CANTO XVINow came I where the water’s din was heard,As down it fell into the other round,Resounding like the hum of swarming bees:When forth together issu’d from a troop,That pass’d beneath the fierce tormenting storm,Three spirits, running swift. They towards us came,And each one cried aloud, “Oh do thou stay!Whom by the fashion of thy garb we deemTo be some inmate of our evil land.”Ah me! what wounds I mark’d upon their limbs,Recent and old, inflicted by the flames!E’en the remembrance of them grieves me yet.Attentive to their cry my teacher paus’d,And turn’d to me his visage, and then spake;“Wait now! our courtesy these merit well:And were ’t not for the nature of the place,Whence glide the fiery darts, I should have said,That haste had better suited thee than them.”They, when we stopp’d, resum’d their ancient wail,And soon as they had reach’d us, all the threeWhirl’d round together in one restless wheel.As naked champions, smear’d with slippery oil,Are wont intent to watch their place of holdAnd vantage, ere in closer strife they meet;Thus each one, as he wheel’d, his countenanceAt me directed, so that oppositeThe neck mov’d ever to the twinkling feet.“If misery of this drear wilderness,”Thus one began, “added to our sad cheerAnd destitute, do call forth scorn on usAnd our entreaties, let our great renownIncline thee to inform us who thou art,That dost imprint with living feet unharm’dThe soil of Hell. He, in whose track thou see’stMy steps pursuing, naked though he beAnd reft of all, was of more high estateThan thou believest; grandchild of the chasteGualdrada, him they Guidoguerra call’d,Who in his lifetime many a noble actAchiev’d, both by his wisdom and his sword.The other, next to me that beats the sand,Is Aldobrandi, name deserving well,In the upper world, of honour; and myselfWho in this torment do partake with them,Am Rusticucci, whom, past doubt, my wifeOf savage temper, more than aught besideHath to this evil brought.” If from the fireI had been shelter’d, down amidst them straightI then had cast me, nor my guide, I deem,Would have restrain’d my going; but that fearOf the dire burning vanquish’d the desire,Which made me eager of their wish’d embrace.I then began: “Not scorn, but grief much more,Such as long time alone can cure, your doomFix’d deep within me, soon as this my lordSpake words, whose tenour taught me to expectThat such a race, as ye are, was at hand.I am a countryman of yours, who stillAffectionate have utter’d, and have heardYour deeds and names renown’d. Leaving the gallFor the sweet fruit I go, that a sure guideHath promis’d to me. But behooves, that farAs to the centre first I downward tend.”“So may long space thy spirit guide thy limbs,”He answer straight return’d; “and so thy fameShine bright, when thou art gone; as thou shalt tell,If courtesy and valour, as they wont,Dwell in our city, or have vanish’d clean?For one amidst us late condemn’d to wail,Borsiere, yonder walking with his peers,Grieves us no little by the news he brings.”“An upstart multitude and sudden gains,Pride and excess, O Florence! have in theeEngender’d, so that now in tears thou mourn’st!”Thus cried I with my face uprais’d, and theyAll three, who for an answer took my words,Look’d at each other, as men look when truthComes to their ear. “If thou at other times,”They all at once rejoin’d, “so easilySatisfy those, who question, happy thou,Gifted with words, so apt to speak thy thought!Wherefore if thou escape this darksome clime,Returning to behold the radiant stars,When thou with pleasure shalt retrace the past,See that of us thou speak among mankind.”This said, they broke the circle, and so swiftFled, that as pinions seem’d their nimble feet.Not in so short a time might one have said“Amen,” as they had vanish’d. Straight my guidePursu’d his track. I follow’d; and small spaceHad we pass’d onward, when the water’s soundWas now so near at hand, that we had scarceHeard one another’s speech for the loud din.E’en as the river, that holds on its courseUnmingled, from the mount of Vesulo,On the left side of Apennine, towardThe east, which Acquacheta higher upThey call, ere it descend into the vale,At Forli by that name no longer known,Rebellows o’er Saint Benedict, roll’d onFrom the Alpine summit down a precipice,Where space enough to lodge a thousand spreads;Thus downward from a craggy steep we found,That this dark wave resounded, roaring loud,So that the ear its clamour soon had stunn’d.I had a cord that brac’d my girdle round,Wherewith I erst had thought fast bound to takeThe painted leopard. This when I had allUnloosen’d from me (so my master bade)I gather’d up, and stretch’d it forth to him.Then to the right he turn’d, and from the brinkStanding few paces distant, cast it downInto the deep abyss. “And somewhat strange,”Thus to myself I spake, “signal so strangeBetokens, which my guide with earnest eyeThus follows.” Ah! what caution must men useWith those who look not at the deed alone,But spy into the thoughts with subtle skill!“Quickly shall come,” he said, “what I expect,Thine eye discover quickly, that whereofThy thought is dreaming.” Ever to that truth,Which but the semblance of a falsehood wears,A man, if possible, should bar his lip;Since, although blameless, he incurs reproach.But silence here were vain; and by these notesWhich now I sing, reader! I swear to thee,So may they favour find to latest times!That through the gross and murky air I spiedA shape come swimming up, that might have quell’dThe stoutest heart with wonder, in such guiseAs one returns, who hath been down to looseAn anchor grappled fast against some rock,Or to aught else that in the salt wave lies,Who upward springing close draws in his feet.
Now came I where the water’s din was heard,As down it fell into the other round,Resounding like the hum of swarming bees:When forth together issu’d from a troop,That pass’d beneath the fierce tormenting storm,Three spirits, running swift. They towards us came,And each one cried aloud, “Oh do thou stay!Whom by the fashion of thy garb we deemTo be some inmate of our evil land.”Ah me! what wounds I mark’d upon their limbs,Recent and old, inflicted by the flames!E’en the remembrance of them grieves me yet.Attentive to their cry my teacher paus’d,And turn’d to me his visage, and then spake;“Wait now! our courtesy these merit well:And were ’t not for the nature of the place,Whence glide the fiery darts, I should have said,That haste had better suited thee than them.”They, when we stopp’d, resum’d their ancient wail,And soon as they had reach’d us, all the threeWhirl’d round together in one restless wheel.As naked champions, smear’d with slippery oil,Are wont intent to watch their place of holdAnd vantage, ere in closer strife they meet;Thus each one, as he wheel’d, his countenanceAt me directed, so that oppositeThe neck mov’d ever to the twinkling feet.“If misery of this drear wilderness,”Thus one began, “added to our sad cheerAnd destitute, do call forth scorn on usAnd our entreaties, let our great renownIncline thee to inform us who thou art,That dost imprint with living feet unharm’dThe soil of Hell. He, in whose track thou see’stMy steps pursuing, naked though he beAnd reft of all, was of more high estateThan thou believest; grandchild of the chasteGualdrada, him they Guidoguerra call’d,Who in his lifetime many a noble actAchiev’d, both by his wisdom and his sword.The other, next to me that beats the sand,Is Aldobrandi, name deserving well,In the upper world, of honour; and myselfWho in this torment do partake with them,Am Rusticucci, whom, past doubt, my wifeOf savage temper, more than aught besideHath to this evil brought.” If from the fireI had been shelter’d, down amidst them straightI then had cast me, nor my guide, I deem,Would have restrain’d my going; but that fearOf the dire burning vanquish’d the desire,Which made me eager of their wish’d embrace.I then began: “Not scorn, but grief much more,Such as long time alone can cure, your doomFix’d deep within me, soon as this my lordSpake words, whose tenour taught me to expectThat such a race, as ye are, was at hand.I am a countryman of yours, who stillAffectionate have utter’d, and have heardYour deeds and names renown’d. Leaving the gallFor the sweet fruit I go, that a sure guideHath promis’d to me. But behooves, that farAs to the centre first I downward tend.”“So may long space thy spirit guide thy limbs,”He answer straight return’d; “and so thy fameShine bright, when thou art gone; as thou shalt tell,If courtesy and valour, as they wont,Dwell in our city, or have vanish’d clean?For one amidst us late condemn’d to wail,Borsiere, yonder walking with his peers,Grieves us no little by the news he brings.”“An upstart multitude and sudden gains,Pride and excess, O Florence! have in theeEngender’d, so that now in tears thou mourn’st!”Thus cried I with my face uprais’d, and theyAll three, who for an answer took my words,Look’d at each other, as men look when truthComes to their ear. “If thou at other times,”They all at once rejoin’d, “so easilySatisfy those, who question, happy thou,Gifted with words, so apt to speak thy thought!Wherefore if thou escape this darksome clime,Returning to behold the radiant stars,When thou with pleasure shalt retrace the past,See that of us thou speak among mankind.”This said, they broke the circle, and so swiftFled, that as pinions seem’d their nimble feet.Not in so short a time might one have said“Amen,” as they had vanish’d. Straight my guidePursu’d his track. I follow’d; and small spaceHad we pass’d onward, when the water’s soundWas now so near at hand, that we had scarceHeard one another’s speech for the loud din.E’en as the river, that holds on its courseUnmingled, from the mount of Vesulo,On the left side of Apennine, towardThe east, which Acquacheta higher upThey call, ere it descend into the vale,At Forli by that name no longer known,Rebellows o’er Saint Benedict, roll’d onFrom the Alpine summit down a precipice,Where space enough to lodge a thousand spreads;Thus downward from a craggy steep we found,That this dark wave resounded, roaring loud,So that the ear its clamour soon had stunn’d.I had a cord that brac’d my girdle round,Wherewith I erst had thought fast bound to takeThe painted leopard. This when I had allUnloosen’d from me (so my master bade)I gather’d up, and stretch’d it forth to him.Then to the right he turn’d, and from the brinkStanding few paces distant, cast it downInto the deep abyss. “And somewhat strange,”Thus to myself I spake, “signal so strangeBetokens, which my guide with earnest eyeThus follows.” Ah! what caution must men useWith those who look not at the deed alone,But spy into the thoughts with subtle skill!“Quickly shall come,” he said, “what I expect,Thine eye discover quickly, that whereofThy thought is dreaming.” Ever to that truth,Which but the semblance of a falsehood wears,A man, if possible, should bar his lip;Since, although blameless, he incurs reproach.But silence here were vain; and by these notesWhich now I sing, reader! I swear to thee,So may they favour find to latest times!That through the gross and murky air I spiedA shape come swimming up, that might have quell’dThe stoutest heart with wonder, in such guiseAs one returns, who hath been down to looseAn anchor grappled fast against some rock,Or to aught else that in the salt wave lies,Who upward springing close draws in his feet.