CANTO VI

Upon my mind's return from swooning shut
At hearing the piteous tale of those two kin,
Which confounded me with sadness at their plight,

I see new torments and tormented ones again
Wherever I step or look. I am in the third
Circle, a realm of cold and heavy rain--

A dark, accursed torrent eternally, poured
With changeless measure and nature. Enormous hail
And tainted water mixed with snow are showered

Steadily through the shadowy air of Hell;
The soil they drench gives off a purtrid odor.
Three-headed Cerebus, monstrous and cruel,

Barks doglike at the souls immersed here, louder
For his triple throat. His eyes are red, his beard
Grease-black, he has the belly of a meat-feeder

And talons on his hands: he claws the horde
Of spirits, he flays and quarters them in the rain.
The wretches, howling like dogs where they are mired

And pelted, squirm about again and again,
Turning to make each side a shield for the other.
Seeing us, Cerebus made his three mouths yawn

To show the fangs--his reptile body aquiver
In all its members. My leader, reaching out
To fill both fists with as much as he could gather,

Threw gobbets of earth down each voracious throat.
Just as a braking dog grows suddenly still
The moment he begins to gnaw his meat,

Struggling and straining to devour it all,
So the foul faces of Cerebus became--
Who thundered so loudly at the souls in Hell

The wished that they were deaf. We two had come
Over the shades subdued by the heavy rain--
Treading upon their emptinesses, which seem

Like real bodies. All lay on the ground but one,
Who sat up, seeing us pass. "You who are led
Through this Hell--recognize me if you can:

You who were made before I was unmade."
And I to him: "The anguish you endure
Perhaps effaces whatever memory I had,

Making it seem I have not seen you before;
But tell me who you are, assigned so sad
A station as punishment--if any is more

Agony, none is so repellent." He said:
"Your city, so full of envy that the sack
Spills over, held me once when I enjoyed

The bright life up above. The name I took
Among you citizens was Ciacco; the sin
Of gluttony brought me here. You see me soak

To ruin in battering rain--but not alone
For all of these around me share the same
Penalty for the same transgression as mine."

Then he fell silent, but I answered him,
"Ciacco, I feel your misery; its weight
Bids me to weep. But what of things to come?--

Tell if you can the divided city's fate,
And of the citizens: is any one just?
And tell me why such schism threatens it."

He answered, "After long argument they must
Descend to bloodshed, and the rustic bloc
With much offense will expel the other first.

Then, through the power of one who while we speak
Is temporizing, that party too will fall
Within three years, the ousted coming back

With head held high; and long will they prevail
Despite the others' cries of shame and despair
Under their burdens. Only two men of all

Are truly just--whose words the rest ignore.
For the triple sparks of envy, greed and pride
Ignite their hearts." "I'd have you tell me more,"

I pleaded, once his grievous words were said,
"Farinata, Mosca, Tegghiaio, men of good reason,
Jacopo Rusticucci, Arrigo: the good

Was their hearts' purpose in life, so tell what protion
Their souls inherit now. I long to know
If they feel Heaven's sweetness, or Infernal poison."

He said, "Their souls are among the blackest in Hell,
With different faults that weigh them to the pit.
If you descend that far you may see them all--

But pray you: when you return to earth's sweet light,
Recall my memory there to the human world.
Now, I respond and speak no more." With that

His eyes went crooked and squinted, his head rolled;
He regarded me a moment, then bent his head
And fell back down with the others, blind and quelled.

"He will not wake again," my master said,
"Until the angel's conclusive trumpet sounds
And the hostile Power comes--and the waiting dead

Wake to go searching for their unhappy tombs:
And resume again the form and flesh they had,
And hear that which eternally, resounds."

So with slow steps we traversed that place of mud
Through rain and shades commingled, once or twice
Speaking of the future life: and so I said,

"Master, these torments--tell me, will they increase
After the Judgement, or lessen, or merely endure,
Burning as much as now?" He said, "In this

Go back to your science, which teaches that the more
A creature is perfect, the more it perceives the good--
And likewise, pain. The accursed people here

Can never come to true perfection; instead,
They can expect to come closer then than now."
Traveling the course of the encircling road,

And speaking more than I repeat, we two
Continued our way, until the circuit came
To where the path descends--and there we saw

Plutus, the great Enemy, and confronted him.

CANTO VII

"Pape Satàn, pape Satàn, aleppe!"
Plutus began in a guttural, clucking voice.
The courteous sage who knew all reassured me:

"Don't let fear harm you; whatever power he has
Cannot prevent us climbing down this rock."
Then, turning back toward that swollen face,

He answered--"Silence, accursed wolf! Attack
Your own insides with your devouring rage:
Bound for the pit, this is no causeless trek.

It is willed above, where Michael wreaked revenge
On pride's rebellion." Just as sails swollen with wind
As soon as the mast is snapped collapse and plunge,

That savage beast fell shrinking to the ground.
So we descended to the fourth defile
To experience more of that despondent land

That sacks up all the universe's ill.
Justice of God! Who is it that heaps together
So much peculiar torture and travail?

How is it that we choose to sin and wither?
Like waves above Charybdis, each crashing apart
Against the one it rushes to meet, here gather

People who hurry forward till they must meet
And dance their round. Here I saw more souls
Than elsewhere, spreading far to the left and right:

Each pushes a weight against his chest, and howls
At his opponent each time that they clash:
"Why do you squander?" and "Why do you hoard?" Each wheels

To roll his weight back round again: they rush
Toward the cicrle's opposite point, collide
Painfully once more, and curse each other afresh;

And after that refrain each one must head
Through his half-circle again, to his next joust.
My own heart pained by those collisions, I said:

"Who are these, Master?--and are the shades who contest
Here on our left all clergy, with tonsured head?"
He answered: "Every one of the shades here massed

In the first life had a mind so squinty-eyed
That in his spending he heeded no proportion--
A fact they bark out plainly when they collide

At the circle's facing points, that mark division
Between opposite faults. Those bare of head
Were clerics, cardinals, popes, in whom the passion

Of avarice ha wrought excess." I said,
"Among these, Master, I'm sure I'll recognize
Some who were thus polluted." He replied,

"The thought you hold is vain: just as the ways
That made these souls so foul were undiscerning,
So they are dim to discernment in this place.

Here they will keep eternally returning
To the two butting places: from the grave
These will arise fists closed; and those, pates shining

Wrongness in how to give and how to have
Took the fair world from them and brought them this,
Their ugly brawl, which words need not retrieve.

Now you can see, my son, how ludicrous
And brief are all the goods in Fortune's ken,
Which humankind contend for: you see from this

How all the gold there is beneath the moon,
Or that there ever was, could not relieve
One of these weary souls." I: "Master, say then

What is this Fortune you mention, that it should have
The world's goods in its grip?" He: "Foolish creatures,
How great an ignorance plagues you. May you receive

My teaching: He who made all of Heaven's features
In His transcendent wisdom gave them guides
So each part shines on all the others, all nature's

Illumination apportioned. So too, for goods
Of worldly splendor He assigned a guide
And minister--she, when time seems proper, spreads

Those vanities from race to race, this blood
Then that, beyond prevention of human wit.
Thus one clan languishes for another's good

According to how her judgment may dictate--
Which is invisible, like a snake in the grass.
Your wisdom cannot resist her; in her might

Fortune, like any other god, foresees,
Judges, and rules her appointed realm. No truces
Can stop her turning. Necessity decrees

That she be swift, and so men change their places
In rapid permutation. She is cursed
Too often by those who ought to sing her praises,

Wrongfully blamed and defamed. But she is blest,
And does not hear it; happy among the choir
Of other primal creatures, she too is placed

In bliss, rejoicing as she turns her sphere.
Now we descend to greater wretchedness:
Already every star that was rising higher

When I set out is sinking, and long delays
Have been forbidden us." We traveled across
To the circle's farther edge, above the place

Where a foaming spring spills over into a fosse.
The water was purple-black; we followed its current
Down a strange passage. This dismal watercourse

descends the grayish slopes until its torrent
Discharges into the marsh whose name is Styx.
Gazing intently, I saw there were people warrened

Within that bog, all naked and muddy--with looks
Of fury, striking each other: with a hand
But also with their heads, chests, feet, and backs,

Teeth tearing piecemeal. My kindly master explained:
"These are the souls whom anger overcame,
My son; know also that under the water are found

Others, whose sighing makes these bubbles come
That pock the surface everywhere you look.
Lodged in the slime they say: 'Once we were grim

And sullen in the sweet air above, that took
A further gladness from the play of sun;
Inside us, we bore acedia's dismal smoke.

We have this black mire now to be sullen in.'
This canticle they gargle from the craw,
Unable to speak whole words." We traveled on

Through a great arc of swamp between that slough
And the dry bank--all the while with eyes
Turned toward those who swallow the muck below;

And then at length we came to a tower's base.

CANTO VIII

Continuing, I tell how for some time
Before we reached the lofty tower's base
Our eyes were following two points of flame

Visible at the top; and answering these
Another returned the signal, so far away
The eye could barely catch it. I turned to face

My sea of knowledge and said, "O Master, say:
What does this beacon mean? And the other fire--
What answer does it signal? And who are they

Who set it there?" He said: "It should be clear:
Over these fetid waves, you can perceive
What is expected--if this atmosphere

Of marsh fumes doesn't hide it." Bow never drove
Arrow through air so quickly as then came
Skimming across the water a little skiff

Guided by a single boatman at the helm:
"Now evil soul, he cred out, "you are caught!"
"Phlegyas, Phlegyas,--you roar in vain this time,"

My lord responded. "You'll have us in your boat
Only as long as it takes to cross the fen."
Like one convinced that he has been the butt

Of gross deception, and bursting to complain,
Phlegyas held his wrath. We boarded the boat,
My leader first--it bobbed without a sign

Of being laden until it carried my weight.
As soon as we embarded, the ancient prow
Turned swiftly from shore; it made a deeper cut

Into the water than it was wont to do
With others. In the dead channel one rose abeam
Coated with mud, and addressed me: "Who are you,

To come here before your time?" And I to him:
"Although I come, I do not come to remain--"
Then added, "Who are you, who have become

So brutally foul?" "You see me: I am one
Who weeps," he answered. And I to him, "In weeping
And sorrow remain, cursed soul--for I have seen

Through all that filth: I know you!" He started gripping
With both hands at the boat. My master stood
And thrust him back off, saying, "Back to safekeeping

Among the other dogs." And then my guide
Embraced my neck and kissed me on the face
And said, "Indignant soul, blessed indeed

Is she who bore you. Arrogant in his vice
Was that one when he lived. No goodness whatever
Adorning his memory, his shade is furious.

In the world above, how many a self-deceiver
Now counting himself a mighty king will sprawl
Swinelike amid the mire when life is over,

Leaving behind a name that men revile."
And I said, "Master, truly I should like
To see that spirit pickled in this swill,

Before we've made our way across the lake."
And he to me: "Before we see the shore,
You will be satisfied, for what you seek

Is fitting." After a little, I saw him endure
Fierce mangling by the people of the mud--
A sight I give God thanks and praises for:

"Come get Filippo Argenti!" they all cried,
And crazed with rage the Florentine spirit bit
At his own body. Let no more be said

Of him, but that we left him still beset;
New cries of lamentation reached my ear,
And I leaned forward to peer intently out.

My kindly master said, "A city draws near
Whose name is Dis, of solemn citizenry
And mighty garrison." I: "Already clear

Are mosques--I see them there within the valley,
Baked red as though just taken from the fire."
And he, "It is fire blazing eternally

Inside of them that makes them so appear
Within this nether Hell." We had progressed
Into the deep-dug moats that circle near

The walls of that bleak city, which seemed cast
Of solid iron; we journeyed on, to complete
An immense circuit before we reached at last

A place where the boatman shouted, "Now get out!
Here is the entrance." Above the gates I saw
More than a thousand of those whom Heaven had spat

Like rain, all raging: "Who is this, who'd go
Without death through the kingdom of the dead?"
And my wise master made a sign, to show

That he desired to speak with them aside.
And then they tempered their great disdain a bit,
Answering: "You, by yourself, may come inside;

But let that other depart, who dares set foot
Within this kingdom. Let him retrace alone
His foolish way--try if he can!--and let

You remain here, who have guided such a one
Over terrain so dark." You judge, O reader,
If I did not lose heart, or believe then,

Hearing that cursed voice, that I would never
Return from there. "O my dear guide," I said,
"Who has restored my confidence seven times over,

And drawn me out of peril--stay at my side,
Do not desert me now like this, undone.
If we can go no farther, let us instead

Retrace our steps together." That nobleman
Who led me there then told me, "Do not fear:
None can deprive us of the passage One

Has willed for us to have. Wait for me here
And feed your spirit hope and comfort: remember,
I won't abandon you in this nether sphere."

So he goes away and leaves me, the gentle father,
While I remain in doubt, with yes and no
Vying in my head. What they discussed together

Or what my guide proposed, I do not know,
For they were out of hearing. Before much time,
The demons scrambled back, where we would go--

And then I saw our adversaries slam
The portals of the entrance in the face
Of my master, who remained outside and came

Back to me walking slowly, with downcast eyes.
His brow devoid of confidence, he said,
"Who has denied me this abode of sighs?"

And then he said to me, "Don't be dismayed
By my vexation: I will conquer this crew,
However they contrive to block our road.

This insolence of theirs is nothing new;
At a less secret gate they've shown it before,
One still unbolted and open, as you know:

You read the deadly inscription that it bore.
Already on this side of it--down the steep pass,
Passing the circles without an escort--be sure

Someone is coming to open the city to us."

CANTO IX

The outward color cowardice painted me
When I beheld my leader turning back
Repressed his own new pallor more hurriedly.

He paused with an attentive air, but like
One listening, not watching--for the eye
Saw little in air so dark and fog so thick.

"We have to win this battle," he started to say,
"Or else . . . and she, who offered so much aid--
Late though it seems to be, and still on the way."

I could see plainly how he strove to hide
His sentence's beginning with its close,
In different words from those he would have said--

Scaring me none the less, each broken phrase
Leading me to a meaning perhaps much worse
Than any it held. "Does anyone whose place

Is the first circle, where the only curse
Is having no hope, ever come down so far
As this grim hollow?" I asked him. "Such a course,"

He said, "is rare among us, though once before
I have been down here--beckoned as a shade
By wicked Erichtho, the conjuror

Who used to summon spirits of the dead
Back to their bodies. My own flesh was but still
A little while denuded of my shade,

The time she made me enter within this wall
To draw a spirit from the circle of Judas--
Which is the lowest and darkest place of all,

And farthest from the heaven whose dome encloses
Everything in creation. I know the way:
Be sure of that. This quagmire which produces

So strong a stench surrounds the city of woe
We cannot enter now except with wrath."
And he said more that I don't remember now--

My eyes were on the tower we stood beneath,
For at its glowing top three hellish Furies
Suddenly appeared: like women, but with a wreath

Of bright green hydras girdled about their bodies,
Bloodstained, with squirming vipers in a crown
Fringing their savage temples. "The fierce Erinyes,"

He said, who knew those handmaids of the queen
Of eternal sorrows: "Megaera on the left;
Alecto howls on the right; and in between,

Tisiphone." Each one was clawing her breast,
And each was beating herself--and screamed so loud
I pressed against him, flinching at the blast.

"O let Medusa come," the Furies bayed
As they looked down, "to make him stone! We grieve
Not avenging the assault of Theseus!" He said,

"Turn your back; close your eyes: should Gorgon arrive
And show herself, then if you looked at her--
There would be no returning back above."

He turned me around himself, and to make sure,
Not trusting mine alone he covered my face
With his hands too. O you whose mind is clear:

Understand well the lesson that underlies
The veil of these strange verses I have written.
Across the turbid waves now came the noise

Of a fearsome crash, by which both shores were shaken:
A sound like that of a wind that gathers force
From waves of heat in violent collision

And batters the forest, and on its unchecked course
Shatters the branches and tears them to the ground
And sweeps them off in dustclouds, with scornful roars,

And the wild beasts and shepherds flee at the sound.
Taking his hands from my eyes, he said, "Now look:
There where the very harshest fumes abound,

Across the ancient scum." As frogs are quick
To vanish through water and hunch on bottom sand
As soon as they see their enemy the snake,

So I saw more than a thousand souls of the ruined
Flee before one who strode across the Styx
Dry-shod as though on land. With his left hand

He cleared the polluted air before his face
And only in that annoyance did he seem tired.
I knew assuredly he was sent to us

From Heaven, and I turned my head to regard
The master--who signaled that I should be mute
And bow before him. Ah, to me he appeared

So full of high disdain! He went to the gate
And opened it by means of a little wand,
And there was no resistance. "O race cast out

From Heaven, exiles despised there," he intoned
From that grim threshold, "Why this insolence?
Why do you kick against the Will whose end

Cannot be thwarted, and whose punishments
Many times over have increased your pain?
What use to butt at what the fates dispense?

Remember, your Cerebus's throat and chin,
For just this reason, still are stripped of fur."
Then he turned back on the filthy path again,

Not speaking a word to us, but with the air
Of one whom other matters must concern
Than those who stand before him. And so, secure

After those holy words, we in our turn
Stepped forward toward the city and through the gate,
Entering without dispute. Anxious to learn

What their condition was who populate
A fortress so guarded, I cast my eye around
As soon as I was in--and saw a great

Plain filled with woe and torment. As on the land
At Arles where the river Rhone grows more subdued,
Or at Pola where the Quarnero sets a bound

For Italy, bathing her borders, on every side
The ground is made unveven by the tombs--
So it was here: but these were of a mode

More bitter, for among the graves were flames
That made the sepulchers glow with fiercer heat
Than a smith could need. Among these catacombs

The lids were raised, with sounds of woe so great
Those within surely suffered horrible pain.
"Master," I said, "who are these people that are shut

Ensepulchered within these coffers of stone,
Making their sounds of anguish from inside?"
He answered, "Here, arch-heretics lie--and groan

Along with all the converts that they made,
The followers of every sect, with like
Entombed with like. A greater multitude

Crowds into these graves than you may think they take.
Some sepulchers grow hotter, and some less."
He turned to the right, and we continued to walk

Between the anguish and the high parapets.

CANTO X

And now, along the narrow pathway that ran
Between those tortures and the city wall,
I followed my master. "O matchless power," I began,

"Who leads me through evil's circles at your will,
Speak to me with the answers that I crave
About these souls and the sepulchers they fill:

Might they be seen? The cover of each grave
Is lifted open, and no one is on guard."
"When they return from Jehoshaphat above,"

He answered, "bearing the bodies that they had,
All shall be closed. Here Epicurus lies
With all his followers, who call the soul dead

When the flesh dies. The question that you raise
Will soon be answered now that we are inside--
and so will the secret wish you don't express."

I said, "Dear guide, believe me: I do not hide
My heart from you, except through my intention
To speak but little, the way that you have said

Earlier I ought to be disposed." "O Tuscan!--
Who travel alive through this, the city of fire,
While speaking in so courteous a fashion--

If it should please you, stop a moment here.
Your way of speaking shows that you were born
In the same noble fatherland: there where

I possibly have wrought excessive harm."
This sound erupted from a coffer of stone--
I drew back toward my guide in my alarm.

"What are you doing?" he said. "Go back again!
And see where Farinata has sat up straight;
From the waist up, you may behold the man."

Already my eyes were on his: he sat upright,
And seemed by how he bore his chest and brow
To have great scorn for Hell. My leader set

Firm hands upon me at once, and made me go
Forward between the rows of sepulchers,
Saying: "Choose fitting words," as we wended through.

At his tomb's foot, I felt his proud gaze pierce
Mine for a moment; and then as if in disdain
He spoke and asked me, "Who were your ancestors?"

Eager to comply with that, I made all plain,
Concealing nothing: whereupon he raised
His brows a little. Then he said, "These men

Were enemies to me; they fiercely opposed
Me and my forebears and my party--so, twice,
I scattered them." "If ousted and abused,"

I answered, "they returned to claim their place
From every quarter: yours have not learned that art
Of return so well." Then suddenly the face

Of a shade appeared beside him, showing the part
From the chin up--I think through having risen
Erect on his knees: his gaze began to dart

Anxiously round me, as though in expectation
Of someone with me. But when that hope was gone
He wept: "If you can journey through this blind prison

By virtue of high genius--where is my son,
And why is he not with you?" And my rejoinder:
"My own strength has not brought me, but that of one

Who guides me through here, and is waiting yonder--
Toward one your Guido perhaps had scorned." I well
Deduced his name from his words and from his manner

Of punishment, and thus could answer in full.
Suddenly straightening up, the shade cried out,
"What?--did I hear you say he 'had'? Oh tell:

Is he not still alive? Does the sweet light
Not strike his eyes?" Perceiving my delay
In giving any answer, he fell back flat,

Face upward, appearing no more. But not so he,
The great soul at whose beckoning I had paused;
He did not change his features in any way,

Nor bend his neck or waist. "The point you raised--"
He resumed where interrupted: "My kin not good
At learning that art--I feel more agonized

By that accursed fact than by this bed.
But when the Lady's face who rules this place
Has kindled fewer than fifty times," he said,

"Then you will know how heavy that art weighs.
Now tell me (may you regain the sweet world's vantage),
Why is that people so fierce in its decrees

Toward my kin?" I answered, "It was the carnage
And devastation that dyed the Arbia red
Which made the prayers in our temple savage."

Shaking his head, "I was not alone," he sighed.
"And surely I would not have chosen to join
The others without some cause, but where all agreed

To level Florence--there, I was alone:
One, who defended her before them all."
"Ah, pray you (so may your seed find peace again)

Unravel a knot that makes my reason fail,"
I said, "If I hear rightly, you seem to foresee
What time will bring, and yet you seem to deal

Differently with the present." He answered me:
"Like someone with faulty vision, we can behold
Remote things well, for so much light does He

Who rules supreme still grant us; but we are foiled
When things draw near us, and our intelligence
Is useless when they are present. So of your world

In its present state, we have no evidence
Or knowledge, except if others bring us word:
Thus you can understand that with no sense

Left to us, all our knowledge will be dead
From that Moment when the future's door is shut."
Then, moved by compunction for my fault, I said:

"Will you now tell the one who fell back flat
His son is truly still among the living?
Tell him what caused my silence: that my thought

Had wandered into that error which your resolving
Just wiped away." And now I heard my guide
Calling me back; so, hurriedly contriving

To learn, I begged the shade to say if he could
Who lay there with him, and I heard him answer:
"I lie with over a thousand of the dead;

The second Frederick is among the number,
And the Cardinal; of others I will not speak."
With that he did himself. I walked back over

To the ancient poet, with my thoughts at work
Mulling the words that bore such menace to me.
My guide set out, and as we walked he spoke:

"Why is it you're disturbed?" I told him why;
"Preserve in memory what you have heard
Against yourself," the sage advised. "And I pray

You, listen" --he raised a finger at the word.
"When you confront her radiance, whose eyes can see
Everything in their fair clarity, be assured

Then you shall learn what your life's journey will be."
He turned to the left; and leaving the city wall
Behind our backs we continued on our way

Toward the center which was now our goal,
Following a path that strikes the valley floor:
And from that valley rose an odor so foul

The stench repelled us even high up there.

CANTO XI

Up on the topmost rim of a deep-cut bank
Formed by a circle of massive, fissured rock
We stood above a pen more cruel. The stink

Thrown up from the abyss had grown so thick
Its excess drove us to shelter in the space
Behind a great tomb's lid. It bore a plaque

Inscribed: "I hold Pope Anastasius,
Drawn by Photinus from the proper path."
"We must put off descending farther than this,"

My master said, "until this rotten breath
Has become familiar to our sense of smell."
"Discover some matter to fill the lost time with,

Pray you," I answered, "so we may use it well."
"I am so minded," he said, and then: "My son,
Within these rocks three lesser circles fall,

Each one below another, like those you have seen,
And all of them are packed with accursed souls;
In order that hereafter the sight alone

May be sufficient, you will hear what rules
Determine how and why they are constrained.
The end of every wickedness that feels

Heaven's hatred is injustice--and each end
Of this kind, whether by force or fraud, afflicts
Some other person. But since fraud is found

In humankind as its peculiar vice,
It angers God more: so the fraudulent
Are lower, and suffer more unhappiness.

The whole first circle is for the violent;
But, because violence involves a deed
Against three persons, its apportionment

And fabrication are in three rings: to God,
To one's self, or one's neighbor, all violence
Is done--to them, or to their things instead,

As I'll explain. By violence, death and wounds
Of grievous kinds are inflicted on one's neighbor;
And on his property--arson, ruinous offense,

Extortion. So the first ring is the harbor
Of torment for the homicides and those
Who strike out wrongfully: despoiler, robber,

And plunderer, in various companies.
One may lay violent hands on his own being,
Or what belongs to himself, and all of these

Repent in vain within the second ring:
He who deprives himself of your world sins thus;
Or gambles; or dissipates whatever thing

He has of worth; or weeps when he should rejoice.
Violence against the Deity, too, exists:
To deny and blaspheme Him in the heart does this,

As does despising Nature and her gifts;
Therefore the smallest ring imprints its mark
On Sodom and Cahors and him who speaks

Contemptuously of God with all his heart.
Fraud, which bites every conscience, a man may play
Either on one who trusts him, or one who does not.

The latter of the two is seen to destroy
Only those bonds of love that nature makes:
So in the second circle hypocrisy,

Flatterers, sorcery, larceny, simoniacs,
With pimps, barrators, and such filth have their nest.
But the other kind of fraud not only forsakes

The love that nature makes, but the special trust
That further, added love creates: therefore
At the universe's core, inside the least

Circle, the seat of Dis, every betrayer
Eternally, is consumed." "Master, you state
All of this lucidly, and you make clear

Just what it is that distinguishes this pit
And those it holds. But what of those condemned
To languish in the thick marsh, that other set

Beaten by rain, those driven by the wind,
And those who collide and clash with angry tongues:
How is it that all these are not confined

In the red city to suffer, if their wrongs
Have brought God's anger on them? And if not,
Then why are they in such a plight?" "What brings

Your thoughts to wander so from the proper route?
Where has your mind been gazing? Don't you recall
A passage in your Ethics, the words that treat

Three dispositions counter to Heaven's will:
Incontinence, malice, insane brutality?
And how incontinence is less distasteful

To God, and earns less blame? Think carefully
About this doctrine, consider who they are
Whose punishment is above, outside: you'll see

Clearly why the are apart from the wicked here,
And why His vengeance smites them with less wrath."
"O sun, that makes all troubled vision clear,

You give solutions I am so contented with
That asking, no less than knowing, pleases me.
But please," I said, "could we retrace our path

Back to the place where you said usury
Offends celestial Goodness, and solve that knot?"
He said, "For the comprehending, philosophy

Serves in more places than one to demonstrate
How Nature takes her own course from the design
Of the Divine Intelligence and Its art.

Study your Physics well, and you'll be shown
In not too many pages that your art's good
Is to follow Nature insofar as it can,

As a pupil emulates his master; God
Has as it were a grandchild in your art.
By these two, man should thrive and gain his bread--

If you remember Genesis--from the start.
But since the usurer takes a different way,
He contemns Nature both in her own sort

And in her follower as well, while he
Chooses to invest his hope another place.
But now come follow me: it pleases me

To go now; for above us in the skies
The Fish are quivering at the horizon's edge,
And the whole Wagon lies over Caurus--and this,

Farther ahead, is where we descend the ridge."

CANTO XII

The alp-like place we came for our descent
Down the steep bank was one no eye would seek,
Because of what was there. This side of Trent,

There is a place a landslide fell and struck
The Adige's flank: because of unstable ground
Or earthquake, rocks once tumbled from the peak

And formed a passage where people can descend.
Such was the footing we had down that ravine--
And at the broken chasm's edge we found

The infamy of Crete, conceived within
The false cow's shell. When he saw us come his way
He bit himself in rage like one insane.

My master called, "Perhaps you think you see
The Duke of Athens--the one who dealt you death
Up in the world. Beast, take yourself away:

This is no man your sister taught; in truth,
He has come here to witness your punishment."
As a bull breaks loose in the deathblow's aftermath,

And plunges back and forth, but though unspent
Cannot go forward, so did the Minotaur act.
My wary guide cried, "Run to the descent--

Go quickly, while he's raging." So we picked
Our way down over a rubble of scattered stone
That shifted under me often as I walked,

With the new weight. While I was climbing down
I thought to myself; and soon my master said,
"You may be thinking about this ruined terrain

Guarded by the feral rage that I defied
And quelled just now. Know then: that other time
I journeyed here, this rock had not yet slid.

It must have been a little before He came
To Dis, if I have reckoned rightly, to take
The great spoil of the upper circle with Him--

When the deep, fetid valley began to shake
Everywhere, so that I thought the universe
Felt love: the force that has brought chaos back

Many times over, say some philosophers.
And at that moment this ancient rock, both here
And elsewhere, tumbled to where it now appears.

But keep your eyes below us, for coming near
Is the river of blood--in which boils everyone
Whose violence hurt others." O blind desire

Of covetousness, O anger gone insane--
That goad us on through life, which is so brief,
To steep in eternal woe when life is done.

I saw a broad moat bending in a curve
Encircling the plain, just as my guide had said:
Between the moat and the bottom of the cliff

Centaurs who were armed with bows and arrows sped
In file, as on a hunt they might be found
When they were in the world. When we appeared

They halted, and three came forward from the band
With bows and shafts they chose, held ready to aim.
One hailed us from a distance: "You who descend

The hillside, for what torment have you come?
Tell us from there-- if not, I draw my bow!"
"We will make answer to Chiron," my guide told him,

"Who is beside you; you always brought yourself woe
Because your will was hasty." He nudged me and said,
"That one is Nessus: he who met death through

Fair Deianira, and by himself satisfied
Vengeance for himself. The middle one whose gaze
Is directed at his breast, with lowered head,

Is the great Chiron, tutor of Achilles.
The other is Pholus, full of rage. They circle
The moat by thousands; if any soul should rise

Out of the blood more than its guilt makes lawful,
They pierce it with their arrows." As we came close
Chiron drew an arrow's notch back through the tangle

Of beard along his jaw to clear a space
For his large mouth, and to the others he said:
"Have you observed how that one's steps displace

Objects his body touches? Feet of the dead
Are not accustomed to behave like that."
Any my good leader, who by this time stood

Quite near the Centaur's chest, just opposite
The place where Chiron's two natures joined, replied:
"He is indeed alive, and in that state,

Alone; it falls to me to be his guide
Through the dark valley. It is necessity,
And not his pleasure, that puts him on this road.

From singing alleluia one came to me
To give me this strange mission; he is no thief,
Nor I a spirit given to larceny.

But by the Power that lets me walk a path
So savage, give us a member of your pack
To come along as companion to us both

And show us where the ford is--and on his back
Carry this one who, not a spirit cannot
Fly through the air." Then Chiron turned and spoke,

Bending his torso toward Nessus on his right,
"Go back and guide them, then; and turn away
The challenge of any other troops you meet."

Now with a trusty escort, we made our way
Along the boiling crimson--those boiled inside
Shrieking beside us. On some it came so high

It covered their eyebrows. The mighty centaur said,
"These are the tyrants given to blood and plunder.
Here they lament the merciless harm they did:

Here's Alexander, and he who held Sicily under
For many a sad year, fierce Dionysius;
That black hari there is Azzolino's; and yonder,

That other fairer head is Obizzo of Esti's:
In the world above, the man his stepson slew."
I turned toward the poet, whose answer was,

"Let him be first guide, I your second, now."
A little farther on, the centaur stopped
At a crowd seeming to rise from the boiling flow

Up to the throat. He showed us one who kept
Off to one side. "Within the bosom of God
He stabbed another's heart, and it has dripped

Blood ever since upon the Thames," he said.
I saw some others whose head and even chest
Came up above the stream, and in that crowd

Were many I recognized. The blood decreased,
Sinking by more and more until it cooked
Only the feet, and that is where we crossed.

"To here, you have seen the boiling stream contract,"
He said. "From here, its bed grows deeper again
Till it completes its circle, to reconnect

With where God's justice makes the tyrants groan:
It goads Attila, a scourge on earth, and Pyrrhus,
And Sextus; there also are eternally drawn

The tears, unlocked by boiling, milked from the eyes
Of Rinier Pazzo and Rinier da Corneto--men
Who brought such warfare to the public ways."

Then he turned back, and crossed the ford again.