The Divine Comedy, Dante Alighieri [best ebook reader txt] 📗

high craggy banks, successive forms Ten trenches, in its hollow bottom sunk.

As where to guard the walls, full many a foss Begirds some stately castle, sure defence Affording to the space within, so here Were model’d these; and as like fortresses E’en from their threshold to the brink without, Are flank’d with bridges; from the rock’s low base Thus flinty paths advanc’d, that ‘cross the moles And dikes, struck onward far as to the gulf, That in one bound collected cuts them off.

Such was the place, wherein we found ourselves From Geryon’s back dislodg’d. The bard to left Held on his way, and I behind him mov’d.

On our right hand new misery I saw, New pains, new executioners of wrath, That swarming peopled the first chasm. Below Were naked sinners. Hitherward they came, Meeting our faces from the middle point, With us beyond but with a larger stride.

E’en thus the Romans, when the year returns Of Jubilee, with better speed to rid The thronging multitudes, their means devise For such as pass the bridge; that on one side All front toward the castle, and approach Saint Peter’s fane, on th’ other towards the mount.

Each divers way along the grisly rock, Horn’d demons I beheld, with lashes huge, That on their back unmercifully smote.

Ah! how they made them bound at the first stripe!

None for the second waited nor the third.

Meantime as on I pass’d, one met my sight Whom soon as view’d; “Of him,” cried I, “not yet Mine eye hath had his fill.” With fixed gaze I therefore scann’d him. Straight the teacher kind Paus’d with me, and consented I should walk Backward a space, and the tormented spirit, Who thought to hide him, bent his visage down.

But it avail’d him nought; for I exclaim’d: “Thou who dost cast thy eye upon the ground, Unless thy features do belie thee much, Venedico art thou. But what brings thee Into this bitter seas’ning? ” He replied: “Unwillingly I answer to thy words.

But thy clear speech, that to my mind recalls The world I once inhabited, constrains me.

Know then ‘twas I who led fair Ghisola To do the Marquis’ will, however fame The shameful tale have bruited. Nor alone Bologna hither sendeth me to mourn Rather with us the place is so o’erthrong’d That not so many tongues this day are taught, Betwixt the Reno and Savena’s stream, To answer SIPA in their country’s phrase.

And if of that securer proof thou need, Remember but our craving thirst for gold.”

Him speaking thus, a demon with his thong Struck, and exclaim’d, “Away! corrupter! here Women are none for sale.” Forthwith I join’d My escort, and few paces thence we came To where a rock forth issued from the bank.

That easily ascended, to the right Upon its splinter turning, we depart From those eternal barriers. When arriv’d, Where underneath the gaping arch lets pass The scourged souls: “Pause here,” the teacher said, “And let these others miserable, now Strike on thy ken, faces not yet beheld, For that together they with us have walk’d.”

From the old bridge we ey’d the pack, who came From th’ other side towards us, like the rest, Excoriate from the lash. My gentle guide, By me unquestion’d, thus his speech resum’d: “Behold that lofty shade, who this way tends, And seems too woe-begone to drop a tear.

How yet the regal aspect he retains!

Jason is he, whose skill and prowess won The ram from Colchos. To the Lemnian isle His passage thither led him, when those bold And pitiless women had slain all their males.

There he with tokens and fair witching words Hypsipyle beguil’d, a virgin young, Who first had all the rest herself beguil’d.

Impregnated he left her there forlorn.

Such is the guilt condemns him to this pain.

Here too Medea’s inj’ries are avenged.

All bear him company, who like deceit To his have practis’d. And thus much to know Of the first vale suffice thee, and of those Whom its keen torments urge.” Now had we come Where, crossing the next pier, the straighten’d path Bestrides its shoulders to another arch.

Hence in the second chasm we heard the ghosts, Who jibber in low melancholy sounds, With wide-stretch’d nostrils snort, and on themselves Smite with their palms. Upon the banks a scurf From the foul steam condens’d, encrusting hung, That held sharp combat with the sight and smell.

So hollow is the depth, that from no part, Save on the summit of the rocky span, Could I distinguish aught. Thus far we came; And thence I saw, within the foss below, A crowd immers’d in ordure, that appear’d Draff of the human body. There beneath Searching with eye inquisitive, I mark’d One with his head so grim’d, ‘t were hard to deem, If he were clerk or layman. Loud he cried: “Why greedily thus bendest more on me, Than on these other filthy ones, thy ken?”

“Because if true my mem’ry,” I replied, “I heretofore have seen thee with dry locks, And thou Alessio art of Lucca sprung.

Therefore than all the rest I scan thee more.”

Then beating on his brain these words he spake: “Me thus low down my flatteries have sunk, Wherewith I ne’er enough could glut my tongue.”

My leader thus: “A little further stretch Thy face, that thou the visage well mayst note Of that besotted, sluttish courtezan, Who there doth rend her with defiled nails, Now crouching down, now risen on her feet.

Thais is this, the harlot, whose false lip Answer’d her doting paramour that ask’d, ‘Thankest me much!’—‘Say rather wondrously,’

And seeing this here satiate be our view.”

 

CANTO XIX

 

WOE to thee, Simon Magus! woe to you, His wretched followers! who the things of God, Which should be wedded unto goodness, them, Rapacious as ye are, do prostitute For gold and silver in adultery!

Now must the trumpet sound for you, since yours Is the third chasm. Upon the following vault We now had mounted, where the rock impends Directly o’er the centre of the foss.

Wisdom Supreme! how wonderful the art, Which thou dost manifest in heaven, in earth, And in the evil world, how just a meed Allotting by thy virtue unto all!

I saw the livid stone, throughout the sides And in its bottom full of apertures, All equal in their width, and circular each, Nor ample less nor larger they appear’d Than in Saint John’s fair dome of me belov’d Those fram’d to hold the pure baptismal streams, One of the which I brake, some few years past, To save a whelming infant; and be this A seal to undeceive whoever doubts The motive of my deed. From out the mouth Of every one, emerg’d a sinner’s feet And of the legs high upward as the calf The rest beneath was hid. On either foot The soles were burning, whence the flexile joints Glanc’d with such violent motion, as had snapt Asunder cords or twisted withs. As flame, Feeding on unctuous matter, glides along The surface, scarcely touching where it moves; So here, from heel to point, glided the flames.

“Master! say who is he, than all the rest Glancing in fiercer agony, on whom A ruddier flame doth prey?” I thus inquir’d.

“If thou be willing,” he replied, “that I Carry thee down, where least the slope bank falls, He of himself shall tell thee and his wrongs.”

I then: “As pleases thee to me is best.

Thou art my lord; and know’st that ne’er I quit Thy will: what silence hides that knowest thou.”

Thereat on the fourth pier we came, we turn’d, And on our left descended to the depth, A narrow strait and perforated close.

Nor from his side my leader set me down, Till to his orifice he brought, whose limb Quiv’ring express’d his pang. “Whoe’er thou art, Sad spirit! thus revers’d, and as a stake Driv’n in the soil!” I in these words began, “If thou be able, utter forth thy voice.”

There stood I like the friar, that doth shrive A wretch for murder doom’d, who e’en when fix’d, Calleth him back, whence death awhile delays.

He shouted: “Ha! already standest there?

Already standest there, O Boniface!

By many a year the writing play’d me false.

So early dost thou surfeit with the wealth, For which thou fearedst not in guile to take The lovely lady, and then mangle her?”

I felt as those who, piercing not the drift Of answer made them, stand as if expos’d In mockery, nor know what to reply, When Virgil thus admonish’d: “Tell him quick, I am not he, not he, whom thou believ’st.”

And I, as was enjoin’d me, straight replied.

That heard, the spirit all did wrench his feet, And sighing next in woeful accent spake: “What then of me requirest?” If to know So much imports thee, who I am, that thou Hast therefore down the bank descended, learn That in the mighty mantle I was rob’d, And of a she-bear was indeed the son, So eager to advance my whelps, that there My having in my purse above I stow’d, And here myself. Under my head are dragg’d The rest, my predecessors in the guilt Of simony. Stretch’d at their length they lie Along an opening in the rock. ‘Midst them I also low shall fall, soon as he comes, For whom I took thee, when so hastily I question’d. But already longer time Hath pass’d, since my souls kindled, and I thus Upturn’d have stood, than is his doom to stand Planted with fiery feet. For after him, One yet of deeds more ugly shall arrive, From forth the west, a shepherd without law, Fated to cover both his form and mine.

He a new Jason shall be call’d, of whom In Maccabees we read; and favour such As to that priest his king indulgent show’d, Shall be of France’s monarch shown to him.”

I know not if I here too far presum’d, But in this strain I answer’d: “Tell me now, What treasures from St. Peter at the first Our Lord demanded, when he put the keys Into his charge? Surely he ask’d no more But, Follow me! Nor Peter nor the rest Or gold or silver of Matthias took, When lots were cast upon the forfeit place Of the condemned soul. Abide thou then; Thy punishment of right is merited: And look thou well to that ill-gotten coin, Which against Charles thy hardihood inspir’d.

If reverence of the keys restrain’d me not, Which thou in happier time didst hold, I yet Severer speech might use. Your avarice O’ercasts the world with mourning, under foot Treading the good, and raising bad men up.

Of shepherds, like to you, th’ Evangelist Was ware, when her, who sits upon the waves, With kings in filthy whoredom he beheld, She who with seven heads tower’d at her birth, And from ten horns her proof of glory drew, Long as her spouse in virtue took delight.

Of gold and silver ye have made your god, Diff’ring wherein from the idolater, But he that worships one, a hundred ye?

Ah, Constantine! to how much ill gave birth, Not thy conversion, but that plenteous dower, Which the first wealthy Father gain’d from thee!”

Meanwhile, as thus I sung, he, whether wrath Or conscience smote him, violent upsprang Spinning on either sole. I do believe My teacher well was pleas’d, with so compos’d A lip, he listen’d ever to the sound Of the true words I utter’d. In both arms He caught, and to his bosom lifting me Upward retrac’d the way of his descent.

Nor weary of his weight he press’d me close, Till to the summit of the rock we came, Our passage from the fourth to the fifth pier.

His cherish’d burden there gently he plac’d Upon the rugged