{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_8784/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_8784","id":"gutenberg_8784","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8784","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Epic poetry, Italian -- Translations into English","Hell -- Poetry","Italian poetry -- To 1400 -- Translations into English"],"text":"Produced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE VISION\n\nOF\n\nHELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE\n\n\n\n\n\nBY\n\nDANTE ALIGHIERI\n\n\n\nTRANSLATED BY\n\nTHE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A.\n\n\n\nHELL\n\nOR THE INFERNO\n\n\nPart 6\n\n\nCantos 13 - 17\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XIII\n\nERE Nessus yet had reach'd the other bank,\nWe enter'd on a forest, where no track\nOf steps had worn a way.  Not verdant there\nThe foliage, but of dusky hue; not light\nThe boughs and tapering, but with knares deform'd\nAnd matted thick: fruits there were none, but thorns\nInstead, with venom fill'd. Less sharp than these,\nLess intricate the brakes, wherein abide\nThose animals, that hate the cultur'd fields,\nBetwixt Corneto and Cecina's stream.\n\nHere the brute Harpies make their nest, the same\nWho from the Strophades the Trojan band\nDrove with dire boding of their future woe.\nBroad are their pennons, of the human form\nTheir neck and count'nance, arm'd with talons keen\nThe feet, and the huge belly fledge with wings\nThese sit and wail on the drear mystic wood.\n\nThe kind instructor in these words began:\n\"Ere farther thou proceed, know thou art now\nI' th' second round, and shalt be, till thou come\nUpon the horrid sand: look therefore well\nAround thee, and such things thou shalt behold,\nAs would my speech discredit.\"  On all sides\nI heard sad plainings breathe, and none could see\nFrom whom they might have issu'd.  In amaze\nFast bound I stood.  He, as it seem'd, believ'd,\nThat I had thought so many voices came\nFrom some amid those thickets close conceal'd,\nAnd thus his speech resum'd: \"If thou lop off\nA single twig from one of those ill plants,\nThe thought thou hast conceiv'd shall vanish quite.\"\n\nThereat a little stretching forth my hand,\nFrom a great wilding gather'd I a branch,\nAnd straight the trunk exclaim'd: \"Why pluck'st thou me?\"\n\nThen as the dark blood trickled down its side,\nThese words it added: \"Wherefore tear'st me thus?\nIs there no touch of mercy in thy breast?\nMen once were we, that now are rooted here.\nThy hand might well have spar'd us, had we been\nThe souls of serpents.\"  As a brand yet green,\nThat burning at one end from the' other sends\nA groaning sound, and hisses with the wind\nThat forces out its way, so burst at once,\nForth from the broken splinter words and blood.\n\nI, letting fall the bough, remain'd as one\nAssail'd by terror, and the sage replied:\n\"If he, O injur'd spirit! could have believ'd\nWhat he hath seen but in my verse describ'd,\nHe never against thee had stretch'd his hand.\nBut I, because the thing surpass'd belief,\nPrompted him to this deed, which even now\nMyself I rue.  But tell me, who thou wast;\nThat, for this wrong to do thee some amends,\nIn the upper world (for thither to return\nIs granted him) thy fame he may revive.\"\n\n\"That pleasant word of thine,\" the trunk replied\n\"Hath so inveigled me, that I from speech\nCannot refrain, wherein if I indulge\nA little longer, in the snare detain'd,\nCount it not grievous.  I it was, who held\nBoth keys to Frederick's heart, and turn'd the wards,\nOpening and shutting, with a skill so sweet,\nThat besides me, into his inmost breast\nScarce any other could admittance find.\nThe faith I bore to my high charge was such,\nIt cost me the life-blood that warm'd my veins.\nThe harlot, who ne'er turn'd her gloating eyes\nFrom Caesar's household, common vice and pest\nOf courts, 'gainst me inflam'd the minds of all;\nAnd to Augustus they so spread the flame,\nThat my glad honours chang'd to bitter woes.\nMy soul, disdainful and disgusted, sought\nRefuge in death from scorn, and I became,\nJust as I was, unjust toward myself.\nBy the new roots, which fix this stem, I swear,\nThat never faith I broke to my liege lord,\nWho merited such honour; and of you,\nIf any to the world indeed return,\nClear he from wrong my memory, that lies\nYet prostrate under envy's cruel blow.\"\n\nFirst somewhat pausing, till the mournful words\nWere ended, then to me the bard began:\n\"Lose not the time; but speak and of him ask,\nIf more thou wish to learn.\"  Whence I replied:\n\"Question thou him again of whatsoe'er\nWill, as thou think'st, content me; for no power\nHave I to ask, such pity' is at my heart.\"\n\nHe thus resum'd; \"So may he do for thee\nFreely what thou entreatest, as thou yet\nBe pleas'd, imprison'd Spirit! to declare,\nHow in these gnarled joints the soul is tied;\nAnd whether any ever from such frame\nBe loosen'd, if thou canst, that also tell.\"\n\nThereat the trunk breath'd hard, and the wind soon\nChang'd into sounds articulate like these;\n\n\"Briefly ye shall be answer'd.  When departs\nThe fierce soul from the body, by itself\nThence torn asunder, to the seventh gulf\nBy Minos doom'd, into the wood it falls,\nNo place assign'd, but wheresoever chance\nHurls it, there sprouting, as a grain of spelt,\nIt rises to a sapling, growing thence\nA savage plant.  The Harpies, on its leaves\nThen feeding, cause both pain and for the pain\nA vent to grief.  We, as the rest, shall come\nFor our own spoils, yet not so that with them\nWe may again be clad; for what a man\nTakes from himself it is not just he have.\nHere we perforce shall drag them; and throughout\nThe dismal glade our bodies shall be hung,\nEach on the wild thorn of his wretched shade.\"\n\nAttentive yet to listen to the trunk\nWe stood, expecting farther speech, when us\nA noise surpris'd, as when a man perceives\nThe wild boar and the hunt approach his place\nOf station'd watch, who of the beasts and boughs\nLoud rustling round him hears.  And lo! there came\nTwo naked, torn with briers, in headlong flight,\nThat they before them broke each fan o' th' wood.\n\"Haste now,\" the foremost cried, \"now haste thee death!\"\n\nThe' other, as seem'd, impatient of delay\nExclaiming, \"Lano! not so bent for speed\nThy sinews, in the lists of Toppo's field.\"\nAnd then, for that perchance no longer breath\nSuffic'd him, of himself and of a bush\nOne group he made.  Behind them was the wood\nFull of black female mastiffs, gaunt and fleet,\nAs greyhounds that have newly slipp'd the leash.\nOn him, who squatted down, they stuck their fangs,\nAnd having rent him piecemeal bore away\nThe tortur'd limbs.  My guide then seiz'd my hand,\nAnd led me to the thicket, which in vain\nMourn'd through its bleeding wounds: \"O Giacomo\nOf Sant' Andrea! what avails it thee,\"\nIt cried, \"that of me thou hast made thy screen?\nFor thy ill life what blame on me recoils?\"\n\nWhen o'er it he had paus'd, my master spake:\n\"Say who wast thou, that at so many points\nBreath'st out with blood thy lamentable speech?\"\n\nHe answer'd: \"Oh, ye spirits: arriv'd in time\nTo spy the shameful havoc, that from me\nMy leaves hath sever'd thus, gather them up,\nAnd at the foot of their sad parent-tree\nCarefully lay them.  In that city' I dwelt,\nWho for the Baptist her first patron chang'd,\nWhence he for this shall cease not with his art\nTo work her woe: and if there still remain'd not\nOn Arno's passage some faint glimpse of him,\nThose citizens, who rear'd once more her walls\nUpon the ashes left by Attila,\nHad labour'd without profit of their toil.\nI slung the fatal noose from my own roof.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XIV\n\nSOON as the charity of native land\nWrought in my bosom, I the scatter'd leaves\nCollected, and to him restor'd, who now\nWas hoarse with utt'rance.  To the limit thence\nWe came, which from the third the second round\nDivides, and where of justice is display'd\nContrivance horrible.  Things then first seen\nClearlier to manifest, I tell how next\nA plain we reach'd, that from its sterile bed\nEach plant repell'd. The mournful wood waves round\nIts garland on all sides, as round the wood\nSpreads the sad foss.  There, on the very edge,\nOur steps we stay'd.  It was an area wide\nOf arid sand and thick, resembling most\nThe soil that erst by Cato's foot was trod.\n\nVengeance of Heav'n!  Oh! how shouldst thou be fear'd\nBy all, who read what here my eyes beheld!\n\nOf naked spirits many a flock I saw,\nAll weeping piteously, to different laws\nSubjected: for on the' earth some lay supine,\nSome crouching close were seated, others pac'd\nIncessantly around; the latter tribe,\nMore numerous, those fewer who beneath\nThe torment lay, but louder in their grief.\n\nO'er all the sand fell slowly wafting down\nDilated flakes of fire, as flakes of snow\nOn Alpine summit, when the wind is hush'd.\nAs in the torrid Indian clime, the son\nOf Ammon saw upon his warrior band\nDescending, solid flames, that to the ground\nCame down: whence he bethought him with his troop\nTo trample on the soil; for easier thus\nThe vapour was extinguish'd, while alone;\nSo fell the eternal fiery flood, wherewith\nThe marble glow'd underneath, as under stove\nThe viands, doubly to augment the pain.\n\nUnceasing was the play of wretched hands,\nNow this, now that way glancing, to shake off\nThe heat, still falling fresh.  I thus began:\n\"Instructor! thou who all things overcom'st,\nExcept the hardy demons, that rush'd forth\nTo stop our entrance at the gate, say who\nIs yon huge spirit, that, as seems, heeds not\nThe burning, but lies writhen in proud scorn,\nAs by the sultry tempest immatur'd?\"\n\nStraight he himself, who was aware I ask'd\nMy guide of him, exclaim'd: \"Such as I was\nWhen living, dead such now I am.  If Jove\nWeary his workman out, from whom in ire\nHe snatch'd the lightnings, that at my last day\nTransfix'd me, if the rest be weary out\nAt their black smithy labouring by turns\nIn Mongibello, while he cries aloud;\n\"Help, help, good Mulciber!\" as erst he cried\nIn the Phlegraean warfare, and the bolts\nLaunch he full aim'd at me with all his might,\nHe never should enjoy a sweet revenge.\"\n\nThen thus my guide, in accent higher rais'd\nThan I before had heard him: \"Capaneus!\nThou art more punish'd, in that this thy pride\nLives yet unquench'd: no torrent, save thy rage,\nWere to thy fury pain proportion'd full.\"\n\nNext turning round to me with milder lip\nHe spake: \"This of the seven kings was one,\nWho girt the Theban walls with siege, and held,\nAs still he seems to hold, God in disdain,\nAnd sets his high omnipotence at nought.\nBut, as I told him, his despiteful mood\nIs ornament well suits the breast that wears it.\nFollow me now; and look thou set not yet\nThy foot in the hot sand, but to the wood\nKeep ever close.\"  Silently on we pass'd\nTo where there gushes from the forest's bound\nA little brook, whose crimson'd wave yet lifts\nMy hair with horror.  As the rill, that runs\nFrom Bulicame, to be portion'd out\nAmong the sinful women; so ran this\nDown through the sand, its bottom and each bank\nStone-built, and either margin at its side,\nWhereon I straight perceiv'd our passage lay.\n\n\"Of all that I have shown thee, since that gate\nWe enter'd first, whose threshold is to none\nDenied, nought else so worthy of regard,\nAs is this river, has thine eye discern'd,\nO'er which the flaming volley all is quench'd.\"\n\nSo spake my guide; and I him thence besought,\nThat having giv'n me appetite to know,\nThe food he too would give, that hunger crav'd.\n\n\"In midst of ocean,\" forthwith he began,\n\"A desolate country lies, which Crete is nam'd,\nUnder whose monarch in old times the world\nLiv'd pure and chaste.  A mountain rises there,\nCall'd Ida, joyous once with leaves and streams,\nDeserted now like a forbidden thing.\nIt was the spot which Rhea, Saturn's spouse,\nChose for the secret cradle of her son;\nAnd better to conceal him, drown'd in shouts\nHis infant cries.  Within the mount, upright\nAn ancient form there stands and huge, that turns\nHis shoulders towards Damiata, and at Rome\nAs in his mirror looks.  Of finest gold\nHis head is shap'd, pure silver are the breast\nAnd arms; thence to the middle is of brass.\nAnd downward all beneath well-temper'd steel,\nSave the right foot of potter's clay, on which\nThan on the other more erect he stands,\nEach part except the gold, is rent throughout;\nAnd from the fissure tears distil, which join'd\nPenetrate to that cave.  They in their course\nThus far precipitated down the rock\nForm Acheron, and Styx, and Phlegethon;\nThen by this straiten'd channel passing hence\nBeneath, e'en to the lowest depth of all,\nForm there Cocytus, of whose lake (thyself\nShall see it) I here give thee no account.\"\n\nThen I to him: \"If from our world this sluice\nBe thus deriv'd; wherefore to us but now\nAppears it at this edge?\"  He straight replied:\n\"The place, thou know'st, is round; and though great part\nThou have already pass'd, still to the left\nDescending to the nethermost, not yet\nHast thou the circuit made of the whole orb.\nWherefore if aught of new to us appear,\nIt needs not bring up wonder in thy looks.\"\n\nThen I again inquir'd: \"Where flow the streams\nOf Phlegethon and Lethe? for of one\nThou tell'st not, and the other of that shower,\nThou say'st, is form'd.\"  He answer thus return'd:\n\"Doubtless thy questions all well pleas'd I hear.\nYet the red seething wave might have resolv'd\nOne thou proposest.  Lethe thou shalt see,\nBut not within this hollow, in the place,\nWhither to lave themselves the spirits go,\nWhose blame hath been by penitence remov'd.\"\nHe added: \"Time is now we quit the wood.\nLook thou my steps pursue: the margins give\nSafe passage, unimpeded by the flames;\nFor over them all vapour is extinct.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XV\n\nOne of the solid margins bears us now\nEnvelop'd in the mist, that from the stream\nArising, hovers o'er, and saves from fire\nBoth piers and water.  As the Flemings rear\nTheir mound, 'twixt Ghent and Bruges, to chase back\nThe ocean, fearing his tumultuous tide\nThat drives toward them, or the Paduans theirs\nAlong the Brenta, to defend their towns\nAnd castles, ere the genial warmth be felt\nOn Chiarentana's top; such were the mounds,\nSo fram'd, though not in height or bulk to these\nMade equal, by the master, whosoe'er\nHe was, that rais'd them here.  We from the wood\nWere not so far remov'd, that turning round\nI might not have discern'd it, when we met\nA troop of spirits, who came beside the pier.\n\nThey each one ey'd us, as at eventide\nOne eyes another under a new moon,\nAnd toward us sharpen'd their sight as keen,\nAs an old tailor at his needle's eye.\n\nThus narrowly explor'd by all the tribe,\nI was agniz'd of one, who by the skirt\nCaught me, and cried, \"What wonder have we here!\"\n\nAnd I, when he to me outstretch'd his arm,\nIntently fix'd my ken on his parch'd looks,\nThat although smirch'd with fire, they hinder'd not\nBut I remember'd him; and towards his face\nMy hand inclining, answer'd: \"Sir!  Brunetto!\n\n\"And art thou here?\"  He thus to me: \"My son!\nOh let it not displease thee, if Brunetto\nLatini but a little space with thee\nTurn back, and leave his fellows to proceed.\"\n\nI thus to him replied: \"Much as I can,\nI thereto pray thee; and if thou be willing,\nThat I here seat me with thee, I consent;\nHis leave, with whom I journey, first obtain'd.\"\n\n\"O son!\" said he, \"whoever of this throng\nOne instant stops, lies then a hundred years,\nNo fan to ventilate him, when the fire\nSmites sorest.  Pass thou therefore on.  I close\nWill at thy garments walk, and then rejoin\nMy troop, who go mourning their endless doom.\"\n\nI dar'd not from the path descend to tread\nOn equal ground with him, but held my head\nBent down, as one who walks in reverent guise.\n\n\"What chance or destiny,\" thus he began,\n\"Ere the last day conducts thee here below?\nAnd who is this, that shows to thee the way?\"\n\n\"There up aloft,\" I answer'd, \"in the life\nSerene, I wander'd in a valley lost,\nBefore mine age had to its fullness reach'd.\nBut yester-morn I left it: then once more\nInto that vale returning, him I met;\nAnd by this path homeward he leads me back.\"\n\n\"If thou,\" he answer'd, \"follow but thy star,\nThou canst not miss at last a glorious haven:\nUnless in fairer days my judgment err'd.\nAnd if my fate so early had not chanc'd,\nSeeing the heav'ns thus bounteous to thee, I\nHad gladly giv'n thee comfort in thy work.\nBut that ungrateful and malignant race,\nWho in old times came down from Fesole,\nAy and still smack of their rough mountain-flint,\nWill for thy good deeds shew thee enmity.\nNor wonder; for amongst ill-savour'd crabs\nIt suits not the sweet fig-tree lay her fruit.\nOld fame reports them in the world for blind,\nCovetous, envious, proud.  Look to it well:\nTake heed thou cleanse thee of their ways.  For thee\nThy fortune hath such honour in reserve,\nThat thou by either party shalt be crav'd\nWith hunger keen: but be the fresh herb far\nFrom the goat's tooth.  The herd of Fesole\nMay of themselves make litter, not touch the plant,\nIf any such yet spring on their rank bed,\nIn which the holy seed revives, transmitted\nFrom those true Romans, who still there remain'd,\nWhen it was made the nest of so much ill.\"\n\n\"Were all my wish fulfill'd,\" I straight replied,\n\"Thou from the confines of man's nature yet\nHadst not been driven forth; for in my mind\nIs fix'd, and now strikes full upon my heart\nThe dear, benign, paternal image, such\nAs thine was, when so lately thou didst teach me\nThe way for man to win eternity;\nAnd how I priz'd the lesson, it behooves,\nThat, long as life endures, my tongue should speak,\nWhat of my fate thou tell'st, that write I down:\nAnd with another text to comment on\nFor her I keep it, the celestial dame,\nWho will know all, if I to her arrive.\nThis only would I have thee clearly note:\nThat so my conscience have no plea against me;\nDo fortune as she list, I stand prepar'd.\nNot new or strange such earnest to mine ear.\nSpeed fortune then her wheel, as likes her best,\nThe clown his mattock; all things have their course.\"\n\nThereat my sapient guide upon his right\nTurn'd himself back, then look'd at me and spake:\n\"He listens to good purpose who takes note.\"\n\nI not the less still on my way proceed,\nDiscoursing with Brunetto, and inquire\nWho are most known and chief among his tribe.\n\n\"To know of some is well;\" thus he replied,\n\"But of the rest silence may best beseem.\nTime would not serve us for report so long.\nIn brief I tell thee, that all these were clerks,\nMen of great learning and no less renown,\nBy one same sin polluted in the world.\nWith them is Priscian, and Accorso's son\nFrancesco herds among that wretched throng:\nAnd, if the wish of so impure a blotch\nPossess'd thee, him thou also might'st have seen,\nWho by the servants' servant was transferr'd\nFrom Arno's seat to Bacchiglione, where\nHis ill-strain'd nerves he left.  I more would add,\nBut must from farther speech and onward way\nAlike desist, for yonder I behold\nA mist new-risen on the sandy plain.\nA company, with whom I may not sort,\nApproaches.  I commend my TREASURE to thee,\nWherein I yet survive; my sole request.\"\n\nThis said he turn'd, and seem'd as one of those,\nWho o'er Verona's champain try their speed\nFor the green mantle, and of them he seem'd,\nNot he who loses but who gains the prize.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XVI\n\nNOW came I where the water's din was heard,\nAs down it fell into the other round,\nResounding like the hum of swarming bees:\nWhen forth together issu'd from a troop,\nThat pass'd beneath the fierce tormenting storm,\nThree spirits, running swift.  They towards us came,\nAnd each one cried aloud, \"Oh do thou stay!\nWhom by the fashion of thy garb we deem\nTo be some inmate of our evil land.\"\n\nAh me! what wounds I mark'd upon their limbs,\nRecent and old, inflicted by the flames!\nE'en the remembrance of them grieves me yet.\n\nAttentive to their cry my teacher paus'd,\nAnd turn'd to me his visage, and then spake;\n\"Wait now! our courtesy these merit well:\nAnd were 't not for the nature of the place,\nWhence glide the fiery darts, I should have said,\nThat haste had better suited thee than them.\"\n\nThey, when we stopp'd, resum'd their ancient wail,\nAnd soon as they had reach'd us, all the three\nWhirl'd round together in one restless wheel.\nAs naked champions, smear'd with slippery oil,\nAre wont intent to watch their place of hold\nAnd vantage, ere in closer strife they meet;\nThus each one, as he wheel'd, his countenance\nAt me directed, so that opposite\nThe neck mov'd ever to the twinkling feet.\n\n\"If misery of this drear wilderness,\"\nThus one began, \"added to our sad cheer\nAnd destitute, do call forth scorn on us\nAnd our entreaties, let our great renown\nIncline thee to inform us who thou art,\nThat dost imprint with living feet unharm'd\nThe soil of Hell.  He, in whose track thou see'st\nMy steps pursuing, naked though he be\nAnd reft of all, was of more high estate\nThan thou believest; grandchild of the chaste\nGualdrada, him they Guidoguerra call'd,\nWho in his lifetime many a noble act\nAchiev'd, both by his wisdom and his sword.\nThe other, next to me that beats the sand,\nIs Aldobrandi, name deserving well,\nIn the' upper world, of honour; and myself\nWho in this torment do partake with them,\nAm Rusticucci, whom, past doubt, my wife\nOf savage temper, more than aught beside\nHath to this evil brought.\"  If from the fire\nI had been shelter'd, down amidst them straight\nI then had cast me, nor my guide, I deem,\nWould have restrain'd my going; but that fear\nOf the dire burning vanquish'd the desire,\nWhich made me eager of their wish'd embrace.\n\nI then began: \"Not scorn, but grief much more,\nSuch as long time alone can cure, your doom\nFix'd deep within me, soon as this my lord\nSpake words, whose tenour taught me to expect\nThat such a race, as ye are, was at hand.\nI am a countryman of yours, who still\nAffectionate have utter'd, and have heard\nYour deeds and names renown'd.  Leaving the gall\nFor the sweet fruit I go, that a sure guide\nHath promis'd to me.  But behooves, that far\nAs to the centre first I downward tend.\"\n\n\"So may long space thy spirit guide thy limbs,\"\nHe answer straight return'd; \"and so thy fame\nShine bright, when thou art gone; as thou shalt tell,\nIf courtesy and valour, as they wont,\nDwell in our city, or have vanish'd clean?\nFor one amidst us late condemn'd to wail,\nBorsiere, yonder walking with his peers,\nGrieves us no little by the news he brings.\"\n\n\"An upstart multitude and sudden gains,\nPride and excess, O Florence! have in thee\nEngender'd, so that now in tears thou mourn'st!\"\nThus cried I with my face uprais'd, and they\nAll three, who for an answer took my words,\nLook'd at each other, as men look when truth\nComes to their ear.  \"If thou at other times,\"\nThey all at once rejoin'd, \"so easily\nSatisfy those, who question, happy thou,\nGifted with words, so apt to speak thy thought!\nWherefore if thou escape this darksome clime,\nReturning to behold the radiant stars,\nWhen thou with pleasure shalt retrace the past,\nSee that of us thou speak among mankind.\"\n\nThis said, they broke the circle, and so swift\nFled, that as pinions seem'd their nimble feet.\n\nNot in so short a time might one have said\n\"Amen,\" as they had vanish'd. Straight my guide\nPursu'd his track.  I follow'd; and small space\nHad we pass'd onward, when the water's sound\nWas now so near at hand, that we had scarce\nHeard one another's speech for the loud din.\n\nE'en as the river, that holds on its course\nUnmingled, from the mount of Vesulo,\nOn the left side of Apennine, toward\nThe east, which Acquacheta higher up\nThey call, ere it descend into the vale,\nAt Forli by that name no longer known,\nRebellows o'er Saint Benedict, roll'd on\nFrom the' Alpine summit down a precipice,\nWhere space enough to lodge a thousand spreads;\nThus downward from a craggy steep we found,\nThat this dark wave resounded, roaring loud,\nSo that the ear its clamour soon had stunn'd.\n\nI had a cord that brac'd my girdle round,\nWherewith I erst had thought fast bound to take\nThe painted leopard.  This when I had all\nUnloosen'd from me (so my master bade)\nI gather'd up, and stretch'd it forth to him.\nThen to the right he turn'd, and from the brink\nStanding few paces distant, cast it down\nInto the deep abyss.  \"And somewhat strange,\"\nThus to myself I spake, \"signal so strange\nBetokens, which my guide with earnest eye\nThus follows.\"  Ah! what caution must men use\nWith those who look not at the deed alone,\nBut spy into the thoughts with subtle skill!\n\n\"Quickly shall come,\" he said, \"what I expect,\nThine eye discover quickly, that whereof\nThy thought is dreaming.\"  Ever to that truth,\nWhich but the semblance of a falsehood wears,\nA man, if possible, should bar his lip;\nSince, although blameless, he incurs reproach.\nBut silence here were vain; and by these notes\nWhich now I sing, reader!  I swear to thee,\nSo may they favour find to latest times!\nThat through the gross and murky air I spied\nA shape come swimming up, that might have quell'd\nThe stoutest heart with wonder, in such guise\nAs one returns, who hath been down to loose\nAn anchor grappled fast against some rock,\nOr to aught else that in the salt wave lies,\nWho upward springing close draws in his feet.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XVII\n\n\"LO! the fell monster with the deadly sting!\nWho passes mountains, breaks through fenced walls\nAnd firm embattled spears, and with his filth\nTaints all the world!\"  Thus me my guide address'd,\nAnd beckon'd him, that he should come to shore,\nNear to the stony causeway's utmost edge.\n\nForthwith that image vile of fraud appear'd,\nHis head and upper part expos'd on land,\nBut laid not on the shore his bestial train.\nHis face the semblance of a just man's wore,\nSo kind and gracious was its outward cheer;\nThe rest was serpent all: two shaggy claws\nReach'd to the armpits, and the back and breast,\nAnd either side, were painted o'er with nodes\nAnd orbits.  Colours variegated more\nNor Turks nor Tartars e'er on cloth of state\nWith interchangeable embroidery wove,\nNor spread Arachne o'er her curious loom.\nAs ofttimes a light skiff, moor'd to the shore,\nStands part in water, part upon the land;\nOr, as where dwells the greedy German boor,\nThe beaver settles watching for his prey;\nSo on the rim, that fenc'd the sand with rock,\nSat perch'd the fiend of evil.  In the void\nGlancing, his tail upturn'd its venomous fork,\nWith sting like scorpion's arm'd.  Then thus my guide:\n\"Now need our way must turn few steps apart,\nFar as to that ill beast, who couches there.\"\n\nThereat toward the right our downward course\nWe shap'd, and, better to escape the flame\nAnd burning marle, ten paces on the verge\nProceeded.  Soon as we to him arrive,\nA little further on mine eye beholds\nA tribe of spirits, seated on the sand\nNear the wide chasm.  Forthwith my master spake:\n\"That to the full thy knowledge may extend\nOf all this round contains, go now, and mark\nThe mien these wear: but hold not long discourse.\nTill thou returnest, I with him meantime\nWill parley, that to us he may vouchsafe\nThe aid of his strong shoulders.\"  Thus alone\nYet forward on the' extremity I pac'd\nOf that seventh circle, where the mournful tribe\nWere seated.  At the eyes forth gush'd their pangs.\nAgainst the vapours and the torrid soil\nAlternately their shifting hands they plied.\nThus use the dogs in summer still to ply\nTheir jaws and feet by turns, when bitten sore\nBy gnats, or flies, or gadflies swarming round.\n\nNoting the visages of some, who lay\nBeneath the pelting of that dolorous fire,\nOne of them all I knew not; but perceiv'd,\nThat pendent from his neck each bore a pouch\nWith colours and with emblems various mark'd,\nOn which it seem'd as if their eye did feed.\n\nAnd when amongst them looking round I came,\nA yellow purse I saw with azure wrought,\nThat wore a lion's countenance and port.\nThen still my sight pursuing its career,\nAnother I beheld, than blood more red.\nA goose display of whiter wing than curd.\nAnd one, who bore a fat and azure swine\nPictur'd on his white scrip, addressed me thus:\n\"What dost thou in this deep?  Go now and know,\nSince yet thou livest, that my neighbour here\nVitaliano on my left shall sit.\nA Paduan with these Florentines am I.\nOfttimes they thunder in mine ears, exclaiming\n'O haste that noble knight! he who the pouch\nWith the three beaks will bring!'\"  This said, he writh'd\nThe mouth, and loll'd the tongue out, like an ox\nThat licks his nostrils.  I, lest longer stay\nHe ill might brook, who bade me stay not long,\nBackward my steps from those sad spirits turn'd.\n\nMy guide already seated on the haunch\nOf the fierce animal I found; and thus\nHe me encourag'd.  \"Be thou stout; be bold.\nDown such a steep flight must we now descend!\nMount thou before: for that no power the tail\nMay have to harm thee, I will be i' th' midst.\"\n\nAs one, who hath an ague fit so near,\nHis nails already are turn'd blue, and he\nQuivers all o'er, if he but eye the shade;\nSuch was my cheer at hearing of his words.\nBut shame soon interpos'd her threat, who makes\nThe servant bold in presence of his lord.\n\nI settled me upon those shoulders huge,\nAnd would have said, but that the words to aid\nMy purpose came not, \"Look thou clasp me firm!\"\n\nBut he whose succour then not first I prov'd,\nSoon as I mounted, in his arms aloft,\nEmbracing, held me up, and thus he spake:\n\"Geryon! now move thee! be thy wheeling gyres\nOf ample circuit, easy thy descent.\nThink on th' unusual burden thou sustain'st.\"\n\nAs a small vessel, back'ning out from land,\nHer station quits; so thence the monster loos'd,\nAnd when he felt himself at large, turn'd round\nThere where the breast had been, his forked tail.\nThus, like an eel, outstretch'd at length he steer'd,\nGath'ring the air up with retractile claws.\n\nNot greater was the dread when Phaeton\nThe reins let drop at random, whence high heaven,\nWhereof signs yet appear, was wrapt in flames;\nNor when ill-fated Icarus perceiv'd,\nBy liquefaction of the scalded wax,\nThe trusted pennons loosen'd from his loins,\nHis sire exclaiming loud, \"Ill way thou keep'st!\"\nThan was my dread, when round me on each part\nThe air I view'd, and other object none\nSave the fell beast.  He slowly sailing, wheels\nHis downward motion, unobserv'd of me,\nBut that the wind, arising to my face,\nBreathes on me from below.  Now on our right\nI heard the cataract beneath us leap\nWith hideous crash; whence bending down to' explore,\nNew terror I conceiv'd at the steep plunge:\n\nFor flames I saw, and wailings smote mine ear:\nSo that all trembling close I crouch'd my limbs,\nAnd then distinguish'd, unperceiv'd before,\nBy the dread torments that on every side\nDrew nearer, how our downward course we wound.\n\nAs falcon, that hath long been on the wing,\nBut lure nor bird hath seen, while in despair\nThe falconer cries, \"Ah me! thou stoop'st to earth!\"\nWearied descends, and swiftly down the sky\nIn many an orbit wheels, then lighting sits\nAt distance from his lord in angry mood;\nSo Geryon lighting places us on foot\nLow down at base of the deep-furrow'd rock,\nAnd, of his burden there discharg'd, forthwith\nSprang forward, like an arrow from the string.\n\n\n\n===7\n\n\nTHE VISION\n\nOF\n\nHELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE\n\n\nOR THE INFERNO\n\n\nBY\n\nDANTE ALIGHIERI\n\n\n\nTRANSLATED BY\n\nTHE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A.\n\n\n\nHELL\n\n\nPart 7\n\n\nCantos 18 - 22\n\n\n\nCANTO XVIII\n\nTHERE is a place within the depths of hell\nCall'd Malebolge, all of rock dark-stain'd\nWith hue ferruginous, e'en as the steep\nThat round it circling winds.  Right in the midst\nOf that abominable region, yawns\nA spacious gulf profound, whereof the frame\nDue time shall tell.  The circle, that remains,\nThroughout its round, between the gulf and base\nOf the high craggy banks, successive forms\nTen trenches, in its hollow bottom sunk.\n\nAs where to guard the walls, full many a foss\nBegirds some stately castle, sure defence\nAffording to the space within, so here\nWere model'd these; and as like fortresses\nE'en from their threshold to the brink without,\nAre flank'd with bridges; from the rock's low base\nThus flinty paths advanc'd, that 'cross the moles\nAnd dikes, struck onward far as to the gulf,\nThat in one bound collected cuts them off.\nSuch was the place, wherein we found ourselves\nFrom Geryon's back dislodg'd. The bard to left\nHeld on his way, and I behind him mov'd.\n\nOn our right hand new misery I saw,\nNew pains, new executioners of wrath,\nThat swarming peopled the first chasm.  Below\nWere naked sinners.  Hitherward they came,\nMeeting our faces from the middle point,\nWith us beyond but with a larger stride.\nE'en thus the Romans, when the year returns\nOf Jubilee, with better speed to rid\nThe thronging multitudes, their means devise\nFor such as pass the bridge; that on one side\nAll front toward the castle, and approach\nSaint Peter's fane, on th' other towards the mount.\n\nEach divers way along the grisly rock,\nHorn'd demons I beheld, with lashes huge,\nThat on their back unmercifully smote.\nAh! how they made them bound at the first stripe!\n\nNone for the second waited nor the third.\n\nMeantime as on I pass'd, one met my sight\nWhom soon as view'd; \"Of him,\" cried I, \"not yet\nMine eye hath had his fill.\"  With fixed gaze\nI therefore scann'd him.  Straight the teacher kind\nPaus'd with me, and consented I should walk\nBackward a space, and the tormented spirit,\nWho thought to hide him, bent his visage down.\nBut it avail'd him nought; for I exclaim'd:\n\"Thou who dost cast thy eye upon the ground,\nUnless thy features do belie thee much,\nVenedico art thou.  But what brings thee\nInto this bitter seas'ning?\" He replied:\n\"Unwillingly I answer to thy words.\nBut thy clear speech, that to my mind recalls\nThe world I once inhabited, constrains me.\nKnow then 'twas I who led fair Ghisola\nTo do the Marquis' will, however fame\nThe shameful tale have bruited.  Nor alone\nBologna hither sendeth me to mourn\nRather with us the place is so o'erthrong'd\nThat not so many tongues this day are taught,\nBetwixt the Reno and Savena's stream,\nTo answer SIPA in their country's phrase.\nAnd if of that securer proof thou need,\nRemember but our craving thirst for gold.\"\n\nHim speaking thus, a demon with his thong\nStruck, and exclaim'd, \"Away! corrupter! here\nWomen are none for sale.\"  Forthwith I join'd\nMy escort, and few paces thence we came\nTo where a rock forth issued from the bank.\nThat easily ascended, to the right\nUpon its splinter turning, we depart\nFrom those eternal barriers. When arriv'd,\nWhere underneath the gaping arch lets pass\nThe scourged souls: \"Pause here,\" the teacher said,\n\"And let these others miserable, now\nStrike on thy ken, faces not yet beheld,\nFor that together they with us have walk'd.\"\n\nFrom the old bridge we ey'd the pack, who came\nFrom th' other side towards us, like the rest,\nExcoriate from the lash.  My gentle guide,\nBy me unquestion'd, thus his speech resum'd:\n\"Behold that lofty shade, who this way tends,\nAnd seems too woe-begone to drop a tear.\nHow yet the regal aspect he retains!\nJason is he, whose skill and prowess won\nThe ram from Colchos. To the Lemnian isle\nHis passage thither led him, when those bold\nAnd pitiless women had slain all their males.\nThere he with tokens and fair witching words\nHypsipyle beguil'd, a virgin young,\nWho first had all the rest herself beguil'd.\nImpregnated he left her there forlorn.\nSuch is the guilt condemns him to this pain.\nHere too Medea's inj'ries are avenged.\nAll bear him company, who like deceit\nTo his have practis'd.  And thus much to know\nOf the first vale suffice thee, and of those\nWhom its keen torments urge.\"  Now had we come\nWhere, crossing the next pier, the straighten'd path\nBestrides its shoulders to another arch.\n\nHence in the second chasm we heard the ghosts,\nWho jibber in low melancholy sounds,\nWith wide-stretch'd nostrils snort, and on themselves\nSmite with their palms.  Upon the banks a scurf\nFrom the foul steam condens'd, encrusting hung,\nThat held sharp combat with the sight and smell.\n\nSo hollow is the depth, that from no part,\nSave on the summit of the rocky span,\nCould I distinguish aught.  Thus far we came;\nAnd thence I saw, within the foss below,\nA crowd immers'd in ordure, that appear'd\nDraff of the human body.  There beneath\nSearching with eye inquisitive, I mark'd\nOne with his head so grim'd, 't were hard to deem,\nIf he were clerk or layman.  Loud he cried:\n\"Why greedily thus bendest more on me,\nThan on these other filthy ones, thy ken?\"\n\n\"Because if true my mem'ry,\" I replied,\n\"I heretofore have seen thee with dry locks,\nAnd thou Alessio art of Lucca sprung.\nTherefore than all the rest I scan thee more.\"\n\nThen beating on his brain these words he spake:\n\"Me thus low down my flatteries have sunk,\nWherewith I ne'er enough could glut my tongue.\"\n\nMy leader thus: \"A little further stretch\nThy face, that thou the visage well mayst note\nOf that besotted, sluttish courtezan,\nWho there doth rend her with defiled nails,\nNow crouching down, now risen on her feet.\n\n\"Thais is this, the harlot, whose false lip\nAnswer'd her doting paramour that ask'd,\n'Thankest me much!'--'Say rather wondrously,'\nAnd seeing this here satiate be our view.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XIX\n\nWOE to thee, Simon Magus! woe to you,\nHis wretched followers! who the things of God,\nWhich should be wedded unto goodness, them,\nRapacious as ye are, do prostitute\nFor gold and silver in adultery!\nNow must the trumpet sound for you, since yours\nIs the third chasm.  Upon the following vault\nWe now had mounted, where the rock impends\nDirectly o'er the centre of the foss.\n\nWisdom Supreme! how wonderful the art,\nWhich thou dost manifest in heaven, in earth,\nAnd in the evil world, how just a meed\nAllotting by thy virtue unto all!\n\nI saw the livid stone, throughout the sides\nAnd in its bottom full of apertures,\nAll equal in their width, and circular each,\nNor ample less nor larger they appear'd\nThan in Saint John's fair dome of me belov'd\nThose fram'd to hold the pure baptismal streams,\nOne of the which I brake, some few years past,\nTo save a whelming infant; and be this\nA seal to undeceive whoever doubts\nThe motive of my deed.  From out the mouth\nOf every one, emerg'd a sinner's feet\nAnd of the legs high upward as the calf\nThe rest beneath was hid.  On either foot\nThe soles were burning, whence the flexile joints\nGlanc'd with such violent motion, as had snapt\nAsunder cords or twisted withs.  As flame,\nFeeding on unctuous matter, glides along\nThe surface, scarcely touching where it moves;\nSo here, from heel to point, glided the flames.\n\n\"Master! say who is he, than all the rest\nGlancing in fiercer agony, on whom\nA ruddier flame doth prey?\"  I thus inquir'd.\n\n\"If thou be willing,\" he replied, \"that I\nCarry thee down, where least the slope bank falls,\nHe of himself shall tell thee and his wrongs.\"\n\nI then: \"As pleases thee to me is best.\nThou art my lord; and know'st that ne'er I quit\nThy will: what silence hides that knowest thou.\"\nThereat on the fourth pier we came, we turn'd,\nAnd on our left descended to the depth,\nA narrow strait and perforated close.\nNor from his side my leader set me down,\nTill to his orifice he brought, whose limb\nQuiv'ring express'd his pang.  \"Whoe'er thou art,\nSad spirit! thus revers'd, and as a stake\nDriv'n in the soil!\"  I in these words began,\n\"If thou be able, utter forth thy voice.\"\n\nThere stood I like the friar, that doth shrive\nA wretch for murder doom'd, who e'en when fix'd,\nCalleth him back, whence death awhile delays.\n\nHe shouted: \"Ha! already standest there?\nAlready standest there, O Boniface!\nBy many a year the writing play'd me false.\nSo early dost thou surfeit with the wealth,\nFor which thou fearedst not in guile to take\nThe lovely lady, and then mangle her?\"\n\nI felt as those who, piercing not the drift\nOf answer made them, stand as if expos'd\nIn mockery, nor know what to reply,\nWhen Virgil thus admonish'd: \"Tell him quick,\nI am not he, not he, whom thou believ'st.\"\n\nAnd I, as was enjoin'd me, straight replied.\n\nThat heard, the spirit all did wrench his feet,\nAnd sighing next in woeful accent spake:\n\"What then of me requirest?  If to know\nSo much imports thee, who I am, that thou\nHast therefore down the bank descended, learn\nThat in the mighty mantle I was rob'd,\nAnd of a she-bear was indeed the son,\nSo eager to advance my whelps, that there\nMy having in my purse above I stow'd,\nAnd here myself.  Under my head are dragg'd\nThe rest, my predecessors in the guilt\nOf simony.  Stretch'd at their length they lie\nAlong an opening in the rock.  'Midst them\nI also low shall fall, soon as he comes,\nFor whom I took thee, when so hastily\nI question'd.  But already longer time\nHath pass'd, since my souls kindled, and I thus\nUpturn'd have stood, than is his doom to stand\nPlanted with fiery feet.  For after him,\nOne yet of deeds more ugly shall arrive,\nFrom forth the west, a shepherd without law,\nFated to cover both his form and mine.\nHe a new Jason shall be call'd, of whom\nIn Maccabees we read; and favour such\nAs to that priest his king indulgent show'd,\nShall be of France's monarch shown to him.\"\n\nI know not if I here too far presum'd,\nBut in this strain I answer'd: \"Tell me now,\nWhat treasures from St. Peter at the first\nOur Lord demanded, when he put the keys\nInto his charge?  Surely he ask'd no more\nBut, Follow me!  Nor Peter nor the rest\nOr gold or silver of Matthias took,\nWhen lots were cast upon the forfeit place\nOf the condemned soul.  Abide thou then;\nThy punishment of right is merited:\nAnd look thou well to that ill-gotten coin,\nWhich against Charles thy hardihood inspir'd.\nIf reverence of the keys restrain'd me not,\nWhich thou in happier time didst hold, I yet\nSeverer speech might use.  Your avarice\nO'ercasts the world with mourning, under foot\nTreading the good, and raising bad men up.\nOf shepherds, like to you, th' Evangelist\nWas ware, when her, who sits upon the waves,\nWith kings in filthy whoredom he beheld,\nShe who with seven heads tower'd at her birth,\nAnd from ten horns her proof of glory drew,\nLong as her spouse in virtue took delight.\nOf gold and silver ye have made your god,\nDiff'ring wherein from the idolater,\nBut he that worships one, a hundred ye?\nAh, Constantine! to how much ill gave birth,\nNot thy conversion, but that plenteous dower,\nWhich the first wealthy Father gain'd from thee!\"\n\nMeanwhile, as thus I sung, he, whether wrath\nOr conscience smote him, violent upsprang\nSpinning on either sole.  I do believe\nMy teacher well was pleas'd, with so compos'd\nA lip, he listen'd ever to the sound\nOf the true words I utter'd.  In both arms\nHe caught, and to his bosom lifting me\nUpward retrac'd the way of his descent.\n\nNor weary of his weight he press'd me close,\nTill to the summit of the rock we came,\nOur passage from the fourth to the fifth pier.\nHis cherish'd burden there gently he plac'd\nUpon the rugged rock and steep, a path\nNot easy for the clamb'ring goat to mount.\n\nThence to my view another vale appear'd\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XX\n\nAND now the verse proceeds to torments new,\nFit argument of this the twentieth strain\nOf the first song, whose awful theme records\nThe spirits whelm'd in woe.  Earnest I look'd\nInto the depth, that open'd to my view,\nMoisten'd with tears of anguish, and beheld\nA tribe, that came along the hollow vale,\nIn silence weeping: such their step as walk\nQuires chanting solemn litanies on earth.\n\nAs on them more direct mine eye descends,\nEach wondrously seem'd to be revers'd\nAt the neck-bone, so that the countenance\nWas from the reins averted: and because\nNone might before him look, they were compell'd\nTo' advance with backward gait.  Thus one perhaps\nHath been by force of palsy clean transpos'd,\nBut I ne'er saw it nor believe it so.\n\nNow, reader! think within thyself, so God\nFruit of thy reading give thee! how I long\nCould keep my visage dry, when I beheld\nNear me our form distorted in such guise,\nThat on the hinder parts fall'n from the face\nThe tears down-streaming roll'd.  Against a rock\nI leant and wept, so that my guide exclaim'd:\n\"What, and art thou too witless as the rest?\nHere pity most doth show herself alive,\nWhen she is dead.  What guilt exceedeth his,\nWho with Heaven's judgment in his passion strives?\nRaise up thy head, raise up, and see the man,\nBefore whose eyes earth gap'd in Thebes, when all\nCried out, 'Amphiaraus, whither rushest?\n'Why leavest thou the war?'  He not the less\nFell ruining far as to Minos down,\nWhose grapple none eludes.  Lo! how he makes\nThe breast his shoulders, and who once too far\nBefore him wish'd to see, now backward looks,\nAnd treads reverse his path.  Tiresias note,\nWho semblance chang'd, when woman he became\nOf male, through every limb transform'd, and then\nOnce more behov'd him with his rod to strike\nThe two entwining serpents, ere the plumes,\nThat mark'd the better sex, might shoot again.\n\n\"Aruns, with more his belly facing, comes.\nOn Luni's mountains 'midst the marbles white,\nWhere delves Carrara's hind, who wons beneath,\nA cavern was his dwelling, whence the stars\nAnd main-sea wide in boundless view he held.\n\n\"The next, whose loosen'd tresses overspread\nHer bosom, which thou seest not (for each hair\nOn that side grows) was Manto, she who search'd\nThrough many regions, and at length her seat\nFix'd in my native land, whence a short space\nMy words detain thy audience.  When her sire\nFrom life departed, and in servitude\nThe city dedicate to Bacchus mourn'd,\nLong time she went a wand'rer through the world.\nAloft in Italy's delightful land\nA lake there lies, at foot of that proud Alp,\nThat o'er the Tyrol locks Germania in,\nIts name Benacus, which a thousand rills,\nMethinks, and more, water between the vale\nCamonica and Garda and the height\nOf Apennine remote.  There is a spot\nAt midway of that lake, where he who bears\nOf Trento's flock the past'ral staff, with him\nOf Brescia, and the Veronese, might each\nPassing that way his benediction give.\nA garrison of goodly site and strong\nPeschiera stands, to awe with front oppos'd\nThe Bergamese and Brescian, whence the shore\nMore slope each way descends.  There, whatsoev'er\nBenacus' bosom holds not, tumbling o'er\nDown falls, and winds a river flood beneath\nThrough the green pastures.  Soon as in his course\nThe steam makes head, Benacus then no more\nThey call the name, but Mincius, till at last\nReaching Governo into Po he falls.\nNot far his course hath run, when a wide flat\nIt finds, which overstretchmg as a marsh\nIt covers, pestilent in summer oft.\nHence journeying, the savage maiden saw\n'Midst of the fen a territory waste\nAnd naked of inhabitants.  To shun\nAll human converse, here she with her slaves\nPlying her arts remain'd, and liv'd, and left\nHer body tenantless.  Thenceforth the tribes,\nWho round were scatter'd, gath'ring to that place\nAssembled; for its strength was great, enclos'd\nOn all parts by the fen.  On those dead bones\nThey rear'd themselves a city, for her sake,\nCalling it Mantua, who first chose the spot,\nNor ask'd another omen for the name,\nWherein more numerous the people dwelt,\nEre Casalodi's madness by deceit\nWas wrong'd of Pinamonte.  If thou hear\nHenceforth another origin assign'd\nOf that my country, I forewarn thee now,\nThat falsehood none beguile thee of the truth.\"\n\nI answer'd: \"Teacher, I conclude thy words\nSo certain, that all else shall be to me\nAs embers lacking life.  But now of these,\nWho here proceed, instruct me, if thou see\nAny that merit more especial note.\nFor thereon is my mind alone intent.\"\n\nHe straight replied: \"That spirit, from whose cheek\nThe beard sweeps o'er his shoulders brown, what time\nGraecia was emptied of her males, that scarce\nThe cradles were supplied, the seer was he\nIn Aulis, who with Calchas gave the sign\nWhen first to cut the cable.  Him they nam'd\nEurypilus: so sings my tragic strain,\nIn which majestic measure well thou know'st,\nWho know'st it all.  That other, round the loins\nSo slender of his shape, was Michael Scot,\nPractis'd in ev'ry slight of magic wile.\n\n\"Guido Bonatti see:  Asdente mark,\nWho now were willing, he had tended still\nThe thread and cordwain; and too late repents.\n\n\"See next the wretches, who the needle left,\nThe shuttle and the spindle, and became\nDiviners: baneful witcheries they wrought\nWith images and herbs.  But onward now:\nFor now doth Cain with fork of thorns confine\nOn either hemisphere, touching the wave\nBeneath the towers of Seville.  Yesternight\nThe moon was round.  Thou mayst remember well:\nFor she good service did thee in the gloom\nOf the deep wood.\"  This said, both onward mov'd.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXI\n\nTHUS we from bridge to bridge, with other talk,\nThe which my drama cares not to rehearse,\nPass'd on; and to the summit reaching, stood\nTo view another gap, within the round\nOf Malebolge, other bootless pangs.\n\nMarvelous darkness shadow'd o'er the place.\n\nIn the Venetians' arsenal as boils\nThrough wintry months tenacious pitch, to smear\nTheir unsound vessels; for th' inclement time\nSea-faring men restrains, and in that while\nHis bark one builds anew, another stops\nThe ribs of his, that hath made many a voyage;\nOne hammers at the prow, one at the poop;\nThis shapeth oars, that other cables twirls,\nThe mizen one repairs and main-sail rent\nSo not by force of fire but art divine\nBoil'd here a glutinous thick mass, that round\nLim'd all the shore beneath.  I that beheld,\nBut therein nought distinguish'd, save the surge,\nRais'd by the boiling, in one mighty swell\nHeave, and by turns subsiding and fall.  While there\nI fix'd my ken below, \"Mark! mark!\" my guide\nExclaiming, drew me towards him from the place,\nWherein I stood.  I turn'd myself as one,\nImpatient to behold that which beheld\nHe needs must shun, whom sudden fear unmans,\nThat he his flight delays not for the view.\nBehind me I discern'd a devil black,\nThat running, up advanc'd along the rock.\nAh! what fierce cruelty his look bespake!\nIn act how bitter did he seem, with wings\nBuoyant outstretch'd and feet of nimblest tread!\nHis shoulder proudly eminent and sharp\nWas with a sinner charg'd; by either haunch\nHe held him, the foot's sinew griping fast.\n\n\"Ye of our bridge!\" he cried, \"keen-talon'd fiends!\nLo! one of Santa Zita's elders!  Him\nWhelm ye beneath, while I return for more.\nThat land hath store of such.  All men are there,\nExcept Bonturo, barterers: of 'no'\nFor lucre there an 'aye' is quickly made.\"\n\nHim dashing down, o'er the rough rock he turn'd,\nNor ever after thief a mastiff loos'd\nSped with like eager haste.  That other sank\nAnd forthwith writing to the surface rose.\nBut those dark demons, shrouded by the bridge,\nCried \"Here the hallow'd visage saves not: here\nIs other swimming than in Serchio's wave.\nWherefore if thou desire we rend thee not,\nTake heed thou mount not o'er the pitch.\"  This said,\nThey grappled him with more than hundred hooks,\nAnd shouted: \"Cover'd thou must sport thee here;\nSo, if thou canst, in secret mayst thou filch.\"\n\nE'en thus the cook bestirs him, with his grooms,\nTo thrust the flesh into the caldron down\nWith flesh-hooks, that it float not on the top.\n\nMe then my guide bespake: \"Lest they descry,\nThat thou art here, behind a craggy rock\nBend low and screen thee; and whate'er of force\nBe offer'd me, or insult, fear thou not:\nFor I am well advis'd, who have been erst\nIn the like fray.\"  Beyond the bridge's head\nTherewith he pass'd, and reaching the sixth pier,\nBehov'd him then a forehead terror-proof.\n\nWith storm and fury, as when dogs rush forth\nUpon the poor man's back, who suddenly\nFrom whence he standeth makes his suit; so rush'd\nThose from beneath the arch, and against him\nTheir weapons all they pointed.  He aloud:\n\"Be none of you outrageous: ere your time\nDare seize me, come forth from amongst you one,\n\n\"Who having heard my words, decide he then\nIf he shall tear these limbs.\"  They shouted loud,\n\"Go, Malacoda!\"  Whereat one advanc'd,\nThe others standing firm, and as he came,\n\"What may this turn avail him?\" he exclaim'd.\n\n\"Believ'st thou, Malacoda!  I had come\nThus far from all your skirmishing secure,\"\nMy teacher answered, \"without will divine\nAnd destiny propitious?  Pass we then\nFor so Heaven's pleasure is, that I should lead\nAnother through this savage wilderness.\"\n\nForthwith so fell his pride, that he let drop\nThe instrument of torture at his feet,\nAnd to the rest exclaim'd: \"We have no power\nTo strike him.\"  Then to me my guide: \"O thou!\nWho on the bridge among the crags dost sit\nLow crouching, safely now to me return.\"\n\nI rose, and towards him moved with speed: the fiends\nMeantime all forward drew: me terror seiz'd\nLest they should break the compact they had made.\nThus issuing from Caprona, once I saw\nTh' infantry dreading, lest his covenant\nThe foe should break; so close he hemm'd them round.\n\nI to my leader's side adher'd, mine eyes\nWith fixt and motionless observance bent\nOn their unkindly visage.  They their hooks\nProtruding, one the other thus bespake:\n\"Wilt thou I touch him on the hip?\"  To whom\nWas answer'd: \"Even so; nor miss thy aim.\"\n\nBut he, who was in conf'rence with my guide,\nTurn'd rapid round, and thus the demon spake:\n\"Stay, stay thee, Scarmiglione!\"  Then to us\nHe added: \"Further footing to your step\nThis rock affords not, shiver'd to the base\nOf the sixth arch.  But would you still proceed,\nUp by this cavern go: not distant far,\nAnother rock will yield you passage safe.\nYesterday, later by five hours than now,\nTwelve hundred threescore years and six had fill'd\nThe circuit of their course, since here the way\nWas broken.  Thitherward I straight dispatch\nCertain of these my scouts, who shall espy\nIf any on the surface bask.  With them\nGo ye: for ye shall find them nothing fell.\nCome Alichino forth,\" with that he cried,\n\"And Calcabrina, and Cagnazzo thou!\nThe troop of ten let Barbariccia lead.\nWith Libicocco Draghinazzo haste,\nFang'd Ciriatto, Grafflacane fierce,\nAnd Farfarello, and mad Rubicant.\nSearch ye around the bubbling tar.  For these,\nIn safety lead them, where the other crag\nUninterrupted traverses the dens.\"\n\nI then: \"O master! what a sight is there!\nAh! without escort, journey we alone,\nWhich, if thou know the way, I covet not.\nUnless thy prudence fail thee, dost not mark\nHow they do gnarl upon us, and their scowl\nThreatens us present tortures?\"  He replied:\n\"I charge thee fear not: let them, as they will,\nGnarl on: 't is but in token of their spite\nAgainst the souls, who mourn in torment steep'd.\"\n\nTo leftward o'er the pier they turn'd; but each\nHad first between his teeth prest close the tongue,\nToward their leader for a signal looking,\nWhich he with sound obscene triumphant gave.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXII\n\nIT hath been heretofore my chance to see\nHorsemen with martial order shifting camp,\nTo onset sallying, or in muster rang'd,\nOr in retreat sometimes outstretch'd for flight;\nLight-armed squadrons and fleet foragers\nScouring thy plains, Arezzo! have I seen,\nAnd clashing tournaments, and tilting jousts,\nNow with the sound of trumpets, now of bells,\nTabors, or signals made from castled heights,\nAnd with inventions multiform, our own,\nOr introduc'd from foreign land; but ne'er\nTo such a strange recorder I beheld,\nIn evolution moving, horse nor foot,\nNor ship, that tack'd by sign from land or star.\n\nWith the ten demons on our way we went;\nAh fearful company! but in the church\nWith saints, with gluttons at the tavern's mess.\n\nStill earnest on the pitch I gaz'd, to mark\nAll things whate'er the chasm contain'd, and those\nWho burn'd within.  As dolphins, that, in sign\nTo mariners, heave high their arched backs,\nThat thence forewarn'd they may advise to save\nTheir threaten'd vessels; so, at intervals,\nTo ease the pain his back some sinner show'd,\nThen hid more nimbly than the lightning glance.\n\nE'en as the frogs, that of a wat'ry moat\nStand at the brink, with the jaws only out,\nTheir feet and of the trunk all else concealed,\nThus on each part the sinners stood, but soon\nAs Barbariccia was at hand, so they\nDrew back under the wave.  I saw, and yet\nMy heart doth stagger, one, that waited thus,\nAs it befalls that oft one frog remains,\nWhile the next springs away: and Graffiacan,\nWho of the fiends was nearest, grappling seiz'd\nHis clotted locks, and dragg'd him sprawling up,\nThat he appear'd to me an otter.  Each\nAlready by their names I knew, so well\nWhen they were chosen, I observ'd, and mark'd\nHow one the other call'd. \"O Rubicant!\nSee that his hide thou with thy talons flay,\"\nShouted together all the cursed crew.\n\nThen I: \"Inform thee, master! if thou may,\nWhat wretched soul is this, on whom their hand\nHis foes have laid.\"  My leader to his side\nApproach'd, and whence he came inquir'd, to whom\nWas answer'd thus: \"Born in Navarre's domain\nMy mother plac'd me in a lord's retinue,\nFor she had borne me to a losel vile,\nA spendthrift of his substance and himself.\nThe good king Thibault after that I serv'd,\nTo peculating here my thoughts were turn'd,\nWhereof I give account in this dire heat.\"\n\nStraight Ciriatto, from whose mouth a tusk\nIssued on either side, as from a boar,\nRipt him with one of these.  'Twixt evil claws\nThe mouse had fall'n: but Barbariccia cried,\nSeizing him with both arms: \"Stand thou apart,\nWhile I do fix him on my prong transpierc'd.\"\nThen added, turning to my guide his face,\n\"Inquire of him, if more thou wish to learn,\nEre he again be rent.\"  My leader thus:\n\"Then tell us of the partners in thy guilt;\nKnowest thou any sprung of Latian land\nUnder the tar?\"--\"I parted,\" he replied,\n\"But now from one, who sojourn'd not far thence;\nSo were I under shelter now with him!\nNor hook nor talon then should scare me more.\"--.\n\n\"Too long we suffer,\" Libicocco cried,\nThen, darting forth a prong, seiz'd on his arm,\nAnd mangled bore away the sinewy part.\nHim Draghinazzo by his thighs beneath\nWould next have caught, whence angrily their chief,\nTurning on all sides round, with threat'ning brow\nRestrain'd them.  When their strife a little ceas'd,\nOf him, who yet was gazing on his wound,\nMy teacher thus without delay inquir'd:\n\"Who was the spirit, from whom by evil hap\nParting, as thou has told, thou cam'st to shore?\"--\n\n\"It was the friar Gomita,\" he rejoin'd,\n\"He of Gallura, vessel of all guile,\nWho had his master's enemies in hand,\nAnd us'd them so that they commend him well.\nMoney he took, and them at large dismiss'd.\nSo he reports: and in each other charge\nCommitted to his keeping, play'd the part\nOf barterer to the height:  with him doth herd\nThe chief of Logodoro, Michel Zanche.\nSardinia is a theme, whereof their tongue\nIs never weary.  Out! alas! behold\nThat other, how he grins!  More would I say,\nBut tremble lest he mean to maul me sore.\"\n\nTheir captain then to Farfarello turning,\nWho roll'd his moony eyes in act to strike,\nRebuk'd him thus: \"Off! cursed bird!  Avaunt!\"--\n\n\"If ye desire to see or hear,\" he thus\nQuaking with dread resum'd, \"or Tuscan spirits\nOr Lombard, I will cause them to appear.\nMeantime let these ill talons bate their fury,\nSo that no vengeance they may fear from them,\nAnd I, remaining in this self-same place,\nWill for myself but one, make sev'n appear,\nWhen my shrill whistle shall be heard; for so\nOur custom is to call each other up.\"\n\nCagnazzo at that word deriding grinn'd,\nThen wagg'd the head and spake: \"Hear his device,\nMischievous as he is, to plunge him down.\"\n\nWhereto he thus, who fail'd not in rich store\nOf nice-wove toils; \"Mischief forsooth extreme,\nMeant only to procure myself more woe!\"\n\nNo longer Alichino then refrain'd,\nBut thus, the rest gainsaying, him bespake:\n\"If thou do cast thee down, I not on foot\nWill chase thee, but above the pitch will beat\nMy plumes.  Quit we the vantage ground, and let\nThe bank be as a shield, that we may see\nIf singly thou prevail against us all.\"\n\nNow, reader, of new sport expect to hear!\n\nThey each one turn'd his eyes to the' other shore,\nHe first, who was the hardest to persuade.\nThe spirit of Navarre chose well his time,\nPlanted his feet on land, and at one leap\nEscaping disappointed their resolve.\n\nThem quick resentment stung, but him the most,\nWho was the cause of failure; in pursuit\nHe therefore sped, exclaiming; \"Thou art caught.\"\n\nBut little it avail'd: terror outstripp'd\nHis following flight: the other plung'd beneath,\nAnd he with upward pinion rais'd his breast:\nE'en thus the water-fowl, when she perceives\nThe falcon near, dives instant down, while he\nEnrag'd and spent retires.  That mockery\nIn Calcabrina fury stirr'd, who flew\nAfter him, with desire of strife inflam'd;\nAnd, for the barterer had 'scap'd, so turn'd\nHis talons on his comrade. O'er the dyke\nIn grapple close they join'd; but the' other prov'd\nA goshawk able to rend well his foe;\n\nAnd in the boiling lake both fell.  The heat\nWas umpire soon between them, but in vain\nTo lift themselves they strove, so fast were glued\nTheir pennons.  Barbariccia, as the rest,\nThat chance lamenting, four in flight dispatch'd\nFrom the' other coast, with all their weapons arm'd.\nThey, to their post on each side speedily\nDescending, stretch'd their hooks toward the fiends,\nWho flounder'd, inly burning from their scars:\nAnd we departing left them to that broil.\n\n\n\n===8\n\n\nTHE VISION\n\nOF\n\nHELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE\n\n\nOR THE INFERNO\n\n\nBY\n\nDANTE ALIGHIERI\n\n\n\nTRANSLATED BY\n\nTHE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A.\n\n\n\nHELL\n\n\nPart 8\n\n\nCantos 23 - 28\n\n\n\nCANTO XXIII\n\nIN silence and in solitude we went,\nOne first, the other following his steps,\nAs minor friars journeying on their road.\n\nThe present fray had turn'd my thoughts to muse\nUpon old Aesop's fable, where he told\nWhat fate unto the mouse and frog befell.\nFor language hath not sounds more like in sense,\nThan are these chances, if the origin\nAnd end of each be heedfully compar'd.\nAnd as one thought bursts from another forth,\nSo afterward from that another sprang,\nWhich added doubly to my former fear.\nFor thus I reason'd: \"These through us have been\nSo foil'd, with loss and mock'ry so complete,\nAs needs must sting them sore.  If anger then\nBe to their evil will conjoin'd, more fell\nThey shall pursue us, than the savage hound\nSnatches the leveret, panting 'twixt his jaws.\"\n\nAlready I perceiv'd my hair stand all\nOn end with terror, and look'd eager back.\n\n\"Teacher,\" I thus began, \"if speedily\nThyself and me thou hide not, much I dread\nThose evil talons.  Even now behind\nThey urge us: quick imagination works\nSo forcibly, that I already feel them.\"\n\nHe answer'd: \"Were I form'd of leaded glass,\nI should not sooner draw unto myself\nThy outward image, than I now imprint\nThat from within.  This moment came thy thoughts\nPresented before mine, with similar act\nAnd count'nance similar, so that from both\nI one design have fram'd.  If the right coast\nIncline so much, that we may thence descend\nInto the other chasm, we shall escape\nSecure from this imagined pursuit.\"\n\nHe had not spoke his purpose to the end,\nWhen I from far beheld them with spread wings\nApproach to take us.  Suddenly my guide\nCaught me, ev'n as a mother that from sleep\nIs by the noise arous'd, and near her sees\nThe climbing fires, who snatches up her babe\nAnd flies ne'er pausing, careful more of him\nThan of herself, that but a single vest\nClings round her limbs.  Down from the jutting beach\nSupine he cast him, to that pendent rock,\nWhich closes on one part the other chasm.\n\nNever ran water with such hurrying pace\nAdown the tube to turn a landmill's wheel,\nWhen nearest it approaches to the spokes,\nAs then along that edge my master ran,\nCarrying me in his bosom, as a child,\nNot a companion.  Scarcely had his feet\nReach'd to the lowest of the bed beneath,\n\nWhen over us the steep they reach'd; but fear\nIn him was none; for that high Providence,\nWhich plac'd them ministers of the fifth foss,\nPower of departing thence took from them all.\n\nThere in the depth we saw a painted tribe,\nWho pac'd with tardy steps around, and wept,\nFaint in appearance and o'ercome with toil.\nCaps had they on, with hoods, that fell low down\nBefore their eyes, in fashion like to those\nWorn by the monks in Cologne.  Their outside\nWas overlaid with gold, dazzling to view,\nBut leaden all within, and of such weight,\nThat Frederick's compar'd to these were straw.\nOh, everlasting wearisome attire!\n\nWe yet once more with them together turn'd\nTo leftward, on their dismal moan intent.\nBut by the weight oppress'd, so slowly came\nThe fainting people, that our company\nWas chang'd at every movement of the step.\n\nWhence I my guide address'd: \"See that thou find\nSome spirit, whose name may by his deeds be known,\nAnd to that end look round thee as thou go'st.\"\n\nThen one, who understood the Tuscan voice,\nCried after us aloud: \"Hold in your feet,\nYe who so swiftly speed through the dusk air.\nPerchance from me thou shalt obtain thy wish.\"\n\nWhereat my leader, turning, me bespake:\n\"Pause, and then onward at their pace proceed.\"\n\nI staid, and saw two Spirits in whose look\nImpatient eagerness of mind was mark'd\nTo overtake me; but the load they bare\nAnd narrow path retarded their approach.\n\nSoon as arriv'd, they with an eye askance\nPerus'd me, but spake not: then turning each\nTo other thus conferring said: \"This one\nSeems, by the action of his throat, alive.\nAnd, be they dead, what privilege allows\nThey walk unmantled by the cumbrous stole?\"\n\nThen thus to me: \"Tuscan, who visitest\nThe college of the mourning hypocrites,\nDisdain not to instruct us who thou art.\"\n\n\"By Arno's pleasant stream,\" I thus replied,\n\"In the great city I was bred and grew,\nAnd wear the body I have ever worn.\nbut who are ye, from whom such mighty grief,\nAs now I witness, courseth down your cheeks?\nWhat torment breaks forth in this bitter woe?\"\n\"Our bonnets gleaming bright with orange hue,\"\nOne of them answer'd, \"are so leaden gross,\nThat with their weight they make the balances\nTo crack beneath them.  Joyous friars we were,\nBologna's natives, Catalano I,\nHe Loderingo nam'd, and by thy land\nTogether taken, as men used to take\nA single and indifferent arbiter,\nTo reconcile their strifes.  How there we sped,\nGardingo's vicinage can best declare.\"\n\n\"O friars!\"  I began, \"your miseries--\"\nBut there brake off, for one had caught my eye,\nFix'd to a cross with three stakes on the ground:\nHe, when he saw me, writh'd himself, throughout\nDistorted, ruffling with deep sighs his beard.\nAnd Catalano, who thereof was 'ware,\n\nThus spake: \"That pierced spirit, whom intent\nThou view'st, was he who gave the Pharisees\nCounsel, that it were fitting for one man\nTo suffer for the people.  He doth lie\nTransverse; nor any passes, but him first\nBehoves make feeling trial how each weighs.\nIn straits like this along the foss are plac'd\nThe father of his consort, and the rest\nPartakers in that council, seed of ill\nAnd sorrow to the Jews.\"  I noted then,\nHow Virgil gaz'd with wonder upon him,\nThus abjectly extended on the cross\nIn banishment eternal.  To the friar\nHe next his words address'd: \"We pray ye tell,\nIf so be lawful, whether on our right\nLies any opening in the rock, whereby\nWe both may issue hence, without constraint\nOn the dark angels, that compell'd they come\nTo lead us from this depth.\"  He thus replied:\n\"Nearer than thou dost hope, there is a rock\nFrom the next circle moving, which o'ersteps\nEach vale of horror, save that here his cope\nIs shatter'd.  By the ruin ye may mount:\nFor on the side it slants, and most the height\nRises below.\"  With head bent down awhile\nMy leader stood, then spake: \"He warn'd us ill,\nWho yonder hangs the sinners on his hook.\"\n\nTo whom the friar: At Bologna erst\n\"I many vices of the devil heard,\nAmong the rest was said, 'He is a liar,\nAnd the father of lies!'\"  When he had spoke,\nMy leader with large strides proceeded on,\nSomewhat disturb'd with anger in his look.\n\nI therefore left the spirits heavy laden,\nAnd following, his beloved footsteps mark'd.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXIV\n\nIN the year's early nonage, when the sun\nTempers his tresses in Aquarius' urn,\nAnd now towards equal day the nights recede,\nWhen as the rime upon the earth puts on\nHer dazzling sister's image, but not long\nHer milder sway endures, then riseth up\nThe village hind, whom fails his wintry store,\nAnd looking out beholds the plain around\nAll whiten'd, whence impatiently he smites\nHis thighs, and to his hut returning in,\nThere paces to and fro, wailing his lot,\nAs a discomfited and helpless man;\nThen comes he forth again, and feels new hope\nSpring in his bosom, finding e'en thus soon\nThe world hath chang'd its count'nance, grasps his crook,\nAnd forth to pasture drives his little flock:\nSo me my guide dishearten'd when I saw\nHis troubled forehead, and so speedily\nThat ill was cur'd; for at the fallen bridge\nArriving, towards me with a look as sweet,\nHe turn'd him back, as that I first beheld\nAt the steep mountain's foot.  Regarding well\nThe ruin, and some counsel first maintain'd\nWith his own thought, he open'd wide his arm\nAnd took me up.  As one, who, while he works,\nComputes his labour's issue, that he seems\nStill to foresee the' effect, so lifting me\nUp to the summit of one peak, he fix'd\nHis eye upon another.  \"Grapple that,\"\nSaid he, \"but first make proof, if it be such\nAs will sustain thee.\"  For one capp'd with lead\nThis were no journey.  Scarcely he, though light,\nAnd I, though onward push'd from crag to crag,\nCould mount.  And if the precinct of this coast\nWere not less ample than the last, for him\nI know not, but my strength had surely fail'd.\nBut Malebolge all toward the mouth\nInclining of the nethermost abyss,\nThe site of every valley hence requires,\nThat one side upward slope, the other fall.\n\nAt length the point of our descent we reach'd\nFrom the last flag: soon as to that arriv'd,\nSo was the breath exhausted from my lungs,\nI could no further, but did seat me there.\n\n\"Now needs thy best of man;\" so spake my guide:\n\"For not on downy plumes, nor under shade\nOf canopy reposing, fame is won,\nWithout which whosoe'er consumes his days\nLeaveth such vestige of himself on earth,\nAs smoke in air or foam upon the wave.\nThou therefore rise: vanish thy weariness\nBy the mind's effort, in each struggle form'd\nTo vanquish, if she suffer not the weight\nOf her corporeal frame to crush her down.\nA longer ladder yet remains to scale.\nFrom these to have escap'd sufficeth not.\nIf well thou note me, profit by my words.\"\n\nI straightway rose, and show'd myself less spent\nThan I in truth did feel me.  \"On,\" I cried,\n\"For I am stout and fearless.\"  Up the rock\nOur way we held, more rugged than before,\nNarrower and steeper far to climb.  From talk\nI ceas'd not, as we journey'd, so to seem\nLeast faint; whereat a voice from the other foss\nDid issue forth, for utt'rance suited ill.\nThough on the arch that crosses there I stood,\nWhat were the words I knew not, but who spake\nSeem'd mov'd in anger.  Down I stoop'd to look,\nBut my quick eye might reach not to the depth\nFor shrouding darkness; wherefore thus I spake:\n\"To the next circle, Teacher, bend thy steps,\nAnd from the wall dismount we; for as hence\nI hear and understand not, so I see\nBeneath, and naught discern.\"--\"I answer not,\"\nSaid he, \"but by the deed.  To fair request\nSilent performance maketh best return.\"\n\nWe from the bridge's head descended, where\nTo the eighth mound it joins, and then the chasm\nOpening to view, I saw a crowd within\nOf serpents terrible, so strange of shape\nAnd hideous, that remembrance in my veins\nYet shrinks the vital current.  Of her sands\nLet Lybia vaunt no more: if Jaculus,\nPareas and Chelyder be her brood,\nCenchris and Amphisboena, plagues so dire\nOr in such numbers swarming ne'er she shew'd,\nNot with all Ethiopia, and whate'er\nAbove the Erythraean sea is spawn'd.\n\nAmid this dread exuberance of woe\nRan naked spirits wing'd with horrid fear,\nNor hope had they of crevice where to hide,\nOr heliotrope to charm them out of view.\nWith serpents were their hands behind them bound,\nWhich through their reins infix'd the tail and head\nTwisted in folds before.  And lo! on one\nNear to our side, darted an adder up,\nAnd, where the neck is on the shoulders tied,\nTranspierc'd him.  Far more quickly than e'er pen\nWrote O or I, he kindled, burn'd, and chang'd\nTo ashes, all pour'd out upon the earth.\nWhen there dissolv'd he lay, the dust again\nUproll'd spontaneous, and the self-same form\nInstant resumed.  So mighty sages tell,\nThe' Arabian Phoenix, when five hundred years\nHave well nigh circled, dies, and springs forthwith\nRenascent.  Blade nor herb throughout his life\nHe tastes, but tears of frankincense alone\nAnd odorous amomum: swaths of nard\nAnd myrrh his funeral shroud.  As one that falls,\nHe knows not how, by force demoniac dragg'd\nTo earth, or through obstruction fettering up\nIn chains invisible the powers of man,\nWho, risen from his trance, gazeth around,\nBewilder'd with the monstrous agony\nHe hath endur'd, and wildly staring sighs;\nSo stood aghast the sinner when he rose.\n\nOh! how severe God's judgment, that deals out\nSuch blows in stormy vengeance!  Who he was\nMy teacher next inquir'd, and thus in few\nHe answer'd: \"Vanni Fucci am I call'd,\nNot long since rained down from Tuscany\nTo this dire gullet.  Me the beastial life\nAnd not the human pleas'd, mule that I was,\nWho in Pistoia found my worthy den.\"\n\nI then to Virgil: \"Bid him stir not hence,\nAnd ask what crime did thrust him hither: once\nA man I knew him choleric and bloody.\"\n\nThe sinner heard and feign'd not, but towards me\nHis mind directing and his face, wherein\nWas dismal shame depictur'd, thus he spake:\n\"It grieves me more to have been caught by thee\nIn this sad plight, which thou beholdest, than\nWhen I was taken from the other life.\nI have no power permitted to deny\nWhat thou inquirest.  I am doom'd thus low\nTo dwell, for that the sacristy by me\nWas rifled of its goodly ornaments,\nAnd with the guilt another falsely charged.\nBut that thou mayst not joy to see me thus,\nSo as thou e'er shalt 'scape this darksome realm\nOpen thine ears and hear what I forebode.\nReft of the Neri first Pistoia pines,\nThen Florence changeth citizens and laws.\nFrom Valdimagra, drawn by wrathful Mars,\nA vapour rises, wrapt in turbid mists,\nAnd sharp and eager driveth on the storm\nWith arrowy hurtling o'er Piceno's field,\nWhence suddenly the cloud shall burst, and strike\nEach helpless Bianco prostrate to the ground.\nThis have I told, that grief may rend thy heart.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXV\n\nWHEN he had spoke, the sinner rais'd his hands\nPointed in mockery, and cried: \"Take them, God!\nI level them at thee!\"  From that day forth\nThe serpents were my friends; for round his neck\nOne of then rolling twisted, as it said,\n\"Be silent, tongue!\"  Another to his arms\nUpgliding, tied them, riveting itself\nSo close, it took from them the power to move.\n\nPistoia!  Ah Pistoia! why dost doubt\nTo turn thee into ashes, cumb'ring earth\nNo longer, since in evil act so far\nThou hast outdone thy seed?  I did not mark,\nThrough all the gloomy circles of the' abyss,\nSpirit, that swell'd so proudly 'gainst his God,\nNot him, who headlong fell from Thebes.  He fled,\nNor utter'd more; and after him there came\nA centaur full of fury, shouting, \"Where\nWhere is the caitiff?\"  On Maremma's marsh\nSwarm not the serpent tribe, as on his haunch\nThey swarm'd, to where the human face begins.\nBehind his head upon the shoulders lay,\nWith open wings, a dragon breathing fire\nOn whomsoe'er he met.  To me my guide:\n\"Cacus is this, who underneath the rock\nOf Aventine spread oft a lake of blood.\nHe, from his brethren parted, here must tread\nA different journey, for his fraudful theft\nOf the great herd, that near him stall'd; whence found\nHis felon deeds their end, beneath the mace\nOf stout Alcides, that perchance laid on\nA hundred blows, and not the tenth was felt.\"\n\nWhile yet he spake, the centaur sped away:\nAnd under us three spirits came, of whom\nNor I nor he was ware, till they exclaim'd;\n\"Say who are ye?\"  We then brake off discourse,\nIntent on these alone.  I knew them not;\nBut, as it chanceth oft, befell, that one\nHad need to name another.  \"Where,\" said he,\n\"Doth Cianfa lurk?\"  I, for a sign my guide\nShould stand attentive, plac'd against my lips\nThe finger lifted.  If, O reader! now\nThou be not apt to credit what I tell,\nNo marvel; for myself do scarce allow\nThe witness of mine eyes.  But as I looked\nToward them, lo! a serpent with six feet\nSprings forth on one, and fastens full upon him:\nHis midmost grasp'd the belly, a forefoot\nSeiz'd on each arm (while deep in either cheek\nHe flesh'd his fangs); the hinder on the thighs\nWere spread, 'twixt which the tail inserted curl'd\nUpon the reins behind.  Ivy ne'er clasp'd\nA dodder'd oak, as round the other's limbs\nThe hideous monster intertwin'd his own.\nThen, as they both had been of burning wax,\nEach melted into other, mingling hues,\nThat which was either now was seen no more.\nThus up the shrinking paper, ere it burns,\nA brown tint glides, not turning yet to black,\nAnd the clean white expires.  The other two\nLook'd on exclaiming: \"Ah, how dost thou change,\nAgnello!  See!  Thou art nor double now,\n\n\"Nor only one.\"  The two heads now became\nOne, and two figures blended in one form\nAppear'd, where both were lost.  Of the four lengths\nTwo arms were made: the belly and the chest\nThe thighs and legs into such members chang'd,\nAs never eye hath seen.  Of former shape\nAll trace was vanish'd.  Two yet neither seem'd\nThat image miscreate, and so pass'd on\nWith tardy steps.  As underneath the scourge\nOf the fierce dog-star, that lays bare the fields,\nShifting from brake to brake, the lizard seems\nA flash of lightning, if he thwart the road,\nSo toward th' entrails of the other two\nApproaching seem'd, an adder all on fire,\nAs the dark pepper-grain, livid and swart.\nIn that part, whence our life is nourish'd first,\nOne he transpierc'd; then down before him fell\nStretch'd out.  The pierced spirit look'd on him\nBut spake not; yea stood motionless and yawn'd,\nAs if by sleep or fev'rous fit assail'd.\nHe ey'd the serpent, and the serpent him.\nOne from the wound, the other from the mouth\nBreath'd a thick smoke, whose vap'ry columns join'd.\n\nLucan in mute attention now may hear,\nNor thy disastrous fate, Sabellus! tell,\nNor shine, Nasidius!  Ovid now be mute.\nWhat if in warbling fiction he record\nCadmus and Arethusa, to a snake\nHim chang'd, and her into a fountain clear,\nI envy not; for never face to face\nTwo natures thus transmuted did he sing,\nWherein both shapes were ready to assume\nThe other's substance.  They in mutual guise\nSo answer'd, that the serpent split his train\nDivided to a fork, and the pierc'd spirit\nDrew close his steps together, legs and thighs\nCompacted, that no sign of juncture soon\nWas visible: the tail disparted took\nThe figure which the spirit lost, its skin\nSoft'ning, his indurated to a rind.\nThe shoulders next I mark'd, that ent'ring join'd\nThe monster's arm-pits, whose two shorter feet\nSo lengthen'd, as the other's dwindling shrunk.\nThe feet behind then twisting up became\nThat part that man conceals, which in the wretch\nWas cleft in twain.  While both the shadowy smoke\nWith a new colour veils, and generates\nTh' excrescent pile on one, peeling it off\nFrom th' other body, lo! upon his feet\nOne upright rose, and prone the other fell.\nNot yet their glaring and malignant lamps\nWere shifted, though each feature chang'd beneath.\nOf him who stood erect, the mounting face\nRetreated towards the temples, and what there\nSuperfluous matter came, shot out in ears\nFrom the smooth cheeks, the rest, not backward dragg'd,\nOf its excess did shape the nose; and swell'd\nInto due size protuberant the lips.\nHe, on the earth who lay, meanwhile extends\nHis sharpen'd visage, and draws down the ears\nInto the head, as doth the slug his horns.\nHis tongue continuous before and apt\nFor utt'rance, severs; and the other's fork\nClosing unites.  That done the smoke was laid.\nThe soul, transform'd into the brute, glides off,\nHissing along the vale, and after him\nThe other talking sputters; but soon turn'd\nHis new-grown shoulders on him, and in few\nThus to another spake: \"Along this path\nCrawling, as I have done, speed Buoso now!\"\n\nSo saw I fluctuate in successive change\nTh' unsteady ballast of the seventh hold:\nAnd here if aught my tongue have swerv'd, events\nSo strange may be its warrant.  O'er mine eyes\nConfusion hung, and on my thoughts amaze.\n\nYet 'scap'd they not so covertly, but well\nI mark'd Sciancato: he alone it was\nOf the three first that came, who chang'd not: thou,\nThe other's fate, Gaville, still dost rue.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXVI\n\nFLORENCE exult! for thou so mightily\nHast thriven, that o'er land and sea thy wings\nThou beatest, and thy name spreads over hell!\nAmong the plund'rers such the three I found\nThy citizens, whence shame to me thy son,\nAnd no proud honour to thyself redounds.\n\nBut if our minds, when dreaming near the dawn,\nAre of the truth presageful, thou ere long\nShalt feel what Prato, (not to say the rest)\nWould fain might come upon thee; and that chance\nWere in good time, if it befell thee now.\nWould so it were, since it must needs befall!\nFor as time wears me, I shall grieve the more.\n\nWe from the depth departed; and my guide\nRemounting scal'd the flinty steps, which late\nWe downward trac'd, and drew me up the steep.\nPursuing thus our solitary way\nAmong the crags and splinters of the rock,\nSped not our feet without the help of hands.\n\nThen sorrow seiz'd me, which e'en now revives,\nAs my thought turns again to what I saw,\nAnd, more than I am wont, I rein and curb\nThe powers of nature in me, lest they run\nWhere Virtue guides not; that if aught of good\nMy gentle star, or something better gave me,\nI envy not myself the precious boon.\n\nAs in that season, when the sun least veils\nHis face that lightens all, what time the fly\nGives way to the shrill gnat, the peasant then\nUpon some cliff reclin'd, beneath him sees\nFire-flies innumerous spangling o'er the vale,\nVineyard or tilth, where his day-labour lies:\nWith flames so numberless throughout its space\nShone the eighth chasm, apparent, when the depth\nWas to my view expos'd. As he, whose wrongs\nThe bears aveng'd, at its departure saw\nElijah's chariot, when the steeds erect\nRais'd their steep flight for heav'n; his eyes meanwhile,\nStraining pursu'd them, till the flame alone\nUpsoaring like a misty speck he kenn'd;\nE'en thus along the gulf moves every flame,\nA sinner so enfolded close in each,\nThat none exhibits token of the theft.\n\nUpon the bridge I forward bent to look,\nAnd grasp'd a flinty mass, or else had fall'n,\nThough push'd not from the height.  The guide, who mark'd\nHow I did gaze attentive, thus began:\n\n\"Within these ardours are the spirits, each\nSwath'd in confining fire.\"--\"Master, thy word,\"\nI answer'd, \"hath assur'd me; yet I deem'd\nAlready of the truth, already wish'd\nTo ask thee, who is in yon fire, that comes\nSo parted at the summit, as it seem'd\nAscending from that funeral pile, where lay\nThe Theban brothers?\"  He replied: \"Within\nUlysses there and Diomede endure\nTheir penal tortures, thus to vengeance now\nTogether hasting, as erewhile to wrath.\nThese in the flame with ceaseless groans deplore\nThe ambush of the horse, that open'd wide\nA portal for that goodly seed to pass,\nWhich sow'd imperial Rome; nor less the guile\nLament they, whence of her Achilles 'reft\nDeidamia yet in death complains.\nAnd there is rued the stratagem, that Troy\nOf her Palladium spoil'd.\"--\"If they have power\nOf utt'rance from within these sparks,\" said I,\n\"O master! think my prayer a thousand fold\nIn repetition urg'd, that thou vouchsafe\nTo pause, till here the horned flame arrive.\nSee, how toward it with desire I bend.\"\n\nHe thus: \"Thy prayer is worthy of much praise,\nAnd I accept it therefore: but do thou\nThy tongue refrain: to question them be mine,\nFor I divine thy wish: and they perchance,\nFor they were Greeks, might shun discourse with thee.\"\n\nWhen there the flame had come, where time and place\nSeem'd fitting to my guide, he thus began:\n\"O ye, who dwell two spirits in one fire!\nIf living I of you did merit aught,\nWhate'er the measure were of that desert,\nWhen in the world my lofty strain I pour'd,\nMove ye not on, till one of you unfold\nIn what clime death o'ertook him self-destroy'd.\"\n\nOf the old flame forthwith the greater horn\nBegan to roll, murmuring, as a fire\nThat labours with the wind, then to and fro\nWagging the top, as a tongue uttering sounds,\nThrew out its voice, and spake: \"When I escap'd\nFrom Circe, who beyond a circling year\nHad held me near Caieta, by her charms,\nEre thus Aeneas yet had nam'd the shore,\nNor fondness for my son, nor reverence\nOf my old father, nor return of love,\nThat should have crown'd Penelope with joy,\nCould overcome in me the zeal I had\nT' explore the world, and search the ways of life,\nMan's evil and his virtue.  Forth I sail'd\nInto the deep illimitable main,\nWith but one bark, and the small faithful band\nThat yet cleav'd to me.  As Iberia far,\nFar as Morocco either shore I saw,\nAnd the Sardinian and each isle beside\nWhich round that ocean bathes.  Tardy with age\nWere I and my companions, when we came\nTo the strait pass, where Hercules ordain'd\nThe bound'ries not to be o'erstepp'd by man.\nThe walls of Seville to my right I left,\nOn the' other hand already Ceuta past.\n\n\"O brothers!\"  I began, \"who to the west\nThrough perils without number now have reach'd,\nTo this the short remaining watch, that yet\nOur senses have to wake, refuse not proof\nOf the unpeopled world, following the track\nOf Phoebus. Call to mind from whence we sprang:\nYe were not form'd to live the life of brutes\nBut virtue to pursue and knowledge high.\nWith these few words I sharpen'd for the voyage\nThe mind of my associates, that I then\nCould scarcely have withheld them.  To the dawn\nOur poop we turn'd, and for the witless flight\nMade our oars wings, still gaining on the left.\nEach star of the' other pole night now beheld,\nAnd ours so low, that from the ocean-floor\nIt rose not.  Five times re-illum'd, as oft\nVanish'd the light from underneath the moon\nSince the deep way we enter'd, when from far\nAppear'd a mountain dim, loftiest methought\nOf all I e'er beheld.  Joy seiz'd us straight,\nBut soon to mourning changed.  From the new land\nA whirlwind sprung, and at her foremost side\nDid strike the vessel.  Thrice it whirl'd her round\nWith all the waves, the fourth time lifted up\nThe poop, and sank the prow: so fate decreed:\nAnd over us the booming billow clos'd.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XVII\n\nNOW upward rose the flame, and still'd its light\nTo speak no more, and now pass'd on with leave\nFrom the mild poet gain'd, when following came\nAnother, from whose top a sound confus'd,\nForth issuing, drew our eyes that way to look.\n\nAs the Sicilian bull, that rightfully\nHis cries first echoed, who had shap'd its mould,\nDid so rebellow, with the voice of him\nTormented, that the brazen monster seem'd\nPierc'd through with pain; thus while no way they found\nNor avenue immediate through the flame,\nInto its language turn'd the dismal words:\nBut soon as they had won their passage forth,\nUp from the point, which vibrating obey'd\nTheir motion at the tongue, these sounds we heard:\n\"O thou! to whom I now direct my voice!\nThat lately didst exclaim in Lombard phrase,\n\n\"Depart thou, I solicit thee no more,\nThough somewhat tardy I perchance arrive\nLet it not irk thee here to pause awhile,\nAnd with me parley: lo! it irks not me\nAnd yet I burn.  If but e'en now thou fall\ninto this blind world, from that pleasant land\nOf Latium, whence I draw my sum of guilt,\nTell me if those, who in Romagna dwell,\nHave peace or war.  For of the mountains there\nWas I, betwixt Urbino and the height,\nWhence Tyber first unlocks his mighty flood.\"\n\nLeaning I listen'd yet with heedful ear,\nWhen, as he touch'd my side, the leader thus:\n\"Speak thou: he is a Latian.\"  My reply\nWas ready, and I spake without delay:\n\n\"O spirit! who art hidden here below!\nNever was thy Romagna without war\nIn her proud tyrants' bosoms, nor is now:\nBut open war there left I none.  The state,\nRavenna hath maintain'd this many a year,\nIs steadfast.  There Polenta's eagle broods,\nAnd in his broad circumference of plume\nO'ershadows Cervia. The green talons grasp\nThe land, that stood erewhile the proof so long,\nAnd pil'd in bloody heap the host of France.\n\n\"The' old mastiff of Verruchio and the young,\nThat tore Montagna in their wrath, still make,\nWhere they are wont, an augre of their fangs.\n\n\"Lamone's city and Santerno's range\nUnder the lion of the snowy lair.\nInconstant partisan! that changeth sides,\nOr ever summer yields to winter's frost.\nAnd she, whose flank is wash'd of Savio's wave,\nAs 'twixt the level and the steep she lies,\nLives so 'twixt tyrant power and liberty.\n\n\"Now tell us, I entreat thee, who art thou?\nBe not more hard than others.  In the world,\nSo may thy name still rear its forehead high.\"\n\nThen roar'd awhile the fire, its sharpen'd point\nOn either side wav'd, and thus breath'd at last:\n\"If I did think, my answer were to one,\nWho ever could return unto the world,\nThis flame should rest unshaken.  But since ne'er,\nIf true be told me, any from this depth\nHas found his upward way, I answer thee,\nNor fear lest infamy record the words.\n\n\"A man of arms at first, I cloth'd me then\nIn good Saint Francis' girdle, hoping so\nT' have made amends.  And certainly my hope\nHad fail'd not, but that he, whom curses light on,\nThe' high priest again seduc'd me into sin.\nAnd how and wherefore listen while I tell.\nLong as this spirit mov'd the bones and pulp\nMy mother gave me, less my deeds bespake\nThe nature of the lion than the fox.\nAll ways of winding subtlety I knew,\nAnd with such art conducted, that the sound\nReach'd the world's limit.  Soon as to that part\nOf life I found me come, when each behoves\nTo lower sails and gather in the lines;\nThat which before had pleased me then I rued,\nAnd to repentance and confession turn'd;\nWretch that I was! and well it had bested me!\nThe chief of the new Pharisees meantime,\nWaging his warfare near the Lateran,\nNot with the Saracens or Jews (his foes\nAll Christians were, nor against Acre one\nHad fought, nor traffic'd in the Soldan's land),\nHe his great charge nor sacred ministry\nIn himself, rev'renc'd, nor in me that cord,\nWhich us'd to mark with leanness whom it girded.\nAs in Socrate, Constantine besought\nTo cure his leprosy Sylvester's aid,\nSo me to cure the fever of his pride\nThis man besought: my counsel to that end\nHe ask'd: and I was silent: for his words\nSeem'd drunken: but forthwith he thus resum'd:\n'From thy heart banish fear: of all offence\nI hitherto absolve thee.  In return,\nTeach me my purpose so to execute,\nThat Penestrino cumber earth no more.\nHeav'n, as thou knowest, I have power to shut\nAnd open: and the keys are therefore twain,\nThe which my predecessor meanly priz'd.'\"\n\nThen, yielding to the forceful arguments,\nOf silence as more perilous I deem'd,\nAnd answer'd: \"Father! since thou washest me\nClear of that guilt wherein I now must fall,\nLarge promise with performance scant, be sure,\nShall make thee triumph in thy lofty seat.\"\n\n\"When I was number'd with the dead, then came\nSaint Francis for me; but a cherub dark\nHe met, who cried: 'Wrong me not; he is mine,\nAnd must below to join the wretched crew,\nFor the deceitful counsel which he gave.\nE'er since I watch'd him, hov'ring at his hair,\nNo power can the impenitent absolve;\nNor to repent and will at once consist,\nBy contradiction absolute forbid.'\"\nOh mis'ry! how I shook myself, when he\nSeiz'd me, and cried, \"Thou haply thought'st me not\nA disputant in logic so exact.\"\nTo Minos down he bore me, and the judge\nTwin'd eight times round his callous back the tail,\nWhich biting with excess of rage, he spake:\n\"This is a guilty soul, that in the fire\nMust vanish.  Hence perdition-doom'd I rove\nA prey to rankling sorrow in this garb.\"\n\nWhen he had thus fulfill'd his words, the flame\nIn dolour parted, beating to and fro,\nAnd writhing its sharp horn.  We onward went,\nI and my leader, up along the rock,\nFar as another arch, that overhangs\nThe foss, wherein the penalty is paid\nOf those, who load them with committed sin.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXVIII\n\nWHO, e'en in words unfetter'd, might at full\nTell of the wounds and blood that now I saw,\nThough he repeated oft the tale? No tongue\nSo vast a theme could equal, speech and thought\nBoth impotent alike.  If in one band\nCollected, stood the people all, who e'er\nPour'd on Apulia's happy soil their blood,\nSlain by the Trojans, and in that long war\nWhen of the rings the measur'd booty made\nA pile so high, as Rome's historian writes\nWho errs not, with the multitude, that felt\nThe grinding force of Guiscard's Norman steel,\nAnd those the rest, whose bones are gather'd yet\nAt Ceperano, there where treachery\nBranded th' Apulian name, or where beyond\nThy walls, O Tagliacozzo, without arms\nThe old Alardo conquer'd; and his limbs\nOne were to show transpierc'd, another his\nClean lopt away; a spectacle like this\nWere but a thing of nought, to the' hideous sight\nOf the ninth chasm.  A rundlet, that hath lost\nIts middle or side stave, gapes not so wide,\nAs one I mark'd, torn from the chin throughout\nDown to the hinder passage: 'twixt the legs\nDangling his entrails hung, the midriff lay\nOpen to view, and wretched ventricle,\nThat turns th' englutted aliment to dross.\n\nWhilst eagerly I fix on him my gaze,\nHe ey'd me, with his hands laid his breast bare,\nAnd cried; \"Now mark how I do rip me! lo!\n\n\"How is Mohammed mangled! before me\nWalks Ali weeping, from the chin his face\nCleft to the forelock; and the others all\nWhom here thou seest, while they liv'd, did sow\nScandal and schism, and therefore thus are rent.\nA fiend is here behind, who with his sword\nHacks us thus cruelly, slivering again\nEach of this ream, when we have compast round\nThe dismal way, for first our gashes close\nEre we repass before him.  But say who\nArt thou, that standest musing on the rock,\nHaply so lingering to delay the pain\nSentenc'd upon thy crimes?\"--\"Him death not yet,\"\nMy guide rejoin'd, \"hath overta'en, nor sin\nConducts to torment; but, that he may make\nFull trial of your state, I who am dead\nMust through the depths of hell, from orb to orb,\nConduct him.  Trust my words, for they are true.\"\n\nMore than a hundred spirits, when that they heard,\nStood in the foss to mark me, through amazed,\nForgetful of their pangs.  \"Thou, who perchance\nShalt shortly view the sun, this warning thou\nBear to Dolcino: bid him, if he wish not\nHere soon to follow me, that with good store\nOf food he arm him, lest impris'ning snows\nYield him a victim to Novara's power,\nNo easy conquest else.\"  With foot uprais'd\nFor stepping, spake Mohammed, on the ground\nThen fix'd it to depart.  Another shade,\nPierc'd in the throat, his nostrils mutilate\nE'en from beneath the eyebrows, and one ear\nLopt off, who with the rest through wonder stood\nGazing, before the rest advanc'd, and bar'd\nHis wind-pipe, that without was all o'ersmear'd\nWith crimson stain.  \"O thou!\" said he, \"whom sin\nCondemns not, and whom erst (unless too near\nResemblance do deceive me) I aloft\nHave seen on Latian ground, call thou to mind\nPiero of Medicina, if again\nReturning, thou behold'st the pleasant land\nThat from Vercelli slopes to Mercabo;\n\n\"And there instruct the twain, whom Fano boasts\nHer worthiest sons, Guido and Angelo,\nThat if 't is giv'n us here to scan aright\nThe future, they out of life's tenement\nShall be cast forth, and whelm'd under the waves\nNear to Cattolica, through perfidy\nOf a fell tyrant.  'Twixt the Cyprian isle\nAnd Balearic, ne'er hath Neptune seen\nAn injury so foul, by pirates done\nOr Argive crew of old.  That one-ey'd traitor\n(Whose realm there is a spirit here were fain\nHis eye had still lack'd sight of) them shall bring\nTo conf'rence with him, then so shape his end,\nThat they shall need not 'gainst Focara's wind\nOffer up vow nor pray'r.\"  I answering thus:\n\n\"Declare, as thou dost wish that I above\nMay carry tidings of thee, who is he,\nIn whom that sight doth wake such sad remembrance?\"\n\nForthwith he laid his hand on the cheek-bone\nOf one, his fellow-spirit, and his jaws\nExpanding, cried: \"Lo! this is he I wot of;\nHe speaks not for himself: the outcast this\nWho overwhelm'd the doubt in Caesar's mind,\nAffirming that delay to men prepar'd\nWas ever harmful.\"  Oh  how terrified\nMethought was Curio, from whose throat was cut\nThe tongue, which spake that hardy word.  Then one\nMaim'd of each hand, uplifted in the gloom\nThe bleeding stumps, that they with gory spots\nSullied his face, and cried: \"'Remember thee\nOf Mosca, too, I who, alas! exclaim'd,\n'The deed once done there is an end,' that prov'd\nA seed of sorrow to the Tuscan race.\"\n\nI added: \"Ay, and death to thine own tribe.\"\n\nWhence heaping woe on woe he hurried off,\nAs one grief stung to madness.  But I there\nStill linger'd to behold the troop, and saw\nThings, such as I may fear without more proof\nTo tell of, but that conscience makes me firm,\nThe boon companion, who her strong breast-plate\nBuckles on him, that feels no guilt within\nAnd bids him on and fear not.  Without doubt\nI saw, and yet it seems to pass before me,\nA headless trunk, that even as the rest\nOf the sad flock pac'd onward.  By the hair\nIt bore the sever'd member, lantern-wise\nPendent in hand, which look'd at us and said,\n\n\"Woe's me!\"  The spirit lighted thus himself,\nAnd two there were in one, and one in two.\nHow that may be he knows who ordereth so.\n\nWhen at the bridge's foot direct he stood,\nHis arm aloft he rear'd, thrusting the head\nFull in our view, that nearer we might hear\nThe words, which thus it utter'd: \"Now behold\nThis grievous torment, thou, who breathing go'st\nTo spy the dead; behold if any else\nBe terrible as this.  And that on earth\nThou mayst bear tidings of me, know that I\nAm Bertrand, he of Born, who gave King John\nThe counsel mischievous.  Father and son\nI set at mutual war.  For Absalom\nAnd David more did not Ahitophel,\nSpurring them on maliciously to strife.\nFor parting those so closely knit, my brain\nParted, alas!  I carry from its source,\nThat in this trunk inhabits.  Thus the law\nOf retribution fiercely works in me.\"\n\n\n===9\n\n\nTHE VISION\n\nOF\n\nHELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE\n\n\nOR THE INFERNO\n\n\nBY\n\nDANTE ALIGHIERI\n\n\n\nTRANSLATED BY\n\nTHE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A.\n\n\n\nHELL\n\n\nPart 9\n\n\nCantos 29 - 31\n\n\n\nCANTO XXIX\n\nSO were mine eyes inebriate with view\nOf the vast multitude, whom various wounds\nDisfigur'd, that they long'd to stay and weep.\n\nBut Virgil rous'd me: \"What yet gazest on?\nWherefore doth fasten yet thy sight below\nAmong the maim'd and miserable shades?\nThou hast not shewn in any chasm beside\nThis weakness.  Know, if thou wouldst number them\nThat two and twenty miles the valley winds\nIts circuit, and already is the moon\nBeneath our feet: the time permitted now\nIs short, and more not seen remains to see.\"\n\n\"If thou,\" I straight replied, \"hadst weigh'd the cause\nFor which I look'd, thou hadst perchance excus'd\nThe tarrying still.\"  My leader part pursu'd\nHis way, the while I follow'd, answering him,\nAnd adding thus: \"Within that cave I deem,\nWhereon so fixedly I held my ken,\nThere is a spirit dwells, one of my blood,\nWailing the crime that costs him now so dear.\"\n\nThen spake my master: \"Let thy soul no more\nAfflict itself for him.  Direct elsewhere\nIts thought, and leave him.  At the bridge's foot\nI mark'd how he did point with menacing look\nAt thee, and heard him by the others nam'd\nGeri of Bello.  Thou so wholly then\nWert busied with his spirit, who once rul'd\nThe towers of Hautefort, that thou lookedst not\nThat way, ere he was gone.\"--\"O guide belov'd!\nHis violent death yet unaveng'd,\" said I,\n\"By any, who are partners in his shame,\nMade him contemptuous: therefore, as I think,\nHe pass'd me speechless by; and doing so\nHath made me more compassionate his fate.\"\n\nSo we discours'd to where the rock first show'd\nThe other valley, had more light been there,\nE'en to the lowest depth.  Soon as we came\nO'er the last cloister in the dismal rounds\nOf Malebolge, and the brotherhood\nWere to our view expos'd, then many a dart\nOf sore lament assail'd me, headed all\nWith points of thrilling pity, that I clos'd\nBoth ears against the volley with mine hands.\n\nAs were the torment, if each lazar-house\nOf Valdichiana, in the sultry time\n'Twixt July and September, with the isle\nSardinia and Maremma's pestilent fen,\nHad heap'd their maladies all in one foss\nTogether; such was here the torment: dire\nThe stench, as issuing steams from fester'd limbs.\n\nWe on the utmost shore of the long rock\nDescended still to leftward.  Then my sight\nWas livelier to explore the depth, wherein\nThe minister of the most mighty Lord,\nAll-searching Justice, dooms to punishment\nThe forgers noted on her dread record.\n\nMore rueful was it not methinks to see\nThe nation in Aegina droop, what time\nEach living thing, e'en to the little worm,\nAll fell, so full of malice was the air\n(And afterward, as bards of yore have told,\nThe ancient people were restor'd anew\nFrom seed of emmets) than was here to see\nThe spirits, that languish'd through the murky vale\nUp-pil'd on many a stack.  Confus'd they lay,\nOne o'er the belly, o'er the shoulders one\nRoll'd of another; sideling crawl'd a third\nAlong the dismal pathway.  Step by step\nWe journey'd on, in silence looking round\nAnd list'ning those diseas'd, who strove in vain\nTo lift their forms.  Then two I mark'd, that sat\nPropp'd 'gainst each other, as two brazen pans\nSet to retain the heat.  From head to foot,\nA tetter bark'd them round. Nor saw I e'er\nGroom currying so fast, for whom his lord\nImpatient waited, or himself perchance\nTir'd with long watching, as of these each one\nPlied quickly his keen nails, through furiousness\nOf ne'er abated pruriency.  The crust\nCame drawn from underneath in flakes, like scales\nScrap'd from the bream or fish of broader mail.\n\n\"O thou, who with thy fingers rendest off\nThy coat of proof,\" thus spake my guide to one,\n\"And sometimes makest tearing pincers of them,\nTell me if any born of Latian land\nBe among these within: so may thy nails\nServe thee for everlasting to this toil.\"\n\n\"Both are of Latium,\" weeping he replied,\n\"Whom tortur'd thus thou seest: but who art thou\nThat hast inquir'd of us?\"  To whom my guide:\n\"One that descend with this man, who yet lives,\nFrom rock to rock, and show him hell's abyss.\"\n\nThen started they asunder, and each turn'd\nTrembling toward us, with the rest, whose ear\nThose words redounding struck.  To me my liege\nAddress'd him: \"Speak to them whate'er thou list.\"\n\nAnd I therewith began: \"So may no time\nFilch your remembrance from the thoughts of men\nIn th' upper world, but after many suns\nSurvive it, as ye tell me, who ye are,\nAnd of what race ye come.  Your punishment,\nUnseemly and disgustful in its kind,\nDeter you not from opening thus much to me.\"\n\n\"Arezzo was my dwelling,\" answer'd one,\n\"And me Albero of Sienna brought\nTo die by fire; but that, for which I died,\nLeads me not here.  True is in sport I told him,\nThat I had learn'd to wing my flight in air.\nAnd he admiring much, as he was void\nOf wisdom, will'd me to declare to him\nThe secret of mine art: and only hence,\nBecause I made him not a Daedalus,\nPrevail'd on one suppos'd his sire to burn me.\nBut Minos to this chasm last of the ten,\nFor that I practis'd alchemy on earth,\nHas doom'd me.  Him no subterfuge eludes.\"\n\nThen to the bard I spake: \"Was ever race\nLight as Sienna's?  Sure not France herself\nCan show a tribe so frivolous and vain.\"\n\nThe other leprous spirit heard my words,\nAnd thus return'd: \"Be Stricca from this charge\nExempted, he who knew so temp'rately\nTo lay out fortune's gifts; and Niccolo\nWho first the spice's costly luxury\nDiscover'd in that garden, where such seed\nRoots deepest in the soil: and be that troop\nExempted, with whom Caccia of Asciano\nLavish'd his vineyards and wide-spreading woods,\nAnd his rare wisdom Abbagliato show'd\nA spectacle for all.  That thou mayst know\nWho seconds thee against the Siennese\nThus gladly, bend this way thy sharpen'd sight,\nThat well my face may answer to thy ken;\nSo shalt thou see I am Capocchio's ghost,\nWho forg'd transmuted metals by the power\nOf alchemy; and if I scan thee right,\nThus needs must well remember how I aped\nCreative nature by my subtle art.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXX\n\nWHAT time resentment burn'd in Juno's breast\nFor Semele against the Theban blood,\nAs more than once in dire mischance was rued,\nSuch fatal frenzy seiz'd on Athamas,\nThat he his spouse beholding with a babe\nLaden on either arm, \"Spread out,\" he cried,\n\"The meshes, that I take the lioness\nAnd the young lions at the pass:\" then forth\nStretch'd he his merciless talons, grasping one,\nOne helpless innocent, Learchus nam'd,\nWhom swinging down he dash'd upon a rock,\nAnd with her other burden self-destroy'd\nThe hapless mother plung'd: and when the pride\nOf all-presuming Troy fell from its height,\nBy fortune overwhelm'd, and the old king\nWith his realm perish'd, then did Hecuba,\nA wretch forlorn and captive, when she saw\nPolyxena first slaughter'd, and her son,\nHer Polydorus, on the wild sea-beach\nNext met the mourner's view, then reft of sense\nDid she run barking even as a dog;\nSuch mighty power had grief to wrench her soul.\nBet ne'er the Furies or of Thebes or Troy\nWith such fell cruelty were seen, their goads\nInfixing in the limbs of man or beast,\nAs now two pale and naked ghost I saw\nThat gnarling wildly scamper'd, like the swine\nExcluded from his stye.  One reach'd Capocchio,\nAnd in the neck-joint sticking deep his fangs,\nDragg'd him, that o'er the solid pavement rubb'd\nHis belly stretch'd out prone.  The other shape,\nHe of Arezzo, there left trembling, spake;\n\"That sprite of air is Schicchi; in like mood\nOf random mischief vent he still his spite.\"\n\nTo whom I answ'ring: \"Oh! as thou dost hope,\nThe other may not flesh its jaws on thee,\nBe patient to inform us, who it is,\nEre it speed hence.\"--\"That is the ancient soul\nOf wretched Myrrha,\" he replied, \"who burn'd\nWith most unholy flame for her own sire,\n\n\"And a false shape assuming, so perform'd\nThe deed of sin; e'en as the other there,\nThat onward passes, dar'd to counterfeit\nDonati's features, to feign'd testament\nThe seal affixing, that himself might gain,\nFor his own share, the lady of the herd.\"\n\nWhen vanish'd the two furious shades, on whom\nMine eye was held, I turn'd it back to view\nThe other cursed spirits.  One I saw\nIn fashion like a lute, had but the groin\nBeen sever'd, where it meets the forked part.\nSwoln dropsy, disproportioning the limbs\nWith ill-converted moisture, that the paunch\nSuits not the visage, open'd wide his lips\nGasping as in the hectic man for drought,\nOne towards the chin, the other upward curl'd.\n\n\"O ye, who in this world of misery,\nWherefore I know not, are exempt from pain,\"\nThus he began, \"attentively regard\nAdamo's woe.  When living, full supply\nNe'er lack'd me of what most I coveted;\nOne drop of water now, alas!  I crave.\nThe rills, that glitter down the grassy slopes\nOf Casentino, making fresh and soft\nThe banks whereby they glide to Arno's stream,\nStand ever in my view; and not in vain;\nFor more the pictur'd semblance dries me up,\nMuch more than the disease, which makes the flesh\nDesert these shrivel'd cheeks.  So from the place,\nWhere I transgress'd, stern justice urging me,\nTakes means to quicken more my lab'ring sighs.\nThere is Romena, where I falsified\nThe metal with the Baptist's form imprest,\nFor which on earth I left my body burnt.\nBut if I here might see the sorrowing soul\nOf Guido, Alessandro, or their brother,\nFor Branda's limpid spring I would not change\nThe welcome sight.  One is e'en now within,\nIf truly the mad spirits tell, that round\nAre wand'ring.  But wherein besteads me that?\nMy limbs are fetter'd.  Were I but so light,\nThat I each hundred years might move one inch,\nI had set forth already on this path,\nSeeking him out amidst the shapeless crew,\nAlthough eleven miles it wind, not more\nThan half of one across.  They brought me down\nAmong this tribe; induc'd by them I stamp'd\nThe florens with three carats of alloy.\"\n\n\"Who are that abject pair,\" I next inquir'd,\n\"That closely bounding thee upon thy right\nLie smoking, like a band in winter steep'd\nIn the chill stream?\"--\"When to this gulf I dropt,\"\nHe answer'd, \"here I found them; since that hour\nThey have not turn'd, nor ever shall, I ween,\nTill time hath run his course.  One is that dame\nThe false accuser of the Hebrew youth;\nSinon the other, that false Greek from Troy.\nSharp fever drains the reeky moistness out,\nIn such a cloud upsteam'd.\"  When that he heard,\nOne, gall'd perchance to be so darkly nam'd,\nWith clench'd hand smote him on the braced paunch,\nThat like a drum resounded: but forthwith\nAdamo smote him on the face, the blow\nReturning with his arm, that seem'd as hard.\n\n\"Though my o'erweighty limbs have ta'en from me\nThe power to move,\" said he, \"I have an arm\nAt liberty for such employ.\"  To whom\nWas answer'd: \"When thou wentest to the fire,\nThou hadst it not so ready at command,\nThen readier when it coin'd th' impostor gold.\"\n\nAnd thus the dropsied: \"Ay, now speak'st thou true.\nBut there thou gav'st not such true testimony,\nWhen thou wast question'd of the truth, at Troy.\"\n\n\"If I spake false, thou falsely stamp'dst the coin,\"\nSaid Sinon; \"I am here but for one fault,\nAnd thou for more than any imp beside.\"\n\n\"Remember,\" he replied, \"O perjur'd one,\nThe horse remember, that did teem with death,\nAnd all the world be witness to thy guilt.\"\n\n\"To thine,\" return'd the Greek, \"witness the thirst\nWhence thy tongue cracks, witness the fluid mound,\nRear'd by thy belly up before thine eyes,\nA mass corrupt.\"  To whom the coiner thus:\n\"Thy mouth gapes wide as ever to let pass\nIts evil saying.  Me if thirst assails,\nYet I am stuff'd with moisture.  Thou art parch'd,\nPains rack thy head, no urging would'st thou need\nTo make thee lap Narcissus' mirror up.\"\n\nI was all fix'd to listen, when my guide\nAdmonish'd: \"Now beware: a little more.\nAnd I do quarrel with thee.\"  I perceiv'd\nHow angrily he spake, and towards him turn'd\nWith shame so poignant, as remember'd yet\nConfounds me.  As a man that dreams of harm\nBefall'n him, dreaming wishes it a dream,\nAnd that which is, desires as if it were not,\nSuch then was I, who wanting power to speak\nWish'd to excuse myself, and all the while\nExcus'd me, though unweeting that I did.\n\n\"More grievous fault than thine has been, less shame,\"\nMy master cried, \"might expiate.  Therefore cast\nAll sorrow from thy soul; and if again\nChance bring thee, where like conference is held,\nThink I am ever at thy side.  To hear\nSuch wrangling is a joy for vulgar minds.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXXI\n\nTHE very tongue, whose keen reproof before\nHad wounded me, that either cheek was stain'd,\nNow minister'd my cure.  So have I heard,\nAchilles and his father's javelin caus'd\nPain first, and then the boon of health restor'd.\n\nTurning our back upon the vale of woe,\nW cross'd th' encircled mound in silence.  There\nWas twilight dim, that far long the gloom\nMine eye advanc'd not: but I heard a horn\nSounded aloud. The peal it blew had made\nThe thunder feeble.  Following its course\nThe adverse way, my strained eyes were bent\nOn that one spot.  So terrible a blast\nOrlando blew not, when that dismal rout\nO'erthrew the host of Charlemagne, and quench'd\nHis saintly warfare.  Thitherward not long\nMy head was rais'd, when many lofty towers\nMethought I spied.  \"Master,\" said I, \"what land\nIs this?\"  He answer'd straight: \"Too long a space\nOf intervening darkness has thine eye\nTo traverse: thou hast therefore widely err'd\nIn thy imagining.  Thither arriv'd\nThou well shalt see, how distance can delude\nThe sense.  A little therefore urge thee on.\"\n\nThen tenderly he caught me by the hand;\n\"Yet know,\" said he, \"ere farther we advance,\nThat it less strange may seem, these are not towers,\nBut giants.  In the pit they stand immers'd,\nEach from his navel downward, round the bank.\"\n\nAs when a fog disperseth gradually,\nOur vision traces what the mist involves\nCondens'd in air; so piercing through the gross\nAnd gloomy atmosphere, as more and more\nWe near'd toward the brink, mine error fled,\nAnd fear came o'er me.  As with circling round\nOf turrets, Montereggion crowns his walls,\nE'en thus the shore, encompassing th' abyss,\nWas turreted with giants, half their length\nUprearing, horrible, whom Jove from heav'n\nYet threatens, when his mutt'ring thunder rolls.\n\nOf one already I descried the face,\nShoulders, and breast, and of the belly huge\nGreat part, and both arms down along his ribs.\n\nAll-teeming nature, when her plastic hand\nLeft framing of these monsters, did display\nPast doubt her wisdom, taking from mad War\nSuch slaves to do his bidding; and if she\nRepent her not of th' elephant and whale,\nWho ponders well confesses her therein\nWiser and more discreet; for when brute force\nAnd evil will are back'd with subtlety,\nResistance none avails.  His visage seem'd\nIn length and bulk, as doth the pine, that tops\nSaint Peter's Roman fane; and th' other bones\nOf like proportion, so that from above\nThe bank, which girdled him below, such height\nArose his stature, that three Friezelanders\nHad striv'n in vain to reach but to his hair.\nFull thirty ample palms was he expos'd\nDownward from whence a man his garments loops.\n\"Raphel bai ameth sabi almi,\"\nSo shouted his fierce lips, which sweeter hymns\nBecame not; and my guide address'd him thus:\n\n\"O senseless spirit! let thy horn for thee\nInterpret: therewith vent thy rage, if rage\nOr other passion wring thee.  Search thy neck,\nThere shalt thou find the belt that binds it on.\nWild spirit! lo, upon thy mighty breast\nWhere hangs the baldrick!\"  Then to me he spake:\n\"He doth accuse himself.  Nimrod is this,\nThrough whose ill counsel in the world no more\nOne tongue prevails.  But pass we on, nor waste\nOur words; for so each language is to him,\nAs his to others, understood by none.\"\n\nThen to the leftward turning sped we forth,\nAnd at a sling's throw found another shade\nFar fiercer and more huge.  I cannot say\nWhat master hand had girt him; but he held\nBehind the right arm fetter'd, and before\nThe other with a chain, that fasten'd him\nFrom the neck down, and five times round his form\nApparent met the wreathed links.  \"This proud one\nWould of his strength against almighty Jove\nMake trial,\" said my guide; \"whence he is thus\nRequited: Ephialtes him they call.\n\n\"Great was his prowess, when the giants brought\nFear on the gods: those arms, which then he piled,\nNow moves he never.\"  Forthwith I return'd:\n\"Fain would I, if 't were possible, mine eyes\nOf Briareus immeasurable gain'd\nExperience next.\"  He answer'd: \"Thou shalt see\nNot far from hence Antaeus, who both speaks\nAnd is unfetter'd, who shall place us there\nWhere guilt is at its depth.  Far onward stands\nWhom thou wouldst fain behold, in chains, and made\nLike to this spirit, save that in his looks\nMore fell he seems.\"  By violent earthquake rock'd\nNe'er shook a tow'r, so reeling to its base,\nAs Ephialtes.  More than ever then\nI dreaded death, nor than the terror more\nHad needed, if I had not seen the cords\nThat held him fast.  We, straightway journeying on,\nCame to Antaeus, who five ells complete\nWithout the head, forth issued from the cave.\n\n\"O thou, who in the fortunate vale, that made\nGreat Scipio heir of glory, when his sword\nDrove back the troop of Hannibal in flight,\nWho thence of old didst carry for thy spoil\nAn hundred lions; and if thou hadst fought\nIn the high conflict on thy brethren's side,\nSeems as men yet believ'd, that through thine arm\nThe sons of earth had conquer'd, now vouchsafe\nTo place us down beneath, where numbing cold\nLocks up Cocytus.  Force not that we crave\nOr Tityus' help or Typhon's.  Here is one\nCan give what in this realm ye covet.  Stoop\nTherefore, nor scornfully distort thy lip.\nHe in the upper world can yet bestow\nRenown on thee, for he doth live, and looks\nFor life yet longer, if before the time\nGrace call him not unto herself.\"  Thus spake\nThe teacher.  He in haste forth stretch'd his hands,\nAnd caught my guide.  Alcides whilom felt\nThat grapple straighten'd score.  Soon as my guide\nHad felt it, he bespake me thus: \"This way\nThat I may clasp thee;\" then so caught me up,\nThat we were both one burden.  As appears\nThe tower of Carisenda, from beneath\nWhere it doth lean, if chance a passing cloud\nSo sail across, that opposite it hangs,\nSuch then Antaeus seem'd, as at mine ease\nI mark'd him stooping.  I were fain at times\nT' have pass'd another way.  Yet in th' abyss,\nThat Lucifer with Judas low ingulfs,\nLightly he plac'd us; nor there leaning stay'd,\nBut rose as in a bark the stately mast.\n\n\n===10\n\n\nTHE VISION\n\nOF\n\nHELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE\n\n\nOR THE INFERNO\n\n\nBY\n\nDANTE ALIGHIERI\n\n\n\nTRANSLATED BY\n\nTHE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A.\n\n\n\nHELL\n\n\nPart 10\n\n\nCantos 32 - 34\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXXII\n\nCOULD I command rough rhimes and hoarse, to suit\nThat hole of sorrow, o'er which ev'ry rock\nHis firm abutment rears, then might the vein\nOf fancy rise full springing: but not mine\nSuch measures, and with falt'ring awe I touch\nThe mighty theme; for to describe the depth\nOf all the universe, is no emprize\nTo jest with, and demands a tongue not us'd\nTo infant babbling.  But let them assist\nMy song, the tuneful maidens, by whose aid\nAmphion wall'd in Thebes, so with the truth\nMy speech shall best accord.  Oh ill-starr'd folk,\nBeyond all others wretched! who abide\nIn such a mansion, as scarce thought finds words\nTo speak of, better had ye here on earth\nBeen flocks or mountain goats.  As down we stood\nIn the dark pit beneath the giants' feet,\nBut lower far than they, and I did gaze\nStill on the lofty battlement, a voice\nBespoke me thus: \"Look how thou walkest.  Take\nGood heed, thy soles do tread not on the heads\nOf thy poor brethren.\"  Thereupon I turn'd,\nAnd saw before and underneath my feet\nA lake, whose frozen surface liker seem'd\nTo glass than water.  Not so thick a veil\nIn winter e'er hath Austrian Danube spread\nO'er his still course, nor Tanais far remote\nUnder the chilling sky.  Roll'd o'er that mass\nHad Tabernich or Pietrapana fall'n,\n\nNot e'en its rim had creak'd. As peeps the frog\nCroaking above the wave, what time in dreams\nThe village gleaner oft pursues her toil,\nSo, to where modest shame appears, thus low\nBlue pinch'd and shrin'd in ice the spirits stood,\nMoving their teeth in shrill note like the stork.\nHis face each downward held; their mouth the cold,\nTheir eyes express'd the dolour of their heart.\n\nA space I look'd around, then at my feet\nSaw two so strictly join'd, that of their head\nThe very hairs were mingled.  \"Tell me ye,\nWhose bosoms thus together press,\" said I,\n\"Who are ye?\"  At that sound their necks they bent,\nAnd when their looks were lifted up to me,\nStraightway their eyes, before all moist within,\nDistill'd upon their lips, and the frost bound\nThe tears betwixt those orbs and held them there.\nPlank unto plank hath never cramp clos'd up\nSo stoutly.  Whence like two enraged goats\nThey clash'd together; them such fury seiz'd.\n\nAnd one, from whom the cold both ears had reft,\nExclaim'd, still looking downward: \"Why on us\nDost speculate so long?  If thou wouldst know\nWho are these two, the valley, whence his wave\nBisenzio slopes, did for its master own\nTheir sire Alberto, and next him themselves.\nThey from one body issued; and throughout\nCaina thou mayst search, nor find a shade\nMore worthy in congealment to be fix'd,\nNot him, whose breast and shadow Arthur's land\nAt that one blow dissever'd, not Focaccia,\nNo not this spirit, whose o'erjutting head\nObstructs my onward view: he bore the name\nOf Mascheroni: Tuscan if thou be,\nWell knowest who he was: and to cut short\nAll further question, in my form behold\nWhat once was Camiccione.  I await\nCarlino here my kinsman, whose deep guilt\nShall wash out mine.\"  A thousand visages\nThen mark'd I, which the keen and eager cold\nHad shap'd into a doggish grin; whence creeps\nA shiv'ring horror o'er me, at the thought\nOf those frore shallows.  While we journey'd on\nToward the middle, at whose point unites\nAll heavy substance, and I trembling went\nThrough that eternal chillness, I know not\nIf will it were or destiny, or chance,\nBut, passing 'midst the heads, my foot did strike\nWith violent blow against the face of one.\n\n\"Wherefore dost bruise me?\" weeping, he exclaim'd,\n\"Unless thy errand be some fresh revenge\nFor Montaperto, wherefore troublest me?\"\n\nI thus: \"Instructor, now await me here,\nThat I through him may rid me of my doubt.\nThenceforth what haste thou wilt.\"  The teacher paus'd,\nAnd to that shade I spake, who bitterly\nStill curs'd me in his wrath.  \"What art thou, speak,\nThat railest thus on others?\"  He replied:\n\"Now who art thou, that smiting others' cheeks\nThrough Antenora roamest, with such force\nAs were past suff'rance, wert thou living still?\"\n\n\"And I am living, to thy joy perchance,\"\nWas my reply, \"if fame be dear to thee,\nThat with the rest I may thy name enrol.\"\n\n\"The contrary of what I covet most,\"\nSaid he, \"thou tender'st: hence; nor vex me more.\nIll knowest thou to flatter in this vale.\"\n\nThen seizing on his hinder scalp, I cried:\n\"Name thee, or not a hair shall tarry here.\"\n\n\"Rend all away,\" he answer'd, \"yet for that\nI will not tell nor show thee who I am,\nThough at my head thou pluck a thousand times.\"\n\nNow I had grasp'd his tresses, and stript off\nMore than one tuft, he barking, with his eyes\nDrawn in and downward, when another cried,\n\"What ails thee, Bocca?  Sound not loud enough\nThy chatt'ring teeth, but thou must bark outright?\nWhat devil wrings thee?\"--\"Now,\" said I, \"be dumb,\nAccursed traitor! to thy shame of thee\nTrue tidings will I bear.\"--\"Off,\" he replied,\n\"Tell what thou list; but as thou escape from hence\nTo speak of him whose tongue hath been so glib,\nForget not: here he wails the Frenchman's gold.\n'Him of Duera,' thou canst say, 'I mark'd,\nWhere the starv'd sinners pine.'  If thou be ask'd\nWhat other shade was with them, at thy side\nIs Beccaria, whose red gorge distain'd\nThe biting axe of Florence.  Farther on,\nIf I misdeem not, Soldanieri bides,\nWith Ganellon, and Tribaldello, him\nWho op'd Faenza when the people slept.\"\n\nWe now had left him, passing on our way,\nWhen I beheld two spirits by the ice\nPent in one hollow, that the head of one\nWas cowl unto the other; and as bread\nIs raven'd up through hunger, th' uppermost\nDid so apply his fangs to th' other's brain,\nWhere the spine joins it.  Not more furiously\nOn Menalippus' temples Tydeus gnaw'd,\nThan on that skull and on its garbage he.\n\n\"O thou who show'st so beastly sign of hate\n'Gainst him thou prey'st on, let me hear,\" said I\n\"The cause, on such condition, that if right\nWarrant thy grievance, knowing who ye are,\nAnd what the colour of his sinning was,\nI may repay thee in the world above,\nIf that, wherewith I speak be moist so long.\"\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXXIII\n\nHIS jaws uplifting from their fell repast,\nThat sinner wip'd them on the hairs o' th' head,\nWhich he behind had mangled, then began:\n\"Thy will obeying, I call up afresh\nSorrow past cure, which but to think of wrings\nMy heart, or ere I tell on't. But if words,\nThat I may utter, shall prove seed to bear\nFruit of eternal infamy to him,\nThe traitor whom I gnaw at, thou at once\nShalt see me speak and weep.  Who thou mayst be\nI know not, nor how here below art come:\nBut Florentine thou seemest of a truth,\nWhen I do hear thee.  Know I was on earth\nCount Ugolino, and th' Archbishop he\nRuggieri.  Why I neighbour him so close,\nNow list.  That through effect of his ill thoughts\nIn him my trust reposing, I was ta'en\nAnd after murder'd, need is not I tell.\nWhat therefore thou canst not have heard, that is,\nHow cruel was the murder, shalt thou hear,\nAnd know if he have wrong'd me.  A small grate\nWithin that mew, which for my sake the name\nOf famine bears, where others yet must pine,\nAlready through its opening sev'ral moons\nHad shown me, when I slept the evil sleep,\nThat from the future tore the curtain off.\nThis one, methought, as master of the sport,\nRode forth to chase the gaunt wolf and his whelps\nUnto the mountain, which forbids the sight\nOf Lucca to the Pisan.  With lean brachs\nInquisitive and keen, before him rang'd\nLanfranchi with Sismondi and Gualandi.\nAfter short course the father and the sons\nSeem'd tir'd and lagging, and methought I saw\nThe sharp tusks gore their sides.  When I awoke\nBefore the dawn, amid their sleep I heard\nMy sons (for they were with me) weep and ask\nFor bread.  Right cruel art thou, if no pang\nThou feel at thinking what my heart foretold;\nAnd if not now, why use thy tears to flow?\nNow had they waken'd; and the hour drew near\nWhen they were wont to bring us food; the mind\nOf each misgave him through his dream, and I\nHeard, at its outlet underneath lock'd up\nThe' horrible tower: whence uttering not a word\nI look'd upon the visage of my sons.\nI wept not: so all stone I felt within.\nThey wept: and one, my little Anslem, cried:\n\"Thou lookest so!  Father what ails thee?\"  Yet\nI shed no tear, nor answer'd all that day\nNor the next night, until another sun\nCame out upon the world.  When a faint beam\nHad to our doleful prison made its way,\nAnd in four countenances I descry'd\nThe image of my own, on either hand\nThrough agony I bit, and they who thought\nI did it through desire of feeding, rose\nO' th' sudden, and cried, 'Father, we should grieve\nFar less, if thou wouldst eat of us: thou gav'st\nThese weeds of miserable flesh we wear,\n\n'And do thou strip them off from us again.'\nThen, not to make them sadder, I kept down\nMy spirit in stillness.  That day and the next\nWe all were silent.  Ah, obdurate earth!\nWhy open'dst not upon us?  When we came\nTo the fourth day, then Geddo at my feet\nOutstretch'd did fling him, crying, 'Hast no help\nFor me, my father!'  There he died, and e'en\nPlainly as thou seest me, saw I the three\nFall one by one 'twixt the fifth day and sixth:\n\n\"Whence I betook me now grown blind to grope\nOver them all, and for three days aloud\nCall'd on them who were dead.  Then fasting got\nThe mastery of grief.\"  Thus having spoke,\n\nOnce more upon the wretched skull his teeth\nHe fasten'd, like a mastiff's 'gainst the bone\nFirm and unyielding.  Oh thou Pisa! shame\nOf all the people, who their dwelling make\nIn that fair region, where th' Italian voice\nIs heard, since that thy neighbours are so slack\nTo punish, from their deep foundations rise\nCapraia and Gorgona, and dam up\nThe mouth of Arno, that each soul in thee\nMay perish in the waters!  What if fame\nReported that thy castles were betray'd\nBy Ugolino, yet no right hadst thou\nTo stretch his children on the rack.  For them,\nBrigata, Ugaccione, and the pair\nOf gentle ones, of whom my song hath told,\nTheir tender years, thou modern Thebes! did make\nUncapable of guilt.  Onward we pass'd,\nWhere others skarf'd in rugged folds of ice\nNot on their feet were turn'd, but each revers'd.\n\nThere very weeping suffers not to weep;\nFor at their eyes grief seeking passage finds\nImpediment, and rolling inward turns\nFor increase of sharp anguish: the first tears\nHang cluster'd, and like crystal vizors show,\nUnder the socket brimming all the cup.\n\nNow though the cold had from my face dislodg'd\nEach feeling, as 't were callous, yet me seem'd\nSome breath of wind I felt.  \"Whence cometh this,\"\nSaid I, \"my master?  Is not here below\nAll vapour quench'd?\"--\"'Thou shalt be speedily,\"\nHe answer'd, \"where thine eye shall tell thee whence\nThe cause descrying of this airy shower.\"\n\nThen cried out one in the chill crust who mourn'd:\n\"O souls so cruel! that the farthest post\nHath been assign'd you, from this face remove\nThe harden'd veil, that I may vent the grief\nImpregnate at my heart, some little space\nEre it congeal again!\"  I thus replied:\n\"Say who thou wast, if thou wouldst have mine aid;\nAnd if I extricate thee not, far down\nAs to the lowest ice may I descend!\"\n\n\"The friar Alberigo,\" answered he,\n\"Am I, who from the evil garden pluck'd\nIts fruitage, and am here repaid, the date\nMore luscious for my fig.\"--\"Hah!\"  I exclaim'd,\n\"Art thou too dead!\"--\"How in the world aloft\nIt fareth with my body,\" answer'd he,\n\"I am right ignorant.  Such privilege\nHath Ptolomea, that ofttimes the soul\nDrops hither, ere by Atropos divorc'd.\nAnd that thou mayst wipe out more willingly\nThe glazed tear-drops that o'erlay mine eyes,\nKnow that the soul, that moment she betrays,\nAs I did, yields her body to a fiend\nWho after moves and governs it at will,\nTill all its time be rounded; headlong she\nFalls to this cistern.  And perchance above\nDoth yet appear the body of a ghost,\nWho here behind me winters.  Him thou know'st,\nIf thou but newly art arriv'd below.\nThe years are many that have pass'd away,\nSince to this fastness Branca Doria came.\"\n\n\"Now,\" answer'd I, \"methinks thou mockest me,\nFor Branca Doria never yet hath died,\nBut doth all natural functions of a man,\nEats, drinks, and sleeps, and putteth raiment on.\"\n\nHe thus: \"Not yet unto that upper foss\nBy th' evil talons guarded, where the pitch\nTenacious boils, had Michael Zanche reach'd,\nWhen this one left a demon in his stead\nIn his own body, and of one his kin,\nWho with him treachery wrought.  But now put forth\nThy hand, and ope mine eyes.\"  I op'd them not.\nIll manners were best courtesy to him.\n\nAh Genoese! men perverse in every way,\nWith every foulness stain'd, why from the earth\nAre ye not cancel'd?  Such an one of yours\nI with Romagna's darkest spirit found,\nAs for his doings even now in soul\nIs in Cocytus plung'd, and yet doth seem\nIn body still alive upon the earth.\n\n\n\n\nCANTO XXXIV\n\n\"THE banners of Hell's Monarch do come forth\nTowards us; therefore look,\" so spake my guide,\n\"If thou discern him.\"  As, when breathes a cloud\nHeavy and dense, or when the shades of night\nFall on our hemisphere, seems view'd from far\nA windmill, which the blast stirs briskly round,\nSuch was the fabric then methought I saw,\n\nTo shield me from the wind, forthwith I drew\nBehind my guide: no covert else was there.\n\nNow came I (and with fear I bid my strain\nRecord the marvel) where the souls were all\nWhelm'd underneath, transparent, as through glass\nPellucid the frail stem.  Some prone were laid,\nOthers stood upright, this upon the soles,\nThat on his head, a third with face to feet\nArch'd like a bow.  When to the point we came,\nWhereat my guide was pleas'd that I should see\nThe creature eminent in beauty once,\nHe from before me stepp'd and made me pause.\n\n\"Lo!\"  he exclaim'd, \"lo Dis! and lo the place,\nWhere thou hast need to arm thy heart with strength.\"\n\nHow frozen and how faint I then became,\nAsk me not, reader! for I write it not,\nSince words would fail to tell thee of my state.\nI was not dead nor living.  Think thyself\nIf quick conception work in thee at all,\nHow I did feel.  That emperor, who sways\nThe realm of sorrow, at mid breast from th' ice\nStood forth; and I in stature am more like\nA giant, than the giants are in his arms.\nMark now how great that whole must be, which suits\nWith such a part.  If he were beautiful\nAs he is hideous now, and yet did dare\nTo scowl upon his Maker, well from him\nMay all our mis'ry flow.  Oh what a sight!\nHow passing strange it seem'd, when I did spy\nUpon his head three faces: one in front\nOf hue vermilion, th' other two with this\nMidway each shoulder join'd and at the crest;\nThe right 'twixt wan and yellow seem'd: the left\nTo look on, such as come from whence old Nile\nStoops to the lowlands.  Under each shot forth\nTwo mighty wings, enormous as became\nA bird so vast.  Sails never such I saw\nOutstretch'd on the wide sea.  No plumes had they,\nBut were in texture like a bat, and these\nHe flapp'd i' th' air, that from him issued still\nThree winds, wherewith Cocytus to its depth\nWas frozen.  At six eyes he wept: the tears\nAdown three chins distill'd with bloody foam.\nAt every mouth his teeth a sinner champ'd\nBruis'd as with pond'rous engine, so that three\nWere in this guise tormented.  But far more\nThan from that gnawing, was the foremost pang'd\nBy the fierce rending, whence ofttimes the back\nWas stript of all its skin.  \"That upper spirit,\nWho hath worse punishment,\" so spake my guide,\n\"Is Judas, he that hath his head within\nAnd plies the feet without.  Of th' other two,\nWhose heads are under, from the murky jaw\nWho hangs, is Brutus: lo! how he doth writhe\nAnd speaks not!  Th' other Cassius, that appears\nSo large of limb.  But night now re-ascends,\nAnd it is time for parting.  All is seen.\"\n\nI clipp'd him round the neck, for so he bade;\nAnd noting time and place, he, when the wings\nEnough were op'd, caught fast the shaggy sides,\nAnd down from pile to pile descending stepp'd\nBetween the thick fell and the jagged ice.\n\nSoon as he reach'd the point, whereat the thigh\nUpon the swelling of the haunches turns,\nMy leader there with pain and struggling hard\nTurn'd round his head, where his feet stood before,\nAnd grappled at the fell, as one who mounts,\nThat into hell methought we turn'd again.\n\n\"Expect that by such stairs as these,\" thus spake\nThe teacher, panting like a man forespent,\n\"We must depart from evil so extreme.\"\nThen at a rocky opening issued forth,\nAnd plac'd me on a brink to sit, next join'd\nWith wary step my side.  I rais'd mine eyes,\nBelieving that I Lucifer should see\nWhere he was lately left, but saw him now\nWith legs held upward.  Let the grosser sort,\nWho see not what the point was I had pass'd,\nBethink them if sore toil oppress'd me then.\n\n\"Arise,\" my master cried, \"upon thy feet.\nThe way is long, and much uncouth the road;\nAnd now within one hour and half of noon\nThe sun returns.\"  It was no palace-hall\nLofty and luminous wherein we stood,\nBut natural dungeon where ill footing was\nAnd scant supply of light.  \"Ere from th' abyss\nI sep'rate,\" thus when risen I began,\n\"My guide! vouchsafe few words to set me free\nFrom error's thralldom.  Where is now the ice?\nHow standeth he in posture thus revers'd?\nAnd how from eve to morn in space so brief\nHath the sun made his transit?\"  He in few\nThus answering spake: \"Thou deemest thou art still\nOn th' other side the centre, where I grasp'd\nTh' abhorred worm, that boreth through the world.\nThou wast on th' other side, so long as I\nDescended; when I turn'd, thou didst o'erpass\nThat point, to which from ev'ry part is dragg'd\nAll heavy substance.  Thou art now arriv'd\nUnder the hemisphere opposed to that,\nWhich the great continent doth overspread,\nAnd underneath whose canopy expir'd\nThe Man, that was born sinless, and so liv'd.\nThy feet are planted on the smallest sphere,\nWhose other aspect is Judecca.  Morn\nHere rises, when there evening sets: and he,\nWhose shaggy pile was scal'd, yet standeth fix'd,\nAs at the first.  On this part he fell down\nFrom heav'n; and th' earth, here prominent before,\nThrough fear of him did veil her with the sea,\nAnd to our hemisphere retir'd.  Perchance\nTo shun him was the vacant space left here\nBy what of firm land on this side appears,\nThat sprang aloof.\"  There is a place beneath,\nFrom Belzebub as distant, as extends\nThe vaulted tomb, discover'd not by sight,\nBut by the sound of brooklet, that descends\nThis way along the hollow of a rock,\nWhich, as it winds with no precipitous course,\nThe wave hath eaten.  By that hidden way\nMy guide and I did enter, to return\nTo the fair world: and heedless of repose\nWe climbed, he first, I following his steps,\nTill on our view the beautiful lights of heav'n\nDawn'd through a circular opening in the cave:\nThus issuing we again beheld the stars.","title":"The Divine Comedy by Dante, Illustrated, Hell, Volume 06","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":24178}