The Divine Comedy

CANTO XII

THE place where to descend the precipice

We came, was rough as Alp, and on its verge

Such object lay, as every eye would shun.

As is that ruin, which Adice's stream

On this side Trento struck, should'ring the wave,

Or loos'd by earthquake or for lack of prop;

For from the mountain's summit, whence it mov'd

To the low level, so the headlong rock

Is shiver'd, that some passage it might give

To him who from above would pass; e'en such

Into the chasm was that descent: and there

At point of the disparted ridge lay stretch'd

The infamy of Crete, detested brood

Of the feign'd heifer: and at sight of us

It gnaw'd itself, as one with rage distract.

To him my guide exclaim'd: "Perchance thou deem'st

The King of Athens here, who, in the world

Above, thy death contriv'd. Monster! avaunt!

He comes not tutor'd by thy sister's art,

But to behold your torments is he come."

Like to a bull, that with impetuous spring

Darts, at the moment when the fatal blow

Hath struck him, but unable to proceed

Plunges on either side; so saw I plunge

The Minotaur; whereat the sage exclaim'd:

"Run to the passage! while he storms, 't is well

That thou descend." Thus down our road we took

Through those dilapidated crags, that oft

Mov'd underneath my feet, to weight like theirs

Unus'd. I pond'ring went, and thus he spake:

"Perhaps thy thoughts are of this ruin'd steep,

Guarded by the brute violence, which I

Have vanquish'd now. Know then, that when I erst

Hither descended to the nether hell,

This rock was not yet fallen. But past doubt

(If well I mark) not long ere He arrived,

Who carried off from Dis the mighty spoil

Of the highest circle, then through all its bounds

Such trembling seiz'd the deep concave and foul,

I thought the universe was thrill'd with love,

Whereby, there are who deem, the world hath oft

Been into chaos turn'd: and in that point,

Here, and elsewhere, that old rock toppled down.

But fix thine eyes beneath: the river of blood

Approaches, in the which all those are steep'd,

Who have by violence injur'd." O blind lust!

O foolish wrath! who so dost goad us on

In the brief life, and in the eternal then

Thus miserably o'erwhelm us. I beheld

An ample foss, that in a bow was bent,

As circling all the plain; for so my guide

Had told. Between it and the rampart's base

On trail ran Centaurs, with keen arrows arm'd,

As to the chase they on the earth were wont.

At seeing us descend they each one stood;

And issuing from the troop, three sped with bows

And missile weapons chosen first; of whom

One cried from far: "Say to what pain ye come

Condemn'd, who down this steep have journied? Speak

From whence ye stand, or else the bow I draw."

To whom my guide: "Our answer shall be made

To Chiron, there, when nearer him we come.

Ill was thy mind, thus ever quick and rash."

Then me he touch'd, and spake: "Nessus is this,

Who for the fair Deianira died,

And wrought himself revenge for his own fate.

He in the midst, that on his breast looks down,

Is the great Chiron who Achilles nurs'd;

That other Pholus, prone to wrath." Around

The foss these go by thousands, aiming shafts

At whatsoever spirit dares emerge

From out the blood, more than his guilt allows.

We to those beasts, that rapid strode along,

Drew near, when Chiron took an arrow forth,

And with the notch push'd back his shaggy beard

To the cheek-bone, then his great mouth to view

Exposing, to his fellows thus exclaim'd:

"Are ye aware, that he who comes behind

Moves what he touches? The feet of the dead

Are not so wont." My trusty guide, who now

Stood near his breast, where the two natures join,

Thus made reply: "He is indeed alive,

And solitary so must needs by me

Be shown the gloomy vale, thereto induc'd

By strict necessity, not by delight.

She left her joyful harpings in the sky,

Who this new office to my care consign'd.

He is no robber, no dark spirit I.

But by that virtue, which empowers my step

To treat so wild a path, grant us, I pray,

One of thy band, whom we may trust secure,

Who to the ford may lead us, and convey

Across, him mounted on his back; for he

Is not a spirit that may walk the air."

Then on his right breast turning, Chiron thus

To Nessus spake: "Return, and be their guide.

And if ye chance to cross another troop,

Command them keep aloof." Onward we mov'd,

The faithful escort by our side, along

The border of the crimson-seething flood,

Whence from those steep'd within loud shrieks arose.

Some there I mark'd, as high as to their brow

Immers'd, of whom the mighty Centaur thus:

"These are the souls of tyrants, who were given

To blood and rapine. Here they wail aloud

Their merciless wrongs. Here Alexander dwells,

And Dionysius fell, who many a year

Of woe wrought for fair Sicily. That brow

Whereon the hair so jetty clust'ring hangs,

Is Azzolino; that with flaxen locks

Obizzo' of Este, in the world destroy'd

By his foul step-son." To the bard rever'd

I turned me round, and thus he spake; "Let him

Be to thee now first leader, me but next

To him in rank." Then farther on a space

The Centaur paus'd, near some, who at the throat

Were extant from the wave; and showing us

A spirit by itself apart retir'd,

Exclaim'd: "He in God's bosom smote the heart,

Which yet is honour'd on the bank of Thames."

A race I next espied, who held the head,

And even all the bust above the stream.

'Midst these I many a face remember'd well.

Thus shallow more and more the blood became,

So that at last it but imbru'd the feet;

And there our passage lay athwart the foss.

"As ever on this side the boiling wave

Thou seest diminishing," the Centaur said,

"So on the other, be thou well assur'd,

It lower still and lower sinks its bed,

Till in that part it reuniting join,

Where 't is the lot of tyranny to mourn.

There Heav'n's stern justice lays chastising hand

On Attila, who was the scourge of earth,

On Sextus, and on Pyrrhus, and extracts

Tears ever by the seething flood unlock'd

From the Rinieri, of Corneto this,

Pazzo the other nam'd, who fill'd the ways

With violence and war." This said, he turn'd,

And quitting us, alone repass'd the ford.

CANTO XIII

ERE Nessus yet had reach'd the other bank,

We enter'd on a forest, where no track

Of steps had worn a way. Not verdant there

The foliage, but of dusky hue; not light

The boughs and tapering, but with knares deform'd

And matted thick: fruits there were none, but thorns

Instead, with venom fill'd. Less sharp than these,

Less intricate the brakes, wherein abide

Those animals, that hate the cultur'd fields,

Betwixt Corneto and Cecina's stream.

Here the brute Harpies make their nest, the same

Who from the Strophades the Trojan band

Drove with dire boding of their future woe.

Broad are their pennons, of the human form

Their neck and count'nance, arm'd with talons keen

The feet, and the huge belly fledge with wings

These sit and wail on the drear mystic wood.

The kind instructor in these words began:

"Ere farther thou proceed, know thou art now

I' th' second round, and shalt be, till thou come

Upon the horrid sand: look therefore well

Around thee, and such things thou shalt behold,

As would my speech discredit." On all sides

I heard sad plainings breathe, and none could see

From whom they might have issu'd. In amaze

Fast bound I stood. He, as it seem'd, believ'd,

That I had thought so many voices came

From some amid those thickets close conceal'd,

And thus his speech resum'd: "If thou lop off

A single twig from one of those ill plants,

The thought thou hast conceiv'd shall vanish quite."

Thereat a little stretching forth my hand,

From a great wilding gather'd I a branch,

And straight the trunk exclaim'd: "Why pluck'st thou me?"

Then as the dark blood trickled down its side,

These words it added: "Wherefore tear'st me thus?

Is there no touch of mercy in thy breast?

Men once were we, that now are rooted here.

Thy hand might well have spar'd us, had we been

The souls of serpents." As a brand yet green,

That burning at one end from the other sends

A groaning sound, and hisses with the wind

That forces out its way, so burst at once,

Forth from the broken splinter words and blood.

I, letting fall the bough, remain'd as one

Assail'd by terror, and the sage replied:

"If he, O injur'd spirit! could have believ'd

What he hath seen but in my verse describ'd,

He never against thee had stretch'd his hand.

But I, because the thing surpass'd belief,

Prompted him to this deed, which even now

Myself I rue. But tell me, who thou wast;

That, for this wrong to do thee some amends,

In the upper world (for thither to return

Is granted him) thy fame he may revive."

"That pleasant word of thine," the trunk replied

"Hath so inveigled me, that I from speech

Cannot refrain, wherein if I indulge

A little longer, in the snare detain'd,

Count it not grievous. I it was, who held

Both keys to Frederick's heart, and turn'd the wards,

Opening and shutting, with a skill so sweet,

That besides me, into his inmost breast

Scarce any other could admittance find.

The faith I bore to my high charge was such,

It cost me the life-blood that warm'd my veins.

The harlot, who ne'er turn'd her gloating eyes

From Caesar's household, common vice and pest

Of courts, 'gainst me inflam'd the minds of all;

And to Augustus they so spread the flame,

That my glad honours chang'd to bitter woes.

My soul, disdainful and disgusted, sought

Refuge in death from scorn, and I became,

Just as I was, unjust toward myself.

By the new roots, which fix this stem, I swear,

That never faith I broke to my liege lord,

Who merited such honour; and of you,

If any to the world indeed return,

Clear he from wrong my memory, that lies

Yet prostrate under envy's cruel blow."

First somewhat pausing, till the mournful words

Were ended, then to me the bard began:

"Lose not the time; but speak and of him ask,

If more thou wish to learn." Whence I replied:

"Question thou him again of whatsoe'er

Will, as thou think'st, content me; for no power

Have I to ask, such pity' is at my heart."

He thus resum'd; "So may he do for thee

Freely what thou entreatest, as thou yet

Be pleas'd, imprison'd Spirit! to declare,

How in these gnarled joints the soul is tied;

And whether any ever from such frame

Be loosen'd, if thou canst, that also tell."

Thereat the trunk breath'd hard, and the wind soon

Chang'd into sounds articulate like these;

Briefly ye shall be answer'd. "When departs

The fierce soul from the body, by itself

Thence torn asunder, to the seventh gulf

By Minos doom'd, into the wood it falls,

No place assign'd, but wheresoever chance

Hurls it, there sprouting, as a grain of spelt,

It rises to a sapling, growing thence

A savage plant. The Harpies, on its leaves

Then feeding, cause both pain and for the pain

A vent to grief. We, as the rest, shall come

For our own spoils, yet not so that with them

We may again be clad; for what a man

Takes from himself it is not just he have.

Here we perforce shall drag them; and throughout

The dismal glade our bodies shall be hung,

Each on the wild thorn of his wretched shade."

Attentive yet to listen to the trunk

We stood, expecting farther speech, when us

A noise surpris'd, as when a man perceives

The wild boar and the hunt approach his place

Of station'd watch, who of the beasts and boughs

Loud rustling round him hears. And lo! there came

Two naked, torn with briers, in headlong flight,

That they before them broke each fan o' th' wood.

"Haste now," the foremost cried, "now haste thee death!"

The other, as seem'd, impatient of delay

Exclaiming, "Lano! not so bent for speed

Thy sinews, in the lists of Toppo's field."

And then, for that perchance no longer breath

Suffic'd him, of himself and of a bush

One group he made. Behind them was the wood

Full of black female mastiffs, gaunt and fleet,

As greyhounds that have newly slipp'd the leash.

On him, who squatted down, they stuck their fangs,

And having rent him piecemeal bore away

The tortur'd limbs. My guide then seiz'd my hand,

And led me to the thicket, which in vain

Mourn'd through its bleeding wounds: "O Giacomo

Of Sant' Andrea! what avails it thee,"

It cried, "that of me thou hast made thy screen?

For thy ill life what blame on me recoils?"

When o'er it he had paus'd, my master spake:

"Say who wast thou, that at so many points

Breath'st out with blood thy lamentable speech?"

He answer'd: "Oh, ye spirits: arriv'd in time

To spy the shameful havoc, that from me

My leaves hath sever'd thus, gather them up,

And at the foot of their sad parent-tree

Carefully lay them. In that city' I dwelt,

Who for the Baptist her first patron chang'd,

Whence he for this shall cease not with his art

To work her woe: and if there still remain'd not

On Arno's passage some faint glimpse of him,

Those citizens, who rear'd once more her walls

Upon the ashes left by Attila,

Had labour'd without profit of their toil.

I slung the fatal noose from my own roof."

CANTO XIV

SOON as the charity of native land

Wrought in my bosom, I the scatter'd leaves

Collected, and to him restor'd, who now

Was hoarse with utt'rance. To the limit thence

We came, which from the third the second round

Divides, and where of justice is display'd

Contrivance horrible. Things then first seen

Clearlier to manifest, I tell how next

A plain we reach'd, that from its sterile bed

Each plant repell'd. The mournful wood waves round

Its garland on all sides, as round the wood

Spreads the sad foss. There, on the very edge,

Our steps we stay'd. It was an area wide

Of arid sand and thick, resembling most

The soil that erst by Cato's foot was trod.

Vengeance of Heav'n! Oh! how shouldst thou be fear'd

By all, who read what here my eyes beheld!

Of naked spirits many a flock I saw,

All weeping piteously, to different laws

Subjected: for on the earth some lay supine,

Some crouching close were seated, others pac'd

Incessantly around; the latter tribe,

More numerous, those fewer who beneath

The torment lay, but louder in their grief.

O'er all the sand fell slowly wafting down

Dilated flakes of fire, as flakes of snow

On Alpine summit, when the wind is hush'd.

As in the torrid Indian clime, the son

Of Ammon saw upon his warrior band

Descending, solid flames, that to the ground

Came down: whence he bethought him with his troop

To trample on the soil; for easier thus

The vapour was extinguish'd, while alone;

So fell the eternal fiery flood, wherewith

The marble glow'd underneath, as under stove

The viands, doubly to augment the pain.

Unceasing was the play of wretched hands,

Now this, now that way glancing, to shake off

The heat, still falling fresh. I thus began:

"Instructor! thou who all things overcom'st,

Except the hardy demons, that rush'd forth

To stop our entrance at the gate, say who

Is yon huge spirit, that, as seems, heeds not

The burning, but lies writhen in proud scorn,

As by the sultry tempest immatur'd?"

Straight he himself, who was aware I ask'd

My guide of him, exclaim'd: "Such as I was

When living, dead such now I am. If Jove

Weary his workman out, from whom in ire

He snatch'd the lightnings, that at my last day

Transfix'd me, if the rest be weary out

At their black smithy labouring by turns

In Mongibello, while he cries aloud;

"Help, help, good Mulciber!" as erst he cried

In the Phlegraean warfare, and the bolts

Launch he full aim'd at me with all his might,

He never should enjoy a sweet revenge."

Then thus my guide, in accent higher rais'd

Than I before had heard him: "Capaneus!

Thou art more punish'd, in that this thy pride

Lives yet unquench'd: no torrent, save thy rage,

Were to thy fury pain proportion'd full."

Next turning round to me with milder lip

He spake: "This of the seven kings was one,

Who girt the Theban walls with siege, and held,

As still he seems to hold, God in disdain,

And sets his high omnipotence at nought.

But, as I told him, his despiteful mood

Is ornament well suits the breast that wears it.

Follow me now; and look thou set not yet

Thy foot in the hot sand, but to the wood

Keep ever close." Silently on we pass'd

To where there gushes from the forest's bound

A little brook, whose crimson'd wave yet lifts

My hair with horror. As the rill, that runs

From Bulicame, to be portion'd out

Among the sinful women; so ran this

Down through the sand, its bottom and each bank

Stone-built, and either margin at its side,

Whereon I straight perceiv'd our passage lay.

"Of all that I have shown thee, since that gate

We enter'd first, whose threshold is to none

Denied, nought else so worthy of regard,

As is this river, has thine eye discern'd,

O'er which the flaming volley all is quench'd."

So spake my guide; and I him thence besought,

That having giv'n me appetite to know,

The food he too would give, that hunger crav'd.

"In midst of ocean," forthwith he began,

"A desolate country lies, which Crete is nam'd,

Under whose monarch in old times the world

Liv'd pure and chaste. A mountain rises there,

Call'd Ida, joyous once with leaves and streams,

Deserted now like a forbidden thing.

It was the spot which Rhea, Saturn's spouse,

Chose for the secret cradle of her son;

And better to conceal him, drown'd in shouts

His infant cries. Within the mount, upright

An ancient form there stands and huge, that turns

His shoulders towards Damiata, and at Rome

As in his mirror looks. Of finest gold

His head is shap'd, pure silver are the breast

And arms; thence to the middle is of brass.

And downward all beneath well-temper'd steel,

Save the right foot of potter's clay, on which

Than on the other more erect he stands,

Each part except the gold, is rent throughout;

And from the fissure tears distil, which join'd

Penetrate to that cave. They in their course

Thus far precipitated down the rock

Form Acheron, and Styx, and Phlegethon;

Then by this straiten'd channel passing hence

Beneath, e'en to the lowest depth of all,

Form there Cocytus, of whose lake (thyself

Shall see it) I here give thee no account."

Then I to him: "If from our world this sluice

Be thus deriv'd; wherefore to us but now

Appears it at this edge?" He straight replied:

"The place, thou know'st, is round; and though great part

Thou have already pass'd, still to the left

Descending to the nethermost, not yet

Hast thou the circuit made of the whole orb.

Wherefore if aught of new to us appear,

It needs not bring up wonder in thy looks."

Then I again inquir'd: "Where flow the streams

Of Phlegethon and Lethe? for of one

Thou tell'st not, and the other of that shower,

Thou say'st, is form'd." He answer thus return'd:

"Doubtless thy questions all well pleas'd I hear.

Yet the red seething wave might have resolv'd

One thou proposest. Lethe thou shalt see,

But not within this hollow, in the place,

Whither to lave themselves the spirits go,

Whose blame hath been by penitence remov'd."

He added: "Time is now we quit the wood.

Look thou my steps pursue: the margins give

Safe passage, unimpeded by the flames;

For over them all vapour is extinct."