Canto III. The Gate of Hell. The Inefficient or Indifferent. Pope Celestine V. The Shores of Acheron.

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      "Through me the way is to the city dolent;

       Through me the way is to eternal dole;

       Through me the way among the people lost.

      Justice incited my sublime Creator;

       Created me divine Omnipotence,

       The highest Wisdom and the primal Love.

      Before me there were no created things,

       Only eterne, and I eternal last.

       All hope abandon, ye who enter in!"

      These words in sombre colour I beheld

       Written upon the summit of a gate;

       Whence I: "Their sense is, Master, hard to me!"

      And he to me, as one experienced:

       "Here all suspicion needs must be abandoned,

       All cowardice must needs be here extinct.

      We to the place have come, where I have told thee

       Thou shalt behold the people dolorous

       Who have foregone the good of intellect."

      And after he had laid his hand on mine

       With joyful mien, whence I was comforted,

       He led me in among the secret things.

      There sighs, complaints, and ululations loud

       Resounded through the air without a star,

       Whence I, at the beginning, wept thereat.

      Languages diverse, horrible dialects,

       Accents of anger, words of agony,

       And voices high and hoarse, with sound of hands,

      Made up a tumult that goes whirling on

       For ever in that air for ever black,

       Even as the sand doth, when the whirlwind breathes.

      And I, who had my head with horror bound,

       Said: "Master, what is this which now I hear?

       What folk is this, which seems by pain so vanquished?"

      And he to me: "This miserable mode

       Maintain the melancholy souls of those

       Who lived withouten infamy or praise.

      Commingled are they with that caitiff choir

       Of Angels, who have not rebellious been,

       Nor faithful were to God, but were for self.

      The heavens expelled them, not to be less fair;

       Nor them the nethermore abyss receives,

       For glory none the damned would have from them."

      And I: "O Master, what so grievous is

       To these, that maketh them lament so sore?"

       He answered: "I will tell thee very briefly.

      These have no longer any hope of death;

       And this blind life of theirs is so debased,

       They envious are of every other fate.

      No fame of them the world permits to be;

       Misericord and Justice both disdain them.

       Let us not speak of them, but look, and pass."

      And I, who looked again, beheld a banner,

       Which, whirling round, ran on so rapidly,

       That of all pause it seemed to me indignant;

      And after it there came so long a train

       Of people, that I ne'er would have believed

       That ever Death so many had undone.

      When some among them I had recognised,

       I looked, and I beheld the shade of him

       Who made through cowardice the great refusal.

      Forthwith I comprehended, and was certain,

       That this the sect was of the caitiff wretches

       Hateful to God and to his enemies.

      These miscreants, who never were alive,

       Were naked, and were stung exceedingly

       By gadflies and by hornets that were there.

      These did their faces irrigate with blood,

       Which, with their tears commingled, at their feet

       By the disgusting worms was gathered up.

      And when to gazing farther I betook me.

       People I saw on a great river's bank;

       Whence said I: "Master, now vouchsafe to me,

      That I may know who these are, and what law

       Makes them appear so ready to pass over,

       As I discern athwart the dusky light."

      And he to me: "These things shall all be known

       To thee, as soon as we our footsteps stay

       Upon the dismal shore of Acheron."

      Then with mine eyes ashamed and downward cast,

       Fearing my words might irksome be to him,

       From speech refrained I till we reached the river.

      And lo! towards us coming in a boat

       An old man, hoary with the hair of eld,

       Crying: "Woe unto you, ye souls depraved!

      Hope nevermore to look upon the heavens;

       I come to lead you to the other shore,

       To the eternal shades in heat and frost.

      And thou, that yonder standest, living soul,

       Withdraw thee from these people,