| |
| NOW upward rose the flame, and still’d its light | |
| To speak no more, and now pass’d on with leave | |
| From the mild poet gain’d; when following came | |
| Another, from whose top a sound confused, | |
| Forth issuing, drew our eyes that way to look. | 5 |
| As the Sicilian bull, 1 that rightfully | |
| His cries first echoed who had shaped its mould, | |
| Did so rebellow, with the voice of him | |
| Tormented, that the brazen monster seem’d | |
| Pierced through with pain; thus, while no way they found, | 10 |
| Nor avenue immediate through the flame, | |
| Into its language turn’d the dismal words: | |
| But soon as they had won their passage forth, | |
| Up from the point, which vibrating obey’d | |
| Their motion at the tongue, these sounds were heard: | 15 |
| “O thou! to whom I now direct my voice, | |
| That lately didst exclaim in Lombard phrase, | |
| ‘Depart thou; I solicit thee no more;’ | |
| Though somewhat tardy I perchance arrive, | |
| Let it not irk thee here to pause awhile, | 20 |
| And with me parley: lo! it irks not me, | |
| And yet I burn. If but e’en now thou fall | |
| Into this blind world, from that pleasant land | |
| Of Latium, whence I draw my sum of guilt, | |
| Tell me if those who in Romagna dwell | 25 |
| Have peace or war. For of the mountains there 2 | |
| Was I, betwixt Urbino and the height | |
| Whence Tiber first unlocks his mighty flood.” | |
| Leaning I listen’d yet with heedful ear, | |
| When, as he touch’d my side, the leader thus: | 30 |
| “Speak thou: he is a Latian.” My reply | |
| Was ready, and I spake without delay: | |
| “O spirit! who art hidden here below, | |
| Never was thy Romagna without war | |
| In her proud tyrants’ bosoms, nor is now: | 35 |
| But open war there left I none. The state, | |
| Ravenna hath maintain’d this many a year, | |
| Is steadfast. There Polenta’s eagle 3 broods; | |
| And in his broad circumference of plume | |
| O’ershadows Cervia. The green talons grasp | 40 |
| The land, 4 that stood erewhile the proof so long | |
| And piled in bloody heap the host of France. | |
| “The old mastiff of Verrucchio and the young, 5 | |
| That tore Montagna 6 in their wrath, still make, | |
| Where they are wont, an augre of their fangs. | 45 |
| “Lamone’s city, and Santerno’s, 7 range | |
| Under the lion of the snowy lair, 8 | |
| Inconstant partisan, that changeth sides, | |
| Or ever summer yields to winter’s frost. | |
| And she, whose flank is wash’d of Savio’s wave, 9 | 50 |
| As ’twixt the level and the steep she lies, | |
| Lives so ’twixt tyrant power and liberty. | |
| “Now tell us, I entreat thee, who art thou: | |
| Be not more hard than others. In the world, | |
| So may thy name still rear its forehead high.” | 55 |
| Then roar’d awhile the fire, its sharpen’d point | |
| On either side waved, and thus breathed at last: | |
| “If I did think my answer were to one | |
| Who ever could return unto the world, | |
| This flame should rest unshaken. But since ne’er, | 60 |
| If true be told me, any from this depth | |
| Has found his upward way, I answer thee, | |
| Nor fear lest infamy record the words. | |
| “A man of arms 10 at first, I clothed me then | |
| In good Saint Francis’ girdle, hoping so | 65 |
| To have made amends. And certainly my hope | |
| Had fail’d not, but that he, whom curses light on, | |
| The high priest, 11 again seduced me into sin. | |
| And how, and wherefore, listen while I tell. | |
| Long as this spirit moved the bones and pulp | 70 |
| My mother gave me, less my deeds bespake | |
| The nature of the lion than the fox. | |
| All ways of winding subtlety I knew, | |
| And with such art conducted, that the sound | |
| Reach’d the world’s limit. Soon as to that part | 75 |
| Of life I found me come, and when each behoves | |
| To lower sails and gather in the lines; | |
| That, which before had pleased me, then I rued, | |
| And to repentance and confession turn’d, | |
| Wretch that I was; and well it had bestead me. | 80 |
| The chief of the new Pharisees 1212 meantime, | |
| Waging his warfare near the Lateran, | |
| Not with the Saracens or Jews (his foes | |
| All Christians were, nor against Acre one | |
| Had fought, 13 nor traffick’d in the Soldan’s land), | 85 |
| He, his great charge nor sacred ministry, | |
| In himself reverenced, nor in me that cord | |
| Which used to mark with leanness whom it girded. | |
| As in Soracte, Constantine besought, | |
| To cure his leprosy, Sylvester’s aid; | 90 |
| So me, to cure the fever of his pride, | |
| This man besought: my counsel to that end | |
| He ask’d; and I was silent; for his words | |
| Seem’d drunken: but forthwith he thus resumed: | |
| ‘From thy heart banish fear: of all offence | 95 |
| I hitherto absolve thee. In return, | |
| Teach me my purpose so to execute, | |
| That Penestrino cumber earth no more. | |
| Heaven, as thou knowest, I have power to shut | |
| And open: and the keys are therefore twain, | 100 |
| The which my predecessor 14 meanly prized.’ | |
| “Then, yielding to the forceful arguments, | |
| Of silence, as more perilous I deem’d, | |
| And answer’d: ‘Father! since thou washest me | |
| Clear of that guilt wherein I now must fall, | 105 |
| Large promise with performance scant, be sure, | |
| Shall make thee triumph in thy lofty seat.’ | |
| “When I was number’d with the dead, then came | |
| Saint Francis for me; but a cherub dark | |
| He met, who cried, ‘Wrong me not; he is mine, | 110 |
| And must below to join the wretched crew, | |
| For the deceitful counsel which he gave. | |
| E’er since I watch’d him, hovering at his hair. | |
| No power can the impenitent absolve; | |
| Nor to repent, and will, at once consist, | 115 |
| By contradiction absolute forbid.’ | |
| Oh misery! how I shook myself, when he | |
| Seized me, and cried, “Thou haply thought’st me not | |
| A disputant in logic so exact!’ | |
| To Minos down he bore me; and the judge | 120 |
| Twined eight times round his callous back the tail, | |
| Which biting with excess of rage, he spake: | |
| ‘This is a guilty soul, that in the fire | |
| Must vanish.’ Hence, perdition-doom’d, I rove | |
| A prey to rankling sorrow, in this garb.” | 125 |
| When he had thus fulfill’d his words, the flame | |
| In dolour parted, beating to and fro, | |
| And writhing its sharp horn. We onward went, | |
| I and my leader, up along the rock, | |
| Far as another arch, that overhangs | 130 |
| The foss, wherein the penalty is paid | |
| Of those who load them with committed sin. | |
