Inferno: Canto XIII

The other bank had Nessus scarcely gain'd,
When we betook ourselves into a wood.
Which not a trace of any path contained.

No verdant leaves, but of a dusky hue;
No polish'd boughs, but knotted, coarse, and rude;
Nor fruits were there, but thorns with poison too.

Not, by the beasts that spurn the richer ground,
Are stocks so rugged, or such tangled trees
Betwixt Cecina and Corneto found.

There the foul harpies build their nests, by whom
The Trojans were expell'd the Strophades,
With mournful augury of ills to come.

Human their necks and visage, claw'd their feet,
Broad are their wings, and plumed their paunch profound;
Loud wailing, in the gnarled trees they sit.

"Ere thou advance" — my master then began —
"Know, we have enter'd on the second round.
And in it still are destin'd to remain.

Till we arrive within the sandy plain.
Wherefore observe; — for things will meet thine eye.
Whence confirmation will my words obtain."

Now lamentations from each side resounded.
But none who utter'd them could I descry;
Whereat I stay'd my footsteps, all confounded.

These notes perchance he fancied that I thought
Arose from some within the thicket, who
Had haply from our view concealment sought:

For straight he said to me: "If thou shouldst tear
From any of these trees a single bough.
Unfounded will thy present thoughts appear."

A little way I then stretch'd forth my hand,
And pluck'd a twig from off a knotted tree.
Whose trunk exclaim'd: "Why thus my branches rend?"

When the black blood in streams began to roll.
Again it cried: "Why dost thou torture me?
Dwells not a spark of pity in thy soul?

Now turn'd to stocks are we, who once were men:
Thy hand to pity should have more inclined.
E'en had our souls the souls of serpents been."

Like to a sapling, lighted at one end.
Which at the other hisses with the wind.
That finds a vent, and forth deep groans doth send;

So from the broken twig, both words and blood
Flow'd forth; — whereat I dropped it on the ground.
And like a man by fear opprest I stood.

"Had he been able to believe before,
O injured soul!" exclaim'd the sage profound,
"What in my verses he hath seen of yore.

He would not thus thy suffering branch have torn;
But so incredible it seem'd, that I
Advised him to the deed which now I mourn.

But tell me who thou art, and what thy name.
That he, returning to the world on high.
As some amends, may renovate thy fame."

Answer'd the trunk: "So sweet thy winning tongue,
I needs must speak; — nor let it anger thee,
If I should haply my discourse prolong.

Know — I am he, who held the double keys
Of Frederick's heart, at pleasure turn'd by me.
Or locking or unlocking with such ease,

That no one else his confidence enjoy'd:
With faith so true I fill'd that office high,
E'en sleep was banish'd, life itself destroyed.

The wicked meretricious dame, who never
From Caesar's dwelling turn'd her wanton eye, —
That death, that vice, on courts attendant ever.

Fired all against me; — they again the mind
Of Caesar so inflamed, that in short space
My blushing honours were for woes resigned.

Indignant, and high swelling with disgust.
In death I thought I should escape disgrace; —
Though just to others, to myself unjust.

Now by these fresh and tender roots I swear,
I never broke the faith I owed my lord.
Who merited so well the fame he bare.

And if you e'er regain the light of heaven.
Let honour to my memory be restored.
Still suffering from the blow by envy given."

The poet waited till his speech was o'er,
And then address'd me: "Let not time be lost.
But speak — and if it please thee, ask him more."

"Do thou," I said, "entreat him to impart
What thou believ'st will satisfy me most;
I cannot speak; — such pity fills my heart,"

He then resumed: "E'en to the utmost may
This man fulfil the object of thy prayer,
O injured soul! as thou be pleased to say

How in these knots the spirit is confined;
And whether from such limbs as now ye wear
Doth any one e'er make escape?" A wind

Straight issued bursting from the trunk, and then
To speech resembling this, the breathing changed:
"An answer will I briefly give thee. — When

The furious soul doth from the body bound.
By self-inflicted violence estranged,
Minos adjudges it to this seventh round.

Within the wood it falls, and taketh root
Wherever chance the hapless soul impel;
And there, like to a grain of spelt, doth shoot.

A sapling grown, it mounts a savage plant;
Then, feeding on its leaves, the harpies fell
Give to the anguish that they cause, a vent.

Like others, we shall seek our mortal clay;
But none again their bodies may resume; —
Man merits not the boon he throws away.

Here shall we drag them through this mournful glade.
And they shall be suspended 'mid the gloom.
Each on the thorn of his tormented shade."

Still near the trunk we stood — attention bound,
Believing it might wish to speak again.
When we were startled by a sudden sound, —

E'en like to one, who, at his station arm'd.
When the wild boar and dogs rush on amain,
Hears the loud crash of boughs, and beasts alarm'd.

Lo! straightway on the left appear'd in view
Two, torn and naked, who so swiftly fled.
That all impediments were broken through.

"Now haste thee, haste thee, death!" the foremost cried;
The other, who was somewhat lagging, said:
"O Lano, not so hasty was thy stride.

When moved thy limbs from Toppo's bloody field."
And then, for probably his breath was spent.
He rush'd into a bush and lay conceal'd.

Behind there was a savage wood, replete
With black and ravening dogs, on blood intent.
Like grey-hounds just let loose, so light and fleet.

On him, who crouching in the brushwood lay,
Fixing their teeth, his flesh they piecemeal rent;
And then his mangled limbs they bore away.

My faithful escort, seeing me refrain.
Caught up my hand, and led me to the tree.
Which through its bloody fissures wept in vain.

"O James St. Andrea!" was its bitter cry,
"Of what avail to make a screen of me?
In thy unhallow'd life what part had I?"

My guide exclaimed, when nearer him we stood,
"Say who wert thou, who thus through many a pore
Breath'st forth thy mournful speech commix'd with blood?"

"O souls," he said to us, "who are arrived
To view the shameful desolation sore
Which of its leaves my body hath deprived —

Collect them to the foot of yon sad tree.
Mine was that city which exchanged of yore
For John the Baptist her first guardian; — he

Will always use his means to make her sad.
And were it not, in passing Arno o'er,
A partial view of him may still be had,

Those citizens, who built her up again
On ashes left by Attila abhorr'd.
Their mighty labours had bestow'd in vain. —

From mine own roof I swung the fatal cord."