CANTO IXThe hue, which coward dread on my pale cheeksImprinted, when I saw my guide turn back,Chas’d that from his which newly they had worn,And inwardly restrain’d it. He, as oneWho listens, stood attentive: for his eyeNot far could lead him through the sable air,And the thick-gath’ring cloud. “It yet behoovesWe win this fight”—thus he began—“if not—Such aid to us is offer’d.—Oh, how longMe seems it, ere the promis’d help arrive!”I noted, how the sequel of his wordsClok’d their beginning; for the last he spakeAgreed not with the first. But not the lessMy fear was at his saying; sith I drewTo import worse perchance, than that he held,His mutilated speech. “Doth ever anyInto this rueful concave’s extreme depthDescend, out of the first degree, whose painIs deprivation merely of sweet hope?”Thus I inquiring. “Rarely,” he replied,“It chances, that among us any makesThis journey, which I wend. Erewhile ’tis trueOnce came I here beneath, conjur’d by fellErictho, sorceress, who compell’d the shadesBack to their bodies. No long space my fleshWas naked of me, when within these wallsShe made me enter, to draw forth a spiritFrom out of Judas’ circle. Lowest placeIs that of all, obscurest, and remov’dFarthest from heav’n’s all-circling orb. The roadFull well I know: thou therefore rest secure.That lake, the noisome stench exhaling, roundThe city’ of grief encompasses, which nowWe may not enter without rage.” Yet moreHe added: but I hold it not in mind,For that mine eye toward the lofty towerHad drawn me wholly, to its burning top.Where in an instant I beheld uprisenAt once three hellish furies stain’d with blood:In limb and motion feminine they seem’d;Around them greenest hydras twisting roll’dTheir volumes; adders and cerastes creptInstead of hair, and their fierce temples bound.He knowing well the miserable hagsWho tend the queen of endless woe, thus spake:“Mark thou each dire Erinnys. To the leftThis is Megaera; on the right hand she,Who wails, Alecto; and TisiphoneI’ th’ midst.” This said, in silence he remain’dTheir breast they each one clawing tore; themselvesSmote with their palms, and such shrill clamour rais’d,That to the bard I clung, suspicion-bound.“Hasten Medusa: so to adamantHim shall we change;” all looking down exclaim’d.“E’en when by Theseus’ might assail’d, we tookNo ill revenge.” “Turn thyself round, and keepThy count’nance hid; for if the Gorgon direBe shown, and thou shouldst view it, thy returnUpwards would be for ever lost.” This said,Himself my gentle master turn’d me round,Nor trusted he my hands, but with his ownHe also hid me. Ye of intellectSound and entire, mark well the lore conceal’dUnder close texture of the mystic strain!And now there came o’er the perturbed wavesLoud-crashing, terrible, a sound that madeEither shore tremble, as if of a windImpetuous, from conflicting vapours sprung,That ’gainst some forest driving all its might,Plucks off the branches, beats them down and hurlsAfar; then onward passing proudly sweepsIts whirlwind rage, while beasts and shepherds fly.Mine eyes he loos’d, and spake: “And now directThy visual nerve along that ancient foam,There, thickest where the smoke ascends.” As frogsBefore their foe the serpent, through the wavePly swiftly all, till at the ground each oneLies on a heap; more than a thousand spiritsDestroy’d, so saw I fleeing before oneWho pass’d with unwet feet the Stygian sound.He, from his face removing the gross air,Oft his left hand forth stretch’d, and seem’d aloneBy that annoyance wearied. I perceiv’dThat he was sent from heav’n, and to my guideTurn’d me, who signal made that I should standQuiet, and bend to him. Ah me! how fullOf noble anger seem’d he! To the gateHe came, and with his wand touch’d it, whereatOpen without impediment it flew.“Outcasts of heav’n! O abject race and scorn’d!”Began he on the horrid grunsel standing,“Whence doth this wild excess of insolenceLodge in you? wherefore kick you ’gainst that willNe’er frustrate of its end, and which so oftHath laid on you enforcement of your pangs?What profits at the fays to but the horn?Your Cerberus, if ye remember, henceBears still, peel’d of their hair, his throat and maw.”This said, he turn’d back o’er the filthy way,And syllable to us spake none, but woreThe semblance of a man by other careBeset, and keenly press’d, than thought of himWho in his presence stands. Then we our stepsToward that territory mov’d, secureAfter the hallow’d words. We unoppos’dThere enter’d; and my mind eager to learnWhat state a fortress like to that might hold,I soon as enter’d throw mine eye around,And see on every part wide-stretching spaceReplete with bitter pain and torment ill.As where Rhone stagnates on the plains of Arles,Or as at Pola, near Quarnaro’s gulf,That closes Italy and laves her bounds,The place is all thick spread with sepulchres;So was it here, save what in horror hereExcell’d: for ’midst the graves were scattered flames,Wherewith intensely all throughout they burn’d,That iron for no craft there hotter needs.Their lids all hung suspended, and beneathFrom them forth issu’d lamentable moans,Such as the sad and tortur’d well might raise.I thus: “Master! say who are these, interr’dWithin these vaults, of whom distinct we hearThe dolorous sighs?” He answer thus return’d:“The arch-heretics are here, accompaniedBy every sect their followers; and much more,Than thou believest, tombs are freighted: likeWith like is buried; and the monumentsAre different in degrees of heat.” This said,He to the right hand turning, on we pass’dBetwixt the afflicted and the ramparts high.
CANTO IXThe hue, which coward dread on my pale cheeksImprinted, when I saw my guide turn back,Chas’d that from his which newly they had worn,And inwardly restrain’d it. He, as oneWho listens, stood attentive: for his eyeNot far could lead him through the sable air,And the thick-gath’ring cloud. “It yet behoovesWe win this fight”—thus he began—“if not—Such aid to us is offer’d.—Oh, how longMe seems it, ere the promis’d help arrive!”I noted, how the sequel of his wordsClok’d their beginning; for the last he spakeAgreed not with the first. But not the lessMy fear was at his saying; sith I drewTo import worse perchance, than that he held,His mutilated speech. “Doth ever anyInto this rueful concave’s extreme depthDescend, out of the first degree, whose painIs deprivation merely of sweet hope?”Thus I inquiring. “Rarely,” he replied,“It chances, that among us any makesThis journey, which I wend. Erewhile ’tis trueOnce came I here beneath, conjur’d by fellErictho, sorceress, who compell’d the shadesBack to their bodies. No long space my fleshWas naked of me, when within these wallsShe made me enter, to draw forth a spiritFrom out of Judas’ circle. Lowest placeIs that of all, obscurest, and remov’dFarthest from heav’n’s all-circling orb. The roadFull well I know: thou therefore rest secure.That lake, the noisome stench exhaling, roundThe city’ of grief encompasses, which nowWe may not enter without rage.” Yet moreHe added: but I hold it not in mind,For that mine eye toward the lofty towerHad drawn me wholly, to its burning top.Where in an instant I beheld uprisenAt once three hellish furies stain’d with blood:In limb and motion feminine they seem’d;Around them greenest hydras twisting roll’dTheir volumes; adders and cerastes creptInstead of hair, and their fierce temples bound.He knowing well the miserable hagsWho tend the queen of endless woe, thus spake:“Mark thou each dire Erinnys. To the leftThis is Megaera; on the right hand she,Who wails, Alecto; and TisiphoneI’ th’ midst.” This said, in silence he remain’dTheir breast they each one clawing tore; themselvesSmote with their palms, and such shrill clamour rais’d,That to the bard I clung, suspicion-bound.“Hasten Medusa: so to adamantHim shall we change;” all looking down exclaim’d.“E’en when by Theseus’ might assail’d, we tookNo ill revenge.” “Turn thyself round, and keepThy count’nance hid; for if the Gorgon direBe shown, and thou shouldst view it, thy returnUpwards would be for ever lost.” This said,Himself my gentle master turn’d me round,Nor trusted he my hands, but with his ownHe also hid me. Ye of intellectSound and entire, mark well the lore conceal’dUnder close texture of the mystic strain!And now there came o’er the perturbed wavesLoud-crashing, terrible, a sound that madeEither shore tremble, as if of a windImpetuous, from conflicting vapours sprung,That ’gainst some forest driving all its might,Plucks off the branches, beats them down and hurlsAfar; then onward passing proudly sweepsIts whirlwind rage, while beasts and shepherds fly.Mine eyes he loos’d, and spake: “And now directThy visual nerve along that ancient foam,There, thickest where the smoke ascends.” As frogsBefore their foe the serpent, through the wavePly swiftly all, till at the ground each oneLies on a heap; more than a thousand spiritsDestroy’d, so saw I fleeing before oneWho pass’d with unwet feet the Stygian sound.He, from his face removing the gross air,Oft his left hand forth stretch’d, and seem’d aloneBy that annoyance wearied. I perceiv’dThat he was sent from heav’n, and to my guideTurn’d me, who signal made that I should standQuiet, and bend to him. Ah me! how fullOf noble anger seem’d he! To the gateHe came, and with his wand touch’d it, whereatOpen without impediment it flew.“Outcasts of heav’n! O abject race and scorn’d!”Began he on the horrid grunsel standing,“Whence doth this wild excess of insolenceLodge in you? wherefore kick you ’gainst that willNe’er frustrate of its end, and which so oftHath laid on you enforcement of your pangs?What profits at the fays to but the horn?Your Cerberus, if ye remember, henceBears still, peel’d of their hair, his throat and maw.”This said, he turn’d back o’er the filthy way,And syllable to us spake none, but woreThe semblance of a man by other careBeset, and keenly press’d, than thought of himWho in his presence stands. Then we our stepsToward that territory mov’d, secureAfter the hallow’d words. We unoppos’dThere enter’d; and my mind eager to learnWhat state a fortress like to that might hold,I soon as enter’d throw mine eye around,And see on every part wide-stretching spaceReplete with bitter pain and torment ill.As where Rhone stagnates on the plains of Arles,Or as at Pola, near Quarnaro’s gulf,That closes Italy and laves her bounds,The place is all thick spread with sepulchres;So was it here, save what in horror hereExcell’d: for ’midst the graves were scattered flames,Wherewith intensely all throughout they burn’d,That iron for no craft there hotter needs.Their lids all hung suspended, and beneathFrom them forth issu’d lamentable moans,Such as the sad and tortur’d well might raise.I thus: “Master! say who are these, interr’dWithin these vaults, of whom distinct we hearThe dolorous sighs?” He answer thus return’d:“The arch-heretics are here, accompaniedBy every sect their followers; and much more,Than thou believest, tombs are freighted: likeWith like is buried; and the monumentsAre different in degrees of heat.” This said,He to the right hand turning, on we pass’dBetwixt the afflicted and the ramparts high.
The hue, which coward dread on my pale cheeksImprinted, when I saw my guide turn back,Chas’d that from his which newly they had worn,And inwardly restrain’d it. He, as oneWho listens, stood attentive: for his eyeNot far could lead him through the sable air,And the thick-gath’ring cloud. “It yet behoovesWe win this fight”—thus he began—“if not—Such aid to us is offer’d.—Oh, how longMe seems it, ere the promis’d help arrive!”I noted, how the sequel of his wordsClok’d their beginning; for the last he spakeAgreed not with the first. But not the lessMy fear was at his saying; sith I drewTo import worse perchance, than that he held,His mutilated speech. “Doth ever anyInto this rueful concave’s extreme depthDescend, out of the first degree, whose painIs deprivation merely of sweet hope?”Thus I inquiring. “Rarely,” he replied,“It chances, that among us any makesThis journey, which I wend. Erewhile ’tis trueOnce came I here beneath, conjur’d by fellErictho, sorceress, who compell’d the shadesBack to their bodies. No long space my fleshWas naked of me, when within these wallsShe made me enter, to draw forth a spiritFrom out of Judas’ circle. Lowest placeIs that of all, obscurest, and remov’dFarthest from heav’n’s all-circling orb. The roadFull well I know: thou therefore rest secure.That lake, the noisome stench exhaling, roundThe city’ of grief encompasses, which nowWe may not enter without rage.” Yet moreHe added: but I hold it not in mind,For that mine eye toward the lofty towerHad drawn me wholly, to its burning top.Where in an instant I beheld uprisenAt once three hellish furies stain’d with blood:In limb and motion feminine they seem’d;Around them greenest hydras twisting roll’dTheir volumes; adders and cerastes creptInstead of hair, and their fierce temples bound.He knowing well the miserable hagsWho tend the queen of endless woe, thus spake:
“Mark thou each dire Erinnys. To the leftThis is Megaera; on the right hand she,Who wails, Alecto; and TisiphoneI’ th’ midst.” This said, in silence he remain’dTheir breast they each one clawing tore; themselvesSmote with their palms, and such shrill clamour rais’d,That to the bard I clung, suspicion-bound.“Hasten Medusa: so to adamantHim shall we change;” all looking down exclaim’d.“E’en when by Theseus’ might assail’d, we tookNo ill revenge.” “Turn thyself round, and keepThy count’nance hid; for if the Gorgon direBe shown, and thou shouldst view it, thy returnUpwards would be for ever lost.” This said,Himself my gentle master turn’d me round,Nor trusted he my hands, but with his ownHe also hid me. Ye of intellectSound and entire, mark well the lore conceal’dUnder close texture of the mystic strain!And now there came o’er the perturbed wavesLoud-crashing, terrible, a sound that madeEither shore tremble, as if of a windImpetuous, from conflicting vapours sprung,That ’gainst some forest driving all its might,Plucks off the branches, beats them down and hurlsAfar; then onward passing proudly sweepsIts whirlwind rage, while beasts and shepherds fly.Mine eyes he loos’d, and spake: “And now directThy visual nerve along that ancient foam,There, thickest where the smoke ascends.” As frogsBefore their foe the serpent, through the wavePly swiftly all, till at the ground each oneLies on a heap; more than a thousand spiritsDestroy’d, so saw I fleeing before oneWho pass’d with unwet feet the Stygian sound.He, from his face removing the gross air,Oft his left hand forth stretch’d, and seem’d aloneBy that annoyance wearied. I perceiv’dThat he was sent from heav’n, and to my guideTurn’d me, who signal made that I should standQuiet, and bend to him. Ah me! how fullOf noble anger seem’d he! To the gateHe came, and with his wand touch’d it, whereatOpen without impediment it flew.
“Outcasts of heav’n! O abject race and scorn’d!”Began he on the horrid grunsel standing,“Whence doth this wild excess of insolenceLodge in you? wherefore kick you ’gainst that willNe’er frustrate of its end, and which so oftHath laid on you enforcement of your pangs?What profits at the fays to but the horn?Your Cerberus, if ye remember, henceBears still, peel’d of their hair, his throat and maw.”This said, he turn’d back o’er the filthy way,And syllable to us spake none, but woreThe semblance of a man by other careBeset, and keenly press’d, than thought of himWho in his presence stands. Then we our stepsToward that territory mov’d, secureAfter the hallow’d words. We unoppos’dThere enter’d; and my mind eager to learnWhat state a fortress like to that might hold,I soon as enter’d throw mine eye around,And see on every part wide-stretching spaceReplete with bitter pain and torment ill.As where Rhone stagnates on the plains of Arles,Or as at Pola, near Quarnaro’s gulf,That closes Italy and laves her bounds,The place is all thick spread with sepulchres;So was it here, save what in horror hereExcell’d: for ’midst the graves were scattered flames,Wherewith intensely all throughout they burn’d,That iron for no craft there hotter needs.Their lids all hung suspended, and beneathFrom them forth issu’d lamentable moans,Such as the sad and tortur’d well might raise.I thus: “Master! say who are these, interr’dWithin these vaults, of whom distinct we hearThe dolorous sighs?” He answer thus return’d:
“The arch-heretics are here, accompaniedBy every sect their followers; and much more,Than thou believest, tombs are freighted: likeWith like is buried; and the monumentsAre different in degrees of heat.” This said,He to the right hand turning, on we pass’dBetwixt the afflicted and the ramparts high.