Inferno: Canto XXIV

In the new year, when Sol his tresses gay
Dips in Aquarius, and the tardy night
Divides her empire with the lengthening day, —

When o'er the earth the hoar frost pure and bright
Assumes the image of her sister white.
Then quickly melts before the genial light —

The rustic, now exhausted his supply.
Rises betimes —looks out — and sees the land
All white around, whereat he strikes his thigh —

Turns back — and grieving — wanders here and there.
Like one disconsolate and at a stand;
Then issues forth, forgetting his despair.

For lo! the face of nature he beholds
Changed on a sudden, — takes his crook again.
And drives his flocks to pasture from the folds.

With such alarm the master fill'd my breast.
When I observed his scared and alter'd mien.
And with such speed the mischief he redrest;

For when we reached the broken bridge, my guide
Turn'd himself to me with as sweet a look
As when I first beheld him by my side:

The rugged steep minutely he survey'd.
And counsel with himself awhile he took.
Then in his arms upbore me undismay'd.

And like a man who on some work employ'd
Looks in advance beyond the present hour;
So he, whilst o'er one crag my weight he buoy'd.

Still tow'rds another cast his eager eye,
Exclaiming: "Grasp that firm: but first be sure.
That on its strength thou fully may'st rely."

Not this a road for those whose garments flaunt;
For he though light, and I assisted on
From ledge to ledge, could scarce with labour mount.

And if the rugged path of our ascent
Had not been shorter than the adjoining one.
His fate I know not — I had been o'erspent:

But Malebolge, since throughout it lies
Tow'rds the deep gulf of hell all sloping down.
One side of every valley thus must rise —

The other fall. At last we forced our way
Up to the summit, where the highest stone.
Torn from the broken ridge, before us lay.

So failed the breath within my lungs, what time
I reach'd the height, that on a crag I sate.
No strength remaining other rocks to climb.

"Now must thou shake off sloth," my guide began;
"For not beneath rich canopies of state.
On beds of down, must fame be sought by man:

He who descends unhonour'd to the grave
Leaves of himself on earth such vestige slight.
As smoke in air, or foam upon the wave.

Arise then, and o'er sloth a conquest gain
By strength of mind, which wins in every fight.
Unless the body's cumbrous weight restrain.

A longer flight of steps thou yet must scale;
'Tis not enough these perils to have pass'd; —
If well thou mark me, let my words avail."

Then I arose, and with my voice display'd
Far better lungs than I in truth possess'd;
"Let's on— for I am bold and nought dismay'd."

Among the rocks our upward course we bent,
Through craggy paths, confined, and dangerous.
And steeper than before was the ascent.

Still by the way, for fear of seeming weak,
I held discourse; when from the other foss
Came presently a voice unapt to speak:

I know not what it said, although I stood
High on the arch which spans that fearful ground;
But he who spake appear'd in angry mood.

I stoop'd me downward; but with life endued
Mine eyes pierced not the gloomy pit profound;
Wherefore I said: "O master, it were good.

Descending by the wall, this round to leave;
For hence I hear, but do not understand.
So down I see, but nought do I perceive."

"My answer is — to do thy will" — he said;
"For every modest and sincere demand
Deserves fulfilment, not in word, but deed."

The bridge we then descended from the height,
Where to the eighth embankment it is join'd;
And thence appear'd the baleful pit in sight.

Within — a crowd of serpents I behold.
So hideous and diversified in kind.
That at the very thought my blood runs cold.

Not even Lybia, with her fruitful sand,
More Cenchris, and more Jaculi can boast.
Or Amphisbaena, in her scorching land;

Though Ethiopia also should have brought
Her many plagues; and Egypt's pregnant coast
Add all the pests with which her soil is fraught.

Among this swarm, most loathsome to survey,
Ran spirits naked, and with terror pale:
No hiding place, no heliotrope had they.

Their hands with serpents were behind them bound;
These through their loins thrust forth the head and tail.
Which meeting in the front were coil'd around.

Lo, near the bank, on which our feet we stay'd,
A serpent rose, and pierced the form of one.
Where to the neck is join'd the shoulder blade.

So quickly ne'er was written O, or I,
As he took fire and burnt, and falling prone.
Was turn'd to ashes instantaneously.

While thus upon the ground his dust was strew'd,
Spontaneous it collected on the plain.
And suddenly its former shape renew'd.

So — as by mighty sages we are told.
The Phoenix dies, and springs to life again.
When o'er her head five hundred years have roll'd:

For her, nor blade, nor herb supply their food;
But amomum and tears of frankincense.
And myrrh and spikenard form her latest shroud.

And e'en as one who falls, he knows not how.
Drawn down by demon force that mars his sense.
Or other violence that lays him low, —

When he arises, turns his eyes around —
All stupified with anguish, and at gaze.
Stands as distracted, uttering sighs profound;

So that vile sinner speedily arose.
Oh how severe the justice God displays,
Inflicting in his wrath such deadly blows! '

What was his name enquired my faithful guide:
"Not long ago, rain'd down from Tuscany,
I came to this dire gullet," he replied:

"I led the life of beasts and not of men —
Mule that I was; my name is Vanni Fucci.
And foul Pistoia was my worthy den."

I to my guide: "entreat him to remain,
And ask the crime for which he here is pent;
I knew him erst, defiled with bloody stain."

Dissembled not the thief when this was said.
But straight to me his soul and look he bent.
With melancholy hue of shame o'erspread:

And thus he spoke: "It gives me greater grief
That thou hast found me in this wretched hole,
Than all I felt, when I was torn from life:

Thy wishes I no longer can deny:
Here am I thrust so low because I stole
The hallow'd treasures of the sacristy:

One who was innocent incurred the blame.
If ever from this pit releas'd thou be.
Lest aught of joy thou reap for this my shame —

Open thine ears, and hear what I declare:
First shall the Neri from Pistoia flee;
Her race and laws shall Florence then forswear.

From Valdimagra Mars collects around
A vapour, wrapt with clouds o'ercharged and fell;
Which thence, with tempest fierce, and angry sound.

Shall clash in fury on Piceno's plain;
Whence suddenly the cloud it shall dispel.
And each Bianco in the field be slain:

This, to overwhelm thee with despair, I tell."