Incontinence, and Malice, and insane
Bestiality? and how IncontinenceLess God offendeth, and less blame attracts?
If thou regardest this conclusion well,And to thy mind recallest who they areThat up outside are undergoing penance,
Clearly wilt thou perceive why from these felonsThey separated are, and why less wrothJustice 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 offendsGoodness 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 possibleFollows, 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 mindGenesis at the beginning, it behovesMankind to gain their life and to advance;
And since the usurer takes another way,Nature herself and in her followerDisdains 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 cameWas 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 flankSmote, 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 chasmThe 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: “PeradventureThou 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 notInstructed by thy sister, but he comesIn order to behold your punishments.”
As is that bull who breaks loose at the momentIn 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 dischargeOf stones, which oftentimes did move themselvesBeneath my feet, from the unwonted burden.
Thoughtful I went; and he said: “Thou art thinkingPerhaps upon this ruin, which is guardedBy that brute anger which just now I quenched.
Now will I have thee know, the other timeI here descended to the nether Hell,This precipice had not yet fallen down.
But truly, if I well discern, a littleBefore His coming who the mighty spoilBore off from Dis, in the supernal circle,
Upon all sides the deep and loathsome valleyTrembled so, that I thought the UniverseWas thrilled with love, by which there are who think
The world ofttimes converted into chaos;And at that moment this primeval cragBoth here and elsewhere made such overthrow.
But fix thine eyes below; for draweth nearThe river of blood, within which boiling isWhoe’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 footCentaurs 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 tormentCome ye, who down the hillside are descending?Tell us from there; if not, I draw the bow.”
My Master said: “Our answer will we makeTo 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 moatShooting with shafts whatever soul emergesOut of the blood, more than his crime allots.”
Near we approached unto those monsters fleet;Chiron an arrow took, and with the notchBackward upon his jaws he put his beard.
After he had uncovered his great mouth,He said to his companions: “Are you wareThat 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 aloneMe 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 movingMy 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 movedAlong 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; hereIs Alexander, and fierce DionysiusWho upon Sicily brought dolorous years.
That forehead there which has the hair so blackIs 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 stoppedAbove a folk, who far down as the throatSeemed from that boiling stream to issue forth.
A shade he showed us on one side alone,Saying: “He cleft asunder in God’s bosomThe heart that still upon the Thames is honoured.”
Then people saw I, who from out the riverLifted their heads and also all the chest;And many among these I recognised.
Thus ever more and more grew shallowerThat blood, so that the feet alone it covered;And there across the moat our passage was.
“Even as thou here upon this side beholdestThe boiling stream, that aye diminishes,”The Centaur said, “I wish thee to believe
That on this other more and more declinesIts bed, until it reunites itselfWhere it behoveth tyranny to groan.
Justice divine, upon this side, is goadingThat Attila, who was a scourge on earth,And Pyrrhus, and Sextus; and for ever milks
The tears which with the boiling it unsealsIn 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 seeThings 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 thinkSo many voices issued through those trunksFrom people who concealed themselves from us;
Therefore the Master said: “If thou break offSome 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 fireAt one of the ends, and from the other dripsAnd hisses with the wind that is escaping;
So from that splinter issued forth togetherBoth words and blood; whereat I let the tipFall, 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 meTo put him to an act which grieveth me.
But tell him who thou wast, so that by wayOf some amends thy fame he may refreshUp 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 keepingOf Frederick’s heart, and turned them to and froSo softly in unlocking and in locking,
That from his secrets most men I withheld;Fidelity I bore the glorious officeSo great, I lost thereby my sleep and pulses.
The courtesan who never from the dwellingOf 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 faithUnto my lord, who was so worthy of honour;
And to the world if one of you return,Let him my memory comfort, which is lyingStill 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 inquireConcerning what thou thinks’t will satisfy me;For I cannot, such pity is in my heart.”
Therefore he recommenced: “So may the manDo for thee freely what thy speech implores,Spirit incarcerate, again be pleased
To tell us in what way the soul is boundWithin these knots; and tell us, if thou canst,If any from such members e’er is freed.”
Then blew the trunk amain, and afterwardThe wind was into such a voice converted:“With brevity shall be replied to you.