Dante Enters Hell: Canto III of Inferno, Translated by Stephen Binns

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Dante Enters Hell: Canto III of Dante’s Inferno

by Dante Alighieri (1265-1321)
translated by Stephen Binns

THROUGH ME YOU REACH THE CITY OF LAMENT.
__THROUGH ME YOU PASS TO EVERLASTING PAIN.
__THROUGH ME YOU GO WHERE ALL LOST SOULS ARE SENT.
HIGH JUSTICE MOVED MY MAKER. THIS DOMAIN
__WAS BUILT BY THE DIVINE OMNIPOTENCE,
__BY PRIMAL LOVE ON WISDOM’S HIGHEST PLANE.
NO THING CREATED E’ER TOOK PRECEDENCE
__IF NOT ETERNAL. AND I SHALL ENDURE.
__ABANDON EVERY HOPE AT YOUR ENTRANCE.
These words, of color deeply dark, obscure,
__I read above the gate that all souls fear.
__“My master, why this hardness? I’m unsure.” ____hard to understand and/or to bear
And he to me, that sharp, perceptive seer: Virgil
__“Your grave misgivings must be left for dead—
__all timid hesitation must end here.
We come now to the place, as I have said,
__where you will see the doleful fallen beings,
__the ones who’ve lost the intellect’s good stead.”
He took my hand to ease my falterings.
__With lighter face, when I was comforted,
__he brought me in among the secret things.
There sighs, low groans, high cries, and pleas sore pled
__resounded through the starless atmosphere.
__Within this vale of tears, my own were shed.
Diversity of tongues we now could hear,
__with words of dolor accented with rage,
__with sounds of slaps, hoarse voices, far or near,
all joined in turbid swirls of verbiage
__throughout the blackened air, particulate
__as rising whorls of sand. I, at that stage,
with horror pressing down upon my pate,
__said: “Master, what’s the noise within this haze?
__Who are they vanquished by a pain so great?”
He said: “These are the wretched sorry ways
__of melancholy souls of nether state:
__they gained no infamy, yet earned no praise.
So they are mixed with that infernal spate
__of angels not among the mutinous band,
__but not with God—who just stood separate.
And Heaven, so its beauty ever stand,
__rejected them, whom deeper Hell has spurned,
__lest it might gain some glory on that hand.”
And I: “What renders them so badly burned
__that their laments come thus, so howlingly?”
__His words were brief, but this is what I learned:
“They have no hope of dying, which would free
__them from this blinded life that is so base
__that they would trade it, and most gratefully,
for any other. Unknown in their days,
__of piteous justice, too, they’re left in want.
__Enough of this, now that you know their place.”
I saw some kind of banner in a flaunt,
__flung round and round in such a rapid wind,
__as if a restful pause it ne’er would grant
to souls who marched in single file behind,
__a line so long I never would have guessed
__that such a number death could ever find.
When I had recognized some there impressed,
__I saw and knew the shadow of a man
__who made the great refusal his behest. ____perhaps Pope Celestine V, perhaps Pontius Pilate
Immediately I understood the plan
__for these, displeasing both, displeasing Him
__and all of those who counter to Him ran.
These wretches, whose lives’ lights had shone but dim,
__were naked and were sorely onward urged
__by flies and wasps that flew in tightening trim.
They bit and stung, and blood and tears were purged
__and flowed down sullen faces, and the lees
__were lapped by worms that at their feet emerged.
And then I saw, some way beyond all these,
__a crowd that jostled at a riverside.
__And so I asked him then: “O Master, please,
who now? The light is weak, but I’ve descried
__a great impatience there to go across.”
__“You’ll understand these things,” he soon replied,
“when we suspend our passage and take pause
__upon the dreary banks of Acheron.” ____classical river bordering the underworld
__And I cast down my shame-filled eyes. Because
I feared I might offend if I went on,
__I withheld speech until we reached a pier.
__Then toward us, then quite near, a boat was drawn.
Within an ancient man with hoary hair Charon, ____classical ferryman of the dead
__gave shout: “All woe to you, you peccators! ____sinners
__Do not expect to see the skies up there.
I’ve come to take you to the farther shores
__of everlasting dark, in ice or flame.
__And you, you living soul, who this ignores: ____Dante
the souls down here are dead. Go whence you came!”
__But when he saw that there I’d firmly stay:
__“By other ways and ports, you’ll have a claim
on other distant banks. But not this way!
__You must go by a boat of lighter wood.” ____the boat to Purgatory
__My guide: “Charon, it’s not for you to say.
This has been willed where it is understood
__His will is done. No more of questioning.”
__That fleecy one was silenced and for good,
he who had round each eye a fiery ring,
__that pilot on the fetid, muddy stream.
__Those naked wretches fell to chattering,
and they had all changed color, it would seem,
__as soon as they had heard him roughly plead.
__They cursed their God, their families, the teem
of humankind, the time, the place, the seed
__of their selfsame conception and their birth.
__They huddled close, as if it were of need,
beside that wicked river or that firth,
__which waits for those who do not fear the Lord.
__The coal-eyed Charon brings them toward his berth.
The demon beckons them to come aboard,
__and, if they tarry, beats them with his oar.
__And as in fall, when each leaf breaks its cord,
and each spins down until there are no more
__upon the boughs, all raiment on the ground,
__in such a way went Adam’s evil spore.
They flung themselves, one by one, at a bound,
__as birds swoop when they’re lured, at Charon’s bid,
__to go across that river, rank and browned,
and very soon, when they are still amid
__the waves, still other souls will start to band
__to follow and to do as they just did.
My kindly master then explained: “My child,
__they come together here from every land,
__all those who’ve died while still by God reviled.
Because it is celestial command,
__they are so keen to go and go so mild:
__their darkest fears have turned into desire.
No spirit that’s been good can pass this way.
__If Charon gave examples of his ire,
__you now know well what he had meant to say.”
As soon as this was said, a fearful gyre
__swelled up and rocked the dim ground. To this day,
__I’m bathed in sweat by my mere memories.
Across the land of tears, the storm began
__with claps of thunder, bringing with each breeze
__vermillion flashes. I, a mortal man,
collapsed like any man whom sleep can seize.

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Italian Original

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 SAPIENZA E ’L PRIMO AMORE.
DINANZI A ME NON FUOR COSE CREATE
SE NON ETTERNE, E IO ETTERNO DURO.
LASCIATE OGNE SPERANZA, VOI CH’INTRATE.
Queste parole di colore oscuro
vid’ ïo scritte al sommo d’una porta;
per ch’io: “Maestro, il senso lor m’è duro.”
Ed elli a me, come persona accorta:
“Qui si convien lasciare ogne sospetto;
ogne viltà convien che qui sia morta.
Noi siam venuti al loco ov’ i’ t’ho detto
che tu vedrai le genti dolorose
c’hanno perduto il ben de l’intelletto.”
E poi che la sua mano a la mia puose
con lieto volto, ond’ io mi confortai,
mi mise dentro a le segrete cose.
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 tumulto, il qual s’aggira
sempre in quell’ aura sanza tempo tinta,
come la rena quando turbo spira.
E io ch’avea d’orror la testa cinta,
dissi: “Maestro, che è quel ch’i’ odo?
33e che gent’ è che par nel duol sì vinta?”
Ed elli a me: “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.”
E io: “Maestro, che è tanto greve
a lor che lamentar li fa sì forte?”
Rispuose: “Dicerolti molto breve.
Questi non hanno speranza di morte,
e la lor cieca vita è tanto bassa,
che ’nvidïosi son d’ogne altra sorte.
Fama di loro il mondo esser non lassa;
misericordia e giustizia li sdegna:
non ragioniam di lor, ma guarda e passa.”
E io, che riguardai, vidi una ’nsegna
che girando correva tanto ratta,
che d’ogne posa mi parea indegna;
e dietro le venìa sì lunga tratta
di gente, ch’i’ non averei creduto
che morte tanta n’avesse disfatta.
Poscia ch’io v’ebbi alcun riconosciuto,
vidi e conobbi l’ombra di colui
che fece per viltade il gran rifiuto.
Incontanente intesi e certo fui
che questa era la setta d’i cattivi,
a Dio spiacenti e a’ nemici sui.
Questi sciaurati, che mai non fur vivi,
erano ignudi e stimolati molto
da mosconi e da vespe ch’eran ivi.
Elle rigavan lor di sangue il volto,
che, mischiato di lagrime, a’ lor piedi
da fastidiosi vermi era ricolto.
E poi ch’a riguardar oltre mi diedi,
vidi genti a la riva d’un gran fiume;
per ch’io dissi: “Maestro, or mi concedi
ch’i’ sappia quali sono, e qual costume
le fa di trapassar parer sì pronte,
com’ i’ discerno per lo fioco lume.”
Ed elli a me: “Le cose ti fier conte
quando noi fermerem li nostri passi
su la trista riviera d’Acheronte.”
Allor con li occhi vergognosi e bassi,
temendo no ’l mio dir li fosse grave,
infino al fiume del parlar mi trassi.
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.
E tu che se’ costì, anima viva,
pàrtiti da cotesti che son morti.”
Ma poi che vide ch’io non mi partiva,
disse: “Per altra via, per altri porti
verrai a piaggia, non qui, per passare:
più lieve legno convien che ti porti.”
E ’l duca lui: “Caron, non ti crucciare:
vuolsi così colà dove si puote
ciò che si vuole, e più non dimandare.”
Quinci fuor quete le lanose gote
al nocchier de la livida palude,
che ’ntorno a li occhi avea di fiamme rote.
Ma quell’ anime, ch’eran lasse e nude,
cangiar colore e dibattero i denti,
ratto che ’nteser le parole crude.
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.
Caron dimonio, con occhi di bragia
loro accennando, tutte le raccoglie;
batte col remo qualunque s’adagia.
Come d’autunno si levan le foglie
l’una appresso de l’altra, fin che ’l ramo
vede a la terra tutte le sue spoglie,
similemente il mal seme d’Adamo
gittansi di quel lito ad una ad una,
per cenni come augel per suo richiamo.
Così sen vanno su per l’onda bruna,
e avanti che sien di là discese,
anche di qua nuova schiera s’auna.
“Figliuol mio,” disse ’l maestro cortese,
“quelli che muoion ne l’ira di Dio
tutti convegnon qui d’ogne paese;
e pronti sono a trapassar lo rio,
ché la divina giustizia li sprona,
sì che la tema si volve in disio.
Quinci non passa mai anima buona;
e però, se Caron di te si lagna,
ben puoi sapere omai che ’l suo dir suona.”
Finito questo, la buia campagna
tremò sì forte, che de lo spavento
la mente di sudore ancor mi bagna.
La terra lagrimosa diede vento,
che balenò una luce vermiglia
la qual mi vinse ciascun sentimento;
e caddi come l’uom cui sonno piglia.

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Stephen Binns is an editor at the Smithsonian (the institution, not the magazine). His most recently published poetry appeared in the January 2023 issue of First Things.

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