The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri (good e books to read txt) 📗

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 vent he still his spite.”

To whom I answ’ring: “Oh! as thou dost hope, The other may not flesh its jaws on thee, Be patient to inform us, who it is, Ere it speed hence.”—” That is the ancient soul Of wretched Myrrha,” he replied, “who burn’d With most unholy flame for her own sire, And a false shape assuming, so perform’d The deed of sin; e’en as the other there, That onward passes, dar’d to counterfeit Donati’s features, to feign’d testament The seal affixing, that himself might gain, For his own share, the lady of the herd.”

When vanish’d the two furious shades, on whom Mine eye was held, I turn’d it back to view The other cursed spirits. One I saw In fashion like a lute, had but the groin Been sever’d, where it meets the forked part.

Swoln dropsy, disproportioning the limbs With ill-converted moisture, that the paunch Suits not the visage, open’d wide his lips Gasping as in the hectic man for drought, One towards the chin, the other upward curl’d.

“O ye, who in this world of misery, Wherefore I know not, are exempt from pain,”

Thus he began, “attentively regard Adamo’s woe. When living, full supply Ne’er lack’d me of what most I coveted; One drop of water now, alas! I crave.

The rills, that glitter down the grassy slopes Of Casentino, making fresh and soft The banks whereby they glide to Arno’s stream, Stand ever in my view; and not in vain; For more the pictur’d semblance dries me up, Much more than the disease, which makes the flesh Desert these shrivel’d cheeks. So from the place, Where I transgress’d, stern justice urging me, Takes means to quicken more my lab’ring sighs.

There is Romena, where I falsified The metal with the Baptist’s form imprest, For which on earth I left my body burnt.

But if I here might see the sorrowing soul Of Guido, Alessandro, or their brother, For Branda’s limpid spring I would not change The welcome sight. One is e’en now within, If truly the mad spirits tell, that round Are wand’ring. But wherein besteads me that?

My limbs are fetter’d. Were I but so light, That I each hundred years might move one inch, I had set forth already on this path, Seeking him out amidst the shapeless crew, Although eleven miles it wind, not more Than half of one across. They brought me down Among this tribe; induc’d by them I stamp’d The florens with three carats of alloy.”

“Who are that abject pair,” I next inquir’d, “That closely bounding thee upon thy right Lie smoking, like a band in winter steep’d In the chill stream?”—“When to this gulf I dropt,”

He answer’d, “here I found them; since that hour They have not turn’d, nor ever shall, I ween, Till time hath run his course. One is that dame The false accuser of the Hebrew youth; Sinon the other, that false Greek from Troy.

Sharp fever drains the reeky moistness out, In such a cloud upsteam’d.” When that he heard, One, gall’d perchance to be so darkly nam’d, With clench’d hand smote him on the braced paunch, That like a drum resounded: but forthwith Adamo smote him on the face, the blow Returning with his arm, that seem’d as hard.

“Though my o’erweighty limbs have ta’en from me The power to move,” said he, “I have an arm At liberty for such employ.” To whom Was answer’d: “When thou wentest to the fire, Thou hadst it not so ready at command, Then readier when it coin’d th’ impostor gold.”

And thus the dropsied: “Ay, now speak’st thou true.

But there thou gav’st not such true testimony, When thou wast question’d of the truth, at Troy.”

“If I spake false, thou falsely stamp’dst the coin,”

Said Sinon; “I am here but for one fault, And thou for more than any imp beside.”

“Remember,” he replied, “O perjur’d one, The horse remember, that did teem with death, And all the world be witness to thy guilt.”

“To thine,” return’d the Greek, “witness the thirst Whence thy tongue cracks, witness the fluid mound, Rear’d by thy belly up before thine eyes, A mass corrupt.” To whom the coiner thus: “Thy mouth gapes wide as ever to let pass Its evil saying. Me if thirst assails, Yet I am stuff’d with moisture. Thou art parch’d, Pains rack thy head, no urging would’st thou need To make thee lap Narcissus’ mirror up.”

I was all fix’d to listen, when my guide Admonish’d: “Now beware: a little more.

And I do quarrel with thee.” I perceiv’d How angrily he spake, and towards him turn’d With shame so poignant, as remember’d yet Confounds me. As a man that dreams of harm Befall’n him, dreaming wishes it a dream, And that which is, desires as if it were not, Such then was I, who wanting power to speak Wish’d to excuse myself, and all the while Excus’d me, though unweeting that I did.

“More grievous