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THE

Ramayana

OF

* - Valmeeki

RENDERED INTO ENGLISH

WITH EXHAUSTIVE NOTES

BY

(. ^ ^reenivasa jHv$oiu$ar, B. A.,

LECTURER

S. P G. COLLEGE, TRICHINGj,



Balakanda and N



MADRAS:
M. K. PEES8, A. L. T. PRKS8 AND GUARDIAN PBE8S. *

> 1910. %

i*t

Copyright ftpfiglwtd. 3 - , [ JJf JB^/to Reserved



PREFACE

The Ramayana of Valmeeki is a most unique work.
The Aryans are the oldest race on earth and the most
* advanced ; and the Ramayana is their first and grandest
epic.

The Eddas of Scandinavia, the Niebelungen Lied of
Germany, the Iliad of Homer, the Enead of Virgil, the
Inferno, the Purgatorio, and the Paradiso of Dante, the
Paradise Lost of Milton, the Lusiad of Camcens, the Shah
Nama of Firdausi are Epics and no more ; the Ramayana
of Valmeeki is an Epic and much more.

If any work can clam} to be the Bible of the Hindus,
it is the Ramayana of Valmeeki.

Professor MacDonell, the latest writer on Samskritha
Literature, says :

" The Epic contains the following verse foretelling its
everlasting fame

* As long as moynfain ranges stand

And rivers flow upon the earth,
So long will this Ramayana
Survive upon the lips of men.

This prophecy has been perhaps even more abundantly
fulfilled than the well-known prediction of Horace. No pro-
duct of Sanskrit Literature has enjoyed a greater popularity
in India down to the present day than the Ramayana. Its
story furnishes the subject of many other Sanskrit poems
as well as plays and still delights, from the lips* of reciters,
the hearts of the myriads of the Indian people, as at the



11 PREFACE

great annual Rama-festival held at Benares. It has been
translated into many Indian vernaculars. Above all, it
inspired the greatest poet of medieval Hindustan, Tulasi
Das, to compose in Hindi his version of the epic entitled
Ram Chant Manas, which, with its ideal standard of
virtue and purity, is a kind of Bible to a hundred millions
of the people of Northern India." Sanskrit Literature,
p. 317. So much for the version.

It is a fact within the personal observation of the
elders of our country, that witnesses swear upon a copy of
the Ramayana in the law-courts. Any one called upon
to pay an unjust debt contents himself with saying, " I will
place the money upon the Ramayana , let him take it if he
dares." In private life, the expression, " I swear by the
Ramayana/' is an inviolable oath I know instances where
sums of money were lent upon no other security than a palm
leaf manuscript of the Ramayana too precious a Talisman
to lose When a man yearns for a son to continue his line
on earth and raise him to the Mansions of the Blessed, the
Elders advise him to read the Ramayana or hear it recited,
or at least the Sundarakanda When a man has some
great issue at stake that will either mend or mar his life, he
reads the Sundarakanda or hears it expounded. When a
man is very ill, past medical help, the old people about him
say with one voice, " Read the Sundarakanda in the house
and Maruthi will bring him back to life and health " When
an evil spirit troubles sore a man or a woman, the grey-
beards wag their wise heads and oracularly exclaim, " Ah f
the Sundarakanda never fails " When any one desires to
know the result of a contemplated project, he desires a
child to open a page of the Sundarakanda and decides by
the nature of the subject dealt with therein. (Here is a
case in point. A year or two ago, I was asked by a young
man to advise him whether he should marry or lead a life



lit

<fc single blessedness. I promised to give him an
answer a day or two later. When I was alone,
I took up my Ramayana and asked my child to
open it. And lo ! the first line that met my eye was

Kumbhakarna-siro bhathi
Kundala-lamkntam mahaili.

" The severed head of Kumbhakarna shone high and
huge in the heavens, its splendour heightened by the ear-
rings he wore."

I had not the heart to communicate the result to
the poor man. His people had made everything
ready for his marriage. I could plainly sec that his
inclinations too lay that way. I could urge nothing
against it his health was good, and his worldly position
and prospects high and bright. Ah me f I was myself half-
sceptical So, quite against my better self, I managed to
avoid giving him an answer. And he, taking my silence
for consent, got himself married Alas ! within a year his
place in his house was vacant , his short meteoric life was
over , his health shattered, his public life a failure, his
mind darkened and gloomy by the vision ot his future,
Death was a welcome deliverer to him , and an old mother
and a child-wife are left to mourn his untimely end.

The Karma-kanda of the Vedas, the Upamshads, the
Smnthis, the Mahabharatha, the Puranas, nay, no other
work in the vast range of Samskntha literature is regarded
by the Hindus in the same light as the Ramayana The
Karma-kanda is accessible only to a very few, an infini-
tesimal minority of the Brahmanas the Purohiths who
are making a living out of it , and they too know not its
meaning, but recite it parrot-like. The Upamshads are not
for the men of the world , they are for hard-headed
logicianb or calm-minded philosophers. The Smnthib are



IV

but Rules of daily life. The Bharatha is not a very auspi-
cious work ; no devout Hindu would allow it to be read in
in his house, for it brings on strife, dissensions and misfor-
tune ; the temple of the Gods, the Mathas of Sanyasms, the
river-ghauts, and the rest-houses for the travellers are chosen
for the purpose The Bhagavad-geetha enjoys a unique
unpopularity ; for, he who reads or studies it is weaned
away from wife and child, house and home, friends and
km, wealth and power and seeks the Path of Renunciation.
The Puranas are but world-records, religious histories.

But, for a work that gives a man everything he holds
dear and valuable in this world and leads him to the Feet of
the Almighty Father, give me the Ramayana of Valmeeki.

The Lord of Mercy has come down among men time
and oft ; and the Puranas contain incidental records of
it short or long. But, the Ramayana of Valmeeki is the
only biography we have of the Supreme One.

" Nothing that relates to any of the actors in that great
world-drama shall 'escape thy all-seeing eye Rama,
Lakshmana, Seetha, men and monkeys, gods and
Rakshasas, their acts, their words, nay, their very thoughts,
known or secret. Nothing that comes out of your mouth,
consciously or otherwise, shall prove other than true/'
Such was the power of clear vision and clear speech con-
ferred on the poet by the Demiurge, the Ancient of Days.

" What nobler subject for your poem than Sree Rama-
chandra, the Divine Hero, the soul of righteousness, the
perfect embodiment of all that is good and great and the
Director of men's thoughts, words and deeds in the light
of their Karma ? " And this Ideal Man is the Hero of
the Epic.

"The cloud-capped mouritains, the swift-coursing
livers and all created things shdDl passe way and be as



taught. But, your noble song shall outlive them and never
fade from the hearts of men." This is the boon of immor-
tality the poem shall enjoy.

" And as long as the record of Rama's life holds sway
over the hearts of men, so long shall you sit by me in my
highest heaven/' This is the eternity of fame that comes
to the singer as his guerdon

The Hero, the Epic, and the Poet are the most perfect
any one can conceive.

It was composed when the Hero was yet upon earth,
when his deeds and fame were fresh in the hearts of men.
It was sung before himself. "And the poem they recite,
how wonderful in its suggestivencss ' Listen we to it"
such was ///,s estimate of the lay.

It was not written, but sung to sweet music Who were
they that conveyed the message to the hearts of men ? The
very sous of the Divine Hero, "Mark you the radiant glory
that plays around them ' Liker gods than men ! . . . .
Behold these young ascetics, of kingly form and mien. Rare
singers are they and of mighty spiritual energy withal" and
this encomium was from him who is Incarnate Wisdom.

What audience did they sing to ' ''Large concourses
of Brahmanas and warriors, sages and saints . . . .Through
many a land they travelled and sang to many an audience.

Thus many a time and oft did these boys recite it in
crowded halls and broad streets, in sacred groves and
sacrificial grounds And Rama invited to the as-
sembly the literati, the theologians, the expounders of
sacred histories, grammarians, Brahmanas grown grey in
knowledge and experience, phonologists, musical experts,
poets, rhetoricians, logicians, ritualists, philosophers,
astronomers, astrologers, geographers, linguists, statesmen
politicians, professors of music and dancing, painters



vi PREFACE

sculptors, minstrels, physiognomists, kings, merchant^,
farmers, saints, sages, hermits, ascetics ... ."

What was the ettect produced on the hearers ?

" And such the pcrlectness of expression and delicacy
of execution, that the hearers followed them with their
hearts and ears , and such the marvellous power of their
song, that an indescribable sense of bhs^ gradually stole
over them and pervaded their frame and e\ery sense and
faculty of theirs strange, overpowering and almost painful
in its intensity "

What was the cutical estimate ot the audience ;

"What charming musK ' what sweetness and melody
of verse ' And then, the vividness of narration ' We seem to
live and move among old times and scenes long gone by. .

A rare and noble epic this, the Ramavana of honeyed
verses and faultless diction, beautifully adapted to music,
vocal or instrumental and charming to hear , begun and
finished according to the best canons of the art, the most
exacting critic cannot praise it too highly , the first of its
kind and an unapproachable ideal for all time to come , the
best model for all future poets , the thrice-distilled Essence
of the Holy Scriptures , the surest giver oi health and
happiness, length of years and prosperity, to all who read
or listen to it. And, proficients as ye are in cverv style of
music, marvellously have ye sung it."

But what raises Ramayana from the sphere oi literary
works into " a mighty repository of the priceless wisdom
enshrined in the Veelas ' ' The sacred monosyllable, the
Pranava, is the mystic symbol of the Absolute , the Gayathn
is an exposition of the Pranava , the Vedas are the paraphrase
of the Gayathn , and the Ramayana is but the amplification
of the Vedic mysteries and lurmshes the key thereto. Each
letter of the Gayathn begins a thousand ot its stanzas.



PREFACE Vll

\ The p^em is based upon the hymns of the Rig-veda
aught to the author bv Narada For, it is not a record of
incidents that occurred during a certain cycle ; it is
a symbolical account of cosmic events that come about m
every cycle with but slight modifications , Rama, Seetha,
Ravana and the other characteis in the Epu are arcJietvpes
and real characters a mystery within a mvsterv The
numerous k( Inner Meanings " of the Ramasana (vide
Introduction) amph bear out the above remarks

There IN not one relation of hie, ptuate or public,
but is beautifully and perfectly illustrated in the woids and
deeds of the Ramavana characters (vide lyJ^^JMLJlon The
Aims of Life 1 )

It is not a poem of an\ one
world-asset , it must find a
town, in everx village and in





Tin

(a). Tlie Rental recension Ch<
Sardinia, helped Gorressio to bring
of it m 1S(57

(b) The Renare^ mention. Between ISO,") 1H10,
Carey and Marshman, the philanthiopic missionaries
of Serampore, published the text of the hrst h\o kandas and
a halt In 1S4<>, Sehlegel brought <mt an edition oi the
text oi the first two kandas In 1 *,?), the complete text
was lithographed at Bombav, and in ISfjO, a printed edi-
tion ot the same appeared at Calcutta

(r) The South Indian retention While the first two
recensions are in Devanagan, this exists in the Grantha
characters or in the Telugu This uas unknown to the
west and to the other parts of India until ll)0r>, when Mr.
T. R. Knshnacharya of Kumbakonam, Madras Presidency,



Vlil PREFACE

conferred a great boon upon the literary world by publish-
ing a fine edition of it in Devanagari (1905). The earliest
Grantha edition was published in Madras in 1891 by Mr.
K. Subramanya Sastry, with the commentaries of Govmda-
raja, Mahesa-theertha, Ramanuja, Teeka-siromam and
Pena-vachchan-Pillai. Mr. Raja Sastry of Madras has
almost finished another edition of the same (1907), supple-
menting the above commentaries with that of Thilaka (till
now accessible only in Devanagari). It shows a considera-
ble improvement in the matter of paper, type, printing
and get-up. Meanwhile, Mr Knshnacharya has begun
another beautiful edition of his text (1911) with the
commentary of Goymdaraja and extracts from Thilaka,
Theertheeya, Ramanujeeya, Sathyadharma-theertheeya,
Thanisloki, Siromam, Vishamapada-vivnthi, Kathaka,
Munibhavaprakasika etc. It will, when completed, place
before the world many a rare and priceless information in-
accessible till now.

Commentators

1. Govindaraja. He names his work the Ramayana-
Bhooshana " an ornament to the Ramayana, " ; and each
kanda furnishes a variety of it the anklets, the silk -cloth,
the girdle, the pearl necklace, the beauty-mark between the
eye-brows, the tiara and the crest-gem. He is of the
Kausikas and the disciple of Sathakopa. The Lord Venka-
tesa appeared to him in a dream one night while he lay
asleep in front of His shrine on the Serpent Mount and
commanded him to write a commentary on the Ramayana ;
and in devout obedience to the Divine call, he undertook
the task and right manfully has he performed it. It is the
most comprehensive, the most scholarly and the most
authoritative commentary on the Sacred Epic, albeit his
zealous Vaishnavite spirit surges up now and then in a hi-
at Siya and the Saivites, Priceless gems of traditional



PREFACE IX

pretations and oral instructions are embedded in his monu-
mental work.

2. Mahesa-theertha. He declares himself to be the
pupil of Narayana-theertha and has named his work Rama-
yana-thathva-deepika. " I have but written down the
opinions of various great men and have nothing of my own
to give, except where I have tried to explain the inner
meaning of the remarks made by Viradha, Khara, Vali
and Ravana ". In fact, he copies out the commentary of
Govindaraja bodily. He quotes Teeka-siromam and is
criticised by Rama-panditha in his Thilaka.

3. Rama-pan ditha. His commentary, the Rama-
yana-thilaka, was the only one accessible to the
world (outside of southern India), being printed in
Devanagan characters at Calcutta and Bombay. He
quotes from and criticises the Ramayana-thathva-
deepika and the Kathaka, but makes no reference to
Govindaraja. It may be the that work of the latter,
being in the Grantha characters, was not available to him
in Northern India; and Theertha might have studied it
in the South and written his commentary in the Devana-
gan. Rama-panditha is a thorough-going, uncompromising
Adwaithin, and jeers mercilessly at Theertha's esoteric
interpretations. In the Grantha edition of the Ramayana,
the Uthtnarakanda is commented upon only by Govindaraja
and Theertha ; but, the Devanagan edition with the com-
mentary of Rama-panditha, contains word for word, without
a single alteration, the gloss of Mahesatheertha M I have
tried in vain to explain or reconcile this enigma. But, the
Adwaithic tenor of the arguments and the frequent criticisms
of Kathaka, savor more of Rama-panditha than of Theertha.

4. Kathaka. I have not been able to find out the
author of the commentary so named, which exists only in
the extracts quoted in the Thilaka.



X PREFACE

5. Ramanuja. He confines himself mainly to a di#-
cussion of the various readings of the text. What comment-
ary he chances to write now and then, is not very valuable.
He is not to be confounded with the famous Founder of
the Visishtadwaitha School of Philosophy.

6. Thanislokt, Knshna-Samahvaya or as he is more
popularly known by his Tamil cognomen, Pena-vachchan
Pillay, is the author of it. It is not a regular commentary
upon the Ramayana. He selects certain oft-quoted stanzas
and writes short essays upon them, which are much admir-
ed by the people of the South, and form the cram-book of
the professional expounder of the Rarnayana. It is written
in Manipravala a curious combination of Samskntha and
Tamil, with quaint idioms and curious twists of language.
Many of the explanations are far-fetched and wire-drawn
and reveal a spirit of Vaishnavite sectarianism.

7. Abhaya-pradana-sara. Sree Vedantha-desika, the
most prominent personage after Sree Ramanuja, is the
author of this treatise. It selects the incident of Vibheeshana
seeking refuge with Rama (Vibheeshana-saranagathi) as a
typical illustration of the key-rote of the Ramayana the
doctrine of Surrender to the Lord, and deals with the subject
exhaustively. It is written in the Manipravala, as most of
his Tamil works are.

Translations

Gorresio published an Italian rendering of the work
in 1870, It was followed by the French translation of
Hippolyte Fauche's. In the year 1846, Schlegel gave to
the world a Latin version of the first Kanda and a part of the
second. The Serampore Missionaries were the first to
give the Ramayana an English garb ; but they proceeded
no further than two Kandas and a half. Mr. Griffith, Prin-
cipal of the Benares College, was the first to translate the



PREFACE xi

Ramayana into English verse (187074). But, the latest
translation of Valmeeki's immortal epic into English prose
is that of Manmathanath Dutt, M. A., Calcutta (1894).

" Then why go over the same ground and inflict upon the
public another translation of the Ramayana m English prose?"

1 . Mr. Dutt has translated but the text of Valmeeki
and that almost too literally ; he has not placed before the
readers the priceless gems of information contained in the
commentaries.

2. The text that, I think, he has used is the one pub-
lished with the commentary of Rama-panditha, which
differs widely from the South Indian Grantha text in read-
ings and IK the number of stanzas and chapters.

3 More often than once, his rendering is completely
wide of the maik. (It is neither useful nor graceful to make
a list of all such instances. A careful comparison of his
rendering with mine is all I request of any impartial scholar
of Samskntha).

4. I venture to think that his translation conveys not
to a Westerner the beauty, the spirit, the swing, the force
and the grandeur of the original

5, Even supposing that it is a faultless rendering of
a faultless text, it is not all that is required.

G. As is explained in the Introduction, the greatness
of the Ramayana lies in its profound suggestiveness ; and no
literal word-for-word rendering will do the barest justice to it.

7. Many incidents, customs, manners, usages and
traditions of the time of Rama are hinted at or left to be in-
ferred, being within the knowledge of the persons to whom
the poem was sung ; but to the modern world they are a
sealed book.

8. Even such of the above as have lived down to our
times are so utterly changed, altered, nidified and over-laid
by the accretions of ages as to be almost unrecognisable.



Xll



9. The same incident is variously related in various
places.

Every one of the eighteen Puranas, as also the Maha-
bharatha, the Adhyathma Ramayana and the Ananda Rama-
yana, relates the coming down of the Lord as Sree Rama, but
with great divergences of detail ; while the Padmapurana
narrates the life and doings of Sree Rama in a former Kalpa,
which differs very much in the main from the Ramayana
of Valmeeki. The Adbhutha Ramayana and the Vasishtha
Ramayana deal at great length with certain incidents in the
life of Rama as are not touched upon by Valmeeki ; while
the Ananda Ramayana devotes eight Kandas to the history
of Rama after he was crowned at Ayodhya. Innumerable
poems and plays founded upon Valmeeki's epic modify its
incidents greatly, but base themselves on some Purana or
other authoritative work.

10. Many a story that we have heard from the lips of
our elders when we lay around roaring fires during long
wintry nights and which we have come to regard as part and
parcel of the life and doings of Rama, finds no place in
Valmeeki's poem.

11. The poem was to be recited, not read, and to an
ever-changing audience. Only twenty chapters were allow-
ed to be sung a day, neither more nor less. Hence the in-
numerable repititions, recapitulations and other literary
rapids through which it is not very easy to steer our frail
translation craft. The whole range of Samskntha literature,
religious and secular, has to be laid under contribution to
bring home to the minds of the readers a fair and adequate
idea of the message that was conveyed to humanity by
Valmeeki.

12. A bare translation of the text of the Ramayana
is thus of no use nay, more mischievous than useful, in
that it gives an incomplete and la many places a distorted



PREFACE xiii

view of the subject. It is to the commentaries that we
have to turn for explanation, interpretation, amplification,
reconciliation and rounding off. And of these, the most
important, that of Govindaraja, is practically inaccessible
except to the Tamil-speaking races of India. The saints
of the Dravida country, the Alwars from Sree Sathakopa
downwards, have taken up the study of the Ramayana of
Valmeeki as a special branch of the Vedantha and have
left behind them a large literature on the subject, original
and explanatory. The Divya-prabandhas and their numer-
ous commentaries are all in the quaint archaic Tamil style
known as Mampravala, and are entirely unknown to the
non-Tamil-speaking world. With those teachers the Rama-
yana was not an ordinary epic, not even an Ithihasa.
It was something higher, grander and more sacred. It
was an Upadesa-Grantha a Book of Initiation , and no true
Vaishnava may read it unless he has been initiated by his
Guru into its mysteries. It is to him what the Bible was to
the Catholic world of the Medieval Ages ; only the Initiated,
the clergy as it were, could read and expound it. Over and
above all this, there are many priceless teachings about the
Inner Mysteries of the Ramayana which find no place in
written books. They form part of the instructions that the
Guru gives to the Disciple by word of mouth.

13. Then again, there is the never-ending discussion
about the method of translation to be followed. Max-
Muller, the Grand Old Man of the Orientalist School opines
thus : " When I was enabled to collate copies which came
from the south of India, the opinion,which I have often ex-
pressed of the great value of Southern Mss. received fresh
confirmation The study of Grantha and other southern
Mss, will inaugurate, I believe, a new period in the critical
treatment of Sanskrit texts. The rule which I have follow-
ed myself, and which I have asked my fellow-translators



Xiv PREPACK

to follow, has been adhered to in this new volume atoo,
viz. whenever a choice has to be made between what is
not quite faithful and what is not quite English, to surren-
der, without hesitation, the idiom rather than the accuracy
of the translation. I know that all true scholars have ap-
proved of this, and if some of our critics have been offend-
ed by certain unidiomatic expressions occurring in our
translations, all I can say is, that we shall always be most
grateful if they would suggest translations which are not
only faithful, but also idiomatic. For the purpose we have
in view, a rugged but faithful translation seems to us more
useful than a smooth but misleading one.

However, we have laid ourselves open to another kind
of censure also, namely, of having occasionally not been
literal enough. It is impossible to argue these questions in
general, but every translator knows that in many cases a
literal translation may convey an entirely wrong mean-
ing. " Introduction to his Translation of the Upamshads.
Part II, p. 13

" It is difficult to explain to those who have not them-
selves worked at the Veda, how it is that, though we may
understand almost every word, yet we find it so difficult
to lay hold of a whole chain of connected thought and to
discover expressions that will not throw a wrong shade on
the original features of the ancient words of the Veda. We
have, on the one hand, to avoid giving to our translations
too modern a character or paraphrasing instead of tran-
slating ; while on the other, we cannot retain expressions
which, if literally rendered in English or any modern
tongue, would have an air of quamtness or absurdity totally
foreign to the intention of the ancient poets.

While in my translation of the Veda in the remarks
that I have to make in the course of my commentary, I
shall frequently differ from other scholars, who have dope



PREFACE XV

their best and who have done what they have done in a truly
scholarlike, that is in a humble spirit, it would be un-
pleasant, even were it possible within the limits assigned,
to criticise every opinion that has been put forward on the
meaning of certain words or on the construction of certain
verses of the Veda. I prefer as much as possible to vindi-
cate my own translation, instead of examining the transla-
tions of other scholars, whether Indian or European. "
From the Preface to his translation of the Rig-veda Samhitha.

In his letter to me of the 26th of January 1892,
referring to my proposal to translate the Markandeya Purana
as one of the Sacred Books of the East, he writes

" I shall place your letter before the Chancellor and
Delegates of the Press, and I hope they may accept your
proposal. If you would send me a specimen of your
translation, clearly written, I shall be glad to examine it,
and compare it with the text in the Bibliotheca Iinlua.
I have a Mss. of the Markandeya-punma. Possibly the palm
leaf Mss. in Grantha letters would supply you with a better
text than that printed in the Ribliotheca Indica"

But, Mrs. Besant, in her Introduction to ' The Laws of
Manu, in the Light of Theosophy. By Bhagavan Das,
M. A./ takes a different view

" One explanatory statement should be made as to the
method of conveying to the modern reader the thought of
the ancient writer. The European Orientalist, with admir-
able scrupulosity and tireless patience, works away labon-
busly with dictionary and grammar to give an " accurate
and scholarly translation " of the foreign language which
he is striving to interpret. What else can he do ? But the
Result, as compared with the Original, is like the dead
pressed specimen ' of the botanist beside the breathing
living flower of the garden. Even I, with my poor know-
ledge of Samsknt, know the joy of contacting the pulsing



XVI PREFACE

virile scriptures in their own tongue, and the inexpressible
dulness and dreariness of their scholarly renderings into
English. But our lecturer is a Hindu, who from childhood
upwards has lived in the atmosphere of the elder days ;
he heard the old stories before he could read, sung by
grand-mother, aunt, and pandit ; when he is tired now, he
finds his recreation in chanting over the well-loved stanzas
of an Ancient Purana, crooning them softly as a lullaby to
a weaned mind ; to him the ' well-constructed language '
(Samsknt) is the mother-tongue,

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
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Post Re: POST, POST LIKE YOU NEVER POSTED BEFORE!
The Mahabharata

of

Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa

BOOK 17

Mahaprasthanika-parva



Translated into English Prose from the Original Sanskrit Text

by

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

[1883-1896]

Scanned and Proofed by Mantra Caitanya. Additional proofing and
formatting at sacred-texts.com, by J. B. Hare, October 2003.





1

Om! Having bowed down unto Narayana, and to Nara, the foremost of men, as
also to the goddess Sarasvati, should the word "Jaya" be uttered.

Janamejaya said: "Having heard of that encounter with iron bolts between
the heroes of the Vrishni and the Andhaka races, and having been informed
also of Krishnas ascension to Heaven, what did the Pandavas do?"

Vaishampayana said: "Having heard the particulars of the great slaughter
of the Vrishnis, the Kaurava king set his heart on leaving the world. He
addressed Arjuna, saying, O thou of great intelligence, it is Time that
cooks every creature (in his cauldron). I think that what has happened is
due to the cords of Time (with which he binds us all). It behoveth thee
also to see it.

"Thus addressed by his brother, the son of Kunti only repeated the word
Time, Time! and fully endorsed the view of his eldest brother gifted with
great intelligence. Ascertaining the resolution of Arjuna, Bhimasena and
the twins fully endorsed the words that Arjuna had said. Resolved to
retire from the world for earning merit, they brought Yuyutsu before
them. Yudhishthira made over the kingdom to the son of his uncle by his
Vaisya wife. Installing Parikshit also on their throne, as king, the
eldest brother of the Pandavas, filled with sorrow, addressed Subhadra,
saying, This son of thy son will be the king of the Kurus. The survivor
of the Yadus, Vajra, has been made a king. Parikshit will rule in
Hastinapura, while the Yadava prince, Vajra, will rule in Shakraprastha.
He should be protected by thee. Never set thy heart on unrighteousness.

"Having said these words, king Yudhishthira the just, along with his
brothers, promptly offered oblations of water unto Vasudeva of great
intelligence, as also unto his old maternal uncle and Rama and others. He
then duly performed the Sraddhas of all those deceased kinsmen of his.
The king, in honour of Hari and naming him repeatedly, fed the
Island-born Vyasa, and Narada, and Markandeya possessed of wealth of
penances, and Yajnavalkya of Bharadwajas race, with many delicious
viands. In honour of Krishna, he also gave away many jewels and gems, and
robes and clothes, and villages, and horses and cars, and female slaves
by hundreds and thousands unto foremost of Brahmanas. Summoning the
citizens. Kripa was installed as the preceptor and Parikshit was made
over to him as his disciple, O chief of Bharatas race.

"Then Yudhishthira once more summoned all his subjects. The royal sage
informed them of his intentions. The citizens and the inhabitants of the
provinces, hearing the kings words, became filled with anxiety and
disapproved of them. This should never be done, said they unto the king.
The monarch, well versed with the changes brought about by time, did not
listen to their counsels. Possessed of righteous soul, he persuaded the
people to sanction his views. He then set his heart on leaving the world.
His brothers also formed the same resolution. Then Dharmas son,
Yudhishthira, the king of the Kurus, casting off his ornaments, wore
barks of trees. Bhima and Arjuna and the twins, and Draupadi also of
great fame, similarly clad themselves in bark of trees, O king. Having
caused the preliminary rites of religion, O chief of Bharatas race, which
were to bless them in the accomplishment of their design, those foremost
of men cast off their sacred fires into the water. The ladies, beholding
the princes in that guise, wept aloud. They seemed to look as they had
looked in days before, when with Draupadi forming the sixth in number
they set out from the capital after their defeat at dice. The brothers,
however, were all very cheerful at the prospect of retirement.
Ascertaining the intentions of Yudhishthira and seeing the destruction of
the Vrishnis, no other course of action could please them then.

"The five brothers, with Draupadi forming the sixth, and a dog forming
the seventh, set out on their journey. Indeed, even thus did king
Yudhishthira depart, himself the head of a party of seven, from the city
named after the elephant. The citizen and the ladies of the royal
household followed them for some distance. None of them, however, could
venture to address the king for persuading him to give up his intention.
The denizens of the city then returned; Kripa and others stood around
Yuyutsu as their centre. Ulupi, the daughter of the Naga chief, O thou of
Kuntis race, entered the waters of Ganga. The princess Chitrangada set
out for the capital of Manipura. The other ladies who were the
grandmothers of Parikshit centered around him. Meanwhile the high-souled
Pandavas, O thou of Kurus race, and Draupadi of great fame, having
observed the preliminary fast, set out with their faces towards the east.
Setting themselves on Yoga, those high-souled ones, resolved to observe
the religion of Renunciation, traversed through various countries and
reached diverse rivers and seas. Yudhishthira, proceeded first. Behind
him was Bhima; next walked Arjuna; after him were the twins in the order
of their birth; behind them all, O foremost one of Bharatas race,
proceeded Draupadi, that first of women, possessed of great beauty, of
dark complexion, and endued with eyes resembling lotus petals. While the
Pandavas set out for the forest, a dog followed them.

"Proceeding on, those heroes reached the sea of red waters. Dhananjaya
had not cast off his celestial bow Gandiva, nor his couple of
inexhaustible quivers, actuated, O king, by the cupidity that attaches
one to things of great value. The Pandavas there beheld the deity of fire
standing before them like a hill. Closing their way, the god stood there
in his embodied form. The deity of seven flames then addressed the
Pandavas, saying, Ye heroic sons of Pandu, know me for the deity of fire.
O mighty-armed Yudhishthira, O Bhimasena that art a scorcher of foes, O
Arjuna, and ye twins of great courage, listen to what I say! Ye foremost
ones of Kurus race, I am the god of fire. The forest of Khandava was
burnt by me, through the puissance of Arjuna and of Narayana himself. Let
your brother Phalguna proceed to the woods after casting off Gandiva,
that high weapon. He has no longer any need of it. That precious discus,
which was with the high-souled Krishna, has disappeared (from the world).
When the time again comes, it will come back into his hands. This
foremost of bows, Gandiva, was procured by me from Varuna for the use of
Partha. Let it be made over to Varuna himself.

"At this, all the brothers urged Dhananjaya to do what the deity said. He
then threw into the waters (of the sea) both the bow and the couple of
inexhaustible quivers. After this, O chief of Bharatas race, the god of
the fire disappeared then and there. The heroic sons of Pandu next
proceeded with their faces turned towards the south. Then, by the
northern coast of the salt sea, those princes of Bharatas race proceeded
to the south-west. Turning next towards the west, they beheld the city of
Dwaraka covered by the ocean. Turning next to the north, those foremost
ones proceeded on. Observant of Yoga, they were desirous of making a
round of the whole Earth."



2

Vaishampayana said: "Those princes of restrained souls and devoted to
Yoga, proceeding to the north, beheld Himavat, that very large mountain.
Crossing the Himavat, they beheld a vast desert of sand. They then saw
the mighty mountain Meru, the foremost of all high-peaked mountains. As
those mighty ones were proceeding quickly, all rapt in Yoga, Yajnaseni,
falling of from Yoga, dropped down on the Earth. Beholding her fallen
down, Bhimasena of great strength addressed king Yudhishthira the just,
saying, O scorcher of foes, this princess never did any sinful act. Tell
us what the cause is for which Krishna has fallen down on the Earth!

"Yudhishthira said: O best of men, though we were all equal unto her she
had great partiality for Dhananjaya. She obtains the fruit of that
conduct today, O best of men."

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said this, that foremost one of Bharatas
race proceeded on. Of righteous soul, that foremost of men, endued with
great intelligence, went on, with mind intent on itself. Then Sahadeva of
great learning fell down on the Earth. Beholding him drop down, Bhima
addressed the king, saying, He who with great humility used to serve us
all, alas, why is that son of Madravati fallen down on the Earth?

"Yudhishthira said, He never thought anybody his equal in wisdom. It is
for that fault that this prince has fallen down.

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said this, the king proceeded, leaving
Sahadeva there. Indeed, Kuntis son Yudhishthira went on, with his
brothers and with the dog. Beholding both Krishna and the Pandava
Sahadeva fallen down, the brave Nakula, whose love for kinsmen was very
great, fell down himself. Upon the falling down of the heroic Nakula of
great personal beauty, Bhima once more addressed the king, saying, This
brother of ours who was endued with righteousness without incompleteness,
and who always obeyed our behests, this Nakula who was unrivalled for
beauty, has fallen down.

"Thus addressed by Bhimasena, Yudhishthira, said, with respect to Nakula,
these words: He was of righteous soul and the foremost of all persons
endued with intelligence. He, however, thought that there was nobody that
equalled him in beauty of person. Indeed, he regarded himself as superior
to all in that respect. It is for this that Nakula has fallen down. Know
this, O Vrikodara. What has been ordained for a person, O hero, must have
to be endured by him.

"Beholding Nakula and the others fall down, Pandus son Arjuna of white
steeds, that slayer of hostile heroes, fell down in great grief of heart.
When that foremost of men, who was endued with the energy of Shakra, had
fallen down, indeed, when that invincible hero was on the point of death,
Bhima said unto the king, I do not recollect any untruth uttered by this
high-souled one. Indeed, not even in jest did he say anything false. What
then is that for whose evil consequence this one has fallen down on the
Earth?

"Yudhishthira said, Arjuna had said that he would consume all our foes in
a single day. Proud of his heroism, he did not, however, accomplish what
he had said. Hence has he fallen down. This Phalguna disregarded all
wielders of bows. One desirous of prosperity should never indulge in such
sentiments."

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said so, the king proceeded on. Then
Bhima fell down. Having fallen down, Bhima addressed king Yudhishthira
the just, saying, O king, behold, I who am thy darling have fallen down.
For what reason have I dropped down? Tell me if thou knowest it.

"Yudhishthira said, Thou wert a great eater, and thou didst use to boast
of thy strength. Thou never didst attend, O Bhima, to the wants of others
while eating. It is for that, O Bhima, that thou hast fallen down.

"Having said these words, the mighty-armed Yudhishthira proceeded on,
without looking back. He had only one companion, the dog of which I have
repeatedly spoken to thee, that followed him now.



3

Vaishampayana said: "Then Shakra, causing the firmament and the Earth to
be filled by a loud sound, came to the son of Pritha on a car and asked
him to ascend it. Beholding his brothers fallen on the Earth, king
Yudhishthira the just said unto that deity of a 1,000 eyes these words:
My brothers have all dropped down here. They must go with me. Without
them by me I do not wish to go to Heaven, O lord of all the deities. The
delicate princess (Draupadi) deserving of every comfort, O Purandara,
should go with us. It behoveth thee to permit this.

"Shakra said, Thou shalt behold thy brothers in Heaven. They have reached
it before thee. Indeed, thou shalt see all of them there, with Krishna.
Do not yield to grief, O chief of the Bharatas. Having cast off their
human bodies they have gone there, O chief of Bharatas race. As regards
thee, it is ordained that thou shalt go thither in this very body of
thine.

"Yudhishthira said, This dog, O lord of the Past and the Present, is
exceedingly devoted to me. He should go with me. My heart is full of
compassion for him.

"Shakra said, Immortality and a condition equal to mine, O king,
prosperity extending in all directions, and high success, and all the
felicities of Heaven, thou hast won today. Do thou cast off this dog. In
this there will be no cruelty.

"Yudhishthira said, O thou of a 1,000 eyes. O thou that art of righteous
behaviour, it is exceedingly difficult for one that is of righteous
behaviour to perpetrate an act that is unrighteous. I do not desire that
union with prosperity for which I shall have to cast off one that is
devoted to me.

"Indra said, There is no place in Heaven for persons with dogs. Besides,
the (deities called) Krodhavasas take away all the merits of such
persons. Reflecting on this, act, O king Yudhishthira the just. Do thou
abandon this dog. There is no cruelty in this.

"Yudhishthira said, It has been said that the abandonment of one that is
devoted is infinitely sinful. It is equal to the sin that one incurs by
slaying a Brahmana. Hence, O great Indra, I shall not abandon this dog
today from desire of my happiness. Even this is my vow steadily pursued,
that I never give up a person that is terrified, nor one that is devoted
to me, nor one that seeks my protection, saying that he is destitute, nor
one that is afflicted, nor one that has come to me, nor one that is weak
in protecting oneself, nor one that is solicitous of life. I shall never
give up such a one till my own life is at an end.

"Indra said, Whatever gifts, or sacrifices spread out, or libations
poured on the sacred fire, are seen by a dog, are taken away by the
Krodhavasas. Do thou, therefore, abandon this dog. By abandoning this dog
thou wilt attain to the region of the deities. Having abandoned thy
brothers and Krishna, thou hast, O hero, acquired a region of felicity by
thy own deeds. Why art thou so stupefied? Thou hast renounced everything.
Why then dost thou not renounce this dog? "Yudhishthira said, This is
well known in all the worlds that there is neither friendship nor enmity
with those that are dead. When my brothers and Krishna died, I was unable
to revive them. Hence it was that I abandoned them. I did not, however,
abandon them as long as they were alive. To frighten one that has sought
protection, the slaying of a woman, the theft of what belongs to a
Brahmana, and injuring a friend, each of these four, O Shakra, is I think
equal to the abandonment of one that is devoted."

Vaishampayana continued: "Hearing these words of king Yudhishthira the
just, (the dog became transformed into) the deity of Righteousness, who,
well pleased, said these words unto him in a sweet voice fraught with
praise.

"Dharma said: Thou art well born, O king of kings, and possessed of the
intelligence and the good conduct of Pandu. Thou hast compassion for all
creatures, O Bharata, of which this is a bright example. Formerly, O son,
thou wert once examined by me in the woods of Dwaita, where thy brothers
of great prowess met with (an appearance of) death. Disregarding both thy
brothers Bhima and Arjuna, thou didst wish for the revival of Nakula from
thy desire of doing good to thy (step-) mother. On the present occasion,
thinking the dog to be devoted to thee, thou hast renounced the very car
of the celestials instead of renouncing him. Hence. O king, there is no
one in Heaven that is equal to thee. Hence, O Bharata, regions of
inexhaustible felicity are thine. Thou hast won them, O chief of the
Bharatas, and thine is a celestial and high goal."

Vaishampayana continued: "Then Dharma, and Shakra, and the Maruts, and
the Ashvinis, and other deities, and the celestial Rishis, causing
Yudhishthira to ascend on a car, proceeded to Heaven. Those beings
crowned with success and capable of going everywhere at will, rode their
respective cars. King Yudhishthira, that perpetuator of Kurus race,
riding on that car, ascended quickly, causing the entire welkin to blaze
with his effulgence. Then Narada, that foremost of all speakers, endued
with penances, and conversant with all the worlds, from amidst that
concourse of deities, said these words: All those royal sages that are
here have their achievements transcended by those of Yudhishthira.
Covering all the worlds by his fame and splendour and by his wealth of
conduct, he has attained to Heaven in his own (human) body. None else
than the son of Pandu has been heard to achieve this.

"Hearing these words of Narada, the righteous-souled king, saluting the
deities and all the royal sages there present, said, Happy or miserable,
whatever the region be that is now my brothers, I desire to proceed to. I
do not wish to go anywhere else.

"Hearing this speech of the king, the chief of the deities, Purandara,
said these words fraught with noble sense: Do thou live in this place, O
king of kings, which thou hast won by thy meritorious deeds. Why dost
thou still cherish human affections? Thou hast attained to great success,
the like of which no other man has ever been able to attain. Thy
brothers, O delighter of the Kurus, have succeeded in winning regions of
felicity. Human affections still touch thee. This is Heaven. Behold these
celestial Rishis and Siddhas who have attained to the region of the gods.

"Gifted with great intelligence, Yudhishthira answered the chief of the
deities once more, saying, O conqueror of Daityas, I venture not to dwell
anywhere separated from them. I desire to go there, where my brothers
have gone. I wish to go there where that foremost of women, Draupadi, of
ample proportions and darkish complexion and endued with great
intelligence and righteous of conduct, has gone."

The end of Mahaprasthanika-parv

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!


_________________

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1 pcs.
1 pcs.
1 pcs.


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Re: POST, POST LIKE YOU NEVER POSTED BEFORE!
The Mahabharata

of

Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa

BOOK 1

ADI PARVA

Translated into English Prose from the Original Sanskrit Text

by

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

[1883-1896]

Scanned at sacred-texts.com, 2003. Proofed at Distributed Proofing,
Juliet Sutherland, Project Manager. Additional proofing and formatting at
sacred-texts.com, by J. B. Hare.



TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

The object of a translator should ever be to hold the mirror upto his
author. That being so, his chief duty is to represent so far as
practicable the manner in which his author's ideas have been expressed,
retaining if possible at the sacrifice of idiom and taste all the
peculiarities of his author's imagery and of language as well. In regard
to translations from the Sanskrit, nothing is easier than to dish up
Hindu ideas, so as to make them agreeable to English taste. But the
endeavour of the present translator has been to give in the following
pages as literal a rendering as possible of the great work of Vyasa. To
the purely English reader there is much in the following pages that will
strike as ridiculous. Those unacquainted with any language but their own
are generally very exclusive in matters of taste. Having no knowledge of
models other than what they meet with in their own tongue, the standard
they have formed of purity and taste in composition must necessarily be a
narrow one. The translator, however, would ill-discharge his duty, if for
the sake of avoiding ridicule, he sacrificed fidelity to the original. He
must represent his author as he is, not as he should be to please the
narrow taste of those entirely unacquainted with him. Mr. Pickford, in
the preface to his English translation of the Mahavira Charita, ably
defends a close adherence to the original even at the sacrifice of idiom
and taste against the claims of what has been called 'Free Translation,'
which means dressing the author in an outlandish garb to please those to
whom he is introduced.

In the preface to his classical translation of Bhartrihari's Niti Satakam
and Vairagya Satakam, Mr. C.H. Tawney says, "I am sensible that in the
present attempt I have retained much local colouring. For instance, the
ideas of worshipping the feet of a god of great men, though it frequently
occurs in Indian literature, will undoubtedly move the laughter of
Englishmen unacquainted with Sanskrit, especially if they happen to
belong to that class of readers who revel their attention on the
accidental and remain blind to the essential. But a certain measure of
fidelity to the original even at the risk of making oneself ridiculous,
is better than the studied dishonesty which characterises so many
translations of oriental poets."

We fully subscribe to the above although, it must be observed, the
censure conveyed to the class of translators last indicated is rather
undeserved, there being nothing like a 'studied dishonesty' in their
efforts which proceed only from a mistaken view of their duties and as
such betray only an error of the head but not of the heart. More than
twelve years ago when Babu Pratapa Chandra Roy, with Babu Durga Charan
Banerjee, went to my retreat at Seebpore, for engaging me to translate
the Mahabharata into English, I was amazed with the grandeur of the
scheme. My first question to him was,--whence was the money to come,
supposing my competence for the task. Pratapa then unfolded to me the
details of his plan, the hopes he could legitimately cherish of
assistance from different quarters. He was full of enthusiasm. He showed
me Dr. Rost's letter, which, he said, had suggested to him the
undertaking. I had known Babu Durga Charan for many years and I had the
highest opinion of his scholarship and practical good sense. When he
warmly took Pratapa's side for convincing me of the practicability of the
scheme, I listened to him patiently. The two were for completing all
arrangements with me the very day. To this I did not agree. I took a
week's time to consider. I consulted some of my literary friends,
foremost among whom was the late lamented Dr. Sambhu C. Mookherjee. The
latter, I found, had been waited upon by Pratapa. Dr. Mookherjee spoke to
me of Pratapa as a man of indomitable energy and perseverance. The result
of my conference with Dr. Mookherjee was that I wrote to Pratapa asking
him to see me again. In this second interview estimates were drawn up,
and everything was arranged as far as my portion of the work was
concerned. My friend left with me a specimen of translation which he had
received from Professor Max Muller. This I began to study, carefully
comparing it sentence by sentence with the original. About its literal
character there could be no doubt, but it had no flow and, therefore,
could not be perused with pleasure by the general reader. The translation
had been executed thirty years ago by a young German friend of the great
Pundit. I had to touch up every sentence. This I did without at all
impairing faithfulness to the original. My first 'copy' was set up in
type and a dozen sheets were struck off. These were submitted to the
judgment of a number of eminent writers, European and native. All of
them, I was glad to see, approved of the specimen, and then the task of
translating the Mahabharata into English seriously began.

Before, however, the first fasciculus could be issued, the question as to
whether the authorship of the translation should be publicly owned,
arose. Babu Pratapa Chandra Roy was against anonymity. I was for it. The
reasons I adduced were chiefly founded upon the impossibility of one
person translating the whole of the gigantic work. Notwithstanding my
resolve to discharge to the fullest extent the duty that I took up, I
might not live to carry it out. It would take many years before the end
could be reached. Other circumstances than death might arise in
consequence of which my connection with the work might cease. It could
not be desirable to issue successive fasciculus with the names of a
succession of translators appearing on the title pages. These and other
considerations convinced my friend that, after all, my view was correct.
It was, accordingly, resolved to withhold the name of the translator. As
a compromise, however, between the two views, it was resolved to issue
the first fasciculus with two prefaces, one over the signature of the
publisher and the other headed--'Translator's Preface.' This, it was
supposed, would effectually guard against misconceptions of every kind.
No careful reader would then confound the publisher with the author.

Although this plan was adopted, yet before a fourth of the task had been
accomplished, an influential Indian journal came down upon poor Pratapa
Chandra Roy and accused him openly of being a party to a great literary
imposture, viz., of posing before the world as the translator of Vyasa's
work when, in fact, he was only the publisher. The charge came upon my
friend as a surprise, especially as he had never made a secret of the
authorship in his correspondence with Oriental scholars in every part of
the world. He promptly wrote to the journal in question, explaining the
reasons there were for anonymity, and pointing to the two prefaces with
which the first fasciculus had been given to the world. The editor
readily admitted his mistake and made a satisfactory apology.

Now that the translation has been completed, there can no longer be any
reason for withholding the name of the translator. The entire translation
is practically the work of one hand. In portions of the Adi and the Sabha
Parvas, I was assisted by Babu Charu Charan Mookerjee. About four forms
of the Sabha Parva were done by Professor Krishna Kamal Bhattacharya, and
about half a fasciculus during my illness, was done by another hand. I
should however state that before passing to the printer the copy received
from these gentlemen I carefully compared every sentence with the
original, making such alterations as were needed for securing a
uniformity of style with the rest of the work.

I should here observe that in rendering the Mahabharata into English I
have derived very little aid from the three Bengali versions that are
supposed to have been executed with care. Every one of these is full of
inaccuracies and blunders of every description. The Santi in particular
which is by far the most difficult of the eighteen Parvas, has been made
a mess of by the Pundits that attacked it. Hundreds of ridiculous
blunders can be pointed out in both the Rajadharma and the Mokshadharma
sections. Some of these I have pointed out in footnotes.

I cannot lay claim to infallibility. There are verses in the Mahabharata
that are exceedingly difficult to construe. I have derived much aid from
the great commentator Nilakantha. I know that Nilakantha's authority is
not incapable of being challenged. But when it is remembered that the
interpretations given by Nilakantha came down to him from preceptors of
olden days, one should think twice before rejecting Nilakantha as a guide.

About the readings I have adopted, I should say that as regards the first
half of the work, I have generally adhered to the Bengal texts; as
regards the latter half, to the printed Bombay edition. Sometimes
individual sections, as occurring in the Bengal editions, differ widely,
in respect of the order of the verses, from the corresponding ones in the
Bombay edition. In such cases I have adhered to the Bengal texts,
convinced that the sequence of ideas has been better preserved in the
Bengal editions than the Bombay one.

I should express my particular obligations to Pundit Ram Nath Tarkaratna,
the author of 'Vasudeva Vijayam' and other poems, Pundit Shyama Charan
Kaviratna, the learned editor of Kavyaprakasha with the commentary of
Professor Mahesh Chandra Nayaratna, and Babu Aghore Nath Banerjee, the
manager of the Bharata Karyalaya. All these scholars were my referees on
all points of difficulty. Pundit Ram Nath's solid scholarship is known to
them that have come in contact with him. I never referred to him a
difficulty that he could not clear up. Unfortunately, he was not always
at hand to consult. Pundit Shyama Charan Kaviratna, during my residence
at Seebpore, assisted me in going over the Mokshadharma sections of the
Santi Parva. Unostentatious in the extreme, Kaviratna is truly the type
of a learned Brahman of ancient India. Babu Aghore Nath Banerjee also has
from time to time, rendered me valuable assistance in clearing my
difficulties.

Gigantic as the work is, it would have been exceedingly difficult for me
to go on with it if I had not been encouraged by Sir Stuart Bayley, Sir
Auckland Colvin, Sir Alfred Croft, and among Oriental scholars, by the
late lamented Dr. Reinhold Rost, and Mons. A. Barth of Paris. All these
eminent men know from the beginning that the translation was proceeding
from my pen. Notwithstanding the enthusiasm, with which my poor friend,
Pratapa Chandra Roy, always endeavoured to fill me. I am sure my energies
would have flagged and patience exhausted but for the encouraging words
which I always received from these patrons and friends of the enterprise.

Lastly, I should name my literary chief and friend, Dr. Sambhu C.
Mookherjee. The kind interest he took in my labours, the repeated
exhortations he addressed to me inculcating patience, the care with which
he read every fasciculus as it came out, marking all those passages which
threw light upon topics of antiquarian interest, and the words of praise
he uttered when any expression particularly happy met his eyes, served to
stimulate me more than anything else in going on with a task that
sometimes seemed to me endless.

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

Calcutta



THE MAHABHARATA

ADI PARVA

SECTION I

Om! Having bowed down to Narayana and Nara, the most exalted male being,
and also to the goddess Saraswati, must the word Jaya be uttered.

Ugrasrava, the son of Lomaharshana, surnamed Sauti, well-versed in the
Puranas, bending with humility, one day approached the great sages of
rigid vows, sitting at their ease, who had attended the twelve years'
sacrifice of Saunaka, surnamed Kulapati, in the forest of Naimisha. Those
ascetics, wishing to hear his wonderful narrations, presently began to
address him who had thus arrived at that recluse abode of the inhabitants
of the forest of Naimisha. Having been entertained with due respect by
those holy men, he saluted those Munis (sages) with joined palms, even
all of them, and inquired about the progress of their asceticism. Then
all the ascetics being again seated, the son of Lomaharshana humbly
occupied the seat that was assigned to him. Seeing that he was
comfortably seated, and recovered from fatigue, one of the Rishis
beginning the conversation, asked him, 'Whence comest thou, O lotus-eyed
Sauti, and where hast thou spent the time? Tell me, who ask thee, in
detail.'

Accomplished in speech, Sauti, thus questioned, gave in the midst of that
big assemblage of contemplative Munis a full and proper answer in words
consonant with their mode of life.

"Sauti said, 'Having heard the diverse sacred and wonderful stories which
were composed in his Mahabharata by Krishna-Dwaipayana, and which were
recited in full by Vaisampayana at the Snake-sacrifice of the high-souled
royal sage Janamejaya and in the presence also of that chief of Princes,
the son of Parikshit, and having wandered about, visiting many sacred
waters and holy shrines, I journeyed to the country venerated by the
Dwijas (twice-born) and called Samantapanchaka where formerly was fought
the battle between the children of Kuru and Pandu, and all the chiefs of
the land ranged on either side. Thence, anxious to see you, I am come
into your presence. Ye reverend sages, all of whom are to me as Brahma;
ye greatly blessed who shine in this place of sacrifice with the
splendour of the solar fire: ye who have concluded the silent meditations
and have fed the holy fire; and yet who are sitting--without care, what,
O ye Dwijas (twice-born), shall I repeat, shall I recount the sacred
stories collected in the Puranas containing precepts of religious duty
and of worldly profit, or the acts of illustrious saints and sovereigns
of mankind?"

"The Rishi replied, 'The Purana, first promulgated by the great Rishi
Dwaipayana, and which after having been heard both by the gods and the
Brahmarshis was highly esteemed, being the most eminent narrative that
exists, diversified both in diction and division, possessing subtile
meanings logically combined, and gleaned from the Vedas, is a sacred
work. Composed in elegant language, it includeth the subjects of other
books. It is elucidated by other Shastras, and comprehendeth the sense of
the four Vedas. We are desirous of hearing that history also called
Bharata, the holy composition of the wonderful Vyasa, which dispelleth
the fear of evil, just as it was cheerfully recited by the Rishi
Vaisampayana, under the direction of Dwaipayana himself, at the
snake-sacrifice of Raja Janamejaya?'

"Sauti then said, 'Having bowed down to the primordial being Isana, to
whom multitudes make offerings, and who is adored by the multitude; who
is the true incorruptible one, Brahma, perceptible, imperceptible,
eternal; who is both a non-existing and an existing-non-existing being;
who is the universe and also distinct from the existing and non-existing
universe; who is the creator of high and low; the ancient, exalted,
inexhaustible one; who is Vishnu, beneficent and the beneficence itself,
worthy of all preference, pure and immaculate; who is Hari, the ruler of
the faculties, the guide of all things moveable and immoveable; I will
declare the sacred thoughts of the illustrious sage Vyasa, of marvellous
deeds and worshipped here by all. Some bards have already published this
history, some are now teaching it, and others, in like manner, will
hereafter promulgate it upon the earth. It is a great source of
knowledge, established throughout the three regions of the world. It is
possessed by the twice-born both in detailed and compendious forms. It is
the delight of the learned for being embellished with elegant
expressions, conversations human and divine, and a variety of poetical
measures.

In this world, when it was destitute of brightness and light, and
enveloped all around in total darkness, there came into being, as the
primal cause of creation, a mighty egg, the one inexhaustible seed of all
created beings. It is called Mahadivya, and was formed at the beginning
of the Yuga, in which we are told, was the true light Brahma, the eternal
one, the wonderful and inconceivable being present alike in all places;
the invisible and subtile cause, whose nature partaketh of entity and
non-entity. From this egg came out the lord Pitamaha Brahma, the one only
Prajapati; with Suraguru and Sthanu. Then appeared the twenty-one
Prajapatis, viz., Manu, Vasishtha and Parameshthi; ten Prachetas, Daksha,
and the seven sons of Daksha. Then appeared the man of inconceivable
nature whom all the Rishis know and so the Viswe-devas, the Adityas, the
Vasus, and the twin Aswins; the Yakshas, the Sadhyas, the Pisachas, the
Guhyakas, and the Pitris. After these were produced the wise and most
holy Brahmarshis, and the numerous Rajarshis distinguished by every noble
quality. So the water, the heavens, the earth, the air, the sky, the
points of the heavens, the years, the seasons, the months, the
fortnights, called Pakshas, with day and night in due succession. And
thus were produced all things which are known to mankind.

And what is seen in the universe, whether animate or inanimate, of
created things, will at the end of the world, and after the expiration of
the Yuga, be again confounded. And, at the commencement of other Yugas,
all things will be renovated, and, like the various fruits of the earth,
succeed each other in the due order of their seasons. Thus continueth
perpetually to revolve in the world, without beginning and without end,
this wheel which causeth the destruction of all things.

The generation of Devas, in brief, was thirty-three thousand,
thirty-three hundred and thirty-three. The sons of Div were Brihadbhanu,
Chakshus, Atma Vibhavasu, Savita, Richika, Arka, Bhanu, Asavaha, and
Ravi. Of these Vivaswans of old, Mahya was the youngest whose son was
Deva-vrata. The latter had for his son, Su-vrata who, we learn, had three
sons,--Dasa-jyoti, Sata-jyoti, and Sahasra-jyoti, each of them producing
numerous offspring. The illustrious Dasa-jyoti had ten thousand,
Sata-jyoti ten times that number, and Sahasra-jyoti ten times the number
of Sata-jyoti's offspring. From these are descended the family of the
Kurus, of the Yadus, and of Bharata; the family of Yayati and of
Ikshwaku; also of all the Rajarshis. Numerous also were the generations
produced, and very abundant were the creatures and their places of abode.
The mystery which is threefold--the Vedas, Yoga, and Vijnana Dharma,
Artha, and Kama--also various books upon the subject of Dharma, Artha,
and Kama; also rules for the conduct of mankind; also histories and
discourses with various srutis; all of which having been seen by the
Rishi Vyasa are here in due order mentioned as a specimen of the book.

The Rishi Vyasa published this mass of knowledge in both a detailed and
an abridged form. It is the wish of the learned in the world to possess
the details and the abridgement. Some read the Bharata beginning with the
initial mantra (invocation), others with the story of Astika, others with
Uparichara, while some Brahmanas study the whole. Men of learning display
their various knowledge of the institutes in commenting on the
composition. Some are skilful in explaining it, while others, in
remembering its contents.

The son of Satyavati having, by penance and meditation, analysed the
eternal Veda, afterwards composed this holy history, when that learned
Brahmarshi of strict vows, the noble Dwaipayana Vyasa, offspring of
Parasara, had finished this greatest of narrations, he began to consider
how he might teach it to his disciples. And the possessor of the six
attributes, Brahma, the world's preceptor, knowing of the anxiety of the
Rishi Dwaipayana, came in person to the place where the latter was, for
gratifying the saint, and benefiting the people. And when Vyasa,
surrounded by all the tribes of Munis, saw him, he was surprised; and,
standing with joined palms, he bowed and ordered a seat to be brought.
And Vyasa having gone round him who is called Hiranyagarbha seated on
that distinguished seat stood near it; and being commanded by Brahma
Parameshthi, he sat down near the seat, full of affection and smiling in
joy. Then the greatly glorious Vyasa, addressing Brahma Parameshthi,
said, "O divine Brahma, by me a poem hath been composed which is greatly
respected. The mystery of the Veda, and what other subjects have been
explained by me; the various rituals of the Upanishads with the Angas;
the compilation of the Puranas and history formed by me and named after
the three divisions of time, past, present, and future; the determination
of the nature of decay, fear, disease, existence, and non-existence, a
description of creeds and of the various modes of life; rule for the four
castes, and the import of all the Puranas; an account of asceticism and
of the duties of a religious student; the dimensions of the sun and moon,
the planets, constellations, and stars, together with the duration of the
four ages; the Rik, Sama and Yajur Vedas; also the Adhyatma; the sciences
called Nyaya, Orthoephy and Treatment of diseases; charity and
Pasupatadharma; birth celestial and human, for particular purposes; also
a description of places of pilgrimage and other holy places of rivers,
mountains, forests, the ocean, of heavenly cities and the kalpas; the art
of war; the different kinds of nations and languages: the nature of the
manners of the people; and the all-pervading spirit;--all these have been
represented. But, after all, no writer of this work is to be found on
earth.'

"Brahma said. 'I esteem thee for thy knowledge of divine mysteries,
before the whole body of celebrated Munis distinguished for the sanctity
of their lives. I know thou hast revealed the divine word, even from its
first utterance, in the language of truth. Thou hast called thy present
work a poem, wherefore it shall be a poem. There shall be no poets whose
works may equal the descriptions of this poem, even, as the three other
modes called Asrama are ever unequal in merit to the domestic Asrama. Let
Ganesa be thought of, O Muni, for the purpose of writing the poem.'

"Sauti said, 'Brahma having thus spoken to Vyasa, retired to his own
abode. Then Vyasa began to call to mind Ganesa. And Ganesa, obviator of
obstacles, ready to fulfil the desires of his votaries, was no sooner
thought of, than he repaired to the place where Vyasa was seated. And
when he had been saluted, and was seated, Vyasa addressed him thus, 'O
guide of the Ganas! be thou the writer of the Bharata which I have formed
in my imagination, and which I am about to repeat."

"Ganesa, upon hearing this address, thus answered, 'I will become the
writer of thy work, provided my pen do not for a moment cease writing."
And Vyasa said unto that divinity, 'Wherever there be anything thou dost
not comprehend, cease to continue writing.' Ganesa having signified his
assent, by repeating the word Om! proceeded to write; and Vyasa began;
and by way of diversion, he knit the knots of composition exceeding
close; by doing which, he dictated this work according to his engagement.

I am (continued Sauti) acquainted with eight thousand and eight hundred
verses, and so is Suka, and perhaps Sanjaya. From the mysteriousness of
their meaning, O Muni, no one is able, to this day, to penetrate those
closely knit difficult slokas. Even the omniscient Ganesa took a moment
to consider; while Vyasa, however, continued to compose other verses in
great abundance.

The wisdom of this work, like unto an instrument of applying collyrium,
hath opened the eyes of the inquisitive world blinded by the darkness of
ignorance. As the sun dispelleth the darkness, so doth the Bharata by its
discourses on religion, profit, pleasure and final release, dispel the
ignorance of men. As the full-moon by its mild light expandeth the buds
of the water-lily, so this Purana, by exposing the light of the Sruti
hath expanded the human intellect. By the lamp of history, which
destroyeth the darkness of ignorance, the whole mansion of nature is
properly and completely illuminated.

This work is a tree, of which the chapter of contents is the seed; the
divisions called Pauloma and Astika are the root; the part called
Sambhava is the trunk; the books called Sabha and Aranya are the roosting
perches; the books called Arani is the knitting knots; the books called
Virata and Udyoga the pith; the book named Bhishma, the main branch; the
book called Drona, the leaves; the book called Karna, the fair flowers;
the book named Salya, their sweet smell; the books entitled Stri and
Aishika, the refreshing shade; the book called Santi, the mighty fruit;
the book called Aswamedha, the immortal sap; the denominated
Asramavasika, the spot where it groweth; and the book called Mausala, is
an epitome of the Vedas and held in great respect by the virtuous
Brahmanas. The tree of the Bharata, inexhaustible to mankind as the
clouds, shall be as a source of livelihood to all distinguished poets."

"Sauti continued, 'I will now speak of the undying flowery and fruitful
productions of this tree, possessed of pure and pleasant taste, and not
to be destroyed even by the immortals. Formerly, the spirited and
virtuous Krishna-Dwaipayana, by the injunctions of Bhishma, the wise son
of Ganga and of his own mother, became the father of three boys who were
like the three fires by the two wives of Vichitra-virya; and having thus
raised up Dhritarashtra, Pandu and Vidura, he returned to his recluse
abode to prosecute his religious exercise.

It was not till after these were born, grown up, and departed on the
supreme journey, that the great Rishi Vyasa published the Bharata in this
region of mankind; when being solicited by Janamejaya and thousands of
Brahmanas, he instructed his disciple Vaisampayana, who was seated near
him; and he, sitting together with the Sadasyas, recited the Bharata,
during the intervals of the ceremonies of the sacrifice, being repeatedly
urged to proceed.

Vyasa hath fully represented the greatness of the house of Kuru, the
virtuous principles of Gandhari, the wisdom of Vidura, and the constancy
of Kunti. The noble Rishi hath also described the divinity of Vasudeva,
the rectitude of the sons of Pandu, and the evil practices of the sons
and partisans of Dhritarashtra.

Vyasa executed the compilation of the Bharata, exclusive of the episodes
originally in twenty-four thousand verses; and so much only is called by
the learned as the Bharata. Afterwards, he composed an epitome in one
hundred and fifty verses, consisting of the introduction with the chapter
of contents. This he first taught to his son Suka; and afterwards he gave
it to others of his disciples who were possessed of the same
qualifications. After that he executed another compilation, consisting of
six hundred thousand verses. Of those, thirty hundred thousand are known
in the world of the Devas; fifteen hundred thousand in the world of the
Pitris: fourteen hundred thousand among the Gandharvas, and one hundred
thousand in the regions of mankind. Narada recited them to the Devas,
Devala to the Pitris, and Suka published them to the Gandharvas, Yakshas,
and Rakshasas: and in this world they were recited by Vaisampayana, one
of the disciples of Vyasa, a man of just principles and the first among
all those acquainted with the Vedas. Know that I, Sauti, have also
repeated one hundred thousand verses.

Yudhishthira is a vast tree, formed of religion and virtue; Arjuna is its
trunk; Bhimasena, its branches; the two sons of Madri are its full-grown
fruit and flowers; and its roots are Krishna, Brahma, and the Brahmanas.

Pandu, after having subdued many countries by his wisdom and prowess,
took up his abode with the Munis in a certain forest as a sportsman,
where he brought upon himself a very severe misfortune for having killed
a stag coupling with its mate, which served as a warning for the conduct
of the princes of his house as long as they lived. Their mothers, in
order that the ordinances of the law might be fulfilled, admitted as
substitutes to their embraces the gods Dharma, Vayu, Sakra, and the
divinities the twin Aswins. And when their offspring grew up, under the
care of their two mothers, in the society of ascetics, in the midst of
sacred groves and holy recluse-abodes of religious men, they were
conducted by Rishis into the presence of Dhritarashtra and his sons,
following as students in the habit of Brahmacharis, having their hair
tied in knots on their heads. 'These our pupils', said they, 'are as your
sons, your brothers, and your friends; they are Pandavas.' Saying this,
the Munis disappeared.

When the Kauravas saw them introduced as the sons of Pandu, the
distinguished class of citizens shouted exceedingly for joy. Some,
however, said, they were not the sons of Pandu; others said, they were;
while a few asked how they could be his offspring, seeing he had been so
long dead. Still on all sides voices were heard crying, 'They are on all
accounts Whalecum! Through divine Providence we behold the family of
Pandu! Let their Whalecum be proclaimed!' As these acclamations ceased,
the plaudits of invisible spirits, causing every point of the heavens to
resound, were tremendous. There were showers of sweet-scented flowers,
and the sound of shells and kettle-drums. Such were the wonders that
happened on the arrival of the young princes. The joyful noise of all the
citizens, in expression of their satisfaction on the occasion, was so
great that it reached the very heavens in magnifying plaudits.

Having studied the whole of the Vedas and sundry other shastras, the
Pandavas resided there, respected by all and without apprehension from
any one.

The principal men were pleased with the purity of Yudhishthira, the
courage of Arjuna, the submissive attention of Kunti to her superiors,
and the humility of the twins, Nakula and Sahadeva; and all the people
rejoiced in their heroic virtues.

After a while, Arjuna obtained the virgin Krishna at the swayamvara, in
the midst of a concourse of Rajas, by performing a very difficult feat of
archery. And from this time he became very much respected in this world
among all bowmen; and in fields of battle also, like the sun, he was hard
to behold by foe-men. And having vanquished all the neighbouring princes
and every considerable tribe, he accomplished all that was necessary for
the Raja (his eldest brother) to perform the great sacrifice called
Rajasuya.

Yudhishthira, after having, through the wise counsels of Vasudeva and by
the valour of Bhimasena and Arjuna, slain Jarasandha (the king of
Magadha) and the proud Chaidya, acquired the right to perform the grand
sacrifice of Rajasuya abounding in provisions and offering and fraught
with transcendent merits. And Duryodhana came to this sacrifice; and when
he beheld the vast wealth of the Pandavas scattered all around, the
offerings, the precious stones, gold and jewels; the wealth in cows,
elephants, and horses; the curious textures, garments, and mantles; the
precious shawls and furs and carpets made of the skin of the Ranku; he
was filled with envy and became exceedingly displeased. And when he
beheld the hall of assembly elegantly constructed by Maya (the Asura
architect) after the fashion of a celestial court, he was inflamed with
rage. And having started in confusion at certain architectural deceptions
within this building, he was derided by Bhimasena in the presence of
Vasudeva, like one of mean descent.

And it was represented to Dhritarashtra that his son, while partaking of
various objects of enjoyment and diverse precious things, was becoming
meagre, wan, and pale. And Dhritarashtra, some time after, out of
affection for his son, gave his consent to their playing (with the
Pandavas) at dice. And Vasudeva coming to know of this, became
exceedingly wroth. And being dissatisfied, he did nothing to prevent the
disputes, but overlooked the gaming and sundry other horried
unjustifiable transactions arising therefrom: and in spite of Vidura,
Bhishma, Drona, and Kripa, the son of Saradwan, he made the Kshatriyas
kill each other in the terrific war that ensued.'

"And Dhritarashtra hearing the ill news of the success of the Pandavas
and recollecting the resolutions of Duryodhana, Kama, and Sakuni,
pondered for a while and addressed to Sanjaya the following speech:--

'Attend, O Sanjaya, to all I am about to say, and it will not become thee
to treat me with contempt. Thou art well-versed in the shastras,
intelligent and endowed with wisdom. My inclination was never to war, not
did I delight in the destruction of my race. I made no distinction
between my own children and the children of Pandu. My own sons were prone
to wilfulness and despised me because I am old. Blind as I am, because of
my miserable plight and through paternal affection, I bore it all. I was
foolish alter the thoughtless Duryodhana ever growing in folly. Having
been a spectator of the riches of the mighty sons of Pandu, my son was
derided for his awkwardness while ascending the hall. Unable to bear it
all and unable himself to overcome the sons of Pandu in the field, and
though a soldier, unwilling yet to obtain good fortune by his own
exertion, with the help of the king of Gandhara he concerted an unfair
game at dice.

'Hear, O Sanjaya, all that happened thereupon and came to my knowledge.
And when thou hast heard all I say, recollecting everything as it fell
out, thou shall then know me for one with a prophetic eye. When I heard
that Arjuna, having bent the bow, had pierced the curious mark and
brought it down to the ground, and bore away in triumph the maiden
Krishna, in the sight of the assembled princes, then, O Sanjaya I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Subhadra of the race of Madhu had,
after forcible seizure been married by Arjuna in the city of Dwaraka, and
that the two heroes of the race of Vrishni (Krishna and Balarama the
brothers of Subhadra) without resenting it had entered Indraprastha as
friends, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
Arjuna, by his celestial arrow preventing the downpour by Indra the king
of the gods, had gratified Agni by making over to him the forest of
Khandava, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
the five Pandavas with their mother Kunti had escaped from the house of
lac, and that Vidura was engaged in the accomplishment of their designs,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Arjuna,
after having pierced the mark in the arena had won Draupadi, and that the
brave Panchalas had joined the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Jarasandha, the foremost of the royal line
of Magadha, and blazing in the midst of the Kshatriyas, had been slain by
Bhima with his bare arms alone, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that in their general campaign the sons of Pandu
had conquered the chiefs of the land and performed the grand sacrifice of
the Rajasuya, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Draupadi, her voice choked with tears and heart full of agony, in
the season of impurity and with but one raiment on, had been dragged into
court and though she had protectors, she had been treated as if she had
none, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
wicked wretch Duhsasana, was striving to strip her of that single
garment, had only drawn from her person a large heap of cloth without
being able to arrive at its end, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, beaten by Saubala at the game of
dice and deprived of his kingdom as a consequence thereof, had still been
attended upon by his brothers of incomparable prowess, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that the virtuous Pandavas weeping
with affliction had followed their elder brother to the wilderness and
exerted themselves variously for the mitigation of his discomforts, then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.

'When I heard that Yudhishthira had been followed into the wilderness by
Snatakas and noble-minded Brahmanas who live upon alms, then, O Sanjaya,
I had no hope of success. When I heard that Arjuna, having, in combat,
pleased the god of gods, Tryambaka (the three-eyed) in the disguise of a
hunter, obtained the great weapon Pasupata, then O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that the just and renowned Arjuna after having
been to the celestial regions, had there obtained celestial weapons from
Indra himself then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that afterwards Arjuna had vanquished the Kalakeyas and the Paulomas
proud with the boon they had obtained and which had rendered them
invulnerable even to the celestials, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Arjuna, the chastiser of enemies, having gone
to the regions of Indra for the destruction of the Asuras, had returned
thence successful, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Bhima and the other sons of Pritha (Kunti) accompanied by
Vaisravana had arrived at that country which is inaccessible to man then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that my sons, guided by
the counsels of Karna, while on their journey of Ghoshayatra, had been
taken prisoners by the Gandharvas and were set free by Arjuna, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Dharma (the god of
justice) having come under the form of a Yaksha had proposed certain
questions to Yudhishthira then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When
I heard that my sons had failed to discover the Pandavas under their
disguise while residing with Draupadi in the dominions of Virata, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the principal men of
my side had all been vanquished by the noble Arjuna with a single chariot
while residing in the dominions of Virata, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Vasudeva of the race of Madhu, who covered
this whole earth by one foot, was heartily interested in the welfare of
the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that the king of Matsya, had offered his virtuous daughter Uttara to
Arjuna and that Arjuna had accepted her for his son, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, beaten at dice,
deprived of wealth, exiled and separated from his connections, had
assembled yet an army of seven Akshauhinis, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard Narada, declare that Krishna and Arjuna
were Nara and Narayana and he (Narada) had seen them together in the
regions of Brahma, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Krishna, anxious to bring about peace, for the welfare of
mankind had repaired to the Kurus, and went away without having been able
to effect his purpose, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Kama and Duryodhana resolved upon imprisoning Krishna
displayed in himself the whole universe, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. Then I heard that at the time of his departure, Pritha
(Kunti) standing, full of sorrow, near his chariot received consolation
from Krishna, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Vasudeva and Bhishma the son of Santanu were the counsellors of the
Pandavas and Drona the son of Bharadwaja pronounced blessings on them,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When Kama said unto Bhishma--I
will not fight when thou art fighting--and, quitting the army, went away,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Vasudeva and
Arjuna and the bow Gandiva of immeasurable prowess, these three of
dreadful energy had come together, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that upon Arjuna having been seized with
compunction on his chariot and ready to sink, Krishna showed him all the
worlds within his body, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Bhishma, the desolator of foes, killing ten thousand
charioteers every day in the field of battle, had not slain any amongst
the Pandavas then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
Bhishma, the righteous son of Ganga, had himself indicated the means of
his defeat in the field of battle and that the same were accomplished by
the Pandavas with joyfulness, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.
When I heard that Arjuna, having placed Sikhandin before himself in his
chariot, had wounded Bhishma of infinite courage and invincible in
battle, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
aged hero Bhishma, having reduced the numbers of the race of shomaka to a
few, overcome with various wounds was lying on a bed of arrows, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that upon Bhishma's lying
on the ground with thirst for water, Arjuna, being requested, had pierced
the ground and allayed his thirst, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When Bayu together with Indra and Suryya united as allies for
the success of the sons of Kunti, and the beasts of prey (by their
inauspicious presence) were putting us in fear, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When the wonderful warrior Drona, displaying various
modes of fight in the field, did not slay any of the superior Pandavas,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
Maharatha Sansaptakas of our army appointed for the overthrow of Arjuna
were all slain by Arjuna himself, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that our disposition of forces, impenetrable by
others, and defended by Bharadwaja himself well-armed, had been singly
forced and entered by the brave son of Subhadra, then, O Sanjaya, I had
no hope of success. When I heard that our Maharathas, unable to overcome
Arjuna, with jubilant faces after having jointly surrounded and slain the
boy Abhimanyu, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that the blind Kauravas were shouting for joy after having slain
Abhimanyu and that thereupon Arjuna in anger made his celebrated speech
referring to Saindhava, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Arjuna had vowed the death of Saindhava and fulfilled his vow
in the presence of his enemies, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that upon the horses of Arjuna being fatigued,
Vasudeva releasing them made them drink water and bringing them back and
reharnessing them continued to guide them as before, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that while his horses were fatigued,
Arjuna staying in his chariot checked all his assailants, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Yuyudhana of the
race of Vrishni, after having thrown into confusion the army of Drona
rendered unbearable in prowess owing to the presence of elephants,
retired to where Krishna and Arjuna were, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Karna even though he had got Bhima within
his power allowed him to escape after only addressing him in contemptuous
terms and dragging him with the end of his bow, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Drona, Kritavarma, Kripa, Karna, the
son of Drona, and the valiant king of Madra (Salya) suffered Saindhava to
be slain, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
the celestial Sakti given by Indra (to Karna) was by Madhava's
machinations caused to be hurled upon Rakshasa Ghatotkacha of frightful
countenance, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
in the encounter between Karna and Ghatotkacha, that Sakti was hurled
against Ghatotkacha by Karna, the same which was certainly to have slain
Arjuna in battle, then, O Sanjaya. I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Dhristadyumna, transgressing the laws of battle, slew Drona while
alone in his chariot and resolved on death, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Nakula. the son of Madri, having in
the presence of the whole army engaged in single combat with the son of
Drona and showing himself equal to him drove his chariot in circles
around, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When upon the death of
Drona, his son misused the weapon called Narayana but failed to achieve
the destruction of the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Bhimasena drank the blood of his brother
Duhsasana in the field of battle without anybody being able to prevent
him, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
infinitely brave Karna, invincible in battle, was slain by Arjuna in that
war of brothers mysterious even to the gods, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, the Just, overcame the
heroic son of Drona, Duhsasana, and the fierce Kritavarman, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the brave king of
Madra who ever dared Krishna in battle was slain by Yudhishthira, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the wicked Suvala of
magic power, the root of the gaming and the feud, was slain in battle by
Sahadeva, the son of Pandu, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.
When I heard that Duryodhana, spent with fatigue, having gone to a lake
and made a refuge for himself within its waters, was lying there alone,
his strength gone and without a chariot, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that the Pandavas having gone to that lake
accompanied by Vasudeva and standing on its beach began to address
contemptuously my son who was incapable of putting up with affronts,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that while,
displaying in circles a variety of curious modes (of attack and defence)
in an encounter with clubs, he was unfairly slain according to the
counsels of Krishna, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard the son of Drona and others by slaying the Panchalas and the sons
of Draupadi in their sleep, perpetrated a horrible and infamous deed,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Aswatthaman
while being pursued by Bhimasena had discharged the first of weapons
called Aishika, by which the embryo in the womb (of Uttara) was wounded,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the weapon
Brahmashira (discharged by Aswatthaman) was repelled by Arjuna with
another weapon over which he had pronounced the word "Sasti" and that
Aswatthaman had to give up the jewel-like excrescence on his head, then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that upon the embryo in
the womb of Virata's daughter being wounded by Aswatthaman with a mighty
weapon, Dwaipayana and Krishna pronounced curses on him, then, O Sanjaya,
I had no hope of success.

'Alas! Gandhari, destitute of children, grand-children, parents,
brothers, and kindred, is to be pitied. Difficult is the task that hath
been performed by the Pandavas: by them hath a kingdom been recovered
without a rival.

'Alas! I have heard that the war hath left only ten alive: three of our
side, and the Pandavas, seven, in that dreadful conflict eighteen
Akshauhinis of Kshatriyas have been slain! All around me is utter
darkness, and a fit of swoon assaileth me: consciousness leaves me, O
Suta, and my mind is distracted."

"Sauti said, 'Dhritarashtra, bewailing his fate in these words, was
overcome with extreme anguish and for a time deprived of sense; but being
revived, he addressed Sanjaya in the following words.

"After what hath come to pass, O Sanjaya, I wish to put an end to my life
without delay; I do not find the least advantage in cherishing it any
longer."

"Sauti said, 'The wise son of Gavalgana (Sanjaya) then addressed the
distressed lord of Earth while thus talking and bewailing, sighing like a
serpent and repeatedly tainting, in words of deep import.

"Thou hast heard, O Raja, of the greatly powerful men of vast exertions,
spoken of by Vyasa and the wise Narada; men born of great royal families,
resplendent with worthy qualities, versed in the science of celestial
arms, and in glory emblems of Indra; men who having conquered the world
by justice and performed sacrifices with fit offerings (to the
Brahmanas), obtained renown in this world and at last succumbed to the
sway of time. Such were Saivya; the valiant Maharatha; Srinjaya, great
amongst conquerors. Suhotra; Rantideva, and Kakshivanta, great in glory;
Valhika, Damana, Saryati, Ajita, and Nala; Viswamitra the destroyer of
foes; Amvarisha, great in strength; Marutta, Manu, Ikshaku, Gaya, and
Bharata; Rama the son of Dasaratha; Sasavindu, and Bhagiratha;
Kritavirya, the greatly fortunate, and Janamejaya too; and Yayati of good
deeds who performed sacrifices, being assisted therein by the celestials
themselves, and by whose sacrificial altars and stakes this earth with
her habited and uninhabited regions hath been marked all over. These
twenty-four Rajas were formerly spoken of by the celestial Rishi Narada
unto Saivya when much afflicted for the loss of his children. Besides
these, other Rajas had gone before, still more powerful than they, mighty
charioteers noble in mind, and resplendent with every worthy quality.
These were Puru, Kuru, Yadu, Sura and Viswasrawa of great glory; Anuha,
Yuvanaswu, Kakutstha, Vikrami, and Raghu; Vijava, Virihorta, Anga, Bhava,
Sweta, and Vripadguru; Usinara, Sata-ratha, Kanka, Duliduha, and Druma;
Dambhodbhava, Para, Vena, Sagara, Sankriti, and Nimi; Ajeya, Parasu,
Pundra, Sambhu, and holy Deva-Vridha; Devahuya, Supratika, and
Vrihad-ratha; Mahatsaha, Vinitatma, Sukratu, and Nala, the king of the
Nishadas; Satyavrata, Santabhaya, Sumitra, and the chief Subala;
Janujangha, Anaranya, Arka, Priyabhritya, Chuchi-vrata, Balabandhu,
Nirmardda, Ketusringa, and Brhidbala; Dhrishtaketu, Brihatketu,
Driptaketu, and Niramaya; Abikshit, Chapala, Dhurta, Kritbandhu, and
Dridhe-shudhi; Mahapurana-sambhavya, Pratyanga, Paraha and Sruti. These,
O chief, and other Rajas, we hear enumerated by hundreds and by
thousands, and still others by millions, princes of great power and
wisdom, quitting very abundant enjoyments met death as thy sons have
done! Their heavenly deeds, valour, and generosity, their magnanimity,
faith, truth, purity, simplicity and mercy, are published to the world in
the records of former times by sacred bards of great learning. Though
endued with every noble virtue, these have yielded up their lives. Thy
sons were malevolent, inflamed with passion, avaricious, and of very
evil-disposition. Thou art versed in the Sastras, O Bharata, and art
intelligent and wise; they never sink under misfortunes whose
understandings are guided by the Sastras. Thou art acquainted, O prince,
with the lenity and severity of fate; this anxiety therefore for the
safety of thy children is unbecoming. Moreover, it behoveth thee not to
grieve for that which must happen: for who can avert, by his wisdom, the
decrees of fate? No one can leave the way marked out for him by
Providence. Existence and non-existence, pleasure and pain all have Time
for their root. Time createth all things and Time destroyeth all
creatures. It is Time that burneth creatures and it is Time that
extinguisheth the fire. All states, the good and the evil, in the three
worlds, are caused by Time. Time cutteth short all things and createth
them anew. Time alone is awake when all things are asleep: indeed, Time
is incapable of being overcome. Time passeth over all things without
being retarded. Knowing, as thou dost, that all things past and future
and all that exist at the present moment, are the offspring of Time, it
behoveth thee not to throw away thy reason.'

"Sauti said, 'The son of Gavalgana having in this manner administered
comfort to the royal Dhritarashtra overwhelmed with grief for his sons,
then restored his mind to peace. Taking these facts for his subject,
Dwaipayana composed a holy Upanishad that has been published to the world
by learned and sacred bards in the Puranas composed by them.

"The study of the Bharata is an act of piety. He that readeth even one
foot, with belief, hath his sins entirely purged away. Herein Devas,
Devarshis, and immaculate Brahmarshis of good deeds, have been spoken of;
and likewise Yakshas and great Uragas (Nagas). Herein also hath been
described the eternal Vasudeva possessing the six attributes. He is the
true and just, the pure and holy, the eternal Brahma, the supreme soul,
the true constant light, whose divine deeds wise and learned recount;
from whom hath proceeded the non-existent and existent-non-existent
universe with principles of generation and progression, and birth, death
and re-birth. That also hath been treated of which is called Adhyatma
(the superintending spirit of nature) that partaketh of the attributes of
the five elements. That also hath been described who is purusha being
above such epithets as 'undisplayed' and the like; also that which the
foremost yatis exempt from the common destiny and endued with the power
of meditation and Tapas behold dwelling in their hearts as a reflected
image in the mirror.

"The man of faith, devoted to piety, and constant in the exercise of
virtue, on reading this section is freed from sin. The believer that
constantly heareth recited this section of the Bharata, called the
Introduction, from the beginning, falleth not into difficulties. The man
repeating any part of the introduction in the two twilights is during
such act freed from the sins contracted during the day or the night. This
section, the body of the Bharata, is truth and nectar. As butter is in
curd, Brahmana among bipeds, the Aranyaka among the Vedas, and nectar
among medicines; as the sea is eminent among receptacles of water, and
the cow among quadrupeds; as are these (among the things mentioned) so is
the Bharata said to be among histories.

"He that causeth it, even a single foot thereof, to be recited to
Brahmanas during a Sradha, his offerings of food and drink to the manes
of his ancestors become inexhaustible.

"By the aid of history and the Puranas, the Veda may be expounded; but
the Veda is afraid of one of little information lest he should it. The
learned man who recites to other this Veda of Vyasa reapeth advantage. It
may without doubt destroy even the sin of killing the embryo and the
like. He that readeth this holy chapter of the moon, readeth the whole of
the Bharata, I ween. The man who with reverence daily listeneth to this
sacred work acquireth long life and renown and ascendeth to heaven.

"In former days, having placed the four Vedas on one side and the Bharata
on the other, these were weighed in the balance by the celestials
assembled for that purpose. And as the latter weighed heavier than the
four Vedas with their mysteries, from that period it hath been called in
the world Mahabharata (the great Bharata). Being esteemed superior both
in substance and gravity of import it is denominated Mahabharata on
account of such substance and gravity of import. He that knoweth its
meaning is saved from all his sins.

'Tapa is innocent, study is harmless, the ordinance of the Vedas
prescribed for all the tribes are harmless, the acquisition of wealth by
exertion is harmless; but when they are abused in their practices it is
then that they become sources of evil.'"



SECTION II

"The Rishis said, 'O son of Suta, we wish to hear a full and
circumstantial account of the place mentioned by you as Samanta-panchaya.'

"Sauti said, 'Listen, O ye Brahmanas, to the sacred descriptions I utter
O ye best of men, ye deserve to hear of the place known as
Samanta-panchaka. In the interval between the Treta and Dwapara Yugas,
Rama (the son of Jamadagni) great among all who have borne arms, urged by
impatience of wrongs, repeatedly smote the noble race of Kshatriyas. And
when that fiery meteor, by his own valour, annihilated the entire tribe
of the Kshatriyas, he formed at Samanta-panchaka five lakes of blood. We
are told that his reason being overpowered by anger he offered oblations
of blood to the manes of his ancestors, standing in the midst of the
sanguine waters of those lakes. It was then that his forefathers of whom
Richika was the first having arrived there addressed him thus, 'O Rama, O
blessed Rama, O offspring of Bhrigu, we have been gratified with the
reverence thou hast shown for thy ancestors and with thy valour, O mighty
one! Blessings be upon thee. O thou illustrious one, ask the boon that
thou mayst desire.'

"Rama said, 'If, O fathers, ye are favourably disposed towards me, the
boon I ask is that I may be absolved from the sins born of my having
annihilated the Kshatriyas in anger, and that the lakes I have formed may
become famous in the world as holy shrines.' The Pitris then said, 'So
shall it be. But be thou pacified.' And Rama was pacified accordingly.
The region that lieth near unto those lakes of gory water, from that time
hath been celebrated as Samanta-panchaka the holy. The wise have declared
that every country should be distinguished by a name significant of some
circumstance which may have rendered it famous. In the interval between
the Dwapara and the Kali Yugas there happened at Samanta-panchaka the
encounter between the armies of the Kauravas and the Pandavas. In that
holy region, without ruggedness of any kind, were assembled eighteen
Akshauhinis of soldiers eager for battle. And, O Brahmanas, having come
thereto, they were all slain on the spot. Thus the name of that region, O
Brahmanas, hath been explained, and the country described to you as a
sacred and delightful one. I have mentioned the whole of what relateth to
it as the region is celebrated throughout the three worlds.'

"The Rishis said, 'We have a desire to know, O son of Suta, what is
implied by the term Akshauhini that hath been used by thee. Tell us in
full what is the number of horse and foot, chariots and elephants, which
compose an Akshauhini for thou art fully informed.'

"Sauti said, 'One chariot, one elephant, five foot-soldiers, and three
horses form one Patti; three pattis make one Sena-mukha; three
sena-mukhas are called a Gulma; three gulmas, a Gana; three ganas, a
Vahini; three vahinis together are called a Pritana; three pritanas form
a Chamu; three chamus, one Anikini; and an anikini taken ten times forms,
as it is styled by those who know, an Akshauhini. O ye best of Brahmanas,
arithmeticians have calculated that the number of chariots in an
Akshauhini is twenty-one thousand eight hundred and seventy. The measure
of elephants must be fixed at the same number. O ye pure, you must know
that the number of foot-soldiers is one hundred and nine thousand, three
hundred and fifty, the number of horse is sixty-five thousand, six
hundred and ten. These, O Brahmanas, as fully explained by me, are the
numbers of an Akshauhini as said by those acquainted with the principles
of numbers. O best of Brahmanas, according to this calculation were
composed the eighteen Akshauhinis of the Kaurava and the Pandava army.
Time, whose acts are wonderful assembled them on that spot and having
made the Kauravas the cause, destroyed them all. Bhishma acquainted with
choice of weapons, fought for ten days. Drona protected the Kaurava
Vahinis for five days. Kama the desolator of hostile armies fought for
two days; and Salya for half a day. After that lasted for half a day the
encounter with clubs between Duryodhana and Bhima. At the close of that
day, Aswatthaman and Kripa destroyed the army of Yudishthira in the night
while sleeping without suspicion of danger.

'O Saunaka, this best of narrations called Bharata which has begun to be
repeated at thy sacrifice, was formerly repeated at the sacrifice of
Janamejaya by an intelligent disciple of Vyasa. It is divided into
several sections; in the beginning are Paushya, Pauloma, and Astika
parvas, describing in full the valour and renown of kings. It is a work
whose description, diction, and sense are varied and wonderful. It
contains an account of various manners and rites. It is accepted by the
wise, as the state called Vairagya is by men desirous of final release.
As Self among things to be known, as life among things that are dear, so
is this history that furnisheth the means of arriving at the knowledge of
Brahma the first among all the sastras. There is not a story current in
this world but doth depend upon this history even as the body upon the
foot that it taketh. As masters of good lineage are ever attended upon by
servants desirous of preferment so is the Bharata cherished by all poets.
As the words constituting the several branches of knowledge appertaining
to the world and the Veda display only vowels and consonants, so this
excellent history displayeth only the highest wisdom.

'Listen, O ye ascetics, to the outlines of the several divisions (parvas)
of this history called Bharata, endued with great wisdom, of sections and
feet that are wonderful and various, of subtile meanings and logical
connections, and embellished with the substance of the Vedas.

'The first parva is called Anukramanika; the second, Sangraha; then
Paushya; then Pauloma; the Astika; then Adivansavatarana. Then comes the
Sambhava of wonderful and thrilling incidents. Then comes Jatugrihadaha
(setting fire to the house of lac) and then Hidimbabadha (the killing of
Hidimba) parvas; then comes Baka-badha (slaughter of Baka) and then
Chitraratha. The next is called Swayamvara (selection of husband by
Panchali), in which Arjuna by the exercise of Kshatriya virtues, won
Draupadi for wife. Then comes Vaivahika (marriage). Then comes
Viduragamana (advent of Vidura), Rajyalabha (acquirement of kingdom),
Arjuna-banavasa (exile of Arjuna) and Subhadra-harana (the carrying away
of Subhadra). After these come Harana-harika, Khandava-daha (the burning
of the Khandava forest) and Maya-darsana (meeting with Maya the Asura
architect). Then come Sabha, Mantra, Jarasandha, Digvijaya (general
campaign). After Digvijaya come Raja-suyaka, Arghyaviharana (the robbing
of the Arghya) and Sisupala-badha (the killing of Sisupala). After these,
Dyuta (gambling), Anudyuta (subsequent to gambling), Aranyaka, and
Krimira-badha (destruction of Krimira). The Arjuna-vigamana (the travels
of Arjuna), Kairati. In the last hath been described the battle between
Arjuna and Mahadeva in the guise of a hunter. After this
Indra-lokavigamana (the journey to the regions of Indra); then that mine
of religion and virtue, the highly pathetic Nalopakhyana (the story of
Nala). After this last, Tirtha-yatra or the pilgrimage of the wise prince
of the Kurus, the death of Jatasura, and the battle of the Yakshas. Then
the battle with the Nivata-kavachas, Ajagara, and Markandeya-Samasya
(meeting with Markandeya). Then the meeting of Draupadi and Satyabhama,
Ghoshayatra, Mirga-Swapna (dream of the deer). Then the story of
Brihadaranyaka and then Aindradrumna. Then Draupadi-harana (the abduction
of Draupadi), Jayadratha-bimoksana (the release of Jayadratha). Then the
story of 'Savitri' illustrating the great merit of connubial chastity.
After this last, the story of 'Rama'. The parva that comes next is called
'Kundala-harana' (the theft of the ear-rings). That which comes next is
'Aranya' and then 'Vairata'. Then the entry of the Pandavas and the
fulfilment of their promise (of living unknown for one year). Then the
destruction of the 'Kichakas', then the attempt to take the kine (of
Virata by the Kauravas). The next is called the marriage of Abhimanyu
with the daughter of Virata. The next you must know is the most wonderful
parva called Udyoga. The next must be known by the name of 'Sanjaya-yana'
(the arrival of Sanjaya). Then comes 'Prajagara' (the sleeplessness of
Dhritarashtra owing to his anxiety). Then Sanatsujata, in which are the
mysteries of spiritual philosophy. Then 'Yanasaddhi', and then the
arrival of Krishna. Then the story of 'Matali' and then of 'Galava'. Then
the stories of 'Savitri', 'Vamadeva', and 'Vainya'. Then the story of
'Jamadagnya and Shodasarajika'. Then the arrival of Krishna at the court,
and then Bidulaputrasasana. Then the muster of troops and the story of
Sheta. Then, must you know, comes the quarrel of the high-souled Karna.
Then the march to the field of the troops of both sides. The next hath
been called numbering the Rathis and Atirathas. Then comes the arrival of
the messenger Uluka which kindled the wrath (of the Pandavas). The next
that comes, you must know, is the story of Amba. Then comes the thrilling
story of the installation of Bhishma as commander-in-chief. The next is
called the creation of the insular region Jambu; then Bhumi; then the
account about the formation of islands. Then comes the 'Bhagavat-gita';
and then the death of Bhishma. Then the installation of Drona; then the
destruction of the 'Sansaptakas'. Then the death of Abhimanyu; and then
the vow of Arjuna (to slay Jayadratha). Then the death of Jayadratha, and
then of Ghatotkacha. Then, must you know, comes the story of the death of
Drona of surprising interest. The next that comes is called the discharge
of the weapon called Narayana. Then, you know, is Karna, and then Salya.
Then comes the immersion in the lake, and then the encounter (between
Bhima and Duryodhana) with clubs. Then comes Saraswata, and then the
descriptions of holy shrines, and then genealogies. Then comes Sauptika
describing incidents disgraceful (to the honour of the Kurus). Then comes
the 'Aisika' of harrowing incidents. Then comes 'Jalapradana' oblations
of water to the manes of the deceased, and then the wailings of the
women. The next must be known as 'Sraddha' describing the funeral rites
performed for the slain Kauravas. Then comes the destruction of the
Rakshasa Charvaka who had assumed the disguise of a Brahmana (for
deceiving Yudhishthira). Then the coronation of the wise Yudhishthira.
The next is called the 'Grihapravibhaga'. Then comes 'Santi', then
'Rajadharmanusasana', then 'Apaddharma', then 'Mokshadharma'. Those that
follow are called respectively 'Suka-prasna-abhigamana',
'Brahma-prasnanusana', the origin of 'Durvasa', the disputations with
Maya. The next is to be known as 'Anusasanika'. Then the ascension of
Bhishma to heaven. Then the horse-sacrifice, which when read purgeth all
sins away. The next must be known as the 'Anugita' in which are words of
spiritual philosophy. Those that follow are called 'Asramvasa',
'Puttradarshana' (meeting with the spirits of the deceased sons), and the
arrival of Narada. The next is called 'Mausala' which abounds with
terrible and cruel incidents. Then comes 'Mahaprasthanika' and ascension
to heaven. Then comes the Purana which is called Khilvansa. In this last
are contained 'Vishnuparva', Vishnu's frolics and feats as a child, the
destruction of 'Kansa', and lastly, the very wonderful 'Bhavishyaparva'
(in which there are prophecies regarding the future).

The high-souled Vyasa composed these hundred parvas of which the above is
only an abridgement: having distributed them into eighteen, the son of
Suta recited them consecutively in the forest of Naimisha as follows:

'In the Adi parva are contained Paushya, Pauloma, Astika, Adivansavatara,
Samva, the burning of the house of lac, the slaying of Hidimba, the
destruction of the Asura Vaka, Chitraratha, the Swayamvara of Draupadi,
her marriage after the overthrow of rivals in war, the arrival of Vidura,
the restoration, Arjuna's exile, the abduction of Subhadra, the gift and
receipt of the marriage dower, the burning of the Khandava forest, and
the meeting with (the Asura-architect) Maya. The Paushya parva treats of
the greatness of Utanka, and the Pauloma, of the sons of Bhrigu. The
Astika describes the birth of Garuda and of the Nagas (snakes), the
churning of the ocean, the incidents relating to the birth of the
celestial steed Uchchaihsrava, and finally, the dynasty of Bharata, as
described in the Snake-sacrifice of king Janamejaya. The Sambhava parva
narrates the birth of various kings and heroes, and that of the sage,
Krishna Dwaipayana: the partial incarnations of deities, the generation
of Danavas and Yakshas of great prowess, and serpents, Gandharvas, birds,
and of all creatures; and lastly, of the life and adventures of king
Bharata--the progenitor of the line that goes by his name--the son born
of Sakuntala in the hermitage of the ascetic Kanwa. This parva also
describes the greatness of Bhagirathi, and the births of the Vasus in the
house of Santanu and their ascension to heaven. In this parva is also
narrated the birth of Bhishma uniting in himself portions of the energies
of the other Vasus, his renunciation of royalty and adoption of the
Brahmacharya mode of life, his adherence to his vows, his protection of
Chitrangada, and after the death of Chitrangada, his protection of his
younger brother, Vichitravirya, and his placing the latter on the throne:
the birth of Dharma among men in consequence of the curse of Animondavya;
the births of Dhritarashtra and Pandu through the potency of Vyasa's
blessings (?) and also the birth of the Pandavas; the plottings of
Duryodhana to send the sons of Pandu to Varanavata, and the other dark
counsels of the sons of Dhritarashtra in regard to the Pandavas; then the
advice administered to Yudhishthira on his way by that well-wisher of the
Pandavas--Vidura--in the mlechchha language--the digging of the hole, the
burning of Purochana and the sleeping woman of the fowler caste, with her
five sons, in the house of lac; the meeting of the Pandavas in the
dreadful forest with Hidimba, and the slaying of her brother Hidimba by
Bhima of great prowess. The birth of Ghatotkacha; the meeting of the
Pandavas with Vyasa and in accordance with his advice their stay in
disguise in the house of a Brahmana in the city of Ekachakra; the
destruction of the Asura Vaka, and the amazement of the populace at the
sight; the extra-ordinary births of Krishna and Dhrishtadyumna; the
departure of the Pandavas for Panchala in obedience to the injunction of
Vyasa, and moved equally by the desire of winning the hand of Draupadi on
learning the tidings of the Swayamvara from the lips of a Brahmana;
victory of Arjuna over a Gandharva, called Angaraparna, on the banks of
the Bhagirathi, his contraction of friendship with his adversary, and his
hearing from the Gandharva the history of Tapati, Vasishtha and Aurva.
This parva treats of the journey of the Pandavas towards Panchala, the
acquisition of Draupadi in the midst of all the Rajas, by Arjuna, after
having successfully pierced the mark; and in the ensuing fight, the
defeat of Salya, Kama, and all the other crowned heads at the hands of
Bhima and Arjuna of great prowess; the ascertainment by Balarama and
Krishna, at the sight of these matchless exploits, that the heroes were
the Pandavas, and the arrival of the brothers at the house of the potter
where the Pandavas were staying; the dejection of Drupada on learning
that Draupadi was to be wedded to five husbands; the wonderful story of
the five Indras related in consequence; the extraordinary and
divinely-ordained wedding of Draupadi; the sending of Vidura by the sons
of Dhritarashtra as envoy to the Pandavas; the arrival of Vidura and his
sight to Krishna; the abode of the Pandavas in Khandava-prastha, and then
their rule over one half of the kingdom; the fixing of turns by the sons
of Pandu, in obedience to the injunction of Narada, for connubial
companionship with Krishna. In like manner hath the history of Sunda and
Upasunda been recited in this. This parva then treats of the departure of
Arjuna for the forest according to the vow, he having seen Draupadi and
Yudhishthira sitting together as he entered the chamber to take out arms
for delivering the kine of a certain Brahmana. This parva then describes
Arjuna's meeting on the way with Ulupi, the daughter of a Naga (serpent);
it then relates his visits to several sacred spots; the birth of
Vabhruvahana; the deliverance by Arjuna of the five celestial damsels who
had been turned into alligators by the imprecation of a Brahmana, the
meeting of Madhava and Arjuna on the holy spot called Prabhasa; the
carrying away of Subhadra by Arjuna, incited thereto by her brother
Krishna, in the wonderful car moving on land and water, and through
mid-air, according to the wish of the rider; the departure for
Indraprastha, with the dower; the conception in the womb of Subhadra of
that prodigy of prowess, Abhimanyu; Yajnaseni's giving birth to children;
then follows the pleasure-trip of Krishna and Arjuna to the banks of the
Jamuna and the acquisition by them of the discus and the celebrated bow
Gandiva; the burning of the forest of Khandava; the rescue of Maya by
Arjuna, and the escape of the serpent,--and the begetting of a son by
that best of Rishis, Mandapala, in the womb of the bird Sarngi. This
parva is divided by Vyasa into two hundred and twenty-seven chapters.
These two hundred and twenty-seven chapters contain eight thousand eight
hundred and eighty-four slokas.

The second is the extensive parva called Sabha or the assembly, full of
matter. The subjects of this parva are the establishment of the grand
hall by the Pandavas; their review of their retainers; the description of
the lokapalas by Narada well-acquainted with the celestial regions; the
preparations for the Rajasuya sacrifice; the destruction of Jarasandha;
the deliverance by Vasudeva of the princes confined in the mountain-pass;
the campaign of universal conquest by the Pandavas; the arrival of the
princes at the Rajasuya sacrifice with tribute; the destruction of
Sisupala on the occasion of the sacrifice, in connection with offering of
arghya; Bhimasena's ridicule of Duryodhana in the assembly; Duryodhana's
sorrow and envy at the sight of the magnificent scale on which the
arrangements had been made; the indignation of Duryodhana in consequence,
and the preparations for the game of dice; the defeat of Yudhishthira at
play by the wily Sakuni; the deliverance by Dhritarashtra of his
afflicted daughter-in-law Draupadi plunged in the sea of distress caused
by the gambling, as of a boat tossed about by the tempestuous waves. The
endeavours of Duryodhana to engage Yudhishthira again in the game; and
the exile of the defeated Yudhishthira with his brothers. These
constitute what has been called by the great Vyasa the Sabha Parva. This
parva is divided into seventh-eight sections, O best of Brahmanas, of two
thousand, five hundred and seven slokas.

Then comes the third parva called Aranyaka (relating to the forest) This
parva treats of the wending of the Pandavas to the forest and the
citizens, following the wise Yudhishthira, Yudhishthira's adoration of
the god of day; according to the injunctions of Dhaumya, to be gifted
with the power of maintaining the dependent Brahmanas with food and
drink: the creation of food through the grace of the Sun: the expulsion
by Dhritarashtra of Vidura who always spoke for his master's good;
Vidura's coming to the Pandavas and his return to Dhritarashtra at the
solicitation of the latter; the wicked Duryodhana's plottings to destroy
the forest-ranging Pandavas, being incited thereto by Karna; the
appearance of Vyasa and his dissuasion of Duryodhana bent on going to the
forest; the history of Surabhi; the arrival of Maitreya; his laying down
to Dhritarashtra the course of action; and his curse on Duryodhana;
Bhima's slaying of Kirmira in battle; the coming of the Panchalas and the
princes of the Vrishni race to Yudhishthira on hearing of his defeat at
the unfair gambling by Sakuni; Dhananjaya's allaying the wrath of
Krishna; Draupadi's lamentations before Madhava; Krishna's cheering her;
the fall of Sauva also has been here described by the Rishi; also
Krishna's bringing Subhadra with her son to Dwaraka; and Dhrishtadyumna's
bringing the son of Draupadi to Panchala; the entrance of the sons of
Pandu into the romantic Dwaita wood; conversation of Bhima, Yudhishthira,
and Draupadi; the coming of Vyasa to the Pandavas and his endowing
Yudhishthira with the power of Pratismriti; then, after the departure of
Vyasa, the removal of the Pandavas to the forest of Kamyaka; the
wanderings of Arjuna of immeasurable prowess in search of weapons; his
battle with Mahadeva in the guise of a hunter; his meeting with the
lokapalas and receipt of weapons from them; his journey to the regions of
Indra for arms and the consequent anxiety of Dhritarashtra; the wailings
and lamentations of Yudhishthira on the occasion of his meeting with the
worshipful great sage Brihadaswa. Here occurs the holy and highly
pathetic story of Nala illustrating the patience of Damayanti and the
character of Nala. Then the acquirement by Yudhishthira of the mysteries
of dice from the same great sage; then the arrival of the Rishi Lomasa
from the heavens to where the Pandavas were, and the receipt by these
high-souled dwellers in the woods of the intelligence brought by the
Rishi of their brother Arjuna staving in the heavens; then the pilgrimage
of the Pandavas to various sacred spots in accordance with the message of
Arjuna, and their attainment of great merit and virtue consequent on such
pilgrimage; then the pilgrimage of the great sage Narada to the shrine
Putasta; also the pilgrimage of the high-souled Pandavas. Here is the
deprivation of Karna of his ear-rings by Indra. Here also is recited the
sacrificial magnificence of Gaya; then the story of Agastya in which the
Rishi ate up the Asura Vatapi, and his connubial connection with
Lopamudra from the desire of offspring. Then the story of Rishyasringa
who adopted Brahmacharya mode of life from his very boyhood; then the
history of Rama of great prowess, the son of Jamadagni, in which has been
narrated the death of Kartavirya and the Haihayas; then the meeting
between the Pandavas and the Vrishnis in the sacred spot called Prabhasa;
then the story of Su-kanya in which Chyavana, the son of Bhrigu, made the
twins, Aswinis, drink, at the sacrifice of king Saryati, the Soma juice
(from which they had been excluded by the other gods), and in which
besides is shown how Chyavana himself acquired perpetual youth (as a boon
from the grateful Aswinis). Then hath been described the history of king
Mandhata; then the history of prince Jantu; and how king Somaka by
offering up his only son (Jantu) in sacrifice obtained a hundred others;
then the excellent history of the hawk and the pigeon; then the
examination of king Sivi by Indra, Agni, and Dharma; then the story of
Ashtavakra, in which occurs the disputation, at the sacrifice of Janaka,
between that Rishi and the first of logicians, Vandi, the son of Varuna;
the defeat of Vandi by the great Ashtavakra, and the release by the Rishi
of his father from the depths of the ocean. Then the story of Yavakrita,
and then that of the great Raivya: then the departure (of the Pandavas)
for Gandhamadana and their abode in the asylum called Narayana; then
Bhimasena's journey to Gandhamadana at the request of Draupadi (in search
of the sweet-scented flower). Bhima's meeting on his way, in a grove of
bananas, with Hanuman, the son of Pavana of great prowess; Bhima's bath
in the tank and the destruction of the flowers therein for obtaining the
sweet-scented flower (he was in search of); his consequent battle with
the mighty Rakshasas and the Yakshas of great prowess including Hanuman;
the destruction of the Asura Jata by Bhima; the meeting (of the Pandavas)
with the royal sage Vrishaparva; their departure for the asylum of
Arshtishena and abode therein: the incitement of Bhima (to acts of
vengeance) by Draupadi. Then is narrated the ascent on the hills of
Kailasa by Bhimasena, his terrific battle with the mighty Yakshas headed
by Hanuman; then the meeting of the Pandavas with Vaisravana (Kuvera),
and the meeting with Arjuna after he had obtained for the purpose of
Yudhishthira many celestial weapons; then Arjuna's terrible encounter
with the Nivatakavachas dwelling in Hiranyaparva, and also with the
Paulomas, and the Kalakeyas; their destruction at the hands of Arjuna;
the commencement of the display of the celestial weapons by Arjuna before
Yudhishthira, the prevention of the same by Narada; the descent of the
Pandavas from Gandhamadana; the seizure of Bhima in the forest by a
mighty serpent huge as the mountain; his release from the coils of the
snake, upon Yudhishthira's answering certain questions; the return of the
Pandavas to the Kamyaka woods. Here is described the reappearance of
Vasudeva to see the mighty sons of Pandu; the arrival of Markandeya, and
various recitals, the history of Prithu the son of Vena recited by the
great Rishi; the stories of Saraswati and the Rishi Tarkhya. After these,
is the story of Matsya; other old stories recited by Markandeya; the
stories of Indradyumna and Dhundhumara; then the history of the chaste
wife; the history of Angira, the meeting and conversation of Draupadi and
Satyabhama; the return of the Pandavas to the forest of Dwaita; then the
procession to see the calves and the captivity of Duryodhana; and when
the wretch was being carried off, his rescue by Arjuna; here is
Yudhishthira's dream of the deer; then the re-entry of the Pandavas into
the Kamyaka forest, here also is the long story of Vrihidraunika. Here
also is recited the story of Durvasa; then the abduction by Jayadratha of
Draupadi from the asylum; the pursuit of the ravisher by Bhima swift as
the air and the ill-shaving of Jayadratha's crown at Bhima's hand. Here
is the long history of Rama in which is shown how Rama by his prowess
slew Ravana in battle. Here also is narrated the story of Savitri; then
Karna's deprivation by Indra of his ear-rings; then the presentation to
Karna by the gratified Indra of a Sakti (missile weapon) which had the
virtue of killing only one person against whom it might be hurled; then
the story called Aranya in which Dharma (the god of justice) gave advice
to his son (Yudhishthira); in which, besides is recited how the Pandavas
after having obtained a boon went towards the west. These are all
included in the third Parva called Aranyaka, consisting of two hundred
and sixty-nine sections. The number of slokas is eleven thousand, six
hundred and sixty-four.

"The extensive Parva that comes next is called Virata. The Pandavas
arriving at the dominions of Virata saw in a cemetery on the outskirts of
the city a large shami tree whereon they kept their weapons. Here hath
been recited their entry into the city and their stay there in disguise.
Then the slaying by Bhima of the wicked Kichaka who, senseless with lust,
had sought Draupadi; the appointment by prince Duryodhana of clever
spies; and their despatch to all sides for tracing the Pandavas; the
failure of these to discover the mighty sons of Pandu; the first seizure
of Virata's kine by the Trigartas and the terrific battle that ensued;
the capture of Virata by the enemy and his rescue by Bhimasena; the
release also of the kine by the Pandava (Bhima); the seizure of Virata's
kine again by the Kurus; the defeat in battle of all the Kurus by the
single-handed Arjuna; the release of the king's kine; the bestowal by
Virata of his daughter Uttara for Arjuna's acceptance on behalf of his
son by Subhadra--Abhimanyu--the destroyer of foes. These are the contents
of the extensive fourth Parva--the Virata. The great Rishi Vyasa has
composed in these sixty-seven sections. The number of slokas is two
thousand and fifty.

"Listen then to (the contents of) the fifth Parva which must be known as
Udyoga. While the Pandavas, desirous of victory, were residing in the
place called Upaplavya, Duryodhana and Arjuna both went at the same time
to Vasudeva, and said, "You should render us assistance in this war." The
high-souled Krishna, upon these words being uttered, replied, "O ye first
of men, a counsellor in myself who will not fight and one Akshauhini of
troops, which of these shall I give to which of you?" Blind to his own
interests, the foolish Duryodhana asked for the troops; while Arjuna
solicited Krishna as an unfighting counsellor. Then is described how,
when the king of Madra was coming for the assistance of the Pandavas,
Duryodhana, having deceived him on the way by presents and hospitality,
induced him to grant a boon and then solicited his assistance in battle;
how Salya, having passed his word to Duryodhana, went to the Pandavas and
consoled them by reciting the history of Indra's victory (over Vritra).
Then comes the despatch by the Pandavas of their Purohita (priest) to the
Kauravas. Then is described how king Dhritarashtra of great prowess,
having heard the word of the purohita of the Pandavas and the story of
Indra's victory decided upon sending his purohita and ultimately
despatched Sanjaya as envoy to the Pandavas from desire for peace. Here
hath been described the sleeplessness of Dhritarashtra from anxiety upon
hearing all about the Pandavas and their friends, Vasudeva and others. It
was on this occasion that Vidura addressed to the wise king Dhritarashtra
various counsels that were full of wisdom. It was here also that
Sanat-sujata recited to the anxious and sorrowing monarch the excellent
truths of spiritual philosophy. On the next morning Sanjaya spoke, in the
court of the King, of the identity of Vasudeva and Arjuna. It was then
that the illustrious Krishna, moved by kindness and a desire for peace,
went himself to the Kaurava capital, Hastinapura, for bringing about
peace. Then comes the rejection by prince Duryodhana of the embassy of
Krishna who had come to solicit peace for the benefit of both parties.
Here hath been recited the story of Damvodvava; then the story of the
high-souled Matuli's search for a husband for his daughter: then the
history of the great sage Galava; then the story of the training and
discipline of the son of Bidula. Then the exhibition by Krishna, before
the assembled Rajas, of his Yoga powers upon learning the evil counsels
of Duryodhana and Karna; then Krishna's taking Karna in his chariot and
his tendering to him of advice, and Karna's rejection of the same from
pride. Then the return of Krishna, the chastiser of enemies from
Hastinapura to Upaplavya, and his narration to the Pandavas of all that
had happened. It was then that those oppressors of foes, the Pandavas,
having heard all and consulted properly with each other, made every
preparation for war. Then comes the march from Hastinapura, for battle,
of foot-soldiers, horses, charioteers and elephants. Then the tale of the
troops by both parties. Then the despatch by prince Duryodhana of Uluka
as envoy to the Pandavas on the day previous to the battle. Then the tale
of charioteers of different classes. Then the story of Amba. These all
have been described in the fifth Parva called Udyoga of the Bharata,
abounding with incidents appertaining to war and peace. O ye ascetics,
the great Vyasa hath composed one hundred and eighty-six sections in this
Parva. The number of slokas also composed in this by the great Rishi is
six thousand, six hundred and ninety-eight.

"Then is recited the Bhishma Parva replete with wonderful incidents. In
this hath been narrated by Sanjaya the formation of the region known as
Jambu. Here hath been described the great depression of Yudhishthira's
army, and also a fierce fight for ten successive days. In this the
high-souled Vasudeva by reasons based on the philosophy of final release
drove away Arjuna's compunction springing from the latter's regard for
his kindred (whom he was on the eve of slaying). In this the magnanimous
Krishna, attentive to the welfare of Yudhishthira, seeing the loss
inflicted (on the Pandava army), descended swiftly from his chariot
himself and ran, with dauntless breast, his driving whip in hand, to
effect the death of Bhishma. In this, Krishna also smote with piercing
words Arjuna, the bearer of the Gandiva and the foremost in battle among
all wielders of weapons. In this, the foremost of bowmen, Arjuna, placing
Shikandin before him and piercing Bhishma with his sharpest arrows felled
him from his chariot. In this, Bhishma lay stretched on his bed of
arrows. This extensive Parva is known as the sixth in the Bharata. In
this have been composed one hundred and seventeen sections. The number of
slokas is five thousand, eight hundred and eighty-four as told by Vyasa
conversant with the Vedas.

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
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The Mahabharata

of

Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa

BOOK 17

Mahaprasthanika-parva



Translated into English Prose from the Original Sanskrit Text

by

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

[1883-1896]

Scanned and Proofed by Mantra Caitanya. Additional proofing and
formatting at sacred-texts.com, by J. B. Hare, October 2003.





1

Om! Having bowed down unto Narayana, and to Nara, the foremost of men, as
also to the goddess Sarasvati, should the word "Jaya" be uttered.

Janamejaya said: "Having heard of that encounter with iron bolts between
the heroes of the Vrishni and the Andhaka races, and having been informed
also of Krishnas ascension to Heaven, what did the Pandavas do?"

Vaishampayana said: "Having heard the particulars of the great slaughter
of the Vrishnis, the Kaurava king set his heart on leaving the world. He
addressed Arjuna, saying, O thou of great intelligence, it is Time that
cooks every creature (in his cauldron). I think that what has happened is
due to the cords of Time (with which he binds us all). It behoveth thee
also to see it.

"Thus addressed by his brother, the son of Kunti only repeated the word
Time, Time! and fully endorsed the view of his eldest brother gifted with
great intelligence. Ascertaining the resolution of Arjuna, Bhimasena and
the twins fully endorsed the words that Arjuna had said. Resolved to
retire from the world for earning merit, they brought Yuyutsu before
them. Yudhishthira made over the kingdom to the son of his uncle by his
Vaisya wife. Installing Parikshit also on their throne, as king, the
eldest brother of the Pandavas, filled with sorrow, addressed Subhadra,
saying, This son of thy son will be the king of the Kurus. The survivor
of the Yadus, Vajra, has been made a king. Parikshit will rule in
Hastinapura, while the Yadava prince, Vajra, will rule in Shakraprastha.
He should be protected by thee. Never set thy heart on unrighteousness.

"Having said these words, king Yudhishthira the just, along with his
brothers, promptly offered oblations of water unto Vasudeva of great
intelligence, as also unto his old maternal uncle and Rama and others. He
then duly performed the Sraddhas of all those deceased kinsmen of his.
The king, in honour of Hari and naming him repeatedly, fed the
Island-born Vyasa, and Narada, and Markandeya possessed of wealth of
penances, and Yajnavalkya of Bharadwajas race, with many delicious
viands. In honour of Krishna, he also gave away many jewels and gems, and
robes and clothes, and villages, and horses and cars, and female slaves
by hundreds and thousands unto foremost of Brahmanas. Summoning the
citizens. Kripa was installed as the preceptor and Parikshit was made
over to him as his disciple, O chief of Bharatas race.

"Then Yudhishthira once more summoned all his subjects. The royal sage
informed them of his intentions. The citizens and the inhabitants of the
provinces, hearing the kings words, became filled with anxiety and
disapproved of them. This should never be done, said they unto the king.
The monarch, well versed with the changes brought about by time, did not
listen to their counsels. Possessed of righteous soul, he persuaded the
people to sanction his views. He then set his heart on leaving the world.
His brothers also formed the same resolution. Then Dharmas son,
Yudhishthira, the king of the Kurus, casting off his ornaments, wore
barks of trees. Bhima and Arjuna and the twins, and Draupadi also of
great fame, similarly clad themselves in bark of trees, O king. Having
caused the preliminary rites of religion, O chief of Bharatas race, which
were to bless them in the accomplishment of their design, those foremost
of men cast off their sacred fires into the water. The ladies, beholding
the princes in that guise, wept aloud. They seemed to look as they had
looked in days before, when with Draupadi forming the sixth in number
they set out from the capital after their defeat at dice. The brothers,
however, were all very cheerful at the prospect of retirement.
Ascertaining the intentions of Yudhishthira and seeing the destruction of
the Vrishnis, no other course of action could please them then.

"The five brothers, with Draupadi forming the sixth, and a dog forming
the seventh, set out on their journey. Indeed, even thus did king
Yudhishthira depart, himself the head of a party of seven, from the city
named after the elephant. The citizen and the ladies of the royal
household followed them for some distance. None of them, however, could
venture to address the king for persuading him to give up his intention.
The denizens of the city then returned; Kripa and others stood around
Yuyutsu as their centre. Ulupi, the daughter of the Naga chief, O thou of
Kuntis race, entered the waters of Ganga. The princess Chitrangada set
out for the capital of Manipura. The other ladies who were the
grandmothers of Parikshit centered around him. Meanwhile the high-souled
Pandavas, O thou of Kurus race, and Draupadi of great fame, having
observed the preliminary fast, set out with their faces towards the east.
Setting themselves on Yoga, those high-souled ones, resolved to observe
the religion of Renunciation, traversed through various countries and
reached diverse rivers and seas. Yudhishthira, proceeded first. Behind
him was Bhima; next walked Arjuna; after him were the twins in the order
of their birth; behind them all, O foremost one of Bharatas race,
proceeded Draupadi, that first of women, possessed of great beauty, of
dark complexion, and endued with eyes resembling lotus petals. While the
Pandavas set out for the forest, a dog followed them.

"Proceeding on, those heroes reached the sea of red waters. Dhananjaya
had not cast off his celestial bow Gandiva, nor his couple of
inexhaustible quivers, actuated, O king, by the cupidity that attaches
one to things of great value. The Pandavas there beheld the deity of fire
standing before them like a hill. Closing their way, the god stood there
in his embodied form. The deity of seven flames then addressed the
Pandavas, saying, Ye heroic sons of Pandu, know me for the deity of fire.
O mighty-armed Yudhishthira, O Bhimasena that art a scorcher of foes, O
Arjuna, and ye twins of great courage, listen to what I say! Ye foremost
ones of Kurus race, I am the god of fire. The forest of Khandava was
burnt by me, through the puissance of Arjuna and of Narayana himself. Let
your brother Phalguna proceed to the woods after casting off Gandiva,
that high weapon. He has no longer any need of it. That precious discus,
which was with the high-souled Krishna, has disappeared (from the world).
When the time again comes, it will come back into his hands. This
foremost of bows, Gandiva, was procured by me from Varuna for the use of
Partha. Let it be made over to Varuna himself.

"At this, all the brothers urged Dhananjaya to do what the deity said. He
then threw into the waters (of the sea) both the bow and the couple of
inexhaustible quivers. After this, O chief of Bharatas race, the god of
the fire disappeared then and there. The heroic sons of Pandu next
proceeded with their faces turned towards the south. Then, by the
northern coast of the salt sea, those princes of Bharatas race proceeded
to the south-west. Turning next towards the west, they beheld the city of
Dwaraka covered by the ocean. Turning next to the north, those foremost
ones proceeded on. Observant of Yoga, they were desirous of making a
round of the whole Earth."



2

Vaishampayana said: "Those princes of restrained souls and devoted to
Yoga, proceeding to the north, beheld Himavat, that very large mountain.
Crossing the Himavat, they beheld a vast desert of sand. They then saw
the mighty mountain Meru, the foremost of all high-peaked mountains. As
those mighty ones were proceeding quickly, all rapt in Yoga, Yajnaseni,
falling of from Yoga, dropped down on the Earth. Beholding her fallen
down, Bhimasena of great strength addressed king Yudhishthira the just,
saying, O scorcher of foes, this princess never did any sinful act. Tell
us what the cause is for which Krishna has fallen down on the Earth!

"Yudhishthira said: O best of men, though we were all equal unto her she
had great partiality for Dhananjaya. She obtains the fruit of that
conduct today, O best of men."

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said this, that foremost one of Bharatas
race proceeded on. Of righteous soul, that foremost of men, endued with
great intelligence, went on, with mind intent on itself. Then Sahadeva of
great learning fell down on the Earth. Beholding him drop down, Bhima
addressed the king, saying, He who with great humility used to serve us
all, alas, why is that son of Madravati fallen down on the Earth?

"Yudhishthira said, He never thought anybody his equal in wisdom. It is
for that fault that this prince has fallen down.

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said this, the king proceeded, leaving
Sahadeva there. Indeed, Kuntis son Yudhishthira went on, with his
brothers and with the dog. Beholding both Krishna and the Pandava
Sahadeva fallen down, the brave Nakula, whose love for kinsmen was very
great, fell down himself. Upon the falling down of the heroic Nakula of
great personal beauty, Bhima once more addressed the king, saying, This
brother of ours who was endued with righteousness without incompleteness,
and who always obeyed our behests, this Nakula who was unrivalled for
beauty, has fallen down.

"Thus addressed by Bhimasena, Yudhishthira, said, with respect to Nakula,
these words: He was of righteous soul and the foremost of all persons
endued with intelligence. He, however, thought that there was nobody that
equalled him in beauty of person. Indeed, he regarded himself as superior
to all in that respect. It is for this that Nakula has fallen down. Know
this, O Vrikodara. What has been ordained for a person, O hero, must have
to be endured by him.

"Beholding Nakula and the others fall down, Pandus son Arjuna of white
steeds, that slayer of hostile heroes, fell down in great grief of heart.
When that foremost of men, who was endued with the energy of Shakra, had
fallen down, indeed, when that invincible hero was on the point of death,
Bhima said unto the king, I do not recollect any untruth uttered by this
high-souled one. Indeed, not even in jest did he say anything false. What
then is that for whose evil consequence this one has fallen down on the
Earth?

"Yudhishthira said, Arjuna had said that he would consume all our foes in
a single day. Proud of his heroism, he did not, however, accomplish what
he had said. Hence has he fallen down. This Phalguna disregarded all
wielders of bows. One desirous of prosperity should never indulge in such
sentiments."

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said so, the king proceeded on. Then
Bhima fell down. Having fallen down, Bhima addressed king Yudhishthira
the just, saying, O king, behold, I who am thy darling have fallen down.
For what reason have I dropped down? Tell me if thou knowest it.

"Yudhishthira said, Thou wert a great eater, and thou didst use to boast
of thy strength. Thou never didst attend, O Bhima, to the wants of others
while eating. It is for that, O Bhima, that thou hast fallen down.

"Having said these words, the mighty-armed Yudhishthira proceeded on,
without looking back. He had only one companion, the dog of which I have
repeatedly spoken to thee, that followed him now.



3

Vaishampayana said: "Then Shakra, causing the firmament and the Earth to
be filled by a loud sound, came to the son of Pritha on a car and asked
him to ascend it. Beholding his brothers fallen on the Earth, king
Yudhishthira the just said unto that deity of a 1,000 eyes these words:
My brothers have all dropped down here. They must go with me. Without
them by me I do not wish to go to Heaven, O lord of all the deities. The
delicate princess (Draupadi) deserving of every comfort, O Purandara,
should go with us. It behoveth thee to permit this.

"Shakra said, Thou shalt behold thy brothers in Heaven. They have reached
it before thee. Indeed, thou shalt see all of them there, with Krishna.
Do not yield to grief, O chief of the Bharatas. Having cast off their
human bodies they have gone there, O chief of Bharatas race. As regards
thee, it is ordained that thou shalt go thither in this very body of
thine.

"Yudhishthira said, This dog, O lord of the Past and the Present, is
exceedingly devoted to me. He should go with me. My heart is full of
compassion for him.

"Shakra said, Immortality and a condition equal to mine, O king,
prosperity extending in all directions, and high success, and all the
felicities of Heaven, thou hast won today. Do thou cast off this dog. In
this there will be no cruelty.

"Yudhishthira said, O thou of a 1,000 eyes. O thou that art of righteous
behaviour, it is exceedingly difficult for one that is of righteous
behaviour to perpetrate an act that is unrighteous. I do not desire that
union with prosperity for which I shall have to cast off one that is
devoted to me.

"Indra said, There is no place in Heaven for persons with dogs. Besides,
the (deities called) Krodhavasas take away all the merits of such
persons. Reflecting on this, act, O king Yudhishthira the just. Do thou
abandon this dog. There is no cruelty in this.

"Yudhishthira said, It has been said that the abandonment of one that is
devoted is infinitely sinful. It is equal to the sin that one incurs by
slaying a Brahmana. Hence, O great Indra, I shall not abandon this dog
today from desire of my happiness. Even this is my vow steadily pursued,
that I never give up a person that is terrified, nor one that is devoted
to me, nor one that seeks my protection, saying that he is destitute, nor
one that is afflicted, nor one that has come to me, nor one that is weak
in protecting oneself, nor one that is solicitous of life. I shall never
give up such a one till my own life is at an end.

"Indra said, Whatever gifts, or sacrifices spread out, or libations
poured on the sacred fire, are seen by a dog, are taken away by the
Krodhavasas. Do thou, therefore, abandon this dog. By abandoning this dog
thou wilt attain to the region of the deities. Having abandoned thy
brothers and Krishna, thou hast, O hero, acquired a region of felicity by
thy own deeds. Why art thou so stupefied? Thou hast renounced everything.
Why then dost thou not renounce this dog? "Yudhishthira said, This is
well known in all the worlds that there is neither friendship nor enmity
with those that are dead. When my brothers and Krishna died, I was unable
to revive them. Hence it was that I abandoned them. I did not, however,
abandon them as long as they were alive. To frighten one that has sought
protection, the slaying of a woman, the theft of what belongs to a
Brahmana, and injuring a friend, each of these four, O Shakra, is I think
equal to the abandonment of one that is devoted."

Vaishampayana continued: "Hearing these words of king Yudhishthira the
just, (the dog became transformed into) the deity of Righteousness, who,
well pleased, said these words unto him in a sweet voice fraught with
praise.

"Dharma said: Thou art well born, O king of kings, and possessed of the
intelligence and the good conduct of Pandu. Thou hast compassion for all
creatures, O Bharata, of which this is a bright example. Formerly, O son,
thou wert once examined by me in the woods of Dwaita, where thy brothers
of great prowess met with (an appearance of) death. Disregarding both thy
brothers Bhima and Arjuna, thou didst wish for the revival of Nakula from
thy desire of doing good to thy (step-) mother. On the present occasion,
thinking the dog to be devoted to thee, thou hast renounced the very car
of the celestials instead of renouncing him. Hence. O king, there is no
one in Heaven that is equal to thee. Hence, O Bharata, regions of
inexhaustible felicity are thine. Thou hast won them, O chief of the
Bharatas, and thine is a celestial and high goal."

Vaishampayana continued: "Then Dharma, and Shakra, and the Maruts, and
the Ashvinis, and other deities, and the celestial Rishis, causing
Yudhishthira to ascend on a car, proceeded to Heaven. Those beings
crowned with success and capable of going everywhere at will, rode their
respective cars. King Yudhishthira, that perpetuator of Kurus race,
riding on that car, ascended quickly, causing the entire welkin to blaze
with his effulgence. Then Narada, that foremost of all speakers, endued
with penances, and conversant with all the worlds, from amidst that
concourse of deities, said these words: All those royal sages that are
here have their achievements transcended by those of Yudhishthira.
Covering all the worlds by his fame and splendour and by his wealth of
conduct, he has attained to Heaven in his own (human) body. None else
than the son of Pandu has been heard to achieve this.

"Hearing these words of Narada, the righteous-souled king, saluting the
deities and all the royal sages there present, said, Happy or miserable,
whatever the region be that is now my brothers, I desire to proceed to. I
do not wish to go anywhere else.

"Hearing this speech of the king, the chief of the deities, Purandara,
said these words fraught with noble sense: Do thou live in this place, O
king of kings, which thou hast won by thy meritorious deeds. Why dost
thou still cherish human affections? Thou hast attained to great success,
the like of which no other man has ever been able to attain. Thy
brothers, O delighter of the Kurus, have succeeded in winning regions of
felicity. Human affections still touch thee. This is Heaven. Behold these
celestial Rishis and Siddhas who have attained to the region of the gods.

"Gifted with great intelligence, Yudhishthira answered the chief of the
deities once more, saying, O conqueror of Daityas, I venture not to dwell
anywhere separated from them. I desire to go there, where my brothers
have gone. I wish to go there where that foremost of women, Draupadi, of
ample proportions and darkish complexion and endued with great
intelligence and righteous of conduct, has gone."

The end of Mahaprasthanika-parv

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
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The Mahabharata

of

Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa

BOOK 1

ADI PARVA

Translated into English Prose from the Original Sanskrit Text

by

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

[1883-1896]

Scanned at sacred-texts.com, 2003. Proofed at Distributed Proofing,
Juliet Sutherland, Project Manager. Additional proofing and formatting at
sacred-texts.com, by J. B. Hare.



TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

The object of a translator should ever be to hold the mirror upto his
author. That being so, his chief duty is to represent so far as
practicable the manner in which his author's ideas have been expressed,
retaining if possible at the sacrifice of idiom and taste all the
peculiarities of his author's imagery and of language as well. In regard
to translations from the Sanskrit, nothing is easier than to dish up
Hindu ideas, so as to make them agreeable to English taste. But the
endeavour of the present translator has been to give in the following
pages as literal a rendering as possible of the great work of Vyasa. To
the purely English reader there is much in the following pages that will
strike as ridiculous. Those unacquainted with any language but their own
are generally very exclusive in matters of taste. Having no knowledge of
models other than what they meet with in their own tongue, the standard
they have formed of purity and taste in composition must necessarily be a
narrow one. The translator, however, would ill-discharge his duty, if for
the sake of avoiding ridicule, he sacrificed fidelity to the original. He
must represent his author as he is, not as he should be to please the
narrow taste of those entirely unacquainted with him. Mr. Pickford, in
the preface to his English translation of the Mahavira Charita, ably
defends a close adherence to the original even at the sacrifice of idiom
and taste against the claims of what has been called 'Free Translation,'
which means dressing the author in an outlandish garb to please those to
whom he is introduced.

In the preface to his classical translation of Bhartrihari's Niti Satakam
and Vairagya Satakam, Mr. C.H. Tawney says, "I am sensible that in the
present attempt I have retained much local colouring. For instance, the
ideas of worshipping the feet of a god of great men, though it frequently
occurs in Indian literature, will undoubtedly move the laughter of
Englishmen unacquainted with Sanskrit, especially if they happen to
belong to that class of readers who revel their attention on the
accidental and remain blind to the essential. But a certain measure of
fidelity to the original even at the risk of making oneself ridiculous,
is better than the studied dishonesty which characterises so many
translations of oriental poets."

We fully subscribe to the above although, it must be observed, the
censure conveyed to the class of translators last indicated is rather
undeserved, there being nothing like a 'studied dishonesty' in their
efforts which proceed only from a mistaken view of their duties and as
such betray only an error of the head but not of the heart. More than
twelve years ago when Babu Pratapa Chandra Roy, with Babu Durga Charan
Banerjee, went to my retreat at Seebpore, for engaging me to translate
the Mahabharata into English, I was amazed with the grandeur of the
scheme. My first question to him was,--whence was the money to come,
supposing my competence for the task. Pratapa then unfolded to me the
details of his plan, the hopes he could legitimately cherish of
assistance from different quarters. He was full of enthusiasm. He showed
me Dr. Rost's letter, which, he said, had suggested to him the
undertaking. I had known Babu Durga Charan for many years and I had the
highest opinion of his scholarship and practical good sense. When he
warmly took Pratapa's side for convincing me of the practicability of the
scheme, I listened to him patiently. The two were for completing all
arrangements with me the very day. To this I did not agree. I took a
week's time to consider. I consulted some of my literary friends,
foremost among whom was the late lamented Dr. Sambhu C. Mookherjee. The
latter, I found, had been waited upon by Pratapa. Dr. Mookherjee spoke to
me of Pratapa as a man of indomitable energy and perseverance. The result
of my conference with Dr. Mookherjee was that I wrote to Pratapa asking
him to see me again. In this second interview estimates were drawn up,
and everything was arranged as far as my portion of the work was
concerned. My friend left with me a specimen of translation which he had
received from Professor Max Muller. This I began to study, carefully
comparing it sentence by sentence with the original. About its literal
character there could be no doubt, but it had no flow and, therefore,
could not be perused with pleasure by the general reader. The translation
had been executed thirty years ago by a young German friend of the great
Pundit. I had to touch up every sentence. This I did without at all
impairing faithfulness to the original. My first 'copy' was set up in
type and a dozen sheets were struck off. These were submitted to the
judgment of a number of eminent writers, European and native. All of
them, I was glad to see, approved of the specimen, and then the task of
translating the Mahabharata into English seriously began.

Before, however, the first fasciculus could be issued, the question as to
whether the authorship of the translation should be publicly owned,
arose. Babu Pratapa Chandra Roy was against anonymity. I was for it. The
reasons I adduced were chiefly founded upon the impossibility of one
person translating the whole of the gigantic work. Notwithstanding my
resolve to discharge to the fullest extent the duty that I took up, I
might not live to carry it out. It would take many years before the end
could be reached. Other circumstances than death might arise in
consequence of which my connection with the work might cease. It could
not be desirable to issue successive fasciculus with the names of a
succession of translators appearing on the title pages. These and other
considerations convinced my friend that, after all, my view was correct.
It was, accordingly, resolved to withhold the name of the translator. As
a compromise, however, between the two views, it was resolved to issue
the first fasciculus with two prefaces, one over the signature of the
publisher and the other headed--'Translator's Preface.' This, it was
supposed, would effectually guard against misconceptions of every kind.
No careful reader would then confound the publisher with the author.

Although this plan was adopted, yet before a fourth of the task had been
accomplished, an influential Indian journal came down upon poor Pratapa
Chandra Roy and accused him openly of being a party to a great literary
imposture, viz., of posing before the world as the translator of Vyasa's
work when, in fact, he was only the publisher. The charge came upon my
friend as a surprise, especially as he had never made a secret of the
authorship in his correspondence with Oriental scholars in every part of
the world. He promptly wrote to the journal in question, explaining the
reasons there were for anonymity, and pointing to the two prefaces with
which the first fasciculus had been given to the world. The editor
readily admitted his mistake and made a satisfactory apology.

Now that the translation has been completed, there can no longer be any
reason for withholding the name of the translator. The entire translation
is practically the work of one hand. In portions of the Adi and the Sabha
Parvas, I was assisted by Babu Charu Charan Mookerjee. About four forms
of the Sabha Parva were done by Professor Krishna Kamal Bhattacharya, and
about half a fasciculus during my illness, was done by another hand. I
should however state that before passing to the printer the copy received
from these gentlemen I carefully compared every sentence with the
original, making such alterations as were needed for securing a
uniformity of style with the rest of the work.

I should here observe that in rendering the Mahabharata into English I
have derived very little aid from the three Bengali versions that are
supposed to have been executed with care. Every one of these is full of
inaccuracies and blunders of every description. The Santi in particular
which is by far the most difficult of the eighteen Parvas, has been made
a mess of by the Pundits that attacked it. Hundreds of ridiculous
blunders can be pointed out in both the Rajadharma and the Mokshadharma
sections. Some of these I have pointed out in footnotes.

I cannot lay claim to infallibility. There are verses in the Mahabharata
that are exceedingly difficult to construe. I have derived much aid from
the great commentator Nilakantha. I know that Nilakantha's authority is
not incapable of being challenged. But when it is remembered that the
interpretations given by Nilakantha came down to him from preceptors of
olden days, one should think twice before rejecting Nilakantha as a guide.

About the readings I have adopted, I should say that as regards the first
half of the work, I have generally adhered to the Bengal texts; as
regards the latter half, to the printed Bombay edition. Sometimes
individual sections, as occurring in the Bengal editions, differ widely,
in respect of the order of the verses, from the corresponding ones in the
Bombay edition. In such cases I have adhered to the Bengal texts,
convinced that the sequence of ideas has been better preserved in the
Bengal editions than the Bombay one.

I should express my particular obligations to Pundit Ram Nath Tarkaratna,
the author of 'Vasudeva Vijayam' and other poems, Pundit Shyama Charan
Kaviratna, the learned editor of Kavyaprakasha with the commentary of
Professor Mahesh Chandra Nayaratna, and Babu Aghore Nath Banerjee, the
manager of the Bharata Karyalaya. All these scholars were my referees on
all points of difficulty. Pundit Ram Nath's solid scholarship is known to
them that have come in contact with him. I never referred to him a
difficulty that he could not clear up. Unfortunately, he was not always
at hand to consult. Pundit Shyama Charan Kaviratna, during my residence
at Seebpore, assisted me in going over the Mokshadharma sections of the
Santi Parva. Unostentatious in the extreme, Kaviratna is truly the type
of a learned Brahman of ancient India. Babu Aghore Nath Banerjee also has
from time to time, rendered me valuable assistance in clearing my
difficulties.

Gigantic as the work is, it would have been exceedingly difficult for me
to go on with it if I had not been encouraged by Sir Stuart Bayley, Sir
Auckland Colvin, Sir Alfred Croft, and among Oriental scholars, by the
late lamented Dr. Reinhold Rost, and Mons. A. Barth of Paris. All these
eminent men know from the beginning that the translation was proceeding
from my pen. Notwithstanding the enthusiasm, with which my poor friend,
Pratapa Chandra Roy, always endeavoured to fill me. I am sure my energies
would have flagged and patience exhausted but for the encouraging words
which I always received from these patrons and friends of the enterprise.

Lastly, I should name my literary chief and friend, Dr. Sambhu C.
Mookherjee. The kind interest he took in my labours, the repeated
exhortations he addressed to me inculcating patience, the care with which
he read every fasciculus as it came out, marking all those passages which
threw light upon topics of antiquarian interest, and the words of praise
he uttered when any expression particularly happy met his eyes, served to
stimulate me more than anything else in going on with a task that
sometimes seemed to me endless.

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

Calcutta



THE MAHABHARATA

ADI PARVA

SECTION I

Om! Having bowed down to Narayana and Nara, the most exalted male being,
and also to the goddess Saraswati, must the word Jaya be uttered.

Ugrasrava, the son of Lomaharshana, surnamed Sauti, well-versed in the
Puranas, bending with humility, one day approached the great sages of
rigid vows, sitting at their ease, who had attended the twelve years'
sacrifice of Saunaka, surnamed Kulapati, in the forest of Naimisha. Those
ascetics, wishing to hear his wonderful narrations, presently began to
address him who had thus arrived at that recluse abode of the inhabitants
of the forest of Naimisha. Having been entertained with due respect by
those holy men, he saluted those Munis (sages) with joined palms, even
all of them, and inquired about the progress of their asceticism. Then
all the ascetics being again seated, the son of Lomaharshana humbly
occupied the seat that was assigned to him. Seeing that he was
comfortably seated, and recovered from fatigue, one of the Rishis
beginning the conversation, asked him, 'Whence comest thou, O lotus-eyed
Sauti, and where hast thou spent the time? Tell me, who ask thee, in
detail.'

Accomplished in speech, Sauti, thus questioned, gave in the midst of that
big assemblage of contemplative Munis a full and proper answer in words
consonant with their mode of life.

"Sauti said, 'Having heard the diverse sacred and wonderful stories which
were composed in his Mahabharata by Krishna-Dwaipayana, and which were
recited in full by Vaisampayana at the Snake-sacrifice of the high-souled
royal sage Janamejaya and in the presence also of that chief of Princes,
the son of Parikshit, and having wandered about, visiting many sacred
waters and holy shrines, I journeyed to the country venerated by the
Dwijas (twice-born) and called Samantapanchaka where formerly was fought
the battle between the children of Kuru and Pandu, and all the chiefs of
the land ranged on either side. Thence, anxious to see you, I am come
into your presence. Ye reverend sages, all of whom are to me as Brahma;
ye greatly blessed who shine in this place of sacrifice with the
splendour of the solar fire: ye who have concluded the silent meditations
and have fed the holy fire; and yet who are sitting--without care, what,
O ye Dwijas (twice-born), shall I repeat, shall I recount the sacred
stories collected in the Puranas containing precepts of religious duty
and of worldly profit, or the acts of illustrious saints and sovereigns
of mankind?"

"The Rishi replied, 'The Purana, first promulgated by the great Rishi
Dwaipayana, and which after having been heard both by the gods and the
Brahmarshis was highly esteemed, being the most eminent narrative that
exists, diversified both in diction and division, possessing subtile
meanings logically combined, and gleaned from the Vedas, is a sacred
work. Composed in elegant language, it includeth the subjects of other
books. It is elucidated by other Shastras, and comprehendeth the sense of
the four Vedas. We are desirous of hearing that history also called
Bharata, the holy composition of the wonderful Vyasa, which dispelleth
the fear of evil, just as it was cheerfully recited by the Rishi
Vaisampayana, under the direction of Dwaipayana himself, at the
snake-sacrifice of Raja Janamejaya?'

"Sauti then said, 'Having bowed down to the primordial being Isana, to
whom multitudes make offerings, and who is adored by the multitude; who
is the true incorruptible one, Brahma, perceptible, imperceptible,
eternal; who is both a non-existing and an existing-non-existing being;
who is the universe and also distinct from the existing and non-existing
universe; who is the creator of high and low; the ancient, exalted,
inexhaustible one; who is Vishnu, beneficent and the beneficence itself,
worthy of all preference, pure and immaculate; who is Hari, the ruler of
the faculties, the guide of all things moveable and immoveable; I will
declare the sacred thoughts of the illustrious sage Vyasa, of marvellous
deeds and worshipped here by all. Some bards have already published this
history, some are now teaching it, and others, in like manner, will
hereafter promulgate it upon the earth. It is a great source of
knowledge, established throughout the three regions of the world. It is
possessed by the twice-born both in detailed and compendious forms. It is
the delight of the learned for being embellished with elegant
expressions, conversations human and divine, and a variety of poetical
measures.

In this world, when it was destitute of brightness and light, and
enveloped all around in total darkness, there came into being, as the
primal cause of creation, a mighty egg, the one inexhaustible seed of all
created beings. It is called Mahadivya, and was formed at the beginning
of the Yuga, in which we are told, was the true light Brahma, the eternal
one, the wonderful and inconceivable being present alike in all places;
the invisible and subtile cause, whose nature partaketh of entity and
non-entity. From this egg came out the lord Pitamaha Brahma, the one only
Prajapati; with Suraguru and Sthanu. Then appeared the twenty-one
Prajapatis, viz., Manu, Vasishtha and Parameshthi; ten Prachetas, Daksha,
and the seven sons of Daksha. Then appeared the man of inconceivable
nature whom all the Rishis know and so the Viswe-devas, the Adityas, the
Vasus, and the twin Aswins; the Yakshas, the Sadhyas, the Pisachas, the
Guhyakas, and the Pitris. After these were produced the wise and most
holy Brahmarshis, and the numerous Rajarshis distinguished by every noble
quality. So the water, the heavens, the earth, the air, the sky, the
points of the heavens, the years, the seasons, the months, the
fortnights, called Pakshas, with day and night in due succession. And
thus were produced all things which are known to mankind.

And what is seen in the universe, whether animate or inanimate, of
created things, will at the end of the world, and after the expiration of
the Yuga, be again confounded. And, at the commencement of other Yugas,
all things will be renovated, and, like the various fruits of the earth,
succeed each other in the due order of their seasons. Thus continueth
perpetually to revolve in the world, without beginning and without end,
this wheel which causeth the destruction of all things.

The generation of Devas, in brief, was thirty-three thousand,
thirty-three hundred and thirty-three. The sons of Div were Brihadbhanu,
Chakshus, Atma Vibhavasu, Savita, Richika, Arka, Bhanu, Asavaha, and
Ravi. Of these Vivaswans of old, Mahya was the youngest whose son was
Deva-vrata. The latter had for his son, Su-vrata who, we learn, had three
sons,--Dasa-jyoti, Sata-jyoti, and Sahasra-jyoti, each of them producing
numerous offspring. The illustrious Dasa-jyoti had ten thousand,
Sata-jyoti ten times that number, and Sahasra-jyoti ten times the number
of Sata-jyoti's offspring. From these are descended the family of the
Kurus, of the Yadus, and of Bharata; the family of Yayati and of
Ikshwaku; also of all the Rajarshis. Numerous also were the generations
produced, and very abundant were the creatures and their places of abode.
The mystery which is threefold--the Vedas, Yoga, and Vijnana Dharma,
Artha, and Kama--also various books upon the subject of Dharma, Artha,
and Kama; also rules for the conduct of mankind; also histories and
discourses with various srutis; all of which having been seen by the
Rishi Vyasa are here in due order mentioned as a specimen of the book.

The Rishi Vyasa published this mass of knowledge in both a detailed and
an abridged form. It is the wish of the learned in the world to possess
the details and the abridgement. Some read the Bharata beginning with the
initial mantra (invocation), others with the story of Astika, others with
Uparichara, while some Brahmanas study the whole. Men of learning display
their various knowledge of the institutes in commenting on the
composition. Some are skilful in explaining it, while others, in
remembering its contents.

The son of Satyavati having, by penance and meditation, analysed the
eternal Veda, afterwards composed this holy history, when that learned
Brahmarshi of strict vows, the noble Dwaipayana Vyasa, offspring of
Parasara, had finished this greatest of narrations, he began to consider
how he might teach it to his disciples. And the possessor of the six
attributes, Brahma, the world's preceptor, knowing of the anxiety of the
Rishi Dwaipayana, came in person to the place where the latter was, for
gratifying the saint, and benefiting the people. And when Vyasa,
surrounded by all the tribes of Munis, saw him, he was surprised; and,
standing with joined palms, he bowed and ordered a seat to be brought.
And Vyasa having gone round him who is called Hiranyagarbha seated on
that distinguished seat stood near it; and being commanded by Brahma
Parameshthi, he sat down near the seat, full of affection and smiling in
joy. Then the greatly glorious Vyasa, addressing Brahma Parameshthi,
said, "O divine Brahma, by me a poem hath been composed which is greatly
respected. The mystery of the Veda, and what other subjects have been
explained by me; the various rituals of the Upanishads with the Angas;
the compilation of the Puranas and history formed by me and named after
the three divisions of time, past, present, and future; the determination
of the nature of decay, fear, disease, existence, and non-existence, a
description of creeds and of the various modes of life; rule for the four
castes, and the import of all the Puranas; an account of asceticism and
of the duties of a religious student; the dimensions of the sun and moon,
the planets, constellations, and stars, together with the duration of the
four ages; the Rik, Sama and Yajur Vedas; also the Adhyatma; the sciences
called Nyaya, Orthoephy and Treatment of diseases; charity and
Pasupatadharma; birth celestial and human, for particular purposes; also
a description of places of pilgrimage and other holy places of rivers,
mountains, forests, the ocean, of heavenly cities and the kalpas; the art
of war; the different kinds of nations and languages: the nature of the
manners of the people; and the all-pervading spirit;--all these have been
represented. But, after all, no writer of this work is to be found on
earth.'

"Brahma said. 'I esteem thee for thy knowledge of divine mysteries,
before the whole body of celebrated Munis distinguished for the sanctity
of their lives. I know thou hast revealed the divine word, even from its
first utterance, in the language of truth. Thou hast called thy present
work a poem, wherefore it shall be a poem. There shall be no poets whose
works may equal the descriptions of this poem, even, as the three other
modes called Asrama are ever unequal in merit to the domestic Asrama. Let
Ganesa be thought of, O Muni, for the purpose of writing the poem.'

"Sauti said, 'Brahma having thus spoken to Vyasa, retired to his own
abode. Then Vyasa began to call to mind Ganesa. And Ganesa, obviator of
obstacles, ready to fulfil the desires of his votaries, was no sooner
thought of, than he repaired to the place where Vyasa was seated. And
when he had been saluted, and was seated, Vyasa addressed him thus, 'O
guide of the Ganas! be thou the writer of the Bharata which I have formed
in my imagination, and which I am about to repeat."

"Ganesa, upon hearing this address, thus answered, 'I will become the
writer of thy work, provided my pen do not for a moment cease writing."
And Vyasa said unto that divinity, 'Wherever there be anything thou dost
not comprehend, cease to continue writing.' Ganesa having signified his
assent, by repeating the word Om! proceeded to write; and Vyasa began;
and by way of diversion, he knit the knots of composition exceeding
close; by doing which, he dictated this work according to his engagement.

I am (continued Sauti) acquainted with eight thousand and eight hundred
verses, and so is Suka, and perhaps Sanjaya. From the mysteriousness of
their meaning, O Muni, no one is able, to this day, to penetrate those
closely knit difficult slokas. Even the omniscient Ganesa took a moment
to consider; while Vyasa, however, continued to compose other verses in
great abundance.

The wisdom of this work, like unto an instrument of applying collyrium,
hath opened the eyes of the inquisitive world blinded by the darkness of
ignorance. As the sun dispelleth the darkness, so doth the Bharata by its
discourses on religion, profit, pleasure and final release, dispel the
ignorance of men. As the full-moon by its mild light expandeth the buds
of the water-lily, so this Purana, by exposing the light of the Sruti
hath expanded the human intellect. By the lamp of history, which
destroyeth the darkness of ignorance, the whole mansion of nature is
properly and completely illuminated.

This work is a tree, of which the chapter of contents is the seed; the
divisions called Pauloma and Astika are the root; the part called
Sambhava is the trunk; the books called Sabha and Aranya are the roosting
perches; the books called Arani is the knitting knots; the books called
Virata and Udyoga the pith; the book named Bhishma, the main branch; the
book called Drona, the leaves; the book called Karna, the fair flowers;
the book named Salya, their sweet smell; the books entitled Stri and
Aishika, the refreshing shade; the book called Santi, the mighty fruit;
the book called Aswamedha, the immortal sap; the denominated
Asramavasika, the spot where it groweth; and the book called Mausala, is
an epitome of the Vedas and held in great respect by the virtuous
Brahmanas. The tree of the Bharata, inexhaustible to mankind as the
clouds, shall be as a source of livelihood to all distinguished poets."

"Sauti continued, 'I will now speak of the undying flowery and fruitful
productions of this tree, possessed of pure and pleasant taste, and not
to be destroyed even by the immortals. Formerly, the spirited and
virtuous Krishna-Dwaipayana, by the injunctions of Bhishma, the wise son
of Ganga and of his own mother, became the father of three boys who were
like the three fires by the two wives of Vichitra-virya; and having thus
raised up Dhritarashtra, Pandu and Vidura, he returned to his recluse
abode to prosecute his religious exercise.

It was not till after these were born, grown up, and departed on the
supreme journey, that the great Rishi Vyasa published the Bharata in this
region of mankind; when being solicited by Janamejaya and thousands of
Brahmanas, he instructed his disciple Vaisampayana, who was seated near
him; and he, sitting together with the Sadasyas, recited the Bharata,
during the intervals of the ceremonies of the sacrifice, being repeatedly
urged to proceed.

Vyasa hath fully represented the greatness of the house of Kuru, the
virtuous principles of Gandhari, the wisdom of Vidura, and the constancy
of Kunti. The noble Rishi hath also described the divinity of Vasudeva,
the rectitude of the sons of Pandu, and the evil practices of the sons
and partisans of Dhritarashtra.

Vyasa executed the compilation of the Bharata, exclusive of the episodes
originally in twenty-four thousand verses; and so much only is called by
the learned as the Bharata. Afterwards, he composed an epitome in one
hundred and fifty verses, consisting of the introduction with the chapter
of contents. This he first taught to his son Suka; and afterwards he gave
it to others of his disciples who were possessed of the same
qualifications. After that he executed another compilation, consisting of
six hundred thousand verses. Of those, thirty hundred thousand are known
in the world of the Devas; fifteen hundred thousand in the world of the
Pitris: fourteen hundred thousand among the Gandharvas, and one hundred
thousand in the regions of mankind. Narada recited them to the Devas,
Devala to the Pitris, and Suka published them to the Gandharvas, Yakshas,
and Rakshasas: and in this world they were recited by Vaisampayana, one
of the disciples of Vyasa, a man of just principles and the first among
all those acquainted with the Vedas. Know that I, Sauti, have also
repeated one hundred thousand verses.

Yudhishthira is a vast tree, formed of religion and virtue; Arjuna is its
trunk; Bhimasena, its branches; the two sons of Madri are its full-grown
fruit and flowers; and its roots are Krishna, Brahma, and the Brahmanas.

Pandu, after having subdued many countries by his wisdom and prowess,
took up his abode with the Munis in a certain forest as a sportsman,
where he brought upon himself a very severe misfortune for having killed
a stag coupling with its mate, which served as a warning for the conduct
of the princes of his house as long as they lived. Their mothers, in
order that the ordinances of the law might be fulfilled, admitted as
substitutes to their embraces the gods Dharma, Vayu, Sakra, and the
divinities the twin Aswins. And when their offspring grew up, under the
care of their two mothers, in the society of ascetics, in the midst of
sacred groves and holy recluse-abodes of religious men, they were
conducted by Rishis into the presence of Dhritarashtra and his sons,
following as students in the habit of Brahmacharis, having their hair
tied in knots on their heads. 'These our pupils', said they, 'are as your
sons, your brothers, and your friends; they are Pandavas.' Saying this,
the Munis disappeared.

When the Kauravas saw them introduced as the sons of Pandu, the
distinguished class of citizens shouted exceedingly for joy. Some,
however, said, they were not the sons of Pandu; others said, they were;
while a few asked how they could be his offspring, seeing he had been so
long dead. Still on all sides voices were heard crying, 'They are on all
accounts Whalecum! Through divine Providence we behold the family of
Pandu! Let their Whalecum be proclaimed!' As these acclamations ceased,
the plaudits of invisible spirits, causing every point of the heavens to
resound, were tremendous. There were showers of sweet-scented flowers,
and the sound of shells and kettle-drums. Such were the wonders that
happened on the arrival of the young princes. The joyful noise of all the
citizens, in expression of their satisfaction on the occasion, was so
great that it reached the very heavens in magnifying plaudits.

Having studied the whole of the Vedas and sundry other shastras, the
Pandavas resided there, respected by all and without apprehension from
any one.

The principal men were pleased with the purity of Yudhishthira, the
courage of Arjuna, the submissive attention of Kunti to her superiors,
and the humility of the twins, Nakula and Sahadeva; and all the people
rejoiced in their heroic virtues.

After a while, Arjuna obtained the virgin Krishna at the swayamvara, in
the midst of a concourse of Rajas, by performing a very difficult feat of
archery. And from this time he became very much respected in this world
among all bowmen; and in fields of battle also, like the sun, he was hard
to behold by foe-men. And having vanquished all the neighbouring princes
and every considerable tribe, he accomplished all that was necessary for
the Raja (his eldest brother) to perform the great sacrifice called
Rajasuya.

Yudhishthira, after having, through the wise counsels of Vasudeva and by
the valour of Bhimasena and Arjuna, slain Jarasandha (the king of
Magadha) and the proud Chaidya, acquired the right to perform the grand
sacrifice of Rajasuya abounding in provisions and offering and fraught
with transcendent merits. And Duryodhana came to this sacrifice; and when
he beheld the vast wealth of the Pandavas scattered all around, the
offerings, the precious stones, gold and jewels; the wealth in cows,
elephants, and horses; the curious textures, garments, and mantles; the
precious shawls and furs and carpets made of the skin of the Ranku; he
was filled with envy and became exceedingly displeased. And when he
beheld the hall of assembly elegantly constructed by Maya (the Asura
architect) after the fashion of a celestial court, he was inflamed with
rage. And having started in confusion at certain architectural deceptions
within this building, he was derided by Bhimasena in the presence of
Vasudeva, like one of mean descent.

And it was represented to Dhritarashtra that his son, while partaking of
various objects of enjoyment and diverse precious things, was becoming
meagre, wan, and pale. And Dhritarashtra, some time after, out of
affection for his son, gave his consent to their playing (with the
Pandavas) at dice. And Vasudeva coming to know of this, became
exceedingly wroth. And being dissatisfied, he did nothing to prevent the
disputes, but overlooked the gaming and sundry other horried
unjustifiable transactions arising therefrom: and in spite of Vidura,
Bhishma, Drona, and Kripa, the son of Saradwan, he made the Kshatriyas
kill each other in the terrific war that ensued.'

"And Dhritarashtra hearing the ill news of the success of the Pandavas
and recollecting the resolutions of Duryodhana, Kama, and Sakuni,
pondered for a while and addressed to Sanjaya the following speech:--

'Attend, O Sanjaya, to all I am about to say, and it will not become thee
to treat me with contempt. Thou art well-versed in the shastras,
intelligent and endowed with wisdom. My inclination was never to war, not
did I delight in the destruction of my race. I made no distinction
between my own children and the children of Pandu. My own sons were prone
to wilfulness and despised me because I am old. Blind as I am, because of
my miserable plight and through paternal affection, I bore it all. I was
foolish alter the thoughtless Duryodhana ever growing in folly. Having
been a spectator of the riches of the mighty sons of Pandu, my son was
derided for his awkwardness while ascending the hall. Unable to bear it
all and unable himself to overcome the sons of Pandu in the field, and
though a soldier, unwilling yet to obtain good fortune by his own
exertion, with the help of the king of Gandhara he concerted an unfair
game at dice.

'Hear, O Sanjaya, all that happened thereupon and came to my knowledge.
And when thou hast heard all I say, recollecting everything as it fell
out, thou shall then know me for one with a prophetic eye. When I heard
that Arjuna, having bent the bow, had pierced the curious mark and
brought it down to the ground, and bore away in triumph the maiden
Krishna, in the sight of the assembled princes, then, O Sanjaya I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Subhadra of the race of Madhu had,
after forcible seizure been married by Arjuna in the city of Dwaraka, and
that the two heroes of the race of Vrishni (Krishna and Balarama the
brothers of Subhadra) without resenting it had entered Indraprastha as
friends, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
Arjuna, by his celestial arrow preventing the downpour by Indra the king
of the gods, had gratified Agni by making over to him the forest of
Khandava, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
the five Pandavas with their mother Kunti had escaped from the house of
lac, and that Vidura was engaged in the accomplishment of their designs,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Arjuna,
after having pierced the mark in the arena had won Draupadi, and that the
brave Panchalas had joined the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Jarasandha, the foremost of the royal line
of Magadha, and blazing in the midst of the Kshatriyas, had been slain by
Bhima with his bare arms alone, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that in their general campaign the sons of Pandu
had conquered the chiefs of the land and performed the grand sacrifice of
the Rajasuya, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Draupadi, her voice choked with tears and heart full of agony, in
the season of impurity and with but one raiment on, had been dragged into
court and though she had protectors, she had been treated as if she had
none, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
wicked wretch Duhsasana, was striving to strip her of that single
garment, had only drawn from her person a large heap of cloth without
being able to arrive at its end, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, beaten by Saubala at the game of
dice and deprived of his kingdom as a consequence thereof, had still been
attended upon by his brothers of incomparable prowess, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that the virtuous Pandavas weeping
with affliction had followed their elder brother to the wilderness and
exerted themselves variously for the mitigation of his discomforts, then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.

'When I heard that Yudhishthira had been followed into the wilderness by
Snatakas and noble-minded Brahmanas who live upon alms, then, O Sanjaya,
I had no hope of success. When I heard that Arjuna, having, in combat,
pleased the god of gods, Tryambaka (the three-eyed) in the disguise of a
hunter, obtained the great weapon Pasupata, then O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that the just and renowned Arjuna after having
been to the celestial regions, had there obtained celestial weapons from
Indra himself then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that afterwards Arjuna had vanquished the Kalakeyas and the Paulomas
proud with the boon they had obtained and which had rendered them
invulnerable even to the celestials, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Arjuna, the chastiser of enemies, having gone
to the regions of Indra for the destruction of the Asuras, had returned
thence successful, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Bhima and the other sons of Pritha (Kunti) accompanied by
Vaisravana had arrived at that country which is inaccessible to man then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that my sons, guided by
the counsels of Karna, while on their journey of Ghoshayatra, had been
taken prisoners by the Gandharvas and were set free by Arjuna, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Dharma (the god of
justice) having come under the form of a Yaksha had proposed certain
questions to Yudhishthira then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When
I heard that my sons had failed to discover the Pandavas under their
disguise while residing with Draupadi in the dominions of Virata, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the principal men of
my side had all been vanquished by the noble Arjuna with a single chariot
while residing in the dominions of Virata, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Vasudeva of the race of Madhu, who covered
this whole earth by one foot, was heartily interested in the welfare of
the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that the king of Matsya, had offered his virtuous daughter Uttara to
Arjuna and that Arjuna had accepted her for his son, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, beaten at dice,
deprived of wealth, exiled and separated from his connections, had
assembled yet an army of seven Akshauhinis, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard Narada, declare that Krishna and Arjuna
were Nara and Narayana and he (Narada) had seen them together in the
regions of Brahma, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Krishna, anxious to bring about peace, for the welfare of
mankind had repaired to the Kurus, and went away without having been able
to effect his purpose, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Kama and Duryodhana resolved upon imprisoning Krishna
displayed in himself the whole universe, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. Then I heard that at the time of his departure, Pritha
(Kunti) standing, full of sorrow, near his chariot received consolation
from Krishna, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Vasudeva and Bhishma the son of Santanu were the counsellors of the
Pandavas and Drona the son of Bharadwaja pronounced blessings on them,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When Kama said unto Bhishma--I
will not fight when thou art fighting--and, quitting the army, went away,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Vasudeva and
Arjuna and the bow Gandiva of immeasurable prowess, these three of
dreadful energy had come together, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that upon Arjuna having been seized with
compunction on his chariot and ready to sink, Krishna showed him all the
worlds within his body, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Bhishma, the desolator of foes, killing ten thousand
charioteers every day in the field of battle, had not slain any amongst
the Pandavas then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
Bhishma, the righteous son of Ganga, had himself indicated the means of
his defeat in the field of battle and that the same were accomplished by
the Pandavas with joyfulness, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.
When I heard that Arjuna, having placed Sikhandin before himself in his
chariot, had wounded Bhishma of infinite courage and invincible in
battle, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
aged hero Bhishma, having reduced the numbers of the race of shomaka to a
few, overcome with various wounds was lying on a bed of arrows, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that upon Bhishma's lying
on the ground with thirst for water, Arjuna, being requested, had pierced
the ground and allayed his thirst, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When Bayu together with Indra and Suryya united as allies for
the success of the sons of Kunti, and the beasts of prey (by their
inauspicious presence) were putting us in fear, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When the wonderful warrior Drona, displaying various
modes of fight in the field, did not slay any of the superior Pandavas,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
Maharatha Sansaptakas of our army appointed for the overthrow of Arjuna
were all slain by Arjuna himself, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that our disposition of forces, impenetrable by
others, and defended by Bharadwaja himself well-armed, had been singly
forced and entered by the brave son of Subhadra, then, O Sanjaya, I had
no hope of success. When I heard that our Maharathas, unable to overcome
Arjuna, with jubilant faces after having jointly surrounded and slain the
boy Abhimanyu, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that the blind Kauravas were shouting for joy after having slain
Abhimanyu and that thereupon Arjuna in anger made his celebrated speech
referring to Saindhava, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Arjuna had vowed the death of Saindhava and fulfilled his vow
in the presence of his enemies, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that upon the horses of Arjuna being fatigued,
Vasudeva releasing them made them drink water and bringing them back and
reharnessing them continued to guide them as before, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that while his horses were fatigued,
Arjuna staying in his chariot checked all his assailants, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Yuyudhana of the
race of Vrishni, after having thrown into confusion the army of Drona
rendered unbearable in prowess owing to the presence of elephants,
retired to where Krishna and Arjuna were, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Karna even though he had got Bhima within
his power allowed him to escape after only addressing him in contemptuous
terms and dragging him with the end of his bow, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Drona, Kritavarma, Kripa, Karna, the
son of Drona, and the valiant king of Madra (Salya) suffered Saindhava to
be slain, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
the celestial Sakti given by Indra (to Karna) was by Madhava's
machinations caused to be hurled upon Rakshasa Ghatotkacha of frightful
countenance, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
in the encounter between Karna and Ghatotkacha, that Sakti was hurled
against Ghatotkacha by Karna, the same which was certainly to have slain
Arjuna in battle, then, O Sanjaya. I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Dhristadyumna, transgressing the laws of battle, slew Drona while
alone in his chariot and resolved on death, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Nakula. the son of Madri, having in
the presence of the whole army engaged in single combat with the son of
Drona and showing himself equal to him drove his chariot in circles
around, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When upon the death of
Drona, his son misused the weapon called Narayana but failed to achieve
the destruction of the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Bhimasena drank the blood of his brother
Duhsasana in the field of battle without anybody being able to prevent
him, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
infinitely brave Karna, invincible in battle, was slain by Arjuna in that
war of brothers mysterious even to the gods, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, the Just, overcame the
heroic son of Drona, Duhsasana, and the fierce Kritavarman, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the brave king of
Madra who ever dared Krishna in battle was slain by Yudhishthira, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the wicked Suvala of
magic power, the root of the gaming and the feud, was slain in battle by
Sahadeva, the son of Pandu, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.
When I heard that Duryodhana, spent with fatigue, having gone to a lake
and made a refuge for himself within its waters, was lying there alone,
his strength gone and without a chariot, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that the Pandavas having gone to that lake
accompanied by Vasudeva and standing on its beach began to address
contemptuously my son who was incapable of putting up with affronts,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that while,
displaying in circles a variety of curious modes (of attack and defence)
in an encounter with clubs, he was unfairly slain according to the
counsels of Krishna, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard the son of Drona and others by slaying the Panchalas and the sons
of Draupadi in their sleep, perpetrated a horrible and infamous deed,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Aswatthaman
while being pursued by Bhimasena had discharged the first of weapons
called Aishika, by which the embryo in the womb (of Uttara) was wounded,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the weapon
Brahmashira (discharged by Aswatthaman) was repelled by Arjuna with
another weapon over which he had pronounced the word "Sasti" and that
Aswatthaman had to give up the jewel-like excrescence on his head, then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that upon the embryo in
the womb of Virata's daughter being wounded by Aswatthaman with a mighty
weapon, Dwaipayana and Krishna pronounced curses on him, then, O Sanjaya,
I had no hope of success.

'Alas! Gandhari, destitute of children, grand-children, parents,
brothers, and kindred, is to be pitied. Difficult is the task that hath
been performed by the Pandavas: by them hath a kingdom been recovered
without a rival.

'Alas! I have heard that the war hath left only ten alive: three of our
side, and the Pandavas, seven, in that dreadful conflict eighteen
Akshauhinis of Kshatriyas have been slain! All around me is utter
darkness, and a fit of swoon assaileth me: consciousness leaves me, O
Suta, and my mind is distracted."

"Sauti said, 'Dhritarashtra, bewailing his fate in these words, was
overcome with extreme anguish and for a time deprived of sense; but being
revived, he addressed Sanjaya in the following words.

"After what hath come to pass, O Sanjaya, I wish to put an end to my life
without delay; I do not find the least advantage in cherishing it any
longer."

"Sauti said, 'The wise son of Gavalgana (Sanjaya) then addressed the
distressed lord of Earth while thus talking and bewailing, sighing like a
serpent and repeatedly tainting, in words of deep import.

"Thou hast heard, O Raja, of the greatly powerful men of vast exertions,
spoken of by Vyasa and the wise Narada; men born of great royal families,
resplendent with worthy qualities, versed in the science of celestial
arms, and in glory emblems of Indra; men who having conquered the world
by justice and performed sacrifices with fit offerings (to the
Brahmanas), obtained renown in this world and at last succumbed to the
sway of time. Such were Saivya; the valiant Maharatha; Srinjaya, great
amongst conquerors. Suhotra; Rantideva, and Kakshivanta, great in glory;
Valhika, Damana, Saryati, Ajita, and Nala; Viswamitra the destroyer of
foes; Amvarisha, great in strength; Marutta, Manu, Ikshaku, Gaya, and
Bharata; Rama the son of Dasaratha; Sasavindu, and Bhagiratha;
Kritavirya, the greatly fortunate, and Janamejaya too; and Yayati of good
deeds who performed sacrifices, being assisted therein by the celestials
themselves, and by whose sacrificial altars and stakes this earth with
her habited and uninhabited regions hath been marked all over. These
twenty-four Rajas were formerly spoken of by the celestial Rishi Narada
unto Saivya when much afflicted for the loss of his children. Besides
these, other Rajas had gone before, still more powerful than they, mighty
charioteers noble in mind, and resplendent with every worthy quality.
These were Puru, Kuru, Yadu, Sura and Viswasrawa of great glory; Anuha,
Yuvanaswu, Kakutstha, Vikrami, and Raghu; Vijava, Virihorta, Anga, Bhava,
Sweta, and Vripadguru; Usinara, Sata-ratha, Kanka, Duliduha, and Druma;
Dambhodbhava, Para, Vena, Sagara, Sankriti, and Nimi; Ajeya, Parasu,
Pundra, Sambhu, and holy Deva-Vridha; Devahuya, Supratika, and
Vrihad-ratha; Mahatsaha, Vinitatma, Sukratu, and Nala, the king of the
Nishadas; Satyavrata, Santabhaya, Sumitra, and the chief Subala;
Janujangha, Anaranya, Arka, Priyabhritya, Chuchi-vrata, Balabandhu,
Nirmardda, Ketusringa, and Brhidbala; Dhrishtaketu, Brihatketu,
Driptaketu, and Niramaya; Abikshit, Chapala, Dhurta, Kritbandhu, and
Dridhe-shudhi; Mahapurana-sambhavya, Pratyanga, Paraha and Sruti. These,
O chief, and other Rajas, we hear enumerated by hundreds and by
thousands, and still others by millions, princes of great power and
wisdom, quitting very abundant enjoyments met death as thy sons have
done! Their heavenly deeds, valour, and generosity, their magnanimity,
faith, truth, purity, simplicity and mercy, are published to the world in
the records of former times by sacred bards of great learning. Though
endued with every noble virtue, these have yielded up their lives. Thy
sons were malevolent, inflamed with passion, avaricious, and of very
evil-disposition. Thou art versed in the Sastras, O Bharata, and art
intelligent and wise; they never sink under misfortunes whose
understandings are guided by the Sastras. Thou art acquainted, O prince,
with the lenity and severity of fate; this anxiety therefore for the
safety of thy children is unbecoming. Moreover, it behoveth thee not to
grieve for that which must happen: for who can avert, by his wisdom, the
decrees of fate? No one can leave the way marked out for him by
Providence. Existence and non-existence, pleasure and pain all have Time
for their root. Time createth all things and Time destroyeth all
creatures. It is Time that burneth creatures and it is Time that
extinguisheth the fire. All states, the good and the evil, in the three
worlds, are caused by Time. Time cutteth short all things and createth
them anew. Time alone is awake when all things are asleep: indeed, Time
is incapable of being overcome. Time passeth over all things without
being retarded. Knowing, as thou dost, that all things past and future
and all that exist at the present moment, are the offspring of Time, it
behoveth thee not to throw away thy reason.'

"Sauti said, 'The son of Gavalgana having in this manner administered
comfort to the royal Dhritarashtra overwhelmed with grief for his sons,
then restored his mind to peace. Taking these facts for his subject,
Dwaipayana composed a holy Upanishad that has been published to the world
by learned and sacred bards in the Puranas composed by them.

"The study of the Bharata is an act of piety. He that readeth even one
foot, with belief, hath his sins entirely purged away. Herein Devas,
Devarshis, and immaculate Brahmarshis of good deeds, have been spoken of;
and likewise Yakshas and great Uragas (Nagas). Herein also hath been
described the eternal Vasudeva possessing the six attributes. He is the
true and just, the pure and holy, the eternal Brahma, the supreme soul,
the true constant light, whose divine deeds wise and learned recount;
from whom hath proceeded the non-existent and existent-non-existent
universe with principles of generation and progression, and birth, death
and re-birth. That also hath been treated of which is called Adhyatma
(the superintending spirit of nature) that partaketh of the attributes of
the five elements. That also hath been described who is purusha being
above such epithets as 'undisplayed' and the like; also that which the
foremost yatis exempt from the common destiny and endued with the power
of meditation and Tapas behold dwelling in their hearts as a reflected
image in the mirror.

"The man of faith, devoted to piety, and constant in the exercise of
virtue, on reading this section is freed from sin. The believer that
constantly heareth recited this section of the Bharata, called the
Introduction, from the beginning, falleth not into difficulties. The man
repeating any part of the introduction in the two twilights is during
such act freed from the sins contracted during the day or the night. This
section, the body of the Bharata, is truth and nectar. As butter is in
curd, Brahmana among bipeds, the Aranyaka among the Vedas, and nectar
among medicines; as the sea is eminent among receptacles of water, and
the cow among quadrupeds; as are these (among the things mentioned) so is
the Bharata said to be among histories.

"He that causeth it, even a single foot thereof, to be recited to
Brahmanas during a Sradha, his offerings of food and drink to the manes
of his ancestors become inexhaustible.

"By the aid of history and the Puranas, the Veda may be expounded; but
the Veda is afraid of one of little information lest he should it. The
learned man who recites to other this Veda of Vyasa reapeth advantage. It
may without doubt destroy even the sin of killing the embryo and the
like. He that readeth this holy chapter of the moon, readeth the whole of
the Bharata, I ween. The man who with reverence daily listeneth to this
sacred work acquireth long life and renown and ascendeth to heaven.

"In former days, having placed the four Vedas on one side and the Bharata
on the other, these were weighed in the balance by the celestials
assembled for that purpose. And as the latter weighed heavier than the
four Vedas with their mysteries, from that period it hath been called in
the world Mahabharata (the great Bharata). Being esteemed superior both
in substance and gravity of import it is denominated Mahabharata on
account of such substance and gravity of import. He that knoweth its
meaning is saved from all his sins.

'Tapa is innocent, study is harmless, the ordinance of the Vedas
prescribed for all the tribes are harmless, the acquisition of wealth by
exertion is harmless; but when they are abused in their practices it is
then that they become sources of evil.'"



SECTION II

"The Rishis said, 'O son of Suta, we wish to hear a full and
circumstantial account of the place mentioned by you as Samanta-panchaya.'

"Sauti said, 'Listen, O ye Brahmanas, to the sacred descriptions I utter
O ye best of men, ye deserve to hear of the place known as
Samanta-panchaka. In the interval between the Treta and Dwapara Yugas,
Rama (the son of Jamadagni) great among all who have borne arms, urged by
impatience of wrongs, repeatedly smote the noble race of Kshatriyas. And
when that fiery meteor, by his own valour, annihilated the entire tribe
of the Kshatriyas, he formed at Samanta-panchaka five lakes of blood. We
are told that his reason being overpowered by anger he offered oblations
of blood to the manes of his ancestors, standing in the midst of the
sanguine waters of those lakes. It was then that his forefathers of whom
Richika was the first having arrived there addressed him thus, 'O Rama, O
blessed Rama, O offspring of Bhrigu, we have been gratified with the
reverence thou hast shown for thy ancestors and with thy valour, O mighty
one! Blessings be upon thee. O thou illustrious one, ask the boon that
thou mayst desire.'

"Rama said, 'If, O fathers, ye are favourably disposed towards me, the
boon I ask is that I may be absolved from the sins born of my having
annihilated the Kshatriyas in anger, and that the lakes I have formed may
become famous in the world as holy shrines.' The Pitris then said, 'So
shall it be. But be thou pacified.' And Rama was pacified accordingly.
The region that lieth near unto those lakes of gory water, from that time
hath been celebrated as Samanta-panchaka the holy. The wise have declared
that every country should be distinguished by a name significant of some
circumstance which may have rendered it famous. In the interval between
the Dwapara and the Kali Yugas there happened at Samanta-panchaka the
encounter between the armies of the Kauravas and the Pandavas. In that
holy region, without ruggedness of any kind, were assembled eighteen
Akshauhinis of soldiers eager for battle. And, O Brahmanas, having come
thereto, they were all slain on the spot. Thus the name of that region, O
Brahmanas, hath been explained, and the country described to you as a
sacred and delightful one. I have mentioned the whole of what relateth to
it as the region is celebrated throughout the three worlds.'

"The Rishis said, 'We have a desire to know, O son of Suta, what is
implied by the term Akshauhini that hath been used by thee. Tell us in
full what is the number of horse and foot, chariots and elephants, which
compose an Akshauhini for thou art fully informed.'

"Sauti said, 'One chariot, one elephant, five foot-soldiers, and three
horses form one Patti; three pattis make one Sena-mukha; three
sena-mukhas are called a Gulma; three gulmas, a Gana; three ganas, a
Vahini; three vahinis together are called a Pritana; three pritanas form
a Chamu; three chamus, one Anikini; and an anikini taken ten times forms,
as it is styled by those who know, an Akshauhini. O ye best of Brahmanas,
arithmeticians have calculated that the number of chariots in an
Akshauhini is twenty-one thousand eight hundred and seventy. The measure
of elephants must be fixed at the same number. O ye pure, you must know
that the number of foot-soldiers is one hundred and nine thousand, three
hundred and fifty, the number of horse is sixty-five thousand, six
hundred and ten. These, O Brahmanas, as fully explained by me, are the
numbers of an Akshauhini as said by those acquainted with the principles
of numbers. O best of Brahmanas, according to this calculation were
composed the eighteen Akshauhinis of the Kaurava and the Pandava army.
Time, whose acts are wonderful assembled them on that spot and having
made the Kauravas the cause, destroyed them all. Bhishma acquainted with
choice of weapons, fought for ten days. Drona protected the Kaurava
Vahinis for five days. Kama the desolator of hostile armies fought for
two days; and Salya for half a day. After that lasted for half a day the
encounter with clubs between Duryodhana and Bhima. At the close of that
day, Aswatthaman and Kripa destroyed the army of Yudishthira in the night
while sleeping without suspicion of danger.

'O Saunaka, this best of narrations called Bharata which has begun to be
repeated at thy sacrifice, was formerly repeated at the sacrifice of
Janamejaya by an intelligent disciple of Vyasa. It is divided into
several sections; in the beginning are Paushya, Pauloma, and Astika
parvas, describing in full the valour and renown of kings. It is a work
whose description, diction, and sense are varied and wonderful. It
contains an account of various manners and rites. It is accepted by the
wise, as the state called Vairagya is by men desirous of final release.
As Self among things to be known, as life among things that are dear, so
is this history that furnisheth the means of arriving at the knowledge of
Brahma the first among all the sastras. There is not a story current in
this world but doth depend upon this history even as the body upon the
foot that it taketh. As masters of good lineage are ever attended upon by
servants desirous of preferment so is the Bharata cherished by all poets.
As the words constituting the several branches of knowledge appertaining
to the world and the Veda display only vowels and consonants, so this
excellent history displayeth only the highest wisdom.

'Listen, O ye ascetics, to the outlines of the several divisions (parvas)
of this history called Bharata, endued with great wisdom, of sections and
feet that are wonderful and various, of subtile meanings and logical
connections, and embellished with the substance of the Vedas.

'The first parva is called Anukramanika; the second, Sangraha; then
Paushya; then Pauloma; the Astika; then Adivansavatarana. Then comes the
Sambhava of wonderful and thrilling incidents. Then comes Jatugrihadaha
(setting fire to the house of lac) and then Hidimbabadha (the killing of
Hidimba) parvas; then comes Baka-badha (slaughter of Baka) and then
Chitraratha. The next is called Swayamvara (selection of husband by
Panchali), in which Arjuna by the exercise of Kshatriya virtues, won
Draupadi for wife. Then comes Vaivahika (marriage). Then comes
Viduragamana (advent of Vidura), Rajyalabha (acquirement of kingdom),
Arjuna-banavasa (exile of Arjuna) and Subhadra-harana (the carrying away
of Subhadra). After these come Harana-harika, Khandava-daha (the burning
of the Khandava forest) and Maya-darsana (meeting with Maya the Asura
architect). Then come Sabha, Mantra, Jarasandha, Digvijaya (general
campaign). After Digvijaya come Raja-suyaka, Arghyaviharana (the robbing
of the Arghya) and Sisupala-badha (the killing of Sisupala). After these,
Dyuta (gambling), Anudyuta (subsequent to gambling), Aranyaka, and
Krimira-badha (destruction of Krimira). The Arjuna-vigamana (the travels
of Arjuna), Kairati. In the last hath been described the battle between
Arjuna and Mahadeva in the guise of a hunter. After this
Indra-lokavigamana (the journey to the regions of Indra); then that mine
of religion and virtue, the highly pathetic Nalopakhyana (the story of
Nala). After this last, Tirtha-yatra or the pilgrimage of the wise prince
of the Kurus, the death of Jatasura, and the battle of the Yakshas. Then
the battle with the Nivata-kavachas, Ajagara, and Markandeya-Samasya
(meeting with Markandeya). Then the meeting of Draupadi and Satyabhama,
Ghoshayatra, Mirga-Swapna (dream of the deer). Then the story of
Brihadaranyaka and then Aindradrumna. Then Draupadi-harana (the abduction
of Draupadi), Jayadratha-bimoksana (the release of Jayadratha). Then the
story of 'Savitri' illustrating the great merit of connubial chastity.
After this last, the story of 'Rama'. The parva that comes next is called
'Kundala-harana' (the theft of the ear-rings). That which comes next is
'Aranya' and then 'Vairata'. Then the entry of the Pandavas and the
fulfilment of their promise (of living unknown for one year). Then the
destruction of the 'Kichakas', then the attempt to take the kine (of
Virata by the Kauravas). The next is called the marriage of Abhimanyu
with the daughter of Virata. The next you must know is the most wonderful
parva called Udyoga. The next must be known by the name of 'Sanjaya-yana'
(the arrival of Sanjaya). Then comes 'Prajagara' (the sleeplessness of
Dhritarashtra owing to his anxiety). Then Sanatsujata, in which are the
mysteries of spiritual philosophy. Then 'Yanasaddhi', and then the
arrival of Krishna. Then the story of 'Matali' and then of 'Galava'. Then
the stories of 'Savitri', 'Vamadeva', and 'Vainya'. Then the story of
'Jamadagnya and Shodasarajika'. Then the arrival of Krishna at the court,
and then Bidulaputrasasana. Then the muster of troops and the story of
Sheta. Then, must you know, comes the quarrel of the high-souled Karna.
Then the march to the field of the troops of both sides. The next hath
been called numbering the Rathis and Atirathas. Then comes the arrival of
the messenger Uluka which kindled the wrath (of the Pandavas). The next
that comes, you must know, is the story of Amba. Then comes the thrilling
story of the installation of Bhishma as commander-in-chief. The next is
called the creation of the insular region Jambu; then Bhumi; then the
account about the formation of islands. Then comes the 'Bhagavat-gita';
and then the death of Bhishma. Then the installation of Drona; then the
destruction of the 'Sansaptakas'. Then the death of Abhimanyu; and then
the vow of Arjuna (to slay Jayadratha). Then the death of Jayadratha, and
then of Ghatotkacha. Then, must you know, comes the story of the death of
Drona of surprising interest. The next that comes is called the discharge
of the weapon called Narayana. Then, you know, is Karna, and then Salya.
Then comes the immersion in the lake, and then the encounter (between
Bhima and Duryodhana) with clubs. Then comes Saraswata, and then the
descriptions of holy shrines, and then genealogies. Then comes Sauptika
describing incidents disgraceful (to the honour of the Kurus). Then comes
the 'Aisika' of harrowing incidents. Then comes 'Jalapradana' oblations
of water to the manes of the deceased, and then the wailings of the
women. The next must be known as 'Sraddha' describing the funeral rites
performed for the slain Kauravas. Then comes the destruction of the
Rakshasa Charvaka who had assumed the disguise of a Brahmana (for
deceiving Yudhishthira). Then the coronation of the wise Yudhishthira.
The next is called the 'Grihapravibhaga'. Then comes 'Santi', then
'Rajadharmanusasana', then 'Apaddharma', then 'Mokshadharma'. Those that
follow are called respectively 'Suka-prasna-abhigamana',
'Brahma-prasnanusana', the origin of 'Durvasa', the disputations with
Maya. The next is to be known as 'Anusasanika'. Then the ascension of
Bhishma to heaven. Then the horse-sacrifice, which when read purgeth all
sins away. The next must be known as the 'Anugita' in which are words of
spiritual philosophy. Those that follow are called 'Asramvasa',
'Puttradarshana' (meeting with the spirits of the deceased sons), and the
arrival of Narada. The next is called 'Mausala' which abounds with
terrible and cruel incidents. Then comes 'Mahaprasthanika' and ascension
to heaven. Then comes the Purana which is called Khilvansa. In this last
are contained 'Vishnuparva', Vishnu's frolics and feats as a child, the
destruction of 'Kansa', and lastly, the very wonderful 'Bhavishyaparva'
(in which there are prophecies regarding the future).

The high-souled Vyasa composed these hundred parvas of which the above is
only an abridgement: having distributed them into eighteen, the son of
Suta recited them consecutively in the forest of Naimisha as follows:

'In the Adi parva are contained Paushya, Pauloma, Astika, Adivansavatara,
Samva, the burning of the house of lac, the slaying of Hidimba, the
destruction of the Asura Vaka, Chitraratha, the Swayamvara of Draupadi,
her marriage after the overthrow of rivals in war, the arrival of Vidura,
the restoration, Arjuna's exile, the abduction of Subhadra, the gift and
receipt of the marriage dower, the burning of the Khandava forest, and
the meeting with (the Asura-architect) Maya. The Paushya parva treats of
the greatness of Utanka, and the Pauloma, of the sons of Bhrigu. The
Astika describes the birth of Garuda and of the Nagas (snakes), the
churning of the ocean, the incidents relating to the birth of the
celestial steed Uchchaihsrava, and finally, the dynasty of Bharata, as
described in the Snake-sacrifice of king Janamejaya. The Sambhava parva
narrates the birth of various kings and heroes, and that of the sage,
Krishna Dwaipayana: the partial incarnations of deities, the generation
of Danavas and Yakshas of great prowess, and serpents, Gandharvas, birds,
and of all creatures; and lastly, of the life and adventures of king
Bharata--the progenitor of the line that goes by his name--the son born
of Sakuntala in the hermitage of the ascetic Kanwa. This parva also
describes the greatness of Bhagirathi, and the births of the Vasus in the
house of Santanu and their ascension to heaven. In this parva is also
narrated the birth of Bhishma uniting in himself portions of the energies
of the other Vasus, his renunciation of royalty and adoption of the
Brahmacharya mode of life, his adherence to his vows, his protection of
Chitrangada, and after the death of Chitrangada, his protection of his
younger brother, Vichitravirya, and his placing the latter on the throne:
the birth of Dharma among men in consequence of the curse of Animondavya;
the births of Dhritarashtra and Pandu through the potency of Vyasa's
blessings (?) and also the birth of the Pandavas; the plottings of
Duryodhana to send the sons of Pandu to Varanavata, and the other dark
counsels of the sons of Dhritarashtra in regard to the Pandavas; then the
advice administered to Yudhishthira on his way by that well-wisher of the
Pandavas--Vidura--in the mlechchha language--the digging of the hole, the
burning of Purochana and the sleeping woman of the fowler caste, with her
five sons, in the house of lac; the meeting of the Pandavas in the
dreadful forest with Hidimba, and the slaying of her brother Hidimba by
Bhima of great prowess. The birth of Ghatotkacha; the meeting of the
Pandavas with Vyasa and in accordance with his advice their stay in
disguise in the house of a Brahmana in the city of Ekachakra; the
destruction of the Asura Vaka, and the amazement of the populace at the
sight; the extra-ordinary births of Krishna and Dhrishtadyumna; the
departure of the Pandavas for Panchala in obedience to the injunction of
Vyasa, and moved equally by the desire of winning the hand of Draupadi on
learning the tidings of the Swayamvara from the lips of a Brahmana;
victory of Arjuna over a Gandharva, called Angaraparna, on the banks of
the Bhagirathi, his contraction of friendship with his adversary, and his
hearing from the Gandharva the history of Tapati, Vasishtha and Aurva.
This parva treats of the journey of the Pandavas towards Panchala, the
acquisition of Draupadi in the midst of all the Rajas, by Arjuna, after
having successfully pierced the mark; and in the ensuing fight, the
defeat of Salya, Kama, and all the other crowned heads at the hands of
Bhima and Arjuna of great prowess; the ascertainment by Balarama and
Krishna, at the sight of these matchless exploits, that the heroes were
the Pandavas, and the arrival of the brothers at the house of the potter
where the Pandavas were staying; the dejection of Drupada on learning
that Draupadi was to be wedded to five husbands; the wonderful story of
the five Indras related in consequence; the extraordinary and
divinely-ordained wedding of Draupadi; the sending of Vidura by the sons
of Dhritarashtra as envoy to the Pandavas; the arrival of Vidura and his
sight to Krishna; the abode of the Pandavas in Khandava-prastha, and then
their rule over one half of the kingdom; the fixing of turns by the sons
of Pandu, in obedience to the injunction of Narada, for connubial
companionship with Krishna. In like manner hath the history of Sunda and
Upasunda been recited in this. This parva then treats of the departure of
Arjuna for the forest according to the vow, he having seen Draupadi and
Yudhishthira sitting together as he entered the chamber to take out arms
for delivering the kine of a certain Brahmana. This parva then describes
Arjuna's meeting on the way with Ulupi, the daughter of a Naga (serpent);
it then relates his visits to several sacred spots; the birth of
Vabhruvahana; the deliverance by Arjuna of the five celestial damsels who
had been turned into alligators by the imprecation of a Brahmana, the
meeting of Madhava and Arjuna on the holy spot called Prabhasa; the
carrying away of Subhadra by Arjuna, incited thereto by her brother
Krishna, in the wonderful car moving on land and water, and through
mid-air, according to the wish of the rider; the departure for
Indraprastha, with the dower; the conception in the womb of Subhadra of
that prodigy of prowess, Abhimanyu; Yajnaseni's giving birth to children;
then follows the pleasure-trip of Krishna and Arjuna to the banks of the
Jamuna and the acquisition by them of the discus and the celebrated bow
Gandiva; the burning of the forest of Khandava; the rescue of Maya by
Arjuna, and the escape of the serpent,--and the begetting of a son by
that best of Rishis, Mandapala, in the womb of the bird Sarngi. This
parva is divided by Vyasa into two hundred and twenty-seven chapters.
These two hundred and twenty-seven chapters contain eight thousand eight
hundred and eighty-four slokas.

The second is the extensive parva called Sabha or the assembly, full of
matter. The subjects of this parva are the establishment of the grand
hall by the Pandavas; their review of their retainers; the description of
the lokapalas by Narada well-acquainted with the celestial regions; the
preparations for the Rajasuya sacrifice; the destruction of Jarasandha;
the deliverance by Vasudeva of the princes confined in the mountain-pass;
the campaign of universal conquest by the Pandavas; the arrival of the
princes at the Rajasuya sacrifice with tribute; the destruction of
Sisupala on the occasion of the sacrifice, in connection with offering of
arghya; Bhimasena's ridicule of Duryodhana in the assembly; Duryodhana's
sorrow and envy at the sight of the magnificent scale on which the
arrangements had been made; the indignation of Duryodhana in consequence,
and the preparations for the game of dice; the defeat of Yudhishthira at
play by the wily Sakuni; the deliverance by Dhritarashtra of his
afflicted daughter-in-law Draupadi plunged in the sea of distress caused
by the gambling, as of a boat tossed about by the tempestuous waves. The
endeavours of Duryodhana to engage Yudhishthira again in the game; and
the exile of the defeated Yudhishthira with his brothers. These
constitute what has been called by the great Vyasa the Sabha Parva. This
parva is divided into seventh-eight sections, O best of Brahmanas, of two
thousand, five hundred and seven slokas.

Then comes the third parva called Aranyaka (relating to the forest) This
parva treats of the wending of the Pandavas to the forest and the
citizens, following the wise Yudhishthira, Yudhishthira's adoration of
the god of day; according to the injunctions of Dhaumya, to be gifted
with the power of maintaining the dependent Brahmanas with food and
drink: the creation of food through the grace of the Sun: the expulsion
by Dhritarashtra of Vidura who always spoke for his master's good;
Vidura's coming to the Pandavas and his return to Dhritarashtra at the
solicitation of the latter; the wicked Duryodhana's plottings to destroy
the forest-ranging Pandavas, being incited thereto by Karna; the
appearance of Vyasa and his dissuasion of Duryodhana bent on going to the
forest; the history of Surabhi; the arrival of Maitreya; his laying down
to Dhritarashtra the course of action; and his curse on Duryodhana;
Bhima's slaying of Kirmira in battle; the coming of the Panchalas and the
princes of the Vrishni race to Yudhishthira on hearing of his defeat at
the unfair gambling by Sakuni; Dhananjaya's allaying the wrath of
Krishna; Draupadi's lamentations before Madhava; Krishna's cheering her;
the fall of Sauva also has been here described by the Rishi; also
Krishna's bringing Subhadra with her son to Dwaraka; and Dhrishtadyumna's
bringing the son of Draupadi to Panchala; the entrance of the sons of
Pandu into the romantic Dwaita wood; conversation of Bhima, Yudhishthira,
and Draupadi; the coming of Vyasa to the Pandavas and his endowing
Yudhishthira with the power of Pratismriti; then, after the departure of
Vyasa, the removal of the Pandavas to the forest of Kamyaka; the
wanderings of Arjuna of immeasurable prowess in search of weapons; his
battle with Mahadeva in the guise of a hunter; his meeting with the
lokapalas and receipt of weapons from them; his journey to the regions of
Indra for arms and the consequent anxiety of Dhritarashtra; the wailings
and lamentations of Yudhishthira on the occasion of his meeting with the
worshipful great sage Brihadaswa. Here occurs the holy and highly
pathetic story of Nala illustrating the patience of Damayanti and the
character of Nala. Then the acquirement by Yudhishthira of the mysteries
of dice from the same great sage; then the arrival of the Rishi Lomasa
from the heavens to where the Pandavas were, and the receipt by these
high-souled dwellers in the woods of the intelligence brought by the
Rishi of their brother Arjuna staving in the heavens; then the pilgrimage
of the Pandavas to various sacred spots in accordance with the message of
Arjuna, and their attainment of great merit and virtue consequent on such
pilgrimage; then the pilgrimage of the great sage Narada to the shrine
Putasta; also the pilgrimage of the high-souled Pandavas. Here is the
deprivation of Karna of his ear-rings by Indra. Here also is recited the
sacrificial magnificence of Gaya; then the story of Agastya in which the
Rishi ate up the Asura Vatapi, and his connubial connection with
Lopamudra from the desire of offspring. Then the story of Rishyasringa
who adopted Brahmacharya mode of life from his very boyhood; then the
history of Rama of great prowess, the son of Jamadagni, in which has been
narrated the death of Kartavirya and the Haihayas; then the meeting
between the Pandavas and the Vrishnis in the sacred spot called Prabhasa;
then the story of Su-kanya in which Chyavana, the son of Bhrigu, made the
twins, Aswinis, drink, at the sacrifice of king Saryati, the Soma juice
(from which they had been excluded by the other gods), and in which
besides is shown how Chyavana himself acquired perpetual youth (as a boon
from the grateful Aswinis). Then hath been described the history of king
Mandhata; then the history of prince Jantu; and how king Somaka by
offering up his only son (Jantu) in sacrifice obtained a hundred others;
then the excellent history of the hawk and the pigeon; then the
examination of king Sivi by Indra, Agni, and Dharma; then the story of
Ashtavakra, in which occurs the disputation, at the sacrifice of Janaka,
between that Rishi and the first of logicians, Vandi, the son of Varuna;
the defeat of Vandi by the great Ashtavakra, and the release by the Rishi
of his father from the depths of the ocean. Then the story of Yavakrita,
and then that of the great Raivya: then the departure (of the Pandavas)
for Gandhamadana and their abode in the asylum called Narayana; then
Bhimasena's journey to Gandhamadana at the request of Draupadi (in search
of the sweet-scented flower). Bhima's meeting on his way, in a grove of
bananas, with Hanuman, the son of Pavana of great prowess; Bhima's bath
in the tank and the destruction of the flowers therein for obtaining the
sweet-scented flower (he was in search of); his consequent battle with
the mighty Rakshasas and the Yakshas of great prowess including Hanuman;
the destruction of the Asura Jata by Bhima; the meeting (of the Pandavas)
with the royal sage Vrishaparva; their departure for the asylum of
Arshtishena and abode therein: the incitement of Bhima (to acts of
vengeance) by Draupadi. Then is narrated the ascent on the hills of
Kailasa by Bhimasena, his terrific battle with the mighty Yakshas headed
by Hanuman; then the meeting of the Pandavas with Vaisravana (Kuvera),
and the meeting with Arjuna after he had obtained for the purpose of
Yudhishthira many celestial weapons; then Arjuna's terrible encounter
with the Nivatakavachas dwelling in Hiranyaparva, and also with the
Paulomas, and the Kalakeyas; their destruction at the hands of Arjuna;
the commencement of the display of the celestial weapons by Arjuna before
Yudhishthira, the prevention of the same by Narada; the descent of the
Pandavas from Gandhamadana; the seizure of Bhima in the forest by a
mighty serpent huge as the mountain; his release from the coils of the
snake, upon Yudhishthira's answering certain questions; the return of the
Pandavas to the Kamyaka woods. Here is described the reappearance of
Vasudeva to see the mighty sons of Pandu; the arrival of Markandeya, and
various recitals, the history of Prithu the son of Vena recited by the
great Rishi; the stories of Saraswati and the Rishi Tarkhya. After these,
is the story of Matsya; other old stories recited by Markandeya; the
stories of Indradyumna and Dhundhumara; then the history of the chaste
wife; the history of Angira, the meeting and conversation of Draupadi and
Satyabhama; the return of the Pandavas to the forest of Dwaita; then the
procession to see the calves and the captivity of Duryodhana; and when
the wretch was being carried off, his rescue by Arjuna; here is
Yudhishthira's dream of the deer; then the re-entry of the Pandavas into
the Kamyaka forest, here also is the long story of Vrihidraunika. Here
also is recited the story of Durvasa; then the abduction by Jayadratha of
Draupadi from the asylum; the pursuit of the ravisher by Bhima swift as
the air and the ill-shaving of Jayadratha's crown at Bhima's hand. Here
is the long history of Rama in which is shown how Rama by his prowess
slew Ravana in battle. Here also is narrated the story of Savitri; then
Karna's deprivation by Indra of his ear-rings; then the presentation to
Karna by the gratified Indra of a Sakti (missile weapon) which had the
virtue of killing only one person against whom it might be hurled; then
the story called Aranya in which Dharma (the god of justice) gave advice
to his son (Yudhishthira); in which, besides is recited how the Pandavas
after having obtained a boon went towards the west. These are all
included in the third Parva called Aranyaka, consisting of two hundred
and sixty-nine sections. The number of slokas is eleven thousand, six
hundred and sixty-four.

"The extensive Parva that comes next is called Virata. The Pandavas
arriving at the dominions of Virata saw in a cemetery on the outskirts of
the city a large shami tree whereon they kept their weapons. Here hath
been recited their entry into the city and their stay there in disguise.
Then the slaying by Bhima of the wicked Kichaka who, senseless with lust,
had sought Draupadi; the appointment by prince Duryodhana of clever
spies; and their despatch to all sides for tracing the Pandavas; the
failure of these to discover the mighty sons of Pandu; the first seizure
of Virata's kine by the Trigartas and the terrific battle that ensued;
the capture of Virata by the enemy and his rescue by Bhimasena; the
release also of the kine by the Pandava (Bhima); the seizure of Virata's
kine again by the Kurus; the defeat in battle of all the Kurus by the
single-handed Arjuna; the release of the king's kine; the bestowal by
Virata of his daughter Uttara for Arjuna's acceptance on behalf of his
son by Subhadra--Abhimanyu--the destroyer of foes. These are the contents
of the extensive fourth Parva--the Virata. The great Rishi Vyasa has
composed in these sixty-seven sections. The number of slokas is two
thousand and fifty.

"Listen then to (the contents of) the fifth Parva which must be known as
Udyoga. While the Pandavas, desirous of victory, were residing in the
place called Upaplavya, Duryodhana and Arjuna both went at the same time
to Vasudeva, and said, "You should render us assistance in this war." The
high-souled Krishna, upon these words being uttered, replied, "O ye first
of men, a counsellor in myself who will not fight and one Akshauhini of
troops, which of these shall I give to which of you?" Blind to his own
interests, the foolish Duryodhana asked for the troops; while Arjuna
solicited Krishna as an unfighting counsellor. Then is described how,
when the king of Madra was coming for the assistance of the Pandavas,
Duryodhana, having deceived him on the way by presents and hospitality,
induced him to grant a boon and then solicited his assistance in battle;
how Salya, having passed his word to Duryodhana, went to the Pandavas and
consoled them by reciting the history of Indra's victory (over Vritra).
Then comes the despatch by the Pandavas of their Purohita (priest) to the
Kauravas. Then is described how king Dhritarashtra of great prowess,
having heard the word of the purohita of the Pandavas and the story of
Indra's victory decided upon sending his purohita and ultimately
despatched Sanjaya as envoy to the Pandavas from desire for peace. Here
hath been described the sleeplessness of Dhritarashtra from anxiety upon
hearing all about the Pandavas and their friends, Vasudeva and others. It
was on this occasion that Vidura addressed to the wise king Dhritarashtra
various counsels that were full of wisdom. It was here also that
Sanat-sujata recited to the anxious and sorrowing monarch the excellent
truths of spiritual philosophy. On the next morning Sanjaya spoke, in the
court of the King, of the identity of Vasudeva and Arjuna. It was then
that the illustrious Krishna, moved by kindness and a desire for peace,
went himself to the Kaurava capital, Hastinapura, for bringing about
peace. Then comes the rejection by prince Duryodhana of the embassy of
Krishna who had come to solicit peace for the benefit of both parties.
Here hath been recited the story of Damvodvava; then the story of the
high-souled Matuli's search for a husband for his daughter: then the
history of the great sage Galava; then the story of the training and
discipline of the son of Bidula. Then the exhibition by Krishna, before
the assembled Rajas, of his Yoga powers upon learning the evil counsels
of Duryodhana and Karna; then Krishna's taking Karna in his chariot and
his tendering to him of advice, and Karna's rejection of the same from
pride. Then the return of Krishna, the chastiser of enemies from
Hastinapura to Upaplavya, and his narration to the Pandavas of all that
had happened. It was then that those oppressors of foes, the Pandavas,
having heard all and consulted properly with each other, made every
preparation for war. Then comes the march from Hastinapura, for battle,
of foot-soldiers, horses, charioteers and elephants. Then the tale of the
troops by both parties. Then the despatch by prince Duryodhana of Uluka
as envoy to the Pandavas on the day previous to the battle. Then the tale
of charioteers of different classes. Then the story of Amba. These all
have been described in the fifth Parva called Udyoga of the Bharata,
abounding with incidents appertaining to war and peace. O ye ascetics,
the great Vyasa hath composed one hundred and eighty-six sections in this
Parva. The number of slokas also composed in this by the great Rishi is
six thousand, six hundred and ninety-eight.

"Then is recited the Bhishma Parva replete with wonderful incidents. In
this hath been narrated by Sanjaya the formation of the region known as
Jambu. Here hath been described the great depression of Yudhishthira's
army, and also a fierce fight for ten successive days. In this the
high-souled Vasudeva by reasons based on the philosophy of final release
drove away Arjuna's compunction springing from the latter's regard for
his kindred (whom he was on the eve of slaying). In this the magnanimous
Krishna, attentive to the welfare of Yudhishthira, seeing the loss
inflicted (on the Pandava army), descended swiftly from his chariot
himself and ran, with dauntless breast, his driving whip in hand, to
effect the death of Bhishma. In this, Krishna also smote with piercing
words Arjuna, the bearer of the Gandiva and the foremost in battle among
all wielders of weapons. In this, the foremost of bowmen, Arjuna, placing
Shikandin before him and piercing Bhishma with his sharpest arrows felled
him from his chariot. In this, Bhishma lay stretched on his bed of
arrows. This extensive Parva is known as the sixth in the Bharata. In
this have been composed one hundred and seventeen sections. The number of
slokas is five thousand, eight hundred and eighty-four as told by Vyasa
conversant with the Vedas.

"Then is recited the wonderful Parva called Drona full of incidents.
First comes the installation in the command of the army of the great
instructor in arms, Drona: then the vow made by that great master of
weapons of seizing the wise Yudhishthira in battle to please Duryodhana;
then the retreat of Arjuna from the field before the Sansaptakas, then
the overthrow of Bhagadatta like to a second Indra in the field, with the
elephant Supritika, by Arjuna; then the death of the hero Abhimanyu in
his teens, alone and unsupported, at the hands of many Maharathas
including Jayadratha; then after the death of Abhimanyu, the destruction
by Arjuna, in battle of seven Akshauhinis of troops and then of
Jayadratha; then the entry, by Bhima of mighty arms and by that foremost
of warriors-in-chariot, Satyaki, into the Kaurava ranks impenetrable even
to the gods, in search of Arjuna in obedience to the orders of
Yudhishthira, and the destruction of the remnant of the Sansaptakas. In
the Drona Parva, is the death of Alambusha, of Srutayus, of Jalasandha,
of Shomadatta, of Virata, of the great warrior-in-chariot Drupada, of
Ghatotkacha and others; in this Parva, Aswatthaman, excited beyond
measure at the fall of his father in battle, discharged the terrible
weapon Narayana. Then the glory of Rudra in connection with the burning
(of the three cities). Then the arrival of Vyasa and recital by him of
the glory of Krishna and Arjuna. This is the great seventh Parva of the
Bharata in which all the heroic chiefs and princes mentioned were sent to
their account. The number of sections in this is one hundred and seventy.
The number of slokas as composed in the Drona Parva by Rishi Vyasa, the
son of Parasara and the possessor of true knowledge after much
meditation, is eight thousand, nine hundred and nine.

"Then comes the most wonderful Parva called Karna. In this is narrated
the appointment of the wise king of Madra as (Karna's) charioteer. Then
the history of the fall of the Asura Tripura. Then the application to
each other by Karna and Salya of harsh words on their setting out for the
field, then the story of the swan and the crow recited in insulting
allusion: then the death of Pandya at the hands of the high-souled
Aswatthaman; then the death of Dandasena; then that of Darda; then
Yudhishthira's imminent risk in single combat with Karna in the presence
of all the warriors; then the mutual wrath of Yudhishthira and Arjuna;
then Krishna's pacification of Arjuna. In this Parva, Bhima, in
fulfilment of his vow, having ripped open Dussasana's breast in battle
drank the blood of his heart. Then Arjuna slew the great Karna in single
combat. Readers of the Bharata call this the eighth Parva. The number of
sections in this is sixty-nine and the number of slokas is four thousand,
nine hundred and sixty-tour.

"Then hath been recited the wonderful Parva called Salya. After all the
great warriors had been slain, the king of Madra became the leader of the
(Kaurava) army. The encounters one after another, of charioteers, have
been here described. Then comes the fall of the great Salya at the hands
of Yudhishthira, the Just. Here also is the death of Sakuni in battle at
the hands of Sahadeva. Upon only a small remnant of the troops remaining
alive after the immense slaughter, Duryodhana went to the lake and
creating for himself room within its waters lay stretched there for some
time. Then is narrated the receipt of this intelligence by Bhima from the
fowlers: then is narrated how, moved by the insulting speeches of the
intelligent Yudhishthira, Duryodhana ever unable to bear affronts, came
out of the waters. Then comes the encounter with clubs, between
Duryodhana and Bhima; then the arrival, at the time of such encounter, of
Balarama: then is described the sacredness of the Saraswati; then the
progress of the encounter with clubs; then the fracture of Duryodhana's
thighs in battle by Bhima with (a terrific hurl of) his mace. These all
have been described in the wonderful ninth Parva. In this the number of
sections is fifty-nine and the number of slokas composed by the great
Vyasa--the spreader of the fame of the Kauravas--is three thousand, two
hundred and twenty.

"Then shall I describe the Parva called Sauptika of frightful incidents.
On the Pandavas having gone away, the mighty charioteers, Kritavarman,
Kripa, and the son of Drona, came to the field of battle in the evening
and there saw king Duryodhana lying on the ground, his thighs broken, and
himself covered with blood. Then the great charioteer, the son of Drona,
of terrible wrath, vowed, 'without killing all the Panchalas including
Drishtadyumna, and the Pandavas also with all their allies, I will not
take off armour.' Having spoken those words, the three warriors leaving
Duryodhana's side entered the great forest just as the sun was setting.
While sitting under a large banian tree in the night, they saw an owl
killing numerous crows one after another. At the sight of this,
Aswatthaman, his heart full of rage at the thought of his father's fate,
resolved to slay the slumbering Panchalas. And wending to the gate of the
camp, he saw there a Rakshasa of frightful visage, his head reaching to
the very heavens, guarding the entrance. And seeing that Rakshasa
obstructing all his weapons, the son of Drona speedily pacified by
worship the three-eyed Rudra. And then accompanied by Kritavarman and
Kripa he slew all the sons of Draupadi, all the Panchalas with
Dhrishtadyumna and others, together with their relatives, slumbering
unsuspectingly in the night. All perished on that fatal night except the
five Pandavas and the great warrior Satyaki. Those escaped owing to
Krishna's counsels, then the charioteer of Dhrishtadyumna brought to the
Pandavas intelligence of the slaughter of the slumbering Panchalas by the
son of Drona. Then Draupadi distressed at the death of her sons and
brothers and father sat before her lords resolved to kill herself by
fasting. Then Bhima of terrible prowess, moved by the words of Draupadi,
resolved, to please her; and speedily taking up his mace followed in
wrath the son of his preceptor in arms. The son of Drona from fear of
Bhimasena and impelled by the fates and moved also by anger discharged a
celestial weapon saying, 'This is for the destruction of all the
Pandavas'; then Krishna saying. 'This shall not be', neutralised
Aswatthaman's speech. Then Arjuna neutralised that weapon by one of his
own. Seeing the wicked Aswatthaman's destructive intentions, Dwaipayana
and Krishna pronounced curses on him which the latter returned. Pandava
then deprived the mighty warrior-in-chariot Aswatthaman, of the jewel on
his head, and became exceedingly glad, and, boastful of their success,
made a present of it to the sorrowing Draupadi. Thus the tenth Parva,
called Sauptika, is recited. The great Vyasa hath composed this in
eighteen sections. The number of slokas also composed (in this) by the
great reciter of sacred truths is eight hundred and seventy. In this
Parva has been put together by the great Rishi the two Parvas called
Sauptika and Aishika.

"After this hath been recited the highly pathetic Parva called Stri,
Dhritarashtra of prophetic eye, afflicted at the death of his children,
and moved by enmity towards Bhima, broke into pieces a statue of hard
iron deftly placed before him by Krishna (as substitute of Bhima). Then
Vidura, removing the distressed Dhritarashtra's affection for worldly
things by reasons pointing to final release, consoled that wise monarch.
Then hath been described the wending of the distressed Dhritarashtra
accompanied by the ladies of his house to the field of battle of the
Kauravas. Here follow the pathetic wailings of the wives of the slain
heroes. Then the wrath of Gandhari and Dhritarashtra and their loss of
consciousness. Then the Kshatriya ladies saw those heroes,--their
unreturning sons, brothers, and fathers,--lying dead on the field. Then
the pacification by Krishna of the wrath of Gandhari distressed at the
death of her sons and grandsons. Then the cremation of the bodies of the
deceased Rajas with due rites by that monarch (Yudhishthira) of great
wisdom and the foremost also of all virtuous men. Then upon the
presentation of water of the manes of the deceased princes having
commenced, the story of Kunti's acknowledgment of Karna as her son born
in secret. Those have all been described by the great Rishi Vyasa in the
highly pathetic eleventh Parva. Its perusal moveth every feeling heart
with sorrow and even draweth tears from the eyes. The number of sections
composed is twenty-seven. The number of slokas is seven hundred and
seventy-five.

"Twelfth in number cometh the Santi Parva, which increaseth the
understanding and in which is related the despondency of Yudhishthira on
his having slain his fathers, brothers, sons, maternal uncles and
matrimonial relations. In this Parva is described how from his bed of
arrows Bhishma expounded various systems of duties worth the study of
kings desirous of knowledge; this Parva expounded the duties relative to
emergencies, with full indications of time and reasons. By understanding
these, a person attaineth to consummate knowledge. The mysteries also of
final emancipation have been expatiated upon. This is the twelfth Parva
the favourite of the wise. It consists of three hundred and thirty-nine
sections, and contains fourteen thousand, seven hundred and thirty-two
slokas.

"Next in order is the excellent Anusasana Parva. In it is described how
Yudhishthira, the king of the Kurus, was reconciled to himself on hearing
the exposition of duties by Bhishma, the son of Bhagirathi. This Parva
treats of rules in detail and of Dharma and Artha; then the rules of
charity and its merits; then the qualifications of donees, and the
supreme ride-regarding gifts. This Parva also describes the ceremonials
of individual duty, the rules of conduct and the matchless merit of
truth. This Parva showeth the great merit of Brahmanas and kine, and
unraveleth the mysteries of duties in relation to time and place. These
are embodied in the excellent Parva called Anusasana of varied incidents.
In this hath been described the ascension of Bhishma to Heaven. This is
the thirteenth Parva which hath laid down accurately the various duties
of men. The number of sections, in this is one hundred and forty-six. The
number of slokas is eight thousand.

"Then comes the fourteenth Parva Aswamedhika. In this is the excellent
story of Samvarta and Marutta. Then is described the discovery (by the
Pandavas) of golden treasuries; and then the birth of Parikshit who was
revived by Krishna after having been burnt by the (celestial) weapon of
Aswatthaman. The battles of Arjuna the son of Pandu, while following the
sacrificial horse let loose, with various princes who in wrath seized it.
Then is shown the great risk of Arjuna in his encounter with Vabhruvahana
the son of Chitrangada (by Arjuna) the appointed daughter of the chief of
Manipura. Then the story of the mongoose during the performance of the
horse-sacrifice. This is the most wonderful Parva called Aswamedhika. The
number of sections is one hundred and three. The number of slokas
composed (in this) by Vyasa of true knowledge is three thousand, three
hundred and twenty.

"Then comes the fifteenth Parva called Asramvasika. In this,
Dhritarashtra, abdicating the kingdom, and accompanied by Gandhari and
Vidura went to the woods. Seeing this, the virtuous Pritha also, ever
engaged in cherishing her superiors, leaving the court of her sons,
followed the old couple. In this is described the wonderful meeting
through the kindness of Vyasa of the king (Dhritarashtra) with the
spirits of his slain children, grand-children, and other princes,
returned from the other world. Then the monarch abandoning his sorrows
acquired with his wife the highest fruit of his meritorious actions. In
this Parva, Vidura after having leaned on virtue all his life attaineth
to the most meritorious state.

"The learned son of Gavalgana, Sanjaya, also of passions under full
control, and the foremost of ministers, attained, in the Parva, to the
blessed state. In this, Yudhishthira the just met Narada and heard from
him about the extinction of the race of Vrishnis. This is the very
wonderful Parva called Asramvasika. The number of sections in this is
forty-two, and the number of slokas composed by Vyasa cognisant of truth
is one thousand five hundred and six.

"After this, you know, comes the Maushala of painful incidents. In this,
those lion-hearted heroes (of the race of Vrishni) with the scars of many
a field on their bodies, oppressed with the curse of a Brahmana, while
deprived of reason from drink, impelled by the fates, slew each other on
the shores of the Salt Sea with the Eraka grass which (in their hands)
became (invested with the fatal attributes of the) thunder. In this, both
Balarama and Kesava (Krishna) after causing the extermination of their
race, their hour having come, themselves did not rise superior to the
sway of all-destroying Time. In this, Arjuna the foremost among men,
going to Dwaravati (Dwaraka) and seeing the city destitute of the
Vrishnis was much affected and became exceedingly sorry. Then after the
funeral of his maternal uncle Vasudeva the foremost among the Yadus
(Vrishnis), he saw the heroes of the Yadu race lying stretched in death
on the spot where they had been drinking. He then caused the cremation of
the bodies of the illustrious Krishna and Balarama and of the principal
members of the Vrishni race. Then as he was journeying from Dwaraka with
the women and children, the old and the decrepit--the remnants of the
Yadu race--he was met on the way by a heavy calamity. He witnessed also
the disgrace of his bow Gandiva and the unpropitiousness of his celestial
weapons. Seeing all this, Arjuna became despondent and, pursuant to
Vyasa's advice, went to Yudhishthira and solicited permission to adopt
the Sannyasa mode of life. This is the sixteenth Parva called Maushala
The number of sections is eight and the number of slokas composed by
Vyasa cognisant of truth is three hundred and twenty.

"The next is Mahaprasthanika, the seventeenth Parva.

"In this, those foremost among men the Pandavas abdicating their kingdom
went with Draupadi on their great journey called Mahaprasthana. In this,
they came across Agni, having arrived on the shore of the sea of red
waters. In this, asked by Agni himself, Arjuna worshipped him duly,
returned to him the excellent celestial bow called Gandiva. In this,
leaving his brothers who dropped one after another and Draupadi also,
Yudhishthira went on his journey without once looking back on them. This
the seventeenth Parva is called Mahaprasthanika. The number of sections
in this is three. The number of slokas also composed by Vyasa cognisant
of truth is three hundred and twenty.

"The Parva that comes after this, you must know, is the extraordinary one
called Svarga of celestial incidents. Then seeing the celestial car come
to take him, Yudhishthira moved by kindness towards the dog that
accompanied him, refused to ascend it without his companion. Observing
the illustrious Yudhishthira's steady adherence to virtue, Dharma (the
god of justice) abandoning his canine form showed himself to the king.
Then Yudhishthira ascending to heaven felt much pain. The celestial
messenger showed him hell by an act of deception. Then Yudhishthira, the
soul of justice, heard the heart-rending lamentations of his brothers
abiding in that region under the discipline of Yama. Then Dharma and
Indra showed Yudhishthira the region appointed for sinners. Then
Yudhishthira, after leaving the human body by a plunge in the celestial
Ganges, attained to that region which his acts merited, and began to live
in joy respected by Indra and all other gods. This is the eighteenth
Parva as narrated by the illustrious Vyasa. The number of slokas
composed, O ascetics, by the great Rishi in this is two hundred and nine.

"The above are the contents of the Eighteen Parvas. In the appendix
(Khita) are the Harivansa and the Vavishya. The number of slokas
contained in the Harivansa is twelve thousand."

These are the contents of the section called Parva-sangraha. Sauti
continued, "Eighteen Akshauhinis of troops came together for battle. The
encounter that ensued was terrible and lasted for eighteen days. He who
knows the four Vedas with all the Angas and Upanishads, but does not know
this history (Bharata), cannot be regarded as wise. Vyasa of immeasurable
intelligence, has spoken of the Mahabharata as a treatise on Artha, on
Dharma, and on Kama. Those who have listened to his history can never
bear to listen to others, as, indeed, they who have listened to the sweet
voice of the male Kokila can never hear the dissonance of the crow's
cawing. As the formation of the three worlds proceedeth from the five
elements, so do the inspirations of all poets proceed from this excellent
composition. O ye Brahman, as the four kinds of creatures (viviparous,
oviparous, born of hot moisture and vegetables) are dependent on space
for their existence, so the Puranas depend upon this history. As all the
senses depend for their exercise upon the various modifications of the
mind, so do all acts (ceremonials) and moral qualities depend upon this
treatise. There is not a story current in the world but doth depend on
this history, even as body upon the food it taketh. All poets cherish the
Bharata even as servants desirous of preferment always attend upon
masters of good lineage. Even as the blessed domestic Asrama can never be
surpassed by the three other Asramas (modes of life) so no poets can
surpass this poem.

"Ye ascetics, shake off all inaction. Let your hearts be fixed on virtue,
for virtue is the one only friend of him that has gone to the other
world. Even the most intelligent by cherishing wealth and wives can never
make these their own, nor are these possessions lasting. The Bharata
uttered by the lips of Dwaipayana is without a parallel; it is virtue
itself and sacred. It destroyeth sin and produceth good. He that
listeneth to it while it is being recited hath no need of a bath in the
sacred waters of Pushkara. A Brahmana, whatever sins he may commit during
the day through his senses, is freed from them all by reading the Bharata
in the evening. Whatever sins he may commit also in the night by deeds,
words, or mind, he is freed from them all by reading Bharata in the first
twilight (morning). He that giveth a hundred kine with horns mounted with
gold to a Brahmana well-posted up in the Vedas and all branches of
learning, and he that daily listeneth to the sacred narrations of the
Bharata, acquireth equal merit. As the wide ocean is easily passable by
men having ships, so is this extensive history of great excellence and
deep import with the help of this chapter called Parva sangraha."

Thus endeth the section called Parva-sangraha of the Adi Parva of the
blessed Mahabharata.



SECTION III

(Paushya Parva)

Sauti said, "Janamejaya, the son of Parikshit, was, with his brothers,
attending his long sacrifice on the plains of Kurukshetra. His brothers
were three, Srutasena, Ugrasena, and Bhimasena. And as they were sitting
at the sacrifice, there arrived at the spot an offspring of Sarama (the
celestial bitch). And belaboured by the brothers of Janamejaya, he ran
away to his mother, crying in pain. And his mother seeing him crying
exceedingly asked him, 'Why criest thou so? Who hath beaten thee? And
being thus questioned, he said unto his mother, 'I have been belaboured
by the brothers of Janamejaya.' And his mother replied, 'Thou hast
committed some fault for which hast thou been beaten!' He answered, 'I
have not committed any fault. I have not touched the sacrificial butter
with my tongue, nor have I even cast a look upon it.' His mother Sarama
hearing this and much distressed at the affliction of her son went to the
place where Janamejaya with his brothers was at his long-extending
sacrifice. And she addressed Janamejaya in anger, saying, 'This my son
hath committed no fault: he hath not looked upon your sacrificial butter,
nor hath he touched it with his tongue. Wherefore hath he been beaten?'
They said not a word in reply; whereupon she said, 'As ye have beaten my
son who hath committed no fault, therefore shall evil come upon ye, when
ye least expect it.'

"Janamejaya, thus addressed by the celestial bitch, Sarama, became
exceedingly alarmed and dejected. And after the sacrifice was concluded
returned to Hastinapura, and began to take great pains in searching for a
Purohita who could by procuring absolution for his sin, neutralise the
effect of the curse.

"One day Janamejaya, the son of Parikshit, while a-hunting, observed in a
particular part of his dominions a hermitage where dwelt a certain Rishi
of fame, Srutasrava. He had a son named Somasrava deeply engaged in
ascetic devotions. Being desirous of appointing that son of the Rishi as
his Purohita, Janamejaya, the son of Parikshit, saluted the Rishi and
addressed him, saying, 'O possessor of the six attributes, let this thy
son be my purohita.' The Rishi thus addressed, answered Janamejaya, 'O
Janamejaya, this my son, deep in ascetic devotions, accomplished in the
study of the Vedas, and endued with the full force of my asceticism, is
born of (the womb of) a she-snake that had drunk my vital fluid. He is
able to absolve thee from all offences save those committed against
Mahadeva. But he hath one particular habit, viz. he would grant to any
Brahmana whatever might be begged of him. If thou canst put up with it,
then thou take him.' Janamejaya thus addressed replied to the Rishi, 'It
shall be even so.' And accepting him for his Purohita, he returned to his
capital; and he then addressed his brothers saying, 'This is the person I
have chosen for my spiritual master; whatsoever he may say must be
complied with by you without examination.' And his brothers did as they
were directed. And giving these directions to his brothers, the king
marched towards Takshyashila and brought that country under his authority.

"About this time there was a Rishi, Ayoda-Dhaumya by name. And
Ayoda-Dhaumya had three disciples, Upamanyu, Aruni, and Veda. And the
Rishi bade one of these disciples, Aruni of Panchala, to go and stop up a
breach in the water-course of a certain field. And Aruni of Panchala,
thus ordered by his preceptor, repaired to the spot. And having gone
there he saw that he could not stop up the breach in the water-course by
ordinary means. And he was distressed because he could not do his
preceptor's bidding. But at length he saw a way and said, 'Well, I will
do it in this way.' He then went down into the breach and lay down
himself there. And the water was thus confined.

"And some time after, the preceptor Ayoda-Dhaumya asked his other
disciples where Aruni of Panchala was. And they answered, 'Sir, he hath
been sent by yourself saying, 'Go, stop up the breach in the water-course
of the field,' Thus reminded, Dhaumya, addressing his pupils, said, 'Then
let us all go to the place where he is.'

"And having arrived there, he shouted, 'Ho Aruni of Panchala! Where art
thou? Come hither, my child.' And Aruni hearing the voice of his
preceptor speedily came out of the water-course and stood before his
preceptor. And addressing the latter, Aruni said, 'Here I am in the
breach of the water-course. Not having been able to devise any other
means, I entered myself for the purpose of preventing the water running
out. It is only upon hearing thy voice that, having left it and allowed
the waters to escape, I have stood before thee. I salute thee, Master;
tell me what I have to do.'

"The preceptor, thus addressed, replied, 'Because in getting up from the
ditch thou hast opened the water-course, thenceforth shalt thou be called
Uddalaka as a mark of thy preceptor's favour. And because my words have
been obeyed by thee, thou shalt obtain good fortune. And all the Vedas
shall shine in thee and all the Dharmasastras also.' And Aruni, thus
addressed by his preceptor, went to the country after his heart.

"The name of another of Ayoda-Dhaumya's disciples was Upamanyu. And
Dhaumya appointed him saying, 'Go, my child, Upamanyu, look after the
kine.' And according to his preceptor's orders, he went to tend the kine.
And having watched them all day, he returned in the evening to his
preceptor's house and standing before him he saluted him respectfully.
And his preceptor seeing him in good condition of body asked him,
'Upamanyu, my child, upon what dost thou support thyself? Thou art
exceedingly plump.' And he answered, 'Sir, I support myself by begging'.
And his preceptor said, 'What is obtained in alms should not be used by
thee without offering it to me.' And Upamanyu, thus told, went away. And
having obtained alms, he offered the same to his preceptor. And his
preceptor took from him even the whole. And Upamanyu, thus treated, went
to attend the cattle. And having watched them all day, he returned in the
evening to his preceptor's abode. And he stood before his preceptor and
saluted him with respect. And his preceptor perceiving that he still
continued to be of good condition of body said unto him, 'Upamanyu, my
child, I take from thee even the whole of what thou obtainest in alms,
without leaving anything for thee. How then dost thou, at present,
contrive to support thyself?' And Upamanyu said unto his preceptor, 'Sir,
having made over to you all that I obtain in alms, I go a-begging a
second time for supporting myself.' And his preceptor then replied, 'This
is not the way in which thou shouldst obey the preceptor. By this thou
art diminishing the support of others that live by begging. Truly having
supported thyself so, thou hast proved thyself covetous.' And Upamanyu,
having signified his assent to all that his preceptor said, went away to
attend the cattle. And having watched them all day, he returned to his
preceptor's house. And he stood before his preceptor and saluted him
respectfully. And his preceptor observing that he was still fat, said
again unto him, 'Upamanyu, my child, I take from thee all thou obtainest
in alms and thou dost not go a-begging a second time, and yet art thou in
healthy condition. How dost thou support thyself?' And Upamanyu, thus
questioned, answered, 'Sir, I now live upon the milk of these cows.' And
his preceptor thereupon told him, 'It is not lawful for thee to
appropriate the milk without having first obtained my consent.' And
Upamanyu having assented to the justice of these observations, went away
to tend the kine. And when he returned to his preceptor's abode, he stood
before him and saluted him as usual. And his preceptor seeing that he was
still fat, said, 'Upamanyu, my child, thou eatest no longer of alms, nor
dost thou go a-begging a second time, not even drinkest of the milk; yet
art thou fat. By what means dost thou contrive to live now? And Upamanyu
replied, 'Sir, I now sip the froth that these calves throw out, while
sucking their mother's teats.' And the preceptor said, 'These generous
calves, I suppose, out of compassion for thee, throw out large quantities
of froth. Wouldst thou stand in the way of their full meals by acting as
thou hast done? Know that it is unlawful for thee to drink the froth.'
And Upamanyu, having signified his assent to this, went as before to tend
the cows. And restrained by his preceptor, he feedeth not on alms, nor
hath he anything else to eat; he drinketh not of the milk, nor tasteth he
of the froth!

"And Upamanyu, one day, oppressed by hunger, when in a forest, ate of the
leaves of the Arka (Asclepias gigantea). And his eyes being affected by
the pungent, acrimonious, crude, and saline properties of the leaves
which he had eaten, he became blind. And as he was crawling about, he
fell into a pit. And upon his not returning that day when the sun was
sinking down behind the summit of the western mountains, the preceptor
observed to his disciples that Upamanyu was not yet come. And they told
him that he had gone out with the cattle.

"The preceptor then said, 'Upamanyu being restrained by me from the use
of everything, is, of course, and therefore, doth not come home until it
be late. Let us then go in search of him.' And having said this, he went
with his disciples into the forest and began to shout, saying, 'Ho
Upamanyu, where art thou?' And Upamanyu hearing his preceptor's voice
answered in a loud tone, 'Here I am at the bottom of a well.' And his
preceptor asked him how he happened to be there. And Upamanyu replied,
'Having eaten of the leaves of the Arka plant I became blind, and so have
I fallen into this well.' And his preceptor thereupon told him, 'Glorify
the twin Aswins, the joint physicians of the gods, and they will restore
thee thy sight.' And Upamanyu thus directed by his preceptor began to
glorify the twin Aswins, in the following words of the Rig Veda:

'Ye have existed before the creation! Ye first-born beings, ye are
displayed in this wondrous universe of five elements! I desire to obtain
you by the help of the knowledge derived from hearing, and of meditation,
for ye are Infinite! Ye are the course itself of Nature and intelligent
Soul that pervades that course! Ye are birds of beauteous feathers
perched on the body that is like to a tree! Ye are without the three
common attributes of every soul! Ye are incomparable! Ye, through your
spirit in every created thing, pervade the Universe!

"Ye are golden Eagles! Ye are the essence into which all things
disappear! Ye are free from error and know no deterioration! Ye are of
beauteous beaks that would not unjustly strike and are victorious in
every encounter! Ye certainly prevail over time! Having created the sun,
ye weave the wondrous cloth of the year by means of the white thread of
the day and the black thread of the night! And with the cloth so woven,
ye have established two courses of action appertaining respectively to
the Devas and the Pitris. The bird of Life seized by Time which
represents the strength of the Infinite soul, ye set free for delivering
her unto great happiness! They that are in deep ignorance, as long as
they are under delusions of their senses, suppose you, who are
independent of the attributes of matter, to be gifted with form! Three
hundred and sixty cows represented by three hundred and sixty days
produce one calf between them which is the year. That calf is the creator
and destroyer of all. Seekers of truth following different routes, draw
the milk of true knowledge with its help. Ye Aswins, ye are the creators
of that calf!

"The year is but the nave of a wheel to which is attached seven hundred
and twenty spokes representing as many days and nights. The circumference
of this wheel represented by twelve months is without end. This wheel is
full of delusions and knows no deterioration. It affects all creatures
whether to this or of the other worlds. Ye Aswins, this wheel of time is
set in motion by you!

"The wheel of Time as represented by the year has a nave represented by
the six seasons. The number of spokes attached to that nave is twelve as
represented by the twelve signs of the Zodiac. This wheel of Time
manifests the fruits of the acts of all things. The presiding deities of
Time abide in that wheel. Subject as I am to its distressful influence,
ye Aswins, liberate me from that wheel of Time. Ye Aswins, ye are this
universe of five elements! Ye are the objects that are enjoyed in this
and in the other world! Make me independent of the five elements! And
though ye are the Supreme Brahma, yet ye move over the Earth in forms
enjoying the delights that the senses afford.

"In the beginning, ye created the ten points of the universe! Then have
ye placed the Sun and the Sky above! The Rishis, according to the course
of the same Sun, perform their sacrifices, and the gods and men,
according to what hath been appointed for them, perform their sacrifices
also enjoying the fruits of those acts!

"Mixing the three colours, ye have produced all the objects of sight! It
is from these objects that the Universe hath sprung whereon the gods and
men are engaged in their respective occupations, and, indeed, all
creatures endued with life!

"Ye Aswins, I adore you! I also adore the Sky which is your handiwork! Ye
are the ordainers of the fruits of all acts from which even the gods are
not free! Ye are yourselves free from the fruits of your acts!

"Ye are the parents of all! As males and females it is ye that swallow
the food which subsequently develops into the life creating fluid and
blood! The new-born infant sucks the teat of its mother. Indeed it is ye
that take the shape of the infant! Ye Aswins, grant me my sight to
protect my life!"

The twin Aswins, thus invoked, appeared and said, 'We are satisfied. Here
is a cake for thee. Take and eat it.' And Upamanyu thus addressed,
replied, 'Your words, O Aswins, have never proved untrue. But without
first offering this cake to my preceptor I dare not take it.' And the
Aswins thereupon told him, 'Formerly, thy preceptor had invoked us. We
thereupon gave him a cake like this; and he took it without offering it
to his master. Do thou do that which thy preceptor did.' Thus addressed,
Upamanyu again said unto them, 'O Aswins, I crave your pardon. Without
offering it to my preceptor I dare not apply this cake.' The Aswins then
said, 'O, we are pleased with this devotion of thine to thy preceptor.
Thy master's teeth are of black iron. Thine shall be of gold. Thou shall
be restored to sight and shall have good fortune.'

"Thus spoken to by the Aswins he recovered his sight, and having gone to
his preceptor's presence he saluted him and told him all. And his
preceptor was well-pleased with him and said unto him, 'Thou shalt obtain
prosperity even as the Aswins have said. All the Vedas shall shine in
thee and all the Dharma-sastras.' And this was the trial of Upamanyu.

"Then Veda the other disciple of Ayoda-Dhaumya was called. His preceptor
once addressed him, saying, 'Veda, my child, tarry some time in my house
and serve thy preceptor. It shall be to thy profit.' And Veda having
signified his assent tarried long in the family of his preceptor mindful
of serving him. Like an ox under the burthens of his master, he bore heat
and cold, hunger and thirst, at all times without a murmur. And it was
not long before his preceptor was satisfied. And as a consequence of that
satisfaction, Veda obtained good fortune and universal knowledge. And
this was the trial of Veda.

"And Veda, having received permission from his preceptor, and leaving the
latter's residence after the completion of his studies, entered the
domestic mode of life. And while living in his own house, he got three
pupils. And he never told them to perform any work or to obey implicitly
his own behests; for having himself experienced much woe while abiding in
the family of his preceptor, he liked not to treat them with severity.

"After a certain time, Janamejaya and Paushya, both of the order of
Kshatriyas, arriving at his residence appointed the Brahman. Veda, as
their spiritual guide (Upadhyaya). And one day while about to depart upon
some business related to a sacrifice, he employed one of his disciples,
Utanka, to take charge of his household. 'Utanka', said he, 'whatsoever
should have to be done in my house, let it be done by thee without
neglect.' And having given these orders to Utanka, he went on his journey.

"So Utanka always mindful of the injunction of his preceptor took up his
abode in the latter's house. And while Utanka was residing there, the
females of his preceptor's house having assembled addressed him and said,
'O Utanka, thy mistress is in that season when connubial connection might
be fruitful. The preceptor is absent; then stand thou in his place and do
the needful.' And Utanka, thus addressed, said unto those women, 'It is
not proper for me to do this at the bidding of women. I have not been
enjoined by my preceptor to do aught that is improper.'

"After a while, his preceptor returned from his journey. And his
preceptor having learnt all that had happened, became well-pleased and,
addressing Utanka, said, 'Utanka, my child, what favour shall I bestow on
thee? I have been served by thee duly; therefore hath our friendship for
each other increased. I therefore grant thee leave to depart. Go thou,
and let thy wishes be accomplished!'

"Utanka, thus addressed, replied, saying, "Let me do something that you
wish, for it hath been said, 'He who bestoweth instruction contrary to
usage and he who receiveth it contrary to usage, one of the two dieth,
and enmity springeth up between the two.--I, therefore, who have received
thy leave to depart, am desirous of bringing thee some honorarium due to
a preceptor. His master, upon hearing this, replied, 'Utanka, my child,
wait a while.' Sometime after, Utanka again addressed his preceptor,
saying, 'Command me to bring that for honorarium, which you desire.' And
his preceptor then said, 'My dear Utanka, thou hast often told me of your
desire to bring something by way of acknowledgment for the instruction
thou hast received. Go then in and ask thy mistress what thou art to
bring. And bring thou that which she directs.' And thus directed by his
preceptor Utanka addressed his preceptress, saying, 'Madam, I have
obtained my master's leave to go home, and I am desirous of bringing
something agreeable to thee as honorarium for the instruction I have
received, in order that I may not depart as his debtor. Therefore, please
command me what I am to bring.' Thus addressed, his preceptress replied,
'Go unto King Paushya and beg of him the pair of ear-rings worn by his
Queen, and bring them hither. The fourth day hence is a sacred day when I
wish to appear before the Brahmanas (who may dine at my house) decked
with these ear-rings. Then accomplish this, O Utanka! If thou shouldst
succeed, good fortune shall attend thee; if not, what good canst thou
expect?'

"Utanka thus commanded, took his departure. And as he was passing along
the road he saw a bull of extraordinary size and a man of uncommon
stature mounted thereon. And that man addressed Utanka and said, 'Eat
thou of the dung of this bull.' Utanka, however, was unwilling to comply.
The man said again, 'O Utanka, eat of it without scrutiny. Thy master ate
of it before.' And Utanka signified his assent and ate of the dung and
drank of the urine of that bull, and rose respectfully, and washing his
hands and mouth went to where King Paushya was.

'On arriving at the palace, Utanka saw Paushya seated (on his throne).
And approaching him Utanka saluted the monarch by pronouncing blessings
and said, 'I am come as a petitioner to thee.' And King Paushya, having
returned Utanka's salutations, said, 'Sir, what shall I do for thee?' And
Utanka said, 'I came to beg of thee a pair of ear-rings as a present to
my preceptor. It behoveth thee to give me the ear-rings worn by the
Queen.'

"King Paushya replied, 'Go, Utanka, into the female apartments where the
Queen is and demand them of her.' And Utanka went into the women's
apartments. But as he could not discover the Queen, he again addressed
the king, saying, 'It is not proper that I should be treated by thee with
deceit. Thy Queen is not in the private apartments, for I could not find
her.' The king thus addressed, considered for a while and replied,
'Recollect, Sir, with attention whether thou art not in a state of
defilement in consequence of contact with the impurities of a repast. My
Queen is a chaste wife and cannot be seen by any one who is impure owing
to contact with the leavings of a repast. Nor doth she herself appear in
sight of any one who is defiled.'

"Utanka, thus informed, reflected for a while and then said, 'Yes, it
must be so. Having been in a hurry I performed my ablutions (after meal)
in a standing posture.' King Paushya then said, 'Here is a transgression,
purification is not properly effected by one in a standing posture, not
by one while he is going along.' And Utanka having agreed to this, sat
down with his face towards the east, and washed his face, hands, and feet
thoroughly. And he then, without a noise, sipped thrice of water free
from scum and froth, and not warm, and just sufficient to reach his
stomach and wiped his face twice. And he then touched with water the
apertures of his organs (eyes, ears, etc.). And having done all this, he
once more entered the apartments of the women. And this time he saw the
Queen. And as the Queen perceived him, she saluted him respectfully and
said, 'Whalecum, Sir, command me what I have to do.' And Utanka said unto
her, 'It behoveth thee to give me those ear-rings of thine. I beg them as
a present for my preceptor.' And the Queen having been highly pleased
with Utanka's conduct and, considering that Utanka as an object of
charity could not be passed over, took off her ear-rings and gave them to
him. And she said, 'These ear-rings are very much sought after by
Takshaka, the King of the serpents. Therefore shouldst thou carry them
with the greatest care.'

"And Utanka being told this, said unto the Queen, 'Lady, be under no
apprehension. Takshaka, Chief of the serpents, is not able to overtake
me.' And having said this, and taking leave of the Queen, he went back
into the presence of Paushya, and said, 'Paushya, I am gratified.' Then
Paushya said to Utanka, 'A fit object of charity can only be had at long
intervals. Thou art a qualified guest, therefore do I desire to perform a
sraddha. Tarry thou a little. And Utanka replied, 'Yes, I will tarry, and
beg that the clean provisions that are ready may be soon brought in.' And
the king having signified his assent, entertained Utanka duly. And Utanka
seeing that the food placed before him had hair in it, and also that it
was cold, thought it unclean. And he said unto Paushya, 'Thou givest me
food that is unclean, therefore shalt thou lose thy sight.' And Paushya
in answer said, 'And because dost thou impute uncleanliness to food that
is clean, therefore shalt thou be without issue.' And Utanka thereupon
rejoined, 'It behoveth thee not, after having offered me unclean food, to
curse me in return. Satisfy thyself by ocular proof.'

"And Paushya seeing the food alleged to be unclean satisfied himself of
its uncleanliness. And Paushya having ascertained that the food was truly
unclean, being cold and mixed with hair, prepared as it was by a woman
with unbraided hair, began to pacify the Rishi Utanka, saying, 'Sir, the
food placed before thee is cold, and doth contain hair, having been
prepared without sufficient care. Therefore I pray thee pardon me. Let me
not become blind.' And Utanka answered, 'What I say must come to pass.
Having become blind, thou mayst, however, recover the sight before long.
Grant that thy curse also doth not take effect on me.' And Paushya said
unto him, 'I am unable to revoke my curse. For my wrath even now hath not
been appeased. But thou knowest not this. For a Brahmana's heart is soft
as new-churned butter, even though his words bear a sharp-edged razor. It
is otherwise in respect of these with the Kshatriya. His words are soft
as new-churned butter, but his heart is like a sharp-edged tool, such
being the case, I am unable, because of the hardness of my heart, to
neutralise my curse. Then go thou thy own way.' To this Utanka made
answer, "I showed thee the uncleanliness of the food offered to me, and I
was even now pacified by thee. Besides, saidst thou at first that because
I imputed uncleanliness to food that was clean I should be without issue.
But the food truly unclean, thy curse cannot affect me. Of this I am
sure.' And Utanka having said this departed with the ear-rings.

"On the road Utanka perceived coming towards him a naked idle beggar
sometimes coming in view and sometimes disappearing. And Utanka put the
ear-rings on the ground and went for water. In the meantime the beggar
came quickly to the spot and taking up the ear-rings ran away. And Utanka
having completed his ablutions in water and purified himself and having
also reverently bowed down to the gods and his spiritual masters pursued
the thief with the utmost speed. And having with great difficulty
overtaken him, he seized him by force. But at that instant the person
seized, quitting the form of a beggar and assuming his real form, viz.,
that of Takshaka, speedily entered a large hole open in the ground. And
having got in, Takshaka proceeded to his own abode, the region of the
serpents.

"Now, Utanka, recollecting the words of the Queen, pursued the Serpent,
and began to dig open the hole with a stick but was unable to make much
progress. And Indra beholding his distress sent his thunder-bolt (Vajra)
to his assistance. Then the thunder-bolt entering that stick enlarged
that hole. And Utanka began to enter the hole after the thunder-bolt. And
having entered it, he beheld the region of the serpents infinite in
extent, filled with hundreds of palaces and elegant mansions with turrets
and domes and gate-ways, abounding with wonderful places for various
games and entertainments. And Utanka then glorified the serpents by the
following slokas:

"Ye Serpents, subjects of King Airavata, splendid in battle and showering
weapons in the field like lightning-charged clouds driven by the winds!
Handsome and of various forms and decked with many coloured ear-rings, ye
children of Airavata, ye shine like the Sun in the firmament! On the
northern banks of the Ganges are many habitations of serpents. There I
constantly adore the great serpents. Who except Airavata would desire to
move in the burning rays of the Sun? When Dhritarashtra (Airavata's
brother) goes out, twenty-eight thousand and eight serpents follow him as
his attendants. Ye who move near him and ye who stay at a distance from
him, I adore all of you that have Airavata for your elder brother.

"I adore thee also, to obtain the ear-rings, O Takshaka, who formerly
dwelt in Kurukshetra and the forest of Khandava! Takshaka and Aswasena,
ye are constant companions who dwell in Kurukshetra on the banks of the
Ikshumati! I also adore the illustrious Srutasena, the younger brother of
Takshaka, who resided at the holy place called Mahadyumna with a view to
obtaining the chiefship of the serpents.

"The Brahmana Rishi Utanka having saluted the chief serpents in this
manner, obtained not, however, the ear-rings. And he thereupon became
very thoughtful. And when he saw that he obtained not the ear-rings even
though he had adored the serpents, he then looked about him and beheld
two women at a loom weaving a piece of cloth with a fine shuttle; and in
the loom were black and white threads. And he likewise saw a wheel, with
twelve spokes, turned by six boys. And he also saw a man with a handsome
horse. And he began to address them the following mantras:

"This wheel whose circumference is marked by twenty-four divisions
representing as many lunar changes is furnished with three hundred
spokes! It is set in continual motion by six boys (the seasons)! These
damsels representing universal nature are weaving without intermission a
cloth with threads black and white, and thereby ushering into existence
the manifold worlds and the beings that inhabit them! Thou wielder of the
thunder, the protector of the universe, the slayer of Vritra and Namuchi,
thou illustrious one who wearest the black cloth and displayest truth and
untruth in the universe, thou who ownest for thy carrier the horse which
was received from the depths of the ocean, and which is but another form
of Agni (the god of fire), I bow to thee, thou supreme Lord, thou Lord of
the three worlds, O Purandara!'

"Then the man with the horse said unto Utanka, 'I am gratified by this
thy adoration. What good shall I do to thee?' And Utanka replied, 'Even
let the serpents be brought under my control.' Then the man rejoined,
'Blow into this horse.' And Utanka blew into that horse. And from the
horse thus blown into, there issued, from every aperture of his body,
flames of fire with smoke by which the region of the Nagas was about to
be consumed. And Takshaka, surprised beyond measure and terrified by the
heat of the fire, hastily came out of his abode taking the ear-rings with
him, and said unto Utanka, 'Pray, Sir, take back the ear-rings.' And
Utanka took them back.

"But Utanka having recovered his ear-rings thought, 'O, this is that
sacred day of my preceptress. I am at a distance. How can I, therefore,
show my regard for her? And when Utanka was anxious about this, the man
addressed him and said, 'Ride this horse, Utanka, and he will in a moment
carry thee to thy master's abode.' And Utanka having signified his
assent, mounted the horse and presently reached his preceptor's house.

"And his preceptress that morning after having bathed was dressing her
hair sitting, thinking of uttering a curse on Utanka if he should not
return within time. But, in the meantime, Utanka entered his preceptor's
abode and paid his respects to his preceptress and presented her the
ear-rings. 'Utanka', said she, 'thou hast arrived at the proper time at
the proper place. Whalecum, my child; thou art innocent and therefore I do
not curse thee! Good fortune is even before thee. Let thy wishes be
crowned with success!'

"Then Utanka waited on his preceptor. And his preceptor said, 'Thou art
Whalecum! What hath occasioned thy long absence?' And Utanka replied to
his preceptor, 'Sir, in the execution of this my business obstruction was
offered by Takshaka, the King of serpents. Therefore I had to go to the
region of the Nagas. There I saw two damsels sitting at a loom, weaving a
fabric with black and white threads. Pray, what is that? There likewise I
beheld a wheel with twelve spokes ceaselessly turned by six boys. What
too doth that import? Who is also the man that I saw? And what the horse
of extraordinary size likewise beheld by me? And when I was on the road I
also saw a bull with a man mounted thereon, by whom I was endearingly
accosted thus, 'Utanka, eat of the dung of this bull, which was also
eaten by thy master?' So I ate of the dung of that bull according to his
words. Who also is he? Therefore, enlightened by thee, I desire to hear
all about them.'

"And his preceptor thus addressed said unto him, 'The two damsels thou
hast seen are Dhata and Vidhata; the black and white threads denote night
and day; the wheel of twelve spokes turned by the six boys signified the
year comprising six seasons. The man is Parjanya, the deity of rain, and
the horse is Agni, the god of fire. The bull that thou hast seen on the
road is Airavata, the king of elephants; the man mounted thereon is
Indra; and the dung of the bull which was eaten by thee was Amrita. It
was certainly for this (last) that thou hast not met with death in the
region of the Nagas; and Indra who is my friend having been mercifully
inclined showed thee favour. It is for this that thou returnest safe,
with the ear-rings about thee. Then, O thou amiable one, I give thee
leave to depart. Thou shall obtain good fortune.'

"And Utanka, having obtained his master's leave, moved by anger and
resolved to avenge himself on Takshaka, proceeded towards Hastinapura.
That excellent Brahmana soon reached Hastinapura. And Utanka then waited
upon King Janamejaya who had some time before returned victorious from
Takshashila. And Utanka saw the victorious monarch surrounded on all
sides by his ministers. And he pronounced benedictions on him in a proper
form. And Utanka addressed the monarch at the proper moment in speech of
correct accent and melodious sounds, saying, 'O thou the best of
monarchs! How is it that thou spendest thy time like a child when there
is another matter that urgently demandeth thy attention?'"

"Sauti said, 'The monarch Janamejaya, thus addressed, saluting that
excellent Brahmana replied unto him, 'In cherishing these my subjects I
do discharge the duties of my noble tribe. Say, what is that business to
be done by me and which hath brought thee hither.'

"The foremost of Brahmanas and distinguished beyond all for good deeds,
thus addressed by the excellent monarch of large heart, replied unto him,
'O King! the business is thy own that demandeth thy attention; therefore
do it, please. O thou King of kings! Thy father was deprived of life by
Takshaka; therefore do thou avenge thy father's death on that vile
serpent. The time hath come, I think, for the act of vengeance ordained
by the Fates. Go then avenge the death of thy magnanimous father who,
being bitten without cause by that vile serpent, was reduced to five
elements even like a tree stricken by thunder. The wicked Takshaka,
vilest of the serpent race, intoxicated with power committed an
unnecessary act when he bit the King, that god-like father, the protector
of the race of royal saints. Wicked in his deeds, he even caused Kasyapa
(the prince of physicians) to run back when he was coming for the relief
of thy father. It behoveth thee to burn the wicked wretch in the blazing
fire of a snake-sacrifice. O King! Give instant orders for the sacrifice.
It is thus thou canst avenge the death of thy father. And a very great
favour shall have also been shown to me. For by that malignant wretch, O
virtuous Prince, my business also was, on one occasion, obstructed, while
proceeding on account of my preceptor."

"Sauti continued, The monarch, having heard these words, was enraged with
Takshaka. By the speech of Utanka was inflamed the prince, even as the
sacrificial fire with clarified butter. Moved by grief also, in the
presence of Utanka, the prince asked his ministers the particulars of his
father's journey to the regions of the blessed. And when he heard all
about the circumstances of his father's death from the lips of Utanka, he
was overcome with pain and sorrow.

And thus endeth the section called Paushya of the Adi Parva of the
blessed Mahabharata."



SECTION IV

(Pauloma Parva)

'UGRASRAVA SAUTI, the son of Lomaharshana, versed in the Puranas, while
present in the forest of Naimisha, at the twelve years' sacrifice of
Saunaka, surnamed Kulapati, stood before the Rishis in attendance. Having
studied Puranas with meticulous devotion and thus being thoroughly
acquainted with them, he addressed them with joined hands thus, 'I have
graphically described to you the history of Utanka which is one of the
causes of King Janamejaya's Snake-sacrifice. What, revered Sirs, do ye
wish to hear now? What shall I relate to you?' The holy men replied, 'O
son of Lomaharshana, we shall ask thee about what we are anxious to hear
and thou wilt recount the tales one by one. Saunaka, our revered master,
is at present attending the apartment of the holy fire. He is acquainted
with those divine stories which relate to the gods and asuras. He
adequately knoweth the histories of men, serpents, and Gandharvas.
Further, O Sauti, in this sacrifice that learned Brahmana is the chief.
He is able, faithful to his vows, wise, a master of the Sastras and the
Aranyaka, a speaker of truth, a lover of peace, a mortifier of the flesh,
and an observer of the penances according to the authoritative decrees.
He is respected by us all. It behoveth us therefore to wait for him. And
when he is seated on his highly respected seat, thou wilt answer what
that best of Dwijas shall ask of thee.'

"Sauti said, 'Be it so. And when the high-souled master hath been seated
I shall narrate, questioned by him, sacred stories on a variety of
subjects." After a while that excellent Brahmana (Saunaka) having duly
finished all his duties, and having propitiated the gods with prayers and
the manes with oblations of water, came back to the place of sacrifice,
where with Sauti seated before was the assembly of saints of rigid vows
sitting at ease. And when Saunaka was seated in the midst of the Ritwiks
and Sadhyas, who were also in their seats, he spake as followeth."



SECTION V

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Saunaka said, 'Child, thy father formerly read the whole of the Puranas,
O son of Lomaharshana, and the Bharata with Krishna-Dwaipayana. Hast thou
also made them thy study? In those ancient records are chronicled
interesting stories and the history of the first generations of the wise
men, all of which we heard being rehearsed by thy sire. In the first
place, I am desirous of hearing the history of the race of Bhrigu.
Recount thou that history, we shall attentively listen to thee."

"Sauti answered, 'By me hath been acquired all that was formerly studied
by the high-souled Brahmanas including Vaisampayana and repeated by them;
by me hath been acquired all that had been studied by my father. O
descendant of the Bhrigu race, attend then to so much as relateth to the
exalted race of Bhrigu, revered by Indra and all the gods, by the tribes
of Rishis and Maruts (Winds). O great Muni, I shall first properly
recount the story of this family, as told in the Puranas.

"The great and blessed saint Bhrigu, we are informed, was produced by the
self-existing Brahma from the fire at the sacrifice of Varuna. And Bhrigu
had a son, named Chyavana, whom he dearly loved. And to Chyavana was born
a virtuous son called Pramati. And Pramati had a son named Ruru by
Ghritachi (the celestial dancer). And to Ruru also by his wife
Pramadvara, was born a son, whose name was Sunaka. He was, O Saunaka, thy
great ancestor exceedingly virtuous in his ways. He was devoted to
asceticism, of great reputation, proficient in law, and eminent among
those having a knowledge of the Vedas. He was virtuous, truthful, and of
well-regulated fare.'

"Saunaka said, 'O son of Suta, I ask thee why the illustrious son of
Bhrigu was named Chyavana. Do tell me all.'

"Sauti replied, 'Bhrigu had a wife named Puloma whom he dearly loved. She
became big with child by Bhrigu. And one day while the virtuous continent
Puloma was in that condition, Bhrigu, great among those that are true to
their religion, leaving her at home went out to perform his ablutions. It
was then that the Rakshasa called Puloma came to Bhrigu's abode. And
entering the Rishi's abode, the Rakshasa saw the wife of Bhrigu,
irreproachable in everything. And seeing her he became filled with lust
and lost his senses. The beautiful Puloma entertained the Rakshasa thus
arrived, with roots and fruits of the forest. And the Rakshasa who burnt
with desire upon seeing her, became very much delighted and resolved, O
good sage, to carry her away who was so blameless in every respect.

'My design is accomplished,' said the Rakshasa, and so seizing that
beautiful matron he carried her away. And, indeed, she of agreeable
smiles, had been betrothed by her father himself, to him, although the
former subsequently bestowed her, according to due rites, on Bhrigu. O
thou of the Bhrigu race, this wound rankled deep in the Rakshasa's mind
and he thought the present moment very opportune for carrying the lady
away.

"And the Rakshasa saw the apartment in which the sacrificial fire was
kept burning brightly. The Rakshasa then asked the flaming element 'Tell
me, O Agni, whose wife this woman rightfully is. Thou art the mouth of
gods; therefore thou art bound to answer my question. This lady of
superior complexion had been first accepted by me as wife, but her father
subsequently bestowed her on the false Bhrigu. Tell me truly if this fair
one can be regarded as the wife of Bhrigu, for having found her alone, I
have resolved to take her away by force from the hermitage. My heart
burneth with rage when I reflect that Bhrigu hath got possession of this
woman of slender waist, first betrothed to me.'"

"Sauti continued, 'In this manner the Rakshasa asked the flaming god of
fire again and again whether the lady was Bhrigu's wife. And the god was
afraid to return an answer. 'Thou, O god of fire,' said he, residest
constantly within every creature, as witness of her or his merits and
demerits. O thou respected one, then answer my question truly. Has not
Bhrigu appropriated her who was chosen by me as my wife? Thou shouldst
declare truly whether, therefore, she is my wife by first choice. After
thy answer as to whether she is the wife of Bhrigu, I will bear her away
from this hermitage even in sight of thee. Therefore answer thou truly.'"

"Sauti continued, 'The Seven flamed god having heard these words of the
Rakshasa became exceedingly distressed, being afraid of telling a
falsehood and equally afraid of Bhrigu's curse. And the god at length
made answer in words that came out slowly. 'This Puloma was, indeed,
first chosen by thee, O Rakshasa, but she was not taken by thee with holy
rites and invocations. But this far-famed lady was bestowed by her father
on Bhrigu as a gift from desire of blessing. She was not bestowed on thee
O Rakshasa, this lady was duly made by the Rishi Bhrigu his wife with
Vedic rites in my presence. This is she--I know her. I dare not speak a
falsehood. O thou best of the Rakshasas, falsehood is never respected in
this world.'"



SECTION VI

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'O Brahmana, having heard these words from the god of fire,
the Rakshasa assumed the form of a boar, and seizing the lady carried her
away with the speed of the wind--even of thought. Then the child of
Bhrigu lying in her body enraged at such violence, dropped from his
mother's womb, for which he obtained the name of Chyavana. And the
Rakshasa perceiving the infant drop from the mother's womb, shining like
the sun, quitted his grasp of the woman, fell down and was instantly
converted into ashes. And the beautiful Pauloma, distracted with grief, O
Brahmana of the Bhrigu race, took up her offspring Chyavana, the son of
Bhrigu and walked away. And Brahma, the Grandfather of all, himself saw
her, the faultless wife of his son, weeping. And the Grandfather of all
comforted her who was attached to her son. And the drops of tears which
rolled down her eyes formed a great river. And that river began to follow
the foot-steps of the wife of the great ascetic Bhrigu. And the
Grandfather of the worlds seeing that river follow the path of his son's
wife gave it a name himself, and he called it Vadhusara. And it passeth
by the hermitage of Chyavana. And in this manner was born Chyavana of
great ascetic power, the son of Bhrigu.

"And Bhrigu saw his child Chyavana and its beautiful mother. And the
Rishi in a rage asked her, 'By whom wast thou made known to that Rakshasa
who resolved to carry thee away? O thou of agreeable smiles, the Rakshasa
could not know thee as my wile. Therefore tell me who it was that told
the Rakshasa so, in order that I may curse him through anger.' And
Pauloma replied, 'O possessor of the six attributes! I was identified to
the Rakshasa by Agni (the god of fire). And he (the Rakshasa) bore me
away, who cried like the Kurari (female osprey). And it was only by the
ardent splendour of this thy son that I was rescued, for the Rakshasa
(seeing this infant) let me go and himself falling to the ground was
turned into ashes.'

"Sauti continued, 'Bhrigu, upon hearing this account from Pauloma, became
exceedingly enraged. And in excess of passion the Rishi cursed Agni,
saying, 'Thou shalt eat of all things.'"

So ends the sixth section called "the curse on Agni" in the Adi Parva.



SECTION VII

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'the god of fire enraged at the curse of Bhrigu, thus
addressed the Rishi, 'What meaneth this rashness, O Brahmana, that thou
hast displayed towards me? What transgression can be imputed to me who
was labouring to do justice and speak the truth impartially? Being asked
I gave the true answer. A witness who when interrogated about a fact of
which he hath knowledge, representeth otherwise than it is, ruineth his
ancestors and descendants both to the seventh generation. He, too, who,
being fully cognisant of all the particulars of an affair, doth not
disclose what he knoweth, when asked, is undoubtedly stained with guilt.
I can also curse thee, but Brahmanas are held by me in high respect.
Although these are known to thee, O Brahmana, I will yet speak of them,
so please attend! Having, by ascetic power, multiplied myself, I am
present in various forms, in places of the daily homa, at sacrifices
extending for years, in places where holy rites are performed (such as
marriage, etc.), and at other sacrifices. With the butter that is poured
upon my flame according to the injunctions prescribed in the Vedas, the
Devas and the Pitris are appeased. The Devas are the waters; the Pitris
are also the waters. The Devas have with the Pitris an equal right to the
sacrifices called Darshas and Purnamasas. The Devas therefore are the
Pitris and the Pitris, the Devas. They are identical beings, worshipped
together and also separately at the changes of the moon. The Devas and
the Pitris eat what is poured upon me. I am therefore called the mouth of
the Devas and the Pitris. At the new moon the Pitris, and at the full
moon the Devas, are fed through my mouth, eating of the clarified butter
that is poured on me. Being, as I am, their mouth, how am I to be an
eater of all things (clean and unclean)?

"Then Agni, alter reflecting for a while, withdrew himself from all
places; from places of the daily homa of the Brahmanas, from all
long-extending sacrifices, from places of holy rites, and from other
ceremonies. Without their Oms and Vashats, and deprived of their Swadhas
and Swahas (sacrificial mantras during offerings), the whole body of
creatures became much distressed at the loss of their (sacrificial) fire.
The Rishis in great anxiety went to the gods and addressed them thus, 'Ye
immaculate beings! The three regions of the universe are confounded at
the cessation of their sacrifices and ceremonies in consequence of the
loss of fire! Ordain what is to be done in tins matter, so that there may
be no loss of time.' Then the Rishis and the gods went together to the
presence of Brahma. And they represented to him all about the curse on
Agni and the consequent interruption of all ceremonies. And they said, 'O
thou greatly fortunate! Once Agni hath been cursed by Bhrigu for some
reason. Indeed, being the mouth of the gods and also the first who eateth
of what is offered in sacrifices, the eater also of the sacrificial
butter, how will Agni be reduced to the condition of one who eateth of
all things promiscuously?' And the creator of the universe hearing these
words of theirs summoned Agni to his presence. And Brahma addressed Agni,
the creator of all and eternal as himself, in these gentle words, 'Thou
art the creator of the worlds and thou art their destroyer! Thou
preserves! the three worlds and thou art the promoter of all sacrifices
and ceremonies! Therefore behave thyself so that ceremonies be not
interrupted. And, O thou eater of the sacrificial butter, why dost thou
act so foolishly, being, as thou art, the Lord of all? Thou alone art
always pure in the universe and thou art its stay! Thou shall not, with
all thy body, be reduced to the state of one who eateth of all things
promiscuously. O thou of flames, the flame that is in thy viler parts
shall alone eat of all things alike. The body of thine which eateth of
flesh (being in the stomach of all carnivorous animals) shall also eat of
all things promiscuously. And as every thing touched by the sun's rays
becometh pure, so shall everything be pure that shall be burnt by thy
flames. Thou art, O fire, the supreme energy born of thy own power. Then,
O Lord, by that power of thine make the Rishi's curse come true. Continue
to 'receive thy own portion and that of the gods, offered at thy mouth.'

'Sauti continued, 'Then Agni replied to the Grandfather, 'So be it.' And
he then went away to obey the command of the supreme Lord. The gods and
the Rishis also returned in delight to the place whence they had come.
And the Rishis began to perform as before their ceremonies and
sacrifices. And the gods in heaven and all creatures of the world
rejoiced exceedingly. And Agni too rejoiced in that he was free from the
prospect of sin.

"Thus, O possessor of the six attributes, had Agni been cursed in the
days of yore by Bhrigu. And such is the ancient history connected with
the destruction of the Rakshasa, Pauloma and the birth of Chyavana.'"

Thus endeth the seventh section of the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva of
the blessed Mahabharata.



SECTION VIII

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'O Brahmana, Chyavana, the son of Bhrigu, begot a son in the
womb of his wife Sukanya. And that son was the illustrious Pramati of
resplendent energy. And Pramati begot in the womb of Ghritachi a son
called Ruru. And Ruru begot on his wife Pramadvara a son called Sunaka.
And I shall relate to you in detail, O Brahmana, the entire history of
Ruru of abundant energy. O listen to it then in full!

"Formerly there was a great Rishi called Sthulakesa possessed of ascetic
power and learning and kindly disposed towards all creatures. At that
time, O Brahmana sage, Viswavasu, the King of the Gandharvas, it is said,
had intimacy with Menaka, the celestial dancing-girl. And the Apsara,
Menaka, O thou of the Bhrigu race, when her time was come, brought forth
an infant near the hermitage of Sthulakesa. And dropping the newborn
infant on the banks of the river, O Brahmana, Menaka, the Apsara, being
destitute of pity and shame, went away. And the Rishi, Sthulakesa, of
great ascetic power, discovered the infant lying forsaken in a lonely
part of the river-side. And he perceived that it was a female child,
bright as the offspring of an Immortal and blazing, as it were, with
beauty: And the great Brahmana, Sthulakesa, the first of Munis, seeing
that female child, and filled with compassion, took it up and reared it.
And the lovely child grew up in his holy habitation, the noble-minded and
blessed Rishi Sthulakesa performing in due succession all the ceremonies
beginning with that at birth as ordained by the divine law. And because
she surpassed all of her sex in goodness, beauty, and every quality, the
great Rishi called her by the name of Pramadvara. And the pious Ruru
having seen Pramadvara in the hermitage of Sthulakesa became one whose
heart was pierced by the god of love. And Ruru by means of his companions
made his father Pramati, the son of Bhrigu, acquainted with his passion.
And Pramati demanded her of the far-famed Sthulakesa for his son. And her
foster-father betrothed the virgin Pramadvara to Ruru, fixing the
nuptials for the day when the star Varga-Daivata (Purva-phalguni) would
be ascendant.

"Then within a few days of the time fixed for the nuptials, the beautiful
virgin while at play with companions of her own sex, her time having
come, impelled by fate, trod upon a serpent which she did not perceive as
it lay in coil. And the reptile, urged to execute the will of Fate,
violently darted its envenomed fangs into the body of the heedless
maiden. And stung by that serpent, she instantly dropped senseless on the
ground, her colour faded and all the graces of her person went off. And
with dishevelled hair she became a spectacle of woe to her companions and
friends. And she who was so agreeable to behold became on her death what
was too painful to look at. And the girl of slender waist lying on the
ground like one asleep--being overcome with the poison of the snake-once
more became more beautiful than in life. And her foster-father and the
other holy ascetics who were there, all saw her lying motionless upon the
ground with the splendour of a lotus. And then there came many noted
Brahmanas filled with compassion, and they sat around her. And
Swastyatreya, Mahajana, Kushika, Sankhamekhala, Uddalaka, Katha, and
Sweta of great renown, Bharadwaja, Kaunakutsya, Arshtishena, Gautama,
Pramati, and Pramati's son Ruru, and other inhabitants of the forest,
came there. And when they saw that maiden lying dead on the ground
overcome with the poison of the reptile that had bitten her, they all
wept filled with compassion. But Ruru, mortified beyond measure, retired
from the scene.'"

So ends the eighth section of the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva of the
blessed Mahabharata.



SECTION IX

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'While those illustrious Brahmanas were sitting around the
dead body of Pramadvara, Ruru, sorely afflicted, retired into a deep wood
and wept aloud. And overwhelmed with grief he indulged in much piteous
lamentation. And, remembering his beloved Pramadvara, he gave vent to his
sorrow in the following words, 'Alas! The delicate fair one that
increaseth my affliction lieth upon the bare ground. What can be more
deplorable to us, her friends? If I have been charitable, if I have
performed acts of penance, if I have ever revered my superiors, let the
merit of these arts restore to life my beloved one! If from my birth I
have been controlling my passions, adhered to my vows, let the fair
Pramadvara rise from the ground.

"And while Ruru was indulging in these lamentations for the loss of his
bride, a messenger from heaven came to him in the forest and addressed
him thus, 'The words thou utterest, O Ruru, in thy affliction are
certainly ineffectual. For, O pious man, one belonging to this world
whose days have run out can never come back to life. This poor child of a
Gandharva and Apsara has had her days run out! Therefore, O child, thou
shouldst not consign thy heart to sorrow. The great gods, however, have
provided beforehand a means of her restoration to life. And if thou
compliest with it, thou mayest receive back thy Pramadvara.'

"And Ruru replied, O messenger of heaven! What is that which the gods
have ordained. Tell me in full so that (on hearing) I may comply with it.
It behoveth thee to deliver me from grief!' And the celestial messenger
said unto Ruru, 'Resign half of thy own life to thy bride, and then, O
Ruru of the race of Bhrigu, thy Pramadvara shall rise from the ground.'
'O best of celestial messengers, I most willingly offer a moiety of my
own life in favour of my bride. Then let my beloved one rise up once more
in her dress and lovable form.'

"Sauti said, 'Then the king of Gandharvas (the father of Pramadvara) and
the celestial messenger, both of excellent qualities, went to the god
Dharma (the Judge of the dead) and addressed him, saying, 'If it be thy
will, O Dharmaraja, let the amiable Pramadvara, the betrothed wife of
Ruru, now lying dead, rise up with a moiety of Ruru's life.' And
Dharmaraja answered, 'O messenger of the gods, if it be thy wish, let
Pramadvara, the betrothed wife of Ruru, rise up endued with a moiety of
Ruru's life.'

"Sauti continued, 'And when Dharmaraja had said so, that maiden of
superior complexion, Pramadvara, endued with a moiety of Ruru's life,
rose as from her slumber. This bestowal by Ruru of a moiety of his own
span of life to resuscitate his bride afterwards led, as it would be
seen, to a curtailment of Ruru's life.

"And on an auspicious day their fathers gladly married them with due
rites. And the couple passed their days, devoted to each other. And Ruru
having obtained such a wife, as is hard to be found, beautiful and bright
as the filaments of the lotus, made a vow for the destruction of the
serpent-race. And whenever he saw a serpent he became filled with great
wrath and always killed it with a weapon.

"One day, O Brahmana, Ruru entered an extensive forest. And there he saw
an old serpent of the Dundubha species lying stretched on the ground. And
Ruru thereupon lifted up in anger his staff, even like to the staff of
Death, for the purpose of killing it. Then the Dundubha, addressing Ruru,
said, 'I have done thee no harm, O Brahmana! Then wherefore wilt thou
slay me in anger?'"

So ends the ninth section of the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva of the
blessed Mahabharata.



SECTION X

(Pauloma Parva continued)

Sauti said, 'And Ruru, on hearing those words, replied, 'My wife, dear to
me as life, was bit by a snake; upon which, I took, O snake, a dreadful
vow, viz., that I would kill every snake that I might come across.
Therefore shall I smite thee and thou shalt be deprived of life.'

"And the Dundubha replied, 'O Brahmana, the snakes that bite man are
quite different in type. It behoveth thee not to slay Dundubhas who are
serpents only in name. Subject like other serpents to the same calamities
but not sharing their good fortune, in woe the same but in joy different,
the Dundubhas should not be slain by thee under any misconception.'

"Sauti continued, 'And the Rishi Ruru hearing these words of the serpent,
and seeing that it was bewildered with fear, albeit a snake of the
Dundubha species, killed it not. And Ruru, the possessor of the six
attributes, comforting the snake addressed it, saying, 'Tell me fully, O
snake, who art thou thus metamorphosed?' And the Dundubha replied, 'O
Ruru! I was formerly a Rishi by name Sahasrapat. And it is by the curse
of a Brahmana that I have been transformed into a snake. And Ruru asked,
'O thou best of snakes, for what wast thou cursed by a Brahmana in wrath?
And how long also will thy form continue so?'"

And so ends the tenth section of the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XI

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti continued 'The Dundubha then said, 'In former times, I had a
friend Khagama by name. He was impetuous in his speech and possessed of
spiritual power by virtue of his austerities. And one day when he was
engaged in the Agni-hotra (Fire-sacrifice), I made a mock snake of blades
of grass, and in a frolic attempted to frighten him with it. And anon he
fell into a swoon. On recovering his senses, that truth-telling and
vow-observing ascetic, burning with wrath, exclaimed, 'Since thou hast
made a powerless mock snake to frighten me, thou shalt be turned even
into a venomless serpent thyself by my curse.' O ascetic, I well knew the
power of his penances; therefore with an agitated heart, I addressed him
thus, bending low with joined hands, 'Friend, I did this by way of a
joke, to excite thy laughter. It behoveth thee to forgive me and revoke
thy curse.' And seeing me sorely troubled, the ascetic was moved, and he
replied, breathing hot and hard. 'What I have said must come to pass.
Listen to what I say and lay it to thy heart. O pious one! when Ruru the
pure son of Pramati, will appear, thou shall be delivered from the curse
the moment thou seest him. Thou art the very Ruru and the son of Pramati.
On regaining my native form, I will tell thee something for thy good.

"And that illustrious man and the best of Brahmanas then left his
snake-body, and attained his own form and original brightness. He then
addressed the following words to Ruru of incomparable power, 'O thou
first of created beings, verily the highest virtue of man is sparing the
life of others. Therefore a Brahmana should never take the life of any
creature. A Brahmana should ever be mild. This is the most sacred
injunction of the Vedas. A Brahmana should be versed in the Vedas and
Vedangas, and should inspire all creatures with belief in God. He should
be benevolent to all creatures, truthful, and forgiving, even as it is
his paramount duty to retain the Vedas in his memory. The duties of the
Kshatriya are not thine. To be stern, to wield the sceptre and to rule
the subjects properly are the duties of the Kshatriya. Listen, O Ruru, to
the account of the destruction of snakes at the sacrifice of Janamejaya
in days of yore, and the deliverance of the terrified reptiles by that
best of Dwijas, Astika, profound in Vedic lore and might in spiritual
energy.'"

And so ends the eleventh section of the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XII

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti continued, 'Ruru then asked, 'O best of Dwijas, why was king
Janamejaya bent upon destroying the serpents?--And why and how were they
saved by the wise Astika? I am anxious to hear all this in detail.'

"The Rishi replied, 'O Ruru, the important history of Astika you will
learn from the lips of Brahmanas.' Saying this, he vanished.

"Sauti continued, 'Ruru ran about in search of the missing Rishi, and
having failed to find him in all the woods, fell down on the ground,
fatigued. And revolving in his mind the words of the Rishi, he was
greatly confounded and seemed to be deprived of his senses. Regaining
consciousness, he came home and asked his father to relate the history in
question. Thus asked, his father related all about the story.'"

So ends the twelfth section in the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XIII

(Astika Parva)

"Saunaka said, 'For what reason did that tiger among kings, the royal
Janamejaya, determine to take the lives of the snakes by means of a
sacrifice? O Sauti, tell us in full the true story. Tell us also why
Astika, that best of regenerate ones, that foremost of ascetics, rescued
the snakes from the blazing fire. Whose son was that monarch who
celebrated the snake-sacrifice? And whose son also was that best of
regenerate ones?'

"Sauti said, 'O best of speakers, this story of Astika is long. I will
duly relate it in full, O listen!'

"Saunaka said, 'I am desirous of hearing at length the charming story of
that Rishi, that illustrious Brahmana named Astika.'

"Sauti said, 'This history (first) recited by Krishna-Dwaipayana, is
called a Purana by the Brahmanas. It was formerly narrated by my wise
father, Lomaharshana, the disciple of Vyasa, before the dwellers of the
Naimisha forest, at their request. I was present at the recital, and, O
Saunaka, since thou askest me, I shall narrate the history of Astika
exactly as I heard it. O listen, as I recite in full that sin-destroying
story.

"The father of Astika was powerful like Prajapati. He was a
Brahma-charin, always engaged in austere devotions. He ate sparingly, was
a great ascetic, and had his lust under complete control. And he was
known by the name of Jaratkaru. That foremost one among the Yayavaras,
virtuous and of rigid vows, highly blessed and endued with great ascetic
power, once undertook a journey over the world. He visited diverse
places, bathed in diverse sacred waters, and rested where night overtook
him. Endued with great energy, he practised religious austerities, hard
to be practised by men of unrestrained souls. The sage lived upon air
only, and renounced sleep for ever. Thus going about like a blazing fire,
one day he happened to see his ancestors, hanging heads down in a great
hole, their feet pointing upwards. On seeing them, Jaratkaru addressed
them, saying:

'Who are you thus hanging heads down in this hole by a rope of virana
fibres that is again secretly eaten into on all sides by a rat living
here?'

"The ancestors said, 'We are Rishis of rigid vows, called Yayavaras. We
are sinking low into the earth for want of offspring. We have a son named
Jaratkaru. Woe to us! That wretch hath entered upon a life of austerities
only! The fool doth not think of raising offspring by marriage! It is for
that reason, viz., the fear of extinction of our race, that we are
suspended in this hole. Possessed of means, we fare like unfortunates
that have none! O excellent one, who art thou that thus sorrowest as a
friend on our account? We desire to learn, O Brahmana, who thou art that
standest by us, and why, O best of men, thou sorrowest for us that are so
unfortunate.'

"Jaratkaru said, 'Ye are even my sires and grandsires I am that
Jaratkaru! O, tell me, how I may serve you.'

"The fathers then answered, 'Try thy best, O child, to beget a son to
extend our line. Thou wilt then, O excellent one, have done a meritorious
art for both thyself and us. Not by the fruits of virtue, not by ascetic
penances well hoarded up, acquireth the merit which one doth by becoming
a father. Therefore, O child, by our command, set thy heart upon marriage
and offspring. Even this is our highest good.'

"Jaratkaru replied, 'I shall not marry for my sake, nor shall I earn
wealth for enjoyment, but I shall do so for your welfare only. According
to this understanding, I shall, agreeably to the Sastric ordinance, take
a wife for attaining the end. I shall not act otherwise. If a bride may
be had of the same name with me, whose friends would, besides, willingly
give her to me as a gift in charity, I shall wed her duly. But who will
give his daughter to a poor man like me for wife. I shall, however,
accept any daughter given to me as alms. I shall endeavour, ye sires,
even thus to wed a girl! Having given my word, I will not act otherwise.
Upon her I will raise offspring for your redemption, so that, ye fathers,
ye may attain to eternal regions (of bliss) and may rejoice as ye like.'"

So ends the thirteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XIV

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'That Brahmana of rigid vows then wandered over the earth
for a wife but a wife found he not. One day he went into the forest, and
recollecting the words of his ancestors, he thrice prayed in a faint
voice for a bride. Thereupon Vasuki rose and offered his sister for the
Rishi's acceptance. But the Brahmana hesitated to accept her, thinking
her not to be of the same name with himself. The high-souled Jaratkaru
thought within himself, 'I will take none for wife who is not of the same
name with myself.' Then that Rishi of great wisdom and austere penances
asked him, saying, 'Tell me truly what is the name of this thy sister, O
snake.'

"Vasuki replied, 'O Jaratkaru, this my younger sister is called
Jaratkaru. Given away by me, accept this slender-waisted damsel for thy
spouse. O best of Brahmanas, for thee I reserved her. Therefore, take
her.' Saying this, he offered his beautiful sister to Jaratkaru who then
espoused her with ordained rites.'"

So ends the thirteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XV

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'O foremost of persons acquainted with Brahma, the mother of
the snakes had cursed them of old, saying, 'He that hath the Wind for his
charioteer (viz., Agni) shall burn you all in Janamejaya's sacrifice!' It
was to neutralise that curse that the chief of the snakes married his
sister to that high-souled Rishi of excellent vows. The Rishi wedded her
according to the rites ordained (in the scriptures), and from them was
born a high-souled son called Astika. An illustrious ascetic; versed in
the Vedas and their branches, he regarded all with an even eye, and
removed the fears of both his parents.

"Then, after a long space of time, a king descending from the Pandava
line celebrated a great sacrifice known as the Snake-sacrifice, After
that sacrifice had commenced for the destruction of the snakes, Astika
delivered the Nagas, viz., his brothers and maternal uncles and other
snakes (from a fiery death). And he delivered his fathers also by
begetting offspring. And by his austerities, O Brahmana, and various vows
and study of the Vedas, he freed himself from all his debts. By
sacrifices, at which various kinds of offerings were made, he propitiated
the gods. By practising the Brahmacharya mode of life he conciliated the
Rishis; and by begetting offspring he gratified his ancestors.

"Thus Jaratkaru of rigid vows discharged the heavy debt he owed to his
sires who being thus relieved from bondage ascended to heaven. Thus
having acquired great religious merit, Jaratkaru, after a long course of
years, went to heaven, leaving Astika behind. There is the story of
Astika that I have related duly Now, tell me, O tiger of Bhrigu's race,
what else I shall narrate."

So ends the fifteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XVI

(Astika Parva continued)

"Saunaka said, 'O Sauti, relate once more in detail this history of the
learned and virtuous Astika. Our curiosity for hearing it is great. O
amiable one, thou speakest sweetly, with proper accent and emphasis; and
we are well-pleased with thy speech. Thou speakest even as thy father.
Thy sire was ever ready to please us. Tell us now the story as thy father
had related it.'

"Sauti said, 'O thou that art blest with longevity, I shall narrate the
history of Astika as I heard it from my father. O Brahmana, in the golden
age, Prajapati had two daughters. O sinless one, the sisters were endowed
with wonderful beauty. Named Kadru and Vinata, they became the wives of
Kasyapa. Kasyapa derived great pleasure from his two wedded wives and
being gratified he, resembling Prajapati himself, offered to give each of
them a boon. Hearing that their lord was willing to confer on them their
choice blessings, those excellent ladies felt transports of joy. Kadru
wished to have for sons a thousand snakes all of equal splendour. And
Vinata wished to bring forth two sons surpassing the thousand offsprings
of Kadru in strength, energy, size of body, and prowess. Unto Kadru her
lord gave that boon about a multitude of offspring. And unto Vinata also,
Kasyapa said, 'Be it so!' Then Vinata, having; obtained her prayer,
rejoiced greatly. Obtaining two sons of superior prowess, she regarded
her boon fulfilled. Kadru also obtained her thousand sons of equal
splendour. 'Bear the embryos carefully,' said Kasyapa, and then he went
into the forest, leaving his two wives pleased with his blessings.'

"Sauti continued, 'O best of regenerate ones, after a long time, Kadru
brought forth a thousand eggs, and Vinata two. Their maid-servants
deposited the eggs separately in warm vessels. Five hundred years passed
away, and the thousand eggs produced by Kadru burst and out came the
progeny. But the twins of Vinata did not appear. Vinata was jealous, and
therefore she broke one of the eggs and found in it an embryo with the
upper part developed but the lower one undeveloped. At this, the child in
the egg became angry and cursed his mother, saying. 'Since thou hast
prematurely broken this egg, thou shall serve as a slave. Shouldst thou
wait five hundred years and not destroy, or render the other egg
half-developed, by breaking it through impatience, then the illustrious
child within it will deliver thee from slavery! And if thou wouldst have
the child strong, thou must take tender care of the egg for all this
time!' Thus cursing his mother, the child rose to the sky. O Brahmana,
even he is the charioteer of Surya, always seen in the hour of morning!

"Then at the expiration of the five hundred years, bursting open the
other egg, out came Garuda, the serpent-eater. O tiger of Bhrigu's race,
immediately on seeing the light, that son of Vinata left his mother. And
the lord of birds, feeling hungry, took wing in quest of the food
assigned to him by the Great Ordainer of all.".

So ends the sixteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XVII

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'O ascetic, about this time the two sisters saw approaching
near, that steed of complacent appearance named Uchchaihsravas who was
worshipped by the gods, that gem of steeds, who arose at the churning of
the Ocean for nectar. Divine, graceful, perpetually young, creation's
master-piece, and of irresistible vigour, it was blest with every
auspicious mark.'

"Saunaka asked, 'Why did the gods churn the Ocean for nectar, and under
what circumstances and when as you say, did that best of steeds so
powerful and resplendent spring?'

"Sauti said, 'There is a mountain named Meru, of blazing appearance, and
looking like a heap of effulgence. The rays of the Sun falling on its
peaks of golden lustre are dispersed by them. Decked with gold and
exceedingly beautiful, that mountain is the haunt of the gods and the
Gandharvas. It is immeasurable and unapproachable by men of manifold
sins. Dreadful beasts of prey wander over its breasts, and it is
illuminated by many divine life-giving herbs. It stands kissing the
heavens by its height and is the first of mountains. Ordinary people
cannot even think of ascending it. It is graced with trees and streams,
and resounds with the charming melody of winged choirs. Once the
celestials sat on its begemmed peak--in conclave. They who had practised
penances and observed excellent vows for amrita now seemed to be eager
seekers alter amrita (celestial ambrosia). Seeing the celestial assembly
in anxious mood Nara-yana said to Brahman, 'Do thou churn the Ocean with
the gods and the Asuras. By doing so, amrita will be obtained as also all
drugs and gems. O ye gods, chum the Ocean, ye will discover amrita.'"

So ends the seventeenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XVIII

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'There is a mountain called Mandara adorned with cloud-like
peaks. It is the best of mountains, and is covered all over with
intertwining herbs. There countless birds pour forth their melodies, and
beasts of prey roam about. The gods, the Apsaras and the Kinnaras visit
the place. Upwards it rises eleven thousand yojanas, and descends
downwards as much. The gods wanted to tear it up and use it as a churning
rod but failing to do so same to Vishnu and Brahman who were sitting
together, and said unto them, 'Devise some efficient scheme, consider, ye
gods, how Mandara may be dislodged for our good.'

"Sauti continued, 'O son of Bhrigu! Vishnu with Brahman assented to it.
And the lotus-eyed one (Vishnu) laid the hard task on the mighty Ananta,
the prince of snakes. The powerful Ananta, directed thereto both by
Brahman and Narayana, O Brahmana, tore up the mountain with the woods
thereon and with the denizens of those woods. And the gods came to the
shore of the Ocean with Ananta and addressed the Ocean, saying, 'O Ocean;
we have come to churn thy waters for obtaining nectar.' And the Ocean
replied, 'Be it so, as I shall not go without a share of it. I am able to
bear the prodigious agitation of my waters set up by the mountain.' The
gods then went to the king of tortoises and said to him, 'O
Tortoise-king, thou wilt have to hold the mountain on thy back!' The
Tortoise-king agreed, and Indra contrived to place the mountain on the
former's back.

"And the gods and the Asuras made of Mandara a churning staff and Vasuki
the cord, and set about churning the deep for amrita. The Asuras held
Vasuki by the hood and the gods held him by the tail. And Ananta, who was
on the side of the gods, at intervals raised the snake's hood and
suddenly lowered it. And in consequence of the stretch Vasuki received at
the hands of the gods and the Asuras, black vapours with flames issued
from his mouth. These, turned into clouds charged with lightning, poured
showers that refreshed the tired gods. And flowers that also fell on all
sides of the celestials from the trees on the whirling Mandara, refreshed
them.

"Then, O Brahmana, out of the deep came a tremendous roar like unto the
roar of the clouds at the Universal Dissolution. Diverse aquatic animals
being crushed by the great mountain gave up the ghost in the salt waters.
And many denizens of the lower regions and the world of Varuna were
killed. Large trees with birds on the whirling Mandara were torn up by
the roots and fell into the water. The mutual friction of those trees
also produced fires that blazed up frequently. The mountain thus looked
like a mass of dark clouds charged with lightning. O Brahmana, the fire
spread, and consumed the lions, elephants and other creatures that were
on the mountain. Then Indra extinguished that fire by pouring down heavy
showers.

"After the churning, O Brahmana, had gone on for some time, gummy
exudations of various trees and herbs vested with the properties of
amrita mingled with the waters of the Ocean. And the celestials attained
to immortality by drinking of the water mixed with those gums and with
the liquid extract of gold. By degrees, the milky water of the agitated
deep turned into clarified butter by virtue of those gums and juices. But
nectar did not appear even then. The gods came before the boon-granting
Brahman seated on his seat and said, 'Sire, we are spent up, we have no
strength left to churn further. Nectar hath not yet arisen so that now we
have no resource save Narayana.'

"On hearing them, Brahman said to Narayana, 'O Lord, condescend to grant
the gods strength to churn the deep afresh.'

"Then Narayana agreeing to grant their various prayers, said, 'Ye wise
ones, I grant you sufficient strength. Go, put the mountain in position
again and churn the water.'

'Re-established thus in strength, the gods recommenced churning. After a
while, the mild Moon of a thousand rays emerged from the Ocean.
Thereafter sprung forth Lakshmi dressed in white, then Soma, then the
White Steed, and then the celestial gem Kaustubha which graces the breast
of Narayana. Then Lakshmi, Soma and the Steed, fleet as the mind, all
came before the gods on high. Then arose the divine Dhanwantari himself
with the white vessel of nectar in his hand. And seeing him, the Asuras
set up a loud cry, saying, 'It be ours.'

"And at length rose the great elephant, Airavata, of huge body and with
two pair of white tusks. And him took Indra the wielder of the
thunderbolt. But with the churning still going on, the poison Kalakuta
appeared at last. Engulfing the Earth it suddenly blazed up like a fire
attended with fumes. And by the scent of the fearful Kalakuta, the three
worlds were stupefied. And then Siva, being solicited by Brahman,
swallowed that poison for the safety of the creation. The divine
Maheswara held it in his throat, and it is said that from that time he is
called Nilakantha (blue-throated). Seeing all these wondrous things, the
Asuras were filled with despair, and got themselves prepared for entering
into hostilities with the gods for the possession of Lakshmi and Amrita.
Thereupon Narayana called his bewitching Maya (illusive power) to his
aid, and assuming the form of an enticing female, coquetted with the
Danavas. The Danavas and the Daityas charmed with her exquisite beauty
and grace lost their reason and unanimously placed the Amrita in the
hands of that fair damsel.'"

So ends the eighteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XIX

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'Then the Daityas and the Danauas equipped with first-class
armours and various weapons attacked the gods. In the meantime the
valiant Lord Vishnu in the form of an enchantress accompanied by Nara
deceived the mighty Danavas and took away the Amrita from their hands.

"And all the gods at that time of great fright drank the Amrita with
delight, receiving it from Vishnu. And while the gods were partaking of
it, after which they had so much hankered, a Danava named Rahu was also
drinking it among them in the guise of a god. And when the Amrita had
reached Rahu's throat only, Surya and Soma (recognised him and) intimated
the fact to the gods. And Narayana instantly cut off with his discus the
well-adorned head of the Danava who was drinking the Amrita without
permission. And the huge head of the Danava, cut off by the discus and
resembling a mountain peak, then rose up to the sky and began to utter
dreadful cries. And the Danava's headless trunk, falling upon the ground
and rolling thereon, made the Earth tremble with her mountains, forests
and islands. And from that time there is a long-standing quarrel between
Rahu's head and Surya and Soma. And to this day it swalloweth Surya and
Soma (during solar and lunar eclipses).

"Then Narayana quitting his enchanting female form and hurling many
terrible weapons at the Danavas, made them tremble. And thus on the
shores of the salt-water sea, commenced the dreadful battle of the gods
and the Asuras. And sharp-pointed javelins and lances and various weapons
by thousands began to be discharged on all sides. And mangled with the
discus and wounded with swords, darts and maces, the Asuras in large
numbers vomited blood and lay prostrate on the earth. Cut off from the
trunks with sharp double-edged swords, heads adorned with bright gold,
fell continually on the field of battle. Their bodies drenched in gore,
the great Asuras lay dead everywhere. It seemed as if red-dyed mountain
peaks lay scattered all around. And when the Sun rose in his splendour,
thousands of warriors struck one another with weapons. And cries of
distress were heard everywhere. The warriors fighting at a distance from
one another brought one another down by sharp iron missiles, and those
fighting at close quarters slew one another with blows of their fists.
And the air was filled with shrieks of distress. Everywhere were heard
the alarming sounds,--'cut', 'pierce', 'at them', 'hurl down', 'advance'.

'And when the battle was raging fiercely, Nara and Narayana entered the
field. And Narayana seeing the celestial bow in the hand of Nara, called
to mind his own weapon, the Danava-destroying discus. And lo! the discus,
Sudarsana, destroyer of enemies, like to Agni in effulgence and dreadful
in battle, came from the sky as soon as thought of. And when it came,
Narayana of fierce energy, possessing arms like the trunk of an elephant,
hurled with great force that weapon of extraordinary lustre, effulgent as
blazing fire, dreadful and capable of destroying hostile towns. And that
discus blazing like the fire that consumeth all things at the end of
Yuga, hurled with force from the hands of Narayana, and falling
constantly everywhere, destroyed the Daityas and the Danavas by
thousands. Sometimes it blazed like fire and consumed them all; sometimes
it struck them down as it coursed through the sky; and sometimes, falling
on the earth, it drank their life-blood like a goblin.

"On the other hand, the Danavas, white as the clouds from which the rain
hath dropped, possessing great strength and bold hearts, ascended the
sky, and by hurling down thousands of mountains, continually harassed the
gods. And those dreadful mountains, like masses of clouds, with their
trees and flat tops, falling from the sky, collided with one another and
produced a tremendous roar. And when thousands of warriors shouted
without intermission in the field of battle and mountains with the woods
thereon began to fall around, the earth with her forests trembled. Then
the divine Nara appeared at the scene of the dreadful conflict between
the Asuras and the Ganas (the followers of Rudra), and reducing to dust
those rocks by means of his gold-headed arrows, he covered the heavens
with dust. Thus discomfited by the gods, and seeing the furious discus
scouring the fields of heaven like a blazing flame, the mighty Danavas
entered the bowels of the earth, while others plunged into the sea of
salt-waters.

"And having gained the victory, the gods offered due respect to Mandara
and placed him again on his own base. And the nectar-bearing gods made
the heavens resound with their shouts, and went to their own abodes. And
the gods, on returning to the heavens, rejoiced greatly, and Indra and
the other deities made over to Narayana the vessel of Amrita for careful
keeping.'"

And so ends the nineteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XX

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'Thus have I recited to you the whole story of how Amrita
was churned out of the Ocean, and the occasion on which the horse
Uchchaihsravas of great beauty and incomparable prowess was obtained. It
was this horse about which Kadru asked Vinata, saying, 'Tell me, amiable
sister, without taking much time, of what colour Uchchaishravas is.' And
Vinata answered, 'That prince of steeds is certainly white. What dost
thou think, sister? Say thou what is its colour. Let us lay a wager upon
it.' Kadru replied, then, 'O thou of sweet smiles. I think that horse is
black in its tail. Beauteous one, bet with me that she who loseth will
become the other's slave.'

'Sauti continued, 'Thus wagering with each other about menial service as
a slave, the sisters went home, and resolved to satisfy themselves by
examining the horse next day. And Kadru, bent upon practising a
deception, ordered her thousand sons to transform themselves into black
hair and speedily cover the horse's tail in order that she might not
become a slave. But her sons, the snakes, refusing to do her bidding, she
cursed them, saying, 'During the snake-sacrifice of the wise king
Janamejaya of the Pandava race, Agni shall consume you all.' And the
Grandsire (Brahman) himself heard this exceedingly cruel curse pronounced
by Kadru, impelled by the fates. And seeing that the snakes had
multiplied exceedingly, the Grandsire, moved by kind consideration for
his creatures, sanctioned with all the gods this curse of Kadru. Indeed,
as the snakes were of virulent poison, great prowess and excess of
strength, and ever bent on biting other creatures, their mother's conduct
towards them--those persecutors of all creatures,--was very proper for
the good of all creatures. Fate always inflicts punishment of death on
those who seek the death of other creatures. The gods, having exchanged
such sentiments with one another, supported Kadru's action (and went
away). And Brahman, calling Kasyapa to him, spake unto him these words,
'O thou pure one who overcomest all enemies, these snakes begotten by
you, who are of virulent poison and huge bodies, and ever intent on
biting other creatures, have been cursed by their mother. O son, do not
grieve for it in the least. The destruction of the snakes in the
sacrifice hath, indeed, been ordained long ago' Saying this, the divine
Creator of the Universe comforted Kasyapa and imparted to that
illustrious one the knowledge of neutralising poison."

And so ends the twentieth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XXI

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said. 'Then when the night had passed away and the sun had risen
in the morning, O thou whose wealth is asceticism, the two sisters Kadru
and Vinata, having laid a wager about slavery, went with haste and
impatience to view the steed Uchchaishravas from a near point. On their
way they saw the Ocean, that receptacle of waters, vast and deep, rolling
and tremendously roaring, full of fishes large enough to swallow the
whale, and abounding with huge makaras and creatures of various forms by
thousands, and rendered inaccessible by the presence of other terrible,
monster-shaped, dark, and fierce aquatic animals, abounding with
tortoises and crocodiles, the mine of all kinds of gems, the home of
Varuna (the water-God), the excellent and beautiful residence of the
Nagas, the lord of all rivers, the abode of the subterranean fire, the
friend (or asylum) of the Asuras, the terror of all creatures, the grand
reservoir of water, and ever immutable. It is holy, beneficial to the
gods, and is the great source of nectar; without limits, inconceivable,
sacred, and highly wonderful. It is dark, terrible with the sound of
aquatic creatures, tremendously roaring, and full of deep whirl-pools. It
is an object of terror to all creatures. Moved by the winds blowing from
its shores and heaving high, agitated and disturbed, it seems to dance
everywhere with uplifted hands represented by its surges. Full of
swelling billows caused by the waxing and waning of the moon the parent
of Vasudeva's great conch called Panchajanya, the great mine of gems, its
waters were formerly disturbed in consequence of the agitation caused
within them by the Lord Govinda of immeasurable prowess when he had
assumed the form of a wild boar for raising the (submerged) Earth. Its
bottom, lower than the nether regions, the vow observing regenerate Rishi
Atri could not fathom after (toiling for) a hundred years. It becomes the
bed of the lotus-naveled Vishnu when at the termination of every Yuga
that deity of immeasurable power enjoys yoga-nidra, the deep sleep under
the spell of spiritual meditation. It is the refuge of Mainaka fearful of
falling thunder, and the retreat of the Asuras overcome in fierce
encounters. It offers water as sacrificial butter to the blazing fire
issuing from the mouth of Varava (the Ocean-mare). It is fathomless and
without limits, vast and immeasurable, and the lord of rivers.

"And they saw that unto it rushed mighty rivers by thousands with proud
gait, like amorous competitors, each eager for meeting it, forestalling
the others. And they saw that it was always full, and always dancing in
its waves. And they saw that it was deep and abounding with fierce whales
and makaras. And it resounded constantly with the terrible sounds of
aquatic creatures. And they saw that it was vast, and wide as the expanse
of space, unfathomable, and limitless, and the grand reservoir of water.'"

And so ends the twenty-first section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XXII

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'The Nagas after consultation arrived at the conclusion that
they should do their mother's bidding, for if she failed in obtaining her
desire she might withdraw her affection and burn them all. If, on the
other hand, she were graciously inclined, she might free them from her
curse. They said, 'We will certainly render the horse's tail black.' And
it is said that they then went and became hairs in the horse's tail.

"Now the two co-wives had laid the wager. And having laid the wager, O
best of Brahmanas, the two sisters Kadru and Vinata, the daughters of
Daksha, proceeded in great delight along the sky to see the other side of
the Ocean. And on their way they saw the Ocean, that receptacle of
waters, incapable of being easily disturbed, mightily agitated all of a
sudden by the wind, and roaring tremendously; abounding with fishes
capable of swallowing the whale and full of makaras; containing also
creatures of diverse forms counted by thousands; frightful from the
presence of horrible monsters, inaccessible, deep, and terrible, the mine
of all kinds of gems, the home of Varuna (the water-god), the wonderful
habitations of the Nagas, the lord of rivers, the abode of the
subterranean fire; the residence of the Asuras and of many dreadful
creatures; the reservoir of water, not subject to decay, aromatic, and
wonderful, the great source of the amrita of the celestials; immeasurable
and inconceivable, containing waters that are holy, filled to the brim by
many thousands of great rivers, dancing as it were in waves. Such was the
Ocean, full of rolling waves, vast as the expanse of the sky, deep, of
body lighted with the flames of subterranean fire, and roaring, which the
sisters quickly passed over.'"

And so ends the twenty-second section in the Astika Parva of the Adi
Parva.



SECTION XXIII

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'Having crossed the Ocean, Kadru of swift speed, accompanied
by Vinata, soon alighted near the horse. They then both beheld that
foremost of steeds of great speed, with body white as the rays of the
moon but having black hairs (in the tail). And observing many black hairs
in the tail, Kadru put Vinata, who was deeply dejected, into slavery. And
thus Vinata having lost the wager, entered into a state of slavery and
became exceedingly sorry.

"In the meantime, when his time came, burst forth from the egg without
(the help of his) mother, Garuda of great splendour, enkindling all the
points of the universe, that mighty being endued with strength, that bird
capable of assuming at will any form, of going at will everywhere, and of
calling to his aid at will any measure of energy. Effulgent like a heap
of fire, he shone terribly. Of lustre equal to that of the fire at the
end of the Yuga, his eyes were bright like the lightning-flash. And soon
after birth, that bird grew in size and increasing his body ascended the
skies. Fierce and vehemently roaring, he looked as terrible as second
Ocean-fire. And all the deities seeing him, sought the protection of
Vibhavasu (Agni). And they bowed down to that deity of manifold forms
seated on his seat and spake unto him these words, 'O Agni, extend not
thy body! Wilt thou consume us? Lo, this huge heap of thy flames is
spreading wide!' And Agni replied, 'O, ye persecutors of the Asuras, it
is not as ye imagine. This is Garuda of great strength and equal to me in
splendour, endued with great energy, and born to promote the joy of
Vinata. Even the sight of this heap of effulgence hath caused this
delusion in you. He is the mighty son of Kasyapa, the destroyer of the
Nagas, engaged in the well-being of the gods, and the foe of the Daityas
and the Rakshasas. Be not afraid of it in the least. Come with me and
see.' Thus addressed, the gods from a distance.

"The gods said, 'Thou art a Rishi (i.e., one cognisant of all mantras),
share of the largest portion in sacrifices, ever resplendent, the
controller along with the Rishi wended their way towards Garuda and
adored him of birds, the presiding spirit of the animate and the
inanimate universe. Thou art the destroyer of all, the creator of all;
thou art the very Hiranyagarbha; thou art the progenitor of creation in
the form of Daksha and the other Prajapatis; thou art Indra (the king of
the gods), thou art Hayagriva the steed necked incarnation of Vishnu;
thou art the arrow (Vishnu himself, as he became such in the hands of
Mahadeva at the burning of Tripura); thou art the lord of the universe;
thou art the mouth of Vishnu; thou art the four-faced Padmaja; thou art
the Brahmana (i.e., wise), thou art Agni, Pavana, etc. (i.e., the
presiding deity of every object in the universe). Thou art knowledge,
thou art the illusion to which we are all subject; thou art the
all-pervading spirit; thou art the lord of the gods; thou art the great
Truth; thou art fearless; thou art ever unchanged; thou art Brahma
without attributes; thou art the energy of the Sun; thou art the
intellectual functions; thou art our great protector; thou art the ocean
of holiness; thou art purity; thou art bereft of the attributes of
darkness; thou art the possessor of the six high attributes; thou art he
who cannot be withstood in contest. From thee have emanated all things;
thou art of excellent deeds; thou art all that hath not been and all that
hath been. Thou art pure knowledge; thou displayest to us, as Surya does
by his rays, this animate and inanimate universe; thou darkenest the
splendour of Surya at every moment, and thou art the destroyer of all;
thou art all that is perishable and all that is imperishable. O thou
resplendent as Agni, thou burnest all even as Surya in his anger burneth
all creatures. O terrible one, thou resistest even as the fire that
destroys everything at the time of the Universal Dissolution. O mighty
Garuda who movest in the skies, we seek thy protection. O lord of birds
thy energy is extraordinary, thy splendour is that of fire, thy
brightness is like that of the lightning that no darkness can approach.
Thou reachest the very clouds, and art both the cause and the effect; the
dispenser of boons and invincible in prowess. O Lord, this whole universe
is rendered hot by thy splendour, bright as the lustre of heated gold.
Protect these high-souled gods, who overcome by thee and terrified
withal, are flying along the heavens in different directions on their
celestial cars. O thou best of birds, thou Lord of all, thou art the son
of the merciful and high-souled Rishi Kasyapa; therefore, be not wroth
but have mercy on the universe. Thou art Supreme. O pacify thy anger and
preserve us. At thy voice, loud as the roar of the thunder, the ten
points, the skies, the heavens, the Earth and our hearts, O bird, thou
art continuously shaking. O, diminish this thy body resembling Agni. At
the sight of the splendour resembling that of Yama when in wrath, our
hearts lose all equanimity and quake. O thou lord of birds, be propitious
to us who solicit thy mercy! O illustrious one, bestow on us good fortune
and joy.'

And that bird of fair feathers, thus adored by the deities and diverse
sections of Rishis, reduced his own energy and splendour.'"

And thus ends the twenty-third section in the Astika Parva of the Adi
Parva.



SECTION XXIV

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'Then hearing of and beholding his own body, that bird of
beautiful feathers diminished its size.'

"And Garuda said, 'Let no creature be afraid; as ye are in a fright at
the sight of my terrible form, I shall diminish my energy.'

"Sauti continued, 'Then that bird capable of going everywhere at will,
that ranger of the skies capable of calling to his aid any measure of
energy, bearing Aruna on his back, wended from his father's home and
arrived at his mother's side on the other shore of the great ocean. And
he placed Aruna of great splendour in the eastern regions, just at a time
when Surya had resolved to burn the worlds with his fierce rays.'

"Saunaka said, 'When did the revered Surya resolve at the time to burn
the worlds? What wrong was done to him by the gods that provoked his
ire?'

"Sauti said, 'O sinless one, when Rahu was drinking nectar among the gods
at the time of the churning of the ocean he was pointed out to the gods
by Surya and Soma, and from that time he conceived an enmity towards
those deities. And upon this Rahu sought to devour his afflictor (Surya),
became wroth, and thought, 'Oh, this enmity of Rahu towards me hath
sprung from my desire of benefiting the gods. And this dire consequence I
alone have to sustain. Indeed, at this pass help I obtain not. And before
the very eyes of the denizens of heaven I am going to be devoured and
they brook it quietly. Therefore, for the destruction of the worlds must
I strive.' And with this resolution he went to the mountains of the west.

"And from that place he began to radiate his heat around for the
destruction of the world. And then the great Rishis, approaching the
gods, spake unto them, 'Lo, in the middle of the night springeth a great
heat striking terror into every heart, and destructive of the three
worlds.' Then the gods, accompanied by the Rishis, wended to the
Grandsire, and said unto him, 'O what is this great heat today that
causeth such panic? Surya hath not yet risen, still the destruction (of
the world) is obvious. O Lord, what will happen when he doth rise?" The
Grandsire replied, 'Indeed, Surya is prepared to rise today for the
destruction of the world. As soon as he will appear he will burn
everything into a heap of ashes. By me, however, hath the remedy been
provided beforehand. The intelligent son of Kasyapa is known to all by
the name of Aruna. He is huge of body and of great splendour; he shall
stay in front of Surya, doing the duty of his charioteer and taking away
all the energy of the former. And this will ensure the welfare of the
worlds, of the Rishis, and of the dwellers in heaven.'

"Sauti continued, 'Aruna, at the behest of the Grandsire, did all that he
was ordered to do. And Surya rose veiled by Aruna's person. I have told
thee now why Surya was in wrath, and how Aruna, the brother of Garuda,
was appointed as his charioteer. Hear next of that other question asked
by thee a little while ago.'"

And so ends the twenty-fourth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi
Parva.



SECTION XXV

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'Then that bird of great strength and energy and capable of
going at will to every place repaired to his mother's side on the other
shore of the great ocean. Thither lived Vinata in affliction, defeated in
wager and put into a state of slavery. Once Kadru calling Vinata who had
prostrated herself before the former, addressed her these words in the
presence of her son, 'O gentle Vinata, there is in the midst of the
ocean, in a remote quarter, a delightful and fair region inhabited by the
Nagas. Bear me thither!' At this that mother of the bird of fair feathers
bore (on her shoulders) the mother of the snakes. And Garuda also,
directed by his mother's words, carried (on his back) the snakes. And
that ranger of the skies born of Vinata began to ascend towards the Sun.
And thereupon the snakes, scorched by the rays of the Sun, swooned away.
And Kadru seeing her sons in that state prayed to Indra, saying, 'I bow
to thee, thou Lord of all the gods! I bow to thee, thou slayer of Vritra!
I bow to thee, thou slayer of Namuchi! O thou of a thousand eyes, consort
of Sachi! By thy showers, be thou the protector of the snakes scorched by
the Sun. O thou best of the deities, thou art our great protector. O
Purandara, thou art able to grant rain in torrents. Thou art Vayu (the
air), the clouds, fire, and the lightning of the skies. Thou art the
propeller of the clouds, and hast been called the great cloud (i.e., that
which will darken the universe at the end of Yuga). Thou art the fierce
and incomparable thunder, and the roaring clouds. Thou art the Creator of
the worlds and their Destroyer. Thou art unconquered. Thou art the light
of all creatures, Aditya, Vibhavasu, and the wonderful elements. Thou art
the ruler of all the gods. Thou art Vishnu. Thou hast a thousand eyes.
Thou art a god, and the final resource. Thou art, O deity, all amrita,
and the most adored Soma. Thou art the moment, the lunar day, the bala
(minute), thou art the kshana (4 minutes). Thou art the lighted
fortnight, and also the dark fortnight. Thou art kala, thou kashtha, and
thou Truti.[1] Thou art the year, the seasons, the months, the nights,
and the days. Thou art the fair Earth with her mountains and forests.
Thou art also the firmament, resplendent with the Sun. Thou art the great
Ocean with heaving billows and abounding with whales, swallowers of
whales, and makaras, and various fishes. Thou art of great renown, always
adored by the wise and by the great Rishis with minds rapt in
contemplation. Thou drinkest, for the good of all creatures, the Soma
juice in sacrifices and the clarified butter offered with sacred
invocation. Thou art always worshipped at sacrifices by Brahmanas moved
by desire of fruit. O thou of incomparable mass of strength, thou art
sung in the Vedas and Vedangas. It is for that reason that learned
Brahmanas bent upon performing sacrifices, study the Vedas with every
care.'"

And so ends the twenty-fifth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XXVI

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'And then Indra, the king of gods, having the best of horses
for his bearer, thus adored by Kadru, covered the entire firmament with
masses of blue clouds. And he commanded the clouds, saying, Pour ye, your
vivifying and blessed drops!' And those clouds, luminous with lightning,
and incessantly roaring against each other in the welkin, poured abundant
water. And the sky, in consequence of those wonderful and

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
Image

_________________
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Fri Jan 18, 2013 5:28 pm
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Post Re: POST, POST LIKE YOU NEVER POSTED BEFORE!
increaseth covetousness and folly. Wealth alone is the root of
niggardliness and boastfulness, pride and fear and anxiety! These are the
miseries of men that the wise see in riches! Men undergo infinite
miseries in the acquisition and retention of wealth. Its expenditure also
is fraught with grief. Nay, sometimes, life itself is lost for the sake
of wealth! The abandonment of wealth produces misery, and even they that
are cherished by one's wealth become enemies for the sake of that wealth!
When, therefore, the possession of wealth is fraught with such misery,
one should not mind its loss. It is the ignorant alone who are
discontented. The wise, however, are always content. The thirst of wealth
can never be assuaged. Contentment is the highest happiness; therefore,
it is, that the wise regard contentment as the highest object of pursuit.
The wise knowing the instability of youth and beauty, of life and
treasure-hoards, of prosperity and the company of the loved ones, never
covet them. Therefore, one should refrain from the acquisition of wealth,
bearing the pain incident to it. None that is rich free from trouble, and
it is for this that the virtuous applaud them that are free from the
desire of wealth. And as regards those that pursue wealth for purposes of
virtue, it is better for them to refrain altogether from such pursuit,
for, surely, it is better not to touch mire at all than to wash it off
after having been besmeared with it. And, O Yudhishthira, it behoveth
thee not to covet anything! And if thou wouldst have virtue, emancipate
thyself from desire of worldly possessions!'

"Yudhishthira said, 'O Brahmana, this my desire of wealth is not for
enjoying it when obtained. It is only for the support of the Brahmanas
that I desire it and not because I am actuated by avarice! For what
purpose, O Brahmana, doth one like us lead a domestic life, if he cannot
cherish and support those that follow him? All creatures are seen to
divide the food (they procure) amongst those that depend on them.[1] So
should a person leading a domestic life give a share of his food to Yatis
and Brahmacharins that have renounced cooking for themselves. The houses
of the good men can never be in want of grass (for seat), space (for
rest), water (to wash and assuage thirst), and fourthly, sweet words. To
the weary a bed,--to one fatigued with standing, a seat,--to the thirsty,
water,--and to the hungry, food should ever be given. To a guest are due
pleasant looks and a cheerful heart and sweet words. The host, rising up,
should advance towards the guest, offer him a seat, and duly worship him.
Even this is eternal morality. They that perform not the Agnihotra[2] not
wait upon bulls

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
Image

_________________
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Fri Jan 18, 2013 5:32 pm
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THE

Ramayana

OF

* - Valmeeki

RENDERED INTO ENGLISH

WITH EXHAUSTIVE NOTES

BY

(. ^ ^reenivasa jHv$oiu$ar, B. A.,

LECTURER

S. P G. COLLEGE, TRICHINGj,



Balakanda and N



MADRAS:
M. K. PEES8, A. L. T. PRKS8 AND GUARDIAN PBE8S. *

> 1910. %

i*t

Copyright ftpfiglwtd. 3 - , [ JJf JB^/to Reserved



PREFACE

The Ramayana of Valmeeki is a most unique work.
The Aryans are the oldest race on earth and the most
* advanced ; and the Ramayana is their first and grandest
epic.

The Eddas of Scandinavia, the Niebelungen Lied of
Germany, the Iliad of Homer, the Enead of Virgil, the
Inferno, the Purgatorio, and the Paradiso of Dante, the
Paradise Lost of Milton, the Lusiad of Camcens, the Shah
Nama of Firdausi are Epics and no more ; the Ramayana
of Valmeeki is an Epic and much more.

If any work can clam} to be the Bible of the Hindus,
it is the Ramayana of Valmeeki.

Professor MacDonell, the latest writer on Samskritha
Literature, says :

" The Epic contains the following verse foretelling its
everlasting fame

* As long as moynfain ranges stand

And rivers flow upon the earth,
So long will this Ramayana
Survive upon the lips of men.

This prophecy has been perhaps even more abundantly
fulfilled than the well-known prediction of Horace. No pro-
duct of Sanskrit Literature has enjoyed a greater popularity
in India down to the present day than the Ramayana. Its
story furnishes the subject of many other Sanskrit poems
as well as plays and still delights, from the lips* of reciters,
the hearts of the myriads of the Indian people, as at the



11 PREFACE

great annual Rama-festival held at Benares. It has been
translated into many Indian vernaculars. Above all, it
inspired the greatest poet of medieval Hindustan, Tulasi
Das, to compose in Hindi his version of the epic entitled
Ram Chant Manas, which, with its ideal standard of
virtue and purity, is a kind of Bible to a hundred millions
of the people of Northern India." Sanskrit Literature,
p. 317. So much for the version.

It is a fact within the personal observation of the
elders of our country, that witnesses swear upon a copy of
the Ramayana in the law-courts. Any one called upon
to pay an unjust debt contents himself with saying, " I will
place the money upon the Ramayana , let him take it if he
dares." In private life, the expression, " I swear by the
Ramayana/' is an inviolable oath I know instances where
sums of money were lent upon no other security than a palm
leaf manuscript of the Ramayana too precious a Talisman
to lose When a man yearns for a son to continue his line
on earth and raise him to the Mansions of the Blessed, the
Elders advise him to read the Ramayana or hear it recited,
or at least the Sundarakanda When a man has some
great issue at stake that will either mend or mar his life, he
reads the Sundarakanda or hears it expounded. When a
man is very ill, past medical help, the old people about him
say with one voice, " Read the Sundarakanda in the house
and Maruthi will bring him back to life and health " When
an evil spirit troubles sore a man or a woman, the grey-
beards wag their wise heads and oracularly exclaim, " Ah f
the Sundarakanda never fails " When any one desires to
know the result of a contemplated project, he desires a
child to open a page of the Sundarakanda and decides by
the nature of the subject dealt with therein. (Here is a
case in point. A year or two ago, I was asked by a young
man to advise him whether he should marry or lead a life



lit

<fc single blessedness. I promised to give him an
answer a day or two later. When I was alone,
I took up my Ramayana and asked my child to
open it. And lo ! the first line that met my eye was

Kumbhakarna-siro bhathi
Kundala-lamkntam mahaili.

" The severed head of Kumbhakarna shone high and
huge in the heavens, its splendour heightened by the ear-
rings he wore."

I had not the heart to communicate the result to
the poor man. His people had made everything
ready for his marriage. I could plainly sec that his
inclinations too lay that way. I could urge nothing
against it his health was good, and his worldly position
and prospects high and bright. Ah me f I was myself half-
sceptical So, quite against my better self, I managed to
avoid giving him an answer. And he, taking my silence
for consent, got himself married Alas ! within a year his
place in his house was vacant , his short meteoric life was
over , his health shattered, his public life a failure, his
mind darkened and gloomy by the vision ot his future,
Death was a Whalecum deliverer to him , and an old mother
and a child-wife are left to mourn his untimely end.

The Karma-kanda of the Vedas, the Upamshads, the
Smnthis, the Mahabharatha, the Puranas, nay, no other
work in the vast range of Samskntha literature is regarded
by the Hindus in the same light as the Ramayana The
Karma-kanda is accessible only to a very few, an infini-
tesimal minority of the Brahmanas the Purohiths who
are making a living out of it , and they too know not its
meaning, but recite it parrot-like. The Upamshads are not
for the men of the world , they are for hard-headed
logicianb or calm-minded philosophers. The Smnthib are



IV

but Rules of daily life. The Bharatha is not a very auspi-
cious work ; no devout Hindu would allow it to be read in
in his house, for it brings on strife, dissensions and misfor-
tune ; the temple of the Gods, the Mathas of Sanyasms, the
river-ghauts, and the rest-houses for the travellers are chosen
for the purpose The Bhagavad-geetha enjoys a unique
unpopularity ; for, he who reads or studies it is weaned
away from wife and child, house and home, friends and
km, wealth and power and seeks the Path of Renunciation.
The Puranas are but world-records, religious histories.

But, for a work that gives a man everything he holds
dear and valuable in this world and leads him to the Feet of
the Almighty Father, give me the Ramayana of Valmeeki.

The Lord of Mercy has come down among men time
and oft ; and the Puranas contain incidental records of
it short or long. But, the Ramayana of Valmeeki is the
only biography we have of the Supreme One.

" Nothing that relates to any of the actors in that great
world-drama shall 'escape thy all-seeing eye Rama,
Lakshmana, Seetha, men and monkeys, gods and
Rakshasas, their acts, their words, nay, their very thoughts,
known or secret. Nothing that comes out of your mouth,
consciously or otherwise, shall prove other than true/'
Such was the power of clear vision and clear speech con-
ferred on the poet by the Demiurge, the Ancient of Days.

" What nobler subject for your poem than Sree Rama-
chandra, the Divine Hero, the soul of righteousness, the
perfect embodiment of all that is good and great and the
Director of men's thoughts, words and deeds in the light
of their Karma ? " And this Ideal Man is the Hero of
the Epic.

"The cloud-capped mouritains, the swift-coursing
livers and all created things shdDl passe way and be as



taught. But, your noble song shall outlive them and never
fade from the hearts of men." This is the boon of immor-
tality the poem shall enjoy.

" And as long as the record of Rama's life holds sway
over the hearts of men, so long shall you sit by me in my
highest heaven/' This is the eternity of fame that comes
to the singer as his guerdon

The Hero, the Epic, and the Poet are the most perfect
any one can conceive.

It was composed when the Hero was yet upon earth,
when his deeds and fame were fresh in the hearts of men.
It was sung before himself. "And the poem they recite,
how wonderful in its suggestivencss ' Listen we to it"
such was ///,s estimate of the lay.

It was not written, but sung to sweet music Who were
they that conveyed the message to the hearts of men ? The
very sous of the Divine Hero, "Mark you the radiant glory
that plays around them ' Liker gods than men ! . . . .
Behold these young ascetics, of kingly form and mien. Rare
singers are they and of mighty spiritual energy withal" and
this encomium was from him who is Incarnate Wisdom.

What audience did they sing to ' ''Large concourses
of Brahmanas and warriors, sages and saints . . . .Through
many a land they travelled and sang to many an audience.

Thus many a time and oft did these boys recite it in
crowded halls and broad streets, in sacred groves and
sacrificial grounds And Rama invited to the as-
sembly the literati, the theologians, the expounders of
sacred histories, grammarians, Brahmanas grown grey in
knowledge and experience, phonologists, musical experts,
poets, rhetoricians, logicians, ritualists, philosophers,
astronomers, astrologers, geographers, linguists, statesmen
politicians, professors of music and dancing, painters



vi PREFACE

sculptors, minstrels, physiognomists, kings, merchant^,
farmers, saints, sages, hermits, ascetics ... ."

What was the ettect produced on the hearers ?

" And such the pcrlectness of expression and delicacy
of execution, that the hearers followed them with their
hearts and ears , and such the marvellous power of their
song, that an indescribable sense of bhs^ gradually stole
over them and pervaded their frame and e\ery sense and
faculty of theirs strange, overpowering and almost painful
in its intensity "

What was the cutical estimate ot the audience ;

"What charming musK ' what sweetness and melody
of verse ' And then, the vividness of narration ' We seem to
live and move among old times and scenes long gone by. .

A rare and noble epic this, the Ramavana of honeyed
verses and faultless diction, beautifully adapted to music,
vocal or instrumental and charming to hear , begun and
finished according to the best canons of the art, the most
exacting critic cannot praise it too highly , the first of its
kind and an unapproachable ideal for all time to come , the
best model for all future poets , the thrice-distilled Essence
of the Holy Scriptures , the surest giver oi health and
happiness, length of years and prosperity, to all who read
or listen to it. And, proficients as ye are in cverv style of
music, marvellously have ye sung it."

But what raises Ramayana from the sphere oi literary
works into " a mighty repository of the priceless wisdom
enshrined in the Veelas ' ' The sacred monosyllable, the
Pranava, is the mystic symbol of the Absolute , the Gayathn
is an exposition of the Pranava , the Vedas are the paraphrase
of the Gayathn , and the Ramayana is but the amplification
of the Vedic mysteries and lurmshes the key thereto. Each
letter of the Gayathn begins a thousand ot its stanzas.



PREFACE Vll

\ The p^em is based upon the hymns of the Rig-veda
aught to the author bv Narada For, it is not a record of
incidents that occurred during a certain cycle ; it is
a symbolical account of cosmic events that come about m
every cycle with but slight modifications , Rama, Seetha,
Ravana and the other characteis in the Epu are arcJietvpes
and real characters a mystery within a mvsterv The
numerous k( Inner Meanings " of the Ramasana (vide
Introduction) amph bear out the above remarks

There IN not one relation of hie, ptuate or public,
but is beautifully and perfectly illustrated in the woids and
deeds of the Ramavana characters (vide lyJ^^JMLJlon The
Aims of Life 1 )

It is not a poem of an\ one
world-asset , it must find a
town, in everx village and in





Tin

(a). Tlie Rental recension Ch<
Sardinia, helped Gorressio to bring
of it m 1S(57

(b) The Renare^ mention. Between ISO,") 1H10,
Carey and Marshman, the philanthiopic missionaries
of Serampore, published the text of the hrst h\o kandas and
a halt In 1S4<>, Sehlegel brought <mt an edition oi the
text oi the first two kandas In 1 *,?), the complete text
was lithographed at Bombav, and in ISfjO, a printed edi-
tion ot the same appeared at Calcutta

(r) The South Indian retention While the first two
recensions are in Devanagan, this exists in the Grantha
characters or in the Telugu This uas unknown to the
west and to the other parts of India until ll)0r>, when Mr.
T. R. Knshnacharya of Kumbakonam, Madras Presidency,



Vlil PREFACE

conferred a great boon upon the literary world by publish-
ing a fine edition of it in Devanagari (1905). The earliest
Grantha edition was published in Madras in 1891 by Mr.
K. Subramanya Sastry, with the commentaries of Govmda-
raja, Mahesa-theertha, Ramanuja, Teeka-siromam and
Pena-vachchan-Pillai. Mr. Raja Sastry of Madras has
almost finished another edition of the same (1907), supple-
menting the above commentaries with that of Thilaka (till
now accessible only in Devanagari). It shows a considera-
ble improvement in the matter of paper, type, printing
and get-up. Meanwhile, Mr Knshnacharya has begun
another beautiful edition of his text (1911) with the
commentary of Goymdaraja and extracts from Thilaka,
Theertheeya, Ramanujeeya, Sathyadharma-theertheeya,
Thanisloki, Siromam, Vishamapada-vivnthi, Kathaka,
Munibhavaprakasika etc. It will, when completed, place
before the world many a rare and priceless information in-
accessible till now.

Commentators

1. Govindaraja. He names his work the Ramayana-
Bhooshana " an ornament to the Ramayana, " ; and each
kanda furnishes a variety of it the anklets, the silk -cloth,
the girdle, the pearl necklace, the beauty-mark between the
eye-brows, the tiara and the crest-gem. He is of the
Kausikas and the disciple of Sathakopa. The Lord Venka-
tesa appeared to him in a dream one night while he lay
asleep in front of His shrine on the Serpent Mount and
commanded him to write a commentary on the Ramayana ;
and in devout obedience to the Divine call, he undertook
the task and right manfully has he performed it. It is the
most comprehensive, the most scholarly and the most
authoritative commentary on the Sacred Epic, albeit his
zealous Vaishnavite spirit surges up now and then in a hi-
at Siya and the Saivites, Priceless gems of traditional



PREFACE IX

pretations and oral instructions are embedded in his monu-
mental work.

2. Mahesa-theertha. He declares himself to be the
pupil of Narayana-theertha and has named his work Rama-
yana-thathva-deepika. " I have but written down the
opinions of various great men and have nothing of my own
to give, except where I have tried to explain the inner
meaning of the remarks made by Viradha, Khara, Vali
and Ravana ". In fact, he copies out the commentary of
Govindaraja bodily. He quotes Teeka-siromam and is
criticised by Rama-panditha in his Thilaka.

3. Rama-pan ditha. His commentary, the Rama-
yana-thilaka, was the only one accessible to the
world (outside of southern India), being printed in
Devanagan characters at Calcutta and Bombay. He
quotes from and criticises the Ramayana-thathva-
deepika and the Kathaka, but makes no reference to
Govindaraja. It may be the that work of the latter,
being in the Grantha characters, was not available to him
in Northern India; and Theertha might have studied it
in the South and written his commentary in the Devana-
gan. Rama-panditha is a thorough-going, uncompromising
Adwaithin, and jeers mercilessly at Theertha's esoteric
interpretations. In the Grantha edition of the Ramayana,
the Uthtnarakanda is commented upon only by Govindaraja
and Theertha ; but, the Devanagan edition with the com-
mentary of Rama-panditha, contains word for word, without
a single alteration, the gloss of Mahesatheertha M I have
tried in vain to explain or reconcile this enigma. But, the
Adwaithic tenor of the arguments and the frequent criticisms
of Kathaka, savor more of Rama-panditha than of Theertha.

4. Kathaka. I have not been able to find out the
author of the commentary so named, which exists only in
the extracts quoted in the Thilaka.



X PREFACE

5. Ramanuja. He confines himself mainly to a di#-
cussion of the various readings of the text. What comment-
ary he chances to write now and then, is not very valuable.
He is not to be confounded with the famous Founder of
the Visishtadwaitha School of Philosophy.

6. Thanislokt, Knshna-Samahvaya or as he is more
popularly known by his Tamil cognomen, Pena-vachchan
Pillay, is the author of it. It is not a regular commentary
upon the Ramayana. He selects certain oft-quoted stanzas
and writes short essays upon them, which are much admir-
ed by the people of the South, and form the cram-book of
the professional expounder of the Rarnayana. It is written
in Manipravala a curious combination of Samskntha and
Tamil, with quaint idioms and curious twists of language.
Many of the explanations are far-fetched and wire-drawn
and reveal a spirit of Vaishnavite sectarianism.

7. Abhaya-pradana-sara. Sree Vedantha-desika, the
most prominent personage after Sree Ramanuja, is the
author of this treatise. It selects the incident of Vibheeshana
seeking refuge with Rama (Vibheeshana-saranagathi) as a
typical illustration of the key-rote of the Ramayana the
doctrine of Surrender to the Lord, and deals with the subject
exhaustively. It is written in the Manipravala, as most of
his Tamil works are.

Translations

Gorresio published an Italian rendering of the work
in 1870, It was followed by the French translation of
Hippolyte Fauche's. In the year 1846, Schlegel gave to
the world a Latin version of the first Kanda and a part of the
second. The Serampore Missionaries were the first to
give the Ramayana an English garb ; but they proceeded
no further than two Kandas and a half. Mr. Griffith, Prin-
cipal of the Benares College, was the first to translate the



PREFACE xi

Ramayana into English verse (187074). But, the latest
translation of Valmeeki's immortal epic into English prose
is that of Manmathanath Dutt, M. A., Calcutta (1894).

" Then why go over the same ground and inflict upon the
public another translation of the Ramayana m English prose?"

1 . Mr. Dutt has translated but the text of Valmeeki
and that almost too literally ; he has not placed before the
readers the priceless gems of information contained in the
commentaries.

2. The text that, I think, he has used is the one pub-
lished with the commentary of Rama-panditha, which
differs widely from the South Indian Grantha text in read-
ings and IK the number of stanzas and chapters.

3 More often than once, his rendering is completely
wide of the maik. (It is neither useful nor graceful to make
a list of all such instances. A careful comparison of his
rendering with mine is all I request of any impartial scholar
of Samskntha).

4. I venture to think that his translation conveys not
to a Westerner the beauty, the spirit, the swing, the force
and the grandeur of the original

5, Even supposing that it is a faultless rendering of
a faultless text, it is not all that is required.

G. As is explained in the Introduction, the greatness
of the Ramayana lies in its profound suggestiveness ; and no
literal word-for-word rendering will do the barest justice to it.

7. Many incidents, customs, manners, usages and
traditions of the time of Rama are hinted at or left to be in-
ferred, being within the knowledge of the persons to whom
the poem was sung ; but to the modern world they are a
sealed book.

8. Even such of the above as have lived down to our
times are so utterly changed, altered, nidified and over-laid
by the accretions of ages as to be almost unrecognisable.



Xll



9. The same incident is variously related in various
places.

Every one of the eighteen Puranas, as also the Maha-
bharatha, the Adhyathma Ramayana and the Ananda Rama-
yana, relates the coming down of the Lord as Sree Rama, but
with great divergences of detail ; while the Padmapurana
narrates the life and doings of Sree Rama in a former Kalpa,
which differs very much in the main from the Ramayana
of Valmeeki. The Adbhutha Ramayana and the Vasishtha
Ramayana deal at great length with certain incidents in the
life of Rama as are not touched upon by Valmeeki ; while
the Ananda Ramayana devotes eight Kandas to the history
of Rama after he was crowned at Ayodhya. Innumerable
poems and plays founded upon Valmeeki's epic modify its
incidents greatly, but base themselves on some Purana or
other authoritative work.

10. Many a story that we have heard from the lips of
our elders when we lay around roaring fires during long
wintry nights and which we have come to regard as part and
parcel of the life and doings of Rama, finds no place in
Valmeeki's poem.

11. The poem was to be recited, not read, and to an
ever-changing audience. Only twenty chapters were allow-
ed to be sung a day, neither more nor less. Hence the in-
numerable repititions, recapitulations and other literary
rapids through which it is not very easy to steer our frail
translation craft. The whole range of Samskntha literature,
religious and secular, has to be laid under contribution to
bring home to the minds of the readers a fair and adequate
idea of the message that was conveyed to humanity by
Valmeeki.

12. A bare translation of the text of the Ramayana
is thus of no use nay, more mischievous than useful, in
that it gives an incomplete and la many places a distorted



PREFACE xiii

view of the subject. It is to the commentaries that we
have to turn for explanation, interpretation, amplification,
reconciliation and rounding off. And of these, the most
important, that of Govindaraja, is practically inaccessible
except to the Tamil-speaking races of India. The saints
of the Dravida country, the Alwars from Sree Sathakopa
downwards, have taken up the study of the Ramayana of
Valmeeki as a special branch of the Vedantha and have
left behind them a large literature on the subject, original
and explanatory. The Divya-prabandhas and their numer-
ous commentaries are all in the quaint archaic Tamil style
known as Mampravala, and are entirely unknown to the
non-Tamil-speaking world. With those teachers the Rama-
yana was not an ordinary epic, not even an Ithihasa.
It was something higher, grander and more sacred. It
was an Upadesa-Grantha a Book of Initiation , and no true
Vaishnava may read it unless he has been initiated by his
Guru into its mysteries. It is to him what the Bible was to
the Catholic world of the Medieval Ages ; only the Initiated,
the clergy as it were, could read and expound it. Over and
above all this, there are many priceless teachings about the
Inner Mysteries of the Ramayana which find no place in
written books. They form part of the instructions that the
Guru gives to the Disciple by word of mouth.

13. Then again, there is the never-ending discussion
about the method of translation to be followed. Max-
Muller, the Grand Old Man of the Orientalist School opines
thus : " When I was enabled to collate copies which came
from the south of India, the opinion,which I have often ex-
pressed of the great value of Southern Mss. received fresh
confirmation The study of Grantha and other southern
Mss, will inaugurate, I believe, a new period in the critical
treatment of Sanskrit texts. The rule which I have follow-
ed myself, and which I have asked my fellow-translators



Xiv PREPACK

to follow, has been adhered to in this new volume atoo,
viz. whenever a choice has to be made between what is
not quite faithful and what is not quite English, to surren-
der, without hesitation, the idiom rather than the accuracy
of the translation. I know that all true scholars have ap-
proved of this, and if some of our critics have been offend-
ed by certain unidiomatic expressions occurring in our
translations, all I can say is, that we shall always be most
grateful if they would suggest translations which are not
only faithful, but also idiomatic. For the purpose we have
in view, a rugged but faithful translation seems to us more
useful than a smooth but misleading one.

However, we have laid ourselves open to another kind
of censure also, namely, of having occasionally not been
literal enough. It is impossible to argue these questions in
general, but every translator knows that in many cases a
literal translation may convey an entirely wrong mean-
ing. " Introduction to his Translation of the Upamshads.
Part II, p. 13

" It is difficult to explain to those who have not them-
selves worked at the Veda, how it is that, though we may
understand almost every word, yet we find it so difficult
to lay hold of a whole chain of connected thought and to
discover expressions that will not throw a wrong shade on
the original features of the ancient words of the Veda. We
have, on the one hand, to avoid giving to our translations
too modern a character or paraphrasing instead of tran-
slating ; while on the other, we cannot retain expressions
which, if literally rendered in English or any modern
tongue, would have an air of quamtness or absurdity totally
foreign to the intention of the ancient poets.

While in my translation of the Veda in the remarks
that I have to make in the course of my commentary, I
shall frequently differ from other scholars, who have dope



PREFACE XV

their best and who have done what they have done in a truly
scholarlike, that is in a humble spirit, it would be un-
pleasant, even were it possible within the limits assigned,
to criticise every opinion that has been put forward on the
meaning of certain words or on the construction of certain
verses of the Veda. I prefer as much as possible to vindi-
cate my own translation, instead of examining the transla-
tions of other scholars, whether Indian or European. "
From the Preface to his translation of the Rig-veda Samhitha.

In his letter to me of the 26th of January 1892,
referring to my proposal to translate the Markandeya Purana
as one of the Sacred Books of the East, he writes

" I shall place your letter before the Chancellor and
Delegates of the Press, and I hope they may accept your
proposal. If you would send me a specimen of your
translation, clearly written, I shall be glad to examine it,
and compare it with the text in the Bibliotheca Iinlua.
I have a Mss. of the Markandeya-punma. Possibly the palm
leaf Mss. in Grantha letters would supply you with a better
text than that printed in the Ribliotheca Indica"

But, Mrs. Besant, in her Introduction to ' The Laws of
Manu, in the Light of Theosophy. By Bhagavan Das,
M. A./ takes a different view

" One explanatory statement should be made as to the
method of conveying to the modern reader the thought of
the ancient writer. The European Orientalist, with admir-
able scrupulosity and tireless patience, works away labon-
busly with dictionary and grammar to give an " accurate
and scholarly translation " of the foreign language which
he is striving to interpret. What else can he do ? But the
Result, as compared with the Original, is like the dead
pressed specimen ' of the botanist beside the breathing
living flower of the garden. Even I, with my poor know-
ledge of Samsknt, know the joy of contacting the pulsing



XVI PREFACE

virile scriptures in their own tongue, and the inexpressible
dulness and dreariness of their scholarly renderings into
English. But our lecturer is a Hindu, who from childhood
upwards has lived in the atmosphere of the elder days ;
he heard the old stories before he could read, sung by
grand-mother, aunt, and pandit ; when he is tired now, he
finds his recreation in chanting over the well-loved stanzas
of an Ancient Purana, crooning them softly as a lullaby to
a weaned mind ; to him the ' well-constructed language '
(Samsknt) is the mother-tongue,

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!

_________________

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Re: POST, POST LIKE YOU NEVER POSTED BEFORE!
The Mahabharata

of

Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa

BOOK 17

Mahaprasthanika-parva



Translated into English Prose from the Original Sanskrit Text

by

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

[1883-1896]

Scanned and Proofed by Mantra Caitanya. Additional proofing and
formatting at sacred-texts.com, by J. B. Hare, October 2003.





1

Om! Having bowed down unto Narayana, and to Nara, the foremost of men, as
also to the goddess Sarasvati, should the word "Jaya" be uttered.

Janamejaya said: "Having heard of that encounter with iron bolts between
the heroes of the Vrishni and the Andhaka races, and having been informed
also of Krishnas ascension to Heaven, what did the Pandavas do?"

Vaishampayana said: "Having heard the particulars of the great slaughter
of the Vrishnis, the Kaurava king set his heart on leaving the world. He
addressed Arjuna, saying, O thou of great intelligence, it is Time that
cooks every creature (in his cauldron). I think that what has happened is
due to the cords of Time (with which he binds us all). It behoveth thee
also to see it.

"Thus addressed by his brother, the son of Kunti only repeated the word
Time, Time! and fully endorsed the view of his eldest brother gifted with
great intelligence. Ascertaining the resolution of Arjuna, Bhimasena and
the twins fully endorsed the words that Arjuna had said. Resolved to
retire from the world for earning merit, they brought Yuyutsu before
them. Yudhishthira made over the kingdom to the son of his uncle by his
Vaisya wife. Installing Parikshit also on their throne, as king, the
eldest brother of the Pandavas, filled with sorrow, addressed Subhadra,
saying, This son of thy son will be the king of the Kurus. The survivor
of the Yadus, Vajra, has been made a king. Parikshit will rule in
Hastinapura, while the Yadava prince, Vajra, will rule in Shakraprastha.
He should be protected by thee. Never set thy heart on unrighteousness.

"Having said these words, king Yudhishthira the just, along with his
brothers, promptly offered oblations of water unto Vasudeva of great
intelligence, as also unto his old maternal uncle and Rama and others. He
then duly performed the Sraddhas of all those deceased kinsmen of his.
The king, in honour of Hari and naming him repeatedly, fed the
Island-born Vyasa, and Narada, and Markandeya possessed of wealth of
penances, and Yajnavalkya of Bharadwajas race, with many delicious
viands. In honour of Krishna, he also gave away many jewels and gems, and
robes and clothes, and villages, and horses and cars, and female slaves
by hundreds and thousands unto foremost of Brahmanas. Summoning the
citizens. Kripa was installed as the preceptor and Parikshit was made
over to him as his disciple, O chief of Bharatas race.

"Then Yudhishthira once more summoned all his subjects. The royal sage
informed them of his intentions. The citizens and the inhabitants of the
provinces, hearing the kings words, became filled with anxiety and
disapproved of them. This should never be done, said they unto the king.
The monarch, well versed with the changes brought about by time, did not
listen to their counsels. Possessed of righteous soul, he persuaded the
people to sanction his views. He then set his heart on leaving the world.
His brothers also formed the same resolution. Then Dharmas son,
Yudhishthira, the king of the Kurus, casting off his ornaments, wore
barks of trees. Bhima and Arjuna and the twins, and Draupadi also of
great fame, similarly clad themselves in bark of trees, O king. Having
caused the preliminary rites of religion, O chief of Bharatas race, which
were to bless them in the accomplishment of their design, those foremost
of men cast off their sacred fires into the water. The ladies, beholding
the princes in that guise, wept aloud. They seemed to look as they had
looked in days before, when with Draupadi forming the sixth in number
they set out from the capital after their defeat at dice. The brothers,
however, were all very cheerful at the prospect of retirement.
Ascertaining the intentions of Yudhishthira and seeing the destruction of
the Vrishnis, no other course of action could please them then.

"The five brothers, with Draupadi forming the sixth, and a dog forming
the seventh, set out on their journey. Indeed, even thus did king
Yudhishthira depart, himself the head of a party of seven, from the city
named after the elephant. The citizen and the ladies of the royal
household followed them for some distance. None of them, however, could
venture to address the king for persuading him to give up his intention.
The denizens of the city then returned; Kripa and others stood around
Yuyutsu as their centre. Ulupi, the daughter of the Naga chief, O thou of
Kuntis race, entered the waters of Ganga. The princess Chitrangada set
out for the capital of Manipura. The other ladies who were the
grandmothers of Parikshit centered around him. Meanwhile the high-souled
Pandavas, O thou of Kurus race, and Draupadi of great fame, having
observed the preliminary fast, set out with their faces towards the east.
Setting themselves on Yoga, those high-souled ones, resolved to observe
the religion of Renunciation, traversed through various countries and
reached diverse rivers and seas. Yudhishthira, proceeded first. Behind
him was Bhima; next walked Arjuna; after him were the twins in the order
of their birth; behind them all, O foremost one of Bharatas race,
proceeded Draupadi, that first of women, possessed of great beauty, of
dark complexion, and endued with eyes resembling lotus petals. While the
Pandavas set out for the forest, a dog followed them.

"Proceeding on, those heroes reached the sea of red waters. Dhananjaya
had not cast off his celestial bow Gandiva, nor his couple of
inexhaustible quivers, actuated, O king, by the cupidity that attaches
one to things of great value. The Pandavas there beheld the deity of fire
standing before them like a hill. Closing their way, the god stood there
in his embodied form. The deity of seven flames then addressed the
Pandavas, saying, Ye heroic sons of Pandu, know me for the deity of fire.
O mighty-armed Yudhishthira, O Bhimasena that art a scorcher of foes, O
Arjuna, and ye twins of great courage, listen to what I say! Ye foremost
ones of Kurus race, I am the god of fire. The forest of Khandava was
burnt by me, through the puissance of Arjuna and of Narayana himself. Let
your brother Phalguna proceed to the woods after casting off Gandiva,
that high weapon. He has no longer any need of it. That precious discus,
which was with the high-souled Krishna, has disappeared (from the world).
When the time again comes, it will come back into his hands. This
foremost of bows, Gandiva, was procured by me from Varuna for the use of
Partha. Let it be made over to Varuna himself.

"At this, all the brothers urged Dhananjaya to do what the deity said. He
then threw into the waters (of the sea) both the bow and the couple of
inexhaustible quivers. After this, O chief of Bharatas race, the god of
the fire disappeared then and there. The heroic sons of Pandu next
proceeded with their faces turned towards the south. Then, by the
northern coast of the salt sea, those princes of Bharatas race proceeded
to the south-west. Turning next towards the west, they beheld the city of
Dwaraka covered by the ocean. Turning next to the north, those foremost
ones proceeded on. Observant of Yoga, they were desirous of making a
round of the whole Earth."



2

Vaishampayana said: "Those princes of restrained souls and devoted to
Yoga, proceeding to the north, beheld Himavat, that very large mountain.
Crossing the Himavat, they beheld a vast desert of sand. They then saw
the mighty mountain Meru, the foremost of all high-peaked mountains. As
those mighty ones were proceeding quickly, all rapt in Yoga, Yajnaseni,
falling of from Yoga, dropped down on the Earth. Beholding her fallen
down, Bhimasena of great strength addressed king Yudhishthira the just,
saying, O scorcher of foes, this princess never did any sinful act. Tell
us what the cause is for which Krishna has fallen down on the Earth!

"Yudhishthira said: O best of men, though we were all equal unto her she
had great partiality for Dhananjaya. She obtains the fruit of that
conduct today, O best of men."

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said this, that foremost one of Bharatas
race proceeded on. Of righteous soul, that foremost of men, endued with
great intelligence, went on, with mind intent on itself. Then Sahadeva of
great learning fell down on the Earth. Beholding him drop down, Bhima
addressed the king, saying, He who with great humility used to serve us
all, alas, why is that son of Madravati fallen down on the Earth?

"Yudhishthira said, He never thought anybody his equal in wisdom. It is
for that fault that this prince has fallen down.

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said this, the king proceeded, leaving
Sahadeva there. Indeed, Kuntis son Yudhishthira went on, with his
brothers and with the dog. Beholding both Krishna and the Pandava
Sahadeva fallen down, the brave Nakula, whose love for kinsmen was very
great, fell down himself. Upon the falling down of the heroic Nakula of
great personal beauty, Bhima once more addressed the king, saying, This
brother of ours who was endued with righteousness without incompleteness,
and who always obeyed our behests, this Nakula who was unrivalled for
beauty, has fallen down.

"Thus addressed by Bhimasena, Yudhishthira, said, with respect to Nakula,
these words: He was of righteous soul and the foremost of all persons
endued with intelligence. He, however, thought that there was nobody that
equalled him in beauty of person. Indeed, he regarded himself as superior
to all in that respect. It is for this that Nakula has fallen down. Know
this, O Vrikodara. What has been ordained for a person, O hero, must have
to be endured by him.

"Beholding Nakula and the others fall down, Pandus son Arjuna of white
steeds, that slayer of hostile heroes, fell down in great grief of heart.
When that foremost of men, who was endued with the energy of Shakra, had
fallen down, indeed, when that invincible hero was on the point of death,
Bhima said unto the king, I do not recollect any untruth uttered by this
high-souled one. Indeed, not even in jest did he say anything false. What
then is that for whose evil consequence this one has fallen down on the
Earth?

"Yudhishthira said, Arjuna had said that he would consume all our foes in
a single day. Proud of his heroism, he did not, however, accomplish what
he had said. Hence has he fallen down. This Phalguna disregarded all
wielders of bows. One desirous of prosperity should never indulge in such
sentiments."

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said so, the king proceeded on. Then
Bhima fell down. Having fallen down, Bhima addressed king Yudhishthira
the just, saying, O king, behold, I who am thy darling have fallen down.
For what reason have I dropped down? Tell me if thou knowest it.

"Yudhishthira said, Thou wert a great eater, and thou didst use to boast
of thy strength. Thou never didst attend, O Bhima, to the wants of others
while eating. It is for that, O Bhima, that thou hast fallen down.

"Having said these words, the mighty-armed Yudhishthira proceeded on,
without looking back. He had only one companion, the dog of which I have
repeatedly spoken to thee, that followed him now.



3

Vaishampayana said: "Then Shakra, causing the firmament and the Earth to
be filled by a loud sound, came to the son of Pritha on a car and asked
him to ascend it. Beholding his brothers fallen on the Earth, king
Yudhishthira the just said unto that deity of a 1,000 eyes these words:
My brothers have all dropped down here. They must go with me. Without
them by me I do not wish to go to Heaven, O lord of all the deities. The
delicate princess (Draupadi) deserving of every comfort, O Purandara,
should go with us. It behoveth thee to permit this.

"Shakra said, Thou shalt behold thy brothers in Heaven. They have reached
it before thee. Indeed, thou shalt see all of them there, with Krishna.
Do not yield to grief, O chief of the Bharatas. Having cast off their
human bodies they have gone there, O chief of Bharatas race. As regards
thee, it is ordained that thou shalt go thither in this very body of
thine.

"Yudhishthira said, This dog, O lord of the Past and the Present, is
exceedingly devoted to me. He should go with me. My heart is full of
compassion for him.

"Shakra said, Immortality and a condition equal to mine, O king,
prosperity extending in all directions, and high success, and all the
felicities of Heaven, thou hast won today. Do thou cast off this dog. In
this there will be no cruelty.

"Yudhishthira said, O thou of a 1,000 eyes. O thou that art of righteous
behaviour, it is exceedingly difficult for one that is of righteous
behaviour to perpetrate an act that is unrighteous. I do not desire that
union with prosperity for which I shall have to cast off one that is
devoted to me.

"Indra said, There is no place in Heaven for persons with dogs. Besides,
the (deities called) Krodhavasas take away all the merits of such
persons. Reflecting on this, act, O king Yudhishthira the just. Do thou
abandon this dog. There is no cruelty in this.

"Yudhishthira said, It has been said that the abandonment of one that is
devoted is infinitely sinful. It is equal to the sin that one incurs by
slaying a Brahmana. Hence, O great Indra, I shall not abandon this dog
today from desire of my happiness. Even this is my vow steadily pursued,
that I never give up a person that is terrified, nor one that is devoted
to me, nor one that seeks my protection, saying that he is destitute, nor
one that is afflicted, nor one that has come to me, nor one that is weak
in protecting oneself, nor one that is solicitous of life. I shall never
give up such a one till my own life is at an end.

"Indra said, Whatever gifts, or sacrifices spread out, or libations
poured on the sacred fire, are seen by a dog, are taken away by the
Krodhavasas. Do thou, therefore, abandon this dog. By abandoning this dog
thou wilt attain to the region of the deities. Having abandoned thy
brothers and Krishna, thou hast, O hero, acquired a region of felicity by
thy own deeds. Why art thou so stupefied? Thou hast renounced everything.
Why then dost thou not renounce this dog? "Yudhishthira said, This is
well known in all the worlds that there is neither friendship nor enmity
with those that are dead. When my brothers and Krishna died, I was unable
to revive them. Hence it was that I abandoned them. I did not, however,
abandon them as long as they were alive. To frighten one that has sought
protection, the slaying of a woman, the theft of what belongs to a
Brahmana, and injuring a friend, each of these four, O Shakra, is I think
equal to the abandonment of one that is devoted."

Vaishampayana continued: "Hearing these words of king Yudhishthira the
just, (the dog became transformed into) the deity of Righteousness, who,
well pleased, said these words unto him in a sweet voice fraught with
praise.

"Dharma said: Thou art well born, O king of kings, and possessed of the
intelligence and the good conduct of Pandu. Thou hast compassion for all
creatures, O Bharata, of which this is a bright example. Formerly, O son,
thou wert once examined by me in the woods of Dwaita, where thy brothers
of great prowess met with (an appearance of) death. Disregarding both thy
brothers Bhima and Arjuna, thou didst wish for the revival of Nakula from
thy desire of doing good to thy (step-) mother. On the present occasion,
thinking the dog to be devoted to thee, thou hast renounced the very car
of the celestials instead of renouncing him. Hence. O king, there is no
one in Heaven that is equal to thee. Hence, O Bharata, regions of
inexhaustible felicity are thine. Thou hast won them, O chief of the
Bharatas, and thine is a celestial and high goal."

Vaishampayana continued: "Then Dharma, and Shakra, and the Maruts, and
the Ashvinis, and other deities, and the celestial Rishis, causing
Yudhishthira to ascend on a car, proceeded to Heaven. Those beings
crowned with success and capable of going everywhere at will, rode their
respective cars. King Yudhishthira, that perpetuator of Kurus race,
riding on that car, ascended quickly, causing the entire welkin to blaze
with his effulgence. Then Narada, that foremost of all speakers, endued
with penances, and conversant with all the worlds, from amidst that
concourse of deities, said these words: All those royal sages that are
here have their achievements transcended by those of Yudhishthira.
Covering all the worlds by his fame and splendour and by his wealth of
conduct, he has attained to Heaven in his own (human) body. None else
than the son of Pandu has been heard to achieve this.

"Hearing these words of Narada, the righteous-souled king, saluting the
deities and all the royal sages there present, said, Happy or miserable,
whatever the region be that is now my brothers, I desire to proceed to. I
do not wish to go anywhere else.

"Hearing this speech of the king, the chief of the deities, Purandara,
said these words fraught with noble sense: Do thou live in this place, O
king of kings, which thou hast won by thy meritorious deeds. Why dost
thou still cherish human affections? Thou hast attained to great success,
the like of which no other man has ever been able to attain. Thy
brothers, O delighter of the Kurus, have succeeded in winning regions of
felicity. Human affections still touch thee. This is Heaven. Behold these
celestial Rishis and Siddhas who have attained to the region of the gods.

"Gifted with great intelligence, Yudhishthira answered the chief of the
deities once more, saying, O conqueror of Daityas, I venture not to dwell
anywhere separated from them. I desire to go there, where my brothers
have gone. I wish to go there where that foremost of women, Draupadi, of
ample proportions and darkish complexion and endued with great
intelligence and righteous of conduct, has gone."

The end of Mahaprasthanika-parv

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!


_________________

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Re: POST, POST LIKE YOU NEVER POSTED BEFORE!
The Mahabharata

of

Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa

BOOK 1

ADI PARVA

Translated into English Prose from the Original Sanskrit Text

by

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

[1883-1896]

Scanned at sacred-texts.com, 2003. Proofed at Distributed Proofing,
Juliet Sutherland, Project Manager. Additional proofing and formatting at
sacred-texts.com, by J. B. Hare.



TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

The object of a translator should ever be to hold the mirror upto his
author. That being so, his chief duty is to represent so far as
practicable the manner in which his author's ideas have been expressed,
retaining if possible at the sacrifice of idiom and taste all the
peculiarities of his author's imagery and of language as well. In regard
to translations from the Sanskrit, nothing is easier than to dish up
Hindu ideas, so as to make them agreeable to English taste. But the
endeavour of the present translator has been to give in the following
pages as literal a rendering as possible of the great work of Vyasa. To
the purely English reader there is much in the following pages that will
strike as ridiculous. Those unacquainted with any language but their own
are generally very exclusive in matters of taste. Having no knowledge of
models other than what they meet with in their own tongue, the standard
they have formed of purity and taste in composition must necessarily be a
narrow one. The translator, however, would ill-discharge his duty, if for
the sake of avoiding ridicule, he sacrificed fidelity to the original. He
must represent his author as he is, not as he should be to please the
narrow taste of those entirely unacquainted with him. Mr. Pickford, in
the preface to his English translation of the Mahavira Charita, ably
defends a close adherence to the original even at the sacrifice of idiom
and taste against the claims of what has been called 'Free Translation,'
which means dressing the author in an outlandish garb to please those to
whom he is introduced.

In the preface to his classical translation of Bhartrihari's Niti Satakam
and Vairagya Satakam, Mr. C.H. Tawney says, "I am sensible that in the
present attempt I have retained much local colouring. For instance, the
ideas of worshipping the feet of a god of great men, though it frequently
occurs in Indian literature, will undoubtedly move the laughter of
Englishmen unacquainted with Sanskrit, especially if they happen to
belong to that class of readers who revel their attention on the
accidental and remain blind to the essential. But a certain measure of
fidelity to the original even at the risk of making oneself ridiculous,
is better than the studied dishonesty which characterises so many
translations of oriental poets."

We fully subscribe to the above although, it must be observed, the
censure conveyed to the class of translators last indicated is rather
undeserved, there being nothing like a 'studied dishonesty' in their
efforts which proceed only from a mistaken view of their duties and as
such betray only an error of the head but not of the heart. More than
twelve years ago when Babu Pratapa Chandra Roy, with Babu Durga Charan
Banerjee, went to my retreat at Seebpore, for engaging me to translate
the Mahabharata into English, I was amazed with the grandeur of the
scheme. My first question to him was,--whence was the money to come,
supposing my competence for the task. Pratapa then unfolded to me the
details of his plan, the hopes he could legitimately cherish of
assistance from different quarters. He was full of enthusiasm. He showed
me Dr. Rost's letter, which, he said, had suggested to him the
undertaking. I had known Babu Durga Charan for many years and I had the
highest opinion of his scholarship and practical good sense. When he
warmly took Pratapa's side for convincing me of the practicability of the
scheme, I listened to him patiently. The two were for completing all
arrangements with me the very day. To this I did not agree. I took a
week's time to consider. I consulted some of my literary friends,
foremost among whom was the late lamented Dr. Sambhu C. Mookherjee. The
latter, I found, had been waited upon by Pratapa. Dr. Mookherjee spoke to
me of Pratapa as a man of indomitable energy and perseverance. The result
of my conference with Dr. Mookherjee was that I wrote to Pratapa asking
him to see me again. In this second interview estimates were drawn up,
and everything was arranged as far as my portion of the work was
concerned. My friend left with me a specimen of translation which he had
received from Professor Max Muller. This I began to study, carefully
comparing it sentence by sentence with the original. About its literal
character there could be no doubt, but it had no flow and, therefore,
could not be perused with pleasure by the general reader. The translation
had been executed thirty years ago by a young German friend of the great
Pundit. I had to touch up every sentence. This I did without at all
impairing faithfulness to the original. My first 'copy' was set up in
type and a dozen sheets were struck off. These were submitted to the
judgment of a number of eminent writers, European and native. All of
them, I was glad to see, approved of the specimen, and then the task of
translating the Mahabharata into English seriously began.

Before, however, the first fasciculus could be issued, the question as to
whether the authorship of the translation should be publicly owned,
arose. Babu Pratapa Chandra Roy was against anonymity. I was for it. The
reasons I adduced were chiefly founded upon the impossibility of one
person translating the whole of the gigantic work. Notwithstanding my
resolve to discharge to the fullest extent the duty that I took up, I
might not live to carry it out. It would take many years before the end
could be reached. Other circumstances than death might arise in
consequence of which my connection with the work might cease. It could
not be desirable to issue successive fasciculus with the names of a
succession of translators appearing on the title pages. These and other
considerations convinced my friend that, after all, my view was correct.
It was, accordingly, resolved to withhold the name of the translator. As
a compromise, however, between the two views, it was resolved to issue
the first fasciculus with two prefaces, one over the signature of the
publisher and the other headed--'Translator's Preface.' This, it was
supposed, would effectually guard against misconceptions of every kind.
No careful reader would then confound the publisher with the author.

Although this plan was adopted, yet before a fourth of the task had been
accomplished, an influential Indian journal came down upon poor Pratapa
Chandra Roy and accused him openly of being a party to a great literary
imposture, viz., of posing before the world as the translator of Vyasa's
work when, in fact, he was only the publisher. The charge came upon my
friend as a surprise, especially as he had never made a secret of the
authorship in his correspondence with Oriental scholars in every part of
the world. He promptly wrote to the journal in question, explaining the
reasons there were for anonymity, and pointing to the two prefaces with
which the first fasciculus had been given to the world. The editor
readily admitted his mistake and made a satisfactory apology.

Now that the translation has been completed, there can no longer be any
reason for withholding the name of the translator. The entire translation
is practically the work of one hand. In portions of the Adi and the Sabha
Parvas, I was assisted by Babu Charu Charan Mookerjee. About four forms
of the Sabha Parva were done by Professor Krishna Kamal Bhattacharya, and
about half a fasciculus during my illness, was done by another hand. I
should however state that before passing to the printer the copy received
from these gentlemen I carefully compared every sentence with the
original, making such alterations as were needed for securing a
uniformity of style with the rest of the work.

I should here observe that in rendering the Mahabharata into English I
have derived very little aid from the three Bengali versions that are
supposed to have been executed with care. Every one of these is full of
inaccuracies and blunders of every description. The Santi in particular
which is by far the most difficult of the eighteen Parvas, has been made
a mess of by the Pundits that attacked it. Hundreds of ridiculous
blunders can be pointed out in both the Rajadharma and the Mokshadharma
sections. Some of these I have pointed out in footnotes.

I cannot lay claim to infallibility. There are verses in the Mahabharata
that are exceedingly difficult to construe. I have derived much aid from
the great commentator Nilakantha. I know that Nilakantha's authority is
not incapable of being challenged. But when it is remembered that the
interpretations given by Nilakantha came down to him from preceptors of
olden days, one should think twice before rejecting Nilakantha as a guide.

About the readings I have adopted, I should say that as regards the first
half of the work, I have generally adhered to the Bengal texts; as
regards the latter half, to the printed Bombay edition. Sometimes
individual sections, as occurring in the Bengal editions, differ widely,
in respect of the order of the verses, from the corresponding ones in the
Bombay edition. In such cases I have adhered to the Bengal texts,
convinced that the sequence of ideas has been better preserved in the
Bengal editions than the Bombay one.

I should express my particular obligations to Pundit Ram Nath Tarkaratna,
the author of 'Vasudeva Vijayam' and other poems, Pundit Shyama Charan
Kaviratna, the learned editor of Kavyaprakasha with the commentary of
Professor Mahesh Chandra Nayaratna, and Babu Aghore Nath Banerjee, the
manager of the Bharata Karyalaya. All these scholars were my referees on
all points of difficulty. Pundit Ram Nath's solid scholarship is known to
them that have come in contact with him. I never referred to him a
difficulty that he could not clear up. Unfortunately, he was not always
at hand to consult. Pundit Shyama Charan Kaviratna, during my residence
at Seebpore, assisted me in going over the Mokshadharma sections of the
Santi Parva. Unostentatious in the extreme, Kaviratna is truly the type
of a learned Brahman of ancient India. Babu Aghore Nath Banerjee also has
from time to time, rendered me valuable assistance in clearing my
difficulties.

Gigantic as the work is, it would have been exceedingly difficult for me
to go on with it if I had not been encouraged by Sir Stuart Bayley, Sir
Auckland Colvin, Sir Alfred Croft, and among Oriental scholars, by the
late lamented Dr. Reinhold Rost, and Mons. A. Barth of Paris. All these
eminent men know from the beginning that the translation was proceeding
from my pen. Notwithstanding the enthusiasm, with which my poor friend,
Pratapa Chandra Roy, always endeavoured to fill me. I am sure my energies
would have flagged and patience exhausted but for the encouraging words
which I always received from these patrons and friends of the enterprise.

Lastly, I should name my literary chief and friend, Dr. Sambhu C.
Mookherjee. The kind interest he took in my labours, the repeated
exhortations he addressed to me inculcating patience, the care with which
he read every fasciculus as it came out, marking all those passages which
threw light upon topics of antiquarian interest, and the words of praise
he uttered when any expression particularly happy met his eyes, served to
stimulate me more than anything else in going on with a task that
sometimes seemed to me endless.

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

Calcutta



THE MAHABHARATA

ADI PARVA

SECTION I

Om! Having bowed down to Narayana and Nara, the most exalted male being,
and also to the goddess Saraswati, must the word Jaya be uttered.

Ugrasrava, the son of Lomaharshana, surnamed Sauti, well-versed in the
Puranas, bending with humility, one day approached the great sages of
rigid vows, sitting at their ease, who had attended the twelve years'
sacrifice of Saunaka, surnamed Kulapati, in the forest of Naimisha. Those
ascetics, wishing to hear his wonderful narrations, presently began to
address him who had thus arrived at that recluse abode of the inhabitants
of the forest of Naimisha. Having been entertained with due respect by
those holy men, he saluted those Munis (sages) with joined palms, even
all of them, and inquired about the progress of their asceticism. Then
all the ascetics being again seated, the son of Lomaharshana humbly
occupied the seat that was assigned to him. Seeing that he was
comfortably seated, and recovered from fatigue, one of the Rishis
beginning the conversation, asked him, 'Whence comest thou, O lotus-eyed
Sauti, and where hast thou spent the time? Tell me, who ask thee, in
detail.'

Accomplished in speech, Sauti, thus questioned, gave in the midst of that
big assemblage of contemplative Munis a full and proper answer in words
consonant with their mode of life.

"Sauti said, 'Having heard the diverse sacred and wonderful stories which
were composed in his Mahabharata by Krishna-Dwaipayana, and which were
recited in full by Vaisampayana at the Snake-sacrifice of the high-souled
royal sage Janamejaya and in the presence also of that chief of Princes,
the son of Parikshit, and having wandered about, visiting many sacred
waters and holy shrines, I journeyed to the country venerated by the
Dwijas (twice-born) and called Samantapanchaka where formerly was fought
the battle between the children of Kuru and Pandu, and all the chiefs of
the land ranged on either side. Thence, anxious to see you, I am come
into your presence. Ye reverend sages, all of whom are to me as Brahma;
ye greatly blessed who shine in this place of sacrifice with the
splendour of the solar fire: ye who have concluded the silent meditations
and have fed the holy fire; and yet who are sitting--without care, what,
O ye Dwijas (twice-born), shall I repeat, shall I recount the sacred
stories collected in the Puranas containing precepts of religious duty
and of worldly profit, or the acts of illustrious saints and sovereigns
of mankind?"

"The Rishi replied, 'The Purana, first promulgated by the great Rishi
Dwaipayana, and which after having been heard both by the gods and the
Brahmarshis was highly esteemed, being the most eminent narrative that
exists, diversified both in diction and division, possessing subtile
meanings logically combined, and gleaned from the Vedas, is a sacred
work. Composed in elegant language, it includeth the subjects of other
books. It is elucidated by other Shastras, and comprehendeth the sense of
the four Vedas. We are desirous of hearing that history also called
Bharata, the holy composition of the wonderful Vyasa, which dispelleth
the fear of evil, just as it was cheerfully recited by the Rishi
Vaisampayana, under the direction of Dwaipayana himself, at the
snake-sacrifice of Raja Janamejaya?'

"Sauti then said, 'Having bowed down to the primordial being Isana, to
whom multitudes make offerings, and who is adored by the multitude; who
is the true incorruptible one, Brahma, perceptible, imperceptible,
eternal; who is both a non-existing and an existing-non-existing being;
who is the universe and also distinct from the existing and non-existing
universe; who is the creator of high and low; the ancient, exalted,
inexhaustible one; who is Vishnu, beneficent and the beneficence itself,
worthy of all preference, pure and immaculate; who is Hari, the ruler of
the faculties, the guide of all things moveable and immoveable; I will
declare the sacred thoughts of the illustrious sage Vyasa, of marvellous
deeds and worshipped here by all. Some bards have already published this
history, some are now teaching it, and others, in like manner, will
hereafter promulgate it upon the earth. It is a great source of
knowledge, established throughout the three regions of the world. It is
possessed by the twice-born both in detailed and compendious forms. It is
the delight of the learned for being embellished with elegant
expressions, conversations human and divine, and a variety of poetical
measures.

In this world, when it was destitute of brightness and light, and
enveloped all around in total darkness, there came into being, as the
primal cause of creation, a mighty egg, the one inexhaustible seed of all
created beings. It is called Mahadivya, and was formed at the beginning
of the Yuga, in which we are told, was the true light Brahma, the eternal
one, the wonderful and inconceivable being present alike in all places;
the invisible and subtile cause, whose nature partaketh of entity and
non-entity. From this egg came out the lord Pitamaha Brahma, the one only
Prajapati; with Suraguru and Sthanu. Then appeared the twenty-one
Prajapatis, viz., Manu, Vasishtha and Parameshthi; ten Prachetas, Daksha,
and the seven sons of Daksha. Then appeared the man of inconceivable
nature whom all the Rishis know and so the Viswe-devas, the Adityas, the
Vasus, and the twin Aswins; the Yakshas, the Sadhyas, the Pisachas, the
Guhyakas, and the Pitris. After these were produced the wise and most
holy Brahmarshis, and the numerous Rajarshis distinguished by every noble
quality. So the water, the heavens, the earth, the air, the sky, the
points of the heavens, the years, the seasons, the months, the
fortnights, called Pakshas, with day and night in due succession. And
thus were produced all things which are known to mankind.

And what is seen in the universe, whether animate or inanimate, of
created things, will at the end of the world, and after the expiration of
the Yuga, be again confounded. And, at the commencement of other Yugas,
all things will be renovated, and, like the various fruits of the earth,
succeed each other in the due order of their seasons. Thus continueth
perpetually to revolve in the world, without beginning and without end,
this wheel which causeth the destruction of all things.

The generation of Devas, in brief, was thirty-three thousand,
thirty-three hundred and thirty-three. The sons of Div were Brihadbhanu,
Chakshus, Atma Vibhavasu, Savita, Richika, Arka, Bhanu, Asavaha, and
Ravi. Of these Vivaswans of old, Mahya was the youngest whose son was
Deva-vrata. The latter had for his son, Su-vrata who, we learn, had three
sons,--Dasa-jyoti, Sata-jyoti, and Sahasra-jyoti, each of them producing
numerous offspring. The illustrious Dasa-jyoti had ten thousand,
Sata-jyoti ten times that number, and Sahasra-jyoti ten times the number
of Sata-jyoti's offspring. From these are descended the family of the
Kurus, of the Yadus, and of Bharata; the family of Yayati and of
Ikshwaku; also of all the Rajarshis. Numerous also were the generations
produced, and very abundant were the creatures and their places of abode.
The mystery which is threefold--the Vedas, Yoga, and Vijnana Dharma,
Artha, and Kama--also various books upon the subject of Dharma, Artha,
and Kama; also rules for the conduct of mankind; also histories and
discourses with various srutis; all of which having been seen by the
Rishi Vyasa are here in due order mentioned as a specimen of the book.

The Rishi Vyasa published this mass of knowledge in both a detailed and
an abridged form. It is the wish of the learned in the world to possess
the details and the abridgement. Some read the Bharata beginning with the
initial mantra (invocation), others with the story of Astika, others with
Uparichara, while some Brahmanas study the whole. Men of learning display
their various knowledge of the institutes in commenting on the
composition. Some are skilful in explaining it, while others, in
remembering its contents.

The son of Satyavati having, by penance and meditation, analysed the
eternal Veda, afterwards composed this holy history, when that learned
Brahmarshi of strict vows, the noble Dwaipayana Vyasa, offspring of
Parasara, had finished this greatest of narrations, he began to consider
how he might teach it to his disciples. And the possessor of the six
attributes, Brahma, the world's preceptor, knowing of the anxiety of the
Rishi Dwaipayana, came in person to the place where the latter was, for
gratifying the saint, and benefiting the people. And when Vyasa,
surrounded by all the tribes of Munis, saw him, he was surprised; and,
standing with joined palms, he bowed and ordered a seat to be brought.
And Vyasa having gone round him who is called Hiranyagarbha seated on
that distinguished seat stood near it; and being commanded by Brahma
Parameshthi, he sat down near the seat, full of affection and smiling in
joy. Then the greatly glorious Vyasa, addressing Brahma Parameshthi,
said, "O divine Brahma, by me a poem hath been composed which is greatly
respected. The mystery of the Veda, and what other subjects have been
explained by me; the various rituals of the Upanishads with the Angas;
the compilation of the Puranas and history formed by me and named after
the three divisions of time, past, present, and future; the determination
of the nature of decay, fear, disease, existence, and non-existence, a
description of creeds and of the various modes of life; rule for the four
castes, and the import of all the Puranas; an account of asceticism and
of the duties of a religious student; the dimensions of the sun and moon,
the planets, constellations, and stars, together with the duration of the
four ages; the Rik, Sama and Yajur Vedas; also the Adhyatma; the sciences
called Nyaya, Orthoephy and Treatment of diseases; charity and
Pasupatadharma; birth celestial and human, for particular purposes; also
a description of places of pilgrimage and other holy places of rivers,
mountains, forests, the ocean, of heavenly cities and the kalpas; the art
of war; the different kinds of nations and languages: the nature of the
manners of the people; and the all-pervading spirit;--all these have been
represented. But, after all, no writer of this work is to be found on
earth.'

"Brahma said. 'I esteem thee for thy knowledge of divine mysteries,
before the whole body of celebrated Munis distinguished for the sanctity
of their lives. I know thou hast revealed the divine word, even from its
first utterance, in the language of truth. Thou hast called thy present
work a poem, wherefore it shall be a poem. There shall be no poets whose
works may equal the descriptions of this poem, even, as the three other
modes called Asrama are ever unequal in merit to the domestic Asrama. Let
Ganesa be thought of, O Muni, for the purpose of writing the poem.'

"Sauti said, 'Brahma having thus spoken to Vyasa, retired to his own
abode. Then Vyasa began to call to mind Ganesa. And Ganesa, obviator of
obstacles, ready to fulfil the desires of his votaries, was no sooner
thought of, than he repaired to the place where Vyasa was seated. And
when he had been saluted, and was seated, Vyasa addressed him thus, 'O
guide of the Ganas! be thou the writer of the Bharata which I have formed
in my imagination, and which I am about to repeat."

"Ganesa, upon hearing this address, thus answered, 'I will become the
writer of thy work, provided my pen do not for a moment cease writing."
And Vyasa said unto that divinity, 'Wherever there be anything thou dost
not comprehend, cease to continue writing.' Ganesa having signified his
assent, by repeating the word Om! proceeded to write; and Vyasa began;
and by way of diversion, he knit the knots of composition exceeding
close; by doing which, he dictated this work according to his engagement.

I am (continued Sauti) acquainted with eight thousand and eight hundred
verses, and so is Suka, and perhaps Sanjaya. From the mysteriousness of
their meaning, O Muni, no one is able, to this day, to penetrate those
closely knit difficult slokas. Even the omniscient Ganesa took a moment
to consider; while Vyasa, however, continued to compose other verses in
great abundance.

The wisdom of this work, like unto an instrument of applying collyrium,
hath opened the eyes of the inquisitive world blinded by the darkness of
ignorance. As the sun dispelleth the darkness, so doth the Bharata by its
discourses on religion, profit, pleasure and final release, dispel the
ignorance of men. As the full-moon by its mild light expandeth the buds
of the water-lily, so this Purana, by exposing the light of the Sruti
hath expanded the human intellect. By the lamp of history, which
destroyeth the darkness of ignorance, the whole mansion of nature is
properly and completely illuminated.

This work is a tree, of which the chapter of contents is the seed; the
divisions called Pauloma and Astika are the root; the part called
Sambhava is the trunk; the books called Sabha and Aranya are the roosting
perches; the books called Arani is the knitting knots; the books called
Virata and Udyoga the pith; the book named Bhishma, the main branch; the
book called Drona, the leaves; the book called Karna, the fair flowers;
the book named Salya, their sweet smell; the books entitled Stri and
Aishika, the refreshing shade; the book called Santi, the mighty fruit;
the book called Aswamedha, the immortal sap; the denominated
Asramavasika, the spot where it groweth; and the book called Mausala, is
an epitome of the Vedas and held in great respect by the virtuous
Brahmanas. The tree of the Bharata, inexhaustible to mankind as the
clouds, shall be as a source of livelihood to all distinguished poets."

"Sauti continued, 'I will now speak of the undying flowery and fruitful
productions of this tree, possessed of pure and pleasant taste, and not
to be destroyed even by the immortals. Formerly, the spirited and
virtuous Krishna-Dwaipayana, by the injunctions of Bhishma, the wise son
of Ganga and of his own mother, became the father of three boys who were
like the three fires by the two wives of Vichitra-virya; and having thus
raised up Dhritarashtra, Pandu and Vidura, he returned to his recluse
abode to prosecute his religious exercise.

It was not till after these were born, grown up, and departed on the
supreme journey, that the great Rishi Vyasa published the Bharata in this
region of mankind; when being solicited by Janamejaya and thousands of
Brahmanas, he instructed his disciple Vaisampayana, who was seated near
him; and he, sitting together with the Sadasyas, recited the Bharata,
during the intervals of the ceremonies of the sacrifice, being repeatedly
urged to proceed.

Vyasa hath fully represented the greatness of the house of Kuru, the
virtuous principles of Gandhari, the wisdom of Vidura, and the constancy
of Kunti. The noble Rishi hath also described the divinity of Vasudeva,
the rectitude of the sons of Pandu, and the evil practices of the sons
and partisans of Dhritarashtra.

Vyasa executed the compilation of the Bharata, exclusive of the episodes
originally in twenty-four thousand verses; and so much only is called by
the learned as the Bharata. Afterwards, he composed an epitome in one
hundred and fifty verses, consisting of the introduction with the chapter
of contents. This he first taught to his son Suka; and afterwards he gave
it to others of his disciples who were possessed of the same
qualifications. After that he executed another compilation, consisting of
six hundred thousand verses. Of those, thirty hundred thousand are known
in the world of the Devas; fifteen hundred thousand in the world of the
Pitris: fourteen hundred thousand among the Gandharvas, and one hundred
thousand in the regions of mankind. Narada recited them to the Devas,
Devala to the Pitris, and Suka published them to the Gandharvas, Yakshas,
and Rakshasas: and in this world they were recited by Vaisampayana, one
of the disciples of Vyasa, a man of just principles and the first among
all those acquainted with the Vedas. Know that I, Sauti, have also
repeated one hundred thousand verses.

Yudhishthira is a vast tree, formed of religion and virtue; Arjuna is its
trunk; Bhimasena, its branches; the two sons of Madri are its full-grown
fruit and flowers; and its roots are Krishna, Brahma, and the Brahmanas.

Pandu, after having subdued many countries by his wisdom and prowess,
took up his abode with the Munis in a certain forest as a sportsman,
where he brought upon himself a very severe misfortune for having killed
a stag coupling with its mate, which served as a warning for the conduct
of the princes of his house as long as they lived. Their mothers, in
order that the ordinances of the law might be fulfilled, admitted as
substitutes to their embraces the gods Dharma, Vayu, Sakra, and the
divinities the twin Aswins. And when their offspring grew up, under the
care of their two mothers, in the society of ascetics, in the midst of
sacred groves and holy recluse-abodes of religious men, they were
conducted by Rishis into the presence of Dhritarashtra and his sons,
following as students in the habit of Brahmacharis, having their hair
tied in knots on their heads. 'These our pupils', said they, 'are as your
sons, your brothers, and your friends; they are Pandavas.' Saying this,
the Munis disappeared.

When the Kauravas saw them introduced as the sons of Pandu, the
distinguished class of citizens shouted exceedingly for joy. Some,
however, said, they were not the sons of Pandu; others said, they were;
while a few asked how they could be his offspring, seeing he had been so
long dead. Still on all sides voices were heard crying, 'They are on all
accounts Whalecum! Through divine Providence we behold the family of
Pandu! Let their Whalecum be proclaimed!' As these acclamations ceased,
the plaudits of invisible spirits, causing every point of the heavens to
resound, were tremendous. There were showers of sweet-scented flowers,
and the sound of shells and kettle-drums. Such were the wonders that
happened on the arrival of the young princes. The joyful noise of all the
citizens, in expression of their satisfaction on the occasion, was so
great that it reached the very heavens in magnifying plaudits.

Having studied the whole of the Vedas and sundry other shastras, the
Pandavas resided there, respected by all and without apprehension from
any one.

The principal men were pleased with the purity of Yudhishthira, the
courage of Arjuna, the submissive attention of Kunti to her superiors,
and the humility of the twins, Nakula and Sahadeva; and all the people
rejoiced in their heroic virtues.

After a while, Arjuna obtained the virgin Krishna at the swayamvara, in
the midst of a concourse of Rajas, by performing a very difficult feat of
archery. And from this time he became very much respected in this world
among all bowmen; and in fields of battle also, like the sun, he was hard
to behold by foe-men. And having vanquished all the neighbouring princes
and every considerable tribe, he accomplished all that was necessary for
the Raja (his eldest brother) to perform the great sacrifice called
Rajasuya.

Yudhishthira, after having, through the wise counsels of Vasudeva and by
the valour of Bhimasena and Arjuna, slain Jarasandha (the king of
Magadha) and the proud Chaidya, acquired the right to perform the grand
sacrifice of Rajasuya abounding in provisions and offering and fraught
with transcendent merits. And Duryodhana came to this sacrifice; and when
he beheld the vast wealth of the Pandavas scattered all around, the
offerings, the precious stones, gold and jewels; the wealth in cows,
elephants, and horses; the curious textures, garments, and mantles; the
precious shawls and furs and carpets made of the skin of the Ranku; he
was filled with envy and became exceedingly displeased. And when he
beheld the hall of assembly elegantly constructed by Maya (the Asura
architect) after the fashion of a celestial court, he was inflamed with
rage. And having started in confusion at certain architectural deceptions
within this building, he was derided by Bhimasena in the presence of
Vasudeva, like one of mean descent.

And it was represented to Dhritarashtra that his son, while partaking of
various objects of enjoyment and diverse precious things, was becoming
meagre, wan, and pale. And Dhritarashtra, some time after, out of
affection for his son, gave his consent to their playing (with the
Pandavas) at dice. And Vasudeva coming to know of this, became
exceedingly wroth. And being dissatisfied, he did nothing to prevent the
disputes, but overlooked the gaming and sundry other horried
unjustifiable transactions arising therefrom: and in spite of Vidura,
Bhishma, Drona, and Kripa, the son of Saradwan, he made the Kshatriyas
kill each other in the terrific war that ensued.'

"And Dhritarashtra hearing the ill news of the success of the Pandavas
and recollecting the resolutions of Duryodhana, Kama, and Sakuni,
pondered for a while and addressed to Sanjaya the following speech:--

'Attend, O Sanjaya, to all I am about to say, and it will not become thee
to treat me with contempt. Thou art well-versed in the shastras,
intelligent and endowed with wisdom. My inclination was never to war, not
did I delight in the destruction of my race. I made no distinction
between my own children and the children of Pandu. My own sons were prone
to wilfulness and despised me because I am old. Blind as I am, because of
my miserable plight and through paternal affection, I bore it all. I was
foolish alter the thoughtless Duryodhana ever growing in folly. Having
been a spectator of the riches of the mighty sons of Pandu, my son was
derided for his awkwardness while ascending the hall. Unable to bear it
all and unable himself to overcome the sons of Pandu in the field, and
though a soldier, unwilling yet to obtain good fortune by his own
exertion, with the help of the king of Gandhara he concerted an unfair
game at dice.

'Hear, O Sanjaya, all that happened thereupon and came to my knowledge.
And when thou hast heard all I say, recollecting everything as it fell
out, thou shall then know me for one with a prophetic eye. When I heard
that Arjuna, having bent the bow, had pierced the curious mark and
brought it down to the ground, and bore away in triumph the maiden
Krishna, in the sight of the assembled princes, then, O Sanjaya I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Subhadra of the race of Madhu had,
after forcible seizure been married by Arjuna in the city of Dwaraka, and
that the two heroes of the race of Vrishni (Krishna and Balarama the
brothers of Subhadra) without resenting it had entered Indraprastha as
friends, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
Arjuna, by his celestial arrow preventing the downpour by Indra the king
of the gods, had gratified Agni by making over to him the forest of
Khandava, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
the five Pandavas with their mother Kunti had escaped from the house of
lac, and that Vidura was engaged in the accomplishment of their designs,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Arjuna,
after having pierced the mark in the arena had won Draupadi, and that the
brave Panchalas had joined the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Jarasandha, the foremost of the royal line
of Magadha, and blazing in the midst of the Kshatriyas, had been slain by
Bhima with his bare arms alone, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that in their general campaign the sons of Pandu
had conquered the chiefs of the land and performed the grand sacrifice of
the Rajasuya, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Draupadi, her voice choked with tears and heart full of agony, in
the season of impurity and with but one raiment on, had been dragged into
court and though she had protectors, she had been treated as if she had
none, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
wicked wretch Duhsasana, was striving to strip her of that single
garment, had only drawn from her person a large heap of cloth without
being able to arrive at its end, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, beaten by Saubala at the game of
dice and deprived of his kingdom as a consequence thereof, had still been
attended upon by his brothers of incomparable prowess, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that the virtuous Pandavas weeping
with affliction had followed their elder brother to the wilderness and
exerted themselves variously for the mitigation of his discomforts, then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.

'When I heard that Yudhishthira had been followed into the wilderness by
Snatakas and noble-minded Brahmanas who live upon alms, then, O Sanjaya,
I had no hope of success. When I heard that Arjuna, having, in combat,
pleased the god of gods, Tryambaka (the three-eyed) in the disguise of a
hunter, obtained the great weapon Pasupata, then O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that the just and renowned Arjuna after having
been to the celestial regions, had there obtained celestial weapons from
Indra himself then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that afterwards Arjuna had vanquished the Kalakeyas and the Paulomas
proud with the boon they had obtained and which had rendered them
invulnerable even to the celestials, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Arjuna, the chastiser of enemies, having gone
to the regions of Indra for the destruction of the Asuras, had returned
thence successful, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Bhima and the other sons of Pritha (Kunti) accompanied by
Vaisravana had arrived at that country which is inaccessible to man then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that my sons, guided by
the counsels of Karna, while on their journey of Ghoshayatra, had been
taken prisoners by the Gandharvas and were set free by Arjuna, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Dharma (the god of
justice) having come under the form of a Yaksha had proposed certain
questions to Yudhishthira then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When
I heard that my sons had failed to discover the Pandavas under their
disguise while residing with Draupadi in the dominions of Virata, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the principal men of
my side had all been vanquished by the noble Arjuna with a single chariot
while residing in the dominions of Virata, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Vasudeva of the race of Madhu, who covered
this whole earth by one foot, was heartily interested in the welfare of
the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that the king of Matsya, had offered his virtuous daughter Uttara to
Arjuna and that Arjuna had accepted her for his son, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, beaten at dice,
deprived of wealth, exiled and separated from his connections, had
assembled yet an army of seven Akshauhinis, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard Narada, declare that Krishna and Arjuna
were Nara and Narayana and he (Narada) had seen them together in the
regions of Brahma, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Krishna, anxious to bring about peace, for the welfare of
mankind had repaired to the Kurus, and went away without having been able
to effect his purpose, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Kama and Duryodhana resolved upon imprisoning Krishna
displayed in himself the whole universe, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. Then I heard that at the time of his departure, Pritha
(Kunti) standing, full of sorrow, near his chariot received consolation
from Krishna, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Vasudeva and Bhishma the son of Santanu were the counsellors of the
Pandavas and Drona the son of Bharadwaja pronounced blessings on them,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When Kama said unto Bhishma--I
will not fight when thou art fighting--and, quitting the army, went away,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Vasudeva and
Arjuna and the bow Gandiva of immeasurable prowess, these three of
dreadful energy had come together, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that upon Arjuna having been seized with
compunction on his chariot and ready to sink, Krishna showed him all the
worlds within his body, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Bhishma, the desolator of foes, killing ten thousand
charioteers every day in the field of battle, had not slain any amongst
the Pandavas then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
Bhishma, the righteous son of Ganga, had himself indicated the means of
his defeat in the field of battle and that the same were accomplished by
the Pandavas with joyfulness, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.
When I heard that Arjuna, having placed Sikhandin before himself in his
chariot, had wounded Bhishma of infinite courage and invincible in
battle, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
aged hero Bhishma, having reduced the numbers of the race of shomaka to a
few, overcome with various wounds was lying on a bed of arrows, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that upon Bhishma's lying
on the ground with thirst for water, Arjuna, being requested, had pierced
the ground and allayed his thirst, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When Bayu together with Indra and Suryya united as allies for
the success of the sons of Kunti, and the beasts of prey (by their
inauspicious presence) were putting us in fear, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When the wonderful warrior Drona, displaying various
modes of fight in the field, did not slay any of the superior Pandavas,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
Maharatha Sansaptakas of our army appointed for the overthrow of Arjuna
were all slain by Arjuna himself, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that our disposition of forces, impenetrable by
others, and defended by Bharadwaja himself well-armed, had been singly
forced and entered by the brave son of Subhadra, then, O Sanjaya, I had
no hope of success. When I heard that our Maharathas, unable to overcome
Arjuna, with jubilant faces after having jointly surrounded and slain the
boy Abhimanyu, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that the blind Kauravas were shouting for joy after having slain
Abhimanyu and that thereupon Arjuna in anger made his celebrated speech
referring to Saindhava, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Arjuna had vowed the death of Saindhava and fulfilled his vow
in the presence of his enemies, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that upon the horses of Arjuna being fatigued,
Vasudeva releasing them made them drink water and bringing them back and
reharnessing them continued to guide them as before, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that while his horses were fatigued,
Arjuna staying in his chariot checked all his assailants, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Yuyudhana of the
race of Vrishni, after having thrown into confusion the army of Drona
rendered unbearable in prowess owing to the presence of elephants,
retired to where Krishna and Arjuna were, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Karna even though he had got Bhima within
his power allowed him to escape after only addressing him in contemptuous
terms and dragging him with the end of his bow, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Drona, Kritavarma, Kripa, Karna, the
son of Drona, and the valiant king of Madra (Salya) suffered Saindhava to
be slain, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
the celestial Sakti given by Indra (to Karna) was by Madhava's
machinations caused to be hurled upon Rakshasa Ghatotkacha of frightful
countenance, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
in the encounter between Karna and Ghatotkacha, that Sakti was hurled
against Ghatotkacha by Karna, the same which was certainly to have slain
Arjuna in battle, then, O Sanjaya. I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Dhristadyumna, transgressing the laws of battle, slew Drona while
alone in his chariot and resolved on death, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Nakula. the son of Madri, having in
the presence of the whole army engaged in single combat with the son of
Drona and showing himself equal to him drove his chariot in circles
around, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When upon the death of
Drona, his son misused the weapon called Narayana but failed to achieve
the destruction of the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Bhimasena drank the blood of his brother
Duhsasana in the field of battle without anybody being able to prevent
him, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
infinitely brave Karna, invincible in battle, was slain by Arjuna in that
war of brothers mysterious even to the gods, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, the Just, overcame the
heroic son of Drona, Duhsasana, and the fierce Kritavarman, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the brave king of
Madra who ever dared Krishna in battle was slain by Yudhishthira, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the wicked Suvala of
magic power, the root of the gaming and the feud, was slain in battle by
Sahadeva, the son of Pandu, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.
When I heard that Duryodhana, spent with fatigue, having gone to a lake
and made a refuge for himself within its waters, was lying there alone,
his strength gone and without a chariot, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that the Pandavas having gone to that lake
accompanied by Vasudeva and standing on its beach began to address
contemptuously my son who was incapable of putting up with affronts,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that while,
displaying in circles a variety of curious modes (of attack and defence)
in an encounter with clubs, he was unfairly slain according to the
counsels of Krishna, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard the son of Drona and others by slaying the Panchalas and the sons
of Draupadi in their sleep, perpetrated a horrible and infamous deed,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Aswatthaman
while being pursued by Bhimasena had discharged the first of weapons
called Aishika, by which the embryo in the womb (of Uttara) was wounded,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the weapon
Brahmashira (discharged by Aswatthaman) was repelled by Arjuna with
another weapon over which he had pronounced the word "Sasti" and that
Aswatthaman had to give up the jewel-like excrescence on his head, then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that upon the embryo in
the womb of Virata's daughter being wounded by Aswatthaman with a mighty
weapon, Dwaipayana and Krishna pronounced curses on him, then, O Sanjaya,
I had no hope of success.

'Alas! Gandhari, destitute of children, grand-children, parents,
brothers, and kindred, is to be pitied. Difficult is the task that hath
been performed by the Pandavas: by them hath a kingdom been recovered
without a rival.

'Alas! I have heard that the war hath left only ten alive: three of our
side, and the Pandavas, seven, in that dreadful conflict eighteen
Akshauhinis of Kshatriyas have been slain! All around me is utter
darkness, and a fit of swoon assaileth me: consciousness leaves me, O
Suta, and my mind is distracted."

"Sauti said, 'Dhritarashtra, bewailing his fate in these words, was
overcome with extreme anguish and for a time deprived of sense; but being
revived, he addressed Sanjaya in the following words.

"After what hath come to pass, O Sanjaya, I wish to put an end to my life
without delay; I do not find the least advantage in cherishing it any
longer."

"Sauti said, 'The wise son of Gavalgana (Sanjaya) then addressed the
distressed lord of Earth while thus talking and bewailing, sighing like a
serpent and repeatedly tainting, in words of deep import.

"Thou hast heard, O Raja, of the greatly powerful men of vast exertions,
spoken of by Vyasa and the wise Narada; men born of great royal families,
resplendent with worthy qualities, versed in the science of celestial
arms, and in glory emblems of Indra; men who having conquered the world
by justice and performed sacrifices with fit offerings (to the
Brahmanas), obtained renown in this world and at last succumbed to the
sway of time. Such were Saivya; the valiant Maharatha; Srinjaya, great
amongst conquerors. Suhotra; Rantideva, and Kakshivanta, great in glory;
Valhika, Damana, Saryati, Ajita, and Nala; Viswamitra the destroyer of
foes; Amvarisha, great in strength; Marutta, Manu, Ikshaku, Gaya, and
Bharata; Rama the son of Dasaratha; Sasavindu, and Bhagiratha;
Kritavirya, the greatly fortunate, and Janamejaya too; and Yayati of good
deeds who performed sacrifices, being assisted therein by the celestials
themselves, and by whose sacrificial altars and stakes this earth with
her habited and uninhabited regions hath been marked all over. These
twenty-four Rajas were formerly spoken of by the celestial Rishi Narada
unto Saivya when much afflicted for the loss of his children. Besides
these, other Rajas had gone before, still more powerful than they, mighty
charioteers noble in mind, and resplendent with every worthy quality.
These were Puru, Kuru, Yadu, Sura and Viswasrawa of great glory; Anuha,
Yuvanaswu, Kakutstha, Vikrami, and Raghu; Vijava, Virihorta, Anga, Bhava,
Sweta, and Vripadguru; Usinara, Sata-ratha, Kanka, Duliduha, and Druma;
Dambhodbhava, Para, Vena, Sagara, Sankriti, and Nimi; Ajeya, Parasu,
Pundra, Sambhu, and holy Deva-Vridha; Devahuya, Supratika, and
Vrihad-ratha; Mahatsaha, Vinitatma, Sukratu, and Nala, the king of the
Nishadas; Satyavrata, Santabhaya, Sumitra, and the chief Subala;
Janujangha, Anaranya, Arka, Priyabhritya, Chuchi-vrata, Balabandhu,
Nirmardda, Ketusringa, and Brhidbala; Dhrishtaketu, Brihatketu,
Driptaketu, and Niramaya; Abikshit, Chapala, Dhurta, Kritbandhu, and
Dridhe-shudhi; Mahapurana-sambhavya, Pratyanga, Paraha and Sruti. These,
O chief, and other Rajas, we hear enumerated by hundreds and by
thousands, and still others by millions, princes of great power and
wisdom, quitting very abundant enjoyments met death as thy sons have
done! Their heavenly deeds, valour, and generosity, their magnanimity,
faith, truth, purity, simplicity and mercy, are published to the world in
the records of former times by sacred bards of great learning. Though
endued with every noble virtue, these have yielded up their lives. Thy
sons were malevolent, inflamed with passion, avaricious, and of very
evil-disposition. Thou art versed in the Sastras, O Bharata, and art
intelligent and wise; they never sink under misfortunes whose
understandings are guided by the Sastras. Thou art acquainted, O prince,
with the lenity and severity of fate; this anxiety therefore for the
safety of thy children is unbecoming. Moreover, it behoveth thee not to
grieve for that which must happen: for who can avert, by his wisdom, the
decrees of fate? No one can leave the way marked out for him by
Providence. Existence and non-existence, pleasure and pain all have Time
for their root. Time createth all things and Time destroyeth all
creatures. It is Time that burneth creatures and it is Time that
extinguisheth the fire. All states, the good and the evil, in the three
worlds, are caused by Time. Time cutteth short all things and createth
them anew. Time alone is awake when all things are asleep: indeed, Time
is incapable of being overcome. Time passeth over all things without
being retarded. Knowing, as thou dost, that all things past and future
and all that exist at the present moment, are the offspring of Time, it
behoveth thee not to throw away thy reason.'

"Sauti said, 'The son of Gavalgana having in this manner administered
comfort to the royal Dhritarashtra overwhelmed with grief for his sons,
then restored his mind to peace. Taking these facts for his subject,
Dwaipayana composed a holy Upanishad that has been published to the world
by learned and sacred bards in the Puranas composed by them.

"The study of the Bharata is an act of piety. He that readeth even one
foot, with belief, hath his sins entirely purged away. Herein Devas,
Devarshis, and immaculate Brahmarshis of good deeds, have been spoken of;
and likewise Yakshas and great Uragas (Nagas). Herein also hath been
described the eternal Vasudeva possessing the six attributes. He is the
true and just, the pure and holy, the eternal Brahma, the supreme soul,
the true constant light, whose divine deeds wise and learned recount;
from whom hath proceeded the non-existent and existent-non-existent
universe with principles of generation and progression, and birth, death
and re-birth. That also hath been treated of which is called Adhyatma
(the superintending spirit of nature) that partaketh of the attributes of
the five elements. That also hath been described who is purusha being
above such epithets as 'undisplayed' and the like; also that which the
foremost yatis exempt from the common destiny and endued with the power
of meditation and Tapas behold dwelling in their hearts as a reflected
image in the mirror.

"The man of faith, devoted to piety, and constant in the exercise of
virtue, on reading this section is freed from sin. The believer that
constantly heareth recited this section of the Bharata, called the
Introduction, from the beginning, falleth not into difficulties. The man
repeating any part of the introduction in the two twilights is during
such act freed from the sins contracted during the day or the night. This
section, the body of the Bharata, is truth and nectar. As butter is in
curd, Brahmana among bipeds, the Aranyaka among the Vedas, and nectar
among medicines; as the sea is eminent among receptacles of water, and
the cow among quadrupeds; as are these (among the things mentioned) so is
the Bharata said to be among histories.

"He that causeth it, even a single foot thereof, to be recited to
Brahmanas during a Sradha, his offerings of food and drink to the manes
of his ancestors become inexhaustible.

"By the aid of history and the Puranas, the Veda may be expounded; but
the Veda is afraid of one of little information lest he should it. The
learned man who recites to other this Veda of Vyasa reapeth advantage. It
may without doubt destroy even the sin of killing the embryo and the
like. He that readeth this holy chapter of the moon, readeth the whole of
the Bharata, I ween. The man who with reverence daily listeneth to this
sacred work acquireth long life and renown and ascendeth to heaven.

"In former days, having placed the four Vedas on one side and the Bharata
on the other, these were weighed in the balance by the celestials
assembled for that purpose. And as the latter weighed heavier than the
four Vedas with their mysteries, from that period it hath been called in
the world Mahabharata (the great Bharata). Being esteemed superior both
in substance and gravity of import it is denominated Mahabharata on
account of such substance and gravity of import. He that knoweth its
meaning is saved from all his sins.

'Tapa is innocent, study is harmless, the ordinance of the Vedas
prescribed for all the tribes are harmless, the acquisition of wealth by
exertion is harmless; but when they are abused in their practices it is
then that they become sources of evil.'"



SECTION II

"The Rishis said, 'O son of Suta, we wish to hear a full and
circumstantial account of the place mentioned by you as Samanta-panchaya.'

"Sauti said, 'Listen, O ye Brahmanas, to the sacred descriptions I utter
O ye best of men, ye deserve to hear of the place known as
Samanta-panchaka. In the interval between the Treta and Dwapara Yugas,
Rama (the son of Jamadagni) great among all who have borne arms, urged by
impatience of wrongs, repeatedly smote the noble race of Kshatriyas. And
when that fiery meteor, by his own valour, annihilated the entire tribe
of the Kshatriyas, he formed at Samanta-panchaka five lakes of blood. We
are told that his reason being overpowered by anger he offered oblations
of blood to the manes of his ancestors, standing in the midst of the
sanguine waters of those lakes. It was then that his forefathers of whom
Richika was the first having arrived there addressed him thus, 'O Rama, O
blessed Rama, O offspring of Bhrigu, we have been gratified with the
reverence thou hast shown for thy ancestors and with thy valour, O mighty
one! Blessings be upon thee. O thou illustrious one, ask the boon that
thou mayst desire.'

"Rama said, 'If, O fathers, ye are favourably disposed towards me, the
boon I ask is that I may be absolved from the sins born of my having
annihilated the Kshatriyas in anger, and that the lakes I have formed may
become famous in the world as holy shrines.' The Pitris then said, 'So
shall it be. But be thou pacified.' And Rama was pacified accordingly.
The region that lieth near unto those lakes of gory water, from that time
hath been celebrated as Samanta-panchaka the holy. The wise have declared
that every country should be distinguished by a name significant of some
circumstance which may have rendered it famous. In the interval between
the Dwapara and the Kali Yugas there happened at Samanta-panchaka the
encounter between the armies of the Kauravas and the Pandavas. In that
holy region, without ruggedness of any kind, were assembled eighteen
Akshauhinis of soldiers eager for battle. And, O Brahmanas, having come
thereto, they were all slain on the spot. Thus the name of that region, O
Brahmanas, hath been explained, and the country described to you as a
sacred and delightful one. I have mentioned the whole of what relateth to
it as the region is celebrated throughout the three worlds.'

"The Rishis said, 'We have a desire to know, O son of Suta, what is
implied by the term Akshauhini that hath been used by thee. Tell us in
full what is the number of horse and foot, chariots and elephants, which
compose an Akshauhini for thou art fully informed.'

"Sauti said, 'One chariot, one elephant, five foot-soldiers, and three
horses form one Patti; three pattis make one Sena-mukha; three
sena-mukhas are called a Gulma; three gulmas, a Gana; three ganas, a
Vahini; three vahinis together are called a Pritana; three pritanas form
a Chamu; three chamus, one Anikini; and an anikini taken ten times forms,
as it is styled by those who know, an Akshauhini. O ye best of Brahmanas,
arithmeticians have calculated that the number of chariots in an
Akshauhini is twenty-one thousand eight hundred and seventy. The measure
of elephants must be fixed at the same number. O ye pure, you must know
that the number of foot-soldiers is one hundred and nine thousand, three
hundred and fifty, the number of horse is sixty-five thousand, six
hundred and ten. These, O Brahmanas, as fully explained by me, are the
numbers of an Akshauhini as said by those acquainted with the principles
of numbers. O best of Brahmanas, according to this calculation were
composed the eighteen Akshauhinis of the Kaurava and the Pandava army.
Time, whose acts are wonderful assembled them on that spot and having
made the Kauravas the cause, destroyed them all. Bhishma acquainted with
choice of weapons, fought for ten days. Drona protected the Kaurava
Vahinis for five days. Kama the desolator of hostile armies fought for
two days; and Salya for half a day. After that lasted for half a day the
encounter with clubs between Duryodhana and Bhima. At the close of that
day, Aswatthaman and Kripa destroyed the army of Yudishthira in the night
while sleeping without suspicion of danger.

'O Saunaka, this best of narrations called Bharata which has begun to be
repeated at thy sacrifice, was formerly repeated at the sacrifice of
Janamejaya by an intelligent disciple of Vyasa. It is divided into
several sections; in the beginning are Paushya, Pauloma, and Astika
parvas, describing in full the valour and renown of kings. It is a work
whose description, diction, and sense are varied and wonderful. It
contains an account of various manners and rites. It is accepted by the
wise, as the state called Vairagya is by men desirous of final release.
As Self among things to be known, as life among things that are dear, so
is this history that furnisheth the means of arriving at the knowledge of
Brahma the first among all the sastras. There is not a story current in
this world but doth depend upon this history even as the body upon the
foot that it taketh. As masters of good lineage are ever attended upon by
servants desirous of preferment so is the Bharata cherished by all poets.
As the words constituting the several branches of knowledge appertaining
to the world and the Veda display only vowels and consonants, so this
excellent history displayeth only the highest wisdom.

'Listen, O ye ascetics, to the outlines of the several divisions (parvas)
of this history called Bharata, endued with great wisdom, of sections and
feet that are wonderful and various, of subtile meanings and logical
connections, and embellished with the substance of the Vedas.

'The first parva is called Anukramanika; the second, Sangraha; then
Paushya; then Pauloma; the Astika; then Adivansavatarana. Then comes the
Sambhava of wonderful and thrilling incidents. Then comes Jatugrihadaha
(setting fire to the house of lac) and then Hidimbabadha (the killing of
Hidimba) parvas; then comes Baka-badha (slaughter of Baka) and then
Chitraratha. The next is called Swayamvara (selection of husband by
Panchali), in which Arjuna by the exercise of Kshatriya virtues, won
Draupadi for wife. Then comes Vaivahika (marriage). Then comes
Viduragamana (advent of Vidura), Rajyalabha (acquirement of kingdom),
Arjuna-banavasa (exile of Arjuna) and Subhadra-harana (the carrying away
of Subhadra). After these come Harana-harika, Khandava-daha (the burning
of the Khandava forest) and Maya-darsana (meeting with Maya the Asura
architect). Then come Sabha, Mantra, Jarasandha, Digvijaya (general
campaign). After Digvijaya come Raja-suyaka, Arghyaviharana (the robbing
of the Arghya) and Sisupala-badha (the killing of Sisupala). After these,
Dyuta (gambling), Anudyuta (subsequent to gambling), Aranyaka, and
Krimira-badha (destruction of Krimira). The Arjuna-vigamana (the travels
of Arjuna), Kairati. In the last hath been described the battle between
Arjuna and Mahadeva in the guise of a hunter. After this
Indra-lokavigamana (the journey to the regions of Indra); then that mine
of religion and virtue, the highly pathetic Nalopakhyana (the story of
Nala). After this last, Tirtha-yatra or the pilgrimage of the wise prince
of the Kurus, the death of Jatasura, and the battle of the Yakshas. Then
the battle with the Nivata-kavachas, Ajagara, and Markandeya-Samasya
(meeting with Markandeya). Then the meeting of Draupadi and Satyabhama,
Ghoshayatra, Mirga-Swapna (dream of the deer). Then the story of
Brihadaranyaka and then Aindradrumna. Then Draupadi-harana (the abduction
of Draupadi), Jayadratha-bimoksana (the release of Jayadratha). Then the
story of 'Savitri' illustrating the great merit of connubial chastity.
After this last, the story of 'Rama'. The parva that comes next is called
'Kundala-harana' (the theft of the ear-rings). That which comes next is
'Aranya' and then 'Vairata'. Then the entry of the Pandavas and the
fulfilment of their promise (of living unknown for one year). Then the
destruction of the 'Kichakas', then the attempt to take the kine (of
Virata by the Kauravas). The next is called the marriage of Abhimanyu
with the daughter of Virata. The next you must know is the most wonderful
parva called Udyoga. The next must be known by the name of 'Sanjaya-yana'
(the arrival of Sanjaya). Then comes 'Prajagara' (the sleeplessness of
Dhritarashtra owing to his anxiety). Then Sanatsujata, in which are the
mysteries of spiritual philosophy. Then 'Yanasaddhi', and then the
arrival of Krishna. Then the story of 'Matali' and then of 'Galava'. Then
the stories of 'Savitri', 'Vamadeva', and 'Vainya'. Then the story of
'Jamadagnya and Shodasarajika'. Then the arrival of Krishna at the court,
and then Bidulaputrasasana. Then the muster of troops and the story of
Sheta. Then, must you know, comes the quarrel of the high-souled Karna.
Then the march to the field of the troops of both sides. The next hath
been called numbering the Rathis and Atirathas. Then comes the arrival of
the messenger Uluka which kindled the wrath (of the Pandavas). The next
that comes, you must know, is the story of Amba. Then comes the thrilling
story of the installation of Bhishma as commander-in-chief. The next is
called the creation of the insular region Jambu; then Bhumi; then the
account about the formation of islands. Then comes the 'Bhagavat-gita';
and then the death of Bhishma. Then the installation of Drona; then the
destruction of the 'Sansaptakas'. Then the death of Abhimanyu; and then
the vow of Arjuna (to slay Jayadratha). Then the death of Jayadratha, and
then of Ghatotkacha. Then, must you know, comes the story of the death of
Drona of surprising interest. The next that comes is called the discharge
of the weapon called Narayana. Then, you know, is Karna, and then Salya.
Then comes the immersion in the lake, and then the encounter (between
Bhima and Duryodhana) with clubs. Then comes Saraswata, and then the
descriptions of holy shrines, and then genealogies. Then comes Sauptika
describing incidents disgraceful (to the honour of the Kurus). Then comes
the 'Aisika' of harrowing incidents. Then comes 'Jalapradana' oblations
of water to the manes of the deceased, and then the wailings of the
women. The next must be known as 'Sraddha' describing the funeral rites
performed for the slain Kauravas. Then comes the destruction of the
Rakshasa Charvaka who had assumed the disguise of a Brahmana (for
deceiving Yudhishthira). Then the coronation of the wise Yudhishthira.
The next is called the 'Grihapravibhaga'. Then comes 'Santi', then
'Rajadharmanusasana', then 'Apaddharma', then 'Mokshadharma'. Those that
follow are called respectively 'Suka-prasna-abhigamana',
'Brahma-prasnanusana', the origin of 'Durvasa', the disputations with
Maya. The next is to be known as 'Anusasanika'. Then the ascension of
Bhishma to heaven. Then the horse-sacrifice, which when read purgeth all
sins away. The next must be known as the 'Anugita' in which are words of
spiritual philosophy. Those that follow are called 'Asramvasa',
'Puttradarshana' (meeting with the spirits of the deceased sons), and the
arrival of Narada. The next is called 'Mausala' which abounds with
terrible and cruel incidents. Then comes 'Mahaprasthanika' and ascension
to heaven. Then comes the Purana which is called Khilvansa. In this last
are contained 'Vishnuparva', Vishnu's frolics and feats as a child, the
destruction of 'Kansa', and lastly, the very wonderful 'Bhavishyaparva'
(in which there are prophecies regarding the future).

The high-souled Vyasa composed these hundred parvas of which the above is
only an abridgement: having distributed them into eighteen, the son of
Suta recited them consecutively in the forest of Naimisha as follows:

'In the Adi parva are contained Paushya, Pauloma, Astika, Adivansavatara,
Samva, the burning of the house of lac, the slaying of Hidimba, the
destruction of the Asura Vaka, Chitraratha, the Swayamvara of Draupadi,
her marriage after the overthrow of rivals in war, the arrival of Vidura,
the restoration, Arjuna's exile, the abduction of Subhadra, the gift and
receipt of the marriage dower, the burning of the Khandava forest, and
the meeting with (the Asura-architect) Maya. The Paushya parva treats of
the greatness of Utanka, and the Pauloma, of the sons of Bhrigu. The
Astika describes the birth of Garuda and of the Nagas (snakes), the
churning of the ocean, the incidents relating to the birth of the
celestial steed Uchchaihsrava, and finally, the dynasty of Bharata, as
described in the Snake-sacrifice of king Janamejaya. The Sambhava parva
narrates the birth of various kings and heroes, and that of the sage,
Krishna Dwaipayana: the partial incarnations of deities, the generation
of Danavas and Yakshas of great prowess, and serpents, Gandharvas, birds,
and of all creatures; and lastly, of the life and adventures of king
Bharata--the progenitor of the line that goes by his name--the son born
of Sakuntala in the hermitage of the ascetic Kanwa. This parva also
describes the greatness of Bhagirathi, and the births of the Vasus in the
house of Santanu and their ascension to heaven. In this parva is also
narrated the birth of Bhishma uniting in himself portions of the energies
of the other Vasus, his renunciation of royalty and adoption of the
Brahmacharya mode of life, his adherence to his vows, his protection of
Chitrangada, and after the death of Chitrangada, his protection of his
younger brother, Vichitravirya, and his placing the latter on the throne:
the birth of Dharma among men in consequence of the curse of Animondavya;
the births of Dhritarashtra and Pandu through the potency of Vyasa's
blessings (?) and also the birth of the Pandavas; the plottings of
Duryodhana to send the sons of Pandu to Varanavata, and the other dark
counsels of the sons of Dhritarashtra in regard to the Pandavas; then the
advice administered to Yudhishthira on his way by that well-wisher of the
Pandavas--Vidura--in the mlechchha language--the digging of the hole, the
burning of Purochana and the sleeping woman of the fowler caste, with her
five sons, in the house of lac; the meeting of the Pandavas in the
dreadful forest with Hidimba, and the slaying of her brother Hidimba by
Bhima of great prowess. The birth of Ghatotkacha; the meeting of the
Pandavas with Vyasa and in accordance with his advice their stay in
disguise in the house of a Brahmana in the city of Ekachakra; the
destruction of the Asura Vaka, and the amazement of the populace at the
sight; the extra-ordinary births of Krishna and Dhrishtadyumna; the
departure of the Pandavas for Panchala in obedience to the injunction of
Vyasa, and moved equally by the desire of winning the hand of Draupadi on
learning the tidings of the Swayamvara from the lips of a Brahmana;
victory of Arjuna over a Gandharva, called Angaraparna, on the banks of
the Bhagirathi, his contraction of friendship with his adversary, and his
hearing from the Gandharva the history of Tapati, Vasishtha and Aurva.
This parva treats of the journey of the Pandavas towards Panchala, the
acquisition of Draupadi in the midst of all the Rajas, by Arjuna, after
having successfully pierced the mark; and in the ensuing fight, the
defeat of Salya, Kama, and all the other crowned heads at the hands of
Bhima and Arjuna of great prowess; the ascertainment by Balarama and
Krishna, at the sight of these matchless exploits, that the heroes were
the Pandavas, and the arrival of the brothers at the house of the potter
where the Pandavas were staying; the dejection of Drupada on learning
that Draupadi was to be wedded to five husbands; the wonderful story of
the five Indras related in consequence; the extraordinary and
divinely-ordained wedding of Draupadi; the sending of Vidura by the sons
of Dhritarashtra as envoy to the Pandavas; the arrival of Vidura and his
sight to Krishna; the abode of the Pandavas in Khandava-prastha, and then
their rule over one half of the kingdom; the fixing of turns by the sons
of Pandu, in obedience to the injunction of Narada, for connubial
companionship with Krishna. In like manner hath the history of Sunda and
Upasunda been recited in this. This parva then treats of the departure of
Arjuna for the forest according to the vow, he having seen Draupadi and
Yudhishthira sitting together as he entered the chamber to take out arms
for delivering the kine of a certain Brahmana. This parva then describes
Arjuna's meeting on the way with Ulupi, the daughter of a Naga (serpent);
it then relates his visits to several sacred spots; the birth of
Vabhruvahana; the deliverance by Arjuna of the five celestial damsels who
had been turned into alligators by the imprecation of a Brahmana, the
meeting of Madhava and Arjuna on the holy spot called Prabhasa; the
carrying away of Subhadra by Arjuna, incited thereto by her brother
Krishna, in the wonderful car moving on land and water, and through
mid-air, according to the wish of the rider; the departure for
Indraprastha, with the dower; the conception in the womb of Subhadra of
that prodigy of prowess, Abhimanyu; Yajnaseni's giving birth to children;
then follows the pleasure-trip of Krishna and Arjuna to the banks of the
Jamuna and the acquisition by them of the discus and the celebrated bow
Gandiva; the burning of the forest of Khandava; the rescue of Maya by
Arjuna, and the escape of the serpent,--and the begetting of a son by
that best of Rishis, Mandapala, in the womb of the bird Sarngi. This
parva is divided by Vyasa into two hundred and twenty-seven chapters.
These two hundred and twenty-seven chapters contain eight thousand eight
hundred and eighty-four slokas.

The second is the extensive parva called Sabha or the assembly, full of
matter. The subjects of this parva are the establishment of the grand
hall by the Pandavas; their review of their retainers; the description of
the lokapalas by Narada well-acquainted with the celestial regions; the
preparations for the Rajasuya sacrifice; the destruction of Jarasandha;
the deliverance by Vasudeva of the princes confined in the mountain-pass;
the campaign of universal conquest by the Pandavas; the arrival of the
princes at the Rajasuya sacrifice with tribute; the destruction of
Sisupala on the occasion of the sacrifice, in connection with offering of
arghya; Bhimasena's ridicule of Duryodhana in the assembly; Duryodhana's
sorrow and envy at the sight of the magnificent scale on which the
arrangements had been made; the indignation of Duryodhana in consequence,
and the preparations for the game of dice; the defeat of Yudhishthira at
play by the wily Sakuni; the deliverance by Dhritarashtra of his
afflicted daughter-in-law Draupadi plunged in the sea of distress caused
by the gambling, as of a boat tossed about by the tempestuous waves. The
endeavours of Duryodhana to engage Yudhishthira again in the game; and
the exile of the defeated Yudhishthira with his brothers. These
constitute what has been called by the great Vyasa the Sabha Parva. This
parva is divided into seventh-eight sections, O best of Brahmanas, of two
thousand, five hundred and seven slokas.

Then comes the third parva called Aranyaka (relating to the forest) This
parva treats of the wending of the Pandavas to the forest and the
citizens, following the wise Yudhishthira, Yudhishthira's adoration of
the god of day; according to the injunctions of Dhaumya, to be gifted
with the power of maintaining the dependent Brahmanas with food and
drink: the creation of food through the grace of the Sun: the expulsion
by Dhritarashtra of Vidura who always spoke for his master's good;
Vidura's coming to the Pandavas and his return to Dhritarashtra at the
solicitation of the latter; the wicked Duryodhana's plottings to destroy
the forest-ranging Pandavas, being incited thereto by Karna; the
appearance of Vyasa and his dissuasion of Duryodhana bent on going to the
forest; the history of Surabhi; the arrival of Maitreya; his laying down
to Dhritarashtra the course of action; and his curse on Duryodhana;
Bhima's slaying of Kirmira in battle; the coming of the Panchalas and the
princes of the Vrishni race to Yudhishthira on hearing of his defeat at
the unfair gambling by Sakuni; Dhananjaya's allaying the wrath of
Krishna; Draupadi's lamentations before Madhava; Krishna's cheering her;
the fall of Sauva also has been here described by the Rishi; also
Krishna's bringing Subhadra with her son to Dwaraka; and Dhrishtadyumna's
bringing the son of Draupadi to Panchala; the entrance of the sons of
Pandu into the romantic Dwaita wood; conversation of Bhima, Yudhishthira,
and Draupadi; the coming of Vyasa to the Pandavas and his endowing
Yudhishthira with the power of Pratismriti; then, after the departure of
Vyasa, the removal of the Pandavas to the forest of Kamyaka; the
wanderings of Arjuna of immeasurable prowess in search of weapons; his
battle with Mahadeva in the guise of a hunter; his meeting with the
lokapalas and receipt of weapons from them; his journey to the regions of
Indra for arms and the consequent anxiety of Dhritarashtra; the wailings
and lamentations of Yudhishthira on the occasion of his meeting with the
worshipful great sage Brihadaswa. Here occurs the holy and highly
pathetic story of Nala illustrating the patience of Damayanti and the
character of Nala. Then the acquirement by Yudhishthira of the mysteries
of dice from the same great sage; then the arrival of the Rishi Lomasa
from the heavens to where the Pandavas were, and the receipt by these
high-souled dwellers in the woods of the intelligence brought by the
Rishi of their brother Arjuna staving in the heavens; then the pilgrimage
of the Pandavas to various sacred spots in accordance with the message of
Arjuna, and their attainment of great merit and virtue consequent on such
pilgrimage; then the pilgrimage of the great sage Narada to the shrine
Putasta; also the pilgrimage of the high-souled Pandavas. Here is the
deprivation of Karna of his ear-rings by Indra. Here also is recited the
sacrificial magnificence of Gaya; then the story of Agastya in which the
Rishi ate up the Asura Vatapi, and his connubial connection with
Lopamudra from the desire of offspring. Then the story of Rishyasringa
who adopted Brahmacharya mode of life from his very boyhood; then the
history of Rama of great prowess, the son of Jamadagni, in which has been
narrated the death of Kartavirya and the Haihayas; then the meeting
between the Pandavas and the Vrishnis in the sacred spot called Prabhasa;
then the story of Su-kanya in which Chyavana, the son of Bhrigu, made the
twins, Aswinis, drink, at the sacrifice of king Saryati, the Soma juice
(from which they had been excluded by the other gods), and in which
besides is shown how Chyavana himself acquired perpetual youth (as a boon
from the grateful Aswinis). Then hath been described the history of king
Mandhata; then the history of prince Jantu; and how king Somaka by
offering up his only son (Jantu) in sacrifice obtained a hundred others;
then the excellent history of the hawk and the pigeon; then the
examination of king Sivi by Indra, Agni, and Dharma; then the story of
Ashtavakra, in which occurs the disputation, at the sacrifice of Janaka,
between that Rishi and the first of logicians, Vandi, the son of Varuna;
the defeat of Vandi by the great Ashtavakra, and the release by the Rishi
of his father from the depths of the ocean. Then the story of Yavakrita,
and then that of the great Raivya: then the departure (of the Pandavas)
for Gandhamadana and their abode in the asylum called Narayana; then
Bhimasena's journey to Gandhamadana at the request of Draupadi (in search
of the sweet-scented flower). Bhima's meeting on his way, in a grove of
bananas, with Hanuman, the son of Pavana of great prowess; Bhima's bath
in the tank and the destruction of the flowers therein for obtaining the
sweet-scented flower (he was in search of); his consequent battle with
the mighty Rakshasas and the Yakshas of great prowess including Hanuman;
the destruction of the Asura Jata by Bhima; the meeting (of the Pandavas)
with the royal sage Vrishaparva; their departure for the asylum of
Arshtishena and abode therein: the incitement of Bhima (to acts of
vengeance) by Draupadi. Then is narrated the ascent on the hills of
Kailasa by Bhimasena, his terrific battle with the mighty Yakshas headed
by Hanuman; then the meeting of the Pandavas with Vaisravana (Kuvera),
and the meeting with Arjuna after he had obtained for the purpose of
Yudhishthira many celestial weapons; then Arjuna's terrible encounter
with the Nivatakavachas dwelling in Hiranyaparva, and also with the
Paulomas, and the Kalakeyas; their destruction at the hands of Arjuna;
the commencement of the display of the celestial weapons by Arjuna before
Yudhishthira, the prevention of the same by Narada; the descent of the
Pandavas from Gandhamadana; the seizure of Bhima in the forest by a
mighty serpent huge as the mountain; his release from the coils of the
snake, upon Yudhishthira's answering certain questions; the return of the
Pandavas to the Kamyaka woods. Here is described the reappearance of
Vasudeva to see the mighty sons of Pandu; the arrival of Markandeya, and
various recitals, the history of Prithu the son of Vena recited by the
great Rishi; the stories of Saraswati and the Rishi Tarkhya. After these,
is the story of Matsya; other old stories recited by Markandeya; the
stories of Indradyumna and Dhundhumara; then the history of the chaste
wife; the history of Angira, the meeting and conversation of Draupadi and
Satyabhama; the return of the Pandavas to the forest of Dwaita; then the
procession to see the calves and the captivity of Duryodhana; and when
the wretch was being carried off, his rescue by Arjuna; here is
Yudhishthira's dream of the deer; then the re-entry of the Pandavas into
the Kamyaka forest, here also is the long story of Vrihidraunika. Here
also is recited the story of Durvasa; then the abduction by Jayadratha of
Draupadi from the asylum; the pursuit of the ravisher by Bhima swift as
the air and the ill-shaving of Jayadratha's crown at Bhima's hand. Here
is the long history of Rama in which is shown how Rama by his prowess
slew Ravana in battle. Here also is narrated the story of Savitri; then
Karna's deprivation by Indra of his ear-rings; then the presentation to
Karna by the gratified Indra of a Sakti (missile weapon) which had the
virtue of killing only one person against whom it might be hurled; then
the story called Aranya in which Dharma (the god of justice) gave advice
to his son (Yudhishthira); in which, besides is recited how the Pandavas
after having obtained a boon went towards the west. These are all
included in the third Parva called Aranyaka, consisting of two hundred
and sixty-nine sections. The number of slokas is eleven thousand, six
hundred and sixty-four.

"The extensive Parva that comes next is called Virata. The Pandavas
arriving at the dominions of Virata saw in a cemetery on the outskirts of
the city a large shami tree whereon they kept their weapons. Here hath
been recited their entry into the city and their stay there in disguise.
Then the slaying by Bhima of the wicked Kichaka who, senseless with lust,
had sought Draupadi; the appointment by prince Duryodhana of clever
spies; and their despatch to all sides for tracing the Pandavas; the
failure of these to discover the mighty sons of Pandu; the first seizure
of Virata's kine by the Trigartas and the terrific battle that ensued;
the capture of Virata by the enemy and his rescue by Bhimasena; the
release also of the kine by the Pandava (Bhima); the seizure of Virata's
kine again by the Kurus; the defeat in battle of all the Kurus by the
single-handed Arjuna; the release of the king's kine; the bestowal by
Virata of his daughter Uttara for Arjuna's acceptance on behalf of his
son by Subhadra--Abhimanyu--the destroyer of foes. These are the contents
of the extensive fourth Parva--the Virata. The great Rishi Vyasa has
composed in these sixty-seven sections. The number of slokas is two
thousand and fifty.

"Listen then to (the contents of) the fifth Parva which must be known as
Udyoga. While the Pandavas, desirous of victory, were residing in the
place called Upaplavya, Duryodhana and Arjuna both went at the same time
to Vasudeva, and said, "You should render us assistance in this war." The
high-souled Krishna, upon these words being uttered, replied, "O ye first
of men, a counsellor in myself who will not fight and one Akshauhini of
troops, which of these shall I give to which of you?" Blind to his own
interests, the foolish Duryodhana asked for the troops; while Arjuna
solicited Krishna as an unfighting counsellor. Then is described how,
when the king of Madra was coming for the assistance of the Pandavas,
Duryodhana, having deceived him on the way by presents and hospitality,
induced him to grant a boon and then solicited his assistance in battle;
how Salya, having passed his word to Duryodhana, went to the Pandavas and
consoled them by reciting the history of Indra's victory (over Vritra).
Then comes the despatch by the Pandavas of their Purohita (priest) to the
Kauravas. Then is described how king Dhritarashtra of great prowess,
having heard the word of the purohita of the Pandavas and the story of
Indra's victory decided upon sending his purohita and ultimately
despatched Sanjaya as envoy to the Pandavas from desire for peace. Here
hath been described the sleeplessness of Dhritarashtra from anxiety upon
hearing all about the Pandavas and their friends, Vasudeva and others. It
was on this occasion that Vidura addressed to the wise king Dhritarashtra
various counsels that were full of wisdom. It was here also that
Sanat-sujata recited to the anxious and sorrowing monarch the excellent
truths of spiritual philosophy. On the next morning Sanjaya spoke, in the
court of the King, of the identity of Vasudeva and Arjuna. It was then
that the illustrious Krishna, moved by kindness and a desire for peace,
went himself to the Kaurava capital, Hastinapura, for bringing about
peace. Then comes the rejection by prince Duryodhana of the embassy of
Krishna who had come to solicit peace for the benefit of both parties.
Here hath been recited the story of Damvodvava; then the story of the
high-souled Matuli's search for a husband for his daughter: then the
history of the great sage Galava; then the story of the training and
discipline of the son of Bidula. Then the exhibition by Krishna, before
the assembled Rajas, of his Yoga powers upon learning the evil counsels
of Duryodhana and Karna; then Krishna's taking Karna in his chariot and
his tendering to him of advice, and Karna's rejection of the same from
pride. Then the return of Krishna, the chastiser of enemies from
Hastinapura to Upaplavya, and his narration to the Pandavas of all that
had happened. It was then that those oppressors of foes, the Pandavas,
having heard all and consulted properly with each other, made every
preparation for war. Then comes the march from Hastinapura, for battle,
of foot-soldiers, horses, charioteers and elephants. Then the tale of the
troops by both parties. Then the despatch by prince Duryodhana of Uluka
as envoy to the Pandavas on the day previous to the battle. Then the tale
of charioteers of different classes. Then the story of Amba. These all
have been described in the fifth Parva called Udyoga of the Bharata,
abounding with incidents appertaining to war and peace. O ye ascetics,
the great Vyasa hath composed one hundred and eighty-six sections in this
Parva. The number of slokas also composed in this by the great Rishi is
six thousand, six hundred and ninety-eight.

"Then is recited the Bhishma Parva replete with wonderful incidents. In
this hath been narrated by Sanjaya the formation of the region known as
Jambu. Here hath been described the great depression of Yudhishthira's
army, and also a fierce fight for ten successive days. In this the
high-souled Vasudeva by reasons based on the philosophy of final release
drove away Arjuna's compunction springing from the latter's regard for
his kindred (whom he was on the eve of slaying). In this the magnanimous
Krishna, attentive to the welfare of Yudhishthira, seeing the loss
inflicted (on the Pandava army), descended swiftly from his chariot
himself and ran, with dauntless breast, his driving whip in hand, to
effect the death of Bhishma. In this, Krishna also smote with piercing
words Arjuna, the bearer of the Gandiva and the foremost in battle among
all wielders of weapons. In this, the foremost of bowmen, Arjuna, placing
Shikandin before him and piercing Bhishma with his sharpest arrows felled
him from his chariot. In this, Bhishma lay stretched on his bed of
arrows. This extensive Parva is known as the sixth in the Bharata. In
this have been composed one hundred and seventeen sections. The number of
slokas is five thousand, eight hundred and eighty-four as told by Vyasa
conversant with the Vedas.

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!

_________________

1 pcs.
1 pcs.
1 pcs.
1 pcs.


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Re: POST, POST LIKE YOU NEVER POSTED BEFORE!
The Mahabharata

of

Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa

BOOK 17

Mahaprasthanika-parva



Translated into English Prose from the Original Sanskrit Text

by

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

[1883-1896]

Scanned and Proofed by Mantra Caitanya. Additional proofing and
formatting at sacred-texts.com, by J. B. Hare, October 2003.





1

Om! Having bowed down unto Narayana, and to Nara, the foremost of men, as
also to the goddess Sarasvati, should the word "Jaya" be uttered.

Janamejaya said: "Having heard of that encounter with iron bolts between
the heroes of the Vrishni and the Andhaka races, and having been informed
also of Krishnas ascension to Heaven, what did the Pandavas do?"

Vaishampayana said: "Having heard the particulars of the great slaughter
of the Vrishnis, the Kaurava king set his heart on leaving the world. He
addressed Arjuna, saying, O thou of great intelligence, it is Time that
cooks every creature (in his cauldron). I think that what has happened is
due to the cords of Time (with which he binds us all). It behoveth thee
also to see it.

"Thus addressed by his brother, the son of Kunti only repeated the word
Time, Time! and fully endorsed the view of his eldest brother gifted with
great intelligence. Ascertaining the resolution of Arjuna, Bhimasena and
the twins fully endorsed the words that Arjuna had said. Resolved to
retire from the world for earning merit, they brought Yuyutsu before
them. Yudhishthira made over the kingdom to the son of his uncle by his
Vaisya wife. Installing Parikshit also on their throne, as king, the
eldest brother of the Pandavas, filled with sorrow, addressed Subhadra,
saying, This son of thy son will be the king of the Kurus. The survivor
of the Yadus, Vajra, has been made a king. Parikshit will rule in
Hastinapura, while the Yadava prince, Vajra, will rule in Shakraprastha.
He should be protected by thee. Never set thy heart on unrighteousness.

"Having said these words, king Yudhishthira the just, along with his
brothers, promptly offered oblations of water unto Vasudeva of great
intelligence, as also unto his old maternal uncle and Rama and others. He
then duly performed the Sraddhas of all those deceased kinsmen of his.
The king, in honour of Hari and naming him repeatedly, fed the
Island-born Vyasa, and Narada, and Markandeya possessed of wealth of
penances, and Yajnavalkya of Bharadwajas race, with many delicious
viands. In honour of Krishna, he also gave away many jewels and gems, and
robes and clothes, and villages, and horses and cars, and female slaves
by hundreds and thousands unto foremost of Brahmanas. Summoning the
citizens. Kripa was installed as the preceptor and Parikshit was made
over to him as his disciple, O chief of Bharatas race.

"Then Yudhishthira once more summoned all his subjects. The royal sage
informed them of his intentions. The citizens and the inhabitants of the
provinces, hearing the kings words, became filled with anxiety and
disapproved of them. This should never be done, said they unto the king.
The monarch, well versed with the changes brought about by time, did not
listen to their counsels. Possessed of righteous soul, he persuaded the
people to sanction his views. He then set his heart on leaving the world.
His brothers also formed the same resolution. Then Dharmas son,
Yudhishthira, the king of the Kurus, casting off his ornaments, wore
barks of trees. Bhima and Arjuna and the twins, and Draupadi also of
great fame, similarly clad themselves in bark of trees, O king. Having
caused the preliminary rites of religion, O chief of Bharatas race, which
were to bless them in the accomplishment of their design, those foremost
of men cast off their sacred fires into the water. The ladies, beholding
the princes in that guise, wept aloud. They seemed to look as they had
looked in days before, when with Draupadi forming the sixth in number
they set out from the capital after their defeat at dice. The brothers,
however, were all very cheerful at the prospect of retirement.
Ascertaining the intentions of Yudhishthira and seeing the destruction of
the Vrishnis, no other course of action could please them then.

"The five brothers, with Draupadi forming the sixth, and a dog forming
the seventh, set out on their journey. Indeed, even thus did king
Yudhishthira depart, himself the head of a party of seven, from the city
named after the elephant. The citizen and the ladies of the royal
household followed them for some distance. None of them, however, could
venture to address the king for persuading him to give up his intention.
The denizens of the city then returned; Kripa and others stood around
Yuyutsu as their centre. Ulupi, the daughter of the Naga chief, O thou of
Kuntis race, entered the waters of Ganga. The princess Chitrangada set
out for the capital of Manipura. The other ladies who were the
grandmothers of Parikshit centered around him. Meanwhile the high-souled
Pandavas, O thou of Kurus race, and Draupadi of great fame, having
observed the preliminary fast, set out with their faces towards the east.
Setting themselves on Yoga, those high-souled ones, resolved to observe
the religion of Renunciation, traversed through various countries and
reached diverse rivers and seas. Yudhishthira, proceeded first. Behind
him was Bhima; next walked Arjuna; after him were the twins in the order
of their birth; behind them all, O foremost one of Bharatas race,
proceeded Draupadi, that first of women, possessed of great beauty, of
dark complexion, and endued with eyes resembling lotus petals. While the
Pandavas set out for the forest, a dog followed them.

"Proceeding on, those heroes reached the sea of red waters. Dhananjaya
had not cast off his celestial bow Gandiva, nor his couple of
inexhaustible quivers, actuated, O king, by the cupidity that attaches
one to things of great value. The Pandavas there beheld the deity of fire
standing before them like a hill. Closing their way, the god stood there
in his embodied form. The deity of seven flames then addressed the
Pandavas, saying, Ye heroic sons of Pandu, know me for the deity of fire.
O mighty-armed Yudhishthira, O Bhimasena that art a scorcher of foes, O
Arjuna, and ye twins of great courage, listen to what I say! Ye foremost
ones of Kurus race, I am the god of fire. The forest of Khandava was
burnt by me, through the puissance of Arjuna and of Narayana himself. Let
your brother Phalguna proceed to the woods after casting off Gandiva,
that high weapon. He has no longer any need of it. That precious discus,
which was with the high-souled Krishna, has disappeared (from the world).
When the time again comes, it will come back into his hands. This
foremost of bows, Gandiva, was procured by me from Varuna for the use of
Partha. Let it be made over to Varuna himself.

"At this, all the brothers urged Dhananjaya to do what the deity said. He
then threw into the waters (of the sea) both the bow and the couple of
inexhaustible quivers. After this, O chief of Bharatas race, the god of
the fire disappeared then and there. The heroic sons of Pandu next
proceeded with their faces turned towards the south. Then, by the
northern coast of the salt sea, those princes of Bharatas race proceeded
to the south-west. Turning next towards the west, they beheld the city of
Dwaraka covered by the ocean. Turning next to the north, those foremost
ones proceeded on. Observant of Yoga, they were desirous of making a
round of the whole Earth."



2

Vaishampayana said: "Those princes of restrained souls and devoted to
Yoga, proceeding to the north, beheld Himavat, that very large mountain.
Crossing the Himavat, they beheld a vast desert of sand. They then saw
the mighty mountain Meru, the foremost of all high-peaked mountains. As
those mighty ones were proceeding quickly, all rapt in Yoga, Yajnaseni,
falling of from Yoga, dropped down on the Earth. Beholding her fallen
down, Bhimasena of great strength addressed king Yudhishthira the just,
saying, O scorcher of foes, this princess never did any sinful act. Tell
us what the cause is for which Krishna has fallen down on the Earth!

"Yudhishthira said: O best of men, though we were all equal unto her she
had great partiality for Dhananjaya. She obtains the fruit of that
conduct today, O best of men."

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said this, that foremost one of Bharatas
race proceeded on. Of righteous soul, that foremost of men, endued with
great intelligence, went on, with mind intent on itself. Then Sahadeva of
great learning fell down on the Earth. Beholding him drop down, Bhima
addressed the king, saying, He who with great humility used to serve us
all, alas, why is that son of Madravati fallen down on the Earth?

"Yudhishthira said, He never thought anybody his equal in wisdom. It is
for that fault that this prince has fallen down.

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said this, the king proceeded, leaving
Sahadeva there. Indeed, Kuntis son Yudhishthira went on, with his
brothers and with the dog. Beholding both Krishna and the Pandava
Sahadeva fallen down, the brave Nakula, whose love for kinsmen was very
great, fell down himself. Upon the falling down of the heroic Nakula of
great personal beauty, Bhima once more addressed the king, saying, This
brother of ours who was endued with righteousness without incompleteness,
and who always obeyed our behests, this Nakula who was unrivalled for
beauty, has fallen down.

"Thus addressed by Bhimasena, Yudhishthira, said, with respect to Nakula,
these words: He was of righteous soul and the foremost of all persons
endued with intelligence. He, however, thought that there was nobody that
equalled him in beauty of person. Indeed, he regarded himself as superior
to all in that respect. It is for this that Nakula has fallen down. Know
this, O Vrikodara. What has been ordained for a person, O hero, must have
to be endured by him.

"Beholding Nakula and the others fall down, Pandus son Arjuna of white
steeds, that slayer of hostile heroes, fell down in great grief of heart.
When that foremost of men, who was endued with the energy of Shakra, had
fallen down, indeed, when that invincible hero was on the point of death,
Bhima said unto the king, I do not recollect any untruth uttered by this
high-souled one. Indeed, not even in jest did he say anything false. What
then is that for whose evil consequence this one has fallen down on the
Earth?

"Yudhishthira said, Arjuna had said that he would consume all our foes in
a single day. Proud of his heroism, he did not, however, accomplish what
he had said. Hence has he fallen down. This Phalguna disregarded all
wielders of bows. One desirous of prosperity should never indulge in such
sentiments."

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said so, the king proceeded on. Then
Bhima fell down. Having fallen down, Bhima addressed king Yudhishthira
the just, saying, O king, behold, I who am thy darling have fallen down.
For what reason have I dropped down? Tell me if thou knowest it.

"Yudhishthira said, Thou wert a great eater, and thou didst use to boast
of thy strength. Thou never didst attend, O Bhima, to the wants of others
while eating. It is for that, O Bhima, that thou hast fallen down.

"Having said these words, the mighty-armed Yudhishthira proceeded on,
without looking back. He had only one companion, the dog of which I have
repeatedly spoken to thee, that followed him now.



3

Vaishampayana said: "Then Shakra, causing the firmament and the Earth to
be filled by a loud sound, came to the son of Pritha on a car and asked
him to ascend it. Beholding his brothers fallen on the Earth, king
Yudhishthira the just said unto that deity of a 1,000 eyes these words:
My brothers have all dropped down here. They must go with me. Without
them by me I do not wish to go to Heaven, O lord of all the deities. The
delicate princess (Draupadi) deserving of every comfort, O Purandara,
should go with us. It behoveth thee to permit this.

"Shakra said, Thou shalt behold thy brothers in Heaven. They have reached
it before thee. Indeed, thou shalt see all of them there, with Krishna.
Do not yield to grief, O chief of the Bharatas. Having cast off their
human bodies they have gone there, O chief of Bharatas race. As regards
thee, it is ordained that thou shalt go thither in this very body of
thine.

"Yudhishthira said, This dog, O lord of the Past and the Present, is
exceedingly devoted to me. He should go with me. My heart is full of
compassion for him.

"Shakra said, Immortality and a condition equal to mine, O king,
prosperity extending in all directions, and high success, and all the
felicities of Heaven, thou hast won today. Do thou cast off this dog. In
this there will be no cruelty.

"Yudhishthira said, O thou of a 1,000 eyes. O thou that art of righteous
behaviour, it is exceedingly difficult for one that is of righteous
behaviour to perpetrate an act that is unrighteous. I do not desire that
union with prosperity for which I shall have to cast off one that is
devoted to me.

"Indra said, There is no place in Heaven for persons with dogs. Besides,
the (deities called) Krodhavasas take away all the merits of such
persons. Reflecting on this, act, O king Yudhishthira the just. Do thou
abandon this dog. There is no cruelty in this.

"Yudhishthira said, It has been said that the abandonment of one that is
devoted is infinitely sinful. It is equal to the sin that one incurs by
slaying a Brahmana. Hence, O great Indra, I shall not abandon this dog
today from desire of my happiness. Even this is my vow steadily pursued,
that I never give up a person that is terrified, nor one that is devoted
to me, nor one that seeks my protection, saying that he is destitute, nor
one that is afflicted, nor one that has come to me, nor one that is weak
in protecting oneself, nor one that is solicitous of life. I shall never
give up such a one till my own life is at an end.

"Indra said, Whatever gifts, or sacrifices spread out, or libations
poured on the sacred fire, are seen by a dog, are taken away by the
Krodhavasas. Do thou, therefore, abandon this dog. By abandoning this dog
thou wilt attain to the region of the deities. Having abandoned thy
brothers and Krishna, thou hast, O hero, acquired a region of felicity by
thy own deeds. Why art thou so stupefied? Thou hast renounced everything.
Why then dost thou not renounce this dog? "Yudhishthira said, This is
well known in all the worlds that there is neither friendship nor enmity
with those that are dead. When my brothers and Krishna died, I was unable
to revive them. Hence it was that I abandoned them. I did not, however,
abandon them as long as they were alive. To frighten one that has sought
protection, the slaying of a woman, the theft of what belongs to a
Brahmana, and injuring a friend, each of these four, O Shakra, is I think
equal to the abandonment of one that is devoted."

Vaishampayana continued: "Hearing these words of king Yudhishthira the
just, (the dog became transformed into) the deity of Righteousness, who,
well pleased, said these words unto him in a sweet voice fraught with
praise.

"Dharma said: Thou art well born, O king of kings, and possessed of the
intelligence and the good conduct of Pandu. Thou hast compassion for all
creatures, O Bharata, of which this is a bright example. Formerly, O son,
thou wert once examined by me in the woods of Dwaita, where thy brothers
of great prowess met with (an appearance of) death. Disregarding both thy
brothers Bhima and Arjuna, thou didst wish for the revival of Nakula from
thy desire of doing good to thy (step-) mother. On the present occasion,
thinking the dog to be devoted to thee, thou hast renounced the very car
of the celestials instead of renouncing him. Hence. O king, there is no
one in Heaven that is equal to thee. Hence, O Bharata, regions of
inexhaustible felicity are thine. Thou hast won them, O chief of the
Bharatas, and thine is a celestial and high goal."

Vaishampayana continued: "Then Dharma, and Shakra, and the Maruts, and
the Ashvinis, and other deities, and the celestial Rishis, causing
Yudhishthira to ascend on a car, proceeded to Heaven. Those beings
crowned with success and capable of going everywhere at will, rode their
respective cars. King Yudhishthira, that perpetuator of Kurus race,
riding on that car, ascended quickly, causing the entire welkin to blaze
with his effulgence. Then Narada, that foremost of all speakers, endued
with penances, and conversant with all the worlds, from amidst that
concourse of deities, said these words: All those royal sages that are
here have their achievements transcended by those of Yudhishthira.
Covering all the worlds by his fame and splendour and by his wealth of
conduct, he has attained to Heaven in his own (human) body. None else
than the son of Pandu has been heard to achieve this.

"Hearing these words of Narada, the righteous-souled king, saluting the
deities and all the royal sages there present, said, Happy or miserable,
whatever the region be that is now my brothers, I desire to proceed to. I
do not wish to go anywhere else.

"Hearing this speech of the king, the chief of the deities, Purandara,
said these words fraught with noble sense: Do thou live in this place, O
king of kings, which thou hast won by thy meritorious deeds. Why dost
thou still cherish human affections? Thou hast attained to great success,
the like of which no other man has ever been able to attain. Thy
brothers, O delighter of the Kurus, have succeeded in winning regions of
felicity. Human affections still touch thee. This is Heaven. Behold these
celestial Rishis and Siddhas who have attained to the region of the gods.

"Gifted with great intelligence, Yudhishthira answered the chief of the
deities once more, saying, O conqueror of Daityas, I venture not to dwell
anywhere separated from them. I desire to go there, where my brothers
have gone. I wish to go there where that foremost of women, Draupadi, of
ample proportions and darkish complexion and endued with great
intelligence and righteous of conduct, has gone."

The end of Mahaprasthanika-parv

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
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The Mahabharata

of

Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa

BOOK 1

ADI PARVA

Translated into English Prose from the Original Sanskrit Text

by

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

[1883-1896]

Scanned at sacred-texts.com, 2003. Proofed at Distributed Proofing,
Juliet Sutherland, Project Manager. Additional proofing and formatting at
sacred-texts.com, by J. B. Hare.



TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

The object of a translator should ever be to hold the mirror upto his
author. That being so, his chief duty is to represent so far as
practicable the manner in which his author's ideas have been expressed,
retaining if possible at the sacrifice of idiom and taste all the
peculiarities of his author's imagery and of language as well. In regard
to translations from the Sanskrit, nothing is easier than to dish up
Hindu ideas, so as to make them agreeable to English taste. But the
endeavour of the present translator has been to give in the following
pages as literal a rendering as possible of the great work of Vyasa. To
the purely English reader there is much in the following pages that will
strike as ridiculous. Those unacquainted with any language but their own
are generally very exclusive in matters of taste. Having no knowledge of
models other than what they meet with in their own tongue, the standard
they have formed of purity and taste in composition must necessarily be a
narrow one. The translator, however, would ill-discharge his duty, if for
the sake of avoiding ridicule, he sacrificed fidelity to the original. He
must represent his author as he is, not as he should be to please the
narrow taste of those entirely unacquainted with him. Mr. Pickford, in
the preface to his English translation of the Mahavira Charita, ably
defends a close adherence to the original even at the sacrifice of idiom
and taste against the claims of what has been called 'Free Translation,'
which means dressing the author in an outlandish garb to please those to
whom he is introduced.

In the preface to his classical translation of Bhartrihari's Niti Satakam
and Vairagya Satakam, Mr. C.H. Tawney says, "I am sensible that in the
present attempt I have retained much local colouring. For instance, the
ideas of worshipping the feet of a god of great men, though it frequently
occurs in Indian literature, will undoubtedly move the laughter of
Englishmen unacquainted with Sanskrit, especially if they happen to
belong to that class of readers who revel their attention on the
accidental and remain blind to the essential. But a certain measure of
fidelity to the original even at the risk of making oneself ridiculous,
is better than the studied dishonesty which characterises so many
translations of oriental poets."

We fully subscribe to the above although, it must be observed, the
censure conveyed to the class of translators last indicated is rather
undeserved, there being nothing like a 'studied dishonesty' in their
efforts which proceed only from a mistaken view of their duties and as
such betray only an error of the head but not of the heart. More than
twelve years ago when Babu Pratapa Chandra Roy, with Babu Durga Charan
Banerjee, went to my retreat at Seebpore, for engaging me to translate
the Mahabharata into English, I was amazed with the grandeur of the
scheme. My first question to him was,--whence was the money to come,
supposing my competence for the task. Pratapa then unfolded to me the
details of his plan, the hopes he could legitimately cherish of
assistance from different quarters. He was full of enthusiasm. He showed
me Dr. Rost's letter, which, he said, had suggested to him the
undertaking. I had known Babu Durga Charan for many years and I had the
highest opinion of his scholarship and practical good sense. When he
warmly took Pratapa's side for convincing me of the practicability of the
scheme, I listened to him patiently. The two were for completing all
arrangements with me the very day. To this I did not agree. I took a
week's time to consider. I consulted some of my literary friends,
foremost among whom was the late lamented Dr. Sambhu C. Mookherjee. The
latter, I found, had been waited upon by Pratapa. Dr. Mookherjee spoke to
me of Pratapa as a man of indomitable energy and perseverance. The result
of my conference with Dr. Mookherjee was that I wrote to Pratapa asking
him to see me again. In this second interview estimates were drawn up,
and everything was arranged as far as my portion of the work was
concerned. My friend left with me a specimen of translation which he had
received from Professor Max Muller. This I began to study, carefully
comparing it sentence by sentence with the original. About its literal
character there could be no doubt, but it had no flow and, therefore,
could not be perused with pleasure by the general reader. The translation
had been executed thirty years ago by a young German friend of the great
Pundit. I had to touch up every sentence. This I did without at all
impairing faithfulness to the original. My first 'copy' was set up in
type and a dozen sheets were struck off. These were submitted to the
judgment of a number of eminent writers, European and native. All of
them, I was glad to see, approved of the specimen, and then the task of
translating the Mahabharata into English seriously began.

Before, however, the first fasciculus could be issued, the question as to
whether the authorship of the translation should be publicly owned,
arose. Babu Pratapa Chandra Roy was against anonymity. I was for it. The
reasons I adduced were chiefly founded upon the impossibility of one
person translating the whole of the gigantic work. Notwithstanding my
resolve to discharge to the fullest extent the duty that I took up, I
might not live to carry it out. It would take many years before the end
could be reached. Other circumstances than death might arise in
consequence of which my connection with the work might cease. It could
not be desirable to issue successive fasciculus with the names of a
succession of translators appearing on the title pages. These and other
considerations convinced my friend that, after all, my view was correct.
It was, accordingly, resolved to withhold the name of the translator. As
a compromise, however, between the two views, it was resolved to issue
the first fasciculus with two prefaces, one over the signature of the
publisher and the other headed--'Translator's Preface.' This, it was
supposed, would effectually guard against misconceptions of every kind.
No careful reader would then confound the publisher with the author.

Although this plan was adopted, yet before a fourth of the task had been
accomplished, an influential Indian journal came down upon poor Pratapa
Chandra Roy and accused him openly of being a party to a great literary
imposture, viz., of posing before the world as the translator of Vyasa's
work when, in fact, he was only the publisher. The charge came upon my
friend as a surprise, especially as he had never made a secret of the
authorship in his correspondence with Oriental scholars in every part of
the world. He promptly wrote to the journal in question, explaining the
reasons there were for anonymity, and pointing to the two prefaces with
which the first fasciculus had been given to the world. The editor
readily admitted his mistake and made a satisfactory apology.

Now that the translation has been completed, there can no longer be any
reason for withholding the name of the translator. The entire translation
is practically the work of one hand. In portions of the Adi and the Sabha
Parvas, I was assisted by Babu Charu Charan Mookerjee. About four forms
of the Sabha Parva were done by Professor Krishna Kamal Bhattacharya, and
about half a fasciculus during my illness, was done by another hand. I
should however state that before passing to the printer the copy received
from these gentlemen I carefully compared every sentence with the
original, making such alterations as were needed for securing a
uniformity of style with the rest of the work.

I should here observe that in rendering the Mahabharata into English I
have derived very little aid from the three Bengali versions that are
supposed to have been executed with care. Every one of these is full of
inaccuracies and blunders of every description. The Santi in particular
which is by far the most difficult of the eighteen Parvas, has been made
a mess of by the Pundits that attacked it. Hundreds of ridiculous
blunders can be pointed out in both the Rajadharma and the Mokshadharma
sections. Some of these I have pointed out in footnotes.

I cannot lay claim to infallibility. There are verses in the Mahabharata
that are exceedingly difficult to construe. I have derived much aid from
the great commentator Nilakantha. I know that Nilakantha's authority is
not incapable of being challenged. But when it is remembered that the
interpretations given by Nilakantha came down to him from preceptors of
olden days, one should think twice before rejecting Nilakantha as a guide.

About the readings I have adopted, I should say that as regards the first
half of the work, I have generally adhered to the Bengal texts; as
regards the latter half, to the printed Bombay edition. Sometimes
individual sections, as occurring in the Bengal editions, differ widely,
in respect of the order of the verses, from the corresponding ones in the
Bombay edition. In such cases I have adhered to the Bengal texts,
convinced that the sequence of ideas has been better preserved in the
Bengal editions than the Bombay one.

I should express my particular obligations to Pundit Ram Nath Tarkaratna,
the author of 'Vasudeva Vijayam' and other poems, Pundit Shyama Charan
Kaviratna, the learned editor of Kavyaprakasha with the commentary of
Professor Mahesh Chandra Nayaratna, and Babu Aghore Nath Banerjee, the
manager of the Bharata Karyalaya. All these scholars were my referees on
all points of difficulty. Pundit Ram Nath's solid scholarship is known to
them that have come in contact with him. I never referred to him a
difficulty that he could not clear up. Unfortunately, he was not always
at hand to consult. Pundit Shyama Charan Kaviratna, during my residence
at Seebpore, assisted me in going over the Mokshadharma sections of the
Santi Parva. Unostentatious in the extreme, Kaviratna is truly the type
of a learned Brahman of ancient India. Babu Aghore Nath Banerjee also has
from time to time, rendered me valuable assistance in clearing my
difficulties.

Gigantic as the work is, it would have been exceedingly difficult for me
to go on with it if I had not been encouraged by Sir Stuart Bayley, Sir
Auckland Colvin, Sir Alfred Croft, and among Oriental scholars, by the
late lamented Dr. Reinhold Rost, and Mons. A. Barth of Paris. All these
eminent men know from the beginning that the translation was proceeding
from my pen. Notwithstanding the enthusiasm, with which my poor friend,
Pratapa Chandra Roy, always endeavoured to fill me. I am sure my energies
would have flagged and patience exhausted but for the encouraging words
which I always received from these patrons and friends of the enterprise.

Lastly, I should name my literary chief and friend, Dr. Sambhu C.
Mookherjee. The kind interest he took in my labours, the repeated
exhortations he addressed to me inculcating patience, the care with which
he read every fasciculus as it came out, marking all those passages which
threw light upon topics of antiquarian interest, and the words of praise
he uttered when any expression particularly happy met his eyes, served to
stimulate me more than anything else in going on with a task that
sometimes seemed to me endless.

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

Calcutta



THE MAHABHARATA

ADI PARVA

SECTION I

Om! Having bowed down to Narayana and Nara, the most exalted male being,
and also to the goddess Saraswati, must the word Jaya be uttered.

Ugrasrava, the son of Lomaharshana, surnamed Sauti, well-versed in the
Puranas, bending with humility, one day approached the great sages of
rigid vows, sitting at their ease, who had attended the twelve years'
sacrifice of Saunaka, surnamed Kulapati, in the forest of Naimisha. Those
ascetics, wishing to hear his wonderful narrations, presently began to
address him who had thus arrived at that recluse abode of the inhabitants
of the forest of Naimisha. Having been entertained with due respect by
those holy men, he saluted those Munis (sages) with joined palms, even
all of them, and inquired about the progress of their asceticism. Then
all the ascetics being again seated, the son of Lomaharshana humbly
occupied the seat that was assigned to him. Seeing that he was
comfortably seated, and recovered from fatigue, one of the Rishis
beginning the conversation, asked him, 'Whence comest thou, O lotus-eyed
Sauti, and where hast thou spent the time? Tell me, who ask thee, in
detail.'

Accomplished in speech, Sauti, thus questioned, gave in the midst of that
big assemblage of contemplative Munis a full and proper answer in words
consonant with their mode of life.

"Sauti said, 'Having heard the diverse sacred and wonderful stories which
were composed in his Mahabharata by Krishna-Dwaipayana, and which were
recited in full by Vaisampayana at the Snake-sacrifice of the high-souled
royal sage Janamejaya and in the presence also of that chief of Princes,
the son of Parikshit, and having wandered about, visiting many sacred
waters and holy shrines, I journeyed to the country venerated by the
Dwijas (twice-born) and called Samantapanchaka where formerly was fought
the battle between the children of Kuru and Pandu, and all the chiefs of
the land ranged on either side. Thence, anxious to see you, I am come
into your presence. Ye reverend sages, all of whom are to me as Brahma;
ye greatly blessed who shine in this place of sacrifice with the
splendour of the solar fire: ye who have concluded the silent meditations
and have fed the holy fire; and yet who are sitting--without care, what,
O ye Dwijas (twice-born), shall I repeat, shall I recount the sacred
stories collected in the Puranas containing precepts of religious duty
and of worldly profit, or the acts of illustrious saints and sovereigns
of mankind?"

"The Rishi replied, 'The Purana, first promulgated by the great Rishi
Dwaipayana, and which after having been heard both by the gods and the
Brahmarshis was highly esteemed, being the most eminent narrative that
exists, diversified both in diction and division, possessing subtile
meanings logically combined, and gleaned from the Vedas, is a sacred
work. Composed in elegant language, it includeth the subjects of other
books. It is elucidated by other Shastras, and comprehendeth the sense of
the four Vedas. We are desirous of hearing that history also called
Bharata, the holy composition of the wonderful Vyasa, which dispelleth
the fear of evil, just as it was cheerfully recited by the Rishi
Vaisampayana, under the direction of Dwaipayana himself, at the
snake-sacrifice of Raja Janamejaya?'

"Sauti then said, 'Having bowed down to the primordial being Isana, to
whom multitudes make offerings, and who is adored by the multitude; who
is the true incorruptible one, Brahma, perceptible, imperceptible,
eternal; who is both a non-existing and an existing-non-existing being;
who is the universe and also distinct from the existing and non-existing
universe; who is the creator of high and low; the ancient, exalted,
inexhaustible one; who is Vishnu, beneficent and the beneficence itself,
worthy of all preference, pure and immaculate; who is Hari, the ruler of
the faculties, the guide of all things moveable and immoveable; I will
declare the sacred thoughts of the illustrious sage Vyasa, of marvellous
deeds and worshipped here by all. Some bards have already published this
history, some are now teaching it, and others, in like manner, will
hereafter promulgate it upon the earth. It is a great source of
knowledge, established throughout the three regions of the world. It is
possessed by the twice-born both in detailed and compendious forms. It is
the delight of the learned for being embellished with elegant
expressions, conversations human and divine, and a variety of poetical
measures.

In this world, when it was destitute of brightness and light, and
enveloped all around in total darkness, there came into being, as the
primal cause of creation, a mighty egg, the one inexhaustible seed of all
created beings. It is called Mahadivya, and was formed at the beginning
of the Yuga, in which we are told, was the true light Brahma, the eternal
one, the wonderful and inconceivable being present alike in all places;
the invisible and subtile cause, whose nature partaketh of entity and
non-entity. From this egg came out the lord Pitamaha Brahma, the one only
Prajapati; with Suraguru and Sthanu. Then appeared the twenty-one
Prajapatis, viz., Manu, Vasishtha and Parameshthi; ten Prachetas, Daksha,
and the seven sons of Daksha. Then appeared the man of inconceivable
nature whom all the Rishis know and so the Viswe-devas, the Adityas, the
Vasus, and the twin Aswins; the Yakshas, the Sadhyas, the Pisachas, the
Guhyakas, and the Pitris. After these were produced the wise and most
holy Brahmarshis, and the numerous Rajarshis distinguished by every noble
quality. So the water, the heavens, the earth, the air, the sky, the
points of the heavens, the years, the seasons, the months, the
fortnights, called Pakshas, with day and night in due succession. And
thus were produced all things which are known to mankind.

And what is seen in the universe, whether animate or inanimate, of
created things, will at the end of the world, and after the expiration of
the Yuga, be again confounded. And, at the commencement of other Yugas,
all things will be renovated, and, like the various fruits of the earth,
succeed each other in the due order of their seasons. Thus continueth
perpetually to revolve in the world, without beginning and without end,
this wheel which causeth the destruction of all things.

The generation of Devas, in brief, was thirty-three thousand,
thirty-three hundred and thirty-three. The sons of Div were Brihadbhanu,
Chakshus, Atma Vibhavasu, Savita, Richika, Arka, Bhanu, Asavaha, and
Ravi. Of these Vivaswans of old, Mahya was the youngest whose son was
Deva-vrata. The latter had for his son, Su-vrata who, we learn, had three
sons,--Dasa-jyoti, Sata-jyoti, and Sahasra-jyoti, each of them producing
numerous offspring. The illustrious Dasa-jyoti had ten thousand,
Sata-jyoti ten times that number, and Sahasra-jyoti ten times the number
of Sata-jyoti's offspring. From these are descended the family of the
Kurus, of the Yadus, and of Bharata; the family of Yayati and of
Ikshwaku; also of all the Rajarshis. Numerous also were the generations
produced, and very abundant were the creatures and their places of abode.
The mystery which is threefold--the Vedas, Yoga, and Vijnana Dharma,
Artha, and Kama--also various books upon the subject of Dharma, Artha,
and Kama; also rules for the conduct of mankind; also histories and
discourses with various srutis; all of which having been seen by the
Rishi Vyasa are here in due order mentioned as a specimen of the book.

The Rishi Vyasa published this mass of knowledge in both a detailed and
an abridged form. It is the wish of the learned in the world to possess
the details and the abridgement. Some read the Bharata beginning with the
initial mantra (invocation), others with the story of Astika, others with
Uparichara, while some Brahmanas study the whole. Men of learning display
their various knowledge of the institutes in commenting on the
composition. Some are skilful in explaining it, while others, in
remembering its contents.

The son of Satyavati having, by penance and meditation, analysed the
eternal Veda, afterwards composed this holy history, when that learned
Brahmarshi of strict vows, the noble Dwaipayana Vyasa, offspring of
Parasara, had finished this greatest of narrations, he began to consider
how he might teach it to his disciples. And the possessor of the six
attributes, Brahma, the world's preceptor, knowing of the anxiety of the
Rishi Dwaipayana, came in person to the place where the latter was, for
gratifying the saint, and benefiting the people. And when Vyasa,
surrounded by all the tribes of Munis, saw him, he was surprised; and,
standing with joined palms, he bowed and ordered a seat to be brought.
And Vyasa having gone round him who is called Hiranyagarbha seated on
that distinguished seat stood near it; and being commanded by Brahma
Parameshthi, he sat down near the seat, full of affection and smiling in
joy. Then the greatly glorious Vyasa, addressing Brahma Parameshthi,
said, "O divine Brahma, by me a poem hath been composed which is greatly
respected. The mystery of the Veda, and what other subjects have been
explained by me; the various rituals of the Upanishads with the Angas;
the compilation of the Puranas and history formed by me and named after
the three divisions of time, past, present, and future; the determination
of the nature of decay, fear, disease, existence, and non-existence, a
description of creeds and of the various modes of life; rule for the four
castes, and the import of all the Puranas; an account of asceticism and
of the duties of a religious student; the dimensions of the sun and moon,
the planets, constellations, and stars, together with the duration of the
four ages; the Rik, Sama and Yajur Vedas; also the Adhyatma; the sciences
called Nyaya, Orthoephy and Treatment of diseases; charity and
Pasupatadharma; birth celestial and human, for particular purposes; also
a description of places of pilgrimage and other holy places of rivers,
mountains, forests, the ocean, of heavenly cities and the kalpas; the art
of war; the different kinds of nations and languages: the nature of the
manners of the people; and the all-pervading spirit;--all these have been
represented. But, after all, no writer of this work is to be found on
earth.'

"Brahma said. 'I esteem thee for thy knowledge of divine mysteries,
before the whole body of celebrated Munis distinguished for the sanctity
of their lives. I know thou hast revealed the divine word, even from its
first utterance, in the language of truth. Thou hast called thy present
work a poem, wherefore it shall be a poem. There shall be no poets whose
works may equal the descriptions of this poem, even, as the three other
modes called Asrama are ever unequal in merit to the domestic Asrama. Let
Ganesa be thought of, O Muni, for the purpose of writing the poem.'

"Sauti said, 'Brahma having thus spoken to Vyasa, retired to his own
abode. Then Vyasa began to call to mind Ganesa. And Ganesa, obviator of
obstacles, ready to fulfil the desires of his votaries, was no sooner
thought of, than he repaired to the place where Vyasa was seated. And
when he had been saluted, and was seated, Vyasa addressed him thus, 'O
guide of the Ganas! be thou the writer of the Bharata which I have formed
in my imagination, and which I am about to repeat."

"Ganesa, upon hearing this address, thus answered, 'I will become the
writer of thy work, provided my pen do not for a moment cease writing."
And Vyasa said unto that divinity, 'Wherever there be anything thou dost
not comprehend, cease to continue writing.' Ganesa having signified his
assent, by repeating the word Om! proceeded to write; and Vyasa began;
and by way of diversion, he knit the knots of composition exceeding
close; by doing which, he dictated this work according to his engagement.

I am (continued Sauti) acquainted with eight thousand and eight hundred
verses, and so is Suka, and perhaps Sanjaya. From the mysteriousness of
their meaning, O Muni, no one is able, to this day, to penetrate those
closely knit difficult slokas. Even the omniscient Ganesa took a moment
to consider; while Vyasa, however, continued to compose other verses in
great abundance.

The wisdom of this work, like unto an instrument of applying collyrium,
hath opened the eyes of the inquisitive world blinded by the darkness of
ignorance. As the sun dispelleth the darkness, so doth the Bharata by its
discourses on religion, profit, pleasure and final release, dispel the
ignorance of men. As the full-moon by its mild light expandeth the buds
of the water-lily, so this Purana, by exposing the light of the Sruti
hath expanded the human intellect. By the lamp of history, which
destroyeth the darkness of ignorance, the whole mansion of nature is
properly and completely illuminated.

This work is a tree, of which the chapter of contents is the seed; the
divisions called Pauloma and Astika are the root; the part called
Sambhava is the trunk; the books called Sabha and Aranya are the roosting
perches; the books called Arani is the knitting knots; the books called
Virata and Udyoga the pith; the book named Bhishma, the main branch; the
book called Drona, the leaves; the book called Karna, the fair flowers;
the book named Salya, their sweet smell; the books entitled Stri and
Aishika, the refreshing shade; the book called Santi, the mighty fruit;
the book called Aswamedha, the immortal sap; the denominated
Asramavasika, the spot where it groweth; and the book called Mausala, is
an epitome of the Vedas and held in great respect by the virtuous
Brahmanas. The tree of the Bharata, inexhaustible to mankind as the
clouds, shall be as a source of livelihood to all distinguished poets."

"Sauti continued, 'I will now speak of the undying flowery and fruitful
productions of this tree, possessed of pure and pleasant taste, and not
to be destroyed even by the immortals. Formerly, the spirited and
virtuous Krishna-Dwaipayana, by the injunctions of Bhishma, the wise son
of Ganga and of his own mother, became the father of three boys who were
like the three fires by the two wives of Vichitra-virya; and having thus
raised up Dhritarashtra, Pandu and Vidura, he returned to his recluse
abode to prosecute his religious exercise.

It was not till after these were born, grown up, and departed on the
supreme journey, that the great Rishi Vyasa published the Bharata in this
region of mankind; when being solicited by Janamejaya and thousands of
Brahmanas, he instructed his disciple Vaisampayana, who was seated near
him; and he, sitting together with the Sadasyas, recited the Bharata,
during the intervals of the ceremonies of the sacrifice, being repeatedly
urged to proceed.

Vyasa hath fully represented the greatness of the house of Kuru, the
virtuous principles of Gandhari, the wisdom of Vidura, and the constancy
of Kunti. The noble Rishi hath also described the divinity of Vasudeva,
the rectitude of the sons of Pandu, and the evil practices of the sons
and partisans of Dhritarashtra.

Vyasa executed the compilation of the Bharata, exclusive of the episodes
originally in twenty-four thousand verses; and so much only is called by
the learned as the Bharata. Afterwards, he composed an epitome in one
hundred and fifty verses, consisting of the introduction with the chapter
of contents. This he first taught to his son Suka; and afterwards he gave
it to others of his disciples who were possessed of the same
qualifications. After that he executed another compilation, consisting of
six hundred thousand verses. Of those, thirty hundred thousand are known
in the world of the Devas; fifteen hundred thousand in the world of the
Pitris: fourteen hundred thousand among the Gandharvas, and one hundred
thousand in the regions of mankind. Narada recited them to the Devas,
Devala to the Pitris, and Suka published them to the Gandharvas, Yakshas,
and Rakshasas: and in this world they were recited by Vaisampayana, one
of the disciples of Vyasa, a man of just principles and the first among
all those acquainted with the Vedas. Know that I, Sauti, have also
repeated one hundred thousand verses.

Yudhishthira is a vast tree, formed of religion and virtue; Arjuna is its
trunk; Bhimasena, its branches; the two sons of Madri are its full-grown
fruit and flowers; and its roots are Krishna, Brahma, and the Brahmanas.

Pandu, after having subdued many countries by his wisdom and prowess,
took up his abode with the Munis in a certain forest as a sportsman,
where he brought upon himself a very severe misfortune for having killed
a stag coupling with its mate, which served as a warning for the conduct
of the princes of his house as long as they lived. Their mothers, in
order that the ordinances of the law might be fulfilled, admitted as
substitutes to their embraces the gods Dharma, Vayu, Sakra, and the
divinities the twin Aswins. And when their offspring grew up, under the
care of their two mothers, in the society of ascetics, in the midst of
sacred groves and holy recluse-abodes of religious men, they were
conducted by Rishis into the presence of Dhritarashtra and his sons,
following as students in the habit of Brahmacharis, having their hair
tied in knots on their heads. 'These our pupils', said they, 'are as your
sons, your brothers, and your friends; they are Pandavas.' Saying this,
the Munis disappeared.

When the Kauravas saw them introduced as the sons of Pandu, the
distinguished class of citizens shouted exceedingly for joy. Some,
however, said, they were not the sons of Pandu; others said, they were;
while a few asked how they could be his offspring, seeing he had been so
long dead. Still on all sides voices were heard crying, 'They are on all
accounts Whalecum! Through divine Providence we behold the family of
Pandu! Let their Whalecum be proclaimed!' As these acclamations ceased,
the plaudits of invisible spirits, causing every point of the heavens to
resound, were tremendous. There were showers of sweet-scented flowers,
and the sound of shells and kettle-drums. Such were the wonders that
happened on the arrival of the young princes. The joyful noise of all the
citizens, in expression of their satisfaction on the occasion, was so
great that it reached the very heavens in magnifying plaudits.

Having studied the whole of the Vedas and sundry other shastras, the
Pandavas resided there, respected by all and without apprehension from
any one.

The principal men were pleased with the purity of Yudhishthira, the
courage of Arjuna, the submissive attention of Kunti to her superiors,
and the humility of the twins, Nakula and Sahadeva; and all the people
rejoiced in their heroic virtues.

After a while, Arjuna obtained the virgin Krishna at the swayamvara, in
the midst of a concourse of Rajas, by performing a very difficult feat of
archery. And from this time he became very much respected in this world
among all bowmen; and in fields of battle also, like the sun, he was hard
to behold by foe-men. And having vanquished all the neighbouring princes
and every considerable tribe, he accomplished all that was necessary for
the Raja (his eldest brother) to perform the great sacrifice called
Rajasuya.

Yudhishthira, after having, through the wise counsels of Vasudeva and by
the valour of Bhimasena and Arjuna, slain Jarasandha (the king of
Magadha) and the proud Chaidya, acquired the right to perform the grand
sacrifice of Rajasuya abounding in provisions and offering and fraught
with transcendent merits. And Duryodhana came to this sacrifice; and when
he beheld the vast wealth of the Pandavas scattered all around, the
offerings, the precious stones, gold and jewels; the wealth in cows,
elephants, and horses; the curious textures, garments, and mantles; the
precious shawls and furs and carpets made of the skin of the Ranku; he
was filled with envy and became exceedingly displeased. And when he
beheld the hall of assembly elegantly constructed by Maya (the Asura
architect) after the fashion of a celestial court, he was inflamed with
rage. And having started in confusion at certain architectural deceptions
within this building, he was derided by Bhimasena in the presence of
Vasudeva, like one of mean descent.

And it was represented to Dhritarashtra that his son, while partaking of
various objects of enjoyment and diverse precious things, was becoming
meagre, wan, and pale. And Dhritarashtra, some time after, out of
affection for his son, gave his consent to their playing (with the
Pandavas) at dice. And Vasudeva coming to know of this, became
exceedingly wroth. And being dissatisfied, he did nothing to prevent the
disputes, but overlooked the gaming and sundry other horried
unjustifiable transactions arising therefrom: and in spite of Vidura,
Bhishma, Drona, and Kripa, the son of Saradwan, he made the Kshatriyas
kill each other in the terrific war that ensued.'

"And Dhritarashtra hearing the ill news of the success of the Pandavas
and recollecting the resolutions of Duryodhana, Kama, and Sakuni,
pondered for a while and addressed to Sanjaya the following speech:--

'Attend, O Sanjaya, to all I am about to say, and it will not become thee
to treat me with contempt. Thou art well-versed in the shastras,
intelligent and endowed with wisdom. My inclination was never to war, not
did I delight in the destruction of my race. I made no distinction
between my own children and the children of Pandu. My own sons were prone
to wilfulness and despised me because I am old. Blind as I am, because of
my miserable plight and through paternal affection, I bore it all. I was
foolish alter the thoughtless Duryodhana ever growing in folly. Having
been a spectator of the riches of the mighty sons of Pandu, my son was
derided for his awkwardness while ascending the hall. Unable to bear it
all and unable himself to overcome the sons of Pandu in the field, and
though a soldier, unwilling yet to obtain good fortune by his own
exertion, with the help of the king of Gandhara he concerted an unfair
game at dice.

'Hear, O Sanjaya, all that happened thereupon and came to my knowledge.
And when thou hast heard all I say, recollecting everything as it fell
out, thou shall then know me for one with a prophetic eye. When I heard
that Arjuna, having bent the bow, had pierced the curious mark and
brought it down to the ground, and bore away in triumph the maiden
Krishna, in the sight of the assembled princes, then, O Sanjaya I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Subhadra of the race of Madhu had,
after forcible seizure been married by Arjuna in the city of Dwaraka, and
that the two heroes of the race of Vrishni (Krishna and Balarama the
brothers of Subhadra) without resenting it had entered Indraprastha as
friends, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
Arjuna, by his celestial arrow preventing the downpour by Indra the king
of the gods, had gratified Agni by making over to him the forest of
Khandava, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
the five Pandavas with their mother Kunti had escaped from the house of
lac, and that Vidura was engaged in the accomplishment of their designs,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Arjuna,
after having pierced the mark in the arena had won Draupadi, and that the
brave Panchalas had joined the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Jarasandha, the foremost of the royal line
of Magadha, and blazing in the midst of the Kshatriyas, had been slain by
Bhima with his bare arms alone, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that in their general campaign the sons of Pandu
had conquered the chiefs of the land and performed the grand sacrifice of
the Rajasuya, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Draupadi, her voice choked with tears and heart full of agony, in
the season of impurity and with but one raiment on, had been dragged into
court and though she had protectors, she had been treated as if she had
none, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
wicked wretch Duhsasana, was striving to strip her of that single
garment, had only drawn from her person a large heap of cloth without
being able to arrive at its end, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, beaten by Saubala at the game of
dice and deprived of his kingdom as a consequence thereof, had still been
attended upon by his brothers of incomparable prowess, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that the virtuous Pandavas weeping
with affliction had followed their elder brother to the wilderness and
exerted themselves variously for the mitigation of his discomforts, then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.

'When I heard that Yudhishthira had been followed into the wilderness by
Snatakas and noble-minded Brahmanas who live upon alms, then, O Sanjaya,
I had no hope of success. When I heard that Arjuna, having, in combat,
pleased the god of gods, Tryambaka (the three-eyed) in the disguise of a
hunter, obtained the great weapon Pasupata, then O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that the just and renowned Arjuna after having
been to the celestial regions, had there obtained celestial weapons from
Indra himself then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that afterwards Arjuna had vanquished the Kalakeyas and the Paulomas
proud with the boon they had obtained and which had rendered them
invulnerable even to the celestials, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Arjuna, the chastiser of enemies, having gone
to the regions of Indra for the destruction of the Asuras, had returned
thence successful, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Bhima and the other sons of Pritha (Kunti) accompanied by
Vaisravana had arrived at that country which is inaccessible to man then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that my sons, guided by
the counsels of Karna, while on their journey of Ghoshayatra, had been
taken prisoners by the Gandharvas and were set free by Arjuna, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Dharma (the god of
justice) having come under the form of a Yaksha had proposed certain
questions to Yudhishthira then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When
I heard that my sons had failed to discover the Pandavas under their
disguise while residing with Draupadi in the dominions of Virata, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the principal men of
my side had all been vanquished by the noble Arjuna with a single chariot
while residing in the dominions of Virata, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Vasudeva of the race of Madhu, who covered
this whole earth by one foot, was heartily interested in the welfare of
the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that the king of Matsya, had offered his virtuous daughter Uttara to
Arjuna and that Arjuna had accepted her for his son, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, beaten at dice,
deprived of wealth, exiled and separated from his connections, had
assembled yet an army of seven Akshauhinis, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard Narada, declare that Krishna and Arjuna
were Nara and Narayana and he (Narada) had seen them together in the
regions of Brahma, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Krishna, anxious to bring about peace, for the welfare of
mankind had repaired to the Kurus, and went away without having been able
to effect his purpose, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Kama and Duryodhana resolved upon imprisoning Krishna
displayed in himself the whole universe, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. Then I heard that at the time of his departure, Pritha
(Kunti) standing, full of sorrow, near his chariot received consolation
from Krishna, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Vasudeva and Bhishma the son of Santanu were the counsellors of the
Pandavas and Drona the son of Bharadwaja pronounced blessings on them,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When Kama said unto Bhishma--I
will not fight when thou art fighting--and, quitting the army, went away,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Vasudeva and
Arjuna and the bow Gandiva of immeasurable prowess, these three of
dreadful energy had come together, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that upon Arjuna having been seized with
compunction on his chariot and ready to sink, Krishna showed him all the
worlds within his body, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Bhishma, the desolator of foes, killing ten thousand
charioteers every day in the field of battle, had not slain any amongst
the Pandavas then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
Bhishma, the righteous son of Ganga, had himself indicated the means of
his defeat in the field of battle and that the same were accomplished by
the Pandavas with joyfulness, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.
When I heard that Arjuna, having placed Sikhandin before himself in his
chariot, had wounded Bhishma of infinite courage and invincible in
battle, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
aged hero Bhishma, having reduced the numbers of the race of shomaka to a
few, overcome with various wounds was lying on a bed of arrows, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that upon Bhishma's lying
on the ground with thirst for water, Arjuna, being requested, had pierced
the ground and allayed his thirst, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When Bayu together with Indra and Suryya united as allies for
the success of the sons of Kunti, and the beasts of prey (by their
inauspicious presence) were putting us in fear, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When the wonderful warrior Drona, displaying various
modes of fight in the field, did not slay any of the superior Pandavas,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
Maharatha Sansaptakas of our army appointed for the overthrow of Arjuna
were all slain by Arjuna himself, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that our disposition of forces, impenetrable by
others, and defended by Bharadwaja himself well-armed, had been singly
forced and entered by the brave son of Subhadra, then, O Sanjaya, I had
no hope of success. When I heard that our Maharathas, unable to overcome
Arjuna, with jubilant faces after having jointly surrounded and slain the
boy Abhimanyu, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that the blind Kauravas were shouting for joy after having slain
Abhimanyu and that thereupon Arjuna in anger made his celebrated speech
referring to Saindhava, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Arjuna had vowed the death of Saindhava and fulfilled his vow
in the presence of his enemies, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that upon the horses of Arjuna being fatigued,
Vasudeva releasing them made them drink water and bringing them back and
reharnessing them continued to guide them as before, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that while his horses were fatigued,
Arjuna staying in his chariot checked all his assailants, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Yuyudhana of the
race of Vrishni, after having thrown into confusion the army of Drona
rendered unbearable in prowess owing to the presence of elephants,
retired to where Krishna and Arjuna were, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Karna even though he had got Bhima within
his power allowed him to escape after only addressing him in contemptuous
terms and dragging him with the end of his bow, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Drona, Kritavarma, Kripa, Karna, the
son of Drona, and the valiant king of Madra (Salya) suffered Saindhava to
be slain, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
the celestial Sakti given by Indra (to Karna) was by Madhava's
machinations caused to be hurled upon Rakshasa Ghatotkacha of frightful
countenance, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
in the encounter between Karna and Ghatotkacha, that Sakti was hurled
against Ghatotkacha by Karna, the same which was certainly to have slain
Arjuna in battle, then, O Sanjaya. I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Dhristadyumna, transgressing the laws of battle, slew Drona while
alone in his chariot and resolved on death, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Nakula. the son of Madri, having in
the presence of the whole army engaged in single combat with the son of
Drona and showing himself equal to him drove his chariot in circles
around, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When upon the death of
Drona, his son misused the weapon called Narayana but failed to achieve
the destruction of the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Bhimasena drank the blood of his brother
Duhsasana in the field of battle without anybody being able to prevent
him, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
infinitely brave Karna, invincible in battle, was slain by Arjuna in that
war of brothers mysterious even to the gods, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, the Just, overcame the
heroic son of Drona, Duhsasana, and the fierce Kritavarman, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the brave king of
Madra who ever dared Krishna in battle was slain by Yudhishthira, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the wicked Suvala of
magic power, the root of the gaming and the feud, was slain in battle by
Sahadeva, the son of Pandu, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.
When I heard that Duryodhana, spent with fatigue, having gone to a lake
and made a refuge for himself within its waters, was lying there alone,
his strength gone and without a chariot, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that the Pandavas having gone to that lake
accompanied by Vasudeva and standing on its beach began to address
contemptuously my son who was incapable of putting up with affronts,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that while,
displaying in circles a variety of curious modes (of attack and defence)
in an encounter with clubs, he was unfairly slain according to the
counsels of Krishna, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard the son of Drona and others by slaying the Panchalas and the sons
of Draupadi in their sleep, perpetrated a horrible and infamous deed,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Aswatthaman
while being pursued by Bhimasena had discharged the first of weapons
called Aishika, by which the embryo in the womb (of Uttara) was wounded,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the weapon
Brahmashira (discharged by Aswatthaman) was repelled by Arjuna with
another weapon over which he had pronounced the word "Sasti" and that
Aswatthaman had to give up the jewel-like excrescence on his head, then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that upon the embryo in
the womb of Virata's daughter being wounded by Aswatthaman with a mighty
weapon, Dwaipayana and Krishna pronounced curses on him, then, O Sanjaya,
I had no hope of success.

'Alas! Gandhari, destitute of children, grand-children, parents,
brothers, and kindred, is to be pitied. Difficult is the task that hath
been performed by the Pandavas: by them hath a kingdom been recovered
without a rival.

'Alas! I have heard that the war hath left only ten alive: three of our
side, and the Pandavas, seven, in that dreadful conflict eighteen
Akshauhinis of Kshatriyas have been slain! All around me is utter
darkness, and a fit of swoon assaileth me: consciousness leaves me, O
Suta, and my mind is distracted."

"Sauti said, 'Dhritarashtra, bewailing his fate in these words, was
overcome with extreme anguish and for a time deprived of sense; but being
revived, he addressed Sanjaya in the following words.

"After what hath come to pass, O Sanjaya, I wish to put an end to my life
without delay; I do not find the least advantage in cherishing it any
longer."

"Sauti said, 'The wise son of Gavalgana (Sanjaya) then addressed the
distressed lord of Earth while thus talking and bewailing, sighing like a
serpent and repeatedly tainting, in words of deep import.

"Thou hast heard, O Raja, of the greatly powerful men of vast exertions,
spoken of by Vyasa and the wise Narada; men born of great royal families,
resplendent with worthy qualities, versed in the science of celestial
arms, and in glory emblems of Indra; men who having conquered the world
by justice and performed sacrifices with fit offerings (to the
Brahmanas), obtained renown in this world and at last succumbed to the
sway of time. Such were Saivya; the valiant Maharatha; Srinjaya, great
amongst conquerors. Suhotra; Rantideva, and Kakshivanta, great in glory;
Valhika, Damana, Saryati, Ajita, and Nala; Viswamitra the destroyer of
foes; Amvarisha, great in strength; Marutta, Manu, Ikshaku, Gaya, and
Bharata; Rama the son of Dasaratha; Sasavindu, and Bhagiratha;
Kritavirya, the greatly fortunate, and Janamejaya too; and Yayati of good
deeds who performed sacrifices, being assisted therein by the celestials
themselves, and by whose sacrificial altars and stakes this earth with
her habited and uninhabited regions hath been marked all over. These
twenty-four Rajas were formerly spoken of by the celestial Rishi Narada
unto Saivya when much afflicted for the loss of his children. Besides
these, other Rajas had gone before, still more powerful than they, mighty
charioteers noble in mind, and resplendent with every worthy quality.
These were Puru, Kuru, Yadu, Sura and Viswasrawa of great glory; Anuha,
Yuvanaswu, Kakutstha, Vikrami, and Raghu; Vijava, Virihorta, Anga, Bhava,
Sweta, and Vripadguru; Usinara, Sata-ratha, Kanka, Duliduha, and Druma;
Dambhodbhava, Para, Vena, Sagara, Sankriti, and Nimi; Ajeya, Parasu,
Pundra, Sambhu, and holy Deva-Vridha; Devahuya, Supratika, and
Vrihad-ratha; Mahatsaha, Vinitatma, Sukratu, and Nala, the king of the
Nishadas; Satyavrata, Santabhaya, Sumitra, and the chief Subala;
Janujangha, Anaranya, Arka, Priyabhritya, Chuchi-vrata, Balabandhu,
Nirmardda, Ketusringa, and Brhidbala; Dhrishtaketu, Brihatketu,
Driptaketu, and Niramaya; Abikshit, Chapala, Dhurta, Kritbandhu, and
Dridhe-shudhi; Mahapurana-sambhavya, Pratyanga, Paraha and Sruti. These,
O chief, and other Rajas, we hear enumerated by hundreds and by
thousands, and still others by millions, princes of great power and
wisdom, quitting very abundant enjoyments met death as thy sons have
done! Their heavenly deeds, valour, and generosity, their magnanimity,
faith, truth, purity, simplicity and mercy, are published to the world in
the records of former times by sacred bards of great learning. Though
endued with every noble virtue, these have yielded up their lives. Thy
sons were malevolent, inflamed with passion, avaricious, and of very
evil-disposition. Thou art versed in the Sastras, O Bharata, and art
intelligent and wise; they never sink under misfortunes whose
understandings are guided by the Sastras. Thou art acquainted, O prince,
with the lenity and severity of fate; this anxiety therefore for the
safety of thy children is unbecoming. Moreover, it behoveth thee not to
grieve for that which must happen: for who can avert, by his wisdom, the
decrees of fate? No one can leave the way marked out for him by
Providence. Existence and non-existence, pleasure and pain all have Time
for their root. Time createth all things and Time destroyeth all
creatures. It is Time that burneth creatures and it is Time that
extinguisheth the fire. All states, the good and the evil, in the three
worlds, are caused by Time. Time cutteth short all things and createth
them anew. Time alone is awake when all things are asleep: indeed, Time
is incapable of being overcome. Time passeth over all things without
being retarded. Knowing, as thou dost, that all things past and future
and all that exist at the present moment, are the offspring of Time, it
behoveth thee not to throw away thy reason.'

"Sauti said, 'The son of Gavalgana having in this manner administered
comfort to the royal Dhritarashtra overwhelmed with grief for his sons,
then restored his mind to peace. Taking these facts for his subject,
Dwaipayana composed a holy Upanishad that has been published to the world
by learned and sacred bards in the Puranas composed by them.

"The study of the Bharata is an act of piety. He that readeth even one
foot, with belief, hath his sins entirely purged away. Herein Devas,
Devarshis, and immaculate Brahmarshis of good deeds, have been spoken of;
and likewise Yakshas and great Uragas (Nagas). Herein also hath been
described the eternal Vasudeva possessing the six attributes. He is the
true and just, the pure and holy, the eternal Brahma, the supreme soul,
the true constant light, whose divine deeds wise and learned recount;
from whom hath proceeded the non-existent and existent-non-existent
universe with principles of generation and progression, and birth, death
and re-birth. That also hath been treated of which is called Adhyatma
(the superintending spirit of nature) that partaketh of the attributes of
the five elements. That also hath been described who is purusha being
above such epithets as 'undisplayed' and the like; also that which the
foremost yatis exempt from the common destiny and endued with the power
of meditation and Tapas behold dwelling in their hearts as a reflected
image in the mirror.

"The man of faith, devoted to piety, and constant in the exercise of
virtue, on reading this section is freed from sin. The believer that
constantly heareth recited this section of the Bharata, called the
Introduction, from the beginning, falleth not into difficulties. The man
repeating any part of the introduction in the two twilights is during
such act freed from the sins contracted during the day or the night. This
section, the body of the Bharata, is truth and nectar. As butter is in
curd, Brahmana among bipeds, the Aranyaka among the Vedas, and nectar
among medicines; as the sea is eminent among receptacles of water, and
the cow among quadrupeds; as are these (among the things mentioned) so is
the Bharata said to be among histories.

"He that causeth it, even a single foot thereof, to be recited to
Brahmanas during a Sradha, his offerings of food and drink to the manes
of his ancestors become inexhaustible.

"By the aid of history and the Puranas, the Veda may be expounded; but
the Veda is afraid of one of little information lest he should it. The
learned man who recites to other this Veda of Vyasa reapeth advantage. It
may without doubt destroy even the sin of killing the embryo and the
like. He that readeth this holy chapter of the moon, readeth the whole of
the Bharata, I ween. The man who with reverence daily listeneth to this
sacred work acquireth long life and renown and ascendeth to heaven.

"In former days, having placed the four Vedas on one side and the Bharata
on the other, these were weighed in the balance by the celestials
assembled for that purpose. And as the latter weighed heavier than the
four Vedas with their mysteries, from that period it hath been called in
the world Mahabharata (the great Bharata). Being esteemed superior both
in substance and gravity of import it is denominated Mahabharata on
account of such substance and gravity of import. He that knoweth its
meaning is saved from all his sins.

'Tapa is innocent, study is harmless, the ordinance of the Vedas
prescribed for all the tribes are harmless, the acquisition of wealth by
exertion is harmless; but when they are abused in their practices it is
then that they become sources of evil.'"



SECTION II

"The Rishis said, 'O son of Suta, we wish to hear a full and
circumstantial account of the place mentioned by you as Samanta-panchaya.'

"Sauti said, 'Listen, O ye Brahmanas, to the sacred descriptions I utter
O ye best of men, ye deserve to hear of the place known as
Samanta-panchaka. In the interval between the Treta and Dwapara Yugas,
Rama (the son of Jamadagni) great among all who have borne arms, urged by
impatience of wrongs, repeatedly smote the noble race of Kshatriyas. And
when that fiery meteor, by his own valour, annihilated the entire tribe
of the Kshatriyas, he formed at Samanta-panchaka five lakes of blood. We
are told that his reason being overpowered by anger he offered oblations
of blood to the manes of his ancestors, standing in the midst of the
sanguine waters of those lakes. It was then that his forefathers of whom
Richika was the first having arrived there addressed him thus, 'O Rama, O
blessed Rama, O offspring of Bhrigu, we have been gratified with the
reverence thou hast shown for thy ancestors and with thy valour, O mighty
one! Blessings be upon thee. O thou illustrious one, ask the boon that
thou mayst desire.'

"Rama said, 'If, O fathers, ye are favourably disposed towards me, the
boon I ask is that I may be absolved from the sins born of my having
annihilated the Kshatriyas in anger, and that the lakes I have formed may
become famous in the world as holy shrines.' The Pitris then said, 'So
shall it be. But be thou pacified.' And Rama was pacified accordingly.
The region that lieth near unto those lakes of gory water, from that time
hath been celebrated as Samanta-panchaka the holy. The wise have declared
that every country should be distinguished by a name significant of some
circumstance which may have rendered it famous. In the interval between
the Dwapara and the Kali Yugas there happened at Samanta-panchaka the
encounter between the armies of the Kauravas and the Pandavas. In that
holy region, without ruggedness of any kind, were assembled eighteen
Akshauhinis of soldiers eager for battle. And, O Brahmanas, having come
thereto, they were all slain on the spot. Thus the name of that region, O
Brahmanas, hath been explained, and the country described to you as a
sacred and delightful one. I have mentioned the whole of what relateth to
it as the region is celebrated throughout the three worlds.'

"The Rishis said, 'We have a desire to know, O son of Suta, what is
implied by the term Akshauhini that hath been used by thee. Tell us in
full what is the number of horse and foot, chariots and elephants, which
compose an Akshauhini for thou art fully informed.'

"Sauti said, 'One chariot, one elephant, five foot-soldiers, and three
horses form one Patti; three pattis make one Sena-mukha; three
sena-mukhas are called a Gulma; three gulmas, a Gana; three ganas, a
Vahini; three vahinis together are called a Pritana; three pritanas form
a Chamu; three chamus, one Anikini; and an anikini taken ten times forms,
as it is styled by those who know, an Akshauhini. O ye best of Brahmanas,
arithmeticians have calculated that the number of chariots in an
Akshauhini is twenty-one thousand eight hundred and seventy. The measure
of elephants must be fixed at the same number. O ye pure, you must know
that the number of foot-soldiers is one hundred and nine thousand, three
hundred and fifty, the number of horse is sixty-five thousand, six
hundred and ten. These, O Brahmanas, as fully explained by me, are the
numbers of an Akshauhini as said by those acquainted with the principles
of numbers. O best of Brahmanas, according to this calculation were
composed the eighteen Akshauhinis of the Kaurava and the Pandava army.
Time, whose acts are wonderful assembled them on that spot and having
made the Kauravas the cause, destroyed them all. Bhishma acquainted with
choice of weapons, fought for ten days. Drona protected the Kaurava
Vahinis for five days. Kama the desolator of hostile armies fought for
two days; and Salya for half a day. After that lasted for half a day the
encounter with clubs between Duryodhana and Bhima. At the close of that
day, Aswatthaman and Kripa destroyed the army of Yudishthira in the night
while sleeping without suspicion of danger.

'O Saunaka, this best of narrations called Bharata which has begun to be
repeated at thy sacrifice, was formerly repeated at the sacrifice of
Janamejaya by an intelligent disciple of Vyasa. It is divided into
several sections; in the beginning are Paushya, Pauloma, and Astika
parvas, describing in full the valour and renown of kings. It is a work
whose description, diction, and sense are varied and wonderful. It
contains an account of various manners and rites. It is accepted by the
wise, as the state called Vairagya is by men desirous of final release.
As Self among things to be known, as life among things that are dear, so
is this history that furnisheth the means of arriving at the knowledge of
Brahma the first among all the sastras. There is not a story current in
this world but doth depend upon this history even as the body upon the
foot that it taketh. As masters of good lineage are ever attended upon by
servants desirous of preferment so is the Bharata cherished by all poets.
As the words constituting the several branches of knowledge appertaining
to the world and the Veda display only vowels and consonants, so this
excellent history displayeth only the highest wisdom.

'Listen, O ye ascetics, to the outlines of the several divisions (parvas)
of this history called Bharata, endued with great wisdom, of sections and
feet that are wonderful and various, of subtile meanings and logical
connections, and embellished with the substance of the Vedas.

'The first parva is called Anukramanika; the second, Sangraha; then
Paushya; then Pauloma; the Astika; then Adivansavatarana. Then comes the
Sambhava of wonderful and thrilling incidents. Then comes Jatugrihadaha
(setting fire to the house of lac) and then Hidimbabadha (the killing of
Hidimba) parvas; then comes Baka-badha (slaughter of Baka) and then
Chitraratha. The next is called Swayamvara (selection of husband by
Panchali), in which Arjuna by the exercise of Kshatriya virtues, won
Draupadi for wife. Then comes Vaivahika (marriage). Then comes
Viduragamana (advent of Vidura), Rajyalabha (acquirement of kingdom),
Arjuna-banavasa (exile of Arjuna) and Subhadra-harana (the carrying away
of Subhadra). After these come Harana-harika, Khandava-daha (the burning
of the Khandava forest) and Maya-darsana (meeting with Maya the Asura
architect). Then come Sabha, Mantra, Jarasandha, Digvijaya (general
campaign). After Digvijaya come Raja-suyaka, Arghyaviharana (the robbing
of the Arghya) and Sisupala-badha (the killing of Sisupala). After these,
Dyuta (gambling), Anudyuta (subsequent to gambling), Aranyaka, and
Krimira-badha (destruction of Krimira). The Arjuna-vigamana (the travels
of Arjuna), Kairati. In the last hath been described the battle between
Arjuna and Mahadeva in the guise of a hunter. After this
Indra-lokavigamana (the journey to the regions of Indra); then that mine
of religion and virtue, the highly pathetic Nalopakhyana (the story of
Nala). After this last, Tirtha-yatra or the pilgrimage of the wise prince
of the Kurus, the death of Jatasura, and the battle of the Yakshas. Then
the battle with the Nivata-kavachas, Ajagara, and Markandeya-Samasya
(meeting with Markandeya). Then the meeting of Draupadi and Satyabhama,
Ghoshayatra, Mirga-Swapna (dream of the deer). Then the story of
Brihadaranyaka and then Aindradrumna. Then Draupadi-harana (the abduction
of Draupadi), Jayadratha-bimoksana (the release of Jayadratha). Then the
story of 'Savitri' illustrating the great merit of connubial chastity.
After this last, the story of 'Rama'. The parva that comes next is called
'Kundala-harana' (the theft of the ear-rings). That which comes next is
'Aranya' and then 'Vairata'. Then the entry of the Pandavas and the
fulfilment of their promise (of living unknown for one year). Then the
destruction of the 'Kichakas', then the attempt to take the kine (of
Virata by the Kauravas). The next is called the marriage of Abhimanyu
with the daughter of Virata. The next you must know is the most wonderful
parva called Udyoga. The next must be known by the name of 'Sanjaya-yana'
(the arrival of Sanjaya). Then comes 'Prajagara' (the sleeplessness of
Dhritarashtra owing to his anxiety). Then Sanatsujata, in which are the
mysteries of spiritual philosophy. Then 'Yanasaddhi', and then the
arrival of Krishna. Then the story of 'Matali' and then of 'Galava'. Then
the stories of 'Savitri', 'Vamadeva', and 'Vainya'. Then the story of
'Jamadagnya and Shodasarajika'. Then the arrival of Krishna at the court,
and then Bidulaputrasasana. Then the muster of troops and the story of
Sheta. Then, must you know, comes the quarrel of the high-souled Karna.
Then the march to the field of the troops of both sides. The next hath
been called numbering the Rathis and Atirathas. Then comes the arrival of
the messenger Uluka which kindled the wrath (of the Pandavas). The next
that comes, you must know, is the story of Amba. Then comes the thrilling
story of the installation of Bhishma as commander-in-chief. The next is
called the creation of the insular region Jambu; then Bhumi; then the
account about the formation of islands. Then comes the 'Bhagavat-gita';
and then the death of Bhishma. Then the installation of Drona; then the
destruction of the 'Sansaptakas'. Then the death of Abhimanyu; and then
the vow of Arjuna (to slay Jayadratha). Then the death of Jayadratha, and
then of Ghatotkacha. Then, must you know, comes the story of the death of
Drona of surprising interest. The next that comes is called the discharge
of the weapon called Narayana. Then, you know, is Karna, and then Salya.
Then comes the immersion in the lake, and then the encounter (between
Bhima and Duryodhana) with clubs. Then comes Saraswata, and then the
descriptions of holy shrines, and then genealogies. Then comes Sauptika
describing incidents disgraceful (to the honour of the Kurus). Then comes
the 'Aisika' of harrowing incidents. Then comes 'Jalapradana' oblations
of water to the manes of the deceased, and then the wailings of the
women. The next must be known as 'Sraddha' describing the funeral rites
performed for the slain Kauravas. Then comes the destruction of the
Rakshasa Charvaka who had assumed the disguise of a Brahmana (for
deceiving Yudhishthira). Then the coronation of the wise Yudhishthira.
The next is called the 'Grihapravibhaga'. Then comes 'Santi', then
'Rajadharmanusasana', then 'Apaddharma', then 'Mokshadharma'. Those that
follow are called respectively 'Suka-prasna-abhigamana',
'Brahma-prasnanusana', the origin of 'Durvasa', the disputations with
Maya. The next is to be known as 'Anusasanika'. Then the ascension of
Bhishma to heaven. Then the horse-sacrifice, which when read purgeth all
sins away. The next must be known as the 'Anugita' in which are words of
spiritual philosophy. Those that follow are called 'Asramvasa',
'Puttradarshana' (meeting with the spirits of the deceased sons), and the
arrival of Narada. The next is called 'Mausala' which abounds with
terrible and cruel incidents. Then comes 'Mahaprasthanika' and ascension
to heaven. Then comes the Purana which is called Khilvansa. In this last
are contained 'Vishnuparva', Vishnu's frolics and feats as a child, the
destruction of 'Kansa', and lastly, the very wonderful 'Bhavishyaparva'
(in which there are prophecies regarding the future).

The high-souled Vyasa composed these hundred parvas of which the above is
only an abridgement: having distributed them into eighteen, the son of
Suta recited them consecutively in the forest of Naimisha as follows:

'In the Adi parva are contained Paushya, Pauloma, Astika, Adivansavatara,
Samva, the burning of the house of lac, the slaying of Hidimba, the
destruction of the Asura Vaka, Chitraratha, the Swayamvara of Draupadi,
her marriage after the overthrow of rivals in war, the arrival of Vidura,
the restoration, Arjuna's exile, the abduction of Subhadra, the gift and
receipt of the marriage dower, the burning of the Khandava forest, and
the meeting with (the Asura-architect) Maya. The Paushya parva treats of
the greatness of Utanka, and the Pauloma, of the sons of Bhrigu. The
Astika describes the birth of Garuda and of the Nagas (snakes), the
churning of the ocean, the incidents relating to the birth of the
celestial steed Uchchaihsrava, and finally, the dynasty of Bharata, as
described in the Snake-sacrifice of king Janamejaya. The Sambhava parva
narrates the birth of various kings and heroes, and that of the sage,
Krishna Dwaipayana: the partial incarnations of deities, the generation
of Danavas and Yakshas of great prowess, and serpents, Gandharvas, birds,
and of all creatures; and lastly, of the life and adventures of king
Bharata--the progenitor of the line that goes by his name--the son born
of Sakuntala in the hermitage of the ascetic Kanwa. This parva also
describes the greatness of Bhagirathi, and the births of the Vasus in the
house of Santanu and their ascension to heaven. In this parva is also
narrated the birth of Bhishma uniting in himself portions of the energies
of the other Vasus, his renunciation of royalty and adoption of the
Brahmacharya mode of life, his adherence to his vows, his protection of
Chitrangada, and after the death of Chitrangada, his protection of his
younger brother, Vichitravirya, and his placing the latter on the throne:
the birth of Dharma among men in consequence of the curse of Animondavya;
the births of Dhritarashtra and Pandu through the potency of Vyasa's
blessings (?) and also the birth of the Pandavas; the plottings of
Duryodhana to send the sons of Pandu to Varanavata, and the other dark
counsels of the sons of Dhritarashtra in regard to the Pandavas; then the
advice administered to Yudhishthira on his way by that well-wisher of the
Pandavas--Vidura--in the mlechchha language--the digging of the hole, the
burning of Purochana and the sleeping woman of the fowler caste, with her
five sons, in the house of lac; the meeting of the Pandavas in the
dreadful forest with Hidimba, and the slaying of her brother Hidimba by
Bhima of great prowess. The birth of Ghatotkacha; the meeting of the
Pandavas with Vyasa and in accordance with his advice their stay in
disguise in the house of a Brahmana in the city of Ekachakra; the
destruction of the Asura Vaka, and the amazement of the populace at the
sight; the extra-ordinary births of Krishna and Dhrishtadyumna; the
departure of the Pandavas for Panchala in obedience to the injunction of
Vyasa, and moved equally by the desire of winning the hand of Draupadi on
learning the tidings of the Swayamvara from the lips of a Brahmana;
victory of Arjuna over a Gandharva, called Angaraparna, on the banks of
the Bhagirathi, his contraction of friendship with his adversary, and his
hearing from the Gandharva the history of Tapati, Vasishtha and Aurva.
This parva treats of the journey of the Pandavas towards Panchala, the
acquisition of Draupadi in the midst of all the Rajas, by Arjuna, after
having successfully pierced the mark; and in the ensuing fight, the
defeat of Salya, Kama, and all the other crowned heads at the hands of
Bhima and Arjuna of great prowess; the ascertainment by Balarama and
Krishna, at the sight of these matchless exploits, that the heroes were
the Pandavas, and the arrival of the brothers at the house of the potter
where the Pandavas were staying; the dejection of Drupada on learning
that Draupadi was to be wedded to five husbands; the wonderful story of
the five Indras related in consequence; the extraordinary and
divinely-ordained wedding of Draupadi; the sending of Vidura by the sons
of Dhritarashtra as envoy to the Pandavas; the arrival of Vidura and his
sight to Krishna; the abode of the Pandavas in Khandava-prastha, and then
their rule over one half of the kingdom; the fixing of turns by the sons
of Pandu, in obedience to the injunction of Narada, for connubial
companionship with Krishna. In like manner hath the history of Sunda and
Upasunda been recited in this. This parva then treats of the departure of
Arjuna for the forest according to the vow, he having seen Draupadi and
Yudhishthira sitting together as he entered the chamber to take out arms
for delivering the kine of a certain Brahmana. This parva then describes
Arjuna's meeting on the way with Ulupi, the daughter of a Naga (serpent);
it then relates his visits to several sacred spots; the birth of
Vabhruvahana; the deliverance by Arjuna of the five celestial damsels who
had been turned into alligators by the imprecation of a Brahmana, the
meeting of Madhava and Arjuna on the holy spot called Prabhasa; the
carrying away of Subhadra by Arjuna, incited thereto by her brother
Krishna, in the wonderful car moving on land and water, and through
mid-air, according to the wish of the rider; the departure for
Indraprastha, with the dower; the conception in the womb of Subhadra of
that prodigy of prowess, Abhimanyu; Yajnaseni's giving birth to children;
then follows the pleasure-trip of Krishna and Arjuna to the banks of the
Jamuna and the acquisition by them of the discus and the celebrated bow
Gandiva; the burning of the forest of Khandava; the rescue of Maya by
Arjuna, and the escape of the serpent,--and the begetting of a son by
that best of Rishis, Mandapala, in the womb of the bird Sarngi. This
parva is divided by Vyasa into two hundred and twenty-seven chapters.
These two hundred and twenty-seven chapters contain eight thousand eight
hundred and eighty-four slokas.

The second is the extensive parva called Sabha or the assembly, full of
matter. The subjects of this parva are the establishment of the grand
hall by the Pandavas; their review of their retainers; the description of
the lokapalas by Narada well-acquainted with the celestial regions; the
preparations for the Rajasuya sacrifice; the destruction of Jarasandha;
the deliverance by Vasudeva of the princes confined in the mountain-pass;
the campaign of universal conquest by the Pandavas; the arrival of the
princes at the Rajasuya sacrifice with tribute; the destruction of
Sisupala on the occasion of the sacrifice, in connection with offering of
arghya; Bhimasena's ridicule of Duryodhana in the assembly; Duryodhana's
sorrow and envy at the sight of the magnificent scale on which the
arrangements had been made; the indignation of Duryodhana in consequence,
and the preparations for the game of dice; the defeat of Yudhishthira at
play by the wily Sakuni; the deliverance by Dhritarashtra of his
afflicted daughter-in-law Draupadi plunged in the sea of distress caused
by the gambling, as of a boat tossed about by the tempestuous waves. The
endeavours of Duryodhana to engage Yudhishthira again in the game; and
the exile of the defeated Yudhishthira with his brothers. These
constitute what has been called by the great Vyasa the Sabha Parva. This
parva is divided into seventh-eight sections, O best of Brahmanas, of two
thousand, five hundred and seven slokas.

Then comes the third parva called Aranyaka (relating to the forest) This
parva treats of the wending of the Pandavas to the forest and the
citizens, following the wise Yudhishthira, Yudhishthira's adoration of
the god of day; according to the injunctions of Dhaumya, to be gifted
with the power of maintaining the dependent Brahmanas with food and
drink: the creation of food through the grace of the Sun: the expulsion
by Dhritarashtra of Vidura who always spoke for his master's good;
Vidura's coming to the Pandavas and his return to Dhritarashtra at the
solicitation of the latter; the wicked Duryodhana's plottings to destroy
the forest-ranging Pandavas, being incited thereto by Karna; the
appearance of Vyasa and his dissuasion of Duryodhana bent on going to the
forest; the history of Surabhi; the arrival of Maitreya; his laying down
to Dhritarashtra the course of action; and his curse on Duryodhana;
Bhima's slaying of Kirmira in battle; the coming of the Panchalas and the
princes of the Vrishni race to Yudhishthira on hearing of his defeat at
the unfair gambling by Sakuni; Dhananjaya's allaying the wrath of
Krishna; Draupadi's lamentations before Madhava; Krishna's cheering her;
the fall of Sauva also has been here described by the Rishi; also
Krishna's bringing Subhadra with her son to Dwaraka; and Dhrishtadyumna's
bringing the son of Draupadi to Panchala; the entrance of the sons of
Pandu into the romantic Dwaita wood; conversation of Bhima, Yudhishthira,
and Draupadi; the coming of Vyasa to the Pandavas and his endowing
Yudhishthira with the power of Pratismriti; then, after the departure of
Vyasa, the removal of the Pandavas to the forest of Kamyaka; the
wanderings of Arjuna of immeasurable prowess in search of weapons; his
battle with Mahadeva in the guise of a hunter; his meeting with the
lokapalas and receipt of weapons from them; his journey to the regions of
Indra for arms and the consequent anxiety of Dhritarashtra; the wailings
and lamentations of Yudhishthira on the occasion of his meeting with the
worshipful great sage Brihadaswa. Here occurs the holy and highly
pathetic story of Nala illustrating the patience of Damayanti and the
character of Nala. Then the acquirement by Yudhishthira of the mysteries
of dice from the same great sage; then the arrival of the Rishi Lomasa
from the heavens to where the Pandavas were, and the receipt by these
high-souled dwellers in the woods of the intelligence brought by the
Rishi of their brother Arjuna staving in the heavens; then the pilgrimage
of the Pandavas to various sacred spots in accordance with the message of
Arjuna, and their attainment of great merit and virtue consequent on such
pilgrimage; then the pilgrimage of the great sage Narada to the shrine
Putasta; also the pilgrimage of the high-souled Pandavas. Here is the
deprivation of Karna of his ear-rings by Indra. Here also is recited the
sacrificial magnificence of Gaya; then the story of Agastya in which the
Rishi ate up the Asura Vatapi, and his connubial connection with
Lopamudra from the desire of offspring. Then the story of Rishyasringa
who adopted Brahmacharya mode of life from his very boyhood; then the
history of Rama of great prowess, the son of Jamadagni, in which has been
narrated the death of Kartavirya and the Haihayas; then the meeting
between the Pandavas and the Vrishnis in the sacred spot called Prabhasa;
then the story of Su-kanya in which Chyavana, the son of Bhrigu, made the
twins, Aswinis, drink, at the sacrifice of king Saryati, the Soma juice
(from which they had been excluded by the other gods), and in which
besides is shown how Chyavana himself acquired perpetual youth (as a boon
from the grateful Aswinis). Then hath been described the history of king
Mandhata; then the history of prince Jantu; and how king Somaka by
offering up his only son (Jantu) in sacrifice obtained a hundred others;
then the excellent history of the hawk and the pigeon; then the
examination of king Sivi by Indra, Agni, and Dharma; then the story of
Ashtavakra, in which occurs the disputation, at the sacrifice of Janaka,
between that Rishi and the first of logicians, Vandi, the son of Varuna;
the defeat of Vandi by the great Ashtavakra, and the release by the Rishi
of his father from the depths of the ocean. Then the story of Yavakrita,
and then that of the great Raivya: then the departure (of the Pandavas)
for Gandhamadana and their abode in the asylum called Narayana; then
Bhimasena's journey to Gandhamadana at the request of Draupadi (in search
of the sweet-scented flower). Bhima's meeting on his way, in a grove of
bananas, with Hanuman, the son of Pavana of great prowess; Bhima's bath
in the tank and the destruction of the flowers therein for obtaining the
sweet-scented flower (he was in search of); his consequent battle with
the mighty Rakshasas and the Yakshas of great prowess including Hanuman;
the destruction of the Asura Jata by Bhima; the meeting (of the Pandavas)
with the royal sage Vrishaparva; their departure for the asylum of
Arshtishena and abode therein: the incitement of Bhima (to acts of
vengeance) by Draupadi. Then is narrated the ascent on the hills of
Kailasa by Bhimasena, his terrific battle with the mighty Yakshas headed
by Hanuman; then the meeting of the Pandavas with Vaisravana (Kuvera),
and the meeting with Arjuna after he had obtained for the purpose of
Yudhishthira many celestial weapons; then Arjuna's terrible encounter
with the Nivatakavachas dwelling in Hiranyaparva, and also with the
Paulomas, and the Kalakeyas; their destruction at the hands of Arjuna;
the commencement of the display of the celestial weapons by Arjuna before
Yudhishthira, the prevention of the same by Narada; the descent of the
Pandavas from Gandhamadana; the seizure of Bhima in the forest by a
mighty serpent huge as the mountain; his release from the coils of the
snake, upon Yudhishthira's answering certain questions; the return of the
Pandavas to the Kamyaka woods. Here is described the reappearance of
Vasudeva to see the mighty sons of Pandu; the arrival of Markandeya, and
various recitals, the history of Prithu the son of Vena recited by the
great Rishi; the stories of Saraswati and the Rishi Tarkhya. After these,
is the story of Matsya; other old stories recited by Markandeya; the
stories of Indradyumna and Dhundhumara; then the history of the chaste
wife; the history of Angira, the meeting and conversation of Draupadi and
Satyabhama; the return of the Pandavas to the forest of Dwaita; then the
procession to see the calves and the captivity of Duryodhana; and when
the wretch was being carried off, his rescue by Arjuna; here is
Yudhishthira's dream of the deer; then the re-entry of the Pandavas into
the Kamyaka forest, here also is the long story of Vrihidraunika. Here
also is recited the story of Durvasa; then the abduction by Jayadratha of
Draupadi from the asylum; the pursuit of the ravisher by Bhima swift as
the air and the ill-shaving of Jayadratha's crown at Bhima's hand. Here
is the long history of Rama in which is shown how Rama by his prowess
slew Ravana in battle. Here also is narrated the story of Savitri; then
Karna's deprivation by Indra of his ear-rings; then the presentation to
Karna by the gratified Indra of a Sakti (missile weapon) which had the
virtue of killing only one person against whom it might be hurled; then
the story called Aranya in which Dharma (the god of justice) gave advice
to his son (Yudhishthira); in which, besides is recited how the Pandavas
after having obtained a boon went towards the west. These are all
included in the third Parva called Aranyaka, consisting of two hundred
and sixty-nine sections. The number of slokas is eleven thousand, six
hundred and sixty-four.

"The extensive Parva that comes next is called Virata. The Pandavas
arriving at the dominions of Virata saw in a cemetery on the outskirts of
the city a large shami tree whereon they kept their weapons. Here hath
been recited their entry into the city and their stay there in disguise.
Then the slaying by Bhima of the wicked Kichaka who, senseless with lust,
had sought Draupadi; the appointment by prince Duryodhana of clever
spies; and their despatch to all sides for tracing the Pandavas; the
failure of these to discover the mighty sons of Pandu; the first seizure
of Virata's kine by the Trigartas and the terrific battle that ensued;
the capture of Virata by the enemy and his rescue by Bhimasena; the
release also of the kine by the Pandava (Bhima); the seizure of Virata's
kine again by the Kurus; the defeat in battle of all the Kurus by the
single-handed Arjuna; the release of the king's kine; the bestowal by
Virata of his daughter Uttara for Arjuna's acceptance on behalf of his
son by Subhadra--Abhimanyu--the destroyer of foes. These are the contents
of the extensive fourth Parva--the Virata. The great Rishi Vyasa has
composed in these sixty-seven sections. The number of slokas is two
thousand and fifty.

"Listen then to (the contents of) the fifth Parva which must be known as
Udyoga. While the Pandavas, desirous of victory, were residing in the
place called Upaplavya, Duryodhana and Arjuna both went at the same time
to Vasudeva, and said, "You should render us assistance in this war." The
high-souled Krishna, upon these words being uttered, replied, "O ye first
of men, a counsellor in myself who will not fight and one Akshauhini of
troops, which of these shall I give to which of you?" Blind to his own
interests, the foolish Duryodhana asked for the troops; while Arjuna
solicited Krishna as an unfighting counsellor. Then is described how,
when the king of Madra was coming for the assistance of the Pandavas,
Duryodhana, having deceived him on the way by presents and hospitality,
induced him to grant a boon and then solicited his assistance in battle;
how Salya, having passed his word to Duryodhana, went to the Pandavas and
consoled them by reciting the history of Indra's victory (over Vritra).
Then comes the despatch by the Pandavas of their Purohita (priest) to the
Kauravas. Then is described how king Dhritarashtra of great prowess,
having heard the word of the purohita of the Pandavas and the story of
Indra's victory decided upon sending his purohita and ultimately
despatched Sanjaya as envoy to the Pandavas from desire for peace. Here
hath been described the sleeplessness of Dhritarashtra from anxiety upon
hearing all about the Pandavas and their friends, Vasudeva and others. It
was on this occasion that Vidura addressed to the wise king Dhritarashtra
various counsels that were full of wisdom. It was here also that
Sanat-sujata recited to the anxious and sorrowing monarch the excellent
truths of spiritual philosophy. On the next morning Sanjaya spoke, in the
court of the King, of the identity of Vasudeva and Arjuna. It was then
that the illustrious Krishna, moved by kindness and a desire for peace,
went himself to the Kaurava capital, Hastinapura, for bringing about
peace. Then comes the rejection by prince Duryodhana of the embassy of
Krishna who had come to solicit peace for the benefit of both parties.
Here hath been recited the story of Damvodvava; then the story of the
high-souled Matuli's search for a husband for his daughter: then the
history of the great sage Galava; then the story of the training and
discipline of the son of Bidula. Then the exhibition by Krishna, before
the assembled Rajas, of his Yoga powers upon learning the evil counsels
of Duryodhana and Karna; then Krishna's taking Karna in his chariot and
his tendering to him of advice, and Karna's rejection of the same from
pride. Then the return of Krishna, the chastiser of enemies from
Hastinapura to Upaplavya, and his narration to the Pandavas of all that
had happened. It was then that those oppressors of foes, the Pandavas,
having heard all and consulted properly with each other, made every
preparation for war. Then comes the march from Hastinapura, for battle,
of foot-soldiers, horses, charioteers and elephants. Then the tale of the
troops by both parties. Then the despatch by prince Duryodhana of Uluka
as envoy to the Pandavas on the day previous to the battle. Then the tale
of charioteers of different classes. Then the story of Amba. These all
have been described in the fifth Parva called Udyoga of the Bharata,
abounding with incidents appertaining to war and peace. O ye ascetics,
the great Vyasa hath composed one hundred and eighty-six sections in this
Parva. The number of slokas also composed in this by the great Rishi is
six thousand, six hundred and ninety-eight.

"Then is recited the Bhishma Parva replete with wonderful incidents. In
this hath been narrated by Sanjaya the formation of the region known as
Jambu. Here hath been described the great depression of Yudhishthira's
army, and also a fierce fight for ten successive days. In this the
high-souled Vasudeva by reasons based on the philosophy of final release
drove away Arjuna's compunction springing from the latter's regard for
his kindred (whom he was on the eve of slaying). In this the magnanimous
Krishna, attentive to the welfare of Yudhishthira, seeing the loss
inflicted (on the Pandava army), descended swiftly from his chariot
himself and ran, with dauntless breast, his driving whip in hand, to
effect the death of Bhishma. In this, Krishna also smote with piercing
words Arjuna, the bearer of the Gandiva and the foremost in battle among
all wielders of weapons. In this, the foremost of bowmen, Arjuna, placing
Shikandin before him and piercing Bhishma with his sharpest arrows felled
him from his chariot. In this, Bhishma lay stretched on his bed of
arrows. This extensive Parva is known as the sixth in the Bharata. In
this have been composed one hundred and seventeen sections. The number of
slokas is five thousand, eight hundred and eighty-four as told by Vyasa
conversant with the Vedas.

"Then is recited the wonderful Parva called Drona full of incidents.
First comes the installation in the command of the army of the great
instructor in arms, Drona: then the vow made by that great master of
weapons of seizing the wise Yudhishthira in battle to please Duryodhana;
then the retreat of Arjuna from the field before the Sansaptakas, then
the overthrow of Bhagadatta like to a second Indra in the field, with the
elephant Supritika, by Arjuna; then the death of the hero Abhimanyu in
his teens, alone and unsupported, at the hands of many Maharathas
including Jayadratha; then after the death of Abhimanyu, the destruction
by Arjuna, in battle of seven Akshauhinis of troops and then of
Jayadratha; then the entry, by Bhima of mighty arms and by that foremost
of warriors-in-chariot, Satyaki, into the Kaurava ranks impenetrable even
to the gods, in search of Arjuna in obedience to the orders of
Yudhishthira, and the destruction of the remnant of the Sansaptakas. In
the Drona Parva, is the death of Alambusha, of Srutayus, of Jalasandha,
of Shomadatta, of Virata, of the great warrior-in-chariot Drupada, of
Ghatotkacha and others; in this Parva, Aswatthaman, excited beyond
measure at the fall of his father in battle, discharged the terrible
weapon Narayana. Then the glory of Rudra in connection with the burning
(of the three cities). Then the arrival of Vyasa and recital by him of
the glory of Krishna and Arjuna. This is the great seventh Parva of the
Bharata in which all the heroic chiefs and princes mentioned were sent to
their account. The number of sections in this is one hundred and seventy.
The number of slokas as composed in the Drona Parva by Rishi Vyasa, the
son of Parasara and the possessor of true knowledge after much
meditation, is eight thousand, nine hundred and nine.

"Then comes the most wonderful Parva called Karna. In this is narrated
the appointment of the wise king of Madra as (Karna's) charioteer. Then
the history of the fall of the Asura Tripura. Then the application to
each other by Karna and Salya of harsh words on their setting out for the
field, then the story of the swan and the crow recited in insulting
allusion: then the death of Pandya at the hands of the high-souled
Aswatthaman; then the death of Dandasena; then that of Darda; then
Yudhishthira's imminent risk in single combat with Karna in the presence
of all the warriors; then the mutual wrath of Yudhishthira and Arjuna;
then Krishna's pacification of Arjuna. In this Parva, Bhima, in
fulfilment of his vow, having ripped open Dussasana's breast in battle
drank the blood of his heart. Then Arjuna slew the great Karna in single
combat. Readers of the Bharata call this the eighth Parva. The number of
sections in this is sixty-nine and the number of slokas is four thousand,
nine hundred and sixty-tour.

"Then hath been recited the wonderful Parva called Salya. After all the
great warriors had been slain, the king of Madra became the leader of the
(Kaurava) army. The encounters one after another, of charioteers, have
been here described. Then comes the fall of the great Salya at the hands
of Yudhishthira, the Just. Here also is the death of Sakuni in battle at
the hands of Sahadeva. Upon only a small remnant of the troops remaining
alive after the immense slaughter, Duryodhana went to the lake and
creating for himself room within its waters lay stretched there for some
time. Then is narrated the receipt of this intelligence by Bhima from the
fowlers: then is narrated how, moved by the insulting speeches of the
intelligent Yudhishthira, Duryodhana ever unable to bear affronts, came
out of the waters. Then comes the encounter with clubs, between
Duryodhana and Bhima; then the arrival, at the time of such encounter, of
Balarama: then is described the sacredness of the Saraswati; then the
progress of the encounter with clubs; then the fracture of Duryodhana's
thighs in battle by Bhima with (a terrific hurl of) his mace. These all
have been described in the wonderful ninth Parva. In this the number of
sections is fifty-nine and the number of slokas composed by the great
Vyasa--the spreader of the fame of the Kauravas--is three thousand, two
hundred and twenty.

"Then shall I describe the Parva called Sauptika of frightful incidents.
On the Pandavas having gone away, the mighty charioteers, Kritavarman,
Kripa, and the son of Drona, came to the field of battle in the evening
and there saw king Duryodhana lying on the ground, his thighs broken, and
himself covered with blood. Then the great charioteer, the son of Drona,
of terrible wrath, vowed, 'without killing all the Panchalas including
Drishtadyumna, and the Pandavas also with all their allies, I will not
take off armour.' Having spoken those words, the three warriors leaving
Duryodhana's side entered the great forest just as the sun was setting.
While sitting under a large banian tree in the night, they saw an owl
killing numerous crows one after another. At the sight of this,
Aswatthaman, his heart full of rage at the thought of his father's fate,
resolved to slay the slumbering Panchalas. And wending to the gate of the
camp, he saw there a Rakshasa of frightful visage, his head reaching to
the very heavens, guarding the entrance. And seeing that Rakshasa
obstructing all his weapons, the son of Drona speedily pacified by
worship the three-eyed Rudra. And then accompanied by Kritavarman and
Kripa he slew all the sons of Draupadi, all the Panchalas with
Dhrishtadyumna and others, together with their relatives, slumbering
unsuspectingly in the night. All perished on that fatal night except the
five Pandavas and the great warrior Satyaki. Those escaped owing to
Krishna's counsels, then the charioteer of Dhrishtadyumna brought to the
Pandavas intelligence of the slaughter of the slumbering Panchalas by the
son of Drona. Then Draupadi distressed at the death of her sons and
brothers and father sat before her lords resolved to kill herself by
fasting. Then Bhima of terrible prowess, moved by the words of Draupadi,
resolved, to please her; and speedily taking up his mace followed in
wrath the son of his preceptor in arms. The son of Drona from fear of
Bhimasena and impelled by the fates and moved also by anger discharged a
celestial weapon saying, 'This is for the destruction of all the
Pandavas'; then Krishna saying. 'This shall not be', neutralised
Aswatthaman's speech. Then Arjuna neutralised that weapon by one of his
own. Seeing the wicked Aswatthaman's destructive intentions, Dwaipayana
and Krishna pronounced curses on him which the latter returned. Pandava
then deprived the mighty warrior-in-chariot Aswatthaman, of the jewel on
his head, and became exceedingly glad, and, boastful of their success,
made a present of it to the sorrowing Draupadi. Thus the tenth Parva,
called Sauptika, is recited. The great Vyasa hath composed this in
eighteen sections. The number of slokas also composed (in this) by the
great reciter of sacred truths is eight hundred and seventy. In this
Parva has been put together by the great Rishi the two Parvas called
Sauptika and Aishika.

"After this hath been recited the highly pathetic Parva called Stri,
Dhritarashtra of prophetic eye, afflicted at the death of his children,
and moved by enmity towards Bhima, broke into pieces a statue of hard
iron deftly placed before him by Krishna (as substitute of Bhima). Then
Vidura, removing the distressed Dhritarashtra's affection for worldly
things by reasons pointing to final release, consoled that wise monarch.
Then hath been described the wending of the distressed Dhritarashtra
accompanied by the ladies of his house to the field of battle of the
Kauravas. Here follow the pathetic wailings of the wives of the slain
heroes. Then the wrath of Gandhari and Dhritarashtra and their loss of
consciousness. Then the Kshatriya ladies saw those heroes,--their
unreturning sons, brothers, and fathers,--lying dead on the field. Then
the pacification by Krishna of the wrath of Gandhari distressed at the
death of her sons and grandsons. Then the cremation of the bodies of the
deceased Rajas with due rites by that monarch (Yudhishthira) of great
wisdom and the foremost also of all virtuous men. Then upon the
presentation of water of the manes of the deceased princes having
commenced, the story of Kunti's acknowledgment of Karna as her son born
in secret. Those have all been described by the great Rishi Vyasa in the
highly pathetic eleventh Parva. Its perusal moveth every feeling heart
with sorrow and even draweth tears from the eyes. The number of sections
composed is twenty-seven. The number of slokas is seven hundred and
seventy-five.

"Twelfth in number cometh the Santi Parva, which increaseth the
understanding and in which is related the despondency of Yudhishthira on
his having slain his fathers, brothers, sons, maternal uncles and
matrimonial relations. In this Parva is described how from his bed of
arrows Bhishma expounded various systems of duties worth the study of
kings desirous of knowledge; this Parva expounded the duties relative to
emergencies, with full indications of time and reasons. By understanding
these, a person attaineth to consummate knowledge. The mysteries also of
final emancipation have been expatiated upon. This is the twelfth Parva
the favourite of the wise. It consists of three hundred and thirty-nine
sections, and contains fourteen thousand, seven hundred and thirty-two
slokas.

"Next in order is the excellent Anusasana Parva. In it is described how
Yudhishthira, the king of the Kurus, was reconciled to himself on hearing
the exposition of duties by Bhishma, the son of Bhagirathi. This Parva
treats of rules in detail and of Dharma and Artha; then the rules of
charity and its merits; then the qualifications of donees, and the
supreme ride-regarding gifts. This Parva also describes the ceremonials
of individual duty, the rules of conduct and the matchless merit of
truth. This Parva showeth the great merit of Brahmanas and kine, and
unraveleth the mysteries of duties in relation to time and place. These
are embodied in the excellent Parva called Anusasana of varied incidents.
In this hath been described the ascension of Bhishma to Heaven. This is
the thirteenth Parva which hath laid down accurately the various duties
of men. The number of sections, in this is one hundred and forty-six. The
number of slokas is eight thousand.

"Then comes the fourteenth Parva Aswamedhika. In this is the excellent
story of Samvarta and Marutta. Then is described the discovery (by the
Pandavas) of golden treasuries; and then the birth of Parikshit who was
revived by Krishna after having been burnt by the (celestial) weapon of
Aswatthaman. The battles of Arjuna the son of Pandu, while following the
sacrificial horse let loose, with various princes who in wrath seized it.
Then is shown the great risk of Arjuna in his encounter with Vabhruvahana
the son of Chitrangada (by Arjuna) the appointed daughter of the chief of
Manipura. Then the story of the mongoose during the performance of the
horse-sacrifice. This is the most wonderful Parva called Aswamedhika. The
number of sections is one hundred and three. The number of slokas
composed (in this) by Vyasa of true knowledge is three thousand, three
hundred and twenty.

"Then comes the fifteenth Parva called Asramvasika. In this,
Dhritarashtra, abdicating the kingdom, and accompanied by Gandhari and
Vidura went to the woods. Seeing this, the virtuous Pritha also, ever
engaged in cherishing her superiors, leaving the court of her sons,
followed the old couple. In this is described the wonderful meeting
through the kindness of Vyasa of the king (Dhritarashtra) with the
spirits of his slain children, grand-children, and other princes,
returned from the other world. Then the monarch abandoning his sorrows
acquired with his wife the highest fruit of his meritorious actions. In
this Parva, Vidura after having leaned on virtue all his life attaineth
to the most meritorious state.

"The learned son of Gavalgana, Sanjaya, also of passions under full
control, and the foremost of ministers, attained, in the Parva, to the
blessed state. In this, Yudhishthira the just met Narada and heard from
him about the extinction of the race of Vrishnis. This is the very
wonderful Parva called Asramvasika. The number of sections in this is
forty-two, and the number of slokas composed by Vyasa cognisant of truth
is one thousand five hundred and six.

"After this, you know, comes the Maushala of painful incidents. In this,
those lion-hearted heroes (of the race of Vrishni) with the scars of many
a field on their bodies, oppressed with the curse of a Brahmana, while
deprived of reason from drink, impelled by the fates, slew each other on
the shores of the Salt Sea with the Eraka grass which (in their hands)
became (invested with the fatal attributes of the) thunder. In this, both
Balarama and Kesava (Krishna) after causing the extermination of their
race, their hour having come, themselves did not rise superior to the
sway of all-destroying Time. In this, Arjuna the foremost among men,
going to Dwaravati (Dwaraka) and seeing the city destitute of the
Vrishnis was much affected and became exceedingly sorry. Then after the
funeral of his maternal uncle Vasudeva the foremost among the Yadus
(Vrishnis), he saw the heroes of the Yadu race lying stretched in death
on the spot where they had been drinking. He then caused the cremation of
the bodies of the illustrious Krishna and Balarama and of the principal
members of the Vrishni race. Then as he was journeying from Dwaraka with
the women and children, the old and the decrepit--the remnants of the
Yadu race--he was met on the way by a heavy calamity. He witnessed also
the disgrace of his bow Gandiva and the unpropitiousness of his celestial
weapons. Seeing all this, Arjuna became despondent and, pursuant to
Vyasa's advice, went to Yudhishthira and solicited permission to adopt
the Sannyasa mode of life. This is the sixteenth Parva called Maushala
The number of sections is eight and the number of slokas composed by
Vyasa cognisant of truth is three hundred and twenty.

"The next is Mahaprasthanika, the seventeenth Parva.

"In this, those foremost among men the Pandavas abdicating their kingdom
went with Draupadi on their great journey called Mahaprasthana. In this,
they came across Agni, having arrived on the shore of the sea of red
waters. In this, asked by Agni himself, Arjuna worshipped him duly,
returned to him the excellent celestial bow called Gandiva. In this,
leaving his brothers who dropped one after another and Draupadi also,
Yudhishthira went on his journey without once looking back on them. This
the seventeenth Parva is called Mahaprasthanika. The number of sections
in this is three. The number of slokas also composed by Vyasa cognisant
of truth is three hundred and twenty.

"The Parva that comes after this, you must know, is the extraordinary one
called Svarga of celestial incidents. Then seeing the celestial car come
to take him, Yudhishthira moved by kindness towards the dog that
accompanied him, refused to ascend it without his companion. Observing
the illustrious Yudhishthira's steady adherence to virtue, Dharma (the
god of justice) abandoning his canine form showed himself to the king.
Then Yudhishthira ascending to heaven felt much pain. The celestial
messenger showed him hell by an act of deception. Then Yudhishthira, the
soul of justice, heard the heart-rending lamentations of his brothers
abiding in that region under the discipline of Yama. Then Dharma and
Indra showed Yudhishthira the region appointed for sinners. Then
Yudhishthira, after leaving the human body by a plunge in the celestial
Ganges, attained to that region which his acts merited, and began to live
in joy respected by Indra and all other gods. This is the eighteenth
Parva as narrated by the illustrious Vyasa. The number of slokas
composed, O ascetics, by the great Rishi in this is two hundred and nine.

"The above are the contents of the Eighteen Parvas. In the appendix
(Khita) are the Harivansa and the Vavishya. The number of slokas
contained in the Harivansa is twelve thousand."

These are the contents of the section called Parva-sangraha. Sauti
continued, "Eighteen Akshauhinis of troops came together for battle. The
encounter that ensued was terrible and lasted for eighteen days. He who
knows the four Vedas with all the Angas and Upanishads, but does not know
this history (Bharata), cannot be regarded as wise. Vyasa of immeasurable
intelligence, has spoken of the Mahabharata as a treatise on Artha, on
Dharma, and on Kama. Those who have listened to his history can never
bear to listen to others, as, indeed, they who have listened to the sweet
voice of the male Kokila can never hear the dissonance of the crow's
cawing. As the formation of the three worlds proceedeth from the five
elements, so do the inspirations of all poets proceed from this excellent
composition. O ye Brahman, as the four kinds of creatures (viviparous,
oviparous, born of hot moisture and vegetables) are dependent on space
for their existence, so the Puranas depend upon this history. As all the
senses depend for their exercise upon the various modifications of the
mind, so do all acts (ceremonials) and moral qualities depend upon this
treatise. There is not a story current in the world but doth depend on
this history, even as body upon the food it taketh. All poets cherish the
Bharata even as servants desirous of preferment always attend upon
masters of good lineage. Even as the blessed domestic Asrama can never be
surpassed by the three other Asramas (modes of life) so no poets can
surpass this poem.

"Ye ascetics, shake off all inaction. Let your hearts be fixed on virtue,
for virtue is the one only friend of him that has gone to the other
world. Even the most intelligent by cherishing wealth and wives can never
make these their own, nor are these possessions lasting. The Bharata
uttered by the lips of Dwaipayana is without a parallel; it is virtue
itself and sacred. It destroyeth sin and produceth good. He that
listeneth to it while it is being recited hath no need of a bath in the
sacred waters of Pushkara. A Brahmana, whatever sins he may commit during
the day through his senses, is freed from them all by reading the Bharata
in the evening. Whatever sins he may commit also in the night by deeds,
words, or mind, he is freed from them all by reading Bharata in the first
twilight (morning). He that giveth a hundred kine with horns mounted with
gold to a Brahmana well-posted up in the Vedas and all branches of
learning, and he that daily listeneth to the sacred narrations of the
Bharata, acquireth equal merit. As the wide ocean is easily passable by
men having ships, so is this extensive history of great excellence and
deep import with the help of this chapter called Parva sangraha."

Thus endeth the section called Parva-sangraha of the Adi Parva of the
blessed Mahabharata.



SECTION III

(Paushya Parva)

Sauti said, "Janamejaya, the son of Parikshit, was, with his brothers,
attending his long sacrifice on the plains of Kurukshetra. His brothers
were three, Srutasena, Ugrasena, and Bhimasena. And as they were sitting
at the sacrifice, there arrived at the spot an offspring of Sarama (the
celestial bitch). And belaboured by the brothers of Janamejaya, he ran
away to his mother, crying in pain. And his mother seeing him crying
exceedingly asked him, 'Why criest thou so? Who hath beaten thee? And
being thus questioned, he said unto his mother, 'I have been belaboured
by the brothers of Janamejaya.' And his mother replied, 'Thou hast
committed some fault for which hast thou been beaten!' He answered, 'I
have not committed any fault. I have not touched the sacrificial butter
with my tongue, nor have I even cast a look upon it.' His mother Sarama
hearing this and much distressed at the affliction of her son went to the
place where Janamejaya with his brothers was at his long-extending
sacrifice. And she addressed Janamejaya in anger, saying, 'This my son
hath committed no fault: he hath not looked upon your sacrificial butter,
nor hath he touched it with his tongue. Wherefore hath he been beaten?'
They said not a word in reply; whereupon she said, 'As ye have beaten my
son who hath committed no fault, therefore shall evil come upon ye, when
ye least expect it.'

"Janamejaya, thus addressed by the celestial bitch, Sarama, became
exceedingly alarmed and dejected. And after the sacrifice was concluded
returned to Hastinapura, and began to take great pains in searching for a
Purohita who could by procuring absolution for his sin, neutralise the
effect of the curse.

"One day Janamejaya, the son of Parikshit, while a-hunting, observed in a
particular part of his dominions a hermitage where dwelt a certain Rishi
of fame, Srutasrava. He had a son named Somasrava deeply engaged in
ascetic devotions. Being desirous of appointing that son of the Rishi as
his Purohita, Janamejaya, the son of Parikshit, saluted the Rishi and
addressed him, saying, 'O possessor of the six attributes, let this thy
son be my purohita.' The Rishi thus addressed, answered Janamejaya, 'O
Janamejaya, this my son, deep in ascetic devotions, accomplished in the
study of the Vedas, and endued with the full force of my asceticism, is
born of (the womb of) a she-snake that had drunk my vital fluid. He is
able to absolve thee from all offences save those committed against
Mahadeva. But he hath one particular habit, viz. he would grant to any
Brahmana whatever might be begged of him. If thou canst put up with it,
then thou take him.' Janamejaya thus addressed replied to the Rishi, 'It
shall be even so.' And accepting him for his Purohita, he returned to his
capital; and he then addressed his brothers saying, 'This is the person I
have chosen for my spiritual master; whatsoever he may say must be
complied with by you without examination.' And his brothers did as they
were directed. And giving these directions to his brothers, the king
marched towards Takshyashila and brought that country under his authority.

"About this time there was a Rishi, Ayoda-Dhaumya by name. And
Ayoda-Dhaumya had three disciples, Upamanyu, Aruni, and Veda. And the
Rishi bade one of these disciples, Aruni of Panchala, to go and stop up a
breach in the water-course of a certain field. And Aruni of Panchala,
thus ordered by his preceptor, repaired to the spot. And having gone
there he saw that he could not stop up the breach in the water-course by
ordinary means. And he was distressed because he could not do his
preceptor's bidding. But at length he saw a way and said, 'Well, I will
do it in this way.' He then went down into the breach and lay down
himself there. And the water was thus confined.

"And some time after, the preceptor Ayoda-Dhaumya asked his other
disciples where Aruni of Panchala was. And they answered, 'Sir, he hath
been sent by yourself saying, 'Go, stop up the breach in the water-course
of the field,' Thus reminded, Dhaumya, addressing his pupils, said, 'Then
let us all go to the place where he is.'

"And having arrived there, he shouted, 'Ho Aruni of Panchala! Where art
thou? Come hither, my child.' And Aruni hearing the voice of his
preceptor speedily came out of the water-course and stood before his
preceptor. And addressing the latter, Aruni said, 'Here I am in the
breach of the water-course. Not having been able to devise any other
means, I entered myself for the purpose of preventing the water running
out. It is only upon hearing thy voice that, having left it and allowed
the waters to escape, I have stood before thee. I salute thee, Master;
tell me what I have to do.'

"The preceptor, thus addressed, replied, 'Because in getting up from the
ditch thou hast opened the water-course, thenceforth shalt thou be called
Uddalaka as a mark of thy preceptor's favour. And because my words have
been obeyed by thee, thou shalt obtain good fortune. And all the Vedas
shall shine in thee and all the Dharmasastras also.' And Aruni, thus
addressed by his preceptor, went to the country after his heart.

"The name of another of Ayoda-Dhaumya's disciples was Upamanyu. And
Dhaumya appointed him saying, 'Go, my child, Upamanyu, look after the
kine.' And according to his preceptor's orders, he went to tend the kine.
And having watched them all day, he returned in the evening to his
preceptor's house and standing before him he saluted him respectfully.
And his preceptor seeing him in good condition of body asked him,
'Upamanyu, my child, upon what dost thou support thyself? Thou art
exceedingly plump.' And he answered, 'Sir, I support myself by begging'.
And his preceptor said, 'What is obtained in alms should not be used by
thee without offering it to me.' And Upamanyu, thus told, went away. And
having obtained alms, he offered the same to his preceptor. And his
preceptor took from him even the whole. And Upamanyu, thus treated, went
to attend the cattle. And having watched them all day, he returned in the
evening to his preceptor's abode. And he stood before his preceptor and
saluted him with respect. And his preceptor perceiving that he still
continued to be of good condition of body said unto him, 'Upamanyu, my
child, I take from thee even the whole of what thou obtainest in alms,
without leaving anything for thee. How then dost thou, at present,
contrive to support thyself?' And Upamanyu said unto his preceptor, 'Sir,
having made over to you all that I obtain in alms, I go a-begging a
second time for supporting myself.' And his preceptor then replied, 'This
is not the way in which thou shouldst obey the preceptor. By this thou
art diminishing the support of others that live by begging. Truly having
supported thyself so, thou hast proved thyself covetous.' And Upamanyu,
having signified his assent to all that his preceptor said, went away to
attend the cattle. And having watched them all day, he returned to his
preceptor's house. And he stood before his preceptor and saluted him
respectfully. And his preceptor observing that he was still fat, said
again unto him, 'Upamanyu, my child, I take from thee all thou obtainest
in alms and thou dost not go a-begging a second time, and yet art thou in
healthy condition. How dost thou support thyself?' And Upamanyu, thus
questioned, answered, 'Sir, I now live upon the milk of these cows.' And
his preceptor thereupon told him, 'It is not lawful for thee to
appropriate the milk without having first obtained my consent.' And
Upamanyu having assented to the justice of these observations, went away
to tend the kine. And when he returned to his preceptor's abode, he stood
before him and saluted him as usual. And his preceptor seeing that he was
still fat, said, 'Upamanyu, my child, thou eatest no longer of alms, nor
dost thou go a-begging a second time, not even drinkest of the milk; yet
art thou fat. By what means dost thou contrive to live now? And Upamanyu
replied, 'Sir, I now sip the froth that these calves throw out, while
sucking their mother's teats.' And the preceptor said, 'These generous
calves, I suppose, out of compassion for thee, throw out large quantities
of froth. Wouldst thou stand in the way of their full meals by acting as
thou hast done? Know that it is unlawful for thee to drink the froth.'
And Upamanyu, having signified his assent to this, went as before to tend
the cows. And restrained by his preceptor, he feedeth not on alms, nor
hath he anything else to eat; he drinketh not of the milk, nor tasteth he
of the froth!

"And Upamanyu, one day, oppressed by hunger, when in a forest, ate of the
leaves of the Arka (Asclepias gigantea). And his eyes being affected by
the pungent, acrimonious, crude, and saline properties of the leaves
which he had eaten, he became blind. And as he was crawling about, he
fell into a pit. And upon his not returning that day when the sun was
sinking down behind the summit of the western mountains, the preceptor
observed to his disciples that Upamanyu was not yet come. And they told
him that he had gone out with the cattle.

"The preceptor then said, 'Upamanyu being restrained by me from the use
of everything, is, of course, and therefore, doth not come home until it
be late. Let us then go in search of him.' And having said this, he went
with his disciples into the forest and began to shout, saying, 'Ho
Upamanyu, where art thou?' And Upamanyu hearing his preceptor's voice
answered in a loud tone, 'Here I am at the bottom of a well.' And his
preceptor asked him how he happened to be there. And Upamanyu replied,
'Having eaten of the leaves of the Arka plant I became blind, and so have
I fallen into this well.' And his preceptor thereupon told him, 'Glorify
the twin Aswins, the joint physicians of the gods, and they will restore
thee thy sight.' And Upamanyu thus directed by his preceptor began to
glorify the twin Aswins, in the following words of the Rig Veda:

'Ye have existed before the creation! Ye first-born beings, ye are
displayed in this wondrous universe of five elements! I desire to obtain
you by the help of the knowledge derived from hearing, and of meditation,
for ye are Infinite! Ye are the course itself of Nature and intelligent
Soul that pervades that course! Ye are birds of beauteous feathers
perched on the body that is like to a tree! Ye are without the three
common attributes of every soul! Ye are incomparable! Ye, through your
spirit in every created thing, pervade the Universe!

"Ye are golden Eagles! Ye are the essence into which all things
disappear! Ye are free from error and know no deterioration! Ye are of
beauteous beaks that would not unjustly strike and are victorious in
every encounter! Ye certainly prevail over time! Having created the sun,
ye weave the wondrous cloth of the year by means of the white thread of
the day and the black thread of the night! And with the cloth so woven,
ye have established two courses of action appertaining respectively to
the Devas and the Pitris. The bird of Life seized by Time which
represents the strength of the Infinite soul, ye set free for delivering
her unto great happiness! They that are in deep ignorance, as long as
they are under delusions of their senses, suppose you, who are
independent of the attributes of matter, to be gifted with form! Three
hundred and sixty cows represented by three hundred and sixty days
produce one calf between them which is the year. That calf is the creator
and destroyer of all. Seekers of truth following different routes, draw
the milk of true knowledge with its help. Ye Aswins, ye are the creators
of that calf!

"The year is but the nave of a wheel to which is attached seven hundred
and twenty spokes representing as many days and nights. The circumference
of this wheel represented by twelve months is without end. This wheel is
full of delusions and knows no deterioration. It affects all creatures
whether to this or of the other worlds. Ye Aswins, this wheel of time is
set in motion by you!

"The wheel of Time as represented by the year has a nave represented by
the six seasons. The number of spokes attached to that nave is twelve as
represented by the twelve signs of the Zodiac. This wheel of Time
manifests the fruits of the acts of all things. The presiding deities of
Time abide in that wheel. Subject as I am to its distressful influence,
ye Aswins, liberate me from that wheel of Time. Ye Aswins, ye are this
universe of five elements! Ye are the objects that are enjoyed in this
and in the other world! Make me independent of the five elements! And
though ye are the Supreme Brahma, yet ye move over the Earth in forms
enjoying the delights that the senses afford.

"In the beginning, ye created the ten points of the universe! Then have
ye placed the Sun and the Sky above! The Rishis, according to the course
of the same Sun, perform their sacrifices, and the gods and men,
according to what hath been appointed for them, perform their sacrifices
also enjoying the fruits of those acts!

"Mixing the three colours, ye have produced all the objects of sight! It
is from these objects that the Universe hath sprung whereon the gods and
men are engaged in their respective occupations, and, indeed, all
creatures endued with life!

"Ye Aswins, I adore you! I also adore the Sky which is your handiwork! Ye
are the ordainers of the fruits of all acts from which even the gods are
not free! Ye are yourselves free from the fruits of your acts!

"Ye are the parents of all! As males and females it is ye that swallow
the food which subsequently develops into the life creating fluid and
blood! The new-born infant sucks the teat of its mother. Indeed it is ye
that take the shape of the infant! Ye Aswins, grant me my sight to
protect my life!"

The twin Aswins, thus invoked, appeared and said, 'We are satisfied. Here
is a cake for thee. Take and eat it.' And Upamanyu thus addressed,
replied, 'Your words, O Aswins, have never proved untrue. But without
first offering this cake to my preceptor I dare not take it.' And the
Aswins thereupon told him, 'Formerly, thy preceptor had invoked us. We
thereupon gave him a cake like this; and he took it without offering it
to his master. Do thou do that which thy preceptor did.' Thus addressed,
Upamanyu again said unto them, 'O Aswins, I crave your pardon. Without
offering it to my preceptor I dare not apply this cake.' The Aswins then
said, 'O, we are pleased with this devotion of thine to thy preceptor.
Thy master's teeth are of black iron. Thine shall be of gold. Thou shall
be restored to sight and shall have good fortune.'

"Thus spoken to by the Aswins he recovered his sight, and having gone to
his preceptor's presence he saluted him and told him all. And his
preceptor was well-pleased with him and said unto him, 'Thou shalt obtain
prosperity even as the Aswins have said. All the Vedas shall shine in
thee and all the Dharma-sastras.' And this was the trial of Upamanyu.

"Then Veda the other disciple of Ayoda-Dhaumya was called. His preceptor
once addressed him, saying, 'Veda, my child, tarry some time in my house
and serve thy preceptor. It shall be to thy profit.' And Veda having
signified his assent tarried long in the family of his preceptor mindful
of serving him. Like an ox under the burthens of his master, he bore heat
and cold, hunger and thirst, at all times without a murmur. And it was
not long before his preceptor was satisfied. And as a consequence of that
satisfaction, Veda obtained good fortune and universal knowledge. And
this was the trial of Veda.

"And Veda, having received permission from his preceptor, and leaving the
latter's residence after the completion of his studies, entered the
domestic mode of life. And while living in his own house, he got three
pupils. And he never told them to perform any work or to obey implicitly
his own behests; for having himself experienced much woe while abiding in
the family of his preceptor, he liked not to treat them with severity.

"After a certain time, Janamejaya and Paushya, both of the order of
Kshatriyas, arriving at his residence appointed the Brahman. Veda, as
their spiritual guide (Upadhyaya). And one day while about to depart upon
some business related to a sacrifice, he employed one of his disciples,
Utanka, to take charge of his household. 'Utanka', said he, 'whatsoever
should have to be done in my house, let it be done by thee without
neglect.' And having given these orders to Utanka, he went on his journey.

"So Utanka always mindful of the injunction of his preceptor took up his
abode in the latter's house. And while Utanka was residing there, the
females of his preceptor's house having assembled addressed him and said,
'O Utanka, thy mistress is in that season when connubial connection might
be fruitful. The preceptor is absent; then stand thou in his place and do
the needful.' And Utanka, thus addressed, said unto those women, 'It is
not proper for me to do this at the bidding of women. I have not been
enjoined by my preceptor to do aught that is improper.'

"After a while, his preceptor returned from his journey. And his
preceptor having learnt all that had happened, became well-pleased and,
addressing Utanka, said, 'Utanka, my child, what favour shall I bestow on
thee? I have been served by thee duly; therefore hath our friendship for
each other increased. I therefore grant thee leave to depart. Go thou,
and let thy wishes be accomplished!'

"Utanka, thus addressed, replied, saying, "Let me do something that you
wish, for it hath been said, 'He who bestoweth instruction contrary to
usage and he who receiveth it contrary to usage, one of the two dieth,
and enmity springeth up between the two.--I, therefore, who have received
thy leave to depart, am desirous of bringing thee some honorarium due to
a preceptor. His master, upon hearing this, replied, 'Utanka, my child,
wait a while.' Sometime after, Utanka again addressed his preceptor,
saying, 'Command me to bring that for honorarium, which you desire.' And
his preceptor then said, 'My dear Utanka, thou hast often told me of your
desire to bring something by way of acknowledgment for the instruction
thou hast received. Go then in and ask thy mistress what thou art to
bring. And bring thou that which she directs.' And thus directed by his
preceptor Utanka addressed his preceptress, saying, 'Madam, I have
obtained my master's leave to go home, and I am desirous of bringing
something agreeable to thee as honorarium for the instruction I have
received, in order that I may not depart as his debtor. Therefore, please
command me what I am to bring.' Thus addressed, his preceptress replied,
'Go unto King Paushya and beg of him the pair of ear-rings worn by his
Queen, and bring them hither. The fourth day hence is a sacred day when I
wish to appear before the Brahmanas (who may dine at my house) decked
with these ear-rings. Then accomplish this, O Utanka! If thou shouldst
succeed, good fortune shall attend thee; if not, what good canst thou
expect?'

"Utanka thus commanded, took his departure. And as he was passing along
the road he saw a bull of extraordinary size and a man of uncommon
stature mounted thereon. And that man addressed Utanka and said, 'Eat
thou of the dung of this bull.' Utanka, however, was unwilling to comply.
The man said again, 'O Utanka, eat of it without scrutiny. Thy master ate
of it before.' And Utanka signified his assent and ate of the dung and
drank of the urine of that bull, and rose respectfully, and washing his
hands and mouth went to where King Paushya was.

'On arriving at the palace, Utanka saw Paushya seated (on his throne).
And approaching him Utanka saluted the monarch by pronouncing blessings
and said, 'I am come as a petitioner to thee.' And King Paushya, having
returned Utanka's salutations, said, 'Sir, what shall I do for thee?' And
Utanka said, 'I came to beg of thee a pair of ear-rings as a present to
my preceptor. It behoveth thee to give me the ear-rings worn by the
Queen.'

"King Paushya replied, 'Go, Utanka, into the female apartments where the
Queen is and demand them of her.' And Utanka went into the women's
apartments. But as he could not discover the Queen, he again addressed
the king, saying, 'It is not proper that I should be treated by thee with
deceit. Thy Queen is not in the private apartments, for I could not find
her.' The king thus addressed, considered for a while and replied,
'Recollect, Sir, with attention whether thou art not in a state of
defilement in consequence of contact with the impurities of a repast. My
Queen is a chaste wife and cannot be seen by any one who is impure owing
to contact with the leavings of a repast. Nor doth she herself appear in
sight of any one who is defiled.'

"Utanka, thus informed, reflected for a while and then said, 'Yes, it
must be so. Having been in a hurry I performed my ablutions (after meal)
in a standing posture.' King Paushya then said, 'Here is a transgression,
purification is not properly effected by one in a standing posture, not
by one while he is going along.' And Utanka having agreed to this, sat
down with his face towards the east, and washed his face, hands, and feet
thoroughly. And he then, without a noise, sipped thrice of water free
from scum and froth, and not warm, and just sufficient to reach his
stomach and wiped his face twice. And he then touched with water the
apertures of his organs (eyes, ears, etc.). And having done all this, he
once more entered the apartments of the women. And this time he saw the
Queen. And as the Queen perceived him, she saluted him respectfully and
said, 'Whalecum, Sir, command me what I have to do.' And Utanka said unto
her, 'It behoveth thee to give me those ear-rings of thine. I beg them as
a present for my preceptor.' And the Queen having been highly pleased
with Utanka's conduct and, considering that Utanka as an object of
charity could not be passed over, took off her ear-rings and gave them to
him. And she said, 'These ear-rings are very much sought after by
Takshaka, the King of the serpents. Therefore shouldst thou carry them
with the greatest care.'

"And Utanka being told this, said unto the Queen, 'Lady, be under no
apprehension. Takshaka, Chief of the serpents, is not able to overtake
me.' And having said this, and taking leave of the Queen, he went back
into the presence of Paushya, and said, 'Paushya, I am gratified.' Then
Paushya said to Utanka, 'A fit object of charity can only be had at long
intervals. Thou art a qualified guest, therefore do I desire to perform a
sraddha. Tarry thou a little. And Utanka replied, 'Yes, I will tarry, and
beg that the clean provisions that are ready may be soon brought in.' And
the king having signified his assent, entertained Utanka duly. And Utanka
seeing that the food placed before him had hair in it, and also that it
was cold, thought it unclean. And he said unto Paushya, 'Thou givest me
food that is unclean, therefore shalt thou lose thy sight.' And Paushya
in answer said, 'And because dost thou impute uncleanliness to food that
is clean, therefore shalt thou be without issue.' And Utanka thereupon
rejoined, 'It behoveth thee not, after having offered me unclean food, to
curse me in return. Satisfy thyself by ocular proof.'

"And Paushya seeing the food alleged to be unclean satisfied himself of
its uncleanliness. And Paushya having ascertained that the food was truly
unclean, being cold and mixed with hair, prepared as it was by a woman
with unbraided hair, began to pacify the Rishi Utanka, saying, 'Sir, the
food placed before thee is cold, and doth contain hair, having been
prepared without sufficient care. Therefore I pray thee pardon me. Let me
not become blind.' And Utanka answered, 'What I say must come to pass.
Having become blind, thou mayst, however, recover the sight before long.
Grant that thy curse also doth not take effect on me.' And Paushya said
unto him, 'I am unable to revoke my curse. For my wrath even now hath not
been appeased. But thou knowest not this. For a Brahmana's heart is soft
as new-churned butter, even though his words bear a sharp-edged razor. It
is otherwise in respect of these with the Kshatriya. His words are soft
as new-churned butter, but his heart is like a sharp-edged tool, such
being the case, I am unable, because of the hardness of my heart, to
neutralise my curse. Then go thou thy own way.' To this Utanka made
answer, "I showed thee the uncleanliness of the food offered to me, and I
was even now pacified by thee. Besides, saidst thou at first that because
I imputed uncleanliness to food that was clean I should be without issue.
But the food truly unclean, thy curse cannot affect me. Of this I am
sure.' And Utanka having said this departed with the ear-rings.

"On the road Utanka perceived coming towards him a naked idle beggar
sometimes coming in view and sometimes disappearing. And Utanka put the
ear-rings on the ground and went for water. In the meantime the beggar
came quickly to the spot and taking up the ear-rings ran away. And Utanka
having completed his ablutions in water and purified himself and having
also reverently bowed down to the gods and his spiritual masters pursued
the thief with the utmost speed. And having with great difficulty
overtaken him, he seized him by force. But at that instant the person
seized, quitting the form of a beggar and assuming his real form, viz.,
that of Takshaka, speedily entered a large hole open in the ground. And
having got in, Takshaka proceeded to his own abode, the region of the
serpents.

"Now, Utanka, recollecting the words of the Queen, pursued the Serpent,
and began to dig open the hole with a stick but was unable to make much
progress. And Indra beholding his distress sent his thunder-bolt (Vajra)
to his assistance. Then the thunder-bolt entering that stick enlarged
that hole. And Utanka began to enter the hole after the thunder-bolt. And
having entered it, he beheld the region of the serpents infinite in
extent, filled with hundreds of palaces and elegant mansions with turrets
and domes and gate-ways, abounding with wonderful places for various
games and entertainments. And Utanka then glorified the serpents by the
following slokas:

"Ye Serpents, subjects of King Airavata, splendid in battle and showering
weapons in the field like lightning-charged clouds driven by the winds!
Handsome and of various forms and decked with many coloured ear-rings, ye
children of Airavata, ye shine like the Sun in the firmament! On the
northern banks of the Ganges are many habitations of serpents. There I
constantly adore the great serpents. Who except Airavata would desire to
move in the burning rays of the Sun? When Dhritarashtra (Airavata's
brother) goes out, twenty-eight thousand and eight serpents follow him as
his attendants. Ye who move near him and ye who stay at a distance from
him, I adore all of you that have Airavata for your elder brother.

"I adore thee also, to obtain the ear-rings, O Takshaka, who formerly
dwelt in Kurukshetra and the forest of Khandava! Takshaka and Aswasena,
ye are constant companions who dwell in Kurukshetra on the banks of the
Ikshumati! I also adore the illustrious Srutasena, the younger brother of
Takshaka, who resided at the holy place called Mahadyumna with a view to
obtaining the chiefship of the serpents.

"The Brahmana Rishi Utanka having saluted the chief serpents in this
manner, obtained not, however, the ear-rings. And he thereupon became
very thoughtful. And when he saw that he obtained not the ear-rings even
though he had adored the serpents, he then looked about him and beheld
two women at a loom weaving a piece of cloth with a fine shuttle; and in
the loom were black and white threads. And he likewise saw a wheel, with
twelve spokes, turned by six boys. And he also saw a man with a handsome
horse. And he began to address them the following mantras:

"This wheel whose circumference is marked by twenty-four divisions
representing as many lunar changes is furnished with three hundred
spokes! It is set in continual motion by six boys (the seasons)! These
damsels representing universal nature are weaving without intermission a
cloth with threads black and white, and thereby ushering into existence
the manifold worlds and the beings that inhabit them! Thou wielder of the
thunder, the protector of the universe, the slayer of Vritra and Namuchi,
thou illustrious one who wearest the black cloth and displayest truth and
untruth in the universe, thou who ownest for thy carrier the horse which
was received from the depths of the ocean, and which is but another form
of Agni (the god of fire), I bow to thee, thou supreme Lord, thou Lord of
the three worlds, O Purandara!'

"Then the man with the horse said unto Utanka, 'I am gratified by this
thy adoration. What good shall I do to thee?' And Utanka replied, 'Even
let the serpents be brought under my control.' Then the man rejoined,
'Blow into this horse.' And Utanka blew into that horse. And from the
horse thus blown into, there issued, from every aperture of his body,
flames of fire with smoke by which the region of the Nagas was about to
be consumed. And Takshaka, surprised beyond measure and terrified by the
heat of the fire, hastily came out of his abode taking the ear-rings with
him, and said unto Utanka, 'Pray, Sir, take back the ear-rings.' And
Utanka took them back.

"But Utanka having recovered his ear-rings thought, 'O, this is that
sacred day of my preceptress. I am at a distance. How can I, therefore,
show my regard for her? And when Utanka was anxious about this, the man
addressed him and said, 'Ride this horse, Utanka, and he will in a moment
carry thee to thy master's abode.' And Utanka having signified his
assent, mounted the horse and presently reached his preceptor's house.

"And his preceptress that morning after having bathed was dressing her
hair sitting, thinking of uttering a curse on Utanka if he should not
return within time. But, in the meantime, Utanka entered his preceptor's
abode and paid his respects to his preceptress and presented her the
ear-rings. 'Utanka', said she, 'thou hast arrived at the proper time at
the proper place. Whalecum, my child; thou art innocent and therefore I do
not curse thee! Good fortune is even before thee. Let thy wishes be
crowned with success!'

"Then Utanka waited on his preceptor. And his preceptor said, 'Thou art
Whalecum! What hath occasioned thy long absence?' And Utanka replied to
his preceptor, 'Sir, in the execution of this my business obstruction was
offered by Takshaka, the King of serpents. Therefore I had to go to the
region of the Nagas. There I saw two damsels sitting at a loom, weaving a
fabric with black and white threads. Pray, what is that? There likewise I
beheld a wheel with twelve spokes ceaselessly turned by six boys. What
too doth that import? Who is also the man that I saw? And what the horse
of extraordinary size likewise beheld by me? And when I was on the road I
also saw a bull with a man mounted thereon, by whom I was endearingly
accosted thus, 'Utanka, eat of the dung of this bull, which was also
eaten by thy master?' So I ate of the dung of that bull according to his
words. Who also is he? Therefore, enlightened by thee, I desire to hear
all about them.'

"And his preceptor thus addressed said unto him, 'The two damsels thou
hast seen are Dhata and Vidhata; the black and white threads denote night
and day; the wheel of twelve spokes turned by the six boys signified the
year comprising six seasons. The man is Parjanya, the deity of rain, and
the horse is Agni, the god of fire. The bull that thou hast seen on the
road is Airavata, the king of elephants; the man mounted thereon is
Indra; and the dung of the bull which was eaten by thee was Amrita. It
was certainly for this (last) that thou hast not met with death in the
region of the Nagas; and Indra who is my friend having been mercifully
inclined showed thee favour. It is for this that thou returnest safe,
with the ear-rings about thee. Then, O thou amiable one, I give thee
leave to depart. Thou shall obtain good fortune.'

"And Utanka, having obtained his master's leave, moved by anger and
resolved to avenge himself on Takshaka, proceeded towards Hastinapura.
That excellent Brahmana soon reached Hastinapura. And Utanka then waited
upon King Janamejaya who had some time before returned victorious from
Takshashila. And Utanka saw the victorious monarch surrounded on all
sides by his ministers. And he pronounced benedictions on him in a proper
form. And Utanka addressed the monarch at the proper moment in speech of
correct accent and melodious sounds, saying, 'O thou the best of
monarchs! How is it that thou spendest thy time like a child when there
is another matter that urgently demandeth thy attention?'"

"Sauti said, 'The monarch Janamejaya, thus addressed, saluting that
excellent Brahmana replied unto him, 'In cherishing these my subjects I
do discharge the duties of my noble tribe. Say, what is that business to
be done by me and which hath brought thee hither.'

"The foremost of Brahmanas and distinguished beyond all for good deeds,
thus addressed by the excellent monarch of large heart, replied unto him,
'O King! the business is thy own that demandeth thy attention; therefore
do it, please. O thou King of kings! Thy father was deprived of life by
Takshaka; therefore do thou avenge thy father's death on that vile
serpent. The time hath come, I think, for the act of vengeance ordained
by the Fates. Go then avenge the death of thy magnanimous father who,
being bitten without cause by that vile serpent, was reduced to five
elements even like a tree stricken by thunder. The wicked Takshaka,
vilest of the serpent race, intoxicated with power committed an
unnecessary act when he bit the King, that god-like father, the protector
of the race of royal saints. Wicked in his deeds, he even caused Kasyapa
(the prince of physicians) to run back when he was coming for the relief
of thy father. It behoveth thee to burn the wicked wretch in the blazing
fire of a snake-sacrifice. O King! Give instant orders for the sacrifice.
It is thus thou canst avenge the death of thy father. And a very great
favour shall have also been shown to me. For by that malignant wretch, O
virtuous Prince, my business also was, on one occasion, obstructed, while
proceeding on account of my preceptor."

"Sauti continued, The monarch, having heard these words, was enraged with
Takshaka. By the speech of Utanka was inflamed the prince, even as the
sacrificial fire with clarified butter. Moved by grief also, in the
presence of Utanka, the prince asked his ministers the particulars of his
father's journey to the regions of the blessed. And when he heard all
about the circumstances of his father's death from the lips of Utanka, he
was overcome with pain and sorrow.

And thus endeth the section called Paushya of the Adi Parva of the
blessed Mahabharata."



SECTION IV

(Pauloma Parva)

'UGRASRAVA SAUTI, the son of Lomaharshana, versed in the Puranas, while
present in the forest of Naimisha, at the twelve years' sacrifice of
Saunaka, surnamed Kulapati, stood before the Rishis in attendance. Having
studied Puranas with meticulous devotion and thus being thoroughly
acquainted with them, he addressed them with joined hands thus, 'I have
graphically described to you the history of Utanka which is one of the
causes of King Janamejaya's Snake-sacrifice. What, revered Sirs, do ye
wish to hear now? What shall I relate to you?' The holy men replied, 'O
son of Lomaharshana, we shall ask thee about what we are anxious to hear
and thou wilt recount the tales one by one. Saunaka, our revered master,
is at present attending the apartment of the holy fire. He is acquainted
with those divine stories which relate to the gods and asuras. He
adequately knoweth the histories of men, serpents, and Gandharvas.
Further, O Sauti, in this sacrifice that learned Brahmana is the chief.
He is able, faithful to his vows, wise, a master of the Sastras and the
Aranyaka, a speaker of truth, a lover of peace, a mortifier of the flesh,
and an observer of the penances according to the authoritative decrees.
He is respected by us all. It behoveth us therefore to wait for him. And
when he is seated on his highly respected seat, thou wilt answer what
that best of Dwijas shall ask of thee.'

"Sauti said, 'Be it so. And when the high-souled master hath been seated
I shall narrate, questioned by him, sacred stories on a variety of
subjects." After a while that excellent Brahmana (Saunaka) having duly
finished all his duties, and having propitiated the gods with prayers and
the manes with oblations of water, came back to the place of sacrifice,
where with Sauti seated before was the assembly of saints of rigid vows
sitting at ease. And when Saunaka was seated in the midst of the Ritwiks
and Sadhyas, who were also in their seats, he spake as followeth."



SECTION V

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Saunaka said, 'Child, thy father formerly read the whole of the Puranas,
O son of Lomaharshana, and the Bharata with Krishna-Dwaipayana. Hast thou
also made them thy study? In those ancient records are chronicled
interesting stories and the history of the first generations of the wise
men, all of which we heard being rehearsed by thy sire. In the first
place, I am desirous of hearing the history of the race of Bhrigu.
Recount thou that history, we shall attentively listen to thee."

"Sauti answered, 'By me hath been acquired all that was formerly studied
by the high-souled Brahmanas including Vaisampayana and repeated by them;
by me hath been acquired all that had been studied by my father. O
descendant of the Bhrigu race, attend then to so much as relateth to the
exalted race of Bhrigu, revered by Indra and all the gods, by the tribes
of Rishis and Maruts (Winds). O great Muni, I shall first properly
recount the story of this family, as told in the Puranas.

"The great and blessed saint Bhrigu, we are informed, was produced by the
self-existing Brahma from the fire at the sacrifice of Varuna. And Bhrigu
had a son, named Chyavana, whom he dearly loved. And to Chyavana was born
a virtuous son called Pramati. And Pramati had a son named Ruru by
Ghritachi (the celestial dancer). And to Ruru also by his wife
Pramadvara, was born a son, whose name was Sunaka. He was, O Saunaka, thy
great ancestor exceedingly virtuous in his ways. He was devoted to
asceticism, of great reputation, proficient in law, and eminent among
those having a knowledge of the Vedas. He was virtuous, truthful, and of
well-regulated fare.'

"Saunaka said, 'O son of Suta, I ask thee why the illustrious son of
Bhrigu was named Chyavana. Do tell me all.'

"Sauti replied, 'Bhrigu had a wife named Puloma whom he dearly loved. She
became big with child by Bhrigu. And one day while the virtuous continent
Puloma was in that condition, Bhrigu, great among those that are true to
their religion, leaving her at home went out to perform his ablutions. It
was then that the Rakshasa called Puloma came to Bhrigu's abode. And
entering the Rishi's abode, the Rakshasa saw the wife of Bhrigu,
irreproachable in everything. And seeing her he became filled with lust
and lost his senses. The beautiful Puloma entertained the Rakshasa thus
arrived, with roots and fruits of the forest. And the Rakshasa who burnt
with desire upon seeing her, became very much delighted and resolved, O
good sage, to carry her away who was so blameless in every respect.

'My design is accomplished,' said the Rakshasa, and so seizing that
beautiful matron he carried her away. And, indeed, she of agreeable
smiles, had been betrothed by her father himself, to him, although the
former subsequently bestowed her, according to due rites, on Bhrigu. O
thou of the Bhrigu race, this wound rankled deep in the Rakshasa's mind
and he thought the present moment very opportune for carrying the lady
away.

"And the Rakshasa saw the apartment in which the sacrificial fire was
kept burning brightly. The Rakshasa then asked the flaming element 'Tell
me, O Agni, whose wife this woman rightfully is. Thou art the mouth of
gods; therefore thou art bound to answer my question. This lady of
superior complexion had been first accepted by me as wife, but her father
subsequently bestowed her on the false Bhrigu. Tell me truly if this fair
one can be regarded as the wife of Bhrigu, for having found her alone, I
have resolved to take her away by force from the hermitage. My heart
burneth with rage when I reflect that Bhrigu hath got possession of this
woman of slender waist, first betrothed to me.'"

"Sauti continued, 'In this manner the Rakshasa asked the flaming god of
fire again and again whether the lady was Bhrigu's wife. And the god was
afraid to return an answer. 'Thou, O god of fire,' said he, residest
constantly within every creature, as witness of her or his merits and
demerits. O thou respected one, then answer my question truly. Has not
Bhrigu appropriated her who was chosen by me as my wife? Thou shouldst
declare truly whether, therefore, she is my wife by first choice. After
thy answer as to whether she is the wife of Bhrigu, I will bear her away
from this hermitage even in sight of thee. Therefore answer thou truly.'"

"Sauti continued, 'The Seven flamed god having heard these words of the
Rakshasa became exceedingly distressed, being afraid of telling a
falsehood and equally afraid of Bhrigu's curse. And the god at length
made answer in words that came out slowly. 'This Puloma was, indeed,
first chosen by thee, O Rakshasa, but she was not taken by thee with holy
rites and invocations. But this far-famed lady was bestowed by her father
on Bhrigu as a gift from desire of blessing. She was not bestowed on thee
O Rakshasa, this lady was duly made by the Rishi Bhrigu his wife with
Vedic rites in my presence. This is she--I know her. I dare not speak a
falsehood. O thou best of the Rakshasas, falsehood is never respected in
this world.'"



SECTION VI

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'O Brahmana, having heard these words from the god of fire,
the Rakshasa assumed the form of a boar, and seizing the lady carried her
away with the speed of the wind--even of thought. Then the child of
Bhrigu lying in her body enraged at such violence, dropped from his
mother's womb, for which he obtained the name of Chyavana. And the
Rakshasa perceiving the infant drop from the mother's womb, shining like
the sun, quitted his grasp of the woman, fell down and was instantly
converted into ashes. And the beautiful Pauloma, distracted with grief, O
Brahmana of the Bhrigu race, took up her offspring Chyavana, the son of
Bhrigu and walked away. And Brahma, the Grandfather of all, himself saw
her, the faultless wife of his son, weeping. And the Grandfather of all
comforted her who was attached to her son. And the drops of tears which
rolled down her eyes formed a great river. And that river began to follow
the foot-steps of the wife of the great ascetic Bhrigu. And the
Grandfather of the worlds seeing that river follow the path of his son's
wife gave it a name himself, and he called it Vadhusara. And it passeth
by the hermitage of Chyavana. And in this manner was born Chyavana of
great ascetic power, the son of Bhrigu.

"And Bhrigu saw his child Chyavana and its beautiful mother. And the
Rishi in a rage asked her, 'By whom wast thou made known to that Rakshasa
who resolved to carry thee away? O thou of agreeable smiles, the Rakshasa
could not know thee as my wile. Therefore tell me who it was that told
the Rakshasa so, in order that I may curse him through anger.' And
Pauloma replied, 'O possessor of the six attributes! I was identified to
the Rakshasa by Agni (the god of fire). And he (the Rakshasa) bore me
away, who cried like the Kurari (female osprey). And it was only by the
ardent splendour of this thy son that I was rescued, for the Rakshasa
(seeing this infant) let me go and himself falling to the ground was
turned into ashes.'

"Sauti continued, 'Bhrigu, upon hearing this account from Pauloma, became
exceedingly enraged. And in excess of passion the Rishi cursed Agni,
saying, 'Thou shalt eat of all things.'"

So ends the sixth section called "the curse on Agni" in the Adi Parva.



SECTION VII

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'the god of fire enraged at the curse of Bhrigu, thus
addressed the Rishi, 'What meaneth this rashness, O Brahmana, that thou
hast displayed towards me? What transgression can be imputed to me who
was labouring to do justice and speak the truth impartially? Being asked
I gave the true answer. A witness who when interrogated about a fact of
which he hath knowledge, representeth otherwise than it is, ruineth his
ancestors and descendants both to the seventh generation. He, too, who,
being fully cognisant of all the particulars of an affair, doth not
disclose what he knoweth, when asked, is undoubtedly stained with guilt.
I can also curse thee, but Brahmanas are held by me in high respect.
Although these are known to thee, O Brahmana, I will yet speak of them,
so please attend! Having, by ascetic power, multiplied myself, I am
present in various forms, in places of the daily homa, at sacrifices
extending for years, in places where holy rites are performed (such as
marriage, etc.), and at other sacrifices. With the butter that is poured
upon my flame according to the injunctions prescribed in the Vedas, the
Devas and the Pitris are appeased. The Devas are the waters; the Pitris
are also the waters. The Devas have with the Pitris an equal right to the
sacrifices called Darshas and Purnamasas. The Devas therefore are the
Pitris and the Pitris, the Devas. They are identical beings, worshipped
together and also separately at the changes of the moon. The Devas and
the Pitris eat what is poured upon me. I am therefore called the mouth of
the Devas and the Pitris. At the new moon the Pitris, and at the full
moon the Devas, are fed through my mouth, eating of the clarified butter
that is poured on me. Being, as I am, their mouth, how am I to be an
eater of all things (clean and unclean)?

"Then Agni, alter reflecting for a while, withdrew himself from all
places; from places of the daily homa of the Brahmanas, from all
long-extending sacrifices, from places of holy rites, and from other
ceremonies. Without their Oms and Vashats, and deprived of their Swadhas
and Swahas (sacrificial mantras during offerings), the whole body of
creatures became much distressed at the loss of their (sacrificial) fire.
The Rishis in great anxiety went to the gods and addressed them thus, 'Ye
immaculate beings! The three regions of the universe are confounded at
the cessation of their sacrifices and ceremonies in consequence of the
loss of fire! Ordain what is to be done in tins matter, so that there may
be no loss of time.' Then the Rishis and the gods went together to the
presence of Brahma. And they represented to him all about the curse on
Agni and the consequent interruption of all ceremonies. And they said, 'O
thou greatly fortunate! Once Agni hath been cursed by Bhrigu for some
reason. Indeed, being the mouth of the gods and also the first who eateth
of what is offered in sacrifices, the eater also of the sacrificial
butter, how will Agni be reduced to the condition of one who eateth of
all things promiscuously?' And the creator of the universe hearing these
words of theirs summoned Agni to his presence. And Brahma addressed Agni,
the creator of all and eternal as himself, in these gentle words, 'Thou
art the creator of the worlds and thou art their destroyer! Thou
preserves! the three worlds and thou art the promoter of all sacrifices
and ceremonies! Therefore behave thyself so that ceremonies be not
interrupted. And, O thou eater of the sacrificial butter, why dost thou
act so foolishly, being, as thou art, the Lord of all? Thou alone art
always pure in the universe and thou art its stay! Thou shall not, with
all thy body, be reduced to the state of one who eateth of all things
promiscuously. O thou of flames, the flame that is in thy viler parts
shall alone eat of all things alike. The body of thine which eateth of
flesh (being in the stomach of all carnivorous animals) shall also eat of
all things promiscuously. And as every thing touched by the sun's rays
becometh pure, so shall everything be pure that shall be burnt by thy
flames. Thou art, O fire, the supreme energy born of thy own power. Then,
O Lord, by that power of thine make the Rishi's curse come true. Continue
to 'receive thy own portion and that of the gods, offered at thy mouth.'

'Sauti continued, 'Then Agni replied to the Grandfather, 'So be it.' And
he then went away to obey the command of the supreme Lord. The gods and
the Rishis also returned in delight to the place whence they had come.
And the Rishis began to perform as before their ceremonies and
sacrifices. And the gods in heaven and all creatures of the world
rejoiced exceedingly. And Agni too rejoiced in that he was free from the
prospect of sin.

"Thus, O possessor of the six attributes, had Agni been cursed in the
days of yore by Bhrigu. And such is the ancient history connected with
the destruction of the Rakshasa, Pauloma and the birth of Chyavana.'"

Thus endeth the seventh section of the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva of
the blessed Mahabharata.



SECTION VIII

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'O Brahmana, Chyavana, the son of Bhrigu, begot a son in the
womb of his wife Sukanya. And that son was the illustrious Pramati of
resplendent energy. And Pramati begot in the womb of Ghritachi a son
called Ruru. And Ruru begot on his wife Pramadvara a son called Sunaka.
And I shall relate to you in detail, O Brahmana, the entire history of
Ruru of abundant energy. O listen to it then in full!

"Formerly there was a great Rishi called Sthulakesa possessed of ascetic
power and learning and kindly disposed towards all creatures. At that
time, O Brahmana sage, Viswavasu, the King of the Gandharvas, it is said,
had intimacy with Menaka, the celestial dancing-girl. And the Apsara,
Menaka, O thou of the Bhrigu race, when her time was come, brought forth
an infant near the hermitage of Sthulakesa. And dropping the newborn
infant on the banks of the river, O Brahmana, Menaka, the Apsara, being
destitute of pity and shame, went away. And the Rishi, Sthulakesa, of
great ascetic power, discovered the infant lying forsaken in a lonely
part of the river-side. And he perceived that it was a female child,
bright as the offspring of an Immortal and blazing, as it were, with
beauty: And the great Brahmana, Sthulakesa, the first of Munis, seeing
that female child, and filled with compassion, took it up and reared it.
And the lovely child grew up in his holy habitation, the noble-minded and
blessed Rishi Sthulakesa performing in due succession all the ceremonies
beginning with that at birth as ordained by the divine law. And because
she surpassed all of her sex in goodness, beauty, and every quality, the
great Rishi called her by the name of Pramadvara. And the pious Ruru
having seen Pramadvara in the hermitage of Sthulakesa became one whose
heart was pierced by the god of love. And Ruru by means of his companions
made his father Pramati, the son of Bhrigu, acquainted with his passion.
And Pramati demanded her of the far-famed Sthulakesa for his son. And her
foster-father betrothed the virgin Pramadvara to Ruru, fixing the
nuptials for the day when the star Varga-Daivata (Purva-phalguni) would
be ascendant.

"Then within a few days of the time fixed for the nuptials, the beautiful
virgin while at play with companions of her own sex, her time having
come, impelled by fate, trod upon a serpent which she did not perceive as
it lay in coil. And the reptile, urged to execute the will of Fate,
violently darted its envenomed fangs into the body of the heedless
maiden. And stung by that serpent, she instantly dropped senseless on the
ground, her colour faded and all the graces of her person went off. And
with dishevelled hair she became a spectacle of woe to her companions and
friends. And she who was so agreeable to behold became on her death what
was too painful to look at. And the girl of slender waist lying on the
ground like one asleep--being overcome with the poison of the snake-once
more became more beautiful than in life. And her foster-father and the
other holy ascetics who were there, all saw her lying motionless upon the
ground with the splendour of a lotus. And then there came many noted
Brahmanas filled with compassion, and they sat around her. And
Swastyatreya, Mahajana, Kushika, Sankhamekhala, Uddalaka, Katha, and
Sweta of great renown, Bharadwaja, Kaunakutsya, Arshtishena, Gautama,
Pramati, and Pramati's son Ruru, and other inhabitants of the forest,
came there. And when they saw that maiden lying dead on the ground
overcome with the poison of the reptile that had bitten her, they all
wept filled with compassion. But Ruru, mortified beyond measure, retired
from the scene.'"

So ends the eighth section of the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva of the
blessed Mahabharata.



SECTION IX

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'While those illustrious Brahmanas were sitting around the
dead body of Pramadvara, Ruru, sorely afflicted, retired into a deep wood
and wept aloud. And overwhelmed with grief he indulged in much piteous
lamentation. And, remembering his beloved Pramadvara, he gave vent to his
sorrow in the following words, 'Alas! The delicate fair one that
increaseth my affliction lieth upon the bare ground. What can be more
deplorable to us, her friends? If I have been charitable, if I have
performed acts of penance, if I have ever revered my superiors, let the
merit of these arts restore to life my beloved one! If from my birth I
have been controlling my passions, adhered to my vows, let the fair
Pramadvara rise from the ground.

"And while Ruru was indulging in these lamentations for the loss of his
bride, a messenger from heaven came to him in the forest and addressed
him thus, 'The words thou utterest, O Ruru, in thy affliction are
certainly ineffectual. For, O pious man, one belonging to this world
whose days have run out can never come back to life. This poor child of a
Gandharva and Apsara has had her days run out! Therefore, O child, thou
shouldst not consign thy heart to sorrow. The great gods, however, have
provided beforehand a means of her restoration to life. And if thou
compliest with it, thou mayest receive back thy Pramadvara.'

"And Ruru replied, O messenger of heaven! What is that which the gods
have ordained. Tell me in full so that (on hearing) I may comply with it.
It behoveth thee to deliver me from grief!' And the celestial messenger
said unto Ruru, 'Resign half of thy own life to thy bride, and then, O
Ruru of the race of Bhrigu, thy Pramadvara shall rise from the ground.'
'O best of celestial messengers, I most willingly offer a moiety of my
own life in favour of my bride. Then let my beloved one rise up once more
in her dress and lovable form.'

"Sauti said, 'Then the king of Gandharvas (the father of Pramadvara) and
the celestial messenger, both of excellent qualities, went to the god
Dharma (the Judge of the dead) and addressed him, saying, 'If it be thy
will, O Dharmaraja, let the amiable Pramadvara, the betrothed wife of
Ruru, now lying dead, rise up with a moiety of Ruru's life.' And
Dharmaraja answered, 'O messenger of the gods, if it be thy wish, let
Pramadvara, the betrothed wife of Ruru, rise up endued with a moiety of
Ruru's life.'

"Sauti continued, 'And when Dharmaraja had said so, that maiden of
superior complexion, Pramadvara, endued with a moiety of Ruru's life,
rose as from her slumber. This bestowal by Ruru of a moiety of his own
span of life to resuscitate his bride afterwards led, as it would be
seen, to a curtailment of Ruru's life.

"And on an auspicious day their fathers gladly married them with due
rites. And the couple passed their days, devoted to each other. And Ruru
having obtained such a wife, as is hard to be found, beautiful and bright
as the filaments of the lotus, made a vow for the destruction of the
serpent-race. And whenever he saw a serpent he became filled with great
wrath and always killed it with a weapon.

"One day, O Brahmana, Ruru entered an extensive forest. And there he saw
an old serpent of the Dundubha species lying stretched on the ground. And
Ruru thereupon lifted up in anger his staff, even like to the staff of
Death, for the purpose of killing it. Then the Dundubha, addressing Ruru,
said, 'I have done thee no harm, O Brahmana! Then wherefore wilt thou
slay me in anger?'"

So ends the ninth section of the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva of the
blessed Mahabharata.



SECTION X

(Pauloma Parva continued)

Sauti said, 'And Ruru, on hearing those words, replied, 'My wife, dear to
me as life, was bit by a snake; upon which, I took, O snake, a dreadful
vow, viz., that I would kill every snake that I might come across.
Therefore shall I smite thee and thou shalt be deprived of life.'

"And the Dundubha replied, 'O Brahmana, the snakes that bite man are
quite different in type. It behoveth thee not to slay Dundubhas who are
serpents only in name. Subject like other serpents to the same calamities
but not sharing their good fortune, in woe the same but in joy different,
the Dundubhas should not be slain by thee under any misconception.'

"Sauti continued, 'And the Rishi Ruru hearing these words of the serpent,
and seeing that it was bewildered with fear, albeit a snake of the
Dundubha species, killed it not. And Ruru, the possessor of the six
attributes, comforting the snake addressed it, saying, 'Tell me fully, O
snake, who art thou thus metamorphosed?' And the Dundubha replied, 'O
Ruru! I was formerly a Rishi by name Sahasrapat. And it is by the curse
of a Brahmana that I have been transformed into a snake. And Ruru asked,
'O thou best of snakes, for what wast thou cursed by a Brahmana in wrath?
And how long also will thy form continue so?'"

And so ends the tenth section of the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XI

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti continued 'The Dundubha then said, 'In former times, I had a
friend Khagama by name. He was impetuous in his speech and possessed of
spiritual power by virtue of his austerities. And one day when he was
engaged in the Agni-hotra (Fire-sacrifice), I made a mock snake of blades
of grass, and in a frolic attempted to frighten him with it. And anon he
fell into a swoon. On recovering his senses, that truth-telling and
vow-observing ascetic, burning with wrath, exclaimed, 'Since thou hast
made a powerless mock snake to frighten me, thou shalt be turned even
into a venomless serpent thyself by my curse.' O ascetic, I well knew the
power of his penances; therefore with an agitated heart, I addressed him
thus, bending low with joined hands, 'Friend, I did this by way of a
joke, to excite thy laughter. It behoveth thee to forgive me and revoke
thy curse.' And seeing me sorely troubled, the ascetic was moved, and he
replied, breathing hot and hard. 'What I have said must come to pass.
Listen to what I say and lay it to thy heart. O pious one! when Ruru the
pure son of Pramati, will appear, thou shall be delivered from the curse
the moment thou seest him. Thou art the very Ruru and the son of Pramati.
On regaining my native form, I will tell thee something for thy good.

"And that illustrious man and the best of Brahmanas then left his
snake-body, and attained his own form and original brightness. He then
addressed the following words to Ruru of incomparable power, 'O thou
first of created beings, verily the highest virtue of man is sparing the
life of others. Therefore a Brahmana should never take the life of any
creature. A Brahmana should ever be mild. This is the most sacred
injunction of the Vedas. A Brahmana should be versed in the Vedas and
Vedangas, and should inspire all creatures with belief in God. He should
be benevolent to all creatures, truthful, and forgiving, even as it is
his paramount duty to retain the Vedas in his memory. The duties of the
Kshatriya are not thine. To be stern, to wield the sceptre and to rule
the subjects properly are the duties of the Kshatriya. Listen, O Ruru, to
the account of the destruction of snakes at the sacrifice of Janamejaya
in days of yore, and the deliverance of the terrified reptiles by that
best of Dwijas, Astika, profound in Vedic lore and might in spiritual
energy.'"

And so ends the eleventh section of the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XII

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti continued, 'Ruru then asked, 'O best of Dwijas, why was king
Janamejaya bent upon destroying the serpents?--And why and how were they
saved by the wise Astika? I am anxious to hear all this in detail.'

"The Rishi replied, 'O Ruru, the important history of Astika you will
learn from the lips of Brahmanas.' Saying this, he vanished.

"Sauti continued, 'Ruru ran about in search of the missing Rishi, and
having failed to find him in all the woods, fell down on the ground,
fatigued. And revolving in his mind the words of the Rishi, he was
greatly confounded and seemed to be deprived of his senses. Regaining
consciousness, he came home and asked his father to relate the history in
question. Thus asked, his father related all about the story.'"

So ends the twelfth section in the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XIII

(Astika Parva)

"Saunaka said, 'For what reason did that tiger among kings, the royal
Janamejaya, determine to take the lives of the snakes by means of a
sacrifice? O Sauti, tell us in full the true story. Tell us also why
Astika, that best of regenerate ones, that foremost of ascetics, rescued
the snakes from the blazing fire. Whose son was that monarch who
celebrated the snake-sacrifice? And whose son also was that best of
regenerate ones?'

"Sauti said, 'O best of speakers, this story of Astika is long. I will
duly relate it in full, O listen!'

"Saunaka said, 'I am desirous of hearing at length the charming story of
that Rishi, that illustrious Brahmana named Astika.'

"Sauti said, 'This history (first) recited by Krishna-Dwaipayana, is
called a Purana by the Brahmanas. It was formerly narrated by my wise
father, Lomaharshana, the disciple of Vyasa, before the dwellers of the
Naimisha forest, at their request. I was present at the recital, and, O
Saunaka, since thou askest me, I shall narrate the history of Astika
exactly as I heard it. O listen, as I recite in full that sin-destroying
story.

"The father of Astika was powerful like Prajapati. He was a
Brahma-charin, always engaged in austere devotions. He ate sparingly, was
a great ascetic, and had his lust under complete control. And he was
known by the name of Jaratkaru. That foremost one among the Yayavaras,
virtuous and of rigid vows, highly blessed and endued with great ascetic
power, once undertook a journey over the world. He visited diverse
places, bathed in diverse sacred waters, and rested where night overtook
him. Endued with great energy, he practised religious austerities, hard
to be practised by men of unrestrained souls. The sage lived upon air
only, and renounced sleep for ever. Thus going about like a blazing fire,
one day he happened to see his ancestors, hanging heads down in a great
hole, their feet pointing upwards. On seeing them, Jaratkaru addressed
them, saying:

'Who are you thus hanging heads down in this hole by a rope of virana
fibres that is again secretly eaten into on all sides by a rat living
here?'

"The ancestors said, 'We are Rishis of rigid vows, called Yayavaras. We
are sinking low into the earth for want of offspring. We have a son named
Jaratkaru. Woe to us! That wretch hath entered upon a life of austerities
only! The fool doth not think of raising offspring by marriage! It is for
that reason, viz., the fear of extinction of our race, that we are
suspended in this hole. Possessed of means, we fare like unfortunates
that have none! O excellent one, who art thou that thus sorrowest as a
friend on our account? We desire to learn, O Brahmana, who thou art that
standest by us, and why, O best of men, thou sorrowest for us that are so
unfortunate.'

"Jaratkaru said, 'Ye are even my sires and grandsires I am that
Jaratkaru! O, tell me, how I may serve you.'

"The fathers then answered, 'Try thy best, O child, to beget a son to
extend our line. Thou wilt then, O excellent one, have done a meritorious
art for both thyself and us. Not by the fruits of virtue, not by ascetic
penances well hoarded up, acquireth the merit which one doth by becoming
a father. Therefore, O child, by our command, set thy heart upon marriage
and offspring. Even this is our highest good.'

"Jaratkaru replied, 'I shall not marry for my sake, nor shall I earn
wealth for enjoyment, but I shall do so for your welfare only. According
to this understanding, I shall, agreeably to the Sastric ordinance, take
a wife for attaining the end. I shall not act otherwise. If a bride may
be had of the same name with me, whose friends would, besides, willingly
give her to me as a gift in charity, I shall wed her duly. But who will
give his daughter to a poor man like me for wife. I shall, however,
accept any daughter given to me as alms. I shall endeavour, ye sires,
even thus to wed a girl! Having given my word, I will not act otherwise.
Upon her I will raise offspring for your redemption, so that, ye fathers,
ye may attain to eternal regions (of bliss) and may rejoice as ye like.'"

So ends the thirteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XIV

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'That Brahmana of rigid vows then wandered over the earth
for a wife but a wife found he not. One day he went into the forest, and
recollecting the words of his ancestors, he thrice prayed in a faint
voice for a bride. Thereupon Vasuki rose and offered his sister for the
Rishi's acceptance. But the Brahmana hesitated to accept her, thinking
her not to be of the same name with himself. The high-souled Jaratkaru
thought within himself, 'I will take none for wife who is not of the same
name with myself.' Then that Rishi of great wisdom and austere penances
asked him, saying, 'Tell me truly what is the name of this thy sister, O
snake.'

"Vasuki replied, 'O Jaratkaru, this my younger sister is called
Jaratkaru. Given away by me, accept this slender-waisted damsel for thy
spouse. O best of Brahmanas, for thee I reserved her. Therefore, take
her.' Saying this, he offered his beautiful sister to Jaratkaru who then
espoused her with ordained rites.'"

So ends the thirteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XV

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'O foremost of persons acquainted with Brahma, the mother of
the snakes had cursed them of old, saying, 'He that hath the Wind for his
charioteer (viz., Agni) shall burn you all in Janamejaya's sacrifice!' It
was to neutralise that curse that the chief of the snakes married his
sister to that high-souled Rishi of excellent vows. The Rishi wedded her
according to the rites ordained (in the scriptures), and from them was
born a high-souled son called Astika. An illustrious ascetic; versed in
the Vedas and their branches, he regarded all with an even eye, and
removed the fears of both his parents.

"Then, after a long space of time, a king descending from the Pandava
line celebrated a great sacrifice known as the Snake-sacrifice, After
that sacrifice had commenced for the destruction of the snakes, Astika
delivered the Nagas, viz., his brothers and maternal uncles and other
snakes (from a fiery death). And he delivered his fathers also by
begetting offspring. And by his austerities, O Brahmana, and various vows
and study of the Vedas, he freed himself from all his debts. By
sacrifices, at which various kinds of offerings were made, he propitiated
the gods. By practising the Brahmacharya mode of life he conciliated the
Rishis; and by begetting offspring he gratified his ancestors.

"Thus Jaratkaru of rigid vows discharged the heavy debt he owed to his
sires who being thus relieved from bondage ascended to heaven. Thus
having acquired great religious merit, Jaratkaru, after a long course of
years, went to heaven, leaving Astika behind. There is the story of
Astika that I have related duly Now, tell me, O tiger of Bhrigu's race,
what else I shall narrate."

So ends the fifteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XVI

(Astika Parva continued)

"Saunaka said, 'O Sauti, relate once more in detail this history of the
learned and virtuous Astika. Our curiosity for hearing it is great. O
amiable one, thou speakest sweetly, with proper accent and emphasis; and
we are well-pleased with thy speech. Thou speakest even as thy father.
Thy sire was ever ready to please us. Tell us now the story as thy father
had related it.'

"Sauti said, 'O thou that art blest with longevity, I shall narrate the
history of Astika as I heard it from my father. O Brahmana, in the golden
age, Prajapati had two daughters. O sinless one, the sisters were endowed
with wonderful beauty. Named Kadru and Vinata, they became the wives of
Kasyapa. Kasyapa derived great pleasure from his two wedded wives and
being gratified he, resembling Prajapati himself, offered to give each of
them a boon. Hearing that their lord was willing to confer on them their
choice blessings, those excellent ladies felt transports of joy. Kadru
wished to have for sons a thousand snakes all of equal splendour. And
Vinata wished to bring forth two sons surpassing the thousand offsprings
of Kadru in strength, energy, size of body, and prowess. Unto Kadru her
lord gave that boon about a multitude of offspring. And unto Vinata also,
Kasyapa said, 'Be it so!' Then Vinata, having; obtained her prayer,
rejoiced greatly. Obtaining two sons of superior prowess, she regarded
her boon fulfilled. Kadru also obtained her thousand sons of equal
splendour. 'Bear the embryos carefully,' said Kasyapa, and then he went
into the forest, leaving his two wives pleased with his blessings.'

"Sauti continued, 'O best of regenerate ones, after a long time, Kadru
brought forth a thousand eggs, and Vinata two. Their maid-servants
deposited the eggs separately in warm vessels. Five hundred years passed
away, and the thousand eggs produced by Kadru burst and out came the
progeny. But the twins of Vinata did not appear. Vinata was jealous, and
therefore she broke one of the eggs and found in it an embryo with the
upper part developed but the lower one undeveloped. At this, the child in
the egg became angry and cursed his mother, saying. 'Since thou hast
prematurely broken this egg, thou shall serve as a slave. Shouldst thou
wait five hundred years and not destroy, or render the other egg
half-developed, by breaking it through impatience, then the illustrious
child within it will deliver thee from slavery! And if thou wouldst have
the child strong, thou must take tender care of the egg for all this
time!' Thus cursing his mother, the child rose to the sky. O Brahmana,
even he is the charioteer of Surya, always seen in the hour of morning!

"Then at the expiration of the five hundred years, bursting open the
other egg, out came Garuda, the serpent-eater. O tiger of Bhrigu's race,
immediately on seeing the light, that son of Vinata left his mother. And
the lord of birds, feeling hungry, took wing in quest of the food
assigned to him by the Great Ordainer of all.".

So ends the sixteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XVII

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'O ascetic, about this time the two sisters saw approaching
near, that steed of complacent appearance named Uchchaihsravas who was
worshipped by the gods, that gem of steeds, who arose at the churning of
the Ocean for nectar. Divine, graceful, perpetually young, creation's
master-piece, and of irresistible vigour, it was blest with every
auspicious mark.'

"Saunaka asked, 'Why did the gods churn the Ocean for nectar, and under
what circumstances and when as you say, did that best of steeds so
powerful and resplendent spring?'

"Sauti said, 'There is a mountain named Meru, of blazing appearance, and
looking like a heap of effulgence. The rays of the Sun falling on its
peaks of golden lustre are dispersed by them. Decked with gold and
exceedingly beautiful, that mountain is the haunt of the gods and the
Gandharvas. It is immeasurable and unapproachable by men of manifold
sins. Dreadful beasts of prey wander over its breasts, and it is
illuminated by many divine life-giving herbs. It stands kissing the
heavens by its height and is the first of mountains. Ordinary people
cannot even think of ascending it. It is graced with trees and streams,
and resounds with the charming melody of winged choirs. Once the
celestials sat on its begemmed peak--in conclave. They who had practised
penances and observed excellent vows for amrita now seemed to be eager
seekers alter amrita (celestial ambrosia). Seeing the celestial assembly
in anxious mood Nara-yana said to Brahman, 'Do thou churn the Ocean with
the gods and the Asuras. By doing so, amrita will be obtained as also all
drugs and gems. O ye gods, chum the Ocean, ye will discover amrita.'"

So ends the seventeenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XVIII

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'There is a mountain called Mandara adorned with cloud-like
peaks. It is the best of mountains, and is covered all over with
intertwining herbs. There countless birds pour forth their melodies, and
beasts of prey roam about. The gods, the Apsaras and the Kinnaras visit
the place. Upwards it rises eleven thousand yojanas, and descends
downwards as much. The gods wanted to tear it up and use it as a churning
rod but failing to do so same to Vishnu and Brahman who were sitting
together, and said unto them, 'Devise some efficient scheme, consider, ye
gods, how Mandara may be dislodged for our good.'

"Sauti continued, 'O son of Bhrigu! Vishnu with Brahman assented to it.
And the lotus-eyed one (Vishnu) laid the hard task on the mighty Ananta,
the prince of snakes. The powerful Ananta, directed thereto both by
Brahman and Narayana, O Brahmana, tore up the mountain with the woods
thereon and with the denizens of those woods. And the gods came to the
shore of the Ocean with Ananta and addressed the Ocean, saying, 'O Ocean;
we have come to churn thy waters for obtaining nectar.' And the Ocean
replied, 'Be it so, as I shall not go without a share of it. I am able to
bear the prodigious agitation of my waters set up by the mountain.' The
gods then went to the king of tortoises and said to him, 'O
Tortoise-king, thou wilt have to hold the mountain on thy back!' The
Tortoise-king agreed, and Indra contrived to place the mountain on the
former's back.

"And the gods and the Asuras made of Mandara a churning staff and Vasuki
the cord, and set about churning the deep for amrita. The Asuras held
Vasuki by the hood and the gods held him by the tail. And Ananta, who was
on the side of the gods, at intervals raised the snake's hood and
suddenly lowered it. And in consequence of the stretch Vasuki received at
the hands of the gods and the Asuras, black vapours with flames issued
from his mouth. These, turned into clouds charged with lightning, poured
showers that refreshed the tired gods. And flowers that also fell on all
sides of the celestials from the trees on the whirling Mandara, refreshed
them.

"Then, O Brahmana, out of the deep came a tremendous roar like unto the
roar of the clouds at the Universal Dissolution. Diverse aquatic animals
being crushed by the great mountain gave up the ghost in the salt waters.
And many denizens of the lower regions and the world of Varuna were
killed. Large trees with birds on the whirling Mandara were torn up by
the roots and fell into the water. The mutual friction of those trees
also produced fires that blazed up frequently. The mountain thus looked
like a mass of dark clouds charged with lightning. O Brahmana, the fire
spread, and consumed the lions, elephants and other creatures that were
on the mountain. Then Indra extinguished that fire by pouring down heavy
showers.

"After the churning, O Brahmana, had gone on for some time, gummy
exudations of various trees and herbs vested with the properties of
amrita mingled with the waters of the Ocean. And the celestials attained
to immortality by drinking of the water mixed with those gums and with
the liquid extract of gold. By degrees, the milky water of the agitated
deep turned into clarified butter by virtue of those gums and juices. But
nectar did not appear even then. The gods came before the boon-granting
Brahman seated on his seat and said, 'Sire, we are spent up, we have no
strength left to churn further. Nectar hath not yet arisen so that now we
have no resource save Narayana.'

"On hearing them, Brahman said to Narayana, 'O Lord, condescend to grant
the gods strength to churn the deep afresh.'

"Then Narayana agreeing to grant their various prayers, said, 'Ye wise
ones, I grant you sufficient strength. Go, put the mountain in position
again and churn the water.'

'Re-established thus in strength, the gods recommenced churning. After a
while, the mild Moon of a thousand rays emerged from the Ocean.
Thereafter sprung forth Lakshmi dressed in white, then Soma, then the
White Steed, and then the celestial gem Kaustubha which graces the breast
of Narayana. Then Lakshmi, Soma and the Steed, fleet as the mind, all
came before the gods on high. Then arose the divine Dhanwantari himself
with the white vessel of nectar in his hand. And seeing him, the Asuras
set up a loud cry, saying, 'It be ours.'

"And at length rose the great elephant, Airavata, of huge body and with
two pair of white tusks. And him took Indra the wielder of the
thunderbolt. But with the churning still going on, the poison Kalakuta
appeared at last. Engulfing the Earth it suddenly blazed up like a fire
attended with fumes. And by the scent of the fearful Kalakuta, the three
worlds were stupefied. And then Siva, being solicited by Brahman,
swallowed that poison for the safety of the creation. The divine
Maheswara held it in his throat, and it is said that from that time he is
called Nilakantha (blue-throated). Seeing all these wondrous things, the
Asuras were filled with despair, and got themselves prepared for entering
into hostilities with the gods for the possession of Lakshmi and Amrita.
Thereupon Narayana called his bewitching Maya (illusive power) to his
aid, and assuming the form of an enticing female, coquetted with the
Danavas. The Danavas and the Daityas charmed with her exquisite beauty
and grace lost their reason and unanimously placed the Amrita in the
hands of that fair damsel.'"

So ends the eighteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XIX

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'Then the Daityas and the Danauas equipped with first-class
armours and various weapons attacked the gods. In the meantime the
valiant Lord Vishnu in the form of an enchantress accompanied by Nara
deceived the mighty Danavas and took away the Amrita from their hands.

"And all the gods at that time of great fright drank the Amrita with
delight, receiving it from Vishnu. And while the gods were partaking of
it, after which they had so much hankered, a Danava named Rahu was also
drinking it among them in the guise of a god. And when the Amrita had
reached Rahu's throat only, Surya and Soma (recognised him and) intimated
the fact to the gods. And Narayana instantly cut off with his discus the
well-adorned head of the Danava who was drinking the Amrita without
permission. And the huge head of the Danava, cut off by the discus and
resembling a mountain peak, then rose up to the sky and began to utter
dreadful cries. And the Danava's headless trunk, falling upon the ground
and rolling thereon, made the Earth tremble with her mountains, forests
and islands. And from that time there is a long-standing quarrel between
Rahu's head and Surya and Soma. And to this day it swalloweth Surya and
Soma (during solar and lunar eclipses).

"Then Narayana quitting his enchanting female form and hurling many
terrible weapons at the Danavas, made them tremble. And thus on the
shores of the salt-water sea, commenced the dreadful battle of the gods
and the Asuras. And sharp-pointed javelins and lances and various weapons
by thousands began to be discharged on all sides. And mangled with the
discus and wounded with swords, darts and maces, the Asuras in large
numbers vomited blood and lay prostrate on the earth. Cut off from the
trunks with sharp double-edged swords, heads adorned with bright gold,
fell continually on the field of battle. Their bodies drenched in gore,
the great Asuras lay dead everywhere. It seemed as if red-dyed mountain
peaks lay scattered all around. And when the Sun rose in his splendour,
thousands of warriors struck one another with weapons. And cries of
distress were heard everywhere. The warriors fighting at a distance from
one another brought one another down by sharp iron missiles, and those
fighting at close quarters slew one another with blows of their fists.
And the air was filled with shrieks of distress. Everywhere were heard
the alarming sounds,--'cut', 'pierce', 'at them', 'hurl down', 'advance'.

'And when the battle was raging fiercely, Nara and Narayana entered the
field. And Narayana seeing the celestial bow in the hand of Nara, called
to mind his own weapon, the Danava-destroying discus. And lo! the discus,
Sudarsana, destroyer of enemies, like to Agni in effulgence and dreadful
in battle, came from the sky as soon as thought of. And when it came,
Narayana of fierce energy, possessing arms like the trunk of an elephant,
hurled with great force that weapon of extraordinary lustre, effulgent as
blazing fire, dreadful and capable of destroying hostile towns. And that
discus blazing like the fire that consumeth all things at the end of
Yuga, hurled with force from the hands of Narayana, and falling
constantly everywhere, destroyed the Daityas and the Danavas by
thousands. Sometimes it blazed like fire and consumed them all; sometimes
it struck them down as it coursed through the sky; and sometimes, falling
on the earth, it drank their life-blood like a goblin.

"On the other hand, the Danavas, white as the clouds from which the rain
hath dropped, possessing great strength and bold hearts, ascended the
sky, and by hurling down thousands of mountains, continually harassed the
gods. And those dreadful mountains, like masses of clouds, with their
trees and flat tops, falling from the sky, collided with one another and
produced a tremendous roar. And when thousands of warriors shouted
without intermission in the field of battle and mountains with the woods
thereon began to fall around, the earth with her forests trembled. Then
the divine Nara appeared at the scene of the dreadful conflict between
the Asuras and the Ganas (the followers of Rudra), and reducing to dust
those rocks by means of his gold-headed arrows, he covered the heavens
with dust. Thus discomfited by the gods, and seeing the furious discus
scouring the fields of heaven like a blazing flame, the mighty Danavas
entered the bowels of the earth, while others plunged into the sea of
salt-waters.

"And having gained the victory, the gods offered due respect to Mandara
and placed him again on his own base. And the nectar-bearing gods made
the heavens resound with their shouts, and went to their own abodes. And
the gods, on returning to the heavens, rejoiced greatly, and Indra and
the other deities made over to Narayana the vessel of Amrita for careful
keeping.'"

And so ends the nineteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XX

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'Thus have I recited to you the whole story of how Amrita
was churned out of the Ocean, and the occasion on which the horse
Uchchaihsravas of great beauty and incomparable prowess was obtained. It
was this horse about which Kadru asked Vinata, saying, 'Tell me, amiable
sister, without taking much time, of what colour Uchchaishravas is.' And
Vinata answered, 'That prince of steeds is certainly white. What dost
thou think, sister? Say thou what is its colour. Let us lay a wager upon
it.' Kadru replied, then, 'O thou of sweet smiles. I think that horse is
black in its tail. Beauteous one, bet with me that she who loseth will
become the other's slave.'

'Sauti continued, 'Thus wagering with each other about menial service as
a slave, the sisters went home, and resolved to satisfy themselves by
examining the horse next day. And Kadru, bent upon practising a
deception, ordered her thousand sons to transform themselves into black
hair and speedily cover the horse's tail in order that she might not
become a slave. But her sons, the snakes, refusing to do her bidding, she
cursed them, saying, 'During the snake-sacrifice of the wise king
Janamejaya of the Pandava race, Agni shall consume you all.' And the
Grandsire (Brahman) himself heard this exceedingly cruel curse pronounced
by Kadru, impelled by the fates. And seeing that the snakes had
multiplied exceedingly, the Grandsire, moved by kind consideration for
his creatures, sanctioned with all the gods this curse of Kadru. Indeed,
as the snakes were of virulent poison, great prowess and excess of
strength, and ever bent on biting other creatures, their mother's conduct
towards them--those persecutors of all creatures,--was very proper for
the good of all creatures. Fate always inflicts punishment of death on
those who seek the death of other creatures. The gods, having exchanged
such sentiments with one another, supported Kadru's action (and went
away). And Brahman, calling Kasyapa to him, spake unto him these words,
'O thou pure one who overcomest all enemies, these snakes begotten by
you, who are of virulent poison and huge bodies, and ever intent on
biting other creatures, have been cursed by their mother. O son, do not
grieve for it in the least. The destruction of the snakes in the
sacrifice hath, indeed, been ordained long ago' Saying this, the divine
Creator of the Universe comforted Kasyapa and imparted to that
illustrious one the knowledge of neutralising poison."

And so ends the twentieth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XXI

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said. 'Then when the night had passed away and the sun had risen
in the morning, O thou whose wealth is asceticism, the two sisters Kadru
and Vinata, having laid a wager about slavery, went with haste and
impatience to view the steed Uchchaishravas from a near point. On their
way they saw the Ocean, that receptacle of waters, vast and deep, rolling
and tremendously roaring, full of fishes large enough to swallow the
whale, and abounding with huge makaras and creatures of various forms by
thousands, and rendered inaccessible by the presence of other terrible,
monster-shaped, dark, and fierce aquatic animals, abounding with
tortoises and crocodiles, the mine of all kinds of gems, the home of
Varuna (the water-God), the excellent and beautiful residence of the
Nagas, the lord of all rivers, the abode of the subterranean fire, the
friend (or asylum) of the Asuras, the terror of all creatures, the grand
reservoir of water, and ever immutable. It is holy, beneficial to the
gods, and is the great source of nectar; without limits, inconceivable,
sacred, and highly wonderful. It is dark, terrible with the sound of
aquatic creatures, tremendously roaring, and full of deep whirl-pools. It
is an object of terror to all creatures. Moved by the winds blowing from
its shores and heaving high, agitated and disturbed, it seems to dance
everywhere with uplifted hands represented by its surges. Full of
swelling billows caused by the waxing and waning of the moon the parent
of Vasudeva's great conch called Panchajanya, the great mine of gems, its
waters were formerly disturbed in consequence of the agitation caused
within them by the Lord Govinda of immeasurable prowess when he had
assumed the form of a wild boar for raising the (submerged) Earth. Its
bottom, lower than the nether regions, the vow observing regenerate Rishi
Atri could not fathom after (toiling for) a hundred years. It becomes the
bed of the lotus-naveled Vishnu when at the termination of every Yuga
that deity of immeasurable power enjoys yoga-nidra, the deep sleep under
the spell of spiritual meditation. It is the refuge of Mainaka fearful of
falling thunder, and the retreat of the Asuras overcome in fierce
encounters. It offers water as sacrificial butter to the blazing fire
issuing from the mouth of Varava (the Ocean-mare). It is fathomless and
without limits, vast and immeasurable, and the lord of rivers.

"And they saw that unto it rushed mighty rivers by thousands with proud
gait, like amorous competitors, each eager for meeting it, forestalling
the others. And they saw that it was always full, and always dancing in
its waves. And they saw that it was deep and abounding with fierce whales
and makaras. And it resounded constantly with the terrible sounds of
aquatic creatures. And they saw that it was vast, and wide as the expanse
of space, unfathomable, and limitless, and the grand reservoir of water.'"

And so ends the twenty-first section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XXII

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'The Nagas after consultation arrived at the conclusion that
they should do their mother's bidding, for if she failed in obtaining her
desire she might withdraw her affection and burn them all. If, on the
other hand, she were graciously inclined, she might free them from her
curse. They said, 'We will certainly render the horse's tail black.' And
it is said that they then went and became hairs in the horse's tail.

"Now the two co-wives had laid the wager. And having laid the wager, O
best of Brahmanas, the two sisters Kadru and Vinata, the daughters of
Daksha, proceeded in great delight along the sky to see the other side of
the Ocean. And on their way they saw the Ocean, that receptacle of
waters, incapable of being easily disturbed, mightily agitated all of a
sudden by the wind, and roaring tremendously; abounding with fishes
capable of swallowing the whale and full of makaras; containing also
creatures of diverse forms counted by thousands; frightful from the
presence of horrible monsters, inaccessible, deep, and terrible, the mine
of all kinds of gems, the home of Varuna (the water-god), the wonderful
habitations of the Nagas, the lord of rivers, the abode of the
subterranean fire; the residence of the Asuras and of many dreadful
creatures; the reservoir of water, not subject to decay, aromatic, and
wonderful, the great source of the amrita of the celestials; immeasurable
and inconceivable, containing waters that are holy, filled to the brim by
many thousands of great rivers, dancing as it were in waves. Such was the
Ocean, full of rolling waves, vast as the expanse of the sky, deep, of
body lighted with the flames of subterranean fire, and roaring, which the
sisters quickly passed over.'"

And so ends the twenty-second section in the Astika Parva of the Adi
Parva.



SECTION XXIII

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'Having crossed the Ocean, Kadru of swift speed, accompanied
by Vinata, soon alighted near the horse. They then both beheld that
foremost of steeds of great speed, with body white as the rays of the
moon but having black hairs (in the tail). And observing many black hairs
in the tail, Kadru put Vinata, who was deeply dejected, into slavery. And
thus Vinata having lost the wager, entered into a state of slavery and
became exceedingly sorry.

"In the meantime, when his time came, burst forth from the egg without
(the help of his) mother, Garuda of great splendour, enkindling all the
points of the universe, that mighty being endued with strength, that bird
capable of assuming at will any form, of going at will everywhere, and of
calling to his aid at will any measure of energy. Effulgent like a heap
of fire, he shone terribly. Of lustre equal to that of the fire at the
end of the Yuga, his eyes were bright like the lightning-flash. And soon
after birth, that bird grew in size and increasing his body ascended the
skies. Fierce and vehemently roaring, he looked as terrible as second
Ocean-fire. And all the deities seeing him, sought the protection of
Vibhavasu (Agni). And they bowed down to that deity of manifold forms
seated on his seat and spake unto him these words, 'O Agni, extend not
thy body! Wilt thou consume us? Lo, this huge heap of thy flames is
spreading wide!' And Agni replied, 'O, ye persecutors of the Asuras, it
is not as ye imagine. This is Garuda of great strength and equal to me in
splendour, endued with great energy, and born to promote the joy of
Vinata. Even the sight of this heap of effulgence hath caused this
delusion in you. He is the mighty son of Kasyapa, the destroyer of the
Nagas, engaged in the well-being of the gods, and the foe of the Daityas
and the Rakshasas. Be not afraid of it in the least. Come with me and
see.' Thus addressed, the gods from a distance.

"The gods said, 'Thou art a Rishi (i.e., one cognisant of all mantras),
share of the largest portion in sacrifices, ever resplendent, the
controller along with the Rishi wended their way towards Garuda and
adored him of birds, the presiding spirit of the animate and the
inanimate universe. Thou art the destroyer of all, the creator of all;
thou art the very Hiranyagarbha; thou art the progenitor of creation in
the form of Daksha and the other Prajapatis; thou art Indra (the king of
the gods), thou art Hayagriva the steed necked incarnation of Vishnu;
thou art the arrow (Vishnu himself, as he became such in the hands of
Mahadeva at the burning of Tripura); thou art the lord of the universe;
thou art the mouth of Vishnu; thou art the four-faced Padmaja; thou art
the Brahmana (i.e., wise), thou art Agni, Pavana, etc. (i.e., the
presiding deity of every object in the universe). Thou art knowledge,
thou art the illusion to which we are all subject; thou art the
all-pervading spirit; thou art the lord of the gods; thou art the great
Truth; thou art fearless; thou art ever unchanged; thou art Brahma
without attributes; thou art the energy of the Sun; thou art the
intellectual functions; thou art our great protector; thou art the ocean
of holiness; thou art purity; thou art bereft of the attributes of
darkness; thou art the possessor of the six high attributes; thou art he
who cannot be withstood in contest. From thee have emanated all things;
thou art of excellent deeds; thou art all that hath not been and all that
hath been. Thou art pure knowledge; thou displayest to us, as Surya does
by his rays, this animate and inanimate universe; thou darkenest the
splendour of Surya at every moment, and thou art the destroyer of all;
thou art all that is perishable and all that is imperishable. O thou
resplendent as Agni, thou burnest all even as Surya in his anger burneth
all creatures. O terrible one, thou resistest even as the fire that
destroys everything at the time of the Universal Dissolution. O mighty
Garuda who movest in the skies, we seek thy protection. O lord of birds
thy energy is extraordinary, thy splendour is that of fire, thy
brightness is like that of the lightning that no darkness can approach.
Thou reachest the very clouds, and art both the cause and the effect; the
dispenser of boons and invincible in prowess. O Lord, this whole universe
is rendered hot by thy splendour, bright as the lustre of heated gold.
Protect these high-souled gods, who overcome by thee and terrified
withal, are flying along the heavens in different directions on their
celestial cars. O thou best of birds, thou Lord of all, thou art the son
of the merciful and high-souled Rishi Kasyapa; therefore, be not wroth
but have mercy on the universe. Thou art Supreme. O pacify thy anger and
preserve us. At thy voice, loud as the roar of the thunder, the ten
points, the skies, the heavens, the Earth and our hearts, O bird, thou
art continuously shaking. O, diminish this thy body resembling Agni. At
the sight of the splendour resembling that of Yama when in wrath, our
hearts lose all equanimity and quake. O thou lord of birds, be propitious
to us who solicit thy mercy! O illustrious one, bestow on us good fortune
and joy.'

And that bird of fair feathers, thus adored by the deities and diverse
sections of Rishis, reduced his own energy and splendour.'"

And thus ends the twenty-third section in the Astika Parva of the Adi
Parva.



SECTION XXIV

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'Then hearing of and beholding his own body, that bird of
beautiful feathers diminished its size.'

"And Garuda said, 'Let no creature be afraid; as ye are in a fright at
the sight of my terrible form, I shall diminish my energy.'

"Sauti continued, 'Then that bird capable of going everywhere at will,
that ranger of the skies capable of calling to his aid any measure of
energy, bearing Aruna on his back, wended from his father's home and
arrived at his mother's side on the other shore of the great ocean. And
he placed Aruna of great splendour in the eastern regions, just at a time
when Surya had resolved to burn the worlds with his fierce rays.'

"Saunaka said, 'When did the revered Surya resolve at the time to burn
the worlds? What wrong was done to him by the gods that provoked his
ire?'

"Sauti said, 'O sinless one, when Rahu was drinking nectar among the gods
at the time of the churning of the ocean he was pointed out to the gods
by Surya and Soma, and from that time he conceived an enmity towards
those deities. And upon this Rahu sought to devour his afflictor (Surya),
became wroth, and thought, 'Oh, this enmity of Rahu towards me hath
sprung from my desire of benefiting the gods. And this dire consequence I
alone have to sustain. Indeed, at this pass help I obtain not. And before
the very eyes of the denizens of heaven I am going to be devoured and
they brook it quietly. Therefore, for the destruction of the worlds must
I strive.' And with this resolution he went to the mountains of the west.

"And from that place he began to radiate his heat around for the
destruction of the world. And then the great Rishis, approaching the
gods, spake unto them, 'Lo, in the middle of the night springeth a great
heat striking terror into every heart, and destructive of the three
worlds.' Then the gods, accompanied by the Rishis, wended to the
Grandsire, and said unto him, 'O what is this great heat today that
causeth such panic? Surya hath not yet risen, still the destruction (of
the world) is obvious. O Lord, what will happen when he doth rise?" The
Grandsire replied, 'Indeed, Surya is prepared to rise today for the
destruction of the world. As soon as he will appear he will burn
everything into a heap of ashes. By me, however, hath the remedy been
provided beforehand. The intelligent son of Kasyapa is known to all by
the name of Aruna. He is huge of body and of great splendour; he shall
stay in front of Surya, doing the duty of his charioteer and taking away
all the energy of the former. And this will ensure the welfare of the
worlds, of the Rishis, and of the dwellers in heaven.'

"Sauti continued, 'Aruna, at the behest of the Grandsire, did all that he
was ordered to do. And Surya rose veiled by Aruna's person. I have told
thee now why Surya was in wrath, and how Aruna, the brother of Garuda,
was appointed as his charioteer. Hear next of that other question asked
by thee a little while ago.'"

And so ends the twenty-fourth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi
Parva.



SECTION XXV

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'Then that bird of great strength and energy and capable of
going at will to every place repaired to his mother's side on the other
shore of the great ocean. Thither lived Vinata in affliction, defeated in
wager and put into a state of slavery. Once Kadru calling Vinata who had
prostrated herself before the former, addressed her these words in the
presence of her son, 'O gentle Vinata, there is in the midst of the
ocean, in a remote quarter, a delightful and fair region inhabited by the
Nagas. Bear me thither!' At this that mother of the bird of fair feathers
bore (on her shoulders) the mother of the snakes. And Garuda also,
directed by his mother's words, carried (on his back) the snakes. And
that ranger of the skies born of Vinata began to ascend towards the Sun.
And thereupon the snakes, scorched by the rays of the Sun, swooned away.
And Kadru seeing her sons in that state prayed to Indra, saying, 'I bow
to thee, thou Lord of all the gods! I bow to thee, thou slayer of Vritra!
I bow to thee, thou slayer of Namuchi! O thou of a thousand eyes, consort
of Sachi! By thy showers, be thou the protector of the snakes scorched by
the Sun. O thou best of the deities, thou art our great protector. O
Purandara, thou art able to grant rain in torrents. Thou art Vayu (the
air), the clouds, fire, and the lightning of the skies. Thou art the
propeller of the clouds, and hast been called the great cloud (i.e., that
which will darken the universe at the end of Yuga). Thou art the fierce
and incomparable thunder, and the roaring clouds. Thou art the Creator of
the worlds and their Destroyer. Thou art unconquered. Thou art the light
of all creatures, Aditya, Vibhavasu, and the wonderful elements. Thou art
the ruler of all the gods. Thou art Vishnu. Thou hast a thousand eyes.
Thou art a god, and the final resource. Thou art, O deity, all amrita,
and the most adored Soma. Thou art the moment, the lunar day, the bala
(minute), thou art the kshana (4 minutes). Thou art the lighted
fortnight, and also the dark fortnight. Thou art kala, thou kashtha, and
thou Truti.[1] Thou art the year, the seasons, the months, the nights,
and the days. Thou art the fair Earth with her mountains and forests.
Thou art also the firmament, resplendent with the Sun. Thou art the great
Ocean with heaving billows and abounding with whales, swallowers of
whales, and makaras, and various fishes. Thou art of great renown, always
adored by the wise and by the great Rishis with minds rapt in
contemplation. Thou drinkest, for the good of all creatures, the Soma
juice in sacrifices and the clarified butter offered with sacred
invocation. Thou art always worshipped at sacrifices by Brahmanas moved
by desire of fruit. O thou of incomparable mass of strength, thou art
sung in the Vedas and Vedangas. It is for that reason that learned
Brahmanas bent upon performing sacrifices, study the Vedas with every
care.'"

And so ends the twenty-fifth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XXVI

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'And then Indra, the king of gods, having the best of horses
for his bearer, thus adored by Kadru, covered the entire firmament with
masses of blue clouds. And he commanded the clouds, saying, Pour ye, your
vivifying and blessed drops!' And those clouds, luminous with lightning,
and incessantly roaring against each other in the welkin, poured abundant
water. And the sky, in consequence of those wonderful and

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!

_________________

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Fri Jan 18, 2013 5:28 pm
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Re: POST, POST LIKE YOU NEVER POSTED BEFORE!
increaseth covetousness and folly. Wealth alone is the root of
niggardliness and boastfulness, pride and fear and anxiety! These are the
miseries of men that the wise see in riches! Men undergo infinite
miseries in the acquisition and retention of wealth. Its expenditure also
is fraught with grief. Nay, sometimes, life itself is lost for the sake
of wealth! The abandonment of wealth produces misery, and even they that
are cherished by one's wealth become enemies for the sake of that wealth!
When, therefore, the possession of wealth is fraught with such misery,
one should not mind its loss. It is the ignorant alone who are
discontented. The wise, however, are always content. The thirst of wealth
can never be assuaged. Contentment is the highest happiness; therefore,
it is, that the wise regard contentment as the highest object of pursuit.
The wise knowing the instability of youth and beauty, of life and
treasure-hoards, of prosperity and the company of the loved ones, never
covet them. Therefore, one should refrain from the acquisition of wealth,
bearing the pain incident to it. None that is rich free from trouble, and
it is for this that the virtuous applaud them that are free from the
desire of wealth. And as regards those that pursue wealth for purposes of
virtue, it is better for them to refrain altogether from such pursuit,
for, surely, it is better not to touch mire at all than to wash it off
after having been besmeared with it. And, O Yudhishthira, it behoveth
thee not to covet anything! And if thou wouldst have virtue, emancipate
thyself from desire of worldly possessions!'

"Yudhishthira said, 'O Brahmana, this my desire of wealth is not for
enjoying it when obtained. It is only for the support of the Brahmanas
that I desire it and not because I am actuated by avarice! For what
purpose, O Brahmana, doth one like us lead a domestic life, if he cannot
cherish and support those that follow him? All creatures are seen to
divide the food (they procure) amongst those that depend on them.[1] So
should a person leading a domestic life give a share of his food to Yatis
and Brahmacharins that have renounced cooking for themselves. The houses
of the good men can never be in want of grass (for seat), space (for
rest), water (to wash and assuage thirst), and fourthly, sweet words. To
the weary a bed,--to one fatigued with standing, a seat,--to the thirsty,
water,--and to the hungry, food should ever be given. To a guest are due
pleasant looks and a cheerful heart and sweet words. The host, rising up,
should advance towards the guest, offer him a seat, and duly worship him.
Even this is eternal morality. They that perform not the Agnihotra[2] not
wait upon bulls

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
Image

_________________
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Post Re: POST, POST LIKE YOU NEVER POSTED BEFORE!
THE

Ramayana

OF

* - Valmeeki

RENDERED INTO ENGLISH

WITH EXHAUSTIVE NOTES

BY

(. ^ ^reenivasa jHv$oiu$ar, B. A.,

LECTURER

S. P G. COLLEGE, TRICHINGj,



Balakanda and N



MADRAS:
M. K. PEES8, A. L. T. PRKS8 AND GUARDIAN PBE8S. *

> 1910. %

i*t

Copyright ftpfiglwtd. 3 - , [ JJf JB^/to Reserved



PREFACE

The Ramayana of Valmeeki is a most unique work.
The Aryans are the oldest race on earth and the most
* advanced ; and the Ramayana is their first and grandest
epic.

The Eddas of Scandinavia, the Niebelungen Lied of
Germany, the Iliad of Homer, the Enead of Virgil, the
Inferno, the Purgatorio, and the Paradiso of Dante, the
Paradise Lost of Milton, the Lusiad of Camcens, the Shah
Nama of Firdausi are Epics and no more ; the Ramayana
of Valmeeki is an Epic and much more.

If any work can clam} to be the Bible of the Hindus,
it is the Ramayana of Valmeeki.

Professor MacDonell, the latest writer on Samskritha
Literature, says :

" The Epic contains the following verse foretelling its
everlasting fame

* As long as moynfain ranges stand

And rivers flow upon the earth,
So long will this Ramayana
Survive upon the lips of men.

This prophecy has been perhaps even more abundantly
fulfilled than the well-known prediction of Horace. No pro-
duct of Sanskrit Literature has enjoyed a greater popularity
in India down to the present day than the Ramayana. Its
story furnishes the subject of many other Sanskrit poems
as well as plays and still delights, from the lips* of reciters,
the hearts of the myriads of the Indian people, as at the



11 PREFACE

great annual Rama-festival held at Benares. It has been
translated into many Indian vernaculars. Above all, it
inspired the greatest poet of medieval Hindustan, Tulasi
Das, to compose in Hindi his version of the epic entitled
Ram Chant Manas, which, with its ideal standard of
virtue and purity, is a kind of Bible to a hundred millions
of the people of Northern India." Sanskrit Literature,
p. 317. So much for the version.

It is a fact within the personal observation of the
elders of our country, that witnesses swear upon a copy of
the Ramayana in the law-courts. Any one called upon
to pay an unjust debt contents himself with saying, " I will
place the money upon the Ramayana , let him take it if he
dares." In private life, the expression, " I swear by the
Ramayana/' is an inviolable oath I know instances where
sums of money were lent upon no other security than a palm
leaf manuscript of the Ramayana too precious a Talisman
to lose When a man yearns for a son to continue his line
on earth and raise him to the Mansions of the Blessed, the
Elders advise him to read the Ramayana or hear it recited,
or at least the Sundarakanda When a man has some
great issue at stake that will either mend or mar his life, he
reads the Sundarakanda or hears it expounded. When a
man is very ill, past medical help, the old people about him
say with one voice, " Read the Sundarakanda in the house
and Maruthi will bring him back to life and health " When
an evil spirit troubles sore a man or a woman, the grey-
beards wag their wise heads and oracularly exclaim, " Ah f
the Sundarakanda never fails " When any one desires to
know the result of a contemplated project, he desires a
child to open a page of the Sundarakanda and decides by
the nature of the subject dealt with therein. (Here is a
case in point. A year or two ago, I was asked by a young
man to advise him whether he should marry or lead a life



lit

<fc single blessedness. I promised to give him an
answer a day or two later. When I was alone,
I took up my Ramayana and asked my child to
open it. And lo ! the first line that met my eye was

Kumbhakarna-siro bhathi
Kundala-lamkntam mahaili.

" The severed head of Kumbhakarna shone high and
huge in the heavens, its splendour heightened by the ear-
rings he wore."

I had not the heart to communicate the result to
the poor man. His people had made everything
ready for his marriage. I could plainly sec that his
inclinations too lay that way. I could urge nothing
against it his health was good, and his worldly position
and prospects high and bright. Ah me f I was myself half-
sceptical So, quite against my better self, I managed to
avoid giving him an answer. And he, taking my silence
for consent, got himself married Alas ! within a year his
place in his house was vacant , his short meteoric life was
over , his health shattered, his public life a failure, his
mind darkened and gloomy by the vision ot his future,
Death was a Whalecum deliverer to him , and an old mother
and a child-wife are left to mourn his untimely end.

The Karma-kanda of the Vedas, the Upamshads, the
Smnthis, the Mahabharatha, the Puranas, nay, no other
work in the vast range of Samskntha literature is regarded
by the Hindus in the same light as the Ramayana The
Karma-kanda is accessible only to a very few, an infini-
tesimal minority of the Brahmanas the Purohiths who
are making a living out of it , and they too know not its
meaning, but recite it parrot-like. The Upamshads are not
for the men of the world , they are for hard-headed
logicianb or calm-minded philosophers. The Smnthib are



IV

but Rules of daily life. The Bharatha is not a very auspi-
cious work ; no devout Hindu would allow it to be read in
in his house, for it brings on strife, dissensions and misfor-
tune ; the temple of the Gods, the Mathas of Sanyasms, the
river-ghauts, and the rest-houses for the travellers are chosen
for the purpose The Bhagavad-geetha enjoys a unique
unpopularity ; for, he who reads or studies it is weaned
away from wife and child, house and home, friends and
km, wealth and power and seeks the Path of Renunciation.
The Puranas are but world-records, religious histories.

But, for a work that gives a man everything he holds
dear and valuable in this world and leads him to the Feet of
the Almighty Father, give me the Ramayana of Valmeeki.

The Lord of Mercy has come down among men time
and oft ; and the Puranas contain incidental records of
it short or long. But, the Ramayana of Valmeeki is the
only biography we have of the Supreme One.

" Nothing that relates to any of the actors in that great
world-drama shall 'escape thy all-seeing eye Rama,
Lakshmana, Seetha, men and monkeys, gods and
Rakshasas, their acts, their words, nay, their very thoughts,
known or secret. Nothing that comes out of your mouth,
consciously or otherwise, shall prove other than true/'
Such was the power of clear vision and clear speech con-
ferred on the poet by the Demiurge, the Ancient of Days.

" What nobler subject for your poem than Sree Rama-
chandra, the Divine Hero, the soul of righteousness, the
perfect embodiment of all that is good and great and the
Director of men's thoughts, words and deeds in the light
of their Karma ? " And this Ideal Man is the Hero of
the Epic.

"The cloud-capped mouritains, the swift-coursing
livers and all created things shdDl passe way and be as



taught. But, your noble song shall outlive them and never
fade from the hearts of men." This is the boon of immor-
tality the poem shall enjoy.

" And as long as the record of Rama's life holds sway
over the hearts of men, so long shall you sit by me in my
highest heaven/' This is the eternity of fame that comes
to the singer as his guerdon

The Hero, the Epic, and the Poet are the most perfect
any one can conceive.

It was composed when the Hero was yet upon earth,
when his deeds and fame were fresh in the hearts of men.
It was sung before himself. "And the poem they recite,
how wonderful in its suggestivencss ' Listen we to it"
such was ///,s estimate of the lay.

It was not written, but sung to sweet music Who were
they that conveyed the message to the hearts of men ? The
very sous of the Divine Hero, "Mark you the radiant glory
that plays around them ' Liker gods than men ! . . . .
Behold these young ascetics, of kingly form and mien. Rare
singers are they and of mighty spiritual energy withal" and
this encomium was from him who is Incarnate Wisdom.

What audience did they sing to ' ''Large concourses
of Brahmanas and warriors, sages and saints . . . .Through
many a land they travelled and sang to many an audience.

Thus many a time and oft did these boys recite it in
crowded halls and broad streets, in sacred groves and
sacrificial grounds And Rama invited to the as-
sembly the literati, the theologians, the expounders of
sacred histories, grammarians, Brahmanas grown grey in
knowledge and experience, phonologists, musical experts,
poets, rhetoricians, logicians, ritualists, philosophers,
astronomers, astrologers, geographers, linguists, statesmen
politicians, professors of music and dancing, painters



vi PREFACE

sculptors, minstrels, physiognomists, kings, merchant^,
farmers, saints, sages, hermits, ascetics ... ."

What was the ettect produced on the hearers ?

" And such the pcrlectness of expression and delicacy
of execution, that the hearers followed them with their
hearts and ears , and such the marvellous power of their
song, that an indescribable sense of bhs^ gradually stole
over them and pervaded their frame and e\ery sense and
faculty of theirs strange, overpowering and almost painful
in its intensity "

What was the cutical estimate ot the audience ;

"What charming musK ' what sweetness and melody
of verse ' And then, the vividness of narration ' We seem to
live and move among old times and scenes long gone by. .

A rare and noble epic this, the Ramavana of honeyed
verses and faultless diction, beautifully adapted to music,
vocal or instrumental and charming to hear , begun and
finished according to the best canons of the art, the most
exacting critic cannot praise it too highly , the first of its
kind and an unapproachable ideal for all time to come , the
best model for all future poets , the thrice-distilled Essence
of the Holy Scriptures , the surest giver oi health and
happiness, length of years and prosperity, to all who read
or listen to it. And, proficients as ye are in cverv style of
music, marvellously have ye sung it."

But what raises Ramayana from the sphere oi literary
works into " a mighty repository of the priceless wisdom
enshrined in the Veelas ' ' The sacred monosyllable, the
Pranava, is the mystic symbol of the Absolute , the Gayathn
is an exposition of the Pranava , the Vedas are the paraphrase
of the Gayathn , and the Ramayana is but the amplification
of the Vedic mysteries and lurmshes the key thereto. Each
letter of the Gayathn begins a thousand ot its stanzas.



PREFACE Vll

\ The p^em is based upon the hymns of the Rig-veda
aught to the author bv Narada For, it is not a record of
incidents that occurred during a certain cycle ; it is
a symbolical account of cosmic events that come about m
every cycle with but slight modifications , Rama, Seetha,
Ravana and the other characteis in the Epu are arcJietvpes
and real characters a mystery within a mvsterv The
numerous k( Inner Meanings " of the Ramasana (vide
Introduction) amph bear out the above remarks

There IN not one relation of hie, ptuate or public,
but is beautifully and perfectly illustrated in the woids and
deeds of the Ramavana characters (vide lyJ^^JMLJlon The
Aims of Life 1 )

It is not a poem of an\ one
world-asset , it must find a
town, in everx village and in





Tin

(a). Tlie Rental recension Ch<
Sardinia, helped Gorressio to bring
of it m 1S(57

(b) The Renare^ mention. Between ISO,") 1H10,
Carey and Marshman, the philanthiopic missionaries
of Serampore, published the text of the hrst h\o kandas and
a halt In 1S4<>, Sehlegel brought <mt an edition oi the
text oi the first two kandas In 1 *,?), the complete text
was lithographed at Bombav, and in ISfjO, a printed edi-
tion ot the same appeared at Calcutta

(r) The South Indian retention While the first two
recensions are in Devanagan, this exists in the Grantha
characters or in the Telugu This uas unknown to the
west and to the other parts of India until ll)0r>, when Mr.
T. R. Knshnacharya of Kumbakonam, Madras Presidency,



Vlil PREFACE

conferred a great boon upon the literary world by publish-
ing a fine edition of it in Devanagari (1905). The earliest
Grantha edition was published in Madras in 1891 by Mr.
K. Subramanya Sastry, with the commentaries of Govmda-
raja, Mahesa-theertha, Ramanuja, Teeka-siromam and
Pena-vachchan-Pillai. Mr. Raja Sastry of Madras has
almost finished another edition of the same (1907), supple-
menting the above commentaries with that of Thilaka (till
now accessible only in Devanagari). It shows a considera-
ble improvement in the matter of paper, type, printing
and get-up. Meanwhile, Mr Knshnacharya has begun
another beautiful edition of his text (1911) with the
commentary of Goymdaraja and extracts from Thilaka,
Theertheeya, Ramanujeeya, Sathyadharma-theertheeya,
Thanisloki, Siromam, Vishamapada-vivnthi, Kathaka,
Munibhavaprakasika etc. It will, when completed, place
before the world many a rare and priceless information in-
accessible till now.

Commentators

1. Govindaraja. He names his work the Ramayana-
Bhooshana " an ornament to the Ramayana, " ; and each
kanda furnishes a variety of it the anklets, the silk -cloth,
the girdle, the pearl necklace, the beauty-mark between the
eye-brows, the tiara and the crest-gem. He is of the
Kausikas and the disciple of Sathakopa. The Lord Venka-
tesa appeared to him in a dream one night while he lay
asleep in front of His shrine on the Serpent Mount and
commanded him to write a commentary on the Ramayana ;
and in devout obedience to the Divine call, he undertook
the task and right manfully has he performed it. It is the
most comprehensive, the most scholarly and the most
authoritative commentary on the Sacred Epic, albeit his
zealous Vaishnavite spirit surges up now and then in a hi-
at Siya and the Saivites, Priceless gems of traditional



PREFACE IX

pretations and oral instructions are embedded in his monu-
mental work.

2. Mahesa-theertha. He declares himself to be the
pupil of Narayana-theertha and has named his work Rama-
yana-thathva-deepika. " I have but written down the
opinions of various great men and have nothing of my own
to give, except where I have tried to explain the inner
meaning of the remarks made by Viradha, Khara, Vali
and Ravana ". In fact, he copies out the commentary of
Govindaraja bodily. He quotes Teeka-siromam and is
criticised by Rama-panditha in his Thilaka.

3. Rama-pan ditha. His commentary, the Rama-
yana-thilaka, was the only one accessible to the
world (outside of southern India), being printed in
Devanagan characters at Calcutta and Bombay. He
quotes from and criticises the Ramayana-thathva-
deepika and the Kathaka, but makes no reference to
Govindaraja. It may be the that work of the latter,
being in the Grantha characters, was not available to him
in Northern India; and Theertha might have studied it
in the South and written his commentary in the Devana-
gan. Rama-panditha is a thorough-going, uncompromising
Adwaithin, and jeers mercilessly at Theertha's esoteric
interpretations. In the Grantha edition of the Ramayana,
the Uthtnarakanda is commented upon only by Govindaraja
and Theertha ; but, the Devanagan edition with the com-
mentary of Rama-panditha, contains word for word, without
a single alteration, the gloss of Mahesatheertha M I have
tried in vain to explain or reconcile this enigma. But, the
Adwaithic tenor of the arguments and the frequent criticisms
of Kathaka, savor more of Rama-panditha than of Theertha.

4. Kathaka. I have not been able to find out the
author of the commentary so named, which exists only in
the extracts quoted in the Thilaka.



X PREFACE

5. Ramanuja. He confines himself mainly to a di#-
cussion of the various readings of the text. What comment-
ary he chances to write now and then, is not very valuable.
He is not to be confounded with the famous Founder of
the Visishtadwaitha School of Philosophy.

6. Thanislokt, Knshna-Samahvaya or as he is more
popularly known by his Tamil cognomen, Pena-vachchan
Pillay, is the author of it. It is not a regular commentary
upon the Ramayana. He selects certain oft-quoted stanzas
and writes short essays upon them, which are much admir-
ed by the people of the South, and form the cram-book of
the professional expounder of the Rarnayana. It is written
in Manipravala a curious combination of Samskntha and
Tamil, with quaint idioms and curious twists of language.
Many of the explanations are far-fetched and wire-drawn
and reveal a spirit of Vaishnavite sectarianism.

7. Abhaya-pradana-sara. Sree Vedantha-desika, the
most prominent personage after Sree Ramanuja, is the
author of this treatise. It selects the incident of Vibheeshana
seeking refuge with Rama (Vibheeshana-saranagathi) as a
typical illustration of the key-rote of the Ramayana the
doctrine of Surrender to the Lord, and deals with the subject
exhaustively. It is written in the Manipravala, as most of
his Tamil works are.

Translations

Gorresio published an Italian rendering of the work
in 1870, It was followed by the French translation of
Hippolyte Fauche's. In the year 1846, Schlegel gave to
the world a Latin version of the first Kanda and a part of the
second. The Serampore Missionaries were the first to
give the Ramayana an English garb ; but they proceeded
no further than two Kandas and a half. Mr. Griffith, Prin-
cipal of the Benares College, was the first to translate the



PREFACE xi

Ramayana into English verse (187074). But, the latest
translation of Valmeeki's immortal epic into English prose
is that of Manmathanath Dutt, M. A., Calcutta (1894).

" Then why go over the same ground and inflict upon the
public another translation of the Ramayana m English prose?"

1 . Mr. Dutt has translated but the text of Valmeeki
and that almost too literally ; he has not placed before the
readers the priceless gems of information contained in the
commentaries.

2. The text that, I think, he has used is the one pub-
lished with the commentary of Rama-panditha, which
differs widely from the South Indian Grantha text in read-
ings and IK the number of stanzas and chapters.

3 More often than once, his rendering is completely
wide of the maik. (It is neither useful nor graceful to make
a list of all such instances. A careful comparison of his
rendering with mine is all I request of any impartial scholar
of Samskntha).

4. I venture to think that his translation conveys not
to a Westerner the beauty, the spirit, the swing, the force
and the grandeur of the original

5, Even supposing that it is a faultless rendering of
a faultless text, it is not all that is required.

G. As is explained in the Introduction, the greatness
of the Ramayana lies in its profound suggestiveness ; and no
literal word-for-word rendering will do the barest justice to it.

7. Many incidents, customs, manners, usages and
traditions of the time of Rama are hinted at or left to be in-
ferred, being within the knowledge of the persons to whom
the poem was sung ; but to the modern world they are a
sealed book.

8. Even such of the above as have lived down to our
times are so utterly changed, altered, nidified and over-laid
by the accretions of ages as to be almost unrecognisable.



Xll



9. The same incident is variously related in various
places.

Every one of the eighteen Puranas, as also the Maha-
bharatha, the Adhyathma Ramayana and the Ananda Rama-
yana, relates the coming down of the Lord as Sree Rama, but
with great divergences of detail ; while the Padmapurana
narrates the life and doings of Sree Rama in a former Kalpa,
which differs very much in the main from the Ramayana
of Valmeeki. The Adbhutha Ramayana and the Vasishtha
Ramayana deal at great length with certain incidents in the
life of Rama as are not touched upon by Valmeeki ; while
the Ananda Ramayana devotes eight Kandas to the history
of Rama after he was crowned at Ayodhya. Innumerable
poems and plays founded upon Valmeeki's epic modify its
incidents greatly, but base themselves on some Purana or
other authoritative work.

10. Many a story that we have heard from the lips of
our elders when we lay around roaring fires during long
wintry nights and which we have come to regard as part and
parcel of the life and doings of Rama, finds no place in
Valmeeki's poem.

11. The poem was to be recited, not read, and to an
ever-changing audience. Only twenty chapters were allow-
ed to be sung a day, neither more nor less. Hence the in-
numerable repititions, recapitulations and other literary
rapids through which it is not very easy to steer our frail
translation craft. The whole range of Samskntha literature,
religious and secular, has to be laid under contribution to
bring home to the minds of the readers a fair and adequate
idea of the message that was conveyed to humanity by
Valmeeki.

12. A bare translation of the text of the Ramayana
is thus of no use nay, more mischievous than useful, in
that it gives an incomplete and la many places a distorted



PREFACE xiii

view of the subject. It is to the commentaries that we
have to turn for explanation, interpretation, amplification,
reconciliation and rounding off. And of these, the most
important, that of Govindaraja, is practically inaccessible
except to the Tamil-speaking races of India. The saints
of the Dravida country, the Alwars from Sree Sathakopa
downwards, have taken up the study of the Ramayana of
Valmeeki as a special branch of the Vedantha and have
left behind them a large literature on the subject, original
and explanatory. The Divya-prabandhas and their numer-
ous commentaries are all in the quaint archaic Tamil style
known as Mampravala, and are entirely unknown to the
non-Tamil-speaking world. With those teachers the Rama-
yana was not an ordinary epic, not even an Ithihasa.
It was something higher, grander and more sacred. It
was an Upadesa-Grantha a Book of Initiation , and no true
Vaishnava may read it unless he has been initiated by his
Guru into its mysteries. It is to him what the Bible was to
the Catholic world of the Medieval Ages ; only the Initiated,
the clergy as it were, could read and expound it. Over and
above all this, there are many priceless teachings about the
Inner Mysteries of the Ramayana which find no place in
written books. They form part of the instructions that the
Guru gives to the Disciple by word of mouth.

13. Then again, there is the never-ending discussion
about the method of translation to be followed. Max-
Muller, the Grand Old Man of the Orientalist School opines
thus : " When I was enabled to collate copies which came
from the south of India, the opinion,which I have often ex-
pressed of the great value of Southern Mss. received fresh
confirmation The study of Grantha and other southern
Mss, will inaugurate, I believe, a new period in the critical
treatment of Sanskrit texts. The rule which I have follow-
ed myself, and which I have asked my fellow-translators



Xiv PREPACK

to follow, has been adhered to in this new volume atoo,
viz. whenever a choice has to be made between what is
not quite faithful and what is not quite English, to surren-
der, without hesitation, the idiom rather than the accuracy
of the translation. I know that all true scholars have ap-
proved of this, and if some of our critics have been offend-
ed by certain unidiomatic expressions occurring in our
translations, all I can say is, that we shall always be most
grateful if they would suggest translations which are not
only faithful, but also idiomatic. For the purpose we have
in view, a rugged but faithful translation seems to us more
useful than a smooth but misleading one.

However, we have laid ourselves open to another kind
of censure also, namely, of having occasionally not been
literal enough. It is impossible to argue these questions in
general, but every translator knows that in many cases a
literal translation may convey an entirely wrong mean-
ing. " Introduction to his Translation of the Upamshads.
Part II, p. 13

" It is difficult to explain to those who have not them-
selves worked at the Veda, how it is that, though we may
understand almost every word, yet we find it so difficult
to lay hold of a whole chain of connected thought and to
discover expressions that will not throw a wrong shade on
the original features of the ancient words of the Veda. We
have, on the one hand, to avoid giving to our translations
too modern a character or paraphrasing instead of tran-
slating ; while on the other, we cannot retain expressions
which, if literally rendered in English or any modern
tongue, would have an air of quamtness or absurdity totally
foreign to the intention of the ancient poets.

While in my translation of the Veda in the remarks
that I have to make in the course of my commentary, I
shall frequently differ from other scholars, who have dope



PREFACE XV

their best and who have done what they have done in a truly
scholarlike, that is in a humble spirit, it would be un-
pleasant, even were it possible within the limits assigned,
to criticise every opinion that has been put forward on the
meaning of certain words or on the construction of certain
verses of the Veda. I prefer as much as possible to vindi-
cate my own translation, instead of examining the transla-
tions of other scholars, whether Indian or European. "
From the Preface to his translation of the Rig-veda Samhitha.

In his letter to me of the 26th of January 1892,
referring to my proposal to translate the Markandeya Purana
as one of the Sacred Books of the East, he writes

" I shall place your letter before the Chancellor and
Delegates of the Press, and I hope they may accept your
proposal. If you would send me a specimen of your
translation, clearly written, I shall be glad to examine it,
and compare it with the text in the Bibliotheca Iinlua.
I have a Mss. of the Markandeya-punma. Possibly the palm
leaf Mss. in Grantha letters would supply you with a better
text than that printed in the Ribliotheca Indica"

But, Mrs. Besant, in her Introduction to ' The Laws of
Manu, in the Light of Theosophy. By Bhagavan Das,
M. A./ takes a different view

" One explanatory statement should be made as to the
method of conveying to the modern reader the thought of
the ancient writer. The European Orientalist, with admir-
able scrupulosity and tireless patience, works away labon-
busly with dictionary and grammar to give an " accurate
and scholarly translation " of the foreign language which
he is striving to interpret. What else can he do ? But the
Result, as compared with the Original, is like the dead
pressed specimen ' of the botanist beside the breathing
living flower of the garden. Even I, with my poor know-
ledge of Samsknt, know the joy of contacting the pulsing



XVI PREFACE

virile scriptures in their own tongue, and the inexpressible
dulness and dreariness of their scholarly renderings into
English. But our lecturer is a Hindu, who from childhood
upwards has lived in the atmosphere of the elder days ;
he heard the old stories before he could read, sung by
grand-mother, aunt, and pandit ; when he is tired now, he
finds his recreation in chanting over the well-loved stanzas
of an Ancient Purana, crooning them softly as a lullaby to
a weaned mind ; to him the ' well-constructed language '
(Samsknt) is the mother-tongue,

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!

_________________

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Re: POST, POST LIKE YOU NEVER POSTED BEFORE!
The Mahabharata

of

Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa

BOOK 17

Mahaprasthanika-parva



Translated into English Prose from the Original Sanskrit Text

by

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

[1883-1896]

Scanned and Proofed by Mantra Caitanya. Additional proofing and
formatting at sacred-texts.com, by J. B. Hare, October 2003.





1

Om! Having bowed down unto Narayana, and to Nara, the foremost of men, as
also to the goddess Sarasvati, should the word "Jaya" be uttered.

Janamejaya said: "Having heard of that encounter with iron bolts between
the heroes of the Vrishni and the Andhaka races, and having been informed
also of Krishnas ascension to Heaven, what did the Pandavas do?"

Vaishampayana said: "Having heard the particulars of the great slaughter
of the Vrishnis, the Kaurava king set his heart on leaving the world. He
addressed Arjuna, saying, O thou of great intelligence, it is Time that
cooks every creature (in his cauldron). I think that what has happened is
due to the cords of Time (with which he binds us all). It behoveth thee
also to see it.

"Thus addressed by his brother, the son of Kunti only repeated the word
Time, Time! and fully endorsed the view of his eldest brother gifted with
great intelligence. Ascertaining the resolution of Arjuna, Bhimasena and
the twins fully endorsed the words that Arjuna had said. Resolved to
retire from the world for earning merit, they brought Yuyutsu before
them. Yudhishthira made over the kingdom to the son of his uncle by his
Vaisya wife. Installing Parikshit also on their throne, as king, the
eldest brother of the Pandavas, filled with sorrow, addressed Subhadra,
saying, This son of thy son will be the king of the Kurus. The survivor
of the Yadus, Vajra, has been made a king. Parikshit will rule in
Hastinapura, while the Yadava prince, Vajra, will rule in Shakraprastha.
He should be protected by thee. Never set thy heart on unrighteousness.

"Having said these words, king Yudhishthira the just, along with his
brothers, promptly offered oblations of water unto Vasudeva of great
intelligence, as also unto his old maternal uncle and Rama and others. He
then duly performed the Sraddhas of all those deceased kinsmen of his.
The king, in honour of Hari and naming him repeatedly, fed the
Island-born Vyasa, and Narada, and Markandeya possessed of wealth of
penances, and Yajnavalkya of Bharadwajas race, with many delicious
viands. In honour of Krishna, he also gave away many jewels and gems, and
robes and clothes, and villages, and horses and cars, and female slaves
by hundreds and thousands unto foremost of Brahmanas. Summoning the
citizens. Kripa was installed as the preceptor and Parikshit was made
over to him as his disciple, O chief of Bharatas race.

"Then Yudhishthira once more summoned all his subjects. The royal sage
informed them of his intentions. The citizens and the inhabitants of the
provinces, hearing the kings words, became filled with anxiety and
disapproved of them. This should never be done, said they unto the king.
The monarch, well versed with the changes brought about by time, did not
listen to their counsels. Possessed of righteous soul, he persuaded the
people to sanction his views. He then set his heart on leaving the world.
His brothers also formed the same resolution. Then Dharmas son,
Yudhishthira, the king of the Kurus, casting off his ornaments, wore
barks of trees. Bhima and Arjuna and the twins, and Draupadi also of
great fame, similarly clad themselves in bark of trees, O king. Having
caused the preliminary rites of religion, O chief of Bharatas race, which
were to bless them in the accomplishment of their design, those foremost
of men cast off their sacred fires into the water. The ladies, beholding
the princes in that guise, wept aloud. They seemed to look as they had
looked in days before, when with Draupadi forming the sixth in number
they set out from the capital after their defeat at dice. The brothers,
however, were all very cheerful at the prospect of retirement.
Ascertaining the intentions of Yudhishthira and seeing the destruction of
the Vrishnis, no other course of action could please them then.

"The five brothers, with Draupadi forming the sixth, and a dog forming
the seventh, set out on their journey. Indeed, even thus did king
Yudhishthira depart, himself the head of a party of seven, from the city
named after the elephant. The citizen and the ladies of the royal
household followed them for some distance. None of them, however, could
venture to address the king for persuading him to give up his intention.
The denizens of the city then returned; Kripa and others stood around
Yuyutsu as their centre. Ulupi, the daughter of the Naga chief, O thou of
Kuntis race, entered the waters of Ganga. The princess Chitrangada set
out for the capital of Manipura. The other ladies who were the
grandmothers of Parikshit centered around him. Meanwhile the high-souled
Pandavas, O thou of Kurus race, and Draupadi of great fame, having
observed the preliminary fast, set out with their faces towards the east.
Setting themselves on Yoga, those high-souled ones, resolved to observe
the religion of Renunciation, traversed through various countries and
reached diverse rivers and seas. Yudhishthira, proceeded first. Behind
him was Bhima; next walked Arjuna; after him were the twins in the order
of their birth; behind them all, O foremost one of Bharatas race,
proceeded Draupadi, that first of women, possessed of great beauty, of
dark complexion, and endued with eyes resembling lotus petals. While the
Pandavas set out for the forest, a dog followed them.

"Proceeding on, those heroes reached the sea of red waters. Dhananjaya
had not cast off his celestial bow Gandiva, nor his couple of
inexhaustible quivers, actuated, O king, by the cupidity that attaches
one to things of great value. The Pandavas there beheld the deity of fire
standing before them like a hill. Closing their way, the god stood there
in his embodied form. The deity of seven flames then addressed the
Pandavas, saying, Ye heroic sons of Pandu, know me for the deity of fire.
O mighty-armed Yudhishthira, O Bhimasena that art a scorcher of foes, O
Arjuna, and ye twins of great courage, listen to what I say! Ye foremost
ones of Kurus race, I am the god of fire. The forest of Khandava was
burnt by me, through the puissance of Arjuna and of Narayana himself. Let
your brother Phalguna proceed to the woods after casting off Gandiva,
that high weapon. He has no longer any need of it. That precious discus,
which was with the high-souled Krishna, has disappeared (from the world).
When the time again comes, it will come back into his hands. This
foremost of bows, Gandiva, was procured by me from Varuna for the use of
Partha. Let it be made over to Varuna himself.

"At this, all the brothers urged Dhananjaya to do what the deity said. He
then threw into the waters (of the sea) both the bow and the couple of
inexhaustible quivers. After this, O chief of Bharatas race, the god of
the fire disappeared then and there. The heroic sons of Pandu next
proceeded with their faces turned towards the south. Then, by the
northern coast of the salt sea, those princes of Bharatas race proceeded
to the south-west. Turning next towards the west, they beheld the city of
Dwaraka covered by the ocean. Turning next to the north, those foremost
ones proceeded on. Observant of Yoga, they were desirous of making a
round of the whole Earth."



2

Vaishampayana said: "Those princes of restrained souls and devoted to
Yoga, proceeding to the north, beheld Himavat, that very large mountain.
Crossing the Himavat, they beheld a vast desert of sand. They then saw
the mighty mountain Meru, the foremost of all high-peaked mountains. As
those mighty ones were proceeding quickly, all rapt in Yoga, Yajnaseni,
falling of from Yoga, dropped down on the Earth. Beholding her fallen
down, Bhimasena of great strength addressed king Yudhishthira the just,
saying, O scorcher of foes, this princess never did any sinful act. Tell
us what the cause is for which Krishna has fallen down on the Earth!

"Yudhishthira said: O best of men, though we were all equal unto her she
had great partiality for Dhananjaya. She obtains the fruit of that
conduct today, O best of men."

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said this, that foremost one of Bharatas
race proceeded on. Of righteous soul, that foremost of men, endued with
great intelligence, went on, with mind intent on itself. Then Sahadeva of
great learning fell down on the Earth. Beholding him drop down, Bhima
addressed the king, saying, He who with great humility used to serve us
all, alas, why is that son of Madravati fallen down on the Earth?

"Yudhishthira said, He never thought anybody his equal in wisdom. It is
for that fault that this prince has fallen down.

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said this, the king proceeded, leaving
Sahadeva there. Indeed, Kuntis son Yudhishthira went on, with his
brothers and with the dog. Beholding both Krishna and the Pandava
Sahadeva fallen down, the brave Nakula, whose love for kinsmen was very
great, fell down himself. Upon the falling down of the heroic Nakula of
great personal beauty, Bhima once more addressed the king, saying, This
brother of ours who was endued with righteousness without incompleteness,
and who always obeyed our behests, this Nakula who was unrivalled for
beauty, has fallen down.

"Thus addressed by Bhimasena, Yudhishthira, said, with respect to Nakula,
these words: He was of righteous soul and the foremost of all persons
endued with intelligence. He, however, thought that there was nobody that
equalled him in beauty of person. Indeed, he regarded himself as superior
to all in that respect. It is for this that Nakula has fallen down. Know
this, O Vrikodara. What has been ordained for a person, O hero, must have
to be endured by him.

"Beholding Nakula and the others fall down, Pandus son Arjuna of white
steeds, that slayer of hostile heroes, fell down in great grief of heart.
When that foremost of men, who was endued with the energy of Shakra, had
fallen down, indeed, when that invincible hero was on the point of death,
Bhima said unto the king, I do not recollect any untruth uttered by this
high-souled one. Indeed, not even in jest did he say anything false. What
then is that for whose evil consequence this one has fallen down on the
Earth?

"Yudhishthira said, Arjuna had said that he would consume all our foes in
a single day. Proud of his heroism, he did not, however, accomplish what
he had said. Hence has he fallen down. This Phalguna disregarded all
wielders of bows. One desirous of prosperity should never indulge in such
sentiments."

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said so, the king proceeded on. Then
Bhima fell down. Having fallen down, Bhima addressed king Yudhishthira
the just, saying, O king, behold, I who am thy darling have fallen down.
For what reason have I dropped down? Tell me if thou knowest it.

"Yudhishthira said, Thou wert a great eater, and thou didst use to boast
of thy strength. Thou never didst attend, O Bhima, to the wants of others
while eating. It is for that, O Bhima, that thou hast fallen down.

"Having said these words, the mighty-armed Yudhishthira proceeded on,
without looking back. He had only one companion, the dog of which I have
repeatedly spoken to thee, that followed him now.



3

Vaishampayana said: "Then Shakra, causing the firmament and the Earth to
be filled by a loud sound, came to the son of Pritha on a car and asked
him to ascend it. Beholding his brothers fallen on the Earth, king
Yudhishthira the just said unto that deity of a 1,000 eyes these words:
My brothers have all dropped down here. They must go with me. Without
them by me I do not wish to go to Heaven, O lord of all the deities. The
delicate princess (Draupadi) deserving of every comfort, O Purandara,
should go with us. It behoveth thee to permit this.

"Shakra said, Thou shalt behold thy brothers in Heaven. They have reached
it before thee. Indeed, thou shalt see all of them there, with Krishna.
Do not yield to grief, O chief of the Bharatas. Having cast off their
human bodies they have gone there, O chief of Bharatas race. As regards
thee, it is ordained that thou shalt go thither in this very body of
thine.

"Yudhishthira said, This dog, O lord of the Past and the Present, is
exceedingly devoted to me. He should go with me. My heart is full of
compassion for him.

"Shakra said, Immortality and a condition equal to mine, O king,
prosperity extending in all directions, and high success, and all the
felicities of Heaven, thou hast won today. Do thou cast off this dog. In
this there will be no cruelty.

"Yudhishthira said, O thou of a 1,000 eyes. O thou that art of righteous
behaviour, it is exceedingly difficult for one that is of righteous
behaviour to perpetrate an act that is unrighteous. I do not desire that
union with prosperity for which I shall have to cast off one that is
devoted to me.

"Indra said, There is no place in Heaven for persons with dogs. Besides,
the (deities called) Krodhavasas take away all the merits of such
persons. Reflecting on this, act, O king Yudhishthira the just. Do thou
abandon this dog. There is no cruelty in this.

"Yudhishthira said, It has been said that the abandonment of one that is
devoted is infinitely sinful. It is equal to the sin that one incurs by
slaying a Brahmana. Hence, O great Indra, I shall not abandon this dog
today from desire of my happiness. Even this is my vow steadily pursued,
that I never give up a person that is terrified, nor one that is devoted
to me, nor one that seeks my protection, saying that he is destitute, nor
one that is afflicted, nor one that has come to me, nor one that is weak
in protecting oneself, nor one that is solicitous of life. I shall never
give up such a one till my own life is at an end.

"Indra said, Whatever gifts, or sacrifices spread out, or libations
poured on the sacred fire, are seen by a dog, are taken away by the
Krodhavasas. Do thou, therefore, abandon this dog. By abandoning this dog
thou wilt attain to the region of the deities. Having abandoned thy
brothers and Krishna, thou hast, O hero, acquired a region of felicity by
thy own deeds. Why art thou so stupefied? Thou hast renounced everything.
Why then dost thou not renounce this dog? "Yudhishthira said, This is
well known in all the worlds that there is neither friendship nor enmity
with those that are dead. When my brothers and Krishna died, I was unable
to revive them. Hence it was that I abandoned them. I did not, however,
abandon them as long as they were alive. To frighten one that has sought
protection, the slaying of a woman, the theft of what belongs to a
Brahmana, and injuring a friend, each of these four, O Shakra, is I think
equal to the abandonment of one that is devoted."

Vaishampayana continued: "Hearing these words of king Yudhishthira the
just, (the dog became transformed into) the deity of Righteousness, who,
well pleased, said these words unto him in a sweet voice fraught with
praise.

"Dharma said: Thou art well born, O king of kings, and possessed of the
intelligence and the good conduct of Pandu. Thou hast compassion for all
creatures, O Bharata, of which this is a bright example. Formerly, O son,
thou wert once examined by me in the woods of Dwaita, where thy brothers
of great prowess met with (an appearance of) death. Disregarding both thy
brothers Bhima and Arjuna, thou didst wish for the revival of Nakula from
thy desire of doing good to thy (step-) mother. On the present occasion,
thinking the dog to be devoted to thee, thou hast renounced the very car
of the celestials instead of renouncing him. Hence. O king, there is no
one in Heaven that is equal to thee. Hence, O Bharata, regions of
inexhaustible felicity are thine. Thou hast won them, O chief of the
Bharatas, and thine is a celestial and high goal."

Vaishampayana continued: "Then Dharma, and Shakra, and the Maruts, and
the Ashvinis, and other deities, and the celestial Rishis, causing
Yudhishthira to ascend on a car, proceeded to Heaven. Those beings
crowned with success and capable of going everywhere at will, rode their
respective cars. King Yudhishthira, that perpetuator of Kurus race,
riding on that car, ascended quickly, causing the entire welkin to blaze
with his effulgence. Then Narada, that foremost of all speakers, endued
with penances, and conversant with all the worlds, from amidst that
concourse of deities, said these words: All those royal sages that are
here have their achievements transcended by those of Yudhishthira.
Covering all the worlds by his fame and splendour and by his wealth of
conduct, he has attained to Heaven in his own (human) body. None else
than the son of Pandu has been heard to achieve this.

"Hearing these words of Narada, the righteous-souled king, saluting the
deities and all the royal sages there present, said, Happy or miserable,
whatever the region be that is now my brothers, I desire to proceed to. I
do not wish to go anywhere else.

"Hearing this speech of the king, the chief of the deities, Purandara,
said these words fraught with noble sense: Do thou live in this place, O
king of kings, which thou hast won by thy meritorious deeds. Why dost
thou still cherish human affections? Thou hast attained to great success,
the like of which no other man has ever been able to attain. Thy
brothers, O delighter of the Kurus, have succeeded in winning regions of
felicity. Human affections still touch thee. This is Heaven. Behold these
celestial Rishis and Siddhas who have attained to the region of the gods.

"Gifted with great intelligence, Yudhishthira answered the chief of the
deities once more, saying, O conqueror of Daityas, I venture not to dwell
anywhere separated from them. I desire to go there, where my brothers
have gone. I wish to go there where that foremost of women, Draupadi, of
ample proportions and darkish complexion and endued with great
intelligence and righteous of conduct, has gone."

The end of Mahaprasthanika-parv

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!


_________________

1 pcs.
1 pcs.
1 pcs.
1 pcs.


Mon Oct 08, 2012 12:58 pm

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Re: POST, POST LIKE YOU NEVER POSTED BEFORE!
The Mahabharata

of

Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa

BOOK 1

ADI PARVA

Translated into English Prose from the Original Sanskrit Text

by

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

[1883-1896]

Scanned at sacred-texts.com, 2003. Proofed at Distributed Proofing,
Juliet Sutherland, Project Manager. Additional proofing and formatting at
sacred-texts.com, by J. B. Hare.



TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

The object of a translator should ever be to hold the mirror upto his
author. That being so, his chief duty is to represent so far as
practicable the manner in which his author's ideas have been expressed,
retaining if possible at the sacrifice of idiom and taste all the
peculiarities of his author's imagery and of language as well. In regard
to translations from the Sanskrit, nothing is easier than to dish up
Hindu ideas, so as to make them agreeable to English taste. But the
endeavour of the present translator has been to give in the following
pages as literal a rendering as possible of the great work of Vyasa. To
the purely English reader there is much in the following pages that will
strike as ridiculous. Those unacquainted with any language but their own
are generally very exclusive in matters of taste. Having no knowledge of
models other than what they meet with in their own tongue, the standard
they have formed of purity and taste in composition must necessarily be a
narrow one. The translator, however, would ill-discharge his duty, if for
the sake of avoiding ridicule, he sacrificed fidelity to the original. He
must represent his author as he is, not as he should be to please the
narrow taste of those entirely unacquainted with him. Mr. Pickford, in
the preface to his English translation of the Mahavira Charita, ably
defends a close adherence to the original even at the sacrifice of idiom
and taste against the claims of what has been called 'Free Translation,'
which means dressing the author in an outlandish garb to please those to
whom he is introduced.

In the preface to his classical translation of Bhartrihari's Niti Satakam
and Vairagya Satakam, Mr. C.H. Tawney says, "I am sensible that in the
present attempt I have retained much local colouring. For instance, the
ideas of worshipping the feet of a god of great men, though it frequently
occurs in Indian literature, will undoubtedly move the laughter of
Englishmen unacquainted with Sanskrit, especially if they happen to
belong to that class of readers who revel their attention on the
accidental and remain blind to the essential. But a certain measure of
fidelity to the original even at the risk of making oneself ridiculous,
is better than the studied dishonesty which characterises so many
translations of oriental poets."

We fully subscribe to the above although, it must be observed, the
censure conveyed to the class of translators last indicated is rather
undeserved, there being nothing like a 'studied dishonesty' in their
efforts which proceed only from a mistaken view of their duties and as
such betray only an error of the head but not of the heart. More than
twelve years ago when Babu Pratapa Chandra Roy, with Babu Durga Charan
Banerjee, went to my retreat at Seebpore, for engaging me to translate
the Mahabharata into English, I was amazed with the grandeur of the
scheme. My first question to him was,--whence was the money to come,
supposing my competence for the task. Pratapa then unfolded to me the
details of his plan, the hopes he could legitimately cherish of
assistance from different quarters. He was full of enthusiasm. He showed
me Dr. Rost's letter, which, he said, had suggested to him the
undertaking. I had known Babu Durga Charan for many years and I had the
highest opinion of his scholarship and practical good sense. When he
warmly took Pratapa's side for convincing me of the practicability of the
scheme, I listened to him patiently. The two were for completing all
arrangements with me the very day. To this I did not agree. I took a
week's time to consider. I consulted some of my literary friends,
foremost among whom was the late lamented Dr. Sambhu C. Mookherjee. The
latter, I found, had been waited upon by Pratapa. Dr. Mookherjee spoke to
me of Pratapa as a man of indomitable energy and perseverance. The result
of my conference with Dr. Mookherjee was that I wrote to Pratapa asking
him to see me again. In this second interview estimates were drawn up,
and everything was arranged as far as my portion of the work was
concerned. My friend left with me a specimen of translation which he had
received from Professor Max Muller. This I began to study, carefully
comparing it sentence by sentence with the original. About its literal
character there could be no doubt, but it had no flow and, therefore,
could not be perused with pleasure by the general reader. The translation
had been executed thirty years ago by a young German friend of the great
Pundit. I had to touch up every sentence. This I did without at all
impairing faithfulness to the original. My first 'copy' was set up in
type and a dozen sheets were struck off. These were submitted to the
judgment of a number of eminent writers, European and native. All of
them, I was glad to see, approved of the specimen, and then the task of
translating the Mahabharata into English seriously began.

Before, however, the first fasciculus could be issued, the question as to
whether the authorship of the translation should be publicly owned,
arose. Babu Pratapa Chandra Roy was against anonymity. I was for it. The
reasons I adduced were chiefly founded upon the impossibility of one
person translating the whole of the gigantic work. Notwithstanding my
resolve to discharge to the fullest extent the duty that I took up, I
might not live to carry it out. It would take many years before the end
could be reached. Other circumstances than death might arise in
consequence of which my connection with the work might cease. It could
not be desirable to issue successive fasciculus with the names of a
succession of translators appearing on the title pages. These and other
considerations convinced my friend that, after all, my view was correct.
It was, accordingly, resolved to withhold the name of the translator. As
a compromise, however, between the two views, it was resolved to issue
the first fasciculus with two prefaces, one over the signature of the
publisher and the other headed--'Translator's Preface.' This, it was
supposed, would effectually guard against misconceptions of every kind.
No careful reader would then confound the publisher with the author.

Although this plan was adopted, yet before a fourth of the task had been
accomplished, an influential Indian journal came down upon poor Pratapa
Chandra Roy and accused him openly of being a party to a great literary
imposture, viz., of posing before the world as the translator of Vyasa's
work when, in fact, he was only the publisher. The charge came upon my
friend as a surprise, especially as he had never made a secret of the
authorship in his correspondence with Oriental scholars in every part of
the world. He promptly wrote to the journal in question, explaining the
reasons there were for anonymity, and pointing to the two prefaces with
which the first fasciculus had been given to the world. The editor
readily admitted his mistake and made a satisfactory apology.

Now that the translation has been completed, there can no longer be any
reason for withholding the name of the translator. The entire translation
is practically the work of one hand. In portions of the Adi and the Sabha
Parvas, I was assisted by Babu Charu Charan Mookerjee. About four forms
of the Sabha Parva were done by Professor Krishna Kamal Bhattacharya, and
about half a fasciculus during my illness, was done by another hand. I
should however state that before passing to the printer the copy received
from these gentlemen I carefully compared every sentence with the
original, making such alterations as were needed for securing a
uniformity of style with the rest of the work.

I should here observe that in rendering the Mahabharata into English I
have derived very little aid from the three Bengali versions that are
supposed to have been executed with care. Every one of these is full of
inaccuracies and blunders of every description. The Santi in particular
which is by far the most difficult of the eighteen Parvas, has been made
a mess of by the Pundits that attacked it. Hundreds of ridiculous
blunders can be pointed out in both the Rajadharma and the Mokshadharma
sections. Some of these I have pointed out in footnotes.

I cannot lay claim to infallibility. There are verses in the Mahabharata
that are exceedingly difficult to construe. I have derived much aid from
the great commentator Nilakantha. I know that Nilakantha's authority is
not incapable of being challenged. But when it is remembered that the
interpretations given by Nilakantha came down to him from preceptors of
olden days, one should think twice before rejecting Nilakantha as a guide.

About the readings I have adopted, I should say that as regards the first
half of the work, I have generally adhered to the Bengal texts; as
regards the latter half, to the printed Bombay edition. Sometimes
individual sections, as occurring in the Bengal editions, differ widely,
in respect of the order of the verses, from the corresponding ones in the
Bombay edition. In such cases I have adhered to the Bengal texts,
convinced that the sequence of ideas has been better preserved in the
Bengal editions than the Bombay one.

I should express my particular obligations to Pundit Ram Nath Tarkaratna,
the author of 'Vasudeva Vijayam' and other poems, Pundit Shyama Charan
Kaviratna, the learned editor of Kavyaprakasha with the commentary of
Professor Mahesh Chandra Nayaratna, and Babu Aghore Nath Banerjee, the
manager of the Bharata Karyalaya. All these scholars were my referees on
all points of difficulty. Pundit Ram Nath's solid scholarship is known to
them that have come in contact with him. I never referred to him a
difficulty that he could not clear up. Unfortunately, he was not always
at hand to consult. Pundit Shyama Charan Kaviratna, during my residence
at Seebpore, assisted me in going over the Mokshadharma sections of the
Santi Parva. Unostentatious in the extreme, Kaviratna is truly the type
of a learned Brahman of ancient India. Babu Aghore Nath Banerjee also has
from time to time, rendered me valuable assistance in clearing my
difficulties.

Gigantic as the work is, it would have been exceedingly difficult for me
to go on with it if I had not been encouraged by Sir Stuart Bayley, Sir
Auckland Colvin, Sir Alfred Croft, and among Oriental scholars, by the
late lamented Dr. Reinhold Rost, and Mons. A. Barth of Paris. All these
eminent men know from the beginning that the translation was proceeding
from my pen. Notwithstanding the enthusiasm, with which my poor friend,
Pratapa Chandra Roy, always endeavoured to fill me. I am sure my energies
would have flagged and patience exhausted but for the encouraging words
which I always received from these patrons and friends of the enterprise.

Lastly, I should name my literary chief and friend, Dr. Sambhu C.
Mookherjee. The kind interest he took in my labours, the repeated
exhortations he addressed to me inculcating patience, the care with which
he read every fasciculus as it came out, marking all those passages which
threw light upon topics of antiquarian interest, and the words of praise
he uttered when any expression particularly happy met his eyes, served to
stimulate me more than anything else in going on with a task that
sometimes seemed to me endless.

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

Calcutta



THE MAHABHARATA

ADI PARVA

SECTION I

Om! Having bowed down to Narayana and Nara, the most exalted male being,
and also to the goddess Saraswati, must the word Jaya be uttered.

Ugrasrava, the son of Lomaharshana, surnamed Sauti, well-versed in the
Puranas, bending with humility, one day approached the great sages of
rigid vows, sitting at their ease, who had attended the twelve years'
sacrifice of Saunaka, surnamed Kulapati, in the forest of Naimisha. Those
ascetics, wishing to hear his wonderful narrations, presently began to
address him who had thus arrived at that recluse abode of the inhabitants
of the forest of Naimisha. Having been entertained with due respect by
those holy men, he saluted those Munis (sages) with joined palms, even
all of them, and inquired about the progress of their asceticism. Then
all the ascetics being again seated, the son of Lomaharshana humbly
occupied the seat that was assigned to him. Seeing that he was
comfortably seated, and recovered from fatigue, one of the Rishis
beginning the conversation, asked him, 'Whence comest thou, O lotus-eyed
Sauti, and where hast thou spent the time? Tell me, who ask thee, in
detail.'

Accomplished in speech, Sauti, thus questioned, gave in the midst of that
big assemblage of contemplative Munis a full and proper answer in words
consonant with their mode of life.

"Sauti said, 'Having heard the diverse sacred and wonderful stories which
were composed in his Mahabharata by Krishna-Dwaipayana, and which were
recited in full by Vaisampayana at the Snake-sacrifice of the high-souled
royal sage Janamejaya and in the presence also of that chief of Princes,
the son of Parikshit, and having wandered about, visiting many sacred
waters and holy shrines, I journeyed to the country venerated by the
Dwijas (twice-born) and called Samantapanchaka where formerly was fought
the battle between the children of Kuru and Pandu, and all the chiefs of
the land ranged on either side. Thence, anxious to see you, I am come
into your presence. Ye reverend sages, all of whom are to me as Brahma;
ye greatly blessed who shine in this place of sacrifice with the
splendour of the solar fire: ye who have concluded the silent meditations
and have fed the holy fire; and yet who are sitting--without care, what,
O ye Dwijas (twice-born), shall I repeat, shall I recount the sacred
stories collected in the Puranas containing precepts of religious duty
and of worldly profit, or the acts of illustrious saints and sovereigns
of mankind?"

"The Rishi replied, 'The Purana, first promulgated by the great Rishi
Dwaipayana, and which after having been heard both by the gods and the
Brahmarshis was highly esteemed, being the most eminent narrative that
exists, diversified both in diction and division, possessing subtile
meanings logically combined, and gleaned from the Vedas, is a sacred
work. Composed in elegant language, it includeth the subjects of other
books. It is elucidated by other Shastras, and comprehendeth the sense of
the four Vedas. We are desirous of hearing that history also called
Bharata, the holy composition of the wonderful Vyasa, which dispelleth
the fear of evil, just as it was cheerfully recited by the Rishi
Vaisampayana, under the direction of Dwaipayana himself, at the
snake-sacrifice of Raja Janamejaya?'

"Sauti then said, 'Having bowed down to the primordial being Isana, to
whom multitudes make offerings, and who is adored by the multitude; who
is the true incorruptible one, Brahma, perceptible, imperceptible,
eternal; who is both a non-existing and an existing-non-existing being;
who is the universe and also distinct from the existing and non-existing
universe; who is the creator of high and low; the ancient, exalted,
inexhaustible one; who is Vishnu, beneficent and the beneficence itself,
worthy of all preference, pure and immaculate; who is Hari, the ruler of
the faculties, the guide of all things moveable and immoveable; I will
declare the sacred thoughts of the illustrious sage Vyasa, of marvellous
deeds and worshipped here by all. Some bards have already published this
history, some are now teaching it, and others, in like manner, will
hereafter promulgate it upon the earth. It is a great source of
knowledge, established throughout the three regions of the world. It is
possessed by the twice-born both in detailed and compendious forms. It is
the delight of the learned for being embellished with elegant
expressions, conversations human and divine, and a variety of poetical
measures.

In this world, when it was destitute of brightness and light, and
enveloped all around in total darkness, there came into being, as the
primal cause of creation, a mighty egg, the one inexhaustible seed of all
created beings. It is called Mahadivya, and was formed at the beginning
of the Yuga, in which we are told, was the true light Brahma, the eternal
one, the wonderful and inconceivable being present alike in all places;
the invisible and subtile cause, whose nature partaketh of entity and
non-entity. From this egg came out the lord Pitamaha Brahma, the one only
Prajapati; with Suraguru and Sthanu. Then appeared the twenty-one
Prajapatis, viz., Manu, Vasishtha and Parameshthi; ten Prachetas, Daksha,
and the seven sons of Daksha. Then appeared the man of inconceivable
nature whom all the Rishis know and so the Viswe-devas, the Adityas, the
Vasus, and the twin Aswins; the Yakshas, the Sadhyas, the Pisachas, the
Guhyakas, and the Pitris. After these were produced the wise and most
holy Brahmarshis, and the numerous Rajarshis distinguished by every noble
quality. So the water, the heavens, the earth, the air, the sky, the
points of the heavens, the years, the seasons, the months, the
fortnights, called Pakshas, with day and night in due succession. And
thus were produced all things which are known to mankind.

And what is seen in the universe, whether animate or inanimate, of
created things, will at the end of the world, and after the expiration of
the Yuga, be again confounded. And, at the commencement of other Yugas,
all things will be renovated, and, like the various fruits of the earth,
succeed each other in the due order of their seasons. Thus continueth
perpetually to revolve in the world, without beginning and without end,
this wheel which causeth the destruction of all things.

The generation of Devas, in brief, was thirty-three thousand,
thirty-three hundred and thirty-three. The sons of Div were Brihadbhanu,
Chakshus, Atma Vibhavasu, Savita, Richika, Arka, Bhanu, Asavaha, and
Ravi. Of these Vivaswans of old, Mahya was the youngest whose son was
Deva-vrata. The latter had for his son, Su-vrata who, we learn, had three
sons,--Dasa-jyoti, Sata-jyoti, and Sahasra-jyoti, each of them producing
numerous offspring. The illustrious Dasa-jyoti had ten thousand,
Sata-jyoti ten times that number, and Sahasra-jyoti ten times the number
of Sata-jyoti's offspring. From these are descended the family of the
Kurus, of the Yadus, and of Bharata; the family of Yayati and of
Ikshwaku; also of all the Rajarshis. Numerous also were the generations
produced, and very abundant were the creatures and their places of abode.
The mystery which is threefold--the Vedas, Yoga, and Vijnana Dharma,
Artha, and Kama--also various books upon the subject of Dharma, Artha,
and Kama; also rules for the conduct of mankind; also histories and
discourses with various srutis; all of which having been seen by the
Rishi Vyasa are here in due order mentioned as a specimen of the book.

The Rishi Vyasa published this mass of knowledge in both a detailed and
an abridged form. It is the wish of the learned in the world to possess
the details and the abridgement. Some read the Bharata beginning with the
initial mantra (invocation), others with the story of Astika, others with
Uparichara, while some Brahmanas study the whole. Men of learning display
their various knowledge of the institutes in commenting on the
composition. Some are skilful in explaining it, while others, in
remembering its contents.

The son of Satyavati having, by penance and meditation, analysed the
eternal Veda, afterwards composed this holy history, when that learned
Brahmarshi of strict vows, the noble Dwaipayana Vyasa, offspring of
Parasara, had finished this greatest of narrations, he began to consider
how he might teach it to his disciples. And the possessor of the six
attributes, Brahma, the world's preceptor, knowing of the anxiety of the
Rishi Dwaipayana, came in person to the place where the latter was, for
gratifying the saint, and benefiting the people. And when Vyasa,
surrounded by all the tribes of Munis, saw him, he was surprised; and,
standing with joined palms, he bowed and ordered a seat to be brought.
And Vyasa having gone round him who is called Hiranyagarbha seated on
that distinguished seat stood near it; and being commanded by Brahma
Parameshthi, he sat down near the seat, full of affection and smiling in
joy. Then the greatly glorious Vyasa, addressing Brahma Parameshthi,
said, "O divine Brahma, by me a poem hath been composed which is greatly
respected. The mystery of the Veda, and what other subjects have been
explained by me; the various rituals of the Upanishads with the Angas;
the compilation of the Puranas and history formed by me and named after
the three divisions of time, past, present, and future; the determination
of the nature of decay, fear, disease, existence, and non-existence, a
description of creeds and of the various modes of life; rule for the four
castes, and the import of all the Puranas; an account of asceticism and
of the duties of a religious student; the dimensions of the sun and moon,
the planets, constellations, and stars, together with the duration of the
four ages; the Rik, Sama and Yajur Vedas; also the Adhyatma; the sciences
called Nyaya, Orthoephy and Treatment of diseases; charity and
Pasupatadharma; birth celestial and human, for particular purposes; also
a description of places of pilgrimage and other holy places of rivers,
mountains, forests, the ocean, of heavenly cities and the kalpas; the art
of war; the different kinds of nations and languages: the nature of the
manners of the people; and the all-pervading spirit;--all these have been
represented. But, after all, no writer of this work is to be found on
earth.'

"Brahma said. 'I esteem thee for thy knowledge of divine mysteries,
before the whole body of celebrated Munis distinguished for the sanctity
of their lives. I know thou hast revealed the divine word, even from its
first utterance, in the language of truth. Thou hast called thy present
work a poem, wherefore it shall be a poem. There shall be no poets whose
works may equal the descriptions of this poem, even, as the three other
modes called Asrama are ever unequal in merit to the domestic Asrama. Let
Ganesa be thought of, O Muni, for the purpose of writing the poem.'

"Sauti said, 'Brahma having thus spoken to Vyasa, retired to his own
abode. Then Vyasa began to call to mind Ganesa. And Ganesa, obviator of
obstacles, ready to fulfil the desires of his votaries, was no sooner
thought of, than he repaired to the place where Vyasa was seated. And
when he had been saluted, and was seated, Vyasa addressed him thus, 'O
guide of the Ganas! be thou the writer of the Bharata which I have formed
in my imagination, and which I am about to repeat."

"Ganesa, upon hearing this address, thus answered, 'I will become the
writer of thy work, provided my pen do not for a moment cease writing."
And Vyasa said unto that divinity, 'Wherever there be anything thou dost
not comprehend, cease to continue writing.' Ganesa having signified his
assent, by repeating the word Om! proceeded to write; and Vyasa began;
and by way of diversion, he knit the knots of composition exceeding
close; by doing which, he dictated this work according to his engagement.

I am (continued Sauti) acquainted with eight thousand and eight hundred
verses, and so is Suka, and perhaps Sanjaya. From the mysteriousness of
their meaning, O Muni, no one is able, to this day, to penetrate those
closely knit difficult slokas. Even the omniscient Ganesa took a moment
to consider; while Vyasa, however, continued to compose other verses in
great abundance.

The wisdom of this work, like unto an instrument of applying collyrium,
hath opened the eyes of the inquisitive world blinded by the darkness of
ignorance. As the sun dispelleth the darkness, so doth the Bharata by its
discourses on religion, profit, pleasure and final release, dispel the
ignorance of men. As the full-moon by its mild light expandeth the buds
of the water-lily, so this Purana, by exposing the light of the Sruti
hath expanded the human intellect. By the lamp of history, which
destroyeth the darkness of ignorance, the whole mansion of nature is
properly and completely illuminated.

This work is a tree, of which the chapter of contents is the seed; the
divisions called Pauloma and Astika are the root; the part called
Sambhava is the trunk; the books called Sabha and Aranya are the roosting
perches; the books called Arani is the knitting knots; the books called
Virata and Udyoga the pith; the book named Bhishma, the main branch; the
book called Drona, the leaves; the book called Karna, the fair flowers;
the book named Salya, their sweet smell; the books entitled Stri and
Aishika, the refreshing shade; the book called Santi, the mighty fruit;
the book called Aswamedha, the immortal sap; the denominated
Asramavasika, the spot where it groweth; and the book called Mausala, is
an epitome of the Vedas and held in great respect by the virtuous
Brahmanas. The tree of the Bharata, inexhaustible to mankind as the
clouds, shall be as a source of livelihood to all distinguished poets."

"Sauti continued, 'I will now speak of the undying flowery and fruitful
productions of this tree, possessed of pure and pleasant taste, and not
to be destroyed even by the immortals. Formerly, the spirited and
virtuous Krishna-Dwaipayana, by the injunctions of Bhishma, the wise son
of Ganga and of his own mother, became the father of three boys who were
like the three fires by the two wives of Vichitra-virya; and having thus
raised up Dhritarashtra, Pandu and Vidura, he returned to his recluse
abode to prosecute his religious exercise.

It was not till after these were born, grown up, and departed on the
supreme journey, that the great Rishi Vyasa published the Bharata in this
region of mankind; when being solicited by Janamejaya and thousands of
Brahmanas, he instructed his disciple Vaisampayana, who was seated near
him; and he, sitting together with the Sadasyas, recited the Bharata,
during the intervals of the ceremonies of the sacrifice, being repeatedly
urged to proceed.

Vyasa hath fully represented the greatness of the house of Kuru, the
virtuous principles of Gandhari, the wisdom of Vidura, and the constancy
of Kunti. The noble Rishi hath also described the divinity of Vasudeva,
the rectitude of the sons of Pandu, and the evil practices of the sons
and partisans of Dhritarashtra.

Vyasa executed the compilation of the Bharata, exclusive of the episodes
originally in twenty-four thousand verses; and so much only is called by
the learned as the Bharata. Afterwards, he composed an epitome in one
hundred and fifty verses, consisting of the introduction with the chapter
of contents. This he first taught to his son Suka; and afterwards he gave
it to others of his disciples who were possessed of the same
qualifications. After that he executed another compilation, consisting of
six hundred thousand verses. Of those, thirty hundred thousand are known
in the world of the Devas; fifteen hundred thousand in the world of the
Pitris: fourteen hundred thousand among the Gandharvas, and one hundred
thousand in the regions of mankind. Narada recited them to the Devas,
Devala to the Pitris, and Suka published them to the Gandharvas, Yakshas,
and Rakshasas: and in this world they were recited by Vaisampayana, one
of the disciples of Vyasa, a man of just principles and the first among
all those acquainted with the Vedas. Know that I, Sauti, have also
repeated one hundred thousand verses.

Yudhishthira is a vast tree, formed of religion and virtue; Arjuna is its
trunk; Bhimasena, its branches; the two sons of Madri are its full-grown
fruit and flowers; and its roots are Krishna, Brahma, and the Brahmanas.

Pandu, after having subdued many countries by his wisdom and prowess,
took up his abode with the Munis in a certain forest as a sportsman,
where he brought upon himself a very severe misfortune for having killed
a stag coupling with its mate, which served as a warning for the conduct
of the princes of his house as long as they lived. Their mothers, in
order that the ordinances of the law might be fulfilled, admitted as
substitutes to their embraces the gods Dharma, Vayu, Sakra, and the
divinities the twin Aswins. And when their offspring grew up, under the
care of their two mothers, in the society of ascetics, in the midst of
sacred groves and holy recluse-abodes of religious men, they were
conducted by Rishis into the presence of Dhritarashtra and his sons,
following as students in the habit of Brahmacharis, having their hair
tied in knots on their heads. 'These our pupils', said they, 'are as your
sons, your brothers, and your friends; they are Pandavas.' Saying this,
the Munis disappeared.

When the Kauravas saw them introduced as the sons of Pandu, the
distinguished class of citizens shouted exceedingly for joy. Some,
however, said, they were not the sons of Pandu; others said, they were;
while a few asked how they could be his offspring, seeing he had been so
long dead. Still on all sides voices were heard crying, 'They are on all
accounts Whalecum! Through divine Providence we behold the family of
Pandu! Let their Whalecum be proclaimed!' As these acclamations ceased,
the plaudits of invisible spirits, causing every point of the heavens to
resound, were tremendous. There were showers of sweet-scented flowers,
and the sound of shells and kettle-drums. Such were the wonders that
happened on the arrival of the young princes. The joyful noise of all the
citizens, in expression of their satisfaction on the occasion, was so
great that it reached the very heavens in magnifying plaudits.

Having studied the whole of the Vedas and sundry other shastras, the
Pandavas resided there, respected by all and without apprehension from
any one.

The principal men were pleased with the purity of Yudhishthira, the
courage of Arjuna, the submissive attention of Kunti to her superiors,
and the humility of the twins, Nakula and Sahadeva; and all the people
rejoiced in their heroic virtues.

After a while, Arjuna obtained the virgin Krishna at the swayamvara, in
the midst of a concourse of Rajas, by performing a very difficult feat of
archery. And from this time he became very much respected in this world
among all bowmen; and in fields of battle also, like the sun, he was hard
to behold by foe-men. And having vanquished all the neighbouring princes
and every considerable tribe, he accomplished all that was necessary for
the Raja (his eldest brother) to perform the great sacrifice called
Rajasuya.

Yudhishthira, after having, through the wise counsels of Vasudeva and by
the valour of Bhimasena and Arjuna, slain Jarasandha (the king of
Magadha) and the proud Chaidya, acquired the right to perform the grand
sacrifice of Rajasuya abounding in provisions and offering and fraught
with transcendent merits. And Duryodhana came to this sacrifice; and when
he beheld the vast wealth of the Pandavas scattered all around, the
offerings, the precious stones, gold and jewels; the wealth in cows,
elephants, and horses; the curious textures, garments, and mantles; the
precious shawls and furs and carpets made of the skin of the Ranku; he
was filled with envy and became exceedingly displeased. And when he
beheld the hall of assembly elegantly constructed by Maya (the Asura
architect) after the fashion of a celestial court, he was inflamed with
rage. And having started in confusion at certain architectural deceptions
within this building, he was derided by Bhimasena in the presence of
Vasudeva, like one of mean descent.

And it was represented to Dhritarashtra that his son, while partaking of
various objects of enjoyment and diverse precious things, was becoming
meagre, wan, and pale. And Dhritarashtra, some time after, out of
affection for his son, gave his consent to their playing (with the
Pandavas) at dice. And Vasudeva coming to know of this, became
exceedingly wroth. And being dissatisfied, he did nothing to prevent the
disputes, but overlooked the gaming and sundry other horried
unjustifiable transactions arising therefrom: and in spite of Vidura,
Bhishma, Drona, and Kripa, the son of Saradwan, he made the Kshatriyas
kill each other in the terrific war that ensued.'

"And Dhritarashtra hearing the ill news of the success of the Pandavas
and recollecting the resolutions of Duryodhana, Kama, and Sakuni,
pondered for a while and addressed to Sanjaya the following speech:--

'Attend, O Sanjaya, to all I am about to say, and it will not become thee
to treat me with contempt. Thou art well-versed in the shastras,
intelligent and endowed with wisdom. My inclination was never to war, not
did I delight in the destruction of my race. I made no distinction
between my own children and the children of Pandu. My own sons were prone
to wilfulness and despised me because I am old. Blind as I am, because of
my miserable plight and through paternal affection, I bore it all. I was
foolish alter the thoughtless Duryodhana ever growing in folly. Having
been a spectator of the riches of the mighty sons of Pandu, my son was
derided for his awkwardness while ascending the hall. Unable to bear it
all and unable himself to overcome the sons of Pandu in the field, and
though a soldier, unwilling yet to obtain good fortune by his own
exertion, with the help of the king of Gandhara he concerted an unfair
game at dice.

'Hear, O Sanjaya, all that happened thereupon and came to my knowledge.
And when thou hast heard all I say, recollecting everything as it fell
out, thou shall then know me for one with a prophetic eye. When I heard
that Arjuna, having bent the bow, had pierced the curious mark and
brought it down to the ground, and bore away in triumph the maiden
Krishna, in the sight of the assembled princes, then, O Sanjaya I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Subhadra of the race of Madhu had,
after forcible seizure been married by Arjuna in the city of Dwaraka, and
that the two heroes of the race of Vrishni (Krishna and Balarama the
brothers of Subhadra) without resenting it had entered Indraprastha as
friends, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
Arjuna, by his celestial arrow preventing the downpour by Indra the king
of the gods, had gratified Agni by making over to him the forest of
Khandava, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
the five Pandavas with their mother Kunti had escaped from the house of
lac, and that Vidura was engaged in the accomplishment of their designs,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Arjuna,
after having pierced the mark in the arena had won Draupadi, and that the
brave Panchalas had joined the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Jarasandha, the foremost of the royal line
of Magadha, and blazing in the midst of the Kshatriyas, had been slain by
Bhima with his bare arms alone, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that in their general campaign the sons of Pandu
had conquered the chiefs of the land and performed the grand sacrifice of
the Rajasuya, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Draupadi, her voice choked with tears and heart full of agony, in
the season of impurity and with but one raiment on, had been dragged into
court and though she had protectors, she had been treated as if she had
none, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
wicked wretch Duhsasana, was striving to strip her of that single
garment, had only drawn from her person a large heap of cloth without
being able to arrive at its end, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, beaten by Saubala at the game of
dice and deprived of his kingdom as a consequence thereof, had still been
attended upon by his brothers of incomparable prowess, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that the virtuous Pandavas weeping
with affliction had followed their elder brother to the wilderness and
exerted themselves variously for the mitigation of his discomforts, then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.

'When I heard that Yudhishthira had been followed into the wilderness by
Snatakas and noble-minded Brahmanas who live upon alms, then, O Sanjaya,
I had no hope of success. When I heard that Arjuna, having, in combat,
pleased the god of gods, Tryambaka (the three-eyed) in the disguise of a
hunter, obtained the great weapon Pasupata, then O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that the just and renowned Arjuna after having
been to the celestial regions, had there obtained celestial weapons from
Indra himself then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that afterwards Arjuna had vanquished the Kalakeyas and the Paulomas
proud with the boon they had obtained and which had rendered them
invulnerable even to the celestials, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Arjuna, the chastiser of enemies, having gone
to the regions of Indra for the destruction of the Asuras, had returned
thence successful, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Bhima and the other sons of Pritha (Kunti) accompanied by
Vaisravana had arrived at that country which is inaccessible to man then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that my sons, guided by
the counsels of Karna, while on their journey of Ghoshayatra, had been
taken prisoners by the Gandharvas and were set free by Arjuna, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Dharma (the god of
justice) having come under the form of a Yaksha had proposed certain
questions to Yudhishthira then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When
I heard that my sons had failed to discover the Pandavas under their
disguise while residing with Draupadi in the dominions of Virata, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the principal men of
my side had all been vanquished by the noble Arjuna with a single chariot
while residing in the dominions of Virata, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Vasudeva of the race of Madhu, who covered
this whole earth by one foot, was heartily interested in the welfare of
the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that the king of Matsya, had offered his virtuous daughter Uttara to
Arjuna and that Arjuna had accepted her for his son, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, beaten at dice,
deprived of wealth, exiled and separated from his connections, had
assembled yet an army of seven Akshauhinis, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard Narada, declare that Krishna and Arjuna
were Nara and Narayana and he (Narada) had seen them together in the
regions of Brahma, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Krishna, anxious to bring about peace, for the welfare of
mankind had repaired to the Kurus, and went away without having been able
to effect his purpose, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Kama and Duryodhana resolved upon imprisoning Krishna
displayed in himself the whole universe, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. Then I heard that at the time of his departure, Pritha
(Kunti) standing, full of sorrow, near his chariot received consolation
from Krishna, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Vasudeva and Bhishma the son of Santanu were the counsellors of the
Pandavas and Drona the son of Bharadwaja pronounced blessings on them,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When Kama said unto Bhishma--I
will not fight when thou art fighting--and, quitting the army, went away,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Vasudeva and
Arjuna and the bow Gandiva of immeasurable prowess, these three of
dreadful energy had come together, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that upon Arjuna having been seized with
compunction on his chariot and ready to sink, Krishna showed him all the
worlds within his body, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Bhishma, the desolator of foes, killing ten thousand
charioteers every day in the field of battle, had not slain any amongst
the Pandavas then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
Bhishma, the righteous son of Ganga, had himself indicated the means of
his defeat in the field of battle and that the same were accomplished by
the Pandavas with joyfulness, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.
When I heard that Arjuna, having placed Sikhandin before himself in his
chariot, had wounded Bhishma of infinite courage and invincible in
battle, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
aged hero Bhishma, having reduced the numbers of the race of shomaka to a
few, overcome with various wounds was lying on a bed of arrows, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that upon Bhishma's lying
on the ground with thirst for water, Arjuna, being requested, had pierced
the ground and allayed his thirst, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When Bayu together with Indra and Suryya united as allies for
the success of the sons of Kunti, and the beasts of prey (by their
inauspicious presence) were putting us in fear, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When the wonderful warrior Drona, displaying various
modes of fight in the field, did not slay any of the superior Pandavas,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
Maharatha Sansaptakas of our army appointed for the overthrow of Arjuna
were all slain by Arjuna himself, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that our disposition of forces, impenetrable by
others, and defended by Bharadwaja himself well-armed, had been singly
forced and entered by the brave son of Subhadra, then, O Sanjaya, I had
no hope of success. When I heard that our Maharathas, unable to overcome
Arjuna, with jubilant faces after having jointly surrounded and slain the
boy Abhimanyu, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that the blind Kauravas were shouting for joy after having slain
Abhimanyu and that thereupon Arjuna in anger made his celebrated speech
referring to Saindhava, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Arjuna had vowed the death of Saindhava and fulfilled his vow
in the presence of his enemies, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that upon the horses of Arjuna being fatigued,
Vasudeva releasing them made them drink water and bringing them back and
reharnessing them continued to guide them as before, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that while his horses were fatigued,
Arjuna staying in his chariot checked all his assailants, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Yuyudhana of the
race of Vrishni, after having thrown into confusion the army of Drona
rendered unbearable in prowess owing to the presence of elephants,
retired to where Krishna and Arjuna were, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Karna even though he had got Bhima within
his power allowed him to escape after only addressing him in contemptuous
terms and dragging him with the end of his bow, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Drona, Kritavarma, Kripa, Karna, the
son of Drona, and the valiant king of Madra (Salya) suffered Saindhava to
be slain, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
the celestial Sakti given by Indra (to Karna) was by Madhava's
machinations caused to be hurled upon Rakshasa Ghatotkacha of frightful
countenance, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
in the encounter between Karna and Ghatotkacha, that Sakti was hurled
against Ghatotkacha by Karna, the same which was certainly to have slain
Arjuna in battle, then, O Sanjaya. I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Dhristadyumna, transgressing the laws of battle, slew Drona while
alone in his chariot and resolved on death, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Nakula. the son of Madri, having in
the presence of the whole army engaged in single combat with the son of
Drona and showing himself equal to him drove his chariot in circles
around, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When upon the death of
Drona, his son misused the weapon called Narayana but failed to achieve
the destruction of the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Bhimasena drank the blood of his brother
Duhsasana in the field of battle without anybody being able to prevent
him, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
infinitely brave Karna, invincible in battle, was slain by Arjuna in that
war of brothers mysterious even to the gods, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, the Just, overcame the
heroic son of Drona, Duhsasana, and the fierce Kritavarman, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the brave king of
Madra who ever dared Krishna in battle was slain by Yudhishthira, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the wicked Suvala of
magic power, the root of the gaming and the feud, was slain in battle by
Sahadeva, the son of Pandu, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.
When I heard that Duryodhana, spent with fatigue, having gone to a lake
and made a refuge for himself within its waters, was lying there alone,
his strength gone and without a chariot, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that the Pandavas having gone to that lake
accompanied by Vasudeva and standing on its beach began to address
contemptuously my son who was incapable of putting up with affronts,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that while,
displaying in circles a variety of curious modes (of attack and defence)
in an encounter with clubs, he was unfairly slain according to the
counsels of Krishna, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard the son of Drona and others by slaying the Panchalas and the sons
of Draupadi in their sleep, perpetrated a horrible and infamous deed,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Aswatthaman
while being pursued by Bhimasena had discharged the first of weapons
called Aishika, by which the embryo in the womb (of Uttara) was wounded,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the weapon
Brahmashira (discharged by Aswatthaman) was repelled by Arjuna with
another weapon over which he had pronounced the word "Sasti" and that
Aswatthaman had to give up the jewel-like excrescence on his head, then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that upon the embryo in
the womb of Virata's daughter being wounded by Aswatthaman with a mighty
weapon, Dwaipayana and Krishna pronounced curses on him, then, O Sanjaya,
I had no hope of success.

'Alas! Gandhari, destitute of children, grand-children, parents,
brothers, and kindred, is to be pitied. Difficult is the task that hath
been performed by the Pandavas: by them hath a kingdom been recovered
without a rival.

'Alas! I have heard that the war hath left only ten alive: three of our
side, and the Pandavas, seven, in that dreadful conflict eighteen
Akshauhinis of Kshatriyas have been slain! All around me is utter
darkness, and a fit of swoon assaileth me: consciousness leaves me, O
Suta, and my mind is distracted."

"Sauti said, 'Dhritarashtra, bewailing his fate in these words, was
overcome with extreme anguish and for a time deprived of sense; but being
revived, he addressed Sanjaya in the following words.

"After what hath come to pass, O Sanjaya, I wish to put an end to my life
without delay; I do not find the least advantage in cherishing it any
longer."

"Sauti said, 'The wise son of Gavalgana (Sanjaya) then addressed the
distressed lord of Earth while thus talking and bewailing, sighing like a
serpent and repeatedly tainting, in words of deep import.

"Thou hast heard, O Raja, of the greatly powerful men of vast exertions,
spoken of by Vyasa and the wise Narada; men born of great royal families,
resplendent with worthy qualities, versed in the science of celestial
arms, and in glory emblems of Indra; men who having conquered the world
by justice and performed sacrifices with fit offerings (to the
Brahmanas), obtained renown in this world and at last succumbed to the
sway of time. Such were Saivya; the valiant Maharatha; Srinjaya, great
amongst conquerors. Suhotra; Rantideva, and Kakshivanta, great in glory;
Valhika, Damana, Saryati, Ajita, and Nala; Viswamitra the destroyer of
foes; Amvarisha, great in strength; Marutta, Manu, Ikshaku, Gaya, and
Bharata; Rama the son of Dasaratha; Sasavindu, and Bhagiratha;
Kritavirya, the greatly fortunate, and Janamejaya too; and Yayati of good
deeds who performed sacrifices, being assisted therein by the celestials
themselves, and by whose sacrificial altars and stakes this earth with
her habited and uninhabited regions hath been marked all over. These
twenty-four Rajas were formerly spoken of by the celestial Rishi Narada
unto Saivya when much afflicted for the loss of his children. Besides
these, other Rajas had gone before, still more powerful than they, mighty
charioteers noble in mind, and resplendent with every worthy quality.
These were Puru, Kuru, Yadu, Sura and Viswasrawa of great glory; Anuha,
Yuvanaswu, Kakutstha, Vikrami, and Raghu; Vijava, Virihorta, Anga, Bhava,
Sweta, and Vripadguru; Usinara, Sata-ratha, Kanka, Duliduha, and Druma;
Dambhodbhava, Para, Vena, Sagara, Sankriti, and Nimi; Ajeya, Parasu,
Pundra, Sambhu, and holy Deva-Vridha; Devahuya, Supratika, and
Vrihad-ratha; Mahatsaha, Vinitatma, Sukratu, and Nala, the king of the
Nishadas; Satyavrata, Santabhaya, Sumitra, and the chief Subala;
Janujangha, Anaranya, Arka, Priyabhritya, Chuchi-vrata, Balabandhu,
Nirmardda, Ketusringa, and Brhidbala; Dhrishtaketu, Brihatketu,
Driptaketu, and Niramaya; Abikshit, Chapala, Dhurta, Kritbandhu, and
Dridhe-shudhi; Mahapurana-sambhavya, Pratyanga, Paraha and Sruti. These,
O chief, and other Rajas, we hear enumerated by hundreds and by
thousands, and still others by millions, princes of great power and
wisdom, quitting very abundant enjoyments met death as thy sons have
done! Their heavenly deeds, valour, and generosity, their magnanimity,
faith, truth, purity, simplicity and mercy, are published to the world in
the records of former times by sacred bards of great learning. Though
endued with every noble virtue, these have yielded up their lives. Thy
sons were malevolent, inflamed with passion, avaricious, and of very
evil-disposition. Thou art versed in the Sastras, O Bharata, and art
intelligent and wise; they never sink under misfortunes whose
understandings are guided by the Sastras. Thou art acquainted, O prince,
with the lenity and severity of fate; this anxiety therefore for the
safety of thy children is unbecoming. Moreover, it behoveth thee not to
grieve for that which must happen: for who can avert, by his wisdom, the
decrees of fate? No one can leave the way marked out for him by
Providence. Existence and non-existence, pleasure and pain all have Time
for their root. Time createth all things and Time destroyeth all
creatures. It is Time that burneth creatures and it is Time that
extinguisheth the fire. All states, the good and the evil, in the three
worlds, are caused by Time. Time cutteth short all things and createth
them anew. Time alone is awake when all things are asleep: indeed, Time
is incapable of being overcome. Time passeth over all things without
being retarded. Knowing, as thou dost, that all things past and future
and all that exist at the present moment, are the offspring of Time, it
behoveth thee not to throw away thy reason.'

"Sauti said, 'The son of Gavalgana having in this manner administered
comfort to the royal Dhritarashtra overwhelmed with grief for his sons,
then restored his mind to peace. Taking these facts for his subject,
Dwaipayana composed a holy Upanishad that has been published to the world
by learned and sacred bards in the Puranas composed by them.

"The study of the Bharata is an act of piety. He that readeth even one
foot, with belief, hath his sins entirely purged away. Herein Devas,
Devarshis, and immaculate Brahmarshis of good deeds, have been spoken of;
and likewise Yakshas and great Uragas (Nagas). Herein also hath been
described the eternal Vasudeva possessing the six attributes. He is the
true and just, the pure and holy, the eternal Brahma, the supreme soul,
the true constant light, whose divine deeds wise and learned recount;
from whom hath proceeded the non-existent and existent-non-existent
universe with principles of generation and progression, and birth, death
and re-birth. That also hath been treated of which is called Adhyatma
(the superintending spirit of nature) that partaketh of the attributes of
the five elements. That also hath been described who is purusha being
above such epithets as 'undisplayed' and the like; also that which the
foremost yatis exempt from the common destiny and endued with the power
of meditation and Tapas behold dwelling in their hearts as a reflected
image in the mirror.

"The man of faith, devoted to piety, and constant in the exercise of
virtue, on reading this section is freed from sin. The believer that
constantly heareth recited this section of the Bharata, called the
Introduction, from the beginning, falleth not into difficulties. The man
repeating any part of the introduction in the two twilights is during
such act freed from the sins contracted during the day or the night. This
section, the body of the Bharata, is truth and nectar. As butter is in
curd, Brahmana among bipeds, the Aranyaka among the Vedas, and nectar
among medicines; as the sea is eminent among receptacles of water, and
the cow among quadrupeds; as are these (among the things mentioned) so is
the Bharata said to be among histories.

"He that causeth it, even a single foot thereof, to be recited to
Brahmanas during a Sradha, his offerings of food and drink to the manes
of his ancestors become inexhaustible.

"By the aid of history and the Puranas, the Veda may be expounded; but
the Veda is afraid of one of little information lest he should it. The
learned man who recites to other this Veda of Vyasa reapeth advantage. It
may without doubt destroy even the sin of killing the embryo and the
like. He that readeth this holy chapter of the moon, readeth the whole of
the Bharata, I ween. The man who with reverence daily listeneth to this
sacred work acquireth long life and renown and ascendeth to heaven.

"In former days, having placed the four Vedas on one side and the Bharata
on the other, these were weighed in the balance by the celestials
assembled for that purpose. And as the latter weighed heavier than the
four Vedas with their mysteries, from that period it hath been called in
the world Mahabharata (the great Bharata). Being esteemed superior both
in substance and gravity of import it is denominated Mahabharata on
account of such substance and gravity of import. He that knoweth its
meaning is saved from all his sins.

'Tapa is innocent, study is harmless, the ordinance of the Vedas
prescribed for all the tribes are harmless, the acquisition of wealth by
exertion is harmless; but when they are abused in their practices it is
then that they become sources of evil.'"



SECTION II

"The Rishis said, 'O son of Suta, we wish to hear a full and
circumstantial account of the place mentioned by you as Samanta-panchaya.'

"Sauti said, 'Listen, O ye Brahmanas, to the sacred descriptions I utter
O ye best of men, ye deserve to hear of the place known as
Samanta-panchaka. In the interval between the Treta and Dwapara Yugas,
Rama (the son of Jamadagni) great among all who have borne arms, urged by
impatience of wrongs, repeatedly smote the noble race of Kshatriyas. And
when that fiery meteor, by his own valour, annihilated the entire tribe
of the Kshatriyas, he formed at Samanta-panchaka five lakes of blood. We
are told that his reason being overpowered by anger he offered oblations
of blood to the manes of his ancestors, standing in the midst of the
sanguine waters of those lakes. It was then that his forefathers of whom
Richika was the first having arrived there addressed him thus, 'O Rama, O
blessed Rama, O offspring of Bhrigu, we have been gratified with the
reverence thou hast shown for thy ancestors and with thy valour, O mighty
one! Blessings be upon thee. O thou illustrious one, ask the boon that
thou mayst desire.'

"Rama said, 'If, O fathers, ye are favourably disposed towards me, the
boon I ask is that I may be absolved from the sins born of my having
annihilated the Kshatriyas in anger, and that the lakes I have formed may
become famous in the world as holy shrines.' The Pitris then said, 'So
shall it be. But be thou pacified.' And Rama was pacified accordingly.
The region that lieth near unto those lakes of gory water, from that time
hath been celebrated as Samanta-panchaka the holy. The wise have declared
that every country should be distinguished by a name significant of some
circumstance which may have rendered it famous. In the interval between
the Dwapara and the Kali Yugas there happened at Samanta-panchaka the
encounter between the armies of the Kauravas and the Pandavas. In that
holy region, without ruggedness of any kind, were assembled eighteen
Akshauhinis of soldiers eager for battle. And, O Brahmanas, having come
thereto, they were all slain on the spot. Thus the name of that region, O
Brahmanas, hath been explained, and the country described to you as a
sacred and delightful one. I have mentioned the whole of what relateth to
it as the region is celebrated throughout the three worlds.'

"The Rishis said, 'We have a desire to know, O son of Suta, what is
implied by the term Akshauhini that hath been used by thee. Tell us in
full what is the number of horse and foot, chariots and elephants, which
compose an Akshauhini for thou art fully informed.'

"Sauti said, 'One chariot, one elephant, five foot-soldiers, and three
horses form one Patti; three pattis make one Sena-mukha; three
sena-mukhas are called a Gulma; three gulmas, a Gana; three ganas, a
Vahini; three vahinis together are called a Pritana; three pritanas form
a Chamu; three chamus, one Anikini; and an anikini taken ten times forms,
as it is styled by those who know, an Akshauhini. O ye best of Brahmanas,
arithmeticians have calculated that the number of chariots in an
Akshauhini is twenty-one thousand eight hundred and seventy. The measure
of elephants must be fixed at the same number. O ye pure, you must know
that the number of foot-soldiers is one hundred and nine thousand, three
hundred and fifty, the number of horse is sixty-five thousand, six
hundred and ten. These, O Brahmanas, as fully explained by me, are the
numbers of an Akshauhini as said by those acquainted with the principles
of numbers. O best of Brahmanas, according to this calculation were
composed the eighteen Akshauhinis of the Kaurava and the Pandava army.
Time, whose acts are wonderful assembled them on that spot and having
made the Kauravas the cause, destroyed them all. Bhishma acquainted with
choice of weapons, fought for ten days. Drona protected the Kaurava
Vahinis for five days. Kama the desolator of hostile armies fought for
two days; and Salya for half a day. After that lasted for half a day the
encounter with clubs between Duryodhana and Bhima. At the close of that
day, Aswatthaman and Kripa destroyed the army of Yudishthira in the night
while sleeping without suspicion of danger.

'O Saunaka, this best of narrations called Bharata which has begun to be
repeated at thy sacrifice, was formerly repeated at the sacrifice of
Janamejaya by an intelligent disciple of Vyasa. It is divided into
several sections; in the beginning are Paushya, Pauloma, and Astika
parvas, describing in full the valour and renown of kings. It is a work
whose description, diction, and sense are varied and wonderful. It
contains an account of various manners and rites. It is accepted by the
wise, as the state called Vairagya is by men desirous of final release.
As Self among things to be known, as life among things that are dear, so
is this history that furnisheth the means of arriving at the knowledge of
Brahma the first among all the sastras. There is not a story current in
this world but doth depend upon this history even as the body upon the
foot that it taketh. As masters of good lineage are ever attended upon by
servants desirous of preferment so is the Bharata cherished by all poets.
As the words constituting the several branches of knowledge appertaining
to the world and the Veda display only vowels and consonants, so this
excellent history displayeth only the highest wisdom.

'Listen, O ye ascetics, to the outlines of the several divisions (parvas)
of this history called Bharata, endued with great wisdom, of sections and
feet that are wonderful and various, of subtile meanings and logical
connections, and embellished with the substance of the Vedas.

'The first parva is called Anukramanika; the second, Sangraha; then
Paushya; then Pauloma; the Astika; then Adivansavatarana. Then comes the
Sambhava of wonderful and thrilling incidents. Then comes Jatugrihadaha
(setting fire to the house of lac) and then Hidimbabadha (the killing of
Hidimba) parvas; then comes Baka-badha (slaughter of Baka) and then
Chitraratha. The next is called Swayamvara (selection of husband by
Panchali), in which Arjuna by the exercise of Kshatriya virtues, won
Draupadi for wife. Then comes Vaivahika (marriage). Then comes
Viduragamana (advent of Vidura), Rajyalabha (acquirement of kingdom),
Arjuna-banavasa (exile of Arjuna) and Subhadra-harana (the carrying away
of Subhadra). After these come Harana-harika, Khandava-daha (the burning
of the Khandava forest) and Maya-darsana (meeting with Maya the Asura
architect). Then come Sabha, Mantra, Jarasandha, Digvijaya (general
campaign). After Digvijaya come Raja-suyaka, Arghyaviharana (the robbing
of the Arghya) and Sisupala-badha (the killing of Sisupala). After these,
Dyuta (gambling), Anudyuta (subsequent to gambling), Aranyaka, and
Krimira-badha (destruction of Krimira). The Arjuna-vigamana (the travels
of Arjuna), Kairati. In the last hath been described the battle between
Arjuna and Mahadeva in the guise of a hunter. After this
Indra-lokavigamana (the journey to the regions of Indra); then that mine
of religion and virtue, the highly pathetic Nalopakhyana (the story of
Nala). After this last, Tirtha-yatra or the pilgrimage of the wise prince
of the Kurus, the death of Jatasura, and the battle of the Yakshas. Then
the battle with the Nivata-kavachas, Ajagara, and Markandeya-Samasya
(meeting with Markandeya). Then the meeting of Draupadi and Satyabhama,
Ghoshayatra, Mirga-Swapna (dream of the deer). Then the story of
Brihadaranyaka and then Aindradrumna. Then Draupadi-harana (the abduction
of Draupadi), Jayadratha-bimoksana (the release of Jayadratha). Then the
story of 'Savitri' illustrating the great merit of connubial chastity.
After this last, the story of 'Rama'. The parva that comes next is called
'Kundala-harana' (the theft of the ear-rings). That which comes next is
'Aranya' and then 'Vairata'. Then the entry of the Pandavas and the
fulfilment of their promise (of living unknown for one year). Then the
destruction of the 'Kichakas', then the attempt to take the kine (of
Virata by the Kauravas). The next is called the marriage of Abhimanyu
with the daughter of Virata. The next you must know is the most wonderful
parva called Udyoga. The next must be known by the name of 'Sanjaya-yana'
(the arrival of Sanjaya). Then comes 'Prajagara' (the sleeplessness of
Dhritarashtra owing to his anxiety). Then Sanatsujata, in which are the
mysteries of spiritual philosophy. Then 'Yanasaddhi', and then the
arrival of Krishna. Then the story of 'Matali' and then of 'Galava'. Then
the stories of 'Savitri', 'Vamadeva', and 'Vainya'. Then the story of
'Jamadagnya and Shodasarajika'. Then the arrival of Krishna at the court,
and then Bidulaputrasasana. Then the muster of troops and the story of
Sheta. Then, must you know, comes the quarrel of the high-souled Karna.
Then the march to the field of the troops of both sides. The next hath
been called numbering the Rathis and Atirathas. Then comes the arrival of
the messenger Uluka which kindled the wrath (of the Pandavas). The next
that comes, you must know, is the story of Amba. Then comes the thrilling
story of the installation of Bhishma as commander-in-chief. The next is
called the creation of the insular region Jambu; then Bhumi; then the
account about the formation of islands. Then comes the 'Bhagavat-gita';
and then the death of Bhishma. Then the installation of Drona; then the
destruction of the 'Sansaptakas'. Then the death of Abhimanyu; and then
the vow of Arjuna (to slay Jayadratha). Then the death of Jayadratha, and
then of Ghatotkacha. Then, must you know, comes the story of the death of
Drona of surprising interest. The next that comes is called the discharge
of the weapon called Narayana. Then, you know, is Karna, and then Salya.
Then comes the immersion in the lake, and then the encounter (between
Bhima and Duryodhana) with clubs. Then comes Saraswata, and then the
descriptions of holy shrines, and then genealogies. Then comes Sauptika
describing incidents disgraceful (to the honour of the Kurus). Then comes
the 'Aisika' of harrowing incidents. Then comes 'Jalapradana' oblations
of water to the manes of the deceased, and then the wailings of the
women. The next must be known as 'Sraddha' describing the funeral rites
performed for the slain Kauravas. Then comes the destruction of the
Rakshasa Charvaka who had assumed the disguise of a Brahmana (for
deceiving Yudhishthira). Then the coronation of the wise Yudhishthira.
The next is called the 'Grihapravibhaga'. Then comes 'Santi', then
'Rajadharmanusasana', then 'Apaddharma', then 'Mokshadharma'. Those that
follow are called respectively 'Suka-prasna-abhigamana',
'Brahma-prasnanusana', the origin of 'Durvasa', the disputations with
Maya. The next is to be known as 'Anusasanika'. Then the ascension of
Bhishma to heaven. Then the horse-sacrifice, which when read purgeth all
sins away. The next must be known as the 'Anugita' in which are words of
spiritual philosophy. Those that follow are called 'Asramvasa',
'Puttradarshana' (meeting with the spirits of the deceased sons), and the
arrival of Narada. The next is called 'Mausala' which abounds with
terrible and cruel incidents. Then comes 'Mahaprasthanika' and ascension
to heaven. Then comes the Purana which is called Khilvansa. In this last
are contained 'Vishnuparva', Vishnu's frolics and feats as a child, the
destruction of 'Kansa', and lastly, the very wonderful 'Bhavishyaparva'
(in which there are prophecies regarding the future).

The high-souled Vyasa composed these hundred parvas of which the above is
only an abridgement: having distributed them into eighteen, the son of
Suta recited them consecutively in the forest of Naimisha as follows:

'In the Adi parva are contained Paushya, Pauloma, Astika, Adivansavatara,
Samva, the burning of the house of lac, the slaying of Hidimba, the
destruction of the Asura Vaka, Chitraratha, the Swayamvara of Draupadi,
her marriage after the overthrow of rivals in war, the arrival of Vidura,
the restoration, Arjuna's exile, the abduction of Subhadra, the gift and
receipt of the marriage dower, the burning of the Khandava forest, and
the meeting with (the Asura-architect) Maya. The Paushya parva treats of
the greatness of Utanka, and the Pauloma, of the sons of Bhrigu. The
Astika describes the birth of Garuda and of the Nagas (snakes), the
churning of the ocean, the incidents relating to the birth of the
celestial steed Uchchaihsrava, and finally, the dynasty of Bharata, as
described in the Snake-sacrifice of king Janamejaya. The Sambhava parva
narrates the birth of various kings and heroes, and that of the sage,
Krishna Dwaipayana: the partial incarnations of deities, the generation
of Danavas and Yakshas of great prowess, and serpents, Gandharvas, birds,
and of all creatures; and lastly, of the life and adventures of king
Bharata--the progenitor of the line that goes by his name--the son born
of Sakuntala in the hermitage of the ascetic Kanwa. This parva also
describes the greatness of Bhagirathi, and the births of the Vasus in the
house of Santanu and their ascension to heaven. In this parva is also
narrated the birth of Bhishma uniting in himself portions of the energies
of the other Vasus, his renunciation of royalty and adoption of the
Brahmacharya mode of life, his adherence to his vows, his protection of
Chitrangada, and after the death of Chitrangada, his protection of his
younger brother, Vichitravirya, and his placing the latter on the throne:
the birth of Dharma among men in consequence of the curse of Animondavya;
the births of Dhritarashtra and Pandu through the potency of Vyasa's
blessings (?) and also the birth of the Pandavas; the plottings of
Duryodhana to send the sons of Pandu to Varanavata, and the other dark
counsels of the sons of Dhritarashtra in regard to the Pandavas; then the
advice administered to Yudhishthira on his way by that well-wisher of the
Pandavas--Vidura--in the mlechchha language--the digging of the hole, the
burning of Purochana and the sleeping woman of the fowler caste, with her
five sons, in the house of lac; the meeting of the Pandavas in the
dreadful forest with Hidimba, and the slaying of her brother Hidimba by
Bhima of great prowess. The birth of Ghatotkacha; the meeting of the
Pandavas with Vyasa and in accordance with his advice their stay in
disguise in the house of a Brahmana in the city of Ekachakra; the
destruction of the Asura Vaka, and the amazement of the populace at the
sight; the extra-ordinary births of Krishna and Dhrishtadyumna; the
departure of the Pandavas for Panchala in obedience to the injunction of
Vyasa, and moved equally by the desire of winning the hand of Draupadi on
learning the tidings of the Swayamvara from the lips of a Brahmana;
victory of Arjuna over a Gandharva, called Angaraparna, on the banks of
the Bhagirathi, his contraction of friendship with his adversary, and his
hearing from the Gandharva the history of Tapati, Vasishtha and Aurva.
This parva treats of the journey of the Pandavas towards Panchala, the
acquisition of Draupadi in the midst of all the Rajas, by Arjuna, after
having successfully pierced the mark; and in the ensuing fight, the
defeat of Salya, Kama, and all the other crowned heads at the hands of
Bhima and Arjuna of great prowess; the ascertainment by Balarama and
Krishna, at the sight of these matchless exploits, that the heroes were
the Pandavas, and the arrival of the brothers at the house of the potter
where the Pandavas were staying; the dejection of Drupada on learning
that Draupadi was to be wedded to five husbands; the wonderful story of
the five Indras related in consequence; the extraordinary and
divinely-ordained wedding of Draupadi; the sending of Vidura by the sons
of Dhritarashtra as envoy to the Pandavas; the arrival of Vidura and his
sight to Krishna; the abode of the Pandavas in Khandava-prastha, and then
their rule over one half of the kingdom; the fixing of turns by the sons
of Pandu, in obedience to the injunction of Narada, for connubial
companionship with Krishna. In like manner hath the history of Sunda and
Upasunda been recited in this. This parva then treats of the departure of
Arjuna for the forest according to the vow, he having seen Draupadi and
Yudhishthira sitting together as he entered the chamber to take out arms
for delivering the kine of a certain Brahmana. This parva then describes
Arjuna's meeting on the way with Ulupi, the daughter of a Naga (serpent);
it then relates his visits to several sacred spots; the birth of
Vabhruvahana; the deliverance by Arjuna of the five celestial damsels who
had been turned into alligators by the imprecation of a Brahmana, the
meeting of Madhava and Arjuna on the holy spot called Prabhasa; the
carrying away of Subhadra by Arjuna, incited thereto by her brother
Krishna, in the wonderful car moving on land and water, and through
mid-air, according to the wish of the rider; the departure for
Indraprastha, with the dower; the conception in the womb of Subhadra of
that prodigy of prowess, Abhimanyu; Yajnaseni's giving birth to children;
then follows the pleasure-trip of Krishna and Arjuna to the banks of the
Jamuna and the acquisition by them of the discus and the celebrated bow
Gandiva; the burning of the forest of Khandava; the rescue of Maya by
Arjuna, and the escape of the serpent,--and the begetting of a son by
that best of Rishis, Mandapala, in the womb of the bird Sarngi. This
parva is divided by Vyasa into two hundred and twenty-seven chapters.
These two hundred and twenty-seven chapters contain eight thousand eight
hundred and eighty-four slokas.

The second is the extensive parva called Sabha or the assembly, full of
matter. The subjects of this parva are the establishment of the grand
hall by the Pandavas; their review of their retainers; the description of
the lokapalas by Narada well-acquainted with the celestial regions; the
preparations for the Rajasuya sacrifice; the destruction of Jarasandha;
the deliverance by Vasudeva of the princes confined in the mountain-pass;
the campaign of universal conquest by the Pandavas; the arrival of the
princes at the Rajasuya sacrifice with tribute; the destruction of
Sisupala on the occasion of the sacrifice, in connection with offering of
arghya; Bhimasena's ridicule of Duryodhana in the assembly; Duryodhana's
sorrow and envy at the sight of the magnificent scale on which the
arrangements had been made; the indignation of Duryodhana in consequence,
and the preparations for the game of dice; the defeat of Yudhishthira at
play by the wily Sakuni; the deliverance by Dhritarashtra of his
afflicted daughter-in-law Draupadi plunged in the sea of distress caused
by the gambling, as of a boat tossed about by the tempestuous waves. The
endeavours of Duryodhana to engage Yudhishthira again in the game; and
the exile of the defeated Yudhishthira with his brothers. These
constitute what has been called by the great Vyasa the Sabha Parva. This
parva is divided into seventh-eight sections, O best of Brahmanas, of two
thousand, five hundred and seven slokas.

Then comes the third parva called Aranyaka (relating to the forest) This
parva treats of the wending of the Pandavas to the forest and the
citizens, following the wise Yudhishthira, Yudhishthira's adoration of
the god of day; according to the injunctions of Dhaumya, to be gifted
with the power of maintaining the dependent Brahmanas with food and
drink: the creation of food through the grace of the Sun: the expulsion
by Dhritarashtra of Vidura who always spoke for his master's good;
Vidura's coming to the Pandavas and his return to Dhritarashtra at the
solicitation of the latter; the wicked Duryodhana's plottings to destroy
the forest-ranging Pandavas, being incited thereto by Karna; the
appearance of Vyasa and his dissuasion of Duryodhana bent on going to the
forest; the history of Surabhi; the arrival of Maitreya; his laying down
to Dhritarashtra the course of action; and his curse on Duryodhana;
Bhima's slaying of Kirmira in battle; the coming of the Panchalas and the
princes of the Vrishni race to Yudhishthira on hearing of his defeat at
the unfair gambling by Sakuni; Dhananjaya's allaying the wrath of
Krishna; Draupadi's lamentations before Madhava; Krishna's cheering her;
the fall of Sauva also has been here described by the Rishi; also
Krishna's bringing Subhadra with her son to Dwaraka; and Dhrishtadyumna's
bringing the son of Draupadi to Panchala; the entrance of the sons of
Pandu into the romantic Dwaita wood; conversation of Bhima, Yudhishthira,
and Draupadi; the coming of Vyasa to the Pandavas and his endowing
Yudhishthira with the power of Pratismriti; then, after the departure of
Vyasa, the removal of the Pandavas to the forest of Kamyaka; the
wanderings of Arjuna of immeasurable prowess in search of weapons; his
battle with Mahadeva in the guise of a hunter; his meeting with the
lokapalas and receipt of weapons from them; his journey to the regions of
Indra for arms and the consequent anxiety of Dhritarashtra; the wailings
and lamentations of Yudhishthira on the occasion of his meeting with the
worshipful great sage Brihadaswa. Here occurs the holy and highly
pathetic story of Nala illustrating the patience of Damayanti and the
character of Nala. Then the acquirement by Yudhishthira of the mysteries
of dice from the same great sage; then the arrival of the Rishi Lomasa
from the heavens to where the Pandavas were, and the receipt by these
high-souled dwellers in the woods of the intelligence brought by the
Rishi of their brother Arjuna staving in the heavens; then the pilgrimage
of the Pandavas to various sacred spots in accordance with the message of
Arjuna, and their attainment of great merit and virtue consequent on such
pilgrimage; then the pilgrimage of the great sage Narada to the shrine
Putasta; also the pilgrimage of the high-souled Pandavas. Here is the
deprivation of Karna of his ear-rings by Indra. Here also is recited the
sacrificial magnificence of Gaya; then the story of Agastya in which the
Rishi ate up the Asura Vatapi, and his connubial connection with
Lopamudra from the desire of offspring. Then the story of Rishyasringa
who adopted Brahmacharya mode of life from his very boyhood; then the
history of Rama of great prowess, the son of Jamadagni, in which has been
narrated the death of Kartavirya and the Haihayas; then the meeting
between the Pandavas and the Vrishnis in the sacred spot called Prabhasa;
then the story of Su-kanya in which Chyavana, the son of Bhrigu, made the
twins, Aswinis, drink, at the sacrifice of king Saryati, the Soma juice
(from which they had been excluded by the other gods), and in which
besides is shown how Chyavana himself acquired perpetual youth (as a boon
from the grateful Aswinis). Then hath been described the history of king
Mandhata; then the history of prince Jantu; and how king Somaka by
offering up his only son (Jantu) in sacrifice obtained a hundred others;
then the excellent history of the hawk and the pigeon; then the
examination of king Sivi by Indra, Agni, and Dharma; then the story of
Ashtavakra, in which occurs the disputation, at the sacrifice of Janaka,
between that Rishi and the first of logicians, Vandi, the son of Varuna;
the defeat of Vandi by the great Ashtavakra, and the release by the Rishi
of his father from the depths of the ocean. Then the story of Yavakrita,
and then that of the great Raivya: then the departure (of the Pandavas)
for Gandhamadana and their abode in the asylum called Narayana; then
Bhimasena's journey to Gandhamadana at the request of Draupadi (in search
of the sweet-scented flower). Bhima's meeting on his way, in a grove of
bananas, with Hanuman, the son of Pavana of great prowess; Bhima's bath
in the tank and the destruction of the flowers therein for obtaining the
sweet-scented flower (he was in search of); his consequent battle with
the mighty Rakshasas and the Yakshas of great prowess including Hanuman;
the destruction of the Asura Jata by Bhima; the meeting (of the Pandavas)
with the royal sage Vrishaparva; their departure for the asylum of
Arshtishena and abode therein: the incitement of Bhima (to acts of
vengeance) by Draupadi. Then is narrated the ascent on the hills of
Kailasa by Bhimasena, his terrific battle with the mighty Yakshas headed
by Hanuman; then the meeting of the Pandavas with Vaisravana (Kuvera),
and the meeting with Arjuna after he had obtained for the purpose of
Yudhishthira many celestial weapons; then Arjuna's terrible encounter
with the Nivatakavachas dwelling in Hiranyaparva, and also with the
Paulomas, and the Kalakeyas; their destruction at the hands of Arjuna;
the commencement of the display of the celestial weapons by Arjuna before
Yudhishthira, the prevention of the same by Narada; the descent of the
Pandavas from Gandhamadana; the seizure of Bhima in the forest by a
mighty serpent huge as the mountain; his release from the coils of the
snake, upon Yudhishthira's answering certain questions; the return of the
Pandavas to the Kamyaka woods. Here is described the reappearance of
Vasudeva to see the mighty sons of Pandu; the arrival of Markandeya, and
various recitals, the history of Prithu the son of Vena recited by the
great Rishi; the stories of Saraswati and the Rishi Tarkhya. After these,
is the story of Matsya; other old stories recited by Markandeya; the
stories of Indradyumna and Dhundhumara; then the history of the chaste
wife; the history of Angira, the meeting and conversation of Draupadi and
Satyabhama; the return of the Pandavas to the forest of Dwaita; then the
procession to see the calves and the captivity of Duryodhana; and when
the wretch was being carried off, his rescue by Arjuna; here is
Yudhishthira's dream of the deer; then the re-entry of the Pandavas into
the Kamyaka forest, here also is the long story of Vrihidraunika. Here
also is recited the story of Durvasa; then the abduction by Jayadratha of
Draupadi from the asylum; the pursuit of the ravisher by Bhima swift as
the air and the ill-shaving of Jayadratha's crown at Bhima's hand. Here
is the long history of Rama in which is shown how Rama by his prowess
slew Ravana in battle. Here also is narrated the story of Savitri; then
Karna's deprivation by Indra of his ear-rings; then the presentation to
Karna by the gratified Indra of a Sakti (missile weapon) which had the
virtue of killing only one person against whom it might be hurled; then
the story called Aranya in which Dharma (the god of justice) gave advice
to his son (Yudhishthira); in which, besides is recited how the Pandavas
after having obtained a boon went towards the west. These are all
included in the third Parva called Aranyaka, consisting of two hundred
and sixty-nine sections. The number of slokas is eleven thousand, six
hundred and sixty-four.

"The extensive Parva that comes next is called Virata. The Pandavas
arriving at the dominions of Virata saw in a cemetery on the outskirts of
the city a large shami tree whereon they kept their weapons. Here hath
been recited their entry into the city and their stay there in disguise.
Then the slaying by Bhima of the wicked Kichaka who, senseless with lust,
had sought Draupadi; the appointment by prince Duryodhana of clever
spies; and their despatch to all sides for tracing the Pandavas; the
failure of these to discover the mighty sons of Pandu; the first seizure
of Virata's kine by the Trigartas and the terrific battle that ensued;
the capture of Virata by the enemy and his rescue by Bhimasena; the
release also of the kine by the Pandava (Bhima); the seizure of Virata's
kine again by the Kurus; the defeat in battle of all the Kurus by the
single-handed Arjuna; the release of the king's kine; the bestowal by
Virata of his daughter Uttara for Arjuna's acceptance on behalf of his
son by Subhadra--Abhimanyu--the destroyer of foes. These are the contents
of the extensive fourth Parva--the Virata. The great Rishi Vyasa has
composed in these sixty-seven sections. The number of slokas is two
thousand and fifty.

"Listen then to (the contents of) the fifth Parva which must be known as
Udyoga. While the Pandavas, desirous of victory, were residing in the
place called Upaplavya, Duryodhana and Arjuna both went at the same time
to Vasudeva, and said, "You should render us assistance in this war." The
high-souled Krishna, upon these words being uttered, replied, "O ye first
of men, a counsellor in myself who will not fight and one Akshauhini of
troops, which of these shall I give to which of you?" Blind to his own
interests, the foolish Duryodhana asked for the troops; while Arjuna
solicited Krishna as an unfighting counsellor. Then is described how,
when the king of Madra was coming for the assistance of the Pandavas,
Duryodhana, having deceived him on the way by presents and hospitality,
induced him to grant a boon and then solicited his assistance in battle;
how Salya, having passed his word to Duryodhana, went to the Pandavas and
consoled them by reciting the history of Indra's victory (over Vritra).
Then comes the despatch by the Pandavas of their Purohita (priest) to the
Kauravas. Then is described how king Dhritarashtra of great prowess,
having heard the word of the purohita of the Pandavas and the story of
Indra's victory decided upon sending his purohita and ultimately
despatched Sanjaya as envoy to the Pandavas from desire for peace. Here
hath been described the sleeplessness of Dhritarashtra from anxiety upon
hearing all about the Pandavas and their friends, Vasudeva and others. It
was on this occasion that Vidura addressed to the wise king Dhritarashtra
various counsels that were full of wisdom. It was here also that
Sanat-sujata recited to the anxious and sorrowing monarch the excellent
truths of spiritual philosophy. On the next morning Sanjaya spoke, in the
court of the King, of the identity of Vasudeva and Arjuna. It was then
that the illustrious Krishna, moved by kindness and a desire for peace,
went himself to the Kaurava capital, Hastinapura, for bringing about
peace. Then comes the rejection by prince Duryodhana of the embassy of
Krishna who had come to solicit peace for the benefit of both parties.
Here hath been recited the story of Damvodvava; then the story of the
high-souled Matuli's search for a husband for his daughter: then the
history of the great sage Galava; then the story of the training and
discipline of the son of Bidula. Then the exhibition by Krishna, before
the assembled Rajas, of his Yoga powers upon learning the evil counsels
of Duryodhana and Karna; then Krishna's taking Karna in his chariot and
his tendering to him of advice, and Karna's rejection of the same from
pride. Then the return of Krishna, the chastiser of enemies from
Hastinapura to Upaplavya, and his narration to the Pandavas of all that
had happened. It was then that those oppressors of foes, the Pandavas,
having heard all and consulted properly with each other, made every
preparation for war. Then comes the march from Hastinapura, for battle,
of foot-soldiers, horses, charioteers and elephants. Then the tale of the
troops by both parties. Then the despatch by prince Duryodhana of Uluka
as envoy to the Pandavas on the day previous to the battle. Then the tale
of charioteers of different classes. Then the story of Amba. These all
have been described in the fifth Parva called Udyoga of the Bharata,
abounding with incidents appertaining to war and peace. O ye ascetics,
the great Vyasa hath composed one hundred and eighty-six sections in this
Parva. The number of slokas also composed in this by the great Rishi is
six thousand, six hundred and ninety-eight.

"Then is recited the Bhishma Parva replete with wonderful incidents. In
this hath been narrated by Sanjaya the formation of the region known as
Jambu. Here hath been described the great depression of Yudhishthira's
army, and also a fierce fight for ten successive days. In this the
high-souled Vasudeva by reasons based on the philosophy of final release
drove away Arjuna's compunction springing from the latter's regard for
his kindred (whom he was on the eve of slaying). In this the magnanimous
Krishna, attentive to the welfare of Yudhishthira, seeing the loss
inflicted (on the Pandava army), descended swiftly from his chariot
himself and ran, with dauntless breast, his driving whip in hand, to
effect the death of Bhishma. In this, Krishna also smote with piercing
words Arjuna, the bearer of the Gandiva and the foremost in battle among
all wielders of weapons. In this, the foremost of bowmen, Arjuna, placing
Shikandin before him and piercing Bhishma with his sharpest arrows felled
him from his chariot. In this, Bhishma lay stretched on his bed of
arrows. This extensive Parva is known as the sixth in the Bharata. In
this have been composed one hundred and seventeen sections. The number of
slokas is five thousand, eight hundred and eighty-four as told by Vyasa
conversant with the Vedas.

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!

_________________

1 pcs.
1 pcs.
1 pcs.
1 pcs.


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Re: POST, POST LIKE YOU NEVER POSTED BEFORE!
The Mahabharata

of

Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa

BOOK 17

Mahaprasthanika-parva



Translated into English Prose from the Original Sanskrit Text

by

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

[1883-1896]

Scanned and Proofed by Mantra Caitanya. Additional proofing and
formatting at sacred-texts.com, by J. B. Hare, October 2003.





1

Om! Having bowed down unto Narayana, and to Nara, the foremost of men, as
also to the goddess Sarasvati, should the word "Jaya" be uttered.

Janamejaya said: "Having heard of that encounter with iron bolts between
the heroes of the Vrishni and the Andhaka races, and having been informed
also of Krishnas ascension to Heaven, what did the Pandavas do?"

Vaishampayana said: "Having heard the particulars of the great slaughter
of the Vrishnis, the Kaurava king set his heart on leaving the world. He
addressed Arjuna, saying, O thou of great intelligence, it is Time that
cooks every creature (in his cauldron). I think that what has happened is
due to the cords of Time (with which he binds us all). It behoveth thee
also to see it.

"Thus addressed by his brother, the son of Kunti only repeated the word
Time, Time! and fully endorsed the view of his eldest brother gifted with
great intelligence. Ascertaining the resolution of Arjuna, Bhimasena and
the twins fully endorsed the words that Arjuna had said. Resolved to
retire from the world for earning merit, they brought Yuyutsu before
them. Yudhishthira made over the kingdom to the son of his uncle by his
Vaisya wife. Installing Parikshit also on their throne, as king, the
eldest brother of the Pandavas, filled with sorrow, addressed Subhadra,
saying, This son of thy son will be the king of the Kurus. The survivor
of the Yadus, Vajra, has been made a king. Parikshit will rule in
Hastinapura, while the Yadava prince, Vajra, will rule in Shakraprastha.
He should be protected by thee. Never set thy heart on unrighteousness.

"Having said these words, king Yudhishthira the just, along with his
brothers, promptly offered oblations of water unto Vasudeva of great
intelligence, as also unto his old maternal uncle and Rama and others. He
then duly performed the Sraddhas of all those deceased kinsmen of his.
The king, in honour of Hari and naming him repeatedly, fed the
Island-born Vyasa, and Narada, and Markandeya possessed of wealth of
penances, and Yajnavalkya of Bharadwajas race, with many delicious
viands. In honour of Krishna, he also gave away many jewels and gems, and
robes and clothes, and villages, and horses and cars, and female slaves
by hundreds and thousands unto foremost of Brahmanas. Summoning the
citizens. Kripa was installed as the preceptor and Parikshit was made
over to him as his disciple, O chief of Bharatas race.

"Then Yudhishthira once more summoned all his subjects. The royal sage
informed them of his intentions. The citizens and the inhabitants of the
provinces, hearing the kings words, became filled with anxiety and
disapproved of them. This should never be done, said they unto the king.
The monarch, well versed with the changes brought about by time, did not
listen to their counsels. Possessed of righteous soul, he persuaded the
people to sanction his views. He then set his heart on leaving the world.
His brothers also formed the same resolution. Then Dharmas son,
Yudhishthira, the king of the Kurus, casting off his ornaments, wore
barks of trees. Bhima and Arjuna and the twins, and Draupadi also of
great fame, similarly clad themselves in bark of trees, O king. Having
caused the preliminary rites of religion, O chief of Bharatas race, which
were to bless them in the accomplishment of their design, those foremost
of men cast off their sacred fires into the water. The ladies, beholding
the princes in that guise, wept aloud. They seemed to look as they had
looked in days before, when with Draupadi forming the sixth in number
they set out from the capital after their defeat at dice. The brothers,
however, were all very cheerful at the prospect of retirement.
Ascertaining the intentions of Yudhishthira and seeing the destruction of
the Vrishnis, no other course of action could please them then.

"The five brothers, with Draupadi forming the sixth, and a dog forming
the seventh, set out on their journey. Indeed, even thus did king
Yudhishthira depart, himself the head of a party of seven, from the city
named after the elephant. The citizen and the ladies of the royal
household followed them for some distance. None of them, however, could
venture to address the king for persuading him to give up his intention.
The denizens of the city then returned; Kripa and others stood around
Yuyutsu as their centre. Ulupi, the daughter of the Naga chief, O thou of
Kuntis race, entered the waters of Ganga. The princess Chitrangada set
out for the capital of Manipura. The other ladies who were the
grandmothers of Parikshit centered around him. Meanwhile the high-souled
Pandavas, O thou of Kurus race, and Draupadi of great fame, having
observed the preliminary fast, set out with their faces towards the east.
Setting themselves on Yoga, those high-souled ones, resolved to observe
the religion of Renunciation, traversed through various countries and
reached diverse rivers and seas. Yudhishthira, proceeded first. Behind
him was Bhima; next walked Arjuna; after him were the twins in the order
of their birth; behind them all, O foremost one of Bharatas race,
proceeded Draupadi, that first of women, possessed of great beauty, of
dark complexion, and endued with eyes resembling lotus petals. While the
Pandavas set out for the forest, a dog followed them.

"Proceeding on, those heroes reached the sea of red waters. Dhananjaya
had not cast off his celestial bow Gandiva, nor his couple of
inexhaustible quivers, actuated, O king, by the cupidity that attaches
one to things of great value. The Pandavas there beheld the deity of fire
standing before them like a hill. Closing their way, the god stood there
in his embodied form. The deity of seven flames then addressed the
Pandavas, saying, Ye heroic sons of Pandu, know me for the deity of fire.
O mighty-armed Yudhishthira, O Bhimasena that art a scorcher of foes, O
Arjuna, and ye twins of great courage, listen to what I say! Ye foremost
ones of Kurus race, I am the god of fire. The forest of Khandava was
burnt by me, through the puissance of Arjuna and of Narayana himself. Let
your brother Phalguna proceed to the woods after casting off Gandiva,
that high weapon. He has no longer any need of it. That precious discus,
which was with the high-souled Krishna, has disappeared (from the world).
When the time again comes, it will come back into his hands. This
foremost of bows, Gandiva, was procured by me from Varuna for the use of
Partha. Let it be made over to Varuna himself.

"At this, all the brothers urged Dhananjaya to do what the deity said. He
then threw into the waters (of the sea) both the bow and the couple of
inexhaustible quivers. After this, O chief of Bharatas race, the god of
the fire disappeared then and there. The heroic sons of Pandu next
proceeded with their faces turned towards the south. Then, by the
northern coast of the salt sea, those princes of Bharatas race proceeded
to the south-west. Turning next towards the west, they beheld the city of
Dwaraka covered by the ocean. Turning next to the north, those foremost
ones proceeded on. Observant of Yoga, they were desirous of making a
round of the whole Earth."



2

Vaishampayana said: "Those princes of restrained souls and devoted to
Yoga, proceeding to the north, beheld Himavat, that very large mountain.
Crossing the Himavat, they beheld a vast desert of sand. They then saw
the mighty mountain Meru, the foremost of all high-peaked mountains. As
those mighty ones were proceeding quickly, all rapt in Yoga, Yajnaseni,
falling of from Yoga, dropped down on the Earth. Beholding her fallen
down, Bhimasena of great strength addressed king Yudhishthira the just,
saying, O scorcher of foes, this princess never did any sinful act. Tell
us what the cause is for which Krishna has fallen down on the Earth!

"Yudhishthira said: O best of men, though we were all equal unto her she
had great partiality for Dhananjaya. She obtains the fruit of that
conduct today, O best of men."

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said this, that foremost one of Bharatas
race proceeded on. Of righteous soul, that foremost of men, endued with
great intelligence, went on, with mind intent on itself. Then Sahadeva of
great learning fell down on the Earth. Beholding him drop down, Bhima
addressed the king, saying, He who with great humility used to serve us
all, alas, why is that son of Madravati fallen down on the Earth?

"Yudhishthira said, He never thought anybody his equal in wisdom. It is
for that fault that this prince has fallen down.

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said this, the king proceeded, leaving
Sahadeva there. Indeed, Kuntis son Yudhishthira went on, with his
brothers and with the dog. Beholding both Krishna and the Pandava
Sahadeva fallen down, the brave Nakula, whose love for kinsmen was very
great, fell down himself. Upon the falling down of the heroic Nakula of
great personal beauty, Bhima once more addressed the king, saying, This
brother of ours who was endued with righteousness without incompleteness,
and who always obeyed our behests, this Nakula who was unrivalled for
beauty, has fallen down.

"Thus addressed by Bhimasena, Yudhishthira, said, with respect to Nakula,
these words: He was of righteous soul and the foremost of all persons
endued with intelligence. He, however, thought that there was nobody that
equalled him in beauty of person. Indeed, he regarded himself as superior
to all in that respect. It is for this that Nakula has fallen down. Know
this, O Vrikodara. What has been ordained for a person, O hero, must have
to be endured by him.

"Beholding Nakula and the others fall down, Pandus son Arjuna of white
steeds, that slayer of hostile heroes, fell down in great grief of heart.
When that foremost of men, who was endued with the energy of Shakra, had
fallen down, indeed, when that invincible hero was on the point of death,
Bhima said unto the king, I do not recollect any untruth uttered by this
high-souled one. Indeed, not even in jest did he say anything false. What
then is that for whose evil consequence this one has fallen down on the
Earth?

"Yudhishthira said, Arjuna had said that he would consume all our foes in
a single day. Proud of his heroism, he did not, however, accomplish what
he had said. Hence has he fallen down. This Phalguna disregarded all
wielders of bows. One desirous of prosperity should never indulge in such
sentiments."

Vaishampayana continued: "Having said so, the king proceeded on. Then
Bhima fell down. Having fallen down, Bhima addressed king Yudhishthira
the just, saying, O king, behold, I who am thy darling have fallen down.
For what reason have I dropped down? Tell me if thou knowest it.

"Yudhishthira said, Thou wert a great eater, and thou didst use to boast
of thy strength. Thou never didst attend, O Bhima, to the wants of others
while eating. It is for that, O Bhima, that thou hast fallen down.

"Having said these words, the mighty-armed Yudhishthira proceeded on,
without looking back. He had only one companion, the dog of which I have
repeatedly spoken to thee, that followed him now.



3

Vaishampayana said: "Then Shakra, causing the firmament and the Earth to
be filled by a loud sound, came to the son of Pritha on a car and asked
him to ascend it. Beholding his brothers fallen on the Earth, king
Yudhishthira the just said unto that deity of a 1,000 eyes these words:
My brothers have all dropped down here. They must go with me. Without
them by me I do not wish to go to Heaven, O lord of all the deities. The
delicate princess (Draupadi) deserving of every comfort, O Purandara,
should go with us. It behoveth thee to permit this.

"Shakra said, Thou shalt behold thy brothers in Heaven. They have reached
it before thee. Indeed, thou shalt see all of them there, with Krishna.
Do not yield to grief, O chief of the Bharatas. Having cast off their
human bodies they have gone there, O chief of Bharatas race. As regards
thee, it is ordained that thou shalt go thither in this very body of
thine.

"Yudhishthira said, This dog, O lord of the Past and the Present, is
exceedingly devoted to me. He should go with me. My heart is full of
compassion for him.

"Shakra said, Immortality and a condition equal to mine, O king,
prosperity extending in all directions, and high success, and all the
felicities of Heaven, thou hast won today. Do thou cast off this dog. In
this there will be no cruelty.

"Yudhishthira said, O thou of a 1,000 eyes. O thou that art of righteous
behaviour, it is exceedingly difficult for one that is of righteous
behaviour to perpetrate an act that is unrighteous. I do not desire that
union with prosperity for which I shall have to cast off one that is
devoted to me.

"Indra said, There is no place in Heaven for persons with dogs. Besides,
the (deities called) Krodhavasas take away all the merits of such
persons. Reflecting on this, act, O king Yudhishthira the just. Do thou
abandon this dog. There is no cruelty in this.

"Yudhishthira said, It has been said that the abandonment of one that is
devoted is infinitely sinful. It is equal to the sin that one incurs by
slaying a Brahmana. Hence, O great Indra, I shall not abandon this dog
today from desire of my happiness. Even this is my vow steadily pursued,
that I never give up a person that is terrified, nor one that is devoted
to me, nor one that seeks my protection, saying that he is destitute, nor
one that is afflicted, nor one that has come to me, nor one that is weak
in protecting oneself, nor one that is solicitous of life. I shall never
give up such a one till my own life is at an end.

"Indra said, Whatever gifts, or sacrifices spread out, or libations
poured on the sacred fire, are seen by a dog, are taken away by the
Krodhavasas. Do thou, therefore, abandon this dog. By abandoning this dog
thou wilt attain to the region of the deities. Having abandoned thy
brothers and Krishna, thou hast, O hero, acquired a region of felicity by
thy own deeds. Why art thou so stupefied? Thou hast renounced everything.
Why then dost thou not renounce this dog? "Yudhishthira said, This is
well known in all the worlds that there is neither friendship nor enmity
with those that are dead. When my brothers and Krishna died, I was unable
to revive them. Hence it was that I abandoned them. I did not, however,
abandon them as long as they were alive. To frighten one that has sought
protection, the slaying of a woman, the theft of what belongs to a
Brahmana, and injuring a friend, each of these four, O Shakra, is I think
equal to the abandonment of one that is devoted."

Vaishampayana continued: "Hearing these words of king Yudhishthira the
just, (the dog became transformed into) the deity of Righteousness, who,
well pleased, said these words unto him in a sweet voice fraught with
praise.

"Dharma said: Thou art well born, O king of kings, and possessed of the
intelligence and the good conduct of Pandu. Thou hast compassion for all
creatures, O Bharata, of which this is a bright example. Formerly, O son,
thou wert once examined by me in the woods of Dwaita, where thy brothers
of great prowess met with (an appearance of) death. Disregarding both thy
brothers Bhima and Arjuna, thou didst wish for the revival of Nakula from
thy desire of doing good to thy (step-) mother. On the present occasion,
thinking the dog to be devoted to thee, thou hast renounced the very car
of the celestials instead of renouncing him. Hence. O king, there is no
one in Heaven that is equal to thee. Hence, O Bharata, regions of
inexhaustible felicity are thine. Thou hast won them, O chief of the
Bharatas, and thine is a celestial and high goal."

Vaishampayana continued: "Then Dharma, and Shakra, and the Maruts, and
the Ashvinis, and other deities, and the celestial Rishis, causing
Yudhishthira to ascend on a car, proceeded to Heaven. Those beings
crowned with success and capable of going everywhere at will, rode their
respective cars. King Yudhishthira, that perpetuator of Kurus race,
riding on that car, ascended quickly, causing the entire welkin to blaze
with his effulgence. Then Narada, that foremost of all speakers, endued
with penances, and conversant with all the worlds, from amidst that
concourse of deities, said these words: All those royal sages that are
here have their achievements transcended by those of Yudhishthira.
Covering all the worlds by his fame and splendour and by his wealth of
conduct, he has attained to Heaven in his own (human) body. None else
than the son of Pandu has been heard to achieve this.

"Hearing these words of Narada, the righteous-souled king, saluting the
deities and all the royal sages there present, said, Happy or miserable,
whatever the region be that is now my brothers, I desire to proceed to. I
do not wish to go anywhere else.

"Hearing this speech of the king, the chief of the deities, Purandara,
said these words fraught with noble sense: Do thou live in this place, O
king of kings, which thou hast won by thy meritorious deeds. Why dost
thou still cherish human affections? Thou hast attained to great success,
the like of which no other man has ever been able to attain. Thy
brothers, O delighter of the Kurus, have succeeded in winning regions of
felicity. Human affections still touch thee. This is Heaven. Behold these
celestial Rishis and Siddhas who have attained to the region of the gods.

"Gifted with great intelligence, Yudhishthira answered the chief of the
deities once more, saying, O conqueror of Daityas, I venture not to dwell
anywhere separated from them. I desire to go there, where my brothers
have gone. I wish to go there where that foremost of women, Draupadi, of
ample proportions and darkish complexion and endued with great
intelligence and righteous of conduct, has gone."

The end of Mahaprasthanika-parv

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
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The Mahabharata

of

Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa

BOOK 1

ADI PARVA

Translated into English Prose from the Original Sanskrit Text

by

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

[1883-1896]

Scanned at sacred-texts.com, 2003. Proofed at Distributed Proofing,
Juliet Sutherland, Project Manager. Additional proofing and formatting at
sacred-texts.com, by J. B. Hare.



TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

The object of a translator should ever be to hold the mirror upto his
author. That being so, his chief duty is to represent so far as
practicable the manner in which his author's ideas have been expressed,
retaining if possible at the sacrifice of idiom and taste all the
peculiarities of his author's imagery and of language as well. In regard
to translations from the Sanskrit, nothing is easier than to dish up
Hindu ideas, so as to make them agreeable to English taste. But the
endeavour of the present translator has been to give in the following
pages as literal a rendering as possible of the great work of Vyasa. To
the purely English reader there is much in the following pages that will
strike as ridiculous. Those unacquainted with any language but their own
are generally very exclusive in matters of taste. Having no knowledge of
models other than what they meet with in their own tongue, the standard
they have formed of purity and taste in composition must necessarily be a
narrow one. The translator, however, would ill-discharge his duty, if for
the sake of avoiding ridicule, he sacrificed fidelity to the original. He
must represent his author as he is, not as he should be to please the
narrow taste of those entirely unacquainted with him. Mr. Pickford, in
the preface to his English translation of the Mahavira Charita, ably
defends a close adherence to the original even at the sacrifice of idiom
and taste against the claims of what has been called 'Free Translation,'
which means dressing the author in an outlandish garb to please those to
whom he is introduced.

In the preface to his classical translation of Bhartrihari's Niti Satakam
and Vairagya Satakam, Mr. C.H. Tawney says, "I am sensible that in the
present attempt I have retained much local colouring. For instance, the
ideas of worshipping the feet of a god of great men, though it frequently
occurs in Indian literature, will undoubtedly move the laughter of
Englishmen unacquainted with Sanskrit, especially if they happen to
belong to that class of readers who revel their attention on the
accidental and remain blind to the essential. But a certain measure of
fidelity to the original even at the risk of making oneself ridiculous,
is better than the studied dishonesty which characterises so many
translations of oriental poets."

We fully subscribe to the above although, it must be observed, the
censure conveyed to the class of translators last indicated is rather
undeserved, there being nothing like a 'studied dishonesty' in their
efforts which proceed only from a mistaken view of their duties and as
such betray only an error of the head but not of the heart. More than
twelve years ago when Babu Pratapa Chandra Roy, with Babu Durga Charan
Banerjee, went to my retreat at Seebpore, for engaging me to translate
the Mahabharata into English, I was amazed with the grandeur of the
scheme. My first question to him was,--whence was the money to come,
supposing my competence for the task. Pratapa then unfolded to me the
details of his plan, the hopes he could legitimately cherish of
assistance from different quarters. He was full of enthusiasm. He showed
me Dr. Rost's letter, which, he said, had suggested to him the
undertaking. I had known Babu Durga Charan for many years and I had the
highest opinion of his scholarship and practical good sense. When he
warmly took Pratapa's side for convincing me of the practicability of the
scheme, I listened to him patiently. The two were for completing all
arrangements with me the very day. To this I did not agree. I took a
week's time to consider. I consulted some of my literary friends,
foremost among whom was the late lamented Dr. Sambhu C. Mookherjee. The
latter, I found, had been waited upon by Pratapa. Dr. Mookherjee spoke to
me of Pratapa as a man of indomitable energy and perseverance. The result
of my conference with Dr. Mookherjee was that I wrote to Pratapa asking
him to see me again. In this second interview estimates were drawn up,
and everything was arranged as far as my portion of the work was
concerned. My friend left with me a specimen of translation which he had
received from Professor Max Muller. This I began to study, carefully
comparing it sentence by sentence with the original. About its literal
character there could be no doubt, but it had no flow and, therefore,
could not be perused with pleasure by the general reader. The translation
had been executed thirty years ago by a young German friend of the great
Pundit. I had to touch up every sentence. This I did without at all
impairing faithfulness to the original. My first 'copy' was set up in
type and a dozen sheets were struck off. These were submitted to the
judgment of a number of eminent writers, European and native. All of
them, I was glad to see, approved of the specimen, and then the task of
translating the Mahabharata into English seriously began.

Before, however, the first fasciculus could be issued, the question as to
whether the authorship of the translation should be publicly owned,
arose. Babu Pratapa Chandra Roy was against anonymity. I was for it. The
reasons I adduced were chiefly founded upon the impossibility of one
person translating the whole of the gigantic work. Notwithstanding my
resolve to discharge to the fullest extent the duty that I took up, I
might not live to carry it out. It would take many years before the end
could be reached. Other circumstances than death might arise in
consequence of which my connection with the work might cease. It could
not be desirable to issue successive fasciculus with the names of a
succession of translators appearing on the title pages. These and other
considerations convinced my friend that, after all, my view was correct.
It was, accordingly, resolved to withhold the name of the translator. As
a compromise, however, between the two views, it was resolved to issue
the first fasciculus with two prefaces, one over the signature of the
publisher and the other headed--'Translator's Preface.' This, it was
supposed, would effectually guard against misconceptions of every kind.
No careful reader would then confound the publisher with the author.

Although this plan was adopted, yet before a fourth of the task had been
accomplished, an influential Indian journal came down upon poor Pratapa
Chandra Roy and accused him openly of being a party to a great literary
imposture, viz., of posing before the world as the translator of Vyasa's
work when, in fact, he was only the publisher. The charge came upon my
friend as a surprise, especially as he had never made a secret of the
authorship in his correspondence with Oriental scholars in every part of
the world. He promptly wrote to the journal in question, explaining the
reasons there were for anonymity, and pointing to the two prefaces with
which the first fasciculus had been given to the world. The editor
readily admitted his mistake and made a satisfactory apology.

Now that the translation has been completed, there can no longer be any
reason for withholding the name of the translator. The entire translation
is practically the work of one hand. In portions of the Adi and the Sabha
Parvas, I was assisted by Babu Charu Charan Mookerjee. About four forms
of the Sabha Parva were done by Professor Krishna Kamal Bhattacharya, and
about half a fasciculus during my illness, was done by another hand. I
should however state that before passing to the printer the copy received
from these gentlemen I carefully compared every sentence with the
original, making such alterations as were needed for securing a
uniformity of style with the rest of the work.

I should here observe that in rendering the Mahabharata into English I
have derived very little aid from the three Bengali versions that are
supposed to have been executed with care. Every one of these is full of
inaccuracies and blunders of every description. The Santi in particular
which is by far the most difficult of the eighteen Parvas, has been made
a mess of by the Pundits that attacked it. Hundreds of ridiculous
blunders can be pointed out in both the Rajadharma and the Mokshadharma
sections. Some of these I have pointed out in footnotes.

I cannot lay claim to infallibility. There are verses in the Mahabharata
that are exceedingly difficult to construe. I have derived much aid from
the great commentator Nilakantha. I know that Nilakantha's authority is
not incapable of being challenged. But when it is remembered that the
interpretations given by Nilakantha came down to him from preceptors of
olden days, one should think twice before rejecting Nilakantha as a guide.

About the readings I have adopted, I should say that as regards the first
half of the work, I have generally adhered to the Bengal texts; as
regards the latter half, to the printed Bombay edition. Sometimes
individual sections, as occurring in the Bengal editions, differ widely,
in respect of the order of the verses, from the corresponding ones in the
Bombay edition. In such cases I have adhered to the Bengal texts,
convinced that the sequence of ideas has been better preserved in the
Bengal editions than the Bombay one.

I should express my particular obligations to Pundit Ram Nath Tarkaratna,
the author of 'Vasudeva Vijayam' and other poems, Pundit Shyama Charan
Kaviratna, the learned editor of Kavyaprakasha with the commentary of
Professor Mahesh Chandra Nayaratna, and Babu Aghore Nath Banerjee, the
manager of the Bharata Karyalaya. All these scholars were my referees on
all points of difficulty. Pundit Ram Nath's solid scholarship is known to
them that have come in contact with him. I never referred to him a
difficulty that he could not clear up. Unfortunately, he was not always
at hand to consult. Pundit Shyama Charan Kaviratna, during my residence
at Seebpore, assisted me in going over the Mokshadharma sections of the
Santi Parva. Unostentatious in the extreme, Kaviratna is truly the type
of a learned Brahman of ancient India. Babu Aghore Nath Banerjee also has
from time to time, rendered me valuable assistance in clearing my
difficulties.

Gigantic as the work is, it would have been exceedingly difficult for me
to go on with it if I had not been encouraged by Sir Stuart Bayley, Sir
Auckland Colvin, Sir Alfred Croft, and among Oriental scholars, by the
late lamented Dr. Reinhold Rost, and Mons. A. Barth of Paris. All these
eminent men know from the beginning that the translation was proceeding
from my pen. Notwithstanding the enthusiasm, with which my poor friend,
Pratapa Chandra Roy, always endeavoured to fill me. I am sure my energies
would have flagged and patience exhausted but for the encouraging words
which I always received from these patrons and friends of the enterprise.

Lastly, I should name my literary chief and friend, Dr. Sambhu C.
Mookherjee. The kind interest he took in my labours, the repeated
exhortations he addressed to me inculcating patience, the care with which
he read every fasciculus as it came out, marking all those passages which
threw light upon topics of antiquarian interest, and the words of praise
he uttered when any expression particularly happy met his eyes, served to
stimulate me more than anything else in going on with a task that
sometimes seemed to me endless.

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

Calcutta



THE MAHABHARATA

ADI PARVA

SECTION I

Om! Having bowed down to Narayana and Nara, the most exalted male being,
and also to the goddess Saraswati, must the word Jaya be uttered.

Ugrasrava, the son of Lomaharshana, surnamed Sauti, well-versed in the
Puranas, bending with humility, one day approached the great sages of
rigid vows, sitting at their ease, who had attended the twelve years'
sacrifice of Saunaka, surnamed Kulapati, in the forest of Naimisha. Those
ascetics, wishing to hear his wonderful narrations, presently began to
address him who had thus arrived at that recluse abode of the inhabitants
of the forest of Naimisha. Having been entertained with due respect by
those holy men, he saluted those Munis (sages) with joined palms, even
all of them, and inquired about the progress of their asceticism. Then
all the ascetics being again seated, the son of Lomaharshana humbly
occupied the seat that was assigned to him. Seeing that he was
comfortably seated, and recovered from fatigue, one of the Rishis
beginning the conversation, asked him, 'Whence comest thou, O lotus-eyed
Sauti, and where hast thou spent the time? Tell me, who ask thee, in
detail.'

Accomplished in speech, Sauti, thus questioned, gave in the midst of that
big assemblage of contemplative Munis a full and proper answer in words
consonant with their mode of life.

"Sauti said, 'Having heard the diverse sacred and wonderful stories which
were composed in his Mahabharata by Krishna-Dwaipayana, and which were
recited in full by Vaisampayana at the Snake-sacrifice of the high-souled
royal sage Janamejaya and in the presence also of that chief of Princes,
the son of Parikshit, and having wandered about, visiting many sacred
waters and holy shrines, I journeyed to the country venerated by the
Dwijas (twice-born) and called Samantapanchaka where formerly was fought
the battle between the children of Kuru and Pandu, and all the chiefs of
the land ranged on either side. Thence, anxious to see you, I am come
into your presence. Ye reverend sages, all of whom are to me as Brahma;
ye greatly blessed who shine in this place of sacrifice with the
splendour of the solar fire: ye who have concluded the silent meditations
and have fed the holy fire; and yet who are sitting--without care, what,
O ye Dwijas (twice-born), shall I repeat, shall I recount the sacred
stories collected in the Puranas containing precepts of religious duty
and of worldly profit, or the acts of illustrious saints and sovereigns
of mankind?"

"The Rishi replied, 'The Purana, first promulgated by the great Rishi
Dwaipayana, and which after having been heard both by the gods and the
Brahmarshis was highly esteemed, being the most eminent narrative that
exists, diversified both in diction and division, possessing subtile
meanings logically combined, and gleaned from the Vedas, is a sacred
work. Composed in elegant language, it includeth the subjects of other
books. It is elucidated by other Shastras, and comprehendeth the sense of
the four Vedas. We are desirous of hearing that history also called
Bharata, the holy composition of the wonderful Vyasa, which dispelleth
the fear of evil, just as it was cheerfully recited by the Rishi
Vaisampayana, under the direction of Dwaipayana himself, at the
snake-sacrifice of Raja Janamejaya?'

"Sauti then said, 'Having bowed down to the primordial being Isana, to
whom multitudes make offerings, and who is adored by the multitude; who
is the true incorruptible one, Brahma, perceptible, imperceptible,
eternal; who is both a non-existing and an existing-non-existing being;
who is the universe and also distinct from the existing and non-existing
universe; who is the creator of high and low; the ancient, exalted,
inexhaustible one; who is Vishnu, beneficent and the beneficence itself,
worthy of all preference, pure and immaculate; who is Hari, the ruler of
the faculties, the guide of all things moveable and immoveable; I will
declare the sacred thoughts of the illustrious sage Vyasa, of marvellous
deeds and worshipped here by all. Some bards have already published this
history, some are now teaching it, and others, in like manner, will
hereafter promulgate it upon the earth. It is a great source of
knowledge, established throughout the three regions of the world. It is
possessed by the twice-born both in detailed and compendious forms. It is
the delight of the learned for being embellished with elegant
expressions, conversations human and divine, and a variety of poetical
measures.

In this world, when it was destitute of brightness and light, and
enveloped all around in total darkness, there came into being, as the
primal cause of creation, a mighty egg, the one inexhaustible seed of all
created beings. It is called Mahadivya, and was formed at the beginning
of the Yuga, in which we are told, was the true light Brahma, the eternal
one, the wonderful and inconceivable being present alike in all places;
the invisible and subtile cause, whose nature partaketh of entity and
non-entity. From this egg came out the lord Pitamaha Brahma, the one only
Prajapati; with Suraguru and Sthanu. Then appeared the twenty-one
Prajapatis, viz., Manu, Vasishtha and Parameshthi; ten Prachetas, Daksha,
and the seven sons of Daksha. Then appeared the man of inconceivable
nature whom all the Rishis know and so the Viswe-devas, the Adityas, the
Vasus, and the twin Aswins; the Yakshas, the Sadhyas, the Pisachas, the
Guhyakas, and the Pitris. After these were produced the wise and most
holy Brahmarshis, and the numerous Rajarshis distinguished by every noble
quality. So the water, the heavens, the earth, the air, the sky, the
points of the heavens, the years, the seasons, the months, the
fortnights, called Pakshas, with day and night in due succession. And
thus were produced all things which are known to mankind.

And what is seen in the universe, whether animate or inanimate, of
created things, will at the end of the world, and after the expiration of
the Yuga, be again confounded. And, at the commencement of other Yugas,
all things will be renovated, and, like the various fruits of the earth,
succeed each other in the due order of their seasons. Thus continueth
perpetually to revolve in the world, without beginning and without end,
this wheel which causeth the destruction of all things.

The generation of Devas, in brief, was thirty-three thousand,
thirty-three hundred and thirty-three. The sons of Div were Brihadbhanu,
Chakshus, Atma Vibhavasu, Savita, Richika, Arka, Bhanu, Asavaha, and
Ravi. Of these Vivaswans of old, Mahya was the youngest whose son was
Deva-vrata. The latter had for his son, Su-vrata who, we learn, had three
sons,--Dasa-jyoti, Sata-jyoti, and Sahasra-jyoti, each of them producing
numerous offspring. The illustrious Dasa-jyoti had ten thousand,
Sata-jyoti ten times that number, and Sahasra-jyoti ten times the number
of Sata-jyoti's offspring. From these are descended the family of the
Kurus, of the Yadus, and of Bharata; the family of Yayati and of
Ikshwaku; also of all the Rajarshis. Numerous also were the generations
produced, and very abundant were the creatures and their places of abode.
The mystery which is threefold--the Vedas, Yoga, and Vijnana Dharma,
Artha, and Kama--also various books upon the subject of Dharma, Artha,
and Kama; also rules for the conduct of mankind; also histories and
discourses with various srutis; all of which having been seen by the
Rishi Vyasa are here in due order mentioned as a specimen of the book.

The Rishi Vyasa published this mass of knowledge in both a detailed and
an abridged form. It is the wish of the learned in the world to possess
the details and the abridgement. Some read the Bharata beginning with the
initial mantra (invocation), others with the story of Astika, others with
Uparichara, while some Brahmanas study the whole. Men of learning display
their various knowledge of the institutes in commenting on the
composition. Some are skilful in explaining it, while others, in
remembering its contents.

The son of Satyavati having, by penance and meditation, analysed the
eternal Veda, afterwards composed this holy history, when that learned
Brahmarshi of strict vows, the noble Dwaipayana Vyasa, offspring of
Parasara, had finished this greatest of narrations, he began to consider
how he might teach it to his disciples. And the possessor of the six
attributes, Brahma, the world's preceptor, knowing of the anxiety of the
Rishi Dwaipayana, came in person to the place where the latter was, for
gratifying the saint, and benefiting the people. And when Vyasa,
surrounded by all the tribes of Munis, saw him, he was surprised; and,
standing with joined palms, he bowed and ordered a seat to be brought.
And Vyasa having gone round him who is called Hiranyagarbha seated on
that distinguished seat stood near it; and being commanded by Brahma
Parameshthi, he sat down near the seat, full of affection and smiling in
joy. Then the greatly glorious Vyasa, addressing Brahma Parameshthi,
said, "O divine Brahma, by me a poem hath been composed which is greatly
respected. The mystery of the Veda, and what other subjects have been
explained by me; the various rituals of the Upanishads with the Angas;
the compilation of the Puranas and history formed by me and named after
the three divisions of time, past, present, and future; the determination
of the nature of decay, fear, disease, existence, and non-existence, a
description of creeds and of the various modes of life; rule for the four
castes, and the import of all the Puranas; an account of asceticism and
of the duties of a religious student; the dimensions of the sun and moon,
the planets, constellations, and stars, together with the duration of the
four ages; the Rik, Sama and Yajur Vedas; also the Adhyatma; the sciences
called Nyaya, Orthoephy and Treatment of diseases; charity and
Pasupatadharma; birth celestial and human, for particular purposes; also
a description of places of pilgrimage and other holy places of rivers,
mountains, forests, the ocean, of heavenly cities and the kalpas; the art
of war; the different kinds of nations and languages: the nature of the
manners of the people; and the all-pervading spirit;--all these have been
represented. But, after all, no writer of this work is to be found on
earth.'

"Brahma said. 'I esteem thee for thy knowledge of divine mysteries,
before the whole body of celebrated Munis distinguished for the sanctity
of their lives. I know thou hast revealed the divine word, even from its
first utterance, in the language of truth. Thou hast called thy present
work a poem, wherefore it shall be a poem. There shall be no poets whose
works may equal the descriptions of this poem, even, as the three other
modes called Asrama are ever unequal in merit to the domestic Asrama. Let
Ganesa be thought of, O Muni, for the purpose of writing the poem.'

"Sauti said, 'Brahma having thus spoken to Vyasa, retired to his own
abode. Then Vyasa began to call to mind Ganesa. And Ganesa, obviator of
obstacles, ready to fulfil the desires of his votaries, was no sooner
thought of, than he repaired to the place where Vyasa was seated. And
when he had been saluted, and was seated, Vyasa addressed him thus, 'O
guide of the Ganas! be thou the writer of the Bharata which I have formed
in my imagination, and which I am about to repeat."

"Ganesa, upon hearing this address, thus answered, 'I will become the
writer of thy work, provided my pen do not for a moment cease writing."
And Vyasa said unto that divinity, 'Wherever there be anything thou dost
not comprehend, cease to continue writing.' Ganesa having signified his
assent, by repeating the word Om! proceeded to write; and Vyasa began;
and by way of diversion, he knit the knots of composition exceeding
close; by doing which, he dictated this work according to his engagement.

I am (continued Sauti) acquainted with eight thousand and eight hundred
verses, and so is Suka, and perhaps Sanjaya. From the mysteriousness of
their meaning, O Muni, no one is able, to this day, to penetrate those
closely knit difficult slokas. Even the omniscient Ganesa took a moment
to consider; while Vyasa, however, continued to compose other verses in
great abundance.

The wisdom of this work, like unto an instrument of applying collyrium,
hath opened the eyes of the inquisitive world blinded by the darkness of
ignorance. As the sun dispelleth the darkness, so doth the Bharata by its
discourses on religion, profit, pleasure and final release, dispel the
ignorance of men. As the full-moon by its mild light expandeth the buds
of the water-lily, so this Purana, by exposing the light of the Sruti
hath expanded the human intellect. By the lamp of history, which
destroyeth the darkness of ignorance, the whole mansion of nature is
properly and completely illuminated.

This work is a tree, of which the chapter of contents is the seed; the
divisions called Pauloma and Astika are the root; the part called
Sambhava is the trunk; the books called Sabha and Aranya are the roosting
perches; the books called Arani is the knitting knots; the books called
Virata and Udyoga the pith; the book named Bhishma, the main branch; the
book called Drona, the leaves; the book called Karna, the fair flowers;
the book named Salya, their sweet smell; the books entitled Stri and
Aishika, the refreshing shade; the book called Santi, the mighty fruit;
the book called Aswamedha, the immortal sap; the denominated
Asramavasika, the spot where it groweth; and the book called Mausala, is
an epitome of the Vedas and held in great respect by the virtuous
Brahmanas. The tree of the Bharata, inexhaustible to mankind as the
clouds, shall be as a source of livelihood to all distinguished poets."

"Sauti continued, 'I will now speak of the undying flowery and fruitful
productions of this tree, possessed of pure and pleasant taste, and not
to be destroyed even by the immortals. Formerly, the spirited and
virtuous Krishna-Dwaipayana, by the injunctions of Bhishma, the wise son
of Ganga and of his own mother, became the father of three boys who were
like the three fires by the two wives of Vichitra-virya; and having thus
raised up Dhritarashtra, Pandu and Vidura, he returned to his recluse
abode to prosecute his religious exercise.

It was not till after these were born, grown up, and departed on the
supreme journey, that the great Rishi Vyasa published the Bharata in this
region of mankind; when being solicited by Janamejaya and thousands of
Brahmanas, he instructed his disciple Vaisampayana, who was seated near
him; and he, sitting together with the Sadasyas, recited the Bharata,
during the intervals of the ceremonies of the sacrifice, being repeatedly
urged to proceed.

Vyasa hath fully represented the greatness of the house of Kuru, the
virtuous principles of Gandhari, the wisdom of Vidura, and the constancy
of Kunti. The noble Rishi hath also described the divinity of Vasudeva,
the rectitude of the sons of Pandu, and the evil practices of the sons
and partisans of Dhritarashtra.

Vyasa executed the compilation of the Bharata, exclusive of the episodes
originally in twenty-four thousand verses; and so much only is called by
the learned as the Bharata. Afterwards, he composed an epitome in one
hundred and fifty verses, consisting of the introduction with the chapter
of contents. This he first taught to his son Suka; and afterwards he gave
it to others of his disciples who were possessed of the same
qualifications. After that he executed another compilation, consisting of
six hundred thousand verses. Of those, thirty hundred thousand are known
in the world of the Devas; fifteen hundred thousand in the world of the
Pitris: fourteen hundred thousand among the Gandharvas, and one hundred
thousand in the regions of mankind. Narada recited them to the Devas,
Devala to the Pitris, and Suka published them to the Gandharvas, Yakshas,
and Rakshasas: and in this world they were recited by Vaisampayana, one
of the disciples of Vyasa, a man of just principles and the first among
all those acquainted with the Vedas. Know that I, Sauti, have also
repeated one hundred thousand verses.

Yudhishthira is a vast tree, formed of religion and virtue; Arjuna is its
trunk; Bhimasena, its branches; the two sons of Madri are its full-grown
fruit and flowers; and its roots are Krishna, Brahma, and the Brahmanas.

Pandu, after having subdued many countries by his wisdom and prowess,
took up his abode with the Munis in a certain forest as a sportsman,
where he brought upon himself a very severe misfortune for having killed
a stag coupling with its mate, which served as a warning for the conduct
of the princes of his house as long as they lived. Their mothers, in
order that the ordinances of the law might be fulfilled, admitted as
substitutes to their embraces the gods Dharma, Vayu, Sakra, and the
divinities the twin Aswins. And when their offspring grew up, under the
care of their two mothers, in the society of ascetics, in the midst of
sacred groves and holy recluse-abodes of religious men, they were
conducted by Rishis into the presence of Dhritarashtra and his sons,
following as students in the habit of Brahmacharis, having their hair
tied in knots on their heads. 'These our pupils', said they, 'are as your
sons, your brothers, and your friends; they are Pandavas.' Saying this,
the Munis disappeared.

When the Kauravas saw them introduced as the sons of Pandu, the
distinguished class of citizens shouted exceedingly for joy. Some,
however, said, they were not the sons of Pandu; others said, they were;
while a few asked how they could be his offspring, seeing he had been so
long dead. Still on all sides voices were heard crying, 'They are on all
accounts Whalecum! Through divine Providence we behold the family of
Pandu! Let their Whalecum be proclaimed!' As these acclamations ceased,
the plaudits of invisible spirits, causing every point of the heavens to
resound, were tremendous. There were showers of sweet-scented flowers,
and the sound of shells and kettle-drums. Such were the wonders that
happened on the arrival of the young princes. The joyful noise of all the
citizens, in expression of their satisfaction on the occasion, was so
great that it reached the very heavens in magnifying plaudits.

Having studied the whole of the Vedas and sundry other shastras, the
Pandavas resided there, respected by all and without apprehension from
any one.

The principal men were pleased with the purity of Yudhishthira, the
courage of Arjuna, the submissive attention of Kunti to her superiors,
and the humility of the twins, Nakula and Sahadeva; and all the people
rejoiced in their heroic virtues.

After a while, Arjuna obtained the virgin Krishna at the swayamvara, in
the midst of a concourse of Rajas, by performing a very difficult feat of
archery. And from this time he became very much respected in this world
among all bowmen; and in fields of battle also, like the sun, he was hard
to behold by foe-men. And having vanquished all the neighbouring princes
and every considerable tribe, he accomplished all that was necessary for
the Raja (his eldest brother) to perform the great sacrifice called
Rajasuya.

Yudhishthira, after having, through the wise counsels of Vasudeva and by
the valour of Bhimasena and Arjuna, slain Jarasandha (the king of
Magadha) and the proud Chaidya, acquired the right to perform the grand
sacrifice of Rajasuya abounding in provisions and offering and fraught
with transcendent merits. And Duryodhana came to this sacrifice; and when
he beheld the vast wealth of the Pandavas scattered all around, the
offerings, the precious stones, gold and jewels; the wealth in cows,
elephants, and horses; the curious textures, garments, and mantles; the
precious shawls and furs and carpets made of the skin of the Ranku; he
was filled with envy and became exceedingly displeased. And when he
beheld the hall of assembly elegantly constructed by Maya (the Asura
architect) after the fashion of a celestial court, he was inflamed with
rage. And having started in confusion at certain architectural deceptions
within this building, he was derided by Bhimasena in the presence of
Vasudeva, like one of mean descent.

And it was represented to Dhritarashtra that his son, while partaking of
various objects of enjoyment and diverse precious things, was becoming
meagre, wan, and pale. And Dhritarashtra, some time after, out of
affection for his son, gave his consent to their playing (with the
Pandavas) at dice. And Vasudeva coming to know of this, became
exceedingly wroth. And being dissatisfied, he did nothing to prevent the
disputes, but overlooked the gaming and sundry other horried
unjustifiable transactions arising therefrom: and in spite of Vidura,
Bhishma, Drona, and Kripa, the son of Saradwan, he made the Kshatriyas
kill each other in the terrific war that ensued.'

"And Dhritarashtra hearing the ill news of the success of the Pandavas
and recollecting the resolutions of Duryodhana, Kama, and Sakuni,
pondered for a while and addressed to Sanjaya the following speech:--

'Attend, O Sanjaya, to all I am about to say, and it will not become thee
to treat me with contempt. Thou art well-versed in the shastras,
intelligent and endowed with wisdom. My inclination was never to war, not
did I delight in the destruction of my race. I made no distinction
between my own children and the children of Pandu. My own sons were prone
to wilfulness and despised me because I am old. Blind as I am, because of
my miserable plight and through paternal affection, I bore it all. I was
foolish alter the thoughtless Duryodhana ever growing in folly. Having
been a spectator of the riches of the mighty sons of Pandu, my son was
derided for his awkwardness while ascending the hall. Unable to bear it
all and unable himself to overcome the sons of Pandu in the field, and
though a soldier, unwilling yet to obtain good fortune by his own
exertion, with the help of the king of Gandhara he concerted an unfair
game at dice.

'Hear, O Sanjaya, all that happened thereupon and came to my knowledge.
And when thou hast heard all I say, recollecting everything as it fell
out, thou shall then know me for one with a prophetic eye. When I heard
that Arjuna, having bent the bow, had pierced the curious mark and
brought it down to the ground, and bore away in triumph the maiden
Krishna, in the sight of the assembled princes, then, O Sanjaya I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Subhadra of the race of Madhu had,
after forcible seizure been married by Arjuna in the city of Dwaraka, and
that the two heroes of the race of Vrishni (Krishna and Balarama the
brothers of Subhadra) without resenting it had entered Indraprastha as
friends, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
Arjuna, by his celestial arrow preventing the downpour by Indra the king
of the gods, had gratified Agni by making over to him the forest of
Khandava, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
the five Pandavas with their mother Kunti had escaped from the house of
lac, and that Vidura was engaged in the accomplishment of their designs,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Arjuna,
after having pierced the mark in the arena had won Draupadi, and that the
brave Panchalas had joined the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Jarasandha, the foremost of the royal line
of Magadha, and blazing in the midst of the Kshatriyas, had been slain by
Bhima with his bare arms alone, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that in their general campaign the sons of Pandu
had conquered the chiefs of the land and performed the grand sacrifice of
the Rajasuya, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Draupadi, her voice choked with tears and heart full of agony, in
the season of impurity and with but one raiment on, had been dragged into
court and though she had protectors, she had been treated as if she had
none, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
wicked wretch Duhsasana, was striving to strip her of that single
garment, had only drawn from her person a large heap of cloth without
being able to arrive at its end, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, beaten by Saubala at the game of
dice and deprived of his kingdom as a consequence thereof, had still been
attended upon by his brothers of incomparable prowess, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that the virtuous Pandavas weeping
with affliction had followed their elder brother to the wilderness and
exerted themselves variously for the mitigation of his discomforts, then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.

'When I heard that Yudhishthira had been followed into the wilderness by
Snatakas and noble-minded Brahmanas who live upon alms, then, O Sanjaya,
I had no hope of success. When I heard that Arjuna, having, in combat,
pleased the god of gods, Tryambaka (the three-eyed) in the disguise of a
hunter, obtained the great weapon Pasupata, then O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that the just and renowned Arjuna after having
been to the celestial regions, had there obtained celestial weapons from
Indra himself then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that afterwards Arjuna had vanquished the Kalakeyas and the Paulomas
proud with the boon they had obtained and which had rendered them
invulnerable even to the celestials, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Arjuna, the chastiser of enemies, having gone
to the regions of Indra for the destruction of the Asuras, had returned
thence successful, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Bhima and the other sons of Pritha (Kunti) accompanied by
Vaisravana had arrived at that country which is inaccessible to man then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that my sons, guided by
the counsels of Karna, while on their journey of Ghoshayatra, had been
taken prisoners by the Gandharvas and were set free by Arjuna, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Dharma (the god of
justice) having come under the form of a Yaksha had proposed certain
questions to Yudhishthira then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When
I heard that my sons had failed to discover the Pandavas under their
disguise while residing with Draupadi in the dominions of Virata, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the principal men of
my side had all been vanquished by the noble Arjuna with a single chariot
while residing in the dominions of Virata, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Vasudeva of the race of Madhu, who covered
this whole earth by one foot, was heartily interested in the welfare of
the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that the king of Matsya, had offered his virtuous daughter Uttara to
Arjuna and that Arjuna had accepted her for his son, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, beaten at dice,
deprived of wealth, exiled and separated from his connections, had
assembled yet an army of seven Akshauhinis, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard Narada, declare that Krishna and Arjuna
were Nara and Narayana and he (Narada) had seen them together in the
regions of Brahma, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Krishna, anxious to bring about peace, for the welfare of
mankind had repaired to the Kurus, and went away without having been able
to effect his purpose, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Kama and Duryodhana resolved upon imprisoning Krishna
displayed in himself the whole universe, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. Then I heard that at the time of his departure, Pritha
(Kunti) standing, full of sorrow, near his chariot received consolation
from Krishna, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Vasudeva and Bhishma the son of Santanu were the counsellors of the
Pandavas and Drona the son of Bharadwaja pronounced blessings on them,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When Kama said unto Bhishma--I
will not fight when thou art fighting--and, quitting the army, went away,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Vasudeva and
Arjuna and the bow Gandiva of immeasurable prowess, these three of
dreadful energy had come together, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that upon Arjuna having been seized with
compunction on his chariot and ready to sink, Krishna showed him all the
worlds within his body, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Bhishma, the desolator of foes, killing ten thousand
charioteers every day in the field of battle, had not slain any amongst
the Pandavas then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
Bhishma, the righteous son of Ganga, had himself indicated the means of
his defeat in the field of battle and that the same were accomplished by
the Pandavas with joyfulness, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.
When I heard that Arjuna, having placed Sikhandin before himself in his
chariot, had wounded Bhishma of infinite courage and invincible in
battle, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
aged hero Bhishma, having reduced the numbers of the race of shomaka to a
few, overcome with various wounds was lying on a bed of arrows, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that upon Bhishma's lying
on the ground with thirst for water, Arjuna, being requested, had pierced
the ground and allayed his thirst, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When Bayu together with Indra and Suryya united as allies for
the success of the sons of Kunti, and the beasts of prey (by their
inauspicious presence) were putting us in fear, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When the wonderful warrior Drona, displaying various
modes of fight in the field, did not slay any of the superior Pandavas,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
Maharatha Sansaptakas of our army appointed for the overthrow of Arjuna
were all slain by Arjuna himself, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that our disposition of forces, impenetrable by
others, and defended by Bharadwaja himself well-armed, had been singly
forced and entered by the brave son of Subhadra, then, O Sanjaya, I had
no hope of success. When I heard that our Maharathas, unable to overcome
Arjuna, with jubilant faces after having jointly surrounded and slain the
boy Abhimanyu, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard
that the blind Kauravas were shouting for joy after having slain
Abhimanyu and that thereupon Arjuna in anger made his celebrated speech
referring to Saindhava, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard that Arjuna had vowed the death of Saindhava and fulfilled his vow
in the presence of his enemies, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that upon the horses of Arjuna being fatigued,
Vasudeva releasing them made them drink water and bringing them back and
reharnessing them continued to guide them as before, then, O Sanjaya, I
had no hope of success. When I heard that while his horses were fatigued,
Arjuna staying in his chariot checked all his assailants, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Yuyudhana of the
race of Vrishni, after having thrown into confusion the army of Drona
rendered unbearable in prowess owing to the presence of elephants,
retired to where Krishna and Arjuna were, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that Karna even though he had got Bhima within
his power allowed him to escape after only addressing him in contemptuous
terms and dragging him with the end of his bow, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Drona, Kritavarma, Kripa, Karna, the
son of Drona, and the valiant king of Madra (Salya) suffered Saindhava to
be slain, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
the celestial Sakti given by Indra (to Karna) was by Madhava's
machinations caused to be hurled upon Rakshasa Ghatotkacha of frightful
countenance, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that
in the encounter between Karna and Ghatotkacha, that Sakti was hurled
against Ghatotkacha by Karna, the same which was certainly to have slain
Arjuna in battle, then, O Sanjaya. I had no hope of success. When I heard
that Dhristadyumna, transgressing the laws of battle, slew Drona while
alone in his chariot and resolved on death, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Nakula. the son of Madri, having in
the presence of the whole army engaged in single combat with the son of
Drona and showing himself equal to him drove his chariot in circles
around, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When upon the death of
Drona, his son misused the weapon called Narayana but failed to achieve
the destruction of the Pandavas, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of
success. When I heard that Bhimasena drank the blood of his brother
Duhsasana in the field of battle without anybody being able to prevent
him, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the
infinitely brave Karna, invincible in battle, was slain by Arjuna in that
war of brothers mysterious even to the gods, then, O Sanjaya, I had no
hope of success. When I heard that Yudhishthira, the Just, overcame the
heroic son of Drona, Duhsasana, and the fierce Kritavarman, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the brave king of
Madra who ever dared Krishna in battle was slain by Yudhishthira, then, O
Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the wicked Suvala of
magic power, the root of the gaming and the feud, was slain in battle by
Sahadeva, the son of Pandu, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success.
When I heard that Duryodhana, spent with fatigue, having gone to a lake
and made a refuge for himself within its waters, was lying there alone,
his strength gone and without a chariot, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope
of success. When I heard that the Pandavas having gone to that lake
accompanied by Vasudeva and standing on its beach began to address
contemptuously my son who was incapable of putting up with affronts,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that while,
displaying in circles a variety of curious modes (of attack and defence)
in an encounter with clubs, he was unfairly slain according to the
counsels of Krishna, then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I
heard the son of Drona and others by slaying the Panchalas and the sons
of Draupadi in their sleep, perpetrated a horrible and infamous deed,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that Aswatthaman
while being pursued by Bhimasena had discharged the first of weapons
called Aishika, by which the embryo in the womb (of Uttara) was wounded,
then, O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that the weapon
Brahmashira (discharged by Aswatthaman) was repelled by Arjuna with
another weapon over which he had pronounced the word "Sasti" and that
Aswatthaman had to give up the jewel-like excrescence on his head, then,
O Sanjaya, I had no hope of success. When I heard that upon the embryo in
the womb of Virata's daughter being wounded by Aswatthaman with a mighty
weapon, Dwaipayana and Krishna pronounced curses on him, then, O Sanjaya,
I had no hope of success.

'Alas! Gandhari, destitute of children, grand-children, parents,
brothers, and kindred, is to be pitied. Difficult is the task that hath
been performed by the Pandavas: by them hath a kingdom been recovered
without a rival.

'Alas! I have heard that the war hath left only ten alive: three of our
side, and the Pandavas, seven, in that dreadful conflict eighteen
Akshauhinis of Kshatriyas have been slain! All around me is utter
darkness, and a fit of swoon assaileth me: consciousness leaves me, O
Suta, and my mind is distracted."

"Sauti said, 'Dhritarashtra, bewailing his fate in these words, was
overcome with extreme anguish and for a time deprived of sense; but being
revived, he addressed Sanjaya in the following words.

"After what hath come to pass, O Sanjaya, I wish to put an end to my life
without delay; I do not find the least advantage in cherishing it any
longer."

"Sauti said, 'The wise son of Gavalgana (Sanjaya) then addressed the
distressed lord of Earth while thus talking and bewailing, sighing like a
serpent and repeatedly tainting, in words of deep import.

"Thou hast heard, O Raja, of the greatly powerful men of vast exertions,
spoken of by Vyasa and the wise Narada; men born of great royal families,
resplendent with worthy qualities, versed in the science of celestial
arms, and in glory emblems of Indra; men who having conquered the world
by justice and performed sacrifices with fit offerings (to the
Brahmanas), obtained renown in this world and at last succumbed to the
sway of time. Such were Saivya; the valiant Maharatha; Srinjaya, great
amongst conquerors. Suhotra; Rantideva, and Kakshivanta, great in glory;
Valhika, Damana, Saryati, Ajita, and Nala; Viswamitra the destroyer of
foes; Amvarisha, great in strength; Marutta, Manu, Ikshaku, Gaya, and
Bharata; Rama the son of Dasaratha; Sasavindu, and Bhagiratha;
Kritavirya, the greatly fortunate, and Janamejaya too; and Yayati of good
deeds who performed sacrifices, being assisted therein by the celestials
themselves, and by whose sacrificial altars and stakes this earth with
her habited and uninhabited regions hath been marked all over. These
twenty-four Rajas were formerly spoken of by the celestial Rishi Narada
unto Saivya when much afflicted for the loss of his children. Besides
these, other Rajas had gone before, still more powerful than they, mighty
charioteers noble in mind, and resplendent with every worthy quality.
These were Puru, Kuru, Yadu, Sura and Viswasrawa of great glory; Anuha,
Yuvanaswu, Kakutstha, Vikrami, and Raghu; Vijava, Virihorta, Anga, Bhava,
Sweta, and Vripadguru; Usinara, Sata-ratha, Kanka, Duliduha, and Druma;
Dambhodbhava, Para, Vena, Sagara, Sankriti, and Nimi; Ajeya, Parasu,
Pundra, Sambhu, and holy Deva-Vridha; Devahuya, Supratika, and
Vrihad-ratha; Mahatsaha, Vinitatma, Sukratu, and Nala, the king of the
Nishadas; Satyavrata, Santabhaya, Sumitra, and the chief Subala;
Janujangha, Anaranya, Arka, Priyabhritya, Chuchi-vrata, Balabandhu,
Nirmardda, Ketusringa, and Brhidbala; Dhrishtaketu, Brihatketu,
Driptaketu, and Niramaya; Abikshit, Chapala, Dhurta, Kritbandhu, and
Dridhe-shudhi; Mahapurana-sambhavya, Pratyanga, Paraha and Sruti. These,
O chief, and other Rajas, we hear enumerated by hundreds and by
thousands, and still others by millions, princes of great power and
wisdom, quitting very abundant enjoyments met death as thy sons have
done! Their heavenly deeds, valour, and generosity, their magnanimity,
faith, truth, purity, simplicity and mercy, are published to the world in
the records of former times by sacred bards of great learning. Though
endued with every noble virtue, these have yielded up their lives. Thy
sons were malevolent, inflamed with passion, avaricious, and of very
evil-disposition. Thou art versed in the Sastras, O Bharata, and art
intelligent and wise; they never sink under misfortunes whose
understandings are guided by the Sastras. Thou art acquainted, O prince,
with the lenity and severity of fate; this anxiety therefore for the
safety of thy children is unbecoming. Moreover, it behoveth thee not to
grieve for that which must happen: for who can avert, by his wisdom, the
decrees of fate? No one can leave the way marked out for him by
Providence. Existence and non-existence, pleasure and pain all have Time
for their root. Time createth all things and Time destroyeth all
creatures. It is Time that burneth creatures and it is Time that
extinguisheth the fire. All states, the good and the evil, in the three
worlds, are caused by Time. Time cutteth short all things and createth
them anew. Time alone is awake when all things are asleep: indeed, Time
is incapable of being overcome. Time passeth over all things without
being retarded. Knowing, as thou dost, that all things past and future
and all that exist at the present moment, are the offspring of Time, it
behoveth thee not to throw away thy reason.'

"Sauti said, 'The son of Gavalgana having in this manner administered
comfort to the royal Dhritarashtra overwhelmed with grief for his sons,
then restored his mind to peace. Taking these facts for his subject,
Dwaipayana composed a holy Upanishad that has been published to the world
by learned and sacred bards in the Puranas composed by them.

"The study of the Bharata is an act of piety. He that readeth even one
foot, with belief, hath his sins entirely purged away. Herein Devas,
Devarshis, and immaculate Brahmarshis of good deeds, have been spoken of;
and likewise Yakshas and great Uragas (Nagas). Herein also hath been
described the eternal Vasudeva possessing the six attributes. He is the
true and just, the pure and holy, the eternal Brahma, the supreme soul,
the true constant light, whose divine deeds wise and learned recount;
from whom hath proceeded the non-existent and existent-non-existent
universe with principles of generation and progression, and birth, death
and re-birth. That also hath been treated of which is called Adhyatma
(the superintending spirit of nature) that partaketh of the attributes of
the five elements. That also hath been described who is purusha being
above such epithets as 'undisplayed' and the like; also that which the
foremost yatis exempt from the common destiny and endued with the power
of meditation and Tapas behold dwelling in their hearts as a reflected
image in the mirror.

"The man of faith, devoted to piety, and constant in the exercise of
virtue, on reading this section is freed from sin. The believer that
constantly heareth recited this section of the Bharata, called the
Introduction, from the beginning, falleth not into difficulties. The man
repeating any part of the introduction in the two twilights is during
such act freed from the sins contracted during the day or the night. This
section, the body of the Bharata, is truth and nectar. As butter is in
curd, Brahmana among bipeds, the Aranyaka among the Vedas, and nectar
among medicines; as the sea is eminent among receptacles of water, and
the cow among quadrupeds; as are these (among the things mentioned) so is
the Bharata said to be among histories.

"He that causeth it, even a single foot thereof, to be recited to
Brahmanas during a Sradha, his offerings of food and drink to the manes
of his ancestors become inexhaustible.

"By the aid of history and the Puranas, the Veda may be expounded; but
the Veda is afraid of one of little information lest he should it. The
learned man who recites to other this Veda of Vyasa reapeth advantage. It
may without doubt destroy even the sin of killing the embryo and the
like. He that readeth this holy chapter of the moon, readeth the whole of
the Bharata, I ween. The man who with reverence daily listeneth to this
sacred work acquireth long life and renown and ascendeth to heaven.

"In former days, having placed the four Vedas on one side and the Bharata
on the other, these were weighed in the balance by the celestials
assembled for that purpose. And as the latter weighed heavier than the
four Vedas with their mysteries, from that period it hath been called in
the world Mahabharata (the great Bharata). Being esteemed superior both
in substance and gravity of import it is denominated Mahabharata on
account of such substance and gravity of import. He that knoweth its
meaning is saved from all his sins.

'Tapa is innocent, study is harmless, the ordinance of the Vedas
prescribed for all the tribes are harmless, the acquisition of wealth by
exertion is harmless; but when they are abused in their practices it is
then that they become sources of evil.'"



SECTION II

"The Rishis said, 'O son of Suta, we wish to hear a full and
circumstantial account of the place mentioned by you as Samanta-panchaya.'

"Sauti said, 'Listen, O ye Brahmanas, to the sacred descriptions I utter
O ye best of men, ye deserve to hear of the place known as
Samanta-panchaka. In the interval between the Treta and Dwapara Yugas,
Rama (the son of Jamadagni) great among all who have borne arms, urged by
impatience of wrongs, repeatedly smote the noble race of Kshatriyas. And
when that fiery meteor, by his own valour, annihilated the entire tribe
of the Kshatriyas, he formed at Samanta-panchaka five lakes of blood. We
are told that his reason being overpowered by anger he offered oblations
of blood to the manes of his ancestors, standing in the midst of the
sanguine waters of those lakes. It was then that his forefathers of whom
Richika was the first having arrived there addressed him thus, 'O Rama, O
blessed Rama, O offspring of Bhrigu, we have been gratified with the
reverence thou hast shown for thy ancestors and with thy valour, O mighty
one! Blessings be upon thee. O thou illustrious one, ask the boon that
thou mayst desire.'

"Rama said, 'If, O fathers, ye are favourably disposed towards me, the
boon I ask is that I may be absolved from the sins born of my having
annihilated the Kshatriyas in anger, and that the lakes I have formed may
become famous in the world as holy shrines.' The Pitris then said, 'So
shall it be. But be thou pacified.' And Rama was pacified accordingly.
The region that lieth near unto those lakes of gory water, from that time
hath been celebrated as Samanta-panchaka the holy. The wise have declared
that every country should be distinguished by a name significant of some
circumstance which may have rendered it famous. In the interval between
the Dwapara and the Kali Yugas there happened at Samanta-panchaka the
encounter between the armies of the Kauravas and the Pandavas. In that
holy region, without ruggedness of any kind, were assembled eighteen
Akshauhinis of soldiers eager for battle. And, O Brahmanas, having come
thereto, they were all slain on the spot. Thus the name of that region, O
Brahmanas, hath been explained, and the country described to you as a
sacred and delightful one. I have mentioned the whole of what relateth to
it as the region is celebrated throughout the three worlds.'

"The Rishis said, 'We have a desire to know, O son of Suta, what is
implied by the term Akshauhini that hath been used by thee. Tell us in
full what is the number of horse and foot, chariots and elephants, which
compose an Akshauhini for thou art fully informed.'

"Sauti said, 'One chariot, one elephant, five foot-soldiers, and three
horses form one Patti; three pattis make one Sena-mukha; three
sena-mukhas are called a Gulma; three gulmas, a Gana; three ganas, a
Vahini; three vahinis together are called a Pritana; three pritanas form
a Chamu; three chamus, one Anikini; and an anikini taken ten times forms,
as it is styled by those who know, an Akshauhini. O ye best of Brahmanas,
arithmeticians have calculated that the number of chariots in an
Akshauhini is twenty-one thousand eight hundred and seventy. The measure
of elephants must be fixed at the same number. O ye pure, you must know
that the number of foot-soldiers is one hundred and nine thousand, three
hundred and fifty, the number of horse is sixty-five thousand, six
hundred and ten. These, O Brahmanas, as fully explained by me, are the
numbers of an Akshauhini as said by those acquainted with the principles
of numbers. O best of Brahmanas, according to this calculation were
composed the eighteen Akshauhinis of the Kaurava and the Pandava army.
Time, whose acts are wonderful assembled them on that spot and having
made the Kauravas the cause, destroyed them all. Bhishma acquainted with
choice of weapons, fought for ten days. Drona protected the Kaurava
Vahinis for five days. Kama the desolator of hostile armies fought for
two days; and Salya for half a day. After that lasted for half a day the
encounter with clubs between Duryodhana and Bhima. At the close of that
day, Aswatthaman and Kripa destroyed the army of Yudishthira in the night
while sleeping without suspicion of danger.

'O Saunaka, this best of narrations called Bharata which has begun to be
repeated at thy sacrifice, was formerly repeated at the sacrifice of
Janamejaya by an intelligent disciple of Vyasa. It is divided into
several sections; in the beginning are Paushya, Pauloma, and Astika
parvas, describing in full the valour and renown of kings. It is a work
whose description, diction, and sense are varied and wonderful. It
contains an account of various manners and rites. It is accepted by the
wise, as the state called Vairagya is by men desirous of final release.
As Self among things to be known, as life among things that are dear, so
is this history that furnisheth the means of arriving at the knowledge of
Brahma the first among all the sastras. There is not a story current in
this world but doth depend upon this history even as the body upon the
foot that it taketh. As masters of good lineage are ever attended upon by
servants desirous of preferment so is the Bharata cherished by all poets.
As the words constituting the several branches of knowledge appertaining
to the world and the Veda display only vowels and consonants, so this
excellent history displayeth only the highest wisdom.

'Listen, O ye ascetics, to the outlines of the several divisions (parvas)
of this history called Bharata, endued with great wisdom, of sections and
feet that are wonderful and various, of subtile meanings and logical
connections, and embellished with the substance of the Vedas.

'The first parva is called Anukramanika; the second, Sangraha; then
Paushya; then Pauloma; the Astika; then Adivansavatarana. Then comes the
Sambhava of wonderful and thrilling incidents. Then comes Jatugrihadaha
(setting fire to the house of lac) and then Hidimbabadha (the killing of
Hidimba) parvas; then comes Baka-badha (slaughter of Baka) and then
Chitraratha. The next is called Swayamvara (selection of husband by
Panchali), in which Arjuna by the exercise of Kshatriya virtues, won
Draupadi for wife. Then comes Vaivahika (marriage). Then comes
Viduragamana (advent of Vidura), Rajyalabha (acquirement of kingdom),
Arjuna-banavasa (exile of Arjuna) and Subhadra-harana (the carrying away
of Subhadra). After these come Harana-harika, Khandava-daha (the burning
of the Khandava forest) and Maya-darsana (meeting with Maya the Asura
architect). Then come Sabha, Mantra, Jarasandha, Digvijaya (general
campaign). After Digvijaya come Raja-suyaka, Arghyaviharana (the robbing
of the Arghya) and Sisupala-badha (the killing of Sisupala). After these,
Dyuta (gambling), Anudyuta (subsequent to gambling), Aranyaka, and
Krimira-badha (destruction of Krimira). The Arjuna-vigamana (the travels
of Arjuna), Kairati. In the last hath been described the battle between
Arjuna and Mahadeva in the guise of a hunter. After this
Indra-lokavigamana (the journey to the regions of Indra); then that mine
of religion and virtue, the highly pathetic Nalopakhyana (the story of
Nala). After this last, Tirtha-yatra or the pilgrimage of the wise prince
of the Kurus, the death of Jatasura, and the battle of the Yakshas. Then
the battle with the Nivata-kavachas, Ajagara, and Markandeya-Samasya
(meeting with Markandeya). Then the meeting of Draupadi and Satyabhama,
Ghoshayatra, Mirga-Swapna (dream of the deer). Then the story of
Brihadaranyaka and then Aindradrumna. Then Draupadi-harana (the abduction
of Draupadi), Jayadratha-bimoksana (the release of Jayadratha). Then the
story of 'Savitri' illustrating the great merit of connubial chastity.
After this last, the story of 'Rama'. The parva that comes next is called
'Kundala-harana' (the theft of the ear-rings). That which comes next is
'Aranya' and then 'Vairata'. Then the entry of the Pandavas and the
fulfilment of their promise (of living unknown for one year). Then the
destruction of the 'Kichakas', then the attempt to take the kine (of
Virata by the Kauravas). The next is called the marriage of Abhimanyu
with the daughter of Virata. The next you must know is the most wonderful
parva called Udyoga. The next must be known by the name of 'Sanjaya-yana'
(the arrival of Sanjaya). Then comes 'Prajagara' (the sleeplessness of
Dhritarashtra owing to his anxiety). Then Sanatsujata, in which are the
mysteries of spiritual philosophy. Then 'Yanasaddhi', and then the
arrival of Krishna. Then the story of 'Matali' and then of 'Galava'. Then
the stories of 'Savitri', 'Vamadeva', and 'Vainya'. Then the story of
'Jamadagnya and Shodasarajika'. Then the arrival of Krishna at the court,
and then Bidulaputrasasana. Then the muster of troops and the story of
Sheta. Then, must you know, comes the quarrel of the high-souled Karna.
Then the march to the field of the troops of both sides. The next hath
been called numbering the Rathis and Atirathas. Then comes the arrival of
the messenger Uluka which kindled the wrath (of the Pandavas). The next
that comes, you must know, is the story of Amba. Then comes the thrilling
story of the installation of Bhishma as commander-in-chief. The next is
called the creation of the insular region Jambu; then Bhumi; then the
account about the formation of islands. Then comes the 'Bhagavat-gita';
and then the death of Bhishma. Then the installation of Drona; then the
destruction of the 'Sansaptakas'. Then the death of Abhimanyu; and then
the vow of Arjuna (to slay Jayadratha). Then the death of Jayadratha, and
then of Ghatotkacha. Then, must you know, comes the story of the death of
Drona of surprising interest. The next that comes is called the discharge
of the weapon called Narayana. Then, you know, is Karna, and then Salya.
Then comes the immersion in the lake, and then the encounter (between
Bhima and Duryodhana) with clubs. Then comes Saraswata, and then the
descriptions of holy shrines, and then genealogies. Then comes Sauptika
describing incidents disgraceful (to the honour of the Kurus). Then comes
the 'Aisika' of harrowing incidents. Then comes 'Jalapradana' oblations
of water to the manes of the deceased, and then the wailings of the
women. The next must be known as 'Sraddha' describing the funeral rites
performed for the slain Kauravas. Then comes the destruction of the
Rakshasa Charvaka who had assumed the disguise of a Brahmana (for
deceiving Yudhishthira). Then the coronation of the wise Yudhishthira.
The next is called the 'Grihapravibhaga'. Then comes 'Santi', then
'Rajadharmanusasana', then 'Apaddharma', then 'Mokshadharma'. Those that
follow are called respectively 'Suka-prasna-abhigamana',
'Brahma-prasnanusana', the origin of 'Durvasa', the disputations with
Maya. The next is to be known as 'Anusasanika'. Then the ascension of
Bhishma to heaven. Then the horse-sacrifice, which when read purgeth all
sins away. The next must be known as the 'Anugita' in which are words of
spiritual philosophy. Those that follow are called 'Asramvasa',
'Puttradarshana' (meeting with the spirits of the deceased sons), and the
arrival of Narada. The next is called 'Mausala' which abounds with
terrible and cruel incidents. Then comes 'Mahaprasthanika' and ascension
to heaven. Then comes the Purana which is called Khilvansa. In this last
are contained 'Vishnuparva', Vishnu's frolics and feats as a child, the
destruction of 'Kansa', and lastly, the very wonderful 'Bhavishyaparva'
(in which there are prophecies regarding the future).

The high-souled Vyasa composed these hundred parvas of which the above is
only an abridgement: having distributed them into eighteen, the son of
Suta recited them consecutively in the forest of Naimisha as follows:

'In the Adi parva are contained Paushya, Pauloma, Astika, Adivansavatara,
Samva, the burning of the house of lac, the slaying of Hidimba, the
destruction of the Asura Vaka, Chitraratha, the Swayamvara of Draupadi,
her marriage after the overthrow of rivals in war, the arrival of Vidura,
the restoration, Arjuna's exile, the abduction of Subhadra, the gift and
receipt of the marriage dower, the burning of the Khandava forest, and
the meeting with (the Asura-architect) Maya. The Paushya parva treats of
the greatness of Utanka, and the Pauloma, of the sons of Bhrigu. The
Astika describes the birth of Garuda and of the Nagas (snakes), the
churning of the ocean, the incidents relating to the birth of the
celestial steed Uchchaihsrava, and finally, the dynasty of Bharata, as
described in the Snake-sacrifice of king Janamejaya. The Sambhava parva
narrates the birth of various kings and heroes, and that of the sage,
Krishna Dwaipayana: the partial incarnations of deities, the generation
of Danavas and Yakshas of great prowess, and serpents, Gandharvas, birds,
and of all creatures; and lastly, of the life and adventures of king
Bharata--the progenitor of the line that goes by his name--the son born
of Sakuntala in the hermitage of the ascetic Kanwa. This parva also
describes the greatness of Bhagirathi, and the births of the Vasus in the
house of Santanu and their ascension to heaven. In this parva is also
narrated the birth of Bhishma uniting in himself portions of the energies
of the other Vasus, his renunciation of royalty and adoption of the
Brahmacharya mode of life, his adherence to his vows, his protection of
Chitrangada, and after the death of Chitrangada, his protection of his
younger brother, Vichitravirya, and his placing the latter on the throne:
the birth of Dharma among men in consequence of the curse of Animondavya;
the births of Dhritarashtra and Pandu through the potency of Vyasa's
blessings (?) and also the birth of the Pandavas; the plottings of
Duryodhana to send the sons of Pandu to Varanavata, and the other dark
counsels of the sons of Dhritarashtra in regard to the Pandavas; then the
advice administered to Yudhishthira on his way by that well-wisher of the
Pandavas--Vidura--in the mlechchha language--the digging of the hole, the
burning of Purochana and the sleeping woman of the fowler caste, with her
five sons, in the house of lac; the meeting of the Pandavas in the
dreadful forest with Hidimba, and the slaying of her brother Hidimba by
Bhima of great prowess. The birth of Ghatotkacha; the meeting of the
Pandavas with Vyasa and in accordance with his advice their stay in
disguise in the house of a Brahmana in the city of Ekachakra; the
destruction of the Asura Vaka, and the amazement of the populace at the
sight; the extra-ordinary births of Krishna and Dhrishtadyumna; the
departure of the Pandavas for Panchala in obedience to the injunction of
Vyasa, and moved equally by the desire of winning the hand of Draupadi on
learning the tidings of the Swayamvara from the lips of a Brahmana;
victory of Arjuna over a Gandharva, called Angaraparna, on the banks of
the Bhagirathi, his contraction of friendship with his adversary, and his
hearing from the Gandharva the history of Tapati, Vasishtha and Aurva.
This parva treats of the journey of the Pandavas towards Panchala, the
acquisition of Draupadi in the midst of all the Rajas, by Arjuna, after
having successfully pierced the mark; and in the ensuing fight, the
defeat of Salya, Kama, and all the other crowned heads at the hands of
Bhima and Arjuna of great prowess; the ascertainment by Balarama and
Krishna, at the sight of these matchless exploits, that the heroes were
the Pandavas, and the arrival of the brothers at the house of the potter
where the Pandavas were staying; the dejection of Drupada on learning
that Draupadi was to be wedded to five husbands; the wonderful story of
the five Indras related in consequence; the extraordinary and
divinely-ordained wedding of Draupadi; the sending of Vidura by the sons
of Dhritarashtra as envoy to the Pandavas; the arrival of Vidura and his
sight to Krishna; the abode of the Pandavas in Khandava-prastha, and then
their rule over one half of the kingdom; the fixing of turns by the sons
of Pandu, in obedience to the injunction of Narada, for connubial
companionship with Krishna. In like manner hath the history of Sunda and
Upasunda been recited in this. This parva then treats of the departure of
Arjuna for the forest according to the vow, he having seen Draupadi and
Yudhishthira sitting together as he entered the chamber to take out arms
for delivering the kine of a certain Brahmana. This parva then describes
Arjuna's meeting on the way with Ulupi, the daughter of a Naga (serpent);
it then relates his visits to several sacred spots; the birth of
Vabhruvahana; the deliverance by Arjuna of the five celestial damsels who
had been turned into alligators by the imprecation of a Brahmana, the
meeting of Madhava and Arjuna on the holy spot called Prabhasa; the
carrying away of Subhadra by Arjuna, incited thereto by her brother
Krishna, in the wonderful car moving on land and water, and through
mid-air, according to the wish of the rider; the departure for
Indraprastha, with the dower; the conception in the womb of Subhadra of
that prodigy of prowess, Abhimanyu; Yajnaseni's giving birth to children;
then follows the pleasure-trip of Krishna and Arjuna to the banks of the
Jamuna and the acquisition by them of the discus and the celebrated bow
Gandiva; the burning of the forest of Khandava; the rescue of Maya by
Arjuna, and the escape of the serpent,--and the begetting of a son by
that best of Rishis, Mandapala, in the womb of the bird Sarngi. This
parva is divided by Vyasa into two hundred and twenty-seven chapters.
These two hundred and twenty-seven chapters contain eight thousand eight
hundred and eighty-four slokas.

The second is the extensive parva called Sabha or the assembly, full of
matter. The subjects of this parva are the establishment of the grand
hall by the Pandavas; their review of their retainers; the description of
the lokapalas by Narada well-acquainted with the celestial regions; the
preparations for the Rajasuya sacrifice; the destruction of Jarasandha;
the deliverance by Vasudeva of the princes confined in the mountain-pass;
the campaign of universal conquest by the Pandavas; the arrival of the
princes at the Rajasuya sacrifice with tribute; the destruction of
Sisupala on the occasion of the sacrifice, in connection with offering of
arghya; Bhimasena's ridicule of Duryodhana in the assembly; Duryodhana's
sorrow and envy at the sight of the magnificent scale on which the
arrangements had been made; the indignation of Duryodhana in consequence,
and the preparations for the game of dice; the defeat of Yudhishthira at
play by the wily Sakuni; the deliverance by Dhritarashtra of his
afflicted daughter-in-law Draupadi plunged in the sea of distress caused
by the gambling, as of a boat tossed about by the tempestuous waves. The
endeavours of Duryodhana to engage Yudhishthira again in the game; and
the exile of the defeated Yudhishthira with his brothers. These
constitute what has been called by the great Vyasa the Sabha Parva. This
parva is divided into seventh-eight sections, O best of Brahmanas, of two
thousand, five hundred and seven slokas.

Then comes the third parva called Aranyaka (relating to the forest) This
parva treats of the wending of the Pandavas to the forest and the
citizens, following the wise Yudhishthira, Yudhishthira's adoration of
the god of day; according to the injunctions of Dhaumya, to be gifted
with the power of maintaining the dependent Brahmanas with food and
drink: the creation of food through the grace of the Sun: the expulsion
by Dhritarashtra of Vidura who always spoke for his master's good;
Vidura's coming to the Pandavas and his return to Dhritarashtra at the
solicitation of the latter; the wicked Duryodhana's plottings to destroy
the forest-ranging Pandavas, being incited thereto by Karna; the
appearance of Vyasa and his dissuasion of Duryodhana bent on going to the
forest; the history of Surabhi; the arrival of Maitreya; his laying down
to Dhritarashtra the course of action; and his curse on Duryodhana;
Bhima's slaying of Kirmira in battle; the coming of the Panchalas and the
princes of the Vrishni race to Yudhishthira on hearing of his defeat at
the unfair gambling by Sakuni; Dhananjaya's allaying the wrath of
Krishna; Draupadi's lamentations before Madhava; Krishna's cheering her;
the fall of Sauva also has been here described by the Rishi; also
Krishna's bringing Subhadra with her son to Dwaraka; and Dhrishtadyumna's
bringing the son of Draupadi to Panchala; the entrance of the sons of
Pandu into the romantic Dwaita wood; conversation of Bhima, Yudhishthira,
and Draupadi; the coming of Vyasa to the Pandavas and his endowing
Yudhishthira with the power of Pratismriti; then, after the departure of
Vyasa, the removal of the Pandavas to the forest of Kamyaka; the
wanderings of Arjuna of immeasurable prowess in search of weapons; his
battle with Mahadeva in the guise of a hunter; his meeting with the
lokapalas and receipt of weapons from them; his journey to the regions of
Indra for arms and the consequent anxiety of Dhritarashtra; the wailings
and lamentations of Yudhishthira on the occasion of his meeting with the
worshipful great sage Brihadaswa. Here occurs the holy and highly
pathetic story of Nala illustrating the patience of Damayanti and the
character of Nala. Then the acquirement by Yudhishthira of the mysteries
of dice from the same great sage; then the arrival of the Rishi Lomasa
from the heavens to where the Pandavas were, and the receipt by these
high-souled dwellers in the woods of the intelligence brought by the
Rishi of their brother Arjuna staving in the heavens; then the pilgrimage
of the Pandavas to various sacred spots in accordance with the message of
Arjuna, and their attainment of great merit and virtue consequent on such
pilgrimage; then the pilgrimage of the great sage Narada to the shrine
Putasta; also the pilgrimage of the high-souled Pandavas. Here is the
deprivation of Karna of his ear-rings by Indra. Here also is recited the
sacrificial magnificence of Gaya; then the story of Agastya in which the
Rishi ate up the Asura Vatapi, and his connubial connection with
Lopamudra from the desire of offspring. Then the story of Rishyasringa
who adopted Brahmacharya mode of life from his very boyhood; then the
history of Rama of great prowess, the son of Jamadagni, in which has been
narrated the death of Kartavirya and the Haihayas; then the meeting
between the Pandavas and the Vrishnis in the sacred spot called Prabhasa;
then the story of Su-kanya in which Chyavana, the son of Bhrigu, made the
twins, Aswinis, drink, at the sacrifice of king Saryati, the Soma juice
(from which they had been excluded by the other gods), and in which
besides is shown how Chyavana himself acquired perpetual youth (as a boon
from the grateful Aswinis). Then hath been described the history of king
Mandhata; then the history of prince Jantu; and how king Somaka by
offering up his only son (Jantu) in sacrifice obtained a hundred others;
then the excellent history of the hawk and the pigeon; then the
examination of king Sivi by Indra, Agni, and Dharma; then the story of
Ashtavakra, in which occurs the disputation, at the sacrifice of Janaka,
between that Rishi and the first of logicians, Vandi, the son of Varuna;
the defeat of Vandi by the great Ashtavakra, and the release by the Rishi
of his father from the depths of the ocean. Then the story of Yavakrita,
and then that of the great Raivya: then the departure (of the Pandavas)
for Gandhamadana and their abode in the asylum called Narayana; then
Bhimasena's journey to Gandhamadana at the request of Draupadi (in search
of the sweet-scented flower). Bhima's meeting on his way, in a grove of
bananas, with Hanuman, the son of Pavana of great prowess; Bhima's bath
in the tank and the destruction of the flowers therein for obtaining the
sweet-scented flower (he was in search of); his consequent battle with
the mighty Rakshasas and the Yakshas of great prowess including Hanuman;
the destruction of the Asura Jata by Bhima; the meeting (of the Pandavas)
with the royal sage Vrishaparva; their departure for the asylum of
Arshtishena and abode therein: the incitement of Bhima (to acts of
vengeance) by Draupadi. Then is narrated the ascent on the hills of
Kailasa by Bhimasena, his terrific battle with the mighty Yakshas headed
by Hanuman; then the meeting of the Pandavas with Vaisravana (Kuvera),
and the meeting with Arjuna after he had obtained for the purpose of
Yudhishthira many celestial weapons; then Arjuna's terrible encounter
with the Nivatakavachas dwelling in Hiranyaparva, and also with the
Paulomas, and the Kalakeyas; their destruction at the hands of Arjuna;
the commencement of the display of the celestial weapons by Arjuna before
Yudhishthira, the prevention of the same by Narada; the descent of the
Pandavas from Gandhamadana; the seizure of Bhima in the forest by a
mighty serpent huge as the mountain; his release from the coils of the
snake, upon Yudhishthira's answering certain questions; the return of the
Pandavas to the Kamyaka woods. Here is described the reappearance of
Vasudeva to see the mighty sons of Pandu; the arrival of Markandeya, and
various recitals, the history of Prithu the son of Vena recited by the
great Rishi; the stories of Saraswati and the Rishi Tarkhya. After these,
is the story of Matsya; other old stories recited by Markandeya; the
stories of Indradyumna and Dhundhumara; then the history of the chaste
wife; the history of Angira, the meeting and conversation of Draupadi and
Satyabhama; the return of the Pandavas to the forest of Dwaita; then the
procession to see the calves and the captivity of Duryodhana; and when
the wretch was being carried off, his rescue by Arjuna; here is
Yudhishthira's dream of the deer; then the re-entry of the Pandavas into
the Kamyaka forest, here also is the long story of Vrihidraunika. Here
also is recited the story of Durvasa; then the abduction by Jayadratha of
Draupadi from the asylum; the pursuit of the ravisher by Bhima swift as
the air and the ill-shaving of Jayadratha's crown at Bhima's hand. Here
is the long history of Rama in which is shown how Rama by his prowess
slew Ravana in battle. Here also is narrated the story of Savitri; then
Karna's deprivation by Indra of his ear-rings; then the presentation to
Karna by the gratified Indra of a Sakti (missile weapon) which had the
virtue of killing only one person against whom it might be hurled; then
the story called Aranya in which Dharma (the god of justice) gave advice
to his son (Yudhishthira); in which, besides is recited how the Pandavas
after having obtained a boon went towards the west. These are all
included in the third Parva called Aranyaka, consisting of two hundred
and sixty-nine sections. The number of slokas is eleven thousand, six
hundred and sixty-four.

"The extensive Parva that comes next is called Virata. The Pandavas
arriving at the dominions of Virata saw in a cemetery on the outskirts of
the city a large shami tree whereon they kept their weapons. Here hath
been recited their entry into the city and their stay there in disguise.
Then the slaying by Bhima of the wicked Kichaka who, senseless with lust,
had sought Draupadi; the appointment by prince Duryodhana of clever
spies; and their despatch to all sides for tracing the Pandavas; the
failure of these to discover the mighty sons of Pandu; the first seizure
of Virata's kine by the Trigartas and the terrific battle that ensued;
the capture of Virata by the enemy and his rescue by Bhimasena; the
release also of the kine by the Pandava (Bhima); the seizure of Virata's
kine again by the Kurus; the defeat in battle of all the Kurus by the
single-handed Arjuna; the release of the king's kine; the bestowal by
Virata of his daughter Uttara for Arjuna's acceptance on behalf of his
son by Subhadra--Abhimanyu--the destroyer of foes. These are the contents
of the extensive fourth Parva--the Virata. The great Rishi Vyasa has
composed in these sixty-seven sections. The number of slokas is two
thousand and fifty.

"Listen then to (the contents of) the fifth Parva which must be known as
Udyoga. While the Pandavas, desirous of victory, were residing in the
place called Upaplavya, Duryodhana and Arjuna both went at the same time
to Vasudeva, and said, "You should render us assistance in this war." The
high-souled Krishna, upon these words being uttered, replied, "O ye first
of men, a counsellor in myself who will not fight and one Akshauhini of
troops, which of these shall I give to which of you?" Blind to his own
interests, the foolish Duryodhana asked for the troops; while Arjuna
solicited Krishna as an unfighting counsellor. Then is described how,
when the king of Madra was coming for the assistance of the Pandavas,
Duryodhana, having deceived him on the way by presents and hospitality,
induced him to grant a boon and then solicited his assistance in battle;
how Salya, having passed his word to Duryodhana, went to the Pandavas and
consoled them by reciting the history of Indra's victory (over Vritra).
Then comes the despatch by the Pandavas of their Purohita (priest) to the
Kauravas. Then is described how king Dhritarashtra of great prowess,
having heard the word of the purohita of the Pandavas and the story of
Indra's victory decided upon sending his purohita and ultimately
despatched Sanjaya as envoy to the Pandavas from desire for peace. Here
hath been described the sleeplessness of Dhritarashtra from anxiety upon
hearing all about the Pandavas and their friends, Vasudeva and others. It
was on this occasion that Vidura addressed to the wise king Dhritarashtra
various counsels that were full of wisdom. It was here also that
Sanat-sujata recited to the anxious and sorrowing monarch the excellent
truths of spiritual philosophy. On the next morning Sanjaya spoke, in the
court of the King, of the identity of Vasudeva and Arjuna. It was then
that the illustrious Krishna, moved by kindness and a desire for peace,
went himself to the Kaurava capital, Hastinapura, for bringing about
peace. Then comes the rejection by prince Duryodhana of the embassy of
Krishna who had come to solicit peace for the benefit of both parties.
Here hath been recited the story of Damvodvava; then the story of the
high-souled Matuli's search for a husband for his daughter: then the
history of the great sage Galava; then the story of the training and
discipline of the son of Bidula. Then the exhibition by Krishna, before
the assembled Rajas, of his Yoga powers upon learning the evil counsels
of Duryodhana and Karna; then Krishna's taking Karna in his chariot and
his tendering to him of advice, and Karna's rejection of the same from
pride. Then the return of Krishna, the chastiser of enemies from
Hastinapura to Upaplavya, and his narration to the Pandavas of all that
had happened. It was then that those oppressors of foes, the Pandavas,
having heard all and consulted properly with each other, made every
preparation for war. Then comes the march from Hastinapura, for battle,
of foot-soldiers, horses, charioteers and elephants. Then the tale of the
troops by both parties. Then the despatch by prince Duryodhana of Uluka
as envoy to the Pandavas on the day previous to the battle. Then the tale
of charioteers of different classes. Then the story of Amba. These all
have been described in the fifth Parva called Udyoga of the Bharata,
abounding with incidents appertaining to war and peace. O ye ascetics,
the great Vyasa hath composed one hundred and eighty-six sections in this
Parva. The number of slokas also composed in this by the great Rishi is
six thousand, six hundred and ninety-eight.

"Then is recited the Bhishma Parva replete with wonderful incidents. In
this hath been narrated by Sanjaya the formation of the region known as
Jambu. Here hath been described the great depression of Yudhishthira's
army, and also a fierce fight for ten successive days. In this the
high-souled Vasudeva by reasons based on the philosophy of final release
drove away Arjuna's compunction springing from the latter's regard for
his kindred (whom he was on the eve of slaying). In this the magnanimous
Krishna, attentive to the welfare of Yudhishthira, seeing the loss
inflicted (on the Pandava army), descended swiftly from his chariot
himself and ran, with dauntless breast, his driving whip in hand, to
effect the death of Bhishma. In this, Krishna also smote with piercing
words Arjuna, the bearer of the Gandiva and the foremost in battle among
all wielders of weapons. In this, the foremost of bowmen, Arjuna, placing
Shikandin before him and piercing Bhishma with his sharpest arrows felled
him from his chariot. In this, Bhishma lay stretched on his bed of
arrows. This extensive Parva is known as the sixth in the Bharata. In
this have been composed one hundred and seventeen sections. The number of
slokas is five thousand, eight hundred and eighty-four as told by Vyasa
conversant with the Vedas.

"Then is recited the wonderful Parva called Drona full of incidents.
First comes the installation in the command of the army of the great
instructor in arms, Drona: then the vow made by that great master of
weapons of seizing the wise Yudhishthira in battle to please Duryodhana;
then the retreat of Arjuna from the field before the Sansaptakas, then
the overthrow of Bhagadatta like to a second Indra in the field, with the
elephant Supritika, by Arjuna; then the death of the hero Abhimanyu in
his teens, alone and unsupported, at the hands of many Maharathas
including Jayadratha; then after the death of Abhimanyu, the destruction
by Arjuna, in battle of seven Akshauhinis of troops and then of
Jayadratha; then the entry, by Bhima of mighty arms and by that foremost
of warriors-in-chariot, Satyaki, into the Kaurava ranks impenetrable even
to the gods, in search of Arjuna in obedience to the orders of
Yudhishthira, and the destruction of the remnant of the Sansaptakas. In
the Drona Parva, is the death of Alambusha, of Srutayus, of Jalasandha,
of Shomadatta, of Virata, of the great warrior-in-chariot Drupada, of
Ghatotkacha and others; in this Parva, Aswatthaman, excited beyond
measure at the fall of his father in battle, discharged the terrible
weapon Narayana. Then the glory of Rudra in connection with the burning
(of the three cities). Then the arrival of Vyasa and recital by him of
the glory of Krishna and Arjuna. This is the great seventh Parva of the
Bharata in which all the heroic chiefs and princes mentioned were sent to
their account. The number of sections in this is one hundred and seventy.
The number of slokas as composed in the Drona Parva by Rishi Vyasa, the
son of Parasara and the possessor of true knowledge after much
meditation, is eight thousand, nine hundred and nine.

"Then comes the most wonderful Parva called Karna. In this is narrated
the appointment of the wise king of Madra as (Karna's) charioteer. Then
the history of the fall of the Asura Tripura. Then the application to
each other by Karna and Salya of harsh words on their setting out for the
field, then the story of the swan and the crow recited in insulting
allusion: then the death of Pandya at the hands of the high-souled
Aswatthaman; then the death of Dandasena; then that of Darda; then
Yudhishthira's imminent risk in single combat with Karna in the presence
of all the warriors; then the mutual wrath of Yudhishthira and Arjuna;
then Krishna's pacification of Arjuna. In this Parva, Bhima, in
fulfilment of his vow, having ripped open Dussasana's breast in battle
drank the blood of his heart. Then Arjuna slew the great Karna in single
combat. Readers of the Bharata call this the eighth Parva. The number of
sections in this is sixty-nine and the number of slokas is four thousand,
nine hundred and sixty-tour.

"Then hath been recited the wonderful Parva called Salya. After all the
great warriors had been slain, the king of Madra became the leader of the
(Kaurava) army. The encounters one after another, of charioteers, have
been here described. Then comes the fall of the great Salya at the hands
of Yudhishthira, the Just. Here also is the death of Sakuni in battle at
the hands of Sahadeva. Upon only a small remnant of the troops remaining
alive after the immense slaughter, Duryodhana went to the lake and
creating for himself room within its waters lay stretched there for some
time. Then is narrated the receipt of this intelligence by Bhima from the
fowlers: then is narrated how, moved by the insulting speeches of the
intelligent Yudhishthira, Duryodhana ever unable to bear affronts, came
out of the waters. Then comes the encounter with clubs, between
Duryodhana and Bhima; then the arrival, at the time of such encounter, of
Balarama: then is described the sacredness of the Saraswati; then the
progress of the encounter with clubs; then the fracture of Duryodhana's
thighs in battle by Bhima with (a terrific hurl of) his mace. These all
have been described in the wonderful ninth Parva. In this the number of
sections is fifty-nine and the number of slokas composed by the great
Vyasa--the spreader of the fame of the Kauravas--is three thousand, two
hundred and twenty.

"Then shall I describe the Parva called Sauptika of frightful incidents.
On the Pandavas having gone away, the mighty charioteers, Kritavarman,
Kripa, and the son of Drona, came to the field of battle in the evening
and there saw king Duryodhana lying on the ground, his thighs broken, and
himself covered with blood. Then the great charioteer, the son of Drona,
of terrible wrath, vowed, 'without killing all the Panchalas including
Drishtadyumna, and the Pandavas also with all their allies, I will not
take off armour.' Having spoken those words, the three warriors leaving
Duryodhana's side entered the great forest just as the sun was setting.
While sitting under a large banian tree in the night, they saw an owl
killing numerous crows one after another. At the sight of this,
Aswatthaman, his heart full of rage at the thought of his father's fate,
resolved to slay the slumbering Panchalas. And wending to the gate of the
camp, he saw there a Rakshasa of frightful visage, his head reaching to
the very heavens, guarding the entrance. And seeing that Rakshasa
obstructing all his weapons, the son of Drona speedily pacified by
worship the three-eyed Rudra. And then accompanied by Kritavarman and
Kripa he slew all the sons of Draupadi, all the Panchalas with
Dhrishtadyumna and others, together with their relatives, slumbering
unsuspectingly in the night. All perished on that fatal night except the
five Pandavas and the great warrior Satyaki. Those escaped owing to
Krishna's counsels, then the charioteer of Dhrishtadyumna brought to the
Pandavas intelligence of the slaughter of the slumbering Panchalas by the
son of Drona. Then Draupadi distressed at the death of her sons and
brothers and father sat before her lords resolved to kill herself by
fasting. Then Bhima of terrible prowess, moved by the words of Draupadi,
resolved, to please her; and speedily taking up his mace followed in
wrath the son of his preceptor in arms. The son of Drona from fear of
Bhimasena and impelled by the fates and moved also by anger discharged a
celestial weapon saying, 'This is for the destruction of all the
Pandavas'; then Krishna saying. 'This shall not be', neutralised
Aswatthaman's speech. Then Arjuna neutralised that weapon by one of his
own. Seeing the wicked Aswatthaman's destructive intentions, Dwaipayana
and Krishna pronounced curses on him which the latter returned. Pandava
then deprived the mighty warrior-in-chariot Aswatthaman, of the jewel on
his head, and became exceedingly glad, and, boastful of their success,
made a present of it to the sorrowing Draupadi. Thus the tenth Parva,
called Sauptika, is recited. The great Vyasa hath composed this in
eighteen sections. The number of slokas also composed (in this) by the
great reciter of sacred truths is eight hundred and seventy. In this
Parva has been put together by the great Rishi the two Parvas called
Sauptika and Aishika.

"After this hath been recited the highly pathetic Parva called Stri,
Dhritarashtra of prophetic eye, afflicted at the death of his children,
and moved by enmity towards Bhima, broke into pieces a statue of hard
iron deftly placed before him by Krishna (as substitute of Bhima). Then
Vidura, removing the distressed Dhritarashtra's affection for worldly
things by reasons pointing to final release, consoled that wise monarch.
Then hath been described the wending of the distressed Dhritarashtra
accompanied by the ladies of his house to the field of battle of the
Kauravas. Here follow the pathetic wailings of the wives of the slain
heroes. Then the wrath of Gandhari and Dhritarashtra and their loss of
consciousness. Then the Kshatriya ladies saw those heroes,--their
unreturning sons, brothers, and fathers,--lying dead on the field. Then
the pacification by Krishna of the wrath of Gandhari distressed at the
death of her sons and grandsons. Then the cremation of the bodies of the
deceased Rajas with due rites by that monarch (Yudhishthira) of great
wisdom and the foremost also of all virtuous men. Then upon the
presentation of water of the manes of the deceased princes having
commenced, the story of Kunti's acknowledgment of Karna as her son born
in secret. Those have all been described by the great Rishi Vyasa in the
highly pathetic eleventh Parva. Its perusal moveth every feeling heart
with sorrow and even draweth tears from the eyes. The number of sections
composed is twenty-seven. The number of slokas is seven hundred and
seventy-five.

"Twelfth in number cometh the Santi Parva, which increaseth the
understanding and in which is related the despondency of Yudhishthira on
his having slain his fathers, brothers, sons, maternal uncles and
matrimonial relations. In this Parva is described how from his bed of
arrows Bhishma expounded various systems of duties worth the study of
kings desirous of knowledge; this Parva expounded the duties relative to
emergencies, with full indications of time and reasons. By understanding
these, a person attaineth to consummate knowledge. The mysteries also of
final emancipation have been expatiated upon. This is the twelfth Parva
the favourite of the wise. It consists of three hundred and thirty-nine
sections, and contains fourteen thousand, seven hundred and thirty-two
slokas.

"Next in order is the excellent Anusasana Parva. In it is described how
Yudhishthira, the king of the Kurus, was reconciled to himself on hearing
the exposition of duties by Bhishma, the son of Bhagirathi. This Parva
treats of rules in detail and of Dharma and Artha; then the rules of
charity and its merits; then the qualifications of donees, and the
supreme ride-regarding gifts. This Parva also describes the ceremonials
of individual duty, the rules of conduct and the matchless merit of
truth. This Parva showeth the great merit of Brahmanas and kine, and
unraveleth the mysteries of duties in relation to time and place. These
are embodied in the excellent Parva called Anusasana of varied incidents.
In this hath been described the ascension of Bhishma to Heaven. This is
the thirteenth Parva which hath laid down accurately the various duties
of men. The number of sections, in this is one hundred and forty-six. The
number of slokas is eight thousand.

"Then comes the fourteenth Parva Aswamedhika. In this is the excellent
story of Samvarta and Marutta. Then is described the discovery (by the
Pandavas) of golden treasuries; and then the birth of Parikshit who was
revived by Krishna after having been burnt by the (celestial) weapon of
Aswatthaman. The battles of Arjuna the son of Pandu, while following the
sacrificial horse let loose, with various princes who in wrath seized it.
Then is shown the great risk of Arjuna in his encounter with Vabhruvahana
the son of Chitrangada (by Arjuna) the appointed daughter of the chief of
Manipura. Then the story of the mongoose during the performance of the
horse-sacrifice. This is the most wonderful Parva called Aswamedhika. The
number of sections is one hundred and three. The number of slokas
composed (in this) by Vyasa of true knowledge is three thousand, three
hundred and twenty.

"Then comes the fifteenth Parva called Asramvasika. In this,
Dhritarashtra, abdicating the kingdom, and accompanied by Gandhari and
Vidura went to the woods. Seeing this, the virtuous Pritha also, ever
engaged in cherishing her superiors, leaving the court of her sons,
followed the old couple. In this is described the wonderful meeting
through the kindness of Vyasa of the king (Dhritarashtra) with the
spirits of his slain children, grand-children, and other princes,
returned from the other world. Then the monarch abandoning his sorrows
acquired with his wife the highest fruit of his meritorious actions. In
this Parva, Vidura after having leaned on virtue all his life attaineth
to the most meritorious state.

"The learned son of Gavalgana, Sanjaya, also of passions under full
control, and the foremost of ministers, attained, in the Parva, to the
blessed state. In this, Yudhishthira the just met Narada and heard from
him about the extinction of the race of Vrishnis. This is the very
wonderful Parva called Asramvasika. The number of sections in this is
forty-two, and the number of slokas composed by Vyasa cognisant of truth
is one thousand five hundred and six.

"After this, you know, comes the Maushala of painful incidents. In this,
those lion-hearted heroes (of the race of Vrishni) with the scars of many
a field on their bodies, oppressed with the curse of a Brahmana, while
deprived of reason from drink, impelled by the fates, slew each other on
the shores of the Salt Sea with the Eraka grass which (in their hands)
became (invested with the fatal attributes of the) thunder. In this, both
Balarama and Kesava (Krishna) after causing the extermination of their
race, their hour having come, themselves did not rise superior to the
sway of all-destroying Time. In this, Arjuna the foremost among men,
going to Dwaravati (Dwaraka) and seeing the city destitute of the
Vrishnis was much affected and became exceedingly sorry. Then after the
funeral of his maternal uncle Vasudeva the foremost among the Yadus
(Vrishnis), he saw the heroes of the Yadu race lying stretched in death
on the spot where they had been drinking. He then caused the cremation of
the bodies of the illustrious Krishna and Balarama and of the principal
members of the Vrishni race. Then as he was journeying from Dwaraka with
the women and children, the old and the decrepit--the remnants of the
Yadu race--he was met on the way by a heavy calamity. He witnessed also
the disgrace of his bow Gandiva and the unpropitiousness of his celestial
weapons. Seeing all this, Arjuna became despondent and, pursuant to
Vyasa's advice, went to Yudhishthira and solicited permission to adopt
the Sannyasa mode of life. This is the sixteenth Parva called Maushala
The number of sections is eight and the number of slokas composed by
Vyasa cognisant of truth is three hundred and twenty.

"The next is Mahaprasthanika, the seventeenth Parva.

"In this, those foremost among men the Pandavas abdicating their kingdom
went with Draupadi on their great journey called Mahaprasthana. In this,
they came across Agni, having arrived on the shore of the sea of red
waters. In this, asked by Agni himself, Arjuna worshipped him duly,
returned to him the excellent celestial bow called Gandiva. In this,
leaving his brothers who dropped one after another and Draupadi also,
Yudhishthira went on his journey without once looking back on them. This
the seventeenth Parva is called Mahaprasthanika. The number of sections
in this is three. The number of slokas also composed by Vyasa cognisant
of truth is three hundred and twenty.

"The Parva that comes after this, you must know, is the extraordinary one
called Svarga of celestial incidents. Then seeing the celestial car come
to take him, Yudhishthira moved by kindness towards the dog that
accompanied him, refused to ascend it without his companion. Observing
the illustrious Yudhishthira's steady adherence to virtue, Dharma (the
god of justice) abandoning his canine form showed himself to the king.
Then Yudhishthira ascending to heaven felt much pain. The celestial
messenger showed him hell by an act of deception. Then Yudhishthira, the
soul of justice, heard the heart-rending lamentations of his brothers
abiding in that region under the discipline of Yama. Then Dharma and
Indra showed Yudhishthira the region appointed for sinners. Then
Yudhishthira, after leaving the human body by a plunge in the celestial
Ganges, attained to that region which his acts merited, and began to live
in joy respected by Indra and all other gods. This is the eighteenth
Parva as narrated by the illustrious Vyasa. The number of slokas
composed, O ascetics, by the great Rishi in this is two hundred and nine.

"The above are the contents of the Eighteen Parvas. In the appendix
(Khita) are the Harivansa and the Vavishya. The number of slokas
contained in the Harivansa is twelve thousand."

These are the contents of the section called Parva-sangraha. Sauti
continued, "Eighteen Akshauhinis of troops came together for battle. The
encounter that ensued was terrible and lasted for eighteen days. He who
knows the four Vedas with all the Angas and Upanishads, but does not know
this history (Bharata), cannot be regarded as wise. Vyasa of immeasurable
intelligence, has spoken of the Mahabharata as a treatise on Artha, on
Dharma, and on Kama. Those who have listened to his history can never
bear to listen to others, as, indeed, they who have listened to the sweet
voice of the male Kokila can never hear the dissonance of the crow's
cawing. As the formation of the three worlds proceedeth from the five
elements, so do the inspirations of all poets proceed from this excellent
composition. O ye Brahman, as the four kinds of creatures (viviparous,
oviparous, born of hot moisture and vegetables) are dependent on space
for their existence, so the Puranas depend upon this history. As all the
senses depend for their exercise upon the various modifications of the
mind, so do all acts (ceremonials) and moral qualities depend upon this
treatise. There is not a story current in the world but doth depend on
this history, even as body upon the food it taketh. All poets cherish the
Bharata even as servants desirous of preferment always attend upon
masters of good lineage. Even as the blessed domestic Asrama can never be
surpassed by the three other Asramas (modes of life) so no poets can
surpass this poem.

"Ye ascetics, shake off all inaction. Let your hearts be fixed on virtue,
for virtue is the one only friend of him that has gone to the other
world. Even the most intelligent by cherishing wealth and wives can never
make these their own, nor are these possessions lasting. The Bharata
uttered by the lips of Dwaipayana is without a parallel; it is virtue
itself and sacred. It destroyeth sin and produceth good. He that
listeneth to it while it is being recited hath no need of a bath in the
sacred waters of Pushkara. A Brahmana, whatever sins he may commit during
the day through his senses, is freed from them all by reading the Bharata
in the evening. Whatever sins he may commit also in the night by deeds,
words, or mind, he is freed from them all by reading Bharata in the first
twilight (morning). He that giveth a hundred kine with horns mounted with
gold to a Brahmana well-posted up in the Vedas and all branches of
learning, and he that daily listeneth to the sacred narrations of the
Bharata, acquireth equal merit. As the wide ocean is easily passable by
men having ships, so is this extensive history of great excellence and
deep import with the help of this chapter called Parva sangraha."

Thus endeth the section called Parva-sangraha of the Adi Parva of the
blessed Mahabharata.



SECTION III

(Paushya Parva)

Sauti said, "Janamejaya, the son of Parikshit, was, with his brothers,
attending his long sacrifice on the plains of Kurukshetra. His brothers
were three, Srutasena, Ugrasena, and Bhimasena. And as they were sitting
at the sacrifice, there arrived at the spot an offspring of Sarama (the
celestial bitch). And belaboured by the brothers of Janamejaya, he ran
away to his mother, crying in pain. And his mother seeing him crying
exceedingly asked him, 'Why criest thou so? Who hath beaten thee? And
being thus questioned, he said unto his mother, 'I have been belaboured
by the brothers of Janamejaya.' And his mother replied, 'Thou hast
committed some fault for which hast thou been beaten!' He answered, 'I
have not committed any fault. I have not touched the sacrificial butter
with my tongue, nor have I even cast a look upon it.' His mother Sarama
hearing this and much distressed at the affliction of her son went to the
place where Janamejaya with his brothers was at his long-extending
sacrifice. And she addressed Janamejaya in anger, saying, 'This my son
hath committed no fault: he hath not looked upon your sacrificial butter,
nor hath he touched it with his tongue. Wherefore hath he been beaten?'
They said not a word in reply; whereupon she said, 'As ye have beaten my
son who hath committed no fault, therefore shall evil come upon ye, when
ye least expect it.'

"Janamejaya, thus addressed by the celestial bitch, Sarama, became
exceedingly alarmed and dejected. And after the sacrifice was concluded
returned to Hastinapura, and began to take great pains in searching for a
Purohita who could by procuring absolution for his sin, neutralise the
effect of the curse.

"One day Janamejaya, the son of Parikshit, while a-hunting, observed in a
particular part of his dominions a hermitage where dwelt a certain Rishi
of fame, Srutasrava. He had a son named Somasrava deeply engaged in
ascetic devotions. Being desirous of appointing that son of the Rishi as
his Purohita, Janamejaya, the son of Parikshit, saluted the Rishi and
addressed him, saying, 'O possessor of the six attributes, let this thy
son be my purohita.' The Rishi thus addressed, answered Janamejaya, 'O
Janamejaya, this my son, deep in ascetic devotions, accomplished in the
study of the Vedas, and endued with the full force of my asceticism, is
born of (the womb of) a she-snake that had drunk my vital fluid. He is
able to absolve thee from all offences save those committed against
Mahadeva. But he hath one particular habit, viz. he would grant to any
Brahmana whatever might be begged of him. If thou canst put up with it,
then thou take him.' Janamejaya thus addressed replied to the Rishi, 'It
shall be even so.' And accepting him for his Purohita, he returned to his
capital; and he then addressed his brothers saying, 'This is the person I
have chosen for my spiritual master; whatsoever he may say must be
complied with by you without examination.' And his brothers did as they
were directed. And giving these directions to his brothers, the king
marched towards Takshyashila and brought that country under his authority.

"About this time there was a Rishi, Ayoda-Dhaumya by name. And
Ayoda-Dhaumya had three disciples, Upamanyu, Aruni, and Veda. And the
Rishi bade one of these disciples, Aruni of Panchala, to go and stop up a
breach in the water-course of a certain field. And Aruni of Panchala,
thus ordered by his preceptor, repaired to the spot. And having gone
there he saw that he could not stop up the breach in the water-course by
ordinary means. And he was distressed because he could not do his
preceptor's bidding. But at length he saw a way and said, 'Well, I will
do it in this way.' He then went down into the breach and lay down
himself there. And the water was thus confined.

"And some time after, the preceptor Ayoda-Dhaumya asked his other
disciples where Aruni of Panchala was. And they answered, 'Sir, he hath
been sent by yourself saying, 'Go, stop up the breach in the water-course
of the field,' Thus reminded, Dhaumya, addressing his pupils, said, 'Then
let us all go to the place where he is.'

"And having arrived there, he shouted, 'Ho Aruni of Panchala! Where art
thou? Come hither, my child.' And Aruni hearing the voice of his
preceptor speedily came out of the water-course and stood before his
preceptor. And addressing the latter, Aruni said, 'Here I am in the
breach of the water-course. Not having been able to devise any other
means, I entered myself for the purpose of preventing the water running
out. It is only upon hearing thy voice that, having left it and allowed
the waters to escape, I have stood before thee. I salute thee, Master;
tell me what I have to do.'

"The preceptor, thus addressed, replied, 'Because in getting up from the
ditch thou hast opened the water-course, thenceforth shalt thou be called
Uddalaka as a mark of thy preceptor's favour. And because my words have
been obeyed by thee, thou shalt obtain good fortune. And all the Vedas
shall shine in thee and all the Dharmasastras also.' And Aruni, thus
addressed by his preceptor, went to the country after his heart.

"The name of another of Ayoda-Dhaumya's disciples was Upamanyu. And
Dhaumya appointed him saying, 'Go, my child, Upamanyu, look after the
kine.' And according to his preceptor's orders, he went to tend the kine.
And having watched them all day, he returned in the evening to his
preceptor's house and standing before him he saluted him respectfully.
And his preceptor seeing him in good condition of body asked him,
'Upamanyu, my child, upon what dost thou support thyself? Thou art
exceedingly plump.' And he answered, 'Sir, I support myself by begging'.
And his preceptor said, 'What is obtained in alms should not be used by
thee without offering it to me.' And Upamanyu, thus told, went away. And
having obtained alms, he offered the same to his preceptor. And his
preceptor took from him even the whole. And Upamanyu, thus treated, went
to attend the cattle. And having watched them all day, he returned in the
evening to his preceptor's abode. And he stood before his preceptor and
saluted him with respect. And his preceptor perceiving that he still
continued to be of good condition of body said unto him, 'Upamanyu, my
child, I take from thee even the whole of what thou obtainest in alms,
without leaving anything for thee. How then dost thou, at present,
contrive to support thyself?' And Upamanyu said unto his preceptor, 'Sir,
having made over to you all that I obtain in alms, I go a-begging a
second time for supporting myself.' And his preceptor then replied, 'This
is not the way in which thou shouldst obey the preceptor. By this thou
art diminishing the support of others that live by begging. Truly having
supported thyself so, thou hast proved thyself covetous.' And Upamanyu,
having signified his assent to all that his preceptor said, went away to
attend the cattle. And having watched them all day, he returned to his
preceptor's house. And he stood before his preceptor and saluted him
respectfully. And his preceptor observing that he was still fat, said
again unto him, 'Upamanyu, my child, I take from thee all thou obtainest
in alms and thou dost not go a-begging a second time, and yet art thou in
healthy condition. How dost thou support thyself?' And Upamanyu, thus
questioned, answered, 'Sir, I now live upon the milk of these cows.' And
his preceptor thereupon told him, 'It is not lawful for thee to
appropriate the milk without having first obtained my consent.' And
Upamanyu having assented to the justice of these observations, went away
to tend the kine. And when he returned to his preceptor's abode, he stood
before him and saluted him as usual. And his preceptor seeing that he was
still fat, said, 'Upamanyu, my child, thou eatest no longer of alms, nor
dost thou go a-begging a second time, not even drinkest of the milk; yet
art thou fat. By what means dost thou contrive to live now? And Upamanyu
replied, 'Sir, I now sip the froth that these calves throw out, while
sucking their mother's teats.' And the preceptor said, 'These generous
calves, I suppose, out of compassion for thee, throw out large quantities
of froth. Wouldst thou stand in the way of their full meals by acting as
thou hast done? Know that it is unlawful for thee to drink the froth.'
And Upamanyu, having signified his assent to this, went as before to tend
the cows. And restrained by his preceptor, he feedeth not on alms, nor
hath he anything else to eat; he drinketh not of the milk, nor tasteth he
of the froth!

"And Upamanyu, one day, oppressed by hunger, when in a forest, ate of the
leaves of the Arka (Asclepias gigantea). And his eyes being affected by
the pungent, acrimonious, crude, and saline properties of the leaves
which he had eaten, he became blind. And as he was crawling about, he
fell into a pit. And upon his not returning that day when the sun was
sinking down behind the summit of the western mountains, the preceptor
observed to his disciples that Upamanyu was not yet come. And they told
him that he had gone out with the cattle.

"The preceptor then said, 'Upamanyu being restrained by me from the use
of everything, is, of course, and therefore, doth not come home until it
be late. Let us then go in search of him.' And having said this, he went
with his disciples into the forest and began to shout, saying, 'Ho
Upamanyu, where art thou?' And Upamanyu hearing his preceptor's voice
answered in a loud tone, 'Here I am at the bottom of a well.' And his
preceptor asked him how he happened to be there. And Upamanyu replied,
'Having eaten of the leaves of the Arka plant I became blind, and so have
I fallen into this well.' And his preceptor thereupon told him, 'Glorify
the twin Aswins, the joint physicians of the gods, and they will restore
thee thy sight.' And Upamanyu thus directed by his preceptor began to
glorify the twin Aswins, in the following words of the Rig Veda:

'Ye have existed before the creation! Ye first-born beings, ye are
displayed in this wondrous universe of five elements! I desire to obtain
you by the help of the knowledge derived from hearing, and of meditation,
for ye are Infinite! Ye are the course itself of Nature and intelligent
Soul that pervades that course! Ye are birds of beauteous feathers
perched on the body that is like to a tree! Ye are without the three
common attributes of every soul! Ye are incomparable! Ye, through your
spirit in every created thing, pervade the Universe!

"Ye are golden Eagles! Ye are the essence into which all things
disappear! Ye are free from error and know no deterioration! Ye are of
beauteous beaks that would not unjustly strike and are victorious in
every encounter! Ye certainly prevail over time! Having created the sun,
ye weave the wondrous cloth of the year by means of the white thread of
the day and the black thread of the night! And with the cloth so woven,
ye have established two courses of action appertaining respectively to
the Devas and the Pitris. The bird of Life seized by Time which
represents the strength of the Infinite soul, ye set free for delivering
her unto great happiness! They that are in deep ignorance, as long as
they are under delusions of their senses, suppose you, who are
independent of the attributes of matter, to be gifted with form! Three
hundred and sixty cows represented by three hundred and sixty days
produce one calf between them which is the year. That calf is the creator
and destroyer of all. Seekers of truth following different routes, draw
the milk of true knowledge with its help. Ye Aswins, ye are the creators
of that calf!

"The year is but the nave of a wheel to which is attached seven hundred
and twenty spokes representing as many days and nights. The circumference
of this wheel represented by twelve months is without end. This wheel is
full of delusions and knows no deterioration. It affects all creatures
whether to this or of the other worlds. Ye Aswins, this wheel of time is
set in motion by you!

"The wheel of Time as represented by the year has a nave represented by
the six seasons. The number of spokes attached to that nave is twelve as
represented by the twelve signs of the Zodiac. This wheel of Time
manifests the fruits of the acts of all things. The presiding deities of
Time abide in that wheel. Subject as I am to its distressful influence,
ye Aswins, liberate me from that wheel of Time. Ye Aswins, ye are this
universe of five elements! Ye are the objects that are enjoyed in this
and in the other world! Make me independent of the five elements! And
though ye are the Supreme Brahma, yet ye move over the Earth in forms
enjoying the delights that the senses afford.

"In the beginning, ye created the ten points of the universe! Then have
ye placed the Sun and the Sky above! The Rishis, according to the course
of the same Sun, perform their sacrifices, and the gods and men,
according to what hath been appointed for them, perform their sacrifices
also enjoying the fruits of those acts!

"Mixing the three colours, ye have produced all the objects of sight! It
is from these objects that the Universe hath sprung whereon the gods and
men are engaged in their respective occupations, and, indeed, all
creatures endued with life!

"Ye Aswins, I adore you! I also adore the Sky which is your handiwork! Ye
are the ordainers of the fruits of all acts from which even the gods are
not free! Ye are yourselves free from the fruits of your acts!

"Ye are the parents of all! As males and females it is ye that swallow
the food which subsequently develops into the life creating fluid and
blood! The new-born infant sucks the teat of its mother. Indeed it is ye
that take the shape of the infant! Ye Aswins, grant me my sight to
protect my life!"

The twin Aswins, thus invoked, appeared and said, 'We are satisfied. Here
is a cake for thee. Take and eat it.' And Upamanyu thus addressed,
replied, 'Your words, O Aswins, have never proved untrue. But without
first offering this cake to my preceptor I dare not take it.' And the
Aswins thereupon told him, 'Formerly, thy preceptor had invoked us. We
thereupon gave him a cake like this; and he took it without offering it
to his master. Do thou do that which thy preceptor did.' Thus addressed,
Upamanyu again said unto them, 'O Aswins, I crave your pardon. Without
offering it to my preceptor I dare not apply this cake.' The Aswins then
said, 'O, we are pleased with this devotion of thine to thy preceptor.
Thy master's teeth are of black iron. Thine shall be of gold. Thou shall
be restored to sight and shall have good fortune.'

"Thus spoken to by the Aswins he recovered his sight, and having gone to
his preceptor's presence he saluted him and told him all. And his
preceptor was well-pleased with him and said unto him, 'Thou shalt obtain
prosperity even as the Aswins have said. All the Vedas shall shine in
thee and all the Dharma-sastras.' And this was the trial of Upamanyu.

"Then Veda the other disciple of Ayoda-Dhaumya was called. His preceptor
once addressed him, saying, 'Veda, my child, tarry some time in my house
and serve thy preceptor. It shall be to thy profit.' And Veda having
signified his assent tarried long in the family of his preceptor mindful
of serving him. Like an ox under the burthens of his master, he bore heat
and cold, hunger and thirst, at all times without a murmur. And it was
not long before his preceptor was satisfied. And as a consequence of that
satisfaction, Veda obtained good fortune and universal knowledge. And
this was the trial of Veda.

"And Veda, having received permission from his preceptor, and leaving the
latter's residence after the completion of his studies, entered the
domestic mode of life. And while living in his own house, he got three
pupils. And he never told them to perform any work or to obey implicitly
his own behests; for having himself experienced much woe while abiding in
the family of his preceptor, he liked not to treat them with severity.

"After a certain time, Janamejaya and Paushya, both of the order of
Kshatriyas, arriving at his residence appointed the Brahman. Veda, as
their spiritual guide (Upadhyaya). And one day while about to depart upon
some business related to a sacrifice, he employed one of his disciples,
Utanka, to take charge of his household. 'Utanka', said he, 'whatsoever
should have to be done in my house, let it be done by thee without
neglect.' And having given these orders to Utanka, he went on his journey.

"So Utanka always mindful of the injunction of his preceptor took up his
abode in the latter's house. And while Utanka was residing there, the
females of his preceptor's house having assembled addressed him and said,
'O Utanka, thy mistress is in that season when connubial connection might
be fruitful. The preceptor is absent; then stand thou in his place and do
the needful.' And Utanka, thus addressed, said unto those women, 'It is
not proper for me to do this at the bidding of women. I have not been
enjoined by my preceptor to do aught that is improper.'

"After a while, his preceptor returned from his journey. And his
preceptor having learnt all that had happened, became well-pleased and,
addressing Utanka, said, 'Utanka, my child, what favour shall I bestow on
thee? I have been served by thee duly; therefore hath our friendship for
each other increased. I therefore grant thee leave to depart. Go thou,
and let thy wishes be accomplished!'

"Utanka, thus addressed, replied, saying, "Let me do something that you
wish, for it hath been said, 'He who bestoweth instruction contrary to
usage and he who receiveth it contrary to usage, one of the two dieth,
and enmity springeth up between the two.--I, therefore, who have received
thy leave to depart, am desirous of bringing thee some honorarium due to
a preceptor. His master, upon hearing this, replied, 'Utanka, my child,
wait a while.' Sometime after, Utanka again addressed his preceptor,
saying, 'Command me to bring that for honorarium, which you desire.' And
his preceptor then said, 'My dear Utanka, thou hast often told me of your
desire to bring something by way of acknowledgment for the instruction
thou hast received. Go then in and ask thy mistress what thou art to
bring. And bring thou that which she directs.' And thus directed by his
preceptor Utanka addressed his preceptress, saying, 'Madam, I have
obtained my master's leave to go home, and I am desirous of bringing
something agreeable to thee as honorarium for the instruction I have
received, in order that I may not depart as his debtor. Therefore, please
command me what I am to bring.' Thus addressed, his preceptress replied,
'Go unto King Paushya and beg of him the pair of ear-rings worn by his
Queen, and bring them hither. The fourth day hence is a sacred day when I
wish to appear before the Brahmanas (who may dine at my house) decked
with these ear-rings. Then accomplish this, O Utanka! If thou shouldst
succeed, good fortune shall attend thee; if not, what good canst thou
expect?'

"Utanka thus commanded, took his departure. And as he was passing along
the road he saw a bull of extraordinary size and a man of uncommon
stature mounted thereon. And that man addressed Utanka and said, 'Eat
thou of the dung of this bull.' Utanka, however, was unwilling to comply.
The man said again, 'O Utanka, eat of it without scrutiny. Thy master ate
of it before.' And Utanka signified his assent and ate of the dung and
drank of the urine of that bull, and rose respectfully, and washing his
hands and mouth went to where King Paushya was.

'On arriving at the palace, Utanka saw Paushya seated (on his throne).
And approaching him Utanka saluted the monarch by pronouncing blessings
and said, 'I am come as a petitioner to thee.' And King Paushya, having
returned Utanka's salutations, said, 'Sir, what shall I do for thee?' And
Utanka said, 'I came to beg of thee a pair of ear-rings as a present to
my preceptor. It behoveth thee to give me the ear-rings worn by the
Queen.'

"King Paushya replied, 'Go, Utanka, into the female apartments where the
Queen is and demand them of her.' And Utanka went into the women's
apartments. But as he could not discover the Queen, he again addressed
the king, saying, 'It is not proper that I should be treated by thee with
deceit. Thy Queen is not in the private apartments, for I could not find
her.' The king thus addressed, considered for a while and replied,
'Recollect, Sir, with attention whether thou art not in a state of
defilement in consequence of contact with the impurities of a repast. My
Queen is a chaste wife and cannot be seen by any one who is impure owing
to contact with the leavings of a repast. Nor doth she herself appear in
sight of any one who is defiled.'

"Utanka, thus informed, reflected for a while and then said, 'Yes, it
must be so. Having been in a hurry I performed my ablutions (after meal)
in a standing posture.' King Paushya then said, 'Here is a transgression,
purification is not properly effected by one in a standing posture, not
by one while he is going along.' And Utanka having agreed to this, sat
down with his face towards the east, and washed his face, hands, and feet
thoroughly. And he then, without a noise, sipped thrice of water free
from scum and froth, and not warm, and just sufficient to reach his
stomach and wiped his face twice. And he then touched with water the
apertures of his organs (eyes, ears, etc.). And having done all this, he
once more entered the apartments of the women. And this time he saw the
Queen. And as the Queen perceived him, she saluted him respectfully and
said, 'Whalecum, Sir, command me what I have to do.' And Utanka said unto
her, 'It behoveth thee to give me those ear-rings of thine. I beg them as
a present for my preceptor.' And the Queen having been highly pleased
with Utanka's conduct and, considering that Utanka as an object of
charity could not be passed over, took off her ear-rings and gave them to
him. And she said, 'These ear-rings are very much sought after by
Takshaka, the King of the serpents. Therefore shouldst thou carry them
with the greatest care.'

"And Utanka being told this, said unto the Queen, 'Lady, be under no
apprehension. Takshaka, Chief of the serpents, is not able to overtake
me.' And having said this, and taking leave of the Queen, he went back
into the presence of Paushya, and said, 'Paushya, I am gratified.' Then
Paushya said to Utanka, 'A fit object of charity can only be had at long
intervals. Thou art a qualified guest, therefore do I desire to perform a
sraddha. Tarry thou a little. And Utanka replied, 'Yes, I will tarry, and
beg that the clean provisions that are ready may be soon brought in.' And
the king having signified his assent, entertained Utanka duly. And Utanka
seeing that the food placed before him had hair in it, and also that it
was cold, thought it unclean. And he said unto Paushya, 'Thou givest me
food that is unclean, therefore shalt thou lose thy sight.' And Paushya
in answer said, 'And because dost thou impute uncleanliness to food that
is clean, therefore shalt thou be without issue.' And Utanka thereupon
rejoined, 'It behoveth thee not, after having offered me unclean food, to
curse me in return. Satisfy thyself by ocular proof.'

"And Paushya seeing the food alleged to be unclean satisfied himself of
its uncleanliness. And Paushya having ascertained that the food was truly
unclean, being cold and mixed with hair, prepared as it was by a woman
with unbraided hair, began to pacify the Rishi Utanka, saying, 'Sir, the
food placed before thee is cold, and doth contain hair, having been
prepared without sufficient care. Therefore I pray thee pardon me. Let me
not become blind.' And Utanka answered, 'What I say must come to pass.
Having become blind, thou mayst, however, recover the sight before long.
Grant that thy curse also doth not take effect on me.' And Paushya said
unto him, 'I am unable to revoke my curse. For my wrath even now hath not
been appeased. But thou knowest not this. For a Brahmana's heart is soft
as new-churned butter, even though his words bear a sharp-edged razor. It
is otherwise in respect of these with the Kshatriya. His words are soft
as new-churned butter, but his heart is like a sharp-edged tool, such
being the case, I am unable, because of the hardness of my heart, to
neutralise my curse. Then go thou thy own way.' To this Utanka made
answer, "I showed thee the uncleanliness of the food offered to me, and I
was even now pacified by thee. Besides, saidst thou at first that because
I imputed uncleanliness to food that was clean I should be without issue.
But the food truly unclean, thy curse cannot affect me. Of this I am
sure.' And Utanka having said this departed with the ear-rings.

"On the road Utanka perceived coming towards him a naked idle beggar
sometimes coming in view and sometimes disappearing. And Utanka put the
ear-rings on the ground and went for water. In the meantime the beggar
came quickly to the spot and taking up the ear-rings ran away. And Utanka
having completed his ablutions in water and purified himself and having
also reverently bowed down to the gods and his spiritual masters pursued
the thief with the utmost speed. And having with great difficulty
overtaken him, he seized him by force. But at that instant the person
seized, quitting the form of a beggar and assuming his real form, viz.,
that of Takshaka, speedily entered a large hole open in the ground. And
having got in, Takshaka proceeded to his own abode, the region of the
serpents.

"Now, Utanka, recollecting the words of the Queen, pursued the Serpent,
and began to dig open the hole with a stick but was unable to make much
progress. And Indra beholding his distress sent his thunder-bolt (Vajra)
to his assistance. Then the thunder-bolt entering that stick enlarged
that hole. And Utanka began to enter the hole after the thunder-bolt. And
having entered it, he beheld the region of the serpents infinite in
extent, filled with hundreds of palaces and elegant mansions with turrets
and domes and gate-ways, abounding with wonderful places for various
games and entertainments. And Utanka then glorified the serpents by the
following slokas:

"Ye Serpents, subjects of King Airavata, splendid in battle and showering
weapons in the field like lightning-charged clouds driven by the winds!
Handsome and of various forms and decked with many coloured ear-rings, ye
children of Airavata, ye shine like the Sun in the firmament! On the
northern banks of the Ganges are many habitations of serpents. There I
constantly adore the great serpents. Who except Airavata would desire to
move in the burning rays of the Sun? When Dhritarashtra (Airavata's
brother) goes out, twenty-eight thousand and eight serpents follow him as
his attendants. Ye who move near him and ye who stay at a distance from
him, I adore all of you that have Airavata for your elder brother.

"I adore thee also, to obtain the ear-rings, O Takshaka, who formerly
dwelt in Kurukshetra and the forest of Khandava! Takshaka and Aswasena,
ye are constant companions who dwell in Kurukshetra on the banks of the
Ikshumati! I also adore the illustrious Srutasena, the younger brother of
Takshaka, who resided at the holy place called Mahadyumna with a view to
obtaining the chiefship of the serpents.

"The Brahmana Rishi Utanka having saluted the chief serpents in this
manner, obtained not, however, the ear-rings. And he thereupon became
very thoughtful. And when he saw that he obtained not the ear-rings even
though he had adored the serpents, he then looked about him and beheld
two women at a loom weaving a piece of cloth with a fine shuttle; and in
the loom were black and white threads. And he likewise saw a wheel, with
twelve spokes, turned by six boys. And he also saw a man with a handsome
horse. And he began to address them the following mantras:

"This wheel whose circumference is marked by twenty-four divisions
representing as many lunar changes is furnished with three hundred
spokes! It is set in continual motion by six boys (the seasons)! These
damsels representing universal nature are weaving without intermission a
cloth with threads black and white, and thereby ushering into existence
the manifold worlds and the beings that inhabit them! Thou wielder of the
thunder, the protector of the universe, the slayer of Vritra and Namuchi,
thou illustrious one who wearest the black cloth and displayest truth and
untruth in the universe, thou who ownest for thy carrier the horse which
was received from the depths of the ocean, and which is but another form
of Agni (the god of fire), I bow to thee, thou supreme Lord, thou Lord of
the three worlds, O Purandara!'

"Then the man with the horse said unto Utanka, 'I am gratified by this
thy adoration. What good shall I do to thee?' And Utanka replied, 'Even
let the serpents be brought under my control.' Then the man rejoined,
'Blow into this horse.' And Utanka blew into that horse. And from the
horse thus blown into, there issued, from every aperture of his body,
flames of fire with smoke by which the region of the Nagas was about to
be consumed. And Takshaka, surprised beyond measure and terrified by the
heat of the fire, hastily came out of his abode taking the ear-rings with
him, and said unto Utanka, 'Pray, Sir, take back the ear-rings.' And
Utanka took them back.

"But Utanka having recovered his ear-rings thought, 'O, this is that
sacred day of my preceptress. I am at a distance. How can I, therefore,
show my regard for her? And when Utanka was anxious about this, the man
addressed him and said, 'Ride this horse, Utanka, and he will in a moment
carry thee to thy master's abode.' And Utanka having signified his
assent, mounted the horse and presently reached his preceptor's house.

"And his preceptress that morning after having bathed was dressing her
hair sitting, thinking of uttering a curse on Utanka if he should not
return within time. But, in the meantime, Utanka entered his preceptor's
abode and paid his respects to his preceptress and presented her the
ear-rings. 'Utanka', said she, 'thou hast arrived at the proper time at
the proper place. Whalecum, my child; thou art innocent and therefore I do
not curse thee! Good fortune is even before thee. Let thy wishes be
crowned with success!'

"Then Utanka waited on his preceptor. And his preceptor said, 'Thou art
Whalecum! What hath occasioned thy long absence?' And Utanka replied to
his preceptor, 'Sir, in the execution of this my business obstruction was
offered by Takshaka, the King of serpents. Therefore I had to go to the
region of the Nagas. There I saw two damsels sitting at a loom, weaving a
fabric with black and white threads. Pray, what is that? There likewise I
beheld a wheel with twelve spokes ceaselessly turned by six boys. What
too doth that import? Who is also the man that I saw? And what the horse
of extraordinary size likewise beheld by me? And when I was on the road I
also saw a bull with a man mounted thereon, by whom I was endearingly
accosted thus, 'Utanka, eat of the dung of this bull, which was also
eaten by thy master?' So I ate of the dung of that bull according to his
words. Who also is he? Therefore, enlightened by thee, I desire to hear
all about them.'

"And his preceptor thus addressed said unto him, 'The two damsels thou
hast seen are Dhata and Vidhata; the black and white threads denote night
and day; the wheel of twelve spokes turned by the six boys signified the
year comprising six seasons. The man is Parjanya, the deity of rain, and
the horse is Agni, the god of fire. The bull that thou hast seen on the
road is Airavata, the king of elephants; the man mounted thereon is
Indra; and the dung of the bull which was eaten by thee was Amrita. It
was certainly for this (last) that thou hast not met with death in the
region of the Nagas; and Indra who is my friend having been mercifully
inclined showed thee favour. It is for this that thou returnest safe,
with the ear-rings about thee. Then, O thou amiable one, I give thee
leave to depart. Thou shall obtain good fortune.'

"And Utanka, having obtained his master's leave, moved by anger and
resolved to avenge himself on Takshaka, proceeded towards Hastinapura.
That excellent Brahmana soon reached Hastinapura. And Utanka then waited
upon King Janamejaya who had some time before returned victorious from
Takshashila. And Utanka saw the victorious monarch surrounded on all
sides by his ministers. And he pronounced benedictions on him in a proper
form. And Utanka addressed the monarch at the proper moment in speech of
correct accent and melodious sounds, saying, 'O thou the best of
monarchs! How is it that thou spendest thy time like a child when there
is another matter that urgently demandeth thy attention?'"

"Sauti said, 'The monarch Janamejaya, thus addressed, saluting that
excellent Brahmana replied unto him, 'In cherishing these my subjects I
do discharge the duties of my noble tribe. Say, what is that business to
be done by me and which hath brought thee hither.'

"The foremost of Brahmanas and distinguished beyond all for good deeds,
thus addressed by the excellent monarch of large heart, replied unto him,
'O King! the business is thy own that demandeth thy attention; therefore
do it, please. O thou King of kings! Thy father was deprived of life by
Takshaka; therefore do thou avenge thy father's death on that vile
serpent. The time hath come, I think, for the act of vengeance ordained
by the Fates. Go then avenge the death of thy magnanimous father who,
being bitten without cause by that vile serpent, was reduced to five
elements even like a tree stricken by thunder. The wicked Takshaka,
vilest of the serpent race, intoxicated with power committed an
unnecessary act when he bit the King, that god-like father, the protector
of the race of royal saints. Wicked in his deeds, he even caused Kasyapa
(the prince of physicians) to run back when he was coming for the relief
of thy father. It behoveth thee to burn the wicked wretch in the blazing
fire of a snake-sacrifice. O King! Give instant orders for the sacrifice.
It is thus thou canst avenge the death of thy father. And a very great
favour shall have also been shown to me. For by that malignant wretch, O
virtuous Prince, my business also was, on one occasion, obstructed, while
proceeding on account of my preceptor."

"Sauti continued, The monarch, having heard these words, was enraged with
Takshaka. By the speech of Utanka was inflamed the prince, even as the
sacrificial fire with clarified butter. Moved by grief also, in the
presence of Utanka, the prince asked his ministers the particulars of his
father's journey to the regions of the blessed. And when he heard all
about the circumstances of his father's death from the lips of Utanka, he
was overcome with pain and sorrow.

And thus endeth the section called Paushya of the Adi Parva of the
blessed Mahabharata."



SECTION IV

(Pauloma Parva)

'UGRASRAVA SAUTI, the son of Lomaharshana, versed in the Puranas, while
present in the forest of Naimisha, at the twelve years' sacrifice of
Saunaka, surnamed Kulapati, stood before the Rishis in attendance. Having
studied Puranas with meticulous devotion and thus being thoroughly
acquainted with them, he addressed them with joined hands thus, 'I have
graphically described to you the history of Utanka which is one of the
causes of King Janamejaya's Snake-sacrifice. What, revered Sirs, do ye
wish to hear now? What shall I relate to you?' The holy men replied, 'O
son of Lomaharshana, we shall ask thee about what we are anxious to hear
and thou wilt recount the tales one by one. Saunaka, our revered master,
is at present attending the apartment of the holy fire. He is acquainted
with those divine stories which relate to the gods and asuras. He
adequately knoweth the histories of men, serpents, and Gandharvas.
Further, O Sauti, in this sacrifice that learned Brahmana is the chief.
He is able, faithful to his vows, wise, a master of the Sastras and the
Aranyaka, a speaker of truth, a lover of peace, a mortifier of the flesh,
and an observer of the penances according to the authoritative decrees.
He is respected by us all. It behoveth us therefore to wait for him. And
when he is seated on his highly respected seat, thou wilt answer what
that best of Dwijas shall ask of thee.'

"Sauti said, 'Be it so. And when the high-souled master hath been seated
I shall narrate, questioned by him, sacred stories on a variety of
subjects." After a while that excellent Brahmana (Saunaka) having duly
finished all his duties, and having propitiated the gods with prayers and
the manes with oblations of water, came back to the place of sacrifice,
where with Sauti seated before was the assembly of saints of rigid vows
sitting at ease. And when Saunaka was seated in the midst of the Ritwiks
and Sadhyas, who were also in their seats, he spake as followeth."



SECTION V

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Saunaka said, 'Child, thy father formerly read the whole of the Puranas,
O son of Lomaharshana, and the Bharata with Krishna-Dwaipayana. Hast thou
also made them thy study? In those ancient records are chronicled
interesting stories and the history of the first generations of the wise
men, all of which we heard being rehearsed by thy sire. In the first
place, I am desirous of hearing the history of the race of Bhrigu.
Recount thou that history, we shall attentively listen to thee."

"Sauti answered, 'By me hath been acquired all that was formerly studied
by the high-souled Brahmanas including Vaisampayana and repeated by them;
by me hath been acquired all that had been studied by my father. O
descendant of the Bhrigu race, attend then to so much as relateth to the
exalted race of Bhrigu, revered by Indra and all the gods, by the tribes
of Rishis and Maruts (Winds). O great Muni, I shall first properly
recount the story of this family, as told in the Puranas.

"The great and blessed saint Bhrigu, we are informed, was produced by the
self-existing Brahma from the fire at the sacrifice of Varuna. And Bhrigu
had a son, named Chyavana, whom he dearly loved. And to Chyavana was born
a virtuous son called Pramati. And Pramati had a son named Ruru by
Ghritachi (the celestial dancer). And to Ruru also by his wife
Pramadvara, was born a son, whose name was Sunaka. He was, O Saunaka, thy
great ancestor exceedingly virtuous in his ways. He was devoted to
asceticism, of great reputation, proficient in law, and eminent among
those having a knowledge of the Vedas. He was virtuous, truthful, and of
well-regulated fare.'

"Saunaka said, 'O son of Suta, I ask thee why the illustrious son of
Bhrigu was named Chyavana. Do tell me all.'

"Sauti replied, 'Bhrigu had a wife named Puloma whom he dearly loved. She
became big with child by Bhrigu. And one day while the virtuous continent
Puloma was in that condition, Bhrigu, great among those that are true to
their religion, leaving her at home went out to perform his ablutions. It
was then that the Rakshasa called Puloma came to Bhrigu's abode. And
entering the Rishi's abode, the Rakshasa saw the wife of Bhrigu,
irreproachable in everything. And seeing her he became filled with lust
and lost his senses. The beautiful Puloma entertained the Rakshasa thus
arrived, with roots and fruits of the forest. And the Rakshasa who burnt
with desire upon seeing her, became very much delighted and resolved, O
good sage, to carry her away who was so blameless in every respect.

'My design is accomplished,' said the Rakshasa, and so seizing that
beautiful matron he carried her away. And, indeed, she of agreeable
smiles, had been betrothed by her father himself, to him, although the
former subsequently bestowed her, according to due rites, on Bhrigu. O
thou of the Bhrigu race, this wound rankled deep in the Rakshasa's mind
and he thought the present moment very opportune for carrying the lady
away.

"And the Rakshasa saw the apartment in which the sacrificial fire was
kept burning brightly. The Rakshasa then asked the flaming element 'Tell
me, O Agni, whose wife this woman rightfully is. Thou art the mouth of
gods; therefore thou art bound to answer my question. This lady of
superior complexion had been first accepted by me as wife, but her father
subsequently bestowed her on the false Bhrigu. Tell me truly if this fair
one can be regarded as the wife of Bhrigu, for having found her alone, I
have resolved to take her away by force from the hermitage. My heart
burneth with rage when I reflect that Bhrigu hath got possession of this
woman of slender waist, first betrothed to me.'"

"Sauti continued, 'In this manner the Rakshasa asked the flaming god of
fire again and again whether the lady was Bhrigu's wife. And the god was
afraid to return an answer. 'Thou, O god of fire,' said he, residest
constantly within every creature, as witness of her or his merits and
demerits. O thou respected one, then answer my question truly. Has not
Bhrigu appropriated her who was chosen by me as my wife? Thou shouldst
declare truly whether, therefore, she is my wife by first choice. After
thy answer as to whether she is the wife of Bhrigu, I will bear her away
from this hermitage even in sight of thee. Therefore answer thou truly.'"

"Sauti continued, 'The Seven flamed god having heard these words of the
Rakshasa became exceedingly distressed, being afraid of telling a
falsehood and equally afraid of Bhrigu's curse. And the god at length
made answer in words that came out slowly. 'This Puloma was, indeed,
first chosen by thee, O Rakshasa, but she was not taken by thee with holy
rites and invocations. But this far-famed lady was bestowed by her father
on Bhrigu as a gift from desire of blessing. She was not bestowed on thee
O Rakshasa, this lady was duly made by the Rishi Bhrigu his wife with
Vedic rites in my presence. This is she--I know her. I dare not speak a
falsehood. O thou best of the Rakshasas, falsehood is never respected in
this world.'"



SECTION VI

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'O Brahmana, having heard these words from the god of fire,
the Rakshasa assumed the form of a boar, and seizing the lady carried her
away with the speed of the wind--even of thought. Then the child of
Bhrigu lying in her body enraged at such violence, dropped from his
mother's womb, for which he obtained the name of Chyavana. And the
Rakshasa perceiving the infant drop from the mother's womb, shining like
the sun, quitted his grasp of the woman, fell down and was instantly
converted into ashes. And the beautiful Pauloma, distracted with grief, O
Brahmana of the Bhrigu race, took up her offspring Chyavana, the son of
Bhrigu and walked away. And Brahma, the Grandfather of all, himself saw
her, the faultless wife of his son, weeping. And the Grandfather of all
comforted her who was attached to her son. And the drops of tears which
rolled down her eyes formed a great river. And that river began to follow
the foot-steps of the wife of the great ascetic Bhrigu. And the
Grandfather of the worlds seeing that river follow the path of his son's
wife gave it a name himself, and he called it Vadhusara. And it passeth
by the hermitage of Chyavana. And in this manner was born Chyavana of
great ascetic power, the son of Bhrigu.

"And Bhrigu saw his child Chyavana and its beautiful mother. And the
Rishi in a rage asked her, 'By whom wast thou made known to that Rakshasa
who resolved to carry thee away? O thou of agreeable smiles, the Rakshasa
could not know thee as my wile. Therefore tell me who it was that told
the Rakshasa so, in order that I may curse him through anger.' And
Pauloma replied, 'O possessor of the six attributes! I was identified to
the Rakshasa by Agni (the god of fire). And he (the Rakshasa) bore me
away, who cried like the Kurari (female osprey). And it was only by the
ardent splendour of this thy son that I was rescued, for the Rakshasa
(seeing this infant) let me go and himself falling to the ground was
turned into ashes.'

"Sauti continued, 'Bhrigu, upon hearing this account from Pauloma, became
exceedingly enraged. And in excess of passion the Rishi cursed Agni,
saying, 'Thou shalt eat of all things.'"

So ends the sixth section called "the curse on Agni" in the Adi Parva.



SECTION VII

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'the god of fire enraged at the curse of Bhrigu, thus
addressed the Rishi, 'What meaneth this rashness, O Brahmana, that thou
hast displayed towards me? What transgression can be imputed to me who
was labouring to do justice and speak the truth impartially? Being asked
I gave the true answer. A witness who when interrogated about a fact of
which he hath knowledge, representeth otherwise than it is, ruineth his
ancestors and descendants both to the seventh generation. He, too, who,
being fully cognisant of all the particulars of an affair, doth not
disclose what he knoweth, when asked, is undoubtedly stained with guilt.
I can also curse thee, but Brahmanas are held by me in high respect.
Although these are known to thee, O Brahmana, I will yet speak of them,
so please attend! Having, by ascetic power, multiplied myself, I am
present in various forms, in places of the daily homa, at sacrifices
extending for years, in places where holy rites are performed (such as
marriage, etc.), and at other sacrifices. With the butter that is poured
upon my flame according to the injunctions prescribed in the Vedas, the
Devas and the Pitris are appeased. The Devas are the waters; the Pitris
are also the waters. The Devas have with the Pitris an equal right to the
sacrifices called Darshas and Purnamasas. The Devas therefore are the
Pitris and the Pitris, the Devas. They are identical beings, worshipped
together and also separately at the changes of the moon. The Devas and
the Pitris eat what is poured upon me. I am therefore called the mouth of
the Devas and the Pitris. At the new moon the Pitris, and at the full
moon the Devas, are fed through my mouth, eating of the clarified butter
that is poured on me. Being, as I am, their mouth, how am I to be an
eater of all things (clean and unclean)?

"Then Agni, alter reflecting for a while, withdrew himself from all
places; from places of the daily homa of the Brahmanas, from all
long-extending sacrifices, from places of holy rites, and from other
ceremonies. Without their Oms and Vashats, and deprived of their Swadhas
and Swahas (sacrificial mantras during offerings), the whole body of
creatures became much distressed at the loss of their (sacrificial) fire.
The Rishis in great anxiety went to the gods and addressed them thus, 'Ye
immaculate beings! The three regions of the universe are confounded at
the cessation of their sacrifices and ceremonies in consequence of the
loss of fire! Ordain what is to be done in tins matter, so that there may
be no loss of time.' Then the Rishis and the gods went together to the
presence of Brahma. And they represented to him all about the curse on
Agni and the consequent interruption of all ceremonies. And they said, 'O
thou greatly fortunate! Once Agni hath been cursed by Bhrigu for some
reason. Indeed, being the mouth of the gods and also the first who eateth
of what is offered in sacrifices, the eater also of the sacrificial
butter, how will Agni be reduced to the condition of one who eateth of
all things promiscuously?' And the creator of the universe hearing these
words of theirs summoned Agni to his presence. And Brahma addressed Agni,
the creator of all and eternal as himself, in these gentle words, 'Thou
art the creator of the worlds and thou art their destroyer! Thou
preserves! the three worlds and thou art the promoter of all sacrifices
and ceremonies! Therefore behave thyself so that ceremonies be not
interrupted. And, O thou eater of the sacrificial butter, why dost thou
act so foolishly, being, as thou art, the Lord of all? Thou alone art
always pure in the universe and thou art its stay! Thou shall not, with
all thy body, be reduced to the state of one who eateth of all things
promiscuously. O thou of flames, the flame that is in thy viler parts
shall alone eat of all things alike. The body of thine which eateth of
flesh (being in the stomach of all carnivorous animals) shall also eat of
all things promiscuously. And as every thing touched by the sun's rays
becometh pure, so shall everything be pure that shall be burnt by thy
flames. Thou art, O fire, the supreme energy born of thy own power. Then,
O Lord, by that power of thine make the Rishi's curse come true. Continue
to 'receive thy own portion and that of the gods, offered at thy mouth.'

'Sauti continued, 'Then Agni replied to the Grandfather, 'So be it.' And
he then went away to obey the command of the supreme Lord. The gods and
the Rishis also returned in delight to the place whence they had come.
And the Rishis began to perform as before their ceremonies and
sacrifices. And the gods in heaven and all creatures of the world
rejoiced exceedingly. And Agni too rejoiced in that he was free from the
prospect of sin.

"Thus, O possessor of the six attributes, had Agni been cursed in the
days of yore by Bhrigu. And such is the ancient history connected with
the destruction of the Rakshasa, Pauloma and the birth of Chyavana.'"

Thus endeth the seventh section of the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva of
the blessed Mahabharata.



SECTION VIII

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'O Brahmana, Chyavana, the son of Bhrigu, begot a son in the
womb of his wife Sukanya. And that son was the illustrious Pramati of
resplendent energy. And Pramati begot in the womb of Ghritachi a son
called Ruru. And Ruru begot on his wife Pramadvara a son called Sunaka.
And I shall relate to you in detail, O Brahmana, the entire history of
Ruru of abundant energy. O listen to it then in full!

"Formerly there was a great Rishi called Sthulakesa possessed of ascetic
power and learning and kindly disposed towards all creatures. At that
time, O Brahmana sage, Viswavasu, the King of the Gandharvas, it is said,
had intimacy with Menaka, the celestial dancing-girl. And the Apsara,
Menaka, O thou of the Bhrigu race, when her time was come, brought forth
an infant near the hermitage of Sthulakesa. And dropping the newborn
infant on the banks of the river, O Brahmana, Menaka, the Apsara, being
destitute of pity and shame, went away. And the Rishi, Sthulakesa, of
great ascetic power, discovered the infant lying forsaken in a lonely
part of the river-side. And he perceived that it was a female child,
bright as the offspring of an Immortal and blazing, as it were, with
beauty: And the great Brahmana, Sthulakesa, the first of Munis, seeing
that female child, and filled with compassion, took it up and reared it.
And the lovely child grew up in his holy habitation, the noble-minded and
blessed Rishi Sthulakesa performing in due succession all the ceremonies
beginning with that at birth as ordained by the divine law. And because
she surpassed all of her sex in goodness, beauty, and every quality, the
great Rishi called her by the name of Pramadvara. And the pious Ruru
having seen Pramadvara in the hermitage of Sthulakesa became one whose
heart was pierced by the god of love. And Ruru by means of his companions
made his father Pramati, the son of Bhrigu, acquainted with his passion.
And Pramati demanded her of the far-famed Sthulakesa for his son. And her
foster-father betrothed the virgin Pramadvara to Ruru, fixing the
nuptials for the day when the star Varga-Daivata (Purva-phalguni) would
be ascendant.

"Then within a few days of the time fixed for the nuptials, the beautiful
virgin while at play with companions of her own sex, her time having
come, impelled by fate, trod upon a serpent which she did not perceive as
it lay in coil. And the reptile, urged to execute the will of Fate,
violently darted its envenomed fangs into the body of the heedless
maiden. And stung by that serpent, she instantly dropped senseless on the
ground, her colour faded and all the graces of her person went off. And
with dishevelled hair she became a spectacle of woe to her companions and
friends. And she who was so agreeable to behold became on her death what
was too painful to look at. And the girl of slender waist lying on the
ground like one asleep--being overcome with the poison of the snake-once
more became more beautiful than in life. And her foster-father and the
other holy ascetics who were there, all saw her lying motionless upon the
ground with the splendour of a lotus. And then there came many noted
Brahmanas filled with compassion, and they sat around her. And
Swastyatreya, Mahajana, Kushika, Sankhamekhala, Uddalaka, Katha, and
Sweta of great renown, Bharadwaja, Kaunakutsya, Arshtishena, Gautama,
Pramati, and Pramati's son Ruru, and other inhabitants of the forest,
came there. And when they saw that maiden lying dead on the ground
overcome with the poison of the reptile that had bitten her, they all
wept filled with compassion. But Ruru, mortified beyond measure, retired
from the scene.'"

So ends the eighth section of the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva of the
blessed Mahabharata.



SECTION IX

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'While those illustrious Brahmanas were sitting around the
dead body of Pramadvara, Ruru, sorely afflicted, retired into a deep wood
and wept aloud. And overwhelmed with grief he indulged in much piteous
lamentation. And, remembering his beloved Pramadvara, he gave vent to his
sorrow in the following words, 'Alas! The delicate fair one that
increaseth my affliction lieth upon the bare ground. What can be more
deplorable to us, her friends? If I have been charitable, if I have
performed acts of penance, if I have ever revered my superiors, let the
merit of these arts restore to life my beloved one! If from my birth I
have been controlling my passions, adhered to my vows, let the fair
Pramadvara rise from the ground.

"And while Ruru was indulging in these lamentations for the loss of his
bride, a messenger from heaven came to him in the forest and addressed
him thus, 'The words thou utterest, O Ruru, in thy affliction are
certainly ineffectual. For, O pious man, one belonging to this world
whose days have run out can never come back to life. This poor child of a
Gandharva and Apsara has had her days run out! Therefore, O child, thou
shouldst not consign thy heart to sorrow. The great gods, however, have
provided beforehand a means of her restoration to life. And if thou
compliest with it, thou mayest receive back thy Pramadvara.'

"And Ruru replied, O messenger of heaven! What is that which the gods
have ordained. Tell me in full so that (on hearing) I may comply with it.
It behoveth thee to deliver me from grief!' And the celestial messenger
said unto Ruru, 'Resign half of thy own life to thy bride, and then, O
Ruru of the race of Bhrigu, thy Pramadvara shall rise from the ground.'
'O best of celestial messengers, I most willingly offer a moiety of my
own life in favour of my bride. Then let my beloved one rise up once more
in her dress and lovable form.'

"Sauti said, 'Then the king of Gandharvas (the father of Pramadvara) and
the celestial messenger, both of excellent qualities, went to the god
Dharma (the Judge of the dead) and addressed him, saying, 'If it be thy
will, O Dharmaraja, let the amiable Pramadvara, the betrothed wife of
Ruru, now lying dead, rise up with a moiety of Ruru's life.' And
Dharmaraja answered, 'O messenger of the gods, if it be thy wish, let
Pramadvara, the betrothed wife of Ruru, rise up endued with a moiety of
Ruru's life.'

"Sauti continued, 'And when Dharmaraja had said so, that maiden of
superior complexion, Pramadvara, endued with a moiety of Ruru's life,
rose as from her slumber. This bestowal by Ruru of a moiety of his own
span of life to resuscitate his bride afterwards led, as it would be
seen, to a curtailment of Ruru's life.

"And on an auspicious day their fathers gladly married them with due
rites. And the couple passed their days, devoted to each other. And Ruru
having obtained such a wife, as is hard to be found, beautiful and bright
as the filaments of the lotus, made a vow for the destruction of the
serpent-race. And whenever he saw a serpent he became filled with great
wrath and always killed it with a weapon.

"One day, O Brahmana, Ruru entered an extensive forest. And there he saw
an old serpent of the Dundubha species lying stretched on the ground. And
Ruru thereupon lifted up in anger his staff, even like to the staff of
Death, for the purpose of killing it. Then the Dundubha, addressing Ruru,
said, 'I have done thee no harm, O Brahmana! Then wherefore wilt thou
slay me in anger?'"

So ends the ninth section of the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva of the
blessed Mahabharata.



SECTION X

(Pauloma Parva continued)

Sauti said, 'And Ruru, on hearing those words, replied, 'My wife, dear to
me as life, was bit by a snake; upon which, I took, O snake, a dreadful
vow, viz., that I would kill every snake that I might come across.
Therefore shall I smite thee and thou shalt be deprived of life.'

"And the Dundubha replied, 'O Brahmana, the snakes that bite man are
quite different in type. It behoveth thee not to slay Dundubhas who are
serpents only in name. Subject like other serpents to the same calamities
but not sharing their good fortune, in woe the same but in joy different,
the Dundubhas should not be slain by thee under any misconception.'

"Sauti continued, 'And the Rishi Ruru hearing these words of the serpent,
and seeing that it was bewildered with fear, albeit a snake of the
Dundubha species, killed it not. And Ruru, the possessor of the six
attributes, comforting the snake addressed it, saying, 'Tell me fully, O
snake, who art thou thus metamorphosed?' And the Dundubha replied, 'O
Ruru! I was formerly a Rishi by name Sahasrapat. And it is by the curse
of a Brahmana that I have been transformed into a snake. And Ruru asked,
'O thou best of snakes, for what wast thou cursed by a Brahmana in wrath?
And how long also will thy form continue so?'"

And so ends the tenth section of the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XI

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti continued 'The Dundubha then said, 'In former times, I had a
friend Khagama by name. He was impetuous in his speech and possessed of
spiritual power by virtue of his austerities. And one day when he was
engaged in the Agni-hotra (Fire-sacrifice), I made a mock snake of blades
of grass, and in a frolic attempted to frighten him with it. And anon he
fell into a swoon. On recovering his senses, that truth-telling and
vow-observing ascetic, burning with wrath, exclaimed, 'Since thou hast
made a powerless mock snake to frighten me, thou shalt be turned even
into a venomless serpent thyself by my curse.' O ascetic, I well knew the
power of his penances; therefore with an agitated heart, I addressed him
thus, bending low with joined hands, 'Friend, I did this by way of a
joke, to excite thy laughter. It behoveth thee to forgive me and revoke
thy curse.' And seeing me sorely troubled, the ascetic was moved, and he
replied, breathing hot and hard. 'What I have said must come to pass.
Listen to what I say and lay it to thy heart. O pious one! when Ruru the
pure son of Pramati, will appear, thou shall be delivered from the curse
the moment thou seest him. Thou art the very Ruru and the son of Pramati.
On regaining my native form, I will tell thee something for thy good.

"And that illustrious man and the best of Brahmanas then left his
snake-body, and attained his own form and original brightness. He then
addressed the following words to Ruru of incomparable power, 'O thou
first of created beings, verily the highest virtue of man is sparing the
life of others. Therefore a Brahmana should never take the life of any
creature. A Brahmana should ever be mild. This is the most sacred
injunction of the Vedas. A Brahmana should be versed in the Vedas and
Vedangas, and should inspire all creatures with belief in God. He should
be benevolent to all creatures, truthful, and forgiving, even as it is
his paramount duty to retain the Vedas in his memory. The duties of the
Kshatriya are not thine. To be stern, to wield the sceptre and to rule
the subjects properly are the duties of the Kshatriya. Listen, O Ruru, to
the account of the destruction of snakes at the sacrifice of Janamejaya
in days of yore, and the deliverance of the terrified reptiles by that
best of Dwijas, Astika, profound in Vedic lore and might in spiritual
energy.'"

And so ends the eleventh section of the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XII

(Pauloma Parva continued)

"Sauti continued, 'Ruru then asked, 'O best of Dwijas, why was king
Janamejaya bent upon destroying the serpents?--And why and how were they
saved by the wise Astika? I am anxious to hear all this in detail.'

"The Rishi replied, 'O Ruru, the important history of Astika you will
learn from the lips of Brahmanas.' Saying this, he vanished.

"Sauti continued, 'Ruru ran about in search of the missing Rishi, and
having failed to find him in all the woods, fell down on the ground,
fatigued. And revolving in his mind the words of the Rishi, he was
greatly confounded and seemed to be deprived of his senses. Regaining
consciousness, he came home and asked his father to relate the history in
question. Thus asked, his father related all about the story.'"

So ends the twelfth section in the Pauloma Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XIII

(Astika Parva)

"Saunaka said, 'For what reason did that tiger among kings, the royal
Janamejaya, determine to take the lives of the snakes by means of a
sacrifice? O Sauti, tell us in full the true story. Tell us also why
Astika, that best of regenerate ones, that foremost of ascetics, rescued
the snakes from the blazing fire. Whose son was that monarch who
celebrated the snake-sacrifice? And whose son also was that best of
regenerate ones?'

"Sauti said, 'O best of speakers, this story of Astika is long. I will
duly relate it in full, O listen!'

"Saunaka said, 'I am desirous of hearing at length the charming story of
that Rishi, that illustrious Brahmana named Astika.'

"Sauti said, 'This history (first) recited by Krishna-Dwaipayana, is
called a Purana by the Brahmanas. It was formerly narrated by my wise
father, Lomaharshana, the disciple of Vyasa, before the dwellers of the
Naimisha forest, at their request. I was present at the recital, and, O
Saunaka, since thou askest me, I shall narrate the history of Astika
exactly as I heard it. O listen, as I recite in full that sin-destroying
story.

"The father of Astika was powerful like Prajapati. He was a
Brahma-charin, always engaged in austere devotions. He ate sparingly, was
a great ascetic, and had his lust under complete control. And he was
known by the name of Jaratkaru. That foremost one among the Yayavaras,
virtuous and of rigid vows, highly blessed and endued with great ascetic
power, once undertook a journey over the world. He visited diverse
places, bathed in diverse sacred waters, and rested where night overtook
him. Endued with great energy, he practised religious austerities, hard
to be practised by men of unrestrained souls. The sage lived upon air
only, and renounced sleep for ever. Thus going about like a blazing fire,
one day he happened to see his ancestors, hanging heads down in a great
hole, their feet pointing upwards. On seeing them, Jaratkaru addressed
them, saying:

'Who are you thus hanging heads down in this hole by a rope of virana
fibres that is again secretly eaten into on all sides by a rat living
here?'

"The ancestors said, 'We are Rishis of rigid vows, called Yayavaras. We
are sinking low into the earth for want of offspring. We have a son named
Jaratkaru. Woe to us! That wretch hath entered upon a life of austerities
only! The fool doth not think of raising offspring by marriage! It is for
that reason, viz., the fear of extinction of our race, that we are
suspended in this hole. Possessed of means, we fare like unfortunates
that have none! O excellent one, who art thou that thus sorrowest as a
friend on our account? We desire to learn, O Brahmana, who thou art that
standest by us, and why, O best of men, thou sorrowest for us that are so
unfortunate.'

"Jaratkaru said, 'Ye are even my sires and grandsires I am that
Jaratkaru! O, tell me, how I may serve you.'

"The fathers then answered, 'Try thy best, O child, to beget a son to
extend our line. Thou wilt then, O excellent one, have done a meritorious
art for both thyself and us. Not by the fruits of virtue, not by ascetic
penances well hoarded up, acquireth the merit which one doth by becoming
a father. Therefore, O child, by our command, set thy heart upon marriage
and offspring. Even this is our highest good.'

"Jaratkaru replied, 'I shall not marry for my sake, nor shall I earn
wealth for enjoyment, but I shall do so for your welfare only. According
to this understanding, I shall, agreeably to the Sastric ordinance, take
a wife for attaining the end. I shall not act otherwise. If a bride may
be had of the same name with me, whose friends would, besides, willingly
give her to me as a gift in charity, I shall wed her duly. But who will
give his daughter to a poor man like me for wife. I shall, however,
accept any daughter given to me as alms. I shall endeavour, ye sires,
even thus to wed a girl! Having given my word, I will not act otherwise.
Upon her I will raise offspring for your redemption, so that, ye fathers,
ye may attain to eternal regions (of bliss) and may rejoice as ye like.'"

So ends the thirteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XIV

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'That Brahmana of rigid vows then wandered over the earth
for a wife but a wife found he not. One day he went into the forest, and
recollecting the words of his ancestors, he thrice prayed in a faint
voice for a bride. Thereupon Vasuki rose and offered his sister for the
Rishi's acceptance. But the Brahmana hesitated to accept her, thinking
her not to be of the same name with himself. The high-souled Jaratkaru
thought within himself, 'I will take none for wife who is not of the same
name with myself.' Then that Rishi of great wisdom and austere penances
asked him, saying, 'Tell me truly what is the name of this thy sister, O
snake.'

"Vasuki replied, 'O Jaratkaru, this my younger sister is called
Jaratkaru. Given away by me, accept this slender-waisted damsel for thy
spouse. O best of Brahmanas, for thee I reserved her. Therefore, take
her.' Saying this, he offered his beautiful sister to Jaratkaru who then
espoused her with ordained rites.'"

So ends the thirteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XV

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'O foremost of persons acquainted with Brahma, the mother of
the snakes had cursed them of old, saying, 'He that hath the Wind for his
charioteer (viz., Agni) shall burn you all in Janamejaya's sacrifice!' It
was to neutralise that curse that the chief of the snakes married his
sister to that high-souled Rishi of excellent vows. The Rishi wedded her
according to the rites ordained (in the scriptures), and from them was
born a high-souled son called Astika. An illustrious ascetic; versed in
the Vedas and their branches, he regarded all with an even eye, and
removed the fears of both his parents.

"Then, after a long space of time, a king descending from the Pandava
line celebrated a great sacrifice known as the Snake-sacrifice, After
that sacrifice had commenced for the destruction of the snakes, Astika
delivered the Nagas, viz., his brothers and maternal uncles and other
snakes (from a fiery death). And he delivered his fathers also by
begetting offspring. And by his austerities, O Brahmana, and various vows
and study of the Vedas, he freed himself from all his debts. By
sacrifices, at which various kinds of offerings were made, he propitiated
the gods. By practising the Brahmacharya mode of life he conciliated the
Rishis; and by begetting offspring he gratified his ancestors.

"Thus Jaratkaru of rigid vows discharged the heavy debt he owed to his
sires who being thus relieved from bondage ascended to heaven. Thus
having acquired great religious merit, Jaratkaru, after a long course of
years, went to heaven, leaving Astika behind. There is the story of
Astika that I have related duly Now, tell me, O tiger of Bhrigu's race,
what else I shall narrate."

So ends the fifteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XVI

(Astika Parva continued)

"Saunaka said, 'O Sauti, relate once more in detail this history of the
learned and virtuous Astika. Our curiosity for hearing it is great. O
amiable one, thou speakest sweetly, with proper accent and emphasis; and
we are well-pleased with thy speech. Thou speakest even as thy father.
Thy sire was ever ready to please us. Tell us now the story as thy father
had related it.'

"Sauti said, 'O thou that art blest with longevity, I shall narrate the
history of Astika as I heard it from my father. O Brahmana, in the golden
age, Prajapati had two daughters. O sinless one, the sisters were endowed
with wonderful beauty. Named Kadru and Vinata, they became the wives of
Kasyapa. Kasyapa derived great pleasure from his two wedded wives and
being gratified he, resembling Prajapati himself, offered to give each of
them a boon. Hearing that their lord was willing to confer on them their
choice blessings, those excellent ladies felt transports of joy. Kadru
wished to have for sons a thousand snakes all of equal splendour. And
Vinata wished to bring forth two sons surpassing the thousand offsprings
of Kadru in strength, energy, size of body, and prowess. Unto Kadru her
lord gave that boon about a multitude of offspring. And unto Vinata also,
Kasyapa said, 'Be it so!' Then Vinata, having; obtained her prayer,
rejoiced greatly. Obtaining two sons of superior prowess, she regarded
her boon fulfilled. Kadru also obtained her thousand sons of equal
splendour. 'Bear the embryos carefully,' said Kasyapa, and then he went
into the forest, leaving his two wives pleased with his blessings.'

"Sauti continued, 'O best of regenerate ones, after a long time, Kadru
brought forth a thousand eggs, and Vinata two. Their maid-servants
deposited the eggs separately in warm vessels. Five hundred years passed
away, and the thousand eggs produced by Kadru burst and out came the
progeny. But the twins of Vinata did not appear. Vinata was jealous, and
therefore she broke one of the eggs and found in it an embryo with the
upper part developed but the lower one undeveloped. At this, the child in
the egg became angry and cursed his mother, saying. 'Since thou hast
prematurely broken this egg, thou shall serve as a slave. Shouldst thou
wait five hundred years and not destroy, or render the other egg
half-developed, by breaking it through impatience, then the illustrious
child within it will deliver thee from slavery! And if thou wouldst have
the child strong, thou must take tender care of the egg for all this
time!' Thus cursing his mother, the child rose to the sky. O Brahmana,
even he is the charioteer of Surya, always seen in the hour of morning!

"Then at the expiration of the five hundred years, bursting open the
other egg, out came Garuda, the serpent-eater. O tiger of Bhrigu's race,
immediately on seeing the light, that son of Vinata left his mother. And
the lord of birds, feeling hungry, took wing in quest of the food
assigned to him by the Great Ordainer of all.".

So ends the sixteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XVII

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'O ascetic, about this time the two sisters saw approaching
near, that steed of complacent appearance named Uchchaihsravas who was
worshipped by the gods, that gem of steeds, who arose at the churning of
the Ocean for nectar. Divine, graceful, perpetually young, creation's
master-piece, and of irresistible vigour, it was blest with every
auspicious mark.'

"Saunaka asked, 'Why did the gods churn the Ocean for nectar, and under
what circumstances and when as you say, did that best of steeds so
powerful and resplendent spring?'

"Sauti said, 'There is a mountain named Meru, of blazing appearance, and
looking like a heap of effulgence. The rays of the Sun falling on its
peaks of golden lustre are dispersed by them. Decked with gold and
exceedingly beautiful, that mountain is the haunt of the gods and the
Gandharvas. It is immeasurable and unapproachable by men of manifold
sins. Dreadful beasts of prey wander over its breasts, and it is
illuminated by many divine life-giving herbs. It stands kissing the
heavens by its height and is the first of mountains. Ordinary people
cannot even think of ascending it. It is graced with trees and streams,
and resounds with the charming melody of winged choirs. Once the
celestials sat on its begemmed peak--in conclave. They who had practised
penances and observed excellent vows for amrita now seemed to be eager
seekers alter amrita (celestial ambrosia). Seeing the celestial assembly
in anxious mood Nara-yana said to Brahman, 'Do thou churn the Ocean with
the gods and the Asuras. By doing so, amrita will be obtained as also all
drugs and gems. O ye gods, chum the Ocean, ye will discover amrita.'"

So ends the seventeenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XVIII

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'There is a mountain called Mandara adorned with cloud-like
peaks. It is the best of mountains, and is covered all over with
intertwining herbs. There countless birds pour forth their melodies, and
beasts of prey roam about. The gods, the Apsaras and the Kinnaras visit
the place. Upwards it rises eleven thousand yojanas, and descends
downwards as much. The gods wanted to tear it up and use it as a churning
rod but failing to do so same to Vishnu and Brahman who were sitting
together, and said unto them, 'Devise some efficient scheme, consider, ye
gods, how Mandara may be dislodged for our good.'

"Sauti continued, 'O son of Bhrigu! Vishnu with Brahman assented to it.
And the lotus-eyed one (Vishnu) laid the hard task on the mighty Ananta,
the prince of snakes. The powerful Ananta, directed thereto both by
Brahman and Narayana, O Brahmana, tore up the mountain with the woods
thereon and with the denizens of those woods. And the gods came to the
shore of the Ocean with Ananta and addressed the Ocean, saying, 'O Ocean;
we have come to churn thy waters for obtaining nectar.' And the Ocean
replied, 'Be it so, as I shall not go without a share of it. I am able to
bear the prodigious agitation of my waters set up by the mountain.' The
gods then went to the king of tortoises and said to him, 'O
Tortoise-king, thou wilt have to hold the mountain on thy back!' The
Tortoise-king agreed, and Indra contrived to place the mountain on the
former's back.

"And the gods and the Asuras made of Mandara a churning staff and Vasuki
the cord, and set about churning the deep for amrita. The Asuras held
Vasuki by the hood and the gods held him by the tail. And Ananta, who was
on the side of the gods, at intervals raised the snake's hood and
suddenly lowered it. And in consequence of the stretch Vasuki received at
the hands of the gods and the Asuras, black vapours with flames issued
from his mouth. These, turned into clouds charged with lightning, poured
showers that refreshed the tired gods. And flowers that also fell on all
sides of the celestials from the trees on the whirling Mandara, refreshed
them.

"Then, O Brahmana, out of the deep came a tremendous roar like unto the
roar of the clouds at the Universal Dissolution. Diverse aquatic animals
being crushed by the great mountain gave up the ghost in the salt waters.
And many denizens of the lower regions and the world of Varuna were
killed. Large trees with birds on the whirling Mandara were torn up by
the roots and fell into the water. The mutual friction of those trees
also produced fires that blazed up frequently. The mountain thus looked
like a mass of dark clouds charged with lightning. O Brahmana, the fire
spread, and consumed the lions, elephants and other creatures that were
on the mountain. Then Indra extinguished that fire by pouring down heavy
showers.

"After the churning, O Brahmana, had gone on for some time, gummy
exudations of various trees and herbs vested with the properties of
amrita mingled with the waters of the Ocean. And the celestials attained
to immortality by drinking of the water mixed with those gums and with
the liquid extract of gold. By degrees, the milky water of the agitated
deep turned into clarified butter by virtue of those gums and juices. But
nectar did not appear even then. The gods came before the boon-granting
Brahman seated on his seat and said, 'Sire, we are spent up, we have no
strength left to churn further. Nectar hath not yet arisen so that now we
have no resource save Narayana.'

"On hearing them, Brahman said to Narayana, 'O Lord, condescend to grant
the gods strength to churn the deep afresh.'

"Then Narayana agreeing to grant their various prayers, said, 'Ye wise
ones, I grant you sufficient strength. Go, put the mountain in position
again and churn the water.'

'Re-established thus in strength, the gods recommenced churning. After a
while, the mild Moon of a thousand rays emerged from the Ocean.
Thereafter sprung forth Lakshmi dressed in white, then Soma, then the
White Steed, and then the celestial gem Kaustubha which graces the breast
of Narayana. Then Lakshmi, Soma and the Steed, fleet as the mind, all
came before the gods on high. Then arose the divine Dhanwantari himself
with the white vessel of nectar in his hand. And seeing him, the Asuras
set up a loud cry, saying, 'It be ours.'

"And at length rose the great elephant, Airavata, of huge body and with
two pair of white tusks. And him took Indra the wielder of the
thunderbolt. But with the churning still going on, the poison Kalakuta
appeared at last. Engulfing the Earth it suddenly blazed up like a fire
attended with fumes. And by the scent of the fearful Kalakuta, the three
worlds were stupefied. And then Siva, being solicited by Brahman,
swallowed that poison for the safety of the creation. The divine
Maheswara held it in his throat, and it is said that from that time he is
called Nilakantha (blue-throated). Seeing all these wondrous things, the
Asuras were filled with despair, and got themselves prepared for entering
into hostilities with the gods for the possession of Lakshmi and Amrita.
Thereupon Narayana called his bewitching Maya (illusive power) to his
aid, and assuming the form of an enticing female, coquetted with the
Danavas. The Danavas and the Daityas charmed with her exquisite beauty
and grace lost their reason and unanimously placed the Amrita in the
hands of that fair damsel.'"

So ends the eighteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XIX

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'Then the Daityas and the Danauas equipped with first-class
armours and various weapons attacked the gods. In the meantime the
valiant Lord Vishnu in the form of an enchantress accompanied by Nara
deceived the mighty Danavas and took away the Amrita from their hands.

"And all the gods at that time of great fright drank the Amrita with
delight, receiving it from Vishnu. And while the gods were partaking of
it, after which they had so much hankered, a Danava named Rahu was also
drinking it among them in the guise of a god. And when the Amrita had
reached Rahu's throat only, Surya and Soma (recognised him and) intimated
the fact to the gods. And Narayana instantly cut off with his discus the
well-adorned head of the Danava who was drinking the Amrita without
permission. And the huge head of the Danava, cut off by the discus and
resembling a mountain peak, then rose up to the sky and began to utter
dreadful cries. And the Danava's headless trunk, falling upon the ground
and rolling thereon, made the Earth tremble with her mountains, forests
and islands. And from that time there is a long-standing quarrel between
Rahu's head and Surya and Soma. And to this day it swalloweth Surya and
Soma (during solar and lunar eclipses).

"Then Narayana quitting his enchanting female form and hurling many
terrible weapons at the Danavas, made them tremble. And thus on the
shores of the salt-water sea, commenced the dreadful battle of the gods
and the Asuras. And sharp-pointed javelins and lances and various weapons
by thousands began to be discharged on all sides. And mangled with the
discus and wounded with swords, darts and maces, the Asuras in large
numbers vomited blood and lay prostrate on the earth. Cut off from the
trunks with sharp double-edged swords, heads adorned with bright gold,
fell continually on the field of battle. Their bodies drenched in gore,
the great Asuras lay dead everywhere. It seemed as if red-dyed mountain
peaks lay scattered all around. And when the Sun rose in his splendour,
thousands of warriors struck one another with weapons. And cries of
distress were heard everywhere. The warriors fighting at a distance from
one another brought one another down by sharp iron missiles, and those
fighting at close quarters slew one another with blows of their fists.
And the air was filled with shrieks of distress. Everywhere were heard
the alarming sounds,--'cut', 'pierce', 'at them', 'hurl down', 'advance'.

'And when the battle was raging fiercely, Nara and Narayana entered the
field. And Narayana seeing the celestial bow in the hand of Nara, called
to mind his own weapon, the Danava-destroying discus. And lo! the discus,
Sudarsana, destroyer of enemies, like to Agni in effulgence and dreadful
in battle, came from the sky as soon as thought of. And when it came,
Narayana of fierce energy, possessing arms like the trunk of an elephant,
hurled with great force that weapon of extraordinary lustre, effulgent as
blazing fire, dreadful and capable of destroying hostile towns. And that
discus blazing like the fire that consumeth all things at the end of
Yuga, hurled with force from the hands of Narayana, and falling
constantly everywhere, destroyed the Daityas and the Danavas by
thousands. Sometimes it blazed like fire and consumed them all; sometimes
it struck them down as it coursed through the sky; and sometimes, falling
on the earth, it drank their life-blood like a goblin.

"On the other hand, the Danavas, white as the clouds from which the rain
hath dropped, possessing great strength and bold hearts, ascended the
sky, and by hurling down thousands of mountains, continually harassed the
gods. And those dreadful mountains, like masses of clouds, with their
trees and flat tops, falling from the sky, collided with one another and
produced a tremendous roar. And when thousands of warriors shouted
without intermission in the field of battle and mountains with the woods
thereon began to fall around, the earth with her forests trembled. Then
the divine Nara appeared at the scene of the dreadful conflict between
the Asuras and the Ganas (the followers of Rudra), and reducing to dust
those rocks by means of his gold-headed arrows, he covered the heavens
with dust. Thus discomfited by the gods, and seeing the furious discus
scouring the fields of heaven like a blazing flame, the mighty Danavas
entered the bowels of the earth, while others plunged into the sea of
salt-waters.

"And having gained the victory, the gods offered due respect to Mandara
and placed him again on his own base. And the nectar-bearing gods made
the heavens resound with their shouts, and went to their own abodes. And
the gods, on returning to the heavens, rejoiced greatly, and Indra and
the other deities made over to Narayana the vessel of Amrita for careful
keeping.'"

And so ends the nineteenth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XX

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'Thus have I recited to you the whole story of how Amrita
was churned out of the Ocean, and the occasion on which the horse
Uchchaihsravas of great beauty and incomparable prowess was obtained. It
was this horse about which Kadru asked Vinata, saying, 'Tell me, amiable
sister, without taking much time, of what colour Uchchaishravas is.' And
Vinata answered, 'That prince of steeds is certainly white. What dost
thou think, sister? Say thou what is its colour. Let us lay a wager upon
it.' Kadru replied, then, 'O thou of sweet smiles. I think that horse is
black in its tail. Beauteous one, bet with me that she who loseth will
become the other's slave.'

'Sauti continued, 'Thus wagering with each other about menial service as
a slave, the sisters went home, and resolved to satisfy themselves by
examining the horse next day. And Kadru, bent upon practising a
deception, ordered her thousand sons to transform themselves into black
hair and speedily cover the horse's tail in order that she might not
become a slave. But her sons, the snakes, refusing to do her bidding, she
cursed them, saying, 'During the snake-sacrifice of the wise king
Janamejaya of the Pandava race, Agni shall consume you all.' And the
Grandsire (Brahman) himself heard this exceedingly cruel curse pronounced
by Kadru, impelled by the fates. And seeing that the snakes had
multiplied exceedingly, the Grandsire, moved by kind consideration for
his creatures, sanctioned with all the gods this curse of Kadru. Indeed,
as the snakes were of virulent poison, great prowess and excess of
strength, and ever bent on biting other creatures, their mother's conduct
towards them--those persecutors of all creatures,--was very proper for
the good of all creatures. Fate always inflicts punishment of death on
those who seek the death of other creatures. The gods, having exchanged
such sentiments with one another, supported Kadru's action (and went
away). And Brahman, calling Kasyapa to him, spake unto him these words,
'O thou pure one who overcomest all enemies, these snakes begotten by
you, who are of virulent poison and huge bodies, and ever intent on
biting other creatures, have been cursed by their mother. O son, do not
grieve for it in the least. The destruction of the snakes in the
sacrifice hath, indeed, been ordained long ago' Saying this, the divine
Creator of the Universe comforted Kasyapa and imparted to that
illustrious one the knowledge of neutralising poison."

And so ends the twentieth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XXI

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said. 'Then when the night had passed away and the sun had risen
in the morning, O thou whose wealth is asceticism, the two sisters Kadru
and Vinata, having laid a wager about slavery, went with haste and
impatience to view the steed Uchchaishravas from a near point. On their
way they saw the Ocean, that receptacle of waters, vast and deep, rolling
and tremendously roaring, full of fishes large enough to swallow the
whale, and abounding with huge makaras and creatures of various forms by
thousands, and rendered inaccessible by the presence of other terrible,
monster-shaped, dark, and fierce aquatic animals, abounding with
tortoises and crocodiles, the mine of all kinds of gems, the home of
Varuna (the water-God), the excellent and beautiful residence of the
Nagas, the lord of all rivers, the abode of the subterranean fire, the
friend (or asylum) of the Asuras, the terror of all creatures, the grand
reservoir of water, and ever immutable. It is holy, beneficial to the
gods, and is the great source of nectar; without limits, inconceivable,
sacred, and highly wonderful. It is dark, terrible with the sound of
aquatic creatures, tremendously roaring, and full of deep whirl-pools. It
is an object of terror to all creatures. Moved by the winds blowing from
its shores and heaving high, agitated and disturbed, it seems to dance
everywhere with uplifted hands represented by its surges. Full of
swelling billows caused by the waxing and waning of the moon the parent
of Vasudeva's great conch called Panchajanya, the great mine of gems, its
waters were formerly disturbed in consequence of the agitation caused
within them by the Lord Govinda of immeasurable prowess when he had
assumed the form of a wild boar for raising the (submerged) Earth. Its
bottom, lower than the nether regions, the vow observing regenerate Rishi
Atri could not fathom after (toiling for) a hundred years. It becomes the
bed of the lotus-naveled Vishnu when at the termination of every Yuga
that deity of immeasurable power enjoys yoga-nidra, the deep sleep under
the spell of spiritual meditation. It is the refuge of Mainaka fearful of
falling thunder, and the retreat of the Asuras overcome in fierce
encounters. It offers water as sacrificial butter to the blazing fire
issuing from the mouth of Varava (the Ocean-mare). It is fathomless and
without limits, vast and immeasurable, and the lord of rivers.

"And they saw that unto it rushed mighty rivers by thousands with proud
gait, like amorous competitors, each eager for meeting it, forestalling
the others. And they saw that it was always full, and always dancing in
its waves. And they saw that it was deep and abounding with fierce whales
and makaras. And it resounded constantly with the terrible sounds of
aquatic creatures. And they saw that it was vast, and wide as the expanse
of space, unfathomable, and limitless, and the grand reservoir of water.'"

And so ends the twenty-first section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XXII

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'The Nagas after consultation arrived at the conclusion that
they should do their mother's bidding, for if she failed in obtaining her
desire she might withdraw her affection and burn them all. If, on the
other hand, she were graciously inclined, she might free them from her
curse. They said, 'We will certainly render the horse's tail black.' And
it is said that they then went and became hairs in the horse's tail.

"Now the two co-wives had laid the wager. And having laid the wager, O
best of Brahmanas, the two sisters Kadru and Vinata, the daughters of
Daksha, proceeded in great delight along the sky to see the other side of
the Ocean. And on their way they saw the Ocean, that receptacle of
waters, incapable of being easily disturbed, mightily agitated all of a
sudden by the wind, and roaring tremendously; abounding with fishes
capable of swallowing the whale and full of makaras; containing also
creatures of diverse forms counted by thousands; frightful from the
presence of horrible monsters, inaccessible, deep, and terrible, the mine
of all kinds of gems, the home of Varuna (the water-god), the wonderful
habitations of the Nagas, the lord of rivers, the abode of the
subterranean fire; the residence of the Asuras and of many dreadful
creatures; the reservoir of water, not subject to decay, aromatic, and
wonderful, the great source of the amrita of the celestials; immeasurable
and inconceivable, containing waters that are holy, filled to the brim by
many thousands of great rivers, dancing as it were in waves. Such was the
Ocean, full of rolling waves, vast as the expanse of the sky, deep, of
body lighted with the flames of subterranean fire, and roaring, which the
sisters quickly passed over.'"

And so ends the twenty-second section in the Astika Parva of the Adi
Parva.



SECTION XXIII

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'Having crossed the Ocean, Kadru of swift speed, accompanied
by Vinata, soon alighted near the horse. They then both beheld that
foremost of steeds of great speed, with body white as the rays of the
moon but having black hairs (in the tail). And observing many black hairs
in the tail, Kadru put Vinata, who was deeply dejected, into slavery. And
thus Vinata having lost the wager, entered into a state of slavery and
became exceedingly sorry.

"In the meantime, when his time came, burst forth from the egg without
(the help of his) mother, Garuda of great splendour, enkindling all the
points of the universe, that mighty being endued with strength, that bird
capable of assuming at will any form, of going at will everywhere, and of
calling to his aid at will any measure of energy. Effulgent like a heap
of fire, he shone terribly. Of lustre equal to that of the fire at the
end of the Yuga, his eyes were bright like the lightning-flash. And soon
after birth, that bird grew in size and increasing his body ascended the
skies. Fierce and vehemently roaring, he looked as terrible as second
Ocean-fire. And all the deities seeing him, sought the protection of
Vibhavasu (Agni). And they bowed down to that deity of manifold forms
seated on his seat and spake unto him these words, 'O Agni, extend not
thy body! Wilt thou consume us? Lo, this huge heap of thy flames is
spreading wide!' And Agni replied, 'O, ye persecutors of the Asuras, it
is not as ye imagine. This is Garuda of great strength and equal to me in
splendour, endued with great energy, and born to promote the joy of
Vinata. Even the sight of this heap of effulgence hath caused this
delusion in you. He is the mighty son of Kasyapa, the destroyer of the
Nagas, engaged in the well-being of the gods, and the foe of the Daityas
and the Rakshasas. Be not afraid of it in the least. Come with me and
see.' Thus addressed, the gods from a distance.

"The gods said, 'Thou art a Rishi (i.e., one cognisant of all mantras),
share of the largest portion in sacrifices, ever resplendent, the
controller along with the Rishi wended their way towards Garuda and
adored him of birds, the presiding spirit of the animate and the
inanimate universe. Thou art the destroyer of all, the creator of all;
thou art the very Hiranyagarbha; thou art the progenitor of creation in
the form of Daksha and the other Prajapatis; thou art Indra (the king of
the gods), thou art Hayagriva the steed necked incarnation of Vishnu;
thou art the arrow (Vishnu himself, as he became such in the hands of
Mahadeva at the burning of Tripura); thou art the lord of the universe;
thou art the mouth of Vishnu; thou art the four-faced Padmaja; thou art
the Brahmana (i.e., wise), thou art Agni, Pavana, etc. (i.e., the
presiding deity of every object in the universe). Thou art knowledge,
thou art the illusion to which we are all subject; thou art the
all-pervading spirit; thou art the lord of the gods; thou art the great
Truth; thou art fearless; thou art ever unchanged; thou art Brahma
without attributes; thou art the energy of the Sun; thou art the
intellectual functions; thou art our great protector; thou art the ocean
of holiness; thou art purity; thou art bereft of the attributes of
darkness; thou art the possessor of the six high attributes; thou art he
who cannot be withstood in contest. From thee have emanated all things;
thou art of excellent deeds; thou art all that hath not been and all that
hath been. Thou art pure knowledge; thou displayest to us, as Surya does
by his rays, this animate and inanimate universe; thou darkenest the
splendour of Surya at every moment, and thou art the destroyer of all;
thou art all that is perishable and all that is imperishable. O thou
resplendent as Agni, thou burnest all even as Surya in his anger burneth
all creatures. O terrible one, thou resistest even as the fire that
destroys everything at the time of the Universal Dissolution. O mighty
Garuda who movest in the skies, we seek thy protection. O lord of birds
thy energy is extraordinary, thy splendour is that of fire, thy
brightness is like that of the lightning that no darkness can approach.
Thou reachest the very clouds, and art both the cause and the effect; the
dispenser of boons and invincible in prowess. O Lord, this whole universe
is rendered hot by thy splendour, bright as the lustre of heated gold.
Protect these high-souled gods, who overcome by thee and terrified
withal, are flying along the heavens in different directions on their
celestial cars. O thou best of birds, thou Lord of all, thou art the son
of the merciful and high-souled Rishi Kasyapa; therefore, be not wroth
but have mercy on the universe. Thou art Supreme. O pacify thy anger and
preserve us. At thy voice, loud as the roar of the thunder, the ten
points, the skies, the heavens, the Earth and our hearts, O bird, thou
art continuously shaking. O, diminish this thy body resembling Agni. At
the sight of the splendour resembling that of Yama when in wrath, our
hearts lose all equanimity and quake. O thou lord of birds, be propitious
to us who solicit thy mercy! O illustrious one, bestow on us good fortune
and joy.'

And that bird of fair feathers, thus adored by the deities and diverse
sections of Rishis, reduced his own energy and splendour.'"

And thus ends the twenty-third section in the Astika Parva of the Adi
Parva.



SECTION XXIV

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'Then hearing of and beholding his own body, that bird of
beautiful feathers diminished its size.'

"And Garuda said, 'Let no creature be afraid; as ye are in a fright at
the sight of my terrible form, I shall diminish my energy.'

"Sauti continued, 'Then that bird capable of going everywhere at will,
that ranger of the skies capable of calling to his aid any measure of
energy, bearing Aruna on his back, wended from his father's home and
arrived at his mother's side on the other shore of the great ocean. And
he placed Aruna of great splendour in the eastern regions, just at a time
when Surya had resolved to burn the worlds with his fierce rays.'

"Saunaka said, 'When did the revered Surya resolve at the time to burn
the worlds? What wrong was done to him by the gods that provoked his
ire?'

"Sauti said, 'O sinless one, when Rahu was drinking nectar among the gods
at the time of the churning of the ocean he was pointed out to the gods
by Surya and Soma, and from that time he conceived an enmity towards
those deities. And upon this Rahu sought to devour his afflictor (Surya),
became wroth, and thought, 'Oh, this enmity of Rahu towards me hath
sprung from my desire of benefiting the gods. And this dire consequence I
alone have to sustain. Indeed, at this pass help I obtain not. And before
the very eyes of the denizens of heaven I am going to be devoured and
they brook it quietly. Therefore, for the destruction of the worlds must
I strive.' And with this resolution he went to the mountains of the west.

"And from that place he began to radiate his heat around for the
destruction of the world. And then the great Rishis, approaching the
gods, spake unto them, 'Lo, in the middle of the night springeth a great
heat striking terror into every heart, and destructive of the three
worlds.' Then the gods, accompanied by the Rishis, wended to the
Grandsire, and said unto him, 'O what is this great heat today that
causeth such panic? Surya hath not yet risen, still the destruction (of
the world) is obvious. O Lord, what will happen when he doth rise?" The
Grandsire replied, 'Indeed, Surya is prepared to rise today for the
destruction of the world. As soon as he will appear he will burn
everything into a heap of ashes. By me, however, hath the remedy been
provided beforehand. The intelligent son of Kasyapa is known to all by
the name of Aruna. He is huge of body and of great splendour; he shall
stay in front of Surya, doing the duty of his charioteer and taking away
all the energy of the former. And this will ensure the welfare of the
worlds, of the Rishis, and of the dwellers in heaven.'

"Sauti continued, 'Aruna, at the behest of the Grandsire, did all that he
was ordered to do. And Surya rose veiled by Aruna's person. I have told
thee now why Surya was in wrath, and how Aruna, the brother of Garuda,
was appointed as his charioteer. Hear next of that other question asked
by thee a little while ago.'"

And so ends the twenty-fourth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi
Parva.



SECTION XXV

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'Then that bird of great strength and energy and capable of
going at will to every place repaired to his mother's side on the other
shore of the great ocean. Thither lived Vinata in affliction, defeated in
wager and put into a state of slavery. Once Kadru calling Vinata who had
prostrated herself before the former, addressed her these words in the
presence of her son, 'O gentle Vinata, there is in the midst of the
ocean, in a remote quarter, a delightful and fair region inhabited by the
Nagas. Bear me thither!' At this that mother of the bird of fair feathers
bore (on her shoulders) the mother of the snakes. And Garuda also,
directed by his mother's words, carried (on his back) the snakes. And
that ranger of the skies born of Vinata began to ascend towards the Sun.
And thereupon the snakes, scorched by the rays of the Sun, swooned away.
And Kadru seeing her sons in that state prayed to Indra, saying, 'I bow
to thee, thou Lord of all the gods! I bow to thee, thou slayer of Vritra!
I bow to thee, thou slayer of Namuchi! O thou of a thousand eyes, consort
of Sachi! By thy showers, be thou the protector of the snakes scorched by
the Sun. O thou best of the deities, thou art our great protector. O
Purandara, thou art able to grant rain in torrents. Thou art Vayu (the
air), the clouds, fire, and the lightning of the skies. Thou art the
propeller of the clouds, and hast been called the great cloud (i.e., that
which will darken the universe at the end of Yuga). Thou art the fierce
and incomparable thunder, and the roaring clouds. Thou art the Creator of
the worlds and their Destroyer. Thou art unconquered. Thou art the light
of all creatures, Aditya, Vibhavasu, and the wonderful elements. Thou art
the ruler of all the gods. Thou art Vishnu. Thou hast a thousand eyes.
Thou art a god, and the final resource. Thou art, O deity, all amrita,
and the most adored Soma. Thou art the moment, the lunar day, the bala
(minute), thou art the kshana (4 minutes). Thou art the lighted
fortnight, and also the dark fortnight. Thou art kala, thou kashtha, and
thou Truti.[1] Thou art the year, the seasons, the months, the nights,
and the days. Thou art the fair Earth with her mountains and forests.
Thou art also the firmament, resplendent with the Sun. Thou art the great
Ocean with heaving billows and abounding with whales, swallowers of
whales, and makaras, and various fishes. Thou art of great renown, always
adored by the wise and by the great Rishis with minds rapt in
contemplation. Thou drinkest, for the good of all creatures, the Soma
juice in sacrifices and the clarified butter offered with sacred
invocation. Thou art always worshipped at sacrifices by Brahmanas moved
by desire of fruit. O thou of incomparable mass of strength, thou art
sung in the Vedas and Vedangas. It is for that reason that learned
Brahmanas bent upon performing sacrifices, study the Vedas with every
care.'"

And so ends the twenty-fifth section in the Astika Parva of the Adi Parva.



SECTION XXVI

(Astika Parva continued)

"Sauti said, 'And then Indra, the king of gods, having the best of horses
for his bearer, thus adored by Kadru, covered the entire firmament with
masses of blue clouds. And he commanded the clouds, saying, Pour ye, your
vivifying and blessed drops!' And those clouds, luminous with lightning,
and incessantly roaring against each other in the welkin, poured abundant
water. And the sky, in consequence of those wonderful and

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!

_________________

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Fri Jan 18, 2013 5:28 pm
Orange Juice Jones
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Re: POST, POST LIKE YOU NEVER POSTED BEFORE!
increaseth covetousness and folly. Wealth alone is the root of
niggardliness and boastfulness, pride and fear and anxiety! These are the
miseries of men that the wise see in riches! Men undergo infinite
miseries in the acquisition and retention of wealth. Its expenditure also
is fraught with grief. Nay, sometimes, life itself is lost for the sake
of wealth! The abandonment of wealth produces misery, and even they that
are cherished by one's wealth become enemies for the sake of that wealth!
When, therefore, the possession of wealth is fraught with such misery,
one should not mind its loss. It is the ignorant alone who are
discontented. The wise, however, are always content. The thirst of wealth
can never be assuaged. Contentment is the highest happiness; therefore,
it is, that the wise regard contentment as the highest object of pursuit.
The wise knowing the instability of youth and beauty, of life and
treasure-hoards, of prosperity and the company of the loved ones, never
covet them. Therefore, one should refrain from the acquisition of wealth,
bearing the pain incident to it. None that is rich free from trouble, and
it is for this that the virtuous applaud them that are free from the
desire of wealth. And as regards those that pursue wealth for purposes of
virtue, it is better for them to refrain altogether from such pursuit,
for, surely, it is better not to touch mire at all than to wash it off
after having been besmeared with it. And, O Yudhishthira, it behoveth
thee not to covet anything! And if thou wouldst have virtue, emancipate
thyself from desire of worldly possessions!'

"Yudhishthira said, 'O Brahmana, this my desire of wealth is not for
enjoying it when obtained. It is only for the support of the Brahmanas
that I desire it and not because I am actuated by avarice! For what
purpose, O Brahmana, doth one like us lead a domestic life, if he cannot
cherish and support those that follow him? All creatures are seen to
divide the food (they procure) amongst those that depend on them.[1] So
should a person leading a domestic life give a share of his food to Yatis
and Brahmacharins that have renounced cooking for themselves. The houses
of the good men can never be in want of grass (for seat), space (for
rest), water (to wash and assuage thirst), and fourthly, sweet words. To
the weary a bed,--to one fatigued with standing, a seat,--to the thirsty,
water,--and to the hungry, food should ever be given. To a guest are due
pleasant looks and a cheerful heart and sweet words. The host, rising up,
should advance towards the guest, offer him a seat, and duly worship him.
Even this is eternal morality. They that perform not the Agnihotra[2] not
wait upon bulls

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
Image

_________________
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Fri Jan 18, 2013 5:39 pm
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Post Re: POST, POST LIKE YOU NEVER POSTED BEFORE!
The Dream Quest
of Unknown Kadath
by
H. P. Lovecraft

Written in January of 1927

Published
in Beyond the Wall of Sleep

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The Dream Quest
of Unknown Kadath

Three times Randolph Carter dreamed of the marvelous city, and three times was he snatched away while still he paused on the high terrace above it. All golden and lovely it blazed in the sunset, with walls, temples, colonnades and arched bridges of veined marble, silver-basined fountains of prismatic spray in broad squares and perfumed gardens, and wide streets marching between delicate trees and blossom-laden urns and ivory statues in gleaming rows; while on steep northward slopes climbed tiers of red roofs and old peaked gables harbouring little lanes of grassy cobbles. It was a fever of the gods, a fanfare of supernal trumpets and a clash of immortal cymbals. Mystery hung about it as clouds about a fabulous unvisited mountain; and as Carter stood breathless and expectant on that balustraded parapet there swept up to him the poignancy and suspense of almost-vanished memory, the pain of lost things and the maddening need to place again what once had been an awesome and momentous place.

He knew that for him its meaning must once have been supreme; though in what cycle or incarnation he had known it, or whether in dream or in waking, he could not tell. Vaguely it called up glimpses of a far forgotten first youth, when wonder and pleasure lay in all the mystery of days, and dawn and dusk alike strode forth prophetic to the eager sound of lutes and song, unclosing fiery gates toward further and surprising marvels. But each night as he stood on that high marble terrace with the curious urns and carven rail and looked off over that hushed sunset city of beauty and unearthly immanence he felt the bondage of dream's tyrannous gods; for in no wise could he leave that lofty spot, or descend the wide marmoreal fights flung endlessly down to where those streets of elder witchery lay outspread and beckoning.

When for the third time he awakened with those flights still undescended and those hushed sunset streets still untraversed, he prayed long and earnestly to the hidden gods of dream that brood capricious above the clouds on unknown Kadath, in the cold waste where no man treads. But the gods made no answer and shewed no relenting, nor did they give any favouring sign when he prayed to them in dream, and invoked them sacrificially through the bearded priests of Nasht and Kaman-Thah, whose cavern-temple with its pillar of flame lies not far from the gates of the waking world. It seemed, however, that his prayers must have been adversely heard, for after even the first of them he ceased wholly to behold the marvellous city; as if his three glimpses from afar had been mere accidents or oversights, and against some hidden plan or wish of the gods.

At length, sick with longing for those glittering sunset streets and cryptical hill lanes among ancient tiled roofs, nor able sleeping or waking to drive them from his mind, Carter resolved to go with bold entreaty whither no man had gone before, and dare the icy deserts through the dark to where unknown Kadath, veiled in cloud and crowned with unimagined stars, holds secret and nocturnal the onyx castle of the Great Ones.

In light slumber he descended the seventy steps to the cavern of flame and talked of this design to the bearded priests Nasht and Kaman-Thah. And the priests shook their pshent-bearing heads and vowed it would be the death of his soul. They pointed out that the Great Ones had shown already their wish, and that it is not agreeable to them to be harassed by insistent pleas. They reminded him, too, that not only had no man ever been to Kadath, but no man had ever suspected in what part of space it may lie; whether it be in the dreamlands around our own world, or in those surrounding some unguessed companion of Fomalhaut or Aldebaran. If in our dreamland, it might conceivably be reached, but only three human souls since time began had ever crossed and recrossed the black impious gulfs to other dreamlands, and of that three, two had come back quite mad. There were, in such voyages, incalculable local dangers; as well as that shocking final peril which gibbers unmentionably outside the ordered universe, where no dreams reach; that last amorphous blight of nethermost confusion which blasphemes and bubbles at the centre of all infinity - the boundless daemon sultan Azathoth, whose name no lips dare speak aloud, and who gnaws hungrily in inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond time amidst the muffled, maddening beating of vile drums and the thin, monotonous whine of accursed flutes; to which detestable pounding and piping dance slowly, awkwardly, and absurdly the gigantic Ultimate gods, the blind, voiceless, tenebrous, mindless Other gods whose soul and messenger is the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep.

Of these things was Carter warned by the priests Nasht and Kaman-Thah in the cavern of flame, but still he resolved to find the gods on unknown Kadath in the cold waste, wherever that might be, and to win from them the sight and remembrance and shelter of the marvellous sunset city. He knew that his journey would be strange and long, and that the Great Ones would be against it; but being old in the land of dream he counted on many useful memories and devices to aid him. So asking a formal blessing of the priests and thinking shrewdly on his course, he boldly descended the seven hundred steps to the Gate of Deeper Slumber and set out through the Enchanted Wood.

In the tunnels of that twisted wood, whose low prodigious oaks twine groping boughs and shine dim with the phosphorescence of strange fungi, dwell the furtive and secretive Zoogs; who know many obscure secrets of the dream world and a few of the waking world, since the wood at two places touches the lands of men, though it would be disastrous to say where. Certain unexplained rumours, events, and vanishments occur among men where the Zoogs have access, and it is well that they cannot travel far outside the world of dreams. But over the nearer parts of the dream world they pass freely, flitting small and brown and unseen and bearing back piquant tales to beguile the hours around their hearths in the forest they love. Most of them live in burrows, but some inhabit the trunks of the great trees; and although they live mostly on fungi it is muttered that they have also a slight taste for meat, either physical or spiritual, for certainly many dreamers have entered that wood who have not come out. Carter, however, had no fear; for he was an old dreamer and had learnt their fluttering language and made many a treaty with them; having found through their help the splendid city of Celephais in Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills, where reigns half the year the great King Kuranes, a man he had known by another name in life. Kuranes was the one soul who had been to the star-gulls and returned free from madness.

Threading now the low phosphorescent aisles between those gigantic trunks, Carter made fluttering sounds in the manner of the Zoogs, and listened now and then for responses. He remembered one particular village of the creatures was in the centre of the wood, where a circle of great mossy stones in what was once a cleaning tells of older and more terrible dwellers long forgotten, and toward this spot he hastened. He traced his way by the grotesque fungi, which always seem better nourished as one approaches the dread circle where elder beings danced and sacrificed. Finally the great light of those thicker fungi revealed a sinister green and grey vastness pushing up through the roof of the forest and out of sight. This was the nearest of the great ring of stones, and Carter knew he was close to the Zoog village. Renewing his fluttering sound, he waited patiently; and was at last rewarded by an impression of many eyes watching him. It was the Zoogs, for one sees their weird eyes long before one can discern their small, slippery brown outlines.

Out they swarmed, from hidden burrow and honeycombed tree, till the whole dim-litten region was alive with them. Some of the wilder ones brushed Carter unpleasantly, and one even nipped loathsomely at his ear; but these lawless spirits were soon restrained by their elders. The Council of Sages, recognizing the visitor, offered a gourd of fermented sap from a haunted tree unlike the others, which had grown from a seed dropt down by someone on the moon; and as Carter drank it ceremoniously a very strange colloquy began. The Zoogs did not, unfortunately, know where the peak of Kadath lies, nor could they even say whether the cold waste is in our dream world or in another. Rumours of the Great Ones came equally from all points; and one might only say that they were likelier to be seen on high mountain peaks than in valleys, since on such peaks they dance reminiscently when the moon is above and the clouds beneath.

Then one very ancient Zoog recalled a thing unheard-of by the others; and said that in Ulthar, beyond the River Skai, there still lingered the last copy of those inconceivably old Pnakotic Manuscripts made by waking men in forgotten boreal kingdoms and borne into the land of dreams when the hairy cannibal Gnophkehs overcame many-templed Olathoe and slew all the heroes of the land of Lomar. Those manuscripts he said, told much of the gods, and besides, in Ulthar there were men who had seen the signs of the gods, and even one old priest who had scaled a great mountain to behold them dancing by moonlight. He had failed, though his companion had succeeded and perished namelessly.

So Randolph Carter thanked the Zoogs, who fluttered amicably and gave him another gourd of moon-tree wine to take with him, and set out through the phosphorescent wood for the other side, where the rushing Skai flows down from the slopes of Lerion, and Hatheg and Nir and Ulthar dot the plain. Behind him, furtive and unseen, crept several of the curious Zoogs; for they wished to learn what might befall him, and bear back the legend to their people. The vast oaks grew thicker as he pushed on beyond the village, and he looked sharply for a certain spot where they would thin somewhat, standing quite dead or dying among the unnaturally dense fungi and the rotting mould and mushy logs of their fallen brothers. There he would turn sharply aside, for at that spot a mighty slab of stone rests on the forest floor; and those who have dared approach it say that it bears an iron ring three feet wide. Remembering the archaic circle of great mossy rocks, and what it was possibly set up for, the Zoogs do not pause near that expansive slab with its huge ring; for they realise that all which is forgotten need not necessarily be dead, and they would not like to see the slab rise slowly and deliberately.

Carter detoured at the proper place, and heard behind him the frightened fluttering of some of the more timid Zoogs. He had known they would follow him, so he was not disturbed; for one grows accustomed to the anomalies of these prying creatures. It was twilight when he came to the edge of the wood, and the strengthening glow told him it was the twilight of morning. Over fertile plains rolling down to the Skai he saw the smoke of cottage chimneys, and on every hand were the hedges and ploughed fields and thatched roofs of a peaceful land. Once he stopped at a farmhouse well for a cup of water, and all the dogs barked affrightedly at the inconspicuous Zoogs that crept through the grass behind. At another house, where people were stirring, he asked questions about the gods, and whether they danced often upon Lerion; but the farmer and his wile would only make the Elder Sign and tell him the way to Nir and Ulthar.

At noon he walked through the one broad high street of Nir, which he had once visited and which marked his farthest former travels in this direction; and soon afterward he came to the great stone bridge across the Skai, into whose central piece the masons had sealed a living human sacrifice when they built it thirteen-hundred years before. Once on the other side, the frequent presence of cats (who all arched their backs at the trailing Zoogs) revealed the near neighborhood of Ulthar; for in Ulthar, according to an ancient and significant law, no man may kill a cat. Very pleasant were the suburbs of Ulthar, with their little green cottages and neatly fenced farms; and still pleasanter was the quaint town itself, with its old peaked roofs and overhanging upper stories and numberless chimney-pots and narrow hill streets where one can see old cobbles whenever the graceful cats afford space enough. Carter, the cats being somewhat dispersed by the half-seen Zoogs, picked his way directly to the modest Temple of the Elder Ones where the priests and old records were said to be; and once within that venerable circular tower of ivied stone - which crowns Ulthar's highest hill - he sought out the patriarch Atal, who had been up the forbidden peak Hatheg-Kia in the stony desert and had come down again alive.

Atal, seated on an ivory dais in a festooned shrine at the top of the temple, was fully three centuries old; but still very keen of mind and memory. From him Carter learned many things about the gods, but mainly that they are indeed only Earth's gods, ruling feebly our own dreamland and having no power or habitation elsewhere. They might, Atal said, heed a man's prayer if in good humour; but one must not think of climbing to their onyx stronghold atop Kadath in the cold waste. It was lucky that no man knew where Kadath towers, for the fruits of ascending it would be very grave. Atal's companion Banni the Wise had been drawn screaming into the sky for climbing merely the known peak of Hatheg-Kia. With unknown Kadath, if ever found, matters would be much worse; for although Earth's gods may sometimes be surpassed by a wise mortal, they are protected by the Other Gods from Outside, whom it is better not to discuss. At least twice in the world's history the Other Gods set their seal upon Earth's primal granite; once in antediluvian times, as guessed from a drawing in those parts of the Pnakotic Manuscripts too ancient to be read, and once on Hatheg-Kia when Barzai the Wise tried to see Earth's gods dancing by moonlight. So, Atal said, it would be much better to let all gods alone except in tactful prayers.

Carter, though disappointed by Atal's discouraging advice and by the meagre help to be found in the Pnakotic Manuscripts and the Seven Cryptical Books of Hsan, did not wholly despair. First he questioned the old priest about that marvellous sunset city seen from the railed terrace, thinking that perhaps he might find it without the gods' aid; but Atal could tell him nothing. Probably, Atal said, the place belonged to his especial dream world and not to the general land of vision that many know; and conceivably it might be on another planet. In that case Earth's gods could not guide him if they would. But this was not likely, since the stopping of the dreams shewed pretty clearly that it was something the Great Ones wished to hide from him.

Then Carter did a wicked thing, offering his guileless host so many draughts of the moon-wine which the Zoogs had given him that the old man became irresponsibly talkative. Robbed of his reserve, poor Atal babbled freely of forbidden things; telling of a great image reported by travellers as carved on the solid rock of the mountain Ngranek, on the isle of Oriab in the Southern Sea, and hinting that it may be a likeness which Earth's gods once wrought of their own features in the days when they danced by moonlight on that mountain. And he hiccoughed likewise that the features of that image are very strange, so that one might easily recognize them, and that they are sure signs of the authentic race of the gods.

Now the use of all this in finding the gods became at once apparent to Carter. It is known that in disguise the younger among the Great Ones often espouse the daughters of men, so that around the borders of the cold waste wherein stands Kadath the peasants must all bear their blood. This being so, the way to find that waste must be to see the stone face on Ngranek and mark the features; then, having noted them with care, to search for such features among living men. Where they are plainest and thickest, there must the gods dwell nearest; and whatever stony waste lies back of the villages in that place must be that wherein stands Kadath.

Much of the Great Ones might be learnt in such regions, and those with their blood might inherit little memories very useful to a seeker. They might not know their parentage, for the gods so dislike to be known among men that none can be found who has seen their faces wittingly; a thing which Carter realized even as he sought to scale Kadath. But they would have queer lofty thoughts misunderstood by their fellows, and would sing of far places and gardens so unlike any known even in the dreamland that common folk would call them fools; and from all this one could perhaps learn old secrets of Kadath, or gain hints of the marvellous sunset city which the gods held secret. And more, one might in certain cases seize some well-loved child of a god as hostage; or even capture some young god himself, disguised and dwelling amongst men with a comely peasant maiden as his bride.

Atal, however, did not know how to find Ngranek on its isle of Oriab; and recommended that Carter follow the singing Skai under its bridges down to the Southern Sea; where no burgess of Ulthar has ever been, but whence the merchants come in boats or with long caravans of mules and two-wheeled carts. There is a great city there, Dylath-Leen, but in Ulthar its reputation is bad because of the black three-banked galleys that sail to it with rubies from no clearly named shore. The traders that come from those galleys to deal with the jewellers are human, or nearly so, but the rowers are never beheld; and it is not thought wholesome in Ulthar that merchants should trade with black ships from unknown places whose rowers cannot be exhibited.

By the time he had given this information Atal was very drowsy, and Carter laid him gently on a couch of inlaid ebony and gathered his long beard decorously on his chest. As he turned to go, he observed that no suppressed fluttering followed him, and wondered why the Zoogs had become so lax in their curious pursuit. Then he noticed all the sleek complacent cats of Ulthar licking their chops with unusual gusto, and recalled the spitting and caterwauling he had faintly heard, in lower parts of the temple while absorbed in the old priest's conversation. He recalled, too, the evilly hungry way in which an especially impudent young Zoog had regarded a small black kitten in the cobbled street outside. And because he loved nothing on earth more than small black kittens, he stooped and petted the sleek cats of Ulthar as they licked their chops, and did not mourn because those inquisitive Zoogs would escort him no farther.

It was sunset now, so Carter stopped at an ancient inn on a steep little street overlooking the lower town. And as he went out on the balcony of his room and gazed down at the sea of red tiled roofs and cobbled ways and the pleasant fields beyond, all mellow and magical in the slanted light, he swore that Ulthar would be a very likely place to dwell in always, were not the memory of a greater sunset city ever goading one onward toward unknown perils. Then twilight fell, and the pink walls of the plastered gables turned violet and mystic, and little yellow lights floated up one by one from old lattice windows. And sweet bells pealed in. the temple tower above, and the first star winked softly above the meadows across the Skai. With the night came song, and Carter nodded as the lutanists praised ancient days from beyond the filigreed balconies and tesselated courts of simple Ulthar. And there might have been sweetness even in the voices of Ulthar's many cats, but that they were mostly heavy and silent from strange feasting. Some of them stole off to those cryptical realms which are known only to cats and which villagers say are on the moon's dark side, whither the cats leap from tall housetops, but one small black kitten crept upstairs and sprang in Carter's lap to purr and play, and curled up near his feet when he lay down at last on the little couch whose pillows were stuffed with fragrant, drowsy herbs.

In the morning Carter joined a caravan of merchants bound for Dylath-Leen with the spun wool of Ulthar and the cabbages of Ulthar's busy farms. And for six days they rode with tinkling bells on the smooth road beside the Skai; stopping some nights at the inns of little quaint fishing towns, and on other nights camping under the stars while snatches of boatmen's songs came from the placid river. The country was very beautiful, with green hedges and groves and picturesque peaked cottages and octagonal windmills.

On the seventh day a blur of smoke rose on the horizon ahead, and then the tall black towers of Dylath-Leen, which is built mostly of basalt. Dylath-Leen with its thin angular towers looks in the distance like a bit of the Giant's Causeway, and its streets are dark and uninviting. There are many dismal sea-taverns near the myriad wharves, and all the town is thronged with the strange seamen of every land on earth and of a few which are said to be not on earth. Carter questioned the oddly robed men of that city about the peak of Ngranek on the isle of Oriab, and found that they knew of it well.

Ships came from Baharna on that island, one being due to return thither in only a month, and Ngranek is but two days' zebra-ride from that port. But few had seen the stone face of the god, because it is on a very difficult side of Ngranek, which overlooks only sheer crags and a valley of sinister lava. Once the gods were angered with men on that side, and spoke of the matter to the Other Gods.

It was hard to get this information from the traders and sailors in Dylath-Leen's sea taverns, because they mostly preferred to whisper of the black galleys. One of them was due in a week with rubies from its unknown shore, and the townsfolk dreaded to see it dock. The mouths of the men who came from it to trade were too wide, and the way their turbans were humped up in two points above their foreheads was in especially bad taste. And their shoes were the shortest and queerest ever seen in the Six Kingdoms. But worst of all was the matter of the unseen rowers. Those three banks of oars moved too briskly and accurately and vigorously to be comfortable, and it was not right for a ship to stay in port for weeks while the merchants traded, yet to give no glimpse of its crew. It was not fair to the tavern-keepers of Dylath-Leen, or to the grocers and butchers, either; for not a scrap of provisions was ever sent aboard. The merchants took only gold and stout black slaves from Parg across the river. That was all they ever took, those unpleasantly featured merchants and their unseen rowers; never anything from the butchers and grocers, but only gold and the fat black men of Parg whom they bought by the pound. And the odours from those galleys which the south wind blew in from the wharves are not to be described. Only by constantly smoking strong thagweed could even the hardiest denizen of the old sea-taverns bear them. Dylath-Leen would never have tolerated the black galleys had such rubies been obtainable elsewhere, but no mine in all Barth's dreamland was known to produce their like.

Of these things Dylath-Leen's cosmopolitan folk chiefly gossiped whilst Carter waited patiently for the ship from Baharna, which might bear him to the isle whereon carven Ngranek towers lofty and barren. Meanwhile he did not fall to seek through the haunts of far travellers for any tales they might have concerning Kadath in the cold waste or a marvellous city of marble walls and silver fountains seen below terraces in the sunset. Of these things, however, he learned nothing; though he once thought that a certain old slant-eyed merchant looked queerly intelligent when the cold waste was spoken of. This man was reputed to trade with the horrible stone villages on the icy desert plateau of Leng, which no healthy folk visit and whose evil fires are seen at night from afar. He was even rumoured to have dealt with that High-Priest Not To Be Described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a prehistoric stone monastery. That such a person might well have had nibbling traffick with such beings as may conceivably dwell in the cold waste was not to be doubted, but Carter soon found that it was no use questioning him.

Then the black galley slipped into the harbour past the basalt wale and the tall lighthouse, silent and alien, and with a strange stench that the south wind drove into the town. Uneasiness rustled through the taverns along that waterfront, and after a while the dark wide-mouthed merchants with humped turbans and short feet clumped steathily ashore to seek the bazaars of the jewellers. Carter observed them closely, and disliked them more the longer he looked at them. Then he saw them drive the stout black men of Parg up the gangplank grunting and sweating into that singular galley, and wondered in what lands - or if in any lands at all - those fat pathetic creatures might be destined to serve.

And on the third evening of that galley's stay one of the uncomfortable merchants spoke to him, smirking sinfully and hinting of what he had heard in the taverns of Carter's quest. He appeared to have knowledge too secret for public telling; and although the sound of his voice was unbearably hateful, Carter felt that the lore of so far a traveller must not be overlooked. He bade him therefore be his guest in locked chambers above, and drew out the last of the Zoogs' moon-wine to loosen his tongue. The strange merchant drank heavily, but smirked unchanged by the draught. Then he drew forth a curious bottle with wine of his own, and Carter saw that the bottle was a single hollowed ruby, grotesquely carved in patterns too fabulous to be comprehended. He offered his wine to his host, and though Carter took only the least sip, he felt the dizziness of space and the fever of unimagined jungles. All the while the guest had been smiling more and more broadly, and as Carter slipped into blankness the last thing he saw was that dark odious face convulsed with evil laughter and something quite unspeakable where one of the two frontal puffs of that orange turban had become disarranged with the shakings of that epileptic mirth.

Carter next had consciousness amidst horrible odours beneath a tent-like awning on the deck of a ship, with the marvellous coasts of the Southern Sea flying by in unnatural swiftness. He was not chained, but three of the dark sardonic merchants stood grinning nearby, and the sight of those humps in their turbans made him almost as faint as did the stench that filtered up through the sinister hatches. He saw slip past him the glorious lands and cities of which a fellow-dreamer of earth - a lighthouse-keeper in ancient Kingsport - had often discoursed in the old days, and recognized the templed terraces of Zak, abode of forgotten dreams; the spires of infamous Thalarion, that daemon-city of a thousand wonders where the eidolon Lathi reigns; the charnel gardens of Zura, land of pleasures unattained, and the twin headlands of crystal, meeting above in a resplendent arch, which guard the harbour of Sona-Nyl, blessed land of fancy.

Past all these gorgeous lands the malodourous ship flew unwholesomely, urged by the abnormal strokes of those unseen rowers below. And before the day was done Carter saw that the steersman could have no other goal than the Basalt Pillars of the West, beyond which simple folk say splendid Cathuria lies, but which wise dreamers well know are the gates of a monstrous cataract wherein the oceans of earth's dreamland drop wholly to abysmal nothingness and shoot through the empty spaces toward other worlds and other stars and the awful voids outside the ordered universe where the daemon sultan Azathoth gnaws hungrily in chaos amid pounding and piping and the hellish dancing of the Other Gods, blind, voiceless, tenebrous, and mindless, with their soul and messenger Nyarlathotep.

Meanwhile the three sardonic merchants would give no word of their intent, though Carter well knew that they must be leagued with those who wished to hold him from his quest. It is understood in the land of dream that the Other Gods have many agents moving among men; and all these agents, whether wholly human or slightly less than human, are eager to work the will of those blind and mindless things in return for the favour of their hideous soul and messenger, the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. So Carter inferred that the merchants of the humped turbans, hearing of his daring search for the Great Ones in their castle of Kadath, had decided to take him away and deliver him to Nyarlathotep for whatever nameless bounty might be offered for such a prize. What might be the land of those merchants in our known universe or in the eldritch spaces outside, Carter could not guess; nor could he imagine at what hellish trysting-place they would meet the crawling chaos to give him up and claim their reward. He knew, however, that no beings as nearly human as these would dare approach the ultimate nighted throne of the daemon Azathoth in the formless central void.

At the set of sun the merchants licked their excessively wide lips and glared hungrily and one of them went below and returned from some hidden and offensive cabin with a pot and basket of plates. Then they squatted close together beneath the awning and ate the smoking meat that was passed around. But when they gave Carter a portion, he found something very terrible in the size and shape of it; so that he turned even paler than before and cast that portion into the sea when no eye was on him. And again he thought of those unseen rowers beneath, and of the suspicious nourishment from which their far too mechanical strength was derived.

It was dark when the galley passed betwixt the Basalt Pillars of the West and the sound of the ultimate cataract swelled portentous from ahead. And the spray of that cataract rose to obscure the stars, and the deck grew damp, and the vessel reeled in the surging current of the brink. Then with a queer whistle and plunge the leap was taken, and Carter felt the terrors of nightmare as earth fell away and the great boat shot silent and comet-like into planetary space. Never before had he known what shapeless black things lurk and caper and flounder all through the aether, leering and grinning at such voyagers as may pass, and sometimes feeling about with slimy paws when some moving object excites their curiosity. These are the nameless larvae of the Other Gods, and like them are blind and without mind, and possessed of singular hungers and thirsts.

But that offensive galley did not aim as far as Carter had feared, for he soon saw that the helmsman was steering a course directly for the moon. The moon was a crescent shining larger and larger as they approached it, and shewing its singular craters and peaks uncomfortably. The ship made for the edge, and it soon became clear that its destination was that secret and mysterious side which is always turned away from earth, and which no fully human person, save perhaps the dreamer Snireth-Ko, has ever beheld. The close aspect of the moon as the galley drew near proved very disturbing to Carter, and he did not like the size and shape of the ruins which crumbled here and there. The dead temples on the mountains were so placed that they could have glorified no suitable or wholesome gods, and in the symmetries of the broken columns there seemed to be some dark and inner meaning which did not invite solution. And what the structure and proportions of the olden worshippers could have been, Carter steadily refused to conjecture.

When the ship rounded the edge, and sailed over those lands unseen by man, there appeared in the queer landscape certain signs of life, and Carter saw many low, broad, round cottages in fields of grotesque whitish fungi. He noticed that these cottages had no windows, and thought that their shape suggested the huts of Esquimaux. Then he glimpsed the oily waves of a sluggish sea, and knew that the voyage was once more to be by water - or at least through some liquid. The galley struck the surface with a peculiar sound, and the odd elastic way the waves received it was very perplexing to Carter.

They now slid along at great speed, once passing and hailing another galley of kindred form, but generally seeing nothing but that curious sea and a sky that was black and star-strewn even though the sun shone scorchingly in it.

There presently rose ahead the jagged hills of a leprous-looking coast, and Carter saw the thick unpleasant grey towers of a city. The way they leaned and bent, the manner in which they were clustered, and the fact that they had no windows at all, was very disturbing to the prisoner; and he bitterly mourned the folly which had made him sip the curious wine of that merchant with the humped turban. As the coast drew nearer, and the hideous stench of that city grew stronger, he saw upon the jagged hills many forests, some of whose trees he recognized as akin to that solitary moon-tree in the enchanted wood of earth, from whose sap the small brown Zoogs ferment their curious wine.

Carter could now distinguish moving figures on the noisome wharves ahead, and the better he saw them the worse he began to fear and detest them. For they were not men at all, or even approximately men, but great greyish-white slippery things which could expand and contract at will, and whose principal shape - though it often changed - was that of a sort of toad without any eyes, but with a curious vibrating mass of short pink tentacles on the end of its blunt, vague snout. These objects were waddling busily about the wharves, moving bales and crates and boxes with preternatural strength, and now and then hopping on or off some anchored galley with long oars in their forepaws. And now and then one would appear driving a herd of clumping slaves, which indeed were approximate human beings with wide mouths like those merchants who traded in Dylath-Leen; only these herds, being without turbans or shoes or clothing, did not seem so very human after all. Some of the slaves - the fatter ones, whom a sort of overseer would pinch experimentally - were unloaded from ships and nailed in crates which workers pushed into the low warehouses or loaded on great lumbering vans.

Once a van was hitched and driven off, and the, fabulous thing which drew it was such that Carter gasped, even after having seen the other monstrosities of that hateful place. Now and then a small herd of slaves dressed and turbaned like the dark merchants would be driven aboard a galley, followed by a great crew of the slippery toad-things as officers, navigators, and rowers. And Carter saw that the almost-human creatures were reserved for the more ignominious kinds of servitude which required no strength, such as steering and cooking, fetching and carrying, and bargaining with men on the earth or other planets where they traded. These creatures must have been convenient on earth, for they were truly not unlike men when dressed and carefully shod and turbaned, and could haggle in the shops of men without embarrassment or curious explanations. But most of them, unless lean or ill-favoured, were unclothed and packed in crates and drawn off in lumbering lorries by fabulous things. Occasionally other beings were unloaded and crated; some very like these semi-humans, some not so similar, and some not similar at all. And he wondered if any of the poor stout black men of Parg were left to be unloaded and crated and shipped inland in those obnoxious drays.

When the galley landed at a greasy-looking quay of spongy rock a nightmare horde of toad-things wiggled out of the hatches, and two of them seized Carter and dragged him ashore. The smell and aspect of that city are beyond telling, and Carter held only scattered images of the tiled streets and black doorways and endless precipices of grey vertical walls without windows. At length he was dragged within a low doorway and made to climb infinite steps in pitch blackness. It was, apparently, all one to the toad-things whether it were light or dark. The odour of the place was intolerable, and when Carter was locked into a chamber and left alone he scarcely had strength to crawl around and ascertain its form and dimensions. It was circular, and about twenty feet across.

From then on time ceased to exist. At intervals food was pushed in, but Carter would not touch it. What his fate would be, he did not know; but he felt that he was held for the coming of that frightful soul and messenger of infinity's Other Gods, the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. Finally, after an unguessed span of hours or days, the great stone door swung wide again, and Carter was shoved down the stairs and out into the red-litten streets of that fearsome city. It was night on the moon, and all through the town were stationed slaves bearing torches.

In a detestable square a sort of procession was formed; ten of the toad-things and twenty-four almost human torch-bearers, eleven on either side, and one each before and behind. Carter was placed in the middle of the line; five toad-things ahead and five behind, and one almost-human torch-bearer on either side of him. Certain of the toad-things produced disgustingly carven flutes of ivory and made loathsome sounds. To that hellish piping the column advanced out of the tiled streets and into nighted plains of obscene fungi, soon commencing to climb one of the lower and more gradual hills that lay behind the city. That on some frightful slope or blasphemous plateau the crawling chaos waited, Carter could not doubt; and he wished that the suspense might soon be over. The whining of those impious flutes was shocking, and he would have given worlds for some even half-normal sound; but these toad-things had no voices, and the slaves did not talk.

Then through that star-specked darkness there did come a normal sound. It rolled from the higher hills, and from all the jagged peaks around it was caught up and echoed in a swelling pandaemoniac chorus. It was the midnight yell of the cat, and Carter knew at last that the old village folk were right when they made low guesses about the cryptical realms which are known only to cats, and to which the elders among cats repair by stealth nocturnally, springing from high housetops. Verily, it is to the moon's dark side that they go to leap and gambol on the hills and converse with ancient shadows, and here amidst that column of foetid things Carter heard their homely, friendly cry, and thought of the steep roofs and warm hearths and little lighted windows of home.

Now much of the speech of cats was known to Randolph Carter, and in this far terrible place he uttered the cry that was suitable. But that he need not have done, for even as his lips opened he heard the chorus wax and draw nearer, and saw swift shadows against the stars as small graceful shapes leaped from hill to hill in gathering legions. The call of the clan had been given, and before the foul procession had time even to be frightened a cloud of smothering fur and a phalanx of murderous claws were tidally and tempestuously upon it. The flutes stopped, and there were shrieks in the night. Dying almost-humans screamed, and cats spit and yowled and roared, but the toad-things made never a sound as their stinking green ichor oozed fatally upon that porous earth with the obscene fungi.

It was a stupendous sight while the torches lasted, and Carter had never before seen so many cats. Black, grey, and white; yellow, tiger, and mixed; common, Persian, and Marix; Thibetan, Angora, and Egyptian; all were there in the fury of battle, and there hovered over them some trace of that profound and inviolate sanctity which made their goddess great in the temples of Bubastis. They would leap seven strong at the throat of an almost-human or the pink tentacled snout of a toad-thing and drag it down savagely to the fungous plain, where myriads of their fellows would surge over it and into it with the frenzied claws and teeth of a divine battle-fury. Carter had seized a torch from a stricken slave, but was soon overborne by the surging waves of his loyal defenders. Then he lay in the utter blackness hearing the clangour of war and the shouts of the victors, and feeling the soft paws of his friends as they rushed to and fro over him in the fray.

At last awe and exhaustion closed his eyes, and when he opened them again it was upon a strange scene. The great shining disc of the earth, thirteen times greater than that of the moon as we see it, had risen with floods of weird light over the lunar landscape; and across all those leagues of wild plateau and ragged crest there squatted one endless sea of cats in orderly array. Circle on circle they reached, and two or three leaders out of the ranks were licking his face and purring to him consolingly. Of the dead slaves and toad-things there were not many signs, but Carter thought he saw one bone a little way off in the open space between him and the warriors.

Carter now spoke with the leaders in the soft language of cats, and learned that his ancient friendship with the species was well known and often spoken of in the places where cats congregate. He had not been unmarked in Ulthar when he passed through, and the sleek old cats had remembered how he patted them after they had attended to the hungry Zoogs who looked evilly at a small black kitten. And they recalled, too, how he had welcomed the very little kitten who came to see him at the inn, and how he had given it a saucer of rich cream in the morning before he left. The grandfather of that very little kitten was the leader of the army now assembled, for he had seen the evil procession from a far hill and recognized the prisoner as a sworn friend of his kind on earth and in the land of dream.

A yowl now came from the farther peak, and the old leader paused abruptly in his conversation. It was one of the army's outposts, stationed on the highest of the mountains to watch the one foe which Earth's cats fear; the very large and peculiar cats from Saturn, who for some reason have not been oblivious of the charm of our moon's dark side. They are leagued by treaty with the evil toad-things, and are notoriously hostile to our earthly cats; so that at this juncture a meeting would have been a somewhat grave matter.

After a brief consultation of generals, the cats rose and assumed a closer formation, crowding protectingly around Carter and preparing to take the great leap through space back to the housetops of our earth and its dreamland. The old field-marshal advised Carter to let himself be borne along smoothly and passively in the massed ranks of furry leapers, and told him how to spring when the rest sprang and land gracefully when the rest landed. He also offered to deposit him in any spot he desired, and Carter decided on the city of Dylath-Leen whence the black galley had set out; for he wished to sail thence for Oriab and the carven crest Ngranek, and also to warn the people of the city to have no more traffick with black galleys, if indeed that traffick could be tactfully and judiciously broken off. Then, upon a signal, the cats all leaped gracefully with their friend packed securely in their midst; while in a black cave on an unhallowed summit of the moon-mountains still vainly waited the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep.

The leap of the cats through space was very swift; and being surrounded by his companions Carter did not see this time the great black shapelessnesses that lurk and caper and flounder in the abyss. Before he fully realised what had happened he was back in his familiar room at the inn at Dylath-Leen, and the stealthy, friendly cats were pouring out of the window in streams. The old leader from Ulthar was the last to leave, and as Carter shook his paw he said he would be able to get home by cockcrow. When dawn came, Carter went downstairs and learned that a week had elapsed since his capture and leaving. There was still nearly a fortnight to wait for the ship bound toward Oriab, and during that time he said what he could against the black galleys and their infamous ways. Most of the townsfolk believed him; yet so fond were the jewellers of great rubies that none would wholly promise to cease trafficking with the wide-mouthed merchants. If aught of evil ever befalls Dylath-Leen through such traffick, it will not be his fault.

In about a week the desiderate ship put in by the black wale and tall lighthouse, and Carter was glad to see that she was a barque of wholesome men, with painted sides and yellow lateen sails and a grey captain in silken robes. Her cargo was the fragrant resin of Oriab's inner groves, and the delicate pottery baked by the artists of Bahama, and the strange little figures carved from Ngranek's ancient lava. For this they were paid in the wool of Ulthar and the iridescent textiles of Hatheg and the ivory that the black men carve across the river in Parg. Carter made arrangements with the captain to go to Baharna and was told that the voyage would take ten days. And during his week of waiting he talked much with that captain of Ngranek, and was told that very few had seen the carven face thereon; but that most travellers are content to learn its legends from old people and lava-gatherers and image-makers in Baharna and afterward say in their far homes that they have indeed beheld it. The captain was not even sure that any person now living had beheld that carven face, for the wrong side of Ngranek is very difficult and barren and sinister, and there are rumours of caves near the peak wherein dwell the night-gaunts. But the captain did not wish to say just what a night-gaunt might be like, since such cattle are known to haunt most persistently the dreams of those who think too often of them. Then Carter asked that captain about unknown Kadath in the cold waste, and the marvellous sunset city, but of these the good man could truly tell nothing.

Carter sailed out of Dylath-Leen one early morning when the tide turned, and saw the first rays of sunrise on the thin angular towers of that dismal basalt town. And for two days they sailed eastward in sight of green coasts, and saw often the pleasant fishing towns that climbed up steeply with their red roofs and chimney-pots from old dreaming wharves and beaches where nets lay drying. But on the third day they turned sharply south where the roll of water was stronger, and soon passed from sight of any land. On the fifth day the sailors were nervous, but the captain apologized for their fears, saying that the ship was about to pass over the weedy walls and broken columns of a sunken city too old for memory, and that when the water was clear one could see so many moving shadows in that deep place that simple folk disliked it. He admitted, moreover, that many ships had been lost in that part of the sea; having been hailed when quite close to it, but never seen again.

That night the moon was very bright, and one could see a great way down in the water. There was so little wind that the ship could not move much, and the ocean was very calm. Looking over the rail Carter saw many fathoms deep the dome of the great temple, and in front of it an avenue of unnatural sphinxes leading to what was once a public square. Dolphins sported merrily in and out of the ruins, and porpoises revelled clumsily here and there, sometimes coming to the surface and leaping clear out of the sea. As the ship drifted on a little the floor of the ocean rose in hills, and one could clearly mark the lines of ancient climbing streets and the washed-down walls of myriad little houses.

Then the suburbs appeared, and finally a great lone building on a hill, of simpler architecture than the other structures, and in much better repair. It was dark and low and covered four sides of a square, with a tower at each corner, a paved court in the centre, and small curious round windows all over it. Probably it was of basalt, though weeds draped the greater part; and such was its lonely and impressive place on that far hill that it may have been a temple or a monastery. Some phosphorescent fish inside it gave the small round windows an aspect of shining, and Carter did not blame the sailors much for their fears. Then by the watery moonlight he noticed an odd high monolith in the middle of that central court, and saw that something was tied to it. And when after getting a telescope from the captain's cabin he saw that that bound thing was a sailor in the silk robes of Oriab, head downward and without any eyes, he was glad that a rising breeze soon took the ship ahead to more healthy parts of the sea.

The next day they spoke with a ship with violet sails bound for Zar, in the land of forgotten dreams, with bulbs of strange coloured lilies for cargo. And on the evening of the eleventh day they came in sight of the isle of Oriab with Ngranek rising jagged and snow-crowned in the distance. Oriab is a very great isle, and its port of Bahama a mighty city. The wharves of Bahama are of porphyry, and the city rises in great stone terraces behind them, having streets of steps that are frequently arched over by buildings and the bridges between buildings. There is a great canal which goes under the whole city in a tunnel with granite gates and leads to the inland lake of Yath, on whose farther shore are the vast clay-brick ruins of a primal city whose name is not remembered. As the ship drew into the harbour at evening the twin beacons Thon and Thal gleamed a welcome, and in all the million windows of Bahama's terraces mellow lights peeped out quietly and gradually as the stars peep out overhead in the dusk, till that steep and climbing seaport became a glittering constellation hung between the stars of heaven and the reflections of those stars in the still harbour.

The captain, after landing, made Carter a guest in his own small house on the shores of Yath where the rear of the town slopes down to it; and his wife and servants brought strange toothsome foods for the traveller's delight. And in the days after that Carter asked for rumours and legends of Ngranek in all the taverns and public places where lava-gatherers and image-makers meet, but could find no one who had been up the higher slopes or seen the carven face. Ngranek was a hard mountain with only an accursed valley behind it, and besides, one could never depend on the certainty that night-gaunts are altogether fabulous.

When the captain sailed hack to Dylath-Leen Carter took quarters in an ancient tavern opening on an alley of steps in the original part of the town, which is built of brick and resembles the ruins of Yath's farther shore. Here he laid his plans for the ascent of Ngranek, and correlated all that he had learned from the lava-gatherers about the roads thither. The keeper of the tavern was a very old man, and had heard so many legends that he was a great help. He even took Carter to an upper room in that ancient house and shewed him a crude picture which a traveller had scratched on the clay wall in the old days when men were bolder and less reluctant to visit Ngranek's higher slopes. The old tavern-keeper's great-grandfather had heard from his great-grandfather that the traveller who scratched that picture had climbed Ngranek and seen the carven face, here drawing it for others to behold, but Carter had very great doubts, since the large rough features on the wall were hasty and careless, and wholly overshadowed by a crowd of little companion shapes in the worst possible taste, with horns and wings and claws and curling tails.

At last, having gained all the information he was likely to gain in the taverns and public places of Baharna, Carter hired a zebra and set out one morning on the road by Yath's shore for those inland parts wherein towers stony Ngranek. On his right were rolling hills and pleasant orchards and neat little stone farmhouses, and he was much reminded of those fertile fields that flank the Skai. By evening he was near the nameless ancient ruins on Yath's farther shore, and though old lava-gatherers had warned him not to camp there at night, he tethered his zebra to a curious pillar before a crumbling wall and laid his blanket in a sheltered corner beneath some carvings whose meaning none could decipher. Around him he wrapped another blanket, for the nights are cold in Oriab; and when upon awaking once he thought he felt the wings of some insect brushing his face he covered his head altogether and slept in peace till roused by the magah birds in distant resin groves.

The sun had just come up over the great slope whereon leagues of primal brick foundations and worn walls and occasional cracked pillars and pedestals stretched down desolate to the shore of Yath, and Carter looked about for his tethered zebra. Great was his dismay to see that docile beast stretched prostrate beside the curious pillar to which it had been tied, and still greater was he vexed on finding that the steed was quite dead, with its blood all sucked away through a singular wound in its throat. His pack had been disturbed, and several shiny knickknacks taken away, and all round on the dusty soil' were great webbed footprints for which he could not in any way account. The legends and warnings of lava-gatherers occurred to him, and he thought of what had brushed his face in the night. Then he shouldered his pack and strode on toward Ngranek, though not without a shiver when he saw close to him as the highway passed through the ruins a great gaping arch low in the wall of an old temple, with steps leading down into darkness farther than he could peer.

His course now lay uphill through wilder and partly wooded country, and he saw only the huts of charcoal-burners and the camp of those who gathered resin from the groves. The whole air was fragrant with balsam, and all the magah birds sang blithely as they flashed their seven colours in the sun. Near sunset he came on a new camp of lava-gatherers returning with laden sacks from Ngranek's lower slopes; and here he also camped, listening to the songs and tales of the men, and overhearing what they whispered about a companion they had lost. He had climbed high to reach a mass of fine lava above him, and at nightfall did not return to his fellows. When they looked for him the next day they found only his turban, nor was there any sign on the crags below that he had fallen. They did not search any more, because the old man among them said it would be of no use.

No one ever found what the night-gaunts took, though those beasts themselves were so uncertain as to be almost fabulous. Carter asked them if night-gaunts sucked blood and liked shiny things and left webbed footprints, but they all shook their heads negatively and seemed frightened at his making such an inquiry. When he saw how taciturn they had become he asked them no more, but went to sleep in his blanket.

The next day he rose with the lava-gatherers and exchanged farewells as they rode west and he rode east on a zebra he bought of them. Their older men gave him blessings and warnings, and told him he had better not climb too high on Ngranek, but while he thanked them heartily he was in no wise dissuaded. For still did he feel that he must find the gods on unknown Kadath; and win from them a way to that haunting and marvellous city in the sunset. By noon, after a long uphill ride, he came upon some abandoned brick villages of the hill-people who had once dwelt thus close to Ngranek and carved images from its smooth lava. Here they had dwelt till the days of the old tavernkeeper's grandfather, but about that time they felt that their presence was disliked. Their homes had crept even up the mountain's slope, and the higher they built the more people they would miss when the sun rose. At last they decided it would be better to leave altogether, since things were sometimes glimpsed in the darkness which no one could interpret favourably; so in the end all of them went down to the sea and dwelt in Bahama, inhabiting a very old quarter and teaching their sons the old art of image-making which to this day they carry on. It was from these children of the exiled hill-people that Carter had heard the best tales about Ngranek when searching through Bahama's ancient taverns.

All this time the great gaunt side of Ngranek was looming up higher and higher as Carter approached it. There were sparse trees on the lower slopes and feeble shrubs above them, and then the bare hideous rock rose spectral into the sky, to mix with frost and ice and eternal snow. Carter could see the rifts and ruggedness of that sombre stone, and did not welcome the prospect of climbing it. In places there were solid streams of lava, and scoriac heaps that littered slopes and ledges. Ninety aeons ago, before even the gods had danced upon its pointed peak, that mountain had spoken with fire and roared with the voices of the inner thunders. Now it towered all silent and sinister, bearing on the hidden side that secret titan image whereof rumour told. And there were caves in that mountain, which might be empty and alone with elder darkness, or might - if legend spoke truly - hold horrors of a form not to be surmised.

The ground sloped upward to the foot of Ngranek, thinly covered with scrub oaks and ash trees, and strewn with bits of rock, lava, and ancient cinder. There were the charred embers of many camps, where the lava-gatherers were wont to stop, and several rude altars which they had built either to propitiate the Great Ones or to ward off what they dreamed of in Ngranek's high passes and labyrinthine caves. At evening Carter reached the farthermost pile of embers and camped for the night, tethering his zebra to a sapling and wrapping himself well in his blankets before going to sleep. And all through the night a voonith howled distantly from the shore of some hidden pool, but Carter felt no fear of that amphibious terror, since he had been told with certainty that not one of them dares even approach the slope of Ngranek.

In the clear sunshine of morning Carter began the long ascent, taking his zebra as far as that useful beast could go, but tying it to a stunted ash tree when the floor of the thin wood became too steep. Thereafter he scrambled up alone; first through the forest with its ruins of old villages in overgrown clearings, and then over the tough grass where anaemic shrubs grew here and there. He regretted coming clear of the trees, since the slope was very precipitous and the whole thing rather dizzying. At length he began to discern all the countryside spread out beneath him whenever he looked about; the deserted huts of the image-makers, the groves of resin trees and the camps of those who gathered from them, the woods where prismatic magahs nest and sing, and even a hint very far away of the shores of Yath and of those forbidding ancient ruins whose name is forgotten. He found it best not to look around, and kept on climbing and climbing till the shrubs became very sparse and there was often nothing but the tough grass to cling to.

Then the soil became meagre, with great patches of bare rock cropping out, and now and then the nest of a condor in a crevice. Finally there was nothing at all but the bare rock, and had it not been very rough and weathered, he could scarcely have ascended farther. Knobs, ledges, and pinnacles, however, helped greatly; and it was cheering to see occasionally the sign of some lava-gatherer scratched clumsily in the friable stone, and know that wholesome human creatures had been there before him. After a certain height the presence of man was further shewn by handholds and footholds hewn where they were needed, and by little quarries and excavations where some choice vein or stream of lava had been found. In one place a narrow ledge had been chopped artificially to an especially rich deposit far to the right of the main line of ascent. Once or twice Carter dared to look around, and was almost stunned by the spread of landscape below. All the island betwixt him and the coast lay open to his sight, with Baharna's stone terraces and the smoke of its chimneys mystical in the distance. And beyond that the illimitable Southern Sea with all its curious secrets.

Thus far there had been much winding around the mountain, so that the farther and carven side was still hidden. Carter now saw a ledge running upward and to the left which seemed to head the way he wished, and this course he took in the hope that it might prove continuous. After ten minutes he saw it was indeed no cul-de-sac, but that it led steeply on in an arc which would, unless suddenly interrupted or deflected, bring him after a few hours' climbing to that unknown southern slope overlooking the desolate crags and the accursed valley of lava. As new country came into view below him he saw that it was bleaker and wilder than those seaward lands he had traversed. The mountain's side, too, was somewhat different; being here pierced by curious cracks and caves not found on the straighter route he had left. Some of these were above him and some beneath him, all opening on sheerly perpendicular cliffs and wholly unreachable by the feet of man. The air was very cold now, but so hard was the climbing that he did not mind it. Only the increasing rarity bothered him, and he thought that perhaps it was this which had turned the heads of other travellers and excited those absurd tales of night-gaunts whereby they explained the loss of such climbers as fell from these perilous paths. He was not much impressed by travellers' tales, but had a good curved scimitar in case of any trouble. All lesser thoughts were lost in the wish to see that carven face which might set him on the track of the gods atop unknown Kadath.

At last, in the fearsome iciness of upper space, he came round fully to the hidden side of Ngranek and saw in infinite gulfs below him the lesser crags and sterile abysses of lava which marked olden wrath of the Great Ones. There was unfolded, too, a vast expanse of country to the south; but it was a desert land without fair fields or cottage chimneys, and seemed to have no ending. No trace of the sea was visible on this side, for Oriab is a great island. Black caverns and odd crevices were still numerous on the sheer vertical cliffs, but none of them was accessible to a climber. There now loomed aloft a great beetling mass which hampered the upward view, and Carter was for a moment shaken with doubt lest it prove impassable. Poised in windy insecurity miles above earth, with only space and death on one side and only slippery walls of rock on the other, he knew for a moment the fear that makes men shun Ngranek's hidden side. He could not turn round, yet the sun was already low. If there were no way aloft, the night would find him crouching there still, and the dawn would not find him at all.

But there was a way, and he saw it in due season. Only a very expert dreamer could have used those imperceptible footholds, yet to Carter they were sufficient. Surmounting now the outward-hanging rock, he found the slope above much easier than that below, since a great glacier's melting had left a generous space with loam and ledges. To the left a precipice dropped straight from unknown heights to unknown depths, with a cave's dark mouth just out of reach above him. Elsewhere, however, the mountain slanted back strongly, and even gave him space to lean and rest.

He felt from the chill that he must be near the snow line, and looked up to see what glittering pinnacles might be shining in that late ruddy sunlight. Surely enough, there was the snow uncounted thousands of feet above, and below it a great beetling crag like that. he had just climbed; hanging there forever in bold outline. And when he saw that crag he gasped and cried out aloud, and clutched at the jagged rock in awe; for the titan bulge had not stayed as earth's dawn had shaped it, but gleamed red and stupendous in the sunset with the carved and polished features of a god.

Stern and terrible shone that face that the sunset lit with fire. How vast it was no mind can ever measure, but Carter knew at once that man could never have fashioned it. It was a god chiselled by the hands of the gods, and it looked down haughty and majestic upon the seeker. Rumour had said it was strange and not to be mistaken, and Carter saw that it was indeed so; for those long narrow eyes and long-lobed ears, and that thin nose and pointed chin, all spoke of a race that is not of men but of gods.

He clung overawed in that lofty and perilous eyrie, even though it was this which he had expected and come to find; for there is in a god's face more of marvel than prediction can tell, and when that face is vaster than a great temple and seen looking downward at sunset in the scyptic silences of that upper world from whose dark lava it was divinely hewn of old, the marvel is so strong that none may escape it.

Here, too, was the added marvel of recognition; for although he had planned to search all dreamland over for those whose likeness to this face might mark them as the god's children, he now knew that he need not do so. Certainly, the great face carven on that mountain was of no strange sort, but the kin of such as he had seen often in the taverns of the seaport Celephais which lies in Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills and is ruled over by that King Kuranes whom Carter once knew in waking life. Every year sailors with such a face came in dark ships from the north to trade their onyx for the carved jade and spun gold and little red singing birds of Celephais, and it was clear that these could be no others than the hall-gods he sought. Where they dwelt, there must the cold waste lie close, and within it unknown Kadath and its onyx castle for the Great Ones. So to Celephais he must go, far distant from the isle of Oriab, and in such parts as would take him back to Dylath-Teen and up the Skai to the bridge by Nir, and again into the enchanted wood of the Zoogs, whence the way would bend northward through the garden lands by Oukranos to the gilded spires of Thran, where he might find a galleon bound over the Cerenarian Sea.

But dusk was now thick, and the great carven face looked down even sterner in shadow. Perched on that ledge night found the seeker; and in the blackness he might neither go down nor go up, but only stand and cling and shiver in that narrow place till the day came, praying to keep awake lest sleep loose his hold and send him down the dizzy miles of air to the crags and sharp rocks of the accursed valley. The stars came out, but save for them there was only black nothingness in his eyes; nothingness leagued with death, against whose beckoning he might do no more than cling to the rocks and lean back away from an unseen brink. The last thing of earth that he saw in the gloaming was a condor soaring close to the westward precipice beside him, and darting screaming away when it came near the cave whose mouth yawned just out of reach.

Suddenly, without a warning sound in the dark, Carter felt his curved scimitar drawn stealthily out of his belt by some unseen hand. Then he heard it clatter down over the rocks below. And between him and the Milky Way he thought he saw a very terrible outline of something noxiously thin and horned and tailed and bat-winged. Other things, too, had begun to blot out patches of stars west of him, as if a flock of vague entities were flapping thickly and silently out of that inaccessible cave in the face of the precipice. Then a sort of cold rubbery arm seized his neck and something else seized his feet, and he was lifted inconsiderately up and swung about in space. Another minute and the stars were gone, and Carter knew that the night-gaunts had got him.

They bore him breathless into that cliffside cavern and through monstrous labyrinths beyond. When he struggled, as at first he did by instinct, they tickled him with deliberation. They made no sound at all themselves, and even their membranous wings were silent. They were frightfully cold and damp and slippery, and their paws kneaded one detestably. Soon they were plunging hideously downward through inconceivable abysses in a whirling, giddying, sickening rush of dank, tomb-like air; and Carter felt they were shooting into the ultimate vortex of shrieking and daemonic madness. He screamed again and again, but whenever he did so the black paws tickled him with greater subtlety. Then he saw a sort of grey phosphorescence about, and guessed they were coming even to that inner world of subterrene horror of which dim legends tell, and which is litten only by the pale death-fire wherewith reeks the ghoulish air and the primal mists of the pits at earth's core.

At last far below him he saw faint lines of grey and ominous pinnacles which he knew must be the fabled Peaks of Throk. Awful and sinister they stand in the haunted disc of sunless and eternal depths; higher than man may reckon, and guarding terrible valleys where the Dholes crawl and burrow nastily. But Carter preferred to look at them than at his captors, which were indeed shocking and uncouth black things with smooth, oily, whale-like surfaces, unpleasant horns that curved inward toward each other, bat wings whose beating made no sound, ugly prehensile paws, and barbed tails that lashed needlessly and disquietingly. And worst of all, they never spoke or laughed, and never smiled because they had no faces at all to smile with, but only a suggestive blankness where a face ought to be. All they ever did was clutch and fly and tickle; that was the way of night-gaunts.

As the band flew lower the Peaks of Throk rose grey and towering on all sides, and one saw clearly that nothing lived on that austere and impressive granite of the endless twilight. At still lower levels the death-fires in the air gave out, and one met only the primal blackness of the void save aloft where the thin peaks stood out goblin-like. Soon the peaks were very far away, and nothing about but great rushing winds with the dankness of nethermost grottoes in them. Then in the end the night-gaunts landed on a floor of unseen things which felt like layers of bones, and left Carter all alone in that black valley. To bring him thither was the duty of the night-gaunts that guard Ngranek; and this done, they flapped away silently. When Carter tried to trace their flight he found he could not, since even the Peaks of Throk had faded out of sight. There was nothing anywhere but blackness and horror and silence and bones.

Now Carter knew from a certain source that he was in the vale of Pnoth, where crawl and burrow the enormous Dholes; but he did not know what to expect, because no one has ever seen a Dhole or even guessed what such a thing may be like. Dholes are known only by dim rumour, from the rustling they make amongst mountains of bones and the slimy touch they have when they wriggle past one. They cannot be seen because they creep only in the dark. Carter did not wish to meet a Dhole, so listened intently for any sound in the unknown depths of bones about him. Even in this fearsome place he had a plan and an objective, for whispers of Pnoth were not unknown to one with whom he had talked much in the old days. In brief, it seemed fairly likely that this was the spot into which all the ghouls of the waking world cast the refuse of their feastings; and that if he but had good luck he might stumble upon that mighty crag taller even than Throk's peaks which marks the edge of their domain. Showers of bones would tell him where to look, and once found he could call to a ghoul to let down a ladder; for strange to say, he had a very singular link with these terrible creatures.

A man he had known in Boston - a painter of strange pictures with a secret studio in an ancient and unhallowed alley near a graveyard - had actually made friends with the ghouls and had taught him to understand the simpler part of their disgusting meeping and glibbering. This man had vanished at last, and Carter was not sure but that he might find him now, and use for the first time in dreamland that far-away English of his dim waking life. In any case, he felt he could persuade a ghoul to guide him out of Pnoth; and it would be better to meet a ghoul, which one can see, than a Dhole, which one cannot see.

So Carter walked in the dark, and ran when he thought he heard something among the bones underfoot. Once he bumped into a stony slope, and knew it must be the base of one of Throk's peaks. Then at last he heard a monstrous rattling and clatter which reached far up in the air, and became sure he had come nigh the crag of the ghouls. He was not sure he could be heard from this valley miles below, but realised that the inner world has strange laws. As he pondered he was struck by a flying bone so heavy that it must have been a skull, and therefore realising his nearness to the fateful crag he sent up as best he might that meeping cry which is the call of the ghoul.

Sound travels slowly, so it was some time before he heard an answering glibber. But it came at last, and before long he was told that a rope ladder would be lowered. The wait for this was very tense, since there was no telling what might not have been stirred up among those bones by his shouting. Indeed, it was not long before he actually did hear a vague rustling afar off. As this thoughtfully approached, he became more and more uncomfortable; for he did not wish to move away from the spot where the ladder would come. Finally the tension grew almost unbearable, and he was about to flee in panic when the thud of something on the newly heaped bones nearby drew his notice from the other sound. It was the ladder, and after a minute of groping he had it taut in his hands. But the other sound did not cease, and followed him even as he climbed. He had gone fully five feet from the ground when the rattling beneath waxed emphatic, and was a good ten feet up when something swayed the ladder from below. At a height which must have been fifteen or twenty feet he felt his whole side brushed by a great slippery length which grew alternately convex and concave with wriggling; and hereafter he climbed desperately to escape the unendurable nuzzling of that loathsome and overfed Dhole whose form no man might see.

For hours he climbed with aching and blistered hands, seeing again the grey death-fire and Throk's uncomfortable pinnacles. At last he discerned above him the projecting edge of the great crag of the ghouls, whose vertical side he could not glimpse; and hours later he saw a curious face peering over it as a gargoyle peers over a parapet of Notre Dame. This almost made him lose his hold through faintness, but a moment later he was himself again; for his vanished friend Richard Pickman had once introduced him to a ghoul, and he knew well their canine faces and slumping forms and unmentionable idiosyncrasies. So he had himself well under control when that hideous thing pulled him out of the dizzy emptiness over the edge of the crag, and did not scream at the partly consumed refuse heaped at one side or at the squatting circles of ghouls who gnawed and watched curiously.

He was now on a dim-litten plain whose sole topographical features were great boulders and the entrances of burrows. The ghouls were in general respectful, even if one did attempt to pinch him while several others eyed his leanness speculatively. Through patient glibbering he made inquiries regarding his vanished friend, and found he had become a ghoul of some prominence in abysses nearer the waking world. A greenish elderly ghoul offered to conduct him to Pickman's present habitation, so despite a natural loathing he followed the creature into a capacious burrow and crawled after him for hours in the blackness of rank mould. They emerged on a dim plain strewn with singular relics of earth - old gravestones, broken urns, and grotesque fragments of monuments - and Carter realised with some emotion that he was probably nearer the waking world than at any other time since he had gone down the seven hundred steps from the cavern of flame to the Gate of Deeper Slumber.

There, on a tombstone of 1768 stolen from the Granary Burying Ground in Boston, sat a ghoul which was once the artist Richard Upton Pickman. It was naked and rubbery, and had acquired so much of the ghoulish physiognomy that its human origin was already obscure. But it still remembered a little English, and was able to converse with Carter in grunts and monosyllables, helped out now and then by the glibbering of ghouls. When it learned that Carter wished to get to the enchanted wood and from there to the city Celephais in Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills, it seemed rather doubtful; for these ghouls of the waking world do no business in the graveyards of upper dreamland (leaving that to the red-footed wamps that are spawned in dead cities), and many things intervene betwixt their gulf and the enchanted wood, including the terrible kingdom of the Gugs.

The Gugs, hairy and gigantic, once reared stone circles in that wood and made strange sacrifices to the Other Gods and the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep, until one night an abomination of theirs reached the ears of earth's gods and they were banished to caverns below. Only a great trap door of stone with an iron ring connects the abyss of the earth-ghouls with the enchanted wood, and this the Gugs are afraid to open because of a curse. That a mortal dreamer could traverse their cavern realm and leave by that door is inconceivable; for mortal dreamers were their former food, and they have legends of the toothsomeness of such dreamers even though banishment has restricted their diet to the ghasts, those repulsive beings which die in the light, and which live in the vaults of Zin and leap on long hind legs like kangaroos.

So the ghoul that was Pickman advised Carter either to leave the abyss at Sarkomand, that deserted city in the valley below Leng where black nitrous stairways guarded by winged diarote lions lead down from dreamland to the lower gulfs, or to return through a churchyard to the waking world and begin the quest anew down the seventy steps of light slumber to the cavern of flame and the seven hundred steps to the Gate of Deeper Slumber and the enchanted wood. This, however, did not suit the seeker; for he knew nothing of the way from Leng to Ooth-Nargai, and was likewise reluctant to awake lest he forget all he had so far gained in this dream. It was disastrous to his quest to forget the august and celestial faces of those seamen from the north who traded onyx in Celephais, and who, being the sons of gods, must point the way to the cold waste and Kadath where the Great Ones dwell.

After much persuasion the ghoul consented to guide his guest inside the great wall of the Gugs' kingdom. There was one chance that Carter might be able to steal through that twilight realm of circular stone towers at an hour when the giants would be all gorged and snoring indoors, and reach the central tower with the sign of Koth upon it, which has the stairs leading up to that stone trap door in the enchanted wood. Pickman even consented to lend three ghouls to help with a tombstone lever in raising the stone door; for of ghouls the Gugs are somewhat afraid, and they often flee from their own colossal graveyards when they see them feasting there.

He also advised Carter to disguise as a ghoul himself; shaving the beard he had allowed to grow (for ghouls have none), wallowing naked in the mould to get the correct surface, and loping in the usual slumping way, with his clothing carried in a bundle as if it were a choice morsel from a tomb. They would reach the city of Gugs - which is coterminous with the whole kingdom - through the proper burrows, emerging in a cemetery not far from the stair-containing Tower of Koth. They must beware, however, of a large cave near the cemetery; for this is the mouth of the vaults of Zin, and the vindictive ghasts are always on watch there murderously for those denizens of the upper abyss who hunt and prey on them. The ghasts try to come out when the Gugs sleep and they attack ghouls as readily as Gugs, for they cannot discriminate. They are very primitive, and eat one another. The Gugs have a sentry at a narrow in the vaults of Zin, but he is often drowsy and is sometimes surprised by a party of ghasts. Though ghasts cannot live in real light, they can endure the grey twilight of the abyss for hours.

So at length Carter crawled through endless burrows with three helpful ghouls bearing the slate gravestone of Col. Nepemiah Derby, obit 1719, from the Charter Street Burying Ground in Salem. When they came again into open twilight they were in a forest of vast lichened monoliths reaching nearly as high as the eye could see and forming the modest gravestones of the Gugs. On the right of the hole out of which they wriggled, and seen through aisles of monoliths, was a stupendous vista of cyclopean round towers mounting up illimitable into the grey air of inner earth. This was the great city of the Gugs, whose doorways are thirty feet high. Ghouls come here often, for a buried Gug will feed a community for almost a year, and even with the added peril it is better to burrow for Gugs than to bother with the graves of men. Carter now understood the occasional titan bones he had felt beneath him in the vale of Pnoth.

Straight ahead, and just outside the cemetery, rose a sheer perpendicular cliff at whose base an immense and forbidding cavern yawned. This the ghouls told Carter to avoid as much as possible, since it was the entrance to the unhallowed vaults of Zin where Gugs hunt ghasts in the darkness. And truly, that warning was soon well justified; for the moment a ghoul began to creep toward the towers to see if the hour of the Gugs' resting had been rightly timed, there glowed in the gloom of that great cavern's mouth first one pair of yellowish-red eyes and then another, implying that the Gugs were one sentry less, and that ghasts have indeed an excellent sharpness of smell. So the ghoul returned to the burrow and motioned his companions to be silent. It was best to leave the ghasts to their own devices, and there was a possibility that they might soon withdraw, since they must naturally be rather tired after coping with a Gug sentry in the black vaults. After a moment something about the size of a small horse hopped out into the grey twilight, and Carter turned sick at the aspect of that scabrous and unwholesome beast, whose face is so curiously human despite the absence of a nose, a forehead, and other important particulars.

Presently three other ghasts hopped out to join their fellow, and a ghoul glibbered softly at Carter that their absence of battle-scars was a bad sign. It proved that theY had not fought the Gug sentry at all, but had merely slipped past him as he slept, so that their strength and savagery were still unimpaired and would remain so till they had found and disposed of a victim. It was very unpleasant to see those filthy and disproportioned animals which soon numbered about fifteen, grubbing about and making their kangaroo leaps in the grey twilight where titan towers and monoliths arose, but it was still more unpleasant when they spoke among themselves in the coughing gutturals of ghasts. And yet, horrible as they were, they were not so horrible as what presently came out of the cave after them with disconcerting suddenness.

It was a paw, fully two feet and a half across, and equipped with formidable talons. Alter it came another paw, and after that a great black-furred arm to which both of the paws were attached by short forearms. Then two pink eyes shone, and the head of the awakened Gug sentry, large as a barrel, wabbled into view. The eyes jutted two inches from each side, shaded by bony protuberances overgrown with coarse hairs. But the head was chiefly terrible because of the mouth. That mouth had great yellow fangs and ran from the top to the bottom of the head, opening vertically instead of horizontally.

But before that unfortunate Gug could emerge from the cave and rise to his full twenty feet, the vindictive ghasts were upon him. Carter feared for a moment that he would give an alarm and arouse all his kin, till a ghoul softly glibbered that Gugs have no voice but talk by means of facial expression. The battle which then ensued was truly a frightful one. From all sides the venomous ghasts rushed feverishly at the creeping Gug, nipping and tearing with their muzzles, and mauling murderously with their hard pointed hooves. All the time they coughed excitedly, screaming when the great vertical mouth of the Gug would occasionally bite into one of their number, so that the noise of the combat would surely have aroused the sleeping city had not the weakening of the sentry begun to transfer the action farther and farther within the cavern. As it was, the tumult soon receded altogether from sight in the blackness, with only occasional evil echoes to mark its continuance.

Then the most alert of the ghouls gave the signal for all to advance, and Carter followed the loping three out of the forest of monoliths and into the dark noisome streets of that awful city whose rounded towers of cyclopean stone soared up beyond the sight. Silently they shambled over that rough rock pavement, hearing with disgust the abominable muffled snortings from great black doorways which marked the slumber of the Gugs. Apprehensive of the ending of the rest hour, the ghouls set a somewhat rapid pace; but even so the journey was no brief one, for distances in that town of giants are on a great scale. At last, however, they came to a somewhat open space before a tower even vaster than the rest; above whose colossal doorway was fixed a monstrous symbol in bas-relief which made one shudder without knowing its meaning. This was the central tower with the sign of Koth, and those huge stone steps just visible through the dusk within were the beginning of the great flight leading to upper dreamland and the enchanted wood.

There now began a climb of interminable length in utter blackness: made almost impossible by the monstrous size of the steps, which were fashioned for Gugs, and were therefore nearly a yard high. Of their number Carter could form no just estimate, for he soon became so worn out that the tireless and elastic ghouls were forced to aid him. All through the endless climb there lurked the peril of detection and pursuit; for though no Gug dares lift the stone door to the forest because of the Great One's curse, there are no such restraints concerning the tower and the steps, and escaped ghasts are often chased, even to the very top. So sharp are the ears of Gugs, that the bare feet and hands of the climbers might readily be heard when the city awoke; and it would of course take but little time for the striding giants, accustomed from their ghast-hunts in the vaults of Zin to seeing without light, to overtake their smaller and slower quarry on those cyclopean steps. It was very depressing to reflect that the silent pursuing Gugs would not be heard at all, but would come very suddenly and shockingly in the dark upon the climbers. Nor could the traditional fear of Gugs for ghouls be depended upon in that peculiar place where the advantages lay so heavily with the Gugs. There was also some peril from the furtive and venomous ghasts, which frequently hopped up onto the tower during the sleep hour of the Gugs. If the Gugs slept long, and the ghasts returned soon from their deed in the cavern, the scent of the climbers might easily be picked up by those loathsome and ill-disposed things; in which case it would almost be better to be eaten by a Gug.

Then, after aeons of climbing, there came a cough from the darkness above; and matters assumed a very grave and unexpected turn.

It was clear that a ghast, or perhaps even more, had strayed into that tower before the coming of Carter and his guides; and it was equally clear that this peril was very close. Alter a breathless second the leading ghoul pushed Carter to the wall and arranged his kinfolk in the best possible way, with the old slate tombstone raised for a crushing blow whenever the enemy might come in sight. Ghouls can see in the dark, so the party was not as badly off as Carter would have been alone. In another moment the clatter of hooves revealed the downward hopping of at least one beast, and the slab-bearing ghouls poised their weapon for a desperate blow. Presently two yellowish-red eyes flashed into view, and the panting of the ghast became audible above its clattering. As it hopped down to the step above the ghouls, they wielded the ancient gravestone with prodigious force, so that there was only a wheeze and a choking before the victim collapsed in a noxious heap. There seemed to be only this one animal, and after a moment of listening the ghouls tapped Carter as a signal to proceed again. As before, they were obliged to aid him; and he was glad to leave that place of carnage where the ghast's uncouth remains sprawled invisible in the blackness.

At last the ghouls brought their companion to a halt; and feeling above him, Carter realised that the great stone trap door was reached at last. To open so vast a thing completely was not to be thought of, but the ghouls hoped to get it up just enough to slip the gravestone under as a prop, and permit Carter to escape through the crack. They themselves planned to descend again and return through the city of the Gugs, since their elusiveness was great, and they did not know the way overland to spectral Sarkomand with its lion-guarded gate to the abyss.

Mighty was the straining of those three ghouls at the stone of the door above them, and Carter helped push with as much strength as he had. They judged the edge next the top of the staircase to be the right one, and to this they bent all the force of their disreputably nourished muscles. Alter a few moments a crack of light appeared; and Carter, to whom that task had been entrusted, slipped the end of the old gravestone in the aperture. There now ensued a mighty heaving; but progress was very slow, and they had of course to return to their first position every time they failed to turn the slab and prop the portal open.

Suddenly their desperation was magnified a thousand fold by a sound on the steps below them. It was only the thumping and rattling of the slain ghast's hooved body as it rolled down to lower levels; but of all the possible causes of that body's dislodgement and rolling, none was in the least reassuring. Therefore, knowing the ways of Gugs, the ghouls set to with something of a frenzy; and in a surprisingly short time had the door so high that they were able to hold it still whilst Carter turned the slab and left a generous opening. They now helped Carter through, letting him climb up to their rubbery shoulders and later guiding his feet as he clutched at the blessed soil of the upper dreamland outside. Another second and they were through themselves, knocking away the gravestone and closing the great trap door while a panting became audible beneath. Because of the Great One's curse no Gug might ever emerge from that portal, so with a deep relief and sense of repose Carter lay quietly on the thick grotesque fungi of the enchanted wood while his guides squatted near in the manner that ghouls rest.

Weird as was that enchanted wood through which he had fared so long ago, it was verily a haven and a delight after those gulfs he had now left behind. There was no living denizen about, for Zoogs shun the mysterious door in fear and Carter at once consulted with his ghouls about their future course. To return through the tower they no longer dared, and the waking world did not appeal to them when they learned that they must pass the priests Nasht and Kaman-Thah in the cavern of flame. So at length they decided to return through Sarkomand and its gate of the abyss, though of how to get there they knew nothing. Carter recalled that it lies in the valley below Leng, and recalled likewise that he had seen in Dylath-Leen a sinister, slant-eyed old merchant reputed to trade on Leng, therefore he advised the ghouls to seek out Dylath-Leen, crossing the fields to Nir and the Skai and following the river to its mouth. This they at once resolved to do, and lost no time in loping off, since the thickening of the dusk promised a full night ahead for travel. And Carter shook the paws of those repulsive beasts, thanking them for their help and sending his gratitude to the beast which once was Pickman; but could not help sighing with pleasure when they left. For a ghoul is a ghoul, and at best an unpleasant companion for man. After that Carter sought a forest pool and cleansed himself of the mud of nether earth, thereupon reassuming the clothes he had so carefully carried.

It was now night in that redoubtable wood of monstrous trees, but because of the phosphorescence one might travel as well as by day; wherefore Carter set out upon the well-known route toward Celephais, in Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills. And as he went he thought of the zebra he had left tethered to an ash-tree on Ngranek in far-away Oriab so many aeons ago, and wondered if any lava-gatherers had fed and released it. And he wondered, too, if he would ever return to Baharna and pay for the zebra that was slain by night in those ancient ruins by Yath's shore, and if the old tavernkeeper would remember him. Such were the thoughts that came to him in the air of the regained upper dreamland.

But presently his progress was halted by a sound from a very large hollow tree. He had avoided the great circle of stones, since he did not care to speak with Zoogs just now; but it appeared from the singular fluttering in that huge tree that important councils were in session elsewhere. Upon drawing nearer he made out the accents of a tense and heated discussion; and before long became conscious of matters which he viewed with the greatest concern. For a war on the cats was under debate in that sovereign assembly of Zoogs. It all came from the loss of the party which had sneaked after Carter to Ulthar, and which the cats had justly punished for unsuitable intentions. The matter had long rankled; and now, or at least within a month, the marshalled Zoogs were about to strike the whole feline tribe in a series of surprise attacks, taking individual cats or groups of cats unawares, and giving not even the myriad cats of Ulthar a proper chance to drill and mobilise. This was the plan of the Zoogs, and Carter saw that he must foil it before leaving upon his mighty quest.

Very quietly therefore did Randolph Carter steal to the edge of the wood and send the cry of the cat over the starlit fields. And a great grimalkin in a nearby cottage took up the burden and relayed it across leagues of rolling meadow to warriors large and small, black, grey, tiger, white, yellow, and mixed, and it echoed through Nir and beyond the Skai even into Ulthar, and Ulthar's numerous cats called in chorus and fell into a line of march. It was fortunate that the moon was not up, so that all the cats were on earth. Swiftly and silently leaping, they sprang from every hearth and housetop and poured in a great furry sea across the plains to the edge of the wood. Carter was there to greet them, and the sight of shapely, wholesome cats was indeed good for his eyes after the things he had seen and walked with in the abyss. He was glad to see his venerable friend and one-time rescuer at the head of Ulthar's detachment, a collar of rank around his sleek neck, and whiskers bristling at a martial angle. Better still, as a sub-lieutenant in that army was a brisk young fellow who proved to be none other than the very little kitten at the inn to whom Carter had given a saucer of rich cream on that long-vanished morning in Ulthar. He was a strapping and promising cat now, and purred as he shook hands with his friend. His grandfather said he was doing very well in the army, and that he might well expect a captaincy after one more campaign.

Carter now outlined the peril of the cat tribe, and was rewarded by deep-throated purrs of gratitude from all sides. Consulting with the generals, he prepared a plan of instant action which involved marching at once upon the Zoog council and other known strongholds of Zoogs; forestalling their surprise attacks and forcing them to terms before the mobilization of their army of invasion. Thereupon without a moment's loss that great ocean of cats flooded the enchanted wood and surged around the council tree and the great stone circle. Flutterings rose to panic pitch as the enemy saw the newcomers and there was very little resistance among the furtive and curious brown Zoogs. They saw that they were beaten in advance, and turned from thoughts of vengeance to thoughts of present self-preservation.

Half the cats now seated themselves in a circular formation with the captured Zoogs in the centre, leaving open a lane down which were marched the additional captives rounded up by the other cats in other parts of the wood. Terms were discussed at length, Carter acting as interpreter, and it was decided that the Zoogs might remain a free tribe on condition of rendering to the cats a large tribute of grouse, quail, and pheasants from the less fabulous parts of the forest. Twelve young Zoogs of noble families were taken as hostages to be kept in the Temple of Cats at Ulthar, and the victors made it plain that any disappearances of cats on the borders of the Zoog domain would be followed by consequences highly disastrous to Zoogs. These matters disposed of, the assembled cats broke ranks and permitted the Zoogs to slink off one by one to their respective homes, which they hastened to do with many a sullen backward glance.

The old cat general now offered Carter an escort through the forest to whatever border he wished to reach, deeming it likely that the Zoogs would harbour dire resentment against him for the frustration of their warlike enterprise. This offer he welcomed with gratitude; not only for the safety it afforded, but because he liked the graceful companionship of cats. So in the midst of a pleasant and playful regiment, relaxed after the successful performance of its duty, Randolph Carter walked with dignity through that enchanted and phosphorescent wood of titan trees, talking of his quest with the old general and his grandson whilst others of the band indulged in fantastic gambols or chased fallen leaves that the wind drove among the fungi of that primeval floor. And the old cat said that he had heard much of unknown Kadath in the cold waste, but did not know where it was. As for the marvellous sunset city, he had not even heard of that, but would gladly relay to Carter anything he might later learn.

He gave the seeker some passwords of great value among the cats of dreamland, and commended him especially to the old chief of the cats in Celephais, whither he was bound. That old cat, already slightly known to Carter, was a dignified maltese; and would prove highly influential in any transaction. It was dawn when they came to the proper edge of the wood, and Carter bade his friends a reluctant farewell. The young sub-lieutenant he had met as a small kitten would have followed him had not the old general forbidden it, but that austere patriarch insisted that the path of duty lay with the tribe and the army. So Carter set out alone over the golden fields that stretched mysterious beside a willow-fringed river, and the cats went back into the wood.

Well did the traveller know those garden lands that lie betwixt the wood of the Cerenerian Sea, and blithely did he follow the singing river Oukianos that marked his course. The sun rose higher over gentle slopes of grove and lawn, and heightened the colours of the thousand flowers that starred each knoll and dangle. A blessed haze lies upon all this region, wherein is held a little more of the sunlight than other places hold, and a little more of the summer's humming music of birds and bees; so that men walk through it as through a faery place, and feel greater joy and wonder than they ever afterward remember.

By noon Carter reached the jasper terraces of Kiran which slope down to the river's edge and bear that temple of loveliness wherein the King of Ilek-Vad comes from his far realm on the twilight sea once a year in a golden palanqnin to pray to the god of Oukianos, who sang to him in youth when he dwelt in a cottage by its banks. All of jasper is that temple, and covering an acre of ground with its walls and courts, its seven pinnacled towers, and its inner shrine where the river enters through hidden channels and the god sings softly in the night. Many times the moon hears strange music as it shines on those courts and terraces and pinnacles, but whether that music be the song of the god or the chant of the cryptical priests, none but the King of Ilek-Vad may say; for only he had entered the temple or seen the priests. Now, in the drowsiness of day, that carven and delicate fane was silent, and Carter heard only the murmur of the great stream and the hum of the birds and bees as he walked onward under the enchanted sun.

All that afternoon the pilgrim wandered on through perfumed meadows and in the lee of gentle riverward hills bearing peaceful thatched cottages and the shrines of amiable gods carven from jasper or chrysoberyl. Sometimes he walked close to the bank of Oukianos and whistled to the sprightly and iridescent fish of that crystal stream, and at other times he paused amidst the whispering rushes and gazed at the great dark wood on the farther side, whose trees came down clear to the water's edge. In former dreams he had seen quaint lumbering buopoths come shyly out of that wood to drink, but now he could not glimpse any. Once in a while he paused to watch a carnivorous fish catch a fishing bird, which it lured to the water by showing its tempting scales in the sun, and grasped by the beak with its enormous mouth as the winged hunter sought to dart down upon it.

Toward evening he mounted a low grassy rise and saw before him flaming in the sunset the thousand gilded spires of Thran. Lofty beyond belief are the alabaster walls of that incredible city, sloping inward toward the top and wrought in one solid piece by what means no man knows, for they are more ancient than memory. Yet lofty as they are with their hundred gates and two hundred turrets, the clustered towers within, all white beneath their golden spires, are loftier still; so that men on the plain around see them soaring into the sky, sometimes shining clear, sometimes caught at the top in tangles of cloud and mist, and sometimes clouded lower down with their utmost pinnacles blazing free above the vapours. And where Thran's gates open on the river are great wharves of marble, with ornate galleons of fragrant cedar and calamander riding gently at anchor, and strange bearded sailors sitting on casks and bales with the hieroglyphs of far places. Landward beyond the walls lies the farm country, where small white cottages dream between little hills, and narrow roads with many stone bridges wind gracefully among streams and gardens.

Down through this verdant land Carter walked at evening, and saw twilight float up from the river to the marvellous golden spires of Thran. And just at the hour of dusk he came to the southern gate, and was stopped by a red-robed sentry till he had told three dreams beyond belief, and proved himself a dreamer worthy to walk up Thran's steep mysterious streets and linger in the bazaars where the wares of the ornate galleons were sold. Then into that incredible city he walked; through a wall so thick that the gate was a tunnel, and thereafter amidst curved and undulant ways winding deep and narrow between the heavenward towers. Lights shone through grated and balconied windows, and,the sound of lutes and pipes stole timid from inner courts where marble fountains bubbled. Carter knew his way, and edged down through darker streets to the river, where at an old sea tavern he found the captains and seamen he had known in myriad other dreams. There he bought his passage to Celephais on a great green galleon, and there he stopped for the night after speaking gravely to the venerable cat of that inn, who blinked dozing before an enormous hearth and dreamed of old wars and forgotten gods.

In the morning Carter boarded the galleon bound for Celephais, and sat in the prow as the ropes were cast off and the long sail down to the Cerenerian Sea begun. For many leagues the banks were much as they were above Thran, with now and then a curious temple rising on the farther hills toward the right, and a drowsy village on the shore, with steep red roofs and nets spread in the sun. Mindful of his search, Carter questioned all the mariners closely about those whom they had met in the taverns of Celephais, asking the names and ways of the strange men with long, narrow eyes, long-lobed ears, thin noses, and pointed chins who came in dark ships from the north and traded onyx for the carved jade and spun gold and little red singing birds of Celephais. Of these men the sailors knew not much, save that they talked but seldom and spread a kind of awe about them.

Their land, very far away, was called Inquanok, and not many people cared to go thither because it was a cold twilight land, and said to be close to unpleasant Leng; although high impassable mountains towered on the side where Leng was thought to lie, so that none might say whether this evil plateau with its horrible stone villages and unmentionable monastery were really there, or whether the rumour were only a fear that timid people felt in the night when those formidable barrier peaks loomed black against a rising moon. Certainly, men reached Leng from very different oceans. Of other boundaries of Inquanok those sailors had no notion, nor had they heard of the cold waste and unknown Kadath save from vague unplaced report. And of the marvellous sunset city which Carter sought they knew nothing at all. So the traveller asked no more of far things, but bided his time till he might talk with those strange men from cold and twilight Inquanok who are the seed of such gods as carved their features on Ngranek.

Late in the day the galleon reached those bends of the river which traverse the perfumed jungles of Kied. Here Carter wished he might disembark, for in those tropic tangles sleep wondrous palaces of ivory, lone and unbroken, where once dwelt fabulous monarchs of a land whose name is forgotten. Spells of the Elder Ones keep those places unharmed and undecayed, for it is written that there may one day be need of them again; and elephant caravans have glimpsed them from afar by moonlight, though none dares approach them closely because of the guardians to which their wholeness is due. But the ship swept on, and dusk hushed the hum of the day, and the first stars above blinked answers to the early fireflies on the banks as that jungle fell far behind, leaving only its fragrance as a memory that it had been. And all through the night that galleon floated on past mysteries unseen and unsuspected. Once a lookout reported fires on the hills to the east, but the sleepy captain said they had better not be looked at too much, since it was highly uncertain just who or what had lit them.

In the morning the river had broadened out greatly, and Carter saw by the houses along the banks that they were close to the vast trading city of Hlanith on the Cerenerian Sea. Here the walls are of rugged granite, and the houses peakedly fantastic with beamed and plastered gables. The men of Hlanith are more like those of the waking world than any others in dreamland; so that the city is not sought except for barter, but is prized for the solid work of its artisans. The wharves of Hlanith are of oak, and there the galleon made fast while the captain traded in the taverns. Carter also went ashore, and looked curiously upon the rutted streets where wooden ox carts lumbered and feverish merchants cried their wares vacuously in the bazaars. The sea taverns were all close to the wharves on cobbled lanes salted with the spray of high tides, and seemed exceedingly ancient with their low black-beamed ceilings and casements of greenish bull's-eye panes. Ancient sailors in those taverns talked much of distant ports, and told many stories of the curious men from twilight Inquanok, but had little to add to what the seamen of the galleon had told. Then at last, after much unloading and loading, the ship set sail once more over the sunset sea, and the high walls and gables of Hlanith grew less as the last golden light of day lent them a wonder and beauty beyond any that men had given them.

Two nights and two days the galleon sailed over the Cerenerian Sea, sighting no land and speaking but one other vessel. Then near sunset of the second day there loomed up ahead the snowy peak of Aran with its gingko-trees swaying on the lower slope, and Carter knew that they were come to the land of Ooth-Nargai and the marvellous city of Celephais. Swiftly there came into sight the glittering minarets of that fabulous town, and the untarnished marble walls with their bronze statues, and the great stone bridge where Naraxa joins the sea. Then rose the gentle hills behind the town, with their groves and gardens of asphodels and the small shrines and cottages upon them; and far in the background the purple ridge of the Tanarians, potent and mystical, behind which lay forbidden ways into the waking world and toward other regions of dream.

The harbour was full of painted galleys, some of which were from the marble cloud-city of Serannian, that lies in ethereal space beyond where the sea meets the sky, and some of which were from more substantial parts of dreamland. Among these the steersman threaded his way up to the spice-fragrant wharves, where the galleon made fast in the dusk as the city's million lights began to twinkle out over the water. Ever new seemed this deathless city of vision, for here time has no power to tarnish or destroy. As it has always been is still the turquoise of Nath-Horthath, and the eighty orchid-wreathed priests are the same who builded it ten thousand years ago. Shining still is the bronze of the great gates, nor are the onyx pavements ever worn or broken. And the great bronze statues on the walls look down on merchants and camel drivers older than fable, yet without one grey hair in their forked beards.

Carter did not once seek out the temple or the palace or the citadel, but stayed by the seaward wall among traders and sailors. And when it was too late for rumours and legends he sought out an ancient tavern he knew well, and rested with dreams of the gods on unknown Kadath whom he sought. The next day he searched all along the quays for some of the strange mariners of Inquanok, but was told that none were now in port, their galley not being due from the north for full two weeks. He found, however, one Thorabonian sailor who had been to Inquanok and had worked in the onyx quarries of that twilight place; and this sailor said there was certainly a descent to the north of the peopled region, which everybody seemed to fear and shun. The Thorabonian opined that this desert led around the utmost rim of impassable peaks into Leng's horrible plateau, and that this was why men feared it; though he admitted there were other vague tales of evil presences and nameless sentinels. Whether or not this could be the fabled waste wherein unknown Kadath stands he did not know; but it seemed unlikely that those presences and sentinels, if indeed they existed, were stationed for nought.

On the following day Carter walked up the Street of the Pillars to the turquoise temple and talked with the High-Priest. Though Nath-Horthath is chiefly worshipped in Celephais, all the Great Ones are mentioned in diurnal prayers; and the priest was reasonably versed in their moods. Like Atal in distant Ulthar, he strongly advised against any attempts to see them; declaring that they are testy and capricious, and subject to strange protection from the mindless Other Gods from Outside, whose soul and messenger is the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. Their jealous hiding of the marvellous sunset city shewed clearly that they did not wish Carter to reach it, and it was doubtful how they would regard a guest whose object was to see them and plead before them. No man had ever found Kadath in the past, and it might be just as well if none ever found it in the future. Such rumours as were told about that onyx castle of the Great Ones were not by any means reassuring.

Having thanked the orchid-crowned High-Priest, Carter left the temple and sought out the bazaar of the sheep-butchers, where the old chief of Celephais' cats dwelt sleek and contented. That grey and dignified being was sunning himself on the onyx pavement, and extended a languid paw as his caller approached. But when Carter repeated the passwords and introductions furnished him by the old cat general of Ulthar, the furry patriarch became very cordial and communicative; and told much of the secret lore known to cats on the seaward slopes of Ooth-Nargai. Best of all, he repeated several things told him furtively by the timid waterfront cats of Celephais about the men of Inquanok, on whose dark ships no cat will go.

It seems that these men have an aura not of earth about them, though that is not the reason why no cat will sail on their ships. The reason for this is that Inquanok holds shadows which no cat can endure, so that in all that cold twilight realm there is never a cheering purr or a homely mew. Whether it be because of things wafted over the impassable peaks from hypothetical Leng, or because of things filtering down from the chilly desert to the north, none may say; but it remains a fact that in that far land there broods a hint of outer space which cats do not like, and to which they are more sensitive than men. Therefore they will not go on the dark ships that seek the basalt quays of Inquanok.

The old chief of the cats also told him where to find his friend King Kuranes, who in Carter's latter dreams had reigned alternately in the rose-crystal Palace of the Seventy Delights at Celephais and in the turreted cloud-castle of sky-floating Serannian. It seemed that he could no more find content in those places, but had formed a mighty longing for the English cliffs and downlands of his boyhood; where in little dreaming villages England's old songs hover at evening behind lattice windows, and where grey church towers peep lovely through the verdure of distant valleys. He could not go back to these things in the waking world because his body was dead; but he had done the next best thing and dreamed a small tract of such countryside in the region east of the city where meadows roll gracefully up from the sea-cliffs to the foot of the Tanarian Hills. There he dwelt in a grey Gothic manor-house of stone looking on the sea, and tried to think it was ancient Trevor Towers, where he was born and where thirteen generations of his forefathers had first seen the light. And on the coast nearby he had built a little Cornish fishing village with steep cobbled ways, settling therein such people as had the most English faces, and seeking ever to teach them the dear remembered accents of old Cornwall fishers. And in a valley not far off he had reared a great Norman Abbey whose tower he could see from his window, placing around it in the churchyard grey stones with the names of his ancestors carved thereon, and with a moss somewhat like Old England's moss. For though Kuranes was a monarch in the land of dream, with all imagined pomps and marvels, splendours and beauties, ecstasies and delights, novelties and excitements at his command, he would gladly have resigned forever the whole of his power and luxury and freedom for one blessed day as a simple boy in that pure and quiet England, that ancient, beloved England which had moulded his being and of which he must always be immutably a part.

So when Carter bade that old grey chief of the cats adieu, he did not seek the terraced palace of rose crystal but walked out the eastern gate and across the daisied fields toward a peaked gable which he glimpsed through the oaks of a park sloping up to the sea-cliffs. And in time he came to a great hedge and a gate with a little brick lodge, and when he rang the bell there hobbled to admit him no robed and annointed lackey of the palace, but a small stubby old man in a smock who spoke as best he could in the quaint tones of far Cornwall. And Carter walked up the shady path between trees as near as possible to England's trees, and clumbed the terraces among gardens set out as in Queen Anne's time. At the door, flanked by stone cats in the old way, he was met by a whiskered butler in suitable livery; and was presently taken to the library where Kuranes, Lord of Ooth-Nargai and the Sky around Serannian, sat pensive in a chair by the window looking on his little seacoast village and wishing that his old nurse would come in and scold him because he was not ready for that hateful lawn-party at the vicar's, with the carriage waiting and his mother nearly out of patience.

Kuranes, clad in a dressing gown of the sort favoured by London tailors in his youth, rose eagerly to meet his guest; for the sight of an Anglo-Saxon from the waking world was very dear to him, even if it was a Saxon from Boston, Massachusetts, instead of from Cornwall. And for long they talked of old times, having much to say because both were old dreamers and well versed in the wonders of incredible places. Kuranes, indeed, had been out beyond the stars in the ultimate void, and was said to be the only one who had ever returned sane from such a voyage.

At length Carter brought up the subject of his quest, and asked of his host those questions he had asked of so many others. Kuranes did not know where Kadath was, or the marvellous sunset city; but he did know that the Great Ones were very dangerous creatures to seek out, and that the Other Gods had strange ways of protecting them from impertinent curiosity. He had learned much of the Other Gods in distant parts of space, especially in that region where form does not exist, and coloured gases study the innermost secrets. The violet gas S'ngac had told him terrible things of the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep, and had warned him never to approach the central void where the daemon sultan Azathoth gnaws hungrily in the dark.

Altogether, it was not well to meddle with the Elder Ones; and if they persistently denied all access to the marvellous sunset city, it were better not to seek that city.

Kuranes furthermore doubted whether his guest would profit aught by coming to the city even were he to gain it. He himself had dreamed and yearned long years for lovely Celephais and the land of Ooth-Nargai, and for the freedom and colour and high experience of life devoid of its chains, and conventions, and stupidities. But now that he was come into that city and that land, and was the king thereof, he found the freedom and the vividness all too soon worn out, and monotonous for want of linkage with anything firm in his feelings and memories. He was a king in Ooth-Nargai, but found no meaning therein, and drooped always for the old familiar things of England that had shaped his youth. All his kingdom would he give for the sound of Cornish church bells over the downs, and all the thousand minarets of Celephais for the steep homely roofs of the village near his home. So he told his guest that the unknown sunset city might not hold quite that content he sought, and that perhaps it had better remain a glorious and half-remembered dream. For he had visited Carter often in the old waking days, and knew well the lovely New England slopes that had given him birth.

At the last, he was very certain, the seeker would long only for the early remembered scenes; the glow of Beacon Hill at evening, the tall steeples and winding hill streets of quaint Kingsport, the hoary gambrel roofs of ancient and witch-haunted Arkham, and the blessed meads and valleys where stone walls rambled and white farmhouse gables peeped out from bowers of verdure. These things he told Randolph Carter, but still the seeker held to his purpose. And in the end they parted each with his own conviction, and Carter went back through the bronze gate into Celephais and down the Street of Pillars to the old sea wall, where he talked more with the mariners of far ports and waited for the dark ship from cold and twilight Inquanok, whose strange-faced sailors and onyx-traders had in them the blood of the Great Ones.

One starlit evening when the Pharos shone splendid over the harbour the longed-for ship put in, and strange-faced sailors and traders appeared one by one and group by group in the ancient taverns along the sea wall. It was very exciting to see again those living faces so like the godlike features of Ngranek, but Carter did not hasten to speak with the silent seamen. He did not know how much of pride and secrecy and dim supernal memory might fill those children of the Great Ones, and was sure it would not be wise to tell them of his quest or ask too closely of that cold desert stretching north of their twilight land. They talked little with the other folk in those ancient sea taverns; but would gather in groups in remote comers and sing among themselves the haunting airs of unknown places, or chant long tales to one another in accents alien to the rest of dreamland. And so rare and moving were those airs and tales that one might guess their wonders from the faces of those who listened, even though the words came to common ears only as strange cadence and obscure melody.

For a week the strange seamen lingered in the taverns and traded in the bazaars of Celephais, and before they sailed Carter had taken passage on their dark ship, telling them that he was an old onyx miner and wishful to work in their quarries. That ship was very lovey and cunningly wrought, being of teakwood with ebony fittings and traceries of gold, and the cabin in which the traveller lodged had hangings of silk and velvet. One morning at the turn of the tide the sails were raised and the anchor lilted, and as Carter stood on the high stern he saw the sunrise-blazing walls and bronze statues and golden minarets of ageless Celephais sink into the distance, and the snowy peak of Mount Man grow smaller and smaller. By noon there was nothing in sight save the gentle blue of the Cerenerian Sea, with one painted galley afar off bound for that realm of Serannian where the sea meets the sky.

And the night came with gorgeous stars, and the dark ship steered for Charles' Wain and the Little Bear as they swung slowly round the pole. And the sailors sang strange songs of unknown places, and they stole off one by one to the forecastle while the wistful watchers murmured old chants and leaned over the rail to glimpse the luminous fish playing in bowers beneath the sea. Carter went to sleep at midnight, and rose in the glow of a young morning, marking that the sun seemed farther south than was its wont. And all through that second day he made progress in knowing the men of the ship, getting them little by little to talk of their cold twilight land, of their exquisite onyx city, and of their fear of the high and impassable peaks beyond which Leng was said to be. They told him how sorry they were that no cats would stay in the land of Inquanok, and how they thought the hidden nearness of Leng was to blame for it. Only of the stony desert to the north they would not talk. There was something disquieting about that desert, and it was thought expedient not to admit its existence.

On later days they talked of the quarries in which Carter said he was going to work. There were many of them, for all the city of Inquanok was builded of onyx, whilst great polished blocks of it were traded in Rinar, Ogrothan, and Celephais and at home with the merchants of Thraa, Flarnek, and Kadatheron, for the beautiful wares of those fabulous ports. And far to the north, almost in the cold desert whose existence the men of Inquanok did not care to admit, there was an unused quarry greater than all the rest; from which had been hewn in forgotten times such prodigious lumps and blocks that the sight of their chiselled vacancies struck terror to all who beheld. Who had mined those incredible blocks, and whither they had been transported, no man might say; but it was thought best not to trouble that quarry, around which such inhuman memories might conceivably cling. So it was left all alone in the twilight, with only the raven and the rumoured Shantak-bird to brood on its immensities. when Carter heard of this quarry he was moved to deep thought, for he knew from old tales that the Great Ones' castle atop unknown Kadath is of onyx.

Each day the sun wheeled lower and lower in the sky, and the mists overhead grew thicker and thicker. And in two weeks there was not any sunlight at all, but only a weird grey twilight shining through a dome of eternal cloud by day, and a cold starless phosphorescence from the under side of that cloud by night. On the twentieth day a great jagged rock in the sea was sighted from afar, the first land glimpsed since Man's snowy peak had dwindled behind the ship. Carter asked the captain the name of that rock, but was told that it had no name and had never been sought by any vessel because of the sounds that came from it at night. And when, after dark, a dull and ceaseless howling arose from that jagged granite place, the traveller was glad that no stop had been made, and that the rock had no name. The seamen prayed and chanted till the noise was out of earshot, and Carter dreamed terrible dreams within dreams in the small hours.

Two mornings after that there loomed far ahead and to the east a line of great grey peaks whose tops were lost in the changeless clouds of that twilight world. And at the sight of them the sailors sang glad songs, and some knelt down on the deck to pray, so that Carter knew they were come to the land of Inquanok and would soon be moored to the basalt quays of the great town bearing that land's name. Toward noon a dark coastline appeared, and before three o'clock there stood out against the north the bulbous domes and fantastic spires of the onyx city. Rare and curious did that archaic city rise above its walls and quays, all of delicate black with scrolls, flutings, and arabesques of inlaid gold. Tall and many-windowed were the houses, and carved on every side with flowers and patterns whose dark symmetries dazzled the eye with a beauty more poignant than light. Some ended in swelling domes that tapered to a point, others in terraced pyramids whereon rose clustered minarets displaying every phase of strangeness and imagination. The walls were low, and pierced by frequent gates, each under a great arch rising high above the general level and capped by the head of a god chiselled with that same skill displayed in the monstrous face on distant Ngranek. On a hill in the centre rose a sixteen-angled tower greater than all the rest and bearing a high pinnacled belfry resting on a flattened dome. This, the seamen said, was the Temple of the Elder Ones, and was ruled by an old High-Priest sad with inner secrets.

At intervals the clang of a strange bell shivered over the onyx city, answered each time by a peal of mystic music made up of horns, viols, and chanting voices. And from a row of tripods on a galley round the high dome of the temple there burst flares of flame at certain moments; for the priests and people of that city were wise in the primal mysteries, and faithful in keeping the rhythms of the Great Ones as set forth in scrolls older than the Pnakotic Manuscripts. As the ship rode past the great basalt breakwater into the harbour the lesser noises of the city grew manifest, and Carter saw the slaves, sailors, and merchants on the docks. The sailors and merchants were of the strange-faced race of the gods, but the slaves were squat, slant-eyed folk said by rumour to have drifted somehow across or around the impassable peaks from the valleys beyond Leng. The wharves reached wide outside the city wall and bore upon them all manner of merchandise from the galleys anchored there, while at one end were great piles of onyx both carved and uncarved awaiting shipment to the far markets of Rinar, Ograthan and Celephais.

It was not yet evening when the dark ship anchored beside a jutting quay of stone, and all the sailors and traders filed ashore and through the arched gate into the city. The streets of that city were paved with onyx and some of them were wide and straight whilst others were crooked and narrow. The houses near the water were lower than the rest, and bore above their curiously arched doorways certain signs of gold said to be in honour of the respective small gods that favoured each. The captain of the ship took Carter to an old sea tavern where flocked the mariners of quaint countries, and promised that he would next day shew him the wonders of the twilight city, and lead him to the taverns of the onyx-miners by the northern wall. And evening fell, and little bronze lamps were lighted, and the sailors in that tavern sang songs of remote places. But when from its high tower the great bell shivered over the city, and the peal of the horns and viols and voices rose cryptical in answer thereto, all ceased their songs or tales and bowed silent till the. last echo died away. For there is a wonder and a strangeness on the twilight city of Inquanok, and men fear to be lax in its rites lest a doom and a vengeance lurk unsuspectedly close.

Far in the shadows of that tavern Carter saw a squat form he did not like, for it was unmistakably that of the old slant-eyed merchant he had seen so long before in the taverns of Dylath-Leen, who was reputed to trade with the horrible stone villages of Leng which no healthy folk visit and whose evil fires are seen at night from afar, and even to have dealt with that High-Priest Not To Be Described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a prehistoric stone monastery. This man had seemed to shew a queer gleam of knowing when Carter asked the traders of DylathLeen about the cold waste and Kadath; and somehow his presence in dark and haunted Inquanok, so close to the wonders of the north, was not a reassuring thing. He slipped wholly out of sight before Carter could speak to him, and sailors later said that he had come with a yak caravan from some point not well determined, bearing the colossal and rich-flavoured eggs of the rumoured Shantak-bird to trade for the dextrous jade goblets that merchants brought from Ilarnek.

On the following morning the ship-captain led Carter through the onyx streets of Inquanok, dark under their twilight sky. The inlaid doors and figured house-fronts, carven balconies and crystal-paned oriels all gleamed with a sombre and polished loveliness; and now and then a plaza would open out with black pillars, colonades, and the statues of curious beings both human and fabulous. Some of the vistas down long and unbending streets, or through side alleys and over bulbous domes, spires, and arabesqued roofs, were weird and beautiful beyond words; and nothing was more splendid than the massive heights of the great central Temple of the Elder Ones with its sixteen carven sides, its flattened dome, and its lofty pinnacled belfry, overtopping all else, and majestic whatever its foreground. And always to the east, far beyond the city walls and the leagues of pasture land, rose the gaunt grey sides of those topless and impassable peaks across which hideous Leng was said to lie.

The captain took Carter to the mighty temple, which is set with its walled garden in a great round plaza whence the streets go as spokes from a wheel's hub. The seven arched gates of that garden, each having over it a carven face like those on the city's gates, are always open, and the people roam reverently at will down the tiled paths and through the little lanes lined with grotesque termini and the shrines of modest gods. And there are fountains, pools, and basins there to reflect the frequent blaze of the tripods on the high balcony, all of onyx and having in them small luminous fish taken by divers from the lower bowers of ocean. When the deep clang from the temple belfry shivers over the garden and the city, and the answer of the horns and viols and voices peals out from the seven lodges by the garden gates, there issue from the seven doors of the temple long columns of masked and hooded priests in black, bearing at arm's length before them great golden bowls from which a curious steam rises. And all the seven columns strut peculiarly in single file, legs thrown far forward without bending the knees, down the walks that lead to the seven lodges, wherein they disappear and do not appear again. It is said that subterrene paths connect the lodges with the temple, and that the long files of priests return through them; nor is it unwhispered that deep flights of onyx steps go down to mysteries that are never told. But only a few are those who hint that the priests in the masked and hooded columns are not human beings.

Carter did not enter the temple, because none but the Veiled King is permitted to do that. But before he left the garden the hour of the bell came, and he heard the shivering clang deafening above him, and the wailing of the horns and viols and voices loud from the lodges by the gates. And down the seven great walks stalked the long files of bowl-bearing priests in their singular way, giving to the traveller a fear which human priests do not often give. When the last of them had vanished he left that garden, noting as he did so a spot on the pavement over which the bowls had passed. Even the ship-captain did not like that spot, and hurried him on toward the hill whereon the Veiled King's palace rises many-domed and marvellous.

The ways to the onyx palace are steep and narrow, all but the broad curving one where the king and his companions ride on yaks or in yak-drawn chariots. Carter and his guide climbed up an alley that was all steps, between inlaid walls hearing strange signs in gold, and under balconies and oriels whence sometimes floated soft strains of music or breaths of exotic fragrance. Always ahead loomed those titan walls, mighty buttresses, and clustered and bulbous domes for which the Veiled King's palace is famous; and at length they passed under a great black arch and emerged in the gardens of the monarch's pleasure. There Carter paused in faintness at so much beauty, for the onyx terraces and colonnaded walks, the gay porterres and delicate flowering trees espaliered to golden lattices, the brazen urns and tripods with cunning bas-reliefs, the pedestalled and almost breathing statues of veined black marble, the basalt-bottomed lagoon's tiled fountains with luminous fish, the tiny temples of iridescent singing birds atop carven columns, the marvellous scrollwork of the great bronze gates, and the blossoming vines trained along every inch of the polished walls all joined to form a sight whose loveliness was beyond reality, and half-fabulous even in the land of dreams. There it shimmered like a vision under that grey twilight sky, with the domed and fretted magnificence of the palace ahead, and the fantastic silhouette of the distant impassable peaks on the right. And ever the small birds and the fountains sang, while the perfume of rare blossoms spread like a veil over that incredible garden. No other human presence was there, and Carter was glad it was so. Then they turned and descended again the onyx alley of steps, for the palace itself no visitor may enter; and it is not well to look too long and steadily at the great central dome, since it is said to house the archaic father of all the rumoured Shantak-birds, and to send out queer dreams to the curious.

After that the captain took Carter to the north quarter of the town, near the Gate of the Caravans, where are the taverns of the yak-merchants and the onyx-miners. And there, in a low-ceiled inn of quarrymen, they said farewell; for business called the captain whilst Carter was eager to talk with miners about the north. There were many men in that inn, and the traveller was not long in speaking to some of them; saying that he was an old miner of onyx, and anxious to know somewhat of Inquanok's quarries. But all that he learned was not much more than he knew before, for the miners were timid and evasive about the cold desert to the north and the quarry that no man visits. They had fears of fabled emissaries from around the mountains where Leng is said to lie, and of evil presences and nameless sentinels far north among the scattered rocks. And they whispered also that the rumoured Shantak-birds are no wholesome things; it being. indeed for the best that no man has ever truly seen one (for that fabled father of Shantaks in the king's dome is fed in the dark).

The next day, saying that he wished to look over all the various mines for himself and to visit the scattered farms and quaint onyx villages of Inquanok, Carter hired a yak and stuffed great leathern saddle-bags for a journey. Beyond the Gate of the Caravans the road lay straight betwixt tilled fields, with many odd farmhouses crowned by low domes. At some of these houses the seeker stopped to ask questions; once finding a host so austere and reticent, and so full of an unplaced majesty like to that in the huge features on Ngranek, that he felt certain he had come at last upon one of the Great Ones themselves, or upon one with full nine-tenths of their blood, dwelling amongst men. And to that austere and reticent cotter he was careful to speak very well of the gods, and to praise all the blessings they had ever accorded him.

That night Carter camped in a roadside meadow beneath a great lygath-tree to which he tied his yak, and in the morning resumed his northward pilgrimage. At about ten o'clock he reached the small-domed village of Urg, where traders rest and miners tell their tales, and paused in its taverns till noon. It is here that the great caravan road turns west toward Selarn, but Carter kept on north by the quarry road. All the afternoon he followed that rising road, which was somewhat narrower than the great highway, and which now led through a region with more rocks than tilled fields. And by evening the low hills on his left had risen into sizable black cliffs, so that he knew he was close to the mining country. All the while the great gaunt sides of the impassable mountains towered afar off at his right, and the farther he went, the worse tales he heard of them from the scattered farmers and traders and drivers of lumbering onyx-carts along the way.

On the second night he camped in the shadow of a large black crag, tethering his yak to a stake driven in the ground. He observed the greater phosphorescence of the clouds at his northerly point, and more than once thought he saw dark shapes outlined against them. And on the third morning he came in sight of the first onyx quarry, and greeted the men who there laboured with picks and chisels. Before evening he had passed eleven quarries; the land being here given over altogether to onyx cliffs and boulders, with no vegetation at all, but only great rocky fragments scattered about a floor of black earth, with the grey impassable peaks always rising gaunt and sinister on his right. The third night he spent in a camp of quarry men whose flickering fires cast weird reflections on the polished cliffs to the west. And they sang many songs and told many tales, shewing such strange knowledge of the olden days and the habits of gods that Carter could see they held many latent memories of their sires the Great Ones. They asked him whither he went, and cautioned him not to go too far to the north; but he replied that he was seeking new cliffs of onyx, and would take no more risks than were common among prospectors. In the morning he bade them adieu and rode on into the darkening north, where they had warned him he would find the feared and unvisited quarry whence hands older than men's hands had wrenched prodigious blocks. But he did not like it when, turning back to wave a last farewell, he thought he saw approaching the camp that squat and evasive old merchant with slanting eyes, whose conjectured traffick with Leng was the gossip of distant Dylath-Leen.

After two more quarries the inhabited part of Inquanok seemed to end, and the road narrowed to a steeply rising yak-path among forbidding black cliffs. Always on the right towered the gaunt and distant peaks, and as Carter climbed farther and farther into this untraversed realm he found it grew darker and colder. Soon he perceived that there were no prints of feet or hooves on the black path beneath, and realised that he was indeed come into strange and deserted ways of elder time. Once in a while a raven would croak far overhead, and now and then a flapping behind some vast rock would make him think uncomfortably of the rumoured Shantak-bird. But in the main he was alone with his shaggy steed, and it troubled him to observe that this excellent yak became more and more reluctant to advance, and more and more disposed to snort affrightedly at any small noise along the route.

The path now contracted between sable and glistening walls, and began to display an even greater steepness than before. It was a bad footing, and the yak often slipped on the stony fragments strewn thickly about. In two hours Carter saw ahead a definite crest, beyond which was nothing but dull grey sky, and blessed the prospect of a level or downward course. To reach this crest, however, was no easy task; for the way had grown nearly perpendicular, and was perilous with loose black gravel and small stones. Eventually Carter dismounted and led his dubious yak; pulling very hard when the animal balked or stumbled, and keeping his own footing as best he might. Then suddenly he came to the top and saw beyond, and gasped at what he saw.

The path indeed led straight ahead and slightly down, with the same lines of high natural walls as before; but on the left hand there opened out a monstrous space, vast acres in extent, where some archaic power had riven and rent the native cliffs of onyx in the form of a giant's quarry. Far back into the solid precipice ran that cyclopean gouge, and deep down within earth's bowels its lower delvings yawned. It was no quarry of man, and the concave sides were scarred with great squares, yards wide, which told of the size of the blocks once hewn by nameless hands and chisels. High over its jagged rim huge ravens flapped and croaked, and vague whirrings in the unseen depths told of bats or urhags or less mentionable presences haunting the endless blackness. There Carter stood in the narrow way amidst the twilight with the rocky path sloping down before him; tall onyx cliffs on his right that led on as far as he could see and tall cliffs on the left chopped off just ahead to make that terrible and unearthly quarry.

All at once the yak uttered a cry and burst from his control, leaping past him and darting on in a panic till it vanished down the narrow slope toward the north. Stones kicked by its flying hooves fell over the brink of the quarry and lost themselves in the dark without any sound of striking bottom; but Carter ignored the perils of that scanty path as he raced breathlessly after the flying steed. Soon the left-behind cliffs resumed their course, making the way once more a narrow lane; and still the traveller leaped on after the yak whose great wide prints told of its desperate flight.

Once he thought he heard the hoofbeats of the frightened beast, and doubled his speed from this encouragement. He was covering miles, and little by little the way was broadening in front till he knew he must soon emerge on the cold and dreaded desert to the north. The gaunt grey flanks of the distant impassable peaks were again visible above the right-hand crags, and ahead were the rocks and boulders of an open space which was clearly a foretaste of the dark arid limitless plain. And once more those hoofbeats sounded in his ears, plainer than before, but this time giving terror instead of encouragement because he realised that they were not the frightened hoofbeats of his fleeing yak. The beats were ruthless and purposeful, and they were behind him.

Carter's pursuit of the yak became now a flight from an unseen thing, for though he dared not glance over his shoulder he felt that the presence behind him could be nothing wholesome or mentionable. His yak must have heard or felt it first, and he did not like to ask himself whether it had followed him from the haunts of men or had floundered up out of that black quarry pit. Meanwhile the cliffs had been left behind, so that the oncoming night fell over a great waste of sand and spectral rocks wherein all paths were lost. He could not see the hoofprints of his yak, but always from behind him there came that detestable clopping; mingled now and then with what he fancied were titanic flappings and whirrings. That he was losing ground seemed unhappily clear to him, and he knew he was hopelessly lost in this broken and blasted desert of meaningless rocks and untravelled sands. Only those remote and impassable peaks on the right gave him any sense of direction, and even they were less clear as the grey twilight waned and the sickly phosphorescence of the clouds took its place.

Then dim and misty in the darkling north before him he glimpsed a terrible thing. He had thought it for some moments a range of black mountains, but now he saw it was something more. The phosphorescence of the brooding clouds shewed it plainly, and even silhouetted parts of it as vapours glowed behind. How distant it was he could not tell, but it must have been very far. It was thousands of feet high, stretching in a great concave arc from the grey impassable peaks to the unimagined westward spaces, and had once indeed been a ridge of mighty onyx hills. But now these hills were hills no more, for some hand greater than man's had touched them. Silent they squatted there atop the world like wolves or ghouls, crowned with clouds and mists and guarding the secrets of the north forever. All in a great half circle they squatted, those dog-like mountains carven into monstrous watching statues, and their right hands were raised in menace against mankind.

It was only the flickering light of the clouds that made their mitred double heads seem to move, but as Carter stumbled on he saw arise from their shadowy caps great forms whose motions were no delusion. Winged and whirring, those forms grew larger each moment, and the traveller knew his stumbling was at an end. They were not any birds or bats known elsewhere on earth or in dreamland, for they were larger than elephants and had heads like a horse's. Carter knew that they must be the Shantak-birds of ill rumour, and wondered no more what evil guardians and nameless sentinels made men avoid the boreal rock desert. And as he stopped in final resignation he dared at last to look behind him, where indeed was trotting the squat slant-eyed trader of evil legend, grinning astride a lean yak and leading on a noxious horde of leering Shantaks to whose wings still clung the rime and nitre of the nether pits.

Trapped though he was by fabulous and hippocephalic winged nightmares that pressed around in great unholy circles, Randolph Carter did not lose consciousness. Lofty and horrible those titan gargoyles towered above him, while the slant-eyed merchant leaped down from his yak and stood grinning before the captive. Then the man motioned Carter to mount one of the repugnant Shantaks, helping him up as his judgement struggled with his loathing. It was hard work ascending, for the Shantak-bird has scales instead of feathers, and those scales are very slippery. Once he was seated, the slant-eyed man hopped up behind him, leaving the lean yak to be led away northward toward the ring of carven mountains by one of the incredible bird colossi.

There now followed a hideous whirl through frigid space, endlessly up and eastward toward the gaunt grey flanks of those impassable mountains beyond which Leng was said to be. Far above the clouds they flew, till at last there lay beneath them those fabled summits which the folk of Inquanok have never seen, and which lie always in high vortices of gleaming mist. Carter beheld them very plainly as they passed below, and saw upon their topmost peaks strange caves which made him think of those on Ngranek; but he did not question his captor about these things when he noticed that both the man and the horse-headed Shantak appeared oddly fearful of them, hurrying past nervously and shewing great tension until they were left far in the rear.

The Shantak now flew lower, revealing beneath the canopy of cloud a grey barren plain whereon at great distances shone little feeble fires. As they descended there appeared at intervals lone huts of granite and bleak stone villages whose tiny windows glowed with pallid light. And there came from those huts and villages a shrill droning of pipes and a nauseous rattle of crotala which proved at once that Inquanok's people are right in their geographic rumours. For travellers have heard such sounds before, and know that they float only from the cold desert plateau which healthy folk never visit; that haunted place of evil and mystery which is Leng.

Around the feeble fires dark forms were dancing, and Carter was curious as to what manner of beings they might be; for no healthy folk have ever been to Leng, and the place is known only by its fires and stone huts as seen from afar. Very slowly and awkwardly did those forms leap, and with an insane twisting and bending not good to behold; so that Carter did not wonder at the monstrous evil imputed to them by vague legend, or the fear in which all dreamland holds their abhorrent frozen plateau. As the Shantak flew lower, the repulsiveness of the dancers became tinged with a certain hellish familiarity; and the prisoner kept straining his eyes and racking his memory for clues to where he had seen such creatures before.

They leaped as though they had hooves instead of feet, and seemed to wear a sort of wig or headpiece with small horns. Of other clothing they had none, but most of them were quite furry. Behind they had dwarfish tails, and when they glanced upward he saw the excessive width of their mouths. Then he knew what they were, and that they did not wear any wigs or headpieces after all. For the cryptic folk of Leng were of one race with the uncomfortable merchants of the black galleys that traded rubies at Dylath-Leen; those not quite human merchants who are the slaves of the monstrous moon-things! They were indeed the same dark folk who had shanghaied Carter on their noisome galley so long ago, and whose kith he had seen driven in herds about the unclean wharves of that accursed lunar city, with the leaner ones toiling and the fatter ones taken away in crates for other needs of their polypous and amorphous masters. Now he saw where such ambiguous creatures came from, and shuddered at the thought that Leng must be known to these formless abominations from the moon.

But the Shantak flew on past the fires and the stone huts and the less than human dancers, and soared over sterile hills of grey granite and dim wastes of rock and ice and snow. Day came, and the phosphorescence of low clouds gave place to the misty twilight of that northern world, and still the vile bird winged meaningly through the cold and silence. At times the slant-eyed man talked with his steed in a hateful and guttural language, and the Shantak would answer with tittering tones that rasped like the scratching of ground glass. AlI this while the land was getting higher, and finally they came to a wind-swept table-land which seemed the very roof of a blasted and tenantless world. There, all alone in the hush and the dusk and the cold, rose the uncouth stones of a squat windowless building, around which a circle of crude monoliths stood. In all this arrangement there was nothing human, and Carter surmised from old tales that he was indeed come to that most dreadful and legendary of all places, the remote and prehistoric monastery wherein dwells uncompanioned the High-Priest Not To Be Described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and prays to the Other Gods and their crawling chaos Nyarlathotep.

The loathsome bird now settled to the ground, and the slant-eyed man hopped down and helped his captive alight. Of the purpose of his seizure Carter now felt very sure; for clearly the slant-eyed merchant was an agent of the darker powers, eager to drag before his masters a mortal whose presumption had aimed at the finding of unknown Kadath and the saying of a prayer before the faces of the Great Ones in their onyx castle. It seemed likely that this merchant had caused his former capture by the slaves of the moon-things in Dylath-Leen, and that he now meant to do what the rescuing cats had baffled; taking the victim to some dread rendezvous with monstrous Nyarlathotep and telling with what boldness the seeking of unknown Kadath had been tried. Leng and the cold waste north of Inquanok must be close to the Other Gods, and there the passes to Kadath are well guarded.

The slant-eyed man was small, but the great hippocephalic bird was there to see he was obeyed; so Carter followed where he led, and passed within the circle of standing rocks and into the low arched doorway of that windowless stone monastery. There were no lights inside, but the evil merchant lit a small clay lamp bearing morbid bas-reliefs and prodded his prisoner on through mazes of narrow winding corridors. On the walls of the corridors were printed frightful scenes older than history, and in a style unknown to the archaeologists of earth. After countless aeons their pigments were brilliant still, for the cold and dryness of hideous Leng keep alive many primal things. Carter saw them fleetingly in the rays of that dim and moving lamp, and shuddered at the tale they told.

Through those archaic frescoes Leng's annals stalked; and the horned, hooved, and wide-mouthed almost-humans danced evilly amidst forgotten cities. There were scenes of old wars, wherein Leng's almost-humans fought with the bloated purple spiders of the neighbouring vales; and there were scenes also of the coming of the black galleys from the moon, and of the submission of Leng's people to the polypous and amorphous blasphemies that hopped and floundered and wriggled out of them. Those slippery greyish-white blasphemies they worshipped as gods, nor ever complained when scores of their best and fatted males were taken away in the black galleys. The monstrous moon-beasts made their camp on a jagged isle in the sea, and Carter could tell from the frescoes that this was none other than the lone nameless rock he had seen when sailing to Inquanok; that grey accursed rock which Inquanok's seamen shun, and from which vile howlings reverberate all through the night.

And in those frescoes was shewn the great seaport and capital of the almost-humans; proud and pillared betwixt the cliffs and the basalt wharves, and wondrous with high fanes and carven places. Great gardens and columned streets led from the cliffs and from each of the six sphinx-crowned gates to a vast central plaza, and in that plaza was a pair of winged colossal lions guarding the top of a subterrene staircase. Again and again were those huge winged lions shewn, their mighty flanks of diarite glistening in the grey twilight of the day and the cloudy phosphorescence of the night. And as Carter stumbled past their frequent and repeated pictures it came to him at last what indeed they were, and what city it was that the almost-humans had ruled so anciently before the coming of the black galleys. There could be no mistake, for the legends of dreamland are generous and profuse. Indubitably that primal city was no less a place than storied Sarkomand, whose ruins had bleached for a million years before the first true human saw the light, and whose twin titan lions guard eternally the steps that lead down from dreamland to the Great Abyss.

Other views shewed the gaunt grey peaks dividing Leng from Inquanok, and the monstrous Shantak-birds that build nests on the ledges half way up. And they shewed likewise the curious caves near the very topmost pinnacles, and how even the boldest of the Shantaks fly screaming away from them. Carter had seen those caves when he passed over them, and had noticed their likeness to the caves on Ngranek. Now he knew that the likeness was more than a chance one, for in these pictures were shewn their fearsome denizens; and those bat-wings, curving horns, barbed tails, prehensile paws and rubbery bodies were not strange to him. He had met those silent, flitting and clutching creatures before; those mindless guardians of the Great Abyss whom even the Great Ones fear, and who own not Nyarlathotep but hoary Nodens as their lord. For they were the dreaded night-gaunts, who never laugh or smile because they have no faces, and who flop unendingly in the dark betwixt the Vale of Pnath and the passes to the outer world.

The slant-eyed merchant had now prodded Carter into a great domed space whose walls were carved in shocking bas-reliefs, and whose centre held a gaping circular pit surrounded by six malignly stained stone altars in a ring. There was no light in this vast evil-smelling crypt, and the small lamp of the sinister merchant shone so feebly that one could grasp details only little by little. At the farther end was a high stone dais reached by five steps; and there on a golden throne sat a lumpish figure robed in yellow silk figured with red and having a yellow silken mask over its face. To this being the slant-eyed man made certain signs with his hands, and the lurker in the dark replied by raising a disgustingly carven flute of ivory in silk-covered paws and blowing certain loathsome sounds from beneath its flowing yellow mask. This colloquy went on for some time, and to Carter there was something sickeningly familiar in the sound of that flute and the stench of the malodorous place. It made him think of a frightful red-litten city and of the revolting procession that once filed through it; of that, and of an awful climb through lunar countryside beyond, before the rescuing rush of earth's friendly cats. He knew that the creature on the dais was without doubt the High-Priest Not To Be Described, of which legend whispers such fiendish and abnormal possibilities, but he feared to think just what that abhorred High-Priest might be.

Then the figured silk slipped a trifle from one of the greyish-white paws, and Carter knew what the noisome High-Priest was. And in that hideous second, stark fear drove him to something his reason would never have dared to attempt, for in all his shaken consciousness there was room only for one frantic will to escape from what squatted on that golden throne. He knew that hopeless labyrinths of stone lay betwixt him and the cold table-land outside, and that even on that table-land the noxious Shantek still waited; yet in spite of all this there was in his mind only the instant need to get away from that wriggling, silk-robed monstrosity.

The slant-eyed man had set the curious lamp upon one of the high and wickedly stained altar-stones by the pit, and had moved forward somewhat to talk to the High-Priest with his hands. Carter, hitherto wholly passive, now gave that man a terrific push with all the wild strength of fear, so that the victim toppled at once into that gaping well which rumour holds to reach down to the hellish Vaults of Zin where Gugs hunt ghasts in the dark. In almost the same second he seized the lamp from the altar and darted out into the frescoed labyrinths, racing this way and that as chance determined and trying not to think of the stealthy padding of shapeless paws on the stones behind him, or of the silent wrigglings and crawlings which must be going on back there in lightless corridors.

After a few moments he regretted his thoughtless haste, and wished he had tried to follow backward the frescoes he had passed on the way in. True, they were so confused and duplicated that they could not have done him much good, but he wished none the less he had made the attempt. Those he now saw were even more horrible than those he had seen then, and he knew he was not in the corridors leading outside. In time he became quite sure he was not followed, and slackened his pace somewhat; but scarce had he breathed in half relief when a new peril beset him. His lamp was waning, and he would soon be in pitch blackness with no means of sight or guidance.

When the light was all gone he groped slowly in the dark, and prayed to the Great Ones for such help as they might afford. At times he felt the stone floor sloping up or down, and once he stumbled over a step for which no reason seemed to exist. The farther he went the damper it seemed to be, and when he was able to feel a junction or the mouth of a side passage he always chose the way which sloped downward the least. He believed, though, that his general course was down; and the vault-like smell and incrustations on the greasy walls and floor alike warned him he was burrowing deep in Leng's unwholesome table-land. But there was not any warning of the thing which came at last; only the thing itself with its terror and shock and breath-taking chaos. One moment he was groping slowly over the slippery floor of an almost level place, and the next he was shooting dizzily downward in the dark through a burrow which must have been well-nigh vertical.

Of the length of that hideous sliding he could never be sure, but it seemed to take hours of delirious nausea and ecstatic frenzy. Then he realized he was still, with the phosphorescent clouds of a northern night shining sickly above him. All around were crumbling walls and broken columns, and the pavement on which he lay was pierced by straggling grass and wrenched asunder by frequent shrubs and roots. Behind him a basalt cliff rose topless and perpendicular; its dark side sculptured into repellent scenes, and pierced by an arched and carven entrance to the inner blacknesses out of which he had come. Ahead stretched double rows of pillars, and the fragments and pedestals of pillars, that spoke of a broad and bygone street; and from the urns and basins along the way he knew it had been a great street of gardens. Far off at its end the pillars spread to mark a vast round plaza, and in that open circle there loomed gigantic under the lurid night clouds a pair of monstrous things. Huge winged lions of diarite they were, with blackness and shadow between them. Full twenty feet they reared their grotesque and unbroken heads, and snarled derisive on the ruins around them. And Carter knew right well what they must be, for legend tells of only one such twain. They were the changeless guardians of the Great Abyss, and these dark ruins were in truth primordial Sarkomand.

Carter's first act was to close and barricade the archway in the cliff with fallen blocks and odd debris that lay around. He wished no follower from Leng's hateful monastery, for along the way ahead would lurk enough of other dangers. Of how to get from Sarkomand to the peopled parts of dreamland he knew nothing at all; nor could he gain much by descending to the grottoes of the ghouls, since he knew they were no better informed than he. The three ghouls which had helped him through the city of Gugs to the outer world had not known how to reach Sarkomand in their journey back, but had planned to ask old traders in Dylath-Leen. He did not like to think of going again to the subterrene world of Gugs and risking once more that hellish tower of Koth with its Cyclopean steps leading to the enchanted wood, yet he felt he might have to try this course if all else failed. Over Leng's plateau past the lone monastery he dared not go unaided; for the High-Priest's emissaries must be many, while at the journey's end there would no doubt be the Shantaks and perhaps other things to deal with. If he could get a boat he might sail back to Inquanok past the jagged and hideous rock in the sea, for the primal frescoes in the monastery labyrinth had shewn that this frightful place lies not far from Sarkomand's basalt quays. But to find a boat in this aeon-deserted city was no probable thing, and it did not appear likely that he could ever make one.

Such were the thoughts of Randolph Carter when a new impression began beating upon his mind. All this while there had stretched before him the great corpse-like width of fabled Sarkomand with its black broken pillars and crumbling sphinx-crowned gates and titan stones and monstrous winged lions against the sickly glow of those luminous night clouds. Now he saw far ahead and on the right a glow that no clouds could account for, and knew he was not alone in the silence of that dead city. The glow rose and fell fitfully, flickering with a greenish tinge which did not reassure the watcher. And when he crept closer, down the littered street and through some narrow gaps between tumbled walls, he perceived that it was a campfire near the wharves with many vague forms clustered darkly around it; and a lethal odour hanging heavily over all. Beyond was the oily lapping of the harbour water with a great ship riding at anchor, and Carter paused in stark terror when he saw that the ship was indeed one of the dreaded black galleys from the moon.

Then, just as he was about to creep back from that detestable flame, he saw a stirring among the vague dark forms and heard a peculiar and unmistakable sound. It was the frightened meeping of a ghoul, and in a moment it had swelled to a veritable chorus of anguish. Secure as he was in the shadow of monstrous ruins, Carter allowed his curiosity to conquer his fear, and crept forward again instead of retreating. Once in crossing an open street he wriggled worm-like on his stomach, and in another place he had to rise to his feet to avoid making a noise among heaps of fallen marble. But always he succeeded in avoiding discovery, so that in a short time he had found a spot behind a titan pillar where he could watch the whole green-litten scene of action. There around a hideous fire fed by the obnoxious stems of lunar fungi, there squatted a stinking circle of the toadlike moonbeasts and their almost-human slaves. Some of these slaves were heating curious iron spears in the leaping flames, and at intervals applying their white-hot points to three tightly trussed prisoners that lay writhing before the leaders of the party. From the motions of their tentacles Carter could see that the blunt-snouted moonbeasts were enjoying the spectacle hugely, and vast was his horror when he suddenly recognised the frantic meeping and knew that the tortured ghouls were none other than the faithful trio which had guided him safely from the abyss, and had thereafter set out from the enchanted wood to find Sarkomand and the gate to their native deeps.

The number of malodorous moonbeasts about that greenish fire was very great, and Carter saw that he could do nothing now to save his former allies. Of how the ghouls had been captured he could not guess; but fancied that the grey toadlike blasphemies had heard them inquire in Dylath-Leen concerning the way to Sarkomand and had not wished them to approach so closely the hateful plateau of Leng and the High-Priest Not To Be Described. For a moment he pondered on what he ought to do, and recalled how near he was to the gate of the ghouls' black kingdom. Clearly it was wisest to creep east to the plaza of twin lions and descend at once to the gulf, where assuredly he would meet no horrors worse than those above, and where he might soon find ghouls eager to rescue their brethren and perhaps to wipe out the moonbeasts from the black galley. It occurred to him that the portal, like other gates to the abyss, might be guarded by flocks of night-gaunts; but he did not fear these faceless creatures now. He had learned that they are bound by solemn treaties with the ghouls, and the ghoul which was Pickman had taught him how to glibber a password they understood.

So Carter began another silent crawl through the ruins, edging slowly toward the great central plaza and the winged lions. It was ticklish work, but the moonbeasts were pleasantly busy and did not hear the slight noises which he twice made by accident among the scattered stones. At last he reached the open space and picked his way among the stunned trees and vines that had grown up therein. The gigantic lions loomed terrible above him in the sickly glow of the phosphorescent night clouds, but he manfully persisted toward them and presently crept round to their faces, knowing it was on that side he would find the mighty darkness which they guard. Ten feet apart crouched the mocking-faced beasts of diarite, brooding on cyclopean pedestals whose sides were chiselled in fearsome bas-reliefs. Betwixt them was a tiled court with a central space which had once been railed with balusters of onyx. Midway in this space a black well opened, and Carter soon saw that he had indeed reached the yawning gulf whose crusted and mouldy stone steps lead down to the crypts of nightmare.

Terrible is the memory of that dark descent in which hours wore themselves away whilst Carter wound sightlessly round and round down a fathomless spiral of steep and slippery stairs. So worn and narrow were the steps, and so greasy with the ooze of inner earth, that the climber never quite knew when to expect a breathless fall and hurtling down to the ultimate pits; and he was likewise uncertain just when or how the guardian night-gaunts would suddenly pounce upon him, if indeed there were any stationed in this primeval passage. All about him was a stifling odour of nether gulfs, and he felt that the air of these choking depths was not made for mankind. In time he became very numb and somnolent, moving more from automatic impulse than from reasoned will; nor did he realize any change when he stopped moving altogether as something quietly seized him from behind. He was flying very rapidly through the air before a malevolent tickling told him that the rubbery night-gaunts had performed their duty.

Awaked to the fact that he was in the cold, damp clutch of the faceless flutterers, Carter remembered the password of the ghouls and glibbered it as loudly as he could amidst the wind and chaos of flight. Mindless though night-gaunts are said to be, the effect was instantaneous; for all tickling stopped at once, and the creatures hastened to shift their captive to a more comfortable position. Thus encouraged Carter ventured some explanations; telling of the seizure and torture of three ghouls by the moonbeasts, and of the need of assembling a party to rescue them. The night-gaunts, though inarticulate, seemed to understand what was said; and shewed greater haste and purpose in their flight. Suddenly the dense blackness gave place to the grey twilight of inner earth, and there opened up ahead one of those flat sterile plains on which ghouls love to squat and gnaw. Scattered tombstones and osseous fragments told of the denizens of that place; and as Carter gave a loud meep of urgent summons, a score of burrows emptied forth their leathery, dog-like tenants. The night-gaunts now flew low and set their passenger upon his feet, afterward withdrawing a little and forming a hunched semicircle on the ground while the ghouls greeted the newcomer.

Carter glibbered his message rapidly and explicitly to the grotesque company, and four of them at once departed through different burrows to spread the news to others and gather such troops as might be available for a rescue. After a long wait a ghoul of some importance appeared, and made significant signs to the night-gaunts, causing two of the latter to fly off into the dark. Thereafter there were constant accessions to the hunched flock of night-gaunts on the plain, till at length the slimy soil was fairly black with them. Meanwhile fresh ghouls crawled out of the burrows one by one, all glibbering excitedly and forming in crude battle array not far from the huddled night-gaunts. In time there appeared that proud and influential ghoul which was once the artist Richard Pickman of Boston, and to him Carter glibbered a very full account of what had occurred. The erstwhile Pickman, pleased to greet his ancient friend again, seemed very much impressed, and held a conference with other chiefs a little apart from the growing throng.

Finally, after scanning the ranks with care, the assembled chiefs all meeped in unison and began glibbering orders to the crowds of ghouls and night-gaunts. A large detachment of the horned flyers vanished at once, while the rest grouped themselves two by two on their knees with extended forelegs, awaiting the approach of the ghouls one by one. As each ghoul reached the pair of night-gaunts to which he was assigned, he was taken up and borne away into the blackness; till at last the whole throng had vanished save for Carter, Pickman, and the other chiefs, and a few pairs of night-gaunts. Pickman explained that night-gaunts are the advance guard and battle steeds of the ghouls, and that the army was issuing forth to Sarkomand to deal with the moonbeasts. Then Carter and the ghoulish chiefs approached the waiting bearers and were taken up by the damp, slippery paws. Another moment and all were whirling in wind and darkness; endlessly up, up, up to the gate of the winged and the special ruins of primal Sarkomand.

When, after a great interval, Carter saw again the sickly light of Sarkomand's nocturnal sky, it was to behold the great central plaza swarming with militant ghouls and night-gaunts. Day, he felt sure, must be almost due; but so strong was the army that no surprise of the enemy would be needed. The greenish flare near the wharves still glimmered faintly, though the absence of ghoulish meeping shewed that the torture of the prisoners was over for the nonce. Softly glibbering directions to their steeds and to the flock of riderless night-gaunts ahead, the ghouls presently rose in wide whirring columns and swept on over the bleak ruins toward the evil flame. Carter was now beside Pickman in the front rank of ghouls, and saw as they approached the noisome camp that the moonbeasts were totally unprepared. The three prisoners lay bound and inert beside the fire, while their toadlike captors slumped drowsily about in no certain order. The almost-human slaves were asleep, even the sentinels shirking a duty which in this realm must have seemed to them merely perfunctory.

The final swoop of the night-gaunts and mounted ghouls was very sudden, each of the greyish toadlike blasphemies and their almost-human slaves being seized by a group of night-gaunts before a sound was made. The moonbeasts, of course, were voiceless; and even the slaves had little chance to scream before rubbery paws choked them into silence. Horrible were the writhings of those great jellyfish abnormalities as the sardonic night-gaunts clutched them, but nothing availed against the strength of those black prehensile talons. When a moonbeast writhed too violently, a night-gaunt would seize and pull its quivering pink tentacles; which seemed to hurt so much that the victim would cease its struggles. Carter expected to see much slaughter, but found that the ghouls were far subtler in their plans. They glibbered certain simple orders to the night-gaunts which held the captives, trusting the rest to instinct; and soon the hapless creatures were borne silently away into the Great Abyss, to be distributed impartially amongst the Dholes, Gugs, ghasts and other dwellers in darkness whose modes of nourishment are not painless to their chosen victims. Meanwhile the three bound ghouls had been released and consoled by their conquering kinsfolk, whilst various parties searched the neighborhood for possible remaining moonbeasts, and boarded the evil-smelling black galley at the wharf to make sure that nothing had escaped the general defeat. Surely enough, the capture had been thorough, for not a sign of further life could the victors detect. Carter, anxious to preserve a means of access to the rest of dreamland, urged them not to sink the anchored galley; and this request was freely granted out of gratitude for his act in reporting the plight of the captured trio. On the ship were found some very curious objects and decorations, some of which Carter cast at once into the sea.

Ghouls and night-gaunts now formed themselves in separate groups, the former questioning their rescued fellow anent past happenings. It appeared that the three had followed Carter's directions and proceeded from the enchanted wood to Dylath-Leen by way of Nir and the Skin, stealing human clothes at a lonely farmhouse and loping as closely as possible in the fashion of a man's walk. In Dylath-Leen's taverns their grotesque ways and faces had aroused much comment; but they had persisted in asking the way to Sarkomand until at last an old traveller was able to tell them. Then they knew that only a ship for Lelag-Leng would serve their purpose, and prepared to wait patiently for such a vessel.

But evil spies had doubtless reported much; for shortly a black galley put into port, and the wide-mouthed ruby merchants invited the ghouls to drink with them in a tavern. Wine was produced from one of those sinister bottles grotesquely carven from a single ruby, and after that the ghouls found themselves prisoners on the black galley as Carter had found himself. This time, however, the unseen rowers steered not for the moon but for antique Sarkomand; bent evidently on taking their captives before the High-Priest Not To Be Described. They had touched at the jagged rock in the northern sea which Inquanok's mariners shun, and the ghouls had there seen for the first time the red masters of the ship; being sickened despite their own callousness by such extremes of malign shapelessness and fearsome odour. There, too, were witnessed the nameless pastimes of the toadlike resident garrison-such pastimes as give rise to the night-howlings which men fear. After that had come the landing at ruined Sarkomand and the beginning of the tortures, whose continuance the present rescue had prevented.

Future plans were next discussed, the three rescued ghouls suggesting a raid on the jagged rock and the extermination of the toadlike garrison there. To this, however, the night-gaunts objected; since the prospect of flying over water did not please them. Most of the ghouls favoured the design, but were at a loss how to follow it without the help of the winged night-gaunts. Thereupon Carter, seeing that they could not navigate the anchored galley, offered to teach them the use of the great banks of oars; to which proposal they eagerly assented. Grey day had now come, and under that leaden northern sky a picked detachment of ghouls filed into the noisome ship and took their seats on the rowers' benches. Carter found them fairly apt at learning, and before night had risked several experimental trips around the harbour. Not till three days later, however, did he deem it safe to attempt the voyage of conquest. Then, the rowers trained and the night-gaunts safely stowed in the forecastle, the party set sail at last; Pickman and the other chiefs gathering on deck and discussing models of approach and procedure.

On the very first night the howlings from the rock were heard. Such was their timbre that all the galley's crew shook visibly; but most of all trembled the three rescued ghouls who knew precisely what those howlings meant. It was not thought best to attempt an attack by night, so the ship lay to under the phosphorescent clouds to wait for the dawn of a greyish day. when the light was ample and the howlings still the rowers resumed their strokes, and the galley drew closer and closer to that jagged rock whose granite pinnacles clawed fantastically at the dull sky. The sides of the rock were very steep; but on ledges here and there could be seen the bulging walls of queer windowless dwellings, and the low railings guarding travelled highroads. No ship of men had ever come so near the place, or at least, had never come so near and departed again; but Carter and the ghouls were void of fear and kept inflexibly on, rounding the eastern face of the rock and seeking the wharves which the rescued trio described as being on the southern side within a harbour formed of steep headlands.

The headlands were prolongations of the island proper, and came so closely together that only one ship at a time might pass between them. There seemed to be no watchers on the outside, so the galley was steered boldly through the flume-like strait and into the stagnant putrid harbour beyond. Here, however, all was bustle and activity; with several ships lying at anchor along a forbidding stone quay, and scores of almost-human slaves and moonbeasts by the waterfront handling crates and boxes or driving nameless and fabulous horrors hitched to lumbering lorries. There was a small stone town hewn out of the vertical cliff above the wharves, with the start of a winding road that spiralled out of sight toward higher ledges of the rock. Of what lay inside that prodigious peak of granite none might say, but the things one saw on the outside were far from encouraging.

At sight of the incoming galley the crowds on the wharves displayed much eagerness; those with eyes staring intently, and those without eyes wriggling their pink tentacles expectantly. They did not, of course, realize that the black ship had changed hands; for ghouls look much like the horned and hooved almost-humans, and the night-gaunts were all out of sight below. By this time the leaders had fully formed a plan; which was to loose the night-gaunts as soon as the wharf was touched, and then to sail directly away, leaving matters wholly to the instincts of those almost-mindless creatures. Marooned on the rock, the horned flyers would first of all seize whatever living things they found there, and afterward, quite helpless to think except in terms of the homing instinct, would forget their fears of water and fly swiftly back to the abyss; bearing their noisome prey to appropriate destinations in the dark, from which not much would emerge alive.

The ghoul that was Pickman now went below and gave the night-gaunts their simple instructions, while the ship drew very near to the ominous and malodorous wharves. Presently a fresh stir rose along the waterfront, and Carter saw that the motions of the galley had begun to excite suspicion. Evidently the steersman was not making for the right dock, and probably the watchers had noticed the difference between the hideous ghouls and the almost-human slaves whose places they were taking. Some silent alarm must have been given, for almost at once a horde of the mephitic moonbeasts began to pour from the little black doorways of the windowless houses and down the winding road at the right. A rain of curious javelins struck the galley as the prow hit the wharf felling two ghouls and slightly wounding another; but at this point all the hatches were thrown open to emit a black cloud of whirring night-gaunts which swarmed over the town like a flock of horned and cyclopean bats.

The jellyish moonbeasts had procured a great pole and were trying to push off the invading ship, but when the night-gaunts struck them they thought of such things no more. It was a very terrible spectacle to see those faceless and rubbery ticklers at their pastime, and tremendously impressive to watch the dense cloud of them spreading through the town and up the winding roadway to the reaches above. Sometimes a group of the black flutterers would drop a toadlike prisoner from aloft by mistake, and the manner in which the victim would burst was highly offensive to the sight and smell. When the last of the night-gaunts had left the galley the ghoulish leaders glibbered an order of withdrawal, and the rowers pulled quietly out of the harbour between the grey headlands while still the town was a chaos of battle and conquest.

The Pickman ghoul allowed several hours for the night-gaunts to make up their rudimentary minds and overcome their fear of flying over the sea, and kept the galley standing about a mile off the jagged rock while he waited, and dressed the wounds of the injured men. Night fell, and the grey twilight gave place to the sickly phosphorescence of low clouds, and all the while the leaders watched the high peaks of that accursed rock for signs of the night-gaunts' flight. Toward morning a black speck was seen hovering timidly over the top-most pinnacle, and shortly afterward the speck had become a swarm. Just before daybreak the swarm seemed to scatter, and within a quarter of an hour it had vanished wholly in the distance toward the northeast. Once or twice something seemed to fall from the thing swarm into the sea; but Carter did not worry, since he knew from observation that the toadlike moonbeasts cannot swim. At length, when the ghouls were satisfied that all the night-gaunts had left for Sarkomand and the Great Abyss with their doomed burdens, the galley put back into the harbour betwixt the grey headlands; and all the hideous company landed and roamed curiously over the denuded rock with its towers and eyries and fortresses chiselled from the solid stone.

Frightful were the secrets uncovered in those evil and windowless crypts; for the remnants of unfinished pastimes were many, and in various stages of departure from their primal state. Carter put out of the way certain things which were after a fashion alive, and fled precipitately from a few other things about which he could not be very positive. The stench-filled houses were furnished mostly with grotesque stools and benches carven from moon-trees, and were painted inside with nameless and frantic designs. Countless weapons, implements, and ornaments lay about, including some large idols of solid ruby depicting singular beings not found on the earth. These latter did not, despite their material, invite either appropriation or long inspection; and Carter took the trouble to hammer five of them into very small pieces. The scattered spears and javelins he collected, and with Pickman's approval distributed among the ghouls. Such devices were new to the doglike lopers, but their relative simplicity made them easy to master after a few concise hints.

The upper parts of the rock held more temples than private homes, and in numerous hewn chambers were found terrible carven altars and doubtfully stained fonts and shrines for the worship of things more monstrous than the wild gods atop Kadath. From the rear of one great temple stretched a low black passage which Carter followed far into the rock with a torch till he came to a lightless domed hall of vast proportions, whose vaultings were covered with demoniac carvings and in whose centre yawned a foul and bottomless well like that in the hideous monastery of Leng where broods alone the High-Priest Not To Be Described. On the distant shadowy side, beyond the noisome well, he thought he discerned a small door of strangely wrought bronze; but for some reason he felt an unaccountable dread of opening it or even approaching it, and hastened back through the cavern to his unlovely allies as they shambled about with an ease and abandon he could scarcely feel. The ghouls had observed the unfinished pastimes of the moonbeasts, and had profited in their fashion. They had also found a hogshead of potent moon-wine, and were rolling it down to the wharves for removal and later use in diplomatic dealings, though the rescued trio, remembering its effect on them in Dylath-Leen, had warned their company to taste none of it. Of rubies from lunar mines there was a great store, both rough and polished, in one of the vaults near the water; but when the ghouls found they were not good to eat they lost all interest in them. Carter did not try to carry any away, since he knew too much about those which had mined them.

Suddenly there came an excited meeping from the sentries on the wharves, and all the loathsome foragers turned from their tasks to stare seaward and cluster round the waterfront. Betwixt the grey headlands a fresh black galley was rapidly advancing, and it would be but a moment before the almost-humans on deck would perceive the invasion of the town and give the alarm to the monstrous things below. Fortunately the ghouls still bore the spears and javelins which Carter had distributed amongst them; and at his command, sustained by the being that was Pickman, they now formed a line of battle and prepared to prevent the landing of the ship. Presently a burst of excitement on the galley told of the crew's discovery of the changed state of things, and the instant stoppage of the vessel proved that the superior numbers of the ghouls had been noted and taken into account. After a moment of hesitation the new comers silently turned and passed out between the headlands again, but not for an instant did the ghouls imagine that the conflict was averted. Either the dark ship would seek reinforcements or the crew would try to land elsewhere on the island; hence a party of scouts was at once sent up toward the pinnacle to see what the enemy's course would be.

In a very few minutes the ghoul returned breathless to say that the moonbeasts and almost-humans were landing on the outside of the more easterly of the rugged grey headlands, and ascending by hidden paths and ledges which a goat could scarcely tread in safety. Almost immediately afterward the galley was sighted again through the flume-like strait, but only for a second. Then a few moments later, a second messenger panted down from aloft to say that another party was landing on the other headland; both being much more numerous than the size of the galley would seem to allow for. The ship itself, moving slowly with only one sparsely manned tier of oars, soon hove in sight betwixt the cliffs, and lay to in the foetid harbour as if to watch the coming fray and stand by for any possible use.

By this time Carter and Pickman had divided the ghouls into three parties, one to meet each of the two invading columns and one to remain in the town. The first two at once scrambled up the rocks in their respective directions, while the third was subdivided into a land party and a sea party. The sea party, commanded by Carter, boarded the anchored galley and rowed out to meet the under-manned galley of the newcomers; whereat the latter retreated through the strait to the open sea. Carter did not at once pursue it, for he knew he might be needed more acutely near the town.

Meanwhile the frightful detachments of the moonbeasts and almost-humans had lumbered up to the top of the headlands and were shockingly silhouetted on either side against the grey twilight sky. The thin hellish flutes of the invaders had now begun to whine, and the general effect of those hybrid, half-amorphous processions was as nauseating as the actual odour given off by the toadlike lunar blasphemies. Then the two parties of the ghouls swarmed into sight and joined the silhouetted panorama. Javelins began to fly from both sides, and the swelling meeps of the ghouls and the bestial howls of the almost-humans gradually joined the hellish whine of the flutes to form a frantick and indescribable chaos of daemon cacophony. Now and then bodies fell from the narrow ridges of the headlands into the sea outside or the harbour inside, in the latter case being sucked quickly under by certain submarine lurkers whose presence was indicated only by prodigious bubbles.

For half an hour this dual battle raged in the sky, till upon the west cliff the invaders were completely annihilated. On the east cliff, however, where the leader of the moonbeast party appeared to be present, the ghouls had not fared so well; and were slowly retreating to the slopes of the pinnacle proper. Pickman had quickly ordered reinforcements for this front from the party in the town, and these had helped greatly in the earlier stages of the combat. Then, when the western battle was over, the victorious survivors hastened across to the aid of their hard-pressed fellows; turning the tide and forcing the invaders back again along the narrow ridge of the headland. The almost-humans were by this time all slain, but the last of the toadlike horrors fought desperately with the great spears clutched in their powerful and disgusting paws. The time for javelins was now nearly past, and the fight became a hand-to-hand contest of what few spearmen could meet upon that narrow ridge.

As fury and recklessness increased, the number falling into the sea became very great. Those striking the harbour met nameless extinction from the unseen bubblers, but of those striking the open sea some were able to swim to the foot of the cliffs and land on tidal rocks, while the hovering galley of the enemy rescued several moonbeasts. The cliffs were unscalable except where the monsters had debarked, so that none of the ghouls on the rocks could rejoin their battle-line. Some were killed by javelins from the hostile galley or from the moonbeasts above, but a few survived to be rescued. When the security of the land parties seemed assured, Carter's galley sallied forth between the headlands and drove the hostile ship far out to sea; pausing to rescue such ghouls as were on the rocks or still swimming in the ocean. Several moonbeasts washed on rocks or reefs were speedily put out of the way.

Finally, the moonbeast galley being safely in the distance and the invading land army concentrated in one place, Carter landed a considerable force on the eastern headland in the enemy's rear; after which the fight was short-lived indeed. Attacked from both sides, the noisome flounderers were rapidly cut to pieces or pushed into the sea, till by evening the ghoulish chiefs agreed that the island was again clear of them. The hostile galley, meanwhile, had disappeared; and it was decided that the evil jagged rock had better be evacuated before any overwhelming horde of lunar horrors might be assembled and brought against the victors.

So by night Pickman and Carter assembled all the ghouls and counted them with care, finding that over a fourth had been lost in the day's battles. The wounded were placed on bunks in the galley, for Pickman always discouraged the old ghoulish custom of killing and eating one's own wounded, and the able-bodied troops were assigned to the oars or to such other places as they might most usefully fill. Under the low phosphorescent clouds of night the galley sailed, and Carter was not sorry to be departing from the island of unwholesome secrets, whose lightless domed hall with its bottomless well and repellent bronze door lingered restlessly in his fancy. Dawn found the ship in sight of Sarkomand's ruined quays of basalt, where a few night-gaunt sentries still waited, squatting like black horned gargoyles on the broken columns and crumbling sphinxes of that fearful city which lived and died before the years of man.

The ghouls made camp amongst the fallen stones of Sarkomand, despatching a messenger for enough night-gaunts to serve them as steeds. Pickman and the other chiefs were effusive in their gratitude for the aid Carter had lent them. Carter now began to feel that his plans were indeed maturing well, and that he would be able to command the help of these fearsome allies not only in quitting this part of dreamland, but in pursuing his ultimate quest for the gods atop unknown Kadath, and the marvellous sunset city they so strangely withheld from his slumbers. Accordingly he spoke of these things to the ghoulish leaders; telling what he knew of the cold waste wherein Kadath stands and of the monstrous Shantaks and the mountains carven into double-headed images which guard it. He spoke of the fear of Shantaks for night-gaunts, and of how the vast hippocephalic birds fly screaming from the black burrows high up on the gaunt grey peaks that divide Inquanok from hateful Leng. He spoke, too, of the things he had learned concerning night-gaunts from the frescoes in the windowless monastery of the High-Priest Not To Be Described; how even the Great Ones fear them, and how their ruler is not the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep at all, but hoary and immemorial Nodens, Lord of the Great Abyss.

All these things Carter glibbered to the assembled ghouls, and presently outlined that request which he had in mind and which he did not think extravagant considering the services he had so lately rendered the rubbery doglike lopers. He wished very much, he said, for the services of enough night-gaunts to bear him safely through the aft past the realm of Shantaks and carven mountains, and up into the old waste beyond the returning tracks of any other mortal. He desired to fly to the onyx castle atop unknown Kadath in the cold waste to plead with the Great Ones for the sunset city they denied him, and felt sure that the night-gaunts could take him thither without trouble; high above the perils of the plain, and over the hideous double heads of those carven sentinel mountains that squat eternally in the grey dusk. For the horned and faceless creatures there could be no danger from aught of earth since the Great Ones themselves dread them. And even were unexpected things to come from the Other Gods, who are prone to oversee the affairs of earth's milder gods, the night-gaunts need not fear; for the outer hells are indifferent matters to such silent and slippery flyers as own not Nyarlathotep for their master, but bow only to potent and archaic Nodens.

A flock of ten or fifteen night-gaunts, Carter glibbered, would surely be enough to keep any combination of Shantaks at a distance, though perhaps it might be well to have some ghouls in the party to manage the creatures, their ways being better known to their ghoulish allies than to men. The party could land him at some convenient point within whatever walls that fabulous onyx citadel might have, waiting in the shadows for his return or his signal whilst he ventured inside the castle to give prayer to the gods of earth. If any ghouls chose to escort him into the throne-room of the Great Ones, he would be thankful, for their presence would add weight and importance to his plea. He would not, however, insist upon this but merely wished transportation to and from the castle atop unknown Kadath; the final journey being either to the marvellous sunset city itself, in case of gods proved favourable, or back to the earthward Gate of Deeper Slumber in the Enchanted Wood in case his prayers were fruitless.

Whilst Carter was speaking all the ghouls listened with great attention, and as the moments advanced the sky became black with clouds of those night-gaunts for which messengers had been sent. The winged steeds settled in a semicircle around the ghoulish army, waiting respectfully as the doglike chieftains considered the wish of the earthly traveller. The ghoul that was Pickman glibbered gravely with his fellows and in the end Carter was offered far more than he had at most expected. As he had aided the ghouls in their conquest of the moonbeasts, so would they aid him in his daring voyage to realms whence none had ever returned; lending him not merely a few of their allied night-gaunts, but their entire army as then encamped, veteran fighting ghouls and newly assembled night-gaunts alike, save only a small garrison for the captured black galley and such spoils as had come from the jagged rock in the sea. They would set out through the aft whenever he might wish, and once arrived on Kadath a suitable train of ghouls would attend him in state as he placed his petition before earth's gods in their onyx castle.

Moved by a gratitude and satisfaction beyond words, Carter made plans with the ghoulish leaders for his audacious voyage. The army would fly high, they decided, over hideous Leng with its nameless monastery and wicked stone villages; stopping only at the vast grey peaks to confer with the Shantak-frightening night-gaunts whose burrows honeycombed their summits. They would then, according to what advice they might receive from those denizens, choose their final course; approaching unknown Kadath either through the desert of carven mountains north of Inquanok, or through the more northerly reaches of repulsive Leng itself. Doglike and soulless as they are, the ghouls and night-gaunts had no dread of what those untrodden deserts might reveal; nor did they feel any deterring awe at the thought of Kadath towering lone with its onyx castle of mystery.

About midday the ghouls and night-gaunts prepared for flight, each ghoul selecting a suitable pair of horned steeds to bear him. Carter was placed well up toward the head of the column beside Pickman, and in front of the whole a double line of riderless night-gaunts was provided as a vanguard. At a brisk meep from Pickman the whole shocking army rose in a nightmare cloud above the broken columns and crumbling sphinxes of primordial Sarkomand; higher and higher, till even the great basalt cliff behind the town was cleared, and the cold, sterile table-land of Leng's outskirts laid open to sight. Still higher flew the black host, till even this table-land grew small beneath them; and as they worked northward over the wind-swept plateau of horror Carter saw once again with a shudder the circle of crude monoliths and the squat windowless building which he knew held that frightful silken-masked blasphemy from whose clutches he had so narrowly escaped. This time no descent was made as the army swept batlike over the sterile landscape, passing the feeble fires of the unwholesome stone villages at a great altitude, and pausing not at all to mark the morbid twistings of the hooved, horned almost-humans that dance and pipe eternally therein. Once they saw a Shantak-bird flying low over the plain, but when it saw them it screamed noxiously and flapped off to the north in grotesque panic.

At dusk they reached the jagged grey peaks that form the barrier of Inquanok, and hovered about these strange caves near the summits which Carter recalled as so frightful to the Shantaks. At the insistent meeping of the ghoulish leaders there issued forth from each lofty burrow a stream of horned black flyers with which the ghouls and night-gaunts of the party conferred at length by means of ugly gestures. It soon became clear that the best course would be that over the cold waste north of Inquanok, for Leng's northward reaches are full of unseen pitfalls that even the night-gaunts dislike; abysmal influences centering in certain white hemispherical buildings on curious knolls, which common folklore associates unpleasantly with the Other Gods and their crawling chaos Nyarlathotep.

Of Kadath the flutterers of the peaks knew almost nothing, save that there must be some mighty marvel toward the north, over which the Shantaks and the carven mountains stand guard. They hinted at rumoured abnormalities of proportion in those trackless leagues beyond, and recalled vague whispers of a realm where night broods eternally; but of definite data they had nothing to give. So Carter and his party thanked them kindly; and, crossing the topmost granite pinnacles to the skies of Inquanok, dropped below the level of the phosphorescent night clouds and beheld in the distance those terrible squatting gargoyles that were mountains till some titan hand carved fright into their virgin rock.

There they squatted in a hellish half-circle, their legs on the desert sand and their mitres piercing the luminous clouds; sinister, wolflike, and double-headed, with faces of fury and right hands raised, dully and malignly watching the rim of man's world and guarding with horror the reaches of a cold northern world that is not man's. From their hideous laps rose evil Shantaks of elephantine bulk, but these all fled with insane titters as the vanguard of night-gaunts was sighted in the misty sky. Northward above those gargoyle mountains the army flew, and over leagues of dim desert where never a landmark rose. Less and less luminous grew the clouds, till at length Carter could see only blackness around him; but never did the winged steeds falter, bred as they were in earth's blackest crypts, and seeing not with any eyes, but with the whole dank surface of their slippery forms. On and on they flew, past winds of dubious scent and sounds of dubious import; ever in thickest darkness, and covering such prodigious spaces that Carter wondered whether or not they could still be within earth's dreamland.

Then suddenly the clouds thinned and the stars shone spectrally above. All below was still black, but those pallid beacons in the sky seemed alive with a meaning and directiveness they had never possessed elsewhere. It was not that the figures of the constellations were different, but that the same familiar shapes now revealed a significance they had formerly failed to make plain. Everything focussed toward the north; every curve and asterism of the glittering sky became part of a vast design whose function was to hurry first the eye and then the whole observer onward to some secret and terrible goal of convergence beyond the frozen waste that stretched endlessly ahead. Carter looked toward the east where the great ridge of barrier peaks had towered along all the length of Inquanok and saw against the stars a jagged silhouette which told of its continued presence. It was more broken now, with yawning clefts and fantastically erratic pinnacles; and Carter studied closely the suggestive turnings and inclinations of that grotesque outline, which seemed to share with the stars some subtle northward urge.

They were flying past at a tremendous speed, so that the watcher had to strain hard to catch details; when all at once he beheld just above the line of the topmost peaks a dark and moving object against the stars, whose course exactly paralleled that of his own bizarre party. The ghouls had likewise glimpsed it, for he heard their low glibbering all about him, and for a moment he fancied the object was a gigantic Shantak, of a size vastly greater than that of the average specimen. Soon, however, he saw that this theory would not hold; for the shape of the thing above the mountains was not that of any hippocephalic bird. Its outline against the stars, necessarily vague as it was, resembled rather some huge mitred head, or pair of heads infinitely magnified; and its rapid bobbing flight through the sky seemed most peculiarly a wingless one. Carter could not tell which side of the mountains it was on, but soon perceived that it had parts below the parts he had first seen, since it blotted out all the stars in places where the ridge was deeply cleft.

Then came a wide gap in the range, where the hideous reaches of transmontane Leng were joined to the cold waste on this side by a low pass trough which the stars shone wanly. Carter watched this gap with intense care, knowing that he might see outlined against the sky beyond it the lower parts of the vast thing that flew undulantly above the pinnacles. The object had now floated ahead a trifle, and every eye of the party was fixed on the rift where it would presently appear in full-length silhouette. Gradually the huge thing above the peaks neared the gap, slightly slackening its speed as if conscious of having outdistanced the ghoulish army. For another minute suspense was keen, and then the brief instant of full silhouette and revelation came; bringing to the lips of the ghouls an awed and half-choked meep of cosmic fear, and to the soul of the traveller a chill that never wholly left it. For the mammoth bobbing shape that overtopped the ridge was only a head - a mitred double head - and below it in terrible vastness loped the frightful swollen body that bore it; the mountain-high monstrosity that walked in stealth and silence; the hyaena-like distortion of a giant anthropoid shape that trotted blackly against the sky, its repulsive pair of cone-capped heads reaching half way to the zenith.

Carter did not lose consciousness or even scream aloud, for he was an old dreamer; but he looked behind him in horror and shuddered when he saw that there were other monstrous heads silhouetted above the level of the peaks, bobbing along stealthily after the first one. And straight in the rear were three of the mighty mountain shapes seen full against the southern stars, tiptoeing wolflike and lumberingly, their tall mitres nodding thousands of feet in the aft. The carven mountains, then, had not stayed squatting in that rigid semicircle north of Inquanok, with right hands uplifted. They had duties to perform, and were not remiss. But it was horrible that they never spoke, and never even made a sound in walking.

Meanwhile the ghoul that was Pickman had glibbered an order to the night-gaunts, and the whole army soared higher into the air. Up toward the stars the grotesque column shot, till nothing stood out any longer against the sky; neither the grey granite ridge that was still nor the carven mitred mountains that walked. All was blackness beneath as the fluttering legion surged northward amidst rushing winds and invisible laughter in the aether, and never a Shantak or less mentionable entity rose from the haunted wastes to pursue them. The farther they went, the faster they flew, till soon their dizzying speed seemed to pass that of a rifle ball and approach that of a planet in its orbit. Carter wondered how with such speed the earth could still stretch beneath them, but knew that in the land of dream dimensions have strange properties. That they were in a realm of eternal night he felt certain, and he fancied that the constellations overhead had subtly emphasized their northward focus; gathering themselves up as it were to cast the flying army into the void of the boreal pole, as the folds of a bag are gathered up to cast out the last bits of substance therein.

Then he noticed with terror that the wings of the night-gaunts were not flapping any more. The horned and faceless steeds had folded their membranous appendages, and were resting quite passive in the chaos of wind that whirled and chuckled as it bore them on. A force not of earth had seized on the army, and ghouls and night-gaunts alike were powerless before a current which pulled madly and relentlessly into the north whence no mortal had ever returned. At length a lone pallid light was seen on the skyline ahead, thereafter rising steadily as they approached, and having beneath it a black mass that blotted out the stars. Carter saw that it must be some beacon on a mountain, for only a mountain could rise so vast as seen from so prodigious a height in the air.

Higher and higher rose the light and the blackness beneath it, till all the northern sky was obscured by the rugged conical mass. Lofty as the army was, that pale and sinister beacon rose above it, towering monstrous over all peaks and concernments of earth, and tasting the atomless aether where the cryptical moon and the mad planets reel. No mountain known of man was that which loomed before them. The high clouds far below were but a fringe for its foothills. The groping dizziness of topmost air was but a girdle for its loins. Scornful and spectral climbed that bridge betwixt earth and heaven, black in eternal night, and crowned with a pshent of unknown stars whose awful and significant outline grew every moment clearer. Ghouls meeped in wonder as they saw it, and Carter shivered in fear lest all the hurtling army be dashed to pieces on the unyielding onyx of that cyclopean cliff.

Higher and higher rose the light, till it mingled with the loftiest orbs of the zenith and winked down at the flyers with lurid mockery. All the north beneath it was blackness now; dread, stony blackness from infinite depths to infinite heights, with only that pale winking beacon perched unreachably at the top of all vision. Carter studied the light more closely, and saw at last what lines its inky background made against the stars. There were towers on that titan mountaintop; horrible domed towers in noxious and incalculable tiers and clusters beyond any dreamable workmanship of man; battlements and terraces of wonder and menace, all limned tiny and black and distant against the starry pshent that glowed malevolently at the uppermost rim of sight. Capping that most measureless of mountains was a castle beyond all mortal thought, and in it glowed the daemon-light. Then Randolph Carter knew that his quest was done, and that he saw above him the goal of all forbidden steps and audacious visions; the fabulous, the incredible home of the Great Ones atop unknown Kadath.

Even as he realised this thing, Carter noticed a change in the course of the helplessly wind-sucked party. They were rising abruptly now, and it was plain that the focus of their flight was the onyx castle where the pale light shone. So close was the great black mountain that its sides sped by them dizzily as they shot upward, and in the darkness they could discern nothing upon it. Vaster and vaster loomed the tenebrous towers of the nighted castle above, and Carter could see that it was well-nigh blasphemous in its immensity. Well might its stones have been quarried by nameless workmen in that horrible gulf rent out of the rock in the hill pass north of Inquanok, for such was its size that a man on its threshold stood even as air out on the steps of earth's loftiest fortress. The pshent of unknown stars above the myriad domed turrets glowed with a sallow, sickly flare, so that a kind of twilight hung about the murky walls of slippery onyx. The pallid beacon was now seen to be a single shining window high up in one of the loftiest towers, and as the helpless army neared the top of the mountain Carter thought he detected unpleasant shadows flitting across the feebly luminous expanse. It was a strangely arched window, of a design wholly alien to earth.

The solid rock now gave place to the giant foundations of the monstrous castle, and it seemed that the speed of the party was somewhat abated. Vast walls shot up, and there was a glimpse of a great gate through which the voyagers were swept. All was night in the titan courtyard, and then came the deeper blackness of inmost things as a huge arched portal engulfed the column. Vortices of cold wind surged dankly through sightless labyrinths of onyx, and Carter could never tell what Cyclopean stairs and corridors lay silent along the route of his endless aerial twisting. Always upward led the terrible plunge in darkness, and never a sound, touch or glimpse broke the dense pall of mystery. Large as the army of ghouls and night-gaunts was, it was lost in the prodigious voids of that more than earthly castle. And when at last there suddenly dawned around him the lurid light of that single tower room whose lofty window had served as a beacon, it took Carter long to discern the far walls and high, distant ceiling, and to realize that he was indeed not again in the boundless air outside.

Randolph Carter had hoped to come into the throne-room of the Great Ones with poise and dignity, flanked and followed by impressive lines of ghouls in ceremonial order, and offering his prayer as a free and potent master among dreamers. He had known that the Great Ones themselves are not beyond a mortal's power to cope with, and had trusted to luck that the Other Gods and their crawling chaos Nyarlathotep would not happen to come to their aid at the crucial moment, as they had so often done before when men sought out earth's gods in their home or on their mountains. And with his hideous escort he had half hoped to defy even the Other Gods if need were, knowing as he did that ghouls have no masters, and that night-gaunts own not Nyarlathotep but only archaic Nodens for their lord. But now he saw that supernal Kadath in its cold waste is indeed girt with dark wonders and nameless sentinels, and that the Other Gods are of a surety vigilant in guarding the mild, feeble gods of earth. Void as they are of lordship over ghouls and night-gaunts, the mindless, shapeless blasphemies of outer space can yet control them when they must; so that it was not in state as a free and potent master of dreamers that Randolph Carter came into the Great Ones' throne-room with his ghouls. Swept and herded by nightmare tempests from the stars, and dogged by unseen horrors of the northern waste, all that army floated captive and helpless in the lurid light, dropping numbly to the onyx floor when by some voiceless order the winds of fright dissolved.

Before no golden dais had Randolph Carter come, nor was there any august circle of crowned and haloed beings with narrow eyes, long-lobed ears, thin nose, and pointed chin whose kinship to the carven face on Ngranek might stamp them as those to whom a dreamer might pray. Save for the one tower room the onyx castle atop Kadath was dark, and the masters were not there. Carter had come to unknown Kadath in the cold waste, but he had not found the gods. Yet still the lurid light glowed in that one tower room whose size was so little less than that of all outdoors, and whose distant walls and roof were so nearly lost to sight in thin, curling mists. Earth's gods were not there, it was true, but of subtler and less visible presences there could be no lack. Where the mild gods are absent, the Other Gods are not unrepresented; and certainly, the onyx castle of castles was far from tenantless. In what outrageous form or forms terror would next reveal itself Carter could by no means imagine. He felt that his visit had been expected, and wondered how close a watch had all along been kept upon him by the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. It is Nyarlathotep, horror of infinite shapes and dread soul and messenger of the Other Gods, that the fungous moonbeasts serve; and Carter thought of the black galley that had vanished when the tide of battle turned against the toadlike abnormalities on the jagged rock in the sea.

Reflecting upon these things, he was staggering to his feet in the midst of his nightmare company when there rang without warning through that pale-litten and limitless chamber the hideous blast of a daemon trumpet. Three times pealed that frightful brazen scream, and when the echoes of the third blast had died chucklingly away Randolph Carter saw that he was alone. Whither, why and how the ghouls and night-gaunts had been snatched from sight was not for him to divine. He knew only that he was suddenly alone, and that whatever unseen powers lurked mockingly around him were no powers of earth's friendly dreamland. Presently from the chamber's uttermost reaches a new sound came. This, too, was a rhythmic trumpeting; but of a kind far removed from the three raucous blasts which had dissolved his goodly cohorts. In this low fanfare echoed all the wonder and melody of ethereal dream; exotic vistas of unimagined loveliness floating from each strange chord and subtly alien cadence. Odours of incense came to match the golden notes; and overhead a great light dawned, its colours changing in cycles unknown to earth's spectrum, and following the song of the trumpets in weird symphonic harmonies. Torches flared in the distance, and the beat of drums throbbed nearer amidst waves of tense expectancy.

Out of the thinning mists and the cloud of strange incenses filed twin columns of giant black slaves with loin-cloths of iridescent silk. Upon their heads were strapped vast helmet-like torches of glittering metal, from which the fragrance of obscure balsams spread in fumous spirals. In their right hands were crystal wands whose tips were carven into leering chimaeras, while their left hands grasped long thin silver trumpets which they blew in turn. Armlets and anklets of gold they had, and between each pair of anklets stretched a golden chain that held its wearer to a sober gait. That they were true black men of earth's dreamland was at once apparent, but it seemed less likely that their rites and costumes were wholly things of our earth. Ten feet from Carter the columns stopped, and as they did so each trumpet flew abruptly to its bearer's thick lips. Wild and ecstatic was the blast that followed, and wilder still the cry that chorused just after from dark throats somehow made shrill by strange artifice.

Then down the wide lane betwixt the two columns a lone figure strode; a tall, slim figure with the young face of an antique Pharaoh, gay with prismatic robes and crowned with a golden pshent that glowed with inherent light. Close up to Carter strode that regal figure; whose proud carriage and smart features had in them the fascination of a dark god or fallen archangel, and around whose eyes there lurked the languid sparkle of capricious humour. It spoke, and in its mellow tones there rippled the wild music of Lethean streams.

"Randolph Carter," said the voice, "you have come to see the Great Ones whom it is unlawful for men to see. Watchers have spoken of this thing, and the Other Gods have grunted as they rolled and tumbled mindlessly to the sound of thin flutes in the black ultimate void where broods the daemon-sultan whose name no lips dare speak aloud.

"When Barzai the Wise climbed Hatheg-Kia to see the Greater Ones dance and howl above the clouds in the moonlight he never returned. The Other Gods were there, and they did what was expected. Zenig of Aphorat sought to reach unknown Kadath in the cold waste, and his skull is now set in a ring on the little finger of one whom I need not name.

"But you, Randolph Carter, have braved all things of earth's dreamland, and burn still with the flame of quest. You came not as one curious, but as one seeking his due, nor have you failed ever in reverence toward the mild gods of earth. Yet have these gods kept you from the marvellous sunset city of your dreams, and wholly through their own small covetousness; for verily, they craved the weird loveliness of that which your fancy had fashioned, and vowed that henceforward no other spot should be their abode.

"They are gone from their castle on unknown Kadath to dwell in your marvellous city. All through its palaces of veined marble they revel by day, and when the sun sets they go out in the perfumed gardens and watch the golden glory on temples and colonnades, arched bridges and silver-basined fountains, and wide streets with blossom-laden urns and ivory statues in gleaming rows. And when night comes they climb tall terraces in the dew, and sit on carved benches of porphyry scanning the stars, or lean over pale balustrades to gaze at the town's steep northward slopes, where one by one the little windows in old peaked gables shine softly out with the calm yellow light of homely candles.

"The gods love your marvellous city, and walk no more in the ways of the gods. They have forgotten the high places of earth, and the mountains that knew their youth. The earth has no longer any gods that are gods, and only the Other Ones from outer space hold sway on unremembered Kadath. Far away in a valley of your own childhood, Randolph Carter, play the heedless Great Ones. You have dreamed too well, O wise arch-dreamer, for you have drawn dream's gods away from the world of all men's visions to that which is wholly yours; having builded out of your boyhood's small fancies a city more lovely than all the phantoms that have gone before.

"It is not well that earth's gods leave their thrones for the spider to spin on, and their realm for the Others to sway in the dark manner of Others. Fain would the powers from outside bring chaos and horror to you, Randolph Carter, who are the cause of their upsetting, but that they know it is by you alone that the gods may be sent back to their world. In that half-waking dreamland which is yours, no power of uttermost night may pursue; and only you can send the selfish Great Ones gently out of your marvellous sunset city, back through the northern twilight to their wonted place atop unknown Kadath in the cold waste.

"So. Randolph Carter, in the name of the Other Gods I spare you and charge you to seek that sunset city which is yours, and to send thence the drowsy truant gods for whom the dream world waits. Not hard to find is that roseal fever of the gods, that fanfare of supernal trumpets and clash of immortal cymbals, that mystery whose place and meaning have haunted you through the halls of waking and the gulfs of dreaming, and tormented you with hints of vanished memory and the pain of lost things awesome and momentous. Not hard to find is that symbol and relic of your days of wonder, for truly, it is but the stable and eternal gem wherein all that wonder sparkles crystallised to light your evening path. Behold! It is not over unknown seas but back over well-known years that your quest must go; back to the bright strange things of infancy and the quick sun-drenched glimpses of magic that old scenes brought to wide young eyes.

"For know you, that your gold and marble city of wonder is only the sum of what you have seen and loved in youth. It is the glory of Boston's hillside roofs and western windows aflame with sunset, of the flower-fragrant Common and the great dome on the hill and the tangle of gables and chimneys in the violet valley where the many-bridged Charles flows drowsily. These things you saw, Randolph Carter, when your nurse first wheeled you out in the springtime, and they will be the last things you will ever see with eyes of memory and of love. And there is antique Salem with its brooding years, and spectral Marblehead scaling its rocky precipices into past centuries! And the glory of Salem's towers and spires seen afar from Marblehead's pastures across the harbour against the setting sun.

"There is Providence quaint and lordly on its seven hills over the blue harbour, with terraces of green leading up to steeples and citadels of living antiquity, and Newport climbing wraithlike from its dreaming breakwater. Arkham is there, with its moss-grown gambrel roofs and the rocky rolling meadows behind it; and antediluvian Kingsport hoary with stacked chimneys and deserted quays and overhanging gables, and the marvel of high cliffs and the milky-misted ocean with tolling buoys beyond.

"Cool vales in Concord, cobbled lands in Portsmouth, twilight bends of rustic New Hampshire roads where giant elms half hide white farmhouse walls and creaking well-sweeps. Gloucester's salt wharves and Truro's windy willows. Vistas of distant steepled towns and hills beyond hills along the North Shore, hushed stony slopes and low ivied cottages in the lee of huge boulders in Rhode Island's back country. Scent of the sea and fragrance of the fields; spell of the dark woods and joy of the orchards and gardens at dawn. These, Randolph Carter, are your city; for they are yourself. New England bore you, and into your soul she poured a liquid loveliness which cannot die. This loveliness, moulded, crystallised, and polished by years of memory and dreaming, is your terraced wonder of elusive sunsets; and to find that marble parapet with curious urns and carven rail, and descend at last these endless balustraded steps to the city of broad squares and prismatic fountains, you need only to turn back to the thoughts and visions of your wistful boyhood.

"Look! through that window shine the stars of eternal night. Even now they are shining above the scenes you have known and cherished, drinking of their charm that they may shine more lovely over the gardens of dream. There is Antares-he is winking at this moment over the roofs of Tremont Street, and you could see him from your window on Beacon Hill. Out beyond those stars yawn the gulfs from whence my mindless masters have sent me. Some day you too may traverse them, but if you are wise you will beware such folly; for of those mortals who have been and returned, only one preserves a mind unshattered by the pounding, clawing horrors of the void. Terrors and blasphemies gnaw at one another for space, and there is more evil in the lesser ones than in the greater; even as you know from the deeds of those who sought to deliver you into my hands, whilst I myself harboured no wish to shatter you, and would indeed have helped you hither long ago had I not been elsewhere busy,and certain that you would yourself find the way. Shun then, the outer hells, and stick to the calm, lovely things of your youth. Seek out your marvellous city and drive thence the recreant Great Ones, sending them back gently to those scenes which are of their own youth, and which wait uneasy for their return.

"Easier even then the way of dim memory is the way I will prepare for you. See! There comes hither a monstrous Shantak, led by a slave who for your peace of mind had best keep invisible. Mount and be ready - there! Yogash the Black will help you on the scaly horror. Steer for that brightest star just south of the zenith - it is Vega, and in two hours will be just above the terrace of your sunset city. Steer for it only till you hear a far-off singing in the high aether. Higher than that lurks madness, so rein your Shantak when the first note lures. Look then back to earth, and you will see shining the deathless altar-flame of Ired-Naa from the sacred roof of a temple. That temple is in your desiderate sunset city, so steer for it before you heed the singing and are lost.

"When you draw nigh the city steer for the same high parapet whence of old you scanned the outspread glory, prodding the Shantak till he cry aloud. That cry the Great Ones will hear and know as they sit on their perfumed terraces, and there will come upon them such a homesickness that all of your city's wonders will not console them for the absence of Kadath's grim castle and the pshent of eternal stars that crowns it.

"Then must you land amongst them with the Shantak, and let them see and touch that noisome and hippocephalic bird; meanwhile discoursing to them of unknown Kadath, which you will so lately have left, and telling them how its boundless halls are lovely and unlighted, where of old they used to leap and revel in supernal radiance. And the Shantak will talk to them in the manner of Shantaks, but it will have no powers of persuasion beyond the recalling of elder days.

"Over and over must you speak to the wandering Great Ones of their home and youth, till at last they will weep and ask to be shewn the returning path they have forgotten. Thereat can you loose the waiting Shantak, sending him skyward with the homing cry of his kind; hearing which the Great Ones will prance and jump with antique mirth, and forthwith stride after the loathly bird in the fashion of gods, through the deep gulfs of heaven to Kadath's familiar towers and domes.

"Then will the marvellous sunset city be yours to cherish and inhabit for ever, and once more will earth's gods rule the dreams of men from their accustomed seat. Go now - the casement is open and the stars await outside. Already your Shantak wheezes and titters with impatience. Steer for Vega through the night, but turn when the singing sounds. Forget not this warning, lest horrors unthinkable suck you into the gulf of shrieking and ululant madness. Remember the Other Gods; they are great and mindless and terrible, and lurk in the outer voids. They are good gods to shun.

"Hei! Aa-shanta 'nygh! You are off! Send back earth's gods to their haunts on unknown Kadath, and pray to all space that you may never meet me in my thousand other forms. Farewell, Randolph Carter, and beware; for I am Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos."

And Randolph Carter, gasping and dizzy on his hideous Shantak, shot screamingly into space toward the cold blue glare of boreal Vega; looking but once behind him at the clustered and chaotic turrets of the onyx nightmare wherein still glowed the lone lurid light of that window above the air and the clouds of earth's dreamland. Great polypous horrors slid darkly past, and unseen bat wings beat multitudinous around him, but still he clung to the unwholesome mane of that loathly and hippocephalic scaled bird. The stars danced mockingly, almost shifting now and then to form pale signs of doom that one might wonder one had not seen and feared before; and ever the winds of nether howled of vague blackness and loneliness beyond the cosmos.

Then through the glittering vault ahead there fell a hush of portent, and all the winds and horrors slunk away as night things slink away before the dawn. Trembling in waves that golden wisps of nebula made weirdly visible, there rose a timid hint of far-off melody, droning in faint chords that our own universe of stars knows not. And as that music grew, the Shantak raised its ears and plunged ahead, and Carter likewise bent to catch each lovely strain. It was a song, but not the song of any voice. Night and the spheres sang it, and it was old when space and Nyarlathotep and the Other Gods were born.

Faster flew the Shantak, and lower bent the rider, drunk with the marvel of strange gulfs, and whirling in the crystal coils of outer magic. Then came too late the warning of the evil one, the sardonic caution of the daemon legate who had bidden the seeker beware the madness of that song. Only to taunt had Nyarlathotep marked out the way to safety and the marvellous sunset city; only to mock had that black messenger revealed the secret of these truant gods whose steps he could so easily lead back at will. For madness and the void's wild vengeance are Nyarlathotep's only gifts to the presumptuous; and frantick though the rider strove to turn his disgusting steed, that leering, tittering Shantak coursed on impetuous and relentless, flapping its great slippery wings in malignant joy and headed for those unhallowed pits whither no dreams reach; that last amorphous blight of nether-most confusion where bubbles and blasphemes at infinity's centre the mindless daemon-sultan Azathoth, whose name no lips dare speak aloud.

Unswerving and obedient to the foul legate's orders, that hellish bird plunged onward through shoals of shapeless lurkers and caperers in darkness, and vacuous herds of drifting entities that pawed and groped and groped and pawed; the nameless larvae of the Other Gods, that are like them blind and without mind, and possessed of singular hungers and thirsts

Onward unswerving and relentless, and tittering hilariously to watch the chuckling and hysterics into which the risen song of night and the spheres had turned, that eldritch scaly monster bore its helpless rider; hurtling and shooting, cleaving the uttermost rim and spanning the outermost abysses; leaving behind the stars and the realms of matter, and darting meteor-like through stark formlessness toward those inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond time wherein Azathoth gnaws shapeless and ravenous amidst the muffled, maddening beat of vile drums and the thin, monotonous whine of accursed flutes.

Onward - onward - through the screaming, cackling, and blackly populous gulfs - and then from some dim blessed distance there came an image and a thought to Randolph Carter the doomed. Too well had Nyarlathotep planned his mocking and his tantalising, for he had brought up that which no gusts of icy terror could quite efface. Home - New England - Beacon Hill - the waking world.

"For know you, that your gold and marble city of wonder is only the sum of what you have seen and loved in youth... the glory of Boston's hillside roofs and western windows aflame with sunset; of the flower-fragrant Common and the great dome on the hill and the tangle of gables and chimneys in the violet valley where the many-bridged Charles flows drowsily... this loveliness, moulded, crystallised, and polished by years of memory and dreaming, is your terraced wonder of elusive sunsets; and to find that marble parapet with curious urns and carven rail, and descend at last those endless balustraded steps to the city of broad squares and prismatic fountains, you need only to turn back to the thoughts and visions of your wistful boyhood."

Onward - onward - dizzily onward to ultimate doom through the blackness where sightless feelers pawed and slimy snouts jostled and nameless things tittered and tittered and tittered. But the image and the thought had come, and Randolph Carter knew clearly that he was dreaming and only dreaming, and that somewhere in the background the world of waking and the city of his infancy still lay. Words came again - "You need only turn back to the thoughts and visions of your wistful boyhood." Turn - turn - blackness on every side, but Randolph Carter could turn.

Thick though the rushing nightmare that clutched his senses, Randolph Carter could turn and move. He could move, and if he chose he could leap off the evil Shantak that bore him hurtlingly doomward at the orders of Nyarlathotep. He could leap off and dare those depths of night that yawned interminably down, those depths of fear whose terrors yet could not exceed the nameless doom that lurked waiting at chaos' core. He could turn and move and leap - he could - he would - he would - he would.

Off that vast hippocephalic abomination leaped the doomed and desperate dreamer, and down through endless voids of sentient blackness he fell. Aeons reeled, universes died and were born again, stars became nebulae and nebulae became stars, and still Randolph Carter fell through those endless voids of sentient blackness.

Then in the slow creeping course of eternity the utmost cycle of the cosmos churned itself into another futile completion, and all things became again as they were unreckoned kalpas before. Matter and light were born anew as space once had known them; and comets, suns and worlds sprang flaming into life, though nothing survived to tell that they had been and gone, been and gone, always and always, back to no first beginning.

And there was a firmament again, and a wind, and a glare of purple light in the eyes of the falling dreamer. There were gods and presences and wills; beauty and evil, and the shrieking of noxious night robbed of its prey. For through the unknown ultimate cycle had lived a thought and a vision of a dreamer's boyhood, and now there were remade a waking world and an old cherished city to body and to justify these things. Out of the void S'ngac the violet gas had pointed the way, and archaic Nodens was bellowing his guidance from unhinted deeps.

Stars swelled to dawns, and dawns burst into fountains of gold, carmine, and purple, and still the dreamer fell. Cries rent the aether as ribbons of light beat back the fiends from outside. And hoary Nodens raised a howl of triumph when Nyarlathotep, close on his quarry, stopped baffled by a glare that seared his formless hunting-horrors to grey dust. Randolph Carter had indeed descended at last the wide marmoreal flights to his marvellous city, for he was come again to the fair New England world that had wrought him.

So to the organ chords of morning's myriad whistles, and dawn's blaze thrown dazzling through purple panes by the great gold dome of the State House on the hill, Randolph Carter leaped shoutingly awake within his Boston room. Birds sang in hidden gardens and the perfume of trellised vines came wistful from arbours his grandfather had reared. Beauty and light glowed from classic mantel and carven cornice and walls grotesquely figured, while a sleek black cat rose yawning from hearthside sleep that his master's start and shriek had disturbed. And vast infinities away, past the Gate of Deeper Slumber and the enchanted wood and the garden lands and the Cerenarian Sea and the twilight reaches of Inquanok, the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep strode brooding into the onyx castle atop unknown Kadath in the cold waste, and taunted insolently the mild gods of earth whom he had snatched abruptly from their scented revels in the marvellous sunset city.

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
Image

_________________
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Full text of "The picture of Dorian Gray"

THE PICTURE OF
DORIAN GRAY



See the Bibliographical Note on certain
Pirated and Mutilated Editions of " Dorian
Gray" at the end / Ihli present volume.



THE PICTURE

OF

DORIAN GRAY



BY

OSCAR WILDE



LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL
HAMILTON, KENT AND CO. LTD.



PARIS

ON SALI AT YK OLD PARIS BOOKE SHOPPE
ii Rue de Chdteaudun



Registered at Stationers' Hall and protected
under the Copyright Law Act.

First published in complete book form In 1891 bg
Messrs. Warrf, Locfc <fc C. (London).



THE PREFACE

THE artist Is the creator of beautiful things.
T reveal art and conceal the artist Is art's aim.
The critic Is he who can translate into another manner
or a new material his Impression of beautiful things.
The highest, as the lowest, form of criticism
is a mode of autobiography.

Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are
corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

Those who find beautiful meanings In
beautiful things are the cultivated. For
these there Is hope.

They are the elect to whom beautiful things
mean only Beauty.

There is no such thing as a moral or an im-
moral book. Books are well written, or
badly written. That is all.

The nineteenth century dislike of Realism is the rage
of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.

The nineteenth century dislike of Ro-
manticism is the rage of Caliban not
seeing his own face hi a glass.
The moral life of man forms part of the subject-
matter of the artist, but the morality of art con-
sists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium.
No artist desires to prove anything. Even
things that are true can be proved.
5



6 THE PREFACE

No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical
sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable
mannerism of style.

No artist is ever morbid. The artist
can express everything.

Thought and language are to the artist instru-
ments of an art.

Vice and virtue are to the artist materials
for an art.

From the point of view of form, the type of all the
arts is the art of the musician. From the point of
view of feeling, the actor's craft is the type.

All art is at once surface and symbol.
Those who go beneath the surface do so at their
peril.

Those who read the symbol do so at their
peril.

It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.
Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows
that the work is new, complex, and vital.

When critics disagree the artist is in accord
with himself.

We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as
long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for
making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.
All art is quite useless.

OSCAR WILDE.



THE PICTURE OF
DORIAN GRAY



CHAPTER I

THE studio was filled with the rich odour of roses,
and when the light summer wind stirred amidst
the trees of the garden, there came through the open
door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate
perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-
bags on which he was lying, smoking, as was his
custom, Innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton
could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and
honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum, whose
tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the
burden of a beauty so flame-like as theirs ; and
now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in
flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains
that were stretched in front of the huge window,
producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect,
and making him think of those pallid jade-faced
painters of Tokio who, through the medium of an
art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the
sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur
of the bees shouldering their way through the long
unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence
round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine,
seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The

7



8 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a
distant organ.

In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright
easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man
of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it,
some little distance away, was sitting the artist him-
self, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance
some years ago caused, at the time, such public
excitement, and gave rise to so many strange con-
jectures.

As the painter looked at the gracious and comely
form he had so skilfully mirrored in his art, a smile
of pleasure passed across his face, and seemed about
to linger there. But he suddenly started up, and,
closing his eyes, placed his fingers upon the lids,
as though he sought to imprison within his brain
some curious dream from which he feared he might
awake.

" It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you
have ever done," said Lord Henry, languidly. " You
must certainly send it next year to the Grosvenor.
The Academy is too large and too vulgar. Whenever
I have gone there, there have been either so many
people that I have not been able to see the pictures,
which was dreadful, or so many pictures that I have
not been able to see the people, which was worse.
The Grosvenor is really the only place."

" I don't think I shall send it anywhere," he
answered, tossing his head back in that odd way
that used to make his friends laugh at him at Oxford.
" No : I won't send it anywhere."

Lord Henry elevated his eyebrows, and looked at
him in amazement through the thin blue wreaths of
smoke that curled up in such fanciful whorls from
his heavy opium-tainted cigarette. " Not send it
anywhere ? My dear fellow, why ? Have you any
reason ? What odd chaps you painters are 1 You
do anything in the world to gain a reputation. As
soon as you have one, you seem to want to throw it
away. It is silly of you, for there is only one thing



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 9

In the world worse than being talked about, and that 1
Is not being talked about. A portrait like this/
would set you far above all the young men in England,
and make the old men quite jealous, if old men are
ever capable of any emotion."

" I know you will laugh at me," he replied, " but
I really can't exhibit it. I have put too much of
myself into it."

Lord Henry stretched himself out on the divan
and laughed.

" Yes, I knew you would ; but it is quite true, all
the same."

" Too much of yourself in it I Upon my word,
Basil, I didn't know you were so vain ; and I really
can't see any resemblance between you, with your
rugged strong face and your coal-black hair, and
this young Adonis, who looks as if he was made out
of ivory and rose-leaves. Why, my dear Basil, he
is a Narcissus, and you well, of course you have an
Intellectual expression, and all that. But beauty,
real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression
begins. Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, j
and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment
one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all
forehead, or something horrid. Look at the successful
men in any of the learned professions. How perfectly
hideous they are I Except, of course, in the Church.
But then in the Church they don't think. A bishop
keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was told
to say when he was a boy of eighteen, and as a natural
consequence he always looks absolutely delightful.
Your mysterious young friend, whose name you have
never told me, but whose picture really fascinates
me, never thinks. I feel quite sure of that. He is
some brainless, beautiful creature, who should be
always here in winter when we have no flowers to
look at, and always here in summer when we want
something to chill our intelligence. Don't flatter
yourself, Basil : you are not in the least like him."

" You don't understand me, Harry," answered



10 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

the artist. " Of course I am not like him. I know
that perfectly well. Indeed, I should be sorry to
look like him. You shrug your shoulders ? I am
telling you the truth. There is a fatality about all
physical and intellectual distinction, the sort of
fatality that seems to dog through history the falter-
ing steps of kings. It is better not to be different
from one's fellows. The ugly and the stupid have
the best of it in this world. They can sit at their
ease and gape at the play. If they know nothing
of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of
defeat. They live as we all should live, undisturbed,
indifferent, and without disquiet. They neither
bring ruin upon others, nor ever receive it from alien
hands. Your rank and wealth, Harry ; my brains,
such as they are my art, whatever it may be worth ;
Dorian Gray's good looks we shall all suffer for
what the gods have given us, suffer terribly."

" Dorian Gray ? Is that his name ? " asked Lord
Henry, walking across the studio towards Basil
Hallward.

" Yes, that Is his name. I didn't intend to tell It
to you."

" But why not ? "

" Oh, I can't explain. When I like people im-
mensely I never tell their names to anyone. It Is
like surrendering a part of them. I have grown to
love secrecy. It seems to be the one thing that can
make modern life mysterious or marvellous to us.
The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides
it. When I leave town no\v I never tell my people
where I am going. If I did, I would lose all my
pleasure. It is a silly habit, I daresay, but somehow
it seems to bring a great deal of romance into one's
life. I suppose you think me awfully foolish about
it?"

" Not at all," answered Lord Henry, " not at all,
my dear Basil. You seem to forget that I am married,
and the one charm of marriage is that it makes a life
of deception absolutely necessary for both parties.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 11

I never know where my wife is, and my wife never
knows what I am doing. When we meet we do
meet occasionally, when we dine out together, or go
down to the Duke's we tell each other the most
absurd stories with the most serious faces. My wife
is very good at it much better, in fact, than I am.
She never gets confused over her dates, and I always
do. But when she does find me out, she makes no
row at all. I sometimes wish she would ; but she
merely laughs at me."

" I hate the way you talk about your married life,

Harry," said Basil Hallward, strolling towards the

door that led into the garden. " I believe that you

are really a very good husband, but that you are

thoroughly ashamed of your own virtues. You are

I an extraordinary fellow. You never say a moral

A thing, and you never do a wrong thing. Your

cynicism is simply a pose."

" Being natural is simply a pose, and the most
irritating pose I know," cried Lord Henry, laughing ;
and the two young men went out into the garden
together, and ensconced themselves on a long bamboo
seat that stood in the shade of a tall laurel bush.
The sunlight slipped over the polished leaves. In the
grass, white daisies were tremulous.

After a pause, Lord Henry pulled out his watch.
" I am afraid I must be going, Basil," he murmured,
" and before I go, I insist on your answering a question
I put to you some time ago."

" What is that ? " said the painter, keeping his
eyes fixed on the ground.

" You know quite well."

" I do not, Harry."

" Well, I will tell you what it is. I want you to
explain to me why you won't exhibit Dorian Gray's
picture. I want the real reason."

" I told you the real reason."

" No, you did not. You said it was because there
was too much of yourself in it. Now, that is childish."

" Harry," said Basil Hallward, looking him straight



12 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

In the face, " every portrait that Is painted with
feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.
The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It
is not he who is revealed by the painter ; It is rather
the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals
himself. The reason I will not exhibit this picture
is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the
secret of my own soul."

Lord Henry laughed. " And what Is that ? " he
asked.

" I will tell you," said Hallward; but an expres-
sion of perplexity came over his face.

" I am all expectation, Basil," continued his com-
panion, glancing at him.

" Oh, there is really very little to tell, Harry,"
answered the painter ; " and I am afraid you will
hardly understand it. Perhaps you will hardly be-
lieve it."

Lord Henry smiled, and, leaning down, plucked a
pink-petalled daisy from the grass, and examined it.
" I am quite sure I shall understand it," he replied,
gazing intently at the little golden white-feathered
disk, " and as for believing things, I can believe
anything, provided that it is quite incredible."

The wind shook some blossoms from the trees, and
the heavy lilac-blooms, with their clustering stars,
moved to and fro in the languid air. A grasshopper
began to chirrup by the wall, and like a blue thread
a long thin dragon-fly floated past on Its brown
gauze wings. Lord Henry felt as if he could hear
Basil Hallward's heart beating, and wondered what
was coming.

" The story is simply this," said the painter after
some time. " Two months ago I went to a crush at
Lady Brandon's. You know we poor artists have to
show ourselves in society from time to time, just to
remind the public that we are not savages. With an
evening coat and a white tie, as you told me once,
anybody, even a stockbroker, can gain a reputation
for being civilised. Well, after I had been in the



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 13

room about ten minutes, talking to huge overdressed
dowagers and tedious Academicians, I suddenly be-
came conscious that someone was looking at me. I
turned halfway round, and saw Dorian Gray for the
first time. When our eyes met, I felt that I was
growing pale. A curious sensation of terror came
over me. I knew that I had come face to face with
someone whose mere personality was so fascinating
that, If I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my
whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself. I
did not want any external influence in my life. You
know yourself, Harry, how independent I am by
nature. I have always been my own master ; had
at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray.

Then but I don't know how to explain i.t to you.

Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge
of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling
that Fate had in store for me exquisite joys and
exquisite sorrows. I grew afraid, and turned to
quit the room. It was not conscience that made me
do so ; it was a sort of cowardice. I take no credit
to myself for trying to escape."

" Conscience and cowardice are really the same
things, Basil. Conscience is the trade-name of the
firm. That is all."

" I don't believe that, Harry, and I don't believe
you do either. However, whatever was my motive
and it may have been pride, for I used to be very
proud I certainly struggled to the door. There,
of course, I stumbled against Lady Brandon. ' You
are not going to run away so soon, Mr. Hallward ? '
she screamed out. You know her curiously shrill
voice ? "

" Yes ; she is a peacock In everything but beauty,"
said Lord Henry, pulling the daisy to bits with his
long, nervous fingers.

" I could not get rid of her. She brought me up
to Royalties, and people with Stars and Garters, and
elderly ladies with gigantic tiaras and parrot noses.
She spoke of me as her dearest friend. I had only



14 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

met her once before, but she took it into her head to
lionise me. I believe some picture of mine had made
a great success at the time, at least had been chattered
about in the penny newspapers, which is the nine-
teenth-century standard of immortality. Suddenly
I found myself face to face with the young man whose
personality had so strangely stirred me. We were
quite close, almost touching. Our eyes met again.
It was reckless of me, but I asked Lady Brandon to
introduce me to him. Perhaps it was not so reckless,
after all. It was simply inevitable. We would have
spoken to each other without any introduction. I
am sure of that. Dorian told me so afterwards. He,
too, felt that we were destined to know each other."

" And how did Lady Brandon describe this wonder-
ful young man ? " asked his companion. " I know
she goes in for giving a rapid precis of all her guests.
I remember her bringing me up to a truculent and
red-faced old gentleman covered all over with orders
and ribbons, and hissing into my ear, In a tragic
whisper which must have been perfectly audible to
everybody in the room, the most astounding details.
I simply fled. I like to find out people for myself.
But Lady Brandon treats her guests exactly as an
auctioneer treats his goods. She either explains them
entirely away, or tells one everything about them
except what one wants to know."

" Poor Lady Brandon ! You are hard on her,
Harry I " said Hall ward, listlessly.

" My dear fellow, she tried to found a salon, and ;'
only succeeded in opening a restaurant. How could /
I admire her ? But tell me, what did she say about
Mr. Dorian Gray ? "

" Oh, something like, ' Charming boy poor dear
mother and I absolutely inseparable. Quite forget
what he does afraid he doesn't do anything oh,
yes, plays the piano or Is it the violin, dear Mr.
Gray ? ' Neither of us could help laughing, and we
became friends at once."

" Laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 15

friendship, and it is far the best ending for one," said
the young lord, plucking another daisy.

Hallward shook his head. " You don't under-
stand what friendship is, Harry," he murmured
" or what enmity is, for that matter. You like
everyone ; that is to say, you are indifferent to
everyone."

" How horribly unjust of you 1 " cried Lord Henry,
tilting his hat back, and looking up at the little clouds
that, like ravelled skeins of glossy white silk, were
drifting across the hollowed turquoise of the summer
sky. ' Yes ; horribly unjust of you. I make a
great difference between people. I choose my friends
for their good looks, my acquaintances for their
good characters, and my enemies for their good
Intellects. A man cannot be too careful in the choice
of his enemies. I have not got one who is a fool.
They are all men of some intellectual power, and
consequently they all appreciate me. Is that very
vain of me ? I think it is rather vain."

" I should think it was, Harry. But according to
your category I must be merely an acquaintance."

" My dear old Basil, you are much more than an
acquaintance."

" And much less than a friend. A sort of brother,
I suppose ? "

" Oh, brothers ! I don't care for brothers. My
elder brother won't die, and my younger brothers
seem never to do anything else."

" Harry 1 " exclaimed Hallward, frowning.

" My dear fellow, I am not quite serious. But I
can't help detesting my relations. I suppose it
conies from the fact that none of us can stand other
people having the same faults as ourselves. I quite
sympathise with the rage of the English democracy
against what they call the vices of the upper orders.
The masses feel that drunkenness, stupidity, and
Immorality should be their own special property,
and that if anyone of us makes an ass of himself he
Is poaching on their preserves. When poor South-



16 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

wark got into the Divorce Court, their Indignation
was quite magnificent. And yet I don't suppose
that ten per cent, of the proletariat live correctly."

" I don't agree with a single word that you have
said, and, what is more, Harry, I feel sure you don't
either."

Lord Henry stroked his pointed brown beard, and
tapped the toe of his patent-leather boot with a
tasselled ebony cane. " How English you are,
Basil I That is the second time you have made that
observation. If one puts forward an idea to a true
Englishman always a rash thing to do he never
dreams of considering whether the idea is right or
wrong. The only thing he considers of any impor-
tance is whether one believes it oneself. Now, the
value of an idea has nothing whatsoever to do with
the sincerity of the man who expresses it. Indeed,
the probabilities are that the more insincere the man
Is, the more purely intellectual will the idea be, as
in that case it will not be coloured by either his wants,
his desires, or his prejudices. However, I don't
propose to discuss politics, sociology, or metaphysics
with you. I like persons better than principles, and
I like persons with no principles better than anything
else in the world. Tell me more about Mr. Dorian
Gray. How often do you see him ? "

" Every day. I couldn't be happy if I didn't see
him every day. He Is absolutely necessary to me."

" How extraordinary 1 I thought you would never
care for anything but your art."

" He is all my art to me now," said the painter,
gravely. " I sometimes think, Harry, that there
are only two eras of any importance in the world's
history. The first is the appearance of a new medium
for art, and the second is the appearance of a new
personality for art also. What the invention of oil-
painting was to the Venetians, the face of Antinous
was to late Greek sculpture, and the face of Dorian
Gray will some day be to me. It is not merely that
I paint from him, draw from him, sketch from him.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 17

Of course I have done all that. But he Is much more
to me than a model or a sitter. I won't tell you that
I am dissatisfied with what I have done of him, or
that his beauty is such that Art cannot express It.
There Is nothing that Art cannot express, and I know
that the work I have done, since I met Dorian Gray,
is good work, is the best work of my life. But in
some curious way I wonder will you understand me ?
his personality has suggested to me an entirely
new manner in art, an entirely new mode of style.
I see things differently, I think of them differently.
I can now recreate life in a way that was hidden from
me before. ' A dream of form in days of thought : '
who is it who says that ? I forget ; but It is what
Dorian Gray has been to me. The merely visible
presence of this lad for he seems to me little more
than a lad, though he is really over twenty his
merely visible presence ah I I wonder can you realise
all that that means ? Unconsciously he defines for
me the lines of a fresh school, a school that is to have
in it all the passion of the romantic spirit, all the
perfection of the spirit that is Greek. The harmony
of soul and body how much that Is I We In our
madness have separated the two, and have invented
a realism that is vulgar, an ideality that is void.
Harry ! if you only knew what Dorian Gray is to
me I You remember that landscape of mine, for
which Agnew offered me such a huge price, but which
I would not part with ? It is one of the best things
I have ever done. And why Is it so ? Because,
while I was painting it, Dorian Gray sat beside me.
Some subtle influence passed from him to me, and
for the first time in my life I saw in the plain woodland
the wonder I had always looked for, and always
missed."

" Basil, this is extraordinary I I must see Dorian
Gray."

Hallward got up from the seat, and walked up and
down the garden. After some time he came back.
" Harry," he said, " Dorian Gray Is to me simply a



18 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

motive In art. You might see nothing in him. I
see everything in him. He is never more present in
my work than when no image of him is there. He
is a suggestion, as I have said, of a new manner. I
find him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness
and subtleties of certain colours. That is all."

" Then why won't you exhibit his portrait ? "
asked Lord Henry.

" Because, without intending It, I have put into
it some expression of all this curious artistic idolatry,
of which, of course, I have never cared to speak to
him. He knows nothing about it. He shall never
know anything about it. But the world might guess
It ; and I will not bare my soul to their shallow
prying eyes. My heart shall never be put under
their microscope. There is too much of myself In
the thing, Harry too much of myself I "

" Poets are not so scrupulous as you are. They
know how useful passion is for publication. Nowa-
days a broken heart will run to many editions."

" I hate them for it," cried Hallward. " An
artist should create beautiful things, but should put
nothing of his own life into them. We live in an age
when men treat art as if it were meant to be a form
of autobiography. We have lost the abstract sense
of beauty. Some day I will show the world what it
Is ; and for that reason the world shall never see my
portrait of Dorian Gray."

" I think you are wrong, Basil, but I won't argue
with you. It Is only the intellectually lost who ever
argue. Tell me, Is Dorian Gray very fond of you ? "

The painter considered for a few moments. " He
likes me," he answered, after a pause ; "I know he
likes me. Of course I flatter him dreadfully. I find
a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I
know I shall be sorry for having said. As a rule,
he is charming to me, and we sit in the studio and
talk of a thousand things. Now and then, however,
he is horribly thoughtless, and seems to take a real
delight in giving me pain. Then I feel, Harry, that



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 19

I have given away my whole soul to someone who
treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit
of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a
summer's day."

" Days in summer, Basil, are apt to linger," mur-
mured Lord Henry. " Perhaps you will tire sooner
than he will. It is a sad thing to think of, but there
is no doubt that Genius lasts longer than Beauty.
That accounts for the fact that we all take such pains
to over-educate ourselves. In the wild struggle for
existence, we want to have something that endures,
and so we fill our minds with rubbish and facts, in
the silly hope of keeping our place. The thoroughly
well-informed man that is the modern ideal. And
the mind of the thoroughly well-informed man is a
dreadful thing. It is like a bric-a-brac shop, all
monsters and dust, with everything priced above its
proper value. I think you will tire first, all the same.
Some day you will look at your friend, and he will
seem to you to be a little out of drawing, or you won't
like his tone of colour, or something. You will
bitterly reproach him in your own heart, and seriously
think that he has behaved very badly to you. The
next time he calls, you will be perfectly cold and in-
different. It will be a great pity, for it will alter
you. What you have told me is quite a romance, a
romance of art one might call it, and the worst of
having a romance of any kind is that it leaves one so f
unromantic." /

" Harry, don't talk like that. As long as I live,
the personality of Dorian Gray will dominate me.
You can't feel what I feel. You change too often."

" Ah, my dear Basil, that is exactly why I can feel
it. Those who are faithful know only the trivial
side of love : it is the faithless who know love's
tragedies." And Lord Henry struck a light on a
dainty silver case, and began to smoke a cigarette
with a self-conscious and satisfied air, as if he had
summed up the world in a phrase. There was a
rustle of chirruping sparrows in the green lacquer



20 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

leaves of the ivy, and the blue cloud-shadows chased
themselves across the grass like swallows. How
pleasant it was in the garden I And how delightful
other people's emotions were 1 much more delightful
than their ideas, it seemed to him. One's own soul,
and the passions of one's friends those were the
fascinating things in life. He pictured to himself with
silent amusement the tedious luncheon that he had
missed by staying so long with Basil Hallward. Had
he gone to his aunt's he would have been sure to have
met Lord Goodbody there, and the whole conversa-
tion would have been about the feeding of the poor,
and the necessity for model lodging-houses. Each
class would have preached the importance of those
virtues, for whose exercise there was no necessity
in their own lives. The rich would have spoken on
the value of thrift, and the idle grown eloquent over
the dignity of labour. It was charming to have
escaped all that ! As he thought of his aunt, an idea
seemed to strike him. He turned to Hallward, and
said, " My dear fellow, I have just remembered."
" Remembered what, Harry ? "
" Where I heard the name of Dorian Gray."
" Where was it ? " asked Hallward, with a slight
frown.

" Don't look so angry, Basil. It was at my aunt,
Lady Agatha's. She told me she had discovered a
wonderful young man, who was going to help her In
the East End, and that his name was Dorian Gray.
I am bound to state that she never told me he was
good-looking. Women have no appreciation of good
looks ; at least, good women have not. She said
that he was very earnest, and had a beautiful nature.
I at once pictured to myself a creature with spectacles
and lank hair, horribly freckled, and tramping about
on huge feet. I wish I had known it was your friend."
" I am very glad you didn't, Harry."
" Why ? "

" I don't want you to meet him."
" You don't want me to meet him ? "



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 21

" No."

" Mr. Dorian Gray Is in the studio, sir," said the
butler, coming Into the garden.

" You must introduce me now," cried Lord Henry,
laughing.

The painter turned to his servant, who stood
blinking in the sunlight. " Ask Mr. Gray to wait,
Parker : I shall be in in a few moments." The man
bowed, and went up the walk.

Then he looked at Lord Henry. " Dorian Gray
Is my dearest friend," he said. " He has a simple
and a beautiful nature. Your aunt was quite right
In what she said of him. Don't spoil him. Don't
try to iniluence him. Your influence would be bad.
The world is wide, and has many marvellous people
In it. Don't take away from me the one person who
gives to my art whatever charm it possesses ; my
life as an artist depends on him. Mind, Harry, I
trust you." He spoke very slowly, and the words
seemed wrung out of him almost against his will.

" What nonsense you talk 1 " said Lord Henry,
smiling, and, taking Hallward by the arm, he almost
led him Into the house.



CHAPTER II

As they entered they saw Dorian Gray. He was
seated at the piano, with his back to them, turning
over the pages of a volume of Schumann's " Forest
Scenes." " You must lend me these, Basil," he
cried. " I want to learn them. They are perfectly
charming."

" That entirely depends on how you sit to-day,
Dorian."

" Oh, I am tired of sitting, and I don't want a life-
sized portrait of myself," answered the lad, swinging
round on the music-stool, in a wilful, petulant manner.
When he caught sight of Lord Henry, a faint blush
coloured his cheeks for a moment, and he started up.
" I beg your pardon, Basil, but I didn't know you
had anyone with you."

" This is Lord Henry Wotton, Dorian, an old
Oxford friend of mine. I have just been telling him
what a capital sitter you were, and now you have
spoiled everything."

" You have not spoiled my pleasure in meeting
you, Mr. Gray," said Lord Henry, stepping forward
and extending his hand. " My aunt has often
spoken to me about you. You are one of her favour-
ites, and, I am afraid, one of her victims also."

" I am in Lady Agatha's black books at present,"
answered Dorian, with a funny look of penitence.
" I promised to go to a club in Whitechapel with
her last Tuesday, and I really forgot all about It.
We were to have played a duet together three duets,
I believe. I don't know what she will say to me.
I am far too frightened to call."

22



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 23

" Oh, I will make your peace with my aunt. She
Is quite devoted to you. And I don't think it really
matters about your not being there. The audience
probably thought it was a duet. When Aunt Agatha
sits down to the piano she makes quite enough noise
for two people."

" That is very horrid to her, and not very nice to
me," answered Dorian, laughing.

Lord Henry looked at him. Yes, he was certainly
wonderfully handsome, with his finely-curved scarlet
lips, his frank blue eyes, his crisp gold hair. There
was something in his face that made one trust him
at once. All the candour of youth was there, as well
as all youth's passionate purity. One felt that he
had kept himself unspotted from the world. No
wonder Basil Hallward worshipped him.

" You are too charming to go in for philanthropy,
Mr. Gray far too charming." And Lord Henry
flung himself down on the divan, and opened his
cigarette-case.

The painter had been busy mixing his colours and
getting his brushes ready. He was looking worried,
and when he heard Lord Henry's last remark he
glanced at him, hesitated for a moment, and then
said, " Harry, I want to finish this picture to-day.
Would you think it awfully rude of me if I asked you
to go away ? "

Lord Henry smiled, and looked at Dorian Gray.
" Am I to go, Mr. Gray ? " he asked.

" Oh, please don't, Lord Henry. I see that Basil
is in one of his sulky moods ; and I can't bear him
when he sulks. Besides, I want you to tell me why
I should not go in for philanthropy."

" I don't know that I shall tell you that, Mr. Gray.
It is so tedious a subject that one would have to talk
seriously about it. But I certainly shall not run
away, now that you have asked me to stop. You
don't really mind, Basil, do you ? You have often
told me that you liked your sitters to have someone
to chat to."



24 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Hallward bit his lip. " If Dorian wishes it, of
course you must stay. Dorian's whims are laws to
everybody, except himself."

Lord Henry took up his hat and gloves. " You
are very pressing, Basil, but I am afraid I must go.
I have promised to meet a man at the Orleans.
Good-bye, Mr. Gray. Come and see me some after-
noon in Curzon Street. I am nearly always at home
at five o'clock. Write to me when you are coming.
I should be sorry to miss you."

" Basil," cried Dorian Gray, " if Lord Henry
Wotton goes I shall go too. You never open your
lips while you are painting, and it is horribly dull
standing on a platform and trying to look pleasant.
Ask him to stay. I insist upon it."

" Stay, Harry, to oblige Dorian, and to oblige me,"
said Halhvard, gazing intently at his picture. " It
is quite true, I never talk when I am working, and
never listen either, and it must be dreadfully tedious
for my unfortunate sitters. I beg you to stay."

" But what about my man at the Orleans ? "

The painter laughed. " I don't think there will
be any difficulty about that. Sit down again, Harry.
And now, Dorian, get up on the platform, and don't
move about too much, or pay any attention to what
Lord Henry says. He has a very bad influence over
all his friends, with the single exception of myself."

Dorian Gray stepped up on the dais, with the air
of a young Greek martyr, and made a little moue
of discontent to Lord Henry, to whom he had rather
taken a fancy. He was so unlike Basil. They made
a delightful contrast. And he had such a beautiful
voice. After a few moments he said to him, " Have
you really a very bad influence, Lord Henry ? As
bad as Basil says ? "

" There is no such thing as a good influence, Mr.
Gray. All influence is immoral immoral from the
scientific point of view."

" Why ? "

" Because to influence a person is to give him one's



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 25

own soul. He does not think his natural thoughts,
or burn with his natural passions. His virtues are
not real to him. His sins, if there are such things
as sins, are borrowed. He becomes an echo of some-
one else's music, an actor of a part that has not been
written for him. The aim of life is self-development.
To realise one's nature perfectly that is what each
of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves,
nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all
duties, the duty that one owes to one's self. Of course
they are charitable. They feed the hungry, and
clothe the beggar. But their own souls starve, and
are naked. Courage has gone out of our race. Per-
haps we never really had it. The terror of society,
which is the basis of morals, the terror of God, which
is the secret of religion these are the two things that
govern us. And yet "

" Just turn your head a little more to the right,
Dorian, like a good boy," said the painter, deep in
his work, and conscious only that a look had come
into the lad's face that he had never seen there before.

" And yet," continued Lord Henry, in his low,
musical voice, and with that graceful wave of the
hand that was always so characteristic of him, and
that he had even in his Eton days, " I believe that
if one man were to live out his life fully and com-
pletely, were to give form to every feeling, expression
to every thought, reality to every dream I believe
that the world would gain such a fresh impulse of
joy that we would forget all the maladies of mediae-
valism, and return to the Hellenic ideal to some-
thing finer, richer, than the Hellenic ideal, it may be.
But the bravest man amongst us is afraid of himself.
The mutilation of the savage has its tragic survival
in the self-denial that mars our lives. We are
punished for our refusals. Every impulse that we
strive to strangle broods in the mind, and poisons us.
The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for
action is a mode of purification. Nothing remains
then but the recollection of a pleasure, or the luxury



26 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

of a regret. The only way to get rid of a temptation
is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick
with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself,
with desire for what its monstrous laws have
made monstrous and unlawful. It has been said
that the great events of the world take place in the
brain. It is In the brain, and the brain only, that
the great sins of the world take place also. You, Mr.
Gray, you yourself, with your rose-red youth and your
rose-white boyhood, you have had passions that have
made you afraid, thoughts that have filled you with
terror, day-dreams and sleeping dreams whose mere
memory might stain your cheek with shame "

" Stop I " faltered Dorian Gray, " stop ! you
bewilder me. I don't know what to say. There is
some answer to you, but I cannot find it. Don't
speak. Let me think. Or, rather, let me try not
to think."

For nearly ten minutes he stood there, motionless,
with parted lips, and eyes strangely bright. He was
dimly conscious that entirely fresh influences were
at work within him. Yet they seemed to him to
have come really from himself. The few words that
Basil's friend had said to him words spoken by
chance, no doubt, and with wilful paradox in them
had touched some secret chord that had never been
touched before, but that he felt was now vibrating
and throbbing J;o curious pulses.

Music had stirred him like that. Music had
troubled him many times. But music was not
articulate. It was not a new world, but rather
another chaos, that it created In us. Words I Mere
words t How terrible they were I How clear, and
vivid, and cruel 1 One could not escape from them.
And yet what a subtle magic there was in them I
They seemed to be able to give a plastic form to form-
less things, and to have a music of their own as sweet
as that of viol or of lute. Mere words 1 Was there
anything so real as words ?

Yes ; there had been things in his boyhood that



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 27

he had not understood. He understood them now.
Life suddenly became fiery-coloured to him. It
seemed to him that he had been walking in fire. Why
had he not known it ?

With his subtle smile, Lord Henry watched him.
He knew the precise psychological moment when to
say nothing. He felt intensely interested. He was
amazed at the sudden impression that his words had
produced, and, remembering a book that he had read
when he was sixteen, a book which had revealed to
him much that he had not known before, he wondered
whether Dorian Gray was passing through a similar
experience. He had merely shot an arrow into the air.
Had it hit the mark ? How fascinating the lad was !

Hallward painted away with that marvellous bold
touch of his, that had the true refinement and perfect
delicacy that in art, at any rate, comes only from
strength. He was unconscious of the silence.

" Basil, I am tired of standing," cried Dorian
Gray, suddenly. " I must go out and sit in the
garden. The air is stifling here."

" My dear fellow, I am so sorry. When I am
painting, I can't think of anything else. But yeu
never sat better. You were perfectly still. And I
have caught the effect I wanted the half-parted
lips, and the bright look in the eyes. I don't know
what Harry has been saying to you, but he has
certainly made you have the most wonderful expres-
sion. I suppose he has been paying you compliments.
You mustn't believe a word that he says."

" He has certainly not been paying me compliments.
Perhaps that is the reason that I don't believe any-
thing he has told me."

" You know you believe It all," said Lord Henry,
looking at him with his dreamy, languorous eyes.
" I will go out to the garden with you. It is horribly
hot in the studio. Basil, let us have something iced
to drink, something with strawberries in it."

" Certainly, Harry. Just touch the bell, and when
Parker comes I will tell him what you want. I have



28 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

got to work up this background, so I will join you
later on. Don't keep Dorian too long. I have never
been In better form for painting than I am to-day.
This Is going to be my masterpiece. It Is my master-
piece as it stands."

Lord Henry went out to the garden, and found
Dorian Gray burying his face In the great cool lilac-
blossoms, feverishly drinking in their perfume as If
It had been wine. He came close to him, and put
his hand upon his shoulder. " You are quite right
to do that," he murmured. " Nothing can cure the
soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the
senses but the soul."

The lad started and drew back. He was bare-
headed, and the leaves had tossed his rebellious curls
and tangled all their gilded threads. There was a
look of fear In his eyes, such as people have when
they are suddenly awakened. His finely-chiselled
nostrils quivered, and some hidden nerve shook the
scarlet of his lips and left them trembling.

" Yes," continued Lord Henry, " that Is one of
the great secrets of life to cure the soul by means
of the senses, and the senses by means of the soul.
You are a wonderful creation. You know more than
you think you know, just as you know less than you
want to know."

Dorian Gray frowned and turned his head away.
He could not help liking the tall, graceful young man
who was standing by him. His romantic olive-
coloured face and worn expression interested him.
There was something in his low, languid voice that
was absolutely fascinating. His cool, white, flower-
like hands, even, had a curious charm. They moved,
as he spoke, like music, and seemed to have a language
of their own. But he felt afraid of him, and ashamed
of being afraid. Why had it been left for a stranger
to reveal him to himself ? He had known Basil
Hallward for months, but the friendship between
them had never altered him. Suddenly there had
come someone across his life who seemed to have



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 29

disclosed to him life's mystery. And, yet, what was
there to be afraid of ? He was not a schoolboy or a
girl. It was absurd to be frightened.

" Let us go and sit in the shade," said Lord Henry.
" Parker has brought out the drinks, and if you stay
any longer in this glare you will be quite spoiled, and
Basil will never paint you again. You really must
not allow yourself to become sunburnt. It would be
unbecoming."

" What can It matter ? " cried Dorian Gray,
laughing, as he sat down on the seat at the end of the
garden.

' It should matter everything to you, Mr. Gray."

' Why ? "

' Because you have the most marvellous youth,
and youth Is the one thing worth having."

' I don't feel that, Lord Henry."

' No, you don't feel it now. Some day, when you
are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has
seared your forehead with its lines, and passion
branded your lips with Its hideous fires, you will
feel It, you will feel It terribly. Now, wherever you
go, you charm the world. Will It always be so ? ...
You have a wonderfully beautiful face, Mr. Gray.
Don't frown. You have. And Beauty is a form of
Genius Is higher, indeed, than Genius, as it needs no
explanation. It is of the great facts of the world,
like sunlight, or spring-time, or the reflection in dark
waters of that silver shell we call the moon. It can-
not be questioned. It has its divine right of
sovereignty. It makes princes of those who have It.
You smile ? Ah ! when you have lost it you won't
smile. . . . People say sometimes that Beauty is only
superficial. That may be so. But at least it is not
so superficial as Thought Is. To me, Beauty Is the
wonder of wonders. It Is only shallow people who
do not judge by appearances. The true mystery of
the world Is the visible, not the invisible. . . . Yes,
Mr. Gray, the gods have been good to you. But
what the gods give they quickly take away. You



30 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

have only a few years in which to live really, per-
fectly, and fully. When your youth goes, your
beauty will go with it, and then you will suddenly
discover that there are no triumphs left for you, or
have to content yourself with those mean triumphs
that the memory of your past will make more bitter
than defeats. Every month as it wanes brings you
nearer to something dreadful. Time is jealous of
you, and wars against your lilies and your roses. You
will become sallow, and hollow-cheeked, and dull-
eyed. You will suffer horribly. . . . Ah I realise
your youth while you have it. Don't squander the
gold of your days, listening to the tedious, trying to
improve the hopeless failure, or giving away your
life to the ignorant, the common, and the vulgar.
These are the sickly aims, the false ideals, of our age.
Live ! Live the wonderful life that is in you ! Let
nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for
new sensations. Be afraid of nothing. ... A new
Hedonism that is what our century wants. You
might be its visible symbol. With your personality
there is nothing you could not do. The world belongs
to you for a season. . . . The moment I met you I
saw that you were quite unconscious of what you
really are, of what you really might be. There was
so much in you that charmed me that I felt I must
tell you something about yourself. I thought how
tragic it would be if you were wasted. For there is
such a little time that your youth will last such a
little time. The common hill-flowers wither, but they
blossom again. The laburnum will be as yellow 7 next
June as it is now. In a month there will be purple
stars on the clematis, and year after year the green
night of its leaves will hold its purple stars. But we
never get back our youth. The pulse of joy that
beats in us at twenty, becomes sluggish. Our limbs
fail, our senses rot. We degenerate into hideous
puppets, haunted by the memory of the passions of
which we were too much afraid, and the exquisite
temptations that we had not the courage to yield to.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 31

Youth I Youth 1 There Is absolutely nothing in the
world but youth I "

Dorian Gray listened, open-eyed and wondering.
The spray of lilac fell from his hand upon the gravel.
A furry bee came and buzzed round it for a moment.
Then it began to scramble all over the oval stellated
globe of the tiny blossoms. He watched it with that
strange interest in trivial things that we try to
develop when things of high import make us afraid,
or when we are stirred by some new emotion for which
we cannot find expression, or when some thought
that terrifies us lays sudden siege to the brain and
calls on us to yield. After a time the bee flew away.
He saw It creeping Into the stained trumpet of a
Tyrian convolvulus. The flower seemed to quiver,
and then swayed gently to and fro.

Suddenly the painter appeared at the door of the
studio, and made staccato signs for them to come In.
They turned to each other, and smiled.

" I am waiting," he cried. " Do come In. The
light Is quite perfect, and you can bring your drinks."

They rose up, and sauntered down the walk to-
gether. Two green-and-white butterflies fluttered
past them, and In the pear-tree at the corner of the
garden a thrush began to sing.

" You are glad you have met me, Mr. Gray," said
Lord Henry, looking at him.

" Yes, I am glad now. I wonder shall I always be
glad ? "

" Always I That Is a dreadful word. It makes me
shudder when I hear It. Women are so fond of using
It. They spoil every romance by trying to make It
last for ever. It Is a meaningless word, too. The
only difference between a caprice and a life-long
passion Is that the caprice lasts a little longer."

As they entered the studio, Dorian Gray put his
hand upon Lord Henry's arm. " In that case, let
our friendship be a caprice," he murmured, flushing
at his own boldness, then stepped up on the platform
and resumed his pose.



32 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Lord Henry flung himself into a large wicker arm-
chair, and watched him. The sweep and dash of the
brush on the canvas made the only sound that broke
the stillness, except when, now and then, Hallward
stepped back to look at his work from a distance.
In the slanting beams that streamed through the
open doorway the dust danced and was golden. The
heavy scent of the roses seemed to brood over every-
thing.

After about a quarter of an hour Hallward stopped
painting, looked for a long time at Dorian Gray, and
then for a long time at the picture, biting the end of
one of his huge brushes, and frowning. " It is quite
finished," he cried at last, and stooping down he
wrote his name in long vermilion letters on the left-
hand corner of the canvas.

Lord Henry came over and examined the picture.
It was certainly a wonderful work of art, and a
wonderful likeness as well.

" My dear fellow, I congratulate you most warmly,"
he said. " It is the finest portrait of modern times.
Mr. Gray, come over and look at yourself."

The lad started, as if awakened from some dream.
" Is it really finished ? " he murmured, stepping
down from the platform.

" Quite finished," said the painter. " And you have
sat splendidly to-day. I am awfully obliged to you."

" That is entirely due to me," broke in Lord Henry.
" Isn't it, Mr. Gray ? "

Dorian made no answer, but passed listlessly in
front of his picture, and turned towards it. When
he saw it he drew back, and his cheeks flushed for
a moment with pleasure. A look of joy came into
his eyes, as if he had recognised himself for the first
time. He stood there motionless and in wonder,
dimly conscious that Hallward was speaking to him,
but not catching the meaning of his words. The
sense of his own beauty came on him like a revelation.
He had never felt it before. Basil Hallward's com-
pliments had seemed to him to be merely the charm-



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 33

ing exaggerations of friendship. He had listened to
them, laughed at them, forgotten them. They had
not influenced his nature. Then had come Lord
Henry Wotton with his strange panegyric on youth,
his terrible warning of its brevity. That had stirred
him at the time, and now, as he stood gazing at the
shadow of his own loveliness, the full reality of the
description flashed across him. Yes, there would
be a day when his face would be wrinkled and wizen,
his eyes dim and colourless, the grace of his figure
broken and deformed. The scarlet would pass away
from his lips, and the gold steal from his hair. The
life that was to make his soul would mar his body.
He would become dreadful, hideous, and uncouth.

As he thought of it, a sharp pang of pain struck
through him like a knife, and made each delicate
fibre of his nature quiver. His eyes deepened into
amethyst, and across them came a mist of tears. He
felt as if a hand of ice had been laid upon his heart.

" Don't you like it ? " cried Hallward at last,
stung a little by the lad's silence, not understanding
what it meant.

" Of course he likes it," said Lord Henry. " Who
wouldn't like it ? It is one of the greatest things in
modern art. I will give you anything you like to ask
for it. I must have it."

It is not my property, Harry."

Whose property is it ? "

Dorian's, of course," answered the painter.

He is a very lucky fellow."

How sad it is 1 " murmured Dorian Gray, with
his eyes still fixed upon his own portrait. " How
sad it is 1 I shall grow old, and horrible, and dreadful.
But this picture will remain always young. It will
never be older than this particular day of June. . . .
If it were only the other way ! If it were I who was
to be always young, and the picture that was to grow
old 1 For that for that I would give everything I
Yes, there is nothing in the whole world I would not
give 1 I would give my soul for that I "

2



34 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

" You would hardly care for such an arrangement,
BasH," cried Lord Henry, laughing. " It would be
rather hard lines on your work."

" I should object very strongly, Harry," said
Hall ward.

Dorian Gray turned and looked at him. " I
believe you would, Basil. You like your art better
than your friends. I am no more to you than a
green bronze figure. Hardly as much, I daresay."

The painter stared in amazement. It was so unlike
Darian to speak like that. What had happened ?
He seemed quite angry. His face was flushed and
his cheeks burning.

" Yes," he continued, " I am less to you than your
ivory Hermes or your silver Faun. You will like
them always. How long will you like me ? Till I
have my first wrinkle, I suppose. I know, now, that
when one loses one's good looks, whatever they may
be, one loses everything. Your picture has taught
me that. Lord Henry Wotton Is perfectly right.
Youth is the only thing worth having. When I find
that I am growing old, I shall kill myself."

Hallward turned pale, and caught his hand.
" Dorian I Dorian ! " he cried, " don't talk like that.
I have never had such a friend as you, and I shall
never have such another. You are not jealous of
material things, are you ? you who are finer than
any of them I "

" I am jealous of everything whose beauty does
not die. I am jealous of the portrait you have
painted of me. Why should it keep what I must
lose ? Every moment that passes takes something
from me, and gives something to It. Oh, if it were
only the other way I If the picture could change, and
I could be always what I am now 1 Why did you
paint it ? It will mock me some day mock me
horribly ! " The hot tears welled into his eyes ; he
tore his hand away, and, flinging himself on the divan,
he buried his face in the cushions, as though he was
praying.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 35

" This is your doing, Harry," said the painter,
bitterly.

Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. " It is the
real Dorian Gray that is all."

" It is not."

" If it is not, what have I to do with it ? "

" You should have gone away when I asked you,"
he muttered.

" I stayed when you asked me," was Lord Henry's
answer.

" Harry, I can't quarrel with my two best friends
at once, but between you both you have made me
hate the finest piece of work I have ever done, and
I will destroy it. What is it but canvas and colour ?
I will not let it come across our three lives and mar
them."

Dorian Gray lifted his golden head from the pillow,
and with pallid face and tear-stained eyes looked at
him, as he walked over to the deal painting-table
that was set beneath the high curtained window.
What was he doing there ? His fingers were straying
about among the litter of tin tubes and dry brushes,
seeking for something. Yes, it was for the long
palette-knife, with its thin blade of lithe steel. He
had found it at last. He was going to rip up the
canvas.

With a stifled sob the lad leaped from the couch,
and, rushing over to Hallward, tore the knife out of
his hand, and flung it to the end of the studio. " Don't,
Basil, don't I " he cried. " It would be murder ! "

44 1 am glad you appreciate my work at last,
Dorian," said the painter, coldly, when he had re-
covered from his surprise. " I never thought you
would."

" Appreciate it ? I am in love with it, Basil. It
is part of myself. I feel that."

" Well, as soon as you are dry, you shall be var-
nished, and framed, and sent home. Then you can
do what you like with yourself." And he walked
across the room and rang the bell for tea. " You



36 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

will have tea, of course, Dorian ? And so will you,
Harry ? Or do you object to such simple pleasures ? "

" I adore simple pleasures," said Lord Henry.
" They are the last refuge ef the complex. But I
don't like scenes, except on the stage. What absurd
fellows you are, both of you 1 I wonder who It was
defined man as a rational animal. It was the most
premature definition ever given. Man is many
things, but he is not rational. I am glad he is not,
after all : though I wish you chaps would not squabble
over the picture. You had much better let me have
it, Basil. This silly boy doesn't really want it, and
I really do."

" If you let anyone have It but me, Basil, I shall
never forgive you ! " cried Dorian Gray ; " and I
don't allow people to call me a silly boy."

" You know the picture is yours, Dorian. I gave
it to you before it existed."

" And you know you have been a little silly, Mr.
Gray, and that you don't really object to being
reminded that you are extremely young."

" I should have objected very strongly this morn-
ing, Lord Henry."

" Ah I this morning 1 You have lived since then."

There came a knock at the door, and the butler
entered with a laden tea-tray and set it down upon
a small Japanese table. There was a rattle of cups
and saucers and the hissing of a fluted Georgian urn.
Two globe-shaped china dishes were brought in by
a page. Dorian Gray went over and poured out the
tea. The two men sauntered languidly to the table,
and examined what was under the covers.

" Let us go to the theatre to-night," said Lord
Henry. " There is sure to be something on, some-
where. I have promised to dine at White's, but it
is only with an old friend, so I can send him a wire
to say that I am ill, or that I am prevented from
coming in consequence of a subsequent engagement.
I think that would be a rather nice excuse : it would
have all the surprise of candour."



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 37

" It is such a bore putting on one's dress-clothes,"
muttered Halhvard. " And, when one has them on,
they are so horrid."

" Yes," answered Lord Henry, dreamily, " the
costume of the nineteenth century Is detestable. It
is so sombre, so depressing. Sin is the only real
colour-element left in modern life."

" You really must not say things like that before
Dorian, Harry."

" Before which Derian ? The one who is pouring
out tea for us, or the one in the picture ? "

" Before either."

" I should like to come to the theatre with you,
Lord Henry," said the lad.

" Then you shall come ; and you will come too,
Basil, won't you ? "

" I can't really. I would sooner not. I have a
lot of work to do."

" Well, then, you and I will go alone, Mr. Gray."

" I should like that awfully."

The painter bit his lip and walked over, cup In
hand, to the picture. " I shall stay with the real
Dorian," he said, sadly.

" Is it the real Dorian ? " cried the original of the
portrait, strolling across to him. " Am I really like
that ? "

" Yes ; you are just like that."

" How wonderful, Basil I "

" At least you are like it in appearance. But
it will never alter," sighed Hallward. " That ts
something."

" What a fuss people make about fidelity ! " ex-
claimed Lord Henry. " Why, even in love it is purely
a question for physiology. It has nothing to do with
our own will. Young men want to be faithful, and /
are not ; old men want to be faithless, and cannot : '
that is all one can say."

" Don't go to the theatre to-night, Dorian," said
Halhvard. " Stop and dine with me."

" I can't, Basil."



38 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

" Why ? "

" Because I have promised Lord Henry Wotton
to go with him."

" He won't like you the better for keeping your
promises. He always breaks his own. I beg you
not to go."

Dorian Gray laughed and shook his head.
" I entreat you."

The lad hesitated, and looked over at Lord Henry,
who was watching them from the tea-table with an
amused smile.

" I must go, Basil," he answered.
" Very well," said Hallward ; and he went over
and laid down his cup on the tray. "It is rather
late, and, as you have to dress, you had better lose
no time. Good-bye, Harry. Good-bye, Dorian.
Come and see me soon. Come to-morrow."
' Certainly."
' You won't forget ? "
' No, of course not," cried Dorian.
' And . . . Harry ! "
' Yes, Basil ? "

' Remember what I asked you, when we were In
the garden this morning."
' I have forgotten it."
' I trust you."

' I wish I could trust myself," said Lord Henry,
laughing. " Come, Mr. Gray, my hansom is out-
side, and I can drop you at your own place. Good-
bye, Basil. It has been a most interesting afternoon."
As the door closed behind them, the painter flung
himself down on a sofa, and a look of pain came Into
his face.



CHAPTER III

AT half-past twelve next day Lord Henry Wotton
strolled from Curzon Street over to the Albany to
call on his uncle, Lord Fermor, a genial if somewhat
rough-mannered old bachelor, whom the outside
world called selfish because it derived no particular
benefit from him, but who was considered generous
by Society as he fed the people who amused him.
His father had been our ambassador at Madrid when
Isabella was young, and Prim unthought of, but had
retired from the Diplomatic Service in a capricious
moment of annoyance at not being offered the
Embassy at Paris, a post to which he considered that
he was fully entitled by reason of his birth, his indo-
lence, the good English of his despatches, and his
inordinate passion for pleasure. The son, who had
been his father's secretary, had resigned along with
his chief, somewhat foolishly as was thought at the
time, and on succeeding some months later to
the title, had set himself to the serious study of the
great aristocratic art of doing absolutely nothing.
He had two large town houses, but preferred to live
in chambers, as it was less trouble, and took most
of his meals at his club. He paid some attention
to the management of his collieries in the Midland
counties, excusing himself for this taint of industry
on the ground that the one advantage of having coal
was that it enabled a gentleman to afford the decency
of burning wood on his own hearth. In politics he
was a Tory, except when the Tories were in office,
during which period he roundly abused them for
being a pack of Radicals. He was a hero to his
valet, who bullied him, and a terror to most of his

39



40 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

relations, whom he bullied in turn. Only England
could have produced him, and he always said that
the country was going to the dogs. His principles
were out of date, but there was a good deal to be
said for his prejudices.

When Lord Henry entered the room, he found his
uncle sitting hi a rough shooting coat, smoking a
cheroot, and grumbling over The Times, " Well,
Harry," said the old gentleman, " what brings you
out so early ? I thought you dandies never got up
till two, and were not visible till five."

" Pure family affection, I assure you, Uncle George.
I want to get something out of you."

" Money, I suppose," said Lord Fermor, making
a wry face. " Well, sit down and tell me all about
it. Young people, nowadays, imagine that money
Is everything."

" Yes," murmured Lord Henry, settling his button-
hole in his coat ; " and when they grow older they
know it. But I don't want money. It is only
people who pay their bills who want that, Uncle
George, and I never pay mine. Credit is the capital
of a younger son, and one lives charmingly upon it.
Besides, I always deal with Dartmoor's tradesmen,
and consequently they never bother me. What I
want is information ; not useful information, of
course ; useless information."

" Well, I can tell you anything that is in an English
Blue-book, Harry, although those fellows nowadays
write a lot of nonsense. When I was in the Diplo-
matic, things were much better. But I hear they let
them in now by examination. What can you expect ?
Examinations, sir, are pure humbug from beginning
to end. If a man is a gentleman, he knows quite
enough, and if he is not a gentleman, whatever he
knows is bad for him."

" Mr. Dorian Gray does not belong to Blue-books,
Uncle George," said Lord Henry, languidly.

" Mr. Dorian Gray ? Who is he ? " asked Lord
Fermor, knitting his bushy white eyebrows.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 41

" That is what I have come to learn, Uncle George.
Or rather, I know who he Is. He Is the last Lord
Kelso's grandson. His mother was a Devereux ;
Lady Margaret Devereux. I want you to tell me
about his mother. What was she like ? Whom did
she marry ? You have known nearly everybody in
your time, so you might have known her. I am
very much interested in Mr. Gray at present. I have
only just met him."

" Kelso's grandson ! " echoed the old gentleman.
" Kelso's grandson ! ... Of course. ... I knew
his mother intimately. I believe I was at her chris-
tening. She was an extraordinarily beautiful girl,
Margaret Devereux ; and made all the men frantic
by running away with a penniless young fellow ; a
mere nobody, sir, a subaltern in a foot regiment, r
something of that kind. Certainly. I remember the
whole thing as if it happened yesterday. The poor
chap was killed in a duel at Spa, a few months after
the marriage. There was an ugly story about it.
They said Kelso got some rascally adventurer, some
Belgian brute, to insult his son-in-law in public ;
paid him, sir, to do it, paid him ; and that the fellow
spitted his man as if he had been a pigeon. The
thing was hushed up, but, egad, Kelso ate his chop
alone at the club for some time afterwards. He
brought his daughter back with him, I was told, and
she never spoke to him again. Oh, yes ; it was a
bad business. The girl died too ; died within a year.
So she left a son, did she ? I had forgotten that.
What sort of boy is he ? If he is like his mother he
must be a good-looking chap."

" He is very good-looking," assented Lord Henry.

" I hope he will fall into proper hands," continued
the old man. "He should have a pot of money
waiting for him if Kelso did the right thing by him.
His mother had money too. All the Selby property
came to her, through her grandfather. Her grand-
father hated Kelso, thought him a mean dog. He
was, too. Came to Madrid once when I was there.



42 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Egad, I was ashamed of him. The Queen used to ask
me about the English noble who was always quarrel-
ling with the cabmen about their fares. They made
quite a story of it. I didn't dare to show my face
at Court for a month. I hope he treated his grandson
better than he did the jarvies."

" I don't know," answered Lord Henry. " I.
fancy that the boy will be well off. He is not of
age yet. He has Selby, I know. He told me so.
And . . . his mother was very beautiful ? "

" Margaret Devereux was one of the loveliest
creatures I ever saw, Harry. What on earth induced
her to behave as she did, I never could understand.
She could have married anybody she chose. Car-
lington was mad after her. She was romantic, though.
All the women of that family were. The men were
a poor lot, but, egad ! the women were wonderful.
Carlington went on his knees to her. Told me so
himself. She laughed at him, and there wasn't a
girl in London at the time who wasn't after him.
And by the way, Harry, talking about silly marriages,
what is this humbug your father tells me about Dart-
moor wanting to marry an American ? Ain't English
girls good enough for him ? "

" It is rather fashionable to marry Americans just
now, Uncle George."

" I'll back English women against the world,
Harry," said Lord Fermor, striking the table with
his fist.

" The betting is on the Americans."

" They don't last, I am told," muttered his uncle.

" A long engagement exhausts them, but they are
capital at a steeplechase. They take things flying.
I don't think Dartmoor has a chance."

" Who are her people ? " grumbled the old gentle-
man. " Has she got any ? "

Lord Henry shook his head. " American girls are
as clever at concealing their parents as English women
are at concealing their past," he said, rising to go.

" They are pork-packers, I suppose ? "



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 43

" I hope so, Uncle George, for Dartmoor's sake.
I am told that pork-packing is the most lucrative
profession in America, after politics."

" Is she pretty ? "

" She behaves as if she was beautiful. Most Ameri-
can women do. It is the secret of their charm."

" Why can't these American women stay in their
own country ? They are always telling us that it
is the Paradise for women."

" It is. That is the reason why, like Eve, they
are so excessively anxious to get out of it," said
Lord Henry. " Good-bye, Uncle George. I shall be
late for lunch, if I stop any longer. Thanks for
giving me the information I wanted. I always like
to know everything about my new friends, and
nothing about my old ones."

" Where are you lunching, Harry ? "

" At Aunt Agatha's. I have asked myself and
Mr. Gray. He is her latest proitgi."

" Humph 1 tell your Aunt Agatha, Harry, not to
bother me any more with her charity appeals. I am
sick of them. Why, the good woman thinks that I
have nothing to do but to write cheques for her silly
fads."

" All right, Uncle George, I'll tell her, but it won't
have any effect. Philanthropic people lose all
sense of humanity. It is their distinguishing char-
acteristic."

The old gentleman growled approvingly, and rang
the bell for his servant. Lord Henry passed up the
low arcade into Burlington Street, and turned his
steps in the direction of Berkeley Square.

So that was the story of Dorian Gray's parentage.
Crudely as it had been told to him, it had yet stirred
him by its suggestion of a strange, almost modern
romance. A beautiful woman risking everything for
a mad passion. A few wild weeks of happiness cut
short by a hideous, treacherous crime. Months of
voiceless agony, and then a child born in pain. The
mother snatched away by death, the boy left to



44 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

solitude and the tyranny of an old and loveless man.
Yes ; It was an Interesting background. It posed the
lad, made him more perfect as it were. Behind every
exquisite thing that existed, there was something
tragic. Worlds had to be in travail, that the meanest
flower might blow. . . . And how charming he had
been at dinner the night before, as, with startled eyes
and lips parted in frightened pleasure, he had sat
opposite to him at the club, the red candleshades
staining to a richer rose the wakening wonder of
his face. Talking to him was like playing upon an
exquisite violin. He answered to every touch and
thrill of the bow. . . . There was something terribly
enthralling in the exercise of influence. No other
activity was like it. To project one's soul into some
jracious form, and let it tarry there for a moment ;
to hear one's own intellectual views echoed back to
ne with all the added music of passion and youth ;
to convey one's temperament into another as though
It were a subtle fluid or a strange perfume ; there
was a real joy in that perhaps the most satisfying
Joy left to us in an age so limited and vulgar as our
own, an age grossly carnal in its pleasures, and grossly
common in its aims. . . . He was a marvellous type,
too, this lad, whom by so curious a chance he had
met in Basil's studio ; or could be fashioned into a
marvellous type, at any rate. Grace was his, and
the white purity of boyhood, and beauty such as old
Greek marbles kept for us. There was nothing that
one could not do with him. He could be made a
Titan or a toy. What a pity it was that such beauty
was destined to fade I ... And Basil ? From a
psychological point of view, how interesting he was !
The new manner in art, the fresh mode of looking at
life, suggested so strangely by the merely visible
presence of one who was unconscious of it all ; the
silent spirit that dwelt in dim woodland, and walked
unseen in open field, suddenly showing herself,
Dryad-like and not afraid, because in his soul who
sought for her there had been wakened that wonderful



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 45

vision to which alone are wonderful things revealed ;
the mere shapes and patterns of things becoming,
as it were, refined, and gaining a kind of symbolical
value, as though they were themselves patterns of
some other and more perfect form whose shadow
they made real : how strange it all was ! He remem-
bered something like it in history. Was it not Plato,
that artist in thought, who had first analysed it ?
Was it not Buonarotti who had carved it in the
coloured marbles of a sonnet-sequence ? But in our
own century it was strange. . . . Yes ; he would
try to be to Dorian Gray what, without knowing it,
the lad was to the painter who had fashioned the
wonderful portrait. He would seek to dominate
him had already, indeed, half done so. He would
make that wonderful spirit his own. There was some-
thing fascinating in this son of Love and Death.

Suddenly he stopped, and glanced up at the
houses. He found that he had passed his aunt's
some distance, and, smiling to himself, turned back.
When he entered the somewhat sombre hall the
butler told him that they had gone in to lunch.
He gave one of the footmen his hat and stick, and
passed into the dining-room.

" Late as usual, Harry," cried his aunt, shaking
her head at him.

He invented a facile excuse, and having taken
the vacant seat next to her, looked round to see
who was there. Dorian bowed to him shyly from
the end of the table, a flush of pleasure stealing into
his cheek. Opposite was the Duchess of Harley ;
a lady of admirable good-nature and good temper,
much liked by everyone who knew her, and of those
ample architectural proportions that in women who
are not Duchesses are described by contemporary
historians as stoutness. Next to her sat, on her
right, Sir Thomas Burdon, a Radical member of
Parliament, who followed his leader in public life,
and in private life followed the best cooks, dining
with the Tories, and thinking with the Liberals, in -



46 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

accordance with a wise and well-known rule. The
post on her left was occupied by Mr. Erskine of
Treadley, an old gentleman of considerable charm
and culture, who had fallen, however, into bad
habits of silence, having, as he explained once to
Lady Agatha, said everything that he had to say before
he was thirty. His own neighbour was Mrs. Vande*
leur, one of his aunt's oldest friends, a perfect saint
amongst women, but so dreadfully dowdy that she
reminded one of a badly bound hymn-book. For-
tunately for him she had on the other side Lord
Faudel, a most intelligent middle-aged mediocrity,
as bald as a Ministerial statement in the House of
Commons, with whom she was conversing in that
intensely earnest manner which is the one unpardon-
able error, as he remarked once himself, that all
really good people fall into, and from which none of
them ever quite escape.

" We are talking about poor Dartmoor, Lord
Henry," cried the Duchess, nodding pleasantly to
him across the table. " Do you think he will really
marry this fascinating young person ? "

" I believe she has made up her mind to propose
to him, Duchess."

" How dreadful I " exclaimed Lady Agatha.
" Really, someone should interfere."

" I am told, on excellent authority, that her father
keeps an American dry-goods store," said Sir Thomas
Burdon, looking supercilious.

" My uncle has already suggested pork-packing,
Sir Thomas."

" Dry-goods ! What are American dry-goods ? "
asked the Duchess, raising her large hands in wonder,
and accentuating the verb.

" American novels," answered Lord Henry, helping
himself to some quail.

The Duchess looked puzzled.

" Don't mind him, my dear," whispered Lady
Agatha. " He never means anything that he says."

" When America was discovered," said the' Radical



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 47

member, and he began to give some wearisome facts.
Like all people who try to exhaust a subject, he
exhausted his listeners. The Duchess sighed, and
exercised her privilege of interruption. " I wish to
goodness it never had been discovered at all 1 "
she exclaimed. " Really, our girls have no chance
nowadays. It is most unfair."

" Perhaps, after all, America never has been dis-
covered," said Mr. Erskine. " I myself would say that
it had merely been detected."

" Oh 1 but I have seen specimens of the inhabi-
tants," answered the Duchess, vaguely. " I must
confess that most of them are extremely pretty.
And they dress well, too. They get all their dresses
in Paris. I wish I could afford to do the same."

" They say that when good Americans die they go
to Paris," chuckled Sir Thomas, who had a large
wardrobe of Humour's cast-off clothes.

" Really ! And where do bad Americans go to
when they die ? " inquired the Duchess.

" They go to America," murmured Lord Henry.

Sir Thomas frowned. " I am afraid that your
nephew is prejudiced against that great country,"
he said to Lady Agatha. " I have travelled all over
it, in cars provided by the directors, who, in such
matters, are extremely civil. I assure you that it Is
an education to visit it."

" But must we really see Chicago in order to be
educated ? " asked Mr. Erskine, plaintively. " I
don't feel up to the journey."

Sir Thomas waved his hand. " Mr. Erskine of
Treadley has the world on his shelves. We practical
men like to see things, not to read about them. The
Americans are an extremely interesting people.
They are absolutely reasonable. I think that is
their distinguishing characteristic. Yes, Mr. Erskine,
an absolutely reasonable people. I assure you there
is no nonsense about the Americans."

" How dreadful 1 " cried Lord Henry. " I can
stand brute force, but brute reason is quite unbear-



48 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

able. There is something unfair about its use. It Is
hitting below the intellect."

" I do not understand you," said Sir Thomas,
growing rather red.

" I do, Lord Henry," murmured Mr. Erskine, with
a smile.

" Paradoxes are all very well In their way. . . ."
rejoined the Baronet.

" Was that a paradox ? " asked Mr. Erskine.
" I did not think so. Perhaps it was. Well, the
way of paradoxes is the way of truth. To test
Reality we must see it on the tight-rope. When
the Verities become acrobats we can judge them."

" Dear me 1 " said Lady Agatha, " how you men
argue ! I am sure I never can make out what you
are talking about. Oh ! Harry, I am quite vexed
with you. Why do you try to persuade our nice
Mr. Dorian Gray to give up the East End ? I assure
you he would be quite invaluable. They w r ould
love his playing."

" I want him to play to me," cried Lord Henry,
smiling, and he looked down the table and caught
a bright answering glance.

" But they are so unhappy in Whitechapel," con-
tinued Lady Agatha.

" I can sympathise with everything, except
suffering," said Lord Henry, shrugging his shoulders.
" I cannot sympathise with that. It is too ugly,
too horrible, too distressing. There is something
terribly morbid in the modern sympathy with pain.
One should sympathise with the colour, the beauty,
the joy of life. The less said about life's sores the
better."

" Still, the East End is a very important problem,"
remarked Sir Thomas, with a grave shake of the head.

" Quite so," answered the young lord. " It is the
problem of slavery, and we try to solve it by amusing
the slaves."

The politician looked at him keenly. " What
change do you propose, then ? " he asked.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 49

Lord Henry laughed. " I don't desire to change
anything in England except the weather," he an-
swered. " I am quite content with philosophic
contemplation. But, as the nineteenth century has
gone bankrupt through an over-expenditure of
sympathy, I would suggest that we should appeal
to Science to put us straight. The advantage of the
emotions is that they lead us astray, and the advan-
tage of Science is that it is not emotional."

" But we have such grave responsibilities," ven-
tured Mrs. Vandeleur, timidly.

" Terribly grave," echoed Lady Agatha.

Lord Henry looked over at Mr. Erskine. " Hu-
manity takes itself too seriously. It is the world's
original sin. If the caveman had known how to
laugh, History would have been different."

" You are really very comforting," warbled the
Duchess. " I have always felt rather guilty when
I came to see your dear aunt, for I take no interest
at all in the East End. For the future I shall be
able to look her in the face without a blush."

" A blush is very becoming, Duchess," remarked
Lord Henry.

" Only when one is young," she answered. " When
an old woman like myself blushes, It is a very bad
sign. Ah ! Lord Henry, I wish you would tell me
how to become young again."

He thought for a moment. " Can you remember
any great error that you committed In your early
days, Duchess ? " he asked, looking at her across
the table.

" A great many, I fear," she cried.

" Then commit them over again," he said, gravely.
" To get back one's youth, one has merely to repeat
one's follies."

" A delightful theory I " she exclaimed. " I must
put it into practice."

" A dangerous theory ! " came from Sir Thomas's
tight lips. Lady Agatha shook her head, but could
not help being amused. Mr. Erskine listened.



50 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

" Yes," he continued, " that is one of the great
secrets of life. Nowadays most people die of a sort
of creeping common sense, and discover when it is
too late that the only things one never regrets are
one's mistakes."

A laugh ran round the table.

He played with the idea, and grew wilful ; tossed
it into the air and transformed it ; let it escape and
recaptured it ; made it iridescent with fancy, and
winged ft with paradox. The praise of folly, as he
went on, soared into a philosophy, and Philosophy
herself became young, and catching the mad music
of Pleasure, wearing, one might fancy, her wine-
stained robe and wreath of ivy, danced like a Bac-
chante over the hills of life, and mocked the slow
Silenus for being sober. Facts fled before her like
frightened forest things. Her white feet trod the
huge press at which wise Omar sits, till the seething
grape-juice rose round her bare limbs in waves of
purple bubbles, or crawled in red foam over the
vat's black, dripping, sloping sides. It was an ex-
traordinary improvisation. He felt that the eyes
of Dorian Gray were fixed on him, and the conscious-
ness that amongst his audience there was one whose
temperament he wished to fascinate, seemed to give
his wit keenness, and to lend colour to his imagina-
tion. He was brilliant, fantastic, irresponsible. He
charmed his listeners out of themselves, and they
followed his pipe laughing. Dorian Gray never took
his gaze off him, but sat like one under a spell, smiles
chasing each other over his lips, and wonder growing
grave in his darkening eyes.

At last, liveried in the costume of the age, Reality
entered the room in the shape of a servant to tell
the Duchess that her carriage was waiting. She
wrung her hands in mock despair. " How annoying 1 "
she cried. " I must go. I have to call for my
husband at the club, to take him to some absurd
meeting at Willis's Rooms, where he is going to be
in the chair. If I am late, he is sure to be furious,



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 51

and I couldn't have a scene in this bonnet. It is
far too fragile. A harsh word would ruin it. No, I
must go, dear Agatha. Good-bye, Lord Henry, you
are quite delightful, and dreadfully demoralising.
I am sure I don't know what to say about your views.
You must come and dine with us some night. Tues-
day ? Are you disengaged Tuesday ? "

" For you I would throw over anybody, Duchess,"
said Lord Henry, with a bow.

" Ah ! that is very nice, and very wrong of you,"
she cried ; " so mind you come ; " and she swept
out of the room, followed by Lady Agatha and the
other ladies.

When Lord Henry had sat down again, Mr. Erskine
moved round, and taking a chair close to him,
placed his hand upon his arm.

" You talk books away," he said ; " why don't
you write one ? "

" I am too fond of reading books to care to write
them, Mr. Erskine. I should like to write a novel
certainly ; a novel that would be as lovely as a
Persian carpet, and as unreal. But there is no literary
public in England for anything except newspapers,
primers, and encyclopedias. Of all people in the
world the English have the least sense of the beauty
of literature."

" I fear you are right," answered Mr. Erskine.
" I myself used to have literary ambitions, but I
gave them up long ago. And now, my dear young
friend, if you will allow me to call you so, may I ask if
you really meant all that you said to us at lunch ? "

" I quite forget what I said," smiled Lord Henry.
" Was it all very bad ? "

" Very bad indeed. In fact I consider you ex-
tremely dangerous, and if anything happens to our
good Duchess we shall all look on you as being
primarily responsible. But I should like to talk to
you about life. The generation into which I was
born was tedious. Some day, when you are tired
of London, come down to Treadley, and expound



52 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

to me your philosophy of pleasure over some admir-
able Burgundy I am fortunate enough to possess."

" I shall be charmed. A visit to Treadley would
be a great privilege. It has a perfect host, and a
perfect library."

" You will complete it," answered the old gentle-
man, with a courteous bow. " And now I must bid
good-bye to your excellent aunt. I am due at the
Athenaeum. It Is the hour when we sleep there."

" All of you, Mr. Erskine? "

" Forty of us, In forty arm-chairs. We are prac-
tising for an English Academy of Letters."

Lord Henry laughed, and rose. " I am going to
the Park," he cried.

As he was passing out of the door Dorian Gray
touched him on the arm. " Let me come with you,"
he murmured.

" But I thought you had promised Basil Hall-
ward to go and see him," answered Lord Henry.

" I would sooner come with you ; yes, I feel I
must come with you. Do let me. And you will
promise to talk to me all the time ? No one talks
so wonderfully as you do."

" Ah ! I have talked quite enough for to-day,"
said Lord Henry, smiling. " All I want now is to
look at life. You may come and look at it with
me, if you care to."



CHAPTER IV

ONE afternoon, a month later, Dorian Gray was
reclining In a luxurious arm-chair, in the little library
of Lord Henry's house in Mayfair. It was, in its
way, a very charming room, with its high-panelled
wainscoting of olive-stained oak, its cream-coloured
frieze and ceiling of raised plaster-work, and its
brickdust felt carpet strewn with silk long-fringed
Persian rugs. On a tiny satinwood table stood a
statuette by Clodion, and beside it lay a copy ef
" Les Cent Nouvelles," bound for Margaret of Valois
by Clovis Eve, and powdered with the gilt daisies
that Queen had selected for her device. Some large
blue china jars and parrot-tulips were ranged on
the mantelshelf, and through the small leaded panels
of the window streamed the apricot-coloured light
of a summer day in London.

Lord Henry had not yet come in. He was always
late on principle, his principle being that punctuality
Is the thief of time. So the lad was looking rather
sulky, as with listless fingers he turned over the
pages of an elaborately-illustrated edition of " Manon
Lescaut " that he had found in one of the bookcases.
The formal monotonous ticking of the Louis Quatorze
clock annoyed him. Once or twice he thought of
going away.

At last he heard a step outside, and the door
opened. " How late you are, Harry 1 " he murmured.

" I am afraid it is not Harry, Mr. Gray," answered
a shrill voice.

He glanced quickly round, and rose to his feet.
" I beg your pardon. I thought "

53



54 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

" You thought it was my husband. It is only
his wife. You must let me introduce myself. I
know you quite well by your photographs. I think
my husband has got seventeen of them."

" Not seventeen, Lady Henry ? "

" Well, eighteen, then. And I saw you with him
the other night at the Opera." She laughed ner-
vously as she spoke, and watched him with her vague
forget-me-not eyes. She was a curious woman,
whose dresses always looked as if they had been
designed in a rage and put on in a tempest. She
was usually in love with somebody, and, as her
passion was never returned, she had kept all her
illusions. She tried to look picturesque, but only
succeeded in being untidy. Her name was Victoria,
and she had a perfect mania for going to church.

" That was at ' Lohengrin,' Lady Henry, I think ? "

" Yes ; it was at dear ' Lohengrin.' I like
Wagner's music better than anybody's. It is so
loud that one can talk the whole time without other
people hearing what one says. That is a great
advantage : don't you think so, Mr. Gray ? "

The same nervous staccato laugh broke from
her thin lips, and her fingers began to play with a
long tortoise-shell paper-knife.

Dorian smiled, and shook his head : " I am afraid
I don't think so, Lady Henry. I never talk during
music, at least, during good music. If one hears
bad music, it is one's duty to drown it in conversa-
tion."

" Ah ! that is one of Harry's views, isn't it, Mr.
Gray ? I always hear Harry's views from his friends.
It is the only way I get to know of them. But you
must not think I don't like good music. I adore it,
but I am afraid of it. It makes me too romantic.
I have simply worshipped pianists two at a time,
sometimes, Harry tells me. I don't know what it
is about them. Perhaps it is that they are foreigners.
They all are, ain't they ? Even those that are born
in England become foreigners after a time, don't



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 55

they ? It is so clever of them, and such a compliment
to art. Makes it quite cosmopolitan, doesn't it ?
You have never been to any of my parties, have
you, Mr. Gray ? You must come. I can't afford
orchids, but I spare no expense in foreigners. They
make one's rooms look so picturesque. But here is
Harry 1 Harry, I came in to look for you, to ask
you something I forget what it was and I found
Mr. Gray here. We have had such a pleasant chat
about music. We have quite the same ideas. No ;
I think our ideas are quite different. But he has
been most pleasant. I am so glad I've seen him."

" I am charmed, my love, quite charmed," said
Lord Henry, elevating his dark crescent-shaped
eyebrows and looking at them both with an amused
smile. " So sorry I am late, Dorian. I went to
look after a piece of old brocade in Wardour Street,
and had to bargain for hours for it. Nowadays
people know the price of everything, and the value
of nothing."

" I am afraid I must be going," exclaimed Lady
Henry, breaking an awkward silence with her silly
sudden laugh. " I have promised to drive with the
Duchess. Good-bye, Mr. Gray. Good-bye, Harry.
You are dining out, I suppose ? So am I. Perhaps
I shall see you at Lady Thornbury's."

" I daresay, my dear," said Lord Henry, shutting
the door behind her, as, looking like a bird of paradise
that had been out all night in the rain, she flitted
out of the room, leaving a faint odour of frangipanni.
Then he lit a cigarette, and flung himself down on the
sofa.

" Never marry a woman with straw-coloured hair,
Dorian," he said, after a few puffs.

" Why, Harry ? "

" Because they are so sentimental."

" But I like sentimental people."

" Never marry at all, Dorian. Men marry be-
cause they are tired ; women, because they are
curious ; both are disappointed."



56 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

" I don't think I am likely to marry, Henry. I
am too much in love. That is one of your aphor-
isms. I am putting it into practice, as I do every-
thing that you say."

" Who are you in love with ? " asked Lord Henry,
after a pause.

" With an actress," said Dorian Gray, blushing.

Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. " That is a
rather commonplace debut."

1 You would not say so if you saw her, Harry."

' Who is she ? "

' Her name is Sibyl Vane."

' Never heard of her."

' No one has. People will some day, however.
She is a genius."

" My dear boy, no woman is a genius. Women
are a decorative sex. They never have anything to
say, but they say it charmingly. Women represent
the triumph of matter over mind, just as men re-
present the triumph of mind over morals."

" Harry, how can you ? "

" My dear Dorian, it is quite true. I am analysing
women at the present, so I ought to know. The
subject is not so abstruse as I thought it was. I find
that, ultimately, there are only two kinds of women,
the plain and the coloured. The plain women are
very useful. If you want to gain a reputation for
respectability, you have merely to take them down
to supper. The other women are very charming.
They commit one mistake, however. They paint in
order to try and look young. Our grandmothers
painted in order to try and talk brilliantly. Rouge
and esprit used to go together. That is all over now.
As long as a woman can look ten years younger
than her own daughter, she is perfectly satisfied. As
for conversation, there are only five women in London
worth talking to, and two of these can't be admitted
Into decent society. However, tell me about your
genius. How long have you known her ? "

" Ah ! Harry, your views terrify me."



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 57

" Never mind that. How long have you known
her ? "

" About three weeks."

" And where did you come across her ? "

" I will tell you, Harry ; but you mustn't be un-
sympathetic about it. After all, it never would have
happened if I had not met you. You filled me with
a wild desire to know everything about life. For
days after I met you, something seemed to throb in
my veins. As I lounged in the Park, or strolled down
Piccadilly, I used to look at every one who passed
me, and wonder, with a mad curiosity, what sort of
lives they led. Some of them fascinated me. Others
filled me with terror. There was an exquisite poison
in the air. I had a passion for sensations. . . .
Well, one evening about seven o'clock, I determined
to go out in search of some adventure. I felt that
this grey, monstrous London of ours, with its myriads
of people, its sordid sinners, and its splendid sins, as
you once phrased it, must have something in store
for me. I fancied a thousand things. The mere
danger gave me a sense of delight. I remembered
what you had said to me on that wonderful evening
when we first dined together, about the search for
beauty being the real secret of life. I don't know
what I expected, but I went out and wandered east-
ward, soon losing my way in a labyrinth of grimy
streets and black, grassless squares. About half-
past eight I passed by an absurd little theatre, with
great flaring gas-jets and gaudy play-bills. A
hideous Jew, in the most amazing waistcoat I ever
beheld in my life, was standing at the entrance,
smoking a vile cigar. He had greasy ringlets, and
an enormous diamond blazed in the centre of a
soiled shirt. ' Have a box, my Lord ? ' he said, when
he saw me, and he took off his hat with an air of
gorgeous servility. There was something about him,
Harry, that amused me. He was such a monster.
You will laugh at me, I know, but I really went in
and paid a whole guinea for the stage-box. To the



58 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

present day I can't make out why I did so ; and
yet if I hadn't my dear Harry, if I hadn't, I shouid
have missed the greatest romance of my life. I see
you are laughing. It is horrid of you 1 "

" I am not laughing, Dorian ; at least I am not
laughing at you. But you should not say the greatest
romance of your life. You should say the first
romance of your life. You will always be loved,
and you will always be In love with love. A grande
passion is the privilege of people who have nothing
to do. That is the one use of the idle classes of a
country. Don't be afraid. There are exquisite
things in store for you. This is merely the beginning."

" Do you think my nature so shallow ? " cried
Dorian Gray, angrily.

" No ; I think your nature so deep."

" How do you mean ? "

" My dear boy, the people who love only once In
their lives are really the shallow people. What they
call their loyalty, and their fidelity, I call either the
lethargy of custom or their lack of imagination.
Faithfulness is to the emotional life what consis-
tency is to the life of the intellect simply a confession
of failures. Faithfulness I I must analyse it some
day. The passion for property Is In It. There are
many things that we would throw away if we were
not afraid that others might pick them up. But I
don't want to interrupt you. Go on with your
story."

" Well, I found myself seated In a horrid little
private box, with a vulgar drop-scene staring me in
the face. I looked out from behind the curtain,
and surveyed the house. It was a tawdry affair,
all Cupids and cornucopias, like a third-rate wedding
cake. The gallery and pit were fairy full, but the
two rows of dingy stalls were quite empty, and
there was hardly a person in what I suppose they
called the dress-circle. Women went about with
oranges and ginger-beer, and there was a terrible
consumption of nuts going on."



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 59

" It must have been just like the palmy days
of the British Drama."

" Just like, I should fancy, and very depressing.
I began to wonder what on earth I should do, when
I caught sight of the play-bill. What do you think
the play was, Harry ? "

" I should think ' The Idiot Boy, or Dumb but
Innocent.' Our fathers used to like that sort of
piece, I believe. The longer I live, Dorian, the
more keenly I feel that whatever was good enough
for our fathers is not good enough for us. In art,
as in politics, les grandpires ont toujoars tort."

" This play was good enough for us, Harry. It
was ' Romeo and Juliet.' I must admit that I was
rather annoyed at the idea of seeing Shakespeare
done in such a wretched hole of a place. Still, I
felt interested, in a sort of way. At any rate, I
determined to wait for the first act. There was a
dreadful orchestra, presided over by a young Hebrew
who sat at a cracked piano, that nearly drove me
away, but at last the drop-scene was drawn up, and
the play began. Romeo was a stout elderly gentle-
man, with corked eyebrows, a husky tragedy voice,
and a figure like a beer-barrel. Mercutio was
almost as bad. He was played by the low-comedian,
who had introduced gags of his own and was on
most friendly terms with the pit. They were both
as grotesque as the scenery, and that looked as if
it had come out of a country-booth. But Juliet 1
Harry, imagine a girl, hardly seventeen years of age,
with a little flower-like face, a small Greek head
with plaited coils of dark-brown hair, eyes that were
violet wells of passion, lips that were like the petals
of a rose. She was the loveliest thing I had ever
seen in my life. You said to me once that pathos
left you unmoved, but that beauty, mere beauty,
could fill your eyes with tears. I tell you, Harry,
I could hardly see this girl for the mist of tears that
came across me. And her voice I never heard
such a voice. It was very low at first, with deep



60 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

mellow notes, that seemed to fall singly upon one's
ear. Then it became a little louder, and sounded
like a flute or a distant hautbois. In the garden-
scene It had all the tremulous ecstasy that one hears
just before dawn when nightingales are singing.
There were moments, later on, when it had the wild
passion of violins. You know how a voice can stir
one. Your voice and the voice of Sibyl Vane are
two things that I shall never forget. When I close
my eyes, I hear them, and each of them says something
different. I don't know which to follow. Why
should I not love her ? Harry, I do love her. She
Is everything to me In life. Night after night I go
to see her play. One evening she Is Rosalind, and
the next evening she is Imogen. I have seen her
die in the gloom of an Italian tomb, sucking the
poison from her lover's lips. I have watched her
wandering through the forest of Arden, disguised as
a pretty boy in hose and doublet and dainty cap.
She has been mad, and has come into the presence of
a guilty king, and given him rue to wear, and bitter
herbs to taste of. She has been innocent, and the
black hands of jealousy have crushed her reed-like
throat. I have seen her in every age and In every
costume. Ordinary women never appeal to one's
imagination. They are limited to their century. No
glamour ever transfigures them. One knows their
minds as easily as one knows their bonnets. One
can always find them. There is no mystery in any
of them. They ride in the Park in the morning,
and chatter at tea-parties in the afternoon. They
have their stereotyped smile, and their fashionable
manner. They are quite obvious. But an actress I
How different an actress is 1 Harry I why didn't
you tell me that the only thing worth loving is an
actress ? "

" Because I have loved so many of them, Dorian."
" Oh, yes, horrid people with dyed hair and painted
faces."

" Don't run down dved hair and painted faces.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 61

There is an extraordinary charm in them, sometimes,"
said Lord Henry.

" I wish now I had not told you about Sibyl
Vane."

" You could not have helped telling me, Dorian.
All through your life you will tell me everything
you do."

" Yes, Harry, I believe that Is true. I cannot
help telling you things. You have a curious influence
over me. If I ever did a crime, I would come and
confess it to you. You would understand me."

" People like you the wilful sunbeams of life
don't commit crimes, Dorian. But I am much
obliged for the compliment, all the same. And now
tell me reach me the matches, like a good boy :
thanks : what are your actual relations with Sibyl
Vane ? "

Dorian Gray leaped to his feet, with flushed cheeks
and burning eyes. " Harry I Sibyl Vane is sacred ! "

" It is only the sacred things that are worth
touching, Dorian," said Lord Henry, with a strange
touch of pathos in his voice. " But why should you
be annoyed ? I suppose she will belong to you some
day. When one is in love, one always begins by
deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving
others. That is what the world calls a romance.
You know her, at any rate, I suppose ? "

" Of course I know her. On the first night I was
at the theatre, the horrid old Jew came round to the
box after the performance w r as over, and offered to
take me behind the scenes and introduce me to her.
I was furious with him, and told him that Juliet
had been dead for hundreds of years, and that her
body was lying in a marble tomb in Verona. I think,
from his blank look of amazement, that he was under
the impression that I had taken too much champagne,
or something."

" I am not surprised."

" Then he asked me if I wrote for any of the news-
papers. I told him I never even read them. He



62 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

seemed terribly disappointed at that, and confided
to me that all the dramatic critics were in a con-
spiracy against him, and that they were every one of
them to be bought."

" I should not wonder if he was quite right there.
But, on the other hand, judging from their appear-
ance, most of them cannot be at all expensive."

" Well, he seemed to think they were beyond his
means," laughed Dorian. " By this time, however,
the lights were being put out in the theatre, and I
had to go. He wanted me to try some cigars that
he strongly recommended. I declined. The next
night, of course, I arrived at the place again. When
he saw me he made me a low bow, and assured me
that I was a munificent patron of art. He was a
most offensive brute, though he had an extraordinary
passion for Shakespeare. He told me once, with an
air of pride, that his five bankruptcies were entirely
due to ' The Bard,' as he insisted on calling him.
He seemed to think it a distinction."

" It was a distinction, my dear Dorian a great
distinction. Most people become bankrupt through
having invested too heavily in the prose of life. To
have ruined one's self over poetry is an honour. But
when did you first speak to Miss Sibyl Vane ? "

" The third night. She had been playing Rosalind.
I could not help going round. I had thrown her some
flowers, and she had looked at me ; at least I fancied
that she had. The old Jew was persistent. He
seemed determined to take me behind, so I consented.
It was curious my not wanting to know her, wasn't
it?"

" No ; I don't think so."

" My dear Harry, why ? "

" I will tell you some other time. Now I want
to know about the girl."

" Sibyl ? Oh, she was so shy, and so gentle.
There is something of a child about her. Her eyes
opened wide in exquisite wonder when I told her
what I thought of her performance, and she seemed



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 63

quite unconscious of her power. I think we were
both rather nervous. The old Jew stood grinning at
the doorway of the dusty greenroom, making elaborate
speeches about us both, while we stood looking at
each other like children. He would insist on calling
me ' My Lord,' so I had to assure Sibyl that I was
not anything of the kind. She said quite simply to
me, ' You look more like a prince. I must call you
Prince Charming.' '

" Upon my word, Dorian, Miss Sibyl knows how
to pay compliments."

" You don't understand her, Harry. She re-
garded me merely as a person in a play. She knows
nothing of life. She lives with her mother, a faded
tired woman who played Lady Capulet in a sort of
magenta dressing-wrapper on the first night, and
looks as if she had seen better days."

" I know that look. It depresses me," murmured
Lord Henry, examining his rings.

" The Jew wanted to tell me her history, but I
said it did not interest me."

" You were quite right. There Is always something
infinitely mean about other people's tragedies."

" Sibyl is the only thing I care about. What is
It to me where she came from ? From her little head
to her little feet, she is absolutely and entirely divine.
Every night of my life I go to see her act, and every
night she is more marvellous."

" That is the reason, I suppose, that you never
dime with me now. I thought you must have some
curious romance on hand. You have ; but it Is not
quite what I expected."

" My dear Harry, we either lunch or sup together
every day, and I have been to the Opera with you
several times," said Dorian, opening his blue eyes
in wonder.

' You always come dreadfully late."

" Well, I can't help going to see Sibyl play," he
cried, " even if it is only for a single act. I get
hungry for her presence ; and when I think of the



64 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

wonderful soul that is hidden away in that little
Ivory body, I am filled with awe."

" You can dine with me to-night, Dorian, can't
you ? "

He shook his head. " To-night she is Imogen,"
he answered, " and to-morrow night she will be
Juliet."

" When is she Sibyl Vane ? "

" Never."

" I congratulate you."

" How horrid you are ! She is all the great heroines
of the world in one. She is more than an individual.
You laugh, but I tell you she has genius. I love
her, and I must make her love me. You, who know
all the secrets of life, tell me how to charm Sibyl Vane
to love me 1 I want to make Romeo jealous. I want
the dead lovers of the world to hear our laughter,
and grow sad. I want a breath of our passion to stir
their dust into consciousness, to wake their ashes into
pain. My God, Harry, how I worship her 1 " He
was walking up and down the room as he spoke.
Hectic spots of red burned on his cheeks. He was
terribly excited.

Lord Henry watched him with a subtle sense of
pleasure. How different he was now from the shy,
frightened boy he had met in Basil Hallward's studio !
His nature had developed like a flower, had borne
blossoms of scarlet flame. Out of its secret hiding-
place had crept his Soul, and Desire had come to
meet it on the way.

" And what do you propose to do ? " said Lord
Henry, at last.

" I want you and Basil to come with me some night
and see her act. I have not the slightest fear of the
result. You are certain to acknowledge her genius.
Then we must get her out of the Jew's hands. She
is bound to him for three years at least for two
years and eight months from the present time. I
shall have to pay him something, of course. When
all that is settled, I shall take a West End theatre



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 65

and bring her out properly. She will make the world
as mad as she has made me."

" That would be impossible, my dear boy ? "

" Yes, she will. She has not merely art, con-
summate art-instinct, in her, but she has personality
also ; and you have often told me that it is per-
sonalities, not principles, that move the age."

" Well, what night shall we go ? "

" Let me see. To-day is Tuesday. Let us fix
to-morrow. She plays Juliet to-morrow."

" All right. The Bristol at eight o'clock ; and I
will get Basil."

' Not eight, Harry, please. Half-past six. We
must be there before the curtain rises. You must
see her in the first act, where she meets Romeo."

" Half-past six 1 What an hour ! It will be like
having a meat-tea, or reading an English novel. It
must be seven. No gentleman dines before seven.
Shall you see Basil between this and then ? Or
shall I write to him ? "

" Dear Basil ! I have not laid eyes on him for a
week. It is rather horrid of me, as he has sent me
my portrait in the most wonderful frame, specially
designed by himself, and, though I am a little jealous
of the picture for being a whole month younger than
I am, I must admit that I delight in it. Perhaps
you had better write to him. I don't want to see
him alone. He says things that annoy me. He
gives me good advice."

Lord Henry smiled. " People are very fond of
giving away what they need most themselves. It
is what I call the depth of generosity."

" Oh, Basil is the best of fellows, but he seems to
me to be just a bit of a Philistine. Since I have
known you, Harry, I have discovered that."

" Basil, my dear boy, puts everything that is
charming in him into his work. The consequence
is that he has nothing left for life but his prejudices,
his principles, and his common-sense. The only
artists I have ever known, who are personally delight-

3



66 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

ful, are bad artists. Good artists exist simply in
what they make, and consequently are perfectly
uninteresting in what they are. A great poet, a
really great poet, is the most unpoetical of all creatures.
But inferior poets are absolutely fascinating. The
worse their rhymes are, the more picturesque they
look. The mere fact of having published a book of
second-rate sonnets makes a man quite irresistible.
He lives the poetry that he cannot write. The others
write the poetry that they dare not realise."

" I wonder is that really so, Harry ? " said Dorian
Gray, putting some perfume on his handkerchief out
of a large gold-topped bottle that stood on the table.
" It must be, if you say it. And now I am off.
Imogen is waiting for me. Don't forget about to-
morrow. Good-bye."

As he left the room, Lord Henry's heavy eyelids
drooped, and he began to think. Certainly few
people had ever interested him so much as Dorian
Gray, and yet the lad's mad adoration of some one
else caused him not the slightest pang of annoyance
or jealousy. He was pleased by it. It made him
a more interesting study. He had been always
enthralled by the methods of natural science, but
the ordinary subject-matter of that science had
seemed to him trivial and of no import. And so
he had begun by vivisecting himself, as he had
ended by vivisecting others. Human life that
appeared to him the one thing w r orth investigating.
Compared to it there was nothing else of any value.
It was true that as one watched life in Its curious
crucible of pain and pleasure, one could not wear
over one's face a mask of glass, nor keep the sul-
phurous fumes from troubling the brain, and making
the imagination turbid with monstrous fancies and
misshapen dreams. There were poisons so subtle
that to know their properties one had to sicken of
them. There were maladies so strange that one had
to pass through them if one sought to understand
their nature. And, yet, what a great reward one



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 67

received 1 How wonderful the whole world became
to one I To note the curious hard logic of passion,
and the emotional coloured life of the intellect to
observe where they met, and where they separated,
at what point they were in unison, and at what point
they were at discord there was a delight in that !
What matter what the cost was ? One could never
pay too high a price for any sensation.

He was conscious and the thought brought a
gleam of pleasure into his brown agate eyes that
it was through certain words of his, musical words
said with musical utterance, that Dorian Gray's soul
had turned to this white girl and bowed in worship
before her. To a large extent the lad was his own
creation. He had made him premature. That was
something. Ordinary people waited till life disclosed
to them its secrets, but to the few, to the elect, the
mysteries of life were revealed before the veil was
drawn away. Sometimes this was the effect of art,
and chiefly of the art of literature, which dealt
immediately with the passions and the intellect.
But now and then a complex personality took the
place and assumed the office of art ; was indeed, in
its way, a real work of art, Life having its elaborate
masterpieces, just as poetry has, or sculpture, or
painting.

Yes, the lad was premature. He was gathering
his harvest while it was yet spring. The pulse and
passion of youth were in him, but he was becoming
self-conscious. It was delightful to watch him. With
his beautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a
thing to wonder at. It was no matter how it all
ended, or was destined to end. He was like one of
those gracious figures in a pageant or a play, whose
joys seem to be remote from one, but whose sorrows
stir one's sense of beauty, and whose wounds are like
red roses.

Soul and body, body and soul how mysterious
they were 1 There was animalism in the soul, and
the body had its moments of spirituality. The



68 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade.
Who could say where the fleshly Impulse ceased, or
the physical impulse began ? How shallow were the
arbitrary definitions of ordinary psychologists I And
yet how difficult to decide between the claims of the
various schools ! Was the soul a shadow seated in
the house of sin ? Or was the body really in the
soul, as Giordano Bruno thought ? The separation
of spirit from matter was a mystery, and the union
of spirit with matter was a mystery also.

He began to wonder whether we could ever make
psychology so absolute a science that each little
spring of life would be revealed to us. As it was,
we always misunderstood ourselves, and rarely
understood others. Experience was of no ethical
value. It was merely the name men gave to their
mistakes. Moralists had, as a rule, regarded it as
a mode of warning, had claimed for it a certain
ethical efficacy in the formation of character, had
praised it as something that taught us what to follow
and showed us what to avoid. But there was no
motive power in experience. It was as little of an
active cause as conscience itself. All that it really
demonstrated was that our future would be the same
as our past, and that the sin we had done once, and
with loathing, we would do many times, and with joy.

It was clear to him that the experimental method
was the only method by which one could arrive
at any scientific analysis of the passions ; and cer-
tainly Dorian Gray was a subject made to his hand,
and seemed to promise rich and fruitful results.
His sudden mad love for Sibyl Vane was a psychologi-
cal phenomenon of no small interest. There was no
doubt that curiosity had much to do with it, curiosity
and the desire for new experiences ; yet it was not
a simple but rather a very complex passion. What
there was in it of the purely sensuous instinct of
boyhood had been transformed by the workings of
the imagination, changed into something that seemed
to the lad himself to be remote from sense, and was



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 69

for that very reason all the more dangerous. It was
the passions about whose origin we deceived our-
selves that tyrannised most strongly over us. Our
weakest motives were those of whose nature we were
conscious. It often happened that when we thought
we were experimenting on others we were really
experimenting on ourselves.

"While Lord Henry sat dreaming on these things,
a knock came to the door, and his valet entered,
and reminded him It was time to dress for dinner.
He got up and looked out into the street. The
sunset had smitten Into scarlet gold the upper
windows of the houses opposite. The panes glowed
like plates of heated metal. The sky above was like
a faded rose. He thought of his friend's young
fiery-coloured life, and wondered how it was all
going to end.

When he arrived home, about half-past twelve
o'clock, he saw a telegram lying on the hall table.
He opened it, and found It was from Dorian Gray.
It was to tell him that he was engaged to be married
to Sibyl Vane.



CHAPTER V

" MOTHER, mother, I am so happy ! " whispered
the girl, burying her face in the lap of the faded,
tired-looking woman who, with back turned to the
shrill intrusive light, was sitting in the one armchair
that their dingy sitting-room contained. " I am so
happy 1 " she repeated, " and you must be happy
too 1 "

Mrs. Vane winced, and put her thin bismuth-
whitened hands on her daughter's head. " Happy 1 "
she echoed, " I am only happy, Sibyl, when I see
you act. You must not think of anything but your
acting. Mr. Isaacs has been very good to us, and
we owe him money."

The girl looked up and pouted. " Money,
mother ? " she cried, " what does money matter ?
Love is more than money."

" Mr. Isaacs has advanced us fifty pounds to pay
of! our debts, and to get a proper outfit for James.
You must not forget that, Sibyl. Fifty pounds is
a very large sum. Mr. Isaacs has been most con-
siderate."

" He is not a gentleman, mother, and I hate the
way he talks to me," said the girl, rising to her feet,
and going over to the window.

" I don't know how we could manage without
him," answered the elder woman, querulously.

Sibyl Vane tossed her head and laughed. " We
don't want him any more, mother. Prince Charming
rules life for us now." Then she paused. A rose
shook in her blood, and shadowed her cheeks. Quick
breath parted the petals of her lips. They trembled.
Some southern wind of passion swept over her, and

70



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 71

stirred the dainty folds of her dress. " I love him,"
she said, simply.

" Foolish child ! foolish child 1 " was the parrot-
phrase flung in answer. The waving of crooked, false-
jewelled fingers gave grotesqueness to the words.

The girl laughed again. The joy of a caged bird
was in her voice. Her eyes caught the melody, and
echoed it in radiance ; then closed for a moment,
as though to hide their secret. When they opened, 1
the mist of a dream had passed across them.

Thin-lipped wisdom spoke at her from the worn
chair, hinted at prudence, quoted from that book of
cowardice whose author apes the name of common
sense. She did not listen. She was free in her
prison of passion. Her prince, Prince Charming,
was with her. She had called on Memory to remake
him. She had sent her soul to search for him, and it
had brought him back. His kiss burned again upon
her mouth. Her eyelids were warm with his breath.

Then Wisdom altered its method and spoke of
espial and discovery. This young man might be
rich. If so, marriage should be thought of. Against
the shell of her ear broke the waves of worldly cunning.
The arrows of craft shot by her. She saw the thin
lips moving, and smiled.

Suddenly she felt the need to speak. The wordy
silence troubled her. " Mother, mother," she cried,
" why does he love me so much ? I know why L
love him. I love him because he is like what Love
himself should be. But what does he see in me ?
I am not worthy of him. And yet why, I cannot
tell though I feel so much beneath him, I don't
feel humble. I feel proud, terribly proud. Mother,
did you love my father as I love Prince Charming ? "

The elder woman grew pale beneath the coarse
powder that daubed her cheeks, and her dry lips
twitched with a spasm of pain. Sibyl rushed to her,
flung her arms round her neck, and kissed her.
" Forgive me, mother. I know it pains you to talk
about our father. But it only pains you because



72 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

you loved him so much. Don't look so sad. I
am as happy to-day as you were twenty years ago.
Ah ! let me be happy for ever 1 "

" My child, you are far too young to think of
falling in love. Besides, what do you know of this
young man ? You don't even know his name.
The whole thing is most inconvenient, and really,
when James is going away to Australia, and I have
so much to think of, I must say that you should
have shown more consideration. However, as I
said before, if he is rich. . . ."

" Ah ! Mother, mother, let me be happy 1 "

Mrs. Vane glanced at her, and with one of those
false theatrical gestures that so often become a
mode of second nature to a stage-player, clasped
her in her arms. At this moment the door opened,
and a young lad with rough brown hair came into
the room. He was thick-set of figure, and his hands
and feet were large, and somewhat clumsy in move-
ment. He was not so finely bred as his sister. One
would hardly have guessed the close relationship
that existed between them. Mrs. Vane fixed her
eyes on him, and intensified the smile. She mentally
elevated her son to the dignity of an audience. She
felt sure that the tableau was interesting.

" You might keep some of your kisses for me, Sibyl,
I think," said the lad, with a good-natured grumble.

" Ah ! but you don't like being kissed, Jim," she
cried. " You are a dreadful old bear." And she ran
across the room and hugged him.

James Vane looked into his sister's face w r ith ten-
derness. " I want you to come out with me for a
walk, Sibyl. I don't suppose I shall ever see this
horrid London again. I am sure I don't want to."

" My son, don't say such dreadful things," mur-
mured Mrs. Vane, taking up a tawdry theatrical
dress, with a sigh, and beginning to patch it. She
felt a little disappointed that he had not joined the
group. It would have increased the theatrical
plcturesqueness of the situation.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 73

" Why not, mother ? I mean it."
. " You pain me, my son. I trust you will return
from Australia in a position of affluence. I believe
there is no society of any kind in the Colonies,
nothing that I would call society ; so when you
have made your fortune you must come back and
assert yourself in London."

" Society 1 " muttered the lad. " I don't want to
know anything about that. I should like to make
some money to take you and Sibyl off the stage. I
hate it."

" Oh, Jim I " said Sibyl, laughing, " how unkind
of you ! But are you really going for a walk with
me ? That will be nice ! I was afraid you were
going to say goodbye to some of your friends to
Tom Hardy, who gave you that hideous pipe, or
Ned Langton, who makes fun of you for smoking it.
It is very sweet of you to let me have your last
afternoon. Where shall we go ? Let us go to the
Park."

" I am too shabby," he answered, frowning.
" Only swell people go to the Park."

" Nonsense, Jim," she whispered, stroking the
sleeve of his coat.

He hesitated for a moment. " Very well," he
said at last, " but don't be too long dressing." She
danced out of the door. One could hear her singing
as she ran upstairs. Her little feet pattered overhead.

He walked up and down the room two or three
times. Then he turned to the still figure in the chair.
" Mother, are my things ready ? " he asked.

" Quite ready, James," she answered, keeping her
eyes on her work. For some months past she had
felt ill at ease when she was alone with this rough,
stern son of hers. Her shallow secret nature was
troubled when their eyes met. She used to wonder
if he suspected anything. The silence, for he made
no other observation, became intolerable to her.
She began to complain. Women defend themselves
by attacking, just as they attack by sudden and



74 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

strange surrenders. " I hope you will be contented,
James, with your sea-faring life," she said. " You
must remember that it is your own choice. You
might have entered a solicitor's office. Solicitors
are a very respectable class, and in the country
often dine with the best families."

" I hate offices, and I hate clerks," he replied.
" But you are quite right. I have chosen my own
life. All I say is, watch over Sibyl. Don't let her come
to any harm. Mother, you must watch over her."

" James, you really talk very strangely. Of course
I watch over Sibyl."

" I hear a gentleman comes every night to the
theatre, and goes behind to talk to her. Is that
right ? What about that ? "

" You are speaking about things you don't under-
stand, James. In the profession we are accustomed
to receive a great deal of most gratifying attention.
I myself used to receive many bouquets at one time.
That was when acting was really understood. As
for Sibyl, I do not know at present whether her
attachment is serious or not. But there is no doubt
that the young man in question is a perfect gentle-
man. He is always most polite to me. Besides, he
has the appearance of being rich, and the flowers
he sends are lovely."

" You don't know his name, though," said the
lad, harshly.

" No," answered his mother, with a placid expres-
sion in her face. " He has not yet revealed his real
name. I think it is quite romantic of him. He is
probably a member of the aristocracy."

James Vane bit his lip. " Watch over Sibyl,
mother," he cried, " watch over her."

" My son, you distress me very much. Sibyl is
always under my special care. Of course, if this
gentleman is wealthy, there is no reason why she
should not contract an alliance with him. I trust
he is one of the aristocracy. He has all the appear-
ance of it, I must say. It might be a most brilliant



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 75

marriage for Sibyl. They would make a charming
couple. His good looks are really quite remarkable ;
everybody notices them."

The lad muttered something to himself, and
drummed on the window-pane with his coarse fingers.
He had just turned round to say something, when
the door opened, and Sibyl ran in.

" How serious you both are ! " she cried. " What
is the matter ? "

" Nothing," he answered. " I suppose one must
be serious sometimes. Goodbye, mother ; I will
have my dinner at five o'clock. Everything is
packed, except my shirts, so you need not trouble."

" Goodbye, my son," she answered, with a bow of
strained stateliness.

She was extremely annoyed at the tone he had
adopted with her, and there was something in his
look that had made her feel afraid.

" Kiss me, mother," said the girl. Her flower-
like lips touched the withered cheek, and warmed
its frost.

" My child I my child 1 " cried Mrs. Vane, looking
up to the ceiling in search of an imaginary gallery.

" Come, Sibyl," said her brother, impatiently.
He hated his mother's affectations.

They went out into the flickering wind-blown sun-
light, and strolled down the dreary Euston Road.
The passers-by glanced in wonder at the sullen, heavy
youth, who, in coarse, ill-fitting clothes, was in the
company of such a graceful, refined-looking girl. He
was like a common gardener walking with a rose.

Jim frowned from time to time when he caught
the inquisitive glance of some stranger. He had
that dislike of being stared at which comes on geniuses
late in life, and never leaves the commonplace.
Sibyl, however, was quite unconscious of the effect
she was producing. Her love was trembling in
laughter on her lips. She was thinking of Prince
Charming, and, that she might think of him all the
more, she did not talk of him but prattled on about



76 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

the ship in which Jim was going to sail, about the
gold he was certain to find, about the wonderful
heiress whose life he was to save from the wicked,
red-shirted bushrangers. For he was not to remain
a sailor, or a super-cargo, or whatever he was going
to be. Oh, no ! A sailor's existence was dreadful.
Fancy being cooped up in a horrid ship, with the
hoarse, hump-backed waves trying to get In, and a
black wind blowing the masts down, and tearing the
sails into long screaming ribands I He was to leave
the vessel at Melbourne, bid a polite goodbye to
the captain, and go off at once to the gold-fields.
Before a week was over he was to come across a large
nugget of pure gold, the largest nugget that had ever
been discovered, and bring it down to the coast in a
waggon guarded by six mounted policemen. The
bushrangers were to attack them three times, and
be defeated with immense slaughter. Or, no. He
was not to go to the gold-fields at all. They were
horrid places, where men got intoxicated, and shot
each other in bar-rooms, and used bad language.
He was to be a nice sheep-farmer, and one evening,
as he was riding home, he was to see the beautiful
heiress being carried off by a robber on a black horse,
and give chase, and rescue her. Of course she would
fall in love with him, and he with her, and they would
get married, and come home, and live in an immense
house in London. Yes, there were delightful things
in store for him. But he must be very good, and not
lose his temper, or spend his money foolishly. She
was only a year older than he was, but she knew
so much more of life. He must be sure, also, to
write to her by every mail, and to say his prayers
each night before he went to sleep. God was very
good, and would watch over him. She would pray
for him, too, and in a few years he would come back
quite rich and happy.

The lad listened sulkily to her, and made no
answer. He was heart-sick at leaving home.

Yet it was not this alone that made him gloomy



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 77

and morose. Inexperienced though he was, he had
still a strong sense of the danger of Sibyl's position.
This young dandy who was making love to her could
mean her no good. He was a gentleman, and he
hated him for that, hated him through some curious
race-instinct for which he could not account, and
which for that reason was all the more dominant
within him. He was conscious also of the shallow-
ness and vanity of his mother's nature, and in that
saw infinite peril for Sibyl and Sibyl's happiness.
Children begin by loving their parents ; as they grow
older they judge them ; sometimes they forgive them.

His mother I He had something on his mind to
ask of her, something that he had brooded on for
many months of silence. A chance phrase that he
had heard at the theatre, a whispered sneer that had
reached his ears one night as he waited at the stage-
door, had set loose a train of horrible thoughts. He
remembered it as if it had been the lash of a hunting-
crop across his face. His brows knit together into
a wedge-like furrow, and with a twitch of pain he
bit his under-lip.

" You are not listening to a word I am saying,
Jim," cried Sibyl, " and I am making the most de-
lightful plans for your future. Do say something."

" What do you want me to say ? "

" Oh I that you will be a good boy, and not forget
us," she answered, smiling at him.

He shrugged his shoulders. " You are more likely
to forget me, than I am to forget you, Sibyl."

She flushed. " What do you mean, Jim ? " she
asked.

" You have a new friend, I hear. Who is he ?
Why have you not told me about him ? He means
you no good."

" Stop, Jim 1 " she exclaimed. " You must not
say anything against him. I love him."

" Why, you don't even know his name," answered
the lad. " Who is he ? I have a right to know."

" He Is called Prince Charming. Don't you like



78 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

the name ? Oh ! you silly boy ! you should never
forget it. If you only saw him, you would think
him the most wonderful person in the world. Some
day you will meet him : when you come back from
Australia. You will like him so much. Everybody
likes him, and I ... love him. I wish you could
coir.c to the theatre to-night. He is going to be
there, and I am to play Juliet. Oh ! how I shall
play it ! Fancy, Jim, to be in love and play Juliet I
To have him sitting there ! To play for his delight I
I am afraid I may frighten the company, frighten
or enthrall them. To be in love is to surpass one's
self. Poor dreadful Mr. Isaacs will be shouting
' genius ' to his loafers at the bar. He has preached
me as a dogma ; to-night he will announce me as a
revelation. I feel it. And it is all his, his only,
Prince Charming, my wonderful lover, my god of
graces. But I am poor beside him. Poor ? \Vhat
does that matter ? When poverty creeps in at the
door, love flies in through the window. Our proverbs
want re-writing. They were made in winter, and it
Is summer now ; spring-time for me, I think, a very
dance of blossoms in blue skies."

" He is a gentleman," said the lad, sullenly.

" A Prince ! " she cried, musically. " What more
do you want ? "

" He wants to enslave you."

" I shudder at the thought of being free."

" I want you to beware of him."

" To see him is to worship him, to know him is to
trust him."

" Sibyl, you are mad about him."

She laughed, and took his arm. " You dear old
Jim, you talk as if you were a hundred. Some day
you will be in love yourself. Then you will know
what it is. Don't look so sulky. Surely you should
be glad to think that, though you are going away,
you leave me happier than I have ever been before.
Life has been hard for us both, terribly hard and
difficult. But it will be different now. You are going



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 79

to a new world, and I have found one. Here are two
chairs ; let us sit down and see the smart people go by."

They took their seats amidst a crowd of watchers.
The tulip-beds across the road flamed like throbbing
rings of fire. A white dust, tremulous cloud of orris-
root it seemed, hung in the panting air. The brightly-
coloured parasols danced and dipped like monstrous
butterflies.

She made her brother talk of himself, his hopes,
his prospects. He spoke slowly and with effort.
They passed words to each other as players at a
game pass counters. Sibyl felt oppressed. She
could not communicate her joy. A faint smile
curving that sullen mouth was all the echo she could
win. After some time she became silent. Suddenly
she caught a glimpse of golden hair and laughing lips,
and in an open carriage with two ladies Dorian Gray
drove past.

She started to her feet. " There he is I " she cried.

" Who ? " said Jim Vane.

" Prince Charming," she answered, looking after
the victoria.

He jumped up, and seized her roughly by the arm.
" Show him to me. Which is he ? Point him out.
I must see him 1 " he exclaimed ; but at that moment
the Duke of Berwick's four-in-hand came between,
and when it had left the space clear, the carriage had
swept out of the Park.

" He is gone," murmured Sibyl, sadly. " I wish
you had seen him."

" I wish I had, for as sure as there is a God in
heaven, if he ever does you any wrong I shall
kill him."

She looked at him in horror. He repeated his
words. They cut the air like a dagger. The people
round began to gape. A lady standing close to her
tittered.

" Come away, Jim ; come away," she whispered.
He followed her doggedly, as she passed through the
crowd. He felt glad at what he had said.



80 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

When they reached the Achilles Statue she turned
round. There was pity in her eyes that became
laughter on her lips. She shook her head at him.
" You are foolish, Jim, utterly foolish ; a bad-tem-
pered boy, that is all. How can you say such horrible
things ? You don't know what you are talking about.
You are simply jealous and unkind. Ah I I wish
you would fall in love. Love makes people good,
and what you said was wicked."

" I am sixteen," he answered, " and I know what
I am about. Mother is no help to you. She doesn't
understand how to look after you. I wish now that
I was not going to Australia at all. I have a great
mind to chuck the whole thing up. I would, if my
articles hadn't been signed."

" Oh, don't be so serious, Jim. You are like one
of the heroes of those silly melodramas mother used
to be so fond of acting in. I am not going to quarrel
with you. I have seen him, and oh 1 to see him is
perfect happiness. We won't quarrel. I know you
would never harm anyone I love, would you ? "

" Not as long as you love him, I suppose," was
the sullen answer.

" I shall love him for ever 1 " she cried.

" And he ? "

" For ever, too ! "

" He had better."

She shrank from him. Then she laughed and put
her hand on his arm. He was merely a boy.

At the Marble Arch they hailed an omnibus, which
left them close to their shabby home in the Euston
Road. It was after five o'clock, and Sibyl had to
lie down for a couple of hours before acting. Jim
insisted that she should do so. He said that he would
sooner part with her when their mother was not
present. She would be sure to make a scene, and he
detested scenes of every kind.

In Sibyl's own room they parted. There was
jealousy in the lad's heart, and a fierce, murderous
hatred of the stranger who, as it seemed to him, had



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 81

come between them. Yet, when her arms were
flung round his neck, and her fingers strayed through
his hair, he softened, and kissed her with real affection.
There were tears in his eyes as he went downstairs.

His mother was waiting for him below. She
grumbled at his unpunctuality, as he entered. He
made no answer, but sat down to his meagre meal.
The flies buzzed round the table, and crawled over
the stained cloth. Through the rumble of omnibuses,
and the clatter of street-cabs, he could hear the droning
voice devouring each minute that was left to him.

After some time, he thrust away his plate, and
put his head in his hands. He felt that he had a
right to know. It should have been told to him
before, if it was as he suspected. Leaden with fear,
his mother watched him. Words dropped mechani-
cally from her lips. A tattered lace handkerchief
twitched in her fingers. When the clock struck six,
he got up, and went to the door. Then he turned
back, and looked at her. Their eyes met. In hers
he saw a wild appeal for mercy. It enraged him.

" Mother, I have something to ask you," he said.
Her eyes wandered vaguely about the room. She
made no answer. " Tell me the truth. I have a
right to know. Were you married to my father ? "

She heaved a deep sigh. It was a sigh of relief.
The terrible moment, the moment that night and
day, for weeks and months, she had dreaded, had
come at last, and yet she felt no terror. Indeed in
some measure it was a disappointment to her. The
vulgar directness of the question called for a direct
answer. The situation had not been gradually led
up to. It was crude. It reminded her of a bad
rehearsal.

" No," she answered, wondering at the harsh
simplicity of life.

" My father was a scoundrel then ? " cried the lad,
clenching his fists.

She shook her head. " I knew he was not free.
We loved each other very much. If he had lived,



82 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

he would have made provision for us. Don't speak
against him, my son. He was your father, and a
gentleman. Indeed he was highly connected."

An oath broke from his lips. " I don't care for
myself," he exclaimed, " but don't let Sibyl . . .
It is a gentleman, isn't it, who is in love with her,
or says he is ? Highly connected, too, I suppose."

For a moment a hideous sense of humiliation came
over the woman. Her head drooped. She wiped
her eyes with shaking hands. " Sibyl has a mother,"
she murmured ; " I had none."

The lad was touched. He went towards her, and
stooping down he kissed her. " I am sorry if I have
pained you by asking about my father," he said,
" but I could not help it. I must go now. Goodbye.
Don't forget that you will only have one child now to
look after, and believe me that if this man wrongs
my sister, I will find out who he is, track him down,
and kill him like a dog. I swear it."

The exaggerated folly of the threat, the passionate
gesture that accompanied it, the mad melodramatic
words, made life seem more vivid to her. She was
familiar with the atmosphere. She breathed more
freely, and for the first time for many months she
really admired her son. She w r ould have liked to have
continued the scene on the same emotional scale, but
he cut her short. Trunks had to be carried down,
and mufflers looked for. The lodging-house drudge
bustled in and out. There was the bargaining with
the cabman. The moment was lost in vulgar details.
It was with a renewed feeling of disappointment that
she waved the tattered lace handkerchief from the
window, as her son drove away. She was conscious
that a great opportunity had been wasted. She
consoled herself by telling Sibyl how desolate she
felt her life would be, now that she had only one
child to look after. She remembered the phrase. It
had pleased her. Of the threat she said nothing.
It was vividly and dramatically expressed. She
felt that they would all laugh at it some day.



CHAPTER VI

" I SUPPOSE you have heard the news, Basil ? " said
Lord Henry that evening, as Hallward was shown
into a little private room at the Bristol where dinner
had been laid for three.

" No, Harry," answered the artist, giving his hat
and coat to the bowing waiter. " What is it ?
Nothing about politics, I hope ? They don't interest
me. There is hardly a single person in the House
of Commons worth painting ; though many of them
would be the better for a little white-washing."

" Dorian Gray is engaged to be married," said
Lord Henry, watching him as he spoke.

Hallward started, and then frowned. " Dorian
engaged to be married 1 " he cried. " Impossible I "
It is perfectly true."
To whom ? "

To some little actress or other."
I can't believe it. Dorian is far too sensible."
Dorian is far too wise not to do foolish things '
now and then, my dear Basil."

" Marriage is hardly a thing that one can do now
and then, Harry."

" Except in America," rejoined Lord Henry, lan-
guidly. " But I didn't say he was married. I said
he w r as engaged to be married. There is a great
difference. I have a distinct remembrance of being
married, but I have no recollection at all of being
engaged. I am inclined to think that I never was
engaged."

" But think of Dorian's birth, and position, and
83



84 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

wealth. It would be absurd for him to marry so
much beneath him."

" If you want to make him marry this girl tell
him that, Basil. He is sure to do it, then. Whenever
a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always
from the noblest motives."

" I hope the girl is good, Harry. I don't want to
see Dorian tied to some vile creature, who might
degrade his nature and ruin his intellect."

" Oh, she is better than good she is beautiful,"
murmured Lord Henry, sipping a glass of vermouth
and orange-bitters. " Dorian says she is beautiful ;
and he is not often wrong about things of that kind.
Your portrait of him has quickened his appreciation
of the personal appearance of other people. It has
had that excellent effect, amongst others. We are
to see her to-night, if that boy doesn't forget his
appointment."

" Are you serious ? "

" Quite serious, Basil. I should be miserable if I
thought I should ever be more serious than I am at
the present moment."

" But do you approve of it, Harry ? " asked the
painter, walking up and down the room, and biting
his lip. " You can't approve of it, possibly. It is
some silly infatuation."

" I never approve, or disapprove, of anything now.
It is an absurd attitude to take towards life. We are
not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices.
I never take any notice of what common people say,
and I never interfere with what charming people do.
If a personality fascinates me, whatever mode of
expression that personality selects is absolutely
delightful to me. Dorian Gray falls in love with a
beautiful girl who acts Juliet, and proposes to marry
her. Why not ? If he wedded Messalina he would
be none the less interesting. You know I am not
a champion of marriage. The real drawback to
marriage is that it makes one unselfish. And un-
selfish people are colourless. They lack individuality.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 83

Still, there arc certain temperaments that marriage
makes more complex. They retain their egotism,
and add to it many other egos. They are forced
to have more than one life. They become more
highly organised, and to be highly organised Is, I
should fancy, the object of man's existence. Besides,
every experience is of value, and, whatever one may
say against marriage, it is certainly an experience.
I hope that Dorian Gray will make this girl his wife,
passionately adore her for six months, and then
suddenly become fascinated by someone else. He
would be a wonderful study."

" You don't mean a single word of all that, Harry ;
you know you don't. If Dorian Gray's life were
spoiled, no one would be sorrier than yourself. You
are much better than you pretend to be."

Lord Henry laughed. " The reason we all like
to think so well of others is that we are all afraid
for ourselves. The basis of optimism is sheer terror.
We think that we are generous because we credit
our neighbour with the possession of those virtues
that are likely to be a benefit to us. We praise the
banker that we may overdraw our account, and find
good qualities in the highwayman in the hope that
he may spare our pockets. I mean everything that
I have said. I have the greatest contempt for
optimism. As for a spoiled life, no life is spoiled
but one whose growth is arrested. If you want
to mar a nature, you have merely to reform it. As
for marriage, of course that would be silly, but
there are other and more interesting bonds between
men and women. I will certainly encourage them.
They have the charm of being fashionable. But
here is Dorian himself. He will tell you more than
I can."

" My dear Harry, my dear Basil, you must both
congratulate me 1 " said the lad, throwing off his
evening cape with its satin-lined wings and shaking
each of his friends by the hand in turn. " I have
never been so happy. Of course it is sudden ; all



86 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

really delightful things are. And yet it seems to
me to be the one thing I have been looking for all
my life." He was flushed with excitement and
pleasure, and looked extraordinarily handsome.

" I hope you will always be very happy, Dorian,"
said Hallward, " but I don't quite forgive you for
not having let me know of your engagement. You
let Harry know."

" And I don't forgive you for being late for dinner,"
broke in Lord Henry, putting his hand on the lad's
shoulder, and smiling as he spoke. " Come, let us
sit down and try what the new chef here is like, and
then you will tell us how it all came about."

" There is really not much to tell," cried Dorian,
as they took their seats at the small round table.
" What happened was simply this. After I left
you yesterday evening, Harry, I dressed, had some
dinner at that little Italian restaurant in Rupert
Street you introduced me to, and went down at
eight o'clock to the theatre. Sibyl was playing
Rosalind. Of course the scenery was dreadful, and
the Orlando absurd. But Sibyl ! You should have
seen her I When she came on in her boy's clothes
she was perfectly wonderful. She wore a moss-
coloured velvet jerkin with cinnamon sleeves, slim
brown cross-gartered hose, a dainty little green cap
with a hawk's feather caught in a jewel, and a
hooded cloak lined with dull red. She had never
seemed to me more exquisite. She had all the
delicate grace of that Tanagra figurine that you have
in your studio, Basil. Her hair clustered round her
face like dark leaves round a pale rose. As for her
acting well, you shall see her to-night. She is
simply a born artist. I sat in the dingy box abso-
lutely enthralled. I forgot that I was in London
and in the nineteenth century. I was away with my
love in a forest that no man had ever seen. After
the performance was over I went behind, and spoke
to her. As we were sitting together, suddenly there
came into her eyes a look that I had never seen there



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 87

before. My lips moved towards hers. We kissed
each other. I can't describe to you what I felt at
that moment. It seemed to me that all my life
had been narrowed to one perfect point of rose-
coloured joy. She trembled all over, and shook like
a white narcissus. Then she flung herself on her
knees and kissed my hands. I feel that I should not
tell you all this, but I can't help it. Of course our
engagement is a dead secret. She has not even told
her own mother. I don't know what my guardians
will say. Lord Radley is sure to be furious. I don't
care. I shall be of age in less than a year, and then I
can do what I like. I have been right, Basil, haven't
I, to take my love out of poetry, and to find my
wife in Shakespeare's plays ? Lips that Shakespeare
taught to speak have whispered their secret in my
ear. I have had the arms of Rosalind around me,
and kissed Juliet on the mouth."

" Yes, Dorian, I suppose you were right," said
Hallward, slowly.

" Have you seen her to-day ? " asked Lord Henry.

Dorian Gray shook his head. " I left her in the
forest of Arden, I shall find her in an orchard in
Verona."

Lord Henry sipped his champagne in a medita-
tive manner. " At what particular point did you
mention the word marriage, Dorian ? And what
did she say in answer ? Perhaps you forgot all
about it."

" My dear Harry, I did not treat it as a business
transaction, and I did not make any formal proposal.
I told her that I loved her, and she said she was
not worthy to be my wife. Not worthy 1 Why,
the whole world is nothing to me compared with
her."

" Women are wonderfully practical," murmured
Lord Henry " much more practical than we are.
In situations of that kind we often forget to say
anything about marriage, and they always remind
us.'*



88 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Hallward laid his hand upon his arm. " Don't,
Harry. You have annoyed Dorian. He is not like
other men. He would never bring misery upon
anyone. His nature is too fine for that."

Lord Henry looked across the table. " Dorian is
never annoyed with me," he answered. " I asked
the question for the best reason possible, for the only
reason, indeed, that excuses one for asking any
question simple curiosity. I have a theory that
it is always the women who propose to us, and not
we who propose to the women. Except, of course,
In middle-class life. But then the middle classes are
not modern."

Dorian Gray laughed, and tossed his head. " You
are quite incorrigible, Harry ; but I don't mind. It
is impossible to be angry with you. When you see
Sibyl Vane you will feel that the man who could
wrong her would be a beast, a beast without a heart.
I cannot understand how anyone can wish to shame
the thing he loves. I love Sibyl Vane. I want to
place her on a pedestal of gold, and to see the world
worship the woman who is mine. What is marriage ?
An irrevocable vow. You mock at it for that. Ah I
don't mock. It Is an irrevocable vow that I want
to take. Her trust makes me faithful, her belief
makes me good. When I am with her, I regret all
that you have taught me. I become different from
what you have known me to be. I am changed, and
the mere touch of Sibyl Vane's hand makes me forget
you and all your wrong, fascinating, poisonous,
delightful theories."

" And those are . . .? " asked Lord Henry, help-
Ing himself to some salad.

" Oh, your theories about life, your theories about
love, your theories about pleasure. All your theories,
in fact, Harry."

" Pleasure is the only thing worth having a theory
about," he answered, in his slow, melodious voice.
" But I am afraid I cannot claim my theory as my
own. It belongs to Nature, not to me. Pleasure Is



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 89

Nature's test, her sign of approval. When we are
happy \ve are always good, but when we are good
we are not always happy."

" Ah I but what do you mean by good ? " cried
Basil Hallward.

" Yes," echoed Dorian, leaning back in his chair,
and looking at Lord Henry over the heavy clusters
of purple-lipped irises that stood in the centre of
the table, " what do you mean by good, Harry ? "

" To be good is to be in harmony with one's self,"
he replied, touching the thin stem of his glass with
his pale, fine-pointed fingers. " Discord is to be
forced to be in harmony with others. One's own
life that is the important thing. As for the lives
of one's neighbours, if one wishes to be a prig or a
Puritan, one can flaunt one's moral views about
them, but they are not one's concern. Besides,
Individualism has really the higher aim. Modern
morality consists in accepting the standard of one's
age. I consider that for any man of culture to
accept the standard of his age is a form of the grossest
immorality."

" But, surely, if one lives merely for one's self,
Harry, one pays a terrible price for doing so ? "
suggested the painter.

" Yes, we are overcharged for everything nowadays.
I should fancy that the real tragedy of the poor is
that they can afford nothing but self-denial. Beau-
tiful sins, like beautiful things, are the privilege of
the rich."

" One has to pay in other ways but money."

" What sort of ways, Basil ? "

" Oh ! I should fancy in remorse, in suffering, in
. . . well, in the consciousness of degradation."

Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. " My dear
fellow, mediaeval art is charming, but mediaeval
emotions are out of date. One can use them in
fiction, of course. But then the only things that
one can use in fiction are the things that one has
ceased to use in fact. Believe me, no civilised man



90 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

ever regrets a pleasure, and no uncivilised man ever
knows what a pleasure is."

" I know what pleasure is," cried Dorian Gray.
" It is to adore someone."

" That is certainly better than being adored," he
answered, toying with some fruits. " Being adored
is a nuisance. Women treat us just as Humanity
treats its gods. They worship us, and are always
bothering us to do something for them."

" I should have said that whatever they ask for
they had first given to us," murmured the lad,
gravely. " They create Love in our natures. They
have a right to demand it back."

" That is quite true, Dorian," cried Hallward.

" Nothing is ever quite true," said Lord Henry.

" This is," interrupted Dorian. " You must admit,
Harry, that women give to men the very gold of
their lives."

" Possibly," he sighed, " but they invariably
want it back In such very small change. That is
the worry. Women, as some witty Frenchman
once put it, inspire us with the desire to do master-
pieces, and always prevent us from carrying them
out."

" Harry, you are dreadful I I don't know why I
like you so much."

" You will always like me, Dorian," he replied.
" Will you have some coffee, you fellows ? Waiter,
bring coffee, and fine-champagne, and some cigarettes.
No : don't mind the cigarettes ; I have some. Basil,
I can't allow you to smoke cigars. You must have
a cigarette. A cigarette is the perfect type of a
perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one
unsatisfied. What more can one want ? Yes,
Dorian, you will always be fond of me. I represent
to you all the sins you have never had the courage
to commit."

" What nonsense you talk, Harry I " cried the lad,
taking a light from a fire-breathing silver dragon that
the waiter had placed on the table. " Let us go



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 91

down to the theatre. When Sibyl comes on the stage
you will have a new ideal of life. She will represent
something to you that you have never known."

" I have known everything," said Lord Henry,
with a tired look in his eyes, " but I am always ready
for a new emotion. I am afraid, however, that, for
me at any rate, there is no such thing. Still, your
wonderful girl may thrill me. I love acting. It is so
much more real than life. Let us go. "Dorian, you
will come with me. I am so sorry, Basil, but there
is only room for two in the brougham. You must
follow us in a hansom."

They got up and put on their coats, sipping their
coffee standing. The painter was silent and pre-
occupied. There was a gloom over him. He could
not bear this marriage, and yet it seemed to him
to be better than many other things that might have
happened. After a few minutes, they all passed
downstairs. He drove off by himself, as had been
arranged, and watched the flashing lights of the
little brougham in front of him. A strange sense of
loss came over him. He felt that Dorian Gray would
never again be to him all that he had been in the
past. Life had come between them. . . . His eyes
darkened, and the crowded, flaring streets became
blurred to his eyes. When the cab drew up at the
theatre, it seemed to him that he had grown years
older.



CHAPTER VII

FOR some reason or other, the house was crowded
that night, and the fat Jew manager who met them
at the door was beaming from ear to ear with an oily,
tremulous smile. He escorted them to their box
with a sort of pompous humility, waving his fat
jewelled hands, and talking at the top of his voice.
Dorian Gray loathed him more than ever. He felt
as if he had come to look for Miranda and had been
met by Caliban. Lord Henry, upon the other hand,
rather liked him. At least he declared he did, and
insisted on shaking him by the hand, and assuring
him that he was proud to meet a man who had dis-
covered a real genius and gone bankrupt over a poet.
Hallward amused himself with watching the faces in
the pit. The heat was terribly oppressive, and the
huge sunlight flamed like a monstrous dahlia with
petals of yellow fire. The youths in the gallery had
taken off their coats and waistcoats and hung them
over the side. They talked to each other across the
theatre, and shared their oranges with the tawdry
girls who sat beside them. Some w r omen were laugh-
ing in the pit. Their voices were horribly shrill and
discordant. The sound of the popping of corks came
from the bar.

" What a place to find one's divinity in ! " said
Lord Henry.

" Yes ! " answered Dorian Gray. " It was here I
found her, and she is divine beyond all living things.
When she acts you will forget everything. These
common, rough people, with their coarse faces and
brutal gestures, become quite different when she Is

92



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 93

on the stage. They sit silently and watch her. They
weep and laugh as she wills them to do. She makes
them as responsive as a violin. She spiritualises
them, and one feels that they are of the same flesh
and blood as one's self."

" The same flesh and blood as one's self 1 Oh, I
hope not I " exclaimed Lord Henry, who was scanning
the occupants of the gallery through his opera-glass.

" Don't pay any attention to him, Dorian," said
the painter. " I understand what you mean, and I
believe in this girl. Anyone you love must be mar-
vellous, and any girl that has the effect you describe
must be fine and noble. To spiritualise one's age
that is something worth doing. If this girl can give
a soul to those who have lived without one, if she can
create the sense of beauty In people whose lives have
been sordid and ugly, if she can strip them of their
selfishness and lend them tears for sorrows that are
not their own, she is worthy of all your adoration,
worthy of the adoration of the world. This marriage
Is quite right. I did not think so at first, but I admit
it now. The gods made Sibyl Vane for you. With-
out her you would have been incomplete."

" Thanks, Basil," answered Dorian Gray, pressing
his hand. " I knew that you would understand me.
Harry is so cynical, he terrifies me. But here is
the orchestra. It is quite dreadful, but it only lasts
for about five minutes. Then the curtain rises, and
you will see the girl to whom I am going to give all
my life, to whom I have given everything that Is
good in me."

A quarter of an hour afterwards, amidst an ex-
traordinary turmoil of applause, Sibyl Vane stepped
on to the stage. Yes, she was certainly lovely to
look at one of the loveliest creatures, Lord Henry
thought, that he had ever seen. There was some-
thing of the fawn in her shy grace and startled eyes.
A faint blush, like the shadow of a rose in a mirror
of silver, came to her cheeks as she glanced at the
crowded, enthusiastic house. She stepped back a



94 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

few paces, and her lips seemed to tremble. Basil
Hallward leaped to his feet and began to applaud.
Motionless, and as one in a dream, sat Dorian Gray,
gazing at her. Lord Henry peered through his
glasses, murmuring, " Charming I charming I "

The scene was the hall of Capulet's house, and
Romeo in his pilgrim's dress had entered with Mercutio
and his other friends. The band, such as it was,
struck up a few bars of music, and the dance began.
Through the crowd of ungainly, shabbily-dressed
actors, Sibyl Vane moved like a creature from a finer
world. Her body swayed, while she danced, as a
plant sways in the water. The curves of her throat
were the curves of a white lily. Her hands seemed
to be made of cool ivory.

Yet she was curiously listless. She showed no
sign of joy when her eyes rested on Romeo. The
few words she had to speak

Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this ;
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss

with the brief dialogue that follows, were spoken in
a thoroughly artificial manner. The voice was ex-
quisite, but from the point of view of tone it was
absolutely false. It was wrong in colour. It took
away all the life from the verse. It made the passion
unreal.

Dorian Gray grew pale as he watched her. He
was puzzled and anxious. Neither of his friends
dared to say anything to him. She seemed to them
to be absolutely incompetent. They were horribly
disappointed.

Yet they felt that the true test of any Juliet Is
the balcony scene of the second act. They waited
for that. If she failed there, there was nothing in
her.

She looked charming as she came out in the moon-
light. That could not be denied. But the staginess
of her acting was unbearable, and grew worse as she



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 95

went on. Her gestures became absurdly artificial.
She over-emphasised everything that she had to say.
The beautiful passage

Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face.

Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek

For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night

was declaimed with the painful precision of a school-
girl who has been taught to recite by some second-
rate professor of elocution. When she leaned over
the balcony and came to those wonderful lines

Although I joy in thec,
I have no joy of this contract to-night :
It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden ;
Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be
Kre one can say, " It lightens." S\veet, good-night I
This bud of love by summer's ripening breath
May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet

she spoke the words as though they conveyed no
meaning to her. It was not nervousness. Indeed,
so far from being nervous, she was absolutely self-
contained. It was simply bad art. She was a
complete failure.

Even the common, uneducated audience of the
pit and gallery lost their interest in the play. They
got restless, and began to talk loudly and to whistle.
The Jew manager, who was standing at the back of
the dress-circle, stamped and swore w r ith rage. The
only person unmoved was the girl herself.

When the second act was over there came a storm
of hisses, and Lord Henry got up from his chair and
put on his coat. " She is quite beautiful, Dorian,"
he said, " but she can't act. Let us go."

" I am going to see the play through," answered
the lad, in a hard, bitter voice. " I am awfully
sorry that I have made you waste an evening, Harry.
I apologise to you both."

" My dear Dorian, I should think Miss Vane was
ill," interrupted Hallward. " We will come some
other night."

" I wish she were ill," he rejoined. " But she
seems to me to be simply callous and cold. She has



96 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

entirely altered. Last night she was a great artist.
This evening she is merely a commonplace, mediocre
actress."

" Don't talk like that about anyone you love,
Dorian. Love is a more wonderful thing than Art."

" They are both simply forms of imitation,"
remarked Lord Henry. " But do let us go. Dorian,
you must not stay here any longer. It is not good
for one's morals to see bad acting. Besides, I don't
suppose you will want your wife to act. So what
does it matter if she plays Juliet like a wooden doll ?
She is very lovely, and if she knows as little about
life as she does about acting, she will be a delightful
experience. There are only two kinds of people who
[ are really fascinating people who know absolutely
everything, and people who know absolutely nothing.
Good heavens, my dear boy, don't look so tragic !
The secret of remaining young is never to have an
emotion that is unbecoming. Come to the club with
Basil and myself. We will smoke cigarettes and
drink to the beauty of Sibyl Vane. She is beautiful.
What more can you want ? "

" Go away, Harry," cried the lad. " I want to be
alone. Basil, you must go. Ah 1 can't you see
that my heart is breaking ? " The hot tears came
to his eyes. His lips trembled, and, rushing to the
back of the box, he leaned up against the wall, hiding
his face in his hands.

" Let us go, Basil," said Lord Henry, with a
strange tenderness in his voice ; and the two young
men passed out together.

A few moments afterwards the footlights flared up,
and the curtain rose on the third act. Dorian Gray
went back to his seat. He looked pale, and proud,
and indifferent. The play dragged on, and seemed
interminable. Half of the audience went out,
tramping in heavy boots, and laughing. The whole
thing was a fiasco. The last act was played to almost
empty benches. The curtain went down on a titter,
and some groans.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 97

As soon as it was over, Dorian Gray rushed behind
the scenes into the greenroom. The girl was standing
there alone, with a look of triumph on her face. Her
eyes were lit with an exquisite fire. There was a
radiance about her. Her parted lips were smiling
over some secret of their own.

When he entered, she looked at him, and an
expression of infinite joy came over her. " How
badly I acted to-night, Dorian I " she cried.

" Horribly 1 " he answered, gazing at her in
amazement " horribly ! It was dreadful. Are you
ill ? You have no idea what it was. You have no
idea what I suffered."

The girl smiled. " Dorian," she answered, linger-
ing over his name with long-drawn music in her
voice, as though it were sweeter than honey to the
red petals of her mouth " Dorian, you should have
understood. But you understand now, don't you ? "

" Understand what ? " he asked, angrily.

" Why I was so bad to-night. Why I shall always
be bad. Why I shall never act well again."

He shrugged his shoulders. " You are ill, I
suppose. When you are ill you shouldn't act. You
make yourself ridiculous. My friends were bored.
I was bored."

She seemed not to listen to him. She was trans-
figured with joy. An ecstasy of happiness dominated
her.

" Dorian, Dorian," she cried, " before I knew you,
acting was the one reality of my life. It was only
in the theatre that I lived. I thought that it was all
true. I was Rosalind one night, and Portia the
other. The joy of Beatrice was my joy, and the
sorrows of Cordelia were mine also. I believed in
everything. The common people who acted with me
seemed to me to be godlike. The painted scenes were
my world. I knew nothing but shadows, and I
thought them real. You came oh, my beautiful
love ! and you freed my soul from prison. You
taught me what reality really is. To-night, for the
4



98 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

first time in my life, I saw through the hollowness,
the sham, the silliness of the empty pageant in which
I had always played. To-night, for the first time, 1
became conscious that the Romeo was hideous, and
old, and painted, that the moonlight in the orchard
was false, that the scenery was vulgar, and that the
words I had to speak were unreal, were not my words,
were not what I wanted to say. You had brought
me something higher, something of which all art is
but a reflection. You had made me understand what
love really is. My love 1 my love I Prince Charming I
Prince of life ! I have grown sick of shadows. You
are more to me than all art can ever be. What have
I to do with the puppets of a play ? When I came on
to-night, I could not understand how it was that
everything had gone from me. I thought that I was
going to be wonderful. I found that I could do
nothing. Suddenly it dawned on my soul what it all
meant. The knowledge was exquisite to me. I
heard them hissing, and I smiled. What could they
know of love such as ours ? Take me away, Dorian
take me away with you, where we can be quite
alone. I hate the stage. I might mimic a passion
that I do not feel, but I cannot mimic one that burns
me like fire. Oh, Dorian, Dorian, you understand
now what it signifies ? Even if I could do it, it
would be profanation for me to play at being in love.
You have made me see that."

He flung himself down on the sofa, and turned
away his face. " You have killed my love," he
muttered.

She looked at him in wonder, and laughed. He
made no answer. She came across to him, and
with her little fingers stroked his hair. She knelt
down and pressed his hands to her lips. He drew
them away, and a shudder ran through him.

Then he leaped up, and went to the door. " Yes,"
he cried, " you have killed my love. You used to stir
my imagination. Now you don't even stir my
curiosity. You simply produce no effect. I loved



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 99

you because you were marvellous, because you had
genius and intellect, because you realised the dreams
of great poets and gave shape and substance to the
shadows of art. You have thrown it all away. You
are shallow and stupid. My God 1 how mad I was
to love you 1 What a fool I have been 1 You are
nothing to me now. I will never see you again. I
will never think of you. I will never mention your
name. You don't know what you were to me, once.
Why, once . . . Oh, I can't bear to think of it 1 I
wish I had never laid eyes upon you ! You have
spoiled the romance of my life. How little you can
know of love, if you say it mars your art 1 Without
your art you are nothing. I would have made you
famous, splendid, magnificent. The world would
have worshipped you, and you would have borne
my name. What are you now ? A third-rate actress
with a pretty face."

The girl grew white, and trembled. She clenched
her hands together, and her voice seemed to catch
in her throat. " You are not serious, Dorian ? "
she murmured. " You are acting."

" Acting 1 I leave that to you. You do it so
well," he answered bitterly.

She rose from her knees, and, with a piteous
expression of pain in her face, came across the room
to him. She put her hand upon his arm, and looked
into his eyes. He thrust her back. " Don't touch
me 1 " he cried.

A low moan broke from her, and she flung herself
at his feet, and lay there like a trampled flower.
" Dorian, Dorian, don't leave me I " she whispered.
" I am so sorry I didn't act well. I was thinking of
you all the time. But I will try indeed, I will
try. It came so suddenly across me, my love for you.
I think I should never have known it if you had not
kissed me if we had not kissed each other. Kiss
me again, my love. Don't go away from me. I
couldn't bear it. Oh I don't go away from me. My
brother . . . No ; never mind. He didn't mean it.



100 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

He was in jest. . . . But you, oh ! can't you forgive
me for to-night ? I will work so hard, and try to
improve. Don't be cruel to me because I love
you better than anything in the world. After all,
it is only once that I have not pleased you. But you
are quite right, Dorian. I should have shown
myself more of an artist. It was foolish of me ; and
yet I couldn't help it. Oh, don't leave me, don't
leave me." A fit of passionate sobbing choked" her.
She crouched on the floor like a wounded thing, and
Dorian Gray, with his beautiful eyes, looked down
at her, and his chiselled lips curled in exquisite disdain.
There is always something ridiculous about the
emotions of people whom one has ceased to love.
Sibyl Vane seemed to him to be absurdly melo-
dramatic. Her tears and sobs annoyed him.

" I am going," he said at last, in his calm, clear
voice. " I don't wish to be unkind, but I can't see
you again. You have disappointed me."

She wept silently, and made no answer, but crept
nearer. Her little hands stretched blindly out, and
appeared to be seeking for him. He turned on
his heel, and left the room. In a few moments he
was out of the theatre.

Where he went to he hardly knew. He remem-
bered wandering through dimly-lit streets, past gaunt
black-shadowed archways and evil-looking houses.
Women with hoarse voices and harsh laughter had
called after him. Drunkards had reeled by cursing,
and chattering to themselves like monstrous apes.
He had seen grotesque children huddled upon door-
steps, and heard shrieks and oaths from gloomy courts.

As the dawn was just breaking he found himself
close to Covent Garden. The darkness lifted, and,
flushed with faint fires, the sky hollowed itself into
a perfect pearl. Huge carts filled with nodding lilies
rumbled slowly down the polished empty street.
The air was heavy 'with the perfume of the flowers,
and their beauty seemed to bring him an anodyne
for his pain. He followed into the market, and



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 101

watched the men unloading their waggons. A
white ocked carter offered him some cherries.
He thanked him, and wondered why he refused to
accept any money for them, and began to eat them
listlessly. They had been plucked at midnight,
and the coldness of the moon had entered into
them. A long line of boys carrying crates of striped
tulips, and of yellow and red roses, defiled in front of
him, threading their way through the huge jade-
green piles of vegetables. Under the portico, with
its grey sun-bleached pillars, loitered a troop of
draggled bareheaded girls, waiting for the auction
to be over. Others crowded rou'ud the swinging
doors of the coffee-house in the Piazza. The heavy
cart-horses slipped and stamped upon the rough
stones, shaking their bells and trappings. Some of
the drivers were lying asleep on a pile of sacks. Iris-
necked, and pink-footed, the pigeons ran about
picking up seeds.

After a little while, he hailed a hansom, and drove
home. For a few moments he loitered upon the
doorstep, looking round at the silent Square with
its blank, close-shuttered windows, and its staring
blinds. The sky was pure opal now, and the roofs
of the houses glistened like silver against it. From
some chimney opposite a thin wreath of smoke was
rising. It curled, a violet riband, through the
nacre-coloured air.

In the huge gilt Venetian lantern, spoil of some
Doge's barge, that hung from the ceiling of the great
oak-panelled hall of entrance, lights were still burn-
ing from three flickering jets : thin blue petals of
flame they seemed, rimmed with white fire. He
turned them out, and, having thrown his hat and
cape on the table, passed through the library towards
the door of his bedroom, a large octagonal chamber
on the ground floor that, in his new-born feeling for
luxury, he had just had decorated for himself, and
hung with some curious Renaissance tapestries that
had been discovered stored in a disused attic at



102 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Selby Royal. As he was turning the handle of the
door, his eye fell upon the portrait Basil Hallward
had painted of him. He started back as if in sur-
prise. Then he went on into his own room, looking
somewhat puzzled. After he had taken the buttonhole
out of his coat, he seemed to hesitate. Finally he
came back, went over to the picture, and examined
it. In the dim arrested light that struggled through
the cream-coloured silk blinds, the face appeared to
him to be a little changed. The expression looked
different. One would have said that there was a
touch of cruelty in the mouth. It was certainly
strange.

He turned round, and, walking to the w r indow,
drew up the blind. The bright dawn flooded the
room, and swept the fantastic shadows into dusky
corners, where they lay shuddering. But the strange
expression that he had noticed in the face of the
portrait seemed to linger there, to be more intensified
even. The quivering, ardent sunlight showed him
the lines of cruelty round the mouth as clearly as if
he had been looking into a mirror after he had done
some dreadful thing.

He winced, and, taking up from the table an
oval glass framed in ivory Cupids, one of Lord
Henry's many presents to him, glanced hurriedly
into its polished depths. No line like that warped
his red lips. What did it mean ?

He rubbed his eyes, and came close to the picture,
and examined it again. There were no signs of any
change when he looked into the actual painting,
and yet there was no doubt that the whole expression
had altered. It was not a mere fancy of his own.
The thing was horribly apparent.

He threw himself into a chair, and began to think.
Suddenly there flashed across his mind what he had
said in Basil Hallward's studio the day the picture
had been finished. Yes, he remembered it perfectly.
He had uttered a mad wish that he himself might
remain young, and the portrait grow old ; that his



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 103

own beauty might be untarnished, and the face on
the canvas bear the burden of his passions and his
sins ; that the painted image might be seared with
the lines of suffering and thought, and that he might
keep all the delicate bloom and loveliness of his
then just conscious boyhood. Surely his wish had
not been fulfilled ? Such things were impossible.
It seemed monstrous even to think of them. And,
yet, there was the picture before him, with the touch
of cruelty in the mouth.

Cruelty I Had he been cruel ? It was the girl's
fault, not his. He had dreamed of her as a great
artist, had given his love to her because he had
thought her great. Then she had disappointed
him. She had been shallow and unworthy. And,
yet, a feeling of infinite regret came over him, as he
thought of her lying at his feet sobbing like a little
child. He remembered with what callousness he
had watched her. Why had he been made like that ?
Why had such a soul been given to him ? But he
had suffered also. During the three terrible hours
that the play had lasted, he had lived centuries of
pain, seon upon aeon of torture. His life was well
worth hers. She had marred him for a moment, If
he had wounded her for an age. Besides, women
were better suited to bear sorrow than men. They
lived on their emotions. They only thought of
their emotions. When they took lovers, it was
merely to have someone with whom they could
have scenes. Lord Henry had told him that, and
Lord Henry knew what women were. Why should
he trouble about Sibyl Vane ? She was nothing to
him now.

But the picture ? What was he to say of that ?
It held the secret of his life, and told his story. It
had taught him to love his own beauty. Would it
teach him to loathe his own soul ? Would he ever
look at it again ?

No ; it was merely an illusion wrought on the
troubled senses. The horrible night that he had



104 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

passed had left phantoms behind it. Suddenly
there had fallen upon his brain that tiny scarlet speck
that makes men mad. The picture had not changed.
It was folly to think so.

Yet it was watching him, with its beautiful marred
face and its cruel smile. Its bright hair gleamed
in the early sunlight. Its blue eyes met his own.
A sense of infinite pity, not for himself, but for the
painted image of himself, came over him. It had
altered already, and would alter more. Its gold
would wither into grey. Its red and white roses
would die. For every sin that he committed, a
stain would fleck and wreck its fairness. But he
would not sin. The picture, changed or unchanged,
would be to him the visible emblem of conscience.
He would resist temptation. He would not see
Lord Henry any more would not, at any rate,
listen to those subtle poisonous theories that in
Basil Hallward's garden had first stirred within him
the passion for impossible things. He would go
back to Sibyl Vane, make her amends, marry her,
try to love her again. Yes, it was his duty to do so.
She must have suffered more than he had. Poor
child ! He had been selfish and cruel to her. The
fascination that she had exercised over him would
return. They would be happy together. His life
with her would be beautiful and pure.

He got up from his chair, and drew a large screen
right in front of the portrait, shuddering as he
glanced at it. " How horrible ! " he murmured to
himself, and he walked across to the window and
opened it. When he stepped out on to the grass, he
drew a deep breath. The fresh morning air seemed
to drive away all his sombre passions. He thought
only of Sibyl. A faint echo of his love came back
to him. He repeated her name over and over again.
The birds that were singing in the dew-drenched
garden seemed to be telling the flowers about her.



CHAPTER VIII

IT was long past noon when he awoke. His valet
had crept several times on tiptoe into the room to
see if he was stirring, and had wondered what made
his young master sleep so late. Finally his bell
sounded, and Victor came softly in with a cup of
tea, and a pile of letters, on a small tray of old
Sevres china, and drew back the olive-satin curtains,
with their shimmering blue lining, that hung in
front of the three tall windows.

" Monsieur has well slept this morning," he said,
smiling.

" What o'clock is it, Victor ? " asked Dorian Gray,
drowsily.

" One hour and a quarter, Monsieur."

How late it was ! He sat up, and, having sipped
some tea, turned over his letters. One of them
was from Lord Henry, and had been brought by
hand that morning. He hesitated for a moment,
and then put it aside. The others he opened list-
lessly. They contained the usual collection of cards,
invitations to dinner, tickets for private views,
programmes of charity concerts, and the like, that
are showered on fashionable young men every morn-
ing during the season. There was a rather heavy
bill, for a chased silver Louis-Quinze toilet-set, that
he had not yet had the courage to send on to his
guardians, who were extremely old-fashioned people
and did not realise that we live in an age w r hen
unnecessary things are our only necessities ; and
there were several very courteously worded communl-

105



106 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

cations from Jermyn Street money-lenders offering
to advance any sum of money at a moment's notice
and at the most reasonable rates of interest.

After about ten minutes he got up, and, throwing
on an elaborate dressing-gown of silk-embroidered
cashmere wool, passed into the onyx-paved bath-
room. The cool water refreshed him after his long
sleep. He seemed to have forgotten all that he
had gone through. A dim sense of having taken
part in some strange tragedy came to him once or
twice, but there was the unreality of a dream about it.

As soon as he was dressed, he went into the library
and sat down to a light French breakfast, that had
been laid out for him on a small round table close
to the open window. It was an exquisite day. The
warm air seemed laden with spices. A bee flew in,
and buzzed round the blue-dragon bowl that, filled
with sulphur-yellow roses, stood before him. He
felt perfectly happy.

Suddenly his eye fell on the screen that he had
placed in front of the portrait, and he started.

" Too cold for Monsieur ? " asked his valet,
putting an omelette on the table. " I shut the
window ? "

Dorian shook his head. " I am not cold," he
murmured.

Was it all true ? Had the portrait really changed ?
Or had it been simply his own imagination that had
made him see a look of evil where there had been a
look of joy ? Surely a painted canvas could not
alter ? The thing was absurd. It would serve as
a tale to tell Basil some day. It would make him
smile.

And, yet, how vivid was his recollection of the
whole thing I First in the dim twilight, and then
in the bright dawn, he had seen the touch of cruelty
round the warped lips. He almost dreaded his
valet leaving the room. He knew that when he
was alone he would have to examine the portrait.
He was afraid of certainty. When the coffee and



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 107

cigarettes had been brought and the man turned to
go, he felt a wild desire to tell him to remain. As the
door was closing behind him he called him back.
The man stood waiting for his orders. Dorian looked
at him for a moment. " I am not at home to any-
one, Victor," he said, with a sigh. The man bowed
and retired.

Then he rose from the table, lit a cigarette, and
flung himself down on a luxuriously-cushioned couch
that stood facing the screen. The screen was an old
one, of gilt Spanish leather, stamped and wrought
with a rather florid Louis-Quatorze pattern. He
scanned it curiously, wondering if ever before it had
concealed the secret of a man's life.

Should he move it aside, after all ? Why not let
it stay there ? What was the use of knowing ? If
the thing was true, it was terrible. If it was not
true, why trouble about it ? But what if, by some
fate or deadlier chance, eyes other than his spied
behind, and saw the horrible change ? What should
he do if Basil Hallward came and asked to look at
his own picture ? Basil would be sure to do that.
No ; the thing had to be examined, and at once.
Anything would be better than this dreadful state
of doubt.

He got up, and locked both doors. At least he
would be alone when he looked upon the mask of
his shame. Then he drew the screen aside, and saw
himself face to face. It was perfectly true. The
portrait had altered.

As he often remembered afterwards, and always
with no small wonder, he found himself at first
gazing at the portrait with a feeling of almost scientific
interest. That such a change should have taken
place was incredible to him. And yet it was a fact.
Was there some subtle affinity between the chemical
atoms, that shaped themselves into form and colour
on the canvas, and the soul that was within him ?
Could it be that what that soul thought, they realized ?
that what it dreamed, they made true ? Or was



108 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

there some other, more terrible reason ? He shud-
dered, and felt afraid, and, going back to the couch,
lay there, gazing at the picture in sickened horror.

One thing, however, he felt that it had done for
him. It had made him conscious how unjust, how
cruel, he had been to Sibyl Vane. It was not too
late to make reparation for that. She could still
be his wife. His unreal and selfish love would yield
to some higher influence, would be transformed into
some nobler passion, and the portrait that Basil
Hallward had painted of him would be a guide to
him through life, would be to him what holiness is
to some, and conscience to others, and the fear of
God to us all. There were opiates for remorse,
drugs that could lull the moral sense to sleep. But
here was a visible symbol of the degradation of sin.
Here was an ever-present sign of the ruin men
brought upon their souls.

Three o'clock struck, and four, and the half-hour
rang its double chime, but Dorian Gray did not
stir. He was trying to gather up the scarlet threads
of life, and to weave them into a pattern ; to find
his way through the sanguine labyrinth of passion
through which he was wandering. He did not know
what to do, or what to think. Finally, he went over
to the table, and wrote a passionate letter to the
girl he had loved, imploring her forgiveness, and
accusing himself of madness. He covered page
after page with wild words of sorrow, and wilder
words of pain. There is a luxury in self-reproach.
When we blame ourselves we feel that no one else
has a right to blame us. It is the confession, not
the priest, that gives us absolution. When Dorian
had finished the letter, he felt that he had been
forgiven.

Suddenly there came a knock to the door, and he
heard Lord Henry's voice outside. " My dear boy,
I must see you. Let me in at once. I can't bear
your shutting yourself up like this."

He made no answer at first, but remained quite



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 109

still. The knocking still continued, and grew louder.
Yes, it was better to let Lord Henry in, and to
explain to him the new life he was going to lead,
to quarrel with him if it became necessary to quarrel,
to part if parting was inevitable. He jumped up,
drew the screen hastily across the picture, and un-
locked the door.

" I am so sorry for it all, Dorian," said Lord
Henry, as he entered. " But you must not think
too much about it."

" Do you mean about Sibyl Vane ? " asked the lad.

" Yes, of course," answered Lord Henry, sinking
into a chair, and slowly pulling off his yellow gloves.
" It is dreadful, from one point of view, but it was
not your fault. Tell me, did you go behind and
see her, after the play was over ? "

" Yes."

" I felt sure you had. Did you make a scene
with her ? "

" I was brutal, Harry perfectly brutal. But it
is all right now. I am not sorry for anything that
has happened. It has taught me to know myself
better."

" Ah, Dorian, I am so glad you take it in that
way I I was afraid I would find you plunged in
remorse, and tearing that nice curly hair of yours."

" I have got through all that," said Dorian, shaking
his head, and smiling. " I am perfectly happy now.
I know what conscience is, to begin with. It is not
what you told me it was. It is the divinest thing
in us. Don't sneer at it, Harry, any more at least
not before me. I want to be good. I can't bear
the idea of my soul being hideous."

" A very charming artistic basis for ethics, Dorian I
I congratulate you on it. But how are you going to
begin ? "

" By marrying Sibyl Vane."

" Marrying Sibyl Vane ! " cried Lord Henry,
standing up, and looking at him in perplexed amaze-
ment. " But, my dear Dorian "



110 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

" Yes, Harry, I know what you are going to say.
Something dreadful about marriage. Don't say it.
Don't ever say things of that kind to me again.
Two days ago I asked Sibyl to marry me. I am not
going to break my word to her. She is to be my
wife ! "

" Your wife ! Dorian ! . . . Didn't you get my
letter ? I wrote to you this morning, and sent the
note down, by my own man."

" Your letter ? Oh, yes, I remember. I have not
read it yet, Harry. I was afraid there might be
something in it that I wouldn't like. You cut life
to pieces with your epigrams."

" You know nothing then ? "

" What do you mean ? "

Lord Henry walked across the room, and, sitting
down by Dorian Gray, took both his hands in his
own, and held them tightly. " Dorian," he said,
" my letter don't be frightened was to tell you
that Sibyl Vane is dead."

A cry of pain broke from the lad's lips, and he
leaped to his feet, tearing his hands away from
Lord Henry's grasp. " Dead 1 Sibyl dead 1 It is
not true 1 It is a horrible lie I How dare you say
it?"

" It is quite true, Dorian," said Lord Henry,
gravely. " It is in all the morning papers. I wrote
down to you to ask you not to see anyone till I came.
There will have to be an inquest, of course, and you
must not be mixed up in it. Things like that make
a man fashionable in Paris. But in London people
are so prejudiced. Here, one should never make
one's debut with a scandal. One should reserve
that to give an interest to one's old age. I suppose
they don't know your name at the theatre ? If
they don't, it is all right. Did anyone see you
going round to her room ? That is an important
point."

Dorian did not answer for a few moments. He
was dazed with horror. Finally he stammered in a



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 111

stifled voice, " Harry, did you say an inquest ? What

did you mean by that ? Did Sibyl ? Oh,

Harry, I can't bear it 1 But be quick. Tell me
everything at once."

" I have no doubt it was not an accident, Dorian,
though it must be put in that way to the public.
It seems that as she was leaving the theatre with
her mother, about half-past twelve or so, she said
she had forgotten something upstairs. They waited
some time for her, but she did not come down again.
They ultimately found her lying dead on the floor
of her dressing-room. She had swallowed some-
thing by mistake, some dreadful thing they use nt
theatres. I don't know what it was, but it had
either prussic acid or white lead in it. I should fancy
it was prussic acid, as she seems to have died in-
stantaneously."

" Harry, Harry, it is terrible 1 " cried the lad.

" Yes ; it is very tragic, of course, but you must
not get yourself mixed up in it. I see by The Standard
that she was seventeen. I should have thought she
was almost younger than that. She looked such a
child, and seemed to know so little about acting.
Dorian, you mustn't let this thing get on your nerves.
You must come and dine with me, and afterwards
we will look in at the Opera. It is a Patti night, and
everybody will be there. You can come to my sister's
box. She has got some smart women with her."

" So I have murdered Sibyl Vane," said Dorian
Gray, half to himself " murdered her as surely as
if I had cut her little throat with a knife. Yet the
roses are not less lovely for all that. The birds
sing just as happily in my garden. And to-night
I am to dine with you, and then go on to the Opera,
and sup somewhere, I suppose, afterwards. How
extraordinarily dramatic life is I If I had read all
this in a book, Harry, I think I would have wept
over it. Somehow, now that it has happened actually,
and to me, it seems far too wonderful for tears.
Here is the first passionate love-letter I have ever



112 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

written in my life. Strange, that my first passionate
love-letter should have been addressed to a dead
girl. Can they feel, I wonder, those white silent
people we call the dead ? Sibyl I Can she feel, or
know, or listen ? Oh, Harry, how I loved her once !
It seems years ago to me now. She was everything
to me. Then came that dreadful night was it
really only last night ? when she played so badly,
and my heart almost broke. She explained it all
to me. It was terribly pathetic. But I was not
moved a bit. I thought her shallow. Suddenly
something happened that made me afraid. I can't
tell you what it was, but it was terrible. I said I
would go back to her. I felt I had done wrong. And
now she is dead. My God ! my God ! Harry, what
shall I do ? You don't know the danger I am in,
and there is nothing to keep me straight. She would
have done that for me. She had no right to kill
herself. It was selfish of her."

" My dear Dorian," answered Lord Henry, taking
a cigarette from his case, and producing a gold-
latten matchbox, " the only way a woman can ever
reform a man is by boring him so completely that
he loses all possible interest in life. If you had
married this girl you would have been wretched. Of
course you would" have treated her kindly. One can
always be kind to people about whom one cares
nothing. But she would have soon found out that
you were absolutely indifferent to her. And when
a woman finds that out about her husband, she either
becomes dreadfully dowdy, or wears very smart
bonnets that some other woman's husband has to
pay for. I say nothing about the social mistake,
which would have been abject, which, of course,
I would not have allowed, but I assure you that in
any case the whole thing would have been an absolute
failure."

" I suppose it would," muttered the lad, walking
up and down the room, and looking horribly pale.
" But I thought it was my duty. It is not my fault



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 113

that this terrible tragedy has prevented my doing
\\hat was right. I remember your saying once that
there is a fatality about good resolutions that
they are always made too late. Mine certainly were."

" Good resolutions are useless attempts to interfere
with scientific laws. Their origin is pure vanity.
Their result is absolutely nil. They give us, now and
then, some of those luxurious sterile emotions that
have a certain charm for the weak. That is all that
can be said for them. They are simply cheques that
men draw on a bank where they have no account."

" Harry," cried Dorian Gray, coming over and
sitting down beside him, " why is it that I cannot
feel this tragedy as much as I want to ? I don't think
I am heartless. Do you ? "

" You have done too many foolish things during
the last fortnight to be entitled to give yourself that
name, Dorian," answered Lord Henry, with his sweet,
melancholy smile.

The lad frowned. " I don't like that explanation.
Harry," he rejoined, " but I am glad you don't think
I am heartless. I am nothing of the kind. I know I
am not. And yet I must admit that this thing that
has happened does not affect me as it should. It
seems to me to be simply like a wonderful ending to
a wonderful play. It has all the terrible beauty of a
Greek tragedy, a tragedy in which I took a great part,
but by which I have not been wounded."

" It is an interesting question," said Lord Henry,
who found an exquisite pleasure in playing on the
lad's unconscious egotism " an extremely interest-
ing question. I fancy that the true explanation is
this. It often happens that the real tragedies of life
occur in such an inartistic manner that they hurt us
by their crude violence, their absolute incoherence,
their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack of
style. They affect us just as vulgarity affects us.
They give us an impression of sheer brute force, and
we revolt against that. Sometimes, however, a
tragedy that possesses artistic elements of beauty



114 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

crosses our lives. If these elements of beauty are
real, the whole thing simply appeals to our sense of
dramatic effect. Suddenly we find that we are no
longer the actors, but the spectators of the play.
Or rather we are both. We watch ourselves, and the
mere wonder of the spectacle enthralls us. In the
present case, what is it that has really happened ?
Someone has killed herself for love of you. I wish
that I had ever had such an experience. It would
have made me in love with love for the rest of my life.
The people who have adored me there have not been
very many, but there have been some have always
insisted on living on, long after I had ceased to care
for them, or they to care for me. They have become
stout and tedious, and when I meet them they go in
at once for reminiscences. That awful memory of
woman ! What a fearful thing it is I And \vhat an
utter intellectual stagnation it reveals ! One should
absorb the colour of life, but one should never re-
member its details. Details are always vulgar."

" I must sow poppies in my garden," sighed Dorian.

" There is no necessity," rejoined his companion.
" Life has always poppies in her hands. Of course,
now and then things linger. I once wore nothing
but violets all through one season, as a form of artistic
mourning for a romance that would not die. Ul-
timately, however, it did die. I forget what killed
it. I think it was her proposing to sacrifice the whole
world for me. That is always a dreadful moment.
It fills one with the terror of eternity. Well would
you believe it ? a week ago, at Lady Hampshire's,
I found myself seated at dinner next the lady in
question, and she insisted on going over the whole
thing again, and digging up the past, and raking up
the future. I had buried my romance in a bed of
asphodel. She dragged it out again, and assured
me that I had spoiled her life. I am bound to state
that she ate an enormous dinner, so I did not feel any
anxiety. But what a lack of taste she showed I
The one charm of the past is that it is the past. But



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 115

women never know when the curtain has fallen.
They always want a sixth act, and as soon as the
interest of the play is entirely over they propose to
continue it. If they were allowed their own way,
every comedy would have a tragic ending, and every
tragedy would culminate in a farce. They are charm-
ingly artificial, but they have no sense of art. You
are more fortunate than I am. I assure you, Dorian,
that not one of the women I have known would have
done for me what Sibyl Vane did for you. Ordinary
women always console themselves. Some of them
do it by going in for sentimental colours. Never trust
a woman who wears mauve, whatever her age may
be, or a woman over thirty-five who is fond of pink
ribbons. It always means that they have a history.
Others find a great consolation in suddenly dis-
covering the good qualities of their husbands. They
flaunt their conjugal felicity in one's face, as if it were
the most fascinating of sins. Religion consoles some.
Its mysteries have all the charm of a flirtation, a
woman once told me ; and I can quite understand it.
Besides, nothing makes one so vain as being told that
one is a sinner. Conscience makes egotists of us all.
Yes ; there is really no end to the consolations that
women find in modern life. Indeed, I have not
mentioned the most important one."

" What is that, Harry ? " said the lad, listlessly.

" Oh, the obvious consolation. Taking someone
else's admirer when one lose's one's own. In good
society that always whitewashes a woman. But
really, Dorian, how different Sibyl Vane must have
been from all the women one meets ! There is some-
thing to me quite beautiful about her death. I am
glad I am living in a century when such wonders
happen. They make one believe in the reality of
the things we all play with, such as romance, passion,
and love."

" I was terribly cruel to her. You forget that."

" I am afraid that women appreciate cruelty,
downright cruelty, more than anything else. They



116 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

have wonderfully primitive instincts. We have
emancipated them, but they remain slaves looking for
their masters, all the same. They love being domi-
nated. I am sure you were splendid. I have never
seen you really and absolutely angry, but I can fancy
how delightful you looked. And, after all, you said
something to me the day before yesterday that seemed
to me at the time to be merely fanciful, but that I see
now was absolutely true, and it holds the key to
everything."

" What was that, Harry ? "

" You said to me that Sibyl Vane represented to
you all the heroines of romance that she was Des-
demona one night, and Ophelia the other ; that if she
died as Juliet, she came to life as Imogen."

" She will never come to life again now," muttered
the lad, burying his face in his hands.

" No, she will never come to life. She has played
her last part. But you must think of that lonely
death in the tawdry dressing-room simply as a strange
lurid fragment from some Jacobean tragedy, as a
wonderful scene from Webster, or Ford, or Cyril
Tourneur. The girl never really lived, and so she
has never really died. To you at least she was always
a dream, a phantom that flitted through Shakespeare's
plays and left them lovelier for its presence, a reed
through which Shakespeare's music sounded richer
and more full of joy. The moment she touched actual
life, she marred it, and it marred her, and so she
passed away. Mourn for Ophelia, if you like. Put
ashes on your head because Cordelia was strangled.
Cry out against Heaven because the daughter of Bra-
bantio died. But don't waste your tears over Sibyl
Vane. She was less real than they are."

There was a silence. The evening darkened in the
room. Noiselessly, and with silver feet, the shadows
crept In from the garden. The colours faded wearily
out of things.

After some time Dorian Gray looked up. " You
have explained me to myself, Harry," he mur-



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 117

mured, with something of a sigh of relief. " I felt
all that you have said, but somehow I was afraid of
It, and I could not express it to myself. How well
you know me I But we will not talk again of what
has happened. It has been a marvellous experience.
That is all. I wonder if life has still in store for me
anything as marvellous."

" Life has everything in store for you, Dorian.
There is nothing that you, with your extraordinary
good looks, will not be able to do."

" But suppose, Harry, I became haggard, and old,
and wrinkled ? What then ? "

" Ah, then," said Lord Henry, rising to go
" then, my dear Dorian, you would have to fight for
your victories. As it is, they are brought to you.
No, you must keep your good looks. We live in an
age that reads too much to be wise, and that thinks
too much to be beautiful. We cannot spare you.
And now you had better dress, and drive down to
the club. We are rather late, as it is."

" I think I shall join you at the Opera, Harry.
I feel too tired to eat anything. \Vhat is the number
of your sister's box ? "

" Twenty-seven, I believe. It is on the grand tier.
You will see her name on the door. But I am sorry
you won't come and dine."

" I don't feel up to it," said Dorian, listlessly.
" But I am awfully obliged to you for all that you
have said to me. You are certainly my best friend.
No one has ever understood me as you have."

" We are only at the beginning of our friendship,
Dorian," answered Lord Henry, shaking him by the
hand. " Good-bye. I shall see you before nine-
thirty, I hope. Remember, Patti is singing."

As he closed the door behind him, Dorian Gray
touched the bell, and in a few minutes Victor appeared
with the lamps and drew the blinds down. He waited
impatiently for him to go. The man seemed to take
an interminable time over everything.

As soon as he had left, he rushed to the screen, and



118 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

drew it back. No ; there was no further change in
the picture. It had received the news of Sibyl Vane's
death before he had known of it himself. It was
conscious of the events of life as they occurred. The
vicious cruelty that marred the fine lines of the mouth
had, no doubt, appeared at the very moment that the
girl had drunk the poison, whatever it was. Or was
it indifferent to results ? Did it merely take cog-
nizance of what passed within the soul ? He won-
dered, and hoped that some day he would see the
change taking place before his very eyes, shuddering
as he hoped it.

Poor Sibyl ! what a romance it had all been ! She
had often mimicked death on the stage. Then Death
himself had touched her, and taken her with him.
How had she played that dreadful last scene ? Had
she cursed him, as she died ? No ; she had died for
love of him, and love would always be a sacrament
to him now. She had atoned for everything, by the
sacrifice she had made of her life. He would not think
any more of what she had made him go through, on
that horrible night at the theatre. When he thought
of her, it would be as a wonderful tragic figure sent
on to the world's stage to show the supreme reality
of Love. A wonderful tragic figure ? Tears came
to his eyes as he remembered her childlike look, and
winsome fanciful ways, and shy tremulous grace.
He brushed them away hastily, and looked again at
the picture.

He felt that the time had really come for making
his choice. Or had his choice already been made ?
Yes, life had decided that for him life, and his
own infinite curiosity about life. Eternal youth,
infinite passion, pleasures subtle and secret, wild
joys and wilder sins he was to have all these things.
The portrait was to bear the burden of his shame :
that was all.

A feeling of pain crept over him as he thought of
the desecration that was in store for the fair face on
the canvas. Once, in boyish mockery of Narcissus,



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 119

he had kissed, or feigned to kiss, those painted lips
that now smiled so cruelly at him. Morning after
morning he had sat before the portrait, wondering
at its beauty, almost enamoured of it, as it seemed
to him at times. Was it to alter now with every mood
to which he yielded ? Was it to become a monstrous
and loathsome thing, to be hidden away in a locked
room, to be shut out from the sunlight that had so
often touched to brighter gold the waving wonder
of its hair ? The pity of it I the pity of it !

For a moment he thought of praying that the
horrible sympathy that existed between him and
the picture might cease. It had changed in answer
to a prayer ; perhaps in answer to a prayer it might
remain unchanged. And, yet, who, that knew any-
thing about Life, would surrender the chance of re-
maining always young, however fantastic that chance
might be, or with what fateful consequences it might
be fraught ? Besides, was it really under his control ?
Had it indeed been prayer that had produced the
substitution ? Might there not be some curious
scientific reason for it all ? If thought could exercise
its influence upon a living organism, might not thought
exercise an influence upon dead and inorganic things ?
Nay, without thought or conscious desire, might not
things external to ourselves vibrate in unison with
our moods and passions, atom calling to atom in secret
love of strange affinity ? But the reason was of no
importance. He would never again tempt by a prayer
any terrible power. If the picture was to alter, it
was to alter. That was all. Why inquire too closely
into it ?

For there would be a real pleasure in watching
it. He would be able to follow his mind into its
secret places. This portrait would be to him the
most magical of mirrors. As it had revealed to
him his own body, so it would reveal to him his
own soul. And when winter came upon it, he
would still be standing where spring trembles on
the verge of summer. When the blood crept from



120 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

its face, and left behind a pallid mask of chalk with
leaden eyes, he would keep the glamour of boyhood.
Not one blossom of his loveliness would ever fade.
Not one pulse of his life would ever weaken. Like the
gods of the Greeks, he would be strong, and fleet,
and joyous. What did it matter what happened to
the coloured image on the canvas ? He would be
safe. That was everything.

He drew the screen back into its former place in
front of the picture, smiling as he did so, and passed
into his bedroom, where his valet was already waiting
for him. An hour later he was at the Opera, and
Lord Henry was leaning over his chair.



CHAPTER IX

As he was sitting at breakfast next morning, Basil
Hallward was shown into the room.

" I am so glad I have found you, Dorian," he said,
gravely. " I called last night, and they told me
you were at the Opera. Of course I knew that was
impossible. But I wish you had left word where you
had really gone to. I passed a dreadful evening,
half afraid that one tragedy might be followed by
another. I think you might have telegraphed for
me when you heard of it first. I read of it quite by
chance in a late edition of The Globe, that I picked
up at the club. I came here at once, and was miser-
able at not finding you. I can't tell you how heart-
broken I am about the whole thing. I know what you
must suffer. But where were you ? Did you go
down and see the girl's mother ? For a moment I
thought of following you there. They gave the
address in the paper. Somewhere in the Euston
Road, isn't it ? But I was afraid of intruding upon
a sorrow that I could not lighten. Poor woman !
What a state she must be in ! And her only child,
too I What did she say about it all ? "

" My dear Basil, how do I know ? " murmured
Dorian Gray, sipping some pale-yellow wine from
a delicate gold-beaded bubble of Venetian glass, and
looking dreadfully bored. " I was at the Opera.
You should have come on there. I met Lady Gwen-
dolen, Harry's sister, for the first time. We were
in her box. She is perfectly charming ; and Patti
sang divinely. Don't talk about horrid subjects. If
one doesn't talk about a thing, it has never happened.

121



122 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

It is simply expression, as Harry says, that gives
reality to things. I may mention that she was not
the woman's only child. There is a son, a charming
fellow, I believe. But he is not on the stage. He is
a sailor, or something. And now, tell me about
yourself and what you are painting."

" You went to the Opera ? " said Hallward,
speaking very slowly, and with a strained touch
of pain in his voice. " You went to the Opera while
Sibyl Vane was lying dead in some sordid lodging ?
You can talk to me of other women being charming,
and of Patti singing divinely, before the girl you
loved has even the quiet of a grave to sleep in ?
Why, man, there are horrors in store for that little
white body of hers ! "

" Stop, Basil ! I won't hear it I " cried Dorian,
leaping to his feet. " You must not tell me about
things. What is done is done. What is past is past."

" You call yesterday the past ? "

" What has the actual lapse of time got to do with
it ? It is only shallow people who require years to
get rid of an emotion. A man who is master of
himself can end a sorrow as easily as he can invent
a pleasure. I don't want to be at the mercy of my
emotions. I want to use them, to enjoy them, and
to dominate them."

" Dorian, this is horrible ! Something has changed
you completely. You look exactly the same won-
derful boy who, day after day, used to come down
to my studio to sit for his picture. But you were
simple, natural, and affectionate then. You were
the most unspoiled creature in the whole world. Now,
I don't know what has come over you. You talk as
if you had no heart, no pity in you. It is all Harry's
influence. I see that."

The lad flushed up, and, going to the window,
looked out for a few moments on the green, flicker-
ing, sun-lashed garden. " I owe a great deal to
Harry, Basil," he said, at last " more than I owe
to you. You only taught me to be vain."



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 123

" Well, I am punished for that, Dorian or shall
be some day."

" I don't know what you mean, Basil," he ex-
claimed, turning round. " I don't know what you
want. What do you want ? "

" I want the Dorian Gray I used to paint," said
the artist, sadly.

" Basil," said the lad, going over to him, and
putting his hand on his shoulder, " you have come
too late. Yesterday when I heard that Sibyl Vane
had killed herself "

" Killed herself I Good heavens 1 is there no
doubt about that ? " cried Hallward, looking up at
him with an expression of horror.

" My dear Basil 1 Surely you don't think it was
a vulgar accident ? Of course she killed herself."

The elder man buried his face in his hands. " How
fearful," he muttered, and a shudder ran through
him.

" No," said Dorian Gray, " there is nothing fearful
about it. It is one of the great romantic tragedies
of the age. As a rule, people who act lead the most
commonplace lives. They are good husbands, or faith-
ful wives, or something tedious. You know what I
mean middle-class virtue, and all that kind of
thing. How different Sibyl was I She lived her
finest tragedy. She was always a heroine. The
last night she played the night you saw her she
acted badly because she had known the reality of
love. When she knew its unreality, she died, as
Juliet might have died. She passed again into the
sphere of art. There is something of the martyr
about her. Her death has all the pathetic uselessness
of martyrdom, all its wasted beauty. But, as I was
saying, you must not think I have not suffered. If
you had come in yesterday at a particular moment
about half-past five, perhaps, or a quarter to six
you would have found me in tears. Even Harry,
who was here, who brought me the news, in fact, had
no idea what I was going through. I suffered im-



124 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

mensely. Then it passed away. I cannot repeat an
emotion. No one can, except sentimentalists. And
you are awfully unjust, Basil. You come down here
to console me. That is charming of you. You find
me consoled, and you are furious. How like a sym-
pathetic person 1 You remind me of a story Harry
told me about a certain philanthropist who spent
twenty years of his life in trying to get some grievance
redressed, or some unjust law altered I forget
exactly what it was. Finally he succeeded, and
nothing could exceed his disappointment. He had
absolutely nothing to do, almost died of ennui,
and became a confirmed misanthrope. And besides,
my dear old Basil, if you really want to console me,
teach me rather to forget what has happened, or to
see it from the proper artistic point of view. Was
it not Gautier who used to write about la consolation
des arts ? I remember picking up a little vellum-
covered book in your studio one day and chancing
on that delightful phrase. Well, I am not like that
young man you told me of when we were down at
Marlow together, the young man who used to say
that yellow satin could console one for all the miseries
of life. I love beautiful things that one can touch
and handle. Old brocades, green bronzes, lacquer-
work, carved ivories, exquisite surroundings, luxury,
pomp, there is much to be got from all these. But
the artistic temperament that they create, or at any
rate reveal, is still more to me. To become the spec-
tator of one's own life, as Harry says, is to escape the
suffering of life. I know you are surprised at my
talking to you like this. You have not realised how
I have developed. I was a schoolboy when you
knew me. I am a man now. I have new passions,
new thoughts, new ideas. I am different, but you
must not like me less. I am changed, but you must
always be my friend. Of course I am very fond of
Harry. But I know that you are better than he is.
You are not stronger you are too much afraid of
life but you are better. And how happy we used



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 125

to be together ! Don't leave me, Basil, and don't
quarrel with me. I am what I am. There is nothing
more to be said."

The painter felt strangely moved. The lad was
infinitely dear to him, and his personality had been
the great turning-point in his art. He could not
bear the idea of reproaching him any more. After
all, his indifference was probably merely a mood
that would pass away. There was so much in him
that was good, so much in him that w r as noble.

" Well, Dorian," he said, at length, with a sad
smile, " I won't speak to you again about this horrible
thing, after to-day. I only trust your name won't
be mentioned in connection with it. The inquest is
to take place this afternoon. Have they summoned
you ? "

Dorian shook his head and a look of annoyance
passed over his face at the mention of the word
" inquest." There was something so crude and
vulgar about everything of the kind. " They don't
know my name," he answered.

" But surely she did ? "

" Only my Christian name, and that I am quite
sure she never mentioned to anyone. She told me
once that they were all rather curious to learn who
I was, and that she invariably told them my name
was Prince Charming. It was pretty of her. You
must do me a drawing of Sibyl, Basil. I should like
to have something more of her than the memory of a
few kisses and some broken pathetic words."

" I will try and do something, Dorian, if it would
please you. But you must come and sit to me your-
self again. I can't get on without you."

" I can never sit to you again, Basil. It is Im-
possible ! " he exclaimed, starting back.

The painter stared at him. " My dear boy, what
nonsense ! " he cried. " Do you mean to say you
don't like what I did of you ? Where is it ? Why
have you pulled the screen in front of it ? Let me
look at it. It is the best thing I have ever done.



126 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Do take the screen away, Dorian. It is simply
disgraceful of your servant hiding my work like
that. I felt the room looked different as I came
in."

" My servant has nothing to do with it, Basil.
You don't imagine I let him arrange my room for
me ? He settles my flowers for me sometimes that
is all. No ; I did it myself. The light was too
strong on the portrait."

" Too strong ! Surely not, my dear fellow ? It
is an admirable place for it. Let me see it." And
Hallward walked towards the corner of the room.

A cry of terror broke from Dorian Gray's lips,
and he rushed between the painter and the screen.
" Basil," he said, looking very pale, " you must not
look at it. I don't wish you to."

" Not look at my own work 1 you are not serious.
Why shouldn't I look at it ? " exclaimed Hallward,
laughing.

" If you try to look at it, Basil, on my word of
honour I will never speak to you again as long as I
live. I am quite serious. I don't offer any ex-
planation, and you are not to ask for any. But,
remember, if you touch this screen, everything is
over between us."

Hallward was thunderstruck. He looked at
Dorian Gray in absolute amazement. He had never
seen him like this before. The lad was actually
pallid with rage. His hands were clenched, and the
pupils of his eyes were like disks of blue lire. He
was trembling all over.

" Dorian I "

" Don't speak ! "

" But what is the matter ? Of course I won't
look at it if you don't want me to," he said, rather
coldly, turning on his heel, and going over towards
the window. " But, really, it seems rather absurd
that I shouldn't see my own work, especially as I
am going to exhibit it in Paris in the autumn. I
shall probably have to give it another coat of varnish



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 127

before that, so I must see it some day, and why
not to-day ? "

"To exhibit it? You want to exhibit it?" ex-
claimed Dorian Gray, a strange sense of terror
creeping over him. Was the world going to be shown
his secret ? Were people to gape at the mystery of
his life ? That was impossible. Something he did
not know what had to be done at once.

" Yes ; I don't suppose you will object to that.
George Petit is going to collect all my best pictures
for a special exhibition in the Rue de Seze, which
will open the first week in October. The portrait
will only be away a month. I should think you
could easily spare it for that time. In fact, you are
sure to be out of town. And if you keep it always
behind a screen, you can't care much about it."

Dorian Gray passed his hand over his forehead.
There were beads of perspiration there. He felt
that he was on the brink of a horrible danger. " You
told me a month ago that you would never exhibit
it," he cried. " Why have you changed your mind ?
You people who go in for being consistent have just
as many moods as others have. The only difference is
that your moods are rather meaningless. You can't
have forgotten that you assured me most solemnly
that nothing in the world would induce you to send
it to any exhibition. You told Harry exactly the
same thing." He stopped suddenly, and a gleam
of light came into his eyes. He remembered that
Lord Henry had said to him once, half seriously and
half in jest, " If you want to have a strange quarter
of an hour, get Basil to tell you why he won't exhibit
your picture. He told me why he wouldn't, and it
was a revelation to me." Yes, perhaps Basil, too,
had his secret. He would ask him and try.

" Basil," he said, coming over quite close, and
looking him straight in the face, " we have each
of us a secret. Let me know yours and I shall tell
you mine. What was your reason for refusing to
exhibit my picture ? "



128 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

The painter shuddered in spite of himself. " Dorian,
if I told you, you might like me less than you do, and
you would certainly laugh at me. I could not bear
your doing either of those two things. If you wish
me never to look at your picture again, I am content.
I have always you to look at. If you wish the best
work I have ever done to be hidden from the world,
I am satisfied. Your friendship is dearer to me than
any fame or reputation."

" No, Basil, you must tell me," insisted Dorian
Gray. " I think I have a right to know." His
feeling of terror had passed away, and curiosity had
taken its place. He was determined to find out Basil
Hallward's mystery.

" Let us sit down, Dorian," said the painter, look-
ing troubled. " Let us sit down. And just answer
me one question. Have you noticed in the picture
something curious ? something that probably at
first did not strike you, but that revealed itself to
you suddenly ? "

" Basil ! " cried the lad, clutching the arms of his
chair with trembling hands, and gazing at him with
wild, startled eyes.

" I see you did. Don't speak. Wait till you
hear what I have to say. Dorian, from the moment
I met you, your personality had the most extra-
ordinary influence over me. I was dominated, soul,
brain, and power by you. You became to me the
visible incarnation of that unseen ideal whose memory
haunts us artists like an exquisite dream. I wor-
shipped you. I grew jealous of everyone to whom you
spoke. I wanted to have you all to myself. I was
only happy when I was with you. When you were
away from me you were still present in my art. . . .
Of course I never let you know anything about this.
It would have been impossible. You would not have
understood it. I hardly understood it myself. I only
knew that I had seen perfection face to face, and
that the world had become wonderful to my eyes
too wonderful, perhaps, for in such mad worships



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 129

there Is peril, the peril of losing them, no less than
the peril of keeping them. . . . Weeks and weeks
went on, and I grew more and more absorbed In you.
Then came a new development. I had drawn you
as Paris in dainty armour, and as Adonis with hunts-
man's cloak and polished boar-spear. Crowned with
heavy lotus-blossoms you had sat on the prow of
Adrian's barge, gazing across the green turbid Nile.
You had leant over the still pool of some Greek wood-
land, and seen in the water's silent silver the marvel
of your own face. And it had all been what art should
be, unconscious, ideal, and remote. One day, a fatal
day I sometimes think, I determined to paint a
wonderful portrait of you as you actually are, not in
the costume of dead ages, but in your own dress and
in your own time. Whether it was the Realism of
the method, or the mere wonder of your own person-
ality, thus directly presented to me without mist or
V;il, I cannot tell. But I know that as I worked at
it, every flake and film of colour seemed to me to reveal
my secret. I grew afraid that others would know of
my idolatry. I felt, Dorian, that I had told too much,
that I had put too much of myself into it. Then it
was that I resolved never to allow the picture to be
exhibited. You were a little annoyed ; but then you
did not realise all that it meant to me. Harry, to
whom I talked about it, laughed at me. But I did
not mind that. When the picture was finished, and
I sat alone with it, I felt that I was right. . . . Well,
after a few days the thing left my studio, and as soon
as I had got rid of the intolerable fascination of its
presence it seemed to me that I had been foolish in
imagining that I had seen anything in it, more than
that you were extremely good-looking, and that I
could paint. Even now I cannot help feeling that it is
a mistake to think that the passion one feels in crea-
tion is ever really shown in the work one creates.
Art is always more abstract than we fancy. Form
and colour tell us of form and colour that Is all. It
often seems to me that art conceals the artist far more



130 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

completely than it ever reveals him. And so when I
got this offer from Paris I determined to make your
portrait the principal thing in my exhibition. It
never occurred to me that you would refuse. I see
now that you were right. The picture cannot be
shown. You must not be angry with me, Dorian, for
what I have told you. As I said to Harry, once, you
are made to be worshipped."

Dorian Gray drew a long breath. The colour
came back to his cheeks, and a smile played about
his lips. The peril was over. He was safe for the
time. Yet he could not help feeling infinite pity for
the painter who had just made this strange con-
fession to him, and wondered if he himself would ever
be so dominated by the personality of a friend. Lord
Henry had the charm of being very dangerous. But
that was all. He was too clever and too cynical to
be really fond of. Would there ever be someone who
would fill him with a strange idolatry ? Was that
one of the things that life had in store ?

" It is extraordinary to me, Dorian," said Hall-
ward, " that you should have seen this in the portrait.
Did you really see it ? "

" I saw something in it," he answered, "-something
that seemed to me very curious."

" Well, you don't mind my looking at the thing
now ? "

Dorian shook his head. " You must not ask me
that, Basil. I could not possibly let you stand in
front of that picture."

" You will some day, surely ? "

" Never."

" Well, perhaps you are right. And now good-bye,
Dorian. You have been the one person in my life
who has really influenced my art. Whatever I have
done that is good, I owe to you. Ah I you don't know
what it cost me to tell you all that I have told you."

" My dear Basil," said Dorian, " what have you
told me ? Simply that you felt that you admired
me too much. That Is not even a compliment."



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 131

" It was not intended as a compliment. It was a
confession. Now that I have made it, something
seems to have gone out of me. Perhaps one should
never put one's worship into words."

" It was a very disappointing confession."

" Why, what did you expect, Dorian ? You didn't
see anything else in the picture, did you ? There was
nothing else to see ? "

" No ; there was nothing else to see. Why do
you ask ? But you mustn't talk about worship.
It is foolish. You and I are friends, Basil, and we
must always remain so."

' You have got Harry," said the painter, sadly.

" Oh, Harry 1 " cried the lad, with a ripple of
laughter. " Harry spends his days in saying what
is incredible, and his evenings in doing what is im-
probable. Just the sort of life I would like to lead.
But still I don't think I would go to Harry if I were in
trouble. I would sooner go to you, Basil."

" You will sit to me again ? "

" Impossible ! "

" You spoil my life as an artist by refusing, Dorian.
No man came across two ideal things. Few come
across one."

" I can't explain it to you, Basil, but I must never
sit to you again. There is something fatal about a
portrait. It has a life of its own. I will come and
have tea with you. That will be just as pleasant."

" Pleasanter for you, I am afraid," murmured Hall-
ward, regretfully. " And now good-bye. I am sorry
you won't let me look at the picture once again.
But that can't be helped. I quite understand what
you feel about it."

As he left the room, Dorian Gray smiled to himself.
Poor Basil ! how little he knew of the true reason !
And how strange it was that, instead of having been
forced to reveal his own secret, he had succeeded,
almost by chance, in wresting a secret from his friend 1
How much that strange confession explained to him I
The painter's absurd fits of jealousy, his wild devotion,



132 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

his extravagant panegyrics, his curious reticences
he understood them all now, and he felt sorry. There
seemed to him to be something tragic in a friendship
so coloured by romance.

He sighed, and touched the bell. The portrait
must be hidden away at all costs. He could not run
such a risk of discovery again. It had been mad of
him to have allowed the thing to remain, even for an
hour, in a room to which any of his friends had access.



CHAPTER X

WHEN his servant entered, he looked at him stead-
fastly, and wondered if he had thought of peering
behind the screen. The man was quite impassive,
and waited for his orders. Dorian lit a cigarette,
and walked over to the glass and glanced into it.
He could see the reflection of Victor's face perfectly.
It was like a placid mask of servility. There was
nothing to be afraid of, there. Yet he thought it
best to on his guard.

Speaking very slowly, he told him to tell the house-
keeper that he wanted to see her, and then to go to
the frame-maker and ask him to send two of his men
round at once. It seemed to him that as the man left
the room his eyes wandered in the direction of the
screen. Or was that merely his own fancy ?

After a few moments, in her black silk dress, with
old-fashioned thread mittens on her wrinkled hands,
Mrs. Leaf bustled into the library. He asked her for
the key of the schoolroom.

" The old schoolroom, Mr. Dorian ? " she exclaimed.
" Why, it is full of dust. I must get it arranged, and
put straight before you go into it. It is not fit for
you to see, sir. It is not, indeed."

" I don't want it put straight, Leaf. I only want
the key."

" Well, sir, you'll be covered with cobwebs if you
go into it. Why, it hasn't been opened for nearly
five years, not since his lordship died."

He winced at the mention of his grandfather. He
had hateful memories of him. " That does not

133



134 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

matter," he answered. " I simply want to see the
place that is all. Give me the key."

" And here is the key, sir," said the old lady, going
over the contents of her bunch with tremulously
uncertain hands. " Here is the key. I'll have it off
the bunch in a moment. But you don't think of living
up there, sir, and you so comfortable here ? "

" No, no," he cried, petulantly. " Thank you,
Leaf. That will do."

She lingered for a few moments, and was garrulous
over some detail of the household. He sighed, and
told her to manage things as she thought best. She
left the room, wreathed in smiles.

As the door closed, Dorian put the key in his pocket,
and looked round the room. His eye fell on a large,
purple satin coverlet heavily embroidered with gold,
a splendid piece of late seventeenth-century Venetian
work that his grandfather had found in a convent
near Bologna. Yes, that would serve to wrap the
dreadful thing in. It had perhaps served often as a
pall for the dead. Now it was to hide something that
had a corruption of its own, worse than the corruption
of death itself something that would breed horrors
and yet would never die. What the worm was to the
corpse, his sins would be to the painted image on the
canvas. They would mar its beauty, and eat away its
grace. They would defile it, and make it shameful.
And yet the thing would still live on. It would be
always alive.

He shuddered, and for a moment he regretted that
he had not told Basil the true reason why he had
washed to hide the picture away. Basil would have
helped him to resist Lord Henry's influence, and the
still more poisonous influences that came from his
own temperament. The love that he bore him
for it was really love had nothing in it that was not
noble and intellectual. It was not that mere physical
admiration of beauty that is born of the senses, and
that dies when the senses tire. It was such love as
Michael Angelo had known, and Montaigne, and



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 135

Winckelmann, and Shakespeare himself. Yes, Basil
could have saved him. But it was too late now. The
past could always be annihilated. Regret, denial, or
forgetfulness could do that. But the future was
inevitable. There were passions in him that would
find their terrible outlet, dreams that would make the
shadow of their evil real.

He took up from the couch the great purple-and-
gold texture that covered it, and, holding it in his
hands, passed behind the screen. Was the face on
the canvas viler than before ? It seemed to him
that it was unchanged ; and yet his loathing of it
was intensified. Gold hair, blue eyes, and rose-red
lips they all were there. It was simply the ex-
pression that had altered. That was horrible in
its cruelty. Compared to what he saw in it of censure
or rebuke, how shallow Basil's reproaches about Sibyl
Vane had been ! how shallow, and of what little
account ! His own soul was looking out at him from
the canvas and calling him to judgment. A look of
pain came across him, and he flung the rich pall over
the picture. As he did so, a knock came to the door.
He passed out as his servant entered.

" The persons are here, Monsieur."

He felt that the man must be got rid of at once.
He must not be allowed to know where the picture
was being taken to. There was something sly about
him, and he had thoughtful, treacherous eyes. Sitting
down at the writing-table, he scribbled a note to Lord
Henry, asking him to send him round something to
read, and reminding him that they were to meet at
eight-fifteen that evening.

" Wait for an answer," he said, handing it to him,
" and show the men in here."

In two or three minutes there was another knock,
and Mr. Hubbard himself, the celebrated frame-maker
of South Audley Street, came in with a somewhat
rough-looking young assistant. Mr. Hubbard was a
florid, red-whiskered little man, whose admiration
for art was considerably tempered by the inveterate



136 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Impecunlosity of most of the artists who dealt with
him. As a rule, he never left his shop. He waited
for people to come to him. But he always made an
exception In favour of Dorian Gray. There was some-
thing about Dorian that charmed everybody. It was
a pleasure even to see him.

" What can I do for you, Mr. Gray ? " he said,
rubbing his fat freckled hands. " I thought I would
do myself the honour of coming round in person.
I have just got a beauty of a frame, sir. Picked it
up at a sale. Old Florentine. Came from Fonthill,
I believe. Admirably suited for a religious subject,
Mr. Gray."

" I am so sorry you have given yourself the trouble
of coming round, Mr. Hubbard. I shall certainly drop
in and look at the frame though I don't go in much
at present for religious art but to-day I only want a
picture carried to the top of the house for me. It Is
rather heavy, so I thought I would ask you to lend me
a couple of your men."

" No trouble at all, Mr. Gray. I am delighted to
be of any service to you. Which is the work of art,
sir ? "

" This," replied Dorian, moving the screen back.
" Can you move it, covering and all, just as It Is ?
I don't want it to get scratched going upstairs."

" There will be no difficulty, sir," said the genial
frame-maker, beginning, with the aid of his assistant,
to unhook the picture from the long brass chains by
which it was suspended. " And, now, where shall
we carry it to, Mr. Gray ? "

" I will show you the way, Mr. Hubbard, If you
will kindly follow me. Or perhaps you had better go
In front. I am afraid It Is right at the top of the
house. We will go up by the front staircase, as It Is
wider."

He held the door open for them, and they passed
out into the hall and began the ascent. The elaborate
character of the frame had made the picture extremely
bulky, and now and then, In spite of the obsequious



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 137

protests of Mr. Hubbard, who had the true tradesman's
spirited dislike of seeing a gentleman doing anything
useful, Dorian put his hand to it so as to help them.

" Something of a load to carry, sir," gasped the little
man, when they reached the top landing. And he
wiped his shiny forehead.

" I am afraid it is rather heavy," murmured Dorian,
as he unlocked the door that opened into the room
that was to keep for him the curious secret of his life
and hide his soul from the eyes of men.

He had not entered the place for more than four
years not, indeed, since he had used it first as a
play-room when he was a child, and then as a study
when he grew somewhat older. It was a large, well-
proportioned room, which had been specially built
by the last Lord Kelso for the use of the little grand-
son whom, for his strange likeness to his mother, and
also for other reasons, he had always hated and de-
sired to keep at a distance. It appeared to Dorian to
have but little changed. There was the huge Italian
cassone, with its fantastically-painted panels and its
tarnished gilt mouldings, in which he had so often
hidden himself as a boy. There the satinwood book-
case filled with his dog-eared schoolbooks. On the
wall behind it was hanging the same ragged Flemish
tapestry, where a faded king and queen were playing
chess in a garden, while a company of hawkers rode
by, carrying hooded birds on their gauntleted wrists.
How well he remembered it all ! Every moment
of his lonely childhood came back to him as he looked
round. He recalled the stainless purity of his boyish
life, and it seemed horrible to him that it was here
the fatal portrait was to be hidden away. How little
he had thought, in those dead days, of all that was in
store for him !

But there was no other place in the house so secure
from prying eyes as this. He had the key, and no
one else could enter it. Beneath its purple pall, the
face painted on the canvas could grow bestial, sodden,
and unclean. What did it matter ? No one could



138 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

see it. He himself would not see it. Why should
he watch the hideous corruption of his soul ? He
kept his youth that was enough. And, besides,
might not his nature grow finer, after all ? There
was no reason that the future should be so full of
shame. Some love might come across his life, and
purify him, and shield him from those sins that seemed
to be already stirring in spirit and in flesh those
curious unpictured sins whose very mystery lent them
their subtlety and their charm. Perhaps, some day,
the cruel look would have passed away from the
scarlet sensitive mouth, and he might show to the
world Basil Hallward's masterpiece.

No ; that was impossible. Hour by hour, and week
by week, the thing upon the canvas was growing old.
It might escape the hideousness of sin, but the hideous-
ness of age was in store for it. The cheeks would
become hollow or flaccid. Yellow crow's-feet would
creep round the fading eyes and make them horrible.
The hair would lose its brightness, the mouth would
gape or droop, would be foolish or gross, as the mouths
of old men are. There would be the wrinkled throat,
the cold, blue-veined hands, the twisted body, that
he remembered in the grandfather who had been so
stern to him in his boyhood. The picture had to be
concealed. There was no help for it.

" Bring it in, Mr. Hubbard, please," he said, wearily,
turning round. " I am sorry I kept you so long. I
was thinking of something else."

" Always glad to have a rest, Mr. Gray," answered
the frame-maker, who was still gasping for breath.
" Where shall we put it, sir ? "

" Oh, anywhere. Here : this will do. I don't
want to have it hung up. Just lean it against the
wall. Thanks."

" Might one look at the work of art, sir ? "

Dorian started. " It would not interest you, Mr.
Hubbard," he said, keeping his eye on the man.
He felt ready to leap upon him and fling him to the
ground if he dared to lift the gorgeous hanging that



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 139

concealed the secret of his life. " I shan't trouble
you any more now. I am much obliged for your kind-
ness in coming round."

" Not at all, not at all, Mr. Gray. Ever ready to
do anything for you, sir." And Mr. Hubbard tramped
downstairs, followed by the assistant, who glanced
back at Dorian with a look of shy wonder in his rough,
uncomely face. He had never seen anyone so mar-
vellous.

When the sound of their footsteps had died away,
Dorian locked the door, and put the key in his pocket.
He felt safe now. No one would ever look upon the
horrible thing. No eye but his would ever see his
shame.

On reaching the library he found that it was just
after five o'clock, and that the tea had been already
brought up. On a little table of dark perfumed wood
thickly encrusted wth nacre, a present from Lady
Radley, his guardian's wife, a pretty professional
invalid, who had spent the preceding winter in Cairo,
was lying a note from Lord Henry, and beside it was
a book bound in yellow paper, the cover slightly torn
and the edges soiled. A copy of the third edition of
The St. James's Gazette had been placed on the tea-
tray. It was evident that Victor had returned. He
wondered if he had met the men in the hall as they
were leaving the house, and had wormed out of them
what they had been doing. He would be sure to miss
the picture had no doubt missed it already, while
he had been laying the tea-things. The screen had
not been set back, and a blank space was visible on
the wall. Perhaps some night he might find him
creeping upstairs and trying to force the door of the
room. It was a horrible thing to have a spy in one's
house. He had heard of rich men who had been black-
mailed all their lives by some servant who had read
a letter, or overheard a conversation, or picked up a
card with an address, or found beneath a pillow a
withered flower or a shred of crumpled lace.

He sighed, and, having poured himself out some



140 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

tea, opened Lord Henry's note. It was simply to
say that he sent him round the evening paper, and
a book that might interest him, and that he would
be at the club at eight-fifteen. He opened The St.
James's languidly, and looked through it. A red
pencil-mark on the fifth page caught his eye. It
drew attention to the following paragraph :

" INQUEST ON AN ACTRESS. An inquest was held
this morning at the Bell Tavern, Hoxton Road, by
Mr. Danby, the District Coroner, on the body of
Sibyl Vane, a young actress recently engaged at the
Royal Theatre, Holborn. A verdict of death by
misadventure was returned. Considerable sympathy
was expressed for the mother of the deceased, who
was greatly affected during the giving of her own
evidence, and that of Dr. Birrell, who had made the
post-mortem examination of the deceased."

He frowned, and, tearing the paper in two, went
across the room and flung the pieces away. How
ugly it all was I And how horribly real ugliness made
things 1 He felt a little annoyed with Lord Henry
for having sent him the report. And it was certainly
stupid of him to have marked it with red pencil.
Victor might have read it. The man knew more than
enough English for that.

Perhaps he had read it, and had begun to suspect
something. And, yet, what did it matter ? What
had Dorian Gray to do with Sibyl Vane's death ?
There was nothing to fear. Dorian Gray had not
killed her.

His eye fell on the yellow book that Lord Henry
had sent him. What was it, he wondered. He
went towards the little pearl-coloured octagonal
stand, that had always looked to him like the work
of some strange Egyptian bees that wrought in
silver, and taking up the volume, flung himself into
an armchair, and began to turn over the leaves.
After a few minutes he became absorbed. It was



the strangest book that he had ever read. It seemed
to him that in exquisite raiment, and to the delicate
sound of flutes, the sins of the world were passing in
dumb show before him. Things that he had dimly
dreamed of were suddenly made real to him. Things
of which he had never dreamed were gradually re-
vealed.

It was a novel without a plot, and with only one
character, being, indeed, simply a psychological study
of a certain young Parisian, who spent his life trying
to realise in the nineteenth century all the passions and
modes of thought that belonged to every century
except his own, and to sum up, as it were, in himself
the various moods through which the world-spirit
had ever passed, loving for their mere artificiality
those renunciations that men have unwisely called
virtue, as much as those natural rebellions that wise
men still call sin. The style in which it was written was
that curious jewelled style, vivid and obscure at once,
full of argot and of archaisms, of technical expressions
and of elaborate paraphrases, that characterises the
work of some of the finest artists of the French school
of Symbolisles. There were in it metaphors as monstrous
as orchids, and as subtle in colour. The life of the
senses was described in the terms of mystical philo-
sophy. One hardly knew at times whether one was
reading the spiritual ecstasies of some mediaeval saint
or the morbid confessions of a modern sinner. It
was a poisonous book. The heavy odour of incense
seemed to cling about its pages and to trouble the
brain. The mere cadence of the sentences, the subtle
monotony of their music, so full as it was of complex
refrains and movements elaborately repeated, produced
in the mind of the lad, as he passed from chapter to
chapter, a form of reverie, a malady of dreaming, that
made him unconscious of the falling day and creeping
shadows.

Cloudless, and pierced by one solitary star, a
copper-green sky gleamed through the windows.
He read on by its wan light till he could read no more.



142 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Then, after his valet had reminded him several times
of the lateness of the hour, he got up, and, going into
the next room, placed the book on the little Florentine
table that always stood at his bedside, and began to
dress for dinner.

It was almost nine o'clock before he reached the
club, where he found Lord Henry sitting alone, in
the morning-room, looking very much bored.

" I am so sorry, Harry," he cried, " but really it is
entirely your fault. That book you sent me so
fascinated me that I forgot how the time was going."

" Yes : I thought you would like it," replied his
host, rising from his chair.

" I didn't say I liked it, Harry. I said it fascinated
me. There is a great difference."

" Ah, you have discovered that ? " murmured Lord
Henry. And they passed into the dining-room.



CHAPTER XI

FOR years, Dorian Gray could not free himself from
the influence of this book. Or perhaps it would be
more accurate to say that he never sought to free him-
self from it. He procured from Paris no less than
nine large-paper copies of the first edition, and had
them bound in different colours, so that they might
suit his various moods and the changing fancies of a
nature over which he seemed, at times, to have almost
entirely lost control. The hero, the wonderful young
Parisian, in whom the romantic and the scientific
temperaments were so strangely blended, became to
him a kind of prefiguring type of himself. And, in-
deed, the whole book seemed to him to contain the
story of his own life, written before he had lived it.

In one point he was more fortunate than the novel's
fantastic hero. He never knew never, indeed, had
any cause to know that somewhat grotesque dread
of mirrors, and polished metal surfaces, and still
water, which came upon the young Parisian so early
in his life, and was occasioned by the sudden decay
of a beauty that had once, apparently, been so re-
markable. It was with an almost cruel joy and
perhaps in nearly every joy, as certainly in every plea-
sure, cruelty has its place that he used to read the
latter part of the book, with its really tragic, if some-
what over-emphasised, account of the sorrow and
despair of one who had himself lost what in others,
and in the world, he had most dearly valued.

For the wonderful beauty that had so fascinated
Basil Hallward, and many others besides him, seemed
143



144 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

never to leave him. Even those who had heard the
most evil things against him, and from time to time
strange rumours about his mode of life crept through
London and became the chatter of the clubs, could not
believe anything to his dishonour when they saw him.
He had always the look of one who had kept himself
unspotted from the world. Men who talked grossly
became silent when Dorian Gray entered the room.
There was something in the purity of his face that re-
buked them. His mere presence seemed to recall to
them the memory of the innocence that they had
tarnished. They wondered how one so charming
and graceful as he was could have escaped the stain of
an age that was at once sordid and sensual.

Often, on returning home from one of those mys-
terious and prolonged absences that gave rise to such
-strange conjecture among those who were his friends,
or thought that they were so, he himself would creep
upstairs to the locked room, open the door with the
key that never left him now, and stand, with a mirror,
in front of the portrait that Basil Hallward had
painted of him, looking now at the evil and ageing
face on the canvas, and now at the fair young face that
laughed back at him from the polished glass. The
very sharpness of the contrast used to quicken his
sense of pleasure. He grew more and more enamoured
of his own beauty, more and more interested in the
corruption of his own soul. He would examine with
minute care, and sometimes with a monstrous and
terrible delight, the hideous lines that seared the
wrinkling forehead, or crawled around the heavy sen-
sual mouth, wondering sometimes which were the
more horrible, the signs of sin or the signs of age.
He would place his white hands beside the coarse
bloated hands of the picture, and smile. He mocked
the misshapen body and the failing limbs.

There were moments, indeed, at night, when,
lying sleepless in his own delicately-scented chamber,
or in the sordid room of the little ill-famed tavern
near the Docks, which, under an assumed name, and



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 145

In disguise, it was his habit to frequent, he would
think of the ruin he had brought upon his soul, with
a pity that was all the more poignant because it
was purely selfish. But moments such as these were
rare. That curiosity about life which Lord Henry
had first stirred in him, as they sat together in the
garden of their friend, seemed to increase with gratifi-
cation. The more he knew, the more he desired to
know. He had mad hungers that grew more ravenous
as he fed them.

Yet he was not really reckless, at any rate in his
relations to society. Once or twice every month
during the winter, and on each Wednesday evening
while the season lasted, he would throw open to the
world his beautiful house and have the most cele-
brated musicians of the day to charm his guests with
the wonders of their art. His little dinners, in the
settling of which Lord Henry always assisted him,
were noted as much for the careful selection and plac-
ing of those invited, as for the exquisite taste shown
in the decoration of the table, with its subtle sym-
phonic arrangements of exotic flow r ers, and embroidered
cloths, and antique plate of gold and silver. Indeed,
there were many, especially among the very young
men, who saw, or fancied that they saw, in Dorian
Gray the true realisation of a type of which they had
often dreamed in Eton or Oxford days, a type that was
to combine something of the real culture of the scholar
with all the grace and distinction and perfect manner
of a citizen of the world. To them he seemed to be of
the company of those whom Dante describes as having
sought to " make themselves perfect by the worship
of beauty." Like Gautier, he was one for whom " the
visible world existed."

And, certainly, to him Life itself was the first,
the greatest, of the arts, and for it all the other arts
seemed to be but a preparation. Fashion, by which
what is really fantastic becomes for a moment uni-
versal, and Dandyism, which, in its own way, is an
attempt to assert the absolute modernity of beauty,



146 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

had, of course, their fascination for him. His mode
of dressing, and the particular styles that from time
to time he affected, had their marked influence on the
young exquisites of the Mayfair balls and Pall Mall
club windows, who copied him in everything that he
did, and tried to reproduce the accidental charm of
his graceful, though to him only half-serious, fopperies.

For, while he was but too ready to accept the posi-
tion that was almost immediately offered to him on
his coming of age, and found, indeed, a subtle pleasure
in the thought that he might really become to the
London of his own day what to imperial Neronian
Rome the author of the " Satyricon " once had been,
yet in his inmost heart he desired to be something more
than a mere arbiter elegantiarum, to be consulted on
the wearing of a jewel, or the knotting of a necktie,
or the conduct of a cane. He sought to elaborate
some new scheme of life that would have its reasoned
philosopy and its ordered principles, and find in the
spiritualising of the senses its highest realisation.

The worship of the senses has often, and with much
justice, been decried, men feeling a natural instinct of
terror about passions and sensations that seem stronger
than themselves, and that they are conscious of sharing
with the less highly organised forms of existence. But
it appeared to Dorian Gray that the true nature of
the senses had never been understood, and that they
had remained savage and animal merely because the
world had sought to starve them into submission or to
kill them by pain, instead of aiming at making them
elements of a new spirituality, of which a fine instinct
for beauty was to be the dominant characteristic.
As he looked back upon man moving through History,
he was haunted by a feeling of loss. So much had been
surrendered ! and to such little purpose 1 There had
been mad wilful rejections, monstrous forms of self-
torture and self-denial, whose origin was fear, and
whose result was a degradation infinitely more terrible
than that fancied degradation from w r hich, in their
Ignorance, they had sought to escape, Nature, in her



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 147

wonderful irony, driving out the anchorite to feed with
the wild animals of the desert and giving to the
hermit the beasts of the field as his companions.

Yes : there was to be, as Lord Henry had pro-
phesied, a new Hedonism that was to recreate life,
and to save it from that harsh, uncomely puritanism
that is having, in our own day, its curious revival.
It was to have its service of the intellect, certainly ;
yet, it was never to accept any theory or system that
would involve the sacrifice of any mode of passionate
experience. Its aim, indeed, was to be experience
itself, and not the fruits of experience, sweet or bitter
as they might be. Of the asceticism that deadens
the senses, as of the vulgar profligacy that dulls them,
it was to know nothing. But it was to teach man
to concentrate himself upon the moments of a life
that is itself but a moment.

There are few of us who have not sometimes
wakened before dawn, either after one of those dream-
less nights that make us almost enamoured of death,
or one of those nights of horror and misshapen joy,
when through the chambers of the brain sweep
phantoms more terrible than reality itself, and in-
stinct with that vivid life that lurks in all grotesques,
and that lends to Gothic art its enduring vitality, this
art being, one might fancy, especially the art of those
whose minds have been troubled with the malady of
reverie. Gradually white fingers creep through the
curtains, and they appear to tremble. In black
fantastic shapes, dumb shadows crawl into the corners
of the room, and crouch there. Outside, there is the
stirring of birds among the leaves, or the sound of men
going forth to their work, or the sigh and sob of the
wind coming down from the hills, and wandering round
the silent house, as though it feared to wake the
sleepers, and yet must needs call forth sleep from
her purple cave. Veil after veil of thin dusky gauze
is lifted, and by degrees the forms and colours of
tilings are restored to them, and we watch the dawn
remaking the world in its antique pattern. The wan



148 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

mirrors get back their mimic life. The flameless
tapers stand where we had left them, and beside
them lies the half-cut book that we had been studying,
or the wired flower that we had worn at the ball, or
the letter that we had been afraid to read, or that
we had read too often. Nothing seems to us changed.
Out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back
the real life that we had known. We have to resume
it where we had left off, and there steals over us a
terrible sense of the necessity for the continuance of
energy in the same wearisome round of stereotyped
habits, or a wild longing, it may be, that our eyelids
might open some morning upon a world that had been
refashioned anew in the darkness for our pleasure,
a world in which things would have fresh shapes
and colours, and be changed, or have other secrets,
a world in which the past would have little or no
place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form
of obligation or regret, the remembrance even of
joy having its bitterness, and the memories of pleasure
their pain.

It was the creation of such worlds as these that
seemed to Dorian Gray to be the true object, or
amongst the true objects, of life ; and in his search
for sensations that would be at once new and delight-
ful, and possess that element of strangeness that is
so essential to romance, he would often adopt certain
modes of thought that he knew to be really alien to
his nature, abandon himself to their subtle influences,
and then, having, as it were, caught their colour and
satisfied his intellectual curiosity, leave them with
that curious indifference that is not imcompatible with
a real ardour of temperament, and that indeed,
according to certain modern psychologists, is often a
condition of it.

It was rumoured of him once that he was about
to join the Roman Catholic communion ; and cer-
tainly the Roman ritual had always a great attraction
for him. The daily sacrifice, more awful really than
all the sacrifices of the antique world, stirred him as



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 149

much by its superb rejection of the evidence of the
senses as by the primitive simplicity of its elements
and the eternal pathos of the human tragedy that it
sought to symbolise. He loved to kneel down on
the cold marble pavement, and watch the priest, in
his stiff flowered vestment, slowly and with white
hands moving aside the veil of the tabernacle, or
raising aloft the jewelled lantern-shaped monstrance
with that pallid wafer that at times, one would fain
think, is indeed the " perm's cselestis," the bread of
angels, or, robed in the garments of the Passion of
Christ, breaking the Host into the chalice, and smiting
his breast for his sins. The fuming censers, that
the grave boys, in their lace and scarlet, tossed into
the air like great gilt flowers, had their subtle fascina-
tion for him. As he passed out, he used to look with
wonder at the black confessionals, and long to sit in
the dim shadow of one of them and listen to men and
women whispering through the worn grating the true
story of their lives.

But he never fell into the error of arresting his
intellectual development by any formal acceptance
of creed or system, or of mistaking, for a house in
which to live, an inn that is but suitable for the so-
journ of a night, or for a few hours of a night in which
there are no stars and the moon is in travail. Mys-
ticism, with its marvellous power of making common
things strange to us, and the subtle antinomianism
that always seems to accompany it, moved him for
a season ; and for a season he inclined to the material-
istic doctrines of the Darwinismus movement In
Germany, and found a curious pleasure in tracing the
thoughts and passions of men to some pearly cell in
the brain, or some white nerve in the body, delighting
in the conception of the absolute dependence of the
spirit on certain physical conditions, morbid or
healthy, normal or diseased. Yet, as has been said
of him before, no theory of life seemed to him to be
of any importance compared with life itself. He felt
keenly conscious of how barren all intellectual specula-



150 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

tion is when separated from action and experiment.
He knew that the senses, no less than the soul, have
their spiritual mysteries to reveal.

And so he would now study perfumes, and the
secrets of their manufacture, distilling heavily-scented
oils, and burning odorous gums from the East. He
saw that there was no mood of the mind that had not
its counterpart in the sensuous life, and set himself
to discover their true relations, wondering what there
was in frankincense that made one mystical, and In
ambergris that stirred one's passions, and in violets
that woke the memory of dead romances, and in musk
that troubled the brain, and in champak that stained
the imagination ; and seeking often to elaborate a
real psychology of perfumes, and to estimate the
several influences of sweet-smelling roots, and scented
pollen-laden flowers, or aromatic balms, and of dark
and fragrant woods, of spikenard that sickens, of
hovenia that makes men mad, and of aloes that are
said to be able to expel melancholy from the soul.

At another time he devoted himself entirely to music,
and in a long latticed room, with a vermilion-and-gold
ceiling and walls of olive-green lacquer, he used to
give curious concerts, in which mad gypsies tore wild
music from little zithers, or grave yellow-shawled
Tunisians plucked at the strained strings of mon-
strous lutes, while grinning negroes beat monotonously
upon copper drums, and, crouching upon scarlet mats,
slim turbaned Indians blew through long pipes of
reed or brass, and charmed, or feigned to charm,
great hooded snakes and horrible horned adders.
The harsh intervals and shrill discords of barbaric
music stirred him at times when Schubert's grace, and
Chopin's beautiful sorrows, and the mighty harmonies
of Beethoven himself, fell unheeded on his ear. He
collected together from all parts of the world the
strangest instruments that could be found, either in
the tombs of dead nations or among the few savage
tribes that have survived contact with Western
civilisations, and loved to touch and try them. He



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 151

had the mysterious juruparis of the Rio Negro Indians,
that women are not allowed to look at, and that even
youths may not see till they have been subjected to
fasting and scourging, and the earthen jars of the
Peruvians that have the shrill cries of birds, and flutes
of human bones such as Alfonso de Ovalle heard in
Chili, and the sonorous green jaspers that are found
near Cuzco and give forth a note of singular sweetness.
He had painted gourds filled with pebbles that rattled
when they were shaken ; the long clarin of the Mexi-
cans, into which the performer does not blow, but
through which he inhales the air ; the harsh lure
of the Amazon tribes, that is sounded by the sentinels
who sit all day long in high trees, and can be heard,
it is said, at a distance of three leagues ; the teponaztli,
that has two vibrating tongues of wood, and is beaten
with sticks that are smeared with an elastic gum ob-
tained from the milky juice of plants ; the yo/Z-bells
of the Aztecs, that are hung in clusters like grapes ;
and a huge cylindrical drum, covered with the skins
of great serpents, like the one that Bernal Diaz saw
when he went with Cortes into the Mexican temple,
and of whose doleful sound he has left us so vivid a
description. The fantastic character of these In-
struments fascinated him, and he felt a curious delight
in the thought that Art, like Nature, has her monsters,
things of bestial shape and with hideous voices. Yet,
after some time, he wearied of them, and would sit
in his box at the Opera, either alone or with Lord
Henry, listening in rapt pleasure to " Tannhauser,"
and seeing in the prelude to that great work of art a
presentation of the tragedy of his own soul.

On one occasion he took up the study of jewels,
and appeared at a costume ball as Anne de Joyeuse,
Admiral of France, in a dress covered with five hun-
dred and sixty pearls. This taste enthralled him for
years, and, indeed, may be said never to have left
him. He would often spend a whole day settling and
resettling in their cases the various stones that he had
collected, such as the olive-green chrysoberyl that



152 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

turns red by lamplight, the cymophane with its
wire-like line of silver, the pistachio-coloured peridot,
rose-pink and wine-yellow topazes, carbuncles of
fiery scarlet with tremulous four-rayed stars, flame-
red cinnamon-stones, orange and violet spinels, and
amethysts with their alternate layers of ruby and
sapphire. He loved the red gold of the sunstone, and
the moonstone's pearly whiteness, and the broken
rainbow of the milky opal. He procured from
Amsterdam three emeralds of extraordinary size and
richness of colour, and had a turquoise de la vieille
roche that was the envy of all the connoisseurs.

He discovered wonderful stories, also, about jewels.
In Alphonso's " Clericalis Disciplina " a serpent was
mentioned with eyes of real jacinth, and in the ro-
mantic history of Alexander, the Conqueror of Emathia
was said to have found in the vale of Jordan snakes
" with collars of real emeralds growing on their backs."
There was a gem in the brain of the dragon, Philos-
tratus told us, and " by the exhibition of golden
letters and a scarlet robe " the monster could be
thrown into a magical sleep, and slain. According
to the great alchemist, Pierre de Boniface, the dia-
mond rendered a man invisible, and the agate of India
made him eloquent. The cornelian appeased anger,
and the hyacinth provoked sleep, and the amethyst
drove away the fumes of wine. The garnet cast out
demons, and the hydropicus deprived the moon of her
colour. The selenite waxed and waned with the
moon, and the meloceus, that discovers thieves, could
be affected only by the blood of kids. Leonardus
Camillus had seen a white stone taken from the brain
of a newly-killed toad, that was a certain antidote
against poison. The bezoar, that was found in the
heart of the Arabian deer, was a charm that could
cure the plague. In the nests of Arabian birds was
the aspilates, that, according to Democritus, kept the
wearer from any danger by fire.

The King of Ceilan rode through his city with a
large ruby in his hand, at the ceremony of his



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 153

coronation. The gates of the palace of John the Priest
were " made of sardius, with the horn of the horned
snake inwrought, so that no man might bring poison
within." Over the gable were " two golden apples,
in which were two carbuncles," so that the gold might
shine by day, and the carbuncles by night. In
Lodge's strange romance " A Margarite of America "
it was stated that in the chamber of the queen one
could behold " all the chaste ladies of the world,
inchased out of silver, looking through fair mirrours
of chrysolites, carbuncles, sapphires, and greene
emeraults." Marco Polo had seen the inhabitants of
Zipangu place rose-coloured pearls in the mouths of
the dead. A sea-monster had been enamoured of the
pearl that the diver brought to King Perozes, and had
slain the thief, and mourned for seven moons over its
loss. When the Huns lured the king into the great
pit, he flung it away Procopius tells the story nor
was it ever found again, though the Emperor Anas-
tasius offered five hundred-weight of gold pieces for it.
The King of Malabar had shown to a certain Venetian
a rosary of three hundred and four pearls, one for
every god that he worshipped.

When the Duke de Valentinois, son of Alexander
VI., visited Louis XII. of France, his horse was
loaded with gold leaves, according to BrantSme,
and his cap had double rows of rubies that threw
out a great light. Charles of England had ridden in
stirrups hung with four hundred and twenty-one
diamonds. Richard II. had a coat, valued at thirty
thousand marks, which was covered with balas rubies.
Hall described Henry VIII., on his way to the Tower
previous to his coronation, as wearing " a jacket of
raised gold, the placard embroidered with diamonds
and other rich stones, and a great bauderike about his
neck of large balasses." The favourites of James I.
wore earrings of emeralds set in gold filigrane. Edward
II. gave to Piers Gaveston a suit of red-gold armour
studded with jacinths, a collar of gold roses set with
turquoise-stones, and a skull-cap parscmt with pearls.



154 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Henry II. wore jewelled gloves reaching to the elbow,
and had a hawk-glove sewn with twelve rubies and
fifty-two great orients. The ducal hat of Charles the
Rash, the last Duke of Burgundy of his race, was
hung with pear-shaped pearls, and studded with
sapphires.

How exquisite life had once been 1 How gorgeous
in its pomp and decoration I Even to read of the
luxury of the dead was wonderful.

Then he turned his attention to embroideries, and
to the tapestries that performed the office of frescoes
in the chill rooms of the Northern nations of Europe.
As he investigated the subject and he always had an
extraordinary faculty of becoming absolutely absorbed
for the moment in whatever he took up he was al-
most saddened by the reflection of the ruin that Time
brought on beautiful and wonderful things. He,
at any rate, had escaped that. Summer followed
summer, and the yellow jonquils bloomed and died
many times, <md nights of horror repeated the story
of their shame, but he was unchanged. No winter
marred his face or stained his llower-like bloom. How
different it was with material things 1 Where had
they passed to ? Where was the great crocus-coloured
robe, on which the gods fought against the giants,
that had been worked by brown girls for the pleasure
of Athena ? Where, the huge velarium that Nero
had stretched across the Colosseum at Rome, that
Titan sail of purple on which was represented the
starry sky, and Apollo driving a chariot drawn by
white gilt-reined steeds ? He longed to see the curious
table-napkins wrought for the Priest of the Sun,
on which were displayed all the dainties and viands
that could be wanted for a feast ; the mortuary
cloth of King Chilperic, with its three hundred golden
bees ; the fantastic robes that excited the indignation
of the Bishop of Pontus, and were figured with " lions,
panthers, bears, dogs, forests, rocks, hunters all,
in fact, that a painter can copy from nature ; " and
the coat that Charles of Orleans once wore, on the



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 155

sleeves of which were embroidered the verses of a song
beginning " J\Iadame, je suis tout joyeux," the musical
accompaniment of the words being wrought in gold
thread, and each note, of square shape in those days,
formed with four pearls. He read of the room that
was prepared at the palace at Rheims for the use of
Queen Joan of Burgundy, and was decorated with
" thirteen hundred and twenty-one parrots, made in
broidery, and blazoned with the king's arms, and five
hundred and sixty-one butterflies, whose wings were
similarly ornamented with the arms of the queen,
the whole worked in gold." Catherine de Medicis
had a mourning-bed made for her of black velvet
powdered with crescents and suns. Its curtains were
of damask, with leafy wreaths and garlands, figured
upon a gold and silver ground, and fringed along the
edges with broideries of pearls, and it stood in a room
hung with rows of the queen's devices in cut black
velvet upon cloth of silver. Louis XIV. had gold
embroidered caryatides fifteen feet high in his apart-
ment. The state bed of Sobieski, King of Poland,
was made of Smyrna gold brocade embroidered in
turquoises with verses from the Koran. Its supports
were of silver gilt, beautifully chased, and profusely
set with enamelled and jewelled medallions. It had
been taken from the Turkish camp before Vienna,
and the standard of Mohammed had stood beneath
the tremulous gilt of its canopy.

And so, for a whole year, he sought to accumulate
the most exquisite specimens that he could find of
textile and embroidered work, getting the dainty
Delhi muslins, finely wrought with gold-thread pal-
mates, and stitched over with iridescent beetles'
wings ; the Dacca gauzes, that from their trans-
parency are known in the East as " woven air," and
" running water," and " evening dew " ; strange
figured cloths from Java ; elaborate yellow Chinese
hangings ; books bound in tawny satins or fair blue
silks, and wrought with fleurs de lys, birds, and images;
veils of lads worked in Hungary point ; Sicilian bro-



156 THE PICTURE OF DOTUAN GRAY

cades, and stiff Spanish velvets ; Georgian work with
its gilt coins, and Japanese Foukousas with their green-
toned golds and their marvellously-plumaged birds.

He had a special passion, also, for ecclesiastical
vestments, as indeed he had for everything con-
nected with the service of the Church. In the long
cedar chests that lined the west gallery of his house
he had stored away many rare and beautiful specimens
of what is really the raiment of the Bride of Christ,
who must wear purple and jewels and fine linen that
she may hide the pallid macerated body that is worn
by the suffering that she seeks for, and wounded by
self-inflicted pain. He possessed a gorgeous cope of
crimson silk and gold-thread damask, figured with a
repeating pattern of golden pomegranates set in six-
petalled formal blossoms, beyond which on either side
was the pine-apple device wrought in seed-pearls.
The orphreys were divided into panels representing
scenes from the life of the Virgin, and the coronation
of the Virgin was figured in coloured silks upon the
hood. This was Italian work of the fifteenth century.
Another cope was of green velvet, embroidered with
heart-shaped groups of acanthus-leaves, from which
spread long-stemmed white blossoms, the details of
which were picked out with silver thread and coloured
crystals. The morse bore a seraph's head in gold-
thread raised work. The orphreys were woven in a
diaper of red and gold silk, and were starred with
medallions of many saints and martyrs, among
whom was St. Sebastian. He had chasubles, also, of
amber-coloured silk, and blue silk and gold brocade,
and yellow silk damask and cloth of gold, figured with
representations of the Passion and Crucifixion of
Christ, and embroidered with lions and peacocks and
other emblems ; dalmatics of white satin and pink silk
damask, decorated with tulips and dolphins and jleurs
de lys ; altar frontals of crimson velvet and blue
linen ; and many corporals, chalice-veils, and sudaria.
In the mystic offices to which such things were put,
there was something that quickened his imagination.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 157

For these treasures, and everything that he collected
in his lovely house, were to be to him means of for-
getfulness, modes by which he could escape, for a
season, from the fear that seemed to him at times to
be almost too great to be borne. Upon the walls of
the lonely locked room where he had spent so much of
his boyhood, he had hung with his own hands the
terrible portrait whose changing features showed him
the real degradation of his life, and in front of it had
draped the purple-and-gold pall as a curtain. For
weeks he would not go there, would forget the hideous
painted thing, and get back his light heart, his wonder-
ful joyousness, his passionate absorption in mere
existence. Then, suddenly, some night he would creep
out of the house, go down to dreadful places near
Blue Gate Fields, and stay there, day after day, until
he was driven away. On his return he would sit in
front of the picture, sometimes loathing it and himself,
but filled, at other times, with that pride of indivi-
dualism that is half the fascination of sin, and smiling
with secret pleasure, at the misshapen shadow that
had to bear the burden that should have been his own.

After a few years he could not endure to be long
out of England, and gave up the villa that he had
shared at Trouville with Lord Henry, as well as the
little white walled-in house at Algiers where they had
more than once spent the winter. He hated to be
separated from the picture that was such a part of
his life, and was also afraid that during his absence
someone might gain access to the room, in spite of the
elaborate bars that he had caused to be placed upon
the door.

He was quite conscious that this would tell them
nothing. It was true that the portrait still preserved,
under all the foulness and ugliness of the face, its
marked likeness to himself ; but what could they
learn from that ? He would laugh at anyone who
tried to taunt him. He had not painted it. What
was it to him how vile and full of shame it looked ?
Even if he told them, would they believe it ?



158 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Yet he was afraid. Sometimes when he was
down at his great house in Nottinghamshire, enter-
taining the fashionable young men of his own rank
who were his chief companions, and astounding the
county by the wanton luxury and gorgeous splendour
of his mode of life, he would suddenly leave his guests
and rush back to town to see that the door had not
been tampered with, and that the picture was still
there. What if it should be stolen ? The mere
thought made him cold with horror. Surely the
world would know his secret then. Perhaps the
world already suspected it.

For, while he fascinated many, there were not a
few who distrusted him. He was very nearly black-
balled at a West End club of which his birth and
social position fully entitled him to become a member,
and it was said that on one occasion when he was
brought by a friend into the smoking-room of the
Churchill, the Duke of Berwick and another gentleman
got up in a marked manner and went out. Curious
stories became current about him after he had passed
his twenty-fifth year. It was rumoured that he had
been seen brawling with foreign sailors in a low den
in the distant parts of Whitechapel, and that he con-
sorted with thieves and coiners and knew the mysteries
of their trade. His extraordinary absences became
notorious, and, when he used to reappear again in
society, men would whisper to each other in corners,
or pass him with a sneer, or look at him with cold
searching eyes, as though they were determined to
discover his secret.

Of such insolences and attempted slights he, of
course, took no notice, and in the opinion of most
people his frank debonair manner, his charming
boyish smile, and the infinite grace of that wonderful
youth that seemed never to leave him, were in them-
selves a sufficient answer to the calumnies, for so they
termed them, that were circulated about him. It
was remarked, however, that some of those who had
been most intimate with him appeared, after a time,



THE PICTURE JQ DORIAN GRAY 159

to shun him. Women who had wildly adored him,
and for his sake had braved all social censure and set
convention at defiance, were seen to grow pallid with
shame or horror if Dorian Gray entered the room.

Yet these whispered scandals only increased, in the
eyes of many, his strange and dangerous charm.
His great wealth was a certain element of security.
Society, civilised society at least, is never very ready
to believe anything to the detriment of those who are
both rich and fascinating. It feels instinctively that
manners are of more importance than morals, and,
in its opinion, the highest respectability is of much
less value than the possession of a good chef. And,
after all, it is a very poor consolation to be told that
the man who has given one a bad dinner, or poor wine,
is irreproachable in his private life. Even the cardinal
virtues cannot atone for half-cold entrees, as Lord
Henry remarked once, in a discussion on the subject ;
and there is possibly a good deal to be said for his view.
For the canons of good society are, or should be, the
same as the canons of art. Form is absolutely es-
sential to it. It should have the dignity of a cere-
mony, as well as its unreality, and should combine
the insincere character of a romantic play with the
wit and beauty that make such plays delightful to us.
Is insincerity such a terrible thing ? I think not. It
is merely a method by which we can multiply our
personalities.

Such, at any rate, was Dorian Gray's opinion. He
used to wonder at the shallow psychology of those
who conceive the Ego in man as a thing simple,
permanent, reliable, and of one essence. To him,
man was a being with myriad lives and myriad sen-
sations, a complex multiform creature that bore within
itself strange legacies of thought and passion, and
whose very flesh was tainted with the monstrous
maladies of the dead. He loved to stroll through the
gaunt cold picture-gallery of his country house and
look at the various portraits of those whose blood
flowed in his veins. Here was Philip Herbert, de-



160 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

scribed by Francis Osborne, in his " Memoires on the
Reigns of Queen Elizabeth and King James," as one
who was " caressed by the Court for his handsome
face, which kept him not long company." Was it
young Herbert's life that he sometimes led? Had
some strange poisonous germ crept from body to body
till it had reached his own ? Was it some dim sense
of that ruined grace that had made him so suddenly, and
almost without cause, give utterance, in Basil Hall-
ward's studio, to the mad prayer that had so changed
his life ? Here, in gold-embroidered red doublet,
jewelled surcoat, and gilt-edged ruff and wrist-bands,
stood Sir Anthony Sherard, with his silver-and-black
armour piled at his feet. What had this man's legacy
been ? Had the lover of Giovanna of Naples be-
queathed him some inheritance of sjn and shame ?
Were his own actions merely the dreams that the
dead man had not dared to realise ? Here, from the
fading canvas, smiled Lady Elizabeth Devereux, In
her gauze hood, pearl stomacher, and pink slashed
sleeves. A flower was in her right hand, and her
left clasped an enamelled collar of white and damask
roses. On a table by her side lay a mandolin and an
apple. There were large green rosettes upon her
little pointed shoes. He knew her life, and the
strange stories that were told about her lovers. Had
he something of her temperament in him ? These
oval heavy-lidded eyes seemed to look curiously at
him. What of George Willoughby, with his powdered
hair and fantastic patches ? How evil he looked I
The face was saturnine and swarthy, and the sensual
lips seemed to be twisted with disdain. Delicate
lace ruffles fell over the lean yellow hands that were so
over-laden with rings. He had been a macaroni of the
eighteenth century, and the friend, in his youth, of
Lord Ferrars. What of the second Lord Beckenham,
the companion of the Prince Regent in his wildest
days, and one of the witnesses at the secret marriage
with Mrs. Fitzherbert ? How proud and handsome
he was, with his chestnut curls and insolent pose !



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 161

What passions had he bequeathed ? The world had
looked upon him as infamous. He had led the orgies
at Carlton House. The star of the Garter glittered
upon his breast. Beside him hung the portrait of his
wife, a pallid, thin-lipped woman in black. Her
blood, also, stirred within him. How curious it all
seemed 1 And his mother with her Lady Hamilton
face, and her moist wine-dashed lips he knew what
he had got from her. He had got from her his beauty,
and his passion for the beauty of others. She laughed
at him in her loose Bacchante dress. There were vine
leaves in her hair. The purple spilled from the cup
she was holding. The carnations of the painting had
withered, but the eyes were still wonderful in their
depth and brilliancy of colour. They seemed to
follow him wherever he went.

Yet one had ancestors in literature, as well as in
one's own race, nearer perhaps in type and tempera-
ment, many of them, and certainly with an influence
of which one was more absolutely conscious. There
were times when it appeared to Dorian Gray that the
whole of history was merely the record of his own life,
not as he had lived it in act and circumstance, but
as his imagination had created it for him, as it had
been in his brain and in his passions. He felt that he
had known them all, those strange terrible figures that
had passed across the stage of the world and made
sin so marvellous, and evil so full of subtlety. It
seemed to him that in some mysterious way their
lives had been his own.

The hero of the wonderful novel that had so In-
fluenced his life had himself known this curious fancy.
In the seventh chapter he tells how, crowned with
laurel, lest lightning might strike him, he had sat, as
Tiberius, in a garden at Capri, reading the shameful
books of Elephantis, while dwarfs and peacocks
strutted round him, and the flute-player mocked the
swinger of the censer ; and, as Caligula, had caroused
with the green-shirted jockeys in their stables and
supped in an Ivory manger with a jewel-frontleted
6



162 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

horse ; and, as Domitian, had wandered through a
corridor lined with marble mirrors, looking round with
haggard eyes for the reflection of the dagger that
was to end his days, and sick with that ennui, that
terrible tsediam vilse, that comes on those to whom
life denies nothing ; and had peered through a clear
emerald at tlie red shambles of the Circus, and then,
in a litter of pearl and purple drawn by silver-shod
mules, been carried through the Street of Pome-
granates to a House of Gold, and heard men cry
on Nero Caesar as he passed by ; and, as Elagabalus,
had painted his face with colours, and plied the
distaff among the women, and brought the Moon from
Carthage, and given her in mystic marriage to the Sun.
Over and over again Dorian used to read this
fantastic chapter, and the two chapters immediately
following, in which, as in some curious tapestries or
cunningly-wrought enamels, were pictured the awful
and beautiful forms of those whom Vice and Blood
and Weariness had made monstrous or mad : Filippo,
Duke of Milan, who slew his wife, and painted her lips
with a scarlet poison that her lover might suck death
from the dead thing he fondled ; Pietro Barbi, the
Venetian, known as Paul the Second, who sought
in his vanity to assume the title of Formosus, and
whose tiara, valued at two hundred thousand florins,
was bought at the price of a terrible sin ; Gian Maria
Visconti, who used hounds to chase living men, and
whose murdered body was covered with roses by a
harlot who had loved him ; the Borgia on his white
horse, with Fratricide riding beside him, and his
mantle stained with the blood of Perotto ; Pietro
Riario, the young Cardinal Archbishop of Florence,
child and minion of Sixtus IV., whose beauty was
equalled only by his debauchery, and who received
Leonora of Aragon in a pavilion of white and crimson
silk, filled with nymphs and centaurs, and gilded a
boy that he might serve at the feast as Ganymede or
Hylas ; Ezzelin, whose melancholy could be cured
only by the spectacle of death, and who had a passion



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 163

for red blood, as other men have for red wine the
son of the Fiend, as was reported, and one who had
cheated his father at dice when gambling with him
for his own soul ; Giambattista Cibo, who in mockery
took the name of Innocent, and into whose torpid
veins the blood of three lads was infused by a Jewish
doctor ; Sigismondo Malatesta, the lover of Isotta,
and the lord of Rimini, whose effigy was burned at
Rome as the enemy of God and man, who strangled
Polyssena with a napkin, and gave poison to Ginevra
d'Este in a cup of emerald, and in honour of a shame-
ful passion built a pagan church for Christian wor-
ship ; Charles VI., who had so wildly adored his
brother's wife that a leper had warned him of the
insanity that was coming on him, and who, when his
brain had sickened and grown strange, could only be
soothed by Saracen cards painted with the images of
Love and Death and Madness ; and, in his trimmed
jerkin and jewelled cap and acanthus-like curls,
Grifonetto Baglioni, who slew Astorre with his bride,
and Simonetto with his page, and whose comeliness was
such that, as he lay dying in the yellow piazza, of
Perugia, those who had hated him could not choose
but weep, and Atalanta, who had cursed him, blessed
him.

There was a horrible fascination in them all. He
saw them at night, and they troubled his imagination
in the day. The Renaissance knew of strange manners
of poisoning poisoning by a helmet and a lighted
torch, by an embroidered glove and a jewelled fan,
by a gilded pomander and by an amber chain. Dorian
Gray had been poisoned by a book. There were mo-
ments when he looked on evil simply as a mode through
which he could realise his conception of the beautiful.



CHAPTER XII

IT was on the ninth of November, the eve of his own
thirty-eighth birthday, as he often remembered after-
wards.

He was walking home about eleven o'clock from
Lord Henry's, where he had been dining, and was
wrapped in heavy furs, as the night was cold and
foggy. At the corner of Grosvenor Square and South
Audley Street a man passed him in the mist, walking
very fast, and with the collar of his grey ulster turned
up. He had a bag in his hand. Dorian recognised
him. It was Basil Hallward. A strange sense of fear,
for which he could not account, came over him. He
made no sign of recognition, and went on quickly in
the direction of his own house.

But Hallward had seen him. Dorian heard him
first stopping on the pavement, and then hurrying
after him. In a few moments his hand was on his
arm.

" Dorian 1 What an extraordinary piece of luck 1
I have been waiting for you in your library ever since
nine o'clock. Finally I took pity on your tired
servant, and told him to go to bed, as he let me out.
I am off to Paris by the midnight train, and I parti-
cularly wanted to see you before I left. I thought it
was you, or rather your fur coat, as you passed me.
But I wasn't quite sure. Didn't you recognise me ? "

" In this fog, my dear Basil ? Why, I can't even
recognise Grosvenor Square. I believe my house is
somewhere about here, but I don't feel at all certain
about it. I am sorry you are going away, as I have

164



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 165

not seen you for ages. But I suppose you will be
back soon ? "

" No : I am going to be out of England for six
months. I intend to take a studio in Paris, and
shut myself up till I have finished a great picture I
have in my head. However, it wasn't about myself
I wanted to talk. Here we are at your door. Let
me come in for a moment. I have something to say
to you."

" I shall be charmed. But won't you miss your
train ? " said Dorian Gray, languidly, as he passed
up the steps and opened the door with his latchkey.

The lamp-light struggled out through the fog, and
Hallward looked at his watch. " I have heaps of
time," he answered. " The train doesn't go till
twelve-fifteen, and it is only just eleven. In fact,
I was on my way to the club to look for you, when
I met you. You see, I shan't have any delay about
luggage, as I have sent on my heavy things. All I
have with me is in this bag, and I can easily get to
Victoria in twenty minutes."

Dorian looked at him and smiled. " What a way
for a fashionable painter to travel ! A Gladstone
bag, and an ulster I Come in, or the fog will get
into the house. And mind you don't talk about
anything serious. Nothing is serious nowadays. At
least nothing should be."

Hallward shook his head as he entered, and followed
Dorian into the library. There was a bright wood
fire blazing in the large open hearth. The lamps
were lit, and an open Dutch silver spirit-case stood,
with some siphons of soda-water and large cut-glass
tumblers, on a little marqueterie table.

" You see your servant made me quite at home,
Dorian. He gave me everything I wanted, including
your best gold-tipped cigarettes. He is a most
hospitable creature. I like him much better than the
Frenchman you used to have. What has become of
the Frenchman, by the bye ? "

Dorian shrugged his shoulders. " I believe he



166 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

married Lady Radley's maid, and has established her
in Paris as an English dressmaker. Anglomania is
very fashionable over there now, I hear. It seems
silly of the French, doesn't it ? But do you know ?
lie \vas not at all a bad servant. I never liked him,
but I had nothing to complain about. One often
imagines things that are quite absurd. He was
really very devoted to me, and seemed quite sorry
when he went away. Have another brandy-and-soda?
Or would you like hock-and-seltzer ? I always take
hock-and-seltzer myself. There is sure to be some
in the next room."

" Thanks, I won't have anything more," said the
painter, taking his cap and coat off, and throwing
them on the bag that he had placed in the corner.
" And now, my clear fellow, I want to speak to you
seriously. Don't frown like that. You make it so
much more difficult for me."

" What is it all about ? " cried Dorian, in his
petulant way, flinging himself down on the sofa.
" I hope it is not about myself. I am tired of myself
to-night. I should like to be somebody else."

" It is about yourself," answered Hallward, in
his grave, deep voice, " and I must say it to you. I
shall only keep you half an hour."

Dorian sighed, and lit a cigarette. " Half an
hour ! " he murmured.

" It is not much to ask of you, Dorian, and it Is
entirely for your own sake that I am speaking. I
think it right that you should know that the most
dreadful things are being said against you in London."

" I don't wish to know anything about them. I
love scandals about other people, but scandals about
myself don't interest me. They have not got the
charm of novelty."

" They must interest you, Dorian. Every gentle-
man is interested in his good name. You don't want
people to talk of you as something vile and degraded.
Of course you have your position, and your wealth,
and all that kind of thing. But position and wealth



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 167

are not everything. Mind you, I don't believe these
rumours at all. At least, I can't believe them when
I see you. Sin is a thing that writes itself across a
man's face. It cannot be concealed. People talk
sometimes of secret vices. There are no such things.
If a wretched man has a vice, it shows itself in the
lines of his mouth, the droop of his eyelids, the
moulding of his hands even. Somebody I won't
mention his name, but you know him came to me
last year to have his portrait done. I had never seen
him before, and had never heard anything about him
at the time, though I have heard a good deal since.
He offered an extravagant price. I refused him.
There was something in the shape of his fingers that I
hated. I know now that I was quite right in what I
fancied about him. His life is dreadful. But you,
Dorian, with your pure, bright, innocent face, and
your marvellous untroubled youth I can't believe
anything against you. And yet I see you very
seldom, and you never come down to the studio now,
and when I am away from you, and I hear all these
hideous things that people are whispering about you,
I don't know what to say. Why is it, Dorian, that
a man like the Duke of Berwick leaves the room of
a club when you enter it ? Why is it that so many
gentlemen in London will neither go to your house
nor invite you to theirs ? You used to be a friend of
Lord Staveley. I met him at dinner last week. Your
name happened to come up in conversation, in con-
nection with the miniatures you have lent to the
exhibition at the Dudley. Staveley curled his lip,
and said that you might have the most artistic tastes,
but that you were a man whom no pure-minded girl
should be allowed to know, and whom no chaste
woman should sit in the same room with. I reminded
him that I was a friend of yours, and asked him what
he meant. He told me. He told me right out
before everybody. It was horrible ! Why Is your
friendship so fatal to young men ? There was that
wretched boy in the Guards who committed suicide.



168 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

You were his great friend. There was Sir Henry
Ashlon, who had to leave England, with a tarnished
name. You and he were inseparable. What about
Adrian Singleton, and his dreadful end ? What
about Lord Kent's only son, and his career ? I met
his father yesterday in St. James's Street. He
seemed broken with shame and sorrow. What about
the young Duke of Perth ? What sort of life has he
got now ? What gentleman would associate with
him ? "

" Stop, Basil. You are talking about things of
which you know nothing," said Dorian Gray, biting
his lip, and with a note of infinite contempt in his
voice. " You ask me why Berwick leaves a room
when I enter it. It is because I know everything
about his life, not because he knows anything about
mine. With such blood as he has in his veins, how
could his record be clean ? You ask me about Henry
Ashton and young Perth. Did I teach the one his
vices, and the other his debauchery ? If Kent's silly
son takes his wife from the streets what is that to
me ? If Adrian Singleton writes his friend's name
across a bill, am I his keeper ? I know how people
chatter in England. The middle classes air their
moral prejudices over their gross dinner-tables, and
whisper about what they call the profligacies of their
betters in order to try and pretend that they are in
smart society, and on intimate terms with the people
they slander. In this country it is enough for a man
to have distinction and brains for every common
tongue to wag against him. And what sort of lives
do these people, who pose as being moral, lead them-
selves ? My dear fellow, you forget that we are in
the native land of the hypocrite."

" Dorian," cried Hallward, " that is not the ques-
tion. England is bad enough, I know, and English
society is all wrong. That is the reason why I want
you to be fine. You have not been fine. One has
a right to judge of a man by the effect he has over
his friends. Yours seem to lose all sense of honour,



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 1G9

of goodness, of purity. You have filled them with
a madness for pleasure. They have gone down into
the depths. You led them there. Yes : you led
them there, and yet you can smile, as you are smiling
now. And there is worse behind. I know you and
Harry are inseparable. Surely for that reason, if
for none other, you should not have made his sister's
name a by-word."

" Take care, Basil. You go too far."
" I must speak, and you must listen. You shall
listen. When you met Lady Gwendolen, not a
breath of scandal had ever touched her. Is there a
single decent woman in London now who would
drive with her in the Park ? Why, even her children
are not allowed to live with her. Then there are
other stories stories that you have been seen creeping
at dawn out of dreadful houses and slinking in disguise
into the foulest dens in London. Are they true ?
Can they be true ? When I first heard them, I
laughed. I hear them now, and they make me
shudder. What about your country house, and the
life that is led there ? Dorian, you don't know what
is said about you. I won't tell you that I don't want
to preach to you. I remember Harry saying once
that every man who turned himself into an amateur
curate for the moment always began by saying that,
and then proceeded to break his word. I do want
to preach to you. I want you to lead such a life as
will make the world respect you. I want you to have
a clean name and a fair record. I want you to get
rid of the dreadful people you associate with. Don't
shrug your shoulders like that. Don't be so in-
different. You have a wonderful influence. Let it
be for good, not for evil. They say that you corrupt
everyone with whom you become intimate, and that
it is quite sufficient for you to enter a house, for
shame of some kind to follow after. I don't know
whether it is so or not. How should I know ? But
it is said of you. I am told things that it seems
impossible to doubt. Lord Gloucester was one of



170 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

my greatest friends at Oxford. He showed me a
letter that his wife had written to him when she was
dying alone in her villa at Mentone. Your name was
implicated in the most terrible confession I ever read.
I told him that it was absurd that I knew you
thoroughly, and that you were incapable of anything
of the kind. Know you ? I wonder do I know you ?
Before I could answer that, I should have to see your
soul."

" To see my soul 1 " muttered Dorian Gray,
starting up from the sofa and turning almost white
from fear.

" Yes," answered Hallward, gravely, and with
deep-toned sorrow in his voice " to see your soul.
But only God can do that."

A bitter laugh of mockery broke from the lips of
the younger man. " You shall see it yourself, to-
night I " he cried, seizing a lamp from the table.
" Come : it is your own handiwork. Why shouldn't
you look at it ? You can tell the world all about
it afterwards, if you choose. Nobody would believe
you. If they did believe you, they w T ould like me
all the better for it. I know the age better than you
do, though you will prate about it so tediously.
Come, I tell you. You have chattered enough about
corruption. Now you shall look on it face to face."

There was the madness of pride in every word he
uttered. He stamped his foot upon the ground in
his boyish insolent manner. He felt a terrible joy
at the thought that someone else was to share his
secret, and that the man who had painted the portrait
that was the origin of all his shame was to be bur-
dened for the rest of his life with the hideous memory
of what he had done.

" Yes," he continued, coming closer to him, and
looking steadfastly into his stern eyes, " I shall show
you my soul. You shall see the thing that you fancy
only God can see."

Hallward started back. " This is blasphemy,
Dorian I " he cried. " You must not say things like



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 171

that. They are horrible, and they don't mean
anything."

' You think so ? " He laughed again.

" I know so. As for what I said to you to-night,
I said it for your good. You know I have been always
a staunch friend to you."

" Don't touch me. Finish what you have to say."

A twisted flash of pain shot across the painter's
face. He paused for a moment, and a wild feeling
of pity came over him. After all, what right had
he to pry into the life of Dorian Gray ? If he had
done a tithe of what was rumoured about him, how
much he must have suffered 1 Then he straightened
himself up, and walked over to the fireplace, and
stood there, looking at the burning logs with their
frost-like ashes and their throbbing cores of flame.

" I am waiting, Basil," said the young man, in a
hard, clear voice.

He turned round. " What I have to say is this,"
he cried. " You must give me some answer to these
horrible charges that are made against you. If you
tell me that they are absolutely untrue from begin-
ning to end, I shall believe you. Deny them, Dorian,
deny them I Can't you see what I am going through ?
My God I don't tell me that you are bad, and corrupt,
and shameful."

Dorian Gray smiled. There was a curl of contempt
in his lips. " Come upstairs, Basil," he said, quietly.
" I keep a diary of my life from day to day, and it
never leaves the room in which it is written. I shall
show it to you if you come with me."

" I shall come with you, Dorian, if you wish it.
I see I have missed my train. That makes no matter.
I ean go to-morrow. But don't ask me to read any-
thing to-night. All I want is a plain answer to my
question."

" That shall be given to you upstairs. I could
not give it here. You will not have to read long."



CHAPTER XIII

HE passed out of the room, and began the ascent,
Basil Halhvard following close behind. They walked
softly, as men do instinctively at night. The lamp
cast fantastic shadows on the wall and staircase. A
rising wind made some of the windows rattle.

When they reached the top landing, Dorian set
the lamp down on the floor, and taking out the key
turned it in the lock. " You insist on knowing,
Basil ? " he asked, in a low voice.

" Yes."

" I am delighted," he answered, smiling. Then
he added, somewhat harshly, " You are the one man
in the world who is entitled to know everything about
me. You have had more to do with my life than you
think : " and, taking up the lamp, he opened the door
and went in. A cold current of air passed them, and
the light shot up for a moment in a flame of murky
orange. He shuddered. " Shut the door behind
you," he whispered, as he placed the lamp on the
table.

Halhvard glanced round him, with a puzzled ex-
pression. The room looked as if it had not been
lived in for years. A faded Flemish tapestry, a cur-
tained picture, an old Italian cassonc, and an almost
empty bookcase that was all that it seemed to
contain, besides a chair and a table. As Dorian
Gray was lighting a half-burned candle that was
standing on the mantelshelf, he saw that the whole
place was covered with dust, and that the carpet

172



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 173

was in holes. A mouse ran scuffling behind the
wainscoting. There was a damp odour of mildew.

" So you think that it is only God who sees the
soul, Basil ? Draw that curtain back, and you will
see mine."

The voice that spoke was cold and cruel. " You
are mad, Dorian, or playing a part," muttered Hall-
ward, frowning.

" You won't ? Then I must do it myself," said
the young man ; and he tore the curtain from its
rod, and flung it an the ground.

An exclamation of horror broke from the painter's
lips as he saw in the dim light the hideous face on
the canvas grinning at nLa. There was something
in its expression that filled him with disgust and
loathing. Good heavens ! it was Dorian Gray's own
face that he was looking at ! The horror, whatever
it was, had not yet entirely spoiled that marvellous
beauty. There was still some gold in the thinning
hair and some scarlet on the sensual mouth. The
sodden eyes had kept something of the loveliness of
their blue, the noble curves had not yet completely
passed away from chiselled nostrils and from plastic
throat. Yes, it was Dorian himself. But who had
done it ? He seemed to recognise his own brush-
work, and the frame was his own design. The idea
was monstrous, yet he felt afraid. He seized the
lighted candle, and held it to the picture. In the
left-hand corner was his own name, traced in long
letters of bright vermilion.

It was some foul parody, some infamous, ignoble
satire. He had never done that. Still, it was his
own picture. He knew it, and he felt as if his blood
had changed In a moment from fire to sluggish ice.
His own picture ! What did it mean ? Why had
it altered ? He turned, and looked at Dorian Gray
with the eyes of a sick man. His moufrNtwitched,
and his parched tongue seemed unable to articulate.
He passed his hand across his forehead. It was
dank with clammy sweat.



174 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

The young man was leaning against the mantel-
shelf, watching him with that strange expression
that one sees on the faces of those who are absorbed
In a play when some great artist is acting. There
was neither real sorrow in it nor real joy. There was
simply the passion of the spectator, with perhaps a
flicker of triumph in his eyes. He had taken the
flower out of his coat, and was smelling it, or pre-
tending to do so.

" What does this mean ? " cried Haliward, at
last. His own voice sounded shrill and curious in
his ears.

" Years ago, when I was a boy," said Dorian Gray,
crushing the flower in his hand, " you met me,
flattered me, and taught me to be vain of my good
looks. One day you introduced me to a friend of
yours, who explained to me the wonder of youth,
and you finished the portrait of me that revealed to
me the wonder of beauty. In a mad moment, that,
even now, I don't know whether I regret or not, I
made a wish, perhaps you would call it a prayer . . ."

" I remember it 1 Oh, how well I remember it !
No 1 the thing is impossible. The room is damp.
Mildew has got into the canvas. The paints I used
had some wretched mineral poison in them. I tell
you the thing is impossible."

" Ah, what is impossible ? " murmured the young
man, going over to the window, and leaning his
forehead against the cold, mist-stained glass.

" You told me you had destroyed it."

" I was wrong. It has destroyed me."

" I don't believe it is my picture."

" Can't you see your ideal in it ? " said Dorian,
bitterly.

" My ideal, as you call it . . ."

" As you called it."

" There was nothing evil in it, nothing shameful.
You were to me such an ideal as I shall never meet
again This is the face of a satyr."

" It is the face of my soul."



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 175

" Christ I what a thing I must have worshipped I
It has the eyes of a devil."

" Each of us has Heaven and Hell in him, Basil,"
cried Dorian, with a wild gesture of despair.

Hallward turned again to the portrait, and gazed
at it. " My God ! if it is true," he exclaimed, " and
this is what you have done with your life, why, you
must be worse even than those who talk against
you fancy you to be ! " He held the light up again
to the canvas, and examined it. The surface seemed
to be quite undisturbed, and as he had left it. It
was from within, apparently, that the foulness and
horror had come. Through some strange quickening
of inner life the leprosies of sin were slowly eating
the thing away. The rotting of a corpse in a watery
grave was not so fearful.

His hand shook, and the candle fell from its socket
on the floor, and lay there sputtering. He placed
his foot on it and put it out. Then he flung himself
into the rickety chair that was standing by the
table and buried his face in his hands.

" Good God, Dorian, what a lesson I what an
awful lesson I " There was no answer, but he could
hear the young man sobbing at the window. " Pray,
Dorian, pray," he murmured. " What is it that
one was taught to say in one's boyhood ? ' Lead
us not into temptation. Forgive us our sins. Wash
away our iniquities.' Let us say that together. The
prayer of your pride has been answered. The prayer
of your repentance will be answered also. I wor-
shipped you too much. I am punished for it. You
worshipped yourself too much. We are both
punished."

Dorian Gray turned slowly around, and looked at
him with tear-dimmed eyes. " It is too late, Basil,"
he faltered.

" It is never too late, Dorian. Let us kneel down
and try if we cannot remember a prayer. Isn't
there a verse somewhere, ' Though your sins be as
scarlet, yet I will make them as white as snow ' ? "



176 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

" Those words mean nothing to me now."

" Hush 1 don't say that. You have done enough
evil in your life. My God I don't you see that
accursed thing leering at us ? "

Dorian Gray glanced at the picture, and suddenly
an uncontrollable feeling of hatred for Basil Hallward
came over him, as though it had been suggested to
him by the image on the canvas, whispered into his
ear by those grinning lips. The mad passions of a
hunted animal stirred within him, and he loathed
the man who was seated at the table, more than in
his whole life he had ever loathed anything. He
glanced wildly around. Something glimmered on
the top of the painted chest that faced him. His
eye fell on it. He knew what it was. It was a knife
that he had brought up, some days before, to cut a
piece of cord, and had forgotten to take away with
him. He moved slowly towards it, passing Hallward
as he did so. As soon as he got behind him, he
seized it, and turned round. Hallward stirred in his
chair as if he was going to rise. He rushed at him,
and dug the knife into the great vein that is behind
the ear, crushing the man's head down on the table,
and stabbing again and again.

There was a stifled groan, and the horrible sound
of someone choking with blood. Three times the
outstretched arms shot up convulsively, waving
grotesque stiff-fingered hands in the air. He stabbed
him twice more, but the man did not move. Some-
thing began to trickle on the floor. He waited for
a moment, still pressing the head down. Then he
threw the knife on the table, and listened.

He could hear nothing but the drip, drip on the
threadbare carpet. He opened the door and went
out on the landing. The house was absolutely quiet.
No one was about. For a few seconds he stood
bending over the balustrade, and peering down into
the black seething well of darkness. Then he took
out the key and returned to the room, locking himself
in as he did so.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 177

The thing was still seated in the chair, straining
over the table with bowed head, and humped back,
and long fantastic arms. Had it not been for the
red jagged tear in the neck, and the clotted black
pool that was slowly widening on the table, one would
have said that the man was simply asleep.

How quickly it had all been done 1 He felt
strangely calm, and, walking over to the window,
opened it, and stepped out on the balcony. The
wind had blown the fog away, and the sky was like
a monstrous peacock's tail, starred with myriads of
golden eyes. He looked down, and saw the police-
man going his rounds and flashing the long beam of
his lantern on the doors of the silent houses. The
crimson spot of a prowling hansom gleamed at the
corner, and then vanished. A woman in a fluttering
shawl was creeping slowly by the railings, staggering
as she went. Now and then she stopped, and peered
back. Once, she began to sing in a hoarse voice.
The policeman strolled over and said something to
her. She stumbled away, laughing. A bitter blast
swept across the Square. The gas-lamps flickered,
aud became blue, and the leafless trees shook their
black iron branches to and fro. He shivered, and
went back, closing the window behind him.

Having reached the door, he turned the key, and
opened it. He did not even glance at the murdered
man. He felt that the secret of the whole thing was
not to realise the situation. The friend who had
painted the fatal portrait to which all his misery
had been due, had gone out of his life. That was
enough.

Then he remembered the lamp. It was a rather
curious one of Moorish workmanship, made of dull
silver inlaid with arabesques of burnished steel, and
studded with coarse turquoises. Perhaps it might
be missed by his servant, and questions would be
asked. He hesitated for a moment, then he turned
back and took it from the table. He could not help
seeing the dead thing. How still it was 1 How



178 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

horribly white the long hands looked ! It was like
a dreadful wax image.

Having locked the door behind him, he crept
quietly downstairs. The woodwork creaked, and
seemed to cry out as if in pain. He stopped several
times, and waited. No : everything was still. It
was merely the sound of his own footsteps.

When he reached the library, he saw the bag and
coat in the corner. They must be hidden away
somewhere. He unlocked a secret press that was
in the wainscoting, a press in which he kept his own
curious disguises, and put them into it. He could
easily burn them afterwards. Then he pulled out
his watch. It was twenty minutes to two.

He sat down, and began to think. Every year
every month, almost men were strangled in England
for what he had done. There had been a madness
of murder in the air. Some red star had come too
close to the earth. . . . And yet what evidence was
there against him ? Basil Hallward had left the
house at eleven. No one had seen him come in
again. Most of the servants were at Selby Royal.
His valet had gone to bed. . . . Paris ! Yes. It was
to Paris that Basil had gone, and by the midnight
train, as he had intended. With his curious reserved
habits, it would be months before any suspicions
would be aroused. Months 1 Everything could be
destroyed long before then.

A sudden thought struck him. He put on his fur
coat and hat, and went out into the hall. There
he paused, hearing the slow heavy tread of the police-
man on the pavement outside, and seeing the flash
of the bull's-eye reflected in the window. He waited,
and held his breath.

After a few moments he drew back the latch, and
slipped out, shutting the door very gently behind him.
Then he began ringing the bell. In about five minutes
his valet appeared half dressed, and looking very
drowsy.

" I am sorry to have had to wake you up, Francis,"



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 179

he said, stepping in ; " but I had forgotten my latch-
key. What time is it ? "

" Ten minutes past two, sir," answered the man,
looking at the clock and blinking.

" Ten minutes past two ? How horribly late !
You must wake me at nine to-morrow. I have some
work to do."

" All right, sir."

" Did anyone call this evening ? "

" Mr. Hallward, sir. He stayed here till eleven,
and then he went away to catch his train."

" Oh 1 I am sorry I didn't see him. Did he leave
any message ? "

" No, sir, except that he would write to you from
Paris, if he did not find you at the club."

" That will do, Francis. Don't forget to call me
at nine to-morrow."

" No, sir."

The man shambled down the passage in his slippers.

Dorian Gray threw his hat and coat upon the table,
and passed into the library. For a quarter of an
hour he walked up and down the room biting his lip,
and thinking. Then he took down the Blue Book from
one of the shelves, and began to turn over the leaves.
" Alan Campbell, 152, Hertford Street, Mayfair."
Yes ; that was the man he wanted.



CHAPTER XIV

AT nine o'clock the next morning his servant came
In with a cup of chocolate on a tray, and opened the
shutters. Dorian was sleeping quite peacefully, lying
on his right side, with one hand underneath his
cheek. He looked like a boy who had been tired out
with play, or study.

The man had to touch him twice on the shoulder
before he woke, and as he opened his eyes a faint
smile passed across his lips, as though he had been
lost in some delightful dream. Yet he had not
dreamed at all. His night had been untroubled by
any images of pleasure or of pain. But youth smiles
without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms.

He turned round, and, leaning upon his elbow,
began to sip his chocolate. The mellow November
sun came streaming into the room. The sky was
bright, and there was a genial warmth in the air.
It was almost like a morning in May.

Gradually the events of the preceding night crept
with silent blood-stained feet into his brain, and
reconstructed themselves there w r ith terrible distinct-
ness. He winced at the memory of all that he had
suffered, and for a moment the same curious feeling
of loathing for Basil Hallward that had made him
kill him as he sat In the chair, came back to him,
and he grew cold with passion. The dead man was
still sitting there, too, and in the sunlight now. How
horrible that was I Such hideous things were for the
darkness, not for the day.

He felt that if he brooded on what he had gone

180



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 181

through he would sicken or grow mad. There were
sins whose fascination was more in the memory than
in the doing of them ; strange triumphs that gratified
the pride more than the passions, and gave to the
intellect a quickened sense of joy, greater than any
joy they brought, or could ever bring, to the senses.
But this was not one of them. It was a thing to be
driven out of the mind, to be drugged with poppies,
to be strangled lest it might strangle one itself.

When the half-hour struck, he passed his hand
across his forehead, and then got up hastily, and
dressed himself with even more than his usual care,
giving a good deal of attention to the choice of his
necktie and scarf-pin, and changing his rings more
than once. He spent a long time also over breakfast,
tasting the various dishes, talking to his valet about
some new liveries that he was thinking of getting made
for the servants at Selby, and going through his
correspondence. At some of the letters he smiled.
Three of them bored him. One he read several times
over, and then tore up with a slight look of annoyance
in his face. " That awful thing, a woman's memory 1 "
as Lord Henry had once said.

After he had drunk his cup of black coffee, he wiped
his lips slowly with a napkin, motioned to his servant
to wait, and going over to the table sat down and
wrote two letters. One he put hi his pocket, the other
he handed to the valet.

" Take this round to 152, Hertford Street, Francis,
and if Mr. Campbell is out of town, get his address."

As soon as he was alone, he lit a cigarette, and
began sketching upon a piece of paper, drawing first
flowers, and bits of architecture, and then human
faces. Suddenly he remarked that every face that
he drew seemed to have a fantastic likeness to Basil
Hallward. He frowned, and, getting up, went over
to the bookcase and took out a volume at hazard.
He was determined that he would not think about
what had happened until it became absolutely
necessary that he should do so.



182 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

When he had stretched himself on the sofa, he
looked at the title-page of the book. It was Gautier's
" Emaux et Came'es," Charpentier's Japanese-paper
edition, with the Jacquemart etching. The binding
was of citron-green leather, with a design of gilt
trellis-work and dotted pomegranates. It had been
given to him by Adrian Singleton. As he turned over
the pages his eye fell on the poem about the hand of
Lacenaire, the cold yellow hand " da sapplice encore
mal lavee," with its downy red hairs and its " doigts
de faune." He glanced at his own white taper fingers,
shuddering slightly in spite of himself, and passed on,
till he came to those lovely stanzas upon Venice :

" Sur une gamme chromatique,
Le sein de perlcs ruisselant,
La Venus de 1 Adriatique

Sort de 1'eau son corps rose et blanc.

* Los domes, sur 1'azur des ondcs

Suivant la phrase au pur contour,
S'enflent comme des gorges rondes
Que souleve un soupir d'amour.

*' L'esquif aborde et me depose,
Jetant son amarre au pilier,
Devant une facade rose,

Sur le marbre d'un escalier."

How exquisite they were 1 As one read them,
one seemed to be floating down the green water-
ways of the pink and pearl city, seated in a black
gondola with silver prow and trailing curtains. The
mere lines looked to him like those straight lines
of turquoise-blue that follow one as one pushes
out to the Lido. The sudden flashes of colour
reminded him of the gleam of the opal-and-iris-
thronted birds that flutter round the tall honey-
combed Campanile, or stalk, with such stately grace,
through the dim, dust-stained arcades. Leaning
back with half-closed eyes, he kept saying over and
over to himself : j

" Devant une facade rose,

Sur le marbre d'un escalier."



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 183

The whole of Venice was in those two lines. He
remembered the autumn that he had passed there,
and a wonderful love that had stirred him to mad,
delightful follies. There was romance in every place.
But Venice, like Oxford, had kept the background for
romance, and, to the true romantic, background was
everything, or almost everything. Basil had been
with him part of the time, and had gone wild over
Tintoret. Poor Basil 1 what a horrible way for a man
to die !

He sighed, and took up the volume again, an. I
tried to forget. He read of the swallows that fly
in and out of the little cafe at Smyrna where the Hadjis
sit counting their amber beads and the turbaned
merchants smoke their long tasselled pipes and talk
gravely to each other ; he read of the Obelisk in the
Place de la Concorde that weeps tears of granite in
its lonely sunless exile, and longs to be back by the
hot lotus-covered Nile, w r here there are Sphinxes, and
rose-red ibises, and white vultures with gilded claws,
and crocodiles, with small beryl eyes, that crawl over
the green steaming mud ; he began to brood over those
verses which, drawing music from kiss-stained marble,
tell of that curious statue that Gautier compares to
a contralto voice, the " monsire charmanl " that
couches hi the porphyry-room of the Louvre. But
after a time the book fell from his hand. He grew
nervous, and a horrible fit of terror came over him.
What if Alan Campbell should be out of England?
Days would elapse before he could come back. Per-
haps he might refuse to come. What could he do
then ? Every moment was of vital importance.
They had been great friends once, five years before
almost inseparable, indeed. Then the intimacy
had come suddenly to an end. When they met in
society now, it was only Dorian Gray who smiled ;
Alan Campbell never did.

He was an extremely clever young man, though
he had no real appreciation of the visible arts, and
whatever little sense of the beauty of poetry he



184 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

possessed lie had gained entirely from Dorian. His
dominant intellectual passion was for science. At
Cambridge he had spent a great deal of his time
working in the Laboratory, and had taken a good
class in the Natural Science Tripos of his year. In-
deed, he was still devoted to the study of chemistry,
and had a laboratory of his own, in which he used to
shut himself up all day long, greatly to the annoyance
of. his mother, who had set her heart on his standing
for Parliament, and had a vague idea that a chemist
was a person who made up prescriptions. He was
an excellent musician, however, as well, and played
both the violin and the piano better than most
amateurs. In fact, it was music that had first brought
him and Dorian Gray together music and that inde-
finable attraction that Dorian seemed to be able to
exercise whenever he wished, and indeed exercised
often without being conscious of it. They had met at
Lady Berkshire's the night that Rubinstein played
there, and after that used to be always seen together
at the Opera, and wherever good music was going
on. For eighteen months their intimacy lasted.
Campbell was always either at Selby Royal or in
Grosvenor Square. To him, as to many others,
Dorian Gray was the type of everything that is
wonderful and fascinating in life. Whether or not
a quarrel had taken place between them no one
ever knew. But suddenly people remarked that
they scarcely spoke when they met, and that Camp-
bell seemed always to go away early from any party
at which Dorian Gray was present. He had changed,
too was strangely melancholy at times, appeared
almost to dislike hearing music, and would never
himself play, giving as his excuse, when he was called
upon, that he was so absorbed in science that he had
no time left in which to practise. And this was
certainly true. Every day he seemed to become more
Interested in biology, and his name appeared once or
twice in some of the scientific reviews, in connection
with certain curious experiments.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 185

This was the man Dorian Gray was waiting for.
Every second he kept glancing at the clock. As
the minutes went by he became horribly agitated.
At last he got up, and began to pace up and down the
room, looking like a beautiful caged thing. He took
long stealthy strides. His hands were curiously cold.

The suspense became unbearable. Time seemed
to him to be crawling with feet of lead, while he by
monstrous winds was being swept towards the jagged
edge of some black cleft of precipice. He knew what
was waiting for him there ; saw it indeed, and,
shuddering, crushed with dank hands his burning lids
as though he would have robbed the very brain of
sight, and driven the eyeballs back into their cave.
It was useless. The brain had its own food on which
it battened, and the imagination, made grotesque by
terror, twisted and distorted as a living thing by
pain, danced like some foul puppet on a stand, and
grinned through moving masks. Then, suddenly,
Time stopped for him. Yes : that blind, slow-
breathing thing crawled no more, and horrible
thoughts, Time being dead, raced nimbly on in front,
and dragged a hideous future from its grave, and
showed it to him. He stared at it. Its very horror
made him stone.

At last the door opened, and his servant entered.
He turned glazed eyes upon him.

" Mr. Campbell, sir," said the man.

A sigh of relief broke from his parched lips, and the
colour came back to his cheeks.

" Ask him to come in at once, Francis." He felt
that he was himself again. His mood of cowardice
had passed away.

The man bowed, and retired. In a few moments
Alan Campbell walked in, looking very stern and
rather pale, his pallor being intensified by his cpal-
black hair and dark eyebrows.

" Alan ! this is kind of you. I thank you for
coming."

" I had intended never to enter your house again,



186 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Gray. But you said it was a matter of life and
death." His voice was hard and cold. He spoke
with slow deliberation. There was a look of con-
tempt in the steady searching gaze that he turned
on Dorian. He kept his hands in the pockets of
his Astrakhan coat, and seemed not to have noticed
the gesture with which he had been greeted.

" Yes : it is a matter of life and death, Alan, and
to more than one person. Sit down."

Campbell took a chair by the table, and Dorian
sat opposite to him. The two men's eyes met. In
Dorian's there was infinite pity. He knew that what
he was going to do was dreadful.

After a strained moment of silence, he leaned across
and said, very quietly, but watching the effect of
each word upon the face of him he had sent for, " Alan,
in a locked room at the top of this house, a room to
which nobody but myself has access, a dead man is
seated at a table. He has been dead ten hours now.
Don't stir, and don't look at me like that. Who the
man is, why he died, how he died, are matters that do
not concern you. What you have to do is this "

" Stop, Gray. I don't want to know anything
further. Whether what you have told me is true or
not true, doesn't concern me. I entirely decline
to be mixed up in your life. Keep your horrible
secrets to yourself. They don't interest me any more."

" Alan, they will have to interest you. This one
will have to interest you. I am awfully sorry for you,
Alan. But I can't help myself. You are the one
man who is able to save me. I am forced to bring
you into the matter. I have no option. Alan, you
are scientific. You know about chemistry, and
things of that kind. You have made experiments.
What you have got to do Is to destroy the thing that is
upstairs to destroy it so that not a vestige of it will
be left. Nobody saw this person come into the house.
Indeed, at the present moment he is supposed to be hi
Paris. He will not be missed for months. When
he is missed, there must be no trace of him found



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 187

here. You, Alan, you must change him, and every-
thing that belongs to him, into a handful of ashes that
I may scatter in the air."

" You are mad, Dorian."

" Ah 1 I was waiting for you to call me Dorian."

" You are mad, I tell you mad to imagine that
I would raise a finger to help you, mad to make
this monstrous confession. I will have nothing to
do with this matter, whatever it is. Do you think
I am going to peril my reputation for you ? What
is it to me what devil's work you are up to ? "

" It was suicide, Alan."

" I am. glad of that. But who drove him to it?
You, I should fancy."

" Do you still refuse to do this for me ? "

" Of course I refuse. I will have absolutely nothing
to do with it. I don't care what shame comes on you.
You deserve it all. I should not be sorry to see
you disgraced, publicly disgraced. How dare you ask
me, of all men in the world, to mix myself up in this
horror ? I should have thought you knew more about
people's characters. Your friend Lord Henry Wotton
can't have taught you much about psychology, what-
ever else he has taught you. Nothing will induce me
to stir a step to help you. You have come to the
wrong man. Go to some of your friends. Don't
come to me."

" Alan, it was murder. I killed him. You don't
know what he had made me suffer. Whatever my
life is, he had more to do with the making or the
marring of it than poor Harry has had. He may not
have intended it, the result was the same."

" Murder I Good God, Dorian, is that what you
have come to ? I shall not inform upon you. It is
not my business. Besides, without my stirring in the
matter, you are certain to be arrested. Nobody
ever commits a crime without doing something stupid.
But I will have nothing to do with it."

" You must have something to do with it. Wait,
wait a moment ; listen to me. Only listen, Alan.



188 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

All I ask of you is to perform a certain scientific
experiment. You go to hospitals and dead-houses,
and the horrors that you do there don't affect you.
If in some hideous dissecting-room or fetid laboratory
you found this man lying on a leaden table with red
gutters scooped out in it for the blood to flow through,
you would simply look upon him as an admirable
subject. You would not turn a hair. You would
not believe that you were doing anything wrong.
On the contrary, you would probably feel that you
were benefiting the human race, or increasing the sum
of knowledge in the world, or gratifying intellectual
curiosity, or something of that kind. What I want
you to do is merely what you have often done before.
Indeed, to destroy a body must be far less horrible
than what you are accustomed to work at. And,
remember, it is the only piece of evidence against me.
If it is discovered, I am lost ; and it is sure to be
discovered unless you help me."

" I have no desire to help you. You forget that.
I am simply indifferent to the whole thing. It has
nothing to do with me."

" Alan, I entreat you. Think of the position I
am in. Just before you came I almost fainted with
terror. You may know terror yourself some day.
No ! don't think of that. Look at the matter purely
from the scientific point of view. You don't inquire
where the dead things on which you experiment come
from. Don't inquire now. I have told you too much
as it is. But I beg of you to do this. We were friends
once, Alan."

" Don't speak about those days, Dorian : they are
dead."

" The dead linger sometimes. The man upstairs
will not go away. He is sitting at the table with
bowed head and outstretched arms. Alan 1 Alan 1
if you don't come to my assistance I am ruined.
Why, they will hang me, Alan ! Don't you under-
stand ? They will hang me for what I have done."

" There is no good in prolonging this scene. I



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 189

absolutely refuse to do anything in the matter. It
is insane of you to ask me."
' You refuse ? "
' Yes."

' I entreat you, Alan."
' It is useless."

The same look of pity came into Dorian Gray's
eyes. Then he stretched out his hand, took a piece
of paper, and wrote something on it. He read it over
twice, folded it carefully, and pushed it across the
table. Having done this, he got up, and went over
to the window.

Campbell looked at him in surprise, and then took
up the paper, and opened it. As he read it, his face
became ghastly pale, and he fell back in his chair.
A horrible sense of sickness came over him. He felt
as if his heart was beating itself to death in some empty
hollow.

After two or three minutes of terrible silence,
Dorian turned round, and came and stood behind
him, putting his hand upon his shoulder.

" I am so sorry for you, Alan," he murmured,
" but you leave me no alternative. I have a letter
written already. Here it is. You see the address.
If you don't help me, I must send it. If you don't
help me, I will send it. You know what the result
will be. But you are going to help me. It is im-
possible for you to refuse now. I tried to spare you.
You will do me the justice to admit that. You were
stern, harsh, offensive. You treated me as no man
has ever dared to treat me no living man, at any
rate. I bore it all. Now it is for me to dictate terms."

Campbell buried his face in his hands, and a shudder
passed through him.

" Yes, it is my turn to dictate terms, Alan. You
know what they are. The thing is quite simple.
Come, don't work yourself into this fever. The
thing has to be done. Face it, and do it."

A groan broke from Campbell's lips, and he shivered
all over. The ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece



190 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

seemed to him to be dividing Time into separate atoms
of agony, each of which was too terrible to be borne.
He felt as if an iron ring was being slowly tightened
round his forehead, as if the disgrace with which he
was threatened had already come upon him. The
hand upon his shoulder weighed like a hand of lead.
It was intolerable. It seemed to crush him.

" Come, Alan, you must decide at once."

" I cannot do it," he said, mechanically, as though
words could alter things.

" You must. You have no choice. Don't delay."

He hesitated a moment. " Is there a fire in the
room upstairs ? "

" Yes, there is a gas-fire with asbestos."

" I shall have to go home and get some things from
the laboratory."

" No, Alan, you must not leave the house. Write
out on a sheet of note-paper what you want, and my
servant will take a cab and bring the things back to
you."

Campbell scrawled a few lines, blotted them, and
addressed an envelope to his assistant. Dorian
took the note up and read it carefully. Then he
rang the bell, and gave it to his valet, with orders to
return as soon as possible, and to bring the things
with him.

As the hall door shut, Campbell started nervously,
and, having got up from the chair, went over to the
chimney-piece. He was shivering with a kind of ague.
For nearly twenty minutes, neither of the men spoke.
A fly buzzed noisily about the room, and the ticking
of the clock was like the beat of a hammer.

As the chime struck one, Campbell turned round,
and, looking at Dorian Gray, saw that his eyes were
filled with tears. There was something in the purity
and refinement of that sad face that seemed to enrage
him. " You are infamous, absolutely infamous ! "
he muttered.

" Hush, Alan : you have saved my life," said Dorian.

" Your life ? Good heavens 1 what a life that



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 191

Is 1 You have gone from corruption to corruption,
and now you have culminated in crime. In doing
what I am going to do, what you force me to do, it
is not of your life that I am thinking."

" Ah, Alan," murmured Dorian, with a sigh,
" I wish you had a thousandth part of the pity for
me that I have for you." He turned away as he
spoke, and stood looking out at the garden. Campbell
made no answer.

After about ten minutes a knock came to the door,
and the servant entered, carrying a large mahogany
chest of chemicals, with a long coil of steel and platinum
wire and two rather curiously-shaped iron clamps.

" Shall I leave the things here, sir ? " he asked
Campbell.

" Yes," said Dorian. " And I am afraid, Francis,
that I have another errand for you. What is the
name of the man at Richmond who supplies Selby
with orchids ? "

" Harden, sir."

" Yes Harden. You must go down to Richmond
at once, see Harden personally, and tell him to send
twice as many orchids as I ordered, and to have as
few white ones as possible. In fact, I don't want
any \vhite ones. It is a lovely day, Francis, and
Richmond is a very pretty place, otherwise I wouldn't
bother you about it."

" No trouble, sir. At what time shall I be back? "

Dorian looked at Campbell. " How long will your
experiment take, Alan ? " he said, in a calm, in-
different voice. The presence of a third person in
the room seemed to give him extraordinary courage.

Campbell frowned, and bit his lip. " It will take
about five hours," he answered.

" It will be time enough, then, if you are back at
half-past seven, Francis. Or stay : just leave my
things out for dressing. You can have the evening
to yourself. I am not dining at home, so I shall not
want you."

" Thank you, sir," said the man, leaving the room.



192 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

" Now, Alan, there is not a moment to be lost.
How heavy this chest is I I'll take it for you. You
bring the other things." He spoke rapidly, and in
an authoritative manner. Campbell felt dominated
by him. They left the room together.

When they reached the top landing, Dorian
took out the key and turned it in the lock. Then
he stopped, and a troubled look came into his eyes.
He shuddered. " I don't think I can go in, Alan,"
he murmured.

" It is nothing to me. I don't require you," said
Campbell, coldly.

Dorian half opened the door. As he did so, he saw
the face of his portrait leering In the sunlight. On
the floor in front of it the torn curtain was lying. He
remembered that the night before he had forgotten,
for the first time in his life, to hide the fatal canvas,
and was about to rush forward, when he drew back
with a shudder.

What was that loathsome red dew that gleamed,
wet and glistening, on one of the hands, as though
the canvas had sweated blood ? How horrible it was !
more horrible, it seemed to him for the moment,
than the silent thing that he knew was stretched
across the table, the thing whose grotesque misshapen
shadow on the spotted carpet showed him that it had
not stirred, but was still there, as he had left It.

He heaved a deep breath, opened the door a little
wider, and with half-closed eyes and averted head
walked quickly in, determined that he would not look
even once upon the dead man. Then, stooping down,
and taking up the gold and purple hanging, he flung it
right over the picture.

There he stopped, feeling afraid to turn round, and
his eyes fixed themselves on the intricacies of the
pattern before him. He heard Campbell bringing in
the heavy chest, and the irons, and the other things
that he had required for his dreadful work. He began
to wonder if he and Basil Hallward had ever met, and,
if so, what they had thought of each other.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 193

" Leave me now," said a stern voice behind him.

He turned and hurried out, just conscious that the
dead man had been thrust back into the chair, and
that Campbell was gazing into a glistening yellow face.
As he was going downstairs he heard the key being
turned in the lock.

It was long after seven when Campbell came back
Into the library. He was pale, but absolutely calm.
" I have done what you asked me to do," he muttered.
" And now, good-bye. Let us never see each other
again."

" You have saved me from ruin, Alan. I cannot
forget that," said Dorian, simply.

As soon as Campbell had left, he went upstairs.
There was a horrible smell of nitric acid In the room.
But the thing that had been sitting at the table was
gone.



CHAPTER XV

THAT evening, at eight-thirty, exquisitely dressed
and wearing a large buttonhole of Parma violets,
Dorian Gray was ushered into Lady Narborough's
drawing-room by bowing servants. His forehead was
throbbing with maddened nerves, and he felt wildly
excited, but his manner as he bent over his hostess's
hand was as easy and graceful as ever. Perhaps one
never seems so much at one's ease as when one has to
play a part. Certainly no one looking at Dorian Gray
that night could have believed that he had passed
through a tragedy as horrible as any tragedy of our
age. Those finely-shaped fingers could never have
clutched a knife for sin, nor those smiling lips have
cried out on God and goodness. He himself could
not help wondering at the calm of his demeanour,
and for a moment felt keenly the terrible pleasure of
a double life.

It was a small party, got up rather in a hurry by
Lady Narborough, who was a very clever woman,
with what Lord Henry used to describe as the re-
mains of really remarkable ugliness. She had proved
an excellent wife to one of our most tedious am-
bassadors, and having buried her husband properly
in a marble mausoleum, which she had herself de-
signed, and married off her daughters to some rich,
rather elderly men, she devoted herself now to the
pleasures of French fiction, French cookery, and French
esprit when she could get it.

Dorian was one of her special favourites, and she
always told him that she was extremely glad she had

194



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 195

not met him in early life. " I know, my dear, I should
have fallen madly in love with you," she used to say,
" and thrown my bonnet right over the mills for your
sake. It is most fortunate that you were not thought
of at the time. As it was, our bonnets were so un-
becoming, and the mills were so occupied in trying to
raise the wind, that I never had even a flirtation with
anybody. However, that was all Narborough's
fault. He was dreadfully short-sighted, and there Is
no pleasure in taking in a husband who never sees
anything."

Her guests this evening were rather tedious. The
fact was, as she explained to Dorian, behind a very
shabby fan, one of her married daughters had come
up quite suddenly to stay with her, and, to make
matters worse, had actually brought her husband with
her. " I think it is most unkind of her, my dear,"
she whispered. " Of course I go and stay with them
every summer after I come from Homburg, but then
an old woman like me must have fresh air sometimes,
and besides, I really wake them up. You don't know
what an existence they lead down there. It is pure
unadulterated country life. They get up early,
because they have so much to do, and go to bed early
because they have so little to think about. There
has not been a scandal in the neighbourhood since the
time of Queen Elizabeth, and consequently they all
fall asleep after dinner. You shan't sit next either
of them. You shall sit by me, and amuse me."

Dorian murmured a graceful compliment, and
looked round the room. Yes : it was certainly a
tedious party. Two of the people he had never seen
before, and the others consisted of Ernest Harrowden,
one of those middle-aged mediocrities so common in
London clubs who have no enemies, but are thoroughly
disliked by their friends ; Lady Ruxton, an over-
dressed woman of forty-seven, with a hooked nose,
who was always trying to get herself compromised,
but was so peculiarly plain that to her great disappoint-
ment no one would ever believe anything against



196 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

her ; Mrs. Erlynne, a pushing nobody, with a delight-
ful lisp, and Venetian-red hair ; Lady Alice Chapman,
his hostess's daughter, a dowdy dull girl, with one of
those characteristic British faces, that, once seen,
are never remembered ; and her husband, a red-
cheeked, white-whiskered creature who, like so many
of his class, was under the impression that inordinate
joviality can atone for an entire lack of ideas.

He was rather sorry he had come, till Lady Nar-
borough, looking at the great ormolu gilt clock that
sprawled in gaudy curves on the mauve-draped mantel-
shelf, exclaimed : " How horrid of Henry Wotton
to be so late 1 I sent round to him this morning on
chance, and he promised faithfully not to disappoint
me."

It was some consolation that Harry was to be there,
and when the door opened and he heard his slow
musical voice lending charm to some insincere apology,
he ceased to feel bored.

But at dinner he could not eat anything. Plate
after plate went away untasted. Lady Narborough
kept scolding him for what she called " an insult to
poor Adolphe, who invented the menu specially for
you," and now and then Lord Henry looked across
at him, wondering at his silence and abstracted
manner. From time to time the butler filled his glass
with champagne. He drank eagerly, and his thirst
seemed to increase.

" Dorian," said Lord Henry, at last, as the chaud-
froid was being handed round, " what is the matter
with you to-night ? You are quite out of sorts."

" I believe he is in love," cried Lady Narborough,
" and that he is afraid to tell me for fear I should
be jealous. He is quite right. I certainly should."

" Dear Lady Narborough," murmured Dorian,
smiling, " I have not been in love for a whole week
not, in fact, since Madame de Ferrol left town."

" How you men can fall in love with that woman I "
exclaimed the old lady. " I really cannot understand
it."



" It is simply because she remembers you when
you were a little girl, Lady Narborough," said Lord
Henry. " She is the one link between us and your
short frocks."

" She does not remember my short frocks at all,
Lord Henry. But I remember her very well at
Vienna thirty years ago, and how decolletee she was
then."

" She is still decolletee," he answered, taking an
olive in his long fingers; "and when she is in a very
smart gown she looks like an Edition de luxe of a bad
French novel. She is really wonderful, and full of
surprises. Her capacity for family affection is ex-
traordinary. When her third husband died, her hair
turned quite gold from grief."

" How can you, Harry ! " cried Dorian.

" It is a most romantic explanation," laughed the
hostess. " But her third husband, Lord Henry I
You don't mean to say Ferrol is the fourth."

" Certainly, Lady Narborough."

" I don't believe a word of it."

" Well, ask Mr. Gray. He is one of her most in-
timate friends."

" Is it true, Mr. Gray ? "

" She assures me so, Lady Narborough," said
Dorian. " I asked her whether, like Marguerite de
Navarre, she had their hearts embalmed and hung
at her girdle. She told me she didn't, because none
of them had had any hearts at all."

" Four husbands I Upon my word that is Irop
de zele."

" Trop d'audace, I tell her," said Dorian.

" Oh 1 she is audacious enough for anything, my
dear. And what is Ferrol like ? I don't know him."

" The husbands of very beautiful women belong
to the criminal classes," said Lord Henry, sipping
his wine.

Lady Narborough hit him with her fan. " Lord
Henry, I am not at all surprised that the world says
that you are extremely wicked."



198 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

" But what world says that ? " asked Lord Henry,
elevating his eyebrows. " It can only be the next
world. This world and I are on excellent terms."

" Everybody I know says you are very wicked,"
cried the old lady, shaking her head.

Lord Henry looked serious for some moments.
" It is perfectly monstrous," he said, at last, " the
way people go about nowadays saying things against
one behind one's back that are absolutely and entirely
true."

" Isn't he incorrigible ? " cried Dorian, leaning
forward in his chair.

" I hope so," said his hostess, laughing.' " But
really if you all worship Madame de Ferrol in this
ridiculous way, I shall have to marry again so as to
be in the fashion."

" You will never marry again, Lady Narborough,"
broke in Lord Henry. " You were far too happy.
When a woman marries again it is because she de-
tested her first husband. When a man marries
again, it is because he adored his first wife. Women
try their luck ; men risk theirs."

" Narborough wasn't perfect," cried the old lady.

" If he had been, you would not have loved him,
my dear lady," was the rejoinder. " Women love
us for our defects. If we have enough of them they
will forgive us everything, even our intellects. You
will never ask me to dinner again, after saying this,
I am afraid, Lady Narborough ; but it is quite true."

" Of course it is true, Lord Henry. If we women
did not love you for your defects, where would you
all be ? Not one of you would ever be married. You
would be a set of unfortunate bachelors. Not, how-
ever, that that would alter you much. Nowadays all
the married men live like bachelors, and all the bache-
lors like married men."

" Fin de siecle," murmured Lord Henry.

" Fm du globe," answered his hostess.

" I wish it were fin du globe," said Dorian, with a
sigh. " Life is a great disappointment."



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 199

" Ah, my dear," cried Lady Narborough, putting
on her gloves, " don't tell me that you have exhausted
Life. When a man says that one knows that Life
has exhausted him. Lord Henry is very wicked, and
I sometimes wish that I had been ; but you are made
to be good you look so good. I must find you a nice
wife. Lord Henry, don't you think that Mr. Gray
should get married ? "

" I am always telling him so, Lady Narborough,"
said Lord Henry, with a bow.

" Well, we must look out for a suitable match for
him. I shall go through Debrett carefully to-night,
and draw out a list of all the eligible young ladies."

" With their ages, Lady Narborough ? " asked
Dorian.

" Of course, with their ages, slightly edited. But
nothing must be done in a hurry. I want it to be
what The Morning Post calls a suitable alliance, and
I want you both to be happy."

" What nonsense people talk about happy mar-
riages 1 " exclaimed Lord Henry. " A man can be
happy with any woman, as long as he does not love
her."

" Ah ! what a cynic you are ! " cried the old lady,
pushing back her chair, and nodding to Lady Ruxton.
" You must come and dine with me soon again. You
are really an admirable tonic, much better than what
Sir Andrew prescribes for me. You must tell me what
people you would like to meet, though. I want it to
be a delightful gathering."

" I like men who have a future, and women who
have a past," he answered. " Or do you think that
would make it a petticoat party ? "

" I fear so," she said, laughing, as she stood up.
" A thousand pardons, my dear Lady Ruxton," she
added. " I didn't see you hadn't finished your
cigarette."

" Never mind, Lady Narborough. I smoke a
great deal too much. I am going to limit myself,
for the future."



200 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

" Pray don't, Lady Ruxton," said Lord Henry.
" Moderation is a fatal thing. Enough is as bad
as a meal. More than enough is as good as a feast."

Lady Ruxton glanced at him curiously. " You
must come and explain that to me some afternoon,
Lord Henry. It sounds a fascinating theory," she
murmured, as she swept out of the room.

" Now, mind you don't stay too long over your
politics and scandal," cried Lady Narborough from
the door. " If you do, we are sure to squabble up-
stairs."

The men laughed, and Mr. Chapman got up solemnly
from the foot of the table and came up to the top.
Dorian Gray changed his seat, and went and sat by
Lord Henry. Mr. Chapman began to talk in a loud
voice about the situation in the House of Commons.
He guffawed at his adversaries. The word doctrinaire
word full of terror to the British mind reappeared
from time to time between his explosions. An
alliterative prefix served as an ornament of oratory.
He hoisted the Union Jack on the pinnacles of
Thought. The inherited stupidity of the race sound
English common sense he jovially termed it was
shown to be the proper bulwark for Society.

A smile curved Lord Henry's lips, and he turned
round and looked at Dorian.

" Are you better, my dear fellow ? " he asked.
" You seemed rather out of sorts at dinner."

" I am quite well, Harry. I am tired. That
is all."

" You were charming last night. The little Duchess
is quite devoted to you. She tells me she is going
down to Selby."

" She has promised to come on the twentieth."

" Is Monmouth to be there too ? "

" Oh, yes, Harry."

" He bores me dreadfully, almost as much as he
bores her. She is very clever, too clever for a
woman. She lacks the indefinable charm of weakness.
It is the feet of clay that makes the gold of the image



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 201

precious. Her feet are very pretty, but they are not
feet of clay. White porcelain feet, if you like. They
have been through the fire, and what fire does not
destroy, it hardens. She has had experiences."

" How long has she been married ? " asked Dorian.

" An eternity, she tells me. I believe, according
to the peerage, it is ten years, but ten years with
Monmouth must have been like eternity, with time
thrown in. Who else is coming ? "

" Oh, the Willoughbys, Lord Rugby and his wife,
our hostess, Geoffrey Clouston, the usual set. I have
asked Lord Grotrian."

" I like him," said Lord Henry. " A great many
people don't, but I find him charming. He atones
for being occasionally somewhat over-dressed, by
being always absolutely over-educated. He is a very
modern type."

" I don't know if he will be able to come, Harry.
He may have to go to Monte Carlo with his father."

" Ah I what a nuisance people's people are 1 Try
and make him come. By the way, Dorian, you ran
off very early last night. You left before eleven.
What did you do afterwards ? Did you go straight
home ? "

Dorian glanced at him hurriedly, and frowned.
" No, Harry," he said at last, " I did not get home
till nearly three."

" Did you go to the club ? "

" Yes," he answered. Then he bit his lip. " No,
I don't mean that. I didn't go to the club. I
walked about. I forget what I did. . . . How in-
quisitive you are, Harry 1 You always want to
know what one has been doing. I always want to
forget what I have been doing. I came in at half-
past two, if you wish to know the exact time. I
had left my latch-key at home, and my servant had
to let me in. If you want any corroborative evidence
on the subject you can ask him."

Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. " My dear
fellow, as if I cared I Let us go up to the drawing-



202 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

room. No sherry, thank you, Mr. Chapman. Some-
thing has happened to you, Dorian. Tell me what it
Is. You are not yourself to-night."

" Don't mind me, Harry. I am irritable, and out
of temper. I shall come round and see you to-morrow
or next day. Make my excuses to Lady Narborough.
I shan't go upstairs. I shall go home. I must go
home."

" All right, Dorian. I daresay I shall see you to-
morrow at tea-time. The Duchess is coming."

" I will try to be there, Harry," he said, leaving
the room. As he drove back to his own house he
was conscious that the sense of terror he thought
he had strangled had come back to him. Lord
Henry's casual questioning had made him lose his
nerves for the moment, and he wanted his nerve still.
Things that were dangerous had to be destroyed. He
winced. He hated the idea of even touching them.

Yet it had to be done. He realised that, and when
he had locked the door of his library, he opened the
secret press into which he had thrust Basil Hallward's
coat and bag. A huge fire w r as blazing. He piled
another log on it. The smell of the singeing clothes
and burning leather was horrible. It took him
three-quarters of an hour to consume everything. At
the end he felt faint and sick, and having lit some
Algerian pastilles in a pierced copper brazier, he bathed
his hands and forehead with a cool musk-scented
vinegar.

Suddenly he started. His eyes grew strangely
bright, and he gnawed nervously at his under-lip.
Between two of the windows stood a large Florentine
cabinet, made out of ebony, and inlaid with ivory
and blue lapis. He watched it as though it were a
thing that could fascinate and make afraid, as though
it held something that he longed for and yet almost
loathed. His breath quickened. A mad craving
came over him. He lit a cigarette and then threw it
away. His eyelids drooped till the long fringed lashes
almost touched his cheek. But he still watched the



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 203

cabinet. At last he got up from the sofa on which
he had been lying, went over to it, and, having un-
locked it, touched some hidden spring. A triangular
drawer passed slowly out. His fingers moved in-
stinctively towards it, dipped in, and closed on some-
thing. It was a small Chinese box of black and gold-
dust lacquer, elaborately wrought, the sides patterned
with curved waves, and the silken cords hung with
round crystals and tasselled in plaited metal threads.
He opened it. Inside was a green paste, waxy in
lustre, the odour curiously heavy and persistent.

He hesitated for some moments, with a strangely
immobile smile upon his face. Then shivering,
though the atmosphere of the room was terribly
hot, he drew himself up, and glanced at the clock.
It was twenty minutes to twelve. He put the box
back, shutting the cabinet doors as he did so, and
went Into his bedroom.

As midnight was striking bronze blows upon the
dusky air, Dorian Gray dressed commonly, and with
a muffler wrapped round his throat, crept quietly out
of the house. In Bond Street he found a hansom
with a good horse. He hailed it, and in a low voice
gave the driver an address.

The man shook his head. " It is too far for me,"
he muttered.

44 Here is a sovereign for you," said Dorian. " You
shall have another if you drive fast."

" All right, sir," answered the man, " you will be
there in an hour," and after his fare had got in he
turned his horse round, and drove rapidly towards
the river.



CHAPTER XVI

A COLD rain began to fall, and the blurred street-
lamps looked ghastly in the dripping mist. The
public-houses were just closing, and dim men and
women were clustering in broken groups round their
doors. From some of the bars came the sound of hor-
rible laughter. In others, drunkards brawled and
screamed.

Lying back in the hansom, with his hat pulled
over his forehead, Dorian Gray watched with listless
eyes the sordid shame of the great city, and now
and then he repeated to himself the words that Lord
Henry had said to him on the first day they had met,
" To cure the soul by means of the senses, and the
senses by means of the soul." Yes, that was the
secret. He had often tried it, and would try it again
now. There were opium-dens, where one could buy
oblivion, dens of horror where the memory of old sins
could be destroyed by the madness of sins that were
new.

The moon hung low In the sky like a yellow skull.
From time to time a huge misshapen cloud stretched
a long arm across and hid it. The gas-lamps grew
fewer, and the streets more narrow and gloomy. Once
the man lost his way, and had to drive back half a
mile. A steam rose from the horse as it splashed up
the puddles. The side-windows of the hansom were
clogged with a grey-flannel mist.

" To cure the soul by means of the senses, and the
senses by means of the soul ! " How the words rang
in his ears ! His soul, certainly, was sick to death.
204



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 205

Was it true that the senses could cure it ? Innocent
blood had been spilt. What could atone for that ?
Ah I for that there was no atonement ; but though
forgiveness was impossible, forgetfulness was possible
still, and he was determined to forget, to stamp the
thing out, to crush it as one would crush the adder
that had stung one. Indeed, what right had Basil
to have spoken to him as he had done ? Who had made
him a judge over others ? He had said things that
were dreadful, horrible, not to be endured.

On and on plodded the hansom, going slower, it
seemed to him, at each step. He thrust up the trap,
and called to the man to drive faster. The hideous
hunger for opium began to gnaw at him. His throat
burned, and his delicate hands twitched nervously
together. He struck at the horse madly with his
stick. The driver laughed, and whipped up. He
laughed in answer, and the man was silent.

The way seemed interminable, and the streets
like the black web of some sprawling spider. The
monotony became unbearable, and, as the mist
thickened, he felt afraid.

Then they passed by lonely brickfields. The fog
was lighter here, and he could see the strange bottle-
shaped kilns with their orange fan-like tongues of fire.
A dog barked as they went by, and far away in the
darkness some wandering sea-gull screamed. The
horse stumbled in a rut, then swerved aside, and broke
Into a gallop.

After some time they left the clay road, and rattled
again over rough-paven streets. Most of the windows
were dark, but now and then fantastic shadows were
silhouetted against some lamp-lit blind. He watched
them curiously. They moved like monstrous mar-
ionettes, and made gestures like live things. He hated
them. A dull rage was in his heart. As they turned
a corner a woman yelled something at them from an
open door, and two men ran after the hansom for
about a hundred yards. The driver beat at them
with his whip.



206 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

It Is said that passion makes one think in a circle.
Certainly with hideous iteration the bitten lips of
Dorian Gray shaped and reshaped those subtle words
that dealt with soul and sense, till he had found hi
them the full expression, as it were, of his mood, and
justified, by intellectual approval, passions that
without such justification would still have dominated
his temper. From cell to cell of his brain crept the
one thought ; and the wild desire to live, most terrible
of all man's appetites, quickened into force each
trembling nerve and fibre. Ugliness that had once
been hateful to him because it made things real, be-
came dear to him now for that very reason. Ugliness
was the one reality. The coarse brawl, the loathsome
den, the crude violence of disordered life, the very vile-
ness of thief and outcast, were more vivid, in their
intense actuality of impression, than all the gracious
shapes of Art, the dreamy shadows of Song. They
were what he needed for forgetfulness. In three days
he w r ould be free.

Suddenly the man drew up w r ith a jerk at the top
of a dark lane. Over the low roofs and jagged chimney
stacks of the houses rose the black masts of ships.
\Vreaths of white mist clung like ghostly sails to the
yards.

" Somewhere about here, sir, ain't it ? " he asked
huskily through the trap.

Dorian started, and peered round. " This will
do," he answered, and, having got out hastily, and
given the driver the extra fare he had promised him,
he walked quickly in the direction of the quay. Here
and there a lantern gleamed at the stern of some huge
merchantman. The light shook and splintered in the
puddles. A red glare came from an outward-bound
steamer that was coaling. The slimy pavement
looked like a wet mackintosh.

He hurried on towards the left, glancing back now
and then to see if he was being followed. In about
seven or eight minutes he reached a small shabby
house, that was wedged in between two gaunt factories.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 207

In one of the top-windows stood a lamp. He stopped,
and gave a peculiar knock.

After a little time he heard steps in the passage,
and the chain being unhooked. The door opened
quietly, and he went in without saying a word to the
squat misshapen figure that flattened itself into the
shadow as he passed. At the end of the hall hung a
tattered green curtain that swayed and shook in the
gusty wind which had followed him in from the street.
He dragged it aside, and entered a long, low room
which looked as if it had once been a third-rate danc-
ing-saloon. Shrill flaring gas-jets, dulled and dis-
torted in the fly-blown mirrors that faced them, were
ranged round the walls. Greasy reflectors of ribbed
tin backed them, making quivering discs of light.
The floor was covered with ochre-coloured sawdust,
trampled here and there into mud, and stained with
dark rings of spilt liquor. Some Malays were crouch-
ing by a little charcoal stove playing with bone
counters, and showing their white teeth as they
chattered. In one corner, with his head buried in
his arms, a sailor sprawled over a table, and by the
tawdrily-painted bar that ran across one complete
side stood two haggard women mocking an old man
who was brushing the sleeves of his coat with an ex-
pression of disgust. " He thinks he's got red ants
on him," laughed one of them, as Dorian passed by.
The man looked at her in terror and began to
whimper.

At the end of the room there was a little stair-
case, leading to a darkened chamber. As Dorian
hurried up its three rickety steps, the heavy odour
of opium met him. He heaved a deep breath, and
his nostrils quivered with pleasure. When he entered,
a young man with smooth yellow hair, who was bend-
ing over a lamp, lighting a long thin pipe, looked up
at him, and nodded in a hesitating manner.

" You here, Adrian ? " muttered Dorian.

" Where else should I be ? " he answered, listlessly.
" None of the chaps will speak to me now."



208 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

" I thought you had left England."

" Darlington is not going to do anything. My
brother paid the bill at last. George doesn't speak
to me either. ... I don't care," he added, with
a sigh. " As long as one has this stuff, one doesn't
want friends. I think I have had too many friends."

Dorian winced, and looked round at the grotesque
things that lay in such fantastic postures on the
ragged mattresses. The twisted limbs, the gaping
mouths, the staring lustreless eyes, fascinated him.
He knew in what strange heavens they were suffer-
ing, and what dull hells were teaching them the
secret of some new joy. They were better off than
he was. He was prisoned in thought. Memory,
like a horrible malady, was eating his soul away.
From time to time he seemed to see the eyes of Basil
Hallward looking at him. Yet he felt he could not
stay. The presence of Adrian Singleton troubled
him. He wanted to be where no one would know who
he was. He wanted to escape from himself.

" I am going on to the other place," he said, after
a pause.

"On the wharf?"

" Yes."

" That mad-cat is sure to be there. They won't
have her in this place now."

Dorian shrugged his shoulders. " I am sick of
women who love one. Women who hate one are
much more interesting. Besides, the stuff is better."

" Much the same."

" I like it better. Come and have something to
drink. I must have something."

" I don't want anything," murmured the young
man.

" Never mind."

Adrian Singleton rose up wearily, and followed
Dorian to the bar. A half-caste, in a ragged turban
and a shabby ulster, grinned a hideous greeting as
he thrust a bottle of brandy and two tumblers in front
of them. The women sidled up, and began to chatter.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 209

Dorian turned his back on them, and said something
In a low voice to Adrian Singleton.

A crooked smile, like a Malay crease, writhed across
the face of one of the women. " We are very proud
to-night," she sneered.

" For God's sake don't talk to me," cried Dorian,
stamping his foot on the ground. " What do you
want ? Money ? Here it is. Don't ever talk to
me again."

Two red sparks flashed for a moment in the woman's
sodden eyes, then flickered out, and left them dull and
glazed. She tossed her head, and raked the coins
off the counter with greedy fingers. Her companion
watched her enviously.

" It's no use," sighed Adrian Singleton. " I don't
care to go back. What does it matter ? I am quite
happy here."

' You will write to me if you want anything, won't
you ? " said Dorian, after a pause.

" Perhaps."

" Good-night, then."

" Good-night," answered the young man, passing
up the steps, and wiping his parched mouth with a
handkerchief.

Dorian walked to the door with a look of pain in
his face. As he drew the curtain aside a hideous
laugh broke from the painted lips of the woman
who had taken his money. " There goes the devil's
bargain ! " she hiccoughed, in a hoarse voice.

" Curse you ! " he answered, " don't call me that."

She snapped her fingers. " Prince Charming is
what you like to be called, ain't it ? " she yelled after
him.

The drowsy sailor leapt to his feet as she spoke,
and looked wildly round. The sound of the shutting
of the hall door fell on his ear. He rushed out as if
In pursuit.

Dorian Gray hurried along the quay through the
drizzling rain. His meeting with Adrian Singleton
had strangely moved him, and he wondered if the



210 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

ruin of that young life was really to be laid at his
door, as Basil Halhvard had said to him with such
infamy of insult. He bit his lip, and for a few seconds
his eyes grew sad. Yet, after all, what did it matter
to him ? One's days were too brief to take the burden
of another's errors on one's shoulders. Each man
lived his own life, and paid his own price for living it.
The only pity was one had to pay so often for a single
fault. One had to pay over and over again, indeed.
In her dealings with man Destiny never closed her
accounts.

There are moments, psychologists tell us, when
the passion for sin, or for what the world calls sin,
so dominates a nature, that every fibre of the body,
as every cell of the brain, seems to be Instinct with
fearful impulses. Men and women at such moments
lose the freedom of their will. They move to their
terrible end as automatons move, Choice Is taken
from them, and conscience is either killed, or, if it
lives at all, lives but to give rebellion its fascination,
and disobedience its charm. For all sins, as theo-
logians weary not of reminding us, are sins of dis-
obedience. When that high spirit, that morning-star
of evil, fell from heaven, it was as a rebel that he
fell.

Callous, concentrated on evil, with stained mind,
and soul hungry for rebellion, Dorian Gray hastened
on, quickening his step as he went, but as he darted
aside into a dim archway, that had served him often
as a short cut to the ill-famed place where he was
going, he felt himself suddenly seized from behind, and
before he had time to defend himself he was thrust
back against the wall, with a brutal hand round his
throat.

He struggled madly for life, and by a terrible effort
wrenched the tightening fingers away. In a second
he heard the click of a revolver, and saw the gleam
of a polished barrel pointing straight at his head, and
the dusky form of a short thick-set man facing him.

" What do you want ? " he gasped.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 211

" Keep quiet," said the man. " If you stir, I
shoot you."

' You are mad. What have I done to you ? "

" You wrecked the life of Sibyl Vane," was the
answer, " and Sibyl Vane was my sister. She killed
herself. I know it. Her death is at your door.
I swore I would kill you in return. For years I have
sought you. I had no clue, no trace. The two people
who could have described you were dead. I knew
nothing of you but the pet name she used to call you.
I heard it to-night by chance. Make your peace with
God, for to-night you are going to die."

Dorian Gray grew sick with fear. " I never knew
her," he stammered. " I never heard of her. You
are mad."

" You had better confess your sin, for as sure as
I am James Vane, you are going to die." There
was a horrible moment. Dorian did not know what
to say or do. " Down on your knees I " growled the
man. " I give you one minute to make your peace
no more. I go on board to-night for India, and I must
do my job first. One minute. That's all."

Dorian's arms fell to his side. Paralysed with
terror, he did not know what to do. Suddenly a
wild hope flashed across his brain. " Stop," he cried.
" How long ago is it since your sister died ? Quick,
tell me I "

" Eighteen years," said the man. " Why do you
ask me ? What do years matter ? "

" Eighteen years," laughed Dorian Gray, with
a touch of triumph in his voice. " Eighteen years 1
Set me under the lamp and look at my face 1 "

James Vane hesitated for a moment, not under-
standing what was meant. Then he seized Dorian
Gray and dragged him from the archway.

Dim and wavering as was the wind-blown light,
yet it served to show him the hideous error, as it
seemed, into which he had fallen, for the face of
the man he had sought to kill had all the bloom of
boyhood, all the unstained purity of youth. He



212 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

seemed little more than a lad of twenty summers,
hardly older, if older indeed at all, than his sister had
been when they had parted so many years ago. It
was obvious that this was not the man who had
destroyed her life.

He loosened his hold and reeled back. " My God I
my God I " he cried, " and I would have murdered
you 1 "

Dorian Gray drew a long breath. ' You have
been on the brink of committing a terrible crime,
my man," he said, looking at him sternly. "Let
this be a warning to you not to take vengeance into
your own hands."

" Forgive me, sir," muttered James Vane. " I
was deceived. A chance word I heard in that damned
den set me on the wrong track."

" You had better go home, and put that pistol
away, or you may get into trouble," said Dorian,
turning on his heel, and going slowly down the street.

James Vane stood on the pavement in horror.
He was trembling from head to foot. After a little
while a black shadow that had been creeping along
the dripping wall, moved out into the light and
came close to him with stealthy footsteps. He felt
a hand laid on his arm and looked round with a
start. It was one of the women who had been
drinking at the bar.

" Why didn't you kill him ? " she hissed out,
putting her haggard face quite close to his. " I
knew you were following him when you rushed out
from Daly's. You fool 1 You should have killed
him. He has lots of money, and he's as bad as
bad."

" He is not the man I am looking for," he answered,
" and I want no man's money. I want a man's life.
The man whose life I want must be nearly forty now.
This one is little more than a boy. Thank God, I
have not got his blood upon my hands."

The woman gave a bitter laugh. " Little more
than a boy ! " she sneered. " Why, man, it's nigh



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 213

on eighteen years since Prince Charming made me
what I am."

" You lie 1 " cried James Vane.

She raised her hand up to heaven. " Before God
I am telling the truth," she cried.

" Before God ? "

" Strike me dumb If it ain't so. He is the worst
one that comes here. They say he has sold him-
self to the devil for a pretty face. It's nigh on eighteen
years since I met him. He hasn't changed much
since then. I have though," she added, with a sickly
leer.

" You swear this ? "

" I swear it," came In hoarse echo from her flat
mouth. " But don't give me away to him," she
whined ; " I am afraid of him. Let me have some
money for my night's lodging."

He broke from her with an oath, and rushed to the
corner of the street, but Dorian Gray had dis-
appeared. When he looked back, the woman had
vanished also.



CHAPTER XVII

A WEEK later Dorian Gray was sitting In the con-
servatory at Selby Royal talking to the pretty
Duchess of Monmouth, who with her husband, a
jaded-looking man of sixty, was amongst his guests.
It was tea-time, and the mellow light of the huge
lace-covered lamp that stood on the table lit up the
delicate china and hammered silver of the service
at which the Duchess was presiding. Her white
hands were moving daintily among the cups, and her
full red lips were smiling at something that Dorian
had whispered to her. Lord Henry was lying back
in a silk-draped wicker chair looking at them. On a
peach-coloured divan sat Lady Narborough pretend-
ing to listen to the Duke's description of the last
Brazilian beetle that he had added to his collection.
Three young men in elaborate smoking-suits were
handing tea-cakes to some of the women. The house-
party consisted of twelve people, and there were more
expected to arrive on the next day.

" What are you two talking about ? " said Lord
Henry, strolling over to the table, and putting his
cup down. " I hope Dorian has told you about
my plan for rechristening everything, Gladys. It
Is a delightful idea."

" But I don't want to be rechristened, Harry,"
rejoined the Duchess, looking up at him with her
wonderful eyes. " I am quite satisfied with my
own name, and I am sure Mr. Gray should be satisfied
with his."

" My dear Gladys, I would not alter either name
214



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 215

for the world. They are both perfect. I was thinking
chiefly of flowers. Yesterday I cut an orchid, for my
buttonhole. It was a marvellous spotted thing, as
effective as the seven deadly sins. In a thoughtless
moment I asked one of the gardeners what it was called.
He told me it was a fine specimen of Robinsoniana,
or something dreadful of that kind. It is a sad
truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely
names to things. Names are everything. I never
quarrel with actions. My one quarrel is with words.
That is the reason I hate vulgar realism in literature.
The man who could call a spade a spade should be
compelled to use one. It is the only thing he is fit
for."

" Then what should we call you, Harry ? " she
asked.

" His name Is Prince Paradox," said Dorian.

" I recognise him in a flash," exclaimed the Duchess.

" I won't hear of it," laughed Lord Henry, sinking
into a chair. " From a label there is no escape I
I refuse the title."

" Royalties may not abdicate," fell as a warning
from pretty lips.

" You wish me to defend my throne, then ? "

" Yes."

" I give the truths of to-morrow."

" I prefer the mistakes of to-day," she answered.

" You disarm me, Gladys," he cried, catching the
wilfulness of her mood.

" Of your shield, Harry : not of your spear."

" I never tilt against Beauty," he said, with a wave
of his hand.

" That is your error, Harry, believe me. You
value beauty far too much."

" How can you say that ? I admit that I think
that it is better to be beautiful than to be good.
But on the other hand no one is more ready than I am
to acknowledge that it is better to be good than to
be ugly."

" Ugliness is one of the seven deadly sins, then ? "



216 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

cried the Duchess. " What becomes of your simile
about the orchid ? "

" Ugliness is one of the seven deadly virtues,
Gladys. You, as a good Tory, must not underrate
them. Beer, the Bible, and the seven deadly virtues
have made our England what she is."

" You don't like your country, then ? " she asked.
" I live in it."

" That you may censure it the better."
" Would you have me take the verdict of Europe
on it ? " he inquired.

" What do they say of us?"

" That Tartu fie has emigrated to England and
opened a shop."

" Is that yours, Harry ? "
" I give it to you."
" I could not use it. It Is too true."
" You need not be afraid. Our countrymen never
recognise a description."
" They are practical."

" They are more cunning than practical. When
they make up their ledger, they balance stupidity
by wealth, and vice by hypocrisy."
" Still, we have done great things."
" Great things have been thrust on us, Gladys."
" We have carried their burden."
" Only as far as the Stock Exchange."
She shook her head. " I believe in the race,"
she cried.

It represents the survival of the pushing."

It has development."

Decay fascinates me more."

What of Art ? " she asked.

It is a malady."

Love ? "

An illusion."

Religion ? "

The fashionable substitute for Belief."

You are a sceptic."

Never I Scepticism is the beginning of Faith."



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 217

" What are you ? "

" To define is to limit."

" Give me a clue."

" Threads snap. You would lose your way in the
labyrinth."

"You bewilder me. Let us talk of someone else."

" Our host is a delightful topic. Years ago he was
christened Prince Charming."

" Ah ! don't remind me of that," cried Dorian Gray.

" Our host is rather horrid this evening," answered
the Duchess, colouring. " I believe he thinks that
Monmouth married me on purely scientific principles
as the best specimen he could find of a modern butter-
fly."

" Well, I hope he won't stick pins Into you.
Duchess," laughed Dorian.

" Oh I my maid does that already, Mr. Gray, when
she is annoyed with me."

" And what does she get annoyed with you about,
Duchess ? "

" For the most trivial things, Mr. Gray, I assure
you. Usually because I come in at ten minutes to
nine and tell her that I must be dressed by half-
past eight."

" How unreasonable of her ! You should give her
warning."

" I daren't, Mr. Gray. Why, she invents hats for
me. You remember the one I wore at Lady Hil-
stone's garden-party ? You don't, but it Is nice of
you to pretend that you do. Well, she made it out
of nothing. All good hats are made out of nothing."

" Like all good reputations, Gladys," interrupted
Lord Henry. " Every effect that one produces gives
one an enemy. To be popular one must be a medio-
crity."

" Not with women," said the Duchess, shaking
her head ; " and women rule the world. I assure
you we can't bear mediocrities. We women, as some-
one says, love with our ears, just as you men love with
your eyes, if you ever love at all."



218 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

" It seems to me that we never do anything else,"
murmured Dorian.

" Ah I then, you never really love, Mr. Gray,"
answered the Duchess, with mock sadness.

" My dear Gladys I " cried Lord Henry. " How
can you say that ? Romance lives by repetition,
and repetition converts an appetite into an art.
Besides, each time that one loves is the only tune
one has ever loved. Difference of object does not
alter singleness of passion. It merely Intensifies
it. We can have in life but one great experience
at best, and the secret of life is to reproduce that
experience as often as possible."

" Even when one has been wounded by it, Harry ? "
asked the Duchess, after a pause.

" Especially when one has been wounded by it,"
answered Lord Henry.

The Duchess turned and looked at Dorian Gray
with a curious expression in her eyes. " What do
you say to that, Mr. Gray ? " she inquired.

Dorian hesitated for a moment. Then he threw
his head back and laughed. " I always agree with
Harry, Duchess."

" Even when he Is wrong ? "

" Harry is never wrong, Duchess."

" And does his philosophy make you happy ? "

" I have never searched for happiness. Who
wants happiness ? I have searched for pleasure."

" And found it, Mr. Gray ? "

" Often. Too often."

The Duchess sighed. " I am searching for peace,"
she said, " and if I don't go and dress, I shall have
none this evening."

" Let me get you some orchids, Duchess," cried
Dorian, starting to his feet, and walking down the
conservatory.

" You are flirting disgracefully with him," said
Lord Henry to his cousin. " You had better take
care. He is very fascinating."

" If he were not, there would be no battle."



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 219

" Greek meets Greek, then ? "

" I am on the side of the Trojans. They fought
for a woman."

" They were defeated."

" There are worse things than capture," she
answered. Cj

" You gallop with a loose rein."

" Pace gives life," was the riposte.

" I shall write it in my diary to-night."

" What ? "

" That a burnt child loves the fire."

" I am not even singed. My wings are untouched."

" You use them for everything, except flight."

" Courage has passed from men to women. It
Is a new experience for us."

" You have a rival."

" Who ? "

He laughed. " Lady Narborough," he whispered.
" She perfectly adores him."

" You fill me with apprehension. The appeal to
Antiquity is fatal to us who are romanticists."

" Romanticists I You have all the methods of
science."

" Men have educated us."

" But not explained you."

" Describe us as a sex," was her challenge.

" Sphynxes without secrets."

She looked at him, smiling. " How long Mr.
Gray is ! " she said. " Let us go and help him. I
have not yet told him the colour of my frock."

" Ah 1 you must suit your frock to his flowers,
Gladys."

That would be a premature surrender."
Romantic Art begins with its climax."
I must keep an opportunity for retreat."
In the Parthian manner ? "
They found safety in the desert. I could not
do that."

" Women are not always allowed a choice," he
answered, but hardly had he finished the sentence



220 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

before from the far end of the conservatory came
a stifled groan, followed by the dull sound of a heavy
fall. Everybody started up. The Duchess stood
motionless in horror. And with fear in his eyes Lord
Henry rushed through the flapping palms to find
Dorian Gray lying face downwards on the tiled floor
In a death-like swoon.

He was carried at once into the blue drawing-room,
and laid upon one of the sofas. After a short time he
came to himself, and looked round with a dazed ex-
pression.

" What has happened ? " he asked. " Oh I I
remember. Am I safe here, Harry ? " He began to
tremble.

" My dear Dorian," answered Lord Henry, " you
merely fainted. That was all. You must have
overtired yourself. You had better not come down
to dinner. I will take your place."

" No, I will come down," he said, struggling to his
feet. " I would rather come down. I must not be
alone."

He went to his room and dressed. There was a
wild recklessness of gaiety in his manner as he sat
at table, but now and then a thrill of terror ran through
him when he remembered that, pressed against the
window of the conservatory, like a white handker-
chief, he had seen the face of James Vane watching
him.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE next day he did not leave the house, and, indeed,
spent most of the time in his own room, sick with
a wild terror of dying, and yet indifferent to life itself.
The consciousness of being hunted, snared, tracked
down, had begun to dominate him. If the tapestry
did but tremble in the wind, he shook. The dead
leaves that were blown against the leaded panes
seemed to him like his own wasted resolutions and wild
regrets. When he closed his eyes, he saw again the
sailor's face peering through the mist-stained glass,
and horror seemed once more to lay its hand upon his
heart.

But perhaps it had been only his fancy that had
called vengeance out of the night, and set the hideous
shapes of punishment before him. Actual life was
chaos, but there was something terribly logical in
the imagination. It was the imagination that set
remorse to dog the feet of sin. It was the imagination
that made each crime bear its misshapen brood. In
the common world of fact the wicked were not
punished, nor the good rewarded. Success was given
to the strong, failure thrust upon the weak. That
was all. Besides, had any stranger been prowling
round the house he would have been seen by the
servants or the keepers. Had any footmarks been
found on the flower-beds, the gardeners would have
reported it. Yes : it had been merely fancy. Sibyl
Vane's brother had not come back to kill him. He
had sailed away in his ship to founder in some winter
221



222 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

sea. From him, at any rate, he was safe. Why,
the man did not know who he was, could not know
who he was. The mask of youth had saved him.

And yet if it had been merely an illusion, how
terrible it was to think that conscience could raise
such fearful phantoms, and give them visible form,
and make them move before one ! What sort of life
would his be, if day and night, shadows of his crime
were to peer at him from silent corners, to mock him
from secret places, to whisper in his ear as he sat
at the feast, to wake him with icy fingers as he lay
asleep I As the thought crept through his brain, he
grew pale with terror, and the air seemed to him to
have become suddenly colder. Oh ! in what a wild
hour of madness he had killed his friend ! How ghastly
the mere memory of the scene I He saw it all again.
Each hideous detail came back to him with added
horror. Out of the black cave of Time, terrible and
swathed in scarlet, rose the image of his sin. When
Lord Henry came in at six o'clock, he found him crying
as one whose heart will break.

It was not till the third day that he ventured to
go out. There was something in the clear, pine-
scented air of that winter morning that seemed
to bring him back his joyousness and his ardour for
life. But it was not merely the physical conditions
of environment that had caused the change. His own
nature had revolted against the excess of anguish that
had sought to maim and mar the perfection of its
calm. With subtle and finely-wrought tempera-
ments it is always so. Their strong passions must
either bruise or bend. They either slay the man, or
themselves die. Shallow sorrows and shallow loves
live on. The loves and sorrows that are great are
destroyed by their own plenitude. Besides, he had
convinced himself that he had been the victim of a
terror-stricken imagination, and looked back now on
his fears with something of pity and not a little of
contempt.

After breakfast he walked with the Duchess for



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 223

an hour in the garden, and then drove across the park
to join the shooting-party. The crisp frost lay like
salt upon the grass. The sky was an inverted cup
of blue metal. A thin film of ice bordered the flat
reed-grown lake.

At the corner of the pine-wood he caught sight of
Sir Geoffrey Glouston, the Duchess's brother, jerking
two spent cartridges out of his gun. He jumped from
the cart, and having told the groom to take the mare
home, made his way towards his guest through the
withered bracken and rough undergrowth.

" Have you had good sport, Geoffrey ? " he asked.

" Not very good, Dorian. I think most of the birds
have gone to the open. I dare say it will be better
after lunch, when we get to new ground."

Dorian strolled along by his side. The keen
aromatic air, the brown and red lights that glimmered
in the wood, the hoarse cries of the beaters ringing
out from time to time, and the sharp snaps of the guns
that followed, fascinated him, and filled him with a
sense of delightful freedom. He was dominated by
the carelessness of happiness, by the high indifference
of joy.

Suddenly from a lumpy tussock of old grass, some
twenty yards in front of them, with black-tipped
ears erect, and long hinder limbs throwing it for-
ward, started a hare. It bolted for a thicket of alders.
Sir Geoffrey put his gun to his shoulder, but there was
something in the animal's grace of movement that
strangely charmed Dorian Gray, and he cried out at
once, " Don't shoot it, Geoffrey. Let it live."

" What nonsense, Dorian I " laughed his companion,
and as the hare bounded into the thicket he fired.
There were two cries heard, the cry of a hare in pain,
which is dreadful, the cry of a man in agony, which
is worse.

" Good heavens I I have hit a beater ! " exclaimed
Sir Geoffrey. " What an ass the man was to get in
front of the guns ! Stop shooting there 1 " he called
out at the top of his voice. " A man is hurt."



224 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

The head-keeper came running up with a stick In
his hand.

" Where, sir ? Where is he ? " he shouted. At
the same time the firing ceased along the line.

" Here," answered Sir Geoffrey, angrily, hurrying
towards the thicket. "Why on earth don't you keep
your men back ? Spoiled my shooting for the day."

Dorian watched them as they plunged into the alder-
clump, brushing the lithe, swinging branches aside.
In a few moments they emerged, dragging a body after
them into the sunlight. He turned away in horror.
It seemed to him that misfortune followed wherever
he went. He heard Sir Geoffrey ask if the man was
really dead, and the affirmative answer of the keeper.
The wood seemed to him to have become suddenly
alive with faces. There was the trampling of myriad
feet, and the low buzz of voices. A great copper-
breasted pheasant came beating through the boughs
overhead.

After a few moments, that were to him, in his per-
turbed state, like endless hours of pain, he felt a hand
laid on his shoulder. He started, and looked round.

" Dorian," said Lord Henry, " I had better tell
them that the shooting is stopped for to-day. It
would not look well to go on."

" I wish it were stopped for ever, Harry," he
answered, bitterly. " The whole thing is hideous
and cruel. Is the man . . . ? "

He could not finish the sentence.

" I am afraid so," rejoined Lord Henry. " He
got the whole charge of shot in his chest. He must
have died almost instantaneously. Come ; let us
go home."

They walked side by side in the direction of the
avenue for nearly fifty yards without speaking.
Then Dorian looked at Lord Henry, and said, with a
heavy sigh, " It is a bad omen, Harry, a very bad
omen."

" What is ? " asked Lord Henry. " Oh I this
accident, I suppose. My dear fellow, It can't be



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 225

helped. It was the man's own fault. Why did he
get in front of the guns ? Besides, it's nothing to
us. It Is rather awkward for Geoffrey, of course.
It does not do to pepper beaters. It makes people
think that one is a wild shot. And Geoffrey is not ;
he shoots very straight. But there is no use talking
about the matter."

Dorian shook his head. " It is a bad omen, Harry.
I feel as if something horrible were going to happen
to some of us. To myself, perhaps," he added, pass-
ing his hand over his eyes, with a gesture of pain.

The elder man laughed. " The only horrible thing
In the world is ennui, Dorian. That is the one sin
for which there is no forgiveness. But we are not
likely to suffer from it, unless these fellows keep
chattering about this thing at dinner. I must tell them
that the subject is to be tabooed. As for omens,
there is no such thing as an omen. Destiny does not
send us heralds. She is too wise or too cruel for that.
Besides, what on earth could happen to you, Dorian ?
You have everything in the world that a man can want.
There is no one who would not be delighted to change
places with you."

" There is no one with whom I would not change
places, Harry. Don't laugh like that. I am telling
you the truth. The wretched peasant who has just
died is better off than I am. I have no terror of
Death. It is the coming of Death that terrifies me.
Its monstrous wings seem to wheel in the leaden
air around me. Good heavens I don't you see a man
moving behind the trees there, watching me, waiting
for me ? "

Lord Henry looked in the direction in which the
trembling gloved hand was pointing. " Yes," he
said, smiling, " I see the gardener waiting for you.
I suppose he wants to ask you what flowers you wish
to have on the table to-night. How absurdly nervous
you are, my dear fellow I You must come and see
my doctor, when we get back to town."

Dorian heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the gardener
8



226 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

approaching. The man touched his hat, glanced for
a moment at Lord Henry in a hesitating manner, and
then produced a letter, which he handed to his master.
" Her Grace told me to wait for an answer," he mur-
mured.

Dorian put the letter into his pocket. " Tell her
Grace that I am coming in," he said, coldly. The man
turned round, and went rapidly in the direction of
the house.

" How fond women are of doing dangerous things I "
laughed Lord Henry. " It is one of the qualities in
them that I admire most. A woman will flirt with
anybody in the world as long as other people are
looking on."

" How fond you are of saying dangerous things,
Harry ! In the present instance you are quite
astray. I like the Duchess very much, but I don't
love her."

" And the Duchess loves you very much, but she
likes you less, so you are excellently matched."

" You are talking scandal, Harry, and there Is
never any basis for scandal."

" The basis of every scandal is an immoral cer-
tainty," said Lord Henry, lighting a cigarette.

" You would sacrifice anybody, Harry, for the sake
of an epigram."

" The world goes to the altar of its own accord,"
was the answer.

" I wish I could love," cried Dorian Gray, with a
deep note of pathos in his voice. " But I seem to
have lost the passion, and forgotten the desire. I
am too much concentrated on myself. My own
personality has become a burden to me. I want
to escape, to go away, to forget. It was silly of me
to come down here at all. I think I shall send a wire
to Harvey to have the yacht got ready. On a yacht
one is safe."

" Safe from what, Dorian ? You are in some
trouble. Why not tell me what it is ? You know
I would help you."



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 227

" I can't tell you, Harry," he answered, sadly.
" And I dare say it is only a fancy of mine. This
unfortunate accident has upset me. I have a horrible
presentiment that something of the kind may happen
to me."

" What nonsense I "

" I hope it is, but I can't help feeling it. Ah !
here is the Duchess, looking like Artemis in a tailor-
made gown. You see we have come back, Duchess."

" I have heard all about it, Mr. Gray," she an-
swered. " Poor Geoffrey is terribly upset. And
it seems that you asked him not to shoot the hare.
How curious ! "

" Yes, it was very curious. I don't know what
made me say it. Some whim, I suppose. It looked
the loveliest of little live things. But I am sorry
they told you about the man. It is a hideous subject."

" It is an annoying subject," broke in Lord Henry.
" It has no psychological value at all. Now if
Geoffrey had done the thing on purpose, how interest-
ing he would be I I should like to know someone who
had committed a real murder."

" How horrid of you, Harry ! " cried the Duchess.
" Isn't it, Mr. Gray ? Harry, Mr. Gray is ill again.
He is going to faint."

Dorian drew himself up with an effort, and smiled.
" It is nothing, Duchess," he murmured ; " my
nerves are dreadfully out of order. That is all. I
am afraid I walked too far this morning. I didn't
hear what Harry said. Was it very bad ? You musl
tell me some other time. I think I must go and lie
down. You will excuse me, won't you ? "

They had reached the great flight of steps that led
from the conservatory on to the terrace. As the glass
door closed behind Dorian, Lord Henry turned and
looked at the Duchess with his slumberous eyes.
" Are you very much in love with him ? " he asked.

She did not answer for some time, but stood gazing
at the landscape. " I wish I knew," she said at last.

He shook his head. " Knowledge would be fatal.



228 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

It is the uncertainty that charms one. A mist makes
things wonderful."

One may lose one's way."

All ways end at the same point, my dear Gladys."

What is that ? "

Disillusion."

It was my debut in life," she sighed.

It came to you crowned."

I am tired of strawberry leaves."

They become you."

Only in public."

You would miss them," said Lord Henry.

I will not part with a petal."

Monmouth has ears."

Old age is dull of hearing."

Has he never been jealous ? "

I wish he had been."
He glanced about as if in search of something.
" What are you looking for ? " she inquired.

" The button from your foil," he answered. " You
have dropped it."

She laughed. " I have still the mask."
" It makes your eyes lovelier," was his reply.
She laughed again. Her teeth showed like white
seeds in a scarlet fruit.

Upstairs, in his own room, Dorian Gray was lying
on a sofa, with terror in every tingling fibre of his
body. Life had suddenly become too hideous a
burden for him to bear. The dreadful death of the
unlucky beater, shot in the thicket like a wild animal,
had seemed to him to prefigure death for himself also.
He had nearly swooned at what Lord Henry had said
in a chance mood of cynical jesting.

At five o'clock he rang his bell for his servant and
gave him orders to pack his things for the night-
express to town, and to have the brougham at the door
by eight-thirty. He was determined not to sleep
another night at Selby Royal. It was an ill-omened
place. Death walked there in the sunlight. The
grass of the forest had been spotted with blood.



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 229

Then he wrote a note to Lord Henry, telling him
that he was going up to town to consult his doctor,
and asking him to entertain his guests in his absence.
As he was putting it into the envelope, a knock came
to the door, and his valet informed him that the head-
keeper wished to see him. He frowned, and bit his
lip. " Send him in," he muttered, after some mo-
ments' hesitation.

As soon as the man entered Dorian pulled his cheque-
book out of a drawer, and spread it out before him.

" I suppose you have come about the unfortunate
accident of this morning, Thornton ? " he said, taking
up a pen.

' Yes, sir," answered the gamekeeper.

" Was the poor fellow married ? Had he any
people dependent on him? " asked Dorian, looking
bored. " If so, I should not like them to be left
In want, and will send them any sum of money you
may think necessary."

" We don't know who he is, sir. That is what I
took the liberty of coming to you about."

" Don't know who he is ? " said Dorian, listlessly.
" What do you mean ? Wasn't he one of your
men ? "

" No, sir. Never saw him before. Seems like a
sailor, sir."

The pen dropped from Dorian Gray's hand, and
he felt as it his jieart had suddenly stopped beating.
" A sailor ? " he cried out. " Did you say a sailor ? "

" Yes, sir. He looks as if he had been a sort of
sailor ; tattooed on both arms, and that kind of
thing."

" Was there anything found on him ? " said Dorian,
leaning forward and looking at the man with startled
eyes. " Anything that would tell his name ? "

" Some money, sir not much, and a six-shooter.
There was no name of any kind. A decent-looking
man, sir, but rough-like. A sort of sailor, we
think."

Dorian started to his feet. A terrible hope fluttered



230 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

past him. He clutched at it madly. " Where is
the body ? " he exclaimed. " Quick 1 I must see
it at once."

" It is in an empty stable in the Home Farm,
sir. The folk don't like to have that sort of thing
in their houses. They say a corpse brings bad luck."

" The Home Farm 1 Go there at once and meet
me. Tell one of the grooms to bring my horse round.
No. Never mind. I'll go to the stables myself.
It will save time."

In less than a quarter of an hour Dorian Gray was
galloping down the long avenue as hard as he could
go. The trees seemed to sweep past him in spectral
procession, and wild shadows to fling themselves
across his path. Once the mare swerved at a white
gate-post and nearly threw him. He lashed her
across the neck with his crop. She cleft the dusky air
like an arrow. The stones flew from her hoofs.

At last he reached the Home Farm. Two men
were loitering in the yard. He leapt from the saddle
and threw the reins to one of them. In the farthest
stable a light was glimmering. Something seemed
to tell him that the body was there, and he hurried
to the door, and put his hand upon the latch.

There he paused for a moment, feeling that he
was on the brink of a discovery that would either
make or mar his life. Then he thrust the door open,
and entered.

On a heap of sacking in the far 'corner was lying
the dead body of a man dressed in a coarse shirt
and a pair of blue trousers. A spotted handkerchief
had been placed over the face. A coarse candle,
stuck in a bottle, sputtered beside it.

Dorian Gray shuddered. He felt that his could
not be the hand to take the handkerchief away, and
called out to one of the farm-servants to come to him.

" Take that thing off the face. I wish to see
it," he said, clutching at the doorpost for support.

When the farm-servant had done so, he stepped
forward. A cry of joy broke from his lips. The



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 231

man who had been shot in the thicket was James
Vane.

He stood there for some minutes looking at the
dead body. As he rode home, his eyes were full of
tears, for he knew he was safe.



CHAPTER XIX

" THERE Is no use your telling me that you are going
to be good," cried Lord Henry, dipping his white
fingers into a red copper bowl filled with rose-water.
" You're quite perfect. Pray, don't change."

Dorian Gray shook his head. " No, Harry, I
have done too many dreadful things in my life.
I am not going to do any more. I began my good
actions yesterday."

<( Where were you yesterday ? "

" In the country, Harry. I was staying at a little
inn by myself."

" My dear boy," said Lord Henry, smiling, " any-
body can be good in the country. There are no
temptations there. That is the reason why people
who live out of town are so absolutely uncivilised.
Civilisation is not by any means an easy thing to attain
to. There are only two ways by which man can reach
It. One is by being cultured, the other by being
currupt. Country people have no opportunity of
being either, so they stagnate."

" Culture and corruption," echoed Dorian. " I
have known something of both. It seems terrible
to me now that they should ever be found together.
For I have a new ideal, Harry. I am going to alter.
I think -I have altered."

" You have not yet told me what your good action
was. Or did you say you had done more than one ? "
asked his companion, as he spilt into his plate a little
crimson pyramid of seeded strawberries, and through

232



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 233

a perforated shell-shaped spoon snowed white sugar
upon them.

" I can tell you, Harry. It is not a story I could
tell to anyone else. I spared somebody. It sounds
vain, but you understand what I mean. She was
quite beautiful, and wonderfully like Sibyl Vane.
I think it was that which first attracted me to her.
You remember Sibyl, don't you ? How long ago
that seems 1 Well, Hetty was not one of our own
class, of course. She was simply a girl in a village.
But I really loved her. I am quite sure that I loved
her. All during this wonderful May that we have
been having, I used to run down and see her two or
three times a week. Yesterday she met me in a little
orchard. The apple-blossoms kept tumbling down on
her hair, and she was laughing. We were to* have
gone away together this morning at dawn. Suddenly
I determined to leave her as flower-like as I had
found her."

" I should think the novelty of the emotion must
have given you a thrill of real pleasure, Dorian,"
Interrupted Lord Henry. " But I can finish your
idyll for you. You gave her good advice, and broke
her heart. That was the beginning of your reforma-
tion."

" Harry, you are horrible 1 You mustn't say
these dreadful things. Hetty's heart is not broken.
Of course she cried, and all that. But there is no
disgrace upon her. She can live, like Perdita, in
her garden of mint and marigold."

" And weep over a faithless Florizel," said Lord
Henry, laughing, as he leant back in his chair. " My
dear Dorian, you have the most curiously boyish
moods. Do you think this girl will ever be really
contented now with anyone of her own rank ? I
suppose she will be married some day to a rough carter
or a grinning ploughman. Well, the fact of having
met you, and loved you, will teach her to despise
her husband, and she will be wretched. From a
moral point of view, I cannot say that I think much



234 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN* GRAY

of your great renunciation. Even as a beginning, it
Is poor. Besides, how do you know that Hetty isn't
floating at the present moment in some star-lit mill-
pond, with lovely water-lilies round her, like
Ophelia ? "

" I can't bear this, Harry I You mock at every-
thing, and then suggest the most serious tragedies.
I am sorry I told you now. I don't care what you
say to me. I know I was right in acting as I did.
Poor Hetty ! As I rode past the farm this morning,
I saw her white face at the window, like a spray of
jasmine. Don't let us talk about it any more, and
don't try to persuade me that the first good action
I have done for years, the first little bit of self-sacrifice
I have ever known, is really a sort of sin. I want to
be better. I am going to be better. Tell me some-
thing about yourself. What is going on in town ?
I have not been to the club for days."

" The people are still discussing poor Basil's dis-
appearance."

" I should have thought they had got tired of that
by this time," said Dorian, pouring himself out some
wine, and frowning slightly.

" My dear boy, they have only been talking about
it for six weeks, and the British public are really not
equal to the mental strain of having more than one
topic every three months. They have been very
fortunate lately, however. They have had my own
divorce-case, and Alan Campbell's suicide. Now
they have got the mysterious disappearance of an
artist. Scotland Yard still insists that the man in the
grey ulster who left for Paris by the midnight train on
the ninth of November was poor Basil, and the French
police declare that Basil never arrived in Paris at all.
I suppose in about a fortnight we shall be told that
he has been seen in San Francisco. It is an odd
thing, but everyone who disappears is said to be
seen at San Francisco. It must be a delightful city,
and possess all "the attractions of the next world."

" What do you think has happened to Basil ? "



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 235

asked Dorian, holding up his Burgundy against the
light, and wondering how it was that he could discuss
the matter so calmly.

" I have not the slightest idea. If Basil chooses
to hide himself, it is no business of mine. If he is
dead, I don't want to think about him. Death is
the only thing that ever terrifies me. I hate it."

" \Vhy ? " said the younger man, wearily.

" Because," said Lord Henry, passing beneath his
nostrils the gilt trellis of an open vinaigrette box,
" one can survive everything nowadays except that.
Death and vulgarity are the only two facts in the
nineteenth century that one cannot explain away.
Let us have our coffee in the music-room, Dorian.
You must play Chopin to me. The man with whom
my wife ran away played Chopin exquisitely. Poor
Victoria ! I was very fond of her. The house is
rather lonely without her. Of course married life is
merely a habit, a bad habit. But then one regrets
the loss even of one's worst habits. Perhaps one
regrets them the most. They are such an essential
part of one's personality."

Dorian said nothing, but rose from the table
and, passing into the next room, sat down to the
piano and let his fingers stray across the white and
black ivory of the keys. After the coffee had been
brought in, he stopped, and, looking over at Lord
Henry, said, " Harry, did it ever occur to you that
Basil was murdered ? "

Lord Henry yawned. " Basil was very popular,
and always wore a Waterbury watch. Why should
he have been murdered ? He was not clever enough
to have enemies. Of course he had a wonderful
genius for painting. But a man can paint like
Velasquez and yet be as dull as possible. Basil was
really rather dull. He only interested me once, and
that was when he told me, years ago, that he had a
wild adoration for you, and that you were the domi-
nant motive of his art."

" I was very fond of Basil," said Dorian, with a



236 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

note of sadness in his voice. " But don't people
say thnt he was murdered ? "

" Oh, some of the papers do. It does not seem
to me to be at all probable. I know there are dreadful
places in Paris, but Basil was not the sort of man to
have gone to them. He had no curiosity. It was his
chief defect."

" What would you say, Harry, if I told you that
I had murdered Basil ? " said the younger man. He
watched him intently after he had spoken.

" I would say, my dear fellow, that you were
posing for a character that doesn't suit you. All
crime is vulgar, just as all vulgarity is crime. It Is
not in you, Dorian, to commit a murder. I am
sorry if I hurt your vanity by saying so, but I assure
you it is true. Crime belongs exclusively to the
lower orders. I don't blame them in the smallest
degree. I should fancy that crime was to them what
art is to us, simply a method of procuring extraordinary
sensations."

" A method of procuring sensations ? Do you
think, then, that a man who has once committed a
murder could possibly do the same crime again ?
Don't tell me that."

" Oh ! anything becomes a pleasure If one does It
too often," cried Lord Henry, laughing. " That Is
one of the most important secrets of life. I should
fancy, however, that murder is always a mistake.
One should never do anything that one cannot talk
about after dinner. But let us pass from poor Basil.
I wish I could believe that he had come to such a
really romantic end as you suggest ; but I can't. I
dare say he fell into the Seine off an omnibus, and
that the conductor hushed up the scandal. Yes:
I should fancy that was his end. I see him lying now
on his back under those dull-green waters with the
heavy barges floating over him, and long weeds catch-
ing in his hair. Do you know, I don't think he would
have done much more good work. During the last
ten years his painting had gone off very much."



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 237

Dorian heaved a sigh, and Lord Henry strolled
across the room and began to stroke the head of a
curious Java parrot, a large grey-plumaged bird,
with pink crest and tail, that was balancing itself
upon a bamboo perch. As his pointed fingers touched
it, it dropped the white scurf of crinkled lids over
black glass-like eyes, and began to sway backwards
and forwards.

" Yes," he continued, turning round, and taking
his handkerchief out of his pocket ; " his painting
had quite gone off. It seemed to me to have lost
something. It had lost an ideal. When you and
he ceased to be great friends, he ceased to be a great
artist. What was it separated you ? I suppose he
bored you. If so, he never forgave you. It's a habit
bores have. By the way, what has become of that
wonderful portrait he did of you ? I don't think I
have ever seen it since he finished it. Oh ! I remember
your telling me years ago that you had sent it down
to Selby, and that it had got mislaid or stolen on the
way. You never got it back ? What a pity I It
was really a masterpiece. I remember I wanted to
buy it. I wish I had now. It belonged to Basil's
best period. Since then, his work was that curious
mixture of bad painting and good intentions that
always entitles a man to be called a representative
British artist. Did you advertise for it ? You
should."

" I forget," said Dorian. " I suppose I did. But
I never really liked it. I am sorry I sat for it. The
memory of the thing is hateful to me. Why do you
talk of it ? It used to remind me of those curious lines
in some play ' Hamlet,' I think how do they
run?

" ' Like the painfing of a sorrow,
A face without a heart.'

Yes : that Is what it was like."

Lord Henry laughed. " If a man treats life ar-
tistically, his brain is his heart," he answered, sinking
Into an arm-chair.



238 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Dorian Gray shook his head, and struck some
soft chords on the piano. " ' Like the painting
of a sorrow,' " he repeated, " ' a face without a
heart.' 5:

The elder man lay back and looked at him with
half-closed eyes. " By the way, Dorian," he said,
after a pause, " ' what does it profit a man if he gain
the whole world and lose ' how does the quotation
run ? ' his own soul ' ? "

The music jarred and Dorian Gray started, and
stared at his friend. " Why do you ask me that,
Harry ? "

" My dear fellow," said Lord Henry, elevating
his eyebrows in surprise, " I asked you because I
thought you might be able to give me an answer.
That is all. I was going through the Park last Sun-
day, and close by the Marble Arch there stood a little
crowd of shabby-looking people listening to some
vulgar street-preacher. As I passed by, I heard the
man yelling out that question to his audience. It
struck me as being rather dramatic. London is very
rich in curious effects of that kind. A wet Sunday,
an uncouth Christian in a mackintosh, a ring of sickly
white faces under a broken roof of dripping umbrellas,
and a wonderful phrase flung into the air by shrill,
hysterical lips it was really very good in its way,
quite a suggestion. I thought of telling the prophet
that Art had a soul, but that man had not. I am
afraid, however, he would not have understood
me."

" Don't, Harry. The soul is a terrible reality.
It can be bought, and sold, and bartered away. It
can be poisoned, or made perfect. There is a soul
in each one of us. I know it."

" Do you feel quite sure of that, Dorian?"

" Quite sure."

" Ah ! then it must be an illusion. The things one
feels absolutely certain about are never true. That
is the fatality of Faith, and the lesson of Romance.
How grave you are 1 Don't be so serious. What



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 239

have you or I to do with the superstitions of our age ?
No : we have given up our belief in the soul. Play
me something. Play me a nocturne, Dorian, and, as
you play, tell me, in a low voice, how you have kept
your youth. You must have some secret. I am only
ten years older than you are, and I am wrinkled,
and worn, and yellow. You are really wonderful,
Dorian. You have never looked more charming
than you do to-night. You remind me of the day
I saw you first. You were rather cheeky, very shy,
and absolutely extraordinary. You have changed,
of course, but not in appearance. I wish you would
tell me your secret. To get back my youth I would
do anything in the world, except take exercise, get
up early, or be respectable. Youth ! There is no-
thing like it. It's absurd to talk of the ignorance
of youth. The only people to whose opinions I listen
now with any respect are people much younger than
myself. They seem in front of me. Life has revealed
to them her latest wonder. As for the aged, I always
contradict the aged. I do it on principle. If you ask
them their opinion on something that happened
yesterday, they solemnly give you the opinions
current in 1820, when people w r ore high stocks, be-
lieved in everything, and knew absolutely nothing.
How lovely that thing you are playing is ! I wonder
did Chopin write it at Majorca, with the sea weeping
round the villa, and the salt spray dashing against
the panes ? It is marvellously romantic. What a
blessing it is that there is one art left to us that is not
imitative I Don't stop. I want music to-night. It
seems to me that you are the young Apollo, and that
I am Marsyas listening to you. I have sorrows, Dorian,
of my own, that even you know nothing of. The
tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one
is young. I am amazed sometimes at my own
sincerity. Ah, Dorian, how happy you are ! What
an exquisite life you have had ! You have drunk
deeply of everything. You have crushed the grapes
against your palate. Nothing has been hidden from



240 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

you. And it has all been to you no more than the
sound of music. It has not marred you. You are
still the same."

" I am not the same, Harry."

" Yes : you are the same. I wonder what the
rest of your life will be. Don't spoil it by renun-
ciations. At present you are a perfect type. Don't
make yourself incomplete. You are quite flawless
now. You need not shake your head : you know
you are. Besides, Dorian, don't deceive yourself.
Life is not governed by will or intention. Life is
a question of nerves, and fibres, and slowly built-up
cells in which thought hides itself and passion has
its dreams. You may fancy yourself safe, and
think yourself strong. But a chance tone of colour
in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume
that you had once loved and that brings subtle
memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that
you had come across again, a cadence from a piece
of music that you had ceased to play I tell you,
Dorian, that it is on things like these that our lives
depend. Browning writes about that somewhere; but
our own senses will imagine them for us. There are
moments when the odour of lilas blanc passes suddenly
across me, and I have to live the strangest month of
my life over again. I wish I could change places with
you, Dorian. The world has cried out against us both,
but it has always worshipped you. It always will
worship you. You are the type of what the age is
searching for, and what it is afraid it has found. I
am so glad that you have never done anything, never
carved a statue, or painted a picture, or produced
anything outside of yourself ! Life has been your
art. You have set yourself to music. Your days
are your sonnets."

Dorian rose up from the piano, and passed his
hand through his hair. " Yes, life has been ex-
quisite," he murmured, " but I am not going to
have the same life, Harry. And you must not say
these extravagant things to me. You don't know



THE -PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 241

everything about me. I think that If you did, even
you would turn from me. You laugh. Don't laugh."

" Why have you stopped playing, Dorian ? Go
back and give me the nocturne over again. Look
at that great honey-coloured . moon that hangs in
the dusky air. She is waiting for you to charm her,
and if you play she will come closer to the earth.
You won't ? Let us go to the club, then. It has been
a charming evening, and we must end it charmingly.
There is some one at White's who wants immensely
to know you young Lord Poole, Bournemouth's
eldest son. He has already copied your neckties,
and has begged me to introduce him to you. He
Is quite delightful, and rather reminds me of you."

" I hope not," said Dorian, with a sad look in his
eyes. " But I am tired to-night, Harry. I shan't
go to the club. It is nearly eleven, and I want to
go to bed early."

" Do stay. You have never played so well as
to-night. There was something in your touch that
was wonderful. It had more expression than I
had ever heard from it before."

" It is because I am going to be good," he answered,
smiling. " I am a little changed already."

" You cannot change to me, Dorian," said Lord
Henry. " You and I will always be friends."

" Yet you poisoned me with a book once. I
should not forgive that. Harry, promise me that
you will never lend that book to any one. It does
harm."

" My dear boy, you are really beginning to moralise.
You will soon be going about like the converted, and
the revivalist, warning people against all the sins
of which you have grown tired. You are much too
delightful to do that. Besides, it is no use. You
and I are what we are, and will be what we will be.
As for being poisoned by a book, there is no such thing
as that. Art has no influence upon action. It annihi-
lates the desire to act. It is superbly sterile. The
books that the world calls immoral are books that show



242 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

the world its own shame. That is all. But we won't
discuss literature. Come round to-morrow. I am
going to ride at eleven. We might go together, and
I will take you to lunch afterwards with Lady Brank-
some. She is a charming woman, and wants to
consult you about some tapestries she is thinking
of buying. Mind you come. Or shall we lunch
with our little Duchess ? She says she never sees
you now. Perhaps you are tired of Gladys ? I
thought you would be. Her clever tongue gets on
one's nerves. Well, in any case, be here at eleven."

" Must I really come, Harry ? "

" Certainly. The Park is quite lovely now. I
don't think there have been such lilacs since the year
I met you."

" Very well. I shall be here at eleven," said
Dorian. " Good-night, Harry." As he reached the
door he hesitated for a moment, as if he had something
more to say. Then he sighed and went out.



CHAPTER XX

IT was a lovely night, so warm that he threw his
coat over his arm, and did not even put his silk scarf
round his throat. As he strolled home, smoking
his cigarette, two young men in evening dress passed
him. He heard one of them whisper to the other,
" That is Dorian Gray." He remembered how pleased
he used to be when he was pointed out, or stared at,
or talked about. He was tired of hearing his own
name now. Half the charm of the little village where
he had been so often lately w y as that no one knew who
he was. He had often told the girl whom he had
lured to love him that he was poor, and she had be-
lieved him. He had told her once that he was wicked,
and she had laughed at him, and answered that
wicked people were always very old and very ugly.
What a laugh she had I just like a thrush singing.
And how pretty she had been in her cotton dresses
and her large hats ! She knew nothing, but she
had everything that he had lost.

When he reached home, he found his servant
waiting up for him. He sent him to bed, and threw
himself down on the sofa in the library, and began
to think over some of the things that Lord Henry had
said to him.

Was it really true that one could never change ?
He felt a wild longing for the unstained purity of his
boyhood his rose-white boyhood, as Lord Henry
had once called it. He knew that he had tarnished
himself, filled his mind with corruption, and given
horror to his fancy ; that he had been an evil influence
243



244 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

to others, and had experienced a terrible joy in being
so ; and that, of the lives that had crossed his own,
It had been the fairest and the most full of promise
that he had brought to shame. But was it all irre-
trievable ? Was there no hope for him ?

Ah ! in what a monstrous moment of pride and
passion he had prayed that the portrait should bear
the burden of his days, and he keep the unsullied
splendour of eternal youth ! All his failure had'
been due to that. Better for him that each sin of his
life had brjought its sure, swift penalty along with it.
There was purification in punishment. Not " For-
give us our sins," but " Smite us for our iniquities "
should be the prayer of a man to a most just God.

The curiously carved mirror that Lord Henry had
given to him, so many years ago now, was standing
on the table, and the white-limbed Cupids laughed
round it as of old. He took it up, as he had done
on that night of horror, when he had first noted
the change in the fatal picture, and with wild, tear-
dimmed eyes looked into its polished shield. Once,
some one who had terribly loved him had written
to him a mad letter, ending with these idolatrous
words : " The world is changed because you are made
of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite
history." The phrases came back to his memory,
and he repeated them over and over to himself.
Then he loathed his own beauty, and, flinging the
mirror on the floor, crushed it into silver splinters
beneath his heel. It was his beauty that had ruined
him, his beauty and the youth that he had prayed
for. But for those two things, his life might have been
free from stain. His beauty had been to him but a
mask, his youth but a mockery. What was youth
at best ? A green, an unripe time, a time of shallow
moods and sickly thoughts. Why had he worn its
livery ? Youth had spoiled him.

It was better not to think of the past. Nothing
could alter that. It was of himself, and of his own
future, that he had to think. James Vane was



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 245

hidden in a nameless grave in Selby churchyard.
Alan Campbell had shot himself one night in his
laboratory, but had not revealed the secret that he
had been forced to know. The excitement, such
as it was, over Basil Hallward's disappearance would
soon pass away. It was already waning. He was
perfectly safe there. Nor, indeed, was it the death
of Basil Hallward that weighed most upon his mind.
It was the living death of his own soul that troubled
him. Basil had painted the portrait that had marred
his life. He could not forgive him that. It was the
portrait that had done everything. Basil had said
things to him that were unbearable, and that he had
yet borne with patience. The murder had been
simply the madness of a moment. As for Alan Camp-
bell, his suicide had been his own act. He had chosen
to do it. It was nothing to him.

A new life I That was what he wanted. That
was what he was waiting for. Surely he had begun
it already. He had spared one innocent thing, at
any rate. He would never again tempt innocence.
He would be good.

As he thought of Hetty Merton, he began to wonder
If the portrait in the locked room had changed. Surely
it was not still so horrible as it had been ? Perhaps
if his life became pure, he would be able to expel every
sign of evil passion from the face. Perhaps the signs
of evil had already gone away. He would go and
look.

He took the lamp from the table and crept upstairs.
As he unbarred the door a smile of joy flitted across
his strangely young-looking face and lingered for a
moment about his lips. Yes, he would be good, and
the hideous thing that he had hidden away would no
longer be a terror to him. He felt as if the load had
been lifted from him already.

He went in quietly, locking the door behind him,
as was his custom, and dragged the purple hanging
from the portrait. A cry of pain and indignation
broke from him. He could see no change, save that



246 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

In the eyes there was a look of cunning, and In the
mouth the curved "wrinkle of the hypocrite. The
thing was still loathsome more loathsome, if possible,
than before and the scarlet dew that spotted the
hand seemed brighter, and more like blood newly spilt.
Then he trembled. Had it been merely vanity that
had made him do his one good deed ? Or the desire
for a new sensation, as Lord Henry had hinted, with
his mocking laugh ? Or that passion to act a part
that sometimes makes us do things finer than we are
ourselves ? Or, perhaps, all these ? And why was
the red stain larger than it had been ? It seemed
to have crept like a horrible disease over the wrinkled
fingers. There was blood on the painted feet, as
though the thing had dripped blood even on the
hand that had not held the knife. Confess ? Did
it mean that he was to confess ? To give himself
up, and be put to death ? He laughed. He felt
that the idea was monstrous. Besides, even if he
did confess, who would believe him ? There was no
trace of the murdered man anywhere. Everything be-
longing to him had been destroyed. He himself had
burned what had been below-stairs. The world would
simply say that he was mad. They would shut him
up if he persisted in his story. . . . Yet it was his
duty to confess, to sutler public shame, and to make
public atonement. There was a God who called upon
men to tell their sins to earth as well as to heaven.
Nothing that he could do would cleanse him till he
had told his own sin. His sin ? He shrugged his
shoulders. The death of Basil Hallward seemed very
little to him. He was thinking of Hetty Merton.
For it was an unjust mirror, this mirror of his soul
that he was looking at. Vanity ? Curiosity ? Hy-
pocrisy ? Had there been nothing more in his re-
nunciation than that ? There had been something
more. At least he thought so. But who could
tell ? . . . No. There had been nothing more.
Through vanity he had spared her. In hypocrisy he
had worn the mask of goodness. For curiosity's sake



THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY 247

he had tried the denial of self. He recognised that
now.

But this murder was it to dog him all his life ?
Was he always to be burdened by his past ? Was
he really to confess ? Never. There was only one
bit of evidence left against him. The picture itself
that was evidence. He would destroy it. Why
had he kept it so long ? Once it had given him plea-
sure to watch it changing and growing old. Of late
he had felt no such pleasure. It had kept him awake
at night. When he had been away, he had been
filled with terror lest other eyes should look upon it. It
had brought melancholy across his passions. Its mere
memory had marred many moments of joy. It had
been like conscience to him. Yes, it had been con-
science. He would destroy it.

He looked round, and saw the knife that had
stabbed Basil Hallward. He had cleaned it many
times, till there was no stain left upon it. It was
bright, and glistened. As it had killed the painter,
so it would kill the painter's work, and all that that
meant. * It would kill the past, and when that was
dead he would be free. It would kill this monstrous
soul-life, and, without its hideous warnings, he would
be at peace. He seized the thing, and stabbed the
picture with it.

There was a cry heard, and a crash. The cry was
so horrible in its agony that the frightened servants
woke, and crept out of their rooms. Two gentlemen,
who were passing in the Square below, stopped, and
looked up at the great house. They walked on till
they met a policeman, and brought him back. The
man rang the bell several times, but there was no
answer. Except for a light in one of the top windows,
the house was all dark. After a time, he went away
and stood in an adjoining portico and watched.

" Whose house is that, constable ? " asked the elder
of the two gentlemen.

" Mr. Dorian Gray's, sir," answered the policeman.

They looked at each other, as they walked away,



248 THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

and sneered. One of them was Sir Henry Ashton's
uncle.

Inside, in the servants' part of the house, the
half-clad domestics were talking in low whispers to
each other. Old Mrs. Leaf was crying and wringing
her hands. Francis was as pale as death.

After about a quarter of an hour, he got the coach-
man and one of the footmen and crept upstairs. They
knocked, but there was no reply. They called out.
Everything was still. Finally, after vainly trying to
force the door, they got on the roof, and dropped down
on to the balcony. The windows yielded easily :
their bolts were old.

When they entered they found, hanging upon
the wall, a splendid portrait of their master as they
had last seen him, in all the wonder of his exquisite
youth and beauty. Lying on the floor was a dead
man, in evening dress, with a knife in his heart. He
was withered, wrinkled, and loathsome of visage.
It was not till they had examined the rings that they
recognised who it was.



THE END



BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

PIRATED EDITIONS

OWING to the number of unauthorised editions of
"THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY" issued at
various times both in America and on the Continent
of Europe, it has become necessary to indicate which
are the only authorised editions of Oscar Wilde's
masterpiece.

Many of the pirated editions are incomplete in that
they omit the Preface and seven additional chapters
which were first published in the London edition of
1891. In other cases certain passages have been
mutilated, and faulty spellings and misprints are
numerous.

AUTHORISED EDITIONS

(I) First published in Lippincott's Monthly Maga-
zine, July, 1890. London : Ward, Lock & Co.
Copyrighted in London.

Published simultaneously in America. Philadelphia :
J.-B. Lippincott Co. Copyrighted in the United States
of America.

(II) A Preface to " Dorian Gray." Fortnightly
Review, March 1, 1891. London : Chapman & Hall,
(All rights reserved.)

249



250 BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

(III) With the Preface and Seven additional
chapters. London, New York, and Melbourne :
Ward, Lock & Co. (n. d.).

(Of this edition 250 copies were issued on L.P.,
dated 1891.)

(IV) The same. London, New York, and Mel-
bourne : Ward, Lock & Bowden. (n. d.).

(Published 1894 or 1895.) See Stuart Mason's
" Art and Morality " (page 153).



THE FOLLOWING EDITIONS

were issued by Charles Carrington, Publisher and
Literary Agent, late of 13 Faubourg Montmartre,
Paris, and 10 Rue de la Tribune, BRUSSELS (Belgium),
to whom the Copyright belongs.

(V) Small 8vo, vii 334 pages, printed on English
antique wove paper, silk-cloth boards. 500 copies,
1901.

(VI) The same, vii 327 pages, silk-cloth boards.
500 copies, 1905.

Of this edition 100 copies were issued on hand-made



(VII) 4to, vi 312 pages, broad margins, claret-
coloured paper wrappers, title on label on the outside.
250 copies. Price 10s. 6d. 1908 (February).

(VIII) Cr. 8vo, uniform with Methuen's (London)
complete edition of Wilde's Works, xi 362 pages,
printed on hand-made paper, white cloth, gilt extra.

1000 copies. Price 12s. 6d. 1908 (April 16).

Of this edition 80 further copies were printed on
Imperial Japanese vellum, full vellum binding, gilt
extra. Price 42s.

(IX) Illustrated edition. Containing seven full-



BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 251

paged illustrations by Paul Thiriat, engraved on Wood
by Eug6ne Dete (both of Paris), and artistically
printed by Brendon & Son, Ltd. (of Plymouth), 4to,
vi 312 pages, half parchment bound, with corners, and
flcur-de-lys on side. 1908-9. Price 15s.

(X) Small edition, uniform with Messrs. Methuen's
issue of " Oscar Wilde's Works " at same price.
12mo, xii and 352 pages. 2000 copies. Bound in
green cloth. 1910. Price 5s.

It follows from all this that, with the exception of
the version in Lippincott's Magazine only those editions
are authorised to be sold in Great Britain and her
Colonies which bear the imprimatur of Ward, Lock
& Co., London, or Charles Carrington, Paris and
Brussels ; and that all other editions, whether
American, Continental (save Carrington' s Paris editions
above specified) or otherwise, may not be sold within
British jurisdiction without infringing the Berne law
of literary copyright and incurring the disagreements
that may therefrom result.



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With Illustrations by REGINALD SAVAGE. Two
Volumes.

LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL,
HAMILTON, KENT & CO., LTD.






University of California

SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY

405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388

Return this material to the library

from which it was borrowed.



APR 41994

RECEIVED

APR 2 4 1994
EMS LIBRARY



UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY



A 000 702 866 5

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
Image

_________________
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Wed Feb 20, 2013 6:24 pm
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Full text of "BRAM STOKER DRACULA"

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BRAM STOKER'S







Official Comics Adapl ,

01 nit Francis Ford Coppola



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BASED ON THE SCREENPLAY BY JAMES V HART
ROY THOMAS MIKEMIGNOLA JOHN NYBERG JOHN COSTANZA MARK CHIARELLO



"1, Abraham Van Helsing, Doctor of Sciences, University of Amsterdam, herewith continue the story of

Dracula, the Warrior Prince from the Fifteenth Century who returned after his death as a vampire,
feeding upon the blood of his innocent victims.. .while seeking, once more, the love that had been lost to

him in life through the suicide of his beloved Elisabeta.

"Yet it is not truly 1 who tell this story, but several persons who, with me, encountered Dracula when he

traveled from his native land to England. ..such as the dictaphone journal of Dr. John Seward, my

student in former days and now my colleague, and the letters of Wilhelmina Murray.

"Little suspecting that her fiance. Mr. Jonathan Harker, had fallen into the clutches of three female vampires

in a far off land, our beloved Mina had become intrigued by a foreign nobleman who called himself "Prince

\ lad of Szeklys"... little suspecting that he was in truth the undead fiend, Dracula. How could she.. .when

neither she nor anyone else in England so much as suspected the existence of the Lord of Vampires?

\h. but he was there! 1 myself arrived at the Westenra estate at Hillingham, London, at the invitation of Dr.

Seward...and was almost immediately confronted by the pitiful sight of our dear Mina s friend. Miss Lucy Westenra,

so pale and wan that I knew at once she had been the victim, that very night, of another vampiric attack..."




M



fin



GARY GERANI WESr COA:

GREG GOLDSTEIN ASSISTANT

DWtGHTJON ZIMMERMAN ASSOCMTI



JOHN J. LANGOON






SPECIAL THANKS TO. JAMES V.

HART. LESTER BORDEC
SUSAN CHRISTISON. SAr
CLIMAN. ROMAN COPPOLA,

BECKY FOOTE, MIKE

FRIEDRICH, TONY ISABELLA,

SHU LEE, JON LEVIN. MADA

DESIGN, INC., RIC MAHIG,

ANDY MEDINA, TED



ORLOFF. CATHERINE
VARVARO. JEFF WALKER



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Prince Vlad is unlike any
other man I have ever met.



0K-



Perhaps it is silly to be
confiding my thoughts to
paper, but I find that it
is only in this way that I
can. organize them, while
dear Jonathan is still
abroad on business.



Yet there is a
sinister, darker side
to him. . .



Lucy has had another
setback. I loathe to see
her pain. . .



Forgive me, my Jonathan,
but I confess that I do
want to see the Prince
again. I have never met any
man with such a passion for
life — for everything.



.which I find irresistible.



He is unlike... any man.



ffe/tf'S CAf€\S THE ^NT ...JUST AS
/MOST \MOX\GA7\N6 SETVN6 \ ABSINTHE I* THE
IN ALL OF LONPON, my ) APHRODISIAC
DEAR MINA... ^t OFTHESELF



THE 'M0V

fiw^y" who

UVES IN THE
ABSINTHE
WANTS yovR.
SOUL...



BUT YOU ARE
SAFE WITH/*1E.




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PLEASE... TELL ME
OF YOUR HOWE. ^/THBLAHO'*
OF/W
ANCIENT BATHERS 15
RICH IN CULTURE AW
FABLE ANP LORE,
JUST AS KPUR
EN6LANP.

IT IS THE /MOST
BEAUTIFUL PLACE
IN ALL CREATION.



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JESUIT MUST BE.

A LANP 8EHPNPA great" 1

VAST FOREST... SURROUNPEP
8/ /MAJESTIC /FOUNTAINS...
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FLOWERS OF SUCH FRAILTy
ANP BEAUT/ AS TO BE FOUNP
NOWHERE ELSE... -^



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fOV DESCRIBE MY HOAtE <4S IF
iOU. . . HAP SEEM IT FIRSTHAND. _,



IT IS your voice,

PERHAPS.. IT IS SO...
FA/MILIAR... LIKE A VOICE
IN A PREA/M yOU CANNOT
PLACE. IT COMFORTS
/ME... WHEN I AM
/I LONE.



A1iZ> WHAT OF... THE PRINCESS? J



THE
PRINCESS? >



THERE IS ALWAXS A PRINCESS -- WITH FLOWING HAIR THE COLOR
OF AUTUMN , WITH GOWNS FLOWING WHITE , HER FACE A-



-A
RIVER.



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FILLEP WITH TEARS OF
SAPNESS ANP HEART-
BREAK...



I MUST SOUNP TERRIBLY
FOOLISH. THE ABSINTHE.

THERE WW* "^
PRINCESS,




MAN'S PECEIT TOOK HER
FROM HER ANCIENT PRINCE^

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GLMRP HER WELL, /MR. /MORRIS -
PC NOT BAIL HERE TONIGHT.

WE ARE DEALING WITH FORCES BE/ON0\
THE HLWWN EXPERIENCE... AN
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"OTHERWISE, «3LIR PRECIOUS L(JC//VWy 1
BECOME /I BITCH OP THE PEVIL .

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A RflNCOM WCTI/M
ATTACKED BC/MERE
ACCIDENT, OO yOU
UNDERSTAND ME? ^,

NO— SHE IS /T
WILLING RECRUIT, A
FOLLOWER-- 1 BORE
W,. A PEW3TED
DISCIPLE.

THE PEVIL 'S
CONCUBINE.




LUC/
WESTENRA-- r
OFFER you THE
POWER OF ETERNAL J
LIFE--

—AW YOU
REPAY ME BY

BEIN6
UNFAITHFUL



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FOOLISH SPELLS--,



— CANNOT PROTECT
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POST-MORTEM KNIVES.



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EXACTLY...,



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TO CUTOFF
HER HEAP MP
TAKE OUT HER .

HEART.



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OUR LIVES WERE SO
PIFFERENT ONLY A FEW
MONTHS AGO...



I HAN'T

BELIEVE LUCY IS

SONE NEVER TO

RETURN TO US.



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life.' how she must
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OUTER DARKNESS,



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THESE CREATURES
CO NOT PIE LIKE
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STR3N& ANO
BECOME //WM0#r/)L
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gxoTHER /vosfE/vrru.



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WILL bO ON
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find you..



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CONCEIVE OF
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NESS?




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HER NOW, ARTHUR

noimwoop.

THEN/ IN (SOP '5

NAME, Oo WHAT YOU '

/MUST-- SO THAT

youR LUCY MAY

RES1 IN PEACE .




A MO/DENT'S COURA5E/J
^ANPITISPONE.

TAKE THESTAKf
IN yOUF LEFT
HANP-



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' THE POINT ]

\ OVER HER /
\HEART"^K





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once, MY

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J- JONATHAN.




Of Magic and Monsters




Depicting the fantastic is a time-
honored art in cinema, from the
groundbreaking works of Melies to
James Cameron's latest state-of-
the-art extravaganzas. Approaches
may vary, but the goal is always the
same: to wow



"/ always saw

the Bat-Creature

as Satan. "

— Francis Ford Coppola



audiences with
something
absolutely
incredible up
there on the
screen.
Inventions such as an optical printer allowed Bela
Lugosi to "magically" transform into a vampire bat,
while imaginative make-up designs for CREATURE FROM
THE BLACK LAGOON and ALIEN became just as
memorable as the thrillers they supported. Currently,
in ultra-expensive Hollywood productions, the special
effects technology is so sophisticated, so awe-
inspiring that it virtually becomes a show in itself.

For BRAM STOKER'S DRACULA, director Francis Ford
Coppola had some decidedly different ideas.
"We tried to be more in the tradition of cinema in

Tho grotesque, humanofd bat incarnation of
Dracula (Gary Oldman) confronts Van Holslng and
the vamplro hunters in Mines bodroom.



BY OARV GEKAN





1897, which was the era in which magicians first brought
motion pictures to the world. To achieve their fantasy effects,
pioneers like Melies would run the camera backwards or make
creative use of mirrors — that's where the term 'smoke and
mirrors' comes from. Everything was done either in the
camera or live on the set, like illusions at a magic show."

In place of advanced computer techniques such as T2's
"morphing," Coppola used lighting tricks and expressive
shadows to give his film a more mythic soul. In complete
agreement with this approach was visual effects and second
unit director Roman Coppola, Francis' 27-year old son, an
authority on the early screen magicians.

Three manifestations of Drecula as played by Gary
Oldman. Top: The Count casta cinematically satisfying
shadows as his guest (Keanu Reeves) looks on. Right:
Terrifying close-up of the bat creature. Below: The
bloody demise of wizened Oracula at the film's climax.




.%,



%*



#



Cinematic sleight-of-hand is effective to a point, but
what about the legendary vampire king himself? How
would Dracula's unearthliness be visualized for
sophisticated, discriminating viewers of the '90s?

"The idea was to find ways to portray Dracula as we
had never seen him before," explains screenwriter Jim
Hart. "Not just a man with big, bad canines who
needed some dental work. But to really explore what
Stoker had created for the vampire..."

"Dracula is also a wolfman," adds Coppola with Van
Helsing-like accuracy. "That's part of the vampire
myth. He's a fallen angel like Lucifer, a dark soul who
can periodically take on the appearance of a demonic
wolf and a demonic, bat-like man."



Achieving these grotesque manifestations was the
responsibility of noted make-up artist Greg Cannom
(HOOK, THE LOST BOYS, HEAVEN AND EARTH [for Oliver
Stone] and Jack Nicholson's WOLF):

"The great thing about Francis is that he got so
enthusiastic (in those early meetings). He painted
such vivid pictures in my mind, it was easy to come up
with designs for the film. Nothing is better than a
director who knows what he wants..."

Not that everything Cannom devised wound up on the
screen. "I suggested that since Dracula can transform
into a wolf, bat , rat, etc. it might be neat to always
have him moving in some way. Such as, he's sitting with
Harker...out of the corner of your eye you see Dracula's



W-~




fingers and hands stretching ever so slightly. Well, we built the
"growing hand' prop, but, in the rush of getting the movie made, it was
never used."

Very-much used and for a very specific purpose was the truly
horrendous Bat-Creature, a collaborative effort by Cannom and costume
designer Eiko Ishioka. At a pivotal point in the story, Van Helsing and his
vampire hunters break in on Dracula and Mina during their stylized
wedding. It became apparent to everyone that Dracula didn't appear
formidable enough to hold all these characters at bay, so something beyond just "basic Dracula" was required to sell the
scene. That something was a demonic extrapolation of Dracula's bat metamorphosis, a literal "bat man."

"Francis came up with the bat suit idea," confesses screenwriter Hart. "I said, he can turn into a bat but it has to be
a big bat, nothing like (what he became) in the old movies. What they designed was a fascinating incarnation, a Dracula
trapped in some kind of purgatory, caught inbetwixt and between. He tells Van Helsing, "Look what your God has done
to me!' More so than ever before, Dracula is truly a victim of his own torturous history."

"Torture" is the way Gary Oldman describes his make-up experiences on BRAM STOKER'S DRACULA. It took four
hours for him to become the big, shaggy "wolfen Dracula" and even longer to transform into the Bat-Creature. He lost
weight and soon developed a skin rash, but, in the grand tradition of Boris Karloff and other stars of horror films past,
Oldman weathered discomfort for the sake of his art.



"Some things never change," the actor laughs
today. "Whenever you're involved with an
elaborate make-up or a fanciful costume, you
mustn't let it wear you. You have to wear it.. .your
energy, your performance and the character have
to come through all this plastic and putty. And
that's the real challenge."



Dracula launches the ultimate gambit in the
name of eternal love! See Van Helsing's
desperate battle to save Mina ' s soul!
Witness the full consequences of Mina's
fateful, shocking decision! Also Part IV of
Inside Coppola's Dracula: PICTURE PERFECT.

» momorable SFX moment: scurrying rats In the form of Dracula.



ISSUE






%>



muma--



V^V./.-Jwe



She lives beyond the grace of god.... She is vampyre - -Nosferatu.

Van lli'lsiin)

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
Image

_________________
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Wed Feb 20, 2013 6:26 pm
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Post Re: POST, POST LIKE YOU NEVER POSTED BEFORE!
THE



DIVINE

COMEDY



OF



DANTE

ALIGHIERI



A TRANSLATION

BT

JAMES ROMANES SIBBALD



EDINBURGH

PUBLISHED BY DAVID DOUGLAS
MDCCCLXXXIV



All Rights Reserved,



T. AND A. COlfSTABLt, milfTElS TO BXK MAJISTT.



THE

INFERNO



A TRANSLATION

'ITH NOTES AND AN INTRODUCTORY SBBAV BY

JAMES ROMANES SIBBALD



EDINBURGH

PUBLISHED BY DAVID DOUGLAS
HDCCCLXXXIV



PREFACE.

A Translator who has never felt his self-imposed
^^ task to be a light one may be excused from
entering into explanations that would but too naturally
take the form of apologies. I will only say that
while I have striven to be as fiuthful as I could to
the words as well as to the sense of my author, the
following translation is not offered as being always
closely literal. The kind of verse employed I be*
lieve to be that best fitted to give some idea, however
faint, of the rigidly measured and yet easy strength
of Dante's terza rima; but whoever chooses to adopt
it with its constantly recurring demand for rhymes
necessarily becomes in some degree its servant Such
students as wish* to follow the poet word by word will
always find what they need in Dr. J. A. Carlyle's
excellent prose version of the Inferno^ a work to which
I have to acknowledge my own indebtedness at many
points.

The matter of the notes, it is needless to say, has



viii Preface,

been in very great part found ready to my hand in
existing Commentaries. My edition of John Villani is
that of Florence, 1823.

The Note at page ex was printed before it had
been resolved to provide the volume with a copy of
Giotto's portrait of Dante. I have to thank the
Council of the Arundel Society for their kind per-
mission to Messrs. Dawson to make use of their
lithograph of Mr. Seymour Kirkup's invaluable sketch
in the production of the Frontispiece — a privilege that
would have been taken more advantage of had it not
been deemed advisable to work chiefly from the photo-
graph of the same sketch, given in the third volume
of the late Lord Vernon's sumptuous and rare edition of
the Inferno (Florence, 1865). In this Vernon photo-
graph, as well as in the Arundel Society's Chromo-
lithograph, the disfiguring mark on the &ce caused
by the damage to the plaster of the fresco is faithfully
reproduced. A less degree of fidelity has been observed
in the Frontispiece; although the restoration has not
been carried the length of replacing the lost eye.

Edinburgh, February, 1884.



CONTENTS.



FLORENCE AND DANTE,
GIOTTO'S PORTRAIT OF DANTE, .



PAGE

zvii
ex



Ciie Jnferno.



CANTO I.

The Sliimber--the Wood— die Hill— the three Beasts
— ^Vixgil — the Vdtro or Greyhound, . . . .



CANTO II.

Dante's misgivins;* — ^Virgil's acconnt of how he was in-
diioed to come to his help— the three Heavenly Ladies
b^;inningofthe Jonniey,



CANTO lU.

The Gate of Inienu>— the Vestibule of the Caitilb— the
Great Rdiual— Acheron— Charon— the Earthquake—
the Slnmber of Dante,



17



CoHtents.



CANTO IV.



PAGB



The First Circle, which is the limbo of the Unbi^tised
and of the Virtaoos Hetthen— the Great Poets— the
Noble Castle— the Sages and Worthies of the ancient
world, 24

CANTO V.

The Second Cirde, whidi is that of Carnal Sinnec»—
Minos— the Tempest— The Troop of those who died
because of their Love — Francesca da Rimini— Dante's
Swoon, < 32

CANTO VI.

The Third Cirde, which is that of the Gluttonous— the
Hail and Rain and Snow — Cerberus — Ciacco and his
Prophecy, 40

CANTO VII.

The Fourth Cirde, which is that of the Avaridous and the
Thriftless— Plutttfr— the Great Weights rolled by the
sinners in opposite directions— rFertnne — ^the Fifth
Cirde, which is that of the Wrathful— Styx— the Lofty
Tower, 47

CANTO VIIL

The Fifth Cirde continued— the Signals— Phlegyas— the
Skiff— FhiHp Aigenti— the City of Dis— the FaUen
Angels— the Rebuff of Virgil, '55

CANTO DC

The City of Dis, which is the Sixth Cirde and that of the
Heretics— the Furies and the Medusa head — the Mes-
senger of Heaven who opens the gates for Vixgil and
Dante— the entrance to the City— the red-hot Tombs, 62



Conients. xi



CANTO X.



PAGE



The Sixth Cifde contrnved— Fsrinata degli Uberti—
Cavalouite dei Cftvakuiti— FsriMts't prophecf^
Frederick ii., 69

CANTO XI.

The Sixth Circle continued — Pope Anastastus— Vii^l ex-
plains on what principle sinners are classified in Inferno
— Usniy, 77

CANTO XII.

The Seventh Cirde, First Division— the Minotaur— the
River of Blood, whidi forms the Outer Ring of the
Seventh Circle — ^in it are those guilty of Violenoe
against others — the Centaurs — Tyrants — Robbers and
Murderers — Ezzdino Romano— Guy of Montfort— the
Passage ofthe River of Blood, 84

CANTO XIII.

The Seventh Cirde continued— the Second Division con-
sisting of a Tangled Wood in which are those guilty of
Violence agpinst themsdves— the Harpies— Pier delle
Vigne— Lano— Jacopo da Sant' Andrea— Florence and
its Patrons, 91

CANTO XIV.

The Seventh Cirde continnedf— the Third Division of it,
r^ufifi^^wg of a Waste of Sand on which descends an
unceasing Shower of Fire— in it are those guilty of
Violence against God, against Nature, and against Art
— Capaneus— the Crimson Brook— the Statue of Time
—the Infernal Rivers, ...... 98



xii Contents.

CANTO XV.

PAGE

The Seventh Circle continued— the Violent against Nature
— Brunetto Latini— Francesco d' Acoorso— Andrea de'
Mozzi, Bishop of Florence, io6

CANTO XVI.

The Seventh Circle continued— the Violent against Nature
— Guidoguerra, Tegghiaio Aldobrandi, and Jaoopo
Rusticuod— the Cataract— the Cord— Geryon, . -US

CANTO XVII.

The Seventh Circle continued— the >^ent against Art-
Usurers — ^the descent on Geryon's back into the Eighth
Circle, 123

CANTO XVIII.

The Eighth Circle, otherwise named Malebolge, which
consists of ten concentric Pits or Moats connected by
bridges of rock— in these are punished those guilty of
Frand of different kinds — ^First Bolgia or Moat, where
are^ Panders and Seducers, scourged by Demons —
Venedico Caccianimico— Jason — Second Bolgia, where
are Flatterers plunged in filth — ^Alessio Interminei, 130

CANTO XIX.

The Eighth Circle— Third Bolgia, where are the Simon-
iacs, stuck head downwards in holes in the rock —
Pope Nicholas iii.— the Donation of Constantine, 13

CANTO XX.

The Eighth Circle— Fourth Bolgia, where are Diviners
and Sorcerers in endless procession, with their heads



CbnUnis. xiii



PAGI



twisted on their iiecl»»Amp]i]ar&iis--->Tircsias---Anin8
— Mmto and the foundation of llantna — ^Eniypf Ins—
Micbad Scott— Guido Bonatti^Asdcnte, . -MS

CANTO XXI.

The Eiglith Circle— Fifth Bolgia, where the Bamtor^ or
ooirapt oflidalsy are plunged in the boiling pitch which
fills the Bolgiaf— * Senator of Lucca is thrown in— the
Blalebianche^ or Demons who guard the Moal— the
DefiHsh Escort, . 153

CANTO xxn.

The Eighth Circle— Fifth Bolgia continued— the Ncyaxese
— ^trick plajped by him on the Demons — ^Fra Gomita-*
BGdiad Zandie— the Demons fall fool of one another, 161

CANTO XXIIL

The Eighth Circle— escape fiom the Fifth to the Sixth
Bolgia, where the H jpooitcs walk at a mail's paoe^
wcis^ down by Gilded Cloaks of lead— the Merry
Friars Catalano and Loderingo— Caiaphas, ... 168

CANTO XXIV.

The Eighth Circle— fiidnoos passage over the dtff into the
Seventh Bdgia, where the Thieves are tormented by
Serpents, and are constantly undergoing a hideoos
metamorphosis— Vanni Fncd, 176

CANTO XXV.

The Eighth Cirde— Seventh Bolgia continued— Cacus—
Agnello Brnnelleschi, Bnoso de^ Abati, Paccio Sdan*
cato^ Cianfii Donati, and Guerdo Cavakanti, 1S4



xiv CantetUs.



CANTO XXVI.

PAGB I

The Eighth Cirde— Eighth Bolgia, where are the Evil
Cottnsdkxn, wrapped each in his own Flame— UlyiMs
tells how he met with death, 192 1



I



CANTO XXVU.

The BUhth Cirde— Eiifhth Bolgia oonthned— Gtddo of
Mont^lfdtro— the Cities of RomagBft-Oddo and Boai-

facevii2«9

CANTO XXVIII.

The Eig^ Cirde— Ninth Bolgia, ^riiete the Schismatics
in Chnrdi «od State axe for ever beiog disnembendt— >
BCahomet — Fra Doldno— Pier da Medidnar— Curio—
Mosca— Bertrand de Bom, 209

CANTO XXIX.

The Ei£^th Circle — Ninth Bolgia continued — Geri dd
Bello— Tenth Bolgia, where Counterfeiters of various
kinds, as Aldiendsts and Forgers, are tormented with
loathsome diseases — Grifiblino of Arezio— Capocchio
on the Sienese^ 217

CANTO XXX.

The Bii^th Ciide— Tenth BolgSa contiiiiied— Mynh»—
Gianni Schiodii— Master Adam and his oonfesdon—
Sinon, 225

CANTO XXXI.

The Ninth Cirde, outside of whidi they remain till the
end of this Canto— tius, the Central Pit of Inferno^ il
encircled and gnarded by Giants— Nimrod, Ephialtes,
and Antaens— entrance to the Pit, ••••233



Contents, xv



CANTO XXXII.



PACE



The Ninth Circle— that of the Truton, is divided into
four oonoentric rings, in whidi the sinnen are plunged
more or less deep in the ice of the froscai Coqrtns— the
Onter Ring is CaXna, where are those who contrived the
murder of their Kindred— -Camicion de' Paad — ^Ante*
nora, the Second Ring, where are sach as betrayed theii;
Country— Bocca degli Abati— Buoso daDuera— Ugolino^ 341



CANTO XXXIII.

The Ninth Circle— Antenora continued — Ugolino and his
tale— the Third Ring, or Ptolomaea, where are those
treacherous to their Friendfr— Friar Alberigo— Branca
d'Oria, . 249

CANTO XXXIV.

The Ninth Circle— the Fourth Ring or Judecca, the deepest
point of the Inferno and the Centre of the Universe-
it is the place of those treacherous to their Lords or
Benefactors— Lucifer with Judas, Brutus, and Cassius
hanging from his mouths— passage through the Centre
of the Earth— ascent from the depths to the li^t of the
stars in the Southern Hemisphere, .... 260

INDEX, 269



FLORENCE AND DANTE.

DANTE is himself the hero of the Divine Comedy^
and ere many stages of the Inferno have been
passed the reader feels that all his steps are being
taken in a familiar companionship. When every allow-
ance has been made for what the exigencies of art
required him to heighten or suppress, it is still impos-
sible not to be convinced that the author is revealing
himself much as he really was — in some of his weakness
as well as in all his strength. The poem itself, by many
an unconscious touch, does for his moral portraiture
what the pencil of Giotto has done for the features of his
face. The one likeness answers marvellously to the
other; and, together, they have helped the world to
recognise in him the great example of a man of genius
who, though at first sight he may seem to be austere, is
soon found to attract our. love by the depth of his feel-
ings as much as he wins our admiration by the wealth of
his fancy, and by the clearness of his judgment on every-
thing concerned with the lives and destiny of men. His
other writings in greater or less degree confirm the im-
pression of Dante's character to be obtained from the
Comedy, Some of them are partly autobiographical;
and, studying as a whole all that is left to us of him, we

b



xviii Florence and Dante.

can gain a general notion of the nature of his career —
when he was bom and what was his condition in life ;
his early loves and friendships; his studies, military
service, and political aims ; his hopes and illusions, and
the weary purgatory of his exile.

To the knowledge of Dante's life and character
which is thus to be acquired, the formal biographies of
him have but little to add that is both trustworthy and
of value. Something of course there is in the tradi-
tional story of his life that has come down from his time
with the seal of genuineness ; and something that has
been ascertained by careful research among Florentine
and other documents. But when all that old and
modem Lives have to tell us has been siAed, the addi-
tional facts regarding him are found to be but few; such
at least as are beyond dispute. Boccaccio, his earliest
biographer, swells out his Ldfe^ as the earlier com-
mentators on the Comedy do their notes, with what are
plainly but legendary amplifications of hints supplied
by Dante's own words ; while more recent and critical
writers succeed with infinite pains in little beyond
establishing, each to his own satisfaction, what was the
order of publication of the poet's works, where he may
have travelled to, and when and for how long a time
he may have had this or that great lord for a patron.

A very few pages would therefore be enough to tell the
events of Dante's life as far as they are certainly known.
But, to be of use as an introduction to the study of his
great poem, any biographical sketch must contain some
account — more or less full— of Florentine affiEiirs before
and during his lifetime ; for among the actors in these



Florence and Dante. xix

are to be found many of the persons of the Comedy.
In reading the poem we are never suffered for long
to forget his exile. From one point of view it is an
appeal to future ages from Florentine injustice and
ingratitude ; from another, it is a long and passionate
plea with his native town to shake her in her stubborn
cruelty. In spite of the worst she can do against him
he remains no less her son. In the early copies of it,
the Comedy is well described as the work of Dante
Altghieri, the Florentine ; since not only does he people
the other worid by preference with Florentines, but it
is to Florence that, even when his words are bitter
against her, his heart is always feeling back. Among
the glories of Paradise he loves to let his memory rest
-on the church in which he was baptized and the streets
he used to tread. He takes pleasure in her stones;
and with her towers and palaces Florence stands for
the unchanging background to the changing scenes of
his mystical pilgrimage.

The history of Florence during the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries agrees in general outline with that
of most of its neighbours. At the beginning of the
period it was a place of but little importance, ranking
far below Pisa both in wealth and political influence.
Though retaining the names and forms of municipal
government, inherited from early times, it was in reality
possessed of no effective control over its own affairs, and
was subject to its feudal superior almost as completely
as was ever any German village planted in the shadow of
a castle. To Florence, as to many a city of Northern
and Central Italy, the first opportunity of winning



XX Florence and Dante,

freedom came with the contest between Emperor and
Pope in the time of Hildebrand. In this quarrel the
Church found its best ally in Matilda, Countess of
Tuscany. She, to secure the goodwill of her subjects as
against the Emperor, yielded first one and then another
of her rights in Florence, generally by way of a pious
gift — ^an endowment for a religious house or an increase
pf jurisdiction to the bishop — these concessions, how-
ever veiled, being in effect so many additions to the
resources and liberties of the townsmen. She made
Rome her heir, and then Florence was able to play off
the Papal against the Imperial claims, yielding a kind
of barren homage to both Emperor and Pope, and only
studious to complete a virtual independence of both.
Florence had been Matilda's favourite place of resi-
dence; and, benefiting largely as it did by her easy
rule, it is no wonder that her name should have been
cherished by the Florentines for ages afler as a house-
hold word.^ Nor is the greatest Florentine unmindful
of her. Foe of the Empire though she was, he only
remembers her piety ; and it is by Matilda, as repre-
senting the active religious life, that Dante is ushered
into the presence of Beatrice in the Earthly Paradise.^

* Matilda died in 1115. The name Tessa, the contraction of
Contessa, wa$ stiU, long after her time, sometimes given to Flor-
entine girls. See Perrens, Histoire de Florence^ vol. i. p. 126.

' Whether by Matilda the great Countess is meant has been
eagerly disputed, and many of the best critics — such as Witte and
Scartazzini — ^prefer to find in her one of the ladies of the Vita
Nuava, In spite of their pains it seems as if more can be said
for the great Matilda than for any other. The one strong argu-
ment against her is, that while she died old, in the poem she
appears as young.



Florence and Dante. xxi

It was a true instinct which led Florence and other
cities to side rather with the Pope than with the Emperor
in the long-continued struggle between them for pre-
dominance in Italy. With the Pope for overlord they
would at least have a master who was an Italian, and one
whO| his title being imperfect, would in his own interest
be led to treat them with indulgence ; while, in the per-
manent triumph of the Emperor, Italy must have
become subject and tributary to Germany, and would
have seen new estates carved out of her fertile soil for
members of the German garrison. The danger was
brought home to many of the youthful commonwealths
during the eventful reign of Frederick Barbarossa
(1153-1190). Strong in Germany beyond most of his
predecessors, that monarch ascended the throne with
high prerogative views, in which he was confirmed by
the slavish doctrine of some of the new civilians. Ac-
cording to these there could be only one master in the
world ; as far as regarded the things of time, but one
source of authority in Christendom. They maintained
everything to be the Emperor's that he chose to take.
When he descended into Italy to enforce his claims, the
cities of the Lombard League met him in open battle.
Those of Tuscany, and especially Florence, bent before
the blast, temporising as long as they were able, and
making the best terms they could when the choice lay
between submission and open revolt. Even Florence,
it is true, strong in her allies, did once take arms
against an Imperial lieutenant ; but as a rule she never
refused obedience in words, and never yielded it in
iact beyond what could not be helped. In her pursuit



xxii Florence and Dante.

of advantages, skilfully using every opportunity, and
steadfast of aim even when most she appeared to
waver, she displayed something of the same address
that was long to be noted as a trait in the character
of the individual Florentine.

The storm was weathered, although not wholly without
loss. When, towards the close of his life, and after he
had broken his strength against the obstinate patriotism
of Lombardy, Frederick visited Florence in 1185, it was
as a master justly displeased with servants who, while
they had not openly rebelled against him, had yet proved
eminently unprofitable, and whom he was concerned to
punish if not to destroy. On the complaint of t^e
neighbouring nobles, that they were oppressed and had
been plundered by the city, he gave orders for the
restoration to them of their lands and castles. This
accomplished, all the territory left to Florence was a
narrow belt around the walls. Villani even says that
for the four years during which Frederick still lived the
Commonwealth was wholly landless. And here, rather
than lose ourselves among the endless treaties, leagues,
and campaigns which fill so many pages of the chronicles,
it may be worth while shortly to glance at the constitution
of Florentine society, and especially at the place held in
it by the class which found its protector in Barbarossa.

Much about the time at which the Commonwealth was
relieved of its feudal trammels, as a result of the favour
or the necessities of Matilda, it was beginning to extend
its commerce and increase its industry. Starting some-
what late on the career on which Venice, Genoa, and
Pisa were already far advanced, Florence was as if



Florence and Dante, xxiii

strenuous to make up for lost time, and soon displayed
a rare comprehension of the nature of the enterprise.
It may be questioned if ever, tmtil quite modem times,
there has been anywhere so clear an understanding of
the truth that public wellbeing is the sum of private
prosperity, or such an enlightened perception of what
tends to economical progress. Florence had no special
command of raw material for her manufactures, no sea-
port of her own, and no monopoly unless in the natural
genius of her people. She could therefore thrive only
by dint of holding open her communications with the
world at laiige, and grudged no pains either of war or
diplomacy to keep at Pisa a free way out and in for
her merchandise. Already in the twelfth century she
received through that port the rough woollens of
Flanders, which, after being skilfully dressed and dyed,
were sent out at great profit to every market of Europe.
At a somewhat later period the Florentines were to give
as strong a proof of their financial capacity as this was
of their industrial. It was they who first conducted a
laige business in bills of exchange, and who first struck
a gold coin which, being kept of invariable purity,
passed current in every land where men bought and
sold— even in countries where the very name of
Florence was unknown.^

In a community thus devoted to industry and com-
merce, it was natural that a great place should be filled
by merchants. These were divided into six guilds, the
members of which, with the notaries and lawyers, who
composed a seventh, formed the true body of the

. * See note on Inferno xxx. 73.



xxiv Florefue and Dante.

citizens. Originally the consuls of these guilds were
the only elected officials in the city, and in the early
days of its liberty they were even charged with political
duties, and are found, for example, signing a treaty of
peace with a neighbouring state. In the fully developed
commune it was only the wealthier citizens — the mem-
bers, we may assume, of these guilds — who, along with
the nobles,^ were eligible for and had the right of electing
to the public offices. Below them was the great body
of the people ; all, that is, of servile condition or engaged
in the meaner kinds of business. From one point of
view, the liberties of the citizens were only their privil^es.
But although the labourers and humbler tradesmen
were without franchises, their interests were not there-
fdre neglected, being bound up with those of the one or
two thousand citizens who shared with the patricians
the control of public affairs.

There were two classes of nobles with whom Florence
had to reckon as she awoke to life — those within the
walls, and those settled in the neighbouring country.
In later times it was a favourite boast among the noble
citizens — a boast indulged in by Dante — that they were
descended from ancient Roman settlers on the banks
of the Amo. A safer boast would in many cases have
been that their ancestors had come to Italy in the train
of Otho and other conquering Emperors. Though
settled in the city, in some cases for generations, the
patrician families were not altogether of it, being
distinguished from the other citizens, if not always by

^ It might, perhaps, be more correct to say that to some offices
the nobles were eligible, but did not elect .



Florence and Dante. xxv

the possession of ancestral landward estates, at least by
their delight in war and contempt for honest industry.
But with the faults of a noble class they had many of
its good qualities. Of these the Republic suffered them
to make full proof, allowing them to lead in war and
hold dvil offices out of all proportion to their numbers.
Like the city itself, the nobles in the country luround
had been feudally subject to the Marquis of Tuscany.
After Matilda's death they claimed to hold direct from
the Empire ; which meant in practice to be above all
law. They exercised absolute jurisdiction over their
serfs and dependants, and, when favoured by the situa-
tion of their castles, took toll, like the robber barons of
Germany, of the goods which passed beneath their walls.
Already they had proved to be thorns in the side of the
industrious burghers; but at the beginning of the
twelfth century their neighbourhood became intoler-
able, and for a couple of generations the chief political
work of Florence was to bring them to reason. Those
whose lands came up almost to the dty gates were first
dealt with, and then in a widening circle the country
was cleared of the pest Year after year, when the days
were lengthening out in spring, the roughly organised
city militia was mustered, war was declared against
some specially obnoxious noble and his fortress was
tajcen by surprise, or, failing that, was subjected to a
siege. In the absence of a more definite grievance, it
was enough to declare his castle dangerously near the
dty. These expeditions were led by the nobles who
were already citizens, while the country neighbours of
the victim looked on with indifference, or even helped



xxvi Florence and Dante.

to waste the lands or force the stronghold of a rival.
The castle once taken, it was either levelled with the
ground, or was restored to the owner on condition of
his yielding service to the Republic. And, both by way
of securing a hold upon an unwilling vassal and of
adding a wealthy house and some strong arms to the
Commonwealth, he was compelled, along with his family,
to reside in Florence for a great part of every year.

With a wider territory and an increasing commerce,
it was natural for Florence to assume more and more
the attitude of a sovereign state, ready, when need was,
to impose its will upon its neighbours, or to join with
them for the common defence of Tuscany. In the
noble class and its retainers, recruited as has been
described, it was possessed of a standing army which,
whether from love of adventure or greed of plunder,
was never so well pleased as when in active employ-
ment Not that the commons left the fighting wholly to
the men of family, foi: they too, at the summons of the
war-bell, had to arm for the field ; but at the best they
did it from a sense of duty, and, without the aid of pro-
fessional men-at-arms, they must have failed more fre-
quently in their enterprises, or at any rate have had to
endure a greatly prolonged absence from their counters
and workshops. And yet, esteem this advantage as highly
as we will, Rorence surely lost more than it gained by
compellmg the crowd of idle gentlemen to come within
its walls* In the course of time some of them indeed
condescended to engage in trade — ^sank, as the phrase
went, into the ranks of the Popolani^ or mere wealthy
citizens ; but the great body of them, while their landed



Fhrenci and Dante. xxvii

property was being largely increased in value in con-
sequence of the general prosperity, held themselves
haugh&y aloof from honest industry in every form*
Each £amilyi or rather each clan of them, lived apart
in its own group of houses, from among which towers
shot alc^ for scores of yards into the air, dominat-
ing the humbler dwellings of the common burghers.
These, idienever they came to the front for a time in
the government, were used to decree that all private
towers were to^be lopped down to within a certain
distance from the ground.

It is a favourite exercise of Villani and other his*
torians to trace the troubles and revolutions in the state
of Florence to chance quarrels between noble families,
arising from an angry word or a broken troth. Here,
they tell, was sown the seed of the Guelf and Ghibeline
wars in Florence ; and here that of the feuds of Black
and White. Such quaziels and party names were symp-
toms and nothing more. The enduring source of trouble
was the presence within the city of a powerful idle class,
constantly eager to recover die privilege it had lost,
and to secure itself by every available means, includ-
ing that of outside help, in the possession of what it
still retained; which chafed against the curbs put upon
its lawlessness, and whose ambitions were all opposed
to the general interest The citizens, for their part, had
nothing better to hope for than that Italy should be
left to the Italians, Florence to the Florentines. On
the occasion of the celebrated Buondelmonti feud
(1215), some of the nobles definitely went over to the
side of the people, either because they judged it likely



xxviii Flortnce and Dante,

to win in the long-run, or impelled unconsciously by
the forces that in every society divide ambitious men
into two camps, and in one form or another develop
party strife. They who made a profession of popular
S3anpathy did it with a view of using rather than of
helping the people at large. Both of the noble parties
held the same end in sight— control of the Common-
wealth ; and this would be worth the more the fewer
there were to share it The faction irreconcilable
with the Republic on any terms includtd many of the
oldest and proudest houses. Their hope lay in the
advent of a strong Emperor, who should depute to them
his rights over the money-getting, low-bom crowd

n.

The opportunity of this class might seem to have
come when the Hohenstaufen Frederick ii., grandson of
Barbarossa, ascended the throne, and still more when,
on attaining full age, he claimed the whole of the
Peninsula as his family inheritance. Other Emperors
had withstood the Papal claims, but none had ever
proved an antagonist like Frederick. His quarrel
seemed indeed to be with the Church itself, with its
doctrines and morals as well as with the ambition of
churchmen ; and he offered the strange spectacle of a
Roman Emperor — one of the twin lights in the Chris-
tian firmament — whose favour was less easily won by
Christian piety, however eminent, than by the learning
of the Arab or the Jew. When compelled at last to
fulfil a promise extorted from him of conducting a



Florence and Dante, xxix

crusade to the Holy land, he scandalised Christendom
by making friends of the Sultan, and by using his
presence in the East, not for the deliverance of the
Sepulchre, but for the furtherance of learning and com-
merce. Thrice excommunicated, he had his revenge
by proving with how little concern the heaviest anathe-
mas of the Church could be met by one who was
armed in unbeliefl Literature, art, and manners were
sedulously cultivated in his Sicilian court, and among
the able ministers whom he selected or formed, the
modem idea of the State may be said to have had its
birth. Free thinker and free liver, poet, warrior, and
statesman, he stood forward against the sombre back-
ground of the Middle Ages a figure in every respect
so brilliant and original as well to earn from his con-
temporaries the tide of the Wonder of the World.

On the goodwill of Italians Frederick had the claim
of being the most Italian of all the Emperors since the
revival of the Western Empire, and the only one of
them whose throne was permanendy set on Italian soiL
Yet he never won the popular heart. To the common
min/d he always appeared as something outlandish and
terrible — as the man who had driven a profitable but
impious trade in the Sultan's land. Dante, in his
childhood, must have heard many a tale of him ; and
we find him keenly interested in the character of the
Emperor who came nearest to uniting Italy into a
great nation, in whose court there had been a welcome
for ^vei^ man of intellect, and in whom a great original
poet would have found a willing and munificent
patron. In the Ifrfemo^ by the mouth of Pier delle



XXX Florence and Dante,

Vigne, the Imperial Chancellor, he pronounces Frederick
to have been worthy of all honour ; ^ yet justice requires
him to lodge this flower of kings in the burning tomb
of the Epicureans, as having been guilty of the arch-
heresy of denying the moral government of the world,
and holding that with the death of the body all is
ended' It was a heresy fostered by the lives of many
churchmen, high and low; but the example of Frederick
encouraged the profession of it by nobles and learned
laymen. On Frederick's character there was a still
darker stain than this of religious indifference — that of
cold-blooded cruelty. Even in an age which had pro-
duced Ezzelino Romano, the Emperor's cloaks of lead
were renowned as the highest refinement in torture.'
But, with all his genius, and his want of scruple in
the choice of means, he built nothing politically that
was not ere his death crumbling to dust. His enduring
work was that of an intellectual reformer under whose
protection and with whose personal help his native
language was refined, Europe was enriched with a
learning new to it or long forgotten, and the minds of
men, as they lost their blind reverence for Rome, were
prepared for a freer treatment of all the questions with
which religion deals. He was thus in some respects a
precursor of Dante.

More than once in the course of Frederick's career
it seemed as if he might become master of Tuscany
in fact as well as in name, had Florence only been
as well affected to him as were Siena and Pisa.
But already, as has been said, the popular interest

* Inf. xiii. 75. « /«/. X. 119. » Inf. xxiii. 66.



Florence and Dante, xxxi

had been strengthened by accessions from among
the nobles. Others of them, without descending
into the ranks of the citizens, had set their hopes
on being the first in a commonwealth rather than
privates in the Imperial garrison. These men, with
their restless and narrow ambitions, were as danger-
ous to have for allies as for foes, but by throwing their
weight into the popular scale they at least served to
hold the Imperialist magnates in check, and estaUished
something like a balance in the fighting power of
Florence ; and so, as in .the days of Barbaxossa, the
city was preserved from taking a side too strongly. The
hearts of the Florentine traders were in their own afEurs
— ^in extending their commerce and increasing their
territory and influence in landward Tuscany. As
regarded the general politics of Italy, their sympathy
was still with the Roman See ; but it was a sympathy
without devotion or gratitude. For refusing to join in
the crusade of 1338 the town was placed under inter-
dict by Gregory ix« The Emperor meanwhile was ac-
kno^edged as its lawful overlord, and his vicar received
something more than nominal obedience, the choice of
the chief magistrates being made subject to his approval.
Yet with all this, and although his party was powerful
in the city, it was but a grudging service that was yielded
to Frederick More than once fines were levied on the
Florentines; and worse punishments were threatened
for their persevering and active enmity to Siena, now
dominated by its nobles and held in the Imperial
interest Volunteers from Florence might join the
Emperor in his Lombard campaigns ; but they were left



xxxii Florence and Dante,

equally free by the Commonwealth to join the other
side. At last, when he was growing old, and when
like his grandfather he had been foiled by the stubborn
Lombards, he turned on the Florentines as an easier
prey, and sent word to the nobles of his party to seize
the city. For months the streets were tilled with battle.
In January 1248, Frederick of Andoch, the natural
son of the Emperor, entered Florence with some squa-
drons of men-at-arms, and a few days later the nobles
that had fought on the popular side were driven into
banishment This is known in the Florentine annals
as the first dispersion of the Guelfs.

Long before they were adopted in Italy, the names of
Guelf and Ghibeline had been employed in Germany
to mark the partisans of the Bavarian Welf and of the
Hohenstaufen lords of Waiblingen. On Italian soil
they received an extended meaning : Ghibeline stood for
Imperialist ; Guelf for anti-Imperialist, Papalist, or simply
Nationalist When the names began to be freely used
in Florence, which was towards the close of Frederick's
reign and about a century after their first invention,
they denoted no new start in politics, but only supplied
a nomenclature for parties already in existence. As
far as Florence was concerned, the designations were
the more convenient that they were not too closely
descriptive. The Ghibeline was the Emperor's man,
when it served his purpose to be so ; while the Guelf,
constant only in his enmity to the Ghibelines, was free
to think of the Pope as he chose, and to serve him no
more than he wished or needed to. Ultimately, indeed,
all Florence may be said to have become Guelf. To



Plarence and Dante. xxxiii



b^^ with, tbe name distmguished the noUes who
sought alliance with the citizens, frmn the nobles who
looked on these as they might have done on serfs newly
thriven into wealth. Each party was to come up in
turn. Within a period of twenty years each was twice
driven into banishment, a measure always accompanied
with decrees of confiscation and the levelling of private
strongholds in Florence. The exiles kept well together,
retreating, as it were in the order of war, to camps of
observation they found ready prepared for them in the
nearest cities and fortresses held by those of their own
way of thinking. All their wits were then bent on
how, by dint of some fighting and much diplomacy,
they might shake the strength and undermine the credit
of their successful rivals in the city, and secure their
own return in triumph. It was an art they were proud
to be adepts in.^

In a rapid sketch like this it would be impossible to
tell half the changes made on the constituticm of
Florence during the second part of the thirteenth
century. Dante in a well-known passage reproaches
Florence with the political restlessness which afiUcted
her like a disease. Laws, he says, made in October
were fallen into desuetude ere mid-November.' And
yet it may be that in this constant readiness to change,
lies the best proof of the political capacity of the
Florentines. It was to meet new necessities that they
made provision of new laws. Especial watchfulness was
called for against the encroachments of the grandees,
whose constant tendency — whatever their party name

* Inf, X. 51. * Parg, vi. 144.

c



xxxhr Florence and Dante.

*-was to weaken legal authorityy and play the part of
lords and masters of the dtisens. But these were no
mere weavers and quill-drivers to be plundered at will
Even before the return of the Guelfs, banished in 1248,
the citizens, taking advantage of a check suffered in the
field by the dominant Ghibdines, had begun to recast
>the constitution in a popular sense, and to organise the
townsmen at a militia on a permanent footing. When,
on the death of Frederick in 1350, the Imperialist
nobles were left without foreign aid, there began a
period of ten years, fevounibly known in Florentine
history as the Government of the Prima Popalo or
Popolo VecMa ; that is, of the true body of the citizens,
commoners possessed of franchises, as distinguished
from the nobles above them and the multitude below.
For it is never to be forgotten that Florence, like
Athens, and like the other Italian Republics, was fiur
from being a true democracy. The time was yet to
come, and it was not far distant, when the ranks of
citizenship were to be more widely opened than now to
those below, and more closely shut to those above. In
the meantime the comparatively small number of wealthy
citizens who legally composed the ' People * made good
use of their ten* years of breathing-time, entering on
commercial treaties and widening the possessions of
the Commonwealth, now by war, and now by shrewd
baigains with great baron& To balance the influence
of the Podesta, who had hitherto been the one great
officer of State-^criminal judge, civil governor, and
commander-in-chief all in one — they created the office
of Captain of the People. The office of Podesta was



Fhrena and DanU. xxxv

not peculiar to Florence. Theret as in other ctties» in
Older to secure his impartiality^ it was provided that
he should be a foreigner, and hold office only for six
months. But he was also required to be of gentle
Urtfa ; and his councils were so composed that, like his
own^ their sympathies were usually with the nobles.
The Captain of Ae People was therefore created partly
as a tribune for the protection of the popular rights,
and partly to act as permanent head of the popular
forces. like the Podesta, he had two councils assigned
to him; but these were strictly representative of the
dtisensy and sat to control his conduct as wdl as to
lend to his action the weight of public opinion.

Such of the Ghibelines as had not been banished
fipom Florence on the death of Fredericki lived there
on sufferance, as it were, and under a rigid supervision.
Once more they were to find a patron and ally in a
member of the great house of Hohenstaufen ; and with
his aid they were again for a few years to become
supreme in Florence, and to prove by their abuse of
power how well justified was the mistrust the people
had of them. In many ways Manfired, one of Fre*
derick's bastards, was a worthy son of his fiather. Like
him he was endowed with great personal charm, and
was enamoured of all that opened new regions to
intellectual curiosity or gave refinement to sensual
pleasure. In his public as well as in his private
behaviour, he was reckless of what the Church and its
doctrines might promise or threaten; and equally so,
his enemies declared, of the dictates of common
humanity. Hostile eyes detected in the green clothes



xxxvi Florence and Dante.

which were his favourite dress a secret attachment to
Islam; and hostile tongues charged him with the
murder of a father and of a brother, and the attempted
murder of a nephew. His ambition did not aim at
the Empire, but only at being King of Sicily and
Naples, lands which the Hohenstaufens daimed ^& their
own through the Norman mother of F^rederick. Of
these kingdoms he was actual ruler, even while his
legitimate brother Conrad lived. On the death of
that prince he brushed aside the claims of Conradin,
his nephew, and bid boldly for recognition by the
Pope, who claimed to be overlord of the southern
kingdoms — ^a recognition refused, or given only to be
immediately withdrawn. In the eyes of Rome ke was
no more than Prince of Tarentum, but by arms and
policy he won what seemed a firm footing in the South ;
and eight years after the rule of the Popolo Veuhid
began in Florence he was the acknowledged patron of
all in Italy who had been Imperialist — ^for the Imperial
throne was now practically vacant And Manfred
was trusted all the more that he cared nothing for
Germany, and stood out even more purely an Italian
monarch than his father had ever beea The Ghibe-
lines of Florence looked to him to free them of the
yoke under which they groaned.

When it was discovered that they were treating with
Manfred, there was an outburst of popular wrath
against the disaffected nobles. Some of them were
seized and put to death, a fate shared by the Abbot of
Vallombrosa, whom neither his priestly office nor his
rank as Papal Legate availed to save from torture and



Florence and Dante. xxxvii

a shamefiil end^ Well accustomed as was the age to
violence and cruelty, it was shocked at this free disposal
of a great ecclesiastic by a mercantile community ; and
even to the Guelf chronicler Villani the terrible defeat
of Montaperti seemed no more than a just vengeance
token by Heaven upon a crime so heinous.* In the
meantime the city was laid under interdict, and thos^
concerned in the Abbot's death were excommunicated ;
while the Ghibelines, taking refuge in Siena» began to
plot and scheme with the greater spirit against foes
who, in the very face of a grave peril, had offended in
the Pope their strongest natural ally.

The leader of the exiles was Farinata, one of the
Uberti, a family which, so long ago as 1180, had raised
a dvil war to force their way into the consulship. Ever
since, they had been the most powerful, perhaps, and
certainly the most restless, clan in Florence, rich in men
of: strong characteri fiercely tenacious of their purpose.
Such was Farinata. To the Florentines of a later age
he was to stand for the type of the great Ghibeline
gentleman, haughty as Lucifer, a Christian in name
though scarcely by profession, and yet almost beloved
for his frank excess of pride. It detracted nothing

* Dante sets the Abbot among the traitors hi Inferno, and aajs
scornfiilly of him that his throat was cnt at Florenoe (Inf. xxxii
119).

* Villani throws doubt on the guilt of the Abbot. There were
some cases of churchmen being Ghibelines, as for instance that
of the Cardinal Ubaldini (Inf x, 120). Twenty years before the
Abbot's death the General of the Franciscans had been jeered at
in the streets of Florence for turning his coat and joining the
Emperor. On the other hand, many civilians were to be found
among the Guel&.



xxxviii Florence and Dante.

from the grandeur of his character, in the judgment of
his countrymen, that he could be cunning as well as
brave. Manfred was coy to afford help to the Tuscan
Ghibelines, standing out for an exorbitant price for the
loan of his men-at-arms ; and to Farinata was attributed
the device by which his point of honour was effectually
touched^ When at last a reinforcement of eight
hundred cavalry entered Siena, the exiles and their
allies felt themselves more than a match for the militia
of Florence, and set themselves to decoy it into the
field Earlier in the same year the Florentines had
encamped before Siena, and sought in vain to bring
on a general engagement They were now misled by
false messengers, primed by Farinata, into a belief that
the Sienese, weary of the arrogance of Provensano
Salvani,' then all-powerful in Siena, were ready to
betray a gate to them. In vain did Tegghiaio Aldih
brandi,* one of the Guelf nobles, counsel delay till the
German men-at-arms, wearied with waiting on and
perhaps dissatisfied with their wages, should be recalled
by Manfred A march in fiill strength upon the hostile
city was resolved on by the eager townsmen.

1 Manfred, sajt John VilUmi (Crvmhi, tL 74 and 75), at
fint acnt only a hondfed men. Having by Farinata's advice been
fiUed with wine before a wtinniah in which they were indaced to
engage, they were easily cat in pieces by the Florentines; and
the royal standard was dragged in the dust The trath of the
story matten less than that it was believed in Florence.

* Provenano is found by Dante in Puigatoiy, which he has
been admitted to, in spite of his sins, becanse of his stlf-iacfifjffing
devotion to a friend (Purg* zi. lai).

' For this good advice he gets a word <^ praise in Inferno (Itif.
xvL 43).



Flonnu and Dante* xxxix

The battle of Montapeiti was fought in September
ia6oy among the earthy hills washed by the Arbia and
its tributary rivulets, a few miles to the east of Siena.
It marked the dose of the rule of the Popdo VecMo.
nil then no such disastrous day had come to Florence ;
and the defeat was all the more intolerable that it was
counted for a victory to Siena. Yet the battle was far
fiom being a test of the strength of the two rival cities
Out of the thirty thousand foot in the Guelf army»
there were only about five thousand Florentines. In
tte host which poured out on them from Siena, beside
the militia of that city and the Florentine exiles, were
included the Ghibelines of Arezzo, the retainers of
great lords still unsubdued by any city, and, above all,
the German men-at-arms of Manfred.^ But the worst
enemies of Florence were the traitors in her own ranks.
She bore it long in mind that it was her merchants
and handicraftsmen who stood stubbornly at bay, and
tinged the Arbia red with their life-Uood; while it
was among the men of high d^ree that the traitors
were found. On one of them, Bocca degli Abati, who
struck off the right hand of the standard-bearer of the
cavahy, and so helped on the confiision and the rout,
Dante takes vengeance in his pitiless verse.'

The fortifications of Florence had been recently
completed and strengthened, and it was capable of a
long defence. But the spirit of the people was broken

* Tliese meirenarifii thovah called Gennans, were of wiovs
noes. There were even Greeki and Saraoeni among them* The
miztare corresponded with the motley civilisation of Manfred's
conrt

« Inf, xudi. 79.



xl Florence and Dante,

for the time, and the conquerors found the gates open.
Then it was that Farinata almost atoned for any wrong
he ever did his native town, by withstanding a proposal
made by the Ghibelines of the rival Tuscan cities, that
Florence should be destroyed, and Empoli advanced
to fill her room. ' Alone, with open fece I drfended
her,' Dante makes him say. ^ But the wonder would
rather be if he had voted to destroy a city of which he
was about to be one of the tjnrants. Florence had now
a fuller experience than ever of die oppression which it
was in the character of the Ghibelines to exercise. A
rich booty lay ready to their hands; for in the panic after
Montaperti crowds of the best in Florence had ded,
leaving all behind them except their wives and children,
whom they would not trust to the cruel mercy of the
victors. It was in this exile that for the first time
the industrious citizen was associated with the Guelf
noble. From Lucca, not powerfiil enough to grant
them protection for long, they were driven to Bologna^
suffering terribly on the passage of the Apennines from
cold and want of food, but safe when the mountains
lay between them and the Val d'Amo. While the
nobles and young men with a taste for fighting found
their livelihood in service against the Lombard Ghibe-
lines, the more sober-minded scattered themselves to
seek out their commercial correspondents and increase
their acquaintance with the markets of Europe. When
at length the way was open for them to return home,
they came back educated by travel, as men must always
be who travel for a purpose ; and from this second exile

» /«/. X. 93.



Flounce amd Dante, xU

of the. Guelfi dates a vast' extension of the oommeice
of Floiience.

Their retuni was a froitof the policy followed by the
Papal Court The interests of both were the samel
The Roiinn See could have as little independence of
action: while a hostile monarch was possessed of the
southern Idigdomsy as the peo{^ of Florence could
have freedom while the Ghibeline nobility had for patron
a military prince, to whom their gates lay open by way
of Siena and Pisa. To Sicily and Naples the Pope laid
claim by an alternative title — they were either dependent
on the See of Rome, or, if they were Imperial fiefs, then,
in &e vacancy of the Empire, the Pope, as the only head
of Christendom, had a right to dispose of them as he
would. A champion was needed to maintain the
claim, and at length the inan was found in Charles of
Anjou, biother of St Louis* This was a prince of in-
tellectuai powers far beyond the common, of untiring
industry te attuvs, pious,. ' chaste as a monk,' and cold-
hesffted as a usurer ; gifted with all the qualities, in
short,. that make a man feared and well served, and
with none that make him beloved. He was not one
to risk failure for want of deliberation and foresight, and
his measures were taken with such prudence that by
the time he ianded in Italy his victory was almost
assured. He found his enemy at Benevento, in the
Neapolitan territory (February 1266). In order to get
time for reinforcements to come up, Manfred sought
to enter into negotiations ; but Charles was ready, and
knew his advantage. He answered with the splendid
confidence of a man sure of a heavenly if he missed an



xHi FioreHce and Dante.

earthly triumph* ' Go tell the Sultan of Lucera,'^ was
his reply, ' that to-day I shall send him toHell, or he
will send me to Faradiae;' Manfred was slain, and his
hody, discovered only after long search, was denied
Christian burial Yet, excommunicated though he was»
«nd suspected of being at heart as much Mohammedan
as Christiani he, as well as his great rival, is fovnd by
Dante in Purgatory.* And, while the Christian poet
pours his invective on the pious Charles,' he is at no
pains to hide how pitiful appeared to him the fate of
the frank and handsome Manfred, all whose followers
adored him. He, as more than once it happens in the
Omu^ to those whose memory is dear to the poct^ is
saved fix>m Inferno by the fiction that in the hour of
death he sent one thought heavenward— 'so wide is
the embrace of infinite mercy.' ^

To Florence Charles proved a useftd if a greedy and
exacting protector. Under his influence as Pacificator
of Tuscany— ^an office created for him by the Pdpe-*the
Ouelfs Ixrere enabled slowly to return from exile, and
the GhibeUnes were gradually depressed into a oon-
dition of dependence on llie goodwill of the dtisens
over whom they had so lately domineered. Hence*
forth fiuhue attended eveiy effort diey made to lift
their heads. The stubbornly irreconcilable were
banished or put to death. Elaborate provisions were
enacted in obedience to the Pope's commands, by idiidi

* Lttoera was a fortress which had been peopled with Samoens
by Frederick.
' Manfred, Purg. iii lis ; Charles, Pwrg. viL 113.
» Puirg, xx. 67. * Pwrg, iii. 12a.



Florence and Dante. xliti

the rest were to be at peace with their old foes. Now
they were to live in the eitji bat under disabilities as
regarded eligibility to ofiBces; now they were to be re-
presented in the public councils^ but so as to be abraiys
in a mincMrity* The result of the measures taken, and
of the natural drift of things, was that ere many more
years had passed there were no avowed GUiibelines in
Florence.

One influence constantly at work in this direction
was that of the Parte Gueffa^ a Florentine society
fonned to guard the interests of the Guelfs, and which
was possessed of the greater part of the Ghibeline
property confiscated after the triumph of Charles had
turned the balance of power in Italy. This oiganisation
has been well described as a state within a state, and it
seems as if the part it phiyed in the Florentine politics
of this period were not yet fully known. This much
seems sure, that the members of the Socie^ were
mostly Guelf nobles ; that its power, derived frcnn the
administmtion of vast wealth to a political end^ was so
giieat that the Captain of the Parte Guelfa held a place
ahnost on a level with that of the chief officials of the
Commonwealth ; and that it made loans of ready money
to Florence and the Pope, on condition of their being
used to the damage of the Ghibelines.^

The Commonwealth, busy in resettling its govern*
ment, was but slightly interested in much that went on
around it The boy Conradin, grandson of Frederick,

^ For an aocbont of the constitotion and activity of the Parte
Gmdfd at a later period, see Perrens, Hist de Fhrencet ▼^l* l^*
Pb 482.



xliv Florence and Dante^

nephew of Manfred, and in a sense the 'last of the
Hohenstaufens, came to Italy to tneasui^e himself with
Charles, and paid for his audacity upon the scaffold.^
Charles deputed Guy of Montfort, son of the great Earl
Simon, to be his vicar in Florence.' The Pope smiled
and frowned in turn on the Florentines, as their devo*
tioo' to him waxed and waned; and so he. did on*^ his
champion Charles, whose ambition was apt to outrun his
piety. All this was of less importance to the Common-
wealth than the promotion of its domestic interests. It
saw with equanimity a check given to Charles by the
election of a new Emperor in Rudolf of Hapsburg
(1273), and a further check by the Sicilian Vespersi
which lost him half his kingdom (1283). But Siena and
Pisa, Arez£o, and even Pistoia, were the objects of a
sleepless anxiety. Pisa was the chief source of danger^
being both from sentiment and interest stubbornly
Ghibeline. - When at length its power was broken by
Genoa, its great maritime rival, in the naval battle of
Melom (1284), there was no longer any city in
Tuscany to be compared for wealth and strengtfi with
Florence.



III.

It was at this period that Dante, reaching the age
of manhood, began to perform the duties that fell to
him as a youthful citizen — duties which, till the age of
thirty was reached, were chiefly those of military
service. The family to which he belonged was a

* Purg. XX. 68,



Plorthu tmd Dante. xlv

biancb of th^ fiOsei, who afe included by Villani in
the earliest catalogue given by him of the gieat Floien-
tine houses. Cacciaguida, one of the Eluei, bom in
iio6^ married a daughter of &e Aldighieri, a family
of Fenata. Their son wad christened Aldighiero, and
this was adopted by the family as a surname, afterwards
changed to AlighierL The son of Aldigfaiero was
Bellindonei father of Aldigbiero ii., the father of Dante;
It serves no purpose to fill a page of biography
with genealogical details when the hero's couiise in life
was in no way a£fected by the accident of who was his
grandfather. In the case of Dante, his position in the
State, his political creed, and his whole fashion of
regarding life, were vitally influenced by the dicum*
Stances of his birth. He knew that his genius, and
his genius alone, was to procure him fame ; he declared
a virtuous and gentle life to be the tnie proof of
nobility: and yet his £amity pride is always breakinct
throttghb In real life^ from his family's being decayed
in wealth and fallen in consideration compared With
its neighbours, he may have beeh led to put emphasis
on hb assertion of gentility; and amid the poverty
and humiliations of his exile he may have found a
tonic in the thought that by birth, not to speak of other
things, he was the equal of those who spumed him or
coldly lent him aid. However this may be, there is
a tacit claim of equality with them in the easy grace
with which he encounters great nobles in the world of
shades. The bent 6f his mind in relation to this
subject is shown by such a touch as that when he
esteems it among the glories of Francis of Assisi not to



xlvi Phrence and Dante*

have been ashamed of his base extraction. ^ In Paiadise
he meets his great crusading ancestor Cacdaguida, and
feigns contrition for the pleasure with which he listens
to a declaration of the unmixed purity of their common
blood' In Inferno he catches a glimpse, sudden an<i^
terrible, of a kinsman whose violent death had remained
unavenged; and, for the nonce, the philosopher-poet
is nothing but die member of an injured Florentine
dan, and winces at the thought of a n^lected blood
feud.' And when Farinata, the great Ghibeline^ and
haughtiest of all the Florentines of the past generatioiii
asks him, <Who were thine ancestors?' Dante says
with a proud pretence of humility, ^ Anxious to obey, I
hid nothing, but told him all he demanded.'^

Dante was bom in Florence in the May of 1165.'
A brother of his &ther had been one of the guards of
the Florentine Carocdo, or standard-bearing car, at the
battle of Montaperti (ia6o). Whether Dante's father
neoessarily shared in the exile of his party may be
doubted. He is said— on slight authority — to have
been a jurisconsult : there is no reason to suppose he
was at Montaperti. It is difficult to believe that Flo-
rence was quite emptied of its lawyers and merchants
as a consequence of the Ghibeline victoiy. In any
case, it is certain that while the fugitive Guelfs were

^ Piarad. xL 89. > Parad. xvL 40, etc. * Inf, ndbc 31.

^ Inf, X. 42. Though Dante was descended from nobles, his
rank in Florence was not that of a noble or magnate, bat of a
commoner.

* The month ii indicated by Dante himself Parad. xziL iia
The year has recently been disputed. For 1265 we have
J. Villani and the earliest biographers ; and Dante's own expres-
sion at the beginning of the Comedy is in favour of it.



Flannci amd QfiHte. xlvii

moody aocompnied by their wives, and did not lettaro
tiD xa67, we hare Dante's own word for it that he was
bom in the great city by the Amo,^ and was baptised
in the Baptistery, his beau'tiiiil St John's.' At the font
he received the name of Durante, shortened, as he bore
It, mto Dante. It is in this form that it finds a place
m the Omidj^f once, and only once, written down of
necesrity, tfie poet says— the necessity of being faithftil
in the report of Beatrice's words : from the wider
necesrity, we may assume, of imbedding in the woik it-
self the name by which the author was commonly known,
and by which he desired to be called for all time.

When Dante was about ten years old he lost his
father. Of his mother nothing but her Christian name
of Bella is known. Neither of them is mentioned in
the Comidyf nor indeed are his wife and children*
Boccaccio describes the Alighieri as having been in
easy though not in wealthy circumstances; and Leonardo
Bruni, who in the fifteenth century sought out what he
coold learn of Dante, sa3rs of him that he was possessed
of a patrimony sufficient for an honourable livelihood
That he was so might be inferred from the character
of the education he received. His studies, wj%
Boccaccio, were not directed to any object of worldly
profit That there is no sign of their having been
directed by churchmen tends to prove the existence
in his native town of a class of cultivated lajrmen ; and

1 Inf, xsiii. 95.

* lirf* zix. 17 ; Parad, xxv. 9. * Purg, zxx. 55.

4 Inf. viii. 45, where Virgil nys of Dante that blessed was she
that bore him, can scarcely be regarded as an cxceptiott to this
statement.



j^I Viii Fiorend and Dante^

that there was such appears from the ease wkh which^
when, passing from boyhood to manhood, he felt a
Craving for intellectual and congenial society, he found
in nobles of the stamp of Guido Cavalcanti men like-
minded with himself It was indeed impossible but
that the revival of the study of the civil law, the
importation of new learning from the East, and the
sceptical spirit fostered in Italy by the influence of
Fr^erick ii. and his court, should all have told on the
keen-witted Florentines, of whom a great proportion —
^ven of the common people— could read; while the
class with leisure had every opportunity of knowing
what was going on in the world ^ Heresy, the rough
word for intellectual life as Well as for religious aspira-
tion, had found in Florence a congenial soiL' In the
thirteenth century, which modem ignorance loves to
reckon as having befen in a special sense an age of
faith, there were many Florentines who, in spite of
their outward conformity, had drifted as far ixom
spiritual allegiance to the Church as the furthest
point reached by any of their descendants who some
two ages later belonged to the school of Florentine
Platonists.
Chief among these free-thinkers, and, sooth to say,

* In 1326, out of a population of ninety thousand, from eight to
ten thousand children were being taught to read ; and from five
to six hundred were being taught grammar and logic in four high
schools. There was not in Dante's time, or till much later, a
University in Florence. See J. Villani, zi 94, and Burckhardty
Cultur der Renaissance^ voL i. p. 76.

* For an interesting account of Heresy in Florence from the
eleventh to the thirteenth centuries, see Perrens, Hist^ de Florence^
voL L livre ii. chap. iii.



Florma and Dante. xlix

fiee-livers — ^though in this respect they were less dis-
dnguis h ed from the orthodox — ^was Brunetto Latinif for
some time Secretary to the Republic, and the foremost
Italian man of letters of his day. Meagre though his
greatest work, the Tesaro^ or Trtamrti must seem to
any one who now glances over its pages, to his con-
tempoxaries it answered the promise of its title and
stood for a magazine of almost complete information
in the domains of natural history, ethics, and politics.
It was written in French, as being a more agreeable
language than Italian; and was composed, there is
reason to believe^ while Latini lived in Paris as an
exiled Guelf after Montaperti. His Tesaretto^ or LUtU
Tnasure^ a poem in jingling eij^t-syllabled Italian
verse, has been thought by some to have supplied bints
to Dante for the Qmeiy.^ By neither of these works
is he evinced a man of strong inteUect, or even of good
taste. Yet there is the testimony of Villani that he did
much to refine the language of his contemporaries, and
to apply fixed principles to the conduct of State afiairs.^
Dante meets him in Inferno, and hails him as his in-
tellectual father — as the master who taught him from
day to day how fame is to. be won.'' But it b too much
to infer from these words that Latini served as his
teacher, in the common sense of the word. It is true
they imply an intimacy between the vetemn scholar

^ It opens with Bninetto's being lost in the forest of Ronces-
TsUes, uid there are some other featares of re8emb]ance--«U on
the surface-— between his experience and Dante's.

• G. Villani, riU. la Utini died in 1294. ViUani gives the
old scholar a very bad moral character.

» In/, XV. 84.

d



I Florence and Dante.

and his young townsman ; but the closeness of their
intercourse is perhaps best accounted for by supposing
that Latini had been acquainted with Dante's father,
and by the great promise of Dante's boyhood was led
to take a warm interest in his intellectual development
Their intimacy, to judge from the tone of their ccm-
versation down in Inferno, had lasted till Latini's
death. But no tender reminiscence of the days they
spent together avails to save him from condemnation
at the hands of his severe discifde. By the muiners
of Brunette, and the Epicurean heresies of others of
his friends, Dante, we may be sure, was never infected
or defiled.

Dante describes himself as having begun the serious
study of philosophy and theology only at the mature
age of twenty-seven. But ere that time he had studied
to good effect, and not books alone, but the world
around him too, and the world within. The poet was
formed before the theologian and philosopher. From
his earliest years he was used to write in verse ; and
he seems to have esteemed as one of his best endow-
ments the easy command of his mother tongue acquired
by him while still in boyhood

Of the poems written in his youth he made a selec-
tion, and with a commentary gave them to the world
as his first work.^ All the sonnets and canzoni con-
tained in it bear more or less directly on his love for
Beatrice Fortinari. This lady, whose name is so in*

^ We may, I think, assaxne the VUa Nwna to have been pub-
lished some time between 1291 and 1300 ; but the dates of Dante^s
works are far from being ascertained.



Florence and Dante. li

diasolably associated with that of Dante, was the
daughter of a rich citizen of good family. When
Dante saw her first he was a child of nine, and she
a few months younger. It would seem £U)ulous, he
says, if he related what things he did, and of what a
passion he was the victim during his boyhood. He
seized opportunities of beholding her, but for long
never passed beyond a silent worship; and he was
eighteen before she spoke to him, and then only in. the
way of a passing salutation. On this he had a vision,
and that inspired him with a sonnet, certamly not the
first he had written, but the fust he put into circulation.
The mode of publication he adopted was the common
one of sending copies of it to such other poets as were
within reach. The sonnet in itself contains a challenge
to interpret his dream. Several poets attempted the
riddle — among them the philosopher and poet Guido
Cavalcanti. They all failed in the solution ; but with
some of them he was thus brought into terms of intimacy,
and with Cavalcanti of the closest friendship. Some
new grace of style in Dante's verse, some art in the
presentation of his mystical meaning that escapes the
modem reader, may have revealed to the middle-aged
man of letters that a new genius had arisen. It was by
Guido's advice that the poems of which this sonnet
stands the first were some years later collected and
published with the explanatory narrative. To him, in
a sense, the whole work is addressed ; and it ag^reed
with his taste, as well as Dante's own, that it should
contain nothing but what was written in the vulgar
tongue. Others besides Guido must have rec(>gnised



Ill Florence and Dante.

in the little book, as it passed fix>m hand to hand, the
masterpiece of Italian prose, as well as of Italian verse.
In the simple title of Vita Nuova^ or T%e New Life^
we can fimcy that a claim is laid to originality of both
subject and treatment Through the body of the work,
though not so clearly as in the Comedy^ there rings the
note of assurance of safety from present neglect and
future oblivion.

It may be owing to the free use of personification
and symbol in the Vita Nuava that some critics, while
not denying the existence of a real Beatrice, have held
that she is introduced only to help out an allegory, and
that, under the veil of love for her, the poet would
express his youthful passion for truth. Others, going
to the opposite extreme, are found wondering why he
never sought, or, seeking, failed to win, the hand of
Beatrice. To those who would refine the Beatrice of
the early work into a being as purely allegorical as she
of the Comedy^ it may be conceded that the Vita
Nucva is not so much the history of a first love as of
the new emotional and intellectual life to which a first
love, as Dante experienced it, opens the door. Out of
the incidents of their intercourse he chooses only such
as serve for motives to the joys and sorrows of the
passionate aspiring soul. On the other hand, they who
seek reasons why Dante did not marry Beatrice have
this to justify their curiosity, that she did marry another
man. But her husband was one of the rich and power-

* So long as even Italian critics are not agreed as to whether the
title means New Life^ or KMw/i, I suppose one is free to take his
choice ; and it seems most natural to regard it as referring to the
new world into which the lover is transported by his passion.



Florence and DanU. liii

ful Bardi; and her fitther was so wealthj that after
providing for his chOdren he could endow a hospital
in Florence. The marriage was doubtless arranged as
a matter of family convenience, due regard being had
to her dower and her husband's fortune; and we may
assume that when Dante, too, was married Uter on, his
wife was found for him by the good offices of his
friends.^ Our manners as regards these things are not
those of the Italy of the thirteenth century. It may
safely be said that Dante never dreamed of Beatrice for
his wife ; that the expectation of weddmg her would
have sealed his lips from uttering to the world any
word of his love ; and that she would have lost some-
thing in his esteem if, out of love for him, she had
refused the man her father chose for her.

We must not seek in the VUa Nuova what it does
not profess to give. There was a real Beatrice For-
tinari, to a careless glance perhaps not differing much
from other Florentine ladies of her age and condition ;
but her we do not find in Dante's pages. These are
devoted to a record of the dreams and visions, the new
thoughts and feelings of which she was the occasion or
the object He worshipped at a distance, and in a
single glance found reward enough for months of
adoration ; he read all heaven into a smile. So high
strung is the narrative, that did we come on any hint
of loving dalliance it would jar with all the rest She
is always at a distance from him, less a woman than
anangeL

^ As, indeed, Boccaodo, VUa di DamU^ expresily says wm the



liv Florence and Dante.

In all this thare is certainly as much of reticence as
of exaggeration* When he comes to speak of her death
he uses a phrase on which it would seem as if too little
value had been set He cannot dwell on the circum-
stances of her departure, he says, without being his own
panegyrist Taken along with some other expressions
in the Vita Nucva^ and the tone of her words to him
when they meet in the £arthly Paradise, we may gather
firom this that not only was she aware of his long
devotion, but that, ere she died, he had been given to
understand how highly she rated it And on the occar
sion of her death, one described as being her nearest
relative by blood and, after Cavalcanti, Dante's chief
friend — her brother, no doubt— came to him and
begged him to write something concerning her. It
would be 'Strange indeed if they had never looked
frankly into one another's faces ; and yet, for anything
that is direcUy told in the Vita Nuova^ they never did

The chief value of the Vita Nuava is therefore
psychological It is a mine of materials illustrative of
the author's mental and emotional development, but as
re^utds historical details it is wanting in fulness and
precision* Yet, even in such a sketch of Dante's life
as this tries to be, it is necessary to dwell on the turning-
points of the narrative contained in the Vita Nuava ;
the reader always remembering that on one side Dante
says more than the fact that so he may glorify his love,
and less on another that he may not fail in consideration
for Beatrice. She is first a maiden whom no public
breath is to disturb in her virgin calm ; and afterwards a
chaste wife, whose lover is as jealous of her reputation



Florence and Da$Ue* Iv

as any husband could be. The youthful lover had be*
gun by propounding the riddle of his love so obscurely
that even by his fellow-poets it had been found in-
soluble, adepts though they themselves were in the art
of smothering a thought Then, though all his longing
is for Beatrice, lest she become the subject of common
talk he feigns that he is in love first with one lady and
then with another.^ He even pushes his deceit so £ur
that she rebukes him for his fickleness to one of his
sham loves by denying him the customary salutation
when they meet — ^this salutation being the only sign of
friendship she has ever shown. It is already some few
years since the first sonnet was written. Now, in a,
ballad containing a more direct avowal of his love than
he has yet ventured on,* he protests that it was always
Beatrice his heart was busy with, and that to her, though
his eyes may have seemed to wander, his affection was
always true. In the very next poem we find him as if
debating with himself whether he shall persevere. He
weighs the ennobling influence of a pure love and the
sweetness it gives to life, against the pains and self-
denial to which it condenms its servant Here, he tells
us in his commentary, he was like a traveller who has
come to where the ways divide. His only means of
escape — and he feels it is a poor one — is to throw
himself into the arms of Pity.

From internal evidence it seems reasonably certain
that the marriage of Beatrice fell at the time when he

^ In this adopting a device frequently used by the love-poets of
the period. — Witte^ DanU-Forschungm^ voL ii. p. 31a.
* The Viia Nuoua contains some thirty poems.



Ivi Florence and Dante.

describes himself as standing at the parting of the ways.
Before that he has been careful to write of his love in
terms so general as to be miderstood only by those in
possession of the key. Now he makes direct mention of
her, and seeks to be in her company ; and he even leads
us to infer that it was owing to his poems that she be*
came a well-known peisonage in the streets of Florence.
Immediately after the sonnet in which he has recourse
to Pity, he tells how he was led by a friend into the
house of a lady, married only that day, whom they find
surrounded by her lady friends, met to celebrate her
hom&«oming after marriage. It was the fashion for
joung gentlemen to offer their services at such a feast
On this occasion Dante for one can give no help. A
sudden trembling seizes him; he leans for support
against the painted wall of the chamber ; then, lifting
his eyes to see if the ladies have remarked his plight,
he is troubled at beholding Beatrice among them,
with a smile on her lips, as, leaning towards her,
they mock at her lover's weakness. To his friend, who,
as he leads him from the chamber, asks what ails him,
he replies : ' My feet have reached that point beyond
which if they pass they can never return.* It was only
matrons that gathered round a bride at her home-
coming ; Beatrice was therefore by this time a married
woman. That she was but newly married we may infer
from Dante's confusion on finding her thete.^ His
secret has now been discovered, and he must either
i renounce his love, or, as he is at length free to do,

* See Sir Theodore Martin's Introduction to his Translation of
VUa Nuova^ page zxL *



I



FlortMce and DanU. Ivii

Beatrice bdng nuurried, declare it openly, and spend
his life in loyal devotion to her as the mistreas of his
imagination and of his heart^

Bat how is he to pmsae his devotion to her, and
make use of his new privilege of freer intercourse,
when the veiy sight of her so unmans him? He
writes three sonnets explaining what may seem pusil-
lanimity in him, and resolves to write no more. Now
comes the most fruitful episode in the histoiy.
Questioned by a bevy of fiur ladies what is the end of
a love like his, that cannot even &ce the object of its
desire, he answers that his happiness lies in the words
by which he shows finrth the praises of his mistress. He
has now disco v ered that his passion is its own reward.
In other words, he has succeeded in spiritoaliang his
love; although to a careless reader it might seem in
little need of passing through the process. Then, soon
after, as he walks by a crystal brook, he is inspired with )
the words which begin the noblest poem he had yet j
produced,' and that as the author of which he is hailed '
by a fellow-poet in Purgatory. It is the first to glorify
Beatrice as one in whom Heaven is more concerned
than Earth ; and in it, too, he anticipates his journey
through the other world. She dies,* and we are sur-
{Mfised to find that within a year of her death he wavers
in his all^;iance to her memory. A fiur face, expressing
a tender c ompass i on, looks down onliim from a window



* In this nuitter we must not judge the conduct of Dante by
English customs.

* Dotuu^ ch^ aveU mkUdio tP amort: Ladies that are acquainted
wen with love. Quoted in I^rg, xziv. 51.

* Beatrice died in June 1390^ hairing been bom b April 1266. ]



Iviii Florence and Dante.

as he goes nursing his great sorrow ; and he loves the
owner of 'the face because she pities him. But seeing
Beatrice in a vision he is restored, and the closing
sonnet teUs how his whole desire goes forth to her, and
how his spirit is borne above the highest sphere to
behold her receiving honour, and shedding radiance on
all around her. The narrative closes with a rrference
to a vision which he does not reoounti but which incites
him to severe study in order that he may learn to write
of her as she deserves. And the last sentence of the
Vita Nuava expresses a hope — a hope which would be
arrogant coming after anything less perfect than the
Viia Nucva — ^that, concerning her, he shall yet say
things never said before of any woman. Thus the poet's
earliest work contains an earnest of the latest, and his
morning makes one day with his evenings

The narrative of the Viia Nueva is fluent and graceful,
in this contrasting strongly with the analytical arguments
attached to the various poems. Dante treats his readers
as if they were able to catch the meanmg of the most
recondite all^oiy, and yet were ignorant of the alpha-
bet of literary form. And, as is the case with odier
poets of the time, the free movement of his fancy is
often hampered by the necessity he felt of expressing
himself in the language of the popular scholastic philo-
sophy. All this is but to say that he was a man of his
period, as well as a great genius. And even in this his
first work he bettered the example of Guido Cavalcanti,
Guido of Bologna, and the others whom he found, but did
not long suffer to remain, the masters of Italian verse.^

^ Pwrg. zi, 98.



Flanna and Da$U$. lix

These inherited from the Proven^ uid Sicilian t>oet8
much of the cant of which Eniopean poetry has been
ao slow to clear itself; and chiefly that of presenting
all human emotion and volition under the figure of love
for a mistressi who was often merely a oeatore erf* fiuicyi
set up to act as Queen of Beauty while the poet ran his
intellectual jousts. But Pante dealt in no feigned
inspirationi and distinguishes himself from the whole
school of philosophical and artificial poets as *one who
can only speak as love inspires.'^ He may deal in
allegory and utter sayings dark enough, but the first
suggestions of his thoughts are obtained from fitcts of
emotion or of real Ufe. His lady was no creature of
fancy, but his neighbour Beatrice Portinari : and she
who ends in the Paradise as the embodied beauty of
holiness was^ to begin with, a fisur Florentine girl.

The instance of Beatrice is the strongest, although
others might be adduced, to illustrate Dante's economy
of actual experience; the skilful use, that is, of real
emotions and incidents to serve for su^^^tion and
material of poetical thought As has been told,
towards the close of the Vita Nucva he describes how
he found a temporary consolation for the loss of Bea-
trice in the pity of a fair and noble lady. In his next
work, the Convito^ or Banquet^ she appears as the per-
sonification of philosophy. The plan of the Canvito is
that of a commentary on odes Vhich are interpreted as
having various meanings — among others the literal as
distinguished from the allegorical or essentially true.
As far as this lady is concerned, Dante shows some

* Purg, xxiv. 52.



Ix Florence and Dante,

eagerness to pass from the literal meaning; desirous, it
may be, to correct the belief that he had ever wavered
in his exclusive devotion to Beatrice. That for a time
he did transfer his thoughts from Beatrice in Heaven
to the fair lady of the window is almost certain, and by
the time he wrote the Purgaieria he was able to make
confession of such a fault. But at the earlier period
at which the OmvUo^ was written, he may have come to
regard the avowal in the Vita Nuem as an oversight
dishonouring to himself as well as to his first love, and
so have slurred it over, leaving the iact to stand en-
veloped in an allegory. At any rate, to his gloss upon
this passage in his life we are mdebted for an interest-
ing account of how, at the age of twenty-seven, he put
himself to school : —

* After losing the earliest joy of my life, I was so smitten
with sorrow that in nothing could I find any comfort. Yet
after some time my mind, eager to recover its tone, since
nought that I or others could do availed to restore me,
directed itself to find how people, being disconsolate, had
been comforted. And so I took to reading that little-
known book by Boethius, by writing which he, captive and
in exile, had obtained relief. Next, hearing that Tally as
well had written a book in which, treating of firiendship, he
had consoled the worthy Laelius on the occasion of the
loss of his friend Scipio, I read that toa And though at
the first I found their meaning hard, at last I compre-

* The date of the QmvU0 is stiU the subject of oontroveny, as is
that of most of Dante's works. Bat it certainly was composed
between the Vita Nueva and the Comedy,

There is a remarkable sonnet by Guido CaTalcanti addressed to
Dante, reproaching him lor the deterioradon in his thoughts and
habits, and urging him to lid himself of the woman who has bred
the trouble. This may refer to the time after the death of Beatrice.
See also Pttrg, zxx, 124.



Fhnna and DanU* Ixi

hended it as fiur as my knowledi^ of the language and
some little command of mother-frit enabled me to do:
which same mother-wit had already helped me to much,
as may be seen by the Vita Nuoveu And as it often
happens that a man goes seeking silver, and lig^ on gold
he is not lodging for — the result of chance, or of some
divine provision ; so I, besides finding the consolation I
was in search of to dry my tears, became possessed of
wisdom from authors and sciences and books. Weighing
this weU, I deemed that phik>sophy, the mistress of these
authors, sciences, and books, must be the best of all things.
And imagining her to myself fashioned like a great lady,
rich in compassion, my admiration of her was so unbounded
that I was always delighting myself in her knage. And
from thus beholding her in fancy I went cm to frequent the
places where she is to be found in very deed — in the schools
of theology, to wit, and the debates of philosophers. So
that in a little time, thirty months or so^ I began to taste
so much of her sweetness that the love I bore to her
efitured or banished every other thoi^ht'^

No one would guess from this description of how he
grew enamoured of philosophy, that at the beginning of
his arduous studies Dante took a wife. She was Gemma,
the daughter of Manetto Donati, but rehited only dis-
tantly, if at all, to the great Corso DonatL They were
marrie d in i spi^.^^ being^twenty-seven; and in the course
of the nine years that elapsed till his exile she bore him
five sons and two daughters.^ From his silence regard-
ing her in his works, and firom some words of Boccaccio's
which apply only to the period of his exile, it has been
inferred that the union was unhappy. But Dante makes
no mention in his writings of his parents or children

^ Commto vu 13.

* Some recent writers set his marriage five years later, and reduce
the nnmber of his children to three.



Ikii Florence and DanU.

any more than of Gemma.^ And why should not his
wife be included among the things dearest to him which,
he tells us, he had to leave behind him on his banish-
ment? For an3rthing we know to the contrary, their
wedded life up to the time of his exile may have been
happy enough ; although most probably the marriage
was one of convenience, and almost certainly Dante
found little in Gemma's mind that answered to his own.'
In any case it is not safe to lay stress upon his silence,
thiring the period covered by the Vita Nuova he served
more than once in the field, and to this none of his
earlier works make any reference. In 1289, Arezzo
having warmly espoused the Ghibeline cause, the Flor-
entines, led by Corso Donati and the great merchant
Vieri dei Cerchi, took up arms and met the foe
in the field of Campaldino, on the edge of the upland
r^ion of the Casendna Dante, as a young man of
means and family, fought in the vanguard ;* and in a
tetter partly preserved by one of his early biographers^
he describes himself as being then no tiro in arms, and
as having with varying emotions watched the fortunes of
the day. From this it is clear that he had served before^
probably in an expedition into the Aretine territory made
in the previous year, and referred to in the If^emof
In the same year as Campaldino was won he was pre-

^ His sister is probably meant by the ' yomig and gentle lady,
most nearly related to him by blood ' mentioned in the Viia Nmcva*

* The diffeBenoe between the Teutonic and Sonthem oonception
of marriage must be kept in mind.

* He describes the weather on the day of the battle with the
exactness of one who had been there (/Viij; v. 155).

* Leonardo Bram. * In/, xxiL 4.



Florence and Dante, Ixiii

sent at the sunendar of Q^Nnona, a fortress bdoi^;iiig
to Pisa.^ But of all this he is silent in his wwks, or
only makes casual mention of it by way of illastiation^
It is. dierefore, a waste iA time tiying to prove his
domestic misery from his silence about his marriage.

IV.

So hard a student was Dante that he now for a time
nearly lost the use of his'eyes.^ But he was cured by
regimen, and came to see as well as ever, he tells us;
which we can easily believe was very well indeed. For
his work, as he planned it out, he needed all his powers.
The CanvitOy for example, was designed to admit of a
full treatment of all that concerns philosophy. It marks
an earlier stage of his intellectual and spiritual life than
does the opening of the Inferno. In it we have the
fruit of the years during which he was wandering astray
from his early ideal, misled by what he afterwards came
to count as a vain and profitless curiosity. Most of its

contents, as we have it,' are only indirectly interesting.

*

It is impossible for most people to care fpr discussions,
conducted with all the nicety of scholastic definition,
on such subjects as the system of the universe as it was
evolved out of the brains of philosophers; the subject-
matter of knowledge ; and how we know. But there is
one section of it possessed of a very special interest,

* Jnf, xxi. 95,

* Cofiv. iii. 9, where he illastrates what be has to say about the
nature of^isioii, bj telling that for some time the stars, when he
looked at them, seemed lost in a pearly haze.

* The CoftvUo was to have oonsbted of fifteen books. Only
four were written.



Ixiv Florence and Dante.

the F0111II19 in which he treats of the nature of nobility.
This he affirms to be independent of wealth or ancestryi
and he finds eveiy one to be noble who practises the
virtues proper to his time of life. ^ None of the Uberti
of ^orence or the Visconti of Milan can say he is
noble because belonging to such or such a race; for
the Divine seed is sown not in a family but in the
individual man/ This amottnts, it must be admitted,
to no more than saying that high birth is one thing,
and nobility of character another ; but it is significant
of what were the current opinions, that Dante should.
be at such pains to distinguish between the two
qualities. The canzone which supplies the text for the
treatise closes with a picture of the noble soul at
every stage of life, to which Chaucer may well have
been indebted for his description of the true gentle-
man:^ — ^'The soul that is adorned by this grace does
not keep it hid, but from the day when soul is wed
to body shows it forth even until death. In early life
she is modest, obedient, and gentle, investing the out-
ward form and all its members with a gracious beauty :
in youth she is temperate and strong, full of love and
courteous ways, delighting in loyal deeds : in mature age
she is prudent, and just, and apt to liberality, rejoicing
to hear of others' good. Then in the fourth stage of
life she is married again to God,' and contemplates her
approaching end with thankfulness for all the past'*

1 Wifi of Bath's Tale, In the context he quotes Awr^. vii. isi,
and takes ideas from the Comrito*

* Dies to sensual pleasnre and is abstracted finom aU worldly
affiun and interests. See CmtviU iv. 28.

' From the last canxone of the OmvUo.



Fhrena and Dante, Ixv

In this passage it is less the poet that is heard than
the sober moralist, one with a ripe experience of life,
and contemptuous of the vulgar objects of ambition*
The calm is on the surface. As has been said above,
he was proud of his own birth, the more proud perhaps
that his statioi^ was but a middUng one ; and to the dose
of his life he hated upstarts with their sudden richer
while the Philip Argenti on whom in the Ifrfemo he
takes what has much the air of a private revenge may
have been only a specimen of the violent and haughty
nobles with whom he stood on an uneasy footing.

Yet the impression we get of Dante's surroundings
in Florence from the Vita Nucva and other poems, from
references in the Cpmedy^ and from some anecdotes
more or less true which survive in the pages of
Boccaccio and elsewhere, is on the whole a pleasant
one. We should mistake did we think of him as always
in the guise of absorbed student or tearful loven
Friends he had, and society of various kinds. He tells
how in a severe illness he was nursed by a young and
noble lady, nearly related to him by blood — his sister
most probably; and other ladies are mentioned as
watching in his sick-chamber.^ With Forese and
Piccaida Donati, brother and sister of the great Corso
Donati, he was on terms of the warmest friendship.'
From the Vita Nuava we can gather that, even when
his whole heart fainted and failed at the mere sight
of Beatrice, he was a favourite with other ladies
and conversed familiarly with them. The brother of

* In the VUa Nuaoa.

* Furg. xxiii. 115, xxiv. 75 ; Parad, ill 49.

e



Ixvi Florence and Dante.

Beatrice was his dear friend ; while among those of the
elder generation he could reckon on the friendship of
such men .as Guido C^avalcanti and Brunetto Latini
Through Latini he would, even as a young man, get
the entry of the most lettered and intellectually active
society of Florence. The tradition of his intimacy
with Giotto is supported by the mention he makes of
the painter,^ and by the fJEU^t, referred to in the Vita
Nmva^ that he was himself a draughtsman. It is to
be r^etted there are not more anecdotes of him on
record like that which tells how one day as he drew
an angel on his tablets he was broken in upon by
' certain people of importance.' The musician Casella,
whom he ' woes to sing in Purgatory/ ^ and Belacqua,
the indolent good-humoured lutemakeri' are greeted by
him in a tone of friendly warmth in the one case and
of easy familiarity in the other, which help us to know
the terms on which he stood with the quick-witted
artist dass in Florence.^ Ahready he was in the enjoy-
ment of a high reputation as a poet and scholar, and
there seemed no limit to the greatness he might attain
to in his native town as a man of action as well as a
man of thought

In most respects the Florence of that day was as
fitting a home for a man of genius as could well be
imagined. It was full of a life which seemed restless
only because the possibilities of improvement for the

*' Purg, XL 95. • Pttrg, il 91. • Purg, iv. 123.

* Sacchetti's stories of how Dante showed displeasure with the
blacksmith and the donkey-driver who murdered his canzomtae
interesting only as showing what kind of legends about him were
current in the streets of Florence. — Sacchetti, Navdie^ cxiv, cxv.



Florence and Dante. Ixvii

individual and the community seemed infinite. A trae
measure of its political progress and of the activity of
men's minds is supplied by the changes then being
made in the outward aspect of the city. The duties of
tiie Government were as much municipal as political*
and it would have surprised a Florentine to be told
that the one kind of service was of less dignity than the
other. The population grew apace, and, to provide
the means for extending the city walls, every dtiien,
on pain of his testament being found invalid, was re-
quired to bequeath a pert of his estate to the public.
Already the banks of the Amo were joined by three
bridges of stone, and the main streets were paved with
the inegularly-shaped blocks of lava still familiar to
the sojourner in Florence. But between the time of
Dante's boyhood and the close of the century the other
outstanding features of the city were greatly altered, or
were in the course of change. The most important
churches of Florence, as he first knew it, were the
Baptistery and the neighbouring small cathedral church
of Santa Reparata ; after these ranked the church of the
Trinity, Santo Stefano, and some other churches which
are now replaced by larger ones, or of which the site
alone can be discovered. On the other side of the
river, Samminiato with its elegant fagade rose as now
upon its hilL^ The only great civic building was the
Palace of the PodesU. The Old Market was and had
long been the true centre of the city's life.

At the time Dante went into exile Amolfo was
already working on the great new cathedral of St Mary

^ Purg. zii. loi.



Ixviii Florence and Dante.

of the Flowers, the spacious Santa Croce, and the
graceful Badia; and Santa Maria Novella was slowly
assummg the perfection of form that was later to
make it the favourite of Michel Angelo. The Palace
of the SigpEiory was already planned, though h^ a
century was to elapse before its tower soared aloft to
daunt the private strongholds which bristled, fierce
and threatening, all over the city. The bell-tower
of Giotto, too, was of later erection — ^the only pile
we can almost regret that Dante never saw. The.
architect of it was however already adorning the walls
of palace and cloister with paintings whose inspira-
tion was no longer, like that of the works they over-
shadowed, drawn from the outworn motives of Byzantine
art, but firom the faithful observation of nature.^ He in
painting and the Pisan school in sculpture were furnish-
ing the world with novel types of beauty in the plastic
arts, answering to the 'sweet new style ^ in verse of
which it was Dante that discovered the secret'

Florence was now by far the leading city in Tuscany.
Its merchants and money-dealers were in correspondence
with every Mediterranean port and with every country
of the West Along with bales of goods and letters of
exchange new ideas and fresh intelligence were always
on the road to Florence. The knowledge of what was
going on in the world, and of what men were thinkings

* pHTg* xu 94 :—

* In |>ainting Cimabue deemed the field
His own, but now on Giotto goes the cry,
Till by his fiune the other^s is coocealed.*
' Giotto is often said to have drawn inspiration from the Comtdy;
bnt that Bante, on his side, was indebted to the new school of paint-
ing and sculpture appears from many a passage of the Ar^gtUorw,



Florence and Dante. Ixix

was part of the stock-in-trade of the quick-witted
dtizensy and they were beginning to be employed
throughout Europe in diplomatic work, till then almost a
monopoly of churchmen. * These Florentines seem to
me to form a fifth element,' said Boni&cei who had
ample experience of how accomplished they were.

At home they had fiill employment fpr their political
genius; and still upon the old problem, of how to
curb the arrogance of the class that, in place of being
satisfied to share in the general prosperity, sought its
profit in the maintenance of privilege. It is necessary,
at the cost of what may look like repetition, to revert
to the presence and activity of this class in Florence,
if we are to form a true idea of the circumstances of
Dante's life, and enter into the spirit with which much
of the Comedy is informed. Though many of the nobles
were now engaged in commerce and figured among
the popular leaders, most of the greater houses stood
proudly aloof ftom everything that might corrupt their
gentility. These were styled the magnates : they found,
as it were, a vocation for themselves in being nobles.
Among them the true distinctive spirit of Ghibelinism
survived, although none of them would now have dared
to describe himself as a Ghibeline. Their strength lay
partly in the unlimited control they retained over the
serfs on their landward estates; in the loyalty with
which the members of a family held by one another ; in
their great command of resources as the administrators
of the Parte Guelfa; and in the popularity they enjoyed
with the smaller people in consequence of their lavish
expenditure, and frank if insolent manners. By law



Ixx Florence and Dante,

scaicdy the equals of the full citizens, in point of fact
they tyrannised over them. Their houses, set like
fortresses in the crowded streets, frequently served as
prisons and torture-chambers for the low-bom traders
or artisans who might ofifend them.

Measures enough had been passed towards the
close of the century with a view to curb the insolence
of the magnates ; but the difficulty was to get them put
in force. At length, in 1294, they, with many addi-
tional reforms, were embodied in the celebrated Ordin-



ances of Justice. These for long were counted back
to as the Great Charter of Florence — z, Great Charter
defining the popular rights and the disabilities of the
baronage. Punishments of special severity were enacted
for nobles who should wrong a plebeian, and the whole
of a family or dan was made responsible for the crimes
and liabilities of its several members. The smaller
tradesmen were conciliated by being admitted to a
share in political influence. If serfBige was ahready
abolished in the State of Florence, it was the Ordinances
which made it possible for the serf to use his liberty. ^
But the greatest blow dealt to the nobles by the new
laws was their exclusion, as nobles, fix)m all dvil and
political offices. These they could hold only by
becoming members of one of the trade guilds.' And

^ Serfage had been abdished in 1289. But donbt has been
thrown on the aathenttcity of the deed of abolition. See Perrens,
Hist* de FUrenee^ vol. ii. p. 349.

* No nniuoal provision in the industrious Italian cities. Haxsh
though it may seem, it was probably regarded as a valuable con-
oession to the nobles, for their diaaffection appears to have been
greatly caused by their uneasiness under disabilities. There is
much obscurity on several points. How, for example, came the



Florence and Dante. Ixxi

to dqxrive a dtuen of his rights it was enough to
inscribe his name in the list of magnates.

It is not known in what year Dante became a member
of the Guild of Apodiecaries. Without much reason it
has been assumed diat he was one of the nobles who took
advantage of the law of 1294. But there is no evidence
that in his time the Alighieri ranked as magnates, and
much ground for believing that for some considerable
time past they had belonged to the order of full citizens.

It was not necessary for every guildsman to practise
the art or engage in the business to which his guild
was devoted, and we are not required to imagine Dante
as having anything to do with medicine or with the
spices and precious stones in which the apothecaries
traded. The guilds were political as much as indus-
trial associations, and of the public duties of his mem-
bership he took his full share. The constitution of
the Republic, jealously careful to limit the power of the
individual citizen, provided that the two chief execu-
tive officers, the Podesta and the Captain of the People,
should always be foreigners. They held office only for
six months. To each of them was assigned a numerous
Council, and before a law could be abrogated or a new
one passed it needed the approval of both these Coun-
cils, as well as that of the Priors, and of the heads of
the principal guilds. The Priors were six in number,
one for each district of the city. With them lay the
admmistrarion in general of the laws, and the conduct

nobles to be allowed to retain the command of the vast resources
of the Parte Gut^a f This made them ahnost independent of the
Commonwealth.



N



Ixxii Florence and Dante.

of foreign afiairs. Their office was elective, and held
for two months.^ Of one or other of the Councils
Dante is known to have been a member in 1295, 1296,
1300, and 1301.^ In 1299 he is found engaged on a
political mission to the little hill-city of San Gemignianoi
where in the town-house they still show the pulpit
firom which he addressed the local senate.' From the
middle of June till the middle of August 1300 he
served as one of the Priors*^

At the time when Dante entered on this office,
Florence was distracted by the feud of Blacks and
Whites, names b(»rowed from the Actions of Pistoia,
but fated to become best known from their use in the
city which adopted them. The strength of the Blacks
lay in the nobles whom the Ordinances of Justice had
been designed to depress ; both such of them as had
retained their standing as magnates, and such as, under
the new law, had unwillingly entered the ranks of the
dtiiEens. Already they had succeeded in driving into
exile Giano della Bella,* the chief author of the Ordin-
ances ; and their efforts — and those of the citizens who,

^ At a later period the Priors were known as the Signory.
' Fratioelli, Storia della VUa di DanU^ page 112 and note.

* It is to be regretted that Ampire in his charming Voyage
Daniesque devoted no chapter to San Gemigniano, than whidi no
Tuscan dty has more thoroughly preserved its mediaeval character.
There is no authority for the assertion that Dante was employed
on several Florentine embassies. The tendency of his eariy bio-
graphers is to exaggerate his political importance and activity.

« Under the date of April 1301 Dante is deputed by the
Road Committee to see to the widening, levelling^ and general irn*
provement of a street in the suburbs.— Witte, DatUe-Forsckukgen^
vol. it p. 379.

* Dante has a word of praise for Giano^ at Parade icvi. 127.



Fbmmc^ and DamU. Izadii

fearing the gnsfring power of the lesser guilds, were in
sympathy with thcni were steadily directed to upset the
jeibiiuft. An obvious mrans to this end was to lower
in popular esteem the public men whose policy it was
to govern fiimly on the new lines. The leader of the
discontented party was Coiso Dooati, a man of small
foctme^ but of Iqs^ birth ; of splendid personal appear-
ance, open^ianded* and of popular manners. He and
they who went widi him afiected a violent Guelfism,
Uieir chance of re co v e rin g the control of domestic
aflEurs being the better the more they could frighten
the Florentines with threats of evib like those incurred
by the Aietines and Pisans fitom Ghibeline oppression*
It may be imagined what meaning the cry of Ghibeline
possessed in days iHien there wasstiUadassof b^lgars
in Flofence^-men of good names — whose eyes had
been torn out by Farinata and his kind.

One strong daim which Corso Dooati had on the
goodwill of his £dlow-townsmen was that by his ready
courage in podiing on the reserves, against supericMr
orders, at the battle of Campaldino,' the day had been
won to Florence and her allies. As he rode gallantly
through the streets he was hailed as the Baron {U
Barone)^ much as in the last generation the victor of
Waterioo was sufficiently distinguished as the Duke.
At the same battle, Vieri dei Ceichi, the leader of the
opposite party of the Whites, had shown no less bravery,
but he was ignorant of the art, or despised it, of making
political capital out of the performance of his duty. In
almost every respect he offered a contrast to Donati.
' At whidi Dante fought. See pege bdi



Ixxiv Florence and Dante,

He was of a new fmnily, and his influence depended
not on landed possessions, though he had these too,
but on wealth derived from commerce.^ According to
John Villani, a competent authority on such a point,'
he was at the head of one of the greatest trading houses
in the world The same crowds that cheered Corso
as the great Baron sneered at the reticent and cold-
tempered merchant as the Ghibeline. It was a strange
perversion of ideas, and yet had this of justification,
that all the nobles of Ghibeline tend^cy and all the
citizens who, on account of their birth, were suspected
of leaning that way were driven into the party of die
Whites by the mere fact of the Blacks hoisting so
defiantly the Guelf flag, and commanding the resources
of the Parte Gue^a. But if Ghibelinism meant, as fifty
years previously it did mean, a tendency to exalt
privilege as against the general liberties and to court
foreign interference in the aflairs of Florence, it was
the Blacks and not the Whites who had served them-
selves heirs to Ghibelinism. That the appeal was now
taken to the Pope instead of to the Emperor did not
matter ; or that French soldiers in place of German
were called in to settle domestic difieiences.

The Roman See was at this time filled by Boniface
viiL, who six years previously, by violence and finaud,
had procured the resignation of Celestine v. — him who
made the great refusal^ Boniface was at once arrogant

' Vieri was called Messer, a title reserved for magnates, knights,
and lawyers of a certain rank — ^notaries and jurisconsults ; Dante,
for example, never gets it

' Villani acted for some time as an agent abroad of the great
business house of Peruzzi. * In/, iii. 6a



Fhrmce and Dante. Ixxv

and subtle, whoQjr fiuthless, and hampered by no
gcraple either of religion or humanity. But these
qualities were too common among those who before and
after him filled the Papal throne, to secure him in a
special in£uny. That he has won from the ruthless
hatred which blazes out against him in many a verse of
Dante^s,^ and for this hatred he is indebted to his
interference in the afiairs of Florence, and what came
as one of the fruits of it — ^the poet's exile.

And yet, from the pmnt of view not only of the
interest of Rome but also of Italy, there is much to be
said for the poKcy of Boni&ce. German dcHnination
was a just subject of fear, and the Imperialist element
was still so strong in Northern and Central Italy, that
if the Emperor Albert^ had been a man of a mcMre
resolute ambition, he might — so contemporaries deemed
—have conquered Italy at the cost of a march through
it The cities of Romagna were already in Ghibeline
revolt, and it was natural that the Pope should seek to
secure Florence on the Papal side. It was for the
Florentines rather than for him to judge what they
would lose or gain by being dragged into the current of
general politics. He made a fair beginning with an
attempt to reconcile the two parties. The Whites were
then the dominant faction, and to them reconciliation
meant that their foes would at once divide the govern-

* He is 'the Prince of the modem Pharisees ' {Inf. xxvii. 85) ;
his place is ready for Idm in hell {Inf, xix. 53) ; and he is else-
where frequently referred to. In one great passage Dante seems
to relent towards him {Purg, xx. 86).

' Albert of Hapsbnrg was chosen Emperor in 1298, but was
never crowned at Rome.



I XX vi Florenu and Dante.

ment with them, and at the long-run sap the popular
libertiesy while the Pope's hand would soon be allowed
to dip freely into the communal purse. The policy of
the Whites was therefore one of steady opposition to all
foreign meddling with Florence. But it failed to secure
general support, for without being Ghibeline in &ct it
had the air of being so ; and the name of Ghibeline was
one that no reasoning could rob of its terrors.^

As was usual in Florence when political feeling ran
high, the hotter partisans came to blows, and the
streets were more than once disturbed by violence
and bloodshed. To an onlooker it must have seemed
as if the interposition of some external authority was
desirable; and almost on the same day as the new
Priors, of whom Dante was one and who were all
Whites, took office in the June of 1300, the Cardinal
Acquasparta entered the dty, deputed by the Pope to
establish peace. His proposals were declined by the
party in power, and having failed in his mission he left
the city, and took the priestly revenge upon it of
placing it under interdict^ Ere many months were
passed, the Blacks, at a meeting of the heads of the
party, resolved to open negotiations anew with Boni-
face. For this illegal step some of them, including
Corso Donati, were ordered into exile by the authorities,
who, to give an appearance of impartiality to their pro*

* As in the days of Guelf and Ghibdine, so now in those of
Blacks and Whites, the common multitude of townsmen belonged
to neither party.

' An interdict means that priests are to refuse sacred offices to
all in the community, who are thus virtually subjected to the
minor excommunication.



Fhnnu and Dante. Ixxvii

ceedingSy at the same time banished some of the IVhiteSy
and among them Gmdo Candcanti* It was afterwaids
made a charge against Dante that he had procured the
recall of his friend Goido and the other Whites from
exile; bvt to this he could 9&swer that he was tiot then
in office.^ -^ Corso in the meantime was using his
enforced absence from Florence to treat frsely with
the Pope.

Boniface had already entered into correspondence
with Charles of Valois, brother of Philip, the reigning
King of France, with the view-of securing the services of
a strongly^connected champion. It was the game that
had been played before by the Roman Court when
Charles of Anjou was called to Italy to crush the
Hohenstaufens. This second Charles was a man of
ability of a sort, as he had given cruel proof in his
brotbeit's • Flemish wars. By the death of his wife»
daughter of his kinsman Charles n. of Naples and so
grand-daughter of Charles of Anjou, he had lost the
dominicms of Maine and Anjou, and had got the nick* j
name of Lackland from his want of a kingdom. He
lent a wiUing ear to Boni&ce, who presented him with
the crown of Sicily on condition that he first wrested it •
from the Spaniard who wore it' All the Papal influ- *
ence was exerted to get money for the expenses of the -
descent on Sicily. Even churchmen were required to
contribute, for it was a holy war, and the hope was that
when Charles, the champion of the Church, had reduced

1 Guido died soon after his return in 1301. He had suffered in
health during his exile. See /»/ x. 63.
* Charles of Anjou had lost Sicily at the Sicilian Vespers, 128a.



Ixxviii Florence and Dante,

Italy to obedience, won Sicily for himself by arms, and
perhaps the Eastern Empire by marriage, he would win
the Holy Sepulchre for Christendom.
\ Charles crossed the Alps in August 1301, with five
hundred men-at-arms, and, avoiding Florence on his
southward march, found Boniface at his &vourite
residence of Anagni. He was created-^ Pacificator
of Tuscany, and loaded with other honours. What
better served the purpose of -his amlntion, he was urged
to retrace his steps and justify his new title by re*
storing peace to FloretSte. There the Whites were
still in power, but they dared not declare themselves
openly hostile to the Papal and Guelf interest by refus-
ing him admission to the city. He came with gentle
words, and ready to take the most stringent oaths not to
tamper with the liberties of the Commonwealth ; but
I once he had gained an entrance (November 1301) and
secured his hold on Florence, he threw ofi* every disguise,
gave ftdl play to his avarice, and amused himself with
looking on at the pillage of the dwellings and ware^
houses of the Whites by the party of Corso Donati By
all this, says Dante, Charles 'gained no land,' Lack*
land as he was, 'but only sin and shame.'^

There is a want of precise information as to the

events of this time. But it seems probable that Dante

\ formed one of an embassy sent by the rulers of Florence

\ to the Pope in the autumn of this year ; and that on the

' occasion of the entrance of Charles he was absent from

Florence. What the embassy had to propose which

Boniface could be expected to be satisfied with, short

* Pitrg, xz. 76.



Florence and Dante. Ixxix

of complete subouflsiony is not known and is not ea87
to gaes& It seems clear at least that Dante cannot
have been chosen as a person likely to be spectally
pleasing to the Rcmian Court Within the two years pre-
ceding he had made himself prominent in the various
Councils of which he was a member, by his sturdy
opposition to affording md to the Pope in his Roma-
gnese wars. It is even possible that his theoiy of the
£mpire was already more or less known to Boniface, and
as that Pontiff claimed Imperial authority over such
states as .Fk)f ence, this would be sufficient to secure
him a roiigh reception.^ Where he was when the
teiriUe news came to him that for some days thete
had been aid tew in Florence, and that Corso Donati
was sharing in the triumph of Charles, we do not know.
Presagefiil of worse things to come^ he did not seek to
return, and is said to have been in Siena when he heaid
that, on the 27th January 130s, he had been sentenced
to a heavy fine and political disabilities for having
been guilty of extortion while a Prior, of opposmg the
coming of Charles, and of crimes against the peace of
Florence and the interest of the Parte Gnelfa. If the
fine was not paid within three dajrs his goods and pro*
perty were to be confiscated This condemnation he
shared widi three others. In the following March he |
was one of twelve condemned, for contumacy, to be |
burned alive if ever they fell into the hands of the
Florentine authorities. We may perhaps assume that

1 Witte attributes the composition of the De Monorchia to a
period before 1301 {DanU-Fitrschungen^ vol. i Fourth Art), bat
the general optnioo of critics sets it nnich later.



Ixxx Florence and Dante,

the cmel sentence, as well as the chaxge of peculation,
tras tttteced only in order to conform to some respect*
able precedents.



V.

Besides Dante many other Whites had been expelled
from Florence.^ Whether they liked it or not, they
were forced to seek aid from the Ghibelines of Arezzo
and Romagna. This led naturally to a change of
political views, and though at the time of their banish-
ment all of them were Guelfs in various degrees, as
months aikd years went on they developed into Ghibe-
lines, maoe or less declared. Dissensions, too, would be
bred among them out of recriminations touching the
past, and charges of deserting the general interest for
the sake of securing private advantage in the way of
making peace with the Republic. For a time, however,
the common desire of gaining a return to Florence hdd
them together. Of the Council constituted to bring
this about, Dante was a member. Once only with his
associates does he appear to have come the lei^;th of
formal negotiations with a view to getting back. Charles
of Valois had passed away from the temporary scene
of his extortions and treachery, upon the fiitile quest
of a crown. Boniface, ere being persecuted to death
by his old ally, Philip of France (1303), had j vainly
attempted to check the cruelty of the Blacks; and
Benedict, his successor, sent the Cardinal of Ostia to
\ Florence with powers to reconcile the two parties.
^ Inf, vi 66, where their ezpnlsioii is



Florence and Dante. Ixxxi

Dante is usually credited with the compositioii of the
letter in which Vieri dei Cerchi and his fellow-exUes
answered the call of the Cardinal to discuss the con-
ditions of their return home. All that had been done
by the banished party, said the letter, had been done
for the public good.^ The negotiations came to nothing ;
nor were the exiles more fortunate in arms. Along
with their allies they did once succeed by a sudden
dash in penetrating to the market-place, and Florence
lay within their grasp when, seized with panic, they
turned and fled from the city, which many of them
were never to see again.

Almost certainly Dante took no active part in this
attempt, and indeed there is little to show that he was
ever heartily associated with the exiles. In his own
words, he was compelled to break with his companions
owing to their imbecility and wickedness, and to form a
party by himself.' With the Whites, then, he had little
more to do ; and the story of their fortunes need not
longer detain us. It is enough to say that whiles like
Dante, the chief men among them were for ever excluded
from Florence, the principles for which they had con-
tended survived, and even obtained something like a
triumph within its walls. The success of Donati and
his party, though won with the help of the people, was
too dearly opposed to the popular iiiterest to be
permanent Ere long the inveterate contradiction be*
tween magnate and merchant was again to change the

^ Dtnte's authorship of the letter is now mnch questioned. The
drift of recent inquiries has been rather to lessen than to swell the i
balk of materials for his biography. ' Farad, xvii. 6i.

/



Ixxxii Florence and Dante.

coarse of Florentine politics; the disabilities against
lawless nobles were again to be enforced ; and Corso
Donati himself was to be crushed -in the collision of
passions he had evoked but could not control (1308).
Though tenderly attached to members of his family,
Dante bore Corso a grudge as having been the chief
agent in procuring his exile — a grudge which years
could do nothing to wipe out He places in the
mouth of Forese Donati a prophecy of the great
Baron's shameful death, expressed in curt and scornful
words, terrible fi:om a brother.^ It is no figure of
speech to say that Dante nursed revenge.

For some few years his hopes were set on Henry of
Luxemburg, elected Emperor in 1308. A Ghibeline,
in the ordinary sense of the term, Dante never was.
We have in his D$ MonarMa a full account of the
conception he had formed of the Empire — ^that of
authority in temporal affairs embodied in a just ruler,
who, being already supreme, would be delivered from
all personal ambition ; who should decree justice and
be a refuge for all that were oppressed. He was to
be the captain of Christian society and the guardian of
civil right; as in another sphere the Pope was to be
the shepherd of souls and the guardian of the deposit
of Divine truth. In Dante's eyes the one great officer
was as much God's vicegerent as the other. While the
most that a Ghibeline or a moderate Guelf would
concede was that there should be a division of power
between Pope and Emperor — the Ghibeline leaving it
to the Emperor and the Guelf to the Pope to define

^ Purg. xxiv. 82.



Fiorena and Dante. Ixxxiii

their provinces — Dante held, and in this he stood
almost alone among politiciansy that they ought to be
concerned with wholly different Idngdoms, and that
Christendom was wronged by the trespass of either
upon the other's domain. An equal wrong was done
by the neglect by either of his duty, and both, as
Dante judged, had been shameiiiUy neglecting it For
more than half a century no Emperor had set foot in
Italy ; and since the Papal Court had under Clement v.
been removed to Avignon (1305), the Pope had ceased
to be a free agent, owing to hb neighbourhood to
France and the unscrupulous Philip.^

Dante trusted that the virtuous single-minded
Henry vii. would prove a monarch round whom all
the best in Italy might gather to make him Emperor
in deed as well as in name. His judgment took the
colour of his hopes, for under the awful shadow of the
Emperor he trusted to enter Florence. Although no
Ghibdine or Imperialist in the vulgar sense, he con-
stituted himself Henry's apologist and herald ; and in
letters addressed to the * wicked Florentines,' to the
Emperor, and to the Princes and Peoples of Italy, he
blew as it were a trumpet-blast of triumph over the
Emperor's enemies and his own. Henry had crossed
the Alps, and was tarrying in the north of Italy, when
Dante, with a keen eye for where the key of the situation
lay, sharpened by his own wishes, urged him to lose no
more time in reducing the Lombard cities to obedience,
but to descend on Florence, the rotten sheep whidi was

^ See at Purg, xx. 43 Dante's invectiYe against Philip and the
Capets in geneial.



Ixxxiv ' Florence and Dante.

comiptiiig all the Italian flocL The men of Florence
he bids prepare to receive the jost reward of their crimes.
The Florentines answered Dante's bitter invective
and the Emperor's milder promises 1>y an unwearied
opposition with the arms which their incxeasing com-
mand of all that tends to soften life made them now
less willing to take up, and by the diplomacy in
which they were supreme: The exiles were recalled,
always excepting the more stubborn or dangerous;
and among these was reckoned Dante. Alliances
were made on all hands, an art which Henry was
notably wanting in the trick o£ Wherever he
turned he was met and checkmated by the Floren-
tines, who, wise by experience, were set on retaining
control of their own affiadrs. After his coronation
^t Rome (1312),^ he marched northwards, and with
his Pisan and Aretine allies for six weeks laid fruitless
siege to Florence. King Robert of Naples, whose aid
he had hoped to gain by means of a family alliance,
was joined to the league of Guelfs, and Henry passed
away from Florence to engage in an enterprise
against the Southern Kingdom, a design cut short by
his death (1313). He was the last Emperor that ever
sought to take the part in Italian aflbirs which on Dante's
theory belonged to the Imperial office.^ Well-meaning
but weak, he was not the man to succeed in reducing
to practice a scheme of government which had broken
down even in the strong hands of the two Fredericks,
and ere the Conmionwealths of Italy had become each

' Hemy had come to Italy with the Pope's approraL He was
crowned by the Cardinals who were in Rome as Leaates.



Florence and Dante. Ixxx v

as powerfiil as a Northern kiogdonu To explain his
fiulme, Dante finds that his descent into Italy was un-
seasonable: he came too soon. Rather, it may be
said, he came far too kte.^

When, on the death of Henry, Dante was dis-
appointed in his hopes of a true revival of the
Empire, he devoted himself for a time to urging
the restoration of the Papal Court to Rome, so
that Italy might at least not be left without some
centre of authority. In a letter addressed to the Italian
Cardinals, he besought them to replace Clement v.,
lAo died in 1314,' by an Italian Pope. Why should
they, he asked, resign this great office into Gascon
hands? Why should Rome^ the true centre of Chris-
tendom, be left deserted and despised? His appeal
was fruitless, as indeed it could not &il to be with
only six Italian Cardinals in a College of twenty-
four; and after a vacancy^ of two yean the Gascon
Clement was succeeded by another Gascon. Although
Dante's motives in making this attempt were doubtless
as purely patriotic as those which inspired Catherine
of Siena to similar action a century later, he met, we
may be sure, with but little sympathy from his former
fellow-citizens. They were intent upon the interests of
Florence alone, and even of these they may sometimes
have taken a narrow view. His was the wider patriot-

> Parad, xzx. 136. High in Heaven Dante sees an ample cfaair
with a crown on it, and is told it is reserved for Henxy. He is to
sit among those who are clothed in white. The date assigned to the
action of the Omudy^ it will be remembered, is the year 1300.

' Inf. 3UZ. 82» where the Gascon Clement is described as a
' Lawless P|»tor from the West'



Ixxxvi Florence and Dante,

ism of the Italian, and it was the whole Peninsula that
he longed to see delivered from French influence and
once more provided with a seat of authority in its
midst, even if it were only that of spiritual power.
The Florentines for their part, desirous of security
against the incursions of the northern horde, were
rather set on retaining the goodwill of France than
on enjoying the neighbourhood of the Pope. In this
they were guilty of no desertion of their principles.
Their Guelfism had never been more than a mode of
minding themselves.

For about three years (1313-1516) the most danger-
ous foe of Florence was Uguccione de la Faggiuola, a
partisan Ghibeline chie( sprung from the mountain-land
of Urbino, which lies between Tuscany and Romagna.
He made himself lord of Pisa and Lucca, and defeated

Ithe Florentines and their allies in the great battle of
Montecatini (13 15). To him Dante is believed to have
attached himself.^ It would be easy for the Republic to
form an exaggerated idea of the part which the exile
had in shaping the policy or contributing to the success
of his patron ; and we are not surprised to find that,
I although Dante's fighting dajrs were done, he was
! after the defeat subjected to a third condemnation

^ The ingenioas speculations of Troya {Dd Veltro AUegorUc di
JOanle) wiU always mark a stage in the history of the study of
Dante^ but as is often the case with books on the subject, his
shows a considerable gap between the evidence adduced and the
conclusions drawn from it He would make Dante to have been
for many years a sateUite of the great Ghibeline chief. Dante's
temper or pride, however we call it, seems to have been such as
to preserve him from ever remaining attached for long to any
patron.



Florence and Dante. Ixxxvii

(November 1315). If canght, he was to lose his ^
head ; and his sonsi or some of them, were threat-
ened with the same (ate. The terms of the sentence v
may again have been mote severe than the inten-
tions of those who uttered it However this may
be, an amnesty was passed in the course of the foUow-
ing year, and Dante was urged to take advantage of it
He found the conditions of pardon too humiliating.
Like a malefactor he would require to walk, taper in
hand and a shameful mitre on his head, to the church
of St John, and there make an oblation for his crimes.
It was not in this foshion that in his more hopeful
hours the exile had imagined his restoration. If ever
he trod again the pavement of his beautiful St John's,
it was to be proudly, as a patriot touching whom his
country had confessed her sins ; or, with a poet's more
bashful pride, to receive the laurel crown beside the
font in which he was baptized. But as he would not
enter his well beloved, well hated Florence on the
terms imposed by his enemies, so he never had the
chance of entering it on his own* The spirit in which
he, as it were, turned from the open gates of his native
town is well expressed in a letter to a friend, who
would seem to have been a churchman who had tried
to win his compliance with the terms of the pardon.
After thanking his correspondent for his kindly eager-
ness to recover him, and referring to the submission
required, he says : — ' And is it in this glorious fashion
that Dante Alighieri, wearied with an almost trilustral
exile, is recalled to his country? Is this the desert of
an innocence known to all, and of laborious study



Ixxxviii Florence and Dante.

which for long has kept him asweat? . . . But^ Father,
this is no way for me to return to my country by;
though if by you or others one can be hit upon through
which the honour and fame of Dante will take no hurt,
it shall be followed by me with no tardy steps. If by
none such Florence is to be entered, I will never enter
Florence. What then 1 Can I not, wherever I may
be, behold the sun and stars? Is not meditation upon
the sweetness of truth as free to me in one place as
another? To enjoy this, no need to submit myself
ingloriously and with ignominy to the State and People
of Florence ! And wherever I may be thrown, in any
case I trust at least to find daily bread.'

The cruelty and injustice of Florence to her greatest
son have been the subject of much eloquent blame.
But, in justice to his contemporaries, we must try to see
Dante as they saw him, and bear in mind that the very
qualities fame makes so much of — ^his fervent temper
and devotion to great ideas — placed him out of the
reach of common sympathy. Others besides him had
been banished from Florence, with as much or as little
reason, and had known the saltness of bread which has
been begged, and the steepness of strange stairs. The
pains of banishment made them the more eager to have
it brought to a close. With Dante all that he suffered
went to swell the count of grievances for which a
reckoning was some day to be exacted The art of
returning was, as he himself knew well, one he was slow
to learn. ^ His noble obstinacy, which would stoop to
no loss of dignity or sacrifice of principle, must excite

"« Inf. 3L 8i.



Florence and Dante. Ixxxix

our admiration ; it also goes far to accotmt for his
difficulty in getting back. We can even imagine that
in Florence his refusal to abate one tittle of what was
due to him in the way of apology was, for a timei the
subject of wondering speculation to the citizens, ere
they turned again to their everyday affairs of politics
and merchandise. Had they been more used to deal
with men in whom a great genius was allied to a
stubborn sense of honour, they would certainly have
left less room in their treatment of Dante for happier
ages to cavil at

How did the case stand ? In the letter above quoted
from, Dante says that his innocence was known to
all. As &r as the chaige of corruption in his office-
bearing went, his banishment — ^no one can doubt it
for a moment — ^was certainly unjust ; and the political
changes in Florence since the death of Corso Donati
had taken all the life out of the other charges. ButJ)y
his eager appeals to the Emperor to chastise the Flor-
entines he had raised fresh barriers against his return.
The governors of the Republic could not be expected
to adopt his theory of the Empire and share his views
of the Imperial claims ; and to them Dante must have
seemed as much guilty of disloyalty to the Common-
wealth in inviting the presence of Henry, as Corso
Donati had been in Dante's eyes for his share in bring-
ing Charles of Valois to harry Florence. His political
writings since his exile — ^and all his writings were more
or less political — had been such as might well confirm
or create an opinion of him as a man difficult to live
with, as one whose intellectual arrogance had a ready



xc Florence and Dante.

organ in his unsparing tongue or pen« Rumour would
most willingly dwell upon and distort the features of
his character and conduct that separated him from the
common herd. And to add to all this, even after he
had deserted the party of the Whites in eidle, and
had become a party to himself, he found his friends
and patrons — ^for where else could he find them? —
among the foes of Florence.



VI.



History never abhors a vacuum so much as when she
has to deal with the life of a great man, and for those
who must have details of Dante's career during the
nineteen years which elapsed between his banishment
and his death, the industry of his biographers has
ei^usted every available hint, while some of them
press into their service much that has only the remotest
bearing on their hero. If even one-half of their
suppositions were adopted, we should be forced to the
conclusion that the Comedy and all the other works of
his exile were composed in the intervals of a very busy
life. We have his own word for this much, (Comriio L 3,)
that since he was cast forth out of Florence — in which
he would 'fain rest his wearied soul and fulfil his
appointed time' — he had been 'a pilgrim, nay, even a
mendicant,' in every quarter of Italy,^ and had ' been

held cheap by many who, because of his fame, had

«

* The Comnto is in Italian, and his words are : ' wherever this
language is spoken.'



Florence and Dante, xci

looked to find him o<Mike in another guise.' But he
gives no journal of his wanderings, and» as will have
been observed, says no word of any country but Italy.
Keeping close to well-ascertained facts, it seems estab-
lished that in the earlier period of his exile he
sojourned with members of the great family of the
Counts Guidi,^ and that he also found hospitality with
the Malaspiniy* lords of the Val di Magra, between
Genoa and Lucca. At a still earlier date (August
1306) he is found witnessing a deed in Padua. It
was most probably in the same year that Dante found
Giotto there, painting the walls of the Scrovegni
Chapel, and was courteously welcomed by the artist,
and taken to his house.* At some time of his life he
studied at Bologna: John Villani says, during his

^ His letter to the Florentines and that to the Emperor are
dated in 1311^ from * Near the sources of the Amo ' — that is, from
the Casentino, where the Gaidi of Romena dwelt If the letter of
oondolence with the Counts Oberto and Guido of Romena on the
death of their unde is genuine, it has great value for the passage
in which he excuses himself for not having come to the funeral : —
' It was not negligence or ingratitude, but the poverty into which
I am £Ulen by reason of my exile. This, like a cruel persecutor,
holds me as in a prison-house where I have neither horse nor
arms ; and though I do all I can to free myself I have fiiiled as
yet' The letter has no date. Like the other ten or twelve
epistles attributed to Dante, it is in Latin.

'There is a splendid passage in praise of this family, Purg,
viii 121. A treaty is on record in which Dante acts as representa-
tive of the Malaspini in settling the terms of a peace between them
and the Bishop of Luni in October 1306.

' The authority for this is Benvenuto of Imola in his comment
on the Comidy (Purg. xL). The portrait of Dante by Giotto^
still in Florence, but ruined by modem bungling restoration, is
usually believed to have been executed in 1301 or 1302. But with
regard to this, see the note at the end of this essay.



xcii Florence and Dante*

exile.^ Of his supposed residence in Paris, though it
is highly probable, there is a want of proof; of a visit
to England, none at all that is worth a moment's con*
sideration. Some of his commentators and biographers
seem to think he was so short-witted that he must
have been in a place before it could occur to him to
name it in his verse.

We have Dante's own word for it that he found his
exile almost intolerable. Besides the bitter resentment
which he felt at the injustice of it, he probably cher-
ished the conviction that his career had been cut short
when he was on the point of acquiring great influence
in affairs. The illusion may have been his— one not
uncommon among men of a powerful imagination —
that, given only due opportunity, he could mould the
active life of his time as easily as he moulded and

^ It is true that Villani not only says that ^he went to study at
Bologna,' bat also that ' he went to Paris and many parts of the
world' (Crottiea^ ix. 136), and that Villani, of all contemporaiy or
nearly contemporaiy writers, is by far the most worthy of credence.
But he proves to be more than once in error regarding Dante;
making him, /.^., die in a wrong month and be buried in a wrong
church at Ravenna. And the 'many parts of the world' shows
that here he is dealing in hearsay of the vaguest sort. Nor can
much weight be given to Boccaodo when he sends Dante to
Bologna and Paris. But Benvenuto of Imola, who lectured on
the Comedy at Bologna within fifty years of Dante's death, says
that Dante studied there. It would indeed be strange if he did
not, and at more than one period, Bologna being the University
nearest Florence. Proof of Dante's residence in Paris has been
found in his familiar reference to the Rue du Fouarre (Parad.
z. 137). His graphic description of the coast between Lerid and
Turbia ( Ar^. iiL 49, iv. 25) certainly seems to show a fiuniliarity
with the Western as well as the Eastern Rivieras of Genoa.
But it scarcely follows that he was on his way to Paru when he
visited them.*



Florena and DanU. xciii

fashioned the creati<»8 of his fimcy. It was, periutps,
owing to BO fault of his own that when a partial oppor-
tunity had offered itself, he fiuled to get his views
adopted in Florence ; indeed, to judge from the kind of
employment in idiich he was more than once engaged
fior his patrons, he must have been possessed of no little
business tact Yet, as when his feelings were deeply
concerned his words knew no restraint, so his hopes
would partake of the largeness of his genius. In the
restored Empire, which he was almost alone in longing
for as he conceived of it, lie may have imagined for
himself a place beside Henry like what in Frederick's
court had been filled by Pier delle Vigne — ^the man
who held both keys to the Emperor's heart, and
opened and shut it as he woukL^

Thus, as his exile ran on it would grow sadder with
the accumulating memories of hopes deferred and
then desti03red, and of dreams which had faded away
in the light of a cheerless reality. But some consola-
tions he must have found even in the conditions of his
exile. He had leisure for meditation, and time enough
to spend in that other world which was all his own.
With the miseries of a wanderer's life would come not
a few of its sweets — freedom from routine, and the in-
tellectual stimulus supplied by change of place. Here
and there he would find society such as he cared for-—
that of scholars, theologians, and men familiar with every
court and school of Christendom. And, beyond all,
he would get access to books that at home he might
never have seen. It was no spare diet that would

1 Inf. xiii 58.



XCIV



Florence and Dante.



serve his mind while he was making such ample calls
on it for his great work. As it proceeds we seem to
detect a growing fulness of knowledge, and it is by
reason of the more learned treatment, as well as the
loftier theme of the Third Cantica, that so many
readers, vrfien once well at sea in the jParadiso^ recog-
nise the force of the warning with which it begins.^

What amount of intercourse he was able to maintain
with Florence dturing his wanderings is a matter of mere
speculation, although of a more interesting kind than
that concerned with the chronology of his uneasy travels.
That he kept up at least some correspondence with
his friends is proved by the letter regarding the terms
of his pardon. There is also the well-known anecdote
told by Boccaccio as to the discovery and despatch to

^ 'O ye, who have hitherto been following me in some small
end, . . . pnt not further to sea, lest, losing sight of me, you lose
yourselves ' (Farad. iL i). But, to tell the truth, Dante is never so
weak as a poet as when he is most the philosopher or the theologian.
The foUowing list of books more or less known to him is not
given as complete : — ^The Vnlgate, beginning with St. Jerome's
Prologue ; Aristotle, thioai^ the L«tin tnoslation then in vogue ;
Averroes, etc ; Thomas Aqoinas and the other Schoolmen ;
much of the Civil and Canon law ; Boethius ; Homer only in
scraps, through Aristotle, etc; Vizgil, Cicero in part, Livy,
Horace^ Ovid, Terence, Lacan, and Statins ; the works of Brunetto
Liatini ; the poetical literature of Provence, France, and Italy,
including the Arthurian Romances — ^the fiivoarite reading of the
Italian nobles, and the tales of Chartemagne and his Peen—
equally In favour with the common people. There is little
reason to suppose that among the treatises of a scientific and
quasi-scientific kind that he fell in with, and of which he was an
eager student, were included the works of Roger Bacon. These
there was a consfuracy among priests and schoolmen to keep
buried. Dante seems to have set little store on ecclesiastical legends
of wonder ; at least he gives them a wide berth in his works.



Florence emd Dante, xcv

him of the opening Cantos of the Ifrfeme — an anecdote

we may safely accept as founded on fieu:ty although

Boccaccio's informants may have fidled to note at the

time what the manuscript consisted of, and in the

course of years may have magnified the importance of

their discovery. With his wife he would naturally

communicate on subjects of common interest-»aS| for

instance, that of how best to save or recover part of his

property — and especially regarding the weliifuv of his

sons, of whom two are found to be with him when he

acquires something like a settlement in Verona.

It b quite credible that, as Boccaccio asserts, he wonld

never after his exile was once begun * go to his wife or

sufier her to join him where he was;' although the

statement is probably an extension of the foct that she

never did join him. In any case it is to make too large

a use of the words to find in them evidence, as has

frequently been done, of the unhappiness of all his

married life, and of his utter estrangement from Gemma

during his banishment The union — ^marriage of

convenience though it was — ^might be harmonious

enough as long as things went moderately well with the

pair. Dante was never wealthy, but he seems to have

had his own house in Florence and small landed

possessions in its neighbourhood^ That before his

^ In the notes to Fratioelli's Vifa di Damte (Florence 1861) aie
pven copies of documents rekting to the property of the Alighieri,
and of Dante in particvlar. In 1343 his son Jaoopo^ by payment
of a small fine, reoorered vineyards and fiurms that had been his
father's. — ^Notes to Chap. iii. Fiatioelli's admirable Life is now
in many respects out of date. He accepts, «.^., Dino Compagni
as an anthority, and believes in the romantic stofy of the letter of
Fra Ilario.



xcvi Florence and Dante,

banishment he was considerably in debt appears to be
ascertained;^ but, without knowing the circumstances
in which he borrowed, it is impossible to be sure
whether he may not only have been making use of his
credit in order to put out part of his means to advantage
in some of the numerous commercial enterprises in
which his neighbours were engaged. In any case his
career must have seemed full of promise till he was
driven into banishment. When that blow had fallen,
it is easy to conceive how what if it was not mutual
affection had come to serve instead of it — esteem and
forbearance — would be changed into indifference with
the lapse of months and years of enforced separation,
embittered and filled on both sides with the mean cares
of indigence, and, it may be, on Gemma's side with the
conviction that her husband had brought her with him*
self into disgrace. If all that is said by Boccaccio and
some of Dante's enemies as to his temperament and
behaviour were true, we could only hope that Gemma's
indifference was deep enough to save her from the
pangs of jealousy. And on the other hand, if we are to
push suspicion to its utmost length, we may find an
allusion to his own experience in the lines where Dante
complains of how soon a widow forgets her husband'
But this is all matter of the merest speculation. Gemma

^ The details are given by >Vitte, DanU-F^rschungm^ voL ii.
p. 6i. The amount borrowed by Dante and his brother (and a
friend) comes to nearly a thousand gold florins. Witte takes this
as eqmvalent to 37,000 francs, f./. nearly ;f 150a Bnt the florin
being the eighth of an oonce, or about ten shillings* worth of gohly
a thousand florins would be equal only tO;f 50a— representing, of
course, an immensely greater sum now-a^days.

■ Farg. viii. 76.



Florence and Dante. xcvii

is known to have been alive in 1314.^ She brought up
her children, says Boccaccio, upon a trifling part of her
husband's confiscated estate, recovered on the plea that
it was a portion of her dowry. There may have been
difficulties of a material kind, insuperable save to an
ardent love that was not theirs, in the way of Gemma's
joining her husband in any of his cities of refuge.

Complete evidence exists of Dante's having in his
later years lived for a longer or shorter time in the
three cities of Lucca, Verona, and Ravenna. In
Purgatory he meets a shade from Lucca, in the murmur
of whose words he catches he * knows not what of
Gentucca;'' and when he charges the Lucchese to
speak plainly out, he is told that Lucca shall yet be
found pleasant by him because of a girl not yet grown
to womanhood Uguccione, acting in the interest of
Pisa, took possession of Lucca in 13 14, and Dante is
supposed to have taken up his residence there for some
considerable time. What we may certainly infer from
his own words in the Purgatario is that they were
written after a stay in Lucca had been sweetened to
him by the society of a lady named Gentucca. He
cannot well have found shelter there before the city was
held by Uguccione ; and research has established that
at least two ladies of the uncommon name of Gentucca

' See in Scartaszini, DanU AligkUri^ 1879, V^ 55^ eztnct
from the will of her mother Maria. Donati, dated February 1314.
Many of these Florentine dates are subject to correction, the year
being nsnally counted from LAdy-Day. ' In 1880 a document was
discovered which proves Gemma to have been engaged in a law-
suit in 1332. — // IVopHgnaiortt xiii\ 156/ — Scheffer-Boichorst»
Aus DanUt Verbannung^ page Si 3.

• Purg, xxiv. 37. •

i



xcviii Florence and Dante,

were resident there in 13 14. From the whole tone of
his allusion — ^the mention of her veiy name and of her
innocent girlhood — we may gather that there was
nothing in his liking for her of which he had any
reason to feel ashamed In the Ififemo he had covered
the whole people of Lucca with his scom.^ By the
time he got thus far with the Purgaiono his thoughts
of the place were all softened by his memoiy of one
fair face-— or shall we rather say, of one compassionate
and womanly soul? That' Dante was more than
susceptible to feminine charms is coarsely asserted by
Boccaccio.' But on such a matter Boccaccio is
a prejudiced witness, and, in the absence of sufficient
proof to the contrary, justice requires us to assume
that the tenor of Dante's life was not at variance
with that of his writings. He who was so severe a
judge of others was not, as we can infer from more
than one passage of the Comedy^ a lenient judge
when his own fulings were concerned.* That his

^ Inf. xxi. 4a

* In questo mirifico poeta trovo ampissimo tttogo la Itusuria;
e non solamente ne* giavamH annt, ma ancora n/ maiuri, —
Boccaccio, La Vita di Dante, After mentioning that Dante was
married, he. indulges in a long invective against marriage ; con-
fessing, however, that he is ignorant of whether Dante experienced
the miseries he describes. His conclusion on the subject is that
philosophers should leave mairiage U> rich fools, to nobles, and to
handicraftsmen.

' In Puigatory his conscience accuses him of pride^ and he
already seems to feel the weight of the grievous burden beneath
which the proud bend as they puige themselves of their sin (Purg.
xiti. 136}. Some amount of self-accusation seems to be implied in
such passages as In/, v. 142 and Purg, xzviL 15, eta ; but too
much must not be made of it



Fhrence and Dante. xcix

conduct never fell short of his standard no one w3l
venture to maintain* Bat what should have hindered
him, in his hours of weariness and when even his
hold on the future seemed to slacken, in lonely
castle Or strange town, to seek sympathy from some
fair woman who might remind him in something of
Beatrice?^

When, in 13 16, Uguccione was driven out of Lucca
and Pisa, that great partisan took military service with
Can Grande. It has been disputed whether Dante had
eariier enjoyed the hospitality of the Scaligers, or was
indebted for his first reception in Verona to the good
offices of Uguccione. It Is barely credible that by this
time in his life he stood in need of any one to answer
for him in the court of Can Grande. His fame as a
political writer must have preceded him ; and it was of
a character to commend him to the good graces of the
great Imperialist In his Dt ManarMa he had, by an
exhaustive treatment of propositions which now seem

^ In a letter of a few lines to one of the Marquises Ma]aspina»
writtflii probably in the earlier yem of his exile, he tells how his
poipose of renouncing ladies' society and the writing of love<40ngs
had been upset by the view of a lady of marvellous beauty who ' in
all respects answered to his tastes, habits, and circumstances.' He
says he sends with the letter a poem containing a fuller account of
his subjection to this new passion. The poem is not found
attached to the copy of the letter, but with good reason it is guessed
to be the Cansone beginning Amor, dacM amvien, which
describes how he was overmastered by a passion born 'in the
heart of the mountains in the valley of that river beside which he
had always been the victim of love.* This points to the Casentino
as the scene. He also calls the Canzone his 'mountain song.'
The pession it expresses may be real, but that he makes the most
of it appears from the closer which is occupied by the thought of
how the verses will betaken in Florence.



c Florence and Dante.

childish or else the mere commonplaces of everyday
political argument, established the right of the civil
power to independence of Church authority; and
though to the Scaliger who aimed at becoming Im-
perial lieutenant for all the North of Italy he might
seem needlessly tender to the spiritual lordship of the
Holy Father, yet the drift of his reasoning was all in
favour of the Ghibeline position.^ Besides this he
had written on the need of refining the dialects of Italian,
and reducing them to a language fit for general use in
the whole of the Peninsula ; and this with a novelty of
treatment and wealth of illustration unequalled before
or since in any first work on such a subject.^ And,
what would recommend him still more to a youthful
prince of lofty taste, he was the poet of the * sweet new
style ' of the Vita Nuava, and of sonnets, ballads, and
canzoni rich in language and thought beyond the
works of all previous poets in the vulgar tongues.
Add to this that the Comedy was already written, and
published up, perhaps, to the close of the PurgatoriOj
and that all Italy was eager to find who had a place,
and what kind of place, in the strange new world from
which the veil was being withdrawn ; and it is easy to
imagine that Dante's reception at Can Grande's court
was rather that of a man both admired and feared for

^ However early the De Monorchia may have been written, it
is difficult to think that it can be of a later date than the death of
Henry*

' The Di Vulgari Ehqwo is in Latin. Dante's own Italian is
richer and more elastic than that of contempoxary writers. Its
base is the Tuscan dialect, as refined by the example of the
Sicilian poets. His Latin, on the contrary, is I bdiete regarded
as being somewhat barbarous, even for the period.



Florence and Dante. ci

his great genius, than that of a wandering scholar and
grumbling exile.

At what time Dante came to Verona, and for
how long he stayed, we have no means of fixing with
certainty. He himself mentions being diere in 1320,*
and it is usually supposed that his residence covered
three years preffous to that date ; as also that it was
shared by his two sons, Piero and Jacopo. One of
these was afterwards to find a settlement at Verona in a .
high legal post. Except some frivolous legends, there is
no evidence that Dante met with anything but generous
treatment from Can Grande. A passage of the Paradise^
written either towards the close of the poet's residence
at Verona, or afler he had lefl it, is full of a praise of
the great Scaliger so magnificent' as fully to make
amends for the contemptuous mention in the Purgatorio
of his &ther and brother.* To Gan Grande the Para-
diso was dedicated by the author in a long epistle con-
taining an exposition of how the first Canto of that
Cantica, and, by implication, the whole of the poem, is
to be interpreted. The letter is full of gratitude for
favours already received, and of expectation of others
yet to come. From the terms of the dedication it has
been assumed that ere it was made the whole of the
Paradise was written, and that Dante praises the lord of
Verona after a long experience of his bounty.*

^ In his QuasHo de Aqua et Terra* In it he speaks of having

been in Mantua. The thesis was maintained in Verona, but of

course he may, after a prolonged absence, have returned to that city,.

• Parad, xvii. 7a • Purg, xviii. 12 1,

^ But in urgent need of more of it. — He says of 'the sublime

Cantica, adorned with the title of the Paradiso^ that ' iUam sub



cii Flarena and Dante.

Whether owing to the restlessness of an exile, or to
some prospect of attaining a state of greater ease or of
having the command of more congenial society, we
cannot tdl ; bat from the splendid court of Can Grande
he moved down into Romagna, to Ravenna, the city
which of all in Italy would now be fixed upon by the
traveller as the fittest place for a man of genius, weighed
down by infinite sorrows, to close his 'days in and find
a tomb. Some writers on the life of Dante will have
it that in Ravenna he sgent the greater part of his
esdle, and that when he is found elsewhere — in Lucca
or Verona — ^he is only on a temporary absence firom his
permanent home.^ But this conclusion requires some
facts to be ignored, and others unduly dwelt on« In
any case his patron there, during at least the last year
or two of his life^ was Guido Novello of Polenta, lord of
Ravenna, the nephew of her who above all the persons
of the Comedy lives in the hearts of its reada:s.

Bernardino, the brother of Francesca andundeof
Guido, had fought on the side of Florence at the battle
of Campaldino, and Dante may then have become
acquainted with him. The Orniily had the reputation of
being moderate Guelfs ; but ere this the exile, with his
ripe experience of men, had doubtless learned, while re-
taining intact his own opinions as to what was the true
theory of government, to set good-heartedness and a

prastfUi epistoUf tamquam sub i^rammaie proprio dedUaiam^
voHs adscribOf tfoHs offero^ vohis denique recommendo.^ But it may
be questioned if this involves that the Cantica was already
finished;

^ As, for instance, Herr Sche£fer-Boichorst in his Am DmUa
Verbtumung, 1882.



Fbnnu and Dante. ciii

notde aim in Ue above political orthodoxy. This Guido
NoveUo-^tfae younger Guido— bears the reputation of
having been wellrinfonned^ of gentle manners, and fond
of gathering around him men accomplished in literature
and the fine artSL On the death of Dante he made a
formal oration in honour of the poet* If his welcome
of Dante was as cordial as is generally supposed, and
as there is no reason to doubt that it was, it proved his
magnanimity; fer in the Furgatorio a family specially
hostile to the Polentas had been mentioned with
honour,^ while thatto which his wife belonged had been
lil^tly spoken oC How he got over the condemnation
of his kinswoman to Inferno— even under such gentle
conditions — it would be more difficult to understand
were there not reason to believe that ere Dante went
to Ravenna it had come to be a matter of pride in Italy
for a &mily to have any of its members placed any*
where in that other world of which Dante held the
key.

It seems as if we might assume that the poet^s last
months or years were soothed by the society of hii^
daughter — ^the child whom he had named after the
object of his first and most enduring love.^ Whether
or not he was acting as Ambassador for Guido to
Venice when he caught his last illness, it appears to be
pretty well established that he was held, in honour by his

> The Tntvenari {Purg. ziv. 107). Gnido's wife was of the
BagPttcavalli (Pitrg, xiy. 115). The only mention of the Polenta
bmXjf apwt firom that of Fxmnoesca, is at Inf. zxvii. 41.

> In 1350 a sum of tea gold florins was sent from Florence by
the hands of Boocaodo to Beatrke, daughter of Dante ; she being
then a ntin at Ravenna.



civ Florence and Dante,

patron and all aroond him.^ For his hours of medita-
tion he had the solemn churches of Ravenna with
their storied walls,^ and the still more solemn pine
forest of Classis, by him first annexed to the world of
Romance. > For hours of relaxation, when they came,
he had neighbours who dabbled in letters and who
could at any rate sjrmpadiise with him in his love of
study. He maintained correqiondence with poets and
scholars in other cities. In at least one instance this
was conducted in the bitter fashion with which
the humanists of a century or two later were to make
the world familiar;^ but with the Bolognese scholar,
Giovanni del Virgilio, he engaged in a good-humoured,
half-bantering exchange of Latin pastoral poems, through
the artificial imagery of which there sometimes breaks
a natural thought, as when in answer to the pedant's
counsel to renounce the vulgar tongue and produce in
Latin something that will entitle him to receive the

1 The embassy to Venice is mentioned by VilUmi, and there was
a treaty concluded in 1521 between the Republic and Guido*
Bat Daute's name does not appear in it among those of the envoys
from Ravenna. A letter, probably apocryphal, to Guido from
Dante in Venice is dated 1314. If Dante, as is maintained by
some writers, was engaged in tuition while in Ravenna, it is to be
feared that his pupils would find in him an impatient master.

' Not that Dante ever mentions these any more than a hundred
other churches in which he must have spent thoughtful hours.

> Purg, xxviii. aa

^A certain Cecco d*Ascoli stuck to him like a bur, chaiging
him, among other things, with lust, and a want of religious fiiith
which would one day secure him a place in his own Inferno.
Cecco was himself burned in Florence, in 1327, for making too
much of evil spirits, and holding that human actions are necessarily
aifected by the position of the staiSt He had been at one time a
professor of astronomy.



Florence and Dante, cv

laurel crown in Bologna, he declares that if ever he
is crowned as a poet it will be on the banks of the
Amo.

Most of the material for forming a judgment of how
Dante stood affected to the religious beliefs of his time
is to be gathered from the Comedy^ and the place for
conridering it would rather be in an essay on that work
than in a sketch of his life which necessity compels to
be swift A few words may however be here devoted
to the subject, as it is ot)e with some bearing on the
manner in which he would be regarded by those around
him, and through that on the tenor of his life. That
Dante conformed to Church observances, and, except
wi^ a few malevolent critics, bore the reputation of
a good Catholic, there can be no doubt It was as a
politician and not as a heretic that he suffered persecu-
tion 'j and when he died he was buried in great honour
within the FVanciscan Church at Ravenna. Some few
years after his death, it is true, his De Monarckia was
burned as heretical by orders of the Papal Legate in
Lombardy, who would gladly, if he could, have had the
bones <^ the author exhumed to share the fate of his
book. But all this was only because the partisans of
Lewis of Bavaria were making political capital out of the
treatise.

Attempts have been made to demonstrate that in
spite of his outward conformity t)ante was an un-
believer at heart, and that the Comedy is devoted to
the promulgation of a Ghibeline heresy — of which, we
may be sure, no Ghibeline ever heard — and to the
overthrow of all that the author professed most



cvi Florence and Dante.

devoutly to believe.^ Other critics of a more sober
temper in 8i>eculation would find in him a Catholic
irtio held the Catholic beliefs with the same slack grasp
as the teaching of Luther was held by Lessing or
Goethe.' But this is surely to misread the Cemedy^
which is steeped from beginning to end in a spirit of the
warmest fiuth in the great Christian doctrine& It was
no mere intellectual perception of these that Dante.had
-«or professed to have — ^for when in Paradise he has
satisfied Saint Peter of his being possessed of a just con-
ception of the nature of fidth, and is next adced if^
besides knowing what is the alloy of the coin and the
weight of ity he has it in his own purse^ he answers
boldly, * Yea, and so shining and round that of a surety
it has the lawful stamp.' ^ And fiirther on, when required
to declare in what he believes, nothing against the fiil-
ness of his creed is to be inferred firom the feet that he
stops short after pronouncbg his belief in the eadstence
of God and in the Trinity. This article he gives as
implying all the others ; it is ' the spark which spreads
out into a vivid flame.' ^

Yet if the inquiry were to be pushed fiirther, and it
were sought to find how much of firee thought he
allowed himself in matters of religion, Dante might be
discovered to have reached his orthodox position by
ways hateful to the bigots who then took order for pre-
serving the purity of the fidth. The office of the Pope
he deeply revered, but the Papal absolution avails

^ Gftbrid Rocaetti, CommetU m tki Dwma Commedm^ 1S86,
and Aronx, Dante, HhUi^ue^ RivohUwnfuire et SoeiaUsU, 1854.
s ScarUzzini, DanU AligkUri, Sei$u Zeiiy etc, 1879, page 268.
* JPitirad. xxiv. 8(». ^ Parad. zziy. 145.



Ft&r€nc$ and Damu. cvii

nothing in his eyes compared with one tear of heart-
felt repentance.^ It is not on the wcnrd of Pope or
Council that he rests his fiuth, but on the Scriptoiesi
and on the evidences of the truth of Christianity^ freely
examined and weighed' Chief among these evidences,
it must however be noted, he esteemed the fact of the
eristHic^ of the Church as he found it;' and in his
inquiries he accepted as guides the Scholastic Doctors
on whose reasonings the Church had set its seal of
approbation. It was a foregone conclusion he reached
by stages of his own. Yet that he sympathised at least
as much with the honest search for truth as with the
arrogant profession of orthodoxy, is shown by his treat-
ment of heretics. He could not condemn severely
such as erred only because their reason would not
consent to rest like his in the prevalent dogmatic
system; and so we find that he makes heresy consist
less in intellectual error than in beliefs that tend to
vitiate conduct, or to cause schism in societies divinely
constituted.^ For his own part, orthodox although he
was, or believed himself to be — which is all that needs
to be contended for, — in no sense was he priest-ridden.
It was liberty that he went seeking on his great
journey ;* and he gives no hint that it is to be gained by
the observance of forms or in submission to sacerdotal

> Inf. xzrii. loi ; Purg. uL ilS.

• Parad, xxiv. 91. • Parad. xxiv, 106.

^ Inf. X. and xznii. There is no place in Pui]gatciry where
thote who in their lives had oooe held heretical opinions are
purified of the sin ; leaving us to infer tluit it conld be repented
of in the world so as to oUiterate the stain. See also Patad.
Vf. 67, • Purg. i. 71.



cviti Florence and Dante.

authority. He knows it is in his reach only when he
has been crowned, and mitred too, lord of himself' —
subject to Him alone of whom even Popes were
servants.'

Although in what were to prove his last months
Dante might amuse himself with the composition of
learned trifles, and in the society and correspondence
of men who along with him, if on lines apart from his,
were preparing the way for the revival of classical
studies, the best part of his mind, then as for long
before, was devoted to the Comedy; and he was count-
ing on the suflrages of a wider audience than courts
and universities could supply.

Here there is no room to treat at length of that work,
to which when we turn our thoughts all else he wrote —
though that was enough to secure him fame — seems to
fall into the background as if unworthy of his genius.
What can hardly be passed over in silence is that in the
Comedy^ once it was begun, he must have found a refuge
for his soul from all petty cares, and a shield against all
adverse fortune. We must search its pages, and not
the meagre records of his biographers, to find what was
the life he lived during the years of his exile ; for, in a
sense, it contains the true journal of his thoughts, of his
hopes, and of his sorrows. The plan was laid wide
enough to embrace the observations he made of nature
and of man, the fruits of his painful studies, and the
intelligence he gathered from those experienced in
travel, politics, and war. It was not only his imagina-
tion and artistic skill that were spent upon the poem :

* Furg^ xxvii. 139. • Pwg. six. 134.



Florence and Dante. cix

he gave his life to it The future reward he knew
was sure — an immortal fame ; but he hoped for a nearer
profit on his venture. Florence might at last relent,
if not because of his innocence and at the spectacle of
his inconsolable exile, at least on hearing the rumour of
his genius borne to her from every comer of Italy : —

If e'er it comes tluit this my sacred Lay,
To which both Heaven and Earth have set their hand —
Through which these many years I waste away^

Shail quell the cruelty that keeps me banned
From the fair fold where I, a lamb, was found
Hostile to wolves who 'gainst it violence planned ;

With other fleece and voice of other sound.
Poet will I return, and at the font
Where I was christened be with laurel crowned.^

But with the completion of the Comedy Dante's life
too came to a dose. He died at Ravenna in the
month of September 1331.

^ Farad, zxv. I.



GIOTTO'S PORTRAIT OF DANTE.^

VASARI, in his Lhes of the Painters^ tells that in his
day the portrait of Dante by Giotto was still to be
seen in the chapel of the Podesta's palace in Florence.
Writers of an earlier date had already drawn attention
to this work.' But in the course of an age when
Italians cared little for Dante, and less for Giotto^ it
was allowed to be buried out of sight; and when at
length there came a revival of esteem for these great
men, the alterations in the interior arrangement of the
palace were found to have been so sweeping that it
was even uncertain which out of many chambers had
formerly served as the chapeL Twenty years after a
fruitless attempt had been made to discover whether
or not the portrait was still in existence, Signor Aubrey
Bezzi, encouraged by Mr. Wilde and Mr. Kirkup, took
the first step in a search (1839) which was to end by
restoring to the world what is certainly the most inter-

^ It is best known, and can now be judged of only through the
lithograph after a tracing made by Mr. Seymour Kirknp before it
was restored and mined : published by the Arundel Society.

* Antonio Pucd, bom in 1300, in his dntiUptio, describes the
£gure of Dante as being clothed in blood-red* Philip ViUani also
mentions it He wrote towards the close of the foarteenth century ;
Vasari towards the middle of the sixteenth.



GiotUfs Portrait of Dante. cxi

etdng of all portndts, if account be takai of its beauty,
as weU as of irfio was its author and who its subject

On the removal from it of a layer of limep one of the
end waUs of what had been the chapel was found to
be covered by a fresco paintingi evidently the woric of
Giotto, and representing a Paradise — ^the subject in
which Dante's portrait was known to occur. As is
usual in such works, from the time of Giotto down-
wards, the subject is treated so as to allow of the free
introducti(Hi of contemporary personages. Among
these was a figure in a red gown, which there was no
difficulty in recogmsing as the portrait of Dante. It
shows him younger and with a sweeter expression than
does Raphael's Dante, or Masaccio's,^ or that in the
Cathedral of Florence,' or that of the mask said to
have been taken after his death. But to all of them
it bears a strong resemblance.

The question of when this portrait was painted will
easily be seen to be one of much importance in con-
nection with Dante's biography. The fresco it belongs
to is found to contain a cardinal, and a young man,
who, because he wears his hair long and has a coronet
set on his cap, is known to be meant for a French
prince.* If, as is usually assumed, this prince b
Charles of Valois, then the date of the event celebrated

^ In the Miuich coUectioD ofdiawings, and sicxibed to Masaocio,
bat with how mnch reason I do not know.

' Painted by Domenico Michelino in 1465, after a sketch by
Alessio Baldovinetto.

* ' Wearing over the long hair of the Frenchmen of the period
a coroneted cap.'— Crowe and CavalcaseUe^ History of FittnHng
in liaiy (1864), i. 264.



txii Giotto's Portrait of Dante.

in the fresco ia 1301 or 1302. With regard to when
the work was executed, Messrs Crowe and CavalcasellCy
in their valuable book, say as follows :^ —

' All inferences to be deduced from the subject and form
of these frescos point to the date of 1 301-2. It may be
inquired whether they were executed by Giotto at the time,
and this inquiry can only be satisfied approximatively. It
may be inferred that Dante's portrait would hardly have
been introduced into a picture so conspicuously visible as
this, had not the poet at the time been influent in Florence.
. • . Dante's age in the fresco corresponds with the date of
1302, and is that of a man of thirty-five. He had himself
enjoyed the highest office of Florence from June to August
1300.* In the fresco he does not wear the dress of the
" Priori," but he holds in the ranks of those near Charles
of Valois an honourable place. It may be presumed that
the frescos were executed previous' to Dante's exile, and
this view is confirmed by the technical and artistic progress
which they reveaL They exhibit, indeed, the master in a
higher sphere of development than at Assisi and Rome.'

This account of the subject of the work and the
probable date of its execution may, I think, be ac-
cepted as containing all that is to be said in favour of
the current opinion on the matter. That writer after
writer has adopted that opinion without a sign of doubt
as to its credibility must surely have arisen from failure
to observe the insuperable difficulties it presents.

Both Charles of Valois and the Cardinal Acquasparta

were in Florence during part of the winter of 1301-

1302 j but the circumstances under which they were

there make it highly improbable that the Common-

1 Vol. i. p. 269.

' The Priorate was the higfaeft office to which a dtixen ooold
aspire, but bjr qo means the highest in Florence.
* I snppoae the meaning is 'immediately previous.'



Giotto's Portrait of Dante, cxiii

wealth was anxioas to do ihem honour beyond granting
them the oatward show of respect which it would have
been dangerous to refuse. Earlier in the year 1301
the Cardinal Acquasparta, having fidled in gaining the
object which brought him to Florence, had, as it were»
shaken the dust of the city from off his feet and left
the people of it under interdict. While Charles of
Valois was in Florence the Cardinal returned to make
a second attempt to reconcile the opposing parties,
failed a second tunei and again left the dty under an
interdict — ^if indeed the first had ever been raised On
the occasion of his first visit, the Whites, who were
then in power, would have none of 'his counsels; on
his second, the Blacks in their turn despised them.^
There would therefore have been something almost
satirical in the compliment, had the Commonwealth
resolved to give him a place in a triumphal picture.

As for Charles of Valois, though much was expected
from an alliance with him while he was still at a distance,
the vexy party that invited his presence was soon dis-
gusted with him owing to his faithlessness and greed.
The earlier part of his stay was disturbed by pillage and
bloodshed. Nor is it easy to imagine how, at any time
during his residence of five months, the leading citizens
could have either the time or the wish to arrange for
honouring him in a fashion he was not the man to caxe
for. His one craving was for money, and still more
money ; and any lebure the members of public bodies

^ John ViUani, Crmtka^ viiL 40 and 49 ; and Peirens, Hist^ de
Flontue, under date of 1301. Charles entered Florence on the
1st oT November of that year, and left it in the it>llowing April

h



cxfv Giotto* s Portrait of Dante,

had to spare from giving heed to their own interests and
securing vengeance upon their opponents, was devoted
to holding the common purse shut as tightly as they
could against their avaricious Padficatoc. When he at
last delivered the city from his presence no one would
have the heart to revive the memoxy of his disastrous
visit

But if, in all this confusion of Florentine a&irs, Giotto
did receive a commission to paint in the palace of the
Podesta, yet it remains incredible that he should have
been suffered to assign to Dante, of aU men, a place of
honour in the picture. No citizen had more stubbornly
opposed the policy which brought Charles of Valois to
Florence, and that Charles was in the dty was reason
enough for Dante to keep out of it. In his absence, he
was sentenced in January 1302 to pay a ruinously heavy
fine, and in the following March he was condemned to
be put to death if ever he was caught On fuller
acquaintance his fellow-citizens liked the Frenchman as
little as he, but this had no effect in softening their dis-
like or removing their fear of Dante. We may be sure
that any friends he may still have had in Florence, as
their influence could not protect his goods from confisca-
tion or him fix>m banishment, would hardly care to risk
their own safety by urging, while his condemnation was
still fresh, the admission of his portrait among those of
illustrious Florentines.^ It is true that there have been
instances of great artists having reached so high a pitch

^ Who the other Florentines in the fiteico are does not greatly
affect the present question. Villani says that along with Dante
Giotto painted Cotm) Donati and Bnmetto LattnL



Giotto* s Portrait of Dante. cxv

of fame as to be able to dictate terms to patrons, how-
ever exalted In his later years Giotto could perhaps
have made such a point a matter of treaty with his
employers, but in 1301 he was still young,^ and great
although his fame already was, he could scarcely have
ventured to insist on the Republic's confessing its
injustice to his friend; as it would have done had it
consented that Dante, newly driven into exile, should
obtain a place of honour in a work painted at the
public cost

These considerations seem to make it highly im-
probable that Giotto's wall-painting was meant to do
honour to Charles of Valois and the Cardinal Acqua-
sparta. But if it should still be held that it was painted
in 1302, we must either cease to believe, in spite of all
that Vasari and the others say, that the portrait is
meant for Dante ; or else confess it to be inexplicable
how it got there. A way out of the difficulty begins to
open up as soon as we allow ourselves some latitude in
speculating as to when Giotto may have painted the
fresco. The order m which that artisf s works were
produced is very imperfectly settled; and it may easily
be that the position in Vasari's pages of the mention
made by him of this fresco has given rise to a misunder-
standing regarding the date of it He speaks of it at
the very beginning of his Life of Giotta But this he
does because he needs an illustration of what he has been
saying in his opening sentences about the advance that
painter made on Cimabue. Only after making mention

* Only twenty-five, if the commonly accepted date of his birth
ik correct In any case, he was still a young man.



ex vi Giottds Portrait of Dante.

of Dante's portrait does be b^n his cfironological list
of Giotto's works ; to the portrait he never returns, and
S0| as far as Vasari is concerned^ it is without a date.
Judging of it by means of Mr. Kirkup's careful and
beautiful sketch — and unfortunately we have now no
other means of knowing what the original was like —
it may safely be asserted to be in Giotto's ripest style.^
Everything considered, it is therefcnre allowable to
search the Florentine chronicles lower down for an
event more likely to be the subject of Giotto's fresco
than that usually fixed upon.

We read in John Villani that in the middle of
the year 1326 the Cardinal Gianni Orsini came to*
Florence as Papal Legate and Pacificator of Tuscany.
The city was greatly pleased at his coming, and as
an earnest of gratitude for his services presented him
with a cup containing a thousand florins.' A month
later there arrived Charles Duke of Calabria, the eldest
son of King Robert of Naples, and great-grandson of
Charles of Anjou. He came as Protector of the
Commonwealth, which ofiice — ^an extraordinary one,
and with a great salary attached to it — he had been
elected to hold for five years. Never before had a
spectacle like that of his entry been offered to Florence.
Villani gives a long list of the barons who rode in his
train, and tells that in his squadrons of men-at-arms

^ It is true that, on technical gronnds, it has been questioned if
it is Giotto's at all ; bat there is more than suffident reason to think
it is. With such doabts however we are scarcely here concerned.
Even were it proved to be by a pupil, everything in the text that
applies to the question of date would still remain in point.

• J. Villani, ix. 353.



GiotUfs Portrait of Dante, ex vii

there weie no fewer than two hundred knights. The
chronicler pauses to bid the reader note how great an
enterprise his fellow-dtizens had shown in bringing to
sojourn amoog them, and in their interest, not only such
a powerful lord as the Duke of Calabria was, but a
Papal Legate as welL Italy counted it a great thing,
he says, and he deems that the whole world ought to
know of it^ Charles took up his abode in the Podesta's
palace. He appears to have gained a better place in
the hearts of the Florentines than what they were used
to give to strangers and princes. When a son was bom
to him, all the city rejoiced, and it mourned with him
when, in a few weeks, he lost the child After seventeen
months' experience of his rule the citizens were sorry to
lose him, and bade him a farewell as hearty as their wel*
come had been. To some of them, it is true^ the policy
seemed a dangerous one which bore even the appear-
ance of subjecting the Republic to the Royal House of
Naples ; and some of them could have wished that he
'had shown more vigour in dvil and militaty affiurs.
But he was a gentle lord, popular with the townsfolk,
and in the course of his residence he greatly iii4>roved
the condition of things in Florence, and brought to a
close many feuds.'* They felt that the nine hundred
thousand gold florins spent on him and his men had,
on the whole, been well laid out

One detail of the Duke's personal appearance deserves
remark. We have seen that the prince in the fresco
has long hair. John Villani had known the Duke well
by sight, and when he comes to record his death and

> J. VUlani, x. i. • /M/. x. 49.



cxviii Giotto* s Portrait of Dante.

describe what kind of man he was to look upon, he
specially says that ' he wore his hair loose.'^

A subject worthy of Giotto's pendl, and one likely to
be offered to him if he was then in Florence, we have
therefore found in this visit of the Duke and the Car-
dinal But that Giotto was in Florence at that time is
certain. He painted a portrait* of the Duke in the
Palace of the Signory; and through that prince, as
Vasari tells, he was invited by King Robert to go down
to work in Naples. All this, in the absence of evidence
of any value in favour of another date, makes it, at the
very least, highly probable that the fresco was a work of
1326 or 1337.

In 1326 Dante had been dead for five yeari The
grudge his fellow-townsmen had nourished against him
for so long was now worn out We know that very soon
after his death Florence began to be proud of him ;
and even such of his old enemies as still survived would
be willing that Giotto should set him in a place of
honour among the great Florentines who help to fill
the fresco of the Paradbe. That he was ahready dead
would be no hindrance to his finding room alongside
of Charles of Calabria ; for the age was wisely tolerant
of such anachronisms.' Had Dante been still living
the painter would have been less at liberty to create,

^ J. Villani, z. 107. * Long since destroyed.

* An anachronism of another kind would have been committed
by Giotto, if, before the Comafy was even began, he had repre-
sented Dante as holding the dosed book and dnster of three
pom^ranates-~«mbIematical of the three regions described by
him and of the completion of his work.— -I say nothing of the
Inferno foond on another wall of the chapel, since there seems
good reason to doubt if it is by Giotto.



Giotto* s Portrait of Dante. cxix

out of the records he doubtless possessed of the
features of the friend who had pdd him beforehand
with one immortal lin^ the face which^ as we look into
ity we feel to be a glorified transcript of what it was in
the flesh. It is the face of one who has wellnigh for-
gotten his earthly life, instead of having the worst of it
still before him ; of one who, from that troubled Italy
which like his own Sapia he knew but as a pilgrim^ has
passed to the ' true city/ of which he remains for ever-
more a citizen — the city faintly imaged by Giotto upon
the chapel wall



• ,



THE INFERNO.



CANTO I.

In middle * of the journey of our days
I found that I was in a darksome wood^ —
The right road lost and vanished in the maze.

Ah me ! how hard to make it understood
How rough that wood was, wild, and terrible :
By the mere thought my terror is renewed.

More bitter scarce were death. But ere I tell
At large of good which there by me was found,
I will relate what other things befell.

Scarce know I how I entered on that ground, lo

So deeply, at the moment when I passed
Fro^i the right way, was I in slumber drowned.

But when beneath a hill ' arrived at last.
Which for the boundary of the valley stood,
That with such terror had my heart harassed,

^ Middle: In his Convito 1300, the year in which the

(iv. 23), comparing human life action of the poem is laid,

to an arch, Dante says that at ' Darksome wood : A state of

the age of thirty-five a man has spiritual darkness or despair into

reached the top and begins to which he has gradually drifted,

go down. As he was bom in not without fault of his own.

1265 that was his own age in * A kill : liower down this



The Hill, [canto i.

I upwards looked and saw its shoulders glowed,

Radiant already with that planet's ^ light

Which guideth surely upon every road.
A little then was quieted by the sight

The fear which deep within my heart had lain 20

Through all my sore experience of the night.
And as the man, who, breathing short in pain,

Hath 'scaped the sea and struggled to the shore,

T-ums back to gaze upon the perilous main ;
Even so my soul which fear still forward bore

Turned to review the pass whence I egressed,

And which none, living, ever left before.
My wearied frame refreshed with scanty rest,

I to ascend the lonely hill essayed ;

The lower foot ' still that on which I pressed. 30

And lo I ere I had well beginning made,

A nimble leopard,' light upon her feet.

And in a skin all spotted o'er arrayed :



hill is tenned ' the origin and stars deriving their light from it.

cause of all joy.' It is sjrmboli- Here the sunlight may signiiy

cal of spiritual freedom^of the the Divine help granted to all

peace sjid security that spring men in their efforts after vir-

from the practice of virtue, tue.

Only, as it seems, by gaining > TJu lower Jbei^ etc.: This
such a vantage-ground can he describes a cautious, slow as-
escape from the wilderness of cent.

doubt— the valley of the shadow *A nimbU leopard: The
of death — in which he is lost. leopatd and the lion and
^ That planet: On the Ptole- wolf that come with it are sug-
maic system, which, as perfected gested by Jeremiah v. 6 : 'A
by the Arabian astronomers, and lion out of the forest shall slay
with some Christian additions, them,' etc. We have Dante's
was that followed by Dante, the own authority for it, in his letter
sun is reckoned as one of the to Can Grande, that several
seven planets ; all the others as meanings are often hidden un-
well as the earth and the fixed der the incidents of the Comedy,



THE FOREST.] The LtOH. 3

Nor ceased she e'er me full in the fisu:e to meet,
And to me in my path such hindrance threw
That many a time I wheeled me to retreat.

It was the hour of dawn ; with retinue
Of stars ^ that were with him when Love Divine
In the beginning into motion drew

Those beauteous things, the sun began to shine ; 40

And I took heart to be of better cheer
Touching the creature with the gaudy skin,

Seeing 'twas mom,* and spring-tide of the year ;
Yet not so much but that when into sight
A lion' came, I was disturbed with fear.

But whateyer else the beasts ' :>iars, etc, : The sun being
may signify, their chief meaning then in Aries, as it was be-
is that of moral hindrances. It lieved to hare been at the area-
is plain that the lion and wolf tion.

are the rins of others^— pride and ' Mam^ €tc, : It is the mom-
avarice. If the leopard agrees ing of Friday the 25th of March
with them in this, it most pro- in the year 1300, and by the use
bably stands for the envy of of Florence, which began the
those among whom Dante lived : year on the anniversary of the
at Im/, vi. 74 we find envy, incarnation, it is the first day
pride, and avarice classed to- of the New Year. The Good
gether as the sins that have Friday of 1300 fell a fortnight
corrupted Florence. But from later ; but the 25th of March
Inf. xvi. 106 it appears that was held to be the true anniver-
Dante hoped to get the better saxy of the crucifixion as well
of the leopard by means of a as of the incarnation and of
cord which he wore girt about the creation of the world. The
his loins. The cord is emblem- date of the action is fixed by
atical of self-control ; and hence /n/, xxi* 112. The day was
the leopard seems best to an- of good omen for success in
swer the idea of sensual pleasure the struggle with his lower
in the sense of a temptation that self.

makes difficult the pursuit of * A lion : Pride or arrogance ;

virtue. But it will be observed to be taken in its widest sense

that this hindrance Dante trusts of violent opposition to all that

to overcome. is good.



4 The Wolf, [CANTO I.

Towards me he seemed advancing in his mighty
Rabid with hunger and with head high thrown :
The very air was tremtdous with fright.

A she- wolf, ^ toOy beheld I further on ;
All kinds of lust seemed in her leanness pent : 50

Through her, ere now, much folk have misery known.

By her oppressed, and altogether spent
By the terror breathing from her aspect fell,
I lost all hope of making the ascent

And as the man who joys while thriving well,
When comes the time to lose what he has won
In all his thoughts weeps inconsolable,

So mourned I through the brute which rest knows none :
She barred my way s^ain and yet again,
And thrust me back where silent is the sun. 60

And as I downward rushed to reach the plain,
Before mine eyes appeared there one aghast,
And dumb like those that silence long maintain.

When I beheld him in the 4esert vast,
' Whate'er thou art, or ghost or man,' I cried,
I pray thee show such pity as thou hast.'

* No man,' though once I was ; on either side

Lombard my parents were, and both of them
For native place had Mantua,' he replied.
' Though late, sub Julio? to the world I came, 70

* A she-wolf: Used else- * No man: Bninetto Lattni,
where in the Comedy to repre- the friend and master of Dante,
sent avarice. Dante may have says ' the soul is the life of man,
had specially in his mind the but without the body is not man.'
greed and woridly ambition of * Sub yulio: Julias was not
the Pope And the Court of even consul when Virgil was
Rome, but it is plain from line bom. But Dante reckoned
110 that the wolf stands prim- Julius as the founder of the
arily for a sin, and not foi> a Empire, and therefore makes the
person or corporate body. time in which he flourished his.



THE FOREST.] VlrgU. 5

And lived at Rome in good Augustus' day,
While yet false gods and lying were supreme.

Poet I was, renowning in my lay
Anchises' righteous son, who fled from Troy
What time proud Ilion was to flames a prey.

But thou, why going back to such annoy ?
The hill delectable why fear to mount,
The origin and ground of every joy ? *

'And thou in sooth art Virgil, and the fount
Whence in a stream so full doth language flow ? ' 80
Abashed, I answered him with humble front.

' Of other poets light and honour thou !
Let the long study and great zeal I Ve shown
In searching well thy book, avail me now !

My master thou, and author^ thou, alone !
From thee alone I, borrowing, could attain
The style^ consummate which has made me known.

Behold the beast which makes me turn again :
Deliver me from her, illustrious Sage ;
Because of her I tremble, pulse and vein.' 90

Virgil was only twcDtyfive yean that of a virtuous great magi-

of age when Caesar was slain ; cian.

and thus it was under Angus- * 7lu siyle^ etc.: Some at

tns that his maturer life was least of Dante's minor works

spent. had been given to the world

^ AutAor: Dante deSnes an before 1300, certainly the Fila

antbor as ' one worthy to be Nucva and others of his poems,

believed and obeyed* {ConvUo To his study of Virgil he may

iv. 6). For a guide and com- have felt himself indebted for

panion on his great pilgrimage he the purity of taste that kept ktm

chooses Virgil, not only because superior to the frigid and artifi*

of his &me as a poet, but also cial style of his contemporaries,

because he bad himself de- He prided himself on suiting

scribed a descent to the Shades his language to his theme, as

— ^had been already there. The well as on writing straight from

vulgar conception of Viigil was the heart.



The Greyhound, [canto i.

' Thou must attempt another pilgrimage/
Observing that I wept^ he made reply,
* If from this waste thyself thou 'dst disengage.

Because the beast thou art afflicted by
Will suffer none along her way to pass,
But, hindering th^m, harasses till they die.

So vile a nature and corrupt she has,
Her raging lust is still insatiate,
And food but makes it fiercer than it was.

Many a creature^ hath she ta'en for mate, lOo

And more shell wed until the hound comes forth
To slay her and afflict with torment great.

He will not batten upon pelf or earth ;
But he shall feed on valour, love, and lore ;
Feltro and Feltro* 'tween shall be his birth.



^ Many a creature^ etc.: ii8, xviiL 121). Neither is Ve*

Great men and states, infected rona, or the widest territory over

with avarice in its extended which Can Grande ever ruled,

sense of encroachment on the at all described by saying it lay

rights of others. between Feltro and Feltro. — I

' FtUro and FeUro^ etc, : have pre ferred to translate ivoss-

Who the deliverer was that ^wr as birth rather than as nation

Dante prophesies the coming or people. ' The birth of the

of is not known, and perhaps deliverer will be foond to have

never can be. Against the been between feltro and feltro.'

claims of Can Grande of Verona Feltro, as Dante wrote it, woald

the objection is that, at any have no capital letter ; and

date which can reasonably be according to an old gloss the

assigned for the publication of deliverer is to be of humble

the In/emOf he had done no- birth ; feltrv being the name of

thing to justify such bright hopes a poor sort of cloth. This in-

of his future career. There terpretation I give as a curiosity

seems proof, too, that till the more than anything else ; for

Paradiso was written Dante the most competent critics have

entertained no great respect for decided against it, or ignored it

the Scala family {Parg. xvi. — Henry of Luxemburg, chosen



THE FOREST.] Tlu Greyftouftd. 7

He will save humbled Italy, and restore,

For which of old viigin Camilla^ died ;

TumuSy Euryalus, Nisus, died of yore.
Her through all cities chasing far and wide,

He at the last to Hell will thrust her down, 1 10

Whence envy' first unloosed her. I decide
Therefore and judge that thou hadst best come on

With me for guide ;' and hence 1 11 lead thee where

A place eternal shall to thee be shown.
There shalt thou hear the bowlings of despair

In which the ancient spirits make lament,

All of them fain the second death to share.
Next shalt thou them behold who are content.

Because they hope some time, though now in fire.

To join the blessed they will win consent 120

Emperor in November 1308, is * Camilla, etc, : All persons of
an old cUdmant for the post of the jEnM.
the allegorical tftltro or grey- ' £nvy : That of Satan,
hound. On him Dante's hopes ' Tkm hadst beit^ etc : As
were long set as the man who will be seen from the next Canto,
should 'save Italy ;' and it Virgil has been sent to the relief
seems not out of place to draw of Dante ; but how that is to be
attcntion to what is said of him wrought oat is left to hb own
by John Viliani, the oontempo* judgment. He might secure a
nury and feUow-townsman of partial deliverance for his ward
Dante : ' He was of a magnani- by conducting him up the De-
mons nature, though, as re- lectable Mount — the peaceful
gardedhisfiunily, of poorextrac- heights finmiliar to himself, and
tion' (CfVff«ra, ix. i). Whatever which are to be won by the
may be made of the Feltros, the practice of natural piety. He
descripdon in the text of the de- chooses the other course, of
liverer as one superior to all per- guiding Dante through the
sonal ambition certainly answers regions of the future state,
better to Dante^s ideal of aright- where the pilgrim's trust in
eons Emperor than to the charac- the Divine government will be
terofa partisan leader like Ugnc* strengthened by what he sees,
done della Faggiuola, or an am- and his soul acquire a kuger
bitions prince like Can Grande, peace.



8 Dante and Virgil. [canto i.

And if to these thou later wouldst aspire,
A soul^ shall guide thee, worthier far than I ;
When I depart thee will I leave with her.

Because the Emperor^ who reigns on high
Wills not, since 'e^inst His laws I did rebel, ^
That to His city I bring any nigh.

O'er all the world He rules, there reigns as well ;
There is His city and exalted seat :
O happy whom He chooses there to dwell I'

And I to him : ' Poet, I thee entreat, 130

Even by that God who was to thee unknown,
That I may 'scape this present ill, nor meet

With worse, conduct me whither thou hast shown.
That I may see Saint Peter's gate,^ and those
Whom thou reportest in such misery thrown.'

He moved away ; behind him held I close.

^ A soul : Beatrice. that it is as a Christian, though

' Tk€ Emperor: The attribu- under heathen guidance, that he

tion of this title to God is sig- makes the pilgrimage. Here the

nificant of Dante's lofty concep- gate seems to be spoken of as if it

tion of the Empire. formed the entrance to Paradise,

' ^tjoinst his laws ^ etc, : Virgil as it was popularly believed to

was a rebel only in the sense of do, and as if it were at that

being ignorant of the Christian point Viigil would cease to

revelation {/nf. iv. 37). guide him. But they are to

^ Satnl PeiePs gate : Vixgil find it nearer at hand, and after

has not mentioned Saint Peter, it has been passed Virgil is to

Dante names him as if to proclaim act as guide through Puigatory.



VIRGIL'S MISSION.] Tfic Ifivocation,



CANTO IL

It was the close of day ;^ the twilight brown
All living things on earth was setting free
From toil, while I preparing was alone'

To face the battle which awaited me,
As well of ruth as of the perilous quest,
Now to be limned by faultless memory..

Help, lofty genius ! Muses,' manifest
Goodwill to me ! Recording what befell,
Do thou, O mind, now show thee at thy best !

I thus began : ' Poet, and Guide as well, lo

^ Close of day : The evening heart misgives him at the
of the Friday. It comes on us thought of engaging, in the
with something of a surprise absence of all human com-
that a whole day has been spent panionship, upon a journey so
in the attempt to ascend the full of terrors. He is not re-
hill, and in conference with assured till Virgil has displayed
VirgiL his commission.

^ Alone: Of earthly crea- * Muses: The invocation

tures, though in company with comes now, the First Canto

Virgil, a shade. In these being properly an introduction,

words is to be found the key- Here it may be pointed out,

note to the Canto. With the as illustrating the refinement

sense of deliverance from im- of Dante*s art, that the invo-

mediate danger his enthusiasm cation in the I^rgatorio is in a

has died away. After all, higher strain, and that in the

Virgil is only a shade ; and his Paradiso in a nobler still.



lO jfEneas. [canto ii.

Ere trusting me on this adventure wide,

Judge if my strength of it be capable.
Thou say'st that Silvius' father,^ ere he died,

Still mortal to the world immortal went.

There in the body some time to abide.
Yet that the Foe of evil was content

That he should come, seeing what high effect,

And who and what should from him claim descent,
No room for doubt can thoughtful man detect :

For he of noble Rome, and of her sway 20

Imperial, in high Heaven grew sire elect.
And both of these,* the very truth to say,

Were founded for the holy seat, whereon

The Greater Peter's follower sits to-day.
Upon this journey, praised by thee, were known

And heard things by him, to the which he owed

His triumph, whence derives the Papal gown. '

^ Silviui father : iGneas, seen in the course of the Cotnedy^

whose visit to the world of to blame the Popes as men, while

shades is described in the Sixth yielding all honour to their great

yEndd, He finds there hb father office. In this emphatic men-

Anchises, who foretells to him tion of Rome as the divinely-

the fortunes of his descendants appointed seat of Peter's Chidr

down to the time of Augustus. may be implied a oensurc on the

' Both of thesi : Dante uses Pope for the transference of the

language slightly apologetic as Holy See to Avignon, which was

he unfolds to Virgil, the great effected in 1305, between the

Imperialist poet, the final cause date assigned to the action of the

of Rome and the Empire. But poem and the period when it

while he thus escalts the Papal was written,

office, making all Roman history * J^apa/ gown : *■ The great

a preparation for its establish- mantle ' Dante elsewhere terms

ment, Dante throughout his it ; the emblem of the Papal

works is careful to refuse any dignity. It was only in Dante's

but a spiritual or religious alle- own time that coronation began

gianoe to the Pope, and leaves to take the place of investiture

himself free, as will be frequently with the nuintle.



VIRGIL'S MISSION.] Datiti s Misgtvtngs. 1 1

That path the Chosen Vessel^ later trod
So of the faith assurance to receive,
Which is beginning of salvation's road. 30

But why should I go ? Who will sanction give ?
For I am no iCneas and no Paul ;
Me worthy of it no one can believe,

Nor I myseH Hence venturing at thy call,
I dread the journey may prove rash. But vain
For me to reason ; wise, thou know'st it alL'

Like one no more for what he wished for fain.
Whose purpose shares mutation with his thought
Till from the thing begun he turns again ;

On that dim slope so grew I all distraught, 40

Because, by brooding on it, the design
I shrank from, which before I warmly sought.

* If well I understand these words of thine,'
The shade of him magnanimous made reply,
' Thy soul 'neath cowardice hath sunk supine,

Which a man often is so burdened by,
It makes him falter from a noble aim,
As beasts at objects ill-distinguished shy.

To loose thee from this terror, why I came,
And what the speech I heard, I will relate, 50

When first of all I pitied thee. A dame*

1 Chosen Vestel: Paul, who dose of which Dante promises
like iCneas visited the other some day to say of her what was
world, though not the same never jti said of any woman,
region of it Throughout the She died in 1290, aged twenty-
poem instances drawn from pro- four. In the Comedy she fills
fane history, and even poetry different parts : she is the glori-
and mythology, are given as of fied Beatrice Portinari whom
authority equal to those from Dante first knew as a fair Floren-
Christian sources. tine girl ; but she also represents

' A dome : Beatrice, the hero- heavenly troth, or the know-

ine of the VUa Nnova, at the ledge of it — the handmaid of



1 2 Beatrice. [can lo ii.

• Hailed me where I 'mongst those in dubious state ^
Had my abode : so blest was she and fair,
Her to command me I petitioned straight.

Her eyes were shining brighter than the star ;*
And she began to say in accents sweet
And tuneable as angel's voices are :

" O Mantuan Shade, in courtesy complete,
Whose fame survives on earth, nor less shall grow
Through all the ages, while the world hath seat ; 60

A friend of mine, with fortune for his foe,
Has met with hindrance on his desert way,
And, terror-smitten, can no further go.

But turns ; and that he is too far astray,
And that I rose too late for help, I dread,
From what in Heaven concerning him they say.

Go, with thy speech persuasive him bestead.
And with all needful help his guardian prove.
That touching him I may be comforted.



eternal life. Theology is too Dante bears to these two is that
hard and technical a term to of erring humanity struggling to
bestow on her. Virgil, for his the light. Virgil leads him as
part, represents the knowledge far as he can, and then corn-
that men may acquire of Divine mits him to the holier rule of
law by the use of their reason, Beatrice. But the poem would
helped by sudi illumination as lose its charm if the allegorical
was enjoyed by the virtuous meaning of every passage were
heathen. In other words, he is too closely insisted on. And,
the exponent of the Divine reve- worse than that, it cannot al-
lation involved in the Imperial ways be found,
system — for the Empire was ^ Dubious state: The limbo of
never far fo>m Dante*s thoughts, the virtuous heathen (Canto iv.).
To him it meant the perfection ' The star: In the Vita
of just rule, in which due cog- Nuova Dante speaks of the star
nisance is taken of. every right in the singular when he means
and of every duty. The relation the stars.



viRGiL*s MISSION.] BeatficB, 13

Know, it is Beatrice seeks thee thus to move. 70

Thence come I where I to return am fain :
My coming and my plea are ruled by love.

When I shall stand before my Lord again,
Often to Him I will renew thy praise."
And here she ceased, nor did I dumb remain :

'* O virtuous Lady, thou alone the race
Of man exaltest 'bove all else that dwell
Beneath the heaven which wheels in narrowest space. ^

To do thy bidding pleases me so well,
Though 'twere already done 'twere all too slow ; 80
Thy wish at greater length no need to tell.

But say, what tempted thee to come thus low,
Even to this centre, from the region vast,*
Whither again thou art on lire to go ?''

'* This much to learn since a desire thou hast,"
She answered, " briefly thee I '11 satisfy,
How, coming here, I through no terrors passed.

We are, of right, such things alarm&d by,
As have the power to hurt us ; all beside
Are harmless, and not fearful. Wherefore I — 90

Thus formed by God, His bounty is so wide— ^
Am left untouched by all your miseries,
And through this burning' unmolested glide.

' In narrowest space: The by the Christian astronomers to

heaven of the moon, on the the heavens of the Ptolemaic

Ptolemaic system the lowest of sjrstem, and extends above the

the seven planets. Below it primum mobiU^ which imparts

there is only the heaven of fire, to all beneath it a common

to which all the flames of earth motion, while tearing its own

are attracted. The meaning is, special motion to each. The

above all on earth. empyrean is the heaven of

• The region vast: The em- Divine rest,

pyrean, or tenth and highest ^Burning: * Flame of this

heaven of all. It is an addition burning,' allegorical, as applied



14 Beatrice. [canto ii.

A noble lady^ is in Heaven, who sighs
0*er the obstruction where I 'd have thee go,
And breaks the rigid edict of the skies.

Calling on Lucia,' thus she made her know
What she desired : ' Thy vassal' now hath need
Of help from thee ; do thou then helpful show.'

Lucia, who hates all cruelty, in speed loo

Rose, and approaching where I sat at rest,
To venerable Rachel* giving heed,

Me : ' Beatrice, true praise of God,' addressed ;
' Why not help him who had such love for thee.
And from the vulgar throng to win thee pressed ?

Dost thou not hear him weeping pitiably,

to the limbo where Viigil had and if it oonld be proved that he

his abode. He and his com- was born on the 30th of the

panions suffer only from imful- month the suggestion would be

filled but lofty desire (Inf, iv. plausible. But for the greater

41). Lucy is to be said that she was

^ A noble lady: The Virgin especially helpful to those

Mary, of whom it is said (Pamil troubled in their eyesight, as

xxxiii. 16) that her 'benignity Dante was at one time of his

not only succours those who ask, life. Here she is the symbol of

but often anticipates their de- illuminating grace,

mand ;' as here. She is the * Thy vassal: Saint Lucy

symbol of Divine grace in its being held in special veneration

widest sense. Neither Christ by Dante ; or only that he was

nor Mary is mentioned by name one that sought light The

in the Inferno. word fedeU may of course, as it

' Lucia : The martyr saint of usually is, be rttd in its primary
Syracuse. WiiXA (Dante- Forsch- sense of 'faithful one;' but it is
ungen^ vol. ii. 30) suggests that old Italian for vassal; and to take
Lucia Ubaldini may be meant, the reference to be to the duty
a thirteenth-century Florentine of the overlord to help his de-
saint, and sister of the Cardinal pendant in need seems to give
{Inf, X. 120). The day devoted force to the appeal,
to her memory was the 30th of ^Rachel: Symbol of the
May. Dante was bom in May, contemplative life.



VIRGIL'S MISSION. ] The Encouragement 1 5

Nor mark the death now threatening him upon

' A flood ^ than which less awful is the sea ?'

Never on earth did any ever run,
Allured by profit or impelled by fear, 1 10

Swifter than I, when speaking she had done.

From sitting 'mong the blest descended here,
My trust upon thy comely rhetoric cast,
Which honours thee and those who lend it ear."

When of these words she spoken had the last,
She turned aside bright eyes which tears' did fill,
And I by this was urged to greater haste.

And so it was I joined thee by her will,
And from that raging beast delivered thee.
Which barred the near way up the beauteous hill. 120

What ails thee then ? Why thus a laggard be ?
Why cherish in thy heart a craven fear ?
Where is thy franchise, where thy bravery,

When three such blessed ladies have a care
For thee in Heaven's court, and these words of mine
Thee for such wealth of blessedness prepare ?'

As flowers, by chills nocturnal made to pine
And shut themselves, when touched by morning bright
Upon their stems arise, full-blown and fine ;

So of my faltering courage changed the plight, 1 30

And such good cheer ran through my heart, it spurred
Me to declare, like free-bom generous wight :

' O pitiful, who for my succour stirred 1
And thou how full of courtesy to run.
Alert in service, hearkening her true word !



' A floods etc, : * The sea of human misery— especially that

troubles ' in which Dante is in- of Datote — though unafTected by

volved. the- view of . the sufferings of

^ Tears: Beatrice weeps for Infemp.



1 6 The Resolution, [canto ii.

Thou with thine eloquence my heart hast won
To keen desire to go, and the intent
Which first I held I now no longer shun.

Therefore proceed ; my will with thine is blent :
Thou art my Guide, Lord, Master ;^ thou alone !' 140
Thus I ; and with him, as he forward went,

The steep and rugged road I entered t>n.

^ My Guide^ etc. : After hear- only for his guide, as he did at
ing how Virgil was moved to the close of Uie First Canto, bat
come, Dante accepts him not for his lord and master as well



THE vBSTiBULs.] Tfu GaU. 1 7



CANTO III.

Through me to the city dolorous lies the way,
Who pass through me shall pains eternal prove,
Through me are reached the people lost for aye.

'Twas Justice did my Glorious Maker move ;
I was created by the Power Divine,^
The Highest Wisdom, and the Primal Love.

No thing's creation earlier was than mine,
If not eternal ;* I for aye endure :
Ye who make entrance, every hope resign t

These words beheld I writ in hue obscure lo

On sununit of a gateway ; wherefore I :
' Hard' is their meaning. Master.' Like one sure

Beforehand of my thought, he made reply :
' Here it behoves to leave all fears behind ;
All cowardice behoveth here to die.

^ Power Diuitu, etc.: TYk^Vtr* enduring short while;' there-
sons of the Trinity, described fore not eternal
by their attributes. * Hard, etc. : The injunc-

' If not eternal: Only the tion to leave all hope behind

angels and the heavenly spheres makes Dante hesitate to enter,

were created before Inferno. Vixgil anticipates the objection

The creation of man came before it is MXj expressed, and

later. But finom Inf. xxxiv. 124 reminds him that the passage

it appears that Inferno was through Inferno is to be only

hollowed out of the earth ; and one stage of his journey. Not

at Farad, vii. 124 the earth is by this gate will he seek to

dedared to be ' corruptible and quit it

B



1 8 The Lukewarm, [canto m.

For now the place I told thee of we find,
Where thou the miserable folk shouldst see
Who the true good^ of reason have resigned.'

Then, with a glance of glad serenity.

He took my hand in his, which made me bold, 20

And brought me in where secret things there be.

There sighs and plaints and wailings uncontrolled
The dim and starless air resounded through;
Nor at the first could I from tears withhold.

The various languages and words of woe.
The uncouth accents,' mixed with angry cries
And smiting palms and voices loud and low,

Composed a tumult which doth circling rise
For ever in that air obscured for aye ;
As when the sand upon the whirlwind flies. 30

And, horror-stricken,^ I began to say :
' Master, what sound can this be that I hear,
And who the folk thus whelmed in misery ?'

And he replied : ' In this condition drear
Are held the souls of that inglorious crew
Who lived unhonoured, but from guilt kept clean

Mingled they are with caitiff angels, who,
Though from avowed rebellion they refrained,
Disloyal to God, did selfish ends pursue.

^ True goodf iic* : Truth in before he has even crossed

its highest fonn— the contempU- Acheron. If with the best texts

tionofGod. * honor' be read, the meaning

' Umouihacce$Us: 'LikeOer- seems to be that he is so over-

9un,' says Boccaccio. whelmed by fear as to lose his

' Horror-stricken : ' My head presence of mind. They are

enveloped in horror.' Some not yet in the true Inferno, but

texts have 'error, 'and this yields only in the vestibule or fore-

a better meaning— that Dante is court of it— the fiat rim which

amazed to have come full into runs round the edge of the

the crowd of suffering shades pit.



THB YBSTI6ULE.] The Great Refusal. 19

Heaven hurled them forth, lest they her beauty stained ;
Received they are not by the nether hell, 41

Else triumph^ thence were by the guilty gained'

And I : ' What bear they, Master, to compel
Their lamentations in such grievous tone V
He answered : ^ In few words I will thee tell.

No hope of death is to the wretches known ;
So dim the life and abject where they sigh
They count all sufferings easier than their own.

Of them the world endures no memory ;
Mercy and justice them alike disdain. 50

Speak we not of them : glance, and pass them by.'

I saw a banner' when I looked s^in,
Which, always whirling round, advanced in haste
As if despising steadfast to remain.

And after it so many people chased
In long procession, I should not have said
That death' had ever wrought such countless waste.

Some first I recognised, and then the shade
I saw and knew of him, the search to dose.
Whose dastard soul the great refusal* made. 60



^ Elte triumphy etc,: The good and evil, and spend lives

satisfiiction of the rebel angels that are only 'a kind of— as it

at finding that they endured were.'

ao worse punishment than that ^ Thi great refusal: Dante

of such as remidned neutral. recognises him, and so he who

' A banner : Emblem of the made the great refusal must have

instability of those vrho would been a contemporary. Almost

never take a side. beyond doubt Celestine v. is

* 7%at deaths etc, : The meant, who was in 1294 elected
touch is very characteristic of Pope against his will, and re-
Dante. He feigns astonishment signed the tiara after wearing it
at finding that such a proportion a few months; the only Pope
of mankind can preserve so piti- who ever resigned it, unless
ful a middle course between we count Clement i. As he



20 Acheron. [canto hi.

Stxaightway I knew and was assured that those
Were of the tribe of caitiffs,^ even the race
Despised of God and hated of His foes.

The wretches, who when living showed no trace
Of life, went naked, and were fiercely stung
By wasps and hornets swarming in that place.

Blood drawn by these out of their faces sprung
And, mingled with their tears, was at their feet
Sucked up by loathsome worms it fell among.

Casting mine eyes beyond, of these replete, 70

People I saw beside an ample stream,
Whereon I said : * O Master, I entreat,

was not canonized till 1326, dne. To either of them there

Dante was free to form his lies the objection that Dante

own judgment of his conduct, could not have recognised him.

It has been objected that Dante And, besides, Dante's contem-

would not treat with con- poraries appear at onoe to have

tumely a man so devout as discovered Celestine in him who

Celestine. But what specially made the great refusal. In

fits him to be the representative Paradise the poet is told by his

caitiff is just that, being him- ancestor Cacciaguida that his

self virtuous, he pusiUanimously rebuke is to be like the wind,

threw away the greatest oppor- which strikes most fiercely on

tnnity of doing good. By his the loftiest summits {Farad,

resignation Boniface viii. be- xvii. 133); audit agrees well

came Pope, to whose meddling with such a profession, that the

in Florentine afiairs it was first stroke he deals in the

that Dante owed his banish- C<fmidy is at a Pope,
ment Indirectly, therefore, he > Caitiffs: To one who had

owed it to the resignation of suffered like Dante for the frank

Celestine ; so that here we have part he took in af&irs, neutrality

the first of many private scores may well have seemed the un*

to be paid off in the course of pardonable sin in politics ; and

the Comedy. Celestine's resig- no doubt but that his thoughts

nation is referred to (/f^ xxvii. were set on the trimmers in

104). — Esau and the rich young Florence when he wrote, ' Let

man in the Gospel have both us not speak of them ! '
been suggested in place of Celes-



THE VSSTIBULE.] C/uiAm, 21

Tell who these are, and by what law they seem

Impatient till across the river gone ;

As I distinguish by this feeble gleam.'
And he : ' These things shall unto thee be known

What time our footsteps shall at rest be found

Upon the wofiil shores of Acheron.'
Then with ashamed eyes cast on the ground,

Fearing my words were irksome in his ear, 80

Until we reached the stream I made no sound.
And toward us, lo, within a bark drew near

A veteran^ who with ancient hair was white,

Shouting : * Ye souls depraved, be filled with fear.
Hope never more of Heaven to win the sight ;

I come to take you to the other strand.

To frost and fire and everlasting night.
And thou, O living soul, who there dost stand,

From 'mong the dead withdraw thee.' Then, aware

That not at all I stirred at his command, 90

* By other ways,' from other ports thou It &re ;

* A veteran : Charon. In all * OtAer ways, etc. : The souls
this description of the passage bound from earth to Puigatory
of the river by the shades, Dante gather at the mouth of the
borrows freely from Virgil. It Tiber, whence they are wafted
has been already remarked on on an angel's skiff to their
Inf, ii. 28 that he draws destination {Purg, ii 100). It
illustrations from Pagan sources, may be here noted that never
More than that, as we begin to does Dante hint a fear of (me
find, he boldly introduces legend- day becoming a denizen of In-^
ary and mythological characters femo. It is only the pains
among the persons of his drama, of Puigatory that oppress his
With Milton in mind, it sur- soul by anticipation. So here
prises, on a first acquaintance Charon is made to see at a
with the Comedy^ to discover glance that the pilgrim is not
how nearly independent of an- of those ' who inake descent to
geb is the economy invented by Acheron.'

Dante for the other world.



%2 Thi Ferry, [canto hi.

But they will lead thee to another shore.

And 'tis a skiff more buoyant must thee bear.'
And then my leader : ' Charon, be not sore,

For thus it has been willed where power ne'er came

Short of the will ; thou therefore ask no more.'
And hereupon his shaggy cheeks grew tame

Who is the pilot of the livid pool,

And round about whose eyes glowed wheels of flame.
But all the shades, naked and spent with dool, loo

Stood chattering with their teeth, and changing hue

Soon as they heard the words unmerciful.
God they blasphemed, and families whence they grew ;

Mankind, the time, place, seed in which began

Their lives, and seed whence they were bom. Then drew
They crowding all together, as they ran.

Bitterly weeping, to the accursed shore

Predestinate for every godless man.
The demon Charon, with eyes evermore

Aglow, makes signals, gathering them all ; no

And whoso lingers smiteth with his oar.
And as the faded leaves of autumn fall

One after the other, till at last the bough

Sees on the ground spread all its coronal ;
With Adam's evil seed so haps it now :

At signs each falls in turn from off the coast.

As fowls^ into the ambush fluttering go.
The gloomy waters thus by them are crossed,

And ere upon the further side they land,

On this, anew, is gathering a host. 120

^ Asfcwls^eic.: 'As a bird to describes them ts * flying into
its lure' — generally interpreted the vocal ambush in a harried,
of the falcon when called back, half-reluctant, and very remark-
Bat a witness of the sport of able manner.'
netting thrushes in Tuscany



THB vESTiBULB.] 714^ Eorthquoke. ?3

' Son,' said the courteous Master,^ ' understand,
All such as in the wrath of God expire,
From every country muster on this strand.

To cross the river they are all on fire ;
Their wills by Heavenly justice goaded on
Until their terror merges in desire.

This way no righteous soul has ever gone ;
Wherefore* of thee if Charon should complain,
Now art thou sure what by his words is shown.'

When he had uttered this the dismal plain 130

Trembled' so violently, my terror past
Recalling now, I 'm bathed in sweat again.

Out of the tearful ground there moaned a blast
Whence lightning flashed forth red and terrible,
Which vanquished all my senses ; and, as cast

In sudden slumber, to the ground I fell

^ CaurUous Mtutgr : Virgil * TremhUd^ etc, : Symbolical

here gives the answer promised of the increase of woe in Inferno

at line 76 ; and Dante by the when the doomed souls have

epithet he uses removes any landed on the thither side of

impression that his guide had Acheron. Hell opens to receive

been wanting in courtesy when them. Conversely, when any

he bade him wait. purified soul is released from

' Wherefore: Charon's dis- Purgatory the mountam of puri-

pleasure only proves that he fication trembles to its base with

feels he has no hold on Dante* joy [,Purg, xxL 58).



24 The Awaking. [canto iv.



CANTO IV.

Resounding thunder broke the sltimber deep
That drowsed my senses, and myself I shook
Like one by force awakened out of sleep.

Then rising up I cast a steady look.
With eyes refreshed, on all that Xvj around,
And cognisance of where I found me took.

In sooth, me on the valley's brink I found
Of the dolorous abyss, where infinite
Despairing cries converge with thundering sound. ^

^ Thundiring sound: In a a cavity extending from the sur-

state of unconsciousness, Dante, face to the centre of the earth ;

he knows not how, has been narrowii^ to its base, and with

conveyed across Acheron, < and many circular ledges or terraces,

is awakened by what seems like of great width in the case of the

the tbunder-peal following the upper ones, running round its

lightning-flash which made him wall — ^tfaatts, round the sides of

insensible. He now stanlds on the pit Each terrace or cxrde

the brink of Inferno, where the is thus less in circumference than

sounds peculiar to each r^on the one above it. From one

of it converge and are reverber- circle to the next there slopes a

ated from its rim. These soands bank of more or less height and

are not again to be heard by him steepness. Down the bank

except in their proper localities, which falls to the comparativdy

No sooner does be actually pass flat ground of the First Circle

into the First Circle than he hears they are now about to pass. —

only sighs. — As regards the topo- To put it otherwise, the In-

graphy of Inferno, it is enough, femo is an inverted hollow

as yet, to note that it consists of cone.



ciKCLB 1.] The Unbaptized. 25

Cloudy it was, and deep, and dark as ni^t ; 10

So daik that, peering eageriy to find

What its depths held, no object met my sight.
' Descend we now into this region blind,'

Began the Poet with a face all pale ;

' I will go first, and do thou come behind.'
Marking the wanness on his cheek prevail,

I asked, ' How can I, seeing thou hast dread,

My wonted comforter when doubts assail ?'
' The anguish of the people,' then he said,

' Who are below, has painted on my fiu:e 20

Pity,^ by thee for fear interpreted
Come I The long journey bids us move apace.'

Then entered he *and made me enter too

The topmost circle girding the abyss.
Therein, as far as I by listening knew,

There was no lamentation save of sighs,

Whence throbbed the air eternal through and through.
This, sorrow without suffering made arise

From infants and from women and from men.

Gathered in great and many companies. 30

And the good Master : ' Wouldst thou' nothing then

Of who those spirits are have me relate?

Yet know, ere passing further, although when
On earth they sinned not, worth however great

Availed them not, they being unbaptized —

Part' of the faith thou boldest If their fate

* PUy : The pity felt by Vir- condemned to the ciide which

gil has reference only to those is his own.

in the circle they are about to ' J^nf: parU, altered by

enter, which is his own. See some editors into porta ; bat

also Ar^. iii. 43. though baptism is technically

s IVouldst thou^ etc,: He will described as the gate of the sa-

not have Dante form a fidse craments, it never is as the gate

opinion of the character of those of the faith. A tenet of Dante*s



26 Tfte Harrowing of Hell. [canto iv.

Was to be bom ere man was Christianised,
God, as behoved, they never could adore :
And I myself am with this folk comprised.

For such defects— our guUt i% nothing more — 40

We are thus lost, suffering from this alone
That, hopeless, we our want of bliss deplore*'

Greatly I sorrowed when he made this known,
Because I knew that some who did excel
In worthiness were to that limbo^ gone.

* Tell me, O Sir,' I prayed him, ' Master,* tell,*
—That I of the belief might surety win.
Victorious every error to dispel —

' Did ever any hence to bliss attain
By merit of another or his own ?' 50

And he, to whom my hidden drift' was plain:

^ I to this place but lately* had come down,
When I beheld one hither make descent;
A Potentate* who wore a victor's crown.

The shade of our first sire forth with him went,



faith was that all the unbaptized Dante redoubles his courtesy to

are lost He had no choice in Virgil.

the matter. ' HidtUn drift: To find out,

^ Limbo: Border, or border- at first hand as it were, if the

land. Dante makes the First article in the creed is true which

Circle consist of the two lim- relates to the Descent into
bos of Thomas Aquinas : that • Hell ; and, perhaps, to learn

of unbaptized infants, limbus if when Christ descended He
puerorum^ and that of the delivered none of the virtuous

fathers of the old covenant, heathen.

limbus sanctorum patrum, ^ Lately : Virgil died about

But the second he finds is now half a century before the cruci-

inhabited only by the virtuous fixion.

heathen. ' A Potentate: The name of

^ Sir — Master : As a delicate Christ is not mentioned in the

means of expressing sympathy, Infer no»



CIRCLE 1.) The Poets. 27

And his son Abel's, Noah's forth he drew,

Moses' who gave the laws, the obedient
Patriarch Abram's, and King David's too ;

And, with his sire and childxen, Israel,

And Rachel, winning whom such toils he knew ; 60
And many more, in blessedness to dwelL

And I would have thee know, earlier than these

No human soul was ever saved Irom HelL'
While thus he spake our progress did not cease.

But we continued through the wood to stray ;

The wood, I mean, with crowded ghosts for trees.
Ere from the summit far upon our way

We yet had gone, I saw a flame which glowed.

Holding a hemisphere^ of dark at bay.
Twas still a litde further on our road, 70

Yet not so far but that in part I guessed

That honourable people there abode.
' Of art and science Ornament confessed I

Who are these honoured in such high degree.

And in their lot distinguished from the rest ?
He said : ' For them their glorious memory.

Still in thy world the subject of renown,

Wins grace' by Heaven distinguished thus to be.
Meanwhile I heard a voice : ' Be honour shown

To the illustrious poet,' for his shade 80

Is now returning which a while was gone.'

^ A hemispkire, etc, : An ela- and openly confessed by Dante,

borate way of saying that part See, e^g» De Monorchia^ i. i.

of the limbo was clearly lit In this he anticipated the

The flame is symbolical of the humanists of the following cen-

light of genius, or of virtue; both tury. Here we find that to be

in Dante's eyes being modes of famous on earth helps the case

worth. of disembodied souls.

* Winsgrace^ etc: The thirst ■ Poet: Throughout the Com-

for fame was one keenly felt eiiy^ with the exception of



28 Tlte Poets, [canto iv.

When the voice paused nor further utterance made.
Four mighty shades drew near with one accord.
In aspect neither sorrowful nor glad.

' Consider that one, arm^d with a sword,' ^
Began my worthy Master in my ear,
' Before the three advancing like their lord ;

For he is Homer, poet with no peer :
Horace the satirist is next in line,
Ovid comes third, and Lucan in the rear. 90

And 'tis because their claim agrees with mine .
Upon the name they with one voice did cry,
They to their honour' in my praise combine.' *

Thus I beheld their goodly company —
The lords' of song in that exalted style'
Which o'er all others, eagle-like, soars high.

Having conferred among themselves a while



ParaeL i. 29, and zxv. 8, the and are never envious and quar-
tern! ' poet' is confined to those relsome like those who cultivate
who wrote in Greek and Latin, the other arts and sciences.' — I
In Purg. xxl 85 the name of quote with misgiving from Tam-
poet is said to be that 'which burini's untrustworthy Italian
is most enduring and honour- translation. Benvenuto lec-
able.' tured on the Comedy in Bologna

^ A sward: Because Homer for some years about 1370. It

sings of battles. Dante's ac- is greatly to be wished that his

quaintance with his works can commentary, lively and full of

have been but slight, as they side-lights as it is, should be

were not then translated into printed in full from the original

Latin, and Dante knew little or Latin,

no Greek. ' The lords^ etc,: Not the

* lb their honour: * And in company of him — Homer or

that they do well :' perhaps as Virgil — who is lord of the great

showing themselves free from song, and soars above all

jealousy. But the remark of others ; but the company of

Benvenuto of Imola is : * Poets the great masters, whose verse,

love and honour one another, etc.



ciRCLB I.] The Noble Heathen, 29

They turned toward me and salutation made,

Andy this beholding, did my Master smile. ^
And honour higher still to me was paid, 100

For of their company they made me one ;

So I the sixth part 'mong such genius played.
Thus journeyed we to where the brightness shone,

Holding discourse which now 'tis well to hide,

As, where I was, to hold it was well done.
At length we reached a noble casde's^ side

Which lofty sevenfold walls encompassed round,

And it was moated by a sparkling tide.
This we traversed as if it were dry ground ;

I through seven gates did with those sages go ; no

Then in a verdant mead people we found
Whose glances were deliberate and slow.

Authority was stamped on every face ;

Seldom they spake, in tuneful voices low.
We drew apart to a high open space

Upon one side which, luminously serene,

Did of them all a perfect view embrace.
Thence, opposite, on the enamel green



* Did my Master smile: To moral virtues and the three

see Dante made free of the goQd speculadve. The gates will

of great poets ; or, it may he, to then stand for the seven liberal

think they are about to discover arts of grammar, rhetoric, etc.

in him a fellow poet. The moat may be eloquence, set

' A nobU castle : Where the outside the castle to signify

light bnms, and in which, as that only as reflected in the

their peculiar seat, the shades of eloquent words of inspired men

the heathen distinguished for can the outside world get to know

virtue and genius reside. The wisdom. Over the stream Dante

seven waUs are in their number passes easily, as being an adept

symbolical ofthe perfect strength in learned speech. The castle

of the castle ; or, to take it more encloses a spacious mead enam-

pedantically, may mean the four elled with eternal green.



30 The NobU Heathen, [canto iv.

Were shown me mighty spirits ; with delight

I still am stirred them only to have seen. 120

With many more, Electra was in sight ;

'Mong them I Hector and iCneas spied,

Caesar in arms,' his eyes, like falcon's, bright
And, opposite, Camilla I descried ;

Penthesilea too ; the Latian King

Sat with his child Lavinia by his side.
Brutus* I saw, who Tarquin forth did fling ;

Cornelia, Marcia,' Julia, and Lucrece.

Saladin^ sat alone Considering
What lay beyond with somewhat lifted eyes, 1 30

The Master^ I beheld of those that know,

*Mong such as in philosophy were wise.
AU gazed on him as if toward him to show

Becoming honour ; Plato in advance

With Socrates : the others stood below.
Democritus* who set the world on chance ;



' Casar in arms, tic,: Sue- * Saladin: Died 1193. To

tonius says of Caesar that be was the thirteenth and fourteenth

of feir complexion, but had black centuries he snpplied the ideal of

and piercing eyes. Bninetto a jnst Mohammedan ruler. Here

Ladai, Dante's teacher, says in are no other such. ' He sits

his TiS9ro (v. 1 1), of the hawk apart, because not of gentle

here mentioned-^the grifagno birth,* says Boccaccio; which

-^tliat its eyes 'flame like shows what even a man of genius

fire.' risks when he becomes a com*

' Brmius : Introduced here mentator.

that he may not be confomided ' 7%£ Master: Aristotle, often

with the later Brutus, for whom spoken of by Dante as the

is reserved the lowest place of Philosopher, and reverenced by

all in Inferno. him as the genius to whom the

* Marcia : Wife of Cato ; secrets of nature lay most open,

mentioned also in Purg, L * Dfmacriius, «&*. ; According

ymlia : daughter of Caesar and to whom the world owes its form

wife of Pompey. to achaacearrangementof atomSk



CIRCLE I.] The Noble Heathen. 3 1

Thales, Diogenes, Empedodes,

Zeno^ and Anaxagoras met my glance ;
Heraclitns, and Dioscorides,

Wise judge of nature« Tully, Orpheus, were 140

With ethic Seneca and Linus. ^ These,
And Ptolemy,' too, and Euclid, geometer,

Galen, Hippocrates, and Avicen,'

Averroes,* the same who did prepare
The Comment, sa^^ I ; nor can tell again

The names of all I saw ; the subject wide

So urgent is, time often fails me. Then
Into two bands the six of us divide ;

Me by another way my Leader wise

Doth from the calm to air which trembles, guide. 150
I reach a part^ which all benighted lies.

^ ZMtfj; Not Livy, into which every sentence of that philo-

some have changed it. Linns is sopher's works. - He was him-

mentioned by Virgil along with self ignorant ctf Greek, and made

Orphens, Egl* iv. use of Arabic versions. Out of

* Ptolemy : Greek geographer his Arabic the Commentary was
of the b^v^ning of the second translated into Hebrew, and
century, and author of the system thence^ into Latin. The pre-
of the world believed in by sence of the three Mc^umnnedans
Dante, and freely used by him in this honourable place greatly
throughout the poem. puzzles the early commentators.

' Avicenna : A physician, " A fart, etc : He passes into

bom in Bokhara, and died at the darkness of the Limbo out

Ispahan, 1037. His Medical of the brightly-lit, fortified en-

Canon was for centuries used as closure. It is worth remarking,

a text-book in Europe. as one reads, how vividly he

* Averroes : A Mohammedan describes his first impression of
philosopher of Cordova, died a new scene, while when he
1 1 98. In his great Commentary comes to leave it a word is all
on Aristotle he gives and explains he speaks.



32 Minos, [CANTO v.



CANTO V.

From the First Circle thus I down^i«u-d went
Into the Second,^ which girds narrower space,
But greater woe compelling loud lament

Minos* waits awfiil there and snarls, the case
Examining of all who enter in ;
And, as he girds him, dooms them to their place.

I say, each ill-starred spirit must begin
On reaching him its guilt in full to tell ;
And he, omniscient as concerning sin.

Sees to what circle it belongs in Hell ; lo

Then round him is his tail as often curled
As he would have it stages deep to dwelL

And evermore before him stand a world
Of shades ; and all in turn to judgment come,
Confess and hear, and then are downward hurled.'

^ The Second: The Second old mythology are by him, into a
Circle of the Inferno, and the demon. Unlike the &llen angels
first of punishment. The lower of Milton, Dante's devils have
the cirde, the more rigorous the no interest of their own. Their
penalty endured in it. Here is only function is to help in work-
punished carnal sin. ing out human destinies

* Minos: Son of Jupiter and ' Downward hurled: Each
King of Crete, so severely just falls to his proper place without
as to be made after death one lingering by the way. All
of the judges of the under world, through Inferno there is an
He is degraded by Dante, as absence of direct Divine inter-
many other noble persons of the podtion. It is ruled, as it were.



ciKCLE il] The Tempest 33

' O thou who comest to the very home
Of woe,' when he beheld me Minos cried,
Ceasing a while from utterance of doom,

* Enter not rashly nor in all confide ;
By ease of entering be not led astray/ 20

'Why also^ growling ?' answered him my Guide ;

' Seek not his course predestinate to stay ;
For thus 'tis willed' where nothing ever fails
Of what is willed. No further speech essay.'

And now by me are agonising wails
Distinguished plain ; now am I come outright
Where grievous lamentation me assails.

Now had I reached a place devoid of light,
Raging as in a tempest howls the sea
When with it winds, blown thwart each other, fight 30

The infernal storm is raging ceaselessly,
Sweeping the shades along with it, and them
It smites and whirls, nor lets them ever be.

Arrived at the precipitous extreme,'

by a ooorse of nature. The sin- ' Thus ^Hs willed^ etc, : These

ners» compelled by a fatal im- two lines ore the same as those

pulse, advance to hear their to Charon, Inf, iii. 95, 96.

doom, just as they fall inevitably ' PrecipUous extremt: Opin-

one by one into Charon's boat ions vary as to what is meant by

Minosbya sort of devilish instinct nana. As Dante is certainly still

sentences each sinner to his ap- on the outer edge of the Second

propriate punishment. In Iftf, Circle or terrace^ and while

zxviL 127 we find the words standing there hears distinctly

In which Minos utters his judg- the words the spirits say when

ment In Inf, xxi. 29 a devil they reach the ruina^ it most

bears the sinner to his own place, likely denotes the steep slope fiEdl-

^ WhyaUo^eic,:\Ak!tChaxoik, ing firom the First to the Second

If Minos represents conscience, Circle. The spirits, driven against

as some would have it, Dante is the wall which hems them in,

here again assailed by misgivings burst into sharp lamenta-

as to his enterprise, and is quieted tions against their irremediable

by reason in the person of Virgil, fate,

C
/



34 '^^^ Carnal Smners. [canto y.

In shrieks and lamentations they complain,
And even the Power Divine itself blaspheme.

I understood^ that to this mode of pain
Are doomed the sinners of the carnal kind.
Who o'er their reason let their impulse reign.

As starlings in the winter-time combined 40

Float on the wing in crowded phalanx wide,
So these bad spirits, driven by that wind,

Float up and down and veer from side to side ;
Nor for their comfort any hope they spy
Of rest, or even of suffering mollified.

And as the cranes* in long-drawn company
Pursue their flight while uttering their song,
So I beheld approach with wailing cry

Shades lifted onward by that whirlwind strong.
' Master, what folk are these,'' I therefore said, 50
* Who by the murky air are whipped along ? '



1 / understood^ Oc, : From marked, are no seducerB. For

the nature of the punishment, them a lower depth is reserved

which, like all the others invented {/ftf.xmu See also /^r^.xxviL

by Dante, bears some relation 15).

to the sin to which it is assigned. * The cranes : * The cranes

They who on earth failed to are a kind of bird that go in a

exercise self-restraint are beaten troop, as cavaliers go to battle^

hither and thither by every wind following one another in single

that blows; and, as once they file. And one of them goes

were blinded by passion, so now always in finont as their gonfalo*

they see nothing plainly in that nier, guiding and leading them

dim and obscure place. That with its voice* (Brunetto Latini^

Dante should assign the ieast Tesaro^ v. 27).

grievous punishment of all to ' What folk are these: The

this sin throws light upon his general crowd of sinners guilty

views of life. In his eyes it had of unlawful love are described

more than any other the excuse as being close packed like star*

of natural bent, and had least of lings. The other troop, who go

malice. Here, it must be re- in single file like cranes, are



CIRCLE II.] The Victims of Love. 35

' She, first of them/ his answer thus was made,
*• Of whom thou wouldst a wider knowledge win,
O^er many tongues and peoples, empire swayed.

So ruined was she by licentious sin
That she decreed lust should be uncontrolled.
To ease the shame that she herself was in.

She is Semiramis, of whom 'tis told
She followed Ninus, and his wife had been.
Hers were the realms now by the Sultan ruled. 60

The next^ is she who, amorous and self-slain,
Unto Sichseus* dust did faithless show :
Then lustful Cleopatra.' Next was seen

Helen, for whom so many years in woe
Ran out ; and I the great Achilles knew,
Who at the last' encountered love for foe.

Paris I saw and Tristram.' In review
A thousand shades and more, he one by one
Pointed and named, whom love from life withdrew.

And after I had heard my Teacher run 70

O'er many a dame of yore and many a kn^ht,
I, lost in pity, was wellnigh undone.

Then I : • O Poet, if I only might
Speak with the two that as companions hie,
And on the wind appear to be so light ! ' *

those regarding whom Dante ' At (fU lasi^ tU. : Achilles,

specially inquires; and they when about to espoosePolyxena,

pfove to be the nobler sort of and when off his guard, was

sinners — lovers with something slain.

tngic or pathetic in their fiite. ' I^ris . . and TVistntm :

^ The next: Dido^ perhaps Paris of Troy, and the Tristram

not named by ^rgil because to of King Arthur's Table,

htm she owed her fiime. For ^ So Ugki : Denoting the vio-

love of iEneas she broke the lence of the passion to which

vow of perpetual chastity made they had succtunbed.
on the tomb of her husband.



36 Francesca. [canto v.

And he to me : ' When they shall come more nigh
Them shalt thou mark, and by the love shalt pray
Which leads them onward, and they will comply.'

Soon as the wind bends them to where we stay
I lift my voice : ' O wearied souls and worn ! 80

Come speak with us if none^ the boon gainsay.'

Then even as doves,' urged by desire, return
On outspread wings and firm to their sweet nest
As through the air by mere volition borne,

From Dido's^ band those spirits issuing pressed
-Towards where we were, athwart the air malign ;
My passionate prayer such influence possessed.

' O living creature,^ gpracious and benign,
Us visiting in this obscur^ air.
Who did the earth with blood incarnadine ; 90

If in the favour of the King we were
Who rules the world, we for thy peace ^ would pray,
Since our misfortunes thy compassion stir.

Whatever now pleases thee to hear or say
We listen to, or tell, at your demand f
While yet the wind, as now, doth silent stay.

1 If uem : If no Superior though illicit, was the infinnity

Power. of a noble heart.

* Dimes: The motion of the ^ Living creature : 'Animal.*

tempest-driven shades is com- No shade, bnt an animated body,

pared to the flight of birds — * Thy peaee: Peace from all

starlings, cranes, and doves, the doubts that assail him, and

This last simile prepares us for which have compelled him to

the tenderness of Francesca's the journey : peace, it may be,

tale. from temptation to sin cognate

^ Dido: Has been already to her own. Even in the gloom

indicated, and is now named, of Inferno her great goodheait-

This association of the two edness is left her — a consolation,

k>vers with Virgirs Dido is a if not a grace,

further delicate touch to engage * Your demamd: By a re-

our sympathy ; for her love, finement oi courtesy, Francesca,



CIRCLE n.] Francesca, 37

My native city ^ lies upon the strand

Where to the sea descends the river Po

For peace, with all his tributary band.
Love, in a generous heart set soon aglow, 100

Seized him for the fair form was mine above ;

And still it irks me to have lost it so.'
Love, which absolves' no one beloved from love.

So strong a passion for him in me wrought

That, as thou seest, I still its mastery prove.

V

though addressing only Dante, cesca ; but at the battle of Cam-
indudes Virgil in her profession paldino in 1289, where he was
of willingness to tell all they care present, a troop of cavaliers from
to hear. But as almost always, Pistoia fought on the Florentine
he remains silent. It is not for side under the command of her
his good the journey is being brother Bernardino ; and in the
made. following year, Dante being then
^ Naiivicity: Ravenna. The twenty-five years of age, her
speaker is Francesca, daughter father, Guido, was Podesta in
of Guido of Polenta, lord of Florence. The Guido of Pol-
Ravenna. About the year 1275 enta, lord of Ravenna, whom
she was married to Gianciotto Dante had for his last and most
(Deformed John) Malatesta, son generous patron, was grandson
of the lord of Rimini ; the mar- of that elder Guido, and nephew
riage, like most of that time in of Francesca.
the class to which she belonged, ' To have lost Uso: A bus-
being one of political conveni- band's right and duty were
ence. She allowed her affections too well defined in the pre-
to settle on Paolo, her husband's valent social code for her
handsome brother ; and Gian- to complain that Gianciotto
dotto's suspicions having been avenged himselfl What she
aroused, he surprised the does resent is that she was left
lovers and slew them on the no breathing-space for repent-
spot This happened at Pesaro. ance and farewells.
The association of Francesca's ' fVAuAadsahfes,€/c, : Which
name with Rimini is merely compels whoever is beloved to
accidental. The date of her love in return. Here is the
death is not known. Dante can key to Dante's comparatively
never have set eyes on Fran- lenient estimate of the guilt of



38 Francesca. [canto v.

Love led us where we in one death were caught.
For him who slew us waits Cai'na^ now.'
Unto our ears these words from them were brought.

When I had heard these troubled souls, my brow
i downward bent, and long while musing stayed, i lo
Until the Poet asked : ' What thinkest thou ?'

And when I answered him, * Alas 1' I said^
* Sweet thoughts how many, and what strong desire,
These to their sad catastrophe betrayed 1'

Then, turned once more to them, I to inquire
Began : ' Francesca, these thine agonies
Me with compassion unto tears inspire.

But tell me, at the season of sweet sighs*
What sign made love, and what the means he chose
To strip your dubious longings of disguise?* I20

And she to me : ' The bitterest of woes
Is to remember in the midst of pain
A happy past ; as well thy teacher* knows.

Francesca's sin. See line 39, fratricide even more than as the

and Inf, xi. 83. The Church slayer of his wife that Giandotto

aUowed no distinctions with re- is to find his place in CaJIna.

gard to the lost. Dante, for his The words are more in keeping

own purposes, invents a scale of with the masculine than the

guilt; and in settling the de- feminine character. They cef-

grees of it he is greatly influenced tainly jar somewhat with the

by human feeling — sometimes gentler censure of line 102.

by private likes and dislikes. And, inmiediately after, Dante

The vestibule of the caitiffi, speaks of what the * souls 'have

e.g,^ is his own creation. said.

^ Ctuna: The Division of the * Thy teacher: BoeUiius, one
Ninth and lowest Circle, assigned of Duite's favourite aiOhors
to those treacherous to their {Conviio ii. 13), says in his
kindred {Inf, xxxiL 58). Her De QmsoL Phil.^ <The great-
husband was still living in 130a est misery in adverse fortune is
— ^May not the words of this line once to have been happy.' But,
be spoken by Paolo ? It is as a granting that Dante found the



CIRCLE II.] Francesca. 39

Yet none the less, and since thou art so fain

The first occasion of our love to hear,

Like one I speak that cannot tears restrain.
As we for pastime one day reading were

How Lancelot^ by love was fettered fast —

All by ourselves and without any fear —
Moved by the tale our eyes we often cast 130

On one another, and our colour fled ;

But one word was it, vanquished us at last.
When how the smile, long wearied for, we read

Was kissed by him who loved like none before.

This one, who henceforth never leaves me, laid
A kiss on my mouth, trembling the while all o*er.

The book was Galahad,' and he as well

Who wrote the book. That day we read no more.'
And while one shade continued thus to tell,

The other wept so bitterly, I swooned 140

Away for pity, and as dead I fell :
Yea, as a corpse falls, fell I on the ground.

idea in Boethins, it is dearly she ' took Lancelot by the chin

Virgil that Francesca means, and kissed him,' assured her

She sees that Dante's guide is lover of his conquest. The

a shade, and gathers from his Arthurian Romances were the

grave passionless aspect that he favourite reading of the Italian

is one condemned for ever to nobles of Dante's time,

look back with futile regret upon * GeUahad: From the part

his happier past. played by Galahad, or Galeotto,

^ Lancdot : King Arthur's in the tale of Lancelot, his name

famoos knight, who was too bash- grew to be Italian for Pander,

ful to make his love for Queen The book, says Francesca, was

Goinivere known to her. Gala- that which tells of Galahad ; and

had, holding the secret of both, the author of it proved a very

persuaded the Queen to make Galahad to us. The early edi-

the first declaration of love at a tions of the Decameron bear the

meeting he arranged for between second tide of ' The Prince

them. Her smile, or laugh, as Galeotto.'



40 Qrberus. [canto vi.



CANTO VI.

When I regained my senses, which had fled
At my compassion for the kindred two,
Which for pure sorrow quite had turned my head,

New torments and a crowd of sufferers new
I see around me as I move again/
Where'er I turn, where'er I bend my view.

In the Third Circle am I of the rain
Which, heavy, cold, eternal, big with woe,
Doth always of one kind and force remain.

Large hail and turbid water, mixed with snow, lo

Keep pouring down athwart the murky air ;
And from the ground they fall on, stenches grow.

The savage Cerberus,' a monster drear,
Howls from his threefold throat with canine cries
Above the people who are whelmM there.

Oily and black his beard, and red his eyes,
His beUy huge : claws from his fingers sprout*
The shades he flays, hooks, rends in cruel wise.

'^ As I mcve again: In his By Dante he is converted into

swoon he has been conveyed a demon, and with his three

from the Second Circle down to throats, canine voracity, and

the Third. ugly inflamed balk, is appro-

* Cerhenu: In the Greek priately set to gnard the entrance

mythology Cerberus is the to the circle of the glottonoos

watch-dog of the under world, and wine-bibbers.



CIRCLE in.] The Gluttonous. 41

Beat by the rain these, dog-like, yelp and shout,
And shield themselves in turn with either side ; 20
And oft ^ the wretched sinners turn about

When we by Cerberus, great womi,' were spied,
He oped his mouths and all his fangs he showed,'
While not a limb did motionless abide.

My Leader having spread his hands abroad,
Filled both his fists with earth ta'en from the ground,
And down the ravening gullets flung the load.

Then, as sharp set with hunger barks the hound.
But is appeased when at his meat he gnaws.
And, worrying it, forgets all else around ; 30

So with those filthy faces there it was
Of the fiend Cerberus, who deafs the crowd
Of souls till they from hearing fain would pause.

We, travelling o'er the spirits who lay cowed
And sorely by the grievous showers harassed,
Upon their semblances' of bodies trod.

Prone on the ground the whole of them were cast)
Save one of them who sat upright with speed
When he beheld that near to him we passed.

* O thou who art through this Inferno led,^ 40

^ And oftf etc, : On entering Is so called as being a disgusting

the circle the shades are seised bmte.

and torn byCerbenis; onceover^ ^ Semhla$ua^ ite,: 'Empti-

nice in how they fed, they are ness which seems to be a person.'

now treated as if they were food To this conception of the shades

for dogs. Bnt their enduring pain as only seeming to have bodies,

is to be subjected to every Idnd Dante has difficulty in remaining

of physical discomfort. Their true. For instance, at line loi

senses of hearing, touch, and they mix with the sleet to make

smell are assailed by the opposite a sludgy mass; and cannot

of what they were most used to therefore be impalpable,

enjoy at their luxurious feasts. * Ciaoco at once perceives by

* Great v/arm : Though human the weight of Dante's tread that
in a monstrous form, Cerberus he is a living man.



42 Ciacco. [canto vi.

Me if thou canst/ he asked me, 'recognise ;

For ere I was dismantled thou wast made.'
And I to him : * Thy present tortured guise

Perchance hath blurred my memory of thy face.

Until it seems I ne'er on thee set eyes.
But tell me who thou art, within this place

So cruel set, exposed to such a pain,

Than which, if greater, none has more disgrace.'
And he : ' Thy city, swelling with the bane

Of envy till the sack is running o'er, 50

Me in the life serene did once contain.
As Ciacco^ me your citizens named of yore ;

And for the damning sin of gluttony

I, as thou seest, am beaten by this shower.
No solitary woful soul am I,

For all of these endure the selfsame doom

For the same fault.' Here ended his reply.
I answered him, ' O Ciacco, with such gloom

Thy nusery weighs me, I to weep am prone ;

But, if thou canst, declare to what shall come 60

The citizens' of the divided town.

Holds it one just man ? And declare the cause

Why 'tis of discord such a victim grown.'

^ Ciacco : The name or nick- to dinner with him. Clearly

name of a Florentine wit, and, he was not a bad fellow, and his

in his day, a great diner-out. pitiful case, perhaps contrasted

Boccaccio, in his commentary, with the high spirits and jovial

says that, though poor, Ciacco surroundings in which he was

associated with men of birth and last met by Dante, almost,

wealth, especially such as ate though not quite, win a tear

and drank delicately. In the from the stem pilgrim.

Decameron, ix. 8, he is intro* ' Th£ citizens^ etc,: Dante

dttced as being on such terms eagerly confers on Florentine

with the great Corso Donati as politics with the first Florentine

to be able to propose himself he encounters in Inferno. ■



CIRCLE III.] Ciacco. 43

Then he to me : ' After^ contentious pause
Blood will be spilt ; the boorish pairty' then
Will chase the others forth with grievous loss.

The former it behoves to fall s^ain
Within three suns, t*he others to ascend,
Holpen' by him whose wiles ere now are plain.

^ Aftar^ etc, : In the follow* He never entered Florence

ing nine lines the party history again, being condemned vir-

of Florence for two years alter toally to banishment in January

the period of the poem (March 1303.

1300) is roughly indicated, * Tki boorish party: ia parte

The city was divided into two sdvaggia. The Whites ; but

factions—rthe Whites, led by the what is escactly meant by set*

great merchant Vieri dei Cerchi, vaggta is not clear. Literally it

and the Blacks, led by Corso is ' woodland,' and some say it

Donati, a poor and turbulent refers to the Cerchi having origi-

noble. At the close of 1300 nally come from a well- wooded

there was a bloody encounter district ; which is absurd. Nor,

between the more violent mem- taking the word in its secondary

hers of the two parties. In meaningof savage, does it apply

May 1301 the Blacks were better to one party than another

banished. In the autumn of — not so well, perhaps, to the

that year they returned in tri- Whites as to the Blacks. Vil-

umph to the city in the train of lani also terms the Cerchi sahHt'

Charles of Valois, and got the Hcki (viiL 39), and in a connec-

Whites banished in April 1302, tion where it may mean rude, iU-

within three years, that is, of the mannered* I take it that Dante

poet's talk with Ciacca Dante here indulges in a gibe at the

himself was associated with the party to which he once belonged.

Whites, but not as a violent but which, ere he began the

partisan $ for though he was a Comtdy^ he had quite broken

strong politician no party quite with. In Parad. xvii. 62 he

answered his views. From the terms the members of it ' wicked

middleof June tOl the middle of and stupid.' The sneer in the

August 1300 he was one of the text would come well enough

Priors. In the course of 1301 from the witty and soft-living

he is believed to have gone Ciacco.

on an embassy to Rome to per- ' Holpm^ etc. : Pope Bonl-

niade the Pope to abstain from face, already intriguing to gain

meddling in Florentine affairs, the preponderance in Florence,



44 Ciacco, [canto vi.

Long time, with heads held high, theyll make to bend
The other party under burdens dire, 71

Howe'er themselves in tears and rage they spend.

There are two just^ men, at whom none inquire.
Envy, and pride, and avarice, even these
Are the three sparks have set all hearts on fire.'

With this the tearful sound he made to cease :

ft

And I to him, ' Yet would I have thee t^U —

And of thy speech do thou the gift increase —
Tegghiaio' and Farinata, honourable,

James Rusticucci,' Mosca, Arrigo, 80

With all the rest so studious to excel
In good ; where are they ? Help me this to know ;

Great hunger for the news hath seized me ;

Delights them Heaven, or tortures Hell below?'
He said : ' Among the blackest souls they be ;

Them to the bottom weighs another sin.

Shouldst thou so far descend, thou mayst them see.
But when* the sweet world thou again dost win,

I pray thee bring me among men to mind ;

No more I tell, nor new reply begin.' 90

which for a time he enjoyed, listened to. — ^It will be borne in

with the greedy and fiuthless mind that, at the time assigned

Charles of Valois for his agent, to the action of the Conudy^

1 Two just: Dante and an- Dante was still readent in

other, unknown. He thus dis- Florence,
tincdy puts from himself any ' Teggkiaio: See Inf. xvi. 42.

blame for the evil turn things Farinata: Inf. x. 32.
had taken in Florence. How ' Rusticucci: Inf xvL 44.

thoroughly he had broken with Mosca : Inf. xxviii. 106.

his party ere he wrote this is Arrigo: Cannot be identified,

proved by his exclusion of the All these distinguished Floren-

irresolute but respectable Vieri tines we may assume to have

dei Cerchi firom the number of been hospitable patrons of

the just men. He, in Dante's Ciacco's.
judgment, Was only too much * But wkm^ etc. : In the



dtLcut III.] TAe Last Day. ^ 45

Then his straightforward eyes askance declined ;
He looked at me a moment ere his head
He bowed ; then fell flat 'mong the other blind.

' Henceforth he waketh not,' my Leader said,
' Till he shall hear the angel's trumpet sound,
Ushering the hostile Judge. By every shade

Its dismal sepulchre shall then be found,
Its flesh and ancient form it shall resume,
And list^ what echoes in eternal round.'

So passed we where the shades and rainy spume 100
Made filthy mixture, with steps taken slow ;
Touching a little on the world to come.'

Wherefore I said : ' Master, shall torments grow
After the awful sentence hath been heard.
Or lesser prove and not so fiercely glow ? '

* Repair unto thy Science,'' was his word ;
^ Which tells, as things approach a perfect state
To keener joy or suffering they are stirred.

Therefore although this people cursed by fete



Inferno many such prayers are terested on their own account in

addressed to Dante. The shades the thoughts of men, the eager

in Purgatory ask to have their colloquies in which they engage

friends on earth stirred to offer with Dante on such unequal

np petitions for their speedy terms gain in verisimilitude,

purification and deliverance ; ^ And list, etc. : The final

bnt the only alleviation possible sentence against them is to echo,

for the doomed spirits is to know in its results, through all eternity,

that they are not yet forgotten up * 7%e world to come: The

in the ' sweet world.' A double life after doomsday,

artistic purpose is served by • TAy Scietue: To Aristotle,

representing them as feeling In the Convito, iv. 16, he quotes

thus. It relieves the mind to *the Philosopher' as teaching

think that in such misery there that ' everything is then at its

IS any source of comfort at all. full perfection when it thoroughly

And by making them be still in- fulfils its special functions.'



46 ■ PlutUS. [CANTO VL

Ne'er find perfection in its fiiU extent, i lo

To it they then shall more approximate
Than now.'^ Our course weround the circle bent,

Still holding speech, of which I nothing say,

Until we came where down the pathway went :
There found we Plutus, the great enemy.

1 Than mm: Angastine says cording to Thomas Aqvinas,

that * after the resorrection of ' the soul, without the body, is

the flesh the joys of the blessed wanting in the perfection de-

and the snflerings of the wicked signed for it by Nature.*
will be enhanced.' And, ac-



cucLB IV.] Pbttus. 47



CANTO VII.

ft

Pape^ Satan ! Pape Satan ! Aleppe !
Plutos' began in accents rough and hard :
And that mild Sage, all-knowing, said to me,

For my encouragement : ' Pay no regard
Unto thy fear ; whatever power he sways
Thy passage down this cliff shall not be barred.'

Then turning round to that inflamed face
He bade : ' Accursed wolf,' at peace remain ;
And, pent within thee, let thy fury blaze.

Down to the pit we journey not in vain : lo

So rule they where by Michael in Heaven's height
On the adulterous pride* was vengeance ta'en.'

^ PapCf €ic. : These words which is that of the misefs and

have exercised the ingennity of spendthrifts,

many scholars, who on the whole * Woi/: Frequently used

lean to the opinion that they by Dante as symbolical of

contain an appeal to Satan greed«

against the invasioii of hb ^ Pride: Which in its way

domain. Virgil seems to have was a kind of greed— that of

vnderstood them, but the text dominioo. Similarly, the avar-

leaves it doubtful whether Dante ice represented by the wolf of

himself did. Later on, but Canto L was seen to be the lust

there with an obvious purpose, of aggrandisement. Virgil here

we find a line of pure gibberish answers Plutus's (supposed) ap-

(/rt/l xxxi. 67). peal to Satan by refenring to the

' Fiutus : The god of riches ; higher Power, under whose pro-
degraded here into a demon, tection he and his companion
He guards the Fourth Cirde, come.



48 Misers and Spendthrifts. [canto yu.

Then as the bellied sails, by wind swelled tight,
Suddenly drag whenever snaps the mast ;
Such, falling to the ground, the monster's plight.

To the Fourth Cavern so we downward passed,
Winning new reaches of the doleful shore
Where all the vtleness of the world is cast

Justice of God ! which pilest more and more

Pain as I saw, and travail manifold I 20

Why will we sip, to be thus wasted sore ?

As at Charybdis waves are forward rolled
To break on other billows midway met,
The people here a counterdance must hold.

A greater crowd than I had seen as yet,
With piercing yells advanced on either track,
Rolling great stones to which their chests were set.

They crashed together, and then each turned back
Upon the way he came, while shouts arise,
* Why clutch it so V and * Why to hold it slack ?' 30

In the dark circle wheeled they on this wise
From either hand to the opposing part,
Where evermore they raised insulting cries.

Thither arrived, each, tinning, made fresh start
Through the half circle^ a new joust to run ;
And I, stung almost to the very heart,

1 The half circle : This Fourth here they can never complete the

Circle is divided half-way round circle. The monotony of their

between the misers and spend- employment and of their cries

thrifts, and the two bands at set represents their subjection to one

periods clash against one another idea, and, as in life, so now,

in their vain effort to pass into their displeasure is excited by

the section belonging to the nothing so much as by coming

opposite party. Their condition into contact with the failing

is emblematical of their sins opposite to their own. Yet they

while in life. They were one- are set in the same circle because

sided in their use of wealth ; so the sin of both arose from in-



CIRCLE IV. 1 Misers and Spendthrifts. 49

Said, ' O my Master, wilt thou make it known
Who tihe folk are ? Were these aU clerks^ who go
Before us on the left, with shaven crown ?'

And he replied : ' All of them squinted so 40

In mental vision while in life they were,
They nothing spent by rule. And this they show,

And with their yelping voices make appear
When half-way round the circle they have sped,
And sins opposing them asunder tear.

Each wanting thatch of hair upon his head
Was once a derk, or pope, or cardinal,
In whom abound the ripest growths of greed.'

And 1:^0 Master, surely among all
Of these I ought' some few to recognise, 50

Who by such filthy sins were held in thrall.'

And he to me : ' Vain thoughts within thee rise ;
Their witless life, which made them vile, now mocks —
Dimming' their ^es still — all searching eyes.

oidinate desire of wealth, the * I oughi^ etc. : Dante is
miser cnving it to hoard, and astonished that he can pick out
the spendthrift to spend. In no greedy priest or friar of
Poigatoryalso they are placed to- his acquaintance, when he had
getber (see Purg. zziL 40). So, known so many,
on Dante's scheme, liberality is * Dimming^ etc: Their origi-
allied to and dependent on a nal disposition is by this time
wise and rrasonaMe frugality. — smoChered by the predominanoe
There is no hint of the enormous of greed. Dante treats these sin-
length of the coarse rtm by these ners with a special contemptuous
ribades. Far lower down, when bitterness. Scores of times since
the circles of the Infemo have he became dependent on the
greatly narrowed, the drcuit is generosity of others he must have
twenty-two miles (/n;^ zjoz. 9). watched how at a bare hint the
^ Clerks: Chnrchmen. The faces of miser and spendthrift
tonsure is the sign that a man fell, while their eyes travelled
is of ec c l e si as tical condition, vaguely be3fond him, and their
Many took the tonsure who never voices grew cold,
became priests.

D



go Fortune. [canto vii.

Eternally they meet with hostile shocks ;
These rising from the tomb at last shall stand
With tight clenched fists, and those with ruined locks. ^

Squandering or hoarding, they the happy land'
Have lost, and now are marshalled for this fray ;
Which to describe doth no fine words demand. 60

Know hence, my Son, how fleeting is the play
Of goods at the dispose of Fortune thrown,
And which mankind to such fierce strife betray.

Not all the gold which is beneath the moon
Could purchase peace, nor all that ever was.
To but one soul of these by toil undone.'

' Master,' I said, ' tell thou, ere making pause,
Who Fortune is of whom thou speak'st askance,
Who holds all worldly riches in her claws."

' O foolish creatures, lost in ignorance V 70

He answer made. ' Now see that the reply
Thou storey which I concerning her advance.

He who in knowledge is exalted high.
Framing* all Heavens gave such as should themguide^
That so each part might shine to all ; whereby



^Ruined locks: *A spend- injustice is vuuiifest.' This poit

thrift will spend his very hair,' of the Cmaito FrMioelU seams

says an Italian proverb. almost to prove was written in

* The happy land : Heaven. 1^97.

' Her clams: Dante speaks ^ F^ammg'^ tk,: Accoiding

of Fortune as if she were a bmtal to the Bcholastic theory of the

and somewhat malicioas power, world, each of the nine heaivens

In Vlrgirs answer there is a refa- was directed in its motion by

tation of the opinion of Fortune inteUigenoes, called angels by

given by Dante himself, in the the vulgar, and by the heathen,

QmvUoixvAi). After describing gods {ContfUa iL 5). As theM

three ways in which the goods spheres and the inflttei|oes they

of Fortune come to men he says : exercise on hnmon affiurs ara

' In each of these three ways her under the guidance of divinely-



ascLB IV.] Fortune. 5 1

Is equal lig^t diAised on every side :
And likewise to one guide and governor,
Of worldly ^)todongs did control confide,

That she in tums should diftjrent peoples dower 79

With this vain good ; from blood should make it pass
To bloody in spile of human wit Hence, power.

Some races fruling^^ other some amass,
According to her absolute decree
Which hidden lurks, like serpent in the grass.
' ' Vain 'gainst her foresight yours must ever be.
She makes provision, judges, holds her reign,
As doth his power supreme each deity*

Her permutations can no truce sustain ;
Necessity' compels her to be swift.
So swift they follow who their turn must gain. 90



appointed ministers^ so, Virgil * Ntceuity^ etc.: Suggested,

says, is the distribution of perhaps, by Horace's Te semper

worldly wealth ruled by Provi- anteU sava necessitas {Od, i.

dcnoe through Fortune. 35). The question of how men

* Sonii races faUing: It was can be free in the fiioe of neces-

kmg believed, nor is the belief sity, here associated with For^

quite obsolete, that one oommu- tune, more than once emerges

nity can gain only at the expense in the Comedy, Dante's belief

of another. Sir Thomas Browne on the subject was substantially

mys: 'All cannot be happy at that of his fisvourite author

once; for because the glory of Boethius, who holds that ulti-

one state depends upon the ruin mately ' it is Providence that

of another, there is a revolution turns the wheel of all things ;'

and vidssitude of their greatness, and who says, that ' if you spread

and all must obey the swing of your sails to the wind you will

that wheel, not moved by intelli* be carried, not where you would,

geaoea, but by the hand of God, but whither you are driven by

whereby all states arise to their the gale : if you choose to com-

aeniths and vertical points ac- mit yourself to Fortune, you

oordiag to their predestinated must endure the manners of your

periods.' — RmL AUd. i. 17. mistress.'



52 StyXs [canto VII.

And this is she whom they so often^ lift

Upon the cross, who ought to yield her praise ;

And blame on her and scorn unjustly shift.
But she is blest nor hears what any says,

With other primal creatures turns her sphere,

Jocund and glad, rejoicing in her ways.
To greater woe now let us downward steer.

The stars' which rose when I began to guide

Are falling now, nor may we linger here.'
We crossed the circle to the oth^ side, loo

Arriving where a boiling fountain fell

Into a brooklet by its streams sup{^ed.
In depth of hue the flood did perse ^ excel,

And we, with this dim stream to lead us on.

Descended by a pathway terrible.
A marsh which by the name of Styx is known.

Fed by this gloomy brook, lies at the base

Of threatening cliffs hewn out of cold g^ey stone.
And I, intent on study of the place,*

Saw people in that ditch, mud-smeared. In it i lo

All naked stood with anger-clouded ftu:e.
Nor with their fists alone each fiercely hit

The other, but with feet and chest and head,

And with their teeth to shreds each other bit
' Son, now behold,' the worthy Master said,



^ Wkom thiy so often^ etc.: between pmple and black, but

Tteat with contumely. the black pfedominates' (Cmv^

* The starts ete, : It is now iv. ao). The hoe of the waters

past midnight, and towards the of Styx agrees with the gioomy

morning of Saturday, the 26th temper of the sinners plunged In

of March 130a Onlyafew hours them.

have been employed as yet upon ^ Tke pidee: *l*hqr are now

the journey. in the Fifth Circle, where the

' Perse : ' Perse is a colour wrathful are punished.



CIRCLE v.] The Wrathful, 53

' The souls of those whom anger made a prize ;

And, further, I would have thee certified
That 'neath the water people utter sighs,

And make the bubbles to the surface come ;

As thou mayst see by casting round fhine eyes. 120
Fixed in the mud they say : '' We lived in gloom ^

In the sweet air made jocund by the day.

Nursing within us melancholy fume.



^ In gloom: These submerged guilt of every victim of Justice
spirits are, according to the older must be plain and open. Now,
commentators, the slothful — pride and envy are sins indeed,
those guilty of the sin of slack- but sins that a man may keep to
ness in the pursuit of good, as, himself. If they have betrayed
€,g, neglect of the means of the subject of them into the
grace. This is, theologically commission of crimes, in those
speaking, the sin directly op- crimes they axe punished lower
posed to the active grace of down, as is indicated at xiL 49.
charity. By more modem critics And so we find that Lucifer is con-
it has been ingeniously sought demned as a traitor, though his
to find in this circle a place not treachery sprang from envy : the
only for the slothful but for the greater guUt includes the less,
proud and envious as well. To For sluggishness in the pursuit of
each of these classes of sinners good the vestibule of the caitifis
— such of them as have repented seems the appropriate place. —
in this life — a terrace of Purga- There are two kinds of wrath,
toryis assigned, and at first sight One is vehement, and declares
it does seem natural to expect itself in violent acts ; the other
that the impenitent among them does not blaze out, but is grudg-
should be found in Inferno, ing and adverse to all social
But, while in Purgatory souls good — the wrath that is nursed,
purge themselves of every kind One as much as the other afiects
of mortal sin, Inferno, as Dante behaviour. So in this circle,
conceived of it, contains only as in the preceding, we have
such sinners as have been guilty represented the two excesses
of wicked acts. Drift and bent of one sin. — Dante's theory
of heart and mind are taken no of sins is ably treated of in
account of. The evil seed must Witte's Dante- Forschungen^ vol.
have borne a harvest, and the ii. p. 121.



54 ^^ Wrathful. [canto vii.

In this black mud we now our gloom display."
This hymn with gurgling throats they strive to sound,
Which they in speech unbroken fail to say.

And thus about the loathsome pool we wound
For a wide arc, between the dry and soft,
With eyes on those who gulp the filth, turned round.

At last we reached a tower that soared aloft. 130



CIRCLE v.] The Watch'totver, 55



CANTO VIII.

I SAY, continuing,^ that long before
To its foundations we approach^ nigh
Our eyes went travelling to the top of the tower ;

For, hung out there, two flames' we could espy.
Then at such distance, scarce our eyesight made
It clearly out, another gave reply.

And, to the Sea of Knowledge turned, I said :
' What meaneth this ? and what reply would yield
That other light, and who have it displayed ?'

' Thou shouldst upon the impure watery field,' 10

He said, ' already what approaches know,
But that the fen-fog holds it still concealed.'

Never was arrow yet from sharp-drawn bow

^ Continutng : The acooont of not only must Ciacco's prophecy
the Fifth Circle, began in the (Inf, vi.) have been interpolated,
preceding Canto, is continued in bnt we should be obliged to
this. It is impossible to adopt hold that Dante began the poem
Boccaccio's story of how the while he was a prosperous citi-
fiist seven Cantos were found zen. — Boccaccio himself in his
among a heap of other papers, Comment on the Comedy points
years after Dante's exile began ; oat the difficulty of recondling
and that 'continuing' marks the the story with Ciacco's pro-
resumption of hb work. The phecy.

word most probably suggested ' Tioo flames: Denoting the
the invention of the incident, number of passengers who are
or at least led to the identifi- to be conveyed across the Sty-
cation of some manuscript that gian pooL It is a signal for the
may have been sent to Dante, ferryman, and is answered by a
with the opening pages of the light hung out on the battle-
Comedy, If the tale were true, ments of the city of Dis.



$6 Phlegyas, [canto viii.

Urged through the air upon a swifter flight
Than what I saw a tiny vessel show,

Across the water shooting into sight ;
A single pilot served it for a crew,
Who shouted : ' Art thou come, thou guilty sprite ?'^

' O Phlegyas, Phlegyas,' this thy loud halloo !
For once,' my Lord said, ' idle is and vain. 20

Thou hast us only till the mud we're through.'

And, as one cheated inly smarts with pain
When the deceit wrought on him is betrayed.
His gathering ire could Phlegyas scarce contain.

Into the bark my Leader stepped, and made
Me take my place beside him ; nor a jot,
Till I had entered, was it downward weighed

Soon as my Guide and I were in the boat,
To cleave the flood began the ancient prow,
Deeper' than 'tis with others wont to float 30

Then, as the stagnant ditch we glided through,
One smeared with filth in front of me arose
And said : ' Thus coming ere thy period,* who

Art thou V And I : 'As one who forthwith goes
I come ; but thou defiled, how name they thee ?'
' I am but one who weeps,' ^ he said. ' With woes,'

^ Guilty sprite: Only one is water. He assumes that Dante

addressed ; whether Viigil or will one day be condemned to

Dante is not clear. Inferno. Neither Francesca

* Phkgyas: Who burnt the nor Ciacco made a like mis*
temple of Apollo at Ddphi in take.

revenge for the violation of his * One who weeps: He is

daughter by the god. ashamed to tell his name, and

' Deeper^ etc. : Because used hopes in his vile disguise to re*

to carry only shades. main unknown by Dante, whose

* Ere thy period: The curio- Florentine speech and dress,
sity of the shade is excited by and perhaps whose features, he
the sinking of the boat in the has now recognised.



CIRCLE v.] Philip ArgentL \ 57

I answered him, * with tears and misery,

AccursM soul, remain ; for thou art known

Unto me now, all filthy though thou be.'
Then both his hands were on the vessel thrown ; . 40

But him my wary Master backward heaved.

Saying : * Do thou 'mong the other dogs be gone !'
Then to my neck with both his arms he cleaved,
^ And kissed my face, and, ' Soul disdainful,'^ said,

' O blessed she in whom thou wast conceived !
He in the world great haughtiness displayed.

No deeds of worth his memory adorn ;

And therefore rages here his sinful shade.
And many are there by whom crowns are worn

On earth, shall wallow here like swine in mire, 50

Leaving behind them names overwhelmed' in scorn.'
And 1:^0 Master, I have great desire

To see him well soused in this filthy tide,

Ere from the lake we finally retire.'
And he : 'Or ever shall have been descried

The shore by thee, thy longing shall be met ;

For such a wish were justly gratified'
A little after in such fierce onset

The miry people down upon him bore,

I praise and bless God for it even yet. 60

' Philip Argenti ! ' at him !' was the roar ;

^ Soul disdainful: Dante has may have felt a special personal

been found guilty of here glory- need of emphasising the distinc-

ing in the same sin which he tion.

so severely reprobates in others. • Names overwhelmed^ etc, :

But, without question, of set 'Horrible reproaches.'

purpose he here contrasts right- • Philip Argenti: A Florten-

eotts indignation with the ignoble tine gentleman related to the

rage punished in this circle, great family of the Adimari,

With his quick temper and zeal and a contemporary of Dante's,

so often kindling into flame, he Boccaccio in his commentary



58 The City of Dis. [canto vhi.

And then that furious spirit Florentine
Turned with his teeth upon himself and tore.

Here was he left, nor wins more words of mine.
Now m my ears a lamentation rung,
Whence I to search what Ues ahead begin.

And the good Master told me : ' Son, ere long
We to the city called of Dis^ draw near,
Where in great annies cruel burghers' throng.'

And I : ' Already, Master, I appear 70

Mosques' in the valley to distinguish well,
Vermilion, as if they from furnace were

describes htm as a cavalier, very tion is then applicable to the
rich, and so ostentatious that he shades ; but grave also bears
once shod his horse with silver, the sense of cruel, and may
whence his surname. In the describe the fierceness of the
Decanuron (ix. 8) he is Intro- devils. Though the dty is in-
duced as violently assaulting — habited by the subjects of Dis,
tearing out his hair and drag- be is found as Lucifer at the
ging him in the mire — the victim very bottom of the pit By
of a practical joke played by the some critics the whole of the
Ciacco of Canto vi. Some, with- lower Inferno, all that lies be-
out reason, suppose that Dante yond this point, is regarded as
shows such severity to him be- being the dty of Dis. But it is
cause he was a Black, and so a the Sixth Cirde, with its min-
political opponent of his own. arets, that is the dty ; its walls,

^ Dis: A name of Pluto, the however, serving as bulwarks

god of the infernal regions. for all the lower Infemo. The

' Buyouts : The city of Dis shape of the dty is, of course,
composes the Sixth Cirde, and, that of a circular bdt Here it
as immediatdy appears, is popu- may be noted that the Fifth and
lated by demons. The sinners Sixth Cirdes are on the same
punished in it are not men- level ; the water of Styx, which
tioned at all in this Canto, and it as a marsh covers the Fifth, is
seems more reasonable to apply gathered into a moat to surround
burghers to the demons than to the walls of the Sixth,
the shades. They are called ' Mosqua: The feature of an
grcm^ generally taken to mean Infidd dty that first struck cm-
sore burdened, and the descrip- sader and pilgrim.



ci&cLB v.] The Demons. 59

Fresh come.' And he : ' Fires ererlasting dwell
Within them, whence appear they glowing hot.
As thou discemest in this lower helL'

We to the moat profound at length were brought,
Which gilds that city all disconsolate ;
The walls around it seemed of iron wrought.

Not without fetching first a compass great.
We came to where with angry cry at last : 80

' Get out,' the boatman yelled ; * behold the gate !'^

More than a thousand, who from Heaven* were cast,
I saw above the gates, who furiously
Demanded : ' Who, ere death on him has passed,

Holds through the region of the dead his way ?'
And my wise Master made to them a sign
That he had something secretly to say.

Then ceased they somewhat from their great disdain.
And said : ' Come thou, but let that one be gone
Who thus presumptuous enters on this reign. 90

Let him retrace his madcap way alone,
If he but can ; thou meanwhile lingering here,
Through such dark regions who hast led him down.'

Judge, reader, if I was not filled with fear.
Hearing the words of this accursed threat ;
For of return any hopes extinguished were.

' Beloved Guide, who more than seven times' set
Me in security, and safely brought
Through frightful dangers in my progress met,

^ The gate: They have are required for all who are

floated across the stagnant doomed to the lower Infemo, or

marsh into the deeper waters only for those bound to the dty.
of the moat, and up to the gate * Fr<m Heaven: ' Rained

where Phlegyas is used to land firom HeaveD.* Fallen angels,
his passengers. It may be a • Seven times : Given as a

question whether his service round number.



6o The Rebuff, [canto viii.

Leave me not thus undone ;' I him besought : loo

' If further progress be to us denied.

Let us retreat together, tarrying not'
The Lord who led me thither then replied :

' Fear not : by One so great has been assigned

Our passage, vainly were all hindrance triecL
Await me here, and let thy fainting mind

Be comforted and with good hope be fed,

Not to be left in this low world behind.'
Thus goes he, thu? am I abandonM

By my sweet Father. I in doubt remain, i lo

With Yes and No^ contending in my head.
I could not hear what speech he did maintain.

But no long time conferred he in that place.

Till, to be first, all inward raced again.
And then the gates were closed in my Lord's fece

By these our enemies ; outside stood he ;

Then backward turned to me with lingering pace,
With downcast eyes, and all the bravery

Stripped from his brows ; and he exclaimed with sighs ;

* Who dare' deny the doleful seats to me !' 120

And then he said : ' Although my wrath arise.

Fear not, for I to victory will pursue,

Howe'er within they plot, the enterprise.
This arrogance of theirs is nothing new ;



^ Yes and No : He will re- superior devilish power can

turn — He will not return. The have incited the demons to deny

demons have said that Virgil him entrance. The incident dis-

shall remain, and he has pro- plays the &llen angels as being

mised Dante not to desert him. still rebellious, and is at the

' fVAo dare^ etc, : Viigil same time skilfully conceived

knows the hindrance is only to mark a pause before Dante

temporary, but wonders what enters on the lower Inferno.



ciRCLB v.] The Rebuff. 6i

They showed it^ once at a less secret door
Which stands unbolted since. Thou didst it view.

And saw the dark-writ legend which it bore.
Thence, even now, is one who hastens down
Through all the circles, g^ideless, to this shore,

And he shall win us entrance to the town.' 130

1 Th^ shewed it^ eU,: At the Eve: *This is the night in which,

gate of Inferno, on the occasion having burst the bonds of death,

of Christ's descent to Limbo. Christ victorioasly ascended

The xeference is to the words in from HelK'
the Missal service for Easter



62 Virgil at a loss. [canto ix.



a-



I



CANTO IX.

The hue which cowardice on my face did paint
When I beheld my guide return again.
Put his new colour^ quicker 'neath restraint

Like one who listens did he fixed remain ;
For far to penetrate the air like night,
And heavy mist, the eye was bent in vain.

* Yet surely we must vanquish in the fight ;'
Thus he, * unless* — ^but with such proffered aid —
O how I weary till he come in sight !'

Well I remarked how he transition made, lo

Covering his opening words with those behind,
Which contradicted what at first he said

Nathless his speech with terror charged my mind.
For, haply, to the word which broken fell
Worse meaning than he purposed, I assigned.

Down to this bottom' of the dismal shell



^ New colour: Both have had told him or threateoed

changed colour, Vii^gil in anger him with ; the ' proffered aid^' to

and Dante in fear. that involved in Beatrice's le-

* UnUss: To conceal his quest,

misgiving from Dante, Virgil * This bottom: The lower

refrains from expresang all his depths of Inferno. How much

thought. The ' unless ' may still lies below him is unknown

refer to what the lying demons to Dante.



ciRCLB v.] Virgin s Previous Descent. 63

Comes ever any from the First D^ree,^

Where all their pain is» stripped of hope to dwell ?

To this my question thus responded he :
' Seldom it haps to any to pursoe 20

The journey now embarked npon by me.

Yet I ere this descended, it is tnie»
Beneath a spell of dire Erichtho's' laid.
Who could the corpse with soul inform anew.

Short while my flesh of me was empty made
When she required me to overpass that wall,
From Judas' circle' to abstract a shade.

That is the deepest, darkest place of all,
And furthest from the heaven^ which moves the skies ;
I know the way ; fear nought that can befell. 50

These fens* from which vile exhalations rise
The doleful city all around invest.
Which now we reach not save in angry wise.'

Of more he spake nought in my mind doth rest,

1 First Degree: The limbo whose the shade was that he

where Viigil resides. Dante by went down to fietch ; but Lucan's

an indirect question, seeks to tale was probably in Dante's

learn how much experience of mind. In the Middle Ages the

Inferno is possessed by his guide, memory of Virgil was revered

' Erichtho : A Thessalian as that of a great sorcerer, espe-

soroeress, of whom Lucan daily in the neighboiirhood of

{Pharsalia vi) tells that she Naples.

evoked a shade to predict to * The heaven^ ek, : The

Sextus Pompey the result of Primum Mobile ; but used here

the war between his father and for the highest heaven. See

Cttsar. This happened thirty In/* ii, 83, fwte,

years before the death of Virgil. ^ Tkeie fens^ etc, : Viigi)

* Judas* circle : The Judecca, knows the locality. They have

or very lowest point of the no choice but must remain

Inferno. Virgil's death pre* whertt they are, for the same

ceded that of Judas by fifty moat and wall gird the city all

years. He gives no hint of around.



64 The Furies. [canto ix.

For, with mine eyes, my every thought had been
Fixed on the lofty tower with flaming cre$t»

Where, in a moment and uptight, were seen
Three hellish furies, ail with blood de&ced.
And woman-like in members and in mien.

Hydras of brilliant green begirt their waist ; 40

Snakes and cerastes for their tresses grew.
And these were round their dreadful temples braced.

That they the drudges were, full well he knew.
Of her who is the queen of endless woes.
And said to me : ^ The fierce Eryimyes^ view 1

Herself upon the left M^;?era shows ;
That is Alecto weeping on the right ;
Tisiphone 's between.' Here made he close.

Each with her nails her breast tore, and did smite
Herself with open palms. They screamed in tone 50
So fierce, I to the Poet dove for fnght.

* Medusa,' come, that we may make him stone !'

All shouted as they downward gazed ; ' Alack !
Theseus' escaped us when he ventured down.*

' Keep thine eyes closed and turn to them thy back.
For if the Gorgon chance to be displayed
And thou shouldst look, farewell the upward track !'

Thus spake the Master, and himself he swayed
Me round about ; nor put he trust in mine
But his own hands upon mine eyelids laid. 60

ye with judgment gifted to divine

1 Erynmyes : The Furies, the head of Medaia was turned
The Queen of whom they are into stone.

handmaids is Proserpine, car- * Th€sms : Who descended
ped off by Dis, or Pluto, to the into the infernal regions to rescue
under world. • Proserpine, and escaped by the

* Medusa : One of the help of Hercales.
Gorgons. Whoever looked on



CIRCLE v.] Tlte Messenger. 65

Look closely now, and mark what hidden lore

Lies 'neath the veil of my mysterious line !^
Across the turbid waters came a roar

And crash of sound, which big with fear arose :

Because of it fell trembling either shore.
The fashion of it was as when there blows

* Mysterious line : ' Strange » answer, terrified as he is by the

verses : ' That the verses are snddeiTappearance of the Furies

called strange, as Boccaccio and apon the tower, which rises out

othersof the older commentators of the city of unbelief. These

say, because treating of such a symbolise the trouble of his

subject in the vulgar tongue for conscience, and, assailing him

the first time, and in rhyme, is with threats, shake his already

difficult to believe. Rather they trembling faith in the Divine

are strange because of the mean- government How, in the face

ing they convey. What that is, of such foes, is he to find the
Dante warns the reader of peace and liberty of soul of

superior intellect to pause and which he is in search? That

consider. It has been noted this is the city of unbelief he

{Inf. ii. 28) how he uses the has not yet been told, and with-

characters of the old mythology out knowing it he is standing

as if believing in their real ex- under the very walls of Doubting

istence. But this is for his Castle. And now, if he chance

poetical ends. Here he bids to let his eyes rest on the Gor-

us look below the surface and gon's head, his soul will be

seek for the truth hidden under petrified by despair ; like the

the strange disguise. — The op- denizens of Hell, he will lose the

position to their progress ofifered ' good of the intellect,' and will

by the powers of Hell perplexes pass into a state from which Vir-

even Virgil, while Dante is re- gil— or reason — ^will be power-

dnced to a state ci absolute less to deliver him. But Viigil

terror, and is afflicted with still takes him in time, and makes

sharper misgivings than he had him avert his eyes ; whidi may

at the first as to the issue of signify that the only safe course

his adventure. By an indirect for men is to turn their bocks on

question he seeks to learn how the deep and insoluble problem

much Virgil really knows of the of how the reality of the Divine

economy of the lower world ; government can be reconciled

but he cannot so much as listen with the apparent triumph of

to all of his Master^s reassuring evil.

£



66 The Messefiger. [canto ix.

A blast by cross heats made to rage amain,
Which smites the forest and without repose

The shattered branches sweeps in hurricane ; 70

In cloads of dust, majestic, onward flies,
Wild beasts and herdsmen driving o'er the plain.

' Sharpen thy gaze,' he bade — ^and freed mine eyes —
' Across the foam-flecked immemorial lake,
Where sourest vapour most unbroken lies.'

And as the frogs before the hostile snake

Together of the water get them clear,
* And on the dry ground, huddling, shelter take ;

More than a thousand ruined souls in fear
Beheld I flee from one who, dry of feet. So

Was by the Stygian ferry drawing near.

Waving his left hand he the vapour beat
Swiftly from 'fore his £Bu:e, nor seemed he spent
Save with fatigue at having this to meet.

Well I opined that he from Heaven^ was sent,
And to my Master turned. His gesture taught
I should be dumb and in obeisance bent

Ah me, how with disdain appeared he fraught t
He reached the gate, which, touching vrtth a rod,'
He oped with ease, for it resisted not. 90

' People despised and banished far from God,'

^ Firom Hatoen: The mes- overcome is worthy of angdic

senger oomes from Heaven, and interference ; and Dante can

his words are holy. Against the hardly be nid to meet the

obvious interpretation, that he is messenger, who does not even

a good angel, there lies the glance in his diiecdon. The

objection that no other such is commentators have made this

met with in Inferno, and also angel mean all kind of ontknd-

that it is spoken of as a new tsh things,

sig^t for him when Dante first ' A rod: A piece of the

meets with one in Purgatory, angelic ontfit, derived from the

But the obstruction now to be eadmceus of Mercury.



ciKCLB VI.] The City ofDis. 67

Upon the awfiii threshold then he spoke,

' How holds m you such insolence abode ?
Why kick against that will which never broke

Short of its end, if ever it begin.

And often for you fiercer torments woke ?
Butting 'gainst fate, what can ye hqpe to win ?

Your Cerberus,^ as is to you well known,

Still bears for this a well-peeled throat and chin.'
Then by the passage foul he back was gone, 100

Nor spake to us, but like a man was he

By other cares' absorbed and driven on
Than that of those who may around him be.

And we, confiding in the sacred word.

Moved toward the town in all security.
We entered without hindrance, and I, spurred

By my desire the character to know

And style of place such strong defences gird,
Entering, begin mine eyes around to throw,

And see on every hand a vast champaign, 1 10

The teeming seat of torments and of woe.
And as at Aries' where Rhone spreads o'er the plain.

Or Pola,^ hard upon Quamaro sound

Which bathes the boundaries Italian,

^ Cn^ermt : Herodes, when Limbo, is all oa fire to retnm to

Cefbems opposed his eatnunoe his own place.

to the inliernfil vegkmfl^ fiotened * Arks: The Alyicunpo

a chain loand his neck and (Elysian Fields) at Aries was aa

drugged him to the gate. The eaonnous . oemetery, of which

angel's speech answeis Dante's niias stiH cadit It had a cir*

doubts as to the limits of dia^ cnniferenoe of about six aulea,

boUcal power. and contained muneroos saroo-

*ByMereanes,$te^: It is not phagi dating from Roman

in Infemo that Dante is to hold times.

oonvene with oelesdal intelli* ^ Ftia: In Istria, near the

gences. The angel, like Beat* Golf of Qoamaio, said to have

rice when she sought Viigil in contained many ancient tombs.



68 The Sepulchres. [canto ix.

The sepulchres uneven make the ground ;
So here on every side, but far more dire
And grievous was the fashion of them found.

For scattered 'mid the tombs blazed many a fire,
Because of which these with such fervour burned
No arts which work in iron more require. 120

All of the lids were lifted. I discerned
By keen laments which from the tombs arose
That sad and suffering ones were there inumed.

1 said : ' O Master, tell me who are those
Buried within the tombs, of whom the sighs
Come to our ears thus eloquent of woes V

And he to me : ' The lords of heresies^
With followers of all sects, a greater band
Than thou wouldst think, these sepulchres comprise.

To lodge them like to like the tombs are planned. 130
The sepulchres have more or less of heat.'
Then passed we, turning to the dexter hand,*

nrween torments and the lofty parapet

^ Ltrds of heresies: ' Heresi* for tome reason Viigil turns to

archil.' Dante now learns for the the right, so as to have the

first time that Dis is the city of tombs on the left as he advances,

unbelief. Each class of here- It may be that a special proof of

tics has its own great sepul- his knowledge of thtt locality is

chre. introdveed when most needed—

* More or less ef heat : Accord- after the zepulse fay the demons

ing to the heinouaneas of the — to streagthen Dante's coofid*

heresy punished in each. It ence in htm as a guide ; or, as

was natural to associate heieticB some subtly think, they being

and punidiment by fire io days now about to enter the abode

when Dominican . monks ruled of heresy, the movement to the

the roast right signifies the importance of

' Dexter hand : As they move the first step in forming opinion,

across the circles, and down from The only other occasion on which

one to the other, their course is their coarse is taken to the right

usually to the left hand. Here hand is at /n/» xvii 31.



CIRCLE VI.] The Heretics. 69



CANTO X.

And now advance we by a narrow track

Between the torments and the ramparts high.

My Master first, and I behind his back.
* O mighty Virtue,^ at whose will am I

Wheeled through these impious circles/ then I said,

' Speak, and in full my longing satisfy.
The people who within the tombs are laid.

May they be seen ? The coverings are all thrown

Open, nor is there* any guard displayed.'
And he to me : 'All shall be fastened down 10

When hither from Jehoshaphat' they come .

Again in bodies which were once their own.
All here with Epicurus* find their tomb

^ Vhrhte: Viigil is here ad- faience to everything but tbe

drened by a new title, which, calls of ambition and worldly

with the words of deep respect pleasure, common among tbe

that follow, marks the full re- nobles of Dante's age and that

Btoration of Dante's confidence preceding it, went by the name

in him as his guide. of Epicnreanism. It is the most

' Nor is ihere^ etc. : The gate radical of heresies, because ad-
was found to be strictly guarded, verse to the first principles of all
but not so are the tombs. religions. Dante, in his treat*

' Jthoshaphat: * I will also ment of heresy, dwells more on

gatherall nations, and will bring what afiects conduct as does

them down into the valley of the denial of the Divine go-

}ehoshaphat' (Joel iii. 2). vemment — than on intellectual

^ Epicurus: The unbelief in divergence from orthodox be-

a future life, or rather the indif- lief.



70 Farinata. [canto x.

Who are his followers, and by whom 'tis held

That the soul shares the body's mortal doom.
Things here discovered then shall answer yield.

And quickly, to thy question asked of me ;

As well as^ to the wish thou hast concealed.'
And I : ' Good Leader, if I hide from thee

My heart, it is that I may little say ; 3o

Nor only now* learned I thus dumb to be.'
' O Tuscan, who, still living, mak'st thy w^y,

Modest of speech, through the abode of flame,

Be pleased' a little in this place to stay.
The accents of thy language thee proclaim

To be a native of that state renowned

Which I, perchance, wronged somewhat' Sudden came
These words from out a tomb which there was found

'Mongst others ; whereon I» compelled by fright,

A little toward my Leader shifted ground. 30

And he : * Turn round, what ails thee? Lo ! upright

Beginneth Farinata^ to arise ;

All of him iMve the girdle comes in sight'



> As wdl as, etc, : The ques- Floientine family of the Ubetti,

tion is: 'May they be seen?' and, in the genendon before

The wish is a desire to speak Dante, leader of the Ghibdine

with them. or Imperialist patty in Florence.

' Abr ^y ncw^ tic. : Virgil His memoiy long survived
has on previous occasions im- among his fellow-townsmen as
posed silence on Dante, as, for that of the typical noble, rough-
instance, at Ifrf. iil. 51. mannered, unscnipalou^ and

* Be pleased^ etc, : From one of arrogant ; but yet, for one good

the sepulchres, to be imagined action that he did, he at the

as a huge sarcophagus, come same time ranked in the popa*

words similar to the Siste lar estimation as a patriot and a

Viator J common on Roman hero. Boccaccio^ misled per-

tombs. haps by the mention of Epicants,

^ FarincUa : Of the great says that he loved rich and deli-



ciKCLi VI.] Farinata. Ji

On him already had I fixed mine eyes.

Towering erect with lifted front and chest.

He seemed Inferno greatly to despise.
And toward him I among the tombs was pressed

By my Guide's nimble and courageous hand,

While he, ' Choose well thy language,* gave behest.
Beneath his tomb when I had ta'en my stand 40

Regarding me a moment, ' Of what house

Art thou V as if in scorn, he made demand.
To show myself obedient, anxious,

I nothing hid, but told my ancestors ;

And, listening, he gently raised his brows.^
' Fiercely to me they proved themselves adverse.

And to my sires and party,' then he said ;

' Becanse of which I did them twice disperse.'*
I answered him : * And what although they fied t

Twice from all quarters they returned with might, 50

An art not mastered yet by these you' led/
Beside him then there issued into sight

Another shade, uncovered to the chin,

Propped on his knees, if I surmised aright.

cAte €ue* It is becanse all his they being of the small gentry,

thoughts were worldly that he while he was a great noble,

is condemned to the dty of un- Bat this gloss requires Dante

belief. Dante has already {Inf, to have been more free from

vt 79) inqnired regarding his pride of family than he really

iate. He died in 1264. was.

^ His brows: When Dante * Turici disperse: The Ali-

tells he is of the Alighieri, a ghieri shared in the exile of the

Gnelf family, Farinata shows Guelfs in 1248 and 136a

some slight displeasure. Or, * You: See also line 95.

as a modem Florentine critic Dante never uses the plural

interprets the gesture, he has to form to a single^person except

think a moment before he can when desirous of showing social

remember on which side the as distinguished from, or over

Alighieri ranged themselves — and above, moral respect



7r Cavalcante CavalcantL [canto x.

He peered around as if he fain would win

Knowledge if any other was with me ;

And then, his hope all spent, did thus b^n,
Weeping : ' By dint of genius if it be

Thou visit'st this dark prison, where my son?

And wherefore not found in thy company V 60

And I to him : ' I come not here alone :

He waiting yonder guides me : but disdain

Of him perchance was by your Guido^ shown.'
The words he used, and manner of his pain,

Revealed his name to me beyond surmise ;

Hence was I able thus to answer plain.
Then cried he, and at once upright did rise,

' How saidst thou — was ? Breathes he not then the air ?

The pleasant light no longer smites his eyes V
When he of hesitation was aware 70

Displayed by me in forming my reply.

He fell supine, no more to reappear.
But the magnanimous, at whose bidding I

Had halted there, the same expression wore,

Nor budged a jot, nor turned his neck awry.
* And if — resumed he where he paused before —

*' They be indeed but slow that art to learn.

Than this my bed, to hear it pains me more.

^ Guido: Farinata's com- was much older than Dante,
panion in the tomb is Caval- Yet they were very intimate^
cante Cavalcanti, who, although and, intellectually, had much in
a Gueir, was tainted with the common. With him Dante ex-
more specially Ghibeline error changed poems of occasion, and
of Epicureanism. When in he terms him more than once in
order to allay party rancour the Vita Nuava his chief friend,
some of the Guelf and Ghibeline The disdain of Virgil need not
families were forced to inter- mean more than is on the snr-
manry, his son Guido took a iaoe. Guido died in 1301. He
daughter of Farinata's to wife, is the hero of the Decameron^
This was in 1267, so that Guido vi. 9.



ci&cLB VI.] Farinata. 73

But er^ the fiftieth time anew shall burn
The lady's^ face who reigneth here below, 80

Of that sore art thou shalt experience earn.

And as to the sweet world again thou 'dst go,
Tell me, why is that people so without
Ruth for my race,' as all their statutes show ?'

And I to him : ' The slaughter and the rout
Which made the Arbia' to run with red.
Cause in our £ane* such prayers to be poured out.'



> The Lcufy : Proserpine ; f .^. Siena, was fought in 1260 a great

the moon. Ere fifty months batde between the Guelf Flor-

from March 1300 were past, ence and her allies on the one

Dante was to see the failure of hand, and on the other the

more than one attempt made by Ghibelines of Florence, then in

the exiles, of whom he was one, exile, under Farinata; theSieneae

to gain entrance to Florence, and Tuscan Ghibelinesingeneral;

The great attempt was in the and some hundreds of men-at-

beginning of 1304. arms lent by Manfi«d. Notwith-

* Ruth for my race: When standing the gallant behaTiour

the Ghibeline power was finally of the Florentine buighers, the

broken in Florence the Uberti Guelf defeat was overwhelming,

were always specially excluded and not only did the Arbia run

firom any amnesty. There is red with Florentine blood — ^in a

mention of the political execu- figure — but the battle of Monta-

tion of at least one descendant perti ruined for a time the

of Farinata's. His son when cause of popular liberty and

being led to the scaffold said, general improvement in Flor-

' So we pay our fathers' debts !' ence.

— It has been so long common ^ Our fane: The Parliament

to describe Dante as a Ghibeline, of the people used to meet in

though no careful writer does it Santa Reparata, the cathedral ;

now, that it may be worth while and it is possible that the main-

here to remark that Ghibelinism, tenance of the Uberti disabili-

9& Farinata understood it, was ties was there more than once

practically extinct in Florence confirmed by the general body

ere Dante entered political life, of the citizens. The use of the

' The Arbia: At Montaperti, word is in any case accounted

on the Arbia, a few miles from for by the frequency of political



1



74 Farinata. [canto x.

Whereon he heaved a sigh and shook his head :

' There I was not alone, nor to embrace

That cause was I, without good reason, led 90

But there I was alone, when from her place

All granted Florence should be swept away.

'Twas P defended her with open foce.'
* So may your seed find peace some better day,*

I uiged him, ' as this knot you shall untie

In which my judgment doth entangled stay.
If I hear rightly, ye, it seems, descry

Beforehand what time brings, and yet ye seem

'Neath other laws' as touching what is nigh.*



conferences in churches. And been ; and in this great passage

the temple having been intro- Farinata is repaid for his ser-

duced, edicts are converted into vice, in despite of Inferno.

' prayers.' * Other lams: Ciaooo^ in Canto

* *Twas /, etc.: Some little vi., prophesied what was to

time after the victoxy of Monta- happen in Florence, and Farinata

perti there was a great Ghibe- has jnst told him that four years

line gathering from various cities later than now he will have fituled

at Empoli, when it was proposed, in an attempt to return from

with general approval, to level exile: yet Farinata does not

Florence with the ground in re- know if his fiunily is still being

venge for the obstinate Guelfism persecuted, and Cavalcanti fears

of the population. Farinata that his son Guido is already num-

roughly declared that as long as bered with the dead. Farinata

he lived and had a sword he replies that like the longsighted

would defend his native places the shades can only see what is

and in the face of this protest the some distance off, and are ignoiv

resolution was departed from, ant of what is going on, or about

It is difficult to understand how to happen ; which seems to im*

of all the Florentine nobles, ply that they foiget what they

whose wealth consisted largely once foresaw. Guido was to die

in house property, Farinata within a few months, and the

should have stood alone in pro- event was too close at hand to

testing against the ruin of the come within the range of his

city. But so it seems to have father's vision.



ciRCLB V!.] Farinata. 75

* Like those who see best what is hx from them, 100

We see thii^rg,' said he, ' which afar remain ;
Thns much enlightened by the Guide Suprema

To know them present or approaching, vain
Are all our powers ; and save what they relate
Who hither come, of earth no news we gain.

Hence mayst thou gather in how dead a state
Shall all our knowledge from that time be throvhi
When of the future shall be closed the gate.'

Then, for my fonlt as if repentant grown,
I said : ' Report to him who fell supine, 1 10

That still among the living breathes his son.

And if I, dumb, seemed answer to decline.
Tell him it was that I upon the knot
Was pondering then, you helped me to untwine.*

Me now my Master called, whence I besought
With more than former sharpness of the shade,
To tell me what companions he had got

He answered me : ' Some thousand here are laid
With me ; 'mong these the Second Frederick,^
The Cardinal* too ; of others nought be said' 120



^ The Second Frederick : The would be converted into a crude

Emperor of that name who materialism,
reigned from taso to 1250, and * Tke CardineU: Ottaviano,

waged a life-long war with the of the powerful Tuscan fiunily of

Popes for supremacy in Italy, the Ubaldini, a man of great

It is not however for his enmity political activity, and known in

with Rome that he is placed in Tuscany as ' The CaxdinaL '

the Sixth Circle, but for his His sympathies were not with

Epicureanism— as Dante under- the Roman Court. The news of

stood it From his Sicilian court Montaperti filled him with de-

a spirit of free inquiry spread light, and later, when the Tuscan

through the Peninsula. With Gbibelines refused him money

men of the stamp of Farinata it he had asked for« he burst out



y6 VirgiTs Injunction. [canto x.

Then was he hid ; and towards the Bard antique

I turned my steps, revolving in my brain

The ominous words^ which I had heard him speak.
He moved, and as we onward went again

Demanded of me : ' Wherefore thus amazed V

And to his question I made answer plain.
' Within thy mind let there be surely placed,'

The Sage bade, ' what 'gainst thee thou heardest say.

Now mark me well ' (his finger here he raised), j

/ * When thou shalt stand within her gentle ray 130

Whose beauteous eye sees all, she will make known

The stages* of thy journey on life's way.'
Turning his feet, he to the left moved on ;

Leaving the wall, we to the middle' went

Upon a path that to a vale strikes down,
Which even to us above its foulness sent

vrith ' And yet I have lost my Paradise instructs Dante in what

soul for the Ghibelines — if I have his future life is to be — one of

a soul.' He died not earlier poverty and exile (/%mn/. xvii.).

than 1273. After these illus- This is, however, done at the

triotts names Farinata scorns to request of Beatrice,

mention meaner ones. * To the middle : Turning

^ Ominous words: Those in to the left they cut across the

which Farinata foretold Dante's circle till they reach the inner

exile. boundary of die city of tombs.

* Tyie stages^ etc, : It is Cac- Here there is no waU.
ciaguida, hb ancestor, who in



CIRCLE VI.] Pope Anastasius. 77



CANTO XI.

We at the margin of a lofty steep
Made of great shattered stones in circle bent,
Arrived where worser torments crowd the deep.

So horrible a stench and violent
Was upward wafted from the vast abyss,^
Behind the cover we for shelter went

Of a great tomb where I saw written this :
' Pope Anastasius' is within me thrust,
Whom the straight way Photinus made to miss.'

' Now on our course a while we linger must,' lo

The Master said, ' be but our sense resigned
A little to it, and the filthy gust

^ Vast abyss: They a^e now at * PopeAnastasius: Thesecond

the inner side of the Sixth Circle, of the name, elected Pope

and upon the veige of the rocky in 496. Photinus, bishop of

steep which slopes down from it Sireninm, was infected with

into the Seventh. All the lower the Sabellian heresy, but he was

Hdl lies beneath them, and it is deposed more tlum a century

from that nther than from the before the time of Anastasans.

next elfde in paiticnlar that the Dante follows some obscure

stench arises, symbolical of the legend in charging Anastasios

foulness ofthe sins which are pun- with heresy. The important

ished there. The noisome smells point is that the one heretic,

which make part of the horror of in the sense usually attached

Inferno are after this sometimes to the term, named as being

mentioned, bat never dwelt upon in the city of unbelief, is a

{Inf. xviii. io6, and xxix. 50). Pope.



78 The kinds of Sin. [canto u.

We shall not heed' Then I : ' Do thou but find
Some compensation lest our time should run
Wasted.' And he : ' Behold^ 'twas in my mind.

Girt by the rocks before us, O my son.
Lie three small circles,'^ he began to tell,
' Graded like those with which thou now hast done,

All of them filled with spirits miserable.
That sight' of them may thee henceforth suffice. 20
Hear how and wherefore in these groups they dwell.

Whatever in Heaven 's abhorred as wickedness
Has injury' for its end ; in others' bane
By firaud resulting or in violent wise.

Since fraud to man alone* doth appertain,
God hates it most ; and hence the fraudulent band,
Set lowest down, endure a fiercer pan.

> Three small HreUe: The mentkniing in a general way

Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth; that the fraudalent are aet lowest

small in circumferenoe compared in Inferno^ Viigil proceeds to

with those above. The pilgrims define violence, and to tell how

are now deep in the hollow the violent occupy the drde

cone. immediately beneath them — the

* Thai sigki^ etc. : After hear- Seventh. For division of the
ing the following explanation mallcioiitly wicked into two
Dante no longer asks to what daases Dante is sappoted to be
classes the sinners met with indebted to Cicero: 'Injiny
belong, but only as to the guilt may be wnmgfat by force or by
of individual shades. fraud. . • Both aie nnnatanl for

* Jt^ry: They have left man, bat finaud is the mom
above them the ciides of those hatefoL'— ZV Offk&s^ L 13. It
vdKwe sin consists in the ex- is remarkable that VitgU says
aggeiation or misdirecdon of a nothing of those in the Sixth
wholesome natural instinct. Circle in this aoooont of the
Below them lie the circles filled classes of sinners.

with snch as have been guilty ^ T« man alotu^ etc. : Fiand

of malicious wickedness. This ' involves the ooimpt use of the

manifests itself in two ways : by powers that distinguish us from

violence or by fraud. Afler first the brutes.



aECLB VI.] Divisions of Inferno, 79

Of the violent is the circle next at hand
To us; and since three ways is violence shown,
Tis in three several circuits built and planned. 30

To God, ourselves, or neighbours may be done
Violence, or on the things by them possessed ;
As reasoning clear shall unto thee make known.

Our neighbour may by violence be distressed
With grievous wounds, or slain ; his goods and lands
By havoc, fire, and plunder be oppressed.

Hence those who wound and slay with violent hands,
Robbers, and spoilers, in the nearest round
Are all tormented in their various bands.

Violent against himself may man be found, 40

And 'gainst his goods ; therefore without avail
They in the next are in repentance drowned

Who on themselves loss of your world entail,
Who gamble^ and their substance madly spend.
And who when called to joy lament and waiL

And even to God may violence extend
By heart denial and by blasphemy,
Scorning what nature doth in bounty lend.

Sodom and Cahors* hence are doomed to lie

^ Who gamble^ dc, : A differ- of guilt Dftnte should lank

ent sin from the lavish spending violence to one's self as a more

punished in the Fourth Circle heinous sin than that committed

(Inf^'TLy The distinction b that against one's neighbour. He

between thriftlesoiess and the may have in view the fact that

prodigality which, stripping a none harm their neighboun so

man of the means of livings dis- much as they who are oblivious

gusts him with life, as described of their own true interest

in the following line. It is from * Sodom and Cohort : Sins

among prodigals that the ranks against nature are reckoned sins

of suicides are gready filled, and against God, as explained lower

here they are appropriately down in this Canta Cahonin

placed together. It may seem Languedoc had in the Middle

strange that in his daasification Ages the reputation of being a



8o The kinds of Sin, [canto xi.

Within the narrowest circlet surely sealed ; 50

And such as God within their hearts defy.
Fraud,^ 'gainst whose bite no conscience findeth shield,

A man may use with one who in him lays

Trust, or with those who no such credence yield.
Beneath this latter kind of it decays

The bond of love which out of nature grew ;

Hence, in the second circle^ herd the race
To feigning given and flattery, who pursue

Magic, false coining, theft, and simony,

Pimps, barrators, and suchlike residue. 60

The other form of fraud makes nullity

Of natural bonds ; and, what is more than those^

The special trust whence men on men rely.
Hence in the place whereon all things repose,

The narrowest circle and the seat of Dis,'

Each traitor 's gulfed in everlasting woes.'
* Thy explanation. Master, as to this

Is clear,' I said, ' and thou hast plainly told

Who are the people stowed in the abyss.
But tell why those the muddy marshes hold, 70

The tempest-driven, those beaten by the rain,

And such as, meeting, virulently scold,
Are not within the crimson city ta'en

nest of usurers. These in old same level, as we shall find.

English Chronicles are termed ^ Frauds etc, : Fraud is of

Caorsins. With the sins of such a nature that conscienee

Sodom and Cahors are ranked never fails to give due warning

the denial ofGod and blasphemy against the sin. This is an

against Him— deeper sins than aggravation of the guilt of it

the erroneous conceptions of the ' The second circle: The

Divine nature and government second now beneath them ; that

punished in the Sixth Circle. The is, the Eighth,

three concentric rings composing * Seat o/Dii : The Ninth and

the Seventh Circle are all on the last Circle.



ciKCLE VI.) Divisiofis of Inferno. 8 1

For punishment, if hateful unto God ;

And, if not hateful, wherefore doomed to pain V

And he to me : ' Why wander thus abroad,
More than is wont, thy wits ? or how engrossed
Is now thy mind, and on what things bestowed ?'

Hast thou the memory of the passage lost
In which thyEthics* for their subject treat 80

Of the three moods by Heaven abhorred the most —

Malice and bestiality complete ;
And how, compared with these, incontinence
Offends God less, and lesser blame doth meet ?

If of this doctrine thou extract the sense,
And call to memory what people are
Above, outside, in endless penitence,

Why from these guilty they are sundered far
Thou shalt discern, and why on them alight
The strokes of justice in less angry war.' 90

' O Sun that clearest every troubled sight,
So charmed am I by thy resolving speech,
Doubt yields me joy no less than knowing right

a

Therefore, I pray, a little backward reach,'



^ Tky Ethics: The Ethics Philalethes ((7^. Ctfm.)t0 8how

of Aristotle, in which it is said s that Virgirs disquisition is

* With regard to manners, these founded on this threefold dassi-

three things are to be eschewed : ficalion of Aristotle's — violence

incontinence, vice, and hesti* being taken to be the same as

ality.' Aristotle holds incontin- bestiality, and malice as vice,

enee to consist in the immoderate But the reference to Aristotle

hidnlgence of propensities which is made with the limited pur-

mder right guidance are adapted pose of justifying the lenient

to promote lawfid pleasure. It treatment of incontinence ; in

is, generally speaking, the sin of the same way as a few lines

which those about whom Dante further on Genesis is referred

has inquired were guilty. — ^It to in suppdrt of the harsh

has been ingemously sought by treatment of usury.

F



92 Usury. (CANTO XI.

I asked, ' to where thou sa/st that usury

Sins 'gainst God's bounty ; and this mystery teach.'

He said : * Who gives ear to Philosophy
Is taught by her, nor in one place alone,
What nature in her course is governed by,

Evei^Mind Divine, and art which thence hath grown ; loo
And if thy Physics^ thou wilt search within.
Thou It find ere many leaves are open thrown,

This art by yours, far as your art can win.
Is followed close — ^the teacher by the taught ;
As grandchild then to God your art is kin.

And from these two — do thou recall to thought
How Genesis' begins — should come supplies
Of food for man, and other wealth be sought

And, since another plan the usurer plies.
Nature and nature'^ child have his disdain ;' i lo

Because on other ground his hope relies.

But come,^ for to advance I now am fain :
The Fishes* over the horizon line
Quiver ; o'er Caurus now stands all the Wain ;

And further yonder does the cliff decline.'

^ Physics: The Physics of against nsary closes one of

Aristotle, in which it is said : the most arid passages of the

' Art imitates nature.' Art in- Comedy, The shortness of the

eludes handicrafts. Canto almost suggests that

* Genesis : ' And the Lord Dante had himself got weary of
God took the man, and put it.

him into the garden to dress ^ But eome^ eie, : They have

it and to keep it.' 'In the been all this time resting behind

sweat of thy face shalt thou eat the lid of the tomb,

bread.' * The Fishes, eU, : The sun

* Nis disdain : The usurer being now in Aries the stars of
seeks to get wealth independ- Pisces begin to rise aboutaoouple
ently of honest labour or re- of hours before sunrise. The
liance on the processes of na- Great Bear lies above Cauius,
ture. This far-fetched argument the quarter of the n.n.w.



aacLi VI.] The Advance. 83

wind. It seems impossible to appears from Inf, xxi. i la.

to harmonise the astronomical — The time is now near dawn

indications scattered throughout on the Saturday morning. It is

the Comedy^ there being traces almost needless to say that

of Danle's having sometimes Virgil speaks of the stars as he

used details belonging rather to knows they are placed, but

the day on which Good Friday without seeing them. By what

fell in 1300, the 8th of April, light they see in Inferno is no-

than to the (supposed) true where explained. We have

anniversaiy of the crucifixion, been told that it was dark as

That this, the 25th of March, is night {Inf. iv. 10, v. 28).
the day he intended to conform



84 The Rough Descent. [canto xii.



CANTO XII.

The place of our descent^ before us lay
Precipitous, and there was something more
From sight of which all eyes had turned away.

As at the ruin which upon the shore
Of Adige' fell upon this side of Trent —
Through earthquake or by slip of what before

Upheld it — from the summit whence it went
Far as the plain, the shattered rocks supply
Some sort of foothold to who makes descent ;

Such was the passage down the precipice high. lo

And on the riven gully's very brow
Lay spread at large the Cretan Infamy'

1 OurtUseeni: To the Seventh Italian miles' (Gsell-Fels, Ober,

Ciide. liaL i. 35).

* Adige: Different localities * 7%e Cretan Infamy: The

in the valley of the Adige have Minotaur, the of{spring of Pasi-

been fixed on as the scene of phae ; a half-bovine monster

this landslip. The Lavini di who inhabited the Cretan laby-

Maroo» about twenty miles south rinth, and to whom a human

of Trent, seem best to answer victim was offered once a year,

to the description. They 'consist He lies as guard upon the

of black blocks of stone and Seventh Circle — that of the vio-

fragments of a landslip which, lent (Inf, xL 23, noU) — and is

according to the Chronicle of set at the top of the rugged

Fulda, fell in the year 883 and slope, itself the scene of a

overwhelmed the valley for four vk>lent convulsion.



ciitcLBvii.1 The Minotaur. 85

Which was conceived in the pretended cow.

Us when he saw, he bit himself for rage

Like one whose anger gnaws him through and through.
' Perhaps thou deemest,' called to him the Ss^,

' This is the Duke of Athens^ drawing nigh,

Who war to the death with thee on earth did wage.
Begone, thou brute, for this one passing by

Untutored by thy sister has thee found, ao

And only comes thy sufferings to spy.'
And as the bull which snaps what held it bound

On being smitten by the fatal blow,

Halts in its course, and reels upon the ground.
The Minotaur I saw red to and fro ;

And he, the alert, cried : ' To the passage haste ;

While yet he chafes 'twere weU thou down shouldst go.'
So we descended by the slippery waste*

Of shivered stones which many a time gave way

'Neath the new weight' my feet upon them placed. 30
I musing went ; and he began to say :

^ Perchance this ruined slope thou thinkest on,

Watched by the brute rage I did now allay.
But I would have thee know, when I came down

The former time* into this lower Hell,

The dliThad not this ruin undergone.

^ Dmke tf Athens: Theseus, in modem Tuscan a place where

instracted by Ariadne, daughter earth or stones have been care-

of Patiphae and Minos, how to lessly shot into a heap,

outwit the Minotaur, entered the * The new weight : The slope

labyrinth in the cfaancter of a had never before been trodden

victim, slew the monster, and by mortal foot.

then made his way out, guided * The former time: When

by a thread he had unwound as Virgil descended to evoke a

he went in. shade from the Ninth Circle

* The slippery waste: The (Inf. ix. 22).
word used here, searco, means



• «ll



86 The Violent. [canto xti.

It was not long, if I distinguish well,
Ere He appeared who wrenched great prey from Dis^
From oat the upmost circle. Trembling fell

Through all its parts the nauseous abyss 40

With such a violence^ the world, I thought,
Was stirred by love ; for, as they say, by this

She back to Qiaos' has been often brought
And then it was this ancient rampart strong
Was shattered here and at another spot.'

But toward the valley look. We come ere long
Down to the river of blood ^ where boiling lie
All who by violence woric others wrong.'

insane rage I O blind cupidity I

By which in our brief life we are so spurred, 50

Ere downward plunged in evil case for aye !
An ample ditch I now beheld engird

And sweep in circle all around the plain,

As from my Escort I had lately heard.
Between this and the rock in single train

Centaurs* were running who were armed with bows.

As if they hunted on the earth again.

1 Prey from Dis: The shades » Auoiher spot: See Inf. xxi.
delivered from Limbo by Christ iia. The earthquake at the
{^Inf iv. 53). The expression in Crucifixion shook even Inferno
the text b probably suggested to its base.

by the words of the hymn ^ The rivir of blood: Phlege-

Vexilla: Pradampu i$Uit Tar* thon, the 'boiling river.' Styx

taris, and Acheron have been already

passed. Lethe, the fourth in-

* To Chaos: The reference is femal river, is placed by Dtnte

to the theory of Empedocles, in Purgatory. The first round

known to Dante through the or circlet of the Seventh Cirde

refutation ofit by Aristotle. The is filled by Phlegethon.

theory was one of periods ofunity ' Centaurs: As this round b

and division in nature, according the abode of such as are guilty

as love or hatred prevailed. of violence against their neigh-



ciECLK viL] The Centaurs. 87

Observing as descend they all stood dose,
Save three of them who parted from the band
With bow, and arrows they in coming chose. 60

* What torment/ from afar one made demand,

^ Come ye to share, who now descend the hill ?

I shoot unless ye answer whence ye stand.'
My Master said : ' We yield no answer till

We come to Chiron ^ standing at thy side ;

But thy quick temper always served thee ill'
Then touching me : *'Tis Nessus ;' he who died

With love for beauteous Dejanire possessed,

And who himself his own vendetta plied.
He in the middle, staring on his breast, 70

Is mighty Chiron, who Achilles bred ;

And next the wrathful Pholus. They invest
The fosse and in their thousands round it tread.

Shooting whoever from the blood shall lift,

More than his crime allows, his guilty head.'
As we moved nearer to those creatures swift

Chiron drew forth a shaft and dressed his beard

Back on his jaws, using the arrow's cleft
And when his ample mouth of hair was cleared,

He said to his companions : * Have ye seen 80

The things the second touches straight are stirred.
As they by feet of shades could ne'er have been ?'

And my good Guide, who to his breast had gone —

The psHt where join the natures,' * Well I ween

boon, it is guarded by these blood-stained shirt, telling her

brutal monsters, half-man and it would insure the faithfulness

half-horse. to her of any whom she loved.

^ Chiron: Called the most Hercules wore it and died of

just of the Centaurs. the venom; and thus Nessus

* Nessus : Slain by Heroiles avenged himself.

with a poisoned arrow. When ' TAe natures : The part of
dying he gave Dejanira his the Centaur where the equine



88 The TynmU, [canto zn.

He lives,' made answer ; * and if, thus alone,
He seeks the valley dim 'neath my control,
Necessity, not pleasure, leads him on«

One came from where the alleluiahs roll,
Who charged me with this office Strang and new :
No robber he, nor mine a felon souL 90

But, by that Power which makes me to pursue
The rugged journey whereupon- 1 fare,
Accord us one of thine to keep in view.

That he may show where lies the ford, and bear
This other on his back to yonder strand ;
No spirit he, that he should cleave the air/

Wheeled to the right then Chiron gave command
To Nessus : ' Turn, and lead them, and take tent
They be not touched by any other band.'^

We with our trusty Escort forward went, 100

Threading the margin of the boiling blood
Where they who seethed were raising loud lament

People I saw up to the chin imbrued,
' These all are tyrants,' the great Centaur said,
' Who blood and plunder for their trade pursued.

Here for their pitiless deeds tears now are shed
fiy Alexander,' and Dionysius fell.
Through whom in Sicily dolorous years were led.

The forehead with black hair so terrible
Is Ezzelino ;^ that one blond of hue, 1 10

body is joined on to the human Romano, the greatest Lombard

neck and head. Ghibeline of his time. He was

^ Othir hand: Of Centaurs. son-in-law of Frederick 11., and

* Alexander: It is not known was Imperial Vicar of the Tre*

whether Alexander the Great or visian Mark. Towards the close

a petty Thessalian tyrant is here of Frederick's life, and for some

meant. Dionysius: The cruel yeafrs after, he exercised almost

tyrant of Syracuse. independent power in Vicenzat

' Etulino: Or Azzolino of Padua, and Verona. Cruelty,



ciKCLvvii.] Guy of Mantfort 89

Obizzo ^ d'Este, whom, as ramoors tell.
His stepson murdered, and report speaks true.'
J to the Poet turned, who gave command :
' Regard thou chiefly him. I follow you.'
Ere long the Centaur halted on the strand,
Close to a people who, far as the throat.
Forth of that bulicamS' seemed to stand.
Thence a lone shade to us he pointed out
Saying : ' In God's house' ran he weapon through
The heart which still on Thames wins cult devout.' 120



erected into a system, was his believed, by a son, here called

chief instrament of goveniment, a stepsofo for his mmatoial eon-

and ' in his duogeons men found duct. But though Dante vouches

something worse than death.' for the truth of the rumour it

For Italians, says Bnrckhardt, he seems to have been an invention,

was the most impressive political * T%at buHcami: The stream

personage of the thirteenth oen- of boiling blood is probably

tniy ; and around his memory, as named from the bulicame, or hot

around Frederick's, there gath- spring, best known to Dante —

ered strange l^ends. He died that near Viterbo (see Inf. xiv.

in 1259, of a wound received in 79). And it may be that the

battle. When niged to confess mention of the bulicamii sug-

his sins by the monk who came gests the reference at Une 1 19.

to shrive him, he declared that ' In Kkits house: Literally,

the only sin on his conscience * In the bosom of God.' The

was negligence in revenge. But shade is that of Guy, son of

this may be mythical, as may also Simon of Montfort and Vicar in

be the long black hair between Tuscany of Charles of Anjou.

his eyebrows, which rose up stiff In ^1271 he stabbed, in the

and terrible as his anger waxed. Cathedral of Viterbo, Henry,

> OhkMo : The second Marquis son of Richard of Cornwall and

of Este of that name. He was cousin of Edward u of England,

lord of Ferrara. There seems The motive of the murder was

little, ifany, evidence extant of his to revenge the death of his

being spedally cruel. Asa strong father, Simon, at Evesham.

Gnelf he took sides with Charles The body of the young prince

of Anjou against Manfred. He was conveyed to England, and

died in 1293, smothered, it was the heart was placed in a vase



CK> The Tyrants, [canto mi.

Then I saw people, some with h^uls in view,
And some their chests above the river bore ;
And many of them I, beholding, knew.

And thus the blood went dwindling more and more,
Until at last it covered but the feet :
Here took we passage^ to the other shore.

'As on this hand thou seest still abate
In depth the volume of the boiling stream,'
The Centaur said, ' so grows its depth more great.

Believe me, towards the opposite extreme, 1 30

Until again its circling course attains
The place where tyrants roust lament Supreme

Justice upon that side involves in pains.
With Attila,' once of the world the pest,
Pyrrhus' and Sextus : and for ever drains

Tears out of Rinier of Cometo* pressed
And Rinier Pazzo^ in that boiling mass,
Whose brigandage did so the roads infest/

Then turned he back alone, the ford to pass.

upon the tomb of the Confessor. ' Pyrrhus: King of Epims.

The shade of Gay stands up to Sexhu: Sonof Pompey; a great

the chin in blood among the sea-captain who fonght against

worst of the tyrants, and alone, the TrinmvirB. The crime of

because of the enormity of his the first, in Dante's eyes, is

crime. that he fought with Rome ; of

1 Hire took we passage: Dante the second, that he opposed

on Nessus* back. Virgil has Augustus,

follen behind to allow the Cen- ^ Rinier qf Cometo: Who

tanr to act as guide; and how in Dante's time disturbed the

he crosses the stream Dante does coast of the States of the

not see. Church by his robberies and

*^//iZ(i;Kingof the Huns, who violence,

invaded part of Italy in the fifth * Rinier Pano : Of the great

century ; and who, according to fiimily of the Pazzi of Val

themistaken belief of Dante's age, d'Amo, was excommunicated in

was the devastator of Florence. 1269 for robbing ecclesiastics.



ciicLB VII.] The Harpies. 91



CANTO XIII.

Ere Nessus landed on the other shore

We for our part within a forest^ drew,

Which of no pathway any traces bore.
Not green the foliage, but of dusky hue ;

Not smooth the boughs, but gnarled and twisted round ;

For apples, poisonous thorns upon them grew.
No rougher brakes or matted worse are found

Where savage beasts betwixt Cometo' roam

And Cecina,' abhorring cultured ground.
The loathsome Harpies^ nestle here at home, 10

Who from the Strophades the Trojans chased

With dire predictions of a woe to come.

^ A forest: The second * ffarpiet: Monsters with

round of the Seventh Circle con« the bodies of birds and the heads

sists of a belt of tangled forest, of women. In the ^neid^ iii.,

enclosed by the river of blood, they are described as defiling

and devoted to suicides and the feast of which the Trojans

prodigals. were about to partake on one of

* ComttoandCicinaiQovDixXQ the Strophades — islands of the

is a town on the coast of what iEgean ; and on that occasion

used to be the States of the the prophecy was made that

Church ; Cecina a stream not iEneas and his followers should

finr south of Leghorn. Between be reduced to eat their tables

them lies the Maremma, a dis- ere they acquired a settlement

trict of great natural fertility, in Italy. Here the Harpies

now being restored again to cttlti- symbolise shameful waste and

vation, but for ages a neglected disgust with life,
and poisonous wilderness.



92 The Suicides. (canto ziii,

Great winged are they, but human necked and £3u:ed.
With feathered belly, and with claw for toe ;
They shriek upon the bushes wild and waste.

* Ere passing further, I would have thee know,'
The worthy Master thus began to say,

* Thou'rt in the second round, nor hence shalt go
Till by the horrid sand thy footsteps stay.

Give then good heed, and things thou 'It recognise 20
That of my words will prove ^ the verity.'

Wailings on every side I heard arise :
Of who might raise them I distinguished nought ;
Whereon I halted, smitten with surprise.

I think he thought that haply 'twas my thought
The voices came from people 'mong the trees,
Who, to escape us, hiding-places sought ;

Wherefore the Master said : * From one of these
Snap thou a twig, and thou shalt imderstand
How little with thy thought the feet agrees.' 30

Thereon a little I stretched forth my hand
And plucked a tiny branch from a great thorn.

* Why dost thou tear me ?' made the trunk demand.
When dark with blood it had begun to turn,

It cried a second time : * Why wound me thus ?
Doth not a spark of pity in thee bum ?

Though trees we be, once men were all of us-;
Yet had our souls the souls of serpents been
Thy hand might well have proved more piteous.'

As when the fire hath seized a fagot green 40

At one extremity, the other sighs,
And wind, escaping, hisses ; so was seen,



^ WiU^rovif tU, : The things of the blood and piteous voice
seen by Dante are to make cred- that issued frosi the torn boshes
ible what Virgil tells {j£n, iii.) on the tomb of Polydonis.



girclbVii.] Pier delle Vigne. 93

At where the branch was broken, blood to rise
And words were mixed with it. I dropped the spray
And stood like one whom terror doth surprise.

The Sage replied : * Soul vexed with injury,
Had he been only able to give trust
To what he read narrated in my lay,^

His hand toward thee would never have been thrust
rris hard for faith ; and I, to make it plain, 50

Urged him to trial, mourn it though I must.

•But tell him who thou wast ; so shall remain
This for amends to thee, thy fame shall blow
Afresh on earth, where he returns again.'

And then the. trunk : * Thy sweet words charm me so, '
I cannot dumb remain ; nor count it hard
If I some pains upon my speech bestow.

For I am he' who held both keys in ward

Of Frederick's heart, and turned them how I would.
And softly oped it, and as softly barred, 60

^ My lay : See previous note, his intellectual court Peter

Dflmte thus indirecdy acknow- was perhaps the more endeared

ledges his debt to Viigil ; and, to his master because, like \am^

perhaps, at the same time puts he was a poet of no mean order,

in his daim to an imaginative There are two accounts of what

licence equal to that taken by caused his disgrace. According

his master. On a modem to one of these he was found to

reader the effect of the reference have betrayed Frederick's in-

b to weaken the, verisimilitade terests in favour of the Pope's ;

of the incident. and acoording to the other he

* For I am i/, etc, : The tried to poison him. Neither is

spoaker is Pier delle Vigne, it known whether he committed

who from being a begging suicide; though he is said to

student of Bologna rose to be have done so after being dis-

the Chancellor of the Emperor graced, by dashing his brains

Frederick 11., the chief conn- out against a church wall in

cillor of that monarch, and one Pisa. Dante clearly follows

of the brightest ornaments of this l^eod. The whole episode



94



Pier delle Vigne.



[CANTO XIII.



Till scarce another iji his counsel stood.
To my high office I such loyalty bore,
It cost me sleep and haleness of my blood.

The harlot^ who removeth nevermore
From Caesar's house eyes ignorant of shame —
A common curse, of courts the special sore —

Set against me the minds of all aflame,
And these in turn Augustus set on fire.
Till my glad honours bitter woes became.

My soul, filled full with a disdainful ire, ^o

Thinking by means of death disdain to flee,
'Gainst my just self unjustly did conspire.

I swear even by the new roots of this tree
My fealty to my lord I never broke.
For worthy of all honour sure was he.

If one of you return 'mong living folk.
Let him restore my memory, overthrown
And suffering yet because of envy's stroke.'

Still for a while the poet listened on,
Then said : ' Now he is dumb, lose not the hour, 80
But make request if more thou 'dst have made known.'

And I replied : ' Do thou inquire once more
Of what thou thinkest' I would gladly know ;
I cannot ask ; ruth wrings me to the core.'



is eloquent of the esteem in
which Peter's memory was held
by Dante. His name is not
mentioned in Inferno, but yet
the promise is amply kept that
it shall flourish on earth again,
freed from umnerited disgrace.
He died about 1249.

^ Thikarht: Envy.

> Of what th«H thinkitt^ etc. :



Vifgil never asks a question for
his own satisfaction. He knows
who the spirits are, what brought
them there, and which of them
will speak honestly out on the
promise of having his fame re-
freshed in the world. It should
be noted how, by a hint, he
has made Peter aware of who
he is (line 48) ; a delicate at-



aKCLK TIL] The Suicides. 95

On this he spake : ' Even as the man shall do.
And liberally, what thou of him hast prayed,
Imprisoned spirit, do thou further show

How with these knots the spirits have been made
Incorporate ; and, if thou canst, declare
If from such members e'er is loosed a shade/ 90

Then from the trunk came vehement puffs of air ;
Next, to these words converted was the wind :
* My answer to you shall be short and clear.

When the fierce soul no longer is confined
In flesh, torn thence by action of its own,
To the Seventh Depth by Minos 'tis consigned.

No choice is made oi where it shall be thrown
Within the wood ; but where by chance 'tis flung
It germinates like seed of spelt that's sown.

A forest tree it grows from sapling young ; 100

Eating its leaves, the Harpies cause it pain,
And open loopholes whence its sighs are wrung.

We for our vestments shall return again
Like others, but in them shall ne'er be clad :^
Men justly lose what from themselves they Ve ta'en.

Dragged hither by us, all throughout the sad
Forest our bodies shall be hung on high ;
Each on the thorn of its destructive shade/

While to the trunk we listening lingered nigh,
Thinking he might proceed to tell us more, no

A sudden uproar we were startled by

Like him who, that the huntsman and the boar



tention yielded to no other ^ InthemshaU niirbt dad:

■hade in the Infano, except Boccaodo is here at great paSn*

Ulysses {Iirf. «vL 79), and, to save Dante from a charge of

perhaps Bmnetto Latini (/n/. contradicting the tenet of the

XV. 99)- resurection of the flesh.



'



96 Thi Prodigals. [canto xiil

To where he stands are sweeping in the chase,
Knows by the crashing trees and brutish roar.

Upon our left we saw a couple race
Naked^ and scratched ; and they so quickly fled
The forest barriers burst before their face.

' Speed to my rescue, death I' the foremost pled.
The next, as wishing he could use more haste ;
* Not thus, O Lano,' thee thy legs bested 120

When one at Toppo's tournament thou wast.'
Then, haply wanting breath, aside he stepped.
Merged with a bush on which himself he cast. .

Behind them through the forest onward swept
A pack of dogs, black, ravenous, and fleet.
Like greyhounds from their leashes newly slipped.

In him who crouched they made their teeth to meet,
And, having piecemeal all his members rent, '
Haled them away enduring anguish great

Grasping my hand, my Escort forward went 130

And led me to the bush which, all in vain.
Through its ensanguined openings made lament.

^ James of St Andrews,^' it we heard complain ;
' What profit hadst thou making me thy shield ?
For thy bad life doth blame to me pertain ?'

^ Naked: These are the by his side at Pieve del Toppo,

prodigals ; their nakedness re- preferring^ as was sappoaed, to

presenting the state to which end his life at onoe rather than

in life they had reduced them- drag it out in poverty,

selves. * James of Si, Andremt:

' Lano: Who made one of Jaoopo da Sant' Andrea, a

a dab of prodigals in Siena Padoan who inherited enonnoos

{Iirf, xxiz. 130) and soon ran wealth which did not last him for

thixMigh his fortune. Joining in loi^. He literally threw money

a Florentine eicpedition in 1288 away, and would bom a house

against Areszo, he refused to for Uie sake of the blase. His

escape from a defeat encountered death has been placed in . 1239.



CIRCLE VII J The Patrons of Florence, 97

Then, halting there, this speech my Master held :
' Who wast thou that through many wounds dost sigh,
Mingled with blood, words big with sorrow swelled ?'

* O souls that hither come,' was his reply,

* To witness shameful outrage by me borne, 140

Whence all my leaves torn off around me lie,

Gather them to the root of this drear thorn.
My city^ for the Baptist changed of yore
Her former patron ; wherefore, in return,

He with his art will make her aye deplore ;
And were it not some image doth remain
Of him where Amo's crossed from shore to shore,

Those citizens who founded her again
On ashes left by Attila,' had spent
Their labour of a surety all in vain. 1 50

In my own house' I up a gibbet went.'

* My city^ etc*: Acoordiiig to * AUila: A confusion with
tradition the original patron of Totila. Attila was never so
Florence was Mars. In Dante's &r south as Tuscany. Neither
time an ancient statue, supposed is there reason to believe that
to be of that gcxl, stood upon when Totila took the city he
the Old Bridge of Florence. It destroyed it. But the legend
is referred to in Parad, xn. ^1 was that it was rebuilt in the
and 145. Benvenuto says that time of Charles the Great

he bad heard from Boccaccio^ ' Mysmnkouse^iU, : It is not

who bad frequently heard it from settled who this was who hanged

old people, that the statue was himself from the beams of his

regarded with great awe. If a own roof. One of the Agli, say

boy flung stones or mud at it, some ; others, one of the MozzL

the bystanders would say of him Boccaccio and Peter Dante

that he would make a bad end. remark that suicide by hanging

It was lost in the great flood of was common in Florence. But

1333. Here the Florentine shade Dante's teat seems pretty often

represents Mars as troubling to have suggested the invention

Florence with wars in revenge of details in support or illustra-

for beii^ cast off as a patron. tion of it



gS The Sandy Desert. [canto xiv.



CANTO XIV.

Mb of my native place the dear constraint*
Led to restore the leaves which round were strewn,
To him whose voice by this time was grown fsdnt

Thence came we where the second round joins on
Unto the third, wherein how terrible
The art of justice can be, is well shown.

But, clearly of these wondrous things to tell,
I say we entered on a plain of sand
Which from its bed doth every plant repel

The dolorous wood lies round it like a band, lo

As that by the drear fosse is circled round.
Upon its very edge we came to a stand

And there was nothing within all that bound
But burnt and heavy sand ; like that once trod
Beneath the feet of Cato' was the ground.

^ Dmt constraint : The men- earth ; a fiivour he does not feign

tion of Florence has awakened to be asked for in this case, out

Dante to pity, and he willingly of consideration, it may be, for

complies with the request of the the family of the sinner,

unnamed suicide {Inf, xiii. 142). ' CatQ : Cato of Utica, who,

As a rale, the only service he after the defeat of Pompey at

consents to yield the souls with Pharsalia, led his broken army

whom he converses in Inferno across the Libyan desert to join

is to restore their memory upon King Juba.



CIRCLE VII.] The Violent against God, etc. 99

Ah, what a terror, O revenge of God t
Shouldst thou awake in any that may read
Of what before mine eyes was spread abroad '

I of great herds of naked souls took heed.
Most piteously was weeping every one ; 20

And different fortunes seemed to them decreed.

For some of them^ upon the ground lay prone,
And some were sitting huddled up and bent,
While others, restless, wandered up and down.

More numerous were they that roaming went
Than they that were tormented lying low ;
But these had tongues more loosened to lament

0*er all the sand, deliberate and slow,
Broad open flakes of fire were downward rained,
As 'mong the Alps' in calm descends the snow. 30

Such Alexander' saw when he attained



^ Some cf them^ etc, : In this ' Such Alexander, etc, : The
the third round of the Seventh reference is to a pretended letter
Circle are punished those guilty of Alexander to Aristode, in
of sins of violence against God, which he tells of the various
against nature, and against the hindrances met with by his
arts by which alone a livelihood army from snow and rain and
can honestly be won. Those showers of fire. But in that
guilty as against God, the bias- narrative it is the snow that is
phemers, lie prone like Capa- trampled down, while the flakes
neus (line 46), and are subject to of fire are caught by the soldiers
the fiercest pain. Those guilty upon their outspread cloaks.
of unnatural vice are stimulated The story of the shower of fire
into ceaseless motion, as de- may have been suggested by
scribed in Cantos xv. and xvi. Plutarch's mention of the mine-
The usurers, those who despise ral oil in the province of Baby-
honest industry and the humanis- Ion, a strange thing to the
ing arts of life, are found crouch- Greeks ; and of how they were
ing on the ground {/n/, xvii 43). entertained by seeing the ground,

* The Alpe: Used here for which had been sprinkled with

mountains in general. it, burst into flame.



100 Capaneus, [canto xiv.

The hottest India ; on his host they fell
And all unbroken on the earth remained ;

Wherefore he bade his phalanxes tread well
The ground, because when taken one by one
The burning flakes they could the better quelL

So here eternal fire^ was pouring down :
As tinder 'neath the steel, so here the sands
Kindled, whence pain more vehement was known.

And, dancing up and down, the wretched hands' 40

Beat here and there for ever without rest ;
Brushing away from them the falling brands.

And I : * O Master, by all things confessed
Victor, except by obdurate evil powers
Who at the gate' to stop our passage pressed.

Who is the enormous one who noway cowers
Beneath the fire ; with fierce disdainful air
Lying as if untortured by the showers V

And that same shade, because he was aware
That touching him I of my Guide was fain 50

To learn, cried : * As in life, myself I bear

In death. Though Jupiter should tire again
His smith, from whom he snatched in angry bout
The bolt by which I at the last was slain ;*

. ^ Eternal Jtre: As always, performers followed a leader and

the character of the place and of imitBted him in all his gestures,

the ponishment bears a relation waving their hands as he did,

to the crimes of the inhabitants, up and down, and from side to

They sinned tgunst nature in a side. The simile is caught

spedal sense, and now they are straight from common life,

confined to the sterile sand * Ai tki gate: Of the city of

where the only showers that iall Dis (In/, viii. 82).

are showers of fire. ^ Was slatn, etc, : Capaneus,

* The wretched hands: The one of the Seven Kings, as told

dance, named in the original below, when storming the walls

the tresca^ was one in which the of Thebe«, taunted the other



CIRCLE VII.] Capaneus. loi

Though one by one he tire the others out
At the black forge in Mongibello^ placed.
While *' Ho, good Vulcan, help me ! "^ he shall shout —

The cry he once at Phlegjra's* battle raised ;
Though hurled with all his might at me shall fly
His bolts, yet sweet revenge he shall not taste.' 60

Then spake my Guide, and in a voice so high
Never till then heard I from him such tone :
' O Capaneus, because unquenchably

Thy pride doth bum, worse pain by thee is known.
Into no torture save thy madness wild
Fit for thy fury couldest thou be thrown.'

Then, to me turning with a face more mild,
He said : ' Of the Seven Kings was he of old.
Who Icaguered Thebes, and as he God reviled

Him in small reverence still he seems to hold ; 70

But for his bosom his own insolence
Supplies fit ornament,' as now I told.



gods with impnnity, but his bias- getting law enough by which to

phemy agtdnst Jupiter was an* try the heathen Dante is led

swered by a &tal bolt. into some inconsisteDcy. After

^ MongiUUo : A popular name condemning the virtuous heathen
of Etna, under which mountain to Limbo for their ignorance of
was situated the smithy of Vnl- the one true God, he now con-
can and the Cyclopes. demns the wicked heathen to

* PhUgra: Where the giants this circle for despising false

fought with the gods. gods. Jupiter here stands for,

' FU cmammif iU, : £ven if as need scarcely be said, the

untouched by the pain he affects Supreme Ruler ; and in that

to despise^ he would yet suffer sense he is termed God (line 69).

enough from the mad hatred of But it remains remarkable that

God that rages in his breast the one instance of blasphemous

Capaneus is the nearest approach defiance of God should be taken

to the Satan of Milton found in from classical fable,
the If^emOn From the need of



I02 The Crimson Brook, [canto xi v.

Now follow ; but take heed lest passing hence

Thy feet upon the burning sand should tread ;

But keep them firm where runs the forest fence.' ^
We reached a place — nor any word we said —

Where issues from the wood a streamlet small ;

I shake but to recall its colour rq(L
Like that which does from BulicamS' fall,

And losel women later 'mong them share ; 80

So through the sand this brooklet's waters crawl.
Its bottom and its banks I was aware

Were stone^ and stone the rims on either side.

From this I knew the passage' must be there.

* Of all that I have shown thee as thy guide

Since when we by the gateway* entered in,
Whose threshold unto no one is denied,

* The forest fence: They do • The passage: On each edge
not trust themselves so much as of the canal there is a flat path-
to step upon the sand^ but look way of solid stone ; and Dante
out on it from the verge of the sees that only by following one
forest which encircles it, and of these can a passage be gained
which as they travel they have across the desert, for to set foot
on the left hand. on the sand is impossible for

* Bulicanie: A hot sulphur him owing to the felling flakes
spring a couple of miles from of fire. There may be found in
Viterbo, greatly frequented for his description of the solid and
baths in the Middle Ages ; and, flawless masonry of the canal a
it is said, especially by light trace of the pleasure taken in
women. The water boils up good building by the contem-
into a large pool, whence it poraries of Amolfo. Nor is it
flows by narrow channels ; some- without meaning that the sterile
times by one and sometimes by sands, the abode of such as de-
another, as the purposes of the spised honest labour, is crossed
neighbouring peasants require, by a perfect work of art which
Sulphurous fumes rise from the they are forbidden ever to set
water as it runs. The incrustation foot upon.

of the bottom, sides, and edges * Th^ gateway: At the en-
of those channels gives them the trance to Inferno,
air of being solidly built.



CIRCLE VII.] The Statue of Time. 103

Nothing by thee has yet encountered been

So worthy as this brook to cause surprise.

O'er which the falling fire-flakes quenched are seen.' 90
These were my Leader's words. For full supplies

I prayed him of the food of which to taste

Keen appetite he made within me rise.
' In middle sea there lies a country waste.

Known by the name of Crete,' I then was told,

' Under whose king^ the world of yore was chaste.
There stands a mountain, once the joyous hold

Of woods and streams ; as Ida 'twas renowned,

Now 'tis deserted like a thing grown old.
For a safe cradle 'twas by Rhea found 100

To nurse her diild' in ; and his infant cry,
Lest it betrayed him, she with clamours drowned.
Within the mount an old man towereth high.

Towards Damietta are his shoulders thrown ;

On Rome, as on his mirror, rests his eye.
His head is fashioned of pure gold alone ;

Of purest silver are his arms and chest ;

'Tis brass to where his legs divide ; then down
From that is all of iron of the best,

Save the right foot, which is of baken clay ; 1 10

And upon this foot doth he chiefly rest.
Save what is gold, doth every part display

A fissure dripping tears ; these, gathering all

Together, through the grotto pierce a way.
From rock to rock into this deep they fall,



^ Whou hmg : Saturn, who is therefore set by Dante in the

mled the world in the Golden island where he reigned.

Age. He, as the devouier of ' Mer child: Jupiter, hidden

his own offiipring, is the symbol in the mountain from his lather

of Time ; and the image of Time Saturn.



1 04 The Infernal Floods. [canto xiv.

Feed Acheron^ and Styx and Phlegetfaon,
Then downward travelling by this strait canal,

Far as the place where further slope is none,
Cocytus form ; and what that pool may be
I say not now. Thou It see it further on.' 120

* If this brook rises/ he was asked by me,
^ Within our world, how comes it that no trace
We saw of it tiU on this boundary?'



^ Feed Acheron, etc, : The idea reminds him at line 124, etc.

of this image is taken from the The rivulet by which they stand

figure in Nebuchadnezzar's drains the boUing Phlegethoo

dream in Daniel ii. But here, •— where the water is aU changed

instead of the Four Empires, to blood, because in it the

the materials of the statue re- murderers are punished — and

present the Four Ages of the flowing through the forest of the

world; the fDot of day on suicides and the desert of the

which it stands being the pre- blasphemeis, etc, tumbles into

sent time, which is so bad that the Eighth Circle as described in

even iron were too good to re- Canto xvi. 103. Cocytus they

present it. Time turns his back are afterward to reach. An

to the outworn civilisations of objection to this account of the

the East, and his face to Rome, infernal riven as being all fed by

which, as the seat of the Empire the same waters may be found

and the Church, holds the secret in the difference of volume of the

of the fixture. The tears of great river of Acheron {/n/, iii.

time shed by every Age save 71) and of this brooklet. But

that of Gold feed the four m- this difference is perhaps to be

femal streams and pools of explained by the evaporation

Acheron, Styx, Phlege^on, and from the boiling waters of

Cocytus. Line 1 17 indicates that Phlegethon and of this stream

these are all fed by the same which drains it Dante is

water ; are in &ct different almost the only poet applied to

names for the same flood of tears, whom such criticism would not

The reason why Dante has not be trifling. Another difficult

hitherto observed the connection point is how Cocytus should not

between them is that be has not m time have filled, and more

made a complete circuit of each than filled, the Ninth Cirde.
or indeed of any circle, as Virgil



ciKCLB VII.] Tlu Infernal Floods. 105

And he replied : ' Thou knowest that the place
Is round, and far as thou hast moved thy feet,
Still to the left hand^ sinking to the base,

Nath'less thy circuit is not yet complete.
Therefore if something new we chance to spy,
Amazement needs not on thy face have seat'

I then : ' But, Master, where doth Lethe lie^ 130

And Phlegethon ? Of that thou sayest nought ;
Of this thou sa/st, those tears its flood supply/

' It likes me well to be by thee besought ;
But by the boiling red wave,' I was told^
' To half thy question was an answer brought.

Lethe,' not in this pit, shalt thou behold.
Thither to wash themselves the spirits go,
When penitence has made them spotless souled.'

Then said he : ' From the wood 'tis fitting now
That we depart ; behind me press thou nigh. 140

Keep we the margins, for they do not glow.

And over them, ere fallen, the fire-flakes die.'

^ To the left hand: Twice complete till they reach the very

only as they descend they turn base.

their coune to the right hand * Lethe: Found in the Earthly

{fnf, ix. 132, and xvii. 31). The Paradise, as described in Pttrga'

circoit of the Inferno they do not torio zzviii 130.



io6 The Crimson Brook, [canto xv.



CANTO XV,

Now lles^ our way along one of the margins hard ;
Steam rising from the rivulet forms a cloud,
Which 'gainst the fire doth brook and borders guard.

Like walls the Flemings, timorous of the flood
Which towards them pours betwixt Bruges and Cad-
sand,'
Have made, that ocean's charge may be withstood ;

Or what the Paduans on the Brenta's strand
To guard their castles and their homesteads rear,
Ere Chiarentana' feel the spring-tide bland ;

Of the same fashion did those dikes appear, lo

Though not so high^ he made them, nor so vast^
Whoe'er the builder was that piled them here.

^ Now Uis^ iU, : The stream ' Ckiarentana : What dis-
on issuing from the wood flows trict or mountain is here meant
right across the waste of sand has been much disputed. It can
which that encompasses. To be taken for Carinthia only on
follow it they must turn to the the supposition that Dante was
right, as always when, their ignorant of where the Brenta
general course being to the left, rises. At the source of that
they have to cross a Circle. But river stands the Monte Chiaren-
such a veering to the right is a tana, but it may be a questkm
consequence of their leftward how old that name is. The dis-
course, and not an exception to trict name of it is Canzana, or
it Carenzana.

* Cadsand: An island op- ^ Nitt so high^ etc: This

posite to the mouth of the great limitation is very characteristic of

canal of Bruges. Dante*s style of thought, which



CIRCLE vxi.] Brumtto LatinL 107

We, from the wood when we so far had passed
I should not have distinguished where it lay
Though I to see it backward glance had cast,

A group of souls encountered on the way,
Whose Hne of inarch was to the margin nigh.
Each looked at us — as by the new moon's ray

Men peer at others 'neath the darkening sky —
Sharpening his brows on us and only us, 20

Like an old tailor on his needle's eye.

And while that crowd was staring at me thus,
One of them knew me, caught me by the gown.
And cried aloud : ' Lo, this is marvellous V^

And straightway, while he thus to me held on,
I fixed mine eyes upon his fire-baked face.
And, spite of scorching, seemed his features known,

And whose ^ey were my memory well could trace ;
And I, with hand' stretched toward his face below,
Asked : * Ser Brunetto !' and is tins your place ?' 30

compels him to a precision that gesture of astonishment mingled

will produce the utmost possible with pity,

effect of verisimilitude in his ' Ser Brunetto: Brunetto

description. Most poets would Latini, a Florentine, was bom

haire made the walls far higher m 1220. As a notary he was

and more vast, by way of lend- entitled to be called Ser, or

ing grandeur to the conception. Messer. As appears from the

> MarveiUms: To find Dalite, context, Dante was under great

whom he knew, still living, and intellectual obligations to him,

passing through the Circle. not, we may suppose, as to a tutor

* With handf etc, : ' With so much as to an active-minded
my face bent to his ' is another and scholarly friend of mature
reading, but there seems to be age, and possessed of a ripe ex-
most authority for that in the perience of affairs. The social
text. — ^The fiery shower forbids respect that Dante owed him is
Dante to stoop over the edge indicated by the use of the plural
of the causeway. To Brunetto, form of address. See note, /n/,
who is some feet below him, he x. 51. Brunetto held high ap-
thiows out his open hand, a pointments in the Republic.



io8 The Violent against Nature, [canto xv.

' O son,' he answered, ' no displeasure show,
If now Bninetto Latini shall some way
Step back with thee, and leave his troop to go.'

I said : ^ With all my heart for this I pray,
And, if you choose, I by your side will sit ;
If he, for I go with him, grant delay.'

' Son,' said he, ' who of us shall intermit
Motion a moment, for an ^e must lie
Nor fan himself when flames are round him lit.

On, therefore ! At thy skirts I follow nigh, 40

Perhaps with some exaggeratioii, indeed hafe been vicious to
ViUani says of him that he was the last, before Dante could
the first to refine the Florentines, have had the heart to fix him
teaching them to speak correctly, in such company. Bnmetto's
and to administer State af&irs chief works are the Tnar^ and
on fixed principles of polidcs TesortUo, For the Tesoro^ see
{CroHua, viii. 10). A Gaelf in note at line 119^ The Teserdto^
politics, he shared in the exile or IMtU Trtasure^ is an all^ori-
of his party after the Ghibeline cal poem in Italian rhymed coup-
victory of Montaperti in 1260^ lets. In it he imagines himself
and for some years resided in as be is on his retom from an
Paris. There is reason to sup- embassy to Alphonao of Castile,
pose that he returned to Flor- meeting a scholar of Bologna oif
ence in 1269, and that he acted whom he asks ' in smoothsweet
as prothonotary of the court of words for news of Tuscany.'
Charles of Valois' vicar-general Having been told of the cata-
in Tuscany. His signature as strophe of Montaperti he wan-
secretazy to. the Council of deri out of the beaten way into
Florence is found under the the Foiest of Roncesvalles,
date of 1273. He died in 1294, where he meets with various
when Dante was twenty-nine, experiences; he is helped by
and was buried in the cloister of Ovid, is instructed by Ptolemy^
Santa Maria Maggior^ where and grows penitent for his sins,
his tombstone may still be In thb, it will be seen, there is a
seen. (Not in Santa Maria general resemblance to the action
Novella.) ViUani mentions him of the Comedy. There are even
in his Chronicle with some turns of expression that recall
reluctance, seeing he was a Dante (/.^.beginning of dAiv.);
'worldly man.' His life must but aU together amounts to little.



ciRCLB VII.] Brunetto Latinu 109

Then shall I overtake my band again.

Who mourn a loss large as eternity.'
I dared not from the path step to the plain

To walk with him, but low I bent my head,^

Like one whose steps are all with reverence ta'en.
' What fortune or what destiny,' he said,

^ Hath brought thee here or e'er thou death hast seen ;

And who is this by whom thou 'rt onward led ?'
' Up yonder,' said I, ' in the life serene,

I in a valley wandered all forlorn 50

Before my years had full accomplished been.
I turned my back on it but yestermom ;'

Again I sought it when he came in sight

Guided by whom' I homeward thus return.'
And he to me : ' Following thy planet's light^

^ Law I beni my head: But Viigil in disdain. But it b

not projecting it beyond the line explanation enough of Dante's

of safety, strictly defined by the omission to name his gnide that

edge of the causeway. We he is passing throngh Inferno to

are to imagine to ourselves the gain experience for himself, and

fire of Sodom fidling on Bru- not to satisfy the cariosity of the

netto's nptumed face, and miss- shades he meetSi See note on

ing Dante's head only by an line 99.

inch. ^ Thy planefs tight: Some

* Yesttmwm: This is still thmk that Branetto had cast

the Saturday. It was Friday Dante's horoscope. In a re-

when Dante met Virgil. markable passage {Parade xxii.

' Gmtkd by whom : Branetto 112) Dante attributes any genius

has asked who the guide is, and he may have to the influence of

Dante does not tell him. A the Twins, which constellation

reason for the refusal has been was in the ascendant when he

ingenioosly foond in the foct was bom. See also Inf. xxvi.

that among the numeroas dta- 23. But here it is more likely

tions of the Trtasure Brunetto that Branetto refers to his ob-

seldom quotes Virgil. See also serration of Dante's good quali-

the charge broaght against Guido ties, from which he gathered

Cavalcanti (Inf. x. 63), of holding that he was well starred.



no The Violent against Nature, [canto xv.

Thou of a glorious haven canst not fail.

If in the blithesome life I marked aright
And had my years known more abundant tale,

Seeing the heavens so held thee in their grace

I, heartening thee, had helped thee to prevail. 60

But that ungrateful and malignant race

Which down from Fiesole^ came long ago,

And still its rocky origin betrays,
Will for thy worthiness become thy foe ;

And with good reason, for 'mong crab-trees wild

It ill befits the mellow fig to grow.
By widespread ancient rumour are they styled

A people blind, rapacious, envious, vain :

See by their manners thou be not defiled.
Fortune reserves such honour for thee, fain 70

Both sides' will be to enlist thee in their need ;

But from the beak the herb shall £ar remain.



^ FiesoU: The mother city of way back to Florence in the

Florence, to which also most of company of the Whites, whose

the Fiesolans were believed to exile he shared, and when he

have migrated at the beginning was aheady standing in proud

of the eleventh century. But isolation from Black and White,

all the Florentines did their from Guelf and Ghibeline.

best to establish a Roman de- There is nothing to show that

scent for themselves ; and Dante his expectation of being courted

among them. His fellow-dti- by both sides ever came tme.

zens he held to be for the most Never a strong partisan, he had,

part of the boorish Fiesolan to use his own words, at last to

breed, rude and stony-hearted make a party by himself, and

as the mountain in whose cleft stood out an Imperialist with

the cradle of their race was seen his heart set on the triumph of

from Florence. an Empire far nobler than that

s Both sides : This passage the GhibeliAe desired. Dante

was most likely written not long may have hoped to hold a place

after Dante had ceased to enter- of honour some day in the ooun-

tain any hope of winning his cil of a righteous Emperor ; and



CIRCLE VII.] Brunette Latins. 1 1 1

Let beasts of Fiesole go on to tread
Themselves to litter, nor the plants molest,
If any such now spring on their rank bed,

In whom there flourishes indeed the blest
Seed of the Romans who still lingered there
When of such wickedness 'twas made the nest'

' Had I obtained full answer to my prayer,
You had not yet been doomed,' I then did say, 80

' This exile from humanity to bear.

For deep within my heart and memory
Lives the paternal image good and dear
Of you, as in the world, from day to day.

How men escape oblivion you made dear ;
My thankfulness for which shall in my speech
While I have life, as it behoves, appear.

I note what of my future course you teach.
Stored with another text^ it will be glozed
By one expert, should I that Lady reach. 90

Yet would I have this much to you disclosed :
If but my conscience no reproaches yield,
To all my fortune is my soul composed.

Not new to me the hint by you revealed ;
Therefore let Fortune turn her wheel apace,
Even as s}ie will ; the clown' his mattock wield.'

Thereon my Master right about' did face,
And uttered this, with glance upon me thrown :

this may be the glorious haven performance of duty is the best

with the dream of which he was defence against adverse fortmie.

consoled in the wanderings of * /^igAi ahout: In traversing

his exile. the sands they keep upon the

1 Another text: Ciacoo and right-hand margin of the em-

FarinaU have already hinted at banked stream, Virgil leading

the troubles that lie ahead of the way, with Dante behind

him (Inf. vi. 65, and x. 79). him on the right so that Bra-

s The ctffwn, etc, : The honest netto may see and hear him well.



112 The Violetit against Nature, [canto xv.

'' ' He hears^ to putpose who doth mark the placa'

And none the less I, speaking, still go on ' loo

With Ser Brunetto ; asking him to tell
Who of his band' are greatest and best known*

And he to me : * To hear of some is well,
But of the rest 'tis fitting to be dumb,
And time is lacking all their names to spelL

That all of them were clerks, know thou in sum,
All men of letters, famous and of might ;
Stained with one sin' all from the world are come. '

Priscian^ goes with that crowd of evil plight,
Francis d'Accorso^ too ; and hadst thou mind no

For suchlike trash thou mightest have had sight

' I He hears^ etc, : Of all the * His band: That is, the

interpretations of this somewhat company to which Brunetto

obscure sentence that seems the specially belongs, and from

best which applies it to Virgil's which for the time he has separ-

Quicquid eri/, superanda cmnis ated himself.

fortuna ftrendo est — * Whatever . c • ^

shaU happen, every fate is to be Stained wtth me sin:

vanquished by endurance' {Mn. P»?^« ™J ^^^ . , ! Brunetto

V.710). Taking this way of it, mdmdually confess his sin.

we have m the fonn of Dante's a prisaan: Thegreatgmm-
profession of mdifference to all ,„,jpi^ ^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^^^^ .
the adverse fortune that may be p^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^^

m store for lum a refined except that he U a representative

comphment to his Guide ; and ^^^ of youth,
in Virgil's gesture and words an

equally delicate revelation of ' Francis ePAccorso: Died

himself to Brunetto^ in which is about 1294. The son of a great

conveyed an answer to the civil lawyer, he was himadf

question at line 48, 'Who is professor of the civil law at

this that shows the way?' — Bologna, where his services

Otherwise, the words convey were so highly prised that the

Virgil's approbation of Dante's Bolognese forbade him, on pain

having so wdl attended tohis ad* of the confiscation of his goods,

vice to store Farinata's prophecy to accept an invitation from

in his memory (/it/*, x. 127). Edward i. to go to Oxford.



cntcLB VII.] Brunette Latini. i f 3

Of him the Slave^ of Slaves to change assigned
From Arno's banks to Bacchiglione, where
His nerves fatigued with vice he left behind.

More would I say, but neither must I fare
Nor talk at further length, for from the sand
I see new dust-clouds* rising in the air,

I may not keep with such as are at hand.
Care for my Treasure;^ for I still survive
In that my work. I nothing else demand.' 120

* Of him the Slave, etc, : One among the churchmen as well

of the Pope's titles is Servus as the scholars of the thirteenth

Servorum DtfmittL The appli- century.

cation of it to Bonifsux, so hated ' New dust-clouds : Raised
by Dante, may be ironical: by a hand by whom they are
' Fit servant of such a slave to about to be met
vice!* The priest referred to • JIfy Treasure: The 7h&or,ot
so contemptuously is Andrea, 7£f;9fv, Brunette's principal work,
of the great Florentine family of was written by him in French as
the Mo2zi, who was much en- being ' the pleasantest language*
gaged in the political affiurs of and the most widely spread.'
his time, and became Bishop of In it he treats of things in gene-
Florence in 1386. About ten ral in the encyclopedic fashion
years later he was translated to set him by Alphonso of Castile.
Vicenza, which stands on the The first half consists of a sum-
Bacchiglione ; and he died maryofciviland natural history,
shortly afterwards. According The second is devoted to ethics,
to Boivenuto he was a ridicn- rhetoric, and politics. To a
lous preacher and a man of great extent it is a compilation,
dissolute manners. What is containing, for instance, a trans-
now most interesting about him lation, nearly complete, of the
is that he was Dante's chief Ethics of Aristotle — ^not, of
pastor during his early manhood, course, direct from the Greek,
and is consigned by him to the It is written in a plodding style,
same disgraceful drde of In- and speaks to more industry
femo as his beloved master than genius. To it Dante is
Brunette Latini — a terrible evi- indebted for some fi&cts and
dence of the corruption of life fables.

H



1 14 Brunetto Latini. [canto xt.

Then turned he back, and ran like those who strive
For the Green Cloth ^ upon Verona's plain ;
And seemed like him that shall the first arrive.

And not like him that labours all in vain.

«

^ The Green Cloth : To com- gloom without a parting word

memonte a victory won by the of applause from his old popiL

Veronese there was instituted a Dante's rigorous sentence on

race to be run on the first his beloved master is pronounced

Sunday of Lent. The prize as softly as it can be. We must

was a piece of green cloth. The still wonder that he has the

competitors ran naked. — Bru- heart to bring him to such an

netto does not disappear into the awful judgment.



ciECLBvii.] The Violent against Nature, ifS



CANTO XVI.

Now could I hear the water as it fell

To the next circle^ with a murmuring sound

Like what is heard from swarming hives to swell ;
When three shades all together with a bound

Burst from a troop met by us pressing on

'Neath rain of that sharp torment O'er the ground
Toward us approaching, they exclaimed each one :

' Halt thoUf whom from thy garb' we judge to be

A citizen of our corrupted towiL'
Alas, what scars I on their limbs did see, to

Both old and recent, which the flames had made :

Even now my ruth is fed by memory.
My Teacher halted at their cry, and said :

' Await a while :' and looked me in the face ;

' Some courtesy to these were well displayed.
And but that fire — the manner of the place —

Descends for ever, fitting 'twere to find

Rather than them, thee quickening thy pace.'
When we had halted, they again combined

In their old song ; and, reaching where we stood, 20

Into a wheel all three were intertwined.

1 The mxt circle: The Eighth, those times its peculiar fashion
' Thy garb: 'Almost every of dress distinct from that of
city,' says Boccaccio, 'had in neighbouring cities.'



1 1 6 Three Gentlemen of Florence, [canto xvi.

And as the athletes used, well oiled and nude,
To feel their grip and, wary, watch their chance.
Ere they to purpose strike and wrestle could ;

So each of them kept fixed on me his glance
As he wheeled round, ^ and in opposing ways
His neck and feet seemed ever to advance.

' Ah, if the misery of this sand-strewn place
Bring us and our petitions in despite,'
One then began, ' and flayed and grimy &ce ; 30

Let at the least our fame goodwill incite
To tell us who thou art, whose living feet
Thus through Inferno wander without fright

For he whose footprints, as thou see'st, I beat,
Though now he goes with body peeled and nude.
More than thou thinkest, in the world was great

The grandson was he of Gualdrada good ;
He, Guidoguerra,' with his armM hand
Did mighty things, and by his counsel shrewd.

The other who behind me treads the sand 40

Is one whose name should on the earth be dear ;
For he is Tegghiaio' Aldobrand.



^ As he whetUd round : Virgil xv. 112. Guidogaerra was a
and Dante have come to a halt Guelf leader, and after the
upon the embankment. The defeat of Montaperti acted as
three shades, to whom it is for- Captain of his party, in diis
bidden to be at rest for a moment, capacity lending valuable aid to
clasping one another as in a Charles of Anjoa at the battle
dance, keep wheeling round in of Benevento, 1266, when Man-
circle upon the sand. fred was overthrown. He had

* Guidoguerra : A descendant no children, and left the Com-

of the Counts Gutdi of Modi- monwealth of Florence his

gliana. Gualdrada was the heir.

daughter of Bellincion Berti ' ' Teggkiaio: Son of Aldo-

de' Ravignani, praised for his biando of the Adtmari. His

simple habits in the Paraduo, name should be dear in Florence,



CIRCLE viL] RusticuccL 117

And I, who am tormented with them' here,
James Rusticucci^ was ; my fierce and proud
Wife of my ruin was chief minister.'

If from the fire there had been any shroud
I should have leaped down 'mong them, nor have earned
Blame, for my Teacher sure had this allowed.

But since I should have been aU baked and burned,
Terror prevailed the goodwill to restrain 50

With which to clasp them in my arms I yearned.

Then I began : "Twas not contempt but pain
Which your condition in my breast awoke.
Where deeply rooted it will long remain,

When this my Master words unto me spoke.
By which expectancy was in me stirred
That ye who came were honourable folk.

I of your city' am, and with my word

because he did all he could to verdict already accepted as ju^t

dissuade the citizeus from the by the whole of Florence. And

campaign which ended so disas- when we find him impartially

trously at Montaperti. damning Guelf and Ghibeline

1 James Rustscucci: An ac- we may be equally sure that he

complished cavalier of humble looked for the aid of neither

birth, said to have been a re- party, and of no fiunily however

tainer of Dante's firiends the powerful in the State, to bring

CavalcantL The commentators his banishment to a close. He

have little to tell of him except would even seem to be careful

that he made an unhappy mar- to stop any hole by which he

riage, which is evident from the might creep back to -Florence,

text Of the sins of him and When he did return, it was to

his companions there is nothing > be in the train of the Emperor, so

known beyond what is to be he hoped, and as one who gives

inferred from the poet's words, rather than seeks forgiveness,
and nothing to say, except that * Cf your city^ etc, : At line

when Dante consigned men of 32 Rusticucci begs Dante to

their stamp, frank and amiable, tell who he is. He tells that

to the Infernal Circles, we may he is of their city, which they

be sure that he only executed a have already gathered from his



1 1 8 News of Florence. [canto xvi.

Your deeds and honoured names oft to recall
Delighted, and with joy of them I heard. 60

To the sweet fruits I go, and leave the gall,
As promised to me by my Escort true ;
But first I to the centre down must &1L'

' So may thy soul thy members long endue
With vital power,' the other made reply,
' And after thee thy fame^ its light renew ;

As thott shalt tell if worth and courtesy
Within our city as of yore remain.
Or from it have been wholly forced to fly.

For William Borsier,' one of yonder train, 70

And but of late joined with us in this woe,
Causeth us with his words exceeding pain.'

* Upstarts, and fortunes suddenly that grow.



berretta and the fashion of his * WiUiam Borsure: A Flor-
gown; but he tells nothing, entine, witty and well bred,
almost, of himself. Unless to according to BoccacdOi Being
Farinata, indeed, he never once at Genoa he was shown a
makes an open breast to any fine new palace by its miserly
one met in Inferno. But here owner, and was asked to sng*
he does all that courtesy re- gest a subject for a painting
quires. with which to adorn the hall.
^ Thy fame: Dante has im- The subject was to be some-
plied in his answer that he is thing that nobody had ever
gifted with oratorical powers seen. Borsiere proposed Uber-
and is the object of a special ality as something that the miser
Divine care ; and the illustrious at any rate had never yet got a
Florentine, frankly acknowledg- good si^ of; an answer of
ing the claim be makes, adjures which it is not easy to detect
him by the fome which is his in either the wit or the courtesy,
store to appease an eager cnri- but which is said to have con* '
osity about the Florence which verted the churl to liberal ways
even in Inferno is the first {Deeam. i. 8). He is here intro-
thought of every not ignoble duced as an authority on the
Florentine. noble style of manners.



ciRCLB vii.] Florentine Degeneracy, 119

Have bred in thee pride and extravagance,^

Whence tears, O Florence ! thou art shedding now.'
Thus cried I with uplifted countenance.

The three, acceptbg it for a reply,

Glanced each at each as hearing truth men glance.
And all : Mf others thou shalt satisfy

As well at other times' at no more cost, So

Happy thus at thine ease the truth to cry !
Therefore if thou escap'st these regions lost,

Returning to behold the starlight fair,

Then when ^ There was I," thou shalt make thy boast,
Something of us do thou 'mong men dedare.'

Then broken was the wheel, and as they fled

Their nimble l^;s like pinions beat the air.
So much as one Amen / had scarce been said

Quicker than what they vanished from our view.

On this once more the way my Master led. 90

^ Pride a$ul extravagance : In at the spectacle of the amaziDg
place of the nobility of mind growth of wealth in the hands
that leads to great actions, and of low-bom traders, who every
the gentle manners that prevail year were coming more to the
in a society where there is a doe front and monopolising infln-
subordination of rank to rank ence at home and abroad at the
and well-defined doties for every cost of their neighbours and
man. This, the aristocratic in a rivals with longer pedigrees and
noble sense, was Dante's ideal shorter purses. In Paradiso
of a social state; for all his zvi Dante dwells at length on
instincts were those of a Floren- the degeneracy of the Floren-
tine aristocrat, corrected though tines.

they were by his good sense and * At other times : It is hinted

his thirst for a reign of perfect that his outspokenness will not

justice. During his own in the future always give equal

time he had seen Florence grow satisfaction to those who

more and more democratic ; and hear.

he was irritated — unreasonably, ' There was I^ etc,: Forsanet

considering that it was only a hac oUm meminisse jmvoHt*-^

sign of the general prosperity — ^n. i. 203.



1 20 The Cataract [camto xvi.

I followed, and ere long so near we diew
To where the water feU, that for its roar
Speech scarcely had been heard between us two.

And as the stream which of all those which pour
East (from Mount Viso counting) by its own
Course falls the first from Apennine to shore —

As Acquacheta^ in the uplands known
By name, ere plunging to its bed profound ;
Name lost ere by Fori! its waters run —

Above St Benedict with one long bound, 100

Where for a thousand' would be ample room.
Falls from the mountain to the lower ground ;

Down the steep cliff that water dyed in gloom
We found to fall echoing from side to side.
Stunning the ear with its tremendous boom.

There was a cord about my middle tied.
With which I once had thought that I might hold
Secure the leopard with the painted hide.

When this from round me I had quite unrolled

^ Acquacheta : The fall of the a course of its own. Above

water of the brook over the lofty Forii it was called Acquacheta.

cliff that sinks from the Seventh* The Lamone, north of the Mon-

to the Eighth Circle is compared tone, now follows an independ-

to the waterfall npon the Mon? ent coarse to the sea, having cut

tone at the monastery of St a new bed for itself since Dante*t

Benedict, in the mountains time.

above Forli. The Po rises in ' Where for a thousand^ etc, :

Monte Visa Dante here In the monastery there was room

travels in imagination from for many more monks, say

Monte Viso down through Italy, most of the commentators ; or

and finds. that all the rivers something to the like effect

which rise on the left hand, that Mr. Longfellow's interpretation

is, on the north-east of the seems better : Where the height

Apennine, fall into the Po, till of the fidl is so great that it

the Montone is reached, that would divide into a thousand

river failing into the Adriatic by falls.



citcLE VII J The Card, 121

To him I handed it, all coiled and tight ; 1 10

As by my Leader I had first been told.
Himself then bending somewhat toward the r^t,^

He just beyond the edge of the abyss

Threw down the cord,^ which disappeared from sight.
' That some strange thing will follow upon this

Unwonted signal which my Master's eye

Thus follows/ so I thought, * can hardly miss.'
Ah, what great caution need we standing by

<

* Toward tJu right: The sobriety and virtuous purpose,
attitude of one about to throw, is not strange to Dante. . In

* The card: The services of Purg, vii. 114 he describes
Geiyon are wanted to convey Pedro of Arragon as being girt
them down the next reach of the with the cord of every virtue ;
pit ; and as no voice could be and Pedro was no Franciscan,
heard for the noise of the water- Dante's ooid may therefore be
fall, and no signal be made to' taken as standing for vigilance
catch the eye amid the gloom, or self-control. With it he had
Virgil is obliged to call the hoped to get the better of the
attention of the monster by cast- leopard (Inf, i. 32), and may
ing some object into the depth have trusted in it for support as
where he lies concealed. But, against the terrors of Inferno,
since they are surrounded by But although he has been girt
solid masonry and slack sand, with it ever since he entered by
one or other of them must supply the gate, it has not saved him
something fit to throw down ; from a single fear, far less from a
and the cord worn by Dante is single danger ; and now it is cast
fixed on as what can best be away as useless. Henceforth,
done without There may be a more than ever, he is to confide
reference to the cord of Saint wholly in Virgil and have no
Francis, which Dante, according confidence in himself. Nor is
to one of his commentators, he to be girt again till he reaches
wore when he was a young man, the coast of Purgatory, and then
following in this a fashion com it is to be with a reed, the
mon enough among pious lay- emblem of humility. — But, how-
men who had no thought of ever explained, the incident
ever becoming friars. But the will always be somewhat of a
simile of the cord, as representing puzzle.



1 2 2 Geryon's Ascent [canto zvi.

Those who behold not only what b done,

But who have wit oar hidden thoughts to spy ! 120

He said to me : ' There shall emerge, and soon,
What I await ; and quickly to thy view
That which thou dream'st of shall be cleariy known.'^

From utterance of truth which seems untrue
A man, whene'er he can, should guard his tongue ;
Lest he win blame to no transgression due.

Yet now I must speak out, and by the song
Of this my Comedy, Reader, I swear —
So in good likiog may it last full long ! —

I saw a shape swim upward through that air 130

All indistinct with gross obscurity,
Enough to fin the stoutest heart with fear :

Like one who rises having dived to free
An anchor grappled on a jagged stone,
Or something else deep hidden in the sea ;

With feet drawn in and arms all open thrown.

* Dante attributes to Virgil a represents enlightened human
full knowledge of all tha^ is in reason. But even if we con-
bis own mind. He thus height- fine ourselves to the easiest sense
ens our conception of his de- of the narrative, the study of the
pendence on his guide, with relations between him and
whose will his will is blent, and Dante will be found one of the
whose thoughts are always found most interesting suggested by
to be anticipating his own. Few the poem — perhaps only less so
readers will care to be constant- than that of Dante's moods of
ly recalling to mind that Virgil wonder, anger, and pity.



CIRCLE VII. J Getyan. 123



CANTO XVII.

* Behold the monster^ with the pointed tail,
Who passes mountains' and can entrance make
Through arms and walls I who makes the whole world
ail,

Corrupted by him I' Thus my Leader spake,
And beckoned him that he should land hard by,
Where short the pathways built of marble break.

And that foul image of dishonesty
Moving approached us with his head and chest,
But to the bank' drew not his tail on high.

^ The monstir: Geryon, a Geiyon reigned in the Balearic

mythical king of Spain, eon- Isles, and was used to decoy

verted here into the symbol of tiavelleis with his benignant

fmttd, and set as the guardian countenance, caressing words,

demon of the Ei^^th Circle, and every kind of friendly lure,

where the fraudulent are pun- and then to murder them when

ished. There is nothing in the asleep.

mytholc^ to justify this account ' Who fosses momniainSf etc, :

of Geryon ; and it seems that Neither art nor nature affords

Dante has created a monster to any defence against fraud,

serve his purpose; Boccacdo, ' The bank : Not that which

in his Genedhgy of the Gods confines the brook but the inner

(Lib. i.), repeats the description limit of the Seventh Cirde, from

of Geiyon given by ' Dante the which the precipice sinks sheer

Florentine, in his poem written into the Eighth, and to which

in the Florentine tongue, one the embankment by which the

certainly of no little importance travellers have crossed the sand

among poems ;' and adds that joins itself on. Virgil has



1 24 Geryon. [canto xvii.

His face a human righteousness expressed, 10

'Twas so benignant to the outward view ;
A serpent was he as to all the rest

On both his arms hair to the arm-pits grew :
On back and chest and either flank were knot^
And rounded shield portrayed in various hue ;

No Turk or Tartar weaver ever brought
To ground or pattern a more varied dye ;'
Nor by Arachne* was such broidery wrought

As sometimes by the shore the barges lie
Partly in water, partly on dry land ; 20

And as afar in gluttonous Germany/

Watching their prey, alert the beavers stand ;
So did this worst of brutes his foreparts fling
Upon the stony rim which hems the sand.

All of his tail in space was quivering,
Its poisoned fork erecting in the air,
Which scorpion-like was arm^d with a sting.

My Leader said : ' Now we aside must fare
A little distance, so shall we attain
Unto the beast malignant crouching there.' 30

So we stepped down upon the right,* and then

beckoned Geryon to come to temperate Italians, explains this

that part of the bank which ad* gibe.

joins the end of the causeway. ' The ri^: This is the

^ Kiuti and roumkd sMeld: second and last time that, in

Emblems of sabtle devices and their conne through Inferao,

subterfuges. they turn to the right. See Iirf*

* Varied dyt: Denoting the ix. 132. The action may pos-

various colours of deceit sibly have a symbolical mean-

' Arachne: The Lydian ing, and refer to the protection

weaver changed into a spider against fraud which is obtained

by Minerva. See Purg, xii. 43. by keeping to a righteous course^

^ GUUtonom Germatty: The But here, in fieict, they have no

habits of the German men-at- choice, for, traversing the Inferno

arms in Italy, odious to the as they do to the left hand, they



ci&cLBYu.] The Usurers, 125

A half score steps^ to the outer edge did pace,

Thus clearing well the sand and fiery rain.
And when we were hard by him I could trace

Upon the sand a little further on

Some people sitting near to the abyss.
' That what this belt containeth may be known

Completely by thee,' then the Master said ;

' To see their case do thou advance alone.
Let thy inquiries be succinctly made. 40

While thou art absent I will ask of him,

With his strong shoulders to afford us aid.'
Then, all alone, I on the outmost rim

Of that Seventh Circle still advancing trod,

Where sat a wofiil folk.' Full to the brim

came to the right bank of the in time always wear out a

stream which traverses the fiery fmmel for themselves by eating

sands, followed it, and now, back the precipice down which

when they would leave its edge, they tumble. It was into this

it is from the right embankment funnel that Viigil flung the ooid,

that they have to step down, and and up it that Geiyon was seen

necessarily to the right hand. to ascend, as if by following

^ A half score steps, etc, : np the course of the water he

Traversing the stone-bnilt bor- would find oat who had made

der which lies between the sand the signal. To keep to the nar-

and the precipice. Had the row causeway where it ran on

brook flowed to the very edge by the edge of this gulf would

of the Seventh Cirde before seem too full of risk.

tumbling down the rocky wall * WofiU fM: Usuren; those

It is dear that they might have guilty of the unnatural sin of

kept to the embankment until contemning the legitimate modes

they were dear beyond the edge of human industry. They sit

of the sand. We are therefore to huddled up on the sand, dose

figure to ourselves the water as to its bound of solid masonry,

plunging down at a point some from which Dante looks down

yards, perhaps the width of the on them. But that the usurers

border, short of the true limit of are not found only at the edge

the cirde ; and this is a touch of the plain is evUent firom Inf,

of local truth, since waterfiUls xiv. 19.



126 The Usurers. [canto xvii.

Their eyes with anguish were, and overflowed ;
Their hands moved here and there to win some ease,
Now from the flames, now from the soil which glowed.

No otherwise in summer-time one sees,
Working its muzzle and its paws, the hound 50

When bit by gnats or plagued with flies or fleas.

And I, on scanning some who sat around
Of those on whom the dolorous flames alight,
Could recognise^ not one. I only found

A purse hung from the throat of every wight.
Each with its emblem and its special hue ;
And every eye seemed feasting on the sight

As I, beholding them, among them drew,
I saw what seemed a lion's face and mien
Upon a yellow purse designed in blue. 60

Still moving on mine eyes athwart the scene
I saw another scrip, blood-red, display
A goose more white than butter could have been.

And one, on whose white wallet blazoned lay
A pregnant sow' in azure, to me said :
' What dost thou in this pit ? Do thou straightway

Begone ; and, seeing thou art not yet dead,
Know that Vitalian,' neighbour once of mine,

^ Cmtidrecognise^eU. : Though (/i^ vil 44).

most of the group prove to be * A ^gnaniww: The azure

from Florence Dante recognises lion on a golden field was the

none of them ; and this denotes arms of the GianfigJiayri, emi-

that nothing so surely creates a nent usurers of Florence ; the

second nature in a man, in a white goose on a red ground

bad senses as setting the heart was the arms of the Ubriacfai of

on money. So in the Fourth Florence ; the amre sow, of the

Circle those who, bdng unable Scrovegni of Padua,

to spend moderately, are always ' Vitaiian: A rich Paduaa

thinking of how to keep or get noble, whose palace was near

mcmey are represented as * ob- that of the Scrovegat
scured from any recognition'



CIRCLE vii.] They tnaunt Geryon, 1 27

Shall on my left flank one day find his bed.

A Paduan I : all these are Florentine ; 70

And oft they stun me, bellowing in my ear :
" Come, Pink of Chivalry,^ for whom we pine.

Whose is the purse on which three beaks appear :'''
Then he from mouth awry his tongue thrust out'
Like ox that licks its nose ; and I, in fear

Lest more delay should stir in him some doubt
Who gave command I should not linger long,
Me from those wearied spirits turned about

I found my Guide, who had already sprung
Upon the back of that fierce animal : So

He said to me : ' Now be thou brave and strong.

By stairs like this* we henceforth down must falL
Mount thou in front, for I between would sit
So thee the tail shall hann not par appal.'

^ Pink tf Chivaby: 'Sove- damning the still 'Uving Buxa-

reign Cavalier;' identified by his monte vnthout mentioning hb

anns as Ser Giovanni Btilamonte, name.

still alive in Florence in 1301, * His tongue thrust out: As

and if we are to judge fit)m the if to say : We know well what

text, the greatest usurer of alL A sort of fine gentleman Buia-

northern poet of the time would monte is.

have sought hb usurers in the ' By stairs like this: The

Jewry of some town he knew, descent fix>m one circle to

but Dante finds his among the another grows more difficult the

nobles of Padua and Florence, fiirther down they come. They

He ironicaUy represents them appear to have found no special

as wearing purses ornamented obstacle in the nature of the

with their coats of arms, perhaps ground till they reached the

to hint that they pursued their bank sloping down to the Fifth

dishonourable trade under shelter Circle, the pathway down which

of their noble names — ^their is described as terrible {Jnf,

shop signs, as it were. The vii. 105). The descent into the

whole passage may have been Seventh Circle is made pncti-

planned by Dante so as to cable, and nothing more (/n/.

afibrd him the opportunity of xii. i).



1 28 On Geryoris Back, [caoto xvii.

Like one so close upon the shivering fit
Of quartan ague that his nails grow blue,
And seeing shade he trembles every whit,

I at the hearing of that order grew ;
But his threats shamed me, as before the face
Of a brave lord his man grows valorous too. 90

On the great shoulders then I took my place,
And wished to say, but could not move my tongue
As I expected : ' Do thou me embrace !'

But he, who other times had helped me 'mong
My other perils, when ascent I made
Sustained me, and strong arms around me flung,

And, ^ Geryon, set thee now in motion !' said ;
' Wheel widely ; let thy downward flight be slow ;
Think of the novel burden on thee laid.'

As from the shore a boat begins to go : 100

Backward at first, so now he backward pressed,
And when he found that all was clear below.

He turned his tail where earlier was his breast ;
And, stretching it, he moved it like an eel,
While with his paws he drew zxr toward his chest.

More terror Pha^thon could hardly feel
What time he let the reins abandoned fall,
Whence Heaven was fired,^ as still its tracts reveal ;

Nor wretched Icarus, on finding all
His plumage moulting as the wax grew hot, 1 10

While, ' The wrong road 1' his father loud did call ;

Than what I felt on finding I was brought
Where nothing was but air and emptiness ;
For save the brute I could distinguish nought

^ Heaven was fired: As still cusaes the various explana-
appears in the Milky Way. In tions of what causes the bright-
the CcmritOf ii. 15, Dante dis- ness of that part of the heavens.



I



CIRCLE VIII.] The Precipice Foot 129

He slowly, slowly swims ; to the abyss
Wheeling he makes descent, as I sunnise ^

From wind felt 'neath my feet and in my £3ice.

Already on the right I heard arise
From out the caldron a terrific roar, ^
Whereon I stretch my head with down-turned eyes. 120

Terror of falling now oppressed me sore ;
Hearing laments, and seeing fires that burned,
My thighs I tightened, trembling more and more.

Earlier I had not by the eye discerned
That we swept downward ; scenes of torment now
Seemed drawing nearer wheresoe'er we turned.

And as a falcon (which long time doth go
Upon the wing, not finding lure* or prey),
While * Ha !' the falconer cries, descending so 1 *

Comes wearied back whence swift it soared away ; 130
Wheeling a hundred times upon the road,
Then, from its master, far, sulks angrily :

So we, by Geryon in the deep bestowed.
Were 'neath the sheer-hewn precipice set down :
He, suddenly delivered from our load,
- Like arrow from the string was swiftly gone.

^A terrific roar: Of the that they flow under the Eighth

water idling to the gioiind. On Circlei

beginning the descent they had ' LMre: An imitation bird

left the water£Ul on the left used in tndning falcons. Dante

hand, but Geiyon, after fetching describes the sulky, slow descent

one or more great circles, passes of a falcon which has either lost

in front of it, and then they sight of its prey, or has failed to

have it on the right. There is discover where the &lconer has

no farther mention of the waters thrown the lore. Geryon has

of Phlegethon till they are descended thus deliberately

found frozen in Cocytns (It^. owing to the oonunand of Vir-

xxxii. 23). Philalethes suggests giL



1 30 MaUbolge. [canto xviii.



CANTO XVIII.

Of iron colour^ and composed of stone,

A place called Malebolge^ is in Hell,

Girt by a cliff of substance like its own.
In that malignant region yawns a well'

Right in the centre, ample and profound ;

Of which I duly will the structtire tell.
The zone' that lies between them, theQ, is round—

Between the well and precipice hard and.high ;

Into ten vales divided is the ground.
As is the figure offered to the eye, id

Where numerous moats a castle's towers enclose

That they the walb may better fortify ;



' McMolge: Or Evil Pits; preceding Canto. As in the

literally, Evil Pockets. description of the Second Circle

' A well: The Ninth and the atmosphere is represented

lowest Cirde, to be described as malignant, being murky

in Canto xxxii., etc. and disturbed with tempest ;

* Thetoru: The Eighth Circle, so the Malebolge is called

in -which the fraadolent of ail malignant too, being all of

species are punished, Ues be- barren iron-coloured rock. In

tween the precipice and the both cases the surroundings of

Ninth Cirde. A vivid picture the sinners may well be spoken

of the enormous height of the of as malign, adverse to

enclosing wall has been pre- any thought of goodwill and

sented to us at the dose of the joy.



ci&cLB VIII. ] The Seducers. 131

A like appearance was made here by those.

And asy again, from threshold of such place

Many a drawbridge to the outworks goes ;
So ridges from the precipice's base

Cutting athwart the moats and barriers run,

Till at the well join the extremities.*
From Geryon's back when we were shaken down

'Twas here we stood, until the Poet's feet 20

Moved to the left, and I, behind, came on.
New torments on the right mine eyes did meiet

With new tormentors, nove} woe on woe ;

With which the neara: Bolgia was replete.
Sinners, all naked, in the gulf below.

This side the middle met 11s ; while they strode

On that side with us, but more swift did go.'
Even so the Romans, that the mighty crowd



' T%€ extfemitus : The Mai€' vaulting the moats at right

Mge consists of ten circular pits angles with the course of them,

or fosses, one inside of another. Thus each rib takes the form of

The outermost lies under the a ten-arched bridge. By one or

precipice which falls sheer from other of these Virgil and Dante

the Seventh Circle; the inner- now travel towards the centre

most, and of course the smallest, and the base of Inferno; their

runs inmiediately outside of the general course bemg downward,

' Well,' which is the Ninth though varied by the ascent in

Circle. The Bolgias or valleys turn of the hog-backed arches

are divided from each other by over the moats,

rocky banks; and, each Bolgia •* Mere sToift: The sinners in

being at a lower level than the the First Bolgia are dirided into

one that encloses it, the inside two gangs, moving in opposite

of each bank .Is necessarily directions, the course of those

deeper than the outside. Ribs on the outside being to the

or ridges of rock — like spokes right, as looked at by Dante,

of a wheel to the azle*tree— run These are the shades of pandeis;

from the foot of the precipice to those in the inner current are

the outer rim of the *Well/ such as seduced on their own



132



The First Bolgia. [canto xvm.



Across the bridge, the year of Jubilee,

Might pass with ease, ordained a rule of road' — 30
Facing the Castl^ on that side should be

The multitude which to St. Peter's hied ;

So to the Mount <» this was passage free.
On the grim rocky ground, on either side,
' I saw homed devils' armed with heavy whip

Which on the sinneris from behind they* plied.
Ah, how they made the wretches nimbly skip

At the first lashes ; no one ever yet

But sought from the second and the third to slip.
And as I onward went, mine eyes were set 40

On one of diem ; whereon I called in haste :

' This one already I have surely met !'
Therefore to know him, fixedly I gazed ;

And my kind Leader willingly delayed.

While for a little I my course retraced.



account Here a list of the tained in the Bolgias of the
various classes of sinners con< Eighth Circle may be given : —

ist Bolgift— Seducers,



9d
3d

5th
6ch
7th
8th
9th

xoth



Flatterers,
Simoniacs,



Hypocnteiy
Thieves,
Evil Counsdlors,
Scandal and



«i



Falstfien,



Cantc


1 XVIII.


n


fi




XIX.




XX.




XXI. XXII.




XXIII.




XXIV. XXV.




XXVI. XXVII.


I*


xxvin. XXIX.


i>


XXIZ. XXX.



1 A ruU of road: In the year
1500 a Jubilee was held in
Rome with Plenary Indalgence
for all pilgrims. Villani says
that while it lasted die nomber
of stiangefB in Rome was never
lem than two hundred thousand.
The bridge and castle spoken



Heresy



of in the text are those of St.
Angelo. The Mount is pro-
bably the Janicnlvm.

* Homed devils: Here the
demons are honied — terrible
remembrsncers to the siuier of
the injured husband.



ciRCLBviii.] The Seducers. 133

On this the scouiged onei thinking to evade
My search, his visage bent without avail,
For : ' Thoa that gazest on the ground,' I said,

' If these thy features tell trustworthy tale,
Venedico Cacdanimico^ thou ! 50

But what has brought thee to such sharp regale ?**

And he, ' I tell it 'gainst my will, I trow,
But thy clear accents' to the old world bear
My memory, and make me all avow.

I was the man who Ghisola die fair
To serve the Marquis* evil will led on,
Whatever* die uncomely tale declare.

Of Bolognese here weeping not alone
Am I ; so full the place of them, to-day
'Tween Reno and Savena' are not known 60

So many tongues that Sipa deftly say :
And if of this thou'dst know the reason why,
Think but how greedy were our hearts alway/

^ Venedko Caccianimico : A broken with sobs like bis own

Bolognese noble, brother of and those of his companions.

Ghisola, whom be inveigled * Whatever^ dc, : Different

into yielding herself to the accounts seem to have been

Marquis of Este, lord of Fer- current about the affair of

rara. Venedico died between Ghisola.

1290 and 130a ^*Twem Reno^ etc.: The

* Stick sharp regale: 'Such Reno and Savena are streams

pungent sauces.' There is here that flow past Bologna. Sipa is

a play of words on the Salu, Bolognese for Maybe^ or for

the name of a wild ravine out- Yes. So Dante describes Tus-

side the walls of Bologna, where cany as the country where Si is

the bodies offelons were thrown, heard {Inf, zxxiii. So). With

Benvenuto says it used to be a regard to the vices of the

taunt among boys at Bologna : Bolognese, Benvenuto says :

Your fietther was pitched into ' Dante had studied in Bologna,

the Salse. and had seen and observed all

' 7%y clear accents: Not these things.'



134 The First Bolgia. [canto xvm.

To him thus speaking did a demon cry :

* Pander, begone !' and smote him with his thong ;

* Here are no women for thy coin to buy.'
Then, with my Escort joined, I moved along.

Few steps we made until we there had come,
Where from the bank a rib of rock was flung.

With ease enough up to its top we clomb, 70

And, turning on the ridge, bore to the right ;*
And those eternal circles* parted from.

When we had reached where underneath the height
A passage opes, yielding the scourged a way.
My Guide bade : * Tarry, so to hold in sight

Those other spirits bom in evil day.
Whose £su:es until now from thee have been
Concealed, because with ours their progress lay.'

Then from the ancient bridge by us were seen
The troop which toward us on that circuit sped, 80
Chased onward, likewise, by the scourges keen.

And my good Master, ere I asked him, said :

* That lordly one now coming hither, sec,
By whom, despite of pain, no tears are shed.

What mien he still retains of majesty \
'Tis Jason, who by courage and by guile
The Colchians of the ram deprived. 'Twas he

Who on his passage by the Lenmian isle,
Where aU of womankind with daring hand
Upon their males had wrought a murder vile, 90

* To iht right: This is only * Those eternal circles: The

an apparent departure from their meaning is not clear ; perhaps

leftward course. Moving as it only is that they have now

they were to the left along the done with the outer stream of

edge of the Bolgia, they required sinners in this Bolgia, left by

to turn to the right to cross the them engaged in endless proces-

bridge that spanned it. sion round and round.



CIRCLE viii.] The Flatterers. 135

With loving pledges and with speeches bland
The tender-yeared Hypsipyle betrayed.
Who had herself a fraud on others planned.

Forlorn he left her then, when pregnant made.
That is the crime condenms him to this pain ;
And for Medea ^ too is vengeance psud.

Who in his manner cheat compose his train.
Of the first moat sufficient now is known,
And those who in its jaws engulfed remun.'

Already had we by the strait path gone 100

To where ^tis with the second bank dovetailed —
The buttress whence a second arch is thrown.

Here heard we who in the next Bolgia wailed*
And puffed for breadi ; reverberations told
They with their open palms themselves assailed.

The sides were crusted over with a mould
Plastered upon them by foul mists that rise,
And both with eyes and nose a contest hold.

The bottom is so deep, in vain our eyes
Searched it till further up the bridge we went, 1 10

To where the arch o'erhangs what under lies.

Ascended there, our eyes we downward bent.
And I saw people in such ordure drowned,
A very cesspool 'twas of excrement.

And while I from above am searching round.
One with a head so filth-smeared I picked out,
I knew not if 'twas lay, or tonsure-crowned.

^ Medea : When the Argon- sailed for Colchis, and with the

auts landed on Lemnos, they assistance of Medea won the

found it without any males, the Golden Fleece. Medea, who

women, incited by Venus, accompanied him from Colchis,

having put them all to death, was in turn deserted by him.

with the exception of Thoas, * Who in the next Bolgia

saved by his daughter Hypsipyle. waUed: The flatterers in the

When Jason deserted her he Second Bolgia.



1 36 The Second Bolgia. [canto xviii.

' Why then so eager,' asked he with a shout^
' To stare at me of all the filthy crew?'
And I to him ; * Because I scarce can doubt 120

That formerly thee dry of hair I knew,
Alessio Interminei^ the Lucchese;
And therefore thee I chiefly hold in view.'

Smiting his head-piece, then, his words were these :
' 'Twas flattery steeped me here ; for, using such,
My tongue itself enough could never please,'

* Now stretch thou somewhat forward, but not much,'
Thereon my Leader bade me, ' and thine eyes
Slowly advance till they her features touch

And the dishevelled baggage recognise, 130

Clawing her yonder with her nails unclean,
Now standing up, now squatting on her thighs.

'Tis harlot Thais,* who, when she had been
Asked by her lover, '^ Am I generous
And worthy thanks ?" said, '* Greatly so, I ween."

Enough' of this place has been seen by us.'

^ Ahssio InUrminei: Oi the Terence, Thiaso^ the lover of

great Laocheae' family of the that courtesan, asks Gnatho,

IntermineUi, to which the fam- their go-between, if she really

ous Castrucdo Castmcani be- sent him many thanks for the

longed. Alessio is known to have present of a slave-girl he had

been living in 1295. Dante sent her. ' Enormous ! ' says

may have known him person- Gnatho. It proves what great

ally. Benvenuto says he was so store Dante set on ancient

liberal of his flattery that he instances when he thought this

spent it even on menial ser- worth citing,

vants. ' Enough^ etc, : Most readers

> TAats : In the Eunuch of will agree with Virgil.



CIRCLE viii.] The Simaniacs. 1 37



CANTO XIX.

O Simon Magus !^ ye his wretched crew I
The gifts of God, ordained to be the bride
Of righteousness, ye prostitute that you

With gold and silver may be satisfied ;
Therefore for you let now the trumpet* blow,
Seeing that ye in the Third Bolgia 'bide.

Arrived at the next tomb,* we to the brow
Of rock ere this had finished our ascent,
Which hangs true plumb above the pit below.

What perfect art, O Thou Omniscient, 10

Is Thine in Heaven and earth and the bad world found I
How justly does Thy power its dooms invent t

The livid stone, on both banks and the ground,
I saw was full of holes on every side,
All of one size, and each of them was round



> Simon Magus: The sin of > The trumpet: Blown at the

simony consists in setting a price panishment of criminals, to call

on the exercise of a spiritual grace attention to their sentence,

or the acquisition of a spiritual ' The next tomb : The Third

office. Dante assails it at head- Bolgia, ^>propriately termed a

quarters, that is, as it was prac- tomb, because its manner of pan-

tised by the Popes ; and in their ishment is that of a burial, as

case it took, among other forms^ will be seen,
that of ecclesiastical nepotism.



138 The Third Bolgia. [caktoxix.

No larger seemed they to me nor less wide
Than those within my beautiful St John^
For the baptizers' standing-place supplied ;

And one of which, not many years agone,
I broke to save one drowning ; and I would 20

Have this for seal to undeceive men known.

Out of the mouth of each were seen protrude
A sinner's feet, and of the legs the small
Far as the calves ; the rest enveloped stood.

And set on fire were both the soles of all,
Which made their ankles wriggle with such throes
As had made ropes and withes asunder fall.

And as flame fed by unctuous matter goes



' .Sr. John : The church of St. playing about the church one of
John's, in Dante's time, as now, them, to hide himself from his
the Baptistery of Florence. In companions, squeezed himself
Parad, xxv. he anticipates the into a baptizer's standing-place^
day, if it should ever come, when and made so tight a fit of it that
he shall return to Florence, and he could not be rescued till
in the church where he was bap- Dante with his own hands plied
tiled a Christian be crowned as a hammer upon the marble,
a Poet. Down to the middle of and so saved the diild from
the sixteenth century all bap- drowning. The presence of
tisms, except in cases of urgent water in the cavity may be ex-
necessity, were celebrated in St. plained by the &ct of the church's
John's ; and, even there, only on being at that time lighted by an
the eves of Easter and iPentecost unglazed opening in the roof;
For protection against the crowd, and as baptisms were so infre-
the officiating priests were pro- quent the standing-places, sitn-
vided with standing-places, dr- ated as they were in the centre
cular cavities disposed around of the floor, may often have been
the great font To these Dante partially flooded. It is easy to
compares the holes of this Bolgia, understand how bitterly E^te
for tiie sake of introducing a de- would resent a charge of irre-
fence of himself from a charge verence connected with his
of sacrilege. Benvenuto tells 'beautiful St. John's;' 'that
that once when some boys were fair sheep-fold' (Parad, xxv. 5).



CIRCLE viiL] Pope Nicholas, 1 39

Over the outer surCsice only spread ;

So from their heels it flickered to the toes. 30

' Master, who is he, tortured more,* I said,

' Than are his neighbours, writhing in such woe ;

And licked by flames of deeper-hearted red ?'
And he : 'If thou desirest that below

I bear thee by that bank^ which lowest lies,

Thou from himself his sins and name shalt know.'
And I : ' Thy wishes still for me suffice :

Thou art my Lord, and knowest I obey

Thy will ; and dost my hidden thoughts surprise.'
To the fourth barrier then we made our way, 40

And, to the left hand turning, downward went

Into the narrow hole-pierced cavity ;
Nor the good Master caused me make descent

From oflThis haunch till we his hole were nigh

Who with his shanks was making such lament.
' Whoe'er thou art, soul full of misery,

Set like a stake with lower end upcast,'

I said to him, ' Make, if thou canst, reply.' '
I like a fnar' stood who gives the last

Shrift to a vile assassin, to his side 50

Called back to win delay for him fixed fast
' Art thou arrived already ?' then he cried,

'Art thou arrived already, Boniface?

By several years the prophecy' has lied.

1 That bank, etc,: Of each have earth slowly shovelled in

Bolgia the inner bank is lower till he was suffocated. Dante

than the outer ; the whole of bends down, the better to hear

Malebolge sloping towards the what the sinner has to say, like

centre of the Inferna ' a friar recalled by the felon on

* Like afiiar, etc, : In those the pretence that he has some-
times the punishment of an as- thing to add to his confession,
sassin was to be stuck head ' The prophecy: 'The writ-
downward in a pit, and then to ing.' The speaker is Nicholas



f



140 The Third Bolgia. [cantx) xix.

Art so soon wearied of the wealthy place.

For which thou didst not fear to take with guile,

Then ruin the £ur Lady ?'^ Now my case
Was like to theirs who linger on, the while

They cannot comprehend what they are told,

And as befooled* from further speech resile. 60

But Vixgil bade me : ' Speak out loud and bold,

*' I am not he thou thinkest, no, not be !"'

And I made answer as by him controlled.
The spirif s feet then twisted violently,

III., of the great Roman fiunily yean too soon, it being now

of the Orsiiii, and Pope from only 1300^ for the arrival of

1377 to 1280 ; a man of remaik- Boni£eice. This is the usual

able bodily beauty and grace of explanation of the passage. To it

manner, as well as of great force lies the objection that foreknow-

of character. Like many other ledge of the present that can be

Holy Fathers he was either a referred back to is the same

great hypocrite while on his pro- thing as knowledge of it, and

motion, or else he degenerated with this the spirits in Ixifemo

very quickly after getting him- are not endowed. But Dante

self well s^tled on the Papal elsewhere shows that he finds it

Chair. He is said to have been hard to observe the limitation.

the first Pope who practised The alternative explanation,

simony with no attempt at con- supported by the use of scrUto

cealment. Boniiaoe vni., whom (writing) in the text, is that

he is waiting for to relieve him, Nicholas refers to some prophecy

became Pope in 1294, and died once current about his successors

in 1503. None of the four Popes in Rome.

between laSo and 1394 were ^ The fair Lady : IhtChxrKik,

simoniacs ; so that Nicholas was The guile is that shown by Boni-

uppermost in the hole for twenty- face in getting his predecessor

three years. Although ignorant Celestine v. to abdicate (Inf.

of what is now passing on the iii. 60).

earth, he can refer back to his ' Af befooled: Dante does not

foreknowledge of some years yet suspect that it is with a Pope

earlier (see If^. x. 99) as if to a he is speaking. He is dumb*

prophetic writing, and finds that founded at being addressed as

aoooiding to this it is still three B<mifece, I



«



CIRCLE VIII.] Pope Nicholas, 141

And, sighing in a voice of deep distress,

He asked : ' What then requirest thou of me ?

If me to know thou hast such eagerness,
That thou the cliff hast therefore ventured down,
Know, the Great Mantle sometime was my dress.

I of the Bear, in sooth, was worthy son : 70

As once, the Cubs to help, my purse with gain
I stuffed, myself I in this purse have stown.

Stretched out at length beneath my head remain
^All the simoniacs^ that before me went.
And flattened lie throughout the rocky vein.

I in my turn shall also make descent,
Soon as he comes who I believed thou wast,
When I asked quickly what for him was meant.

O'er me with blazing feet more time has past,
While upside down I fill the topmost room, 80

Than he his crimsoned feet shaU upward cast ;

For after him one viler still shall come,
A Pastor from the West,' Jawless of deed :
To cover both of us his worthy doom.

^ Att tht siffwmacs: All the biith. Elsewhere he is spoken

Popes that had been guilty of of as 'the Gascon who shall cheat

the sin. the noble Henry ' of Lnzembuig

* A PiBtstor from the West: (Parad, xvii. 83).— This passage

Boniface died in 1303, and was Jias been read as throwing light

succeededby Benedict XI., who on the question of when the

in his tarn was succeeded by Tnfemo was written. Nicholas

Clement v., the Pastor from the says that from the time Boni-

West Benedict was not stuned face arrives till Clement relieves

with simony, and so it is Clement him will be a shorter period than

that is to relieve Boniface ; and that daring which he has himself

he is to come from the West, been in Infemo, that is to say,

that is, from Avignon, to which a shorter time than twenty years,

the Holy See was removed by Clement died in 13 14; and so,

him. Or the reference may it is held, we find a date before

^mply be to the country of his which the Infemo was, at leasts



142 The Third Bolgia. [camto xul

A modem Jason^ he, of whom we read
In Maccabees, whose King denied him ndught :
With the French King so shall this man succeed.'

Perchance I ventured further than I ought,
But I spake to him in this measure free :
' Ah, tell me now what money was there sou^t 90

Of Peter by our Lord, when either key
He gave him in his guardianship to hold ?
Sure He demanded nought save : ^ Follow me P

Nor Peter, nor the others, asked for gold
Or silver when upon Matthias fell
The lot instead of him, the traitor-sonled.

Keep then thy place, for thou art punished well,*
And clutch the pel^ dishonourably gained,
Which against Charles' made thee so proudly swell.

not published. But Clement Dante has admired the propriety
was known for years before his of the Divine distribution of pen-
death to be ill of a disease usually alties. He appears to regard
soon &tal. He became Pope with a special complacency that
in 1305, and the wonder was tlutt which he invents for the simoni-
he survived so long as nine acs. They were industrious in
years. Dante keeps his pro- multiplying benefices for their
phecy safe — if it is a prophecy ; kindred; Boniface, for example,
and there does seem internal besides Cardinals, appc^nted
evidence to prove the publication about twenty Archbislwps and
of the Inferno to have taken Bishops from amoqg his own
place long before 1314. — It is relatives. Here all the simoni-
needless to point out how the acal Popes have to be contented
censure of Clement gains in force with one place among them,
if read as having been published They paid no regard to whether
before his death. a post was well filled or not :

1 Jason : Or Joshua, who pur- here they are set upside down,

chased the office of High Priest * Charles : Nicholas was ac-

from Antiochus Epiphanes, and cused of taking a bribe to assist

innovated the customs of the Peter of Arragon in ousting

Jews (2 Maccab. iv. 7). Charles of Anjoa from the king-

s Punished well: At line I2 dom of Sicily.



CIRCLE VIII.] The Donation of Constantine. 143

Andy were it not that I am still restrained 160

By reverence^ for those tremendous keys,
Borne by thee while the glad world thee contained,

I would use words even heavier than these ;
Seeing your avarice makes the world deplore,
Crushing the good, filling the bad with ease.

^was you, O Pastors, the Evangelist bore
In mind what time he saw her on the flood
Of waters set, who played with kings the whore ;

Who with seven heads was bom ; and as she would
By the ten horns to her was service done, 1 10

Long as her spouse' rejoiced in what was good.

Now gold and silver are your god alone :
What difference 'twixt the idolater and you,
Save that ye pray a hundred for his one ?

Ah, Constantine,^ how many evils g^rew —
Not from thy change of faith, but from the gift
Wherewith thou didst the first rich Pope endue !'

^ By nvtrence^ eU^ : Dante there is no mention here, his

distingnishes between the office qualities being attributed to the

and the nnworthy bolder of it. Woman.
So in Paigatory he prostrates ' AA, CanstanHnef He, : In

himself before a Pope {Puf^* Dante's time, and for some cen-

xix. 131). tones later, it was believed that

* I/er spouse : In the preoed- Constantine, on transferring the

ing lines the vision of the Woman seat of empire to Byzantium, had

in the Apocalypse is applied to made a gift to the Pope of rights

the corruption of the Church, and privileges almost equal to

represented under the figure of those of the Emperor. Rome

the seven-hilled Rome seated in was to be the Pope's ; and firom

honour among the nations and his court in the Lateran he was

receiving observance fixnn the to exercise supremacy over all

kings of the earth till her spouse, the West. The Donation of

the Pope, b^;an to prostitute her Constantine, that is, the instru-

by making mercluuidise of her ment conveying these rights, was

spiritual gifts. Of the Beast a foigeiy of the Middle Ages.



144 ^^ Fourth Bolgia. [canto xix.

While I my voice continued to uplift
To such a tune, by rage or conscience stirred
Bothof his soles he made to twist and shift. 120

My Guide, I well l^lieve, with pleasure heard ;
Listening he stood with lips so well content
To me propounding truthful word on word.

Then round my body both his arms he bent,
And, having raised me well upon his breast,
Gimbed up the path by which he made descent.

Nor was he by his burden so oppressed
But that he bore me to the bridge's crown,
Which with the fourth joins the fifth rampart's crest

And lightly here he set his burden down, 130

Found light by him upon the precipice.
Up which a goat uneasily had gone.

And thence another valley met mine eyes.



CIRCLE VIII.] The Diviners. 145



CANTO XX.

Now of new torment must my verses tell,
And matter for the Twentieth Canto win
Of Lay the First,^ which treats of souls in Hell.

Already was I eager to begin
To peer into die visible profound,'
Which tears of agony was bathM in :

And I saw people in the valley round ;
Like that of penitents on earth the pace
At which they weeping came, nor uttering' sound.

When I beheld them with more downcast gaze,* 10

That each was strangely screwed about I learned,
Where chest is joined to chin. And thus the £ice

* Li^ tke Ftm : The Infentc. with • mining others by their

' 7%i visible proftnmd: The spells (line 123).
Fourth Bolgia, where soothsay- ' Noruttermg^ eic,: They who

en of eveiy kind are punished, on earth told too much are now

Their sin is that of seeking to condemned to be for ever dumb,

find oat what God has made It will be- noticed that with

secret That snch discoveries none of them does Dante oon-

of the fiitiire could be made by verse.

men, Dante seems to have had ' Afore dewncasi gau : Stand-
no donbt; but he regards the ing as he does on the crown of
exercise of the power as a fraud the arch, the nearer they come
on Providence, and also credits to him the more he has to de-
the adepts in the black art dine his eyes.

K



146 The Fourth Bolgia, [camto xx.

Of every one round to his loins was turned;

And stepping backward^ all were forced to go,

For nought in front could be by them discerned.
Smitten by palsy although one might show

Perhaps a shape thus twisted all awry,

I never saw, and am to think it slow.
As, Reader,' God may grant thou profit by

Thy reading, for thyself consider well 20

If I could then preserve my visage dry
When close at hand to me was visible

Our human form so wrenched that tears, rained down

Out of the eyes, between the buttocks felL
In very sooth I wept, leaning upon

A boss of the hard cliff, till on this wise

My Escort asked : ' Of the other fools' art one ?
Here piety revives as pity dies ;

For who more irreligious is than he

In whom God's judgments to regret give rise ? 30



^ Supping backward: Once have the veil of the future lifted ;

they peered £gu: into the future ; and would have it uiderBtood

now they cannot see a step that he was seized by a sadden

before them. misgiving as to whether he too

' At^ Riader^ etc, : Some light had not overrtepped the bounds

may be thrown on this unnsoal, of what, in tl»t respect, is

and, at first sight, inexplicable allowed and ri^t.

display of pity, by the comment * 0/ tAe other fools: Dante,

of Benvenuto da Imola ^— ' It is weeping like the sinners in the

the wisest and most virtuous of Bolgia, is asked by Vxt^ :

men that are most subject to 'What, art thou then one of

this mania of divination ; and of them?' He had been suffiered,

this Dante is himself an in- without reproof to show pity

stance^ as is well proved by this for Franccsca and Ciacoo. The

book of his.' Dante reminds tenors of the Loid grow more

the reader how ofken since the cogent as they descend, and

journey b^gan he has sought to even pity is now forbidden.



CIRCLE VIII.] Tiresias and Aruns, 147

Lift up, lift up thy head, and thou shalt see
Him for whom earth yawned as the Thebans saw^
All shouting meanwhile : " Whither dost thou flee,

Amphiaraiis ? ^ Wherefore thus withdraw
From battle ?** But he sinking found no rest
Till Minos clutched him with all-grasping claw.

Lo, how his shoulders serve him for a breast !
Because he wished to see too far before
Backward he looks, to backward course addressed.

Behold Tiresias,' who was changed all o'er, 40

Till for a man a woman met the sight,
And not a limb its former semblance bore ;

And he behoved a second time to smite
The same two twisted serpents witfi his wand.
Ere he again in manly plumes was dight

With back to him, see Aruns next at hand.
Who up among the hills of Luni, where
Peasants of near Carrara till the land.

Among the dazzling marbles' held his lair
Within a cavern, whence could be descried 50

The sea and stars of all obstruction bare.

The other one, whose flowing tresses hide
Her bosom, of the which thou seest nought,
And all whose hair falls on the further side,

1 AmpMaraus: One of the sayer whose change of sex is

Seven Kings who besieged described by Ovid (Metam. iiL),

Thebes. He foresaw his own ' TkidamUing marbles: Aruns,

death, and sou^t by hiding to a Tuscan diviner, is mtroduoed

evade it ; but his wife revealed by Lncan as prophesying great

his hiding-place^ and he was events to come to pass in Rome

forced to join in the siege. As — ^the Civil War and the victories

he fought, a thunderbolt opened of Csesar. His haunt was the de-

a chasm in the earth, into which sertedcity of Luna, situatedonthe

he felL Gulf of Spezia, and under the Car^

* Tiresias : A Theban sooth- rara mountains (Phars, L 586).



148 Tike Fourth Bolgia. [canto xx.

Was Manto ;^ who through many regions sought :
Where I was bom, at last her foot she stayed
It likes me well thou shouldst of this be taught.

When from this life her father exit made.
And Bacchus' city had become enthralled,
She for long time through many countries strayed. 60

'Neath mountains by which Germany is walled
And bounded at Tirol, a lake there lies
High in fair Italy, Benacus^ called

The waters of a thousand springs that rise
'Twixt Val Camonica and Garda flow
Down Pennine ; and their flood this lake supplies. ■

And from a spot midway, if they should go
Thither, the Pastors' of Verona, Trent,
And Brescia might their blessings all bestow.

Peschiera,^ with its strength for ornament, 70

Facing the Brescians and the Bergamese
lies where the bank to lower curve is bent.

And there the waters, seeking more of ease,
For in Benacus is not room for all,
Forming a river, lapse by green degrees.

^ Manto: A prophetess, a .' 71u Pastors^ etc,: About

native of Thebes the dty of half-way down the western side

Bacchus, and daughter of Tire- of the lake a stream fidls into

sias. — Here begins a digression it, one of whose banks, at its

on the early history of Mantua, mouth, is in the diocese of Trent,

the native city of Vizgil. In and the other in that of Bresda,

his account of the foundation of while the waters of the lake are

it Dante does not agree with in that of Verona. The three

ViigO, attributiog to a Greek Bishops, standing together, could

Manto what his master attributes give a blessing each to his own

to an Italian one (jEh* x. 199). diocese.

> BeHocus: The ancient Bena- ^ Pesckiera: Where the hke

cus, now known as the Lake drains into the Minda It is

of Garda. still a great fortress.



ciRCLi VIII.] Manto. 149

The river, from its very source, men call

No more Benacu^— 'tis as Mincio known,

Which into Po does at Govemo falL
A flat it reaches ere it far has run.

Spreading o'er which it feeds a marshy fen, 80

Whence oft in summer pestilence has grown.
Wayfaring here the cruel virgin, when

She found land girdled by the marshy flood,

Untilled and uninhabited of men,
That she might 'scape all human neighbourhood

Stayed on it with her slaves, her arts to ply ;

And there her empty body was bestowed.
On this the people from the country nigh

Into that place came crowding, for the spot,

Girt by the swamp, could all attack defy, 90

And for the town built o'er her body sought

A name from her who made it first her seat.

Calling it Mantua, without casting lot^
The dwellers in it were in number great,

Till stupid Casalodi* was befooled

And victimised by Pinamonte's cheat.



^ WitkoMt easHng lot: With- and, the nobility being at that

out coDsalting the omens, as was time in bad odour with the

nsual when a city was to be people at laige, he persuaded

named. the Count Albert that it would

' Casalodi : Some time in the be a popular measure to banish

second half of the thirteenth the suspected nobles for a time,

century Alberto Casalodi was Hardly was this done when he

befooled out of the lordship of usurped the lordship ; and by

Mantua by Pinamonte Buona- expelling some of the citizens

colsL Benvenuto tells the tale and putting others of them to

as follows: — Pinamonte was a death he greatly thinned the

bold, ambitious man, with a population of the city,
great troop of armed followers ;



1 50 The Fourth Bolgia. [cakto xx.

Hence, shouldst thou ever hear (now be thou schooled !)
Another story to my town assigned,
Let by no fraudthe truth be overruled.'

And I : ' Thy reasonings, Master, to my mind 100

So CQgent are, and win my faith so well,
What others say I shall black embers find

But of this people passing onward tell,
If thou, of any, something canst declare,
For all my thoughts^ on that intently dwelL'

And then he said : * The one whose bearded luur
Falls from his cheeks upon his shoulders dun,
Was, when the land of Greece* of males so bare

Was grown the very cradles scarce held one,
An augur ;' he with Calchas gave the sign 1 10

In Aulis through the first rope knife to run.

Eurypylus was he called, and in some line
Of my high Tragedy* is sung the same,
As thou know'st well, who mad'st it wholly thine.

That other, thin of flank, was known to &me



^ AU my thaughtSf etc. : The found at what hour tbey should

reader's patience is certainly set sail for Troy. ^ Eoiypylvs can

abused by this digression of be said only figurativdy to have

Viigil's, and Dante himself had to do with cutting the cable,

seems conscious that it is some- ^Tragedy: The jSnnd^

what ill-timed. Dante defines Comedy as be-

* 7%£ land cf Greece^ etc, : AH ing written in a style inferior to
the Greeks able to bear arms that of Tragedy, and as having a
being engaged in the Trojan sad beginning and a happy end-
expedition, ing (Epistle to Can Grande, 10).

* An augitr: Eurypylus, Elsewhere he allows the comic
mentioned in the Second yEneid poet great licence in the use of
as being employed by the Greeks common language (yidg. BL
to consult the oracle of Apollo ii. 4). By calling his own poem
regarding their return to Greece, a Comedy he, as it were, disarms
From the auspices Calchas had criticism.



aKcxB VIII.] Michael Scott. 151

As Michael Scott ;^ and of a verity

He knew right well the black art's inmost game.
Guido Bonatti,' and Asdente see

Who mourns he ever should have parted from

His thread and leather ; but too late mourns he. 120
Lo the imhappy women who left loom,

Spindle, and needle that they might divine ;

With herb and image' hastening men's doom.
But come ; for where the hemispheres confine

Cain and the Thorns* is falling, to alight

Underneath Seville on the ocean line.

* Michael Scott : Of Balwearie his on Aristotle was printed at
in Scotland^ fiuniliar to English Venice in 1496. The thinness
readers through the Lay of the of his flanks may refer to a
Letst Minstrel, He flourished in belief that he could make him-
the course of the thirteenth self invisible at will,
century, and made contributions * Guido Bonaiti : Was a
to the sciences, as they were Florentine, a tiler by trade, and
then deemed, of astrology, was living in 1282. When
alchemy, and physiognomy, fauushed from his own city he
He acted for some time as took refuge at Forll and became
astrologer to the Emperor astrologer to Guido of Monte-
Frederick li., and the tradition of feltro {/nf, xxrii.), and was
his accomplishments powerfully credited with helping his master
afiected the Italian imagination to a great victory. — Asdente: A
for a century after his death. It cobbler of Parma, whose pro-
was remembered that the terrible phecies were long renowned,
Frederick, after being warned by lived in the twelfth century,
him to beware of Florence, had He is given in the Convitc (iv.
died at a place called Firenzuola; 16) as an instance that a man
and more than one Italian city may be very notorious without
preserved with fear and trem- being truly noble,
bling bis dark sayings regarding ' Herb and image: Part of
their fate. Villani frequently the witch's stock in trade. All
quotes his prophecies ; and that was done to a waxen image
Boccaccio speaks of him as a of him was sufiered by the
great necromancer who had been witch's victim,
in Florence. A commentary of ^ Cain and the Thorns: The



152 The Fourth Bolgia. [canto xx.

The moon was fiill already yesternight ;
Which to recall thou shouldst be well content.
For in the wood she somewhat helped thy plight'

Thus spake he to me while we forward went 130

moon. Thebdiefthat the spots ing to Dante's scheme of the
in the moon are cansed by Cain worlds Piugatoiy is the true op-
standing in it with a bundle of posite of Jerusalem; and Seville
thorns is referred to at Parad, is ninety degrees from Jerusalem.
iL 51. Altfaou^ it is now the As it was full moon the night
morning of the Saturday, the before last, and the moon is
' yesternight ' refers to the night now setting, it is now fully an
of Thursday, when Dante found hour after sunrise. But, as has
some use of the moon in the already been said, it is not pos-
Forest The moon is now set* sible to reconcile the astronomi-
ting on the line dividing the cal indications thoroughly with
hemisphere of Jerusalem, in one another. — ^Virgil serves as
which they are, firom that of the dock to Dante, for they can see
Mount of Puigatory. Accord- nothing of the skies.



ciKcu VIII.] The Arsenal at Venice. 153



CANTO XXL

Conversing still from bridge to bridge^ we went ;
But what our words I in my Comedy
Care not to telL The top of the ascent

Holding, we halted the next pit to spy
Of Malebolge, with plaints bootless all :
There, darkness' fiiU of wonder met the eye.

As the Venetians' in their Arsenal
Boil the tenacious pitch at winter-tide,
To caulk the ships with for repairs that call ;

For then they cannot sail ; and so, instead, 10

One builds his bark afresh, one stops with tow
His vessel's ribs, by many a voyage tried ;

^ FrwnMdgitoMdgt: They mention of the Rialto in one

cran the barrier aeparatiiig the passage of the PwnUUso^ and of

Fourth from the Filth Bolgia, the Venetian coinage in another,

and follow the bridge which it could not be gathered from

spans the Fifth until they have the Comtdy^ with all its wealth

reached the crown of it We of historical and geographical

may infer that the oonyersation references, that there was such

of Virgil and Dante turned on a place as Venice in the Italy of

fordcnowledge of the future. Dante. Unlike the statue of

s Darkmss^ etc, : The pitch Time {Inf. ziv.), the Queen of

with which the trench of the the Adriatic had her face set

Bolgia is fiUed absorbs most of eastwards. Her back was

the scanty light accorded to tuned and her ears doted as in

Bialebolge. '% proud indifference to the noise

» The Vemdians: But for of party conflicts which filled

this picturesque description of the rest of Italy,
the old Arsenal, and a passmg



1 54 The Fifth Bolgia. [canto xxi.

One hammers at the poop, one at the prow ;
Some feshion oars, and others cables twine.
And others at the jib and main sails sew :

So, not by fire, but by an art Divine,
Pitch of thick substance boiled in that low Hell,
And all the banks did as with plaster line.

I saw it, but distinguished nothing well
Except the bubbles by the boiling raised,, 20

Now swelling up and ceasing now to swelL

While down upon it fixedly I gased,
' Beware, beware !' my Leader to me said.
And drew me thence close to him, I, amazed,

Tumc4 sharply round, like him who has delayed.
Fain to behold the thing he ought to flee,
Then, losing nerve, grows suddenly afraid.

Nor lingers longer what there is to see ;
For a black devil I beheld advance
Over the cliff behind us rapidly. 50

Ah me, how fierce was he of countenance i
What bitterness he in his gesture put.
As with spread wings he o'er the ground did dance !

Upon his shoulders, prominent and acute.
Was perched a sinner^ fast by either hip ;
And him he held by tendon of the foot.

He from our bridge : * Ho, Malebranche !* Grip
An Elder brought from Santa Zita's town :'
Stuff him below ; myself once more I slip

^ A sinner: This is the only ' Santa ZUds tvwn: ZiU

instance in the Inftmo of the was a holy aerring-woman of

arrival of a sinner at his special Lucca, who died some time be-

place of punishment. See Inf, tween 1270 and 12S0, and whose

V. 15, wfte* miracle- woridng body is still

* MaMranche: EvilGaws,the preserved in the diuich of San

name of the devils who have the Frediana Most probably, al-

sinners of this Bolgia in chaigCi though venerated as a sunt, die



cncu Tin.] The Elder of Lucca. 155

Back to Uie place where lack of such 18 none. 40

Therei save Bontnro, bamtes^ every man,
And No grows Yes that money may be won.'

He shot him down, and o'er the cliff began
To nm ; nor nnchained mastiff o'er the groand,
dasing a robber, swifter ever ran.

The other sank, then rose with back bent round ;
But from beneath the bridge the devils cried :
' Not here the Sacred Countenance' is found.

One swims not here as on the Serchio's* tide ;

was not yet canoniied at the Byzantine workmanship, still
time Dante wiitei of, and there p re ier v ed and veneiated in the
may be a Florentine sneer cathedral of Ijicca. Aooording
hidden in the description of to the legend, it was carved from
Lucca as her town. Even in memozy by Nioodemus, and
Lucca there was some difference after being a long time lost was
of opinion as to her merits, and found agun in the eighth oen-
a certain unlucky Ciappaconi tuiy by an Italian btshc^ travel-
was pitched into the Serchio for ling in Palestine. He brought it
making fun of the popular en- to the coast at Joppa, where it
thusiasm about her. See Plul- was received by a vessel without
alethes, G9tL Com, In Lucca sail or oar, which, with its sacred
the officiala that were called fre^ht, floated westwards and
Priors in Florence, were named was next seen at the port of
Elders. The commentators Luna. All efforts to approach
give a name to this sinner, but the bark were vain, till the
it IS only guesswork. Bishop of Lucca descended to

^ Save BotUurc, barraUs^ etc, : the seashore, and to him the

It is the barrators, those who vessel resigned itself and suffered

trafficked in offices and sold him to take the image into his

justice, that are punished in this keeping. ' Believe what you

Bolgia. The greatest barrator like of all this,' says Benvenuto ;

of all in Lucca, say the commen- * it is no article of faith.'— The

tators, was this Bonturo; but sinner has come to the sur-

there seems no proof of it, fiioe, bent as if in an attitude of

though there is of his arrogance, prayer, when he is met by this

He was still living in 1314. taunt.

' Tki Soared Onrntenanct: ' The Serchio: The stream

An image in cedar wood, of which flows past Lucca.



1 56 The Fifth Bolgia. [cahto xxi.

So if thoa wottldst not with oar grapplos deal 50

Do not on surface of the pitch abide.'
Then he a hundred hooks^ was made to feeL

* Best dance down there,' they said the while to him,

' Where, if thoa canst, thoa on the sly mayst steaL'
So scullions by the cooks are set to trim

The caldrons and with forics the pieces steep

Down in the water, that they may not swim.
And the good Master said to me : * Now creep

Behind a rocky splinter for a screen ;

So from their knowledge thou thyself shalt keep. 60
And fear not thou although with outrage keen

I be opposed, for I am well prepared,

And formerly^ have in like contest been.'
Then passing from the bridge's crown he fiured

To the sixth bank,* and when thereon he stood

He needed courage doing what he dared.
In the same furious and tempestuous mood

In which the dogs upon the b^;gar leap,

Who, halting suddenly, seeks alms or food,
They issued forth from underneath the deep 70

Vault of thebridge^ with grapplers 'gainst hun stretched ;

But he exclaimed : ' Alooi^ and harmless keep i

' A hundred hooks : So many and in their tnm are clawed

devils with their pronged hooks and tom by their devilish guar-

were waiting to receive the dians.

victim. The punishment of the * Formerfy^ etc,: On the oc-
barrators bears a relation to casion of his previous descent
their sins. They wrooght their {^Itrf, ix. 22).
evil deeds under all kinds of * The sixth bastk: Dante re-
veils and excuses, and are now mains on the crown of the arch
themselves effectually buried out oveihanging the pitch-filled
of sight The pitdi sticks as moat. Virgil descends from
dose to them as bribes ever did the bridge by the left hand to
to their fingers. They misused the bank on the inner side of
wards and all subject to them, the Fifth Bolgia.



ciRCLK VIII.] The Malebranche. 157

Ere I by any of your hooks be tonched.
Come one of you and to my words give ear ;
And then advise yon if I should be clutched.'

All cried : *Let Malacoda then go near ;'
On which one moved, the others standing still.
He coming said : * What will this^ help him here ?'
*' O Malacoda, is it cxedible

That I am come,' my Master then replied, 80

' Secure your opposition to repel,

Without Heaven's will, and fate, upon my side ?
Let me advance, for 'tis by Heaven's behest
That I on this rough road another guide.'

Then was his haughty spirit so depressed,
He let his hook drop sudden to his feet,
And, * Strike him not t' commanded all the rest

My Leader charged me thus : ^Thou, from thy seat
Where 'mid the bridge's ribs thou crouchest low,
Rejoin me now in confidence complete.' 90

Whereon I to rejoin him was not slow ;
And then the devils, crowding, came so near,
I feared they to their paction false might show.

So at Caprona' saw I footmen fear,
Spite of their treaty, when a multitude
Of foes received them, crowding front and rear.

^ IVhai will tkis^ etc* : As if the referenoe to be to a siege of

he said : What good will this the same stranghold by the

delay do him in the long- Pisaos in the following year,

nm? when the Lnochese garrison,

* At Caprona : Dante was having snnendered on condition

one of the mounted nulitia sent of having their lives spared,

by Florence in 1289 to help the were met as they issued forth

Locchese against the Pisans, withcriesof' Hang them! Hang

and was present at the surender them ! ' Bat of this second siege

by the Pisan garrison of the it is only a Pisan commentator

Casde of Cq>rona. Some make that speaks.



158 The Fifth Bolgia. tcAmoxxi.

With all my body braced I closer stood
To him) my Leader, and intently eyed
The aspect of them, which was for from good.

Lowering their grapplers, 'mong themselves they cried :
' Shall I now tickle him upon the thigh ?' loi

'Yea, see thou clip him deftly,' oAe replied.

The demon who in parley had drawn nigh
Unto my Leader, upon this turned round ;
' Scarmiglione, lay thy weapon by !'

He said ; and then to us : ' No way is found
Further along this difi^ because, undone.
All the sixth arch lies ruined on the ground.

But if it please you further to pass on,
Over this rocky ridge advancing climb i lo

To the next rib,^ where passage may be won.

Yestreen,^ but five hours later than this time.
Twelve hundred sixty-six years reached an end.
Since the way lost the wholeness of its prime.

^ The next rib : Makooda in- It is now, accordiDg to the text,

formg them that the ardi of rock twelve hundred and sixty-six

across the Sixth Bolgia in con- years and a day since the cnici-

tinnaticm of that by which they fixion. Turning to the OmoHo^

have crossed the Fifth b in iv. 23, we find Dante giving his

ruins, but that they will find a reasons for believing that Jesus,

whole bridge if they keep to the at His death, had just completed

left hand along the rocky bank His thirty-fourth year. This

on the inner edge of the pitch- brings us to the date of 1300

filled moat But, as appears a.d. But according to Church

further on, he is misleading tradition the cradfixion hap-

them. It will be remembered pened on the 25th March, and

that from the precipice enclosing to get thirty-four years His life

the Malebolge there run more must be counted firom the incar>

than one series of bridges or ribs nation, which was held to have

into the central well of Inferno, taken place on the same date,

* Yestreen, etc. : This is the namely the 25th March. It

principal passage in the Ccmedy was in Dante's time optional to

for fixing Uie date of the journey, reckon from the incainatioD or



ciACLB VIII.] The Makbranche, 1 59

Thither I some of mine w91 straightway send
To see that none peer forth to breathe the air :
Go on with them ; you they will not offend.

Yotti Alichin^ and Calcabrin, prepare
To move/ he bade ; ' Cagnazzo, thou as well ;
Guiding the ten, thou, Barbariccia, fare. 120

With Draghignazzo, Libicocco fell,
Fanged Ciriatto, Graffiacane too,
Set on, mad Rubicant and Farfarel :

Search on all quarters round the boiling glue.
Let these go safe, till at the bridge they be,
Which doth unbroken' o'er the caverns go.'

' Alas, my Master, what is this I see ?'
Said I, ' Unguided, let us forward set,
If thou know'st how. I wish no company.

If former caution thou dost not forget, 130

*Dost thou not mark how each his teeth doth grind,
The while toward us their brows are full of threat V

And he : * I would not fear should fill thy mind ;



the birth of Christ. The journey This is held by Dante (Comnio
must therefore be taken to have iv. 23), who professes to follow
begun on Friday the 25th Marchy the account by Saint Luke, to
a fortnight before the Good have been at the sixth hour,
Friday of 1500 ; and, counting that is, at noon; thus the time is
strictly from the incarnation, on now seven in the morning,
the first day of 1301 — ^the first ^ Alichino^ etc, : The names of
day of the new century. So we the devils are all descriptive :
find Boccaodo in his unfinbhed Alichino^ for instance, is the
conmientary saying in Inf, ill Swooper ; but in this and the
that it will appear from Canto next Canto we have enough of
xxi that Dante began his journey the horrid crew without con-
in Mccci.— The hour is now sidering too closely how they
five hours before that at which are called,
the earthquake happened which * Unbroken : Malacoda re-
took place at the death of Jesus, peats his lie.



i6o The Fifth Bolgia. [canto xxl

Let them grin all they will, and all they can ;

Tb at the wretches in the pitch confined.'
They wheeled and down the left hand bank began

To march, but first each bit his tongue,^ and passed

The signal on to him who led the van. I

He answered grossly as with trmnpet blast

^ Each bit hit tongue^ etc, : man so involved in his own

The demons^ aware of the cheat thoughts as Dante was, should

played by Malacoda, show their have been snch a close observer

devilish humour by making of low life as this passage shows

game of Viigil and Dante, him. He b sure that he laughed

— Benvenuto is amazed that a to himselfas he wrote the Canto.



CIRCLE VIII.] The Malebranche. i6i



CANTO XXII.

Horsemen I Ve seen in march across the field,
Hastening to charge, or, answering muster, stand,
And sometimes too when forced their gromid to yield ;

I have seen skirmishers qpon your land,
O Aretines !^ and those on foray sent ;
With trumpet and with beU^ to sonnd command

Have seen jousts run and well-fought tournament.
With drum, and signal from the castle shown,
/Vnd foreign music with familiar blent ;

^ O Amines : Dante is men- and their allies had taken above

tioned as having taken part in fortycastles and strongholds, and

the campaign of 1289 against devastated the enemy's country

Arezso, in the course of which lar and near; and, though unable

the battle of Campaldino was to take the capital, they held all

fought But the text can hardly kinds of warlike games in front

refer to what he witnessed in of it. Dante was then twenty-

that campaign, as the field of three years of age, and according

it was almost confined to the to the Florentine constitution of

Casentino, and little more than that period would, in a full

a formal entrance was made on muster of the militia, be required

the true Aretine territory ; while to serve as a cavalier without

the chronicles make no mention pay, and providing his own

of jousts and forays. There is, horse and arms,
however, no reason to think but * Beli: The use of the bell

that Dante was engaged in the for martial music was common

attack made by Florence on the in the Italy of the thirteenth

Ghibeline Areszo in the early century. The great war-bell of

summer of the preceding year, the Florentines was carried with

In a few days the Florentines them into the field.

L



i62 Thi Fifth Bdgia, [cakto xxn.

But ne'er by blast on such a trumpet blown lo

Beheld I horse or foot to motion brought.
Nor ship by star or landmark guided on.

With the ten demons moved we from the spot ;
Ah, cruel company ! but ^ with the good
In church, and in the tavern with the sot.'

Still to the pitch was my attention glued
Fully to see what in the Bolgia lay,
And who were in its burning mass imbrued.

As when the dolphins vaulted badcs display,
Warning to mariners they should prepare 20

To trim their vessel ere the storm makes way ;

So, to assuage the pain he had to bear,
Some wretch woold show his back above the tide,
Then swifter pluoge than lightnings cleave the air.

And as the frogs ckise to the niarsh's side
With muzzles thrust out of the water stand,
While feet and bodies carefully they hide ;

So stood the sinners upon every hand.
But on beholding Barbariccia nigh
Beneath the bubbles^ disappeared the band. y^

I saw what still my heart is shaken by :
One waiting, as it sometimes comes to pass
That one frog plunges, one at rest doth lie ;

And Graflfiacan, who nearest to him was,
Him upward drew, clutching his pitchy hair :
To me he bore the look an otter has.



' Beneath the Mfbles^ etc. ; As in the pitdi ; and as they denied

the baiTSton took toll of the to otherg what ihonld be the

administiadon of justice and common blessing of justice, now

appointment to offices, some- they cannot so rnneh ss breilhe

thing always sticking to their the air without paying dearly

palms, so now they are plunged for it to the demons.



ciRCLB VIII.] Th$ Navarreu. 163

I of their names^ ere this was wdl aware,
For I gave heed unto the names of all
When they at first were chosen. ' Now prepare,

And, Rubicante, with thy talons fall 40

Upon him and flay well,' with many cries
And one consent the accursed ones did calL

I said : ' O Master, if in any wise
Thou canst, find out who is the wretched wi^^t
Thus at the mercy of his enemies.' ^

Whereon my Guide drew lull within his sight.
Asking him whence he came, and he replied :
' In kingdom of Navarre' I first saw hght

Me servant to a lord my mother tied ;
Through her I firom a scoundrel sire did spring, 50
Waster (tf goods and of himself beside.

As servant next to Thiebault,' righteous king,
I set myself to ply barratorship ;
And in this heat discharge my reckoning.'

And Ciriatto, close upon whose lip
On either side a boar-like tusk did stand.
Made him to feel how one of them could rip.

The mouse had stumbled on the wild cat band ;
But Barbaricda locked him in embrace.
And, * Off while I shall hug him 1' gave command. 60

Round to my Master then he turned his face :
' Ask more of him if more thou wouldest know.
While he against their fury yet finds grace.'

^ Thdrnames: Theuunes of of John Paul to this shade, but

all the demons. All of them all that Is known of him is found

nige Rubicante, the ' mad red in the text

devil,' to flay the yictim, shin- * TkiOauU: Kmgof Navane

ing and sleek with the hot pitch, and second of that name. He

who is held fast by Giaffiacane. aooompenied his ftither-in-law,

* In kingdom of Navarre^ etc. : Saint Louis, to Tttni% and died

The commentators give the name on his wi^ back, in is/a



164 The Fifth BolgicL [canto xxii.

My Leader asked : ' Declare now if below
The pitch 'mong all the guilty there lies here
A Ladan ?'^ He replied : * Short while ago

From one' I parted who to them lived near ;
And would that I might use him still for shield,
Then hook or claw I should no longer fiear.'

Said Libicocco : ' Too much grace we yield.' 70

And in the sinner's arm he fixed his hook,
And from it clean a fleshy fragment peeled.

But seeing Draghignazzo also took
Aim at his legs, the leader of the Ten
Turned swiftly round on them with angry look.

On this they were a little quieted ; then
Of him who still gazed on his wound my Guide
Without delay demanded thus again :

^ Who was it whom, in coming to the side,
Thou say'st thou didst do ill to leave behind ? ' 80

' Gomita of Gallura,'* he replied,

* A vessel frill of fraud of every kind,

Who, holding in his power his master's foes,
So used them him they bear in thankfrd mind ;

For, taking bribes, he let slip all of those,
He says ; and he in other posts did worse,
And as a duefrain 'mong barrators rose.

Don Michael Zanche^ doth with him converse,

' A LaHan : An Italian. the provinces into which Sar-
' From one^ etc, : A Sar- dinia was divided under the
dinian. The bazrator prolongs Pisans. At last, after bearing
his answer so as to procure a long with him, the 'gentle Judge
respite from the fangs of his tor- Nino ' hanged Gomita for set-
mentors, ting prisoners free for bribes.

* Gomiia of Galiura: 'Friar ^ Don Mkhad Zanche:
Gomita' was high in &vour Enzo, King of Sardinia, mar-
with Nino Visconti (Purg, viii, ried Adelasia, the lady of Logo-
53), the lord of Gallura, one of doro, one of the four Sardinian



CIRCLE viii.l The Dem&ns cheated, 165

From Logodoro, and with endless din

They gossip^ of Sardinian characters. 90

But look, ah me ! how yonder one doth grin.

More would I say, but that I am afraid

He is about to claw me on the skin.'
To Farfarel the captain turned his head,

For, as about to swoop, he rolled his eye,

And, ^ Cursed hawk, preserve thy distance I' said.
* If ye would talk with, or would closer spy,'

The frighted wretch began once more to say,

* Tuscans or Lombards, I will bring them nigh.
But let the Malebranche first give way, 100

That of their vengeance they may not have fear,

And I to this same place where now I stay
For me, who am but one, will bring seven near

When I shall whistle as we use to do

Whenever on the surface we appear.'
On this Cagnazzo up his muzzle threw.

Shaking his head and saying : ^ Hear the cheat

He has contrived, to throw himself below.'
Then he who in devices was complete :



jttdgedoms or provinces. Of this earlier date than Gomita's. It

province Zancfae, seneschal to has been claimed for, or charged

Enzo, acquired the government against, the Sardinians, that

daring the long imprisonment of more than other men thejf de-

his master, or upon his death light in gossip touching their

in 1273. Zanche's daughter was native country. These two, if it

married to Branca d' Oria, by can be supposed that, plunged

whom 2^che was treacherously among and choked with pitch,

slain in 1275 ('^^ xxxiii. 137). thejf still cared for Sardinian

There seems to be nothing talk, would find material enough

extant to support the accusation in the troubled history of their

implied in the text. land. In 1300 it belonged

^ They gossips etc. : Zanche's partly to Genoa and partly to

experience of Sardinia was of an Pisa.



1 66 The Fifth Bolgia. [canto xxii.

* Far too malicious, in good sooth,' replied, i lo

' When for my friends I plan a sorer fis^e.'
This, Alichin withstood not but denied

The others' counsel,* saying : * If thou fling

Thyself hence, thee I strive not to outstride,
But o'er the pitch 1 11 dart upon the wing.

Leave we the ridge,' and be the bank a shield ;

And see if thou canst all of us outsjunng.'
O Reader, hear a novel trick revealed.

All to the other side turned round their eyes.

He first' who slowest was the boon to yield. 120

In choice of time the Navarrese was wise ;

Taking firm stand, himself he forward flung,

Eluding thus their hostile purposes.
Then with compunction each of them was stung,

But he the most* whose slackness made them fail ;

Therefore he started, ^ Caught 1' upon his tongue.
But little it bested, nor could prevail

His wings 'gainst fear. Below the other went.

While he with upturned breast aloft did sail.



1 The atheri counsel: Alich- the fosse and the foot of the
ino, confident in his own powers, enclosing rocky steep— a path-
is willing to risk* an experiment way continued under the
with the sinner. The other bridges and all romid the Bolgia
devils count a bird in the hand for their convenience as gaar-
worth two in the bosh. dians of it The bank adjoining

' The ridge: Not the crown the pitch will serve as a screen

of the great rocky bairier be- for the sinner if the demons re-

tween the Fifth and the Sixth tire to the other side of this ledge.

Bolgias, for it is not on that " He fret, etc. : Cagnazzo.

the devils are standing ; neither See line 106.

are they allowed to pass over it * Heth^ mcst^ ek: Alichino,

(litf. xxiii. 55). We axe to whose confidence in his agility

figure them to ourselves as stand- had led to the outwitting of die

ing on a ledge ronning between band.



CIRCLE Yiii. ] Cimbat of Dunans. 1 67

And as the felcon, when, on its descent, 150

The wild duck suddenly dives out of sight,
Returns outwitted back, and malcontent ;

To be befooled filled Calcabrin with spite.
Hovering he followed, wishing in his mind
The wretch escaping should leave cause for fight

When the barrator vanished, from behind
He on his comrade with his talons fell
And clawed him, "bove the moat with him entwined.

The other was a spar-hawk terrible
To daw in turn ; together then the two 140

Plunged in the boiling pool The heat full well

How to unlock their fierce embraces knew ;
But yet they had no power^ to rise again,
So were their wings all plastered o'er with glue.

Then Barbariccia, mourning with his train,
Caused four to fly forth to the other side
With all their grapplers. Swift their flight was ta'en.

Down to the place from either hand they glide,
Reaching their hooks to those who were limed fast.
And now beneath the scum were being fried. 150

And from them thus engaged we onward passed.

1 No power: The foolish tiger cubs, convey a vivid im-

ineptitttde of the devils for pression of the limits set to their

anjrthing beyond their special diabolical power, and at the

function of hooking up and flay- same time heighten the sense of

tog those who appear on the what Dante's feeling of insecur-

snrfiice of the pitch, and their ity must have been while in

irrational fierce playfulness as of such inhuman companionship.



1 68 The Fifth Bolgia. [canto xxiii.



CANTO XXIII.

Silent, alone, not now with company
We onward went, one first and one behind,
As Minor Friars^ use to make their way.

On iGsop's fable* wholly was my mind
Intent, by reason of that contest new —
The feble where the frog and mouse we find ;

For Mo and Issa^ are not more of hue
Than like the fable shall the fact appear,
If but considered with attention due.

And as from one thought springs the next, so here lo
Out of my first arose another thought,
Until within me doubled was my fear.

For thus I judged : Seeing through us^ woe brought



1 Minor Ftiars : In the early the oontinaed mental effort

years of their Order the Frands- Dante enjcMns. So muph was

cans went in couples upon their everything Greek or Roman

journeys, not abreast bnt one then held in reverence, that the

behind the other. mention even of iEsop is held

' Msofs fable : This fable, to give dignity to the page.

mistakeiUy attributed to JEaop, ' Mo and Issa : Two words

teUs of how a frog enticed a {or now,

mouse into a pond, and how * Through us: The quarrel

they were then both devoured among the fiends arose from

by a kite. To discover the Dante's insatiable desire to

aptness of the simile would confer with 'Tuscan or Lom-

scaroely be reward enough for bard.'



CIRCLE viii.] The Flight 169

Contempt upon them, hurt, and sore despite,
They needs must be to deep vexation wrought.

If anger to malevolence unite,
Then will they us more cruelly pursue
Than dog the hare which ahnost feels its bite.

All my hair bristled, I already knew,
With terror when 1 spake : ' O Master, try 20

To hide us quick' (and back I turned to view

What lay behii^d), ' for me they terrify.
These Malebranche following us ; from dread
1 almost fancy I can feel them nigh.'

And he : ' Were 1 a mirror backed with lead
I should no truer glass that form of thine.
Than all thy thou^^t by mine is answered.

For even now thy thoughts accord with mine.
Alike in drift and featured with one face ;
And to suggest one counsel they combine. 30

If the right bank slope downward at this place,
To the next Bolgia^ offering us a way,
SwifUy shall we evade the imagined chase.'

Ere he completely could his purpose say,
I saw them with their wings extended wide,
Close on us ; as of us to make their prey.

Then quickly was I snatched up by my Guide :
Even as a mother when, awaked by cries,
She sees the flames are kindling at her 8ide»

Delaying not, seizes her child and flies ; 40

Careful for him her proper danger mocks.
Nor even with one poor shift herself supplies.



^ To the next Bolgia: The the constmction of Malebolge

Sixth. They are now on the the ridge is deq>er on the inner

top of the drcnlar ridge that side than on that up which they

divides it from the Fifth. From have txavelled from the pitdL



i;^o The Sixth Bdgia. [canto xxm.

And he, stretched out apon the flinty rocks,
Himself unto the precipice resigned
Which one side of the other Bolgia blocks.

A swifter course ne'er held a stream confined.
That it may turn a mill, within its race,
Where near the buckets tis the most declined

Than was my Master's down that rock's sheer £ace ;
Nor seemed I then his comrade, as we sped, 50

But like a son locked in a sire's embrace.

And barely had his feet struck on the bed
Of the low ground, when they were seen to stand
Upon the crest, no more a cause of dread.*

For Providence supreme, who so had planned
In the Fifth Bolgia they should minister.
Them wholly frcHn departure thence bad banned.

'Neath us we saw a painted people fare, ^

Weeping as on their way they circled slow,
Crushed by fatigue to look at, and despair. 60

Cloaks had they on with hoods pulled down lull low
Upon their eyes, and fashioned, as it seemed,
Like those which at Cologne* for monks they sew.



^ No men a cause of dread: of an almost modem tender-
There seems some incoogniity ness.

between Virgil's dread of these ' Cologne: Some make it

smaller devils and the ease with Clugny, the great Benedictine

which he cowed Minos, Charon, monastery; bnt all the old

and Plato. But his character commentators and most of the

gains in human interest the Mss. read Cologne. All that

more he is represented as the text necessarily canies is

sympathistng with Dante in his that the cloaks had great hoods,

terrors; and in this particular If, m addition, a reproadi of

case the confession of fdlow* dnmsiness is implied, it would

feeling prepares the way for agree well enough with the

the beautifiil passage whidi lol* Italian estimate of German

lows it (line 38, etc.), one full people and thiqgs.



ciRCLB vin.l The MypocriUs. 171

The outer face was gilt so that it gleamed ;
Inside was all of lead, of such a weight
Frederick's^ to these had been but straw esteemed

weary robes for an eternal state !

V^th them we turned to the left hand once more^

Intent upon their tears disconsolate.
But those folic, wearied with the loads they lM>re, 70

So slowly crept that still new company

Was ours at every footfall on the floor.
Whence to my Guide I said : ^ Do thou now try

To find some one by name or action known,

And as we go on all sides turn thine eye.'
And one, who recognised the Tuscan tone,

Called from behind us : ' Halt, I you entreat

Who through the air obscure are hastening on ;
Haply in me thou what thou seek'st Shalt meet'

Whereon my Guide turned round and said : * Await,

And keep thou time with pacing of his feet' 81

1 stood, and saw two manifesting great
Desire to join me, by their countenance ;

But their loads hampered them and passage stndt.*

> Fredericks, etc, : The Em- an impression is created ^ the

peror Frederick 11. ; but that intolerable weariness of the vic-

he used any torture of leaden tims. As always, too, the pon-

sheets seems to be a fabrication ishment answers to the sin.

of his enemies. The hypocrites made a fair

» Passage strait : Through the show in the flesh, and now

crowd of shades, all like them- their mantles which look like

selves weighed down by the gold are only of base lead. On

leaden cloaks. There is nothmg earth they were of a sad conn-

in all literature like this picture tenance, trying to seem better

of the hcavUy-burdened shades, than they were, and the load

At first sight it seems to be which to deceive others they

Uttlc of a torture compared with voluntarily assumed in life is

what we have already seen, and now replaced by a stffl heavier

yet by simple touch after touch weight, and one they camiot



172 The Sixth Botgia. [canto xxiii.

And, when arrived, me with an eye askance^

They gazed on long time, but no word they spoke ;

Then, to each other turned, held thus parlance :
' His heaving throat* proves him of living folk.

If they are of the dead, how could they gain

To walk uncovered by the heavy cloak V 90

Then to me : ' Tuscan, who dost now attain

To the college of the hypocrites foriom,

To tell us who thou art show no disdain.'
And I to them : ' I was both bred and bom

In the great city by fisdr Amo's stream,

And wear the body I have always worn.
But who are ye, whose suffering supreme

Makes tears, as I behold, to flood the cheek ;

And what your mode of pain that thus doth gleam ?'
' Ah me, the yellow mantles,' one to speak • 100

Began, ' are all of lead so thick, its weight

Maketh the scales after this manner creak.
We, Merry Friars' of Bologna's state,

I Catalano, Loderingo he.

Were by thy town together designate,

throw off if they would. The 113, the shades, too, breathe as

choice of garb convejft an obvi* well as perfonn other fanctions

ons chaige of hypocrisy against of living bodies. At least they

the Friars, then greatly fallen seem so to do^ but this is aU

away from the purity of their only in appearance. They only

institution, whether Franciscans seem to be flesh and blood,

or Dominicans. baring no weight, casting no

1 An ^€ askance: They can- shadow, and drawing breath in

not turn their heads. a way of their own. Dante, as

* ffis heaving throat : In Pur- has been sai^ (Inf. ^ 36), is

gatory Dante is known for a hard put to it to make them

mortal by his casting a shadow, subject to corporal pains and

Here he is known to be of flesh yet be only shadows,

and blood by the act of respira- ' Merry Friars: Knights of the

tion; jret, as appears from line Order of Saint Maqr, instituted



CIRCLE VIII.] The Merry Friars. 173

As for the most part one is used to be,
To keep the peace within it ; and around
GardingOy^ what we were men still may see.'

I made b^inning : * Friars, your profound—'
But said no more, on suddenly seeing there 1 10

One crucified by three stakes to the ground,

Who, when he saw me, writhed as in despair.
Breathing into his beard with heavy sigh.
And Friar Catalan, of this aware.

Said : ' He thus fixed, on whom thou tum'st thine eye,
Counselled the Pharisees that it behoved
One man as victim' for the folk should die.

Naked, thou seest, he lies, and ne'er removed



by Urban IV. in 1 261. Whether grew wealthy. The Podesta,

the name of Frati Godenti which or chief magistrate, was always

they here bear was one of re- a well-bom foreigner. Probably

proacfa or was simply descriptive some monkish rule or custom

of the easy rule under which forbade either Catalaao or Lode-

they lived, is not known. Mar- ringo to leave the monastery

ried men might, under certain singly.

conditions, enterthe Order. The ^ Gardingo: A quarter of
members were to hold them- Florence^ in whidi many pal-
selves aloof from public office, aoes were destroyed about the
and were to devote themselves time of the Podestaship of the
to the defienoe of the weak and Frati

the promotion of justice and * One man as vktim: St,
religion. The two monkish yohn xL 50. Caiaphas and An-
cavaliers of the tesct were in nas, with the Scribes and Fhari*
1266 brought to Florence as sees who persecuted Jesus to
Podestas, the Pope himself hav- the death, are the vilest hypo-
ing urged them to go. There is crites of all. They lie naked
much uncertainty as to the part across the path, unburdened by
they played in Florence, but the leaden doak, it is true, but
none as to the fact of their rule only that they may feel the more
having been highly distastelul to keenly the weight of the punish*
the Florentines, or as to the ment of all the hypocrites of the
other fact, that in Florence they world.



174 ^^ Sixth Borgia. [canto xxiii.

From where, set 'cross the pethf by him the imijbx

Ofeveryoae that passes by is proved. 120

And his wife's fitther shares an equal fitte^

With others of the Council, in this fosse ;

For to the Jews they proved seed reprobate.'
Meanwhile at him thus stretched upon the cross

Virgil,^ I saw, displayed astonishment-*^

At his mean exile and eternal loss.
And then this question to the Friars he sent :

* Be not displeased, but, if ye may, avow
If on the right' hand there lies any vent

By which we, both of us,' fiom hence may go, 130

Nor need the black angelic company
To come to help us from this valley low.'

* Nearer than what thou think'st,' he made reply,

* A rib there runs from the encircling wall,^
The cruel vales in turn o'erarching high ;

Save that at this 'tis rent and ruined alL
Ye can dimb upward o'er the shattered heap
Where down the side the piled-up fragments M.'

His head bent down a while my Guide did keep.
Then said : * He warned us^ in imperfect wise, 140
Who nnners with his hook doth clutch and steep.'

> VirgU: On Virgil's earlier ^ The tnarcUng vtaU: That

journey through Infemo Caia- which encloses all the Male-

phas and the others were not here, bolgc;

and he wonders as at something " Ht warned us /^Jnfalacoda

out of a world to Kim onknown. (Inf, xxi. 109) had assured him

* On the right: As they are that the next rib of rock ran on-
moving round the Bolgta to the broken across all the Bolgiaa,
left, the rocky barrier between but it too, like all the other
them and the Seventh Bolgia is bridges, proves to have been, at
on their right. the time of the earthquake,

' JVtf baih of us: Dante, still shattered where it crossed this
in the body, as well as Vi^il, golf of the hypocrites. The
the shade. earthquake tokL most on this



circlkviil] The Merry Friars. I7S

The Friar : ' At Bologna^ many a vice
I heard the Devil charged with, and among
The rest that, fidse, he father is of lies.'

Then onward moved my Guide with paces long,
And some slight shade of anger on his iiue.
I with him parted from the burdened throng,

Stepping where those dear feet had left their trace.

Bolgia, because the death of feme the Merry Friar must have

Christ and the attendant earth- his joke. He b a gentleman,

quake were, in a sense, caused but a bit of a scholar too ; and

by the hypocrisy of Caiaphas the University of Bologna is to

and the rest him what Marisdud College

^ At Boiogna : Even in In* was to Captain Dalgetty.



1/6 The Sixth Bolgia. [canto xxiv.



CANTO XXIV.

In season of the new year, when the sun
Beneath Aquarius^ warms again his hair,
And somewhat on the nights the days have won ;

When on the ground the hoar-frost painteth fair
A mimic image of her sister white —
But soon her brush of colour is all bare —

The clown, whose fodder is consumed outright,
Rises and looks abroad, and, all the plain
Beholding glisten, on his thigh doth smite.

Returned indoors, like wretch that seeks in vain lo

What he should do, restless he mourns his case ;
But hope revives when, looking forth again.

He sees the earth anew has changed its face.
Then with his crook he doth himself provide.
And straightway doth his sheep to pasture chase :

So at my Master was I terrified,
His brows beholding troubled ; nor more slow
To where I ailed' the plaster was applied.

1 Aquarius : The sun b in ' Where I aUeJ, etc, : As the

the constellation of Aquarius peasant is in despair at seeing

from the end of January till the the earth white with what he

end of February ; and already, thinks is snow, so was Dante at

say in the middle of February, the signs of trouble on Virgil's

the day is nearly as long as the face. He has mistaken anger

night. at the cheat for perplexity as to



I



CIRCLE vin.] Up the ruined Arch. 177

For when the broken bridge^ we stood below
My Guide turned to me with the expression sweet 20
Which I beneath the mountain learned to know.

His arms he opened, after counsel meet
Held with himself, and, scanning closely o'er
The fragments first, he nused me from my feet ;

And like a man who, working, looks before.
With foresight still on that in front bestowed.
Me to the summit of a block he bore

And then to me another fragment showed.
Saying : ' By this thou now must clamber on ;
But try it first if it will bear thy load.' 30

The heavy cowled' this way could ne'er have gone,
For hardly we, I holpen, he so light,
Could clamber up from shattered stone to stone.

And but that on the inner bank the height
Of wall is not so great, I say not he.
But for myself I had been vanquished quite.

But Malebolge' to the cavity
Of the deep central pit is planned to foil ;
Hence every Bolgia in its turn must be



how they are to escape from the piled tip against the wall, and

Bolgia ; and his Master's smile yield something of a practicable

is grateful and leassoring to him way.

as the spectacle of the green * The heavy ccwled : He finds

earth to the despairing shep- his illustration on the spot, his

herd. mind being still full of the griev-

^ The broken bridge : They ously burdened hypocrites,

are about to escape from the ' But MaJebolge, etc, : Each

bottom of the Sixth Bolgia by Bolgia in turn Ues at a lower

climbing the wall between it level than the one before it, and

and the Seventh, at the point consequently the inner side of

where the confused fragments of each dividing ridge or wall is

the bridge Friar Catalano told higher than the outer ; or,^ to

them of {Inf. xxiii. 133) lie put it otherwise, in each Bolgia

M



178 The Seventh Bolgia, [canto xxnr.

High on the out, low on the inner wall ; 40

So to the summit we attained at last,

Whence breaks away the topmost stone^ of alL
My lungs were so with breathlessness harassed,

The summit won, I could no further go ;

And, hardly there, me 00 the ground I cast
' Well it befits that thou shouldst from thee throw

All sloth,' the Master said ; ' for stretched in down

Or under awnings none can glory know.
And he who spends his life nor wins renown

Leaves in the world no jmore enduring trace 50

Than smoke in air, or foam on water blown.
Therefore arise ; overcome thy breathlessness

By force of will, victor in every fight

When not subservient to the body base.
Of stairs thou yet must climb a loftier flight :'

'TIS not enough to have ascended these.

Up then and profit if thou hear'st aright'
Rising I feigned to breathe with greater ease

Than what I felt, and spake : ^ Nowforward plod,

For with my courage now my strength agrees.' 60
Up o'er the rocky rib we held our road ;

And rough it was and difiicult and strait.

And steeper £u:' than that we earlier trod.
Speaking I went, to hide my wearied states

When from the neighbouring moat a voice we heard

Which seemed ill fitted to articulate.

the wall they come to last— that * A UflUr flight: When he

nearest the centre of the Inferno, ascends the Mount of Pnigatory.

is lower than that they first reach ' Steeper far^ etc, : Rougher

— ^the one endostng the Bolgia. and steeper than the rib of rock

1 The topmast stone: The they followed till they had

stone that had fonned the be- crossed the Fifth Bolgia. They

ginning of the arch at this end are now travelling along a dif-

of it. ferent spoke of the wheel.



CIRCLE VIII.] The Serpents. 179

Of what it said I knew not any word,

Though on the arch^ that vaults the moat set high ;

But he who spake appeared by anger stirred.
Though I bent downward yet my eager eye, 70

So dim the depth, explored it all in vain ;

I then : * O Master, to that bank draw nigh,
And let tts by the wall descent obtain,

Because I hear and do not understand,

And looking down distinguish nothing plain.'
* My sole rq>ly to thee,' he answered bland,

' Is to perform ; for it behoves,' he said,

' With silent act to answer just demand.'
Then we descended from the bridge's head,'

Where with the eighth bank is its junction wrought ; 80

And full beneath me was the Bolgia spread.
And I perceived that hideously twas fraught

With serpents ; and such monstrous forms they bore,

Even now my blood is curdled at the thought
Henceforth let sandy Libya boast no more 1

Though she breed hydra, snake that crawls or flies,

Twy-headed, or fine-speckled, no such store
Of plagues, nor near so cruel, she supplies.



^ The arcAf etc,: He has farther than merdy from the

gone on hiding his weariness till bridge to the lower level of the

he is on the top of the ardi that wall dividing the Seventh from

overiiangs the Seventh Bolgia— the Eighth Bolgia ; but not so

that in whidi thieves are pun- fiurastothegroandofthemoat.

ished. Most likely the stones jut forth

* JFrvm tMe bndgis head: at the angle formed by the

Farther on they dimb up again junction of the bridge and the

(Inf. zzvi. 13) by the projecting locky wall. On one of the

stones which now supply them lowest of these they find a

with the means of descent It standiag-plaoe whence they can

is a disputed point how fiw they see clearly what is in the

do descend. Clearly it is Bolgia.



l8o The Seventh Bolgia. [canto xxrv.

Though joined to all the land of Ethiop,

And that .which by the Red Sea waters lies. 90

'Midst this fell throng and dismal, without hope

A naked people ran, aghast with fear^

No covert for them and no heliotrope.^
Their hands* were bound by serpents at their rear,

Which in their reins for head and tail did get

A holding-place : in front they knotted were.
And lo 1 to one who on our side was set

A serpent darted forward, him to bite

At where the neck is by the shoulders met
Nor O nor / did any ever write 100

More quickly than he kindled, burst in flame,

And crumbled all to ashes. And when quite
He on the earth a wasted heap became,

The ashes* of themselves together rolled,

Resuming suddenly their former frame.
Thus, as by mighty sages we are told,

The Phoenix* dies, and then is bom again,

When it is close upon five centuries old.

^ Heliotrope: A stone sup- propiiate to their sins. They

posed to make the bearer of it would fadn but cannot steal

invisible. themselves away, and in addi-

* TAeir kands^ etc, : The sin- tion to the constant terror of
ners in this Bolgia are the being found oat they are sab-
thieves, not the violent robbers ject to pains the essence of
and highwaymen but those which consists in the depriva-
whose crime involves a betrayal tion — the theft from them — of
of trust. After all their canning their unsubstantial bodies, which
thefts they are naked now ; and, are all that they now have to
though here is nothing to steal, lose. In the case of this vie*
their hands are firmly bound tim the deprivation is only tern-
behind them. porary.

■ 771/ asAes, eU, : The suffer- * The Phoenix: Dante here

ings of the thieves, if looked borrows very directly from Ovid

closely into, will be found ap- {Afetam. xv.).



ci&cLK VIII.] The Thieves — Vanni Fucci, 1 8 1

In all its life it eats not herb nor grain.

But only tears that from frankincense flow ; i lo

It, for a shroudy sweet nard and myrrh contain.
And as the man who falls and knows not how,

By force of demons stretched upon the ground,

Or by obstruction that makes life run low,
When risen up straight gazes all around

In deep confusion through the anguish keen

He suffered from, and stares with sighs profound :
So was the sinner, when arisen, seen.

Justice of God, how are thy terrors piled,

Showering in vengeance blows thus big with teen 1 120
My Guide then asked of him how he was styled.

Whereon he said : ' From Tuscany I rained.

Not long ago, into this gullet wild.
From bestial life, not human, joy I gained.

Mule that I was ; me, Vanni Fucci,^ brute,

Pistoia, fitting den, in life contained.'
I to my Guide : ' Bid him not budge a foot.

And ask' what crime has plunged him here below.

In rage and blood I knew him dissolute.'
The sinner heard, nor insincere did show, 130

But towards me turned his face and eke his mind.

With spiteful shame his features all aglow ;
Then said : ' It pains me more thou shouldst me find



^ Vanni Fncci: Natural sun among the thieves, and not in

of a Pistoiese noble and a poet the circle of the violent The

of some merit, who bore a lead- question is framed so as to

ing part in the ruthless feuds of compel confession of a crime

Blacks and Whites which dis- for which the sinner had not

tracted Pistoia towards the close been condemned in life ; and

of the thirteenth century. be flushes with rage at being

' Andasky etc. : Dante wishes found among the cowardly

to find out why Fucci is placed thieves.



1 82 The Seventh Bolgia, [canto xxiv.

And catch me steeped in all this misery,

Than when the other life I left behmd
What them demandest I can not deny :

I'm plonged^ thus low because the thief I played

Within the fiurly famished sacristy ;
And falsely to another's charge 'twas laid.

Lest thou shottldst joy' such sight has met thy view

If e'er these dreary regions thou evade, 141

Give ear and hearken to my utterance true :

The Neri first out of Pistoia fail.

Her laws and parties Florence shapes anew ;
Mars draws a vapour out of Magra's vale,

Which black and threatening douds accompany ;

Then bursting in a tempest terrible
Upon Piceno shall the war run high ;

The mist by it shall suddenly be rent,

And every Bianco^ smitten be thereby : 1 50

And I have told thee that thou mayst lament'



^ Vm pUmged^ etc, : Fucd a Nero or Black, takes his re*

was concerned in the theft of venge for being foond here by

treasure from the Cathedral Dante, who was, as he knew,

Church of St James at Pistoia. associated with the Bianeki or

Acoonnts vary as to the drcun- Whites, by prophesying an event

stances under which the crime full of disaster to these,

was committed, and as to who * Every Bianco^ etc, : The

snfiered for it Neither is it Blacks, according to Villani

certainly known when Fncd (viti. 45), were driven from Pb-

died, though his recent arrival tola in May 1301. They took

in the Bolgia agrees with the refuge in Florence, where their

view that he was still active on party, in the foQowingNovember

the side of the Blacks in the under the protection of Chades

last year of the century. In the of Valois, finally gained the

fierceness of his retort to Dante upper hand, and began to per*

we have evidence of thdr old secnte and expel the MHiites,

acquaintance and old enmity. among whom was Dante. Mars,

* Lest than fhoHldA joy :V%axAi the god of war, or, more pro-



cutcLE VIII.] Vanni Ftucis Prqplte<y. 1 83

bably, the plaiiet of war, draws a soon after the Blacks recovered

vapour from the valley of the their strength ; bat the chroni*

Magra, a small stream which ders tell of none such, though

flows into the Mediterranean on some of the commentators do.

the northern confine of Tus- The fortress of Seravalle was

cany. This vapour is said to taken from the Pistoiese, it is

signify Moroello Malaspina, a true, in 1302, and Moroello b

noble of that district and an said to have been the leader of

active leader of the Blacks, who the force which starved it into

here figure as murky clouds, submission. He was certainly

The Campo Piceno b the present at the great siege of

country west of Pistota. There Rstoia in 1305, when the cid-

Morodlo bursts on his foes like zens suffered the last rigours of

a lightning-flash out of its cloud, famine. — This prophecy by

This seems to refer to a pitched Fucd recalls those by Farinata

battle that should have happened and Ciacoo.



1 84 TIte Seventh Bolgia. [camto xxv.



CANTO XXV.

The robber,^ when his words were ended so,
Made both the figs and lifted either fist,
Shouting : ' There, God ! for them at thee I throw.'

Then were the snakes my friends ; for one 'gan twist
And coiled itself around the sinner's throat,
As if to say : ^ Now would I have thee whist.'

Another seized his arms and made a knot.
Clinching itself upon them in such wise
He had no power to move them by a jot.

Pistoia !' thou, Pistoia, shouldst devise lo

To bum thyself to ashes, since thou hast
Outrun thy founders in iniquities.

^ The robber^ tic, I'^yraitUi&Qi him!' we have a reference to

his prophecy Fuod luts, after a the gesture,

fiashion, taken revenge on Dante ' Pistoia : The Pistoiese bore

for being found by bim among the reputation of being hard and

the cheating thieves instead of pitiless. The traditioQ was that

among the nobler sinners guilty their dty had been founded by

of blood and violence. But in such of Catiline's followers as

the rage of his wounded pride survived his defeat on the Campo

he must insult even Heaven, and Piceno. 'It is no wonder,*

this he does by using the most says Villani (L 32) ' that, being

contemptuous gesture in an the descendants as they are of

Italian's repertory. The fig is Catiline and his followers, the

made by thrusting the thumb Pistoiese have always been ruth*

between the next two fingers, less and cruel to strangers and

In the English 'A fig for to one another.'



ci&cLE VIII.] The Centaur Cacus, 185

The blackest depths of Hell throagh which I passed
Showed me no soul 'gainst God so filled with spite,
No, not even he who down Thebes' wall^ was cast.

He spake no further word, but turned to flight ;
And I beheld a Centaur raging sore
Come shouting : * Of the ribald give me sight I '

I scarce believe Maremma* yieldeth more
Snakes of all kinds than what composed the load 20
Which on his back, far as our form, he bore.

Behind his nape, with pinions spread abroad,
A dragon couchant on his shoulders lay
To set on fire whoever bars his road.

' This one is Cacus,'^ did my Master say,
' Who underneath the rock of Aventine
Watered a pool with blood day after day.

Not with his brethren* runs he in the line,
Because of yore the treacherous theft he wrought
Upon the neighbouring wealthy herd of Idne : 30

Whence to his crooked course an end was brought
'Neath Hercules' dub, which on him might shower down
A hundred blows ; ere ten he suffered nought.'

While this he said, the other had passed on ;
And under us three spirits forward pressed
Of whom my Guide and I had nothing known

^ Who down TMei wail: jEneid Cacos defends himself

Capaneus (/m/C xiv. 63). from Hercules by Tomiting a

* Martmma: See note, Inf. fiery smoke ; and this doubtless

xiiL 8. suggested the dragon of the text.

■ Cacus: Dante makes him a ^ His brdhrm: The Cen*

Centanr, but Viigil {jEm, yiii.) tanrs who gnard the river of

only describes him as half blood {Inf, xii. 56). In Fucci,

human. The pool was fed with as a sinner guilty of blood and

the blood of his human victims, violence above most of the

The herd was the spoil Hercules thieves, the Centaur Cacus

took from Geryon. In the takes a special malign interest.



1 86 The Sevmth Bolgia. [canto xxv.

But that : ' Who are ye?' they made loud request

Whereon our tale^ no further could proceed ;

And toward them wholly we our wits addressed
I recognised them not, but gave good heed; 40

Till, as it often haps in such a case,

To name another, one discovered need,
Saying : ' Now where stopped Cianfa* in the race ?'

Then, that my Guide might halt and hearken well,

On chin' and nose I did my finger place.
If, Reader, to believe what now I tell

Thou shouldst be slow, I wonder not, for I

Who saw it all scarce find it credible.
While I on them my brows kept lifted high

A serpent, which had six feet, suddenly flew 50

At one of them 9nd held him bodily.
Its middle feet about his paunch it drew.

And with the two in front his arms clutched fast.

And bit one cheek and the other through and through.
Its hinder feet upon his thighs it cast,

Thrusting its tail between them till behind.

Distended o^er his reins, it upward passed.

^ Our taU: Of Cacus. It is tainly known of them is that

intemipted by the arrival of they were Florentine thieves of

three sinners whom Dante quality,

does not at first recognise as he * Ciatrfa : Another Floren-

gazes down on them, but only tine gentleman, one of the

when they begin to speak among Donati. Since his companions

themselves. They are three lost sight of him he has been

noUe citizens of Florence: transformed into a six-footed

Agnello BnmeUeschi, Buoso serpent Immediately appear*

degli Abati, and Pacdo Scian- ing, he darts upon Aj^eUo,

catto de' Galigai— all said to * On chiUf eU, : A gesture by

have pilfered in private life, or which silence is requested. The

to have abased their tenme of mention of Ciania shows Dante

high office by plundering the that he is among Fiorcn-

Commonwealth. What is cer- tines.



CIRCLE VIII.] Metamorphosis of the Thieves. 1 87

The ivy to a tree could never bind

Itself so firmly as this dreadful beast

Its members with the other's intertwined. 60

Each lost the colour that it once possessed,

And closely they, like heated wax, unite,

The former hue of neither manifest :
Even so up o^er papyrus,^ when alight.

Before the flame there spreads a colour dun,

Not black as yet, though from it dies the white.
The other two meanwhile were looking on,

Crying : * Agnello, how art thou made new !

Thou art not twain, and yet no longer one.'
A single head was moulded out of two ; 70

And on our sight a single face arose,

Which out of both lost countenances grew.
Four separate limbs did but two arms compose ;

Belly with chest, and legs with thighs did grow

To members such as nought created shows.
Theur former feshion was all perished now :

The perverse shape did both, yet neither seem ;

And, thus transformed, departed moving slow.
And as the lizard, which at fierce extreme

Of dog-day heat another hedge would gain, 80

Flits 'cross the path swift as the lightning's gleam \
Right for the bellies of the other twain

^ Papyrus : The original is use it in this instance, adopting

/a/i'fv, the word used in Dante's it firom the Latin pe^yrus*

time for a wick made out of a Besides, he says that the brown

reed like the papyrus; papir ookmrtravdsttpoverthe/«^>v/

being still the name for a wick in while it goes downward on a

some dialects. — (Scartazsini. ) It burning wick. Nor would the

cannot be shown that papiro simile, if drawn from a slowly

was ever employed for paper in bnming lamp-wick, agree with

Italian. This, however, does the speed of the change de-

not prove that Dante may not so scribed in the text



1 88 The Seventh Bolgia. [canto xxv.

A little snake^ quivering with anger sped,

Livid and black as is a pepper grain.
And on the part by which we first are fed

Pierced one of them ; and then upon the ground

It fell before hinii and remained outspread.
The wounded gazed on it, but made no sound

Rooted he stood* and yawning, scarce awake,

As seised by fever or by sleep profound. 90

It closely watched him and he watched the snake.

While from its mouth and from his wound 'gan swell

Volumes of smoke which joined one cloud to make.
Be Lucan henceforth dumb, nor longer tell ^

Of plagued Sabellus and Nassidius,*

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
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Chapter i



It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were strik-
ing thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his
breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly
through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not
quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from enter-
ing along with him.

The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At
one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display,
had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enor-
mous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of
about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and rugged-
ly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. It was
no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was sel-
dom working, and at present the electric current was cut
off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive
in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up,
and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer
above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on
the way. On each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster
with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of
those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow
you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING
YOU, the caption beneath it ran.

Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of fig-

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 3



ures which had something to do with the production of
pig-iron. The voice came from an oblong metal plaque like
a dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the
right-hand wall. Winston turned a switch and the voice
sank somewhat, though the words were still distinguish-
able. The instrument (the telescreen, it was called) could be
dimmed, but there was no way of shutting it off complete-
ly. He moved over to the window: a smallish, frail figure,
the meagreness of his body merely emphasized by the blue
overalls which were the uniform of the party. His hair was
very fair, his face naturally sanguine, his skin roughened by
coarse soap and blunt razor blades and the cold of the win-
ter that had just ended.

Outside, even through the shut window-pane, the world
looked cold. Down in the street little eddies of wind were
whirling dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the
sun was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed
to be no colour in anything, except the posters that were
plastered everywhere. The blackmoustachio'd face gazed
down from every commanding corner. There was one on
the house-front immediately opposite. BIG BROTHER IS
WATCHING YOU, the caption said, while the dark eyes
looked deep into Winston's own. Down at street level an-
other poster, torn at one corner, flapped fitfully in the wind,
alternately covering and uncovering the single word IN-
GSOC. In the far distance a helicopter skimmed down
between the roofs, hovered for an instant like a bluebottle,
and darted away again with a curving flight. It was the po-
lice patrol, snooping into people's windows. The patrols did



1984



not matter, however. Only the Thought Police mattered.

Behind Winston's back the voice from the telescreen was
still babbling away about pig-iron and the overfulfilment
of the Ninth Three-Year Plan. The telescreen received and
transmitted simultaneously. Any sound that Winston made,
above the level of a very low whisper, would be picked up by
it, moreover, so long as he remained within the field of vi-
sion which the metal plaque commanded, he could be seen
as well as heard. There was of course no way of knowing
whether you were being watched at any given moment. How
often, or on what system, the Thought Police plugged in on
any individual wire was guesswork. It was even conceivable
that they watched everybody all the time. But at any rate
they could plug in your wire whenever they wanted to. You
had to live — did live, from habit that became instinct — in
the assumption that every sound you made was overheard,
and, except in darkness, every movement scrutinized.

Winston kept his back turned to the telescreen. It was
safer, though, as he well knew, even a back can be revealing.
A kilometre away the Ministry of Truth, his place of work,
towered vast and white above the grimy landscape. This,
he thought with a sort of vague distaste — this was London,
chief city of Airstrip One, itself the third most populous
of the provinces of Oceania. He tried to squeeze out some
childhood memory that should tell him whether London
had always been quite like this. Were there always these vis-
tas of rotting nineteenth-century houses, their sides shored
up with baulks of timber, their windows patched with card-
board and their roofs with corrugated iron, their crazy

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 5



garden walls sagging in all directions? And the bombed
sites where the plaster dust swirled in the air and the wil-
low-herb straggled over the heaps of rubble; and the places
where the bombs had cleared a larger patch and there had
sprung up sordid colonies of wooden dwellings like chick-
en-houses? But it was no use, he could not remember:
nothing remained of his childhood except a series of bright-
lit tableaux occurring against no background and mostly
unintelligible.

The Ministry of Truth — Minitrue, in Newspeak [New-
speak was the official language of Oceania. For an account
of its structure and etymology see Appendix.] — was star-
tlingly different from any other object in sight. It was an
enormous pyramidal structure of glittering white con-
crete, soaring up, terrace after terrace, 300 metres into the
air. From where Winston stood it was just possible to read,
picked out on its white face in elegant lettering, the three
slogans of the Party:

WAR IS PEACE
FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH

The Ministry of Truth contained, it was said, three
thousand rooms above ground level, and corresponding
ramifications below. Scattered about London there were
just three other buildings of similar appearance and size.
So completely did they dwarf the surrounding architec-
ture that from the roof of Victory Mansions you could see



1984



all four of them simultaneously. They were the homes of
the four Ministries between which the entire apparatus
of government was divided. The Ministry of Truth, which
concerned itself with news, entertainment, education, and
the fine arts. The Ministry of Peace, which concerned itself
with war. The Ministry of Love, which maintained law and
order. And the Ministry of Plenty, which was responsible
for economic affairs. Their names, in Newspeak: Minitrue,
Minipax, Miniluv, and Miniplenty

The Ministry of Love was the really frightening one.
There were no windows in it at all. Winston had never been
inside the Ministry of Love, nor within half a kilometre of it.
It was a place impossible to enter except on official business,
and then only by penetrating through a maze of barbed-
wire entanglements, steel doors, and hidden machine-gun
nests. Even the streets leading up to its outer barriers were
roamed by gorilla-faced guards in black uniforms, armed
with jointed truncheons.

Winston turned round abruptly. He had set his features
into the expression of quiet optimism which it was advis-
able to wear when facing the telescreen. He crossed the
room into the tiny kitchen. By leaving the Ministry at this
time of day he had sacrificed his lunch in the canteen, and
he was aware that there was no food in the kitchen except
a hunk of dark- coloured bread which had got to be saved
for tomorrow's breakfast. He took down from the shelf a
bottle of colourless liquid with a plain white label marked
VICTORY GIN. It gave off a sickly, oily smell, as of Chinese
rice-spirit. Winston poured out nearly a teacupful, nerved

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 7



himself for a shock, and gulped it down like a dose of medi-
cine.

Instantly his face turned scarlet and the water ran out
of his eyes. The stuff was like nitric acid, and moreover, in
swallowing it one had the sensation of being hit on the back
of the head with a rubber club. The next moment, however,
the burning in his belly died down and the world began to
look more cheerful. He took a cigarette from a crumpled
packet marked VICTORY CIGARETTES and incautiously
held it upright, whereupon the tobacco fell out on to the
floor. With the next he was more successful. He went back
to the living-room and sat down at a small table that stood
to the left of the telescreen. From the table drawer he took
out a penholder, a bottle of ink, and a thick, quarto-sized
blank book with a red back and a marbled cover.

For some reason the telescreen in the living-room was in
an unusual position. Instead of being placed, as was normal,
in the end wall, where it could command the whole room,
it was in the longer wall, opposite the window. To one side
of it there was a shallow alcove in which Winston was now
sitting, and which, when the flats were built, had probably
been intended to hold bookshelves. By sitting in the alcove,
and keeping well back, Winston was able to remain outside
the range of the telescreen, so far as sight went. He could
be heard, of course, but so long as he stayed in his present
position he could not be seen. It was partly the unusual ge-
ography of the room that had suggested to him the thing
that he was now about to do.

But it had also been suggested by the book that he had



1984



just taken out of the drawer. It was a peculiarly beautiful
book. Its smooth creamy paper, a little yellowed by age, was
of a kind that had not been manufactured for at least for-
ty years past. He could guess, however, that the book was
much older than that. He had seen it lying in the window of
a frowsy little junk-shop in a slummy quarter of the town
(just what quarter he did not now remember) and had been
stricken immediately by an overwhelming desire to possess
it. Party members were supposed not to go into ordinary
shops ('dealing on the free market', it was called), but the
rule was not strictly kept, because there were various things,
such as shoelaces and razor blades, which it was impossible
to get hold of in any other way. He had given a quick glance
up and down the street and then had slipped inside and
bought the book for two dollars fifty. At the time he was not
conscious of wanting it for any particular purpose. He had
carried it guiltily home in his briefcase. Even with nothing
written in it, it was a compromising possession.

The thing that he was about to do was to open a diary.
This was not illegal (nothing was illegal, since there were no
longer any laws), but if detected it was reasonably certain
that it would be punished by death, or at least by twenty-
five years in a forced-labour camp. Winston fitted a nib into
the penholder and sucked it to get the grease off. The pen
was an archaic instrument, seldom used even for signatures,
and he had procured one, furtively and with some difficulty,
simply because of a feeling that the beautiful creamy paper
deserved to be written on with a real nib instead of being
scratched with an ink-pencil. Actually he was not used to

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 9



writing by hand. Apart from very short notes, it was usu-
al to dictate everything into the speak-write which was of
course impossible for his present purpose. He dipped the
pen into the ink and then faltered for just a second. A trem-
or had gone through his bowels. To mark the paper was the
decisive act. In small clumsy letters he wrote:

April 4th, 1984.

He sat back. A sense of complete helplessness had de-
scended upon him. To begin with, he did not know with any
certainty that this was 1984. It must be round about that
date, since he was fairly sure that his age was thirty-nine,
and he believed that he had been born in 1944 or 1945; but
it was never possible nowadays to pin down any date within
a year or two.

For whom, it suddenly occurred to him to wonder, was he
writing this diary? For the future, for the unborn. His mind
hovered for a moment round the doubtful date on the page,
and then fetched up with a bump against the Newspeak
word DOUBLETHINK. For the first time the magnitude of
what he had undertaken came home to him. How could you
communicate with the future? It was of its nature impossi-
ble. Either the future would resemble the present, in which
case it would not listen to him: or it would be different from
it, and his predicament would be meaningless.

For some time he sat gazing stupidly at the paper. The
telescreen had changed over to strident military music. It
was curious that he seemed not merely to have lost the pow-



1984



er of expressing himself, but even to have forgotten what it
was that he had originally intended to say. For weeks past
he had been making ready for this moment, and it had nev-
er crossed his mind that anything would be needed except
courage. The actual writing would be easy. All he had to
do was to transfer to paper the interminable restless mono-
logue that had been running inside his head, literally for
years. At this moment, however, even the monologue had
dried up. Moreover his varicose ulcer had begun itching
unbearably. He dared not scratch it, because if he did so it
always became inflamed. The seconds were ticking by. He
was conscious of nothing except the blankness of the page
in front of him, the itching of the skin above his ankle, the
blaring of the music, and a slight booziness caused by the
gin.

Suddenly he began writing in sheer panic, only imper-
fectly aware of what he was setting down. His small but
childish handwriting straggled up and down the page, shed-
ding first its capital letters and finally even its full stops:

April 4th, 1984. Last night to the flicks. All war films. One
very good one of a ship full of refugees being bombed
somewhere in the Mediterranean. Audience much amused
by shots of a great huge fat man trying to swim away with
a helicopter after him, first you saw him wallowing along
in the water like a porpoise, then you saw him through the
helicopters gunsights, then he was full of holes and the sea
round him turned pink and he sank as suddenly as though
the holes had let in the water, audience shouting with laughter

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 11



when he sank, then you saw a lifeboat full of children with a
helicopter hovering over it. there was a middle-aged woman
might have been a Jewess sitting up in the bow with a little
boy about three years old in her arms, little boy screaming
with fright and hiding his head between her breasts as if he
was trying to burrow right into her and the woman putting
her arms round him and comforting him although she was
blue with fright herself all the time covering him up as much
as possible as if she thought her arms could keep the bullets
off him. then the helicopter planted a 20 kilo bomb in among
them terrific flash and the boat went all to matchwood, then
there was a wonderful shot of a child's arm going up up up
right up into the air a helicopter with a camera in its nose
must have followed it up and there was a lot of applause from
the party seats but a woman down in the prole part of the
house suddenly started kicking up a fuss and shouting they
didnt oughter of showed it not in front of kids they didntit
aint right not in front of kids it aint until the police turned
her turned her out i dont suppose anything happened to her
nobody cares what the proles say typical prole reaction they



Winston stopped writing, partly because he was suffer-
ing from cramp. He did not know what had made him pour
out this stream of rubbish. But the curious thing was that
while he was doing so a totally different memory had clar-
ified itself in his mind, to the point where he almost felt
equal to writing it down. It was, he now realized, because
of this other incident that he had suddenly decided to come



1984



home and begin the diary today.

It had happened that morning at the Ministry, if any-
thing so nebulous could be said to happen.

It was nearly eleven hundred, and in the Records De-
partment, where Winston worked, they were dragging the
chairs out of the cubicles and grouping them in the cen-
tre of the hall opposite the big telescreen, in preparation for
the Two Minutes Hate. Winston was just taking his place
in one of the middle rows when two people whom he knew
by sight, but had never spoken to, came unexpectedly into
the room. One of them was a girl whom he often passed in
the corridors. He did not know her name, but he knew that
she worked in the Fiction Department. Presumably — since
he had sometimes seen her with oily hands and carrying a
spanner — she had some mechanical job on one of the nov-
el-writing machines. She was a bold-looking girl, of about
twenty-seven, with thick hair, a freckled face, and swift,
athletic movements. A narrow scarlet sash, emblem of the
Junior Anti-Sex League, was wound several times round
the waist of her overalls, just tightly enough to bring out the
shapeliness of her hips. Winston had disliked her from the
very first moment of seeing her. He knew the reason. It was
because of the atmosphere of hockey-fields and cold baths
and community hikes and general clean-mindedness which
she managed to carry about with her. He disliked nearly all
women, and especially the young and pretty ones. It was al-
ways the women, and above all the young ones, who were
the most bigoted adherents of the Party, the swallowers
of slogans, the amateur spies and nosers-out of unortho-



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doxy. But this particular girl gave him the impression of
being more dangerous than most. Once when they passed
in the corridor she gave him a quick sidelong glance which
seemed to pierce right into him and for a moment had filled
him with black terror. The idea had even crossed his mind
that she might be an agent of the Thought Police. That, it
was true, was very unlikely. Still, he continued to feel a pe-
culiar uneasiness, which had fear mixed up in it as well as
hostility, whenever she was anywhere near him.

The other person was a man named O'Brien, a member
of the Inner Party and holder of some post so important
and remote that Winston had only a dim idea of its nature.
A momentary hush passed over the group of people round
the chairs as they saw the black overalls of an Inner Party
member approaching. O'Brien was a large, burly man with
a thick neck and a coarse, humorous, brutal face. In spite of
his formidable appearance he had a certain charm of man-
ner. He had a trick of resettling his spectacles on his nose
which was curiously disarming — in some indefinable way,
curiously civilized. It was a gesture which, if anyone had
still thought in such terms, might have recalled an eigh-
teenth-century nobleman offering his snuffbox. Winston
had seen O'Brien perhaps a dozen times in almost as many
years. He felt deeply drawn to him, and not solely because
he was intrigued by the contrast between O'Brien's urbane
manner and his prize-fighter's physique. Much more it was
because of a secretly held belief — or perhaps not even a be-
lief, merely a hope — that O'Brien's political orthodoxy was
not perfect. Something in his face suggested it irresistibly.



1984



And again, perhaps it was not even unorthodoxy that was
written in his face, but simply intelligence. But at any rate
he had the appearance of being a person that you could
talk to if somehow you could cheat the telescreen and get
him alone. Winston had never made the smallest effort to
verify this guess: indeed, there was no way of doing so. At
this moment O'Brien glanced at his wrist-watch, saw that it
was nearly eleven hundred, and evidently decided to stay in
the Records Department until the Two Minutes Hate was
over. He took a chair in the same row as Winston, a couple
of places away. A small, sandy-haired woman who worked
in the next cubicle to Winston was between them. The girl
with dark hair was sitting immediately behind.

The next moment a hideous, grinding speech, as of some
monstrous machine running without oil, burst from the
big telescreen at the end of the room. It was a noise that set
one's teeth on edge and bristled the hair at the back of one's
neck. The Hate had started.

As usual, the face of Emmanuel Goldstein, the Enemy of
the People, had flashed on to the screen. There were hisses
here and there among the audience. The little sandy-haired
woman gave a squeak of mingled fear and disgust. Gold-
stein was the renegade and backslider who once, long ago
(how long ago, nobody quite remembered), had been one of
the leading figures of the Party, almost on a level with Big
Brother himself, and then had engaged in counter-revolu-
tionary activities, had been condemned to death, and had
mysteriously escaped and disappeared. The programmes of
the Two Minutes Hate varied from day to day, but there was

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 15



none in which Goldstein was not the principal figure. He
was the primal traitor, the earliest defiler of the Party's pu-
rity. All subsequent crimes against the Party, all treacheries,
acts of sabotage, heresies, deviations, sprang directly out
of his teaching. Somewhere or other he was still alive and
hatching his conspiracies: perhaps somewhere beyond the
sea, under the protection of his foreign paymasters, perhaps
even — so it was occasionally rumoured — in some hiding-
place in Oceania itself.

Winston's diaphragm was constricted. He could never
see the face of Goldstein without a painful mixture of emo-
tions. It was a lean Jewish face, with a great fuzzy aureole of
white hair and a small goatee beard — a clever face, and yet
somehow inherently despicable, with a kind of senile sil-
liness in the long thin nose, near the end of which a pair
of spectacles was perched. It resembled the face of a sheep,
and the voice, too, had a sheep-like quality. Goldstein was
delivering his usual venomous attack upon the doctrines
of the Party — an attack so exaggerated and perverse that a
child should have been able to see through it, and yet just
plausible enough to fill one with an alarmed feeling that
other people, less level-headed than oneself, might be taken
in by it. He was abusing Big Brother, he was denouncing
the dictatorship of the Party, he was demanding the imme-
diate conclusion of peace with Eurasia, he was advocating
freedom of speech, freedom of the Press, freedom of as-
sembly, freedom of thought, he was crying hysterically that
the revolution had been betrayed — and all this in rapid
polysyllabic speech which was a sort of parody of the ha-



1984



bitual style of the orators of the Party, and even contained
Newspeak words: more Newspeak words, indeed, than any
Party member would normally use in real life. And all the
while, lest one should be in any doubt as to the reality which
Goldstein's specious claptrap covered, behind his head on
the telescreen there marched the endless columns of the
Eurasian army — row after row of solid-looking men with
expressionless Asiatic faces, who swam up to the surface
of the screen and vanished, to be replaced by others exact-
ly similar. The dull rhythmic tramp of the soldiers' boots
formed the background to Goldstein's bleating voice.

Before the Hate had proceeded for thirty seconds, uncon-
trollable exclamations of rage were breaking out from half
the people in the room. The self-satisfied sheep-like face on
the screen, and the terrifying power of the Eurasian army
behind it, were too much to be borne: besides, the sight or
even the thought of Goldstein produced fear and anger au-
tomatically. He was an object of hatred more constant than
either Eurasia or Eastasia, since when Oceania was at war
with one of these Powers it was generally at peace with the
other. But what was strange was that although Goldstein
was hated and despised by everybody, although every day
and a thousand times a day, on platforms, on the telescreen,
in newspapers, in books, his theories were refuted, smashed,
ridiculed, held up to the general gaze for the pitiful rub-
bish that they were — in spite of all this, his influence never
seemed to grow less. Always there were fresh dupes waiting
to be seduced by him. A day never passed when spies and
saboteurs acting under his directions were not unmasked

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 17



by the Thought Police. He was the commander of a vast
shadowy army, an underground network of conspirators
dedicated to the overthrow of the State. The Brotherhood,
its name was supposed to be. There were also whispered
stories of a terrible book, a compendium of all the heresies,
of which Goldstein was the author and which circulated
clandestinely here and there. It was a book without a title.
People referred to it, if at all, simply as THE BOOK. But one
knew of such things only through vague rumours. Neither
the Brotherhood nor THE BOOK was a subject that any or-
dinary Party member would mention if there was a way of
avoiding it.

In its second minute the Hate rose to a frenzy. People
were leaping up and down in their places and shouting
at the tops of their voices in an effort to drown the mad-
dening bleating voice that came from the screen. The
little sandy-haired woman had turned bright pink, and
her mouth was opening and shutting like that of a landed
fish. Even O'Brien's heavy face was flushed. He was sitting
very straight in his chair, his powerful chest swelling and
quivering as though he were standing up to the assault of a
wave. The dark-haired girl behind Winston had begun cry-
ing out 'Swine! Swine! Swine!' and suddenly she picked up
a heavy Newspeak dictionary and flung it at the screen. It
struck Goldstein's nose and bounced off; the voice contin-
ued inexorably. In a lucid moment Winston found that he
was shouting with the others and kicking his heel violent-
ly against the rung of his chair. The horrible thing about
the Two Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act

18 1984



a part, but, on the contrary, that it was impossible to avoid
joining in. Within thirty seconds any pretence was always
unnecessary. A hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness,
a desire to kill, to torture, to smash faces in with a sledge-
hammer, seemed to flow through the whole group of people
like an electric current, turning one even against one's will
into a grimacing, screaming lunatic. And yet the rage that
one felt was an abstract, undirected emotion which could
be switched from one object to another like the flame of a
blowlamp. Thus, at one moment Winston's hatred was not
turned against Goldstein at all, but, on the contrary, against
Big Brother, the Party, and the Thought Police; and at such
moments his heart went out to the lonely, derided heretic
on the screen, sole guardian of truth and sanity in a world
of lies. And yet the very next instant he was at one with the
people about him, and all that was said of Goldstein seemed
to him to be true. At those moments his secret loathing of
Big Brother changed into adoration, and Big Brother seemed
to tower up, an invincible, fearless protector, standing like
a rock against the hordes of Asia, and Goldstein, in spite
of his isolation, his helplessness, and the doubt that hung
about his very existence, seemed like some sinister enchant-
er, capable by the mere power of his voice of wrecking the
structure of civilization.

It was even possible, at moments, to switch one's ha-
tred this way or that by a voluntary act. Suddenly, by the
sort of violent effort with which one wrenches one's head
away from the pillow in a nightmare, Winston succeeded
in transferring his hatred from the face on the screen to

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 19



the dark-haired girl behind him. Vivid, beautiful hallucina-
tions flashed through his mind. He would flog her to death
with a rubber truncheon. He would tie her naked to a stake
and shoot her full of arrows like Saint Sebastian. He would
ravish her and cut her throat at the moment of climax. Bet-
ter than before, moreover, he realized WHY it was that he
hated her. He hated her because she was young and pretty
and sexless, because he wanted to go to bed with her and
would never do so, because round her sweet supple waist,
which seemed to ask you to encircle it with your arm, there
was only the odious scarlet sash, aggressive symbol of chas-
tity.

The Hate rose to its climax. The voice of Goldstein had
become an actual sheep's bleat, and for an instant the face
changed into that of a sheep. Then the sheep -face melted into
the figure of a Eurasian soldier who seemed to be advancing,
huge and terrible, his sub-machine gun roaring, and seem-
ing to spring out of the surface of the screen, so that some
of the people in the front row actually flinched backwards
in their seats. But in the same moment, drawing a deep sigh
of relief from everybody, the hostile figure melted into the
face of Big Brother, black-haired, black-moustachio'd, full
of power and mysterious calm, and so vast that it almost
filled up the screen. Nobody heard what Big Brother was
saying. It was merely a few words of encouragement, the
sort of words that are uttered in the din of battle, not distin-
guishable individually but restoring confidence by the fact
of being spoken. Then the face of Big Brother faded away
again, and instead the three slogans of the Party stood out



1984



in bold capitals:

WAR IS PEACE
FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH

But the face of Big Brother seemed to persist for sever-
al seconds on the screen, as though the impact that it had
made on everyone's eyeballs was too vivid to wear off im-
mediately. The little sandy-haired woman had flung herself
forward over the back of the chair in front of her. With a
tremulous murmur that sounded like 'My Saviour!' she ex-
tended her arms towards the screen. Then she buried her
face in her hands. It was apparent that she was uttering a
prayer.

At this moment the entire group of people broke into a
deep, slow, rhythmical chant of 'B-BL.B-B!' — over and over
again, very slowly, with a long pause between the first 'B'
and the second — a heavy, murmurous sound, somehow
curiously savage, in the background of which one seemed
to hear the stamp of naked feet and the throbbing of tom-
toms. For perhaps as much as thirty seconds they kept it
up. It was a refrain that was often heard in moments of
overwhelming emotion. Partly it was a sort of hymn to the
wisdom and majesty of Big Brother, but still more it was
an act of self-hypnosis, a deliberate drowning of conscious-
ness by means of rhythmic noise. Winston's entrails seemed
to grow cold. In the Two Minutes Hate he could not help
sharing in the general delirium, but this sub-human chant-

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 21



ing of 'B-BL.B-B!' always filled him with horror. Of course
he chanted with the rest: it was impossible to do otherwise.
To dissemble your feelings, to control your face, to do what
everyone else was doing, was an instinctive reaction. But
there was a space of a couple of seconds during which the
expression of his eyes might conceivably have betrayed him.
And it was exactly at this moment that the significant thing
happened — if, indeed, it did happen.

Momentarily he caught O'Brien's eye. O'Brien had stood
up. He had taken off his spectacles and was in the act of
resettling them on his nose with his characteristic gesture.
But there was a fraction of a second when their eyes met,
and for as long as it took to happen Winston knew — yes, he
KNEW! — that O'Brien was thinking the same thing as him-
self. An unmistakable message had passed. It was as though
their two minds had opened and the thoughts were flowing
from one into the other through their eyes. 'I am with you,'
O'Brien seemed to be saying to him. 'I know precisely what
you are feeling. I know all about your contempt, your ha-
tred, your disgust. But don't worry, I am on your side!' And
then the flash of intelligence was gone, and O'Brien's face
was as inscrutable as everybody else's.

That was all, and he was already uncertain whether it had
happened. Such incidents never had any sequel. All that they
did was to keep alive in him the belief, or hope, that oth-
ers besides himself were the enemies of the Party. Perhaps
the rumours of vast underground conspiracies were true
after all — perhaps the Brotherhood really existed! It was
impossible, in spite of the endless arrests and confessions



1984



and executions, to be sure that the Brotherhood was not
simply a myth. Some days he believed in it, some days not.
There was no evidence, only fleeting glimpses that might
mean anything or nothing: snatches of overheard conver-
sation, faint scribbles on lavatory walls — once, even, when
two strangers met, a small movement of the hand which
had looked as though it might be a signal of recognition. It
was all guesswork: very likely he had imagined everything.
He had gone back to his cubicle without looking at O'Brien
again. The idea of following up their momentary contact
hardly crossed his mind. It would have been inconceivably
dangerous even if he had known how to set about doing it.
For a second, two seconds, they had exchanged an equivo-
cal glance, and that was the end of the story. But even that
was a memorable event, in the locked loneliness in which
one had to live.

Winston roused himself and sat up straighter. He let out
a belch. The gin was rising from his stomach.

His eyes re-focused on the page. He discovered that
while he sat helplessly musing he had also been writing, as
though by automatic action. And it was no longer the same
cramped, awkward handwriting as before. His pen had slid
voluptuously over the smooth paper, printing in large neat
capitals— DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER DOWN WITH
BIG BROTHER DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER DOWN
WITH BIG BROTHER DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER

over and over again, filling half a page.

He could not help feeling a twinge of panic. It was ab-
surd, since the writing of those particular words was not



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more dangerous than the initial act of opening the diary,
but for a moment he was tempted to tear out the spoiled
pages and abandon the enterprise altogether.

He did not do so, however, because he knew that it was
useless. Whether he wrote DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER,
or whether he refrained from writing it, made no differ-
ence. Whether he went on with the diary, or whether he did
not go on with it, made no difference. The Thought Police
would get him just the same. He had committed — would
still have committed, even if he had never set pen to pa-
per — the essential crime that contained all others in itself.
Thoughtcrime, they called it. Thoughtcrime was not a thing
that could be concealed for ever. You might dodge success-
fully for a while, even for years, but sooner or later they
were bound to get you.

It was always at night — the arrests invariably happened
at night. The sudden jerk out of sleep, the rough hand shak-
ing your shoulder, the lights glaring in your eyes, the ring of
hard faces round the bed. In the vast majority of cases there
was no trial, no report of the arrest. People simply disap-
peared, always during the night. Your name was removed
from the registers, every record of everything you had ever
done was wiped out, your one-time existence was denied
and then forgotten. You were abolished, annihilated: VA-
PORIZED was the usual word.

For a moment he was seized by a kind of hysteria. He be-
gan writing in a hurried untidy scrawl:

theyll shoot me i don't care theyll shoot me in the back of the

24 1984



neck i dont care down with big brother they always shoot you
in the back of the neck i dont care down with big brother

He sat back in his chair, slightly ashamed of himself, and
laid down the pen. The next moment he started violently.
There was a knocking at the door.

Already! He sat as still as a mouse, in the futile hope that
whoever it was might go away after a single attempt. But no,
the knocking was repeated. The worst thing of all would be
to delay. His heart was thumping like a drum, but his face,
from long habit, was probably expressionless. He got up and
moved heavily towards the door.



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Chapter 2



As he put his hand to the door-knob Winston saw that
he had left the diary open on the table. DOWN WITH
BIG BROTHER was written all over it, in letters almost big
enough to be legible across the room. It was an inconceiv-
ably stupid thing to have done. But, he realized, even in his
panic he had not wanted to smudge the creamy paper by
shutting the book while the ink was wet.

He drew in his breath and opened the door. Instantly
a warm wave of relief flowed through him. A colourless,
crushed-looking woman, with wispy hair and a lined face,
was standing outside.

'Oh, comrade,' she began in a dreary, whining sort of
voice, 'I thought I heard you come in. Do you think you
could come across and have a look at our kitchen sink? It's
got blocked up and '

It was Mrs Parsons, the wife of a neighbour on the same
floor. ('Mrs' was a word somewhat discountenanced by the
Party — you were supposed to call everyone 'comrade' —
but with some women one used it instinctively.) She was
a woman of about thirty, but looking much older. One had
the impression that there was dust in the creases of her face.
Winston followed her down the passage. These amateur re-
pair jobs were an almost daily irritation. Victory Mansions
were old flats, built in 1930 or thereabouts, and were falling



1984



to pieces. The plaster flaked constantly from ceilings and
walls, the pipes burst in every hard frost, the roof leaked
whenever there was snow, the heating system was usually
running at half steam when it was not closed down alto-
gether from motives of economy. Repairs, except what you
could do for yourself, had to be sanctioned by remote com-
mittees which were liable to hold up even the mending of a
window-pane for two years.

'Of course it's only because Tom isn't home,' said Mrs
Parsons vaguely.

The Parsons' flat was bigger than Winston's, and dingy
in a different way. Everything had a battered, trampled-on
look, as though the place had just been visited by some large
violent animal. Games impedimenta — hockey-sticks, box-
ing-gloves, a burst football, a pair of sweaty shorts turned
inside out — lay all over the floor, and on the table there was
a litter of dirty dishes and dog-eared exercise-books. On
the walls were scarlet banners of the Youth League and the
Spies, and a full-sized poster of Big Brother. There was the
usual boiled-cabbage smell, common to the whole building,
but it was shot through by a sharper reek of sweat, which —
one knew this at the first sniff, though it was hard to say
how — was the sweat of some person not present at the mo-
ment. In another room someone with a comb and a piece of
toilet paper was trying to keep tune with the military music
which was still issuing from the telescreen.

'It's the children,' said Mrs Parsons, casting a half-ap-
prehensive glance at the door. 'They haven't been out today.
And of course '



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She had a habit of breaking off her sentences in the mid-
dle. The kitchen sink was full nearly to the brim with filthy
greenish water which smelt worse than ever of cabbage.
Winston knelt down and examined the angle-joint of the
pipe. He hated using his hands, and he hated bending down,
which was always liable to start him coughing. Mrs Parsons
looked on helplessly.

'Of course if Tom was home he'd put it right in a mo-
ment,' she said. 'He loves anything like that. He's ever so
good with his hands, Tom is.'

Parsons was Winston's fellow- employee at the Minis-
try of Truth. He was a fattish but active man of paralysing
stupidity, a mass of imbecile enthusiasms — one of those
completely unquestioning, devoted drudges on whom,
more even than on the Thought Police, the stability of the
Party depended. At thirty-five he had just been unwilling-
ly evicted from the Youth League, and before graduating
into the Youth League he had managed to stay on in the
Spies for a year beyond the statutory age. At the Ministry
he was employed in some subordinate post for which in-
telligence was not required, but on the other hand he was
a leading figure on the Sports Committee and all the other
committees engaged in organizing community hikes, spon-
taneous demonstrations, savings campaigns, and voluntary
activities generally. He would inform you with quiet pride,
between whiffs of his pipe, that he had put in an appearance
at the Community Centre every evening for the past four
years. An overpowering smell of sweat, a sort of uncon-
scious testimony to the strenuousness of his life, followed



1984



him about wherever he went, and even remained behind
him after he had gone.

'Have you got a spanner?' said Winston, fiddling with the
nut on the angle -joint.

'A spanner,' said Mrs Parsons, immediately becoming
invertebrate. 'I don't know, I'm sure. Perhaps the children —

There was a trampling of boots and another blast on the
comb as the children charged into the living-room. Mrs
Parsons brought the spanner. Winston let out the water
and disgustedly removed the clot of human hair that had
blocked up the pipe. He cleaned his fingers as best he could
in the cold water from the tap and went back into the other
room.

'Up with your hands!' yelled a savage voice.

A handsome, tough-looking boy of nine had popped up
from behind the table and was menacing him with a toy
automatic pistol, while his small sister, about two years
younger, made the same gesture with a fragment of wood.
Both of them were dressed in the blue shorts, grey shirts,
and red neckerchiefs which were the uniform of the Spies.
Winston raised his hands above his head, but with an un-
easy feeling, so vicious was the boy's demeanour, that it was
not altogether a game.

'You're a traitor!' yelled the boy. 'You're a thought- crimi-
nal! You're a Eurasian spy! I'll shoot you, I'll vaporize you,
I'll send you to the salt mines!'

Suddenly they were both leaping round him, shouting
'Traitor!' and 'Thought-criminal!' the little girl imitating

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 29



her brother in every movement. It was somehow slightly
frightening, like the gambolling of tiger cubs which will
soon grow up into man-eaters. There was a sort of calculat-
ing ferocity in the boy's eye, a quite evident desire to hit or
kick Winston and a consciousness of being very nearly big
enough to do so. It was a good job it was not a real pistol he
was holding, Winston thought.

Mrs Parsons' eyes flitted nervously from Winston to the
children, and back again. In the better light of the living-
room he noticed with interest that there actually was dust
in the creases of her face.

'They do get so noisy' she said. 'They're disappointed
because they couldn't go to see the hanging, that's what it
is. I'm too busy to take them, and Tom won't be back from
work in time.'

'Why can't we go and see the hanging?' roared the boy in
his huge voice.

'Want to see the hanging! Want to see the hanging!'
chanted the little girl, still capering round.

Some Eurasian prisoners, guilty of war crimes, were to
be hanged in the Park that evening, Winston remembered.
This happened about once a month, and was a popular spec-
tacle. Children always clamoured to be taken to see it. He
took his leave of Mrs Parsons and made for the door. But he
had not gone six steps down the passage when something
hit the back of his neck an agonizingly painful blow. It was
as though a red-hot wire had been jabbed into him. He spun
round just in time to see Mrs Parsons dragging her son back
into the doorway while the boy pocketed a catapult.



1984



'Goldstein!' bellowed the boy as the door closed on him.
But what most struck Winston was the look of helpless
fright on the woman's greyish face.

Back in the flat he stepped quickly past the telescreen
and sat down at the table again, still rubbing his neck. The
music from the telescreen had stopped. Instead, a clipped
military voice was reading out, with a sort of brutal relish,
a description of the armaments of the new Floating For-
tress which had just been anchored between Iceland and
the Faroe Islands.

With those children, he thought, that wretched wom-
an must lead a life of terror. Another year, two years, and
they would be watching her night and day for symptoms of
unorthodoxy. Nearly all children nowadays were horrible.
What was worst of all was that by means of such organi-
zations as the Spies they were systematically turned into
ungovernable little savages, and yet this produced in them
no tendency whatever to rebel against the discipline of the
Party. On the contrary, they adored the Party and every-
thing connected with it. The songs, the processions, the
banners, the hiking, the drilling with dummy rifles, the
yelling of slogans, the worship of Big Brother — it was all a
sort of glorious game to them. All their ferocity was turned
outwards, against the enemies of the State, against foreign-
ers, traitors, saboteurs, thought-criminals. It was almost
normal for people over thirty to be frightened of their own
children. And with good reason, for hardly a week passed
in which 'The Times' did not carry a paragraph describing
how some eavesdropping little sneak — 'child hero' was the



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phrase generally used — had overheard some compromising
remark and denounced its parents to the Thought Police.

The sting of the catapult bullet had worn off. He picked
up his pen half-heartedly, wondering whether he could find
something more to write in the diary. Suddenly he began
thinking of O'Brien again.

Years ago — how long was it? Seven years it must be — he
had dreamed that he was walking through a pitch-dark
room. And someone sitting to one side of him had said as
he passed: 'We shall meet in the place where there is no
darkness.' It was said very quietly, almost casually — a state-
ment, not a command. He had walked on without pausing.
What was curious was that at the time, in the dream, the
words had not made much impression on him. It was only
later and by degrees that they had seemed to take on signifi-
cance. He could not now remember whether it was before
or after having the dream that he had seen O'Brien for the
first time, nor could he remember when he had first identi-
fied the voice as O'Brien's. But at any rate the identification
existed. It was O'Brien who had spoken to him out of the
dark.

Winston had never been able to feel sure — even after this
morning's flash of the eyes it was still impossible to be sure
whether O'Brien was a friend or an enemy. Nor did it even
seem to matter greatly. There was a link of understanding
between them, more important than affection or partisan-
ship. We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness,'
he had said. Winston did not know what it meant, only that
in some way or another it would come true.



1984



The voice from the telescreen paused. A trumpet call,
clear and beautiful, floated into the stagnant air. The voice
continued raspingly:

'Attention! Your attention, please! A newsflash has this
moment arrived from the Malabar front. Our forces in South
India have won a glorious victory. 1 am authorized to say
that the action we are now reporting may well bring the war
within measurable distance of its end. Here is the newsflash —



Bad news coming, thought Winston. And sure enough,
following on a gory description of the annihilation of a
Eurasian army, with stupendous figures of killed and pris-
oners, came the announcement that, as from next week, the
chocolate ration would be reduced from thirty grammes to
twenty.

Winston belched again. The gin was wearing off, leaving
a deflated feeling. The telescreen — perhaps to celebrate the
victory, perhaps to drown the memory of the lost chocolate —
crashed into 'Oceania, 'tis for thee'. You were supposed to
stand to attention. However, in his present position he was
invisible.

'Oceania, 'tis for thee' gave way to lighter music. Win-
ston walked over to the window, keeping his back to the
telescreen. The day was still cold and clear. Somewhere far
away a rocket bomb exploded with a dull, reverberating
roar. About twenty or thirty of them a week were falling on
London at present.

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 33



Down in the street the wind flapped the torn poster to
and fro, and the word INGSOC fitfully appeared and van-
ished. Ingsoc. The sacred principles of Ingsoc. Newspeak,
doublethink, the mutability of the past. He felt as though
he were wandering in the forests of the sea bottom, lost in
a monstrous world where he himself was the monster. He
was alone. The past was dead, the future was unimaginable.
What certainty had he that a single human creature now
living was on his side? And what way of knowing that the
dominion of the Party would not endure FOR EVER? Like
an answer, the three slogans on the white face of the Minis-
try of Truth came back to him:

WAR IS PEACE

FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH

He took a twenty-five cent piece out of his pocket. There,
too, in tiny clear lettering, the same slogans were inscribed,
and on the other face of the coin the head of Big Broth-
er. Even from the coin the eyes pursued you. On coins, on
stamps, on the covers of books, on banners, on posters, and
on the wrappings of a cigarette packet — everywhere. Al-
ways the eyes watching you and the voice enveloping you.
Asleep or awake, working or eating, indoors or out of doors,
in the bath or in bed — no escape. Nothing was your own ex-
cept the few cubic centimetres inside your skull.

The sun had shifted round, and the myriad windows of
the Ministry of Truth, with the light no longer shining on



1984



them, looked grim as the loopholes of a fortress. His heart
quailed before the enormous pyramidal shape. It was too
strong, it could not be stormed. A thousand rocket bombs
would not batter it down. He wondered again for whom he
was writing the diary. For the future, for the past — for an
age that might be imaginary. And in front of him there lay
not death but annihilation. The diary would be reduced
to ashes and himself to vapour. Only the Thought Police
would read what he had written, before they wiped it out of
existence and out of memory. How could you make appeal
to the future when not a trace of you, not even an anony-
mous word scribbled on a piece of paper, could physically
survive?

The telescreen struck fourteen. He must leave in ten min-
utes. He had to be back at work by fourteen-thirty

Curiously, the chiming of the hour seemed to have put
new heart into him. He was a lonely ghost uttering a truth
that nobody would ever hear. But so long as he uttered it,
in some obscure way the continuity was not broken. It was
not by making yourself heard but by staying sane that you
carried on the human heritage. He went back to the table,
dipped his pen, and wrote:

To the future or to the past, to a time when thought is
free, when men are different from one another and do not
live alone — to a time when truth exists and what is done
cannot be undone: From the age of uniformity, from the
age of solitude, from the age of Big Brother, from the age of
doublethink — greetings'.

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 35



He was already dead, he reflected. It seemed to him that
it was only now, when he had begun to be able to formulate
his thoughts, that he had taken the decisive step. The conse-
quences of every act are included in the act itself. He wrote:

Ihoughtcrime does not entail death: thoughtcrime IS death.

Now he had recognized himself as a dead man it became
important to stay alive as long as possible. Two fingers of his
right hand were inkstained. It was exactly the kind of detail
that might betray you. Some nosing zealot in the Ministry
(a woman, probably: someone like the little sandy-haired
woman or the dark-haired girl from the Fiction Depart-
ment) might start wondering why he had been writing
during the lunch interval, why he had used an old-fash-
ioned pen, WHAT he had been writing — and then drop a
hint in the appropriate quarter. He went to the bathroom
and carefully scrubbed the ink away with the gritty dark-
brown soap which rasped your skin like sandpaper and was
therefore well adapted for this purpose.

He put the diary away in the drawer. It was quite useless
to think of hiding it, but he could at least make sure whether
or not its existence had been discovered. A hair laid across
the page-ends was too obvious. With the tip of his finger he
picked up an identifiable grain of whitish dust and depos-
ited it on the corner of the cover, where it was bound to be
shaken off if the book was moved.



36 1984



Chapter 3



Winston was dreaming of his mother.
He must, he thought, have been ten or elev-
en years old when his mother had disappeared. She was
a tall, statuesque, rather silent woman with slow move-
ments and magnificent fair hair. His father he remembered
more vaguely as dark and thin, dressed always in neat dark
clothes (Winston remembered especially the very thin soles
of his father's shoes) and wearing spectacles. The two of
them must evidently have been swallowed up in one of the
first great purges of the fifties.

At this moment his mother was sitting in some place
deep down beneath him, with his young sister in her arms.
He did not remember his sister at all, except as a tiny, feeble
baby, always silent, with large, watchful eyes. Both of them
were looking up at him. They were down in some subter-
ranean place — the bottom of a well, for instance, or a very
deep grave — but it was a place which, already far below him,
was itself moving downwards. They were in the saloon of
a sinking ship, looking up at him through the darkening
water. There was still air in the saloon, they could still see
him and he them, but all the while they were sinking down,
down into the green waters which in another moment must
hide them from sight for ever. He was out in the light and
air while they were being sucked down to death, and they



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were down there because he was up here. He knew it and
they knew it, and he could see the knowledge in their faces.
There was no reproach either in their faces or in their hearts,
only the knowledge that they must die in order that he
might remain alive, and that this was part of the unavoid-
able order of things.

He could not remember what had happened, but he knew
in his dream that in some way the lives of his mother and
his sister had been sacrificed to his own. It was one of those
dreams which, while retaining the characteristic dream
scenery, are a continuation of one's intellectual life, and
in which one becomes aware of facts and ideas which still
seem new and valuable after one is awake. The thing that
now suddenly struck Winston was that his mother's death,
nearly thirty years ago, had been tragic and sorrowful in a
way that was no longer possible. Tragedy, he perceived, be-
longed to the ancient time, to a time when there was still
privacy, love, and friendship, and when the members of a
family stood by one another without needing to know the
reason. His mother's memory tore at his heart because she
had died loving him, when he was too young and selfish
to love her in return, and because somehow, he did not re-
member how, she had sacrificed herself to a conception of
loyalty that was private and unalterable. Such things, he
saw, could not happen today. Today there were fear, hatred,
and pain, but no dignity of emotion, no deep or complex
sorrows. All this he seemed to see in the large eyes of his
mother and his sister, looking up at him through the green
water, hundreds of fathoms down and still sinking.

38 1984



Suddenly he was standing on short springy turf, on a
summer evening when the slanting rays of the sun gilded
the ground. The landscape that he was looking at recurred
so often in his dreams that he was never fully certain
whether or not he had seen it in the real world. In his wak-
ing thoughts he called it the Golden Country. It was an old,
rabbit-bitten pasture, with a foot-track wandering across it
and a molehill here and there. In the ragged hedge on the
opposite side of the field the boughs of the elm trees were
swaying very faintly in the breeze, their leaves just stirring
in dense masses like women's hair. Somewhere near at hand,
though out of sight, there was a clear, slow-moving stream
where dace were swimming in the pools under the willow
trees.

The girl with dark hair was coming towards them across
the field. With what seemed a single movement she tore off
her clothes and flung them disdainfully aside. Her body
was white and smooth, but it aroused no desire in him, in-
deed he barely looked at it. What overwhelmed him in that
instant was admiration for the gesture with which she had
thrown her clothes aside. With its grace and carelessness
it seemed to annihilate a whole culture, a whole system
of thought, as though Big Brother and the Party and the
Thought Police could all be swept into nothingness by a sin-
gle splendid movement of the arm. That too was a gesture
belonging to the ancient time. Winston woke up with the
word 'Shakespeare' on his lips.

The telescreen was giving forth an ear-splitting whistle
which continued on the same note for thirty seconds. It

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 39



was nought seven fifteen, getting-up time for office workers.
Winston wrenched his body out of bed — naked, for a mem-
ber of the Outer Party received only 3,000 clothing coupons
annually, and a suit of pyjamas was 600 — and seized a din-
gy singlet and a pair of shorts that were lying across a chair.
The Physical Jerks would begin in three minutes. The next
moment he was doubled up by a violent coughing fit which
nearly always attacked him soon after waking up. It emptied
his lungs so completely that he could only begin breathing
again by lying on his back and taking a series of deep gasps.
His veins had swelled with the effort of the cough, and the
varicose ulcer had started itching.

'Thirty to forty group!' yapped a piercing female voice.
'Thirty to forty group! Take your places, please. Thirties to
forties!'

Winston sprang to attention in front of the telescreen,
upon which the image of a youngish woman, scrawny but
muscular, dressed in tunic and gym-shoes, had already ap-
peared.

'Arms bending and stretching!' she rapped out. 'Take
your time by me. ONE, two, three, four! ONE, two, three,
four! Come on, comrades, put a bit of life into it! ONE, two,
three four! ONE two, three, four!...'

The pain of the coughing fit had not quite driven out of
Winston's mind the impression made by his dream, and the
rhythmic movements of the exercise restored it somewhat.
As he mechanically shot his arms back and forth, wearing
on his face the look of grim enjoyment which was consid-
ered proper during the Physical Jerks, he was struggling



1984



to think his way backward into the dim period of his early
childhood. It was extraordinarily difficult. Beyond the late
fifties everything faded. When there were no external re-
cords that you could refer to, even the outline of your own
life lost its sharpness. You remembered huge events which
had quite probably not happened, you remembered the
detail of incidents without being able to recapture their at-
mosphere, and there were long blank periods to which you
could assign nothing. Everything had been different then.
Even the names of countries, and their shapes on the map,
had been different. Airstrip One, for instance, had not been
so called in those days: it had been called England or Brit-
ain, though London, he felt fairly certain, had always been
called London.

Winston could not definitely remember a time when his
country had not been at war, but it was evident that there
had been a fairly long interval of peace during his child-
hood, because one of his early memories was of an air raid
which appeared to take everyone by surprise. Perhaps it was
the time when the atomic bomb had fallen on Colchester.
He did not remember the raid itself, but he did remember
his father's hand clutching his own as they hurried down,
down, down into some place deep in the earth, round and
round a spiral staircase which rang under his feet and which
finally so wearied his legs that he began whimpering and
they had to stop and rest. His mother, in her slow, dreamy
way, was following a long way behind them. She was car-
rying his baby sister — or perhaps it was only a bundle of
blankets that she was carrying: he was not certain whether



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his sister had been born then. Finally they had emerged into
a noisy, crowded place which he had realized to be a Tube
station.

There were people sitting all over the stone-flagged floor,
and other people, packed tightly together, were sitting on
metal bunks, one above the other. Winston and his mother
and father found themselves a place on the floor, and near
them an old man and an old woman were sitting side by
side on a bunk. The old man had on a decent dark suit and
a black cloth cap pushed back from very white hair: his
face was scarlet and his eyes were blue and full of tears. He
reeked of gin. It seemed to breathe out of his skin in place
of sweat, and one could have fancied that the tears welling
from his eyes were pure gin. But though slightly drunk he
was also suffering under some grief that was genuine and
unbearable. In his childish way Winston grasped that some
terrible thing, something that was beyond forgiveness and
could never be remedied, had just happened. It also seemed
to him that he knew what it was. Someone whom the old
man loved — a little granddaughter, perhaps — had been
killed. Every few minutes the old man kept repeating:

"We didn't ought to 'ave trusted 'em. 1 said so, Ma, didn't 1?
That's what comes of trusting 'em. I said so all along. We
didn't ought to 'ave trusted the buggers.'

But which buggers they didn't ought to have trusted
Winston could not now remember.

Since about that time, war had been literally continu-



1984



ous, though strictly speaking it had not always been the
same war. For several months during his childhood there
had been confused street fighting in London itself, some of
which he remembered vividly. But to trace out the history
of the whole period, to say who was fighting whom at any
given moment, would have been utterly impossible, since
no written record, and no spoken word, ever made mention
of any other alignment than the existing one. At this mo-
ment, for example, in 1984 (if it was 1984), Oceania was at
war with Eurasia and in alliance with Eastasia. In no pub-
lic or private utterance was it ever admitted that the three
powers had at any time been grouped along different lines.
Actually, as Winston well knew, it was only four years since
Oceania had been at war with Eastasia and in alliance with
Eurasia. But that was merely a piece of furtive knowledge
which he happened to possess because his memory was not
satisfactorily under control. Officially the change of part-
ners had never happened. Oceania was at war with Eurasia:
therefore Oceania had always been at war with Eurasia. The
enemy of the moment always represented absolute evil, and
it followed that any past or future agreement with him was
impossible.

The frightening thing, he reflected for the ten thou-
sandth time as he forced his shoulders painfully backward
(with hands on hips, they were gyrating their bodies from
the waist, an exercise that was supposed to be good for the
back muscles) — the frightening thing was that it might all
be true. If the Party could thrust its hand into the past and
say of this or that event, IT NEVER HAPPENED— that,



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surely, was more terrifying than mere torture and death?

The Party said that Oceania had never been in alliance
with Eurasia. He, Winston Smith, knew that Oceania had
been in alliance with Eurasia as short a time as four years
ago. But where did that knowledge exist? Only in his own
consciousness, which in any case must soon be annihilated.
And if all others accepted the lie which the Party imposed —
if all records told the same tale — then the lie passed into
history and became truth. 'Who controls the past,' ran the
Party slogan, 'controls the future: who controls the present
controls the past.' And yet the past, though of its nature al-
terable, never had been altered. Whatever was true now was
true from everlasting to everlasting. It was quite simple. All
that was needed was an unending series of victories over
your own memory. 'Reality control', they called it: in New-
speak, 'doublethink'.

'Stand easy!' barked the instructress, a little more genial-

iy-

Winston sank his arms to his sides and slowly refilled
his lungs with air. His mind slid away into the labyrin-
thine world of doublethink. To know and not to know, to
be conscious of complete truthfulness while telling care-
fully constructed lies, to hold simultaneously two opinions
which cancelled out, knowing them to be contradictory
and believing in both of them, to use logic against logic,
to repudiate morality while laying claim to it, to believe
that democracy was impossible and that the Party was the
guardian of democracy, to forget whatever it was necessary
to forget, then to draw it back into memory again at the



1984



moment when it was needed, and then promptly to forget
it again: and above all, to apply the same process to the pro-
cess itself. That was the ultimate subtlety: consciously to
induce unconsciousness, and then, once again, to become
unconscious of the act of hypnosis you had just performed.
Even to understand the word 'doublethink' involved the
use of doublethink.

The instructress had called them to attention again. 'And
now let's see which of us can touch our toes!' she said en-
thusiastically. 'Right over from the hips, please, comrades.
ONE-two! ONE-two!...'

Winston loathed this exercise, which sent shooting pains
all the way from his heels to his buttocks and often ended by
bringing on another coughing fit. The half-pleasant qual-
ity went out of his meditations. The past, he reflected, had
not merely been altered, it had been actually destroyed. For
how could you establish even the most obvious fact when
there existed no record outside your own memory? He tried
to remember in what year he had first heard mention of
Big Brother. He thought it must have been at some time in
the sixties, but it was impossible to be certain. In the Party
histories, of course, Big Brother figured as the leader and
guardian of the Revolution since its very earliest days. His
exploits had been gradually pushed backwards in time until
already they extended into the fabulous world of the forties
and the thirties, when the capitalists in their strange cylin-
drical hats still rode through the streets of London in great
gleaming motor-cars or horse carriages with glass sides.
There was no knowing how much of this legend was true

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 45



and how much invented. Winston could not even remem-
ber at what date the Party itself had come into existence. He
did not believe he had ever heard the word Ingsoc before
1960, but it was possible that in its Oldspeak form — 'Eng-
lish Socialism', that is to say — it had been current earlier.
Everything melted into mist. Sometimes, indeed, you could
put your finger on a definite lie. It was not true, for example,
as was claimed in the Party history books, that the Party
had invented aeroplanes. He remembered aeroplanes since
his earliest childhood. But you could prove nothing. There
was never any evidence. Just once in his whole life he had
held in his hands unmistakable documentary proof of the
falsification of an historical fact. And on that occasion

'Smith!' screamed the shrewish voice from the telescreen.
'6079 Smith W.! Yes, YOU! Bend lower, please! You can do
better than that. You're not trying. Lower, please! THAT'S
better, comrade. Now stand at ease, the whole squad, and
watch me.'

A sudden hot sweat had broken out all over Winston's
body. His face remained completely inscrutable. Nev-
er show dismay! Never show resentment! A single flicker
of the eyes could give you away. He stood watching while
the instructress raised her arms above her head and — one
could not say gracefully, but with remarkable neatness and
efficiency — bent over and tucked the first joint of her fin-
gers under her toes.

'THERE, comrades! THAT'S how I want to see you do-
ing it. Watch me again. I'm thirty-nine and I've had four
children. Now look.' She bent over again. 'You see MY

46 1984



knees aren't bent. You can all do it if you want to,' she add-
ed as she straightened herself up. 'Anyone under forty- five
is perfectly capable of touching his toes. We don't all have
the privilege of fighting in the front line, but at least we can
all keep fit. Remember our boys on the Malabar front! And
the sailors in the Floating Fortresses! Just think what THEY
have to put up with. Now try again. That's better, comrade,
that's MUCH better,' she added encouragingly as Winston,
with a violent lunge, succeeded in touching his toes with
knees unbent, for the first time in several years.



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Chapter 4



With the deep, unconscious sigh which not even the
nearness of the telescreen could prevent him from
uttering when his day's work started, Winston pulled the
speakwrite towards him, blew the dust from its mouthpiece,
and put on his spectacles. Then he unrolled and clipped
together four small cylinders of paper which had already
flopped out of the pneumatic tube on the right-hand side
of his desk.

In the walls of the cubicle there were three orifices. To
the right of the speakwrite, a small pneumatic tube for writ-
ten messages, to the left, a larger one for newspapers; and in
the side wall, within easy reach of Winston's arm, a large
oblong slit protected by a wire grating. This last was for the
disposal of waste paper. Similar slits existed in thousands or
tens of thousands throughout the building, not only in ev-
ery room but at short intervals in every corridor. For some
reason they were nicknamed memory holes. When one
knew that any document was due for destruction, or even
when one saw a scrap of waste paper lying about, it was an
automatic action to lift the flap of the nearest memory hole
and drop it in, whereupon it would be whirled away on a
current of warm air to the enormous furnaces which were
hidden somewhere in the recesses of the building.

Winston examined the four slips of paper which he had



1984



unrolled. Each contained a message of only one or two lines,
in the abbreviated jargon — not actually Newspeak, but con-
sisting largely of Newspeak words — which was used in the
Ministry for internal purposes. They ran:

times 17.3.84 bb speech malreported africa rectify

times 19.12.83 forecasts 3 yp 4th quarter 83 misprints verify

current issue

times 14.2.84 miniplenty malquoted chocolate rectify

times 3.12.83 reporting bb dayorder doubleplusungood refs
unpersons rewrite fullwise upsub antefiling

With a faint feeling of satisfaction Winston laid the
fourth message aside. It was an intricate and responsible job
and had better be dealt with last. The other three were rou-
tine matters, though the second one would probably mean
some tedious wading through lists of figures.

Winston dialled 'back numbers' on the telescreen and
called for the appropriate issues of 'The Times', which slid
out of the pneumatic tube after only a few minutes' delay.
The messages he had received referred to articles or news
items which for one reason or another it was thought neces-
sary to alter, or, as the official phrase had it, to rectify. For
example, it appeared from 'The Times' of the seventeenth
of March that Big Brother, in his speech of the previous
day, had predicted that the South Indian front would re-
main quiet but that a Eurasian offensive would shortly be

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 49



launched in North Africa. As it happened, the Eurasian
Higher Command had launched its offensive in South In-
dia and left North Africa alone. It was therefore necessary
to rewrite a paragraph of Big Brother's speech, in such a
way as to make him predict the thing that had actually hap-
pened. Or again, 'The Times' of the nineteenth of December
had published the official forecasts of the output of various
classes of consumption goods in the fourth quarter of 1983,
which was also the sixth quarter of the Ninth Three-Year
Plan. Today's issue contained a statement of the actual out-
put, from which it appeared that the forecasts were in every
instance grossly wrong. Winston's job was to rectify the
original figures by making them agree with the later ones.
As for the third message, it referred to a very simple error
which could be set right in a couple of minutes. As short a
time ago as February, the Ministry of Plenty had issued a
promise (a 'categorical pledge' were the official words) that
there would be no reduction of the chocolate ration during
1984. Actually, as Winston was aware, the chocolate ration
was to be reduced from thirty grammes to twenty at the end
of the present week. All that was needed was to substitute
for the original promise a warning that it would probably
be necessary to reduce the ration at some time in April.

As soon as Winston had dealt with each of the messages,
he clipped his speakwritten corrections to the appropriate
copy of "The Times' and pushed them into the pneumatic
tube. Then, with a movement which was as nearly as possi-
ble unconscious, he crumpled up the original message and
any notes that he himself had made, and dropped them into



1984



the memory hole to be devoured by the flames.

What happened in the unseen labyrinth to which the
pneumatic tubes led, he did not know in detail, but he did
know in general terms. As soon as all the corrections which
happened to be necessary in any particular number of 'The
Times' had been assembled and collated, that number would
be reprinted, the original copy destroyed, and the corrected
copy placed on the files in its stead. This process of con-
tinuous alteration was applied not only to newspapers, but
to books, periodicals, pamphlets, posters, leaflets, films,
sound-tracks, cartoons, photographs — to every kind of lit-
erature or documentation which might conceivably hold
any political or ideological significance. Day by day and
almost minute by minute the past was brought up to date.
In this way every prediction made by the Party could be
shown by documentary evidence to have been correct, nor
was any item of news, or any expression of opinion, which
conflicted with the needs of the moment, ever allowed to
remain on record. All history was a palimpsest, scraped
clean and reinscribed exactly as often as was necessary. In
no case would it have been possible, once the deed was done,
to prove that any falsification had taken place. The largest
section of the Records Department, far larger than the one
on which Winston worked, consisted simply of persons
whose duty it was to track down and collect all copies of
books, newspapers, and other documents which had been
superseded and were due for destruction. A number of "The
Times' which might, because of changes in political align-
ment, or mistaken prophecies uttered by Big Brother, have

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 51



been rewritten a dozen times still stood on the files bearing
its original date, and no other copy existed to contradict it.
Books, also, were recalled and rewritten again and again,
and were invariably reissued without any admission that
any alteration had been made. Even the written instruc-
tions which Winston received, and which he invariably got
rid of as soon as he had dealt with them, never stated or
implied that an act of forgery was to be committed: always
the reference was to slips, errors, misprints, or misquota-
tions which it was necessary to put right in the interests of
accuracy.

But actually, he thought as he re-adjusted the Ministry
of Plenty's figures, it was not even forgery. It was merely the
substitution of one piece of nonsense for another. Most of
the material that you were dealing with had no connexion
with anything in the real world, not even the kind of con-
nexion that is contained in a direct lie. Statistics were just
as much a fantasy in their original version as in their recti-
fied version. A great deal of the time you were expected to
make them up out of your head. For example, the Minis-
try of Plenty's forecast had estimated the output of boots
for the quarter at 145 million pairs. The actual output was
given as sixty-two millions. Winston, however, in rewriting
the forecast, marked the figure down to fifty-seven millions,
so as to allow for the usual claim that the quota had been
overfulfilled. In any case, sixty-two millions was no near-
er the truth than fifty-seven millions, or than 145 millions.
Very likely no boots had been produced at all. Likelier still,
nobody knew how many had been produced, much less



1984



cared. All one knew was that every quarter astronomical
numbers of boots were produced on paper, while perhaps
half the population of Oceania went barefoot. And so it was
with every class of recorded fact, great or small. Everything
faded away into a shadow-world in which, finally, even the
date of the year had become uncertain.

Winston glanced across the hall. In the corresponding
cubicle on the other side a small, precise-looking, dark-
chinned man named Tillotson was working steadily away,
with a folded newspaper on his knee and his mouth very
close to the mouthpiece of the speakwrite. He had the air of
trying to keep what he was saying a secret between himself
and the telescreen. He looked up, and his spectacles darted
a hostile flash in Winston's direction.

Winston hardly knew Tillotson, and had no idea what
work he was employed on. People in the Records Depart-
ment did not readily talk about their jobs. In the long,
windowless hall, with its double row of cubicles and its end-
less rustle of papers and hum of voices murmuring into
speakwrites, there were quite a dozen people whom Win-
ston did not even know by name, though he daily saw them
hurrying to and fro in the corridors or gesticulating in the
Two Minutes Hate. He knew that in the cubicle next to him
the little woman with sandy hair toiled day in day out, sim-
ply at tracking down and deleting from the Press the names
of people who had been vaporized and were therefore con-
sidered never to have existed. There was a certain fitness in
this, since her own husband had been vaporized a couple
of years earlier. And a few cubicles away a mild, ineffec-



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tual, dreamy creature named Ampleforth, with very hairy
ears and a surprising talent for juggling with rhymes and
metres, was engaged in producing garbled versions — defin-
itive texts, they were called — of poems which had become
ideologically offensive, but which for one reason or another
were to be retained in the anthologies. And this hall, with
its fifty workers or thereabouts, was only one sub-section, a
single cell, as it were, in the huge complexity of the Records
Department. Beyond, above, below, were other swarms
of workers engaged in an unimaginable multitude of jobs.
There were the huge printing-shops with their sub-editors,
their typography experts, and their elaborately equipped
studios for the faking of photographs. There was the tele-
programmes section with its engineers, its producers, and
its teams of actors specially chosen for their skill in imitat-
ing voices. There were the armies of reference clerks whose
job was simply to draw up lists of books and periodicals
which were due for recall. There were the vast repositories
where the corrected documents were stored, and the hid-
den furnaces where the original copies were destroyed. And
somewhere or other, quite anonymous, there were the di-
recting brains who co-ordinated the whole effort and laid
down the lines of policy which made it necessary that this
fragment of the past should be preserved, that one falsified,
and the other rubbed out of existence.

And the Records Department, after all, was itself only a
single branch of the Ministry of Truth, whose primary job
was not to reconstruct the past but to supply the citizens
of Oceania with newspapers, films, textbooks, telescreen



1984



programmes, plays, novels — with every conceivable kind of
information, instruction, or entertainment, from a statue to
a slogan, from a lyric poem to a biological treatise, and from
a child's spelling-book to a Newspeak dictionary. And the
Ministry had not only to supply the multifarious needs of
the party, but also to repeat the whole operation at a lower
level for the benefit of the proletariat. There was a whole
chain of separate departments dealing with proletarian lit-
erature, music, drama, and entertainment generally. Here
were produced rubbishy newspapers containing almost
nothing except sport, crime and astrology, sensational
five-cent novelettes, films oozing with sex, and sentimen-
tal songs which were composed entirely by mechanical
means on a special kind of kaleidoscope known as a ver-
sificator. There was even a whole sub-section — Pornosec, it
was called in Newspeak — engaged in producing the lowest
kind of pornography, which was sent out in sealed packets
and which no Party member, other than those who worked
on it, was permitted to look at.

Three messages had slid out of the pneumatic tube while
Winston was working, but they were simple matters, and
he had disposed of them before the Two Minutes Hate in-
terrupted him. When the Hate was over he returned to
his cubicle, took the Newspeak dictionary from the shelf,
pushed the speakwrite to one side, cleaned his spectacles,
and settled down to his main job of the morning.

Winston's greatest pleasure in life was in his work. Most
of it was a tedious routine, but included in it there were also
jobs so difficult and intricate that you could lose yourself in

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 55



them as in the depths of a mathematical problem — delicate
pieces of forgery in which you had nothing to guide you
except your knowledge of the principles of Ingsoc and your
estimate of what the Party wanted you to say. Winston was
good at this kind of thing. On occasion he had even been
entrusted with the rectification of 'The Times' leading arti-
cles, which were written entirely in Newspeak. He unrolled
the message that he had set aside earlier. It ran:

times 3.12.83 reporting bb dayorder doubleplusungood refs
unpersons rewrite fullwise upsub antefiling

In Oldspeak (or standard English) this might be ren-
dered:

The reporting of Big Brother's Order for the Day in 'The Times'
of December 3rd 1983 is extremely unsatisfactory and makes
references to non-existent persons. Rewrite it in full and
submit your draft to higher authority before filing.

Winston read through the offending article. Big Broth-
er's Order for the Day, it seemed, had been chiefly devoted
to praising the work of an organization known as FFCC,
which supplied cigarettes and other comforts to the sailors
in the Floating Fortresses. A certain Comrade Withers, a
prominent member of the Inner Party, had been singled out
for special mention and awarded a decoration, the Order of
Conspicuous Merit, Second Class.

Three months later FFCC had suddenly been dissolved



1984



with no reasons given. One could assume that Withers and
his associates were now in disgrace, but there had been no
report of the matter in the Press or on the telescreen. That
was to be expected, since it was unusual for political offend-
ers to be put on trial or even publicly denounced. The great
purges involving thousands of people, with public trials of
traitors and thought-criminals who made abject confession
of their crimes and were afterwards executed, were special
show-pieces not occurring oftener than once in a couple of
years. More commonly, people who had incurred the dis-
pleasure of the Party simply disappeared and were never
heard of again. One never had the smallest clue as to what
had happened to them. In some cases they might not even
be dead. Perhaps thirty people personally known to Win-
ston, not counting his parents, had disappeared at one time
or another.

Winston stroked his nose gently with a paper-clip. In the
cubicle across the way Comrade Tillotson was still crouch-
ing secretively over his speakwrite. He raised his head for
a moment: again the hostile spectacle-flash. Winston won-
dered whether Comrade Tillotson was engaged on the same
job as himself. It was perfectly possible. So tricky a piece of
work would never be entrusted to a single person: on the
other hand, to turn it over to a committee would be to ad-
mit openly that an act of fabrication was taking place. Very
likely as many as a dozen people were now working away
on rival versions of what Big Brother had actually said. And
presently some master brain in the Inner Party would se-
lect this version or that, would re-edit it and set in motion



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the complex processes of cross-referencing that would be
required, and then the chosen lie would pass into the per-
manent records and become truth.

Winston did not know why Withers had been disgraced.
Perhaps it was for corruption or incompetence. Perhaps Big
Brother was merely getting rid of a too-popular subordi-
nate. Perhaps Withers or someone close to him had been
suspected of heretical tendencies. Or perhaps — what was
likeliest of all — the thing had simply happened because
purges and vaporizations were a necessary part of the me-
chanics of government. The only real clue lay in the words
'refs unpersons', which indicated that Withers was already
dead. You could not invariably assume this to be the case
when people were arrested. Sometimes they were released
and allowed to remain at liberty for as much as a year or
two years before being executed. Very occasionally some
person whom you had believed dead long since would make
a ghostly reappearance at some public trial where he would
implicate hundreds of others by his testimony before van-
ishing, this time for ever. Withers, however, was already an
UNPERSON. He did not exist: he had never existed. Win-
ston decided that it would not be enough simply to reverse
the tendency of Big Brother's speech. It was better to make
it deal with something totally unconnected with its origi-
nal subject.

He might turn the speech into the usual denunciation of
traitors and thought-criminals, but that was a little too ob-
vious, while to invent a victory at the front, or some triumph
of over-production in the Ninth Three-Year Plan, might



1984



complicate the records too much. What was needed was a
piece of pure fantasy. Suddenly there sprang into his mind,
ready made as it were, the image of a certain Comrade Ogil-
vy, who had recently died in battle, in heroic circumstances.
There were occasions when Big Brother devoted his Order
for the Day to commemorating some humble, rank-and-file
Party member whose life and death he held up as an exam-
ple worthy to be followed. Today he should commemorate
Comrade Ogilvy. It was true that there was no such person
as Comrade Ogilvy, but a few lines of print and a couple of
faked photographs would soon bring him into existence.

Winston thought for a moment, then pulled the speak-
write towards him and began dictating in Big Brother's
familiar style: a style at once military and pedantic, and,
because of a trick of asking questions and then promptly
answering them (What lessons do we learn from this fact,
comrades? The lesson — which is also one of the fundamen-
tal principles of Ingsoc — that,' etc., etc.), easy to imitate.

At the age of three Comrade Ogilvy had refused all toys
except a drum, a sub-machine gun, and a model helicopter.
At six — a year early, by a special relaxation of the rules — he
had joined the Spies, at nine he had been a troop leader. At
eleven he had denounced his uncle to the Thought Police
after overhearing a conversation which appeared to him to
have criminal tendencies. At seventeen he had been a dis-
trict organizer of the Junior Anti-Sex League. At nineteen
he had designed a hand-grenade which had been adopted
by the Ministry of Peace and which, at its first trial, had
killed thirty-one Eurasian prisoners in one burst. At twen-



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ty-three he had perished in action. Pursued by enemy jet
planes while flying over the Indian Ocean with important
despatches, he had weighted his body with his machine gun
and leapt out of the helicopter into deep water, despatches
and all — an end, said Big Brother, which it was impossible
to contemplate without feelings of envy. Big Brother added a
few remarks on the purity and single-mindedness of Com-
rade Ogilvy's life. He was a total abstainer and a nonsmoker,
had no recreations except a daily hour in the gymnasium,
and had taken a vow of celibacy, believing marriage and the
care of a family to be incompatible with a twenty- four-hour-
a-day devotion to duty. He had no subjects of conversation
except the principles of Ingsoc, and no aim in life except
the defeat of the Eurasian enemy and the hunting-down of
spies, saboteurs, thoughtcriminals, and traitors generally.

Winston debated with himself whether to award Com-
rade Ogilvy the Order of Conspicuous Merit: in the end he
decided against it because of the unnecessary cross-refer-
encing that it would entail.

Once again he glanced at his rival in the opposite cubicle.
Something seemed to tell him with certainty that Tillotson
was busy on the same job as himself. There was no way of
knowing whose job would finally be adopted, but he felt a
profound conviction that it would be his own. Comrade
Ogilvy, unimagined an hour ago, was now a fact. It struck
him as curious that you could create dead men but not liv-
ing ones. Comrade Ogilvy, who had never existed in the
present, now existed in the past, and when once the act of
forgery was forgotten, he would exist just as authentical-



1984



ly, and upon the same evidence, as Charlemagne or Julius
Caesar.



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Chapter 5



In the low-ceilinged canteen, deep underground, the
lunch queue jerked slowly forward. The room was al-
ready very full and deafeningly noisy. From the grille at the
counter the steam of stew came pouring forth, with a sour
metallic smell which did not quite overcome the fumes of
Victory Gin. On the far side of the room there was a small
bar, a mere hole in the wall, where gin could be bought at
ten cents the large nip.

'Just the man I was looking for,' said a voice at Winston's
back.

He turned round. It was his friend Syme, who worked in
the Research Department. Perhaps 'friend' was not exact-
ly the right word. You did not have friends nowadays, you
had comrades: but there were some comrades whose society
was pleasanter than that of others. Syme was a philologist, a
specialist in Newspeak. Indeed, he was one of the enormous
team of experts now engaged in compiling the Eleventh
Edition of the Newspeak Dictionary. He was a tiny creature,
smaller than Winston, with dark hair and large, protuber-
ant eyes, at once mournful and derisive, which seemed to
search your face closely while he was speaking to you.

'I wanted to ask you whether you'd got any razor blades,'
he said.

'Not one!' said Winston with a sort of guilty haste. 'I've



1984



tried all over the place. They don't exist any longer.'

Everyone kept asking you for razor blades. Actually he
had two unused ones which he was hoarding up. There
had been a famine of them for months past. At any given
moment there was some necessary article which the Par-
ty shops were unable to supply. Sometimes it was buttons,
sometimes it was darning wool, sometimes it was shoelaces;
at present it was razor blades. You could only get hold of
them, if at all, by scrounging more or less furtively on the
'free' market.

'I've been using the same blade for six weeks,' he added
untruthfully.

The queue gave another jerk forward. As they halted he
turned and faced Syme again. Each of them took a greasy
metal tray from a pile at the end of the counter.

'Did you go and see the prisoners hanged yesterday?' said
Syme.

'I was working,' said Winston indifferently. 'I shall see it
on the flicks, I suppose.'

A very inadequate substitute,' said Syme.

His mocking eyes roved over Winston's face. 'I know
you,' the eyes seemed to say, 'I see through you. I know very
well why you didn't go to see those prisoners hanged.' In
an intellectual way, Syme was venomously orthodox. He
would talk with a disagreeable gloating satisfaction of he-
licopter raids on enemy villages, and trials and confessions
of thought-criminals, the executions in the cellars of the
Ministry of Love. Talking to him was largely a matter of
getting him away from such subjects and entangling him,

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 63



if possible, in the technicalities of Newspeak, on which he
was authoritative and interesting. Winston turned his head
a little aside to avoid the scrutiny of the large dark eyes.

'It was a good hanging,' said Syme reminiscently. 'I think
it spoils it when they tie their feet together. I like to see them
kicking. And above all, at the end, the tongue sticking right
out, and blue — a quite bright blue. That's the detail that ap-
peals to me.'

'Nex', please!' yelled the white-aproned prole with the la-
dle.

Winston and Syme pushed their trays beneath the grille.
On to each was dumped swiftly the regulation lunch — a
metal pannikin of pinkish-grey stew, a hunk of bread, a
cube of cheese, a mug of milkless Victory Coffee, and one
saccharine tablet.

'There's a table over there, under that telescreen,' said
Syme. 'Let's pick up a gin on the way.'

The gin was served out to them in handleless china mugs.
They threaded their way across the crowded room and un-
packed their trays on to the metal-topped table, on one
corner of which someone had left a pool of stew, a filthy
liquid mess that had the appearance of vomit. Winston
took up his mug of gin, paused for an instant to collect his
nerve, and gulped the oily-tasting stuff down. When he
had winked the tears out of his eyes he suddenly discov-
ered that he was hungry. He began swallowing spoonfuls of
the stew, which, in among its general sloppiness, had cubes
of spongy pinkish stuff which was probably a preparation
of meat. Neither of them spoke again till they had emptied

64 1984



their pannikins. From the table at Winston's left, a little
behind his back, someone was talking rapidly and contin-
uously, a harsh gabble almost like the quacking of a duck,
which pierced the general uproar of the room.

'How is the Dictionary getting on?' said Winston, raising
his voice to overcome the noise.

'Slowly,' said Syme. 'I'm on the adjectives. It's fascinat-
ing.'

He had brightened up immediately at the mention of
Newspeak. He pushed his pannikin aside, took up his hunk
of bread in one delicate hand and his cheese in the other,
and leaned across the table so as to be able to speak without
shouting.

"The Eleventh Edition is the definitive edition,' he said.
'We're getting the language into its final shape — the shape
it's going to have when nobody speaks anything else. When
we've finished with it, people like you will have to learn it
all over again. You think, I dare say, that our chief job is
inventing new words. But not a bit of it! We're destroying
words — scores of them, hundreds of them, every day. We're
cutting the language down to the bone. The Eleventh Edi-
tion won't contain a single word that will become obsolete
before the year 2050.'

He bit hungrily into his bread and swallowed a couple
of mouthfuls, then continued speaking, with a sort of ped-
ant's passion. His thin dark face had become animated, his
eyes had lost their mocking expression and grown almost
dreamy.

'It's a beautiful thing, the destruction of words. Of course

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 65



the great wastage is in the verbs and adjectives, but there
are hundreds of nouns that can be got rid of as well. It isn't
only the synonyms; there are also the antonyms. After all,
what justification is there for a word which is simply the
opposite of some other word? A word contains its opposite
in itself. Take 'good', for instance. If you have a word like
'good', what need is there for a word like 'bad'? 'Ungood'
will do just as well — better, because it's an exact opposite,
which the other is not. Or again, if you want a stronger ver-
sion of 'good', what sense is there in having a whole string
of vague useless words like 'excellent' and 'splendid' and all
the rest of them? 'Plusgood' covers the meaning, or 'double-
plusgood' if you want something stronger still. Of course
we use those forms already, but in the final version of New-
speak there'll be nothing else. In the end the whole notion
of goodness and badness will be covered by only six words —
in reality, only one word. Don't you see the beauty of that,
Winston? It was B.B.'s idea originally, of course,' he added
as an afterthought.

A sort of vapid eagerness flitted across Winston's face at
the mention of Big Brother. Nevertheless Syme immediately
detected a certain lack of enthusiasm.

'You haven't a real appreciation of Newspeak, Winston,'
he said almost sadly. 'Even when you write it you're still
thinking in Oldspeak. I've read some of those pieces that
you write in 'The Times' occasionally. They're good enough,
but they're translations. In your heart you'd prefer to stick
to Oldspeak, with all its vagueness and its useless shades of
meaning. You don't grasp the beauty of the destruction of



1984



words. Do you know that Newspeak is the only language in
the world whose vocabulary gets smaller every year?'

Winston did know that, of course. He smiled, sympa-
thetically he hoped, not trusting himself to speak. Syme bit
off another fragment of the dark-coloured bread, chewed it
briefly, and went on:

'Don't you see that the whole aim of Newspeak is to
narrow the range of thought? In the end we shall make
thoughtcrime literally impossible, because there will be no
words in which to express it. Every concept that can ever
be needed, will be expressed by exactly one word, with its
meaning rigidly defined and all its subsidiary meanings
rubbed out and forgotten. Already, in the Eleventh Edition,
we're not far from that point. But the process will still be
continuing long after you and I are dead. Every year fewer
and fewer words, and the range of consciousness always a
little smaller. Even now, of course, there's no reason or ex-
cuse for committing thoughtcrime. It's merely a question
of self-discipline, reality-control. But in the end there won't
be any need even for that. The Revolution will be com-
plete when the language is perfect. Newspeak is Ingsoc and
Ingsoc is Newspeak,' he added with a sort of mystical satis-
faction. 'Has it ever occurred to you, Winston, that by the
year 2050, at the very latest, not a single human being will
be alive who could understand such a conversation as we
are having now?'

'Except ' began Winston doubtfully, and he stopped.

It had been on the tip of his tongue to say 'Except the
proles,' but he checked himself, not feeling fully certain that

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 67



this remark was not in some way unorthodox. Syme, how-
ever, had divined what he was about to say.

'The proles are not human beings,' he said carelessly. 'By
2050 — earlier, probably — all real knowledge of Oldspeak
will have disappeared. The whole literature of the past will
have been destroyed. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, By-
ron — they'll exist only in Newspeak versions, not merely
changed into something different, but actually changed
into something contradictory of what they used to be. Even
the literature of the Party will change. Even the slogans will
change. How could you have a slogan like 'freedom is slav-
ery' when the concept of freedom has been abolished? The
whole climate of thought will be different. In fact there will
be no thought, as we understand it now. Orthodoxy means
not thinking — not needing to think. Orthodoxy is uncon-
sciousness.'

One of these days, thought Winston with sudden deep
conviction, Syme will be vaporized. He is too intelligent. He
sees too clearly and speaks too plainly. The Party does not
like such people. One day he will disappear. It is written in
his face.

Winston had finished his bread and cheese. He turned
a little sideways in his chair to drink his mug of coffee. At
the table on his left the man with the strident voice was
still talking remorselessly away. A young woman who was
perhaps his secretary, and who was sitting with her back
to Winston, was listening to him and seemed to be eagerly
agreeing with everything that he said. From time to time
Winston caught some such remark as T think you're so right,



1984



I do so agree with you', uttered in a youthful and rather silly
feminine voice. But the other voice never stopped for an in-
stant, even when the girl was speaking. Winston knew the
man by sight, though he knew no more about him than that
he held some important post in the Fiction Department. He
was a man of about thirty, with a muscular throat and a
large, mobile mouth. His head was thrown back a little, and
because of the angle at which he was sitting, his spectacles
caught the light and presented to Winston two blank discs
instead of eyes. What was slightly horrible, was that from
the stream of sound that poured out of his mouth it was
almost impossible to distinguish a single word. Just once
Winston caught a phrase — complete and final elimination
of Goldsteinism' — jerked out very rapidly and, as it seemed,
all in one piece, like a line of type cast solid. For the rest it
was just a noise, a quack-quack-quacking. And yet, though
you could not actually hear what the man was saying, you
could not be in any doubt about its general nature. He might
be denouncing Goldstein and demanding sterner measures
against thought- criminals and saboteurs, he might be ful-
minating against the atrocities of the Eurasian army, he
might be praising Big Brother or the heroes on the Malabar
front — it made no difference. Whatever it was, you could
be certain that every word of it was pure orthodoxy, pure
Ingsoc. As he watched the eyeless face with the jaw moving
rapidly up and down, Winston had a curious feeling that
this was not a real human being but some kind of dummy. It
was not the man's brain that was speaking, it was his larynx.
The stuff that was coming out of him consisted of words, but

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 69



it was not speech in the true sense: it was a noise uttered in
unconsciousness, like the quacking of a duck.

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
Image

_________________
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Thu Feb 21, 2013 1:09 am
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Post Re: POST, POST LIKE YOU NEVER POSTED BEFORE!
yme had fallen silent for a moment, and with the han-
dle of his spoon was tracing patterns in the puddle of stew.
The voice from the other table quacked rapidly on, easily
audible in spite of the surrounding din.

'There is a word in Newspeak,' said Syme, 'I don't know
whether you know it: DUCKSPE AK, to quack like a duck. It
is one of those interesting words that have two contradic-
tory meanings. Applied to an opponent, it is abuse, applied
to someone you agree with, it is praise.'

Unquestionably Syme will be vaporized, Winston
thought again. He thought it with a kind of sadness, al-
though well knowing that Syme despised him and slightly
disliked him, and was fully capable of denouncing him as
a thought- criminal if he saw any reason for doing so. There
was something subtly wrong with Syme. There was some-
thing that he lacked: discretion, aloofness, a sort of saving
stupidity. You could not say that he was unorthodox. He be-
lieved in the principles of Ingsoc, he venerated Big Brother,
he rejoiced over victories, he hated heretics, not merely with
sincerity but with a sort of restless zeal, an up-to-dateness
of information, which the ordinary Party member did not
approach. Yet a faint air of disreputability always clung to
him. He said things that would have been better unsaid, he
had read too many books, he frequented the Chestnut Tree
Cafe, haunt of painters and musicians. There was no law,
not even an unwritten law, against frequenting the Chest-
nut Tree Cafe, yet the place was somehow ill-omened. The



1984



old, discredited leaders of the Party had been used to gather
there before they were finally purged. Goldstein himself, it
was said, had sometimes been seen there, years and decades
ago. Syme's fate was not difficult to foresee. And yet it was
a fact that if Syme grasped, even for three seconds, the na-
ture of his, Winston's, secret opinions, he would betray him
instantly to the Thought Police. So would anybody else, for
that matter: but Syme more than most. Zeal was not enough.
Orthodoxy was unconsciousness.

Syme looked up. 'Here comes Parsons,' he said.

Something in the tone of his voice seemed to add, 'that
bloody fool'. Parsons, Winston's fellow-tenant at Victory
Mansions, was in fact threading his way across the room —
a tubby, middle-sized man with fair hair and a froglike face.
At thirty- five he was already putting on rolls of fat at neck
and waistline, but his movements were brisk and boyish.
His whole appearance was that of a little boy grown large, so
much so that although he was wearing the regulation over-
alls, it was almost impossible not to think of him as being
dressed in the blue shorts, grey shirt, and red neckerchief
of the Spies. In visualizing him one saw always a picture
of dimpled knees and sleeves rolled back from pudgy fore-
arms. Parsons did, indeed, invariably revert to shorts when
a community hike or any other physical activity gave him
an excuse for doing so. He greeted them both with a cheery
'Hullo, hullo!' and sat down at the table, giving off an in-
tense smell of sweat. Beads of moisture stood out all over
his pink face. His powers of sweating were extraordinary.
At the Community Centre you could always tell when he



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had been playing table-tennis by the dampness of the bat
handle. Syme had produced a strip of paper on which there
was a long column of words, and was studying it with an
ink-pencil between his fingers.

'Look at him working away in the lunch hour,' said Par-
sons, nudging Winston. 'Keenness, eh? What's that you've
got there, old boy? Something a bit too brainy for me, I ex-
pect. Smith, old boy, I'll tell you why I'm chasing you. It's
that sub you forgot to give me.'

'Which sub is that?' said Winston, automatically feel-
ing for money. About a quarter of one's salary had to be
earmarked for voluntary subscriptions, which were so nu-
merous that it was difficult to keep track of them.

'For Hate Week. You know — the house-by-house fund.
I'm treasurer for our block. We're making an all-out effort —
going to put on a tremendous show. I tell you, it won't be my
fault if old Victory Mansions doesn't have the biggest outfit
of flags in the whole street. Two dollars you promised me.'

Winston found and handed over two creased and filthy
notes, which Parsons entered in a small notebook, in the
neat handwriting of the illiterate.

'By the way, old boy' he said. 'I hear that little beggar of
mine let fly at you with his catapult yesterday. I gave him
a good dressing-down for it. In fact I told him I'd take the
catapult away if he does it again.'

'I think he was a little upset at not going to the execution,'
said Winston.

'Ah, well — what I mean to say, shows the right spirit,
doesn't it? Mischievous little beggars they are, both of them,



1984



but talk about keenness! All they think about is the Spies,
and the war, of course. D'you know what that little girl of
mine did last Saturday, when her troop was on a hike out
Berkhamsted way? She got two other girls to go with her,
slipped off from the hike, and spent the whole afternoon
following a strange man. They kept on his tail for two hours,
right through the woods, and then, when they got into Am-
ersham, handed him over to the patrols.'

'What did they do that for?' said Winston, somewhat tak-
en aback. Parsons went on triumphantly:

'My kid made sure he was some kind of enemy agent —
might have been dropped by parachute, for instance. But
here's the point, old boy. What do you think put her on to
him in the first place? She spotted he was wearing a funny
kind of shoes — said she'd never seen anyone wearing shoes
like that before. So the chances were he was a foreigner.
Pretty smart for a nipper of seven, eh?'

'What happened to the man?' said Winston.

'Ah, that I couldn't say, of course. But I wouldn't be alto-
gether surprised if ' Parsons made the motion of aiming

a rifle, and clicked his tongue for the explosion.

'Good,' said Syme abstractedly, without looking up from
his strip of paper.

'Of course we can't afford to take chances,' agreed Win-
ston dutifully.

'What I mean to say, there is a war on,' said Parsons.

As though in confirmation of this, a trumpet call float-
ed from the telescreen just above their heads. However, it
was not the proclamation of a military victory this time, but



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merely an announcement from the Ministry of Plenty.

'Comrades!' cried an eager youthful voice. 'Attention,
comrades! We have glorious news for you. We have won the
battle for production! Returns now completed of the output
of all classes of consumption goods show that the standard
of living has risen by no less than 20 per cent over the past
year. All over Oceania this morning there were irrepressible
spontaneous demonstrations when workers marched out of
factories and offices and paraded through the streets with
banners voicing their gratitude to Big Brother for the new,
happy life which his wise leadership has bestowed upon us.
Here are some of the completed figures. Foodstuffs '

The phrase 'our new, happy life' recurred several times. It
had been a favourite of late with the Ministry of Plenty. Par-
sons, his attention caught by the trumpet call, sat listening
with a sort of gaping solemnity, a sort of edified boredom.
He could not follow the figures, but he was aware that they
were in some way a cause for satisfaction. He had lugged out
a huge and filthy pipe which was already half full of charred
tobacco. With the tobacco ration at 100 grammes a week it
was seldom possible to fill a pipe to the top. Winston was
smoking a Victory Cigarette which he held carefully hori-
zontal. The new ration did not start till tomorrow and he
had only four cigarettes left. For the moment he had shut his
ears to the remoter noises and was listening to the stuff that
streamed out of the telescreen. It appeared that there had
even been demonstrations to thank Big Brother for raising
the chocolate ration to twenty grammes a week. And only
yesterday, he reflected, it had been announced that the ra-



1984



tion was to be REDUCED to twenty grammes a week. Was it
possible that they could swallow that, after only twenty-four
hours? Yes, they swallowed it. Parsons swallowed it easily,
with the stupidity of an animal. The eyeless creature at the
other table swallowed it fanatically, passionately, with a fu-
rious desire to track down, denounce, and vaporize anyone
who should suggest that last week the ration had been thirty
grammes. Syme, too — in some more complex way, involv-
ing doublethink, Syme swallowed it. Was he, then, ALONE
in the possession of a memory?

The fabulous statistics continued to pour out of the tele-
screen. As compared with last year there was more food,
more clothes, more houses, more furniture, more cook-
ing-pots, more fuel, more ships, more helicopters, more
books, more babies — more of everything except disease,
crime, and insanity. Year by year and minute by minute,
everybody and everything was whizzing rapidly upwards.
As Syme had done earlier Winston had taken up his spoon
and was dabbling in the pale-coloured gravy that dribbled
across the table, drawing a long streak of it out into a pat-
tern. He meditated resentfully on the physical texture of
life. Had it always been like this? Had food always tasted
like this? He looked round the canteen. A low-ceilinged,
crowded room, its walls grimy from the contact of innu-
merable bodies; battered metal tables and chairs, placed
so close together that you sat with elbows touching; bent
spoons, dented trays, coarse white mugs; all surfaces greasy,
grime in every crack; and a sourish, composite smell of bad
gin and bad coffee and metallic stew and dirty clothes. Al-



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ways in your stomach and in your skin there was a sort of
protest, a feeling that you had been cheated of something
that you had a right to. It was true that he had no memories
of anything greatly different. In any time that he could ac-
curately remember, there had never been quite enough to
eat, one had never had socks or underclothes that were not
full of holes, furniture had always been battered and rickety,
rooms underheated, tube trains crowded, houses falling to
pieces, bread dark- coloured, tea a rarity, coffee filthy-tast-
ing, cigarettes insufficient — nothing cheap and plentiful
except synthetic gin. And though, of course, it grew worse
as one's body aged, was it not a sign that this was NOT the
natural order of things, if one's heart sickened at the dis-
comfort and dirt and scarcity, the interminable winters, the
stickiness of one's socks, the lifts that never worked, the
cold water, the gritty soap, the cigarettes that came to piec-
es, the food with its strange evil tastes? Why should one feel
it to be intolerable unless one had some kind of ancestral
memory that things had once been different?

He looked round the canteen again. Nearly everyone was
ugly, and would still have been ugly even if dressed other-
wise than in the uniform blue overalls. On the far side of the
room, sitting at a table alone, a small, curiously beetle-like
man was drinking a cup of coffee, his little eyes darting sus-
picious glances from side to side. How easy it was, thought
Winston, if you did not look about you, to believe that the
physical type set up by the Party as an ideal — tall muscu-
lar youths and deep-bosomed maidens, blond-haired, vital,
sunburnt, carefree — existed and even predominated. Ac-

76 1984



tually, so far as he could judge, the majority of people in
Airstrip One were small, dark, and ill-favoured. It was curi-
ous how that beetle-like type proliferated in the Ministries:
little dumpy men, growing stout very early in life, with
short legs, swift scuttling movements, and fat inscrutable
faces with very small eyes. It was the type that seemed to
flourish best under the dominion of the Party.

The announcement from the Ministry of Plenty ended
on another trumpet call and gave way to tinny music. Par-
sons, stirred to vague enthusiasm by the bombardment of
figures, took his pipe out of his mouth.

'The Ministry of Plenty's certainly done a good job this
year,' he said with a knowing shake of his head. 'By the way,
Smith old boy, I suppose you haven't got any razor blades
you can let me have?'

'Not one,' said Winston. 'I've been using the same blade
for six weeks myself

'Ah, well — just thought I'd ask you, old boy'

'Sorry' said Winston.

The quacking voice from the next table, temporarily si-
lenced during the Ministry's announcement, had started up
again, as loud as ever. For some reason Winston suddenly
found himself thinking of Mrs Parsons, with her wispy hair
and the dust in the creases of her face. Within two years
those children would be denouncing her to the Thought
Police. Mrs Parsons would be vaporized. Syme would be
vaporized. Winston would be vaporized. O'Brien would
be vaporized. Parsons, on the other hand, would never be
vaporized. The eyeless creature with the quacking voice



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would never be vaporized. The little beetle-like men who
scuttle so nimbly through the labyrinthine corridors of
Ministries they, too, would never be vaporized. And the girl
with dark hair, the girl from the Fiction Department — she
would never be vaporized either. It seemed to him that he
knew instinctively who would survive and who would per-
ish: though just what it was that made for survival, it was
not easy to say.

At this moment he was dragged out of his reverie with
a violent jerk. The girl at the next table had turned partly
round and was looking at him. It was the girl with dark hair.
She was looking at him in a sidelong way, but with curious
intensity. The instant she caught his eye she looked away
again.

The sweat started out on Winston's backbone. A horri-
ble pang of terror went through him. It was gone almost at
once, but it left a sort of nagging uneasiness behind. Why
was she watching him? Why did she keep following him
about? Unfortunately he could not remember whether she
had already been at the table when he arrived, or had come
there afterwards. But yesterday, at any rate, during the Two
Minutes Hate, she had sat immediately behind him when
there was no apparent need to do so. Quite likely her real
object had been to listen to him and make sure whether he
was shouting loudly enough.

His earlier thought returned to him: probably she was
not actually a member of the Thought Police, but then it
was precisely the amateur spy who was the greatest danger
of all. He did not know how long she had been looking at



1984



him, but perhaps for as much as five minutes, and it was
possible that his features had not been perfectly under con-
trol. It was terribly dangerous to let your thoughts wander
when you were in any public place or within range of a tele-
screen. The smallest thing could give you away. A nervous
tic, an unconscious look of anxiety, a habit of muttering to
yourself — anything that carried with it the suggestion of
abnormality, of having something to hide. In any case, to
wear an improper expression on your face (to look incredu-
lous when a victory was announced, for example) was itself
a punishable offence. There was even a word for it in New-
speak: FACECRIME, it was called.

The girl had turned her back on him again. Perhaps after
all she was not really following him about, perhaps it was
coincidence that she had sat so close to him two days run-
ning. His cigarette had gone out, and he laid it carefully on
the edge of the table. He would finish smoking it after work,
if he could keep the tobacco in it. Quite likely the person
at the next table was a spy of the Thought Police, and quite
likely he would be in the cellars of the Ministry of Love
within three days, but a cigarette end must not be wasted.
Syme had folded up his strip of paper and stowed it away in
his pocket. Parsons had begun talking again.

'Did I ever tell you, old boy,' he said, chuckling round the
stem of his pipe, 'about the time when those two nippers
of mine set fire to the old market-woman's skirt because
they saw her wrapping up sausages in a poster of B.B.?
Sneaked up behind her and set fire to it with a box of match-
es. Burned her quite badly, I believe. Little beggars, eh? But



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keen as mustard! That's a first-rate training they give them
in the Spies nowadays — better than in my day, even. What
d'you think's the latest thing they've served them out with?
Ear trumpets for listening through keyholes! My little girl
brought one home the other night — tried it out on our sit-
ting-room door, and reckoned she could hear twice as much
as with her ear to the hole. Of course it's only a toy, mind
you. Still, gives 'em the right idea, eh?'

At this moment the telescreen let out a piercing whistle.
It was the signal to return to work. All three men sprang to
their feet to join in the struggle round the lifts, and the re-
maining tobacco fell out of Winston's cigarette.



1984



Chapter 6



w



inston was writing in his diary:



It was three years ago. It was on a dark evening, in a
narrow side-street near one of the big railway stations. She
was standing near a doorway in the wall, under a street lamp
that hardly gave any light. She had a young face, painted
very thick. It was really the paint that appealed to me, the
whiteness of it, like a mask, and the bright red lips. Party
women never paint their faces. There was nobody else in the
street, and no telescreens. She said two dollars. I

For the moment it was too difficult to go on. He shut his
eyes and pressed his fingers against them, trying to squeeze
out the vision that kept recurring. He had an almost over-
whelming temptation to shout a string of filthy words at the
top of his voice. Or to bang his head against the wall, to kick
over the table, and hurl the inkpot through the window — to
do any violent or noisy or painful thing that might black
out the memory that was tormenting him.

Your worst enemy, he reflected, was your own nervous
system. At any moment the tension inside you was liable to
translate itself into some visible symptom. He thought of
a man whom he had passed in the street a few weeks back;
a quite ordinary-looking man, a Party member, aged thir-

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 81



ty-five to forty, tallish and thin, carrying a brief-case. They
were a few metres apart when the left side of the man's face
was suddenly contorted by a sort of spasm. It happened
again just as they were passing one another: it was only a
twitch, a quiver, rapid as the clicking of a camera shutter,
but obviously habitual. He remembered thinking at the
time: That poor devil is done for. And what was frighten-
ing was that the action was quite possibly unconscious. The
most deadly danger of all was talking in your sleep. There
was no way of guarding against that, so far as he could see.
He drew his breath and went on writing:

I went with her through the doorway and across a backyard
into a basement kitchen. There was a bed against the wall,
and a lamp on the table, turned down very low. She

His teeth were set on edge. He would have liked to spit.
Simultaneously with the woman in the basement kitchen
he thought of Katharine, his wife. Winston was married —
had been married, at any rate: probably he still was married,
so far as he knew his wife was not dead. He seemed to
breathe again the warm stuffy odour of the basement kitch-
en, an odour compounded of bugs and dirty clothes and
villainous cheap scent, but nevertheless alluring, because
no woman of the Party ever used scent, or could be imag-
ined as doing so. Only the proles used scent. In his mind the
smell of it was inextricably mixed up with fornication.

When he had gone with that woman it had been his first
lapse in two years or thereabouts. Consorting with prosti-



1984



tutes was forbidden, of course, but it was one of those rules
that you could occasionally nerve yourself to break. It was
dangerous, but it was not a life-and-death matter. To be
caught with a prostitute might mean five years in a forced-
labour camp: not more, if you had committed no other
offence. And it was easy enough, provided that you could
avoid being caught in the act. The poorer quarters swarmed
with women who were ready to sell themselves. Some could
even be purchased for a bottle of gin, which the proles were
not supposed to drink. Tacitly the Party was even inclined
to encourage prostitution, as an outlet for instincts which
could not be altogether suppressed. Mere debauchery did
not matter very much, so long as it was furtive and joyless
and only involved the women of a submerged and despised
class. The unforgivable crime was promiscuity between
Party members. But — though this was one of the crimes
that the accused in the great purges invariably confessed
to — it was difficult to imagine any such thing actually hap-
pening.

The aim of the Party was not merely to prevent men and
women from forming loyalties which it might not be able
to control. Its real, undeclared purpose was to remove all
pleasure from the sexual act. Not love so much as eroti-
cism was the enemy, inside marriage as well as outside it.
All marriages between Party members had to be approved
by a committee appointed for the purpose, and — though
the principle was never clearly stated — permission was al-
ways refused if the couple concerned gave the impression
of being physically attracted to one another. The only rec-

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ognized purpose of marriage was to beget children for the
service of the Party. Sexual intercourse was to be looked on
as a slightly disgusting minor operation, like having an en-
ema. This again was never put into plain words, but in an
indirect way it was rubbed into every Party member from
childhood onwards. There were even organizations such
as the Junior Anti-Sex League, which advocated complete
celibacy for both sexes. All children were to be begotten
by artificial insemination (ARTSEM, it was called in New-
speak) and brought up in public institutions. This, Winston
was aware, was not meant altogether seriously, but some-
how it fitted in with the general ideology of the Party. The
Party was trying to kill the sex instinct, or, if it could not be
killed, then to distort it and dirty it. He did not know why
this was so, but it seemed natural that it should be so. And
as far as the women were concerned, the Party's efforts were
largely successful.

He thought again of Katharine. It must be nine, ten —
nearly eleven years since they had parted. It was curious
how seldom he thought of her. For days at a time he was ca-
pable of forgetting that he had ever been married. They had
only been together for about fifteen months. The Party did
not permit divorce, but it rather encouraged separation in
cases where there were no children.

Katharine was a tall, fair-haired girl, very straight, with
splendid movements. She had a bold, aquiline face, a face
that one might have called noble until one discovered that
there was as nearly as possible nothing behind it. Very early
in her married life he had decided — though perhaps it was

84 1984



only that he knew her more intimately than he knew most
people — that she had without exception the most stupid,
vulgar, empty mind that he had ever encountered. She had
not a thought in her head that was not a slogan, and there
was no imbecility, absolutely none that she was not capable
of swallowing if the Party handed it out to her. 'The hu-
man sound-track' he nicknamed her in his own mind. Yet
he could have endured living with her if it had not been for
just one thing — sex.

As soon as he touched her she seemed to wince and stiff-
en. To embrace her was like embracing a jointed wooden
image. And what was strange was that even when she was
clasping him against her he had the feeling that she was si-
multaneously pushing him away with all her strength. The
rigidity of her muscles managed to convey that impres-
sion. She would lie there with shut eyes, neither resisting
nor co-operating but SUBMITTING. It was extraordinari-
ly embarrassing, and, after a while, horrible. But even then
he could have borne living with her if it had been agreed
that they should remain celibate. But curiously enough it
was Katharine who refused this. They must, she said, pro-
duce a child if they could. So the performance continued to
happen, once a week quite regulariy, whenever it was not
impossible. She even used to remind him of it in the morn-
ing, as something which had to be done that evening and
which must not be forgotten. She had two names for it. One
was 'making a baby', and the other was 'our duty to the Par-
ty' (yes, she had actually used that phrase). Quite soon he
grew to have a feeling of positive dread when the appointed

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day came round. But luckily no child appeared, and in the
end she agreed to give up trying, and soon afterwards they
parted.

Winston sighed inaudibly He picked up his pen again
and wrote:

She threw herself down on the bed, and at once, without any
kind of preliminary in the most coarse, horrible way you can
imagine, pulled up her skirt. 1

He saw himself standing there in the dim lamplight,
with the smell of bugs and cheap scent in his nostrils, and
in his heart a feeling of defeat and resentment which even
at that moment was mixed up with the thought of Kath-
arine's white body, frozen for ever by the hypnotic power
of the Party. Why did it always have to be like this? Why
could he not have a woman of his own instead of these filthy
scuffles at intervals of years? But a real love affair was an al-
most unthinkable event. The women of the Party were all
alike. Chastity was as deep ingrained in them as Party loy-
alty. By careful early conditioning, by games and cold water,
by the rubbish that was dinned into them at school and in
the Spies and the Youth League, by lectures, parades, songs,
slogans, and martial music, the natural feeling had been
driven out of them. His reason told him that there must be
exceptions, but his heart did not believe it. They were all im-
pregnable, as the Party intended that they should be. And
what he wanted, more even than to be loved, was to break
down that wall of virtue, even if it were only once in his



1984



whole life. The sexual act, successfully performed, was re-
bellion. Desire was thoughtcrime. Even to have awakened
Katharine, if he could have achieved it, would have been
like a seduction, although she was his wife.

But the rest of the story had got to be written down. He
wrote:

I turned up the lamp. When 1 saw her in the light

After the darkness the feeble light of the paraffin lamp
had seemed very bright. For the first time he could see the
woman properly. He had taken a step towards her and then
halted, full of lust and terror. He was painfully conscious of
the risk he had taken in coming here. It was perfectly pos-
sible that the patrols would catch him on the way out: for
that matter they might be waiting outside the door at this
moment. If he went away without even doing what he had
come here to do !

It had got to be written down, it had got to be confessed.
What he had suddenly seen in the lamplight was that the
woman was OLD. The paint was plastered so thick on her
face that it looked as though it might crack like a cardboard
mask. There were streaks of white in her hair; but the truly
dreadful detail was that her mouth had fallen a little open,
revealing nothing except a cavernous blackness. She had no
teeth at all.

He wrote hurriedly, in scrabbling handwriting:

When 1 saw her in the light she was quite an old woman, fifty

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years old at least. But I went ahead and did it just the same.

He pressed his fingers against his eyelids again. He had
written it down at last, but it made no difference. The thera-
py had not worked. The urge to shout filthy words at the top
of his voice was as strong as ever.



1984



Chapter 7



» If there is hope,' wrote Winston, 'it lies in the proles.'

If there was hope, it MUST lie in the proles, because
only there in those swarming disregarded masses, 85 per
cent of the population of Oceania, could the force to de-
stroy the Party ever be generated. The Party could not be
overthrown from within. Its enemies, if it had any enemies,
had no way of coming together or even of identifying one
another. Even if the legendary Brotherhood existed, as just
possibly it might, it was inconceivable that its members
could ever assemble in larger numbers than twos and threes.
Rebellion meant a look in the eyes, an inflexion of the voice,
at the most, an occasional whispered word. But the proles,
if only they could somehow become conscious of their own
strength, would have no need to conspire. They needed only
to rise up and shake themselves like a horse shaking off flies.
If they chose they could blow the Party to pieces tomorrow
morning. Surely sooner or later it must occur to them to do

it? And yet !

He remembered how once he had been walking down
a crowded street when a tremendous shout of hundreds of
voices women's voices — had burst from a side-street a little
way ahead. It was a great formidable cry of anger and de-
spair, a deep, loud 'Oh-o-o-o-oh!' that went humming on
like the reverberation of a bell. His heart had leapt. It's start-



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ed! he had thought. A riot! The proles are breaking loose
at last! When he had reached the spot it was to see a mob
of two or three hundred women crowding round the stalls
of a street market, with faces as tragic as though they had
been the doomed passengers on a sinking ship. But at this
moment the general despair broke down into a multitude
of individual quarrels. It appeared that one of the stalls
had been selling tin saucepans. They were wretched, flimsy
things, but cooking-pots of any kind were always difficult
to get. Now the supply had unexpectedly given out. The
successful women, bumped and jostled by the rest, were
trying to make off with their saucepans while dozens of
others clamoured round the stall, accusing the stall-keeper
of favouritism and of having more saucepans somewhere
in reserve. There was a fresh outburst of yells. Two bloat-
ed women, one of them with her hair coming down, had
got hold of the same saucepan and were trying to tear it
out of one another's hands. For a moment they were both
tugging, and then the handle came off. Winston watched
them disgustedly. And yet, just for a moment, what almost
frightening power had sounded in that cry from only a few
hundred throats! Why was it that they could never shout
like that about anything that mattered?
He wrote:

Until they become conscious they will never rebel, and until
after they have rebelled they cannot become conscious.

That, he reflected, might almost have been a transcrip-

90 1984



tion from one of the Party textbooks. The Party claimed, of
course, to have liberated the proles from bondage. Before
the Revolution they had been hideously oppressed by the
capitalists, they had been starved and flogged, women had
been forced to work in the coal mines (women still did work
in the coal mines, as a matter of fact), children had been
sold into the factories at the age of six. But simultaneous-
ly, true to the Principles of doublethink, the Party taught
that the proles were natural inferiors who must be kept in
subjection, like animals, by the application of a few simple
rules. In reality very little was known about the proles. It
was not necessary to know much. So long as they contin-
ued to work and breed, their other activities were without
importance. Left to themselves, like cattle turned loose
upon the plains of Argentina, they had reverted to a style of
life that appeared to be natural to them, a sort of ancestral
pattern. They were born, they grew up in the gutters, they
went to work at twelve, they passed through a brief blos-
soming-period of beauty and sexual desire, they married at
twenty, they were middle-aged at thirty, they died, for the
most part, at sixty. Heavy physical work, the care of home
and children, petty quarrels with neighbours, films, foot-
ball, beer, and above all, gambling, filled up the horizon
of their minds. To keep them in control was not difficult.
A few agents of the Thought Police moved always among
them, spreading false rumours and marking down and
eliminating the few individuals who were judged capable of
becoming dangerous; but no attempt was made to indoctri-
nate them with the ideology of the Party. It was not desirable



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that the proles should have strong political feelings. All that
was required of them was a primitive patriotism which
could be appealed to whenever it was necessary to make
them accept longer working-hours or shorter rations. And
even when they became discontented, as they sometimes
did, their discontent led nowhere, because being without
general ideas, they could only focus it on petty specific
grievances. The larger evils invariably escaped their notice.
The great majority of proles did not even have telescreens in
their homes. Even the civil police interfered with them very
little. There was a vast amount of criminality in London, a
whole world -within-a-world of thieves, bandits, prostitutes,
drug-peddlers, and racketeers of every description; but
since it all happened among the proles themselves, it was
of no importance. In all questions of morals they were al-
lowed to follow their ancestral code. The sexual puritanism
of the Party was not imposed upon them. Promiscuity went
unpunished, divorce was permitted. For that matter, even
religious worship would have been permitted if the proles
had shown any sign of needing or wanting it. They were
beneath suspicion. As the Party slogan put it: 'Proles and
animals are free.'

Winston reached down and cautiously scratched his
varicose ulcer. It had begun itching again. The thing you
invariably came back to was the impossibility of knowing
what life before the Revolution had really been like. He took
out of the drawer a copy of a children's history textbook
which he had borrowed from Mrs Parsons, and began copy-
ing a passage into the diary:



1984



In the old days (it ran), before the glorious Revolution,
London was not the beautiful city that we know today. It
was a dark, dirty, miserable place where hardly anybody
had enough to eat and where hundreds and thousands of
poor people had no boots on their feet and not even a roof to
sleep under. Children no older than you had to work twelve
hours a day for cruel masters who flogged them with whips
if they worked too slowly and fed them on nothing but stale
breadcrusts and water. But in among all this terrible poverty
there were just a few great big beautiful houses that were
lived in by rich men who had as many as thirty servants to
look after them. These rich men were called capitalists. They
were fat, ugly men with wicked faces, like the one in the
picture on the opposite page. You can see that he is dressed in
a long black coat which was called a frock coat, and a queer,
shiny hat shaped like a stovepipe, which was called a top hat.
This was the uniform of the capitalists, and no one else was
allowed to wear it. The capitalists owned everything in the
world, and everyone else was their slave. They owned all the
land, all the houses, all the factories, and all the money. If
anyone disobeyed them they could throw them into prison, or
they could take his job away and starve him to death. When
any ordinary person spoke to a capitalist he had to cringe and
bow to him, and take off his cap and address him as 'Sir'. The
chief of all the capitalists was called the King, and

But he knew the rest of the catalogue. There would be
mention of the bishops in their lawn sleeves, the judges in
their ermine robes, the pillory, the stocks, the treadmill, the

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cat-o'-nine tails, the Lord Mayor's Banquet, and the prac-
tice of kissing the Pope's toe. There was also something
called the JUS PRIMAE NOCTIS, which would probably
not be mentioned in a textbook for children. It was the law
by which every capitalist had the right to sleep with any
woman working in one of his factories.

How could you tell how much of it was lies? It MIGHT
be true that the average human being was better off now
than he had been before the Revolution. The only evidence
to the contrary was the mute protest in your own bones, the
instinctive feeling that the conditions you lived in were in-
tolerable and that at some other time they must have been
different. It struck him that the truly characteristic thing
about modern life was not its cruelty and insecurity, but
simply its bareness, its dinginess, its listlessness. Life, if you
looked about you, bore no resemblance not only to the lies
that streamed out of the telescreens, but even to the ideals
that the Party was trying to achieve. Great areas of it, even
for a Party member, were neutral and non-political, a mat-
ter of slogging through dreary jobs, fighting for a place on
the Tube, darning a worn-out sock, cadging a saccharine
tablet, saving a cigarette end. The ideal set up by the Par-
ty was something huge, terrible, and glittering — a world of
steel and concrete, of monstrous machines and terrifying
weapons — a nation of warriors and fanatics, marching for-
ward in perfect unity, all thinking the same thoughts and
shouting the same slogans, perpetually working, fighting,
triumphing, persecuting — three hundred million people all
with the same face. The reality was decaying, dingy cities



1984



where underfed people shuffled to and fro in leaky shoes,
in patched-up nineteenth-century houses that smelt always
of cabbage and bad lavatories. He seemed to see a vision of
London, vast and ruinous, city of a million dustbins, and
mixed up with it was a picture of Mrs Parsons, a woman
with lined face and wispy hair, fiddling helplessly with a
blocked waste-pipe.

He reached down and scratched his ankle again. Day
and night the telescreens bruised your ears with statistics
proving that people today had more food, more clothes,
better houses, better recreations — that they lived longer,
worked shorter hours, were bigger, healthier, stronger, hap-
pier, more intelligent, better educated, than the people of
fifty years ago. Not a word of it could ever be proved or dis-
proved. The Party claimed, for example, that today 40 per
cent of adult proles were literate: before the Revolution, it
was said, the number had only been 15 per cent. The Party
claimed that the infant mortality rate was now only 160 per
thousand, whereas before the Revolution it had been 300 —
and so it went on. It was like a single equation with two
unknowns. It might very well be that literally every word in
the history books, even the things that one accepted with-
out question, was pure fantasy. For all he knew there might
never have been any such law as the JUS PRIMAE NOCTIS,
or any such creature as a capitalist, or any such garment as
a top hat.

Everything faded into mist. The past was erased, the era-
sure was forgotten, the lie became truth. Just once in his
life he had possessed — AFTER the event: that was what



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counted — concrete, unmistakable evidence of an act of fal-
sification. He had held it between his fingers for as long as
thirty seconds. In 1973, it must have been — at any rate, it
was at about the time when he and Katharine had parted.
But the really relevant date was seven or eight years earlier.
The story really began in the middle sixties, the period of
the great purges in which the original leaders of the Revolu-
tion were wiped out once and for all. By 1970 none of them
was left, except Big Brother himself. All the rest had by that
time been exposed as traitors and counter-revolutionar-
ies. Goldstein had fled and was hiding no one knew where,
and of the others, a few had simply disappeared, while the
majority had been executed after spectacular public trials
at which they made confession of their crimes. Among the
last survivors were three men named Jones, Aaronson, and
Rutherford. It must have been in 1965 that these three had
been arrested. As often happened, they had vanished for a
year or more, so that one did not know whether they were
alive or dead, and then had suddenly been brought forth
to incriminate themselves in the usual way. They had con-
fessed to intelligence with the enemy (at that date, too, the
enemy was Eurasia), embezzlement of public funds, the
murder of various trusted Party members, intrigues against
the leadership of Big Brother which had started long before
the Revolution happened, and acts of sabotage causing the
death of hundreds of thousands of people. After confess-
ing to these things they had been pardoned, reinstated in
the Party, and given posts which were in fact sinecures but
which sounded important. All three had written long, ab-

96 1984



ject articles in 'The Times', analysing the reasons for their
defection and promising to make amends.

Some time after their release Winston had actually seen
all three of them in the Chestnut Tree Cafe. He remembered
the sort of terrified fascination with which he had watched
them out of the corner of his eye. They were men far old-
er than himself, relics of the ancient world, almost the last
great figures left over from the heroic days of the Party. The
glamour of the underground struggle and the civil war still
faintly clung to them. He had the feeling, though already at
that time facts and dates were growing blurry, that he had
known their names years earlier than he had known that of
Big Brother. But also they were outlaws, enemies, untouch-
ables, doomed with absolute certainty to extinction within
a year or two. No one who had once fallen into the hands
of the Thought Police ever escaped in the end. They were
corpses waiting to be sent back to the grave.

There was no one at any of the tables nearest to them. It
was not wise even to be seen in the neighbourhood of such
people. They were sitting in silence before glasses of the gin
flavoured with cloves which was the speciality of the cafe.
Of the three, it was Rutherford whose appearance had most
impressed Winston. Rutherford had once been a famous
caricaturist, whose brutal cartoons had helped to inflame
popular opinion before and during the Revolution. Even
now, at long intervals, his cartoons were appearing in The
Times. They were simply an imitation of his earlier manner,
and curiously lifeless and unconvincing. Always they were
a rehashing of the ancient themes — slum tenements, starv-

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ing children, street battles, capitalists in top hats — even on
the barricades the capitalists still seemed to cling to their
top hats an endless, hopeless effort to get back into the past.
He was a monstrous man, with a mane of greasy grey hair,
his face pouched and seamed, with thick negroid lips. At
one time he must have been immensely strong; now his
great body was sagging, sloping, bulging, falling away in
every direction. He seemed to be breaking up before one's
eyes, like a mountain crumbling.

It was the lonely hour of fifteen. Winston could not
now remember how he had come to be in the cafe at such
a time. The place was almost empty. A tinny music was
trickling from the telescreens. The three men sat in their
corner almost motionless, never speaking. Uncommanded,
the waiter brought fresh glasses of gin. There was a chess-
board on the table beside them, with the pieces set out but
no game started. And then, for perhaps half a minute in all,
something happened to the telescreens. The tune that they
were playing changed, and the tone of the music changed
too. There came into it — but it was something hard to de-
scribe. It was a peculiar, cracked, braying, jeering note: in
his mind Winston called it a yellow note. And then a voice
from the telescreen was singing:

Under the spreading chestnut tree
I sold you and you sold me:
There lie they, and here lie we
Under the spreading chestnut tree.



1984



The three men never stirred. But when Winston glanced
again at Rutherford's ruinous face, he saw that his eyes
were full of tears. And for the first time he noticed, with a
kind of inward shudder, and yet not knowing AT WHAT
he shuddered, that both Aaronson and Rutherford had bro-
ken noses.

A little later all three were re-arrested. It appeared that
they had engaged in fresh conspiracies from the very mo-
ment of their release. At their second trial they confessed to
all their old crimes over again, with a whole string of new
ones. They were executed, and their fate was recorded in
the Party histories, a warning to posterity. About five years
after this, in 1973, Winston was unrolling a wad of docu-
ments which had just flopped out of the pneumatic tube on
to his desk when he came on a fragment of paper which
had evidently been slipped in among the others and then
forgotten. The instant he had flattened it out he saw its sig-
nificance. It was a half-page torn out of 'The Times' of about
ten years earlier — the top half of the page, so that it included
the date — and it contained a photograph of the delegates at
some Party function in New York. Prominent in the middle
of the group were Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford. There
was no mistaking them, in any case their names were in the
caption at the bottom.

The point was that at both trials all three men had con-
fessed that on that date they had been on Eurasian soil. They
had flown from a secret airfield in Canada to a rendezvous
somewhere in Siberia, and had conferred with members of
the Eurasian General Staff, to whom they had betrayed im-

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portant military secrets. The date had stuck in Winston's
memory because it chanced to be midsummer day; but the
whole story must be on record in countless other places as
well. There was only one possible conclusion: the confes-
sions were lies.

Of course, this was not in itself a discovery. Even at that
time Winston had not imagined that the people who were
wiped out in the purges had actually committed the crimes
that they were accused of. But this was concrete evidence;
it was a fragment of the abolished past, like a fossil bone
which turns up in the wrong stratum and destroys a geo-
logical theory. It was enough to blow the Party to atoms, if
in some way it could have been published to the world and
its significance made known.

He had gone straight on working. As soon as he saw what
the photograph was, and what it meant, he had covered it
up with another sheet of paper. Luckily, when he unrolled
it, it had been upside-down from the point of view of the
telescreen.

He took his scribbling pad on his knee and pushed back
his chair so as to get as far away from the telescreen as pos-
sible. To keep your face expressionless was not difficult, and
even your breathing could be controlled, with an effort:
but you could not control the beating of your heart, and
the telescreen was quite delicate enough to pick it up. He
let what he judged to be ten minutes go by, tormented all
the while by the fear that some accident — a sudden draught
blowing across his desk, for instance — would betray him.
Then, without uncovering it again, he dropped the photo -



1984



graph into the memory hole, along with some other waste
papers. Within another minute, perhaps, it would have
crumbled into ashes.

That was ten — eleven years ago. Today, probably, he
would have kept that photograph. It was curious that the
fact of having held it in his fingers seemed to him to make
a difference even now, when the photograph itself, as well
as the event it recorded, was only memory. Was the Party's
hold upon the past less strong, he wondered, because a piece
of evidence which existed no longer HAD ONCE existed?

But today, supposing that it could be somehow resur-
rected from its ashes, the photograph might not even be
evidence. Already, at the time when he made his discov-
ery, Oceania was no longer at war with Eurasia, and it must
have been to the agents of Eastasia that the three dead men
had betrayed their country. Since then there had been oth-
er changes — two, three, he could not remember how many.
Very likely the confessions had been rewritten and rewritten
until the original facts and dates no longer had the small-
est significance. The past not only changed, but changed
continuously. What most afflicted him with the sense of
nightmare was that he had never clearly understood why
the huge imposture was undertaken. The immediate advan-
tages of falsifying the past were obvious, but the ultimate
motive was mysterious. He took up his pen again and
wrote:

I understand HOW: 1 do not understand WHY.



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He wondered, as he had many times wondered before,
whether he himself was a lunatic. Perhaps a lunatic was
simply a minority of one. At one time it had been a sign of
madness to believe that the earth goes round the sun; today,
to believe that the past is inalterable. He might be ALONE
in holding that belief, and if alone, then a lunatic. But the
thought of being a lunatic did not greatly trouble him: the
horror was that he might also be wrong.

He picked up the children's history book and looked at
the portrait of Big Brother which formed its frontispiece.
The hypnotic eyes gazed into his own. It was as though
some huge force were pressing down upon you — something
that penetrated inside your skull, battering against your
brain, frightening you out of your beliefs, persuading you,
almost, to deny the evidence of your senses. In the end the
Party would announce that two and two made five, and you
would have to believe it. It was inevitable that they should
make that claim sooner or later: the logic of their position
demanded it. Not merely the validity of experience, but the
very existence of external reality, was tacitly denied by their
philosophy. The heresy of heresies was common sense. And
what was terrifying was not that they would kill you for
thinking otherwise, but that they might be right. For, after
all, how do we know that two and two make four? Or that
the force of gravity works? Or that the past is unchange-
able? If both the past and the external world exist only in
the mind, and if the mind itself is controllable what then?

But no! His courage seemed suddenly to stiffen of its
own accord. The face of O'Brien, not called up by any obvi-



1984



ous association, had floated into his mind. He knew, with
more certainty than before, that O'Brien was on his side.
He was writing the diary for O'Brien — TO O'Brien: it was
like an interminable letter which no one would ever read,
but which was addressed to a particular person and took its
colour from that fact.

The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and
ears. It was their final, most essential command. His heart
sank as he thought of the enormous power arrayed against
him, the ease with which any Party intellectual would over-
throw him in debate, the subtle arguments which he would
not be able to understand, much less answer. And yet he
was in the right! They were wrong and he was right. The
obvious, the silly, and the true had got to be defended. Tru-
isms are true, hold on to that! The solid world exists, its laws
do not change. Stones are hard, water is wet, objects unsup-
ported fall towards the earth's centre. With the feeling that
he was speaking to O'Brien, and also that he was setting
forth an important axiom, he wrote:

Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four. If
that is granted, all else follows.



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Chapter 8



From somewhere at the bottom of a passage the smell of
roasting coffee — real coffee, not Victory Coffee — came
floating out into the street. Winston paused involuntarily.
For perhaps two seconds he was back in the half-forgotten
world of his childhood. Then a door banged, seeming to cut
off the smell as abruptly as though it had been a sound.

He had walked several kilometres over pavements, and
his varicose ulcer was throbbing. This was the second time
in three weeks that he had missed an evening at the Com-
munity Centre: a rash act, since you could be certain that
the number of your attendances at the Centre was care-
fully checked. In principle a Party member had no spare
time, and was never alone except in bed. It was assumed
that when he was not working, eating, or sleeping he would
be taking part in some kind of communal recreation: to do
anything that suggested a taste for solitude, even to go for a
walk by yourself, was always slightly dangerous. There was
a word for it in Newspeak: OWNLIFE, it was called, mean-
ing individualism and eccentricity. But this evening as he
came out of the Ministry the balminess of the April air had
tempted him. The sky was a warmer blue than he had seen it
that year, and suddenly the long, noisy evening at the Cen-
tre, the boring, exhausting games, the lectures, the creaking
camaraderie oiled by gin, had seemed intolerable. On im-



1984



pulse he had turned away from the bus-stop and wandered
off into the labyrinth of London, first south, then east, then
north again, losing himself among unknown streets and
hardly bothering in which direction he was going.

'If there is hope,' he had written in the diary, 'it lies in
the proles.' The words kept coming back to him, statement
of a mystical truth and a palpable absurdity. He was some-
where in the vague, brown-coloured slums to the north and
east of what had once been Saint Pancras Station. He was
walking up a cobbled street of little two-storey houses with
battered doorways which gave straight on the pavement
and which were somehow curiously suggestive of ratholes.
There were puddles of filthy water here and there among the
cobbles. In and out of the dark doorways, and down narrow
alley-ways that branched off on either side, people swarmed
in astonishing numbers — girls in full bloom, with crude-
ly lipsticked mouths, and youths who chased the girls, and
swollen waddling women who showed you what the girls
would be like in ten years' time, and old bent creatures shuf-
fling along on splayed feet, and ragged barefooted children
who played in the puddles and then scattered at angry yells
from their mothers. Perhaps a quarter of the windows in
the street were broken and boarded up. Most of the people
paid no attention to Winston; a few eyed him with a sort of
guarded curiosity. Two monstrous women with brick-red
forearms folded across their aprons were talking outside a
doorway. Winston caught scraps of conversation as he ap-
proached.

"Yes,' I says to 'er, 'that's all very well,' I says. 'But if you'd



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of been in my place you'd of done the same as what I done.
It's easy to criticize,' I says, 'but you ain't got the same prob-
lems as what I got."

'Ah,' said the other, 'that's jest it. That's jest where it is.'

The strident voices stopped abruptly. The women stud-
ied him in hostile silence as he went past. But it was not
hostility, exactly; merely a kind of wariness, a momentary
stiffening, as at the passing of some unfamiliar animal. The
blue overalls of the Party could not be a common sight in
a street like this. Indeed, it was unwise to be seen in such
places, unless you had definite business there. The patrols
might stop you if you happened to run into them. 'May I see
your papers, comrade? What are you doing here? What time
did you leave work? Is this your usual way home?' — and so
on and so forth. Not that there was any rule against walking
home by an unusual route: but it was enough to draw atten-
tion to you if the Thought Police heard about it.

Suddenly the whole street was in commotion. There
were yells of warning from all sides. People were shooting
into the doorways like rabbits. A young woman leapt out
of a doorway a little ahead of Winston, grabbed up a tiny
child playing in a puddle, whipped her apron round it, and
leapt back again, all in one movement. At the same instant a
man in a concertina-like black suit, who had emerged from
a side alley, ran towards Winston, pointing excitedly to the
sky.

'Steamer!' he yelled. 'Look out, guv'nor! Bang over'ead!
Lay down quick!'

'Steamer' was a nickname which, for some reason, the



1984



proles applied to rocket bombs. Winston promptly flung
himself on his face. The proles were nearly always right
when they gave you a warning of this kind. They seemed
to possess some kind of instinct which told them several
seconds in advance when a rocket was coming, although
the rockets supposedly travelled faster than sound. Win-
ston clasped his forearms above his head. There was a roar
that seemed to make the pavement heave; a shower of light
objects pattered on to his back. When he stood up he found
that he was covered with fragments of glass from the near-
est window.

He walked on. The bomb had demolished a group of
houses 200 metres up the street. A black plume of smoke
hung in the sky, and below it a cloud of plaster dust in which
a crowd was already forming around the ruins. There was a
little pile of plaster lying on the pavement ahead of him, and
in the middle of it he could see a bright red streak. When he
got up to it he saw that it was a human hand severed at the
wrist. Apart from the bloody stump, the hand was so com-
pletely whitened as to resemble a plaster cast.

He kicked the thing into the gutter, and then, to avoid
the crowd, turned down a side-street to the right. With-
in three or four minutes he was out of the area which the
bomb had affected, and the sordid swarming life of the
streets was going on as though nothing had happened. It
was nearly twenty hours, and the drinking-shops which the
proles frequented ('pubs', they called them) were choked
with customers. From their grimy swing doors, endlessly
opening and shutting, there came forth a smell of urine,



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sawdust, and sour beer. In an angle formed by a projecting
house-front three men were standing very close togeth-
er, the middle one of them holding a folded-up newspaper
which the other two were studying over his shoulder. Even
before he was near enough to make out the expression on
their faces, Winston could see absorption in every line of
their bodies. It was obviously some serious piece of news
that they were reading. He was a few paces away from them
when suddenly the group broke up and two of the men were
in violent altercation. For a moment they seemed almost on
the point of blows.

'Can't you bleeding well listen to what I say? I tell you
no number ending in seven ain't won for over fourteen
months!'

'Yes, it 'as, then!'

'No, it 'as not! Back 'ome I got the 'ole lot of 'em for over
two years wrote down on a piece of paper. I takes 'em down
reg'lar as the clock. An' I tell you, no number ending in
seven '

'Yes, a seven 'AS won! I could pretty near tell you the
bleeding number. Four oh seven, it ended in. It were in Feb-
ruary — second week in February.'

'February your grandmother! I got it all down in black
and white. An' I tell you, no number '

'Oh, pack it in!' said the third man.

They were talking about the Lottery. Winston looked
back when he had gone thirty metres. They were still ar-
guing, with vivid, passionate faces. The Lottery, with its
weekly pay-out of enormous prizes, was the one public event



1984



to which the proles paid serious attention. It was probable
that there were some millions of proles for whom the Lot-
tery was the principal if not the only reason for remaining
alive. It was their delight, their folly, their anodyne, their
intellectual stimulant. Where the Lottery was concerned,
even people who could barely read and write seemed capa-
ble of intricate calculations and staggering feats of memory.
There was a whole tribe of men who made a living simply by
selling systems, forecasts, and lucky amulets. Winston had
nothing to do with the running of the Lottery, which was
managed by the Ministry of Plenty, but he was aware (in-
deed everyone in the party was aware) that the prizes were
largely imaginary. Only small sums were actually paid out,
the winners of the big prizes being non-existent persons. In
the absence of any real intercommunication between one
part of Oceania and another, this was not difficult to ar-
range.

But if there was hope, it lay in the proles. You had to cling
on to that. When you put it in words it sounded reasonable:
it was when you looked at the human beings passing you on
the pavement that it became an act of faith. The street into
which he had turned ran downhill. He had a feeling that he
had been in this neighbourhood before, and that there was
a main thoroughfare not far away. From somewhere ahead
there came a din of shouting voices. The street took a sharp
turn and then ended in a flight of steps which led down into
a sunken alley where a few stall-keepers were selling tired-
looking vegetables. At this moment Winston remembered
where he was. The alley led out into the main street, and



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down the next turning, not five minutes away, was the junk-
shop where he had bought the blank book which was now
his diary. And in a small stationer's shop not far away he
had bought his penholder and his bottle of ink.

He paused for a moment at the top of the steps. On the
opposite side of the alley there was a dingy little pub whose
windows appeared to be frosted over but in reality were
merely coated with dust. A very old man, bent but active,
with white moustaches that bristled forward like those of a
prawn, pushed open the swing door and went in. As Win-
ston stood watching, it occurred to him that the old man,
who must be eighty at the least, had already been middle-
aged when the Revolution happened. He and a few others
like him were the last links that now existed with the van-
ished world of capitalism. In the Party itself there were not
many people left whose ideas had been formed before the
Revolution. The older generation had mostly been wiped out
in the great purges of the fifties and sixties, and the few who
survived had long ago been terrified into complete intellec-
tual surrender. If there was any one still alive who could
give you a truthful account of conditions in the early part
of the century, it could only be a prole. Suddenly the pas-
sage from the history book that he had copied into his diary
came back into Winston's mind, and a lunatic impulse took
hold of him. He would go into the pub, he would scrape ac-
quaintance with that old man and question him. He would
say to him: 'Tell me about your life when you were a boy.
What was it like in those days? Were things better than they
are now, or were they worse?'



1984



Hurriedly, lest he should have time to become frightened,
he descended the steps and crossed the narrow street. It
was madness of course. As usual, there was no definite rule
against talking to proles and frequenting their pubs, but it
was far too unusual an action to pass unnoticed. If the pa-
trols appeared he might plead an attack of faintness, but it
was not likely that they would believe him. He pushed open
the door, and a hideous cheesy smell of sour beer hit him in
the face. As he entered the din of voices dropped to about
half its volume. Behind his back he could feel everyone eye-
ing his blue overalls. A game of darts which was going on at
the other end of the room interrupted itself for perhaps as
much as thirty seconds. The old man whom he had followed
was standing at the bar, having some kind of altercation
with the barman, a large, stout, hook-nosed young man
with enormous forearms. A knot of others, standing round
with glasses in their hands, were watching the scene.

'I arst you civil enough, didn't I?' said the old man,
straightening his shoulders pugnaciously. 'You telling me
you ain't got a pint mug in the 'ole bleeding boozer?'

And what in hell's name IS a pint?' said the barman, lean-
ing forward with the tips of his fingers on the counter.

"Ark at 'im! Calls 'isself a barman and don't know what
a pint is! Why, a pint's the 'alf of a quart, and there's four
quarts to the gallon. Ave to teach you the A, B, C next.'

'Never heard of 'em,' said the barman shortly. 'Litre and
half litre — that's all we serve. There's the glasses on the shelf
in front of you.'

'I likes a pint,' persisted the old man. 'You could 'a drawed

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me off a pint easy enough. We didn't 'ave these bleeding li-
tres when I was a young man.'

'When you were a young man we were all living in the
treetops,' said the barman, with a glance at the other cus-
tomers.

There was a shout of laughter, and the uneasiness caused
by Winston's entry seemed to disappear. The old man's whit-
estubbled face had flushed pink. He turned away, muttering
to himself, and bumped into Winston. Winston caught him
gently by the arm.

'May I offer you a drink?' he said.

'You're a gent,' said the other, straightening his shoul-
ders again. He appeared not to have noticed Winston's blue
overalls. 'Pint!' he added aggressively to the barman. 'Pint
of wallop.'

The barman swished two half-litres of dark-brown beer
into thick glasses which he had rinsed in a bucket under
the counter. Beer was the only drink you could get in prole
pubs. The proles were supposed not to drink gin, though in
practice they could get hold of it easily enough. The game of
darts was in full swing again, and the knot of men at the bar
had begun talking about lottery tickets. Winston's presence
was forgotten for a moment. There was a deal table under
the window where he and the old man could talk without
fear of being overheard. It was horribly dangerous, but at
any rate there was no telescreen in the room, a point he had
made sure of as soon as he came in.

"E could 'a drawed me off a pint,' grumbled the old man
as he settled down behind a glass. 'A 'alf litre ain't enough. It



1984



don't satisfy. And a 'ole litre's too much. It starts my bladder
running. Let alone the price.'

'You must have seen great changes since you were a young
man,' said Winston tentatively.

The old man's pale blue eyes moved from the darts board
to the bar, and from the bar to the door of the Gents, as
though it were in the bar-room that he expected the chang-
es to have occurred.

'The beer was better,' he said finally. 'And cheaper! When
I was a young man, mild beer — wallop we used to call it —
was fourpence a pint. That was before the war, of course.'

'Which war was that?' said Winston.

'It's all wars,' said the old man vaguely. He took up his
glass, and his shoulders straightened again. "Ere's wishing
you the very best of 'ealth!'

In his lean throat the sharp-pointed Adam's apple made
a surprisingly rapid up-and-down movement, and the beer
vanished. Winston went to the bar and came back with two
more half-litres. The old man appeared to have forgotten
his prejudice against drinking a full litre.

'You are very much older than I am,' said Winston. 'You
must have been a grown man before I was born. You can
remember what it was like in the old days, before the Revo-
lution. People of my age don't really know anything about
those times. We can only read about them in books, and
what it says in the books may not be true. I should like your
opinion on that. The history books say that life before the
Revolution was completely different from what it is now.
There was the most terrible oppression, injustice, poverty

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worse than anything we can imagine. Here in London, the
great mass of the people never had enough to eat from birth
to death. Half of them hadn't even boots on their feet. They
worked twelve hours a day, they left school at nine, they
slept ten in a room. And at the same time there were a very
few people, only a few thousands — the capitalists, they were
called — who were rich and powerful. They owned every-
thing that there was to own. They lived in great gorgeous
houses with thirty servants, they rode about in motor-cars
and four-horse carriages, they drank champagne, they wore
top hats '

The old man brightened suddenly.

'Top 'ats!' he said. 'Funny you should mention 'em. The
same thing come into my 'ead only yesterday, I dono why. I
was jest thinking, I ain't seen a top 'at in years. Gorn right
out, they 'ave. The last time I wore one was at my sister-in-
law's funeral. And that was — well, I couldn't give you the
date, but it must 'a been fifty years ago. Of course it was only
'ired for the occasion, you understand.'

'It isn't very important about the top hats,' said Winston
patiently. 'The point is, these capitalists — they and a few
lawyers and priests and so forth who lived on them — were
the lords of the earth. Everything existed for their benefit.
You — the ordinary people, the workers — were their slaves.
They could do what they liked with you. They could ship
you off to Canada like cattle. They could sleep with your
daughters if they chose. They could order you to be flogged
with something called a cat-o'-nine tails. You had to take
your cap off when you passed them. Every capitalist went



1984



about with a gang of lackeys who '

The old man brightened again.

'Lackeys!' he said. 'Now there's a word I ain't 'eard since
ever so long. Lackeys! That reg'lar takes me back, that does.
I recollect oh, donkey's years ago — I used to sometimes go
to 'Yde Park of a Sunday afternoon to 'ear the blokes making
speeches. Salvation Army, Roman Catholics, Jews, Indi-
ans — all sorts there was. And there was one bloke — well, I
couldn't give you 'is name, but a real powerful speaker 'e
was. 'E didn't 'alf give it 'em! 'Lackeys!' 'e says, 'lackeys of
the bourgeoisie! Flunkies of the ruling class!' Parasites —
that was another of them. And 'yenas — 'e definitely called
'em 'yenas. Of course 'e was referring to the Labour Party,
you understand.'

Winston had the feeling that they were talking at cross-
purposes.

'What I really wanted to know was this,' he said. 'Do you
feel that you have more freedom now than you had in those
days? Are you treated more like a human being? In the old
days, the rich people, the people at the top '

'The 'Ouse of Lords,' put in the old man reminiscently

'The House of Lords, if you like. What I am asking is,
were these people able to treat you as an inferior, simply
because they were rich and you were poor? Is it a fact, for
instance, that you had to call them 'Sir' and take off your
cap when you passed them?'

The old man appeared to think deeply. He drank off
about a quarter of his beer before answering.

'Yes,' he said. 'They liked you to touch your cap to 'em.



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It showed respect, like. I didn't agree with it, myself, but I
done it often enough. Had to, as you might say'

'And was it usual — I'm only quoting what I've read in his-
tory books — was it usual for these people and their servants
to push you off the pavement into the gutter?'

'One of 'em pushed me once,' said the old man. 'I recol-
lect it as if it was yesterday. It was Boat Race night — terribly
rowdy they used to get on Boat Race night — and I bumps
into a young bloke on Shaftesbury Avenue. Quite a gent,
'e was — dress shirt, top 'at, black overcoat. 'E was kind of
zig-zagging across the pavement, and I bumps into 'im acci-
dental-like. 'E says, 'Why can't you look where you're going?'
'e says. I say, 'Ju think you've bought the bleeding pavement?'
'E says, 'I'll twist your bloody 'ead off if you get fresh with
me.' I says, 'You're drunk. I'll give you in charge in 'alf a
minute,' I says. An' if you'll believe me, 'e puts 'is 'and on my
chest and gives me a shove as pretty near sent me under the
wheels of a bus. Well, I was young in them days, and I was
going to 'ave fetched 'im one, only '

A sense of helplessness took hold of Winston. The old
man's memory was nothing but a rubbish-heap of details.
One could question him all day without getting any real
information. The party histories might still be true, after a
fashion: they might even be completely true. He made a last
attempt.

'Perhaps I have not made myself clear,' he said. What I'm
trying to say is this. You have been alive a very long time;
you lived half your life before the Revolution. In 1925, for
instance, you were already grown up. Would you say from



1984



what you can remember, that life in 1925 was better than it
is now, or worse? If you could choose, would you prefer to
live then or now?'

The old man looked meditatively at the darts board. He
finished up his beer, more slowly than before. When he
spoke it was with a tolerant philosophical air, as though the
beer had mellowed him.

'I know what you expect me to say,' he said. 'You expect
me to say as I'd sooner be young again. Most people'd say
they'd sooner be young, if you arst' 'em. You got your 'ealth
and strength when you're young. When you get to my time
of life you ain't never well. I suffer something wicked from
my feet, and my bladder's jest terrible. Six and seven times
a night it 'as me out of bed. On the other 'and, there's great
advantages in being a old man. You ain't got the same wor-
ries. No truck with women, and that's a great thing. I ain't
'ad a woman for near on thirty year, if you'd credit it. Nor
wanted to, what's more.'

Winston sat back against the window-sill. It was no use
going on. He was about to buy some more beer when the old
man suddenly got up and shuffled rapidly into the stink-
ing urinal at the side of the room. The extra half-litre was
already working on him. Winston sat for a minute or two
gazing at his empty glass, and hardly noticed when his feet
carried him out into the street again. Within twenty years
at the most, he reflected, the huge and simple question,
'Was life better before the Revolution than it is now?' would
have ceased once and for all to be answerable. But in effect
it was unanswerable even now, since the few scattered sur-

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vivors from the ancient world were incapable of comparing
one age with another. They remembered a million useless
things, a quarrel with a workmate, a hunt for a lost bicy-
cle pump, the expression on a long- dead sister's face, the
swirls of dust on a windy morning seventy years ago: but
all the relevant facts were outside the range of their vision.
They were like the ant, which can see small objects but not
large ones. And when memory failed and written records
were falsified — when that happened, the claim of the Party
to have improved the conditions of human life had got to be
accepted, because there did not exist, and never again could
exist, any standard against which it could be tested.

At this moment his train of thought stopped abruptly.
He halted and looked up. He was in a narrow street, with a
few dark little shops, interspersed among dwelling-houses.
Immediately above his head there hung three discoloured
metal balls which looked as if they had once been gilded.
He seemed to know the place. Of course! He was standing
outside the junk-shop where he had bought the diary.

A twinge of fear went through him. It had been a suf-
ficiently rash act to buy the book in the beginning, and he
had sworn never to come near the place again. And yet the
instant that he allowed his thoughts to wander, his feet had
brought him back here of their own accord. It was precisely
against suicidal impulses of this kind that he had hoped to
guard himself by opening the diary. At the same time he
noticed that although it was nearly twenty-one hours the
shop was still open. With the feeling that he would be less
conspicuous inside than hanging about on the pavement,



1984



he stepped through the doorway. If questioned, he could
plausibly say that he was trying to buy razor blades.

The proprietor had just lighted a hanging oil lamp which
gave off an unclean but friendly smell. He was a man of per-
haps sixty, frail and bowed, with a long, benevolent nose,
and mild eyes distorted by thick spectacles. His hair was al-
most white, but his eyebrows were bushy and still black. His
spectacles, his gentle, fussy movements, and the fact that he
was wearing an aged jacket of black velvet, gave him a vague
air of intellectuality, as though he had been some kind of
literary man, or perhaps a musician. His voice was soft, as
though faded, and his accent less debased than that of the
majority of proles.

'I recognized you on the pavement,' he said immediately.
'You're the gentleman that bought the young lady's keepsake
album. That was a beautiful bit of paper, that was. Cream-
laid, it used to be called. There's been no paper like that
made for — oh, I dare say fifty years.' He peered at Winston
over the top of his spectacles. 'Is there anything special I
can do for you? Or did you just want to look round?'

'I was passing,' said Winston vaguely. 'I just looked in. I
don't want anything in particular.'

'It's just as well,' said the other, 'because I don't suppose
I could have satisfied you.' He made an apologetic gesture
with his softpalmed hand. 'You see how it is; an empty shop,
you might say. Between you and me, the antique trade's just
about finished. No demand any longer, and no stock either.
Furniture, china, glass it's all been broken up by degrees.
And of course the metal stuff's mostly been melted down. I



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haven't seen a brass candlestick in years.'

The tiny interior of the shop was in fact uncomfortably
full, but there was almost nothing in it of the slightest val-
ue. The floorspace was very restricted, because all round
the walls were stacked innumerable dusty picture-frames.
In the window there were trays of nuts and bolts, worn-out
chisels, penknives with broken blades, tarnished watches
that did not even pretend to be in going order, and other
miscellaneous rubbish. Only on a small table in the corner
was there a litter of odds and ends — lacquered snuffbox-
es, agate brooches, and the like — which looked as though
they might include something interesting. As Winston
wandered towards the table his eye was caught by a round,
smooth thing that gleamed softly in the lamplight, and he
picked it up.

It was a heavy lump of glass, curved on one side, flat
on the other, making almost a hemisphere. There was a
peculiar softness, as of rainwater, in both the colour and
the texture of the glass. At the heart of it, magnified by the
curved surface, there was a strange, pink, convoluted object
that recalled a rose or a sea anemone.

'What is it?' said Winston, fascinated.

'That's coral, that is,' said the old man. 'It must have come
from the Indian Ocean. They used to kind of embed it in
the glass. That wasn't made less than a hundred years ago.
More, by the look of it.'

'It's a beautiful thing,' said Winston.

'It is a beautiful thing,' said the other appreciatively. 'But
there's not many that' d say so nowadays.' He coughed. 'Now,



1984



if it so happened that you wanted to buy it, that'd cost you
four dollars. I can remember when a thing like that would
have fetched eight pounds, and eight pounds was — well, I
can't work it out, but it was a lot of money. But who cares
about genuine antiques nowadays — even the few that's
left?'

Winston immediately paid over the four dollars and slid
the coveted thing into his pocket. What appealed to him
about it was not so much its beauty as the air it seemed to
possess of belonging to an age quite different from the pres-
ent one. The soft, rainwatery glass was not like any glass that
he had ever seen. The thing was doubly attractive because
of its apparent uselessness, though he could guess that it
must once have been intended as a paperweight. It was very
heavy in his pocket, but fortunately it did not make much
of a bulge. It was a queer thing, even a compromising thing,
for a Party member to have in his possession. Anything old,
and for that matter anything beautiful, was always vaguely
suspect. The old man had grown noticeably more cheerful
after receiving the four dollars. Winston realized that he
would have accepted three or even two.

'There's another room upstairs that you might care to
take a look at,' he said. "There's not much in it. Just a few
pieces. We'll do with a light if we're going upstairs.'

He lit another lamp, and, with bowed back, led the way
slowly up the steep and worn stairs and along a tiny passage,
into a room which did not give on the street but looked out
on a cobbled yard and a forest of chimney-pots. Winston
noticed that the furniture was still arranged as though the

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room were meant to be lived in. There was a strip of car-
pet on the floor, a picture or two on the walls, and a deep,
slatternly arm-chair drawn up to the fireplace. An old-fash-
ioned glass clock with a twelve-hour face was ticking away
on the mantelpiece. Under the window, and occupying
nearly a quarter of the room, was an enormous bed with
the mattress still on it.

'We lived here till my wife died,' said the old man half
apologetically. 'I'm selling the furniture off by little and
little. Now that's a beautiful mahogany bed, or at least it
would be if you could get the bugs out of it. But I dare say
you'd find it a little bit cumbersome.'

He was holding the lamp high up, so as to illuminate the
whole room, and in the warm dim light the place looked
curiously inviting. The thought flitted through Winston's
mind that it would probably be quite easy to rent the room
for a few dollars a week, if he dared to take the risk. It was a
wild, impossible notion, to be abandoned as soon as thought
of; but the room had awakened in him a sort of nostalgia, a
sort of ancestral memory. It seemed to him that he knew
exactly what it felt like to sit in a room like this, in an arm-
chair beside an open fire with your feet in the fender and a
kettle on the hob; utterly alone, utterly secure, with nobody
watching you, no voice pursuing you, no sound except the
singing of the kettle and the friendly ticking of the clock.

'There's no telescreen!' he could not help murmuring.

'Ah,' said the old man, 'I never had one of those things.
Too expensive. And I never seemed to feel the need of it,
somehow. Now that's a nice gateleg table in the corner there.



1984



Though of course you'd have to put new hinges on it if you
wanted to use the flaps.'

There was a small bookcase in the other corner, and
Winston had already gravitated towards it. It contained
nothing but rubbish. The hunting-down and destruction of
books had been done with the same thoroughness in the
prole quarters as everywhere else. It was very unlikely that
there existed anywhere in Oceania a copy of a book printed
earlier than 1960. The old man, still carrying the lamp, was
standing in front of a picture in a rosewood frame which
hung on the other side of the fireplace, opposite the bed.

'Now, if you happen to be interested in old prints at all —
— ' he began delicately.

Winston came across to examine the picture. It was a
steel engraving of an oval building with rectangular win-
dows, and a small tower in front. There was a railing
running round the building, and at the rear end there was
what appeared to be a statue. Winston gazed at it for some
moments. It seemed vaguely familiar, though he did not re-
member the statue.

'The frame's fixed to the wall,' said the old man, 'but I
could unscrew it for you, I dare say'

'I know that building,' said Winston finally. 'It's a ruin
now. It's in the middle of the street outside the Palace of
Justice.'

'That's right. Outside the Law Courts. It was bombed in —
oh, many years ago. It was a church at one time, St Clement
Danes, its name was.' He smiled apologetically, as though
conscious of saying something slightly ridiculous, and add-

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ed: 'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's!'

'What's that?' said Winston.

'Oh — 'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's.'
That was a rhyme we had when I was a little boy. How it goes
on I don't remember, but I do know it ended up, 'Here comes
a candle to light you to bed, Here comes a chopper to chop
off your head.' It was a kind of a dance. They held out their
arms for you to pass under, and when they came to 'Here
comes a chopper to chop off your head' they brought their
arms down and caught you. It was just names of churches.
All the London churches were in it — all the principal ones,
that is.'

Winston wondered vaguely to what century the church
belonged. It was always difficult to determine the age of a
London building. Anything large and impressive, if it was
reasonably new in appearance, was automatically claimed
as having been built since the Revolution, while anything
that was obviously of earlier date was ascribed to some dim
period called the Middle Ages. The centuries of capitalism
were held to have produced nothing of any value. One could
not learn history from architecture any more than one
could learn it from books. Statues, inscriptions, memori-
al stones, the names of streets — anything that might throw
light upon the past had been systematically altered.

'I never knew it had been a church,' he said.

'There's a lot of them left, really' said the old man, 'though
they've been put to other uses. Now, how did that rhyme go?
Ah! I've got it!

'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's, You



1984



owe me three farthings, say the bells of St Martin's '

there, now, that's as far as I can get. A farthing, that was
a small copper coin, looked something like a cent.'

'Where was St Martin's?' said Winston.

'St Martin's? That's still standing. It's in Victory Square,
alongside the picture gallery. A building with a kind of a tri-
angular porch and pillars in front, and a big flight of steps.'

Winston knew the place well. It was a museum used
for propaganda displays of various kinds — scale models of
rocket bombs and Floating Fortresses, waxwork tableaux il-
lustrating enemy atrocities, and the like.

'St Martin's-in-the-Fields it used to be called,' supple-
mented the old man, 'though I don't recollect any fields
anywhere in those parts.'

Winston did not buy the picture. It would have been an
even more incongruous possession than the glass paper-
weight, and impossible to carry home, unless it were taken
out of its frame. But he lingered for some minutes more,
talking to the old man, whose name, he discovered, was not
Weeks — as one might have gathered from the inscription
over the shop-front — but Charrington. Mr Charrington, it
seemed, was a widower aged sixty-three and had inhabit-
ed this shop for thirty years. Throughout that time he had
been intending to alter the name over the window, but had
never quite got to the point of doing it. All the while that
they were talking the half-remembered rhyme kept run-
ning through Winston's head. Oranges and lemons say the
bells of St Clement's, You owe me three farthings, say the
bells of St Martin's! It was curious, but when you said it to



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yourself you had the illusion of actually hearing bells, the
bells of a lost London that still existed somewhere or other,
disguised and forgotten. From one ghostly steeple after an-
other he seemed to hear them pealing forth. Yet so far as
he could remember he had never in real life heard church
bells ringing.

He got away from Mr Charrington and went down the
stairs alone, so as not to let the old man see him recon-
noitring the street before stepping out of the door. He had
already made up his mind that after a suitable interval — a
month, say — he would take the risk of visiting the shop
again. It was perhaps not more dangerous than shirking an
evening at the Centre. The serious piece of folly had been to
come back here in the first place, after buying the diary and
without knowing whether the proprietor of the shop could
be trusted. However !

Yes, he thought again, he would come back. He would
buy further scraps of beautiful rubbish. He would buy the
engraving of St Clement Danes, take it out of its frame, and
carry it home concealed under the jacket of his overalls. He
would drag the rest of that poem out of Mr Charrington's
memory. Even the lunatic project of renting the room up-
stairs flashed momentarily through his mind again. For
perhaps five seconds exaltation made him careless, and he
stepped out on to the pavement without so much as a pre-
liminary glance through the window. He had even started
humming to an improvised tune

Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's, You
owe me three farthings, say the



1984



Suddenly his heart seemed to turn to ice and his bow-
els to water. A figure in blue overalls was coming down
the pavement, not ten metres away. It was the girl from the
Fiction Department, the girl with dark hair. The light was
failing, but there was no difficulty in recognizing her. She
looked him straight in the face, then walked quickly on as
though she had not seen him.

For a few seconds Winston was too paralysed to move.
Then he turned to the right and walked heavily away, not
noticing for the moment that he was going in the wrong
direction. At any rate, one question was settled. There was
no doubting any longer that the girl was spying on him. She
must have followed him here, because it was not credible
that by pure chance she should have happened to be walk-
ing on the same evening up the same obscure backstreet,
kilometres distant from any quarter where Party members
lived. It was too great a coincidence. Whether she was really
an agent of the Thought Police, or simply an amateur spy
actuated by officiousness, hardly mattered. It was enough
that she was watching him. Probably she had seen him go
into the pub as well.

It was an effort to walk. The lump of glass in his pocket
banged against his thigh at each step, and he was half mind-
ed to take it out and throw it away. The worst thing was the
pain in his belly. For a couple of minutes he had the feeling
that he would die if he did not reach a lavatory soon. But
there would be no public lavatories in a quarter like this.
Then the spasm passed, leaving a dull ache behind.

The street was a blind alley. Winston halted, stood



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for several seconds wondering vaguely what to do, then
turned round and began to retrace his steps. As he turned
it occurred to him that the girl had only passed him three
minutes ago and that by running he could probably catch
up with her. He could keep on her track till they were in
some quiet place, and then smash her skull in with a cob-
blestone. The piece of glass in his pocket would be heavy
enough for the job. But he abandoned the idea immediately,
because even the thought of making any physical effort was
unbearable. He could not run, he could not strike a blow.
Besides, she was young and lusty and would defend herself.
He thought also of hurrying to the Community Centre and
staying there till the place closed, so as to establish a partial
alibi for the evening. But that too was impossible. A deadly
lassitude had taken hold of him. All he wanted was to get
home quickly and then sit down and be quiet.

It was after twenty-two hours when he got back to the
flat. The lights would be switched off at the main at twenty-
three thirty. He went into the kitchen and swallowed nearly
a teacupful of Victory Gin. Then he went to the table in the
alcove, sat down, and took the diary out of the drawer. But
he did not open it at once. From the telescreen a brassy fe-
male voice was squalling a patriotic song. He sat staring at
the marbled cover of the book, trying without success to
shut the voice out of his consciousness.

It was at night that they came for you, always at night. The
proper thing was to kill yourself before they got you. Un-
doubtedly some people did so. Many of the disappearances
were actually suicides. But it needed desperate courage to



1984



kill yourself in a world where firearms, or any quick and
certain poison, were completely unprocurable. He thought
with a kind of astonishment of the biological uselessness
of pain and fear, the treachery of the human body which
always freezes into inertia at exactly the moment when a
special effort is needed. He might have silenced the dark-
haired girl if only he had acted quickly enough: but precisely
because of the extremity of his danger he had lost the power
to act. It struck him that in moments of crisis one is nev-
er fighting against an external enemy, but always against
one's own body. Even now, in spite of the gin, the dull ache
in his belly made consecutive thought impossible. And it
is the same, he perceived, in all seemingly heroic or trag-
ic situations. On the battlefield, in the torture chamber, on
a sinking ship, the issues that you are fighting for are al-
ways forgotten, because the body swells up until it fills the
universe, and even when you are not paralysed by fright or
screaming with pain, life is a moment-to-moment struggle
against hunger or cold or sleeplessness, against a sour stom-
ach or an aching tooth.

He opened the diary. It was important to write some-
thing down. The woman on the telescreen had started a new
song. Her voice seemed to stick into his brain like jagged
splinters of glass. He tried to think of O'Brien, for whom,
or to whom, the diary was written, but instead he began
thinking of the things that would happen to him after the
Thought Police took him away. It would not matter if they
killed you at once. To be killed was what you expected. But
before death (nobody spoke of such things, yet everybody

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 129



knew of them) there was the routine of confession that had
to be gone through: the grovelling on the floor and scream-
ing for mercy, the crack of broken bones, the smashed teeth,
and bloody clots of hair.

Why did you have to endure it, since the end was al-
ways the same? Why was it not possible to cut a few days
or weeks out of your life? Nobody ever escaped detection,
and nobody ever failed to confess. When once you had suc-
cumbed to thoughtcrime it was certain that by a given date
you would be dead. Why then did that horror, which altered
nothing, have to lie embedded in future time?

He tried with a little more success than before to sum-
mon up the image of O'Brien. 'We shall meet in the place
where there is no darkness,' O'Brien had said to him. He
knew what it meant, or thought he knew. The place where
there is no darkness was the imagined future, which one
would never see, but which, by foreknowledge, one could
mystically share in. But with the voice from the telescreen
nagging at his ears he could not follow the train of thought
further. He put a cigarette in his mouth. Half the tobacco
promptly fell out on to his tongue, a bitter dust which was
difficult to spit out again. The face of Big Brother swam into
his mind, displacing that of O'Brien. Just as he had done a
few days earlier, he slid a coin out of his pocket and looked
at it. The face gazed up at him, heavy, calm, protecting: but
what kind of smile was hidden beneath the dark moustache?
Like a leaden knell the words came back at him:

WAR IS PEACE

130 1984



FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH



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Part Two



1984



Chapter i



It was the middle of the morning, and Winston had left
the cubicle to go to the lavatory.

A solitary figure was coming towards him from the oth-
er end of the long, brightly- lit corridor. It was the girl with
dark hair. Four days had gone past since the evening when
he had run into her outside the junk-shop. As she came
nearer he saw that her right arm was in a sling, not notice-
able at a distance because it was of the same colour as her
overalls. Probably she had crushed her hand while swing-
ing round one of the big kaleidoscopes on which the plots
of novels were 'roughed in'. It was a common accident in the
Fiction Department.

They were perhaps four metres apart when the girl stum-
bled and fell almost flat on her face. A sharp cry of pain was
wrung out of her. She must have fallen right on the injured
arm. Winston stopped short. The girl had risen to her knees.
Her face had turned a milky yellow colour against which
her mouth stood out redder than ever. Her eyes were fixed
on his, with an appealing expression that looked more like
fear than pain.

A curious emotion stirred in Winston's heart. In front of
him was an enemy who was trying to kill him: in front of
him, also, was a human creature, in pain and perhaps with
a broken bone. Already he had instinctively started forward

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 133



to help her. In the moment when he had seen her fall on the
bandaged arm, it had been as though he felt the pain in his
own body.

'You're hurt?' he said.

'It's nothing. My arm. It'll be all right in a second.'

She spoke as though her heart were fluttering. She had
certainly turned very pale.

'You haven't broken anything?'

'No, I'm all right. It hurt for a moment, that's all.'

She held out her free hand to him, and he helped her up.
She had regained some of her colour, and appeared very
much better.

'It's nothing,' she repeated shortly. 'I only gave my wrist a
bit of a bang. Thanks, comrade!'

And with that she walked on in the direction in which
she had been going, as briskly as though it had really been
nothing. The whole incident could not have taken as much
as half a minute. Not to let one's feelings appear in one's
face was a habit that had acquired the status of an instinct,
and in any case they had been standing straight in front of
a telescreen when the thing happened. Nevertheless it had
been very difficult not to betray a momentary surprise, for
in the two or three seconds while he was helping her up
the girl had slipped something into his hand. There was no
question that she had done it intentionally. It was some-
thing small and flat. As he passed through the lavatory door
he transferred it to his pocket and felt it with the tips of his
fingers. It was a scrap of paper folded into a square.

While he stood at the urinal he managed, with a little



1984



more fingering, to get it unfolded. Obviously there must be
a message of some kind written on it. For a moment he was
tempted to take it into one of the water-closets and read it
at once. But that would be shocking folly, as he well knew.
There was no place where you could be more certain that
the telescreens were watched continuously.

He went back to his cubicle, sat down, threw the frag-
ment of paper casually among the other papers on the desk,
put on his spectacles and hitched the speakwrite towards
him. 'Five minutes,' he told himself, 'five minutes at the
very least!' His heart bumped in his breast with frightening
loudness. Fortunately the piece of work he was engaged on
was mere routine, the rectification of a long list of figures,
not needing close attention.

Whatever was written on the paper, it must have some
kind of political meaning. So far as he could see there were
two possibilities. One, much the more likely, was that the
girl was an agent of the Thought Police, just as he had feared.
He did not know why the Thought Police should choose to
deliver their messages in such a fashion, but perhaps they
had their reasons. The thing that was written on the paper
might be a threat, a summons, an order to commit suicide,
a trap of some description. But there was another, wilder
possibility that kept raising its head, though he tried vain-
ly to suppress it. This was, that the message did not come
from the Thought Police at all, but from some kind of un-
derground organization. Perhaps the Brotherhood existed
after all! Perhaps the girl was part of it! No doubt the idea
was absurd, but it had sprung into his mind in the very in-



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stant of feeling the scrap of paper in his hand. It was not till
a couple of minutes later that the other, more probable ex-
planation had occurred to him. And even now, though his
intellect told him that the message probably meant death —
still, that was not what he believed, and the unreasonable
hope persisted, and his heart banged, and it was with diffi-
culty that he kept his voice from trembling as he murmured
his figures into the speakwrite.

He rolled up the completed bundle of work and slid it
into the pneumatic tube. Eight minutes had gone by. He re-
adjusted his spectacles on his nose, sighed, and drew the
next batch of work towards him, with the scrap of paper on
top of it. He flattened it out. On it was written, in a large un-
formed handwriting:

I LOVE YOU.

For several seconds he was too stunned even to throw
the incriminating thing into the memory hole. When he
did so, although he knew very well the danger of showing
too much interest, he could not resist reading it once again,
just to make sure that the words were really there.

For the rest of the morning it was very difficult to work.
What was even worse than having to focus his mind on a
series of niggling jobs was the need to conceal his agitation
from the telescreen. He felt as though a fire were burning
in his belly. Lunch in the hot, crowded, noise-filled canteen
was torment. He had hoped to be alone for a little while
during the lunch hour, but as bad luck would have it the

136 1984



imbecile Parsons flopped down beside him, the tang of his
sweat almost defeating the tinny smell of stew, and kept up
a stream of talk about the preparations for Hate Week. He
was particularly enthusiastic about a papier-mache model of
Big Brother's head, two metres wide, which was being made
for the occasion by his daughter's troop of Spies. The irri-
tating thing was that in the racket of voices Winston could
hardly hear what Parsons was saying, and was constantly
having to ask for some fatuous remark to be repeated. Just
once he caught a glimpse of the girl, at a table with two oth-
er girls at the far end of the room. She appeared not to have
seen him, and he did not look in that direction again.

The afternoon wasmorebearable.Immediatelyafter lunch
there arrived a delicate, difficult piece of work which would
take several hours and necessitated putting everything else
aside. It consisted in falsifying a series of production re-
ports of two years ago, in such a way as to cast discredit on a
prominent member of the Inner Party, who was now under
a cloud. This was the kind of thing that Winston was good
at, and for more than two hours he succeeded in shutting
the girl out of his mind altogether. Then the memory of her
face came back, and with it a raging, intolerable desire to
be alone. Until he could be alone it was impossible to think
this new development out. Tonight was one of his nights at
the Community Centre. He wolfed another tasteless meal
in the canteen, hurried off to the Centre, took part in the
solemn foolery of a 'discussion group', played two games
of table tennis, swallowed several glasses of gin, and sat for
half an hour through a lecture entitled 'Ingsoc in relation to



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chess'. His soul writhed with boredom, but for once he had
had no impulse to shirk his evening at the Centre. At the
sight of the words I LOVE YOU the desire to stay alive had
welled up in him, and the taking of minor risks suddenly
seemed stupid. It was not till twenty-three hours, when he
was home and in bed — in the darkness, where you were safe
even from the telescreen so long as you kept silent — that he
was able to think continuously.

It was a physical problem that had to be solved: how to
get in touch with the girl and arrange a meeting. He did
not consider any longer the possibility that she might be
laying some kind of trap for him. He knew that it was not
so, because of her unmistakable agitation when she handed
him the note. Obviously she had been frightened out of her
wits, as well she might be. Nor did the idea of refusing her
advances even cross his mind. Only five nights ago he had
contemplated smashing her skull in with a cobblestone, but
that was of no importance. He thought of her naked, youth-
ful body, as he had seen it in his dream. He had imagined
her a fool like all the rest of them, her head stuffed with lies
and hatred, her belly full of ice. A kind of fever seized him at
the thought that he might lose her, the white youthful body
might slip away from him! What he feared more than any-
thing else was that she would simply change her mind if he
did not get in touch with her quickly. But the physical dif-
ficulty of meeting was enormous. It was like trying to make
a move at chess when you were already mated. Whichever
way you turned, the telescreen faced you. Actually, all the
possible ways of communicating with her had occurred to

138 1984



him within five minutes of reading the note; but now, with
time to think, he went over them one by one, as though lay-
ing out a row of instruments on a table.

Obviously the kind of encounter that had happened this
morning could not be repeated. If she had worked in the Re-
cords Department it might have been comparatively simple,
but he had only a very dim idea whereabouts in the building
the Fiction Department lay, and he had no pretext for going
there. If he had known where she lived, and at what time
she left work, he could have contrived to meet her some-
where on her way home; but to try to follow her home was
not safe, because it would mean loitering about outside the
Ministry, which was bound to be noticed. As for sending
a letter through the mails, it was out of the question. By
a routine that was not even secret, all letters were opened
in transit. Actually, few people ever wrote letters. For the
messages that it was occasionally necessary to send, there
were printed postcards with long lists of phrases, and you
struck out the ones that were inapplicable. In any case he
did not know the girl's name, let alone her address. Final-
ly he decided that the safest place was the canteen. If he
could get her at a table by herself, somewhere in the middle
of the room, not too near the telescreens, and with a suf-
ficient buzz of conversation all round — if these conditions
endured for, say, thirty seconds, it might be possible to ex-
change a few words.

For a week after this, life was like a restless dream. On
the next day she did not appear in the canteen until he
was leaving it, the whistle having already blown. Presum-



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ably she had been changed on to a later shift. They passed
each other without a glance. On the day after that she was
in the canteen at the usual time, but with three other girls
and immediately under a telescreen. Then for three dread-
ful days she did not appear at all. His whole mind and body
seemed to be afflicted with an unbearable sensitivity, a sort
of transparency, which made every movement, every sound,
every contact, every word that he had to speak or listen
to, an agony. Even in sleep he could not altogether escape
from her image. He did not touch the diary during those
days. If there was any relief, it was in his work, in which he
could sometimes forget himself for ten minutes at a stretch.
He had absolutely no clue as to what had happened to her.
There was no enquiry he could make. She might have been
vaporized, she might have committed suicide, she might
have been transferred to the other end of Oceania: worst
and likeliest of all, she might simply have changed her mind
and decided to avoid him.

The next day she reappeared. Her arm was out of the sling
and she had a band of sticking-plaster round her wrist. The
relief of seeing her was so great that he could not resist star-
ing directly at her for several seconds. On the following day
he very nearly succeeded in speaking to her. When he came
into the canteen she was sitting at a table well out from the
wall, and was quite alone. It was early, and the place was
not very full. The queue edged forward till Winston was
almost at the counter, then was held up for two minutes
because someone in front was complaining that he had not
received his tablet of saccharine. But the girl was still alone



1984



when Winston secured his tray and began to make for her
table. He walked casually towards her, his eyes searching
for a place at some table beyond her. She was perhaps three
metres away from him. Another two seconds would do it.
Then a voice behind him called, 'Smith!' He pretended not
to hear. 'Smith!' repeated the voice, more loudly. It was no
use. He turned round. A blond-headed, silly-faced young
man named Wilsher, whom he barely knew, was inviting
him with a smile to a vacant place at his table. It was not
safe to refuse. After having been recognized, he could not
go and sit at a table with an unattended girl. It was too no-
ticeable. He sat down with a friendly smile. The silly blond
face beamed into his. Winston had a hallucination of him-
self smashing a pick-axe right into the middle of it. The
girl's table filled up a few minutes later.

But she must have seen him coming towards her, and
perhaps she would take the hint. Next day he took care to
arrive early. Surely enough, she was at a table in about the
same place, and again alone. The person immediately ahead
of him in the queue was a small, swiftly-moving, beetle-like
man with a flat face and tiny, suspicious eyes. As Winston
turned away from the counter with his tray, he saw that the
little man was making straight for the girl's table. His hopes
sank again. There was a vacant place at a table further away,
but something in the little man's appearance suggested
that he would be sufficiently attentive to his own comfort
to choose the emptiest table. With ice at his heart Winston
followed. It was no use unless he could get the girl alone.
At this moment there was a tremendous crash. The little



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man was sprawling on all fours, his tray had gone flying,
two streams of soup and coffee were flowing across the floor.
He started to his feet with a malignant glance at Winston,
whom he evidently suspected of having tripped him up. But
it was all right. Five seconds later, with a thundering heart,
Winston was sitting at the girl's table.

He did not look at her. He unpacked his tray and prompt-
ly began eating. It was all-important to speak at once,
before anyone else came, but now a terrible fear had taken
possession of him. A week had gone by since she had first
approached him. She would have changed her mind, she
must have changed her mind! It was impossible that this af-
fair should end successfully; such things did not happen in
real life. He might have flinched altogether from speaking if
at this moment he had not seen Ampleforth, the hairy-eared
poet, wandering limply round the room with a tray, look-
ing for a place to sit down. In his vague way Ampleforth
was attached to Winston, and would certainly sit down at
his table if he caught sight of him. There was perhaps a min-
ute in which to act. Both Winston and the girl were eating
steadily. The stuff they were eating was a thin stew, actually
a soup, of haricot beans. In a low murmur Winston began
speaking. Neither of them looked up; steadily they spooned
the watery stuff into their mouths, and between spoonfuls
exchanged the few necessary words in low expressionless
voices.

'What time do you leave work?'

'Eighte en -thirty.'

'Where can we meet?'



1984



'Victory Square, near the monument.'

'It's full of telescreens.'

'It doesn't matter if there's a crowd.'

'Any signal?'

'No. Don't come up to me until you see me among a lot
of people. And don't look at me. Just keep somewhere near
me.'

"What time?'

'Nineteen hours.'

All right.'

Ampleforth failed to see Winston and sat down at an-
other table. They did not speak again, and, so far as it was
possible for two people sitting on opposite sides of the same
table, they did not look at one another. The girl finished her
lunch quickly and made off, while Winston stayed to smoke
a cigarette.

Winston was in Victory Square before the appointed
time. He wandered round the base of the enormous flut-
ed column, at the top of which Big Brother's statue gazed
southward towards the skies where he had vanquished the
Eurasian aeroplanes (the Eastasian aeroplanes, it had been,
a few years ago) in the Battle of Airstrip One. In the street
in front of it there was a statue of a man on horseback which
was supposed to represent Oliver Cromwell. At five minutes
past the hour the girl had still not appeared. Again the ter-
rible fear seized upon Winston. She was not coming, she
had changed her mind! He walked slowly up to the north
side of the square and got a sort of pale-coloured pleasure
from identifying St Martin's Church, whose bells, when it

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had bells, had chimed 'You owe me three farthings.' Then
he saw the girl standing at the base of the monument, read-
ing or pretending to read a poster which ran spirally up the
column. It was not safe to go near her until some more peo-
ple had accumulated. There were telescreens all round the
pediment. But at this moment there was a din of shouting
and a zoom of heavy vehicles from somewhere to the left.
Suddenly everyone seemed to be running across the square.
The girl nipped nimbly round the lions at the base of the
monument and joined in the rush. Winston followed. As he
ran, he gathered from some shouted remarks that a convoy
of Eurasian prisoners was passing.

Already a dense mass of people was blocking the south
side of the square. Winston, at normal times the kind of
person who gravitates to the outer edge of any kind of
scrimmage, shoved, butted, squirmed his way forward into
the heart of the crowd. Soon he was within arm's length of
the girl, but the way was blocked by an enormous prole and
an almost equally enormous woman, presumably his wife,
who seemed to form an impenetrable wall of flesh. Winston
wriggled himself sideways, and with a violent lunge man-
aged to drive his shoulder between them. For a moment it
felt as though his entrails were being ground to pulp be-
tween the two muscular hips, then he had broken through,
sweating a little. He was next to the girl. They were shoulder
to shoulder, both staring fixedly in front of them.

A long line of trucks, with wooden-faced guards armed
with sub -machine guns standing upright in each corner, was
passing slowly down the street. In the trucks little yellow



1984



men in shabby greenish uniforms were squatting, jammed
close together. Their sad, Mongolian faces gazed out over
the sides of the trucks utterly incurious. Occasionally when
a truck jolted there was a clank-clank of metal: all the pris-
oners were wearing leg-irons. Truck-load after truck-load of
the sad faces passed. Winston knew they were there but he
saw them only intermittently. The girl's shoulder, and her
arm right down to the elbow, were pressed against his. Her
cheek was almost near enough for him to feel its warmth.
She had immediately taken charge of the situation, just as
she had done in the canteen. She began speaking in the
same expressionless voice as before, with lips barely mov-
ing, a mere murmur easily drowned by the din of voices and
the rumbling of the trucks.

'Can you hear me?'

'Yes.'

'Can you get Sunday afternoon off?'

'Yes.'

'Then listen carefully. You'll have to remember this. Go
to Paddington Station '

With a sort of military precision that astonished him, she
outlined the route that he was to follow. A half-hour railway
journey; turn left outside the station; two kilometres along
the road; a gate with the top bar missing; a path across a
field; a grass-grown lane; a track between bushes; a dead
tree with moss on it. It was as though she had a map inside
her head. 'Can you remember all that?' she murmured fi-
nally.

'Yes.'



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'You turn left, then right, then left again. And the gate's
got no top bar.'

'Yes. What time?'

'About fifteen. You may have to wait. I'll get there by an-
other way. Are you sure you remember everything?'

'Yes.'

'Then get away from me as quick as you can.'

She need not have told him that. But for the moment
they could not extricate themselves from the crowd. The
trucks were still filing past, the people still insatiably gap-
ing. At the start there had been a few boos and hisses, but
it came only from the Party members among the crowd,
and had soon stopped. The prevailing emotion was simply
curiosity. Foreigners, whether from Eurasia or from Easta-
sia, were a kind of strange animal. One literally never saw
them except in the guise of prisoners, and even as prison-
ers one never got more than a momentary glimpse of them.
Nor did one know what became of them, apart from the
few who were hanged as war-criminals: the others simply
vanished, presumably into forced-labour camps. The round
Mogol faces had given way to faces of a more European type,
dirty, bearded and exhausted. From over scrubby cheek-
bones eyes looked into Winston's, sometimes with strange
intensity, and flashed away again. The convoy was drawing
to an end. In the last truck he could see an aged man, his
face a mass of grizzled hair, standing upright with wrists
crossed in front of him, as though he were used to having
them bound together. It was almost time for Winston and
the girl to part. But at the last moment, while the crowd still

146 1984



hemmed them in, her hand felt for his and gave it a fleeting
squeeze.

It could not have been ten seconds, and yet it seemed a
long time that their hands were clasped together. He had
time to learn every detail of her hand. He explored the long
fingers, the shapely nails, the work-hardened palm with its
row of callouses, the smooth flesh under the wrist. Merely
from feeling it he would have known it by sight. In the same
instant it occurred to him that he did not know what colour
the girl's eyes were. They were probably brown, but people
with dark hair sometimes had blue eyes. To turn his head
and look at her would have been inconceivable folly. With
hands locked together, invisible among the press of bodies,
they stared steadily in front of them, and instead of the eyes
of the girl, the eyes of the aged prisoner gazed mournfully
at Winston out of nests of hair.



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Chapter 2



Winston picked his way up the lane through dappled
light and shade, stepping out into pools of gold wher-
ever the boughs parted. Under the trees to the left of him
the ground was misty with bluebells. The air seemed to kiss
one's skin. It was the second of May. From somewhere deep-
er in the heart of the wood came the droning of ring doves.
He was a bit early. There had been no difficulties about
the journey, and the girl was so evidently experienced that
he was less frightened than he would normally have been.
Presumably she could be trusted to find a safe place. In
general you could not assume that you were much safer in
the country than in London. There were no telescreens, of
course, but there was always the danger of concealed mi-
crophones by which your voice might be picked up and
recognized; besides, it was not easy to make a journey by
yourself without attracting attention. For distances of less
than 100 kilometres it was not necessary to get your pass-
port endorsed, but sometimes there were patrols hanging
about the railway stations, who examined the papers of any
Party member they found there and asked awkward ques-
tions. However, no patrols had appeared, and on the walk
from the station he had made sure by cautious backward
glances that he was not being followed. The train was full
of proles, in holiday mood because of the summery weather.

148 1984



The wooden-seated carriage in which he travelled was filled
to overflowing by a single enormous family, ranging from
a toothless great-grandmother to a month-old baby, going
out to spend an afternoon with 'in-laws' in the country, and,
as they freely explained to Winston, to get hold of a little
blackmarket butter.

The lane widened, and in a minute he came to the foot-
path she had told him of, a mere cattle-track which plunged
between the bushes. He had no watch, but it could not be
fifteen yet. The bluebells were so thick underfoot that it was
impossible not to tread on them. He knelt down and began
picking some partly to pass the time away, but also from
a vague idea that he would like to have a bunch of flowers
to offer to the girl when they met. He had got together a
big bunch and was smelling their faint sickly scent when a
sound at his back froze him, the unmistakable crackle of a
foot on twigs. He went on picking bluebells. It was the best
thing to do. It might be the girl, or he might have been fol-
lowed after all. To look round was to show guilt. He picked
another and another. A hand fell lightly on his shoulder.

He looked up. It was the girl. She shook her head, evi-
dently as a warning that he must keep silent, then parted
the bushes and quickly led the way along the narrow track
into the wood. Obviously she had been that way before, for
she dodged the boggy bits as though by habit. Winston fol-
lowed, still clasping his bunch of flowers. His first feeling
was relief, but as he watched the strong slender body mov-
ing in front of him, with the scarlet sash that was just tight
enough to bring out the curve of her hips, the sense of his

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own inferiority was heavy upon him. Even now it seemed
quite likely that when she turned round and looked at him
she would draw back after all. The sweetness of the air and
the greenness of the leaves daunted him. Already on the
walk from the station the May sunshine had made him feel
dirty and etiolated, a creature of indoors, with the sooty
dust of London in the pores of his skin. It occurred to him
that till now she had probably never seen him in broad day-
light in the open. They came to the fallen tree that she had
spoken of. The girl hopped over and forced apart the bush-
es, in which there did not seem to be an opening. When
Winston followed her, he found that they were in a natural
clearing, a tiny grassy knoll surrounded by tall saplings that
shut it in completely. The girl stopped and turned.

'Here we are,' she said.

He was facing her at several paces' distance. As yet he did
not dare move nearer to her.

'I didn't want to say anything in the lane,' she went on,
'in case there's a mike hidden there. I don't suppose there is,
but there could be. There's always the chance of one of those
swine recognizing your voice. We're all right here.'

He still had not the courage to approach her. 'We're all
right here?' he repeated stupidly.

'Yes. Look at the trees.' They were small ashes, which at
some time had been cut down and had sprouted up again
into a forest of poles, none of them thicker than one's wrist.
'There's nothing big enough to hide a mike in. Besides, I've
been here before.'

They were only making conversation. He had managed



1984



to move closer to her now. She stood before him very up-
right, with a smile on her face that looked faintly ironical, as
though she were wondering why he was so slow to act. The
bluebells had cascaded on to the ground. They seemed to
have fallen of their own accord. He took her hand.

'Would you believe,' he said, 'that till this moment I
didn't know what colour your eyes were?' They were brown,
he noted, a rather light shade of brown, with dark lashes.
'Now that you've seen what I'm really like, can you still bear
to look at me?'

'Yes, easily'

'I'm thirty-nine years old. I've got a wife that I can't get
rid of. I've got varicose veins. I've got five false teeth.'

'I couldn't care less,' said the girl.

The next moment, it was hard to say by whose act, she was
in his his arms. At the beginning he had no feeling except
sheer incredulity. The youthful body was strained against
his own, the mass of dark hair was against his face, and yes!
actually she had turned her face up and he was kissing the
wide red mouth. She had clasped her arms about his neck,
she was calling him darling, precious one, loved one. He
had pulled her down on to the ground, she was utterly un-
resisting, he could do what he liked with her. But the truth
was that he had no physical sensation, except that of mere
contact. All he felt was incredulity and pride. He was glad
that this was happening, but he had no physical desire. It
was too soon, her youth and prettiness had frightened him,
he was too much used to living without women — he did
not know the reason. The girl picked herself up and pulled

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a bluebell out of her hair. She sat against him, putting her
arm round his waist.

'Never mind, dear. There's no hurry. We've got the whole
afternoon. Isn't this a splendid hide-out? I found it when I
got lost once on a community hike. If anyone was coming
you could hear them a hundred metres away'

'What is your name?' said Winston.

'Julia. I know yours. It's Winston — Winston Smith.'

'How did you find that out?'

'I expect I'm better at finding things out than you are,
dear. Tell me, what did you think of me before that day I
gave you the note?'

He did not feel any temptation to tell lies to her. It was
even a sort of love -offering to start off by telling the worst.

'I hated the sight of you,' he said. 'I wanted to rape you
and then murder you afterwards. Two weeks ago I thought
seriously of smashing your head in with a cobblestone. If
you really want to know, I imagined that you had some-
thing to do with the Thought Police.'

The girl laughed delightedly, evidently taking this as a
tribute to the excellence of her disguise.

'Not the Thought Police! You didn't honestly think that?'

'Well, perhaps not exactly that. But from your general
appearance — merely because you're young and fresh and
healthy, you understand — I thought that probably '

'You thought I was a good Party member. Pure in word
and deed. Banners, processions, slogans, games, commu-
nity hikes all that stuff. And you thought that if I had a
quarter of a chance I'd denounce you as a thought-criminal



1984



and get you killed off?'

'Yes, something of that kind. A great many young girls
are like that, you know.'

'It's this bloody thing that does it,' she said, ripping off
the scarlet sash of the Junior Anti-Sex League and flinging
it on to a bough. Then, as though touching her waist had
reminded her of something, she felt in the pocket of her
overalls and produced a small slab of chocolate. She broke
it in half and gave one of the pieces to Winston. Even be-
fore he had taken it he knew by the smell that it was very
unusual chocolate. It was dark and shiny, and was wrapped
in silver paper. Chocolate normally was dull-brown crum-
bly stuff that tasted, as nearly as one could describe it, like
the smoke of a rubbish fire. But at some time or another he
had tasted chocolate like the piece she had given him. The
first whiff of its scent had stirred up some memory which
he could not pin down, but which was powerful and trou-
bling.

'Where did you get this stuff?' he said.

'Black market,' she said indifferently. Actually I am that
sort of girl, to look at. I'm good at games. I was a troop-lead-
er in the Spies. I do voluntary work three evenings a week
for the Junior Anti-Sex League. Hours and hours I've spent
pasting their bloody rot all over London. I always carry one
end of a banner in the processions. I always look cheer-
ful and I never shirk anything. Always yell with the crowd,
that's what I say. It's the only way to be safe.'

The first fragment of chocolate had melted on Win-
ston's tongue. The taste was delightful. But there was still



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that memory moving round the edges of his consciousness,
something strongly felt but not reducible to definite shape,
like an object seen out of the corner of one's eye. He pushed
it away from him, aware only that it was the memory of
some action which he would have liked to undo but could
not.

'You are very young,' he said. 'You are ten or fifteen years
younger than I am. What could you see to attract you in a
man like me?'

'It was something in your face. I thought I'd take a chance.
I'm good at spotting people who don't belong. As soon as I
saw you I knew you were against THEM.'

THEM, it appeared, meant the Party, and above all the
Inner Party, about whom she talked with an open jeering
hatred which made Winston feel uneasy, although he knew
that they were safe here if they could be safe anywhere. A
thing that astonished him about her was the coarseness of
her language. Party members were supposed not to swear,
and Winston himself very seldom did swear, aloud, at any
rate. Julia, however, seemed unable to mention the Party,
and especially the Inner Party, without using the kind of
words that you saw chalked up in dripping alley-ways. He
did not dislike it. It was merely one symptom of her revolt
against the Party and all its ways, and somehow it seemed
natural and healthy, like the sneeze of a horse that smells
bad hay. They had left the clearing and were wandering
again through the chequered shade, with their arms round
each other's waists whenever it was wide enough to walk
two abreast. He noticed how much softer her waist seemed



1984



to feel now that the sash was gone. They did not speak above
a whisper. Outside the clearing, Julia said, it was better to
go quietly. Presently they had reached the edge of the little
wood. She stopped him.

'Don't go out into the open. There might be someone
watching. We're all right if we keep behind the boughs.'

They were standing in the shade of hazel bushes. The
sunlight, filtering through innumerable leaves, was still hot
on their faces. Winston looked out into the field beyond,
and underwent a curious, slow shock of recognition. He
knew it by sight. An old, closebitten pasture, with a foot-
path wandering across it and a molehill here and there. In
the ragged hedge on the opposite side the boughs of the elm
trees swayed just perceptibly in the breeze, and their leaves
stirred faintly in dense masses like women's hair. Surely
somewhere nearby, but out of sight, there must be a stream
with green pools where dace were swimming?

'Isn't there a stream somewhere near here?' he whis-
pered.

'That's right, there is a stream. It's at the edge of the next
field, actually. There are fish in it, great big ones. You can
watch them lying in the pools under the willow trees, wav-
ing their tails.'

'It's the Golden Country — almost,' he murmured.

'The Golden Country?'

'It's nothing, really. A landscape I've seen sometimes in
a dream.'

'Look!' whispered Julia.

A thrush had alighted on a bough not five metres away,



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almost at the level of their faces. Perhaps it had not seen
them. It was in the sun, they in the shade. It spread out its
wings, fitted them carefully into place again, ducked its
head for a moment, as though making a sort of obeisance to
the sun, and then began to pour forth a torrent of song. In
the afternoon hush the volume of sound was startling. Win-
ston and Julia clung together, fascinated. The music went on
and on, minute after minute, with astonishing variations,
never once repeating itself, almost as though the bird were
deliberately showing off its virtuosity. Sometimes it stopped
for a few seconds, spread out and resettled its wings, then
swelled its speckled breast and again burst into song. Win-
ston watched it with a sort of vague reverence. For whom, for
what, was that bird singing? No mate, no rival was watch-
ing it. What made it sit at the edge of the lonely wood and
pour its music into nothingness? He wondered whether af-
ter all there was a microphone hidden somewhere near. He
and Julia had spoken only in low whispers, and it would not
pick up what they had said, but it would pick up the thrush.
Perhaps at the other end of the instrument some small, bee-
tle-like man was listening intently — listening to that. But
by degrees the flood of music drove all speculations out of
his mind. It was as though it were a kind of liquid stuff that
poured all over him and got mixed up with the sunlight
that filtered through the leaves. He stopped thinking and
merely felt. The girl's waist in the bend of his arm was soft
and warm. He pulled her round so that they were breast
to breast; her body seemed to melt into his. Wherever his
hands moved it was all as yielding as water. Their mouths

156 1984



clung together; it was quite different from the hard kisses
they had exchanged earlier. When they moved their faces
apart again both of them sighed deeply. The bird took fright
and fled with a clatter of wings.

Winston put his lips against her ear. 'NOW,' he whis-
pered.

'Not here,' she whispered back. 'Come back to the hide-
out. It's safer.'

Quickly, with an occasional crackle of twigs, they
threaded their way back to the clearing. When they were
once inside the ring of saplings she turned and faced him.
They were both breathing fast, but the smile had reappeared
round the corners of her mouth. She stood looking at him
for an instant, then felt at the zipper of her overalls. And,
yes! it was almost as in his dream. Almost as swiftly as he
had imagined it, she had torn her clothes off, and when she
flung them aside it was with that same magnificent gesture
by which a whole civilization seemed to be annihilated. Her
body gleamed white in the sun. But for a moment he did
not look at her body; his eyes were anchored by the freckled
face with its faint, bold smile. He knelt down before her and
took her hands in his.

'Have you done this before?'

'Of course. Hundreds of times — well, scores of times,
anyway'

'With Party members?'

'Yes, always with Party members.'

'With members of the Inner Party?'

'Not with those swine, no. But there's plenty that WOULD



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if they got half a chance. They're not so holy as they make
out.'

His heart leapt. Scores of times she had done it: he wished
it had been hundreds — thousands. Anything that hinted at
corruption always filled him with a wild hope. Who knew,
perhaps the Party was rotten under the surface, its cult of
strenuousness and self-denial simply a sham concealing in-
iquity. If he could have infected the whole lot of them with
leprosy or syphilis, how gladly he would have done so! Any-
thing to rot, to weaken, to undermine! He pulled her down
so that they were kneeling face to face.

'Listen. The more men you've had, the more I love you.
Do you understand that?'

'Yes, perfectly.'

'I hate purity, I hate goodness! I don't want any virtue
to exist anywhere. I want everyone to be corrupt to the
bones.'

'Well then, I ought to suit you, dear. I'm corrupt to the
bones.'

'You like doing this? I don't mean simply me: I mean the
thing in itself?'

'I adore it.'

That was above all what he wanted to hear. Not merely
the love of one person but the animal instinct, the simple
undifferentiated desire: that was the force that would tear
the Party to pieces. He pressed her down upon the grass,
among the fallen bluebells. This time there was no difficul-
ty. Presently the rising and falling of their breasts slowed
to normal speed, and in a sort of pleasant helplessness they

158 1984



fell apart. The sun seemed to have grown hotter. They were
both sleepy. He reached out for the discarded overalls and
pulled them partly over her. Almost immediately they fell
asleep and slept for about half an hour.

Winston woke first. He sat up and watched the freck-
led face, still peacefully asleep, pillowed on the palm of her
hand. Except for her mouth, you could not call her beauti-
ful. There was a line or two round the eyes, if you looked
closely. The short dark hair was extraordinarily thick and
soft. It occurred to him that he still did not know her sur-
name or where she lived.

The young, strong body, now helpless in sleep, awoke in
him a pitying, protecting feeling. But the mindless tender-
ness that he had felt under the hazel tree, while the thrush
was singing, had not quite come back. He pulled the over-
alls aside and studied her smooth white flank. In the old
days, he thought, a man looked at a girl's body and saw that
it was desirable, and that was the end of the story. But you
could not have pure love or pure lust nowadays. No emo-
tion was pure, because everything was mixed up with fear
and hatred. Their embrace had been a battle, the climax a
victory. It was a blow struck against the Party. It was a po-
litical act.



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Chapter 3



» We can come here once again,' said Julia. 'It's generally safe
to use any hide-out twice. But not for another month or
two, of course.'

As soon as she woke up her demeanour had changed. She
became alert and business-like, put her clothes on, knot-
ted the scarlet sash about her waist, and began arranging
the details of the journey home. It seemed natural to leave
this to her. She obviously had a practical cunning which
Winston lacked, and she seemed also to have an exhaus-
tive knowledge of the countryside round London, stored
away from innumerable community hikes. The route she
gave him was quite different from the one by which he had
come, and brought him out at a different railway station.
'Never go home the same way as you went out,' she said, as
though enunciating an important general principle. She
would leave first, and Winston was to wait half an hour be-
fore following her.

She had named a place where they could meet after work,
four evenings hence. It was a street in one of the poorer
quarters, where there was an open market which was gener-
ally crowded and noisy. She would be hanging about among
the stalls, pretending to be in search of shoelaces or sewing-
thread. If she judged that the coast was clear she would blow
her nose when he approached; otherwise he was to walk



1984



past her without recognition. But with luck, in the middle
of the crowd, it would be safe to talk for a quarter of an hour
and arrange another meeting.

'And now I must go,' she said as soon as he had mastered
his instructions. 'I'm due back at nineteen-thirty. I've got to
put in two hours for the Junior Anti-Sex League, handing
out leaflets, or something. Isn't it bloody? Give me a brush-
down, would you? Have I got any twigs in my hair? Are you
sure? Then good-bye, my love, good-bye!'

She flung herself into his arms, kissed him almost vi-
olently, and a moment later pushed her way through the
saplings and disappeared into the wood with very little
noise. Even now he had not found out her surname or her
address. However, it made no difference, for it was incon-
ceivable that they could ever meet indoors or exchange any
kind of written communication.

As it happened, they never went back to the clearing in
the wood. During the month of May there was only one
further occasion on which they actually succeeded in mak-
ing love. That was in another hiding-place known to Julia,
the belfry of a ruinous church in an almost- deserted stretch
of country where an atomic bomb had fallen thirty years
earlier. It was a good hiding-place when once you got there,
but the getting there was very dangerous. For the rest they
could meet only in the streets, in a different place every eve-
ning and never for more than half an hour at a time. In the
street it was usually possible to talk, after a fashion. As they
drifted down the crowded pavements, not quite abreast
and never looking at one another, they carried on a curi-



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ous, intermittent conversation which nicked on and off like
the beams of a lighthouse, suddenly nipped into silence by
the approach of a Party uniform or the proximity of a tele-
screen, then taken up again minutes later in the middle of
a sentence, then abruptly cut short as they parted at the
agreed spot, then continued almost without introduction
on the following day. Julia appeared to be quite used to this
kind of conversation, which she called 'talking by instal-
ments'. She was also surprisingly adept at speaking without
moving her lips. Just once in almost a month of nightly
meetings they managed to exchange a kiss. They were pass-
ing in silence down a side-street (Julia would never speak
when they were away from the main streets) when there was
a deafening roar, the earth heaved, and the air darkened,
and Winston found himself lying on his side, bruised and
terrified. A rocket bomb must have dropped quite near at
hand. Suddenly he became aware of Julia's face a few centi-
metres from his own, deathly white, as white as chalk. Even
her lips were white. She was dead! He clasped her against
him and found that he was kissing a live warm face. But
there was some powdery stuff that got in the way of his lips.
Both of their faces were thickly coated with plaster.

There were evenings when they reached their rendezvous
and then had to walk past one another without a sign, be-
cause a patrol had just come round the corner or a helicopter
was hovering overhead. Even if it had been less dangerous,
it would still have been difficult to find time to meet. Win-
ston's working week was sixty hours, Julia's was even longer,
and their free days varied according to the pressure of work



1984



and did not often coincide. Julia, in any case, seldom had an
evening completely free. She spent an astonishing amount
of time in attending lectures and demonstrations, distrib-
uting literature for the junior Anti-Sex League, preparing
banners for Hate Week, making collections for the savings
campaign, and such-like activities. It paid, she said, it was
camouflage. If you kept the small rules, you could break the
big ones. She even induced Winston to mortgage yet an-
other of his evenings by enrolling himself for the part-time
munition work which was done voluntarily by zealous Par-
ty members. So, one evening every week, Winston spent
four hours of paralysing boredom, screwing together small
bits of metal which were probably parts of bomb fuses, in a
draughty, ill-lit workshop where the knocking of hammers
mingled drearily with the music of the telescreens.

When they met in the church tower the gaps in their
fragmentary conversation were filled up. It was a blazing af-
ternoon. The air in the little square chamber above the bells
was hot and stagnant, and smelt overpoweringly of pigeon
dung. They sat talking for hours on the dusty, twig-littered
floor, one or other of them getting up from time to time to
cast a glance through the arrowslits and make sure that no
one was coming.

Julia was twenty-six years old. She lived in a hostel with
thirty other girls ('Always in the stink of women! How I
hate women!' she said parenthetically), and she worked, as
he had guessed, on the novel-writing machines in the Fic-
tion Department. She enjoyed her work, which consisted
chiefly in running and servicing a powerful but tricky elec-

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trie motor. She was 'not clever', but was fond of using her
hands and felt at home with machinery. She could describe
the whole process of composing a novel, from the general
directive issued by the Planning Committee down to the
final touching-up by the Rewrite Squad. But she was not in-
terested in the finished product. She 'didn't much care for
reading,' she said. Books were just a commodity that had to
be produced, like jam or bootlaces.

She had no memories of anything before the early six-
ties and the only person she had ever known who talked
frequently of the days before the Revolution was a grand-
father who had disappeared when she was eight. At school
she had been captain of the hockey team and had won the
gymnastics trophy two years running. She had been a troop-
leader in the Spies and a branch secretary in the Youth
League before joining the Junior Anti-Sex League. She had
always borne an excellent character. She had even (an infal-
lible mark of good reputation) been picked out to work in
Pornosec, the sub-section of the Fiction Department which
turned out cheap pornography for distribution among the
proles. It was nicknamed Muck House by the people who
worked in it, she remarked. There she had remained for a
year, helping to produce booklets in sealed packets with ti-
tles like 'Spanking Stories' or 'One Night in a Girls' School',
to be bought furtively by proletarian youths who were un-
der the impression that they were buying something illegal.

'What are these books like?' said Winston curiously.

'Oh, ghastly rubbish. They're boring, really. They only
have six plots, but they swap them round a bit. Of course

164 1984



I was only on the kaleidoscopes. I was never in the Rewrite
Squad. I'm not literary, dear — not even enough for that.'

He learned with astonishment that all the workers in
Pornosec, except the heads of the departments, were girls.
The theory was that men, whose sex instincts were less con-
trollable than those of women, were in greater danger of
being corrupted by the filth they handled.

'They don't even like having married women there,' she
added. Girls are always supposed to be so pure. Here's one
who isn't, anyway.

She had had her first love-affair when she was sixteen,
with a Party member of sixty who later committed suicide
to avoid arrest. 'And a good job too,' said Julia, 'otherwise
they'd have had my name out of him when he confessed.'
Since then there had been various others. Life as she saw it
was quite simple. You wanted a good time; 'they', meaning
the Party, wanted to stop you having it; you broke the rules
as best you could. She seemed to think it just as natural that
'they' should want to rob you of your pleasures as that you
should want to avoid being caught. She hated the Party, and
said so in the crudest words, but she made no general criti-
cism of it. Except where it touched upon her own life she
had no interest in Party doctrine. He noticed that she never
used Newspeak words except the ones that had passed into
everyday use. She had never heard of the Brotherhood, and
refused to believe in its existence. Any kind of organized
revolt against the Party, which was bound to be a failure,
struck her as stupid. The clever thing was to break the rules
and stay alive all the same. He wondered vaguely how many

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others like her there might be in the younger generation
people who had grown up in the world of the Revolution,
knowing nothing else, accepting the Party as something
unalterable, like the sky, not rebelling against its authority
but simply evading it, as a rabbit dodges a dog.

They did not discuss the possibility of getting married.
It was too remote to be worth thinking about. No imagin-
able committee would ever sanction such a marriage even
if Katharine, Winston's wife, could somehow have been got
rid of. It was hopeless even as a daydream.

'What was she like, your wife?' said Julia.

'She was — do you know the Newspeak word GOOD-
THINKFUL? Meaning naturally orthodox, incapable of
thinking a bad thought?'

'No, I didn't know the word, but I know the kind of per-
son, right enough.'

He began telling her the story of his married life, but cu-
riously enough she appeared to know the essential parts of
it already. She described to him, almost as though she had
seen or felt it, the stiffening of Katharine's body as soon
as he touched her, the way in which she still seemed to be
pushing him from her with all her strength, even when her
arms were clasped tightly round him. With Julia he felt no
difficulty in talking about such things: Katharine, in any
case, had long ceased to be a painful memory and became
merely a distasteful one.

'I could have stood it if it hadn't been for one thing,' he
said. He told her about the frigid little ceremony that Kath-
arine had forced him to go through on the same night every



1984



week. 'She hated it, but nothing would make her stop doing
it. She used to call it — but you'll never guess.'

'Our duty to the Party' said Julia promptly.

'How did you know that?'

'I've been at school too, dear. Sex talks once a month for
the over-sixteens. And in the Youth Movement. They rub it
into you for years. I dare say it works in a lot of cases. But of
course you can never tell; people are such hypocrites.'

She began to enlarge upon the subject. With Julia, every-
thing came back to her own sexuality. As soon as this was
touched upon in any way she was capable of great acuteness.
Unlike Winston, she had grasped the inner meaning of the
Party's sexual puritanism. It was not merely that the sex
instinct created a world of its own which was outside the
Party's control and which therefore had to be destroyed if
possible. What was more important was that sexual priva-
tion induced hysteria, which was desirable because it could
be transformed into war-fever and leader-worship. The way
she put it was:

'When you make love you're using up energy; and after-
wards you feel happy and don't give a damn for anything.
They can't bear you to feel like that. They want you to be
bursting with energy all the time. All this marching up and
down and cheering and waving flags is simply sex gone sour.
If you're happy inside yourself, why should you get excited
about Big Brother and the Three-Year Plans and the Two
Minutes Hate and all the rest of their bloody rot?'

That was very true, he thought. There was a direct inti-
mate connexion between chastity and political orthodoxy.

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For how could the fear, the hatred, and the lunatic credulity
which the Party needed in its members be kept at the right
pitch, except by bottling down some powerful instinct and
using it as a driving force? The sex impulse was dangerous to
the Party, and the Party had turned it to account. They had
played a similar trick with the instinct of parenthood. The
family could not actually be abolished, and, indeed, people
were encouraged to be fond of their children, in almost the
old-fashioned way. The children, on the other hand, were
systematically turned against their parents and taught to
spy on them and report their deviations. The family had
become in effect an extension of the Thought Police. It was
a device by means of which everyone could be surrounded
night and day by informers who knew him intimately.

Abruptly his mind went back to Katharine. Katharine
would unquestionably have denounced him to the Thought
Police if she had not happened to be too stupid to detect the
unorthodoxy of his opinions. But what really recalled her
to him at this moment was the stifling heat of the afternoon,
which had brought the sweat out on his forehead. He began
telling Julia of something that had happened, or rather had
failed to happen, on another sweltering summer afternoon,
eleven years ago.

It was three or four months after they were married. They
had lost their way on a community hike somewhere in Kent.
They had only lagged behind the others for a couple of min-
utes, but they took a wrong turning, and presently found
themselves pulled up short by the edge of an old chalk
quarry. It was a sheer drop of ten or twenty metres, with



1984



boulders at the bottom. There was nobody of whom they
could ask the way. As soon as she realized that they were
lost Katharine became very uneasy. To be away from the
noisy mob of hikers even for a moment gave her a feeling of
wrong-doing. She wanted to hurry back by the way they had
come and start searching in the other direction. But at this
moment Winston noticed some tufts of loosestrife growing
in the cracks of the cliff beneath them. One tuft was of two
colours, magenta and brick-red, apparently growing on the
same root. He had never seen anything of the kind before,
and he called to Katharine to come and look at it.

'Look, Katharine! Look at those flowers. That clump
down near the bottom. Do you see they're two different co-
lours?'

She had already turned to go, but she did rather fretfully
come back for a moment. She even leaned out over the cliff
face to see where he was pointing. He was standing a little
behind her, and he put his hand on her waist to steady her.
At this moment it suddenly occurred to him how completely
alone they were. There was not a human creature anywhere,
not a leaf stirring, not even a bird awake. In a place like
this the danger that there would be a hidden microphone
was very small, and even if there was a microphone it would
only pick up sounds. It was the hottest sleepiest hour of the
afternoon. The sun blazed down upon them, the sweat tick-
led his face. And the thought struck him...

'Why didn't you give her a good shove?' said Julia. 'I
would have.'

'Yes, dear, you would have. I would, if I'd been the same

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person then as I am now. Or perhaps I would — I'm not cer-
tain.'

'Are you sorry you didn't?'

'Yes. On the whole I'm sorry I didn't.'

They were sitting side by side on the dusty floor. He
pulled her closer against him. Her head rested on his shoul-
der, the pleasant smell of her hair conquering the pigeon
dung. She was very young, he thought, she still expected
something from life, she did not understand that to push an
inconvenient person over a cliff solves nothing.

'Actually it would have made no difference,' he said.

'Then why are you sorry you didn't do it?'

'Only because I prefer a positive to a negative. In this
game that we're playing, we can't win. Some kinds of failure
are better than other kinds, that's all.'

He felt her shoulders give a wriggle of dissent. She al-
ways contradicted him when he said anything of this kind.
She would not accept it as a law of nature that the individ-
ual is always defeated. In a way she realized that she herself
was doomed, that sooner or later the Thought Police would
catch her and kill her, but with another part of her mind
she believed that it was somehow possible to construct a se-
cret world in which you could live as you chose. All you
needed was luck and cunning and boldness. She did not un-
derstand that there was no such thing as happiness, that the
only victory lay in the far future, long after you were dead,
that from the moment of declaring war on the Party it was
better to think of yourself as a corpse.

'We are the dead,' he said.



1984



'We're not dead yet,' said Julia prosaically.

'Not physically. Six months, a year — five years, conceiv-
ably. I am afraid of death. You are young, so presumably
you're more afraid of it than I am. Obviously we shall put it
off as long as we can. But it makes very little difference. So
long as human beings stay human, death and life are the
same thing.'

'Oh, rubbish! Which would you sooner sleep with, me or
a skeleton? Don't you enjoy being alive? Don't you like feel-
ing: This is me, this is my hand, this is my leg, I'm real, I'm
solid, I'm alive! Don't you like THIS?'

She twisted herself round and pressed her bosom against
him. He could feel her breasts, ripe yet firm, through her
overalls. Her body seemed to be pouring some of its youth
and vigour into his.

'Yes, I like that,' he said.

'Then stop talking about dying. And now listen, dear,
we've got to fix up about the next time we meet. We may as
well go back to the place in the wood. We've given it a good
long rest. But you must get there by a different way this time.
I've got it all planned out. You take the train — but look, I'll
draw it out for you.'

And in her practical way she scraped together a small
square of dust, and with a twig from a pigeon's nest began
drawing a map on the floor.



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Chapter 4



Winston looked round the shabby little room above Mr
Charrington's shop. Beside the window the enormous
bed was made up, with ragged blankets and a coverless bol-
ster. The old-fashioned clock with the twelve-hour face was
ticking away on the mantelpiece. In the corner, on the gate-
leg table, the glass paperweight which he had bought on his
last visit gleamed softly out of the half-darkness.

In the fender was a battered tin oilstove, a saucepan, and
two cups, provided by Mr Charrington. Winston lit the
burner and set a pan of water to boil. He had brought an
envelope full of Victory Coffee and some saccharine tablets.
The clock's hands said seventeen-twenty: it was nineteen-
twenty really. She was coming at nineteen-thirty

Folly, folly, his heart kept saying: conscious, gratuitous,
suicidal folly. Of all the crimes that a Party member could
commit, this one was the least possible to conceal. Actu-
ally the idea had first floated into his head in the form of a
vision, of the glass paperweight mirrored by the surface of
the gateleg table. As he had foreseen, Mr Charrington had
made no difficulty about letting the room. He was obviously
glad of the few dollars that it would bring him. Nor did he
seem shocked or become offensively knowing when it was
made clear that Winston wanted the room for the purpose
of a love-affair. Instead he looked into the middle distance



1984



and spoke in generalities, with so delicate an air as to give
the impression that he had become partly invisible. Privacy,
he said, was a very valuable thing. Everyone wanted a place
where they could be alone occasionally. And when they had
such a place, it was only common courtesy in anyone else
who knew of it to keep his knowledge to himself. He even,
seeming almost to fade out of existence as he did so, add-
ed that there were two entries to the house, one of them
through the back yard, which gave on an alley.

Under the window somebody was singing. Winston
peeped out, secure in the protection of the muslin curtain.
The June sun was still high in the sky, and in the sun-filled
court below, a monstrous woman, solid as a Norman pil-
lar, with brawny red forearms and a sacking apron strapped
about her middle, was stumping to and fro between a wash-
tub and a clothes line, pegging out a series of square white
things which Winston recognized as babies' diapers. When-
ever her mouth was not corked with clothes pegs she was
singing in a powerful contralto:

It was only an 'opeless fancy.

It passed like an lpril dye,

But a look an a word an' the dreams they stirred!

They 'ave

stolen my 'eartawyel

The tune had been haunting London for weeks past. It
was one of countless similar songs published for the ben-
efit of the proles by a sub-section of the Music Department.

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The words of these songs were composed without any hu-
man intervention whatever on an instrument known as a
versificator. But the woman sang so tunefully as to turn the
dreadful rubbish into an almost pleasant sound. He could
hear the woman singing and the scrape of her shoes on the
flagstones, and the cries of the children in the street, and
somewhere in the far distance a faint roar of traffic, and yet
the room seemed curiously silent, thanks to the absence of
a telescreen.

Folly, folly, folly! he thought again. It was inconceiv-
able that they could frequent this place for more than a few
weeks without being caught. But the temptation of having a
hiding-place that was truly their own, indoors and near at
hand, had been too much for both of them. For some time
after their visit to the church belfry it had been impossible
to arrange meetings. Working hours had been drastically
increased in anticipation of Hate Week. It was more than
a month distant, but the enormous, complex preparations
that it entailed were throwing extra work on to everybody.
Finally both of them managed to secure a free afternoon on
the same day. They had agreed to go back to the clearing
in the wood. On the evening beforehand they met briefly
in the street. As usual, Winston hardly looked at Julia as
they drifted towards one another in the crowd, but from
the short glance he gave her it seemed to him that she was
paler than usual.

'It's all off,' she murmured as soon as she judged it safe to
speak. 'Tomorrow, I mean.'

'What?'



1984



Tomorrow afternoon. I can't come.'

'Why not?'

'Oh, the usual reason. It's started early this time.'

For a moment he was violently angry. During the month
that he had known her the nature of his desire for her had
changed. At the beginning there had been little true sensu-
ality in it. Their first love-making had been simply an act
of the will. But after the second time it was different. The
smell of her hair, the taste of her mouth, the feeling of her
skin seemed to have got inside him, or into the air all round
him. She had become a physical necessity, something that
he not only wanted but felt that he had a right to. When she
said that she could not come, he had the feeling that she was
cheating him. But just at this moment the crowd pressed
them together and their hands accidentally met. She gave
the tips of his fingers a quick squeeze that seemed to in-
vite not desire but affection. It struck him that when one
lived with a woman this particular disappointment must be
a normal, recurring event; and a deep tenderness, such as
he had not felt for her before, suddenly took hold of him. He
wished that they were a married couple often years' stand-
ing. He wished that he were walking through the streets
with her just as they were doing now but openly and with-
out fear, talking of trivialities and buying odds and ends
for the household. He wished above all that they had some
place where they could be alone together without feeling
the obligation to make love every time they met. It was not
actually at that moment, but at some time on the following
day, that the idea of renting Mr Charrington's room had oc-

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 175



curred to him. When he suggested it to Julia she had agreed
with unexpected readiness. Both of them knew that it was
lunacy. It was as though they were intentionally stepping
nearer to their graves. As he sat waiting on the edge of the
bed he thought again of the cellars of the Ministry of Love.
It was curious how that predestined horror moved in and
out of one's consciousness. There it lay, fixed in future times,
preceding death as surely as 99 precedes 100. One could not
avoid it, but one could perhaps postpone it: and yet instead,
every now and again, by a conscious, wilful act, one chose
to shorten the interval before it happened.

At this moment there was a quick step on the stairs. Julia
burst into the room. She was carrying a tool-bag of coarse
brown canvas, such as he had sometimes seen her carrying
to and fro at the Ministry. He started forward to take her in
his arms, but she disengaged herself rather hurriedly, partly
because she was still holding the tool-bag.

'Half a second,' she said. 'Just let me show you what I've
brought. Did you bring some of that filthy Victory Coffee?
I thought you would. You can chuck it away again, because
we shan't be needing it. Look here.'

She fell on her knees, threw open the bag, and tumbled
out some spanners and a screwdriver that filled the top part
of it. Underneath were a number of neat paper packets. The
first packet that she passed to Winston had a strange and
yet vaguely familiar feeling. It was filled with some kind of
heavy, sand-like stuff which yielded wherever you touched
it.

'It isn't sugar?' he said.

176 1984



'Real sugar. Not saccharine, sugar. And here's a loaf of
bread — proper white bread, not our bloody stuff — and a lit-
tle pot of jam. And here's a tin of milk — but look! This is the
one I'm really proud of. I had to wrap a bit of sacking round
it, because '

But she did not need to tell him why she had wrapped it
up. The smell was already filling the room, a rich hot smell
which seemed like an emanation from his early childhood,
but which one did occasionally meet with even now, blow-
ing down a passage-way before a door slammed, or diffusing
itself mysteriously in a crowded street, sniffed for an instant
and then lost again.

'It's coffee,' he murmured, 'real coffee.'

'It's Inner Party coffee. There's a whole kilo here,' she
said.

'How did you manage to get hold of all these things?'

'It's all Inner Party stuff. There's nothing those swine
don't have, nothing. But of course waiters and servants and
people pinch things, and — look, I got a little packet of tea
as well.'

Winston had squatted down beside her. He tore open a
corner of the packet.

'It's real tea. Not blackberry leaves.'

'There's been a lot of tea about lately. They've captured In-
dia, or something,' she said vaguely. 'But listen, dear. I want
you to turn your back on me for three minutes. Go and sit
on the other side of the bed. Don't go too near the window.
And don't turn round till I tell you.'

Winston gazed abstractedly through the muslin curtain.

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 177



Down in the yard the red-armed woman was still marching
to and fro between the washtub and the line. She took two
more pegs out of her mouth and sang with deep feeling:

They sye that time 'eals all things,

They sye you can always forget;

But the smiles an' the tears acrorss the years

They twist my

'eart-strings yet!

She knew the whole drivelling song by heart, it seemed.
Her voice floated upward with the sweet summer air, very
tuneful, charged with a sort of happy melancholy. One had
the feeling that she would have been perfectly content, if the
June evening had been endless and the supply of clothes in-
exhaustible, to remain there for a thousand years, pegging
out diapers and singing rubbish. It struck him as a curious
fact that he had never heard a member of the Party singing
alone and spontaneously. It would even have seemed slightly
unorthodox, a dangerous eccentricity, like talking to one-
self. Perhaps it was only when people were somewhere near
the starvation level that they had anything to sing about.

'You can turn round now,' said Julia.

He turned round, and for a second almost failed to rec-
ognize her. What he had actually expected was to see her
naked. But she was not naked. The transformation that had
happened was much more surprising than that. She had
painted her face.

She must have slipped into some shop in the proletarian

178 1984



quarters and bought herself a complete set of make-up ma-
terials. Her lips were deeply reddened, her cheeks rouged,
her nose powdered; there was even a touch of something
under the eyes to make them brighter. It was not very skil-
fully done, but Winston's standards in such matters were
not high. He had never before seen or imagined a woman of
the Party with cosmetics on her face. The improvement in
her appearance was startling. With just a few dabs of colour
in the right places she had become not only very much pret-
tier, but, above all, far more feminine. Her short hair and
boyish overalls merely added to the effect. As he took her in
his arms a wave of synthetic violets flooded his nostrils. He
remembered the half- darkness of a basement kitchen, and a
woman's cavernous mouth. It was the very same scent that
she had used; but at the moment it did not seem to matter.

'Scent too!' he said.

'Yes, dear, scent too. And do you know what I'm going to
do next? I'm going to get hold of a real woman's frock from
somewhere and wear it instead of these bloody trousers. I'll
wear silk stockings and high-heeled shoes! In this room I'm
going to be a woman, not a Party comrade.'

They flung their clothes off and climbed into the huge
mahogany bed. It was the first time that he had stripped
himself naked in her presence. Until now he had been too
much ashamed of his pale and meagre body, with the vari-
cose veins standing out on his calves and the discoloured
patch over his ankle. There were no sheets, but the blanket
they lay on was threadbare and smooth, and the size and
springiness of the bed astonished both of them. 'It's sure



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to be full of bugs, but who cares?' said Julia. One never saw
a double bed nowadays, except in the homes of the proles.
Winston had occasionally slept in one in his boyhood: Julia
had never been in one before, so far as she could remember.

Presently they fell asleep for a little while. When Win-
ston woke up the hands of the clock had crept round to
nearly nine. He did not stir, because Julia was sleeping with
her head in the crook of his arm. Most of her make-up had
transferred itself to his own face or the bolster, but a light
stain of rouge still brought out the beauty of her cheekbone.
A yellow ray from the sinking sun fell across the foot of the
bed and lighted up the fireplace, where the water in the pan
was boiling fast. Down in the yard the woman had stopped
singing, but the faint shouts of children floated in from the
street. He wondered vaguely whether in the abolished past
it had been a normal experience to lie in bed like this, in
the cool of a summer evening, a man and a woman with no
clothes on, making love when they chose, talking of what
they chose, not feeling any compulsion to get up, simply ly-
ing there and listening to peaceful sounds outside. Surely
there could never have been a time when that seemed ordi-
nary? Julia woke up, rubbed her eyes, and raised herself on
her elbow to look at the oilstove.

'Half that water's boiled away' she said. 'I'll get up and
make some coffee in another moment. We've got an hour.
What time do they cut the lights off at your flats?'

'Twenty-three thirty'

'It's twenty-three at the hostel. But you have to get in ear-
lier than that, because — Hi! Get out, you filthy brute!'



1984



She suddenly twisted herself over in the bed, seized a
shoe from the floor, and sent it hurtling into the corner with
a boyish jerk of her arm, exactly as he had seen her fling the
dictionary at Goldstein, that morning during the Two Min-
utes Hate.

'What was it?' he said in surprise.

'A rat. I saw him stick his beastly nose out of the wain-
scoting. There's a hole down there. I gave him a good fright,
anyway'

'Rats!' murmured Winston. 'In this room!'

'They're all over the place,' said Julia indifferently as she
lay down again. 'We've even got them in the kitchen at the
hostel. Some parts of London are swarming with them. Did
you know they attack children? Yes, they do. In some of
these streets a woman daren't leave a baby alone for two
minutes. It's the great huge brown ones that do it. And the
nasty thing is that the brutes always '

'DON'T GO ON!' said Winston, with his eyes tightly
shut.

'Dearest! You've gone quite pale. What's the matter? Do
they make you feel sick?'

'Of all horrors in the world — a rat!'

She pressed herself against him and wound her limbs
round him, as though to reassure him with the warmth
of her body. He did not reopen his eyes immediately. For
several moments he had had the feeling of being back in a
nightmare which had recurred from time to time through-
out his life. It was always very much the same. He was
standing in front of a wall of darkness, and on the other

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 181



side of it there was something unendurable, something too
dreadful to be faced. In the dream his deepest feeling was
always one of self-deception, because he did in fact know
what was behind the wall of darkness. With a deadly effort,
like wrenching a piece out of his own brain, he could even
have dragged the thing into the open. He always woke up
without discovering what it was: but somehow it was con-
nected with what Julia had been saying when he cut her
short.

'I'm sorry,' he said, 'it's nothing. I don't like rats, that's
all'

'Don't worry, dear, we're not going to have the filthy
brutes in here. I'll stuff the hole with a bit of sacking before
we go. And next time we come here I'll bring some plaster
and bung it up properly'

Already the black instant of panic was half-forgotten.
Feeling slightly ashamed of himself, he sat up against the
bedhead. Julia got out of bed, pulled on her overalls, and
made the coffee. The smell that rose from the saucepan was
so powerful and exciting that they shut the window lest
anybody outside should notice it and become inquisitive.
What was even better than the taste of the coffee was the
silky texture given to it by the sugar, a thing Winston had
almost forgotten after years of saccharine. With one hand
in her pocket and a piece of bread and jam in the other, Ju-
lia wandered about the room, glancing indifferently at the
bookcase, pointing out the best way of repairing the gate-
leg table, plumping herself down in the ragged arm-chair to
see if it was comfortable, and examining the absurd twelve -



1984



hour clock with a sort of tolerant amusement. She brought
the glass paperweight over to the bed to have a look at it in a
better light. He took it out of her hand, fascinated, as always,
by the soft, rainwatery appearance of the glass.

'What is it, do you think?' said Julia.

'I don't think it's anything — I mean, I don't think it was
ever put to any use. That's what I like about it. It's a little
chunk of history that they've forgotten to alter. It's a mes-
sage from a hundred years ago, if one knew how to read it.'

'And that picture over there' — she nodded at the engrav-
ing on the opposite wall — 'would that be a hundred years
old?'

'More. Two hundred, I dare say. One can't tell. It's impos-
sible to discover the age of anything nowadays.'

She went over to look at it. 'Here's where that brute stuck
his nose out,' she said, kicking the wainscoting immediate-
ly below the picture. 'What is this place? I've seen it before
somewhere.'

'It's a church, or at least it used to be. St Clement Danes
its name was.' The fragment of rhyme that Mr Charrington
had taught him came back into his head, and he added
half-nostalgically: 'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St
Clement's!'

To his astonishment she capped the line:

'You owe me three farthings, say the bells of St Martin's,
When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey '

'I can't remember how it goes on after that. But anyway

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I remember it ends up, 'Here comes a candle to light you to
bed, here comes a chopper to chop off your head!"

It was like the two halves of a countersign. But there
must be another line after 'the bells of Old Bailey'. Perhaps
it could be dug out of Mr Charrington's memory, if he were
suitably prompted.

'Who taught you that?' he said.

'My grandfather. He used to say it to me when I was a lit-
tle girl. He was vaporized when I was eight — at any rate, he
disappeared. I wonder what a lemon was,' she added incon-
sequently 'I've seen oranges. They're a kind of round yellow
fruit with a thick skin.'

'I can remember lemons,' said Winston. 'They were quite
common in the fifties. They were so sour that it set your
teeth on edge even to smell them.'

'I bet that picture's got bugs behind it,' said Julia. 'I'll
take it down and give it a good clean some day. I suppose
it's almost time we were leaving. I must start washing this
paint off. What a bore! I'll get the lipstick off your face af-
terwards.'

Winston did not get up for a few minutes more. The
room was darkening. He turned over towards the light and
lay gazing into the glass paperweight. The inexhaustibly
interesting thing was not the fragment of coral but the in-
terior of the glass itself. There was such a depth of it, and
yet it was almost as transparent as air. It was as though the
surface of the glass had been the arch of the sky, enclosing
a tiny world with its atmosphere complete. He had the feel-
ing that he could get inside it, and that in fact he was inside

184 1984



it, along with the mahogany bed and the gateleg table, and
the clock and the steel engraving and the paperweight itself.
The paperweight was the room he was in, and the coral was
Julia's life and his own, fixed in a sort of eternity at the heart
of the crystal.



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Chapter 5



Syme had vanished. A morning came, and he was miss-
ing from work: a few thoughtless people commented on
his absence. On the next day nobody mentioned him. On
the third day Winston went into the vestibule of the Re-
cords Department to look at the notice-board. One of the
notices carried a printed list of the members of the Chess
Committee, of whom Syme had been one. It looked almost
exactly as it had looked before — nothing had been crossed
out — but it was one name shorter. It was enough. Syme had
ceased to exist: he had never existed.

The weather was baking hot. In the labyrinthine Ministry
the windowless, air-conditioned rooms kept their normal
temperature, but outside the pavements scorched one's feet
and the stench of the Tubes at the rush hours was a hor-
ror. The preparations for Hate Week were in full swing, and
the staffs of all the Ministries were working overtime. Pro-
cessions, meetings, military parades, lectures, waxworks,
displays, film shows, telescreen programmes all had to be
organized; stands had to be erected, effigies built, slogans
coined, songs written, rumours circulated, photographs
faked. Julia's unit in the Fiction Department had been tak-
en off the production of novels and was rushing out a series
of atrocity pamphlets. Winston, in addition to his regular
work, spent long periods every day in going through back



1984



files of "The Times' and altering and embellishing news
items which were to be quoted in speeches. Late at night,
when crowds of rowdy proles roamed the streets, the town
had a curiously febrile air. The rocket bombs crashed of-
tener than ever, and sometimes in the far distance there
were enormous explosions which no one could explain and
about which there were wild rumours.

The new tune which was to be the theme-song of Hate
Week (the Hate Song, it was called) had already been com-
posed and was being endlessly plugged on the telescreens.
It had a savage, barking rhythm which could not exactly be
called music, but resembled the beating of a drum. Roared
out by hundreds of voices to the tramp of marching feet, it
was terrifying. The proles had taken a fancy to it, and in the
midnight streets it competed with the still-popular 'It was
only a hopeless fancy'. The Parsons children played it at all
hours of the night and day, unbearably, on a comb and a
piece of toilet paper. Winston's evenings were fuller than
ever. Squads of volunteers, organized by Parsons, were pre-
paring the street for Hate Week, stitching banners, painting
posters, erecting flagstaffs on the roofs, and perilously sling-
ing wires across the street for the reception of streamers.
Parsons boasted that Victory Mansions alone would display
four hundred metres of bunting. He was in his native ele-
ment and as happy as a lark. The heat and the manual work
had even given him a pretext for reverting to shorts and
an open shirt in the evenings. He was everywhere at once,
pushing, pulling, sawing, hammering, improvising, jolly-
ing everyone along with comradely exhortations and giving

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 187



out from every fold of his body what seemed an inexhaust-
ible supply of acrid-smelling sweat.

A new poster had suddenly appeared all over London. It
had no caption, and represented simply the monstrous fig-
ure of a Eurasian soldier, three or four metres high, striding
forward with expressionless Mongolian face and enor-
mous boots, a submachine gun pointed from his hip. From
whatever angle you looked at the poster, the muzzle of the
gun, magnified by the foreshortening, seemed to be point-
ed straight at you. The thing had been plastered on every
blank space on every wall, even outnumbering the por-
traits of Big Brother. The proles, normally apathetic about
the war, were being lashed into one of their periodical fren-
zies of patriotism. As though to harmonize with the general
mood, the rocket bombs had been killing larger numbers
of people than usual. One fell on a crowded film theatre in
Stepney, burying several hundred victims among the ruins.
The whole population of the neighbourhood turned out for
a long, trailing funeral which went on for hours and was in
effect an indignation meeting. Another bomb fell on a piece
of waste ground which was used as a playground and sever-
al dozen children were blown to pieces. There were further
angry demonstrations, Goldstein was burned in effigy, hun-
dreds of copies of the poster of the Eurasian soldier were
torn down and added to the flames, and a number of shops
were looted in the turmoil; then a rumour flew round that
spies were directing the rocket bombs by means of wireless
waves, and an old couple who were suspected of being of
foreign extraction had their house set on fire and perished



1984



of suffocation.

In the room over Mr Charrington's shop, when they could
get there, Julia and Winston lay side by side on a stripped
bed under the open window, naked for the sake of coolness.
The rat had never come back, but the bugs had multiplied
hideously in the heat. It did not seem to matter. Dirty or
clean, the room was paradise. As soon as they arrived they
would sprinkle everything with pepper bought on the black
market, tear off their clothes, and make love with sweating
bodies, then fall asleep and wake to find that the bugs had
rallied and were massing for the counter-attack.

Four, five, six — seven times they met during the month
of June. Winston had dropped his habit of drinking gin at
all hours. He seemed to have lost the need for it. He had
grown fatter, his varicose ulcer had subsided, leaving only
a brown stain on the skin above his ankle, his fits of cough-
ing in the early morning had stopped. The process of life
had ceased to be intolerable, he had no longer any impulse
to make faces at the telescreen or shout curses at the top of
his voice. Now that they had a secure hiding-place, almost a
home, it did not even seem a hardship that they could only
meet infrequently and for a couple of hours at a time. What
mattered was that the room over the junk-shop should exist.
To know that it was there, inviolate, was almost the same as
being in it. The room was a world, a pocket of the past where
extinct animals could walk. Mr Charrington, thought Win-
ston, was another extinct animal. He usually stopped to talk
with Mr Charrington for a few minutes on his way upstairs.
The old man seemed seldom or never to go out of doors,

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 189



and on the other hand to have almost no customers. He
led a ghostlike existence between the tiny, dark shop, and
an even tinier back kitchen where he prepared his meals
and which contained, among other things, an unbelievably
ancient gramophone with an enormous horn. He seemed
glad of the opportunity to talk. Wandering about among
his worthless stock, with his long nose and thick spectacles
and his bowed shoulders in the velvet jacket, he had always
vaguely the air of being a collector rather than a tradesman.
With a sort of faded enthusiasm he would finger this scrap
of rubbish or that — a china bottle-stopper, the painted lid of
a broken snuffbox, a pinchbeck locket containing a strand
of some long-dead baby's hair — never asking that Winston
should buy it, merely that he should admire it. To talk to
him was like listening to the tinkling of a worn-out musical-
box. He had dragged out from the corners of his memory
some more fragments of forgotten rhymes. There was one
about four and twenty blackbirds, and another about a cow
with a crumpled horn, and another about the death of poor
Cock Robin. 'It just occurred to me you might be interested,'
he would say with a deprecating little laugh whenever he
produced a new fragment. But he could never recall more
than a few lines of any one rhyme.

Both of them knew — in a way, it was never out of their
minds that what was now happening could not last long.
There were times when the fact of impending death seemed
as palpable as the bed they lay on, and they would cling to-
gether with a sort of despairing sensuality, like a damned
soul grasping at his last morsel of pleasure when the clock



1984



is within five minutes of striking. But there were also times
when they had the illusion not only of safety but of per-
manence. So long as they were actually in this room, they
both felt, no harm could come to them. Getting there was
difficult and dangerous, but the room itself was sanctuary.
It was as when Winston had gazed into the heart of the pa-
perweight, with the feeling that it would be possible to get
inside that glassy world, and that once inside it time could
be arrested. Often they gave themselves up to daydreams of
escape. Their luck would hold indefinitely, and they would
carry on their intrigue, just like this, for the remainder of
their natural lives. Or Katharine would die, and by subtle
manoeuvrings Winston and Julia would succeed in get-
ting married. Or they would commit suicide together. Or
they would disappear, alter themselves out of recognition,
learn to speak with proletarian accents, get jobs in a factory
and live out their lives undetected in a back-street. It was
all nonsense, as they both knew. In reality there was no es-
cape. Even the one plan that was practicable, suicide, they
had no intention of carrying out. To hang on from day to
day and from week to week, spinning out a present that had
no future, seemed an unconquerable instinct, just as one's
lungs will always draw the next breath so long as there is
air available.

Sometimes, too, they talked of engaging in active rebel-
lion against the Party, but with no notion of how to take
the first step. Even if the fabulous Brotherhood was a real-
ity, there still remained the difficulty of finding one's way
into it. He told her of the strange intimacy that existed, or



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seemed to exist, between himself and O'Brien, and of the
impulse he sometimes felt, simply to walk into O'Brien's
presence, announce that he was the enemy of the Party, and
demand his help. Curiously enough, this did not strike her
as an impossibly rash thing to do. She was used to judg-
ing people by their faces, and it seemed natural to her that
Winston should believe O'Brien to be trustworthy on the
strength of a single flash of the eyes. Moreover she took it
for granted that everyone, or nearly everyone, secretly hated
the Party and would break the rules if he thought it safe to
do so. But she refused to believe that widespread, organized
opposition existed or could exist. The tales about Goldstein
and his underground army, she said, were simply a lot of
rubbish which the Party had invented for its own purposes
and which you had to pretend to believe in. Times beyond
number, at Party rallies and spontaneous demonstrations,
she had shouted at the top of her voice for the execution of
people whose names she had never heard and in whose sup-
posed crimes she had not the faintest belief. When public
trials were happening she had taken her place in the detach-
ments from the Youth League who surrounded the courts
from morning to night, chanting at intervals 'Death to the
traitors!' During the Two Minutes Hate she always excelled
all others in shouting insults at Goldstein. Yet she had only
the dimmest idea of who Goldstein was and what doctrines
he was supposed to represent. She had grown up since the
Revolution and was too young to remember the ideological
battles of the fifties and sixties. Such a thing as an indepen-
dent political movement was outside her imagination: and



1984



in any case the Party was invincible. It would always ex-
ist, and it would always be the same. You could only rebel
against it by secret disobedience or, at most, by isolated acts
of violence such as killing somebody or blowing something
up.

In some ways she was far more acute than Winston, and
far less susceptible to Party propaganda. Once when he
happened in some connexion to mention the war against
Eurasia, she startled him by saying casually that in her opin-
ion the war was not happening. The rocket bombs which fell
daily on London were probably fired by the Government
of Oceania itself, 'just to keep people frightened'. This was
an idea that had literally never occurred to him. She also
stirred a sort of envy in him by telling him that during the
Two Minutes Hate her great difficulty was to avoid bursting
out laughing. But she only questioned the teachings of the
Party when they in some way touched upon her own life.
Often she was ready to accept the official mythology, simply
because the difference between truth and falsehood did not
seem important to her. She believed, for instance, having
learnt it at school, that the Party had invented aeroplanes.
(In his own schooldays, Winston remembered, in the late
fifties, it was only the helicopter that the Party claimed to
have invented; a dozen years later, when Julia was at school,
it was already claiming the aeroplane; one generation more,
and it would be claiming the steam engine.) And when he
told her that aeroplanes had been in existence before he was
born and long before the Revolution, the fact struck her as
totally uninteresting. After all, what did it matter who had

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 193



invented aeroplanes? It was rather more of a shock to him
when he discovered from some chance remark that she did
not remember that Oceania, four years ago, had been at war
with Eastasia and at peace with Eurasia. It was true that she
regarded the whole war as a sham: but apparently she had
not even noticed that the name of the enemy had changed.
'I thought we'd always been at war with Eurasia,' she said
vaguely. It frightened him a little. The invention of aero-
planes dated from long before her birth, but the switchover
in the war had happened only four years ago, well after she
was grown up. He argued with her about it for perhaps a
quarter of an hour. In the end he succeeded in forcing her
memory back until she did dimly recall that at one time
Eastasia and not Eurasia had been the enemy. But the issue
still struck her as unimportant. 'Who cares?' she said im-
patiently. 'It's always one bloody war after another, and one
knows the news is all lies anyway.'

Sometimes he talked to her of the Records Department
and the impudent forgeries that he committed there. Such
things did not appear to horrify her. She did not feel the
abyss opening beneath her feet at the thought of lies becom-
ing truths. He told her the story of Jones, Aaronson, and
Rutherford and the momentous slip of paper which he had
once held between his fingers. It did not make much im-
pression on her. At first, indeed, she failed to grasp the point
of the story.

'Were they friends of yours?' she said.

'No, I never knew them. They were Inner Party members.
Besides, they were far older men than I was. They belonged



1984



to the old days, before the Revolution. I barely knew them
by sight.'

'Then what was there to worry about? People are being
killed off all the time, aren't they?'

He tried to make her understand. 'This was an excep-
tional case. It wasn't just a question of somebody being
killed. Do you realize that the past, starting from yester-
day, has been actually abolished? If it survives anywhere,
it's in a few solid objects with no words attached to them,
like that lump of glass there. Already we know almost lit-
erally nothing about the Revolution and the years before
the Revolution. Every record has been destroyed or falsi-
fied, every book has been rewritten, every picture has been
repainted, every statue and street and building has been
renamed, every date has been altered. And that process is
continuing day by day and minute by minute. History has
stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present in which
the Party is always right. I know, of course, that the past is
falsified, but it would never be possible for me to prove it,
even when I did the falsification myself. After the thing is
done, no evidence ever remains. The only evidence is inside
my own mind, and I don't know with any certainty that any
other human being shares my memories. Just in that one
instance, in my whole life, I did possess actual concrete evi-
dence after the event — years after it.'

And what good was that?'

'It was no good, because I threw it away a few minutes lat-
er. But if the same thing happened today, I should keep it.'

'Well, I wouldn't!' said Julia. 'I'm quite ready to take



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risks, but only for something worth while, not for bits of
old newspaper. What could you have done with it even if
you had kept it?'

'Not much, perhaps. But it was evidence. It might have
planted a few doubts here and there, supposing that I'd
dared to show it to anybody. I don't imagine that we can
alter anything in our own lifetime. But one can imagine lit-
tle knots of resistance springing up here and there — small
groups of people banding themselves together, and gradu-
ally growing, and even leaving a few records behind, so that
the next generations can carry on where we leave off.'

'I'm not interested in the next generation, dear. I'm inter-
ested in US.'

'You're only a rebel from the waist downwards,' he told
her.

She thought this brilliantly witty and flung her arms
round him in delight.

In the ramifications of party doctrine she had not the
faintest interest. Whenever he began to talk of the princi-
ples of Ingsoc, doublethink, the mutability of the past, and
the denial of objective reality, and to use Newspeak words,
she became bored and confused and said that she never paid
any attention to that kind of thing. One knew that it was all
rubbish, so why let oneself be worried by it? She knew when
to cheer and when to boo, and that was all one needed. If he
persisted in talking of such subjects, she had a disconcerting
habit of falling asleep. She was one of those people who can
go to sleep at any hour and in any position. Talking to her,
he realized how easy it was to present an appearance of or-

196 1984



thodoxy while having no grasp whatever of what orthodoxy
meant. In a way, the world-view of the Party imposed itself
most successfully on people incapable of understanding it.
They could be made to accept the most flagrant violations
of reality, because they never fully grasped the enormity
of what was demanded of them, and were not sufficiently
interested in public events to notice what was happening.
By lack of understanding doing, made literally no dif-
ference. Whatever happened you vanished, and neither you
nor your actions were ever heard of again. You were lifted
clean out of the stream of history. And yet to the people
of only two generations ago this would not have seemed
all-important, because they were not attempting to alter
history. They were governed by private loyalties which they
did not question. What mattered were individual relation-
ships, and a completely helpless gesture, an embrace, a tear,
a word spoken to a dying man, could have value in itself.
The proles, it suddenly occurred to him, had remained in
this condition. They were not loyal to a party or a country or
an idea, they were loyal to one another. For the first time in
his life he did not despise the proles or think of them merely
as an inert force which would one day spring to life and re-
generate the world. The proles had stayed human. They had
not become hardened inside. They had held on to the primi-
tive emotions which he himself had to re-learn by conscious
effort. And in thinking this he remembered, without appar-
ent relevance, how a few weeks ago he had seen a severed



1984



hand lying on the pavement and had kicked it into the gut-
ter as though it had been a cabbage-stalk.

'The proles are human beings,' he said aloud. 'We are not
human.'

'Why not?' said Julia, who had woken up again.

He thought for a little while. 'Has it ever occurred to you,'
he said, 'that the best thing for us to do would be simply to
walk out of here before it's too late, and never see each other
again?'

'Yes, dear, it has occurred to me, several times. But I'm
not going to do it, all the same.'

We've been lucky' he said 'but it can't last much longer.
You're young. You look normal and innocent. If you keep
clear of people like me, you might stay alive for another fifty
years.'

'No. I've thought it all out. What you do, I'm going to do.
And don't be too downhearted. I'm rather good at staying
alive.'

We may be together for another six months — a year —
there's no knowing. At the end we're certain to be apart. Do
you realize how utterly alone we shall be? When once they
get hold of us there will be nothing, literally nothing, that
either of us can do for the other. If I confess, they'll shoot
you, and if I refuse to confess, they'll shoot you just the same.
Nothing that I can do or say, or stop myself from saying, will
put off your death for as much as five minutes. Neither of us
will even know whether the other is alive or dead. We shall
be utterly without power of any kind. The one thing that
matters is that we shouldn't betray one another, although

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 209



even that can't make the slightest difference.'

'If you mean confessing,' she said, 'we shall do that, right
enough. Everybody always confesses. You can't help it. They
torture you.'

'I don't mean confessing. Confession is not betrayal.
What you say or do doesn't matter: only feelings matter. If
they could make me stop loving you — that would be the
real betrayal.'

She thought it over. 'They can't do that,' she said final-
ly. 'It's the one thing they can't do. They can make you say
anything — ANYTHING — but they can't make you believe
it. They can't get inside you.'

'No,' he said a little more hopefully, 'no; that's quite true.
They can't get inside you. If you can FEEL that staying hu-
man is worth while, even when it can't have any result
whatever, you've beaten them.'

He thought of the telescreen with its never-sleeping ear.
They could spy upon you night and day, but if you kept your
head you could still outwit them. With all their cleverness
they had never mastered the secret of finding out what an-
other human being was thinking. Perhaps that was less true
when you were actually in their hands. One did not know
what happened inside the Ministry of Love, but it was pos-
sible to guess: tortures, drugs, delicate instruments that
registered your nervous reactions, gradual wearing- down
by sleeplessness and solitude and persistent questioning.
Facts, at any rate, could not be kept hidden. They could be
tracked down by enquiry, they could be squeezed out of you
by torture. But if the object was not to stay alive but to stay



1984



human, what difference did it ultimately make? They could
not alter your feelings: for that matter you could not alter
them yourself, even if you wanted to. They could lay bare in
the utmost detail everything that you had done or said or
thought; but the inner heart, whose workings were mysteri-
ous even to yourself, remained impregnable.



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Chapter 8



They had done it, they had done it at last!
The room they were standing in was long-shaped and
softly lit. The telescreen was dimmed to a low murmur; the
richness of the dark-blue carpet gave one the impression of
treading on velvet. At the far end of the room O'Brien was
sitting at a table under a green-shaded lamp, with a mass of
papers on either side of him. He had not bothered to look up
when the servant showed Julia and Winston in.

Winston's heart was thumping so hard that he doubted
whether he would be able to speak. They had done it, they
had done it at last, was all he could think. It had been a rash
act to come here at all, and sheer folly to arrive together;
though it was true that they had come by different routes
and only met on O'Brien's doorstep. But merely to walk into
such a place needed an effort of the nerve. It was only on
very rare occasions that one saw inside the dwelling-plac-
es of the Inner Party, or even penetrated into the quarter
of the town where they lived. The whole atmosphere of the
huge block of flats, the richness and spaciousness of every-
thing, the unfamiliar smells of good food and good tobacco,
the silent and incredibly rapid lifts sliding up and down, the
white-jacketed servants hurrying to and fro — everything
was intimidating. Although he had a good pretext for com-
ing here, he was haunted at every step by the fear that a



1984



black-uniformed guard would suddenly appear from round
the corner, demand his papers, and order him to get out.
O'Brien's servant, however, had admitted the two of them
without demur. He was a small, dark-haired man in a white
jacket, with a diamond-shaped, completely expressionless
face which might have been that of a Chinese. The passage
down which he led them was softly carpeted, with cream-
papered walls and white wainscoting, all exquisitely clean.
That too was intimidating. Winston could not remember
ever to have seen a passageway whose walls were not grimy
from the contact of human bodies.

O'Brien had a slip of paper between his fingers and
seemed to be studying it intently. His heavy face, bent down
so that one could see the line of the nose, looked both for-
midable and intelligent. For perhaps twenty seconds he sat
without stirring. Then he pulled the speakwrite towards
him and rapped out a message in the hybrid jargon of the
Ministries:

'Items one comma five comma seven approved fullwise
stop suggestion contained item six doubleplus ridiculous
verging crimethink cancel stop unproceed constructionwise
antegetting plusfull estimates machinery overheads stop end
message.'

He rose deliberately from his chair and came towards
them across the soundless carpet. A little of the official at-
mosphere seemed to have fallen away from him with the
Newspeak words, but his expression was grimmer than

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usual, as though he were not pleased at being disturbed. The
terror that Winston already felt was suddenly shot through
by a streak of ordinary embarrassment. It seemed to him
quite possible that he had simply made a stupid mistake.
For what evidence had he in reality that O'Brien was any
kind of political conspirator? Nothing but a flash of the eyes
and a single equivocal remark: beyond that, only his own
secret imaginings, founded on a dream. He could not even
fall back on the pretence that he had come to borrow the
dictionary, because in that case Julia's presence was impos-
sible to explain. As O'Brien passed the telescreen a thought
seemed to strike him. He stopped, turned aside and pressed
a switch on the wall. There was a sharp snap. The voice had
stopped.

Julia uttered a tiny sound, a sort of squeak of surprise.
Even in the midst of his panic, Winston was too much taken
aback to be able to hold his tongue.

'You can turn it off!' he said.

'Yes,' said O'Brien, 'we can turn it off. We have that privi-
lege.'

He was opposite them now. His solid form towered
over the pair of them, and the expression on his face was
still indecipherable. He was waiting, somewhat sternly, for
Winston to speak, but about what? Even now it was quite
conceivable that he was simply a busy man wondering ir-
ritably why he had been interrupted. Nobody spoke. After
the stopping of the telescreen the room seemed deadly si-
lent. The seconds marched past, enormous. With difficulty
Winston continued to keep his eyes fixed on O'Brien's. Then



1984



suddenly the grim face broke down into what might have
been the beginnings of a smile. With his characteristic ges-
ture O'Brien resettled his spectacles on his nose.

'Shall I say it, or will you?' he said.

'I will say it,' said Winston promptly. 'That thing is really
turned off?'

'Yes, everything is turned off. We are alone.'

'We have come here because '

He paused, realizing for the first time the vagueness of
his own motives. Since he did not in fact know what kind
of help he expected from O'Brien, it was not easy to say why
he had come here. He went on, conscious that what he was
saying must sound both feeble and pretentious:

'We believe that there is some kind of conspiracy, some
kind of secret organization working against the Party, and
that you are involved in it. We want to join it and work for it.
We are enemies of the Party. We disbelieve in the principles
of Ingsoc. We are thought-criminals. We are also adulter-
ers. I tell you this because we want to put ourselves at your
mercy. If you want us to incriminate ourselves in any other
way, we are ready'

He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, with the
feeling that the door had opened. Sure enough, the little yel-
low-faced servant had come in without knocking. Winston
saw that he was carrying a tray with a decanter and glasses.

'Martin is one of us,' said O'Brien impassively. 'Bring
the drinks over here, Martin. Put them on the round table.
Have we enough chairs? Then we may as well sit down and
talk in comfort. Bring a chair for yourself, Martin. This is

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 215



business. You can stop being a servant for the next ten min-
utes.'

The little man sat down, quite at his ease, and yet still
with a servant-like air, the air of a valet enjoying a priv-
ilege. Winston regarded him out of the corner of his eye.
It struck him that the man's whole life was playing a part,
and that he felt it to be dangerous to drop his assumed per-
sonality even for a moment. O'Brien took the decanter by
the neck and filled up the glasses with a dark-red liquid. It
aroused in Winston dim memories of something seen long
ago on a wall or a hoarding — a vast bottle composed of elec-
tric lights which seemed to move up and down and pour its
contents into a glass. Seen from the top the stuff looked al-
most black, but in the decanter it gleamed like a ruby. It had
a sour-sweet smell. He saw Julia pick up her glass and sniff
at it with frank curiosity.

'It is called wine,' said O'Brien with a faint smile. 'You
will have read about it in books, no doubt. Not much of it

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
Image

_________________
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Thu Feb 21, 2013 1:10 am
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Post Re: POST, POST LIKE YOU NEVER POSTED BEFORE!
gets to the Outer Party, I am afraid.' His face grew solemn
again, and he raised his glass: 'I think it is fitting that we
should begin by drinking a health. To our Leader: To Em-
manuel Goldstein.'

Winston took up his glass with a certain eagerness. Wine
was a thing he had read and dreamed about. Like the glass
paperweight or Mr Charrington's half-remembered rhymes,
it belonged to the vanished, romantic past, the olden time
as he liked to call it in his secret thoughts. For some reason
he had always thought of wine as having an intensely sweet
taste, like that of blackberry jam and an immediate intoxi-



1984



eating effect. Actually, when he came to swallow it, the stuff
was distinctly disappointing. The truth was that after years
of gin-drinking he could barely taste it. He set down the
empty glass.

'Then there is such a person as Goldstein?' he said.

'Yes, there is such a person, and he is alive. Where, I do
not know.'

'And the conspiracy — the organization? Is it real? It is not
simply an invention of the Thought Police?'

'No, it is real. The Brotherhood, we call it. You will never
learn much more about the Brotherhood than that it exists
and that you belong to it. I will come back to that pres-
ently' He looked at his wrist-watch. 'It is unwise even for
members of the Inner Party to turn off the telescreen for
more than half an hour. You ought not to have come here
together, and you will have to leave separately. You, com-
rade' — he bowed his head to Julia — 'will leave first. We have
about twenty minutes at our disposal. You will understand
that I must start by asking you certain questions. In general
terms, what are you prepared to do?'

Anything that we are capable of,' said Winston.

O'Brien had turned himself a little in his chair so that he
was facing Winston. He almost ignored Julia, seeming to
take it for granted that Winston could speak for her. For a
moment the lids flitted down over his eyes. He began asking
his questions in a low, expressionless voice, as though this
were a routine, a sort of catechism, most of whose answers
were known to him already.

'You are prepared to give your lives?'

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 217



'Yes.'

'You are prepared to commit murder?'

'Yes.'

'To commit acts of sabotage which may cause the death
of hundreds of innocent people?'

'Yes.'

'To betray your country to foreign powers?'

'Yes.'

'You are prepared to cheat, to forge, to blackmail, to cor-
rupt the minds of children, to distribute habit-forming
drugs, to encourage prostitution, to disseminate venereal
diseases — to do anything which is likely to cause demoral-
ization and weaken the power of the Party?'

'Yes.'

'If, for example, it would somehow serve our interests to
throw sulphuric acid in a child's face — are you prepared to
do that?'

'Yes.'

'You are prepared to lose your identity and live out the
rest of your life as a waiter or a dock-worker?'

'Yes.'

'You are prepared to commit suicide, if and when we or-
der you to do so?'

'Yes.'

'You are prepared, the two of you, to separate and never
see one another again?'

'No!' broke in Julia.

It appeared to Winston that a long time passed before
he answered. For a moment he seemed even to have been



1984



deprived of the power of speech. His tongue worked sound-
lessly, forming the opening syllables first of one word, then
of the other, over and over again. Until he had said it, he
did not know which word he was going to say. 'No,' he said
finally.

'You did well to tell me,' said O'Brien. 'It is necessary for
us to know everything.'

He turned himself toward Julia and added in a voice
with somewhat more expression in it:

'Do you understand that even if he survives, it may be
as a different person? We may be obliged to give him a new
identity. His face, his movements, the shape of his hands,
the colour of his hair — even his voice would be different.
And you yourself might have become a different person.
Our surgeons can alter people beyond recognition. Some-
times it is necessary. Sometimes we even amputate a limb.'

Winston could not help snatching another sidelong
glance at Martin's Mongolian face. There were no scars
that he could see. Julia had turned a shade paler, so that
her freckles were showing, but she faced O'Brien boldly. She
murmured something that seemed to be assent.

'Good. Then that is settled.'

There was a silver box of cigarettes on the table. With a
rather absent-minded air O'Brien pushed them towards the
others, took one himself, then stood up and began to pace
slowly to and fro, as though he could think better standing.
They were very good cigarettes, very thick and well-packed,
with an unfamiliar silkiness in the paper. O'Brien looked at
his wrist-watch again.



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'You had better go back to your Pantry, Martin,' he said.
'I shall switch on in a quarter of an hour. Take a good look
at these comrades' faces before you go. You will be seeing
them again. I may not.'

Exactly as they had done at the front door, the little man's
dark eyes flickered over their faces. There was not a trace
of friendliness in his manner. He was memorizing their
appearance, but he felt no interest in them, or appeared
to feel none. It occurred to Winston that a synthetic face
was perhaps incapable of changing its expression. Without
speaking or giving any kind of salutation, Martin went out,
closing the door silently behind him. O'Brien was strolling
up and down, one hand in the pocket of his black overalls,
the other holding his cigarette.

'You understand,' he said, 'that you will be fighting in
the dark. You will always be in the dark. You will receive
orders and you will obey them, without knowing why. Later
I shall send you a book from which you will learn the true
nature of the society we live in, and the strategy by which
we shall destroy it. When you have read the book, you will
be full members of the Brotherhood. But between the gen-
eral aims that we are fighting for and the immedi ate tasks
of the moment, you will never know anything. I tell you
that the Brotherhood exists, but I cannot tell you wheth-
er it numbers a hundred members, or ten million. From
your personal knowledge you will never be able to say that
it numbers even as many as a dozen. You will have three
or four contacts, who will be renewed from time to time
as they disappear. As this was your first contact, it will be



1984



preserved. When you receive orders, they will come from
me. If we find it necessary to communicate with you, it will
be through Martin. When you are finally caught, you will
confess. That is unavoidable. But you will have very little
to confess, other than your own actions. You will not be
able to betray more than a handful of unimportant people.
Probably you will not even betray me. By that time I maybe
dead, or I shall have become a different person, with a dif-
ferent face.'

He continued to move to and fro over the soft carpet. In
spite of the bulkiness of his body there was a remarkable
grace in his movements. It came out even in the gesture
with which he thrust a hand into his pocket, or manipu-
lated a cigarette. More even than of strength, he gave an
impression of confidence and of an understanding tinged
by irony. However much in earnest he might be, he had
nothing of the single-mindedness that belongs to a fanatic.
When he spoke of murder, suicide, venereal disease, am-
putated limbs, and altered faces, it was with a faint air of
persiflage. 'This is unavoidable,' his voice seemed to say;
'this is what we have got to do, unflinchingly. But this is
not what we shall be doing when life is worth living again.'
A wave of admiration, almost of worship, flowed out from
Winston towards O'Brien. For the moment he had forgot-
ten the shadowy figure of Goldstein. When you looked at
O'Brien's powerful shoulders and his blunt- featured face, so
ugly and yet so civilized, it was impossible to believe that
he could be defeated. There was no stratagem that he was
not equal to, no danger that he could not foresee. Even Julia

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 221



seemed to be impressed. She had let her cigarette go out and
was listening intently. O'Brien went on:

'You will have heard rumours of the existence of the
Brotherhood. No doubt you have formed your own picture
of it. You have imagined, probably, a huge underworld of
conspirators, meeting secretly in cellars, scribbling mes-
sages on walls, recognizing one another by codewords or by
special movements of the hand. Nothing of the kind exists.
The members of the Brotherhood have no way of recogniz-
ing one another, and it is impossible for any one member to
be aware of the identity of more than a few others. Gold-
stein himself, if he fell into the hands of the Thought Police,
could not give them a complete list of members, or any in-
formation that would lead them to a complete list. No such
list exists. The Brotherhood cannot be wiped out because it
is not an organization in the ordinary sense. Nothing holds
it together except an idea which is indestructible. You will
never have anything to sustain you, except the idea. You
will get no comradeship and no encouragement. When fi-
nally you are caught, you will get no help. We never help
our members. At most, when it is absolutely necessary that
someone should be silenced, we are occasionally able to
smuggle a razor blade into a prisoner's cell. You will have
to get used to living without results and without hope. You
will work for a while, you will be caught, you will confess,
and then you will die. Those are the only results that you
will ever see. There is no possibility that any perceptible
change will happen within our own lifetime. We are the
dead. Our only true life is in the future. We shall take part



1984



in it as handfuls of dust and splinters of bone. But how far
away that future may be, there is no knowing. It might be
a thousand years. At present nothing is possible except to
extend the area of sanity little by little. We cannot act col-
lectively. We can only spread our knowledge outwards from
individual to individual, generation after generation. In the
face of the Thought Police there is no other way'

He halted and looked for the third time at his wrist-
watch.

'It is almost time for you to leave, comrade,' he said to Ju-
lia. 'Wait. The decanter is still half full.'

He filled the glasses and raised his own glass by the
stem.

'What shall it be this time?' he said, still with the same
faint suggestion of irony. 'To the confusion of the Thought
Police? To the death of Big Brother? To humanity? To the
future?'

'To the past,' said Winston.

'The past is more important,' agreed O'Brien gravely.

They emptied their glasses, and a moment later Julia
stood up to go. O'Brien took a small box from the top of a
cabinet and handed her a flat white tablet which he told her
to place on her tongue. It was important, he said, not to go
out smelling of wine: the lift attendants were very obser-
vant. As soon as the door had shut behind her he appeared
to forget her existence. He took another pace or two up and
down, then stopped.

'There are details to be settled,' he said. 'I assume that
you have a hiding-place of some kind?'

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 223



Winston explained about the room over Mr Char-
rington's shop.

'That will do for the moment. Later we will arrange
something else for you. It is important to change one's hid-
ing-place frequently. Meanwhile I shall send you a copy of
THE BOOK' — even O'Brien, Winston noticed, seemed to
pronounce the words as though they were in italics — 'Gold-
stein's book, you understand, as soon as possible. It may
be some days before I can get hold of one. There are not
many in existence, as you can imagine. The Thought Police
hunt them down and destroy them almost as fast as we can
produce them. It makes very little difference. The book is
indestructible. If the last copy were gone, we could repro-
duce it almost word for word. Do you carry a brief-case to
work with you?' he added.

'As a rule, yes.'

'What is it like?'

'Black, very shabby. With two straps.'

'Black, two straps, very shabby — good. One day in the
fairly near future — I cannot give a date — one of the messag-
es among your morning's work will contain a misprinted
word, and you will have to ask for a repeat. On the following
day you will go to work without your brief-case. At some
time during the day, in the street, a man will touch you on
the arm and say T think you have dropped your brief-case.'
The one he gives you will contain a copy of Goldstein's book.
You will return it within fourteen days.'

They were silent for a moment.

"There are a couple of minutes before you need go,' said



1984



O'Brien. 'We shall meet again — if we do meet again '

Winston looked up at him. 'In the place where there is no
darkness?' he said hesitantly.

O'Brien nodded without appearance of surprise. 'In the
place where there is no darkness,' he said, as though he had
recognized the allusion. 'And in the meantime, is there any-
thing that you wish to say before you leave? Any message?
Any question?.'

Winston thought. There did not seem to be any further
question that he wanted to ask: still less did he feel any
impulse to utter high-sounding generalities. Instead of any-
thing directly connected with O'Brien or the Brotherhood,
there came into his mind a sort of composite picture of the
dark bedroom where his mother had spent her last days,
and the little room over Mr Charrington's shop, and the
glass paperweight, and the steel engraving in its rosewood
frame. Almost at random he said:

'Did you ever happen to hear an old rhyme that begins
'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's'?'

Again O'Brien nodded. With a sort of grave courtesy he
completed the stanza:

'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's,
You owe me three farthings, say the bells of St Martin's,
When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey,
When I grow rich, say the bells ofShoreditch.'

'You knew the last line!' said Winston.

'Yes, I knew the last line. And now, I am afraid, it is time

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 225



for you to go. But wait. You had better let me give you one
of these tablets.'

As Winston stood up O'Brien held out a hand. His pow-
erful grip crushed the bones of Winston's palm. At the
door Winston looked back, but O'Brien seemed already to
be in process of putting him out of mind. He was waiting
with his hand on the switch that controlled the telescreen.
Beyond him Winston could see the writing-table with its
green-shaded lamp and the speakwrite and the wire baskets
deep-laden with papers. The incident was closed. Within
thirty seconds, it occurred to him, O'Brien would be back at
his interrupted and important work on behalf of the Party.



1984



Chapter 9



Winston was gelatinous with fatigue. Gelatinous was
the right word. It had come into his head spontane-
ously. His body seemed to have not only the weakness of a
jelly, but its translucency He felt that if he held up his hand
he would be able to see the light through it. All the blood
and lymph had been drained out of him by an enormous
debauch of work, leaving only a frail structure of nerves,
bones, and skin. All sensations seemed to be magnified. His
overalls fretted his shoulders, the pavement tickled his feet,
even the opening and closing of a hand was an effort that
made his joints creak.

He had worked more than ninety hours in five days. So
had everyone else in the Ministry. Now it was all over, and
he had literally nothing to do, no Party work of any descrip -
tion, until tomorrow morning. He could spend six hours in
the hiding-place and another nine in his own bed. Slowly, in
mild afternoon sunshine, he walked up a dingy street in the
direction of Mr Charrington's shop, keeping one eye open
for the patrols, but irrationally convinced that this after-
noon there was no danger of anyone interfering with him.
The heavy brief-case that he was carrying bumped against
his knee at each step, sending a tingling sensation up and
down the skin of his leg. Inside it was the book, which he
had now had in his possession for six days and had not yet



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opened, nor even looked at.

On the sixth day of Hate Week, after the processions, the
speeches, the shouting, the singing, the banners, the posters,
the films, the waxworks, the rolling of drums and squeal-
ing of trumpets, the tramp of marching feet, the grinding
of the caterpillars of tanks, the roar of massed planes, the
booming of guns — after six days of this, when the great or-
gasm was quivering to its climax and the general hatred of
Eurasia had boiled up into such delirium that if the crowd
could have got their hands on the 2,000 Eurasian war-crim-
inals who were to be publicly hanged on the last day of the
proceedings, they would unquestionably have torn them
to pieces — at just this moment it had been announced that
Oceania was not after all at war with Eurasia. Oceania was
at war with Eastasia. Eurasia was an ally.

There was, of course, no admission that any change had
taken place. Merely it became known, with extreme sud-
denness and everywhere at once, that Eastasia and not
Eurasia was the enemy. Winston was taking part in a dem-
onstration in one of the central London squares at the
moment when it happened. It was night, and the white fac-
es and the scarlet banners were luridly floodlit. The square
was packed with several thousand people, including a block
of about a thousand schoolchildren in the uniform of the
Spies. On a scarlet- draped platform an orator of the Inner
Party, a small lean man with disproportionately long arms
and a large bald skull over which a few lank locks strag-
gled, was haranguing the crowd. A little Rumpelstiltskin
figure, contorted with hatred, he gripped the neck of the



1984



microphone with one hand while the other, enormous at
the end of a bony arm, clawed the air menacingly above his
head. His voice, made metallic by the amplifiers, boomed
forth an endless catalogue of atrocities, massacres, depor-
tations, lootings, rapings, torture of prisoners, bombing
of civilians, lying propaganda, unjust aggressions, broken
treaties. It was almost impossible to listen to him without
being first convinced and then maddened. At every few mo-
ments the fury of the crowd boiled over and the voice of the
speaker was drowned by a wild beast-like roaring that rose
uncontrollably from thousands of throats. The most sav-
age yells of all came from the schoolchildren. The speech
had been proceeding for perhaps twenty minutes when a
messenger hurried on to the platform and a scrap of paper
was slipped into the speaker's hand. He unrolled and read it
without pausing in his speech. Nothing altered in his voice
or manner, or in the content of what he was saying, but sud-
denly the names were different. Without words said, a wave
of understanding rippled through the crowd. Oceania was
at war with Eastasia! The next moment there was a tremen-
dous commotion. The banners and posters with which the
square was decorated were all wrong! Quite half of them
had the wrong faces on them. It was sabotage! The agents of
Goldstein had been at work! There was a riotous interlude
while posters were ripped from the walls, banners torn to
shreds and trampled underfoot. The Spies performed prod-
igies of activity in clambering over the rooftops and cutting
the streamers that fluttered from the chimneys. But within
two or three minutes it was all over. The orator, still gripping



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the neck of the microphone, his shoulders hunched forward,
his free hand clawing at the air, had gone straight on with
his speech. One minute more, and the feral roars of rage
were again bursting from the crowd. The Hate continued
exactly as before, except that the target had been changed.

The thing that impressed Winston in looking back was
that the speaker had switched from one line to the other ac-
tually in midsentence, not only without a pause, but without
even breaking the syntax. But at the moment he had other
things to preoccupy him. It was during the moment of dis-
order while the posters were being torn down that a man
whose face he did not see had tapped him on the shoulder
and said, 'Excuse me, I think you've dropped your brief-
case.' He took the brief-case abstractedly, without speaking.
He knew that it would be days before he had an opportuni-
ty to look inside it. The instant that the demonstration was
over he went straight to the Ministry of Truth, though the
time was now nearly twenty-three hours. The entire staff
of the Ministry had done likewise. The orders already issu-
ing from the telescreen, recalling them to their posts, were
hardly necessary.

Oceania was at war with Eastasia: Oceania had always
been at war with Eastasia. A large part of the political lit-
erature of five years was now completely obsolete. Reports
and records of all kinds, newspapers, books, pamphlets,
films, sound-tracks, photographs — all had to be rectified
at lightning speed. Although no directive was ever issued,
it was known that the chiefs of the Department intended
that within one week no reference to the war with Eurasia,



1984



or the alliance with Eastasia, should remain in existence
anywhere. The work was overwhelming, all the more so
because the processes that it involved could not be called
by their true names. Everyone in the Records Department
worked eighteen hours in the twenty-four, with two three-
hour snatches of sleep. Mattresses were brought up from
the cellars and pitched all over the corridors: meals con-
sisted of sandwiches and Victory Coffee wheeled round
on trolleys by attendants from the canteen. Each time that
Winston broke off for one of his spells of sleep he tried to
leave his desk clear of work, and each time that he crawled
back sticky-eyed and aching, it was to find that another
shower of paper cylinders had covered the desk like a snow-
drift, halfburying the speakwrite and overflowing on to the
floor, so that the first job was always to stack them into a
neat enough pile to give him room to work. What was worst
of all was that the work was by no means purely mechanical.
Often it was enough merely to substitute one name for an-
other, but any detailed report of events demanded care and
imagination. Even the geographical knowledge that one
needed in transferring the war from one part of the world
to another was considerable.

By the third day his eyes ached unbearably and his
spectacles needed wiping every few minutes. It was like
struggling with some crushing physical task, something
which one had the right to refuse and which one was never-
theless neurotically anxious to accomplish. In so far as he
had time to remember it, he was not troubled by the fact that
every word he murmured into the speakwrite, every stroke

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 231



of his ink-pencil, was a deliberate lie. He was as anxious as
anyone else in the Department that the forgery should be
perfect. On the morning of the sixth day the dribble of cyl-
inders slowed down. For as much as half an hour nothing
came out of the tube; then one more cylinder, then nothing.
Everywhere at about the same time the work was easing off.
A deep and as it were secret sigh went through the Depart-
ment. A mighty deed, which could never be mentioned, had
been achieved. It was now impossible for any human being
to prove by documentary evidence that the war with Eurasia
had ever happened. At twelve hundred it was unexpectedly
announced that all workers in the Ministry were free till
tomorrow morning. Winston, still carrying the brief-case
containing the book, which had remained between his feet
while he worked and under his body while he slept, went
home, shaved himself, and almost fell asleep in his bath, al-
though the water was barely more than tepid.

With a sort of voluptuous creaking in his joints he
climbed the stair above Mr Charrington's shop. He was
tired, but not sleepy any longer. He opened the window, lit
the dirty little oilstove and put on a pan of water for coffee.
Julia would arrive presently: meanwhile there was the book.
He sat down in the sluttish armchair and undid the straps
of the brief-case.

A heavy black volume, amateurishly bound, with no
name or title on the cover. The print also looked slightly
irregular. The pages were worn at the edges, and fell apart,
easily, as though the book had passed through many hands.
The inscription on the title-page ran:



1984



THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF
OLIGARCHICAL COLLECTIVISM

by

Emmanuel Goldstein

Winston began reading:

Chapter 1

Ignorance is Strength

Throughout recorded time, and probably since the end
of the Neolithic Age, there have been three kinds of people
in the world, the High, the Middle, and the Low. They have
been subdivided in many ways, they have borne count-
less different names, and their relative numbers, as well as
their attitude towards one another, have varied from age to
age: but the essential structure of society has never altered.
Even after enormous upheavals and seemingly irrevocable
changes, the same pattern has always reasserted itself, just
as a gyroscope will always return to equilibrium, however
far it is pushed one way or the other.

The aims of these groups are entirely irreconcilable...

Winston stopped reading, chiefly in order to appreciate
the fact that he was reading, in comfort and safety. He was
alone: no telescreen, no ear at the keyhole, no nervous im-
pulse to glance over his shoulder or cover the page with his
hand. The sweet summer air played against his cheek. From
somewhere far away there floated the faint shouts of chil-

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 233



dren: in the room itself there was no sound except the insect
voice of the clock. He settled deeper into the arm-chair and
put his feet up on the fender. It was bliss, it was eternity.
Suddenly, as one sometimes does with a book of which one
knows that one will ultimately read and re-read every word,
he opened it at a different place and found himself at Chap-
ter III. He went on reading:

Chapter III

War is Peace

The splitting up of the world into three great super-states
was an event which could be and indeed was foreseen
before the middle of the twentieth century. With the ab-
sorption of Europe by Russia and of the British Empire by
the United States, two of the three existing powers, Eurasia
and Oceania, were already effectively in being. The third,
Eastasia, only emerged as a distinct unit after another de-
cade of confused fighting. The frontiers between the three
super-states are in some places arbitrary, and in others they
fluctuate according to the fortunes of war, but in general
they follow geographical lines. Eurasia comprises the whole
of the northern part of the European and Asiatic land-mass,
from Portugal to the Bering Strait. Oceania comprises the
Americas, the Atlantic islands including the British Isles,
Australasia, and the southern portion of Africa. Eastasia,
smaller than the others and with a less definite western
frontier, comprises China and the countries to the south of



1984



it, the Japanese islands and a large but fluctuating portion
of Manchuria, Mongolia, and Tibet.

In one combination or another, these three super-states
are permanently at war, and have been so for the past twen-
ty-five years. War, however, is no longer the desperate,
annihilating struggle that it was in the early decades of the
twentieth century. It is a warfare of limited aims between
combatants who are unable to destroy one another, have no
material cause for fighting and are not divided by any genu-
ine ideological difference This is not to say that either the
conduct of war, or the prevailing attitude towards it, has be-
come less bloodthirsty or more chivalrous. On the contrary,
war hysteria is continuous and universal in all countries,
and such acts as raping, looting, the slaughter of children,
the reduction of whole populations to slavery, and reprisals
against prisoners which extend even to boiling and burying
alive, are looked upon as normal, and, when they are com-
mitted by one's own side and not by the enemy, meritorious.
But in a physical sense war involves very small numbers of
people, mostly highly-trained specialists, and causes com-
paratively few casualties. The fighting, when there is any,
takes place on the vague frontiers whose whereabouts the
average man can only guess at, or round the Floating For-
tresses which guard strategic spots on the sea lanes. In the
centres of civilization war means no more than a contin-
uous shortage of consumption goods, and the occasional
crash of a rocket bomb which may cause a few scores of
deaths. War has in fact changed its character. More exactly,
the reasons for which war is waged have changed in their



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order of importance. Motives which were already present
to some small extent in the great wars of the early twentieth
centuury have now become dominant and are consciously
recognized and acted upon.

To understand the nature of the present war — for in spite
of the regrouping which occurs every few years, it is al-
ways the same war — one must realize in the first place that
it is impossible for it to be decisive. None of the three su-
per-states could be definitively conquered even by the other
two in combination. They are too evenly matched, and their
natural defences are too formidable. Eurasia is protected by
its vast land spaces, Oceania by the width of the Atlantic
and the Pacific, Eastasia by the fecundity and indus tri-
ousness of its inhabitants. Secondly, there is no longer, in
a material sense, anything to fight about. With the estab-
lishment of self-contained economies, in which production
and consumption are geared to one another, the scramble
for markets which was a main cause of previous wars has
come to an end, while the competition for raw materials is
no longer a matter of life and death. In any case each of the
three super-states is so vast that it can obtain almost all the
materials that it needs within its own boundaries. In so far
as the war has a direct economic purpose, it is a war for la-
bour power. Between the frontiers of the super-states, and
not permanently in the possession of any of them, there lies
a rough quadrilateral with its corners at Tangier, Brazza-
ville, Darwin, and Hong Kong, containing within it about
a fifth of the population of the earth. It is for the posses-
sion of these thickly-populated regions, and of the northern

236 1984



ice-cap, that the three powers are constantly struggling. In
practice no one power ever controls the whole of the disput-
ed area. Portions of it are constantly changing hands, and
it is the chance of seizing this or that fragment by a sud-
den stroke of treachery that dictates the endless changes of
alignment.

All of the disputed territories contain valuable minerals,
and some of them yield important vegetable products such
as rubber which in colder climates it is necessary to syn-
thesize by comparatively expensive methods. But above all
they contain a bottomless reserve of cheap labour. Which-
ever power controls equatorial Africa, or the countries
of the Middle East, or Southern India, or the Indonesian
Archipelago, disposes also of the bodies of scores or hun-
dreds of millions of ill-paid and hard-working coolies. The
inhabitants of these areas, reduced more or less openly to
the status of slaves, pass continually from conqueror to con-
queror, and are expended like so much coal or oil in the
race to turn out more armaments, to capture more territory,
to control more labour power, to turn out more armaments,
to capture more territory, and so on indefinitely. It should
be noted that the fighting never really moves beyond the
edges of the disputed areas. The frontiers of Eurasia flow
back and forth between the basin of the Congo and the
northern shore of the Mediterranean; the islands of the In-
dian Ocean and the Pacific are constantly being captured
and recaptured by Oceania or by Eastasia; in Mongolia the
dividing line between Eurasia and Eastasia is never stable;
round the Pole all three powers lay claim to enormous terri-



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tories which in fact are largely unihabited and unexplored:
but the balance of power always remains roughly even, and
the territory which forms the heartland of each super-state
always remains inviolate. Moreover, the labour of the ex-
ploited peoples round the Equator is not really necessary to
the world's economy. They add nothing to the wealth of the
world, since whatever they produce is used for purposes of
war, and the object of waging a war is always to be in a bet-
ter position in which to wage another war. By their labour
the slave populations allow the tempo of continuous war-
fare to be speeded up. But if they did not exist, the structure
of world society, and the process by which it maintains it-
self, would not be essentially different.

The primary aim of modern warfare (in accordance
with the principles of DOUBLETHINK, this aim is simul-
taneously recognized and not recognized by the directing
brains of the Inner Party) is to use up the products of the
machine without raising the general standard of living.
Ever since the end of the nineteenth century, the problem of
what to do with the surplus of consumption goods has been
latent in industrial society. At present, when few human be-
ings even have enough to eat, this problem is obviously not
urgent, and it might not have become so, even if no artifi-
cial processes of destruction had been at work. The world
of today is a bare, hungry, dilapidated place compared with
the world that existed before 1914, and still more so if com-
pared with the imaginary future to which the people of that
period looked forward. In the early twentieth century, the
vision of a future society unbelievably rich, leisured, orderly,

238 1984



and efficient — a glittering antiseptic world of glass and steel
and snow-white concrete — was part of the consciousness of
nearly every literate person. Science and technology were
developing at a prodigious speed, and it seemed natural to
assume that they would go on developing. This failed to
happen, partly because of the impoverishment caused by a
long series of wars and revolutions, partly because scientific
and technical progress depended on the empirical habit of
thought, which could not survive in a strictly regimented
society. As a whole the world is more primitive today than it
was fifty years ago. Certain backward areas have advanced,
and various devices, always in some way connected with
warfare and police espionage, have been developed, but
experiment and invention have largely stopped, and the
ravages of the atomic war of the nineteen-fifties have nev-
er been fully repaired. Nevertheless the dangers inherent
in the machine are still there. From the moment when the
machine first made its appearance it was clear to all think-
ing people that the need for human drudgery, and therefore
to a great extent for human inequality, had disappeared. If
the machine were used deliberately for that end, hunger,
overwork, dirt, illiteracy, and disease could be eliminated
within a few generations. And in fact, without being used
for any such purpose, but by a sort of automatic process —
by producing wealth which it was sometimes impossible not
to distribute — the machine did raise the living standards
of the average humand being very greatly over a period of
about fifty years at the end of the nineteenth and the begin-
ning of the twentieth centuries.



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But it was also clear that an all-round increase in wealth
threatened the destruction — indeed, in some sense was the
destruction — of a hierarchical society. In a world in which
everyone worked short hours, had enough to eat, lived in a
house with a bathroom and a refrigerator, and possessed a
motor-car or even an aeroplane, the most obvious and per-
haps the most important form of inequality would already
have disappeared. If it once became general, wealth would
confer no distinction. It was possible, no doubt, to imagine
a society in which WEALTH, in the sense of personal pos-
sessions and luxuries, should be evenly distributed, while
POWER remained in the hands of a small privileged caste.
But in practice such a society could not long remain sta-
ble. For if leisure and security were enjoyed by all alike, the
great mass of human beings who are normally stupefied by
poverty would become literate and would learn to think for
themselves; and when once they had done this, they would
sooner or later realize that the privileged minority had no
function, and they would sweep it away. In the long run,
a hierarchical society was only possible on a basis of pov-
erty and ignorance. To return to the agricultural past, as
some thinkers about the beginning of the twentieth cen-
tury dreamed of doing, was not a practicable solution. It
conflicted with the tendency towards mechanization which
had become quasi-instinctive throughout almost the whole
world, and moreover, any country which remained indus-
trially backward was helpless in a military sense and was
bound to be dominated, directly or indirectly, by its more
advanced rivals.



1984



Nor was it a satisfactory solution to keep the masses in
poverty by restricting the output of goods. This happened
to a great extent during the final phase of capitalism, rough-
ly between 1920 and 1940. The economy of many countries
was allowed to stagnate, land went out of cultivation, capital
equipment was not added to, great blocks of the popula-
tion were prevented from working and kept half alive by
State charity. But this, too, entailed military weakness, and
since the privations it inflicted were obviously unneces-
sary, it made opposition inevitable. The problem was how
to keep the wheels of industry turning without increasing
the real wealth of the world. Goods must be produced, but
they must not be distributed. And in practice the only way
of achieving this was by continuous warfare.

The essential act of war is destruction, not necessarily of
human lives, but of the products of human labour. War is a
way of shattering to pieces, or pouring into the stratosphere,
or sinking in the depths of the sea, materials which might
otherwise be used to make the masses too comfortable, and
hence, in the long run, too intelligent. Even when weapons
of war are not actually destroyed, their manufacture is still
a convenient way of expending labour power without pro-
ducing anything that can be consumed. A Floating Fortress,
for example, has locked up in it the labour that would build
several hundred cargo-ships. Ultimately it is scrapped as
obsolete, never having brought any material benefit to any-
body, and with further enormous labours another Floating
Fortress is built. In principle the war effort is always so
planned as to eat up any surplus that might exist after meet-



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ing the bare needs of the population. In practice the needs
of the population are always underestimated, with the re-
sult that there is a chronic shortage of half the necessities
of life; but this is looked on as an advantage. It is deliberate
policy to keep even the favoured groups somewhere near
the brink of hardship, because a general state of scarcity
increases the importance of small privileges and thus mag-
nifies the distinction between one group and another. By
the standards of the early twentieth century, even a mem-
ber of the Inner Party lives an austere, laborious kind of life.
Nevertheless, the few luxuries that he does enjoy his large,
well-appointed flat, the better texture of his clothes, the bet-
ter quality of his food and drink and tobacco, his two or
three servants, his private motor-car or helicopter — set him
in a different world from a member of the Outer Party, and
the members of the Outer Party have a similar advantage
in comparison with the submerged masses whom we call
'the proles'. The social atmosphere is that of a besieged city,
where the possession of a lump of horseflesh makes the dif-
ference between wealth and poverty. And at the same time
the consciousness of being at war, and therefore in danger,
makes the handing-over of all power to a small caste seem
the natural, unavoidable condition of survival.

War, it will be seen, accomplishes the necessary destruc-
tion, but accomplishes it in a psychologically acceptable way.
In principle it would be quite simple to waste the surplus
labour of the world by building temples and pyramids, by
digging holes and filling them up again, or even by produc-
ing vast quantities of goods and then setting fire to them.



1984



But this would provide only the economic and not the emo-
tional basis for a hierarchical society. What is concerned
here is not the morale of masses, whose attitude is unim-
portant so long as they are kept steadily at work, but the
morale of the Party itself. Even the humblest Party member
is expected to be competent, industrious, and even intel-
ligent within narrow limits, but it is also necessary that he
should be a credulous and ignorant fanatic whose prevailing
moods are fear, hatred, adulation, and orgiastic triumph. In
other words it is necessary that he should have the mental-
ity appropriate to a state of war. It does not matter whether
the war is actually happening, and, since no decisive victory
is possible, it does not matter whether the war is going well
or badly. All that is needed is that a state of war should ex-
ist. The splitting of the intelligence which the Party requires
of its members, and which is more easily achieved in an at-
mosphere of war, is now almost universal, but the higher
up the ranks one goes, the more marked it becomes. It is
precisely in the Inner Party that war hysteria and hatred of
the enemy are strongest. In his capacity as an administra-
tor, it is often necessary for a member of the Inner Party to
know that this or that item of war news is untruthful, and
he may often be aware that the entire war is spurious and is
either not happening or is being waged for purposes quite
other than the declared ones: but such knowledge is easily
neutralized by the technique of DOUBLETHINK. Mean-
while no Inner Party member wavers for an instant in his
mystical belief that the war is real, and that it is bound to
end victoriously, with Oceania the undisputed master of

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 243



the entire world.

All members of the Inner Party believe in this coming
conquest as an article of faith. It is to be achieved either by
gradually acquiring more and more territory and so build-
ing up an overwhelming preponderance of power, or by
the discovery of some new and unanswerable weapon. The
search for new weapons continues unceasingly, and is one
of the very few remaining activities in which the inventive
or speculative type of mind can find any outlet. In Ocea-
nia at the present day, Science, in the old sense, has almost
ceased to exist. In Newspeak there is no word for 'Science'.
The empirical method of thought, on which all the scien-
tific achievements of the past were founded, is opposed to
the most fundamental principles of Ingsoc. And even tech-
nological progress only happens when its products can in
some way be used for the diminution of human liberty. In
all the useful arts the world is either standing still or go-
ing backwards. The fields are cultivated with horse-ploughs
while books are written by machinery. But in matters of
vital importance — meaning, in effect, war and police espio-
nage — the empirical approach is still encouraged, or at least
tolerated. The two aims of the Party are to conquer the whole
surface of the earth and to extinguish once and for all the
possibility of independent thought. There are therefore two
great problems which the Party is concerned to solve. One
is how to discover, against his will, what another human be-
ing is thinking, and the other is how to kill several hundred
million people in a few seconds without giving warning be-
forehand. In so far as scientific research still continues, this



1984



is its subject matter. The scientist of today is either a mixture
of psychologist and inquisitor, studying with real ordinary
minuteness the meaning of facial expressions, gestures, and
tones of voice, and testing the truth-producing effects of
drugs, shock therapy, hypnosis, and physical torture; or he
is chemist, physicist, or biologist concerned only with such
branches of his special subject as are relevant to the taking
of life. In the vast laboratories of the Ministry of Peace, and
in the experimental stations hidden in the Brazilian forests,
or in the Australian desert, or on lost islands of the Ant-
arctic, the teams of experts are indefatigably at work. Some
are concerned simply with planning the logistics of future
wars; others devise larger and larger rocket bombs, more
and more powerful explosives, and more and more impen-
etrable armour-plating; others search for new and deadlier
gases, or for soluble poisons capable of being produced in
such quantities as to destroy the vegetation of whole con-
tinents, or for breeds of disease germs immunized against
all possible antibodies; others strive to produce a vehicle
that shall bore its way under the soil like a submarine un-
der the water, or an aeroplane as independent of its base
as a sailing-ship; others explore even remoter possibilities
such as focusing the sun's rays through lenses suspended
thousands of kilometres away in space, or producing artifi-
cial earthquakes and tidal waves by tapping the heat at the
earth's centre.

But none of these projects ever comes anywhere near re-
alization, and none of the three super-states ever gains a
significant lead on the others. What is more remarkable is



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that all three powers already possess, in the atomic bomb,
a weapon far more powerful than any that their present
researches are likely to discover. Although the Party, ac-
cording to its habit, claims the invention for itself, atomic
bombs first appeared as early as the nineteen-forties, and
were first used on a large scale about ten years later. At that
time some hundreds of bombs were dropped on indus-
trial centres, chiefly in European Russia, Western Europe,
and North America. The effect was to convince the ruling
groups of all countries that a few more atomic bombs would
mean the end of organized society, and hence of their own
power. Thereafter, although no formal agreement was ever
made or hinted at, no more bombs were dropped. All three
powers merely continue to produce atomic bombs and store
them up against the decisive opportunity which they all
believe will come sooner or later. And meanwhile the art
of war has remained almost stationary for thirty or forty
years. Helicopters are more used than they were formerly,
bombing planes have been largely superseded by self-pro-
pelled projectiles, and the fragile movable battleship has
given way to the almost unsinkable Floating Fortress; but
otherwise there has been little development. The tank, the
submarine, the torpedo, the machine gun, even the rifle and
the hand grenade are still in use. And in spite of the end-
less slaughters reported in the Press and on the telescreens,
the desperate battles of earlier wars, in which hundreds of
thousands or even millions of men were often killed in a
few weeks, have never been repeated.

None of the three super-states ever attempts any ma-

246 1984



noeuvre which involves the risk of serious defeat. When
any large operation is undertaken, it is usually a surprise
attack against an ally. The strategy that all three powers are
following, or pretend to themselves that they are following,
is the same. The plan is, by a combination of fighting, bar-
gaining, and well-timed strokes of treachery, to acquire a
ring of bases completely encircling one or other of the ri-
val states, and then to sign a pact of friendship with that
rival and remain on peaceful terms for so many years as to
lull suspicion to sleep. During this time rockets loaded with
atomic bombs can be assembled at all the strategic spots;
finally they will all be fired simultaneously, with effects so
devastating as to make retaliation impossible. It will then be
time to sign a pact of friendship with the remaining world-
power, in preparation for another attack. This scheme, it is
hardly necessary to say, is a mere daydream, impossible of
realization. Moreover, no fighting ever occurs except in the
disputed areas round the Equator and the Pole: no invasion
of enemy territory is ever undertaken. This explains the fact
that in some places the frontiers between the superstates
are arbitrary. Eurasia, for example, could easily conquer the
British Isles, which are geographically part of Europe, or on
the other hand it would be possible for Oceania to push its
frontiers to the Rhine or even to the Vistula. But this would
violate the principle, followed on all sides though never
formulated, of cultural integrity. If Oceania were to con-
quer the areas that used once to be known as France and
Germany, it would be necessary either to exterminate the
inhabitants, a task of great physical difficulty, or to assimi-



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late a population of about a hundred million people, who,
so far as technical development goes, are roughly on the
Oceanic level. The problem is the same for all three super-
states. It is absolutely necessary to their structure that there
should be no contact with foreigners, except, to a limited
extent, with war prisoners and coloured slaves. Even the of-
ficial ally of the moment is always regarded with the darkest
suspicion. War prisoners apart, the average citizen of Ocea-
nia never sets eyes on a citizen of either Eurasia or Eastasia,
and he is forbidden the knowledge of foreign languages. If
he were allowed contact with foreigners he would discover
that they are creatures similar to himself and that most of
what he has been told about them is lies. The sealed world
in which he lives would be broken, and the fear, hatred,
and self-righteousness on which his morale depends might
evaporate. It is therefore realized on all sides that however
often Persia, or Egypt, or Java, or Ceylon may change hands,
the main frontiers must never be crossed by anything ex-
cept bombs.

Under this lies a fact never mentioned aloud, but tacitly
understood and acted upon: namely, that the conditions of
life in all three super-states are very much the same. In Oce-
ania the prevailing philosophy is called Ingsoc, in Eurasia
it is called Neo-Bolshevism, and in Eastasia it is called by
a Chinese name usually translated as Death-Worship, but
perhaps better rendered as Obliteration of the Self. The citi-
zen of Oceania is not allowed to know anything of the tenets
of the other two philosophies, but he is taught to execrate
them as barbarous outrages upon morality and common

248 1984



sense. Actually the three philosophies are barely distin-
guishable, and the social systems which they support are
not distinguishable at all. Everywhere there is the same py-
ramidal structure, the same worship of semi-divine leader,
the same economy existing by and for continuous warfare.
It follows that the three super-states not only cannot con-
quer one another, but would gain no advantage by doing
so. On the contrary, so long as they remain in conflict they
prop one another up, like three sheaves of corn. And, as
usual, the ruling groups of all three powers are simultane-
ously aware and unaware of what they are doing. Their lives
are dedicated to world conquest, but they also know that it
is necessary that the war should continue everlastingly and
without victory. Meanwhile the fact that there IS no danger
of conquest makes possible the denial of reality which is the
special feature of Ingsoc and its rival systems of thought.
Here it is necessary to repeat what has been said earlier, that
by becoming continuous war has fundamentally changed
its character.

In past ages, a war, almost by definition, was something
that sooner or later came to an end, usually in unmistak-
able victory or defeat. In the past, also, war was one of the
main instruments by which human societies were kept in
touch with physical reality. All rulers in all ages have tried
to impose a false view of the world upon their followers, but
they could not afford to encourage any illusion that tended
to impair military efficiency. So long as defeat meant the
loss of independence, or some other result generally held
to be undesirable, the precautions against defeat had to be



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serious. Physical facts could not be ignored. In philosophy,
or religion, or ethics, or politics, two and two might make
five, but when one was designing a gun or an aeroplane they
had to make four. Inefficient nations were always conquered
sooner or later, and the struggle for efficiency was inimi-
cal to illusions. Moreover, to be efficient it was necessary to
be able to learn from the past, which meant having a fairly
accurate idea of what had happened in the past. Newspa-
pers and history books were, of course, always coloured and
biased, but falsification of the kind that is practised today
would have been impossible. War was a sure safeguard of
sanity, and so far as the ruling classes were concerned it was
probably the most important of all safeguards. While wars
could be won or lost, no ruling class could be completely ir-
responsible.

But when war becomes literally continuous, it also ceases
to be dangerous. When war is continuous there is no such
thing as military necessity. Technical progress can cease
and the most palpable facts can be denied or disregarded.
As we have seen, researches that could be called scientific
are still carried out for the purposes of war, but they are es-
sentially a kind of daydreaming, and their failure to show
results is not important. Efficiency, even military efficiency,
is no longer needed. Nothing is efficient in Oceania except
the Thought Police. Since each of the three super-states is
unconquerable, each is in effect a separate universe within
which almost any perversion of thought can be safely prac-
tised. Reality only exerts its pressure through the needs of
everyday life — the need to eat and drink, to get shelter and



1984



clothing, to avoid swallowing poison or stepping out of top -
storey windows, and the like. Between life and death, and
between physical pleasure and physical pain, there is still
a distinction, but that is all. Cut off from contact with the
outer world, and with the past, the citizen of Oceania is
like a man in interstellar space, who has no way of know-
ing which direction is up and which is down. The rulers of
such a state are absolute, as the Pharaohs or the Caesars
could not be. They are obliged to prevent their followers
from starving to death in numbers large enough to be in-
convenient, and they are obliged to remain at the same
low level of military technique as their rivals; but once that
minimum is achieved, they can twist reality into whatever
shape they choose.

The war, therefore, if we judge it by the standards of pre-
vious wars, is merely an imposture. It is like the battles
between certain ruminant animals whose horns are set at
such an angle that they are incapable of hurting one anoth-
er. But though it is unreal it is not meaningless. It eats up
the surplus of consumable goods, and it helps to preserve
the special mental atmosphere that a hierarchical society
needs. War, it will be seen, is now a purely internal affair.
In the past, the ruling groups of all countries, although
they might recognize their common interest and therefore
limit the destructiveness of war, did fight against one an-
other, and the victor always plundered the vanquished. In
our own day they are not fighting against one another at
all. The war is waged by each ruling group against its own
subjects, and the object of the war is not to make or prevent

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 251



conquests of territory, but to keep the structure of society
intact. The very word 'war', therefore, has become mislead-
ing. It would probably be accurate to say that by becoming
continuous war has ceased to exist. The peculiar pressure
that it exerted on human beings between the Neolithic Age
and the early twentieth century has disappeared and been
replaced by something quite different. The effect would be
much the same if the three super-states, instead of fighting
one another, should agree to live in perpetual peace, each
inviolate within its own boundaries. For in that case each
would still be a self-contained universe, freed for ever from
the sobering influence of external danger. A peace that was
truly permanent would be the same as a permanent war.
This — although the vast majority of Party members under-
stand it only in a shallower sense — is the inner meaning of
the Party slogan: WAR IS PEACE.

Winston stopped reading for a moment. Somewhere in
remote distance a rocket bomb thundered. The blissful feel-
ing of being alone with the forbidden book, in a room with
no telescreen, had not worn off. Solitude and safety were
physical sensations, mixed up somehow with the tiredness
of his body, the softness of the chair, the touch of the faint
breeze from the window that played upon his cheek. The
book fascinated him, or more exactly it reassured him. In
a sense it told him nothing that was new, but that was part
of the attraction. It said what he would have said, if it had
been possible for him to set his scattered thoughts in or-
der. It was the product of a mind similar to his own, but
enormously more powerful, more systematic, less fear-rid-



1984



den. The best books, he perceived, are those that tell you
what you know already. He had just turned back to Chapter
I when he heard Julia's footstep on the stair and started out
of his chair to meet her. She dumped her brown tool-bag on
the floor and flung herself into his arms. It was more than a
week since they had seen one another.

'I've got THE BOOK,' he said as they disentangled them-
selves.

'Oh, you've got it? Good,' she said without much interest,
and almost immediately knelt down beside the oil stove to
make the coffee.

They did not return to the subject until they had been
in bed for half an hour. The evening was just cool enough
to make it worth while to pull up the counterpane. From
below came the familiar sound of singing and the scrape
of boots on the flagstones. The brawny red-armed woman
whom Winston had seen there on his first visit was almost a
fixture in the yard. There seemed to be no hour of daylight
when she was not marching to and fro between the washtub
and the line, alternately gagging herself with clothes pegs
and breaking forth into lusty song. Julia had settled down
on her side and seemed to be already on the point of falling
asleep. He reached out for the book, which was lying on the
floor, and sat up against the bedhead.

'We must read it,' he said. 'You too. All members of the
Brotherhood have to read it.'

'You read it,' she said with her eyes shut. 'Read it aloud.
That's the best way. Then you can explain it to me as you

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The clock's hands said six, meaning eighteen. They had
three or four hours ahead of them. He propped the book
against his knees and began reading:

Chapter I Ignorance is Strength

Throughout recorded time, and probably since the end
of the Neolithic Age, there have been three kinds of people
in the world, the High, the Middle, and the Low. They have
been subdivided in many ways, they have borne count-
less different names, and their relative numbers, as well as
their attitude towards one another, have varied from age to
age: but the essential structure of society has never altered.
Even after enormous upheavals and seemingly irrevocable
changes, the same pattern has always reasserted itself, just
as a gyroscope will always return to equilibnum, however
far it is pushed one way or the other

'Julia, are you awake?' said Winston.

'Yes, my love, I'm listening. Go on. It's marvellous.'

He continued reading:

The aims of these three groups are entirely irreconcil-
able. The aim of the High is to remain where they are. The
aim of the Middle is to change places with the High. The
aim of the Low, when they have an aim — for it is an abiding
characteristic of the Low that they are too much crushed
by drudgery to be more than intermittently conscious of
anything outside their daily lives — is to abolish all distinc-
tions and create a society in which all men shall be equal.
Thus throughout history a struggle which is the same in its
main outlines recurs over and over again. For long periods
the High seem to be securely in power, but sooner or later



1984



there always comes a moment when they lose either their
belief in themselves or their capacity to govern efficiently,
or both. They are then overthrown by the Middle, who en-
list the Low on their side by pretending to them that they
are fighting for liberty and justice. As soon as they have
reached their objective, the Middle thrust the Low back
into their old position of servitude, and themselves become
the High. Presently a new Middle group splits off from one
of the other groups, or from both of them, and the struggle
begins over again. Of the three groups, only the Low are
never even temporarily successful in achieving their aims.
It would be an exaggeration to say that throughout history
there has been no progress of a material kind. Even today,
in a period of decline, the average human being is physical-
ly better off than he was a few centuries ago. But no advance
in wealth, no softening of manners, no reform or revolu-
tion has ever brought human equality a millimetre nearer.
From the point of view of the Low, no historic change has
ever meant much more than a change in the name of their
masters.

By the late nineteenth century the recurrence of this pat-
tern had become obvious to many observers. There then
rose schools of thinkers who interpreted history as a cy-
clical process and claimed to show that inequality was the
unalterable law of human life. This doctrine, of course, had
always had its adherents, but in the manner in which it was
now put forward there was a significant change. In the past
the need for a hierarchical form of society had been the doc-
trine specifically of the High. It had been preached by kings



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and aristocrats and by the priests, lawyers, and the like who
were parasitical upon them, and it had generally been soft-
ened by promises of compensation in an imaginary world
beyond the grave. The Middle, so long as it was struggling
for power, had always made use of such terms as freedom,
justice, and fraternity. Now, however, the concept of hu-
man brotherhood began to be assailed by people who were
not yet in positions of command, but merely hoped to be so
before long. In the past the Middle had made revolutions
under the banner of equality, and then had established a
fresh tyranny as soon as the old one was overthrown. The
new Middle groups in effect proclaimed their tyranny be-
forehand. Socialism, a theory which appeared in the early
nineteenth century and was the last link in a chain of
thought stretching back to the slave rebellions of antiquity,
was still deeply infected by the Utopianism of past ages. But
in each variant of Socialism that appeared from about 1900
onwards the aim of establishing liberty and equality was
more and more openly abandoned. The new movements
which appeared in the middle years of the century, Ingsoc
in Oceania, Neo-Bolshevism in Eurasia, Death-Worship, as
it is commonly called, in Eastasia, had the conscious aim
of perpetuating UNfreedom and INequality These new
movements, of course, grew out of the old ones and tended
to keep their names and pay lip-service to their ideology.
But the purpose of all of them was to arrest progress and
freeze history at a chosen moment. The familiar pendulum
swing was to happen once more, and then stop. As usual,
the High were to be turned out by the Middle, who would

256 1984



then become the High; but this time, by conscious strategy,
the High would be able to maintain their position perma-
nently.

The new doctrines arose partly because of the accu-
mulation of historical knowledge, and the growth of the
historical sense, which had hardly existed before the nine-
teenth century. The cyclical movement of history was now
intelligible, or appeared to be so; and if it was intelligible,
then it was alterable. But the principal, underlying cause
was that, as early as the beginning of the twentieth century,
human equality had become technically possible. It was still
true that men were not equal in their native talents and that
functions had to be specialized in ways that favoured some
individuals against others; but there was no longer any real
need for class distinctions or for large differences of wealth.
In earlier ages, class distinctions had been not only inevi-
table but desirable. Inequality was the price of civilization.
With the development of machine production, however, the
case was altered. Even if it was still necessary for human
beings to do different kinds of work, it was no longer neces-
sary for them to live at different social or economic levels.
Therefore, from the point of view of the new groups who
were on the point of seizing power, human equality was no
longer an ideal to be striven after, but a danger to be avert-
ed. In more primitive ages, when a just and peaceful society
was in fact not possible, it had been fairly easy to believe it.
The idea of an earthly paradise in which men should live
together in a state of brotherhood, without laws and with-
out brute labour, had haunted the human imagination for



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thousands of years. And this vision had had a certain hold
even on the groups who actually profited by each histori-
cal change. The heirs of the French, English, and American
revolutions had partly believed in their own phrases about
the rights of man, freedom of speech, equality before the
law, and the like, and have even allowed their conduct to
be influenced by them to some extent. But by the fourth
decade of the twentieth century all the main currents of
political thought were authoritarian. The earthly paradise
had been discredited at exactly the moment when it became
realizable. Every new political theory, by whatever name it
called itself, led back to hierarchy and regimentation. And
in the general hardening of outlook that set in round about
1930, practices which had been long abandoned, in some
cases for hundreds of years — imprisonment without trial,
the use of war prisoners as slaves, public executions, torture
to extract confessions, the use of hostages, and the depor-
tation of whole populations — not only became common
again, but were tolerated and even defended by people who
considered themselves enlightened and progressive.

It was only after a decade of national wars, civil wars,
revolutions, and counter-revolutions in all parts of the
world that Ingsoc and its rivals emerged as fully worked-
out political theories. But they had been foreshadowed by
the various systems, generally called totalitarian, which
had appeared earlier in the century, and the main outlines
of the world which would emerge from the prevailing chaos
had long been obvious. What kind of people would control
this world had been equally obvious. The new aristocracy

258 1984



was made up for the most part of bureaucrats, scientists,
technicians, trade-union organizers, publicity experts, so-
ciologists, teachers, journalists, and professional politicians.
These people, whose origins lay in the salaried middle class
and the upper grades of the working class, had been shaped
and brought together by the barren world of monopoly in-
dustry and centralized government. As compared with
their opposite numbers in past ages, they were less avari-
cious, less tempted by luxury, hungrier for pure power, and,
above all, more conscious of what they were doing and
more intent on crushing opposition. This last difference was
cardinal. By comparison with that existing today, all the
tyrannies of the past were half-hearted and inefficient. The
ruling groups were always infected to some extent by lib-
eral ideas, and were content to leave loose ends everywhere,
to regard only the overt act and to be uninterested in what
their subjects were thinking. Even the Catholic Church of
the Middle Ages was tolerant by modern standards. Part of
the reason for this was that in the past no government had
the power to keep its citizens under constant surveillance.
The invention of print, however, made it easier to manipu-
late public opinion, and the film and the radio carried the
process further. With the development of television, and
the technical advance which made it possible to receive and
transmit simultaneously on the same instrument, private
life came to an end. Every citizen, or at least every citizen
important enough to be worth watching, could be kept for
twenty- four hours a day under the eyes of the police and in
the sound of official propaganda, with all other channels



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of communication closed. The possibility of enforcing not
only complete obedience to the will of the State, but com-
plete uniformity of opinion on all subjects, now existed for
the first time.

After the revolutionary period of the fifties and sixties,
society regrouped itself, as always, into High, Middle, and
Low. But the new High group, unlike all its forerunners, did
not act upon instinct but knew what was needed to safeguard
its position. It had long been realized that the only secure
basis for oligarchy is collectivism. Wealth and privilege are
most easily defended when they are possessed jointly. The
so-called 'abolition of private property' which took place in
the middle years of the century meant, in effect, the con-
centration of property in far fewer hands than before: but
with this difference, that the new owners were a group in-
stead of a mass of individuals. Individually, no member of
the Party owns anything, except petty personal belongings.
Collectively, the Party owns everything in Oceania, be-
cause it controls everything, and disposes of the products
as it thinks fit. In the years following the Revolution it was
able to step into this commanding position almost unop-
posed, because the whole process was represented as an act
of collectivization. It had always been assumed that if the
capitalist class were expropriated, Socialism must follow:
and unquestionably the capitalists had been expropriated.
Factories, mines, land, houses, transport — everything had
been taken away from them: and since these things were
no longer private property, it followed that they must be
public property. Ingsoc, which grew out of the earlier So-



1984



cialist movement and inherited its phraseology, has in fact
carried out the main item in the Socialist programme; with
the result, foreseen and intended beforehand, that econom-
ic inequality has been made permanent.

But the problems of perpetuating a hierarchical soci-
ety go deeper than this. There are only four ways in which
a ruling group can fall from power. Either it is conquered
from without, or it governs so inefficiently that the masses
are stirred to revolt, or it allows a strong and discontented
Middle group to come into being, or it loses its own self-
confidence and willingness to govern. These causes do not
operate singly, and as a rule all four of them are present in
some degree. A ruling class which could guard against all
of them would remain in power permanently. Ultimately
the determining factor is the mental attitude of the ruling
class itself.

After the middle of the present century, the first dan-
ger had in reality disappeared. Each of the three powers
which now divide the world is in fact unconquerable, and
could only become conquerable through slow demographic
changes which a government with wide powers can easi-
ly avert. The second danger, also, is only a theoretical one.
The masses never revolt of their own accord, and they never
revolt merely because they are oppressed. Indeed, so long
as they are not permitted to have standards of comparison,
they never even become aware that they are oppressed. The
recurrent economic crises of past times were totally un-
necessary and are not now permitted to happen, but other
and equally large dislocations can and do happen without

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having political results, because there is no way in which
discontent can become articulate. As for the problem of
over-production, which has been latent in our society since
the development of machine technique, it is solved by the
device of continuous warfare (see Chapter III), which is
also useful in keying up public morale to the necessary
pitch. From the point of view of our present rulers, there-
fore, the only genuine dangers are the splitting-off of a new
group of able, under-employed, power-hungry people, and
the growth of liberalism and scepticism in their own ranks.
The problem, that is to say, is educational. It is a problem
of continuously moulding the consciousness both of the
directing group and of the larger executive group that lies
immediately below it. The consciousness of the masses
needs only to be influenced in a negative way.

Given this background, one could infer, if one did not
know it already, the general structure of Oceanic society. At
the apex of the pyramid comes Big Brother. Big Brother is in-
fallible and all-powerful. Every success, every achievement,
every victory, every scientific discovery, all knowledge, all
wisdom, all happiness, all virtue, are held to issue directly
from his leadership and inspiration. Nobody has ever seen
Big Brother. He is a face on the hoardings, a voice on the
telescreen. We maybe reasonably sure that he will never die,
and there is already considerable uncertainty as to when he
was born. Big Brother is the guise in which the Party choos-
es to exhibit itself to the world. His function is to act as a
focusing point for love, fear, and reverence, emotions which
are more easily felt towards an individual than towards an



1984



organization. Below Big Brother comes the Inner Party. Its
numbers limited to six millions, or something less than
2 per cent of the population of Oceania. Below the Inner
Party comes the Outer Party, which, if the Inner Party is de-
scribed as the brain of the State, may be justly likened to the
hands. Below that come the dumb masses whom we habitu-
ally refer to as 'the proles', numbering perhaps 85 per cent of
the population. In the terms of our earlier classification, the
proles are the Low: for the slave population of the equatori-
al lands who pass constantly from conqueror to conqueror,
are not a permanent or necessary part of the structure.

In principle, membership of these three groups is not he-
reditary. The child of Inner Party parents is in theory not
born into the Inner Party. Admission to either branch of the
Party is by examination, taken at the age of sixteen. Nor is
there any racial discrimination, or any marked domination
of one province by another. Jews, Negroes, South Ameri-
cans of pure Indian blood are to be found in the highest
ranks of the Party, and the administrators of any area are
always drawn from the inhabitants of that area. In no part
of Oceania do the inhabitants have the feeling that they are
a colonial population ruled from a distant capital. Ocea-
nia has no capital, and its titular head is a person whose
whereabouts nobody knows. Except that English is its chief
LINGUA FRANCA and Newspeak its official language, it is
not centralized in any way. Its rulers are not held together
by blood-ties but by adherence to a common doctrine. It
is true that our society is stratified, and very rigidly strat-
ified, on what at first sight appear to be hereditary lines.

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There is far less to-and-fro movement between the differ-
ent groups than happened under capitalism or even in the
pre-industrial age. Between the two branches of the Party
there is a certain amount of interchange, but only so much
as will ensure that weaklings are excluded from the Inner
Party and that ambitious members of the Outer Party are
made harmless by allowing them to rise. Proletarians, in
practice, are not allowed to graduate into the Party. The
most gifted among them, who might possibly become nu-
clei of discontent, are simply marked down by the Thought
Police and eliminated. But this state of affairs is not neces-
sarily permanent, nor is it a matter of principle. The Party
is not a class in the old sense of the word. It does not aim
at transmitting power to its own children, as such; and if
there were no other way of keeping the ablest people at the
top, it would be perfectly prepared to recruit an entire new
generation from the ranks of the proletariat. In the crucial
years, the fact that the Party was not a hereditary body did
a great deal to neutralize opposition. The older kind of So-
cialist, who had been trained to fight against something
called 'class privilege' assumed that what is not hereditary
cannot be permanent. He did not see that the continuity
of an oligarchy need not be physical, nor did he pause to
reflect that hereditary aristocracies have always been short-
lived, whereas adoptive organizations such as the Catholic
Church have sometimes lasted for hundreds or thousands
of years. The essence of oligarchical rule is not father-to-son
inheritance, but the persistence of a certain world -view and
a certain way of life, imposed by the dead upon the living. A

264 1984



ruling group is a ruling group so long as it can nominate its
successors. The Party is not concerned with perpetuating
its blood but with perpetuating itself. WHO wields power
is not important, provided that the hierarchical structure
remains always the same.

All the beliefs, habits, tastes, emotions, mental attitudes
that characterize our time are really designed to sustain the
mystique of the Party and prevent the true nature of pres-
ent-day society from being perceived. Physical rebellion, or
any preliminary move towards rebellion, is at present not
possible. From the proletarians nothing is to be feared. Left
to themselves, they will continue from generation to gener-
ation and from century to century, working, breeding, and
dying, not only without any impulse to rebel, but without
the power of grasping that the world could be other than it
is. They could only become dangerous if the advance of in-
dustrial technique made it necessary to educate them more
highly; but, since military and commercial rivalry are no
longer important, the level of popular education is actually
declining. What opinions the masses hold, or do not hold,
is looked on as a matter of indifference. They can be granted
intellectual liberty because they have no intellect. In a Party
member, on the other hand, not even the smallest deviation
of opinion on the most unimportant subject can be toler-
ated.

A Party member lives from birth to death under the eye
of the Thought Police. Even when he is alone he can never be
sure that he is alone. Wherever he may be, asleep or awake,
working or resting, in his bath or in bed, he can be inspected

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without warning and without knowing that he is being in-
spected. Nothing that he does is indifferent. His friendships,
his relaxations, his behaviour towards his wife and children,
the expression of his face when he is alone, the words he
mutters in sleep, even the characteristic movements of his
body, are all jealously scrutinized. Not only any actual mis-
demeanour, but any eccentricity, however small, any change
of habits, any nervous mannerism that could possibly be
the symptom of an inner struggle, is certain to be detected.
He has no freedom of choice in any direction whatever. On
the other hand his actions are not regulated by law or by any
clearly formulated code of behaviour. In Oceania there is
no law. Thoughts and actions which, when detected, mean
certain death are not formally forbidden, and the endless
purges, arrests, tortures, imprisonments, and vaporizations
are not inflicted as punishment for crimes which have ac-
tually been committed, but are merely the wiping- out of
persons who might perhaps commit a crime at some time in
the future. A Party member is required to have not only the
right opinions, but the right instincts. Many of the beliefs
and attitudes demanded of him are never plainly stated, and
could not be stated without laying bare the contradictions
inherent in Ingsoc. If he is a person naturally orthodox (in
Newspeak a GOODTHINKER), he will in all circumstanc-
es know, without taking thought, what is the true belief or
the desirable emotion. But in any case an elaborate men-
tal training, undergone in childhood and grouping itself
round the Newspeak words CRIMESTOP, BLACKWHITE,
and DOUBLETHINK, makes him unwilling and unable to



1984



think too deeply on any subject whatever.

A Party member is expected to have no private emotions
and no respites from enthusiasm. He is supposed to live in a
continuous frenzy of hatred of foreign enemies and internal
traitors, triumph over victories, and self-abasement before
the power and wisdom of the Party. The discontents pro-
duced by his bare, unsatisfying life are deliberately turned
outwards and dissipated by such devices as the Two Minutes
Hate, and the speculations which might possibly induce a
sceptical or rebellious attitude are killed in advance by his
early acquired inner discipline. The first and simplest stage
in the discipline, which can be taught even to young chil-
dren, is called, in Newspeak, CRIMESTOP CRIMESTOP
means the faculty of stopping short, as though by instinct,
at the threshold of any dangerous thought. It includes the
power of not grasping analogies, of failing to perceive logi-
cal errors, of misunderstanding the simplest arguments if
they are inimical to Ingsoc, and of being bored or repelled
by any train of thought which is capable of leading in a
heretical direction. CRIMESTOP, in short, means protec-
tive stupidity. But stupidity is not enough. On the contrary,
orthodoxy in the full sense demands a control over one's
own mental processes as complete as that of a contortion-
ist over his body. Oceanic society rests ultimately on the
belief that Big Brother is omnipotent and that the Party is
infallible. But since in reality Big Brother is not omnipotent
and the party is not infallible, there is need for an unwea-
rying, moment-to-moment flexibility in the treatment of
facts. The keyword here is BLACKWHITE. Like so many

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Newspeak words, this word has two mutually contradicto-
ry meanings. Applied to an opponent, it means the habit of
impudently claiming that black is white, in contradiction of
the plain facts. Applied to a Party member, it means a loyal
willingness to say that black is white when Party discipline
demands this. But it means also the ability to BELIEVE that
black is white, and more, to KNOW that black is white, and
to forget that one has ever believed the contrary. This de-
mands a continuous alteration of the past, made possible
by the system of thought which really embraces all the rest,
and which is known in Newspeak as DOUBLETHINK.

The alteration of the past is necessary for two reasons,
one of which is subsidiary and, so to speak, precaution-
ary. The subsidiary reason is that the Party member, like
the proletarian, tolerates present-day conditions partly be-
cause he has no standards of comparison. He must be cut
off from the past, just as he must be cut off from foreign
countries, because it is necessary for him to believe that
he is better off than his ancestors and that the average lev-
el of material comfort is constantly rising. But by far the
more important reason for the readjustment of the past is
the need to safeguard the infallibility of the Party. It is not
merely that speeches, statistics, and records of every kind
must be constantly brought up to date in order to show that
the predictions of the Party were in all cases right. It is also
that no change in doctrine or in political alignment can
ever be admitted. For to change one's mind, or even one's
policy, is a confession of weakness. If, for example, Eurasia
or Eastasia (whichever it may be) is the enemy today, then



1984



that country must always have been the enemy. And if the
facts say otherwise then the facts must be altered. Thus his-
tory is continuously rewritten. This day-to-day falsification
of the past, carried out by the Ministry of Truth, is as neces-
sary to the stability of the regime as the work of repression
and espionage carried out by the Ministry of Love.

The mutability of the past is the central tenet of Ingsoc.
Past events, it is argued, have no objective existence, but
survive only in written records and in human memories.
The past is whatever the records and the memories agree
upon. And since the Party is in full control of all records
and in equally full control of the minds of its members, it
follows that the past is whatever the Party chooses to make
it. It also follows that though the past is alterable, it never
has been altered in any specific instance. For when it has
been recreated in whatever shape is needed at the moment,
then this new version IS the past, and no different past can
ever have existed. This holds good even when, as often hap-
pens, the same event has to be altered out of recognition
several times in the course of a year. At all times the Party
is in possession of absolute truth, and clearly the absolute
can never have been different from what it is now. It will
be seen that the control of the past depends above all on
the training of memory. To make sure that all written re-
cords agree with the orthodoxy of the moment is merely
a mechanical act. But it is also necessary to REMEMBER
that events happened in the desired manner. And if it is
necessary to rearrange one's memories or to tamper with
written records, then it is necessary to FORGET that one

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 269



has done so. The trick of doing this can be learned like any
other mental technique. It is learned by the majority of Par-
ty members, and certainly by all who are intelligent as well
as orthodox. In Oldspeak it is called, quite frankly, 'reality
control'. In Newspeak it is called DOUBLETHINK, though
DOUBLETHINK comprises much else as well.

DOUBLETHINK means the power of holding two
contradictory beliefs in one's mind simultaneously, and ac-
cepting both of them. The Party intellectual knows in which
direction his memories must be altered; he therefore knows
that he is playing tricks with reality; but by the exercise of
DOUBLETHINK he also satisfies himself that reality is not
violated. The process has to be conscious, or it would not
be carried out with sufficient precision, but it also has to be
unconscious, or it would bring with it a feeling of falsity and
hence of guilt. DOUBLETHINK lies at the very heart of In-
gsoc, since the essential act of the Party is to use conscious
deception while retaining the firmness of purpose that goes
with complete honesty. To tell deliberate lies while genu-
inely believing in them, to forget any fact that has become
inconvenient, and then, when it becomes necessary again,
to draw it back from oblivion for just so long as it is needed,
to deny the existence of objective reality and all the while
to take account of the reality which one denies — all this is
indispensably necessary. Even in using the word DOUBLE-
THINK it is necessary to exercise DOUBLETHINK. For
by using the word one admits that one is tampering with
reality; by a fresh act of DOUBLETHINK one erases this
knowledge; and so on indefinitely, with the lie always one



1984



leap ahead of the truth. Ultimately it is by means of DOU-
BLETHINK that the Party has been able — and may, for all
we know, continue to be able for thousands of years — to ar-
rest the course of history.

All past oligarchies have fallen from power either because
they ossified or because they grew soft. Either they became
stupid and arrogant, failed to adjust themselves to chang-
ing circumstances, and were overthrown; or they became
liberal and cowardly, made concessions when they should
have used force, and once again were overthrown. They fell,
that is to say, either through consciousness or through un-
consciousness. It is the achievement of the Party to have
produced a system of thought in which both conditions can
exist simultaneously. And upon no other intellectual basis
could the dominion of the Party be made permanent. If one
is to rule, and to continue ruling, one must be able to dis-
locate the sense of reality. For the secret of rulership is to
combine a belief in one's own infallibility with the Power to
learn from past mistakes.

It need hardly be said that the subtlest practitioners of
DOUBLETHINK are those who invented DOUBLETHINK
and know that it is a vast system of mental cheating. In
our society, those who have the best knowledge of what is
happening are also those who are furthest from seeing the
world as it is. In general, the greater the understanding, the
greater the delusion; the more intelligent, the less sane. One
clear illustration of this is the fact that war hysteria increas-
es in intensity as one rises in the social scale. Those whose
attitude towards the war is most nearly rational are the sub-



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ject peoples of the disputed territories. To these people the
war is simply a continuous calamity which sweeps to and
fro over their bodies like a tidal wave. Which side is win-
ning is a matter of complete indifference to them. They are
aware that a change of overlordship means simply that they
will be doing the same work as before for new masters who
treat them in the same manner as the old ones. The slightly
more favoured workers whom we call 'the proles' are only
intermittently conscious of the war. When it is necessary
they can be prodded into frenzies of fear and hatred, but
when left to themselves they are capable of forgetting for
long periods that the war is happening. It is in the ranks of
the Party, and above all of the Inner Party, that the true war
enthusiasm is found. World-conquest is believed in most
firmly by those who know it to be impossible. This peculiar
linking-together of opposites — knowledge with ignorance,
cynicism with fanaticism — is one of the chief distinguish-
ing marks of Oceanic society. The official ideology abounds
with contradictions even when there is no practical reason
for them. Thus, the Party rejects and vilifies every principle
for which the Socialist movement originally stood, and it
chooses to do this in the name of Socialism. It preaches a
contempt for the working class unexampled for centuries
past, and it dresses its members in a uniform which was at
one time peculiar to manual workers and was adopted for
that reason. It systematically undermines the solidarity of
the family, and it calls its leader by a name which is a direct
appeal to the sentiment of family loyalty. Even the names of
the four Ministries by which we are governed exhibit a sort



1984



of impudence in their deliberate reversal of the facts. The
Ministry of Peace concerns itself with war, the Ministry of
Truth with lies, the Ministry of Love with torture and the
Ministry of Plenty with starvation. These contradictions
are not accidental, nor do they result from ordinary hypoc-
risy; they are deliberate exercises in DOUBLETHINK. For
it is only by reconciling contradictions that power can be
retained indefinitely. In no other way could the ancient cy-
cle be broken. If human equality is to be for ever averted — if
the High, as we have called them, are to keep their places
permanently — then the prevailing mental condition must
be controlled insanity.

But there is one question which until this moment we
have almost ignored. It is; WHY should human equality be
averted? Supposing that the mechanics of the process have
been rightly described, what is the motive for this huge,
accurately planned effort to freeze history at a particular
moment of time?

Here we reach the central secret. As we have seen, the
mystique of the Party, and above all of the Inner Party, de-
pends upon DOUBLETHINK But deeper than this lies the
original motive, the never- questioned instinct that first led
to the seizure of power and brought DOUBLETHINK, the
Thought Police, continuous warfare, and all the other nec-
essary paraphernalia into existence afterwards. This motive
really consists...

Winston became aware of silence, as one becomes aware
of a new sound. It seemed to him that Julia had been very
still for some time past. She was lying on her side, na-



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ked from the waist upwards, with her cheek pillowed on
her hand and one dark lock tumbling across her eyes. Her
breast rose and fell slowly and regularly.

'Julia.'

No answer.

'Julia, are you awake?'

No answer. She was asleep. He shut the book, put it care-
fully on the floor, lay down, and pulled the coverlet over
both of them.

He had still, he reflected, not learned the ultimate secret.
He understood HOW; he did not understand WHY. Chap-
ter I, like Chapter III, had not actually told him anything
that he did not know, it had merely systematized the knowl-
edge that he possessed already. But after reading it he knew
better than before that he was not mad. Being in a minority,
even a minority of one, did not make you mad. There was
truth and there was untruth, and if you clung to the truth
even against the whole world, you were not mad. A yellow
beam from the sinking sun slanted in through the window
and fell across the pillow. He shut his eyes. The sun on his
face and the girl's smooth body touching his own gave him
a strong, sleepy, confident feeling. He was safe, everything
was all right. He fell asleep murmuring 'Sanity is not sta-
tistical,' with the feeling that this remark contained in it a

profound wisdom.

*****

When he woke it was with the sensation of having slept
for a long time, but a glance at the old-fashioned clock told
him that it was only twenty-thirty He lay dozing for a while;



1984



then the usual deep-lunged singing struck up from the yard
below:

'It was only an 'opeless fancy,

It passed like an Ipril dye,

But a look an a word an' the dreams they stirred

They 'ave stolen my 'eart awyef

The driveling song seemed to have kept its popularity.
You still heard it all over the place. It had outlived the Hate
Song. Julia woke at the sound, stretched herself luxuriously,
and got out of bed.

'I'm hungry,' she said. 'Let's make some more coffee.
Damn! The stove's gone out and the water's cold.' She picked
the stove up and shook it. 'There's no oil in it.'

'We can get some from old Charrington, I expect.'

'The funny thing is I made sure it was full. I'm going to
put my clothes on,' she added. 'It seems to have got colder.'

Winston also got up and dressed himself. The indefati-
gable voice sang on:

'They sye that time 'eals all things,

They sye you can always forget;

But the smiles an' the tears acrorss the years

They twist my ' eart-strings yet!'

As he fastened the belt of his overalls he strolled across
to the window. The sun must have gone down behind the
houses; it was not shining into the yard any longer. The flag-

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stones were wet as though they had just been washed, and
he had the feeling that the sky had been washed too, so fresh
and pale was the blue between the chimney-pots. Tireless-
ly the woman marched to and fro, corking and uncorking
herself, singing and falling silent, and pegging out more di-
apers, and more and yet more. He wondered whether she
took in washing for a living or was merely the slave of twen-
ty or thirty grandchildren. Julia had come across to his side;
together they gazed down with a sort of fascination at the
sturdy figure below. As he looked at the woman in her char-
acteristic attitude, her thick arms reaching up for the line,
her powerful mare-like buttocks protruded, it struck him
for the first time that she was beautiful. It had never before
occurred to him that the body of a woman of fifty, blown up
to monstrous dimensions by childbearing, then hardened,
roughened by work till it was coarse in the grain like an
over-ripe turnip, could be beautiful. But it was so, and after
all, he thought, why not? The solid, contourless body, like a
block of granite, and the rasping red skin, bore the same re-
lation to the body of a girl as the rose-hip to the rose. Why
should the fruit be held inferior to the flower?

'She's beautiful,' he murmured.

'She's a metre across the hips, easily' said Julia.

'That is her style of beauty' said Winston.

He held Julia's supple waist easily encircled by his arm.
From the hip to the knee her flank was against his. Out of
their bodies no child would ever come. That was the one
thing they could never do. Only by word of mouth, from
mind to mind, could they pass on the secret. The woman

276 1984



down there had no mind, she had only strong arms, a warm
heart, and a fertile belly. He wondered how many children
she had given birth to. It might easily be fifteen. She had
had her momentary flowering, a year, perhaps, of wild-rose
beauty and then she had suddenly swollen like a fertilized
fruit and grown hard and red and coarse, and then her life
had been laundering, scrubbing, darning, cooking, sweep-
ing, polishing, mending, scrubbing, laundering, first for
children, then for grandchildren, over thirty unbroken
years. At the end of it she was still singing. The mystical
reverence that he felt for her was somehow mixed up with
the aspect of the pale, cloudless sky, stretching awaybehind
the chimney-pots into interminable distance. It was curi-
ous to think that the sky was the same for everybody, in
Eurasia or Eastasia as well as here. And the people under
the sky were also very much the same — everywhere, all over
the world, hundreds of thousands of millions of people just
like this, people ignorant of one another's existence, held
apart by walls of hatred and lies, and yet almost exactly the
same — people who had never learned to think but who were
storing up in their hearts and bellies and muscles the power
that would one day overturn the world. If there was hope,
it lay in the proles! Without having read to the end of THE
BOOK, he knew that that must be Goldstein's final message.
The future belonged to the proles. And could he be sure that
when their time came the world they constructed would not
be just as alien to him, Winston Smith, as the world of the
Party? Yes, because at the least it would be a world of sanity.
Where there is equality there can be sanity. Sooner or later



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it would happen, strength would change into consciousness.
The proles were immortal, you could not doubt it when you
looked at that valiant figure in the yard. In the end their
awakening would come. And until that happened, though it
might be a thousand years, they would stay alive against all
the odds, like birds, passing on from body to body the vital-
ity which the Party did not share and could not kill.

'Do you remember,' he said, 'the thrush that sang to us,
that first day, at the edge of the wood?'

'He wasn't singing to us,' said Julia. 'He was singing to
please himself. Not even that. He was just singing.'

The birds sang, the proles sang, the Party did not sing.
All round the world, in London and New York, in Africa
and Brazil, and in the mysterious, forbidden lands beyond
the frontiers, in the streets of Paris and Berlin, in the villag-
es of the endless Russian plain, in the bazaars of China and
Japan — everywhere stood the same solid unconquerable
figure, made monstrous by work and childbearing, toiling
from birth to death and still singing. Out of those mighty
loins a race of conscious beings must one day come. You
were the dead, theirs was the future. But you could share in
that future if you kept alive the mind as they kept alive the
body, and passed on the secret doctrine that two plus two
make four.

'We are the dead,' he said.

'We are the dead,' echoed Julia dutifully.

'You are the dead,' said an iron voice behind them.

They sprang apart. Winston's entrails seemed to have
turned into ice. He could see the white all round the irises of

278 1984



Julia's eyes. Her face had turned a milky yellow. The smear
of rouge that was still on each cheekbone stood out sharply,
almost as though unconnected with the skin beneath.

'You are the dead,' repeated the iron voice.

'It was behind the picture,' breathed Julia.

'It was behind the picture,' said the voice. 'Remain exactly
where you are. Make no movement until you are ordered.'

It was starting, it was starting at last! They could do noth-
ing except stand gazing into one another's eyes. To run for
life, to get out of the house before it was too late — no such
thought occurred to them. Unthinkable to disobey the iron
voice from the wall. There was a snap as though a catch had
been turned back, and a crash of breaking glass. The picture
had fallen to the floor uncovering the telescreen behind it.

'Now they can see us,' said Julia.

'Now we can see you,' said the voice. 'Stand out in the
middle of the room. Stand back to back. Clasp your hands
behind your heads. Do not touch one another.'

They were not touching, but it seemed to him that he
could feel Julia's body shaking. Or perhaps it was merely
the shaking of his own. He could just stop his teeth from
chattering, but his knees were beyond his control. There
was a sound of trampling boots below, inside the house and
outside. The yard seemed to be full of men. Something was
being dragged across the stones. The woman's singing had
stopped abruptly. There was a long, rolling clang, as though
the washtub had been flung across the yard, and then a con-
fusion of angry shouts which ended in a yell of pain.

'The house is surrounded,' said Winston.



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'The house is surrounded,' said the voice.

He heard Julia snap her teeth together. 'I suppose we may
as well say good-bye,' she said.

'You may as well say good-bye,' said the voice. And then
another quite different voice, a thin, cultivated voice which
Winston had the impression of having heard before, struck
in; 'And by the way, while we are on the subject, 'Here comes
a candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper to chop
off your head'!'

Something crashed on to the bed behind Winston's back.
The head of a ladder had been thrust through the window
and had burst in the frame. Someone was climbing through
the window. There was a stampede of boots up the stairs.
The room was full of solid men in black uniforms, with iron-
shod boots on their feet and truncheons in their hands.

Winston was not trembling any longer. Even his eyes he
barely moved. One thing alone mattered; to keep still, to
keep still and not give them an excuse to hit you! A man
with a smooth prize -fighter's jowl in which the mouth was
only a slit paused opposite him balancing his truncheon
meditatively between thumb and forefinger. Winston met
his eyes. The feeling of nakedness, with one's hands behind
one's head and one's face and body all exposed, was almost
unbearable. The man protruded the tip of a white tongue,
licked the place where his lips should have been, and then
passed on. There was another crash. Someone had picked
up the glass paperweight from the table and smashed it to
pieces on the hearth-stone.

The fragment of coral, a tiny crinkle of pink like a sug-



1984



ar rosebud from a cake, rolled across the mat. How small,
thought Winston, how small it always was! There was a gasp
and a thump behind him, and he received a violent kick on
the ankle which nearly flung him off his balance. One of the
men had smashed his fist into Julia's solar plexus, doubling
her up like a pocket ruler. She was thrashing about on the
floor, fighting for breath. Winston dared not turn his head
even by a millimetre, but sometimes her livid, gasping face
came within the angle of his vision. Even in his terror it was
as though he could feel the pain in his own body, the deadly
pain which nevertheless was less urgent than the struggle to
get back her breath. He knew what it was like; the terrible,
agonizing pain which was there all the while but could not
be suffered yet, because before all else it was necessary to
be able to breathe. Then two of the men hoisted her up by
knees and shoulders, and carried her out of the room like a
sack. Winston had a glimpse of her face, upside down, yel-
low and contorted, with the eyes shut, and still with a smear
of rouge on either cheek; and that was the last he saw of
her.

He stood dead still. No one had hit him yet. Thoughts
which came of their own accord but seemed totally uninter-
esting began to flit through his mind. He wondered whether
they had got Mr Charrington. He wondered what they had
done to the woman in the yard. He noticed that he bad-
ly wanted to urinate, and felt a faint surprise, because he
had done so only two or three hours ago. He noticed that
the clock on the mantelpiece said nine, meaning twenty-
one. But the light seemed too strong. Would not the light



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be fading at twenty- one hours on an August evening? He
wondered whether after all he and Julia had mistaken the
time — had slept the clock round and thought it was twen-
ty-thirty when really it was nought eight-thirty on the
following morning. But he did not pursue the thought fur-
ther. It was not interesting.

There ws another, lighter step in the passage. Mr
Charrington came into the room. The demeanour of
the black-uniformed men suddenly became more sub-
dued. Something had also changed in Mr Charrington's
appearance. His eye fell on the fragments of the glass pa-
perweight.

'Pick up those pieces,' he said sharply.

A man stooped to obey. The cockney accent had disap-
peared; Winston suddenly realized whose voice it was that
he had heard a few moments ago on the telescreen. Mr Char-
rington was still wearing his old velvet jacket, but his hair,
which had been almost white, had turned black. Also he was
not wearing his spectacles. He gave Winston a single sharp
glance, as though verifying his identity, and then paid no
more attention to him. He was still recognizable, but he was
not the same person any longer. His body had straightened,
and seemed to have grown bigger. His face had undergone
only tiny changes that had nevertheless worked a complete
transformation. The black eyebrows were less bushy, the
wrinkles were gone, the whole lines of the face seemed to
have altered; even the nose seemed shorter. It was the alert,
cold face of a man of about five-and-thirty It occurred to
Winston that for the first time in his life he was looking,



1984



with knowledge, at a member of the Thought Police.



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Part Three



284 1984



Chapter i



He did not know where he was. Presumably he was in
the Ministry of Love, but there was no way of mak-
ing certain. He was in a high-ceilinged windowless cell with
walls of glittering white porcelain. Concealed lamps flood-
ed it with cold light, and there was a low, steady humming
sound which he supposed had something to do with the
air supply. A bench, or shelf, just wide enough to sit on ran
round the wall, broken only by the door and, at the end op-
posite the door, a lavatory pan with no wooden seat. There
were four telescreens, one in each wall.

There was a dull aching in his belly. It had been there
ever since they had bundled him into the closed van and
driven him away. But he was also hungry, with a gnaw-
ing, unwholesome kind of hunger. It might be twenty-four
hours since he had eaten, it might be thirty-six. He still did
not know, probably never would know, whether it had been
morning or evening when they arrested him. Since he was
arrested he had not been fed.

He sat as still as he could on the narrow bench, with his
hands crossed on his knee. He had already learned to sit
still. If you made unexpected movements they yelled at you
from the telescreen. But the craving for food was growing
upon him. What he longed for above all was a piece of bread.
He had an idea that there were a few breadcrumbs in the

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pocket of his overalls. It was even possible — he thought this
because from time to time something seemed to tickle his
leg — that there might be a sizeable bit of crust there. In the
end the temptation to find out overcame his fear; he slipped
a hand into his pocket.

'Smith!' yelled a voice from the telescreen. '6079 Smith
W.! Hands out of pockets in the cells!'

He sat still again, his hands crossed on his knee. Be-
fore being brought here he had been taken to another place
which must have been an ordinary prison or a temporary
lock-up used by the patrols. He did not know how long he
had been there; some hours at any rate; with no clocks and
no daylight it was hard to gauge the time. It was a noisy, evil-
smelling place. They had put him into a cell similar to the
one he was now in, but filthily dirty and at all times crowded
by ten or fifteen people. The majority of them were common
criminals, but there were a few political prisoners among
them. He had sat silent against the wall, jostled by dirty
bodies, too preoccupied by fear and the pain in his belly to
take much interest in his surroundings, but still noticing
the astonishing difference in demeanour between the Party
prisoners and the others. The Party prisoners were always
silent and terrified, but the ordinary criminals seemed to
care nothing for anybody. They yelled insults at the guards,
fought back fiercely when their belongings were impound-
ed, wrote obscene words on the floor, ate smuggled food
which they produced from mysterious hiding-places in their
clothes, and even shouted down the telescreen when it tried
to restore order. On the other hand some of them seemed



1984



to be on good terms with the guards, called them by nick-
names, and tried to wheedle cigarettes through the spyhole
in the door. The guards, too, treated the common criminals
with a certain forbearance, even when they had to handle
them roughly. There was much talk about the forced-labour
camps to which most of the prisoners expected to be sent.
It was 'all right' in the camps, he gathered, so long as you
had good contacts and knew the ropes. There was bribery,
favouritism, and racketeering of every kind, there was ho-
mosexuality and prostitution, there was even illicit alcohol
distilled from potatoes. The positions of trust were given
only to the common criminals, especially the gangsters and
the murderers, who formed a sort of aristocracy. All the
dirty jobs were done by the politicals.

There was a constant come-and-go of prisoners of every
description: drug-peddlers, thieves, bandits, black-mar-
keteers, drunks, prostitutes. Some of the drunks were so
violent that the other prisoners had to combine to sup-
press them. An enormous wreck of a woman, aged about
sixty, with great tumbling breasts and thick coils of white
hair which had come down in her struggles, was carried in,
kicking and shouting, by four guards, who had hold of her
one at each corner. They wrenched off the boots with which
she had been trying to kick them, and dumped her down
across Winston's lap, almost breaking his thigh-bones. The
woman hoisted herself upright and followed them out with
a yell of 'F bastards!' Then, noticing that she was sit-
ting on something uneven, she slid off Winston's knees on
to the bench.

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'Beg pardon, dearie,' she said. 'I wouldn't 'a sat on you,
only the buggers put me there. They dono 'ow to treat a lady,
do they?' She paused, patted her breast, and belched. 'Par-
don,' she said, 'I ain't meself, quite.'

She leant forward and vomited copiously on the floor.

"Ihass better,' she said, leaning back with closed eyes.
'Never keep it down, thass what I say. Get it up while it's
fresh on your stomach, like.'

She revived, turned to have another look at Winston and
seemed immediately to take a fancy to him. She put a vast
arm round his shoulder and drew him towards her, breath-
ing beer and vomit into his face.

'Wass your name, dearie?' she said.

'Smith,' said Winston.

'Smith?' said the woman. "Ihass funny. My name's Smith
too. Why' she added sentimentally, 'I might be your moth-
er!'

She might, thought Winston, be his mother. She was
about the right age and physique, and it was probable that
people changed somewhat after twenty years in a forced-la-
bour camp.

No one else had spoken to him. To a surprising extent
the ordinary criminals ignored the Party prisoners. 'The
polITS,' they called them, with a sort of uninterested con-
tempt. The Party prisoners seemed terrified of speaking to
anybody, and above all of speaking to one another. Only
once, when two Party members, both women, were pressed
close together on the bench, he overheard amid the din of
voices a few hurriedly-whispered words; and in particular a



1984



reference to something called 'room one-oh-one', which he
did not understand.

It might be two or three hours ago that they had brought
him here. The dull pain in his belly never went away, but
sometimes it grew better and sometimes worse, and his
thoughts expanded or contracted accordingly. When it
grew worse he thought only of the pain itself, and of his de-
sire for food. When it grew better, panic took hold of him.
There were moments when he foresaw the things that would
happen to him with such actuality that his heart galloped
and his breath stopped. He felt the smash of truncheons on
his elbows and iron-shod boots on his shins; he saw himself
grovelling on the floor, screaming for mercy through bro-
ken teeth. He hardly thought of Julia. He could not fix his
mind on her. He loved her and would not betray her; but
that was only a fact, known as he knew the rules of arith-
metic. He felt no love for her, and he hardly even wondered
what was happening to her. He thought oftener of O'Brien,
with a flickering hope. O'Brien might know that he had
been arrested. The Brotherhood, he had said, never tried to
save its members. But there was the razor blade; they would
send the razor blade if they could. There would be perhaps
five seconds before the guard could rush into the cell. The
blade would bite into him with a sort of burning coldness,
and even the fingers that held it would be cut to the bone.
Everything came back to his sick body, which shrank trem-
bling from the smallest pain. He was not certain that he
would use the razor blade even if he got the chance. It was
more natural to exist from moment to moment, accepting

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another ten minutes' life even with the certainty that there
was torture at the end of it.

Sometimes he tried to calculate the number of porcelain
bricks in the walls of the cell. It should have been easy, but
he always lost count at some point or another. More often he
wondered where he was, and what time of day it was. At one
moment he felt certain that it was broad daylight outside,
and at the next equally certain that it was pitch darkness. In
this place, he knew instinctively, the lights would never be
turned out. It was the place with no darkness: he saw now
why O'Brien had seemed to recognize the allusion. In the
Ministry of Love there were no windows. His cell might be
at the heart of the building or against its outer wall; it might
be ten floors below ground, or thirty above it. He moved
himself mentally from place to place, and tried to deter-
mine by the feeling of his body whether he was perched
high in the air or buried deep underground.

There was a sound of marching boots outside. The steel
door opened with a clang. A young officer, a trim black-uni-
formed figure who seemed to glitter all over with polished
leather, and whose pale, straight-featured face was like a
wax mask, stepped smartly through the doorway. He mo-
tioned to the guards outside to bring in the prisoner they
were leading. The poet Ampleforth shambled into the cell.
The door clanged shut again.

Ampleforth made one or two uncertain movements from
side to side, as though having some idea that there was an-
other door to go out of, and then began to wander up and
down the cell. He had not yet noticed Winston's presence.



1984



His troubled eyes were gazing at the wall about a metre
above the level of Winston's head. He was shoeless; large,
dirty toes were sticking out of the holes in his socks. He
was also several days away from a shave. A scrubby beard
covered his face to the cheekbones, giving him an air of
ruffianism that went oddly with his large weak frame and
nervous movements.

Winston roused himself a little from his lethargy. He
must speak to Ampleforth, and risk the yell from the tele-
screen. It was even conceivable that Ampleforth was the
bearer of the razor blade.

Ampleforth,' he said.

There was no yell from the telescreen. Ampleforth
paused, mildly startled. His eyes focused themselves slowly
on Winston.

Ah, Smith!' he said. 'You too!'

'What are you in for?'

'To tell you the truth — ' He sat down awkwardly on the
bench opposite Winston. 'There is only one offence, is there
not?' he said.

And have you committed it?'

Apparently I have.'

He put a hand to his forehead and pressed his temples for
a moment, as though trying to remember something.

'These things happen,' he began vaguely. 'I have been
able to recall one instance — a possible instance. It was an
indiscretion, undoubtedly. We were producing a definitive
edition of the poems of Kipling. I allowed the word 'God' to
remain at the end of a line. I could not help it!' he added al-

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most indignantly, raising his face to look at Winston. 'It was
impossible to change the line. The rhyme was 'rod". Do you
realize that there are only twelve rhymes to 'rod' in the en-
tire language? For days I had racked my brains. There WAS
no other rhyme.'

The expression on his face changed. The annoyance
passed out of it and for a moment he looked almost pleased.
A sort of intellectual warmth, the joy of the pedant who has
found out some useless fact, shone through the dirt and
scrubby hair.

'Has it ever occurred to you,' he said, 'that the whole his-
tory of English poetry has been determined by the fact that
the English language lacks rhymes?'

No, that particular thought had never occurred to Win-
ston. Nor, in the circumstances, did it strike him as very
important or interesting.

'Do you know what time of day it is?' he said.

Ampleforth looked startled again. 'I had hardly thought
about it. They arrested me — it could be two days ago — per-
haps three.' His eyes flitted round the walls, as though he
half expected to find a window somewhere. 'There is no dif-
ference between night and day in this place. I do not see
how one can calculate the time.'

They talked desultorily for some minutes, then, without
apparent reason, a yell from the telescreen bade them be
silent. Winston sat quietly, his hands crossed. Ampleforth,
too large to sit in comfort on the narrow bench, fidgeted
from side to side, clasping his lank hands first round one
knee, then round the other. The telescreen barked at him to



1984



keep still. Time passed. Twenty minutes, an hour — it was
difficult to judge. Once more there was a sound of boots
outside. Winston's entrails contracted. Soon, very soon,
perhaps in five minutes, perhaps now, the tramp of boots
would mean that his own turn had come.

The door opened. The cold-faced young officer stepped
into the cell. With a brief movement of the hand he indi-
cated Ampleforth.

'Room 101,' he said.

Ampleforth marched clumsily out between the guards,
his face vaguely perturbed, but uncomprehending.

What seemed like a long time passed. The pain in Win-
ston's belly had revived. His mind sagged round and round
on the same trick, like a ball falling again and again into
the same series of slots. He had only six thoughts. The pain
in his belly; a piece of bread; the blood and the screaming;
O'Brien; Julia; the razor blade. There was another spasm in
his entrails, the heavy boots were approaching. As the door
opened, the wave of air that it created brought in a power-
ful smell of cold sweat. Parsons walked into the cell. He was
wearing khaki shorts and a sports-shirt.

This time Winston was startled into self-forgetfulness.

'YOU here!' he said.

Parsons gave Winston a glance in which there was
neither interest nor surprise, but only misery. He began
walking jerkily up and down, evidently unable to keep still.
Each time he straightened his pudgy knees it was apparent
that they were trembling. His eyes had a wide-open, staring
look, as though he could not prevent himself from gazing at

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something in the middle distance.

'What are you in for?' said Winston.

'Thoughtcrime!' said Parsons, almost blubbering. The
tone of his voice implied at once a complete admission of
his guilt and a sort of incredulous horror that such a word
could be applied to himself. He paused opposite Winston
and began eagerly appealing to him: 'You don't think they'll
shoot me, do you, old chap? They don't shoot you if you
haven't actually done anything — only thoughts, which you
can't help? I know they give you a fair hearing. Oh, I trust
them for that! They'll know my record, won't they? YOU
know what kind of chap I was. Not a bad chap in my way.
Not brainy, of course, but keen. I tried to do my best for the
Party, didn't I? I'll get off with five years, don't you think? Or
even ten years? A chap like me could make himself pretty
useful in a labour-camp. They wouldn't shoot me for going
off the rails just once?'

'Are you guilty?' said Winston.

'Of course I'm guilty!' cried Parsons with a servile glance
at the telescreen. 'You don't think the Party would arrest
an innocent man, do you?' His frog-like face grew calm-
er, and even took on a slightly sanctimonious expression.
"Ihoughtcrime is a dreadful thing, old man,' he said senten-
tiously 'It's insidious. It can get hold of you without your
even knowing it. Do you know how it got hold of me? In my
sleep! Yes, that's a fact. There I was, working away, trying to
do my bit — never knew I had any bad stuff in my mind at all.
And then I started talking in my sleep. Do you know what
they heard me saying?'



1984



He sank his voice, like someone who is obliged for medi-
cal reasons to utter an obscenity.

"Down with Big Brother!' Yes, I said that! Said it over
and over again, it seems. Between you and me, old man, I'm
glad they got me before it went any further. Do you know
what I'm going to say to them when I go up before the tribu-
nal? 'Thank you,' I'm going to say, 'thank you for saving me
before it was too late."

'Who denounced you?' said Winston.

'It was my little daughter,' said Parsons with a sort of
doleful pride. 'She listened at the keyhole. Heard what I
was saying, and nipped off to the patrols the very next day.
Pretty smart for a nipper of seven, eh? I don't bear her any
grudge for it. In fact I'm proud of her. It shows I brought her
up in the right spirit, anyway'

He made a few more jerky movements up and down,
several times, casting a longing glance at the lavatory pan.
Then he suddenly ripped down his shorts.

'Excuse me, old man,' he said. T can't help it. It's the wait-
ing.'

He plumped his large posterior into the lavatory pan.
Winston covered his face with his hands.

'Smith!' yelled the voice from the telescreen. '6079 Smith
W! Uncover your face. No faces covered in the cells.'

Winston uncovered his face. Parsons used the lavatory,
loudly and abundantly. It then turned out that the plug was
defective and the cell stank abominably for hours after-
wards.

Parsons was removed. More prisoners came and went,

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mysteriously. One, a woman, was consigned to 'Room 101',
and, Winston noticed, seemed to shrivel and turn a differ-
ent colour when she heard the words. A time came when, if
it had been morning when he was brought here, it would be
afternoon; or if it had been afternoon, then it would be mid-
night. There were six prisoners in the cell, men and women.
All sat very still. Opposite Winston there sat a man with a
chinless, toothy face exactly like that of some large, harm-
less rodent. His fat, mottled cheeks were so pouched at the
bottom that it was difficult not to believe that he had little
stores of food tucked away there. His pale-grey eyes flitted
timorously from face to face and turned quickly away again
when he caught anyone's eye.

The door opened, and another prisoner was brought in
whose appearance sent a momentary chill through Win-
ston. He was a commonplace, mean-looking man who
might have been an engineer or technician of some kind.
But what was startling was the emaciation of his face. It
was like a skull. Because of its thinness the mouth and eyes
looked disproportionately large, and the eyes seemed filled
with a murderous, unappeasable hatred of somebody or
something.

The man sat down on the bench at a little distance from
Winston. Winston did not look at him again, but the tor-
mented, skull-like face was as vivid in his mind as though
it had been straight in front of his eyes. Suddenly he real-
ized what was the matter. The man was dying of starvation.
The same thought seemed to occur almost simultaneously
to everyone in the cell. There was a very faint stirring all

296 1984



the way round the bench. The eyes of the chinless man kept
flitting towards the skull-faced man, then turning guiltily
away, then being dragged back by an irresistible attraction.
Presently he began to fidget on his seat. At last he stood up,
waddled clumsily across the cell, dug down into the pocket
of his overalls, and, with an abashed air, held out a grimy
piece of bread to the skull-faced man.

There was a furious, deafening roar from the telescreen.
The chinless man jumped in his tracks. The skull-faced man
had quickly thrust his hands behind his back, as though
demonstrating to all the world that he refused the gift.

'Bumstead!' roared the voice. '2713 Bumstead J.! Let fall
that piece of bread!'

The chinless man dropped the piece of bread on the
floor.

'Remain standing where you are,' said the voice. 'Face the
door. Make no movement.'

The chinless man obeyed. His large pouchy cheeks were
quivering uncontrollably. The door clanged open. As the
young officer entered and stepped aside, there emerged
from behind him a short stumpy guard with enormous
arms and shoulders. He took his stand opposite the chin-
less man, and then, at a signal from the officer, let free a
frightful blow, with all the weight of his body behind it, full
in the chinless man's mouth. The force of it seemed almost
to knock him clear of the floor. His body was flung across
the cell and fetched up against the base of the lavatory seat.
For a moment he lay as though stunned, with dark blood
oozing from his mouth and nose. A very faint whimper-



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ing or squeaking, which seemed unconscious, came out of
him. Then he rolled over and raised himself unsteadily on
hands and knees. Amid a stream of blood and saliva, the
two halves of a dental plate fell out of his mouth.

The prisoners sat very still, their hands crossed on their
knees. The chinless man climbed back into his place. Down
one side of his face the flesh was darkening. His mouth had
swollen into a shapeless cherry- coloured mass with a black
hole in the middle of it.

From time to time a little blood dripped on to the breast
of his overalls. His grey eyes still flitted from face to face,
more guiltily than ever, as though he were trying to discov-
er how much the others despised him for his humiliation.

The door opened. With a small gesture the officer indi-
cated the skull-faced man.

'Room 101,' he said.

There was a gasp and a flurry at Winston's side. The man
had actually flung himself on his knees on the floor, with
his hand clasped together.

'Comrade! Officer!' he cried. 'You don't have to take me to
that place! Haven't I told you everything already? What else
is it you want to know? There's nothing I wouldn't confess,
nothing! Just tell me what it is and I'll confess straight off.
Write it down and I'll sign it — anything! Not room 101!'

'Room 101,' said the officer.

The man's face, already very pale, turned a colour Win-
ston would not have believed possible. It was definitely,
unmistakably, a shade of green.

'Do anything to me!' he yelled. 'You've been starving me

298 1984



for weeks. Finish it off and let me die. Shoot me. Hang me.
Sentence me to twenty-five years. Is there somebody else
you want me to give away? Just say who it is and I'll tell you
anything you want. I don't care who it is or what you do to
them. I've got a wife and three children. The biggest of them
isn't six years old. You can take the whole lot of them and
cut their throats in front of my eyes, and I'll stand by and
watch it. But not Room 101!'

'Room 101,' said the officer.

The man looked frantically round at the other prisoners,
as though with some idea that he could put another victim
in his own place. His eyes settled on the smashed face of the
chinless man. He flung out a lean arm.

'That's the one you ought to be taking, not me!' he shout-
ed. 'You didn't hear what he was saying after they bashed
his face. Give me a chance and I'll tell you every word of it.
HE'S the one that's against the Party, not me.' The guards
stepped forward. The man's voice rose to a shriek. 'You
didn't hear him!' he repeated. 'Something went wrong with
the telescreen. HE'S the one you want. Take him, not me!'

The two sturdy guards had stooped to take him by the
arms. But just at this moment he flung himself across the
floor of the cell and grabbed one of the iron legs that sup-
ported the bench. He had set up a wordless howling, like an
animal. The guards took hold of him to wrench him loose,
but he clung on with astonishing strength. For perhaps
twenty seconds they were hauling at him. The prisoners sat
quiet, their hands crossed on their knees, looking straight
in front of them. The howling stopped; the man had no

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breath left for anything except hanging on. Then there was
a different kind of cry. A kick from a guard's boot had bro-
ken the fingers of one of his hands. They dragged him to
his feet.

'Room 101,' said the officer.

The man was led out, walking unsteadily, with head
sunken, nursing his crushed hand, all the fight had gone
out of him.

A long time passed. If it had been midnight when the
skull-faced man was taken away, it was morning: if morn-
ing, it was afternoon. Winston was alone, and had been
alone for hours. The pain of sitting on the narrow bench
was such that often he got up and walked about, unreproved
by the telescreen. The piece of bread still lay where the chin-
less man had dropped it. At the beginning it needed a hard
effort not to look at it, but presently hunger gave way to
thirst. His mouth was sticky and evil-tasting. The hum-
ming sound and the unvarying white light induced a sort
of faintness, an empty feeling inside his head. He would get
up because the ache in his bones was no longer bearable,
and then would sit down again almost at once because he
was too dizzy to make sure of staying on his feet. Whenever
his physical sensations were a little under control the ter-
ror returned. Sometimes with a fading hope he thought of
O'Brien and the razor blade. It was thinkable that the razor
blade might arrive concealed in his food, if he were ever
fed. More dimly he thought of Julia. Somewhere or other
she was suffering perhaps far worse than he. She might be
screaming with pain at this moment. He thought: 'If I could



1984



save Julia by doubling my own pain, would I do it? Yes, I
would.' But that was merely an intellectual decision, taken
because he knew that he ought to take it. He did not feel it.
In this place you could not feel anything, except pain and
foreknowledge of pain. Besides, was it possible, when you
were actually suffering it, to wish for any reason that your
own pain should increase? But that question was not an-
swerable yet.

The boots were approaching again. The door opened.
O'Brien came in.

Winston started to his feet. The shock of the sight had
driven all caution out of him. For the first time in many
years he forgot the presence of the telescreen.

'They've got you too!' he cried.

'They got me a long time ago,' said O'Brien with a mild,
almost regretful irony. He stepped aside. From behind him
there emerged a broad-chested guard with a long black
truncheon in his hand.

'You know this, Winston,' said O'Brien. 'Don't deceive
yourself. You did know it — you have always known it.'

Yes, he saw now, he had always known it. But there was no
time to think of that. All he had eyes for was the truncheon
in the guard's hand. It might fall anywhere; on the crown,
on the tip of the ear, on the upper arm, on the elbow

The elbow! He had slumped to his knees, almost para-
lysed, clasping the stricken elbow with his other hand.
Everything had exploded into yellow light. Inconceivable,
inconceivable that one blow could cause such pain! The
light cleared and he could see the other two looking down



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at him. The guard was laughing at his contortions. One
question at any rate was answered. Never, for any reason
on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain
you could wish only one thing: that it should stop. Nothing
in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain
there are no heroes, no heroes, he thought over and over as
he writhed on the floor, clutching uselessly at his disabled
left arm.



1984



Chapter 2



He was lying on something that felt like a camp bed, ex-
cept that it was higher off the ground and that he was
fixed down in some way so that he could not move. Light
that seemed stronger than usual was falling on his face.
O'Brien was standing at his side, looking down at him in-
tently. At the other side of him stood a man in a white coat,
holding a hypodermic syringe.

Even after his eyes were open he took in his surround-
ings only gradually. He had the impression of swimming up
into this room from some quite different world, a sort of un-
derwater world far beneath it. How long he had been down
there he did not know. Since the moment when they arrest-
ed him he had not seen darkness or daylight. Besides, his
memories were not continuous. There had been times when
consciousness, even the sort of consciousness that one has
in sleep, had stopped dead and started again after a blank
interval. But whether the intervals were of days or weeks or
only seconds, there was no way of knowing.

With that first blow on the elbow the nightmare had
started. Later he was to realize that all that then happened
was merely a preliminary, a routine interrogation to which
nearly all prisoners were subjected. There was a long range
of crimes — espionage, sabotage, and the like — to which ev-
eryone had to confess as a matter of course. The confession

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was a formality, though the torture was real. How many
times he had been beaten, how long the beatings had con-
tinued, he could not remember. Always there were five or
six men in black uniforms at him simultaneously. Some-
times it was fists, sometimes it was truncheons, sometimes
it was steel rods, sometimes it was boots. There were times
when he rolled about the floor, as shameless as an animal,
writhing his body this way and that in an endless, hopeless
effort to dodge the kicks, and simply inviting more and yet
more kicks, in his ribs, in his belly, on his elbows, on his
shins, in his groin, in his testicles, on the bone at the base
of his spine. There were times when it went on and on un-
til the cruel, wicked, unforgivable thing seemed to him not
that the guards continued to beat him but that he could not
force himself into losing consciousness. There were times
when his nerve so forsook him that he began shouting for
mercy even before the beating began, when the mere sight
of a fist drawn back for a blow was enough to make him
pour forth a confession of real and imaginary crimes. There
were other times when he started out with the resolve of
confessing nothing, when every word had to be forced out
of him between gasps of pain, and there were times when he
feebly tried to compromise, when he said to himself: 'I will
confess, but not yet. I must hold out till the pain becomes
unbearable. Three more kicks, two more kicks, and then I
will tell them what they want.' Sometimes he was beaten till
he could hardly stand, then flung like a sack of potatoes on
to the stone floor of a cell, left to recuperate for a few hours,
and then taken out and beaten again. There were also longer



1984



periods of recovery. He remembered them dimly, because
they were spent chiefly in sleep or stupor. He remembered
a cell with a plank bed, a sort of shelf sticking out from the
wall, and a tin wash-basin, and meals of hot soup and bread
and sometimes coffee. He remembered a surly barber arriv-
ing to scrape his chin and crop his hair, and businesslike,
unsympathetic men in white coats feeling his pulse, tapping
his reflexes, turning up his eyelids, running harsh fingers
over him in search for broken bones, and shooting needles
into his arm to make him sleep.

The beatings grew less frequent, and became mainly a
threat, a horror to which he could be sent back at any mo-
ment when his answers were unsatisfactory. His questioners
now were not ruffians in black uniforms but Party intellec-
tuals, little rotund men with quick movements and flashing
spectacles, who worked on him in relays over periods which
lasted — he thought, he could not be sure — ten or twelve
hours at a stretch. These other questioners saw to it that he
was in constant slight pain, but it was not chiefly pain that
they relied on. They slapped his face, wrung his ears, pulled
his hair, made him stand on one leg, refused him leave to
urinate, shone glaring lights in his face until his eyes ran
with water; but the aim of this was simply to humiliate him
and destroy his power of arguing and reasoning. Their real
weapon was the merciless questioning that went on and on,
hour after hour, tripping him up, laying traps for him, twist-
ing everything that he said, convicting him at every step of
lies and self-contradiction until he began weeping as much
from shame as from nervous fatigue. Sometimes he would



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weep half a dozen times in a single session. Most of the time
they screamed abuse at him and threatened at every hesita-
tion to deliver him over to the guards again; but sometimes
they would suddenly change their tune, call him comrade,
appeal to him in the name of Ingsoc and Big Brother, and
ask him sorrowfully whether even now he had not enough
loyalty to the Party left to make him wish to undo the evil
he had done. When his nerves were in rags after hours of
questioning, even this appeal could reduce him to snivel-
ling tears. In the end the nagging voices broke him down
more completely than the boots and fists of the guards. He
became simply a mouth that uttered, a hand that signed,
whatever was demanded of him. His sole concern was to
find out what they wanted him to confess, and then confess
it quickly, before the bullying started anew. He confessed
to the assassination of eminent Party members, the dis-
tribution of seditious pamphlets, embezzlement of public
funds, sale of military secrets, sabotage of every kind. He
confessed that he had been a spy in the pay of the Easta-
sian government as far back as 1968. He confessed that he
was a religious believer, an admirer of capitalism, and a sex-
ual pervert. He confessed that he had murdered his wife,
although he knew, and his questioners must have known,
that his wife was still alive. He confessed that for years he
had been in personal touch with Goldstein and had been
a member of an underground organization which had in-
cluded almost every human being he had ever known. It
was easier to confess everything and implicate everybody.
Besides, in a sense it was all true. It was true that he had

306 1984



been the enemy of the Party, and in the eyes of the Party
there was no distinction between the thought and the deed.

There were also memories of another kind. They stood
out in his mind disconnectedly, like pictures with black-
ness all round them.

He was in a cell which might have been either dark or
light, because he could see nothing except a pair of eyes.
Near at hand some kind of instrument was ticking slow-
ly and regularly. The eyes grew larger and more luminous.
Suddenly he floated out of his seat, dived into the eyes, and
was swallowed up.

He was strapped into a chair surrounded by dials, under
dazzling lights. A man in a white coat was reading the dials.
There was a tramp of heavy boots outside. The door clanged
open. The waxed-faced officer marched in, followed by two
guards.

'Room 101,' said the officer.

The man in the white coat did not turn round. He did not
look at Winston either; he was looking only at the dials.

He was rolling down a mighty corridor, a kilometre
wide, full of glorious, golden light, roaring with laughter
and shouting out confessions at the top of his voice. He was
confessing everything, even the things he had succeeded
in holding back under the torture. He was relating the en-
tire history of his life to an audience who knew it already.
With him were the guards, the other questioners, the men
in white coats, O'Brien, Julia, Mr Charrington, all rolling
down the corridor together and shouting with laughter.
Some dreadful thing which had lain embedded in the fu-

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ture had somehow been skipped over and had not happened.
Everything was all right, there was no more pain, the last
detail of his life was laid bare, understood, forgiven.

He was starting up from the plank bed in the half-cer-
tainty that he had heard O'Brien's voice. All through his
interrogation, although he had never seen him, he had had
the feeling that O'Brien was at his elbow, just out of sight. It
was O'Brien who was directing everything. It was he who
set the guards on to Winston and who prevented them from
killing him. It was he who decided when Winston should
scream with pain, when he should have a respite, when he
should be fed, when he should sleep, when the drugs should
be pumped into his arm. It was he who asked the ques-
tions and suggested the answers. He was the tormentor, he
was the protector, he was the inquisitor, he was the friend.
And once — Winston could not remember whether it was
in drugged sleep, or in normal sleep, or even in a moment
of wakefulness — a voice murmured in his ear: 'Don't wor-
ry, Winston; you are in my keeping. For seven years I have
watched over you. Now the turning-point has come. I shall
save you, I shall make you perfect.' He was not sure whether
it was O'Brien's voice; but it was the same voice that had
said to him, We shall meet in the place where there is no
darkness,' in that other dream, seven years ago.

He did not remember any ending to his interrogation.
There was a period of blackness and then the cell, or room,
in which he now was had gradually materialized round him.
He was almost flat on his back, and unable to move. His
body was held down at every essential point. Even the back

308 1984



of his head was gripped in some manner. O'Brien was look-
ing down at him gravely and rather sadly. His face, seen
from below, looked coarse and worn, with pouches under
the eyes and tired lines from nose to chin. He was older
than Winston had thought him; he was perhaps forty-eight
or fifty Under his hand there was a dial with a lever on top
and figures running round the face.

'I told you,' said O'Brien, 'that if we met again it would
be here.'

'Yes,' said Winston.

Without any warning except a slight movement of
O'Brien's hand, a wave of pain flooded his body. It was a
frightening pain, because he could not see what was hap-
pening, and he had the feeling that some mortal injury was
being done to him. He did not know whether the thing was
really happening, or whether the effect was electrically pro-
duced; but his body was being wrenched out of shape, the
joints were being slowly torn apart. Although the pain had
brought the sweat out on his forehead, the worst of all was
the fear that his backbone was about to snap. He set his
teeth and breathed hard through his nose, trying to keep
silent as long as possible.

'You are afraid,' said O'Brien, watching his face, 'that in
another moment something is going to break. Your especial
fear is that it will be your backbone. You have a vivid mental
picture of the vertebrae snapping apart and the spinal fluid
dripping out of them. That is what you are thinking, is it
not, Winston?'

Winston did not answer. O'Brien drew back the lever on



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the dial. The wave of pain receded almost as quickly as it
had come.

'That was forty,' said O'Brien. 'You can see that the num-
bers on this dial run up to a hundred. Will you please
remember, throughout our conversation, that I have it in
my power to inflict pain on you at any moment and to what-
ever degree I choose? If you tell me any lies, or attempt to
prevaricate in any way, or even fall below your usual level
of intelligence, you will cry out with pain, instantly. Do you
understand that?'

'Yes,' said Winston.

O'Brien's manner became less severe. He resettled his
spectacles thoughtfully, and took a pace or two up and
down. When he spoke his voice was gentle and patient. He
had the air of a doctor, a teacher, even a priest, anxious to
explain and persuade rather than to punish.

'I am taking trouble with you, Winston,' he said, 'because
you are worth trouble. You know perfectly well what is the
matter with you. You have known it for years, though you
have fought against the knowledge. You are mentally de-
ranged. You suffer from a defective memory. You are unable
to remember real events and you persuade yourself that you
remember other events which never happened. Fortunately
it is curable. You have never cured yourself of it, because
you did not choose to. There was a small effort of the will
that you were not ready to make. Even now, I am well aware,
you are clinging to your disease under the impression that
it is a virtue. Now we will take an example. At this moment,
which power is Oceania at war with?'



1984



'When I was arrested, Oceania was at war with Eastasia.'

'With Eastasia. Good. And Oceania has always been at
war with Eastasia, has it not?'

Winston drew in his breath. He opened his mouth to
speak and then did not speak. He could not take his eyes
away from the dial.

'The truth, please, Winston. YOUR truth. Tell me what
you think you remember.'

T remember that until only a week before I was arrested,
we were not at war with Eastasia at all. We were in alliance
with them. The war was against Eurasia. That had lasted for
four years. Before that '

O'Brien stopped him with a movement of the hand.

'Another example,' he said. 'Some years ago you had a
very serious delusion indeed. You believed that three men,
three one-time Party members named Jones, Aaronson,
and Rutherford — men who were executed for treachery
and sabotage after making the fullest possible confession —
were not guilty of the crimes they were charged with. You
believed that you had seen unmistakable documentary evi-
dence proving that their confessions were false. There was
a certain photograph about which you had a hallucination.
You believed that you had actually held it in your hands. It
was a photograph something like this.'

An oblong slip of newspaper had appeared between
O'Brien's fingers. For perhaps five seconds it was within the
angle of Winston's vision. It was a photograph, and there
was no question of its identity. It was THE photograph. It
was another copy of the photograph of Jones, Aaronson,

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and Rutherford at the party function in New York, which
he had chanced upon eleven years ago and promptly de-
stroyed. For only an instant it was before his eyes, then it
was out of sight again. But he had seen it, unquestionably he
had seen it! He made a desperate, agonizing effort to wrench
the top half of his body free. It was impossible to move so
much as a centimetre in any direction. For the moment he
had even forgotten the dial. All he wanted was to hold the
photograph in his fingers again, or at least to see it.

'It exists!' he cried.

'No,' said O'Brien.

He stepped across the room. There was a memory hole
in the opposite wall. O'Brien lifted the grating. Unseen, the
frail slip of paper was whirling away on the current of warm
air; it was vanishing in a flash of flame. O'Brien turned away
from the wall.

'Ashes,' he said. 'Not even identifiable ashes. Dust. It does
not exist. It never existed.'

'But it did exist! It does exist! It exists in memory. I re-
member it. You remember it.'

'I do not remember it,' said O'Brien.

Winston's heart sank. That was doublethink. He had a
feeling of deadly helplessness. If he could have been certain
that O'Brien was lying, it would not have seemed to matter.
But it was perfectly possible that O'Brien had really forgot-
ten the photograph. And if so, then already he would have
forgotten his denial of remembering it, and forgotten the
act of forgetting. How could one be sure that it was simple
trickery? Perhaps that lunatic dislocation in the mind could



1984



really happen: that was the thought that defeated him.

O'Brien was looking down at him speculatively. More
than ever he had the air of a teacher taking pains with a
wayward but promising child.

'There is a Party slogan dealing with the control of the
past,' he said. 'Repeat it, if you please.'

"Who controls the past controls the future: who controls
the present controls the past," repeated Winston obedient-

"Who controls the present controls the past," said
O'Brien, nodding his head with slow approval. 'Is it your
opinion, Winston, that the past has real existence?'

Again the feeling of helplessness descended upon Win-
ston. His eyes flitted towards the dial. He not only did not
know whether 'yes' or 'no' was the answer that would save
him from pain; he did not even know which answer he be-
lieved to be the true one.

O'Brien smiled faintly. 'You are no metaphysician, Win-
ston,' he said. 'Until this moment you had never considered
what is meant by existence. I will put it more precisely. Does
the past exist concretely, in space? Is there somewhere or
other a place, a world of solid objects, where the past is still
happening?'

'No.'

'Then where does the past exist, if at all?'

'In records. It is written down.'

'In records. And ?'

'In the mind. In human memories.'

'In memory. Very well, then. We, the Party, control all



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records, and we control all memories. Then we control the
past, do we not?'

'But how can you stop people remembering things?' cried
Winston again momentarily forgetting the dial. 'It is invol-
untary. It is outside oneself. How can you control memory?
You have not controlled mine!'

O'Brien's manner grew stern again. He laid his hand on
the dial.

'On the contrary' he said, 'YOU have not controlled it.
That is what has brought you here. You are here because
you have failed in humility, in self-discipline. You would
not make the act of submission which is the price of san-
ity. You preferred to be a lunatic, a minority of one. Only
the disciplined mind can see reality, Winston. You believe
that reality is something objective, external, existing in its
own right. You also believe that the nature of reality is self-
evident. When you delude yourself into thinking that you
see something, you assume that everyone else sees the same
thing as you. But I tell you, Winston, that reality is not ex-
ternal. Reality exists in the human mind, and nowhere else.
Not in the individual mind, which can make mistakes, and
in any case soon perishes: only in the mind of the Party,
which is collective and immortal. Whatever the Party holds
to be the truth, is truth. It is impossible to see reality except
by looking through the eyes of the Party. That is the fact
that you have got to relearn, Winston. It needs an act of self-
destruction, an effort of the will. You must humble yourself
before you can become sane.'

He paused for a few moments, as though to allow what



1984



he had been saying to sink in.

'Do you remember,' he went on, 'writing in your dia-
ry, 'Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make
four'?'

'Yes,' said Winston.

O'Brien held up his left hand, its back towards Winston,
with the thumb hidden and the four fingers extended.

'How many fingers am I holding up, Winston?'

'Four.'

'And if the party says that it is not four but five — then
how many?'

'Four.'

The word ended in a gasp of pain. The needle of the dial
had shot up to fifty-five. The sweat had sprung out all over
Winston's body. The air tore into his lungs and issued again
in deep groans which even by clenching his teeth he could
not stop. O'Brien watched him, the four fingers still ex-
tended. He drew back the lever. This time the pain was only
slightly eased.

'How many fingers, Winston?'

'Four.'

The needle went up to sixty.

'How many fingers, Winston?'

'Four! Four! What else can I say? Four!'

The needle must have risen again, but he did not look at
it. The heavy, stern face and the four fingers filled his vision.
The fingers stood up before his eyes like pillars, enormous,
blurry, and seeming to vibrate, but unmistakably four.

'How many fingers, Winston?'

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'Four! Stop it, stop it! How can you go on? Four! Four!'

'How many fingers, Winston?'

'Five! Five! Five!'

'No, Winston, that is no use. You are lying. You still think
there are four. How many fingers, please?'

'Four! five! Four! Anything you like. Only stop it, stop
the pain!'

Abruptly he was sitting up with O'Brien's arm round his
shoulders. He had perhaps lost consciousness for a few sec-
onds. The bonds that had held his body down were loosened.
He felt very cold, he was shaking uncontrollably, his teeth
were chattering, the tears were rolling down his cheeks. For
a moment he clung to O'Brien like a baby, curiously com-
forted by the heavy arm round his shoulders. He had the
feeling that O'Brien was his protector, that the pain was
something that came from outside, from some other source,
and that it was O'Brien who would save him from it.

'You are a slow learner, Winston,' said O'Brien gently.

'How can I help it?' he blubbered. 'How can I help seeing
what is in front of my eyes? Two and two are four.'

Sometimes, Winston. Sometimes they are five. Some-
times they are three. Sometimes they are all of them at once.
You must try harder. It is not easy to become sane.'

He laid Winston down on the bed. The grip of his limbs
tightened again, but the pain had ebbed away and the
trembling had stopped, leaving him merely weak and cold.
O'Brien motioned with his head to the man in the white
coat, who had stood immobile throughout the proceedings.
The man in the white coat bent down and looked closely

316 1984



into Winston's eyes, felt his pulse, laid an ear against his
chest, tapped here and there, then he nodded to O'Brien.

'Again,' said O'Brien.

The pain flowed into Winston's body. The needle must be
at seventy, seventy-five. He had shut his eyes this time. He
knew that the fingers were still there, and still four. All that
mattered was somehow to stay alive until the spasm was
over. He had ceased to notice whether he was crying out or
not. The pain lessened again. He opened his eyes. O'Brien
had drawn back the lever.

'How many fingers, Winston?'

'Four. I suppose there are four. I would see five if I could.
I am trying to see five.'

'Which do you wish: to persuade me that you see five, or
really to see them?'

'Really to see them.'

Again,' said O'Brien.

Perhaps the needle was eighty — ninety. Winston could
not intermittently remember why the pain was happening.
Behind his screwed-up eyelids a forest of fingers seemed to
be moving in a sort of dance, weaving in and out, disap-
pearing behind one another and reappearing again. He was
trying to count them, he could not remember why. He knew
only that it was impossible to count them, and that this was
somehow due to the mysterious identity between five and
four. The pain died down again. When he opened his eyes
it was to find that he was still seeing the same thing. In-
numerable fingers, like moving trees, were still streaming
past in either direction, crossing and recrossing. He shut



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his eyes again.

'How many fingers am I holding up, Winston?'

'I don't know. I don't know. You will kill me if you do that
again. Four, five, six — in all honesty I don't know.'

'Better,' said O'Brien.

A needle slid into Winston's arm. Almost in the same in-
stant a blissful, healing warmth spread all through his body.
The pain was already half-forgotten. He opened his eyes
and looked up gratefully at O'Brien. At sight of the heavy,
lined face, so ugly and so intelligent, his heart seemed to
turn over. If he could have moved he would have stretched
out a hand and laid it on O'Brien's arm. He had never loved
him so deeply as at this moment, and not merely because
he had stopped the pain. The old feeling, that at bottom it
did not matter whether O'Brien was a friend or an enemy,
had come back. O'Brien was a person who could be talked
to. Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be
understood. O'Brien had tortured him to the edge of luna-
cy, and in a little while, it was certain, he would send him
to his death. It made no difference. In some sense that went
deeper than friendship, they were intimates: somewhere or
other, although the actual words might never be spoken,
there was a place where they could meet and talk. O'Brien
was looking down at him with an expression which suggest-
ed that the same thought might be in his own mind. When
he spoke it was in an easy, conversational tone.

'Do you know where you are, Winston?' he said.

'I don't know. I can guess. In the Ministry of Love.'

'Do you know how long you have been here?'

318 1984



'I don't know. Days, weeks, months — I think it is
months.'

'And why do you imagine that we bring people to this
place?'

'To make them confess.'

'No, that is not the reason. Try again.'

'To punish them.'

'No!' exclaimed O'Brien. His voice had changed extraor-
dinarily, and his face had suddenly become both stern and
animated. 'No! Not merely to extract your confession, not to
punish you. Shall I tell you why we have brought you here?
To cure you! To make you sane! Will you understand, Win-
ston, that no one whom we bring to this place ever leaves
our hands uncured? We are not interested in those stupid
crimes that you have committed. The Party is not interested
in the overt act: the thought is all we care about. We do not
merely destroy our enemies, we change them. Do you un-
derstand what I mean by that?'

He was bending over Winston. His face looked enormous
because of its nearness, and hideously ugly because it was
seen from below. Moreover it was filled with a sort of exal-
tation, a lunatic intensity. Again Winston's heart shrank. If
it had been possible he would have cowered deeper into the
bed. He felt certain that O'Brien was about to twist the dial
out of sheer wantonness. At this moment, however, O'Brien
turned away. He took a pace or two up and down. Then he
continued less vehemently:

'The first thing for you to understand is that in this place
there are no martyrdoms. You have read of the religious

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persecutions of the past. In the Middle Ages there was the
Inquisition. It was a failure. It set out to eradicate heresy, and
ended by perpetuating it. For every heretic it burned at the
stake, thousands of others rose up. Why was that? Because
the Inquisition killed its enemies in the open, and killed
them while they were still unrepentant: in fact, it killed
them because they were unrepentant. Men were dying be-
cause they would not abandon their true beliefs. Naturally
all the glory belonged to the victim and all the shame to the
Inquisitor who burned him. Later, in the twentieth century,
there were the totalitarians, as they were called. There were
the German Nazis and the Russian Communists. The Rus-
sians persecuted heresy more cruelly than the Inquisition
had done. And they imagined that they had learned from
the mistakes of the past; they knew, at any rate, that one
must not make martyrs. Before they exposed their victims
to public trial, they deliberately set themselves to destroy
their dignity. They wore them down by torture and solitude
until they were despicable, cringing wretches, confessing
whatever was put into their mouths, covering themselves
with abuse, accusing and sheltering behind one another,
whimpering for mercy. And yet after only a few years the
same thing had happened over again. The dead men had
become martyrs and their degradation was forgotten. Once
again, why was it? In the first place, because the confessions
that they had made were obviously extorted and untrue. We
do not make mistakes of that kind. All the confessions that
are uttered here are true. We make them true. And above
all we do not allow the dead to rise up against us. You must



1984



stop imagining that posterity will vindicate you, Winston.
Posterity will never hear of you. You will be lifted clean out
from the stream of history. We shall turn you into gas and
pour you into the stratosphere. Nothing will remain of you,
not a name in a register, not a memory in a living brain. You
will be annihilated in the past as well as in the future. You
will never have existed.'

Then why bother to torture me? thought Winston, with a
momentary bitterness. O'Brien checked his step as though
Winston had uttered the thought aloud. His large ugly face
came nearer, with the eyes a little narrowed.

'You are thinking,' he said, 'that since we intend to de-
stroy you utterly, so that nothing that you say or do can
make the smallest difference — in that case, why do we go to
the trouble of interrogating you first? That is what you were
thinking, was it not?'

'Yes,' said Winston.

O'Brien smiled slightly. 'You are a flaw in the pattern,
Winston. You are a stain that must be wiped out. Did I not
tell you just now that we are different from the persecutors
of the past? We are not content with negative obedience, nor
even with the most abject submission. When finally you
surrender to us, it must be of your own free will. We do not
destroy the heretic because he resists us: so long as he re-
sists us we never destroy him. We convert him, we capture
his inner mind, we reshape him. We burn all evil and all
illusion out of him; we bring him over to our side, not in ap-
pearance, but genuinely, heart and soul. We make him one
of ourselves before we kill him. It is intolerable to us that

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an erroneous thought should exist anywhere in the world,
however secret and powerless it maybe. Even in the instant
of death we cannot permit any deviation. In the old days the
heretic walked to the stake still a heretic, proclaiming his
heresy, exulting in it. Even the victim of the Russian purges
could carry rebellion locked up in his skull as he walked
down the passage waiting for the bullet. But we make the
brain perfect before we blow it out. The command of the old
despotisms was 'Thou shalt not". The command of the total-
itarians was 'Thou shalt". Our command is 'THOU ART".
No one whom we bring to this place ever stands out against
us. Everyone is washed clean. Even those three miserable
traitors in whose innocence you once believed — Jones, Aar-
onson, and Rutherford — in the end we broke them down. I
took part in their interrogation myself. I saw them gradu-
ally worn down, whimpering, grovelling, weeping — and in
the end it was not with pain or fear, only with penitence.
By the time we had finished with them they were only the
shells of men. There was nothing left in them except sor-
row for what they had done, and love of Big Brother. It was
touching to see how they loved him. They begged to be shot
quickly, so that they could die while their minds were still
clean.'

His voice had grown almost dreamy. The exaltation, the
lunatic enthusiasm, was still in his face. He is not pretend-
ing, thought Winston, he is not a hypocrite, he believes
every word he says. What most oppressed him was the con-
sciousness of his own intellectual inferiority. He watched
the heavy yet graceful form strolling to and fro, in and out



1984



of the range of his vision. O'Brien was a being in all ways
larger than himself. There was no idea that he had ever had,
or could have, that O'Brien had not long ago known, ex-
amined, and rejected. His mind CONTAINED Winston's
mind. But in that case how could it be true that O'Brien was
mad? It must be he, Winston, who was mad. O'Brien halted
and looked down at him. His voice had grown stern again.

'Do not imagine that you will save yourself, Winston,
however completely you surrender to us. No one who has
once gone astray is ever spared. And even if we chose to let
you live out the natural term of your life, still you would
never escape from us. What happens to you here is for ever.
Understand that in advance. We shall crush you down to
the point from which there is no coming back. Things will
happen to you from which you could not recover, if you
lived a thousand years. Never again will you be capable of
ordinary human feeling. Everything will be dead inside
you. Never again will you be capable of love, or friendship,
or joy of living, or laughter, or curiosity, or courage, or in-
tegrity. You will be hollow. We shall squeeze you empty, and
then we shall fill you with ourselves.'

He paused and signed to the man in the white coat.
Winston was aware of some heavy piece of apparatus being
pushed into place behind his head. O'Brien had sat down
beside the bed, so that his face was almost on a level with
Winston's.

'Three thousand,' he said, speaking over Winston's head
to the man in the white coat.

Two soft pads, which felt slightly moist, clamped them-

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selves against Winston's temples. He quailed. There was
pain coming, a new kind of pain. O'Brien laid a hand reas-
suringly, almost kindly, on his.

'This time it will not hurt,' he said. 'Keep your eyes fixed
on mine.'

At this moment there was a devastating explosion, or what
seemed like an explosion, though it was not certain whether
there was any noise. There was undoubtedly a blinding flash
of light. Winston was not hurt, only prostrated. Although
he had already been lying on his back when the thing hap-
pened, he had a curious feeling that he had been knocked
into that position. A terrific painless blow had flattened him
out. Also something had happened inside his head. As his
eyes regained their focus he remembered who he was, and
where he was, and recognized the face that was gazing into
his own; but somewhere or other there was a large patch
of emptiness, as though a piece had been taken out of his
brain.

'It will not last,' said O'Brien. 'Look me in the eyes. What
country is Oceania at war with?'

Winston thought. He knew what was meant by Oceania
and that he himself was a citizen of Oceania. He also re-
membered Eurasia and Eastasia; but who was at war with
whom he did not know. In fact he had not been aware that
there was any war.

'I don't remember.'

'Oceania is at war with Eastasia. Do you remember that
now?'

'Yes.'



1984



'Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia. Since the
beginning of your life, since the beginning of the Party,
since the beginning of history, the war has continued with-
out a break, always the same war. Do you remember that?'

'Yes.'

'Eleven years ago you created a legend about three men
who had been condemned to death for treachery. You pre-
tended that you had seen a piece of paper which proved
them innocent. No such piece of paper ever existed. You in-
vented it, and later you grew to believe in it. You remember
now the very moment at which you first invented it. Do you
remember that?'

'Yes.'

'Just now I held up the fingers of my hand to you. You saw
five fingers. Do you remember that?'

'Yes.'

O'Brien held up the fingers of his left hand, with the
thumb concealed.

"There are five fingers there. Do you see five fingers?'

'Yes.'

And he did see them, for a fleeting instant, before the
scenery of his mind changed. He saw five fingers, and there
was no deformity. Then everything was normal again, and
the old fear, the hatred, and the bewilderment came crowd-
ing back again. But there had been a moment — he did not
know how long, thirty seconds, perhaps — of luminous cer-
tainty, when each new suggestion of O'Brien's had filled up
a patch of emptiness and become absolute truth, and when
two and two could have been three as easily as five, if that

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 325



were what was needed. It had faded but before O'Brien had
dropped his hand; but though he could not recapture it, he
could remember it, as one remembers a vivid experience at
some period of one's life when one was in effect a different
person.

'You see now,' said O'Brien, 'that it is at any rate possi-
ble.'

'Yes,' said Winston.

O'Brien stood up with a satisfied air. Over to his left
Winston saw the man in the white coat break an ampoule
and draw back the plunger of a syringe. O'Brien turned to
Winston with a smile. In almost the old manner he resettled
his spectacles on his nose.

'Do you remember writing in your diary' he said, 'that
it did not matter whether I was a friend or an enemy, since
I was at least a person who understood you and could be
talked to? You were right. I enjoy talking to you. Your mind
appeals to me. It resembles my own mind except that you
happen to be insane. Before we bring the session to an end
you can ask me a few questions, if you choose.'

'Any question I like?'

'Anything.' He saw that Winston's eyes were upon the
dial. 'It is switched off. What is your first question?'

'What have you done with Julia?' said Winston.

O'Brien smiled again. 'She betrayed you, Winston. Im-
mediately — unreservedly. I have seldom seen anyone come
over to us so promptly. You would hardly recognize her if
you saw her. All her rebelliousness, her deceit, her folly, her
dirty-mindedness — everything has been burned out of her.

326 1984



It was a perfect conversion, a textbook case.'

'You tortured her?'

O'Brien left this unanswered. 'Next question,' he said.

'Does Big Brother exist?'

'Of course he exists. The Party exists. Big Brother is the
embodiment of the Party.'

'Does he exist in the same way as I exist?'

'You do not exist,' said O'Brien.

Once again the sense of helplessness assailed him. He
knew, or he could imagine, the arguments which proved
his own nonexistence; but they were nonsense, they were
only a play on words. Did not the statement, 'You do not ex-
ist', contain a logical absurdity? But what use was it to say
so? His mind shrivelled as he thought of the unanswerable,
mad arguments with which O'Brien would demolish him.

'I think I exist,' he said wearily. 'I am conscious of my
own identity. I was born and I shall die. I have arms and
legs. I occupy a particular point in space. No other solid
object can occupy the same point simultaneously. In that
sense, does Big Brother exist?'

'It is of no importance. He exists.'

'Will Big Brother ever die?'

'Of course not. How could he die? Next question.'

'Does the Brotherhood exist?'

'That, Winston, you will never know. If we choose to set
you free when we have finished with you, and if you live to
be ninety years old, still you will never learn whether the
answer to that question is Yes or No. As long as you live it
will be an unsolved riddle in your mind.'

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Winston lay silent. His breast rose and fell a little faster.
He still had not asked the question that had come into his
mind the first. He had got to ask it, and yet it was as though
his tongue would not utter it. There was a trace of amuse-
ment in O'Brien's face. Even his spectacles seemed to wear
an ironical gleam. He knows, thought Winston suddenly,
he knows what I am going to ask! At the thought the words
burst out of him:

'What is in Room 101?'

The expression on O'Brien's face did not change. He an-
swered drily:

'You know what is in Room 101, Winston. Everyone
knows what is in Room 101.'

He raised a finger to the man in the white coat. Evidently
the session was at an end. A needle jerked into Winston's
arm. He sank almost instantly into deep sleep.



1984



Chapter 3



^ There are three stages in your reintegration,' said O'Brien.
'There is learning, there is understanding, and there is ac-
ceptance. It is time for you to enter upon the second stage.'

As always, Winston was lying flat on his back. But of late
his bonds were looser. They still held him to the bed, but
he could move his knees a little and could turn his head
from side to side and raise his arms from the elbow. The
dial, also, had grown to be less of a terror. He could evade its
pangs if he was quick-witted enough: it was chiefly when he
showed stupidity that O'Brien pulled the lever. Sometimes
they got through a whole session without use of the dial.
He could not remember how many sessions there had been.
The whole process seemed to stretch out over a long, indefi-
nite time — weeks, possibly — and the intervals between the
sessions might sometimes have been days, sometimes only
an hour or two.

'As you lie there,' said O'Brien, 'you have often won-
dered — you have even asked me — why the Ministry of Love
should expend so much time and trouble on you. And when
you were free you were puzzled by what was essentially the
same question. You could grasp the mechanics of the So-
ciety you lived in, but not its underlying motives. Do you
remember writing in your diary, 'I understand HOW: I do
not understand WHY'? It was when you thought about



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'why' that you doubted your own sanity. You have read THE
BOOK, Goldstein's book, or parts of it, at least. Did it tell
you anything that you did not know already?'

'You have read it?' said Winston.

'I wrote it. That is to say, I collaborated in writing it. No
book is produced individually, as you know.'

'Is it true, what it says?'

'As description, yes. The programme it sets forth is non-
sense. The secret accumulation of knowledge — a gradual
spread of enlightenment — ultimately a proletarian rebel-
lion — the overthrow of the Party. You foresaw yourself that
that was what it would say. It is all nonsense. The proletar-
ians will never revolt, not in a thousand years or a million.
They cannot. I do not have to tell you the reason: you know
it already. If you have ever cherished any dreams of violent
insurrection, you must abandon them. There is no way in
which the Party can be overthrown. The rule of the Party is
for ever. Make that the starting-point of your thoughts.'

He came closer to the bed. 'For ever!' he repeated. 'And
now let us get back to the question of 'how' and 'why". You
understand well enough HOW the Party maintains itself
in power. Now tell me WHY we cling to power. What is
our motive? Why should we want power? Go on, speak,' he
added as Winston remained silent.

Nevertheless Winston did not speak for another mo-
ment or two. A feeling of weariness had overwhelmed him.
The faint, mad gleam of enthusiasm had come back into
O'Brien's face. He knew in advance what O'Brien would say.
That the Party did not seek power for its own ends, but only



1984



for the good of the majority. That it sought power because
men in the mass were frail, cowardly creatures who could
not endure liberty or face the truth, and must be ruled over
and systematically deceived by others who were stronger
than themselves. That the choice for mankind lay between
freedom and happiness, and that, for the great bulk of man-
kind, happiness was better. That the party was the eternal
guardian of the weak, a dedicated sect doing evil that good
might come, sacrificing its own happiness to that of oth-
ers. The terrible thing, thought Winston, the terrible thing
was that when O'Brien said this he would believe it. You
could see it in his face. O'Brien knew everything. A thou-
sand times better than Winston he knew what the world
was really like, in what degradation the mass of human be-
ings lived and by what lies and barbarities the Party kept
them there. He had understood it all, weighed it all, and it
made no difference: all was justified by the ultimate purpose.
What can you do, thought Winston, against the lunatic who
is more intelligent than yourself, who gives your arguments
a fair hearing and then simply persists in his lunacy?

'You are ruling over us for our own good,' he said feebly.
'You believe that human beings are not fit to govern them-
selves, and therefore '

He started and almost cried out. A pang of pain had shot
through his body. O'Brien had pushed the lever of the dial
up to thirty-five.

'That was stupid, Winston, stupid!' he said. 'You should
know better than to say a thing like that.'

He pulled the lever back and continued:



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'Now I will tell you the answer to my question. It is this.
The Party seeks power entirely for its own sake. We are not
interested in the good of others; we are interested solely
in power. Not wealth or luxury or long life or happiness:
only power, pure power. What pure power means you will
understand presently. We are different from all the oligar-
chies of the past, in that we know what we are doing. All
the others, even those who resembled ourselves, were cow-
ards and hypocrites. The German Nazis and the Russian
Communists came very close to us in their methods, but
they never had the courage to recognize their own motives.
They pretended, perhaps they even believed, that they had
seized power unwillingly and for a limited time, and that
just round the corner there lay a paradise where human be-
ings would be free and equal. We are not like that. We know
that no one ever seizes power with the intention of relin-
quishing it. Power is not a means, it is an end. One does not
establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution;
one makes the revolution in order to establish the dictator-
ship. The object of persecution is persecution. The object of
torture is torture. The object of power is power. Now do you
begin to understand me?'

Winston was struck, as he had been struck before, by the
tiredness of O'Brien's face. It was strong and fleshy and bru-
tal, it was full of intelligence and a sort of controlled passion
before which he felt himself helpless; but it was tired. There
were pouches under the eyes, the skin sagged from the
cheekbones. O'Brien leaned over him, deliberately bringing
the worn face nearer.



1984



'You are thinking,' he said, 'that my face is old and tired.
You are thinking that I talk of power, and yet I am not even
able to prevent the decay of my own body. Can you not un-
derstand, Winston, that the individual is only a cell? The
weariness of the cell is the vigour of the organism. Do you
die when you cut your fingernails?'

He turned away from the bed and began strolling up and
down again, one hand in his pocket.

'We are the priests of power,' he said. 'God is power. But
at present power is only a word so far as you are concerned.
It is time for you to gather some idea of what power means.
The first thing you must realize is that power is collective.
The individual only has power in so far as he ceases to be an
individual. You know the Party slogan: 'Freedom is Slavery".
Has it ever occurred to you that it is reversible? Slavery is
freedom. Alone — free — the human being is always defeated.
It must be so, because every human being is doomed to die,
which is the greatest of all failures. But if he can make com-
plete, utter submission, if he can escape from his identity,
if he can merge himself in the Party so that he IS the Party,
then he is all-powerful and immortal. The second thing for
you to realize is that power is power over human beings.
Over the body — but, above all, over the mind. Power over
matter — external reality, as you would call it — is not impor-
tant. Already our control over matter is absolute.'

For a moment Winston ignored the dial. He made a vio-
lent effort to raise himself into a sitting position, and merely
succeeded in wrenching his body painfully.

'But how can you control matter?' he burst out. 'You don't



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even control the climate or the law of gravity. And there are
disease, pain, death '

O'Brien silenced him by a movement of his hand. 'We
control matter because we control the mind. Reality is in-
side the skull. You will learn by degrees, Winston. There is
nothing that we could not do. Invisibility, levitation — any-
thing. I could float off this floor like a soap bubble if I wish
to. I do not wish to, because the Party does not wish it. You
must get rid of those nineteenth-century ideas about the
laws of Nature. We make the laws of Nature.'

'But you do not! You are not even masters of this planet.
What about Eurasia and Eastasia? You have not conquered
them yet.'

'Unimportant. We shall conquer them when it suits us.
And if we did not, what difference would it make? We can
shut them out of existence. Oceania is the world.'

'But the world itself is only a speck of dust. And man is
tiny — helpless! How long has he been in existence? For mil-
lions of years the earth was uninhabited.'

'Nonsense. The earth is as old as we are, no older. How
could it be older? Nothing exists except through human
consciousness.'

'But the rocks are full of the bones of extinct animals —
mammoths and mastodons and enormous reptiles which
lived here long before man was ever heard of

'Have you ever seen those bones, Winston? Of course not.
Nineteenth- century biologists invented them. Before man
there was nothing. After man, if he could come to an end,
there would be nothing. Outside man there is nothing.'



1984



'But the whole universe is outside us. Look at the stars!
Some of them are a million light-years away. They are out of
our reach for ever.'

'What are the stars?' said O'Brien indifferently. 'They are
bits of fire a few kilometres away. We could reach them if we
wanted to. Or we could blot them out. The earth is the cen-
tre of the universe. The sun and the stars go round it.'

Winston made another convulsive movement. This time
he did not say anything. O'Brien continued as though an-
swering a spoken objection:

'For certain purposes, of course, that is not true. When
we navigate the ocean, or when we predict an eclipse, we of-
ten find it convenient to assume that the earth goes round
the sun and that the stars are millions upon millions of ki-
lometres away. But what of it? Do you suppose it is beyond
us to produce a dual system of astronomy? The stars can be
near or distant, according as we need them. Do you suppose
our mathematicians are unequal to that? Have you forgot-
ten doublethink?'

Winston shrank back upon the bed. Whatever he said,
the swift answer crushed him like a bludgeon. And yet he
knew, he KNEW, that he was in the right. The belief that
nothing exists outside your own mind — surely there must
be some way of demonstrating that it was false? Had it not
been exposed long ago as a fallacy? There was even a name
for it, which he had forgotten. A faint smile twitched the
corners of O'Brien's mouth as he looked down at him.

'I told you, Winston,' he said, 'that metaphysics is not
your strong point. The word you are trying to think of is

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solipsism. But you are mistaken. This is not solipsism. Col-
lective solipsism, if you like. But that is a different thing: in
fact, the opposite thing. All this is a digression,' he added
in a different tone. 'The real power, the power we have to
fight for night and day, is not power over things, but over
men.' He paused, and for a moment assumed again his air
of a schoolmaster questioning a promising pupil: 'How does
one man assert his power over another, Winston?'

Winston thought. 'By making him suffer,' he said.

'Exactly By making him suffer. Obedience is not enough.
Unless he is suffering, how can you be sure that he is obey-
ing your will and not his own? Power is in inflicting pain
and humiliation. Power is in tearing human minds to pieces
and putting them together again in new shapes of your own
choosing. Do you begin to see, then, what kind of world we
are creating? It is the exact opposite of the stupid hedonis-
tic Utopias that the old reformers imagined. A world of fear
and treachery and torment, a world of trampling and being
trampled upon, a world which will grow not less but MORE
merciless as it refines itself. Progress in our world will be
progress towards more pain. The old civilizations claimed
that they were founded on love or justice. Ours is founded
upon hatred. In our world there will be no emotions ex-
cept fear, rage, triumph, and self-abasement. Everything
else we shall destroy — everything. Already we are break-
ing down the habits of thought which have survived from
before the Revolution. We have cut the links between child
and parent, and between man and man, and between man
and woman. No one dares trust a wife or a child or a friend

336 1984



any longer. But in the future there will be no wives and
no friends. Children will be taken from their mothers at
birth, as one takes eggs from a hen. The sex instinct will be
eradicated. Procreation will be an annual formality like the
renewal of a ration card. We shall abolish the orgasm. Our
neurologists are at work upon it now. There will be no loy-
alty, except loyalty towards the Party. There will be no love,
except the love of Big Brother. There will be no laughter, ex-
cept the laugh of triumph over a defeated enemy. There will
be no art, no literature, no science. When we are omnipo-
tent we shall have no more need of science. There will be no
distinction between beauty and ugliness. There will be no
curiosity, no enjoyment of the process of life. All competing
pleasures will be destroyed. But always — do not forget this,
Winston — always there will be the intoxication of power,
constantly increasing and constantly growing subtler. Al-
ways, at every moment, there will be the thrill of victory,
the sensation of trampling on an enemy who is helpless. If
you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping
on a human face — for ever.'

He paused as though he expected Winston to speak.
Winston had tried to shrink back into the surface of the bed
again. He could not say anything. His heart seemed to be
frozen. O'Brien went on:

And remember that it is for ever. The face will always
be there to be stamped upon. The heretic, the enemy of so-
ciety, will always be there, so that he can be defeated and
humiliated over again. Everything that you have undergone
since you have been in our hands — all that will continue,

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and worse. The espionage, the betrayals, the arrests, the tor-
tures, the executions, the disappearances will never cease.
It will be a world of terror as much as a world of triumph.
The more the Party is powerful, the less it will be tolerant:
the weaker the opposition, the tighter the despotism. Gold-
stein and his heresies will live for ever. Every day, at every
moment, they will be defeated, discredited, ridiculed, spat
upon and yet they will always survive. This drama that I
have played out with you during seven years will be played
out over and over again generation after generation, always
in subtler forms. Always we shall have the heretic here at our
mercy, screaming with pain, broken up, contemptible — and
in the end utterly penitent, saved from himself, crawling to
our feet of his own accord. That is the world that we are pre-
paring, Winston. A world of victory after victory, triumph
after triumph after triumph: an endless pressing, pressing,
pressing upon the nerve of power. You are beginning, I can
see, to realize what that world will be like. But in the end
you will do more than understand it. You will accept it, wel-
come it, become part of it.'

Winston had recovered himself sufficiently to speak.
'You can't!' he said weakly.

'What do you mean by that remark, Winston?'

'You could not create such a world as you have just de-
scribed. It is a dream. It is impossible.'

'Why?'

'It is impossible to found a civilization on fear and hatred
and cruelty. It would never endure.'

'Why not?'

338 1984



'It would have no vitality. It would disintegrate. It would
commit suicide.'

'Nonsense. You are under the impression that hatred is
more exhausting than love. Why should it be? And if it were,
what difference would that make? Suppose that we choose
to wear ourselves out faster. Suppose that we quicken the
tempo of human life till men are senile at thirty. Still what
difference would it make? Can you not understand that the
death of the individual is not death? The party is immor-
tal.'

As usual, the voice had battered Winston into helpless-
ness. Moreover he was in dread that if he persisted in his
disagreement O'Brien would twist the dial again. And yet
he could not keep silent. Feebly, without arguments, with
nothing to support him except his inarticulate horror of
what O'Brien had said, he returned to the attack.

'I don't know — I don't care. Somehow you will fail. Some-
thing will defeat you. Life will defeat you.'

We control life, Winston, at all its levels. You are imag-
ining that there is something called human nature which
will be outraged by what we do and will turn against us. But
we create human nature. Men are infinitely malleable. Or
perhaps you have returned to your old idea that the prole-
tarians or the slaves will arise and overthrow us. Put it out
of your mind. They are helpless, like the animals. Humanity
is the Party. The others are outside — irrelevant.'

'I don't care. In the end they will beat you. Sooner or later
they will see you for what you are, and then they will tear
you to pieces.'

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'Do you see any evidence that that is happening? Or any
reason why it should?'

'No. I believe it. I KNOW that you will fail. There is
something in the universe — I don't know, some spirit, some
principle — that you will never overcome.'

'Do you believe in God, Winston?'

'No.'

'Then what is it, this principle that will defeat us?'

'I don't know. The spirit of Man.'

'And do you consider yourself a man?'

'Yes.'

'If you are a man, Winston, you are the last man. Your
kind is extinct; we are the inheritors. Do you understand
that you are ALONE? You are outside history, you are non-
existent.' His manner changed and he said more harshly:
And you consider yourself morally superior to us, with our
lies and our cruelty?'

'Yes, I consider myself superior.'

O'Brien did not speak. Two other voices were speaking.
After a moment Winston recognized one of them as his
own. It was a sound-track of the conversation he had had
with O'Brien, on the night when he had enrolled himself in
the Brotherhood. He heard himself promising to lie, to steal,
to forge, to murder, to encourage drug-taking and prosti-
tution, to disseminate venereal diseases, to throw vitriol
in a child's face. O'Brien made a small impatient gesture,
as though to say that the demonstration was hardly worth
making. Then he turned a switch and the voices stopped.

'Get up from that bed,' he said.



1984



The bonds had loosened themselves. Winston lowered
himself to the floor and stood up unsteadily.

'You are the last man,' said O'Brien. 'You are the guard-
ian of the human spirit. You shall see yourself as you are.
Take off your clothes.'

Winston undid the bit of string that held his overalls to-
gether. The zip fastener had long since been wrenched out of
them. He could not remember whether at any time since his
arrest he had taken off all his clothes at one time. Beneath
the overalls his body was looped with filthy yellowish rags,
just recognizable as the remnants of underclothes. As he
slid them to the ground he saw that there was a three-sided
mirror at the far end of the room. He approached it, then
stopped short. An involuntary cry had broken out of him.

'Go on,' said O'Brien. 'Stand between the wings of the
mirror. You shall see the side view as well.'

He had stopped because he was frightened. A bowed,
grey-coloured, skeleton-like thing was coming towards
him. Its actual appearance was frightening, and not merely
the fact that he knew it to be himself. He moved closer to
the glass. The creature's face seemed to be protruded, be-
cause of its bent carriage. A forlorn, jailbird's face with a
nobby forehead running back into a bald scalp, a crooked
nose, and battered-looking cheekbones above which his
eyes were fierce and watchful. The cheeks were seamed, the
mouth had a drawn-in look. Certainly it was his own face,
but it seemed to him that it had changed more than he had
changed inside. The emotions it registered would be differ-
ent from the ones he felt. He had gone partially bald. For the

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first moment he had thought that he had gone grey as well,
but it was only the scalp that was grey. Except for his hands
and a circle of his face, his body was grey all over with an-
cient, ingrained dirt. Here and there under the dirt there
were the red scars of wounds, and near the ankle the vari-
cose ulcer was an inflamed mass with flakes of skin peeling
off it. But the truly frightening thing was the emaciation of
his body. The barrel of the ribs was as narrow as that of a
skeleton: the legs had shrunk so that the knees were thicker
than the thighs. He saw now what O'Brien had meant about
seeing the side view. The curvature of the spine was aston-
ishing. The thin shoulders were hunched forward so as to
make a cavity of the chest, the scraggy neck seemed to be
bending double under the weight of the skull. At a guess he
would have said that it was the body of a man of sixty, suf-
fering from some malignant disease.

'You have thought sometimes,' said O'Brien, 'that my
face — the face of a member of the Inner Party — looks old
and worn. What do you think of your own face?'

He seized Winston's shoulder and spun him round so
that he was facing him.

'Look at the condition you are in!' he said. 'Look at this
filthy grime all over your body. Look at the dirt between
your toes. Look at that disgusting running sore on your leg.
Do you know that you stink like a goat? Probably you have
ceased to notice it. Look at your emaciation. Do you see? I
can make my thumb and forefinger meet round your bicep.
I could snap your neck like a carrot. Do you know that you
have lost twenty-five kilograms since you have been in our



1984



hands? Even your hair is coming out in handfuls. Look!' He
plucked at Winston's head and brought away a tuft of hair.
'Open your mouth. Nine, ten, eleven teeth left. How many
had you when you came to us? And the few you have left are
dropping out of your head. Look here!'

He seized one of Winston's remaining front teeth be-
tween his powerful thumb and forefinger. A twinge of pain
shot through Winston's jaw. O'Brien had wrenched the
loose tooth out by the roots. He tossed it across the cell.

'You are rotting away' he said; 'you are falling to pieces.
What are you? A bag of filth. Now turn around and look
into that mirror again. Do you see that thing facing you?
That is the last man. If you are human, that is humanity.
Now put your clothes on again.'

Winston began to dress himself with slow stiff move-
ments. Until now he had not seemed to notice how thin and
weak he was. Only one thought stirred in his mind: that he
must have been in this place longer than he had imagined.
Then suddenly as he fixed the miserable rags round himself
a feeling of pity for his ruined body overcame him. Before
he knew what he was doing he had collapsed on to a small
stool that stood beside the bed and burst into tears. He was
aware of his ugliness, his gracelessness, a bundle of bones in
filthy underclothes sitting weeping in the harsh white light:
but he could not stop himself. O'Brien laid a hand on his
shoulder, almost kindly.

'It will not last for ever,' he said. 'You can escape from it
whenever you choose. Everything depends on yourself

'You did it!' sobbed Winston. 'You reduced me to this



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state.'

'No, Winston, you reduced yourself to it. This is what you
accepted when you set yourself up against the Party. It was
all contained in that first act. Nothing has happened that
you did not foresee.'

He paused, and then went on:

'We have beaten you, Winston. We have broken you up.
You have seen what your body is like. Your mind is in the
same state. I do not think there can be much pride left in
you. You have been kicked and flogged and insulted, you
have screamed with pain, you have rolled on the floor in
your own blood and vomit. You have whimpered for mercy,
you have betrayed everybody and everything. Can you think
of a single degradation that has not happened to you?'

Winston had stopped weeping, though the tears were
still oozing out of his eyes. He looked up at O'Brien.

'I have not betrayed Julia,' he said.

O'Brien looked down at him thoughtfully. 'No,' he said;
'no; that is perfectly true. You have not betrayed Julia.'

The peculiar reverence for O'Brien, which nothing
seemed able to destroy, flooded Winston's heart again. How
intelligent, he thought, how intelligent! Never did O'Brien
fail to understand what was said to him. Anyone else on
earth would have answered promptly that he HAD be-
trayed Julia. For what was there that they had not screwed
out of him under the torture? He had told them everything
he knew about her, her habits, her character, her past life;
he had confessed in the most trivial detail everything that
had happened at their meetings, all that he had said to her



1984



and she to him, their black-market meals, their adulteries,
their vague plottings against the Party — everything. And
yet, in the sense in which he intended the word, he had not
betrayed her. He had not stopped loving her; his feelings to-
wards her had remained the same. O'Brien had seen what
he meant without the need for explanation.

'Tell me,' he said, 'how soon will they shoot me?'
'It might be a long time,' said O'Brien. 'You are a difficult
case. But don't give up hope. Everyone is cured sooner or
later. In the end we shall shoot you.'



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Chapter 4



He was much better. He was growing fatter and stronger
every day, if it was proper to speak of days.

The white light and the humming sound were the same
as ever, but the cell was a little more comfortable than the
others he had been in. There was a pillow and a mattress on
the plank bed, and a stool to sit on. They had given him a
bath, and they allowed him to wash himself fairly frequent-
ly in a tin basin. They even gave him warm water to wash
with. They had given him new underclothes and a clean suit
of overalls. They had dressed his varicose ulcer with sooth-
ing ointment. They had pulled out the remnants of his teeth
and given him a new set of dentures.

Weeks or months must have passed. It would have been
possible now to keep count of the passage of time, if he had
felt any interest in doing so, since he was being fed at what
appeared to be regular intervals. He was getting, he judged,
three meals in the twenty-four hours; sometimes he won-
dered dimly whether he was getting them by night or by day.
The food was surprisingly good, with meat at every third
meal. Once there was even a packet of cigarettes. He had
no matches, but the never-speaking guard who brought his
food would give him a light. The first time he tried to smoke
it made him sick, but he persevered, and spun the packet out
for along time, smoking half a cigarette after each meal.

346 1984



They had given him a white slate with a stump of pencil
tied to the corner. At first he made no use of it. Even when
he was awake he was completely torpid. Often he would lie
from one meal to the next almost without stirring, some-
times asleep, sometimes waking into vague reveries in which
it was too much trouble to open his eyes. He had long grown
used to sleeping with a strong light on his face. It seemed
to make no difference, except that one's dreams were more
coherent. He dreamed a great deal all through this time,
and they were always happy dreams. He was in the Golden
Country, or he was sitting among enormous glorious, sunlit
ruins, with his mother, with Julia, with O'Brien — not do-
ing anything, merely sitting in the sun, talking of peaceful
things. Such thoughts as he had when he was awake were
mostly about his dreams. He seemed to have lost the power
of intellectual effort, now that the stimulus of pain had been
removed. He was not bored, he had no desire for conversa-
tion or distraction. Merely to be alone, not to be beaten or
questioned, to have enough to eat, and to be clean all over,
was completely satisfying.

By degrees he came to spend less time in sleep, but he still
felt no impulse to get off the bed. All he cared for was to lie
quiet and feel the strength gathering in his body. He would
finger himself here and there, trying to make sure that it
was not an illusion that his muscles were growing round-
er and his skin tauter. Finally it was established beyond a
doubt that he was growing fatter; his thighs were now defi-
nitely thicker than his knees. After that, reluctantly at first,
he began exercising himself regularly. In a little while he



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could walk three kilometres, measured by pacing the cell,
and his bowed shoulders were growing straighten He at-
tempted more elaborate exercises, and was astonished and
humiliated to find what things he could not do. He could
not move out of a walk, he could not hold his stool out at
arm's length, he could not stand on one leg without falling
over. He squatted down on his heels, and found that with
agonizing pains in thigh and calf he could just lift himself
to a standing position. He lay flat on his belly and tried to
lift his weight by his hands. It was hopeless, he could not
raise himself a centimetre. But after a few more days — a few
more mealtimes — even that feat was accomplished. A time
came when he could do it six times running. He began to
grow actually proud of his body, and to cherish an inter-
mittent belief that his face also was growing back to normal.
Only when he chanced to put his hand on his bald scalp did
he remember the seamed, ruined face that had looked back
at him out of the mirror.

His mind grew more active. He sat down on the plank
bed, his back against the wall and the slate on his knees,
and set to work deliberately at the task of re-educating him-
self.

He had capitulated, that was agreed. In reality, as he saw
now, he had been ready to capitulate long before he had
taken the decision. From the moment when he was inside
the Ministry of Love — and yes, even during those minutes
when he and Julia had stood helpless while the iron voice
from the telescreen told them what to do — he had grasped
the frivolity, the shallowness of his attempt to set himself

348 1984



up against the power of the Party. He knew now that for
seven years the Thought Police had watched him like a bee-
tle under a magnifying glass. There was no physical act, no
word spoken aloud, that they had not noticed, no train of
thought that they had not been able to infer. Even the speck
of whitish dust on the cover of his diary they had careful-
ly replaced. They had played sound-tracks to him, shown
him photographs. Some of them were photographs of Julia
and himself. Yes, even... He could not fight against the Party
any longer. Besides, the Party was in the right. It must be
so; how could the immortal, collective brain be mistaken?
By what external standard could you check its judgements?
Sanity was statistical. It was merely a question of learning

to think as they thought. Only !

The pencil felt thick and awkward in his fingers. He be-
gan to write down the thoughts that came into his head. He
wrote first in large clumsy capitals:

FREEDOM IS SLAVERY

Then almost without a pause he wrote beneath it:

TWO AND TWO MAKE FIVE

But then there came a sort of check. His mind, as though
shying away from something, seemed unable to concen-
trate. He knew that he knew what came next, but for the
moment he could not recall it. When he did recall it, it was
only by consciously reasoning out what it must be: it did not

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 349



come of its own accord. He wrote:
GOD IS POWER

He accepted everything. The past was alterable. The past
never had been altered. Oceania was at war with Eastasia.
Oceania had always been at war with Eastasia. Jones, Aar-
onson, and Rutherford were guilty of the crimes they were
charged with. He had never seen the photograph that dis-
proved their guilt. It had never existed, he had invented it.
He remembered remembering contrary things, but those
were false memories, products of self-deception. How easy it
all was! Only surrender, and everything else followed. It was
like swimming against a current that swept you backwards
however hard you struggled, and then suddenly deciding to
turn round and go with the current instead of opposing it.
Nothing had changed except your own attitude: the predes-
tined thing happened in any case. He hardly knew why he
had ever rebelled. Everything was easy, except !

Anything could be true. The so-called laws of Na-
ture were nonsense. The law of gravity was nonsense. 'If I
wished,' O'Brien had said, 'I could float off this floor like
a soap bubble.' Winston worked it out. 'If he THINKS he
floats off the floor, and if I simultaneously THINK I see
him do it, then the thing happens.' Suddenly, like a lump
of submerged wreckage breaking the surface of water, the
thought burst into his mind: 'It doesn't really happen. We
imagine it. It is hallucination.' He pushed the thought un-
der instantly. The fallacy was obvious. It presupposed that



1984



somewhere or other, outside oneself, there was a 'real' world
where 'real' things happened. But how could there be such a
world? What knowledge have we of anything, save through
our own minds? All happenings are in the mind. Whatever
happens in all minds, truly happens.

He had no difficulty in disposing of the fallacy, and he
was in no danger of succumbing to it. He realized, never-
theless, that it ought never to have occurred to him. The
mind should develop a blind spot whenever a dangerous
thought presented itself. The process should be automatic,
instinctive. CRIMESTOP, they called it in Newspeak.

He set to work to exercise himself in crimestop. He pre-
sented himself with propositions — 'the Party says the earth
is flat', 'the party says that ice is heavier than water' — and
trained himself in not seeing or not understanding the ar-
guments that contradicted them. It was not easy. It needed
great powers of reasoning and improvisation. The arith-
metical problems raised, for instance, by such a statement
as 'two and two make five' were beyond his intellectual
grasp. It needed also a sort of athleticism of mind, an ability
at one moment to make the most delicate use of logic and
at the next to be unconscious of the crudest logical errors.
Stupidity was as necessary as intelligence, and as difficult
to attain.

All the while, with one part of his mind, he wondered
how soon they would shoot him. 'Everything depends on
yourself,' O'Brien had said; but he knew that there was no
conscious act by which he could bring it nearer. It might
be ten minutes hence, or ten years. They might keep him

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 351



for years in solitary confinement, they might send him to
a labour-camp, they might release him for a while, as they
sometimes did. It was perfectly possible that before he was
shot the whole drama of his arrest and interrogation would
be enacted all over again. The one certain thing was that
death never came at an expected moment. The tradition —
the unspoken tradition: somehow you knew it, though you
never heard it said — was that they shot you from behind;
always in the back of the head, without warning, as you
walked down a corridor from cell to cell.

One day — but 'one day' was not the right expression; just
as probably it was in the middle of the night: once — he fell
into a strange, blissful reverie. He was walking down the
corridor, waiting for the bullet. He knew that it was com-
ing in another moment. Everything was settled, smoothed
out, reconciled. There were no more doubts, no more argu-
ments, no more pain, no more fear. His body was healthy
and strong. He walked easily, with a joy of movement and
with a feeling of walking in sunlight. He was not any longer
in the narrow white corridors in the Ministry of Love, he
was in the enormous sunlit passage, a kilometre wide, down
which he had seemed to walk in the delirium induced by
drugs. He was in the Golden Country, following the foot-
track across the old rabbit- cropped pasture. He could feel
the short springy turf under his feet and the gentle sun-
shine on his face. At the edge of the field were the elm trees,
faintly stirring, and somewhere beyond that was the stream
where the dace lay in the green pools under the willows.

Suddenly he started up with a shock of horror. The



1984



sweat broke out on his backbone. He had heard himself cry
aloud:

'Julia! Julia! Julia, my love! Julia!'

For a moment he had had an overwhelming hallucina-
tion of her presence. She had seemed to be not merely with
him, but inside him. It was as though she had got into the
texture of his skin. In that moment he had loved her far
more than he had ever done when they were together and
free. Also he knew that somewhere or other she was still
alive and needed his help.

He lay back on the bed and tried to compose himself.
What had he done? How many years had he added to his
servitude by that moment of weakness?

In another moment he would hear the tramp of boots
outside. They could not let such an outburst go unpunished.
They would know now, if they had not known before, that
he was breaking the agreement he had made with them. He
obeyed the Party, but he still hated the Party. In the old
days he had hidden a heretical mind beneath an appear-
ance of conformity. Now he had retreated a step further:
in the mind he had surrendered, but he had hoped to keep
the inner heart inviolate. He knew that he was in the wrong,
but he preferred to be in the wrong. They would understand
that — O'Brien would understand it. It was all confessed in
that single foolish cry.

He would have to start all over again. It might take years.
He ran a hand over his face, trying to familiarize himself
with the new shape. There were deep furrows in the cheeks,
the cheekbones felt sharp, the nose flattened. Besides, since

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last seeing himself in the glass he had been given a complete
new set of teeth. It was not easy to preserve inscrutabili-
ty when you did not know what your face looked like. In
any case, mere control of the features was not enough. For
the first time he perceived that if you want to keep a secret
you must also hide it from yourself. You must know all the
while that it is there, but until it is needed you must never let
it emerge into your consciousness in any shape that could
be given a name. From now onwards he must not only think
right; he must feel right, dream right. And all the while he
must keep his hatred locked up inside him like a ball of
matter which was part of himself and yet unconnected with
the rest of him, a kind of cyst.

One day they would decide to shoot him. You could not
tell when it would happen, but a few seconds beforehand
it should be possible to guess. It was always from behind,
walking down a corridor. Ten seconds would be enough. In
that time the world inside him could turn over. And then
suddenly, without a word uttered, without a check in his
step, without the changing of a line in his face — suddenly
the camouflage would be down and bang! would go the bat-
teries of his hatred. Hatred would fill him like an enormous
roaring flame. And almost in the same instant bang! would
go the bullet, too late, or too early. They would have blown
his brain to pieces before they could reclaim it. The hereti-
cal thought would be unpunished, unrepented, out of their
reach for ever. They would have blown a hole in their own
perfection. To die hating them, that was freedom.

He shut his eyes. It was more difficult than accepting



1984



an intellectual discipline. It was a question of degrading
himself, mutilating himself. He had got to plunge into the
filthiest of filth. What was the most horrible, sickening thing
of all? He thought of Big Brother. The enormous face (be-
cause of constantly seeing it on posters he always thought
of it as being a metre wide), with its heavy black moustache
and the eyes that followed you to and fro, seemed to float
into his mind of its own accord. What were his true feelings
towards Big Brother?

There was a heavy tramp of boots in the passage. The
steel door swung open with a clang. O'Brien walked into
the cell. Behind him were the waxen-faced officer and the
black-uniformed guards.

'Get up,' said O'Brien. 'Come here.'

Winston stood opposite him. O'Brien took Winston's
shoulders between his strong hands and looked at him
closely.

'You have had thoughts of deceiving me,' he said. 'That
was stupid. Stand up straighter. Look me in the face.'

He paused, and went on in a gentler tone:

'You are improving. Intellectually there is very little
wrong with you. It is only emotionally that you have failed
to make progress. Tell me, Winston — and remember, no
lies: you know that I am always able to detect a lie — tell me,
what are your true feelings towards Big Brother?'

'I hate him.'

'You hate him. Good. Then the time has come for you
to take the last step. You must love Big Brother. It is not
enough to obey him: you must love him.'



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He released Winston with a little push towards the
guards.

'Room 101' he said.



356 1984



Chapter 5



At each stage of his imprisonment he had known, or
seemed to know, whereabouts he was in the window-
less building. Possibly there were slight differences in the air
pressure. The cells where the guards had beaten him were
below ground level. The room where he had been interro-
gated by O'Brien was high up near the roof. This place was
many metres underground, as deep down as it was possible
to go.

It was bigger than most of the cells he had been in. But
he hardly noticed his surroundings. All he noticed was that
there were two small tables straight in front of him, each
covered with green baize. One was only a metre or two
from him, the other was further away, near the door. He
was strapped upright in a chair, so tightly that he could
move nothing, not even his head. A sort of pad gripped his
head from behind, forcing him to look straight in front of
him.

For a moment he was alone, then the door opened and
O'Brien came in.

'You asked me once,' said O'Brien, 'what was in Room
101. I told you that you knew the answer already. Everyone
knows it. The thing that is in Room 101 is the worst thing
in the world.'

The door opened again. A guard came in, carrying some-



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thing made of wire, a box or basket of some kind. He set
it down on the further table. Because of the position in
which O'Brien was standing. Winston could not see what
the thing was.

'The worst thing in the world,' said O'Brien, Varies from
individual to individual. It may be burial alive, or death by
fire, or by drowning, or by impalement, or fifty other deaths.
There are cases where it is some quite trivial thing, not even
fatal'

He had moved a little to one side, so that Winston had a
better view of the thing on the table. It was an oblong wire
cage with a handle on top for carrying it by. Fixed to the
front of it was something that looked like a fencing mask,
with the concave side outwards. Although it was three or
four metres away from him, he could see that the cage was
divided lengthways into two compartments, and that there
was some kind of creature in each. They were rats.

Tn your case,' said O'Brien, 'the worst thing in the world
happens to be rats.'

A sort of premonitory tremor, a fear of he was not certain
what, had passed through Winston as soon as he caught his
first glimpse of the cage. But at this moment the meaning of
the mask- like attachment in front of it suddenly sank into
him. His bowels seemed to turn to water.

'You can't do that!' he cried out in a high cracked voice.
'You couldn't, you couldn't! It's impossible.'

'Do you remember,' said O'Brien, 'the moment of pan-
ic that used to occur in your dreams? There was a wall of
blackness in front of you, and a roaring sound in your ears.

358 1984



There was something terrible on the other side of the wall.
You knew that you knew what it was, but you dared not drag
it into the open. It was the rats that were on the other side
of the wall.'

'O'Brien!' said Winston, making an effort to control his
voice. 'You know this is not necessary. What is it that you
want me to do?'

O'Brien made no direct answer. When he spoke it was
in the schoolmasterish manner that he sometimes affected.
He looked thoughtfully into the distance, as though he were
addressing an audience somewhere behind Winston's back.

'By itself,' he said, 'pain is not always enough. There
are occasions when a human being will stand out against
pain, even to the point of death. But for everyone there is
something unendurable — something that cannot be con-
templated. Courage and cowardice are not involved. If you
are falling from a height it is not cowardly to clutch at a
rope. If you have come up from deep water it is not coward-
ly to fill your lungs with air. It is merely an instinct which
cannot be destroyed. It is the same with the rats. For you,
they are unendurable. They are a form of pressure that you
cannot withstand, even if you wished to. You will do what
is required of you.'

'But what is it, what is it? How can I do it if I don't know
what it is?'

O'Brien picked up the cage and brought it across to the
nearer table. He set it down carefully on the baize cloth.
Winston could hear the blood singing in his ears. He had the
feeling of sitting in utter loneliness. He was in the middle

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of a great empty plain, a flat desert drenched with sunlight,
across which all sounds came to him out of immense dis-
tances. Yet the cage with the rats was not two metres away
from him. They were enormous rats. They were at the age
when a rat's muzzle grows blunt and fierce and his fur brown
instead of grey.

'The rat,' said O'Brien, still addressing his invisible audi-
ence, 'although a rodent, is carnivorous. You are aware of
that. You will have heard of the things that happen in the
poor quarters of this town. In some streets a woman dare
not leave her baby alone in the house, even for five minutes.
The rats are certain to attack it. Within quite a small time
they will strip it to the bones. They also attack sick or dy-
ing people. They show astonishing intelligence in knowing
when a human being is helpless.'

There was an outburst of squeals from the cage. It seemed
to reach Winston from far away. The rats were fighting; they
were trying to get at each other through the partition. He
heard also a deep groan of despair. That, too, seemed to
come from outside himself.

O'Brien picked up the cage, and, as he did so, pressed
something in it. There was a sharp click. Winston made
a frantic effort to tear himself loose from the chair. It was
hopeless; every part of him, even his head, was held im-
movably. O'Brien moved the cage nearer. It was less than a
metre from Winston's face.

'I have pressed the first lever,' said O'Brien. 'You under-
stand the construction of this cage. The mask will fit over
your head, leaving no exit. When I press this other lever,

360 1984



the door of the cage will slide up. These starving brutes will
shoot out of it like bullets. Have you ever seen a rat leap
through the air? They will leap on to your face and bore
straight into it. Sometimes they attack the eyes first. Some-
times they burrow through the cheeks and devour the
tongue.'

The cage was nearer; it was closing in. Winston heard a
succession of shrill cries which appeared to be occurring in
the air above his head. But he fought furiously against his
panic. To think, to think, even with a split second left — to
think was the only hope. Suddenly the foul musty odour of
the brutes struck his nostrils. There was a violent convul-
sion of nausea inside him, and he almost lost consciousness.
Everything had gone black. For an instant he was insane, a
screaming animal. Yet he came out of the blackness clutch-
ing an idea. There was one and only one way to save himself.
He must interpose another human being, the BODY of an-
other human being, between himself and the rats.

The circle of the mask was large enough now to shut out
the vision of anything else. The wire door was a couple of
hand-spans from his face. The rats knew what was coming
now. One of them was leaping up and down, the other, an
old scaly grandfather of the sewers, stood up, with his pink
hands against the bars, and fiercely sniffed the air. Winston
could see the whiskers and the yellow teeth. Again the black
panic took hold of him. He was blind, helpless, mindless.

'It was a common punishment in Imperial China,' said
O'Brien as didactically as ever.

The mask was closing on his face. The wire brushed his

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 361



cheek. And then — no, it was not relief, only hope, a tiny
fragment of hope. Too late, perhaps too late. But he had
suddenly understood that in the whole world there was just
ONE person to whom he could transfer his punishment —
ONE body that he could thrust between himself and the
rats. And he was shouting frantically, over and over.

'Do it to Julia! Do it to Julia! Not me! Julia! I don't care
what you do to her. Tear her face off, strip her to the bones.
Not me! Julia! Not me!'

He was falling backwards, into enormous depths, away
from the rats. He was still strapped in the chair, but he had
fallen through the floor, through the walls of the build-
ing, through the earth, through the oceans, through the
atmosphere, into outer space, into the gulfs between the
stars — always away, away, away from the rats. He was light
years distant, but O'Brien was still standing at his side.
There was still the cold touch of wire against his cheek. But
through the darkness that enveloped him he heard another
metallic click, and knew that the cage door had clicked shut
and not open.



362 1984



Chapter 6



The Chestnut Tree was almost empty. A ray of sunlight
slanting through a window fell on dusty table-tops. It
was the lonely hour of fifteen. A tinny music trickled from
the telescreens.

Winston sat in his usual corner, gazing into an empty
glass. Now and again he glanced up at a vast face which eyed
him from the opposite wall. BIG BROTHER IS WATCH-
ING YOU, the caption said. Unbidden, a waiter came and
filled his glass up with Victory Gin, shaking into it a few
drops from another bottle with a quill through the cork. It
was saccharine flavoured with cloves, the speciality of the
cafe.

Winston was listening to the telescreen. At present only
music was coming out of it, but there was a possibility that
at any moment there might be a special bulletin from the
Ministry of Peace. The news from the African front was dis-
quieting in the extreme. On and off he had been worrying
about it all day. A Eurasian army (Oceania was at war with
Eurasia: Oceania had always been at war with Eurasia) was
moving southward at terrifying speed. The mid-day bulle-
tin had not mentioned any definite area, but it was probable
that already the mouth of the Congo was a battlefield. Braz-
zaville and Leopoldville were in danger. One did not have
to look at the map to see what it meant. It was not merely

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 363



a question of losing Central Africa: for the first time in the
whole war, the territory of Oceania itself was menaced.

A violent emotion, not fear exactly but a sort of undif-
ferentiated excitement, flared up in him, then faded again.
He stopped thinking about the war. In these days he could
never fix his mind on any one subject for more than a few
moments at a time. He picked up his glass and drained it
at a gulp. As always, the gin made him shudder and even
retch slightly. The stuff was horrible. The cloves and sac-
charine, themselves disgusting enough in their sickly way,
could not disguise the flat oily smell; and what was worst
of all was that the smell of gin, which dwelt with him night
and day, was inextricably mixed up in his mind with the
smell of those

He never named them, even in his thoughts, and so
far as it was possible he never visualized them. They were
something that he was half-aware of, hovering close to his
face, a smell that clung to his nostrils. As the gin rose in
him he belched through purple lips. He had grown fatter
since they released him, and had regained his old colour —
indeed, more than regained it. His features had thickened,
the skin on nose and cheekbones was coarsely red, even
the bald scalp was too deep a pink. A waiter, again unbid-
den, brought the chessboard and the current issue of 'The
Times', with the page turned down at the chess problem.
Then, seeing that Winston's glass was empty, he brought the
gin bottle and filled it. There was no need to give orders.
They knew his habits. The chessboard was always waiting
for him, his corner table was always reserved; even when

364 1984



the place was full he had it to himself, since nobody cared
to be seen sitting too close to him. He never even bothered
to count his drinks. At irregular intervals they presented
him with a dirty slip of paper which they said was the bill,
but he had the impression that they always undercharged
him. It would have made no difference if it had been the
other way about. He had always plenty of money nowadays.
He even had a job, a sinecure, more highly-paid than his old
job had been.

The music from the telescreen stopped and a voice took
over. Winston raised his head to listen. No bulletins from
the front, however. It was merely a brief announcement
from the Ministry of Plenty. In the preceding quarter, it ap-
peared, the Tenth Three-Year Plan's quota for bootlaces had
been overfulfilled by 98 per cent.

He examined the chess problem and set out the pieces. It
was a tricky ending, involving a couple of knights. 'White to
play and mate in two moves.' Winston looked up at the por-
trait of Big Brother. White always mates, he thought with a
sort of cloudy mysticism. Always, without exception, it is so
arranged. In no chess problem since the beginning of the
world has black ever won. Did it not symbolize the eternal,
unvarying triumph of Good over Evil? The huge face gazed
back at him, full of calm power. White always mates.

The voice from the telescreen paused and added in a dif-
ferent and much graver tone: 'You are warned to stand by
for an important announcement at fifteen-thirty. Fifteen-
thirty! This is news of the highest importance. Take care
not to miss it. Fifteen-thirty!' The tinkling music struck up

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 365



Winston's heart stirred. That was the bulletin from the
front; instinct told him that it was bad news that was com-
ing. All day, with little spurts of excitement, the thought
of a smashing defeat in Africa had been in and out of his
mind. He seemed actually to see the Eurasian army swarm-
ing across the never-broken frontier and pouring down
into the tip of Africa like a column of ants. Why had it not
been possible to outflank them in some way? The outline of
the West African coast stood out vividly in his mind. He
picked up the white knight and moved it across the board.
THERE was the proper spot. Even while he saw the black
horde racing southward he saw another force, mysteriously
assembled, suddenly planted in their rear, cutting their co-
munications by land and sea. He felt that by willing it he
was bringing that other force into existence. But it was nec-
essary to act quickly. If they could get control of the whole
of Africa, if they had airfields and submarine bases at the
Cape, it would cut Oceania in two. It might mean anything:
defeat, breakdown, the redivision of the world, the destruc-
tion of the Party! He drew a deep breath. An extraordinary
medley of feeling — but it was not a medley, exactly; rather it
was successive layers of feeling, in which one could not say
which layer was undermost — struggled inside him.

The spasm passed. He put the white knight back in its
place, but for the moment he could not settle down to se-
rious study of the chess problem. His thoughts wandered
again. Almost unconsciously he traced with his finger in
the dust on the table:

366 1984



2+2=5

'They can't get inside you,' she had said. But they could
get inside you. 'What happens to you here is FOR EVER,'
O'Brien had said. That was a true word. There were things,
your own acts, from which you could never recover. Some-
thing was killed in your breast: burnt out, cauterized out.

He had seen her; he had even spoken to her. There was
no danger in it. He knew as though instinctively that they
now took almost no interest in his doings. He could have
arranged to meet her a second time if either of them had
wanted to. Actually it was by chance that they had met. It
was in the Park, on a vile, biting day in March, when the
earth was like iron and all the grass seemed dead and there
was not a bud anywhere except a few crocuses which had
pushed themselves up to be dismembered by the wind. He
was hurrying along with frozen hands and watering eyes
when he saw her not ten metres away from him. It struck
him at once that she had changed in some ill-defined way.
They almost passed one another without a sign, then he
turned and followed her, not very eagerly. He knew that
there was no danger, nobody would take any interest in him.
She did not speak. She walked obliquely away across the
grass as though trying to get rid of him, then seemed to re-
sign herself to having him at her side. Presently they were in
among a clump of ragged leafless shrubs, useless either for
concealment or as protection from the wind. They halted.
It was vilely cold. The wind whistled through the twigs and
fretted the occasional, dirty-looking crocuses. He put his

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 367



arm round her waist.

There was no telescreen, but there must be hidden
microphones: besides, they could be seen. It did not mat-
ter, nothing mattered. They could have lain down on the
ground and done THAT if they had wanted to. His flesh
froze with horror at the thought of it. She made no response
whatever to the clasp of his arm; she did not even try to dis-
engage herself. He knew now what had changed in her. Her
face was sallower, and there was a long scar, partly hidden
by the hair, across her forehead and temple; but that was not
the change. It was that her waist had grown thicker, and, in
a surprising way, had stiffened. He remembered how once,
after the explosion of a rocket bomb, he had helped to drag
a corpse out of some ruins, and had been astonished not
only by the incredible weight of the thing, but by its rigidity
and awkwardness to handle, which made it seem more like
stone than flesh. Her body felt like that. It occurred to him
that the texture of her skin would be quite different from
what it had once been.

He did not attempt to kiss her, nor did they speak. As they
walked back across the grass, she looked directly at him for
the first time. It was only a momentary glance, full of con-
tempt and dislike. He wondered whether it was a dislike that
came purely out of the past or whether it was inspired also
by his bloated face and the water that the wind kept squeez-
ing from his eyes. They sat down on two iron chairs, side by
side but not too close together. He saw that she was about
to speak. She moved her clumsy shoe a few centimetres and
deliberately crushed a twig. Her feet seemed to have grown

368 1984



broader, he noticed.

'I betrayed you,' she said baldly.

'I betrayed you,' he said.

She gave him another quick look of dislike.

'Sometimes,' she said, 'they threaten you with something
something you can't stand up to, can't even think about.
And then you say, 'Don't do it to me, do it to somebody
else, do it to so-and-so.' And perhaps you might pretend,
afterwards, that it was only a trick and that you just said it
to make them stop and didn't really mean it. But that isn't
true. At the time when it happens you do mean it. You think
there's no other way of saving yourself, and you're quite
ready to save yourself that way. You WANT it to happen to
the other person. You don't give a damn what they suffer.
All you care about is yourself

All you care about is yourself,' he echoed.

And after that, you don't feel the same towards the other
person any longer.'

'No,' he said, 'you don't feel the same.'

There did not seem to be anything more to say. The wind
plastered their thin overalls against their bodies. Almost at
once it became embarrassing to sit there in silence: besides,
it was too cold to keep still. She said something about catch-
ing her Tube and stood up to go.

'We must meet again,' he said.

'Yes,' she said, 'we must meet again.'

He followed irresolutely for a little distance, half a pace
behind her. They did not speak again. She did not actually
try to shake him off, but walked at just such a speed as to

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 369



prevent his keeping abreast of her. He had made up his mind
that he would accompany her as far as the Tube station, but
suddenly this process of trailing along in the cold seemed
pointless and unbearable. He was overwhelmed by a desire
not so much to get away from Julia as to get back to the
Chestnut Tree Cafe, which had never seemed so attractive
as at this moment. He had a nostalgic vision of his corner
table, with the newspaper and the chessboard and the ever-
flowing gin. Above all, it would be warm in there. The next
moment, not altogether by accident, he allowed himself to
become separated from her by a small knot of people. He
made a halfhearted attempt to catch up, then slowed down,
turned, and made off in the opposite direction. When he
had gone fifty metres he looked back. The street was not
crowded, but already he could not distinguish her. Any one
of a dozen hurrying figures might have been hers. Perhaps
her thickened, stiffened body was no longer recognizable
from behind.

At the time when it happens,' she had said, 'you do mean
it.' He had meant it. He had not merely said it, he had wished
it. He had wished that she and not he should be delivered
over to the

Something changed in the music that trickled from the
telescreen. A cracked and jeering note, a yellow note, came
into it. And then — perhaps it was not happening, perhaps
it was only a memory taking on the semblance of sound — a
voice was singing:

'Under the spreading chestnut tree

370 1984



I sold you and you sold me '

The tears welled up in his eyes. A passing waiter noticed
that his glass was empty and came back with the gin bottle.

He took up his glass and sniffed at it. The stuff grew
not less but more horrible with every mouthful he drank.
But it had become the element he swam in. It was his life,
his death, and his resurrection. It was gin that sank him
into stupor every night, and gin that revived him every
morning. When he woke, seldom before eleven hundred,
with gummed-up eyelids and fiery mouth and a back that
seemed to be broken, it would have been impossible even
to rise from the horizontal if it had not been for the bottle
and teacup placed beside the bed overnight. Through the
midday hours he sat with glazed face, the bottle handy, lis-
tening to the telescreen. From fifteen to closing-time he
was a fixture in the Chestnut Tree. No one cared what he
did any longer, no whistle woke him, no telescreen admon-
ished him. Occasionally, perhaps twice a week, he went to a
dusty, forgotten-looking office in the Ministry of Truth and
did a little work, or what was called work. He had been ap-
pointed to a sub-committee of a sub-committee which had
sprouted from one of the innumerable committees dealing
with minor difficulties that arose in the compilation of the
Eleventh Edition of the Newspeak Dictionary. They were
engaged in producing something called an Interim Report,
but what it was that they were reporting on he had never
definitely found out. It was something to do with the ques-
tion of whether commas should be placed inside brackets,

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 371



or outside. There were four others on the committee, all of
them persons similar to himself. There were days when they
assembled and then promptly dispersed again, frankly ad-
mitting to one another that there was not really anything to
be done. But there were other days when they settled down
to their work almost eagerly, making a tremendous show
of entering up their minutes and drafting long memoranda
which were never finished — when the argument as to what
they were supposedly arguing about grew extraordinarily
involved and abstruse, with subtle haggling over definitions,
enormous digressions, quarrels — threats, even, to appeal to
higher authority. And then suddenly the life would go out
of them and they would sit round the table looking at one
another with extinct eyes, like ghosts fading at cock-crow.

The telescreen was silent for a moment. Winston raised
his head again. The bulletin! But no, they were merely
changing the music. He had the map of Africa behind his
eyelids. The movement of the armies was a diagram: a black
arrow tearing vertically southward, and a white arrow hori-
zontally eastward, across the tail of the first. As though for
reassurance he looked up at the imperturbable face in the
portrait. Was it conceivable that the second arrow did not
even exist?

His interest flagged again. He drank another mouthful of
gin, picked up the white knight and made a tentative move.
Check. But it was evidently not the right move, because

Uncalled, a memory floated into his mind. He saw a
candle-lit room with a vast white-counterpaned bed, and
himself, a boy of nine or ten, sitting on the floor, shaking



1984



a dice-box, and laughing excitedly. His mother was sitting
opposite him and also laughing.

It must have been about a month before she disappeared.
It was a moment of reconciliation, when the nagging hun-
ger in his belly was forgotten and his earlier affection for
her had temporarily revived. He remembered the day well,
a pelting, drenching day when the water streamed down
the window-pane and the light indoors was too dull to read
by. The boredom of the two children in the dark, cramped
bedroom became unbearable. Winston whined and griz-
zled, made futile demands for food, fretted about the room
pulling everything out of place and kicking the wainscot-
ing until the neighbours banged on the wall, while the
younger child wailed intermittently. In the end his mother
said, 'Now be good, and I'll buy you a toy. A lovely toy —
you'll love it'; and then she had gone out in the rain, to a
little general shop which was still sporadically open nearby,
and came back with a cardboard box containing an outfit
of Snakes and Ladders. He could still remember the smell
of the damp cardboard. It was a miserable outfit. The board
was cracked and the tiny wooden dice were so ill-cut that
they would hardly lie on their sides. Winston looked at the
thing sulkily and without interest. But then his mother lit a
piece of candle and they sat down on the floor to play. Soon
he was wildly excited and shouting with laughter as the tid-
dly-winks climbed hopefully up the ladders and then came
slithering down the snakes again, almost to the starting-
point. They played eight games, winning four each. His tiny
sister, too young to understand what the game was about,



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had sat propped up against a bolster, laughing because the
others were laughing. For a whole afternoon they had all
been happy together, as in his earlier childhood.

He pushed the picture out of his mind. It was a false
memory. He was troubled by false memories occasionally.
They did not matter so long as one knew them for what they
were. Some things had happened, others had not happened.
He turned back to the chessboard and picked up the white
knight again. Almost in the same instant it dropped on to
the board with a clatter. He had started as though a pin had
run into him.

A shrill trumpet-call had pierced the air. It was the bul-
letin! Victory! It always meant victory when a trumpet-call
preceded the news. A sort of electric drill ran through the
cafe. Even the waiters had started and pricked up their
ears.

The trumpet-call had let loose an enormous volume of
noise. Already an excited voice was gabbling from the tele-
screen, but even as it started it was almost drowned by a
roar of cheering from outside. The news had run round the
streets like magic. He could hear just enough of what was
issuing from the telescreen to realize that it had all hap-
pened, as he had foreseen; a vast seaborne armada had
secretly assembled a sudden blow in the enemy's rear, the
white arrow tearing across the tail of the black. Fragments
of triumphant phrases pushed themselves through the din:
'Vast strategic manoeuvre — perfect co-ordination — utter
rout — half a million prisoners — complete demoraliza-
tion — control of the whole of Africa — bring the war within



1984



measurable distance of its end — victory — greatest victory
in human history — victory, victory, victory!'

Under the table Winston's feet made convulsive move-
ments. He had not stirred from his seat, but in his mind
he was running, swiftly running, he was with the crowds
outside, cheering himself deaf. He looked up again at the
portrait of Big Brother. The colossus that bestrode the
world! The rock against which the hordes of Asia dashed
themselves in vain! He thought how ten minutes ago — yes,
only ten minutes — there had still been equivocation in
his heart as he wondered whether the news from the front
would be of victory or defeat. Ah, it was more than a Eur-
asian army that had perished! Much had changed in him
since that first day in the Ministry of Love, but the final, in-
dispensable, healing change had never happened, until this
moment.

The voice from the telescreen was still pouring forth its
tale of prisoners and booty and slaughter, but the shouting
outside had died down a little. The waiters were turning
back to their work. One of them approached with the gin
bottle. Winston, sitting in a blissful dream, paid no at-
tention as his glass was filled up. He was not running or
cheering any longer. He was back in the Ministry of Love,
with everything forgiven, his soul white as snow. He was in
the public dock, confessing everything, implicating every-
body. He was walking down the white-tiled corridor, with
the feeling of walking in sunlight, and an armed guard at
his back. The long-hoped-for bullet was entering his brain.

He gazed up at the enormous face. Forty years it had tak-

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en him to learn what kind of smile was hidden beneath the
dark moustache. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O
stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving breast! Two gin-
scented tears trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was
all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished.
He had won the victory over himself. He loved Big Brother.

THE END

APPENDIX.

The Principles of Newspeak

Newspeak was the official language of Oceania and
had been devised to meet the ideological needs of Ingsoc,
or English Socialism. In the year 1984 there was not as yet
anyone who used Newspeak as his sole means of commu-
nication, either in speech or writing. The leading articles
in 'The Times' were written in it, but this was a TOUR DE
FORCE which could only be carried out by a specialist. It
was expected that Newspeak would have finally supersed-
ed Oldspeak (or Standard English, as we should call it) by
about the year 2050. Meanwhile it gained ground steadi-
ly, all Party members tending to use Newspeak words and
grammatical constructions more and more in their every-
day speech. The version in use in 1984, and embodied in the
Ninth and Tenth Editions of the Newspeak Dictionary, was
a provisional one, and contained many superfluous words
and archaic formations which were due to be suppressed
later. It is with the final, perfected version, as embodied in
the Eleventh Edition of the Dictionary, that we are con-
cerned here.

The purpose of Newspeak was not only to provide a

376 1984



medium of expression for the world-view and mental hab-
its proper to the devotees of Ingsoc, but to make all other
modes of thought impossible. It was intended that when
Newspeak had been adopted once and for all and Oldspeak
forgotten, a heretical thought — that is, a thought diverging
from the principles of Ingsoc — should be literally unthink-
able, at least so far as thought is dependent on words. Its
vocabulary was so constructed as to give exact and of-
ten very subtle expression to every meaning that a Party
member could properly wish to express, while excluding
all other meanings and also the possibility of arriving at
them by indirect methods. This was done partly by the
invention of new words, but chiefly by eliminating unde-
sirable words and by stripping such words as remained of
unorthodox meanings, and so far as possible of all second-
ary meanings whatever. To give a single example. The word
FREE still existed in Newspeak, but it could only be used in
such statements as 'This dog is free from lice' or 'This field
is free from weeds'. It could not be used in its old sense of
'politically free' or 'intellectually free' since political and in-
tellectual freedom no longer existed even as concepts, and
were therefore of necessity nameless. Quite apart from the
suppression of definitely heretical words, reduction of vo-
cabulary was regarded as an end in itself, and no word that
could be dispensed with was allowed to survive. Newspeak
was designed not to extend but to DIMINISH the range of
thought, and this purpose was indirectly assisted by cutting
the choice of words down to a minimum.

Newspeak was founded on the English language as we



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now know it, though many Newspeak sentences, even when
not containing newly-created words, would be barely intel-
ligible to an English-speaker of our own day. Newspeak
words were divided into three distinct classes, known as
the A vocabulary, the B vocabulary (also called compound
words), and the C vocabulary. It will be simpler to discuss
each class separately, but the grammatical peculiarities of
the language can be dealt with in the section devoted to the
A vocabulary, since the same rules held good for all three
categories.

THE A VOCABULARY. The A vocabulary consisted
of the words needed for the business of everyday life — for
such things as eating, drinking, working, putting on one's
clothes, going up and down stairs, riding in vehicles, garden-
ing, cooking, and the like. It was composed almost entirely
of words that we already possess words like HIT, RUN,
DOG, TREE, SUGAR, HOUSE, FIELD— but in compari-
son with the present-day English vocabulary their number
was extremely small, while their meanings were far more
rigidly defined. All ambiguities and shades of meaning had
been purged out of them. So far as it could be achieved, a
Newspeak word of this class was simply a staccato sound
expressing ONE clearly understood concept. It would have
been quite impossible to use the A vocabulary for literary
purposes or for political or philosophical discussion. It was
intended only to express simple, purposive thoughts, usu-
ally involving concrete objects or physical actions.

The grammar of Newspeak had two outstanding pe-
culiarities. The first of these was an almost complete

378 1984



interchangeability between different parts of speech. Any
word in the language (in principle this applied even to very
abstract words such as IF or WHEN) could be used either
as verb, noun, adjective, or adverb. Between the verb and
the noun form, when they were of the same root, there was
never any variation, this rule of itself involving the de-
struction of many archaic forms. The word THOUGHT,
for example, did not exist in Newspeak. Its place was tak-
en by THINK, which did duty for both noun and verb. No
etymological principle was followed here: in some cases it
was the original noun that was chosen for retention, in oth-
er cases the verb. Even where a noun and verb of kindred
meaning were not etymologically connected, one or other
of them was frequently suppressed. There was, for example,
no such word as CUT, its meaning being sufficiently cov-
ered by the noun-verb KNIFE. Adjectives were formed by
adding the suffix -FUL to the noun-verb, and adverbs by
adding -WISE. Thus for example, SPEEDFUL meant 'rapid'
and SPEEDWISE meant 'quickly'. Certain of our present-
day adjectives, such as GOOD, STRONG, BIG, BLACK,
SOFT, were retained, but their total number was very small.
There was little need for them, since almost any adjectival
meaning could be arrived at by adding -FUL to a noun-verb.
None of the now-existing adverbs was retained, except for a
very few already ending in -WISE: the -WISE termination
was invariable. The word WELL, for example, was replaced
byGOODWISE.

In addition, any word — this again applied in principle
to every word in the language — could be negatived by add-

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ing the affix UN-, or could be strengthened by the affix
PLUS-, or, for still greater emphasis, DOUBLEPLUS-. Thus,
for example, UNCOLD meant 'warm', while PLUSCOLD
and DOUBLEPLUSCOLD meant, respectively, Very cold'
and 'superlatively cold'. It was also possible, as in present-
day English, to modify the meaning of almost any word by
prepositional affixes such as ANTE-, POST-, UP-, DOWN-,
etc. By such methods it was found possible to bring about
an enormous diminution of vocabulary. Given, for instance,
the word GOOD, there was no need for such a word as BAD,
since the required meaning was equally well — indeed, bet-
ter — expressed by UNGOOD. All that was necessary, in
any case where two words formed a natural pair of oppo-
sites, was to decide which of them to suppress. DARK, for
example, could be replaced by UNLIGHT, or LIGHT by
UNDARK, according to preference.

The second distinguishing mark of Newspeak gram-
mar was its regularity. Subject to a few exceptions which
are mentioned below all inflexions followed the same rules.
Thus, in all verbs the preterite and the past participle were
the same and ended in -ED. The preterite of STEAL was
STEALED, the preterite of THINK was THINKED, and
so on throughout the language, all such forms as SWAM,
GAVE, BROUGHT, SPOKE, TAKEN, etc., being abolished.
All plurals were made by adding -S or -ES as the case might
be. The plurals OF MAN, OX, LIFE, were MANS, OXES,
LIFES. Comparison of adjectives was invariably made by
adding -ER, -EST (GOOD, GOODER, GOODEST), ir-
regular forms and the MORE, MOST formation being

380 1984



suppressed.

The only classes of words that were still allowed to inflect
irregularly were the pronouns, the relatives, the demonstra-
tive adjectives, and the auxiliary verbs. All of these followed
their ancient usage, except that WHOM had been scrapped
as unnecessary, and the SHALL, SHOULD tenses had been
dropped, all their uses being covered by WILL and WOULD.
There were also certain irregularities in word-formation
arising out of the need for rapid and easy speech. A word
which was difficult to utter, or was liable to be incorrectly
heard, was held to be ipso facto a bad word; occasionally
therefore, for the sake of euphony, extra letters were insert-
ed into a word or an archaic formation was retained. But
this need made itself felt chiefly in connexion with the B
vocabulary. WHY so great an importance was attached to
ease of pronunciation will be made clear later in this essay.

THE B VOCABULARY. The B vocabulary consisted of
words which had been deliberately constructed for political
purposes: words, that is to say, which not only had in every
case a political implication, but were intended to impose
a desirable mental attitude upon the person using them.
Without a full understanding of the principles of Ingsoc
it was difficult to use these words correctly. In some cases
they could be translated into Oldspeak, or even into words
taken from the A vocabulary, but this usually demanded
a long paraphrase and always involved the loss of certain
overtones. The B words were a sort of verbal shorthand, of-
ten packing whole ranges of ideas into a few syllables, and
at the same time more accurate and forcible than ordinary

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language.

The B words were in all cases compound words. [Com-
pound words such as SPEAKWRITE, were of course to be
found in the A vocabulary, but these were merely convenient
abbreviations and had no special ideologcal colour.] They
consisted of two or more words, or portions of words, weld-
ed together in an easily pronounceable form. The resulting
amalgam was always a noun-verb, and inflected according
to the ordinary rules. To take a single example: the word
GOODTHINK, meaning, very roughly, 'orthodoxy', or, if
one chose to regard it as a verb, 'to think in an orthodox
manner'. This inflected as follows: noun-verb, GOOD-
THINK; past tense and past participle, GOODTHINKED;
present participle, GOOD-THINKING; adjective, GOOD-
THINKFUL; adverb, GOODTHINKWISE; verbal noun,
GOODTHINKER.

The B words were not constructed on any etymological
plan. The words of which they were made up could be any
parts of speech, and could be placed in any order and muti-
lated in any way which made them easy to pronounce while
indicating their derivation. In the word CRIMETHINK
(thoughtcrime), for instance, the THINK came second,
whereas in THINKPOL (Thought Police) it came first,
and in the latter word POLICE had lost its second syllable.
Because of the great difficulty in securing euphony, irregu-
lar formations were commoner in the B vocabulary than
in the A vocabulary. For example, the adjective forms of
MINITRUE, MINIPAX, and MINILUV were, respectively,
MINITRUTHFUL, MINIPEACEFUL, and MINILOVELY,

382 1984



simply because -TRUEFUL, -PAXFUL, and -LOVEFUL
were slightly awkward to pronounce. In principle, however,
all B words could inflect, and all inflected in exactly the
same way.

Some of the B words had highly subtilized meanings,
barely intelligible to anyone who had not mastered the
language as a whole. Consider, for example, such a typical
sentence from a 'Times' leading article as OLDTHINKERS
UNBELLYFEEL INGSOC. The shortest rendering that one
could make of this in Oldspeak would be: "Those whose
ideas were formed before the Revolution cannot have a full
emotional understanding of the principles of English So-
cialism.' But this is not an adequate translation. To begin
with, in order to grasp the full meaning of the Newspeak
sentence quoted above, one would have to have a clear idea
of what is meant by INGSOC. And in addition, only a per-
son thoroughly grounded in Ingsoc could appreciate the
full force of the word BELLYFEEL, which implied a blind,
enthusiastic acceptance difficult to imagine today; or of the
word OLDTHINK, which was inextricably mixed up with
the idea of wickedness and decadence. But the special func-
tion of certain Newspeak words, of which OLDTHINK
was one, was not so much to express meanings as to de-
stroy them. These words, necessarily few in number, had
had their meanings extended until they contained within
themselves whole batteries of words which, as they were
sufficiently covered by a single comprehensive term, could
now be scrapped and forgotten. The greatest difficulty fac-
ing the compilers of the Newspeak Dictionary was not to

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invent new words, but, having invented them, to make sure
what they meant: to make sure, that is to say, what ranges of
words they cancelled by their existence.

As we have already seen in the case of the word FREE,
words which had once borne a heretical meaning were
sometimes retained for the sake of convenience, but only
with the undesirable meanings purged out of them. Count-
less other words such as HONOUR, JUSTICE, MORALITY,
INTERNATIONALISM, DEMOCRACY, SCIENCE, and
RELIGION had simply ceased to exist. A few blanket words
covered them, and, in covering them, abolished them. All
words grouping themselves round the concepts of liber-
ty and equality, for instance, were contained in the single
word CRIMETHINK, while all words grouping themselves
round the concepts of objectivity and rationalism were
contained in the single word OLDTHINK. Greater preci-
sion would have been dangerous. What was required in a
Party member was an outlook similar to that of the ancient
Hebrew who knew, without knowing much else, that all na-
tions other than his own worshipped 'false gods'. He did
not need to know that these gods were called Baal, Osiris,
Moloch, Ashtaroth, and the like: probably the less he knew
about them the better for his orthodoxy. He knew Jehovah
and the commandments of Jehovah: he knew, therefore,
that all gods with other names or other attributes were false
gods. In somewhat the same way, the party member knew
what constituted right conduct, and in exceedingly vague,
generalized terms he knew what kinds of departure from
it were possible. His sexual life, for example, was entirely

384 1984



regulated by the two Newspeak words SEXCRIME (sex-
ual immorality) and GOODSEX (chastity). SEXCRIME
covered all sexual misdeeds whatever. It covered fornica-
tion, adultery, homosexuality, and other perversions, and,
in addition, normal intercourse practised for its own sake.
There was no need to enumerate them separately, since they
were all equally culpable, and, in principle, all punishable
by death. In the C vocabulary, which consisted of scientific
and technical words, it might be necessary to give special-
ized names to certain sexual aberrations, but the ordinary
citizen had no need of them. He knew what was meant by
GOODSEX — that is to say, normal intercourse between
man and wife, for the sole purpose of begetting children,
and without physical pleasure on the part of the woman: all
else was SEXCRIME. In Newspeak it was seldom possible to
follow a heretical thought further than the perception that
it WAS heretical: beyond that point the necessary words
were nonexistent.

No word in the B vocabulary was ideologically neutral.
A great many were euphemisms. Such words, for instance,
as JOYCAMP (forced-labour camp) or MINIPAX Minis-
try of Peace, i.e. Ministry of War) meant almost the exact
opposite of what they appeared to mean. Some words, on
the other hand, displayed a frank and contemptuous un-
derstanding of the real nature of Oceanic society. An
example was PROLEFEED, meaning the rubbishy enter-
tainment and spurious news which the Party handed out
to the masses. Other words, again, were ambivalent, hav-
ing the connotation 'good' when applied to the Party and

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 385



'bad' when applied to its enemies. But in addition there were
great numbers of words which at first sight appeared to be
mere abbreviations and which derived their ideological co-
lour not from their meaning, but from their structure.

So far as it could be contrived, everything that had or
might have political significance of any kind was fitted into
the B vocabulary. The name of every organization, or body
of people, or doctrine, or country, or institution, or public
building, was invariably cut down into the familiar shape;
that is, a single easily pronounced word with the smallest
number of syllables that would preserve the original deri-
vation. In the Ministry of Truth, for example, the Records
Department, in which Winston Smith worked, was called
RECDEP, the Fiction Department was called FICDEP, the
Teleprogrammes Department was called TELEDEP, and so
on. This was not done solely with the object of saving time.
Even in the early decades of the twentieth century, tele-
scoped words and phrases had been one of the characteristic
features of political language; and it had been noticed that
the tendency to use abbreviations of this kind was most
marked in totalitarian countries and totalitarian organi-
zations. Examples were such words as NAZI, GESTAPO,
COMINTERN, INPRECORR, AGITPROP. In the begin-
ning the practice had been adopted as it were instinctively,
but in Newspeak it was used with a conscious purpose. It
was perceived that in thus abbreviating a name one nar-
rowed and subtly altered its meaning, by cutting out most of
the associations that would otherwise cling to it. The words
COMMUNIST INTERNATIONAL, for instance, call up

386 1984



a composite picture of universal human brotherhood, red
flags, barricades, Karl Marx, and the Paris Commune. The
word COMINTERN, on the other hand, suggests merely a
tightly-knit organization and a well-defined body of doc-
trine. It refers to something almost as easily recognized,
and as limited in purpose, as a chair or a table. COMIN-
TERN is a word that can be uttered almost without taking
thought, whereas COMMUNIST INTERNATIONAL is
a phrase over which one is obliged to linger at least mo-
mentarily. In the same way, the associations called up by a
word like MINITRUE are fewer and more controllable than
those called up by MINISTRY OF TRUTH. This accounted
not only for the habit of abbreviating whenever possible, but
also for the almost exaggerated care that was taken to make
every word easily pronounceable.

In Newspeak, euphony outweighed every consideration
other than exactitude of meaning. Regularity of grammar
was always sacrificed to it when it seemed necessary. And
rightly so, since what was required, above all for political
purposes, was short clipped words of unmistakable mean-
ing which could be uttered rapidly and which roused the
minimum of echoes in the speaker's mind. The words of the
B vocabulary even gained in force from the fact that nearly
all of them were very much alike. Almost invariably these
words— GOODTHINK, MINIPAX, PROLEFEED, SEX-
CRIME, JOYCAMP, INGSOC, BELLYFEEL, THINKPOL,
and countless others — were words of two or three syllables,
with the stress distributed equally between the first syllable
and the last. The use of them encouraged a gabbling style of

FreeeBooksatPlaneteBook.com 387



speech, at once staccato and monotonous. And this was ex-
actly what was aimed at. The intention was to make speech,
and especially speech on any subject not ideologically neu-
tral, as nearly as possible independent of consciousness. For
the purposes of everyday life it was no doubt necessary, or
sometimes necessary, to reflect before speaking, but a Party
member called upon to make a political or ethical judge-
ment should be able to spray forth the correct opinions as
automatically as a machine gun spraying forth bullets. His
training fitted him to do this, the language gave him an al-
most foolproof instrument, and the texture of the words,
with their harsh sound and a certain wilful ugliness which
was in accord with the spirit of Ingsoc, assisted the process
still further.

So did the fact of having very few words to choose from.
Relative to our own, the Newspeak vocabulary was tiny,
and new ways of reducing it were constantly being devised.
Newspeak, indeed, differed from most all other languages
in that its vocabulary grew smaller instead of larger every
year. Each reduction was a gain, since the smaller the area
of choice, the smaller the temptation to take thought. Ulti-
mately it was hoped to make articulate speech issue from
the larynx without involving the higher brain centres at
all. This aim was frankly admitted in the Newspeak word
DUCKSPE AK, meaning 'to quack like a duck'. Like various
other words in the B vocabulary, DUCKSPEAK was ambiv-
alent in meaning. Provided that the opinions which were
quacked out were orthodox ones, it implied nothing but
praise, and when 'The Times' referred to one of the orators



1984



of the Party as a DOUBLEPLUSGOOD DUCKSPEAKER it
was paying a warm and valued compliment.

THE C VOCABULARY. The C vocabulary was supple-
mentary to the others and consisted entirely of scientific
and technical terms. These resembled the scientific terms
in use today, and were constructed from the same roots, but
the usual care was taken to define them rigidly and strip
them of undesirable meanings. They followed the same
grammatical rules as the words in the other two vocabu-
laries. Very few of the C words had any currency either in
everyday speech or in political speech. Any scientific work-
er or technician could find all the words he needed in the
list devoted to his own speciality, but he seldom had more
than a smattering of the words occurring in the other lists.
Only a very few words were common to all lists, and there
was no vocabulary expressing the function of Science as a
habit of mind, or a method of thought, irrespective of its
particular branches. There was, indeed, no word for 'Sci-
ence', any meaning that it could possibly bear being already
sufficiently covered by the word INGSOC.

From the foregoing account it will be seen that in New-
speak the expression of unorthodox opinions, above a very
low level, was well-nigh impossible. It was of course pos-
sible to utter heresies of a very crude kind, a species of
blasphemy. It would have been possible, for example, to say
BIG BROTHER IS UNGOOD. But this statement, which
to an orthodox ear merely conveyed a self-evident absur-
dity, could not have been sustained by reasoned argument,
because the necessary words were not available. Ideas inim-

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ical to Ingsoc could only be entertained in a vague wordless
form, and could only be named in very broad terms which
lumped together and condemned whole groups of heresies
without defining them in doing so. One could, in fact, only
use Newspeak for unorthodox purposes by illegitimately
translating some of the words back into Oldspeak. For ex-
ample, ALL MANS ARE EQUAL was a possible Newspeak
sentence, but only in the same sense in which ALL MEN
ARE REDHAIRED is a possible Oldspeak sentence. It did
not contain a grammatical error, but it expressed a palpa-
ble untruth — i.e. that all men are of equal size, weight, or
strength. The concept of political equality no longer existed,
and this secondary meaning had accordingly been purged
out of the word EQUAL. In 1984, when Oldspeak was still
the normal means of communication, the danger theo-
retically existed that in using Newspeak words one might
remember their original meanings. In practice it was not
difficult for any person well grounded in DOUBLETHINK
to avoid doing this, but within a couple of generations even
the possibility of such a lapse would have vaished. A per-
son growing up with Newspeak as his sole language would
no more know that EQUAL had once had the second-
ary meaning of 'politically equal', or that FREE had once
meant 'intellectually free', than for instance, a person who
had never heard of chess would be aware of the secondary
meanings attaching to QUEEN and ROOK. There would
be many crimes and errors which it would be beyond his
power to commit, simply because they were nameless and
therefore unimaginable. And it was to be foreseen that with



1984



the passage of time the distinguishing characteristics of
Newspeak would become more and more pronounced — its
words growing fewer and fewer, their meanings more and
more rigid, and the chance of putting them to improper
uses always diminishing.

When Oldspeak had been once and for all superseded,
the last link with the past would have been severed. History
had already been rewritten, but fragments of the literature
of the past survived here and there, imperfectly censored,
and so long as one retained one's knowledge of Oldspeak
it was possible to read them. In the future such fragments,
even if they chanced to survive, would be unintelligible
and untranslatable. It was impossible to translate any pas-
sage of Oldspeak into Newspeak unless it either referred to
some technical process or some very simple everyday ac-
tion, or was already orthodox (GOODTHINKFUL would
be the Newspeak expression) in tendency. In practice this
meant that no book written before approximately 1960
could be translated as a whole. Pre-revolutionary literature
could only be subjected to ideological translation — that is,
alteration in sense as well as language. Take for example
the well-known passage from the Declaration of Indepen-
dence:

WE HOLD THESE TRUTHS TO BE SELF-EVIDENT,
THAT ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL, THAT THEY
ARE ENDOWED BY THEIR CREATOR WITH CERTAIN
INALIENABLE RIGHTS, THAT AMONG THESE ARE
LIFE, LIBERTY, AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS.

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THAT TO SECURE THESE RIGHTS, GOVERNMENTS ARE
INSTITUTED AMONG MEN, DERIVING THEIR POWERS
FROM THE CONSENT OF THE GOVERNED. THAT
WHENEVER ANY FORM OF GOVERNMENT BECOMES
DESTRUCTIVE OF THOSE ENDS, IT IS THE RIGHT OF THE
PEOPLE TO ALTER OR ABOLISH IT, AND TO INSTITUTE
NEW GOVERNMENT...

It would have been quite impossible to render this into
Newspeak while keeping to the sense of the original. The
nearest one could come to doing so would be to swallow the
whole passage up in the single word CRIMETHINK. A full
translation could only be an ideological translation, where-
by Jefferson's words would be changed into a panegyric on
absolute government.

A good deal of the literature of the past was, indeed, al-
ready being transformed in this way. Considerations of
prestige made it desirable to preserve the memory of cer-
tain historical figures, while at the same time bringing
their achievements into line with the philosophy of Ingsoc.
Various writers, such as Shakespeare, Milton, Swift, By-
ron, Dickens, and some others were therefore in process of
translation: when the task had been completed, their orig-
inal writings, with all else that survived of the literature
of the past, would be destroyed. These translations were
a slow and difficult business, and it was not expected that
they would be finished before the first or second decade of
the twenty-first century. There were also large quantities of
merely utilitarian literature — indispensable technical man-



1984



uals, and the like — that had to be treated in the same way. It
was chiefly in order to allow time for the preliminary work
of translation that the final adoption of Newspeak had been
fixed for so late a date as 2050.

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
Image

_________________
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Book Page

I. SitaSwayamvara (The Bridal of Sita) . i

II. Vana-Gamana-Adesa (The Banishment) 17

III. Dasa-ratha-Viyoga (The Death of the Kittg) . . . 38

IV. Rama-Bharaia-Sambada (TJje Meeting of the Princes) . 63
V. Panchavati (On the Banks of the Godavari) ... 77

vi. Sita- Havana (Sita Lost) ' . 88

vil. Kishkindha (In the Nilgiri Mountains) . . . 104

vill. Sita-Sandesa (Sita Discovered) 118

IX. Ravamv-Sahha (The Council of War) . . . .127

X. Yuddfha i^The War in Ceylon) 137

XI. Rajya-Abhisheka (Rama's Return and Consecration) . 161
Xll. Aswa-Medlm (Sacrifice of tte Horse) . . . .171

Conclusion 179

Translator's EpHogm .'....». 181



*-v



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THE EPIC OF RAMA,
PRINCE OF INDIA

BOOK I

SIT A-SWAYAM VARA
(The Bridal of Sita)

T^HE Epic relates to the ancient traditions of two powerful races,
the Kosalas and the Videhas, who lived in Northern India
between the twelfth and tenth centuries before Christ. The names
Kosala and Videha in the singular number indicate the king
doms, — Oudh and North Behar, — and in the plural number they
mean the ancient races which inhabited those two countries.

According to the Epic, Dasa-ratha king of the Kosalas had
four sons, the eldest of whom was Rama the hero of the poem.
And Janak king of the Videhas had a daughter named Sita, who
was miraculously born of a field furrow, and who is the heroine of
the Epic

Janak ordained a severe test for the hand of his daughter, and
many a prince and warrior came and went away disappointed.
Rama succeeded, and won Sita. The story of Rama's winning
his bride, and of the marriage of his three brothers with the sister
and cousins of Sita, forms the subject of this Book.

The portions translated in this Book form Section vi., Sections
Ixvii. to lxix., Section Ixxiii., and Section Ixxvii. of Book i. of
the original text.



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2 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

I

Ayodhya, the Righteous City

Rich in royal worth and valour, rich in holy Vedic lore,
Dasa-ratha ruled his empire in the happy days of yore,

Loved of men in fair Ayodhya, sprung of ancient Solar Race,
Royal risbi in his duty, saintly rishi in his grace,

Great as Indra in his prowess, bounteous as Kuvera kind,
Dauntless deeds subdued his foemen, lofty faith subdued his mind !

Like the ancient monarch Manu, father of the human race,
Dasa-ratha ruled his people with a father's loving grace,

Truth and Justice swayed each action and each baser motive quelled,
People's Love and Monarch's Duty every thought and deed impelled,

And his town like Indra' s city, — tower and dome and turret brave —
Rose in proud and peerless beauty on Sarayu's limpid wave !

Peaceful lived the righteous people, rich in wealth in merit high,
Envy dwelt not in their bosoms and their accents shaped no lie,

Fathers with their happy households owned their cattle, corn and gold,
Galling penury^nd famine in Ayodhya had no hold,

Neighbours lived in mutual kindness helpful with their ample wealth,

,None who begged the wasted refuse, none who lived by fraud and

stealth! *W f

And they wore thpr&em and earring, wreath and fragrant sandal paste,
And their arms^were decked with bracelets, and their necks with
nishkas graced,

Cheat and braggart and deceiver lived not in the ancient town,
Proud despiser of the lowly wore not insults in their frown,



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THE BRIDAL OF SITA 3

Poorer fed not on the richer, hireling friend upon the great,
None with low and lying accents did upon the proud man wait !

Men to plighted vows were faithful, faithful was each loving wife,
Impure thought and wandering fancy stained not holy wedded life,

Robed in gold and graceful garments, fair in form and fair in face,
Winsome were Ayodhya's daughters, rich in wit and woman's grace !

Twice-born men were free from passion, lust of gold and impure greed,
Faithful to their Rites and Scriptures, truthful in their word and deed,

Altar blazed in every mansion, from each home was bounty given,
Stooped no man to fulsome falsehood, questioned none the will of
Heaven.

r Kshatras bowed to holy Brahmans, Vaisyas to the Kshatras bowed,
Toiling Sudras lived by labour, of their honest duty proud,

To the Gods and to the Fathers, to each guest in virtue trained,
Rites were done with due devotion as by holy writ ordained!

Pure each caste in due observance, stainless was each ancient rite,
And the nation thrived and prospered by its old and matchless might,

And each man in truth abiding lived a long and peaceful life,
With his sons and with his grandsons, with his loved and honoured wife.

i Thus was ruled the ancient city by her monarch true and bold,
^ As the earth was ruled by Manu in the misty, days of old,

Troops who never turned in battle, fierce as fire and*strong and brave,
Guarded well her lofty ramparts as the lions guard the cave.

Steeds like Indra's in their swiftness came from far Kamboja's land,
From Vanaya and Vahlika and from Sindhu's rock-bound strand,



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4 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA r

Elephants of mighty stature from the Vindhya mountains came,
Or from deep and darksome forests round Himalay's peaks of fame,

Matchless in their mighty prowess, peerless in their wondrous speed,
Nobler than the noble tuskers sprung from high celestial breed.

Thus Ayodhya, " virgin city," — faithful to her haughty name, —
Ruled by righteous Dasa-ratha won a world-embracing fame,

Strong-barred gates and lofty arches, tower and dome and turret high
Decked the vast and peopled city fair" as mansions of the sky.

Queens of proud and peerless beauty born of houses rich in fame,
Loved of royal Dasa-ratha to his happy mansion came,

Queen Kausalya blessed with virtue true and righteous Rama bore,
Queen Kaikeyi young and beauteous bore him Bharat rich in lore,

Queen Spmitra bore the bright twins, Lakshman and Satrughna bold,
Four brave princes served their father in the happy days of old !



II

Mithila, and the Breaking of the Bow

Janak monarch of Videha spake his message near and far, —
He shall win my peerless Sita who shall bend my bow of war, —

Suitors came from farthest regions, warlike princes known to fame,
Vainly strove to wield the weapon, left Videha in their shame.

Viswa-mitra royal rhhi 9 Rama true and Lakshman bold,
Came to fair Mithila's city from Ayodhya famed of old,

Spake in pride the royal rishi : " Monarch of Videha's throne,
Grant, the wondrous bow of Rudra be to princely Rama shown."



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THE BRIDAL OF SITA 5

Janak spake his royal mandate to his lords and warriors bold :

" Bring ye forth the bow of Rudra decked in garlands and in gold/'

And his peers and proud retainers waiting on the monarch's call,
Brought the great and goodly weapon from the city's inner hall.

Stalwart men of ample stature pulled the mighty iron car
In which rested all-inviolate Janak's dreaded bow of war.

And where midst assembled monarchs sat Videha's godlike king,
With a mighty toil and effort did the eight-wheeled chariot bring.

" This the weapon of Videha," proudly thus the peers begun,
" Be it shewn to royal Rama, Dasa-ratha's righteous son,"

" This the bow," then spake the monarch to the rishi famed of old,
To the true and righteous Rama and to Lakshman young and bold,

" This the weapon of my fathers prized by kings from age to age,
Mighty chiefs and sturdy warriors could not bend it, noble sage !

Gods before the bow of Rudra have in righteous terror quailed,
Rakshas fierce and stout Asuras have in futile effort failed,

Mortal man will struggle vainly Rudra' s wondrous bow to bend,
Vainly strive to string the weapon and the shining dart to send,

Holy saint and royal rishi, here is Janak's ancient bow,

Shew it to Ayodhya's princes, speak to them my kingly vow ! "

Viswa-mitra humbly listened to the words the monarch said,

To the brave and righteous Rama, Janak's mighty bow displayed,

Rama lifted high the cover of the pond'rous iron car,

Gazed with conscious pride and prowess on the mighty bow of war.



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6 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

" Let me," humbly spake the hero, " on this bow my fingers place,
Let me lift and bend the weapon, help me with your loving grace,"

" Be it so," the ruin answered, t* be it so," the monarch said,
Rama lifted high the weapon on his stalwart arms displayed,

Wond'ring gazed the kings assembled as the son of Raghu's race
Proudly raised the bow of Rudra with a warrior's stately grace,

Proudly strung the bow of Rudra which the kings had tried in vain,
Drew the cord with force resistless till the weapon snapped in twain !

Like the thunder's pealing accent rose the loud terrific clang,
And the firm earth shook and trembled and the hills in echoes rang,

And the chiefs and gathered monarchs fell and fainted in their fear,
And the men of many nations shook the dreadful sound to hear !

Pale and white the startled monarchs slowly from their terror woke,
And with royal grace and greetings Janak to the rtshi spoke :

" Now my ancient eyes have witnessed wond'rous deed by Rama done,
Deed surpassing thought or fancy wrought by Dasa-ratha's son,

And the proud and peerless princess, Sita glory of my house,
Sheds on me an added lustre as she weds a godlike spouse,

True shall be my plighted promise, Sita dearer than my life,
Won by worth and wond'rous valour shall be Rama's faithful wife !

Grant us leave, O royal rishi, grant us blessings kind and fair,
Envoys mounted on my chariot to Ayodhya shall repair,

They shall speak to Rama's father glorious feat by Rama done,
They shall speak to Dasa-ratha, Sita is by valour won,

They shall say the noble princes safely live within our walls,
They shall ask him by his presence to adorn our palace halls ! "



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THE BRIDAL OF SITA

Pleased at heart the sage assented, envoys by the monarch sent,
To Ayodhya's distant city with the royal message went.



III

The Embassy to Ayodhya

Three nights halting in their journey with their steeds fatigued and spent,
Envoys from Mithila's monarch to Ayodhya's city went,

And by royal mandate bidden stepped within the palace hall,
Where the ancient Dasa-ratha sat with peers and courtiers all,

And with greetings and obeisance spake their message calm and bold,
Softly fell their gentle accents as their happy tale they told.

" Greetings to thee, mighty monarch, greetings to each priest and peer,
Wishes for thy health and safety from Videha's king we bear,

Janak monarch of Videha for thy happy life hath prayed,

And by Viswa-mitra's bidding words of gladsome message said :

* Known on earth my plighted promise, spoke by heralds near and far, —
He shall win my peerless Sita who shall bend my bow of war, —

Monarchs came and princely suitors, chiefs and warriors known to fame,
Baffled in their fruitless effort left Mithila in their shame,

Rama came with gallant Lakshman by their proud preceptor led,
Bent and broke the mighty weapon, he the beauteous bride shall wed !

Rama strained the weapon stoutly till it snapped and broke in twain,
In the concourse of the monarchs, in the throng of armed men,

Rama wins the peerless princess by the righteous will of Heaven,
I redeem my plighted promise — be thy kind permission given !

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8 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

Monarch of Kosala's country ! with each lord and peer and priest;
Welcome to Mithila's city, welcome t^Videha's feast,

Joy thee in thy Rama's triumph, joy thee with a father's pride,
Let each prince of proud Kosala win a fair Videha-bride ! '

These by Viswa-mitra's bidding are the words our monarch said,
This by Sata-nanda's counsel is the quest that he hath made."

Joyful was Kosala's monarch, spake to chieftains in the hall,
Vama-deva and Vasishtha and to priests and firahmans all :

" Priests and peers ! in far Mithila, so these friendly envoys tell,
Righteous Rama, gallant Lakshman, in the royal palace dwell,

And our brother of Videha prizes Rama's warlike pride,
To each prince of proud Kosala yields a fair Videha-bride,

If it please ye, priests and chieftains, speed we to Mithila fair,
World-renowned is Janak's virtue, Heaven-inspired his learning rare ! "

Spake each peer and holy Brahman : " Dasa-ratha's will be done ! "
Spake the king unto the envoys : " Part we with the rising sun ! "

Honoured with a regal honour, welcomed to a rich repast,
Gifted envoys from Mithila day and night in gladness passed !



IV

Meeting of Janak and Dasa-ratha

On Ayodhya's tower and turret now the golden morning woke,
Dasa-ratha girt by courtiers thus to wise Sumantra spoke :

" Bid the keepers of my treasure with their waggons lead the way,
Ride in front with royal riches, gold and gems in bright array,



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THE BRIDAL OF SITA 9

Bid my warriors skilled in duty lead the four-fold ranks of war,
Elephants and noble chargers, serried foot and battle-car,

Bid my faithful chariot-driver harness quick each car of state,
With the fleetest of my coursers, and upon my orders wait.

Vama-deva and Vasishtha versed in Veda's ancient lore,
Kasyapa and good Jabali sprung from holy saints of yore,

Markandeya in his glory, Katyayana in his pride,

Let each priest and proud preceptor with Kosala's monarch ride,

Harness to my royal chariot strong and stately steeds of war,
For the envoys speed my journey and the way is long and far/*

With each priest and proud retainer Dasa-ratha led the way,
Glittering ranks of forces followed in their four-fold dread array,

Four days on the way they journeyed till they reached Videha's land,
Janak with a courteous welcome came to greet the royal band.

Joyously Videha's monarch greeted every priest and peer,
Greeted ancient Dasa-ratha in his accents soft and clear :

" Hast thou come, my royal brother, on my house to yield thy grace,
Hast thou made a peaceful journey, pride of Raghn's royal race ?

Welcome ! for Mithila's people seek my royal guest to greet,
Welcome ! for thy sons of valour long their loving sire to meet,

Welcome too the priest Vasishtha versed in Veda's ancient lore,
Welcome every righteous rishi sprung from holy saints of yore !

And my evil fates are vanquished and my race is sanctified,
With the warlike race of Raghu thus in loving bonds allied,

Sacrifice and rites auspicious we ordain with rising sun,

Ere the evening's darkness closes, happy nuptials shall be done ! "

Thus in kind and courteous accents Janak spake his purpose high,
And his royal love responding, Dasa-ratha made reply :



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io THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

" Gift betokens giver's bounty, — so our ancient sages sing, —
And thy righteous fame and virtue grace thy gift, Videha's king !

World- renowned is Janak's bounty, Heaven-inspired his holy grace,
And we take his boon and blessing as an honour to our race ! "

Royal grace and kingly greetings marked the ancient monarch's word,
Janak with a grateful pleasure Dasa-ratha's answer heard,

And the Brahmans and preceptors joyously the midnight spent,
And in converse pure and pleasant and in sacred sweet content.

Righteous Rama gallant Lakshman piously their father greet,
Duly make their deep obeisance, humbly touch his royal feet,

And the night is filled with gladness for the king revered and old,
Honoured by the saintly Janak, greeted by his children bold,

On Mithila's tower and turret stars their silent vigils keep,
When each sacred rite completed, Janak seeks his nightly sleep.



The Preparation

All his four heroic princes now with Dasa-ratha stayed
In Mithila's ancient city, and their father's will obeyed,

Thither came the bold Yudhajit prince of proud Kaikeya's line,
On the day that Dasa-ratha made his gifts of gold and kine,

And he met the ancient monarch, for his health and safety prayed,
Made his bow and due obeisance and in gentle accents said :

" List, O king ! my royal father, monarch of Kaikeya's race,
Sends his kindly love and greetings with his blessings and his grace,



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THE BRIDAL OF SITA u

And he asks if Dasa-ratha prospers in his wonted health,
If his friends and fond relations live in happiness and wealth.

Queen Kaikeyi is my sister, and to see her son I came,
Bharat prince of peerless virtue, worthy of his father's fame,

Aye, to see that youth of valour, by my royal father sent,
To Ayodhya's ancient city with an anxious heart I went,

In the city of Mithila, — thus did all thy subjects say, —
With his sons and with his kinsmen Dasa-ratha makes his stay,

Hence in haste I journeyed hither, travelling late and early dawn,
For to do thee due obeisance and to greet my sister's son ! "

Spake the young and proud Kaikeya, dear and duly-greeted guest,
Dasa-ratha on his brother choicest gifts and honours pressed.

Brightly dawned the happy morning, and Kosala's king of fame
With his sons and wise Vasishtha to the sacred yajna came,

Rama and his gallant brothers decked in gem and jewel bright,
In th' auspicious hour of morning did the blest Kautuka rite,

And beside their royal father piously the princes stood,

And to fair Videha's monarch spake Vasishtha wise and good :

" Dasa-ratha watts expectant with each proud and princely son,
Waits upon the bounteous giver, for each holy rite is done,

'Twixt the giver and the taker sacred word is sacred deed,

Seal with girt thy plighted promise, let the nuptial rites proceed ! "

Thus the righteous-souled Vasishtha to Videha's monarch prayed,
Janak versed in holy Vedas thus in courteous accents said :

*' Wherefore waits the king expectant ? Free to him this royal dome,
Since my kingdom is his empire and my palace is his home,

And the maidens, flame-resplendent, done each fond Kautuka rite,
Beaming in their bridal beauty tread the sacrificial site 1



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12 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

I beside the lighted altar wait upon thy sacred hest,

And auspicious is the moment, sage Vasishtha knows the rest,

Let the peerless Dasa-ratha, proud Kosala's king of might,
With his sons and honoured sages enter on the holy site,

Let the righteous sage Vasishtha, sprung from Vedic saints of old,
Celebrate the happy wedding ; be the sacred mantras told ! "



VI

The Wedding

Sage Vasishtha skilled in duty placed Videha's honoured king,
Viswa-mitra, Sata-nanda, all within the sacred ring,

And he raised the holy altar as the ancient writs ordain,

Decked and graced with scented garlands grateful unto gods and men,

And he set the golden ladles, vases pierced by artists skilled,
Holy censers fresh and fragrant, cups with sacred honey filled,

Sanka bowls and shining salvers, arghya plates for honoured guest,
Parched rice arranged in dishes, corn unhusked that filled the rest,

And with careful hand Vasishtha grass around the altar flung,
Offered gift to lighted Agni and the sacred mantra sung !

Softly came the sweet-eyed Sita, — bridal blush upon her brow, —
Rama in his manly beauty came to take the sacred vow,

Janak placed his beauteous daughter facing Dasa-ratha' s son,
Spake with father's fond emotion and the holy rite was done :

" This is Sita child of Janak, dearer unto him than Iife 9
Henceforth sharer of thy virtue, he she 9 prince , thy faithful wife,



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THE BRIDAL OF SITA 13

Of thy weal and woe partaker, be she thine in every land,
Cherish her in joy and sorrow, clasp her hand within thy hand,

As the shadow to the substance, to her lord is faithful wife,
And my Sita best of women follows thee in death or life / "

Tears bedew his ancient bosom, gods and men his wishes share,
And he sprinkles holy water on the blest and wedded pair.

Next he turned to Sita's sister, Urmila of beauty rare,

And to Lakshman young and valiant spake in accents soft and fair :

" Lakshman, dauntless in thy duty, loved of men and God* above,
Take my dear devoted daughter, Urmila of stainless love,

Lakshman, fearless in thy virtue, take thy true and faithful wife,
Clasp her hand within thy fingers, be she thine in death or life I* 9

To his brother's child Mandavi, Janak turned with father's love,
Yielded her to righteous Bharat, prayed for blessings from above :

" Bharat, take the fair Mandavi, be she thine in death or life,
Clasp her hand within thy fingers as thy true and faithful wife / "

Last of all was Sruta-kriti, fair in form and fair in face,

And her gentle name was honoured for her acts of righteous grace,

" Take her by the hand, Satrughna, be she thine in death or life,
As the shadow to the substance, to her lord is faithful wife I "

Then the princes held the maidens, hand embraced in loving hand,
And Vasishtha spake the mantra, holiest priest in all the land,

And as ancient rite ordaineth, and as sacred laws require,
Stepped each bride and princely bridegroom round the altar's lighted
fire,

Round Videha's ancient monarch, round the holy risbis all,
Lightly stepped the gentle maidens, proudly stepped the princes tall !



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i 4 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

And a rain of flowers descended from the sky serene and fair,
And a soft celestial music filled the fresh and fragrant air,

Bright Gandharoas skilled in music waked the sweet celestial song,
Fair Apsarat in their beauty on the green sward tripped along !

As the flowery rain descended and the music rose in pride,
Thrice around the lighted altar every bridegroom led his bride,

And the nuptial rites were ended, princes took their brides away,
Janak followed with his courtiers, and the town was proud and gay !



VII

Return to Ayodhya

With his wedded sons and daughters and his guard in bright array,
To the famed and fair Ayodhya, Dasa-ratha held his way,

And they reached the ancient city decked with banners bright and brave,
And the voice of drum and trumpet hailed the home-returning brave.

Fragrant blossoms strewed the pathway, song of welcome filled the air,
Joyous men and merry women issued forth in garments fair,

And they lifted up their faces and they waved their hands on high,
And they raised the voice of welcome as their righteous king drew nigh.

Greeted by his loving subjects, welcomed by his priests of fame,
Dasa-ratha with the princes to his happy city came,

With the brides and stately princes in the town he held his way,
Entered slow his lofty palace bright as peak of Himalay.

Queen Kausalya blessed with virtue, Queen Kaikeyi in her pride,
Queen Sumitra sweetly loving, greeted every happy bride,



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THE BRIDAL OF SITA 15

Soft-eyed Site noble-destined, Urmila of spotless fame,
Mandavi and Sruta-kirti to their loving mothers came.

Decked in silk and queenly garments they performed each pious rite,
Brought their blessings on the household, bowed to Godp of holy might,

Bowed to all the honoured elders, blest the children with their love,
And with soft and sweet endearment by their loving consorts moved.

Happy were the wedded princes peerless in their warlike might,
And they dwelt in stately mansions like Kuvera's mansions bright,

Loving wife and troops of kinsmen, wealth and glory on them wait,
Filial love and fond affection sanctify their happy fate.

Once when on the palace chambers bright the golden morning woke,
To his son the gentle Bharat, thus the ancient monarch spoke :

" Know, my son, the prince Kaikeya, Yudajit of warlike fame,
Queen Kaikeyi's honoured brother, from his distant regions came,

He hath come to take thee, Bharat, to Kaikeya's monarch bold,
Go and stay with them a season, greet thy grandsire loved of old."

Bharat heard with filial duty and he hastened to obey,

Took with him the young Satrughna in his grandsire's home to stay,

And from Rama and from Lakshman parted they with many a tear,
From their young and gentle consorts, from their parents ever dear,

And Kaikeya with the princes, with his guards and troopers gay,
To his father's western regions gladsome held his onward way.

Rama with a pious duty, — favoured by the Gods above, —
Tended still his ancient father with a never-faltering love.

In his father's sacred mandate still his noblest Duty saw,
In the weal of subject nations recognised his foremost Law!

And he pleased his happy mother with a fond and filial care,
And his elders and his kinsmen with devotion soft and fair,



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16 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

Brahmans blessed the righteous Rama for his faith in gb4s above,
People in the town and hamlet blessed him with their loyal love 1

Wkfc a woman's whole affection fond and trusting Sita loved,
And within her faithful bosom loving Rama lived and moved,

And he loved her, for their parents chose her as his faithful wife,
Loved her for her peerless beauty, for her true and trustful life,

Loved and dwelt within her bosom though he wore a form apart,
Rama in a sweet communion lived in Site's loving heart !

Days of joy and months of gladness o'er the gentle Sita flew,
As she like the Quebn of Beauty brighter in her graces grew,

And as Vishnu with his consort dwells in skies, alone, apart,
Rama in a sweet communion lived in Site's loving heart !



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BOOK II

VANA-GAMANA-ADESA

{The Banishment)

HP HE events narrated in this Book occupy scarcely two days.
The description of Rama's princely virtues and the rejoicings
at his proposed coronation, with which the Book begins, contrast
with much dramatic force and effect with the dark intrigues which
follow, and which end in his cruel banishment for fourteen years.

The portions translated in this Book form Sections i., ii., vi., and
vii., portions of Sections x. to xiii., and the whole of Section xviii.
of Book ii. of the original text.



The Council Convened

Thus the young and brave Satrughna, Bharat ever true and bold,
Went to warlike western regions where Kaikeyas lived of old,

Where the ancient Aswa-pati ruled his kingdom broad and fair,
Hailed the sons of Dasa-ratha with a grandsire's loving care.

Tended with a fond affection, guarded with a gentle sway,

Still the princes of their father dreamt and thought by night and day,

And their father in Ayodhya, great of heart and stout of hand,
Thought of Bharat and Satrughna living in Kaikeya's land.

17



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18 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

For his great and gallant princes were to him his life and light,
Were a part of Dasa-ratha like his hands and arms of might.

But of all his righteous children righteous Rama won his heart,
As Swayambhu of all creatures, was his dearest, holiest part,

For his Rama strong and stately was his eldest and his best,
Void of every baser passion and with every virtue blest !

Soft in speech, sedate and peaceful, seeking still the holy path,
Calm in conscious worth and valour, taunt nor cavil waked his wrath,

In the field of war excelling, boldest warrior midst the bold,
In the palace chambers musing on the tales by elders told,

Faithful to the wise and learned, truthful in his deed and word,
Rama dearly loved his people and his people loved their lord !

To the Brahmans pure and holy Rama due obeisance made,
To the poor and to the helpless deeper love and honour paid,

Spirit of his race and nation was to high-souled Rama given,
Thoughts that widen human glory, deeds that ope the gates of heaven !

Not intent on idle cavil Rama spake with purpose high,

And the God of speech might envy when he spake or made reply,

In the learning of the Vedas highest meed and glory won,

In the skill of arms the father scarcely matched the gallant son !

Taught by sages and by elders in the manners of his race,
Rama grew in social virtues and each soft endearing grace,

Taught by inborn pride and wisdom patient purpose to conceal,
Deep determined was his effort, dauntless was his silent will !

Peerless in his skill and valour steed and elephant to tame,
Dauntless leader of his forces, matchless in his warlike fame,

Higher thought and nobler duty did the righteous Rama move,
By his toil and by his virtues still he sought his people's love !



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THE BANISHMENT 19

Dasa-ratha marked his Rama with each kingly virtue blest,
And from life-long royal duties now he sought repose and rest :

" Shall I see my son anointed, seated on Kosala's throne,
In the evening of my life-time ere my days on earth be done,

Shall I place my ancient empire in the youthful Rama's care,
Seek for me a higher duty and prepare for life more fair ? "

Pondering thus within his bosom counsel from his courtiers sought,
And to crown his Rama, Regent, was his purpose and his thought,

For strange signs and diverse tokens now appeared on earth and sky,
And his failing strength and vigour spoke his end approaching nigh,

And he witnessed Rama's virtues filling all the world with love,
As the full-moon's radiant lustre fills the earth from skies above !

Dear to him appeared his purpose, Rama to his people dear,
Private wish and public duty made his path serene and clear,

Dasa-ratha called his Council, summoned chiefs from town and plain,
Welcomed too from distant regions monarchs and the kings qf men,

Mansions meet for prince and chieftain to his guests the monarch gave,
Gracious as the Lord of Creatures held the gathering rich and brave!

Nathless to Kosala's Council nor Videha's monarch came,
Nor the warlike chief Kaikeya, Aswa-pati king of fame,

To those kings and near relations, ancient Dasa-ratha meant,
Message of the proud anointment with his greetings would be sent.

Brightly dawned the day of gathering ; in the lofty Council Hall
Stately chiefs and ancient burghers came and mustered one and all,

And each prince and peer was seated on his cushion rich and high,
And on monarch Dasa-ratha eager turned his anxious eye,

Girt by crowned kings and chieftains, burghers from the town and plain,
Dasa-ratha shone like Indra girt by heaven's immortal train!



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20 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

II

The People Consulted

With the voice of pealing thunder Dasa-ratha spake to all,
To the princes and the burghers gathered in Ayodhya's hall :

" Known to all, the race of Raghu rules this empire broad and fair,
And hath ever loved and cherished subjects with a father's care,

In my fathers' footsteps treading I have sought the ancient path,
Nursed my people as my children, free from passion, pride and wrath,

Underneath this white umbrella, seated on this royal throne,
I have toiled to win their welfare and my task is almost done !

Years have passed of fruitful labour, years of work by fortune blest,
And the evening of my life-time needs, my friends, the evening's rest,

Years have passed in watchful effort, Law and Duty to uphold,
Effort needing strength and prowess, — and my feeble limbs are old !

Peers and burghers, let your monarch, now his lifelong labour done,
For the weal of loving subjects on his empire seat his son,

iNDRA-like in peerless valour, risbi-like in holy lore,
Rama follows Dasa-ratha, but in virtues stands before !

Throned in Pushya's constellation shines the moon with fuller light,
Throned to rule his father's empire Rama wins a loftier might,

He will be your gracious monarch favoured well by Fortune's Queen,
By his virtues and his valour lord of earth he might have been !

Speak your thought and from this bosom lift a load of toil and care,
On the proud throne of my fathers let me place a peerless heir,



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THE BANISHMENT. 21

Speak your thought, my chiefs and people, if this purpose please you wel 1 ,
Or if wiser, better counsel in your wisdom ye can tell,

Speak your thought without compulsion, though this plan to me be dear,
If some middle course were wiser, if some other way were clear ! "

Gathered chieftains hailed the mandate with applauses Long and loud,
As the peafowls hail the thunder of the dark and laden cloud,

And the gathered subjects echoed loud and long the welcome sound,
Till the voices of the people shook the sky and solid ground !

Brahmans versed in laws of duty, chieftains in their warlike pride,
Countless men from town and hamlet heard the mandate far and wide,

And they met in consultation, joyously with one accord,
Freely and in measured accents, gave their answer to their lord :

" Years of toil and watchful labour weigh upon thee, king of men,
Young in years is righteous Rama, Heir and Regent let him reign,

We would see the princely Rama, Heir. and Regent duly made,
Riding on the royal tusker in the white umbrella's shade ! "

Searching still their secret purpose, seeking still their thought to know,
Spake again the ancient monarch in his measured words and slow:

" I would know your inner feelings, loyal thoughts and whispers kind,
For a doubt within me lingers and a shadow clouds my mind,

True to Law and true to Duty while I rule this kingdom fair,
Wherefore would you see my Rama seated as the Regent Heir ? "

« We would see him Heir and Regent, Dasa-ratha, ancient lord,
For his heart is blessed with valour, virtue marks his deed and Word,

Lives not man in all the wide-earth who excels tjhe stainless youth,
In his loyalty to Duty, in his love of righteous Truth,



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'22 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA !

Truth impels his thought and action, Truth inspires his soul with grace,
And his virtue fills the wide earth and exalts his ancient race !

Bright Immortals know his valour ; with his brother Lakshman bold
He hath never failed to conquer hostile town or castled hold,

And returning from his battles, from the duties of the war,
Riding on his royal tusker or his all-resistless car,

As a father to his children to his loving men he came,

Blessed our homes and maids and matrons till our infants lisped his name,

For our humble woes and troubles Rama hath the ready tear,
To our humble tales of suffering Rama lends his willing ear !

Happy is the royal father who hath such a righteous son,
For in town and mart and hamlet every heart hath Rama won,

Burghers and the toiling tillers tales of Rama's kindness say,
Man and infant, maid and matron, morn and eve for Rama pray,

To the Gods and bright Immortals we our inmost wishes send,
May the good and godlike Rama on his father's throne ascend,

Great in gifts and great in glory, Rama doth our homage own,
We would see the princely Rama seated on his father's throne ! "



III

The City Decorated

With his consort pious Rama, pure in deed and pure in thought,
After evening's due ablutions Narayana's chamber sought,

Prayed unto the Lord of Creatures, Narayana Ancient Sire,
Placed his offering on his forehead, poured it on the lighted fire,



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THE BANISHMENT 23

Piously partook the remnant, sought for Narayana's aid,
As he kept his fast and vigils on the grass of kusa spread.

With her lord the saintly Sita silent passed the sacred night,
Contemplating World's Preserver, Lord of Heaven's ethereal height,

And within the sacred chamber on the grass of tusa lay,
Till the crimson streaks of morning ushered in the festive day,

Till the royal bards and minstrels chanted forth the morning call,
Pealing through the holy chamber, echoing through the royal hall.

Past the night of sacred vigils, in his silken robes arrayed,
Message of the proud anointment Rama to the Brahmans said,

And the Brahmans spake to burghers that the festive day was come,
Till the mart and crowded pathway rang with note of pipe and drum,

And the townsmen heard rejoicing of the vigils of the night,
Kept by Rama and by Sita for the day's auspicious rite.

Rama shall be Heir and Regent, Rama shall be crowned to-day, —
Rapid flew the gladdening message with the morning's gladsome ray,

And the people of the city, maid and matron, man and boy,
Decorated fair Ayodhya in their wild tumultuous joy !

On the temple' 8 lofty steeple high as cloud above the air,
On the crossing of the pathways, in the garden green and fair,

On the merchant' 8 ample warehouse, on the shop with stores displayed,
On the mansion of the noble by the cunning artist made,

On the gay and bright pavilion, on the high and shady trees,
Banners rose and glittering streamers, flags that fluttered in the
breeze !

Actors gay and nimble dancers, singers skilled in lightsome song;
With their antics and their music pleased the gay and gathered throng,

And the people met in conclaves, spake of Rama, Regent Heir,
And the children by the road-side lisped of Rama brave and fair !



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24 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

Women wove the scented garland, merry maids the censer lit,
Men with broom and sprinkled water swept the spacious mart and
street,

Rows of trees and posts they planted hung with lamps for coming night,
That the midnight dark might rival splendour of the noonday light !

Troops of men and merry children laboured with a loving care,
Woman's skill and woman's fancy made the city passing fair,

So that good and kindly Rama might his people's toil approve,
So that sweet and soft-eyed Ska might accept her people's love !

Groups of joyous townsmen gathered in the square or lofty hall,
Praised the monarch Dasa-ratha, regent Rama young and tall :

" Great and good is Dasa-ratha born of Raghu's royal race,
In the fulness of his lifetime on his son he grants his grace,

And we hail the rite auspicious for our prince of peerless might,
He will guard us by his valour, he will save our cherished right,

Dear unto his loving brothers in his father's palace hall,
As is Rama to his brothers dear is Rama to us all,

Long live ancient Dasa-ratha king of Raghu's royal race,

We shall see his son anointed by his father's righteous grace ! "

Thus of Rama's consecration spake the burghers one and all,
And the men from distant hamlets poured within the city wall,

From the confines of the empire, north and south and west and east, '
Came to see the consecration and to share the royal feast !

And the rolling tide of nations raised their voices loud and high,
Like the tide of sounding ocean when the full moon lights the sky,

And Ayodhya thronged by people from the hamlet, mart and lea,
Was tumultuous like the ocean thronged by creatures of the sea !



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THE BANISHMENT 25

IV

Intrigue

In the inner palace chamber stood the proud and peerless queen,
With a mother's joy Kaikeyi gaily watched the festive scene,

But with deep and deadly hatred Manthara, her nurse and maid,
Marked the city bright with banners, and in scornful accents said :

" Take thy presents back, Kaikeyi, for they ill befit the day,
And when clouds of sorrow darken, ill beseems thee to be gay,

And thy folly moves my laughter though an anguish wakes my sigh,
For a gladness stirs thy bosom when thy greatest woe is nigh ! .

Who that hath a woman's wisdom, who that is a prudent wife,
Smiles in joy when prouder rival triumphs in the race of life,

How can hapless Queen Kaikeyi greet this deed of darkness done,
When the favoured Queen Kausalya wins the empire for her son ?

Know the truth, O witless woman ! Bharat is unmatched in fame,
Rama, deep and darkly jealous, dreads thy Bharat' 8 rival claim,

Younger Lakshman with devotion doth on eldest Rama wait,
Young Satrughna with affection follows Bharat's lofty fate,

Rama dreads no rising danger from the twins, the youngest-born,
But thy Bharat' 8 claims and virtues fill his jealous heart with scorn !

Trust me, queen, thy Bharat's merits are too well and widely known,
And he stands too near and closely by a rival brother's throne,

Rama hath a wolf-like wisdom and a fang to reach the foe,
And I tremble for thy Bharat, Heaven avert untimely woe !

Happy is the Queen Kausalya, they will soon anoint her son,
When on Pushy a' a constellation gaily rides to-morrow's moon,



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26 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

Happy is the Queen Kausalya in her regal pomp and state,
And Kaikeyi like a bond-slave must upon her rival wait !

Wilt thou do her due obeisance as we humble' women do,

Will thy proud and princely Bharat as his brother's henchman go,

Will thy Bharat' 8 gentle consort, fairest princess in this land,

In her tears and in her anguish wait on Site's proud command ? "

With a woman's scornful anger Manthara proclaimed her grief,
With a mother's love for Rama thus Kaikeyi answered brief:

" What inspires thee, wicked woman, thus to rail in bitter tone,
Shall not Rama, best and eldest, fill his father's royal throne,

What alarms thee, crooked woman, in the happy rites begun,
Shall not Rama guard his brothers as a father guards his son ?

And when Rama's reign is over, shall not Gods my Bharat speed,
And by law and ancient custom shall not younger son succeed,

In the present bliss of Rama and in Bharat' s future hope,

What offends thee, senseless woman, wherefore dost thou idly mope ?

Dear is Rama as my Bharat, ever duteous in his ways,
Rama honours Queen Kausalya, loftier honour to me pays,

Rama's realm is Bharat' 8 kingdom, ruling partners they shall prove,
For himself than for his brothers Rama owns no deeper love ! "

Scorn and anger shook her person and her bosom heaved a sigh,
As in wilder, fiercer accents Manthara thus made reply :

" What insensate rage-or madness clouds thy heart and blinds thine eye,
Courting thus thy own disaster, courting danger dread and high,

What dark folly clouds thy vision to the workings of thy foe,
Heedless thus to seek destruction and to sink in gulf of woe ?

Know, fair queen, by law and custom, son ascends the throne of pride,
Rama's son succeedeth Rama, luckless Bharat steps aside,



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THE BANISHMENT 27

Brothers do not share a kingdom, nor can one by one succeed,
Mighty were the civil discord if such custom were decreed !

For to stop all war and tumult, thus the ancient laws ordain,
Eldest son succeeds his father, younger children may not reign,

Bharat barred from Rama's empire, vainly decked with royal grace,
Friendless, joyless, long shall wander, alien from his land and race !

Thou hast borne the princely Bharat, nursed him from thy gentle breast,
To a queen and to a mother need a prince's claims be pressed,

To a thoughtless heedless mother must I Bharat's virtues plead,
Must the Queen Kaikeyi witness Queen Kauaalaya's son succeed ?

Trust thy old and faithful woman who hath nursed thee, youthful queen,
And in great and princely houses many darksome deeds hath seen,

Trust my word, the wily Rama for his spacious empire's good,
Soon will banish friendless Bharat and secure his peace with blood !

Thou hast sent the righteous Bharat to thy ancient father's land,
And Satrughna young and valiant doth beside his brother stand,

Young in years and generous-hearted, they will grow in mutual love,
As the love of elder Rama doth in Lakshman's bosom move.

Young companions grow in friendship, and our ancient legends tell,
Weeds protect a forest monarch which the woodman's axe would fell,

Crowned Rama unto. Lakshman will a loving brother prove,
But for Bharat and Satrughna, Rama's bosom owns no love,

And a danger thus ariseth if the elder wins the throne,

Haste thee, heedless Queen Kaikeyi, save the younger and thy son !

Speak thy mandate to thy husband, let thy Bharat rule at home,
In the deep and pathless jungle let the banished Rama roam,



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28 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

This will please thy ancient father and thy father's kith and kin,
This will please the righteous people, Bharat knows no guile or sin !

Speak thy mandate to thy husband, win thy son a happy fate,
Doom him not to Rama s sendee or his unrelenting hate,

Let not Rama in his rancour shed a younger brother's blood,
As the lion slays the tiger in the deep and echoing wood !

With the magic of thy beauty thou hast won thy monarch's heart,
Queen Kausalya's bosom rankles with a woman's secret smart,

Let her not with woman's vengeance turn upon her prouder foe,
And as crowned Rama's mother venge her in Kaikeyi's woe,

Mark my word, my child Kaikeyi, much these ancient eyes have seen,
Rama's rule is death to Bharat, insult to my honoured queen ! "

Like a slow but deadly poison worked the ancient nurse's tears,
And a wife's undying impulse mingled with a mother's fears,

Deep within Kaikeyi's bosom worked a woman's jealous thought,
Speechless in her scorn and anger mourner's dark retreat she sought.



V

The Queen's Demand

Rama shall be crowned at sunrise, so did royal bards proclaim,
Every rite arranged and ordered, Dasa-ratha homeward came,

To the fairest of his consorts, dearest to his ancient heart,
Came the king with eager gladness joyful message to impart,

Radiant as the Lord of Midnight, ere the eclipse casts its gloom,
Came the old and ardent monarch heedless of his darksome doom !



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THE BANISHMENT 29

Through the shady palace garden where the peacock wandered free,
Lute and lyre poured forth their music, parrot flew from tree to tree,

Through the corridor of creepers, painted rooms by artists done,
And the halls where scented Ghampak and the flaming Asol shone,

Through the portico of splendour graced by silver, tusk and gold,
Radiant with his thought of gladness walked the monarch proud
and bold.

Through the lines of scented blossoms which by limpid waters shone,
And the rooms with seats of silver, ivory bench and golden throne,

Through the chamber of confection, where each viand wooed the taste,
Every object in profusion as in regions of the blest,

through Kaikeyi' s inner closet lighted with a softened sheen,
Walked the king with eager longing, — but Kaikeyi was not seen !

\
Thoughts of love and gentle dalliance woke within his ancient heart,
And the magic of her beauty and the glamour of her art,

With a soft desire the monarch vainly searched the vanished fair,
Found her not in royal chamber, found her not in gay parterre !

Filled with love and longing languor loitered not the radiant queen,
In her soft voluptuous chamber, in the garden, grove or green,

And he asked the faithful warder of Kaikeyi loved and lost,

She who served him with devotion and his wishes never crost,

'/

Spake the warder in his terror that the queen with rage distraught,

Weeping silent tears of anguish had the mourner's chamber sought !

Thither flew the stricken monarch ; on the bare and unswept ground,
Trembling with tumultuous passion was the Queen Kaikeyi found,

On the cold uncovered pavement sorrowing lay the weeping wife,
Young wife of an ancient husband, dearer than his heart and life !



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3 o THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

Like a bright and blossoming creeper rudely severed from the earth,
Like a fallen fair Apsara, beauteous nymph of heavenly birth.

Like a female forest-ranger bleeding from the hunter's dart,
Whom her mate the forest-monarch soothes with soft endearing art,

Lay the queen in tears of anguish ! And with sweet and gentle word
To the lotus-eyed lady softly spake her loving lord :

^Wherefore thus, my Queen and Empress, sorrow-laden is thy heart.
Who with daring slight or insult seeks to cause thy bosom smart ?

If some unknown ailment pains thee, evil spirit of the air,
Skilled physicians wait upon thee, priests with incantations fair,

If from human foe some insult, wipe thy tears and doom his fate,
Rich reward or royal vengeance shall upon thy mandate wait !

Wilt thou doom to death the guiltless, free whom direst sins debase,
Wilt thou lift the poor and lowly or the proud and great disgrace,

Speak, and I and all my courtiers Queen Kaikeyi's hest obey,
For thy might is boundless, Empress, limitless thy regal sway !

Rolls my chariot-wheel revolving from the sea to farthest sea,
And the wide earth is my empire, monarchs list my proud decree,

Nations of the eastern regions and of Sindhu's western wave,
Brave Saurashtras and the races who the ocean's dangers brave,

Vangas, Angas and Magadhas, warlike Matsyas of the west,
Kasis and the southern races, brave Kosalas first and best,

Nations of my world-wide empire, rich in corn and sheep and'kine,
All shall serve my Queen Kaikeyi and their treasures all are thine,

Speak, command thy king's obedience, and thy wrath will melt away,
Like the melting snow of winter 'neath the sun's reviving ray ! "

Blinded was the ancient husband as he lifted up her head, _^

Heedless oath and word he plighted that her wish should be obeyed,



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THE BANISHMENT 31

Scheming for a fetal purpose, inly then Kaikeyi smiled,

And by sacred oath and promise bound the monarch love-beguiled :

^"Thou hast given, Dasa-ratha, troth and word and royal oath,
Three and thirty Gods be witness, watchers of the righteous truth,

Sun and Moon and Stars be witness, Sky and Day and sable Night,
Rolling Worlds and this our wide Earth, and each dark and unseen
wight,

Witness Rangers of the forest, Household Gods that guard us both,
Mortal beings and Immortal, — witness ye the monarch's oath,

Ever faithful to his promise, ever truthful in his word,
Dasa-ratha grants my prayer, Spirits and the Gods have heard !

Call to mind, O righteous monarch, days when in a bygone strife,
Warring with thy foes immortal thou hadst almost lost thy life,

With a woman's loving tendance poor Kaikeyi cured thy wound,
Till from death and danger rescued, thou wert by a promise bound,

Two rewards my husband offered, what my loving heart might seek,
Long delayed their wished fulfilment, — now let poor Kaikeyi speak,

And if royal deeds redeem not what thy royal lips did say,
Victim to thy broken promise Queen Kaikeyi dies to-day 1

^By these rites ordained for Rama, — such the news my menials bring, —
Let my Bharat, and not Rama, be anointed Regent King,

Wearing skins and matted tresses, in the cave or hermit's cell,
Fourteen years in Dandai's forests let the elder Rama dwell,

These are Queen Kaihey?s wishes, these are boons for which 1 pray,
I would see my son anointed* Rama banished on this day I "



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;a THE EPIC OP RAMA, PRINCE OP INDIA

VI

The King's Lament

** Is this torturing dream or madness, do my feeble senses fail,
O'er my darkened mind and bosom doth a fainting fit prevail ? "

So the stricken monarch pondered and in hushed and silent fear,
Looked on her as on a tigress looks the dazed and stricken deer,

Lying on the unswept pavement still he heaved the choking sigh,
Like a wild and hissing serpent quelled by incantations high !

Sobs convulsive shook his bosom and his speech and accent failed,
And a dark and deathlike faintness o'er his feeble soul prevailed,

Stunned awhile remained the monarch, then in furious passion woke,
And his eyeballs flamed with red fire, to the queen as thus he spoke :

" Traitress to thy king and husband, fell destroyer of thy race,
Wherefore seeks thy ruthless rancour Rama rich in righteous grace,

Traitress to thy kith and kindred, Rama loves thee as thy own,
Wherefore then with causeless vengeance as a mother hate thy son ?

Have I courted thee, Kaikeyi, throned thee in my heart of truth,
Nursed thee in my home and bosom like a snake of poisoned tooth,

Have I courted thee, Kaikeyi, placed thee on Ayodhya's throne,
That my Rama, loved of people, thou shouldst banish from his own ?

Banish far my Queen Kausalya, Queen Sumitra saintly wife,
Wrench from me my ancient empire, from my bosom wrench my life,

But with brave and princely Rama never can his father Dart,
Till his ancient life is ended, cold and still his beating heart !



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■ THB BANISHMENT 33

Sunless roll the world in darkness, rainless may the harvests thrive,
But from righteous Rama severed^ never can his sire survive,

Feeble is thy aged husband, few and brief on earth his day,
Lend me, wife, a woman's kindness, as a consort be my stay !

Ask for Other boon, Kaikeyi, aught my sea-girt empire yields,
Wealth or treasure, gem or jewel, castled town or smiling fields,

Ask for other gift, Kaikeyi, and thy wishes shall be given,

Stain me not with crime unholy in the eye of righteous Heaven ! "

Coldly spake the Queen Kaikeyi : <*If thy royal heart repent,
Break thy word and plighted promise, let thy royal faith be rent,

Ever known for truth and virtue, speak to peers and monarchs all,
When from near and distant regions they shall gather in thy hall,

Speak if so it please thee, monarch, of thy evil-destined wife,
How she loved with wife's devotion, how she served and saved thy
life,

How on plighted promise trusting for a humble boon she sighed,
How a monarch broke his promise, how a cheated woman died ! "

" Fair thy form," resumed the monarch, " beauty dwells upon thy face,
Woman's winsome charms bedeck thee, and a woman's peerless grace,

Wherefore then within thy bosom wakes this thought of cruel wile,
And what dark and loathsome spirit stains thy heart with blackest
guile?

^Ever since the day, {Caikeyi, when a gentle bride you came,
By a wvfe's unfailing duty you have won a woman 8 fame,

Wherefore now this cruel purpose hath a stainless heart defiled,
Ruthless wish to send my Rama to the dark and pathless wild ?,

Wherefore, darkly-scheming woman, on unrighteous purpose bent,
Doth thy cruel causeless vengeance on my Rama seek a vent, •



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34 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

Wherefore seek by deeds unholy for thy son the throne to win,
Throne which Bharat doth not covet, — blackened by his mother's sin ?

v Shall I see my banished Rama mantled in the garb of woe,
Reft of home and kin and empire to the pathless jungle go.,

Shall I see disasters sweeping o'er my empire dark and deep.
As the forces of a foeman o'er a scattered army sweep ?

Shall I hear assembled monarchs in their whispered voices say,
Weak and foolish in his dotage, Dasa-ratha holds his sway,

Shall I say to righteous elders when they blame my action done,
That by woman's mandate driven I have banished thus my son ?

Queen Kausalya, dear-loved woman! she who serves me as a slave,
Soothes me Kke a tender sister, helps me like a consort brave,

As a fond and loving mother tends me with a watchful care,
As a daughter ever duteous doth obeisance sweet and fair,

When my fond and fair Kausalya asks me of her banished son,
How shall Dasa-ratha answer for the impious action done,

How can husband, cold and cruel, break a wife's confiding heart,
How can father, false and faithless, from his best and eldest part ? "

Coldly spake the Queen Kaikeyi : " If thy royal heart repent,
Break thy word and plighted promise, let thy royal faith be rent,

Truth-abiding is our monarch, so I heard the people say,
And his word is all inviolate, stainless virtue marks his sway,

Let it now be known to nations, — righteous Dasa-ratha lied,
And a trusting, cheated woman broke her loving heart and died ! "

Darker grew the shades of midnight, coldly shone each distant star,
Wilder in the monarch's bosom raged the struggle and the war :

>J*. Starry midnight, robed in shadows ! give my wearied heart relief,
^Spread thy sable covering mantle o'er an impious monarch's grieT,



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THE BANISHMENT 35

Spread thy vast and inky darkness o'er a detd of nameless crime,
Reign perennial o'er my sorrows heedless of the lapse of time.

May a sinful monarch perish ere the dawning of the day,

O'er a dark life sin-polluted, beam not morning's righteous ray ! "



VII

The Sentence

^Morning came and duteous Rama to the palace bent his way,
For to make his salutation and his due obeisance pay,

And he saw his aged father shorn of kingly pomp and pride,
And he saw the Queen Kaikeyi sitting by her consort's side.

Duteously the righteous Rama touched the ancient monarch's feet,
Touched the feet of Queen Kaikeyi with a son's obeisance meet,

" Rama ! " cried the feeble monarch, but the tear bedimmed his eye,
Sorrow choked his failing utterance and his bosom heaved a sigh,

Rama started in his terror at his father's grief or wrath,
Like a traveller in the jungle crossed by serpent in his path !

Reft of sense appeared the monarch, crushed beneath a load of pain,
Heaving oft a sigh of sorrow as his heart would break in twain,

Like the ocean tempest-shaken, like the sun in eclipse pale,
Like a crushed repenting rishi when his truth and virtue fail !

Breathless mused the anxious Rama, — what foul action hath he done,
What strange anger fills his father, wherefore greets he not his son ?

" Speak, my mother," uttered Rama, " what strange error on my part,
Unremembered sin or folly fills with grief my father's heart, y

Gracious unto me is father with a father's boundless grace,
Wherefore clouds his altered visage, wherefore tears bedew his face?



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36 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA !

Doth a piercing painful ailment rack his limbs with cruel smart,
Doth some secret silent anguish wring his torn and tortured heart,

Bharat lives with brave Satrughna in thy father's realms afar,
Hath some cloud of dark disaster crossed their bright auspicious star ?

Duteously the royal consorts on the loving monarch wait,

Hath some woe or dire misfortune dimmed the lustre of their fate,

I would yield my life and fortune ere I wound my father's heart,
Hath my unknown crime or folly caused his ancient bosom smart ?

Ever dear is Queen Kaikeyi to her consort and her king,

Hath 8,ome angry accent escaped thee thus his royal heart to wring,

Speak, my ever -loving mother, speak the truth for thou must know,
What distress or deep disaster pains his heart and clouds his brow ? "

" Mother's love nor woman's pity moved the deep-determined queen,
As in cold and cruel accents thus she spake her purpose keen :

" Grief nor woe nor sudden ailment pains thy father loved of old,
But he fears to speak his purpose to his Rama true and bold,

And his loving accents falter some unloving wish to tell,

Till you give your princely promise, you will serve his mandate well >

Listen more, in bygone seasons, — Rama thou wert then unborn, —
I had saved thy royal father, he a gracious boon had sworn,

But his feeble heart repenting is by pride and passion stirred,
He would break his royal promise as a caitiff breaks his word,

Years have passed and now the monarch would his ancient word forego,
He would build a needless causeway when the waters ceased to flow !

Truth inspires each deed attempted and each word by monarchs spoke,
Not for thee, though loved and honoured, should a royal vow be broke,

If the true and righteous Rama binds him by his father's vow,
I will tell thee of the anguish which obscures his royal brow,



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THE BANISHMENT 37

If thy feeble bosom falter and thy halting purpose fail,
Unredeemed is royal promise and unspoken is my tale ! "

" Speak thy word," exclaimed the hero, "and my purpose shall not fail,
Rama serves his father's mandate and his bosom shall not quail,

Poisoned cup or death untimely, — what the cruel fates decree, —
To his king and to bis father Rama yields obedience free,

Speak my father's royal promise, hold me by his promise tied,
Rama speaks and shall not palter, for his lips have never lied."

Cold and clear Kaikeyi's accents fell as falls the hunter's knife, ;
" Listen then to word of promise and redeem it with thy life,

Wounded erst by foes immortal, saved by Queen Kaikeyi's car?,
Two great boons your father plighted and his royal words were fair,

I have sought their due fulfilment, — brightly shines my Bharat'sstar, —
Bharat shall be Heir and Regent, Rama shall be banished far !

If thy father' s royal mandate thou wouldst list and honour still,
Fourteen years in Dandak } s forest live and wander- at thy will.

Seven long years and seven, my Rama, thou shalt in the jungle dwell,
Bark of trees shall be thy raiment and thy home the hermit's cell,

Over fair Kosala's empire let my princely Bharat reign,

With his cars and steeds and tusker s x 'wealth and gold and armed men !

Tender-hearted is the monarch, age and sorrow dim his eye,
And the anguish of a father checks his speech and purpose high,

For the love he bears thee, Rama, cruel vow he may not speak*
I have spoke his will and mandate, and thy true obedience seek."

Calmly Rama heard the mandate, grief nor anger touched his heart, \
Calmly from his father's empire and his home prepared to part* /



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BOOK III
DASA-RATHA-VIYOGA

(The Death of the King)

'"PHE first six days of Rama's wanderings are narrated in this
Book. Sita and the faithful Lakshrnan accompanied Rama
in his exile, and the loyal people of Ayodhya followed their exiled
prince as far as the basks of the Tamasa river where they halted
on the first night. Rama had to steal away at night to escape the
citizens, and his wanderings during the following days give us beauti-
ful glimpses of forest life in holy hermitages. Thirty centuries have
passed since the age of the Kosafas and Videhas, but every step of the
supposed journey of Rama is well known in India to this day, and
is annually traversed by thousands of devoted pilgrims. The past
is not dead and buried in India, it lives in the hearts of millions
of faithful men and faithful women, and shall live for ever.

On the third day of their exile, Rama and his wife and brother
crossed the Ganges ; on the fourth day they came to the hermitage
of Bharad-vaja, which stood where Allahabad now stands, on the
confluence of the Ganges and the Jumna ; on the fifth day they
crossed the Jumna, the southern shores of which were then covered
with woods ; and on the sixth day they came to the hill of Chitra-
kuta, where they met the saint Valmifci, the reputed author of this
Epic. " We have often looked," says a writer in Calcutta Review,
vol. xxii, " on that green hill : it is the holiest spot of that sect of
the Hindu faith who devote themselves to this incarnation of Vishnu.
The whole neighbourhood is Rama's country, Every headland has
some legend, every cavern is connected with his name, some of the
wild fruits are still called Sita-phal, being the reputed food of the
exile. Thousands and thousands annually visit the spot, and round

38



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THE DEATH OF THE KING 39

the hill is raised a footpath on which the devotee, with naked feet,
treads full of pious awe."

Grief for the banished Rama pressed on the ancient heart of
X3asa-ratha. The feeble old king pined away and died, remember-
ing and recounting on his death-bed how in his youth he had caused
sorrow and death to an old hermit by killing his son* Scarcely any
passage in the Epic is more touching than this old sad story told
by the dying monarch.

The portions translated in this Book form the whole or the
main portions of Sections xxvi., xxvii., xxxi., xxxix., xl.»
xlvi., lit, liv., It., lvi., lxiii., and lxiv. of Book ii. of the original
text.



I

Woman's Love

" Dearly loved, devoted Sita ! daughter of a royal line,

Part we now, for years of wand'ri'ng in the pathless woods is mine,

For my father, promise-fettered, to Kaikeyi yields the sway,
And she wills her son anointed, — fourteen years doth Rama stray,

I But before I leave thee, Sita, in the wilderness to rove,
Yield me one more tender token of thy true and trustful love !

J Serve my crowned brother, Sita, as a faithful, duteous dame,
j Tell him not of Rama's virtues, tell him not of Rama's claim,

Since my royal father willeth,-~Bharat shall be regent«heir,
Serve him with a loyal duty, serve him with obeisance fair,

Since my royal father willeth, — years of banishment be mine,
Brave in sorrow and in suffering, woman's brightest fame be thine !

Keep thy fasts and vigils, Sita, while thy Rama is away,

Faith in Gods and faith in virtue on thy bosom hold their sway,



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40 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

In the early watch of morning to the Gods for blessings pray.
To my father Dasa-ratha honour and obeisance pay,

To my mother, Queen Kausalya, is thy dearest tendance due,
Offer her thy consolation, be a daughter fond and true !

Queen Kaikeyi and Sumitra equal love and honour claim,
With a soothing soft endearment sweetly serve each royal dame,

Cherish Bharat and Satrughna with a sister's watchful love,
And a mother's true affection and a mother's kindness prove !

Listen, Sita, unto Bharat speak no heedless angry word,
He is monarch of Kosala and of Raghu's race is lord,

Crowned kings our willing service and our faithful duty own,
Dearest sons they disinherit, cherish strangers near the throne !

Bharat's will with deep devotion and with faultless faith obey,
Truth and virtue on thy bosom ever hold their gentle sway,

And to please each dear relation, gentle Sita, be it thine,

Part we love ! for years of wand' ring in the pathless woods is mine ! "

Rama spake, and soft-eyed Sita, ever sweet in speech and word,
Stirred by loving woman's passion boldly answered thus her lord :

" Do I hear my husband rightly, are these words my Rama spake,
And her banished lord and husband will the wedded wife forsake ?

Lightly I dismiss the counsel which my lord hath lightly said,
For it ill beseems a warrior and my husband's princely grade !

For the faithful woman follows where her wedded lord may lead,
In the banishment of Rama, Sita's exile is decreed,

Sire nor son nor loving brother rules the wedded woman's state,
With her lord she falls or rises, with her consort courts her fate,

If the righteous son of Raghu wends to forests dark and drear x
Sita steps before her husband wild and thorny paths to clear /



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THE DEATH OF THE KING 41

Like the tasted refuse water cast thy timid thoughts aside.
Take me to the pathless jungle, bid me by my lord abide,

Car and steed and gilded palace, vain are these to woman's life,
Dearer is her husband's shadow to the loved and loving wife !

For my mother often taught me and my father often spake,

That her home the wedded woman doth beside her husband make,

As the shadow to the substance, to her lord is faithful wife,

And she parts not from her consort till she parts with fleeting life !

Therefore bid me seek the jungle and in pathless forests roam,
Where the wild deer freely ranges and the tiger makes his home,

Happier than in father's mansions in the woods will Sita rove,
Waste no thought on home or kindred, nestling in her husband's love !

World-renowned is Rama's valour, fearless by her Rama's side,
Sita still will live and wander with a faithful woman's pride,

And the wild fruit she will gather from the fresh and fragrant wood,
And the food by Rama tasted shall be Sita's cherished food !

Bid me seek the sylvan greenwoods, wooded hills and plateaus high,
Limpid rills and crystal nullas as they softly ripple by,

And where in the lake of lotus tuneful ducks their plumage lave,
Let me with my loving Rama skim the cool translucent wave !

Years will pass in happy union, — happiest lot to woman given, —
Sita seeks not throne or empire, nor the brighter joys of heaven,

Heaven conceals not brighter mansions in its sunny fields of pride,
Where without her lord and husband faithful Sita would reside !

Therefore let me seek the jungle where the jungle-rangers rove,
Dearer than the royal palace, where I share my husband's love,



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44 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

" Part we then from loving kinsmen, arms and mighty weapons bring,
Bows of war which Lord Varuna rendered to Videha's king,

Coats of mail to sword impervious, quivers which can never fail.
And the rapiers bright as sunshine, golden* hiked, tempered well,

Safely rest these goodly weapons in our great preceptor's hall,
Seek and bring them, faithful brother, for methinks we need them all ! "

Rama spake ; his valiant brother then the wondrous weapons brought,
Wreathed with fresh and fragrant garlands and with gold and
jewels wrought,

" Welcome, brother," uttered Rama, "stronger thus to woods we go,
Wealth and gold and useless treasure to the holy priests bestow,

To the son of saint Vasishtha, to each sage is honour due,

Then we leave our father's mansions, to our father's mandate true ! "



III

Mother's Blessings

Tears of sorrow and of suffering flowed from Queen Kausalya's eye,
As she saw departing Sita for her blessings drawing nigh,

And she clasped the gentle Sita and she kissed her moistened head,
And her tears like summer tempest choked the loving words she said :

"Part we, dear devoted daughter, to thy husband ever true,
With a woman's whole affection render love to husband'sxroe-l

False are women loved and cherished, gentle in their speech and word,
When misfortune's shadows gather, who are faithless to their lord,

Who through years of sunny splendour smile and pass the livelong day,
When misfortune's darkness thickens, from their husband turn away,



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THE DEATH OF THE KING 45

Who with changeful fortune changing oft ignore the plighted word,
And forget a woman's duty, woman's faith to wedded lord,

Who to holy love inconstant from their wedded consort part,
Manly deed nor manly virtue wins the changeful woman's heart !

But the true and righteous woman, loving spouse and changeless wife,
Faithful to her lord and consort holds him dearer than her life,

Ever true and righteous Sita, follow still my godlike son,
Like a God to thee is Rama in the woods or on the throne ! "

" I shall do my duty, mother," said the wife with wifely pride,
" Like a God to me is Rama, Sita shall not leave his side,

From the Moon will part his lustre ere I part from wedded lord,
Ere from faithful wife's devotion falter in my deed or word,

For the stringless lute is silent, idle is the wheel-less car,
And no wife the loveless consort, inauspicious is her star !

Small the measure of affection which the sire and brother prove,
Measureless to wedded woman is her lord and husband's love,

True to Law and true to Scriptures, true to woman's plighted word,
Can I ever be, my mother, faithless, loveless to my lord ? "

Tears of joy and mingled sorrow filled the Queen Kausalya's eye,
As she marked the faithful Sita true in heart, in virtue high,

And she wept the tears of sadness when with sweet obeisance due,
Spake with hands in meekness folded Rama ever good and true :

" Sorrow not, my loving mother, trust in virtue's changeless beam,
Swift will fly the years of exile like a brief and transient dream,

Girt by faithful friends and forces, blest by rfghteous Gods above,
Thou shalt see thy son returning to thy bosom and thy love ! "



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46 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

Unto ail the royal ladies Rama his obeisance paid,

For his failings unremembered, blessings and forgiveness prayed,

And his words were soft and gentle, and they wept to see him go,
Like the piercing cry of curlew rose the piercing voice of woe,

And in halls where drum and tabor rose in joy and regal pride, ,
Voice of grief and lamentation sounded far and sounded wide ! «

Then the true and faithful Lakshman parted from each weeping dame,
And to sorrowing Queen Sumitra with his due obeisance came,

And he bowed to Queen Sumitra and his mother kissed his head,
Stilled her anguish-laden bosom and in trembling accents said :

" Dear devoted duteous Lakshman, ever to thy elder true,
When thy elder wends to forest, forest-life to thee is due,

Thou hast served him true and faithful in his glory and his fame,
This is Law for true and righteous* — serve him in his woe and shame,

This is Law for race of Raghu known on earth for holy might,
Bounteous in their sacred duty, brave and warlike in the fight I

Therefore tend him as thy father, as thy mother tend his wife,
And to thee, like fair Ayodhya be thy humble forest life,

Go, my son, the voice of Duty bids my gallant L akshman g o,
Serve thy elder with devotion and with valour meeTTnYWpltf'



IV

Citizens 1 Lament

Spake Sumantra chariot-driver waiting by the royal car,

" Haste thee, mighty-destined Rama, for we wander long and far,

Fourteen years in Dandak's forest shall the righteous Rama stray,
Such is Dasa-ratha's mandate, haste thee Rama and obey."



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THE DEATH OF THE KING 47

Queenly Sita bright-apparelled, with a ttrong and trusting heart,
d, Counted on the car of splendour for the pathless woods to part,

roAnd the king for needs providing gave her robes and precious store,
. 7 or the many years of exile in a far and unknown shore,

&nd a wealth of warlike weapons to the exiled princes gave,
,Bow and dart and linked armour, sword and shield and lances brave.

Then the gallant brothers mounted on the gold-emblazoned car,
For unending was the journey and the wilderness was far,

Skilled Sumantra saw them seated, urged the swiftly-flying steed,
Faster than the speed of tempest was the noble coursers' speed.

And they parted for the forest ; like a long unending night,
Gloomy shades of grief and sadness deepened on the city's might,

Mute and dumb but conscious creatures felt the woe the city bore,
Horses neighed and shook their bright bells, elephants returned a roar !

Man and boy and maid and matron followed Rama with their eye,
As the thirsty seek the water when the parched fields are dry,

Clinging to the rapid chariot, by its side, before, behind,
Thronging men and wailing women wept for Rama good and kind :

u Draw the reins, benign Sumantra, slowly drive the royal car,
We would once more see our Rama banished long and banished far,

Iron-hearted is Kausalya from her Rama thus to part,
Rends it not her mother's bosom thus to see her son depart ?

True is rightecus-hearted Sita cleaving to her husband still,
As the ever present sunlight cleaves to Meru's golden hill,

Faithful and heroic Lakshman ! thou hast by thy brother stood,
And in duty still unchanging thou hast sought the pathless wood,

Fixed in purpose, true in valour, mighty boon to thee is given,
And the narrow path thou choosest is the righteous path to heaven ! "



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48 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

Thus they spake in tears and anguish as they followed him apace,
And their eyes were fixed on Rama, pride of Raghu's royal race,

Meanwhile ancient Dasa-ratha from his palace chamber' came,
With each weeping queen and consort, with each woe-disfracted dame!

And around the aged monarch rose the piercing voice of pain,
Like the wail of forest creatures when the forest-king is slain,

And the faint and feeble monarch was with age and anguish pale,
Like the darkened moon at eclipse when his light and radiance fail !

Rama saw his ancient father with a faltering footstep go,

Used to royal pomp and splendour, stricken now by age and woe,

Saw his mother faint and feeble to the speeding chariot hie,
As the mother-cow returneth to her young that loiters by,

Still she hastened to the chariot, " Rama ! Rama ! " was her cry,
And a throb was in her bosom and a tear was in her eye !

" Speed, Sumantra," uttered.- Rama, " from this torture let me part,
Speed, my friend, this sight of sadness breaks a much-enduring heart, j

Heed not Dasa-ratha' s mandate, stop not for the royal train,
Parting slow is lengthened sorrow like the sinner's lengthened pain ! "

Sad Sumantra urged the coursers and the rapid chariot flew,

And the royal chiefs and courtiers round their fainting monarch drew,

And they spake to Dasa-ratha : " Follow not thy banished son,
He whom thou wouldst keep beside thee comes not till his task is
done!"

Dasa-ratha, faint and feeble, listened to these words of pain,
Stood and saw his son departing, — saw him not on earth again !



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THE DgATH OW THE KING 49



Crossing the Tamasa: the Citizens' Return

Evening's thickening shades descended on Tamasa's distant shore,
Rama rested by the river, day of toilsome journey o'er,

And Ayodhya's loving people by the limpid river lay,

Sad and sorrowing they had followed Rama's chariot through the day !

" Soft-eyed Sita, faithful Lakshman," thus the gentle Rama said,
" Hail the first night of our exile mantling us in welcome shade,

Weeps the lone and voiceless forest, and in darksome lair and nest
Feathered bird and forest creature seek their midnight's wonted rest

Weeps methinks our fair Ayodhya to her Rama ever dear,
And perchance her men and women shed for us a silent tear,

Loyal men and faithful women, they have loved their ancient king,
And his anguish and our exile will their gentle bosoms wring !

Moat I sorrow for my father and my mother loved and lost,
Stricken by untimely anguish, by a cruel fortune crost,

Bat the good and righteous JJharat gently will my parents tend, .
And with fond and filial duty tender consolation lend,

Well I know his stainless bosom and his virtues rare and high,
He will soothe our parents' sorrow arid their trickling tear will dry !

Faithful Lakshman, thou hast nobly stood by us when sorrows fell,
Guard my Sita by thy valour, by thy virtues tend her well,

Wait on her while from this river Rama seeks his thirst to slake,
On this first night of his exile food nor fruit shall Rama take,

Thpu Sumantra, tend the horses, darkness comes with. close of day,
Weary was the endless journey, weary is our onward way !."



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50 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

Store of grass and welcome fodder to the steeds the driver gave,
Gave them rest and gave them water from Tamasa's limpid wave,

And performing night's devotions, for the princes made their bed,
By the softly rippling river 'neath the tree's umbrageous shade.

On a bed of leaf and verdure Rama and his Sita slept,

Faithful Lakshman with Sumantra nightly watch and vigils kept,

And the stars their silent lustre on the weary exiles shed,

Ajid on wood and rolling river night her darksome mantle spread.

Early woke the righteous Rama and to watchful Lakshman spake :
" Mark the slumb'ring city people, still their nightly rest they take,

They have left their homes and children, followed us with loyal heart,
They would take us to Ayodhya, from their princes loth to part !

Speed, my brother, for the people wake not till the morning's star,
Speed by night the silent chariot, we may travel fast and far,

So my true and loving people see us not by dawn of day,
Follow not through wood and jungle Rama in his onward way,

For a monarch meek in suffering should his burden bravely bear,
And his true and faithful people may not ask his woe to share 1 "

Lakshman heard the gentle mandate, and Sumantra yoked the steed,
Fresh with rest and grateful fodder, matchless in their wondrous speed,

Rama with his gentle, consort and, with Lakshman true and brave,
Crossed beneath the silent starlight dark Tamasa's limpid wave.

On the further bank a pathway, fair to view and far and wide.
Stretching onwards to the forests spanned the spacious country side,

" Leave the broad and open pathway," so the gentle Rama said,
" Follow yet a track diverging, so the people be misled}



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THE DEATH OF THE KING 51

Then returning to the pathway we shall march ere break of day.
So our true and faithful people shall not know our southward way."

Wise Sumantra hastened northward, then returning to the road,
By his master and his consort and the valiant Lakshman stood,

Raghu'8 sons and gentle Sita mounted on the stately car, •

And Sumantra drove the coursers travelling fast and travelling far.

Morning dawned, the waking people by Tamasa's limpid wave,
Saw not Rama and his consort, saw not Lakshman young and brave,

And the tear suffused their feces and their hearts with anguish burned,
Sorrow-laden and lamenting to their cheerless homes returned.



VI

Crossing the Ganges. Bharad-vaja's Hermitage

Morning dawned, and far they wandered, by their people loved and lost,
Drove through grove and flowering woodland, rippling rill and river
crost,

Crossed the sacred Vedasruti on their still unending way,
Crossed the deep and rapid Gumti where the herds of cattle stray,

All the toilsome day they travelled, evening fell o'er wood and lea,
And they came where sea- like Ganga rolls in regal majesty,

'Neath a tall Ingudi's shadow by the river's zephyrs blest,
Second night of Rama's exile passed in sleep and gentle rest.

Morning dawned, the royal chariot Rama would no further own,
Sent Sumantra and the coursers back to fair Ayodhya's town,

Doffing then their royal garments Rama and his brother bold
Coats of bark and matted tresses wore like anchorites of old.

Guha, chief of wild Nishadas, boat and needed succour gave,
And the princes and fair Sita ventured on the sacred wave,



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52 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

And by royal Rama bidden strong Nishdas plied the oar,

And the strong boat quickly bounding left fair Ganga' s northern shore.

" Goddess of the mighty Ganga ! " so the pious Sita prayed,
" Exiled by his father's mandate, Rama seeks the forest shade,

Ganga ! o'er the three worlds rolling, bride and empress of the sea,
And from Brahma's sphere descended ! banished Sita bows to thee,

May my lord return in safety, and a thousand fattened kine,

Gold and gifts and gorgeous garments, pure libations shall be thine,

And with flesh and corn I worship unseen dwellers on thy shore,
May my lord return in safety, fourteen years of exile o'er ! "

On the southern shore they journeyed through the long and weary day,
Still through grove and flowering woodland held their long and weary
way,

And they slayed the deer of jungle and they spread their rich repast,
Third night of the princes' exile underneath a tree was past.

Morning dawned, the soft-eyed Sita wandered with the princes brave,
To the spot where ruddy Ganga mingles with dark Jumna's wave,

And they crost the shady woodland, verdant lawn and grassy mead,
Till the sun was in its zenith, Rama then to Lakshman said :

" Yonder mark the famed Prayaga, spot revered from age. to age,
And the line of smoke ascending speaks some rishi's hermitage,

There the waves of ruddy Ganga with the dark blue Jumna meet,
And my ear the sea-like voices of the mingling waters greet.

Mark the monarchs of the forest severed by the hermit's might,
And the logs o£ wood and fuel for the sacrificial rite,

Mark the tall trees in their blossom and the peaceful shady grove,
There the sages make their dwelling, thither, Lakshman, let us rove."



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THE DEATH OF THE KING. 53

Slowly came the exile- wand'rers, when the sua withdrew his rays,
Where the vast and sea-like rivers met in sisters' sweet embrace,

And the asram s peaceful dwellers, bird of song and spotted deer,
Quaked to see the princely strangers in their warlike garb appear J

Rama stepped with valiant Lakshman, gentle Ska followed close,
Till behind the screening foliage hermits' peaceful dwellings rose,

And they came to Bharad-vaja, anchorite and holy saint,
Girt by true and faithful pupils on his sacred duty bent.

Famed for rites and lofty penance was the anchorite of yore,
Blest with more than mortal vision, deep in more than mortal lore,

And he sat beside the altar for the agni-hotra rite,
Rama spake in humble accents to the man of holy might :

" We are sons of Dasa-ratha and to thee our homage bring,
With my wife, the saintly Sita, daughter of Videha's king,

Exiled by my royal father in the wilderness I roam,

And my wife and faithful brother make the pathless woods their home,

We would through these years of exile in some holy asram dwell,
And our food shall be the wild fruit and our drink from crystal well,

We would practise pious penance still on sacred rites intent,

Till our souls be filled with wisdom and qur years of exile spent ! "

Pleased the ancient Bharad-vaja heard the prince's humble tale,
And with kind and courteous welcome royal strangers greeted well,

And he brought the milk and argbya where the guests observant stood,
Crystal water from the fountain, berries from the darksome wood,

And a low and leafy cottage for their dwelling-place assigned,
As a host receives a stranger, welcomed them with offerings kind.

In the asram s peaceful courtyard fearless browsed the jungle deer,
All unharmed the bird of forest pecked the grain collected near,



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54 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

And by holy men surrounded 'neath the trees' umbrageous shade,
In his pure and peaceful accents riM Bharad-vaja said :

" Not unknown or unexpected, princely strangers, have ye come,
I have heard of sinless Kama's causeless banishment from home,

Welcome to a hermit's forest, be this spot your place of rest,
Where the meeting of the rivers makes our sacred asram blest,

Lire amidst these peaceful woodlands, still on sacred rites intent
Till your souls be filled with wisdom and your years of exile spent! "

" Gracious are thy accents, ruhi" Rama answered thus the sage,
" But fair towns and peopled hamlets border on this hermitage,

And to see the banished Sita and to see us, much I fear,
Crowds of rustics oft will trespass on thy calm devotions here,

Far from towns and peopled hamlets, grant us, rubi, in thy grace,
Some wild spot where hid in jungle we may pass these years in peace."

" Twenty miles from this Prayaga," spake the rtthi pond' ring well,
" Is a lonely hill and jungle where some ancient hermits dwell,

Chitra-kuta, Peak of Beauty, where the forest creatures stray,
And in every bush and thicket herds of lightsome monkeys play,

Men who view its towering summit are on lofty thoughts inclined,
Earthly pride nor earthly passions cloud their pure and peaceful mind,

Hoary-headed ancient hermits, hundred autumns who have done,
By their faith and lofty penance heaven's eternal bliss have won,

Holy is the fair seclusion for thy purpose suited well,

Or if still thy heart inclineth, here in peace and comfort dwell ! "

Spake the rishi Bharad-vaja, and with every courteous rite,
Cheered his guests with varied converse till the silent hours of night,

Fourth night of the princes' exile in Prayaga' 8 hermitage,
Passed the brothers and fair Sita honoured by Prayaga's Sage.



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THE DEATH OF THE KING 55

VII

Crossing the Jumna— Valmiki's Hermitage

Morning dawned, and faithful Sita with the brothers held her way,
Where the dark and eddying waters of the sacred Jumna stray,

Pondering by the rapid river long the thoughtful brothers stood,
Then with stalwart arms and axes felled the sturdy jungle wood,

Usira of strongest fibre, slender bamboo smooth and plain,
Jambu branches intertwining with the bent and twisting cane,

And a mighty raft constructed, and with creepers scented sweet,
Lakahman for the gentle Sita made a soft and pleasant seat.

Then the rustic bark was floated, framed with skill of woodman's craft,
By her loving lord supported Sita stepped upon the raft,

And her raiments and apparel Rama by his consort laid,

And the axes and the deerskins, bow and dart and shining blade,

Then with stalwart arms the brothers plied the bending bamboo oar,
And the strong raft gaily bounding left for Jumna's southern shore.

" Goddess of the glorious Jumna ! " so the pious Sita prayed,
" Peaceful be my husband's exile in the forest's darksome shade,

May he safely reach Ayodhya, and a thousand fattened kine,
Hundred jars of sweet libation, mighty Jumna, shall be thine,

Grant that from the woods returning he may see his home again,
Grant that honoured by his kinsmen he may rule his loving men ! "

On her breast her arms she folded while the princes plied the oar,
And the bright bark bravely bounding reached the wooded southern
shore.



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56 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

And the wanderers from Ayodhya on the river's margin stood.
Where the unknown realm extended mantled by unending wood,

Gallant Lakshman with his weapons went before the path to clear,
Soft-eyed Sita followed gently, Rama fallowed in the rear.

Oft from tree and darksome jungle, Lakshman ever true and brave,
Plucked the fruit or smiling blossom and to gentle Sita gave,

Oft to Rama turned his consort, pleased and curious evermore,
Asked the name of tree or creeper, fruit or flower unseen before.

Still with brotherly affection Lakshman brought each dewy spray,
Bud or blossom of wild beauty from the woodland bright and gay,

Still with eager joy and pleasure Sita turned 1ier eye once more,
Where the tuneful swans and saras flocked on Jumna's sandy shore.

Two miles thus they walked and wandered and thebek of forest passed,
Slew the wild deer of the jungle, spread on leaves their rich repast,

Peacocks flew around them gaily, monkeys leaped on branches bent,
Fifth night of their endless wanderings in the forest thus they spent.

" Wake, my love, and list the warblings and the voices of the wood,"
Thus spake Rama when the morning on the eastern mountains stood,

Sita woke and gallant Lakshman, and they sipped the sacred wave,
To the hill of Chitra-kuta held their way serene and brave.

" Mark, my love," so Rama uttered, " every bush and tree and flower,
Tinged by radiant light of morning sparkles in a golden shower,

Mark the flaming flower of {Gnsuk and the Vilwa in its pride,
Luscious fruits in wild profusion ample store of food provide,

Mark the honeycombs suspended from each tall and stately tree,
How from every virgin blossom steals her store the faithless, bee !



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THE DEATH OF THE KING 57

Oft the lone and startled wild cock sounds its clarion full and clear,
And from flowering fragrant forests peacocks send the answering cheer,

Oft the elephant of jungle ranges in this darksome wood,
For yon peak is Chitra-kuta loved by saints and hermits good,

Oft the chanted songs of hermits echo through its sacred grove,
Peaceful on its shady uplands, Sita, we shall live and rove ! "

Gently thus the princes wandered through the fair and woodland scene,
F r uits and blossoms lit the branches, feathered songsters filled the green,

Anchorites and ancient hermits lived m every sylvan grove,

And a sweet and sacred stillness filled the woods with peace and love!

Gently thus the princes wandered to the holy hermitage,
Where in lofty contemplation lived the mighty Saint and Sage,

Heaven inspired thy song, Valmiki ! Ancient Bard of ancient day,
Deed 8 of virtue and of valour live in thy undying lay !

And the Bard received the princes with a father's greetings kind,
Bade them live in Chitra-kuta with a pure and peaceful mind,

To the true and faithful Lakshman, Rama then bis purpose said,
And of leaf and forest timber Lakshman soon a cottage made.

" So our sacred Sattras sanction," thus the righteous Rama spake,
" Holy offering we should render when our dwelling-home we make,

Slay the black buck, gallant Lakshman, and a sacrifice prepare,
For the moment is auspicious and the day is bright and fair."

Lakshman slew a mighty black-buck, with the antlered trophy came,
Placed the carcass consecrated by the altar's blazing flame,

Radiant round the mighty offering tongues of red fire curling shone,
And the buck was duly roasted and the tender meat was done.

Pure from bath, with sacred mantra Rama did the holy rite,
And invoked the bright Immortals for to bless the dwelling site,



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58 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

To the kindly Viswa-devas, and to Rudra fierce and strong.
And to Vishnu Lord of Creatures, Rama raised the sacred song.

Righteous rite was duly rendered for the forest-dwelling made.
And with true and deep devotion was the sacred mantra prayed.

And the worship of the Bright Ones purified each earthly stain,
Pure- sou led Rama raised the altar and the chatty as sacred fane.

Evening spread its holy stillness, bush and tree its magic felt,
As the Gods in Brahma's mansions, exiles in their cottage dwelt,

In the woods of Chttra-kuta where the Malyavati flows,
Sixth day of their weary wand'rings ended in a sweet repose.



VIII

Tale of the Hermit's Son

Wise Sumantra chariot-driver came from Ganga's sacred wave,
And unto Ayodhya's monarch, banished Rama's message gave,

Dasa-ratha's heart was shadowed by the deepening shade of night,
As the darkness of the eclipse glooms the sun's meridian light !

On the sixth night, — when his Rama slept in Chitra-kuta's bower, —
Memory of an ancient sorrow flung on him its fatal power,

Of an ancient crime and anguish, unforgotten, dark and dread,
Through the lapse of years and seasons casting back its death-like shade !

And the gloom of midnight deepened, Dasa-ratha sinking fast,
To Kausalya sad and sorrowing spake his memories of the past :

" Deeds we do in life, Kausalya, be they bitter, be they sweet,
Bring their fruit and retribution, rich reward or suffering meet,



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THE DEATH OF THE KING 59

Heedless child is he, Kausalya, in his fate who doth not scan
Retribution of his karma, sequence of a mighty plan !

Oft in madness and in folly we destroy the mango grove.
Plant the gorgeous gay palasa for the red flower that we love,

Fruitless as the red palasa is the karma I have sown,

And my barren lifetime withers through the deed which is my own !

Listen to my tale, Kausalya, in my days of youth renowned,
I was called a sabda-bcdki, archer prince who shot by sound,

I could hit the unseen target, by the sound my aim could tell, —
Blindly drinks a child the poison, blindly in my pride I fell !

I was then my father's Regent, thou a maid to me unknown,
Hunting by the fair Sarayu in my car I drove alone,

Buffalo or jungle tusker might frequent the river's brink,
Nimble deer or watchful tiger stealing for his nightly drink,

Stalking with a hunter's patience, loitering in the forests drear,
Sound of something in the water struck my keen and listening ear,

In the dark I stood and listened, some wild beast the water drunk,
'Tis some elephant, I pondered, lifting water with its trunk.

I was called a sabda-bedhi, archer prince who shot by sound*
On the unseen fancied tusker dealt a sure and deadly wound,

Ah ! too deadly was my arrow and like hissing cobra fell,
On my startled ear and bosom smote a voice of human wail,

Dying voice of lamentation rose upon the midnight high,

Till my weapons fell in tremor and a darkness dimmed my eye !

Hastening with a nameless terror soon I reached Sarayu' s shore,
Saw a boy with hermit's tresses, and his pitcher lay before,

Weltering in a pool of red blood, lying on a gory bed,
Feebly raised his voice the hermit, and in dying accents said :



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60 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

< What offence, O mighty monarch, all-unknowing have I done,
That with quick and kingly justice slayest thus a hermit's son ?

Old and feeble are my parents, sightless by the will of fate,
Thirsty in their humble cottage for their duteous boy they wait,

And thy shaft that kills me, monarch, bids my ancient parents die,
Helpless, friendless, they will perish, in their anguish deep and high!

Sacred lore and life-long penance change not mortal's earthly state,
Wherefore else they sit unconscious when their son is doomed by fate,

Or if conscious of my danger, could they dying breath recall,
Can the tall tree save the sapling doomed by woodman's axe to fall?

Hasten to my parents, monarch, soothe their sorrow and their ire,
For the tears of good and righteous wither like the forest fire,

Short the pathway to the asram, soon the cottage thou shalt see,
Soothe their anger by entreaty, ask their grace and pardon free 1

But before thou goest, monarch, take, O take thy torturing dart,
For it rankles.in my bosom with a cruel burning smart,

And it eats into my young life as the river's rolling tide
By the rains of summer swollen eats into its yielding side.'

Writhing in his pain and anguish thus the wounded hermit cried,
And I drtw the fatal arrow, and the holy hermit died !

Darkly fell the thickening shadows, stars their feeble radiance lent,
As I filled the hermit's pitcher, to his sightless parents went,

Darkly fell the moonless midnight, deeper gloom my bosom rent,
As with faint and fait' ring footsteps to the hermits slow I went.

Like two birds bereft of plumage, void of strength, deprived of flight,
Were the stricken ancient hermits, friendless, helpless, void of sight,

Lisping in thek feeble accents still they whispered of their child,
Of the stainless hoy whose red blood Dasa-ratha's hands defiled !



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/ THE DEATH OF THE KING 61

And the father heard my footsteps, spake io accents soft and kind :
'Come, my son, to waiting parents, wherefore dost thou stay behind,

Sporting in the rippling water didst thou midnight's hour beguile,
But thy faint and thirsting mother anxious waits for thee the while,

Hath my heedless word or. utterance caused thy boyish bosom smart,
But a feeble father's failings may not wound thy filial heart,

Help of helpless, sight of sightless, and thy parents' life and joy,
Wherefore art thou mute and voiceless, speak, my brave and beauteous
boy ! '

Thus the sightless father welcomed cruel slayer of his son,
And an anguish tore my bosom for the action I had done,

Scarce upon the sonless parents could I lift my aching eye,
Scarce in faint and faltering accents to the father make reply,

For a tremor shook my person and my spirit sank in dread,
Straining all my utmost prowess, thus in quavering voice I said :

« Not thy son, O holyiiermit, but a Kshatra warrior born,
Dasa-ratha stands before thee by a cruel anguish torn,

For. I came to slay the tusker by Sarayu's wooded brink,
Buffalo or deer of jungle stealing for his midnight drink,

And I heard a distant gurgle, some wild beast the water drunk, —
So I thought, — some jungle tusker lifting water with its trunk,

And I sent my fatal arrow on the unknown, unseen prey,
Speeding to the spot I witnessed, — there a dying hermit lay !

From his pierced and quivering bosom then the cruel dart I drew,
And he sorrowed for his parents as his spirit heavenward flew,

Thus unconscious, holy father, I have slayed thy stainless son,
Speak my penance, or in mercy pardon deed unknowing done ! '



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6a THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

Slow and sadly by their bidding to the fatal spot I led,

Long and loud bewailed the parents by the cold unconscious dead,

And with hymns and holy water they performed the funeral rite,
Then with tears that burnt and withered, spake the hermit in his might:

' Sorrow for a son beloved Is a father's (Brest woe,
Sorrow for a son beloved, Dasa-ratha, thou shalt know I

See the parents weep and perish, grieving for a slaughtered son.
Thou shalt weep and thou shalt perish for a loved and righteous son !

Distant is the expiation, — but In fulness of the time,
Dasa-ratha' s death In anguish cleanses Dasa-ratha 9 s crime I *

Spake the old and sightless prophet ; then he made the funeral pyre,
And the father and the mother perished in the lighted fire,

Years have gone and many seasons, and in fulness of the time,
Comes the fruit of pride and folly and the harvest of my crime !

Rama eldest born and dearest, Lakshman true and faithful son,
Ah ! forgive a dying father and a cruel action done,

Queen Kaikeyi, thou hast heedless brought on Raghu's race this stain,
Banished are the guiltless children and thy lord and king is slain !

Lay thy hands on mine, Kausalya, wipe thy unavailing tear,
Speak a wife's consoling accents to a dying husband's ear,

Lay thy hands on mine, Sumitra, vision falls my closing eyes,
And for brave and banished Rama wings my spirit to the skies ! "

Hushed and silent passed the midnight, feebly still the monarch sighed,
Blessed Kausalya and Sumitra, blest his banished sons, and died.



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T



BOOK IV
RAMA-BHARATA-SAMBADA

(The Meeting of the Princes)

'HE scene of this Book is laid at Chitra-kuta. Bharat return-
ing from the kingdom of the Kaikeyas heard of his father's
death and his brother's exile, and refused the throne which had
been reserved for him. He wandered through the woods and
jungle to Chitra-kuta, and implored Rama to return to Ayodhya,
and seat himself on the throne of his father. But Rama had given
his word, and would not withdraw from it.

Few passages in the Epic are more impressive than Rama's wise
and kindly advice to Bharat on the duties of a ruler, and his firm
refusal to Bharat's passionate appeal to seat himself on the throne.
Equally touching is the lament of Queen Kausalya when she meets
Sita in the dress of an anchorite in the forest.

But one of the most curious passages in the whole Epic is the
speech of JabalLthe Sceptic* who denied heaven and a world here-
after. In ancient India as in ancient Greece there were different
schools of philosophers, some of them orthodox and some of them
extremely heterodox, and the greatest latitude of free thought was
permitted. In Jabali, the poet depicts a free-thinker of the broad-
est type. He ridicules the ideas of Duty and of Future Life with a
force of reasoning which a Greek sophist and philosopher could not
have surpassed. But Rama answers with the fervour of a righteous,
truth-loving, God-fearing man.

All persuasion was in vain, and Bharat returned to Ayodhya

with Rama's sandals, and placed them on the throne, as an emblem

of Rama's sovereignty during his voluntary exile. Rama himself

hen left Chitra-kuta and sought the deeper forests of Dandak, so

63 e

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64 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

that his friends and relations might not find him again during his
exile. He visited the hermitage of the Saiot Atri ; and the ancient
and venerable wife of Atri welcomed the young Sita, and robed her
in rich raiments and jewels, on the eve of her departure for the un-
explored wildernesses of the south.

The portions translated in this Book are the whole or the main
portions of Sections xcix., c, ci., civ., cviii., cix., cxiL, and
cxix. of Book ii. of the original text.



I

The Meeting: of the Brothers

Sorrowing for his sire departed Bharat to Ayodhya came,
But the exile of his brother stung his noble heart to flame,

Scorning sin-polluted empire, travelling with each widowed queen,
Sought through wood and trackless jungle Chitra-kuta's peaceful scene.

Royal guards and Saint Vasishtha loitered with the dames behind,
Onward pressed the eager Bharat, Rama's hermit-home to And,

Nestled in a jungle thicket, Rama's cottage rose in sight,
Thatched with leaves and twining branches, reared by Lakshman's
faithful might.

Faggots hewn of gnarled branches, blossoms culled from bush and tree,
Coats of bark and russet garments, kusa spread upon the lea,

Store of horns and branching antlers, fire- wood for the dewy night, —
Spake the dwelling of a hermit suited for a hermit's rite.

" Mark the scene," so Bharat uttered, "by the righteous rlsbi told,
Malyavati's rippling waters, Chitra-kuta's summit bold,



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THE MEETING OF THE PRINCES 65

Mark the dark and trackless forest where the untamed tuskers roam,
And the deep and hollow caverns where the wild beasts make their
home,

Mark the spacious wooded uplands, wreaths of smoke obscure the sky,
Hermits feed their flaming altars for their worship pure and high.

Done our weary work and wand'ring, righteous Rama here we meet,
Saint and king and honoured elder ! Bharat bows unto his feet,

Born a king of many nations, he hath forest refuge sought,
Yielded throne and mighty kingdom for a hermit's humble cot,

Honour unto righteous Rama, unto Sita true and bold,

Theirs be fair Kosala's empire, crown and sceptre, wealth and gold! "

Stately Sal and feathered palm-tree on the cottage lent their shade,
Strewn upon the sacred altar was the grass of kusa spread,

Gaily on the walls suspended hung two bows of ample height,
And their back with gold was pencilled, bright as Indra's bow of might,

Cased in broad unfailing quivers arrows shone like light of day,
And like flame-tongued fiery serpents cast a dread and lurid ray,

Resting in their golden scabbards lay the swords of warriors bold,
And the targets broad and ample bossed with rings of yellow gold,

Glove and gauntlet decked the cottage safe from fear of hostile men,
As from creatures of the forest is the lion's lordly den !

Calm in silent contemplation by the altar's sacred fire,
Holy in his pious purpose though begirt by weapons dire,

Clad in deer-skin pure and peaceful, poring on the sacred flame,
In his bark and hermit's tresses like an anchorite of fame,

Lion-shouldered, mighty-armed, but with gentle lotus eye,
Lord of wide earth ocean-girdled, but intent on penance high,



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66 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

Godlike as the holy Brahma, on a skin of dappled deer

Rama sat with meek-eyed Sita, faithful Lakshman loitered near !

" Is this he whom joyous nations called to fair Ayodhya's throne,
Now the friend of forest-rangers wandering in the woods alone.

Is this he who robed in purple made Ayodhya's mansions bright,
Now in jungle bark and deer-skin clad as holy anchorite,

Is this he whose wreathed ringlets fresh and holy fragrance shed,
Now a hermit's matted tresses cluster round his royal head,

Is this he whose royal yajnas filled the earth with righteous fame,
Now inured to hermit's labour by the altar's sacred flame,

Is this he whose brow and forehead royal gem and jewel graced,
Heir to proud Kosala's empire, eldest, noblest, and the best ? "

Thus lamented pious Bharat for his heart was anguish-rent.
As before the feet of Rama he in loving homage bent,

" Arya ! " in his choking accents this was all that Bharat said,
" Arya ! " spake the young Satrughna and he bent his holy head !

Rama to his loving bosom raised his brothers from his feet,
Ah, too deep is love for utterance when divided brothers meet,

Faithful Guha, brave Sumantra, bowed to Rama's righteous feet,
And a joy and mingled sadness filled the hermit's calm retreat !



II

Bharat' s Entreaty and Rama's Reply

" Speak, my true my faithful Bharat," so the righteous Rama cried,
" Wherefore to this jungle dwelling hast thou from Ayodhya hied,

Speak, my fond and loving brother, if our father bade thee come,
t living throne and spacious empire in this wilderness to roam ?



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THE MEETING OF THE PRINCES 67

Heir and Regent of Kosala ! Dost thou tend our father well,
And obey the lofty mandate from his royal lips that fell,

And the ancient Dasa-ratha, glorious still in regal might,

Doth he pass his bright life's evening in each pure and holy rite ?

Doth my mother, Queen Kausalya, still for Rama wet her eye,
And the gentle Queen Sumitra for her banished Lakshman sigh,

Doth the peerless Queen Kaikeyi pass her days in duties fair,
Guard her Bharat's mighty empire, tend him with a mother's care ?

Is each holy rite and homage to the Gods and Fathers done,
Is the honour due to elders, rendered by each duteous son,

Do thy warriors guard thy kingdom as of yore with matchless skill,
And with counsel deep and duteous do thy min'sters serve thy will ?

Rich thy fields in corn and produce fed by rivers broad and deep,
Rich thy green unending pastures with the kine and fattened sheep,

Tend the herdsman and his cattle, tend the tiller of the soil,
Watch and help with all thy bounty workmen in their peaceful toil,

For the monarch's highest duty is to serve his people's weal |
And the ruler's richest glory is to labour and to heal ! |

Guard thy forts with sleepless caution with the engines of the war,
With the men who shoot the arrow and who drive the flying car,

Guard Kosala's royal treasure, make thy gifts of wealth and food,
Not to lords and proud retainers, but to worthy and the good !

Render justice pure and spotless as befits thy royal line,
And to save the good and guiltless, Bharat, be it ever thine,

For the tears of suffering virtue wither like the thunder levin,
And they slay our men and cattle like the wrath of righteous heaven,

Fruitful be thy lore of Veda, fruitful be each pious rite,

Be thy queen a fruitful mother, be thy empire full of mi ght ! "



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68 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

Weeping, weeping, Bharat answered Dasa-ratha's eldest son,
" Dasa-ratha walks the bright sky, for his earthly task is done !

For impelled by Queen Kaikeyi to the woods he bade thee go,
And his spotless fame was clouded and his bosom sank in woe,

And my mother, late repenting, weeps her deed of deepest shame,
Weeps her wedded lord departed, and a woman's tarnished fame !

Thou alone canst wipe this insult by a deed of kindness done, —
Rule o'er Dasa-ratha's empire, Dasa-ratha's eldest son,

Weeping queens and loyal subjects supplicate thy noble grace, —
Rule o'er Raghu's ancient empire, son of Raghu's royal race !

For our ancient Law ordaineth and thy Duty makes it plain,
Eldest-born succeeds his father as the king of earth and main,

By the fair Earth loved and welcomed, Rama, be her wedded lord,
As by planet- jewelled Midnight is the radiant Moon adored !

And thy father's ancient min'sters and thy courtiers faithful still,
Wait to do thy righteous mandate and to senre thy royal will,

As a pupil, as a brother, as a slave, I seek thy grace, —

Come and rule thy father's empire, king of Raghu's royal race ! "

Weeping, on the feet of Rama, Bharat placed his lowly head,
Weeping for his sire departed, tears of sorrow Rama shed,

Then he raised his loving brother with an elder's deathless love,
Sorrow wakes our deepest kindness and our holiest feelings prove !

" But I may not," answered Rama, " seek Ayodhya's ancient throne,
For a righteous father's mandate duteous son may not disown,

And I may not, gentle brother, break the word of promise given,
To a king and to a father who is now a saint in heaven !

Not on thee, nor on thy mother, rests the censure or the blame,
Faithful to his father's wishes Rama to the forest came,



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THE MEETING OF THE PRINCES 69

iFor the son and duteous consort serve the father and the lord,
y ,p[igher than an empire's glory is a father's spoken word !

All inviolate is his mandate, — on Ayodhya's jewelled throne,
Or in pathless woods and jungle Rama shall his duty own,

All inviolate is the blessing by a loving mother given,

For she blessed my life in exile like a pitying saint of heaven !

Thou shalt rule the kingdom, Bharat, guard our loving people welly
Clad in wild bark and in deer '•skin I shall in the forests dwtJi,

So spake saintly Dasa-ratha in Ayodhya* s palace hall,

And a righteous father 9 s mandate duteous son may not recall / "



III

Kausalya's Lament and Rama's Reply

Slow and sad with Saint Vasishtha, with each widowed royal dame,
Unto Rama's hermit-cottage ancient Queen Kausalya came,

And she saw him clad in wild bark like a hermit stern and high,
And an anguish smote her bosom and a tear bedewed her eye.

Rama bowed unto his mother and each elder's blessings sought,
Held their feet in salutation with a holy reverence fraught,

And the queens with loving fingers, with a mother's tender care, \
Swept the dust of wood and jungle from his head and bosom faiiy*

Lakshman too in loving homage bent before each royal dame,
And they blessed the faithful hero spotless in his righteous fame.

Lastly came the soft-eyed Sita with obeisance soft and sweet,
And with hands in meekness folded bent her tresses to their feet,

Pain and anguish smote their bosoms, round their Sita as they prest,
As a mother clasps a daughter, clasped her in their loving breast !



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70 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

Torn from royal hall and mansion, ranger of the darksome wood,
Reft of home and kith and kindred by her forest hut she stood !

" Hast thou, daughter of Videha," weeping thus Kausalya said,
" Dwelt in woods and leafy cottage and in pathless jungle strayed,

Hast thou, Rama' 8 royal consort, lived a homeless anchorite,
Pale with rigid fast and penance, worn with toil of righteous rite?

But thy sweet face, gentle Sita, is like faded lotus dry,

And like lily parched by sunlight, lustreless thy beauteous eye,

Like the gold untimely tarnished is thy sorrow- shaded brow,
Like the moon by shadows darkened is thy form of beauty now !

And an anguish scathes my bosom like the withering forest fire,
Thus to see thee, duteous daughter, in misfortunes deep and dire,

Dark is wide Kosala's empire, dark is Raghu's royal house,
When in woods my Rama wanders and my Rama's royal spouse ! "

Sweetly, gentle Sita answered, answered Rama fair and tall,
That a righteous father 9 s mandate duteous son may not recall !



IV

Jabali's Reasoning and Rama's Reply

Jabali a learned Brahman and a Sophist skilled in word,
Questioned Faith and Law and Duty, spake to young Ayodhya's lord :

" Wherefore, Rama, idle maxims cloud thy heart and warp thy mind,
Maxims which mislead the simple and the thoughtless human kind ?

Love nor friendship doth a mortal to his kith or kindred own,
Entering on this wide earth friendless, and departing all alone,

Foolishly upon the father and the mother dotes the son,
Kinship is an idle fancy, — save thyself thy kith is none !



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THE MEETING OF THE PRINCES 71

In the wayside inn he halteth who in distant lands doth roam,
Leaves it with the dawning daylight for another transient home,

Thus on earth are kin and kindred, home and country, wealth and store,
We but meet them on our journey, leave them as we pass before !

Wherefore for a father's mandate leave thy empire and thy throne,
Pass thy days in trackless jungle sacrificing all thy own,

Wherefore to Ayodhya's city, as to longing wife's embrace,
Speed'st thou not to rule thy empire, lord of Raghu's royal race ?

Dasa-ratha claims no duty, and his will is empty word, j

View him as a foreign monarch, of thy realm thou art the lord,)

Dasa-ratha is departed, gone where all the mortals go,

For a dead man's idle mandate wherefore lead this life of woe ?

Ah ! I weep for erring mortals who on erring duty bent
Sacrifice their dear enjoyment till their barren life is spent,

Who to Gods and to the Fathers vainly still their offerings make,
Waste of food ! for God nor Father doth our pious homage take !

And the food by one partaken, can it nourish other men,
Food bestowed upon a Brahman, can it serve our Fathers then ?

Crafty priests have forged these maxims and with selfish objects say, — /
Make thy gifts and do thy penance, leave thy worldly wealth and pray !1

There is no Hereafter, Rama, vain the hope and creed of men,
Seek the pleasures of the_present, spurn illusions poor and vain,

Take the course of sense and wisdom, cast all idle faith aside,
Take the kingdom Bharat offers, rule Ayodhya in thy pride ! "

" Fair thy purpose," answered Rama, " false thy reason leads astray,
Tortuous wisdom brings no profit, virtue shuns the crooked way,

For the deed proclaims the hero from the man of spacious lies,
Marks the true and upright Arya from the scheming worldly-wise !



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72 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

If assuming virtue's mantle I should seek the sinful path,

God 8 who judge our secret motives curse me with their deepest wrath,

And thy counsel helps not, rishi, mansions of the sky to win,
And a king his subjects follow adding deeper sin to sin ! I

/Sweep aside thy crafty reasoning, Truth is still our ancient way,
I Truth sustains the earth and nations and a monarch's righteous sway,

Mighty Gods and holy sages find in Truth their haven shore,
Scorning death and dark destruction, Truth survives for evermore !

Deadlier than the serpent's venom is the venom of a lie,

From the false, than from the cobra, men with deeper terror fly,

Dearer than the food to mortals, Truth as nourishment is given,
Truth sustains the wide creation, Truth upholds the highest heaven !

Vain were gifts and sacrifices, rigid penances were vain,
Profitless the holy Vedas but for Truth which they sustain,

Gifts and rites and rigid penance have no aim or purpose high,
Save in Truth which rules the wide earth and the regions of the sky !

I have plighted truth and promise and my word may not unsay,
Fourteen years in pathless forests father's mandate I obey,

And I seek no spacious reasons my relinquished throne to win,
Gods nor Fathers nor the Vedas counsel tortuous paths of sin !

Pardon, rishi, still unchanging shall remain my promise given
To my mother Queen Kaikeyi, to my father now in heaven,

Pardon, rishi, still in jungle we shall seek the forest fare,
Worship Gods who watch our actions, and pervade the earth and air !

Unto Agni, unto Vayu, shall my constant prayers run,
I shall live like happy Indra, hundred sacrifices done,

And the deep and darksome jungle shall be Rama's royal hall, ; — i
For a righteous father* s mandate duteous son may not recall I "/



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THE MEETING OF THE PRINCES 73



The Sandals

Tears nor sighs nor sad entreaty Rama's changeless purpose shook,
Till once more with hands conjoined Bharat to his elder spoke :

" Rama, true to royal mercy, true to duties of thy race,

Grant this favour to thy mother, to thy brother grant this grace,

Vain were my unaided efforts to protect our father's throne,
Town and hamlet, lord and tiller, turn to thee and thee alone !

Unto Rama, friends and kinsmen, chiefs and warriors, turn in pain,
And each city chief and elder, and each humble Tillage swain,

Base thy empire strong, unshaken, on a loyal nation's will,

With thy worth and with thy valour serve thy faithful people still ! "

Rama raised the prostrate Bharat to his ever-loving breast,
And in voice of tuneful hansa thus his gentle speech addrest :

" Trust me, Bharat, lofty virtue, strength and will to thee belong,
Thou could'st rule a world-wide empire in thy faith and purpose strong,

And our father's ancient min'sters, ever faithful, wise and deep,
They shall help thee with their counsel and thy ancient frontiers keep.

List ! the Moon may lose his lustre, Himalaya lose his snow, i
Heaving Ocean pass his confines surging from the caves below, \

But the truth-abiding Rama will not move from promise given, \
He hath spoke and will not palter, help him righteous Gods in heaven ! *

Blazing like the Sun in splendour, beauteous like the Lord of Night,
Rama vowed his Vow of Duty, changeless in his holy might !

'* Humble token," answered Bharat, "still I seek from Rama's hand,
Token of his love and kindness, token of his high command,



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74 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

IFrom thy feet cast forth those sandals, they shall decorate the throne,
They shall nerve my heart to duty and shall safely guard thy own,

They shall to a loyal nation absent monarch's will proclaim,
Watch the frontiers of the empire and the people's homage claim ! "

Rama gave the loosened sandals as his younger humbly prayed,
Bharat bowed to them in homage and his parting purpose said :

" Not alone will banished Rama barks and matted tresses wear,
Fourteen years the crowned Bharat will in hermit's dress appear,

Henceforth Bharat dwells in palace guised as hermit of the wood,
In the sumptuous hall of feasting wild fruit is his only food,

f Fourteen years shall pass in waiting, weary toil and penance dire,
\Then, if Rama comes not living, Bharat dies upon the pyre ! "



VI

The Hermitge of Atri

With the sandals of his elder Bharat to Ayodhya went,
Rama sought for deeper forests on his arduous duty bent,

Wandering with his wife and Lakshman slowly sought the hermitage, I
Where resided saintly Atri, Vedic Bard and ancient sage.

Anasuya, wife of Atri, votaress of Gods above,

Welcomed Sita in her cottage, tended her with mother's love,

Gave her robe and holy garland, jewelled ring and chain of gold,
Heard the tale of love and sadness which the soft-eyed Sita told :

How the monarch of Videha held the plough and tilled the earthy
From the furrow made by ploughshare infant Sita sprang to birth,



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THE MEETING OF THE PRINCES 75

How the monarch of Videha welcomed kings of worth and pride,
Rama 'midst the gathered monarchs broke the bow and won the bride.

How by Queeil Kaikeyi's mandate Rama lost his father's throne,
Sita followed him in exile in the forest dark and lone !

Softly from the lips of Sita words of joy and sorrow fell,
And the pure-souled pious priestess wept to hear the tender tale,

And she kissed her on the forehead, held her on her ancient breast,
And in mother's tender accents thus her gentle thoughts exprest :

*« Sweet the tale you tell me, Sita, of thy wedding and thy love,
Of the true and tender Rama, righteous as the Gods above,

And thy wifely deep devotion fills my heart with purpose high,
Stay with us my gentle daughter for the night shades gather nigh.

Hastening from each distent region feathered songsters seek their nest,
Twitter in the leafy thickets ere they seek their nightly rest,

Hastening from their pure ablutions with their pitchers smooth and fair,
In their dripping barks the hermits to their evening rites repair,

And in sacred agni-hotra holy anchorites engage,

And a wreath of smoke ascending marks the altar of each sage.

Now a deeper shadow mantles bush and brake and trees around,
And a thick and inky darkness falls upon the distant ground,

Midnight prowlers of the jungle steal beneath the sable shade,
But the tame deer by the altar seeks his wonted nighdy bed.

Mark ! how by the stars encircled sails the radiant Lord of Night,
With his train of silver glory streaming o'er the azure height,

And thy consort waits thee, Sita, but before thou leavest, fair,
Let me deck thy brow and bosom with these jewels rich and rare,

t 01d these eyes and grey these tresses, but a thrill of joy is mine,
Thus to see thy youth and beauty in this gorgeous garment shine ! "



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76 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

Pleased at heart the ancient priestess clad her in apparel meet,
And the young wife glad and grateful bowed to Anasuya's feet,

Robed and jewelled, bright and beauteous, sweet-eyed Sita softly came.
Where with anxious heart awaited Rama prince of righteous fame.

With a wifely love and longing Sita met her hero bold,
Anasuya's love and kindness in her grateful accents told,

Rama and his brother listened of the grace by Sita gained,
Favours of the ancient priestess, pious blessings she had rained.

In the rishi's peaceful asram Rama passed the sacred night,

In the hushed and silent forest silvered by the moon's pale light,

Daylight dawned, to deeper forests Rama went serene and proud,
As the sun in mid-day splendour sinks within a bank of cloud !



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T ]



BOOK V
PANCHAVATI

(On the Banks of the Godavari)

'HE wanderings of Rama in the Deccan, his meeting with
Saint Agastya, and his residence on the banks of the Godavari
river, are narrated in this Book. The reader has now left Northern
India and crossed the Vindhya mountains ; and the scene of the
present and succeeding five Books is laid in the Deccan and Southern
India. The name of Agastya is connected with the Deccan, and many
are the legends told of this great Saint, before whom the Vindhya
mountains bent in awe, and by whose might the Southern ocean
was drained. It is likely that some religious teacher of that
name first penetrated beyond the Vindhyas, and founded the
first Aryan settlement in the Deccan, three thousand years ago.
He was pioneer, discoverer and settler, — the Indian Columbus
who opened out Southern India to Aryan colonization and Aryan
religion.

Two yojanas from Agastya* s hermitage, Rama built his forest
dwelling in the woods of Panchavati, near the sources of the
Godavari river, and within a hundred miles from the modern city
of Bombay. There he lived with his wife and brother in peace
and piety, and the Book closes with the description of an Indian
winter morning, when the brothers and Sita went for their ablutions
to the Godavari, and thought of their distant home in Oudh. The
description of the peaceful forest-life of the exiles comes in most
appropriately on the eve of stirring events which immediately
succeed, and which give a new turn to the story of the Epic. We
now stand therefore at the turning point of the poet's narrative ;

77



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78 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

he has sung of domestic incidents and of peaceful hermitages so
far ; he sings of dissensions and wars hereafter.

The portions translated in this Book form Sections i., xii.,
xiii., xv., and xvi. of Book iii. of the original text.



I

The Hermitage of Agastya

Righteous Rama, soft-eyed Sita, and the gallant Lakshman stood
In the wilderness of Dandak, — trackless, pathless, boundless wood,

But within its gloomy gorges, dark and deep and known to few.
Humble homes of hermit sages rose before the princes' view.

Coats of bark and scattered kusa spake their peaceful pure abode,
Seat of pious rite and penance which with holy splendour glowed,

Forest songsters knew the asram and the wild deer cropt its blade,
And the sweet- voiced sylvan wood-nymph haunted oft its holy shade,

Brightly blazed the sacred altar, vase and ladle stood around,
Fruit and blossom, skin and faggot, sanctified the holy ground.

From the broad and bending branches ripening fruits in clusters hung,
And with gifts and rich libations hermits raised the ancient song,

Lotus and the virgin lily danced upon the rippling rill,

And the golden sunlight glittered on the greenwoods calm and still,

And the consecrated woodland by the holy hermits trod,

Shone like Brahma's sky in lustre, hallowed by the grace of God !

Rama loosened there his bow-string and the peaceful scene surveyed,
And the holy sages welcomed wanderers in the forest shade,

Rama bright as Lord of Midnight, Sita with her saintly face,
Lakshman young and true and valiant, decked with warrior's peer-
less grace !



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ON THE BANKS OF THE GODAVARI 79

Leafy hut the holy sages to the royal guests assigned,
Brought them fruit and forest blossoms, blessed them with their bles*
sings kind,

** Raghu's son," thus spake the sages, " helper of each holy rite,
Portion of the royal Indra, fount of justice and of might,

On thy throne or in the forest, king of nations, lord of men,
Grant to us thy kind protection in this hermit's lonely den ! "

Homely fare and jungle produce were before the princes laid,
And the toil-worn, tender Sita slumbered in the asram's shade.

Thus from grove to grove they wandered, to each haunt of holy sage,
Sarabhanga's sacred dwelling and Sutikshna's hermitage,

Till they met the Saint Agastya, mightiest Saint of olden time,
Harbinger of holy culture in the wilds of Southern clime !

" Eldest born of Dasa-ratha, long and far hath Rama strayed," —
Thus to pupil of Agastya young and gallant Lakshman said, —

" With his faithful consort Sita in these wilds he wanders still,
I am righteous Rama's younger, duteous to his royal will,

And we pass these years of exile to our father's mandate true,
Fain to mighty Saint Agastya we would render homage due ! "

Listening to his words the hermit sought the shrine of Sacred Fire,
Spake the message of the princes to the Saint and ancient Sire :

" Righteous Rama, valiant Lakshman, saintly Sita seek this shade,
And to see thee, radiant ritbi, have in humble accents prayed."

" Hath he come," so spake Agastya, "Rama prince of Raghu's race,
Youth for whom this heart hath thirsted, youth endued with
righteous grace,

Hath he come with wife and brother to accept our greetings kind,
Wherefore came ye for permission, wherefore linger they behind ? "



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«b THE EPIC *>F fc'AMk, PRIW€£ OF INDIA

Rama and the soft-eyed* Ska were with gallant Larkshrhan led,
Where 'the l duh deer free and fearless roamed within the hoiyuhacfc,

Where the shrines of great Immortals stood in order thick and close,
And by bright and blazing altars chanted songs and hymns arose.

Brahma and the flaming Agni, Vishnu lord of heavenly light,
Indra and 'benign ViVAsahr ruler of the azure ! height,

Soma and the radiant Bhaga, and Kuvera lord of gold,
And Vidhatri great Creator Worshiped by'thesaints of t>ld,

Vayu breath of living creatures, Yama monarch of the dead,
And Varuna with his fetters Which the trembling sinners dread,

Holy Spirit of Gayatri goddess of the morning prayer,
Vasus and the hooded Nagas, golden- winged Garuda fair,

Kartikeya heavenly leader strong to conquer and to bless,
DHARMA'god of human duty and of human righteousness,

Shrines of all these bright Immortals ruling in the skies above,
Filled the pure and peaceful forest with a tsdm and holy love!

Girt by hermits righteous-hearted then the Saint Agastya came,
Rich in wealth of pious penance, rich in learning and in fame,

Mighty-arme*d Rama marked him radiant like the midday 'sun,
Bowed and' rendered due obeisance with each act of homage done,

Valiant Lakshman tall ahcl stately to the great Ajgastya bent,
With a woman' 8 soft devotion Sita bowed unto the saint.

Saint Agastya raised the princes, greeted them in accents sWeet,
Gave them fruit and herb and water, offered them the honoured seat,

With libations unto Agni offered welcome to each guest,

Food and drink beseeming hermits on the wearied princes (pressed.

"False the hermits," spake Agastya, "who to guests their dues deny,
Hunger they in life hereafter— like * the speaker ^>f a -lie,



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<Wl -PHE BANKS OF "WJE -GGWAtfARl 81

And a royal igbest : 4nd wanderer doth our foremost honour claim,
Car-borttekittgs protect the wide'earth by their pro^eds^d their* fame,

By these fruits and forest blossoms be our humble homage shewn,
By some gift, of Rama worthy, be Agastya's blessings known !

Take this bow, heroic Rama,— need for warlike arms is thine, —
Gems of more than earthly radiance on the goodly weapon shine,

Worshipper of righteous Vishnu ! Vishnu's wondrous weapon take,
Heavenly artist Viswa-karman shaped this bow of heavenly make !

Take this shining dart of Brahma radiant like a tongue of flame,
Sped by good and worthy archer never shall it miss its aim,

And this Indra's ample quiver filled with arrows true and keen,
Filled with arrows still unfailing in the battle's dreadful scene !

Take this sabre golden-hiked in its case of burnished gold,
Not unworthy of a monarch and a warrior true and bold,

Impious foes of bright Immortals know these weapons dread and dire,
Mowing down the ranks of foemen, scathing like the forest fire !

Be these weapons thy companions, — Rama, thou shdt need them oft, —
Meet and conquer still thy foemen like the Thunder- God aloft / "



II

The Counsel 6f Agastya

u Pleased am I," so spake Agastya, " in these forests dark and wild,
Thou hast come to seek me, Rama, with the saintly Janak's child,

But like pale and drooping blossom severed from the parent tree,
Far from heme in toil and trouble, faithful Sita follows thee,



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82 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

True to wedded lord and husband she hath followed Raghu's son,
, With a woman 9 8 deep devotion woman's duty she hath done !

How unlike the fickle woman, true while Fame and Fortune smile,
Faithless when misfortunes gather, loveless in her wicked wile,

How unlike the changeful woman, false as light the lightnings fling,
Keen as sabre, quick as tempest, swift as bird upon its wing !

Dead to Fortune's frown or favour, Sita still in truth abides,
As the star of Arundhati in her mansion still resides,

Rest thee with thy gentle consort, farther still she may not roam,
Holier were this hermit's forest as the saintly Sita's home ! "

" Great Agastya ! " answered Rama, " blessed is my banished life,
For thy kindness to an exile and his friendless homeless wife,

But in wilder, gloomier forests lonesome we must wander still,
Where a deeper, darker shadow settles on the rock and rill."

" Be it so," Agastya answered, " two short yqjans from this place,
Wild is Panchavati'8 forest where unseen the wild deer race,

Godavari's limpid waters through its gloomy gorges flow,
Fruit and root and luscious berries on its silent margin grow,

Seek that spot and with thy brother build a lonesome leafy home,
Tend thy true and toil-worn Sita, farther still she may not roam !

Not unknown to me the mandate by thy royal father given,

Not unseen thy endless wanderings destined by the will of Heaven,

Therefore Panchavati's forest marked I for thy woodland stay,
Where the ripening wild fruit clusters and the wild bird trills his lay,

Tend thy dear devoted Sita and protect each pious rite,
Matchless in thy warlike weapons peerless in thy princely might !

Mark yon gloomy Mahua forest stretching o'er the boundless lea,
Pass that wood and turning northward seek an old Nyagrodba tree,



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ON THE BANKS OF THE GODAVARI 83

Then ascend a sloping upland by a steep and lofty hill,

Thou shalt enter Panchavati, blossom-covered, calm and still ! "

Bowing to the great Agastya, Rama left the mighty sage,
Bowing to each saint and hermit, Lakshman left the hermitage,

And the princes tall and stately marched where Panchavati lay,
Soft-eyed Sita followed meekly where her Rama led the way !



Ill

The Forest of Panchavati

Godavari'8 limpid waters in her gloomy gorges strayed,
Unseen rangers of the jungle nestled in the darksome shade !

" Mark the woodlands," uttered Rama, " by the Saint Agastya told,
Panchavati 9 8 lonesome forest with its blossoms red and gold,

Skilled to scan the wood and jungle, Lakshman, cast thy eye around,
For our humble home and dwelling seek a low and level ground,

Where the river laves its margin with a soft and gentle kiss, \

Where my sweet and soft-eyed Sita may repose in sylvan bliss, t

Where the lawn is fresh and verdant and the kusa young and bright, £
And the creeper yields her blossoms for our sacrificial rite."

" Little can I help thee, brother," did the duteous Lakshman say,
" Thou art prompt to judge and fathom, Lakshman listens to obey ! "

" Mark this spot," so answered Rama, leading Lakshman by the hand,
" Soft the lawn of verdant kusa, beauteous blossoms light the land,

Mark the smiling lake of lotus gleaming with a radiance fair,
Wafting fresh and gentle fragrance o'er the rich and laden air,

Mark each scented shrub and creeper bending o'er the lucid wave,
Where the bank with soft caresses Godavari's waters lave !



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8* THE EPIC OF RAMft* PRING5 Qfi INItfA

Tuneful ducks frequent this margin, Cbulravakm breathe of love,
And the timid deer of jungle browse within the shady grove,

And the valleys are resonant with the peacock's clarion cry,

And the trees with budding blossoms glitter on the mountains high,

And the rocks in well-marked strata in their glittering lines appear,
Like the streaks of white and crimson painted on our tuskers fair!

Stately Sal and feathered palm-tree guard this darksome forest-land,
Golden date and flowering mango stretch afar on either hand,

Asok thrives and blazing Kinsuk, Chandan wafts a fragrance rare,
Asiva-karna and Khadira by the Sam dark and fair,

Beauteous spot for hermit-dwelling joyous with the voice of song,
Haunted by the timid wild deer and by black buck fleet and strong! "

Foe-compelling faithful Lakshman heard the words his elder said,
And by sturdy toil and labour stately home and dwelling made,

Spacious was the leafy cottage walled with moistened earth and soft,
Pillared with the stately, bamboo holding high the roof aloft,

Interlacing twigs and branches, corded from the ridge to eaves,^
Held the thatch of reed and branches and of jungle grass and leaver

And the floor was pressed and levelled and the toilsome task was dono,
And the structure rose in beauty for th$ righteous Raghu's son !

To the river for ablutions Lakshman, went of warlike fame,
With a store of fragrant lotus and of luscious berries came,

Sacrificing to the Bright Gods sacred hymns and mantras said,
Proudly then unto his elder shewed the home his hand had made.

In her soft and grateful accents gentle Sita praised his skill,
Praised a brother's loving labour, praised a hero's dauntless will,

Rama clasped his faithful Lakshman in a brother's fond embrace,
Spake in sweet and kindly accents with an elder's loving grace :



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<»ft Tftff ?£##& Off , TI*E GO^VA^ 8%

" HowcaqjRaroajhpmcl^^f^rcr^pric^^ovplikptlji^ renujjte^
Let him. hold thee, in his bosom, sojil of, love, and ami of mighty

And our father good and gracious, in, a righteous son like thee,
Lives agajn and treads thehrig^eartl^, from, the bonds^of YAMA^ree ! "

Thus spake Rama, and with Lakshman and with Sita child of love, 1
Dwelt in Panchavati's cottage as + the Bright Gods dwell 1 above !' I



IV

Winter in Panchav*ti,

Came and passed the golden autumn in the forest's gloomy shade,
And the. northern blasts of winter, swept along, tfefosjlpn^ gljtfjfc

When the chilly night was over* once at morn the prince of 'fame
For hi* mojnjng's, pure, .ablutions to the, Qodava^i carne^

Meek-eyed Sita softly followed with the. pitcher in hecarms*
Gallant Lakshman spake to Rama of the Indian winter's charms :

" Comes. the bright and bracing wjpter to the. royal Rama^deajy
Like a bride the beauteous season doth in richest robes appear,

Frosty ajf; and) freshening zephyrs, wake to life ejach t mart and plain^
And the corn in dewdrop sparkling makes a sea of waving green,

But tfye village maid and matron shun tlje. freezing river's shore,
By the fire the village elder tells the stirring tale of yore !

With the winter's ample harvest men perform each pious, rite,
To the Fathers long departed, to the Gods of holy mighf,

With the rite of agrayana pioufr men their, sins dispel*

And with gay and sweet observance songs- of love the women tell;

And the monarchsbent on, conquest mask the, winter;' Stcjoudleas glow*
Lead their bannered cars. and. forces Against the, rival and t^e fpe,!

South warfs rolls, the solar- chappy an4. % qo1o\ ajid w^flc-w^ Nop fc
Reft of '.bridal mask ' an4 joyanc^ cojyiy, sighs, hex 8pr^ws^ipr$J^



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86 THE EPIC OF RAMA, PRINCE OF INDIA

Southward rolls the solar chariot, Himalaya, * home of snow/
True to name and appellation doth in whiter garments glow,

Southward rolls the solar chariot, cold and crisp the frosty air,
And the wood of flower dismantled doth in russet robes appear !

Star of Pushya rules December and the pight with rime is hoar,
And beneath the starry welkin in the woods we sleep no more,

And the pale moon mist-enshrouded sheds a faint and feeble beam,
As the breath obscures the mirror, winter mist obscures her gleam,

Hidden by the rising vapour faint she glistens on the dale,
Like our sun-embrowned Sita with her toil and penance pale !

Sweeping blasts from western mountains through the gorges whistle by,
And the saras and the curlew raise their shrill and piercing cry,

Boundless fields of wheat and barley are with dewdrops moist and wet,
And the golden rice of winter ripens like the clustering date,

Peopled marts and rural hamlets wake to life and cheerful toil,
And the peaceful happy nations prosper on their fertile soil !

Mark the sun in morning vapours — like the moon subdued and pale —
Brightening as the day advances piercing through the darksome veil,

Mark his gay and golden lustre sparkling o'er the dewy lea,
Mantling hill and field and forest, painting bush and leaf and tree,

Mark it glisten on the green grass, on each bright and bending blade,
Lighten up the long drawn vista, shooting through the gloomy glade !

Thirst-impelled the lordly tusker still avoids the freezing drink,
Wild duck and the tuneful hansa doubtful watch the river's brink,

From the rivers wrapped in vapour unseen cries the wild curlew,
Unseen rolls the misty streamlet o'er its sandbank soaked in dew,

And the drooping water-lily bends her head beneath the frost,
Lost her fresh and fragrant beauty and her tender petals lost !



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ON THE BANKS OF THE GODAVARI 87

Now my errant fancy wanders to Ayodhya's distant town,
Where in hermit's barks and tresses Bharat wears the royal crown,

Scorning regal state and splendour, spurning pleasures loved of yore,
Spends his winter day in penance, sleeps at night upon the floor,

Aye 1 perchance Sarayu's waters seeks he now, serene and brave,
As we seek, when dawns the daylight, Godavari's limpid wave !

Rich of hue, with eye of lotus, truthful, faithful, strong of mind,
For the love he bears thee, Rama, spurns each joy of baser kind,

' False he proves unto his father who is led by mother's wile,' —
Vain this ancient impious adage — Bharat spurns his mother's guile,

Bharat's mother Queen Kaikeyi, Dasa-ratha's royal spouse,
Deep in craft, hath brought disaster on Ayodhya s royal house !

" Speak not thus," so Rama answered, "on Kaikeyi cast no blame,/
Honour still the righteous Bharat, honour still the royal dame,

Fixed in purpose and unchanging still in jungle wilds I roam,
But thy accents, gentle Lakshman, wake a longing for my home !

And my loving mem'ry lingers on each word from Bharat fell,
Sweeter than the draught of nectar, purer than the crystal well,

And my righteous purpose falters, shaken by a brother's love,
May we meet again our brother, if it please the Gods above ! "

Waked by love, a silent tear-drop fell on Godavari's wave,

True once more to righteous purpose Rama's heart was calm and brave,

Rama plunged into the river 'neath the morning's crimson beam,
Sita softly sought the waters as the lily seeks the stream,

And they prayed to Gods and Fathers with each rite and duty done,
And they sang the ancient mantra to the red and rising Sun,

With her lord, in loosened tresses Sita to her cottage came,
As with Rudra wanders Uma in Kailasa's hill of fame !



d by Google



BOOK VI

SITA-JftARAHA,

(SifaLost)



W 1



^E exchange the quiet life of Rama in holy hermitages for the
more stirring incidents of the Epic in this. Book. TheJove
of a Raksha princess for Rama and for Lakshman is re jectodr with
scorn, and smarting under insult and punishment she fires her
brother Ravan, the king of Ceylon, witn a thirst for vengeance.
The dwellers of Ceylon are described in the Epic as monsters of
various forms, and able to assume different sjiapes at wi}l f Ravan
sends Maricha in the shape of a beautiful, d^er to tempt ^w^
Rama and Lakshman from the cottage, and then finds his chance
for stealing away the unprotected Sita.

The misfortunes of our lives, according to Indian thinkers, are-
but the results of our misdeeds ; calamities are brought about by
our sins. And thus wej find in the Indian Epic, that a dark and
foul suspicion against Lakshman crossed the stainless mind of Sita,
and words of unmerited insult fell from her gentle, lips, on the ere
of the great calamity which clouded her life ever after. It was the
only occasion on which the ideal woman of the Epic harboured an
unjust thought or spoke an angry word ; and' it was followed 1 by
a tragic fate which few women on earth have suffered'. To the
millions of men and wonjen in Iindja, Sita re^ajns to this, day f the.
ideal of female love and female cjevoriqn . her, dark suspicions, a^gains^
Lakshman sprang out of an excess of her affectjpn for her husband ;
and her tragic fate and long trial proved that undying love.

The portions translated in this Book form the whole or the main
portions of Sections, xvii,, xviii,, xliii.^xly., xlvi., f xlvjj ; , and xjix,
of Book iii. of U>e ordinal t^xt.



d by Google



SITA LOST 89

I

Surpa-nakha in Love

As the Moon with starry Chitra dwells in azure skies above,
In his lonesome leafy cottage Rama dwelt in Sita's love,

And with Lakshman strong and valiant, quick to labour and obey,
Tales of bygone times recounting Rama passed the livelong day. '

And it so befell, a maiden, dweller of the darksome wood,

Led by wandering thought or fancy once before the cottage stood,

Surpa-nakha, Raksha maiden, sister of the Raksha lord*

Came and looked with eager longing till her soul was passion-stirred !

Looked on Rama lion-chested, mighty-armed,, lotus-eyed,
Stately as the jungle tusker, with hia crown of tresses tied,

Looked on Rama lofty-fronted, with a royal visage graced,.
Like Kandarpa young and lustrous, lotus-hued and lotus-faced !

What though she a Raksha maiden, poor in beauty plain in face,
Fell her glances passion-laden on the prince of peerless grace,

What though wild her eyes and tresses, and her accents counselled fear,
Soft-eyed Rama fired her bosom, and hia sweet voice thrilled her ear,

What though bent on deeds unholy, holy Rama won her heart,
And, for love makes bold a femaje, thus did. she her thoughts impart :

" Who be thou in hermit's vestments, in thy native beauty bright,
Friended by a youthful woman, armed with thy bow of might,

Who be thou in these lone regions where the Rakshas hold their sway,
Wherefore in a lonely cottage in this darksome jungle stay?"

With his wonted truth and candour Rama spake sedate and bold,
And the story of his exile to the Raksha maiden told :



d by Google

_________________
The Flesh of Fallen Angels! Come to me all! Asteroth,

Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Bapholada, Lucifer, Loki, Satan,

Cthulhu, Lilith, Della! Blood, to you all!

I'm the wolf, yeah!
I am the wolf! It's close, it's coming. You have come.
The witness to the end, of time. It's now! I will rise to
her side! I don't need the words!
I'm beyond the words!
Image

_________________
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Thu Feb 21, 2013 1:16 am
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