Dante's Inferno</H1>

Dante's Inferno Dante's Inferno The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri Translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Volume 1 This is all of Longfellow's Dante translation of Inferno minus the illustrations. It includes the arguments prefixed to the Cantos by the Rev. Henry Frances Carey, M,.A., in his well-known version, and also his chronological view of the age of Dante under the title of What was happening in the World while Dante Lived. If you find any correctable errors please notify me. My email addresses for now are [email protected] and [email protected]. David Reed Editorial Note page 1 / 554 A lady who knew Italy and the Italian people well, some thirty years ago, once remarked to the writer that Longfellow must have lived in every city in that county for almost all the educated Italians "talk as if they owned him." And they have certainly a right to a sense of possessing him, to be proud of him, and to be grateful to him, for the work which he did for the spread of the knowledge of Italian Literature in the article in the tenth volume on Dante as a Translator. * * * * * The three volumes of "The Divine Comedy" were printed for private purposes, as will be described later, in 1865-1866 and 1877, but they were not actually given to the public until the year last named. Naturally enough, ever since Longfellow's first visit to Europe (1826-1829), and no doubt from an eariler date still, he had been interested in Dante's great work, but though the period of the incubation of his translation was a long one, the actual time engaged in it, was as he himself informs us, exactly two years. The basis of the work with its copious, information and illuminating notes, expositions and illustrations was his courses page 2 / 554 of Lecutre on Dante given in many places during many years; in these Lecture it was his early custom to read in translation, the whole or parts of the poem chosen for his subject, with his notes, expositions and illustrations interspersed.__With what infinite pains and conscientious care the work was done, and how thoroughly he was penetrated with the thought and expression of the poet, his Diaries, his Life and his Letters abundantlyu show, and the work as it stands is a Masterpiece of scholarly and sympathetic rendering, interpretation and exposition. When at last the task of translating, revising and re-revision, weighin and re-weighting, criticising and re-criticising every phrase, every possible interpretation, and every allusion was done,--first in the seclusion of his own study, and then with the sympathetic aid of his friends, Charles Eliot Norton, James Russell Lowell and others, the work was sent tot he printer in 1864. Ten copies of "The Inferno" were privately printed in 1865 in time for one of them to be sent to Florence for the celebration of the six hundredth anniversary of Dante's birth. The seconds volume was printed in the following year in like manner and the third in the year after. In that year (1867), as we have already said, the whole work was given to the public as it is now presented in this edition and substantially as it appeared in the privately printed copies. So thoroughly has Longfellow done the work of elucidating his version of the text of Dante, that there is absolutely nothing page 3 / 554 left for other commentators to do.--Every biblical and every classical allusion is annotated and referenced, every side light that can possibly be needed is thrown upon the work all through; and his "footlights of the great comedy" as he himself called his notes and illustrations are illuminating it for all time. We have however added to his notes the arguments prefixed to the Cantos by the Rev. Henry Frances Carey, M,.A., in his well-known version, and also his chronological view of the age of Dante under the title of What was happening in the World while Dante Lived. Charles Welsh Oft have I seen at some cathedral door A laborer, pausing int he dust and heat, Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet Enter, and cross himself, and ont he floor Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'ver; Far off the noises of the world retreat; The loud vociferations of the street become an undistinguishable roar. So, as I enter her from day to day, And leave my burden at this minster gate, Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed to pray, The tumult of the time disconsolate page 4 / 554 To inarticulate murmurs dies away, While the eternal ages watch and wait. 1 1This and the following sonnets were originally printed in the volume entitled "Voices of the Night." How strange the sculptures that adorn these towers! This crowd of statues, in whose folded sleeves Birds build their nests; while canopied with leaves Parvis and portal bloom like trellised bowers, And the vast minster seems a cross of flowers! But fiends and dragons on the gargoyled eaves Watch the dead Christ between the living thieves, And, underneath, the traitor Judas lowers! Ah! from what agonies of heart and brain, What exultations tramplin on despair, What tenderness, what tears, what hate of wrong, What passionate outcry of a soul in pain, Uprose this poem of the earth and air, Thsi mediaeval miracle of song! INFERNO CANTO 1 page 5 / 554 MIDWAY upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, For the straightforward pathway had been lost. Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say What was this forest savage, rough, and stern, Which in the very thought renews the fear. So bitter is it, death is little more; But of the good to treat, which there I found, Speak will I of the other things I saw there. I cannot well repeat how there I entered, So full was I of slumber at the moment In which I had abandoned the true way. But after I had reached a mountain's foot, At that point where the valley terminated, Which had with consternation pierced my heart, Upward I looked, and I beheld its shoulders Vested already with that planet's rays Which leadeth others right by every road. Then was the fear a little quieted page 6 / 554 That in my heart's lake had endured throughout The night, which I had passed so piteously And even as he, who, with distressful breath, Forth issued from the sea upon the shore, Turns to the water perilous and gazes; So did my soul, that still was fleeing onward, Turn itself back to re-behold the pass Which never yet a living person left. After my weary body I had rested, The way resumed I on the desert slope, So that the firm foot ever was the lower. And lo! almost where the ascent began, A panther light and swift exceedingly, Which with a spotted skin was covered o'er! And never moved she from before my face, Nay, rather did impede so much my way, That many times I to return had turned. The time was the beginning of the morning, And up the sun was mounting with those stars page 7 / 554 That with him were, what time the Love Divine At first in motion set those beauteous things; So were to me occasion of good hope, The variegaled skin of that wild beast, The hour of time, and the delicious season; But not so much, that did not give me fear A lion's aspect which appeared to me. He seemed as if against me he were coming With head uplifted, and with ravenous hunger, So that it seemed the air was afraid of him; And a she-wolf, that with all hungerings Seemed to be laden in her meagreness, And many folk has caused to live forlorn! She brought upon me so much heaviness, With the affright that from her aspect came, That I the hope relinquished of the height. And as he is who willingly acquires And the time comes that causes him to lose, Who weeps in all his thoughts and is despondent, page 8 / 554 E'en such made me that beast withouten peace, Which, coming on against me by degrees Thrust me back thither where the sun is silent While I was rushing downward to the lowland, Before mine eyes did one present himself, Who seemed from long-continued silence hoarse. When I beheld him in the desert vast, "Have pity on me," unto him I cried, "Whiche'er thou art, or shade or real man!" He answered me: "Not man; man once I was, And both my parents were of Lombardy, And Mantuans by country both of them. Sub Julio was I born, though it was late, And lived at Rome under the good Augustus, During the time of false and Iying gods. A poet was I, and I sang that just Son of Anchises, who came forth from Troy, After that Ilion the superb was burned page 9 / 554 But thou, why goest thou back to such annoyance? Why climb'st thou not the Mount Delectable Which is the source and cause of every joy?" "Now, art thou that Virgilius and that fountain Which spreads abroad so wide a river of speech? I made response to him with bashful forehead. "O, of the other poets honour and light, Avail me the long study and great love That have impelled me to explore thy volume! Thou art my master, and my author thou, Thou art alone the one from whom I took The beautiful style that has done honour to me.

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