That one, who by the Servant of the Servants
From Arno was transferred to Bacchiglione,Where he has left his sin-excited nerves.
More would I say, but coming and discoursingCan be no longer; for that I beholdNew smoke uprising yonder from the sand.
A people comes with whom I may not be;Commended unto thee be my Tesoro,In which I still live, and no more I ask.”
Then he turned round, and seemed to be of thoseWho at Verona run for the Green MantleAcross the plain; and seemed to be among them
The one who wins, and not the one who loses.
Inferno: Canto XVI
Now was I where was heard the reverberationOf water falling into the next round,Like to that humming which the beehives make,
When shadows three together started forth,Running, from out a company that passedBeneath the rain of the sharp martyrdom.
Towards us came they, and each one cried out:“Stop, thou; for by thy garb to us thou seemestTo be some one of our depraved city.”
Ah me! what wounds I saw upon their limbs,Recent and ancient by the flames burnt in!It pains me still but to remember it.
Unto their cries my Teacher paused attentive;He turned his face towards me, and “Now wait,”He said; “to these we should be courteous.
And if it were not for the fire that dartsThe nature of this region, I should sayThat haste were more becoming thee than them.”
As soon as we stood still, they recommencedThe old refrain, and when they overtook us,Formed of themselves a wheel, all three of them.
As champions stripped and oiled are wont to do,Watching for their advantage and their hold,Before they come to blows and thrusts between them,
Thus, wheeling round, did every one his visageDirect to me, so that in opposite wiseHis neck and feet continual journey made.
And, “If the misery of this soft placeBring in disdain ourselves and our entreaties,”Began one, “and our aspect black and blistered,
Let the renown of us thy mind inclineTo tell us who thou art, who thus securelyThy living feet dost move along through Hell.
He in whose footprints thou dost see me treading,Naked and skinless though he now may go,Was of a greater rank than thou dost think;
He was the grandson of the good Gualdrada;His name was Guidoguerra, and in lifeMuch did he with his wisdom and his sword.
The other, who close by me treads the sand,Tegghiaio Aldobrandi is, whose fameAbove there in the world should welcome be.
And I, who with them on the cross am placed,Jacopo Rusticucci was; and trulyMy savage wife, more than aught else, doth harm me.”
Could I have been protected from the fire,Below I should have thrown myself among them,And think the Teacher would have suffered it;
But as I should have burned and baked myself,My terror overmastered my good will,Which made me greedy of embracing them.
Then I began: “Sorrow and not disdainDid your condition fix within me so,That tardily it wholly is stripped off,
As soon as this my Lord said unto meWords, on account of which I thought within meThat people such as you are were approaching.
I of your city am; and evermoreYour labours and your honourable namesI with affection have retraced and heard.
I leave the gall, and go for the sweet fruitsPromised to me by the veracious Leader;But to the centre first I needs must plunge.”
“So may the soul for a long while conductThose limbs of thine,” did he make answer then,“And so may thy renown shine after thee,
Valour and courtesy, say if they dwellWithin our city, as they used to do,Or if they wholly have gone out of it;
For Guglielmo Borsier, who is in tormentWith us of late, and goes there with his comrades,Doth greatly mortify us with his words.”
“The new inhabitants and the sudden gains,Pride and extravagance have in thee engendered,Florence, so that thou weep’st thereat already!”
In this wise I exclaimed with face uplifted;And the three, taking that for my reply,Looked at each other, as one looks at truth.
“If other times so little it doth cost thee,”Replied they all, “to satisfy another,Happy art thou, thus speaking at thy will!
Therefore, if thou escape from these dark places,And come to rebehold the beauteous stars,When it shall pleasure thee to say, ‘I was,’
See that thou speak of us unto the people.”Then they broke up the wheel, and in their flightIt seemed as if their agile legs were wings.
Not an Amen could possibly be saidSo rapidly as they had disappeared;Wherefore the Master deemed best to depart.
I followed him, and little had we gone,Before the sound of water was so near us,That speaking we should hardly have been heard.
Even as that stream which holdeth its own courseThe first from Monte Veso tow’rds the East,Upon the left-hand slope of Apennine,
Which is above called Acquacheta, ereIt down descendeth into its low bed,And at Forli is vacant of that name,