Inferno: Canto XV

Now lies our way along one of the margins hard;
Steam rising from the rivulet forms a cloud,
Which 'gainst the fire doth brook and borders guard.

Like walls the Flemings, timorous of the flood
Which towards them pours betwixt Bruges and Cadsand,
Have made, that ocean's charge may be withstood;

Or what the Paduans on the Brenta's strand
To guard their castles and their homesteads rear,
Ere Chiarentana feel the spring-tide bland;

Of the same fashion did those dikes appear,
Though not so high he made them, nor so vast,
Whoe'er the builder was that piled them here.

We, from the wood when we so far had passed
I should not have distinguished where it lay
Though I to see it backward glance had cast,

A group of souls encountered on the way,
Whose line of march was to the margin nigh.
Each looked at us--as by the new moon's ray

Men peer at others 'neath the darkening sky--
Sharpening his brows on us and only us,
Like an old tailor on his needle's eye.

And while that crowd was staring at me thus,
One of them knew me, caught me by the gown,
And cried aloud: 'Lo, this is marvellous!'

And straightway, while he thus to me held on,
I fixed mine eyes upon his fire-baked face,
And, spite of scorching, seemed his features known,

And whose they were my memory well could trace;
And I, with hand stretched toward his face below,
Asked: 'Ser Brunetto! and is this your place?'

'O son,' he answered, 'no displeasure show,
If now Brunetto Latini shall some way
Step back with thee, and leave his troop to go.'

I said: 'With all my heart for this I pray,
And, if you choose, I by your side will sit;
If he, for I go with him, grant delay.'

'Son,' said he, 'who of us shall intermit
Motion a moment, for an age must lie
Nor fan himself when flames are round him lit.

On, therefore! At thy skirts I follow nigh,
Then shall I overtake my band again,
Who mourn a loss large as eternity.'

I dared not from the path step to the plain
To walk with him, but low I bent my head,
Like one whose steps are all with reverence ta'en.

'What fortune or what destiny,' he said,
'Hath brought thee here or e'er thou death hast seen;
And who is this by whom thou'rt onward led?'

'Up yonder,' said I, 'in the life serene,
I in a valley wandered all forlorn
Before my years had full accomplished been.

I turned my back on it but yestermorn;
Again I sought it when he came in sight
Guided by whom I homeward thus return.'

And he to me: 'Following thy planet's light
Thou of a glorious haven canst not fail,
If in the blithesome life I marked aright.

And had my years known more abundant tale,
Seeing the heavens so held thee in their grace
I, heartening thee, had helped thee to prevail.

But that ungrateful and malignant race
Which down from Fiesole came long ago,
And still its rocky origin betrays,

Will for thy worthiness become thy foe;
And with good reason, for 'mong crab-trees wild
It ill befits the mellow fig to grow.

By widespread ancient rumour are they styled
A people blind, rapacious, envious, vain:
See by their manners thou be not defiled.

Fortune reserves such honour for thee, fain
Both sides will be to enlist thee in their need;
But from the beak the herb shall far remain.

Let beasts of Fiesole go on to tread
Themselves to litter, nor the plants molest,
If any such now spring on their rank bed,

In whom there flourishes indeed the blest
Seed of the Romans who still lingered there
When of such wickedness 'twas made the nest.'

'Had I obtained full answer to my prayer,
You had not yet been doomed,' I then did say,
'This exile from humanity to bear.

For deep within my heart and memory
Lives the paternal image good and dear
Of you, as in the world, from day to day,

How men escape oblivion you made clear;
My thankfulness for which shall in my speech
While I have life, as it behoves, appear.

I note what of my future course you teach.
Stored with another text it will be glozed
By one expert, should I that Lady reach.

Yet would I have this much to you disclosed:
If but my conscience no reproaches yield,
To all my fortune is my soul composed.

Not new to me the hint by you revealed;
Therefore let Fortune turn her wheel apace,
Even as she will; the clown his mattock wield.'

Thereon my Master right about did face,
And uttered this, with glance upon me thrown:
'He hears to purpose who doth mark the place.'

And none the less I, speaking, still go on
With Ser Brunetto; asking him to tell
Who of his band are greatest and best known.

And he to me: 'To hear of some is well,
But of the rest 'tis fitting to be dumb,
And time is lacking all their names to spell.

That all of them were clerks, know thou in sum,
All men of letters, famous and of might;
Stained with one sin all from the world are come.

Priscian goes with that crowd of evil plight,
Francis d'Accorso too; and hadst thou mind
For suchlike trash thou mightest have had sight

Of him the Slave of Slaves to change assigned
From Arno's banks to Bacchiglione, where
His nerves fatigued with vice he left behind.

More would I say, but neither must I fare
Nor talk at further length, for from the sand
I see new dust-clouds rising in the air,

I may not keep with such as are at hand.
Care for my Treasure; for I still survive
In that my work. I nothing else demand.'

Then turned he back, and ran like those who strive
For the Green Cloth upon Verona's plain;
And seemed like him that shall the first arrive,

And not like him that labours all in vain.