CANTO VIIIMy theme pursuing, I relate that ereWe reach’d the lofty turret’s base, our eyesIts height ascended, where two cressets hungWe mark’d, and from afar another lightReturn the signal, so remote, that scarceThe eye could catch its beam. I turning roundTo the deep source of knowledge, thus inquir’d:“Say what this means? and what that other lightIn answer set? what agency doth this?”“There on the filthy waters,” he replied,“E’en now what next awaits us mayst thou see,If the marsh-gender’d fog conceal it not.”Never was arrow from the cord dismiss’d,That ran its way so nimbly through the air,As a small bark, that through the waves I spiedToward us coming, under the sole swayOf one that ferried it, who cried aloud:“Art thou arriv’d, fell spirit?”—“Phlegyas, Phlegyas,This time thou criest in vain,” my lord replied;“No longer shalt thou have us, but while o’erThe slimy pool we pass.” As one who hearsOf some great wrong he hath sustain’d, whereatInly he pines; so Phlegyas inly pin’dIn his fierce ire. My guide descending stepp’dInto the skiff, and bade me enter nextClose at his side; nor till my entrance seem’dThe vessel freighted. Soon as both embark’d,Cutting the waves, goes on the ancient prow,More deeply than with others it is wont.While we our course o’er the dead channel held.One drench’d in mire before me came, and said;“Who art thou, that thou comest ere thine hour?”I answer’d: “Though I come, I tarry not;But who art thou, that art become so foul?”“One, as thou seest, who mourn:” he straight replied.To which I thus: “In mourning and in woe,Curs’d spirit! tarry thou. I know thee well,E’en thus in filth disguis’d.” Then stretch’d he forthHands to the bark; whereof my teacher sageAware, thrusting him back: “Away! down there,“To the other dogs!” then, with his arms my neckEncircling, kiss’d my cheek, and spake: “O soulJustly disdainful! blest was she in whomThou was conceiv’d! He in the world was oneFor arrogance noted; to his memoryNo virtue lends its lustre; even soHere is his shadow furious. There aboveHow many now hold themselves mighty kingsWho here like swine shall wallow in the mire,Leaving behind them horrible dispraise!”I then: “Master! him fain would I beholdWhelm’d in these dregs, before we quit the lake.”He thus: “Or ever to thy view the shoreBe offer’d, satisfied shall be that wish,Which well deserves completion.” Scarce his wordsWere ended, when I saw the miry tribesSet on him with such violence, that yetFor that render I thanks to God and praise“To Filippo Argenti:” cried they all:And on himself the moody FlorentineTurn’d his avenging fangs. Him here we left,Nor speak I of him more. But on mine earSudden a sound of lamentation smote,Whereat mine eye unbarr’d I sent abroad.And thus the good instructor: “Now, my son!Draws near the city, that of Dis is nam’d,With its grave denizens, a mighty throng.”I thus: “The minarets already, Sir!There certes in the valley I descry,Gleaming vermilion, as if they from fireHad issu’d.” He replied: “Eternal fire,That inward burns, shows them with ruddy flameIllum’d; as in this nether hell thou seest.”We came within the fosses deep, that moatThis region comfortless. The walls appear’dAs they were fram’d of iron. We had madeWide circuit, ere a place we reach’d, where loudThe mariner cried vehement: “Go forth!The entrance is here!” Upon the gates I spiedMore than a thousand, who of old from heavenWere hurl’d. With ireful gestures, “Who is this,”They cried, “that without death first felt, goes throughThe regions of the dead?” My sapient guideMade sign that he for secret parley wish’d;Whereat their angry scorn abating, thusThey spake: “Come thou alone; and let him goWho hath so hardily enter’d this realm.Alone return he by his witless way;If well he know it, let him prove. For thee,Here shalt thou tarry, who through clime so darkHast been his escort.” Now bethink thee, reader!What cheer was mine at sound of those curs’d words.I did believe I never should return.“O my lov’d guide! who more than seven timesSecurity hast render’d me, and drawnFrom peril deep, whereto I stood expos’d,Desert me not,” I cried, “in this extreme.And if our onward going be denied,Together trace we back our steps with speed.”My liege, who thither had conducted me,Replied: “Fear not: for of our passage noneHath power to disappoint us, by such highAuthority permitted. But do thouExpect me here; meanwhile thy wearied spiritComfort, and feed with kindly hope, assur’dI will not leave thee in this lower world.”This said, departs the sire benevolent,And quits me. Hesitating I remainAt war ’twixt will and will not in my thoughts.I could not hear what terms he offer’d them,But they conferr’d not long, for all at onceTo trial fled within. Clos’d were the gatesBy those our adversaries on the breastOf my liege lord: excluded he return’dTo me with tardy steps. Upon the groundHis eyes were bent, and from his brow eras’dAll confidence, while thus with sighs he spake:“Who hath denied me these abodes of woe?”Then thus to me: “That I am anger’d, thinkNo ground of terror: in this trial IShall vanquish, use what arts they may withinFor hindrance. This their insolence, not new,Erewhile at gate less secret they display’d,Which still is without bolt; upon its archThou saw’st the deadly scroll: and even nowOn this side of its entrance, down the steep,Passing the circles, unescorted, comesOne whose strong might can open us this land.”
My theme pursuing, I relate that ereWe reach’d the lofty turret’s base, our eyesIts height ascended, where two cressets hungWe mark’d, and from afar another lightReturn the signal, so remote, that scarceThe eye could catch its beam. I turning roundTo the deep source of knowledge, thus inquir’d:“Say what this means? and what that other lightIn answer set? what agency doth this?”“There on the filthy waters,” he replied,“E’en now what next awaits us mayst thou see,If the marsh-gender’d fog conceal it not.”Never was arrow from the cord dismiss’d,That ran its way so nimbly through the air,As a small bark, that through the waves I spiedToward us coming, under the sole swayOf one that ferried it, who cried aloud:“Art thou arriv’d, fell spirit?”—“Phlegyas, Phlegyas,This time thou criest in vain,” my lord replied;“No longer shalt thou have us, but while o’erThe slimy pool we pass.” As one who hearsOf some great wrong he hath sustain’d, whereatInly he pines; so Phlegyas inly pin’dIn his fierce ire. My guide descending stepp’dInto the skiff, and bade me enter nextClose at his side; nor till my entrance seem’dThe vessel freighted. Soon as both embark’d,Cutting the waves, goes on the ancient prow,More deeply than with others it is wont.
While we our course o’er the dead channel held.One drench’d in mire before me came, and said;“Who art thou, that thou comest ere thine hour?”I answer’d: “Though I come, I tarry not;But who art thou, that art become so foul?”“One, as thou seest, who mourn:” he straight replied.To which I thus: “In mourning and in woe,Curs’d spirit! tarry thou. I know thee well,E’en thus in filth disguis’d.” Then stretch’d he forthHands to the bark; whereof my teacher sageAware, thrusting him back: “Away! down there,
“To the other dogs!” then, with his arms my neckEncircling, kiss’d my cheek, and spake: “O soulJustly disdainful! blest was she in whomThou was conceiv’d! He in the world was oneFor arrogance noted; to his memoryNo virtue lends its lustre; even soHere is his shadow furious. There aboveHow many now hold themselves mighty kingsWho here like swine shall wallow in the mire,Leaving behind them horrible dispraise!”I then: “Master! him fain would I beholdWhelm’d in these dregs, before we quit the lake.”He thus: “Or ever to thy view the shoreBe offer’d, satisfied shall be that wish,Which well deserves completion.” Scarce his wordsWere ended, when I saw the miry tribesSet on him with such violence, that yetFor that render I thanks to God and praise“To Filippo Argenti:” cried they all:And on himself the moody FlorentineTurn’d his avenging fangs. Him here we left,Nor speak I of him more. But on mine earSudden a sound of lamentation smote,Whereat mine eye unbarr’d I sent abroad.And thus the good instructor: “Now, my son!Draws near the city, that of Dis is nam’d,With its grave denizens, a mighty throng.”I thus: “The minarets already, Sir!There certes in the valley I descry,Gleaming vermilion, as if they from fireHad issu’d.” He replied: “Eternal fire,That inward burns, shows them with ruddy flameIllum’d; as in this nether hell thou seest.”We came within the fosses deep, that moatThis region comfortless. The walls appear’dAs they were fram’d of iron. We had madeWide circuit, ere a place we reach’d, where loudThe mariner cried vehement: “Go forth!The entrance is here!” Upon the gates I spiedMore than a thousand, who of old from heavenWere hurl’d. With ireful gestures, “Who is this,”They cried, “that without death first felt, goes throughThe regions of the dead?” My sapient guideMade sign that he for secret parley wish’d;Whereat their angry scorn abating, thusThey spake: “Come thou alone; and let him goWho hath so hardily enter’d this realm.Alone return he by his witless way;If well he know it, let him prove. For thee,Here shalt thou tarry, who through clime so darkHast been his escort.” Now bethink thee, reader!What cheer was mine at sound of those curs’d words.I did believe I never should return.“O my lov’d guide! who more than seven timesSecurity hast render’d me, and drawnFrom peril deep, whereto I stood expos’d,Desert me not,” I cried, “in this extreme.And if our onward going be denied,Together trace we back our steps with speed.”My liege, who thither had conducted me,Replied: “Fear not: for of our passage noneHath power to disappoint us, by such highAuthority permitted. But do thouExpect me here; meanwhile thy wearied spiritComfort, and feed with kindly hope, assur’dI will not leave thee in this lower world.”This said, departs the sire benevolent,And quits me. Hesitating I remainAt war ’twixt will and will not in my thoughts.
I could not hear what terms he offer’d them,But they conferr’d not long, for all at onceTo trial fled within. Clos’d were the gatesBy those our adversaries on the breastOf my liege lord: excluded he return’dTo me with tardy steps. Upon the groundHis eyes were bent, and from his brow eras’dAll confidence, while thus with sighs he spake:“Who hath denied me these abodes of woe?”Then thus to me: “That I am anger’d, thinkNo ground of terror: in this trial IShall vanquish, use what arts they may withinFor hindrance. This their insolence, not new,Erewhile at gate less secret they display’d,Which still is without bolt; upon its archThou saw’st the deadly scroll: and even nowOn this side of its entrance, down the steep,Passing the circles, unescorted, comesOne whose strong might can open us this land.”