The place where to descend the bank we came
\nWas alpine, and from what was there, moreover,
\nOf such a kind that every eye would shun it.<\/p>\n
Such as that ruin is which in the flank
\nSmote, on this side of Trent, the Adige,
\nEither by earthquake or by failing stay,<\/p>\n
For from the mountain’s top, from which it moved,
\nUnto the plain the cliff is shattered so,
\nSome path ‘twould give to him who was above;<\/p>\n
Even such was the descent of that ravine,
\nAnd on the border of the broken chasm
\nThe infamy of Crete was stretched along,<\/p>\n
Who was conceived in the fictitious cow;
\nAnd when he us beheld, he bit himself,
\nEven as one whom anger racks within.<\/p>\n
My Sage towards him shouted: “Peradventure
\nThou think’st that here may be the Duke of Athens,
\nWho in the world above brought death to thee?<\/p>\n
Get thee gone, beast, for this one cometh not
\nInstructed by thy sister, but he comes
\nIn order to behold your punishments.”<\/p>\n
As is that bull who breaks loose at the moment
\nIn which he has received the mortal blow,
\nWho cannot walk, but staggers here and there,<\/p>\n
The Minotaur beheld I do the like;
\nAnd he, the wary, cried: “Run to the passage;
\nWhile he wroth, ’tis well thou shouldst descend.”<\/p>\n
Thus down we took our way o’er that discharge
\nOf stones, which oftentimes did move themselves
\nBeneath my feet, from the unwonted burden.<\/p>\n
Thoughtful I went; and he said: “Thou art thinking
\nPerhaps upon this ruin, which is guarded
\nBy that brute anger which just now I quenched.<\/p>\n
Now will I have thee know, the other time
\nI here descended to the nether Hell,
\nThis precipice had not yet fallen down.<\/p>\n
But truly, if I well discern, a little
\nBefore His coming who the mighty spoil
\nBore off from Dis, in the supernal circle,<\/p>\n
Upon all sides the deep and loathsome valley
\nTrembled so, that I thought the Universe
\nWas thrilled with love, by which there are who think<\/p>\n
The world ofttimes converted into chaos;
\nAnd at that moment this primeval crag
\nBoth here and elsewhere made such overthrow.<\/p>\n
But fix thine eyes below; for draweth near
\nThe river of blood, within which boiling is
\nWhoe’er by violence doth injure others.”<\/p>\n
O blind cupidity, O wrath insane,
\nThat spurs us onward so in our short life,
\nAnd in the eternal then so badly steeps us!<\/p>\n
I saw an ample moat bent like a bow,
\nAs one which all the plain encompasses,
\nConformable to what my Guide had said.<\/p>\n
And between this and the embankment’s foot
\nCentaurs in file were running, armed with arrows,
\nAs in the world they used the chase to follow.<\/p>\n
Beholding us descend, each one stood still,
\nAnd from the squadron three detached themselves,
\nWith bows and arrows in advance selected;<\/p>\n
And from afar one cried: “Unto what torment
\nCome ye, who down the hillside are descending?
\nTell us from there; if not, I draw the bow.”<\/p>\n
My Master said: “Our answer will we make
\nTo Chiron, near you there; in evil hour,
\nThat will of thine was evermore so hasty.”<\/p>\n
Then touched he me, and said: “This one is Nessus,
\nWho perished for the lovely Dejanira,
\nAnd for himself, himself did vengeance take.<\/p>\n
And he in the midst, who at his breast is gazing,
\nIs the great Chiron, who brought up Achilles;
\nThat other Pholus is, who was so wrathful.<\/p>\n
Thousands and thousands go about the moat
\nShooting with shafts whatever soul emerges
\nOut of the blood, more than his crime allots.”<\/p>\n
Near we approached unto those monsters fleet;
\nChiron an arrow took, and with the notch
\nBackward upon his jaws he put his beard.<\/p>\n
After he had uncovered his great mouth,
\nHe said to his companions: “Are you ware
\nThat he behind moveth whate’er he touches?<\/p>\n
Thus are not wont to do the feet of dead men.”
\nAnd my good Guide, who now was at his breast,
\nWhere the two natures are together joined,<\/p>\n
Replied: “Indeed he lives, and thus alone
\nMe it behoves to show him the dark valley;
\nNecessity, and not delight, impels us.<\/p>\n
Some one withdrew from singing Halleluja,
\nWho unto me committed this new office;
\nNo thief is he, nor I a thievish spirit.<\/p>\n
But by that virtue through which I am moving
\nMy steps along this savage thoroughfare,
\nGive us some one of thine, to be with us,<\/p>\n
And who may show us where to pass the ford,
\nAnd who may carry this one on his back;
\nFor ’tis no spirit that can walk the air.”<\/p>\n
Upon his right breast Chiron wheeled about,
\nAnd said to Nessus: “Turn and do thou guide them,
\nAnd warn aside, if other band may meet you.”<\/p>\n
We with our faithful escort onward moved
\nAlong the brink of the vermilion boiling,
\nWherein the boiled were uttering loud laments.<\/p>\n
People I saw within up to the eyebrows,
\nAnd the great Centaur said: “Tyrants are these,
\nWho dealt in bloodshed and in pillaging.<\/p>\n
Here they lament their pitiless mischiefs; here
\nIs Alexander, and fierce Dionysius
\nWho upon Sicily brought dolorous years.<\/p>\n
That forehead there which has the hair so black
\nIs Azzolin; and the other who is blond,
\nObizzo is of Esti, who, in truth,<\/p>\n
Up in the world was by his stepson slain.”
\nThen turned I to the Poet; and he said,
\n“Now he be first to thee, and second I.”<\/p>\n
A little farther on the Centaur stopped
\nAbove a folk, who far down as the throat
\nSeemed from that boiling stream to issue forth.<\/p>\n
A shade he showed us on one side alone,
\nSaying: “He cleft asunder in God’s bosom
\nThe heart that still upon the Thames is honoured.”<\/p>\n
Then people saw I, who from out the river
\nLifted their heads and also all the chest;
\nAnd many among these I recognised.<\/p>\n
Thus ever more and more grew shallower
\nThat blood, so that the feet alone it covered;
\nAnd there across the moat our passage was.<\/p>\n
“Even as thou here upon this side beholdest
\nThe boiling stream, that aye diminishes,”
\nThe Centaur said, “I wish thee to believe<\/p>\n
That on this other more and more declines
\nIts bed, until it reunites itself
\nWhere it behoveth tyranny to groan.<\/p>\n
Justice divine, upon this side, is goading
\nThat Attila, who was a scourge on earth,
\nAnd Pyrrhus, and Sextus; and for ever milks<\/p>\n
The tears which with the boiling it unseals
\nIn Rinier da Corneto and Rinier Pazzo,
\nWho made upon the highways so much war.”<\/p>\n
Then back he turned, and passed again the ford.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Not yet had Nessus reached the other side,
\nWhen we had put ourselves within a wood,
\nThat was not marked by any path whatever.<\/p>\n
Not foliage green, but of a dusky colour,
\nNot branches smooth, but gnarled and intertangled,
\nNot apple-trees were there, but thorns with poison.<\/p>\n
Such tangled thickets have not, nor so dense,
\nThose savage wild beasts, that in hatred hold
\n‘Twixt Cecina and Corneto the tilled places.<\/p>\n
There do the hideous Harpies make their nests,
\nWho chased the Trojans from the Strophades,
\nWith sad announcement of impending doom;<\/p>\n
Broad wings have they, and necks and faces human,
\nAnd feet with claws, and their great bellies fledged;
\nThey make laments upon the wondrous trees.<\/p>\n
And the good Master: “Ere thou enter farther,
\nKnow that thou art within the second round,”
\nThus he began to say, “and shalt be, till<\/p>\n
Thou comest out upon the horrible sand;
\nTherefore look well around, and thou shalt see
\nThings that will credence give unto my speech.”<\/p>\n
I heard on all sides lamentations uttered,
\nAnd person none beheld I who might make them,
\nWhence, utterly bewildered, I stood still.<\/p>\n
I think he thought that I perhaps might think
\nSo many voices issued through those trunks
\nFrom people who concealed themselves from us;<\/p>\n
Therefore the Master said: “If thou break off
\nSome little spray from any of these trees,
\nThe thoughts thou hast will wholly be made vain.”<\/p>\n
Then stretched I forth my hand a little forward,
\nAnd plucked a branchlet off from a great thorn;
\nAnd the trunk cried, “Why dost thou mangle me?”<\/p>\n
After it had become embrowned with blood,
\nIt recommenced its cry: “Why dost thou rend me?
\nHast thou no spirit of pity whatsoever?<\/p>\n
Men once we were, and now are changed to trees;
\nIndeed, thy hand should be more pitiful,
\nEven if the souls of serpents we had been.”<\/p>\n
As out of a green brand, that is on fire
\nAt one of the ends, and from the other drips
\nAnd hisses with the wind that is escaping;<\/p>\n
So from that splinter issued forth together
\nBoth words and blood; whereat I let the tip
\nFall, and stood like a man who is afraid.<\/p>\n
“Had he been able sooner to believe,”
\nMy Sage made answer, “O thou wounded soul,
\nWhat only in my verses he has seen,<\/p>\n
Not upon thee had he stretched forth his hand;
\nWhereas the thing incredible has caused me
\nTo put him to an act which grieveth me.<\/p>\n
But tell him who thou wast, so that by way
\nOf some amends thy fame he may refresh
\nUp in the world, to which he can return.”<\/p>\n
And the trunk said: “So thy sweet words allure me,
\nI cannot silent be; and you be vexed not,
\nThat I a little to discourse am tempted.<\/p>\n
I am the one who both keys had in keeping
\nOf Frederick’s heart, and turned them to and fro
\nSo softly in unlocking and in locking,<\/p>\n
That from his secrets most men I withheld;
\nFidelity I bore the glorious office
\nSo great, I lost thereby my sleep and pulses.<\/p>\n
The courtesan who never from the dwelling
\nOf Caesar turned aside her strumpet eyes,
\nDeath universal and the vice of courts,<\/p>\n
Inflamed against me all the other minds,
\nAnd they, inflamed, did so inflame Augustus,
\nThat my glad honours turned to dismal mournings.<\/p>\n
My spirit, in disdainful exultation,
\nThinking by dying to escape disdain,
\nMade me unjust against myself, the just.<\/p>\n
I, by the roots unwonted of this wood,
\nDo swear to you that never broke I faith
\nUnto my lord, who was so worthy of honour;<\/p>\n
And to the world if one of you return,
\nLet him my memory comfort, which is lying
\nStill prostrate from the blow that envy dealt it.”<\/p>\n
Waited awhile, and then: “Since he is silent,”
\nThe Poet said to me, “lose not the time,
\nBut speak, and question him, if more may please thee.”<\/p>\n
Whence I to him: “Do thou again inquire
\nConcerning what thou thinks’t will satisfy me;
\nFor I cannot, such pity is in my heart.”<\/p>\n
Therefore he recommenced: “So may the man
\nDo for thee freely what thy speech implores,
\nSpirit incarcerate, again be pleased<\/p>\n
To tell us in what way the soul is bound
\nWithin these knots; and tell us, if thou canst,
\nIf any from such members e’er is freed.”<\/p>\n
Then blew the trunk amain, and afterward
\nThe wind was into such a voice converted:
\n“With brevity shall be replied to you.<\/p>\n
When the exasperated soul abandons
\nThe body whence it rent itself away,
\nMinos consigns it to the seventh abyss.<\/p>\n
It falls into the forest, and no part
\nIs chosen for it; but where Fortune hurls it,
\nThere like a grain of spelt it germinates.<\/p>\n
It springs a sapling, and a forest tree;
\nThe Harpies, feeding then upon its leaves,
\nDo pain create, and for the pain an outlet.<\/p>\n
Like others for our spoils shall we return;
\nBut not that any one may them revest,
\nFor ’tis not just to have what one casts off.<\/p>\n
Here we shall drag them, and along the dismal
\nForest our bodies shall suspended be,
\nEach to the thorn of his molested shade.”<\/p>\n
We were attentive still unto the trunk,
\nThinking that more it yet might wish to tell us,
\nWhen by a tumult we were overtaken,<\/p>\n
In the same way as he is who perceives
\nThe boar and chase approaching to his stand,
\nWho hears the crashing of the beasts and branches;<\/p>\n
And two behold! upon our left-hand side,
\nNaked and scratched, fleeing so furiously,
\nThat of the forest, every fan they broke.<\/p>\n
He who was in advance: “Now help, Death, help!”
\nAnd the other one, who seemed to lag too much,
\nWas shouting: “Lano, were not so alert<\/p>\n
Those legs of thine at joustings of the Toppo!”
\nAnd then, perchance because his breath was failing,
\nHe grouped himself together with a bush.<\/p>\n
Behind them was the forest full of black
\nShe-mastiffs, ravenous, and swift of foot
\nAs greyhounds, who are issuing from the chain.<\/p>\n
On him who had crouched down they set their teeth,
\nAnd him they lacerated piece by piece,
\nThereafter bore away those aching members.<\/p>\n
Thereat my Escort took me by the hand,
\nAnd led me to the bush, that all in vain
\nWas weeping from its bloody lacerations.<\/p>\n
“O Jacopo,” it said, “of Sant’ Andrea,
\nWhat helped it thee of me to make a screen?
\nWhat blame have I in thy nefarious life?”<\/p>\n
When near him had the Master stayed his steps,
\nHe said: “Who wast thou, that through wounds so many
\nArt blowing out with blood thy dolorous speech?”<\/p>\n
And he to us: “O souls, that hither come
\nTo look upon the shameful massacre
\nThat has so rent away from me my leaves,<\/p>\n
Gather them up beneath the dismal bush;
\nI of that city was which to the Baptist
\nChanged its first patron, wherefore he for this<\/p>\n
Forever with his art will make it sad.
\nAnd were it not that on the pass of Arno
\nSome glimpses of him are remaining still,<\/p>\n
Those citizens, who afterwards rebuilt it
\nUpon the ashes left by Attila,
\nIn vain had caused their labour to be done.<\/p>\n
Of my own house I made myself a gibbet.”<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Because the charity of my native place
\nConstrained me, gathered I the scattered leaves,
\nAnd gave them back to him, who now was hoarse.<\/p>\n
Then came we to the confine, where disparted
\nThe second round is from the third, and where
\nA horrible form of Justice is beheld.<\/p>\n
Clearly to manifest these novel things,
\nI say that we arrived upon a plain,
\nWhich from its bed rejecteth every plant;<\/p>\n
The dolorous forest is a garland to it
\nAll round about, as the sad moat to that;
\nThere close upon the edge we stayed our feet.<\/p>\n
The soil was of an arid and thick sand,
\nNot of another fashion made than that
\nWhich by the feet of Cato once was pressed.<\/p>\n
Vengeance of God, O how much oughtest thou
\nBy each one to be dreaded, who doth read
\nThat which was manifest unto mine eyes!<\/p>\n
Of naked souls beheld I many herds,
\nWho all were weeping very miserably,
\nAnd over them seemed set a law diverse.<\/p>\n
Supine upon the ground some folk were lying;
\nAnd some were sitting all drawn up together,
\nAnd others went about continually.<\/p>\n
Those who were going round were far the more,
\nAnd those were less who lay down to their torment,
\nBut had their tongues more loosed to lamentation.<\/p>\n
O’er all the sand-waste, with a gradual fall,
\nWere raining down dilated flakes of fire,
\nAs of the snow on Alp without a wind.<\/p>\n
As Alexander, in those torrid parts
\nOf India, beheld upon his host
\nFlames fall unbroken till they reached the ground.<\/p>\n
Whence he provided with his phalanxes
\nTo trample down the soil, because the vapour
\nBetter extinguished was while it was single;<\/p>\n
Thus was descending the eternal heat,
\nWhereby the sand was set on fire, like tinder
\nBeneath the steel, for doubling of the dole.<\/p>\n
Without repose forever was the dance
\nOf miserable hands, now there, now here,
\nShaking away from off them the fresh gleeds.<\/p>\n
“Master,” began I, “thou who overcomest
\nAll things except the demons dire, that issued
\nAgainst us at the entrance of the gate,<\/p>\n
Who is that mighty one who seems to heed not
\nThe fire, and lieth lowering and disdainful,
\nSo that the rain seems not to ripen him?”<\/p>\n
And he himself, who had become aware
\nThat I was questioning my Guide about him,
\nCried: “Such as I was living, am I, dead.<\/p>\n
If Jove should weary out his smith, from whom
\nHe seized in anger the sharp thunderbolt,
\nWherewith upon the last day I was smitten,<\/p>\n
And if he wearied out by turns the others
\nIn Mongibello at the swarthy forge,
\nVociferating, ‘Help, good Vulcan, help!’<\/p>\n
Even as he did there at the fight of Phlegra,
\nAnd shot his bolts at me with all his might,
\nHe would not have thereby a joyous vengeance.”<\/p>\n
Then did my Leader speak with such great force,
\nThat I had never heard him speak so loud:
\n“O Capaneus, in that is not extinguished<\/p>\n
Thine arrogance, thou punished art the more;
\nNot any torment, saving thine own rage,
\nWould be unto thy fury pain complete.”<\/p>\n
Then he turned round to me with better lip,
\nSaying: “One of the Seven Kings was he
\nWho Thebes besieged, and held, and seems to hold<\/p>\n
God in disdain, and little seems to prize him;
\nBut, as I said to him, his own despites
\nAre for his breast the fittest ornaments.<\/p>\n
Now follow me, and mind thou do not place
\nAs yet thy feet upon the burning sand,
\nBut always keep them close unto the wood.”<\/p>\n
Speaking no word, we came to where there gushes
\nForth from the wood a little rivulet,
\nWhose redness makes my hair still stand on end.<\/p>\n
As from the Bulicame springs the brooklet,
\nThe sinful women later share among them,
\nSo downward through the sand it went its way.<\/p>\n
The bottom of it, and both sloping banks,
\nWere made of stone, and the margins at the side;
\nWhence I perceived that there the passage was.<\/p>\n
“In all the rest which I have shown to thee
\nSince we have entered in within the gate
\nWhose threshold unto no one is denied,<\/p>\n
Nothing has been discovered by thine eyes
\nSo notable as is the present river,
\nWhich all the little flames above it quenches.”<\/p>\n
These words were of my Leader; whence I prayed him
\nThat he would give me largess of the food,
\nFor which he had given me largess of desire.<\/p>\n
“In the mid-sea there sits a wasted land,”
\nSaid he thereafterward, “whose name is Crete,
\nUnder whose king the world of old was chaste.<\/p>\n
There is a mountain there, that once was glad
\nWith waters and with leaves, which was called Ida;
\nNow ’tis deserted, as a thing worn out.<\/p>\n
Rhea once chose it for the faithful cradle
\nOf her own son; and to conceal him better,
\nWhene’er he cried, she there had clamours made.<\/p>\n
A grand old man stands in the mount erect,
\nWho holds his shoulders turned tow’rds Damietta,
\nAnd looks at Rome as if it were his mirror.<\/p>\n
His head is fashioned of refined gold,
\nAnd of pure silver are the arms and breast;
\nThen he is brass as far down as the fork.<\/p>\n
From that point downward all is chosen iron,
\nSave that the right foot is of kiln-baked clay,
\nAnd more he stands on that than on the other.<\/p>\n
Each part, except the gold, is by a fissure
\nAsunder cleft, that dripping is with tears,
\nWhich gathered together perforate that cavern.<\/p>\n
From rock to rock they fall into this valley;
\nAcheron, Styx, and Phlegethon they form;
\nThen downward go along this narrow sluice<\/p>\n
Unto that point where is no more descending.
\nThey form Cocytus; what that pool may be
\nThou shalt behold, so here ’tis not narrated.”<\/p>\n
And I to him: “If so the present runnel
\nDoth take its rise in this way from our world,
\nWhy only on this verge appears it to us?”<\/p>\n
And he to me: “Thou knowest the place is round,
\nAnd notwithstanding thou hast journeyed far,
\nStill to the left descending to the bottom,<\/p>\n
Thou hast not yet through all the circle turned.
\nTherefore if something new appear to us,
\nIt should not bring amazement to thy face.”<\/p>\n
And I again: “Master, where shall be found
\nLethe and Phlegethon, for of one thou’rt silent,
\nAnd sayest the other of this rain is made?”<\/p>\n
“In all thy questions truly thou dost please me,”
\nReplied he; “but the boiling of the red
\nWater might well solve one of them thou makest.<\/p>\n
Thou shalt see Lethe, but outside this moat,
\nThere where the souls repair to lave themselves,
\nWhen sin repented of has been removed.”<\/p>\n
Then said he: “It is time now to abandon
\nThe wood; take heed that thou come after me;
\nA way the margins make that are not burning,<\/p>\n
And over them all vapours are extinguished.”<\/p>\n\n\t\t\t Candela Citations<\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t