Upon the journey of my life midway, I found myself within a darkling wood, Where from the straight path I had gone astray.
[Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, ché la diritta via era smarrita.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 1, l. 1ff (1.1-3) (1309) [tr. Minchin (1885)]
(Source)
Opening words of the work. (Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:
When in my middle State of Life I found
Myself entangl'd in a wood obscure,
Having the right path miss'd ...
[tr. Rogers (1782)]
When life had labour'd up her midmost stage,
And, weary with her mortal pilgrimage,
Stood in suspense upon the point of Prime;
Far in a pathless grove I chanc'd to stray ...
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 1]
In the midway of this our mortal life, I found me in a gloomy wood, astray Gone from the path direct.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Midway the journey of our life along, I found me in a gloomy woodland dell, The right road all confounded with the wrong.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
In the middle of the journey of our life I [came to] myself in a dark wood [where] the straight way was lost.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Halfway through our mortal life I found In a dark forest's wild and rugged ground,
Where the right way was lost in shaggy wood, A rude and savage woodland solitude.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
In our life's journey at its midway stage I found myself within a wood obscure, Where the right path which guided me was lost.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, For the straight-forward pathway had been lost.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Halfway upon the road of our life, I came to myself amid a dark wood where the straight path was confused.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Midway upon the road of our life I found myself within a dark wood, for the right way had been missed.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Midway on the journey of our life I found myself within a darksome wood, for the right way was lost.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Midway upon the road of our life's journey I found myself within a dark wood faring; For the straight way was lost by misadventure.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Midway life's journey I was made aware That I had strayed into a dark forest, And the right path appeared not anywhere.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Midway this way of life we're bound upon, I woke to find myself in a dark wood, Where the right road was wholly lost and gone.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
Midway in our life's journey, I went astray from the straight road and woke to find myself alone in a dark wood.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
Midway in the journey of our life I found myself in a dark wood, for the straight way was lost.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
Midway along the journey of our life I woke to find myself in some dark woods, for I had wandered off from the straight path.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
When I had journeyed half of our life's way, I found myself within a shadowed forest, for I had lost the path that does not stray.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
Half way along the road we have to go, I found myself obscured in a great forest, Bewildered, and I knew I had lost the way.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Midway on our life's journey, I found myself
In dark woods, the right road lost.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
In the middle of the journey of our life, I came to myself in a dark wood, for the straight way was lost.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
In the middle of the journey of our life, I came to myself, in a dark wood, where the direct way was lost.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Halfway through the story of my life I came to in a gloomy wood, because I'd wandered off the path, away from the light.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
At one point midway on our path in life, I came around and found myself now searching through a dark wood, the right way blurred and lost.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Midway in the journey of our life I came to myself in a dark wood, for the straight way was lost.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Halfway along the road of this our life I woke to find myself in a wood so dark That straight and honest ways were gone, and light
Was lost.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
At the mid-point of the path through life, I found Myself lost in a wood so dark, the way Ahead was blotted out.
[tr. James (2013)]
Stopped mid-motion in the middle Of what we call a life, I looked up and saw no sky -- Only a dense cage of leaf, tree, and twig. I was lost.
[tr. Bang (2013)]
The savage brute that makes thee cry for dread Lets no man pass this road of hers, but still Trammels him, till at last she lays him dead.
Vicious her nature is, and framed for ill; When crammed she craves more fiercely than before; Her raging greed can never gorge its fill.
[Chè questa bestia, per la qual tu gride, Non lascia altrui passar per la sua via, Ma tanto lo impedisce, che l’ uccide:
E ha natura sì malvagia e ria, Che mai non empie la bramosa voglia, E dopo il pasto ha più fame che pria.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 1, l. 94ff (1.94-99) [Virgil] (1309) [tr. Sayers (1949)]
(Source)
The she-wolf (lupa) of incontinence/wantonness, though some associate her with wrath, or with avarice. (Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:
This raging Beast, which here you so much dread Permits not any to pass on their way, And never leaves them 'till their death she gains:
Her nature so perversely is dispos'd That she never satisfies her greedy will; But with each meal her hunger is increas'd.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 84ff]
Monster so fell, Numidia never bore, As she, who riots there in human gore, By inextinguishable famine stung.
The Fiend her hunger tries to sate in vain. Still grows her appetite with growing pain. And ceaseless rapine feeds the rising blaze.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 17-18]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
For the fell beast who late, thy steps waylaying, Caused thee to shriek, lets none a passage find Across her walk, but hindereth e'en to slaying.
Baleful she is, and of so curst a kind. Her ravenous maw no glut can satisfy. But eats and leaves a hungrier greed behind.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Because this beast, for which thou criest, lets not men pass her way; but so entangles that she slays them; and has a nature so perverse and vicious, that she never satiates her craving appetite; and after feeding, she is hungrier than before.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
The beast for which you utter such a cry Suffers none else to pass her way, and will Obstruct so far their passage as to kill:
Of nature so malignant to the core, Insatiate hungers, ever longs for more; And after eating hungrier than before.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
For lo! this creature, cause of thy great cry, Lets none pass her, but so bars the way, And with such deadly malice, that she slays.
So evil is her nature and so foul, Her lustful appetite is never quench'd And after eating she still craves the more.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Because this beast, for the which thou criest out, lets not any pass by her way, but hinders him in such wise that she slays him. And she has a nature so evil and guilty that she never fulfils her greedy will, and after her repast has more hunger than before.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
That beast, at which thou criest, by this way Permits not one to pass, for evermore, But bars the passage so, that she will slay.
Of wickedness her nature has such store That her keen craving ne'er is satisfied, But after food she's hungrier than before.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
For this beast, because of which thou criest out, lets not any one pass along her way, but so hinders him that she kills him! and she has a nature so malign and evil that she never sates her greedy will, and after food is hungrier than before.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Because this beast, by reason of which thou criest aloud, suffereth none to come her way, but hindereth so rudely, that she slayeth them. So baneful and accursed is her nature, that she can never glut her ravening greed ; and after feeding she is hungrier than before.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
For this same beast, for cause whereof thou criest. To pass along her way allows no stranger, But hindereth him so far that she doth slay him.
Nature hath she so wicked and malicious That never doth she sate her ravenous craving, And after food is hungrier than before it.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
For this beast on account of which thou criest lets no man pass her way, but hinders them till she takes their life, and she has a nature so vicious and malignant that her greedy appetite is never satisfied and after good she is hungrier than before.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Because this beast, at which thou criest still, Suffereth none to go upon her path, But hindereth and entangleth till she kill,
And hath a nature so perverse in wrath, Her craving maw never is satiated But after food the fiercer hunger hath.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
For that mad beast that leers
before you there, suffers no man to pass. She tracks down all, kills all, and knows no glut, but, feeding, she grows hungrier than she was.
[tr. Ciardi (1954), l. 90ff]
For this beast, the cause of your complaint, lets no man pass her way, but so besets him that she slays him; and she has a nature so vicious and malign that she never sates her greedy appetite and after feeding is hungrier than before.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
This beast, the one you cry about in fear, allows no soul to succeed along her path, she blocks his way and puts an end to him.
She is by nature so perverse and vicious, her craving belly is never satisfied, still hungering for food the more she eats.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
The beast that is the cause of your outcry allows no man to pass along her track, but blocks him even to the point of death;
her nature is so squalid, so malicious that she can never sate her greedy will; when she has fed, she's hungrier than ever.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
For that beast, which has made you so call out, Does not allow others to pass her way, But holds them up, and in the end destroys them;
And is by nature so wayward and perverted That she never satisfies her willful desires, But, after a meal, is hungrier than before.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
This beast,
The cause of your complaint, lets no one pass
Her way -- but harries all to death. Her nature
Is so malign and vicious she cannot appease
Her voracity, for feeding makes her hungrier.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 72ff]
For this beast at which you cry out lets no one pass by her way, but so much impedes him that she kills him; and she has a nature so evil and cruel that her greedy desire is never satisfied, and after feeding she is hungrier than before.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
This creature, that distresses you, allows no man to cross her path, but obstructs him, to destroy him, and she has so vicious and perverse a nature, that she never sates her greedy appetite, and after food is hungrier than before.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
That beast -- you cry out at the very sight -- lets no one through who passes on her way. She blocks their progress; and there they all die.
She is by her nature cruel, so vicious she can never sate her voracious will, but, feasting well, is hungrier than before.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
For the beast that moves you to cry out lets no man pass her way, but so besets him that she slays him.
Her nature is so vicious and malign her greedy appetite is never sated -- after she feeds she is hungrier than ever.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Because this beast you complain of never lets Anyone pass her along this road, harassing And hindering them until she sees them dead,
Her nature being so malign and savage That she is never able to finish her feasting, Hungrier after she eats than before.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
You're bound to lose:
Bound by the spell of this beast pledged to keep
you crying, you or anyone else who tries
To get by. In a bad mood it can kill,
And it's never in a good mood. See those eyes?
So great a hunger nothing can fulfil.
It eats, it wants more, like the many men
Infected by its bite.
[tr. James (2013)]
The cat that drove you back and made you cry Ends the life to any who try To pass her on their way through.
She's insane and insatiable. She eats more And that just makes her more malignant with craving. She kills all she comes in contact with. All with whom she comes.
[tr. Bang (2013)]
But, as for thee, I think and deem it well Thou take me for thy guide, and pass with me Through an eternal place and terrible
Where thou shalt hear despairing cries, and see Long-departed souls that in their torments dire Howl for the second death perpetually.
[Ond’ io per lo tuo me’ penso e discerno che tu mi segui, e io sarò tua guida, e trarrotti di qui per loco etterno;
ove udirai le disperate strida, vedrai li antichi spiriti dolenti, ch’a la seconda morte ciascun grida.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 1, l. 112ff (1.112-117) (1309) [tr. Sayers (1949)]
(Source)
Virgil, offering Dante a tour of Hell. There is some debate, reflected in the various translations, as to whether the "second death" is the death of the soul upon damnation, the endless punishments of the damned, a prayed-for total annihilation to end their torment, or the destruction of Hell after the Last Judgment. See Rev. 2:11, 20:14, 21:8.
Wherefore I think, and judge it best that you
Should follow me, and I will be your Guide
From hence to places of eternal woe,
Where you shall hear the wailings of despair,
And see the Ghosts of former times lament,
Who eagerly request a second death.
[tr. Rogers (1782)]
But Heav'n in love to thee hath sent me here
A kind and faithful guide -- dismiss thy fear, Thro' other worlds to lead thy steps along. Thine ears must meet the yell of stern despair,
Where Heav'n's avending hand forgets to spare, And tribes forlorn a second death implore.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 20-21]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Now for thy weal I counsel and perpend Thou follow hence where I shall lead thee on Through realm eternal, whither if thou wend.
Thine ear shall hear the shrieks of hope foregone, Thine eye shall see the souls of eld in woe, That ever call the second death upon.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Wherefore I think and discern this for thy best, that thou follow me; and I will be thy guide, and lead thee hence through an eternal place, where thou shalt hear the hopeless shrieks, shalt see the ancient spirits in pain, so that each calls for a second death.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Thou wilt follow me and I will be thy guide -- 'Tis for thy sake, I think I can discern. From hence I'll lead thee through the place alone,
Where thou shalt hear the desperate shrieks, and see The Antique Spirits in their misery -- Upon the second death they all will cry.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
To thee then better counsel I commend, Follow thou me and I will be thy guide, And lead thee hence through the Eternal Realms'
Where thou shalt hear the wail of wild despair, And of old times the sorrowful spirits see Calling in anguish for the second death.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Wherefore I for thy bettering think and decide that thou follow me; and I will be thy guide, and will draw thee from here through an eternal place, where thou shalt hear the shrieks of despair, shalt see the ancient spirits in woe, who each cry upon the second death.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Now for thy profit in my thoughts I trace How thou mayst follow, I will guide thee fair, From here I'll lead thee through eternal space,
Where thou shalt hear the shriekings of despair, Shalt see the ancient spirits grief-possest, Who each the second death invokes with prayer.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Wherefore I think and deem it for thy best that thou follow me, and I will be thy guide, and will lead thee hence through the eternal place where thou shalt hear the despairing shrieks, shalt see the ancient spirits woeful who each proclaim the second death.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Wherefore in thy behoof I think and deem it well, that thou shouldst follow me ; and I will be thy guide, and lead thee out from this place through the eternal realms, where thou shalt hear shriekings of despair, shalt see the ancient spirits in their sorrowing, so that each crieth aloud for second death.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
And therefore, for thy good, I thus determine. That thou do follow me, and I will guide thee, And hence will take thee through a place eternal,
Where thou shalt hear the desperate lamentations, Shalt see the ancient spirits in their dolour. Where for the second death each one makes outcry.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
Therefore, considering what is best for thee, I judge that thou shouldst follow me, and I shall be thy guide and lead thee hence through an eternal place where thou shalt hear the despairing shrieks of the ancient spirits in pain who each bewail the second death.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Wherefore I judge this fittest for thy case That I should lead thee, and thou follow in faith, To journey hence through an eternal place,
Where thou shalt hear cries of despairing breath, Shalt look on the ancient spirits in their pain, Such that each calls out for a second death.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Therefore, for your own good, I think it well
you follow me and I will be your guide and lead you forth through an eternal place. There you shall see the ancient spirits tried
in endless pain, and hear their lamentation as each bemoans the second death of souls.
[tr. Ciardi (1954), l. 105ff]
Therefore I think and deem it best that you should follow me, and I will be your guide and lead you hence through an eternal place, where you shall hear the despairing shrieks and see the ancient tormented spirits who all bewail the second death.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
And so, I think it best you follow me for your own good, and I shall be your guide and lead you out through an eternal place
where you will hear desperate cries, and see tormented shades, some old as Hell itself, and know what second death is, from their screams.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
Therefore, I think and judge it best for you to follow me, and I shall guide you, taking you from this place through an eternal place,
where you shall hear the howls of desperation and see the ancient spirits in their pain, as each of them laments his second death
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
The course I think would be the best for you, Is to follow me, and I will act as your guide And show a way out of here, by a place in eternity.
Where you will hear the shrieks of men without hope, And will see the ancient spirits in such pain That every one of them calls out for a second death.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Therefore I judge it best that you should choose To follow me, and I will be your guide Away from here and through an eternal space:
To hear the cries of despair, and to behold Ancient tormented spirts as they lament In chorus the second death they must abide.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
Thus for your good I think and judge that you shall follow me, and I shall be your guide, and I will lead you from here through an eternal place, where you will hear the desperate shrieks, you will see the ancient suffering spirits, who all cry out at the second death.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
It is best, as I think and understand, for you to follow me, and I will be your guide, and lead you from here through an eternal space where you will hear the desperate shouts, will see the ancient spirits in pain, so that each one cries out for a second death.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
But as for you, I think I will advise you well to follow me, and I will be your guide, to lead you hence into a place eternal,
where you'll hear the shrieks, unqualified by hope, of those who suffer so much pain, each wishes that he died a second time.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
Therefore, considering what's best for you, I judge that you should follow, I should guide, and hence through an eternal space lead on.
There you shall hear shrill cries of desperation, And see those spirits, mourning ancient pain, who all cry out for death to come once more.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Therefore, for your sake, I think it wise you follow me: I will be your guide, leading you, form here, through an eternal place
where you shall hear despairing cries and see those ancient souls in pain as they bewail their second death.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
And this is why I think you must allow Yourself to follow me, and I must guide And lead you across an eternal land, where crowds
Of desperate souls will constantly shriek and cry, And you will see the souls of the ancient dead In pain, wanting another chance to die.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
But by now I've pondered well
The path adapted best to serve your cause,
So let me be your guide. I'll take you through
The timeless breaker's yard where you will hear
The death cries of the damned who die anew
Every day, though dead already in the year --
No dated stones remain to give a clue --
The earliest sinners died, when time began.
[tr. James (2013), l. 146ff]
As we go forward from here, stay at all times behind me, And I'll play the part of your guide. It's my plan To lead you through a place never-ending, i.e., eternal
Hell, where you'll hear the worst kind of wailing, See the ageless shades writhing in pain, Sense their vain request for a second death.
[tr. Bang (2013)]
As one who wills, and then unwills his will, Changing his mind with every changing whim, Till all his best intentions come to nil,
So I stood havering in that moorland dim, While through fond rifts of fancy oozed away The first quick zest that filled me to the brim.
[E qual è quei che disvuol ciò che volle e per novi pensier cangia proposta, sì che dal cominciar tutto si tolle,
tal mi fec’ïo ’n quella oscura costa, perché, pensando, consumai la ’mpresa che fu nel cominciar cotanto tosta.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 2, l. 37ff (2.37-42) (1309) [tr. Sayers (1949)]
(Source)
As he who what he first resolv'd rejects,
And by some fresher reasons is induc'd
Wholly to lay aside his first intent;
So I, now in the mountain's shade arriv'd,
Refus'd th' attempt which I at first desir'd.
[tr. Rogers (1782), ll. 34-38]
Like one, who, some imagin'd peril near,
Feels his warm wishes chill'd by wint'ry fear, And resolution sicken at the view,
Thus I perceiv'd my sinking spirits fail,
Thus trembling, I survey'd the gloomy vale, As near the moment of decision drew.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 8]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
As one that what he wished unwisheth now, And, changing purpose in a newer drift. Doth his first motion wholly disallow;
So wrought I then beneath that gloomy cliff, Who, meditating, quenched the venturous hope That in her first beginning rose so swift.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
And as one who unwills what he willed, and with new thoughts changes his purpose, so that he wholly quits the thing he commenced, such I made myself on that dim coast: for with thinking I wasted the enterprise, that had been so quick in its commencement.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Like one unwilling for the thing he wills,
Whose second thoughts have made his purpose pale,
And everything upon the threshold fail;
So did I with myself obscure that coast
With thinking much -- the enterprise gave o'er
With vehemence I had embraced before.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
And as with him unwishing what he wish'd, Who changes purpose as new thoughts arise, So that his first intentions pass away;
It was with me when on that coast obscure; For as thought grew, the enterprise was lost, Which at the first so quickly I desir'd.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
And as is he who ceases to will that he willed, and by reason of new thoughts changes purpose, so that he withdraws himself wholly from his beginning, so became I on that dark hillside; so that in my thought I made an end of the enterprise which in its commencement had been so hasty.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Like unto one who wills not that he would, And shifts his purpose with thought's changing tide, So that he dare not make commencement good,
Thus acted I on that hill's darkened side; In idle thought I wasted the emprise. To which so swiftly I first had hied.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
And as is he who unwills what he willed, and because of new thoughts changes his design, so that he quite withdraws from beginning, such I became on that dark hillside: wherefore in my thought I abandoned the enterprise which had been so hasty in the beginning.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
And as one who wisheth not that which he wished, and for new fancies changeth his resolve, so that he turns him wholly from his undertaking; even in such state was I on that dark slope; for, while I pondered, I brought to naught the enterprise, that was at first so readily embraced.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
And as one is who what he wished unwishes, And for new thoughts exchanges his set purpose, So that he quite departs from his beginnings,
Such I became upon that gloomy hillside; Because in thought the enterprise I wasted Which had at the beginning been so eager.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
And as one who unwills what he willed and with new thoughts changes his purpose so that he quite withdraws from what he has begun, such I became on that dark slope; for by thinking of it I brought to naught the enterprise that was so hasty in its beginning.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
And like one who unwills what he willed first And new thoughts change the intention that he had, So that his resolution is reversed,
So on that dim slope did my purpose fade For I with thinking had dulled down the zest That at the outset sprang so prompt and glad.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
As one who unwills what he wills, will stay strong purposes with feeble second thoughts until he spells all his first zeal away --
so I hung back and balked on that dim coast till thinking had worn out my enterprise, so stout at starting and so early lost.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
And like one who unwills what he has willed and with new thoughts changes his resolve, so that he quite gives up the thing he had begun, such did I become on that dark slope, for by thinking on it I rendered null the undertaking that had been so suddenly embarked upon.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
As one who unwills what he willed, will change his purposes with some new second thought, completely quitting what he first had started,
so I did, standing there on that dark slope, thinking, ending the beginning of that venture I was so quick to take up at the start.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
And just as he who unwills what he wills
and shifts what he intends to seek new ends
so that he's drawn from what he had begun, so was I in the midst of that dark land,
because, with all my thinking, I annulled
the task I had so quickly undertaken.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
And just like somebody who shilly-shallies,
And thinks again about what he has decided,
So that he gives up everything he has started,
I found I was on that obscure hillside:
By thinking about it I spoiled the undertaking
I had been so quick to enter in the first place.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
And then, like one who unchooses his own choice And thinking again undoes what he has started, So I became: a nullifying unease
Overcame my soul on that dark slope and voided The undertaking I had so quickly embraced.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), ll. 31-35]
And like one who unwills what he just now willed and with new thoughts changes his intent, so that he draws back entirely from beginning: so did I become on that dark slope, for, thinking, I gave up the undertaking that I had been so quick to begin.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
And I rendered myself, on that dark shore, like one who un-wishes what he wished, and changes his purpose, in new thinking, so that he leaves off what he began, completely, since in thought I consumed action, that had been so ready to begin.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
As one who unwills what he willed, and eyes another half-baked project, so I bore away from my initial enterprise
and shilly-shallied on that twilit shore, while dim thoughts flitted through my cranium obscuring what I'd once been eager for.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
And so -- as though unwanting every want,
so altering all at every altering thought
now drawing back from everything begun -- I stood there on the darkened slope, fretting
away from thought to thought the bold intent
that seemed so very urgent at the outset.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
And as one who unwills what he has willed,
changing his intent on second thought
so that he quite gives over what he has begun, such a man was I on that dark slope.
With too much thinking I had undone
the enterprise so quick in its inception.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Like someone half regretting what once seemed knowledge, intention shifted around by fresh ideas, Starting to throw all old ones overboard,
I stood on that dark slope, pulled by feelings So murky they dissipated whatever I'd thought I knew, surrendering what once seemed real.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Just so, obeying the unwritten rule
That one who would unsieh that which he wished,
Having thought twice about what he first sought,
Must put fish back into the pool he fished,
So they, set free, may once again be caught,
Just so did I in that now shadowy fold --
Because, by thinking, I'd consumed the thought
I started with, that I had thought so bold.
[tr. James (2013)]
“If rightly I read the trouble in thy breast,” The shade of the Magnanimous replied, “With cowardice thy spirit is oppressed,
Which oftentimes a man hath mortified, So that it turns him back from noble deed, As with false seeing a beast will start aside.”
[“S’i’ ho ben la parola tua intesa”, rispuose del magnanimo quell’ombra, “l’anima tua è da viltade offesa;
la qual molte fïate l’omo ingombra sì che d’onrata impresa lo rivolve, come falso veder bestia quand’ombra.”]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 2, l. 43ff (2.43-48) [Virgil] (1309) [tr. Binyon (1943)]
(Source)
If I your words have rightly understood,
Replied the Shade magnanimous, your Mind
Is stagger'd with distrust, which oft perverts
A good design with honour first begun:
As frequently the shadow of a beast
Appears more horrid than the form itself.
[tr. Rogers (1782), ll. 39-44]
"Speak'st thou thy thought!" the dauntless shade replies;
"Dishonour'd ever be that soul unwise, That takes to counsel cold suggesting fear!
Unmanly fear, that chains the lib'ral mind,
And fills with dreadful chapes the puffing wind; -- But thou resolve, and scorn to linger here!
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 9]
"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."
[tr. Cary (1814)]
"If of thy words I rightly read the scope, Thy stumbling soul," replied that hero-ghost, "With its own cowardice is loth to cope.
Man oftentime she, cumbering to his cost, Turns recreant from each generous aim away. Like startled beast by mocking shadow crost."
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
"If I have rightly understood thy words," replied that shade of the Magnanimous, "thy soul is smit with coward fear, which oftentimes encumbers men, so that it turns them back from honoured enterprise; as false seeing does a startled beast."
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
"If well I understand your speech," replied
The shade of the Magnanimous, "your soul,
Hurt with vile cowardice, is in the toil
The which our nature often will embroil --
From honoured enterprise the mind recall,
Like a false bugbear, when the shadows fall."
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
"If I thy words have rightly understood," Then answer'd me that shade magnanimous, -- "Thy spirit is by cowardice unstrung,
By which man oft is hinder'd and beset, So that he turns away from honour's call, As a beast starts, by vision false deceiv'd.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
"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 honored enterprise, As false sight doth a beast, when he is shy.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
‘If I have well understood thy word,’ replied that shade of the high-souled one, ‘thy soul is hindered by cowardice, which oftentimes so encumbers the man that it turns him back from honourable enterprise, as wrong-seeing does a beast when it shies.’
[tr. Butler (1885)]
"If thy words' meaning clearly I devise," Answered the shadow of that noble bard, "Thy spirit of its vileness feels the poise,
Which many a time and oft will man retard, So that the honoured enterprise they leave, As beasts in darkness falsely things regard.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
“If I have rightly understood thy speech,” replied that shade of the magnanimous one, “thy soul is hurt by cowardice, which oftentimes encumbereth a man so that it turns him back from honorable enterprise, as false seeing does a beast when it is startled."
[tr. Norton (1892)]
"If I have rightly understood thy speech," answered the shade of him of mighty mind, "thy spirit is assailed by cowardice, which oftentimes perplexeth man, so that it turneth him away from honoured enterprise, even as uncertain sight turneth a beast when it is growing dark."
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
"If of thy words I have right understanding," That shade of the magnanimous made answer, "Thy soul by cowardice is overpowered,
Which oftentimes doth so a man encumber That back from honest enterprise it turns him, As false sight doth a beast, when shades are falling. "
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
"If I have rightly understood thy words," replied the shade of that great soul, "thy spirt is smitten with cowardice, which many a time encumbers a man so that it turns him back from honourable enterprise, as a mistaken sight a shying beast."
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
"If I have grasped what thou dost seem to say," The shade of greatness answered, "these doubts breed From sheer black cowardice, which day by day
Lays ambushes for men, checking the speed Of honourable purpose in mid-flight, As shapes half-seen startle a shying steed."
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
"I understand your words, and the look in your eyes," that shadow of magnificence answered me, "your soul is shrunk in that cowardice
that bears down many men, turning their course and resolution by imagined perils, as his own shadow turns the frightened horse."
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
"If I have well understood what you say," the shade of that magnanimous one replied, "your spirit is beset by cowardice, which oftentimes encumbers a man, turning him from honorable endeavor, as false seeing turns a beast that shies."
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
"If I have truly understood your words," that shade of magnanimity replied, "your soul is burdened with that cowardice
which often weighs so heavily on man it turns him from a noble enterprise like a frightened beast that shies at its own shadow."
[tr. Musa (1971)]
"If I have understood what you have said,"
replied the shade of that great-hearted one,
"your soul has been assailed by cowardice, which often weighs so heavily on a man --
distracting him from honorable trials --
as phantoms frighten beasts when shadows fall."
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
"If I have understood what you have said,"
The reply came from that shadow of generosity,
"Your spirit is touched by cowardice, which sometimes
Lies like a load on men, and makes them flag
So that they turn back from the fittest task,
Like an animal which mistakes what it looks at."
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
"If I understand," the generous shade retorted,
"Cowardice grips your spirit -- which can twist A man away from the noblest enterprise As a trick of vision startles a shying beast."
[tr. Pinsky (1994), ll. 36-39]
"If I have well understood your word," replied the shade of that great-souled one, "your soul is wounded by cowardice, which many times so encumbers a man that he turns back from honorable endeavor, as a false sight turns a beast when it shies."
[tr. Durling (1996)]
The ghost of the generous poet replied: "If I have understood your words correctly, your spirit is attacked by cowardly fear, that often weighs men down, so that it deflects them from honourable action, like a creature seeing phantoms in the dusk."
[tr. Kline (2002)]
"If I have rightly grasped your idiom," replied my guide with kindly acumen, "your coward soul has gone completely numb
with fear, which often does encumber men, who, like a beast that's frightened by its shadow, shy away from what they first maintained.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
"Supposing I have heard your words aright,"
the shadow of that noble mind replied,
"your heart is struck with ignominious dread. This, very often, is the stumbling block
that turns a noble enterprise off-course --
as beast will balk at shadows falsely seen.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
"If I have rightly understood your words," replied the shade of that great soul, "your spirit is assailed by cowardice,
which many a time so weighs upon a man it turns him back from noble enterprise, the way a beast shies from a shadow."
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
"If I have understood what you've just told me," The ghost of that gracious, mighty poet replied, "Cowardice is overwhelming your soul,
A common weakness, swinging from side to side A man's clear vision of honor's noble way, As shapes and shadows deceive an animal's eyes."
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
"If I have understood your words aright,"
Magnanimously the great shade replied,
"Your soul is crumbing from the needless blight
Of misplaced modesty, which is false pride
Reversed, and many men by this are swayed
From honourable enterprise. One thinks
Of a dreaming beast that wakes with temper frayed
And finds the prowler into whom it sinks
Its teeth does not exist."
[tr. James (2013), l. 56ff]
THROUGH ME THE WAY TO THE CITY OF WOE, THROUGH ME THE WAY TO EVERLASTING PAIN. THROUGH ME THE WAY AMONG THE LOST.
JUSTICE MOVED MY MAKER ON HIGH. DIVINE POWER MADE ME, WISDOM SUPREME, AND PRIMAL LOVE.
BEFORE ME NOTHING BUT THINGS ETERNAL, AND ETERNAL I ENDURE. ABANDON ALL HOPE, YOU WHO ENTER HERE.
[Per me si va ne la città dolente, per me si va ne l’etterno dolore, per me si va tra la perduta gente.
Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore; fecemi la divina podestate, la somma sapïenza e ’l primo amore.
Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create se non etterne, e io etterno duro. Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 3, l. 1ff (3.1-9) (1309) [tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
(Source)
Inscription on the outer gate to Hell. Sometimes quoted/translated to use "all" to modify "you who enter" rather than "hope," but in the Italian, "ogni speranza" means "all hope."
Note that Hell is the creation of all aspects of the Trinity: Power (the Father), Wisdom (the Son), and Love (the Holy Spirit). Regarding the last, Boyd notes: "That Love to the general welfare that must induce a moral Governor to enforce his laws by the sanction of punishment; as here a mistaken humanity is cruelty."
Through me you to the doleful City go; Through me you go where there is eternal Grief; Through me you go among the Sinners damn'ed.
With strictest justice is this portal made, By Power, Wisdom, and by Love divine.
Nothing before me e'er created was; Unless eternal, as I also am. Ye who here enter to return despair.
[tr. Rogers (1782)]
Thro' me, the newly-damn'd for ever fleet, In ceaseless shoals, to Pain's eternal seat; Thro' me they march, and join the tortur'd crew.
The mighty gulph offended Justice made; Unbounded pow'r the strong foundation laid, And Love, by Wisdom led, the limits drew.
Long ere the infant world arose to light, I found a being in the womb of night. Eldest of all -- but things that ever last! --
And I for ever last! -- Ye hear is of Hell, Here bid at once your ling'ring hope farewell, And mourn the moment of repentance past!
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 1-2]
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."
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Through me the path to city named of Wail; Through me the path to woe without remove; Through me the path to damned souls in bale!
Justice inclined my Maker from above; I am by virtue of the Might Divine, The Supreme Wisdom, and the Primal Love.
Created birth none antedates to mine, Save endless things, and endless I endure: Ye that are entering -- all hope resign.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Through me is the way into the doleful city; through me the way into the eternal pain; through me the way among the people lost. Justice moved my High Maker; Divine Power made me, Wisdom Supreme, and Primal Love. Before me were no things created, but eternal; and eternal I endure: leave all hope, ye that enter.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Through me the way into the sad city -- Through me the way into eternal grief -- Through me to nations lost without relief.
Justice it was that moved my Maker high, The power divine of Architect above, The highest wisdom and the earliest love.
The things of time were not before me, and 'Mid eternal eternally I stand. All you that enter must leave hope behind.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
I am the way unto the dolorous city; I am the way unto th' eternal dole; I am the way unto the spirits lost.
By Justice was my mighty Maker mov'd; Omnipotence Divine created me, Infinite Wisdom and Primeval Love.
Prior to me no thing created was But things eternal -- I eternal am; Leave hope behind all ye who enter here.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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!
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
THROUGH ME IS THE WAY INTO THE WOEFUL CITY; THROUGH ME IS THE WAY TO THE ENTERNAL WOE; THROUGH ME IS THE WAY AMONG THE LOST FOLK. JUSTICE MOVED MY HIGH MAKER; MY MAKER WAS THE POWER OF GOD, THE SUPREME WISDOM, AND PRIMAL LOVE. BEFORE ME WERE NO THINGS CREATED SAVE THINGS ETERNAL, AND ETERNAL I ABIDE; LEAVE EVERY HOPE, O YE THAT ENTER.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Through me ye pass into the city of woe, Through me into eternal pain ye rove; Through me amidst the people lost ye go.
My high Creator justice first did move; Me Power Divine created, and designed, The highest wisdom and the primal love.
Previous to me was no created kind, Save the Eternal; I eternal last. Ye who here enter, leave all hope behind.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Through me is the way into the woeful city; through me is the way into eternal woe; through me is the way among the lost people. Justice moved my lofty maker: the divine Power, the supreme Wisdom and the primal Love made me. Before me were no things created, unless eternal, and I eternal last. Leave every hope, ye who enter!
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Through me lieth the way to the city of tribulation; through me lieth the way to the pain that hath no end; through me lieth the way amongst the lost. Justice it was that moved my august maker; God's puissance reared me, wisdom from on high, and first-born love. Before me created things were not, save those that are eternal; and I abide eternally. Leave every hope behind, ye that come within.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Through me the road is to the city doleful: Through me the road is to eternal dolour: Through me the road is through the lost folk's dwelling:
Justice it was that moved my lofty Maker: Divine Omnipotence it was that made me, Wisdom supreme, and Love from everlasting:
Before me were not any things created. Save things eternal: I endure eternal: Leave every hope behind you, ye who enter.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
THROUGH ME THE WAY INTO THE WOEFUL CITY, THROUGH ME THE WAY TO THE ETERNAL PAIN, THROUGH ME THE WAY AMONG THE LOST PEOPLE.
JUSTICE MOVED MY MAKER ON HIGH, DIVINE POWER MADE ME AND SUPREME WISDOM AND PRIMAL LOVE;
BEFORE ME NOTHING WAS CREATED BUT ETERNAL THINGS AND I ENDURE ETERNALLY. ABANDON EVERY HOPE, YE THAT ENTER.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
v
THROUGH ME THE WAY IS TO THE CITY OF WOE: THROUGH ME THE WAY INTO THE ETERNAL PAIN; THROUGH ME THE WAY AMONG THE LOST BELOW.
RIGHTEOUSNESS DID MY MAKER ON HIGH CONSTRAIN. ME DID DIVINE AUTHORITY UPREAR; ME SUPREME WISDOM AND PRIMAL LOVE SUSTAIN.
BEFORE I WAS, NO THINGS CREATED WERE SAVE THE ETERNAL, AND I ETERNAL ABIDE. RELINQUISH ALL HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HERE.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
THROUGH ME THE ROAD TO THE CITY OF DESOLATION, THROUGH ME THE ROAD TO SORROWS DIUTURNAL, THROUGH ME THE ROAD AMONG THE LOST CREATION.
JUSTICE MOVED MY GREAT MAKER; GOD ETERNAL WROUGHT ME: THE POWER, AND THE UNSEARCHINBLY HIGH WISDOM, AND THE PRIMAL LOVE SUPERNAL.
NOTHING ERE I 2WAS MADE WAS MADE TO BE SAVE THINGS ENTERNE, AND I ETERNE ABIDE; LAY DOWN ALL HOPE, YOU THAT GO IN BY ME.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
I AM THE WAY INTO THE CITY OF WOE. I AM THE WAY TO A FORSAKEN PEOPLE. I AM THE WAY INTO ETERNAL SORROW.
SACRED JUSTICE MOVED MY ARCHITECT. I WAS RAISED HERE BY DIVINE OMNIPOTENCE, PRIMORDIAL LOVE, AND ULTIMATE INTELLECT.
ONLY THOSE ELEMENTS TIME CANNOT WEAR WERE MADE BEFORE ME, AND BEHOND TIME I STAND. ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
THROUGH ME YOU ENTER THE WOEFUL CITY, THROUGH ME YOU ENTER ETERNAL GRIEF, THROUGH ME YOU ENTER AMONG THE LOST.
JUSTICE MOVED MY HIGH MAKER: THE DIVINE POWER MADE ME, THE SUPREME WISDOM, AND THE PRIMAL LOVE.
BEFORE ME NOTHING WAS CREATED IF NOT ETERNAL, AND ETERNAL I ENDURE. ABANDON EVERY HOPE, YOU WHO ENTER.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
THROUGH ME THE WAY INTO THE DOLEFUL CITY, THROUGH ME THE WAY INTO ETERNAL GRIEF, THROUGH ME THE WAY AMONG A RACE FORSAKEN.
JUSTICE MOVED MY HEAVENLY CONSTRUCTOR; DIVINE OMNIPOTENCE CREATED ME, AND HIGHEST WISDOM JOINED WITH PRIMAL LOVE.
BEFORE ME NOTHING BUT ETERNAL THINGS WERE MADE, AND I SHALL LAST ETERNALLY. ABANDON HOPE, FOREVER, YOU WHO ENTER.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
THROUGH ME THE WAY INTO THE SUFFERING CITY, THROUGH ME THE WAY TO THE ETERNAL PAIN, THROUGH ME THE WAY THAT RUNS AMONG THE LOST.
JUSTICE URGED ON MY HIGH ARTIFICER; MY MAKER WAS DIVINE AUTHORITY, THE HIGHEST WISDOM, AND THE PRIMAL LOVE.
BEFORE ME NOTHING BUT ETERNAL THINGS WERE MADE, AND I ENDURE ETERNALLY. ABANDON EVERY HOPE WHO ENTER HERE.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
Through me you go into the city of weeping; Through me you go into eternal pain; Through me you go among the lost people.
Justice is what moved my exalted Maker; I was the invention of the power of God, Of his wisdom, and of his primal love.
Before me there was nothing that was created Except eternal things; I am eternal: No room for hope, when you enter this place.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
THROUGH ME YOU ENTER INTO THE CITY OF WOES, THROUGH ME YOU ENTER INTO ETERNAL PAIN, THROUGH ME YOU ENTER THE POPULATION OF LOSS.
JUSTICE MOVED MY HIGH MAKER, IN POWER DIVINE, WISDOM SUPREME, LOVE PRIMAL. NO THINGS WERE BEFORE ME NOT ENTERNAL; ETERNAL I REMAIN.
ABANDON ALL HOPE, YOU WHO ENTER HERE.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
THROUGH ME THE WAY INTO THE GRIEVING CITY, 2THROUGH ME THE WAY INTO ETERNAL SORROW, THROUGH ME THE WAY AMONG THE LOST PEOPLE.
JUSTICE MOVED MY HIGH MAKER; DIVINE POWER MADE ME, HIGHEST WISDOM, AND PRIMAL LOVE.
BEFORE ME WERE NO THINGS CREATED EXCEPT ETERNAL ONES, AND I ENDURE ETERNAL. ABANDON EVERY HOPE, YOU WHO ENTER.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
THROUGH ME THE WAY TO THE INFERNAL CITY: THROUGH ME THE WAY TO ETERNAL SADNESS: THROUGH ME THE WAY TO THE LOST PEOPLE.
JUSTICE MOVED MY SUPREME MAKER: I WAS SHAPED BY DIVINE POWER, BY HIGHEST WISDOM, AND BY PRIMAL LOVE.
BEFORE ME, NOTHING WAS CREATED, THAT IS NOT ETERNAL: AND ETERNAL I ENDURE. FORSAKE ALL HOPE, ALL YOU THAT ENTER HERE.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Through me, into the city full of woe; through me, the message of eternal pain; through me, the passage where the lost souls go.
Justice moved my Maker in his high domain; Power Divine and Primal Love built me, and Supreme Wisdom; I will aye remain.
Before me there was nothing made to be, except eternity; eternal I endure; all hope abandon, ye who go through me.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
Through me you go to the grief-wracked city. Through me to everlasting pain you go. Through me you go and pass among lost souls.
Justice inspired my exalted Creator. I am a creature of the Holiest Power, of Wisdom in the HIghest and of Primal Love.
Nothing till I was made was made, only eternal beings. And I endure eternally. Surrender as you enter every hope you have.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
It is through me you come to the city of sorrow, It is through me you reach eternal sadness, It is through me you join the forever-lost.
Justice moved my makers' wondrous hands; I was made by Heaven's powers, holy, divine, Endless wisdom, primal love of man.
Eternal existence preceded mine, And nothing more. I will exist for ever. Give up all hope, until the end of time.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
TO ENTER THE LOST CITY, GO THROUGH ME.
THROUGH ME YOU GO TO MEET A SUFFERING
UNCEASING AND ETERNAL. YOU WILL BE
WITH PEOPLE WHO, THROUGH ME, LOST EVERYTHING.
MY MAKER, MOVED BY JUSTICE, LIVES ABOVE.
THROUGH HIM, THE HOLY POWER, I WAS MADE --
MADE BY THE HEIGHT OF WISDOM AND FIRST LOVE,
WHOSE LAWS ALL THOSE IN HERE ONCE DISOBEYED.
FROM NOW ON, EVERY DAY FEELS LIKE YOUR LAST
FOREVER. LET THAT BE YOUR GREATEST FEAR.
YOUR FUTURE NOW IS TO REGRET THE PAST.
FORGET YOUR HOPES. THEY WERE WHAT BROUGHT YOU HERE.
[tr. James (2013)]
Here lamentation, groans, and wailings deep Reverberated through the starless air, So that it made me at the beginning weep.
Uncouth tongues, horrible chatterings of despair, Shrill and faint cries, words of grief, tones of rage, And with it all, smiting of hands, were there,
Making a tumult nothing could assuage, To swirl in the air that knows not day or night, Like sand within the whirlwind’s eddying cage.
[Quivi sospiri, pianti e alti guai risonavan per l’aere sanza stelle, per ch’io al cominciar ne lagrimai.
Diverse lingue, orribili favelle, parole di dolore, accenti d’ira, voci alte e fioche, e suon di man con elle
facevano un tumolto, il qual s’aggira sempre in quell’aura sanza tempo tinta, come la rena quando turbo spira.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 3, l. 22ff (3.22-30) (1309) [tr. Binyon (1943)]
(Source)
Not even in Hell itself, but its antechamber, these are the sounds of those eternally rejected by both Heaven and Hell for standing neutral and not committing to either side. (Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:
There Sighs, and Cries, and horrid Howlings mix'd
With Shrieks, re-echo'd through the starless air,
Which frequent tears of pity from me drew.
Variety of tongues, reproaching Taunts,
Words grief expressing, Accents full of ire,
Voices both loud and hoarse, and clapping Hands
Rais'd in that dusky air a tumult wild,
Like to the sand when by a whirlwind toss'd.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 20ff]
Thence, Oh! what wailings from the abject throng
Around the starless sky incessant rung; The short, shrill shriek, and long resounding groan,
The thick sob, panting thro' the cheerless air,
The lamentagle strain of sad despair, And blasphemy, with fierce relentless tone.
Volleying around, the full, infernal choir,
Barbarian tongues, and plaints, and words of ire, (With oft' between the harsh inflicted blow)
In loud discordance from the tribes forlorn
Tumultuous rose, as in a whirlwind borne, With execrations mix'd, and murmurs low.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 6-7]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Sighs there, and moaning sobs, and shriller cries Rebounded echoing through the starless air. And early forced the tear-gush from mine eyes:
Tongues of all strain, dread language of despair. Words born of anguish, accents choked with ire, And voices loud and hoarse were mingling there
With sound of hands, to swell one uproar dire That aye went eddying round that timeless gloom. As the sand eddieth in the whirlwind's gyre.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Here sighs, plaints, and deep wailings sounded through the starless air: it made me weep at first. Strange tongues, horrible outcries, words of pain, tones of anger, voices deep and hoarse, and the sounds of hands amongst them, made a tumult, which turns itself unceasing in that air for ever dyed, as sand when [it eddies in a whirlwind].
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
And then the sighs, complaints, and loud, loud groans Resounding through the air without a star, Began to wring my heart with many a tear.
Diverse the tongues and language horrible, The words of sorrow and accents of ire -- High and weak voices -- sound of smiting there
A tumult made, that seemed t' encompass all Within that air, which colourless expands For aye, as when the whirlwinds raise the sands.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Here sighs and moans and wailings terrible Resounded through the dim and starless air; Ev'n at the first my tears might not be stay'd.
Tongues divedrse, foul and horrible discourse, Utterings of grief and accents of deep rage, Words loud and hoarse, the sound of raging hands
Fierce tumult made, which sweeps with ceaseless roll In the deep darkness of that timeless air, As the sand rushes where the whirlwind blow.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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 Forever in that air forever black, Even as the sand doth, when the whirlwind breathes.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
There sighs, lamentations, and loud wailings were resounding through the starless air; wherefore I at the beginning wept for them. Divers languages, horrible speech, words of woe, accents of rage, voices loud and faint, and sounds of hands with them, made a tumult, which ever in that air eternally tinted circles as the sand when it is blowing up for a whirlwind.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
There sighings, and complaints, and wailings deep, Resounded ever in the starless air, so that at first I could not help but weep.
Different tongues, speech horrible to hear, Accents of anger and the words of pain, Voices both high and low, hand-clappings there,
Made up a tumult which aye whirls amain Through the thick air, eternally obscure, Like sand storm-driven o'er the desert plane.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Here sighs, laments, and deep wailings were resounding though the starless air; wherefore at first I wept thereat. Strange tongues, horrible cries, words of woe, accents of anger, voices high and hoarse, and sounds of hands with them, were making a tumult which whirls forever in that air dark without change, like the sand when the whirlwind breathes.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Here sighs and lamentations and loud cries resounded through the starless air, wherefore at the first I wept to hear them. Tongues of many nations, utterings of horror, words of tribulation, tones of anger, voices loud and hoarse, and amongst them the sounds of hands, made an uproar that circleth unceasingly in that ever darksome air, even as the sand when the hurricane bloweth.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Here sighs and lamentations and shrill wailings Resounded through the air by stars unlighted; Wherefore I wept thereat, e'en at the outset.
Horrible jargons, tongues of divers peoples, Accents of anger, words of bitter sorrow, Shrill and faint voices, sounds of hands among them,
Made a tumultuous uproar, that for ever Eddies athwart that air's eternal blackness, As sand when there is blast of coming whirlwind.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
There sighs, lamentations and loud wailings resounded through the starless air, so that at first it made me weep; strange tongues, horrible language, words of pain, tones of anger, voices loud and hoarse, and with these the sound of hands, madea tumult which is whirling always through that air forever dark, as sand eddies in a whirlwind.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Here sighing, and here crying, and loud railing Smote on the starles air, with lamentation, So that at first I wept to hear such wailing.
Tongues mixed and mingled, horrible execration, Shrill shrieks, hoarse groans, fierce yells and hideous blether And clapping of hands thereto, without cessation
Made tumult through the timeless night, that hither And thither drives in dizzying circles sped, As whirlwind whips the spinning sands together.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
Here sighs and cries and wails coiled and recoiled on the starless air, spilling my soul to tears. A confusion of tongues and monstrous accents toiled
in pain and anger. Voices hoarse and shrill and sounds of blows, all intermingled, raised tumult and pandemonium that still
whirls on the air forever dirty with it as if a whirlwind sucked at sand.
[tr. Ciardi (1954), ll. 22-29]
Here sighs, laments, and loud wailings were resounding through the starless air, so that at first they made me weep. Strange tongues, horrible outcries, utterances of woe, accents of anger, voices shrill and faint, and the beating of hands among them, were making a tumult that swirls unceasingly in that dark and timeless air, like sand when a whirlwind blows.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
Here sighs and cries and shrieks of lamentation echoed through the starless air of Hell; at first these sounds resounding made me weep:
tongues confused, a language strained in anguish with cadences of anger, shrill outcries and raucous groans in time to slapping hands,
raising a whirling storm that turns itself forever through that air of endless black, like grains of sand swirling when a whirlwind blows.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
Here sighs and lamentations and loud cries were echoing across the starless air, so that, as soon as I set out, I wept.
Strange utterances, horrible pronouncements, accents of anger, words of suffering, and voices shrill and faint, and beating hands --
all went to make a tumult that will whirl forever through that turbid, timeless air, like sand that eddies when a whirlwind swirls.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
Here there were sighings and complaints and howlings, Resounding in the air under no stars; So that at first I found myself in tears.
A jumble of languages, deformities of speech, Words which were pain, with intonations of anger, Voices which were deep and hoarse, hands clapped together,
Made altogether a tumult, round and round, Unceasingly in that air in which all was colorless, Just as it might be in a perpetual sandstorm.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
The sighs, groans, and laments at first were so loud, Resounding through starless air, I began to weep; Strange languages, horrible screams, words imbued
With rage or despair, cries as of troubled sleep Or of a tortured shrillness -- they rose in a coil Of tumult, along with noises like the slap
Of beating hands, all fused in a ceaseless flail That churms and frenzies that dark and timeless air Like sand in a whirlwind.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
There sighs, weeping, loud wailing resounded through the starless air, for which at the outset I shed tears. Strange languages, horrible tongues, words of pain, accents of anger, voices loud and hoarse, and sounds of blows with them, made a tumult that turns forever in that air darkened without time, like the sand when a whirlwind blows.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Here sighs, complaints, and deep groans, sounded through the starless air, so that it made me weep at first. Many tongues, a terrible crying, words of sadness, accents of anger, voices deep and hoarse, with sounds of hands amongst them, making a turbulence that turns forever, in that air, stained, eternally, like sand spiraling in a whirlwind.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Resounding through the starless firmament, such a commotion of groans and wails of woe, I wept myself from sheer bewilderment;
outlandish tongues, and accents doloroso, howls, shrieks, grunts, gasps, bawls, a never-ending, terrible crescendo,
rising to vast compulsory applause, revolving like sand or locusts in a storm, turning the air black as funereal gauze.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
Sighing, sobbing, moans and plaintive wailing all echoed here through air where no star shone, and I, as this began, began to weep.
Discordant tongues, harsh accents of horror, tormented words, the twang of rage, strident voices, the sound, as well, of smacking hands,
together these all stirred a storm that swirled for ever in the darkened air where no time was as sand swept up in breathing spires of wind.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Now sighs, loud wailing, lamentation resounded through the starless air, so that I too began to weep.
Unfamiliar tongues, horrendous accents, words of suffering, cries of rage, voices loud and faint, the sound of slapping hands --
all these made a tumult, always whirling in that black and timeless air, as sand is swirled in a whirlwind.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
To that unknown place, where shrieks and desperate sighs, Weeping, and fervent moaning filled the starless Air; I couild not keep myself from crying.
All sorts of tongues, a flood of horrible words, Much aching speech, with bursts of furious rage, Some loud, some weak, and hands that flapped like birds,
Blew in a swirling roar, forever created Anew, whirling around in that timeless air, Dark as pellets of sand in a hurricane.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Where sighs and moans and screams of ruined men,
Filling the air beneath the starless sky,
Resounding everywhere, ane everywhere
Was there inside me. I began to cry,
Stunned by the sound of an unseen nightmare.
Inhuman outcries in all human tongues,
Bad language, bursts of anger, yelps of pain,
Shrill scrambled messages from aching lungs,
And clapped hands, self-applause of the insane:
All this was whipped by its own energy
Into a timeless tumult without form --
Dark as a whirlpool in a dead black sea
Or a whirlwind sucking sand into a storm.
[tr. James (2013), l. 28ff]
These miserable ways The forlorn spirits endure of those who spent Life without infamy and without praise.
They are mingled with that caitiff rabblement Of the angels, who rebelled not, yet avowed To God no loyalty, on themselves intent.
Heaven chased them forth, lest, being there, they cloud Its beauty, and the deep Hell refuses them, For, beside these, the wicked might be proud.
[Questo misero modo tegnon l’anime triste di coloro che visser sanza ’nfamia e sanza lodo.
Mischiate sono a quel cattivo coro de li angeli che non furon ribelli né fur fedeli a Dio, ma per sé fuoro.
Caccianli i ciel per non esser men belli, né lo profondo inferno li riceve, ch’alcuna gloria i rei avrebber d’elli.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 3, l. 34ff (3.34-42) [Virgil] (1309) [tr. Binyon (1943)]
(Source)
This passage is likely the basis for John F. Kennedy's famous paraphrase, which he credited to Dante:
The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who in a period of moral crisis maintain their neutrality.
That was originally written (and ascribed to Dante) by Henry Powell Spring in 1944. JFK used it multiple times, including in a speech as President in Germany a few days before his famous "Ich bin ein Berliner" speech. (More info on this paraphrase here.)
Dante (and, thus, Dante's cosmos) judges based on action. Thus he ranks those who would not act, pusillanimous neutrals both earthly and heavenly, as worse than even those who have acted for evil ends, and the first whose punishment we get to see. Though they committed no evil acts, they also failed to commit good ones, allowing evil to flourish. Even the tortured denizens of Hell would consider themselves their betters, thus their not being allowed in that infernal realm. Rejecting Heaven and Hell, they are blocked from either. While undergoing some corporal punishment, far worse is that, having stood only for themselves, they are robbed of their identity, nameless for all eternity (ll. 46-51).
Compare this sentiment to Revelation 3:15-16:
I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot. So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth.
These doleful Beings, he reply'd, have liv'd
In Indolence, without or blame or praise.
Angels are mix'd with this unhappy band,
Who neither Rebels, nor yet faithful were
To God, but liv'd sequestered by themselves.
These Heavn' discarded for being too remiss,
Nor did e'en Hell this lukewarm herd receive;
That Favour might not to the damnn'd be shewn.
[tr. Rogers (1782), ll. 30-37]
Behold th' ignoble sons of sloth and shame,
Who scorn'd alike the voice of praise and blame, Nor dreaded punishment, nor sought reward.
Mingled they march with that degen'rate brood,
Who when the Rebel of the sky withstood His sov'reign Lord, aloof their squadrons held:
Viewing with selfish eye the fierce debate,
Till, from the confines of the heav'nly state, Trembling they saw the rebel host expell'd.
Nor bore the victor-Lord the alien race,
But straight, the foul pollution to efface, Hurl'd them indignant from the bounds of light:
This frontier then the dastard crew receiv'd,
Nor deeply damn'd, altho' of bliss bereav'd, And doom'd to wander on the verge of night';
They suffer here, lest yon' more guilty train
of crimes unequal, doom'd to equal pain, Blaspheming Heavn'n, should make their impious boast.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 8-11]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
The miserable crew Of souls now lingers in this piteous mood, To whom, alive, nor blame nor praise was due.
Commingled are they with that caitiff brood Of angel natures, which nor dared rebel, Nor yet kept faith, but selfish ends pursued.
Them, not to be less fair, must heaven expel, Nor the abyss receive, lest their dispraise Redound for glory to the sons of hell.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
This miserable mode the dreary souls of those sustain, who lived without blame, and without praise. They are mixed with that caitiff choire of the angels, who were not rebellious nor were faithful to God; but were for themselves. Heaven chased them forth to keep its beauty from impair; and deep Hell receives them not, for the wicked wouild have some glory over them.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
This miserable lot Possess the souls of those whose living days Passed not with infamy, nor yet with praise.
Immingled they are in the caitiff choir Of neutral angels, for themselves that stood -- Neither rebelled nor loyal were to God.
The heavens have chased them, for they'd sully heaven -- The infernal depths receive them not, because No glory can the wicked have by those.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
This state of misery is held By the sad spirits of those, who in their lives Knew neither act of infamy nor praise.
And they are mingl'd with the wicked choir Of Angels who, not rebels to their God, Were yet not faithful, knowing but themselves;
Cast forth that Heav'n's pure beauty be not stain'd, nto Hell's gloomy depths permitted not Lest they be cause of glory to the lost.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
This wretched fashion keep the sorry souls of those who lived without infamy and without praise. They are mingled with that caitiff band of the angels who were not rebel, nor were faithful to God, but were for themselves. Heaven chased them, that it should not be less fair, nor does the deep hell receive them, since the damned would have some boasting of them.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
After this fashion drear These wretched souls their after-life pursue Who both from infamy and praise lived clear.
Mingled they are with that contemptible crew Of angels who would not rebellion dare, Not faithful Godwards, to themselves but true.
Heaven drove them out, lest it might be less fair, Neither received them deepest Hell's domain, That from them, evil should no glory share.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
This miserable measure the wretched souls maintain of those who lived without infamy and without praise. Mingled are they with that caitiff choir of the angels, who were not rebels, nor were faithful to God, but were for themselves. The heavens chased them out in order to be not less beautiful, nor doth the depth of Hell receive them, because the damned would have some glory from them.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Such hapless state the joyless souls of those sustain, who lived their lives untouched by either infamy or praise. They are huddled together with that base crew of angels who rose not in revolt, nor kept their faith with God, but were for self alone. Heaven drave them out that its brightness might remain undimmed; nor doth the depth of Hell receive them, for the damned would glory over them.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
This miserable condition Keeps the sad souls of those who in their lifetime Were without infamy and without praises;
Commingled are they with that caitiff chorus Of angels who aforetime were not rebels. Nor faithful were to God, but stood as neutral.
Heaven drave them forth lest they should mar its beauty; Nor doth the lower depth of hell receive them, Since that from them the damned would gain some glory.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
This miserable state is borne by the wretched souls of those who lived without disgrace and without praise. They are mixed with that caitiff choir of the angels who were not rebels, nor faithful to God, but were for themselves. The heavens drove them forth, not to be less fair, and the depth of Hell does not receive them, lest the wicked have some glory over them.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
This dismal company Of wretched spirits thus find their guerdon due Whose lives knew neither praise nor infamy;
They're mingled with that caitiff angel-crew Who against God rebelled not, nor to Him Were faithful, but to self alone were true;
Heaven cast them forth -- their presence there would dim The light; deep Hell rejects so base a herd, Lest sin should boast itself because of them.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
These are the nearly soulless whose lives concluded neither blame nor praise.
They are mixed here with that despicable corps of angels who were neither for God nor Satan, but only for themselves. The High Creator
scourged them from Heaven for its perfect beauty, and Hell will not receive them since the wicked might feel some glory over them.
[tr. Ciardi (1954), ll. 32-39]
Such is the miserable condition of the sorry souls of those who lived without infamy and without praise. They are mingled with that base band of angels who were neither rebellious nor faithful to God, but stood apart. The heavens drive them out, so as not to be less beautiful; and deep Hell does not receive them, lest the wicked have some glory over them.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
This wretched state of being is the fate of those sad souls who lived a life but lived it with no blame and with no praise.
They are mixed with that repulsive choir of angels neither faithful nor unfaithful to their God, but undecided in their neutrality.
Heaven, to keep its beauty, cast them out, but even hell itself would not receive them for fear the wicked there might glory over them.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
This miserable way is taken by the sorry souls of those who lived without disgrace and without praise.
They now commingle with the coward angels, the company of those who were not rebels nor faithful to their God, but stood apart.
The heavens, that their beauty not be lessened, have cast them out, nor will deep Hell receive them -- even the wicked cannot glory in them.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
That is the manner of existence Endured by the sad souls of those who lived Without occasion for infamy or praise.
They are mixed with that abject squadron of angels Who did not think it worth their while to rebel Or to be faithful to God, but were for themselves.
Heaven chased them out, so as not to become less beautiful, And the depths of hell also rejected them, Lest the evil might find occasion to glory over them.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
This is the sorrowful state of souls unsure,
Whose lives earned neither honor nor bad fame. And they are mingled with angels of that base sort Who, neither rebellious to God nor faithful to Him,
Chose neither side, but kept themselves apart -- Now Heaven expels them, not to mar its splendor, And Hell rejects them, lest the wicked of heart
Take glory over them.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), ll. 30-37]
This wretched measure is kept by the miserable souls who lived without infamy and without praise. They are mixed with that cowardly chorus of angels who were not rebels yet were not faithful to God, but were for themselves. The heavens reject them so as not to be less beautiful, nor does deep Hell receive them, for the wicked would have some glory over them.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
This is the miserable mode in which those exist, who lived without praise, without blame. They are mixed in with the despised choir of angels, those not rebellious, not faithful to God, but for themselves. Heaven drove them out, to maintain its beauty, and deep Hell does not accept them, lest the evil have glory over them.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
This awful habitat is given over to the "so-so souls" who, when they lived, were neither cold nor hot.
They share this region with a retinue of neutral angels, those who neither were for God nor Satan, but for you-know-who.
To keep its reputation from impair, Heaven expelled them; they were barred from Hell, in case in case the wicked thought themselves more fair."
[tr. Carson (2002)]
This baleful condition is one, he said that grips those souls whose lives, contemptibly, were void alike of honor and ill fame.
These all co-mingle with a noisome choir of angels who -- not rebels, yet not true to God -- existed for themselves alone.
To keep their beauty whole, the Heavens spurned them. Nor would the depths of Hell receive them in, lest truly wicked souls boast over them.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
This miserable state is borne by the wretched souls of those who lived without disgrace yet without praise.
They intermingle with that wicked band of angels, not rebellious and not faithful to God, who held themselves apart.
Loath to impair its beauty, Heaven casts them out, and the depth of Hell does not receive them lest on their account the evil angels gloat.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
This is how the vilest, Sorriest souls have lived their lives, Neither disgraced nor ever once admired.
Mixed among them are souls thrown from on high, Angels who neither joined the Devil's rebellion Nor stood with God. They simply stayed to the side.
Heaven rejected them as ugly, and Hell Refused to let them in its deeper parts, Outshining demons if the Devil let them dwell there.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Their pride to have no prejudice,
Seeking no praise for fear of taking blame,
They were for nothing, nor were they against:
They made no waves and so they made no name.
Now their neutrality is recompense,
For here there is no cautious holding back:
Voices once circumspect are now incensed
And raise to make each other's eardrums crack
Thus they are joined to that self-seeking squad
Of angels fitted neither to rebel
Against, nor put their heartfelt faith in, God --
Hunted from Heaven and locked out of Hell
Because the perfect sky would brook no blur,
And in the lower depths the rebels prized
The glory won from being what they were,
Not the nonentities that they despised.
[tr. James (2013), ll. 44-59]
There, steering toward us in an ancient ferry came an old man with a white bush of hair, bellowing: “Woe to you depraved souls! Bury
here and forever all hope of Paradise: I come to lead you to the other shore, into eternal dark, into fire and ice.”
[Ed ecco verso noi venir per nave un vecchio, bianco per antico pelo, gridando: “Guai a voi, anime prave!
Non isperate mai veder lo cielo: i’ vegno per menarvi a l’altra riva ne le tenebre etterne, in caldo e ’n gelo.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 3, l. 82ff (3.82-87) [Charon] (1309) [tr. Ciardi (1954), l. 79ff]
(Source)
Lo, rowing tow'rds us was one white with age,
And bawling out, "woe do you Souls deprav'd, Heaven expects you not e'er more to see; I come to waft you to another coast, Where are eternal Darkness, Heat, and Frost."
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 68ff]
Far off exclaim'd the grizzly mariner,
"Hither, ye Denizens of Hell, repair! The Stygian barque her wonted load requires;
For you diurnal stars beignant beam,
Prepare ye now to feel the fierce extreme Of frost corrosive, and outrageous fire."
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 19]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
When lo! to meet us came An ancient boatman, hoar with many a year. Crying, "Woe to you, souls of evil name!
Ne'er hope to see the bright celestial sphere: I come to waft you to another shore, Where, cold or heat, still endless night is near.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
And lo! an old man, white with ancient hair, comes towards us in a bark, shouting, "Woe to you, depraved spirits! hope not ever to see Heaven: I come to lead you to the other shore; into the eternal darkness; into fire and into ice."
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
And lo! towards us came one in a bark,
Whose head with hoar antiquity was white,
Cried, "Wow! Ye wicked souls, no more for heaven,
I come to lead you to yon other hold --
Darkness eternal, and to hot and cold!
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
And lo! towards us in a bark approach'd An aged man and white with hoary hair Crying -- "Woe, woe to you, ye wicked souls!
Hope not that you can ever Heaven behold; I come to guide you to the other shore, To night eternal, endless cold and heat.
[tr. Johnston (1867), l. 92ff]
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."
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
And behold came towards us in a boat an old man white by reason of ancient hair, crying, ‘Woe to you, perverse souls! Hope not again to see the sky; I come to bring you to the other bank, among the eternal gloom, to heat and to cold."
[tr. Butler (1885)]
When lo! upon a bark there towards us came A very old man, with age-whitened hair. Crying aloud, "Ah, woe, ye souls of shame!
Hope not again to see the sky so fair. I come to take ye to the other side. To shades eterne of heat and freezing there."
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
And lo! coming toward us in a boat, an old man, white with ancient hair, crying, “Woe to you, wicked souls! hope not ever to see Heaven! I come to carry you to the other bank, into eternal darkness, to heat and frost.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
And lo! an old man, hoary with ancient locks, draweth towards us in a boat, crying out: "Curse on you, sinful souls! Never hope to see the sky! I am coming to ferry you to the other shore, into the darkness that is for ever, into flame and into frost."
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
And lo! towards us coming in a vessel An old man, whom his ancient locks made hoary, Crying out : "Woe to you, ye souls unrighteous;
Cherish not hope of ever seeing heaven; Unto the other bank I come to take you, To heat and frost, in the eternal darkness."
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
And lo, coming towards us in a boat, an old man, his hair white with age, crying: "Woe to you, wicked souls, hope not ever to see the sky. I am come to bring you to the other bank, into the eternal shades, into fire and frost."
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
And toward us lo! arriving in a boat An Ancient, white with hair upon him old, Crying, "Woe to you, ye spirits misbegot!
Hope not that heaven ye ever shall behold. I come to carry you to yon shore, and lead Into the eternal darkness, heat and cold."
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
When from the far bank lo! A boat shot forth, whose white-haired boatman old Bawled as he came: "Woe to the wicked! Woe!
Never you hope to look on Heaven -- behold! I come to ferry you hence across the tide To endless night, fierce fires and shramming cold."
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
And behold, an old man, his hair white with age, coming towards us in a boat and shouting, "Woe to you, wicked souls! Do not hope to see Heaven ever! I come to carry you to the other shore, into eternal darkness, into fire and cold."
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
And suddenly, coming towards us in a boat, a man of years who ancient hair was white screamed at us, "Woe to you, perverted souls!
Give up all hope of every seeing heaven: I come to lead you to the other shore, into eternal darkness, ice and fire."
[tr. Musa (1971)]
And here, advancing toward us, in a boat, an aged man -- his hair was white with years -- was shouting: "Woe to you, corrupted souls!
Forget your hope of ever seeing Heaven: I come to lead you to the other shore, to the eternal dark, to fire and frost."
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
And then, there came towards us in a boat An old man who was white with brittle hair, Calling out: "Woe to you, perverse spirits!
You need not hope that you will ever see heaven; I have come to take you to the other side, Into eternal darkness, fire and ice."
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Then, at the river -- an old man in a boat: White-haired, as he drew closer, shouting at us, "Woe to you, wicked souls! Give up the thought
Of Heaven! I come to ferry you across Into eternal dark on the opposite side, Into fire and ice!"
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 67ff]
And behold coming toward us in a boat an old man, white with the hairs of age, crying, "Woe to you, wicked souls! Never hope to see the sky: I come to lead you to the other shore, to the eternal shadows, to heat and freezing."
[tr. Durling (1996)]
And see, an old man, with white hoary locks, came towards us in a boat, shouting: "Woe to you, wicked spirits! Never hope to see heaven: I come to carry you to the other shore, into eternal darkness, into fire and ice."
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Then lo! as we approached the place, a boat materialized, manned by a hoary boatman. "Woe to ye!" he roared, "abandon hope!
I come to lead you to the dark dominion of the other shore: into eternal shades of ice and fire, where no pain is forgotten."
[tr. Carson (2002)]
Look now! Towards us in a boat there came an old man, yelling, hair all white and aged, "Degenerates! Your fate is sealed! Cry woe!
Don't hope you'll ever see the skies again! I'm here to lead you to the farther shore, into eternal shadow, heat and chill."
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
And now, coming toward us in a boat, an old man, his hair white with age, cried out: "Woe unto you, you wicked souls,
give up all hope of ever seeing Heaven. I come to take you to the other shore, into eternal darkness, into heat and chill."
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
And suddenly a boat, and an old man in it, Came gliding through the misty air, approaching The shore. "Ah!" he shouted, "All you wicked
Souls! Don't wish for a Heaven you have no hope Of ever seeing! I'm here to take you over The river, to eternal darkness, to fire and cold."
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Where suddenly an old man in a boat
Headed towards us, tossing his white hair
As he cried, "Woe to you and to your souls!
Give up your hopes of Heaven! I have come
To take you to the other side. Hot coals
And ice await, to brand you and benumb
In everlasting shadow."
[tr. James (2013), l. 114ff]
Charon, bite back your spleen:
this has been willed where what is willed must be,
and is not yours to ask what it may mean.
[Caron, non ti crucciare:
vuolsi così colà dove si puote
ciò che si vuole, e più non dimandare]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 3, l. 94ff (3.94-96) [Virgil] (1309) [tr. Ciardi (1954), l. 91ff]
(Source)
Replying to Charon who complains that he cannot ferry a living person. (Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:
Caron, do not torment
Yourself, nor trouble us with asking more;
For who would this, can do whate'er he wills.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 78ff]
Cease, sullen Pilot of th' Infernal Tide!
Comission'd from above he seeks the shore,
And pleads the will of Heav'n's immortal Sire!
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 21]
Charon! thyself torment not: so 't is will'd,
Where will and power are one: ask thou no more.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Rest, angry Charon, rest:
So is it willed to be, where might and will
Go hand in hand, and brook no farther quest.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Charon, vex not thyself: thus it is willed there, where what is willed can be done; and ask no more.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Vex not thyself:
Such is the will of Him, whose dwelling's where
He can do what he wills. Questions forbear.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
"Charon," -- the Leader said -- "cease from thy rage;
There it is will'd, where is the pow'r to do
That which is will'd; so question thou no more."
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
Vex thee not, Charon;
It is so willed there where is power to do
That which is willed; and farther question not.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Charon, vex not thyself; thus is it willed in that place where what is willed can be; and ask no more.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Charon, be not sore;
So is it willed above, where will can do
That which it pleases; do not question more.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Charon, vex not thyself, it is thus willed there where is power to do that which is willed; and farther ask not.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Charon, trouble not thyself: thus is it willed, where what is willed hath power to be accomplished; and ask no more.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Charon, restrain thy fury;
Thus is it willed there where can be accomplished
Whatever is willed -- and further ask no question.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
Charon, do not torment thyself. It is so willed where will and power are one, and ask no more.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Charon, thy frowns forbear.
Thus is this thing willed there, where what is willed
Can be accomplished. Further question spare.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Charon, why wilt thou roar
And chafe in vain? Thus it is willed where power
And will are one; enough; ask thou no more.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
Charon, do not rage. Thus it is willed there where that can be done which is willed; and ask no more.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
Charon, this is no time for anger!
It is so willed, there where the power is
for what is willed; that's all you need to know.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
Charon, don't torment yourself:
our passage has been willed above, where One
can do what He has willed; and ask no more.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
Charon, don't torment yourself:
It is willed there, where anything can be done
If it is willed: no need for further questions.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Charon, do not rage:
Thus it is willed where everything may be
Simply if it is willed. Therefore, oblige,
And ask no more,
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 77ff]
Charon, do not torture yourself with anger: this is willed where what is willed can be done, so ask no more.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Charon, do not vex yourself: it is willed there, where what is willed is done: ask no more.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Charon, to protest is useless.
What is willed is what will be, because
it can be done; so leave the matter thus.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
"Charon," my leader, "don't torment yourself.
For this is willed where all is possible
that is willed there. And so demand no more."
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Charon, do not torment yourself.
It is willed where will and power are one,
and ask no more.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Charon, this nonsense won't do.
These things were decided by those forever able
To make decisions and see them done. Not you.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Charon, never fear:
All this is wanted there where what is willed
Is said and done, so more than that don't ask.
[tr. James (2013)]
In despair
they blasphemed God, their parents, their time on earth, the race of Adam, and the day and the hour and the place and the seed and the womb that gave them birth.
But all together they drew to that grim shore where all must come who lose the fear of God. Weeping and cursing they come for evermore.
[Bestemmiavano Dio e lor parenti, l’umana spezie e ’l loco e ’l tempo e ’l seme di lor semenza e di lor nascimenti.
Poi si ritrasser tutte quante insieme, forte piangendo, a la riva malvagia ch’attende ciascun uom che Dio non teme.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 3, l. 103ff (3.103-108) (1309) [tr. Ciardi (1954), l. 100ff]
(Source)
The damned at Charon's boat, waiting to cross the Acheron. (Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:
God and their parents they alike blasphem'd,
Cursing all human kind, the time, the seed
From when they sprang, and of their birth the place.
They crouded then, with horrid yells and loud,
Close to the cursed shore of bliss devoid:
Where ev'ry Mortal waits who fears not God.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 87ff]
Loud they began to curse their natal star,
Their parent-clime, their lineage, and their God; Then to the ferry took the downward road With lamentable cries of loud despair.
Then o'er the fatal flood, in horror hung
Collected, stood the Heav'abandon'd throng.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 22-23]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
God they blasphemed, their parents and their kind, The place, the time, the seed prolifical, That embryo sowed them, and to life consigned.
Then wailing loud, their troop they gathered all, And back recoiled them to the baleful verge, Ordained to men from godliness who fall.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
They blasphemed God and their parents; the human kind; the place, the time, and origin of their seed, and of their birth. Then all of them together, sorely weeping, drew to the accursed shore, which awaits every man that fears not God.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Blasphemed their God, their parents, human kind;
The time when, the hour, the natal earth,
The seed of their begetting, and their birth.
Then all withdrew, who there together were,
Loudly lamenting, to the wicked shore,
Awaiting those who feared not God before.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
God they blasphem'd, their parents they blasphem'd, The human race, the place, the time, the seed Of their conception and nativity.
Then by one impulse driv'n they onwards rush'd With bitter weeping to th' accursèd shore; The doom of all who have not God in fear.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
They fell to blaspheming God and their parents, the human kind, the place, the time, and the seed of their begetting and of their birth. Then they dragged them all together, wailing loud, to the baleful bank, which awaits every man that fears not God.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
They cursed at God and at their parentage, The human race, the place, the time, the seed Of their begetting, and their earliest age.
Then all of them together on proceed. Wailing aloud, to the evil bank that stays For every one of God who takes no heed.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
They blasphemed God and their parents, the human race, the place, the time and the seed of their sowing and of their birth. Then, bitterly weeping, they drew back all of them together to the evil bank, that waits for every man who fears not God.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
They fell to blaspheming God and their parents, the human race, the place, the time, the seed of their sowing and of their births. Then in all their thronging crowds, the while they loudly wailed, they gathered them back together to the accursed shore, that awaiteth everyone that hath no fear of God.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Blasphemed they God himself and their own parents. The human race, the place, the time, the sowing O' the seed they sprang from, and their own beginnings.
Then they retreated, one and all together, Bitterly weeping, to the brink accursèd Which for all men who fear not God is waiting.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
They blasphemed God and their parents, the human kind, the place, the time, and the seed of their begetting and of their birth, then, weeping bitterly, they drew all together to the accursed shore which awaits every man that fears not God.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
They blasphemed God, blasphemed their mother's womb, The human kind, the place, the time, the seed Of their engendering, and their birth and doom;
Then weeping all together in their sad need Betook themselves to the accursed shore Which awaits each who of God takes no heed.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
God they blaspheme, blaspheme their parents' bed, The human race, the place, the time, the blood The seed that got them, and the womb that bred;
Then, huddling hugger-mugger, down they scud, Dismally wailing, to the accursed strand Which waits for every man that fears not God.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
They cursed God, their parents, the human race, the place, the time, the seed of their begetting and of their birth. Then, weeping loudly, all drew to the evil shore that awaits every man who fears not God.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
They were cursing God, cursing their mother and father, the human race, and the time, the place, the seed of their beginning, and their day of birth.
Then all together, weeping bitterly, they packed themselves along the wicked shore that waits for everyman who fears not God.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
They execrated God and their own parents and humankind, and then the place and time of their conception's seed and of their birth.
Then they forgathered, huddled in one throng, weeping aloud along that wretched shore which waits for all who have no fear of God.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
Then they blasphemed God and cursed their parents, The human race, the place and time, the seed, The land that it was sown in, and their birth.
And then they gatehred, all of them together, Weeping aloud, upon the evil shore Which awaits every man who does not fear God.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
... cursing the human race,
God and their parents. Teeth chattering in their skulls, They called curses on the seed, the place, the hour Of their own begetting and their birth. With wails
And tears they gaterhed on the evil shore That waits for all who don't fear God.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
They cursed God and their parents, the human race and the place and the time and the seed of their sowing and of their birth. Then all of them together, weeping loudly, drew near the evil shore that awaits each one who does not fear God.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
They blasphemed against God, and their parents, the human species, the place, time, and seed of their conception, and of their birth. Then, all together, weeping bitterly, they neared the cursed shore that waits for every one who has no fear of God.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
And they cursed God, and cursed the human race; they cursed their parents=, and their kith and kin; they cursed their birth; they cursed its time and place.
Weeping and gnashing their teeth they all drew in to that accursèd shore, which is the ate of everyone who brings his soul to ruin.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
They raged, blaspheming God and their own kin, the human race, the place and time, the seed from which they'd sprung, the day that they'd been born.
And then they came together all as one, wailing aloud along the evil margin that waits for all who have no fear of God.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
They blasphemed God, their parents, the human race, the place, the time, the seed of their begetting and their birth.
Then weeping bitterly, they drew together to the accursèd shore that waits for every man who fears not God.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
They cursed at God, the human race, their parents, The place where they'd been born, and the time, and the seed That gave them life and brought about their birth.
Then they crowded, all of them loudly weeping, Down to the cursed, ever-barren shore That waits for men who live as if God were sleeping.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
They cursed their parents, God, the human race,
The time, the temperature, their place of birth,
Their mother's father's brother's stupid face,
And everything of worth or nothing worth
That they could think of. Then they squeezed up tight
Together, sobbing, on the ragged edge
That waits for all who hold God in despite.
[tr. James (2013), l. 136ff]
Gustave Dore – Inferno 4.42 – The virtuous pagans (1890)
Down there, to judge only by what I heard, there were no wails but just the sounds of sighs rising and trembling through the timeless air,
The sounds of sighs of untormented grief burdening these groups, diverse and teeming, made of men and women and of infants.
Then the good master said, “You do not ask what sort of souls are these you see around you. Now you should know before we go on farther,
they have not sinned. But their great worth alone was not enough, for they did not know Baptism which is the gateway to the faith you follow,
and if they came before the birth of Christ They did not worship God the way one should; I myself am a member of this group.
For this defect, and for no other guilt, we here are lost. In this alone we suffer: cut off from hope, we live on in desire.”
[Quivi, secondo che per ascoltare, non avea pianto mai che di sospiri che l’aura etterna facevan tremare;
ciò avvenia di duol sanza martìri, ch’avean le turbe, ch’eran molte e grandi, d’infanti e di femmine e di viri.
Lo buon maestro a me: “Tu non dimandi che spiriti son questi che tu vedi? Or vo’ che sappi, innanzi che più andi,
ch’ei non peccaro; e s’elli hanno mercedi, non basta, perché non ebber battesmo, ch’è porta de la fede che tu credi;
e s’e’ furon dinanzi al cristianesmo, non adorar debitamente a Dio: e di questi cotai son io medesmo.
Per tai difetti, non per altro rio, semo perduti, e sol di tanto offesi che sanza speme vivemo in disio”.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 4, l. 25ff (4.25-42) (1309) [tr. Musa (1971)]
(Source)
In the First Circle of Hell, Dante encounters the "virtuous pagans," without sin but who cannot go to heaven because they were not baptized (such as children), or because they were born before Christ and therefore could not be saved by faith. They are not physically punished, but languish in an otherwise-pleasant Limbo, longing to be united with God. (Dante did not invent Limbo, but popularized it.)
(Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:
Loud Lamentations were not heard from thence,
But heavy Sighs which trembled through the air:
From th' anguish these of Mind, not Body, came
Of many Infants, Women, and of Men.
You do not ask me, my kind Master said,
What are these Spirits in this place you see;
This you should know before we farther pass.
These have not sinn'd; and 'though they had reward
Deserved for their meritorious acts,
'Twould not avail, since they were ne'er baptiz'd;
For this in your Belief's the Gate of Faith.
They who have lived before Christ appear'd
Have not with proper Prayers ador'd their God.
And I myself, alas! am one of those.
For these defects, and not for any crime,
We're lost; and, without other punishment,
We live desiring, yet depriv'd of hope.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 35ff]
Now thro' the void and viewless shadows drear,
Short sighs, thick-coming, led the list'ning ear, Trembling in murmurs low along the gale:
No pang is here, no tort'ring hour is known,
Their irrecoverable loss alone Matrons, and fires, and tender babes bewail.
"And can the mournful train that here abide
Unnotic'd pass thee by?" the Poet cry'd, "These were of the race renown'd of ancient time:
Unknown a Saviour, unador'd a God,
Their blind presumptuous course in reason's road They still pursu'd, unconscious of a crime.
No bleeding ransom of their sins they knew
Nor from the fount regeneration drew The sacred symbol of eternal joy!
In ceaseless languors now forlorn they dwell,
Not heirs of Heav'n, nor denizens of Hell, And of their sad society am I!"
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 5-7]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Here never aught of louder plaint or moan Disturbed the listener's hearing; but the air Trembled eternally with sighs alone.
The cause, a grief where torment hath no share, Endured of crowded hostings not a few, Men, women, infants, all assembled there.
And thus the good preceptor -- "Canst thou view So vast a throng, nor ask of whom the spirits? I will thou learn, ere we our path pursue.
These were not sinners; yet, whatever their merits. Suffice not them, wanting baptismal rite. That each partaker of thy faith inherits.
And if they rose before the Christian light. Duly they honoured not their Maker's name; But what these are, am I: our fates unite.
For such default, and not for deeper blame, Heaven have we lost; yet this our only smart. Our hope is not, our longing still the same."
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Here was no plaint, that could be heard, except of sighs, which caused the eternal air to tremble; And this arose from the sadness, without torment, of the crowds that were many and great, both of children, and women and men. The good Master said to me: "Thou askest not what spirits are these thou seest? I wish thee to know, before thou goest further, that they sinned not; and though they have merit, it suffices not: for they had not Baptism, which is the portal of the faith that thou believest; and seeing they were before Christianity, they worshipped not God aright; and of these am I myself. For such defects, and for no other fault, are we lost; and only in so far afflicted, that without hope we live in desire."
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Here was no sound, to any listener's ear, Of loud complaint, but frequent sighs of care, Which made to tremble the eternal air.
It happened thus, from grief of torments void, Possessing crowds beyond our sight and ken Of infants, and of women, and of men.
The good master said, "You do not ask me What are these spirits which you now descry -- Wouldst thou discover, ere we yet draw nigh?
These have not sinn'd, though merit they should have -- 'Tis not enough, for baptism they have none, A portion of the faith you also own:
They lived ere Christianity began; The God of heaven adored not as they ought. And of these here, I'm also in the fault
For these defects; for other evil none Are lost, -- afflicted only thus so far: Live in desire, but want hope's brightening star."
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
There as I listen'd I could hear no sound Of plaint or moan, but rather that of sighs Which tremulous did stir th' eternal air;
This came not from the martyrdom of pain But from the dole of those, many and great, Of children, and of women, and of men.
My kindly master said -- "Thou askest not Who be these spirits which thou seest now? Yet here we further go, be to thee known
They sinned not; yet no merit claim'd by them Availeth aught, because they never knew The Grace Baptismal, portal of they creed:
And if they liv'd before the day of Grace They could not in right spirit worship God: And of that number I myself am one.
For this default and for no other guilt We are lost souls; afflicted only thus, That ever hopeless we must still desire."
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
There, in so far as I had power to hear, Were lamentations none, but only sighs, That tremulous 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, 'T is 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."
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Here, so far as listening went, lamentation was not, save of sighs which made the everlasting mist tremble. And this befel of woe without torments which the crowds had, that were many and great, both of infants and of women and of men. The good Master to me: 'Thou demandest not what spirits these are whom thou seest ? Now will I that thou know ere thou go further, that they did not sin; and if they have deserts, it suffices not; because they had not baptism, which is a part of the faith which thou believest. And if they were before Christianity, they adored not God duly; and of this sort am I myself. For such defects, not for other crime, we are lost; and we are harmed only in so far as we live without hope in longing.'
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Here, in as far as hearing is aware, Was no loud weeping, but a sound of sighs. Which ever trembled in the eternal air,
And these from sorrow without torments rise, Sorrow that holds the crowds both many and great, Men, women, children, of all age and size.
Turned my good master to me: "Dost thou wait To ask what souls are these thou seest here? I will that thou shouldst know at once their state.
These have not sinned, and if their acts were fair, 'Twas not sufficient, since they baptism lacked, The gateway of the Faith which thou dost share.
And if they lived ere Christ's law was a fact. They did not in fit fashion God adore; And I myself amongst these last am wreckt.
For such deficiencies, and nothing more, Our penalty is fixed, the lost among, To yearn for ever on this hopeless shore.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Here, so far as could be heard, there was no plaint but that of sighs which made the eternal air to tremble: this came of the woe without torments felt by the crowds, which were many and great, of infants and of women and of men. The good Master to me, “Thou dost not ask what spirits are these that thou seest. Now I would have thee know, before thou goest farther, that they sinned not; and if they have merits it sufficeth not, because they had not baptism, which is part of the faith that thou believest; and if they were before Christianity, they did not duly worship God: and of such as these am I myself. Through such defects, and not through other guilt, are we lost, and only so far harmed that without hope we live in desire.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Here, so far as I could tell by listening, there was no wailing, but sighs only, making the air to tremble without ceasing; and this arose from the misery, albeit uncaused by torture, which the crowds felt, and they were many and great; babes and women and men. My gentle Master said to me: "Thou dost not ask what shades are these thou seest. I now would have thee know, or ever thou goest farther, that they have not sinned; and though they have good works to their account, it sufficeth not, for they knew not baptism, which is the gateway of the faith the which thou dost believe. And as they were before Christ's coming, they failed to worship God aright ; and of their number am I myself. For shortcomings such as these, and for no other fault, are we lost: and this our only punishment, that without hope we live in yearning.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Therein, so far as listening was of service, There was no lamentation, save of sighing, That made the eternal weight of air to quiver.
This came to pass from sorrow without torments. That the crowds had, which were both great and many. Of little children, and of men, and women.
To me the master kind: "Dost thou not ask me What spirits these are here, whom thou beholdest? Now I would have thee know, ere thou go further,
That they sinned not: and yet that they have merits Sufficeth not, because they had not baptism. Which is a portion of the faith thou holdest:
And, if they were before the Christian advent, They did not render unto God due worship. And I of such as these myself am also.
For such defects, and not for other forfeit, Are we among the lost, and only troubled At this, that without hope we live in longing.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
Here, so far as I could tell by listening, was no lamentation more than sighs which kept the air forever trembling; these came from grief without torments that was borne by the crowds, which were vast, of men and women and little children. The good Master said to me: "Does thou not ask what spirits are these thou seest? I would have the know, then, before thou goest farther, that they did not sin; but though they have merits it is not enough, for they had not baptism, which is the gateway of the faith thou holdest; and if they were here before Christianity they did not worship God aright, and of these I am one. For such defects, and not for any guilt, we are lost, and only so far afflicted that without hope we live in desire."
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Here was no sound that the ear could catch of rue, Save only of sighs, that still as they complain Make the eternal air tremble anew.
And this rose form the sorrow, unracked by pain, That was in the great multitude below Of children and of women and of men.
The good Master to me: "Wouldst thou not know 'What spirits are these thou seest and hearest grieve? I'd have thee learn before thou farther go,
These sinned not: but the merit that they achieve Helps not, since baptism was not theirs, the gate Of that faith, which was given thee to believe.
And if ere Christ they came, untimely in date, They worshipped not with right experience; And I myself am numbered in their state.
For such defect, and for no other offence, We are lost, and only in so far amerced That without hope we languish in suspense."
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
We heard no loud complaint, no crying there, No sound of grief except the sound of sighing Quivering for ever through the eternal air;
Grief, not for torment, but for loss undying, By women, men, and children sighed for so, Sorrowers thick-thronged, their sorrows multiplying.
Then my good guide: "Thou dost not ask me who These spirits are,” said he, “whom thou perceivest? Ere going further, I would have thee know
They sinned not; yet their merit lacked its chiefest Fulfilment, lacking baptism, which is The gateway to the faith which thou believest;
Or, living before Christendom, their knees Paid not aright those tributes that belong To God; and I myself am one of these.
For such defects alone -- no other wrong -- We are lost; yet only by this grief offended: That, without hope, we ever live, and long.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
No tortured wailing rose to greet us here but sounds of sighing rose from every side, sending a tremor through the timeless air,
a grief breathed out of untormented sadness, the passive state of those who dwelled apart, men, women, children -- a dim and endless congress.
And the Master said to me: "You do not question what souls these are that suffer here before you? I wish you to know before you travel on
that these were sinless. And still their merits fail, for they lacked Baptism's grace, which is the door of the true faith you were born to. Their birth fell
before the age of the Christian mysteries, and so they did not worship God's Trinity in fullest duty. I am one of these.
For such defects are we lost, though spared the fire and suffering Hell in one affliction only: that without hope we live on in desire."
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
Here there was no plaint, that could be heard, except of sighs, which caused the eternal air to tremble; and this arose from the sadness, without torments, of the crowds that were many and great, both of children and of women and men. The good master said to me, “Do you not ask what spirits are these that you see ? Now, before you go farther, I will have you know that they did not sin; but if they have merit, that does not suffice, for they did not have baptism, which is the portal of the faith you hold; and if they were before Christianity, they did not worship God aright, and I myself am one of these. Because of these shortcomings, and for no other fault, we are lost, and only so far afflicted that without hope we live in longing.”
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
Here, for as much as hearing could discover, there was no outcry louder than the sighs that caused the everlasting air to tremble.
The sighs arose from sorrow without torments, out of the crowds -- the many multitudes -- of infants and of women and of men.
The kindly master said: “Do you not ask who are these spirits whom you see before you? I'd have you know, before you go ahead,
they did not sin; and yet, though they have merits, that’s not enough, because they lacked baptism, the portal of the faith that you embrace.
And if they lived before Christianity, they did not worship God in fitting ways; and of such spirits I myself am one.
For these defects, and for no other evil, we now are lost and punished just with this: we have no hope and yet we live in longing.”
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
There, in so far as listening could tell me, The only lamentations were the sighs, Yet they made the eternal air tremble.
They came from the sadness, without any torment, Felt by the crowds -- there were many of them, and huge -- Of infants and of men and of men.
The master said: "Are you not going to ask What sprits these are which you see in this place? I think you should know before you go on;
They have committed no sin, and if they have merits, That is not enough, because they are not baptized, Which all must be, to enter the faith which is yours.
And if they lived before the Christian era, They did not adore God as he should be adored: And I am one of those in that position.
For these deficiencies, and no other fault, We are lost; there is no other penalty Than to live here without hope, but with desire."
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Here we encountered
No laments that we could hear -- except for sighs
That trembled the timeless air: they emanated
From the shadowy sadnesses, not agonies,
Of multitudes of children and women and men.
He said, "And don't you ask, what spirits are these?
Before you go on, I tell you: they did not sin:
If they have merit, it can't suffice without
Baptism, portal to the faith you maintain.
Some lived before the Christian faith, so that
They did not worship God aright -- and I
Am one of these. Through this, no other fault,
We are lost, afflicted only this one way:
That having no hope, we live in longing."
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 19ff]
Here, as far as could be heard, there was no weeping except of sighs which caused the eternal air to tremble; these resulted from grief without torture, felt by the crowds, which were many and large, of infants and of women and of men. My good master to me: “You do not ask what spirits are these you see? Now I wish you to know, before you walk further, that they did not sin; and if they have merits, it is not enough, because they did not receive baptism, which is the gateway to the faith that you believe. And if they lived before Christianity, they did not adore God as was needful: and of this kind am I myself. Because of such defects, not for any other wickedness, we are lost, and only so far harmed that without hope we live in desire.”
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Here there was no sound to be heard, except the sighing, that made the eternal air tremble, and it came from the sorrow of the vast and varied crowds of children, of women, and of men, free of torment. The good Master said to me: ‘You do not demand to know who these spirits are that you see. I want you to learn, before you go further, that they had no sin, yet, though they have worth, it is not sufficient, because they were not baptised, and baptism is the gateway to the faith that you believe in. Since they lived before Christianity, they did not worship God correctly, and I myself am one of them. For this defect, and for no other fault, we are lost, and we are only tormented, in that without hope we live in desire.’
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Here, there was no pandemonium of tortured groans; only interminable sighs, which trembled the air with a murderous hum; and this arose
from all the sadnesses, albeit painless, of the multitude of men and women, and children of every size.
Then he to me: "Why don't you ask me who these spirits are? Before you go much further on, I'd like it to be understood that they are
innocent of sin; however, lacking Baptism, they could not claim its saving grace, and thus are doomed forever;
living, as they did, before Christ came they did not pay the Lord his due respect; and I myself am classed as one of them.
For these faults, not for any other defect, are we lost; our only pain is hopeless, unfulfilled desire. These are the facts.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
Here, there was no pandemonium of tortured groans; only interminable sighs, which trembled the air with a murmurous hum; and this arose from all the sadnesses, albeit painless, of the multitude of men and women, and children of every size. Then he to me: "Why don't you ask me who these spirits are? Before you go much further on, I'd like it to be understood that they are innocent of sin; however, lacking Baptism, they could not claim its saving grace, and thus are doomed forever; living, as they did, before Christ came, they did not pay the Lord his due respect; and I myself am classed as one of them. For these faults, not for any other defect, are we lost; our only pain is hopeless, unfulfilled desire. These are the facts.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
Here in the dark (where only hearing told) there were no tears, no weeping, only sighs that caused a trembling in the eternal air --
sighs drawn from sorrowing, although no pain. This weighs on all of them, those multitudes of speechless children, women and full-grown men.
'You do not ask,' my teacher in his goodness said, 'who all these spirits are that you see here? Do not, I mean, go further till you know:
these never sinned. And some attained to merit. But merit falls far short. None was baptized. None passed the gate, in your belief, to faith.
They lived before the Christian age began. They paid no reverence, as was due to God. And in this number I myself am one.
For such deficiencies, no other crime, we all are lost yet only suffer harm through living in desire, but hopelessly.'
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Here, as far as I could tell by listening, was no lamentation other than the sighs that kept the air forever trembling.
These came from grief without torment borne by vast crowds of men, and women, and little children.
My master began: 'You do not ask about the souls you see? I want you to know, before you venture farther,
they did not sin. Though they have merit, that is not enough, for they were unbaptized, denied the gateway to the faith that you profess.
And if they lived before the Christians lived, they did not worship God aright. And among these I am one.
For such defects, and for no other fault, we are lost, and afflicted but in this, that without hope we live in longing.'
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
And here there was no weeping; the only signs Of sorrow I heard were sighs that caused a gentle Trembling, stirring eternal air, yet rising
Not from tortured pain or punishment But only because there were so many, men And women and children. My Master asked this question
Of me: "Don't you mean to inquire, again, Who and what are the spirits you see in here? I want you to know, before you take another step,
These are not sinners; no matter what they deserve
It can't be enough, for none have been baptized --
The gateway to Heaven in your faith's clearest terms.
All those born before the coming of Christ Cannot be Christians, worshipping god as He Requires, and one of many such men am I.
These imperfections, and nothing more, no crimes, Bar us from Paradise, not punished, not hurt. We have no hope, we live for our great desire.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
To the extent
That I could hear at all, all cries were sighs.
The air without end shook to the lament
Not just of men and women: with surprise
I saw young children too. Why were they sent?
I thought, and once again my Master saw
Into my mind, and said: “You do not ask
Who these ones are, why here, and by what law?
I'll tell you, before we resume our task,
Of pain without a sin. But though they be
Ever so virtuous, no unbaptized
Souls are exempted from this penalty,
And if they lived before His Son, they prized
God insufficiently. And I was one
Of those. For such defects, and for no crime
More grave, we're lost: for something left undone
We're doomed to live without hope for all time.”
[tr. James (2013), l. 31ff]
Gustave Dore – Divine Comedy, Plate 14, Inferno, Canto 5 “The infernal hurricane that never rests” (1857)
And this, I learned, was the never ending flight of those who sinned in the flesh, the carnal and lusty who betrayed reason to their appetite.
As the wings of wintering starlings bear them on in their great wheeling flights, just so the blast wherries these evil souls through time foregone.
Here, there, up, down, they whirl, and whirling, strain with never a hope of hope to comfort them, not of release, but even of less pain.
[Intesi ch’a così fatto tormento enno dannati i peccator carnali, che la ragion sommettono al talento.
E come li stornei ne portan l’ali nel freddo tempo, a schiera larga e piena, così quel fiato li spiriti mali
di qua, di là, di giù, di sù li mena; nulla speranza li conforta mai, non che di posa, ma di minor pena.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 5, l. 37ff (5.37-45) (1309) [tr. Ciardi (1954)]
(Source)
Those who such torments suffered, I learnt, Were condemn'd to them for their carnal Sins, Their reason by their Passion being subdued.
And as the Birds, who at the first approach Of cold, take wing, and gather in thick clouds, So does the Storm these wretched Spirits drive,
From 'bove, below, and ev'ry side around. They have no hope of ever being releas'd: And e'en of lighter punishments despair.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 32ff]
These were the hapless slaves of lawless love,
Soft pleasure's vot'ries in the world above,
Who the still voice of reason held in scorn;
And as a flight of starlings wing their way,
Riding the wintry blast in long array, The phantoms fleet, in airy tumult borne.
Aloft we saw the moody revel ride,
Then, in long eddies, like the swallowing tide,
With its full freight the hurricane descends:
Around the sinner sweep, above, below,
Nor respite of their cares rest they, nor refuge know From the resistless storm that never ends.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 8-9]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Then understood I of that woe's intent, How framed with sinners in the flesh to deal Who to their passion have their reason bent.
And like as starlings in their aery wheel Some winter's day float wide upon the wing. So doth those guilty souls the whirlwind's reel
Now up, now down, now this, now that way fling; Nor aught to comfort them may soothing hope. If not of rest, of milder sufferance bring.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
I learnt that to such torment [are] doomed the carnal sinners, who subject reason to lust. And as their wings bear along the starlings, at the cold season, in large and crowded troop: so that blast, the evil spirits; hither, thither, down, up, it leads them. No hope ever comforts them, not of rest, but even of less pain.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Of torment such as this, I understood, Were carnal sinners made to drink their fill, Their reason who subject unto their will.
And as the starlings spread their wings aloft In the cold time, in long and crowded flock, Such are the evil spirits to the shock:
From here to there, from low to high, it leads; Nor hope nor comfort in their breast remain, Not of a pause, but even of lesser pain.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Then I perceiv'd this torment was to those Whose condemnation was for carnal sins, Who made their reason subject to their lusts.
As starlings in their wingèd strength are borne In winter season, flocking wide and deep; So are the wicked spirits by this blast
Upwards and downwards, hither, thither swept, Having to comfort them of no hope of rest From their great woe, nor e'en of lesser pain.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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 forevermore, Not of repose, but even of lesser pain.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
I was aware that to a torment thus fashioned are condemned the carnal sinners who made their reason subject to their inclination. And as their wings bear away the starlings in the cold season, in a broad and thick flock, so did that blast the evil spirits. On this side, on that, up and down it sways them; no hope ever comforts them, I say not of rest, but of a lesser penalty.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Then did I understand that this was pain Reserved for those who sin in carnal things, And over reason their desires maintain.
And, like the summer starlings, stretch their wings In the cold time, in large and ample train, So that wild wind those evil spirits swings
Hither and thither, up and down again; No hope can comfort them of far repose For evermore, nor even of lesser pain.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
I understood that to such torment are condemned the carnal sinners who subject reason to appetite. And as their wings bear along the starlings in the cold season in a troop large and full, so that blast the evil spirits; hither, thither, down, up it carries them; no hope ever comforts them, not of repose, but even of less pain.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
I came to know that to tortures of such a kind were doomed sinners in the flesh, who make their better judg- ment the thrall of lust. And as in winter time starlings are borne on their wings, in large and crowded flock; even so beareth this blast these sinful spirits. Hither and thither, high and low, it whirleth them, nor ever cometh hope of any rest to cheer them, nor even of lesser punishment.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
I understood that unto such like torment Are damned eternally the carnal sinners. Who make their reason subject to their passions.
And as their pinions bear along the starlings, In the chill time, in wide and full battahon, In such wise doth that blast the wicked spirits:
Hither and thither, up and down, it bears them; Nor any hope encourages them ever. Not to say hope of rest, but of less torment.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
I learned that to such torment are condemned the carnal sinners who subject reason to desire. As in the cold season their wings bear the starlings along in a broad, dense flock, so does that blast the wicked spirits. Hither, thither, downward, upward, it drives them; no hope ever comforts them, not to say of rest, but of less pain.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
I learnt that in such restless violence blown This punishment the carnal sinners share Whose reason by desire was over thrown.
And as their beating wings the starlings bear At the cold season, in broad, flocking flight, So those corrupted spirits were rapt in air
To and fro, down, up, driven in helpless plight Comforted by no hope ever to lie At rest, nor even to bear a pain more light.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Into this torment carnal sinners are thrust, So I was told -- the sinners who make their reason Bond thrall under the yoke of their lust.
Like as the starlings wheel in the wintry season In wide and clustering flocks wing-borne, wind-borne, Even so they go, the souls who did this treason,
Hither and thither, and up and down, outworn, Hopeless of any rest -- rest, did I say? Of the least minishing of their pangs forlorn.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
I learned that to such torment are condemned the carnal sinners, who subject reason to desire. And as their wings bear the starlings along in the cold season, in wide, dense flocks, so does that blast the sinful spirits; hither, thither, downward, upward, it drives them. No hope of less pain, not to say of rest, ever comforts them.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
I learned that to this place of punishment all those who sin in lust have been condemned, those who make reason slave to appetite;
and as the wings of starlings in the winter bear them along in wide-spread crowded flocks, so does that wind propel the evil spirits:
here, then there, and up and down, it sweeps them forever, without hope to comfort them (hope, not of taking rest, but of suffering less).
[tr. Musa (1971)]
I learned that those who undergo this torment are damned because they sinned within the flesh, subjecting reason to the rule of lust.
And as, in the cold season, starlings' wings bear them along in broad and crowded ranks, so does that blast bear on the guilty spirits:
now here, now there, now down, now up, it drives them. There is no hope that ever comforts them -- no hope for rest and none for lesser pain.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
I understood it is to this torment That are condemned those who sin in the flesh, And let their reason give way to their wishes.
And, as starlings are carried on their wings In the cold weather, in a vast wavering troop, So that breath carries the unfortunate spirits:
It drives them here and there, now down, now up; There is no hope ever to comfort them; They cannot stop, or ever suffer less pain.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
I learned They suffer here who sinned in carnal things -- Their reason mastered by desire, suborned.
As winter starlings ride on their wings Form crowded flocks, so spirits dip and veer Foundering in the wind's rough buffetings,
Upward or downward, driven here and there With never ease from pain nor hope of rest.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 34ff]
I understood that to this torment were damned the carnal sinners, who subject their reason to their lust. nd as their wings carry off the starlings in the cold season, in large, full flocks, so does that breath carry the evil spirits here, there, down, up; no hope ever comforts them, not of lessened suffering, much less of rest.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
I learnt that the carnal sinners are condemned to these torments, they who subject their reason to their lust. And, as their wings carry the starlings, in a vast, crowded flock, in the cold season, so that wind carries the wicked spirits, and leads them here and there, and up and down. No hope of rest, or even lesser torment, comforts them.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
And then I learned such torments are incurred by those who like to practice carnal sin, when reason is by furtive lust ensnared.
As starlings, when the evenings draw in, assemble in tremendous seething flocks, so are those dark souls gathered by the wind,
and hurtled to and fro in random flecks devoid of hope of rest, or rest from pain to which they are eternally affixed.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
Caught in this torment, as I understood, were those who -- here condemned for carnal sin -- made reason bow to their instinctual bent.
As starlings on the wing in winter chills are borne along in wide and teeming flocks, so on these breathing gusts the evil souls.
This way and that and up and down they're borne. Here is no hope of any comfort ever, neither of respite nor of lesser pain.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
I understood that to such torment the carnal sinners are condemned, they who make reason subject to desire.
As, in cold weather, the wings of starlings bear them up in wide, dense flocks, so does that blast propel the wicked spirits.
Here and there, down and up, it drives them. Never are they comforted by hope of rest or even lesser punishment.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
I learned that sinners blown, tormented in bursting Gales, are those condemned by acts of lust, Which melt our reason down in desire and thirst.
Just as their wings, stretched wide, hold starlings up In great, wide flocks fleeing freezing weather, So those windstorms force the wicked souls
This way, that way, down and up together. No hope can ever ease their pain, giver comfort; They never rest, never suffer less.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
I learned this special kind of torment is reserved For those whose ravenous appetite for carnal knowledge Allowed lust to triumph over reason.
Like wings carry starlings off in crowded flocks When the end of October hints at winter, so the wind Carried these sinners: up, down, and at an angle.
In broad and compact masses. What is there to comfort them? Neither more peace Nor less pain, although they beg for both.
[tr. Bang (2012)]
I understood this was the punishment
For carnal sinners, who let appetite
Rule reason, and who, once drawn, are now sent --
Like winter starlings by their wings in flight --
Across the bleak sky in a broad, thick flock:
Here, there, now up, now down, the winds dictate
Their track. Small hope of pausing to take stock
Of whether anguish might not soon abate
At least a little, and no hope at all
Of peace.
[tr. James (2013), l. 47ff]
Life brings no greater grief
Than happiness remembered in a time
Of sorrow.
[Nessun maggior dolore
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Ne la miseria.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 5, l. 121ff (5.121-123) [Francesca] (1309) [tr. James (2013), l. 141ff]
(Source)
Francesca de Rimini is responding to Dante's request to speak of her love affair while in the middle of being punished for it. It is a true (if slanted) tale that occurred when Dante was a young man. Francesca da Polenta wed the crippled Giovanni Malatesta de Rimini, but fell in adulterous love with his brother, Paolo. Upon discovery of their affair, Giovanni killed them both. This was a local scandal, and would have been lost to time if Dante had not recorded it here. He relegates the lovers to the "least" eternal punishment in Hell, in the circle of carnal sins -- while Giovanni (who was still alive when this was written) is doomed to a lower circle for the murder (treachery to kindred). (Moreinfo.)
Inspiration for this particular phrase has been credited to many sources: Wisdom 11:11-12, Boethius (Consolation of Philosophy, 2.4.3-6), and Pindar (Pythian 4.510-512) are the most common. Augustine (Confessions 10.14) and Thomas Aquinas have also been cited.
Gustave Dore – Divine Comedy, Inferno, Canto 5 “The Souls of Paolo and Francesca” (1857)
One day together, for pastime, we read Of Lancelot, and how Love held him in thrall. We were alone, and without any dread.
Sometimes our eyes, at the word’s secret call, Met, and our cheeks a changing color wore. But it was one page only that did all.
When we read how that smile, so thirsted for, Was kissed by such a lover, he that may Never from me be separated more
All trembling kissed my mouth. The book I say Was a Galahalt to us, and he beside that wrote that book. We read no more that day.
[Noi leggiavamo un giorno per diletto di Lancialotto come amor lo strinse; soli eravamo e sanza alcun sospetto.
Per più fïate li occhi ci sospinse quella lettura, e scolorocci il viso; ma solo un punto fu quel che ci vinse.
Quando leggemmo il disïato riso esser basciato da cotanto amante, questi, che mai da me non fia diviso,
la bocca mi basciò tutto tremante. Galeotto fu ‘l libro e chi lo scrisse: quel giorno più non vi leggemmo avante.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 5, l. 127ff (5.127-138) [Francesca] (1309) [tr. Binyon (1943)]
(Source)
In the Old French romance of Lancelot du Lac they were reading, Sir Gallehault (spelled variously) serves as go-between for Lancelot and Guinevere (a couple not able to express their love because of her marriage to King Arthur), and ultimately persuades the Queen to give Lancelot a first, dooming kiss. Similarly, Paolo was the intermediary to arrange the marriage of his brother, Gianciotto, and Francesca. After the marriage, reading together that racy tale of Lancelot seduced Paolo and Francesca into pursuing their carnal affair.
The Italian form of Gallehault -- "Galeotto" or "Galleot" -- became Middle Ages Italian slang for a panderer or pimp, and Francesca draws on this meaning in her chat with the Pilgrim, blaming the book and its writer for her damning sins with Paolo. See also, earlier, here.
Together we, for pleasure, one day read
How strictly Lancelot was bound by love;
We, then alone, without suspicion were:
T'admire each other, often from the book
Our eyes were ta'en, and oft our colour chang'd;
That was the point of time which conqurer'd us,
When, reading that her captivating smile
Was by the Lover the adored kiss'd;
This, my Companion, always with me seen,
Fearful, and trembling, also kiss'd my mouth.
The Writer, Galeotto, nam;d the Book.
But from that day we never read in't more.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 113ff]
One day (a day I ever must deplore!)
The gentle youth, to spend a vacant hour,
To me the soft seducing story read,
Of Launcelot and fair Geneura's love,
While fascinating all the quiet grove
Fallacious Peace her snares around us spread.
Too much I found th' insidious volume charm,
And Paulo's mantling blushes rising warm;
Still as he read the guilty secret told:
Soon from the line his eyes began to stray;
Soon did my yielding looks my heart betray,
Nor needed words our wishes to unfold.
Eager to realize the story'd bless,
Trembling he snatch'd the half resented kiss,
To ill soon lesson'd by the pandar-page!
Vile pandar-page! it smooth'd the paths of shame.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 24-26]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
'Twas on a day when we for pastime read Of Lancelot, whom love ensnared to ruin: We were alone, nor knew suspicious dread.
That lesson oft, the conscious look renewing, Held us suspense, and turned our cheeks to white; But one sole moment wrought for our undoing:
When of the kiss we read, from smile so bright. So coveted, that such true-lover bore. He, from my side who ne'er may disunite,
Kissed me upon the mouth, trembling all o'er. The broker of our Vows, it was the lay, And he who wrote -- that day we read no more.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
One day, for pastime, wwe read of Lancelot, how love restrained him; we were alone, and without all suspicion. Several times that reading urged our eyes to meet, and changed the color of our faces; but one moment alone it was that overcame us. When we read how the fond smile was kissed by such a lover, he, who shall never be divided from me, kissed my mouth all trembling: the book, and he who wrote it, was a Galeotto; that day we read in it no farther.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
We were reading one day, for our delight,
In Lancilotto, bound in love so strict.
We were alone, and neither could suspect
Suspended were our eyes, and more than once,
In reading, and the visage colorless;
One point it was lone that conquered us.
When we read first of that -- the longed-for smile
At being kissed by one who loved so well;
Galeotti was the book -- he wrote it:
That Day we read not there any farther.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
One day we read, to pass a pleasant time, How Lancelot was bound in chains of love; Alone we were and no suspicion knew.
often we sigh'd; and as we read our eyes Each other sought, the color fled our cheeks; But we were vanquish'd by one point alone.
When we had read how the smile long desir'd Was kiss'd by him who lov'd with such deep love, This one, from me no more to be apart,
Trembling all over, kiss'd me on the mouth. Galeotto was the writer and the book; In it we read no further on that day.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
One day we reading were for our delight Of Launcelot, how Love did him enthrall. Alone we were and without any fear.
Full many a time our eyes together drew That reading, and drove the color from our faces; But one point only was it that o'ercame us.
Whenas 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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
We were reading one day, for delight, of Lancelot, how Love constrained him; alone were we, and without any suspicion. Many times did that reading impel our eyes, and change the hue of our visages; but one point only was it that overcame us. When we read that the wished-for smile was kissed by such a lover, this one who never from me shall be parted kissed me on the mouth all trembling. A Gallehault was the book, and he who wrote it. That day we read no further in it.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
We read one day for pleasure, in the song Of Launcelot, how Love him captive made; We were alone without one thought of wrong.
Many and many a time our eyes delayed The reading, and our faces paled apart; One point alone it was that us betrayed.
In reading of that worshipt smile o' the heart, Kissed by such lover on her lips' red core. This one, who never more from me must part,
Kissed me upon the mouth, trembling all o'er: For us our Galeotto was that book; That day we did not read it any more.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
We were reading one day, for delight, of Lancelot, how love constrained him. We were alone and without any suspicion. Many times that reading made us lift our eyes, and took the color from our faces, but only one point was that which overcame us. When we read of the longed-for smile being kissed by such a lover, this one, who never from me shall be divided, kissed my mouth all trembling. Galahaut was the book, and he who wrote it. That day we read in it no farther.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
We read one day, to while the hour, of Lancelot, how love enthralled him: we were alone, with never a thought of harm. And oft and oft that reading brought our eyes together and drave the colour to our cheeks ; but one point, only one, it was that overcame us. When that we came to read of how the smiling lips he loved were kissed by lover such as he, he that no more shall e'er be parted from me, kissed my mouth trembling through. Our Galahad was the book and he that penned it: that day we read in it no more.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
One day, by way of pastime, we were reading Of Lancelot, how love in fetters held him: We were alone, and without thought of danger.
Full often did that reading bring together Our glances, and made colourless our visage; But just one point was that which overcame us:
When as we read how that the smile much longed for Was kissed by one so passionately loving, He who from me shall never be divided
Kissed me upon the mouth, all, all a-quiver: -- A Galehalt was the book and he who wrote it: -- Upon that day we read therein no further.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
We read one day for pastime of Lancelot, how love constrained him. We were alone and had no misgiving. Many times that reading drew our eyes together and changed the color in our faces, but one point alone it was that mastered us; when we read that the longed-fro smile was kissed by so great a lover, he who never shall be parted from me, all trembling, kissed my mouth. A Galeotto was the book and he that wrote it; that day we read in it no farther.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
One day we read for pastime how in thrall Lord Lancelot lay to love, who loved the Queen; We were alone -- we thought no harm at all.
As we read on, our eyes met now and then, And to our cheeks the changing color started, But just one moment overcame us -- when
We read of the smile, desired of lips long-thwarted, Such smile, by such a lover kissed away, He that may never more from me be parted
Trembling all over, kissed my mouth. I say The book was Galleot, Galleot the complying Ribald who wrote; we read no more that day.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
One day for dalliance we read the rhyme of Lancelot, how love had mastered him. We were alone with innocence and dim time.
Pause after pause that high old story drew our eyes together while we blushed and paled; but it was one soft passage overthrew
our caution and our hearts. For when we read how her fond smile was kissed by such a lover, he who is one with me alive and dead
breathed on my lips the tremor of his kiss. That book, and he who wrote it, was a pander. That day we read no further.
[tr. Ciardi (1954), l. 124ff]
One day, for pastime, we reqd of Lancelot, how love constrained him; we were alone, suspecting nothing. Several times that reading urged our eyes to meet and too the color from our faces, but one moment alone it was that overcame us. When we read how the longed-for smile was kissed by so great a lover, this one, who never shll be parted from me, kissed my mouth all trembling. A Gallehault was the book and he who wrote it; that day we read no farther in it.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
One day we read, to pass the time away, of Lancelot, how he had fallen in love; we were alone, innocent of suspicion.
Time and again our eyes were brought together by the book we read; our faces flushed and paled. To the moment of one line alone we yielded:
it was when we read about those longed-for lips now being kissed by such a famous lover, that this one (who shall never leave my side)
then kissed my mouth, and trembled as he did. The book and its author was our galehot! That day we read no further.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
One day, to pass the time away, we read of Lancelot -- how love had overcome him. We were alone, and we suspected nothing.
And time and time again that reading led our eyes to meet, and made our faces pale, and yet one point alone defeated us.
When we had read how the desired smile was kissed by one who was so true a lover, this one, who never shall be parted from me,
while all his body trembled, kissed my mouth. A Gallehault indeed, that book and he who wrote it, too; that day we read no more.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
One day, when we were reading, for distraction, How Lancelot was overcome by love -- We were alone, without any suspicion;
Several times, what we were reading forced Our eyes to meet, and then we changed color: But one page only was more than we could bear.
When we read how that smile, so much desired, Was kissed by such a lover, in the book, He, who will never be divided from me,
Kissed my mouth, he was trembling as he did so; The book, the writer played the part of Galahalt: That day we got no further with our reading.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
One day, for pleasure,
We read of Lancelot, by love constrained:
Alone, suspecting nothing, at our leisure.
Sometimes at what we read our glances joined,
Looking from the book each to the other's eyes,
And then the color in our faces drained.
But one particular moment alone it was
Defeated us: the longed-for smile, it said, Was kissed by that most noble lover: at this,
This one, who now will never leave my side,
Kissed my mouth, trembling. A Galeotto, that book!
And so was he who wrote it; that day we read
No further.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 112ff]
We were reading one day, for pleasure, of Lancelot, how Love beset him; we were alone and without any suspicion. Many times that reading drove our eyes together and turned our faces pale; but one point alone was the one that overpowered us. When we read that the yearned-for smile was kissed by so great a lover, he, who will never be separated from me, kissed my mouth all trembling. Galeotto was the book and he who wrote it: that day we read there no further.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
We read, one day, to our delight, of Lancelot and how love constrained him: we were alone and without suspicion. Often those words urged our eyes to meet, and coloured our cheeks, but it was a single moment that undid us. When we read how that lover kissed the beloved smile, he who will never be separated from me, kissed my mouth all trembling. That book was a Galeotto, a pandar, and he who wrote it: that day we read no more.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
One day, to pass the time, we read of Lancelot, who loved illicitly. Just the two of us; we had not thought of what, as yet, was not.
From time to time that reading urged our eyes to meet. and made our faces flush and pale, but one point in the story changed our lives;
for when we read of how the longed-for smile was kissed by such a noble knight, the one who for eternity is by my side all trembling
kissed my trembling mouth. The man who wrote this was a Galeotto; so was the book. That day the rest of it remained unscanned.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
One day we read together for pure joy how Lancelot was taken in Love's palm. We were alone. We knew no suspicion.
Time after time, the words we read would lift our eyes and drawn all color from our faces. A single point, however, vanquished us.
For when at last we read the longed-for smile of Guinevere -- at last her lover kissed -- he, who from me will never now depart,
touched his kiss, trembling to my open mouth. This book was Galehault -- pander-penned, the pimp! That day we read no further down those lines.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
One day, to pass the time in pleasure, we read of Lancelot, how love enthralled him. We were alone, without the least misgiving.
More than once that reading made our eyes meet and drained the color from our faces. Still, it was a single instant overcame us:
When we read how the longed-for smile was kissed by so renowned a lover, this man, who never shall be parted from me,
all trembling, kissed me on my mouth. A Galeotto was the book and he that wrote it. That day we read in it no further.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
One day we read the story of Lancelot And how his love attacked and held him tight. We were alone and unaware of our thoughts.
More than once the story forced our eyes To meet, and as we looked our faces turned pale, But just one single moment hung and decided
Us. We read how a smile we longed for stayed On her lips until the greatest of lovers kissed them, And then this man, who cannot be taken away
From me, kissed my mouth, his body trembling. A famous go-between had written that tale. That day, our time for reading suddenly ended.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
One day, to amuse ourselves, we were reading The tales of love-struck Lancelot; we were all alone, And naively unaware of what could happen.
More than once, while reading, we looked up And saw the other looking back. We'd blush, then pale, Then look down again. Until a moment did us in.
We were reading about the longed-for kiss The great lover gives his Guinevere, when that one From whom I'll now never be parted,
Trembling, kissed my lips. That author and his book played the part Of Gallehault. We read no more that day.
[tr. Bang (2012)]
Reading together one day for delight
Or Lancelot, caught up in Love's sweet snare,
We were alone, with no thought of what might
Occur to us, although we stopped to stare
Sometimes at what we read, and even paled.
But then the moment came we turned a page
And all our powers of resistance failed:
When we read of that great knight in a rage
To kiss the smile he so desired. Paolo,
This one so quiet now, made my mouth still --
Which, loosened by those words, had trembled so --
With his mouth. And right then we lost the will --
For Love can will will's loss, as well you know --
To read on. But let that man take a bow
Who wrote the book we called our Galahad,
The reason nothing can divide us now.
[tr. James (2013), l. 149ff]
Cerberus, cruel and uncouth monster, there Stretches his three throats out and hound-like bays Over the people embogged about his lair.
His beard is slobbered black, his red eyes blaze, His belly is big, his hands clawed; and with growl The spirits he clutches, rends piecemeal and flays.
[Cerbero, fiera crudele e diversa, con tre gole caninamente latra sovra la gente che quivi è sommersa.
Li occhi ha vermigli, la barba unta e atra, e ’l ventre largo, e unghiate le mani; graffia li spirti ed iscoia ed isquatra.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 6, l. 13ff (6.13-18) (1309) [tr. Binyon (1943)]
(Source)
Inspired by Virgil's description of Cerberus in Aeneid, Book 6, l. 417ff, colored by the beast's role over the Gluttonous in this circle of Hell. (
Cerb'rus, a beast implacable and fierce,
Incessant's barking with his triple throat
At the poor wretches who are here confin'd.
His eyes are fiery read, his greasy Beard
Is black and nasty, and his Belly's swoln.
He the Sprites scratches with his hooked claws,
Flays off their skins, and into quarters tears.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 12ff]
Hell's bloodhound there his triple form extends. And ever and anon the savage rends Some wand'ring wretch, and dyes his fangs in gore;
His flaming eyes the troubled deep survey. Loud gnash his teeth and hold the damn'd at bay, Whose captive bands in vain his rage deplore.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 3]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Cerberus, a ruthless beast of uncouth mould, Barks hell-hound like, with triple gorge and grim, O'er those whom yonder slough engulphed doth hold.
Red are his eyes, black and of greasy trim His beard, and huge his paunch ; his clawed hands quell The mangled sprites; he flays, and limb from limb
Rends them.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Cerberus, a monster fierce and strange, with three throats, barks dog-like over those that are immersed in it. His eyes are red, his beard [greasy] and black, his belly wide, and clawed his hands; he clutches the spirits, flalys, and piecemeal rends them.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Cerberus -- wild beast, cruel, monstrous -- While as three throats the dog of famine urge, To bark o'er those the waters thus submerge:
His eyes vermilion, unctuous beard and black; His belly large, and claws upon each hand -- Cuts, flays, and quarters spirits at command.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
The monster Cerberus, cruel, fierce and strange, Barks like a dog from out his triple throat over the multitude sumergèd there.
With eyes vermilion, black and filthy beard, With belly large, with sharp and piercing claws He tears those spirits, flays, dismembers them.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Cerberus, beast cruel and uncouth, with three throats barks in dog-wise over the folk that there is submerged. Scarlet eyes has he, and his beard greasy and black, and his belly large, and his paws armed with nails. He claws the spirits, mouths them and tears them up.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Wild Cerberus, of twofold nature rare. With three throats hurleth out the doglike bark Upon the people that are cowering there.
His eyes are red, his greasy beard is dark. His belly large and fingers armed with nails; He tears, and flays, and rends the spirits stark.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Cerberus, a beast cruel and monstrous, with three throats barks doglike above the people that are here submerged. He has vermilion eyes, and a greasy and black beard, and a big belly, and hands armed with claws: he tears the spirits, flays them, and rends them.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Cerberus, the pitiless and outlandish beast, barks in dog-like fashion through triple throat above the souls that lie immersed there. Red are the eyes he hath, his beard foul and black, his belly gross, and his paws armed with talons. He claws the shades, he flayeth and he teareth them.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Cerberus, cruel and misshapen monster, Barketh with triple throat in doglike fashion Over the folk which in that place is sunken.
Vermilion eyes he hath, beard black and greasy. And belly wide, and hands arrayed with talons. The spirits he doth scratch, and flay and quarter.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
Cerberus, a beast fierce and hideous, with three throats barks like a dog over the people that are immersed there; he has red eyes, a beard greasy and black, a great belly, and clawed hands, and he scars and flays and rends the spirits.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Cerberus, the cruel, misshapen monster, there Bays in his triple gullet and doglike growls Over the wallowing shades; his eyeballs glare
A bloodshot crimson, and his bearded jowls Are greasy and black; pot-bellied, talon-heeled, He clutches and flays and rips and rends the souls.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
Here monstrous Cerberus, the ravening beast, howls through his triple throats like a mad dog over the spirits sunk in that foul paste.
His eyes are red, his beard is greased with phlegm, His belly is swollen, and his hands are claws to rip the wretches and flay and mangle them.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
Cerberus, monstrous beast and cruel, with three throats barks doglike over the people who are here submerged. His eyes are red, his beard greasy and black, his belly wide and his hands taloned; he claws the spirits, flays and quarters them.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
Cerberus, a ruthless and fantastic beast, with all three throats howls out his dog-like sounds above the drowning sinners of this place.
His eyes are red, his beard is slobbered black, his belly swollen, and he has claws for hands; he rips the spirits, flays and mangles them.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
Over the souls of those submerged beneath that mess, is an outlandish, vicious beast, his three throats barking, doglike: Cerberus.
His eyes are blood red; greasy, black, his beard; his belly bulges, and his hands are claws; his talons tear and flay and rend the shades.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
Cerberus, a cruel and outlandish beast, Barks like a dog, from his three throats, at those Who, under that downpour, are there submerged.
His eyes are red, his beard greasy and black, His belly huge, and his fingers are clawed. He scratches the spirits, skins them, pulls them to bits.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Three-headed Cerberus, monstrous and cruel,
Barks doglike at the souls immersed here, louder For his triple throat. His eyes are red, his beard Grease-black, he has the belly of a meat-feeder
And talons on his hands: he claws the horde Of spirits, he flays and quarters them in the rain.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
Cerberus, cruel, monstrous beast, with three throats barks doglike over the people submerged there. His eyes are red, his beard greasy and black, his belly large, and his hands have talons; he claws the spirits, flays and quarters them.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Cerberus, the fierce and strange monster, triple-throated, barks dog-like over the people submerged in it. His eyes are crimson, his beard is foul and black, his belly vast, and his limbs are clawed: he snatches the spirits, flays, and quarters them.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Here Cerberus conducts his strange assize: with all three throats he barks and slabbers at the muck-bound prisoners he triple-tries.
His eyes are red, his jowls black, his belly fat; he takes each soul and skins it with his claws then rips it into little bits thereat.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
Cerberus, weird and monstrously cruel, barks from his triple throats in cur-like yowls over the heads of those who lie here, drowned.
His eyes vermilion, beard a greasy black, his belly broad, his fingers all sharp-nailed, he mauls and skins, then hacks in four, these souls.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Cerberus, fierce and monstrous beast, barks from three gullets like a dog over the people underneath that muck.
His eyes are red, his beard a greasy black, his belly swollen. With his taloned hands he claws the spirits, flays and quarters them.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Three-headed Cerberus, monstrous beast, roams here; A cruel creature who barks, dog-like, out Of each of his mouths, at people half-drowned, submerged.
His eyes are red, his beard is black and foul, His belly broad, there are talons on his hands; He claws the spirits, rips at their skin, bites holes.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Savage and bestial Cerberus, three-headed freak, Barks like a Doberman -- through each of his three throats -- Over those who are forced to wallow in the slop.
Red eyes, filthy bilious whiskers, swollen belly; With his claws hge excoriates the ghosts -- Then rips their skin off and quarters them.
[tr. Bang (2012)]
The people stuck in it have Cerberus
To guard them. Overhead, that creature shrieks
In anger with three mouths, each hideous
As a mad dog's. Beards greasy black, eyes red,
Big belly, fingers well supplied with nails,
Hed scores and scrapes and tears them to a shred.
[tr. James (2013), l. 14ff]
“He will not wake again,” my leader said, “From this time till there sounds the trump of doom, When will descend their hostile power in dread;
Each one will seek again his wretched tomb, Will take again his former flesh and face. Will hear His words eternally reboom.”
[E ’l duca disse a me: “Più non si desta di qua dal suon de l’angelica tromba, quando verrà la nimica podesta:
ciascun rivederà la trista tomba, ripiglierà sua carne e sua figura, udirà quel ch’in etterno rimbomba”.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 6, l. 94ff (6.94-99) (1309) [tr. Minchin (1885)]
(Source)
Virgil explaining to Dante that, on the Judgment Day, the spirits in Heaven and Hell will be returned to Earth and their bodies (see 1 Cor. 15:51-38), and then face eternal blessing or damnation from Christ. (Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:
To me my Leader: These no more will rise
Before the sound of the angelic Trump.
When they the pow'rful Enemy will see
Of wicked act, then ev'ry one recourse
Will have unto their melancholy place
Or Sepulture, will reassume their flesh
And form, and their eternal Judgment hear.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 88ff]
"Those," cried the Bard, "shall slumber out their fate, 'Till, from the confines of the heav'nly state, The Hierarch's trump shall thunder thro' the deep:
Then cloath'd again in vests of humble clay, The hideous band shall rise upon the day, And down return, their endless doom to weep."
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 18]
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.”
[tr. Cary (1814)]
"Henceforth he wakes mo more," the master said, "Until the angelic trumpet burst the gloom; When He shall come, the avenging Power they dread,
These shall revisit each his joyless tomb, Put on his flesh and form, and hear the sound That thunders through eternity his doom."
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
And my Guide said to me: "He wakes no more until the angel's trumpet sounds; when the adverse Power shall come, each shall revisit his sad grave; shall resume his flesh and form; shall hear that which resounds to all eternity."
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
The leader said, "No more will he awake From hence, till the angelic trumpet break His sleep, when comes their inimical power.
Each will revisit then his mournful tomb, Self reinvest, in form of flesh be found, Hear of eternity the thunder-sound."
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
And my guide said to me -- "He wakes no more, Till at the sound of the angelic trump, When the Great Pow'r Antagonist shall come.
Then each shall find again his gloomy tomb, Each shall resume his flesh and earhtly form, Each hear what through eternity shall peal."
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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."
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
And my Leader said to me, "He rises up no more on this side the sound of the angelic trump. When the power that is their foe shall come, each will find again his sorry tomb, will take again his flesh and his own shape, will hear that which thunders in eternity."
[tr. Butler (1885)]
And the Leader said to me, “He wakes no more this side the sound of the angelic trump. When the hostile Sovereign shall come, each one will find again his dismal tomb, will take again his flesh and his shape, will hear that which through eternity reechoes.”
[tr. Norton (1892)]
And my guide said to me: "He waketh no more until the sounding of the archangel's trumpet. When the enemy shall come in his power, each will find again his joyless sepulchre, will take unto himself again his flesh and form, and hear the sound whose echoes ring throughout eternity."
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
And said to me my guide: "No more he wakens On this side of the sound of the trump angelic, What time the hostile magistrate comes hither:
Each one shall find again his tomb of sorrow; Each shall take up again his flesh and features; Shall hear what doom resounds for everlasting."
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
And my Leader said to me: "He wakes no more till the osunding of the angel's trumpet, when the adverse Judge shall come; each shall find again the sad tomb and take again his flesh and form and hear that which echoes in eternity."
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
My Guide spoke to me: "No more from that bed he wakes until the angel trumpet sounds When the stern Power shall make his advent dread.
They shall revisit then their sad grave-mounds, And each his flesh and his own shape resume, And hear what through eternity resounds."
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Then spake my guide: "He'll rouse no more," he said, "'Till the last loud angelic trumpet's sounding; For when the Enemy Power shall come arrayed
Each soul shall seek its own grave's mournful mounding, Put on once more its earthly flesh and feature, And hear the Doom eternally redounding."
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
And my Guide to me: "He will not wake again until the angel trumpet sounds the day on which the host shall come to judge all men.
Then shall each soul before the seat of Mercy return to its sad grave and flesh and form to hear the edict of Eternity."
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
And my leader said to me, "He wakes no more until the angel's trumpet sounds and the hostile Power comes, when each shall find again his dismal tomb and take again his flesh and form, and hear that which resounds to all eternity."
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
My guide then said to me: "He'll wake no more until the day the angel's trumpet blows, when the unfriendly Judge shall come down here;
each soul shall find again his wretched tomb, assume his flesh and take his human shape, and hear his fate resound eternally."
[tr. Musa (1971)]
And my guide said to me: "He'll rise no more until the blast of the angelic trumpet upon the coming of the hostile Judge:
each one shall see his sorry tomb again and once again take on his flesh and form, and hear what shall resound eternally."
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
My guide said to me: "He will not wake again Until he hears the sound of the angel's trumpet At the arrival of the enemy power:
Each one will see once more his bitter grave, Will put on once again his flesh and shape, Will hear what echoes through eternity."
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
"He will not wake again," my master said, "Until the angel's conclusive trumpet sounds And the hostile Power comes -- and the waiting dead
Wake to go searching for their unhappy tombs: And resume again the form and flesh they had, And hear that which eternally resounds.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
And my leader said to me: "Never again will he arise this side of the angelic trumpet, when he will see the enemy governor: each will see again his sad tomb, will take again his flesh and his shape, will hear what resounds eternally."
[tr. Durling (1996)]
My leader said, "He sleeps again, and will Until angelic trumpet rouses all, When their Great Foe last judgment shall fulfill:
Each will find their sorry burial ground, Will take again their bodies, flesh and form, Then hear His doom eternally resound.
[tr. Ericsson (2001)]
And my guide said to me: "He will not stir further, until the angelic trumpet sounds, when the Power opposing evil will come: each will revisit his sad grave, resume his flesh and form, and hear what will resound through eternity."
[tr. Kline (2002)]
"He'll wake no more until the angel's trump," my master said. "When comes the Potentate with all due panoply and legal pomp,
each soul will be required to gravitate back to its grave, to take no fl>esh and blood again and hear its doom reverberate."
[tr. Carson (2002)]
My leader now addressed me: "He'll not stir until the trumpets of the angels sound, at which his enemy, True Power, will come.
Then each will see once more his own sad tomb, and each, once more, assume its flesh and figure, each hear the rumbling thunder roll for ever."
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
And my leader said: "He wakes no more until angelic trumpets sound the advent of the hostile Power
Then each shall find again his miserable tomb, shall take again his flesh and form, and hear the judgment that eternally resounds."
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Then my leader told me: "He will not wake Again until the angel blows his horn And He who hates evil comes, and everyone takes
The shape and flesh with which we men are born, Drawing it back from the wretched tomb where it lies, And all will hear what will echo forever more."
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Virgil said, "He won't wake again Until an angel with a trumpet signals the adversarial Judge Has arrived and the tribunal is about to begin.
At that point, each wil find him- or herself in a dismal cell In human form and human flesh, Ears tuned to a decree that will last for eternity.
[tr. Bang (2012)]
My Leader said: "Until the air is rent
By angel's trumpet -- and the dead shall find
Their graves take fleshly form, and hear resound
The internal echoes, as shall be decreed
By the Last Judge -- this one, held by his ground,
Will never wake up again. Shall we proceed?"
[tr. James (2013), l. 100ff]
“Master,” said I, “this woe — Will it grow less, or still more fiercely burning With the Great Sentence, or remain just so?”
“Go to,” said he, “hast thou forgot they learning, Which hath it: The more perfect, the more keen, Whether for pleasure’s or for pain’s discerning?
Though true perfection never can be seen In these damned souls, they’ll be more near complete After the Judgement than they yet have been.”
[Per ch’io dissi: “Maestro, esti tormenti crescerann’ei dopo la gran sentenza, o fier minori, o saran sì cocenti?”.
Ed elli a me: “Ritorna a tua scïenza, che vuol, quanto la cosa è più perfetta, più senta il bene, e così la doglienza.
Tutto che questa gente maladetta in vera perfezion già mai non vada, di là più che di qua essere aspetta”.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 6, l. 103ff (6.103-111) (1309) [tr. Sayers (1949)]
(Source)
Virgil informs Dante that, according to the "science" of Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas, the souls of the dead, reunited with their bodies at the Last Judgment, will be more "perfect," and thus will more perfectly feel the joy of Heaven, or the torments of Hell.
Master, I said; When the grand Sentence 's pass'd,
Will an increase of punishment ensue,
Or will't continue thus, or less become.
Return to your Philosophy, he said,
By which you're taught, that the more perfect are
More sensible of good, as well as ill.
And this unhappy Crew expect not e'er
That they at true perfection shall arrive;
But that their Suff'rings will be more severe
After the dreadful Sentence than before.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 98ff]
Then I, "Shall equal plagues the damn'd await; Shall Hell increase her torments, or abate, When the last change their final sentence brings?"
"Let Science solve the doubt," the Bard rejoin'd, "The body married to th' immortal mind, Or higher transport feels, or fiercer woe:
Then th' ignoble brethren of the sty, When the last clarion shakes the faulted sky, Shall feel their pains sublim'd, their tortures grow."
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 9-10]
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.”
[tr. Cary (1814)]
For thus I asked him: "Shall these torments rage, The judgment past, with fury more intense, Or such as now, or of their heat assuage?"
Who answered: "Get thee to thy wisdom, whence 'Tis taught, the creature to perfection nigher Of good and eke of ill hath keener sense.
Albeit this cursed race may ne'er aspire The true perfection of their kind to feel, Yet lower scale expect they not, but higher."
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Wherefore I said: "Master, shall these torments increase after the great Sentence, or grow less, or remain as burning?" And he to me: "Return to they science, which has it, that the more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and likewise pain. Though these accursed people never attain to true perfection, yet they [look to] be nearer it after than before."
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
It was the reason why I said, "Master! When the grand sentence is past, is the pain Increased or lessened, or do these remain?"
And he said to me, "What doth thy science teach? Whatever thing is perfect's more endued To feel the evil, to perceive the good:
To perfect misery will not they attain, The accursed race who suffer in this sphere, But nearer then than now they will appear."
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
And then I said -- "These torments, master, say, Will they increase after the awful doom, Or become less? Will they be sharp as now?"
Then he to me -- "Unto thy science turn, Which teaches, the more perfect be the thing, It knows the good, it feels the suffering more.
Although this multitude accurs'd may not Unto the true perfection ever come, After, rather than now, they look for it."
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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."
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Wherefore I said: "Master, these torments, will they increase after the great sentence, or become less, or be as scorching?" And he to me: "Return to thy science, which holds, in proportion as the thing is more perfect, it is more conscious of the good, and so of suffering. Albeit this accursed folk may never go on to true perfection, it expects to be more on the further than on the hither side."
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Wherefore I said; "O master, I would know Whether these torments after the great day Will lessen, keep as now, or fiercer grow?"
And he to me: "Thy science here essay, Which wills that more a thing is perfect nursed, The more it feels both good and evil sway.
And though in truth this people, all accursed, With true perfection never can be dight, Then, more than now, it looks to feel the worst."
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Wherefore I said, “Master, these torments will they increase after the great sentence, or will they become less, or will they be just as burning?” And he to me, “Return to thy science, which declares that the more perfect a thing is the more it feels the good, and so the pain. Though this accursed people never can attain to true perfection, it expects thereafter to be more than now.”
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Wherefore I said: "Master, these tortures, will they increase when the great doom is spoken, or will they lessen, or continue as galling as before?" And he made answer to me: "Go back upon the science thou hast read, which would have us believe that the more a thing is perfect, the more it feeleth pleasure, and likewise pain. Though these cursed souls may never come to true perfection, yet do they hope thereafter to attain it more than now."
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
And thereupon I said: "Master, these torments, Will they increase after the last great sentence, Or lesser grow, or will they be as poignant?"
And he to me : "Return unto thy science, Which hath it that, the more a thing is perfect, More hath it sense of good, and so of dolour.
So, notwithstanding that this folk accursed Never advances unto true perfection, Yet more on that side than on this it looks for."
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
I said therefore: "Master, will these torments increase after the great judgment, or become less, or continue as fierce as now?" And he answered me, "Go back to thy science, which requires that in the measure of a creature's perfection it feels more both of pleasure and of pain. Although these people who are accursed never come to true perfection, they look to be completer then than now."
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Wherefore I said: "Master, these pangs of woe -- Shall they be increased after the great Assize Or stay scorching as now, or lesser grow?"
And he: "Turn to thy science and be wise. The more a thing perfected is, the more it feels bliss, and in pain the sharper sighs.
Although the state of these accurst at core Never indeed in true perfection ends, They look then to be nearer than before."
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
"Master," I said, "when the great clarion fades
into the voice of thundering Omniscience, what of these agonies? Will they be the same, or more, or less, after the final sentence?"
And he to me: "Look to your science again where it is written: the more a thing is perfect the more it feels of pleasure and of pain.
As for these souls, though they can never soar to true perfection, still in the new time they will be nearer than they were before.
[tr. Ciardi (1954), l. 99ff]
Wherefore I said, "Master, these torments, will they increase after the great Judgment, or will they grow less, or will they be just as burning as now?" And he to me, "Return to your science, which has it that the more a thing is perfect, the more it feels the good, and so the pain. Although this accursed folk can never come to true perfection, yet they look to be nearer it then than now."
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
I said, "Master, will these torments be increased, or lessened, on the final Judgment Day, or will the pain be just the same as now?"
And he: "Remember your philosophy: the closer a thing comes to its perfection more keen will be its pleasure or its pain.
Although this cursèd race of punished souls shall never know the joy of true perfection, more perfect will their pain be then than now."
[tr. Musa (1971)]
At which I said: "And after the great sentence -- o master -- will these torments grow, or else be less, or will they be just as intense?"
And he to me: "Remember now your science, which said that when a thing has more perfection, so much the great is its pain or pleasure.
Though these accursed sinners never shall attain the true perfection, yet they can expect to be more perfect then than now."
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
So I said to him: "Master, will these torments Grow greater still after the great sentence, Will they be less, or burn as they burn now?"
His answer to me was: "Go back to your science, Which teaches that the more perfect a thing is, The more it feels pleasure, and pain as well.
Although these people, because they are accursed, Will never reach the point of true perfection, They expect to approach it more nearly afterwards."
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
"Master, these torments -- tell me, will they increase After the Judgment, or lessen, or merely endure, Burning as much as now?" He said, "In this,
Go back to your science, which teaches that the more A creature is perfect, the more it perceives the good -- and likewise, pain. The accursed people here
Can never come to true perfection; instead They can expect to come closer then than now."
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 94ff]
So I said: "Master, these torments, will they grow after the great Judgment, or will they be less, or equally hot?" And he to me: "Return to your philosophy, which teaches that the more perfect a thing is, the more it feels what is good, and the same for pain. Even though these cursed people will never enter into true perfection, on that side they can expect to have more being than on this."
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Of this I asked: "Master, will these torments increase, after the great judgement, or lessen, or stay as fierce?" And he to me: "Remember your science, that says, that the more perfect a thing is, the more it feels pleasure and pain. Though these accursed ones will never achieve true perfection, they will be nearer to it after, than before."
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Concerning which, "These torments, sir," I said, "when judgement has been finally proclaimed -- will these increase or simmer just the same?"
"Return," he said, "to your first principles: when anything (these state) becomes more perfect, then all the more it feels both good and pain.
Albeit these accursed men will not achieve perfection full and true, they still, beyond that Day, will come to sharper life."
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
"Master," I asked, "after the great Judgment will these torments be greater, less, or will they stay as harsh as they are now?"
And he replied: "Return to your science, which has it that, in measure of a thing's perfection, it feels both more of pleasure and of pain.
Although these accursèd people will never come to true perfection, they will be nearer it than they are now."
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
And I asked: "Master these punishments, Will they grow, after the great and Final Judgment, Or lesson, or burn exactly as we've seen them?"
He answered: Go back to the rules of science, which you know Declare perfection will grow more perfect with time, And as it is in Heaven, so too below.
Although these wicked souls will never climb To Heaven, I think they may come closer, perhaps, Than they are now, in the state and place we find them."
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Regarding that subject, I asked, "After the Final Judgment, Will the torture increase, become somewhat less, Or remain at the same level of intensity?"
He said, "Go back to your science. Remember Aristotle and Aquinas. The closer a creature is to perfection, The more it feels, both pleasure and pain.
This ruined crowd can't achieve authentic perfection But they can expect to get closer to it than they are. Which means more pain for the truly damned.
[tr. Bang (2012)]
"After the end,
What starts?" I asked. "Will all those who have earned
Their place down here feel less pain from the Day
Of Judgement on, or just the same, or more?"
And he to me: "What does your science say?
The more a thing's more perfect than before
The more it takes delight or feel despair?
Although these damned will never know a true
Perfection, they;ll be closer to it there,
Beyond that Day. So: much more than they do
Must be the answer to your question."
[tr. James (2013)]
“Pape Satàn, pape Satàn aleppe!”
so Plutus, with his grating voice, began.
[“Pape Satàn, pape Satàn aleppe!”,
cominciò Pluto con la voce chioccia.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 7, l. 1ff (7.1-2) (1309) [tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
(Source)
There is a conflation in this speaker between Pluto, Roman God of the Underworld (modeled after the Greek Hades), and Plutus, Roman God of Wealth (both given as Pluto in Italian). The Romans themselves sometimes conflated the two figures (wealth, in the form of precious metals and gems, coming from below the ground). Given the sinners in this Circle (hoarders and wasters), the connection with wealth is probably intentional.
The actual words spoken remain something of a mystery. Dayman notes the phrase has "employed the ingenuity of commentators," and Butler that it has generated "commentary enough to fill a very large volume," but Sayers notes of the explanations "none of them is very convincing." Musa says, "this line, while it has never been interpreted satisfactorily, has certainly been interpreted variously." The line even gets its own Wikipedia entry.Earlier translators try to make sense of it; later ones just record Dante's original words and then speculate in footnotes.
The connection between pape and papa (Pope) is considered significant by most scholars, though papae is also Latin for an exclamation of surprise (παπαί in Greek), like "Oh!" Satan is the Hebrew term for "Adversary" and usually used to represent the master of Hell (though the name is not used lower down in Inferno when he is actually encountered); some scholars suggest Dante the Pilgrim, himself, is being called an adversary/enemy by the speaker, who acts as a guard. Some have tried to connect aleppe to the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet, aleph, with an implication of primacy (as of God, or, presumptively, Satan) or an an exclamation of grief or pain (as it was used in Medieval times).
In sum, this seems to be either infernal gibberish, or (as Virgil appears to understand it) some metaphysical jargon invoking the Devil in surprise or anger over a living mortal's intrusion. I'm mostly just amused by the array of accents / diacritical marks various translators use.
Ah, God’s avenging justice! who could heap up
suffering and pain as strange as I saw here?
How can we let our guilt bring us to this?
[Ahi giustizia di Dio! tante chi stipa
nove travaglie e pene quant’io viddi?
e perché nostra colpa sì ne scipa?]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 7, l. 19ff (7.19-21) (1309) [tr. Musa (1971)]
(Source)
Great is God's Justice; as increase with Crimes
Their Punishments, which here I many saw:
But why do we encourage this increase?
[tr. Rogers (1782)]
Justice of Heav'n, from thine avenging hand
What nameless toils and tortures fill the strand!
Ah! why on mortal failings so severe!
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 4]
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?
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Justice of God! who might such travail heap,
Such unimagined pangs as there I saw?
And wherefore drains our guilt the cup so deep?
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Ah, Justice Divine! who shall tell in few the many fresh pains and travails that I saw? and why does guilt of ours thus waste us?
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Ah! justice of our God! how it heaps up
New troubles and new punishments I saw,
And fault of ours such penalty to draw!
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Oh, God's great justice! who heaps up the mass
Of pains and labors new which meet mine eye?
Why does our crime so tear and torture us?
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
Justice of God, ah! who heaps up so many
New toils and sufferings as I beheld?
And why doth our transgression waste us so?
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Ah justice of God! who crowds all the new labours and pains that I saw? and wherefore does our sin so bring us low?
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Justice of God! who heapeth up such store
Of novel toils and pains which I have seen!
And why doth sin in such profusion pour?
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Ah, Justice of God! Who heapeth up so many new travails and penalties as I saw? And why doth our sin so waste us?
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Ah me! Justice of God, that heapeth up un-heard-of toils and tortures in numbers such as I beheld! And why doth man's transgression scourge man so?
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Justice of God! that it can pack together
Such novel pains and travails as I witnessed!
And why is our own fault thus our destruction?
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
Ah, Justice of God, who crams together
all the new toils and pains that I saw?
And why does our sin so lay us waste?
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Ah! Divine Justice! Who crowds throe on throe,
Toil upon toil, such as mine eyes now met?
And why doth guilt of ours consume us so?
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
God's justice! Who shall tell the agonies,
Heaped thick and new before my shuddering glance?
Why must our guilt smite us with strokes like this?
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
O Holy Justice,
who could relate the agonies I saw!
What guilt is man that he can come to this?
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
Ah, justice of God! who crams together so many new travails and penalties as I saw? And why does our guilt so waste us?
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
Justice of God! Who has amassed as many
strange tortures and travails as I have seen?
Why do we let our guilt consume us so?
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
Justice of God! Who except you could gather
As many pains and punishments as I saw?
And why is it our faults must so devour us?
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Justice of God! Who is it hat heaps together
So much peculiar torture and travail?
How is it that we choose to sin and wither?
[tr. Pinsky (1994), ll. 17-19]
Ah, justice of God! who stuffs in so many strange
travails and punishments as I saw? and why does
our own guilt so destroy us?
[tr. Durling (1996)]
O Divine Justice! Who can tell the many new pains and troubles, that I saw, and why our guilt so destroys us?
[tr. Kline (2002)]
God in all justice! I saw there so many
new forms of travail, so tightly crammed. By whom?
How can our guilt so rend and ruin us?
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Ah, Justice of God, who heaps up
such strange punishment and pain as I saw there?
And why do our sins so waste us?
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Ah, God of Justice, Who does this, scraping
Together the brand-new pains and punishments
I saw? And why should sinning cause such wastage?
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Merciful God! Who gets it in,
This wretched harvest? What accounts for it?
And why to such pain are we led by sin?
[tr. James (2013), ll. 18-20]
You now can see, dear son, the short-lived pranks that goods consigned to Fortune’s hand will play, causing such squabbles in the human ranks. For all the gold that lies beneath the moon — or all that ever did lie there — would bring no respite to these worn-out souls, not one.
[Or puoi, figliuol, veder la corta buffa
d’i ben che son commessi a la fortuna,
per che l’umana gente si rabuffa;
ché tutto l’oro ch’è sotto la luna
e che già fu, di quest’anime stanche
non poterebbe farne posare una.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 7, l. 61ff (7.61-66) [Virgil] (1309) [tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
(Source)
On the never-ending labor and contention between the hoarders and the wasters. (Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:
Therefore, my Son, the vanity you may Of Fortune's gifts perceive, for which Mankind Raise such a bustle, and so much contend.
Not all the Gold which is beneath the moon, Or which was by these wretched Souls possess'd, Could ever satisfy their craving minds.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 53ff]
Learn hence of mortal things how vain the boast, Learn to despise the low, degen'rate host, And see their wealth how poor, how mean their pride;
Not all the mines below the wand'ring moon, Not all the sun beholds at highest noon, Can for a moment bid the fray subside.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 11]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Now may'st thou, son, behold how brief the shuffle Of goods by shifting Fortune held in store, For which the human kind so fiercely ruffle:
Since all below the moon of golden ore That lies, or all those weary souls possessed, Could purchase none a moment's peace the more.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
But thou, my Son, mayest [now] see the brief mockery of the goods that are committed unto Fortune, for which the human kind contend with each other. For all the gold that is beneath the moon, or ever was, could not give rest to a single one of these weary souls.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Now see, my son, how frivolous and vain The goods committed unto Fortune's hand, For which the race will so rebutting stand.
Not all the gold that is beneath the moon, Nor all these toil-worn creatures have possessed, could purchase for them but a moment's rest.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
And now, my son, behold the folly brief of the world's goods to fortune's guidance given, And for which men so struggle and dispute.
Not all the gold that is beneath the moon, Or ever was, unto these wearied souls Could give one hour of respite or of peace.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Now canst thou, my son, see the short game of the goods which are entrusted to Fortune, for which the human race buffet each other. For all the gold that is beneath the moon and that ever was, of these wearied souls could never make one of them rest.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Now thou canst see, O son, the short-lived day Of good, committed unto Fortune's 'hest, For which the human race so strives alway.
Since all the gold beneath the moon possest, Or ever owned by those worn souls of yore, Could not make one of them one moment rest.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Now canst thou, son, see the brief jest of the goods that are committed unto Fortune, for which the human race so scramble; for all the gold that is beneath the moon, or that ever was, of these weary souls could not make a single one repose.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Here mayest thou see, my son, the fleeting mockery of wealth that is the sport of Fortune, for sake of which men strive with one another. For all the gold that is, or ever hath been beneath the moon, could not procure repose for one of these weary souls.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Now canst thou see, my son, how vain and short-lived Are the good things committed unto fortune, For which sake human folk set on each other.
For all the gold on which the moon now rises, Or ever rose, would be quite unavailing To set one of these weary souls at quiet.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
Now mayst thou see, my son, the brief mockery of wealth committed to fortune, for which the race of men embroil themselves; for all the gold that is beneath the moon, or ever was, could not give rest to one of these weary souls.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Now, my son, see to what a mock are brought The goods of Fortune's keeping, and how soon! Though to possess them still is all man's thought.
For all the gold that is beneath the moon, Or ever was, never could buy repose For one of those souls, faint to have that boon.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
See now, my son, the fine and fleeting mock Of all those goods men wrangle for -- the boon That is delivered into the hand of Luck;
For all the gold that is beneath the moon, Or ever was, could not avail to buy Repose for one of these weary souls -- not one.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
Now may you see the fleeting vanity of the goods of Fortune for which men tear down all that they are, to build a mockery.
Not all the gold that is or ever was under the sky could buy for one of these exhausted souls the fraction of a pause.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
Now you can see, my son, the brief mockery of the goods that are committed to Fortune, for which humankind contend with one another; because all the gold that is beneath the moon, or ever was, would not give rest to a single one of these weary souls.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
You see, my son, the short-lived mockery of all the wealth that is in Fortune's keep, over which the human race is bickering;
for all the gold that is or ever was beneath the moon won't buy a moment's rest for even one among these weary souls.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
Now you can see, my son, how brief's the sport of all those goods that are in Fortune's care, for which the tribe of men contend and brawl;
for all the gold that is or ever was beneath the moon could never offer rest to even one of these exhausted spirits.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
Now you can see, my son, how short a life Have the gifts which are distributed by Fortune, And for which people get rough with one another:
So that all the gold there is beneath the moon And all there ever was, could never give A moment's rest to one of these tired souls.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Now you can see, my son, how ludicrous And brief are all the goods in Fortune's ken, Which humankind contend for: you see from this
How all the gold there is beneath the moon, Or that there ever was, could not relieve One of these weary souls.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 55ff]
Now you can see, my son, the brief mockery of the goods that are committed to Fortune, for which the human race so squabbles;
for all the gold that is under the moon and that ever was, could not give rest to even one of these weary souls.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
But you, my son, can see now the vain mockery of the wealth controlled by Fortune, for which the human race fight with each other, since all the gold under the moon, that ever was, could not give peace to one of these weary souls.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Now you see, my son, what brief mockery Fortune makes of goods we trust her with, for which the race of men embroil themselves.
All the gold that lies beneath the moon, or ever did, could never give a moment's rest to any of these wearied souls.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Now see, my son, the futile mockery Of spending a life accumulating possessions, Competing with fortune and men for worthless frippery:
Take all the gold still lying under the moon, Add all that ever was and you could not buy A moment of rest for one of these souls -- not one.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
You see it clear,
My son: the squalid fraud as brief as life
Of goods consigned to Fortune, whereupon
Cool heads come to the boil, hands to the knife.
For all the gold there is, and all that's gone,
Would give no shred of peace to even one
Of these drained souls.
[tr. James (2013), l. 56ff]
Many in life esteem themselves great men
who then will wallow here like pigs in mud,
leaving behind them their repulsive fame.
[Quanti si tegnon or là sù gran regi
che qui staranno come porci in brago,
di sé lasciando orribili dispregi!]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 8, l. 49ff (8.49) [Virgil] (1309) [tr. Musa (1971)]
(Source)
How many Kings were thought of high renown,
Who wallow in this marsh, like Hogs in mire,
Leaving their horrid characters behind!
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 41ff]
There many a regal Chief of ancient note,
Wallowing thro' mire obscene lament their lot,
In ruin roll'd, like brethren of the sty.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 9]
There above
How many now hold themselves mighty kings
Who here like swine shall wallow in the mire,
Leaving behind them horrible dispraise!
[tr. Cary (1814)]
How many kings now there set up their horn,
That here shall wallow as in filth the swine,
And leave their names to execrable scorn!
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
How many up there now think themselves great kings, that shall lie here like swine in mire, leaving behind them horrible reproaches!
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
How many mighty kings are now above,
Shall one day stand like hogs within their stye,
Disparaging their memory terribly.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Above how many live as mighty kings
Who here like swine shall grovel in the mire,
Leaving behind them shame and foul contempt!
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
How many are esteemed great kings up there,
Who here shall be like unto swine in mire,
Leaving behind them horrible dispraises!
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
How many now hold themselves great kings up there who shall stand here like swine in the slush, leaving horrible dispraise of themselves!
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Many great kings who now lift up their horns
Will wallow here like swine in filthy swill,
Leaving their memories to most horrible scorns.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
How many now up there are held great kings who shall stand here like swine in mire, leaving of themselves horrible dispraises.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
How many are there that bear themselves above as mighty kings, that here shall stand like swine in slush, leaving behind them loathing and condemnation!
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
How many count themselves up there great princes,
Who here like hogs in mire shall have their station,
Leaving behind them horrible reproaches!
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
How many above there now account themselves great kings who shall lie here like swine in the mire, leaving of themselves horrible dispraises!
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
How many above there deem themselves great kings
Now, who shall lie wallowing in mire like swine,
Leaving a name that with dishonor rings!
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Many who strut like kings up there are such
As here shall wallow hog-like in the mud,
Leaving behind nothing but foul reproach.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
How many living now, chancellors of wrath,
shall come to lie here yet in this pigmire,
leaving a curse to be their aftermath!
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
How many up there now account themselves great kings, that here shall lie like swine in mire, leaving behind them horrible dispraises.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
How many up above now count themselves
great kings, who'll wallow here like pigs in slime,
leaving behind foul memories of crimes!
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
How many, up there, think themselves great kings
Who here will wallow in the mire like pigs,
Leaving behind them nothing but infamous horrors.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
In the world above, how many a self-deceiver
Now counting himself a mighty king will sprawl
Swinelike amid the mire when life is over,
Leaving behind a name that men revile.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
How many consider themselves great kings up
above, who here will be like pigs in the mire, leaving
behind horrible dispraise of themselves!
[tr. Durling (1996)]
How many up there think themselves mighty kings, that will lie here like pigs in mire, leaving behind them dire condemnation!
[tr. Kline (2002)]
How many, in the world above, pose there
as kings but here will like like pigs in much,
leaving behind them horrible dispraise.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
How many now above who think themselves
great kings will lie here in the mud, like swine,
leaving behind nothing but ill repute!
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
How many think themselves the greatest of kings,
But here will lie around like pigs in slime,
Remembered for having indulged in horrible things!
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
And there are others up there of the same
Persuasion they are kings. They, too, will be
Pigs in this filthy sty, and leave behind
Nothing but curses rained upon the hole
Their swelled heads filled.
[tr. James (2013), l. 47ff]
Of all malice that makes of Heaven a foe The end is injury, and all such end won By force or fraud worketh another’s woe.
But since fraud is a vice of man’s alone, It more offends God: so are lowest set The fraudulent, and the heavier is their groan.
[D’ogne malizia, ch’odio in cielo acquista,
ingiuria è ‘l fine, ed ogne fin cotale
o con forza o con frode altrui contrista.
Ma perché frode è de l’uom proprio male,
più spiace a Dio; e però stan di sotto
li frodolenti, e più dolor li assale.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 11, l. 22ff (11.22-27) [Virgil] (1309) [tr. Binyon (1943)]
(Source)
Of ev'ry Vice which odious is in Heav'n
To injure is the purport, and the end;
Either by Force, or Fraud. But as to Man
Fraud is peculiar, it more God offends:
Therefore the fraudulent are lower plac'd,
And greater punishment and pains endure.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 21ff]
Above the Sons of Violence reside, The bands of Fraud below together hide; (Vile Fraud! The heav'n-born soul's peculiar blot!)
For this, in fiercer pains, the traitors keep Their horrid vigils far in yonder deep; Hated of Heav'n, and fill the lowest lot.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 5]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Of each malicious act, abhorred on high. Injustice is the end: for others' woe Must all such ends or force or fraud apply.
But fraud in man his proper vice doth show, To God more odious; wherefore deeper here The fraudful sink, and mourn a sharper throe.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Of all malice, which gains hatred in Heaven, the end is injury; and every such end, either by force or by fraud, aggrieveth others. But because fraud is a vice peculiar to man, it more displeases God; and therefore the fraudulent are placed beneath, and more pain assails them.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Of evil deed, that's stamped with hate in heaven, Is injury the end. Each end's attained With force or fraud, by which another's pained.
Since fraud is then the native ill of man, It more displeases God; beneath the vault, The fraudulent the deeper pains assault.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Of ev'ry malice which just heav'n abhors,
To injure is the end; and each such end,
Either by force or fraud, makes others grieve.
But since of man fraud is the proper sin,
More it displeases God; and so beneath
Are plac'd the fraudulent with heavier pains.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Of every badness which earns hatred in heaven, injury is the end; and every such end either by force or by fraud causes grief to another. But because fraud is an ill peculiar to man, it more displeases God; and for this cause the fraudulent have their station below, and woe assails them more.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Of every malice that in Heaven wins hate The end is injury, and each such plan By force or fraud on some wreaks woeful fate.
Since fraud is ill peculiar unto man God it displeases more, and hence more low The fraudulent are doomed to greater pain.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Of every malice that wins hate in heaven injury is the end, and every such end afflicts others either by force or by fraud. But because fraud is the peculiar sin of man, it most displeaseth God; and therefore the fraudulent are the lower, and more woe assails them.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Of every evil act that earneth hate in Heaven, the end is injury; and every such end, by either violence or fraud, heapeth sorrow upon others. But forasmuch as fraud is man's peculiar vice, it is the more displeasing unto God ; and therefore they who dealt in fraud are set beneath, and greater is the torture that doth afflict them.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
All wickedness that lays up hate in heaven
Injustice hath for end, and such end alway,
Either by force or fraud, afflicts another:
But, seeing that fraud is man's peculiar evil,
More it displeases God: therefore are lowest
The fraudulent, and greater woe assails them.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
Every kind of wickedness that gains the hatred of Heaven has injustice for its end, and every such end afflicts someone either by force or fraud; but because fraud is sin peculiar to man it is more offensive to God, and for that reason the fraudulent have their place lower nad more pain assails them.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Of all malicious wrong that earns Heaven's hate The end is injury; all such ends are won Either by force or fraud. Both perpetuate
Evil to others; but since man alone Is capable of fraud, God hates that worst; The fraudulent lie lowest, then and groan
Deepest.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
Malice is the sin most hated by God
And the aim of malice is to injure others
whether by fraud or violence. But since fraud
is the vice fo which man alone is capable,
God loathes it most. Therefore, the fraudulent
are place below, and their torment is more painful.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
Of every malice that gains hatred in Heaven the end is injustice; and every such end, either by force or by fraud, afflicts another. But because fraud is an evil peculiar to man, it more displeases God, and therefore the fraudulent are the lower, and more pain assails them.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
All malice has injustice as its end,
an end achieved by violence or by fraud;
while both are sins that earn the hate of Heaven,
since fraud belongs exclusively to man,
God hates it more and, therefore, far below,
the fraudulent are placed and suffer most.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
Of every malice that earns hate in Heaven,
injustice is the end; and each such end
by force or fraud brings harm to other men.
However, fraud is man's peculiar vice;
God finds it more displeasing -- and therefore,
the fraudulent are lower, suffering more.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
The object of all malice, which earns heaven's hatred,
Is injury; every object of that kind
Causes distress to others by force or fraud.
And because fraud is an evil peculiar to men,
It displeases God the more; and therefore the fraudulent
are placed beneath and greater pain assail them.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
The end of every wickedness that feels
Heaven's s hatred is injustice -- and each end
Of this kind, whether by force or fraud, afflicts
Some other person. But since fraud is found
In humankind as its peculiar vice,
It angers God more: so the fraudulent
Are lower, and suffer more unhappiness.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 21ff]
Of every malice gaining the hatred of Heaven, injustice is the goal, and efvery such goal injures someone either with force or with fraud. But because fraud is an evil proper to man, it is more displeasing to God; and therefore the fraudulent have a lower place and greater pain assails them.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
The outcome of all maliciousness, that Heaven hates, is harm: and every such outcome, hurts others, either by force or deceit. But because deceit is a vice peculiar to human beings, it displeases God more, and therefore the fraudulent are placed below, and more pain grieves them.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Malice is aimed in all its forms -- and thus incurs the hatred of Heaven -- at gross injustice, and, aiming so, harms others, by deceit or force.
Deceit, though, is specifically a human wrong, and hence displeases God the more. Liars are therefore deeper down, and tortured worse.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Every evil deed despised in Heaven
has as its end injustice. Each such end
harms someone else through either force or fraud.
But since the vice of fraud is man's alone,
it more displeases God, and thus the fraudulent
are lower down, assailed by greater pain.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Hated by Heaven, every conscious
sin will end in injustice, and each new sin,
By force or fraud, creates the same result.
But since such fraud is a sin unique to men,
God hates it more. So sinners guilty of fraud
Go farther down, and deeper pain attacks them.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Crimes Heaven hates have for their end Injustice, and that end afflicts someone
Either by force or fraud, and must offend The Lord, for fraud is human, and ills done
By humans please Him least, and therefore they, The tricksters, lie down and suffer more.
[tr. James (2013)]
Fraud, which so gnaweth at all men’s conscience, A man may use on one who trusts him best And on him also who risks no confidence.
This latter mode seems only to arrest The love which Nature meaneth to endure; Hence in the second circle huddled nest
Hypocrisy, flattery; they who would conjure By spells; and simony; the thief, the cheat, Pandars and barrators, and the like ordure.
[La frode, ond’ogne coscïenza è morsa, può l’omo usare in colui che ‘n lui fida e in quel che fidanza non imborsa.
Questo modo di retro par ch’incida pur lo vinco d’amor che fa natura; onde nel cerchio secondo s’annida
ipocresia, lusinghe e chi affattura, falsità, ladroneccio e simonia, ruffian, baratti e simile lordura.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 11, l. 52ff (11.52-60) [Virgil] (1309) [tr. Binyon (1943)]
(Source)
On the punishment of common fraudsters, who do not betray a personal trust but only the natural love of humanity. This is still deemed worse, in Dante's cosmology, than deadly "bestial" violence.
Barratry is the sale of justice, employment, or public offices, going alongside simony, the sale of holy offices.
That Fraud of which each Conscience feels the pangs
Man may commit 'gainst those who do confide
In him, as well as those who trust him not.
The first unhappily destroys the Bond
In general by Nature form'd: from whence
Confined in the second Circle are
The Hypocrites, the Flatterers, and they
Who practice Coz'ning, Sorcery, and Theft,
Base Simony, procuring with a smile,
Masked Deceit, and all such filthy tricks.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 53ff]
Fraud skulks below with all her various brood, There darkling dwell the foes of public good.
The pilf'rer, and the cheat, his dark ally:
With those, whose felon hand their trust betray'd, Hypocrisy in faintly garb array'd. Corruption foul, and frontless Perjury.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 8]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Fraud, to the stricken conscience inly known, Might man devise on him who faith disbursed, And eke on him who credence had not shown.
The bond of love which nature framed at first. But only that, the latter mode hath slain, Whence nesting in the second orb lie curst
Hypocrites, and flatterers, and the wizard train, Falseness, and simonies, and pilferers' trade, Panders, and cheats, and all of foulest stain.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Fraud, which gnaws every conscience, a man may practice upon one who confides in him; and upon him who reposes no confidence. This latter mode seems only to cut off the bond of love which Nature makes: hence in the second circle nests hypocrisy, flattery, sorcerers, cheating, theft and simony, pandars, barrators, and like filth.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
And fraud, that every conscience can corrode --
Fraud may be practiced against them who trust, And those who put no confidence in dust.
This seems to come behind, it only slays
The kindly chains of love that nature binds Hence, in the lower circle, station finds
Hypocrisy, flattery and sorcery;
Falsification, robbery, simony, Seduction, quarrels, and brutality.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
That fraud, which sharply, ev'ry conscience bites, Man against those who trust in him may use, Or against those by whom no trust is giv'n.
This latter seems to rend in twain the bond Which Nature in her love for us hath made; Whence in the second circle such are held;
Magic, hypocrisy, and flatters, Vile falsehood, robbery and simony, Panders and Userers, and such foul stuff.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
The fraud, wherewith every conscience is pricked, man can practise towards the one who trusts him, and towards him who has no confidence in store. This latter mode seems to destroy only the bond of love that nature makes; whence in the second circle have their nests hypocrisy, flatteries, and whoso uses arts; forgery, robbery, and simony; pandars, jobbers, and suchlike filth.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Such fraud, for which all must compunction feel. Can man exert 'gainst him whose trust he shares, And him whose thoughts no confidence reveal.
This latter fashion all unseemly tears The golden chain of love which Nature weaves. Whence gather in the second circle's lairs
Hypocrisy, all flattery that deceives, Witchcraft, lies, thefts, the Simoniac blot. Panders, chicaners, and all similar thieves.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Fraud, by which every conscience is bitten, man may practice on one that confides in him, or on one that owns no confidence. This latter mode seemeth to destroy only the bond of love that nature makes; wherefore in the second circle nestle hypocrisy, flatteries, and sorcerers, falsity, robbery, and simony, panders, barrators, and such like filth.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Fraud, with which there is no conscience but is bitten, a man may practise upon one who putteth his trust in him; and upon one who giveth no credit for fidelity. This last kind seemeth only to sever the bond of love which nature weaveth; and therefore is it that in the second circle there nestle hypocrisy, flattery, workers of sorcery, treachery, robbery and simony, panders, barrators, and such-like refuse.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Fraud, wherewithal is bitten every conscience, A man may use regarding one who trusts him, Or one who has no store of trust to deal with.
This latter way, as it would seem, slays only The tie of love that nature itself fashions; Whence make their nest within the second circle
Hypocrisy, smooth speeches, and bewitchment, Forgery, thieving, and the sin of Simon, Panders, and jobbers, and the like offscouring.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
Fraud, which always stings the conscience, a man may practice on one who confides in him or on one who does not so place his confidence; it is evident that this latter way destroys simply the bond of love which nature makes, so that in the next circle, hypocrisy, flatteries, sorceries, falsifications, theft, and simony, panders, jobbers, and like filth have their nest.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Fraud, which gnaws at every conscience, may be a breach Of trust against the confiding, or deceive Such as repose no confidence; though each
Is fraud, the latter sort seems but to cleave The general bond of love and Nature's tie; So the second circle opens to receive
Hypocrites, flatterers, dealers in sorcery, Panders and cheats, and all such filthy stuff, With theft, and simony and barratry.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
Fraud, which is a canker to every conscience, may be practiced by a man on those who trust him, and on those who have reposed no confidence.
This latter mode seems only to deny the bond of love which all men have from Nature; therefore within the second circle lie
simoniacs, sycophants, and hypocrites, falsifiers, thieves, and sorcerers, grafters, pimps, and all such filthy cheats.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
Fraud, which gnaws at every conscience, a man may practice upon one who trusts in him, or upon one who reposes no condifence. This altter way seems to sever only the bond of love which nature makes; wherefore in the second circle hypocrisy, flatteries, sorcerers, falsity, theft, simony, panders, barratry, and like filth have their nest.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
Fraud, that gnaws the conscience of its servants, can be used on one who puts his trust in you or else on one who has no trust invested.
This latter sort seems only to destroy the bond of love that Nature gives to man; so in the second circle there are nests
of hypocrites, flatterers, dabblers in sorcery, falsifiers, thieves and simonists, panders, seducers, grafters and like filth.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
Now fraud, that eats away at every conscience, is praticed by a man against another who trusts in him, or one who has no trust.
This latter way seems only to cut off the bond of love that nature forges; thus, nestled within the second circle are:
hypocrisy and flattery, sorcerers, and falsifiers, simony, and theft, and barrators and panders and like trash.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
Fraud, by which every conscience is bitten, A man may practice on a person who trusts him Or upon one who has no confidence in him.
This latter mode cuts only the bond of love Which nature itself establishes; And so there are, lodged in the second circle,
Hypocrisy, flatterers, and those who delude, Falsity, thieving and simony, Pimps, trouble-makers, and all such-like scum.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Fraud, which bites every conscience, a man may play
Either on one who trusts him, or one who does not. The latter of the two is seen to destroy Only those bonds of love that nature makes:
So in the second circle hypocrisy, Flatterers, sorcery, larceny, simoniacs, With pimps, barrators, and such filth have their nest.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), ll. 53-59]
Fraud, which bites at every mind, a man can use against one who trusts in him or against one who has in his purse no cause for trust. This latter mode seems to cut solely into the bond of love that Nature makes; thus in the second circle find their nest hypocrisy, flattery, casters of spells, impersonators, thievery and simony, panders, embezzlers, and similar filth.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Human beings may practise deceit, which gnaws at every conscience, on one who trusts them, or on one who places no trust. This latter form of fraud only severs the bond of love that Nature created, and so, in the eighth circle, are nested hypocrisy; sorcery; flattery; cheating; theft and selling of holy orders; pimps; corrupters of public office; and similar filth.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
As for deceit -- which gnaws all rational minds -- we practise this on those who trust in us, or those whose pockets have no room for trust.
Fraud of the second kind will only gash the ligature of love that Nature forms: and therefore in great Circle Two there nests
smarm and hypocrisy, the casting-up of spells, impersonation, thievery, crooked priests, embezzlement and pimping, such like scum.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Fraud gnaws at every conscience, whether used on him who trusted or on one who lacked such faith.
Fraud against the latter only severs the bond of love that nature makes. Thus in the second circle nest
hypocrisy, flatteries, and sorcerers; lies, theft, and simony; panders, barrators, and all such filth.[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Fraud will gnaw at the conscience, but a man may bury His heart and cheat the people who believe in him -- But trust's not needed, just opportunity.
This sinning slices away the soft-tied tether Of love, prepared for us by Nature. The second Circle is therefore a nest for flatterers
And hypocrites and liars, and those who press Illiterate fools for high Church office, well-paid For their filthy work, and bawds, and all such festering
Sores.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Fraud eats the conscience, whether used against
Those who trust us, or those who trust us not.
In the latter case, the bonds of love dispensed
By nature are undone. Thus you have got,
In Circle Eight, toadies and hypocrites,
Magicians, forgers, thieves, thugs, dealers in
Holy preferment, everything that fits
The definition of sheer filth.
[tr. James (2013)]
You are the sun who heals all clouded sight. Solving my doubts, you bring me such content That doubt, no less than knowing, is delight.
[O sol che sani ogne vista turbata, tu mi contenti sì quando tu solvi, che, non men che saver, dubbiar m’aggrata.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 11, l. 91ff (11.91-93) [Dante] (1309) [tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
(Source)
Flattering Virgil before he asks another question. (Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:
O you, who like the Sun each weaken'd sight Relieve, and give such pleasure when you clear My doubts, that I to raise them oft desire.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 89ff]
Can I repent my doubts! illumin'd Bard,
When thus thy heav'nly words my doubts reward?
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 14]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
O Sun, that healest every troubled sight! So full content, thou solving, doth ensue, Glads me no less to doubt, than judge aright.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
O Sun! who healest all troubled vision, thou makest so glad when thou resolvest me, that to doubt is not less grateful than to know.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Thou sun, that clearest every clouded sight, You so content me to dissolve the knot, To know is scarce so pleasing as to doubt.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Oh, sun! thou healer of the troubled sight, What thou declarest makes me so content, That as in knowledge I rejoice in doubt.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
O Sun, that healest all distempered vision,
Thou dost content me so, when thou resolvest,
That doubting pleases me no less than knowing!
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
O Sun that healest every troubled sight, so dost thou content me when thou solvest, that doubting gives me no less pleasure than knowing.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
O Sun, that healest every troubled sight. Thou so contentest me when thou mak'st clear Doubts, that no less than knowledge they delight.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
O Sun that healest every troubled vision, thou dost content me so, when thou explainest, that doubt, not less than knowledge, pleaseth me.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
O sun, that bringest healing unto all clouded vision, thou grantest unto me such satisfaction in thine unravelling, that doubting doth delight me.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Oh! sun, who makest whole all troubled vision. Thou dost content me so when thou resolvest That doubt is joy to me, no less than knowledge.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
O Sun that healest all troubled sight, so dost thou satisfy me with the resolving of my doubts that it is no less grateful to me to question than to know.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
O Sun, who heal'st all troubled vision, and so Contentest me where thou doest certify, That to doubt pleaseth not less than to know ....
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
O Sun that healest all dim sight, thou so Doest charm me in resolving of my doubt, To be perplexed is pleasant as to know.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
O sun which clears all mists from troubled sight, such joy attends your rising that I feel as grateful to the dark as to the light.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
O sun that heal every troubled vision, you do content me so, when you solve, that questioning, no less than knowing, pleases me.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
O sun that shines to clear a misty vision, such joy is mine when you resolve my doubts that doubting pleases me no less than knowing!
[tr. Musa (1971)]
O sun that heals all sight that is perplexed, when I ask you, your answer so contents that doubting pleases me as much as knowing.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
O sun who clears every obscure perception You give such satisfaction when you enlighten me That, not less than knowledge, doubt is agreeable.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
O sun, that makes all troubled vision clear,
You give solutions I am so contented with That asking, no less than knowing, pleases me.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 87ff]
O sun that heals every clouded sight, you content me so when you resolve questions, that doubting is no less pleasurable than knowing.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
O Sun, that heals all troubled sight, you make me so content when you explain to me, that to question is as delightful as to know.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
O sun, you who heal all troubled sight, you so content me by resolving doubts it pleases me no less to question than to know.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
O shining sun, healer of troubled vision, I'm satisfied so well, my mind so settled, That knowledge pleases me no more than asking questions!
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
"Bright sun," I said, you calm these doubts of mine
As you heal any troubled sight. Such ease
You bring me that to question pleases me
Like being answered."
[tr. James (2013)]
By Art and Nature, if thou well recall How Genesis begins, man ought to get His bread, and make prosperity for all.
But the usurer contrives a third way yet, And in herself and in her follower, Art, Scorns Nature, for his hope is elsewhere set.
[Da queste due, se tu ti rechi a mente lo Genesì dal principio, convene prender sua vita e avanzar la gente;
e perché l’usuriere altra via tene, per sé natura e per la sua seguace dispregia, poi ch’in altro pon la spene.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 11, l. 106ff (11.106-111) [Virgil] (1309) [tr. Sayers (1949)]
(Source)
In Genesis (Gen. 2:15, 3:17-19), God ordains humanity is to survive gathering plants and resources (Nature) and through toil and "the sweat of his face" (Art or Industry) . Usurers are deemed evil because they gain wealth from interest on money-lending (or, by extension, any financial investments), producing money from money, not from productive work. They are considered in Dante's scheme as bad as blasphemers and perverts, and worse sinners than murderers or suicides. See commentary from Sayers and Durling.
And if you recollect
Your Genesis, you'll know that from these two
Mankind should Life, Tillage the Earth receive.
But, because Us'ry takes another way,
Despising Nature and your daughter Art,
It God displeases, and incurs his wrath.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 101ff]
But from her hallow'd path the Miser strays, Who lets pale A'rice warp his sordid ways, Invet'rate foe to Nature's simple lore,
Beneath his influence grows the barren gold. He speaks, and lo! the parent sums unfold In monstrous births, a misbegotten store.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 16]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Both these to man, if thou refresh thy mind In Genesis' early writ, the Word ordains His life to foster, and advance his kind.
But other way takes Usance to his gains, And, choosing other hope, a scornful war With Nature and her handmaid Art maintains.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
By these two, if you recallest to thy memory Genesis at the beginning, it behoves man to gain his bread and [to prosper]. And because the usurer takes another way, he contemns Nature in herself and in her follower, placing elsewhere his hope.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
From these two, if right considered in the mind, From first of Genesis the truth receive, Life and advancement to the nations gave.
But usury has ta'en another way, Despising nature and her handmaid Art, Far other hopes his light of life impart.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
From these two, then, if thou in mem'ry hold'st The earlier Genesis, it is decreed That life must spring, and man's increase must come.
But then the usurer treads another path; Nature and her attendant both he scorns, Since in another means he places hope.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
From these two, if thou bring to thy mind Genesis, towards the beginning, it behoves folk to take their life, and to prosper. And because the usurer holds another course, he despises Nature both for herself and for her follower; because he places his hope in another thing.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
From Art and Nature, if thou bring'st to mind The verse of Genesis, 'tis doomed alone That man should live and carry on his kind.
And since to usurers other ways are known, Both Nature and her follower stand confest Outraged by those whose trust is elsewhere shown.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
By means of these two, if thou bringest to mind Genesis at its beginning, it behoves mankind to obtain their livelihood and to thrive. But because the usurer takes another course, he despises Nature in herself, and in her follower, since upon other thing he sets his hope.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
By these two, if thou recallest to thy mind an early page in Genesis, doth it behove mankind to win their means of life, and to excel. And for that the usurer goeth another way, he slighteth nature both in herself and follower, putting his trust elsewhere.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
From these two, if thou bring' st to recollection Genesis at its opening, it must needs be That folk do take their living and make progress.
And, since the usurer keeps another pathway, Nature, both for herself and for her daughter, Contemns he, since his hope elsewhere he places.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
By these two, if thou recall to mind Genesis near the beginning, it behoves mankind to gain their livelihood and their advancement, and because the usurer takes another way he despises nature both in herself and in her follower, setting his hope elsewhere.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
By these two, if thy memory Genesis Recalls, and its beginning, man hath need To gain his bread and foster earthly bliss.
But the usurer, since he will not thus proceed, Flouts Nature's follower and herself also, Setting his wealth another way to breed.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
By this, recalling the Old Testament near the beginning of Genesis, you will see that in the will of Providence, man was meant
to labor and to prosper. But usurers, by seeking their increase in other ways, scorn Nature in herself and her followers.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
By these two, if you remember Genesis at the beginning, it behooves man to gain his bread and to prosper. But because the usurer takes another way, he contemns Nature in herself and in her follower, for he puts his hope elsewhere.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
From Art and Nature man was meant to take his daily bread to live -- if you recall the book of Genesis near the beginning;
but the usurer, adopting another means, scorns Nature in herself and in her pupil, Art -- he invests his hope in something else.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
From these two, art and nature, it is fitting, if you recall how Genesis begins, for men to make their way, to gain their living;
and since the usurer prefers another pathway, he scorns both nature in herself and art, her follower; his hope is elsewhere.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
From these two, if you recall to mind The beginning of Genesis, it is proper for man To win his bread and to advance his race:
And because the usurer takes another way, Treating nature and what follows from her Contemptuously, he puts his hopes elsewhere.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
By these two, man should thrive and gain his bread --
If you remember Genesis -- from the start But since the usurer takes a different way, He contemns Nature both in her own sort
And in her follower as well, while he Chooses to invest his hope another place.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
From these two, if you bring to mind the beginning of Genesis, we must draw our life and advance our people.
and because the usurer holds another way, he scorns Nature in herself and in her follower, since he puts his hope in something else.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
By these two, art and nature, man must earn his bread and flourish, if you recall to mind Genesis, near its beginning. Because the usurer holds to another course, he denies Nature, in herself, and in that which follows her ways, putting his hopes elsewhere.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
From these two principles -- if you recall the opening lines of Genesis -- we're bound to draw our living strength and multiply our people.
But usurers adopt a different course. They place their hopes in other things, and thus make mock of Nature's self and her close kin.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
By toil and nature, if you remember Genesis, near the beginning, it is man's lot to earn his bread and prosper.
The usurer, who takes another path, scorns nature in herself and in her follower, and elsewhere sets his hopes.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Nature and human labor -- as Genesis teaches In its very first pages -- combine to let man live And thereby take his people forward. But those leeches
Who practice usury abandon the given Path for another, despising Nature's way And her honest pupils: gold, not God, is their living.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
By this twin element
Of nature's force and human effort -- see
The book of Genesis, near the beginning, where
Men are enjoined to earn their bread by sweat --
Humanity needs must accept its share
Of effort to advance. The trade in debt
Ignores that pact. His course set otherwise
The usurer holds nature in contempt
Both in herself and in her human guise,
Simply by how he holds himself exempt
And sets his hopes elsewhere.
[tr. James (2013), l. 112ff]
Blind greed! Brainless rage!
In our brief lives they drive us beyond sense And leave us misery for a heritage Throughout eternity!
[Oh cieca cupidigia e ira folle, che sì ci sproni ne la vita corta, e ne l’etterna poi sì mal c’immolle!]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 12, l. 49ff (12.49-51) (1309) [tr. James (2013)]
(Source)
On seeing Phlegethon, the river of boiling blood, in which those who violently injured others (through greed or wrath) are forced to stand for all eternity.
Some versions have this as something Virgil says; most make it an exclamation of Dante's.
O foolish Rage, O blind desire,
That spurs you on, in the short life above,
To such dire Acts as to eternity
Will keep you in this wretched bath below!
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 45ff]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Oh blinded lust! oh anger void of sense! To spur us o'er the shorter life so bold, So fell to steep us in the life immense!
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Oh blind cupidity [both wicked and foolish], which so incites us in the short life, and then, in the eternal, steeps us so bitterly!
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
O blind cupidity! O foolish wrath! Thorough this short life, that spurs them to the sleep, Eternally in tide like this to steep.
[tr. Bannerman (1850), from Virgil]
Oh, blinded greediness! oh, foolish rage! Which spur us so in the short world of life, And then in death so drown us in despair!
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
O blind cupidity, O wrath insane, That spurs us onward so in our short life,
And in the eternal then so badly steeps us!
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
O blind covetousness! O foolish wrath! that dost so spur us in our short life, and afterward in the life eternal dost in such evil wise steep us!
[tr. Butler (1885)]
O blind cupidity, O foolish ire, Which spurs us on so in our life's short day, And soaks us till Eternity expire!
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Oh blind cupidity, both guilty and mad, that so spurs us in the brief life, and then, in the eternal, steeps us so ill!
[tr. Norton (1892)]
O sightless greed! O foolish wrath! that dost in our short life, so goad us; and after, in the life that hath no end, dost sink us in such evil plight.
[tr. Sullivan (1893), from Virgil]
Oh, blind cupidity! Oh, senseless anger, Which in the brief life spurs us on so hotly. And in the eternal then so sadly dips us !
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
O blind covetousness and foolish anger, which in the brief life so goad us on and then, in the eternal, steep us in such misery!
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
O blind greed and mad anger, all astray That in the short life goad us onward so, And in the eternal with such plungings pay!
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
O blind, O rash and wicked lust of spoil, That drives our short life with so keen a goad And steeps our life eternal in such broil!
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
Oh blind!
Oh ignorant, self-seeking cupidity which spurs us so in the short mortal life and steeps us so through all eternity!
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
O blind cupidity and mad rage, which in the brief life so goad us on, and then, in the eternal, steep us so bitterly!
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
O blind cupidity and insane wrath, spurring us on through our short life on earth to steep us then forever in such misery!
[tr. Musa (1971)]
O blind cupidity and insane anger, which goad us on so much in our short life, then steep us in such grief eternally!
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
O blind cupidity and senseless anger, Which so goads us in our short life here And, in the eternal life, drenches us miserably!
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
O blind desire
Of covetousness, O anger gone insane -- That goad us on through life, which is so brief, to steep in eternal woe when life is done.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
Oh blind cupidity and mad rage, that so spur us in this short life, and then in the eternal one cook us so evilly!
[tr. Durling (1996)]
O blind desires, evil and foolish, which so goad us in our brief life, and then, in the eternal one, ruin us so bitterly!
[tr. Kline (2002)]
O blind cupidity, that brew of bile and foolishness, which bubbles our brief lives, before it steeps us in eternal gall!
[tr. Carson (2002)]
What blind cupidity, what crazy rage impels us onwards in our little lives -- then dunks us in this stew to all eternity!
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
O blind covetousness, insensate wrath, which in this brief life goad us on and then, in the eternal, steep us in such misery!
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
O greedy blindness and rage, insane and senseless, Spurring us on in this, our so short life, Then immolating us forever and ever!
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
O endless wrath of God: how utterly thou shouldst become a terror to all men who read the frightful truths revealed to me!
[O vendetta di Dio, quanto tu dei esser temuta da ciascun che legge ciò che fu manifesto a li occhi mei!]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 14, l. 16ff (14.16-18) (1309) [tr. Ciardi (1954), l. 13ff]
(Source)
On entering the Seventh Circle, third ring, and seeing flames drifting down from the sky, landing on the damned trapped there (blasphemers, sodomites, usurers).
O Vengeance dire of God, how much you should By ev'ry one be dreaded, when he reads What to my eyes was manifestly shewn!
[tr. Rogers (1782)]
Vengeance of Heav'n! I saw thy hand severe (Your doom! ye Atheists and Blasphemers, hear!) O'er many a naked soul the scourge display!
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 4]
Vengeance of Heav’n! Oh! how shouldst thou be fear’d
By all, who read what here my eyes beheld!
[tr. Cary (1814)]
O vengeance of the Eternal! how ought they Who read the tale, thy workings mark with awe, In that my troubled eyes did here survey!
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
O vengeance of God! how shouldst thou be feared by every one who reads what was revealed to my eyes!
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Avenging power of God! how should each fear, Who reads of this, arresting with surprise, The sight which manfestly met mine eyes!
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Oh, God's great vengeance! with what heavy dread Thou should'st be fear'd by ev'ry one who reads What to mine eyes so manifest was made!
[tr. Johnston (1867), l. 16ff]
Vengeance of God, O how much oughtest thou By each one to be dreaded, who doth read That which was manifest unto mine eyes!
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
O vengeance of God, how oughtest thou to be feared by each one who reads that which was manifested to my eyes!
[tr. Butler (1885)]
O vengeance of great God! with what a fear Thou shouldst be held by all who read in awe That which before my eyes was visibly clear!
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
O vengeance of God, how much thou oughtest to be feared by every one who readeth that which was manifest unto mine eyes!
[tr. Norton (1892)]
O Vengeance of God, how mightily shouldst thou be feared by all who read that which was given mine eyes to look upon!
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Vengeance of God! In what great fear and trembling Should'st thou be held by each who reads the story Of that which to my eyes was manifested.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
O vengeance of God, how must thou be feared by everyone who reads what was plain before my eyes!
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
O chastisement of God, how oughtest thou To be of each one feared who reads with awe What to my eyes was manifested now.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Fearful indeed art thou, vengeance of God! He that now reads what mine own eyes with awe Plainly beheld, well may he dread thy rod!
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
O vengeance of God, how much should you be feared by all who read what was revealed to my eyes!
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
O just revenge of God! how awesomely you should be feared by everyone who reads these truths that were revealed to my own eyes!
[tr. Musa (1971)]
O vengeance of the Lord, how you should be dreaded by everyone who now can read whatever was made manifest to me!
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
O vengeance of God, how much you ought To be feared by everyone who reads What was there manifested to my eyes.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
O vengeance of God, how much
Should you be feared by all of those who read
What my eyes saw!
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
O vengeance of God, how much must you be feared by everyone who reads what was made manifest to my eyes!
[tr. Durling (1996)]
O God’s vengeance, how what was shown to my sight should be feared, by all who read!
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Great God! Your vengeance must be rightly feared by all who read the verses I compose to say what there was straight before my eyes.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
O vengeance of God, how much should you be feared by all who read what now I saw revealed before my eyes!
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
But O God's awful vengeance! Reading this, You all should tremble with fear for what my eyes Were shown, dark and terrible, a burning brilliance!
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Holy Vengeance, how you must
Be feared by all who read what now I saw!
[tr. James (2013)]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 15, l. 99ff (15.99) (1309) [tr. James (2013)]
(Source)
Virgil either warning Dante to consider all the predictions / warnings he's receiving from the damned about "future" political troubles, or else praising him for appearing to have remembered them (interpretations vary).
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.
[E vedervi, s’avessi avuto di tal tigna brama,
colui potei che dal servo de’ servi fu trasmutato d’Arno in Bacchiglione, dove lasciò li mal protesi nervi.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 15, l. 110ff (15.110-114) [Brunetto] (1309) [tr. Longfellow (1867)]
(Source)
Referring to Bishop Andrea de'Mozzi, one of the damned in the 7th Circle. In order to cover up de'Mozzi's continuous sexual scandals, Dante's enemy, Pope Boniface VIII (the "Servant of the Servants of God"), shuffled him from the See of Florence to that of Vicenza; he died there a year later.
There's also wordplay here around de'Mozzi's "unnatural vices" hidden in the last line of the Italian: "mal protesti nervi," which can mean "dissolute nerves" -- or, more suggestively, "ill-stretched muscles," or even "wrongly erect penis". Different translators vary as they (or the times) see fit. See Ciardi and Singleton for more commentary.
And, of such odious sights if fond, you him
May see, who by the Servants Servant was
To that which laves Vicenza's walls transferr'd
From Arno's river where he died contemn'd.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 108]
He too is there, who late at Rome's request,
Forsook proud Florence for Vicenza's plain.
The living scandal of the hallow'd train, 'Till the kind clay his tainted limbs opprest.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 20]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
and, couldst thou crave So leprous scab to see, was sight allowed
Of him to whom the servants' servant gave Arno's to change for Bacchiglione's vale, Wherein his ill-strung sinews found a grave.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Also, if thou hadst had any longing for such scurf, thou mightest have seen him there, who by the Servant of servants was translated from Arno to the Bacchiglionne, where he left his ill-strained nerves.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Even him you might have see, by servants' servant
From Arno taken to Bacchilion --
Abused, corrupted nerves to leave alone.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
I could shew If thou wouldst more of this uncleanness see,
Him by the servant's servant from the banks Of Arno to Bacchiglione sent, His foul-stretched members there in death to leave.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
And thou canst also see there, if thou hadst had a desire of such scurf, him who by the servant of servants was translated from Arno to Bacchiglione, where he left his nerves stretched to sin.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Thou might'st see (If though hadst any whish to see such blame)
Him whom the slave of slaves translated free From Arno's until Bacchiglione's tide, Where all his rotten nerves he left in fee.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
And thou mightest also have seen, hadst thou had desire of such scurf, him who by the Servant of Servants was translated from Arno to Bacchiglione, where he left his ill-strained nerves.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
And furthermore, thou mightest have looked, if thou hadst any care for suchlike scurf, on him who by the Servant of Servants was translated from the Arno to Bacchiglione, where he left his vice-warped senses.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
And, if to see such scabs hadst had a craving,
Thou might'st see him who by the servants' servant
From Arno to Bacchilion was translated;
And there he left behind his sin-strained sinew.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
And if thou hast a craving for such scurf, him thou mightest see there that was translated by the Servant of Servants from the Arno to the Bacchiglione, where he left his sin-strained nerves behind.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
And didst thou crave Such scurf, thou mightest have seen and spoken to
Him who from Arno to Bacchiglon's wave By the servant of God's servants was transferred, And there his sinfully spent nerves outgave.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Could thy hunger have been sated By such scabbed meat, thou mightest have seen also
Him whom the Servant of servants once translated From Arno to Bacchiglione, where he left The body he'd unstrung and enervated.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
And also there, if you had any longing for such scum,
you might have seen that one the Servant of Servants send from the Arnot to the Bacchiglione where he left his unnatural organ wrapped in cerements.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
And you could also have seen there, had you hankered for such scurf, him who was transferred by the Servant of Servants form Arno to Bacchiglione, where he left his sinfully displayed muscles.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
And also there, if you could have stomached such repugnancy,
you might have seen the one the Servant of Servants transferred to the Bacchiglione from the Arno where his sinfully-erected nerves were buried.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
And among them you can see,
if you have any longing for such scurf, the one the Servant of His Servants sent
from the Arno to the Bacchiglione's banks,
and there he left his tendons strained by sin.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
And you might have seen, If you had any taste for such pestilence,
Him who, by the servant of the servants, Was translated from the Arno to the Bacchiglione, Where he at last left his ill-stretched nerves.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
And if you crave To see such scurf, among them you can find
One whom the Servant of Servants asked to leave The Arno for Bacchiglione; and there He left his body, distended in its nerve
And muscle.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
And, if you had desired such scurf, you could see there him who by the Servant of servants was transmuted from Arno to Bacchiglione, where he left his ill-protended muscles.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
And if you had any desire for such scum, you might have seen Andrea di Mozzi there, who by Boniface, the Pope, servus servorum Dei, servant of servants, was translated from the Arno to Vicenza’s Bacchiglione, where he departed from his ill-strained body.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
And if you yearn
to set your eyes on such-like mangy scabs, you could. That bishop there! The Slave of Slaves
transferred him to Vicenza from the Arno.
He left his muscles, ill-distended, there.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
And, had you had
a hankering for such filth, you might have seen
the one transferred by the Servant of Servants
from the Arno to the Bacchiglione,
where he left his sin-stretched sinews.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
And if you longed for The company of such holy, but scurvy slime,
There's also Andrea de Mozzi, a bishop so strongly Warped that the Servant of Servants was finally forced To ship him off to Bacchiglione: he belonged there,
And died, left it his sin-stained body.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
And if you like scum you might see the man
Sent to Vicenza by the Pope, before
Florence should see his sin-worn nerves collapse:
Andrea de'Mozzi. Bishop, in your youth.
[tr. James (2013), l. 111ff]
Gold and silver are the gods you adore
In what are you different from the idolater,
save that he worships one, and you a score?
[Fatto v’avete dio d’oro e d’argento;
e che altro è da voi a l’idolatre,
se non ch’elli uno, e voi ne orate cento?]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 19, l. 112ff (19.112-114) [Dante] (1309) [tr. Ciardi (1954)]
(Source)
Chiding the damned shade of Pope Nicholas III (reigned 1280-1303), who was infamous for his corruption, extorting lands for the Church from nobles before giving his blessing, taking bribes, and selling holy offices (simonism); the last has landed him in the Eighth Circle, third Bolgia, with the other simoniacs.
But you of silver and gold have made
Your God: What differs your Idolatry
From that of others, but that they did one
Alone, and you a hundred Gods adore.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 109ff]
Go, seek your Saviour in the delved mine.
And bid the Idolater the palm resign;
Thine is a Legion, his a single God!
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 19]
Of gold and silver ye have made your god,
Diff’ring wherein from the idolater,
But he that worships one, a hundred ye?
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Silver and gold ye make your god: what more
Divides the brute idolater and you,
Save that he one, a hundred ye adore?
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Ye have made you a god of gold and silver; and wherein do ye differ from the idolater, save that he worships one, and ye a hundred?
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Of gold and silver you have made your god,
Idols of yours and others to recount,
Theirs to one, to a hundred yours amount.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Or gold and silver ye your gods have made;
And what is 'twist th' idolater and you,
But he to one -- ye to a hundred pray.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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?
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Ye have made a god of gold and silver, and what else is there between you and the idolater save that he worships one, and you a hundred.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Ye've made your God of silver and of gold.
Ye from idolaters what line withdraws.
Save they sin once, and ye a hundredfold?
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Ye have made you a god of gold and silver: and what difference is there between you and the idolater save that he worships one and ye a hundred?
[tr. Norton (1892)]
A god ye have made yourselves of gold and silver,
And from idolaters what else divides you,
Save that they pray to one and you a hundred?
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
You have made you a god of gold and silver, and what is there between you and teh idolaters but that they worship one and you a hundred?
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
A God of silver and gold ye have made to adore;
And how do ye differ from the idolater
Sav e that he worships one, and ye five-score?
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
You deify silver and gold; how are you sundered
In any fashion from the idolater,
Save that he serves one god and you an hundred?
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
You have made you a god of gold and silver; and wherein do you differ from the idolaters, save that they worship one, and you a hundred?
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
You have built yourselves a God of gold and silver!
How do you differ from the idolater,
except he worships one, you worship hundreds?
[tr. Musa (1971)]
You’ve made yourselves a god of gold and silver;
how are you different from idolaters,
save that they worship one and you a hundred?
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
You have made a god of gold and silver:
And how do you differ from an idolater,
Except that he prays to one, and you to a hundred?
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
You made a god of gold and silver: wherein
Is it you differ from the idolatrous --
Save that you worship a hundred, they but one?
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 105ff]
You have made gold and silver your god; and what difference is there between you and the idol-worshipper, except that he prays to one, and you to a hundred?
[tr. Durling (1996)]
You have made a god for yourselves of gold and silver, and how do you differ from the idolaters, except that he worships one image and you a hundred?
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Silver and gold you have made your god. And what’s
the odds -- you and some idol-worshipper?
He prays to one, you to a gilded hundred.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
You have wrought yourselves a god of gold and silver.
How then do you differ from those who worship idols
except they worship one and you a hundred?
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
The god you made for yourself is silver and gold --
And where are you different, you and worshippers
Of idols? They have one, and you a hundred.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
You thieves reigned,
Making a God of gold and silver. Room
Does not exist between the idolaters
And you, except they worship one, and you
A hundred.
[tr. James (2013)]
Ah, Constantine! what mischief in the gift —
Not thy conversion, but the dower you gave
For the first wealthy Father to receive.
[Ahi, Costantin, di quanto mal fu matre,
non la tua conversion, ma quella dote
che da te prese il primo ricco patre!]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 19, l. 115ff (9.115-117) [Dante] (1309) [tr. Bannerman (1850)]
(Source)
According to legend, the Emperor Constantine, having been cured of leprosy through baptism by Pope Sylvester, both showered Sylvester with riches and moved his own capital to Constantinople, leaving the Pope as temporal ruler of the West. This "Donation of Constantine" was fabricated in the 8th century, and first used by Pope Adrian I to encourage Charlemagne to give generously and acknowledge papal power over the emperor. It was largely believed true until the 15th Century. Dante, both author and character, traced the Church's corruption by power and wealth from that legend.
Ah! Constantine, of how much ill was Cause
Not thy Conversion, but those rich Domains
That the first wealthy Pope received of thee!
[tr. Milton (1641)]
Ah, Constantine, what are the many Ills
You have been parent of: I do not mean
By your Conversion, but that pompous Gift
By which our Holy Father you enrich'd!
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 112ff]
Lamented ever be that lib'ral hand,
Whose gifts allur'd the Apostolic band
To leave that humble path where long they trod.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 19]
Ah, Constantine! to how much ill gave birth,
Not thy conversion, but that plenteous dower,
Which the first wealthy Father gain’d from thee!
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Ah, Constantine! what ills have we to rue --
I say not from thine own conversion sprung,
But from thy dower, the first rich father drew!
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Ah Constantine! to how much ill gave birth, not thy conversion, but that dower which the first rich Father took from thee!
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Oh, Constantine, of how much ill the source!
Not thy conversion, but that fatal dower
Which the first Father took from the in gift!
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
Ah, Constantine! of how much ill was mother,
Not thy conversion, but that marriage-dower
Which the first wealthy Father took from thee!
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Ah, Constantine, of how great ill was mother, not thy conversion, but that dowry which the first rich pope got from thee!
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Ah, Constantine, of how much ill was cause,
Not thy conversion but the fatal dower
Which the first wealthy father from thee draws!
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Ah Constantine! of how much ill was mother, not thy conversion, but that dowry which the first rich Father received from thee!
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Ah! Constantine, of how great ill was mother,
Not thy conversion, but that fatal dowry,
Which from thy hands received the first rich Father.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
Ah, Constantine, of how much evil gave birth,
not thy conversion, but that dower
the first rich Father had from thee.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Ah, Constantine, what evil fruit did bear
Not they conversion, but that dowry broad
Thou on the first rich Father didst confer!
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Ah, Constantine! What ills were gendered there --
No, not from thy conversion, but the dower
The first rich Pope received from thee as heir?
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
Ah Constantine, what evil marked the hour --
not of your conversion, but of the fee
the first rich Father took from you in dower!
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
Ah, Constantine, of how much ill was mother, not your conversion, but that dowry which the first rich Father took from you!
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
Oh, Constantine, what evil did you sire,
not by your conversion, but by the dower
that the first wealthy Father got from you!
[tr. Musa (1971)]
Ah, Constantine, what wickedness was born --
and not from your conversion -- from the dower
that you bestowed upon the first rich father!
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
Ah, Constantine, how much ill you produced,
Not by your conversion, but by that endowment
Which the first rich father accepted from you.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Ah Constantine! What measure of wickedness
Stems from that mother -- not your conversion, I mean:
Rather the dowry that the first rich Father
Accepted from you!
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 108ff]
Ah, Constantine, not your conversion, but that dowry which the first rich father took from you, has been the mother of so much evil!
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Ah, Constantine, how much evil you gave birth to, not in your conversion, but in that Donation that the first wealthy Pope, Sylvester, received from you!
[tr. Kline (2002)]
What harm you mothered, Emperor Constantine!
Not your conversion but the dowry he --
that first rich Papa -- thus obtained from you!
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Ah, Constantine, to what evil you gave birth,
not by your conversion, but by the dowry
that the first rich Father had from you!
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Ah, Constantine, the evil thrown in the world
Was not your conversion to Christ, but the wealth and grandeur
The first rich Pope and Father took from your hands!
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Constantine! You set the spurs
To evil, not by cleaving to your new
Religion, but by how, when you moved east,
You gave Sylvester, just to stay behind,
The Western Empire's wealth.
[tr. James (2013)]
Surely I wept, leaning upon a ledge Of the rough rock, so that my escort said, “Art thou then weak and foolish like the rest?
Here lives true piety when pity dies. But who more wicked than the man who yields To sorrow place where judgment is divine!”
[Certo io piangea, poggiato a un de’ rocchi del duro scoglio, sì che la mia scorta mi disse: “Ancor se’ tu de li altri sciocchi?
Qui vive la pietà quand’è ben morta; chi è più scellerato che colui che al giudicio divin passion comporta?]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 20, l. 25ff (20.25-30) (1309) [tr. Johnston (1867)]
(Source)
Virgil chides Dante for weeping over the fate of the damned in the third circle, fourth bolgia, who themselves are also weeping.
Maybe. There are a lot of scholarly debates over some of the wording and pronoun references here. Some translators play off the word pietà meaning both "pity" and "piety" in Italian. It's also possible that, rather than the final lines condemning Dante for letting his compassion defy an acceptance of God's judgment, they refer to the sinful arrogance of fortune-tellers (the group being punished here) in believing they can question or change God's decrees for the future.
Leaning against the rock, I so great grief
Express'd, that thus my Guide to me apply'd;
Are you among the weak to be arrang'd?
When without life, 'tis here Compassion lives.
Who can more wicked be estem'd than He
Who thinks that the divine Decrees are wrong.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 22ff]
Their laboring reins the falling tear bedew'd, Deep struck with sympathetic woe I stood, 'Till thus the Bard my slumb'ring reason woke: --
"Dar'st thou the sentence of thy God arraign; Or with presumptuous tears his doom profane? Say, can thy tears his righteous doom revoke?
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 5]
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?
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Certes I wept so, leaning toward a breast
Of that hard shelf, mine escort chiding said:
"Why wilt thou yet be foolish as the rest?
Here pity best hath life when wholly dead: What guiltier wretch than he whose grief avowed
Impugns Almighty Judgment?
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Certainly I wept, leaning on one of the rocks of the hard cliff, so that my Escort said to me: "Art thou, too, like the other fools? "Here pity lives when it is altogether dead. Who more impious than he that sorrows at God's judgment?"
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Sore I lamented, leaning on a rock, A rough-planed crag, until my guide addressed The words -- "Are you, too, foolish like the rest?
Here Pity is alive, e'en when quite dead. And what can be more wicked than the man Who 'gainst heaven's justice in his passion ran.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
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?
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Of a truth I began to weep leaning against one of the rocks of the hard cliff, so that my Escort said to me: "Art thou yet among the other foolish ones? Here pity lives when it is right dead. Who is more wicked than he who brings passion to the judgement of God?"
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Surely I wept, supported on a rise Of that fire-hardened rock, so that my guide Said to me: "Thou too 'mongst the little wise?
Here Pity lives alone, when it hath died. Who is the greater scelerate than he Who lets his passion 'gainst God's judgment bide?"
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Truly I wept, leaning on one of the rocks of the hard crag, so that my Guide said to me, “Art thou also one of the fools? Here pity liveth when it is quite dead. Who is more wicked than he who feels compassion at the Divine Judgment?"
[tr. Norton (1892)]
I wept indeed, leaning against a rock on the stony ridge, so overcome, that my Guide said to me: "Art thou too like the other fools? Here pity liveth but when it is truly dead. Who is more lost to righteousness than he whose pity is awakened at the decree of God?"
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Certain, I wept, supported on a comer Of the hard spur, so freely that my escort Said to me : "Art thou still among the simple?
Here piety lives when wholly dead is pity. Who is than he more desperately wicked Who to the doom divine doth bring compassion?
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
I wept indeed, leaning on one of the rocks of the rugged ridge, so that my Escort said to me: "Art thou too as witless as the rest? Here pity lives when it is quite dead. Who is more guilty than he that makes the divine counsel subject to his will?"
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Truly I wept, leant up against the breast Of the hard granite, so that my Guide said: "Art thou then still so foolish, like the rest?
Here pity lives when it is rightly dead. What more impiety can he avow Whose heart rebelleth at God's judgment dread?
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Truly I wept, leaned on the pinnacles Of the hard rock; until my guide said, "Why! And art thou too like all the other fools?
Here pity, or here piety, must die If the other lives; who's wickeder than one That's agonized by God's high equity?"
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
Certainly,
I wept. I leaned agianst the jagged face of a rock and wept so that my Guide said: "Still? Still like the other fools? There is no place
for pity here. Who is more arrogant within his soul, who is more impious than one who dares to sorrow at God's judgment?
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
Truly I wept, leaning on one of the rocks of the hard crag, so that my guide said to me, “Are you even yet among the other fools? Here pity lives when it is altogether dead. Who is more impious than he who sorrows at God’s judgment?"
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
Indeed I did weep, as I leaned my body against a jut of rugged rock. My guide: "So you are still like all the other fools?
In this place piety lives when pity is dead, for who could be more wicked than that man who tries to bend divine will to his own!
[tr. Musa (1971)]
Of course I wept, leaning against a rock along that rugged ridge, so that my guide told me: “Are you as foolish as the rest?
Here pity only lives when it is dead: for who can be more impious than he who links God's judgment to passivity?
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
I certainly wept, supported on one of the rocks Of the projecting stone, so that my escort Said to me: "Are you too like the other fools?
Here pity is alive when it is dead: Who is more criminal than he who suffers Because he does not like the divine judgement?
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Truly I wept,
Leaning on an outcrop of that rocky site, And my master spoke to me: "Do you suppose You are above with the other fools even yet?
Here, pity lives when it is dead to these. Who could be more impious than one who'd dare To sorrow at the judgment God decrees?"
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
Surely I wept, leaning on one of the rocks of the hard ridge, so that my guide said to me: “Are you still one of the other fools? Here pity lives when it is quite dead: who is more wicked than one who brings passion to God’s judgment?"
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Truly, I wept, leaning against one of the rocks of the solid cliff, so that my guide said to me: "Are you like other fools, as well? Pity is alive here, where it is best forgotten. Who is more impious than one who bears compassion for God’s judgement?"
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Of this, be sure: that, leaning on a spur of that unyielding cliff, I wept. "Are you," my escort said, "like them, an idiot still?
Here pity lives where pity's truth is dead. Who is more impious, more scarred with sin than one who pleads compassion at God's throne?"
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Yes, I wept, leaning against a spur of the rough crag, so that my escort said: "Are you still witless as the rest?
Here piety lives when pity is quite dead. Who is more impious than one who thinks that God shows passion in His judgment?"
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
O yes, I wept, leaning for support on one Of the solid rocks in the reef, making my guide Say this: "You're still one of the stupid ones?
Down here, the only living pity is dead. Is anyone more wicked than the man Regretting the righteous judgment decreed by God?"
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
I wept indeed, held up in my surprise
By one rock of the ridge. My Escort said:
"You're witless as the rest? Here pity dwells,
But only when it's absolutely dead.
Who is more guilty than he who by spells
And mysteries makes it seem as if divine
Judgment were subject to his will?"
[tr. James (2013)]
“Here is where you can’t afford to be lazy,” My Master said. “Lying in feather beds, Or under quilts, no one conquers fame,
Without which, once your earthly life is dead, The only traces you leave behind you are smoke Blown in the air or bubbles breaking in water.
[“Omai convien che tu così ti spoltre”, disse ’l maestro; “ché, seggendo in piuma, in fama non si vien, né sotto coltre;
sanza la qual chi sua vita consuma, cotal vestigio in terra di sé lascia, qual fummo in aere e in acqua la schiuma.”]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 24, l. 46ff (24.46-51) [Virgil] (1309) [tr. Raffel (2010)]
(Source)
The analogy of life to smoke and foam have been noted by commentators as resembling similar metaphors in Wisdom 2:1-4 and 5:14 and the Aeneid 5.740.
Virgil's urging of Dante to continue on out of a desire for fame, rather than to learn how to be saved or to come closer to God, have only recently been interpreted as an intentional showing that the poet/guide is not perfect -- another reason, beyond being only a virtuous pagan, that he cannot complete the journey with Dante to Paradise. (See here for more commentary on this.)
It now is proper, said my Lord, that you
Should from this bed of yours arise; for they
Ne'er Fame acquire who spend their lives in down:
He who, without pursuing her, consumes
His time, leaves himself such tracts behind,
As Froth in Water, or as Smoke in Air.
[tr. Rogers (1782), ll. 44-49]
Arise! -- In vain the slumb'ring soul aspires,
(Her powers betray'd by sloth, extinct her fires) In vain she tries the dazzling heights of fame:
As morning fogs disperse to meet no more,
As the waves close behind the lab'ring oar, The dastard soul expires without a name!
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 9]
“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."
[tr. Cary (1814)]
"Rouse thee," my master urged, "'tis time to throw This lethargy aside; who dozing lies 'Tween coverlet and feathers, ne'er shall know
Renown, and without her who wastes and dies, Leaves of himself like trace on earth behind, As foam on wave, or vapour on the skies."
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
"Now it behooves thee thus to free thyself from sloth," said the Master: "for sitting on down, or under coverlet, man come not into fame; without which whoso consumes his his life, leaves such vestige of himself on earth, as smoke in air or foam in water."
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
"Henceforth you must abandon indolence," My master said: "'tis not repose on plumes That leads to fame -- nor yet in shady glooms;
Without the which if one consumes his life, E'en such a vestige upon the earth he'll make As smoke in air, or foam on water's track."
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
"Now it befits thee to shake off this sloth," The Master said, "for resting upon down, And under quilts is not the way to fame;
And without this he who his life consumes, Leaves of himself on earth no better trace, Than smoke in air or on the water foam."
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
"Now it behoves thee thus to put off sloth," My Master said; "for sitting upon down, Or under quilt, one cometh not to fame,
Without which whoso his life consumes Such vestige leaveth of himself on earth, As smoke in air or in the water foam."
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
"Henceforward it behoves that thou brace thyself thus," said the Master; "for not by sitting on feathers does one come into fame, nor under quilts; without the which whoso consumes his life leaves such trace on earth of himself as smoke in air or its froth on water."
[tr. Butler (1885)]
"Henceforth 'tis fitting thou shouldst shake off sloth," The master cried, "since idly lapt in down 'Neath coverlets, for him Fame never groweth.
Who so his life consumes without renown. Leaves such a vestige of himself on earth, As it were froth on air or water blown."
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
“Now it behoves thee thus to put off sloth,” said the Master, “for, sitting upon down or under quilt, one attains not fame, without which he who consumes his life leaves of himself such trace on earth as smoke in air, or in water the foam."
[tr. Norton (1892)]
"'Tis thus that thou must now shake thyself free from sloth," my Master said, "for seated on down, or under coverlet, man cometh not to fame; unattended by which whoso doth spend his days, leaveth such traces of himself on earth, as smoke in air or foam on water."
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
"Thus must thou ever shake off sloth henceforward;" The Master said, " for sitting upon feathers Man cometh not to fame, nor under quilting;
Which lacking, whosoe'er consumes his life-time Leaves of himself on earth just such a vestige As smoke doth leave in air, and foam in water."
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
"Now must thou thus cast off all sloth," said the Master "for sitting on down or under blankets none comes to fame, and without it he that consumes his life leaves such trace of himself on earth as smoke in air or foam on water."
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
"Now it behoveth lassitude to leave," The Master said, "for softly on down reclined Or under coverlet, none can fame achieve,
Without which he who dallieth leaves behind Such vestige of himself on earth imprest As foam in water or smoke upon the wind."
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
"Put off this sloth," the master said, "for shame! Sitting on feather-pillows, lying reclined Beneath the blanket is no way to fame --
Fame, without which man's life wastes out of mind, Leaving on earth no more memorial Than foam in water or smoke upon the wind."
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
"Up on your feet! This is no time to tire!" my Master cried. "The man who lies asleep will never waken fame, and his desire
and all his life drift past him like a dream, and the traces of his memory fade from time like smoke in the air, or ripples on a stream."
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
“Now it behooves you thus to cast off sloth,” said my master, “for sitting on down or under coverlet, no one comes to fame, without which whoso consumes his life leaves such vestige of himself on earth as smoke in air or foam on water."
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
"Come on, shake off the covers of this sloth," the master said, "for sitting softly cushioned, or tucked in bed, is no way to win fame;
and without it man must waste his life away, leaving such traces of what he was on earth as smoke in wind and foam upon the water."
[tr. Musa (1971)]
“Now you must cast aside your laziness,” my master said, “for he who rests on down or under covers cannot come to fame;
and he who spends his life without renown leaves such a vestige of himself on earth as smoke bequeaths to air or foam to water."
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
"Now is the time for you to rouse yourself," The master said; "for sitting on a cushion Is not the way to fame, nor staying in bed;
And without fame, a man must spend his life Only to leave such traces upon earth As smoke leaves in the air, or foam in the water."
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
"To cast off sloth Now well behooves you," said my master then: "For resting on soft down, or underneath
The blanket's cloth, is not how fame is won -- Without which, one spends life to leave behind As vestige of himself on earth the sign
Smoke leaves on air, or foam on water."
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 46ff]
“From now on you will have to cast off sloth in this way,” said my master, “for one does not gain fame sitting on down cushions, or while under coverlets; and whoever consumes his life without fame leaves a mark of himself on earth like smoke in the air or foam in water."
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Now, you must free yourself from sloth: men do not achieve fame, sitting on down, or under coverlets; fame, without which whoever consumes his life leaves only such trace of himself, on earth, as smoke does in the air, or foam on water.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
"Now you must needs," my teacher said, "shake off your wonted indolence. No fame is won beneath the quilt or sunk in feather cushions.
Whoever, fameless, wastes his life away, leaves of himself no greater mark on earth than smoke in air or froth upon the wave."
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
'Now must you cast off sloth,' my master said. 'Sitting on feather cushions or stretched out under comforters, no one comes to fame.
Without fame, he who spends his time on earth leaves only such a mark upon the world as smoke does on the air or foam on water.'
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
“Now you must,”
My Guide said, “quell the slothful urge to rest.
A swansdown seat and a soft blanket just
Keep you from fame, without which no one who
Consumes his life leaves more trace in the world
Than smoke in air and foam on water do."
[tr. James (2013)]
Therefore rise up; your breathing short o'ercome
With Courage, for it ev'ry battle wins;
Unless your heavy limbs submit to sloth.
[tr. Rogers (1782)]
Arise!-- It ill befits the mounting mind
With mortal cares debas'd, to lag behind.
[tr. Boyd (1802)]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Up then; o'ercome thy breathlessness by mind; To win the battle mind shall never fail. If by her own dull body's weight declined
She faint not.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
And therefore rise! conquer thy panting with the soul, that conquers every battle, if with its heavy body it sinks not down.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Then rouse thyself and conquer thy fatigue, With mind victorious in every battle, Unless the dull frame subdue its mettle.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Up, up, then, up! conquer thy suff'ring breath, That courage rouse which ev'ry battle wins, If not kept down by the too-heavy flesh.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
And therefore raise thee up, o'ercome the anguish With spirit that o'ercometh every battle, If with its heavy body it sink not.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
And therefore lift up, conquer the task with the mind that wins every battle, if with its heavy jody it throw not itself down.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Therefore arise, thy weakness stem with worth Of soul, that of all battles wins the prime, Unless 'tis borne down by the body's dearth.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
And therefore rise up, conquer the exhaustion with the spirit that conquers every battle, if by its heavy body it be not dragged down.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Wherefore bestir thyself; conquer thy weariness with the courageous soul that conquereth in every fight, if it so be that it is not dragged down by the body's weight.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
And so do thou rise up, conquer the shortness Of breath with spirit that wins every battle. If with its heavy body it does not totter.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
Rise, therefore, conquer thy panting with the soul, which conquers in every battle if it sink not with its body's weight.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
And therefore rise! Quell now thy panting breast With the soul's strength that winneth every fight, So it be not by the body's weight deprest.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Rise up; control thy panting breath, and call The soul to aid, that wins in every fight, Save the dull flesh should drag it to a fall.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
Now, therefore, rise. Control your breath, and call upon the strength of soul that wins all battles unless it sink in the gross body's fall.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
Rise, therefore; conquer your panting with the soul that vvins every battle, if with its heavy body it sinks not down.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
Stand up! Dominate this weariness of yours with the strength of soul that wins in every battle if it does not sink beneath the body's weight.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
Therefore, get up; defeat your breathlessness with spirit that can win all battles if the body’s heaviness does not deter it.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
Therefore get up: control your breathlessness By force of mind, which wins in every battle, If with its heavy body it does not sink.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
So stand
And overcome your panting -- with the soul Which wins all battles if it does not despond Under its heavy body's weight.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 52ff]
And therefore stand up; conquer your panting with the spirit that conquers in every battle, if it does not let the heavy body crush it down.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
So rise, and overcome weariness with spirit, that wins every battle, if it does not lie down with the gross body.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Get up! breathe with the soul, for it is brave in every battle, and will always win, unless the heavy body be its grave.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
So upwards! On! And vanquish labored breath! In any battle mind-power will prevail, unless the weight of body loads it down.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Get to your feet! Conquer this laboring breath with strength of mind, which wins the battle if not dragged down by body's weight.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Therefore arise, with your soul’s flag unfurled
Above your fear, for so your soul prevails
In every battle if the body's weight
Can't sink it.
[tr. James (2013)]
This said, the thief lifted his hands on high, Making the figs with both his thumbs, and shrieking: “The fico for Thee, God! take that, say I!”
At once I liked the snakes; for one came sneaking About his throat, and wreathed itself around As though to say: “I will not have thee speaking.”
[Al fine de le sue parole il ladro le mani alzò con amendue le fiche, gridando: “Togli, Dio, ch’a te le squadro!”.
Da indi in qua mi fuor le serpi amiche, perch’una li s’avvolse allora al collo, come dicesse ’Non vo’ che più diche’.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 25, l. 1ff (25.1-6) (1320) [tr. Sayers (1949)]
(Source)
In Circle 8, the 7th Bolgia, where thieves are tormented by snakes. After chatting with Dante, one of the damned souls makes obscene gestures toward God.
The "fig" is generally thought to be poking the thumb between the index and middle finger, a gesture still found around the Mediterranean and Latin America, and carries the same sentiment as flipping someone off. The precise gesture is debated (with relish) by Dante scholars, all of whom agree at the very least that it is a naughty one.
When thus the Thief had spoken, he his hands
Lifted aloft with mocking signs, and cried;
"See these, O God, for pointed they're to you."
The Serpents now were to me friends become;
For one entiwn'd himself about this neck,
As if he'd say, You shall not more blaspheme.
[tr. Rogers (1782)]
Sternly he ceas'd, with execrations dire;
And, loud blaspheming Heav'n's Eternal Sire, He rais'd his ruffian hands, and dare his wrath!
But soon a spiny snake his members binds,
Another round his vocal passage winds, And stops with many a fold the felon's breath.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 1]
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!”
[tr. Cary (1814)]
The plunderer ceased, and twisting both his thumbs
Between the fingers, tossed his hands on high,
Crying, "Take mine homage, God, to thee it comes!"
Thenceforth befriended me the serpent fry.
For one around his neck that moment twined.
As it had said, "None other word will I
From him."
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
At the conclusion of his words, the thief raised up his hands with both the figs, shouting: "Take them, God, for at thee I aim them!" From this time forth, the serpents were my friends; for one of them then coiled itself about his neck, as if saying: "Thou shalt speak no farther!"
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
And when his words were ended, there the thief
Upraises his hands in mockery on high --
"Take them, O God! I level them at thee."
Henceforth the serpent race and I were friends;
One, at the point, his neck entwining o'er,
As if -- "I do not wish thee to say more."
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
He spoke, and when he ended then the thief His hands uplifted, and with sign obscene, Exclaim'd -- "Thus I defy thee, oh, thou God!"
Henceforth as friends I held that serpent brood, For one of them coil'd instant round his neck, As if he would have said -- "Speak thou no more!"
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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"
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
At the end of his speech the robber raised his hands with both their figs, crying, 'Take them, God, for at thee I show them.' From that time to this have the serpents been my friends, seeing that one wound itself then about his neck, as though it said: 'I will not that thou say more.'
[tr. Butler (1885)]
When he had closed his speech the robber there Raised his clenched fingers with the thumb thrust through, Shouting: "God take him, him to thee I bare."
Then did the serpents prove my guardians true, For one entwined himself around his neck. As though it said. Thou shalt not speak anew.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
At the end of his words the thief raised his hands with both the figs, crying, “Take that, God! for at thee I square them.” Thenceforth the serpents were my friends, for then one coiled around his neck, as if it said, “I will not that thou say more.”
[tr. Norton (1892)]
His words came to an end, the thief held both his hands aloft with scornful gesture, the while he cried aloud: " Take it, God, for it is at Thee I aim it." From thenceforth were the snakes my friends, for at that moment one of them entwined himself about his neck, as if to say," 'Tis not my will that thou shouldst utter more."
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
When he had made an end of words, the robber Upraised his hands with both the figs of insult, Crying out: "Take it, God, at thee I square them."
Serpents have been endeared to me thenceforward; For on his neck one coiled itself that moment, As who should say: "I let thee not speak further."
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
At the end of his words the thief lifted up his hands with both the figs, crying, "Take that, God, for at Thee I square them!" From that time forth the serpents were my friends, for one coiled itself then about his neck, as if to say: I will not have thee say more."
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
When he had made an end, the thief exclaimed, Raising his hands with both the figs on high: "Take thou them, God; at thee, at thee they are aimed."
Thenceforth the serpents were no enemy To me; for round his neck, as if it hissed Thou speak'st no more! one coiled and clung thereby.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
When he had finished, the thief -- to his disgrace -- raised his hands with both fists making figs, and cried: "Here, God! I throw them in your face!"
Thereat the snakes became my friends, for one coiled itself about the wretch's neck as if it were saying: "You shall not go on!"
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
At the end of his words the thief raised up his hands with both the figs, crying, “Take them, God, for I aim them at you!” From this time forth the serpents were my friends, for one then coiled itself about his neck, as if it said, “You shall say no more.”
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
When he had finished saying this, the thief shaped his fists into figs and raised them high and cried: "Here, God, I've shaped them just for you!"
From then on all those snakes became my friends, for one of them at once coiled round his neck as if to say, "That's all you're going to say."
[tr. Musa (1971)]
When he had finished with his words, the thief raised high his fists with both figs cocked and cried: “Take that, o God; I square them off for you!”
From that time on, those serpents were my friends, for one of them coiled then around his neck, as if to say, “I'll have you speak no more."
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
When he had finished speaking the thief Raised both his hands, making obscene gestures, And called out: ‘There you are God, so much for you!’
From that moment the serpents were my friends, Because one of them wound about his neck As if to say: ‘I want you to say no more.'
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
The thief held up his hands when he was through, And "God," he cried, making the fig with both -- "Take these: I aim them squarely up at you!"
The serpents were my friends from that time forth. For then one coiled itself about his neck As if to say, "That's all then, from your mouth."
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
At the end of his words the thief raised his hands with both the figs, crying: “Take them, God, I’m aiming at you!” From then on snakes have been my friends, because one of them wrapped itself around his neck, as if to say “I won’t let him say more.”
[tr. Durling (1996)]
At the end of his speech, the thief raised his hands, both making the fig, the obscene gesture, with thumb between fingers, shouting: ‘Take this, God, I aim it at you.’ From that moment the snakes were my friends, since one of them coiled itself round his neck, as if hissing: ‘You will not be able to speak again.’
[tr. Kline (2002)]
His words now reached their end. And then the robber hoisted hands on high -- a fig-fuck formed in each -- and screamed: "Take that! I'm aiming, God, at you!"
From that point on, the serpents were my friends. For one entwined its length around his neck as if to say: "I'd have him speak no more."
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Then, making the figs with both his thumbs,
the thief raised up his fists and cried:
'Take that, God! It's aimed at you!'
From that time on the serpents were my friends,
for one of them coiled itself around his neck
as if to say, 'Now you shall speak no more.'
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
His words thrown down, the thief held up his hands, Making an obscene gesture with both his thumbs And crying: "For you, O God, I aim this at you!"
And then I began to like the snakes, for one Of them was quickly coiling around his neck, As if saying" "You've talked as much as you're allowed to."
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
The thief raised both his hands when he said this,
Two fingers up from each, the figs: and cried
“You get it, God? You know what you can kiss?”
From then on, all the snakes were on my side,
For one looped round his neck, as if to say
“You've said enough.”
[tr. James (2013)]
If, dear Reader, what I tell you throws you into disbelief, it’s no surprise — I scarcely credit it myself, God knows,
and I was there.
[Se tu se’ or, lettore, a creder lento ciò ch’io dirò, non sarà maraviglia, ché io che ’l vidi, a pena il mi consento.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 25, l. 46ff (25.46-48) (1309) [tr. Carson (2002)]
(Source)
Dante is gobsmacked over a serpent/lizard biting a thief, and each of their bodies changing into the other. He spends the rest of the canto in detailed description of the transformation.
If, Reader, you are tardy to believe
What I shall say, it will no wonder raise;
For I who saw it scarcely give assent.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 42ff]
Nor marvel, ye that hear the wondrous tale!
If doubts, arising oft, your minds assail! Those eyes, that saw them, scarce believ'd the sight.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 8]
O reader! now
Thou be not apt to credit what I tell,
No marvel; for myself do scarce allow
The witness of mine eyes.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
If, reader, thou should'st tardily receive What now I tell, it might not much surprise, When I, who saw it, scarce myself believe.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
If thou art now, O Reader, slow to credit what I have to tell, it will be no wonder: for I who saw it, scare allow it to myself.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
And if thou, reader, to believe art slow, What I shall tell, 'twill be by no means strange, For I who saw it must suspect the change.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
If, reader, thou art backward to believe What I shall say, no wonder thou shouldst doubt, For I myself who saw can scarce believe.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
If thou art now, reader, slow to believe that which I am going to say, it will be no marvel, for I who saw it hardly allow it to myself.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
If now, O reader, thou shouldst scarce be bent To trust my speech no marvel it will be, Since I who saw it scarcely can consent.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
If thou art now, Reader, slow to credit that which I shall tell, it will not be a marvel, for I who saw it hardly admit it to myself.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
If, Reader, thou art now slow to believe what I shall tell thee, it were no thing to wonder at, for I that saw it can scarce admit its truth.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
If thou art slow, now, reader, at believing What I shall say, it will not be a marvel, For I, who saw it, scarcely do accept it.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
If, reader, thou art now slow to credit what I shall tell, it will be no wonder, for I who saw it scarcely admit it to myself.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
If thou art slow of faith, thou who dost read What I shall tell, 'tis nothing for surprise. Since half I doubt, I who witnessed it indeed.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Reader, if thou discredit what is here Set down, no wonder; for I hesitate Myself, who saw it all as clear as clear.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
Reader, should you doubt what next I tell, it will be no wonder, for though I saw it happen, I can scarce believe it possible, even in Hell.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
If, reader, you are now slow to credit that which I shall tell, it will be no wonder, for I who saw it do scarcely admit it to myself.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
Now if, my reader, you should hesitate to believe what I shall say, there's little wonder, for I, the witness, scarcely can believe it.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
If, reader, you are slow now to believe what I shall tell, that is no cause for wonder, for I who saw it hardly can accept it.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
If you now, reader, are slow to believe What I shall tell you, it will be no wonder For I who saw it can scarcely credit it!
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Reader, if you are slow To credit what I tell you next, it should
Be little wonder, for I who saw it know
That I myself can hardly acknowledge it
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 44ff]
If now, reader, you are slow to believe what I say, that will be no marvel, for I, who saw it, hardly allow it.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Reader, if you are slow to credit, now, what I have to tell, it will be no wonder, since I who saw it, scarcely credit it myself.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
If you are slow, my reader, to receive, in faith, what I'll say now -- no miracle. I saw it all, and yet can scarce believe.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
If, reader, you are slow to credit what I'm about to tell you, it's no wonder: I saw it, and I myself can scarce believe it.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Now, readers all,
If you cannot quite believe my story, I find it hard, and I'm the one who saw it.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
If you are slow
To credit, reader, what I tell you now,
No wonder. I, who saw it to be so,
Scarcely believe it still.
[tr. James (2013)]
And seeing me so intent,
my Guide said: “There are souls within those flames;
each sinner swathes himself in his own torment.”
[E ’l duca, che mi vide tanto atteso, disse: “Dentro dai fuochi son li spirti; catun si fascia di quel ch’elli è inceso”]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 26, l. 46ff (26.46-48) (1309) [tr. Ciardi (1954)]
(Source)
Seeing the fate of "Counsellors of Fraud" in the Eighth Circle, Eighth Bolgia. They advised others to commit deceptive acts, and suffer from the "thievish fire" which conceals their identity and burns their tongues when they speak.
My Guide, who me observed thus intent,
Said, Sprits are inclosed in those fires,
And each is wrapt in that by which he's burnt.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 45ff]
"Behold yon countless fires," the Mantuan cry'd,
"Each spiral flame a criminal contains,
And wraps the victim round in viewless chains. See! how they shrink, and strive their woes to hide."
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 8]
The guide, who mark’d
How I did gaze attentive, thus began: “Within these ardours are the spirits, each Swath’d in confining fire.”
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Mine earnest gaze
My leader noting told: "These fires are fraught
With each a soul, that round itself hath twined
The flame it suffers."
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
And the Guide, who saw me thus attent, said: "Within these fires are the psirits; each swathes himself with that which burns him."
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
The guide, who saw me thus attentive look -- "In fires," he said, "the spirts are inhumed, And swathed in that with which at first illumed."
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
My guide, who mark'd my keen desire to know, Then said -- "Within these flames are spirits held; And his own flame to each one clothing makes."
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
And the Leader, who beheld me so attent,
Exclaimed: "Within the fires the spirits are; Each swathes himself with that wherewith he burns."
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
And the Leader who saw me thus intent said: "Within the fires are the spirits; each is swathed of that wherewith he is kindled."
[tr. Butler (1885)]
My chief, who saw me so intently stand, Told me: "Within the flames the spirits bide; Each one is swathed in his consuming band."
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
And the Leader, who saw me thus attent, said, “Within these fires are the spirits; each is swathed by that wherewith he is enkindled.”
[tr. Norton (1892)]
And my Guide, who saw me thus intent, said: "The spirits are within the fires: each one is mantled with what consumeth him."
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
And said my guide, who so intent observed me, "Within the fires thou seest are the spirits: Each is wrapt round with that wherewith he blazes."
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
My Leader, who saw me so intent, said: "Within the flames are the spirits; each is swathed in that which burns him."
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
The Guide, who saw me gazing thus attent, Said: "Within these fires are the spirits confined, Burned by the shroud within which they are pent."
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Seeing me thus intently lean and hover. My guide said: “In those flames the spirits go Shrouded, with their own torment for their cover.”
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
My leader, who saw me so intent, said, “Within the fires are the spirits: each swathes himself with that which burns him.”
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
And my guide who saw me so absorbed, explained: "There are souls concealed within these moving fires, each one swathed in his burning punishment."
[tr. Musa (1971)]
My guide, who noted how intent I was, told me: “Within those fires there are souls; each one is swathed in that which scorches him.”
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
My escort, when he saw me so attentive, Said: ‘In each fire there is a spirit; Each one is wrapped in what is burning him.’
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Seeing how from the top
I gazed intently down, my master said, "Within the flames are spirits; each one here Enfolds himself in what burns him."
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
And my leader, who saw me so intent, said: “Within the fires are the spirits; each is swathed in that which burns him inwardly.”
[tr. Durling (1996)]
And the guide, who saw me so intent, said: ‘The spirits are inside those fires: each veils himself in that which burns him.’
[tr. Kline (2002)]
My leader, who had seen how hard I gazed, informed me now: ‘In all these fires are souls. Each one is swaddled in its inward blaze.’
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
My leader, when he saw me so intent, said: 'These spirits stand within the flames. Each one is wrapped in that in which he burns.'
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
And my Master said, seeing these sights working On me: "Here the spirits are inside their flames, Each sinner wrapped in the sin which burned him on earth."
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
And then my Leader, seeing me Look so intent, said “All these flames are what False counsellors must wear and be burned by.”
[tr. James (2013), l. 53ff]
Not sweet son, nor revered old father, nor The long-due love which was to have made glad Penelope for all the pain she bore,
Could conquer the inward hunger that I had To master earth’s experience, and to attain Knowledge of man’s mind, both the good and bad.
[Né dolcezza di figlio, né la pieta del vecchio padre, né ‘l debito amore lo qual dovea Penelopé far lieta,
vincer potero dentro a me l’ardore ch’i’ ebbi a divenir del mondo esperto, e de li vizi umani e del valore.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 26, l. 94ff (26.94-99) [Ulysses] (1309) [tr. Binyon (1943)]
(Source)
Ulysses, explaining why he chose to continue exploring over filial piety, leading to his eventual death.
Not the sweet fondness for a Son, nor yet
The pious duty for an ancient Sire,
Nor all the love I ow'd Penelope,
That ardor could subdue which me possest,
In distant climes experience to learn,
And human Vices as well as Virtues know.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 90ff]
Yet, after all my toils, nor aged sire,
Nor son, nor spouse, could check the wild desire Again to tempt the feat, with vent'rous oar.
In search of same I measur'd various climes,
Still vers'd in deeper frauds and nameless crimes, With slender band, and solitary sail.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 16-17]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
That name; nor sweet remembrance of my boy, Nor old Laertes' grief, nor debt of love, Which owed Penelope the arrear of joy,
Could quench my burning zeal, that inly strove, And bade the wisdom of the world explore. And human vices, human worth to prove.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Neither fondness for my son, nor reverence for my aged father, nor the due love that should have cheered Penelope, could conquer in me the ardour that I had to gain experience of the world, and of human vice and worth.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Nor sweetness of my son, nor piety For aged father, nor arrear of love To glad Penelope, my mind could move,
Could conquer yet the ardour in my breast In the worldly wisdom to become expert -- In every virtue, and in every art.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
My son's sweet ways, the sacred duty claim'd By my old father, nor that debt of love Due to Penelope, her source of joy,
Could conquer in my soul the burning thirst To see and know the deep things of the world, To study human worth and human vice.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Neither the sweetness of my son, nor my affection for my old father, nor the due love which ought to have made Penelope happy, could conquer within me the ardour which I had to become experienced in the world, and in the vices of men and in their goodness.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Not my son's sweetness, nor compassionate fear For my old father, nor the lawful love That should have cheered Penelope so dear.
Could from my mind the ardent wish remove Of the wide world experience to attain, And human vices and man's worth to prove.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Neither fondness for my son, nor piety for my old father, nor the due love that should have made Penelope glad, could overcome within me the ardor that I had to gain experience of the world, and of the vices of men, and of their valor.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Neither affection for my boy, nor reverence for an aged sire, nor even the debt of love that should have filled Penelope with gladness, had power to quell within me the yearning I had nourished to win experience of the world, men's vices and their worth.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Nor sweetness of my son, nor filial duty To my old father, nor the love I owed her That should have made Penelope still happy.
Could overcome within my breast the ardour I had to win experience world-embracing, As well of human vices as of virtue
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
Not fondness for a son, nor duty to an aged father, nor the love I owed Penelope which should have gladdened her, could conquer within me the passion I had to gain experience of the world and of the vices and the worth of men.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
No tenderness for my son, nor piety To my old father, nor the wedded love That should have comforted Penelope
Could conquer in me the restless itch to rove And rummage through the world exploring it, All human worth and wickedness to prove.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
Not fondness for my son, nor reverence for my aged father, nor Penelope's claim
To the joys of love, could drive out of my mind the lust to experience the far-flung world and the failings and felicities of mankind.
[tr. Ciardi (1954), l. 89ff]
Neither fondness for my son, nor reverence for my aged father, nor the due love which would have made Penelope glad, could conquer in me the longing that I had to gain experience of the world, and of human vice and worth.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
Not sweetness of a son, not reverence for an aging father, not the debt of love I owed Penelope to make her happy,
could quench deep in myself the burning wish to know the world and have experience of all man's vices, of all human worth.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
Neither my fondness for my son nor pity for my old father nor the love I owed Penelope, which would have gladdened her,
was able to defeat in me the longing I had to gain experience of the world and of the vices and the worth of men.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
Neither affection for my son, nor duty To my old father, nor the proper love Which should have given Penelope happiness,
Could overcome, within me, the desire I had to have experience of the world, And of the vices and virtues of mankind.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Not fondness for my son, nor any claim
Of reverence for my father, nor love I owed
Penelope, to please her, could overcome
My longing for experience of the world,
Of human vices and virtue.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 91ff]
Neither the sweetness of a son, nor compassion for my old father, nor the love owed to Penelope, which should have made her glad, could conquer within me the ardor that I had to gain experience of the world and of human vices and worth.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Not even my fondness for my son, Telemachus, my reverence for my aged father, Laërtes, nor the debt of love that should have made Penelope happy, could restrain in me the desire I had, to gain experience of the world, and of human vice and worth.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
No tenderness for son, no duty owed to ageing fatherhood, no love that should have brought my wife Penelope delight,
could overcome in me my long desire, burning to understand how this world works, and know of human vices, worth and valour.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Not tenderness for a son, nor filial duty toward my agèd father, nor the love I owed Penelope that would have made her glad,
could overcome the fervor that was mine to gain experience of the world and learn about man's vices, and his worth.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
For my young son's sweetness, or any concern About my aged father, or the debt of love I owed Penelope, which would have pleased her,
For nothing could conquer in me the craving to know This world wee live in, learning its nature, and how To deal with either human vice or worth.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
No love for my son,
No duty to my father, and what's more
No love I owed Penelope -- the one
Who would have been most glad -- could overcome
In me the passion that I had, to gain
Experience of the world, and know the sum
Of virtue, pleasure, wisdom, vice, and pain.
[tr. James (2013), l. 105ff]
Consider what you came from: you are Greeks! You were not born to live like mindless brutes but to follow paths of excellence and knowledge.
[Considerate la vostra semenza: fatti non foste a viver come bruti, ma per seguir virtute e canoscenza.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 26, l. 118ff (26.118-120) [Ulysses] (1309) [tr. Musa (1971)]
(Source)
Speaking to his sailors on their final voyage, urging them to explore the unknown.
On your original reflect, nor think That you were, made, like Brutes, to only live, But knowledge and to virtuous acts pursue.
[tr. Rogers (1782)]
Recall your glorious toils, your lofty birth. Nor like the grov'ling herds, ally'd to earth. No base despondence quit your lofty claim.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 19]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Bethink you of your birth-rank and its dues: Ye were not thus for brutish life endued. But Virtue's path and Learning's born to chuse.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
Consider your origin: ye were not formed to live like brutes, but to follow virtue and knowledge.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
Consider, then, the birth from whence you sprung: You were not made, like brutes, to live and die: The path of virtue and of knowledge try.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Consider well the seed from whence you sprung; You were not made to live as live the beasts, But to seek virtue and true knowledge grasp.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Consider your begetting; ye were not made to live as brutes, but to follow virtue and knowledge.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Over your noble birthright ye should muse; To live like senseless brutes ye were not made, But knowledge to pursue and virtue use.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Consider ye your origin; ye were not made to live as brutes, but for pursuit of virtue and of knowledge.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Bethink you of your birth: ye were not made to live the life of brutes, but to obey the call of valour and of knowledge.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
Consider ye the seed that ye are sprung from: Ye were not made to live as the brute creatures, But that ye virtue might pursue and knowledge.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
Take thought of the seed from which you spring. You were not born to live as brutes, but to follow virtue and knowledge.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Think on the seed ye spring from! Ye were made Not to live life of brute beasts of the field But follow virtue and knowledge unafraid.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Think of your breed; for brutish ignorance Your mettle was not made; you were made men. To follow after knowledge and excellence.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
Greeks! You were not born to live like brutes,
but to press on toward manhood and recognition!
[tr. Ciardi (1954), l. 110]
Consider your origin: you were not made to live as brutes, but to pursue virtue and knowledge.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
Consider well the seed that gave you birth: you were not made to live your lives as brutes, but to be followers of worth and knowledge.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
Consider then the race from which you have sprung: You were not made to live like animals, But to pursue virtue and know the world.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Consider well your seed: You were not born to live as a mere brute does,
But for the pursuit of knowledge and the good.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
Consider your sowing: you were not made to live like brutes, but to follow virtue and knowledge.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Consider your origin: you were not made to live like brutes, but to follow virtue and knowledge.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Hold clear in thought your seed and origin. You were not made to live as mindless brutes, but go in search of virtue and true knowledge.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Consider how your souls were sown: you were not made to live like brutes or beasts, but to pursue virtue and knowledge.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Think of your origins, the people you come from: You were not made to live like wild-toothed beasts, But for the pursuit of virtue and honest knowledge.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Remember now your pedigree.
You were not born to live as brutes. Virtue
And knowledge are your guiding lights.
[tr. James (2013)]
If I believed that my reply were made To one who ever in the world could dwell, This flame without all motion would have stayed.
But since there never from this deep of Hell Turned back again one soul, if truth I hear, Fearless of infamy my tale I tell.
S’i’ credesse che mia risposta fosse a persona che mai tornasse al mondo, questa fiamma staria sanza più scosse;
ma però che già mai di questo fondo non tornò vivo alcun, s’i’ odo il vero, sanza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 27, l. 61ff (27.61-66) [Montefeltro] (1309) [tr. Minchin (1885)]
(Source)
If I beliv'd
That my reply were to a person made
Who ever should return into the world,
My Flame should without any motion rest.
But, since none ever from this Gulph alive
Return again, if what I've heard be true;
I'll answer without fear of infamy.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 57ff]
Thy rig'rous language found a vent
Firm as the rod of fate secures my fame,
As hence no tell-tale goes to spread my shame, Else were thy rash untimely pray'r deny'd.
But, since the Stygian Bar prevents thy flight,
condemn'd to linker here in endless night, Listen, sad Soul!
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 20-21]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Could I believe I were mine answer making To one that ever should his path retrace Back to the world, this flame no more were shaken;
But since none living from our dismal place Hath e'er remounted, if I hear the truth, I give thee answer, fearless of disgrace.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
If I thought my answer to one who ever could return to the world, this flame would shake no more; but since none ever did return alive from this depth, if what I hear be true, without fear of infamy I answer thee.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
If I thought that I was answering one Who could return unto the world again, Still without motion should this flame remain.
But since from out this dungeon never one To earth returned, if what I've heard is true, I fear no infamy in answering you.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Did I believe my answer now were made To one again to tread the upper world, Then should this flame flicker and wave no more;
But since there never from this utter depth Return'd one living thing, if such the truth, Then will I answer thee and fear no shame.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
If I believed that my reply was to a person who should ever return to the world, this flame would stand without more shaking. But seeing that from this gulf none has returned alive, if I hear the truth, I answer thee without fear of infamy.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
If I could believe that my answer might be to a person who should ever return unto the world, this flame would stand without more quiverings; but inasmuch as, if I hear truth, never from this depth did any living man return, without fear of infamy I answer thee.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Could I believe my answer were to one who would ever return to the world, this flame should stand for ever motionless ; but since none ever hath returned alive from out this gorge, if it be truth I hear, fearless of infamy I make my answer to thee.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
If I believed that my reply were given To one who might the world, someday, revisit, This flame would stay at rest without more flutter.
But, forasmuch as from this depth none ever Did make return alive, if I hear truly. Fearless of infamy I give thee answer.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
If I thought my answer were to one who would ever return to the world, this flame should stay without another movement; but since one ever returned alive from this depth, if what I hear is true, I answer thee without fear of infamy.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
If I believed that my reply were made To one who could revisit earth, this flame Would be at rest, and its commotion laid.
But seeing that alive none ever came Back from this pit, if it be truth I hear, I answer without dread of injured fame.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
If I thought that I were making Answer to one that might return to view The world, this flame should evermore cease shaking.
But since from this abyss, if I hear true, None ever came alive, I have no fear Of infamy, but give thee answer due.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
If I believed that my reply were made to one who could ever climb to the world again, this flame would shake no more. But since no shade
ever returned -- if what I am told is true -- from this blind world into the living light, without fear of dishonor I answer you.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
If I thought that my answer were to one who might ever return to the world, this flame would shake no more; but since from this depth none ever returned alive, if what I hear is true, I answer you without fear of infamy.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
If I thought that I were speaking to a soul who someday might return to see the world, most certainly this flame would cease to flicker;
but since no one, if I have heard the truth, ever returns alive from this deep pit, with no fear of dishonor I answer you.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
If I thought my reply were meant for one who ever could return into the world, this flame would stir no more; and yet, since none --
if what I hear is true -- ever returned alive from this abyss, then without fear of facing infamy, I answer you.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
If I thought that I was making my reply To anyone who would ever go back to the world, This flame would stay absolutely still;
But since no one ever came back alive From this deep place, if what I hear is true, I answer you without fear of infamy.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
If I believed I gave My answer to one who'd ever go once more
Back to the world, this tongue fo flame would have No motion. But since, if what I hear is true, None every returned from this abyss alive,
Not fearing infamy I will answer you.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 89ff]
If I believed that my reply were to a person who would ever return to the world, this flame would remain without further shaking; but since never from this depth has any one returned alive, if I hear the truth, without fear of infamy I answer you.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
If I thought my answer was given to one who could ever return to the world, this flame would flicker no more, but since, if what I hear is true, no one ever returned, alive, from this deep, I reply, without fear of defamation.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
If I supposed that any word of this were heard by one who might return to review the world, my flame would stay forever voiceless.
But since none, if what I hear is true, has from this deep returned alive, I fear no ignominy when I answer you.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
Should I suppose, in answering, I spoke to any person who should ever see the world again, this flame would shake no more.
But since, if all I hear is true, there’s none who ever yet, alive, escaped these deeps, I may reply without the fear of infamy.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
If I but thought that my response were made to one perhaps returning to the world, this tongue of flame would cease to flicker.
But since, up from these depths, no one has yet returned alive, if what I hear is true, I answer without fear of being shamed.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
If I believed that I were making an answer To someone able to walk again in the living World, this upright flame would stop its quivering,
But since no person has ever returned alive From this depth of Hell, if what I hear is true, I answer you without fear of disgrace.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
If I thought now to afford
An answer to one bound to breathe the air
Again in the fair world, this flame would stand
With no more movement, but since none return
Alive from these depths, if I understand
Correctly what I hear, how could I earn
More infamy that I have now?
[tr. James (2013)]
When I Still wore my mother’s gift of flesh and bone, My deeds were not the lion’s. I was sly,
A fox. All wiles and ways to slink alone Unseen. I knew, and practiced hidden arts So everywhere on Earth they were renowned.
[Mentre ch’io forma fui d’ossa e di polpe che la madre mi diè, l’opere mie non furon leonine, ma di volpe.
Li accorgimenti e le coperte vie io seppi tutte, e sì menai lor arte, ch’al fine de la terra il suono uscie.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 27, l. 73ff (27.73-78) [Montefeltro] (1309) [tr. James (2013), l. 82ff]
(Source)
Whilst I was formed of the Bones and Flesh
Which me my Mother gave, whate'er I did
Partook not of the Lion, but of the Fox
All wariness, and covert ways so well
I knew, that my Art sounmded o'er the earth.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 71ff]
From earliest youth I shun'd the lion Law,
Contented, with the wily fox, to draw The heedless foe within my fatal snare:
Fraud was my fame, and circumvention deep.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 13]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
While I the shape in bones and flesh arrayed Wore which my mother gave, the foxes style More than the lion's all mine acts betrayed.
The covert ways -- the subtleties of guile -- I knew them all, and soon the world around Rung with my fame, how versed in every wile.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
While I was in the form of bones and pulp, which my mother gave me, my deeds were not those of the lion, but of the fox. All wiles and covert ways I knew; and used the art of them so well, that to the ends of the earth the sound went forth.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
When of the bone and pulp my mother gave I still was formed, the works I left behind Were of the fox, not of the lion kind:
Contrivances, and all the hidden schemes, I knew them well, could to their course attend Until their sound reached to the world's end.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
So long as I was form'd of flesh and bone My mother's gift to me, the work I did Savour'd not of the line but the fox.
Foresight to win and ev'ry hidden way I knew and practiced, and my craft so great That to earth's boundaries the fame went forth.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
While that I was a shape of bones and flesh which my mother gave me, my works were not lion-like, but of a fox. Cunning things and hidden ways I knew them all; and so I wielded the arts of them that the sound went forth to the end of the earth.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Whilst made of bone and flesh that form was mine The which my mother gave me, every deed Of mine was fox-like and not leonine.
The wary wiles and hidden ways at need I studied all and practised so the art That to the earth's confines the fame did speed.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
While I was that form of bone and flesh that my mother gave me, my works were not leonine, but of the fox. The wily practices, and the covert ways, I knew them all, and I so plied their art that to the earth’s end the sound went forth.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Whilst I was still a form of flesh and bone, the which my mother gave me, my deeds were not those of the lion, but of the fox. Wiles and secret ways, I knew them all; and to such purpose plied their arts, that it was noised abroad even to the earth's end.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
While I was still the form of bone and tissue Of which my mother made me gift, my doings. Were worthy of the fox, not of the lion.
Sapping and mining and intelligencing, I knew them all, and so their craft had practised That to the ends of earth the sound had issued.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
While I informed the bones and flesh my mother gave me my deeds were those, not of the line, but of the fox; I knew all wiles and covert ways and so practiced their that their sound went forth to the end of the world.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Whilst I was bones and pulp and in the mould My mother made for me, my deeds were those Of the sly fox, not of the lion bold.
All cunning stratagems and words that gloze I knew, and mastered the uses of deceit So that to earth's end rumour of it goes.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
While I was still that shape of bone and flesh In which my mother moulded me at birth My deeds were foxy and not lionish;
I knew each winding way, each covert earth. And used such art and cunning in deceit That to the ends of the world the sound went forth.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
While I was still encased in the pulp and bone my mother bore, my deeds were not of the lion but of the fox: I raced
through tangled ways; all wiles were mine from birth and I won to such advantage with my arts that rumor of me reached the ends of the earth.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
While I was the form of the flesh and bones my mother gave me, my deeds were not those of the lion, but of the fox. I knew all wiles and covert ways, and plied the art of them so well that to the ends of the earth their sound went forth.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
While I still had the form of the bones and flesh my mother gave me, all my actions were not those of a lion, but those of a fox;
the wiles and covert paths, I knew them all, and so employed my art that rumor of me spread to the farthest limits of the earth.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
While I still had the form of bones and flesh my mother gave to me, my deeds were not those of the lion but those of the fox.
The wiles and secret ways -- I knew them all and so employed their arts that my renown had reached the very boundaries of earth.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
When I was still formed of the flesh and bone My mother gave me, all that I achieved Was done less by the lion than the fox.
The subtle ways of acting under cover, I knew them all, and used all these devices So well, that I was famous everywhere.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
In the flesh and bones my mother gave me, were those Of the fox, not the lion. I was expert In all the stratagems and covert ways,
And practiced them with so much cunning art The sound extended to the earth's far end.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
While I was the form of bone and flesh that my mother gave me, my works were not those of a lion but a fox. The tricks and the hidden ways, I knew them all, and I so plied their art that the fame of it went out to the ends of the earth.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
While I was in the form of bones and pulp, that my mother gave me, my actions were not those of the lion, but of the fox. I knew all the tricks and coverts, and employed the art of them so well, that the noise went out to the ends of the earth.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
While still I had the form of pulp and bone my mother gave me, never lion-like was I, but travelled like the fox alone.
I was a crafty and wily tyke, and knew the tricky ways of men so well my fame resounded over dale and dike.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
While I was still, in form, such pulp and bone as, first, my mother gave to me, actions of mine all favoured rather fox than lion.
Stratagems, wiles and covert operations -- I knew them all. These arts I so pursued that word of me rang out throughout the world.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
While I still kept the form in flesh and bones my mother gave me, my deeds were not a lion's but the actions of a fox.
Cunning stratagems and covert schemes, I knew them all, and was so skilled in them my fame rang out to the far confines of the earth.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
When I was a form of flesh and bone, as my mother Made me, I neither lived nor acted as lions Do: the beast I most resembled was a fox.
I knew the tricks and escapes, the secret ways I knew them all, and I lived the way they led me, My reputation echoed all over the earth.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
For when the faculty of intellect is joined with brute force and with evil will, no man can win against such an alliance.
[Ché dove l’argomento de la mente s’aggiugne al mal volere e a la possa, nessun riparo vi può far la gente.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 31, l. 55ff (31.55) (1309) [tr. Musa (1971)]
(Source)
Why Nature no longer allows human-like giants, while still producing whales and elephants.
For where the mind to bad Intention's join'd,
And with a Pow'r what's ill design'd to act,
None can himself from such a force defend.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 49ff]
But not the forest tribes, nor finny race,
With equal rage their native walks deface, As he whose deadly arm by Reason's light
Directed falls, and mocks the warding hand;
Conspiring realms in vain his pow'r withstand, In vain embattled hosts defend their right.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 9]
For when brute force
And evil will are back’d with subtlety,
Resistance none avails.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
For discourse of mind,
Wedded with power and inbred lust of wrong,
Had left nor help nor rescue for mankind.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
For where [the instrument] of [the] mind is joined to evil will and potency, men can make no defence against it.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
For when a reasoning and a subtle mind Is joined, besides, to evil will and power, Who can resist? -- for all defence must cower.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
For when the reasoning faculty combines With evil will and with destructive pow'r, Then there remains no more defence for man.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
For where the argument of intellect Is added unto evil will and power, No rampart can the people make against it.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
For where the equipment of the mind is joined to illwill and to power, folk can make no rampart against it.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
For where the assistance of the intellect Is added unto evil will and power, 'Gainst it no refuge could mankind erect.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
For where the faculty of the mind is added to evil will and to power, the human race can make no defense against it.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
For where the force of intellect is joined to evil will, and power to do such will, mankind is helpless to find resource against it.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
For, where the equipment and the use of reason Are joined to ill intent and power of action, No sort of refuge can folk make against it.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
For where the equipment of the mind is joined to evil will and to power men can make no defence against it.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
For if with the mind's instrument unite Power and an evil purpose both at once, Men have no means against such force to fight.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
For where the instrument of thinking mind Is joined to strength and malice, man’s defence Cannot avail to meet those powers combined.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
For where the instrument of intelligence is added to brute power and evil will, mankind is powerless in its own defense.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
For where the instrument of the mind is added to an evil will and to great power, men can make no defense against it.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
For where the mind’s acutest reasoning is joined to evil will and evil power, there human beings can’t defend themselves.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
For, where the argument of reason is
Joined with an evil will and potency,
There is no possible defence for man.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
The power of the mind, along with that Of immense strength, upon an evil will Then people will have no defense from it.
[tr. Pinsky (1994), l. 52ff]
For where sharpness of mind is joined to evil will and power, there is no defence people can make against them.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Where the instrument of mind is joined to ill will and power, men have no defence against it.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
For when the powers of working intellect are wed to strength and absolute illwill, then humans cannot find a place to hide.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
For when the power of thought is coupled with ill will and naked force there is no refuge from it for mankind.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
For when the thinking powers of human brains Are tools of malicious will and enormous strength, Smaller creatures like men have no defense.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
For only when ill will and massive strength
Are joined with mental power does it arise
That the invincible is born.
[tr. James (2013), l. 58ff]
Do not ask, Reader, how my blood ran cold and my voice choked up with fear. I cannot write it: this is a terror that cannot be told.
I did not die, and yet I lost life’s breath: imagine for yourself what I became, deprived at once of both my life and death.
[Com’io divenni allor gelato e fioco, nol dimandar, lettor, ch’i’ non lo scrivo, però ch’ogne parlar sarebbe poco.
Io non mori’ e non rimasi vivo; pensa oggimai per te, s’ hai fior d’ingegno, qual io divenni, d’uno e d’altro privo.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 34, l. 22ff (34.22-27) (1309) [tr. Ciardi (1954)]
(Source)
Dante the Pilgrim finally sees Satan at the bottom and center of Hell. That would seem to be terrifying enough for this aside to the reader, but various translators and commentators try to cast it as some great theological metaphor.
How frozen I was then, and hoarse with cold,
Reader, ask not; for I nought of it write,
As 'twill too little prove, whate'er I say
I did not die, nor yet alive remain'd.
Think for yourself, if you have any sense,
What I then was, depriv'd of Life and Death.
[tr. Rogers (1782)]
While nature thro' my nerves convulsive shook:
New palsies seiz'd my agonizing frame,
And glowing now I felt the fever's flame. While life and death by turns my limbs forsook.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 6]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Ask me not, reader, how both hoarse and cold I then became; I write it not, nor strive To tell what never might by speech be told.
There I nor died, nor yet remained alive: Now think, if thou hast power of thought, and see What state was mine, that could of both deprive.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
How icy chill and hoarse I then became, ask not, O Reader! for I write it not, because all speech would fail to tell. I did not die, and did not remain alive: now think for thyself, if thou hast an grain of ingenuity, what I became, deprived of both death and life.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
How freezing then, how feeble I became, Ask not, thou reader! for I cannot write; For every language must fall short in flight.
I neither died, nor yet remained alive! Think within thyself, if ingenious deft, How I became of strength and heat bereft.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
How terror-frozen I became and faint, Ask not, oh reader, what I cannot write, For all that I could say would feeble seem.
I did not die, I scarcely was alive; Hast thou one spark of fancy, think thou then How I became who knew nor death nor life.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
How I then became frozen and weak, do not ask, reader, for I do not write it, seeing that every speech would be too little. I did not die and did not remain alive; think now for thyself, if thou hast a grain of wit, what I became, being deprived of one and the other.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
How frozen I became, and weak of grace, From writing, reader, let me now be shrived, For every speech were weak such state to trace.
I did not die, and yet no longer lived; Think for thyself, if thou hast Fancy's bloom, What I became, of death and life deprived.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
How I became then chilled and hoarse, ask it not, Reader, for I write it not, because all speech would be little. I did not die, and I did not remain alive. Think now for thyself, if thou hast grain of wit, what I became, deprived of one and the other.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
How frozen I became thereat, how fainting, Ask it not, reader, for I do not write it. For all that I could say would be but little.
I did not die, nor yet remained I living. Bethink thee now, if aught of wit thou claimest, What I became, bereft of both together.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
How chilled and faint I turned then, do not ask, reader, for I do not write it, since all words would fail. I did not die and I did not remain alive; think now for thyself, if thou hast any wit, what I became, denied both death and life.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
How faint I then became, how frozen cold, Ask me not, Reader; for I write it not, Because all speech would fail, whate'er it told.
I died not, yet of life remained no jot. Think thou then, if of wit thou hast any share, What I became, deprived of either lot.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
How cold I grew, how faint with fearfulness, Ask me not. Reader; I shall nor waste breath Telling what words are powerless to express;
This was not life, and yet it was not death; If thou hast wit to think how I might fare Bereft of both, let fancy aid thy faith.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
How frozen and faint I then became, ask it not, reader, for I do not write it, because all words would fail. I did not die and I did not remain alive: now think for yourself, if you have any wit, what I became, deprived alike of death and life!
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
How chilled and nerveless. Reader, I felt then; do not ask me -- I cannot write about it -- there are no words to tell you how I felt.
I did not die -- I was not living either! Try to imagine, if you can imagine, me there, deprived of life and death at once.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
O reader, do not ask of me how I grew faint and frozen then -- I cannot write it: all words would fall far short of what it was.
I did not die, and I was not alive; v
think for yourself, if you have any wit, what I became, deprived of life and death.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
How frozen and how faint I then became, Do not enquire, reader, description is useless, For any speech would be inadequate.
I did not die, nor yet remain alive: Think for yourself, if you have a trace Of intellect, how I was, in that condition.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
How chilled and faint I was On hearing that, you must not ask me, reader -- I do not write it, words would not suffice:
I neither died, nor kept alive -- consider With your own wits what I, alike denuded Of death and life, became as I heard my leader.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
How then I became frozen and feeble, do not ask, reader, for I do not write it, and all speech would be insufficient. I did not die and I did not remain alive: think now for yourself, if you have wit at all, what I became, deprived of both.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
Reader, do not ask how chilled and hoarse I became, then, since I do not write it, since all words would fail to tell it. I did not die, yet I was not alive. Think, yourself, now, if you have any grain of imagination, what I became, deprived of either state.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
How weak I now became, how faded, dry -- reader, don’t ask, I shall not write it down -- for anything I said would fall far short.
I neither died nor wholly stayed alive. Just think yourselves, if your minds are in flower, what I became, bereft of life and death.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
Then how faint and frozen I became, reader, do not ask, for I do not write it, since any words would fail to be enough.
It was not death, nor could one call it life. Imagine, if you have the wit, what I became, deprived of either state.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Don't ask me, reader, how frozen and faint I felt: I cannot write it, because no matter what words I used, or how many, none would be sufficient.
I did not die, I did not remain in that world. Just ask yourself, if you have a mind to work with, In what condition I was, not dead, not alive?
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Reader, don’t ask how chill and faint I turned: I couldn't write it. All the words would fail. I didn't die, but couldn't live. I learned
What living death and death-in-life entail. But you must ponder, if you have the wit, What I, denied both life and death, became.
[tr. James (2013), l. 28ff]
If he was fair as he is hideous now, and raised his brow in scorn of his creator, he is fit to be the source of every sorrow.
[S’el fu sì bel com’elli è ora brutto, e contra ’l suo fattore alzò le ciglia, ben dee da lui procedere ogne lutto.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 34, l. 34ff (34.34) (1309) [tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
(Source)
Describing Satan. As Lucifer he was the most beautiful and powerful of the angels; Dante suggests his rebellious ingratitude against God is a fit cause for all the sin and sorrow of the world.
As ugly now, if he as handsome was, And 'gainst his Maker rais'd his haughty brow; 'Tis right all wailings should from him proceed.
[tr. Rogers (1782)]
If his meridian glories, ere he fell,
Equal'd his horrible eclipse in Hell, No brighter Seraph led the heav'nly host:
And now, a tenant of the frozen tide,
The Rebel justly merits to preside O'er all the horrors of the Stygian coast.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 8]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
If he, once fair as he is foul of mien, Against his Maker arrogantly raised The brow, from him might well proceed, I ween,
All things disastrous.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
If he was once as beautiful as he is ugly now, and lifted up his brows against his Maker, well may all affliction come from him.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
If he were beauteous once as ugly now, And 'gainst his Maker dared to lift his brow, From him well might we have proceeding woe.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
If first in beauty once as hideous now, And to his Maker lifting his proud eye, Well might he be the source of ev'ry grief.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
If he was as fair as he is now foul, and raised his brows against his Maker, rightly should all sorrow come forth from him.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
If he was once as fair as hideous now, And 'gainst his Maker raised his impious eyes, Full well from him would all contention flow.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
If he was as fair as he now is foul, and against his Maker lifted up his brow, surely may all tribulation proceed from him.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
If once he was as fair as he is loathly, And raised his brows even against his Maker, Well may it be from him proceeds all mourning.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
If he was as fair as he is now foul and lifted up his brows against his Maker, well may all sorrow come from him.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
If he was once fair as he is now foul, And 'gainst his Maker dared his brows to raise, Fitly from him all streams of sorrow roll.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
If he was once as fair as now he's foul, And dared outface his Maker in rebellion, Well may he be the fount of all our dole.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
If he was once as beautiful as now he is hideous, and still turned on his Maker, well may he be the source of every woe!
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
If he was once as beautiful as he is ugly now, and lifted up his brows against his Maker, well may all sorrow proceed from him.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
If once he was as fair as now he's foul and dared to raise his brows against his Maker, it is fitting that all grief should spring from him.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
If he was once as handsome as he now
is ugly and, despite that, raised his brows
against his Maker, one can understand how every sorrow has its source in him!
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
If he was as beautiful as he now is ugly, And yet dared to rebel against his maker, Well may he be the source of all mourning.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
If he was truly once as beautiful As he is ugly now, and raised his brows Against his Maker -- then all sorrow may well
Come out of him.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
If he was as beautiful then as now he is ugly, when he lifted his brow against his Maker, well must all grieving proceed from him.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
If he was once as fair, as he is now ugly, and lifted up his forehead against his Maker, well may all evil flow from him.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
If, once, he was as lovely as now vile, when first he raised his brow against his maker, then truly grief must all proceed from him.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
If ever his beauty could match the ugliness I saw, and he lifted arrogant brows at his Maker, I understand how sorrow was born that day.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
If his beauty was
a match for all the foulness he has now,
We see that all our sorrow came because
He set his face against his Maker.
[tr. James (2013), l. 40ff]
So now we entered on that hidden path, my lord and I, to move once more towards a shining world. We did not care to rest.
We climbed, he going first and I behind, until through some small aperture I saw the lovely things the skies above us bear.
Now we came out, and once more saw the stars.
[Lo duca e io per quel cammino ascoso intrammo a ritornar nel chiaro mondo; sanza cura aver d’alcun riposo,
salimmo sù, el primo e io secondo, tanto ch’i’ vidi de le cose belle che porta ’l ciel, per un pertugio tondo.
E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 1 “Inferno,” Canto 34, l. 133ff (34.133-139) (1309) [tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]
(Source)
The end of Book 1, as Virgil and Dante exit the Inferno to the other side of the world, where rises Mount Purgatory.
The word "stars" (stelle) ends each of the three books of the Divine Comedy.
My Guide and I, to the bright World attain,
Enter'd this secret path; not took repose.
We leaped up, he first, I foll'wing him;
'Till through a space round formed I beheld
Those beauteous sights which are in Heav'n display'd:
And thence we rose to view again the Stars.
[tr. Rogers (1782), l. 130ff]
Still up the wave-worn cliff the Mantuan press'd,
I follow'd faint, deny'd a moment's rest; 'Till dim and dubious thro' the rocks on high,
A ray of welcome light disclos'd our path;
Joyful we left the shadowy realms of death, And hail'd the op'ning glories of the sky.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 27]
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.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
To seek return to daylight world sublime My guide and I that darksome path explored, And while he first, I second, 'gan to climb,
No care to rest us might our haste afford, Till through a rounded opening I saw plain The glorious things in part which heaven doth hoard,
And thence we rose to view the stars again.
[tr. Dayman (1843)]
The Guide and I entered by that hidden road, to return to the bright world; and without caring for any rest, we mounted up, he first and I second, so far that I distinguished through a round opening the beauteous things which Heaven bears; and thence we issued out, again to see the Stars.
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]
The leader and myself through pathway hid Entered, returning to the world that's clear. Of no reposing had we any care:
We mounted up; he first, the second I. Through round and hollowed opening, saw afar The heave, and all the beauteous things it bore;
And then we issued to review the stars.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
My chief and I, following this hidden path, Set forth on our return to the bright world; Having no thought nor care for any rest,
Upwards we clomb, he first and second I, Till I at length through a round opening saw Those beauteous things which with the heavens revolve;
Thence we went forth once more to see the stars.
[tr. Johnston (1867)]
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 those beauteous things which Heaven doth bear;
Thence we came forth to rebehold the stars.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Through that hidden road my Leader and I entered to return into the bright world; and without having a care of any rest we mounted up, he first and I second, so far that I had sight of the fair objects which the Heaven bears, through a round opening; and thence we issued to see again the stars.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
My chief and I by that mysterious way Entered, the world of light again to find: Nor with the thought of rest did we delay,
But clambered up, he first, and I behind. Until I witnessed through that rounded bore The things so fair athwart the heavens that shined,
And issued thence to see the stars once more.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
My Leader and I entered through that hidden way, to return to the bright world. And without care, to have any repose, we mounted up, he first and I second, till through a round opening I saw of those beauteous things which heaven bears, and thence we came forth to see again the stars.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
My Guide and I went in by that darksome way that we might reach the world of light again; and unconcerned for any thought of rest, we went aloft, he first and I behind, so high that, through a rounded chink, I could behold the beauteous gems which Heaven weareth; and thence came we forth to look once more upon the stars.
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]
My guide and I upon that hidden pathway Entered to make return to the world of brightness ; And, without taking thought of any resting,
We mounted up, he first and I the second. So far that I had sight of things of beauty Borne on the firmament, through a round loophole:
Thence came we forth to see the starry heavens.
[tr. Griffith (1908)]
The Leader and I entered on that hidden road to return into the bright world, and without caring to have any rest we climbed up, he first and I second, so far that I saw through a round opening some of the fair things that Heaven bears; and thence we can forth to see again the stars.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
The Guide and I, entering that secret road, Toiled to return into the world of light. Nor thought on any resting-place bestowed.
We climbed, he first, I following, till to sight Appeared those things of beauty that heaven wears Glimpsed through a rounded opening, faintly bright;
Thence issuing, we beheld again the stars.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
By that hid way my guide and I withal, Back to the lit world from the darkened dens Toiled upward, caring for no rest at all,
He first, I following; till my straining sense Glimpsed the bright burden of the heavenly cars Through a round hole; by this we climbed, and thence
Came forth, to look once more upon the stars.
[tr. Sayers (1949)]
My Guide and I crossed over and began to mount that little known and lightless road to ascend into the shining world again.
He first, I second, without thought of rest we climbed the dark until we reached the point where a round opening brought in sight the blest
and beauteous shining of the Heavenly cars.
And we walked out once more beneath the stars.
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]
My leader and I entered on that hidden road to return into the bright world; and caring not for any rest, we climbed up, hie first and I second, so far that through a round opening I saw some of the beautiful things that Heaven bears; and thence we issued forth to see again the stars.
[tr. Singleton (1970)]
My guide and I entered that hidden road to make our way back up to the bright world. We never thought of resting while we climbed.
We climbed, he first and I behind, until, through a small round opening ahead of us I saw the lovely things the heavens hold,
and we came out to see once more the stars.
[tr. Musa (1971)]
My guide and I came on that hidden road to make our way back into the bright world; and with no care for any rest, we climbed
he first, I following -- until I saw, through a round opening, some of those things of beauty Heaven bears. It was from there
that we emerged, to see -- once more -- the stars.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]
My guide and I started out on that road, Through its obscurity to return to the bright world; And not worrying about taking any rest,
We mounted up, he first and I second, So that I saw some of the lovely things That are in the heavens, through a round opening;
And then we emerged to see the stars again.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
To get back up to the shining world from there My guide and I went into that hidden tunnel;
And following its path, we took no care To rest, but climbed: he first, then I -- so far, Through a round aperture I saw appear
Some of the beautiful things that Heaven bears,
Where we came forth, and once more saw the stars.
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]
My leader and I entered on that hidden path to return to the bright world; and, without taking care for rest at all, up we climbed, he first and I second, until I saw the beautiful things the heavens carry, through a round opening. And thence we came forth to look again at the stars.
[tr. Durling (1996)]
The guide and I entered by that hidden path, to return to the clear world: and, not caring to rest, we climbed up, he first, and I second, until, through a round opening, I saw the beautiful things that the sky holds: and we issued out, from there, to see, again, the stars.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
My guide and I began that hidden route to journey back into the world of light; and caring not for rest, but resolute,
we climbed and climbed until we caught a sight, beyond a rounded opening, of store on store of things of Heavenly delight;
and we emerged to see the stars once more.
[tr. Carson (2002)]
Into that hidden passage my guide and I entered, to find again the world of light, and, without thinking of a moment's rest,
we climbed up, he first and I behind him, far enough to see, through a round opening, a few of those fair things the heavens bear.
Then we came forth, to see again the stars.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
My leader and I followed that unknown road, Which showed us how to return to the shining world, Nor did we stop for a moment, needing no rest,
Climbing steadily, he in the lead, I next, Ascending so far that through a circular hole I could see a few of the beautiful things in Heaven. And then we came out, and saw the stars again.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
My Guide and I were on the hidden road That leads back out to where the world is bright.
No need for rest. We bore an easy load: The task of getting back to the sweet light.
And up we went, he first, I second, to The point where I could see an opening.
And it was there I saw, when I looked through, A sight more wonderful than anything --
some of the loveliness revealed to men By Heaven. We could see the star again.
[tr. James (2013), l. 153ff]
To suffer torments both of heat and chill, the Utmost Power gives bodies, fit for that, not wishing how it does to be revealed.
It’s madness if we hope that rational minds should ever follow to its end the road that one true being in three persons takes.
Content yourselves with quia, human kind. Had you been able to see everything, Mary need not have laboured to give birth.
[A sofferir tormenti, caldi e geli simili corpi la Virtù dispone che, come fa, non vuol ch’a noi si sveli.
Matto è chi spera che nostra ragione possa trascorrer la infinita via che tiene una sustanza in tre persone.
State contenti, umana gente, al quia; ché, se potuto aveste veder tutto, mestier non era parturir Maria.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 2 “Purgatorio,” Canto 3, l. 31ff (3.31-39) (1314) [tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
(Source)
Virgil chides Dante to stop trying to figure out the biology, let alone divine purpose, of the Afterlife, and just accept the what(quia), the existence of it, rather than the how or why, which are as incomprehensible as the Trinity; if human reason could suffice to understand God, there would have been no reason for Jesus to have been born to save humanity.
Why these sky-woven forms, that seem to fly
All mortal sense, can suffer and enjoy Heav'n's bliss, and all th' extremes of fire and frost,
That Power that so decrees, can best explain:
Created plummet sounds that depth in vain. In that, as in the Trinal Union, lost.
Too anxious mortals! learn to be resign'd;
Could the deep secrets of th' Almighty Mind Be seen, nor Sin nor Savior had been known.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 7-8]
To endure
Torments of heat and cold extreme, like frames
That virtue hath dispos’d, which how it works
Wills not to us should be reveal’d. Insane
Who hopes, our reason may that space explore,
Which holds three persons in one substance knit.
Seek not the wherefore, race of human kind;
Could ye have seen the whole, no need had been
For Mary to bring forth.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
To suffer torments, both the cold and hot, Bodies alike in form has he annealed -- The how he wishes not to use revealed.
Foolish! who think our reason can unveil, Or hope to pass the infinital way To find three persons one Substantiality:
Remain content without the manner how. Could you have seen at once the whole of worth, Why was it meet Maria should bring forth?
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
To suffer torments, both of cold and heat, Bodies like this that Power provides, which wills That how it works be not unveiled to us.
Insane is he who hopeth that our reason Can traverse the illimitable way, Which the one Substance in three Persons follows!
Mortals, remain contented at the Quia; For if ye had been able to see all, No need there were for Mary to give birth.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
To suffer torments both of heat and cold that Power ordains such bodies, which will not that the manner of its working be revealed to us. Mad is he who hopes that our reason can travel over the boundless way, which one Substance in three Persons holds. Remain content, race of mankind, at the quia, for if you could have seen all no need was there that Mary should bring forth.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
To suffer torments, heat, and cold, is given To bodies like to this, by high decree, The how 'tis done by man cannot be riven.
He's mad who thinks our human reason free Along the infinite career to run, Of God, the substance one in Persons three.
Be ye content, O man, the Why unknown: Had ye been able to behold the whole, No need had Mary to bring forth her son.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
To suffer torments, both hot and cold, bodies like this the Power ordains, which wills not that how it acts be revealed to us. Mad is he who hopes that our reason can traverse the infinite way which One Substance in Three Persons holds. Be content, human race, with the quia; for if ye had been able to see everything, need had not been for Mary to bear child.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
To suffer torments, heat and frost, bodies such as these that power disposes, which will not that its workings be revealed to us. Mad is he who hopes that our reason may compass that infinitude which one substance in three persons fills. Be ye content, O human race, with the quia! For if ye had been able to see the whole, no need was there for Mary to give birth.
[tr. Okey (1901)]
The Power fits such bodies as these to suffer torments of heat and frost which wills not that the way of its working should be revealed to us. Foolish is he who hopes that our reason can trace the infinite ways taken by one Substance in three Persons. Rest content, race of men, with the quia; for if you had been able to see all there was no need for Mary to give birth.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
That power disposes bodies like to mine In torments both of heat and frost to weep Which wills not that its working we divine.
He is mad who hopes that reason in its sweep The infinite way can traverse back and forth Which the Three Persons in one substance keep.
With the quia stay content, children of earth! For if the whole before your eyes had lain, No need was there for Mary to give birth.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Bodies like mine, to bear pain, cold and heat, That power ordains, whose will forever spreads A veil between its working and our wit.
Madness! that reason lodged in human heads should hope to traverse backward and unweave The infinite path Three-personed Substance treads.
Content you with the quia, sons of Eve, For had you power to see the whole truth plain No need had been for Mary to conceive.
[tr. Sayers (1955)]
We react
within these bodies to pain and heat and cold according to the workings of That Will which does not will that all Its ways be told.
He is insane who dreams that he may learn by mortal reasoning the boundless orbit Three Persons in One Substance fill and turn.
Be satisfied with the quia of cause unknown, O humankind! for could you have seen All, Mary need not have suffered to bear a son.
[tr. Ciardi (1961)]
To suffer torments, heat, and frost, bodies such as these that Power ordains, which wills not that the way of its working be revealed to us. Foolish is he who hopes that our reason may compass the infinite course taken by One Substance in Three Persons. Be content, human race, with the quia; for if you had been able to see everything, no need was there for Mary to give birth.
[tr. Singleton (1973)]
Yet bodies such as ours are sensitive to pain and cold and heat -- willed by that Power which wills its secret not to be revealed;
madness it is to hope that human minds can ever understand the Infinite that comprehends Three Persons in One Being.
Be staisfied with quia unexplained, O human race! If you knew everything, no need for Mary to have borne a son.
[tr. Musa (1981)]
v
Omnipotence disposes bodies like mine To suffer torments both from heat and cold, And how it does so, does not see fit to reveal.
Only a madman would expect our reason To follow all that infinite approach And understand one substance in three persons.
The human race should be content with the quia: For if it had been able to see everything, No need for Mary to have had a child.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
The Power has disposed such bodiless bodies to suffer torments, heat and cold: how this is done, He would not have us know.
Foolish is he who hopes our intellect can reach the end of that unending road only one Substance in three Persons follows.
Confine yourselves, o humans, to the quia; had you been able to see all, there would have been no need for Mary to give birth.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
Such bodies are disposed to suffer torments, heat, and freezings by the Power that does not wish its ways to be unveiled to us. He is mad who hopes that our reason can traverse the infinite way taken by one Substance in three Persons. Be content, human people, with the quia; for if you had been able to see everything, there was no need for Mary to give birth.
[tr. Durling (2003)]
That power, that does not will that its workings should be revealed to us, disposes bodies such as these to suffer torments, fire and ice. He is foolish who hopes that our reason may journey on the infinite road, that one substance in three persons owns. Stay, content, human race, with the ‘what’: since if you had been able to understand it all, there would have been no need for Mary to give birth.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
The Power that fits bodies like ours to suffer torments, heat, and cold does not reveal the secret of its working.
Foolish is he who hopes that with our reason we can trace the infinite path taken by one Substance in three Persons.
Be content, then, all you mortals, with the quia, for could you, on your own, have understood, there was no need for Mary to give birth.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
These bodies were made by God, they endure troubles, And heat, and frost -- but we are not informed How this is accomplished; He does not want us to know.
You have to be mad, hoping that human reason Can ever unravel the infinite things He does, Three Persons simultaneously only One.
Be satisfied, O humans, with Reality, For had you ever been able to see and know It all, why bother with God in Mary's womb?
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Tell us, where slopes the cliff, to make a way That man may climb? For they who know its worth Fret most when time is wasted in delay.
[Ditene dove la montagna giace, sì che possibil sia l’andare in suso; ché perder tempo a chi più sa più spiace.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 2 “Purgatorio,” Canto 3, l. 76ff (3.76-78) (1314) [tr. Sayers (1955)]
(Source)
Virgil inquiring of the "Contumacious" (the rebellious and excommunicates who only sought the forgiveness of God at the end of their lives) the best route to climb the Mountain of Purgatory. He actually gets in a dig at them, as they are themselves delayed ascending the Mountain because of their delayed turn to Salvation.
Shew, where with easier slope these mountains bend,
The MENTAL PROGRESS ill can bear a stand.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 15]
Instruct us where the mountain low declines, So that attempt to mount it be not vain. For who knows most, him loss of time most grieves.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Tell us in what direction mountain lies -- If it be possible to climb its side? Lost time the wisest find it worst to bide.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Tell us upon what side the mountain slopes, So that the going up be possible, For to lose time irks him most who most knows.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Tell us where the mountain falls, so that it is possible to go upward; for loss of time displeases most who most knows.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Tell us where easiest slopes the precipice. So that we there our upward path may hold: Him who knows most time lost doth most displease.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Tell us, where the mountain lies so that the going up is possible; for to lose time is most displeasing to him who knows most.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Tell us where the mountain slopes, so that it may be possible to go upward; for time lost irks him who knowest most.
[tr. Okey (1901)]
Tell us where the mountain slopes so that it is possible to go up; for loss of time most grieves him that knows best.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Tell us where slopes the mountain by degrees Such, that it may be possible to ascend; For him who knows most lost hours most displease.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Tell us which way
leads to some slope by which we two may climb.
Who best knows time is most grieved by delay.
[tr. Ciardi (1961)]
Tell us where the mountain slopes so that it is possible to go up, for time lost irks him most who knows most.
[tr. Singleton (1973)]
Tell us where the mountain slopes enough for us to start our climb: the more one learns, the more one comes to hate the waste of time.
[tr. Musa (1981)]
Tell us where the mountain-side slopes so That it is possible to go up higher; For those who know most, dislike most to dawdle.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Please tell
us where the slope inclines and can be climbed; for he who best discerns the worth of time is most distressed whenever time is lost.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
Tell us where the mountain slopes so that it is possible to climb it; for losing time displeases most those who know most.
[tr. Durling (2003)]
Tell us where the mountain slopes allow us to go upwards, since lost time troubles those most, who know most.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Please tell us where the mountain angles down to make it possible for us to climb. For those who know the most, most hate time lost.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
Tell us where the mountain rises gently so that we may begin the long ascent. The more we know, the more we hate time's waste.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Tell us where they bend, these mountain slopes, So feet may find their way. A man of knowledge Regrets the loss of time far more than most.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Can murmurs move you? Let them whisper on,
And bid your Reason firmly keep its throne, and o'er the fortress of the mind preside.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 2]
Come after me, and to their babblings leave The crowd. Be as a tower, that, firmly set, Shakes not its top for any blast that blows!
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Come thou behind me, let the people talk; Stand like a steadfast tower, whose lofty crest Ne'er quaked obedient to the rocking blast.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Come after me, and let the people talk; Stand like a steadfast tower, that never wags Its top for all the blowing of the winds;
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Come behind me, and let the folk talk; stand like a firm tower which never shakes its top for blast of winds.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Follow thou me, and let the people talk: Stand like a solid tower, that doth not bow Its crest at any time, though wild winds stalk.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Come after me, and let the people talk. Stand as a tower firm, that never wags its top for blowing of the winds.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Follow me and let the people talk; stand thou as a firm tower which never shakes its summit for blast of winds.
[tr. Okey (1901)]
Come after me and let the people talk. Stand like a firm tower that never shakes its top for blast of wind.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Follow behind me and let them talk their fill: Stand like a tower whose summit never shakes For the wind's blowing, and stays immovable.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Follow thou me, and let the people chatter; Stand as a tower stands firm in time of trouble, Nor bends its head, though winds may bawl and batter.
[tr. Sayers (1955)]
Follow my steps, though all such whisper of you: be as a tower of stone, its lofty crown unswayed by anything the winds may do.
[tr. Ciardi (1961)]
Follow me and let the people talk. Stand as a firm tower which never shakes its summit for blast of winds.
[tr. Singleton (1973)]
Keep up with me and let the people talk! Be like a solid tower whose brave height remains unmoved by all the winds that blow.
[tr. Musa (1981)]
Come on behind me, let those people talk: Stand like a solid tower which does not shake Its top whatever winds are blowing on it.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Come, follow me, and let these people talk: stand like a sturdy tower that does not shake its summit though the winds may blast.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
Come after me, and let the people talk: be like a strong tower whose top never falls, however hard the winds may blow.
[tr. Durling (2003)]
Follow me close behind, and let the people talk: stand like a steady tower, that never shakes at the top, in the blasts of wind.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Just follow me and let the people talk. Why can't you be like a sturdy tower that does not tremble in the fiercest wind.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Just follow me and let the people talk: Stand steady as a tower, which doesn't shake Its top whenever the winds decide to blow.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Every opinion based on scientific criticism I welcome. As to the prejudices of so-called public opinion, to which I have never made concessions, now as aforetime the maxim of the great Florentine is mine: "Segui il tuo corso, e lascia dir le genti."
Which reads something like "Follow your own course, and let the people talk." The phrase is given in Italian even in the original German edition.
He, that permits his Fancy thus to stray.
With every lure, will rarely find his way To that great end, to which his soul is bent:
For gath'ring fancies warp the steady light
Of Reason's beam, and leave her whelm'd in night, For ever baffled of her first intent.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 3]
He, in whose bosom thought on thought shoots out, Still of his aim is wide, in that the one Sicklies and wastes to nought the other’s strength.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
He in whose bosom thought springs up to thought, Destroys himself the figures of his loom -- The birth of one prepares the others's tomb.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
For evermore the man in whom is springing Thought upon thought, removes from him the mark, Because the force of one the other weakens.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
For ever the man, in whom thought wells up over thought, removes far from himself his mark, because the rush of the second slackens the first.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Always the man in whom new thought doth grow On previous thought, from his true course doth roam, Because the one doth flag the other's glow.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
For always the man in whom thought on thought wells up removes from himself his aim, for the force of one weakens the other.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
For ever the man in whom thought wells up on thought, sets back his mark, because the one saps the force of the other.
[tr. Okey (1901)]
For always he in whom thought overtakes The former thought, his goal less clearly sees. Because the one the other must relax.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
He aims beside the mark whose fancies bubble One on another, driving back and drumming Each other out, so that his eye sees double.
[tr. Sayers (1955)]
For when a man lets his attention range toward every wisp, he loses true direction, sapping his mind's force with continual change.
[tr. Ciardi (1961)]
For always the man in whom thought wells up on thought sets back his mark, for one thought weakens the force of the other.
[tr. Singleton (1973)]
The man who lets his thoughts be turned aside by one thing or another, will lose sight of his true goal, his mind sapped of its strength.
[tr. Musa (1981)]
Because the man in whom thoughts bubble up One after the other, goes wide of the mark, Because one thought weakens the force of another.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
The man in whom thought thrusts ahead of thought allows the goal he’s set to move far off -- the force of one thought saps the other’s force.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
For always the man in whom one care sprouts above the other makes his target more distant, because the impulse of the one weakens the other.
[tr. Durling (2003)]
Since the man, in whom thought rises on thought, sets himself back, because the force of the one weakens the other.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
When thought is bred too rampantly from thought, then, of himself, a man will miss the mark. Each mental thrust debilitates the first.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
For any man who lets one thought -- and then another -- take him over will soon lose track of his first goal.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
A man whose mind is distracted lets thought after thought Keep him from getting where he wants to go: They hammer each other down; nothing can grow.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
The root of human virtue seldom bears Like branches; and the Giver wills it so, That men may know it is His gift, not theirs.
[Rade volte risurge per li rami l’umana probitate; e questo vole quei che la dà, perché da lui si chiami.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 2 “Purgatorio,” Canto 7, l. 121ff (7.121-123) (1314) [tr. Sayers (1955)]
(Source)
Dante noting that the sons of great kings rarely measure up to their fathers, a reminder from God that those who would be great must seek His blessing, not rely on their heritage.
Rarely into the branches of the tree Doth human worth mount up; and so ordains He who bestows it, that as his free gift
It may be call’d.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Rarely shoots merit up into the boughs, Or human worth; and such the will of Him, That from the Donor they should seem to come.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Not oftentimes upriseth through the branches The probity of man; and this He wills Who gives it, so that we may ask of Him.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Seldom rises human goodness through the branches; and this wills He who gives it in order that from Him it may be claimed.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
But rarely in the branch again is grown Our human excellence, so willeth He Who gives it, that the boon be called His own.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Rarely doth human goodness rise through the branches, and this He wills who gives it, in order that it may be asked from Him.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Rarely doth human probity rise through the sons branches: and this he wills who giveth it, so that it may be prayed for from him.
[tr. Okey (1901)]
Rarely does human worth rise through the branches, and this He wills who gives it, that it may be sought from Him.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Full seldom human virtue rises through The branches; and the Giver wills it so, That they to him for such a gift may sue.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Rare is the tree that lifts to every limb the sap of merit -- He who gives, so wills that men may learn to beg their best from Him.
[tr. Ciardi (1961)]
Rarely does human worth rise through the branches, and this He wills who gives it, in order that it may be asked from Him.
[tr. Singleton (1973)]
Not often does the sap of virtue rise to all the branches. This is His own gift, and we can only beg that He bestow it.
[tr. Musa (1981)]
Rarely does human worth rise through the branches; That is the will of him whose gift it is, So that it should be matter for petition.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
How seldom human worth ascends from branch to branch, and this is willed by Him who grants that gift, that one may pray to Him for it!
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
Seldom does human probity rise up through the branches, and this is willed by him who gives it, that it may be attributed to him.
[tr. Durling (2003)]
Human worth rarely increases through its branches: and this He wills who creates it, so that it may be asked for of him.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
It seldom happens that man’s probity will rise through every branch. He wills it thus, so, given from beyond, it’s known as His.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
Rarely does human worth rise through the branches. And this He wills who gives it, so that it shall be sought from Him.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Goodness rarely flows to the spreading branches Of a family tree, for God who gives it decrees That since the gift is His, humans must ask it.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Alas, proud Christians, faint with misery, So warped of vision in the inward sense You trust in your backslidings! Don’t you see
That we are worms, whose insignificance Lives but to form the angelic butterfly That flits to judgement naked of defence?
Why do you let pretension soar so high, Being as it were but larvae — grubs that lack The finished form that shall be by and by?
[O superbi Cristian, miseri lassi! Che, della vista della mente infermi, Fidanza avete ne’ ritrosi passi;
Non v’ accorgete voi, che noi siam vermi Nati a formar l’ angelica farfalla, Che vola alla giustizia senza schermi?
Di che l’ animo vostro in alto galla, Poi siete quasi entomata in difetto, Sì come verme, in cui formazion falla?]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 2 “Purgatorio,” Canto 10, l. 121ff (10.121-129) (1314) [tr. Sayers (1955)]
(Source)
O, miserable Pride! of Blindness born!
Vile retrograde Ambition! theme of Scorn! Can Reptiles in the dust, of dust be proud? --
Boast of their meanness, falsify their end;
From their immortal hopes at once descend. And let a dowerless Vice their prospects cloud? --
As Reptiles, who their painted plumes display,
(Tho; crawling once in dust,) and wing their way On Summer-buxom gales, and claim the Sky:
Thus were ye born, and thus you claim your flight
To the pure Precincts of celestial Light, If on no fpurious Pride your hopes rely.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 23-24]
Christians and proud! O poor and wretched ones! That feeble in the mind’s eye, lean your trust Upon unstaid perverseness! Know ye not
That we are worms, yet made at last to form The winged insect, imp’d with angel plumes That to heaven’s justice unobstructed soars?
Why buoy ye up aloft your unfleg’d souls? Abortive then and shapeless ye remain, Like the untimely embryon of a worm!
[tr. Cary (1814)]
O haughty Christians! miserable, alas! From mental sight to weakness that's allied, Confiding in perverseness and in pride,
Perceive ye not we are but merely worms, Born embryo of angelic butterfly, Which, unrestrained, to justice flies on high,
Where is the object of your souring flight? Insect, in whom defecta lone prevails, And worm, in which the true formatiln fails.v
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
O ye proud Christians! wretched, weary ones! Who, in the vision of the mind infirm Confidence have in your backsliding steps,
Do ye not comprehend that we are worms, Born to bring forth the angelic butterfly That flieth unto judgment without screen?
Why floats aloft your spirit high in air? Like are ye unto insects undeveloped, Even as the worm in whom formation fails!
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
O proud Christians, wretched and weary, who, weak in the sight of the mind, have confidence in your backward paces, do ye not perceive that we are worms, born to form the angelic butterfly which flies without screen to the judgement? In respect of what does your mind float on high, since ye are as it were defective insects, like a worm in which formative power is in default?
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Proud Christians, wretched, weary, and undone! Who of your mental sight are so bereaved That ye have faith in backward paths alone;
That we are worms have ye not yet perceived, Born but to form the Angelic butterfly That soareth up to judgment unreprieved?
Of what your spirit doth it vaunt so high? Since ye are unformed insects at the best, Worms as it were unfinished utterly.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
O proud Christians, wretched weary ones, who, diseased in vision of the mind, have confidence in backward steps, are ye not aware that we are worms born to form the angelic butterfly which flies unto judgment without defence? Why doth your mind float up aloft, since ye are as it were defective insects, even as a worm in which formation fails?
[tr. Norton (1892)]
O ye proud Christians, wretched and weary, who, sick in mental vision, put trust in backward steps, perceive ye not that we are worms, born to form the angelic butterfly that flieth to judgment without defence? Why doth your mind soar on high, since ye are as 'twere imperfect insects, even as the grub in which full form is wanting?
[tr. Okey (1901)]
O vainglorious Christians, weary wretches who are sick in the mind's vision and put your trust in backward steps, do you not perceive that we are worms born to form the angelic butterfly that soars to judgement without defence? Why does your mind float so high, since you are as it were imperfect insects, like the worm that is undeveloped?
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
O ye proud Christians, weary and sad of brow, Who, tainted in the vision of the mind, In backward steps your confidence avow,
Preceive ye not that we are worms, designed To form the angelic butterfly, that goes To judgment, leaving all defence behind?
Why doth your mind take such exalted pose, Since ye, disabled, are as insects, mean As worm which never transformation knows?
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
O you proud Christians, wretched souls and small, who by the dim lights of your twisted minds believe you prosper even as you fall --
can you not see that we awer works, each one born to become the Angelic butterfly that flies defenseless to the Judgment Throne?
what have your souls to boast of and be proud? You are no more than insects, incomplete as any grub until it burst the shroud.
[tr. Ciardi (1961)]
O proud Christians, wretched and weary, who, sick in mental vision, put trust in backward steps: are you not aware that we are worms, born to form the angelic butterfly that flies until judgment without defenses? Why does your mind soar up aloft, since you are as it wer imperfect insects, even as the worm in which full form is wanting?
[tr. Singleton (1973)]
O haughty Christians, wretched, sluggish souls, all you whose inner vision is diseased, putting your trust in things that pull you back,
do you not understand that we are worms, each born to form the angelic butterfly, that flies defenseless to the Final Judge?
Why do your souls’ pretensions rise so high, since you are but defective insects still, worms as yet imperfectly evolved?
[tr. Musa (1981)]
O proud Christians, wretched and exhausted, Who, sick in mind, and not seeing aright, Go confidently in the wrong direction;
Do you not perceive that we are grubs, Born to turn into the angelic butterfly Which flies towards justice without defence?
Why does your mind float aloft Since you are no more than defective insects, Like the grub which has not reached its full development?
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
O Christians, arrogant, exhausted, wretched, Whose intellects are sick and cannot see, Who place your confidence in backward steps,
Do you not know that we are worms and born To form the angelic butterfly that soars, Without defenses, to confront His judgment?
Why does your mind presume to flight when you Are still like the imperfect grub, the worm Before it has attained its final form?
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
O proud Christians, weary wretches, who, weak in mental vision, put your faith in backward steps, do you not perceive that we are worms born to form the angelic butterfly that flies to justice without a shield? Why is it that your spirit floats on high, since you are like defective insects, like worms in whom formation is lacking?
[tr. Durling (2003)]
O proud Christians, weary and wretched, who, infirm in the mind’s vision, put your trust in downward steps: do you not see that we are caterpillars, born to form the angelic butterfly, that flies to judgement without defence? Why does your mind soar to the heights, since you are defective insects, even as the caterpillar is, in which the form is lacking?
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Proud Christians, wretched and — alas! — so tired, who, feeble in your powers of mental sight, place so much faith in your own backward tread,
do you not recognize that you are worms born to become angelic butterflies that fly to justice with no veil between?
Why is it that your thoughts float up so high? You, with your faults, are little more than grubs, chrysalides (no more!) that lack full form.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
O vainglorious Christians, miserable wretches! Sick in the visions engendered in your minds, you put your trust in backward steps.
Do you not see that we are born as worms, though able to transform into angelic butterflies that unimpeded soar to justice?
What makes your mind rear up so high? You are, as it were, defective creatures, like the unformed worm, shaped from the mud.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
O haughty Christians, miserable and weary, Driven by sickness rioting in your mind, Placing eternal trust in what walks backward,
Unable to see that human beings are worms, Born to create angelic butterflies That fly to God's judgment, needing no other protection.
Why do you let your mind soar into Heaven, Since what you truly are is imperfect insects, Just as the worm must wait to come into being?
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Our Father in Heaven, not by Heaven bounded but there indwelling for the greater love Thou bear’st Thy first works in the realm first-founded,
hallowed be Thy name, hallowed Thy Power by every creature as its nature grants it to praise Thy quickening breath in its brief hour.
Let come to us the sweet peace of Thy reign, for if it come not we cannot ourselves attain to it however much we strain.
And as Thine Angels kneeling at the throne offer their wills to Thee, singing Hosannah, so teach all men to offer up their own.
Give us this day Thy manna, Lord we pray, for if he have it not, though man most strive through these harsh wastes, his speed is his delay.
As we forgive our trespassers the ill we have endured, do Thou forgive, not weighing our merits, but the mercy of Thy will.
Our strength is as a reed bent to the ground: do not Thou test us with the Adversary, but deliver us from him who sets us round.
This last petition. Lord, with grateful mind, we pray not for ourselves who have no need, but for the souls of those we left behind.
[O Padre nostro, che ne’ cieli stai, non circunscritto, ma per più amore ch’ai primi effetti di là sù tu hai,
laudato sia ’l tuo nome e ’l tuo valore da ogne creatura, com’è degno di render grazie al tuo dolce vapore.
Vegna ver’ noi la pace del tuo regno, ché noi ad essa non potem da noi, s’ella non vien, con tutto nostro ingegno.
Come del suo voler li angeli tuoi fan sacrificio a te, cantando osanna, così facciano li uomini de’ suoi.
Dà oggi a noi la cotidiana manna, sanza la qual per questo aspro diserto a retro va chi più di gir s’affanna.
E come noi lo mal ch’avem sofferto perdoniamo a ciascuno, e tu perdona benigno, e non guardar lo nostro merto.
Nostra virtù che di legger s’adona, non spermentar con l’antico avversaro, ma libera da lui che sì la sprona.
Quest’ultima preghiera, segnor caro, già non si fa per noi, ché non bisogna, ma per color che dietro a noi restaro.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 2 “Purgatorio,” Canto 11, l. 1ff (11.1-24) (1314) [tr. Ciardi (1961)]
(Source)
A paraphrase of the Christian Paternoster (the Lord's Prayer or "Our Father," from Matt. 6.9-13) prayer, recited by the Proud in Purgatory as both a "first children's prayer" and an act of humility. While it may seem blasphemous for Dante to modify a Biblical prayer in this way, St. Augustine wrote that the Lord's Prayer could be personalized, so long as its main petitions remained intact.
Given the length of the passage, I've reduced the number of parallel translations shown.
Great Father! whom the Universe obeys!
Who, by thy boundless Love's transcendent rays. In purest light, the brightest virtue flows:
Let all the orders of creation join
In one deep plaudit to that love divine. Which thro' the countless tribes of being glows.
Let thy celestial Grace, with heav'nly plume,
Descend, where, plung'd in this terrestrial gloom, We ply our powers in vain, to seize the boon;
And as the Powers above, that own thy sway,
With joy the dictates of thy will obey. So may th' example spread beneath the Moon.
May thy unsparing hand, with daily food,
Supply our frailty; else, by Time subdu'd, Our steps must falter in this vale of woe;
As other's faults we pass, do thou forgive! --
Let not our deep defects our souls deprive Of thy supernal favours, bounteous flow!
With thy protecting hand, O Saviour! shield
Our stagg'ring virtue, in the dangerous field! And keep at bay the sin-provoking Foe.
We pray not for ourselves, but those behind.
That, breathing still, their painful journey wind Thro' the sublunar vale of crimes and woe.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 1-4]
Our Father, thou who dwellest in the heavens, Not circumscribed, but from the greater love Thou bearest to the first effects on high,
Praised be thy name and thine omnipotence By every creature, as befitting is To render thanks to thy sweet effluence.
Come unto us the peace of thy dominion, For unto it we cannot of ourselves, If it come not, with all our intellect.
Even as thine own Angels of their will Make sacrifice to thee, Hosanna singing, So may all men make sacrifice of theirs.
Give unto us this day our daily manna, Withouten which in this rough wilderness Backward goes he who toils most to advance.
And even as we the trespass we have suffered Pardon in one another, pardon thou Benignly, and regard not our desert.
Our virtue, which is easily o'ercome, Put not to proof with the old Adversary, But thou from him who spurs it so, deliver.
This last petition verily, dear Lord, Not for ourselves is made, who need it not, But for their sake who have remained behind us.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Our Father, who in the heavens abidest, not as circumscribed, but through the greater love which Thou hast to Thy first effects on high, praised be Thy name and Thy worth by every creature, as it is meet to render thanks to Thy sweet Spirit. Let the peace of Thy kingdom come to us, for we towards it can naught of ourselves, if it comes not, with all our wit As of their will Thy angels make sacrifice to Thee, chanting Hosanna, so may men do of theirs. Give this day to us the daily manna, without which through this rough desert backward he goes who most toils to go forward. And as we forgive to each man the evil which we have suffered, do Thou also graciously forgive, and not regard our merit. Our strength, which easily surrenders, put not Thou to proof with the old adversary, but deliver it from him, who so urges it This last prayer, dear Lord, no longer is made for us, for it needs not, but for those who have remained behind us.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Our Father who dost dwell in Heaven above, Not circumscribed, but that Thou there dost place Upon Thy primal effluence, higher love,
For ever hallowed be Thy Name and grace, By each created thing, as is most right In rendering thanks Thy savour to embrace.
The peace of Thy own kingdom on us light, Which of ourselves we never could attain. Unless it come through striving with all might.
As, by their own desire, Thy angels fain Singing Hosanna, sacrifice to Thee, So may Thy will be done on earth by man.
Provide us with our daily manna free, Without the which, this desert road along. He would go back, who striveth most to flee.
And as we pardon unto each the wrong Which we have suffered, be our pardoner, Nor weigh the merits which to us belong.
Our virtue, which so easily doth err, Do not thou test it with the ancient foe, Deliver us from him that so doth spur.
This last petition, O dear Lord, we owe Not for ourselves, for whom is no more need, Rather for those we've left behind below.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
O our Father, who art in heaven above, Not as being circumscribed, but because toward Thy first creation thou hast greater love,
Hallowed thy name be and thy power adored By every creature, as is meet and right To give thanks for the sweetness from thee poured;
May upon us thy kingdom's peace alight. For to it of ourselves we cannot rise, Unless it come itself, with all our wit.
As of their will thine angels' companies Make sacrifice, as they Hosanna sing, So may men make of their will sacrifice.
To us this day our daily manna bring: Else through this desert harsh must he revert His steps, who most to advance is labouring.
And as we pardon every one the hurt That we have suffered, do thou pardon too, Begninant, nor remember our desert.
Try not our will, so easy to subdue, With the old adversary, and by thine aid Save us from him who goads it, to our rue.
This last prayer, dear Lord, is for us not made Any more, since remaineth now no need, But 'tis for those who have behind us stayed.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Our Father, dwelling in the Heavens, nowise As circumscribed, but as the things above, Thy first effects, are dearest in Thine eyes.
Hallowed Thy name be and the Power thereof, By every creature, as right meet it is We praise the tender effluence of Thy Love.
Let come to us, let come Thy Kingdom's peace; If it come not, we've no power of our own To come to it, for all our subtleties.
Like as with glad Hosannas as Thy throne Thine angels offer up their wills away, So let men offer theirs, that Thine be done.
Our daily manna give to us this day, Without which he that through this desert wild Toils most to speed goes backward on his way.
As we, with all our debtors reconciled, Forgive, do Thou forgive us, nor regard Our merits, but upon our sins look mild.
Put not our strength, too easily ensnared And overcome, to proof with the old foe; But save us from him, for he tries it hard.
This last prayer is not made for us -- we know, Dear Lord, that it is needless -- but for those Who still remain behind us we pray so.
[tr. Sayers (1955)]
Our Father Who in Heaven dost abide, not there constrained but dwelling there because Thou lovest more Thy lofty first effects,
hallowed by Thy name, hallowed Thy Power, by Thy creatures as it behooves us all to render thanks for Thy sweet effluence.
Thy kingdom come to us with all its peace; if it come not, we of ourselves cannot attain to it, no matter how we strive.
And as Thine angels offer up their wills to Thee in sacrifice, singing Hosannah, let all men offer up to Thee their own.
Give us this day our daily manna, Lord: without it, those most eager to advance go backwards through this wild wasteland of ours.
As we forgive our trespassers, do Thou, forgive our trespasses, merciful Lord, look not upon our undeserving worth.
Our strength is only weakness, lead us not into temptation by our ancient foe, deliver us from him who urges evil.
This last request, beloved Lord, we make not for ourselves, who know we have no need, but for those souls who still remain behind.
[tr. Musa (1981)]
Our father, which art in heaven, Not because circumscribed, but out of the greater love You have for your first creation on high,
Praise be to your name and worthiness From every creature, as it is appropriate To render thanks to your sweet charity.
Thy kingdom come, and the peace of thy kingdom, Because we cannot attain it of ourselves, If it does not come, for all our ingenuity.
As of their own freewill your angels Make sacrifice to you, singing Hosanna, So may men also do of their freewill.
Give us this day our daily manna, Without which, through the roughness of this desert, He who tries hardest to advance, goes backward.
And as we forgive everyone the evil That we have suffered, may you pardon us Graciously, and have no regard to our merits.
Do not put our virtue to the test With the old adversary, it is easily overcome, But free us from him who spurs us on.
This last prayer, dear Lord, we no longer Make for ourselves, having no need of it, But for those who are left behind us.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Our Father, You who dwell within the heavens -- but are not circumscribed by them -- out of Your greater love for Your first works above,
praised be Your name and Your omnipotence, by every creature, just as it is seemly to offer thanks to Your sweet effluence.
Your kingdom’s peace come unto us, for if it does not come, then though we summon all our force, we cannot reach it of our selves.
Just as Your angels, as they sing Hosanna, offer their wills to You as sacrifice, so may men offer up their wills to You.
Give unto us this day the daily manna without which he who labors most to move ahead through this harsh wilderness falls back.
Even as we forgive all who have done us injury, may You, benevolent, forgive, and do not judge us by our worth.
Try not our strength, so easily subdued, against the ancient foe, but set it free from him who goads it to perversity.
This last request we now address to You, dear Lord, not for ourselves -- who have no need -- but for the ones whom we have left behind.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
O our Father who are in the heavens, not circumscribed, but because of the greater love you bear those first effects up there, praised be your Name and your Power by every creature, for it is fitting to give thanks to your sweet Spirit. Let the peace of your kingdom come to us, for we cannot attain to it by ourselves, if it does not come, with all our wit. As the angels sacrifice their wills to you, singing Hosanna, so let men do with theirs. Give us this day our daily manna, without which in this harsh wilderness he goes backwards who most strives forward. And as we forgive all others for the evil we have suffered, do you forgive us lovingly, and do not regard our merit. Our strength, which is easily subdued, do not tempt with the ancient adversary, but free it from him who spurs it so. This last prayer, dear Lord, we do not make for ourselves, since there is no need, but for those who have stayed behind.
[tr. Durling (2003)]
O our Father, who are in Heaven, not because of your limitation, but because of the greater love you have for your first sublime works, praised be your name and worth by every creature, as it is fitting to give thanks for your sweet outpourings. May the peace of your kingdom come to us, since we cannot reach it by ourselves, despite all our intellect, if it does not come to us itself. As Angels sacrifice their will to yours, singing Hosanna: so may men sacrifice theirs. Give us this day our daily bread, without which he who labours to advance, goes backward, through this harsh desert. And forgive in loving-kindness, as we forgive everyone, the evil we have suffered, and judge us not by what we deserve. Do not test our virtue, that is easily conquered, against the ancient enemy, but deliver us from him who tempts it. And this last prayer, dear Lord, is not made on our behalf, since we do not need it, but for those we have left behind.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
O our Father, whose place is high in Heaven Not fixed or held in the sky, but there ascending Because of Your love for the first of Your creations,
May Your name be praised by every living Creature, and also Your virtues, for You deserve Such gratitude for all the emanations
You send us. May your kingdom's peace come down To us, who are not strong enough by ourselves, And can not take it, no matter how we strive.
Just as Your angels sacrifice their wills To You, singing Hosannah, men as well Should bend their wills to Yours, and sing Hosannah.
Give us, this day, our daily grace, without which Men go backwards, here in this bitter desert, Forced to go back, although they struggle for more.
And just as we forgive to all men the wrongs We have endured, may You in loving kindness Pardon us, in spite of all our sins.
Our powers are weak, and easily overcome: Do not oblige us to fight our ancient foe, But free us from him, who tries to woo us with evil.
And this last prayer, dear Lord, we do not make For ourselves, who are not in need, but for the sake Of those behind us, as we rise to Your face.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
The breath of Fame is but a fickle gale,
Whose veering blasts from every point prevail, And every change bestows a different name.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 20]
The noise
Of worldly fame is but a blast of wind, That blows from divers points, and shifts its name Shifting the point it blows from.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
The mundane rumour is a fleeting breath Of wind, that veers and varies in account, And changes name because it changes point.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Naught is this mundane rumour but a breath Of wind, that comes now this way and now that, And changes name, because it changes side.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
The rumour of the world is naught else than a breath of wind, which now comes hence and now comes thence, and changes name because it changes quarter.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Mundane renown is but a breath forlorn Of wind that cometh now from here, now there, Named various from the quarter whence 'tis borne.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Worldly renown is naught but a breath of wind, which now comes this way and now comes that, and changes name because it changes quarter.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Earthly fame is naught but a breath of wind, which now cometh hence and now thence, and changes name because it changes direction.
[tr. Okey (1901)]
The world's noise is but a breath of wind which comes now this way and now that and changes name because it changes quarter.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Naught but a wind's breath is the world's acclaim, Which blows now hence, now thence, as it may hap, And when it changes quarter changes name.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
A breath of wind is all there is to fame here upon earth: it blows this way and that and when it changes quarter it changes name.
[tr. Ciardi (1961)]
Earthly fame is naught but a breath of wind, which now comes hence and now comes thence, changing its name because it changes quarter.
[tr. Singleton (1973)]
Your earthly fame is but a gust of wind that blows about, shifting this way and that, and as it changes quarter, changes name.
[tr. Musa (1981)]
Earthly fame is nothing but a breath of wind, Which first blows one way and then blows another, And brings a fresh name from each fresh direction.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Worldly renown is nothing other than a breath of wind that blows now here, now there, and changes name when it has changed its course.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
The clamor of the world is nothing but a breath of wind that comes now from here and now from there, and changes names because it changes directions.
[tr. Durling (2003)]
Worldly Fame is nothing but a breath of wind, that now blows here, and now there, and changes name as it changes direction.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
The roar of earthly fame is just a breath of wind, blowing from here and then from there, that changes name in changing origin.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
Worldly fame is nothing but a gust of wind, first blowing from one quarter, then another, changing name with every new direction.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Shouts of worldly fame are nothing more Than a passing breath of wind, blowing here, Then there, changing its name from place to place.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Were you to reach the ripe old age of death, instead of dying prattling in your crib, would you have more fame in a thousand years?
What are ten centuries to eternity? Less than the blinking of an eye compared to the turning of the slowest of the spheres.
[Che voce avrai tu più, se vecchia scindi da te la carne, che se fossi morto anzi che tu lasciassi il ‘pappo’ e ’l ‘dindi’,
pria che passin mill’anni? ch’è più corto spazio a l’etterno, ch’un muover di ciglia al cerchio che più tardi in cielo è torto.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 2 “Purgatorio,” Canto 11, l. 103ff (11.103-108) [Oderisi of Gubbio] (1314) [tr. Musa (1981)]
(Source)
Dante refers to two childish terms, which various translators note as
"pappo" perhaps "father" (padre), or "bread" (pane) or just "baby food" (cf. English "pap")
Ah! where's your 'vantage, if yon cast away,
In years, the muddy vesture of decay, As when the swathe involves your tender frame?
Can you suppose her long, sonorious blast,
Thro' twice six thousand changing Moons, will last? Yet, what is that to Heav'n's eternal year? --
Less, than the quick glance of human eye,
To that slow movement of the ample Sky, That turns around the universal Sphere!
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 20-21]
Shalt thou more
Live in the mouths of mankind, if thy flesh
Part shrivel’d from thee, than if thou hadst died,
Before the coral and the pap were left,
Or ere some thousand years have passed? and that
Is, to eternity compar’d, a space,
Briefer than is the twinkling of an eye
To the heaven’s slowest orb.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
More fame shalt thou enjoy, if once old age Wear flesh away, than if thou hadst expired Ere left the breast, or coral last admired?
A thousand years' eternity to thee Far shorter than the eyebrow's movement fleet To slowest orbit stars of heaven complete.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
What fame shalt thou have more, if old peel off From thee thy flesh, than if thou hadst been dead Before thou left the 'pappo' and the 'dindi,'
Ere pass a thousand years? which is a shorter Space to the eterne, than twinkling of an eye Unto the circle that in heaven wheels slowest.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
What fame wilt thou have more, if when it is old thou loose from thee thy flesh, than if thou hadst died before thou hadst left off thy child's prattle, ere a thousand years are past? which beside the eternal is a shorter space than is a movement of the eyelid beside the circle which in heaven turns the slowest.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
If thou stripp'st off thy aged flesh, wilt share More fame than if thou'dst early died in grace Before thou'dst ceased thy childish prattle,
A thousand years have past? A briefer space Beside the eternal, than a glance of the eye By that star's orbit, longest whirled through space.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
What more fame shalt thou have, if thou strippest old flesh from thee, than if thou hadst died ere thou hadst left the pap and the chink, before a thousand years have passed? -- which is a shorter space compared to the eternal than a movement of the eyelids to the circle that is slowest turned in Heaven.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
What greater fame shalt thou have, if thou strip thee of thy flesh when old, than if thou hadst died ere thou wert done with pap and chink, before a thousand years are passed? which is shorter space to eternity than the twinkling of an eye to the circle which slowest is turned in heaven.
[tr. Okey (1901)]
What more fame shalt thou have if thou put off thy flesh when it is old than if thou hadst died before giving up pappo and dindi, when a thousand years are past, which is a shorter space to eternity than the twinkling of an eye to the slowest turning circle in the heavens?
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Wilt thou have more fame if old age unwrap Thy bones from withered flesh than if thy race Ended ere thou wert done with bib and pap
Before a thousand years pass, -- shorter space To eternity than is a blinked eye-lid To the circle in heaven that moves at slowest pace?
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Ten centuries hence, what greater fame hast thou, Stripping the flesh off late, than if thou'dst died Ere thou was done with gee-ger and bow-wow?
Ten centuries hence -- and that's a brief tide, Matched with eternity, than one eye-wink to that wheeled course Heaven's tardiest sphere must ride.
[tr. Sayers (1955)]
Though loosed from flesh in old age, will you have in, say, a thousand years, more reputation than if you went from child's play to the grave?
What, to eternity, is a thousand years? Not so much as the blinking of an eye to the turning of the slowest of the spheres.
[tr. Ciardi (1961)]
What greater fame will you have if you strip off your flesh when it is old than if you had died before giving up pappo and dindi, when a thousand years have passed, which is a short4er space compared to the eternal than the movement of the eyelids to that circle which is slowest turned in heaven?
[tr. Singleton (1973)]
What greater name will you have, if you are old When you put aside your flesh, than if you had died Before you had given up baby-talk and rattles,
Once a thousand years have passed? And that is a shorter Space to the eternal than the flash of an eyelid To the circle which turns in the heavens most slowly.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Before a thousand years have passed -- a span that, for eternity, is less space than an eyeblink for the slowest sphere in heaven --
would you find greater glory if you left your flesh when it was old than if your death had come before your infant words were spent?
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
What more acclaim will you have if you strip off your flesh when it is old, than if you had died before you left off saying ‘pappo’ and ‘dindi,’ before a thousand years have passed? which is a briefer space compared with eternity than the blinking of an eye to the circle that turns slowest in the sky
[tr. Durling (2003)]
What more fame will you have, before a thousand years are gone, if you disburden yourself of your flesh when old, than if you had died before you were done with childish prattle? It is a shorter moment, in eternity, than the twinkling of an eye is to the orbit that circles slowest in Heaven.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
What more renown will you have if you strip your flesh in age away than if you died before you’d left off lisping "Din-dins!", "Penth!"
when once a thousand years have passed, a space that falls far short of all eternity -- an eye blink to the slowest turning sphere.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
Will greater fame be yours if you put off your flesh when it is old than had you died with pappo and dindi still upon your lips
after a thousand years have passed? To eternity, that time is shorter than the blinking of an eye is to one circling of the slowest-moving sphere.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Suppose you get to be old, before you discard Your flesh, how much more fame will go with your name, After a thousand years, if "Pappy" and "Mammy"
were still on your tongue when you died? And a thousand years Compared with life eternal, is like an eyelid Flutter compared with the slowest stars int he skies.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
O human beings, you’re born to fly straight up,
Why does a little gust of wind bring you down?
[O gente umana, per volar sù nata,
perché a poco vento così cadi?]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 2 “Purgatorio,” Canto 12, l. 95ff (12.95-96) (1314) [tr. Bang (2019)]
(Source)
Some translators have this as a comment by Dante on how few takers there are to the Angel of Humility's invitation to ascend higher; others, including most modern translators, make it part of the Angel's speech.
"Oft, as I drink of that celestial rill,"
I cry'd, "I find my thirst increasing still;
Its copious draughts but more inflame my soul
In search of heav'nly truth."
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 13]
“Now lack I satisfaction more,” said I,
“Than if thou hadst been silent at the first,
And doubt more gathers on my lab’ring thought."
[tr. Cary (1814)]
"Less satisfied am I than what I was,"
I said, "than if I still had held my peace;
And in my mind still more the doubts increase."
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
"I am more hungering to be satisfied,"
I said, "than if I had before been silent,
And more of doubt within my mind I gather."
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
"I am more fasting from being satisfied," said I, "than if I had before held my peace, and I unite more doubt in my mind."
[tr. Butler (1885)]
"Through being contented, I do hunger more
Than if thou first hadst silent been," I said,
"And in my mind I gather doubt galore."
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
“I am more hungering to be contented,” said I, “than if I had at first been silent, and more of doubt I assemble in my mind.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
"I am more fasting from being satisfied," said I, "than if I had kept silent at first, and more perplexity I amass in my mind."
[tr. Okey (1901)]
"I am more hungry for satisfaction" I said "than if I had been silent before and my mind is more filled with perplexity."
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
"From being satisfied I fast not less
But more," said I, "than had I question spared,
And in my mind doubt doth the more increase."
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
"I am left hungier being thus fed,
and my mind is more in doubt being thus answered,
than if I had not asked at all," I said.
[tr. Ciardi (1961)]
"I am more hungering to be satisfied," I said, "than if I had at first been silent, and more of doubt do I assemble in my mind."
[tr. Singleton (1973)]
"I hunger more for satisfaction now,”
I said, “than when I held my tongue before,
and new perplexities come to my mind."
[tr. Musa (1981)]
"I am the more starved of satisfaction,"
I said, "than if I had said nothing just now,
And more doubt collects in my mind."
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
“I am more hungry now for satisfaction"
I said, "than if I'd held my tongue before;
I host a deeper doubt within my mind."
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
“I am hungrier to be contented,” I said, “than if you had been silent earlier, and I am gathering more doubt in my mind."
[tr. Durling (2003)]
I said: "I am hungrier by being fed than if I had kept silent from the start, and I have added more confusion to my mind."
[tr. Kline (2002)]
"I hunger more for satisfaction now
than if," I said, "you'd not said anything.
I gather in my mind still greater doubt."
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
"I am more starved for answers," I said,
"'than if before I had kept silent,
since now my mind is filled with greater doubt."
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
"My hunger for knowledge is now less satisfied,"
I said, "than if I had never asked the question,
And the more doubt collects in my troubled mind."
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Some think they see their own hope to advance tied to their neighbor’s fall, and thus they long to see him cast down from his eminence;
Some fear their power, preferment, honor, fame will suffer by another’s rise, and thus, irked by his good, desire his ruin and shame;
And some at the least injury catch fire and are consumed by thoughts of vengeance; thus, their neighbor’s harm becomes their chief desire.
[E’ chi, per esser suo vicin soppresso, spera eccellenza, e sol per questo brama ch’el sia di sua grandezza in basso messo;
è chi podere, grazia, onore e fama teme di perder perch’altri sormonti, onde s’attrista sì che ’l contrario ama;
ed è chi per ingiuria par ch’aonti, sì che si fa de la vendetta ghiotto, e tal convien che ’l male altrui impronti.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 2 “Purgatorio,” Canto 17, l. 115ff (17.115-123) (1314) [tr. Ciardi (1961)]
(Source)
Virgil explains to Dante how "bad" love -- love for self, love of another's harm -- can manifest as Pride, Envy, or Wrath toward others, the sins addressed in the first three tiers of Purgatory.
Those first the taints, that to their Neighbours' fall
Trust for distinction on this Earthly Ball, In talents, wealth, or fame, and feed their pride
By the sad sight of others' hopes depress'd,
And o'er their ruin lift a lofty crest, With Venom from the fount of Good supply'd.
The next that feel this sullen Stygian flame,
Are those, that fear to lose their wealth or fame, Or any gift, by bounteous Heav'n assign'd;
And long possess'd of Fortune's turning wheel,
In its ascent another name reveal, That threats to leave them, and their hopes behind.
Another evil thus becomes their good,
And feeds their black desires with Demon food. -- The third are they, who, with the sense of wrong,
Burn inward, or with fell, vindictive Wrath
Pursue their brethren to the Cave of Death, By love of Pelf, or fiend-like Frenzy stung.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 28-30]
There is who hopes (his neighbour’s worth deprest,) Preeminence himself, and coverts hence For his own greatness that another fall.
There is who so much fears the loss of power, Fame, favour, glory (should his fellow mount Above him), and so sickens at the thought,
He loves their opposite: and there is he, Whom wrong or insult seems to gall and shame That he doth thirst for vengeance, and such needs
Must doat on other’s evil.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
There is, in order neighbour to suppress, Who would excel, himself, his sole desire Grandeur, that sees another in the mire:
There is who power, grace, and honour, fame, Still fears to lose, because the rest surpass, Grows sad, and loves the counteracting cause:
There is who, for injurious affront, Revenge desires, thirsts for another's pain, And hence to ill of others must attain.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
There are, who, by abasement of their neighbour, Hope to excel, and therefore only long That from his greatness he may be cast down;
There are, who power, grace, honour, and renown Fear they may lose because another rises, Thence are so sad that the reverse they love;
And there are those whom injury seems to chafe, So that it makes them greedy for revenge, And such must needs shape out another's harm.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
There is who, through his neighbour being kept down, hopes for excellence, and only for this reason yearns that he may be from his greatness brought low. There is who fears to lose power, grace, honour, and fame, in case another mounts up, wherefore he grows so sad that he loves the contrary. And there is who through injury appears so to take shame that he becomes gluttonous of vengeance; and such an one it behoves that he put forward another's ill.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
There is, who through his neighbour's ruin, so Hopeth pre-eminence, who hence doth call That he from grandeur may be cast down low.
There is, who fears to lose power, grace, and all Honour and fame, because that others rise. Which grieves him so that he desires their fall.
There is, who seems so hurt by injuries, That he on vengeance greedily doth brood; And such a one another's ill must prize.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
There is he who hopes to excel through the abasement of his neighbor, and only longs that from his greatness he may be brought low. There is he who fears loss of power, favor, honor, fame, because another rises; whereat he is so saddened that he loves the opposite. And there is he who seems so outraged by injury that it makes him gluttonous of vengeance, and such a one must needs coin evil for others.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
There is he who through his neighbour's abasement hopes to excel, and solely for this desires that he be cast down from his greatness; there is he who fears to lose power, favour, honour and fame because another is exalted, wherefore he groweth sad so that he loves the contrary; and there is he who seems to be so shamed through being wronged, that he becomes greedy of vengeance, and such must needs seek another's hurt.
[tr. Okey (1901)]
There is he that hopes to excel by the abasement of his neighbour and for that sole reason longs that from his greatness he may be brought low; there is he that fears to lose power, favour, honour, and fame because another surpasses, by which he is so aggrieved that he loves the contrary; and there is he that feels himself so disgraced by insult that he becomes greedy of vengeance, and such a one must needs contrive another's harm.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
There is, who through his neighbour's overthrow Hopes to excel, and only for that cause Longs that he may from greatness be brought low.
There is, who fears power, favour, fame to lose Because another mounts; wherefore his lot So irks, he loves the opposite to choose.
And there is, who through injury grows so hot From shame, with greed of vengeance he is burned, And so must needs another's ill promote.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Some hope their neighbour’s ruin may divert His glory to themselves, and this sole hope Prompts them to drag his greatness in the dirt;
Some, in their fear to lose fame, favour, scope, And honour, should another rise to power, Wishing the worst, sit glumly there and mope;
And some there are whose wrongs have turned them sour, So that they thirst for vengeance, and this passion Fits them to plot some mischief any hour.
[tr. Sayers (1955)]
There is he that hopes to excel by the abasement of his neighbor, and solely for this desires that he be cast down from greatness. There is he that fears to lose power, favor, honor, and fame, because another is exalted, by which he is so saddened that he loves the contrary. And there is he who seems so outraged by injury that he becomes greedy of vengeance, and such a one must needs contrive another's hurt.
[tr. Singleton (1973)]
There is the man who sees his own success connect to his neighbor's downfall; thus, he longs to see him fall from eminence.
Next, he who fears to lose honor and fame, power and favor, if his neighbor rise: vexed by this good, he wishes for the words.
Finally, he who, wronged, flares up in rage: with his great passion for revenge, he thinks only of how to harm his fellow man.
[tr. Musa (1981)]
There is the man who, through the suppression of his neighbour, Hopes to excel, and for that reason only Desires to see him cast down from his greatness:
There is the man who fears to lose power, favour, Honour and glory because of another’s success, And so grieves for it that he loves the opposite:
And there is the man who takes umbrage at injury So that he becomes greedy for revenge And such a man must seek to harm another.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
There’s he who, through abasement of another, hopes for supremacy; he only longs to see his neighbor’s excellence cast down.
Then there is one who, when he is outdone, fears his own loss of fame, power, honor, favor; his sadness loves misfortune for his neighbor.
And there is he who, over injury received, resentful, for revenge grows greedy and, angrily, seeks out another’s harm.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
There are those who hope for supremacy through their neighbor’s being kept down, and only on this account desire that his greatness be brought low; there are those who fear to lose power, favor, honor, or fame because another mounts higher, and thus are so aggrieved that they love the contrary; and there are those who seem so outraged by injury that they become greedy for revenge, and thus they must ready harm for others.
[tr. Durling (2003)]
There are those who hope to excel through their neighbour’s downfall, and because of this alone want them toppled from their greatness. This is Pride. There are those who fear to lose, power, influence, fame or honour because another is preferred, at which they are so saddened they desire the contrary. This is Envy. And there are those who seem so ashamed because of injury, that they become eager for revenge, and so are forced to wish another’s harm. This is Wrath.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Some hope, by keeping all their neighbours down, that they'll excel. They yearn for that alone -- to see them brought from high to low estate. Then, some will fear that, if another mounts, they'll lose all honour, fame and grace and power, so, grieving at success, love what it’s not. And some, it seems, when hurt, bear such a grudge that they crave only to exact revenge -- which means they seek to speed another’s harm.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
There is the one, hoping to excel by bringing down his neighbor, who, for that sole reason, longs that from his greatness his neighbor be brought low.
There is the one who fears the loss of power, favor, honor, fame -- should he be bettered by another. This so aggrieves him that he wants to see him fall.
And there is the one who thinks himself offended and hungers after vengeance, and he must then contrive another's harm.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
First, there's the man who aspires to excellence By pressing down his neighbor: only this yearning Makes him strive to pull his neighbor to the ground.
Then there's the man with power, favor, and honor, And so afraid of losing these when someone Climbs above him, that he hates what once he loved.
And there's the man who, outraged at being insulted, Lusts for the chance of taking revenge, and rushes Into wicked plans for hurting others.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
All follow good; but with uncertain aim.
At once it kindles, and it soothes their flame.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 32]
All indistinctly apprehend a bliss On which the soul may rest, the hearts of all Yearn after it, and to that wished bourn
All therefore strive to tend.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
A good each one confusedly apprehends The mind to quiet -- satisfy desire; Hence to attain 't will every one conspire.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Each one confusedly a good conceives Wherein the mind may rest, and longeth for it; Therefore to overtake it each one strives.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Each one confusedly apprehends a good wherein his mind may rest, and desires it ; wherefore each one strives to reach Him.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Some good doth each confusedly apprehend. In which to rest his spirit's longing fain, Therefore to reach to it doth each contend.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Every one confusedly apprehends a good in which the mind may be at rest, and which it desires; wherefore every one strives to attain it.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Each one apprehends vaguely a good wherein the mind may find rest, and desires it; wherefore each one strives to attain thereto.
[tr. Okey (1901)]
Everyone confusedly apprehends a good in which the mind may be at rest and desires it, so that each strives to reach it.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Each one confusedly doth apprehend A longed-for good, wherein the mind may find rest; And therefore each one strives to attain that end.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Everyone vaguely pictures in his mind A good the heart may rest on, and is driven By his desire to seek it and to find.
[tr. Sayers (1955)]
All men, though in a vague way, apprehend a good their souls may rest in, and desire it; each, therefore, strives to reach his chosen end.
[tr. Ciardi (1961)]
Each one apprehends vaguely a good wherein the mind may find rest, and this it desires' wherefore each one strives to attain thereto.
[tr. Singleton (1973)]
All of you, vaguely, apprehend and crave a good with which your heart may be at rest; and so, each of you strives to reach that goal.
[tr. Musa (1981)]
Each apprehends confusedly a Good in which the mind may rest, and longs for It; and, thus, all strive to reach that Good.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
Each confusedly apprehends a Good in which his spirit may be quieted, and desires it, and therefore each strives to reach it.
[tr. Durling (2003)]
Everyone vaguely apprehends a good, where the mind finds rest: and desires it: so everyone labours to attain it.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
We all, confusedly, conceive a good, desiring that our hearts may rest in that. And each will strive to make their way to it.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
Everyone can vaguely apprehend some good in which the mind may find its peace. With desire, each one strives to reach it.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
They muddle about, knowing there is goodness In which their minds can rest, and they wish to have it, All of them struggling to find what's so desired.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
But the power of a man’s will is often powerless:
laughter and tears follow so close upon the passions that provoke them that the more sincere the man, the less they obey his will.
[Ma non può tutto la virtù che vuole;
ché riso e pianto son tanto seguaci a la passion di che ciascun si spicca, che men seguon voler ne’ più veraci.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 2 “Purgatorio,” Canto 21, l. 105ff (21.105-108) (1314) [tr. Musa (1981)]
(Source)
As each alternate Passion leaves a trace
On the still-varying muscles of the face, Fictitious oft; but, by the candid mind,
Conceal'd with pain, the dawn of dubious joy
My features wore.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 20]
But the power which wills, Bears not supreme control: laughter and tears
Follow so closely on the passion prompts them, They wait not for the motions of the will In natures most sincere.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
But will is not with power entire endued.
Laughter and tears pursue so much the trace The passion dictates that imprints them there, Nor follow will in natures most sincere.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
But yet the power that wills cannot do all things;
For tears and laughter are such pursuivants Unto the passion from which each springs forth, In the most truthful least the will they follow.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
But virtue cannot all it would; for laughter and tears follow so much the passion from which each springs, that they least obey will in the most truthful men.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
But all it wishes, will cannot forbear:
For smiles and tears to diverse passion wed, Upon that passion follow so instinct. In open natures, will is quite outsped.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
But the power that wills cannot do everything; for smiles and tears are such followers on the emotion from which each springs, that in the most truthful they least follow the will.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
But the virtue which wills is not all powerful; for laughter and tears follow so closely the passion from which each springs, that they least obey the will in the most truthful.
[tr. Okey (1901)]
But the power to will cannot do all, for laughter and tears are so close followers on the passions from which they spring that they least follow the will in the most truthful.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
But all is not done by the will's decree;
For on the passion wherefrom each is bred Laughter and tears follow so close that least In the most truthful is the will obeyed.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
But will with us is not made one with power;
Tears, laughter, tread so hard upon the heel Of their evoking passions, that in those Who're most sincere they least obey the will.
[tr. Sayers (1955)]
But man's will
is not supreme in every circumstance:
for tears and laughter come so close behind the passions they arise from, that they least obey the will of the most honest mind.
[tr. Ciardi (1961)]
But the power that wills cannot do everything; for smiles and tears are such close followers on the emotion from which each springs, that in the most truthful they least follow the will.
[tr. Singleton (1973)]
But virtue cannot do everything that it will;
For laughter and tears follow so closely on The passions from which they respectively proceed, That they follow the will least in the most truthful.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
And yet the power of the will cannot do all,
for tears and smiles are both so faithful to the feelings that have prompted them that true feeling escapes the will that would subdue.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
But the power of the will cannot do everything, for laughter and weeping follow so closely on the passion from which each springs that they follow the will least in those who are most truthful.
[tr. Durling (2003)]
But the virtue that wills is not all-powerful, since laughter and tears follow the passion, from which they spring, so closely, that, in the most truthful, they obey the will least.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
But will power can't do everything it wills.
For tears and laughter follow on so close to those emotions from which each act springs that these least follow will in those most true.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
But the power that wills cannot do all it wills,
for laughter and tears so closely follow feelings from which they spring, they least can be controlled in those who are most truthful.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
But will alone won't stop a human being,
Since laughter and tears are deeply interwoven, Following hard on emotions which spring them forth, And when they're truthful have little to do with the will.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
To what extremes, O cursèd lust for gold
will you not drive man’s appetite?
[Per che non reggi tu, o sacra fame
de l’oro, l’appetito de’ mortali?]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 2 “Purgatorio,” Canto 22, l. 40ff (22.40-41) [Statius] (1314) [tr. Musa (1981)]
(Source)
Quid non mortalia pectora cogis,
Auri sacra fames?
Unlike the phrase in that pagan book, which is purely about the corrupting power of greed and gold-lust, Dante's Italian and some translators make reference to a "holy hunger," a virtue/rule of proper attitude toward money and spending, criticized here for it not restraining humans from the sins of being either spendthrifts or misers -- a nod to Aristotle making sin about extremes and virtue about moderation. See Ciardi, Durling, Kirkpatrick, Princeton, and Sayers for more discussion.
(Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:
Why, thou cursed thirst
Of gold! dost not with juster measure guide
The appetite of mortals?
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Why should'st thou not restrain accursèd thirst
Of gold, the appetite of mortals lost?
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
To what impellest thou not, O cursed hunger
Of gold, the appetite of mortal men?
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Why restrainest thou not, O holy hunger of gold, the desire of mortals?
[tr. Butler (1885)]
To what lengths, O thou cursed thirst of gold,
Dost thou not rule the mortal appetite?
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
O cursed hunger of gold, to what dost thou not impel the appetite of mortals?
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Wherefore dost thou not regulate the lust of mortals, O hallowed hunger of gold?
[tr. Okey (1901)]
To what, O cursed hunger for gold, dost thou not drive the appetite of mortals?
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
O hallowed hunger of gold, why dost thou not
The appetite of mortal men control?
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
With what constraint constran'st thou not the lust
Of mortals, thou devoted greed of gold!
[tr. Sayers (1955)]
To what do you not drive man's appetite,
O cursèd gold-lust!
[tr. Ciardi (1961)]
Why do you not control the appetite
Of mortals, O you accurst hunger for gold?
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
Why cannot you, o holy hunger
for gold, restrain the appetite of mortals?
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
O sacred hunger for gold, why do you not rule human appetite?
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Why do you, O holy hunger for gold, not
govern the appetite of mortals?
[tr. Durling (2003)]
You, awestruck hungering for gold! Why not
impose a rule on mortal appetite?
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
To what end, O cursèd hunger for gold,
do you not govern the appetite of mortals?
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
Accursed craving for money, what is there, in
This world, you don't lead human beings to?
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
O my dear brother, what is there to say? In vision I already see a time — and it is not far distant from this day —
in which the pulpit shall denounce by writ the shameless jades that Florentines call ladies, who go about with breasts bare to the tit.
What Moslem woman ever has required a priestly discipline, or any other, before she would go decently attired?
But if the chippies only could foresee swift Heaven’s punishment, they’d have their mouths already open to howl misery.
[O dolce frate, che vuo’ tu ch’io dica? Tempo futuro m’è già nel cospetto, cui non sarà quest’ora molto antica,
nel qual sarà in pergamo interdetto a le sfacciate donne fiorentine l’andar mostrando con le poppe il petto.
Quai barbare fuor mai, quai saracine, cui bisognasse, per farle ir coperte, o spiritali o altre discipline?
Ma se le svergognate fosser certe di quel che ’l ciel veloce loro ammanna, già per urlare avrian le bocche aperte.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 2 “Purgatorio,” Canto 23, l. 97ff (23.97-108) (1314) [tr. Ciardi (1961)]
(Source)
Forese Donati speaking to Dante, anticipating the "future" (already-past) travails of Florence in the early 1300s, apparently brought about (in part) by the city's shameless women being scantily clad (though no such church edict survives in the record).
Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:
O, Brother! shall I tell, or hide my thought?
The horrible display that Fancy views,
Which soon the pregnant moments will produce, And Impudence and Pride's disgraceful lot. Soon a stern Voice will teach the shameless kind
A decent covering, as they may, to find, Their naked shoulders from the Sun to hide!
Was it amongst Barbarians ever known,
That nought but threats can bind the modest Zone, On the young virgin and the plighted Bride? But if these dainty Dames could read the Skies,
And spy the slumb'ring tempest soon to rise, Those lips that whisper Love, would shriek Despair.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 19-21]
O sweet brother!
What wouldst thou have me say? A time to come Stands full within my view, to which this hour Shall not be counted of an ancient date,
When from the pulpit shall be loudly warn’d Th’ unblushing dames of Florence, lest they bare Unkerchief’d bosoms to the common gaze.
What savage women hath the world e’er seen, What Saracens, for whom there needed scourge Of spiritual or other discipline, To force them walk with cov’ring on their limbs!
But did they see, the shameless ones, that Heav’n Wafts on swift wing toward them, while I speak, Their mouths were op’d for howling.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Oh dear brother! what shall I say to thee? A future time now within my view, To which the present hour will be but new,
When interdict will issue from the chair To Florence ladies of effrontery, With naked bosoms, where the pays you spy.
Barbarians and Saracens were there e'er Forced to go covered, and their right mind in, By spiritual or other discipline?
Their future lot could but the shameless see, What the swift Heaven is bringing on its wing, To howl their mouths would soon be opening.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
O brother sweet, what wilt thou have me say? A future time is in my sight already, To which this hour will not be very old,
When from the pulpit shall be interdicted To the unblushing womankind of Florence To go about displaying breast and paps.
What savages were e'er, what Saracens, Who stood in need, to make them covered go, Of spiritual or other discipline?
But if the shameless women were assured Of what swift Heaven prepares for them, already Wide open would they have their mouths to howl.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
O brother dear, what wouldst have further told? A future time already do I see, In which the present day will not be old.
When in the Church they'll publish a decree Against the insolent lady Florentines, Not to expose their breasts for all to see.
When were Barbarians seen or Saracens, To whom was needed clothing to enforce. Or spiritual, or other disciplines?
But if the shameless ones could see the course Which Heaven prepareth for them speedily. Now would begin their howlings of remorse.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
O sweet brother, what wouldst thou that I say? A future time is already in my sight, to which this hour will not be very old, in which from the pulpit it shall be forbidden to the brazen-faced dames of Florence to go displaying the bosom with the paps. What Barbarian, what Saracen women were there ever who required either spiritual or other discipline to make them go covered? But if the shameless ones were aware of that which the swift heaven is preparing for them, already would they have their mouths open for howling.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
O sweet brother, what would st thou have me say? Already in my vision is a time to come to which this hour shall not be very old, when the brazen-faced women of Florence shall be forbidden from the pulpit to go abroad showing their breasts with the paps. What Barbary, what Saracen women ever lived, to whom either spiritual, or other discipline were necessary, to make them go covered? But if the shameless creatures were assured of what swift heaven is preparing for them, already would they have their mouths open to howl.
[tr. Okey (1901)]
O sweet brother, what wilt thou have me say? A coming time is already before my eyes to which this hour will not be very old when from the pulpit it shall be forbidden to the brazen women of Florence to go showing the breast with the paps. What barbarous women, what Saracens, ever were there that needed, to make them go covered, spiritual disciplines or any other? But had the shameless creatures knowledge of what the swift heavens prepare for them, they would have their mouths open already for howling.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
O sweet brother, what would'st thou have me say? A time to come already I see indeed, Wherefrom this hour shall not be far away.
In which from pulpit shall it be forbid To the unashamed women of Florence then To go showing the breast with paps not hid.
What woman of Barbary, what Saracen, did ever need, to make her go covered, Spiritual or other regimen?
But if the unabashed ones were assured Of what swift heaven prepares for them on high Their mouths would open and their howls be heard.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
Brother of mine, what wilt thou have me say? This hour shall not be very old perhaps Ere time shall bring what I foresee to-day:
A pulpit interdict, no less, which claps Down on our brazen jades of Florentines Flaunting unveiled the bosom and the paps.
What female Turk or Berber e'er showed signs Of needing to be covered up by force Of spiritual or other disciplines?
But could these wantons know what Heaven's swift course Prepares for them, they'd have their mouths ajar Already, fit to bellow themselves hoarse.
[tr. Sayers (1955)]
O sweet brother, what would you have me say? Already in my vision is a future time, to which this hour shall not be very old, when the brazen-faced women of Florence shall be forbidden from the pulpit to go displaying their breasts with the papas. What Barbarian, what Saracen women were there ever, who required either spiritual or other discipline to make them go covered? But if the shameless creatures were assured of what swift heaven is preparing for them, already would they have their mouths open to howl.
[tr. Singleton (1973)]
My dear brother, how can I tell you this: I see a future time -- it won't be long -- in which bans from the pulpit shall clamp down
on those ladies of Florence who, bold-faced, now walk our city streets as they parade their bosom to the tits! What barbarous girl,
what female Saracen, had to be taught spiritual discipline, or anything, to keep her body decently concealed?
But if these shameless creatures only knew what the swift heavens have in store for them, they would by now be screaming their heads off!
[tr. Musa (1981)]
O gentle brother, what do you want me to say? Already I can see a time ahead, Before the present hour is very old,
In which the impudent women of Florence Will be preached against from the pulpit because They go about showing their breasts to the nipples.
What women of Barbary, what Saracens Ever needed, to make them go covered, Either spiritual or other discipline?
But if the shameless creatures were assured Of what swift heaven is getting ready for them, They would have their mouths open already, to howl.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
O
sweet brother, what would you have had me say? A future time’s already visible to me -- a time not too far-off from now --
when, from the pulpit, it shall be forbidden to those immodest ones -- Florentine women -- to go displaying bosoms with bare paps.
What ordinances -- spiritual, civil -- were ever needed by barbarian or Saracen women to make them go covered?
But if those shameless ones had certain knowledge of what swift Heaven’s readying for them, then they would have mouths open now to howl.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
O sweet brother, what would you have me say? Already I foresee a time to come, to which this time will not be too distant, when, from the pulpits, the brazen women of Florence will be forbidden to go round displaying their breasts and nipples. When was there ever a Saracen woman, or woman of Barbary, who needed disciplining spiritually or otherwise, to force her to cover herself? But the shameless creatures would already have their mouths open to howl.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
O dear brother, what can I say? A future time is already in my sight when this hour will not seem very ancient,
when from the pulpit it will be forbidden to the brazen Florentine women to walk about showing their chests with their breasts. What barbarian women, what Saracens ever needed either spiritual or other penalties to make them go covered up? But if those shameless ones knew what the swift heavens are preparing for them, they would already have opened their mouths to howl.
[tr. Durling (2003)]
What, dearest brother, would you have me say? A future time, already in my sight, will come (when our time’s still not history),
when, from the pulpit, there’ll be issued bans forbidding bare-faced Florence girls to go with blatant breasts and both their boobs on show.
What mere barbarians or Saracens required a priest or threat of on-spot fines to make them cover up when they go out!
If, though, these brazen creatures only guessed what Heaven so swiftly will bring down on them, then they’d already howl with open mouths.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
O sweet brother, what would you have me say? In my vision even now I see a time, before this hour shall be very old,
when from the pulpit it shall be forbidden for the brazen ladies of Florence to flaunt their nipples with their breasts.
What barbarous women, what Saracens, have ever needed spiritual instruction or other rules, to walk about in proper dress?
But if these shameless creatures knew what the swift heavens are preparing, even now their mouths would be spread open in a howl.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
O, my sweet brother, what can you ask me to say? Looking into the future, I already see -- And the hour will not be long in coming, I believe --
When priests in our pulpits will forbid Florence's lewd And insolent women from going about the streets, Their breasts bare well below the nipples.
Were there ever barbarian women, or Turks, Who needed heavy discipline -- by priests Or by law -- to keep them decently covered? But such
Disgraceful creatures, should they realize For sure what quick-handed Heaven has ready for them, They'd now be ready to open their mouths and howl!
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Not one drop of blood
is left inside my veins that does not throb:
I recognize signs of the ancient flame.
[Men che dramma
di sangue m’è rimaso, che non tremi;
conosco i segni de l’antica fiamma.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 2 “Purgatorio,” Canto 30, l. 46ff (3.46-68) (1314) [tr. Musa (1981)]
(Source)
Dante, on seeing his long-lost love, Beatrice, repeating to Virgil the lines he had given Dido (Aeneid, 4.23) about how she felt the stirring of long-dead passion upon seeing Aeneas: "Agnosco veteris vestigia flammae" ("I know the traces of the ancient flame" [tr. Kline (2002)]).
(Source (Italian)). Alternate translations:
There is no dram of blood,
That doth not quiver in me. The old flame
Throws out clear tokens of reviving fire.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
There is not one drop
Of blood within me trembling but became:
I know the tokens of the ancient fame.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Not a drachm
Of blood remains in me, that does not tremble;
I know the traces of the ancient flame.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
Less than a dram of blood remains to me which trembles not; I recognise the signs of the ancient flame.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Rests within my frame
No dram of blood that does not tremble now;
I know the symptoms of the olden flame.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
Less than a drachm of blood remains in me that doth not tremble; I recognize the signals of the ancient flame.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
Less than a drachm of blood
is left in me that trembleth not; I recognise
the tokens of the ancient flame.
[tr. Okey (1901)]
Not a drop of blood is left in me that does not tremble; I know the marks of the ancient flame.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
Scarce one drop remains
Of blood in me that trembles not: by this
I recognize the old flame within my veins.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
There is scarce a dram
That does not hammer and throb in all my blood;
I know the embers of the ancient flame.
[tr. Sayers (1955)]
There is not within me
one drop of blood unstirred. I recognize
the tokens of the ancient flame.
[tr. Ciardi (1961)]
Less than a drop of blood
Is left in me, that is not trembling:
I know the signs of the ancient flame.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
I am left with less
than one drop of blood that does not tremble:
I recognize the signs of the old flame.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
There is a barely a drop of blood in me that does not tremble: I know the tokens of the ancient flame.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
Less than a dram of blood is left me that is not trembling: I recognize the signs of the ancient flame!
[tr. Durling (2003)]
There is not one gram
of blood in me that does not tremble now.
I recognize the signs of ancient flame.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
Not a single drop of blood
remains in me that does not tremble --
I know the signs of the ancient flame.[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
There isn't a single drop of whatever blood Still flows in my veins that isn't shaking from fear: I recognize the signs of that ancient fire.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
This man through all his new life, fresh and young, in virtual power was one who might have proved, in all of his behaviour, wonderful.
Yet there, on earth, the richer soil may be, the more — untilled or sown with evil seed — its vigour turns to wilderness and bane.
[Questi fu tal ne la sua vita nova virtüalmente, ch’ogne abito destro fatto averebbe in lui mirabil prova.
Ma tanto più maligno e più silvestro si fa ’l terren col mal seme e non cólto, quant’elli ha più di buon vigor terrestro.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 2 “Purgatorio,” Canto 30, l. 115ff (3.115-120) [Beatrice] (1314) [tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
(Source)
Such genuine worth adorn'd his early days,
That each prolific stem of heav'nly Grace In that rich Mould a genuine footing found:
But, oh! the rankest soil but serves to feed
The plant of juice malign, and noxious weed. If Culture's hand neglect the hapless ground.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 26]
This man
Was in the freshness of his being, such, So gifted virtually, that in him All better habits wond’rously had thriv’d.
The more of kindly strength is in the soil, So much doth evil seed and lack of culture Mar it the more, and make it run to wildness.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
This man was such, in his new being found, Of virtuous kind, that every nobler way In him gave proof of wonderful essay;
So much the more malignant, wild the soil Of earth with evil seed, untilled with toil, The more good vigour and terrestrial oil.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
Such had this man become in his new life Potentially, that every righteous habit Would have made admirable proof in him;
But so much more malignant and more savage Becomes the land untilled and with bad seed, The more good earthly vigour it possesses.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
This man was such in his new life, potentially, that every right habit would have wrought in him a wondrous result. But all the more malign and the more wild becomes the ground with bad seed and uncultivated, in proportion as it has from the soil more of good force.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
This one was such in new life's opening hour Fitted for good, that every virtuous growth Had made in him miraculous proof of power.
But so much more malign and tangled groweth, With poisonous wilding seeds, the uncultured sward, As of terrestrial strength the more it show.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
This man was such in his new life, virtually, that every right habit would have made admirable proof in him. But so much the more malign and more savage becomes the land ill-sown and untilled, as it has more of good terrestrial vigor.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
This man was such in his new life potentially, that every good talent would have made wondrous increase in him. But so much the more rank and wild the ground becomes with evil seed and untilled, the more it hath of good strength of soil.
[tr. Okey (1901)]
This man in his early life was such potentially that every right disposition would have come to marvelous proof in him; but so much the more noxious and wild the ground becomes, with bad seed and untilled, as it has more good strength of soil.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
This man was such in natural potency, In his new life, that all the ingrained good Looked in him to have fruited wonderously.
But so much groweth the more rank and rude The soil with bad seed and unhusbanded, The more it hath from earth of hardihood.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
[...] had so endowed this man, potentially, In his new life, that from such gifts as those A wondrous harvest would have come to be.
But so much ranker, weedier, and more gross Runs the untended field where wild tares seed, As the good soil is rich and vigorous.
[tr. Sayers (1955)]
This man, potentially, was so endowed from early youth that marvelous increase should have come from every good he sowed.
But richest soil the soonest will grow wild with bad seed and neglect.
[tr. Ciardi (1961)]
This man was such in his new life, virtually, that every right disposition would have made marvelous proof in him. But so much the more rank and wild becomes the land, ill-sown and untilled, as it has more of good strength of soil.
[tr. Singleton (1973)]
[...] was this man so endowed, potentially, in early youth -- had he allowed his gifts to bloom, he would have reaped abundantly.
But the more vigorous and rich the soil, the wilder and weedier it grows when left untilled, its bad seeds flourishing.
[tr. Musa (1981)]
This man, in his youthful years, had such Possibilities, that every propitious tendency Would have produced some marvelous result in him.
But ground sown with bad seed and not cultivated Becomes the more malignant and overgrown The more wholesome vigour there is in the soil.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
He
when young, was such -- potentially -- that any propensity innate in him would have prodigiously succeeded, had he acted.
But where the soil has finer vigor, there precisely -- when untilled or badly seeded -- will that terrain grow wilder and more noxious.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
This man, potentially, was such in his vita nuova, his new life, that every true skill would have grown miraculously in him. But the more good qualities the earth’s soil has, the more wild and coarse it becomes with evil seed, and lack of cultivation.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
He was such in his new life, potentially, that every good habit would have produced a marvelous result in him. But all the more malignant and wild becomes the soil with bad seed and without cultivation, the more it has in it of good earthly vigor.
[tr. Durling (2003)]
This man in his new life potentially was such that each good disposition in him would have come to marvelous conclusion,
but the richer and more vigorous the soil, when planted ill and left to go to seed, the wilder and more noxious it becomes.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
And one such was this man's new life on earth, So all good inclinations, all predictions, Should wonderfully be proved in the life he lives.
Yet land improperly sown, and never tilled, But blessed with soil of enormous power and strength, Will turn itself more terribly rank and foul.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Reader, had I the space to write at will, I should, if only briefly, sing a praise of that sweet draught. Would I were drinking still!
But I have filled all the pages planned for this, my second, canticle, and Art pulls at its iron bit with iron hand.
[S’io avessi, lettor, più lungo spazio da scrivere, i’ pur cantere’ in parte lo dolce ber che mai non m’avria sazio;
ma perché piene son tutte le carte ordite a questa cantica seconda, non mi lascia più ir lo fren de l’arte.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 2 “Purgatorio,” Canto 33, l. 136ff (3.136-141) (1314) [tr. Ciardi (1961)]
(Source)
On drinking from the Eunoë, Dante gets meta, breaking the Fourth Wall and, having self-imposed limits on the number of cantos per book and lines in each canto, he uses "Art" as an excuse to draw toward a conclusion.
On the other hand, Sayers notes that Dante "is almost unique among medieval writers" in restraining his writing: "one of the reasons for his enduring readableness."
If breath and vigour, by indulgent Heav'n,
To sing this bev'rage of the Gods were giv'n, What holy rapture would exalt my Song!
To tell the unexhausted sweets that flow
From that blest Fountain o'er the Vale below. And warm, with new desire, the votive Throng!
But now the Muse has run her fatal round,
And mark'd her Circle to the Second Bound.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 26-27]
Were further space allow’d,
Then, Reader, might I sing, though but in part,
That beverage, with whose sweetness I had ne’er
Been sated. But, since all the leaves are full,
Appointed for this second strain, mine art
With warning bridle checks me.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Reader, had I but longer space to write, I might describe to thee, in part, the taste Of draught that's ever sweet, nor waste
The time; but leaves are all already full Appointed for the second canticle, Nor curb nor rein permit me use the will.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
If, Reader, I possessed a longer space For writing it, I yet would sing in part Of the sweet draught that ne'er would satiate me;
But inasmuch as full are all the leaves Made ready for this second canticle, The curb of art no farther lets me go.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
If I had, reader, longer space to write, I should sing, at all events in part, the sweet draught which never would have sated me; but, for that all the sheets put in frame for this second Canticle are full, the bridle of my art lets me go no further.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Reader, if longer space to me were rated For writing, I would strive to sing in part That draught so sweet, which never could have sated.
But since is now completely filled the chart Allotted for this second book, there leaves No power to wander more the curb of Art.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
If I had, Reader, longer space for writing I would yet partly sing the sweet draught which never would have sated me. But, because all the leaves destined for this second canticle are full, the curb of my art lets me go no further.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
If, reader, I had greater space for writing, I would sing, at least in part, of the sweet draught which never would have sated me; but forasmuch as all the pages ordained for this second canticle are filled, the curb of art no further lets me go.
[tr. Okey (1901)]
If, reader, I had more space to write I should sing but in part the sweet draught which never would have sated me; but since all the sheets prepared for this second cantica are full the curb of art does not let me go farther.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
If, Reader, for the writing were more space, That sweet fount, whence I ne'er could drink my fill, Would I yet sing, though in imperfect praise.
But seeing that for this second canticle The paper planned is full to the last page, The bridle of art must needs constrain my will.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
If for my writing, Reader, I'd more space, I'd sing -- at least in part -- those sweets my heart Might aye have drunk nor e'er known weariness;
But since I've filled the pages set apart For this my second cantique, I'll pursue No further, bridled by the curb of art.
[tr. Sayers (1955)]
If, reader, I had greater space for writing I would yet partly sing the sweet draught which never would have sated me.
but since all the pages ordained for this second canticle are filled, the curb of art lets me go no further.
[tr. Singleton (1973)]
Reader, if I had space to write more words, I'd sing, at least in part, of that sweet draught which never could have satisfied my thirst;
But now I have completed every page planned for my poem's second canticle -- I am checked by the bridle of my art!
[tr. Musa (1981)]
If, reader, I had room to write more, My poem could still not tell you everything About the sweet drink of which I could never have had enough.
But since all the pages designed for this Second part of the poem have been filled, The rules of art stop me at this point.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
If, reader, I had ampler space in which to write, I'd sing -- though incompletely -- that sweet draught for which my thirst was limitless;
but since all of the pages pre-disposed for this, the second canticle, are full, the curb of art will not let me continue.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
Reader, if I had more space to write, I would speak, partially at least, about that sweet drink, which would never have sated me: but because all the pages determined for the second Canticle are full, the curb of art lets me go no further.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
If, reader, I had more space to write, I would continue to sing in part the sweet drink that could never satiate me, but because all the pages are filled that have been laid out for this second canticle, the bridle of art permits me to go no further.
[tr. Durling (2003)]
If, reader, I'd more space in which to write, then I should sing in part about that drink, so sweet I’d never have my fill of it.
However, since these pages now are full, prepared by rights to take the second song, the reins of art won't let me pass beyond.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
If, reader, I had more ample space to write, I should sing at least in part the sweetness of the drink that never would have sated me,
but, since all the sheets readied for this second canticle are full, the curb of art lets me proceed no farther.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
O reader, if I had the space to tell you More, I'd sing something about that sweetest Drink, no quantity of which could ever
End my thirst, but because the pages meant For this canto are already filled, my art prevents me, Affirming limits I am forced to meet.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
For all the gold that lies beneath the moon —
Not one drop of blood
Reader, had I the space to write at will,
