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CANTO II

THE day was falling, and the darkening air

Released earth’s creatures from their toils, while I,

I only, faced the bitter road and bare

My Master led. I only, must defy

The powers of pity, and the night to be.

So thought I, but the things I came to see,

Which memory holds, could never thought forecast.

O Muses high! O Genius, first and last!

Memories intense! Your utmost powers combine

To meet this need. For never theme as mine

Strained vainly, where your loftiest nobleness

Must fail to be sufficient.

First I said,

Fearing, to him who through the darkness led,

“O poet, ere the arduous path ye press

Too far, look in me, if the worth there be

To make this transit. Æneas once, I know,

Went down in life, and crossed the infernal sea;

And if the Lord of All Things Lost Below

Allowed it, reason seems, to those who see

The enduring greatness of his destiny,

Who in the Empyrean Heaven elect was called

Sire of the Eternal City, that throned and walled

Made Empire of the world beyond, to be

The Holy Place at last, by God’s decree,

Where the great Peter’s follower rules. For he

Learned there the causes of his victory.

“And later to the third great Heaven was caught

The last Apostle, and thence returning brought

The proofs of our salvation. But, for me,

I am not Æneas, nay, nor Paul, to see

Unspeakable things that depths or heights can show,

And if this road for no sure end I go

What folly is mine? But any words are weak.

Thy wisdom further than the things I speak

Can search the event that would be.”

Here I stayed

My steps amid the darkness, and the Shade

That led me heard and turned, magnanimous,

And saw me drained of purpose halting thus,

And answered, “If thy coward-born thoughts be clear,

And all thy once intent, infirmed of fear,

Broken, then art thou as scared beasts that shy

From shadows, surely that they know not why

Nor wherefore… Hearken, to confound thy fear,

The things which first I heard, and brought me here.…

One came where, in the Outer Place, I dwell,

Suspense from hope of Heaven or fear of Hell,

Radiant in light that native round her clung,

And cast her eyes our hopeless Shades among

(Eyes with no earthly like but heaven’s own blue),

And called me to her in such voice as few

In that grim place had heard, so low, so clear,

So toned and cadenced from the Utmost Sphere,

The Unattainable Heaven from which she came.

‘O Mantuan Spirit,’ she said, ‘whose lasting fame

Continues on the earth ye left, and still

With Time shall stand, an earthly friend to me,

—My friend, not fortune’s—climbs a path so ill

That all the night-bred fears he hastes to flee

Were kindly to the thing he nears. The tale

Moved through the peace of Heaven, and swift I sped

Downward, to aid my friend in love’s avail,

With scanty time therefore, that half I dread

Too late I came. But thou shalt haste, and go

With golden wisdom of thy speech, that so

For me be consolation. Thou shalt say,

“I come from Beatricë.” Downward far,

From Heaven to Heaven I sank, from star to star,

To find thee, and to point his rescuing way.

Fain would I to my place of light return;

Love moved me from it, and gave me power to learn

Thy speech. When next before my Lord I stand

I very oft shall praise thee.’

Here she ceased,

And I gave answer to that dear command,

‘Lady, alone through whom the whole race of those

The smallest Heaven the moon’s short orbits hold

Excels in its creation, not thy least,

Thy lightest wish in this dark realm were told

Vainly. But show me why the Heavens unclose

To loose thee from them, and thyself content

Couldst thus continue in such strange descent

From that most Spacious Place for which ye burn,

And while ye further left, would fain return.’

“‘That which thou wouldst,’ she said, ‘I briefly tell.

There is no fear nor any hurt in Hell,

Except that it be powerful. God in me

Is gracious, that the piteous sights I see

I share not, nor myself can shrink to feel

The flame of all this burning. One there is

In height among the Holiest placed, and she

—Mercy her name—among God’s mysteries

Dwells in the midst, and hath the power to see

His judgments, and to break them. This sharp woe

I tell thee, when she saw, she called, that so

Leaned Lucia toward her while she spake—and said,

“One that is faithful to thy name is sped,

Except that now ye aid him.” She thereat,

—Lucia, to all men’s wrongs inimical—

Left her High Place, and crossed to where I sat

In speech with Rachel (of the first of all

God saved). “O Beatrice, Praise of God,”

—So said she to me—“sitt’st thou here so slow

To aid him, once on earth that loved thee so

That all he left to serve thee? Hear’st thou not

The anguish of his plaint? and dost not see,

By that dark stream that never seeks a sea,

The death that threats him?”

None, as thus she said,

None ever was swift on earth his good to chase,

None ever on earth was swift to leave his dread,

As came I downward from that sacred place

To find thee and invoke thee, confident

Not vainly for his need the gold were spent

Of thy word-wisdom.’ Here she turned away,

Her bright eyes clouded with their tears, and I,

Who saw them, therefore made more haste to reach

The place she told, and found thee. Canst thou say

I failed thy rescue? Is the beast anigh

From which ye quailed? When such dear saints beseech

—Three from the Highest—that Heaven thy course allow

Why halt ye fearful? In such guards as thou

The faintest-hearted might be bold.”

As flowers,

Close-folded through the cold and lightless hours,

Their bended stems erect, and opening fair

Accept the white light and the warmer air

Of morning, so my fainting heart anew

Lifted, that heard his comfort. Swift I spake,

“O courteous thou, and she compassionate!

Thy haste that saved me, and her warning true,

Beyond my worth exalt me. Thine I make

My will. In concord of one mind from now,

O Master and my Guide, where leadest thou

I follow.”

And we, with no more words’ delay,

Went forward on that hard and dreadful way.