Beatrix Loquax and Consolation

  • the subversion of absolute beginning
  • the protagonist as a (lyric/romance) individual, “io sol uno” (3), versus the epic invocation to the Muses
  • the protagonist’s fear that he is not qualified to undertake this journey, that he is “not Aeneas, not Saint Paul” (“Io non Enea, io non Paulo sono” [32]), and that by doing so he risks being a transgressor, a “Ulysses” in the coded language of the Commedia: “temo che la venuta non sia folle” (35)
  • Christian visionary phenomenology: the presence of the body (“e fu sensibilmente”), the raptus of Paul (see Chapter 7 of the Undivine Comedy)
  • Virgilio’s reassurance that Dante’s journey is willed on high, by Beatrice; by relating the words of Beatrice, Virgilio enacts the consoling power of language and the relation of language to action
  • Beatrice’s death and Dante’s ability to take consolation from it: the pre-history of the Vita Nuova, where the canzone Donna pietosa imagines her death in a formal structure that will later be borrowed in Inferno 2, and where the canzone Li occhi dolenti stages Dante’s new ability to take consolation from his dead lady

As I  show in Chapter 2 of The Undivine Comedy, the beginning of the Commedia is “a carefully constructed sequence of ups and downs, starts and stops; it is a beginning subject to continual new beginnings” (The Undivine Comedy, p. 28). In this way, Dante endeavors through form to create a narrative texture that imitates the path of life, in which we are always—as in the first line of Dante’s poem—in the middle. We are “nel mezzo” because time is “a kind of middle-point, uniting in itself both a beginning and an end, a beginning of future time and an end of past time” (Aristotle, Physics 8.1.251b18-26). Or, as Tolstoy writes, in the words from War and Peace that I place as epigraph at the beginning of Chapter 2 of The Undivine Comedy: “The first proceeding of the historian is to select at random a series of successive events and examine them apart from others, though there is and can be no beginning to any event, for one event flows without any break in continuity from another” (War and Peace, vol. 1, p. 975, Penguin Classics).

The subversion of absolute beginning that I analyze in the “stuttering” of Inferno 1 (The Undivine Comedy, pp. 26-28) is writ large in the first six canti of Inferno, where we find what I call a “programmatic serialization of the poem’s beginning”:

The subversion of absolute beginning that we find within Inferno 1 occurs on a larger scale in the opening cantos as a group: only in canto 2 do we find the poet’s invocation to the Muses, and only in canto 3 does the pilgrim approach the gate of hell and does the actual voyage get under way. Moreover, although the first souls we see are those in hell’s vestibule, in canto 3, we do not reach the first circle, and thus the first souls of hell proper, until canto 4, and the first prolonged infernal interview does not occur until canto 5, when the pilgrim meets Francesca. This programmatic serialization of the poem’s beginning, whereby a new beginning is accorded to each of these early cantos, is most dramatically evidenced by canto 2, which effectively succeeds in postponing, and at least temporarily derailing, the beginning provided by the end of canto 1. (The Undivine Comedy, p. 28)

Inferno 2 is an important moment in the poet’s serialization of his beginning. As we saw, the journey of the Commedia seemed to begin at the end of canto 1. And yet the last verse of canto 2 again announces the beginning of the journey: “intrai per lo cammino alto e silvestro” (I entered on the steep and savage path [Inf. 2.142]). Canto 2 is a space of non-action that creates the possibility of action; the journey is delayed while its ideological premises are discussed. At the end of canto 2, when the journey begins again, the protagonist has been effectively issued a passport that licenses him to do the non-permissible without suffering negative consequences.

By the end of Inferno 2, we know that Dante-protagonist will not be a Ulysses. He has been granted a way forward, graced to undertake a journey not permitted to those who adventure on their own, but only to those who are chosen.

In narrative terms, canto 2 is devoted to retarding the journey’s beginning, allowing for a narrative space in which these issues can be explicitly brought forward, discussed, and “resolved”, at least to the degree necessary to allow the journey to begin. It turns out that Dante-protagonist, the individual and singular historical being, the “io sol uno” (I myself alone) of Inferno 2.3, who was born in Florence in 1265 , has to deal with the psychological fall-out of being chosen for such a remarkable undertaking.

At the beginning of Inferno 2 Dante announces to Virgilio that he is afraid — he does not believe he is qualified to undertake such a spectacular mission. The pilgrim’s apprehension is carefully articulated through two examples of men who, in contrast to himself, were indeed qualified for such remarkable undertakings. The first is Aeneas (the “father of Sylvius” in verse 13), who was able to go to the otherworld while still in the body: “corruttibile ancora, ad immortale / secolo andò, e fu sensibilmente” (he went to the immortal realm while still corruptible, and with his live body [Inf. 2.14-15]). The voyage of Aeneas is fully comprehensible, says the pilgrim, given that he was chosen in heaven as the founder of Rome and its empire, the future seat of the papacy (verses 19-27). The pilgrim continues: St. Paul too (“the chosen vessel” of verse 28) undertook an analogous journey. Dante is referring here to Paul’s statement in 2 Corinthians 12:2 that he was “caught up to the third heaven”: “whether in the body I do not know, or out of the body I do not know, God knows”.

While St. Paul’s journey to the third heaven was the classic example of visionary raptus discussed and debated by theologians (see Chapter 7 of The Undivine Comedy), Dante is highly atypical in linking St. Paul to Aeneas. The linkage is another example of Dante’s commitment to a hybrid textuality of which biblical/classical contaminatio is an ongoing feature. Moreover, the language used in Inferno 2 for Aeneas’ descent to Hades, the emphasis on his going in his body (“e fu sensibilmente”), further connects the classical pagan example to Christian visionary phenomenology, which—as we see in 2 Corinthians—stresses the paradoxical and inexplicable presence of the body.

In this passage Dante has introduced language and references that serve as allusions to the problematic of the mystical journey accomplished in the flesh. These allusions moreover work retroactively to characterize the “sleep” of Inferno 1.11 as belonging to a special class of sleep: it is the mystical and waking sleep of the visionary. The ultimate emblem of this “waking sleep” in the Commedia is the old man who figures the Apocalpyse in the procession of the Earthly Paradise: “un vecchio solo . . . dormendo, con la faccia arguta” (a lone old man, his features keen, advanced, as if in sleep [Purg. 29.143-44]). This is John, the author of the Apocalypse (in Dante’s day the author of the Gospel of John and the author of the Apocalypse were held to be the same John); he is in a visionary trance, “asleep”, yet keenly sighted.

In this commentary, these issues, which can be classified as “visionary” and pertain to St. Paul’s raptus and to the “sonno” of the Commedia, will be discussed as they arise. St. John as author of the Apocalpyse, for instance, will first be discussed in the commentary to Inferno 19. For the reader who wants to consider these issues holistically, they are treated synchronically and contextualized in Chapter 7 of The Undivine Comedy. See also my commentary to Dante’s early lyric poems for the pre-Commedia history of these themes in Dante’s work; for instance, I present the early sonnet Ciò che m’incontra as treating mystical themes.

In Inferno 2, Dante weaves together the figures of Aeneas and St. Paul, the two great precursors—one classical and one biblical—both of whom were chosen for good reasons to undertake his journey to the afterlife. Together, these great figures are what the pilgrim fears that he is not:

Ma io perché venirvi? o chi ’l concede?
Io non Enea, io non Paulo sono:
me degno a ciò né io né altri ’l crede.  
(Inf. 2.31-33)
But why should I go there? Who sanctions it?
For I am not Aeneas, am not Paul;
nor I nor others think myself so worthy.

The statement “Io non Enea, io non Paulo sono” functions, at this moment, as a statement of what the pilgrim fears he is not. But the line works ultimately as the poet’s declaration of the genealogy to which he belongs. In effect he is saying that he is a modern version of Aeneas, and that he is a modern version of St. Paul.

Virgilio then reassures the pilgrim, which he does by explaining how it is that he was sent to Dante’s assistance: he was called to Dante’s aid by Beatrice, who from heaven witnessed Dante’s peril and wants to save him. In technical terms, Virgilio reassures Dante by repeating a conversation that had previously occurred between himself and Beatrice.

Here Dante-poet introduces a crucial pre-history to the events of Inferno 1. The journey of Beatrice to Limbo to solicit Virgilio (the first reference to Limbo in the Commedia is therefore in Inferno 2.52) is an event that precedes and crucially conditions the events of Inferno 1.

Virgilio, by narrating this crucial pre-history, dramatizes the relation between action and discourse which will be stated most beautifully and categorically in the words spoken by Beatrice to Virgilio (and now related by Virgilio to Dante): “amor mi mosse, che mi fa parlare” (love moved me, and makes me speak [Inf. 2.72]). Love first enters the Commedia in Inferno 1’s description of springtime as that time when divine love first moved the stars: “quando l’amor divino / mosse di prima quelle cose belle” (when divine love first moved those things of beauty [Inf. 1.39-40]). Love in Inferno 2 again governs a verb of motion, in Beatrice’s great verse: “amor mi mosse, che mi fa parlare” (Love moved me, that Love which makes me speak [Inf. 2.72]).

The motion of the universe as the expression of God’s love for creation in Inferno 1 becomes the motion of Beatrice as the expression of her personal love for Dante in Inferno 2.

As in the macrocosm divine love moved the stars at the dawn of time in Inferno 1—“l’amor divino / mosse di prima quelle cose belle” (Inf. 1.39-40)—so in the microcosm love moved Beatrice to come to Dante’s aid, through speech: “amor mi mosse, che mi fa parlare” (Inf. 2.72).

Beatrice is characterized throughout Inferno 2 as a speaker, in a crucial inversion of the persona of the lyric lady: in the courtly and stilnovist lyric, the lady does not speak.

This inversion is all the more interesting because this canto introduces the modalities of the lyric into the Commedia and sutures Dante to his past as a lyric love poet and as writer of the Vita Nuova. Written in the aftermath of Beatrice’s death in 1290, the Vita Nuova (1292-1293) is the work in which Dante theologizes Beatrice and his love for her. In “Notes toward a Gendered History of Italian Literature, with a Discussion of Dante’s Beatrix Loquax”, I write as follows on Dante’s construction of the figure of Beatrice in the Commedia, and on the significance of her speech:

He ruptures the connection of the Commedia’s Beatrice to her lyric past by having this Beatrice use her angelica voce—by having her speak. Because we are in hell, and Beatrice does not enter hell, her speech is reported by Vergil, but it is her speech nonetheless; it is reported verbatim and it takes up most of the canto. The fact that she speaks is central, just as central as the impulse that moves her to speak: she is moved by love, and the same force that moves her to leave heaven on Dante’s behalf also causes her to speak. The famous verse in which Beatrice states the cause of her motion and her purpose makes it equally clear that her purpose is intimately bound up with her speech: ‘‘amor mi mosse, che mi fa parlare’’ (love moved me, which makes me speak) (Inf. 2.72). In this declaration that love moved her and makes her speak, Dante both conjures Beatrice’s past and scripts for her a radically new future. This future, which will unfold in the Commedia, is contained in the verb parlare, a verb betokening an activity utterly alien from the agenda of the lyric lady. (“Notes toward a Gendered History of Italian Literature, with a Discussion of Dante’s Beatrix Loquax”, in Dante and the Origins of Italian Literary Culture, p. 371)

In Inferno 1 Dante combines biblical and classical echoes to create a uniquely hybrid “mixed” textuality; here in Inferno 2 we see another form of rhetorical mixing. Here Dante mixes the vernacular and lyrical features of the courtly poetry he wrote as a young man (the dolce stil novo or “sweet new style”) with the theological underpinnings of his otherworld.

And he mixes Virgilio, a “real person” who lived in classical Rome, with Beatrice: a completely different kind of “real person”, a contemporary of Dante’s, a Florentine woman whom he knew in his youth and who announces herself by name to Virgilio:

I’ son Beatrice che ti faccio andare;
vegno del loco ove tornar disio;
amor mi mosse, che mi fa parlare. 
(Inf. 2.70-72)
For I am Beatrice who send you on;
I come from where I most long to return;
Love prompted me, that Love which makes me speak.

One of the tricky aspects of Inferno 2 is keeping track of who is speaking. Virgilio does most of the speaking: he is relating what Beatrice said to him when she descended from heaven to Limbo to enlist his help, in a time before the events recounted in Inferno 1. In Inferno 2 Virgilio repeats to Dante what Beatrice said to him in that time prior to the beginning of the action of the poem. Virgilio also narrates conversations between Beatrice and other ladies in heaven, conversations relayed to him by Beatrice.

Technically, therefore, we do not “meet” Beatrice in this canto, nor do we “hear” her speak, since she is not present at the time of the conversation between Dante and his guide. Rather, we hear her words, quoted by Virgilio in direct discourse: the Florentine lady mediated by the Roman poet.

We have in this scene a signature testament to the fearless nature of Dante’s imaginative faculties, in his conjuring of the words spoken by a young Florentine female contemporary intercessor, words that are repeated to him, as the highest form of consolation, by none other than the greatest of Roman poets.

It turns out, in Virgilio’s account, that one heavenly lady (Maria) spoke to another (Lucia) who spoke to Beatrice, and that Beatrice then left heaven to speak to Virgilio. Love, which is motion, causes more motion, but among humans (as compared, for instance, to angels), it does so mediated by language. Language, and its effect on our lives, is thus a veritable protagonist of Inferno 2. The ability of language to move and to persuade is at the heart of the poet’s quest in the Commedia, and he dramatizes its power in Inferno 2.

In the tercet that precedes Beatrice’s self-presentation cited above (“I’ son Beatrice che ti faccio andare”), she speaks of needing Virgilio to employ his beautiful language to aid Dante so that she may be consoled:

Or movi, e con la tua parola ornata
e con ciò c’ha mestieri al suo campare
l’aiuta, sì ch’i’ ne sia consolata. 
(Inf. 2.67-69)
Go now; with your persuasive word, with all
that is required to see that he escapes,
bring help to him, that I may be consoled.

Consolation, and the power of language to console, is a theme with a long past in Dante’s oeuvre, and indeed Beatrice is, from the time of Dante’s Vita Nuova and before, the source of his consolation. It is fascinating to see her enter the Commedia asking a third party (Virgilio) to supply for her that consolatio that is her unique gift to Dante.

By transferring the word “consolata” to herself in Inferno 2, Beatrice gestures toward, and recreates in nuce, the entire history between herself and Dante, a history that may be distilled into these steps:

  1. In the Vita Nuova Beatrice is constructed as a source of beatitudine/ consolazione: Dante learns that Love “ha posto tutta la mia beatitudine in quello che non mi puote venire meno” (has placed all my beatitude in that which cannot fail me [VN XVIII, 4]), namely “in those words that praise my lady: “in quelle parole che lodano la donna mia (VN XVIII, 6-7). The poetry of praise is reprised in Inferno 2.
  2. Beatrice dies: her death is imagined in Donna pietosa, the canzone of visionary prefigurations and consolatory female speech, placed in Vita Nuova XXIII. «The construction of Donna pietosa anticipates that of the second canto of Inferno, also made up of embedded speeches. Just as in Inferno 2, where there is a relay of female compassion that motivates the ladies of the court of heaven to succor the lost pilgrim, so Donna pietosa opens with the pity of one lady that elicits the compassion of others: “E altre donne, che si fuoro accorte / di me per quella che meco piangia, / fecer lei partir via, / e appressarsi per farmi sentire” (And other ladies, learning of my plight / because of her who wept there by my side, / sent her away / and came to aid in my recovery [7-10]).» (Dante’s Lyric Poetry, p. 213) The ladies of Donna pietosa are there to console him: “‘Deh, consoliam costui’ / pregava l’una l’altra umilemente”  (‘Let’s console him,’ / each one of them implored kindheartedly [23-4]).
  3. At the death of Beatrice Dante remains “disconsolate”, like the canzone on her death, Li occhi dolenti (Vita Nuova XXXI): «In the last line the poet assigns to his canzone the label “disconsolata,” making it the emblem and spokesperson for the state of being inconsolable: “e tu, che se’ figliuola di tristizia, / vatten disconsolata a star con elle“ (and you, the daughter of despondency, / go off in misery to stay with the [75-6]). (Dante’s Lyric Poetry, p. 251)
  4. However, the great importance of the canzone Li occhi dolenti actually lies in the consolatio that, despite everything, it manages to find. Beginning in Li occhi dolenti, Dante, who in Donna pietosa was consoled by living ladies, learns to take consolation and comfort from his dead lady: «In Li occhi dolenti we see consolatio come to the fore in a new way: it is connected for the first time to the imaginative processes of the lover and to what he can do to obtain consolation for himself. Consolatio is now tied to the act of imagining his lady alive. We find in Li occhi dolenti not only the despondency aroused by the death of madonna but Dante’s response: his move towards a poetics that brings the dead to life. While the death of Beatrice leaves the soul despondent, in a condition of fundamental deprivation, stripped of all consolation, “d’onne consolar … spoglia” (Li occhi dolenti, 40), the ability to imagine her alive to the point of talking to her opens the door to the possibilities of consolatio. And not to the consolatio provided by books or by abstractions like Lady Philosophy, but to the consolatio provided by Beatrice herself, as emphasized by the timely repetition of her name: “chiamo Beatrice, e dico: ‘Or se’ tu morta?’; / e mentre ch’io la chiamo, me conforta [I call to Beatrice: ‘Are you now dead?’ / And while I call on her she comforts me]” (Li occhi dolenti, 54–6).» (Dante’s Lyric Poetry, p. 249)
  5. Dante refuses normative consolation, in both its material form as the donna gentile of the Vita Nuova and in its allegorized form as Lady Philosophy in the Convivio: “This refusal of normative consolation, in both its material form as the donna gentile of the Vita Nuova and in its allegorized form as Lady Philosophy in the Convivio, is the condition sine qua non of the Commedia, whose essential plot hinges on a far more radical form of self-consolation, whereby the old love is divinized. (Dante’s Lyric Poetry, p. 269)

The premise to Inferno 2 and to the “plot” of the Commedia is in the above pre-history, a pre-history whose existence is neatly captured in the very idea of a pre-history to Inferno 1 that must be revealed in Inferno 2.

In canto 2 Virgilio explains to Dante that his voyage through the three realms of the afterlife is willed by God: he is not undertaking a sacrilegious journey of hubris and transgression, but rather a journey that is fully sanctioned and licensed by divine providence. Dante-protagonist fears that his enterprise may be “folle”—“temo che la venuta non sia folle” (I fear my venture may be mad [Inf. 2.35])—using a Ulyssean adjective whose resonance will be unpacked as the poem progresses. Dante-poet scripts both the fear and the reassurance, both raising and defusing the specter of hubris. By invoking the possibility of hubris, he is communicating that he is not self-authorized, that he is not a willful and reckless adventurer like Ulysses. His journey is fully authorized by divine authority.

The author of the Commedia lets us know, by staging his fear and Beatrice’s succor—her consolation as expressed in her action and in her language—that he received license for his voyage, that the supreme authority granted him the way forward. After the pilgrim has been reassured that he is not embarked on a wild venture, after he has been told by Virgilio who heard it from Beatrice that his voyage is willed by a higher power, the journey can finally begin.

Coordinated Reading

The Undivine Comedy, Chapter 2, “Infernal Incipits: The Poetics of the New,” pp. 29-30, Chapter 3, “Ulysses and Geryon,” pp. 57-8; Chapter 7, “Nonfalse Errors and the True Dreams of the Evangelist”; Dante’s Poets, pp. 7-11; Dante’s Lyric Poetry: Poems of Youth and of the Vita Nuova, commentary T. Barolini and translations R. Lansing (Toronto: U. of Toronto Press, 2014); “Notes toward a Gendered History of Italian Literature, with a Discussion of Dante’s Beatrix Loquax,” in Dante and the Origins of Italian Literary Culture, pp. 360-78; “A Philosophy of Consolation: The Place of the Other in Life’s Transactions,” in Boccaccio 1313-2013, eds. F. Ciabattoni, E. Filosa, K. Olson (Ravenna: Longo, 2015), pp. 89-105.

Recommended Citation

Barolini, Teodolinda. “Inferno 2: Beatrix Loquax and Consolation.” Commento Baroliniano, Digital Dante. New York, NY: Columbia University Libraries, 2017. https://digitaldante.columbia.edu/dante/divine-comedy/inferno/inferno-2/

About the Commento

1 Lo giorno se n’andava, e l’aere bruno
2 toglieva li animai che sono in terra
3 da le fatiche loro; e io sol uno

4 m’apparecchiava a sostener la guerra
5 sì del cammino e sì de la pietate,
6 che ritrarrà la mente che non erra.

7 O muse, o alto ingegno, or m’aiutate;
8 o mente che scrivesti ciò ch’io vidi,
9 qui si parrà la tua nobilitate.

10 Io cominciai: «Poeta che mi guidi,
11 guarda la mia virtù s’ell’ è possente,
12 prima ch’a l’alto passo tu mi fidi.

13 Tu dici che di Silvïo il parente,
14 corruttibile ancora, ad immortale
15 secolo andò, e fu sensibilmente.

16 Però, se l’avversario d’ogne male
17 cortese i fu, pensando l’alto effetto
18 ch’uscir dovea di lui e ’l chi e ’l quale

19 non pare indegno ad omo d’intelletto;
20 ch’e’ fu de l’alma Roma e di suo impero
21 ne l’empireo ciel per padre eletto:

22 la quale e ’l quale, a voler dir lo vero,
23 fu stabilita per lo loco santo
24 u’ siede il successor del maggior Piero.

25 Per quest’ andata onde li dai tu vanto,
26 intese cose che furon cagione
27 di sua vittoria e del papale ammanto.

28 Andovvi poi lo Vas d’elezïone,
29 per recarne conforto a quella fede
30 ch’è principio a la via di salvazione.

31 Ma io, perché venirvi? o chi ’l concede?
32 Io non Enëa, io non Paulo sono;
33 me degno a ciò né io né altri ’l crede.

34 Per che, se del venire io m’abbandono,
35 temo che la venuta non sia folle.
36 Se’ savio; intendi me’ ch’i’ non ragiono».

37 E qual è quei che disvuol ciò che volle
38 e per novi pensier cangia proposta,
39 sì che dal cominciar tutto si tolle,

40 tal mi fec’ ïo ’n quella oscura costa,
41 perché, pensando, consumai la ’mpresa
42 che fu nel cominciar cotanto tosta.

43 «S’i’ ho ben la parola tua intesa»,
44 rispuose del magnanimo quell’ ombra;
45 «l’anima tua è da viltade offesa;

46 la qual molte fïate l’ omo ingombra
47 sì che d’onrata impresa lo rivolve,
48 come falso veder bestia quand’ ombra.

49 Da questa tema acciò che tu ti solve,
50 dirotti perch’ io venni e quel ch’io ’ntesi
51 nel primo punto che di te mi dolve.

52 Io era tra color che son sospesi,
53 e donna mi chiamò beata e bella,
54 tal che di comandare io la richiesi.

55 Lucevan li occhi suoi più che la stella;
56 e cominciommi a dir soave e piana,
57 con angelica voce, in sua favella:

58 “O anima cortese mantoana,
59 di cui la fama ancor nel mondo dura,
60 e durerà quanto ’l mondo lontana,

61 l’amico mio, e non de la ventura,
62 ne la diserta piaggia è impedito
63 sì nel cammin, che volt’ è per paura;

64 e temo che non sia già sì smarrito,
65 ch’io mi sia tardi al soccorso levata,
66 per quel ch’i’ ho di lui nel cielo udito.

67 Or movi, e con la tua parola ornata
68 e con ciò c’ha mestieri al suo campare,
69 l’aiuta, sì ch’i’ ne sia consolata.

70 I’ son Beatrice che ti faccio andare;
71 vegno del loco ove tornar disio;
72 amor mi mosse, che mi fa parlare.

73 Quando sarò dinanzi al segnor mio,
74 di te mi loderò sovente a lui”.
75 Tacette allora, e poi comincia’ io:

76 “O donna di virtù, sola per cui
77 l’umana spezie eccede ogne contento
78 di quel ciel c’ha minor li cerchi sui,

79 tanto m’aggrada il tuo comandamento,
80 che l’ubidir, se già fosse, m’è tardi;
81 più non t’è uo’ ch’aprirmi il tuo talento.

82 Ma dimmi la cagion che non ti guardi
83 de lo scender qua giuso in questo centro
84 de l’ampio loco ove tornar tu ardi”.

85 “Da che tu vuo’ saver cotanto a dentro,
86 dirotti brievemente”, mi rispuose,
87 “perch’ i’ non temo di venir qua entro.

88 Temer si dee di sole quelle cose
89 c’hanno potenza di fare altrui male;
90 de l’altre no, ché non son paurose.

91 I’ son fatta da Dio, sua mercé, tale,
92 che la vostra miseria non mi tange,
93 né fiamma d’esto ’ncendio non m’assale.

94 Donna è gentil nel ciel che si compiange
95 di questo ’mpedimento ov’ io ti mando,
96 sì che duro giudicio là sù frange.

97 Questa chiese Lucia in suo dimando
98 e disse: – Or ha bisogno il tuo fedele
99 di te, e io a te lo raccomando -.

100 Lucia, nimica di ciascun crudele,
101 si mosse, e venne al loco dov’ i’ era,
102 che mi sedea con l’antica Rachele.

103 Disse: – Beatrice, loda di Dio vera,
104 ché non soccorri quei che t’amò tanto,
105 ch’uscì per te de la volgare schiera?

106 Non odi tu la pieta del suo pianto,
107 non vedi tu la morte che ’l combatte
108 su la fiumana ove ’l mar non ha vanto? -.

109 Al mondo non fur mai persone ratte
110 a far lor pro o a fuggir lor danno,
111 com’ io, dopo cotai parole fatte,

112 venni qua giù del mio beato scanno,
113 fidandomi del tuo parlare onesto,
114 ch’onora te e quei ch’udito l’hanno”.

115 Poscia che m’ebbe ragionato questo,
116 li occhi lucenti lacrimando volse,
117 per che mi fece del venir più presto.

118 E venni a te così com’ ella volse;
119 d’inanzi a quella fiera ti levai
120 che del bel monte il corto andar ti tolse.

121 Dunque: che è? perché, perché restai,
122 perché tanta viltà nel core allette,
123 perché ardire e franchezza non hai,

124 poscia che tai tre donne benedette
125 curan di te ne la corte del cielo,
126 e ‘l mio parlar tanto ben ti promette?».

127 Quali fioretti dal notturno gelo
128 chinati e chiusi, poi che ’l sol li ’mbianca
129 si drizzan tutti aperti in loro stelo,

130 tal mi fec’ io di mia virtude stanca,
131 e tanto buono ardire al cor mi corse,
132 ch’i’ cominciai come persona franca:

133 «Oh pietosa colei che mi soccorse!
134 e te cortese ch’ubidisti tosto
135 a le vere parole che ti porse!

136 Tu m’hai con disiderio il cor disposto
137 sì al venir con le parole tue,
138 ch’i’ son tornato nel primo proposto.

139 Or va, ch’un sol volere è d’ambedue:
140 tu duca, tu segnore, e tu maestro».
141 Così li dissi; e poi che mosso fue,

142 intrai per lo cammino alto e silvestro.

The day was now departing; the dark air
released the living beings of the earth
from work and weariness; and I myself

alone prepared to undergo the battle
both of the journeying and of the pity,
which memory, mistaking not, shall show.

O Muses, o high genius, help me now;
o memory that set down what I saw,
here shall your excellence reveal itself!

I started: “Poet, you who are my guide,
see if the force in me is strong enough
before you let me face that rugged pass.

You say that he who fathered Sylvius,
while he was still corruptible, had journeyed
into the deathless world with his live body.

For, if the Enemy of every evil
was courteous to him, considering
all he would cause and who and what he was,

that does not seem incomprehensible,
since in the empyrean heaven he was chosen
to father honored Rome and her empire;

and if the truth be told, Rome and her realm
were destined to become the sacred place,
the seat of the successor of great Peter.

And through the journey you ascribe to him,
he came to learn of things that were to bring
his victory and, too, the papal mantle.

Later the Chosen Vessel travelled there,
to bring us back assurance of that faith
with which the way to our salvation starts.

But why should I go there? Who sanctions it?
For I am not Aeneas, am not Paul;
nor I nor others think myself so worthy.

Therefore, if I consent to start this journey,
I fear my venture may be wild and empty.
You’re wise; you know far more than what I say.”

And just as he who unwills what he wills
and shifts what he intends to seek new ends
so that he’s drawn from what he had begun,

so was I in the midst of that dark land,
because, with all my thinking, I annulled
the task I had so quickly undertaken.

“If I have understood what you have said,”
replied the shade of that great-hearted one,
“your soul has been assailed by cowardice,

which often weighs so heavily on a man—
distracting him from honorable trials—
as phantoms frighten beasts when shadows fall.

That you may be delivered from this fear,
I’ll tell you why I came and what I heard
when I first felt compassion for your pain.

I was among those souls who are suspended;
a lady called to me, so blessed, so lovely
that I implored to serve at her command.

Her eyes surpassed the splendor of the star’s;
and she began to speak to me—so gently
and softly—with angelic voice. She said:

‘O spirit of the courteous Mantuan,
whose fame is still a presence in the world
and shall endure as long as the world lasts,

my friend, who has not been the friend of fortune,
is hindered in his path along that lonely
hillside; he has been turned aside by terror.

From all that I have heard of him in Heaven,
he is, I fear, already so astray
that I have come to help him much too late.

Go now; with your persuasive word, with all
that is required to see that he escapes,
bring help to him, that I may be consoled.

For I am Beatrice who send you on;
I come from where I most long to return;
Love prompted me, that Love which makes me speak.

When once again I stand before my Lord,
then I shall often let Him hear your praises.’
Now Beatrice was silent. I began:

‘O Lady of virtue, the sole reason why
the human race surpasses all that lies
beneath the heaven with the smallest spheres,

so welcome is your wish, that even if
it were already done, it would seem tardy;
all you need do is let me know your will.

But tell me why you have not been more prudent—
descending to this center, moving from
that spacious place where you long to return?’

‘Because you want to fathom things so deeply,
I now shall tell you promptly,’ she replied,
‘why I am not afraid to enter here.

One ought to be afraid of nothing other
than things possessed of power to do us harm,
but things innocuous need not be feared.

God, in His graciousness, has made me so
that this, your misery, cannot touch me;
I can withstand the fires flaming here.

In Heaven there’s a gentle lady—one
who weeps for the distress toward which I send you,
so that stern judgment up above is shattered.

And it was she who called upon Lucia,
requesting of her: “Now your faithful one
has need of you, and I commend him to you.”

Lucia, enemy of every cruelty,
arose and made her way to where I was,
sitting beside the venerable Rachel.

She said: “You, Beatrice, true praise of God,
why have you not helped him who loves you so
that—for your sake—he’s left the vulgar crowd?

Do you not hear the anguish in his cry?
Do you not see the death he wars against
upon that river ruthless as the sea?”

No one within this world has ever been
so quick to seek his good or flee his harm
as I—when she had finished speaking thus—

to come below, down from my blessed station;
I trusted in your honest utterance,
which honors you and those who’ve listened to you.’

When she had finished with her words to me,
she turned aside her gleaming, tearful eyes,
which only made me hurry all the more.

And, just as she had wished, I came to you:
I snatched you from the path of the fierce beast
that barred the shortest way up the fair mountain.

What is it then? Why, why do you resist?
Why does your heart host so much cowardice?
Where are your daring and your openness

as long as there are three such blessed women
concerned for you within the court of Heaven
and my words promise you so great a good?”

As little flowers, which the chill of night
has bent and huddled, when the white sun strikes
grow straight and open fully on their stems,

so did I, too, with my exhausted force;
and such warm daring rushed into my heart
that I—as one who has been freed—began:

“O she, compassionate, who has helped me!
And you who, courteous, obeyed so quickly
the true words that she had addressed to you!

You, with your words, have so disposed my heart
to longing for this journey—I return
to what I was at first prepared to do.

Now go; a single will fills both of us:
you are my guide, my governor, my master.”
These were my words to him; when he advanced

I entered on the steep and savage path.

DAY was departing, and the embrowned air
Released the animals that are on earth
From their fatigues; and I the only one

Made myself ready to sustain the war,
Both of the way and likewise of the woe,
Which memory that errs not shall retrace.

O Muses, O high genius, now assist me !
O memory, that didst write down what I saw,
Here thy nobility shall be manifest !

And I began: “Poet, who guidest me,
Regard my manhood, if it be sufficient.
Ere to the arduous pass thou dost confide me.

Thou sayest, that of Silvius the parent,
While yet corruptible, unto the world
Immortal went, and was there bodily.

But if the adversary of all evil
Was courteous, thinking of the high effect
That issue would from him, and who, and what,

To men of intellect unmeet it seems not;
For he was of great Rome, and of her empire
In the empyreal heaven as father chosen;

The which and what, wishing to speak the truth,
Were stablished as the holy place, wherein
Sits the successor of the greatest Peter.

Upon this journey, whence thou givest him vaunt,
Things did he hear, which the occasion were
Both of his victory and the papal mantle.

Thither went afterwards the Chosen Vessel,
To bring back comfort thence unto that Faith,
Which of salvation’s way is the beginning.

But I, why thither come, or who concedes it ?
I not Aeneas am, I am not Paul,
Nor I, nor others, think me worthy of it.

Therefore, if I resign myself to come,
I fear the coming may be ill—advised;
Thou’rt wise, and knowest better than I speak.”

And as he is, who unwills what he willed,
And by new thoughts doth his intention change,
So that from his design he quite withdraws,

Such I became, upon that dark hillside,
Because, in thinking, I consumed the emprise,
Which was so very prompt in the beginning.

“If I have well thy language understood,”
Replied that shade of the Magnanimous,
“Thy soul attainted is with cowardice,

Which many times a man encumbers so,
It turns him back from honoured enterprise,
As false sight doth a beast, when he is shy.

That thou mayst free thee from this apprehension,
I’ll tell thee why I came, and what I heard
At the first moment when I grieved for thee.

Among those was I who are in suspense,
And a fair, saintly Lady called to me
In such wise, I besought her to command me.

Her eyes where shining brighter than the Star;
And she began to say, gentle and low,
With voice angelical, in her own language

‘ O spirit courteous of Mantua,
Of whom the fame still in the world endures,
And shall endure, long—lasting as the world;

A friend of mine, and not the friend of fortune,
Upon the desert slope is so impeded
Upon his way, that he has turned through terror,

And may, I fear, already be so lost,
That I too late have risen to his succour,
From that which I have heard of him in Heaven.

Bestir thee now, and with thy speech ornate,
And with what needful is for his release,
Assist him so, that I may be consoled.

Beatrice am I, who do bid thee go;
I come from there, where I would fain return;
Love moved me, which compelleth me to speak.

When I shall be in presence of my Lord,
Full often will I praise thee unto him.’
Then paused she, and thereafter I began:

‘ O Lady of virtue, thou alone through whom
The human race exceedeth all contained
Within the heaven that has the lesser circles,

So grateful unto me is thy commandment,
To obey, if ’twere already done, were late;
No farther need’st thou ope to me thy wish.

But the cause tell me why thou dost not shun
The here descending down into this centre,
From the vast place thou burnest to return to.’

‘ Since thou wouldst fain so inwardly discern,
Briefly will I relate,’ she answered me,
‘ Why I am not afraid to enter here.

Of those things only should one be afraid
Which have the power of doing others harm;
Of the rest, no; because they are not fearful.

God in his mercy such created me
That misery of yours attains me not,
Nor any flame assails me of this burning

A gentle Lady is in Heaven, who grieves
At this impediment, to which I send thee,
So that stern judgment there above is broken.

In her entreaty she besought Luci´a,
And said, “Thy faithful one now stands in need
Of thee, and unto thee I recommend him.”

Luci´a, foe of all that cruel is,
Hastened away, and came unto the place
Where I was sitting with the ancient Rachel.

“Beatrice” said she, “the true praise of God,
Why succourest thou not him, who loved thee so,
For thee he issued from the vulgar herd ?

Dost thou not hear the pity of his plaint ?
Dost thou not see the death that combats him
Beside that flood, where ocean has no vaunt?”

Never were persons in the world so swift
To work their weal and to escape their woe,
As I, after such words as these were uttered,

Came hither downward from my blessed seat,
Confiding in thy dignified discourse,
Which honours thee, and those who’ve listened to it.’

After she thus had spoken unto me,
Weeping, her shining eyes she turned away;
Whereby she made me swifter in my coming;

And unto thee I came, as she desired;
I have delivered thee from that wild beast,
Which barred the beautiful mountain’s short ascent.

What is it, then ? Why, why dost thou delay?
Why is such baseness bedded in thy heart?
Daring and hardihood why hast thou not,

Seeing that three such Ladies benedight
Are caring for thee in the court of Heaven,
And so much good my speech doth promise thee ?”

Even as the flowerets, by nocturnal chill,
Bowed down and closed, when the sun whitens them,
Uplift themselves all open on their stems;

Such I became with my exhausted strength,
And such good courage to my heart there coursed,
That I began, like an intrepid person:

“O she compassionate, who succoured me,
And courteous thou, who hast obeyed so soon
The words of truth which she addressed to thee!

Thou hast my heart so with desire disposed
To the adventure, with these words of thine,
That to my first intent I have returned.

Now go, for one sole will is in us both,
Thou Leader, and thou Lord, and Master thou.”
Thus said I to him; and when he had moved,

I entered on the deep and savage way.

The day was now departing; the dark air
released the living beings of the earth
from work and weariness; and I myself

alone prepared to undergo the battle
both of the journeying and of the pity,
which memory, mistaking not, shall show.

O Muses, o high genius, help me now;
o memory that set down what I saw,
here shall your excellence reveal itself!

I started: “Poet, you who are my guide,
see if the force in me is strong enough
before you let me face that rugged pass.

You say that he who fathered Sylvius,
while he was still corruptible, had journeyed
into the deathless world with his live body.

For, if the Enemy of every evil
was courteous to him, considering
all he would cause and who and what he was,

that does not seem incomprehensible,
since in the empyrean heaven he was chosen
to father honored Rome and her empire;

and if the truth be told, Rome and her realm
were destined to become the sacred place,
the seat of the successor of great Peter.

And through the journey you ascribe to him,
he came to learn of things that were to bring
his victory and, too, the papal mantle.

Later the Chosen Vessel travelled there,
to bring us back assurance of that faith
with which the way to our salvation starts.

But why should I go there? Who sanctions it?
For I am not Aeneas, am not Paul;
nor I nor others think myself so worthy.

Therefore, if I consent to start this journey,
I fear my venture may be wild and empty.
You’re wise; you know far more than what I say.”

And just as he who unwills what he wills
and shifts what he intends to seek new ends
so that he’s drawn from what he had begun,

so was I in the midst of that dark land,
because, with all my thinking, I annulled
the task I had so quickly undertaken.

“If I have understood what you have said,”
replied the shade of that great-hearted one,
“your soul has been assailed by cowardice,

which often weighs so heavily on a man—
distracting him from honorable trials—
as phantoms frighten beasts when shadows fall.

That you may be delivered from this fear,
I’ll tell you why I came and what I heard
when I first felt compassion for your pain.

I was among those souls who are suspended;
a lady called to me, so blessed, so lovely
that I implored to serve at her command.

Her eyes surpassed the splendor of the star’s;
and she began to speak to me—so gently
and softly—with angelic voice. She said:

‘O spirit of the courteous Mantuan,
whose fame is still a presence in the world
and shall endure as long as the world lasts,

my friend, who has not been the friend of fortune,
is hindered in his path along that lonely
hillside; he has been turned aside by terror.

From all that I have heard of him in Heaven,
he is, I fear, already so astray
that I have come to help him much too late.

Go now; with your persuasive word, with all
that is required to see that he escapes,
bring help to him, that I may be consoled.

For I am Beatrice who send you on;
I come from where I most long to return;
Love prompted me, that Love which makes me speak.

When once again I stand before my Lord,
then I shall often let Him hear your praises.’
Now Beatrice was silent. I began:

‘O Lady of virtue, the sole reason why
the human race surpasses all that lies
beneath the heaven with the smallest spheres,

so welcome is your wish, that even if
it were already done, it would seem tardy;
all you need do is let me know your will.

But tell me why you have not been more prudent—
descending to this center, moving from
that spacious place where you long to return?’

‘Because you want to fathom things so deeply,
I now shall tell you promptly,’ she replied,
‘why I am not afraid to enter here.

One ought to be afraid of nothing other
than things possessed of power to do us harm,
but things innocuous need not be feared.

God, in His graciousness, has made me so
that this, your misery, cannot touch me;
I can withstand the fires flaming here.

In Heaven there’s a gentle lady—one
who weeps for the distress toward which I send you,
so that stern judgment up above is shattered.

And it was she who called upon Lucia,
requesting of her: “Now your faithful one
has need of you, and I commend him to you.”

Lucia, enemy of every cruelty,
arose and made her way to where I was,
sitting beside the venerable Rachel.

She said: “You, Beatrice, true praise of God,
why have you not helped him who loves you so
that—for your sake—he’s left the vulgar crowd?

Do you not hear the anguish in his cry?
Do you not see the death he wars against
upon that river ruthless as the sea?”

No one within this world has ever been
so quick to seek his good or flee his harm
as I—when she had finished speaking thus—

to come below, down from my blessed station;
I trusted in your honest utterance,
which honors you and those who’ve listened to you.’

When she had finished with her words to me,
she turned aside her gleaming, tearful eyes,
which only made me hurry all the more.

And, just as she had wished, I came to you:
I snatched you from the path of the fierce beast
that barred the shortest way up the fair mountain.

What is it then? Why, why do you resist?
Why does your heart host so much cowardice?
Where are your daring and your openness

as long as there are three such blessed women
concerned for you within the court of Heaven
and my words promise you so great a good?”

As little flowers, which the chill of night
has bent and huddled, when the white sun strikes
grow straight and open fully on their stems,

so did I, too, with my exhausted force;
and such warm daring rushed into my heart
that I—as one who has been freed—began:

“O she, compassionate, who has helped me!
And you who, courteous, obeyed so quickly
the true words that she had addressed to you!

You, with your words, have so disposed my heart
to longing for this journey—I return
to what I was at first prepared to do.

Now go; a single will fills both of us:
you are my guide, my governor, my master.”
These were my words to him; when he advanced

I entered on the steep and savage path.

DAY was departing, and the embrowned air
Released the animals that are on earth
From their fatigues; and I the only one

Made myself ready to sustain the war,
Both of the way and likewise of the woe,
Which memory that errs not shall retrace.

O Muses, O high genius, now assist me !
O memory, that didst write down what I saw,
Here thy nobility shall be manifest !

And I began: “Poet, who guidest me,
Regard my manhood, if it be sufficient.
Ere to the arduous pass thou dost confide me.

Thou sayest, that of Silvius the parent,
While yet corruptible, unto the world
Immortal went, and was there bodily.

But if the adversary of all evil
Was courteous, thinking of the high effect
That issue would from him, and who, and what,

To men of intellect unmeet it seems not;
For he was of great Rome, and of her empire
In the empyreal heaven as father chosen;

The which and what, wishing to speak the truth,
Were stablished as the holy place, wherein
Sits the successor of the greatest Peter.

Upon this journey, whence thou givest him vaunt,
Things did he hear, which the occasion were
Both of his victory and the papal mantle.

Thither went afterwards the Chosen Vessel,
To bring back comfort thence unto that Faith,
Which of salvation’s way is the beginning.

But I, why thither come, or who concedes it ?
I not Aeneas am, I am not Paul,
Nor I, nor others, think me worthy of it.

Therefore, if I resign myself to come,
I fear the coming may be ill—advised;
Thou’rt wise, and knowest better than I speak.”

And as he is, who unwills what he willed,
And by new thoughts doth his intention change,
So that from his design he quite withdraws,

Such I became, upon that dark hillside,
Because, in thinking, I consumed the emprise,
Which was so very prompt in the beginning.

“If I have well thy language understood,”
Replied that shade of the Magnanimous,
“Thy soul attainted is with cowardice,

Which many times a man encumbers so,
It turns him back from honoured enterprise,
As false sight doth a beast, when he is shy.

That thou mayst free thee from this apprehension,
I’ll tell thee why I came, and what I heard
At the first moment when I grieved for thee.

Among those was I who are in suspense,
And a fair, saintly Lady called to me
In such wise, I besought her to command me.

Her eyes where shining brighter than the Star;
And she began to say, gentle and low,
With voice angelical, in her own language

‘ O spirit courteous of Mantua,
Of whom the fame still in the world endures,
And shall endure, long—lasting as the world;

A friend of mine, and not the friend of fortune,
Upon the desert slope is so impeded
Upon his way, that he has turned through terror,

And may, I fear, already be so lost,
That I too late have risen to his succour,
From that which I have heard of him in Heaven.

Bestir thee now, and with thy speech ornate,
And with what needful is for his release,
Assist him so, that I may be consoled.

Beatrice am I, who do bid thee go;
I come from there, where I would fain return;
Love moved me, which compelleth me to speak.

When I shall be in presence of my Lord,
Full often will I praise thee unto him.’
Then paused she, and thereafter I began:

‘ O Lady of virtue, thou alone through whom
The human race exceedeth all contained
Within the heaven that has the lesser circles,

So grateful unto me is thy commandment,
To obey, if ’twere already done, were late;
No farther need’st thou ope to me thy wish.

But the cause tell me why thou dost not shun
The here descending down into this centre,
From the vast place thou burnest to return to.’

‘ Since thou wouldst fain so inwardly discern,
Briefly will I relate,’ she answered me,
‘ Why I am not afraid to enter here.

Of those things only should one be afraid
Which have the power of doing others harm;
Of the rest, no; because they are not fearful.

God in his mercy such created me
That misery of yours attains me not,
Nor any flame assails me of this burning

A gentle Lady is in Heaven, who grieves
At this impediment, to which I send thee,
So that stern judgment there above is broken.

In her entreaty she besought Luci´a,
And said, “Thy faithful one now stands in need
Of thee, and unto thee I recommend him.”

Luci´a, foe of all that cruel is,
Hastened away, and came unto the place
Where I was sitting with the ancient Rachel.

“Beatrice” said she, “the true praise of God,
Why succourest thou not him, who loved thee so,
For thee he issued from the vulgar herd ?

Dost thou not hear the pity of his plaint ?
Dost thou not see the death that combats him
Beside that flood, where ocean has no vaunt?”

Never were persons in the world so swift
To work their weal and to escape their woe,
As I, after such words as these were uttered,

Came hither downward from my blessed seat,
Confiding in thy dignified discourse,
Which honours thee, and those who’ve listened to it.’

After she thus had spoken unto me,
Weeping, her shining eyes she turned away;
Whereby she made me swifter in my coming;

And unto thee I came, as she desired;
I have delivered thee from that wild beast,
Which barred the beautiful mountain’s short ascent.

What is it, then ? Why, why dost thou delay?
Why is such baseness bedded in thy heart?
Daring and hardihood why hast thou not,

Seeing that three such Ladies benedight
Are caring for thee in the court of Heaven,
And so much good my speech doth promise thee ?”

Even as the flowerets, by nocturnal chill,
Bowed down and closed, when the sun whitens them,
Uplift themselves all open on their stems;

Such I became with my exhausted strength,
And such good courage to my heart there coursed,
That I began, like an intrepid person:

“O she compassionate, who succoured me,
And courteous thou, who hast obeyed so soon
The words of truth which she addressed to thee!

Thou hast my heart so with desire disposed
To the adventure, with these words of thine,
That to my first intent I have returned.

Now go, for one sole will is in us both,
Thou Leader, and thou Lord, and Master thou.”
Thus said I to him; and when he had moved,

I entered on the deep and savage way.

Reading by Francesco Bausi: Inferno 2

For more readings by Francesco Bausi, see the Bausi Readings page.