Inferno. Данте Алигьери

permutations have not any truce;

      Necessity makes her precipitate,

      So often cometh who his turn obtains.

      And this is she who is so crucified

      Even by those who ought to give her praise,

      Giving her blame amiss, and bad repute.

      But she is blissful, and she hears it not;

      Among the other primal creatures gladsome

      She turns her sphere, and blissful she rejoices.

      Let us descend now unto greater woe;

      Already sinks each star that was ascending

      When I set out, and loitering is forbidden.”

      We crossed the circle to the other bank,

      Near to a fount that boils, and pours itself

      Along a gully that runs out of it.

      The water was more sombre far than perse;

      And we, in company with the dusky waves,

      Made entrance downward by a path uncouth.

      A marsh it makes, which has the name of Styx,

      This tristful brooklet, when it has descended

      Down to the foot of the malign gray shores.

      And I, who stood intent upon beholding,

      Saw people mud-besprent in that lagoon,

      All of them naked and with angry look.

      They smote each other not alone with hands,

      But with the head and with the breast and feet,

      Tearing each other piecemeal with their teeth.

      Said the good Master: “Son, thou now beholdest

      The souls of those whom anger overcame;

      And likewise I would have thee know for certain

      Beneath the water people are who sigh

      And make this water bubble at the surface,

      As the eye tells thee wheresoe’er it turns.

      Fixed in the mire they say, ‘We sullen were

      In the sweet air, which by the sun is gladdened,

      Bearing within ourselves the sluggish reek;

      Now we are sullen in this sable mire.’

      This hymn do they keep gurgling in their throats,

      For with unbroken words they cannot say it.”

      Thus we went circling round the filthy fen

      A great arc ’twixt the dry bank and the swamp,

      With eyes turned unto those who gorge the mire;

      Unto the foot of a tower we came at last.

CANTO VIII

      I say, continuing, that long before

      We to the foot of that high tower had come,

      Our eyes went upward to the summit of it,

      By reason of two flamelets we saw placed there,

      And from afar another answer them,

      So far, that hardly could the eye attain it.

      And, to the sea of all discernment turned,

      I said: “What sayeth this, and what respondeth

      That other fire? and who are they that made it?”

      And he to me: “Across the turbid waves

      What is expected thou canst now discern,

      If reek of the morass conceal it not.”

      Cord never shot an arrow from itself

      That sped away athwart the air so swift,

      As I beheld a very little boat

      Come o’er the water tow’rds us at that moment,

      Under the guidance of a single pilot,

      Who shouted, “Now art thou arrived, fell soul?”

      “Phlegyas, Phlegyas, thou criest out in vain

      For this once,” said my Lord; “thou shalt not have us

      Longer than in the passing of the slough.”

      As he who listens to some great deceit

      That has been done to him, and then resents it,

      Such became Phlegyas, in his gathered wrath.

      My Guide descended down into the boat,

      And then he made me enter after him,

      And only when I entered seemed it laden.

      Soon as the Guide and I were in the boat,

      The antique prow goes on its way, dividing

      More of the water than ’tis wont with others.

      While we were running through the dead canal,

      Uprose in front of me one full of mire,

      And said, “Who ’rt thou that comest ere the hour?”

      And I to him: “Although I come, I stay not;

      But who art thou that hast become so squalid?”

      “Thou seest that I am one who weeps,” he answered.

      And I to him: “With weeping and with wailing,

      Thou spirit maledict, do thou remain;

      For thee I know, though thou art all defiled.”

      Then stretched he both his hands unto the boat;

      Whereat my wary Master thrust him back,

      Saying, “Away there with the other dogs!”

      Thereafter with his arms he clasped my neck;

      He kissed my face, and said: “Disdainful soul,

      Blessed be she who bore thee in her bosom.

      That was an arrogant person in the world;

      Goodness is none, that decks his memory;

      So likewise here his shade is furious.

      How many are esteemed great kings up there,

      Who here shall be like unto swine in mire,

      Leaving behind them horrible dispraises!”

      And I: “My Master, much should I be pleased,

      If I could see him soused into this broth,

      Before we issue forth out of the lake.”

      And he to me: “Ere unto thee the shore

      Reveal itself, thou shalt be satisfied;

      Such a desire ’tis meet thou shouldst enjoy.”

      A little after that, I saw such havoc

      Made of him by the people of the mire,

      That still I praise and thank my God for it.

      They all were shouting, “At Philippo Argenti!”

      And that exasperate spirit Florentine

      Turned round upon himself with his own teeth.

      We left him there, and more of him I tell not;

      But