Part 15

the rock, Haply so lingering to delay the pain Sentenc’d upon thy crimes?”—“Him death not yet,” My guide rejoin’d, “hath overta’en, nor sin Conducts to torment; but, that he may make Full trial of your state, I who am dead Must through the depths of hell, from orb to orb, Conduct him. Trust my words, for they are true.” More than a hundred spirits, when that they heard, Stood in the foss to mark me, through amazed, Forgetful of their pangs. “Thou, who perchance Shalt shortly view the sun, this warning thou Bear to Dolcino: bid him, if he wish not Here soon to follow me, that with good store Of food he arm him, lest impris’ning snows Yield him a victim to Novara’s power, No easy conquest else.” With foot uprais’d For stepping, spake Mohammed, on the ground Then fix’d it to depart. Another shade, Pierc’d in the throat, his nostrils mutilate E’en from beneath the eyebrows, and one ear Lopt off, who with the rest through wonder stood Gazing, before the rest advanc’d, and bar’d His wind-pipe, that without was all o’ersmear’d With crimson stain. “O thou!” said ‘he, “whom sin Condemns not, and whom erst (unless too near Resemblance do deceive me) I aloft Have seen on Latian ground, call thou to mind Piero of Medicina, if again Returning, thou behold’st the pleasant land That from Vercelli slopes to Mercabo; “And there instruct the twain, whom Fano boasts Her worthiest sons, Guido and Angelo, That if ’t is giv’n us here to scan aright The future, they out of life’s tenement Shall be cast forth, and whelm’d under the waves Near to Cattolica, through perfidy Of a fell tyrant. ’Twixt the Cyprian isle And Balearic, ne’er hath Neptune seen An injury so foul, by pirates done Or Argive crew of old. That one-ey’d traitor (Whose realm there is a spirit here were fain His eye had still lack’d sight of) them shall bring To conf’rence with him, then so shape his end, That they shall need not ’gainst Focara’s wind Offer up vow nor pray’r.” I answering thus: “Declare, as thou dost wish that I above May carry tidings of thee, who is he, In whom that sight doth wake such sad remembrance?” Forthwith he laid his hand on the cheek-bone Of one, his fellow-spirit, and his jaws Expanding, cried: “Lo! this is he I wot of; He speaks not for himself: the outcast this Who overwhelm’d the doubt in Caesar’s mind, Affirming that delay to men prepar’d Was ever harmful. “Oh how terrified Methought was Curio, from whose throat was cut The tongue, which spake that hardy word. Then one Maim’d of each hand, uplifted in the gloom The bleeding stumps, that they with gory spots Sullied his face, and cried: ‘Remember thee Of Mosca, too, I who, alas! exclaim’d, “The deed once done there is an end,” that prov’d A seed of sorrow to the Tuscan race.” I added: “Ay, and death to thine own tribe.” Whence heaping woe on woe he hurried off, As one grief-stung to madness. But I there Still linger’d to behold the troop, and saw Things, such as I may fear without more proof To tell of, but that conscience makes me firm, The boon companion, who her strong breast-plate Buckles on him, that feels no guilt within And bids him on and fear not. Without doubt I saw, and yet it seems to pass before me, A headless trunk, that even as the rest Of the sad flock pac’d onward. By the hair It bore the sever’d member, lantern-wise Pendent in hand, which look’d at us and said, “Woe’s me!” The spirit lighted thus himself, And two there were in one, and one in two. How that may be he knows who ordereth so. When at the bridge’s foot direct he stood, His arm aloft he rear’d, thrusting the head Full in our view, that nearer we might hear The words, which thus it utter’d: “Now behold This grievous torment, thou, who breathing go’st To spy the dead; behold if any else Be terrible as this. And that on earth Thou mayst bear tidings of me, know that I Am Bertrand, he of Born, who gave King John The counsel mischievous. Father and son I set at mutual war. For Absalom And David more did not Ahitophel, Spurring them on maliciously to strife. For parting those so closely knit, my brain Parted, alas! I carry from its source, That in this trunk inhabits. Thus the law Of retribution fiercely works in me.” CANTO XXIX So were mine eyes inebriate with view Of the vast multitude, whom various wounds Disfigur’d, that they long’d to stay and weep. But Virgil rous’d me: “What yet gazest on? Wherefore doth fasten yet thy sight below Among the maim’d and miserable shades? Thou hast not shewn in any chasm beside This weakness. Know, if thou wouldst number them That two and twenty miles the valley winds Its circuit, and already is the moon Beneath our feet: the time permitted now Is short, and more not seen remains to see.” “If thou,” I straight replied, “hadst weigh’d the cause For which I look’d, thou hadst perchance excus’d The tarrying still.” My leader part pursu’d His way, the while I follow’d, answering him, And adding thus: “Within that cave I deem, Whereon so fixedly I held my ken, There is a spirit dwells, one of my blood, Wailing the crime that costs him now so dear.” Then spake my master: “Let thy soul no more Afflict itself for him. Direct elsewhere Its thought, and leave him. At the bridge’s foot I mark’d how he did point with menacing look At thee, and heard him by the others nam’d Geri of Bello. Thou so wholly then Wert busied with his spirit, who once rul’d The towers of Hautefort, that thou lookedst not That way, ere he was gone.”—“O guide belov’d! His violent death yet unaveng’d,” said I, “By any, who are partners in his shame, Made him contemptuous: therefore, as I think, He pass’d me speechless by; and doing so Hath made me more compassionate his fate.” So we discours’d to where the rock first show’d The other valley, had more light been there, E’en to the lowest depth. Soon as we came O’er the last cloister in the dismal rounds Of Malebolge, and the brotherhood Were to our view expos’d, then many a dart Of sore lament assail’d me, headed all With points of thrilling pity, that I clos’d Both ears against the volley with mine hands. As were the torment, if each lazar-house Of Valdichiana, in the sultry time ’Twixt July and September, with the isle Sardinia and Maremma’s pestilent fen, Had heap’d their maladies all in one foss Together; such was here the torment: dire The stench, as issuing steams from fester’d limbs. We on the utmost shore of the long rock Descended still to leftward. Then my sight Was livelier to explore the depth, wherein The minister of the most mighty Lord, All-searching Justice, dooms to punishment The forgers noted on her dread record. More rueful was it not methinks to see The nation in Aegina droop, what time Each living thing, e’en to the little worm, All fell, so full of malice was the air (And afterward, as bards of yore have told, The ancient people were restor’d anew From seed of emmets) than was here to see The spirits, that languish’d through the murky vale Up-pil’d on many a stack. Confus’d they lay, One o’er the belly, o’er the shoulders one Roll’d of another; sideling crawl’d a third Along the dismal pathway. Step by step We journey’d on, in silence looking round And list’ning those diseas’d, who strove in vain To lift their forms. Then two I mark’d, that sat Propp’d ’gainst each other, as two brazen pans Set to retain the heat. From head to foot, A tetter bark’d them round. Nor saw I e’er Groom currying so fast, for whom his lord Impatient waited, or himself perchance Tir’d with long watching, as of these each one Plied quickly his keen nails, through furiousness Of ne’er abated pruriency. The crust Came drawn from underneath in flakes, like scales Scrap’d from the bream or fish of broader mail. “O thou, who with thy fingers rendest off Thy coat of proof,” thus spake my guide to one, “And sometimes makest tearing pincers of them, Tell me if any born of Latian land Be among these within: so may thy nails Serve thee for everlasting to this toil.” “Both are of Latium,” weeping he replied, “Whom tortur’d thus thou seest: but who art thou That hast inquir’d of us?” To whom my guide: “One that descend with this man, who yet lives, From rock to rock, and show him hell’s abyss.” Then started they asunder, and each turn’d Trembling toward us, with the rest, whose ear Those words redounding struck. To me my liege Address’d him: “Speak to them whate’er thou list.” And I therewith began: “So may no time Filch your remembrance from the thoughts of men In th’ upper world, but after many suns Survive it, as ye tell me, who ye are, And of what race ye come. Your punishment, Unseemly and disgustful in its kind, Deter you not from opening thus much to me.” “Arezzo was my dwelling,” answer’d one, “And me Albero of Sienna brought To die by fire; but that, for which I died, Leads me not here. True is in sport I told him, That I had learn’d to wing my flight in air. And he admiring much, as he was void Of wisdom, will’d me to declare to him The secret of mine art: and only hence, Because I made him not a Daedalus, Prevail’d on one suppos’d his sire to burn me. But Minos to this chasm last of the ten, For that I practis’d alchemy on earth, Has doom’d me. Him no subterfuge eludes.” Then to the bard I spake: “Was ever race Light as Sienna’s? Sure not France herself Can show a tribe so frivolous and vain.” The other leprous spirit heard my words, And thus return’d: “Be Stricca from this charge Exempted, he who knew so temp’rately To lay out fortune’s gifts; and Niccolo Who first the spice’s costly luxury Discover’d in that garden, where such seed Roots deepest in the soil: and be that troop Exempted, with whom Caccia of Asciano Lavish’d his vineyards and wide-spreading woods, And his rare wisdom Abbagliato show’d A spectacle for all. That thou mayst know Who seconds thee against the Siennese Thus gladly, bend this way thy sharpen’d sight, That well my face may answer to thy ken; So shalt thou see I am Capocchio’s ghost, Who forg’d transmuted metals by the power Of alchemy; and if I scan thee right, Thus needs must well remember how I aped Creative nature by my subtle art.” CANTO XXX What time resentment burn’d in Juno’s breast For Semele against the Theban blood, As more than once in dire mischance was rued, Such fatal frenzy seiz’d on Athamas, That he his spouse beholding with a babe Laden on either arm, “Spread out,” he cried, “The meshes, that I take the lioness And the young lions at the pass:” then forth Stretch’d he his merciless talons, grasping one, One helpless innocent, Learchus nam’d, Whom swinging down he dash’d upon a rock, And with her other burden self-destroy’d The hapless mother plung’d: and when the pride Of all-presuming Troy fell from its height, By fortune overwhelm’d, and the old king With his realm perish’d, then did Hecuba, A wretch forlorn and captive, when she saw Polyxena first slaughter’d, and her son, Her Polydorus, on the wild sea-beach Next met the mourner’s view, then reft of sense Did she run barking even as a dog; Such mighty power had grief to wrench her soul. Bet ne’er the Furies or of Thebes or Troy With such fell cruelty were seen, their goads Infixing in the limbs of man or beast, As now two pale and naked ghost I saw That gnarling wildly scamper’d, like the swine Excluded from his stye. One reach’d Capocchio, And in the neck-joint sticking deep his fangs, Dragg’d him, that o’er the solid pavement rubb’d His belly stretch’d out prone. The other shape, He of Arezzo, there left trembling, spake; “That sprite of air is Schicchi; in like mood Of random mischief vents he still his spite.” To whom I answ’ring: “Oh! as thou dost hope, The other may not flesh its jaws on the