CĪNTUL V
Din primul cerc, lăsatu-ne-am īn vale,
pe coasta unei mįi strīmte zănoage,
cu mai mult vaier şi mai cruntă jale.
4
Cu-un rīnjet crud īn rīpă Minos rage
judeţ vinovăţiilor intrate,
verdicte dīnd după cum coada-i trage;
7 iar cīnd un duh din cele blestemate
nainte-i stă, tot sufletu'-īşi desface
şi-acel cunoscător īntru păcate
10
un loc din iad alege, şi-apoi face
din coadă-atītea vrejuri, care spun că
īntr-acea bolgie-īi este dat a zace.
13
Īn faţa lui stau pururi la poruncă
cohorta celor ce-au trăit īn viciu:
vorbesc, aud, şi-apoi īn hău i-aruncă.
16
"-Ei, tu, ce calci lăcaşul de supliciu,"
răsti Minós cu-un ochi căscat la mine,
īntrerupīnd cumplitul său oficiu,
19 "tu, unde eşti şi cui te-īncrezi, vezi bine!
E largă poarta, īnsă-īnşelătoare!"
Dar ghidu'-i spuse: "-Urli-īn van, haķne!
22
Nu stăvili sortita sa cărare:
aşa e vrerea unde stă-īn putinţă
tot ce se vrea, şi lasă-orice-īntrebare!"
25
Ci jeluiri, atunci, de suferinţă,
şi plīnsete-auzii, fără hodină,
lovind īn tulburata mea fiinţă.
28
Era o lume mută de lumină,
vuind ca valul mării-īn vijelie,
cīnd vīnturi īnvrăjbite o dezbină.
31
Drăcescul vifor, ce nu stă-īn vecie,
īnşfacă duhuri fără osebire
şi-īnvolburat le-aruncă-īn silnicie.
34
Cīnd le prăvale cruda-īnvīrtejire,
poartă boceli şi urlete crivăţul
şi blésteme spre sfīnta stăpīnire.
37
Īn zbucium, īnţeles-am, e dezvăţul
acelor ce iubiră desfrīnarea
şi mintea le-o īnstăpīni dezmăţul.
40
Ca nişte paseri care-īntunec zarea,
mīnate-īn stol, cīnd bīntuie năprazna,
aşa, pe-aceste spirite, vīltoarea,
43
īn sus şi-īn jos, īncolo,-īncoace, razna
le zbate şi speranţă n-au c'-odată
le-o fi nu stinsă, ci mai blīndă cazna.
46
Şi cum plutesc cocorii-īn lungă ceată,
umplīnd văzduhul cu-a lor litanķe,
aşa văzui venind, īndurerată,
49
cohorta-acelor umbre īn urgie;
şi-am īntrebat: "-Maestre, cine-s oare
cei hăituiţi īn ceaţa plumburie?"
52
"-Īntīia din cortegiul despre care
ai vrea să afli şi mai multe",-īmi zise,
"pe multe graiuri fost-a domnitoare.
55
Dezmăţu'-atīt de-adīnc o-īmpătimise
că din nelegiuiri făcuse lege
pentru-a nu fi şi ale ei proscrise:
58
Semiramida e, şi-īn cărţi se-alege
că i-a urmat lui Nin şi i-a fost soaţa,
stăpīnă ţării-unde sultanu-i rege.
61 Din dragoste, cealaltă şi-a luat viaţa,
cenuşii lui Sicheu necredincioasă.
E Cleopatra,-apoi, curvăsăreaţa,
64
mai e Elena, prķcină frumoasă
năpastelor, şi-Ahil, bărbată fire,
cuprins, īn urmă,-īntr-a iubirii plasă,
67
Parķs apoi, Tristan..." şi alţii, şire
de umbre-īmi arătă şi nume-apuse,
ce viaţa şi-au pierdut-o din iubire.
70
Cīnd bunul dascăl toate astea-īmi spuse
de doamne şi bărbaţi din alte ere,
mila m-a prins şi-aproape mă răpuse.
73
Şi-am zis: "-Poete, mult mi-ar fi plăcere
să le vorbesc acelor doi, pe care
īi poartă vīnt uşori ca o părere."
76 El mi-a răspuns: "-Sunt īncă-īn depărtare
pe dragostea ce-i mīnă tu-i conjură
şi īnspre noi īndată au să zboare."
79
Chemare-am slobozit atunci din gură,
cīnd vīntul i-a adus: "-Voi, duhuri stinse,
veniţi, vorbiţi, dacă Cel Drept se-īndură!"
82
Ca doi hulubi cu įripile-īntinse
spre dulce cuib gingįş plutind deodată,
se-apropiau, de-acelaşi suflu-īmpinse:
85
ieşind dintr-a Didonei sumbră ceată,
zburau spre noi, prin aerul ce plīnge,
atraşi de ruga mea īnflăcărată.
88
"-Eşti suflet bun, din cele ce le frīnge
durerea, dacă vii īn neagra ceaţă
la noi, ce lumea-am īnroşit-o-īn sīnge;
91
de ne-ar privi altcum cereasca faţă,
noi ne-am ruga smerit pentru-a ta pace,
căci chinul nostru inima ţi-o-īngheaţă.
94
Dacă acum, să ne asculţi ţi-ar place,
ori să vorbeşti, vom face cum ţi-e gīndul
atīta timp cīt vīntul, iată, tace.
97
O coastă-a mării, acela e pămīntul
ce m-a născut; acolo Po coboară
şi rămurit īşi varsă-īn val avīntul.
100
Iubirea-īn inimi tandre jar pogoară,
şi-o luă şi celui drag īn stăpīnire,
dar cum ne-am fost răpiţi, şi azi mă-īnfioară.
103
Iubirea naşte-īn cel iubit iubire:
de chipul lui am fost robită foarte,
şi-acum, la fel, īmi bīntuie-īn simţire.
106
Iubirea ne-a condus spre-aceeaşi moarte:
făptaşul īn adīnc de iad să
piară!"
Atīt au spus, şi n-au spus mai departe.
109
Cum desluşeam povestea lor amară,
privirea mi s-a frīnt. Ca să mă-adune,
poetul spuse: "-Gīndul unde-ţi zboară?"
112
Cīnd i-am răspuns, am fost grăit: "-Oh,
spune, ce gīnduri dulci, ce aprigă tandreţe
i-au dus pe-aceştia-īn crīncena genune?"
115
Īntors din nou spre-acele albe feţe:
"-Francesca,-am zis, calvarul tău, īn mine
izvor de lacrimi e, şi de tristeţe.
118
Dar spune,-īn vremea dulcilor suspine,
cīnd ce era, nu se vădea să fie,
iubirea - cum o ai simţit că vine?"
121
"-Cīnd eşti căzut, durere nu-i mai vie
decīt să-ţi aminteşti de fericire",
răspunse ea, "şi-al tău maestru-o ştie.
124
Şi dacă de a dragostei ivire
vrei să auzi, voi stinge-a' tale jīnduri,
dar plīnsul mi se va-īmpleti-īn vorbire.
127
Pe cīnd tihniţi citeam, ca-īn alte rīnduri,
de Lancelot şi fiorul ce-l cuprinse,
singuri eram şi fără alte gīnduri.
130
Cititu'-ades obrajii ni-i aprinse
şi ochii se-īntīlniră-īn căutare:
dar un pasaj anume ne īnvinse.
133
Citind despre rīvnita sărutare
ce-amanţii peste-un zīmbet şi-o dădură,
el, ce pe veci cu mine o soartă are,
136
de freamăt plin, mă sărută pe gură.
Fu, cartea, Galeott, şi cel ce-o scrise.
Din ziua-aceea, n-a mai fost lectură."
139
Īn timp ce-o umbră-aceste lucruri zise,
plīngea cealaltă-atīt, īncīt, de jale,
eu, ca-īntr-un somn de moarte fără vise,
142
căzui cum cade mort un corp īn cale.
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CANTO
V
traducere īn limba engleză de Allen
Mandelbaum1
So I descended from
the
first enclosure
down to the second circle, that which girdles
less space but grief more great, that goads to weeping.
There dreadful
Minos stands, gnashing his teeth:
examining the sins of those who enter,
he judges and assigns as his tail twines.
I mean that when the spirit born to evil
appears before him, it confesses all;
and he, the connoisseur of sin, can tell
the depth in hell appropriate to it;
as many times as Minos wraps his tail
around himself, that marks the sinner's level.
Always there is a crowd that stands before him:
each soul in turn advances toward that judgment;
they
speak and hear, then they are cast below.
Arresting his extraordinary task,
Minos, as soon as he had seen me, said:
"O you who reach this house of suffering,
be careful how you enter, whom you trust;
the gate is wide, but do not be
deceived!"
To which my guide replied: "But why protest"
Do not attempt to block his fated path:
our passage has been willed above, where One
can do what He has willed; and ask no more."
Now notes of desperation have begun
to overtake my hearing; now I come
where mighty lamentation beats against me.
I reached a place where every light is muted,
which bellows like the sea beneath a tempest,
when it is battered by opposing winds.
The hellish hurricane, which never rests,
drives on the spirits with its violence:
wheeling and pounding, it harasses them.
When they come up against the
ruined slope,
then there are cries and wailing and lament,
and there they curse the force of the divine.
I learned that those who undergo this torment
are damned because they sinned within the flesh,
subjecting reason to the rule of lust.
And as, in the cold season, starlings' wings
bear them along in broad and crowded ranks,
so does that blast bear on the guilty spirits:
Now here, now there, now down, now up, it drives them.
There is no hope that ever comforts them--
no hope for rest and none for lesser pain.
And just as cranes in flight will chant their lays,
arraying their long file across the air,
so did the shades I saw approaching, borne
By that assailing wind, lament and moan;
so that I asked him: "Master, who are those
who suffer punishment in this dark air?"
"The first of those about whose history
you want to know," my master told me,
"once ruled as empress over many nations.
Her vice of lust became so customary
that she made license licit in her laws
to free her from the scandal she had caused.
She is
Semiramis, of whom we read
that she was Ninus' wife and successor:
she held the land the
Sultan now commands.
That other spirit killed herself for
love,
and she betrayed the ashes of Sychaeus;
the wanton
Cleopatra follows next.
See
Helen, for whose sake so many years
of evil had to pass; see great
Achilles,
who finally met love--in his last battle.
See
Paris, Tristan..."--and he pointed out
and named to me more than a thousand shades
departed from our life because of love.
No sooner had I heard my teacher name
the ancient ladies and the knights, than pity
seized me, and I was like a man astray.
My first words: "Poet, I should willingly
speak with those two who go together there
and seem so lightly carried by the wind."
And he said to me: "You'll see when they draw closer
to us, and then you may appeal to them
by that love which impels them. They will come."
No sooner had the wind bent them towards us
than I urged on my voice: "O battered souls,
if One does not forbid it, speak with us."
Even as doves when summoned by desire,
borne forward by their will, move through the air
with wings uplifted, still, to their sweet nest,
those spirits left the ranks where Dido suffers,
approaching us through the malignant air;
so powerful had been my loving cry.
"O living being, gracious and benign,
who through the darkened air have come to visit
our souls that stained the world with blood, if He
who rules the universe were friend to us,
then we should pray to Him to give you peace,
for you have pitied our atrocious state.
Whatever pleases you to hear and speak
will please us, too, to hear and speak with you,
now while the wind is silent, in this place.
The land where I was born lies on that
shore
to which the Po together with the waters
that follow it descends to final rest.
Love, that can quickly seize the gentle
heart,
took hold of
him because of the fair body
taken from me--how
that was done still wounds me.
Love, that releases no beloved from
loving,
took hold of me so strongly that through his beauty
that, as you see, it has not left me yet.
Love led the two of us unto one death.
Caina waits for him who took our life."
These words were borne across from them to us.
When I had listened to those injured souls,
I bent my head and held it low until
the poet asked of me: "What are you thinking?"
When I replied, my words began: "Alas,
how many gentle thoughts, how deep a longing,
had led them to the agonizing pass!"
Then I addressed my speech again to them,
and I began: "Francesca, your afflictions
move me to tears of sorrow and of pity.
But tell me, in the time of gentle sighs,
with what and in what way did Love allow you
to recognize your still uncertain longings?"
And she to me: "There is no greater
sorrow
than thinking back upon a happy time
in misery--and this your teacher knows.
Yet if you long so much to understand
the first root of our love, then I shall tell
my tale to you as one who weeps and speaks.
One day, to pass the time away,
we read
of Lancelot--how love had overcame him.
We were alone, and we suspected nothing.
And time and time again that reading led
our eyes to meet, and made our faces pale,
and yet one point alone defeated us.
When we had read how the desired smile
was kissed by one who was so true a lover,
this one, who never shall be parted from me,
while all his body trembled, kissed my mouth.
A Gallehault indeed, that book and he
who wrote it, too; that day we read no more."
And while one spirit said these words to me,
the other wept, so that--because of pity--
I fainted, as if I had met my death.
And then I fell as a dead body falls.
---------------------
1) New
York, Bantam Books, 1980.
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