Canto 4

A heavy thunder broke the deep sleep in my head, so that I started up like a person who by force is wakened. And risen erect, I moved my rested eye round about, and looked fixedly to distinguish the place where I was. True it is, that I found myself on the verge of the valley of the woeful abyss that gathers in thunder of infinite wailings. Dark, profound it was, and cloudy, so that though I fixed my sight on the bottom I did not discern anything there.

A loud crash of thunder broke my deep sleep, and I started up like someone shaken awake. Once I was upright, I looked around with rested eyes, trying to make out where I was. I found myself at the edge of the valley of the sorrowful abyss, where countless cries of anguish gathered into a thunderous roar. It was dark, deep, and clouded, so that though I stared toward the bottom, I could see nothing there.

“Now we descend down here into the blind world,” began the Poet all deadly pale, “I will be first, and thou shalt be second.”

“Now we descend into the dark world,” the Poet began, deathly pale. “I will go first, and you will follow.”

And I, who had observed his color, said, “How shall I come, if thou fearest, who art wont to be a comfort to my doubting?” And he to me, “The anguish of the folk who are down here depicts upon my face that pity which thou takest for fear. Let us go on, for the long way urges us.”

I noticed his face and said, “How can I go on if you are afraid? You are usually the one who comforts me when I doubt.” He replied, “The suffering of the people down here fills my face with pity, which you mistake for fear. Let us go on, for we have a long way to go.”

So he set forth, and so he made me enter within the first circle that girds the abyss. 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.

So he went on, leading me into the first circle surrounding the abyss. As far as I could hear, the only sounds were sighs that made the eternal air tremble. These sighs came from the sorrow, without torment, felt by the many great crowds of infants, women, and 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.”

The good Master said to me, “You do not ask who these spirits are. Before you go farther, I want you to know that they did not sin. And if they have merits, those merits are not enough, because they were not baptized. Baptism is part of the faith you believe in. And if they lived before Christianity, they did not worship God as they should have. I am one of them myself. Because of these failings, and not because of any other guilt, we are lost. Our only punishment is that we live in desire, without hope.”

Great woe seized me at my heart when I heard him, because I knew that people of much worth were suspended in that limbo. “Tell me, my Master, tell me, Lord,” began I, with wish to be assured of that faith which vanquishes every error,¹³ “did ever any one who afterwards was blessed go out from here, either by his own or by another’s merit?” And he, who understood my covert speech, answered, “I was new in this state when I saw a Mighty One come hither crowned with sign of victory. He drew out hence the shade of the first parent, of Abel his son, and that of Noah, of Moses the law-giver and obedient, Abraham the patriarch, and David the King, Israel with his father, and with his offspring, and with Rachel, for whom he did so much, and others many; and He made them blessed: and I would have thee know that before these, human spirits were not saved.”

My heart filled with sorrow when I heard him, because I knew that people of great worth were held in limbo. I wanted to be reassured in the faith that overcomes every error.¹³ So I began, “Tell me, my Master, tell me, Lord, has anyone ever left here and become blessed, through their own merit or another’s?” He understood what I was asking indirectly and answered, “I had only recently arrived in this state when I saw a Mighty One come here, crowned with the sign of victory. He led out the shade of the first parent, Abel his son, Noah, and Moses, the obedient lawgiver. He also led out Abraham the patriarch, David the King, and Israel with his father and his children. He led out Rachel, for whom Israel had done so much, and many others. He made them blessed. And I want you to know that no human spirits were saved before them.”

We ceased not going on because he spoke, but all the while were passing through the wood, the wood I mean of crowded spirits. Nor yet had our way been long from where I slept, when I saw a fire, that conquered a hemisphere of darkness. We were still a little distant from it, yet not so far that I could not partially discern that honorable folk possessed that place. “O thou that honorest both science and art, these, who are they, that have such honor that from the condition of the others it sets them apart?” And he to me, “The honorable fame of them which resounds above in thy life wins grace in heaven that so advances them.” At this a voice was heard by me, “Honor the loftiest Poet! his shade returns that was departed.” When the voice had ceased and was quiet, I saw four great shades coming to us: they had a semblance neither sad nor glad. The good Master began to say, “Look at him with that sword in hand who cometh before the three, even as lord. He is Homer, the sovereign poet; the next who comes is Horace, the satirist; Ovid is the third, and the last is Lucan. Since each shares with me the name that the single voice sounded, they do me honor, and in that do well.”

We did not stop walking while he spoke. We kept passing through the wood, the wood of crowded spirits. We had not gone far from where I had slept when I saw a fire that overcame a hemisphere of darkness. We were still a little way from it, but close enough for me to make out that honorable people occupied the place. “O you who honor both science and art, who are these people? What honor sets them apart from the others?” He answered, “Their honored fame, which still resounds above in your world, wins them grace in heaven and raises them to this place.” Then I heard a voice cry, “Honor the greatest Poet! His shade, which had departed, returns.” When the voice fell silent, I saw four great shades coming toward us. They looked neither sad nor glad. The good Master said, “Look at the one holding a sword. He comes before the other three, like a lord. He is Homer, the sovereign poet. Next comes Horace, the satirist. Ovid is third, and Lucan is last. Each shares with me the name that the single voice called out. So they honor me, and they are right to do so.”

Thus I saw assembled the fair school of that Lord of the loftiest song which above the others as an eagle flies. After they had discoursed somewhat together, they turned to me with sign of salutation; and my Master smiled thereat. And far more of honor yet they did me, for they made me of their band, so that I was the sixth amid so much wit. Thus we went on as far as the light, speaking things concerning which silence is becoming, even as was speech there where I was.

I saw gathered there the fine company of the master of the loftiest song, who soars above the others like an eagle. After they had talked together for a while, they turned and greeted me. My master smiled at this. They honored me even more by welcoming me into their group. So I became the sixth among such brilliant minds. We walked on together as far as the light, speaking of things best left unspoken here, just as it was fitting to speak of them where I was.

We came to the foot of a noble castle, seven times circled by high walls, defended round about by a fair streamlet. This we passed as if hard ground; through seven gates I entered with these sages; we came to a meadow of fresh verdure. People were there with eyes slow and grave, of great authority in their looks; they spake seldom, and with soft voices. Thus we drew apart, on one side, into a place open, luminous, and high, so that they all could be seen. There opposite upon the green enamel were shown to me the great spirits, whom to have seen I inwardly exalt myself.

We came to the foot of a noble castle, surrounded by seven high walls and defended by a beautiful stream. We crossed the stream as if it were solid ground. I passed through seven gates with these wise men, and we came to a meadow of fresh green grass. People were there with slow, solemn eyes and commanding expressions. They spoke rarely and in soft voices. So we moved to one side, to an open, bright, elevated place where we could see them all. There, on the green meadow before me, I saw the great spirits. I take pride in having seen them.

I saw Electra with many companions, among whom I knew both Hector and Aeneas, Caesar in armor, with his gerfalcon eyes; I saw Camilla and Penthesilea on the other side, and I saw the King Latinus, who was seated with Lavinia his daughter. I saw that Brutus who drove out Tarquin; Lucretia, Julia, Marcia, and Cornelia; and alone, apart, I saw the Saladin. When I raised my brow a little more, I saw the Master of those who know, seated amid the philosophic family; all regard him, all do him honor. Here I saw both Socrates and Plato, who before the others stand nearest to him; Democritus, who ascribes the world to chance; Diogenes, Anaxagoras, and Thales, Empedocles, Heraclitus, and Zeno; and I saw the good collector of the qualities, Dioscorides, I mean; and I saw Orpheus, Tully, and Linus, and moral Seneca, Euclid the geometer, and Ptolemy, Hippocrates, Avicenna, Galen, and Averrhoes, who made the great comment. I cannot report of all in full, because the long theme so drives me that many times speech comes short of fact.

I saw Electra with many companions. Among them I recognized Hector and Aeneas, and Caesar in armor, with eyes like a falcon’s. On the other side I saw Camilla and Penthesilea. I also saw King Latinus, seated with his daughter Lavinia. I saw the Brutus who drove out Tarquin, as well as Lucretia, Julia, Marcia, and Cornelia. I saw Saladin alone, apart from the others. When I looked a little higher, I saw the Master of those who know, seated among the family of philosophers. All look to him, and all honor him. I saw Socrates and Plato standing closest to him, ahead of the others. I saw Democritus, who believed the world came about by chance, along with Diogenes, Anaxagoras, and Thales. I saw Empedocles, Heraclitus, and Zeno. I also saw Dioscorides, that fine collector of the qualities of plants. I saw Orpheus, Tully, and Linus, and Seneca, the moral philosopher. I saw Euclid the geometer, Ptolemy, Hippocrates, Avicenna, Galen, and Averrhoes, who wrote the great commentary. I cannot describe them all in full. The long subject presses me onward, so my words often fall short of what I saw.

The company of six is reduced to two. By another way the wise guide leads me, out from the quiet, into the air that trembles, and I come into a region where is nothing that can give light.

The group of six is reduced to two. My wise guide leads me by another path, out of the quiet and into the trembling air. I come to a place where nothing gives light.