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INFERNO XV - Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy, Vol. 1 (Inferno) (Bilingual edition) [1321]

Edition used:

The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri. The Italian Text with a Translation in English Blank Verse and a Commentary by Courtney Langdon, vol. 1 (Inferno) (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1918).

Part of: The Divine Comedy, in 3 vols. (Langdon trans.)

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INFERNO XV

The Seventh Circle. The Third Ring

Violence against Nature. Sodomites

  • One of the hard embankments bears us now,
  • and overhead the brook’s mist shades them so,
  • that from the fire it saves the stream and banks.
  • Such bulwarks as, to keep the sea away,
  • the Flemings make between Witsand and Bruges,
  • through fearing lest the high-tide break upon them;
  • and as the Paduans make along the Brenta,
  • their villages and strongholds to defend,
  • ere Chiarentana feel the summer heat;
  • in such a way were those embankments made,
  • although the master did not make them there
  • so high or thick, whoe’er he may have been.
  • So far we were already from the wood,
  • that I could not have seen just where it was,
  • even had I turned around to look behind,
  • when we a band of spirits met, who came
  • along the bank, each one of whom looked hard
  • at us, as in the evening one is wont
  • to look at people, when the moon is new;
  • and toward us they were knitting close their brows,
  • as an old tailor at his needle’s eye.
  • When by that gathering I had thus been eyed,
  • one of them, who had recognized me, seizing
  • my garment’s hem, exclaimed: “How wonderful!”
  • And I, when toward me he had stretched his arm,
  • fastened upon his roasted face mine eyes,
  • so that, though blistered, it did not prevent
  • mine intellect from recognizing him;
  • and downward having bent my face toward his,
  • I answered him: “Are you here, Ser Brunetto?”
  • And that one: “O my son, be not displeased
  • should Brunetto Latini a little way
  • turn back with thee, and let the troop go on.”
  • “I beg you to with all my power;” said I,
  • “and if you ’d have me sit with you, I will,
  • if it please that one; for with him I go.”
  • “O son,” he said, “whoever of this herd
  • stands still at all, lies prone a hundred years,
  • nor shields himself when smitten by the fire.
  • Therefore go on; I ’ll follow at thy skirts,
  • and then I ’ll join again my company,
  • which goes bewailing its eternal loss.”
  • I dared not from the path descend, to go
  • upon his level there; but held my head
  • bowed down, like one who walks in reverence.
  • And he began: “What fortune or what fate
  • before thy last day leadeth thee down here,
  • and who is he that showeth thee the way?”
  • I answered him: “When in the life serene
  • up yonder, in a vale I lost my way,
  • before my age had rounded out its noon.
  • Thereon I turned my back but yestermorn;
  • this one, as I returned to it, appeared
  • to me, and o’er this path now leads me home.”
  • And he to me: “If thine own star thou follow,
  • thou canst not fail to reach a glorious port,
  • if in the lovely life I judged aright;
  • and had I not so prematurely died,
  • I, seeing Heaven so well disposed toward thee,
  • had given thee comfort in thy work. But that
  • ungrateful, wicked people, which of old
  • came down from Fièsolë, and which e’en now
  • smacks of the mountain and of hard grey stone,
  • for thy well-doing shall become thy foe;
  • and rightly, for among the acid sorbs
  • it is not fitting that sweet figs bear fruit.
  • An old fame in the world proclaims them blind,
  • a greedy, envious, overweening folk;
  • see to it that thou cleanse thee from their ways!
  • Thy fortune hath in store for thee such honor,
  • that either party shall be hungry for thee;
  • but distant from the goat shall be the grass.
  • Let, then, the beasts of Fièsolë make litter
  • with their own selves, nor let them touch the plant,
  • if on their dungheap any burgeon still,
  • in which the sacred seed may live again
  • of those old Romans who remained therein,
  • when of such wickedness the nest was made!”
  • “If perfectly fulfilled had been my prayer,”
  • I then replied to him, “you had not yet
  • been banished from the natural life of man;
  • for in my mind is fixed, and stirs e’en now
  • my heart, that dear and kind paternal face
  • you showed, when in the world from time to time
  • you taught me how man makes himself eternal;
  • and how much gratitude I feel for this,
  • must, while I live, be in my words perceived.
  • What of my course you tell, I write, and keep,
  • with other texts, for a Lady to explain,
  • who can, if ever I attain to her.
  • I only wish that this be clear to you,
  • that I, if but my conscience chide me not,
  • am ready for whatever Fortune wills.
  • Not new unto mine ears is such reward;
  • hence, as she lists, let Fortune turn her wheel,
  • and let the country clown his mattock ply!”
  • Thereat my Teacher over his right cheek
  • turned back, and looked at me; and then he said:
  • “He listens well, who giveth heed to this.”
  • Nor speaking less do I, on this account,
  • go on with Ser Brunetto, asking who
  • his fellows were, of greatest note and rank.
  • And he to me: ’T is well to know of some;
  • our silence on the rest will merit praise,
  • for short the time were for so long a talk.
  • Know then, in brief, that clerics were they all,
  • and mighty men of letters of great fame,
  • soiled by the self same sin when in the world.
  • And with that sad crowd yonder Priscian goes,
  • and Francis of Accorso, too; and him,
  • if thou hadst had a longing for such scurf,
  • thou couldst have seen there, whom the servants’ Servant
  • changed from the Arno to the Bacchigliònë,
  • where he behind him left his ill-strained nerves.
  • I ’d speak of more; but I can come and talk
  • no further, for a new dust-cloud I see
  • rising o’er yonder from the sandy plain.
  • People, with whom I must not be, are coming;
  • let my Tesoro, in which I ’m still alive,
  • be recommended thee; I ask no more.”
  • Then round he turned, and seemed to be of those
  • who at Verona run across the meadow
  • to win the green cloth; and of these he seemed
  • not he who loses, but the one who wins.