear adulteries mentioned they turn away. And this is why heaven is closed up to man when he commits adultery from delight; and when heaven is closed man no longer acknowledges the Divine nor any thing of the faith of church.{1} That all who are in hell are antagonistic to marriage love I have been permitted to perceive from the sphere exhaling from hell, which was like an unceasing endeavor to dissolve and violate marriages; which shows that the reigning delight in hell is the delight of adultery, and the delight of adultery is a delight in destroying the conjunction of good and truth, which conjunction makes heaven. From this it follows that the delight of adultery is an infernal delight directly opposed to the delight of marriage, which is a heavenly delight. {Footnote 1} Adulteries are profane (n. 9961, 10174). Heaven is closed to adulterers (n. 2750). Those that have experienced delight in adulteries cannot come into heaven (n. 539, 2733, 2747-2749, 2751, 10175). Adulterers are unmerciful and destitute of religion (n. 824, 2747, 2748). The ideas of adulterers are filthy (n. 2747, 2748). In the other life they love filth and are in filthy hells (n. 2755, 5394, 5722). In the Word adulteries signify adulterations of good, and whoredoms perversions of truth (n. 2466, 2729, 3399, 4865, 8904, 10648). 385. There were certain spirits who, from a practice acquired in the life of the body, infested me with peculiar craftiness, and this by a very gentle wave-like influx like the usual influx of well disposed spirits; but I perceived that there was craftiness and other like evils in them prompting them to ensnare and deceive. Finally, I talked with one of them who, I was told, had been when he lived in the world the leader of an army; and perceiving that there was a lustfulness in the ideas of his thought I talked with him about marriage, using spiritual speech with representatives, which fully expresses all that is meant and many things in a moment. He said that in the life of the body he had regarded adulteries as of no account. But I was permitted to tell him that adulteries are heinous, although to those like himself they do not appear to be such, and even appear permissible, on account of their seductive and enticing delights. That they are heinous he might know from the fact that marriages are the seminaries of the human race, and thus also the seminaries of the heavenly kingdom; consequently they must on no account be violated, but must be esteemed holy. This he might know from the fact, which he ought to know because of his being in the other life and in a state of perception, that marriage love descends from the Lord through heaven, and from that love, as from a parent, mutual love, which is the foundation of heaven is derived; and again from this, that if adulterers merely draw near to heavenly societies they perceive their own stench and cast themselves down therefrom towards hell. At least he must have known that to violate marriages is contrary to Divine laws, and contrary to the civil laws of all kingdoms, also contrary to the genuine light of reason, because it is contrary to both Divine and human order; not to mention other considerations. But he replied that he had not so thought in the life of the body. He wished to reason about whether it were so, but was told that truth does not admit of such reasonings; for reasonings defend what one delights in, and thus one's evils and falsities; that he ought first to think about the things that had been said because they are truths; or at least think about them from the principle well known in the world, that no one should do to another what he is unwilling that another should do to him; thus he should consider whether he himself would not have detested adulteries if any one had in that way deceived his wife, whom he had loved as everyone loves in the first period of marriage, and if in his state of wrath he had expressed himself on the subject; also whether being a man of talent he would not in that case have confirmed himself more decidedly than others against adulteries, even condemning them to hell. 386. I have been shown how the delights of marriage love advance towards heaven, and the delights of adultery towards hell. The advance of the delights of marriage love towards heaven is into states of blessedness and happiness continually increasing until they become innumerable and ineffable, and the more interiorly they advance the more innumerable and more ineffable they become, until they reach the very states of blessedness and happiness of the inmost heaven, or of the heaven of innocence, and this through the most perfect freedom; for all freedom is from love, thus the most perfect freedom is from marriage love, which is heavenly love itself. On the other hand, the advance of adultery is towards hell, and by degrees to the lowest hell, where there is nothing but what is direful and horrible. Such a lot awaits adulterers after their life in the world, those being meant by adulterers who feel a delight in adulteries, and no delight in marriages. 387. XLI. THE EMPLOYMENTS OF ANGELS IN HEAVEN. It is impossible to enumerate the employments in the heavens, still less to describe them in detail, but something may be said about them in a general way; for they are numberless, and vary in accordance with the functions of the societies. Each society has its peculiar function, for as societies are distinct in accordance with goods (see above, n. 41), so they are distinct in accordance with uses, because with all in the heavens goods are goods in act, which are uses. Everyone there performs a use, for the Lord's kingdom is a kingdom of uses.{1} {Footnote 1} The Lord's kingdom is a kingdom of uses (n. 454, 696, 1103, 3645, 4054, 7038). Performing uses is serving the Lord (n. 7038). In the other life all must perform uses (n. 1103); even the wicked and infernal, but in what manner (n. 696). All are such as are the uses they perform (n. 4054, 6815); illustrated (n. 7038). Angelic blessedness consists in the goods of charity, that is, in performing uses (n. 454). 388. In the heavens as on the earth there are many forms of service, for there are ecclesiastical affairs, there are civil affairs, and there are domestic affairs. That there are ecclesiastical affairs is evident from what has been said and shown above, where Divine worship is treated of (n. 221-227); civil affairs, where governments in heaven are treated of (n. 213-220); and domestic affairs, where the dwellings and homes of angels are treated of (n. 183-190); and marriages in heaven (n. 366-368); all of which show that in every heavenly society there are many employments and services. 389. All things in the heavens are organized in accordance with Divine order, which is everywhere guarded by the services performed by angels, those things that pertain to the general good or use by the wiser angels, those that pertain to particular uses by the less wise, and so on. They are subordinated just as uses are subordinated in the Divine order; and for this reason a dignity is connected with every function according to the dignity of the use. Nevertheless, an angel does not claim dignity to himself, but ascribes all dignity to the use; and as the use is the good that he accomplishes, and all good is from the Lord, so he ascribes all dignity to the Lord. Therefore he that thinks of honor for himself and subsequently for the use, and not for the use and subsequently for himself, can perform no function in heaven, because this is looking away backwards from the Lord, and putting self in the first place and use in the second. When use is spoken of the Lord also is meant, because, as has just been said, use is good, and good is from the Lord. 390. From this it may be inferred what subordinations in the heavens are, namely, that as any one loves, esteems, and honors the use he also loves, esteems, and honors the person with whom the use is connected; also that the person is loved, esteemed and honored in the measure in which he ascribes the use to the Lord and not to himself; for to that extent he is wise, and the uses he performs he performs from good. Spiritual love, esteem, and honor are nothing else than the love, esteem, and honor of the use in the person, together with the honor to the person because of the use, and not honor to the use because of the person. This is the way, moreover, in which men are regarded when they are regarded from spiritual truth, for one man is then seen to be like another, whether he be in great or in little dignity, the only perceptible difference being a difference in wisdom; and wisdom is loving use, that is, loving the good of a fellow citizen, of society, of one's country, and of the church. It is this that constitutes love to the Lord, because every good that is a good of use is from the Lord; and it constitutes also love towards the neighbor, because the neighbor means the good that is to be loved in a fellow citizen, in society, in one's country, and in the church, and that is to be done in their behalf.{1} {Footnote 1} Loving the neighbor is not loving the person, but loving that which is in him and which constitutes him (n. 5025, 10336). Those who love the person, and not that which is in him, and which constitutes him, love equally an evil man and a good man (n. 3820); and do good alike to the evil and to the good; and yet to do good to the evil is to do evil to the good and that is not loving the neighbor (n. 3820, 6703, 8120). The judge who punishes the evil that they may be reformed, and may not contaminate or injure the good, loves his neighbor (n. 3820, 8120, 8121). Every individual and every community also one's country and the church, and in the most general sense the kingdom of the Lord, are the neighbor, and to do good to these from a love of good in accord with the quality of their state, is loving the neighbor; that is, the neighbor is their good, which is to be consulted (n. 6818-6824, 8123). 391. As all the societies in the heavens are distinct in accordance with their goods (as said above, n. 41, seq.) so they are distinct in accordance with their uses, goods being goods in act, that is, goods of charity which are uses. Some societies are employed in taking care of little children; others in teaching and training them as they grow up; others in teaching and training in like manner the boys and girls that have acquired a good disposition from their education in the world, and in consequence have come into heaven. There are other societies that teach the simple good from the Christian world, and lead them into the way to heaven; there are others that in like manner teach and lead the various heathen nations. There are some societies that defend from infestations by evil spirits the newly arrived spirits that have just come from the world; there are some that attend upon the spirits that are in the lower earth; also some that attend upon spirits that are in the hells, and restrain them from tormenting each other beyond prescribed limits; and there are some that attend upon those who are being raised from the dead. In general, angels from each society are sent to men to watch over them and to lead them away from evil affections and consequent thoughts, and to inspire them with good affections so far as they will receive them in freedom; and by means of these they also direct the deeds or works of men by removing as far as possible evil intentions. When angels are with men they dwell as it were in their affections; and they are near to man just in the degree in which he is in good from truths, and are distant from him just in the degree in which his life is distant from good.{1} But all these employments of angels are employments of the Lord through the angels, for the angels perform them from the Lord and not from themselves. For this reason, in the Word in its internal sense "angels" mean, not angels, but something belonging to the Lord; and for the same reason angels are called "gods" in the Word.{2} {Footnote 1} Of the angels that are with little children and afterwards with boys, and thus in succession (n. 2303). Man is raised from the dead by means of angels; from experiences (n. 168-189). Angels are sent to those who are in hell to prevent their tormenting each other beyond measure (n. 967). Of the services rendered by the angels to men on their coming into the other life (n. 2131). There are spirits and angels with all men and man is led by the Lord by means of spirits and angels (n. 50, 697, 2796, 2887, 2888, 5846-5866, 5976-5993, 6209). Angels have dominion over evil spirits (n. 1755). {Footnote 2} In the Word by angels something Divine from the Lord is signified (n. 1925, 2821, 3039, 4085, 6280, 8192). In the Word angels are called "gods," because of their reception of Divine truth and good from the Lord (n. 4295, 4402, 8192, 8301). 392. These employments of the angels are their general employments; but each one has his particular charge; for every general use is composed of innumerable uses which are called mediate, ministering, and subservient uses, all and each coordinated and subordinated in accordance with Divine order, and taken together constituting and perfecting the general use, which is the general good. 393. Those are concerned with ecclesiastical affairs in heaven who in the world loved the Word and eagerly sought in it for truths, not with honor or gain as an end, but uses of life both for themselves and for others. These in heaven are in enlightenment and in the light of wisdom in the measure of their love and desire for use; and this light of wisdom they receive from the Word in heaven, which is not a natural Word, as it is in the world, but a spiritual Word (see above, n. 259.) These minister in the preaching office; and in accordance with Divine order those are in higher positions who from enlightenment excel others in wisdom. [2] Those are concerned with civil affairs who in the world loved their country, and loved its general good more than their own, and did what is just and right from a love for what is just and right. So far as these from the eagerness of love have investigated the laws of justice and have thereby become intelligent, they have the ability to perform such functions in heaven, and they perform these in that position or degree that accords with their intelligence, their intelligence being in equal degree with their love of use for the general good. [3] Furthermore, there are in heaven more functions and services and occupations than can be enumerated; while in the world there are few in comparison. But however many there may be that are so employed, they are all in the delight of their work and labor from a love of use, and no one from a love of self or of gain; and as all the necessaries of life are furnished them gratuitously they have no love of gain for the sake of a living. They are housed gratuitously, clothed gratuitously, and fed gratuitously. Evidently, then, those that have loved themselves and the world more than use have no lot in heaven; for his love or affection remains with everyone after his life in the world, and is not extirpated to eternity (see above, n. 563). 394. In heaven everyone comes into his own occupation in accordance with correspondence, and the correspondence is not with the occupation but with the use of each occupation (see above, n. 112); for there is a correspondence of all things (see n. 106). He that in heaven comes into the employment or occupation corresponding to his use is in much the same condition of life as when he was in the world; since what is spiritual and what is natural make one by correspondences; yet there is this difference, that he then comes into an interior delight, because into spiritual life, which is an interior life, and therefore more receptive of heavenly blessedness. 395. XLII. HEAVENLY JOY AND HAPPINESS. Hardly any one at present knows what heaven is or what heavenly joy is. Those who have given any thought to these subjects have had so general and so gross an idea about them as scarcely to amount to anything. From spirits that have come from the world into the other life I have been able to learn fully what idea they had of heaven and heavenly joy; for when left to themselves, as they were in the world, they think as they then did. There is this ignorance about heavenly joy for the reason that those who have thought about it have formed their opinion from the outward joys pertaining to the natural man, and have not known what the inner and spiritual man is, nor in consequence the nature of his delight and blessedness; and therefore even if they had been told by those who are in spiritual or inward delight what heavenly joy is, would have had no comprehension of it, for it could have fallen only into an idea not yet recognized, thus into no perception; and would therefore have been among the things that the natural man rejects. Yet everyone can understand that when a man leaves his outer or natural man he comes into the inner or spiritual man, and consequently can see that heavenly delight is internal and spiritual, not external and natural; and being internal and spiritual, it is more pure and exquisite, and affects the interiors of man which pertain to his soul or spirit. From these things alone everyone may conclude that his delight is such as the delight of his spirit has previously been and that the delight of the body, which is called the delight of the flesh, is in comparison not heavenly; also that whatever is in the spirit of man when he leaves the body remains after death, since he then lives a man-spirit. 396. All delights flow forth from love, for that which a man loves he feels to be delightful. No one has any delight from any other source. From this it follows that such as the love is such is the delight. The delights of the body or of the flesh all flow forth from the love of self and love of the world; consequently they are lusts and their pleasures; while the delights of the soul or spirit all flow forth from love to the Lord and love towards the neighbor, consequently they are affections for good and truth and interior satisfactions. These loves with their delights flow in out of heaven from the Lord by an inner way, that is, from above, and affect the interiors; while the former loves with their delights flow in from the flesh and from the world by an external way, that is, from beneath, and affect the exteriors. Therefore as far as the two loves of heaven are received and make themselves felt, the interiors of man, which belong to his soul or spirit and which look from the world heavenwards, are opened, while so far as the two loves of the world are received and make themselves felt, his exteriors, which belong to the body or flesh and look away from heaven towards the world, are opened. As loves flow in and are received their delights also flow in, the delights of heaven into the interiors and the delights of the world into the exteriors, since all delight, as has just been said above, belongs to love. 397. Heaven in itself is so full of delights that viewed in itself it is nothing else than blessedness and delight; for the Divine good that flows forth from the Lord's Divine love is what makes heaven in general and in particular with everyone there, and the Divine love is a longing for the salvation of all and the happiness of all from inmosts and in fullness. Thus whether you say heaven or heavenly joy it is the same thing. 398. The delights of heaven are both ineffable and innumerable; but he that is in the mere delight of the body or of the flesh can have no knowledge of or belief in a single one of these innumerable delights; for his interiors, as has just been said, look away from heaven towards the world, thus backwards. For he that is wholly in the delight of the body or of the flesh, or what is the same, in the love of self and of the world, has no sense of delight except in honor, in gain, and in the pleasures of the body and the senses; and these so extinguish and suffocate the interior delights that belong to heaven as to destroy all belief in them; consequently he would be greatly astonished if he were told that when the delights of honor and of gain are set aside other delights are given, and still more if he were told that the delights of heaven that take the place of these are innumerable, and are such as cannot be compared with the delights of the body and the flesh, which are chiefly the delights of honor and of gain. All this makes clear why it is not known what heavenly joy is. 399. One can see how great the delight of heaven must be from the fact that it is the delight of everyone in heaven to share his delights and blessings with others; and as such is the character of all that are in the heavens it is clear how immeasurable is the delight of heaven. It has been shown above (n. 268), that in the heavens there is a sharing of all with each and of each with all. Such sharing goes forth from the two loves of heaven, which are, as has been said, love to the Lord and love towards the neighbor; and to share their delights is the very nature of these loves. Love to the Lord is such because the Lord's love is a love of sharing everything it has with all, since it wills the happiness of all. There is a like love in everyone of those who love the Lord, because the Lord is in them; and from this comes the mutual sharing of the delights of angels with one another. Love towards the neighbor is of such a nature, as will be seen in what follows. All this shows that it is the nature of these loves to share their delights. It is otherwise with the loves of self and of the world. The love of self takes away from others and robs others of all delight, and directs it to itself, for it wishes well to itself alone; while the love of the world wishes to have as its own what belongs to the neighbor. Therefore these loves are destructive of the delights of others; or if there is any disposition to share, it is for the sake of themselves and not for the sake of others. Thus in respect to others it is the nature of those loves not to share but to take away, except so far as the delights of others have some relation to self. That the loves of self and of the world, when they rule, are such I have often been permitted to perceive by living experience. Whenever the spirits that were in these loves during their life as men in the world drew near, my delight receded and vanished; and I was told that at the mere approach of such to any heavenly society the delight of those in the society diminished just in the degree of their proximity; and what is wonderful, the evil spirits are then in their delight. All this indicates the state of the spirit of such a man while he is in the body, since it is the same as it is after it is separated from the body, namely, that it longs for or lusts after the delights or goods of another, and finds delight so far as it secures them. All this makes clear that the loves of self and of the world tend to destroy the joys of heaven, and are thus direct opposites of heavenly loves, which desire to share. 400. But it must be understood that the delight of those who are in the loves of self and of the world, when they draw near to any heavenly society, is the delight of their lust, and thus is directly opposite to the delight of heaven. And such enter into this delight of their lust in consequence of their taking away and dispelling heavenly delight in those that are in such delight. When the heavenly delight is not taken away or dispelled it is different, for they are then unable to draw near; for so far as they draw near they bring upon themselves anguish and pain; and for this reason they do not often venture to come near. This also I have been permitted to learn by repeated experience, something of which I would like to add. [2] Spirits who go from this world into the other life desire more than any thing else to get into heaven. Nearly all seek to enter, supposing that heaven consists solely in being admitted and received. Because of this desire they are brought to some society of the lowest heaven. But as soon as those who are in the love of self and of the world draw near the first threshold of that heaven they begin to be distressed and so tortured inwardly as to feel hell rather than heaven to be in them; and in consequence they cast themselves down headlong therefrom, and do not rest until they come into the hells among their like. [3] It has also frequently occurred that such spirits have wished to know what heavenly joy is, and having heard that it is in the interiors of angels, they have wished to share in it. This therefore was granted; for whatever a spirit who is not yet in heaven or hell wishes is granted if it will benefit him. But as soon as that joy was communicated they began to be so tortured as not to know how to twist or turn because of the pain. I saw them thrust their heads down to their feet and cast themselves upon the ground, and there writhe into coils like serpents, and this in consequence of their interior agony. Such was the effect produced by heavenly delight upon those who are in the delights of the love of self and of the world; and for the reason that these loves are directly opposite to heavenly loves, and when opposite acts against opposite such pain results. And since heavenly delight enters by an inward way and flows into the contrary delight, the interiors which are in the contrary delight are twisted backwards, thus into the opposite direction, and the result is such tortures. [4] They are opposite for the reason given above, that love to the Lord and love to the neighbor wish to share with others all that is their own, for this is their delight, while the loves of self and of the world wish to take away from others what they have, and take it to themselves; and just to the extent that they are able to do this they are in their delight. From this, too, one can see what it is that separates hell from heaven; for all that are in hell were, while they were living in the world, in the mere delights of the body and of the flesh from the love of self and of the world; while all that are in the heavens were, while they lived in the world, in the delights of the soul and spirit from love to the Lord and love to the neighbor; and as these are opposite loves, so the hells and the heavens are entirely separated, and indeed so separated that a spirit in hell does not venture even to put forth a finger from it or raise the crown of his head, for if he does this in the least he is racked with pain and tormented. This, too, I have frequently seen. 401. One who is in the love of self and love of the world perceives while he lives in the body a sense of delight from these loves and also in the particular pleasures derived from these loves. But one who is in love to God and in love towards the neighbor does not perceive while he lives in the body any distinct sense of delight from these loves or from the good affections derived from them, but only a blessedness that is hardly perceptible, because it is hidden away in his interiors and veiled by the exteriors pertaining to the body and dulled by the cares of the world. But after death these states are entirely changed. The delights of love of self and of the world are then turned into what is painful and direful, because into such things as are called infernal fire, and by turns into things defiled and filthy corresponding to their unclean pleasures, and these, wonderful to tell, are then delightful to them. But the obscure delight and almost imperceptible blessedness of those that had been while in the world in love to God and in love to the neighbor are then turned into the delight of heaven, and become in every way perceived and felt, for the blessedness that lay hidden and unrecognized in their interiors while they lived in the world is then revealed and brought forth into evident sensation, because such had been the delight of their spirit, and they are then in the spirit. 402. In uses all the delights of heaven are brought together and are present, because uses are the goods of love and charity in which angels are; therefore everyone has delights that are in accord with his uses, and in the degree of his affection for use. That all the delights of heaven are delights of use can be seen by a comparison with the five bodily senses of man. There is given to each sense a delight in accordance with its use; to the sight, the hearing, the smell, the taste, and the touch, each its own delight; to the sight a delight from beauty and from forms, to the hearing from harmonious sounds, to the smell from pleasing odors, to taste from fine flavors. These uses which the senses severally perform are known to those who study them, and more fully to those who are acquainted with correspondences. Sight has such a delight because of the use it performs to the understanding, which is the inner sight; the hearing has such a delight because of the use it performs both to the understanding and to the will through giving attention; the smell has such a delight because of the use it performs to the brain, and also to the lungs; the taste has such a delight because of the use it performs to the stomach, and thus to the whole body by nourishing it. The delight of marriage, which is a purer and more exquisite delight of touch, transcends all the rest because of its use, which is the procreation of the human race and thereby of angels of heaven. These delights are in these sensories by an influx of heaven, where every delight pertains to use and is in accordance with use. 403. There were some spirits who believed from an opinion adopted in the world that heavenly happiness consists in an idle life in which they would be served by others; but they were told that happiness never consists in abstaining from work and getting satisfaction therefrom. This would mean everyone's desiring the happiness of others for himself, and what everyone wished for no one would have. Such a life would be an idle not an active life, and would stupefy all the powers of life; and everyone ought to know that without activity of life there can be no happiness of life, and that rest from this activity should be only for the sake of recreation, that one may return with more vigor to the activity of his life. They were then shown by many evidences that angelic life consists in performing the good works of charity, which are uses, and that the angels find all their happiness in use, from use, and in accordance with use. To those that held the opinion that heavenly joy consists in living an idle life and drawing breaths of eternal joy in idleness, a perception was given of what such a life is, that they might become ashamed of the idea; and they saw that such a life is extremely sad, and that all joy thus perishing they would in a little while feel only loathing and disgust for it. 404. There were some spirits who thought themselves better instructed than others, and who said that they had believed in the world that heavenly joy would consist solely in praising and giving glory to God, and that this would be an active life. But these were told that praising and giving glory to God is not a proper active life, also that God has no need of praises and glorification, but it is His will that they should perform uses, and thus the good works that are called goods of charity. But they were unable to associate with goods of charity any idea of heavenly joy, but only of servitude, although the angels testified that this joy is most free because it comes from an interior affection and is conjoined with ineffable delight. 405. Almost all who enter the other life think that hell is the same to everyone, and heaven the same; and yet in both there are infinite varieties and diversities, and in no case is hell or heaven wholly the same to one as to another; as it is impossible that any one man, spirit or angel should ever be wholly like another even as to the face. At my mere thought of two being just alike or equal the angels expressed horror, saying that everyone thing is formed out of the harmonious concurrence of many things, and that the one thing is such as that concurrence is; and that it is thus that a whole society in heaven becomes a one, and that all the societies of heaven together become a one, and this from the Lord alone by means of love.{1} Uses in the heavens are likewise in all variety and diversity, and in no case is the use of one wholly the same as and identical with the use of another; so neither is the happiness of one the same as and identical with the happiness of another. Furthermore, the delights of each use are innumerable, and these innumerable delights are likewise various, and yet conjoined in such order that they mutually regard each other, like the uses of each member, organ, and viscus, in the body, and still more like the uses of each vessel and fiber in each member, organ and viscus; each and all of which are so affiliated as to have regard to another's good in their own good, and thus each in all, and all in each. From this universal and individual aspect they act as one. {Footnote 1} One thing consists of various things, and receives thereby its form and quality and perfection in accordance with the quality of the harmony and concurrence (n. 457, 3241, 8003). There is an infinite variety and never any one thing the same as another (n. 7236, 9002). It is the same in the heavens (n. 3744, 4005, 7236, 7833, 7836, 9002). In consequence all the societies in the heavens and all the angels in a society are distinct from each other because they are in different goods and uses (n. 690, 3241, 3519, 3804, 3986, 4067, 4149, 4263, 7236, 7833). The Lord's Divine love arranges all into a heavenly form, and so conjoins them that they are as a single man (n. 457, 3986, 5598). 406. I have talked at times with spirits that had recently come from the world about the state of eternal life, saying that it is important to know who the Lord of the kingdom is, and what kind and what form of government it has. As nothing is more important for those entering another kingdom in the world than to know who and what the king is, and what the government is, and other particulars in regard to the kingdom, so is it of still greater consequence in regard to this kingdom in which they are to live to eternity. Therefore they should know that it is the Lord who governs both heaven and the universe, for He who governs the one governs the other; thus that the kingdom in which they now are is the Lord's; and that the laws of this kingdom are eternal truths, all of which rest upon the law that the Lord must be loved above all things and the neighbor as themselves; and even more than this, if they would be like the angels they must love the neighbor more than themselves. On hearing this they could make no reply, for the reason that although they had heard in the life of the body something like this they had not believed it, wondering how there could be such love in heaven, and how it could be possible for any one to love his neighbor more than himself. But they were told that every good increases immeasurably in the other life, and that while they cannot go further in the life of the body than to love the neighbor as themselves, because they are immersed in what concerns the body, yet when this is set aside their love becomes more pure, and finally becomes angelic, which is to love the neighbor more than themselves. For in the heavens there is joy in doing good to another, but no joy in doing good to self unless with a view to its becoming another's, and thus for another's sake. This is loving the neighbor more than oneself. They were told that the possibility of such a love is shown in the world in the marriage love of some who have suffered death to protect a consort from injury, in the love of parents for their children, as in a mother's preferring to go hungry rather than see her child go hungry; in sincere friendship, in which one friend will expose himself to danger for another; and even in polite and pretended friendship that wishes to emulate sincere friendship, in offering the better things to those to whom it professes to wish well, and bearing such good will on the lips though not in the heart; finally, in the nature of love, which is such that its joy is to serve others, not for its own sake but for theirs. But all this was incomprehensible to those who loved themselves more than others, and in the life of the body had been greedy of gain; most of all to the avaricious. 407. There was one who in the life of the body had exercised power over others, and who had retained in the other life the desire to rule; but he was told that he was now in another kingdom, which is eternal, and that his rule on earth had perished, and that he was now where no one is esteemed except in accordance with his goodness and truth, and that measure of the Lord's mercy which he enjoyed by virtue of his life in the world; also that the same is true in this kingdom as on the earth, where men are esteemed for their wealth and for their favor with the prince, wealth here being good and truth, and favor with the prince the mercy bestowed on man by the Lord in accordance with his life in the world. Any wish to rule otherwise would make him a rebel, since he is in another's kingdom. On hearing these things he was ashamed. 408. I have talked with spirits who believed heaven and heavenly joy to consist in their being great; but such were told that in heaven he that is least is greatest, since he is called least who has, and wishes to have, no power or wisdom from himself, but only from the Lord, he that is least in that sense having the greatest happiness, and as he has the greatest happiness, it follows that he is greatest; for he has thereby from the Lord all power and excels all in wisdom. What is it to be the greatest unless to be the most happy? For to be the most happy is what the powerful seek through power and the rich through riches. It was further said that heaven does not consist in a desire to be least for the purpose of being greatest, for that would be aspiring and longing to be the greatest; but it consists in desiring from the heart the good of others more than one's own, and in serving others with a view to their happiness, not with recompense as an end, but from love. 409. Heavenly joy itself, such as it is in its essence, cannot be described, because it is in the inmost of the life of angels and therefrom in everything of their thought and affection, and from this in every particular of their speech and action. It is as if the interiors were fully opened and unloosed to receive delight and blessedness, which are distributed to every least fiber and thus through the whole. Thus the perception and sensation of this joy is so great as to be beyond description, for that which starts from the inmosts flows into every particular derived from the inmosts, propagating itself away with increase towards the exteriors. Good spirits who are not yet in that joy, because not yet raised up into heaven, when they perceive a sense of that joy from an angel from the sphere of his love, are filled with such delight that they come as it were into a delicious trance. This sometimes happens with those who desire to know what heavenly joy is. 410. When certain spirits wished to know what heavenly joy is they were allowed to feel it to such a degree that they could no longer bear it; and yet it was not angelic joy; it was scarcely in the least degree angelic, as I was permitted to perceive by sharing it, but was so slight as to be almost frigid; nevertheless they called it most heavenly, because to them it was an inmost joy. From this it was evident, not only that there are degrees of the joys of heaven, but also that the inmost joy of one scarcely reaches to the outmost or middle joy of another; also that when any one receives his own inmost joy he is in his heavenly joy, and cannot endure what is still more interior, for such a joy becomes painful to him. 411. Certain spirits, not evil, sinking into a quiescence like sleep, were taken up into heaven in respect to the interiors of their minds; for before their interiors are opened spirits can be taken up into heaven and be taught about the happiness of those there. I saw them in the quiescent state for about half an hour, and afterwards they relapsed into their exteriors in which they were before, and also into a recollection of what they had seen. They said that they had been among the angels in heaven, and had there seen and perceived amazing things, all of which were resplendent as if made of gold, silver, and precious stones, in exquisite forms and in wonderful variety; also that angels are not delighted with the outward things themselves, but with the things they represented, which were Divine, ineffable, and of infinite wisdom, and that these were their joy; with innumerable other things that could not be described in human language even as to a ten-thousandth part, or fall into ideas which partake of any thing material. 412. Scarcely any who enter the other life know what heavenly blessedness and happiness are, because they do not know what internal joy is, deriving their perception of it solely from bodily and worldly gladness and joy; and in consequence what they are ignorant of they suppose to be nothing, when in fact bodily and worldly joys are of no account in comparison. In order, therefore, that the well disposed, who do not know what heavenly joy is, may know and realize what it is, they are taken first to paradisal scenes that transcend every conception of the imagination. They then think that they have come into the heavenly paradise; but they are taught that this is not true heavenly happiness; and they are permitted to realize such interior states of joy as are perceptible to their inmost. They are then brought into a state of peace even to their inmost, when they confess that nothing of it is in the least expressible or conceivable. Finally they are brought into a state of innocence even to their inmost sense. Thus they are permitted to learn what true spiritual and heavenly good is. 413. But that I might learn the nature of heaven and heavenly joy I have frequently and for a long time been permitted by the Lord to perceive the delights of heavenly joys; but while I have been enabled to know by living experience what they are I am not at all able to describe them. Nevertheless, that some idea of them may be formed, something shall be said about them. Heavenly joy is an affection of innumerable delights and joys, which together present something general, and in this general, that is, this general affection, are harmonies of innumerable affections that come to perception obscurely, and not distinctly, because the perception is most general. Nevertheless I was permitted to perceive that there are innumerable things in it, in such order as cannot be at all described, those innumerable things being such as flow from the order of heaven. The order in the particulars of the affection even to the least, is such that these particulars are presented and perceived only as a most general whole, in accordance with the capacity of him who is the subject. In a word, each general affection contains infinite affections arranged in a most orderly form, with nothing therein that is not alive, and that does not affect all of them from the inmosts; for heavenly joys go forth from inmosts. I perceived also that the joy and ecstasy came as from the heart, diffusing most softly through all the inmost fibers, and from these into the bundles of fibers, with such an inmost sense of delight that the fiber seemed to be nothing but joy and ecstasy, and everything perceptive and sensitive therefrom seemed in like manner to be alive with happiness. Compared with these joys the joy of bodily pleasures is like a gross and pungent dust compared with a pure and most gentle aura. I have noticed that when I wished to transfer all my delight to another, a more interior and fuller delight continually flowed in in its place, and the more I wished this, the more flowed in; and this was perceived to be from the Lord. 414. Those that are in heaven are continually advancing towards the spring of life, with a greater advance towards a more joyful and happy spring the more thousands of years they live; and this to eternity, with increase according to the growth and degree of their love, charity, and faith. Women who have died old and worn out with age, if they have lived in faith in the Lord, in charity to the neighbor, and in happy marriage love with a husband, advance with the succession of years more and more into the flower of youth and early womanhood, and into a beauty that transcends every conception of any such beauty as is seen on the earth. Goodness and charity are what give this form and thus manifest their own likeness, causing the joy and beauty of charity to shine forth from every least particular of the face, and causing them to be the very forms of charity. Some who beheld this were struck with amazement. The form of charity that is seen in a living way in heaven, is such that it is charity itself that both forms and is formed; and this in such a manner that the whole angel is a charity, as it were, especially the face; and this is both clearly seen and felt. When this form is beheld it is beauty unspeakable, affecting with charity the very inmost life of the mind. In a word, to grow old in heaven is to grow young. Such forms or such beauties do those become in the other life who have lived in love to the Lord and in charity towards the neighbor. All angels are such forms in endless variety; and of these heaven is constituted. 415. XLIII. THE IMMENSITY OF HEAVEN. The immensity of the heaven of the Lord is evident from many things that have been said and shown in the foregoing chapters, especially from this, that heaven is from the human race (n. 311-317), both from those born within the church and from those born out of it (n. 318-328); thus it consists of all from the beginning of this earth that have lived a good life. How great a multitude of men there is in this entire world any one who knows anything about the divisions, the regions, and kingdoms of the earth may conclude. Whoever goes into a calculation will find that several thousands of men die every day, that is, some myriads of millions every year; and this from the earliest times, since which several thousands of years have elapsed. All of these after death have gone into the other world, which is called the spiritual world, and they are constantly going into it. But how many of these have become or are becoming angels of heaven cannot be told. This I have been told, that in ancient times the number was very great, because men then thought more interiorly and spiritually, and from such thought were in heavenly affection; but in the following ages not so many, because in the process of time man became more external and began to think more naturally, and from such thought to be in earthly affection. All of this shows how great heaven is even from the inhabitants of this earth alone. 416. The immensity of the heaven of the Lord is shown also by this, that all children, whether born within the church or out of it, are adopted by the Lord and become angels; and the number of these amounts to a fourth or fifth part of the whole human race on the earth. That every child, wherever born, whether within the church or out of it, whether of pious or impious parents, is received by the Lord when it dies, and is brought up in heaven, and is taught and imbued with affections for good, and through these with knowledges of truth, in accordance with Divine order, and as he becomes perfected in intelligence and wisdom is brought into heaven and becomes an angel, can be seen above (n. 329-345). From all this a conclusion may be formed of the multitude of angels of heaven, derived from this source alone, from the first creation to the present time. 417. Again, how immense the heaven of the Lord is can be seen from this, that all the planets visible to the eye in our solar system are earths, and moreover, that in the whole universe there are innumerable earths, all of them full of inhabitants. These have been treated of particularly in a small work on those earths from which I will quote the following passage: It is fully known in the other life that there are many earths inhabited by men from which spirits and angels come; for everyone there who desires from a love of truth and of use to do so is permitted to talk with spirits of other earths, and thus be assured that there is a plurality of worlds, and learn that the human race is not from one earth alone, but from innumerable earths. I have frequently talked about this with spirits of our earth, and was told that any intelligent person ought to know from many things that he does know that there are many earths inhabited by men; for it may be reasonably inferred that immense bodies like the planets, some of which exceed this earth in magnitude, are not empty masses created merely to be borne through space and to be carried around the sun, and to shine with their scanty light for the benefit of a single earth, but must have a more important use. He that believes, as everyone must believe, that the Divine created the universe for no other end than that the human race might exist, and heaven therefrom, for the human race is a seminary of heaven, must needs believe that wherever there is an earth there are men. That the planets visible to us because they are within the limits of our solar system are earths is evident from their being bodies of earthy matters, which is known from their reflecting the sun's light, and from their not appearing, when viewed through telescopes, like stars, sparkling with flame, but like earths varied with darker portions; also from their passing like our earth around the sun and following in the path of the zodiac, thus making years and seasons of the year, spring, summer, autumn, and winter, also revolving on their axes like our earth, making days and times of the day, morning, mid-day, evening, and night; also from some of them having moons, called satellites, that revolve around their earth at stated times, as the moon does around ours; while the planet Saturn, being at a greater distance from the sun, has also a large luminous belt which gives much light, though reflected, to that earth. Who that knows all this and thinks rationally can ever say that the planets are empty bodies? Moreover, I have said to spirits that man might believe that there are more earths in the universe than one, from the fact that the starry heaven is so immense, and the stars there so innumerable, and each of them in its place or in its system a sun, resembling our sun, although of a varying magnitude. Any one who duly weighs the subject must conclude that such an immense whole must needs be a means to an end that is the final end of creation; and this end is a heavenly kingdom in which the Divine may dwell with angels and men. For the visible universe or the heaven illumined by stars so numberless, which are so many suns, is simply a means for the existence of earths with men upon them from whom the heavenly kingdom is derived. From all this a rational man must needs conclude that so immense a means to so great an end could not have been provided merely for the human race on a single earth. What would this be for a Divine that is infinite, to which thousands and even myriads of earths, all of them full of inhabitants, would be little and scarcely anything? There are spirits whose sole pursuit is the acquisition of knowledges, because their delight is in this alone; and for this reason they are permitted to wander about, and even to pass out of our solar system into others, in acquiring knowledge. These spirits, who are from the planet Mercury, have told me that there are earths with men upon them not only in this solar system but also beyond it in the starry heaven in immense numbers. It was calculated that with a million earths in the universe, and on each earth three hundred millions of men, and two hundred generations in six thousand years, and a space of three cubic ells allowed to each man or spirit, the total number of so many men or spirits would not fill the space of this earth, and scarcely more than the space of one of the satellites about one of the planets--a space in the universe so small as to be almost invisible, since a satellite can scarcely be seen by the naked eye. What is this for the Creator of the universe, to whom it would not be sufficient if the whole universe were filled, since He is infinite? I have talked with angels about this, and they said that they had a similar idea of the fewness of the human race compared with the infinity of the Creator, although their thought is from states, not from spaces, and that in their thought earths amounting to as many myriads as could possibly be conceived of would still be nothing at all to the Lord. The earths in the universe, with their inhabitants, and the spirits and angels from them, are treated of in the above mentioned work. What is there related has been revealed and shown to me to the intent that it may be known that the heaven of the Lord is immense, and that it is all from the human race; also that our Lord is every where acknowledged as the God of heaven and earth. 418. Again, the immensity of the heaven of the Lord is shown in this, that heaven in its entire complex reflects a single Man, and corresponds to all things and each thing in man, and that this correspondence can never be filled out, since it is a correspondence not only with each of the members, organs, and viscera of the body in general, but also with all and each of the little viscera and little organs contained in these in every minutest particular, and even with each vessel and fiber; and not only with these but also with the organic substances that receive interiorly the influx of heaven, from which come man's interior activities that are serviceable to the operations of his mind; since everything that exists interiorly in man exists in forms which are substances, for anything that does not exist in a substance as its subject is nothing. There is a correspondence of all these things with heaven, as can be seen from the chapter treating of the correspondence of all things of heaven with all things of man (n. 87-102). This correspondence can never be filled out because the more numerous the angelic affiliations are that correspond to each member the more perfect heaven becomes; for every perfection in the heavens increases with increase of number; and this for the reason that all there have the same end, and look with one accord to that end. That end is the common good; and when that reigns there is, from the common good, good to each individual, and from the good of each individual there is good to the whole community. This is so for the reason that the Lord turns all in heaven to Himself (see above, n. 123), and thereby makes them to be one in Himself. That the unanimity and concord of many, especially from such an origin and held together by such a bond, produces perfection, everyone with a reason at all enlightened can see clearly. 419. I have also been permitted to see the extent of the inhabited and also of the uninhabited heaven; and the extent of the uninhabited heaven was seen to be so great that it could not be filled to eternity even if there were many myriads of earths, and as great a multitude of men on each earth as on ours. (On this also see the treatise on The Earths in the Universe, n. 168.) 420. That heaven is not immense, but it is of limited extent, is a conclusion that some have derived from certain passages in the Word understood according to the sense of its letter; for example, where it is said that only the poor are received into heaven, or only the elect, or only those within the church, and not those outside of it, or only those for whom the Lord intercedes; that heaven is closed when it is filled, and that this time is predetermined. But such are unaware that heaven is never closed, and that there is no time predetermined, or any limit of number; and that those are called the "elect" who are in a life of good and truth;{1} and those are called "poor" who are lacking in knowledges of good and truth and yet desire them; and such from that desire are also called hungry.{2} Those that have conceived an idea of the small extent of heaven from the Word not understood believe it to be in one place, where all are gathered together; when, in fact, heaven consists of innumerable societies (see above, n. 41-50). Such also have no other idea than that heaven is granted to everyone from mercy apart from means, and thus that there is admission and reception from mere favor; and they fail to understand that the Lord from mercy leads everyone who accepts Him, and that he accepts Him who lives in accordance with the laws of divine order, which are the precepts of love and of faith, and that the mercy that is meant is to be thus led by the Lord from infancy to the last period of life in the world and afterwards to eternity. Let them know, therefore, that every man is born for heaven, and that he is received that receives heaven in himself in the world, and he that does not receive it is shut out. {Footnote 1} Those are the elect who are in a life of good and truth (n. 3755, 3900). Election and reception into heaven are not from mercy, as that term is understood, but are in accordance with the life (n. 5057, 5058). There is no mercy of the Lord apart from means, but only through means, that is, to those that live in accordance with His precepts; such the Lord from His mercy leads continually in the world, and afterwards to eternity (n. 8700, 10659). {Footnote 2} By the "poor," in the Word, those are meant who are spiritually poor, that is, who are ignorant of truth and yet wish to be taught (n. 9209, 9253, 10227). Such are said to hunger and thirst, which is to desire knowledges of good and of truth, by which there is introduction into the church and into heaven (n. 4958, 10227). 421. XLIV. WHAT THE WORLD OF SPIRITS IS. The world of spirits is not heaven, nor is it hell, but it is the intermediate place or state between the two; for it is the place that man first enters after death; and from which after a suitable time he is either raised up into heaven or cast down into hell in accord with his life in the world. 422. The world of spirits is an intermediate place between heaven and hell and also an intermediate state of the man after death. It has been shown to me not only that it is an intermediate place, having the hells below it and the heavens above it, but also that it is in an intermediate state, since so long as man is in it he is not yet either in heaven or in hell. The state of heaven in man is the conjunction of good and truth in him; and the state of hell is the conjunction of evil and falsity in him. Whenever good in a man-spirit is conjoined to truth he comes into heaven, because that conjunction, as just said, is heaven in him; but whenever evil in a man-spirit is conjoined with falsity he comes into hell, because that conjunction is hell in him. That conjunction is effected in the world of spirits, man then being in an intermediate state. It is the same thing whether you say the conjunction of the understanding and the will, or the conjunction of good and truth. 423. Let something first be said about the conjunction of the understanding and the will, and its being the same thing as the conjunction of good and truth, that being the conjunction that is effected in the world of spirits. Man has an understanding and a will. The understanding receives truths and is formed out of them, and the will receives goods and is formed out of them; therefore whatever a man understands and thinks from his understanding he calls true, and whatever a man wills and thinks from his will he calls good. From his understanding man can think and thus perceive both what is true and what is good; and yet he thinks what is true and good from the will only when he wills it and does it. When he wills it and from willing does it, it is both in his understanding and in his will, consequently in the man. For neither the understanding alone nor the will alone makes the man, but the understanding and will together; therefore whatever is in both is in the man, and is appropriated to him. That which is in the understanding alone is in man, and yet not really in him; it is only a thing of his memory, or a matter of knowledge in his memory about which he can think when in company with others and outside of himself, but not in himself; that is, about which he can speak and reason, and can simulate affections and gestures that are in accord with it. 424. This ability to think from the understanding and not at the same time from the will is provided that man may be capable of being reformed; for reformation is effected by means of truths, and truths pertain to the understanding, as just said. For in respect to his will man is born into every evil, and therefore of himself wills good to no one but himself; and one who wills good to himself alone delights in the misfortunes that befall another, especially when they tend to his own advantage; for his wish is to divert to himself the goods of all others, whether honors or riches, and so far as he succeeds in this he inwardly rejoices. To the end that this will of man may be corrected and reformed, an ability to understand truths, and an ability to subdue by means of truths the affections of evil that spring from the will, are given to man. This is why man has this ability to think truths with his understanding, and to speak them and do them. But until man is such that he wills truths and does them from himself, that is, from the heart, he is not able to think truths from his will. When he becomes such, whatever he thinks from his understanding belongs to his faith, and whatever he thinks from his will belongs to his love; and in consequence his faith and his love, like his understanding and his will, are conjoined in him. 425. To the extent, therefore, that the truths of the understanding and the goods of the will are conjoined, that is, to the extent that a man wills truths and does them from his will, he has heaven in himself, since the conjunction of good and truth, as just said, is heaven. And on the other hand, just to the extent that the falsities of the understanding and the evils of the will are conjoined man has hell in himself, since the conjunction of falsity and evil is hell. But so long as the truths of the understanding and the goods of the will are not conjoined man is in an intermediate state. At the present time nearly everyone is in such a state that he has some knowledge of truths, and from his knowledge and understanding gives some thought to them, and conforms to them either much or little or not at all, or acts contrary to them from a love of evil and consequent false belief. In order, therefore, that man may have in him either heaven or hell, he is first brought after death into the world of spirits, and there with those who are to be raised up into heaven good and truth are conjoined, and with those who are to be cast down into hell evil and falsity are conjoined. For neither in heaven nor in hell is any one permitted to have a divided mind, that is, to understand one thing and to will another; but everyone must understand what he wills, and will what he understands. Therefore in heaven he who wills good understands truth, while in hell he who wills evil understands falsity. So in the intermediate state the falsities that the good have are put away, and truths that agree and harmonize with their good are given them; while the truths that the evil have are put away, and falsities that agree and harmonize with their evil are given them. This shows what the world of spirits is. 426. In the world of spirits there are vast numbers, because the first meeting of all is there, and all are there explored and prepared. The time of their stay in that world is not fixed; some merely enter it, and are soon either taken into heaven or are cast down into hell; some remain only a few weeks, some several years, but not more than thirty. These differences in the time they remain depend on the correspondence or lack of correspondence of man's interiors with his exteriors. How man is led in that world from one state into another and prepared shall now be told. 427. As soon as men after death enter the world of spirits the Lord clearly discriminates between them; and the evil are at once attached to the infernal society in which they were, as to their ruling love while in the world; and the good are at once attached to the heavenly society in which they were as to their love, charity and faith while in the world. But although they are thus divided, all that have been friends and acquaintances in the life of the body, especially wives and husbands, and also brothers and sisters, meet and converse together whenever they so desire. I have seen a father talking with six sons, whom he recognized, and have seen many others with their relatives and friends; but having from their life in the world diverse dispositions, after a short time they separate. But those who have passed from the world of spirits into heaven or into hell, unless they have a like disposition from a like love, no longer see or know each other. The reason that they see each other in the world of spirits, but not in heaven or in hell, is that those who are in the world of spirits are brought into one state after another, like those they experienced in the life of the body; but afterwards all are brought into a permanent state in accord with their ruling love, and in that state one recognizes another only by similarity of love; for then similarity joins and dissimilarity disjoins (see above, n. 41-50). 428. As the world of spirits is an intermediate state between heaven and hell with man, so it is an intermediate place with the hells below and the heavens above. All the hells are shut towards that world, being open only through holes and clefts like those in rocks and through wide openings that are so guarded that no one can come out except by permission, which is granted in cases of urgent necessity (of which hereafter). Heaven, too, is enclosed on all sides; and there is no passage open to any heavenly society except by a narrow way, the entrance to which is also guarded. These outlets and entrances are what are called in the Word the gates and doors of hell and of heaven. 429. The world of spirits appears like a valley between mountains and rocks, with windings and elevations here and there. The gates and doors of the heavenly societies are visible to those only who are prepared for heaven; others cannot find them. There is one entrance from the world of spirits to each heavenly society, opening through a single path which branches out in its ascent into several. The gates and doors of the hells also are visible only to those who are about to enter, to whom they are then opened. When these are opened gloomy and seemingly sooty caverns are seen tending obliquely downwards to the abyss, where again there are many doors. Through these caverns nauseous and fetid stenches exhale, which good spirits flee from because they abominate them, but evil spirits seek for them because they delight in them. For as everyone in the world has been delighted with his own evil, so after death he is delighted with the stench to which his evil corresponds. In this respect the evil may be likened to rapacious birds and beasts, like ravens, wolves, and swine, which fly or run to carrion or dunghills when they scent their stench. I heard a certain spirit crying out loudly as if from inward torture when struck by a breath flowing forth from heaven; but he became tranquil and glad as soon as a breath flowing forth from hell reached him. 430. With every man there are two gates; one that leads to hell and that is open to evils and their falsities; while the other leads to heaven and is open to goods and their truths. Those that are in evil and its falsity have the gate to hell opened in them, and only through chinks from above does something of light from heaven flow into them, and by that inflowing they are able to think, to reason, and to speak; but the gate to heaven is opened in those that are in good and its truth. For there are two ways that lead to the rational mind of man; a higher or internal way through which good and truth from the Lord enter, and a lower or external way through which evil and falsity enter from hell. The rational mind itself is at the middle point to which the ways tend. Consequently, so far as light from heaven is admitted man is rational; but so far as it is not admitted he is not rational, however rational he may seem to himself to be. This has been said to make known the nature of the correspondence of man with heaven and with hell. While man's rational mind is being formed it corresponds to the world of spirits, what is above it corresponding to heaven and what is below to hell. With those preparing for heaven the regions above the rational mind are opened, but those below are closed to the influx of evil and falsity; while with those preparing for hell the parts below it are opened, and the parts above it are closed to the influx of good and truth. Thus the latter can look only to what is below themselves, that is, to hell; while the former can look only to what is above themselves, that is, to heaven. To look above themselves is to look to the Lord, because He is the common center to which all things of heaven look; while to look below themselves is to look backwards from the Lord to the opposite center, to which all things of hell look and tend (see above, n. 123, 124). 431. In the preceding pages whenever spirits are mentioned those that are in the world of spirits are meant; but when angels are mentioned those that are in heaven are meant. 432. XLV. IN RESPECT TO HIS INTERIORS EVERY MAN IS A SPIRIT. Whoever duly considers the subject can see that as the body is material it is not the body that thinks, but the soul, which is spiritual. The soul of man, upon the immortality of which many have written, is his spirit, for this as to everything belonging to it is immortal. This also is what thinks in the body, for it is spiritual, and what is spiritual receives what is spiritual and lives spiritually, which is to think and to will. Therefore, all rational life that appears in the body belongs to the soul, and nothing of it to the body; for the body, as just said, is material, and the material, which is the property of the body, is added to and apparently almost joined to the spirit, in order that the spirit of man may be able to live and perform uses in the natural world, all things of which are material and in themselves devoid of life. And as it is the spiritual only that lives and not the material, it can be seen that whatever lives in man is his spirit, and that the body merely serves it, just as what is instrumental serves a moving living force. An instrument is said indeed to act, to move, or to strike; but to believe that these are acts of the instrument, and not of him who acts, moves, or strikes by means of the instrument, is a fallacy. 433. As everything in the body that lives, and that acts and feels from that life, belongs exclusively to the spirit, and nothing of it to the body, it follows that the spirit is the man himself; or what is the same thing, that a man viewed in himself is a spirit possessing a like form; for whatever lives and feels in man belongs to his spirit and everything in man, from his head to the sole of his foot, lives and feels; and in consequence when the body is separated from its spirit, which is what is called dying, man continues to be a man and to live. I have heard from heaven that some who die, while they are lying upon the bier, before they are resuscitated, continue to think even in their cold body, and do not know that they are not still alive, except that they are unable to move a particle of matter belonging to the body. 434. Unless man were a subject which is a substance that can serve a source and containant he would be unable to think and will. Any thing that is supposed to exist apart from a substantial subject is nothing. This can be seen from the fact that a man is unable to see without an organ which is the subject of his sight, or to hear without an organ which is the subject of his hearing. Apart from these organs, sight and hearing are nothing and have no existence. The same is true of thought, which is inner sight, and of perception, which is inner hearing; unless these were in substances and from substances which are organic forms and subjects, they would have no existence at all. All this shows that man's spirit as well as his body is in a form, and that it is in a human form, and enjoys sensories and senses when separated from the body the same as when it was in it, and that all the life of the eye and all the life of the ear, in a word, all the life of sense that man has, belongs not to his body but to his spirit, which dwells in these organs and in their minutest particulars. This is why spirits see, hear, and feel, as well as men. But when the spirit has been loosed from the body, these senses are exercised in the spiritual world, not in the natural world. The natural sensation that the spirit had when it was in the body it had by means of the material part that was added to it; but it then had also spiritual sensations in its thinking and willing. 435. All this has been said to convince the rational man that viewed in himself man is a spirit, and that the corporeal part that is added to the spirit to enable it to perform its functions in the natural and material world is not the man, but only an instrument of his spirit. But evidences from experience are preferable, because there are many that fail to comprehend rational deductions; and those that have established themselves in the opposite view turn such deductions into grounds of doubt by means of reasonings from the fallacies of the senses. Those that have established themselves in the opposite view are accustomed to think that beasts likewise have life and sensations and thus have a spiritual part, the same as man has, and yet that part dies with the body. But the spiritual of beasts is not the same as the spiritual of man is; for man has what beasts have not, an inmost, into which the Divine flows, raising man up to Itself, and thereby conjoining man to Itself. Because of this, man, in contrast with beasts, has the ability to think about God and about the Divine things of heaven and the church, and to love God from these and in these, and thus be conjoined to Him; and whatever can be conjoined to the Divine cannot be dissipated, but whatever cannot be conjoined is dissipated. The inmost that man has, in contrast with beasts, has been treated of above (n. 39), and what was there said will here be repeated, since it is important to have the fallacies dispelled that have been engendered in the minds of many who from lack of knowledge and trained intellect are unable to form rational conclusions on the subject. The words are these: I will mention a certain arcanum respecting the angels of the three heavens, which has not hitherto come into any one's mind, because degrees have not been understood. In every angel and in every man there is an inmost or highest degree, or an inmost or highest something, into which the Divine of the Lord first or most directly flows, and from which it disposes the other interiors in him that succeed in accordance with the degrees of order. This inmost or highest degree may be called the entrance of the Lord to the angel or man, and His veriest dwelling-place in them. It is by virtue of this inmost or highest that a man is a man, and distinguished from the animals, which do not have it. From this it is that man, unlike the animals, is capable, in respect to all his interiors which pertain to his mind and disposition, of being raised up by the Lord to Himself, of believing in the Lord, of being moved by love to the Lord, and thereby beholding Him, and of receiving intelligence and wisdom, and speaking from reason. Also it is by virtue of this that he lives to eternity. But what is arranged and provided by the Lord in this inmost does not distinctly fall into the perception of any angel, because it is above his thought and transcends his wisdom. 436. That in respect to his interiors man is a spirit I have been permitted to learn from much experience, which, to employ a common saying, would fill volumes if I were to describe it all. I have talked with spirits as a spirit, and I have talked with them as a man in the body; and when I talked with them as a spirit they knew no otherwise than that I myself was a spirit and in a human form as they were. Thus did my interiors appear before them, for when talking with them as a spirit my material body was not seen. 437. That in respect to his interiors man is a spirit can be seen from the fact that after his separation from the body, which takes place when he dies, man goes on living as a man just as before. That I might be convinced of this I have been permitted to talk with nearly everyone I had ever known in their life in the body; with some for hours, with some for weeks and months, and with some for years, and this chiefly that I might be sure of it and might testify to it. 438. To this may be added that every man in respect to his spirit, even while he is living in the body, is in some society with spirits, although he does not know it; if a good man he is by means of spirits in some angelic society; if an evil man in some infernal society; and after death he comes into that same society. This has been often told and shown to those who after death have come among spirits. Man, to be sure, does not appear in that society as a spirit while he is living in the world, for the reason that he then thinks naturally; but when one is thinking abstractly from the body, because he is then in the spirit, he sometimes appears in his society; and when seen he is easily distinguished from the spirits there, for he goes about meditating and in silence, not looking at others, and apparently not seeing them; and as soon as any spirit speaks to him he vanishes. 439. To make clear that man in respect to his interiors is a spirit I will relate from experience what happens when man is withdrawn from the body, and what it is to be carried away by the spirit to another place. 440. First, as to withdrawal from the body, it happens thus. Man is brought into a certain state that is midway between sleeping and waking, and when in that state he seems to himself to be wide awake; all the senses are as perfectly awake as in the completest bodily wakefulness, not only the sight and the hearing, but what is wonderful, the sense of touch also, which is then more exquisite than is ever possible when the body is awake. In this state spirits and angels have been seen to the very life, and have been heard, and what is wonderful, have been touched, with almost nothing of the body intervening. This is the state that is called being withdrawn from the body, and not knowing whether one is in the body or out of it. I have been admitted into this state only three or four times, that I might learn what it is, and might know that spirits and angels enjoy every sense, and that man does also in respect to his spirit when he is withdrawn from the body. 441. As to being carried away by the spirit to another place, I have been shown by living experience what it is, and how it is done, but only two or three times. I will relate a single instance. Walking through the streets of a city and through fields, talking at the same time with spirits, I knew no otherwise than that I was fully awake, and in possession of my usual sight. Thus I walked on without going astray, and all the while with clear vision, seeing groves, rivers, palaces, houses, men, and other objects. But after walking thus for some hours, suddenly I saw with my bodily eyes, and noted that I was in another place. Being greatly astonished I perceived that I had been in the same state as those who were said to have been led away by the spirit into another place. For in this state the distance, even though it be many miles, and the time, though it be many hours or days, are not thought of; neither is there any feeling of fatigue; and one is led unerringly through ways of which he himself is ignorant, even to the destined place. 442. But these two states of man, which are his states when he is in his interiors, or what is the same, when he is in the spirit, are extraordinary; but as they are states known about in the church, they were exhibited to me only that I might know what they are. But it has been granted to me now for many years to speak with spirits and to be with them as one of them, even in full wakefulness of the body. 443. That in respect to his interiors man is a spirit there are further evidences in what has been said and shown above (n. 311-317), where it is explained that heaven and hell are from the human race. 444. That man is a spirit in respect to his interiors means in respect to the things pertaining to his thought and will, for these are the interiors themselves that make man to be man, and such a man as he is in respect to these interiors. 445. XLVI. THE RESUSCITATION OF MAN FROM THE DEAD AND HIS ENTRANCE INTO ETERNAL LIFE. When the body is no longer able to perform the bodily functions in the natural world that correspond to the spirit's thoughts and affections, which the spirit has from the spiritual world, man is said to die. This takes place when the respiration of the lungs and the beatings of the heart cease. But the man does not die; he is merely separated from the bodily part that was of use to him in the world, while the man himself continues to live. It is said that the man himself continues to live since man is not a man because of his body but because of his spirit, for it is the spirit that thinks in man, and thought with affection is what constitutes man. Evidently, then, the death of man is merely his passing from one world into another. And this is why in the Word in its internal sense "death" signifies resurrection and continuation of life.{1} {Footnote 1} In the Word "death" signifies resurrection, for when man dies his life still goes on (n. 3498, 3505, 4618, 4621, 6036, 6221). 446. There is an inmost communication of the spirit with the breathing and with the beating of the heart, the spirit's thought communicating with the breathing, and its affection, which is of love, with the heart;{1} consequently when these two motions cease in the body there is at once a separation. These two motions, the respiration of the lungs and the beating of heart, are the very bond on the sundering of which the spirit is left to itself; and the body being then deprived of the life of its spirit grows cold and begins to decay. This inmost communication of the spirit of man is with the respiration and with the heart, because on these all vital motions depend, not only in general but in every particular.{2} {Footnote 1} The heart corresponds to the will, thus to the affection which belongs to the love, while the respiration of the lungs corresponds to the understanding, thus to the thought (n. 3888). From this the "heart" in the Word signifies the will and love (n. 7542, 9050, 10336). The "soul" signifies understanding, faith, and truth; therefore "from the soul and from the heart" signifies what is from the understanding, faith, and truth, and what is from the will, love, and good (n. 2930, 9050). The correspondence of the heart and lungs with the Greatest Man, or heaven (n. 3883-3895). {Footnote 2} The beating of the heart and the respiration of the lungs reign in the body throughout, and flow mutually into every part (n. 3887, 3889, 3890). 447. After the separation the spirit of man continues in the body for a short time, but only until the heart's action has wholly ceased, which happens variously in accord with the diseased condition that causes death, with some the motion of the heart continuing for some time, with others not so long. As soon as this motion ceases the man is resuscitated; but this is done by the Lord alone. Resuscitation means the drawing forth of the spirit from the body, and its introduction into the spiritual world; this is commonly called the resurrection. The spirit is not separated from the body until the motion of the heart has ceased, for the reason that the heart corresponds to the affection of love, which is the very life of man, for it is from love that everyone has vital heat;{1} consequently as long as this conjunction continues correspondence continues, and thereby the life of the spirit in the body. {Footnote 1} Love is the being [esse] of the life of man (n. 5002). Love is spiritual heat, and therefore the very vital itself of man (n. 1589, 2146, 3338, 4906, 7081-7086, 9954, 10740). Affection is a continuation of love (n. 3938). 448. How this resuscitation is effected has both been told to me and shown to me in living experience. The actual experience was granted to me that I might have a complete knowledge of the process. 449. As to the senses of the body I was brought into a state of insensibility, thus nearly into the state of the dying; but with the interior life and thought remaining unimpaired, in order that I might perceive and retain in the memory the things that happened to me, and that happen to those that are resuscitated from the dead. I perceived that the respiration of the body was almost wholly taken away; but the interior respiration of the spirit went on in connection with a slight and tacit respiration of the body. Then at first a communication of the pulse of the heart with the celestial kingdom was established, because that kingdom corresponds to the heart in man.{1} Angels from that kingdom were seen, some at a distance, and two sitting near my head. Thus all my own affection was taken away although thought and perception continued. [2] I was in this state for some hours. Then the spirits that were around me withdrew, thinking that I was dead; and an aromatic odor like that of an embalmed body was perceived, for when the celestial angels are present everything pertaining to the corpse is perceived as aromatic, and when spirits perceive this they cannot approach; and in this way evil spirits are kept away from man's spirit when he is being introduced into eternal life. The angels seated at my head were silent, merely sharing their thoughts with mine; and when their thoughts are received the angels know that the spirit of man is in a state in which it can be drawn forth from the body. This sharing of their thoughts was effected by looking into my face, for in this way in heaven thoughts are shared. [3] As my thought and perception continued, that I might know and remember how resuscitation is effected, I perceived the angels first tried to ascertain what my thought was, whether it was like the thought of those who are dying, which is usually about eternal life; also that they wished to keep my mind in that thought. Afterwards I was told that the spirit of man is held in its last thought when the body expires, until it returns to the thoughts that are from its general or ruling affection in the world. Especially was I permitted to see and feel that there was a pulling and drawing forth, as it were, of the interiors of my mind, thus of my spirit, from the body; and I was told that this is from the Lord, and that the resurrection is thus effected. {Footnote 1} The heart corresponds to the Lord's celestial kingdom, the lungs to His spiritual kingdom (n. 3635, 3886, 3887). 450. The celestial angels who are with the one that is resuscitated do not withdraw from him, because they love everyone; but when the spirit comes into such a state that he can no longer be affiliated with celestial angels, he longs to get away from them. When this takes place angels from the Lord's spiritual kingdom come, through whom is given the use of light; for before this he saw nothing, but merely thought. I was shown how this is done. The angels appeared to roll off, as it were, a coat from the left eye towards the bridge of the nose, that the eye might be opened and be enabled to see. This is only an appearance, but to the spirit it seemed to be really done. When the coat thus seems to have been rolled off there is a slight sense of light, but very dim, like what is seen through the eyelids on first awakening from sleep. To me this dim light took on a heavenly hue, but I was told afterwards that the color varies. Then something is felt to be gently rolled off from the face, and when this is done spiritual thought is awakened. This rolling off from the face is also an appearance, which represents the spirit's passing from natural thought into spiritual thought. The angels are extremely careful that only such ideas as savor of love shall proceed from the one resuscitated. They now tell him that he is a spirit. When he has come into the enjoyment of light the spiritual angels render to the new spirit every service he can possibly desire in that state; and teach him about the things of the other life so far as he can comprehend them. But if he has no wish to be taught the spirit longs to get away from the company of the angels. Nevertheless, the angels do not withdraw from him, but he separates himself from them; for the angels love everyone, and desire nothing so much as to render service, to teach, and to lead into heaven; this constitutes their highest delight. When the spirit has thus withdrawn he is received by good spirits, and as long as he continues in their company everything possible is done for him. But if he had lived such a life in the world as would prevent his enjoying the company of the good he longs to get away from the good, and this experience is repeated until he comes into association with such as are in entire harmony with his life in the world; and with such he finds his own life, and what is surprising, he then leads a life like that which he led in the world. 451. This opening state of man's life after death lasts only a few days. How he is afterwards led from one state to another, and finally either into heaven or into hell, will be told in what follows. This, too, I have been permitted to learn by much experience. 452. I have talked with some on the third day after their decease, when the process described above (n. 449, 450) had been completed, especially with three whom I had known in the world, to whom I mentioned that arrangements were now being made for burying their bodies; I said, for burying them; on hearing which they were smitten with a kind of surprise, saying that they were alive, and that the thing that had served them in the world was what was being buried. Afterwards they wondered greatly that they had not believed in such a life after death while they lived in the body, and especially that scarcely any within the church so believed. Those that have not believed in the world in any life of the soul after the life of the body are greatly ashamed when they find themselves to be alive. But those that have confirmed themselves in that disbelief seek affiliation with their like, and are separated from those that have had faith. Such are for the most part attached to some infernal society, because they have also denied the divine and have despised the truths of the church; for so far as any one confirms himself against the eternal life of his soul he confirms himself also against whatever pertains to heaven and the church. 453. XLVII. MAN AFTER DEATH IS IN A COMPLETE HUMAN FORM It has already been shown in several previous chapters that the form of the spirit of man is the human form, that is, that the spirit is a man even in form, especially where it is shown that every angel has a complete human form (n. 73-77) that in respect to his interiors every man is a spirit (n. 432-444); and that the angels in heaven are from the human race (n. 311-317). [2] This can be seen still more clearly from the fact that it is by virtue of his spirit, and not by virtue of his body that man is a man, and that the bodily form is added to the spirit in accordance with the spirit's form, and not the reverse, for it is in accordance with its own form that the spirit is clothed with a body. Consequently the spirit of man acts into every part of the body, even the minutest, insomuch that if any part is not actuated by the spirit, or the spirit is not active in it, it does not live. Any one can see that this is true from this fact alone, that thought and will actuate all things and each thing of the body with such entire command that everything concurs, and any thing that does not concur is not a part of the body, but is cast out as something without life; and thought and will belong, not to the body, but to the spirit of man. [3] A spirit that has been loosed from the body or the spirit in another man, is not visible in the human form to man, because the body's organ of sight, or its eye, so far as it sees in the world, is a material organ, and what is material can see only what is material, while what is spiritual sees what is spiritual. When, therefore, the material part of the eye becomes darkened and is deprived of its cooperation with the spiritual, the eye sees spirits in their own form, which is the human form, not only the spirits that are in the spiritual world, but also the spirit of another man while it is yet in its body. 454. The form of the spirit is the human form because man is created in respect to his spirit in the form of heaven, for all things of heaven and of the order of heaven are brought together in the things that constitute the mind of man;{1} and from this comes his capacity to receive intelligence and wisdom. Whether you say the capacity to receive intelligence and wisdom or the capacity to receive heaven it is the same thing, as can be seen from what has been shown about the light and heat of heaven (n. 126-140); the form of heaven (n. 200-212); the wisdom of angels (n. 265-275); and in the chapter that the form of heaven as a whole and in part reflects a single man (n. 59-77); and this by virtue of the Divine Human of the Lord, which is the source of heaven and its form (n. 78-86). {Footnote 1} Man is the being into whom are brought together all things of Divine order, and by creation he is Divine order in form (n. 4219, 4222, 4223, 4523, 4524, 5114, 6013, 6057, 6605, 6626, 9706, 10156, 10472). So far as a man lives in accordance with Divine order he is seen in the other life as a man, complete and beautiful (n. 4839, 6605, 6626). 455. That which has now been said can be understood by the rational man, for he can see it from the connection of causes and from truths in their order; but it is not understood by a man who is not rational, and for several reasons, the chief of which is that he has no desire to understand it because it is opposed to the falsities that he has made his truths; and he that is unwilling to understand for this reason has closed to his rational faculty the way to heaven, although that way can still be opened whenever the will's resistance ceases (see above, n. 424). That man is able to understand truths and be rational whenever he so wishes has been made clear to me by much experience. Evil spirits that have become irrational in the world by rejecting the Divine and the truths of the church, and confirming themselves against them, have frequently been turned by Divine power towards those who were in the light of truth, and they then comprehended all things as the angels did, and acknowledged them to be true, and also that they comprehended them all. But the moment these spirits relapsed into themselves, and turned back to the love of their will, they had no comprehension of truths and affirmed the opposite. [2] I have also heard certain dwellers in hell saying that they knew and perceived that which they did to be evil and that which they thought to be false; but that they were unable to resist the delight of their love, that is, their will, and that it is their will that drives their thought to see evil as good and falsity as truth. Evidently, then, those that are in falsity from evil have the ability to understand and be rational, but have no wish to; and they have no wish to for the reason that they have loved falsities more than truths, because these agree with the evils in which they are. To love and to will is the same thing, for what a man wills he loves, and what he loves he wills. [3] Because the state of men is such that they are able to understand truths if they wish to, I have been permitted to confirm spiritual truths, which are truths of heaven and the church, even by reasonings, and this in order that the falsities by which the rational mind in many has been closed up may be dispersed by reasonings, and thus the eye may perhaps in some degree be opened; for to confirm spiritual goods by reasonings is permitted to all that are in truths. Who could ever understand the Word from the sense of its letter, unless he saw from an enlightened reason the truths it contains? Is not this the source of so many heresies from the same Word?{1} {Footnote 1} The truths of doctrine of the church derived from the Word must be the starting-point, and these must first be acknowledged, and afterwards it is permissible to consult knowledges (n. 6047). Thus it is permissible for those that are in an affirmative state towards the truths of faith to confirm them rationally by knowledges, but it is not permissible for those who are in a negative state (n. 2568, 2588, 4760, 6047). It is in accordance with Divine order to enter rationally from spiritual truths into knowledges, which are natural truths, but not to enter from the latter into the former, because spiritual influx into natural things is possible, but not natural or physical influx into spiritual things (n. 3219, 5119, 5259, 5427, 5428, 5478, 6322, 9109, 9110). 456. That the spirit of man, when it has been loosed from the body, is still a man and in a like form, has been proved to me by the daily experience of many years; for I have seen such and have listened to them a thousand times, and have talked with them about this fact, that men in the world do not believe them to be men, and that those that do believe this are regarded by the learned as simple. Spirits are grieved at heart that such ignorance still continues in the world, and above all within the church. [2] But this belief they said had emanated chiefly from the learned, who had thought about the soul from ideas derived from bodily sense; and from such ideas the only conception they formed of the soul was as being mere thought; and when this is regarded apart from any subject as its containant and source it is merely a fleeting breath of pure ether that must needs be dissipated when the body dies. But as the church believes from the Word in the immortality of the soul they are compelled to ascribe to it something vital, such as pertains to thought, but they deny to it any thing of sense, such as man possesses, until it has again been joined to the body. On this opinion the doctrine in regard to the resurrection is based, with the belief that the soul and body will be joined again at the time of the final judgment. For this reason when any one thinks about the soul in accordance with this doctrine and these conjectures, he has no conception that it is a spirit, and in a human form. And still further, scarcely any one at this day knows what the spiritual is, and still less that spiritual beings, as all spirits and angels are, have any human form. [3] Consequently, nearly all that go from this world are greatly surprised to find that they are alive, and are as much men as before, that they see, hear, and speak, and that their body enjoys the sense of touch as before, with no difference whatever (see above, n. 74). And when they cease to be astonished at themselves they are astonished that the church should know nothing about this state of men after death, thus nothing about heaven or hell, when in fact all that have ever lived in the world are in the other life and live as men. And as they wondered also why this had not been disclosed to man by visions, being an essential of the faith of the church, they were told from heaven that although this might have been done, since nothing is easier when it is the Lord's good pleasure, yet those that have confirmed themselves in the opposite falsities would not believe even if they themselves should behold it; also that there is danger in confirming any thing by visions when men are in falsities, for they would then first believe and afterwards deny, and thus would profane the truth itself, since to believe and afterwards deny is to profane; and those who profane truths are cast down into the lowest and most grievous of all the hells.{1} [4] This danger is what is meant by the Lord's words: He hath blinded their eyes and hardened their hearts lest they should see with their eyes, and understand with their heart, and should turn and I should heal them (John 12:40). And that those that are in falsities would not believe [even if visions were given] is meant by these words: Abraham said to the rich man in hell, They have Moses and the Prophets, let them hear them. But he said, Nay, father Abraham, but if one came to them from the dead they would be converted. But Abraham said to him, If they hear not Moses and the Prophets, neither will they believe though one should rise from the dead (Luke 16:29-31). {Footnote 1} Profanation is the mixing of good and evil and of truth and falsity in man (n. 6348). Only those can profane truth and good, or the holy things of the Word and the church, who first acknowledge them, and still more who live according to them, and who afterwards recede from the belief and reject it, and live for themselves and the world (n. 593, 1008, 1010, 1059, 3398, 3399, 3898, 4289, 4601, 10284, 10287). If man after repentance of heart relapses to former evils he profanes, and his latter state is then worse than his former (n. 8394). Those that have not acknowledged holy things, still less those that have no knowledge of them, cannot profane them (n. 1008, 1010, 1059, 9188, 10284). The heathen who are out of the church and do not have the Word cannot profane it (n. 1327, 1328, 2051, 2284). On this account interior truths were not disclosed to the Jews, for if they had been disclosed and acknowledged that people would have profaned them (n. 3398, 4289, 6963). The lot of profaners in the other life is the worst of all, because not only the good and truth they have acknowledged, but also their evil and falsity remain, and as these cling together, the life is rent asunder (n. 571, 582, 6348). Consequently most careful provision is made by the Lord to prevent profanation (n. 2426, 10287). 457. When the spirit of man first enters the world of spirits, which takes place shortly after his resuscitation, as described above, his face and his tone of voice resemble those he had in the world, because he is then in the state of his exteriors, and his interiors are not as yet uncovered. This is man's first state after death. But subsequently his face is changed, and becomes entirely different, resembling his ruling affection or ruling love, in conformity with which the interiors of his mind had been while he was in the world and his spirit while it was in the body. For the face of a man's spirit differs greatly from the face of his body. The face of his body is from his parents, but the face of his spirit is from his affection, and is an image of it. When the life of the spirit in the body is ended, and its exteriors are laid aside and its interiors disclosed, it comes into this affection. This is man's second state. I have seen some that have recently arrived from the world, and have recognized them from their face and speech; but seeing them afterwards I did not recognize them. Those that had been in good affections appeared with beautiful faces; but those that had been in evil affections with misshapen faces; for man's spirit, viewed in itself, is nothing but his affection; and the face is its outward form. Another reason why faces are changed is that in the other life no one is permitted to counterfeit affections that are not his own, and thus assume looks that are contrary to his love. All in the other life are brought into such a state as to speak as they think, and to manifest in their looks and gestures the inclinations of their will. And because of this the faces of all become forms and images of their affections; and in consequence all that have known each other in the world know each other in the world of spirits, but not in heaven nor in hell (as has been said above, n. 427).{1} {Footnote 1} The face is so formed as to correspond with the interiors (n. 4791-4805, 5695). The correspondence of the face and its expressions with the affections of the mind (n. 1568, 2988, 2989, 3631, 4796, 4797, 4800, 5165, 5168, 5695, 9306). With the angels of heaven the face makes one with the interiors that belong to the mind (n. 4796-4799, 5695, 8250). Therefore in the Word the face signifies the interiors that belong to the mind, that is, to the affection and thought (n. 1999, 2434, 3527, 4066, 4796, 5102, 9306, 9546). In what manner the influx from the brain into the face has been changed in process of time and with it the face itself as regards its correspondence with the interiors (n. 4326, 8250). 458. The faces of hypocrites are changed more slowly than those of others, because by practice they had formed a habit of so managing their interiors as to imitate good affections; consequently for a long time they appear not unbeautiful. But as that which they had assumed is gradually put off, and the interiors of the mind are brought into accord with the form of their affections, they become after awhile more misshapen than others. Hypocrites are such as have been accustomed to talk like angels, but interiorly have acknowledged nature alone and not the Divine, and have therefore denied what pertains to heaven and the church. 459. It should be known that everyone's human form after death is the more beautiful in proportion as he has more interiorly loved Divine truths and lived according to them; for everyone's interiors are opened and formed in accordance with his love and life; therefore the more interior the affection is the more like heaven it is, and in consequence the more beautiful the face is. This is why the angels in the inmost heaven are the most beautiful, for they are forms of celestial love. But those that have loved Divine truths more exteriorly, and thus have lived in accordance with them in a more external way, are less beautiful; for exterior affections only shine forth from their faces; and through these no interior heavenly love shines, consequently nothing of the form of heaven as it is in itself. There is seen in the faces of such something comparatively obscure, not vivified by any thing of interior life shining through it. In a word, all perfection increases toward interiors and decreases toward exteriors, and as perfection increases and decreases so does beauty. I have seen angelic faces of the third heaven of such radiance that no painter with all his art could possibly give any such light to his colors as to equal a thousandth part of the brightness and life that shone forth from their countenances. But the faces of the angels of the lowest heaven may in some measure be equalled. 460. In conclusion I will mention a certain arcanum hitherto unknown to any one, namely, that every good and truth that goes forth from the Lord and makes heaven is in the human form; and this not only as a whole and in what is greatest, but also in every part and what is least; also that this form affects everyone who receives good and truth from the Lord, and causes everyone who is in heaven to be in the human form in accordance with his reception of good and truth. It is in consequence of this that heaven is like itself in general and in particular, and that the human form is the form of the whole, of every society, and of every angel (as has been shown in the four chapters from n. 59 to 86); to which let it be added that it is the form of the least things of thought derived from heavenly love with the angels. No man, however, can easily comprehend this arcanum; but it is clearly comprehended by the angels, because they are in the light of heaven. 461. XLVIII. AFTER DEATH MAN IS POSSESSED OF EVERY SENSE, AND OF ALL THE MEMORY, THOUGHT, AND AFFECTION, THAT HE HAD IN THE WORLD, LEAVING NOTHING BEHIND EXCEPT HIS EARTHLY BODY. It has been proved to me by manifold experience that when man passes from the natural world into the spiritual, as he does when he dies, he carries with him all his possessions, that is, everything that belongs to him as a man, except his earthly body. For when man enters the spiritual world or the life after death, he is in a body as he was in the world, with no apparent difference, since he neither sees nor feels any difference. But his body is then spiritual, and thus separated or purified from all that is earthly; and when what is spiritual touches or sees what is spiritual, it is just the same as when what is natural touches or sees what is natural. So when a man has become a spirit he does not know otherwise than that he is in the same body that he had in the world and thus does not know that he has died. [2] Moreover, a man's spirit enjoys every sense, both outer and inner, that he enjoyed in the world; he sees as before, he hears and speaks as before, smells and tastes, and when touched, he feels the touch as before; he also longs, desires, craves, thinks, reflects, is stirred, loves, wills, as before; and one who takes delight in studies, reads and writes as before. In a word, when a man passes from one life into the other, or from one world into the other, it is like passing from one place into another, carrying with him all things that he had possessed in himself as a man; so that by death, which is only the death of the earthly body, man cannot be said to have lost anything really his own. [3] Furthermore, he carries with him his natural memory, retaining everything that he has heard, seen, read, learned, or thought, in the world from earliest infancy even to the end of life; although the natural objects that are contained in the memory, since they cannot be reproduced in the spiritual world, are quiescent, just as they are when one is not thinking of them. Nevertheless, they are reproduced when the Lord so wills. But more will be said presently about this memory and its state after death. A sensual man finds it impossible to believe that such is the state of man after death, because he cannot comprehend it; for a sensual man must needs think naturally even about spiritual things; therefore, any thing that does not appeal to his senses, that is, that he does not see with his bodily eyes and touch with his hands (as is said of Thomas, John 20:25, 27, 29) he denies the existence of. (What the sensual man is may be seen above, n. 267 and notes.) 462. [a.] And yet there is a great difference between man's life in the spiritual world and his life in the natural world, in regard both to his outer senses and their affections and his inner senses and their affections. Those that are in heaven have more exquisite senses, that is, a keener sight and hearing, and also think more wisely than when they were in the world; for they see in the light of heaven, which surpasses by many degrees the light of the world (see above, n. 126); and they hear by means of a spiritual atmosphere, which likewise surpasses by many degrees the earthly atmosphere (n. 235). This difference in respect to the outward senses is like the difference between clear sunshine and dark cloudiness in the world, or between noonday light and evening shade. For the light of heaven, since it is Divine truth, enables the eyes of angels to perceive and distinguish most minute things. [2] Moreover, their outer sight corresponds to their inner sight or understanding; for with angels one sight so flows into the other as to act as one with it; and this gives them their great keenness of vision. In like manner, their hearing corresponds to their perception, which pertains both to the understanding and to the will, and in consequence they perceive in the tone and words of one speaking the most minute things of his affection and thought; in the tone what pertains to his affection, and in the words what pertains to his thought (see above, n. 234-245). But the rest of the senses with the angels are less exquisite than the senses of seeing and hearing, for the reason that seeing and hearing serve their intelligence and wisdom, and the rest do not; and if the other senses were equally exquisite they would detract from the light and joy of their wisdom, and would let in the delight of pleasures pertaining to various appetites and to the body; and so far as these prevail they obscure and weaken the understanding. This takes place in the world, where men become gross and stupid in regard to spiritual truths so far as they indulge the sense of taste and yield to the allurements of the sense of touch. [3] From what has already been said and shown in the chapter on the wisdom of the angels of heaven (n. 265-275), it can be seen that the inner senses also of the angels of heaven, which pertain to their thought and affection, are more exquisite and perfect than the senses they had in the world. But as regards the state of those that are in hell as compared with the state of those in the world there is also a great difference, for as great as is the perfection and excellence of the outer and inner senses of the angels in heaven, with those who are in hell the imperfection is equally great. But the state of these will be treated of hereafter. 462. [b.] That when a man leaves the world he takes with him all his memory has been shown to me in many ways, and many of the things I have seen and heard are worthy of mention, some of which I will relate in order. There were some who denied their crimes and villainies which they had perpetrated in the world; and in consequence, that they might not be believed innocent, all their deeds were disclosed and reviewed from their memory in order, from their earliest to their latest years; these were chiefly adulteries and whoredoms. [2] There were some who had deceived others by wicked arts and had committed thefts. The deceits and thefts of these were also enumerated in detail, many of which were known to scarcely any in the world except themselves. These deeds they confessed, because they were plainly set forth, with every thought, intention, pleasure, and fear which occupied their minds at the time. [3] There were others who had accepted bribes, and had rendered venal judgments, who were similarly explored from their memory and from it everything they had done from the beginning to the end of their office was reviewed. Every detail in regard to what and how much they had received, as well as the time, and their state of mind and intention, were brought to their recollection and made visibly clear to the number of many hundreds. This was done with several and what is wonderful, in some cases their memorandum-books, in which they had recorded these things, were opened and read before them page by page. [4] Others who had enticed maidens to shame or had violated chastity were called to a like judgment; and the details of their crimes were drawn forth from their memory and reviewed. The very faces of the maidens and women were also exhibited as if present, with the places, words and intentions, and this as suddenly as when a scene is presented to the sight, the exhibitions continuing sometimes for hours. [5] There was one who had made light of slandering others; and I heard his slanders recounted in order, and his defamations, with the very words, and the persons about whom and before whom they were uttered; all of which were produced and presented to the very life, although while he lived in the world he had most carefully concealed everything. [6] There was one who had deprived a relative of his inheritance under a fraudulent pretext; and he was in like manner convicted and judged; and what is wonderful, the letters and papers that passed between them were read in my hearing, and it was said that not a word was lacking. [7] The same person shortly before his death had also secretly poisoned his neighbor. This was disclosed in this way. He appeared to be digging a trench under his feet, from which a man came forth as out of a grave, and cried out to him, "What have you done to me?" Then everything was revealed, how the poisoner had talked with him in a friendly manner, and had held out the cup, also what he thought beforehand, and what happened afterwards. When all this had been disclosed he was sentenced to hell. [8] In a word, to each evil spirit all his evils, villainies, robberies, artifices, and deceits are made clear, and are brought forth from his very memory, and his guilt is fully established; nor is there any possible room for denial, because all the circumstances are exhibited together. Moreover, I have learned from a man's memory, when it was seen and inspected by angels, what his thoughts had been for a month, one day after another, and this without mistake, the thoughts being recalled just as they arose from day to day. [9] From these examples it can be seen that man carries with him all of his memory, and that nothing can be so concealed in the world as not to be disclosed after death, which is done in the presence of many, according to the Lord's words: There is nothing concealed that shall not be uncovered, and nothing secret that shall not be known; therefore what ye have spoken in the dark shall be heard in the light and what ye have spoken in the ear shall be proclaimed on the housetops (Luke 12:2, 3). 463. In disclosing his acts to a man after death, the angels to whom the office of searching is assigned look into his face, and their search extends through the whole body, beginning with the fingers of each hand, and thus proceeding through the whole. As I wondered at this the reason was given, namely, that as all things of the thought and will are inscribed on the brain, for their beginnings are there, so are they likewise inscribed on the whole body, since all things of thought and will extend from their beginnings into all things of the body and there terminate as in their outmosts; and this is why the things that are inscribed on the memory from the will and consequent thought are inscribed not only on the brain, but also upon the whole man, and there exist in order in accordance with the order of the parts of the body. It was thus made clear that man as a whole is such as he is in his will and its thought, even to the extent that an evil man is his own evil, and a good man his own good.{1} This shows what is meant by the book of man's life spoken of in the Word, namely, that all things that he has done and all things that he has thought are inscribed on the whole man, and when they are called forth from the memory they appear as if read in a book, and when the spirit is viewed in the light of heaven, they appear as in an image. To all this I would add something remarkable in regard to the continuance of the memory after death, by which I was assured that not only things in general but also the minutest particulars that have entered the memory remain and are never obliterated. I saw books there containing writings as in the world, and was told that they were from the memory of those who wrote, and that there was not a single word lacking in them that was in a book written by the same person in the world; and thus all the minutest particulars might be drawn from one's memory, even those that he had forgotten in the world. And the reason was given, namely, that man has an external and an internal memory, an external memory belonging to his natural man, and an internal memory belonging to his spiritual man; and that every least thing that a man has thought, willed, spoken, done or even heard and seen, is inscribed on his internal or spiritual memory;{2} and that what is there is never erased, since it is also inscribed on the spirit itself and on the members of its body, as has been said above; and that the spirit is thus formed in accordance with the thoughts and acts of its will. I know that this sounds like a paradox, and is therefore difficult to believe; but still it is true. Let no one believe, then, that there is any thing that a man has ever thought in himself or done in secret that can be concealed after death; but let him believe that all things and each single thing are then laid open as clear as day. {Footnote 1} A good man, spirit, or angel, is his own good and his own truth, that is, he is wholly such as his good and truth are (n. 10298, 10367). This is because good is what makes the will and truth the understanding; and the will and understanding make everything of life in man, spirit, or angel (n. 3332, 3623, 6065). It is the same thing to say that a man, spirit, or angel is his own love (n. 6872, 10177, 10284). {Footnote 2} Man has two memories an outer and an inner, or a natural and a spiritual memory (n. 2469-2494). Man does not know that he has an inner memory (n. 2470, 2471). How far the inner memory surpasses the outer (n. 2473). The things contained in the outer memory are in the light of the world, but the things contained in the inner are in the light of heaven (n. 5212). It is from the inner memory that man is able to think and speak intellectually and rationally (n. 9394). All things and each thing that a man has thought, spoken, and done, and that he has seen and heard, are inscribed on the inner memory (n. 2474, 7398). That memory is the book of his life (n. 2474, 9386, 9841, 10505). In the inner memory are the truths that have been made truths of faith, and the goods that have been made goods of love (n. 5212, 8067). Those things that have become matters of habit and have come to be things of the life, and have thus disappeared from the outer memory, are in the inner memory (n. 9394, 9723, 9841). Spirits and angels speak from the inner memory and consequently have a universal language (n. 2472, 2476, 2490, 2493). The languages of the world belong to the outer memory (n. 2472, 2476). 464. Although the external or natural memory remains in man after death, the merely natural things in it are not reproduced in the other life, but only the spiritual things adjoined to the natural by correspondences; but when these are present to the sight they appear in exactly the same form as they had in the natural world; for all things seen in the heavens have just the same appearance as in the world, although in their essence they are not natural but spiritual (as may be seen in the chapter on Representatives and Appearances in Heaven, n. 170-176). [2] But the external or natural memory in respect to the things in it that are derived from the material, and from time and space, and from other properties of nature, is not serviceable to the spirit in the way that it was serviceable to it in the world, for whenever man thinks in the world from his external sensual, and not at the same time from his internal or intellectual sensual, he thinks naturally and not spiritually; but in the other life when he is a spirit in the spiritual world he does not think naturally but spiritually, and to think spiritually is to think intellectually or rationally. For this reason the external or natural memory in respect to its material contents is then quiescent, and only those things that man has imbibed in the world by means of material things, and has made rational, come into use. The external memory becomes quiescent in respect to material things because these cannot then be brought forth, since spirits and angels speak from those affections and thoughts that are proper to their minds; and are therefore unable to give expression to any thing that is not in accord with their affections and thoughts as can be seen in what is said about the speech of angels in heaven and their speech with man (n. 234-257). [3] Because of this man after death is rational, not in the degree that he was skilled in languages and sciences in the world, but in the degree in which he became rational by means of these. I have talked with many who were believed in the world to be learned because they were acquainted with ancient languages, such as the Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, but had not cultivated their rational faculty by what is written in those languages. Some of them were seen to be just as simple as those who knew nothing of those languages, and some even stupid, and yet they retained the conceit of being wiser than others. [4] I have talked with some who had believed in the world that man is wise in the measure of the contents of his memory, and who had stored up many things in their memory, speaking almost solely from the memory, and therefore not from themselves but from others, and their rationality had not been at all perfected by means of the things in their memory. Some of these were stupid and some sottish, not in the least comprehending whether a truth is true or not, and seizing upon all falsities that are passed off for truths by those who called themselves learned; for from themselves they are unable to see any thing, whether it be true or not, and consequently are unable to see any thing rationally when listening to others. [5] I have also talked with some who had written much in the world on scientific subjects of every kind, and had thereby acquired a worldwide reputation for learning. Some of these, indeed, had the ability to reason about truths, whether they are true or not; and some, when they had turned to those who were in the light of truth, had some comprehension that truths are true, but still had no wish to comprehend them, and therefore when they were in their own falsities, and thus in themselves, denied them. Some had no more wisdom than the unlearned common people. Thus each differed from the other according as he had cultivated his rational faculty by means of the knowledges he had written about or collated. But those who were opposed to the truths of the church, and who thought from mere knowledges and confirmed themselves thereby in falsities, did not cultivate their rational faculty, but cultivated only an ability to reason, which in the world is believed to be rationality. But this ability is wholly different from rationality; it is an ability to prove any thing it pleases, and from preconceived principles and from fallacies to see falsities and not truths. Such persons can never be brought to acknowledge truths, since truths cannot be seen from falsities; but falsities may be seen from truths. [6] The rational faculty of man is like a garden or shrubbery, or like fresh ground; the memory is the soil, truths known and knowledges are the seeds, the light and heat of heaven cause them to grow; without light and heat there is no germination; so is it with the mind when the light of heaven, which is Divine truth, and the heat of heaven, which is Divine love, are not admitted; rationality is solely from these. It is a great grief to the angels that learned men for the most part ascribe all things to nature, and have thereby so closed up the interiors of their minds as to be unable to see any thing of truth from the light of truth, which is the light of heaven. In consequence of this such in the other life are deprived of their ability to reason that they may not disseminate falsities among the simple good and lead them astray; and are sent away into desert places. 465. A certain spirit was indignant because he was unable to remember many things that he knew in the life of the body, grieving over the lost pleasure which he had so much enjoyed, but he was told that he had lost nothing at all, that he still knew each and everything that he had known, although in the world where he now was no one was permitted to call forth such things from the memory, and that he ought to be satisfied that he could now think and speak much better and more perfectly than before, and that his rational was not now immersed as before in gross, obscure, material and corporeal things, which are of no use in the kingdom into which he had now come; also that he now possessed everything conducive to the uses of eternal life, and that this is the only way of becoming blessed and happy; and therefore it is the part of ignorance to believe that in this kingdom intelligence perishes with the removal or quiescence of the material things in the memory; for the real fact is that so far as the mind can be withdrawn from things of sense pertaining to the external man or the body, so far it is elevated to things spiritual and heavenly. 466. What these two memories are is sometimes presented to view in the other life in forms not elsewhere seen; for many things which in man take the form of ideas are there presented as objects of sight. The external memory there presents the appearance of a callus, the internal the appearance of a medullary substance like that in the human brain; and from this what they are can be known. With those that have devoted themselves in the life of the body to the cultivation of the memory alone, and have not cultivated their rational faculty, the callosity appears hard and streaked within as with tendons. With those that have filled the memory with falsities it appears hairy and rough, because of the confused mass of things in it. With those that have cultivated the memory with the love of self and the world as an end it appears glued together and ossified. With those that have wished to penetrate into Divine arcana by means of learning, especially of a philosophical kind, with an unwillingness to believe until convinced by such proofs, the memory appears like a dark substance, of such a nature as to absorb the rays of light and turn them into darkness. With those that have practiced deceit and hypocrisy it appears hard and bony like ebony, which reflects the rays of light. But with those that have been in the good of love and the truths of faith there is no such callous appearance, because their inner memory transmits the rays of light into the outer; and in its objects or ideas as in their basis or their ground, the rays terminate and find delightful receptacles; for the outer memory is the out most of order in which, when goods and truths are there, the spiritual and heavenly things are gently terminated and find their seat. 467. Men living in the world who are in love to the Lord and charity toward the neighbor have with them and in them angelic intelligence and wisdom, but it is then stored up in the inmosts of the inner memory; and they are not at all conscious of it until they put off corporeal things. Then the natural memory is laid asleep and they awake into their inner memory, and then gradually into angelic memory itself. 468. How the rational faculty may be cultivated shall also be told in a few words. The genuine rational faculty consists of truths and not of falsities; whatever consists of falsities is not rational. There are three kinds of truths, civil, moral, and spiritual. Civil truths relate to matters of judgment and of government in kingdoms, and in general to what is just and equitable in them. Moral truths pertain to the matters of everyone's life which have regard to companionships and social relations, in general to what is honest and right, and in particular to virtues of every kind. But spiritual truths relate to matters of heaven and of the church, and in general to the good of love and the truth of faith. [2] In every man there are three degrees of life (see above, n. 267). The rational faculty is opened to the first degree by civil truths, to the second degree by moral truths, and to the third degree by spiritual truths. But it must be understood that the rational faculty that consists of these truths is not formed and opened by man's knowing them, but by his living according to them; and living according to them means loving them from spiritual affection; and to love truths from spiritual affection is to love what is just and equitable because it is just and equitable, what is honest and right because it is honest and right, and what is good and true because it is good and true; while living according to them and loving them from the bodily affection is loving them for the sake of self and for the sake of one's reputation, honor or gain. Consequently, so far as man loves these truths from a bodily affection he fails to become rational, for he loves, not them, but himself; and the truths are made to serve him as servants serve their Lord; and when truths become servants they do not enter the man and open any degree of life in him, not even the first, but merely rest in the memory as knowledges under a material form, and there conjoin themselves with the love of self, which is a bodily love. [3] All this shows how man becomes rational, namely, that he becomes rational to the third degree by a spiritual love of the good and truth which pertain to heaven and the church; he becomes rational to the second degree by a love of what is honest and right; and to the first degree by a love of what is just and equitable. These two latter loves also become spiritual from a spiritual love of good and truth, because that love flows into them and conjoins itself to them and forms in them as it were its own semblance. 469. Spirits and angels, equally with men, have a memory, whatever they hear, see, think, will and do, remaining with them, and thereby their rational faculty is continually cultivated even to eternity. Thus spirits and angels, equally with men, are perfected in intelligence and wisdom by means of knowledges of truth and good. That spirits and angels have a memory I have been permitted to learn by much experience, having seen everything that they have thought and done, both in public and in private, called forth from their memories when they were with other spirits; and I have seen those that were in some truth from simple good imbued with knowledges, and thereby with intelligence, and afterwards raised up into heaven. But it must be understood that such are not imbued with knowledges and thereby with intelligence beyond the degree of affection for good and for truth that they have attained to while in the world; for such and so much of affection as any spirit or angel had in the world remains with him; and this affection is afterwards perfected by being filled out, which goes on to eternity. For everything is capable of being filled out to eternity, since everything is capable of infinite variation, thus of enrichment by various things, and consequently of multiplication and fructification. To any thing good there is no limit because it is from the Infinite. That spirits and angels are being perfected unceasingly in intelligence and wisdom by means of knowledges of truth and good may be seen above, in the chapters on the wisdom of the angels of heaven (n. 265-275); on the heathen or people outside the church in heaven (n. 318-328); and on little children in heaven (n. 329-345); and that this is done to that degree of affection for good and for truth in which they had been in the world, and not beyond it, may be seen in n. 349. 470. XLIX. MAN AFTER DEATH IS SUCH AS HIS LIFE HAD BEEN IN THE WORLD. Every Christian knows from the Word that one's own life awaits him after death; for it is there said in many passages that man will be judged and rewarded according to his deeds and works; and no one who thinks from good and from real truth can help seeing that he who lives well goes to heaven and that he who lives wickedly goes to hell. But the evil man is unwilling to believe that his state after death is according to his life in the world; he thinks, especially when he is sick, that heaven is granted to everyone out of pure mercy, whatever his life may have been, and that this is done in accordance with his faith, which he separates from life. 471. That man will be judged and rewarded according to his deeds and works is declared in many passages in the Word, some of which I will here quote: The Son of man shall come in the glory of His Father with His angels and then He will render unto everyone according to his works (Matt. 16:27). Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord; yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors, for their works follow them (Apoc. 14:13). I will give to everyone according to his works (Apoc. 2:23). I saw the dead, small and great, standing before God; and the books were opened and the dead were judged out of the things that were written in the books according to their works. The sea gave up the dead that were in it, and death and hell gave up those that were in them, and they were judged everyone according to their works (Apoc. 20:12, 13). Behold I come, and My reward is with Me, to give to everyone according to his works (Apoc. 22:12). Everyone that heareth My words and doeth them I will liken to a prudent man; but everyone that heareth My words and doeth them not is likened to a foolish man (Matt. 7:24, 26). Not everyone that saith unto Me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of the heavens; but he that doeth the will of My Father who is in the heavens. Many will say unto Me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Thy name, and through Thy name cast out demons, and in Thy name done many mighty works? But then will I confess to them, I know you not: depart from Me, ye workers of iniquity (Matt. 7:21-23). Then shall ye begin to say, We have eaten and drunk before Thee; Thou hast taught in our streets. But He will say, I tell you I know you not, ye workers of iniquity (Luke 13:25-27). I will recompense them according to their work and according to the doing of their hands (Jer. 25:14). Jehovah, whose eyes are open upon all the ways of men, to give to everyone according to his ways and according to the fruit of his works (Jer. 32:19). I will visit upon his ways and recompense to him his works (Hosea 4:9). Jehovah doeth with us according to our ways and according to our works (Zech. 1:6). In foretelling the last judgment the Lord recounts nothing but works, teaching that those that have done good works will enter into eternal life, and those that have done evil works will enter into damnation, as in Matthew (25:32-46), and in many other passages that treat of the salvation and condemnation of man. It is clear that works and deeds constitute the outward life of man, and that the quality of his inward life is made evident in them. 472. But by deeds and works, what they are inwardly is here meant, and not the way they outwardly appear; for everyone knows that every deed and work goes forth from the man's will and thought; otherwise it would be nothing but a movement like that of an automaton or image. Consequently, a deed or work viewed in itself is merely an effect that derives its soul and life from will and thought, even to the extent that it is nothing but will and thought in effect, and thus is will and thought in outward form. From this it follows that a deed or work is in quality such as are the will and thought that produce it. If the thought and will are good the deeds and works are good; but if the thought and will are evil the deeds and works are evil, although in outward form they appear alike. A thousand men may act alike, that is, may do like deeds, so alike in outward form as to be almost undistinguishable, and yet each one regarded in itself be different, because from an unlike will. [2] For example, when one acts honestly and justly with a companion, one person may do it for the purpose of appearing to be honest and just out of regard to himself and his own honor; another out of regard to the world and gain; a third out of regard to reward and merit; a fourth out of regard to friendship; a fifth from fear of the law and the loss of reputation or employment; a sixth that he may draw some one to his own side, even when he is in the wrong; a seventh that he may deceive; and others from other motives. In all these instances although the deeds are good in appearance, since it is a good thing to act honestly and justly with a companion, they are nevertheless evil, because they are done, not out of regard to honesty and justice and for the love of these, but out of regard to love of self and the world which are loved; and honesty and justice are made to serve that love as servants serve a lord, whom the lord despises and dismisses when they fail to serve him. [3] In outward form those act in a like way who act honestly and justly with a companion because they love what is honest and just. Some of these act from the truth of faith or from obedience, because the Word so commands; some from the good of faith or from conscience, because from a religious motive; some from good of charity towards the neighbor because his good should be regarded; some from the good of love to the Lord because good should be done for the sake of good, as also what is honest and just should be done for the sake of honesty and justice; and this they love because it is from the Lord, and because the Divine that goes forth from the Lord is in it, and consequently regarded in its very essence it is Divine. The deeds or works of such are inwardly good, and therefore are outwardly good also; for, as has been said above, deeds or works are precisely such in quality as the thought and will from which they proceed, and apart from thought and will they are not deeds and works, but only inanimate movements. All this explains what is meant in the Word by works and deeds. 473. As deeds and works are from the will and thought, so are they from the love and faith, consequently they are such as the love and faith are; for it is the same thing whether you say one's love or his will, and it is the same thing whether you say one's faith or his established thought; for that which a man loves he wills, and that which a man believes he thinks; and when a man loves what he believes he also wills it and as far as possible does it. Everyone may know that love and faith are within man's will and thought, and not outside of them, for love is what kindles the will, and the thought is what it enlightens in matters of faith; therefore only those that are able to think wisely are enlightened, and in the measure of their enlightenment they think what is true and will it, or what is the same, they believe what is true and love it.{1} {Footnote 1} As all things that exist according to order in the universe have relation to good and truth, so in man all things have relation to will and understanding (n. 803, 10122). For the reason that the will is a recipient of good and the understanding a recipient of truth (n. 3332, 3623, 5232, 6065, 6125, 7503, 9300, 9995). It amounts to the same whether you say truth or faith, for faith belongs to truth and truth belongs to faith; and it amounts to the same whether you say good or love for love belongs to good and good belongs to love (n. 4353, 4997, 7179, 10122, 10367). From this it follows that the understanding is a recipient of faith, and the will a recipient of love (n. 7179, 10122, 10367). And since the understanding of man is capable of receiving faith in God and the will is capable of receiving love to God, man is capable of being conjoined with God in faith and love, and he that is capable of being conjoined with God in love and faith can never die (n. 4525, 6323, 9231). 474. But it must be understood that it is the will that makes the man, while thought makes the man only so far as it goes forth from the will; and deeds and works go forth from both; or what is the same, it is love that makes the man, and faith only so far as it goes forth from love; and deeds or works go forth from both. Consequently, the will or love is the man himself, for whatever goes forth belongs to that from which it goes forth. To go forth is to be brought forth and presented in suitable form for being perceived and seen.{1} All this makes clear what faith is when separated from love, namely, that it is no faith, but mere knowledge, which has no spiritual life in it; likewise what a deed or work is apart from love, namely, that it is not a deed or work of life, but a deed or work of death, which possesses an appearance of life from an evil love and a belief in what is false. This appearance of life is what is called spiritual death. {Footnote 1} The will of man is the very being [esse] of his life, because it is the receptacle of love or good, and the understanding is the outgo [existere] of life therefrom, because it is the receptacle of faith or truth (n. 3619, 5002, 9282). Thus the life of the will is the chief life of man, and the life of the understanding proceeds therefrom (n. 585, 590, 3619, 7342, 8885, 9282, 10076, 10109, 10110). In the same way as light proceeds from fire or flame (n. 6032, 6314). From this it follows that man is man by virtue of his will and his understanding therefrom (n. 8911, 9069, 9071, 10076, 10109, 10110). Every man is loved and esteemed by others in accordance with the good of his will and of his understanding therefrom, for he that wills well and understands well is loved and esteemed; and he that understands well and does not will well is set aside and despised (n. 8911, 10076). After death man continues to be such as his will is, and his understanding therefrom (n, 9069, 9071, 9386, 10153). Consequently after death man continues to be such as his love is, and his faith therefrom; and whatever belongs to his faith and not also to his love then vanishes, because it is not in the man, thus not of the man (n. 553, 2364, 10153). 475. Again, it must be understood that in deeds or works the whole man is exhibited, and that his will and thought or his love and faith, which are his interiors, are not complete until they exist in deeds or works, which are his exteriors, for these are the outmosts in which the will and thought terminate, and without such terminations they are interminate, and have as yet no existence, that is, are not yet in the man. To think and to will without doing, when there is opportunity, is like a flame enclosed in a vessel and goes out; also like seed cast upon the sand, which fails to grow, and so perishes with its power of germination. But to think and will and from that to do is like a flame that gives heat and light all around, or like a seed in the ground that grows up into a tree or flower and continues to live. Everyone can know that willing and not doing, when there is opportunity, is not willing; also that loving and not doing good, when there is opportunity, is not loving, but mere thought that one wills and loves; and this is thought separate, which vanishes and is dissipated. Love and will constitute the soul itself of a deed or work, and give form to its body in the honest and just things that the man does. This is the sole source of man's spiritual body, or the body of his spirit; that is, it is formed solely out of the things that the man does from his love or will (see above, n. 463). In a word, all things of man and his spirit are contained in his deeds or works.{1} {Footnote 1} Interior things flow in successively into exterior things even down to the extreme or outmost, and there they come forth and have permanent existence (n. 634, 6451, 6465, 9215, 9216). They not only flow in, but in the outmost they form the simultaneous, in what order (n. 5897, 6451, 8603, 10099). Thereby all interior things are held together in connection, and have permanent existence (n. 9828). Deeds or works are the outmosts which contain the interiors (n. 10331). Therefore being recompensed and judged according to deeds and works is being recompensed and judged in accordance with all things of one's love and faith, or of his will and thought because these are the interiors contained in deeds and works (n. 3147, 3934, 6073, 8911, 10331, 10332). 476. All this makes clear what the life is that awaits man after death, namely, that it is his love and his faith therefrom, not only in potency, but also in act; thus that it is his deeds or works, because in these all things of man's love and faith are contained. 477. It is man's ruling love that awaits him after death, and this is in no way changed to eternity. Everyone has many loves; but they are all related to his ruling love, and make one with it or together compose it. All things of the will that are in harmony with the ruling love are called loves, because they are loved. These loves are both inner and outer; some directly connected and some mediately; some nearer and some more remote; they are subservient in various ways. Taken together they constitute a kingdom, as it were, such being the order in which they are arranged in man, although man knows nothing what ever about that arrangement. And yet something of it is made manifest to him in the other life, for the spread of his thought and affection there is in accordance with the arrangement of his loves, his thought and affection extending into heavenly societies when the ruling love is made up of the loves of heaven, but into infernal societies when it is made up of the loves of hell. That all the thought and affection of spirits and of angels has extension into societies may be seen above, in the chapters on the wisdom of the angels of heaven, and on the form of heaven which determines affiliations and communications there. 478. But what has been said thus far appeals only to the thought of the rational man. That it may also be presented to the perception derived from the senses, I will add some experiences by which it may be illustrated and confirmed. First, Man after death is his own love or his own will. Second, Man continues to eternity such as his will or ruling love is. Third, The man who has heavenly and spiritual love goes to heaven, while the man who has corporeal and worldly love, and no heavenly and spiritual love, goes to hell. Fourth, Unless faith is from heavenly love it does not endure in man. Fifth, Love in act, that is, the life of man, is what endures. 479. (i) Man after death is his own love or his own will. This has been proved to me by manifold experience. The entire heaven is divided into societies according to differences of good of love; and every spirit who is taken up into heaven and becomes an angel is taken to the society where his love is; and when he arrives there he is, as it were, at home, and in the house where he was born; this the angel perceives, and is affiliated with those there that are like himself. When he goes away to another place he feels constantly a kind of resistance, and a longing to return to his like, thus to his ruling love. Thus are affiliations brought about in heaven; and in a like manner in hell, where all are affiliated in accordance with loves that are the opposites of heavenly loves. It has been shown above (n. 41-50 and 200-212) that both heaven and hell are composed of societies, and that they are all distinguished according to differences of love. [2] That man after death is his own love might also be seen from the fact that whatever does not make one with his ruling love is then separated and as it were taken away from him. From one who is good everything discordant or inharmonious is separated and as it were taken away, and he is thus let into his own love. It is the same with an evil spirit, with the difference that from the evil truths are taken away, and from the good falsities are taken away, and this goes on until each becomes his own love. This is effected when the man-spirit is brought into the third state, which will be described hereafter. When this has been done he turns his face constantly to his own love, and this he has continually before his eyes, in whatever direction he turns (see above, n. 123, 124). [3] All spirits, provided they are kept in their ruling love, can be led wherever one pleases, and are incapable of resistance, however clearly they may see that this is being done, and however much they may think that they will resist. They have often been permitted to try whether they could do anything contrary to their ruling love, but in vain. Their love is like a bond or a rope tied around them, by which they may be led and from which they cannot loose themselves. It is the same with men in the world who are also led by their love, or are led by others by means of their love; but this is more the case when they have become spirits, because they are not then permitted to make a display of any other love, or to counterfeit what is not their own. [4] All interaction in the other life proves that the spirit of man is his ruling love, for so far any one is acting or speaking in accord with the love of another, to the same extent is the other plainly present, with full, joyous, and lively countenance; but when one is speaking or acting contrary to another's love, to that extent the other's countenance begins to be changed, to be obscured and undiscernible, until at length he wholly disappears as if he had not been there. I have often wondered how this could be, for nothing of the kind can occur in the world; but I have been told that it is the same with the spirit in man, which when it turns itself away from another ceases to be within his view. [5] Another proof that a spirit is his ruling love is that every spirit seizes and appropriates all things that are in harmony with his love, and rejects and repudiates all that are not. Everyone's love is like a spongy or porous wood, which imbibes such fluids as promote its growth, and repels others. It is also like animals of every kind, which know their proper food and seek the things that agree with their nature, and avoid what disagrees; for every love wishes to be nourished on what belongs to it, evil love by falsities and good love by truths. I have sometimes been permitted to see certain simple good spirits desiring to instruct the evil in truths and goods; but when the instruction was offered them they fled far away, and when they came to their own they seized with great pleasure upon the falsities that were in agreement with their love. I have also seen good spirits talking together about truths, and the good who were present listened eagerly to the conversation, but the evil who were present paid no attention to it, as if they did not hear it. In the world of spirits ways are seen, some leading to heaven, some to hell, and each to some particular society. Good spirits go only in the ways that lead to heaven, and to the society there that is in the good of their love; and do not see the ways that lead elsewhere; while evil spirits go only in the ways that lead to hell, and to the society there that is in the evil of their love; and do not see the ways that lead elsewhere; or if they see them have no wish to enter them. In the spiritual world these ways are real appearances, which correspond to truths or falsities; and this is why ways have this signification in the Word.{1} By this evidence from experience what has previously been affirmed on the ground of reason is made more certain, namely, that every man after death is his own love and his own will. It is said one's own will because everyone's will is his love. {Footnote 1} A "way," a "path," a "road," a "street," and a "broad street," signify truths leading to good, or falsities leading to evil (n. 627, 2333, 10422). "To sweep [or prepare] a way" means to prepare for the reception of truths (n. 3142). "To make known the way" means, in respect to the Lord, to instruct in truths that lead to good (n. 10565). 480. (ii) Man after death continues to eternity such as his will or ruling love is. This, too, has been confirmed by abundant experience. I have been permitted to talk with some who lived two thousand years ago, and whose lives are described in history, and thus known; and I found that they continued to be just the same as they were described, that is, in respect to the love out of which and according to which their lives were formed. There were others known to history, that had lived seventeen centuries ago, others that had lived four centuries ago, and three, and so on, with whom I was permitted to talk; and I found that the same affection still ruled in them, with no other difference than that the delights of their love were turned into such things as correspond. The angels declare that the life of the ruling love is never changed in any one even to eternity, since everyone is his love; consequently to change that love in a spirit is to take away or extinguish his life; and for the reason that man after death is no longer capable of being reformed by instruction, as in the world, because the outmost plane, which consists of natural knowledges and affections, is then quiescent and not being spiritual cannot be opened (see above, n. 464); and upon that plane the interiors pertaining to the mind and disposition rest as a house rests on its foundation; and on this account such as the life of one's love had been in the world such he continues to be to eternity. The angels are greatly surprised that man does not know that everyone is such as his ruling love is, and that many believe that they may be saved by mercy apart from means, or by faith alone, whatever their life may be; also that they do not know that Divine mercy works by means, and that it consists in man's being led by the Lord, both in the world and afterwards to eternity, and that those who do not live in evils are led by the Divine mercy; and finally that faith is affection for truth going forth from heavenly love, which is from the Lord. 481. (iii) The man who has heavenly and spiritual love goes to heaven; while the man who has corporeal and worldly love and no heavenly and spiritual love goes to hell. This has been made evident to me from all whom I have seen taken up into heaven or cast into hell. The life of those taken up into heaven had been derived from a heavenly and spiritual love, while the life of those cast into hell had been derived from a corporeal and worldly love. Heavenly love consists in loving what is good, honest, and just, because it is good, honest and just, and in doing this from love; and those that have this love have a life of goodness, honesty, and justice, which is the heavenly life. Those that love what is good, honest, and just, for its own sake, and who do this or live it, love the Lord above all things, because this is from Him; they also love the neighbor, because this is the neighbor who is to be loved.{1} But corporeal love is loving what is good, honest, and just, not for its own sake but for the sake of self, because reputation, honor, and gain can thus be acquired. Such, in what is good, honest, and just, do not look to the Lord and to the neighbor, but to self and the world, and find delight in fraud; and the goodness, honesty and justice that spring forth from fraud are evil, dishonesty, and injustice, and these are what are loved by such in their practice of goodness, honesty, and justice. [2] As the life of everyone is determined by these different kinds of love, as soon as men after death enter the world of spirits they are examined to discover their quality, and are joined to those that are in a like love; those that are in heavenly love to those that are in heaven, and those that are in corporeal love to those that are in hell; and after they have passed through the first and second state they are so separated as to no longer see or know each other; for each one becomes his own love, both in respect to his interiors pertaining to his mind, and in respect to his exteriors pertaining to his face, body, and speech; for everyone becomes an image of his own love, even in externals. Those that are corporeal loves appear gross, dusky, black and misshapen; while those that are heavenly loves appear fresh, bright, fair and beautiful. Also in their minds and thoughts they are wholly unlike, those that are heavenly loves being intelligent and wise, while those that are corporeal loves are stupid and as it were silly. [3] When it is granted to behold the interiors and exteriors of thought and affection of those that are in heavenly love, their interiors appear like light, and some like a flamy light, while their exteriors appear in various beautiful colors like rainbows. But the interiors of those that are in corporeal love appear as if black, because they are closed up; and the interiors of some who were interiorly in malignant deceit appear like a dusky fire. But their exteriors appear of a dirty color, and disagreeable to the sight. (The interiors and exteriors of the mind and disposition are made visible in the spiritual world whenever the Lord pleases.) [4] Those that are in corporeal love see nothing in the light of heaven; to them the light of heaven is thick darkness; but the light of hell, which is like light from burning coals, is to them as clear light. Moreover, in the light of heaven their inward sight is so darkened that they become insane; consequently they shun that light and hide themselves in dens and caverns, more or less deeply in accordance with the falsities in them derived from their evils. On the other hand those who are in heavenly love, the more interiorly and deeply they enter into the light of heaven, see all things more clearly and all things appear more beautiful to them, and they perceive truths more intelligently and wisely. [5] Again, it is impossible for those who are in corporeal love to live at all in the heat of heaven, for the heat of heaven is heavenly love; but they can live in the heat of hell, which is the love of raging against others that do not favor them. The delights of that love are contempt of others, enmity, hatred and revenge; and when they are in these delights they are in their life, and have no idea what it is to do good to others from good itself and for the sake of good itself, knowing only what it is to do good from evil and for the sake of evil. [6] Those who are in corporeal love are unable to breathe in heaven. When any evil spirit is brought into heaven he draws his breath like one struggling in a contest; while those that are in heavenly love have a freer respiration and a fuller life the more interiorly they are in heaven. All this shows that heaven with man is heavenly and spiritual love, because on that love all things of heaven are inscribed; also that hell in man is corporeal and worldly love apart from heavenly and spiritual love, because on such loves all things of hell are inscribed. Evidently, then, he whose love is heavenly and spiritual enters heaven, and he whose love is corporeal and worldly apart from heavenly and spiritual love enters hell. {Footnote 1} In the highest sense, the Lord is the neighbor, because He is to be loved above all things; but loving the Lord is loving what is from Him, because He Himself is in everything that is from Him, thus it is loving what is good and true (n. 2425, 3419, 6706, 6711, 6819, 6823, 8123). Loving what is good and true which is from the Lord is living in accordance with good and truth, and this is loving the Lord (n. 10143, 10153, 10310, 10336, 10578, 10645). Every man and every society, also one's country and the church, and in a universal sense the Lord's kingdom, are the neighbor, and doing good to these from a love of good in accord with their state is loving the neighbor; that is, their good that should be consulted is the neighbor (n. 6818-6824, 8123). Moral good also, which is honesty, and civil good, which is justice, are the neighbor; and to act honestly and justly from the love of honesty and justice is loving the neighbor (n. 2915, 4730, 8120-8123). Thus charity towards the neighbor extends to all things of the life of man, and loving the neighbor is doing what is good and just, and acting honestly from the heart, in every function and in every work (n. 2417, 8121, 8124). The doctrine in the Ancient Church was the doctrine of charity, and from that they had wisdom (n. 2385, 2417, 3419, 3420, 4844, 6628). 482. (iv) Unless faith is from heavenly love it does not endure in man. This has been made clear to me by so much experience that if everything I have seen and heard respecting it were collected, it would fill a volume. This I can testify, that those who are in corporeal and worldly love apart from heavenly and spiritual love have no faith whatever, and are incapable of having any; they have nothing but knowledge or a persuasion that a thing is true because it serves their love. Some of those who claimed that they had faith were brought to those who had faith, and when they communicated with them they perceived that they had no faith at all; and afterwards they confessed that merely believing what is true and believing the Word is not faith, but that faith is loving truth from heavenly love, and willing and doing it from interior affection. Moreover, they were shown that their persuasion which they called faith was merely like the light of winter, in which light, because it has no heat in it, all things on the earth are bound up in frost, become torpid, and lie buried under the snow. As soon, therefore, as the light of persuasive faith in them is touched by the rays of the light of heaven it is not only extinguished but is turned into a dense darkness, in which no one can see himself; and at the same time their interiors are so obscured that they can understand nothing at all, and at length become insane from falsities. Consequently with such, all the truths that they have known from the Word and from the doctrine of the church, and have called the truths of their faith, are taken away; and they imbibe in their place every falsity that is in accord with the evil of their life. For they are all let down into their loves and into the falsities agreeing with them; and they then hate and abhor and therefore reject truths, because they are repugnant to the falsities of evil in which they are. From all my experience in what pertains to heaven and hell I can bear witness that all those who from their doctrine have professed faith alone, and whose life has been evil, are in hell. I have seen many thousands of them cast down to hell. (Respecting these see the treatise on The Last Judgment and the Destruction of Babylon.) 483. (v) Love in act, that is, the life of man, is what endures. This follows as a conclusion from what has just been shown from experience, and from what has been said about deeds and works. Love in act is work and deed. 484. It must be understood that all works and deeds pertain to moral and civil life, and therefore have regard to what is honest and right, and what is just and equitable, what is honest and right pertaining to moral life, and what is just and equitable to civil life. The love from which deeds are done is either heavenly or infernal. Works and deeds of moral and civil life, when they are done from heavenly love, are heavenly; for what is done from heavenly love is done from the Lord, and everything done from the Lord is good. But the deeds and works of moral and civil life when done from infernal love are infernal; for what is done from this love, which is the love of self and of the world, is done from man himself, and everything that is done from man himself is in itself evil; for man regarded in himself, that is, in regard to what is his own, is nothing but evil.{1} {Footnote 1} Man's own consists in loving himself more than God, and the world more than heaven, and in making nothing of his neighbor in comparison with himself, thus it consists in the love of self and of the world (n. 694, 731, 4317). Man is born into this own, and it is dense evil (n. 210, 215, 731, 874-876, 987, 1047, 2307, 2308, 3518, 3701, 3812, 8480, 8550, 10283, 10284, 10286, 10732). From what is man's own not only every evil but also every falsity is derived (n. 1047, 10283, 10284, 10286). The evils that are from what is man's own are contempt for others, enmity, hatred, revenge, cruelty, deceit (n. 6667, 7370, 7373, 7374, 9348, 10038, 10742). So far as what is man's own rules, the good of love and the truth of faith are either rejected or suffocated or perverted (n. 2041, 7491, 7492, 7643, 8487, 10455, 10742). What is man's own is hell in him (n. 694, 8480). The good that man does from what is his own is not good, but in itself is evil (n. 8480). 485. L. THE DELIGHTS OF EVERY ONE'S LIFE ARE CHANGED AFTER DEATH INTO THINGS THAT CORRESPOND. It has been shown in the preceding chapter that the ruling affection or dominant love in everyone continues to eternity. It shall now be explained how the delights of that affection or love are changed into things that correspond. Being changed into corresponding things means into things spiritual that correspond to the natural. That they are changed into things spiritual can be seen from this, that so long as man is in his earthly body he is in the natural world, but when he leaves that body he enters the spiritual world and is clothed with a spiritual body. It has already been shown that angels, and men after death, are in a complete human form, and that the bodies with which they are clothed are spiritual bodies (n. 73-77 and 453-460); also what the correspondence is of spiritual things with natural (n. 87-115). 486. All the delights that a man has are the delights of his ruling love, for he feels nothing to be delightful except what he loves, thus especially that which he loves above all things. It means the same whether you say the ruling love or that which is loved above all things. These delights are various. In general, there are as many as there are ruling loves; consequently as many as there are men, spirits, and angels; for no one's ruling love is in every respect like that of another. For this reason no one has a face exactly like that of any other; for each one's face is an image of his mind; and in the spiritual world it is an image of his ruling love. In particular, everyone's delights are of infinite variety. It is impossible for any one delight to be exactly like another, or the same as another, either those that follow one after another or those that exist together at the same time, no one ever being the same as another. Nevertheless, the particular delights in everyone have reference to his one love, which is his ruling love, for they compose it and thus make one with it. Likewise all delights in general have reference to one universally ruling love, which in heaven is love to the Lord, and in hell is the love of self. 487. Only from a knowledge of correspondences can it be known what spiritual delights everyone's natural delights are changed into after death, and what kind of delights they are. In general, this knowledge teaches that nothing natural can exist without something spiritual corresponding to it. In particular it teaches what it is that corresponds, and what kind of a thing it is. Therefore, any one that has this knowledge can ascertain and know what his own state after death will be, if he only knows what his love is, and what its relation is to the universally ruling loves spoken of above, to which all loves have relation. But it is impossible for those who are in the love of self to know what their ruling love is, because they love what is their own, and call their evils goods; and the falsities that they incline to and by which they confirm their evils they call truths. And yet if they were willing they might know it from others who are wise, and who see what they themselves do not see. This however, is impossible with those who are so enticed by the love of self that they spurn all teaching of the wise. [2] On the other hand, those who are in heavenly love accept instruction, and as soon as they are brought into the evils into which they were born, they see them from truths, for truths make evils manifest. From truth which is from good any one can see evil and its falsity; but from evil none can see what is good and true; and for the reason that falsities of evil are darkness and correspond to darkness; consequently those that are in falsities from evil are like the blind, not seeing the things that are in light, but shunning them instead like birds of night.{1} But as truths from good are light, and correspond to light (see above, n. 126-134), so those that are in truths from good have sight and open eyes, and discern the things that pertain to light and shade. [3] This, too, has been proved to me by experience. The angels in heaven both see and perceive the evils and falsities that sometimes arise in themselves, also the evils and falsities in spirits in the world of spirits that are connected with the hells, although the spirits themselves are unable to see their own evils and falsities. Such spirits have no comprehension of the good of heavenly love, of conscience, of honesty and justice, except such as is done for the sake of self; neither what it is to be led by the Lord. They say that such things do not exist, and thus are of no account. All this has been said to the intent that man may examine himself and may recognize his love by his delights; and thus so far as he can make it out from a knowledge of correspondences may know the state of his life after death. {Footnote 1} From correspondence "darkness" in the Word signifies falsities, and "thick darkness" the falsities of evil (n. 1839, 1860, 7688, 7711). To the evil the light of heaven is thick darkness (n. 1861, 6832, 8197). Those that are in the hells are said to be in darkness because they are in falsities of evil; of such (n. 3340, 4418, 4531). In the Word "the blind" signify those that are in falsities and are not willing to be taught (n. 2383, 6990). 488. How the delights of everyone's life are changed after death into things that correspond can be known from a knowledge of correspondences; but as that knowledge is not as yet generally known I will try to throw some light on the subject by certain examples from experience. All who are in evil and who have established themselves in falsities in opposition to the truths of the church, especially those that have rejected the Word, flee from the light of heaven and take refuge in caves that appear at their openings to be densely dark, also in clefts of rocks, and there they hide themselves; and this because they have loved falsities and hated truths; for such caves and clefts of rocks,{1} well as darkness, correspond to falsities, as light corresponds to truths. It is their delight to dwell in such places, and undelightful to dwell in the open country. [2] Those that have taken delight in insidious and secret plots and in treacherous machinations do the same thing. They are also in such caves; and they frequent rooms so dark that they are even unable to see one another; and they whisper together in the ears in corners. Into this is the delight of their love changed. Those that have devoted themselves to the sciences with no other end than to acquire a reputation for learning, and have not cultivated their rational faculty by their learning, but have taken delight in the things of memory from a pride in such things, love sandy places, which they choose in preference to fields and gardens, because sandy places correspond to such studies. [3] Those that are skilled in the doctrines of their own and other churches, but have not applied their knowledge to life, choose for themselves rocky places, and dwell among heaps of stones, shunning cultivated places because they dislike them. Those that have ascribed all things to nature, as well as those that have ascribed all things to their own prudence, and by various arts have raised themselves to honors and have acquired wealth, in the other life devote themselves to the study of magic arts, which are abuses of Divine order, and find in these the chief delight of life. [4] Those that have adapted Divine truths to their own loves, and thereby have falsified them, love urinous things because these correspond to the delights of such loves.{2} Those that have been sordidly avaricious dwell in cells, and love swinish filth and such stenches as are exhaled from undigested food in the stomach. [5] Those that have spent their life in mere pleasures and have lived delicately and indulged their palate and stomach, loving such things as the highest good that life affords, love in the other life excrementitious things and privies, in which they find their delight, for the reason that such pleasures are spiritual filth. Places that are clean and free from filth they shun, finding them undelightful. [6] Those that have taken delight in adulteries pass their time in brothels, where all things are vile and filthy; these they love, and chaste homes they shun, falling into a swoon as soon as they enter them. Nothing is more delightful to them than to break up marriages. Those that have cherished a spirit of revenge, and have thereby contracted a savage and cruel nature, love cadaverous substances, and are in hells of that nature; and so on. {Footnote 1} In the word a "hole" or "the cleft of a rock" signifies obscurity and falsity of faith (n. 10582). Because a "rock" signifies faith from the Lord (n. 8581, 10580); and a "stone" the truth of faith (n. 114, 643, 1298, 3720, 6426, 8609, 10376). {Footnote 2} The defilements of truth correspond to urine (n. 5390). 489. But the delights of life of those that have lived in the world in heavenly love are changed into such corresponding things as exist in the heavens, which spring from the sun of heaven and its light, that light presenting to view such things as have what is Divine inwardly concealed in them. The things that appear in that light affect the interiors of the minds of the angels, and at the same time the exteriors pertaining to their bodies; and as the Divine light, which is Divine truth going forth from the Lord, flows into their minds opened by heavenly love, it presents outwardly such things as correspond to the delights of their love. It has already been shown, in the chapter on representatives and appearances in heaven (n. 170-176), and in the chapter on the wisdom of the angels (n. 265-275), that the things that appear to the sight in the heavens correspond to the interiors of angels, or to the things pertaining to their faith and love and thus to their intelligence and wisdom. [2] Having already begun to establish this point by examples from experience, to make clearer what has been previously said on the ground of causes of things I will state briefly some particulars respecting the heavenly delightful things into which the natural delights of those that have lived in heavenly love in the world are changed. Those that have loved Divine truths and the Word from an interior affection, or from an affection for truth itself, dwell in the other life in light, in elevated places that appear like mountains, where they are continually in the light of heaven. They do not know what darkness is, like that of night in the world; they live also in a vernal temperature; there are presented to their view fields filled with grain and vine-yards; in their houses everything glows as if from precious stones; and looking through the windows is like looking through pure crystal. Such are the delights of their vision; but these same things are interiorly delightful because of their being correspondences of Divine heavenly things, for the truths from the Word which they have loved correspond to fields of grain, vineyards, precious stones, windows, and crystals.{1} [3] Those that have applied the doctrinals of the church which are from the Word immediately to life, are in the inmost heaven, and surpass all others in their delights of wisdom. In every object they see what is Divine; the objects they see indeed with their eyes; but the corresponding Divine things flow in immediately into their minds and fill them with a blessedness that affects all their sensations. Thus before their eyes all things seem to laugh, to play, and to live (see above, n. 270). [4] Those that have loved knowledges and have thereby cultivated their rational faculty and acquired intelligence, and at the same time have acknowledged the Divine-these in the other life have their pleasure in knowledges, and their rational delight changed into spiritual delight, which is delight in knowing good and truth. They dwell in gardens where flower beds and grass plots are seen beautifully arranged, with rows of trees round about, and arbors and walks, the trees and flowers changing from day to day. The entire view imparts delight to their minds in a general way, and the variations in detail continually renew the delight; and as everything there corresponds to something Divine, and they are skilled in the knowledge of correspondences, they are constantly filled with new knowledges, and by these their spiritual rational faculty is perfected. Their delights are such because gardens, flower beds, grass plots, and trees correspond to sciences, knowledges, and the resulting intelligence.{2} [5] Those that have ascribed all things to the Divine, regarding nature as relatively dead and merely subservient to things spiritual, and have confirmed themselves in this view, are in heavenly light; and all things that appear before their eyes are made by that light transparent, and in their transparency exhibit innumerable variegations of light, which their internal sight takes in as it were directly, and from this they perceive interior delights. The things seen within their houses are as if made of diamonds, with similar variegations of light. The walls of their houses, as already said, are like crystal, and thus also transparent; and in them seemingly flowing forms representative of heavenly things are seen also with unceasing variety, and this because such transparency corresponds to the understanding when it has been enlightened by the Lord and when the shadows that arise from a belief in and love for natural things have been removed. With reference to such things and infinite others, it is said by those that have been in heaven that they have seen what eye has never seen; and from a perception of Divine things communicated to them by those who are there, that they have heard what ear has never heard. [6] Those that have not acted in secret ways, but have been willing to have all that they have thought made known so far as civil life would permit, because their thoughts have all been in accord with what is honest and just from the Divine-these in heaven have faces full of light; and in that light every least affection and thought is seen in the face as in its form, and in their speech and actions they are like images of their affections. Such, therefore, are more loved than others. While they are speaking the face becomes a little obscured; but as soon as they have spoken, the things they have said become plainly manifest all at once in the face. And as all the objects that exist round about them correspond to their interiors, these assume such an appearance that others can clearly perceive what they represent and signify. Spirits that have found delight in clandestine acts, when they see such at a distance flee from them, and appear to themselves to creep away from them like serpents. [7] Those that have regarded adulteries as abominable, and have lived in a chaste love of marriage, are more than all others in the order and form of heaven, and therefore in all beauty, and continue unceasingly in the flower of youth. The delights of their love are ineffable, and increase to eternity; for all the delights and joys of heaven flow into that love, because that love descends from the conjunction of the Lord with heaven and with the church, and in general from the conjunction of good and truth, which conjunction is heaven itself in general, and with each angel in particular (see above, n. 366-386). What their outward delights are it is impossible to describe in human words. These are only a few of the things that have been told me about the correspondences of the delights of those that are in heavenly love. {Footnote 1} In the Word a "field of corn" signifies a state of the reception and growth of truth from good (n. 9294). "Standing corn" signifies truth in conception (n. 9146), "Vineyards" signify the spiritual church and the truths of that church (n. 1069, 9139). "Precious stones" signify the truths of heaven and of the church transparent from good (n. 114, 9863, 9865, 9868, 9873, 9905). A "window" signifies the intellectual faculty which pertains to the internal sight (n. 655, 658, 3391). {Footnote 2} A "garden," a "grove," and a "park," signify intelligence (n. 100, 108, 3220). This is why the ancients celebrated holy worship in groves (n. 2722, 4552). "Flowers" and "flower beds" signify truths learned and knowledges (n. 9553). "Herbs," "grasses," and "grass plots" signify truths learned (n. 7571). "Trees" signify perception and knowledges (n. 103, 2163, 2682, 2722, 2972, 7692). 490. All this makes evident that everyone's delights are changed after death into their correspondences, while the love itself continues to eternity. This is true of marriage love, of the love of justice, honesty, goodness and truth, the love of sciences and of knowledges, the love of intelligence and wisdom, and the rest. From these loves delights flow like streams from their fountain; and these continue; but when raised from natural to spiritual delights they are exalted to a higher degree. 491. LI. THE FIRST STATE OF MAN AFTER DEATH. There are three states that man passes through after death before he enters either heaven or hell. The first state is the state of his exteriors, the second state the state of his interiors, and the third his state of preparation. These states man passes through in the world of spirits. There are some, however, that do not pass through them; but immediately after death are either taken up into heaven or cast into hell. Those that are immediately taken up into heaven are those that have been regenerated in the world and thereby prepared for heaven. Those that have been so regenerated and prepared that they need simply to cast off natural impurities with the body are at once taken up by the angels into heaven. I have seen them so taken up soon after the hour of death. On the other hand, those that have been inwardly wicked while maintaining an outward appearance of goodness, and have thus filled up the measure of their wickedness by artifices, using goodness as a means of deceiving-these are at once cast into hell. I have seen some such cast into hell immediately after death, one of the most deceitful with his head downward and feet upward, and others in other ways. There are some that immediately after death are cast into caverns and are thus separated from those that are in the world of spirits, and are taken out from these and put back again by turns. They are such as have dealt wickedly with the neighbor under civil pretences. But all these are few in comparison with those that are retained in the world of spirits, and are there prepared in accordance with Divine order for heaven or for hell. 492. In regard to the first state, which is the state of the exteriors, it is that which man comes into immediately after death. Every man, as regards his spirit, has exteriors and interiors. The exteriors of the spirit are the means by which it adapts the man's body in the world, especially the face, speech, and movements, to fellowship with others; while the interiors of the spirit are what belong to its own will and consequent thought; and these are rarely manifested in face, speech, and movement. For man is accustomed from childhood to maintain a semblance of friendship, benevolence, and sincerity, and to conceal the thoughts of his own will, thereby living from habit a moral and civil life in externals, whatever he may be internally. As a result of this habit man scarcely knows what his interiors are, and gives little thought to them. 493. The first state of man after death resembles his state in the world, for he is then likewise in externals, having a like face, like speech, and a like disposition, thus a like moral and civil life; and in consequence he is made aware that he is not still in the world only by giving attention to what he encounters, and from his having been told by the angels when he was resuscitated that he had become a spirit(n. 450). Thus is one life continued into the other, and death is merely transition. 494. The state of man's spirit that immediately follows his life in the world being such, he is then recognized by his friends and by those he had known in the world; for this is something that spirits perceive not only from one's face and speech but also from the sphere of his life when they draw near. Whenever any one in the other life thinks about another he brings his face before him in thought, and at the same time many things of his life; and when he does this the other becomes present, as if he had been sent for or called. This is so in the spiritual world because thoughts there are shared, and there is no such space there as in the natural world (see above, n. 191-199). So all, as soon as they enter the other life, are recognized by their friends, their relatives, and those in any way known to them; and they talk with one another, and afterward associate in accordance with their friendships in the world. I have often heard that those that have come from the world were rejoiced at seeing their friends again, and that their friends in turn were rejoiced that they had come. Very commonly husband and wife come together and congratulate each other, and continue together, and this for a longer or shorter time according to their delight in living together in the world. But if they had not been united by a true marriage love, which is a conjunction of minds by heavenly love, after remaining together for a while they separate. Or if their minds had been discordant and were inwardly adverse, they break forth into open enmity, and sometimes into combat; nevertheless they are not separated until they enter the second state, which will be treated of presently. 495. As the life of spirits recently from the world is not unlike their life in the natural world and as they know nothing about their state of life after death and nothing about heaven and hell except what they have learned from the sense of the letter of the Word and preaching from it, they are at first surprised to find themselves in a body and in every sense that they had in the world, and seeing like things; and they become eager to know what heaven is, what hell is, and where they are. Therefore their friends tell them about the conditions of eternal life, and take them about to various places and into various companies, and sometimes into cities, and into gardens and parks, showing them chiefly such magnificent things as delight the externals in which they are. They are then brought in turn into those notions about the state of their soul after death, and about heaven and hell, that they had entertained in the life of the body, even until they feel indignant at their total ignorance of such things, and at the ignorance of the church also. Nearly all are anxious to know whether they will get to heaven. Most of them believe that they will, because of their having lived in the world a moral and civil life, never considering that the bad and the good live a like life outwardly, alike doing good to others, attending public worship, hearing sermons, and praying; and wholly ignorant that external deeds and external acts of worship are of no avail, but only the internals from which the externals proceed. There is hardly one out of thousands who knows what internals are, and that it is in them that man must find heaven and the church. Still less is it known that outward acts are such as the intentions and thoughts are, and the love and faith in these from which they spring. And even when taught they fail to comprehend that thinking and willing are of any avail, but only speaking and acting. Such for the most part are those that go at this day from the Christian world into the other life. 496. Such, however, are explored by good spirits to discover what they are, and this in various ways; since in this the first state the evil equally with the good utter truths and do good acts, and for the reason mentioned above, that like the good they have lived morally in outward respects, since they have lived under governments, and subject to laws, and have thereby acquired a reputation for justice and honesty, and have gained favor, and thus been raised to honors, and have acquired wealth. But evil spirits are distinguished from good spirits chiefly by this, that the evil give eager attention to whatever is said about external things, and but little attention to what is said about internal things, which are the truths and goods of the church and of heaven. These they listen to, but not with attention and joy. The two classes are also distinguished by their turning repeatedly in specific directions, and following, when left to themselves, the paths that lead in those directions. From such turning to certain quarters and going in certain ways it is known by what love they are led. 497. All spirits that arrive from the world are connected with some society in heaven or some society in hell, and yet only as regards their interiors; and so long as they are in exteriors their interiors are manifested to no one, for externals cover and conceal internals, especially in the case of those who are in interior evil. But afterwards, when they come into the second state, their evils become manifest, because their interiors are then opened and their exteriors laid asleep. 498. This first state of man after death continues with some for days, with some for months, and with some for a year; but seldom with any one beyond a year; for a shorter or longer time with each one according to the agreement or disagreement of his interiors with his exteriors. For with everyone the exteriors and interior must make one and correspond. In the spiritual world no one is permitted to think and will in one way and speak and act in another. Everyone there must be an image of his own affection or his own love, and therefore such as he is inwardly such he must be outwardly; and for this reason a spirit's exteriors are first disclosed and reduced to order that they may serve the interiors as a corresponding plane. 499. LII. THE SECOND STATE OF MAN AFTER DEATH. The second state of man after death is called the state of his interiors, because he is then let into the interiors of his mind, that is, of his will and thought; while his exteriors, which he has been in during his first state, are laid asleep. Whoever gives any thought to man's life and speech and action can see that everyone has exteriors and interiors, that is, exterior and interior thoughts and intentions. This is shown by the fact that in civil life one thinks about others in accordance with what he has heard and learned of them by report or conversation; but he does not talk with them in accordance with his thought; and if they are evil he nevertheless treats them with civility. That this is so is seen especially in the case of pretenders and flatterers, who speak and act in one way and think and will in a wholly different way; also in the case of hypocrites, who talk about God and heaven and the salvation of souls and the truths of the church and their country's good and their neighbor as if from faith and love, although in heart they believe otherwise and love themselves alone. [2] All this makes clear that there are two kinds of thought, one exterior and the other interior; and that there are those who speak from exterior thought, while from their interior thought they have other sentiments, and that these two kinds of thought are kept separate, since the interior is carefully prevented from flowing into the exterior and becoming manifest in any way. By creation man is so formed as to have his interior and exterior thought make one by correspondence; and these do make one in those that are in good, for such both think and speak what is good only. But in those that are in evil interior and exterior thought do not make one, for such think what is evil and say what is good. With such there is an inversion of order, for good with them is on the outside and evil within; and in consequence evil has dominion over good, and subjects it to itself as a servant, that it may serve it as a means for gaining its ends, which are of the same nature as their love. With such an end contained in the good that they seek and do, their good is evidently not good, but is infected with evil, however good it may appear in outward form to those not acquainted with their interiors. [3] It is not so with those that are in good. With such order is not inverted; but good from interior thought flows into exterior thought, and thus into word and act. Into this order man was created; and in heaven, and in the light of heaven, his interiors are in this order. And as the light of heaven is the Divine truth that goes forth from the Lord, and consequently is the Lord in heaven (n. 126-140), therefore such are led by the Lord. All this has been said to make known that every man has interior thought and exterior thought, and that these are distinct from each other. The term thought includes also the will, for thought is from the will, and thought apart from willing is impossible. All this makes clear what is meant by the state of man's exteriors and the state of his interiors. 500. When will and thought are mentioned will includes affection and love, and all the delight and pleasure that spring from affection and love, since all these relate to the will as to their subject; for what a man wills he loves and feels to be delightful or pleasurable; and on the other hand, what a man loves and feels to be delightful or pleasurable, that he wills. But by thought is then meant everything by which affection or love is confirmed, for thought is simply the will's form, or that whereby what is willed may appear in light. This form is made apparent through various rational analyses, which have their origin in the spiritual world and belong properly to the spirit of man. 501. Let it be understood that man is wholly such as his interiors are, and not such as his exteriors are separate from his interiors. This is because his interiors belong to his spirit, and the life of his spirit is the life of man, for from it his body lives; and because of this such as a man's interiors are such he continues to be to eternity. But as the exteriors pertain to the body they are separated after death, and those of them that adhere to the spirit are laid asleep, and serve purely as a plane for the interiors, as has been shown above in treating of the memory of man which continues after death. This makes evident what is man's own and what is not his own, namely, that with the evil man nothing that belongs to his exterior thought from which he speaks, or to the exterior will from which he acts, is his own, but only that which belongs to his interior thought and will. 502. When the first state, which is the state of the exteriors treated of in the preceding chapter, has been passed through, the man-spirit is let into the state of his interiors, or into the state of his interior will and its thought, in which he had been in the world when left to himself to think freely and without restraint. Into this state he unconsciously glides, just as when in the world he withdraws the thought nearest to his speech, that is, from which he speaks, towards his interior thought and abides in the latter. Therefore in this state of his interiors the man-spirit is in himself and in his very life; for to think freely from his own affection is the very life of man, and is himself. 503. In this state the spirit thinks from his very will, thus from his very affection, or from his very love; and thought and will then make one, and one in such a manner that he seems scarcely to think but only to will. It is nearly the same when he speaks, yet with the difference that he speaks with a kind of fear that the thoughts of the will may go forth naked, since by his social life in the world this has come to be a part of his will. 504. All men without exception are let into this state after death, because it is their spirit's own state. The former state is such as the man was in regard to his spirit when in company; and that is not his own state. That this state, namely, the state of the exteriors into which man first comes after death (as shown in the preceding chapter) is not his own state, many things show, for example, that spirits not only think but also speak from their affection, since their speech is from their affection (as has been said and shown in the chapter on the speech of angels, n. 234-245). It was in this way that man had thought while in the world when he was thinking within himself, for at such times his thought was not from his bodily words, but he [mentally] saw the things, and in a minute of time saw more than he could afterwards utter in half an hour. Again that the state of the exteriors is not man's own state or the state of his spirit is evident from the fact that when he is in company in the world he speaks in accord with the laws of moral and civil life, and at such times interior thought rules the exterior thought, as one person rules another, to keep him from transgressing the limits of decorum and good manners. It is evident also from the fact that when a man thinks within himself, he thinks how he must speak and act in order to please and to secure friendship, good will, and favor, and this in extraneous ways, that is, otherwise than he would do if he acted in accordance with his own will. All this shows that the state of the interiors that the spirit is let into is his own state, and was his own state when he was living in the world as a man. 505. When the spirit is in the state of his interiors it becomes clearly evident what the man was in himself when he was in the world, for at such times he acts from what is his own. He that had been in the world interiorly in good then acts rationally and wisely, and even more wisely than in the world, because he is released from connection with the body, and thus from those earthly things that caused obscurity and interposed as it were a cloud. But he that was in evil in the world then acts foolishly and insanely, and even more insanely than in the world, because he is free and under no restraint. For while he lived in the world he was sane in outward appearance, since by means of externals he made himself appear to be a rational man; but when he has been stripped of his externals his insanities are revealed. An evil man who in externals takes on the semblance of a good man may be likened to a vessel shining and polished on the outside and covered with a lid, within which filth of all kinds is hidden, in accordance with the Lord's saying: Ye are like whited sepulchers, which outwardly appear beautiful, but inwardly are full of dead men's bones and of all uncleanness (Matt. 23:27). 506. All that have lived a good life in the world and have acted from conscience, who are such as have acknowledged the Divine and have loved Divine truths, especially such as have applied those truths to life, seem to themselves, when let into the state of their interiors, like one aroused from sleep into full wakefulness, or like one passing from darkness into light. They then think from the light of heaven, thus from an interior wisdom, and they act from good, thus from an interior affection. Heaven flows into their thoughts and affections with an interior blessedness and delight that they had previously had no knowledge of; for they have communication with the angels of heaven. They then acknowledge the Lord and worship Him from their very life, for being in the state of their interiors they are in their proper life (as has been said just above, n. 505); and as freedom pertains to interior affection they then acknowledge and worship the Lord from freedom. Thus, too, they withdraw from external sanctity and come into that internal sanctity in which worship itself truly consists. Such is the state of those that have lived a Christian life in accordance with the commandments in the Word. [2] But the state of those that have lived an evil life in the world and who have had no conscience, and have in consequence denied the Divine, is the direct opposite of this. For everyone who lives an evil life, inwardly in himself denies the Divine, however much he may suppose when in external thought that he acknowledges the Lord and does not deny Him; for acknowledging the Divine and living an evil life are opposites. When such in the other life enter into the state of their interiors, and are heard speaking and seen acting, they appear foolish; for from their evil lusts they burst forth into all sorts of abominations, into contempt of others, ridicule and blasphemy, hatred and revenge; they plot intrigues, some with a cunning and malice that can scarcely be believed to be possible in any man. For they are then in a state of freedom to act in harmony with the thoughts of their will, since they are separated from the outward conditions that restrained and checked them in the world. In a word, they are deprived of their rationality, because their reason while they were in the world did not have its seat in their interiors, but in their exteriors; and yet they seemed to themselves to be wiser than others. [3] This being their character, while in the second state they are let down by short intervals into the state of their exteriors, and into a recollection of their actions when they were in the state of their interiors; and some of them then feel ashamed, and confess that they have been insane; some do not feel ashamed; and some are angry because they are not permitted to remain permanently in the state of their exteriors. But these are shown what they would be if they were to continue in that state, namely, that they would attempt to accomplish in secret ways the same evil ends, and by semblances of goodness, honesty, and justice, would mislead the simple in heart and faith, and would utterly destroy themselves; for their exteriors would at length burn with the same fire as their interiors, and their whole life would be consumed. 507. When in this second state spirits become visibly just what they had been in themselves while in the world, what they then did and said secretly being now made manifest; for they are now restrained by no outward considerations, and therefore what they have said and done secretly they now say and endeavor to do openly, having no longer any fear of loss of reputation, such as they had in the world. They are also brought into many states of their evils, that what they are may be evident to angels and good spirits. Thus are hidden things laid open and secret things uncovered, in accordance with the Lord's words: There is nothing covered up that shall not be revealed, and hid that shall not be known. Whatsoever ye have said in the darkness shall be heard in the light, and what ye have spoken in the ear in the inner chambers shall be proclaimed on the housetops (Luke 12:2, 3). And elsewhere: I say unto you, that every idle word that men shall speak they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment (Matt. 12:36). 508. The nature of the wicked in this state cannot be described in a few words, for each one is insane in accord with his own lusts, and these are various; therefore I will merely mention some special instances from which conclusions may be formed respecting the rest. Those that have loved themselves above everything, and in their occupations and employments have looked to their own honor, and have performed uses and found delight in them not for the use's sake but for the sake of reputation, that they might because of them be esteemed more worthy than others, and have thus been fascinated by their reputation for honor, are more stupid in this second state than others; for so far as one loves himself he is separated from heaven, and so far as he is separated from heaven he is separated from wisdom. [2] But those that have not only been in self-love but have been crafty also, and have raised themselves to honors by means of crafty practices, affiliate themselves with the worst of spirits, and learn magic arts, which are abuses of Divine order, and by means of these they assail and infest all who do not honor them, laying snares, fomenting hatred, burning with revenge, and are eager to vent their rage on all who do not yield to them; and they rush into all these enormities so far as their fiendish companions favor them; and at length they meditate upon how they can climb up into heaven to destroy it, or be worshiped there as gods. To such length does their madness carry them. [3] Papists of this character are more insane than the rest, for they cherish the notion that heaven and hell are subject to their power, and that they can remit sins at pleasure, claiming to themselves all that is Divine, and calling themselves Christ. This persuasion is such with them that wherever it flows in it disturbs the mind and induces darkness even to pain. Such are nearly the same in both the first and the second state; but in the second they are without rationality. Of their insanities and their lot after this state some particulars will be given in the treatise on The Last Judgement and the Destruction of Babylon. [4] Those that have attributed creation to nature, and have therefore in heart if not with the lips denied the Divine, and thus all things of the church and of heaven, affiliate with their like in this second state, and call everyone a god who excels in craftiness, worshiping him even with Divine honors. I have seen such in an assembly adoring a magician, debating about nature, and behaving like fools, as if they were beasts under a human form, while among them there were some who in the world had been in stations of dignity, and some who had been esteemed learned and wise. So with others in other states. [5] From these few instances it may be inferred what those are who have the interiors of their minds closed heaven-wards, as is the case with all who have received no influx out of heaven through acknowledgment of the Divine and a life of faith. Everyone can judge from himself how he would act if, being such, he were left free to act with no fear of the law and no fear in regard to his life, and with no outward restraints, such as fear of injury to one's reputation or of loss of honor and gain and consequent pleasures. [6] Nevertheless, the insanity of such is restrained by the Lord that it may not rush beyond the limits of use; for even such spirits perform some use. In them good spirits see what evil is and its nature, and what man is when he is not led by the Lord. Another of their uses is their collecting together evil spirits like themselves and separating them from the good; and another, that the truths and goods that the evil had outwardly professed and feigned are taken away from them, and they are brought into the evils of their life and the falsities of their evil, and are thus prepared for hell. [7] For no one enters hell until he is in his own evil and the falsities of evil, since no one is permitted there to have a divided mind, that is, to think and speak one thing and to will another. Every evil spirit there must think what is false from evil, and speak from the falsity of evil, in both respects from the will, thus from his own essential love and its delight and pleasure, in the same way that he thought while in the world when he was in his spirit, that is, in the same way as he thought in himself when he thought from interior affection. The reason is that the will is the man himself, and not the thought except so far as it partakes of the will, the will being the very nature itself or disposition of the man. Therefore man's being let into his will is being let into his nature or disposition, and likewise into his life; for by his life man puts on a nature; and after death he continues to be such as the nature is that he has acquired by his life in the world; and with the evil this nature can no longer be amended and changed by means of the thought or by the understanding of truth. 509. When evil spirits are in this second state, as they rush into evils of every kind they are subjected to frequent and grievous punishments. In the world of spirits there are many kinds of punishment; and there is no regard for person, whether one had been in the world a king or a servant. Every evil carries its punishment with it, the two making one; therefore whoever is in evil is also in the punishment of evil. And yet no one in the other world suffers punishment on account of the evils that he had done in this world, but only on account of the evils that he then does; although it amounts to the same and is the same thing whether it be said that men suffer punishment on account of their evils in the world or that they suffer punishment on account of the evils they do in the other life, since everyone after death returns into his own life and thus into like evils; and the man continues the same as he had been in the life of the body (n. 470-484). Men are punished for the reason that the fear of punishment is the sole means of subduing evils in this state. Exhortation is no longer of any avail, neither is instruction or fear of the law and of the loss of reputation, since everyone then acts from his nature; and that nature can be restrained and broken only by punishments. But good spirits, although they had done evils in the world, are never punished, because their evils do not return. Moreover, I have learned that the evils they did were of a different kind or nature, not being done purposely in opposition to the truth, or from any other badness of heart than that which they received by inheritance from their parents, and that they were borne into this by a blind delight when they were in externals separate from internals. 510. Everyone goes to his own society in which his spirit had been in the world; for every man, as regards his spirit, is conjoined to some society, either infernal or heavenly, the evil man to an infernal society and the good man to a heavenly society, and to that society he is brought after death (see n. 438). The spirit is led to his society gradually, and at length enters it. When an evil spirit is in the state of his interiors he is turned by degrees toward his own society, and at length, before that state is ended, directly to it; and when that state is ended he himself casts himself into the hell where those are who are like himself. This act of casting down appears to the sight like one falling headlong with the head downwards and the feet upwards. The cause of this appearance is that the spirit himself is in an inverted order, having loved infernal things and rejected heavenly things. In this second state some evil spirits enter the hells and come out again by turns; but these do not appear to fall headlong as those do that are fully vastated. Moreover, the society itself in which they had been as regards their spirit while in the world is shown to them when they are in the state of their exteriors, that they may thus learn that even while in the life of the body they were in hell, although not in the same state as those that are in hell itself, but in the same state as those who are in the world of spirits. Of this state, as compared with those that are in hell, more will be said hereafter. 511. In this second state the separation of evil spirits from good spirits takes place. For in the first state they are together, since while a spirit is in his exteriors he is as he was in the world, thus the evil with the good and the good with the evil; but it is otherwise when he has been brought into his interiors and left to his own nature or will. The separation of evil spirits from good spirits is effected by various means; in general by their being taken about to those societies with which in their first state they had communication by means of their good thoughts and affections, thus to those societies that they had induced to believe by outward appearances that they were not evil. Usually they are led about through a wide circle, and everywhere what they really are is made manifest to good spirits. At the sight of them the good spirits turn away; and at the same time the evil spirits who are being led about turn their faces away from the good towards that quarter where their infernal society is, into which they are about to come. Other methods of separation, which are many, will not now be mentioned. 512. LIII. THIRD STATE OF MAN AFTER DEATH, WHICH IS A STATE OF INSTRUCTION FOR THOSE WHO ENTER HEAVEN. The third state of man after death, that is, of his spirit, is a state of instruction. This state is for those who enter heaven and become angels. It is not for those who enter hell, because such are incapable of being taught, and therefore their second state is also their third, ending in this, that they are wholly turned to their own love, thus to that infernal society which is in a like love. When this has been done they will and think from that love and as that love is infernal they will nothing but what is evil and think nothing but what is false; and in such thinking and willing they find their delights, because these belong to their love; and in consequence of this they reject everything good and true which they had previously adopted as serviceable to their love as means. [2] Good spirits, on the other hand, are led from the second state into the third, which is the state of their preparation for heaven by means of instruction. For one can be prepared for heaven only by means of knowledges of good and truth, that is, only by means of instruction, since one can know what spiritual good and truth are, and what evil and falsity are, which are their opposites, only by being taught. One can learn in the world what civil and moral good and truth are, which are called justice and honesty, because there are civil laws in the world that teach what is just, and there is interaction with others whereby man learns to live in accordance with moral laws, all of which have relation to what is honest and right. But spiritual good and truth are learned from heaven, not from the world. They can be learned from the Word and from the doctrine of the church that is drawn from the Word and yet unless man in respect to his interiors which belong to his mind is in heaven spiritual good and truth cannot flow into his life; and man is in heaven when he both acknowledges the Divine and acts justly and honestly for the reason that he ought so to act because it is commanded in the Word. This is living justly and honestly for the sake of the Divine, and not for the sake of self and the world, as ends. [3] But no one can so act until he has been taught, for example, that there is a God, that there is a heaven and a hell, that there is a life after death, that God ought to be loved supremely, and the neighbor as oneself, and that what is taught in the Word, ought to be believed because the Word is Divine. Without a knowledge and acknowledgment of these things man is unable to think spiritually; and if he has no thought about them he does not will them; for what a man does not know he cannot think, and what he does not think he cannot will. So it is when man wills these things that heaven flows into his life, that is, the Lord through heaven, for the Lord flows into the will and through the will into the thought, and through both into the life, and the whole life of man is from these. All this makes clear that spiritual good and truth are learned not from the world but from heaven, and that one can be prepared for heaven only by means of instruction. [4] Moreover, so far as the Lord flows into the life of any one He instructs him, for so far He kindles the will with the love of knowing truths and enlightens the thought to know them; and so far as this is done the interiors of man are opened and heaven is implanted in them; and furthermore, what is Divine and heavenly flows into the honest things pertaining to moral life and into the just things pertaining to civil life in man, and makes them spiritual, since man then does these things from the Divine, which is doing them for the sake of the Divine. For the things honest and just pertaining to moral and civil life which a man does from that source are the essential effects of spiritual life; and the effect derives its all from the effecting cause, since such as the cause is such is the effect. 513. Instruction is given by the angels of many societies, especially those in the northern and southern quarters, because those angelic societies are in intelligence and wisdom from a knowledge of good and truth. The places of instruction are towards the north and are various, arranged and distinguished according to the kinds and varieties of heavenly goods, that all and each may be instructed there according to their disposition and ability to receive; the places extending round about to a great distance. The good spirits who are to be instructed are brought by the Lord to these places when they have completed their second state in the world of spirits, and yet not all; for there are some that have been instructed in the world, and have been prepared there by the Lord for heaven, and these are taken up into heaven by another way-some immediately after death, some after a short stay with good spirits, where the grosser things of their thoughts and affections which they had contracted from honors and riches in the world are removed, and in that way they are purified. Some first endure vastations, which is effected in places under the soles of the feet, called the lower earth, where some suffer severely. These are such as had confirmed themselves in falsities and yet had led good lives, for when falsities have been confirmed they inhere with much force, and until they have been dispersed truths cannot be seen, and thus cannot be accepted. But vastations and how they are effected have been treated of in the Arcana Coelestia, from which the notes below have been collected.{1} {Footnote 1} Vastations are effected in the other life, that is, those that pass into the other life from the world are vastated (n. 698, 7122, 7474, 9763). The well disposed are vastated in respect to falsities, while the evil are vastated in respect to truths (n, 7474, 7541, 7542). The well disposed undergo vastations that they also may be divested of what pertains to the earth and the world, which they had contracted while living in the world (n. 7186, 9763). Also that evils and falsities may be removed, and thus there may be room for the influx of goods and truths out of heaven from the Lord, and ability to accept these (n. 7122, 9330). Elevation into heaven is impossible until such things have been removed, because they obstruct heavenly things and are not in harmony with them (n. 6928, 7122, 7186, 7541, 7542, 9763). Those who are to be raised up into heaven are thus prepared for it (n. 4728, 7090). It is dangerous to come into heaven before being prepared (n. 537, 538). The state of enlightenment and the joy of those who come out of vastation and are raised up into heaven, and their reception there (n. 2699, 2701, 2704). The region where those vastations are effected is called the lower earth (n. 4728, 7090). That region is under the soles of the feet surrounded by the hells; its nature described (n. 4940-4951, 7090); from experience (n. 699). What the hells are which more than others infest and vastate (n. 7317, 7502, 7545). Those that have infested and vastated the well disposed are afterwards afraid of them, shun them, and turn away from them (n. 7768). These infestations and vastations are effected in different ways in accordance with the adhesion of evils and falsities, and they continue in accordance with their quality and quantity (n. 1106-1113). Some are quite willing to be vastated (n. 1107). Some are vastated by fears (n. 4942). Some by being infested with the evils they have done in the world, and with the falsities they have thought in the world, from which they have anxieties and pangs of conscience (n. 1106). Some by spiritual captivity, which is ignorance of truth and interception of truth, combined with a longing to know truths (n. 1109, 2694). Some by sleep; some by a middle state between wakefulness and sleep (n. 1108). Those that have placed merit in works seem to themselves to be cutting wood (n. 1110). Others in other ways, with great variety (n. 699). 514. All who are in places of instruction dwell apart; for each one is connected in regard to his interiors with that society of heaven which he is about to enter; thus as the societies of heaven are arranged in accord with the heavenly form (see above, n. 200-212), so are the places there where instruction is given; and for this reason when those places are viewed from heaven something like a heaven in a smaller form is seen. They are spread out in length from east to west, and in breadth from south to north; but the breadth appears to be less than the length. The arrangement in general is as follows. In front are those who died in childhood and have been brought up in heaven to the age of early youth; these after passing the state of their infancy with those having charge of them, are brought hither by the Lord and instructed. Behind these are the places where those are taught who died in adult age, and who in the world had an affection for truth derived from good of life. Again, behind these are those who in the world were connected with the Mohammedan religion, and lived a moral life and acknowledged one Divine, and the Lord as the very Prophet. When these withdraw from Mohammed, because he can give them no help, they approach the Lord and worship Him and acknowledge His Divinity, and they are then instructed in the Christian religion. Behind these more to the north are the places of instruction of various heathen nations who in the world have lived a good life in conformity with their religion, and have thereby acquired a kind of conscience, and have done what is just and right not so much from a regard to the laws of their government, as from a regard to the laws of religion, which they believed ought to be sacredly observed, and in no way violated by their doings. When these have been taught they are all easily led to acknowledge the Lord, because it is impressed on their hearts that God is not invisible, but is visible under a human form. These in number exceed all the rest, and the best of them are from Africa. 515. But all are not taught in the same way, nor by the same societies of heaven. Those that have been brought up from childhood in heaven, not having imbibed falsities from the falsities of religion or defiled their spiritual life with the dregs pertaining to honors and riches in the world, receive instruction from the angels of the interior heavens; while those that have died in adult age receive instruction mainly from angels of the lowest heaven, because these angels are better suited to them than the angels of the interior heavens, who are in interior wisdom which is not yet acceptable to them. But the Mohammedans receive instruction from angels who had been previously in the same religion and had been converted to Christianity. The heathen, too, are taught by their angels. 516. All teaching there is from doctrine drawn from the Word, and not from the Word apart from doctrine. Christians are taught from heavenly doctrine, which is in entire agreement with the internal sense of the Word. All others, as the Mohammedans and heathen, are taught from doctrines suited to their apprehension, which differ from heavenly doctrine only in this, that spiritual life is taught by means of moral life in harmony with the good tenets of their religion from which they had derived their life in the world. 517. Instruction in the heavens differs from instruction on earth in that knowledges are not committed to memory, but to life; for the memory of spirits is in their life, for they receive and imbibe everything that is in harmony with their life, and do not receive, still less imbibe, what is not in harmony with it; for spirits are affections, and are therefore in a human form that is similar to their affections. [2] Being such they are constantly animated by an affection for truth that looks to the uses of life; for the Lord provides for everyone's loving the uses suited to his genius; and that love is exalted by the hope of becoming an angel. And as all the uses of heaven have relation to the general use, which is the good of the Lord's kingdom, which in heaven is the fatherland, and as all special and particular uses are to be valued in proportion as they more closely and fully have regard to that general use, so all of these special and particular uses, which are innumerable, are good and heavenly; therefore in everyone an affection for truth is so conjoined with an affection for use that the two make one; and thereby truth is so implanted in use that the truths they acquire are truths of use. In this way are angelic spirits taught and prepared for heaven. [3] An affection for truth that is suited to the use is insinuated by various means, most of which are unknown in the world; chiefly by representatives of uses which in the spiritual world are exhibited in a thousand ways, and with such delights and pleasures that they permeate the spirit from the interiors of its mind to the exteriors of its body, and thus affect the whole; and in consequence the spirit becomes as it were his use; and therefore when he comes into his society, into which he is initiated by instruction, he is in his life by being in his use.{1} From all this it is clear that knowledges, which are external truths, do not bring any one into heaven; but the life itself, which is a life of uses implanted by means of knowledges. {Footnote 1} Every good has both its delight and its quality from uses and in accordance with uses; therefore such as the good is such the use is (n. 3049, 4984, 7038). Angelic life consists in the goods of love and charity, thus in performing uses (n. 454). The Lord and therefore the angels, have regard to nothing in man but ends which are uses (n. 1317, 1645, 5854). The kingdom of the Lord is a kingdom of uses (n. 454, 696, 1103, 3645, 4054, 7038). Serving the Lord is performing uses (n. 7038). What man is, such are his uses (n. 1568, 3570, 4054, 6571, 6935, 6938, 10284). 518. There were some spirits who had convinced themselves, by thinking about it in the world, that they would go to heaven and be received before others because of their learning and their great knowledge of the Word and of the doctrines of their churches, believing that they were wise in consequence, and were such as are meant by those of whom it is said that They shall shine as the brightness of the firmament, and as the stars (Daniel 12:3). But these were examined to see whether their knowledges resided in the memory or in the life. Such of them as had a genuine affection of truth, that is, who had uses separated from what pertains to the body and the world as their end, which are essentially spiritual uses--these, when they had been instructed, were received into heaven; and it was then given them to know what it is that shines in heaven, namely, Divine truth (which is the light of heaven) in use, which is a plane that receives the rays of that light and turns them into various splendors. But those in whom knowledges resided merely in the memory, and who had acquired therefrom an ability to reason about truths and to prove what they had already accepted as principles, seeing such principles, after they had confirmed them, as truths, although they were falsities, these, as they were in no heavenly light, and yet were in a belief derived from the conceit that usually adheres to such intelligence that they were more learned than others, and would for that reason enter heaven and be served by the angels, in order that they might be withdrawn from their delusive faith, were taken up to the first or outmost heaven to be introduced into an angelic society. But at the very threshold their eyes began to be darkened by the inflowing of the light of heaven, and their understanding to be disturbed, and at length they began to gasp as if at the point of death; and as soon as they felt the heat of heaven, which is heavenly love, they began to be inwardly tormented. They were therefore cast down, and afterwards were taught that knowledges do not make an angel, but the life itself, which is gained by means of knowledges, for knowledges regarded in themselves are outside of heaven; but life acquired by means of knowledges is within heaven. 519. When spirits have been prepared for heaven by instruction in the places above described, which is effected in a short time on account of their being in spiritual ideas that comprehend many particulars together, they are clothed with angelic garments, which are mostly glowing white as if made of fine linen; and they are thus brought to the way that leads upwards towards heaven, and are delivered there to angel guards, and afterwards are received by other angels and introduced into societies and into many blessednesses there. After this each one is led by the Lord into his own society, which is also effected by various ways, sometimes by winding paths. The ways by which they are led are not known to any angel, but are known to the Lord alone. When they come to their own society their interiors are opened; and as these are in conformity with the interiors of the angels who are in that society they are immediately recognized and received with joy. 520. To this I will add a memorable fact respecting the ways that lead from these places to heaven, by which the newly arrived angels are introduced. There are eight ways, two from each place of instruction, one going up in an eastern direction the other towards the west. Those that enter the Lord's celestial kingdom are introduced by the eastern way, while those that enter the spiritual kingdom are introduced by the western way. The four ways that lead to the Lord's celestial kingdom appear adorned with olive trees and fruit trees of various kinds; but those that lead to the Lord's spiritual kingdom appear adorned with vines and laurels. This is from correspondence, because vines and laurels correspond to affection for truth and its uses, while olives and fruits correspond to affection for good and its uses. 521. LIV. NO ONE ENTERS HEAVEN BY MERCY APART FROM MEANS. Those that have not been instructed about heaven and the way to heaven, and about the life of heaven in man, suppose that being received into heaven is a mere matter of mercy, and is granted to those that have faith, and for whom the Lord intercedes; thus that it is an admission from mere favor; consequently that all men without exception might be saved if the Lord so pleased, and some even believe that all in hell might be so saved. But those who so think know nothing about man, that he is just such as his life is, and that his life is such as his love is, both in respect to the interiors pertaining to his will and understanding and in respect to the exteriors pertaining to his body; also that his bodily form is merely the external form in which the interiors exhibit themselves in effect; consequently that one's love is the whole man (see above, n. 363). Nor do they know that the body lives not from itself, but from its spirit, and that a man's spirit is his essential affection, and his spiritual body is nothing else than his affection in human form, and in such a form it appears after death (see above, n. 453-460). So long as man remains ignorant of all this he may be induced to believe that salvation involves nothing but the Divine good pleasure, which is called mercy and grace. 522. But first let us consider what the Divine mercy is. The divine mercy is pure mercy towards the whole human race, to save it; and it is also unceasing towards every man, and is never withdrawn from any one; so that everyone is saved who can be saved. And yet no one can be saved except by Divine means, which means the Lord reveals in the Word. The Divine means are what are called Divine truths, which teach how man must live in order to be saved. By these truths the Lord leads man to heaven, and by them He implants in man the life of heaven. This the Lord does for all. But the life of heaven can be implanted in no one unless he abstains from evil, for evil obstructs. So far, therefore, as man abstains from evil he is led by the Lord out of pure mercy by His Divine means, and this from infancy to the end of his life in the world and afterwards to eternity. This is what is meant by the Divine mercy. And from this it is evident that the mercy of the Lord is pure mercy, but not apart from means, that is, it does not look to saving all out of mere good pleasure, however they may have lived. 523. The Lord never does anything contrary to order, because He Himself is Order. The Divine truth that goes forth from the Lord is what constitutes order; and Divine truths are the laws of order. It is in accord with these laws that the Lord leads man. Consequently to save man by mercy apart from means would be contrary to Divine order, and what is contrary to Divine order is contrary to the Divine. Divine order is heaven in man, and man has perverted this in himself by a life contrary to the laws of order, which are Divine truths. Into this order man is brought back by the Lord out of pure mercy by means of the laws of order; and so far as he is brought back into this order he receives heaven in himself; and he that receives heaven in himself enters heaven. This again makes evident that the Lord's Divine mercy is pure mercy, and not mercy apart from means.{1} {Footnote 1} Divine truth going forth from the Lord is the source of order, and Divine good is the essential of order (n. 1728, 2258, 8700, 8988). Thus the Lord is order (n. 1919, 2011, 5110, 5703, 10336, 10619). Divine truths are the laws of order (n. 2447, 7995). The whole heaven is arranged by the Lord in accordance with His Divine order (n. 3038, 7211, 9128, 9338, 10125, 10151, 10157). Therefore the form of heaven is a form in accord with the Divine order (n. 4040-4043, 6607, 9877). So far as a man is living in accordance with order, that is, so far as he is living in good in accordance with Divine truths, he is receiving heaven in himself (n. 4839). Man is the being in whom are brought together all things of Divine order, and by creation he is Divine order in form, because he is a recipient of Divine order (n. 3628, 4219, 4220, 4223, 4523, 4524, 5214, 6013, 6057, 6605, 6626, 9706, 10156, 10472). Man is not born into good and truth but into evil and falsity, thus not into Divine order but into the opposite of order, and for this reason he is born into pure ignorance; consequently it is necessary for him to be born anew, that is, to be regenerated, which is effected by the Lord by means of Divine truths, that he may be brought back into order (n. 1047, 2307, 2308, 3518, 8480, 8550, 10283, 10284, 10286, 10731). When the Lord forms man anew, that is, regenerates him, He arranges all things in him in harmony with order, that is, in the form of heaven (n. 5700, 6690, 9931, 10303). Evils and falsities are contrary to order; nevertheless those who are in them are ruled by the Lord not in accordance with order but from order (n. 4839, 7877, 10777). It is impossible for a man who lives in evil to be saved by mercy alone, for that would be contrary to Divine order (n. 8700). 524. If men could be saved by mercy apart from means all would be saved, even those in hell; in fact, there would be no hell, because the Lord is mercy itself, love itself, and goodness itself. Therefore it is inconsistent with His Divine to say that He is able to save all apart from means and does not save them. It is known from the Word that the Lord wills the salvation of all, and the damnation of no one. 525. Most of those who enter the other life from the Christian world bring with them this belief that they can be saved by mercy apart from means, and pray for that mercy; but when examined they are found to believe that entering heaven is merely gaining admission, and that those who are let in are in heavenly joy. They are wholly ignorant of what heaven is and what heavenly joy is, and consequently are told that the Lord denies heaven to no one, and that they can be admitted and can stay there if they desire it. Those who so desired were admitted; but as soon as they reached the first threshold they were seized with such anguish of heart from a draught of heavenly heat, which is the love in which angels are, and from an inflow of heavenly light, which is Divine truth, that they felt in themselves infernal torment instead of heavenly joy, and struck with dismay they cast themselves down headlong. Thus they were taught by living experience that it is impossible to grant heaven to any one from mercy apart from means. 526. I have occasionally talked with angels about this, and have told them that most of those in the world who live in evil, when they talk with others about heaven and eternal life, express no other idea than that entering heaven is merely being admitted from mercy alone. And this is believed by those especially who make faith the only medium of salvation. For such from the principles of their religion have no regard to the life and the deeds of love that make life, and thus to none of the other means by which the Lord implants heaven in man and renders him receptive of heavenly joy; and as they thus reject every actual mediation they conclude, as a necessary consequence of the principle, that man enters heaven from mercy alone, to which mercy God the Father is believed to be moved by the intercession of the Son. [2] To all this the angels said that they knew such a tenet follows of necessity from the assumption that man is saved by faith alone, and since that tenet is the head of all the rest, and since into it, because it is not true, no light from heaven can flow, this is the source of the ignorance that prevails in the church at this day in regard to the Lord, heaven, the life after death, heavenly joy, the essence of love and charity, and in general, in regard to good and its conjunction with truth, consequently in regard to the life of man, whence it is and what it is; when it should be known that thought never constitutes any one's life, but the will and the consequent deeds; and that the life is from the thought only to the extent that the thought is derived from the will; neither is life from the faith except so far as the faith is derived from love. Angels are grieved that these persons do not know that faith alone is impossible in any one, since faith apart from its origin, which is love, is nothing but knowledge, and in some is merely a sort of persuasion that has the semblance of faith (see above, n. 482). Such a persuasion is not in the life of man, but outside of it, since it is separated from man unless it coheres with his love. [3] The angels said further that those who hold to this principle concerning the essential means of salvation in man must needs believe in mercy apart from means, for they perceive both from natural light and from the experience of sight that faith separate does not constitute the life of man, since those who lead an evil life are able to think and to be persuaded the same as others; and from this comes the belief that the evil as well as the good can be saved, provided that at the hour of death they talk with confidence about intercession, and about the mercy that is granted through that intercession. The angels declared that they had never yet seen any one who had lived an evil life received into heaven from mercy apart from means, whatever trust or confidence (which is preeminently meant by faith) he had exhibited in his talk in the world. [4] When asked about Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, David, and the apostles, whether they were not received into heaven from mercy apart from means, the angels replied that not one of them was so received, but everyone in accordance with his life in the world; that they knew where these were, and that they were no more esteemed there than others. They said that these persons are mentioned with honor in the Word for the reason that in the internal sense the Lord is meant by them--by Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the Lord in respect to the Divine and the Divine Human; by David the Lord in respect to the Divine royalty; and by the apostles the Lord in respect to Divine truths; also that when the Word is read by man the angels have no perception whatever of these men, for their names do not enter heaven; but they have instead a perception of the Lord as He has just been described; consequently in the Word that is in heaven (see above, n. 259) there are no such names mentioned, since that Word is the internal sense of the Word that is in the world.{1} {Footnote 1} In the internal sense of the Word by Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the Lord in respect to the Divine itself and the Divine Human is meant (n. 1893, 4615, 6098, 6185, 6276, 6804, 6847). In heaven Abraham is unknown (n. 1834, 1876, 3229). By David the Lord in respect to the Divine royalty is meant (n. 1888, 9954). The twelve apostles represented the Lord in respect to all things of the church, that is, all things pertaining to faith and love (n. 2129, 3354, 3488, 3858, 6397). Peter represented the lord in respect to faith, James in respect to charity, and John in respect to the works of charity (n. 3750, 10087). The twelve apostles sitting on twelve thrones and judging the twelve tribes of Israel, signified that the Lord will judge in accord with the truths and goods of faith and love (n. 2129, 6397). The names of persons and of places in the Word do not enter heaven, but are changed into things and states; and in heaven these names cannot even be uttered (n. 1876, 5225, 6516, 10216, 10282, 10432). Moreover, the angels think abstractedly from persons (n. 8343, 8985, 9007). 527. I can testify from much experience that it is impossible to implant the life of heaven in those who in the world have lived a life opposite to the life of heaven. There were some who had believed that when after death they should hear Divine truths from the angels they would readily accept them and believe them, and consequently live a different life, and could thus be received into heaven. But this was tried with very many, although it was confined to those who held this belief, and was permitted in their case to teach them that repentance is not possible after death. Some of those with whom the experiment was made understood truths and seemed to accept them; but as soon as they turned to the life of their love they rejected them, and even spoke against them. Others were unwilling to hear them, and at once rejected them. Others wished to have the life of love that they had contracted from the world taken away from them, and to have the angelic life, or the life of heaven, infused in its place. This, too, was permitted to be done; but as soon as the life of their love was taken away they lay as if dead, with their powers gone. By these and other experiments the simple good were taught that no one's life can by any means be changed after death; and that an evil life can in no way be converted into a good life, or an infernal life into an angelic life, for every spirit from head to heel is such as his love is, and therefore such as his life is; and to convert his life into its opposite is to destroy the spirit completely. The angels declare that it would be easier to change a night-owl into a dove, or a horned-owl into a bird of paradise, than to change an infernal spirit into an angel of heaven. That man after death continues to be such as his life had been in the world can be seen above in its own chapter (n. 470-484). From all this it is evident that no one can be received into heaven from mercy apart from means. 528. LV. IT IS NOT SO DIFFICULT TO LIVE THE LIFE THAT LEADS TO HEAVEN AS IS BELIEVED. There are some who believe that to live the life that leads to heaven, which is called the spiritual life, is difficult, because they have been told that man must renounce the world, must divest himself of the lusts called the lusts of the body and the flesh, and must live spiritually; and they understand this to mean that they must discard worldly things, which consist chiefly in riches and honors; that they must walk continually in pious meditation on God, salvation, and eternal life; and must spend their life in prayers and in reading the Word and pious books. Such is their idea of renouncing the world, and living in the spirit and not in the flesh. But that this is not at all true it has been given me to know by much experience and from conversation with the angels. I have learned, in fact, that those who renounce the world and live in the spirit in this manner acquire a sorrowful life that is not receptive of heavenly joy, since everyone's life continues the same after death. On the contrary, to receive the life of heaven a man must needs live in the world and engage in its business and employments, and by means of a moral and civil life there receive the spiritual life. In no other way can the spiritual life be formed in man, or his spirit prepared for heaven; for to live an internal life and not at the same time an external life is like dwelling in a house that has no foundation, that gradually sinks or becomes cracked and rent asunder, or totters till it falls. 529. When the life of man is scanned and explored by rational insight it is found to be threefold, namely, spiritual, moral, and civil, with these three lives distinct from each other. For there are men who live a civil life and not as yet a moral and spiritual life; and there are men who live a moral life and not as yet a spiritual life; and there are those who live a civil life, a moral life, and a spiritual life at the same time. These live the life of heaven; but the former live the life of the world separated from the life of heaven. This shows, in the first place, that the spiritual life is not a life separated from natural life or the life of the world, but is joined with it as the soul is joined with its body, and if it were separated it would be, as was said, like living in a house that has no foundation. For moral and civil life is the active plane of the spiritual life, since to will well is the province of the spiritual life, and to act well of the moral and civil life, and if the latter is separated from the former the spiritual life consists solely of thought and speech, and the will, left with no support, recedes; and yet the will is the very spiritual part of man. 530. That it is not so difficult as some believe to live the life that leads to heaven will now be shown. Who cannot live a civil and moral life? For everyone from his childhood is initiated into that life, and learns what it is by living in the world. Moreover, everyone, whether evil or good, lives that life; for who does not wish to be called honest, and who does not wish to be called just? Almost everyone practices honesty and justice outwardly, so far as to seem to be honest and just at heart, or to seem to act from real honesty and justice. The spiritual man ought to live in like manner, and can do so as easily as the natural man can, with this difference only, that the spiritual man believes in the Divine, and acts honestly and justly, not solely because to so act is in accord with civil and moral laws, but also because it is in accord with Divine laws. As the spiritual man, in whatever he is doing, thinks about Divine things, he has communication with the angels of heaven; and so far as this takes place he is conjoined with them; and thereby his internal man, which regarded in itself is the spiritual man, is opened. When man comes into this state he is adopted and led by the Lord, although himself unconscious of it, and then whatever he does that is honest and just pertaining to moral and civil life, is done from a spiritual motive; and doing what is honest and just from a spiritual motive is doing it from honesty and justice itself, or doing it from the heart. [2] His justice and honesty appear outwardly precisely the same as the justice and honesty of natural men and even of evil and infernal men; but in inward form they are wholly unlike. For evil men act justly and honestly solely for the sake of themselves and the world; and therefore if they had no fear of laws and penalties, or the loss of reputation, of honor, of gain, and of life, they would act in every respect dishonestly and unjustly, since they neither fear God nor any Divine law, and therefore are not restrained by any internal bond; consequently they would use every opportunity to defraud, plunder, and spoil others, and this from delight. That inwardly they are such can be clearly seen from those of the same character in the other life, while everyone's externals are taken away, and his internals in which he at last lives to eternity are opened (see above, n. 499-511). As such then act without external restraints, which are, as just said, fear of the law, of the loss of reputation, of honor, of gain, and of life, they act insanely, and laugh at honesty and justice. [3] But those who have acted honestly and justly from regard to Divine laws, when their externals are taken away and they are left to their internals, act wisely, because they are conjoined to the angels of heaven, from whom wisdom is communicated to them. From all this it can now be seen, in the first place, that when the internal man, that is, the will and thought, are conjoined to the Divine, the civil and moral life of the spiritual man may be wholly like the civil and moral life of the natural man (see above, n. 358-360). 531. Furthermore, the laws of spiritual life, the laws of civil life, and the laws of moral life are set forth in the ten commandments of the Decalogue; in the first three the laws of spiritual life, in the four that follow the laws of civil life, and in the last three the laws of moral life. Outwardly the merely natural man lives in accordance with the same commandments in the same way as the spiritual man does, for in like manner he worships the Divine, goes to church, listens to preachings, and assumes a devout countenance, refrains from committing murder, adultery, and theft, from bearing false witness, and from defrauding his companions of their goods. But all this he does merely for the sake of himself and the world, to keep up appearances; while inwardly such a person is the direct opposite of what he appears outwardly, since in heart he denies the Divine, in worship acts the hypocrite, and when left to himself and his own thoughts laughs at the holy things of the church, believing that they merely serve as a restraint for the simple multitude. [2] Consequently he is wholly disjoined from heaven, and not being a spiritual man he is neither a moral man nor a civil man. For although he refrains from committing murder he hates everyone who opposes him, and from his hatred burns with revenge, and would therefore commit murder if he were not restrained by civil laws and external bonds, which he fears; and as he longs to do so it follows that he is continually committing murder. Although he does not commit adultery, yet as he believes it to be allowable he is all the while an adulterer, since he commits adultery to the extent that he has the ability and as often as he has opportunity. Although he does not steal, yet as he covets the goods of others and does not regard fraud and wicked devices as opposed to what is lawful, in intent he is continually acting the thief. The same is true of the commandments relating to moral life, which forbid false witness and coveting the goods of others. Such is every man who denies the Divine, and who has no conscience derived from religion. That he is such is clearly evident from those of like character in the other life when their externals have been removed and they are let into their internals. As they are then separated from heaven they act in unity with hell, and in consequence are affiliated with those who are in hell. [3] It is not so with those who in heart have acknowledged the Divine, and in the actions of their lives have had respect to Divine laws, and have lived as fully in accord with the first three commandments of the Decalogue as they have in accordance with the others. When the externals of such are removed and they are let into their internals they are wiser than they were in the world; for entering into their internals is like entering from darkness into light, from ignorance into wisdom, and from a sorrowful life into a happy life, because they are in the Divine, thus in heaven. This has been said to make known what the one kind of man is and what the other is, although they have both lived the same external life. 532. Everyone may know that thoughts are led or tend in accord with the intentions, that is, in the directions that one intends; for thought is man's internal sight, and resembles the external sight in this, that to whatever point it is directed or aimed, thither it turns and there it rests. Therefore when the internal sight or the thought is turned towards the world and rests there, the thought in consequence becomes worldly; when it turns to self and self-honor it becomes corporeal; but when it is turned heavenwards it becomes heavenly. So, too, when turned heavenwards it is elevated; but when turned selfward it is drawn down from heaven and immersed in what is corporeal; and when turned towards the world it is also turned down-wards from heaven, and is spent upon those objects that are presented to the natural sight. [2] Man's love is what constitutes his intention and determines his internal sight or thought to its objects; thus the love of self fixes it upon self and its objects, the love of the world upon worldly objects, and the love of heaven upon heavenly objects; and when the love is known the state of the interiors which constitute the mind can be known, that is, the interiors of one who loves heaven are raised towards heaven and are opened above; while the interiors of one who loves the world or who loves himself are closed above and are opened outwardly. From this the conclusion follows that when the higher regions of the mind are closed above, man can no longer see the objects pertaining to heaven and the church, but those objects are in thick darkness to him; and what is in thick darkness is either denied or not understood. And this is why those that love themselves and the world above all things since the higher regions of their minds are closed, in heart deny Divine truths; and if from their memory they say anything about them they nevertheless do not understand them. Moreover, they regard them in the same way as they regard worldly and corporeal things. And being such they are able to direct the mind to those things only that enter through the senses of the body, and in these alone do they find delight. Among these are also many things that are filthy, obscene, profane and wicked; and these cannot be removed, because into the minds of such no influx from heaven is possible, since their minds, as just now said, are closed above. [3] Man's intention, by which his internal sight or thought is determined, is his will; for what a man wills he intends, and what he intends he thinks. Therefore when his intention is heavenward his thought is determined heavenward, and with it his whole mind, which is thus in heaven; and from heaven he beholds the things of the world beneath him like one looking down from the roof of a house. So the man that has the interiors of his mind open can see the evils and falsities that are in him, for these are beneath the spiritual mind. On the other hand, the man whose interiors are not open is unable to see his evils and falsities, because he is not above them but in them. From all this one may conclude whence man has wisdom and whence insanity, also what a man will be after death when he is left to will and think and to act and speak in accordance with his interiors. All this also has been said in order to make clear what constitutes a man's interior character, however he may seem outwardly to resemble others. 533. That it is not so difficult to live the life of heaven as some believe can now be seen from this, that when any thing presents itself to a man that he knows to be dishonest and unjust, but to which his mind is borne, it is simply necessary for him to think that it ought not to be done because it is opposed to the Divine precepts. If a man accustoms himself so to think, and from so doing establishes a habit of so thinking, he is gradually conjoined to heaven; and so far as he is conjoined to heaven the higher regions of his mind are opened; and so far as these are opened he sees whatever is dishonest and unjust, and so far as he sees these evils they can be dispersed, for no evil can be dispersed until it is seen. Into this state man is able to enter because of his freedom, for is not any one able from his freedom to so think? And when man has made a beginning the Lord quickens all that is good in him, and causes him not only to see evils to be evils, but also to refrain from willing them, and finally to turn away from them. This is meant by the Lord's words, My yoke is easy and My burden is light (Matt. 11:30). But it must be understood that the difficulty of so thinking and of resisting evils increases so far as man from his will does evils, for in the same measure he becomes accustomed to them until he no longer sees them, and at length loves them and from the delight of his love excuses them, and confirms them by every kind of fallacy, and declares them to be allowable and good. This is the fate of those who in early youth plunge into evils without restraint, and also reject Divine things from the heart. 534. The way that leads to heaven, and the way that leads to hell were once represented to me. There was a broad way tending towards the left or the north, and many spirits were seen going in it; but at a distance a large stone was seen where the broad way came to an end. From that stone two ways branched off, one to the left and one in the opposite direction to the right. The way that went to the left was narrow or straitened, leading through the west to the south, and thus into the light of heaven; the way that went to the right was broad and spacious, leading obliquely downwards towards hell. All at first seemed to be going the same way until they came to the large stone at the head of the two ways. When they reached that point they divided; the good turned to the left and entered the straitened way that led to heaven; while the evil, not seeing the stone at the fork of the ways fell upon it and were hurt; and when they rose up they ran on in the broad way to the right which went towards hell. [2] What all this meant was afterwards explained to me. The first way that was broad, wherein many both good and evil went together and talked with each other as friends, because there was no visible difference between them, represented those who externally live alike honestly and justly, and between whom seemingly there is no difference. The stone at the head of the two ways or at the corner, upon which the evil fell and from which they ran into the way leading to hell, represented the Divine truth, which is rejected by those who look towards hell; and in the highest sense this stone signified the Lord's Divine Human. But those who acknowledged the Divine truth and also the Divine of the Lord went by the way that led to heaven. By this again it was shown that in externals the evil lead the same kind of life as the good, or go the same way, that is, one as readily as the other; and yet those who from the heart acknowledge the Divine, especially those within the church who acknowledge the Divine of the Lord, are led to heaven; while those who do not are led to hell. [3] The thoughts of man that proceed from his intention or will are represented in the other life by ways; and ways are visibly presented there in exact accord with those thoughts of intention; and in accord with his thoughts that proceed from intention everyone walks. For this reason the character of spirits and their thoughts are known from their ways. This also makes clear what is meant by the Lord's words: Enter ye in through the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leadeth to destruction, and many be they that enter in thereby; for straitened is the way and narrow the gate that leadeth to life, and few be they who find it (Matt. 7:13, 14). The way that leads to life is straitened not because it is difficult but because there are few who find it, as is said here. The stone seen at the corner where the broad and common way ended, and from which two ways were seen to lead in opposite directions, illustrated what is signified by these words of the Lord: Have ye not read what is written? The stone which the builders rejected was made the head of the corner. Whosoever shall fall upon that stone shall be broken (Luke. 20:17, 18). "Stone" signifies Divine truth, and "the stone of Israel" the Lord in respect to His Divine Human; the "builders" mean those who are of the church; "the head of the corner" is where the two ways are; "to fall" and "to be broken" is to deny and perish.{1} {Footnote 1} "Stone" signifies truth (n. 114, 643, 1298, 3720, 6426, 8609, 10376). For this reason the law was inscribed on tables of stone (n. 10376). "The stone of Israel" means the Lord in respect to the Divine truth and His Divine Human (n. 6426). 535. I have been permitted to talk with some in the other life who had withdrawn from worldly affairs that they might live in a pious and holy manner, also with some who had afflicted themselves in various ways, believing that they were thereby renouncing the world and subduing the lusts of the flesh. But as most of these have thus acquired a sorrowful life and had withdrawn from the life of charity, which life can be lived only in the midst of the world, they are incapable of being affiliated with angels, because the life of angels is a life of joy resulting from a state of blessedness, and consists in performing good deeds, which are works of charity. Moreover, those who have lived a life withdrawn from worldly employments are inflamed with the idea of their own merit, and are continually desiring heaven on that account, and thinking of heavenly joy as a reward, utterly ignorant of what heavenly joy is. When such are admitted into the company of angels and into their joy, which discards merit and consists in active labors and practical services, and in a blessedness resulting from the good thereby accomplished, they are astonished like one who has found out something quite foreign to his belief; and since they are not receptive of that joy they go away and ally themselves with spirits of their own kind that have lived in the world a life like their own. [2] But those who have lived an outwardly holy life, constantly attending church and praying and afflicting their souls, and at the same time have thought constantly of themselves that they would be esteemed and honored for all this above others, and finally after death would be accounted saints-- such in the other life are not in heaven because they have done all this for the sake of themselves. And as they have defiled Divine truths by the self-love in which they have immersed them, some of them are so insane as to think themselves gods; and are consequently in hell among those like themselves. Some are cunning and deceitful, and are in the hells of the deceitful. These are such as by means of cunning arts and devices have maintained such pious conduct as induced the common people to believe that they possessed a Divine sanctity. [3] Of this character are many of the Roman Catholic saints. I have been permitted to talk with some of them, and their life was then plainly disclosed, such as it had been in the world and as it was afterwards. All this has been said to make known that the life that leads to heaven is not a life withdrawn from the world, but a life in the world; and that a life of piety separated from a life of charity, which is possible only in the world, does not lead to heaven; but a life of charity does; and a life of charity consists in acting honestly and justly in every employment, in every business, and in every work, from an interior, that is, from a heavenly, motive; and this motive is in that life whenever man acts honestly and justly because doing so is in accord with the Divine laws. Such a life is not difficult. But a life of piety separate from a life of charity is difficult; and as much as such a life is believed to lead towards heaven so much it leads away from heaven.{1} {Footnote 1} A life of piety separated from a life of charity is of no avail, but united with charity it is profitable for all things (n. 8252, 8253). Charity to the neighbor consists in doing what is good, just, and right in every work and in every employment (n. 8120-8122). Charity to the neighbor takes in all things and each thing that a man thinks, wills, and does (n. 8124). A life of charity is a life in accordance with the Lord's commandments (n. 3249). Living in accordance with the Lord's commandments is loving the Lord (n. 10143, 10153, 10310, 10578, 10645). Genuine charity claims no merit, because it is from interior affection and consequent delight (n. 2371, 2380, 2400, 3816, 3887, 6388-6393). Man continues to be after death such as was his life of charity in the world (n. 8256). Heavenly blessedness flows in from the Lord into a life of charity (n. 2363). Mere thinking admits no one into heaven; it must be accompanied by willing and doing good (n. 2401, 3459). Unless doing good is joined with willing good and thinking good there is no salvation nor any conjunction of the internal man with the external (n. 3987). 536. LVI. THE LORD RULES THE HELLS. Above, in treating of heaven it has been everywhere shown (especially in n. 2-6) that the God of heaven is the Lord, thus that the whole government of the heavens is the Lord's government. And as the relation of heaven to hell and of hell to heaven is like the relation between two opposites which mutually act contrary to each other, and from the action and re-action of which an equilibrium results, which gives permanence to all things of their action and reaction, so in order that all things and each thing may be kept in equilibrium it is necessary that He who rules the one should rule the other; for unless the same Lord restrained the uprisings from the hells and checked insanities there the equilibrium would perish and everything with it. 537. But something about that equilibrium shall first be told. It is acknowledged that when two things mutually act against each other, and as much as one reacts and resists the other acts and impels, since there is equal power on either side, neither has any effect, and both can then be acted upon freely by a third. For when the force of the two is neutralized by equal opposition the force of a third has full effect, and acts as easily as if there were no opposition. [2] Such is the equilibrium between heaven and hell. Yet it is not an equilibrium like that between two bodily combatants whose strength is equal; but it is a spiritual equilibrium, that is, an equilibrium of falsity against truth and of evil against good. From hell falsity from evil continually exhales, and from heaven truth from good. It is this spiritual equilibrium that causes man to think and will in freedom; for whatever a man thinks and wills has reference either to evil and falsity therefrom or to good and truth therefrom. [3] Therefore when he is in that equilibrium he is in freedom either to admit or accept evil and its falsity from hell or to admit or accept good and its truth from heaven. Every man is held in this equilibrium by the Lord, because the Lord rules both heaven and hell. But why man is held in this freedom by such an equilibrium, and why evil and falsity are not taken away from him and good and truth implanted in him by Divine power will be told hereafter in its own chapter. 538. A perception of the sphere of falsity from evil that flows forth from hell has often been granted me. It was like a perpetual effort to destroy all that is good and true, combined with anger and a kind of fury at not being able to do so, especially an effort to annihilate and destroy the Divine of the Lord, and this because all good and truth are from Him. But out of heaven a sphere of truth from good was perceived, whereby the fury of the effort ascending from hell was restrained. The result of this was an equilibrium. This sphere from heaven was perceived to come from the Lord alone, although it appeared to come from the angels in heaven. It is from the Lord alone, and not from the angels, because every angel in heaven acknowledges that nothing of good and of truth is from himself, but all is from the Lord. 539. In the spiritual world truth from good is the source of all power, and falsity from evil has no power whatever. This is because the Divine Itself in heaven is Divine good and Divine truth, and all power belongs to the Divine. Falsity from evil is powerless because truth from good is the source of all power, and in falsity from evil there is nothing of truth from good. Consequently in heaven there is all power, and none in hell; for everyone in heaven is in truths from good, and everyone in hell is in falsities from evil. For no one is admitted into heaven until he is in truths from good, neither is any one cast down into hell until he is in falsities from evil, (That this is so can be seen in the chapters treating of the first, second, and third states of man after death, n. 491-520; and that all power belongs to truth from good can be seen in the chapter on the power of angels in heaven, n. 228-233.) 540. Such, then, is the equilibrium between heaven and hell. Those who are in the world of spirits are in that equilibrium, for the world of spirits is midway between heaven and hell. From the same source all men in the world are kept in a like equilibrium, since men in the world are ruled by the Lord by means of spirits in the world of spirits, as will be shown hereafter in its own chapter. No such equilibrium would be possible unless the Lord ruled both heaven and hell and regulated both sides. Otherwise falsities from evil would preponderate, and would affect the simple good who are in the outmosts regions of heaven, and who can be more easily perverted than the angels themselves; and thereby equilibrium would perish, and with it freedom in men. 541. Hell, like heaven, is divided into societies, and into as many societies as there are in heaven; for every society in heaven has a society opposite to it in hell, and this for the sake of equilibrium. But evils and falsities therefrom are what distinguish the societies in hell, as goods and truths therefrom are what distinguish the societies in heaven. That for every good there is an opposite evil, and for every truth an opposite falsity may be known from this, that nothing can exist without relation to its opposite, and what anything is in kind and degree can be known from its opposite, and from this all perception and sensation is derived. For this reason the Lord continually provides that every society in heaven shall have an opposite in some society of hell, and that there shall be an equilibrium between the two. 542. As hell is divided into the same number of societies as heaven, there are as many hells as there are societies of heaven; for as each society of heaven is a heaven in smaller form (see above, n. 51-58), so each society in hell is a hell in smaller form. As in general there are three heavens, so in general there are three hells, a lowest, which is opposite to the inmost or third heaven, a middle, which is opposite to the middle or second heaven, and a higher, which is opposite to the outmost or first heaven. 543. How the hells are ruled by the Lord shall be briefly explained. In general the hells are ruled by a general outflow from the heavens of Divine good and Divine truth whereby the general endeavor flowing forth from the hells is checked and restrained; also by a particular outflow from each heaven and from each society of heaven. The hells are ruled in particular by means of the angels, to whom it is granted to look into the hells and to restrain insanities and disturbances there; and sometimes angels are sent to them who moderate these insanities and disturbances by their presence. But in general all in the hells are ruled by means of their fears. Some are ruled by fears implanted in the world and still inherent in them; but as these fears are not sufficient, and gradually subside, they are ruled by fears of punishments; and it is especially by these that they are deterred from doing evil. The punishments in hell are manifold, lighter or more severe in accordance with the evils. For the most part the more wicked, who excel in cunning and in artifices, and who are able to hold the rest in subjection and servitude by means of punishments and consequent terror, are set over them; but these governors dare not pass beyond the limits prescribed to them. It must be understood that the sole means of restraining the violence and fury of those who are in the hells is the fear of punishment. There is no other way. 544. It has been believed heretofore in the world that there is one devil that presides over the hells; that he was created an angel of light; but having become rebellious he was cast down with his crew into hell. This belief has prevailed because the Devil and Satan, and also Lucifer, are mentioned by name in the Word, and the Word in those places has been understood according to the sense of the letter. But by "the devil" and "Satan" there hell is meant, "devil" meaning the hell that is behind, where the worst dwell, who are called evil genii; and "Satan" the hell that is in front, where the less wicked dwell, who are called evil spirits; and "Lucifer" those that belong to Babel, or Babylon, who would extend their dominion even into heaven. That there is no one devil to whom the hells are subject is evident also from this, that all who are in the hells, like all who are in the heavens, are from the human race (see n. 311-317); and that those who have gone there from the beginning of creation to this time amount to myriads of myriads, and everyone of them is a devil in accord with his opposition to the Divine while he lived in the world (see above, n. 311, 312). 545. LVII. THE LORD CASTS NO ONE INTO HELL; THE SPIRIT CASTS HIMSELF DOWN. An opinion has prevailed with some that God turns away His face from man, casts man away from Himself, and casts him into hell, and is angry with him on account of his evil; and some believe also that God punishes man and does evil to him. In this opinion they establish themselves by the sense of the letter of the Word, where such things are declared, not knowing that the spiritual sense of the Word, by which the sense of the letter is made clear, is wholly different; and consequently that the genuine doctrine of the church, which is from the spiritual sense of the Word, teaches otherwise, namely, that God never turns away His face from man, and never casts man away from Himself, that He casts no one into hell and is angry with no one.{1} Everyone, moreover, whose mind is enlightened perceives this to be true when he reads the Word, from the simple truth that God is good itself, love itself, and mercy itself; and that good itself cannot do evil to any one, and love itself and mercy itself can not cast man away from itself, because this is contrary to the very essence of mercy and love, thus contrary to the Divine Itself. Therefore those who think from an enlightened mind clearly perceive, when they read the Word, that God never turns Himself away from man; and as He never turns Himself away from him He deals with him from goodness, love, and mercy, that is, wills good to him, loves him, and is merciful to him. And from this they see that the sense of the letter of the Word, in which such things are declared, has stored up within itself a spiritual sense, and that these expressions that are used in the sense of the letter in accommodation to man's apprehension and according to his first and general ideas are to be explained in accordance with the spiritual sense. {Footnote 1} In the Word anger and wrath are attributed to the Lord, but they are in man, and it is so expressed because such is the appearance to man when he is punished and damned (n. 798, 5798, 6997, 8284, 8483, 8875, 9306, 10431). Evil also is attributed to the Lord, although nothing but good is from Him (n. 2447, 6071, 6991, 6997, 7533, 7632, 7679, 7926, 8227, 8228, 8632, 9306). Why it is so expressed in the Word (n. 6071, 6991, 6997, 7632, 7643, 7679, 7710, 7926, 8282, 9010, 9128). The Lord is pure mercy and clemency (n. 6997, 8875). 546. Those who are enlightened see further that good and evil are two opposites, and are therefore opposed as heaven and hell are, and that all good is from heaven and all evil from hell; and as it is the Divine of the Lord that makes heaven (n. 7-12), nothing but good flows into man from the Lord, and nothing but evil from hell; thus the Lord is continually withdrawing man from evil and leading him to good, while hell is continually leading man into evil. Unless man were between these two, he could have no thought nor any will, still less any freedom or any choice; for all these man has by virtue of the equilibrium between good and evil; consequently if the Lord should turn Himself away, leaving man to evil alone, man would cease to be man. All this shows that the Lord flows into every man with good, into the evil man as well as the good; but with the difference that the Lord is continually withdrawing the evil man from evil and is continually leading the good man to good; and this difference lies in the man himself, because he is the recipient. 547. From this it is clear that it is from hell that man does evil, and from the Lord that he does good. But man believes that whatever he does he does from himself, and in consequence of this the evil that he does sticks to him as his own; and for this reason man is the cause of his own evil, and in no way the Lord. Evil in man is hell in him, for it is the same thing whether you say evil or hell. And since man is the cause of his own evil he is led into hell, not by the Lord but by himself. For so far is the Lord from leading man into hell that it is He who delivers man from hell, and this He does so far as man does not will and love to be in his own evil. All of man's will and love continues with him after death (n. 470-484). He who wills and loves evil in the world wills and loves the same evil in the other life, but he no longer suffers himself to be withdrawn from it. If, therefore, a man is in evil he is tied to hell, and in respect to his spirit is actually there, and after death desires nothing so much as to be where his evil is; consequently it is man who casts himself into hell after death, and not the Lord. 548. How this comes about shall also be explained. When man enters the other life he is received first by angels, who perform for him all good offices, and talk with him about the Lord, heaven, and the angelic life, and instruct him in things that are true and good. But if the man, now a spirit, be one who knew about these things in the world, but in heart denied or despised them, after some conversation he desires and seeks to get away from these angels. As soon as the angels perceive this they leave him. After some interaction with others he at length unites himself with those who are in evil like his own (see above, n. 445-452). When this takes place he turns himself away from the Lord and turns his face towards the hell to which he had been joined in the world, in which those abide who are in a like love of evil. All this makes clear that the Lord draws every spirit to Himself by means of angels and by means of influx from heaven; but those spirits that are in evil completely resist, and as it were tear themselves away from the Lord, and are drawn by their own evil, thus by hell, as if by a rope. And as they are so drawn, and by reason of their love of evil are eager to follow, it is evident that they themselves cast themselves into hell by their own free choice. Men in the world because of their idea of hell are unable to believe that this is so. In fact, in the other life before the eyes of those who are outside of hell it does not so appear; but only so to those who cast themselves into hell, for such enter of their own accord. Those who enter from a burning love of evil appear to be cast headlong, with the head downwards and the feet upwards. It is because of this appearance that they seem to be cast into hell by Divine power. (But about this more will be said below, n. 574.) From all this it can be seen that the Lord casts no one into hell, but everyone casts himself into hell, both while he is living in the world and also after death when he comes among spirits. 549. The Lord from His Divine Essence, which is goodness, love, and mercy, is unable to deal in the same way with every man, because evils and their falsities prevent, and not only quench His Divine influx but even reject it. Evils and their falsities are like black clouds which interpose between the sun and the eye, and take away the sunshine and the serenity of its light; although the unceasing endeavor of the sun to dissipate the opposing clouds continues, for it is operating behind them; and in the meantime transmits something of obscure light into the eye of man by various roundabout ways. It is the same in the spiritual world. The sun there is the Lord and the Divine love (n. 116-140); and the light there is the Divine truth (n. 126-140); black clouds there are falsities from evil; the eye there is the understanding. So far as any one in that world is in falsities from evil he is encompassed by such a cloud, which is black and dense according to the degree of his evil. From this comparison it can be seen that the Lord is unceasingly present with everyone, but that He is received variously. 550. Evil spirits are severely punished in the world of spirits in order that by means of punishments they may be deterred from doing evil. This also appears to be from the Lord; and yet nothing of punishment there is from the Lord, but is from the evil itself; since evil is so joined with its own punishment that the two cannot be separated. For the infernal crew desire and love nothing so much as doing evil, especially inflicting punishments and torment upon others; and they maltreat and inflict punishments upon everyone who is not protected by the Lord. When, therefore, evil is done from an evil heart, because it thereby discards all protection from the Lord, infernal spirits rush upon the one who does the evil, and inflict punishment. This may be partly illustrated by evils and their punishments in the world, where the two are also joined. For laws in the world prescribe a penalty for every evil; therefore he that rushes into evil rushes also into the penalty of evil. The only difference is that in the world the evil may be concealed; but in the other life it cannot be concealed. All this makes clear that the Lord does evil to no one; and that it is the same as it is in the world, where it is not the king nor the judge nor the law that is the cause of punishment to the guilty, because these are not the cause of the evil in the evil doer. 551. LVIII. ALL WHO ARE IN THE HELLS ARE IN EVILS AND IN FALSITIES THEREFROM DERIVED FROM THE LOVES OF SELF AND OF THE WORLD. All who are in the hells are in evils and in falsities therefrom, and no one there is in evils and at the same time in truths. In the world evil men for the most part have some knowledge of spiritual truths, which are the truths of the church, having been taught them from childhood and later by preaching and by reading the Word; and afterwards they have talked about them. Some have even led others to believe that they are Christians at heart because of their knowing how to talk with pretended affection in harmony with the truth, also how to act uprightly as if from spiritual faith. But those of this class whose interior thoughts have been hostile to these truths, and who have refrained from doing the evils that were in harmony with their thoughts only because of the civil laws, or with a view to reputation, honors, and gain, are all of them evil in heart, and are in truths and goods not in respect to their spirit but only in respect to their body; and consequently, when their externals are taken away from them in the other life, and their internals which pertain to their spirit are revealed, they are wholly in evils and falsities, and not at all in truths and goods; and it is thus made clear that truths and goods resided only in their memory merely as things known about, and that they brought them forth therefrom when talking, putting on a semblance of good seemingly from spiritual love and faith. When such are let into their internals and thus into their evils they are no longer able to speak what is true, but only what is false; since they speak from evils; for to speak what is true from evils is then impossible, since the spirit is nothing but his own evil, and from evil what is false goes forth. Every evil spirit is reduced to this state before he is cast into hell (see above, n. 499-512). This is called being vastated in respect to truths and goods.{1} Vastation is simply being let into one's internals, that is, into what is the spirit's own, or into the spirit itself (see above, n. 425). {Footnote 1} Before the evil are cast down into hell they are devastated of truths and goods, and when these have been taken away they are of themselves carried into hell (n. 6977, 7039, 7795, 8210, 8232, 9330). The Lord does not devastate them, but they devastate themselves (n. 7643, 7926). Every evil has in it what is false; therefore those who are in evil are also in falsity, although some do not know it (n. 7577, 8094). Those who are in evil must needs think what is false when they think from themselves (n. 7437). All who are in hell speak falsities from hell (n. 1695, 7351, 7352, 7357, 7392, 7689). 552. When man after death comes into this state he is no longer a man-spirit, as he was in his first state (of which above, n. 491-498), but is truly a spirit; for he is truly a spirit who has a face and body that correspond to his internals which pertain to his mind, that is, has an external form that is a type or effigy of his internals. A spirit is such after he has passed through the first and second states spoken of above; consequently when he is looked upon his character is at once known, not only from his face and from his body, but also from his speech and movements; and as he is then in himself he can be nowhere else than where his like are. [2] For in the spiritual world there is a complete sharing of affections and their thoughts, and in consequence a spirit is conveyed to his like as if of himself, since it is done from his affection and its delight. In fact, he turns himself in that direction; for thus he inhales his own life or draws his breath freely, which he cannot do when he turns another way. It must be understood that this sharing with others in the spiritual world is effected in accordance with the turning of the face, and that each one has constantly before his face those who are in a love like his own, and this in every turning of the body (see above, n. 151) [3] In consequence of this all infernal spirits turn themselves away from the Lord toward the densely dark body and the dark body that are there in place of the sun and moon of this world, while all the angels of heaven turn themselves to the Lord as the sun of heaven and as the moon of heaven (see above, n. 123, 143, 144, 151). From all this it is clear that all who are in the hells are in evils and in falsities therefrom; also that they are turned to their own loves. 553. All spirits in the hells, when seen in any light of heaven, appear in the form of their evil; for everyone there is an image of his evil, since his interiors and his exteriors act as a one, the interiors making themselves visible in the exteriors, which are the face, body, speech and movements; thus the character of the spirit is known as soon as he is seen. In general evil spirits are forms of contempt of others and of menaces against those who do not pay them respect; they are forms of hatreds of various kinds, also of various kinds of revenge. Fierceness and cruelty from their interiors show through these forms. But when they are commended, venerated, and worshiped by others their faces are restrained and take on an expression of gladness from delight. [2] It is impossible to describe in a few words how all these forms appear, for no one is like another, although there is a general likeness among those who are in the same evil, and thus in the same infernal society, from which, as from a plane of derivation, the faces of all are seen to have a certain resemblance. In general their faces are hideous, and void of life like those of corpses; the faces of some are black, others fiery like torches, others disfigured with pimples, warts, and ulcers; some seem to have no face, but in its stead something hairy or bony; and with some only the teeth are seen; their bodies also are monstrous; and their speech is like the speech of anger or of hatred or of revenge; for what everyone speaks is from his falsity, while his tone is from his evil. In a word, they are all images of their own hell. [3] I have not been permitted to see what the form of hell itself in general is; I have only been told that as the entire heaven in one complex reflects a single man (n. 59-67), so the entire hell in one complex reflects a single devil, and might be exhibited in an image of a single devil (see above, n. 544). But the forms of particular hells or infernal societies I have often been permitted to see; for at their entrances, which are called the gates of hell, a monster commonly appears that represents in a general way the form of those within. The fierce passions of those who dwell there are represented at the same time in horrible and hideous ways that I forbear to describe. [4] But it must be understood that this is the way infernal spirits appear in the light of heaven, while among themselves they appear as men. This is of the Lord's mercy, that they may not appear as loathsome to one another as they appear before the angels. But this appearance is a fallacy, for as soon as any ray of light from heaven is let in, their human forms appear changed into monstrous forms, such as they are in themselves (as has been described above). For in the light of heaven everything appears as it is in itself. For this reason they shun the light of heaven and cast themselves down into their own light, which is like that from lighted coals, and in some cases like that from burning sulphur; but this light also is turned into mere thick darkness when any light from heaven flows in upon it. This is why the hells are said to be in thick darkness and in darkness; and why "thick darkness" and "darkness" signify falsities derived from evil, such as are in hell. 554. From an inspection of these monstrous forms of spirits in the hells (which, as I have said, are all forms of contempt of others and of menaces against those who do not pay them honor and respect, also forms of hatred and revenge against those who do not favor them), it became evident that in general they were all forms of the love of self and the love of the world; and that the evils of which these are the specific forms have their origin in these two loves. Moreover, I have been told from heaven, and it has been proved to me by much experience, that these two loves, the love of self and the love of the world, rule in the hells and constitute the hells as love to the Lord and love towards the neighbor rule in the heavens and constitute the heavens; also that the two loves that are the loves of hell and the two loves that are the loves of heaven are diametrically opposite to each other. 555. At first I wondered how it is that love of self and love of the world could be so diabolical, and how those who are in these loves could be such monsters in appearance; for in the world not much thought is given to love of self, but only to that elated state of mind in external matters which is called haughtiness, and that alone, being so apparent to the sight, is regarded as love of self. Furthermore, love of self, when it is not so displayed, is believed in the world to be the very fire of life by which man is stimulated to seek employment and to perform uses, and if he found no honor or glory in these his mind would grow torpid. It is asked, Who has ever done any worthy, useful, and distinguished deed except for the sake of being praised and honored by others, or regarded with esteem and honor by others? And can this be from any other source than the fire of love for glory and honor, consequently for self. For this reason, it is unknown in the world that love of self, regarded in itself, is the love that rules in hell and constitutes hell in man. This being so I will first describe what the love of self is, and then will show that all evils and their falsities spring from that love as their fountain. 556. The love of self is wishing well to oneself alone, and to others only for the sake of self, even to the church, one's country, or any human society. It consists also in doing good to all these solely for the sake of one's own reputation, honor, and glory; and unless these are seen in the uses he performs in behalf of others he says in his heart, How does it concern me? Why should I do this? What shall I get from it? and therefore he does not do it. Evidently, then, he who is in the love of self does not love the church or his country or society, nor any use, but himself alone. His delight is solely the delight of the love of self; and as the delight that comes forth from his love is what constitutes the life of man, his life is a life of self; and a life of self is a life from what is man's own, and what is man's own, regarded in itself, is nothing but evil. He who loves himself loves also those who belong to him, that is, in particular, his children and grandchildren, and in general, all who are at one with him, whom he calls his. To love these is to love himself, for he regards them as it were in himself, and himself in them. Among those whom he calls his are also all who commend, honor, and pay their court to him. 557. What love of self is can be seen by comparing it with heavenly love. Heavenly love consists in loving uses for the sake of uses, or goods for the sake of goods, which are done by man in behalf of the church, his country, human society, and a fellow-citizen; for this is loving God and loving the neighbor, since all uses and all goods are from God, and are the neighbor who is to be loved. But he who loves these for the sake of himself loves them merely as servants, because they are serviceable to him; consequently it is the will of one who is in self-love that the church, his country, human societies, and his fellow citizens, should serve him, and not he them, for he places himself above them and places them beneath himself. Therefore so far as any one is in love of self he separates himself from heaven, because he separates himself from heavenly love. 558. [a.] Furthermore, so far as any one is in heavenly love, which consists in loving uses and goods and being moved by delight of heart when doing them for the sake of the church, country, human society, and ones fellow-citizens, he is so far led by the Lord, because that love is the love in which the Lord is, and which is from Him. But so far as any one is in the love of self, which consists in performing uses and goods for the sake of himself, so far he is led by himself; and so far as any one is led by himself he is not led by the Lord. And from this it also follows that so far as any one loves himself he separates himself from the Divine, thus also from heaven. To be led by one's self is to be led by what is one's own; and what is man's own is nothing but evil; for man's inherited evil consists in loving self more than God, and the world more than heaven.{1} Whenever man looks to himself in the good that he does he is let into what is his own, that is, into his inherited evils for he then looks from good to himself and from himself to good, and therefore he presents an image of himself in his good, and not an image of the Divine. That this is so has also been proved to me by experience. There are evil spirits whose dwelling places are in the middle quarter between the north and the west, beneath the heavens, who are skilled in the art of leading well-disposed spirits into their nature [proprium] and thus into evils of various kinds. This they do by leading them into thoughts about themselves, either openly by praises and honors, or secretly by directing their affections to themselves; and so far as this is done they turn the faces of the well-disposed spirits away from heaven, and to the same extent they obscure their understanding and call forth evils from what is their own. {Footnote 1} Man's own, which he derives by inheritance from his parents, is nothing but dense evil (n. 210, 215, 731, 876, 987, 1047, 2307, 2308, 3518, 3701, 3812, 8480, 8550, 10283, 10284, 10286, 10731). Man's own is loving self more than God, and the world more than heaven, and making nothing of one's neighbor in comparison with oneself, except for the sake of self, that is one's own self; thus it consists in love of self and of the world (n. 694, 731, 4317, 5660). All evils flow from the love of self and the love of the world when these predominate (n. 1307, 1308, 1321, 1594, 1691, 3413, 7255, 7376, 7488, 7489, 8318, 9335, 9348, 10038, 10742). These evils are contempt of others, enmity, hatred, revenge, cruelty, deceit (n. 6667, 7370, 7374, 9348, 10038, 10742). From these evils all falsity flows (n. 1047, 10283, 10284, 10286). 558. [b.] That the love of self is the opposite of love to the neighbor can be seen from the origin and essence of both. The love of the neighbor of one who is in the love of self begins with oneself, for he claims that everyone is neighbor to himself; and it goes forth from him as its center to all who make one with him, diminishing in accordance with the degree of their conjunction with him by love. All outside of this circle are regarded as of no account; and those who are opposed to those in the circle and to their evils are accounted as enemies, whatever their character may be, however wise, upright, honest, or just. But spiritual love to the neighbor begins with the Lord, and goes forth from Him as its center to all who are conjoined to Him by love and faith, going forth in accordance with the quality of their love and faith.{1} Evidently, then, the love of the neighbor that has its beginning in man is the opposite of the love to the neighbor that has its beginning in the Lord; and the former proceeds from evil because it proceeds from what is man's own, while the latter proceeds from good because it proceeds from the Lord, who is good itself. Evidently, also, the love of the neighbor that proceeds from man and from what is his own is corporeal, while the love to the neighbor that proceeds from the Lord is heavenly. In a word, in the man in whom love of self prevails that love constitutes the head, and heavenly love constitutes the feet. On that love he stands; and if it does not serve him he tramples it under foot. This is the cause of the appearance that those who are cast down into hell fall with the head downward towards hell, and with the feet upwards towards heaven (see above, n. 548). {Footnote 1} Those who do not know what it is to love the neighbor imagine every man to be a neighbor, and that good is to be done to everyone who is in need of help (n. 6704). They also believe that everyone is neighbor to himself, and thus that love to the neighbor begins with self (n. 6933). Those who love themselves above all things, that is, with whom self-love prevails, also make love to the neighbor to begin with themselves (n. 6710). In what manner everyone is neighbor to himself, explained (n. 6933-6938). But those who are Christians and who love God above all things make love to the neighbor to begin with the Lord, because He is to be loved above all things (n. 6706, 6711, 6819, 6824). The distinctions of neighbor are as many as the distinctions of good from the Lord, and there should be distinction in doing good to everyone in accordance with the quality of his state, and this is a matter of Christian prudence (n. 6707, 6709, 6711, 6818). These distinctions are innumerable, and for this reason the ancients, who knew what is meant by the neighbor, reduced the exercises of charity into classes, which they denoted by suitable names, and from this knew in what respect everyone was a neighbor, and in what manner good was to be done to everyone with prudence (n. 2417, 6628, 6705, 7259-7262). The doctrine in the ancient churches was the doctrine of charity towards the neighbor, and from this they had wisdom (n. 2417, 2385, 3419, 3420, 4844, 6628). 559. Again, love of self is such that so far as the reins are given it, that is, so far as external bonds are removed, which are fears of the law and its penalties, and of the loss of reputation, honor, gain, employment, and life, so far it rushes on until it finally longs to rule not only over the entire world but also over the entire heaven, and over the Divine Himself, knowing no limit or end. This propensity lurks hidden in everyone who is in love of self, although it is not manifest to the world, where it is held in check by such bonds as have been mentioned. Everyone can see examples of this in potentates and kings who are subject to no such restraints and bonds, but rush on and subjugate provinces and kingdoms so far as they are successful, and aspire to power and glory without limit; and still more strikingly in the Babylon of this day, which has extended its dominion into heaven, and has transferred to itself all the Divine power of the Lord, and continually lusts for more. That such men, when they have entered after death the other life, are directly opposed to the Divine and to heaven, and are on the side of hell, can be seen in the little work on The Last Judgment and the Destruction of Babylon. 560. Picture to yourself a society of such persons, all of whom love themselves alone and love others only so far as they make one with themselves, and you will see that their love is precisely like the love of thieves for each other, who embrace and call one another friends so long as they are acting together; but when they cease to act together and discard their subordination to one another, they rise up against and murder one another. When the interiors or the minds of such are explored they will be seen to be full of bitter hatred one against another, and at heart will laugh at all justice and honesty, and likewise at the Divine, which they reject as of no account. This is still more evident in the societies of such in the hells treated of below. 561. The interiors pertaining to the thoughts and affections of those who love themselves above all things are turned towards themselves and the world, and thus are turned away from the Lord and from heaven; and consequently they are obsessed with evils of every kind, and the Divine cannot flow in; for if it does flow in it is instantly submerged in thoughts of self, and is defiled, and is also mingled with the evils that flow from what is their own. This is why all such in the other life look backwards away from the Lord, and towards the densely dark body that is there in the place of the sun of the world, and is diametrically opposite to the sun of heaven, which is the Lord (see above, n. 123). "Thick darkness" signifies evil, and the "sun of the world" the love of self.{1} {Footnote 1} "The sun of the world" signifies the love of self (n. 2441). In this sense "to worship the sun" signifies to worship those things that are antagonistic to heavenly love and to the Lord (n. 2441, 10584). "The sun's growing hot" means an increasing lust of evil (n. 8487). 562. The evils of those who are in the love of self are, in general, contempt of others, envy, enmity against all who do not favor them, and consequent hostility, hatred of various kinds, revenge, cunning, deceit, unmercifulness, and cruelty; and in respect to religious matters there is not merely a contempt for the Divine and for Divine things, which are the truths and goods of the church, but also hostility to them. When man becomes a spirit this hostility is turned into hatred; and then he not only cannot endure to hear these truths and goods mentioned, he even burns with hatred against all who acknowledge and worship the Divine. I once talked with a certain spirit who in the world had been a man in authority, and had loved self to an unusual degree; and when he simply heard some one mention the Divine, and especially when he heard him mention the Lord, he was so excited by hatred arising from anger as to burn with the desire to kill; and when the reins of his love were loosened he wished to be the devil himself, that from his love of self he might continually infest heaven. This is the desire also of some of the Papist religion when they perceive in the other life that the Lord has all power and they have none. 563. Certain spirits were seen by me in the western quarter towards the south, who said that they had been in positions of great dignity in the world, and that they deserved to be more highly esteemed than others and to rule over others. Their interior character was explored by angels, and it was found that in their offices in the world they had not looked to uses but to themselves, and thus that they had set themselves before uses. But as they were very eager and importunate to be set over others they were allowed to associate with those who were consulting about matters of great importance; but it was perceived that they were unable to give any thought to the business under discussion, or to see matters as they are in themselves, or to speak with reference to the use of the thing, but were able to speak only with reference to self, and that they wished to act from what is pleasing on the ground of favor. They were therefore dismissed from that duty, and left to seek employment for themselves elsewhere. Therefore they went further into the western quarter, where they were received here and there, but everywhere were told that they thought only of themselves, and of no business except with reference to self, and for this reason were stupid and like merely sensual corporeal spirits. On this account wheresoever they went they were sent away. Some time afterwards they were seen reduced to a destitute state and asking alms. Thus it was made clear that those who are in the love of self, however from the fire of that love they may seem to speak in the world wisely, speak merely from the memory, and not from any rational light. Therefore in the other life, when they are no longer permitted to bring forth the things of the natural memory, they are more stupid than others, and for the reason that they are separated from the Divine. 564. There are two kinds of dominion, one of love towards the neighbor and the other of love of self. These two dominions in their essence are direct opposites. One who rules from love towards the neighbor wills good to all, and loves nothing so much as uses, that is, serving others; which is willing good to others and performing uses, either to the church, or to the country, or to society, or to a fellow citizen. This is his love and the delight of his heart. Moreover, so far as he is exalted to dignities above others he rejoices, not for the sake of the dignities but for the sake of the uses he is then able to perform in greater abundance and of a higher order. Such dominion exists in the heavens. [2] But one who rules from the love of self wills good to no one except himself; the uses he performs are for the sake of his own honor and glory, which to him are the only uses; his end in serving others is that he may himself be served, honored, and permitted to rule; he seeks dignities not for the sake of the good offices he may render to his country and the church, but that he may gain eminence and glory and thereby the delight of his heart. [3] Moreover this love of dominion continues with everyone after his life in the world. Those that have ruled from love towards the neighbor are entrusted with authority in the heavens; but then it is not they who rule, but the uses which they love; and when uses rule the Lord rules. But those who have ruled while in the world are in hell, and are there vile slaves. I have seen those who had power in the world, but who exercised dominion from love of self, cast out among the most vile, and some among those who are in excrementitious places. 565. But in respect to the love of the world: it is a love opposed to heavenly love in a less degree than love of self, because the evils hidden within it are lesser evils. The love of the world consists in one's desiring to secure to himself, by any kind of artifice, the wealth of others, and in setting his heart upon riches, and permitting the world to draw him and lead him away from spiritual love, which is love towards the neighbor, and thus from heaven and from the Divine. But this love is manifold. There is a love of wealth for the sake of being exalted to honors, when these alone are loved. There is a love of honors and dignities with a view to the increase of wealth. There is a love of wealth for the sake of various uses that give delight in the world. There is a love of wealth merely for the sake of wealth, which is a miserly love; and so on. The end for the sake of which wealth is sought is called its use; and it is the end or use that gives to love its quality; for the love is such as is the end in view, and all other things merely serve it as means. 566. LVIV. WHAT HELL FIRE IS AND WHAT THE GNASHING OF TEETH IS. What eternal fire is, and what the gnashing of teeth is, which are mentioned in the Word in reference to those who are in hell, scarcely any one as yet has known, because the contents of the Word have been thought about only in a material way, and nothing has been known about its spiritual sense. So fire has been understood by some to mean material fire, by others to mean torment in general, by others remorse of conscience, and others have held that it is mentioned merely to excite terror in the wicked. Likewise some have supposed the gnashing of teeth to mean actual gnashing, and some only a horror, such as is excited when such a collision of teeth is heard. But any one who is acquainted with the spiritual meaning of the Word may know what eternal fire is, and what the gnashing of teeth is; for every expression and every meaning of the expressions in the Word contains a spiritual meaning, since the Word in its bosom is spiritual; and what is spiritual can be set before man only in natural forms of expression, because man is in the natural world and thinks from the things of that world. Therefore it shall now be told what is meant by "eternal fire" and "the gnashing of teeth" into which the spirits of evil men enter after death, or which their spirits, then in the spiritual world, endure. 567. There are two origins of heat, one the sun of heaven which is the Lord, and the other the sun of the world. The heat that is from the sun of heaven, that is, the Lord, is spiritual heat; and this in its essence is love (see above, n. 126-140); but the heat from the sun of the world is natural heat, and this in its essence is not love, but serves spiritual heat or love as a receptacle. Evidently love in its essence is heat, since it is love, in accord with its degree and quality, that gives heat to the mind, and thence to the body; and this man experiences as well in the winter as in the summer. The heating of the blood is from the same source. That the natural heat that springs from the sun of the world serves spiritual heat as a receptacle is evident from the heat of the body, which is excited by the heat of its spirit, and is a kind of substitute for that heat in the body. It is especially evident from the spring and summer heat in animals of every kind which then annually renew their loves. [2] It is not the natural heat that produces this effect, but it disposes their bodies to receive the heat that flows into them from the spiritual world; for the spiritual world flows into the natural as cause into effect. Whoever believes that natural heat produces these loves is much deceived, for influx is from the spiritual world into the natural world, and not from the natural world into the spiritual; and as all love belongs to the life itself it is spiritual. [3] Again, he who believes that any thing comes forth in the natural world without influx from the spiritual world is deceived, for what is natural comes forth and continues to exist only from what is spiritual. Furthermore, the subjects of the vegetable kingdom derive their germinations from influx out of the spiritual world. The natural heat of spring time and summer merely disposes the seeds into their natural forms by expanding and opening them so that influx from the spiritual world can there act as a cause. These things are mentioned to make clear that there are two kinds of heat, spiritual heat and natural heat; and that spiritual heat is from the sun of heaven and natural heat from the sun of the world, and that influx and consequent cooperation produce the effects that appear before the eyes in the world.{1} {Footnote 1} There is an influx from the spiritual world into the natural world (n. 6053-6058, 6189-6215, 6307-6327, 6466-6495, 6598-6626). There is also an influx into the lives of animals (n. 5850). And into the subjects of the vegetable kingdom (n. 3648). This influx is a continual endeavor to act in accordance with the Divine order (n. 6211 at the end). 568. Spiritual heat in man is the heat of his life, because, as was said above, it is in its essence love. This heat is what is meant in the Word by "fire," love to the Lord and love towards the neighbor by "heavenly fire," and love of self and love of the world by "infernal fire." 569. Infernal fire or love springs from a like origin as heavenly fire or love, namely, the sun of heaven, or the Lord; but it is made infernal by those who receive it. For all influx from the spiritual world varies in accordance with reception, that is, in accordance with the forms into which it flows, just as it is with the heat and light from the sun of the world. The heat from that sun flowing into shrubberies and beds of flowers produces vegetation, and draws forth grateful and sweet odors; but the same heat flowing into excrementitious and decaying substances produces putrefactions, and draws forth rank and disgusting stenches. In like manner the light from the same sun produces in one subject beautiful and pleasing colors, in another unbeautiful and disagreeable colors. The same is true of the heat and light from the sun of heaven, which is love. When the heat, or love, from that sun flows into good, as it does in good men and angels, it makes their good fruitful; but when it flows into the evil it produces a contrary effect, for their evils either suffocate it or pervert it. In like manner when the light of heaven flows into the truths of good it imparts intelligence and wisdom; but when it flows into the falsities of evil it is turned into insanities and phantasies of various kinds. Thus in every instance the result is in accordance with reception. 570. As infernal fire is the love of self and of the world it is also every lust of these loves, since lust is love in its continuity, for what a man loves he continually lusts after. Infernal fire is also delight, since what a man loves and lusts after he perceives, when he obtains it, to be delightful. Man's delight of heart is from no other source. Infernal fire, therefore, is the lust and delight that spring from these two loves as their origins. The evils flowing from these loves are contempt of others, enmity, and hostility against those who do not favor them, envy, hatred, and revenge, and from these fierceness and cruelty; and in respect to the Divine they are denial and consequent contempt, derision, and detraction of the holy things of the church; and after death, when man becomes a spirit, these evils are changed to anger and hatred against these holy things (see above, n. 562). And as these evils breathe forth continually the destruction and murder of those whom they account as enemies, and against whom they burn with hatred and revenge, so it is the delight of their life to will to destroy and kill, and so far as they are unable to do this, to will to do mischief, to injure, and to exercise cruelty. [2] Such is the meaning of "fire" in the Word, where the evil and the hells are treated of, some passages from which I will here quote in the way of proof: Everyone is a hypocrite and an evil doer, and every mouth speaketh folly. For wickedness burneth as the fire; it devoureth the briers and thorns, and kindleth in the thickets of the forests, and they roll upward in the rising of smoke; and the people is become like food for fire; no man spareth his brother (Isa. 9:17-19). I will show wonders in the heavens, and in the earth blood and fire, and pillars of smoke; the sun shall be turned into darkness (Joel 2:30, 31). The land shall become burning pitch; it shall not be quenched night nor day; the smoke thereof shall go up forever (Isa. 34:9, 10). Behold the day cometh burning as a furnace, and all the proud and every worker of wickedness shall be stubble; and the day that cometh shall set them on fire (Mal. 4:1). Babylon is become a habitation of demons. They cried out as they saw the smoke of her burning. Her smoke goeth up unto the ages of the ages (Apoc. 18:2, 18; 19:3). He opened the pit of the abyss, and there went up a smoke out of the pit as the smoke of a great furnace; and the sun was darkened, and the air, by the smoke of the pit (Apoc. 9:2). Out of the mouth of the horses went forth fire and smoke and brimstone; by these was the third part of men killed, by the fire and by the smoke and by the brimstone (Apoc. 4:17, 18). If any one adores the beast he shall drink of the wine of the wrath of God mixed with unmixed wine in the cup of His anger, and shall be tormented with fire and brimstone (Apoc. 16:9, 10). The fourth angel poured out his bowl upon the sun; and it was given unto it to scorch men with fire; therefore men were scorched with great heat (Apoc. 16:8, 9). They were cast into a lake burning with fire and brimstone (Apoc. 19:20; 20:14, 15; 21:8). Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit shall be hewn down and cast into the fire (Matt. 3:10; Luke 3:9). The Son of man shall send His angels, and they shall gather out of His kingdom all things that cause stumbling and them that do iniquity, and shall cast them into a furnace of fire (Matt. 13:41, 42, 50). The King shall say to them that are on the left hand, Depart from Me, ye cursed, into eternal fire, prepared for the devil and his angels (Matt. 25:41). They shall be sent into everlasting fire, into the hell of fire, where their worm shall not die, and the fire shall not be quenched (Matt. 18:8, 9; Mark 9:43-49). The rich man in hell said to Abraham that he was tormented in flame (Luke 16:24). In these and in many other passages "fire" means the lust pertaining to love of self and love of the world, and the "smoke" therefrom means falsity from evil. 571. As the lust of doing the evils that are from the love of self and of the world is meant by "infernal fire," and as such is the lust of all in the hells (as shown in the foregoing chapter) so when the hells are opened there is an appearance of fire with smoke, such as is seen in conflagrations, a dense fire from the hells where the love of self prevails, and a flaming fire from the hells where love of the world prevails. But when the hells are closed this fiery appearance is not seen, but in its place there is a kind of obscurity like a condensation of smoke; although the fire still rages within, as can be seen by the heat exhaling therefrom, which is like the heat from the burnt ruins after a fire, and in some places like the heat from a heated furnace, in others like the heat from a hot bath. When this heat flows into man it excites lusts in him, and in evil men hatred and revenge, and in the sick insanities. Such is the fire or such the heat that affects those who are in the above-mentioned loves, because in respect to their spirit they are attached to those hells, even while living in the body. But it must be understood that those who are in the hells are not in fire; the fire is an appearance; those there are conscious of no burning, but only of a warmth like that which they had felt when in the world. This appearance of fire is from correspondence, since love corresponds to fire, and all things seen in the spiritual world are seen in accordance with correspondences. 572. It must be noted that this infernal fire or heat is changed into intense cold when heat from heaven flows in; and those who are in it then shiver like those seized with chills and fever, and are inwardly distressed; and for the reason that they are in direct opposition to the Divine; and the heat of heaven (which is Divine love) extinguishes the heat of hell (which is the love of self), and with it the fire of their life; and this is the cause of such cold and consequent shivering and distress. This is accompanied by thick darkness and by infatuation and mutual blindness therefrom. But this rarely happens, and only when outbreaks that have increased beyond measure need to be repressed. 573. Since infernal fire means every lust for doing evil that flows forth from the love of self, this fire means also such torment as exists in the hells. For the lust from that love is a lust for injuring others who do not honor, venerate and worship oneself; and in proportion to the anger thereby excited, and the hatred and revenge from that anger, is there a lust for venting one's rage upon them. When such lust is active in everyone in a society, and is restrained by no external bond, such as the fear of the law, and of the loss of reputation, honor, gain, and life, everyone from the impulse of his own evil rushes upon another; and so far as he prevails subjugates the rest and subjects them to his dominion, and vents his rage with delight upon those who do not submit themselves. This delight is so intimately united with the delight of bearing rule that they exist in the same measure, since the delight of doing harm is contained in all enmity, envy, hatred, and revenge, which as said above, are the evils of that love. All the hells are such societies, and in consequence everyone there bears hatred in his heart against others, and from hatred bursts forth into cruelty so far as he has power. These cruelties and their torments are also meant by infernal fire, since they are the effects of lusts. 574. It has been shown above (n. 548) that an evil spirit casts himself into hell of his own accord. It shall now be told in a few words how this comes about, when yet there are in hell such torments. From every hell there exhales a sphere of the lusts of those who are in it. Whenever this sphere is perceived by one who is in a like lust he is affected at heart and filled with delight, for lust and its delight make one, since whatever one lusts after is delightful to him; and because of this a spirit turns himself hellwards, and from delight of heart lusts to go thither, since he does not yet know that such torments exist there, although he who knows it still lusts to go there. For no one in the spiritual world can resist his lust, because his lust belongs to his love, and his love belongs to his will, and his will belongs to his nature, and everyone there acts from his nature. [2] When, therefore, a spirit of his own accord and from his freedom drifts towards his hell and enters it, he is received at first in a friendly manner, which makes him believe that he has come among friends. But this continues for a few hours only. In the meanwhile he is explored in respect to his astuteness and consequent ability; and when this has been done they begin to infest him, and this by various methods, and with gradually greater severity and vehemence. This is accomplished by introducing him more interiorly and deeply into hell; for the more interior and deeper the hell the more malignant are the spirits. After these infestations they begin to treat him cruelly by punishments, and this goes on until he is reduced to the condition of a slave. [3] But rebellious movements are continually springing up there, since everyone wishes to be greatest, and burns with hatred against the others; and in consequence new uprisings occur, and thus one scene is changed into another, and those who are made slaves are delivered that they may assist some new devil to subjugate others; and again those who refuse to submit and render implicit obedience are tormented in various ways; and so on continually. Such torments are the torments of hell, which are called hell fire. 575. Gnashing of teeth is the continual contention and combat of falsities with each other, consequently of those who are in falsities, joined with contempt of others, with enmity, mockery, ridicule, blaspheming; and these evils burst forth into lacerations of various kinds; since everyone fights for his own falsity and calls it truth. These contentions and combats are heard outside of these hells like the gnashings of teeth; and are also turned into gnashings of teeth when truths from heaven flow in among them. In these hells are all who have acknowledged nature and have denied the Divine. In the deeper of these hells are those that have confirmed themselves in such denials. As such are unable to receive any thing of light from heaven, and are thus unable to see any thing inwardly in themselves, they are for the most part corporeal sensual spirits, who believe nothing except what they see with their eyes and touch with their hands. Therefore all the fallacies of the senses are truths to them; and it is from these that they dispute. This is why their contentions are heard as gnashings of teeth; for in the spiritual world all falsities give a grating sound, and the teeth correspond to the outmost things in nature and to the outmost things in man, which are corporeal sensual.{1} (That there is gnashing of teeth in the hells may be seen in Matthew 8:12; 13:42, 50; 22:13; 24:51; 25:30; Luke 13:28.) {Footnote 1} The correspondence of the teeth (n. 5565-5568). Those who are purely sensual and have scarcely anything of spiritual light correspond to the teeth (n. 5565). In the Word a tooth signifies the sensual, which is the outmost of the life of man (n. 9052, 9062). Gnashing of teeth in the other life comes from those who believe that nature is everything and the Divine nothing (n. 5568). 576. LX. THE MALICE AND HEINOUS ARTIFICES OF INFERNAL SPIRITS In what way spirits are superior to men everyone can see and comprehend who thinks interiorly and knows any thing of the operation of his own mind; for in his mind he can consider, evolve, and form conclusions upon more subjects in a single moment than he can utter or express in writing in half an hour. This shows the superiority of man when he is in his spirit, and therefore when he becomes a spirit. For it is the spirit that thinks, and it is the body by which the spirit expresses its thoughts in speech or writing. In consequence of this, when man after death becomes an angel he is in intelligence and wisdom ineffable in comparison with his intelligence and wisdom while he lived in the world; for while he lived in the world his spirit was bound to his body, and was thereby in the natural world; and therefore whatever he thought spiritually flowed into natural ideas, which are comparatively general, gross, and obscure, and which are incapable of receiving innumerable things that pertain to spiritual thought; and which infold spiritual thought in the obscurities that arise from worldly cares. It is otherwise when the spirit is released from the body and comes into its spiritual state, which takes place when it passes out of the natural world into the spiritual world to which it belongs. From what has already been said it is evident that the state of its thoughts and affections is then immeasurably superior to its former state. Because of this the thoughts of angels are ineffable and inexpressible, and are therefore incapable of entering into the natural thoughts of man; and yet every angel was born a man, and has lived as a man, and he then seemed to himself to be no wiser than any other like man. 577. In the same degree in which angels have wisdom and intelligence infernal spirits have malice and cunning; for the case is the same, since the spirit of man when released from the body is in his good or in his evil--if an angelic spirit in his good, and if an infernal spirit in his evil. Every spirit is his own good or his own evil because he is his own love, as has been often said and shown above. Therefore as an angelic spirit thinks, wills, speaks, and acts, from his good, an infernal spirit does this from his evil; and to think, will, speak, and act from evil itself, is to think, will, speak, and act from all things included in the evil. [2] So long as man lived in the body it was different, since the evil of the spirit was then under the restraints that every man feels from the law, from hope of gain, from honor, from reputation, and from the fear of losing these; and therefore the evil of his spirit could not then burst forth and show what it was in itself. Moreover, the evil of the spirit of man then lay wrapped up and veiled in outward probity, honesty, justice, and affection for truth and good, which such a man professes and counterfeits for the sake of the world; and under these semblances the evil has lain so concealed and obscured that he himself scarcely knew that his spirit contained so much malice and craftiness, that is, that in himself he was such a devil as he becomes after death, when his spirit comes into itself and into its own nature. [3] Such malice then manifests itself as exceeds all belief. There are thousands of evils that then burst forth from evil itself, among which are such as cannot be described in the words of any language. What they are has been granted me to know and also to perceive by much experience, since it has been granted me by the Lord to be in the spiritual world in respect to my spirit and at the same time in the natural world in respect to my body. This I can testify, that their malice is so great that it is hardly possible to describe even a thousandth part of it; and so great that if man were not protected by the Lord he could never be rescued from hell; for with every man there are spirits from hell as well as angels from heaven (see above, n. 292, 293); and yet the Lord cannot protect man unless he acknowledges the Divine and lives a life of faith and charity; for otherwise man turns himself away from the Lord and turns himself to infernal spirits, and thus his spirit becomes imbued with a malice like theirs. [4] Nevertheless, man is continually withdrawn by the Lord from the evils that he attaches and as it were attracts to himself by his affiliation with infernal spirits. If he is not withdrawn by the internal bonds of conscience, which he fails to receive if he denies a Divine, he is nevertheless withdrawn by external bonds, which are, as said above, fears in respect to the law and its penalties, and fears of the loss of gain and the deprivation of honor and reputation. In fact, such a man may be withdrawn from evils by means of the delights of his love and through fear of the loss or deprivation of those delights; but he cannot be led thereby into spiritual goods. For as soon as such a man is led into these he begins to give his thought to pretenses and devices by simulating or counterfeiting what is good, honest, and just, for the purpose of persuading and thus deceiving. Such cunning adjoins itself to the evil of his spirit and gives form to it, causing his evil to be of the same nature as itself. 578. Those are the worst of all who have been in evils from love of self and at the same time inwardly in themselves have acted from deceit; for deceit penetrates more deeply into the thoughts and intentions than other evils, and infects them with poison and thus wholly destroys the spiritual life of man. Most of these spirits are in the hells behind the back, and are called genii; and there they delight to make themselves invisible, and to flutter about others like phantoms secretly infusing evil into them, which they spread around like the poison of a viper. These are more direfully tormented than others. But those who are not deceitful, and who have not been so filled with malignant craftiness, and yet are in the evils derived from the love of self, are also in the hells behind, but in those less deep. On the other hand, those that have been in evils from the love of the world are in the hells in front, and are called spirits. These spirits are not such forms of evil, that is, of hatred and revenge, as those are who are in evils from the love of self; and therefore do not have such malice and cunning; and in consequence their hells are milder. 579. I have been permitted to learn by experience what kind of malice those possess who are called genii. Genii act upon and flow into the affections, and not the thoughts. They perceive and smell out the affections as dogs do wild beasts in the forest. Good affections, when they perceive them in another, they turn instantly into evil affections, leading and bending them in a wonderful manner by means of the other's delights; and this so secretly and with such malignant skill that the other knows nothing of it, for they most carefully guard against anything entering into the thought, as thereby they would be manifested. The seat of these in man is beneath the back part of the head. In the world they were such as deceitfully captivated the minds of others, leading and persuading them by the delights of their affections or lusts. But such spirits are not permitted by the Lord to come near to any man of whose reformation there is any hope; for they have the ability not only to destroy the conscience, but also to stir up in man his inherited evils, which otherwise lie hidden. Therefore to prevent man's being led into these evils, these hells, by the Lord's provision, are entirely closed up; and when any man of such a character comes after death into the other life, he is at once cast into their hell. When the deceit and craftiness of these spirits are clearly seen they appear as vipers. 580. The kind of malice infernal spirits possess is evident from their nefarious arts, which are so many that to enumerate them would fill a volume, and to describe them would fill many volumes. These arts are mostly unknown in the world. One kind relates to abuses of correspondences; a second to abuses of the outmosts of Divine order; a third to the communication and influx of thoughts and affections by means of turning towards another, fixing the sight upon another, and by the instrumentality of other spirits apart from themselves, and spirits sent out by themselves; a fourth to operations by phantasies; a fifth to a kind of casting themselves out beyond themselves and consequent presence elsewhere than where they are in the body; a sixth to pretenses, persuasion, and lies. The spirit of an evil man enters of itself into these arts when he is released from his body, for they are inherent in the nature of the evil in which he then is. By these arts they torment each other in the hells. But as all of these arts, except those that are effected by pretenses, persuasions, and lies, are unknown in the world, I will not here describe them in detail, both because they would not be comprehended, and because they are too abominable to be told. 581. The Lord permits torments in the hells because in no other way can evils be restrained and subdued. The only means of restraining and subduing evils and of keeping the infernal crew in bonds is the fear of punishment. It can be done in no other way; for without the fear of punishment and torment evil would burst forth into madness, and everything would go to pieces, like a kingdom on earth where there is no law and there are no penalties. 582. LXI. THE APPEARANCE, SITUATION, AND NUMBER OF THE HELLS. In the spiritual world, that is, in the world where spirits and angels are, the same objects appear as in the natural world, that is, where men are. In external appearance there is no difference. In that world plains and mountains, hills and rocks, and valleys between them are seen; also waters, and many other things that are seen on earth. And yet all these things are from a spiritual origin, and all are therefore seen by the eyes of spirits and angels, and not by the eyes of men, because men are in the natural world. Spiritual beings see such things as are from a spiritual origin, and natural beings such things as are from a natural origin. Consequently man with his eyes can in no way see the objects that are in the spiritual world unless he is permitted to be in the spirit, or after death when he becomes a spirit. On the other hand, an angel or a spirit is unable to see any thing at all in the natural world unless he is with a man who is permitted to speak with him. For the eyes of man are fitted to receive the light of the natural world, and the eyes of angels and spirits are fitted to receive the light of the spiritual world; although the eyes of the two are exactly alike in appearance. That the spiritual world is such the natural man cannot comprehend, and least of all the sensual man, who believes nothing except what he sees with his bodily eyes and touches with his hands, and therefore takes in by sight and touch. As his thought is from such things it is material and not spiritual. Such being the likeness between the spiritual world and the natural world, man can hardly believe after death that he is not in the world where he was born, and from which he has departed. For this reason death is called simply a translation from one world into another like it. (That the two worlds are thus alike can be seen above, where representatives and appearances in heaven have been treated of, n. 170-176.) 583. The heavens are in the higher parts of the spiritual world, the world of spirits in the lower parts, and under both are the hells. The heavens are visible to spirits in the world of spirits only when their interior sight is opened; although they sometimes see them as mists or as bright clouds. This is because the angels of heaven are in an interior state in respect to intelligence and wisdom; and for this reason they are above the sight of those who are in the world of spirits. But spirits who dwell in the plains and valleys see one another; and yet when they are separated there, which takes place when they are let into their interiors, the evil spirits do not see the good spirits; but the good spirits can see the evil spirits. Nevertheless, the good spirits turn themselves away from the evil spirits; and when spirits turn themselves away they become invisible. But the hells are not seen because they are closed up. Only the entrances, which are called gates, are seen when they are opened to let in other like spirits. All the gates to the hells open from the world of spirits, and none of them from heaven. 584. The hells are everywhere, both under the mountains, hills, and rocks, and under the plains and valleys. The openings or gates to the hells that are under the mountains, hills, and rocks, appear to the sight like holes and clefts in the rocks, some extended and wide, and some straitened and narrow, and many of them rugged. They all, when looked into, appear dark and dusky; but the infernal spirits that are in them are in such a luminosity as arises from burning coals. Their eyes are adapted to the reception of that light, and for the reason that while they lived in the world they were in thick darkness in respect to Divine truths, because of their denying them, and were in a sort of light in respect to falsities because of their affirming them. In this way did the sight of their eyes become so formed. And for the same reason the light of heaven is thick darkness to them, and therefore when they go out of their dens they see nothing. All this makes it abundantly clear that man comes into the light of heaven just to the extent that he acknowledges the Divine, and establishes in himself the things of heaven and the church; and that he comes into the thick darkness of hell just to the extent that he denies the Divine, and establishes in himself what is contrary to the truths of heaven and the church. 585. The openings or gates to the hells that are beneath the plains and valleys present to the sight different appearances. Some resemble those that are beneath the mountains, hills and rocks; some resemble dens and caverns, some great chasms and whirlpools; some resemble bogs, and some standing water. They are all covered, and are opened only when evil spirits from the world of spirits are cast in; and when they are opened there bursts forth from them either something like the fire and smoke that is seen in the air from burning buildings, or like a flame without smoke, or like soot such as comes from a burning chimney, or like a mist and thick cloud. I have heard that the infernal spirits neither see nor feel these things, because when they are in them they are as in their own atmosphere, and thus in the delight of their life; and this for the reason that these things correspond to the evils and falsities in which they are, fire corresponding to hatred and revenge, smoke and soot to the falsities therefrom, flame to the evils of the love of self, and a mist or thick cloud to falsities from that love. 586. I have also been permitted to look into the hells and to see what they are within; for when the Lord wills, the sight of a spirit or angel from above may penetrate into the lowest depths beneath and explore their character, notwithstanding the coverings. In this way I have been permitted to look into them. Some of the hells appeared to the view like caverns and dens in rocks extending inward and then downward into an abyss, either obliquely or vertically. Some of the hells appeared to the view like the dens and caves of wild beasts in forests; some like the hollow caverns and passages that are seen in mines, with caverns extending towards the lower regions. Most of the hells are threefold, the upper one appearing within to be in dense darkness, because inhabited by those who are in the falsities of evil; while the lower ones appear fiery, because inhabited by those who are in evils themselves, dense darkness corresponding to the falsities of evil, and fire to evils themselves. Those that have acted interiorly from evil are in the deeper hells, and those that have acted exteriorly from evil, that is, from the falsities of evil, are in the hells that are less deep. Some hells present an appearance like the ruins of houses and cities after conflagrations, in which infernal spirits dwell and hide themselves. In the milder hells there is an appearance of rude huts, in some cases contiguous in the form of a city with lanes and streets, and within the houses are infernal spirits engaged in unceasing quarrels, enmities, fightings, and brutalities; while in the streets and lanes robberies and depredations are committed. In some of the hells there are nothing but brothels, disgusting to the sight and filled with every kind of filth and excrement. Again, there are dark forests, in which infernal spirits roam like wild beasts and where, too, there are underground dens into which those flee who are pursued by others. There are also deserts, where all is barren and sandy, and where in some places there are ragged rocks in which there are caverns, and in some places huts. Into these desert places those are cast out from the hells who have suffered every extremity of punishment, especially those who in the world have been more cunning than others in undertaking and contriving intrigues and deceits. Such a life is their final lot. 587. As to the positions of the hells in detail, it is something wholly unknown even to the angels in heaven; it is known to the Lord alone. But their position in general is known from the quarters in which they are. For the hells, like the heavens, are distinguished by their quarters; and in the spiritual world quarters are determined in accordance with loves; for in heaven all the quarters begin from the Lord as the sun, who is the East; and as the hells are opposite to the heavens their quarters begin from the opposite point, that is, from the west. (On this see the chapter on the four quarters in heaven, n. 141-153.) [2] For this reason the hells in the western quarter are the worst of all, and the most horrible, becoming gradually worse and more horrible by degrees the more remote they are from the east. In the western hells are those who in the world were in the love of self, and in consequent contempt of others, and in enmity against those who did not favor them, also in hatred and revenge against those who did not render them respect and homage. In the most remote hells in that quarter are those that had belonged to the Catholic religion, so called, and that had wished to be worshiped as gods, and consequently had burned with hatred and revenge against all who did not acknowledge their power over the souls of men and over heaven. These continue to have the same disposition, that is, the same hatred and revenge against those who oppose them, that they had in the world. Their greatest delight is to practice cruelties; but in the other life this delight is turned against themselves; for in their hells, with which the western quarter is filled, one rages against everyone who detracts from his Divine power. (But more will be said about this in the treatise on The Last Judgment and the Destruction of Babylon.) [3] Nevertheless, no one can know how the hells in that quarter are arranged, except that the most dreadful hells of that kind are at the sides towards the northern quarter, and the less dreadful towards the southern quarter; thus the dreadfulness of the hells decreases from the northern quarter to the southern, and likewise by degrees towards the east. Towards the east are the dwelling places of the haughty, who have not believed in the Divine, and yet have not been in such hatred and revenge, or in such deceit, as those have who are in a greater depth in the western quarter. [4] In the eastern quarter there are at present no hells, those that were there having been transferred to the western quarter in front. In the northern and southern quarters there are many hells; and in them are those who while in the world were in love of the world, and in various kinds of evil therefrom, such as enmity, hostility, theft, robbery, cunning, avarice, and unmercifulness. The worst hells of this kind are in the northern quarter, the milder in the southern. Their dreadfulness increases as they are nearer to the western quarter, and also as they are farther away from the southern quarter, and decreases towards the eastern quarter and towards the southern quarter. Behind the hells that are in the western quarter there are dark forests, in which malignant spirits roam like wild beasts; and it is the same behind the hells in the northern quarter. But behind the hells in the southern quarter there are deserts, which have been described just above. This much respecting the situation of the hells. 588. In regard to the number of the hells, there are as many of them as there are angelic societies in the heavens, since there is for every heavenly society a corresponding infernal society as its opposite. That the heavenly societies are numberless, and are all distinguished in accordance with the goods of love, charity, and faith, may be seen in the chapter that treats of the societies of which the heavens consist (n. 41-50), and in the chapter on the immensity of heaven (n. 415-420). The like is true, therefore, of the infernal societies, which are distinguished in accordance with the evils that are the opposites of those goods. [2] Every evil, as well as every good, is of infinite variety. That this is true is beyond the comprehension of those who have only a simple idea regarding every evil, such as contempt, enmity, hatred, revenge, deceit, and other like evils. But let them know that each one of these evils contains so many specific differences, and each of these again so many specific or particular differences, that a volume would not suffice to enumerate them. The hells are so distinctly arranged in order in accordance with the differences of every evil that nothing could be more perfectly ordered or more distinct. Evidently, then, the hells are innumerable, near to and remote from one another in accordance with the differences of evils generically, specifically, and particularly. [3] There are likewise hells beneath hells. Some communicate with others by passages, and more by exhalations, and this in exact accordance with the affinities of one kind or one species of evil with others. How great the number is of the hells I have been permitted to realize from knowing that there are hells under every mountain, hill, and rock, and likewise under every plain and valley, and that they stretch out beneath these in length and in breadth and in depth. In a word, the entire heaven and the entire world of spirits are, as it were, excavated beneath, and under them is a continuous hell. Thus much regarding the number of the hells. 589. LXII. THE EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL. For any thing to have existence there must be an equilibrium of all things. Without equilibrium is no action and reaction; for equilibrium is between two forces, one acting and the other reacting, and the state of rest resulting from like action and reaction is called equilibrium. In the natural world there is an equilibrium in all things and in each thing. It exists in a general way even in the atmosphere, wherein the lower parts react and resist in proportion as the higher parts act and press down. Again, in the natural world there is an equilibrium between heat and cold, between light and shade, and between dryness and moisture, the middle condition being the equilibrium. There is also an equilibrium in all the subjects of the three kingdoms of nature, the mineral, the vegetable, and the animal; for without equilibrium in them nothing can come forth and have permanent existence. Everywhere there is a sort of effort acting on the one side and reacting on the other. [2] All existence or all effect is produced in equilibrium, that is, by one force acting and another suffering itself to be acted upon, or when one force by acting flows in, the other receives and harmoniously submits. In the natural world that which acts and reacts is called force, and also endeavor [or effort]; but in the spiritual world that which acts and reacts is called life and will. Life in that world is living force, and will is living effort; and the equilibrium itself is called freedom. Thus spiritual equilibrium or freedom has its outcome and permanence in the balance between good acting on the one side and evil reacting on the other side; or between evil acting on the one side and good reacting on the other side. [3] With the good the equilibrium is between good acting and evil reacting; but with the evil the equilibrium is between evil acting and good reacting. Spiritual equilibrium is between good and evil, because the whole life of man has reference to good and to evil, and the will is the receptacle. There is also an equilibrium between truth and falsity, but this depends on the equilibrium between good and evil. The equilibrium between truth and falsity is like that between light and shade, in that light and shade affect the objects of the vegetable kingdom only so far as heat and cold are in them. That light and shade themselves have no effect, but only the heat that acts through them, is evident from the fact that light and shade are the same in winter time and in spring time. This comparison of truth and falsity with light and shade is from correspondence, for truth corresponds to light, falsity to shade, and heat to the good of love; in fact, spiritual light is truth, spiritual shade is falsity, and spiritual heat is good of love (see the chapter where light and heat in heaven are treated of, n. 126-140). 590. There is a perpetual equilibrium between heaven and hell. From hell there continually breathes forth and ascends an endeavor to do evil, and from heaven there continually breathes forth and descends an endeavor to do good. In this equilibrium is the world of spirits; which world is intermediate between heaven and hell (see above, n. 421-431). The world of spirits is in this equilibrium because every man after death enters first the world of spirits, and is kept there in a state like that which he was in while in the world, and this would be impossible if there were not a perfect equilibrium there; for by means of this the character of everyone is explored, since they then remain in the same freedom as they had in the world. Spiritual equilibrium is freedom in man and spirit (as has been said just above, n. 589). What each one's freedom is the angels recognize by a communication of affections and thoughts therefrom; and it becomes visible to the sight of angelic spirits by the ways in which the spirits go. Good spirits there travel in the ways that go towards heaven, but evil spirits in the ways that go towards hell. Ways actually appear in that world; and that is the reason why ways in the Word signify the truths that lead to good, or in the opposite sense the falsities that lead to evil; and for the same reason going, walking, and journeying in the Word signify progressions of life.{1} Such ways I have often been permitted to see, also spirits going and walking in them freely, in accord with their affections and thoughts. {Footnote 1} In the word "to journey," as well as "to go," signifies progression of life (n. 3335, 4375, 4554, 4585, 4882, 5493, 5605, 5996, 8181, 8345, 8397, 8417, 8420, 8557). "To go (and to walk) with the Lord" means to receive spiritual life, and to live with Him (n. 10567). "To walk" means to live (n. 519, 1794, 8417, 8420). 591. Evil continually breathes forth and ascends out of hell, and good continually breathes forth and descends out of heaven, because everyone is encompassed by a spiritual sphere; and that sphere flows forth and pours out from the life of the affections and the thoughts therefrom.{1} And as such a sphere flows forth from every individual, it flows forth also from every heavenly society and from every infernal society, consequently from all together, that is, from the entire heaven and from the entire hell. Good flows forth from heaven because all there are in good; and evil flows forth from hell because all there are in evil. The good that is from heaven is all from the Lord; for the angels in the heavens are all withheld from what is their own, and are kept in what is the Lord's own, which is good itself. But the spirits in the hells are all in what is their own, and everyone's own is nothing but evil; and because it is nothing but evil it is hell.{2} Evidently, then, the equilibrium in which angels are kept in the heavens and spirits in the hells is not like the equilibrium in the world of spirits. The equilibrium of angels in the heavens exists in the degree in which they have been willing to be in good, or in the degree in which they have lived in good in the world, and thus also in the degree in which they have held evil in aversion; but the equilibrium of spirits in hell exists in the degree in which they have been willing to be in evil, or have lived in evil in the world, and thus in heart and spirit have been opposed to good. {Footnote 1} A spiritual sphere, which is a sphere of life, flows forth and pours forth from every man, spirit, and angel, and encompasses him (n. 4464, 5179, 7454, 8630). It flows forth from the life of their affections and thoughts (n. 2489, 4464, 6206). The quality of spirits is recognized at a distance from their spheres (n. 1048, 1053, 1316, 1504). Spheres from the evil are the opposites of spheres from the good (n. 1695, 10187, 10312). Such spheres extend far into angelic societies in accordance with the quality and quantity of good (n. 6598-6613, 8063, 8794, 8797). And into infernal societies in accordance with the quality and quantity of evil (n. 8794). {Footnote 2} Man's self is nothing but evil (n. 210, 215, 731, 874-876, 987, 1047, 2307, 2308, 3518, 3701, 3812, 8480, 8550, 10283, 10284, 10286, 10732). Man's self is hell in him (n. 684, 8480). 592. Unless the Lord ruled both the heavens and the hells there would be no equilibrium; and if there were no equilibrium there would be no heaven or hell; for all things and each thing in the universe, that is, both in the natural world and in the spiritual world, endure by means of equilibrium. Every rational man can see that this is true. If there were a preponderance on one part and no resistance on the other would not both perish? So would it be in the spiritual world if good did not react against evil and continually restrain its uprising; and unless this were done by the Divine Itself both heaven and hell would perish, and with them the whole human race. It is said unless the Divine Itself did this, because the self of everyone, whether angel, spirit, or man, is nothing but evil (see above, n. 591); consequently neither angels nor spirits are able in the least to resist the evils continually exhaling from the hells, since from self they all tend towards hell. It is evident, then, that unless the Lord alone ruled both the heavens and the hells no one could ever be saved. Moreover, all the hells act as one; for evils in the hells are connected as goods are in the heavens; and the Divine alone, which goes forth solely from the Lord, is able to resist all the hells, which are innumerable, and which act together against heaven and against all who are in heaven. 593. The equilibrium between the heavens and the hells is diminished or increased in accordance with the number of those who enter heaven and who enter hell; and this amounts to several thousands daily. The Lord alone, and no angel, can know and perceive this, and regulate and equalize it with precision; for the Divine that goes forth from the Lord is omnipresent, and sees everywhere whether there is any wavering, while an angel sees only what is near himself, and has no perception in himself of what is taking place even in his own society. 594. How all things are so arranged in the heavens and in the hells that each and all of those who are there may be in their equilibrium, can in some measure be seen from what has been said and shown above respecting the heavens and the hells, namely, that all the societies of heaven are distinctly arranged in accordance with goods and their kinds and varieties, and all the societies of hell in accordance with evils, and their kinds and varieties; and that beneath each society of heaven there is a society of hell corresponding to it from opposition, and from this opposing correspondence equilibrium results; and in consequence of this the Lord unceasingly provides that no infernal society beneath a heavenly society shall gain any preponderance, and as soon as it begins to do so it is restrained by various means, and is reduced to an exact measure of equilibrium. These means are many, only a few of which I will mention. Some of these means have reference to the stronger presence of the Lord; some to the closer communication and conjunction of one or more societies with others; some to the casting out of superabundant infernal spirits into deserts; some to the transference of certain spirits from one hell to another; some to the reducing of those in the hells to order, and this also is effected in various ways; some to the screening of certain hells under denser and thicker coverings, also letting them down to greater depths; besides other means; and still others that are employed in the heavens above the hells. All this has been said that it may in some measure be perceived that the Lord alone provides that there shall be an equilibrium everywhere between good and evil, thus between heaven and hell; for on such equilibrium the safety of all in the heavens and of all on the earth rests. 595. It should be known that the hells are continually assaulting heaven and endeavoring to destroy it, and that the Lord continually protects the heavens by withholding those who are in it from the evils derived from their self, and by holding them in the good that is from Himself. I have often been permitted to perceive the sphere that flows forth from the hells, which was wholly a sphere of effort to destroy the Divine of the Lord, and thus heaven. The ebullitions of some hells have also at times been perceived, which were efforts to break forth and to destroy. But on the other hand the heavens never assault the hells, for the Divine sphere that goes forth from the Lord is a perpetual effort to save all; and as those who are in the hells cannot be saved, (since all who are there are in evil and are antagonistic to the Divine of the Lord,) so as far as possible outrages in the hells are subdued and cruelties are restrained to prevent their breaking out beyond measure one against another. This also is effected by innumerable ways in which the Divine power is exercised. 596. There are two kingdoms into which the heavens are divided, the celestial kingdom and the spiritual kingdom (of which see above, n. 20-28). In like manner the hells are divided into two kingdoms, one of which is opposite to the celestial kingdom and the other opposite to the spiritual kingdom. That which is opposite to the celestial kingdom is in the western quarter, and those who are in it are called genii; and that which is opposite to the spiritual kingdom is in the northern and southern quarters, and those which are in it are called spirits. All who are in the celestial kingdom are in love to the Lord, and all who are in the hells opposite to that kingdom are in the love of self; while all who are in the spiritual kingdom are in love towards the neighbor, and all who are in the hells opposite to that kingdom are in love of the world. Evidently, then, love to the Lord and the love of self are opposites; and in like manner love towards the neighbor and love of the world are opposites. The Lord continually provides that there shall be no outflowing from the hells that are opposite the Lord's celestial kingdom towards those who are in the spiritual kingdom; for if this were done the spiritual kingdom would perish (for the reason given above, n. 678, 579). These are the two general equilibriums that are unceasingly maintained by the Lord. 597. LXIII. BY MEANS OF THE EQUILIBRIUM BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL MAN IS IN FREEDOM. The equilibrium between heaven and hell has now been described, and it has been shown that it is an equilibrium between the good that is from heaven and the evil that is from hell, thus that it is a spiritual equilibrium, which in its essence is freedom. A spiritual equilibrium in its essence is freedom because it is an equilibrium between good and evil, and between truth and falsity, and these are spiritual. Therefore to be able to will either what is good or what is evil and to think either what is true or what is false, and to choose one in preference to the other, is the freedom which is here treated of. This freedom is given to every man by the Lord, and is never taken away; in fact, by virtue of its origin it is not man's but the Lord's, since it is from the Lord. Nevertheless, it is given to man with his life as if it were his; and this is done that man may have the ability to be reformed and saved; for without freedom there can be no reformation or salvation. With any rational intuition any one can see that it is a part of man's freedom to be able to think wrongly or rightly, sincerely or insincerely, justly or unjustly; also that he is free to speak and act rightly, honestly, and justly; but not to speak and act wrongly, insincerely, and unjustly, because of the spiritual, moral, and civil laws whereby his external is held in restraint. Evidently, then, it is man's spirit, which thinks and wills, that is in freedom, and not his external which speaks and acts, except in agreement with the above mentioned laws. 598. Man cannot be reformed unless he has freedom, for the reason that he is born into evils of every kind; and these must be removed in order that he may be saved; and they cannot be removed unless he sees them in himself and acknowledges them, and afterwards ceases to will them, and finally holds them in aversion. Not until then are they removed. And this cannot be done unless man is in good as well as in evil, since it is from good that he is able to see evils, while from evil he cannot see good. The spiritual goods that man is capable of thinking he learns from childhood by reading the Word and from preaching; and he learns moral and civil good from his life in the world. This is the first reason why man ought to be in freedom. [2] Another reason is that nothing is appropriated to man except what is done from an affection of his love. Other things may gain entrance, but no farther than the thought, not reaching the will; and whatever does not gain entrance into the will of man does not become his, for thought derives what pertains to it from memory, while the will derives what pertains to it from the life itself. Only what is from the will, or what is the same, from the affection of love, can be called free, for whatever a man wills or loves that he does freely; consequently man's freedom and the affection of his love or of his will are a one. It is for this reason that man has freedom, in order that he may be affected by truth and good or may love them, and that they may thus become as if they were his own [3] In a word, whatever does not enter into man's freedom has no permanence, because it does not belong to his love or will, and what does not belong to man's love or will does not belong to his spirit; for the very being [esse] of the spirit of man is love or will. It is said love or will, since a man wills what he loves. This, then, is why man can be reformed only in freedom. But more on the subject of man's freedom may be seen in the Arcana Coelestia in the passages referred to below. 599. In order that man may be in freedom, to the end that he may be reformed, he is conjoined in respect to his spirit both with heaven and with hell. For with every man there are spirits from hell and angels from heaven. It is by means of hell that man is in his own evil, while it is by means of angels from heaven that man is in good from the Lord; thus is he in spiritual equilibrium, that is, in freedom. That angels from heaven and spirits from hell are joined to every man may be seen in the chapter on the conjunction of heaven with the human race (n. 291-302). 600. It must be understood that the conjunction of man with heaven and with hell is not a direct conjunction with them, but a mediate conjunction by means of spirits who are in the world of spirits. These spirits, and none from hell itself or from heaven itself, are with man. By means of evil spirits in the world of spirits man is conjoined with hell, and by means of good spirits there he is conjoined with heaven. Because of this the world of spirits is intermediate between heaven and hell, and in that world is equilibrium itself. (That the world of spirits is intermediate between heaven and hell may be seen in the chapter on the world of spirits, n. 421-431; and that the essential equilibrium between heaven and hell is there may be seen in the preceding chapter, n. 589-596.) From all this the source of man's freedom is evident. 601. Something more must be said about the spirits that are joined with man. An entire society can have communication with another society, or with an individual wherever he is; by means of a spirit sent forth from the society; this spirit is called the subject of the many. The same is true of man's conjunction with societies in heaven, and with societies in hell, by means of spirits from the world of spirits that are joined with man. (On this subject see also the Arcana Coelestia in the passages referred to below.) 602. Finally something must be said respecting man's intuition in regard to his life after death which is derived from the influx of heaven into man. There were some of the simple common people who had lived in the world in the good of faith who were brought back into a state like that in which they had been in the world, which can be done with any one when the Lord grants it; and it was then shown what opinion they had held about the state of man after death. They said that some intelligent persons had asked them in the world what they thought about their soul after the life on earth; and they replied that they did not know what the soul is. They were then asked what they believed about their state after death; and they said that they believed that they would live as spirits. Again they were asked what belief they had respecting a spirit; and they said that he is a man. They were asked how they knew this; and they said that they knew it because it is so. Those intelligent men were surprised that the simple had such a faith, which they themselves did not have. This is a proof that in every man who is in conjunction with heaven there is an intuition respecting his life after death. This intuition is from no other source than an influx out of heaven, that is, through heaven from the Lord by means of spirits from the world of spirits who are joined with man. This intuition those have who have not extinguished their freedom of thinking by notions previously adopted and confirmed by various arguments respecting the soul of man, which is held to be either pure thought, or some vital principle the seat of which is sought for in the body; and yet the soul is nothing but the life of man, while the spirit is the man himself; and the earthly body which he carries about with him in the world is merely an agent whereby the spirit, which is the man himself, is enabled to act fitly in the natural world. 603. What has been said in this work about heaven, the world of spirits, and hell, will be obscure to those who have no interest in learning about spiritual truths, but will be clear to those who have such an interest, and especially to those who have an affection for truth for the sake of truth, that is, who love truth because it is truth; for whatever is then loved enters with light into the mind's thought, especially truth that is loved, because all truth is in light. EXTRACTS FROM THE ARCANA COELESTIA RESPECTING THE FREEDOM OF MAN, INFLUX, AND THE SPIRITS THROUGH WHOM COMMUNICATIONS ARE EFFECTED. FREEDOM. All freedom pertains to love or affection, since whatever a man loves he does freely (n. 2870, 3158, 8987, 8990, 9585, 9591). Since freedom pertains to love it is the life of everyone (n. 2873). Nothing appears to be man's own except what is from freedom (n. 2880). There is heavenly freedom and infernal freedom (n. 2870, 2873, 2874, 9589, 9590). [2] Heavenly freedom pertains to heavenly love, or the love of good and truth (n. 1947, 2870, 2872). And as the love of good and truth is from the Lord freedom itself consists in being led by the Lord (n. 892, 905, 2872, 2886, 2890-2892, 9096, 9586, 9587, 9589-9591). Man is led into heavenly freedom by the Lord through regeneration (n. 2874, 2875, 2882, 2892). Man must have freedom in order to be regenerated (n. 1937, 1947, 2876, 2881, 3145, 3146, 3158, 4031, 8700). In no other way can the love of good and truth be implanted in man, and appropriated by him seemingly as his own (n. 2877, 2879, 2880, 2888). Nothing is conjoined to man in a state of compulsion (n. 2875, 8700). If man could be reformed by compulsion all would be saved (n. 2881). In reformation compulsion is harmful (n. 4031). All worship from freedom is worship, but worship from compulsion is not worship (n. 1947, 2880, 7349, 10097). Repentance must be effected in a free state, and repentance effected in a state of compulsion is of no avail (n. 8392). States of compulsion, what they are (n. 8392). [3] It is granted to man to act from the freedom of reason, to the end that good may be provided for him, and this is why man has the freedom to think and will even what is evil, and to do it so far as the laws do not forbid (n. 10777). Man is kept by the Lord between heaven and hell, and thus in equilibrium, that he may be in freedom for the sake of reformation (n. 5982, 6477, 8209, 8987). What is implanted in freedom endures, but not what is implanted under compulsion (n. 9588). For this reason no one is ever deprived of his freedom (n. 2876, 2881). The Lord compels no one (n. 1937, 1947). Compelling one's self is from freedom, but not being compelled (n. 1937, 1947). A man ought to compel himself to resist evil (n. 1937, 1947, 7914). Also to do good as if from himself, and yet to acknowledge that it is from the Lord (n. 2883, 2891, 2892, 7914). Man has a stronger freedom in the temptation combats in which he conquers, since he then compels himself more interiorly to resist, although it appears otherwise (n. 1937, 1947, 2881). [4] Infernal freedom consists in being led by the loves of self and of the world and their lusts (n. 2870, 2873). Those who are in hell know no other freedom (n. 2871). Heavenly freedom is as far removed from infernal freedom as heaven is from hell (n. 2873, 2874). Infernal freedom, which consists in being led by the loves of self and of the world, is not freedom but servitude (n. 2884, 2890). For servitude is in being led by hell (n. 9586, 9589-9591). INFLUX. [5] All things that man thinks and wills flow into him from experience (n. 904, 2886-2888, 4151, 4319, 4320, 5846, 5848, 6189, 6191, 6194, 6197-6199, 6213, 7147, 10219). Man's capacity to give attention to subjects, to think, and to draw conclusions analytically, is from influx (n. 4319, 4320, 5288). Man could not live a single moment if influx from the spiritual world were taken away from him; from experience (n. 2887, 5849, 5854, 6321). The life that flows in from the Lord varies in accordance with the state of man and in accordance with reception (n. 2069, 5986, 6472, 7343). With those who are evil the good that flows in from the Lord is changed into evil, and the truth into falsity; from experience (n. 3642, 4632). The good and truth that continually flow in from the Lord are received just to the extent that they are not hindered by evil and falsity (n. 2411, 3142, 3147, 5828). [6] All good flows in from the Lord, and all evil from hell (n. 904, 4151). At the present day man believes that all things are in himself and are from himself, when in fact they flow in; and this he might know from the doctrine of the church, which teaches that all good is from God, and all evil from the devil (n. 4249, 6193, 6206). But if man's belief were in accord with this doctrine he would not appropriate evil to himself nor would he make good to be his own (n. 6206, 6324, 6325). How happy man's state would be if he believed that all good flows in from the Lord and all evil from hell. (n. 6325). Those who deny heaven or who know nothing about it do not know that there is any influx from heaven (n. 4322, 5649, 6193, 6479). What influx is, illustrated by comparisons (n. 6128, 6190, 9407). [7] Everything of life flows in from the first fountain of life, because that is the source of it; and it continually flows in thus everything of life is from the Lord (n. 3001, 3318, 3337, 3338, 3344, 3484, 3619, 3741-3743, 4318-4320, 4417, 4524, 4882, 5847, 5986, 6325, 6468-6470, 6479, 9276, 10196). Influx is spiritual and not physical, that is, influx is from the spiritual world into the natural, and not from the natural into the spiritual (n. 3219, 5119, 5259, 5427, 5428, 5477, 6322, 9110). Influx is through the internal man into the external, or through the spirit into the body, and not the reverse, because the spirit of man is in the spiritual world, and his body in the natural (n. 1702, 1707, 1940, 1954, 5119, 5259, 5779, 6322, 9380). The internal man is in the spiritual world and the external in the natural world (n. 978, 1015, 3628, 4459, 4523, 4524, 6057, 6309, 9701-9709, 10156, 10472). There is an appearance that there is an influx from the externals of man into internals, but this is a fallacy (n. 3721). With man there is influx into things rational, and through these into knowledges, and not the reverse (n. 1495, 1707, 1940). What the order of influx is (n. 775, 880, 1096, 1495, 7270). There is direct influx from the Lord, and likewise mediate influx through the spiritual world or heaven (n. 6063, 6307, 6472, 9682, 9683). The Lord's influx is into the good in man, and through good into truth, and not the reverse (n. 5482, 5649, 6027, 8685, 8701, 10153). Good gives the capacity to receive influx from the Lord, but truth without good does not (n. 8321). Nothing that flows into the thought is harmful, but only what flows into the will, since this is what is appropriated to man (n. 6308). [8] There is a general influx (n. 5850). This is a continual effort to act in accordance with order (n. 6211). This influx is into the lives of animals (n. 5850). Also into the subjects of the vegetable kingdom (n. 3648). It is in accord with this general influx that thought falls into speech with man, and will into acts and movements (n. 5862, 5990, 6192, 6211). SUBJECT SPIRITS. [9] Spirits sent forth from societies of spirits to other societies and to other spirits, are called "subjects" (n. 4403, 5856). Communications in the other life are effected by means of such emissary spirits (n. 4403, 5856, 5983). A spirit sent forth to serve as a subject does not think from himself, but thinks from those by whom he is sent forth (n. 5985-5987). Many particulars relating to such spirits (n. 5988, 5989). 
8789	----	THE VISION OF HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE BY DANTE ALIGHIERI TRANSLATED BY THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A. HELL Cantos 1 - 34 CANTO I IN the midway of this our mortal life, I found me in a gloomy wood, astray Gone from the path direct: and e'en to tell It were no easy task, how savage wild That forest, how robust and rough its growth, Which to remember only, my dismay Renews, in bitterness not far from death. Yet to discourse of what there good befell, All else will I relate discover'd there. How first I enter'd it I scarce can say, Such sleepy dullness in that instant weigh'd My senses down, when the true path I left, But when a mountain's foot I reach'd, where clos'd The valley, that had pierc'd my heart with dread, I look'd aloft, and saw his shoulders broad Already vested with that planet's beam, Who leads all wanderers safe through every way. Then was a little respite to the fear, That in my heart's recesses deep had lain, All of that night, so pitifully pass'd: And as a man, with difficult short breath, Forespent with toiling, 'scap'd from sea to shore, Turns to the perilous wide waste, and stands At gaze; e'en so my spirit, that yet fail'd Struggling with terror, turn'd to view the straits, That none hath pass'd and liv'd. My weary frame After short pause recomforted, again I journey'd on over that lonely steep, The hinder foot still firmer. Scarce the ascent Began, when, lo! a panther, nimble, light, And cover'd with a speckled skin, appear'd, Nor, when it saw me, vanish'd, rather strove To check my onward going; that ofttimes With purpose to retrace my steps I turn'd. The hour was morning's prime, and on his way Aloft the sun ascended with those stars, That with him rose, when Love divine first mov'd Those its fair works: so that with joyous hope All things conspir'd to fill me, the gay skin Of that swift animal, the matin dawn And the sweet season. Soon that joy was chas'd, And by new dread succeeded, when in view A lion came, 'gainst me, as it appear'd, With his head held aloft and hunger-mad, That e'en the air was fear-struck. A she-wolf Was at his heels, who in her leanness seem'd Full of all wants, and many a land hath made Disconsolate ere now. She with such fear O'erwhelmed me, at the sight of her appall'd, That of the height all hope I lost. As one, Who with his gain elated, sees the time When all unwares is gone, he inwardly Mourns with heart-griping anguish; such was I, Haunted by that fell beast, never at peace, Who coming o'er against me, by degrees Impell'd me where the sun in silence rests. While to the lower space with backward step I fell, my ken discern'd the form one of one, Whose voice seem'd faint through long disuse of speech. When him in that great desert I espied, "Have mercy on me!" cried I out aloud, "Spirit! or living man! what e'er thou be!" He answer'd: "Now not man, man once I was, And born of Lombard parents, Mantuana both By country, when the power of Julius yet Was scarcely firm. At Rome my life was past Beneath the mild Augustus, in the time Of fabled deities and false. A bard Was I, and made Anchises' upright son The subject of my song, who came from Troy, When the flames prey'd on Ilium's haughty towers. But thou, say wherefore to such perils past Return'st thou? wherefore not this pleasant mount Ascendest, cause and source of all delight?" "And art thou then that Virgil, that well-spring, From which such copious floods of eloquence Have issued?" I with front abash'd replied. "Glory and light of all the tuneful train! May it avail me that I long with zeal Have sought thy volume, and with love immense Have conn'd it o'er. My master thou and guide! Thou he from whom alone I have deriv'd That style, which for its beauty into fame Exalts me. See the beast, from whom I fled. O save me from her, thou illustrious sage!" "For every vein and pulse throughout my frame She hath made tremble." He, soon as he saw That I was weeping, answer'd, "Thou must needs Another way pursue, if thou wouldst 'scape From out that savage wilderness. This beast, At whom thou criest, her way will suffer none To pass, and no less hindrance makes than death: So bad and so accursed in her kind, That never sated is her ravenous will, Still after food more craving than before. To many an animal in wedlock vile She fastens, and shall yet to many more, Until that greyhound come, who shall destroy Her with sharp pain. He will not life support By earth nor its base metals, but by love, Wisdom, and virtue, and his land shall be The land 'twixt either Feltro. In his might Shall safety to Italia's plains arise, For whose fair realm, Camilla, virgin pure, Nisus, Euryalus, and Turnus fell. He with incessant chase through every town Shall worry, until he to hell at length 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 than 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 escape) to lead me, where thou saidst, That I Saint Peter's gate may view, and those Who as thou tell'st, are in such dismal plight." Onward he mov'd, I close his steps pursu'd. CANTO II NOW was the day departing, and the air, Imbrown'd with shadows, from their toils releas'd All animals on earth; and I alone Prepar'd myself the conflict to sustain, Both of sad pity, and that perilous road, Which my unerring memory shall retrace. O Muses! O high genius! now vouchsafe Your aid! O mind! that all I saw hast kept Safe in a written record, here thy worth And eminent endowments come to proof. I thus began: "Bard! thou who art my guide, Consider well, if virtue be in me Sufficient, ere to this high enterprise Thou trust me. Thou hast told that Silvius' sire, Yet cloth'd in corruptible flesh, among Th' immortal tribes had entrance, and was there Sensible present. Yet if heaven's great Lord, Almighty foe to ill, such favour shew'd, In contemplation of the high effect, Both what and who from him should issue forth, It seems in reason's judgment well deserv'd: Sith he of Rome, and of Rome's empire wide, In heaven's empyreal height was chosen sire: Both which, if truth be spoken, were ordain'd And 'stablish'd for the holy place, where sits Who to great Peter's sacred chair succeeds. He from this journey, in thy song renown'd, Learn'd things, that to his victory gave rise And to the papal robe. In after-times The chosen vessel also travel'd there, To bring us back assurance in that faith, Which is the entrance to salvation's way. But I, why should I there presume? or who Permits it? not Aeneas I nor Paul. Myself I deem not worthy, and none else Will deem me. I, if on this voyage then I venture, fear it will in folly end. Thou, who art wise, better my meaning know'st, Than I can speak." As one, who unresolves What he hath late resolv'd, and with new thoughts Changes his purpose, from his first intent Remov'd; e'en such was I on that dun coast, Wasting in thought my enterprise, at first So eagerly embrac'd. "If right thy words I scan," replied that shade magnanimous, "Thy soul is by vile fear assail'd, which oft So overcasts a man, that he recoils From noblest resolution, like a beast At some false semblance in the twilight gloom. That from this terror thou mayst free thyself, I will instruct thee why I came, and what I heard in that same instant, when for thee Grief touch'd me first. I was among the tribe, Who rest suspended, when a dame, so blest And lovely, I besought her to command, Call'd me; her eyes were brighter than the star Of day; and she with gentle voice and soft Angelically tun'd her speech address'd: "O courteous shade of Mantua! thou whose fame Yet lives, and shall live long as nature lasts! A friend, not of my fortune but myself, On the wide desert in his road has met Hindrance so great, that he through fear has turn'd. Now much I dread lest he past help have stray'd, And I be ris'n too late for his relief, From what in heaven of him I heard. Speed now, And by thy eloquent persuasive tongue, And by all means for his deliverance meet, Assist him. So to me will comfort spring. I who now bid thee on this errand forth Am Beatrice; from a place I come (Note: Beatrice. I use this word, as it is pronounced in the Italian, as consisting of four syllables, of which the third is a long one.) Revisited with joy. Love brought me thence, Who prompts my speech. When in my Master's sight I stand, thy praise to him I oft will tell." She then was silent, and I thus began: "O Lady! by whose influence alone, Mankind excels whatever is contain'd Within that heaven which hath the smallest orb, So thy command delights me, that to obey, If it were done already, would seem late. No need hast thou farther to speak thy will; Yet tell the reason, why thou art not loth To leave that ample space, where to return Thou burnest, for this centre here beneath." She then: "Since thou so deeply wouldst inquire, I will instruct thee briefly, why no dread Hinders my entrance here. Those things alone Are to be fear'd, whence evil may proceed, None else, for none are terrible beside. I am so fram'd by God, thanks to his grace! That any suff'rance of your misery Touches me not, nor flame of that fierce fire Assails me. In high heaven a blessed dame Besides, who mourns with such effectual grief That hindrance, which I send thee to remove, That God's stern judgment to her will inclines." To Lucia calling, her she thus bespake: "Now doth thy faithful servant need thy aid And I commend him to thee." At her word Sped Lucia, of all cruelty the foe, And coming to the place, where I abode Seated with Rachel, her of ancient days, She thus address'd me: "Thou true praise of God! Beatrice! why is not thy succour lent To him, who so much lov'd thee, as to leave For thy sake all the multitude admires? Dost thou not hear how pitiful his wail, Nor mark the death, which in the torrent flood, Swoln mightier than a sea, him struggling holds?" "Ne'er among men did any with such speed Haste to their profit, flee from their annoy, As when these words were spoken, I came here, Down from my blessed seat, trusting the force Of thy pure eloquence, which thee, and all Who well have mark'd it, into honour brings." "When she had ended, her bright beaming eyes Tearful she turn'd aside; whereat I felt Redoubled zeal to serve thee. As she will'd, Thus am I come: I sav'd thee from the beast, Who thy near way across the goodly mount Prevented. What is this comes o'er thee then? Why, why dost thou hang back? why in thy breast Harbour vile fear? why hast not courage there And noble daring? Since three maids so blest Thy safety plan, e'en in the court of heaven; And so much certain good my words forebode." As florets, by the frosty air of night Bent down and clos'd, when day has blanch'd their leaves, Rise all unfolded on their spiry stems; So was my fainting vigour new restor'd, And to my heart such kindly courage ran, That I as one undaunted soon replied: "O full of pity she, who undertook My succour! and thou kind who didst perform So soon her true behest! With such desire Thou hast dispos'd me to renew my voyage, That my first purpose fully is resum'd. Lead on: one only will is in us both. Thou art my guide, my master thou, and lord." So spake I; and when he had onward mov'd, I enter'd on the deep and woody way. CANTO III "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 mov'd: To rear me was the task of power divine, Supremest wisdom, and primeval love. Before me things create were none, save things Eternal, and eternal I endure. "All hope abandon ye who enter here." Such characters in colour dim I mark'd Over a portal's lofty arch inscrib'd: Whereat I thus: "Master, these words import Hard meaning." He as one prepar'd replied: "Here thou must all distrust behind thee leave; Here be vile fear extinguish'd. We are come Where I have told thee we shall see the souls To misery doom'd, who intellectual good Have lost." And when his hand he had stretch'd forth To 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 pierc'd 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 for ever whirls Round through that air with solid darkness stain'd, Like to the sand that in the whirlwind flies. I then, with error yet encompass'd, cried: "O master! What is this I hear? What race Are these, who seem so overcome with woe?" He thus to me: "This miserable fate Suffer the wretched souls of those, who liv'd Without or praise or blame, with that ill band Of angels mix'd, who nor rebellious prov'd Nor yet were true to God, but for themselves Were only. From his bounds Heaven drove them forth, Not to impair his lustre, nor the depth Of Hell receives them, lest th' accursed tribe Should 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 death No hope may entertain: and their blind life So meanly passes, that all other lots They 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 came Such a long train of spirits, I should ne'er Have thought, that death so many had despoil'd. When some of these I recogniz'd, I saw And knew the shade of him, who to base fear Yielding, abjur'd his high estate. Forthwith I understood for certain this the tribe Of those ill spirits both to God displeasing And to his foes. These wretches, who ne'er lived, Went on in nakedness, and sorely stung By wasps and hornets, which bedew'd their cheeks With blood, that mix'd with tears dropp'd to their feet, And by disgustful worms was gather'd there. Then looking farther onwards I beheld A throng upon the shore of a great stream: Whereat I thus: "Sir! grant me now to know Whom here we view, and whence impell'd they seem So eager to pass o'er, as I discern Through the blear light?" He thus to me in few: "This shalt thou know, soon as our steps arrive Beside the woeful 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 speech Abstain'd. And lo! toward us in a bark Comes on an old man hoary white with eld, Crying, "Woe to you wicked spirits! hope not Ever to see the sky again. I come To take you to the other shore across, Into eternal darkness, there to dwell In fierce heat and in ice. And thou, who there Standest, live spirit! get thee hence, and leave These who are dead." But soon as he beheld I left them not, "By other way," said he, "By other haven shalt thou come to shore, Not by this passage; thee a nimbler boat Must carry." Then to him thus spake my guide: "Charon! thyself torment not: so 't is will'd, Where will and power are one: ask thou no more." Straightway in silence fell the shaggy cheeks Of him the boatman o'er the livid lake, Around whose eyes glar'd wheeling flames. Meanwhile Those spirits, faint and naked, color chang'd, And gnash'd their teeth, soon as the cruel words They heard. God and their parents they blasphem'd, The human kind, the place, the time, and seed That did engender them and give them birth. Then all together sorely wailing drew To the curs'd strand, that every man must pass Who fears not God. Charon, demoniac form, With eyes of burning coal, collects them all, Beck'ning, and each, that lingers, with his oar Strikes. As fall off the light autumnal leaves, One still another following, till the bough Strews all its honours on the earth beneath; E'en in like manner Adam's evil brood Cast themselves one by one down from the shore, Each at a beck, as falcon at his call. Thus go they over through the umber'd wave, And ever they on the opposing bank Be landed, on this side another throng Still gathers. "Son," thus spake the courteous guide, "Those, who die subject to the wrath of God, All here together come from every clime, And to o'erpass the river are not loth: For so heaven's justice goads them on, that fear Is turn'd into desire. Hence ne'er hath past Good spirit. If of thee Charon complain, Now mayst thou know the import of his words." This said, the gloomy region trembling shook So terribly, that yet with clammy dews Fear chills my brow. The sad earth gave a blast, That, lightening, shot forth a vermilion flame, Which all my senses conquer'd quite, and I Down dropp'd, as one with sudden slumber seiz'd. CANTO IV BROKE the deep slumber in my brain a crash Of heavy thunder, that I shook myself, As one by main force rous'd. Risen upright, My rested eyes I mov'd around, and search'd With fixed ken to know what place it was, Wherein I stood. For certain on the brink I found me of the lamentable vale, The dread abyss, that joins a thund'rous sound Of plaints innumerable. Dark and deep, And thick with clouds o'erspread, mine eye in vain Explor'd its bottom, nor could aught discern. "Now let us to the blind world there beneath Descend;" 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 below With pity stains my cheek, which thou for fear Mistakest. Let us on. Our length of way Urges to haste." Onward, this said, he mov'd; And ent'ring led me with him on the bounds Of the first circle, that surrounds th' abyss. Here, as mine ear could note, no plaint was heard Except of sighs, that made th' eternal air Tremble, not caus'd by tortures, but from grief Felt by those multitudes, many and vast, Of men, women, and infants. Then to me The gentle guide: "Inquir'st thou not what spirits Are these, which thou beholdest? Ere thou pass Farther, I would thou know, that these of sin Were blameless; and if aught they merited, It profits not, since baptism was not theirs, The portal to thy faith. If they before The Gospel liv'd, they serv'd 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 live Desiring without hope." So grief assail'd My heart at hearing this, for well I knew Suspended in that Limbo many a soul Of mighty worth. "O tell me, sire rever'd! Tell me, my master!" I began through wish Of full assurance in that holy faith, Which vanquishes all error; "say, did e'er Any, or through his own or other's merit, Come forth from thence, whom afterward was blest?" Piercing the secret purport of my speech, He answer'd: "I was new to that estate, When I beheld a puissant one arrive Amongst 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 approv'd, 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 bliss Exalted. Before these, be thou assur'd, No spirit of human kind was ever sav'd." We, while he spake, ceas'd not our onward road, Still passing through the wood; for so I name Those spirits thick beset. We were not far On this side from the summit, when I kenn'd A flame, that o'er the darken'd hemisphere Prevailing shin'd. Yet we a little space Were distant, not so far but I in part Discover'd, that a tribe in honour high That place possess'd. "O thou, who every art And science valu'st! who are these, that boast Such honour, separate from all the rest?" He answer'd: "The renown of their great names That echoes through your world above, acquires Favour in heaven, which holds them thus advanc'd." Meantime a voice I heard: "Honour the bard Sublime! his shade returns that left us late!" No sooner ceas'd the sound, than I beheld Four 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 school Of him the monarch of sublimest song, That o'er the others like an eagle soars. When they together short discourse had held, They turn'd to me, with salutation kind Beck'ning me; at the which my master smil'd: Nor was this all; but greater honour still They 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 well To speak, now fitter left untold. At foot Of a magnificent castle we arriv'd, Seven times with lofty walls begirt, and round Defended by a pleasant stream. O'er this As o'er dry land we pass'd. Next through seven gates I with those sages enter'd, and we came Into a mead with lively verdure fresh. There dwelt a race, who slow their eyes around Majestically mov'd, and in their port Bore eminent authority; they spake Seldom, but all their words were tuneful sweet. We to one side retir'd, into a place Open and bright and lofty, whence each one Stood manifest to view. Incontinent There on the green enamel of the plain Were shown me the great spirits, by whose sight I am exalted in my own esteem. Electra there I saw accompanied By many, among whom Hector I knew, Anchises' pious son, and with hawk's eye Caesar all arm'd, and by Camilla there Penthesilea. On the other side Old King Latinus, seated by his child Lavinia, and that Brutus I beheld, Who Tarquin chas'd, Lucretia, Cato's wife Marcia, with Julia and Cornelia there; And sole apart retir'd, the Soldan fierce. Then when a little more I rais'd my brow, I spied the master of the sapient throng, Seated amid the philosophic train. Him all admire, all pay him rev'rence due. There Socrates and Plato both I mark'd, Nearest to him in rank; Democritus, Who sets the world at chance, Diogenes, With Heraclitus, and Empedocles, And Anaxagoras, and Thales sage, Zeno, and Dioscorides well read In nature's secret lore. Orpheus I mark'd And Linus, Tully and moral Seneca, Euclid and Ptolemy, Hippocrates, Galenus, Avicen, and him who made That commentary vast, Averroes. Of all to speak at full were vain attempt; For my wide theme so urges, that ofttimes My words fall short of what bechanc'd. In two The six associates part. Another way My 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. CANTO V 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 Who enter, strict examining the crimes, Gives sentence, and dismisses them beneath, According as he foldeth him around: For when before him comes th' ill fated soul, It all confesses; and that judge severe 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 num'rous throng; and in his turn 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, "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 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 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, 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 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 Is none, nor e'en of milder pang. As cranes, Chanting their dol'rous 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 Are these, by the black air so scourg'd?"--"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 promulg'd decree, To clear the blame she had herself incurr'd. This is Semiramis, of whom 'tis writ, That she succeeded Ninus her espous'd; And held the land, which now the Soldan rules. The next in amorous fury slew herself, And to Sicheus' 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. Paris I saw, and Tristan; and beside A thousand more he show'd me, and by name Pointed them out, whom love bereav'd of life. When I had heard my sage instructor name Those dames and knights of antique days, o'erpower'd 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." "Then by that love which carries them along, Entreat; and they will come." Soon as the wind Sway'd them toward us, I thus fram'd my speech: "O wearied spirits! come, and hold discourse With us, if by none else restrain'd." As doves By fond desire invited, on wide wings And firm, to their sweet nest returning home, Cleave the air, wafted by their will along; Thus issu'd from that troop, where Dido ranks, They through the ill air speeding; with such force My cry prevail'd by strong affection urg'd. "O gracious creature and benign! who go'st Visiting, through this element obscure, Us, who the world with bloody stain imbru'd; If for a friend the King of all we own'd, Our pray'r to him should for thy peace arise, Since thou hast pity on our evil plight. ()f 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, As now, is mute. The land, 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 Ta'en in such cruel sort, as grieves me still: Love, that denial takes from none belov'd, Caught me with pleasing him so passing well, That, as thou see'st, he yet deserts me not. "Love brought us to one death: Caina waits 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 pond'ring?" I in answer thus: "Alas! by what sweet thoughts, what fond desire Must they at length to that ill pass have reach'd!" Then turning, I to them my speech address'd. And thus began: "Francesca! your sad fate Even to tears my grief and pity moves. But tell me; in the time of your sweet sighs, 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 mis'ry is at hand! That kens Thy learn'd instructor. Yet so eagerly 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, How him love thrall'd. Alone we were, and no Suspicion near us. Ofttimes 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, rapturously kiss'd 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, The other wail'd so sorely, that heartstruck I through compassion fainting, seem'd not far From death, and like a corpse fell to the ground. CANTO VI MY sense reviving, that erewhile had droop'd With pity for the kindred shades, whence grief O'ercame me wholly, straight around I see New torments, new tormented souls, which way Soe'er I move, or turn, or bend my sight. In the third circle I arrive, of show'rs Ceaseless, accursed, heavy, and cold, unchang'd For ever, both in kind and in degree. Large hail, discolour'd water, sleety flaw Through the dun midnight air stream'd down amain: Stank all the land whereon that tempest fell. Cerberus, cruel monster, fierce and strange, Through his wide threefold throat barks as a dog Over the multitude immers'd beneath. His eyes glare crimson, black his unctuous beard, His belly large, and claw'd the hands, with which He tears the spirits, flays them, and their limbs Piecemeal disparts. Howling there spread, as curs, Under the rainy deluge, with one side The other screening, oft they roll them round, A wretched, godless crew. When that great worm Descried us, savage Cerberus, he op'd His jaws, and the fangs show'd us; not a limb Of him but trembled. Then my guide, his palms Expanding on the ground, thence filled with earth Rais'd them, and cast it in his ravenous maw. E'en as a dog, that yelling bays for food His keeper, when the morsel comes, lets fall His fury, bent alone with eager haste To swallow it; so dropp'd the loathsome cheeks Of demon Cerberus, who thund'ring stuns The spirits, that they for deafness wish in vain. We, o'er the shades thrown prostrate by the brunt Of the heavy tempest passing, set our feet Upon their emptiness, that substance seem'd. They all along the earth extended lay Save one, that sudden rais'd himself to sit, Soon as that way he saw us pass. "O thou!" He cried, "who through the infernal shades art led, Own, if again thou know'st me. Thou wast fram'd Or ere my frame was broken." I replied: "The anguish thou endur'st perchance so takes Thy form from my remembrance, that it seems As if I saw thee never. But inform Me who thou art, that in a place so sad Art set, and in such torment, that although Other be greater, more disgustful none Can be imagin'd." He in answer thus: "Thy city heap'd with envy to the brim, Ay that the measure overflows its bounds, Held me in brighter days. Ye citizens Were wont to name me Ciacco. For the sin Of glutt'ny, damned vice, beneath this rain, E'en as thou see'st, I with fatigue am worn; Nor I sole spirit in this woe: all these Have by like crime incurr'd like punishment." No more he said, and I my speech resum'd: "Ciacco! thy dire affliction grieves me much, Even to tears. But tell me, if thou know'st, What shall at length befall the citizens Of the divided city; whether any just one Inhabit there: and tell me of the cause, Whence jarring discord hath assail'd it thus?" He then: "After long striving they will come To blood; and the wild party from the woods Will chase the other with much injury forth. Then it behoves, that this must fall, within Three solar circles; and the other rise By borrow'd force of one, who under shore Now rests. It shall a long space hold aloof Its forehead, keeping under heavy weight The other oppress'd, indignant at the load, And grieving sore. The just are two in number, But they neglected. Av'rice, envy, pride, Three fatal sparks, have set the hearts of all On fire." Here ceas'd the lamentable sound; And I continu'd thus: "Still would I learn More from thee, farther parley still entreat. Of Farinata and Tegghiaio say, They who so well deserv'd, of Giacopo, Arrigo, Mosca, and the rest, who bent Their minds on working good. Oh! tell me where They bide, and to their knowledge let me come. For I am press'd with keen desire to hear, If heaven's sweet cup or poisonous drug of hell Be to their lip assign'd." He answer'd straight: "These are yet blacker spirits. Various crimes Have sunk them deeper in the dark abyss. If thou so far descendest, thou mayst see them. But to the pleasant world when thou return'st, Of me make mention, I entreat thee, there. No more I tell thee, answer thee no more." This said, his fixed eyes he turn'd askance, A little ey'd me, then bent down his head, And 'midst his blind companions with it fell. When thus my guide: "No more his bed he leaves, Ere the last angel-trumpet blow. The Power Adverse to these shall then in glory come, Each one forthwith to his sad tomb repair, Resume his fleshly vesture and his form, And hear the eternal doom re-echoing rend The vault." So pass'd we through that mixture foul Of spirits and rain, with tardy steps; meanwhile Touching, though slightly, on the life to come. For thus I question'd: "Shall these tortures, Sir! When the great sentence passes, be increas'd, Or mitigated, or as now severe?" He then: "Consult thy knowledge; that decides That as each thing to more perfection grows, It feels more sensibly both good and pain. Though ne'er to true perfection may arrive This race accurs'd, yet nearer then than now They shall approach it." Compassing that path Circuitous we journeyed, and discourse Much more than I relate between us pass'd: Till at the point, where the steps led below, Arriv'd, there Plutus, the great foe, we found. CANTO VII "AH me! O Satan! Satan!" loud exclaim'd Plutus, in accent hoarse of wild alarm: And the kind sage, whom no event surpris'd, To comfort me thus spake: "Let not thy fear Harm thee, for power in him, be sure, is none To hinder down this rock thy safe descent." Then to that sworn lip turning, "Peace!" he cried, "Curs'd wolf! thy fury inward on thyself Prey, and consume thee! Through the dark profound Not without cause he passes. So 't is will'd On high, there where the great Archangel pour'd Heav'n's vengeance on the first adulterer proud." As sails full spread and bellying with the wind Drop suddenly collaps'd, if the mast split; So to the ground down dropp'd the cruel fiend. Thus we, descending to the fourth steep ledge, Gain'd on the dismal shore, that all the woe Hems in of all the universe. Ah me! Almighty Justice! in what store thou heap'st New pains, new troubles, as I here beheld! Wherefore doth fault of ours bring us to this? E'en as a billow, on Charybdis rising, Against encounter'd billow dashing breaks; Such is the dance this wretched race must lead, Whom more than elsewhere numerous here I found, From one side and the other, with loud voice, Both roll'd on weights by main forge of their breasts, Then smote together, and each one forthwith Roll'd them back voluble, turning again, Exclaiming these, "Why holdest thou so fast?" Those answering, "And why castest thou away?" So still repeating their despiteful song, They to the opposite point on either hand Travers'd the horrid circle: then arriv'd, Both turn'd them round, and through the middle space Conflicting met again. At sight whereof I, stung with grief, thus spake: "O say, my guide! What race is this? Were these, whose heads are shorn, On our left hand, all sep'rate to the church?" He straight replied: "In their first life these all In mind were so distorted, that they made, According to due measure, of their wealth, No use. This clearly from their words collect, Which they howl forth, at each extremity Arriving of the circle, where their crime Contrary in kind disparts them. To the church Were separate those, that with no hairy cowls Are crown'd, both Popes and Cardinals, o'er whom Av'rice dominion absolute maintains." I then: "Mid such as these some needs must be, Whom I shall recognize, that with the blot Of these foul sins were stain'd." He answering thus: "Vain thought conceiv'st thou. That ignoble life, Which made them vile before, now makes them dark, And to all knowledge indiscernible. Forever they shall meet in this rude shock: These from the tomb with clenched grasp shall rise, Those with close-shaven locks. That ill they gave, And ill they kept, hath of the beauteous world Depriv'd, and set them at this strife, which needs No labour'd phrase of mine to set it off. Now may'st thou see, my son! how brief, how vain, The goods committed into fortune's hands, For which the human race keep such a coil! Not all the gold, that is beneath the moon, Or ever hath been, of these toil-worn souls Might purchase rest for one." I thus rejoin'd: "My guide! of thee this also would I learn; This fortune, that thou speak'st of, what it is, Whose talons grasp the blessings of the world?" He thus: "O beings blind! what ignorance Besets you? Now my judgment hear and mark. He, whose transcendent wisdom passes all, The heavens creating, gave them ruling powers To guide them, so that each part shines to each, Their light in equal distribution pour'd. By similar appointment he ordain'd Over the world's bright images to rule Superintendence of a guiding hand And general minister, which at due time May change the empty vantages of life From race to race, from one to other's blood, Beyond prevention of man's wisest care: Wherefore one nation rises into sway, Another languishes, e'en as her will Decrees, from us conceal'd, as in the grass The serpent train. Against her nought avails Your utmost wisdom. She with foresight plans, Judges, and carries on her reign, as theirs The other powers divine. Her changes know None intermission: by necessity She is made swift, so frequent come who claim Succession in her favours. This is she, So execrated e'en by those, whose debt To her is rather praise; they wrongfully With blame requite her, and with evil word; But she is blessed, and for that recks not: Amidst the other primal beings glad Rolls on her sphere, and in her bliss exults. Now on our way pass we, to heavier woe Descending: for each star is falling now, That mounted at our entrance, and forbids Too long our tarrying." We the circle cross'd To the next steep, arriving at a well, That boiling pours itself down to a foss Sluic'd from its source. Far murkier was the wave Than sablest grain: and we in company Of the inky waters, journeying by their side, Enter'd, though by a different track, beneath. Into a lake, the Stygian nam'd, expands The dismal stream, when it hath reach'd the foot Of the grey wither'd cliffs. Intent I stood To gaze, and in the marish sunk descried A miry tribe, all naked, and with looks Betok'ning rage. They with their hands alone Struck not, but with the head, the breast, the feet, Cutting each other piecemeal with their fangs. The good instructor spake; "Now seest thou, son! The souls of those, whom anger overcame. This too for certain know, that underneath The water dwells a multitude, whose sighs Into these bubbles make the surface heave, As thine eye tells thee wheresoe'er it turn." Fix'd in the slime they say: "Sad once were we In the sweet air made gladsome by the sun, Carrying a foul and lazy mist within: Now in these murky settlings are we sad." Such dolorous strain they gurgle in their throats. But word distinct can utter none." Our route Thus compass'd we, a segment widely stretch'd Between the dry embankment, and the core Of the loath'd pool, turning meanwhile our eyes Downward on those who gulp'd its muddy lees; Nor stopp'd, till to a tower's low base we came. CANTO VIII MY theme pursuing, I relate that ere We reach'd the lofty turret's base, our eyes Its height ascended, where two cressets hung We mark'd, and from afar another light Return the signal, so remote, that scarce The eye could catch its beam. I turning round To the deep source of knowledge, thus inquir'd: "Say what this means? and what that other light In 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-gender'd 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 spied Toward us coming, under the sole sway Of one that ferried it, who cried aloud: "Art thou arriv'd, fell spirit?"--"Phlegyas, Phlegyas, This time thou criest in vain," my lord replied; "No longer shalt thou have us, but while o'er The slimy pool we pass." As one who hears Of some great wrong he hath sustain'd, whereat Inly he pines; so Phlegyas inly pin'd In his fierce ire. My guide descending stepp'd Into the skiff, and bade me enter next Close at his side; nor till my entrance seem'd The 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 thou 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, Curs'd spirit! tarry thou.g I know thee well, E'en thus in filth disguis'd." Then stretch'd he forth Hands to the bark; whereof my teacher sage Aware, thrusting him back: "Away! down there; "To the other dogs!" then, with his arms my neck Encircling, kiss'd my cheek, and spake: "O soul Justly disdainful! blest was she in whom Thou was conceiv'd! He in the world was one For arrogance noted; to his memory No virtue lends its lustre; even so Here 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 behold Whelm'd in these dregs, before we quit the lake." He thus: "Or ever to thy view the shore Be offer'd, satisfied shall be that wish, Which well deserves completion." Scarce his words Were ended, when I saw the miry tribes Set on him with such violence, that yet For that render I thanks to God and praise "To Filippo Argenti:" cried they all: And on himself the moody Florentine Turn'd his avenging fangs. Him here we left, Nor speak I of him more. But on mine ear Sudden a sound of lamentation smote, Whereat mine eye unbarr'd I sent abroad. And thus the good instructor: "Now, my son! Draws near the city, that of Dis is nam'd, 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 fire Had issu'd." He replied: "Eternal fire, That inward burns, shows them with ruddy flame Illum'd; as in this nether hell thou seest." We came within the fosses deep, that moat This region comfortless. The walls appear'd As they were fram'd of iron. We had made Wide circuit, ere a place we reach'd, where loud The mariner cried vehement: "Go forth! The entrance is here!" Upon the gates I spied More than a thousand, who of old from heaven Were hurl'd. With ireful gestures, "Who is this," They cried, "that without death first felt, goes through The regions of the dead?" My sapient guide Made sign that he for secret parley wish'd; Whereat their angry scorn abating, thus They 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 know it, let him prove. For thee, Here shalt thou tarry, who through clime so dark Hast been his escort." Now bethink thee, reader! What cheer was mine at sound of those curs'd words. I did believe I never should return. "O my lov'd guide! who more than seven times Security hast render'd me, and drawn From peril deep, whereto I stood expos'd, 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 none Hath power to disappoint us, by such high Authority permitted. But do thou Expect me here; meanwhile thy wearied spirit Comfort, and feed with kindly hope, assur'd I will not leave thee in this lower world." This said, departs the sire benevolent, And quits me. Hesitating I remain At 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 once To trial fled within. Clos'd were the gates By those our adversaries on the breast Of my liege lord: excluded he return'd To me with tardy steps. Upon the ground His eyes were bent, and from his brow eras'd All confidence, while thus with sighs he spake: "Who hath denied me these abodes of woe?" Then thus to me: "That I am anger'd, think No ground of terror: in this trial I Shall vanquish, use what arts they may within For hindrance. This their insolence, not new, Erewhile at gate less secret they display'd, Which still is without bolt; upon its arch Thou saw'st the deadly scroll: and even now On this side of its entrance, down the steep, Passing the circles, unescorted, comes One whose strong might can open us this land." CANTO IX THE hue, which coward dread on my pale cheeks Imprinted, when I saw my guide turn back, Chas'd that from his which newly they had worn, And inwardly restrain'd it. He, as one Who listens, stood attentive: for his eye Not far could lead him through the sable air, And the thick-gath'ring cloud. "It yet behooves We win this fight"--thus he began--"if not-- Such aid to us is offer'd.--Oh, how long Me seems it, ere the promis'd help arrive!" I noted, how the sequel of his words Clok'd their beginning; for the last he spake Agreed not with the first. But not the less My fear was at his saying; sith I drew To import worse perchance, than that he held, His mutilated speech. "Doth ever any Into this rueful concave's extreme depth Descend, out of the first degree, whose pain Is deprivation merely of sweet hope?" Thus I inquiring. "Rarely," he replied, "It chances, that among us any makes This journey, which I wend. Erewhile 'tis true Once came I here beneath, conjur'd by fell Erictho, sorceress, who compell'd the shades Back to their bodies. No long space my flesh Was naked of me, when within these walls She made me enter, to draw forth a spirit From out of Judas' circle. Lowest place Is that of all, obscurest, and remov'd Farthest from heav'n's all-circling orb. The road Full well I know: thou therefore rest secure. That lake, the noisome stench exhaling, round The city' of grief encompasses, which now We may not enter without rage." Yet more He added: but I hold it not in mind, For that mine eye toward the lofty tower Had drawn me wholly, to its burning top. Where in an instant I beheld uprisen At once three hellish furies stain'd with blood: In limb and motion feminine they seem'd; Around them greenest hydras twisting roll'd Their volumes; adders and cerastes crept Instead of hair, and their fierce temples bound. He knowing well the miserable hags Who tend the queen of endless woe, thus spake: "Mark thou each dire Erinnys. To the left This is Megaera; on the right hand she, Who wails, Alecto; and Tisiphone I' th' midst." This said, in silence he remain'd Their breast they each one clawing tore; themselves Smote with their palms, and such shrill clamour rais'd, That to the bard I clung, suspicion-bound. "Hasten Medusa: so to adamant Him shall we change;" all looking down exclaim'd. "E'en when by Theseus' might assail'd, we took No ill revenge." "Turn thyself round, and keep Thy count'nance hid; for if the Gorgon dire Be shown, and thou shouldst view it, thy return Upwards would be for ever lost." This said, Himself my gentle master turn'd me round, Nor trusted he my hands, but with his own He also hid me. Ye of intellect Sound and entire, mark well the lore conceal'd Under close texture of the mystic strain! And now there came o'er the perturbed waves Loud-crashing, terrible, a sound that made Either shore tremble, as if of a wind Impetuous, from conflicting vapours sprung, That 'gainst some forest driving all its might, Plucks off the branches, beats them down and hurls Afar; then onward passing proudly sweeps Its whirlwind rage, while beasts and shepherds fly. Mine eyes he loos'd, and spake: "And now direct Thy visual nerve along that ancient foam, There, thickest where the smoke ascends." As frogs Before their foe the serpent, through the wave Ply swiftly all, till at the ground each one Lies on a heap; more than a thousand spirits Destroy'd, so saw I fleeing before one Who 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 alone By that annoyance wearied. I perceiv'd That he was sent from heav'n, and to my guide Turn'd me, who signal made that I should stand Quiet, and bend to him. Ah me! how full Of noble anger seem'd he! To the gate He came, and with his wand touch'd it, whereat Open without impediment it flew. "Outcasts of heav'n! O abject race and scorn'd!" Began he on the horrid grunsel standing, "Whence doth this wild excess of insolence Lodge in you? wherefore kick you 'gainst that will Ne'er frustrate of its end, and which so oft Hath laid on you enforcement of your pangs? What profits at the fays to but the horn? Your Cerberus, if ye remember, hence Bears 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 wore The semblance of a man by other care Beset, and keenly press'd, than thought of him Who in his presence stands. Then we our steps Toward that territory mov'd, secure After the hallow'd words. We unoppos'd There enter'd; and my mind eager to learn What 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, Or as at Pola, 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 here Excell'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 issu'd lamentable moans, Such as the sad and tortur'd well might raise. I thus: "Master! say who are these, interr'd Within these vaults, of whom distinct we hear The dolorous sighs?" He answer thus return'd: "The arch-heretics are here, accompanied By every sect their followers; and much more, Than thou believest, tombs are freighted: like With like is buried; and the monuments Are different in degrees of heat." This said, He to the right hand turning, on we pass'd Betwixt the afflicted and the ramparts high. CANTO X NOW by a secret pathway we proceed, Between the walls, that hem the region round, And the tormented souls: my master first, I close behind his steps. "Virtue supreme!" I thus began; "who through these ample orbs In circuit lead'st me, even as thou will'st, Speak thou, and satisfy my wish. May those, Who lie within these sepulchres, be seen? Already all the lids are rais'd, and none O'er them keeps watch." He thus in answer spake "They shall be closed all, what-time they here From Josaphat return'd shall come, and bring Their bodies, which above they now have left. The cemetery on this part obtain With Epicurus all his followers, Who with the body make the spirit die. Here therefore satisfaction shall be soon Both to the question ask'd, and to the wish, Which thou conceal'st in silence." I replied: "I keep not, guide belov'd! from thee my heart Secreted, but to shun vain length of words, A lesson erewhile taught me by thyself." "O Tuscan! thou who through the city of fire Alive art passing, so discreet of speech! Here please thee stay awhile. Thy utterance Declares the place of thy nativity To be that noble land, with which perchance I too severely dealt." Sudden that sound Forth issu'd from a vault, whereat in fear I somewhat closer to my leader's side Approaching, he thus spake: "What dost thou? Turn. Lo, Farinata, there! who hath himself Uplifted: from his girdle upwards all Expos'd behold him." On his face was mine Already fix'd; his breast and forehead there Erecting, seem'd as in high scorn he held E'en hell. Between the sepulchres to him My guide thrust me with fearless hands and prompt, This warning added: "See thy words be clear!" He, soon as there I stood at the tomb's foot, Ey'd me a space, then in disdainful mood Address'd me: "Say, what ancestors were thine?" I, willing to obey him, straight reveal'd The whole, nor kept back aught: whence he, his brow Somewhat uplifting, cried: "Fiercely were they Adverse to me, my party, and the blood From whence I sprang: twice therefore I abroad Scatter'd them." "Though driv'n out, yet they each time From all parts," answer'd I, "return'd; an art Which yours have shown, they are not skill'd to learn." Then, peering forth from the unclosed jaw, Rose from his side a shade, high as the chin, Leaning, methought, upon its knees uprais'd. It look'd around, as eager to explore If there were other with me; but perceiving That fond imagination quench'd, with tears Thus spake: "If thou through this blind prison go'st. Led by thy lofty genius and profound, Where is my son? and wherefore not with thee?" I straight replied: "Not of myself I come, By him, who there expects me, through this clime Conducted, whom perchance Guido thy son Had in contempt." Already had his words And mode of punishment read me his name, Whence I so fully answer'd. He at once Exclaim'd, up starting, "How! said'st thou he HAD? No longer lives he? Strikes not on his eye The blessed daylight?" Then of some delay I made ere my reply aware, down fell Supine, not after forth appear'd he more. Meanwhile the other, great of soul, near whom I yet was station'd, chang'd not count'nance stern, Nor mov'd the neck, nor bent his ribbed side. "And if," continuing the first discourse, "They in this art," he cried, "small skill have shown, That doth torment me more e'en than this bed. But not yet fifty times shall be relum'd Her aspect, who reigns here Queen of this realm, Ere thou shalt know the full weight of that art. So to the pleasant world mayst thou return, As thou shalt tell me, why in all their laws, Against my kin this people is so fell?" "The slaughter and great havoc," I replied, "That colour'd Arbia's flood with crimson stain-- To these impute, that in our hallow'd dome Such orisons ascend." Sighing he shook The head, then thus resum'd: "In that affray I stood not singly, nor without just cause Assuredly should with the rest have stirr'd; But singly there I stood, when by consent Of all, Florence had to the ground been raz'd, The one who openly forbad the deed." "So may thy lineage find at last repose," I thus adjur'd him, "as thou solve this knot, Which now involves my mind. If right I hear, Ye seem to view beforehand, that which time Leads with him, of the present uninform'd." "We view, as one who hath an evil sight," He answer'd, "plainly, objects far remote: So much of his large spendour yet imparts The Almighty Ruler; but when they approach Or actually exist, our intellect Then wholly fails, nor of your human state Except what others bring us know we aught. Hence therefore mayst thou understand, that all Our knowledge in that instant shall expire, When on futurity the portals close." Then conscious of my fault, and by remorse Smitten, I added thus: "Now shalt thou say To him there fallen, that his offspring still Is to the living join'd; and bid him know, That if from answer silent I abstain'd, 'Twas that my thought was occupied intent Upon that error, which thy help hath solv'd." But now my master summoning me back I heard, and with more eager haste besought The spirit to inform me, who with him Partook his lot. He answer thus return'd: "More than a thousand with me here are laid Within is Frederick, second of that name, And the Lord Cardinal, and of the rest I speak not." He, this said, from sight withdrew. But I my steps towards the ancient bard Reverting, ruminated on the words Betokening me such ill. Onward he mov'd, And thus in going question'd: "Whence the amaze That holds thy senses wrapt?" I satisfied The inquiry, and the sage enjoin'd me straight: "Let thy safe memory store what thou hast heard To thee importing harm; and note thou this," With his rais'd finger bidding me take heed, "When thou shalt stand before her gracious beam, Whose bright eye all surveys, she of thy life The future tenour will to thee unfold." Forthwith he to the left hand turn'd his feet: We left the wall, and tow'rds the middle space Went by a path, that to a valley strikes; Which e'en thus high exhal'd its noisome steam. CANTO XI UPON the utmost verge of a high bank, By craggy rocks environ'd round, we came, Where woes beneath more cruel yet were stow'd: And here to shun the horrible excess Of fetid exhalation, upward cast From the profound abyss, behind the lid Of a great monument we stood retir'd, Whereon this scroll I mark'd: "I have in charge Pope Anastasius, whom Photinus drew From the right path.--Ere our descent behooves We make delay, that somewhat first the sense, To the dire breath accustom'd, afterward Regard it not." My master thus; to whom Answering I spake: "Some compensation find That the time past not wholly lost." He then: "Lo! how my thoughts e'en to thy wishes tend! My son! within these rocks," he thus began, "Are three close circles in gradation plac'd, As these which now thou leav'st. Each one is full Of spirits accurs'd; but that the sight alone Hereafter may suffice thee, listen how And for what cause in durance they abide. "Of all malicious act abhorr'd in heaven, The end is injury; and all such end Either by force or fraud works other's woe But fraud, because of man peculiar evil, To God is more displeasing; and beneath The fraudulent are therefore doom'd to' endure Severer pang. The violent occupy All the first circle; and because to force Three persons are obnoxious, in three rounds Each within other sep'rate is it fram'd. To God, his neighbour, and himself, by man Force may be offer'd; to himself I say And his possessions, as thou soon shalt hear At full. Death, violent death, and painful wounds Upon his neighbour he inflicts; and wastes By devastation, pillage, and the flames, His substance. Slayers, and each one that smites In malice, plund'rers, and all robbers, hence The torment undergo of the first round In different herds. Man can do violence To himself and his own blessings: and for this He in the second round must aye deplore With unavailing penitence his crime, Whoe'er deprives himself of life and light, In reckless lavishment his talent wastes, And sorrows there where he should dwell in joy. To God may force be offer'd, in the heart Denying and blaspheming his high power, And nature with her kindly law contemning. And thence the inmost round marks with its seal Sodom and Cahors, and all such as speak Contemptuously of the Godhead in their hearts. "Fraud, that in every conscience leaves a sting, May be by man employ'd on one, whose trust He wins, or on another who withholds Strict confidence. Seems as the latter way Broke but the bond of love which Nature makes. Whence in the second circle have their nest Dissimulation, witchcraft, flatteries, Theft, falsehood, simony, all who seduce To lust, or set their honesty at pawn, With such vile scum as these. The other way Forgets both Nature's general love, and that Which thereto added afterwards gives birth To special faith. Whence in the lesser circle, Point of the universe, dread seat of Dis, The traitor is eternally consum'd." I thus: "Instructor, clearly thy discourse Proceeds, distinguishing the hideous chasm And its inhabitants with skill exact. But tell me this: they of the dull, fat pool, Whom the rain beats, or whom the tempest drives, Or who with tongues so fierce conflicting meet, Wherefore within the city fire-illum'd Are not these punish'd, if God's wrath be on them? And if it be not, wherefore in such guise Are they condemned?" He answer thus return'd: "Wherefore in dotage wanders thus thy mind, Not so accustom'd? or what other thoughts Possess it? Dwell not in thy memory The words, wherein thy ethic page describes Three dispositions adverse to Heav'n's will, Incont'nence, malice, and mad brutishness, And how incontinence the least offends God, and least guilt incurs? If well thou note This judgment, and remember who they are, Without these walls to vain repentance doom'd, Thou shalt discern why they apart are plac'd From these fell spirits, and less wreakful pours Justice divine on them its vengeance down." "O Sun! who healest all imperfect sight, Thou so content'st me, when thou solv'st my doubt, That ignorance not less than knowledge charms. Yet somewhat turn thee back," I in these words Continu'd, "where thou saidst, that usury Offends celestial Goodness; and this knot Perplex'd unravel." He thus made reply: "Philosophy, to an attentive ear, Clearly points out, not in one part alone, How imitative nature takes her course From the celestial mind and from its art: And where her laws the Stagyrite unfolds, Not many leaves scann'd o'er, observing well Thou shalt discover, that your art on her Obsequious follows, as the learner treads In his instructor's step, so that your art Deserves the name of second in descent From God. These two, if thou recall to mind Creation's holy book, from the beginning Were the right source of life and excellence To human kind. But in another path The usurer walks; and Nature in herself And in her follower thus he sets at nought, Placing elsewhere his hope. But follow now My steps on forward journey bent; for now The Pisces play with undulating glance Along the horizon, and the Wain lies all O'er the north-west; and onward there a space Is our steep passage down the rocky height." CANTO XII THE place where to descend the precipice We came, was rough as Alp, and on its verge Such object lay, as every eye would shun. As is that ruin, which Adice's stream On this side Trento struck, should'ring the wave, Or loos'd by earthquake or for lack of prop; For from the mountain's summit, whence it mov'd To the low level, so the headlong rock Is shiver'd, that some passage it might give To him who from above would pass; e'en such Into the chasm was that descent: and there At point of the disparted ridge lay stretch'd The infamy of Crete, detested brood Of the feign'd heifer: and at sight of us It gnaw'd itself, as one with rage distract. To him my guide exclaim'd: "Perchance thou deem'st The King of Athens here, who, in the world Above, thy death contriv'd. Monster! avaunt! He comes not tutor'd by thy sister's art, But to behold your torments is he come." Like to a bull, that with impetuous spring Darts, at the moment when the fatal blow Hath struck him, but unable to proceed Plunges on either side; so saw I plunge The Minotaur; whereat the sage exclaim'd: "Run to the passage! while he storms, 't is well That thou descend." Thus down our road we took Through those dilapidated crags, that oft Mov'd underneath my feet, to weight like theirs Unus'd. I pond'ring went, and thus he spake: "Perhaps thy thoughts are of this ruin'd steep, Guarded by the brute violence, which I Have vanquish'd now. Know then, that when I erst Hither descended to the nether hell, This rock was not yet fallen. But past doubt (If well I mark) not long ere He arrived, Who carried off from Dis the mighty spoil Of the highest circle, then through all its bounds Such trembling seiz'd the deep concave and foul, I thought the universe was thrill'd with love, Whereby, there are who deem, the world hath oft Been into chaos turn'd: and in that point, Here, and elsewhere, that old rock toppled down. But fix thine eyes beneath: the river of blood Approaches, in the which all those are steep'd, Who have by violence injur'd." O blind lust! O foolish wrath! who so dost goad us on In the brief life, and in the eternal then Thus miserably o'erwhelm us. I beheld An ample foss, that in a bow was bent, As circling all the plain; for so my guide Had told. Between it and the rampart's base On trail ran Centaurs, with keen arrows arm'd, As to the chase they on the earth were wont. At seeing us descend they each one stood; And issuing from the troop, three sped with bows And missile weapons chosen first; of whom One cried from far: "Say to what pain ye come Condemn'd, who down this steep have journied? Speak From whence ye stand, or else the bow I draw." To whom my guide: "Our answer shall be made To Chiron, there, when nearer him we come. Ill was thy mind, thus ever quick and rash." Then me he touch'd, and spake: "Nessus is this, Who for the fair Deianira died, And wrought himself revenge for his own fate. He in the midst, that on his breast looks down, Is the great Chiron who Achilles nurs'd; That other Pholus, prone to wrath." Around The foss these go by thousands, aiming shafts At whatsoever spirit dares emerge From out the blood, more than his guilt allows. We to those beasts, that rapid strode along, Drew near, when Chiron took an arrow forth, And with the notch push'd back his shaggy beard To the cheek-bone, then his great mouth to view Exposing, to his fellows thus exclaim'd: "Are ye aware, that he who comes behind Moves what he touches? The feet of the dead Are not so wont." My trusty guide, who now Stood near his breast, where the two natures join, Thus made reply: "He is indeed alive, And solitary so must needs by me Be shown the gloomy vale, thereto induc'd By strict necessity, not by delight. She left her joyful harpings in the sky, Who this new office to my care consign'd. He is no robber, no dark spirit I. But by that virtue, which empowers my step To treat so wild a path, grant us, I pray, One of thy band, whom we may trust secure, Who to the ford may lead us, and convey Across, him mounted on his back; for he Is not a spirit that may walk the air." Then on his right breast turning, Chiron thus To Nessus spake: "Return, and be their guide. And if ye chance to cross another troop, Command them keep aloof." Onward we mov'd, The faithful escort by our side, along The border of the crimson-seething flood, Whence from those steep'd within loud shrieks arose. Some there I mark'd, as high as to their brow Immers'd, of whom the mighty Centaur thus: "These are the souls of tyrants, who were given To blood and rapine. Here they wail aloud Their merciless wrongs. Here Alexander dwells, And Dionysius fell, who many a year Of woe wrought for fair Sicily. That brow Whereon the hair so jetty clust'ring hangs, Is Azzolino; that with flaxen locks Obizzo' of Este, in the world destroy'd By his foul step-son." To the bard rever'd I turned me round, and thus he spake; "Let him Be to thee now first leader, me but next To him in rank." Then farther on a space The Centaur paus'd, near some, who at the throat Were extant from the wave; and showing us A spirit by itself apart retir'd, Exclaim'd: "He in God's bosom smote the heart, Which yet is honour'd on the bank of Thames." A race I next espied, who held the head, And even all the bust above the stream. 'Midst these I many a face remember'd well. Thus shallow more and more the blood became, So that at last it but imbru'd the feet; And there our passage lay athwart the foss. "As ever on this side the boiling wave Thou seest diminishing," the Centaur said, "So on the other, be thou well assur'd, It lower still and lower sinks its bed, Till in that part it reuniting join, Where 't is the lot of tyranny to mourn. There Heav'n's stern justice lays chastising hand On Attila, who was the scourge of earth, On Sextus, and on Pyrrhus, and extracts Tears ever by the seething flood unlock'd From the Rinieri, of Corneto this, Pazzo the other nam'd, who fill'd the ways With violence and war." This said, he turn'd, And quitting us, alone repass'd the ford. CANTO XIII ERE Nessus yet had reach'd the other bank, We enter'd on a forest, where no track Of steps had worn a way. Not verdant there The foliage, but of dusky hue; not light The boughs and tapering, but with knares deform'd And matted thick: fruits there were none, but thorns Instead, with venom fill'd. Less sharp than these, Less intricate the brakes, wherein abide Those animals, that hate the cultur'd fields, Betwixt Corneto and Cecina's stream. Here the brute Harpies make their nest, the same Who from the Strophades the Trojan band Drove with dire boding of their future woe. Broad are their pennons, of the human form Their neck and count'nance, arm'd with talons keen The feet, and the huge belly fledge with wings These sit and wail on the drear mystic wood. The kind instructor in these words began: "Ere farther thou proceed, know thou art now I' th' second round, and shalt be, till thou come Upon the horrid sand: look therefore well Around thee, and such things thou shalt behold, As would my speech discredit." On all sides I heard sad plainings breathe, and none could see From whom they might have issu'd. In amaze Fast bound I stood. He, as it seem'd, believ'd, That I had thought so many voices came From some amid those thickets close conceal'd, And thus his speech resum'd: "If thou lop off A single twig from one of those ill plants, The thought thou hast conceiv'd shall vanish quite." Thereat a little stretching forth my hand, From a great wilding gather'd I a branch, And straight the trunk exclaim'd: "Why pluck'st thou me?" Then as the dark blood trickled down its side, These words it added: "Wherefore tear'st me thus? Is there no touch of mercy in thy breast? Men once were we, that now are rooted here. Thy hand might well have spar'd us, had we been The souls of serpents." As a brand yet green, That burning at one end from the other sends A groaning sound, and hisses with the wind That forces out its way, so burst at once, Forth from the broken splinter words and blood. I, letting fall the bough, remain'd as one Assail'd by terror, and the sage replied: "If he, O injur'd spirit! could have believ'd What he hath seen but in my verse describ'd, He never against thee had stretch'd his hand. But I, because the thing surpass'd belief, Prompted him to this deed, which even now Myself I rue. But tell me, who thou wast; That, for this wrong to do thee some amends, In the upper world (for thither to return Is granted him) thy fame he may revive." "That pleasant word of thine," the trunk replied "Hath so inveigled me, that I from speech Cannot refrain, wherein if I indulge A little longer, in the snare detain'd, Count it not grievous. I it was, who held Both keys to Frederick's heart, and turn'd the wards, Opening and shutting, with a skill so sweet, That besides me, into his inmost breast Scarce any other could admittance find. The faith I bore to my high charge was such, It cost me the life-blood that warm'd my veins. The harlot, who ne'er turn'd her gloating eyes From Caesar's household, common vice and pest Of courts, 'gainst me inflam'd the minds of all; And to Augustus they so spread the flame, That my glad honours chang'd to bitter woes. My soul, disdainful and disgusted, sought Refuge in death from scorn, and I became, Just as I was, unjust toward myself. By the new roots, which fix this stem, I swear, That never faith I broke to my liege lord, Who merited such honour; and of you, If any to the world indeed return, Clear he from wrong my memory, that lies Yet prostrate under envy's cruel blow." First somewhat pausing, till the mournful words Were ended, then to me the bard began: "Lose not the time; but speak and of him ask, If more thou wish to learn." Whence I replied: "Question thou him again of whatsoe'er Will, as thou think'st, content me; for no power Have I to ask, such pity' is at my heart." He thus resum'd; "So may he do for thee Freely what thou entreatest, as thou yet Be pleas'd, imprison'd Spirit! to declare, How in these gnarled joints the soul is tied; And whether any ever from such frame Be loosen'd, if thou canst, that also tell." Thereat the trunk breath'd hard, and the wind soon Chang'd into sounds articulate like these; "Briefly ye shall be answer'd. When departs The fierce soul from the body, by itself Thence torn asunder, to the seventh gulf By Minos doom'd, into the wood it falls, No place assign'd, but wheresoever chance Hurls it, there sprouting, as a grain of spelt, It rises to a sapling, growing thence A savage plant. The Harpies, on its leaves Then feeding, cause both pain and for the pain A vent to grief. We, as the rest, shall come For our own spoils, yet not so that with them We may again be clad; for what a man Takes from himself it is not just he have. Here we perforce shall drag them; and throughout The dismal glade our bodies shall be hung, Each on the wild thorn of his wretched shade." Attentive yet to listen to the trunk We stood, expecting farther speech, when us A noise surpris'd, as when a man perceives The wild boar and the hunt approach his place Of station'd watch, who of the beasts and boughs Loud rustling round him hears. And lo! there came Two naked, torn with briers, in headlong flight, That they before them broke each fan o' th' wood. "Haste now," the foremost cried, "now haste thee death!" The other, as seem'd, impatient of delay Exclaiming, "Lano! not so bent for speed Thy sinews, in the lists of Toppo's field." And then, for that perchance no longer breath Suffic'd him, of himself and of a bush One group he made. Behind them was the wood Full of black female mastiffs, gaunt and fleet, As greyhounds that have newly slipp'd the leash. On him, who squatted down, they stuck their fangs, And having rent him piecemeal bore away The tortur'd limbs. My guide then seiz'd my hand, And led me to the thicket, which in vain Mourn'd through its bleeding wounds: "O Giacomo Of Sant' Andrea! what avails it thee," It cried, "that of me thou hast made thy screen? For thy ill life what blame on me recoils?" When o'er it he had paus'd, my master spake: "Say who wast thou, that at so many points Breath'st out with blood thy lamentable speech?" He answer'd: "Oh, ye spirits: arriv'd in time To spy the shameful havoc, that from me My leaves hath sever'd thus, gather them up, And at the foot of their sad parent-tree Carefully lay them. In that city' I dwelt, Who for the Baptist her first patron chang'd, Whence he for this shall cease not with his art To work her woe: and if there still remain'd not On Arno's passage some faint glimpse of him, Those citizens, who rear'd once more her walls Upon the ashes left by Attila, Had labour'd without profit of their toil. I slung the fatal noose from my own roof." CANTO XIV SOON as the charity of native land Wrought in my bosom, I the scatter'd leaves Collected, and to him restor'd, who now Was hoarse with utt'rance. To the limit thence We came, which from the third the second round Divides, and where of justice is display'd Contrivance horrible. Things then first seen Clearlier to manifest, I tell how next A plain we reach'd, that from its sterile bed Each plant repell'd. The mournful wood waves round Its garland on all sides, as round the wood Spreads the sad foss. There, on the very edge, Our steps we stay'd. It was an area wide Of arid sand and thick, resembling most The soil that erst by Cato's foot was trod. Vengeance of Heav'n! Oh! how shouldst thou be fear'd By all, who read what here my eyes beheld! Of naked spirits many a flock I saw, All weeping piteously, to different laws Subjected: for on the earth some lay supine, Some crouching close were seated, others pac'd Incessantly around; the latter tribe, More numerous, those fewer who beneath The torment lay, but louder in their grief. O'er all the sand fell slowly wafting down Dilated flakes of fire, as flakes of snow On Alpine summit, when the wind is hush'd. As in the torrid Indian clime, the son Of Ammon saw upon his warrior band Descending, solid flames, that to the ground Came down: whence he bethought him with his troop To trample on the soil; for easier thus The vapour was extinguish'd, while alone; So fell the eternal fiery flood, wherewith The marble glow'd underneath, as under stove The viands, doubly to augment the pain. Unceasing was the play of wretched hands, Now this, now that way glancing, to shake off The heat, still falling fresh. I thus began: "Instructor! thou who all things overcom'st, Except the hardy demons, that rush'd forth To stop our entrance at the gate, say who Is yon huge spirit, that, as seems, heeds not The burning, but lies writhen in proud scorn, As by the sultry tempest immatur'd?" Straight he himself, who was aware I ask'd My guide of him, exclaim'd: "Such as I was When living, dead such now I am. If Jove Weary his workman out, from whom in ire He snatch'd the lightnings, that at my last day Transfix'd me, if the rest be weary out At their black smithy labouring by turns In Mongibello, while he cries aloud; "Help, help, good Mulciber!" as erst he cried In the Phlegraean warfare, and the bolts Launch he full aim'd at me with all his might, He never should enjoy a sweet revenge." Then thus my guide, in accent higher rais'd Than I before had heard him: "Capaneus! Thou art more punish'd, in that this thy pride Lives yet unquench'd: no torrent, save thy rage, Were to thy fury pain proportion'd full." Next turning round to me with milder lip He spake: "This of the seven kings was one, Who girt the Theban walls with siege, and held, As still he seems to hold, God in disdain, And sets his high omnipotence at nought. But, as I told him, his despiteful mood Is ornament well suits the breast that wears it. Follow me now; and look thou set not yet Thy foot in the hot sand, but to the wood Keep ever close." Silently on we pass'd To where there gushes from the forest's bound A little brook, whose crimson'd wave yet lifts My hair with horror. As the rill, that runs From Bulicame, to be portion'd out Among the sinful women; so ran this Down through the sand, its bottom and each bank Stone-built, and either margin at its side, Whereon I straight perceiv'd our passage lay. "Of all that I have shown thee, since that gate We enter'd first, whose threshold is to none Denied, nought else so worthy of regard, As is this river, has thine eye discern'd, O'er which the flaming volley all is quench'd." So spake my guide; and I him thence besought, That having giv'n me appetite to know, The food he too would give, that hunger crav'd. "In midst of ocean," forthwith he began, "A desolate country lies, which Crete is nam'd, Under whose monarch in old times the world Liv'd pure and chaste. A mountain rises there, Call'd Ida, joyous once with leaves and streams, Deserted now like a forbidden thing. It was the spot which Rhea, Saturn's spouse, Chose for the secret cradle of her son; And better to conceal him, drown'd in shouts His infant cries. Within the mount, upright An ancient form there stands and huge, that turns His shoulders towards Damiata, and at Rome As in his mirror looks. Of finest gold His head is shap'd, pure silver are the breast And arms; thence to the middle is of brass. And downward all beneath well-temper'd steel, Save the right foot of potter's clay, on which Than on the other more erect he stands, Each part except the gold, is rent throughout; And from the fissure tears distil, which join'd Penetrate to that cave. They in their course Thus far precipitated down the rock Form Acheron, and Styx, and Phlegethon; Then by this straiten'd channel passing hence Beneath, e'en to the lowest depth of all, Form there Cocytus, of whose lake (thyself Shall see it) I here give thee no account." Then I to him: "If from our world this sluice Be thus deriv'd; wherefore to us but now Appears it at this edge?" He straight replied: "The place, thou know'st, is round; and though great part Thou have already pass'd, still to the left Descending to the nethermost, not yet Hast thou the circuit made of the whole orb. Wherefore if aught of new to us appear, It needs not bring up wonder in thy looks." Then I again inquir'd: "Where flow the streams Of Phlegethon and Lethe? for of one Thou tell'st not, and the other of that shower, Thou say'st, is form'd." He answer thus return'd: "Doubtless thy questions all well pleas'd I hear. Yet the red seething wave might have resolv'd One thou proposest. Lethe thou shalt see, But not within this hollow, in the place, Whither to lave themselves the spirits go, Whose blame hath been by penitence remov'd." He added: "Time is now we quit the wood. Look thou my steps pursue: the margins give Safe passage, unimpeded by the flames; For over them all vapour is extinct." CANTO XV One of the solid margins bears us now Envelop'd in the mist, that from the stream Arising, hovers o'er, and saves from fire Both piers and water. As the Flemings rear Their mound, 'twixt Ghent and Bruges, to chase back The ocean, fearing his tumultuous tide That drives toward them, or the Paduans theirs Along the Brenta, to defend their towns And castles, ere the genial warmth be felt On Chiarentana's top; such were the mounds, So fram'd, though not in height or bulk to these Made equal, by the master, whosoe'er He was, that rais'd them here. We from the wood Were not so far remov'd, that turning round I might not have discern'd it, when we met A troop of spirits, who came beside the pier. They each one ey'd us, as at eventide One eyes another under a new moon, And toward us sharpen'd their sight as keen, As an old tailor at his needle's eye. Thus narrowly explor'd by all the tribe, I was agniz'd of one, who by the skirt Caught me, and cried, "What wonder have we here!" And I, when he to me outstretch'd his arm, Intently fix'd my ken on his parch'd looks, That although smirch'd with fire, they hinder'd not But I remember'd him; and towards his face My hand inclining, answer'd: "Sir! Brunetto! "And art thou here?" He thus to me: "My son! Oh let it not displease thee, if Brunetto Latini but a little space with thee Turn back, and leave his fellows to proceed." I thus to him replied: "Much as I can, I thereto pray thee; and if thou be willing, That I here seat me with thee, I consent; His leave, with whom I journey, first obtain'd." "O son!" said he, "whoever of this throng One instant stops, lies then a hundred years, No fan to ventilate him, when the fire Smites sorest. Pass thou therefore on. I close Will at thy garments walk, and then rejoin My troop, who go mourning their endless doom." I dar'd not from the path descend to tread On equal ground with him, but held my head Bent down, as one who walks in reverent guise. "What chance or destiny," thus he began, "Ere the last day conducts thee here below? And who is this, that shows to thee the way?" "There up aloft," I answer'd, "in the life Serene, I wander'd in a valley lost, Before mine age had to its fullness reach'd. But yester-morn I left it: then once more Into that vale returning, him I met; And by this path homeward he leads me back." "If thou," he answer'd, "follow but thy star, Thou canst not miss at last a glorious haven: Unless in fairer days my judgment err'd. And if my fate so early had not chanc'd, Seeing the heav'ns thus bounteous to thee, I Had gladly giv'n thee comfort in thy work. But that ungrateful and malignant race, Who in old times came down from Fesole, Ay and still smack of their rough mountain-flint, Will for thy good deeds shew thee enmity. Nor wonder; for amongst ill-savour'd crabs It suits not the sweet fig-tree lay her fruit. Old fame reports them in the world for blind, Covetous, envious, proud. Look to it well: Take heed thou cleanse thee of their ways. For thee Thy fortune hath such honour in reserve, That thou by either party shalt be crav'd With hunger keen: but be the fresh herb far From the goat's tooth. The herd of Fesole May of themselves make litter, not touch the plant, If any such yet spring on their rank bed, In which the holy seed revives, transmitted From those true Romans, who still there remain'd, When it was made the nest of so much ill." "Were all my wish fulfill'd," I straight replied, "Thou from the confines of man's nature yet Hadst not been driven forth; for in my mind Is fix'd, and now strikes full upon my heart The dear, benign, paternal image, such As thine was, when so lately thou didst teach me The way for man to win eternity; And how I priz'd the lesson, it behooves, That, long as life endures, my tongue should speak, What of my fate thou tell'st, that write I down: And with another text to comment on For her I keep it, the celestial dame, Who will know all, if I to her arrive. This only would I have thee clearly note: That so my conscience have no plea against me; Do fortune as she list, I stand prepar'd. Not new or strange such earnest to mine ear. Speed fortune then her wheel, as likes her best, The clown his mattock; all things have their course." Thereat my sapient guide upon his right Turn'd himself back, then look'd at me and spake: "He listens to good purpose who takes note." I not the less still on my way proceed, Discoursing with Brunetto, and inquire Who are most known and chief among his tribe. "To know of some is well;" thus he replied, "But of the rest silence may best beseem. Time would not serve us for report so long. In brief I tell thee, that all these were clerks, Men of great learning and no less renown, By one same sin polluted in the world. With them is Priscian, and Accorso's son Francesco herds among that wretched throng: And, if the wish of so impure a blotch Possess'd thee, him thou also might'st have seen, Who by the servants' servant was transferr'd From Arno's seat to Bacchiglione, where His ill-strain'd nerves he left. I more would add, But must from farther speech and onward way Alike desist, for yonder I behold A mist new-risen on the sandy plain. A company, with whom I may not sort, Approaches. I commend my TREASURE to thee, Wherein I yet survive; my sole request." This said he turn'd, and seem'd as one of those, Who o'er Verona's champain try their speed For the green mantle, and of them he seem'd, Not he who loses but who gains the prize. CANTO XVI NOW came I where the water's din was heard, As down it fell into the other round, Resounding like the hum of swarming bees: When forth together issu'd from a troop, That pass'd beneath the fierce tormenting storm, Three spirits, running swift. They towards us came, And each one cried aloud, "Oh do thou stay! Whom by the fashion of thy garb we deem To be some inmate of our evil land." Ah me! what wounds I mark'd upon their limbs, Recent and old, inflicted by the flames! E'en the remembrance of them grieves me yet. Attentive to their cry my teacher paus'd, And turn'd to me his visage, and then spake; "Wait now! our courtesy these merit well: And were 't not for the nature of the place, Whence glide the fiery darts, I should have said, That haste had better suited thee than them." They, when we stopp'd, resum'd their ancient wail, And soon as they had reach'd us, all the three Whirl'd round together in one restless wheel. As naked champions, smear'd with slippery oil, Are wont intent to watch their place of hold And vantage, ere in closer strife they meet; Thus each one, as he wheel'd, his countenance At me directed, so that opposite The neck mov'd ever to the twinkling feet. "If misery of this drear wilderness," Thus one began, "added to our sad cheer And destitute, do call forth scorn on us And our entreaties, let our great renown Incline thee to inform us who thou art, That dost imprint with living feet unharm'd The soil of Hell. He, in whose track thou see'st My steps pursuing, naked though he be And reft of all, was of more high estate Than thou believest; grandchild of the chaste Gualdrada, him they Guidoguerra call'd, Who in his lifetime many a noble act Achiev'd, both by his wisdom and his sword. The other, next to me that beats the sand, Is Aldobrandi, name deserving well, In the upper world, of honour; and myself Who in this torment do partake with them, Am Rusticucci, whom, past doubt, my wife Of savage temper, more than aught beside Hath to this evil brought." If from the fire I had been shelter'd, down amidst them straight I then had cast me, nor my guide, I deem, Would have restrain'd my going; but that fear Of the dire burning vanquish'd the desire, Which made me eager of their wish'd embrace. I then began: "Not scorn, but grief much more, Such as long time alone can cure, your doom Fix'd deep within me, soon as this my lord Spake words, whose tenour taught me to expect That such a race, as ye are, was at hand. I am a countryman of yours, who still Affectionate have utter'd, and have heard Your deeds and names renown'd. Leaving the gall For the sweet fruit I go, that a sure guide Hath promis'd to me. But behooves, that far As to the centre first I downward tend." "So may long space thy spirit guide thy limbs," He answer straight return'd; "and so thy fame Shine bright, when thou art gone; as thou shalt tell, If courtesy and valour, as they wont, Dwell in our city, or have vanish'd clean? For one amidst us late condemn'd to wail, Borsiere, yonder walking with his peers, Grieves us no little by the news he brings." "An upstart multitude and sudden gains, Pride and excess, O Florence! have in thee Engender'd, so that now in tears thou mourn'st!" Thus cried I with my face uprais'd, and they All three, who for an answer took my words, Look'd at each other, as men look when truth Comes to their ear. "If thou at other times," They all at once rejoin'd, "so easily Satisfy those, who question, happy thou, Gifted with words, so apt to speak thy thought! Wherefore if thou escape this darksome clime, Returning to behold the radiant stars, When thou with pleasure shalt retrace the past, See that of us thou speak among mankind." This said, they broke the circle, and so swift Fled, that as pinions seem'd their nimble feet. Not in so short a time might one have said "Amen," as they had vanish'd. Straight my guide Pursu'd his track. I follow'd; and small space Had we pass'd onward, when the water's sound Was now so near at hand, that we had scarce Heard one another's speech for the loud din. E'en as the river, that holds on its course Unmingled, from the mount of Vesulo, On the left side of Apennine, toward The east, which Acquacheta higher up They call, ere it descend into the vale, At Forli by that name no longer known, Rebellows o'er Saint Benedict, roll'd on From the Alpine summit down a precipice, Where space enough to lodge a thousand spreads; Thus downward from a craggy steep we found, That this dark wave resounded, roaring loud, So that the ear its clamour soon had stunn'd. I had a cord that brac'd my girdle round, Wherewith I erst had thought fast bound to take The painted leopard. This when I had all Unloosen'd from me (so my master bade) I gather'd up, and stretch'd it forth to him. Then to the right he turn'd, and from the brink Standing few paces distant, cast it down Into the deep abyss. "And somewhat strange," Thus to myself I spake, "signal so strange Betokens, which my guide with earnest eye Thus follows." Ah! what caution must men use With those who look not at the deed alone, But spy into the thoughts with subtle skill! "Quickly shall come," he said, "what I expect, Thine eye discover quickly, that whereof Thy thought is dreaming." Ever to that truth, Which but the semblance of a falsehood wears, A man, if possible, should bar his lip; Since, although blameless, he incurs reproach. But silence here were vain; and by these notes Which now I sing, reader! I swear to thee, So may they favour find to latest times! That through the gross and murky air I spied A shape come swimming up, that might have quell'd The stoutest heart with wonder, in such guise As one returns, who hath been down to loose An anchor grappled fast against some rock, Or to aught else that in the salt wave lies, Who upward springing close draws in his feet. CANTO XVII "LO! the fell monster with the deadly sting! Who passes mountains, breaks through fenced walls And firm embattled spears, and with his filth Taints all the world!" Thus me my guide address'd, And beckon'd him, that he should come to shore, Near to the stony causeway's utmost edge. Forthwith that image vile of fraud appear'd, His head and upper part expos'd on land, But laid not on the shore his bestial train. His face the semblance of a just man's wore, So kind and gracious was its outward cheer; The rest was serpent all: two shaggy claws Reach'd to the armpits, and the back and breast, And either side, were painted o'er with nodes And orbits. Colours variegated more Nor Turks nor Tartars e'er on cloth of state With interchangeable embroidery wove, Nor spread Arachne o'er her curious loom. As ofttimes a light skiff, moor'd to the shore, Stands part in water, part upon the land; Or, as where dwells the greedy German boor, The beaver settles watching for his prey; So on the rim, that fenc'd the sand with rock, Sat perch'd the fiend of evil. In the void Glancing, his tail upturn'd its venomous fork, With sting like scorpion's arm'd. Then thus my guide: "Now need our way must turn few steps apart, Far as to that ill beast, who couches there." Thereat toward the right our downward course We shap'd, and, better to escape the flame And burning marle, ten paces on the verge Proceeded. Soon as we to him arrive, A little further on mine eye beholds A tribe of spirits, seated on the sand Near the wide chasm. Forthwith my master spake: "That to the full thy knowledge may extend Of all this round contains, go now, and mark The mien these wear: but hold not long discourse. Till thou returnest, I with him meantime Will parley, that to us he may vouchsafe The aid of his strong shoulders." Thus alone Yet forward on the extremity I pac'd Of that seventh circle, where the mournful tribe Were seated. At the eyes forth gush'd their pangs. Against the vapours and the torrid soil Alternately their shifting hands they plied. Thus use the dogs in summer still to ply Their jaws and feet by turns, when bitten sore By gnats, or flies, or gadflies swarming round. Noting the visages of some, who lay Beneath the pelting of that dolorous fire, One of them all I knew not; but perceiv'd, That pendent from his neck each bore a pouch With colours and with emblems various mark'd, On which it seem'd as if their eye did feed. And when amongst them looking round I came, A yellow purse I saw with azure wrought, That wore a lion's countenance and port. Then still my sight pursuing its career, Another I beheld, than blood more red. A goose display of whiter wing than curd. And one, who bore a fat and azure swine Pictur'd on his white scrip, addressed me thus: "What dost thou in this deep? Go now and know, Since yet thou livest, that my neighbour here Vitaliano on my left shall sit. A Paduan with these Florentines am I. Ofttimes they thunder in mine ears, exclaiming 'O haste that noble knight! he who the pouch With the three beaks will bring!'" This said, he writh'd The mouth, and loll'd the tongue out, like an ox That licks his nostrils. I, lest longer stay He ill might brook, who bade me stay not long, Backward my steps from those sad spirits turn'd. My guide already seated on the haunch Of the fierce animal I found; and thus He me encourag'd. "Be thou stout; be bold. Down such a steep flight must we now descend! Mount thou before: for that no power the tail May have to harm thee, I will be i' th' midst." As one, who hath an ague fit so near, His nails already are turn'd blue, and he Quivers all o'er, if he but eye the shade; Such was my cheer at hearing of his words. But shame soon interpos'd her threat, who makes The servant bold in presence of his lord. I settled me upon those shoulders huge, And would have said, but that the words to aid My purpose came not, "Look thou clasp me firm!" But he whose succour then not first I prov'd, Soon as I mounted, in his arms aloft, Embracing, held me up, and thus he spake: "Geryon! now move thee! be thy wheeling gyres Of ample circuit, easy thy descent. Think on th' unusual burden thou sustain'st." As a small vessel, back'ning out from land, Her station quits; so thence the monster loos'd, And when he felt himself at large, turn'd round There where the breast had been, his forked tail. Thus, like an eel, outstretch'd at length he steer'd, Gath'ring the air up with retractile claws. Not greater was the dread when Phaeton The reins let drop at random, whence high heaven, Whereof signs yet appear, was wrapt in flames; Nor when ill-fated Icarus perceiv'd, By liquefaction of the scalded wax, The trusted pennons loosen'd from his loins, His sire exclaiming loud, "Ill way thou keep'st!" Than was my dread, when round me on each part The air I view'd, and other object none Save the fell beast. He slowly sailing, wheels His downward motion, unobserv'd of me, But that the wind, arising to my face, Breathes on me from below. Now on our right I heard the cataract beneath us leap With hideous crash; whence bending down to' explore, New terror I conceiv'd at the steep plunge: For flames I saw, and wailings smote mine ear: So that all trembling close I crouch'd my limbs, And then distinguish'd, unperceiv'd before, By the dread torments that on every side Drew nearer, how our downward course we wound. As falcon, that hath long been on the wing, But lure nor bird hath seen, while in despair The falconer cries, "Ah me! thou stoop'st to earth!" Wearied descends, and swiftly down the sky In many an orbit wheels, then lighting sits At distance from his lord in angry mood; So Geryon lighting places us on foot Low down at base of the deep-furrow'd rock, And, of his burden there discharg'd, forthwith Sprang forward, like an arrow from the string. CANTO XVIII THERE is a place within the depths of hell Call'd Malebolge, all of rock dark-stain'd With hue ferruginous, e'en as the steep That round it circling winds. Right in the midst Of that abominable region, yawns A spacious gulf profound, whereof the frame Due time shall tell. The circle, that remains, Throughout its round, between the gulf and base Of the high craggy banks, successive forms Ten trenches, in its hollow bottom sunk. As where to guard the walls, full many a foss Begirds some stately castle, sure defence Affording to the space within, so here Were model'd these; and as like fortresses E'en from their threshold to the brink without, Are flank'd with bridges; from the rock's low base Thus flinty paths advanc'd, that 'cross the moles And dikes, struck onward far as to the gulf, That in one bound collected cuts them off. Such was the place, wherein we found ourselves From Geryon's back dislodg'd. The bard to left Held on his way, and I behind him mov'd. On our right hand new misery I saw, New pains, new executioners of wrath, That swarming peopled the first chasm. Below Were naked sinners. Hitherward they came, Meeting our faces from the middle point, With us beyond but with a larger stride. E'en thus the Romans, when the year returns Of Jubilee, with better speed to rid The thronging multitudes, their means devise For such as pass the bridge; that on one side All front toward the castle, and approach Saint Peter's fane, on th' other towards the mount. Each divers way along the grisly rock, Horn'd demons I beheld, with lashes huge, That on their back unmercifully smote. Ah! how they made them bound at the first stripe! None for the second waited nor the third. Meantime as on I pass'd, one met my sight Whom soon as view'd; "Of him," cried I, "not yet Mine eye hath had his fill." With fixed gaze I therefore scann'd him. Straight the teacher kind Paus'd with me, and consented I should walk Backward a space, and the tormented spirit, Who thought to hide him, bent his visage down. But it avail'd him nought; for I exclaim'd: "Thou who dost cast thy eye upon the ground, Unless thy features do belie thee much, Venedico art thou. But what brings thee Into this bitter seas'ning?" He replied: "Unwillingly I answer to thy words. But thy clear speech, that to my mind recalls The world I once inhabited, constrains me. Know then 'twas I who led fair Ghisola To do the Marquis' will, however fame The shameful tale have bruited. Nor alone Bologna hither sendeth me to mourn Rather with us the place is so o'erthrong'd That not so many tongues this day are taught, Betwixt the Reno and Savena's stream, To answer SIPA in their country's phrase. And if of that securer proof thou need, Remember but our craving thirst for gold." Him speaking thus, a demon with his thong Struck, and exclaim'd, "Away! corrupter! here Women are none for sale." Forthwith I join'd My escort, and few paces thence we came To where a rock forth issued from the bank. That easily ascended, to the right Upon its splinter turning, we depart From those eternal barriers. When arriv'd, Where underneath the gaping arch lets pass The scourged souls: "Pause here," the teacher said, "And let these others miserable, now Strike on thy ken, faces not yet beheld, For that together they with us have walk'd." From the old bridge we ey'd the pack, who came From th' other side towards us, like the rest, Excoriate from the lash. My gentle guide, By me unquestion'd, thus his speech resum'd: "Behold that lofty shade, who this way tends, And seems too woe-begone to drop a tear. How yet the regal aspect he retains! Jason is he, whose skill and prowess won The ram from Colchos. To the Lemnian isle His passage thither led him, when those bold And pitiless women had slain all their males. There he with tokens and fair witching words Hypsipyle beguil'd, a virgin young, Who first had all the rest herself beguil'd. Impregnated he left her there forlorn. Such is the guilt condemns him to this pain. Here too Medea's inj'ries are avenged. All bear him company, who like deceit To his have practis'd. And thus much to know Of the first vale suffice thee, and of those Whom its keen torments urge." Now had we come Where, crossing the next pier, the straighten'd path Bestrides its shoulders to another arch. Hence in the second chasm we heard the ghosts, Who jibber in low melancholy sounds, With wide-stretch'd nostrils snort, and on themselves Smite with their palms. Upon the banks a scurf From the foul steam condens'd, encrusting hung, That held sharp combat with the sight and smell. So hollow is the depth, that from no part, Save on the summit of the rocky span, Could I distinguish aught. Thus far we came; And thence I saw, within the foss below, A crowd immers'd in ordure, that appear'd Draff of the human body. There beneath Searching with eye inquisitive, I mark'd One with his head so grim'd, 't were hard to deem, If he were clerk or layman. Loud he cried: "Why greedily thus bendest more on me, Than on these other filthy ones, thy ken?" "Because if true my mem'ry," I replied, "I heretofore have seen thee with dry locks, And thou Alessio art of Lucca sprung. Therefore than all the rest I scan thee more." Then beating on his brain these words he spake: "Me thus low down my flatteries have sunk, Wherewith I ne'er enough could glut my tongue." My leader thus: "A little further stretch Thy face, that thou the visage well mayst note Of that besotted, sluttish courtezan, Who there doth rend her with defiled nails, Now crouching down, now risen on her feet. "Thais is this, the harlot, whose false lip Answer'd her doting paramour that ask'd, 'Thankest me much!'--'Say rather wondrously,' And seeing this here satiate be our view." CANTO XIX WOE to thee, Simon Magus! woe to you, His wretched followers! who the things of God, Which should be wedded unto goodness, them, Rapacious as ye are, do prostitute For gold and silver in adultery! Now must the trumpet sound for you, since yours Is the third chasm. Upon the following vault We now had mounted, where the rock impends Directly o'er the centre of the foss. Wisdom Supreme! how wonderful the art, Which thou dost manifest in heaven, in earth, And in the evil world, how just a meed Allotting by thy virtue unto all! I saw the livid stone, throughout the sides And in its bottom full of apertures, All equal in their width, and circular each, Nor ample less nor larger they appear'd Than in Saint John's fair dome of me belov'd Those fram'd to hold the pure baptismal streams, One of the which I brake, some few years past, To save a whelming infant; and be this A seal to undeceive whoever doubts The motive of my deed. From out the mouth Of every one, emerg'd a sinner's feet And of the legs high upward as the calf The rest beneath was hid. On either foot The soles were burning, whence the flexile joints Glanc'd with such violent motion, as had snapt Asunder cords or twisted withs. As flame, Feeding on unctuous matter, glides along The surface, scarcely touching where it moves; So here, from heel to point, glided the flames. "Master! say who is he, than all the rest Glancing in fiercer agony, on whom A ruddier flame doth prey?" I thus inquir'd. "If thou be willing," he replied, "that I Carry thee down, where least the slope bank falls, He of himself shall tell thee and his wrongs." I then: "As pleases thee to me is best. Thou art my lord; and know'st that ne'er I quit Thy will: what silence hides that knowest thou." Thereat on the fourth pier we came, we turn'd, And on our left descended to the depth, A narrow strait and perforated close. Nor from his side my leader set me down, Till to his orifice he brought, whose limb Quiv'ring express'd his pang. "Whoe'er thou art, Sad spirit! thus revers'd, and as a stake Driv'n in the soil!" I in these words began, "If thou be able, utter forth thy voice." There stood I like the friar, that doth shrive A wretch for murder doom'd, who e'en when fix'd, Calleth him back, whence death awhile delays. He shouted: "Ha! already standest there? Already standest there, O Boniface! By many a year the writing play'd me false. So early dost thou surfeit with the wealth, For which thou fearedst not in guile to take The lovely lady, and then mangle her?" I felt as those who, piercing not the drift Of answer made them, stand as if expos'd In mockery, nor know what to reply, When Virgil thus admonish'd: "Tell him quick, I am not he, not he, whom thou believ'st." And I, as was enjoin'd me, straight replied. That heard, the spirit all did wrench his feet, And sighing next in woeful accent spake: "What then of me requirest? If to know So much imports thee, who I am, that thou Hast therefore down the bank descended, learn That in the mighty mantle I was rob'd, And of a she-bear was indeed the son, So eager to advance my whelps, that there My having in my purse above I stow'd, And here myself. Under my head are dragg'd The rest, my predecessors in the guilt Of simony. Stretch'd at their length they lie Along an opening in the rock. 'Midst them I also low shall fall, soon as he comes, For whom I took thee, when so hastily I question'd. But already longer time Hath pass'd, since my souls kindled, and I thus Upturn'd have stood, than is his doom to stand Planted with fiery feet. For after him, One yet of deeds more ugly shall arrive, From forth the west, a shepherd without law, Fated to cover both his form and mine. He a new Jason shall be call'd, of whom In Maccabees we read; and favour such As to that priest his king indulgent show'd, Shall be of France's monarch shown to him." I know not if I here too far presum'd, But in this strain I answer'd: "Tell me now, What treasures from St. Peter at the first Our Lord demanded, when he put the keys Into his charge? Surely he ask'd no more But, Follow me! Nor Peter nor the rest Or gold or silver of Matthias took, When lots were cast upon the forfeit place Of the condemned soul. Abide thou then; Thy punishment of right is merited: And look thou well to that ill-gotten coin, Which against Charles thy hardihood inspir'd. If reverence of the keys restrain'd me not, Which thou in happier time didst hold, I yet Severer speech might use. Your avarice O'ercasts the world with mourning, under foot Treading the good, and raising bad men up. Of shepherds, like to you, th' Evangelist Was ware, when her, who sits upon the waves, With kings in filthy whoredom he beheld, She who with seven heads tower'd at her birth, And from ten horns her proof of glory drew, Long as her spouse in virtue took delight. Of gold and silver ye have made your god, Diff'ring wherein from the idolater, But he that worships one, a hundred ye? Ah, Constantine! to how much ill gave birth, Not thy conversion, but that plenteous dower, Which the first wealthy Father gain'd from thee!" Meanwhile, as thus I sung, he, whether wrath Or conscience smote him, violent upsprang Spinning on either sole. I do believe My teacher well was pleas'd, with so compos'd A lip, he listen'd ever to the sound Of the true words I utter'd. In both arms He caught, and to his bosom lifting me Upward retrac'd the way of his descent. Nor weary of his weight he press'd me close, Till to the summit of the rock we came, Our passage from the fourth to the fifth pier. His cherish'd burden there gently he plac'd Upon the rugged rock and steep, a path Not easy for the clamb'ring goat to mount. Thence to my view another vale appear'd CANTO XX AND now the verse proceeds to torments new, Fit argument of this the twentieth strain Of the first song, whose awful theme records The spirits whelm'd in woe. Earnest I look'd Into the depth, that open'd to my view, Moisten'd with tears of anguish, and beheld A tribe, that came along the hollow vale, In silence weeping: such their step as walk Quires chanting solemn litanies on earth. As on them more direct mine eye descends, Each wondrously seem'd to be revers'd At the neck-bone, so that the countenance Was from the reins averted: and because None might before him look, they were compell'd To' advance with backward gait. Thus one perhaps Hath been by force of palsy clean transpos'd, But I ne'er saw it nor believe it so. Now, reader! think within thyself, so God Fruit of thy reading give thee! how I long Could keep my visage dry, when I beheld Near me our form distorted in such guise, That on the hinder parts fall'n from the face The tears down-streaming roll'd. Against a rock I leant and wept, so that my guide exclaim'd: "What, and art thou too witless as the rest? Here pity most doth show herself alive, When she is dead. What guilt exceedeth his, Who with Heaven's judgment in his passion strives? Raise up thy head, raise up, and see the man, Before whose eyes earth gap'd in Thebes, when all Cried out, 'Amphiaraus, whither rushest? 'Why leavest thou the war?' He not the less Fell ruining far as to Minos down, Whose grapple none eludes. Lo! how he makes The breast his shoulders, and who once too far Before him wish'd to see, now backward looks, And treads reverse his path. Tiresias note, Who semblance chang'd, when woman he became Of male, through every limb transform'd, and then Once more behov'd him with his rod to strike The two entwining serpents, ere the plumes, That mark'd the better sex, might shoot again. "Aruns, with more his belly facing, comes. On Luni's mountains 'midst the marbles white, Where delves Carrara's hind, who wons beneath, A cavern was his dwelling, whence the stars And main-sea wide in boundless view he held. "The next, whose loosen'd tresses overspread Her bosom, which thou seest not (for each hair On that side grows) was Manto, she who search'd Through many regions, and at length her seat Fix'd in my native land, whence a short space My words detain thy audience. When her sire From life departed, and in servitude The city dedicate to Bacchus mourn'd, Long time she went a wand'rer through the world. Aloft in Italy's delightful land A lake there lies, at foot of that proud Alp, That o'er the Tyrol locks Germania in, Its name Benacus, which a thousand rills, Methinks, and more, water between the vale Camonica and Garda and the height Of Apennine remote. There is a spot At midway of that lake, where he who bears Of Trento's flock the past'ral staff, with him Of Brescia, and the Veronese, might each Passing that way his benediction give. A garrison of goodly site and strong Peschiera stands, to awe with front oppos'd The Bergamese and Brescian, whence the shore More slope each way descends. There, whatsoev'er Benacus' bosom holds not, tumbling o'er Down falls, and winds a river flood beneath Through the green pastures. Soon as in his course The steam makes head, Benacus then no more They call the name, but Mincius, till at last Reaching Governo into Po he falls. Not far his course hath run, when a wide flat It finds, which overstretchmg as a marsh It covers, pestilent in summer oft. Hence journeying, the savage maiden saw 'Midst of the fen a territory waste And naked of inhabitants. To shun All human converse, here she with her slaves Plying her arts remain'd, and liv'd, and left Her body tenantless. Thenceforth the tribes, Who round were scatter'd, gath'ring to that place Assembled; for its strength was great, enclos'd On all parts by the fen. On those dead bones They rear'd themselves a city, for her sake, Calling it Mantua, who first chose the spot, Nor ask'd another omen for the name, Wherein more numerous the people dwelt, Ere Casalodi's madness by deceit Was wrong'd of Pinamonte. If thou hear Henceforth another origin assign'd Of that my country, I forewarn thee now, That falsehood none beguile thee of the truth." I answer'd: "Teacher, I conclude thy words So certain, that all else shall be to me As embers lacking life. But now of these, Who here proceed, instruct me, if thou see Any that merit more especial note. For thereon is my mind alone intent." He straight replied: "That spirit, from whose cheek The beard sweeps o'er his shoulders brown, what time Graecia was emptied of her males, that scarce The cradles were supplied, the seer was he In Aulis, who with Calchas gave the sign When first to cut the cable. Him they nam'd Eurypilus: so sings my tragic strain, In which majestic measure well thou know'st, Who know'st it all. That other, round the loins So slender of his shape, was Michael Scot, Practis'd in ev'ry slight of magic wile. "Guido Bonatti see: Asdente mark, Who now were willing, he had tended still The thread and cordwain; and too late repents. "See next the wretches, who the needle left, The shuttle and the spindle, and became Diviners: baneful witcheries they wrought With images and herbs. But onward now: For now doth Cain with fork of thorns confine On either hemisphere, touching the wave Beneath the towers of Seville. Yesternight The moon was round. Thou mayst remember well: For she good service did thee in the gloom Of the deep wood." This said, both onward mov'd. CANTO XXI THUS we from bridge to bridge, with other talk, The which my drama cares not to rehearse, Pass'd on; and to the summit reaching, stood To view another gap, within the round Of Malebolge, other bootless pangs. Marvelous darkness shadow'd o'er the place. In the Venetians' arsenal as boils Through wintry months tenacious pitch, to smear Their unsound vessels; for th' inclement time Sea-faring men restrains, and in that while His bark one builds anew, another stops The ribs of his, that hath made many a voyage; One hammers at the prow, one at the poop; This shapeth oars, that other cables twirls, The mizen one repairs and main-sail rent So not by force of fire but art divine Boil'd here a glutinous thick mass, that round Lim'd all the shore beneath. I that beheld, But therein nought distinguish'd, save the surge, Rais'd by the boiling, in one mighty swell Heave, and by turns subsiding and fall. While there I fix'd my ken below, "Mark! mark!" my guide Exclaiming, drew me towards him from the place, Wherein I stood. I turn'd myself as one, Impatient to behold that which beheld He needs must shun, whom sudden fear unmans, That he his flight delays not for the view. Behind me I discern'd a devil black, That running, up advanc'd along the rock. Ah! what fierce cruelty his look bespake! In act how bitter did he seem, with wings Buoyant outstretch'd and feet of nimblest tread! His shoulder proudly eminent and sharp Was with a sinner charg'd; by either haunch He held him, the foot's sinew griping fast. "Ye of our bridge!" he cried, "keen-talon'd fiends! Lo! one of Santa Zita's elders! Him Whelm ye beneath, while I return for more. That land hath store of such. All men are there, Except Bonturo, barterers: of 'no' For lucre there an 'aye' is quickly made." Him dashing down, o'er the rough rock he turn'd, Nor ever after thief a mastiff loos'd Sped with like eager haste. That other sank And forthwith writhing to the surface rose. But those dark demons, shrouded by the bridge, Cried "Here the hallow'd visage saves not: here Is other swimming than in Serchio's wave. Wherefore if thou desire we rend thee not, Take heed thou mount not o'er the pitch." This said, They grappled him with more than hundred hooks, And shouted: "Cover'd thou must sport thee here; So, if thou canst, in secret mayst thou filch." E'en thus the cook bestirs him, with his grooms, To thrust the flesh into the caldron down With flesh-hooks, that it float not on the top. Me then my guide bespake: "Lest they descry, That thou art here, behind a craggy rock Bend low and screen thee; and whate'er of force Be offer'd me, or insult, fear thou not: For I am well advis'd, who have been erst In the like fray." Beyond the bridge's head Therewith he pass'd, and reaching the sixth pier, Behov'd him then a forehead terror-proof. With storm and fury, as when dogs rush forth Upon the poor man's back, who suddenly From whence he standeth makes his suit; so rush'd Those from beneath the arch, and against him Their weapons all they pointed. He aloud: "Be none of you outrageous: ere your time Dare seize me, come forth from amongst you one, "Who having heard my words, decide he then If he shall tear these limbs." They shouted loud, "Go, Malacoda!" Whereat one advanc'd, The others standing firm, and as he came, "What may this turn avail him?" he exclaim'd. "Believ'st thou, Malacoda! I had come Thus far from all your skirmishing secure," My teacher answered, "without will divine And destiny propitious? Pass we then For so Heaven's pleasure is, that I should lead Another through this savage wilderness." Forthwith so fell his pride, that he let drop The instrument of torture at his feet, And to the rest exclaim'd: "We have no power To strike him." Then to me my guide: "O thou! Who on the bridge among the crags dost sit Low crouching, safely now to me return." I rose, and towards him moved with speed: the fiends Meantime all forward drew: me terror seiz'd Lest they should break the compact they had made. Thus issuing from Caprona, once I saw Th' infantry dreading, lest his covenant The foe should break; so close he hemm'd them round. I to my leader's side adher'd, mine eyes With fixt and motionless observance bent On their unkindly visage. They their hooks Protruding, one the other thus bespake: "Wilt thou I touch him on the hip?" To whom Was answer'd: "Even so; nor miss thy aim." But he, who was in conf'rence with my guide, Turn'd rapid round, and thus the demon spake: "Stay, stay thee, Scarmiglione!" Then to us He added: "Further footing to your step This rock affords not, shiver'd to the base Of the sixth arch. But would you still proceed, Up by this cavern go: not distant far, Another rock will yield you passage safe. Yesterday, later by five hours than now, Twelve hundred threescore years and six had fill'd The circuit of their course, since here the way Was broken. Thitherward I straight dispatch Certain of these my scouts, who shall espy If any on the surface bask. With them Go ye: for ye shall find them nothing fell. Come Alichino forth," with that he cried, "And Calcabrina, and Cagnazzo thou! The troop of ten let Barbariccia lead. With Libicocco Draghinazzo haste, Fang'd Ciriatto, Grafflacane fierce, And Farfarello, and mad Rubicant. Search ye around the bubbling tar. For these, In safety lead them, where the other crag Uninterrupted traverses the dens." I then: "O master! what a sight is there! Ah! without escort, journey we alone, Which, if thou know the way, I covet not. Unless thy prudence fail thee, dost not mark How they do gnarl upon us, and their scowl Threatens us present tortures?" He replied: "I charge thee fear not: let them, as they will, Gnarl on: 't is but in token of their spite Against the souls, who mourn in torment steep'd." To leftward o'er the pier they turn'd; but each Had first between his teeth prest close the tongue, Toward their leader for a signal looking, Which he with sound obscene triumphant gave. CANTO XXII IT hath been heretofore my chance to see Horsemen with martial order shifting camp, To onset sallying, or in muster rang'd, Or in retreat sometimes outstretch'd for flight; Light-armed squadrons and fleet foragers Scouring thy plains, Arezzo! have I seen, And clashing tournaments, and tilting jousts, Now with the sound of trumpets, now of bells, Tabors, or signals made from castled heights, And with inventions multiform, our own, Or introduc'd from foreign land; but ne'er To such a strange recorder I beheld, In evolution moving, horse nor foot, Nor ship, that tack'd by sign from land or star. With the ten demons on our way we went; Ah fearful company! but in the church With saints, with gluttons at the tavern's mess. Still earnest on the pitch I gaz'd, to mark All things whate'er the chasm contain'd, and those Who burn'd within. As dolphins, that, in sign To mariners, heave high their arched backs, That thence forewarn'd they may advise to save Their threaten'd vessels; so, at intervals, To ease the pain his back some sinner show'd, Then hid more nimbly than the lightning glance. E'en as the frogs, that of a wat'ry moat Stand at the brink, with the jaws only out, Their feet and of the trunk all else concealed, Thus on each part the sinners stood, but soon As Barbariccia was at hand, so they Drew back under the wave. I saw, and yet My heart doth stagger, one, that waited thus, As it befalls that oft one frog remains, While the next springs away: and Graffiacan, Who of the fiends was nearest, grappling seiz'd His clotted locks, and dragg'd him sprawling up, That he appear'd to me an otter. Each Already by their names I knew, so well When they were chosen, I observ'd, and mark'd How one the other call'd. "O Rubicant! See that his hide thou with thy talons flay," Shouted together all the cursed crew. Then I: "Inform thee, master! if thou may, What wretched soul is this, on whom their hand His foes have laid." My leader to his side Approach'd, and whence he came inquir'd, to whom Was answer'd thus: "Born in Navarre's domain My mother plac'd me in a lord's retinue, For she had borne me to a losel vile, A spendthrift of his substance and himself. The good king Thibault after that I serv'd, To peculating here my thoughts were turn'd, Whereof I give account in this dire heat." Straight Ciriatto, from whose mouth a tusk Issued on either side, as from a boar, Ript him with one of these. 'Twixt evil claws The mouse had fall'n: but Barbariccia cried, Seizing him with both arms: "Stand thou apart, While I do fix him on my prong transpierc'd." Then added, turning to my guide his face, "Inquire of him, if more thou wish to learn, Ere he again be rent." My leader thus: "Then tell us of the partners in thy guilt; Knowest thou any sprung of Latian land Under the tar?"--"I parted," he replied, "But now from one, who sojourn'd not far thence; So were I under shelter now with him! Nor hook nor talon then should scare me more."--. "Too long we suffer," Libicocco cried, Then, darting forth a prong, seiz'd on his arm, And mangled bore away the sinewy part. Him Draghinazzo by his thighs beneath Would next have caught, whence angrily their chief, Turning on all sides round, with threat'ning brow Restrain'd them. When their strife a little ceas'd, Of him, who yet was gazing on his wound, My teacher thus without delay inquir'd: "Who was the spirit, from whom by evil hap Parting, as thou has told, thou cam'st to shore?"-- "It was the friar Gomita," he rejoin'd, "He of Gallura, vessel of all guile, Who had his master's enemies in hand, And us'd them so that they commend him well. Money he took, and them at large dismiss'd. So he reports: and in each other charge Committed to his keeping, play'd the part Of barterer to the height: with him doth herd The chief of Logodoro, Michel Zanche. Sardinia is a theme, whereof their tongue Is never weary. Out! alas! behold That other, how he grins! More would I say, But tremble lest he mean to maul me sore." Their captain then to Farfarello turning, Who roll'd his moony eyes in act to strike, Rebuk'd him thus: "Off! cursed bird! Avaunt!"-- "If ye desire to see or hear," he thus Quaking with dread resum'd, "or Tuscan spirits Or Lombard, I will cause them to appear. Meantime let these ill talons bate their fury, So that no vengeance they may fear from them, And I, remaining in this self-same place, Will for myself but one, make sev'n appear, When my shrill whistle shall be heard; for so Our custom is to call each other up." Cagnazzo at that word deriding grinn'd, Then wagg'd the head and spake: "Hear his device, Mischievous as he is, to plunge him down." Whereto he thus, who fail'd not in rich store Of nice-wove toils; "Mischief forsooth extreme, Meant only to procure myself more woe!" No longer Alichino then refrain'd, But thus, the rest gainsaying, him bespake: "If thou do cast thee down, I not on foot Will chase thee, but above the pitch will beat My plumes. Quit we the vantage ground, and let The bank be as a shield, that we may see If singly thou prevail against us all." Now, reader, of new sport expect to hear! They each one turn'd his eyes to the other shore, He first, who was the hardest to persuade. The spirit of Navarre chose well his time, Planted his feet on land, and at one leap Escaping disappointed their resolve. Them quick resentment stung, but him the most, Who was the cause of failure; in pursuit He therefore sped, exclaiming; "Thou art caught." But little it avail'd: terror outstripp'd His following flight: the other plung'd beneath, And he with upward pinion rais'd his breast: E'en thus the water-fowl, when she perceives The falcon near, dives instant down, while he Enrag'd and spent retires. That mockery In Calcabrina fury stirr'd, who flew After him, with desire of strife inflam'd; And, for the barterer had 'scap'd, so turn'd His talons on his comrade. O'er the dyke In grapple close they join'd; but the other prov'd A goshawk able to rend well his foe; And in the boiling lake both fell. The heat Was umpire soon between them, but in vain To lift themselves they strove, so fast were glued Their pennons. Barbariccia, as the rest, That chance lamenting, four in flight dispatch'd From the other coast, with all their weapons arm'd. They, to their post on each side speedily Descending, stretch'd their hooks toward the fiends, Who flounder'd, inly burning from their scars: And we departing left them to that broil. CANTO XXIII IN silence and in solitude we went, One first, the other following his steps, As minor friars journeying on their road. The present fray had turn'd my thoughts to muse Upon old Aesop's fable, where he told What fate unto the mouse and frog befell. For language hath not sounds more like in sense, Than are these chances, if the origin And end of each be heedfully compar'd. And as one thought bursts from another forth, So afterward from that another sprang, Which added doubly to my former fear. For thus I reason'd: "These through us have been So foil'd, with loss and mock'ry so complete, As needs must sting them sore. If anger then Be to their evil will conjoin'd, more fell They shall pursue us, than the savage hound Snatches the leveret, panting 'twixt his jaws." Already I perceiv'd my hair stand all On end with terror, and look'd eager back. "Teacher," I thus began, "if speedily Thyself and me thou hide not, much I dread Those evil talons. Even now behind They urge us: quick imagination works So forcibly, that I already feel them." He answer'd: "Were I form'd of leaded glass, I should not sooner draw unto myself Thy outward image, than I now imprint That from within. This moment came thy thoughts Presented before mine, with similar act And count'nance similar, so that from both I one design have fram'd. If the right coast Incline so much, that we may thence descend Into the other chasm, we shall escape Secure from this imagined pursuit." He had not spoke his purpose to the end, When I from far beheld them with spread wings Approach to take us. Suddenly my guide Caught me, ev'n as a mother that from sleep Is by the noise arous'd, and near her sees The climbing fires, who snatches up her babe And flies ne'er pausing, careful more of him Than of herself, that but a single vest Clings round her limbs. Down from the jutting beach Supine he cast him, to that pendent rock, Which closes on one part the other chasm. Never ran water with such hurrying pace Adown the tube to turn a landmill's wheel, When nearest it approaches to the spokes, As then along that edge my master ran, Carrying me in his bosom, as a child, Not a companion. Scarcely had his feet Reach'd to the lowest of the bed beneath, When over us the steep they reach'd; but fear In him was none; for that high Providence, Which plac'd them ministers of the fifth foss, Power of departing thence took from them all. There in the depth we saw a painted tribe, Who pac'd with tardy steps around, and wept, Faint in appearance and o'ercome with toil. Caps had they on, with hoods, that fell low down Before their eyes, in fashion like to those Worn by the monks in Cologne. Their outside Was overlaid with gold, dazzling to view, But leaden all within, and of such weight, That Frederick's compar'd to these were straw. Oh, everlasting wearisome attire! We yet once more with them together turn'd To leftward, on their dismal moan intent. But by the weight oppress'd, so slowly came The fainting people, that our company Was chang'd at every movement of the step. Whence I my guide address'd: "See that thou find Some spirit, whose name may by his deeds be known, And to that end look round thee as thou go'st." Then one, who understood the Tuscan voice, Cried after us aloud: "Hold in your feet, Ye who so swiftly speed through the dusk air. Perchance from me thou shalt obtain thy wish." Whereat my leader, turning, me bespake: "Pause, and then onward at their pace proceed." I staid, and saw two Spirits in whose look Impatient eagerness of mind was mark'd To overtake me; but the load they bare And narrow path retarded their approach. Soon as arriv'd, they with an eye askance Perus'd me, but spake not: then turning each To other thus conferring said: "This one Seems, by the action of his throat, alive. And, be they dead, what privilege allows They walk unmantled by the cumbrous stole?" Then thus to me: "Tuscan, who visitest The college of the mourning hypocrites, Disdain not to instruct us who thou art." "By Arno's pleasant stream," I thus replied, "In the great city I was bred and grew, And wear the body I have ever worn. but who are ye, from whom such mighty grief, As now I witness, courseth down your cheeks? What torment breaks forth in this bitter woe?" "Our bonnets gleaming bright with orange hue," One of them answer'd, "are so leaden gross, That with their weight they make the balances To crack beneath them. Joyous friars we were, Bologna's natives, Catalano I, He Loderingo nam'd, and by thy land Together taken, as men used to take A single and indifferent arbiter, To reconcile their strifes. How there we sped, Gardingo's vicinage can best declare." "O friars!" I began, "your miseries--" But there brake off, for one had caught my eye, Fix'd to a cross with three stakes on the ground: He, when he saw me, writh'd himself, throughout Distorted, ruffling with deep sighs his beard. And Catalano, who thereof was 'ware, Thus spake: "That pierced spirit, whom intent Thou view'st, was he who gave the Pharisees Counsel, that it were fitting for one man To suffer for the people. He doth lie Transverse; nor any passes, but him first Behoves make feeling trial how each weighs. In straits like this along the foss are plac'd The father of his consort, and the rest Partakers in that council, seed of ill And sorrow to the Jews." I noted then, How Virgil gaz'd with wonder upon him, Thus abjectly extended on the cross In banishment eternal. To the friar He next his words address'd: "We pray ye tell, If so be lawful, whether on our right Lies any opening in the rock, whereby We both may issue hence, without constraint On the dark angels, that compell'd they come To lead us from this depth." He thus replied: "Nearer than thou dost hope, there is a rock From the next circle moving, which o'ersteps Each vale of horror, save that here his cope Is shatter'd. By the ruin ye may mount: For on the side it slants, and most the height Rises below." With head bent down awhile My leader stood, then spake: "He warn'd us ill, Who yonder hangs the sinners on his hook." To whom the friar: At Bologna erst "I many vices of the devil heard, Among the rest was said, 'He is a liar, And the father of lies!'" When he had spoke, My leader with large strides proceeded on, Somewhat disturb'd with anger in his look. I therefore left the spirits heavy laden, And following, his beloved footsteps mark'd. CANTO XXIV IN the year's early nonage, when the sun Tempers his tresses in Aquarius' urn, And now towards equal day the nights recede, When as the rime upon the earth puts on Her dazzling sister's image, but not long Her milder sway endures, then riseth up The village hind, whom fails his wintry store, And looking out beholds the plain around All whiten'd, whence impatiently he smites His thighs, and to his hut returning in, There paces to and fro, wailing his lot, As a discomfited and helpless man; Then comes he forth again, and feels new hope Spring in his bosom, finding e'en thus soon The world hath chang'd its count'nance, grasps his crook, And forth to pasture drives his little flock: So me my guide dishearten'd when I saw His troubled forehead, and so speedily That ill was cur'd; for at the fallen bridge Arriving, towards me with a look as sweet, He turn'd him back, as that I first beheld At the steep mountain's foot. Regarding well The ruin, and some counsel first maintain'd With his own thought, he open'd wide his arm And took me up. As one, who, while he works, Computes his labour's issue, that he seems Still to foresee the effect, so lifting me Up to the summit of one peak, he fix'd His eye upon another. "Grapple that," Said he, "but first make proof, if it be such As will sustain thee." For one capp'd with lead This were no journey. Scarcely he, though light, And I, though onward push'd from crag to crag, Could mount. And if the precinct of this coast Were not less ample than the last, for him I know not, but my strength had surely fail'd. But Malebolge all toward the mouth Inclining of the nethermost abyss, The site of every valley hence requires, That one side upward slope, the other fall. At length the point of our descent we reach'd From the last flag: soon as to that arriv'd, So was the breath exhausted from my lungs, I could no further, but did seat me there. "Now needs thy best of man;" so spake my guide: "For not on downy plumes, nor under shade Of canopy reposing, fame is won, Without which whosoe'er consumes his days Leaveth such vestige of himself on earth, As smoke in air or foam upon the wave. Thou therefore rise: vanish thy weariness By the mind's effort, in each struggle form'd To vanquish, if she suffer not the weight Of her corporeal frame to crush her down. A longer ladder yet remains to scale. From these to have escap'd sufficeth not. If well thou note me, profit by my words." I straightway rose, and show'd myself less spent Than I in truth did feel me. "On," I cried, "For I am stout and fearless." Up the rock Our way we held, more rugged than before, Narrower and steeper far to climb. From talk I ceas'd not, as we journey'd, so to seem Least faint; whereat a voice from the other foss Did issue forth, for utt'rance suited ill. Though on the arch that crosses there I stood, What were the words I knew not, but who spake Seem'd mov'd in anger. Down I stoop'd to look, But my quick eye might reach not to the depth For shrouding darkness; wherefore thus I spake: "To the next circle, Teacher, bend thy steps, And from the wall dismount we; for as hence I hear and understand not, so I see Beneath, and naught discern."--"I answer not," Said he, "but by the deed. To fair request Silent performance maketh best return." We from the bridge's head descended, where To the eighth mound it joins, and then the chasm Opening to view, I saw a crowd within Of serpents terrible, so strange of shape And hideous, that remembrance in my veins Yet shrinks the vital current. Of her sands Let Lybia vaunt no more: if Jaculus, Pareas and Chelyder be her brood, Cenchris and Amphisboena, plagues so dire Or in such numbers swarming ne'er she shew'd, Not with all Ethiopia, and whate'er Above the Erythraean sea is spawn'd. Amid this dread exuberance of woe Ran naked spirits wing'd with horrid fear, Nor hope had they of crevice where to hide, Or heliotrope to charm them out of view. With serpents were their hands behind them bound, Which through their reins infix'd the tail and head Twisted in folds before. And lo! on one Near to our side, darted an adder up, And, where the neck is on the shoulders tied, Transpierc'd him. Far more quickly than e'er pen Wrote O or I, he kindled, burn'd, and chang'd To ashes, all pour'd out upon the earth. When there dissolv'd he lay, the dust again Uproll'd spontaneous, and the self-same form Instant resumed. So mighty sages tell, The Arabian Phoenix, when five hundred years Have well nigh circled, dies, and springs forthwith Renascent. Blade nor herb throughout his life He tastes, but tears of frankincense alone And odorous amomum: swaths of nard And myrrh his funeral shroud. As one that falls, He knows not how, by force demoniac dragg'd To earth, or through obstruction fettering up In chains invisible the powers of man, Who, risen from his trance, gazeth around, Bewilder'd with the monstrous agony He hath endur'd, and wildly staring sighs; So stood aghast the sinner when he rose. Oh! how severe God's judgment, that deals out Such blows in stormy vengeance! Who he was My teacher next inquir'd, and thus in few He answer'd: "Vanni Fucci am I call'd, Not long since rained down from Tuscany To this dire gullet. Me the beastial life And not the human pleas'd, mule that I was, Who in Pistoia found my worthy den." I then to Virgil: "Bid him stir not hence, And ask what crime did thrust him hither: once A man I knew him choleric and bloody." The sinner heard and feign'd not, but towards me His mind directing and his face, wherein Was dismal shame depictur'd, thus he spake: "It grieves me more to have been caught by thee In this sad plight, which thou beholdest, than When I was taken from the other life. I have no power permitted to deny What thou inquirest. I am doom'd thus low To dwell, for that the sacristy by me Was rifled of its goodly ornaments, And with the guilt another falsely charged. But that thou mayst not joy to see me thus, So as thou e'er shalt 'scape this darksome realm Open thine ears and hear what I forebode. Reft of the Neri first Pistoia pines, Then Florence changeth citizens and laws. From Valdimagra, drawn by wrathful Mars, A vapour rises, wrapt in turbid mists, And sharp and eager driveth on the storm With arrowy hurtling o'er Piceno's field, Whence suddenly the cloud shall burst, and strike Each helpless Bianco prostrate to the ground. This have I told, that grief may rend thy heart." CANTO XXV WHEN he had spoke, the sinner rais'd his hands Pointed in mockery, and cried: "Take them, God! I level them at thee!" From that day forth The serpents were my friends; for round his neck One of then rolling twisted, as it said, "Be silent, tongue!" Another to his arms Upgliding, tied them, riveting itself So close, it took from them the power to move. Pistoia! Ah Pistoia! why dost doubt To turn thee into ashes, cumb'ring earth No longer, since in evil act so far Thou hast outdone thy seed? I did not mark, Through all the gloomy circles of the abyss, Spirit, that swell'd so proudly 'gainst his God, Not him, who headlong fell from Thebes. He fled, Nor utter'd more; and after him there came A centaur full of fury, shouting, "Where Where is the caitiff?" On Maremma's marsh Swarm not the serpent tribe, as on his haunch They swarm'd, to where the human face begins. Behind his head upon the shoulders lay, With open wings, a dragon breathing fire On whomsoe'er he met. To me my guide: "Cacus is this, who underneath the rock Of Aventine spread oft a lake of blood. He, from his brethren parted, here must tread A different journey, for his fraudful theft Of the great herd, that near him stall'd; whence found His felon deeds their end, beneath the mace Of stout Alcides, that perchance laid on A hundred blows, and not the tenth was felt." While yet he spake, the centaur sped away: And under us three spirits came, of whom Nor I nor he was ware, till they exclaim'd; "Say who are ye?" We then brake off discourse, Intent on these alone. I knew them not; But, as it chanceth oft, befell, that one Had need to name another. "Where," said he, "Doth Cianfa lurk?" I, for a sign my guide Should stand attentive, plac'd against my lips The finger lifted. If, O reader! now Thou be not apt to credit what I tell, No marvel; for myself do scarce allow The witness of mine eyes. But as I looked Toward them, lo! a serpent with six feet Springs forth on one, and fastens full upon him: His midmost grasp'd the belly, a forefoot Seiz'd on each arm (while deep in either cheek He flesh'd his fangs); the hinder on the thighs Were spread, 'twixt which the tail inserted curl'd Upon the reins behind. Ivy ne'er clasp'd A dodder'd oak, as round the other's limbs The hideous monster intertwin'd his own. Then, as they both had been of burning wax, Each melted into other, mingling hues, That which was either now was seen no more. Thus up the shrinking paper, ere it burns, A brown tint glides, not turning yet to black, And the clean white expires. The other two Look'd on exclaiming: "Ah, how dost thou change, Agnello! See! Thou art nor double now, "Nor only one." The two heads now became One, and two figures blended in one form Appear'd, where both were lost. Of the four lengths Two arms were made: the belly and the chest The thighs and legs into such members chang'd, As never eye hath seen. Of former shape All trace was vanish'd. Two yet neither seem'd That image miscreate, and so pass'd on With tardy steps. As underneath the scourge Of the fierce dog-star, that lays bare the fields, Shifting from brake to brake, the lizard seems A flash of lightning, if he thwart the road, So toward th' entrails of the other two Approaching seem'd, an adder all on fire, As the dark pepper-grain, livid and swart. In that part, whence our life is nourish'd first, One he transpierc'd; then down before him fell Stretch'd out. The pierced spirit look'd on him But spake not; yea stood motionless and yawn'd, As if by sleep or fev'rous fit assail'd. He ey'd the serpent, and the serpent him. One from the wound, the other from the mouth Breath'd a thick smoke, whose vap'ry columns join'd. Lucan in mute attention now may hear, Nor thy disastrous fate, Sabellus! tell, Nor shine, Nasidius! Ovid now be mute. What if in warbling fiction he record Cadmus and Arethusa, to a snake Him chang'd, and her into a fountain clear, I envy not; for never face to face Two natures thus transmuted did he sing, Wherein both shapes were ready to assume The other's substance. They in mutual guise So answer'd, that the serpent split his train Divided to a fork, and the pierc'd spirit Drew close his steps together, legs and thighs Compacted, that no sign of juncture soon Was visible: the tail disparted took The figure which the spirit lost, its skin Soft'ning, his indurated to a rind. The shoulders next I mark'd, that ent'ring join'd The monster's arm-pits, whose two shorter feet So lengthen'd, as the other's dwindling shrunk. The feet behind then twisting up became That part that man conceals, which in the wretch Was cleft in twain. While both the shadowy smoke With a new colour veils, and generates Th' excrescent pile on one, peeling it off From th' other body, lo! upon his feet One upright rose, and prone the other fell. Not yet their glaring and malignant lamps Were shifted, though each feature chang'd beneath. Of him who stood erect, the mounting face Retreated towards the temples, and what there Superfluous matter came, shot out in ears From the smooth cheeks, the rest, not backward dragg'd, Of its excess did shape the nose; and swell'd Into due size protuberant the lips. He, on the earth who lay, meanwhile extends His sharpen'd visage, and draws down the ears Into the head, as doth the slug his horns. His tongue continuous before and apt For utt'rance, severs; and the other's fork Closing unites. That done the smoke was laid. The soul, transform'd into the brute, glides off, Hissing along the vale, and after him The other talking sputters; but soon turn'd His new-grown shoulders on him, and in few Thus to another spake: "Along this path Crawling, as I have done, speed Buoso now!" So saw I fluctuate in successive change Th' unsteady ballast of the seventh hold: And here if aught my tongue have swerv'd, events So strange may be its warrant. O'er mine eyes Confusion hung, and on my thoughts amaze. Yet 'scap'd they not so covertly, but well I mark'd Sciancato: he alone it was Of the three first that came, who chang'd not: thou, The other's fate, Gaville, still dost rue. CANTO XXVI FLORENCE exult! for thou so mightily Hast thriven, that o'er land and sea thy wings Thou beatest, and thy name spreads over hell! Among the plund'rers such the three I found Thy citizens, whence shame to me thy son, And no proud honour to thyself redounds. But if our minds, when dreaming near the dawn, Are of the truth presageful, thou ere long Shalt feel what Prato, (not to say the rest) Would fain might come upon thee; and that chance Were in good time, if it befell thee now. Would so it were, since it must needs befall! For as time wears me, I shall grieve the more. We from the depth departed; and my guide Remounting scal'd the flinty steps, which late We downward trac'd, and drew me up the steep. Pursuing thus our solitary way Among the crags and splinters of the rock, Sped not our feet without the help of hands. Then sorrow seiz'd me, which e'en now revives, As my thought turns again to what I saw, And, more than I am wont, I rein and curb The powers of nature in me, lest they run Where Virtue guides not; that if aught of good My gentle star, or something better gave me, I envy not myself the precious boon. As in that season, when the sun least veils His face that lightens all, what time the fly Gives way to the shrill gnat, the peasant then Upon some cliff reclin'd, beneath him sees Fire-flies innumerous spangling o'er the vale, Vineyard or tilth, where his day-labour lies: With flames so numberless throughout its space Shone the eighth chasm, apparent, when the depth Was to my view expos'd. As he, whose wrongs The bears aveng'd, at its departure saw Elijah's chariot, when the steeds erect Rais'd their steep flight for heav'n; his eyes meanwhile, Straining pursu'd them, till the flame alone Upsoaring like a misty speck he kenn'd; E'en thus along the gulf moves every flame, A sinner so enfolded close in each, That none exhibits token of the theft. Upon the bridge I forward bent to look, And grasp'd a flinty mass, or else had fall'n, Though push'd not from the height. The guide, who mark'd How I did gaze attentive, thus began: "Within these ardours are the spirits, each Swath'd in confining fire."--"Master, thy word," I answer'd, "hath assur'd me; yet I deem'd Already of the truth, already wish'd To ask thee, who is in yon fire, that comes So parted at the summit, as it seem'd Ascending from that funeral pile, where lay The Theban brothers?" He replied: "Within Ulysses there and Diomede endure Their penal tortures, thus to vengeance now Together hasting, as erewhile to wrath. These in the flame with ceaseless groans deplore The ambush of the horse, that open'd wide A portal for that goodly seed to pass, Which sow'd imperial Rome; nor less the guile Lament they, whence of her Achilles 'reft Deidamia yet in death complains. And there is rued the stratagem, that Troy Of her Palladium spoil'd."--"If they have power Of utt'rance from within these sparks," said I, "O master! think my prayer a thousand fold In repetition urg'd, that thou vouchsafe To pause, till here the horned flame arrive. See, how toward it with desire I bend." He thus: "Thy prayer is worthy of much praise, And I accept it therefore: but do thou Thy tongue refrain: to question them be mine, For I divine thy wish: and they perchance, For they were Greeks, might shun discourse with thee." When there the flame had come, where time and place Seem'd fitting to my guide, he thus began: "O ye, who dwell two spirits in one fire! If living I of you did merit aught, Whate'er the measure were of that desert, When in the world my lofty strain I pour'd, Move ye not on, till one of you unfold In what clime death o'ertook him self-destroy'd." Of the old flame forthwith the greater horn Began to roll, murmuring, as a fire That labours with the wind, then to and fro Wagging the top, as a tongue uttering sounds, Threw out its voice, and spake: "When I escap'd From Circe, who beyond a circling year Had held me near Caieta, by her charms, Ere thus Aeneas yet had nam'd the shore, Nor fondness for my son, nor reverence Of my old father, nor return of love, That should have crown'd Penelope with joy, Could overcome in me the zeal I had T' explore the world, and search the ways of life, Man's evil and his virtue. Forth I sail'd Into the deep illimitable main, With but one bark, and the small faithful band That yet cleav'd to me. As Iberia far, Far as Morocco either shore I saw, And the Sardinian and each isle beside Which round that ocean bathes. Tardy with age Were I and my companions, when we came To the strait pass, where Hercules ordain'd The bound'ries not to be o'erstepp'd by man. The walls of Seville to my right I left, On the other hand already Ceuta past. "O brothers!" I began, "who to the west Through perils without number now have reach'd, To this the short remaining watch, that yet Our senses have to wake, refuse not proof Of the unpeopled world, following the track Of Phoebus. Call to mind from whence we sprang: Ye were not form'd to live the life of brutes But virtue to pursue and knowledge high. With these few words I sharpen'd for the voyage The mind of my associates, that I then Could scarcely have withheld them. To the dawn Our poop we turn'd, and for the witless flight Made our oars wings, still gaining on the left. Each star of the other pole night now beheld, And ours so low, that from the ocean-floor It rose not. Five times re-illum'd, as oft Vanish'd the light from underneath the moon Since the deep way we enter'd, when from far Appear'd a mountain dim, loftiest methought Of all I e'er beheld. Joy seiz'd us straight, But soon to mourning changed. From the new land A whirlwind sprung, and at her foremost side Did strike the vessel. Thrice it whirl'd her round With all the waves, the fourth time lifted up The poop, and sank the prow: so fate decreed: And over us the booming billow clos'd." CANTO XVII NOW upward rose the flame, and still'd its light To speak no more, and now pass'd on with leave From the mild poet gain'd, when following came Another, from whose top a sound confus'd, Forth issuing, drew our eyes that way to look. As the Sicilian bull, that rightfully His cries first echoed, who had shap'd its mould, Did so rebellow, with the voice of him Tormented, that the brazen monster seem'd Pierc'd through with pain; thus while no way they found Nor avenue immediate through the flame, Into its language turn'd the dismal words: But soon as they had won their passage forth, Up from the point, which vibrating obey'd Their motion at the tongue, these sounds we heard: "O thou! to whom I now direct my voice! That lately didst exclaim in Lombard phrase, "Depart thou, I solicit thee no more, Though somewhat tardy I perchance arrive Let it not irk thee here to pause awhile, And with me parley: lo! it irks not me And yet I burn. If but e'en now thou fall into this blind world, from that pleasant land Of Latium, whence I draw my sum of guilt, Tell me if those, who in Romagna dwell, Have peace or war. For of the mountains there Was I, betwixt Urbino and the height, Whence Tyber first unlocks his mighty flood." Leaning I listen'd yet with heedful ear, When, as he touch'd my side, the leader thus: "Speak thou: he is a Latian." My reply Was ready, and I spake without delay: "O spirit! who art hidden here below! Never was thy Romagna without war In her proud tyrants' bosoms, nor is now: But open war there left I none. The state, Ravenna hath maintain'd this many a year, Is steadfast. There Polenta's eagle broods, And in his broad circumference of plume O'ershadows Cervia. The green talons grasp The land, that stood erewhile the proof so long, And pil'd in bloody heap the host of France. "The old mastiff of Verruchio and the young, That tore Montagna in their wrath, still make, Where they are wont, an augre of their fangs. "Lamone's city and Santerno's range Under the lion of the snowy lair. Inconstant partisan! that changeth sides, Or ever summer yields to winter's frost. And she, whose flank is wash'd of Savio's wave, As 'twixt the level and the steep she lies, Lives so 'twixt tyrant power and liberty. "Now tell us, I entreat thee, who art thou? Be not more hard than others. In the world, So may thy name still rear its forehead high." Then roar'd awhile the fire, its sharpen'd point On either side wav'd, and thus breath'd at last: "If I did think, my answer were to one, Who ever could return unto the world, This flame should rest unshaken. But since ne'er, If true be told me, any from this depth Has found his upward way, I answer thee, Nor fear lest infamy record the words. "A man of arms at first, I cloth'd me then In good Saint Francis' girdle, hoping so T' have made amends. And certainly my hope Had fail'd not, but that he, whom curses light on, The high priest again seduc'd me into sin. And how and wherefore listen while I tell. Long as this spirit mov'd the bones and pulp My mother gave me, less my deeds bespake The nature of the lion than the fox. All ways of winding subtlety I knew, And with such art conducted, that the sound Reach'd the world's limit. Soon as to that part Of life I found me come, when each behoves To lower sails and gather in the lines; That which before had pleased me then I rued, And to repentance and confession turn'd; Wretch that I was! and well it had bested me! The chief of the new Pharisees meantime, Waging his warfare near the Lateran, Not with the Saracens or Jews (his foes All Christians were, nor against Acre one Had fought, nor traffic'd in the Soldan's land), He his great charge nor sacred ministry In himself, rev'renc'd, nor in me that cord, Which us'd to mark with leanness whom it girded. As in Socrate, Constantine besought To cure his leprosy Sylvester's aid, So me to cure the fever of his pride This man besought: my counsel to that end He ask'd: and I was silent: for his words Seem'd drunken: but forthwith he thus resum'd: 'From thy heart banish fear: of all offence I hitherto absolve thee. In return, Teach me my purpose so to execute, That Penestrino cumber earth no more. Heav'n, as thou knowest, I have power to shut And open: and the keys are therefore twain, The which my predecessor meanly priz'd.'" Then, yielding to the forceful arguments, Of silence as more perilous I deem'd, And answer'd: "Father! since thou washest me Clear of that guilt wherein I now must fall, Large promise with performance scant, be sure, Shall make thee triumph in thy lofty seat." "When I was number'd with the dead, then came Saint Francis for me; but a cherub dark He met, who cried: 'Wrong me not; he is mine, And must below to join the wretched crew, For the deceitful counsel which he gave. E'er since I watch'd him, hov'ring at his hair, No power can the impenitent absolve; Nor to repent and will at once consist, By contradiction absolute forbid.'" Oh mis'ry! how I shook myself, when he Seiz'd me, and cried, "Thou haply thought'st me not A disputant in logic so exact." To Minos down he bore me, and the judge Twin'd eight times round his callous back the tail, Which biting with excess of rage, he spake: "This is a guilty soul, that in the fire Must vanish. Hence perdition-doom'd I rove A prey to rankling sorrow in this garb." When he had thus fulfill'd his words, the flame In dolour parted, beating to and fro, And writhing its sharp horn. We onward went, I and my leader, up along the rock, Far as another arch, that overhangs The foss, wherein the penalty is paid Of those, who load them with committed sin. CANTO XXVIII WHO, e'en in words unfetter'd, might at full Tell of the wounds and blood that now I saw, Though he repeated oft the tale? No tongue So vast a theme could equal, speech and thought Both impotent alike. If in one band Collected, stood the people all, who e'er Pour'd on Apulia's happy soil their blood, Slain by the Trojans, and in that long war When of the rings the measur'd booty made A pile so high, as Rome's historian writes Who errs not, with the multitude, that felt The grinding force of Guiscard's Norman steel, And those the rest, whose bones are gather'd yet At Ceperano, there where treachery Branded th' Apulian name, or where beyond Thy walls, O Tagliacozzo, without arms The old Alardo conquer'd; and his limbs One were to show transpierc'd, another his Clean lopt away; a spectacle like this Were but a thing of nought, to the hideous sight Of the ninth chasm. A rundlet, that hath lost Its middle or side stave, gapes not so wide, As one I mark'd, torn from the chin throughout Down to the hinder passage: 'twixt the legs Dangling his entrails hung, the midriff lay Open to view, and wretched ventricle, That turns th' englutted aliment to dross. Whilst eagerly I fix on him my gaze, He ey'd me, with his hands laid his breast bare, And cried; "Now mark how I do rip me! lo! "How is Mohammed mangled! before me Walks Ali weeping, from the chin his face Cleft to the forelock; and the others all Whom here thou seest, while they liv'd, did sow Scandal and schism, and therefore thus are rent. A fiend is here behind, who with his sword Hacks us thus cruelly, slivering again Each of this ream, when we have compast round The dismal way, for first our gashes close Ere we repass before him. But say who Art thou, that standest musing on the rock, Haply so lingering to delay the pain Sentenc'd upon thy crimes?"--"Him death not yet," My guide rejoin'd, "hath overta'en, nor sin Conducts to torment; but, that he may make Full trial of your state, I who am dead Must through the depths of hell, from orb to orb, Conduct him. Trust my words, for they are true." More than a hundred spirits, when that they heard, Stood in the foss to mark me, through amazed, Forgetful of their pangs. "Thou, who perchance Shalt shortly view the sun, this warning thou Bear to Dolcino: bid him, if he wish not Here soon to follow me, that with good store Of food he arm him, lest impris'ning snows Yield him a victim to Novara's power, No easy conquest else." With foot uprais'd For stepping, spake Mohammed, on the ground Then fix'd it to depart. Another shade, Pierc'd in the throat, his nostrils mutilate E'en from beneath the eyebrows, and one ear Lopt off, who with the rest through wonder stood Gazing, before the rest advanc'd, and bar'd His wind-pipe, that without was all o'ersmear'd With crimson stain. "O thou!" said he, "whom sin Condemns not, and whom erst (unless too near Resemblance do deceive me) I aloft Have seen on Latian ground, call thou to mind Piero of Medicina, if again Returning, thou behold'st the pleasant land That from Vercelli slopes to Mercabo; "And there instruct the twain, whom Fano boasts Her worthiest sons, Guido and Angelo, That if 't is giv'n us here to scan aright The future, they out of life's tenement Shall be cast forth, and whelm'd under the waves Near to Cattolica, through perfidy Of a fell tyrant. 'Twixt the Cyprian isle And Balearic, ne'er hath Neptune seen An injury so foul, by pirates done Or Argive crew of old. That one-ey'd traitor (Whose realm there is a spirit here were fain His eye had still lack'd sight of) them shall bring To conf'rence with him, then so shape his end, That they shall need not 'gainst Focara's wind Offer up vow nor pray'r." I answering thus: "Declare, as thou dost wish that I above May carry tidings of thee, who is he, In whom that sight doth wake such sad remembrance?" Forthwith he laid his hand on the cheek-bone Of one, his fellow-spirit, and his jaws Expanding, cried: "Lo! this is he I wot of; He speaks not for himself: the outcast this Who overwhelm'd the doubt in Caesar's mind, Affirming that delay to men prepar'd Was ever harmful." Oh how terrified Methought was Curio, from whose throat was cut The tongue, which spake that hardy word. Then one Maim'd of each hand, uplifted in the gloom The bleeding stumps, that they with gory spots Sullied his face, and cried: "'Remember thee Of Mosca, too, I who, alas! exclaim'd, 'The deed once done there is an end,' that prov'd A seed of sorrow to the Tuscan race." I added: "Ay, and death to thine own tribe." Whence heaping woe on woe he hurried off, As one grief-stung to madness. But I there Still linger'd to behold the troop, and saw Things, such as I may fear without more proof To tell of, but that conscience makes me firm, The boon companion, who her strong breast-plate Buckles on him, that feels no guilt within And bids him on and fear not. Without doubt I saw, and yet it seems to pass before me, A headless trunk, that even as the rest Of the sad flock pac'd onward. By the hair It bore the sever'd member, lantern-wise Pendent in hand, which look'd at us and said, "Woe's me!" The spirit lighted thus himself, And two there were in one, and one in two. How that may be he knows who ordereth so. When at the bridge's foot direct he stood, His arm aloft he rear'd, thrusting the head Full in our view, that nearer we might hear The words, which thus it utter'd: "Now behold This grievous torment, thou, who breathing go'st To spy the dead; behold if any else Be terrible as this. And that on earth Thou mayst bear tidings of me, know that I Am Bertrand, he of Born, who gave King John The counsel mischievous. Father and son I set at mutual war. For Absalom And David more did not Ahitophel, Spurring them on maliciously to strife. For parting those so closely knit, my brain Parted, alas! I carry from its source, That in this trunk inhabits. Thus the law Of retribution fiercely works in me." CANTO XXIX SO were mine eyes inebriate with view Of the vast multitude, whom various wounds Disfigur'd, that they long'd to stay and weep. But Virgil rous'd me: "What yet gazest on? Wherefore doth fasten yet thy sight below Among the maim'd and miserable shades? Thou hast not shewn in any chasm beside This weakness. Know, if thou wouldst number them That two and twenty miles the valley winds Its circuit, and already is the moon Beneath our feet: the time permitted now Is short, and more not seen remains to see." "If thou," I straight replied, "hadst weigh'd the cause For which I look'd, thou hadst perchance excus'd The tarrying still." My leader part pursu'd His way, the while I follow'd, answering him, And adding thus: "Within that cave I deem, Whereon so fixedly I held my ken, There is a spirit dwells, one of my blood, Wailing the crime that costs him now so dear." Then spake my master: "Let thy soul no more Afflict itself for him. Direct elsewhere Its thought, and leave him. At the bridge's foot I mark'd how he did point with menacing look At thee, and heard him by the others nam'd Geri of Bello. Thou so wholly then Wert busied with his spirit, who once rul'd The towers of Hautefort, that thou lookedst not That way, ere he was gone."--"O guide belov'd! His violent death yet unaveng'd," said I, "By any, who are partners in his shame, Made him contemptuous: therefore, as I think, He pass'd me speechless by; and doing so Hath made me more compassionate his fate." So we discours'd to where the rock first show'd The other valley, had more light been there, E'en to the lowest depth. Soon as we came O'er the last cloister in the dismal rounds Of Malebolge, and the brotherhood Were to our view expos'd, then many a dart Of sore lament assail'd me, headed all With points of thrilling pity, that I clos'd Both ears against the volley with mine hands. As were the torment, if each lazar-house Of Valdichiana, in the sultry time 'Twixt July and September, with the isle Sardinia and Maremma's pestilent fen, Had heap'd their maladies all in one foss Together; such was here the torment: dire The stench, as issuing steams from fester'd limbs. We on the utmost shore of the long rock Descended still to leftward. Then my sight Was livelier to explore the depth, wherein The minister of the most mighty Lord, All-searching Justice, dooms to punishment The forgers noted on her dread record. More rueful was it not methinks to see The nation in Aegina droop, what time Each living thing, e'en to the little worm, All fell, so full of malice was the air (And afterward, as bards of yore have told, The ancient people were restor'd anew From seed of emmets) than was here to see The spirits, that languish'd through the murky vale Up-pil'd on many a stack. Confus'd they lay, One o'er the belly, o'er the shoulders one Roll'd of another; sideling crawl'd a third Along the dismal pathway. Step by step We journey'd on, in silence looking round And list'ning those diseas'd, who strove in vain To lift their forms. Then two I mark'd, that sat Propp'd 'gainst each other, as two brazen pans Set to retain the heat. From head to foot, A tetter bark'd them round. Nor saw I e'er Groom currying so fast, for whom his lord Impatient waited, or himself perchance Tir'd with long watching, as of these each one Plied quickly his keen nails, through furiousness Of ne'er abated pruriency. The crust Came drawn from underneath in flakes, like scales Scrap'd from the bream or fish of broader mail. "O thou, who with thy fingers rendest off Thy coat of proof," thus spake my guide to one, "And sometimes makest tearing pincers of them, Tell me if any born of Latian land Be among these within: so may thy nails Serve thee for everlasting to this toil." "Both are of Latium," weeping he replied, "Whom tortur'd thus thou seest: but who art thou That hast inquir'd of us?" To whom my guide: "One that descend with this man, who yet lives, From rock to rock, and show him hell's abyss." Then started they asunder, and each turn'd Trembling toward us, with the rest, whose ear Those words redounding struck. To me my liege Address'd him: "Speak to them whate'er thou list." And I therewith began: "So may no time Filch your remembrance from the thoughts of men In th' upper world, but after many suns Survive it, as ye tell me, who ye are, And of what race ye come. Your punishment, Unseemly and disgustful in its kind, Deter you not from opening thus much to me." "Arezzo was my dwelling," answer'd one, "And me Albero of Sienna brought To die by fire; but that, for which I died, Leads me not here. True is in sport I told him, That I had learn'd to wing my flight in air. And he admiring much, as he was void Of wisdom, will'd me to declare to him The secret of mine art: and only hence, Because I made him not a Daedalus, Prevail'd on one suppos'd his sire to burn me. But Minos to this chasm last of the ten, For that I practis'd alchemy on earth, Has doom'd me. Him no subterfuge eludes." Then to the bard I spake: "Was ever race Light as Sienna's? Sure not France herself Can show a tribe so frivolous and vain." The other leprous spirit heard my words, And thus return'd: "Be Stricca from this charge Exempted, he who knew so temp'rately To lay out fortune's gifts; and Niccolo Who first the spice's costly luxury Discover'd in that garden, where such seed Roots deepest in the soil: and be that troop Exempted, with whom Caccia of Asciano Lavish'd his vineyards and wide-spreading woods, And his rare wisdom Abbagliato show'd A spectacle for all. That thou mayst know Who seconds thee against the Siennese Thus gladly, bend this way thy sharpen'd sight, That well my face may answer to thy ken; So shalt thou see I am Capocchio's ghost, Who forg'd transmuted metals by the power Of alchemy; and if I scan thee right, Thus needs must well remember how I aped Creative nature by my subtle art." CANTO XXX WHAT time resentment burn'd in Juno's breast For Semele against the Theban blood, As more than once in dire mischance was rued, Such fatal frenzy seiz'd on Athamas, That he his spouse beholding with a babe Laden on either arm, "Spread out," he cried, "The meshes, that I take the lioness And the young lions at the pass:" then forth Stretch'd he his merciless talons, grasping one, One helpless innocent, Learchus nam'd, Whom swinging down he dash'd upon a rock, And with her other burden self-destroy'd The hapless mother plung'd: and when the pride Of all-presuming Troy fell from its height, By fortune overwhelm'd, and the old king With his realm perish'd, then did Hecuba, A wretch forlorn and captive, when she saw Polyxena first slaughter'd, and her son, Her Polydorus, on the wild sea-beach Next met the mourner's view, then reft of sense Did she run barking even as a dog; Such mighty power had grief to wrench her soul. Bet ne'er the Furies or of Thebes or Troy With such fell cruelty were seen, their goads Infixing in the limbs of man or beast, As now two pale and naked ghost I saw That gnarling wildly scamper'd, like the swine Excluded from his stye. One reach'd Capocchio, And in the neck-joint sticking deep his fangs, Dragg'd him, that o'er the solid pavement rubb'd His belly stretch'd out prone. The other shape, He of Arezzo, there left trembling, spake; "That sprite of air is Schicchi; in like mood Of random mischief vents he still his spite." To whom I answ'ring: "Oh! as thou dost hope, The other may not flesh its jaws on thee, Be patient to inform us, who it is, Ere it speed hence."--"That is the ancient soul Of wretched Myrrha," he replied, "who burn'd With most unholy flame for her own sire, "And a false shape assuming, so perform'd The deed of sin; e'en as the other there, That onward passes, dar'd to counterfeit Donati's features, to feign'd testament The seal affixing, that himself might gain, For his own share, the lady of the herd." When vanish'd the two furious shades, on whom Mine eye was held, I turn'd it back to view The other cursed spirits. One I saw In fashion like a lute, had but the groin Been sever'd, where it meets the forked part. Swoln dropsy, disproportioning the limbs With ill-converted moisture, that the paunch Suits not the visage, open'd wide his lips Gasping as in the hectic man for drought, One towards the chin, the other upward curl'd. "O ye, who in this world of misery, Wherefore I know not, are exempt from pain," Thus he began, "attentively regard Adamo's woe. When living, full supply Ne'er lack'd me of what most I coveted; One drop of water now, alas! I crave. The rills, that glitter down the grassy slopes Of Casentino, making fresh and soft The banks whereby they glide to Arno's stream, Stand ever in my view; and not in vain; For more the pictur'd semblance dries me up, Much more than the disease, which makes the flesh Desert these shrivel'd cheeks. So from the place, Where I transgress'd, stern justice urging me, Takes means to quicken more my lab'ring sighs. There is Romena, where I falsified The metal with the Baptist's form imprest, For which on earth I left my body burnt. But if I here might see the sorrowing soul Of Guido, Alessandro, or their brother, For Branda's limpid spring I would not change The welcome sight. One is e'en now within, If truly the mad spirits tell, that round Are wand'ring. But wherein besteads me that? My limbs are fetter'd. Were I but so light, That I each hundred years might move one inch, I had set forth already on this path, Seeking him out amidst the shapeless crew, Although eleven miles it wind, not more Than half of one across. They brought me down Among this tribe; induc'd by them I stamp'd The florens with three carats of alloy." "Who are that abject pair," I next inquir'd, "That closely bounding thee upon thy right Lie smoking, like a band in winter steep'd In the chill stream?"--"When to this gulf I dropt," He answer'd, "here I found them; since that hour They have not turn'd, nor ever shall, I ween, Till time hath run his course. One is that dame The false accuser of the Hebrew youth; Sinon the other, that false Greek from Troy. Sharp fever drains the reeky moistness out, In such a cloud upsteam'd." When that he heard, One, gall'd perchance to be so darkly nam'd, With clench'd hand smote him on the braced paunch, That like a drum resounded: but forthwith Adamo smote him on the face, the blow Returning with his arm, that seem'd as hard. "Though my o'erweighty limbs have ta'en from me The power to move," said he, "I have an arm At liberty for such employ." To whom Was answer'd: "When thou wentest to the fire, Thou hadst it not so ready at command, Then readier when it coin'd th' impostor gold." And thus the dropsied: "Ay, now speak'st thou true. But there thou gav'st not such true testimony, When thou wast question'd of the truth, at Troy." "If I spake false, thou falsely stamp'dst the coin," Said Sinon; "I am here but for one fault, And thou for more than any imp beside." "Remember," he replied, "O perjur'd one, The horse remember, that did teem with death, And all the world be witness to thy guilt." "To thine," return'd the Greek, "witness the thirst Whence thy tongue cracks, witness the fluid mound, Rear'd by thy belly up before thine eyes, A mass corrupt." To whom the coiner thus: "Thy mouth gapes wide as ever to let pass Its evil saying. Me if thirst assails, Yet I am stuff'd with moisture. Thou art parch'd, Pains rack thy head, no urging would'st thou need To make thee lap Narcissus' mirror up." I was all fix'd to listen, when my guide Admonish'd: "Now beware: a little more, And I do quarrel with thee." I perceiv'd How angrily he spake, and towards him turn'd With shame so poignant, as remember'd yet Confounds me. As a man that dreams of harm Befall'n him, dreaming wishes it a dream, And that which is, desires as if it were not, Such then was I, who wanting power to speak Wish'd to excuse myself, and all the while Excus'd me, though unweeting that I did. "More grievous fault than thine has been, less shame," My master cried, "might expiate. Therefore cast All sorrow from thy soul; and if again Chance bring thee, where like conference is held, Think I am ever at thy side. To hear Such wrangling is a joy for vulgar minds." CANTO XXXI THE very tongue, whose keen reproof before Had wounded me, that either cheek was stain'd, Now minister'd my cure. So have I heard, Achilles and his father's javelin caus'd Pain first, and then the boon of health restor'd. Turning our back upon the vale of woe, W cross'd th' encircled mound in silence. There Was twilight dim, that far long the gloom Mine eye advanc'd not: but I heard a horn Sounded aloud. The peal it blew had made The thunder feeble. Following its course The adverse way, my strained eyes were bent On that one spot. So terrible a blast Orlando blew not, when that dismal rout O'erthrew the host of Charlemagne, and quench'd His saintly warfare. Thitherward not long My head was rais'd, when many lofty towers Methought I spied. "Master," said I, "what land Is this?" He answer'd straight: "Too long a space Of intervening darkness has thine eye To traverse: thou hast therefore widely err'd In thy imagining. Thither arriv'd Thou well shalt see, how distance can delude The sense. A little therefore urge thee on." Then tenderly he caught me by the hand; "Yet know," said he, "ere farther we advance, That it less strange may seem, these are not towers, But giants. In the pit they stand immers'd, Each from his navel downward, round the bank." As when a fog disperseth gradually, Our vision traces what the mist involves Condens'd in air; so piercing through the gross And gloomy atmosphere, as more and more We near'd toward the brink, mine error fled, And fear came o'er me. As with circling round Of turrets, Montereggion crowns his walls, E'en thus the shore, encompassing th' abyss, Was turreted with giants, half their length Uprearing, horrible, whom Jove from heav'n Yet threatens, when his mutt'ring thunder rolls. Of one already I descried the face, Shoulders, and breast, and of the belly huge Great part, and both arms down along his ribs. All-teeming nature, when her plastic hand Left framing of these monsters, did display Past doubt her wisdom, taking from mad War Such slaves to do his bidding; and if she Repent her not of th' elephant and whale, Who ponders well confesses her therein Wiser and more discreet; for when brute force And evil will are back'd with subtlety, Resistance none avails. His visage seem'd In length and bulk, as doth the pine, that tops Saint Peter's Roman fane; and th' other bones Of like proportion, so that from above The bank, which girdled him below, such height Arose his stature, that three Friezelanders Had striv'n in vain to reach but to his hair. Full thirty ample palms was he expos'd Downward from whence a man his garments loops. "Raphel bai ameth sabi almi," So shouted his fierce lips, which sweeter hymns Became not; and my guide address'd him thus: "O senseless spirit! let thy horn for thee Interpret: therewith vent thy rage, if rage Or other passion wring thee. Search thy neck, There shalt thou find the belt that binds it on. Wild spirit! lo, upon thy mighty breast Where hangs the baldrick!" Then to me he spake: "He doth accuse himself. Nimrod is this, Through whose ill counsel in the world no more One tongue prevails. But pass we on, nor waste Our words; for so each language is to him, As his to others, understood by none." Then to the leftward turning sped we forth, And at a sling's throw found another shade Far fiercer and more huge. I cannot say What master hand had girt him; but he held Behind the right arm fetter'd, and before The other with a chain, that fasten'd him From the neck down, and five times round his form Apparent met the wreathed links. "This proud one Would of his strength against almighty Jove Make trial," said my guide; "whence he is thus Requited: Ephialtes him they call. "Great was his prowess, when the giants brought Fear on the gods: those arms, which then he piled, Now moves he never." Forthwith I return'd: "Fain would I, if 't were possible, mine eyes Of Briareus immeasurable gain'd Experience next." He answer'd: "Thou shalt see Not far from hence Antaeus, who both speaks And is unfetter'd, who shall place us there Where guilt is at its depth. Far onward stands Whom thou wouldst fain behold, in chains, and made Like to this spirit, save that in his looks More fell he seems." By violent earthquake rock'd Ne'er shook a tow'r, so reeling to its base, As Ephialtes. More than ever then I dreaded death, nor than the terror more Had needed, if I had not seen the cords That held him fast. We, straightway journeying on, Came to Antaeus, who five ells complete Without the head, forth issued from the cave. "O thou, who in the fortunate vale, that made Great Scipio heir of glory, when his sword Drove back the troop of Hannibal in flight, Who thence of old didst carry for thy spoil An hundred lions; and if thou hadst fought In the high conflict on thy brethren's side, Seems as men yet believ'd, that through thine arm The sons of earth had conquer'd, now vouchsafe To place us down beneath, where numbing cold Locks up Cocytus. Force not that we crave Or Tityus' help or Typhon's. Here is one Can give what in this realm ye covet. Stoop Therefore, nor scornfully distort thy lip. He in the upper world can yet bestow Renown on thee, for he doth live, and looks For life yet longer, if before the time Grace call him not unto herself." Thus spake The teacher. He in haste forth stretch'd his hands, And caught my guide. Alcides whilom felt That grapple straighten'd score. Soon as my guide Had felt it, he bespake me thus: "This way That I may clasp thee;" then so caught me up, That we were both one burden. As appears The tower of Carisenda, from beneath Where it doth lean, if chance a passing cloud So sail across, that opposite it hangs, Such then Antaeus seem'd, as at mine ease I mark'd him stooping. I were fain at times T' have pass'd another way. Yet in th' abyss, That Lucifer with Judas low ingulfs, Lightly he plac'd us; nor there leaning stay'd, But rose as in a bark the stately mast. CANTO XXXII COULD I command rough rhimes and hoarse, to suit That hole of sorrow, o'er which ev'ry rock His firm abutment rears, then might the vein Of fancy rise full springing: but not mine Such measures, and with falt'ring awe I touch The mighty theme; for to describe the depth Of all the universe, is no emprize To jest with, and demands a tongue not us'd To infant babbling. But let them assist My song, the tuneful maidens, by whose aid Amphion wall'd in Thebes, so with the truth My speech shall best accord. Oh ill-starr'd folk, Beyond all others wretched! who abide In such a mansion, as scarce thought finds words To speak of, better had ye here on earth Been flocks or mountain goats. As down we stood In the dark pit beneath the giants' feet, But lower far than they, and I did gaze Still on the lofty battlement, a voice Bespoke me thus: "Look how thou walkest. Take Good heed, thy soles do tread not on the heads Of thy poor brethren." Thereupon I turn'd, And saw before and underneath my feet A lake, whose frozen surface liker seem'd To glass than water. Not so thick a veil In winter e'er hath Austrian Danube spread O'er his still course, nor Tanais far remote Under the chilling sky. Roll'd o'er that mass Had Tabernich or Pietrapana fall'n, Not e'en its rim had creak'd. As peeps the frog Croaking above the wave, what time in dreams The village gleaner oft pursues her toil, So, to where modest shame appears, thus low Blue pinch'd and shrin'd in ice the spirits stood, Moving their teeth in shrill note like the stork. His face each downward held; their mouth the cold, Their eyes express'd the dolour of their heart. A space I look'd around, then at my feet Saw two so strictly join'd, that of their head The very hairs were mingled. "Tell me ye, Whose bosoms thus together press," said I, "Who are ye?" At that sound their necks they bent, And when their looks were lifted up to me, Straightway their eyes, before all moist within, Distill'd upon their lips, and the frost bound The tears betwixt those orbs and held them there. Plank unto plank hath never cramp clos'd up So stoutly. Whence like two enraged goats They clash'd together; them such fury seiz'd. And one, from whom the cold both ears had reft, Exclaim'd, still looking downward: "Why on us Dost speculate so long? If thou wouldst know Who are these two, the valley, whence his wave Bisenzio slopes, did for its master own Their sire Alberto, and next him themselves. They from one body issued; and throughout Caina thou mayst search, nor find a shade More worthy in congealment to be fix'd, Not him, whose breast and shadow Arthur's land At that one blow dissever'd, not Focaccia, No not this spirit, whose o'erjutting head Obstructs my onward view: he bore the name Of Mascheroni: Tuscan if thou be, Well knowest who he was: and to cut short All further question, in my form behold What once was Camiccione. I await Carlino here my kinsman, whose deep guilt Shall wash out mine." A thousand visages Then mark'd I, which the keen and eager cold Had shap'd into a doggish grin; whence creeps A shiv'ring horror o'er me, at the thought Of those frore shallows. While we journey'd on Toward the middle, at whose point unites All heavy substance, and I trembling went Through that eternal chillness, I know not If will it were or destiny, or chance, But, passing 'midst the heads, my foot did strike With violent blow against the face of one. "Wherefore dost bruise me?" weeping, he exclaim'd, "Unless thy errand be some fresh revenge For Montaperto, wherefore troublest me?" I thus: "Instructor, now await me here, That I through him may rid me of my doubt. Thenceforth what haste thou wilt." The teacher paus'd, And to that shade I spake, who bitterly Still curs'd me in his wrath. "What art thou, speak, That railest thus on others?" He replied: "Now who art thou, that smiting others' cheeks Through Antenora roamest, with such force As were past suff'rance, wert thou living still?" "And I am living, to thy joy perchance," Was my reply, "if fame be dear to thee, That with the rest I may thy name enrol." "The contrary of what I covet most," Said he, "thou tender'st: hence; nor vex me more. Ill knowest thou to flatter in this vale." Then seizing on his hinder scalp, I cried: "Name thee, or not a hair shall tarry here." "Rend all away," he answer'd, "yet for that I will not tell nor show thee who I am, Though at my head thou pluck a thousand times." Now I had grasp'd his tresses, and stript off More than one tuft, he barking, with his eyes Drawn in and downward, when another cried, "What ails thee, Bocca? Sound not loud enough Thy chatt'ring teeth, but thou must bark outright? What devil wrings thee?"--"Now," said I, "be dumb, Accursed traitor! to thy shame of thee True tidings will I bear."--"Off," he replied, "Tell what thou list; but as thou escape from hence To speak of him whose tongue hath been so glib, Forget not: here he wails the Frenchman's gold. 'Him of Duera,' thou canst say, 'I mark'd, Where the starv'd sinners pine.' If thou be ask'd What other shade was with them, at thy side Is Beccaria, whose red gorge distain'd The biting axe of Florence. Farther on, If I misdeem not, Soldanieri bides, With Ganellon, and Tribaldello, him Who op'd Faenza when the people slept." We now had left him, passing on our way, When I beheld two spirits by the ice Pent in one hollow, that the head of one Was cowl unto the other; and as bread Is raven'd up through hunger, th' uppermost Did so apply his fangs to th' other's brain, Where the spine joins it. Not more furiously On Menalippus' temples Tydeus gnaw'd, Than on that skull and on its garbage he. "O thou who show'st so beastly sign of hate 'Gainst him thou prey'st on, let me hear," said I "The cause, on such condition, that if right Warrant thy grievance, knowing who ye are, And what the colour of his sinning was, I may repay thee in the world above, If that wherewith I speak be moist so long." CANTO XXXIII HIS jaws uplifting from their fell repast, That sinner wip'd them on the hairs o' th' head, Which he behind had mangled, then began: "Thy will obeying, I call up afresh Sorrow past cure, which but to think of wrings My heart, or ere I tell on't. But if words, That I may utter, shall prove seed to bear Fruit of eternal infamy to him, The traitor whom I gnaw at, thou at once Shalt see me speak and weep. Who thou mayst be I know not, nor how here below art come: But Florentine thou seemest of a truth, When I do hear thee. Know I was on earth Count Ugolino, and th' Archbishop he Ruggieri. Why I neighbour him so close, Now list. That through effect of his ill thoughts In him my trust reposing, I was ta'en And after murder'd, need is not I tell. What therefore thou canst not have heard, that is, How cruel was the murder, shalt thou hear, And know if he have wrong'd me. A small grate Within that mew, which for my sake the name Of famine bears, where others yet must pine, Already through its opening sev'ral moons Had shown me, when I slept the evil sleep, That from the future tore the curtain off. This one, methought, as master of the sport, Rode forth to chase the gaunt wolf and his whelps Unto the mountain, which forbids the sight Of Lucca to the Pisan. With lean brachs Inquisitive and keen, before him rang'd Lanfranchi with Sismondi and Gualandi. After short course the father and the sons Seem'd tir'd and lagging, and methought I saw The sharp tusks gore their sides. When I awoke Before the dawn, amid their sleep I heard My sons (for they were with me) weep and ask For bread. Right cruel art thou, if no pang Thou feel at thinking what my heart foretold; And if not now, why use thy tears to flow? Now had they waken'd; and the hour drew near When they were wont to bring us food; the mind Of each misgave him through his dream, and I Heard, at its outlet underneath lock'd up The horrible tower: whence uttering not a word I look'd upon the visage of my sons. I wept not: so all stone I felt within. They wept: and one, my little Anslem, cried: "Thou lookest so! Father what ails thee?" Yet I shed no tear, nor answer'd all that day Nor the next night, until another sun Came out upon the world. When a faint beam Had to our doleful prison made its way, And in four countenances I descry'd The image of my own, on either hand Through agony I bit, and they who thought I did it through desire of feeding, rose O' th' sudden, and cried, 'Father, we should grieve Far less, if thou wouldst eat of us: thou gav'st These weeds of miserable flesh we wear, 'And do thou strip them off from us again.' Then, not to make them sadder, I kept down My spirit in stillness. That day and the next We all were silent. Ah, obdurate earth! Why open'dst not upon us? When we came To the fourth day, then Geddo at my feet Outstretch'd did fling him, crying, 'Hast no help For me, my father!' There he died, and e'en Plainly as thou seest me, saw I the three Fall one by one 'twixt the fifth day and sixth: "Whence I betook me now grown blind to grope Over them all, and for three days aloud Call'd on them who were dead. Then fasting got The mastery of grief." Thus having spoke, Once more upon the wretched skull his teeth He fasten'd, like a mastiff's 'gainst the bone Firm and unyielding. Oh thou Pisa! shame Of all the people, who their dwelling make In that fair region, where th' Italian voice Is heard, since that thy neighbours are so slack To punish, from their deep foundations rise Capraia and Gorgona, and dam up The mouth of Arno, that each soul in thee May perish in the waters! What if fame Reported that thy castles were betray'd By Ugolino, yet no right hadst thou To stretch his children on the rack. For them, Brigata, Ugaccione, and the pair Of gentle ones, of whom my song hath told, Their tender years, thou modern Thebes! did make Uncapable of guilt. Onward we pass'd, Where others skarf'd in rugged folds of ice Not on their feet were turn'd, but each revers'd. There very weeping suffers not to weep; For at their eyes grief seeking passage finds Impediment, and rolling inward turns For increase of sharp anguish: the first tears Hang cluster'd, and like crystal vizors show, Under the socket brimming all the cup. Now though the cold had from my face dislodg'd Each feeling, as 't were callous, yet me seem'd Some breath of wind I felt. "Whence cometh this," Said I, "my master? Is not here below All vapour quench'd?"--"'Thou shalt be speedily," He answer'd, "where thine eye shall tell thee whence The cause descrying of this airy shower." Then cried out one in the chill crust who mourn'd: "O souls so cruel! that the farthest post Hath been assign'd you, from this face remove The harden'd veil, that I may vent the grief Impregnate at my heart, some little space Ere it congeal again!" I thus replied: "Say who thou wast, if thou wouldst have mine aid; And if I extricate thee not, far down As to the lowest ice may I descend!" "The friar Alberigo," answered he, "Am I, who from the evil garden pluck'd Its fruitage, and am here repaid, the date More luscious for my fig."--"Hah!" I exclaim'd, "Art thou too dead!"--"How in the world aloft It fareth with my body," answer'd he, "I am right ignorant. Such privilege Hath Ptolomea, that ofttimes the soul Drops hither, ere by Atropos divorc'd. And that thou mayst wipe out more willingly The glazed tear-drops that o'erlay mine eyes, Know that the soul, that moment she betrays, As I did, yields her body to a fiend Who after moves and governs it at will, Till all its time be rounded; headlong she Falls to this cistern. And perchance above Doth yet appear the body of a ghost, Who here behind me winters. Him thou know'st, If thou but newly art arriv'd below. The years are many that have pass'd away, Since to this fastness Branca Doria came." "Now," answer'd I, "methinks thou mockest me, For Branca Doria never yet hath died, But doth all natural functions of a man, Eats, drinks, and sleeps, and putteth raiment on." He thus: "Not yet unto that upper foss By th' evil talons guarded, where the pitch Tenacious boils, had Michael Zanche reach'd, When this one left a demon in his stead In his own body, and of one his kin, Who with him treachery wrought. But now put forth Thy hand, and ope mine eyes." I op'd them not. Ill manners were best courtesy to him. Ah Genoese! men perverse in every way, With every foulness stain'd, why from the earth Are ye not cancel'd? Such an one of yours I with Romagna's darkest spirit found, As for his doings even now in soul Is in Cocytus plung'd, and yet doth seem In body still alive upon the earth. CANTO XXXIV "THE banners of Hell's Monarch do come forth Towards us; therefore look," so spake my guide, "If thou discern him." As, when breathes a cloud Heavy and dense, or when the shades of night Fall on our hemisphere, seems view'd from far A windmill, which the blast stirs briskly round, Such was the fabric then methought I saw, To shield me from the wind, forthwith I drew Behind my guide: no covert else was there. Now came I (and with fear I bid my strain Record the marvel) where the souls were all Whelm'd underneath, transparent, as through glass Pellucid the frail stem. Some prone were laid, Others stood upright, this upon the soles, That on his head, a third with face to feet Arch'd like a bow. When to the point we came, Whereat my guide was pleas'd that I should see The creature eminent in beauty once, He from before me stepp'd and made me pause. "Lo!" he exclaim'd, "lo Dis! and lo the place, Where thou hast need to arm thy heart with strength." How frozen and how faint I then became, Ask me not, reader! for I write it not, Since words would fail to tell thee of my state. I was not dead nor living. Think thyself If quick conception work in thee at all, How I did feel. That emperor, who sways The realm of sorrow, at mid breast from th' ice Stood forth; and I in stature am more like A giant, than the giants are in his arms. Mark now how great that whole must be, which suits With such a part. If he were beautiful As he is hideous now, and yet did dare To scowl upon his Maker, well from him May all our mis'ry flow. Oh what a sight! How passing strange it seem'd, when I did spy Upon his head three faces: one in front Of hue vermilion, th' other two with this Midway each shoulder join'd and at the crest; The right 'twixt wan and yellow seem'd: the left To look on, such as come from whence old Nile Stoops to the lowlands. Under each shot forth Two mighty wings, enormous as became A bird so vast. Sails never such I saw Outstretch'd on the wide sea. No plumes had they, But were in texture like a bat, and these He flapp'd i' th' air, that from him issued still Three winds, wherewith Cocytus to its depth Was frozen. At six eyes he wept: the tears Adown three chins distill'd with bloody foam. At every mouth his teeth a sinner champ'd Bruis'd as with pond'rous engine, so that three Were in this guise tormented. But far more Than from that gnawing, was the foremost pang'd By the fierce rending, whence ofttimes the back Was stript of all its skin. "That upper spirit, Who hath worse punishment," so spake my guide, "Is Judas, he that hath his head within And plies the feet without. Of th' other two, Whose heads are under, from the murky jaw Who hangs, is Brutus: lo! how he doth writhe And speaks not! Th' other Cassius, that appears So large of limb. But night now re-ascends, And it is time for parting. All is seen." I clipp'd him round the neck, for so he bade; And noting time and place, he, when the wings Enough were op'd, caught fast the shaggy sides, And down from pile to pile descending stepp'd Between the thick fell and the jagged ice. Soon as he reach'd the point, whereat the thigh Upon the swelling of the haunches turns, My leader there with pain and struggling hard Turn'd round his head, where his feet stood before, And grappled at the fell, as one who mounts, That into hell methought we turn'd again. "Expect that by such stairs as these," thus spake The teacher, panting like a man forespent, "We must depart from evil so extreme." Then at a rocky opening issued forth, And plac'd me on a brink to sit, next join'd With wary step my side. I rais'd mine eyes, Believing that I Lucifer should see Where he was lately left, but saw him now With legs held upward. Let the grosser sort, Who see not what the point was I had pass'd, Bethink them if sore toil oppress'd me then. "Arise," my master cried, "upon thy feet. The way is long, and much uncouth the road; And now within one hour and half of noon The sun returns." It was no palace-hall Lofty and luminous wherein we stood, But natural dungeon where ill footing was And scant supply of light. "Ere from th' abyss I sep'rate," thus when risen I began, "My guide! vouchsafe few words to set me free From error's thralldom. Where is now the ice? How standeth he in posture thus revers'd? And how from eve to morn in space so brief Hath the sun made his transit?" He in few Thus answering spake: "Thou deemest thou art still On th' other side the centre, where I grasp'd Th' abhorred worm, that boreth through the world. Thou wast on th' other side, so long as I Descended; when I turn'd, thou didst o'erpass That point, to which from ev'ry part is dragg'd All heavy substance. Thou art now arriv'd Under the hemisphere opposed to that, Which the great continent doth overspread, And underneath whose canopy expir'd The Man, that was born sinless, and so liv'd. Thy feet are planted on the smallest sphere, Whose other aspect is Judecca. Morn Here rises, when there evening sets: and he, Whose shaggy pile was scal'd, yet standeth fix'd, As at the first. On this part he fell down From heav'n; and th' earth, here prominent before, Through fear of him did veil her with the sea, And to our hemisphere retir'd. Perchance To shun him was the vacant space left here By what of firm land on this side appears, That sprang aloof." There is a place beneath, From Belzebub as distant, as extends The vaulted tomb, discover'd not by sight, But by the sound of brooklet, that descends This way along the hollow of a rock, Which, as it winds with no precipitous course, The wave hath eaten. By that hidden way My guide and I did enter, to return To the fair world: and heedless of repose We climbed, he first, I following his steps, Till on our view the beautiful lights of heav'n Dawn'd through a circular opening in the cave: Thus issuing we again beheld the stars.