Part 4

And if just now, in answering, I was dumb, Tell him I did it because I was thinking Already of the error you have solved me.”

And now my Master was recalling me, Wherefore more eagerly I prayed the spirit That he would tell me who was with him there.

He said: “With more than a thousand here I lie; Within here is the second Frederick, And the Cardinal, and of the rest I speak not.”

Thereon he hid himself; and I towards The ancient poet turned my steps, reflecting Upon that saying, which seemed hostile to me.

He moved along; and afterward thus going, He said to me, “Why art thou so bewildered?” And I in his inquiry satisfied him.

“Let memory preserve what thou hast heard Against thyself,” that Sage commanded me, “And now attend here;” and he raised his finger.

“When thou shalt be before the radiance sweet Of her whose beauteous eyes all things behold, From her thou’lt know the journey of thy life.”

Unto the left hand then he turned his feet; We left the wall, and went towards the middle, Along a path that strikes into a valley,

Which even up there unpleasant made its stench.

Inferno: Canto XI

Upon the margin of a lofty bank Which great rocks broken in a circle made, We came upon a still more cruel throng;

And there, by reason of the horrible Excess of stench the deep abyss throws out, We drew ourselves aside behind the cover

Of a great tomb, whereon I saw a writing, Which said: “Pope Anastasius I hold, Whom out of the right way Photinus drew.”

“Slow it behoveth our descent to be, So that the sense be first a little used To the sad blast, and then we shall not heed it.”

The Master thus; and unto him I said, “Some compensation find, that the time pass not Idly;” and he: “Thou seest I think of that.

My son, upon the inside of these rocks,” Began he then to say, “are three small circles, From grade to grade, like those which thou art leaving.

They all are full of spirits maledict; But that hereafter sight alone suffice thee, Hear how and wherefore they are in constraint.

Of every malice that wins hate in Heaven, Injury is the end; and all such end Either by force or fraud afflicteth others.

But because fraud is man’s peculiar vice, More it displeases God; and so stand lowest The fraudulent, and greater dole assails them.

All the first circle of the Violent is; But since force may be used against three persons, In three rounds ’tis divided and constructed.

To God, to ourselves, and to our neighbour can we Use force; I say on them and on their things, As thou shalt hear with reason manifest.

A death by violence, and painful wounds, Are to our neighbour given; and in his substance Ruin, and arson, and injurious levies;

Whence homicides, and he who smites unjustly, Marauders, and freebooters, the first round Tormenteth all in companies diverse.

Man may lay violent hands upon himself And his own goods; and therefore in the second Round must perforce without avail repent

Whoever of your world deprives himself, Who games, and dissipates his property, And weepeth there, where he should jocund be.

Violence can be done the Deity, In heart denying and blaspheming Him, And by disdaining Nature and her bounty.

And for this reason doth the smallest round Seal with its signet Sodom and Cahors, And who, disdaining God, speaks from the heart.

Fraud, wherewithal is every conscience stung, A man may practise upon him who trusts, And him who doth no confidence imburse.

This latter mode, it would appear, dissevers Only the bond of love which Nature makes; Wherefore within the second circle nestle

Hypocrisy, flattery, and who deals in magic, Falsification, theft, and simony, Panders, and barrators, and the like filth.

By the other mode, forgotten is that love Which Nature makes, and what is after added, From which there is a special faith engendered.

Hence in the smallest circle, where the point is Of the Universe, upon which Dis is seated, Whoe’er betrays for ever is consumed.”

And I: “My Master, clear enough proceeds Thy reasoning, and full well distinguishes This cavern and the people who possess it.

But tell me, those within the fat lagoon, Whom the wind drives, and whom the rain doth beat, And who encounter with such bitter tongues,

Wherefore are they inside of the red city Not punished, if God has them in his wrath, And if he has not, wherefore in such fashion?”

And unto me he said: “Why wanders so Thine intellect from that which it is wont? Or, sooth, thy mind where is it elsewhere looking?

Hast thou no recollection of those words With which thine Ethics thoroughly discusses The dispositions three, that Heaven abides not,—

Incontinence, and Malice, and insane Bestiality? and how Incontinence Less God offendeth, and less blame attracts?

If thou regardest this conclusion well, And to thy mind recallest who they are That up outside are undergoing penance,

Clearly wilt thou perceive why from these felons They separated are, and why less wroth Justice divine doth smite them with its hammer.”

“O Sun, that healest all distempered vision, Thou dost content me so, when thou resolvest, That doubting pleases me no less than knowing!

Once more a little backward turn thee,” said I, “There where thou sayest that usury offends Goodness divine, and disengage the knot.”

“Philosophy,” he said, “to him who heeds it, Noteth, not only in one place alone, After what manner Nature takes her course

From Intellect Divine, and from its art; And if thy Physics carefully thou notest, After not many pages shalt thou find,

That this your art as far as possible Follows, as the disciple doth the master; So that your art is, as it were, God’s grandchild.

From these two, if thou bringest to thy mind Genesis at the beginning, it behoves Mankind to gain their life and to advance;

And since the usurer takes another way, Nature herself and in her follower Disdains he, for elsewhere he puts his hope.

But follow, now, as I would fain go on, For quivering are the Fishes on the horizon, And the Wain wholly over Caurus lies,

And far beyond there we descend the crag.”

Inferno: Canto XII

The place where to descend the bank we came Was alpine, and from what was there, moreover, Of such a kind that every eye would shun it.

Such as that ruin is which in the flank Smote, on this side of Trent, the Adige, Either by earthquake or by failing stay,

For from the mountain’s top, from which it moved, Unto the plain the cliff is shattered so, Some path ’twould give to him who was above;

Even such was the descent of that ravine, And on the border of the broken chasm The infamy of Crete was stretched along,

Who was conceived in the fictitious cow; And when he us beheld, he bit himself, Even as one whom anger racks within.

My Sage towards him shouted: “Peradventure Thou think’st that here may be the Duke of Athens, Who in the world above brought death to thee?

Get thee gone, beast, for this one cometh not Instructed by thy sister, but he comes In order to behold your punishments.”

As is that bull who breaks loose at the moment In which he has received the mortal blow, Who cannot walk, but staggers here and there,

The Minotaur beheld I do the like; And he, the wary, cried: “Run to the passage; While he wroth, ’tis well thou shouldst descend.”

Thus down we took our way o’er that discharge Of stones, which oftentimes did move themselves Beneath my feet, from the unwonted burden.

Thoughtful I went; and he said: “Thou art thinking Perhaps upon this ruin, which is guarded By that brute anger which just now I quenched.

Now will I have thee know, the other time I here descended to the nether Hell, This precipice had not yet fallen down.

But truly, if I well discern, a little Before His coming who the mighty spoil Bore off from Dis, in the supernal circle,

Upon all sides the deep and loathsome valley Trembled so, that I thought the Universe Was thrilled with love, by which there are who think

The world ofttimes converted into chaos; And at that moment this primeval crag Both here and elsewhere made such overthrow.

But fix thine eyes below; for draweth near The river of blood, within which boiling is Whoe’er by violence doth injure others.”

O blind cupidity, O wrath insane, That spurs us onward so in our short life, And in the eternal then so badly steeps us!

I saw an ample moat bent like a bow, As one which all the plain encompasses, Conformable to what my Guide had said.

And between this and the embankment’s foot Centaurs in file were running, armed with arrows, As in the world they used the chase to follow.

Beholding us descend, each one stood still, And from the squadron three detached themselves, With bows and arrows in advance selected;

And from afar one cried: “Unto what torment Come ye, who down the hillside are descending? Tell us from there; if not, I draw the bow.”

My Master said: “Our answer will we make To Chiron, near you there; in evil hour, That will of thine was evermore so hasty.”

Then touched he me, and said: “This one is Nessus, Who perished for the lovely Dejanira, And for himself, himself did vengeance take.

And he in the midst, who at his breast is gazing, Is the great Chiron, who brought up Achilles; That other Pholus is, who was so wrathful.

Thousands and thousands go about the moat Shooting with shafts whatever soul emerges Out of the blood, more than his crime allots.”

Near we approached unto those monsters fleet; Chiron an arrow took, and with the notch Backward upon his jaws he put his beard.

After he had uncovered his great mouth, He said to his companions: “Are you ware That he behind moveth whate’er he touches?

Thus are not wont to do the feet of dead men.” And my good Guide, who now was at his breast, Where the two natures are together joined,

Replied: “Indeed he lives, and thus alone Me it behoves to show him the dark valley; Necessity, and not delight, impels us.

Some one withdrew from singing Halleluja, Who unto me committed this new office; No thief is he, nor I a thievish spirit.

But by that virtue through which I am moving My steps along this savage thoroughfare, Give us some one of thine, to be with us,

And who may show us where to pass the ford, And who may carry this one on his back; For ’tis no spirit that can walk the air.”

Upon his right breast Chiron wheeled about, And said to Nessus: “Turn and do thou guide them, And warn aside, if other band may meet you.”

We with our faithful escort onward moved Along the brink of the vermilion boiling, Wherein the boiled were uttering loud laments.

People I saw within up to the eyebrows, And the great Centaur said: “Tyrants are these, Who dealt in bloodshed and in pillaging.

Here they lament their pitiless mischiefs; here Is Alexander, and fierce Dionysius Who upon Sicily brought dolorous years.

That forehead there which has the hair so black Is Azzolin; and the other who is blond, Obizzo is of Esti, who, in truth,

Up in the world was by his stepson slain.” Then turned I to the Poet; and he said, “Now he be first to thee, and second I.”

A little farther on the Centaur stopped Above a folk, who far down as the throat Seemed from that boiling stream to issue forth.

A shade he showed us on one side alone, Saying: “He cleft asunder in God’s bosom The heart that still upon the Thames is honoured.”

Then people saw I, who from out the river Lifted their heads and also all the chest; And many among these I recognised.

Thus ever more and more grew shallower That blood, so that the feet alone it covered; And there across the moat our passage was.

“Even as thou here upon this side beholdest The boiling stream, that aye diminishes,” The Centaur said, “I wish thee to believe

That on this other more and more declines Its bed, until it reunites itself Where it behoveth tyranny to groan.

Justice divine, upon this side, is goading That Attila, who was a scourge on earth, And Pyrrhus, and Sextus; and for ever milks

The tears which with the boiling it unseals In Rinier da Corneto and Rinier Pazzo, Who made upon the highways so much war.”

Then back he turned, and passed again the ford.

Inferno: Canto XIII

Not yet had Nessus reached the other side, When we had put ourselves within a wood, That was not marked by any path whatever.

Not foliage green, but of a dusky colour, Not branches smooth, but gnarled and intertangled, Not apple-trees were there, but thorns with poison.

Such tangled thickets have not, nor so dense, Those savage wild beasts, that in hatred hold ’Twixt Cecina and Corneto the tilled places.

There do the hideous Harpies make their nests, Who chased the Trojans from the Strophades, With sad announcement of impending doom;

Broad wings have they, and necks and faces human, And feet with claws, and their great bellies fledged; They make laments upon the wondrous trees.

And the good Master: “Ere thou enter farther, Know that thou art within the second round,” Thus he began to say, “and shalt be, till

Thou comest out upon the horrible sand; Therefore look well around, and thou shalt see Things that will credence give unto my speech.”

I heard on all sides lamentations uttered, And person none beheld I who might make them, Whence, utterly bewildered, I stood still.

I think he thought that I perhaps might think So many voices issued through those trunks From people who concealed themselves from us;

Therefore the Master said: “If thou break off Some little spray from any of these trees, The thoughts thou hast will wholly be made vain.”

Then stretched I forth my hand a little forward, And plucked a branchlet off from a great thorn; And the trunk cried, “Why dost thou mangle me?”

After it had become embrowned with blood, It recommenced its cry: “Why dost thou rend me? Hast thou no spirit of pity whatsoever?

Men once we were, and now are changed to trees; Indeed, thy hand should be more pitiful, Even if the souls of serpents we had been.”

As out of a green brand, that is on fire At one of the ends, and from the other drips And hisses with the wind that is escaping;

So from that splinter issued forth together Both words and blood; whereat I let the tip Fall, and stood like a man who is afraid.

“Had he been able sooner to believe,” My Sage made answer, “O thou wounded soul, What only in my verses he has seen,

Not upon thee had he stretched forth his hand; Whereas the thing incredible has caused me To put him to an act which grieveth me.

But tell him who thou wast, so that by way Of some amends thy fame he may refresh Up in the world, to which he can return.”

And the trunk said: “So thy sweet words allure me, I cannot silent be; and you be vexed not, That I a little to discourse am tempted.

I am the one who both keys had in keeping Of Frederick’s heart, and turned them to and fro So softly in unlocking and in locking,

That from his secrets most men I withheld; Fidelity I bore the glorious office So great, I lost thereby my sleep and pulses.

The courtesan who never from the dwelling Of Caesar turned aside her strumpet eyes, Death universal and the vice of courts,

Inflamed against me all the other minds, And they, inflamed, did so inflame Augustus, That my glad honours turned to dismal mournings.

My spirit, in disdainful exultation, Thinking by dying to escape disdain, Made me unjust against myself, the just.

I, by the roots unwonted of this wood, Do swear to you that never broke I faith Unto my lord, who was so worthy of honour;

And to the world if one of you return, Let him my memory comfort, which is lying Still prostrate from the blow that envy dealt it.”

Waited awhile, and then: “Since he is silent,” The Poet said to me, “lose not the time, But speak, and question him, if more may please thee.”

Whence I to him: “Do thou again inquire Concerning what thou thinks’t will satisfy me; For I cannot, such pity is in my heart.”

Therefore he recommenced: “So may the man Do for thee freely what thy speech implores, Spirit incarcerate, again be pleased

To tell us in what way the soul is bound Within these knots; and tell us, if thou canst, If any from such members e’er is freed.”

Then blew the trunk amain, and afterward The wind was into such a voice converted: “With brevity shall be replied to you.

When the exasperated soul abandons The body whence it rent itself away, Minos consigns it to the seventh abyss.

It falls into the forest, and no part Is chosen for it; but where Fortune hurls it, There like a grain of spelt it germinates.

It springs a sapling, and a forest tree; The Harpies, feeding then upon its leaves, Do pain create, and for the pain an outlet.

Like others for our spoils shall we return; But not that any one may them revest, For ’tis not just to have what one casts off.

Here we shall drag them, and along the dismal Forest our bodies shall suspended be, Each to the thorn of his molested shade.”

We were attentive still unto the trunk, Thinking that more it yet might wish to tell us, When by a tumult we were overtaken,

In the same way as he is who perceives The boar and chase approaching to his stand, Who hears the crashing of the beasts and branches;

And two behold! upon our left-hand side, Naked and scratched, fleeing so furiously, That of the forest, every fan they broke.

He who was in advance: “Now help, Death, help!” And the other one, who seemed to lag too much, Was shouting: “Lano, were not so alert

Those legs of thine at joustings of the Toppo!” And then, perchance because his breath was failing, He grouped himself together with a bush.

Behind them was the forest full of black She-mastiffs, ravenous, and swift of foot As greyhounds, who are issuing from the chain.

On him who had crouched down they set their teeth, And him they lacerated piece by piece, Thereafter bore away those aching members.

Thereat my Escort took me by the hand, And led me to the bush, that all in vain Was weeping from its bloody lacerations.

“O Jacopo,” it said, “of Sant’ Andrea, What helped it thee of me to make a screen? What blame have I in thy nefarious life?”

When near him had the Master stayed his steps, He said: “Who wast thou, that through wounds so many Art blowing out with blood thy dolorous speech?”

And he to us: “O souls, that hither come To look upon the shameful massacre That has so rent away from me my leaves,

Gather them up beneath the dismal bush; I of that city was which to the Baptist Changed its first patron, wherefore he for this

Forever with his art will make it sad. And were it not that on the pass of Arno Some glimpses of him are remaining still,

Those citizens, who afterwards rebuilt it Upon the ashes left by Attila, In vain had caused their labour to be done.

Of my own house I made myself a gibbet.”

Inferno: Canto XIV

Because the charity of my native place Constrained me, gathered I the scattered leaves, And gave them back to him, who now was hoarse.

Then came we to the confine, where disparted The second round is from the third, and where A horrible form of Justice is beheld.

Clearly to manifest these novel things, I say that we arrived upon a plain, Which from its bed rejecteth every plant;

The dolorous forest is a garland to it All round about, as the sad moat to that; There close upon the edge we stayed our feet.

The soil was of an arid and thick sand, Not of another fashion made than that Which by the feet of Cato once was pressed.

Vengeance of God, O how much oughtest thou By each one to be dreaded, who doth read That which was manifest unto mine eyes!

Of naked souls beheld I many herds, Who all were weeping very miserably, And over them seemed set a law diverse.

Supine upon the ground some folk were lying; And some were sitting all drawn up together, And others went about continually.

Those who were going round were far the more, And those were less who lay down to their torment, But had their tongues more loosed to lamentation.

O’er all the sand-waste, with a gradual fall, Were raining down dilated flakes of fire, As of the snow on Alp without a wind.

As Alexander, in those torrid parts Of India, beheld upon his host Flames fall unbroken till they reached the ground.

Whence he provided with his phalanxes To trample down the soil, because the vapour Better extinguished was while it was single;

Thus was descending the eternal heat, Whereby the sand was set on fire, like tinder Beneath the steel, for doubling of the dole.

Without repose forever was the dance Of miserable hands, now there, now here, Shaking away from off them the fresh gleeds.

“Master,” began I, “thou who overcomest All things except the demons dire, that issued Against us at the entrance of the gate,

Who is that mighty one who seems to heed not The fire, and lieth lowering and disdainful, So that the rain seems not to ripen him?”

And he himself, who had become aware That I was questioning my Guide about him, Cried: “Such as I was living, am I, dead.

If Jove should weary out his smith, from whom He seized in anger the sharp thunderbolt, Wherewith upon the last day I was smitten,

And if he wearied out by turns the others In Mongibello at the swarthy forge, Vociferating, ‘Help, good Vulcan, help!’

Even as he did there at the fight of Phlegra, And shot his bolts at me with all his might, He would not have thereby a joyous vengeance.”

Then did my Leader speak with such great force, That I had never heard him speak so loud: “O Capaneus, in that is not extinguished

Thine arrogance, thou punished art the more; Not any torment, saving thine own rage, Would be unto thy fury pain complete.”

Then he turned round to me with better lip, Saying: “One of the Seven Kings was he Who Thebes besieged, and held, and seems to hold

God in disdain, and little seems to prize him; But, as I said to him, his own despites Are for his breast the fittest ornaments.

Now follow me, and mind thou do not place As yet thy feet upon the burning sand, But always keep them close unto the wood.”

Speaking no word, we came to where there gushes Forth from the wood a little rivulet, Whose redness makes my hair still stand on end.