The Divine Comedy. Данте Алигьери

XVIII

      There is a place within the depths of hell

      Call'd Malebolge, all of rock dark-stain'd

      With hue ferruginous, e'en as the steep

      That round it circling winds. Right in the midst

      Of that abominable region, yawns

      A spacious gulf profound, whereof the frame

      Due time shall tell. The circle, that remains,

      Throughout its round, between the gulf and base

      Of the high craggy banks, successive forms

      Ten trenches, in its hollow bottom sunk.

      As where to guard the walls, full many a foss

      Begirds some stately castle, sure defence

      Affording to the space within, so here

      Were model'd these; and as like fortresses

      E'en from their threshold to the brink without,

      Are flank'd with bridges; from the rock's low base

      Thus flinty paths advanc'd, that 'cross the moles

      And dikes, struck onward far as to the gulf,

      That in one bound collected cuts them off.

      Such was the place, wherein we found ourselves

      From Geryon's back dislodg'd. The bard to left

      Held on his way, and I behind him mov'd.

      On our right hand new misery I saw,

      New pains, new executioners of wrath,

      That swarming peopled the first chasm. Below

      Were naked sinners. Hitherward they came,

      Meeting our faces from the middle point,

      With us beyond but with a larger stride.

      E'en thus the Romans, when the year returns

      Of Jubilee, with better speed to rid

      The thronging multitudes, their means devise

      For such as pass the bridge; that on one side

      All front toward the castle, and approach

      Saint Peter's fane, on th' other towards the mount.

      Each divers way along the grisly rock,

      Horn'd demons I beheld, with lashes huge,

      That on their back unmercifully smote.

      Ah! how they made them bound at the first stripe!

      None for the second waited nor the third.

      Meantime as on I pass'd, one met my sight

      Whom soon as view'd; “Of him,” cried I, “not yet

      Mine eye hath had his fill.” With fixed gaze

      I therefore scann'd him. Straight the teacher kind

      Paus'd with me, and consented I should walk

      Backward a space, and the tormented spirit,

      Who thought to hide him, bent his visage down.

      But it avail'd him nought; for I exclaim'd:

      “Thou who dost cast thy eye upon the ground,

      Unless thy features do belie thee much,

      Venedico art thou. But what brings thee

      Into this bitter seas'ning?” He replied:

      “Unwillingly I answer to thy words.

      But thy clear speech, that to my mind recalls

      The world I once inhabited, constrains me.

      Know then 'twas I who led fair Ghisola

      To do the Marquis' will, however fame

      The shameful tale have bruited. Nor alone

      Bologna hither sendeth me to mourn

      Rather with us the place is so o'erthrong'd

      That not so many tongues this day are taught,

      Betwixt the Reno and Savena's stream,

      To answer SIPA in their country's phrase.

      And if of that securer proof thou need,

      Remember but our craving thirst for gold.”

      Him speaking thus, a demon with his thong

      Struck, and exclaim'd, “Away! corrupter! here

      Women are none for sale.” Forthwith I join'd

      My escort, and few paces thence we came

      To where a rock forth issued from the bank.

      That easily ascended, to the right

      Upon its splinter turning, we depart

      From those eternal barriers. When arriv'd,

      Where underneath the gaping arch lets pass

      The scourged souls: “Pause here,” the teacher said,

      “And let these others miserable, now

      Strike on thy ken, faces not yet beheld,

      For that together they with us have walk'd.”

      From the old bridge we ey'd the pack, who came

      From th' other side towards us, like the rest,

      Excoriate from the lash. My gentle guide,

      By me unquestion'd, thus his speech resum'd:

      “Behold that lofty shade, who this way tends,

      And seems too woe-begone to drop a tear.

      How yet the regal aspect he retains!

      Jason is he, whose skill and prowess won

      The ram from Colchos. To the Lemnian isle

      His passage thither led him, when those bold

      And pitiless women had slain all their males.

      There he with tokens and fair witching words

      Hypsipyle beguil'd, a virgin young,

      Who first had all the rest herself beguil'd.

      Impregnated he left her there forlorn.

      Such is the guilt condemns him to this pain.

      Here too Medea's inj'ries are avenged.

      All bear him company, who like deceit

      To his have practis'd. And thus much to know

      Of the first vale suffice thee, and of those

      Whom its keen torments urge.” Now had we come

      Where, crossing the next pier, the straighten'd path

      Bestrides its shoulders to another arch.

      Hence in the second chasm we heard the ghosts,

      Who jibber in low melancholy sounds,

      With wide-stretch'd nostrils snort, and on themselves

      Smite with their palms. Upon the banks a scurf

      From the foul steam condens'd, encrusting hung,

      That held sharp combat with the sight and smell.

      So hollow is the depth, that from no part,

      Save on the summit of the rocky span,

      Could I distinguish aught. Thus far we came;

      And thence I saw, within the foss below,

      A crowd immers'd in ordure, that appear'd

      Draff of the human body. There beneath

      Searching with eye inquisitive, I mark'd

      One with his head so grim'd, 'twere hard to deem,

      If