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The Divine Comedy (Dante's Inferno)
CANTO VIII
MY theme pursuing, I relate that ere We reach'd the lofty turret's
base, our eyes Its height ascended, where two cressets hung We mark'd,
and from afar another light Return the signal, so remote, that scarce
The eye could catch its beam. I turning round To the deep source of
knowledge, thus inquir'd: "Say what this means? and what that other
light In answer set? what agency doth this?" "There on the filthy
waters," he replied, "E'en now what next awaits us mayst thou see, If
the marsh-gender'd fog conceal it not." Never was arrow from the cord
dismiss'd, That ran its way so nimbly through the air, As a small
bark, that through the waves I spied Toward us coming, under the sole
sway Of one that ferried it, who cried aloud: "Art thou arriv'd, fell
spirit?"--"Phlegyas, Phlegyas, This time thou criest in vain," my lord
replied; "No longer shalt thou have us, but while o'er The slimy pool
we pass." As one who hears Of some great wrong he hath sustain'd,
whereat Inly he pines; so Phlegyas inly pin'd In his fierce ire. My
guide descending stepp'd Into the skiff, and bade me enter next Close
at his side; nor till my entrance seem'd The vessel freighted. Soon
as both embark'd, Cutting the waves, goes on the ancient prow, More
deeply than with others it is wont. While we our course o'er the dead
channel held. One drench'd in mire before me came, and said; "Who art
thou, that thou comest ere thine hour?" I answer'd: "Though I come, I
tarry not; But who art thou, that art become so foul?" "One, as thou
seest, who mourn: " he straight replied. To which I thus: " In
mourning and in woe, Curs'd spirit! tarry thou. I know thee well,
E'en thus in filth disguis'd." Then stretch'd he forth Hands to the
bark; whereof my teacher sage Aware, thrusting him back: "Away! down
there To the' other dogs!" then, with his arms my neck Encircling,
kiss'd my cheek, and spake: "O soul Justly disdainful! blest was she
in whom Thou was conceiv'd! He in the world was one For arrogance
noted; to his memory No virtue lends its lustre; even so Here is his
shadow furious. There above How many now hold themselves mighty kings
Who here like swine shall wallow in the mire, Leaving behind them
horrible dispraise!" I then: "Master! him fain would I behold Whelm'd
in these dregs, before we quit the lake." He thus: "Or ever to thy
view the shore Be offer'd, satisfied shall be that wish, Which well
deserves completion." Scarce his words Were ended, when I saw the
miry tribes Set on him with such violence, that yet For that render I
thanks to God and praise "To Filippo Argenti:" cried they all: And on
himself the moody Florentine Turn'd his avenging fangs. Him here we
left, Nor speak I of him more. But on mine ear Sudden a sound of
lamentation smote, Whereat mine eye unbarr'd I sent abroad. And thus
the good instructor: "Now, my son! Draws near the city, that of Dis is
nam'd, With its grave denizens, a mighty throng." I thus: "The
minarets already, Sir! There certes in the valley I descry, Gleaming
vermilion, as if they from fire Had issu'd." He replied: "Eternal
fire, That inward burns, shows them with ruddy flame Illum'd; as in
this nether hell thou seest." We came within the fosses deep, that
moat This region comfortless. The walls appear'd As they were fram'd
of iron. We had made Wide circuit, ere a place we reach'd, where loud
The mariner cried vehement: "Go forth! The' entrance is here!" Upon
the gates I spied More than a thousand, who of old from heaven Were
hurl'd. With ireful gestures, "Who is this," They cried, "that
without death first felt, goes through The regions of the dead?" My
sapient guide Made sign that he for secret parley wish'd; Whereat
their angry scorn abating, thus They spake: "Come thou alone; and let
him go Who hath so hardily enter'd this realm. Alone return he by his
witless way; If well he know it, let him prove. For thee, Here shalt
thou tarry, who through clime so dark Hast been his escort." Now
bethink thee, reader! What cheer was mine at sound of those curs'd
words. I did believe I never should return. "O my lov'd guide! who
more than seven times Security hast render'd me, and drawn From peril
deep, whereto I stood expos'd, Desert me not," I cried, "in this
extreme. And if our onward going be denied, Together trace we back our
steps with speed." My liege, who thither had conducted me, Replied:
"Fear not: for of our passage none Hath power to disappoint us, by
such high Authority permitted. But do thou Expect me here; meanwhile
thy wearied spirit Comfort, and feed with kindly hope, assur'd I will
not leave thee in this lower world." This said, departs the sire
benevolent, And quits me. Hesitating I remain At war 'twixt will and
will not in my thoughts. I could not hear what terms he offer'd them,
But they conferr'd not long, for all at once To trial fled within.
Clos'd were the gates By those our adversaries on the breast Of my
liege lord: excluded he return'd To me with tardy steps. Upon the
ground His eyes were bent, and from his brow eras'd All confidence,
while thus with sighs he spake: "Who hath denied me these abodes of
woe?" Then thus to me: "That I am anger'd, think No ground of terror:
in this trial I Shall vanquish, use what arts they may within For
hindrance. This their insolence, not new, Erewhile at gate less
secret they display'd, Which still is without bolt; upon its arch Thou
saw'st the deadly scroll: and even now On this side of its entrance,
down the steep, Passing the circles, unescorted, comes One whose
strong might can open us this land."
CANTO IX
THE hue, which coward dread on my pale cheeks Imprinted, when I saw my
guide turn back, Chas'd that from his which newly they had worn, And
inwardly restrain'd it. He, as one Who listens, stood attentive: for
his eye Not far could lead him through the sable air, And the
thick-gath'ring cloud. "It yet behooves We win this fight"--thus he
began--" if not-- Such aid to us is offer'd. --Oh, how long Me seems
it, ere the promis'd help arrive!" I noted, how the sequel of his
words Clok'd their beginning; for the last he spake Agreed not with
the first. But not the less My fear was at his saying; sith I drew To
import worse perchance, than that he held, His mutilated speech.
"Doth ever any Into this rueful concave's extreme depth Descend, out
of the first degree, whose pain Is deprivation merely of sweet hope?"
Thus I inquiring. "Rarely," he replied, "It chances, that among us any
makes This journey, which I wend. Erewhile 'tis true Once came I here
beneath, conjur'd by fell Erictho, sorceress, who compell'd the shades
Back to their bodies. No long space my flesh Was naked of me, when
within these walls She made me enter, to draw forth a spirit From out
of Judas' circle. Lowest place Is that of all, obscurest, and remov'd
Farthest from heav'n's all-circling orb. The road Full well I know:
thou therefore rest secure. That lake, the noisome stench exhaling,
round The city' of grief encompasses, which now We may not enter
without rage." Yet more He added: but I hold it not in mind, For
that mine eye toward the lofty tower Had drawn me wholly, to its
burning top. Where in an instant I beheld uprisen At once three
hellish furies stain'd with blood: In limb and motion feminine they
seem'd; Around them greenest hydras twisting roll'd Their volumes;
adders and cerastes crept Instead of hair, and their fierce temples
bound. He knowing well the miserable hags Who tend the queen of
endless woe, thus spake: "Mark thou each dire Erinnys. To the left
This is Megaera; on the right hand she, Who wails, Alecto; and
Tisiphone I' th' midst." This said, in silence he remain'd Their
breast they each one clawing tore; themselves Smote with their palms,
and such shrill clamour rais'd, That to the bard I clung,
suspicion-bound. "Hasten Medusa: so to adamant Him shall we change;"
all looking down exclaim'd. "E'en when by Theseus' might assail'd, we
took No ill revenge." "Turn thyself round, and keep Thy count'nance
hid; for if the Gorgon dire Be shown, and thou shouldst view it, thy
return Upwards would be for ever lost." This said, Himself my gentle
master turn'd me round, Nor trusted he my hands, but with his own He
also hid me. Ye of intellect Sound and entire, mark well the lore
conceal'd Under close texture of the mystic strain! And now there came
o'er the perturbed waves Loud-crashing, terrible, a sound that made
Either shore tremble, as if of a wind Impetuous, from conflicting
vapours sprung, That 'gainst some forest driving all its might, Plucks
off the branches, beats them down and hurls Afar; then onward passing
proudly sweeps Its whirlwind rage, while beasts and shepherds fly.
Mine eyes he loos'd, and spake: "And now direct Thy visual nerve along
that ancient foam, There, thickest where the smoke ascends." As frogs
Before their foe the serpent, through the wave Ply swiftly all, till
at the ground each one Lies on a heap; more than a thousand spirits
Destroy'd, so saw I fleeing before one Who pass'd with unwet feet the
Stygian sound. He, from his face removing the gross air, Oft his left
hand forth stretch'd, and seem'd alone By that annoyance wearied. I
perceiv'd That he was sent from heav'n, and to my guide Turn'd me, who
signal made that I should stand Quiet, and bend to him. Ah me! how
full Of noble anger seem'd he! To the gate He came, and with his wand
touch'd it, whereat Open without impediment it flew. "Outcasts of
heav'n! O abject race and scorn'd!" Began he on the horrid grunsel
standing, "Whence doth this wild excess of insolence Lodge in you?
wherefore kick you 'gainst that will Ne'er frustrate of its end, and
which so oft Hath laid on you enforcement of your pangs? What profits
at the fays to but the horn? Your Cerberus, if ye remember, hence
Bears still, peel'd of their hair, his throat and maw." This said, he
turn'd back o'er the filthy way, And syllable to us spake none, but
wore The semblance of a man by other care Beset, and keenly press'd,
than thought of him Who in his presence stands. Then we our steps
Toward that territory mov'd, secure After the hallow'd words. We
unoppos'd There enter'd; and my mind eager to learn What state a
fortress like to that might hold, I soon as enter'd throw mine eye
around, And see on every part wide-stretching space Replete with
bitter pain and torment ill. As where Rhone stagnates on the plains of
Arles, Or as at Pola, near Quarnaro's gulf, That closes Italy and
laves her bounds, The place is all thick spread with sepulchres; So
was it here, save what in horror here Excell'd: for 'midst the graves
were scattered flames, Wherewith intensely all throughout they burn'd,
That iron for no craft there hotter needs. Their lids all hung
suspended, and beneath From them forth issu'd lamentable moans, Such
as the sad and tortur'd well might raise. I thus: "Master! say who
are these, interr'd Within these vaults, of whom distinct we hear The
dolorous sighs?" He answer thus return'd: "The arch-heretics are
here, accompanied By every sect their followers; and much more, Than
thou believest, tombs are freighted: like With like is buried; and
the monuments Are different in degrees of heat. "This said, He to the
right hand turning, on we pass'd Betwixt the afflicted and the
ramparts high.
CANTO X
NOW by a secret pathway we proceed, Between the walls, that hem the
region round, And the tormented souls: my master first, I close
behind his steps. "Virtue supreme!" I thus began; "who through these
ample orbs In circuit lead'st me, even as thou will'st, Speak thou,
and satisfy my wish. May those, Who lie within these sepulchres, be
seen? Already all the lids are rais'd, and none O'er them keeps
watch." He thus in answer spake "They shall be closed all, what-time
they here From Josaphat return'd shall come, and bring Their bodies,
which above they now have left. The cemetery on this part obtain With
Epicurus all his followers, Who with the body make the spirit die.
Here therefore satisfaction shall be soon Both to the question ask'd,
and to the wish, Which thou conceal'st in silence." I replied: "I
keep not, guide belov'd! from thee my heart Secreted, but to shun vain
length of words, A lesson erewhile taught me by thyself." "O Tuscan!
thou who through the city of fire Alive art passing, so discreet of
speech! Here please thee stay awhile. Thy utterance Declares the place
of thy nativity To be that noble land, with which perchance I too
severely dealt." Sudden that sound Forth issu'd from a vault, whereat
in fear I somewhat closer to my leader's side Approaching, he thus
spake: "What dost thou? Turn. Lo, Farinata, there! who hath himself
Uplifted: from his girdle upwards all Expos'd behold him." On his
face was mine Already fix'd; his breast and forehead there Erecting,
seem'd as in high scorn he held E'en hell. Between the sepulchres to
him My guide thrust me with fearless hands and prompt, This warning
added: "See thy words be clear!" He, soon as there I stood at the
tomb's foot, Ey'd me a space, then in disdainful mood Address'd me:
"Say, what ancestors were thine?" I, willing to obey him, straight
reveal'd The whole, nor kept back aught: whence he, his brow Somewhat
uplifting, cried: "Fiercely were they Adverse to me, my party, and
the blood From whence I sprang: twice therefore I abroad Scatter'd
them." "Though driv'n out, yet they each time From all parts,"
answer'd I, "return'd; an art Which yours have shown, they are not
skill'd to learn." Then, peering forth from the unclosed jaw, Rose
from his side a shade, high as the chin, Leaning, methought, upon its
knees uprais'd. It look'd around, as eager to explore If there were
other with me; but perceiving That fond imagination quench'd, with
tears Thus spake: "If thou through this blind prison go'st. Led by
thy lofty genius and profound, Where is my son? and wherefore not with
thee?" I straight replied: "Not of myself I come, By him, who there
expects me, through this clime Conducted, whom perchance Guido thy son
Had in contempt." Already had his words And mode of punishment read
me his name, Whence I so fully answer'd. He at once Exclaim'd, up
starting, "How! said'st thou he HAD? No longer lives he? Strikes not
on his eye The blessed daylight?" Then of some delay I made ere my
reply aware, down fell Supine, not after forth appear'd he more.
Meanwhile the other, great of soul, near whom I yet was station'd,
chang'd not count'nance stern, Nor mov'd the neck, nor bent his ribbed
side. "And if," continuing the first discourse, "They in this art," he
cried, "small skill have shown, That doth torment me more e'en than
this bed. But not yet fifty times shall be relum'd Her aspect, who
reigns here Queen of this realm, Ere thou shalt know the full weight
of that art. So to the pleasant world mayst thou return, As thou shalt
tell me, why in all their laws, Against my kin this people is so
fell?" "The slaughter and great havoc," I replied, "That colour'd
Arbia's flood with crimson stain-- To these impute, that in our
hallow'd dome Such orisons ascend." Sighing he shook The head, then
thus resum'd: "In that affray I stood not singly, nor without just
cause Assuredly should with the rest have stirr'd; But singly there I
stood, when by consent Of all, Florence had to the ground been raz'd,
The one who openly forbad the deed." "So may thy lineage find at last
repose," I thus adjur'd him, "as thou solve this knot, Which now
involves my mind. If right I hear, Ye seem to view beforehand, that
which time Leads with him, of the present uninform'd." "We view, as
one who hath an evil sight," He answer'd, "plainly, objects far
remote: So much of his large spendour yet imparts The' Almighty Ruler;
but when they approach Or actually exist, our intellect Then wholly
fails, nor of your human state Except what others bring us know we
aught. Hence therefore mayst thou understand, that all Our knowledge
in that instant shall expire, When on futurity the portals close."
Then conscious of my fault, and by remorse Smitten, I added thus:
"Now shalt thou say To him there fallen, that his offspring still Is
to the living join'd; and bid him know, That if from answer silent I
abstain'd, 'Twas that my thought was occupied intent Upon that error,
which thy help hath solv'd." But now my master summoning me back I
heard, and with more eager haste besought The spirit to inform me, who
with him Partook his lot. He answer thus return'd: "More than a
thousand with me here are laid Within is Frederick, second of that
name, And the Lord Cardinal, and of the rest I speak not." He, this
said, from sight withdrew. But I my steps towards the ancient bard
Reverting, ruminated on the words Betokening me such ill. Onward he
mov'd, And thus in going question'd: "Whence the' amaze That holds
thy senses wrapt?" I satisfied The' inquiry, and the sage enjoin'd me
straight: "Let thy safe memory store what thou hast heard To thee
importing harm; and note thou this," With his rais'd finger bidding me
take heed, "When thou shalt stand before her gracious beam, Whose
bright eye all surveys, she of thy life The future tenour will to thee
unfold." Forthwith he to the left hand turn'd his feet: We left the
wall, and tow'rds the middle space Went by a path, that to a valley
strikes; Which e'en thus high exhal'd its noisome steam.
CANTO XI
UPON the utmost verge of a high bank, By craggy rocks environ'd round,
we came, Where woes beneath more cruel yet were stow'd: And here to
shun the horrible excess Of fetid exhalation, upward cast From the
profound abyss, behind the lid Of a great monument we stood retir'd,
Whereon this scroll I mark'd: "I have in charge Pope Anastasius, whom
Photinus drew From the right path.--Ere our descent behooves We make
delay, that somewhat first the sense, To the dire breath accustom'd,
afterward Regard it not." My master thus; to whom Answering I spake:
"Some compensation find That the time past not wholly lost." He then:
"Lo! how my thoughts e'en to thy wishes tend! My son! within these
rocks," he thus began, "Are three close circles in gradation plac'd,
As these which now thou leav'st. Each one is full Of spirits accurs'd;
but that the sight alone Hereafter may suffice thee, listen how And
for what cause in durance they abide. "Of all malicious act abhorr'd
in heaven, The end is injury; and all such end Either by force or
fraud works other's woe But fraud, because of man peculiar evil, To
God is more displeasing; and beneath The fraudulent are therefore
doom'd to' endure Severer pang. The violent occupy All the first
circle; and because to force Three persons are obnoxious, in three
rounds Hach within other sep'rate is it fram'd. To God, his neighbour,
and himself, by man Force may be offer'd; to himself I say And his
possessions, as thou soon shalt hear At full. Death, violent death,
and painful wounds Upon his neighbour he inflicts; and wastes By
devastation, pillage, and the flames, His substance. Slayers, and
each one that smites In malice, plund'rers, and all robbers, hence The
torment undergo of the first round In different herds. Man can do
violence To himself and his own blessings: and for this He in the
second round must aye deplore With unavailing penitence his crime,
Whoe'er deprives himself of life and light, In reckless lavishment his
talent wastes, And sorrows there where he should dwell in joy. To God
may force be offer'd, in the heart Denying and blaspheming his high
power, And nature with her kindly law contemning. And thence the
inmost round marks with its seal Sodom and Cahors, and all such as
speak Contemptuously' of the Godhead in their hearts. "Fraud, that in
every conscience leaves a sting, May be by man employ'd on one, whose
trust He wins, or on another who withholds Strict confidence. Seems
as the latter way Broke but the bond of love which Nature makes.
Whence in the second circle have their nest Dissimulation, witchcraft,
flatteries, Theft, falsehood, simony, all who seduce To lust, or set
their honesty at pawn, With such vile scum as these. The other way
Forgets both Nature's general love, and that Which thereto added
afterwards gives birth To special faith. Whence in the lesser circle,
Point of the universe, dread seat of Dis, The traitor is eternally
consum'd." I thus: "Instructor, clearly thy discourse Proceeds,
distinguishing the hideous chasm And its inhabitants with skill exact.
But tell me this: they of the dull, fat pool, Whom the rain beats, or
whom the tempest drives, Or who with tongues so fierce conflicting
meet, Wherefore within the city fire-illum'd Are not these punish'd,
if God's wrath be on them? And if it be not, wherefore in such guise
Are they condemned?" He answer thus return'd: "Wherefore in dotage
wanders thus thy mind, Not so accustom'd? or what other thoughts
Possess it? Dwell not in thy memory The words, wherein thy ethic page
describes Three dispositions adverse to Heav'n's will, Incont'nence,
malice, and mad brutishness, And how incontinence the least offends
God, and least guilt incurs? If well thou note This judgment, and
remember who they are, Without these walls to vain repentance doom'd,
Thou shalt discern why they apart are plac'd From these fell spirits,
and less wreakful pours Justice divine on them its vengeance down." "O
Sun! who healest all imperfect sight, Thou so content'st me, when thou
solv'st my doubt, That ignorance not less than knowledge charms. Yet
somewhat turn thee back," I in these words Continu'd, "where thou
saidst, that usury Offends celestial Goodness; and this knot Perplex'd
unravel." He thus made reply: "Philosophy, to an attentive ear,
Clearly points out, not in one part alone, How imitative nature takes
her course From the celestial mind and from its art: And where her
laws the Stagyrite unfolds, Not many leaves scann'd o'er, observing
well Thou shalt discover, that your art on her Obsequious follows, as
the learner treads In his instructor's step, so that your art Deserves
the name of second in descent From God. These two, if thou recall to
mind Creation's holy book, from the beginning Were the right source of
life and excellence To human kind. But in another path The usurer
walks; and Nature in herself And in her follower thus he sets at
nought, Placing elsewhere his hope. But follow now My steps on
forward journey bent; for now The Pisces play with undulating glance
Along the' horizon, and the Wain lies all O'er the north-west; and
onward there a space Is our steep passage down the rocky height."
CANTO XII
THE place where to descend the precipice We came, was rough as Alp,
and on its verge Such object lay, as every eye would shun. As is that
ruin, which Adice's stream On this side Trento struck, should'ring the
wave, Or loos'd by earthquake or for lack of prop; For from the
mountain's summit, whence it mov'd To the low level, so the headlong
rock Is shiver'd, that some passage it might give To him who from
above would pass; e'en such Into the chasm was that descent: and there
At point of the disparted ridge lay stretch'd The infamy of Crete,
detested brood Of the feign'd heifer: and at sight of us It gnaw'd
itself, as one with rage distract. To him my guide exclaim'd:
"Perchance thou deem'st The King of Athens here, who, in the world
Above, thy death contriv'd. Monster! avaunt! He comes not tutor'd by
thy sister's art, But to behold your torments is he come." Like to a
bull, that with impetuous spring Darts, at the moment when the fatal
blow Hath struck him, but unable to proceed Plunges on either side; so
saw I plunge The Minotaur; whereat the sage exclaim'd: "Run to the
passage! while he storms, 't is well That thou descend." Thus down
our road we took Through those dilapidated crags, that oft Mov'd
underneath my feet, to weight like theirs Unus'd. I pond'ring went,
and thus he spake: "Perhaps thy thoughts are of this ruin'd steep,
Guarded by the brute violence, which I Have vanquish'd now. Know then,
that when I erst Hither descended to the nether hell, This rock was
not yet fallen. But past doubt (If well I mark) not long ere He
arrived, Who carried off from Dis the mighty spoil Of the highest
circle, then through all its bounds Such trembling seiz'd the deep
concave and foul, I thought the universe was thrill'd with love,
Whereby, there are who deem, the world hath oft Been into chaos
turn'd: and in that point, Here, and elsewhere, that old rock toppled
down. But fix thine eyes beneath: the river of blood Approaches, in
the which all those are steep'd, Who have by violence injur'd." O
blind lust! O foolish wrath! who so dost goad us on In the brief life,
and in the eternal then Thus miserably o'erwhelm us. I beheld An
ample foss, that in a bow was bent, As circling all the plain; for so
my guide Had told. Between it and the rampart's base On trail ran
Centaurs, with keen arrows arm'd, As to the chase they on the earth
were wont. At seeing us descend they each one stood; And issuing from
the troop, three sped with bows And missile weapons chosen first; of
whom One cried from far: "Say to what pain ye come Condemn'd, who
down this steep have journied? Speak From whence ye stand, or else
the bow I draw." To whom my guide: "Our answer shall be made To
Chiron, there, when nearer him we come. Ill was thy mind, thus ever
quick and rash." Then me he touch'd, and spake: "Nessus is this, Who
for the fair Deianira died, And wrought himself revenge for his own
fate. He in the midst, that on his breast looks down, Is the great
Chiron who Achilles nurs'd; That other Pholus, prone to wrath."
Around The foss these go by thousands, aiming shafts At whatsoever
spirit dares emerge From out the blood, more than his guilt allows. We
to those beasts, that rapid strode along, Drew near, when Chiron took
an arrow forth, And with the notch push'd back his shaggy beard To the
cheek-bone, then his great mouth to view Exposing, to his fellows thus
exclaim'd: "Are ye aware, that he who comes behind Moves what he
touches? The feet of the dead Are not so wont." My trusty guide, who
now Stood near his breast, where the two natures join, Thus made
reply: "He is indeed alive, And solitary so must needs by me Be shown
the gloomy vale, thereto induc'd By strict necessity, not by delight.
She left her joyful harpings in the sky, Who this new office to my
care consign'd. He is no robber, no dark spirit I. But by that virtue,
which empowers my step To treat so wild a path, grant us, I pray, One
of thy band, whom we may trust secure, Who to the ford may lead us,
and convey Across, him mounted on his back; for he Is not a spirit
that may walk the air." Then on his right breast turning, Chiron thus
To Nessus spake: "Return, and be their guide. And if ye chance to
cross another troop, Command them keep aloof." Onward we mov'd, The
faithful escort by our side, along The border of the crimson-seething
flood, Whence from those steep'd within loud shrieks arose. Some there
I mark'd, as high as to their brow Immers'd, of whom the mighty
Centaur thus: "These are the souls of tyrants, who were given To blood
and rapine. Here they wail aloud Their merciless wrongs. Here
Alexander dwells, And Dionysius fell, who many a year Of woe wrought
for fair Sicily. That brow Whereon the hair so jetty clust'ring
hangs, Is Azzolino; that with flaxen locks Obizzo' of Este, in the
world destroy'd By his foul step-son." To the bard rever'd I turned
me round, and thus he spake; "Let him Be to thee now first leader, me
but next To him in rank." Then farther on a space The Centaur paus'd,
near some, who at the throat Were extant from the wave; and showing us
A spirit by itself apart retir'd, Exclaim'd: "He in God's bosom smote
the heart, Which yet is honour'd on the bank of Thames." A race I next
espied, who held the head, And even all the bust above the stream.
'Midst these I many a face remember'd well. Thus shallow more and more
the blood became, So that at last it but imbru'd the feet; And there
our passage lay athwart the foss. "As ever on this side the boiling
wave Thou seest diminishing," the Centaur said, "So on the other, be
thou well assur'd, It lower still and lower sinks its bed, Till in
that part it reuniting join, Where 't is the lot of tyranny to mourn.
There Heav'n's stern justice lays chastising hand On Attila, who was
the scourge of earth, On Sextus, and on Pyrrhus, and extracts Tears
ever by the seething flood unlock'd From the Rinieri, of Corneto this,
Pazzo the other nam'd, who fill'd the ways With violence and war."
This said, he turn'd, And quitting us, alone repass'd the ford.
CANTO XIII
ERE Nessus yet had reach'd the other bank, We enter'd on a forest,
where no track Of steps had worn a way. Not verdant there The
foliage, but of dusky hue; not light The boughs and tapering, but with
knares deform'd And matted thick: fruits there were none, but thorns
Instead, with venom fill'd. Less sharp than these, Less intricate the
brakes, wherein abide Those animals, that hate the cultur'd fields,
Betwixt Corneto and Cecina's stream. Here the brute Harpies make their
nest, the same Who from the Strophades the Trojan band Drove with dire
boding of their future woe. Broad are their pennons, of the human form
Their neck and count'nance, arm'd with talons keen The feet, and the
huge belly fledge with wings These sit and wail on the drear mystic
wood. The kind instructor in these words began: "Ere farther thou
proceed, know thou art now I' th' second round, and shalt be, till
thou come Upon the horrid sand: look therefore well Around thee, and
such things thou shalt behold, As would my speech discredit." On all
sides I heard sad plainings breathe, and none could see From whom they
might have issu'd. In amaze Fast bound I stood. He, as it seem'd,
believ'd, That I had thought so many voices came From some amid those
thickets close conceal'd, And thus his speech resum'd: "If thou lop
off A single twig from one of those ill plants, The thought thou hast
conceiv'd shall vanish quite." Thereat a little stretching forth my
hand, From a great wilding gather'd I a branch, And straight the trunk
exclaim'd: "Why pluck'st thou me?" Then as the dark blood trickled
down its side, These words it added: "Wherefore tear'st me thus? Is
there no touch of mercy in thy breast? Men once were we, that now are
rooted here. Thy hand might well have spar'd us, had we been The souls
of serpents." As a brand yet green, That burning at one end from the'
other sends A groaning sound, and hisses with the wind That forces out
its way, so burst at once, Forth from the broken splinter words and
blood. I, letting fall the bough, remain'd as one Assail'd by terror,
and the sage replied: "If he, O injur'd spirit! could have believ'd
What he hath seen but in my verse describ'd, He never against thee had
stretch'd his hand. But I, because the thing surpass'd belief,
Prompted him to this deed, which even now Myself I rue. But tell me,
who thou wast; That, for this wrong to do thee some amends, In the
upper world (for thither to return Is granted him) thy fame he may
revive." "That pleasant word of thine," the trunk replied "Hath so
inveigled me, that I from speech Cannot refrain, wherein if I indulge
A little longer, in the snare detain'd, Count it not grievous. I it
was, who held Both keys to Frederick's heart, and turn'd the wards,
Opening and shutting, with a skill so sweet, That besides me, into his
inmost breast Scarce any other could admittance find. The faith I bore
to my high charge was such, It cost me the life-blood that warm'd my
veins. The harlot, who ne'er turn'd her gloating eyes From Caesar's
household, common vice and pest Of courts, 'gainst me inflam'd the
minds of all; And to Augustus they so spread the flame, That my glad
honours chang'd to bitter woes. My soul, disdainful and disgusted,
sought Refuge in death from scorn, and I became, Just as I was, unjust
toward myself. By the new roots, which fix this stem, I swear, That
never faith I broke to my liege lord, Who merited such honour; and of
you, If any to the world indeed return, Clear he from wrong my memory,
that lies Yet prostrate under envy's cruel blow." First somewhat
pausing, till the mournful words Were ended, then to me the bard
began: "Lose not the time; but speak and of him ask, If more thou wish
to learn." Whence I replied: "Question thou him again of whatsoe'er
Will, as thou think'st, content me; for no power Have I to ask, such
pity' is at my heart." He thus resum'd; "So may he do for thee Freely
what thou entreatest, as thou yet Be pleas'd, imprison'd Spirit! to
declare, How in these gnarled joints the soul is tied; And whether any
ever from such frame Be loosen'd, if thou canst, that also tell."
Thereat the trunk breath'd hard, and the wind soon Chang'd into sounds
articulate like these; Briefly ye shall be answer'd. When departs The
fierce soul from the body, by itself Thence torn asunder, to the
seventh gulf By Minos doom'd, into the wood it falls, No place
assign'd, but wheresoever chance Hurls it, there sprouting, as a grain
of spelt, It rises to a sapling, growing thence A savage plant. The
Harpies, on its leaves Then feeding, cause both pain and for the pain
A vent to grief. We, as the rest, shall come For our own spoils, yet
not so that with them We may again be clad; for what a man Takes from
himself it is not just he have. Here we perforce shall drag them; and
throughout The dismal glade our bodies shall be hung, Each on the wild
thorn of his wretched shade." Attentive yet to listen to the trunk We
stood, expecting farther speech, when us A noise surpris'd, as when a
man perceives The wild boar and the hunt approach his place Of
station'd watch, who of the beasts and boughs Loud rustling round him
hears. And lo! there came Two naked, torn with briers, in headlong
flight, That they before them broke each fan o' th' wood. "Haste now,"
the foremost cried, "now haste thee death!" The' other, as seem'd,
impatient of delay Exclaiming, "Lano! not so bent for speed Thy
sinews, in the lists of Toppo's field." And then, for that perchance
no longer breath Suffic'd him, of himself and of a bush One group he
made. Behind them was the wood Full of black female mastiffs, gaunt
and fleet, As greyhounds that have newly slipp'd the leash. On him,
who squatted down, they stuck their fangs, And having rent him
piecemeal bore away The tortur'd limbs. My guide then seiz'd my hand,
And led me to the thicket, which in vain Mourn'd through its bleeding
wounds: "O Giacomo Of Sant' Andrea! what avails it thee," It cried,
"that of me thou hast made thy screen? For thy ill life what blame on
me recoils?" When o'er it he had paus'd, my master spake: "Say who
wast thou, that at so many points Breath'st out with blood thy
lamentable speech?" He answer'd: "Oh, ye spirits: arriv'd in time To
spy the shameful havoc, that from me My leaves hath sever'd thus,
gather them up, And at the foot of their sad parent-tree Carefully lay
them. In that city' I dwelt, Who for the Baptist her first patron
chang'd, Whence he for this shall cease not with his art To work her
woe: and if there still remain'd not On Arno's passage some faint
glimpse of him, Those citizens, who rear'd once more her walls Upon
the ashes left by Attila, Had labour'd without profit of their toil. I
slung the fatal noose from my own roof."
CANTO XIV
SOON as the charity of native land Wrought in my bosom, I the
scatter'd leaves Collected, and to him restor'd, who now Was hoarse
with utt'rance. To the limit thence We came, which from the third the
second round Divides, and where of justice is display'd Contrivance
horrible. Things then first seen Clearlier to manifest, I tell how
next A plain we reach'd, that from its sterile bed Each plant
repell'd. The mournful wood waves round Its garland on all sides, as
round the wood Spreads the sad foss. There, on the very edge, Our
steps we stay'd. It was an area wide Of arid sand and thick,
resembling most The soil that erst by Cato's foot was trod. Vengeance
of Heav'n! Oh ! how shouldst thou be fear'd By all, who read what here
my eyes beheld! Of naked spirits many a flock I saw, All weeping
piteously, to different laws Subjected: for on the' earth some lay
supine, Some crouching close were seated, others pac'd Incessantly
around; the latter tribe, More numerous, those fewer who beneath The
torment lay, but louder in their grief. O'er all the sand fell slowly
wafting down Dilated flakes of fire, as flakes of snow On Alpine
summit, when the wind is hush'd. As in the torrid Indian clime, the
son Of Ammon saw upon his warrior band Descending, solid flames, that
to the ground Came down: whence he bethought him with his troop To
trample on the soil; for easier thus The vapour was extinguish'd,
while alone; So fell the eternal fiery flood, wherewith The marble
glow'd underneath, as under stove The viands, doubly to augment the
pain. Unceasing was the play of wretched hands, Now this, now that way
glancing, to shake off The heat, still falling fresh. I thus began:
"Instructor! thou who all things overcom'st, Except the hardy demons,
that rush'd forth To stop our entrance at the gate, say who Is yon
huge spirit, that, as seems, heeds not The burning, but lies writhen
in proud scorn, As by the sultry tempest immatur'd?" Straight he
himself, who was aware I ask'd My guide of him, exclaim'd: "Such as I
was When living, dead such now I am. If Jove Weary his workman out,
from whom in ire He snatch'd the lightnings, that at my last day
Transfix'd me, if the rest be weary out At their black smithy
labouring by turns In Mongibello, while he cries aloud; "Help, help,
good Mulciber!" as erst he cried In the Phlegraean warfare, and the
bolts Launch he full aim'd at me with all his might, He never should
enjoy a sweet revenge." Then thus my guide, in accent higher rais'd
Than I before had heard him: "Capaneus! Thou art more punish'd, in
that this thy pride Lives yet unquench'd: no torrent, save thy rage,
Were to thy fury pain proportion'd full." Next turning round to me
with milder lip He spake: "This of the seven kings was one, Who girt
the Theban walls with siege, and held, As still he seems to hold, God
in disdain, And sets his high omnipotence at nought. But, as I told
him, his despiteful mood Is ornament well suits the breast that wears
it. Follow me now; and look thou set not yet Thy foot in the hot sand,
but to the wood Keep ever close." Silently on we pass'd To where
there gushes from the forest's bound A little brook, whose crimson'd
wave yet lifts My hair with horror. As the rill, that runs From
Bulicame, to be portion'd out Among the sinful women; so ran this Down
through the sand, its bottom and each bank Stone-built, and either
margin at its side, Whereon I straight perceiv'd our passage lay. "Of
all that I have shown thee, since that gate We enter'd first, whose
threshold is to none Denied, nought else so worthy of regard, As is
this river, has thine eye discern'd, O'er which the flaming volley all
is quench'd." So spake my guide; and I him thence besought, That
having giv'n me appetite to know, The food he too would give, that
hunger crav'd. "In midst of ocean," forthwith he began, "A desolate
country lies, which Crete is nam'd, Under whose monarch in old times
the world Liv'd pure and chaste. A mountain rises there, Call'd Ida,
joyous once with leaves and streams, Deserted now like a forbidden
thing. It was the spot which Rhea, Saturn's spouse, Chose for the
secret cradle of her son; And better to conceal him, drown'd in shouts
His infant cries. Within the mount, upright An ancient form there
stands and huge, that turns His shoulders towards Damiata, and at Rome
As in his mirror looks. Of finest gold His head is shap'd, pure
silver are the breast And arms; thence to the middle is of brass. And
downward all beneath well-temper'd steel, Save the right foot of
potter's clay, on which Than on the other more erect he stands, Each
part except the gold, is rent throughout; And from the fissure tears
distil, which join'd Penetrate to that cave. They in their course
Thus far precipitated down the rock Form Acheron, and Styx, and
Phlegethon; Then by this straiten'd channel passing hence Beneath,
e'en to the lowest depth of all, Form there Cocytus, of whose lake
(thyself Shall see it) I here give thee no account." Then I to him:
"If from our world this sluice Be thus deriv'd; wherefore to us but
now Appears it at this edge?" He straight replied: "The place, thou
know'st, is round; and though great part Thou have already pass'd,
still to the left Descending to the nethermost, not yet Hast thou the
circuit made of the whole orb. Wherefore if aught of new to us appear,
It needs not bring up wonder in thy looks." Then I again inquir'd:
"Where flow the streams Of Phlegethon and Lethe? for of one Thou
tell'st not, and the other of that shower, Thou say'st, is form'd."
He answer thus return'd: "Doubtless thy questions all well pleas'd I
hear. Yet the red seething wave might have resolv'd One thou
proposest. Lethe thou shalt see, But not within this hollow, in the
place, Whither to lave themselves the spirits go, Whose blame hath
been by penitence remov'd." He added: "Time is now we quit the wood.
Look thou my steps pursue: the margins give Safe passage, unimpeded
by the flames; For over them all vapour is extinct."