After the dolorous discomfiture
When Charlemagne the holy emprise lost,So terribly Orlando sounded not.
Short while my head turned thitherward I heldWhen many lofty towers I seemed to see,Whereat I: “Master, say, what town is this?”
And he to me: “Because thou peerest forthAthwart the darkness at too great a distance,It happens that thou errest in thy fancy.
Well shalt thou see, if thou arrivest there,How much the sense deceives itself by distance;Therefore a little faster spur thee on.”
Then tenderly he took me by the hand,And said: “Before we farther have advanced,That the reality may seem to thee
Less strange, know that these are not towers, but giants,And they are in the well, around the bank,From navel downward, one and all of them.”
As, when the fog is vanishing away,Little by little doth the sight refigureWhate’er the mist that crowds the air conceals,
So, piercing through the dense and darksome air,More and more near approaching tow’rd the verge,My error fled, and fear came over me;
Because as on its circular parapetsMontereggione crowns itself with towers,E’en thus the margin which surrounds the well
With one half of their bodies turretedThe horrible giants, whom Jove menacesE’en now from out the heavens when he thunders.
And I of one already saw the face,Shoulders, and breast, and great part of the belly,And down along his sides both of the arms.
Certainly Nature, when she left the makingOf animals like these, did well indeed,By taking such executors from Mars;
And if of elephants and whales she doth notRepent her, whosoever looketh subtlyMore just and more discreet will hold her for it;
For where the argument of intellectIs added unto evil will and power,No rampart can the people make against it.
His face appeared to me as long and largeAs is at Rome the pine-cone of Saint Peter’s,And in proportion were the other bones;
So that the margin, which an apron wasDown from the middle, showed so much of himAbove it, that to reach up to his hair
Three Frieslanders in vain had vaunted them;For I beheld thirty great palms of himDown from the place where man his mantle buckles.
“Raphael mai amech izabi almi,”Began to clamour the ferocious mouth,To which were not befitting sweeter psalms.
And unto him my Guide: “Soul idiotic,Keep to thy horn, and vent thyself with that,When wrath or other passion touches thee.
Search round thy neck, and thou wilt find the beltWhich keeps it fastened, O bewildered soul,And see it, where it bars thy mighty breast.”
Then said to me: “He doth himself accuse;This one is Nimrod, by whose evil thoughtOne language in the world is not still used.
Here let us leave him and not speak in vain;For even such to him is every languageAs his to others, which to none is known.”
Therefore a longer journey did we make,Turned to the left, and a crossbow-shot oftWe found another far more fierce and large.
In binding him, who might the master beI cannot say; but he had pinioned closeBehind the right arm, and in front the other,
With chains, that held him so begirt aboutFrom the neck down, that on the part uncoveredIt wound itself as far as the fifth gyre.
“This proud one wished to make experimentOf his own power against the Supreme Jove,”My Leader said, “whence he has such a guerdon.
Ephialtes is his name; he showed great prowess.What time the giants terrified the gods;The arms he wielded never more he moves.”
And I to him: “If possible, I should wishThat of the measureless BriareusThese eyes of mine might have experience.”
Whence he replied: “Thou shalt behold AntaeusClose by here, who can speak and is unbound,Who at the bottom of all crime shall place us.
Much farther yon is he whom thou wouldst see,And he is bound, and fashioned like to this one,Save that he seems in aspect more ferocious.”
There never was an earthquake of such mightThat it could shake a tower so violently,As Ephialtes suddenly shook himself.
Then was I more afraid of death than ever,For nothing more was needful than the fear,If I had not beheld the manacles.
Then we proceeded farther in advance,And to Antaeus came, who, full five ellsWithout the head, forth issued from the cavern.
“O thou, who in the valley fortunate,Which Scipio the heir of glory made,When Hannibal turned back with all his hosts,
Once brought’st a thousand lions for thy prey,And who, hadst thou been at the mighty warAmong thy brothers, some it seems still think
The sons of Earth the victory would have gained:Place us below, nor be disdainful of it,There where the cold doth lock Cocytus up.
Make us not go to Tityus nor Typhoeus;This one can give of that which here is longed for;Therefore stoop down, and do not curl thy lip.
Still in the world can he restore thy fame;Because he lives, and still expects long life,If to itself Grace call him not untimely.”
So said the Master; and in haste the otherHis hands extended and took up my Guide,—Hands whose great pressure Hercules once felt.
Virgilius, when he felt himself embraced,Said unto me: “Draw nigh, that I may take thee;”Then of himself and me one bundle made.
As seems the Carisenda, to beholdBeneath the leaning side, when goes a cloudAbove it so that opposite it hangs;
Such did Antaeus seem to me, who stoodWatching to see him stoop, and then it wasI could have wished to go some other way.
But lightly in the abyss, which swallows upJudas with Lucifer, he put us down;Nor thus bowed downward made he there delay,
But, as a mast does in a ship, uprose.
Inferno: Canto XXXII
If I had rhymes both rough and stridulous,As were appropriate to the dismal holeDown upon which thrust all the other rocks,
I would press out the juice of my conceptionMore fully; but because I have them not,Not without fear I bring myself to speak;
For ’tis no enterprise to take in jest,To sketch the bottom of all the universe,Nor for a tongue that cries Mamma and Babbo.
But may those Ladies help this verse of mine,Who helped Amphion in enclosing Thebes,That from the fact the word be not diverse.
O rabble ill-begotten above all,Who’re in the place to speak of which is hard,’Twere better ye had here been sheep or goats!
When we were down within the darksome well,Beneath the giant’s feet, but lower far,And I was scanning still the lofty wall,
I heard it said to me: “Look how thou steppest!Take heed thou do not trample with thy feetThe heads of the tired, miserable brothers!”
Whereat I turned me round, and saw before meAnd underfoot a lake, that from the frostThe semblance had of glass, and not of water.
So thick a veil ne’er made upon its currentIn winter-time Danube in Austria,Nor there beneath the frigid sky the Don,
As there was here; so that if TambernichHad fallen upon it, or Pietrapana,E’en at the edge ’twould not have given a creak.
And as to croak the frog doth place himselfWith muzzle out of water,—when is dreamingOf gleaning oftentimes the peasant-girl,—
Livid, as far down as where shame appears,Were the disconsolate shades within the ice,Setting their teeth unto the note of storks.
Each one his countenance held downward bent;From mouth the cold, from eyes the doleful heartAmong them witness of itself procures.
When round about me somewhat I had looked,I downward turned me, and saw two so close,The hair upon their heads together mingled.
“Ye who so strain your breasts together, tell me,”I said, “who are you;” and they bent their necks,And when to me their faces they had lifted,
Their eyes, which first were only moist within,Gushed o’er the eyelids, and the frost congealedThe tears between, and locked them up again.
Clamp never bound together wood with woodSo strongly; whereat they, like two he-goats,Butted together, so much wrath o’ercame them.
And one, who had by reason of the coldLost both his ears, still with his visage downward,Said: “Why dost thou so mirror thyself in us?
If thou desire to know who these two are,The valley whence Bisenzio descendsBelonged to them and to their father Albert.
They from one body came, and all CainaThou shalt search through, and shalt not find a shadeMore worthy to be fixed in gelatine;
Not he in whom were broken breast and shadowAt one and the same blow by Arthur’s hand;Focaccia not; not he who me encumbers
So with his head I see no farther forward,And bore the name of Sassol Mascheroni;Well knowest thou who he was, if thou art Tuscan.
And that thou put me not to further speech,Know that I Camicion de’ Pazzi was,And wait Carlino to exonerate me.”
Then I beheld a thousand faces, madePurple with cold; whence o’er me comes a shudder,And evermore will come, at frozen ponds.
And while we were advancing tow’rds the middle,Where everything of weight unites together,And I was shivering in the eternal shade,
Whether ’twere will, or destiny, or chance,I know not; but in walking ’mong the headsI struck my foot hard in the face of one.
Weeping he growled: “Why dost thou trample me?Unless thou comest to increase the vengeanceof Montaperti, why dost thou molest me?”
And I: “My Master, now wait here for me,That I through him may issue from a doubt;Then thou mayst hurry me, as thou shalt wish.”
The Leader stopped; and to that one I saidWho was blaspheming vehemently still:“Who art thou, that thus reprehendest others?”
“Now who art thou, that goest through AntenoraSmiting,” replied he, “other people’s cheeks,So that, if thou wert living, ’twere too much?”
“Living I am, and dear to thee it may be,”Was my response, “if thou demandest fame,That ’mid the other notes thy name I place.”
And he to me: “For the reverse I long;Take thyself hence, and give me no more trouble;For ill thou knowest to flatter in this hollow.”
Then by the scalp behind I seized upon him,And said: “It must needs be thou name thyself,Or not a hair remain upon thee here.”
Whence he to me: “Though thou strip off my hair,I will not tell thee who I am, nor show thee,If on my head a thousand times thou fall.”
I had his hair in hand already twisted,And more than one shock of it had pulled out,He barking, with his eyes held firmly down,
When cried another: “What doth ail thee, Bocca?Is’t not enough to clatter with thy jaws,But thou must bark? what devil touches thee?”
“Now,” said I, “I care not to have thee speak,Accursed traitor; for unto thy shameI will report of thee veracious news.”
“Begone,” replied he, “and tell what thou wilt,But be not silent, if thou issue hence,Of him who had just now his tongue so prompt;
He weepeth here the silver of the French;‘I saw,’ thus canst thou phrase it, ‘him of DueraThere where the sinners stand out in the cold.’
If thou shouldst questioned be who else was there,Thou hast beside thee him of Beccaria,Of whom the gorget Florence slit asunder;
Gianni del Soldanier, I think, may beYonder with Ganellon, and TebaldelloWho oped Faenza when the people slep.”
Already we had gone away from him,When I beheld two frozen in one hole,So that one head a hood was to the other;
And even as bread through hunger is devoured,The uppermost on the other set his teeth,There where the brain is to the nape united.
Not in another fashion Tydeus gnawedThe temples of Menalippus in disdain,Than that one did the skull and the other things.
“O thou, who showest by such bestial signThy hatred against him whom thou art eating,Tell me the wherefore,” said I, “with this compact,
That if thou rightfully of him complain,In knowing who ye are, and his transgression,I in the world above repay thee for it,
If that wherewith I speak be not dried up.”
Inferno: Canto XXXIII
His mouth uplifted from his grim repast,That sinner, wiping it upon the hairOf the same head that he behind had wasted.
Then he began: “Thou wilt that I renewThe desperate grief, which wrings my heart alreadyTo think of only, ere I speak of it;
But if my words be seed that may bear fruitOf infamy to the traitor whom I gnaw,Speaking and weeping shalt thou see together.
I know not who thou art, nor by what modeThou hast come down here; but a FlorentineThou seemest to me truly, when I hear thee.
Thou hast to know I was Count Ugolino,And this one was Ruggieri the Archbishop;Now I will tell thee why I am such a neighbour.
That, by effect of his malicious thoughts,Trusting in him I was made prisoner,And after put to death, I need not say;
But ne’ertheless what thou canst not have heard,That is to say, how cruel was my death,Hear shalt thou, and shalt know if he has wronged me.
A narrow perforation in the mew,Which bears because of me the title of Famine,And in which others still must be locked up,
Had shown me through its opening many moonsAlready, when I dreamed the evil dreamWhich of the future rent for me the veil.
This one appeared to me as lord and master,Hunting the wolf and whelps upon the mountainFor which the Pisans cannot Lucca see.
With sleuth-hounds gaunt, and eager, and well trained,Gualandi with Sismondi and LanfianchiHe had sent out before him to the front.
After brief course seemed unto me forespentThe father and the sons, and with sharp tushesIt seemed to me I saw their flanks ripped open.
When I before the morrow was awake,Moaning amid their sleep I heard my sonsWho with me were, and asking after bread.
Cruel indeed art thou, if yet thou grieve not,Thinking of what my heart foreboded me,And weep’st thou not, what art thou wont to weep at?
They were awake now, and the hour drew nighAt which our food used to be brought to us,And through his dream was each one apprehensive;
And I heard locking up the under doorOf the horrible tower; whereat without a wordI gazed into the faces of my sons.
I wept not, I within so turned to stone;They wept; and darling little Anselm mineSaid: ‘Thou dost gaze so, father, what doth ail thee?’
Still not a tear I shed, nor answer madeAll of that day, nor yet the night thereafter,Until another sun rose on the world.
As now a little glimmer made its wayInto the dolorous prison, and I sawUpon four faces my own very aspect,
Both of my hands in agony I bit;And, thinking that I did it from desireOf eating, on a sudden they uprose,
And said they: ‘Father, much less pain ’twill give usIf thou do eat of us; thyself didst clothe usWith this poor flesh, and do thou strip it off.’
I calmed me then, not to make them more sad.That day we all were silent, and the next.Ah! obdurate earth, wherefore didst thou not open?
When we had come unto the fourth day, GaddoThrew himself down outstretched before my feet,Saying, ‘My father, why dost thou not help me?’
And there he died; and, as thou seest me,I saw the three fall, one by one, betweenThe fifth day and the sixth; whence I betook me,
Already blind, to groping over each,And three days called them after they were dead;Then hunger did what sorrow could not do.”
When he had said this, with his eyes distorted,The wretched skull resumed he with his teeth,Which, as a dog’s, upon the bone were strong.
Ah! Pisa, thou opprobrium of the peopleOf the fair land there where the ‘Si’ doth sound,Since slow to punish thee thy neighbours are,
Let the Capraia and Gorgona move,And make a hedge across the mouth of ArnoThat every person in thee it may drown!
For if Count Ugolino had the fameOf having in thy castles thee betrayed,Thou shouldst not on such cross have put his sons.
Guiltless of any crime, thou modern Thebes!Their youth made Uguccione and Brigata,And the other two my song doth name above!
We passed still farther onward, where the iceAnother people ruggedly enswathes,Not downward turned, but all of them reversed.
Weeping itself there does not let them weep,And grief that finds a barrier in the eyesTurns itself inward to increase the anguish;
Because the earliest tears a cluster form,And, in the manner of a crystal visor,Fill all the cup beneath the eyebrow full.
And notwithstanding that, as in a callus,Because of cold all sensibilityIts station had abandoned in my face,
Still it appeared to me I felt some wind;Whence I: “My Master, who sets this in motion?Is not below here every vapour quenched?”
Whence he to me: “Full soon shalt thou be whereThine eye shall answer make to thee of this,Seeing the cause which raineth down the blast.”
And one of the wretches of the frozen crustCried out to us: “O souls so mercilessThat the last post is given unto you,
Lift from mine eyes the rigid veils, that IMay vent the sorrow which impregns my heartA little, e’er the weeping recongeal.”
Whence I to him: “If thou wouldst have me help theeSay who thou wast; and if I free thee not,May I go to the bottom of the ice.”
Then he replied: “I am Friar Alberigo;He am I of the fruit of the bad garden,Who here a date am getting for my fig.”
“O,” said I to him, “now art thou, too, dead?”And he to me: “How may my body fareUp in the world, no knowledge I possess.
Such an advantage has this Ptolomaea,That oftentimes the soul descendeth hereSooner than Atropos in motion sets it.
And, that thou mayest more willingly removeFrom off my countenance these glassy tears,Know that as soon as any soul betrays
As I have done, his body by a demonIs taken from him, who thereafter rules it,Until his time has wholly been revolved.
Itself down rushes into such a cistern;And still perchance above appears the bodyOf yonder shade, that winters here behind me.
This thou shouldst know, if thou hast just come down;It is Ser Branca d’ Oria, and many yearsHave passed away since he was thus locked up.”
“I think,” said I to him, “thou dost deceive me;For Branca d’ Oria is not dead as yet,And eats, and drinks, and sleeps, and puts on clothes.”
“In moat above,” said he, “of Malebranche,There where is boiling the tenacious pitch,As yet had Michel Zanche not arrived,
When this one left a devil in his steadIn his own body and one near of kin,Who made together with him the betrayal.
But hitherward stretch out thy hand forthwith,Open mine eyes;”—and open them I did not,And to be rude to him was courtesy.
Ah, Genoese! ye men at varianceWith every virtue, full of every viceWherefore are ye not scattered from the world?
For with the vilest spirit of RomagnaI found of you one such, who for his deedsIn soul already in Cocytus bathes,
And still above in body seems alive!
Inferno: Canto XXXIV
“‘Vexilla Regis prodeunt Inferni’Towards us; therefore look in front of thee,”My Master said, “if thou discernest him.”
As, when there breathes a heavy fog, or whenOur hemisphere is darkening into night,Appears far off a mill the wind is turning,
Methought that such a building then I saw;And, for the wind, I drew myself behindMy Guide, because there was no other shelter.
Now was I, and with fear in verse I put it,There where the shades were wholly covered up,And glimmered through like unto straws in glass.
Some prone are lying, others stand erect,This with the head, and that one with the soles;Another, bow-like, face to feet inverts.
When in advance so far we had proceeded,That it my Master pleased to show to meThe creature who once had the beauteous semblance,
He from before me moved and made me stop,Saying: “Behold Dis, and behold the placeWhere thou with fortitude must arm thyself.”
How frozen I became and powerless then,Ask it not, Reader, for I write it not,Because all language would be insufficient.
I did not die, and I alive remained not;Think for thyself now, hast thou aught of wit,What I became, being of both deprived.
The Emperor of the kingdom dolorousFrom his mid-breast forth issued from the ice;And better with a giant I compare
Than do the giants with those arms of his;Consider now how great must be that whole,Which unto such a part conforms itself.
Were he as fair once, as he now is foul,And lifted up his brow against his Maker,Well may proceed from him all tribulation.
O, what a marvel it appeared to me,When I beheld three faces on his head!The one in front, and that vermilion was;
Two were the others, that were joined with thisAbove the middle part of either shoulder,And they were joined together at the crest;
And the right-hand one seemed ’twixt white and yellow;The left was such to look upon as thoseWho come from where the Nile falls valley-ward.
Underneath each came forth two mighty wings,Such as befitting were so great a bird;Sails of the sea I never saw so large.
No feathers had they, but as of a batTheir fashion was; and he was waving them,So that three winds proceeded forth therefrom.