Inferno: Canto XXIV

In that first season of the youthful year,
When the sun's locks the chill Aquarius slakes.
And now the nights to half the day draw near.

When on the ground the hoar-frost semblance makes
Of the fair image of her sister white,
But soon her brush its colour true forsakes.

The peasant churl, whose store is emptied quite,
Rises and looks around, and sees the plains
All whitened, and for grief his hip doth smite.

Turns to his house, and up and down complains,
Like the poor wretch who knows not what to do;
Then back he turns, and all his hope regains.

Seeing the world present an altered hue,
In little time, and takes his shepherd's crook,
And drives his lambs to roam through pastures new;

So when I saw my Master's troubled look.
It made me also grieved and sick at heart,
And for that ill a plaster soon I took.

For when we reached the bridge's broken part,
My Guide's glance turned to me with sweetness fraught,
As when from that hill's foot I first did start.

His arms he stretched when he awhile had thought
In counsel with himself, and well had scanned
The crag and both to meet around me brought;

And like to him who works with thought and hand,
(For forward still his glance is ever thrown),
So lifting me to where I did command

A great rock's peak, he marked another stone,
Saying, "Next on that one there lay thou thy hold,
But let its strength to bear thee first be shown.""

No way was that for one in hood enrolled.
For he so light, and I, by him upborne
Could scarcely scramble up from fold to fold.

And were it not that on that margin's bourne
The way was shorter far than otherwhere,
(Of him I know not), I had been outworn;

But because Malebolge still doth bear
Downward, and to the deepest pit descend.
Such is the structure of each valley there

That this side upward, that doth downward bend,
We came, however, to that point at last.
Whence the last stone, thrust forward, doth impend.

So spent my breath was with that climbing fast,
When I was up I could no farther go
And so sat down, that weary toil being past.

"Now is it meet thou be no longer slow,"
My Master said, " for not on couch of down
Come men to fame, nor coverlet below;

And whoso spends his life without renown
Leaves of himself upon the earth such trace
As smoke in air, or foam on water blown.

Therefore bestir thyself, thy trouble face
With that brave soul that wins in every fight,
Unless it share thy heavier body's case.

Thou yet must climb a longer stairway's flight;"
'Tis not enough to have left that crew behind;
If thou dost hear me, act thereon aright."

Then did I rise in somewhat better wind
Than I had thought to feel myself before.
And said, " On then; new strength within I find! ""

Then on the path of rock we onward bore,
Which we found rough, and difficult, and strait,
And steeper far than that we had passed o'er.

Talking I went, to hide my feeble state;
Then from the next moat lo! a voice was heard,
Speaking in accents scarce articulate;

Of all it said I caught no single word.
Though on the summit of the arch I stood.
But he who spake appeared to anger stirred.

I stooped; no eyes, with fullest life imbued,
Could pierce the abysmal depth of that obscure;
Then said I, " Master, may it please thy mood

To reach the next round and descent ensure,
For as I hear and nothing understand,
So when I look, my sight is dim and poor."

"No other answer," said he, " thy demand
Shall have but action, for a good request
In silence should be met with act and hand."

Then from the bridge our downward course we pressed,
Where with the right bank it connects its way,
And then the pit to me was manifest.

And there I saw a terrible array
Of serpents, of such diverse form and mien,
That mere remembrance doth my blood's flow stay.

No more let Libya's sands boast they have seen"
Such; though they adders, vipers, dragons, bear.
With monstrous hydras and the amphisbene.

Yet plagues so great and of such evil rare,
With Ethiopia joined, they never showed.
Nor all that by the Red Sea's waters are.

Among this fierce and miserable crowd
There ran a people naked, terrified.
No hope of cave or heliotrope allowed.

Behind their backs their hands with snakes were tied,
Their head and tail the reins they twisted o'er,
In front their tangled folds they multiplied;

And lo! it one who halted near our shore.
There came a serpent, and transfixed him there.
Just where his neck and chin the shoulders bore.

Nor O nor I so fast could one write here,
As he blazed up and burnt, and in his fall
Was turned perforce to ashes dry and sere.

And when to earth he fell and perished,
The ashes of themselves together came.
And him forthwith did to himself recall;

So to great sages there is known the fame
That thus the Phoenix dies and lives again,
When he five hundred years of life can claim.

Nor herbs nor any grass its life sustain,
But only tears of incense and of spice,
And nard and myrrh for winding-sheet remain.

As one who falls, nor knows by what device
The demon's force has dragged him to the ground.
Nor other seizure that a man's strength ties.

When he ariseth looketh all around,
All dazed and stunned with that great agony
Which he has borne, and heaves a sigh profound.

So rose that sinner then in misery.
Justice of God! O how severe 'tis seen,
That rains such woes in vengeance from on high!

My Guide then questioned him who he had been,
And he replied, " I from Toscana down
Fell but just now this cruel gorge within;

A bestial life, not man's, my joy did crown,
Mule as I was. Lo! Vanni Fucci I,
Fit den for beast like me Pistoia's known."

Then to my Guide I said, " Bid him not fly,
And ask what crime has thrust him here below;
He, man of blood and wrath, once met mine eye."

Nor was the sinner, when he heard me, slow
To tell it, but on me fixed face and mind,
And was all painted as with shame and woe;

Then spake, " It grieves me more that thou dost find
Me in this woe wherein thou see'st me lie
Than when I left that other life behind.

What thou dost ask me I may not deny;
Thus low I am cast down because I stole
The goodly treasure from the sacristy.

And false blame fell upon another soul.
But that thou find not joy in such a sight,
If thou shalt ever leave this darksome hole

Open thine ears and hear what I recite.
Pistoia first doth thin the Neri out.
Then Florence changes men and manners quite;

From Val di Magra Mars a blast draws out,
A vale which with dark clouds is overspread.
And with tempestuous storms and utter rout

Piceno's plain shall witness battle dread,
And he that cloud shall suddenly break through.
That each Bianco shall be smitten dead.

And this I tell thy sorrow to renew."