Inferno: Canto XIII

Not yet had Nessus reached the farther shore,
When we within a wood an entrance found,
By not one single pathway traversed o'er;

Not green the leaves, but of a hue embrowned,
Nor smooth the boughs, but gnarled and intertwined,
No fruit, but thorns that poison as they wound.

Thickets so wild and dense they do not find.
Those beasts of prey which cultured regions hate,
Where Cecin's streams beyond Corneto wind.

There the foul Harpies made their nest and sate,
Who from the Strophades the Trojans drove
With warnings sad of coming evil fate;

Wide wings have they, a human face above.
Claws on their feet, their paunch all feather'd o'er,
And their wild wailings fill the wondrous grove.

And my good Master: " Ere thou enter more.
Know thou art in the second circle's pale,"
So said he, " and shalt be till thou the shore

Shalt reach where horrid sand fills all the vale.
Therefore look well around, and thou shalt see
Things that might shake thy credence in my tale."

On all sides round deep groans of misery
I heard, yet saw no forms from which they came;
Wherefore I stopped in sore perplexity.

I think he thought that I thought of the same,
That from amid those trunks, from many a throat,
Came voice of those who hid themselves for shame.

Wherefore my Master said, " If thou take note
What comes, if thou one bough of these trees break,
Then will thy thoughts as baseless error float."

Then stretched I somewhat forth my hand to take.
And plucked a branch from off a tall thorn tree.
And the trunk cried, "Why this dire mangling make?"

And when with blood it was embrowned to see.
He cried again, "Why dost thou rend me so?
Doth nought of pity's spirit dwell in thee?

Men were we once, now here as trees we grow;
But were we souls sprung from the viper's brood,
Thy reckless hand might well more pity show."

As when one burns a brand of greenest wood
At one end, and the other spits and groans
And hisses, as the air and damp exude.

So from that broken stem came mingled tones
Of words and blood; and so I let the bough
Fall, and stood there, fear shaking all my bones.

"Had he been able to believe ere now,"
My Sage made answer, " O thou wounded soul,
What thus he sees, as my verse taught him how.

He had withheld his hand and left thee whole;
But the surpassing marvel made me lead
His mind to that which fills me now with dole.

But tell him who thou wert, that he his deed
Atone for, by reviving there thy fame
Where he may soon with backward steps proceed."

So charm thy sweet words," from the trunk there came
The cry, " I cannot hold my peace, and ye,
If I am somewhat prolix, spare your blame.

None other I than he who held each key
Of Frederick's heart, and turned them to and fro,
Locking, unlocking, with such subtlety,

That to none else his secrets would he show;
And my high task I wrought with zeal so true.
Pulse ceased to beat, nor did I slumber know.

The harlot who her lewd eyes ne'er withdrew
From the high palace of the Caesar's state
(The common bane and vice of courts she grew).

Inflamed all minds against me with fierce hate.
And they inflamed, Augustus so inflamed.
That joyous honour turned to sorrows great,

And my proud soul, that scorned to live so shamed,
Thinking by death to 'scape the pangs of scorn,
Made me blameworthy, 'gainst myself unblamed.

By the root-fibres of this tree new-born,
I swear to you that faith I never brake
Towards my lord, whom all good did adorn.

If one of you his upward journey take.
Let him redeem my memory, which lies
Sore smitten, nor from envy's blow can wake."

He paused, then " Seize the moment ere it flies,"
The Poet said, " since he is silent now;
Speak and ask more as thoughts within thee rise."

And I to him replied, Nay, question thou
Of what thou think'st my wish will satisfy;
Such pity moves me, that I know not how."

Then he began: " So may the man comply
With liberal will in all thy words beseech.
Imprisoned soul, as thou wilt in reply

The manner of the soul's confinement teach
In these gnarled trunks, and tell us, if thou may,
If any from such limbs doth freedom reach."

Then sighed the sturdy trunk, and lo! straightway
That whistling wind was turned to voice of man.
"With briefest word I will mine answer say.

When the fierce spirit quitteth," he began,
"The body which in wrath it left behind,"
Then Minos sends it to the seventh pit's span;

Into the wood it falls, no place assigned.
But there, where Fortune speeds its arrow's chance,
Like grain of spelt, it buds from out its rind,

And its young shoots to forest tree advance:
The Harpies then its tender leaves devour,
Wound, and an outlet make for utterance.

We, like the rest, shall come in judgment's hour,
To seek but not resume, our earthly dress;
O'er what he casts away man loses power.

These we shall drag, and through this wilderness
So drear each tree its several corpse shall bear.
Hung on the thorn of soul in sharp distress."

Still to that trunk we gave a listening ear.
Thinking that yet he fain would further speak,
When we a tumult new and strange did hear.

As one who stands where dogs the wild boar seek,
And hears them rushing wildly on their prey,
The crash of beasts and branches which they break,

Lo! through the space that on our left hand lay,"
Two nude and wounded forms sped on so fast.
They broke the tangled boughs that stopped their way.

The foremost cried, " O hasten. Death, O haste!"
The other then, whose pace seemed somewhat slow.
Cried, " Lano, not so quick and nimble-paced

Thy legs, when thou to Toppo's jousts did'st go;"
And then, perchance because his breath did fail,
Himself one group made with the bush below.

Behind them dogs through all the woodland vale
Ranged far and wide, black, fierce, of swiftest tread,
As greyhounds from the leash their foe assail.

Him who there crouched they bit until he bled,
And limb by limb with fangs relentless tore,
And then bore off the fragments raw and red.

And then my Guide, my hand by his clasped o'er,
Led me to that same bush, whence vain sighs broke
From out its broken branches, bleeding sore.

"Jacopo of Sant' Andrea," so he spake,
What helped it thee to make of me a screen?
What blame on me falls for thy foul life's sake?"

And when my Guide o'er him erect was seen.
He said, " Who wert thou, who from many a pore
Thy dolorous speech sigh'st out with blood between?"

And he to us: " O souls, who to this shore
Have come to see the deed of foulest shame
Which from my trunk my leaves and branches tore,

At foot of this sad bush collect the same:
I of that city was that chose as lord
The Baptist, whence her lord of earlier fame

Still mars her peace with all his art abhorred;
And were there not, where men the Arno pass,
Some image of him still all duly stored,

Those citizens who raised it from the mass
Of ashes left by Attila the dread,
In vain had spent their time and toil. Alas!

I of my house myself my gallows made."