CANTO XVIIIThere is a place within the depths of hellCall’d Malebolge, all of rock dark-stain’dWith hue ferruginous, e’en as the steepThat round it circling winds. Right in the midstOf that abominable region, yawnsA spacious gulf profound, whereof the frameDue time shall tell. The circle, that remains,Throughout its round, between the gulf and baseOf the high craggy banks, successive formsTen trenches, in its hollow bottom sunk.As where to guard the walls, full many a fossBegirds some stately castle, sure defenceAffording to the space within, so hereWere model’d these; and as like fortressesE’en from their threshold to the brink without,Are flank’d with bridges; from the rock’s low baseThus flinty paths advanc’d, that ’cross the molesAnd dikes, struck onward far as to the gulf,That in one bound collected cuts them off.Such was the place, wherein we found ourselvesFrom Geryon’s back dislodg’d. The bard to leftHeld on his way, and I behind him mov’d.On our right hand new misery I saw,New pains, new executioners of wrath,That swarming peopled the first chasm. BelowWere naked sinners. Hitherward they came,Meeting our faces from the middle point,With us beyond but with a larger stride.E’en thus the Romans, when the year returnsOf Jubilee, with better speed to ridThe thronging multitudes, their means deviseFor such as pass the bridge; that on one sideAll front toward the castle, and approachSaint Peter’s fane, on th’ other towards the mount.Each divers way along the grisly rock,Horn’d demons I beheld, with lashes huge,That on their back unmercifully smote.Ah! how they made them bound at the first stripe!None for the second waited nor the third.Meantime as on I pass’d, one met my sightWhom soon as view’d; “Of him,” cried I, “not yetMine eye hath had his fill.” With fixed gazeI therefore scann’d him. Straight the teacher kindPaus’d with me, and consented I should walkBackward a space, and the tormented spirit,Who thought to hide him, bent his visage down.But it avail’d him nought; for I exclaim’d:“Thou who dost cast thy eye upon the ground,Unless thy features do belie thee much,Venedico art thou. But what brings theeInto this bitter seas’ning? “ He replied:“Unwillingly I answer to thy words.But thy clear speech, that to my mind recallsThe world I once inhabited, constrains me.Know then ’twas I who led fair GhisolaTo do the Marquis’ will, however fameThe shameful tale have bruited. Nor aloneBologna hither sendeth me to mournRather with us the place is so o’erthrong’dThat not so many tongues this day are taught,Betwixt the Reno and Savena’s stream,To answer SIPA in their country’s phrase.And if of that securer proof thou need,Remember but our craving thirst for gold.”Him speaking thus, a demon with his thongStruck, and exclaim’d, “Away! corrupter! hereWomen are none for sale.” Forthwith I join’dMy escort, and few paces thence we cameTo where a rock forth issued from the bank.That easily ascended, to the rightUpon its splinter turning, we departFrom those eternal barriers. When arriv’d,Where underneath the gaping arch lets passThe scourged souls: “Pause here,” the teacher said,“And let these others miserable, nowStrike on thy ken, faces not yet beheld,For that together they with us have walk’d.”From the old bridge we ey’d the pack, who cameFrom th’ other side towards us, like the rest,Excoriate from the lash. My gentle guide,By me unquestion’d, thus his speech resum’d:“Behold that lofty shade, who this way tends,And seems too woe-begone to drop a tear.How yet the regal aspect he retains!Jason is he, whose skill and prowess wonThe ram from Colchos. To the Lemnian isleHis passage thither led him, when those boldAnd pitiless women had slain all their males.There he with tokens and fair witching wordsHypsipyle beguil’d, a virgin young,Who first had all the rest herself beguil’d.Impregnated he left her there forlorn.Such is the guilt condemns him to this pain.Here too Medea’s inj’ries are avenged.All bear him company, who like deceitTo his have practis’d. And thus much to knowOf the first vale suffice thee, and of thoseWhom its keen torments urge.” Now had we comeWhere, crossing the next pier, the straighten’d pathBestrides its shoulders to another arch.Hence in the second chasm we heard the ghosts,Who jibber in low melancholy sounds,With wide-stretch’d nostrils snort, and on themselvesSmite with their palms. Upon the banks a scurfFrom the foul steam condens’d, encrusting hung,That held sharp combat with the sight and smell.So hollow is the depth, that from no part,Save on the summit of the rocky span,Could I distinguish aught. Thus far we came;And thence I saw, within the foss below,A crowd immers’d in ordure, that appear’dDraff of the human body. There beneathSearching with eye inquisitive, I mark’dOne with his head so grim’d, ’twere hard to deem,If he were clerk or layman. Loud he cried:“Why greedily thus bendest more on me,Than on these other filthy ones, thy ken?”“Because if true my mem’ry,” I replied,“I heretofore have seen thee with dry locks,And thou Alessio art of Lucca sprung.Therefore than all the rest I scan thee more.”Then beating on his brain these words he spake:“Me thus low down my flatteries have sunk,Wherewith I ne’er enough could glut my tongue.”My leader thus: “A little further stretchThy face, that thou the visage well mayst noteOf that besotted, sluttish courtezan,Who there doth rend her with defiled nails,Now crouching down, now risen on her feet.Thais is this, the harlot, whose false lipAnswer’d her doting paramour that ask’d,‘Thankest me much!’—‘Say rather wondrously,’And seeing this here satiate be our view.”
There is a place within the depths of hellCall’d Malebolge, all of rock dark-stain’dWith hue ferruginous, e’en as the steepThat round it circling winds. Right in the midstOf that abominable region, yawnsA spacious gulf profound, whereof the frameDue time shall tell. The circle, that remains,Throughout its round, between the gulf and baseOf the high craggy banks, successive formsTen trenches, in its hollow bottom sunk.
As where to guard the walls, full many a fossBegirds some stately castle, sure defenceAffording to the space within, so hereWere model’d these; and as like fortressesE’en from their threshold to the brink without,Are flank’d with bridges; from the rock’s low baseThus flinty paths advanc’d, that ’cross the molesAnd dikes, struck onward far as to the gulf,That in one bound collected cuts them off.Such was the place, wherein we found ourselvesFrom Geryon’s back dislodg’d. The bard to leftHeld on his way, and I behind him mov’d.
On our right hand new misery I saw,New pains, new executioners of wrath,That swarming peopled the first chasm. BelowWere naked sinners. Hitherward they came,Meeting our faces from the middle point,With us beyond but with a larger stride.E’en thus the Romans, when the year returnsOf Jubilee, with better speed to ridThe thronging multitudes, their means deviseFor such as pass the bridge; that on one sideAll front toward the castle, and approachSaint Peter’s fane, on th’ other towards the mount.
Each divers way along the grisly rock,Horn’d demons I beheld, with lashes huge,That on their back unmercifully smote.Ah! how they made them bound at the first stripe!None for the second waited nor the third.
Meantime as on I pass’d, one met my sightWhom soon as view’d; “Of him,” cried I, “not yetMine eye hath had his fill.” With fixed gazeI therefore scann’d him. Straight the teacher kindPaus’d with me, and consented I should walkBackward a space, and the tormented spirit,Who thought to hide him, bent his visage down.But it avail’d him nought; for I exclaim’d:“Thou who dost cast thy eye upon the ground,Unless thy features do belie thee much,Venedico art thou. But what brings theeInto this bitter seas’ning? “ He replied:“Unwillingly I answer to thy words.But thy clear speech, that to my mind recallsThe world I once inhabited, constrains me.Know then ’twas I who led fair GhisolaTo do the Marquis’ will, however fameThe shameful tale have bruited. Nor aloneBologna hither sendeth me to mournRather with us the place is so o’erthrong’dThat not so many tongues this day are taught,Betwixt the Reno and Savena’s stream,To answer SIPA in their country’s phrase.And if of that securer proof thou need,Remember but our craving thirst for gold.”
Him speaking thus, a demon with his thongStruck, and exclaim’d, “Away! corrupter! hereWomen are none for sale.” Forthwith I join’dMy escort, and few paces thence we cameTo where a rock forth issued from the bank.That easily ascended, to the rightUpon its splinter turning, we departFrom those eternal barriers. When arriv’d,Where underneath the gaping arch lets passThe scourged souls: “Pause here,” the teacher said,“And let these others miserable, nowStrike on thy ken, faces not yet beheld,For that together they with us have walk’d.”
From the old bridge we ey’d the pack, who cameFrom th’ other side towards us, like the rest,Excoriate from the lash. My gentle guide,By me unquestion’d, thus his speech resum’d:“Behold that lofty shade, who this way tends,And seems too woe-begone to drop a tear.How yet the regal aspect he retains!Jason is he, whose skill and prowess wonThe ram from Colchos. To the Lemnian isleHis passage thither led him, when those boldAnd pitiless women had slain all their males.There he with tokens and fair witching wordsHypsipyle beguil’d, a virgin young,Who first had all the rest herself beguil’d.Impregnated he left her there forlorn.Such is the guilt condemns him to this pain.Here too Medea’s inj’ries are avenged.All bear him company, who like deceitTo his have practis’d. And thus much to knowOf the first vale suffice thee, and of thoseWhom its keen torments urge.” Now had we comeWhere, crossing the next pier, the straighten’d pathBestrides its shoulders to another arch.
Hence in the second chasm we heard the ghosts,Who jibber in low melancholy sounds,With wide-stretch’d nostrils snort, and on themselvesSmite with their palms. Upon the banks a scurfFrom the foul steam condens’d, encrusting hung,That held sharp combat with the sight and smell.
So hollow is the depth, that from no part,Save on the summit of the rocky span,Could I distinguish aught. Thus far we came;And thence I saw, within the foss below,A crowd immers’d in ordure, that appear’dDraff of the human body. There beneathSearching with eye inquisitive, I mark’dOne with his head so grim’d, ’twere hard to deem,If he were clerk or layman. Loud he cried:“Why greedily thus bendest more on me,Than on these other filthy ones, thy ken?”
“Because if true my mem’ry,” I replied,“I heretofore have seen thee with dry locks,And thou Alessio art of Lucca sprung.Therefore than all the rest I scan thee more.”
Then beating on his brain these words he spake:“Me thus low down my flatteries have sunk,Wherewith I ne’er enough could glut my tongue.”
My leader thus: “A little further stretchThy face, that thou the visage well mayst noteOf that besotted, sluttish courtezan,Who there doth rend her with defiled nails,Now crouching down, now risen on her feet.Thais is this, the harlot, whose false lipAnswer’d her doting paramour that ask’d,‘Thankest me much!’—‘Say rather wondrously,’And seeing this here satiate be our view.”