Inferno: Canto XIII

Ere Nessus landed on the other shore
We for our part within a forest drew,
Which of no pathway any traces bore.

Not green the foliage, but of dusky hue;
Not smooth the boughs, but gnarled and twisted round;
For apples, poisonous thorns upon them grew.

No rougher brakes or matted worse are found
Where savage beasts betwixt Corneto roam
And Cecina, abhorring cultured ground.

The loathsome Harpies nestle here at home,
Who from the Strophades the Trojans chased
With dire predictions of a woe to come.

Great winged are they, but human necked and faced,
With feathered belly, and with claw for toe;
They shriek upon the bushes wild and waste.

'Ere passing further, I would have thee know,'
The worthy Master thus began to say,
'Thou'rt in the second round, nor hence shalt go

Till by the horrid sand thy footsteps stay.
Give then good heed, and things thou'lt recognise
That of my words will prove the verity.'

Wailings on every side I heard arise:
Of who might raise them I distinguished nought;
Whereon I halted, smitten with surprise.

I think he thought that haply 'twas my thought
The voices came from people 'mong the trees,
Who, to escape us, hiding-places sought;

Wherefore the Master said: 'From one of these
Snap thou a twig, and thou shalt understand
How little with thy thought the fact agrees.'

Thereon a little I stretched forth my hand
And plucked a tiny branch from a great thorn.
'Why dost thou tear me?' made the trunk demand.

When dark with blood it had begun to turn,
It cried a second time: 'Why wound me thus?
Doth not a spark of pity in thee burn?

Though trees we be, once men were all of us;
Yet had our souls the souls of serpents been
Thy hand might well have proved more piteous.'

As when the fire hath seized a fagot green
At one extremity, the other sighs,
And wind, escaping, hisses; so was seen,

At where the branch was broken, blood to rise
And words were mixed with it. I dropped the spray
And stood like one whom terror doth surprise.

The Sage replied: 'Soul vexed with injury,
Had he been only able to give trust
To what he read narrated in my lay,

His hand toward thee would never have been thrust.
'Tis hard for faith; and I, to make it plain,
Urged him to trial, mourn it though I must.

But tell him who thou wast; so shall remain
This for amends to thee, thy fame shall blow
Afresh on earth, where he returns again.'

And then the trunk: 'Thy sweet words charm me so,
I cannot dumb remain; nor count it hard
If I some pains upon my speech bestow.

For I am he who held both keys in ward
Of Frederick's heart, and turned them how I would,
And softly oped it, and as softly barred,

Till scarce another in his counsel stood.
To my high office I such loyalty bore,
It cost me sleep and haleness of my blood.

The harlot who removeth nevermore
From Cæsar's house eyes ignorant of shame--
A common curse, of courts the special sore--

Set against me the minds of all aflame,
And these in turn Augustus set on fire,
Till my glad honours bitter woes became.

My soul, filled full with a disdainful ire,
Thinking by means of death disdain to flee,
'Gainst my just self unjustly did conspire.

I swear even by the new roots of this tree
My fealty to my lord I never broke,
For worthy of all honour sure was he.

If one of you return 'mong living folk,
Let him restore my memory, overthrown
And suffering yet because of envy's stroke.'

Still for a while the poet listened on,
Then said: 'Now he is dumb, lose not the hour,
But make request if more thou'dst have made known.'

And I replied: 'Do thou inquire once more
Of what thou thinkest I would gladly know;
I cannot ask; ruth wrings me to the core.'

On this he spake: 'Even as the man shall do,
And liberally, what thou of him hast prayed,
Imprisoned spirit, do thou further show

How with these knots the spirits have been made
Incorporate; and, if thou canst, declare
If from such members e'er is loosed a shade.'

Then from the trunk came vehement puffs of air;
Next, to these words converted was the wind:
'My answer to you shall be short and clear.

When the fierce soul no longer is confined
In flesh, torn thence by action of its own,
To the Seventh Depth by Minos 'tis consigned.

No choice is made of where it shall be thrown
Within the wood; but where by chance 'tis flung
It germinates like seed of spelt that's sown.

A forest tree it grows from sapling young;
Eating its leaves, the Harpies cause it pain,
And open loopholes whence its sighs are wrung.

We for our vestments shall return again
Like others, but in them shall ne'er be clad:
Men justly lose what from themselves they've ta'en.

Dragged hither by us, all throughout the sad
Forest our bodies shall be hung on high;
Each on the thorn of its destructive shade.'

While to the trunk we listening lingered nigh,
Thinking he might proceed to tell us more,
A sudden uproar we were startled by

Like him who, that the huntsman and the boar
To where he stands are sweeping in the chase,
Knows by the crashing trees and brutish roar.

Upon our left we saw a couple race
Naked and scratched; and they so quickly fled
The forest barriers burst before their face.

'Speed to my rescue, death!' the foremost pled.
The next, as wishing he could use more haste;
'Not thus, O Lano, thee thy legs bested

When one at Toppo's tournament thou wast.'
Then, haply wanting breath, aside he stepped,
Merged with a bush on which himself he cast.

Behind them through the forest onward swept
A pack of dogs, black, ravenous, and fleet,
Like greyhounds from their leashes newly slipped.

In him who crouched they made their teeth to meet,
And, having piecemeal all his members rent,
Haled them away enduring anguish great.

Grasping my hand, my Escort forward went
And led me to the bush which, all in vain,
Through its ensanguined openings made lament.

'James of St. Andrews,' it we heard complain;
'What profit hadst thou making me thy shield?
For thy bad life doth blame to me pertain?'

Then, halting there, this speech my Master held:
'Who wast thou that through many wounds dost sigh,
Mingled with blood, words big with sorrow swelled?'

'O souls that hither come,' was his reply,
'To witness shameful outrage by me borne,
Whence all my leaves torn off around me lie,

Gather them to the root of this drear thorn.
My city for the Baptist changed of yore
Her former patron; wherefore, in return,

He with his art will make her aye deplore;
And were it not some image doth remain
Of him where Arno's crossed from shore to shore,

Those citizens who founded her again
On ashes left by Attila, had spent
Their labour of a surety all in vain.

In my own house I up a gibbet went.'