CANTO XIIThe place where to descend the precipiceWe came, was rough as Alp, and on its vergeSuch object lay, as every eye would shun.As is that ruin, which Adice’s streamOn this side Trento struck, should’ring the wave,Or loos’d by earthquake or for lack of prop;For from the mountain’s summit, whence it mov’dTo the low level, so the headlong rockIs shiver’d, that some passage it might giveTo him who from above would pass; e’en suchInto the chasm was that descent: and thereAt point of the disparted ridge lay stretch’dThe infamy of Crete, detested broodOf the feign’d heifer: and at sight of usIt gnaw’d itself, as one with rage distract.To him my guide exclaim’d: “Perchance thou deem’stThe King of Athens here, who, in the worldAbove, thy death contriv’d. Monster! avaunt!He comes not tutor’d by thy sister’s art,But to behold your torments is he come.”Like to a bull, that with impetuous springDarts, at the moment when the fatal blowHath struck him, but unable to proceedPlunges on either side; so saw I plungeThe Minotaur; whereat the sage exclaim’d:“Run to the passage! while he storms, ’t is wellThat thou descend.” Thus down our road we tookThrough those dilapidated crags, that oftMov’d underneath my feet, to weight like theirsUnus’d. I pond’ring went, and thus he spake:“Perhaps thy thoughts are of this ruin’d steep,Guarded by the brute violence, which IHave vanquish’d now. Know then, that when I erstHither descended to the nether hell,This rock was not yet fallen. But past doubt(If well I mark) not long ere He arrived,Who carried off from Dis the mighty spoilOf the highest circle, then through all its boundsSuch trembling seiz’d the deep concave and foul,I thought the universe was thrill’d with love,Whereby, there are who deem, the world hath oftBeen into chaos turn’d: and in that point,Here, and elsewhere, that old rock toppled down.But fix thine eyes beneath: the river of bloodApproaches, in the which all those are steep’d,Who have by violence injur’d.” O blind lust!O foolish wrath! who so dost goad us onIn the brief life, and in the eternal thenThus miserably o’erwhelm us. I beheldAn ample foss, that in a bow was bent,As circling all the plain; for so my guideHad told. Between it and the rampart’s baseOn trail ran Centaurs, with keen arrows arm’d,As to the chase they on the earth were wont.At seeing us descend they each one stood;And issuing from the troop, three sped with bowsAnd missile weapons chosen first; of whomOne cried from far: “Say to what pain ye comeCondemn’d, who down this steep have journied? SpeakFrom whence ye stand, or else the bow I draw.”To whom my guide: “Our answer shall be madeTo Chiron, there, when nearer him we come.Ill was thy mind, thus ever quick and rash.”Then me he touch’d, and spake: “Nessus is this,Who for the fair Deianira died,And wrought himself revenge for his own fate.He in the midst, that on his breast looks down,Is the great Chiron who Achilles nurs’d;That other Pholus, prone to wrath.” AroundThe foss these go by thousands, aiming shaftsAt whatsoever spirit dares emergeFrom out the blood, more than his guilt allows.We to those beasts, that rapid strode along,Drew near, when Chiron took an arrow forth,And with the notch push’d back his shaggy beardTo the cheek-bone, then his great mouth to viewExposing, to his fellows thus exclaim’d:“Are ye aware, that he who comes behindMoves what he touches? The feet of the deadAre not so wont.” My trusty guide, who nowStood near his breast, where the two natures join,Thus made reply: “He is indeed alive,And solitary so must needs by meBe shown the gloomy vale, thereto induc’dBy strict necessity, not by delight.She left her joyful harpings in the sky,Who this new office to my care consign’d.He is no robber, no dark spirit I.But by that virtue, which empowers my stepTo treat so wild a path, grant us, I pray,One of thy band, whom we may trust secure,Who to the ford may lead us, and conveyAcross, him mounted on his back; for heIs not a spirit that may walk the air.”Then on his right breast turning, Chiron thusTo Nessus spake: “Return, and be their guide.And if ye chance to cross another troop,Command them keep aloof.” Onward we mov’d,The faithful escort by our side, alongThe border of the crimson-seething flood,Whence from those steep’d within loud shrieks arose.Some there I mark’d, as high as to their browImmers’d, of whom the mighty Centaur thus:“These are the souls of tyrants, who were givenTo blood and rapine. Here they wail aloudTheir merciless wrongs. Here Alexander dwells,And Dionysius fell, who many a yearOf woe wrought for fair Sicily. That browWhereon the hair so jetty clust’ring hangs,Is Azzolino; that with flaxen locksObizzo’ of Este, in the world destroy’dBy his foul step-son.” To the bard rever’dI turned me round, and thus he spake; “Let himBe to thee now first leader, me but nextTo him in rank.” Then farther on a spaceThe Centaur paus’d, near some, who at the throatWere extant from the wave; and showing usA spirit by itself apart retir’d,Exclaim’d: “He in God’s bosom smote the heart,Which yet is honour’d on the bank of Thames.”A race I next espied, who held the head,And even all the bust above the stream.’Midst these I many a face remember’d well.Thus shallow more and more the blood became,So that at last it but imbru’d the feet;And there our passage lay athwart the foss.“As ever on this side the boiling waveThou seest diminishing,” the Centaur said,“So on the other, be thou well assur’d,It lower still and lower sinks its bed,Till in that part it reuniting join,Where ’t is the lot of tyranny to mourn.There Heav’n’s stern justice lays chastising handOn Attila, who was the scourge of earth,On Sextus, and on Pyrrhus, and extractsTears ever by the seething flood unlock’dFrom the Rinieri, of Corneto this,Pazzo the other nam’d, who fill’d the waysWith violence and war.” This said, he turn’d,And quitting us, alone repass’d the ford.
The place where to descend the precipiceWe came, was rough as Alp, and on its vergeSuch object lay, as every eye would shun.As is that ruin, which Adice’s streamOn this side Trento struck, should’ring the wave,Or loos’d by earthquake or for lack of prop;For from the mountain’s summit, whence it mov’dTo the low level, so the headlong rockIs shiver’d, that some passage it might giveTo him who from above would pass; e’en suchInto the chasm was that descent: and thereAt point of the disparted ridge lay stretch’dThe infamy of Crete, detested broodOf the feign’d heifer: and at sight of usIt gnaw’d itself, as one with rage distract.
To him my guide exclaim’d: “Perchance thou deem’stThe King of Athens here, who, in the worldAbove, thy death contriv’d. Monster! avaunt!He comes not tutor’d by thy sister’s art,But to behold your torments is he come.”Like to a bull, that with impetuous springDarts, at the moment when the fatal blowHath struck him, but unable to proceedPlunges on either side; so saw I plungeThe Minotaur; whereat the sage exclaim’d:“Run to the passage! while he storms, ’t is wellThat thou descend.” Thus down our road we tookThrough those dilapidated crags, that oftMov’d underneath my feet, to weight like theirsUnus’d. I pond’ring went, and thus he spake:“Perhaps thy thoughts are of this ruin’d steep,Guarded by the brute violence, which IHave vanquish’d now. Know then, that when I erstHither descended to the nether hell,This rock was not yet fallen. But past doubt(If well I mark) not long ere He arrived,Who carried off from Dis the mighty spoilOf the highest circle, then through all its boundsSuch trembling seiz’d the deep concave and foul,I thought the universe was thrill’d with love,Whereby, there are who deem, the world hath oftBeen into chaos turn’d: and in that point,Here, and elsewhere, that old rock toppled down.But fix thine eyes beneath: the river of bloodApproaches, in the which all those are steep’d,Who have by violence injur’d.” O blind lust!O foolish wrath! who so dost goad us onIn the brief life, and in the eternal thenThus miserably o’erwhelm us. I beheldAn ample foss, that in a bow was bent,As circling all the plain; for so my guideHad told. Between it and the rampart’s baseOn trail ran Centaurs, with keen arrows arm’d,As to the chase they on the earth were wont.
At seeing us descend they each one stood;And issuing from the troop, three sped with bowsAnd missile weapons chosen first; of whomOne cried from far: “Say to what pain ye comeCondemn’d, who down this steep have journied? SpeakFrom whence ye stand, or else the bow I draw.”To whom my guide: “Our answer shall be madeTo Chiron, there, when nearer him we come.Ill was thy mind, thus ever quick and rash.”Then me he touch’d, and spake: “Nessus is this,Who for the fair Deianira died,And wrought himself revenge for his own fate.He in the midst, that on his breast looks down,Is the great Chiron who Achilles nurs’d;That other Pholus, prone to wrath.” AroundThe foss these go by thousands, aiming shaftsAt whatsoever spirit dares emergeFrom out the blood, more than his guilt allows.
We to those beasts, that rapid strode along,Drew near, when Chiron took an arrow forth,And with the notch push’d back his shaggy beardTo the cheek-bone, then his great mouth to viewExposing, to his fellows thus exclaim’d:“Are ye aware, that he who comes behindMoves what he touches? The feet of the deadAre not so wont.” My trusty guide, who nowStood near his breast, where the two natures join,Thus made reply: “He is indeed alive,And solitary so must needs by meBe shown the gloomy vale, thereto induc’dBy strict necessity, not by delight.She left her joyful harpings in the sky,Who this new office to my care consign’d.He is no robber, no dark spirit I.But by that virtue, which empowers my stepTo treat so wild a path, grant us, I pray,One of thy band, whom we may trust secure,Who to the ford may lead us, and conveyAcross, him mounted on his back; for heIs not a spirit that may walk the air.”Then on his right breast turning, Chiron thusTo Nessus spake: “Return, and be their guide.And if ye chance to cross another troop,Command them keep aloof.” Onward we mov’d,The faithful escort by our side, alongThe border of the crimson-seething flood,Whence from those steep’d within loud shrieks arose.Some there I mark’d, as high as to their browImmers’d, of whom the mighty Centaur thus:“These are the souls of tyrants, who were givenTo blood and rapine. Here they wail aloudTheir merciless wrongs. Here Alexander dwells,And Dionysius fell, who many a yearOf woe wrought for fair Sicily. That browWhereon the hair so jetty clust’ring hangs,Is Azzolino; that with flaxen locksObizzo’ of Este, in the world destroy’dBy his foul step-son.” To the bard rever’dI turned me round, and thus he spake; “Let himBe to thee now first leader, me but nextTo him in rank.” Then farther on a spaceThe Centaur paus’d, near some, who at the throatWere extant from the wave; and showing usA spirit by itself apart retir’d,Exclaim’d: “He in God’s bosom smote the heart,Which yet is honour’d on the bank of Thames.”A race I next espied, who held the head,And even all the bust above the stream.’Midst these I many a face remember’d well.Thus shallow more and more the blood became,So that at last it but imbru’d the feet;And there our passage lay athwart the foss.“As ever on this side the boiling waveThou seest diminishing,” the Centaur said,“So on the other, be thou well assur’d,It lower still and lower sinks its bed,Till in that part it reuniting join,Where ’t is the lot of tyranny to mourn.There Heav’n’s stern justice lays chastising handOn Attila, who was the scourge of earth,On Sextus, and on Pyrrhus, and extractsTears ever by the seething flood unlock’dFrom the Rinieri, of Corneto this,Pazzo the other nam’d, who fill’d the waysWith violence and war.” This said, he turn’d,And quitting us, alone repass’d the ford.