Inferno: Canto XIV

I, FORASMUCH as love for my dear land
Constrained me, gathered up the scattered leaves,
And gave them back to him, who hoarse did stand.

Then came we where the circle third receives
Division from the second; there we saw
The dread devices righteous Wrath conceives.

To make full clear those matters of new awe,
I say that we had reached a wide waste plain,
Where from its bed no plants their nurture draw;

The dolorous wood engarlands that champaign,
E'en as that wood the drear fosse hemmeth in;
There stayed we on the borders of the twain,

All sand, deep, dry, and fine the soil within.
No other in its kind than that of old
Where Cato's footsteps did an entrance win.

Vengeance of God! what fear of thee should hold
The soul of every man who readeth here
That which these eyes of mine did then behold!

Large herds of naked spirits saw I there,
Who wailed their evil fate full piteously,
And each a different sentence seemed to bear.

Supine upon the ground one group did lie,
Another sat all gathered up and squat,
A third unceasing to and fro did ply.

The greater part thus moving had their lot,
The fewest those who in their torments lay.
But for their grief a looser tongue had got.

And over all the sand a falling spray
Showered rain of flakes of ever-spreading flame.
Like snow upon the Alps on windless day.

E'en so when Alexander's armies came
To India's torrid climes, upon his host
The fire-showers fell, and earth received the same;

And so his troops he sent o'er all the coast
To plough it up, because the fiery rain
Left to itself was better quenched and lost.

So fell the eternal burning on the plain,
And so the sand was set on fire, and glowed,
Like tinder 'neath the steel, so doubling pain.

Unceasing still their restless gestures showed,
Of wretched hands, on left side and on right,
Still flinging off the ever-burning load.

I then began: '' O Master, thou whose might
Prevails o'er all except those demons stern.
Who at the gateway's entrance met our sight,

Who is that great one who scarce cares to turn
Back from the fire, and lies in scornful pride.
So that the rain scarce seems his flesh to burn?"

And then that same one, who had quick descried
That I had asked my Guide about his name,
"What I was living, dead now am I," cried.

Though Jove should weary out his craftsman lame,
From whom in wrath his thunderbolt he bare.
Smitten by which, to my last day I came,

And weary out, in turn, the others there,"
At Mongibello in their smithy's gloom.
Crying, 'Good Vulcan, help, O help us, hear! '—

E'en as he did at Phlegra's field of doom, —
And hurled his darts at me with all his might.
No joy of vengeance should his soul illume."

Then spake my Guide, voice raised to such a height.
That never so till then I heard him speak,
"O Capaneus, because thy pride and spite

Are still unquenched, more torments on thee break;
All anguish, but thine own exceeding rage,
Would for thy wrath be penalty too weak."

Then with a voice whose tones he did assuage.
He turned and said, " This man was of the Seven
Who Thebes besieged, and waged, and yet doth wage.

Fierce war 'gainst God, and little cares for Heaven;
But, as I said to him, his passion's heat
To him fit badge for such a heart is given.

Now follow me, and set not thou thy feet
Where the sand burneth hot, thy way to wend.
But ever near the woodland seek retreat."

Silent we passed to where the waters send
Forth from the wood a tiny rivulet,
Whose crimson hue still sets my hair on end.

As flows the stream at Bulicame met.
Which sinful women then at will divide,
Down through the sand that river's course was set.

Its bottom and steep banks on either side
And margins broad were made throughout of stone,
Whence I discerned the pass must there be tried.

"Of all the rest that I to thee have shown
Since we our entrance found within the gate
Whose open threshold is denied to none.

Ne'er by thine eyes was seen a wonder great
And notable as is this river here.
Which all the flamelets doth annihilate."

These words my Master whispered in mine ear,
Therefore I prayed that he would grant the food
For which he granted appetite to hear.

"In the mid-sea there lies in solitude,"
He spake, " an island waste men know as Crete,
Under whose king the world in pureness stood.

A mountain rises, once the pleasant seat
Of streams and bowers, by Ida's name it goes;
A desert now, as something obsolete.

That mount, as cradle safe, once Rhea chose
For her young child, and, better to conceal,
Whene'er he cried, great shoutings round him rose.

The mountain depths an old man's form reveal.
Which turns its back on Damietta old
And still to Rome, as mirror, makes appeal.

Its head is fashioned all of purest gold.
Of silver pure its arms are, and its breast;
Then to the loins brass doth its form enfold,

Then downward choicest iron is all the rest,
Save that the right foot is of kiln-baked clay,"
And his chief weight upon that foot is pressed.

Each part, the gold excepted, doth display
A fissure, whence flow ever-dripping tears.
Which, gathering, through that cavern pierce their way.

From rock to rock the stream this valley nears,
And Acheron forms, and Styx, and Phlegethon,
And hence down through this narrow sluice careers.

Till it arrives where more descent is none,
And forms Cocytus. What that pool may be
Thyself shalt see — more needs not now be shown."

And I to him: " This streamlet that we see,
Why, if it floweth from our world above,
On this bank only shows it visibly?"

And he to me: " Thou know'st that thou dost move
As circling round, and, far though thou hast sped,
Still to the left down-sloping, as we rove,

Not yet hast thou the whole encompassed;
Wherefore, if thou see'st things all strange and new.
No wonder need upon thy face be read."

And I again: " Where, Master, shall I view
Or Phlegethon or Lethe? for of this
Thou speakest not, and say'st the other drew

Its water from this shower." " Each question is
Pleasing to me, but of that crimson tide,"
He said, " thou canst not well the meaning miss:

Lethe shall meet thine eyes, but far outside
This pit, e'en there where spirits make them pure
When sins repented of no more abide."

Then said he, " Now 'tis time we should secure
Our exit from the wood; behind me tread;
The banks which are not burnt give footing sure.

And here above them every flame falls dead."