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THE DIVINE COMEDY: Inferno, Purgatorio & Paradiso (3 Classic Translations in One Edition). Dante AlighieriЧитать онлайн книгу.

THE DIVINE COMEDY: Inferno, Purgatorio & Paradiso (3 Classic Translations in One Edition) - Dante Alighieri


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the slope bank falls,

       He of himself shall tell thee and his wrongs."

       I then: "As pleases thee to me is best.

       Thou art my lord; and know'st that ne'er I quit

       Thy will: what silence hides that knowest thou."

       Thereat on the fourth pier we came, we turn'd,

       And on our left descended to the depth,

       A narrow strait and perforated close.

       Nor from his side my leader set me down,

       Till to his orifice he brought, whose limb

       Quiv'ring express'd his pang. "Whoe'er thou art,

       Sad spirit! thus revers'd, and as a stake

       Driv'n in the soil!" I in these words began,

       "If thou be able, utter forth thy voice."

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       There stood I like the friar, that doth shrive

       A wretch for murder doom'd, who e'en when fix'd,

       Calleth him back, whence death awhile delays.

       He shouted: "Ha! already standest there?

       Already standest there, O Boniface!

       By many a year the writing play'd me false.

       So early dost thou surfeit with the wealth,

       For which thou fearedst not in guile to take

       The lovely lady, and then mangle her?"

       I felt as those who, piercing not the drift

       Of answer made them, stand as if expos'd

       In mockery, nor know what to reply,

       When Virgil thus admonish'd: "Tell him quick,

       I am not he, not he, whom thou believ'st."

       And I, as was enjoin'd me, straight replied.

       That heard, the spirit all did wrench his feet,

       And sighing next in woeful accent spake:

       "What then of me requirest?" "If to know

       So much imports thee, who I am, that thou

       Hast therefore down the bank descended, learn

       That in the mighty mantle I was rob'd,

       And of a she-bear was indeed the son,

       So eager to advance my whelps, that there

       My having in my purse above I stow'd,

       And here myself. Under my head are dragg'd

       The rest, my predecessors in the guilt

       Of simony. Stretch'd at their length they lie

       Along an opening in the rock. 'Midst them

       I also low shall fall, soon as he comes,

       For whom I took thee, when so hastily

       I question'd. But already longer time

       Hath pass'd, since my souls kindled, and I thus

       Upturn'd have stood, than is his doom to stand

       Planted with fiery feet. For after him,

       One yet of deeds more ugly shall arrive,

       From forth the west, a shepherd without law,

       Fated to cover both his form and mine.

       He a new Jason shall be call'd, of whom

       In Maccabees we read; and favour such

       As to that priest his king indulgent show'd,

       Shall be of France's monarch shown to him."

       I know not if I here too far presum'd,

       But in this strain I answer'd: "Tell me now,

       What treasures from St. Peter at the first

       Our Lord demanded, when he put the keys

       Into his charge? Surely he ask'd no more

       But, Follow me! Nor Peter nor the rest

       Or gold or silver of Matthias took,

       When lots were cast upon the forfeit place

       Of the condemned soul. Abide thou then;

       Thy punishment of right is merited:

       And look thou well to that ill-gotten coin,

       Which against Charles thy hardihood inspir'd.

       If reverence of the keys restrain'd me not,

       Which thou in happier time didst hold, I yet

       Severer speech might use. Your avarice

       O'ercasts the world with mourning, under foot

       Treading the good, and raising bad men up.

       Of shepherds, like to you, th' Evangelist

       Was ware, when her, who sits upon the waves,

       With kings in filthy whoredom he beheld,

       She who with seven heads tower'd at her birth,

       And from ten horns her proof of glory drew,

       Long as her spouse in virtue took delight.

       Of gold and silver ye have made your god,

       Diff'ring wherein from the idolater,

       But he that worships one, a hundred ye?

       Ah, Constantine! to how much ill gave birth,

       Not thy conversion, but that plenteous dower,

       Which the first wealthy Father gain'd from thee!"

       Meanwhile, as thus I sung, he, whether wrath

       Or conscience smote him, violent upsprang

       Spinning on either sole. I do believe

       My teacher well was pleas'd, with so compos'd

       A lip, he listen'd ever to the sound

       Of the true words I utter'd. In both arms

       He caught, and to his bosom lifting me

       Upward retrac'd the way of his descent.

       Nor weary of his weight he press'd me close,

       Till to the summit of the rock we came,

       Our passage from the fourth to the fifth pier.

       His cherish'd burden there gently he plac'd

       Upon the rugged rock and steep, a path

       Not easy for the clamb'ring goat to mount.

       Thence to my view another vale appear'd

       AND now the verse proceeds to torments new,

       Fit argument of this the twentieth strain

       Of the first song, whose awful theme records

       The spirits whelm'd in woe. Earnest I look'd

       Into the depth, that open'd to my view,

       Moisten'd with tears of anguish, and beheld

       A tribe, that came along the hollow vale,

       In silence weeping: such their step as walk

       Quires chanting solemn litanies on earth.

       As on them more direct mine eye descends,

       Each wondrously seem'd to be revers'd

       At the neck-bone,


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