Inferno: Canto XV

On one of those firm margins lay our road;
And o'er the water rose thick clouds of mist.
Sheltering the stream, and piers on which we trod.

E'en such embankments as the Flemings rear.
The flood's impetuous progress to resist,
'Twixt Ghent and Bruges, where its rage they fear;

And such as, to protect from Brenta's might
Their villas, Padua's citizens devise.
Ere melts the snow on Chiarentana's height; —

Embankments like to these were here display'd;
But not so lofty, or so vast in size.
Whoe'er their builder was, these piers were made.

So far behind us had we left the wood,
That, had I turn'd me round, in vain had been
The endeavour to behold it whence we stood, —

When on the margin by the river's side
A band of souls we met, whose prying eyen
Scanned us, as men are wont at eventide

'Neath the young moon to scan each passer by;
And straight tow rds us their brows they sharpened up,
Like an old tailor at his needle's eye.

My features, thus so stedfastly survey'd.
Were recognized by one of this strange troop.
Who seiz'd my skirt, and, "Oh! how wondrous!" said.

When forth he stretch'd his arm, my looks were bent
So earnestly upon his scorched brow,
That e'en his shrivell'd face could not prevent

My recollection of him full and clear:
Then downward to his face my own I bow.
Exclaiming: "Ser Brunetto, art thou here?"

"May it displease thee not," he said, "my son,
"If for some little distance back with thee
Brunetto turn, while this our band moves on."

"Turn, I implore, — and with thee," I replied,
"I'll sit me down, if so thy wish it be.
And it offendeth not my faithful guide."

"He of this flock who but one moment rests,
Lies here a hundred years, my son," said he, —
"No fan to cool him when the fire molests.

Wherefore proceed— I at thy skirt will go.
And afterwards my wretched troop rejoin.
Who journeying on bewail their endless woe."

I dared not venture down, that I might tread
Level with him; but bending low incline.
Like one who reverently bows his head.

"What fortune, or what destiny," he cried,
"Hath brought thee here before the final day?
And who is he that deigns thy path to guide?"

Then I: "In that fair world which lies above
Bewilder'd in a vale I went astray.
Ere riper years my steps could disapprove;

Nor left till yestermorn that vale of gloom;
But thither was returning, when he came
Who by this pathway reconducts me home."

"A glorious port, if thou pursue thy star,
Thou canst not fail to reach," did he exclaim,
"If true my judgment in life's season fair.

And had not death full early closed mine eyes.
Seeing that heaven was so benign to thee,
I would have aided thy sublime emprize.

But that ungrateful and malignant race,
Who erst came down from lofty Fiesole,
And of their mountain flint still bear the trace, —

Thy goodness to requite, will surely bring
Evil on thee; and it is meet they should;
For not with crabs the pleasant fig should spring.

In olden time they were reported blind;
A people greedy, envious, and proud:
From their depravity cleanse thou thy mind.

Such fame thy fortune hath in store; — for thee
Shall either side with craving hunger pant;
But from the goat far let the sweet herb be.

Then let them tread each other under foot—
The beasts of Fiesole: — be spared the plant.
If any 'mid their filth still chance to shoot.

Whence may the hallow'd seed of Rome revive —
That seed in Florence left, when she was made
A nest for such malignity to thrive."

I answer'd him: "Had all my prayers been heard,
Not yet the debt of nature had you paid.
Nor been from human intercourse debarr'd:

For still, deep fix'd within my memory.
Lives your paternal image, good and dear.
As when from day to day you counsell'd me

How man may best immortalize his name:
My gratitude, while yet I breathe the air,
'Tis meet I show, and with my voice proclaim.

What you have told me of my days to come
I treasure up, to be explained by her.
If e'er I reach her, who will know my doom.

But upon these my words of truth rely; —
If in my breast no secret stings I feel.
Let Fortune do her worst— prepared am I:

Not new to me this prophesy I trow:
Then, as she lists, let Fortune turn her wheel;
And let the peasant turn his custom'd hoe."

Now to the right my master bent with speed,
And on mine ear his warning accents fell:
"He listens to good purpose who takes heed."

Not that I ceased discoursing as I went
With Ser Brunetto, asking him to tell
Who of his comrades were most eminent.

"The histories of some I may relate;
Others," he said, "'twere better not to name;
Time would be wanting for a theme so great.

Know briefly — all were priests and learned men.
Great Literati, and well known to fame.
On earth polluted with the selfsame stain.

Priscian proceeds with that accursed crew,
Accorso too: — him mayst thou see besides,
(If anxious such impurity to view,)

Who by the servant's servant was dismissed
From Arno to where Bacchiglione glides;
There ceased his lustful body to exist.

More would I say, but here must end our speech;
And now we two must part, for I perceive
Fresh dust arising from the sandy beach:

Spirits approach with whom I may not be;
My Treasure recommend, in which I live, —
No other favour do I ask of thee."

Then back he turn'd, and one of those he seem'd,
Who at Verona in the race essay
To gain the mantle green; and might be deem'd

Not he who loses, but who wins the day.