Dante Alighieri, Divine Comedy (1313–1321)

Like Hadewijch of Brabant, Dante Alighieri (1265–1321) combined poetry and the vernacular to explore the mysteries of faith and love. Born in Florence at a time rife with political struggles, Dante served in the city government and as a papal envoy, and eventually suffered exile from his beloved city. But Dante is most celebrated as one of the world’s greatest poets. Through his artistry, Dante is widely credited with making Tuscan the language of Italy and spreading its use. His most famous poem, the Divine Comedy, describes his imaginary trip from hell to purgatory to paradise. Written between 1313 and 1321, the poem functions at both literal and allegorical levels as Dante embarks on a journey to understand the meaning of life. The excerpt that follows is from the first part of the poem, Inferno, in which the pagan poet Virgil guides Dante through the circles of hell. Along the way, they meet a colorful cast of legendary and historical characters whose sins help Dante better understand his own sins, a crucial first step toward his ultimate salvation.

From The Inferno of Dante, trans. Robert Pinsky (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1994), 47–53.

Canto V

So I descended from first to second circle—

Which girdles a smaller space and greater pain,

Which spurs more lamentation. Minos¹ the dreadful

Snarls at the gate. He examines each one’s sin,

Judging and disposing as he curls his tail:

That is, when an ill-begotten soul comes down,

It comes before him, and confesses all;

Minos, great connoisseur of sin, discerns

For every spirit its proper place in Hell,

And wraps himself in his tail with as many turns

As levels down that shade will have to dwell.

A crowd is always waiting: here each one learns

His judgment and is assigned a place in Hell.

They tell; they hear—and down they all are cast.

“You, who have come to sorrow’s hospice, think well,”

Said Minos, who at the sight of me had paused

To interrupt his solemn task mid-deed:

“Beware how you come in and whom you trust,

Don’t be deceived because the gate is wide.”

My leader answered, “Must you too scold this way?

His destined path is not for you to impede:

Thus is it willed where every thing may be

Because it has been willed. So ask no more.”

And now I can hear the notes of agony

In sad crescendo beginning to reach my ear;

Now I am where the noise of lamentation

Comes at me in blasts of sorrow. I am where

All light is mute, with a bellowing like the ocean

Turbulent in a storm of warring winds,

The hurricane of Hell in perpetual motion

Sweeping the ravaged spirits as it rends,

Twists, and torments them. Driven as if to land,

They reach the ruin: groaning, tears, laments,

And cursing of the power of Heaven. I learned

They suffer here who sinned in carnal things—

Their reason mastered by desire, suborned.

As winter starlings riding 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.

As chanting cranes will form a line in air,

So I saw souls come uttering cries—wind-tossed,

And lofted by the storm. “Master,” I cried,

“Who are these people, by black air oppressed?”

“First among these you wish to know,” he said,

“Was empress of many tongues—she so embraced

Lechery that she decreed it justified

Legally, to evade the scandal of her lust:

She is that Semiramis² of whom we read,

Successor and wife of Ninus, she possessed

The lands the Sultan rules. Next, she [Dido]³ who died

By her own hand for love, and broke her vow

To Sychaeus’s ashes. After her comes lewd

And wanton Cleopatra. See Helen,⁴ too,

Who caused a cycle of many evil years;

And great Achilles,⁵ the hero whom love slew

In his last battle. Paris and Tristan⁶ are here—”

He pointed out by name a thousand souls

Whom love had parted from our life, or more.

When I had heard my teacher tell the rolls

Of knights and ladies of antiquity,

Pity overwhelmed me. Half-lost in its coils,

“Poet,” I told him, “I would willingly

Speak with those two⁷ who move along together,

And seem so light upon the wind.” And he:

“When they drift closer—then entreat them hither,

In the name of love that leads them: they will respond.”

Soon their course shifted, and the merciless weather

Battered them toward us. I called against the wind,

“O wearied souls! If Another [God]⁸ does not forbid,

Come speak with us.” As doves whom desire has summoned,

With raised wings steady against the current, glide

Guided by will to the sweetness of their nest,

So leaving the flock where Dido was, the two sped

Through the malignant air till they had crossed

To where we stood—so strong was the compulsion

Of my loving call. They spoke across the blast:

“O living soul, who with courtesy and compassion

Voyage through black air visiting us who stained

The world with blood: if heaven’s King bore affection

For such as we are, suffering in this wind,

Then we would pray to Him to grant you peace

For pitying us in this, our evil end.

Now we will speak and hear as you may please

To speak and hear, while the wind, for our discourse,

Is still. My birthplace is a city⁹ that lies

Where the Po finds peace with all its followers.

Love, which in gentle hearts is quickly born,

Seized him for my fair body—which, in a fierce

Manner that still torments my soul, was torn

Untimely away from me. Love, which absolves

None who are loved from loving, made my heart burn

With joy so strong that as you see it cleaves

Still to him, here. Love gave us both one death.

Caina awaits the one who took our lives.”

These words were borne across from them to us.

When I had heard those afflicted souls, I lowered

My head, and held it so till I heard the voice

Of the poet ask, “What are you thinking?” I answered,

“Alas—that sweet conceptions and passion so deep

Should bring them here!” Then, looking up toward

The lovers: “Francesca, your suffering makes me weep

For sorrow and pity—but tell me, in the hours

Of sweetest sighing, how and in what shape

Or manner did Love first show you those desires

So hemmed by doubt?” And she to me: “No sadness

Is greater than in misery to rehearse

Memories of joy, as your teacher well can witness.

But if you have so great a craving to measure

Our love’s first root, I’ll tell it, with the fitness

Of one who weeps and tells. One day, for pleasure,

We read of Lancelot,¹⁰ 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,¹¹ that book!

And so was he who wrote it; that day we read

No further.” All the while the one shade spoke,

The other at her side was weeping; my pity

Overwhelmed me and I felt myself go slack:

Swooning as in death, I fell like a dying body.

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