CANTO XXXIThe very tongue, whose keen reproof beforeHad wounded me, that either cheek was stain’d,Now minister’d my cure. So have I heard,Achilles and his father’s javelin caus’dPain first, and then the boon of health restor’d.Turning our back upon the vale of woe,W cross’d th’ encircled mound in silence. ThereWas twilight dim, that far long the gloomMine eye advanc’d not: but I heard a hornSounded aloud. The peal it blew had madeThe thunder feeble. Following its courseThe adverse way, my strained eyes were bentOn that one spot. So terrible a blastOrlando blew not, when that dismal routO’erthrew the host of Charlemagne, and quench’dHis saintly warfare. Thitherward not longMy head was rais’d, when many lofty towersMethought I spied. “Master,” said I, “what landIs this?” He answer’d straight: “Too long a spaceOf intervening darkness has thine eyeTo traverse: thou hast therefore widely err’dIn thy imagining. Thither arriv’dThou well shalt see, how distance can deludeThe sense. A little therefore urge thee on.”Then tenderly he caught me by the hand;“Yet know,” said he, “ere farther we advance,That it less strange may seem, these are not towers,But giants. In the pit they stand immers’d,Each from his navel downward, round the bank.”As when a fog disperseth gradually,Our vision traces what the mist involvesCondens’d in air; so piercing through the grossAnd gloomy atmosphere, as more and moreWe near’d toward the brink, mine error fled,And fear came o’er me. As with circling roundOf turrets, Montereggion crowns his walls,E’en thus the shore, encompassing th’ abyss,Was turreted with giants, half their lengthUprearing, horrible, whom Jove from heav’nYet threatens, when his mutt’ring thunder rolls.Of one already I descried the face,Shoulders, and breast, and of the belly hugeGreat part, and both arms down along his ribs.All-teeming nature, when her plastic handLeft framing of these monsters, did displayPast doubt her wisdom, taking from mad WarSuch slaves to do his bidding; and if sheRepent her not of th’ elephant and whale,Who ponders well confesses her thereinWiser and more discreet; for when brute forceAnd evil will are back’d with subtlety,Resistance none avails. His visage seem’dIn length and bulk, as doth the pine, that topsSaint Peter’s Roman fane; and th’ other bonesOf like proportion, so that from aboveThe bank, which girdled him below, such heightArose his stature, that three FriezelandersHad striv’n in vain to reach but to his hair.Full thirty ample palms was he expos’dDownward from whence a man his garments loops.“Raphel bai ameth sabi almi,”So shouted his fierce lips, which sweeter hymnsBecame not; and my guide address’d him thus:“O senseless spirit! let thy horn for theeInterpret: therewith vent thy rage, if rageOr other passion wring thee. Search thy neck,There shalt thou find the belt that binds it on.Wild spirit! lo, upon thy mighty breastWhere hangs the baldrick!” Then to me he spake:“He doth accuse himself. Nimrod is this,Through whose ill counsel in the world no moreOne tongue prevails. But pass we on, nor wasteOur words; for so each language is to him,As his to others, understood by none.”Then to the leftward turning sped we forth,And at a sling’s throw found another shadeFar fiercer and more huge. I cannot sayWhat master hand had girt him; but he heldBehind the right arm fetter’d, and beforeThe other with a chain, that fasten’d himFrom the neck down, and five times round his formApparent met the wreathed links. “This proud oneWould of his strength against almighty JoveMake trial,” said my guide; “whence he is thusRequited: Ephialtes him they call.Great was his prowess, when the giants broughtFear on the gods: those arms, which then he piled,Now moves he never.” Forthwith I return’d:“Fain would I, if ’twere possible, mine eyesOf Briareus immeasurable gain’dExperience next.” He answer’d: “Thou shalt seeNot far from hence Antaeus, who both speaksAnd is unfetter’d, who shall place us thereWhere guilt is at its depth. Far onward standsWhom thou wouldst fain behold, in chains, and madeLike to this spirit, save that in his looksMore fell he seems.” By violent earthquake rock’dNe’er shook a tow’r, so reeling to its base,As Ephialtes. More than ever thenI dreaded death, nor than the terror moreHad needed, if I had not seen the cordsThat held him fast. We, straightway journeying on,Came to Antaeus, who five ells completeWithout the head, forth issued from the cave.“O thou, who in the fortunate vale, that madeGreat Scipio heir of glory, when his swordDrove back the troop of Hannibal in flight,Who thence of old didst carry for thy spoilAn hundred lions; and if thou hadst foughtIn the high conflict on thy brethren’s side,Seems as men yet believ’d, that through thine armThe sons of earth had conquer’d, now vouchsafeTo place us down beneath, where numbing coldLocks up Cocytus. Force not that we craveOr Tityus’ help or Typhon’s. Here is oneCan give what in this realm ye covet. StoopTherefore, nor scornfully distort thy lip.He in the upper world can yet bestowRenown on thee, for he doth live, and looksFor life yet longer, if before the timeGrace call him not unto herself.” Thus spakeThe teacher. He in haste forth stretch’d his hands,And caught my guide. Alcides whilom feltThat grapple straighten’d score. Soon as my guideHad felt it, he bespake me thus: “This wayThat I may clasp thee;” then so caught me up,That we were both one burden. As appearsThe tower of Carisenda, from beneathWhere it doth lean, if chance a passing cloudSo sail across, that opposite it hangs,Such then Antaeus seem’d, as at mine easeI mark’d him stooping. I were fain at timesT’ have pass’d another way. Yet in th’ abyss,That Lucifer with Judas low ingulfs,I,ightly he plac’d us; nor there leaning stay’d,But rose as in a bark the stately mast.
The very tongue, whose keen reproof beforeHad wounded me, that either cheek was stain’d,Now minister’d my cure. So have I heard,Achilles and his father’s javelin caus’dPain first, and then the boon of health restor’d.
Turning our back upon the vale of woe,W cross’d th’ encircled mound in silence. ThereWas twilight dim, that far long the gloomMine eye advanc’d not: but I heard a hornSounded aloud. The peal it blew had madeThe thunder feeble. Following its courseThe adverse way, my strained eyes were bentOn that one spot. So terrible a blastOrlando blew not, when that dismal routO’erthrew the host of Charlemagne, and quench’dHis saintly warfare. Thitherward not longMy head was rais’d, when many lofty towersMethought I spied. “Master,” said I, “what landIs this?” He answer’d straight: “Too long a spaceOf intervening darkness has thine eyeTo traverse: thou hast therefore widely err’dIn thy imagining. Thither arriv’dThou well shalt see, how distance can deludeThe sense. A little therefore urge thee on.”
Then tenderly he caught me by the hand;“Yet know,” said he, “ere farther we advance,That it less strange may seem, these are not towers,But giants. In the pit they stand immers’d,Each from his navel downward, round the bank.”
As when a fog disperseth gradually,Our vision traces what the mist involvesCondens’d in air; so piercing through the grossAnd gloomy atmosphere, as more and moreWe near’d toward the brink, mine error fled,And fear came o’er me. As with circling roundOf turrets, Montereggion crowns his walls,E’en thus the shore, encompassing th’ abyss,Was turreted with giants, half their lengthUprearing, horrible, whom Jove from heav’nYet threatens, when his mutt’ring thunder rolls.
Of one already I descried the face,Shoulders, and breast, and of the belly hugeGreat part, and both arms down along his ribs.
All-teeming nature, when her plastic handLeft framing of these monsters, did displayPast doubt her wisdom, taking from mad WarSuch slaves to do his bidding; and if sheRepent her not of th’ elephant and whale,Who ponders well confesses her thereinWiser and more discreet; for when brute forceAnd evil will are back’d with subtlety,Resistance none avails. His visage seem’dIn length and bulk, as doth the pine, that topsSaint Peter’s Roman fane; and th’ other bonesOf like proportion, so that from aboveThe bank, which girdled him below, such heightArose his stature, that three FriezelandersHad striv’n in vain to reach but to his hair.Full thirty ample palms was he expos’dDownward from whence a man his garments loops.“Raphel bai ameth sabi almi,”So shouted his fierce lips, which sweeter hymnsBecame not; and my guide address’d him thus:“O senseless spirit! let thy horn for theeInterpret: therewith vent thy rage, if rageOr other passion wring thee. Search thy neck,There shalt thou find the belt that binds it on.Wild spirit! lo, upon thy mighty breastWhere hangs the baldrick!” Then to me he spake:“He doth accuse himself. Nimrod is this,Through whose ill counsel in the world no moreOne tongue prevails. But pass we on, nor wasteOur words; for so each language is to him,As his to others, understood by none.”
Then to the leftward turning sped we forth,And at a sling’s throw found another shadeFar fiercer and more huge. I cannot sayWhat master hand had girt him; but he heldBehind the right arm fetter’d, and beforeThe other with a chain, that fasten’d himFrom the neck down, and five times round his formApparent met the wreathed links. “This proud oneWould of his strength against almighty JoveMake trial,” said my guide; “whence he is thusRequited: Ephialtes him they call.Great was his prowess, when the giants broughtFear on the gods: those arms, which then he piled,Now moves he never.” Forthwith I return’d:“Fain would I, if ’twere possible, mine eyesOf Briareus immeasurable gain’dExperience next.” He answer’d: “Thou shalt seeNot far from hence Antaeus, who both speaksAnd is unfetter’d, who shall place us thereWhere guilt is at its depth. Far onward standsWhom thou wouldst fain behold, in chains, and madeLike to this spirit, save that in his looksMore fell he seems.” By violent earthquake rock’dNe’er shook a tow’r, so reeling to its base,As Ephialtes. More than ever thenI dreaded death, nor than the terror moreHad needed, if I had not seen the cordsThat held him fast. We, straightway journeying on,Came to Antaeus, who five ells completeWithout the head, forth issued from the cave.
“O thou, who in the fortunate vale, that madeGreat Scipio heir of glory, when his swordDrove back the troop of Hannibal in flight,Who thence of old didst carry for thy spoilAn hundred lions; and if thou hadst foughtIn the high conflict on thy brethren’s side,Seems as men yet believ’d, that through thine armThe sons of earth had conquer’d, now vouchsafeTo place us down beneath, where numbing coldLocks up Cocytus. Force not that we craveOr Tityus’ help or Typhon’s. Here is oneCan give what in this realm ye covet. StoopTherefore, nor scornfully distort thy lip.He in the upper world can yet bestowRenown on thee, for he doth live, and looksFor life yet longer, if before the timeGrace call him not unto herself.” Thus spakeThe teacher. He in haste forth stretch’d his hands,And caught my guide. Alcides whilom feltThat grapple straighten’d score. Soon as my guideHad felt it, he bespake me thus: “This wayThat I may clasp thee;” then so caught me up,That we were both one burden. As appearsThe tower of Carisenda, from beneathWhere it doth lean, if chance a passing cloudSo sail across, that opposite it hangs,Such then Antaeus seem’d, as at mine easeI mark’d him stooping. I were fain at timesT’ have pass’d another way. Yet in th’ abyss,That Lucifer with Judas low ingulfs,I,ightly he plac’d us; nor there leaning stay’d,But rose as in a bark the stately mast.