The Divine Comedy (Illustrated Edition). Dante Alighieri

      For flames I saw, and wailings smote mine ear:

      So that all trembling close I crouch’d my limbs,

      And then distinguish’d, unperceiv’d before,

      By the dread torments that on every side

      Drew nearer, how our downward course we wound.

      As falcon, that hath long been on the wing,

      But lure nor bird hath seen, while in despair

      The falconer cries, “Ah me! thou stoop’st to earth!”

      Wearied descends, and swiftly down the sky

      In many an orbit wheels, then lighting sits

      At distance from his lord in angry mood;

      So Geryon lighting places us on foot

      Low down at base of the deep-furrow’d rock,

      And, of his burden there discharg’d, forthwith

      Sprang forward, like an arrow from the string.

      Footnotes

1 “The fell monster.” Fraud.

2 A purse, whereon the armorial bearings of each were emblazoned. According to Landino, our Poet implies that the usurer can pretend to no other honor than such as he derives from his purse and his family. The description of persons by their heraldic insignia is remarkable.

3 “A yellow purse.” The arms of the Gianfigliazzi of Florence.

4 The arms of the Ubbriachi, another Florentine family of high distinction.

5 The arms of the Scrovigni, a noble family of Padua.

6 Vitaliano del Dente, a Paduan.

7 Giovanni Bujamonti, the most infamous usurer of his time

      Canto XVIII

       Table of Contents

      ARGUMENT.—The Poet describes the situation and form of the eight circle, divided into ten gulfs, which contain as many different descriptions of fraudulent sinners; but in the present Canto he treats only of two sorts: the first is of those who, either for their own pleasure, or for that of another, have seduced any woman from her duty; and these are scourged of demons in the first gulf: the other sort is of flatterers, who in the second gulf are condemned to remain immersed in filth.

      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,1 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,

Venedico2 art thou. But what brings thee

      Into this bitter seasoning? “ 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