Inside the Gates of Hell

Dante and his Poem

Dante Alighieri (1265–1321). The Divine Comedy.

Vol. 20, pp. 32-39 of The Harvard Classics

The city of Dis, within the gates of Hell, was guarded by monsters and surrounded by a moat filled with the tormented. Dante, protected by Virgil, entered the forbidden city, and viewed sights never before seen by living man.

(Dante urges attack on the city of Florence, April 16, 1311.)

Inferno [Hell]

Canto VIII

ARGUMENT.—A signal having been made from the tower, Phlegyas, the ferryman of the lake, speedily crosses it, and conveys Virgil and Dante to the other side. On their passage, they meet with Filippo Argenti, whose fury and torment are described. They then arrive at the city of Dis, the entrance whereto is denied, and the portals closed against them by many Demons.

MY theme pursuing, I relate, that ere

We reach’d the lofty turret’s base, our eyes

Its height ascended, where we mark’d uphung

Two cressets, and another saw from far

Return the signal, so remote, that scarce

The eye could catch its beam. I, turning round

To the deep source of knowledge, thus inquired:

“Say what this means; and what, that other light

In answer set: what agency doth this?”

  “There on the filthy waters,” he replied,

“E’en now what next awaits us mayst thou see,

If the marsh-gendered fog conceal it not.”

  Never was arrow from the cord dismiss’d,

That ran its way so nimbly through the air,

As a small bark, that through the waves I spied

Toward us coming, under the sole sway

Of one that ferried it, who cried aloud:

“Art thou arrived, fell spirit?”—“Phlegyas, Phlegyas, ¹

This time thou criest in vain,” my lord replied;

“No longer shalt thou have us, but while o’er

The slimy pool we pass.” As one who hears

Of some great wrong he hath sustain’d, whereat

Inly he pines: so Phlegyas inly pined

In his fierce ire. My guide, descending, stepp’d

Into the skiff, and bade me enter next,

Close at his side; nor, till my entrance, seem’d

The vessel freighted. Soon as both embark’d,

Cutting the waves, goes on the ancient prow,

More deeply than with others it is wont.

  While we our course o’er the dead channel held,

One drench’d in mire before me came, and said:

“Who art thou, that thus comest ere thine hour?”

  I answer’d: “Though I come, I tarry not:

But who art thou, that art become so foul?”

  “One, as thou seest, who mourn:” he straight replied.

  To which I thus: “In mourning and in woe,

Curst spirit! tarry thou. I know thee well,

E’en thus in filth disguised.” Then stretch’d he forth

Hands to the bark; whereof my teacher sage

Aware, thrusting him back: “Away! down there

To the other dogs!” then, with his arms my neck

Encircling, kiss’d my cheek, and spake: “O soul,

Justly disdainful! blest was she in whom

Thou wast conceived. He in the world was one

For arrogance noted: to his memory

No virtue lends its lustre; even so

Here is his shadow furious. There above,

How many now hold themselves mighty kings,

Who here like swine shall wallow in the mire,

Leaving behind them horrible dispraise.”

  I then: “Master! him fain would I behold

Whelm’d in these dregs, before we quit the lake.”

  He thus: “Or ever to thy view the shore

Be offer’d, satisfied shall be that wish,

Which well deserves completion.” Scarce his words

Were ended, when I saw the miry tribes

Set on him with such violence, that yet

For that render I thanks to God, and praise.

“To Filippo Argenti!” ² cried they all:

And on himself the moody Florentine

Turn’d his avenging fangs. Him here we left,

Nor speak I of him more. But on mine ear

Sudden a sound of lamentation smote,

Whereat mine eye unbarr’d I sent abroad.

  And thus the good instructor: “Now, my son

Draws near the city, that of Dis is named,

With its grave denizens, a mighty throng.”

  I thus: “The minarets already, Sir!

There, certes, in the valley I descry,

Gleaming vermilion, as if they from fire

Had issued.” He replied: “Eternal fire,

That inward burns, shows them with ruddy flame

Illumed; as in this nether Hell thou seest.”

  We came within the fosses deep, that moat

This region comfortless. The walls appear’d

As they were framed of iron. We had made

Wide circuit, ere a place we reach’d, where loud

The mariner cried vehement: “Go forth:

The entrance is here.” Upon the gates I spied

More than a thousand, who of old from Heaven

Were shower’d. With ireful gestures, “Who is this,”

They cried, “that, without death first felt, goes through

The regions of the dead?” My sapient guide

Made sign that he for secret parley wish’d;

Whereat their angry scorn abating, thus

They spake: “Come thou alone; and let him go,

Who hath so hardily enter’d this realm.

Alone return he by his witless way;

If well he knew it, let him prove. For thee,

Here shalt thou tarry, who through clime so dark

Hast been his escort.” Now bethink thee, reader!

What cheer was mine at sound of those curst words.

I did believe I never should return.

  “O my loved guide! who more than seven times ³

Security hast render’d me, and drawn

From peril deep, whereto I stood exposed,

Desert me not,” I cried, “in this extreme.

And, if our onward going be denied,

Together trace we back our steps with speed.”

  My liege, who thither had conducted me,

Replied: “Fear not: for of our passage none

Hath power to disappoint us, by such high

Authority permitted. But do thou

Expect me here; meanwhile, thy wearied spirit

Comfort, and feed with kindly hope, assured

I will not leave thee in this lower world.”

This said, departs the sire benevolent,

And quits me. Hesitating I remain

At war, ’twixt will and will not, in my thoughts.

  I could not hear what terms he offer’d them,

But they conferr’d not long, for all at once

Pellmell rush’d back within. Closed were the gates,

By those our adversaries, on the breast

Of my liege lord: excluded, he return’d

To me with tardy steps. Upon the ground

His eyes were bent, and from his brow erased

All confidence, while thus in sighs he spake:

“Who hath denied me these abodes of woe?”

Then thus to me: “That I am anger’d, think

No ground of terror: in this trial I

Shall vanquish, use what arts they may within

For hindrance. This their insolence, not new, ⁴

Erewhile at gate less secret they display’d,

Which still is without bolt; upon its arch

Thou saw’st the deadly scroll: and even now,

On this side of its entrance, down the steep,

Passing the circles, unescorted, comes

One whose strong might can open us this land.”

Note 1. Phlegyas, so incensed against Apollo for having violated his daughter Coronis, that he set fire to the temple of that deity, by whose vengeance he was cast into Tartarus. See Virgil, Æneas, 1. vi. 618.

Note 2. Boccaccio tells us, “he was a man remarkable for the large proportions and extraordinary vigor of his bodily frame, and the extreme waywardness and irascibility of his temper.”—“Decameron,” G. ix. N. 8.

Note 3. Seven times.” The commentators, says Venturi, perplex themselves with the inquiry what seven perils these were from which Dante had been delivered by Virgil. Reckoning the beasts in the first Canto as one of them, and adding Charon, Minos, Cerberus, Plutus, Phlegyas, and Filippo Argenti, as so many others, we shall have the number; and if this be not satisfactory, we may suppose a determinate to have been put for an indeterminate number.

Note 4. Virgil assures our poet that these evil spirits had formerly shown the same insolence when our Saviour descended into hell. They attempted to prevent him from entering at the gate, over which Dante had read the fatal inscription. “That gate which,” says the Roman poet, “an angel had just passed, by whose aid we shall overcome this opposition, and gain admittance into the city.”

Canto IX

ARGUMENT.—After some hindrances, and having seen the hellish furies and other monsters, the Poet, by the help of an angel, enters the city of Dis, wherein he discovers that the heretics are punished in tombs burning with intense fire; and he, together with Virgil, passes onward between the sepulchres and the walls of the city.

THE HUE, ¹ which coward dread on my pale cheeks

Imprinted when I saw my guide turn back,

Chased that from his which newly they had worn,

And inwardly restrain’d it. He, as one

Who listens, stood attentive: for his eye

Not far could lead him through the sable air,

And the thick-gathering cloud. “It yet behoves

We win this fight;” thus he began: “if not,

Such aid to us is offer’d—Oh! how long

Me seems it, ere the promised help arrive.”

  I noted, how the sequel of his words

Cloked their beginning; for the last he spake

Agreed not with the first. But not the less

My fear was at his saying; sith I drew

To import worse, perchance, than that he held,

His mutilated speech. “Doth ever any

Into this rueful concave’s extreme depth

Descend, out of the first degree, whose pain

Is deprivation merely of sweet hope?”

  Thus I inquiring. “Rarely,” he replied,

“It chances, that among us any makes

This journey, which I wend. Erewhile, ’tis true,

Once came I here beneath, conjured by fell

Erichtho, ² sorceress, who compell’d the shades

Back to their bodies. No long space my flesh

Was naked of me, when within these walls

She made me enter, to draw forth a spirit

From out of Judas’ circle. Lowest place

Is that of all, obscurest, and removed

Farthest from Heaven’s all-circling orb. The road

Full well I know: thou therefore rest secure.

That lake, the noisome stench exhaling, round

The city of grief encompasses, which now

We may not enter without rage, “Yet more

He added: but I hold it not in mind,

For that mine eye toward the lofty tower

Had drawn me wholly, to its burning top;

Where, in an instant, I beheld uprisen

At once three hellish furies stain’d with blood.

In limb and motion feminine they seem’d;

Around them greenest hydras twisting roll’d

Their volumes; adders and cerastes crept

Instead of hair, and their fierce temples bound.

  He, knowing well the miserable hags

Who tend the queen of endless owe, thus spake:

“Mark thou each dire Erynnis. To the left,

This is Megæra; on the right hand, she

Who wails, Alecto; and Tisiphone

I’ th’ midst.” This said, in silence he remain’d.

Their breast they each one clawing tore; themselves

Smote with their palms, and such thrill clamour raised,

That to the bard I clung, suspicion-bound.

“Hasten Medusa: so to adamant

Him shall we change;” all looking down exclaim’d:

“E’en when by Theseus’ might assail’d, we took

No ill revenge.” “Turn thyself round and keep

Thy countenance hid; for if the Gorgon dire

Be shown, and thou shouldst view it, thy return

Upwards would be forever lost.” This said,

Himself, my gentle master, turn’d me round;

Nor trusted he my hands, but with his own

He also hid me. Ye of intellect

Sound and entire, mark well the lore ³ conceal’d

Under close texture of the mystic strain.

  And now there came o’er the perturbed waves

Loud-crashing, terrible, a sound that made

Either shore tremble, as if of a wind

Impetuous, from conflicting vapors sprung,

That ’gainst some forest driving all his might,

Plucks off the branches, beats them down, and hurls

Afar; then, onward passing, proudly sweeps

His whirlwind rage, while beasts and shepherds fly.

  Mine eyes he loosed, and spake: “And now direct

Thy visual nerve along that ancient foam,

There, thickest where the smoke ascends.” As frogs

Before their foe the serpent, through the wave

Ply swiftly all, till at the ground each one

Lies on a heap; more than a thousand spirits

Destroy’d, so saw I fleeing before one

Who pass’d with unwet feet the Stygian sound.

He, from his face removing the gross air,

Oft his left hand forth stretch’d, and seem’d alone

By that annoyance wearied. I perceived

That he was sent from Heaven; and to my guide

Turn’d me, who signal made, that I should stand

Quiet, and bend to him. Ah me! how full

Of noble anger seem’d he. To the gate

He came, and with his wand touch’d it, whereat

Open without impediment it flew.

  “Outcasts of heaven! O abject race, scorn’d!”

Began he, on the horrid grunsel standing,

“Whence doth this wild excess of insolence

Lodge in you? wherefore kick you ’gainst that will

Ne’er frustrate of its end, and which so oft

Hath laid on you enforcement of your pangs?

What profits at the Fates to butt the horn?

Your Cerberus, ⁴ if ye remember, hence

Bears still, peel’d of their hair, his throat and maw.”

  This said, he turn’d back o’er the filthy way,

And syllable to us spake none; but wore

The semblance of a man by other care

Beset, and keenly prest, than thought of him

Who in his presence stands. Then we our steps

Toward that territory moved, secure

After the hallow’d words. We, unopposed,

There enter’d; and, my mind eager to learn

What state a fortress like to that might hold,

I, soon as enter’d, throw mine eye around,

And see, on every part, wide-stretching space,

Replete with bitter pain and torment ill.

  As where Rhone stagnates on the plains of Arles, ⁵

Or as at Pola, ⁶ near Quarnaro’s gulf,

That closes Italy and laves her bounds,

The place is all thick spread with sepulchres;

So was it here, save what in horror here

Excell’d: for ’midst the graves were scattered flames,

Wherewith intensely all throughout they burn’d,

That iron for no craft there hotter needs.

  Their lids all hung suspended; and beneath,

From them forth issued lamentable moans,

Such as the sad and tortured well might raise.

  I thus: “Master! say who are these, interr’d

Within these vaults, of whom distinct we hear

The dolorous sighs.” He answer thus return’d:

“The arch-heretics are here, accompanied

By every sect their followers; and much more

Than thou believest, the tombs are freighted: like

With like is buried; and the monuments

Are different in degrees of heat.” This said,

He to the right hand turning, on we pass’d

Betwixt the afflicted and the ramparts high.

Note 1. “The hue,” Virgil, perceiving that Dante was pale with fear, restrained those outward tokens of displeasure which his own countenance had betrayed.

Note 2. Erichtho, a Thessalian sorceress (Lucan, “Pharsal.” 1. vi.), was employed by Sextus, son of Pompey the Great, to conjure up a spirit, who should inform him of the issue of the civil wars between his father and Cæsar.

Note 3. The Poet probably intends to call the reader’s attention to the allegorical and mystic sense of the present Canto, and not, as Venturi supposes, to that of the whole work. Landino supposes this hidden meaning to be that in the case of those vices which proceed from intemperance, reason, figured under the person of Virgil, with the ordinary grace of God, may be a sufficient safeguard; but that in the instance of more heinous crimes, such as those we shall hereafter see punished, a special grace, represented by the angel, is requisite for our defence

Note 4. “Your Cerberus.” Cerberus is feigned to have been dragged by Hercules, bound with a threefold chain, of which, says the angel, he still bears the marks. Lombardi blames the other interpreters for having supposed that the angel attributes this exploit to Hercules, a fabulous hero, rather than to our Saviour, It would seem as if the good father had forgotten that Cerberus is himself no less a creature of the imagination than the hero who encountered him.

Note 5. “The plains of Arles.” In Provence. These sepulchres are mentioned in the Life of Charlemagne, which has been attributed to Archbishop Turpin, cap. 28, and 30, and by Fazio degli Uberti, Dittamondo, L. iv. cap. xxi.

Note 6. “At Pola.” A city of Istria, situated near the gulf of Quarnaro, in the Adriatic Sea