Inferno: Canto XX

New sufferings must my verse proceed to tell.
Forming the twentieth canto of this book.
Which treats of those who are immersed in hell.

Now all intent mine eyes were cast below.
As of the yawning gulf a view I took,
O'erflow'd with sorrows of severest woe.

Shades I beheld approach with tearful eyes.
Silent, and sad, throughout the circle dread;
Their step — like theirs who chaunt the litanies;

When nearer I survey'd these souls accurst.
From underneath the chin appear'd the head
Of each, in manner wonderful reversed.

So that the face was twisted to the back; -
And want of faculty to see before
Compell'd them blindly to pursue their track.

Paralysis perhaps may much distort.
And dislocate the human body sore.
But change like this I deem was never wrought.

Think, reader — if God bids thy heart relent,
And reap instruction from this tale of woe —
How I the tear of pity could prevent.

When near to me the human form I view'd
So turn'd and twisted, that the drops which flow
Down from the eyes, the hinder parts bedew'd.

I wept indeed, as I reclining prest
A fragment of the rock, until my guide
Exclaim'd: "What, art thou foolish like the rest?

Here pity lives when dead; — and what can be
More wicked, or a sign of greater pride.
Than pitying those condemn'd by heaven's decree?

Look up, look up, — see him before thee now,
For whom the land of Thebes was seen to gape.
When all exclaim'd: 'O whither rushest thou?

Why, Amphiaraus, quittest thou the fight?'
But he abstain'd not from the desperate leap.
And headlong plunged to realms of endless night.

Behold a breast where once his shoulders lay: '
Since to foreknowledge erst he laid a claim.
Now looks he back, and backwards makes his way.

Behold Tiresias, alter'd in his mien.
When from a male a female he became.
Changing his manly limbs to feminine, —

And with his rod the twisted serpents twain,
Compell'd to punish with a second blow.
Ere he could take his former plumes again.

Arons is this, to like reverse consigned.
Who in the hills of Luni (where below.
Deep in the valley, delves Carrara's hind)

Had for his dwelling place a marble cave,
Whence to his sight a prospect was reveal'd
Of heaven's bright stars, and ocean's azure wave.

And she, who with her long dishevell'd hair
Covers her bosom, from our view conceal'd,
(For all her locks fall down in ringlets there)

Was Manto, who through many a country stray'd,
And settled afterwards where I was born:
Now let attention to my words be paid.

After her father left his mortal clay.
And Thebes was doom'd in slavish bonds to mourn.
Long time o'er earth she sped her weary way.

In beauteous Italy a lake there lies,
Its name Benacus, over the Tyrol, —
Above it, high the lofty Alps arise; —

More than a thousand gushing springs, I ween.
Which 'twixt Camonica and Garda roll.
This lake receives within its bosom sheen.

Here is a spot where Brescia's Bishop might
Meet with Verona's, and with Trento's too,
And give their blessings in each other's sight.

Where slopes the bank with easier descent.
Against the Bergamese and Brescian foe
A warlike front Peschiera doth present.

There fall the waters with their swelling tide,
That from Benacus' bosom running o'er.
In limpid streams through verdant meadows glide.

When from the lake it first begins to flow,
'Tis Mincio call'd — Benacus now no more —
E'en to Governo, where it joins the Po.

Nor wandereth far, before it finds a plain,
O'er which its waves in stagnant pools are spread;
Where, in the summer, noxious vapours reign.

Passing this way, the virgin rude saw land.
Full in the middle of the marshy bed.
Without inhabitants — a barren strand.

Here, to avoid all converse with mankind,
She with her followers resolved to dwell;
Here lived, and here her body left behind.

To this lone isle from all the country round
Did men collect, as to a citadel;
So strong it was — enclosed by marshy ground.

On her dead bones a famous city rose,
And Mantua was the name that it received,
From her whose judgment first the station chose.

More numerous were its citizens of old,
Ere Casalodi foolishly believed
The artful tale that Pinamont had told.

And now I warn thee — if thou ever hear
My country's source to other causes traced.
Allow not falsehood to abuse thine ear."

"Master, thy speech convinceth me," — I said;
"So firmly on thy words my faith is placed.
All else would seem to me as embers dead.

But those who walk before, — I pray thee tell,
If any thou deem worthy of remark.
For upon them my thoughts entirely dwell."

My master then: "He with so long a beard
Which from his cheek spreads o'er his shoulders dark —
When Greece was of her males so nearly clear'd.

That few were left the cradles to supply —
For augury was famed; — in Aulis he
With Calchas sage uprear'd the signal high:

Eurypilus his name, as is rehearsed
In part of my exalted tragedy;
Thou know'st it well, who in the whole art versed.

The other, round his loins so thin and slight,
Was Michael Scot, renowned for magic art.
And deem'd in ancient times a wondrous wight.

Lo Guido, — and Asdente, who laments
That e'er he was prevail'd upon to part
With thread and leather; but too late repents.

See those who erst the loom and spindle left
To practise witchcraft — a vile female race.
In use of herbs and incantations deft

But let us on — for either hemisphere
Cain and the thorns with paly light embrace.
And dip beneath fair Seville's waters clear.

Last night the moon her fullest orb display'd:
And, wandering in that darksome valley rude.
Well may'st thou call to mind her timely aid."

He spake: and we our onward road pursued.