Inferno. Данте Алигьери

sound of the angelic trumpet;

      When shall approach the hostile Potentate,

      Each one shall find again his dismal tomb,

      Shall reassume his flesh and his own figure,

      Shall hear what through eternity re-echoes.”

      So we passed onward o’er the filthy mixture

      Of shadows and of rain with footsteps slow,

      Touching a little on the future life.

      Wherefore I said: “Master, these torments here,

      Will they increase after the mighty sentence,

      Or lesser be, or will they be as burning?”

      And he to me: “Return unto thy science,

      Which wills, that as the thing more perfect is,

      The more it feels of pleasure and of pain.

      Albeit that this people maledict

      To true perfection never can attain,

      Hereafter more than now they look to be.”

      Round in a circle by that road we went,

      Speaking much more, which I do not repeat;

      We came unto the point where the descent is;

      There we found Plutus the great enemy.

CANTO VII

      “Pape Satan, Pape Satan, Aleppe!”

      Thus Plutus with his clucking voice began;

      And that benignant Sage, who all things knew,

      Said, to encourage me: “Let not thy fear

      Harm thee; for any power that he may have

      Shall not prevent thy going down this crag.”

      Then he turned round unto that bloated lip,

      And said: “Be silent, thou accursed wolf;

      Consume within thyself with thine own rage.

      Not causeless is this journey to the abyss;

      Thus is it willed on high, where Michael wrought

      Vengeance upon the proud adultery.”

      Even as the sails inflated by the wind

      Involved together fall when snaps the mast,

      So fell the cruel monster to the earth.

      Thus we descended into the fourth chasm,

      Gaining still farther on the dolesome shore

      Which all the woe of the universe in sacks.

      Justice of God, ah! who heaps up so many

      New toils and sufferings as I beheld?

      And why doth our transgression waste us so?

      As doth the billow there upon Charybdis,

      That breaks itself on that which it encounters,

      So here the folk must dance their roundelay.

      Here saw I people, more than elsewhere, many,

      On one side and the other, with great howls,

      Rolling weights forward by main force of chest.

      They clashed together, and then at that point

      Each one turned backward, rolling retrograde,

      Crying, “Why keepest?” and, “Why squanderest thou?”

      Thus they returned along the lurid circle

      On either hand unto the opposite point,

      Shouting their shameful metre evermore.

      Then each, when he arrived there, wheeled about

      Through his half-circle to another joust;

      And I, who had my heart pierced as it were,

      Exclaimed: “My Master, now declare to me

      What people these are, and if all were clerks,

      These shaven crowns upon the left of us.”

      And he to me: “All of them were asquint

      In intellect in the first life, so much

      That there with measure they no spending made.

      Clearly enough their voices bark it forth,

      Whene’er they reach the two points of the circle,

      Where sunders them the opposite defect.

      Clerks those were who no hairy covering

      Have on the head, and Popes and Cardinals,

      In whom doth Avarice practise its excess.”

      And I: “My Master, among such as these

      I ought forsooth to recognise some few,

      Who were infected with these maladies.”

      And he to me: “Vain thought thou entertainest;

      The undiscerning life which made them sordid

      Now makes them unto all discernment dim.

      Forever shall they come to these two buttings;

      These from the sepulchre shall rise again

      With the fist closed, and these with tresses shorn.

      Ill giving and ill keeping the fair world

      Have ta’en from them, and placed them in this scuffle;

      Whate’er it be, no words adorn I for it.

      Now canst thou, Son, behold the transient farce

      Of goods that are committed unto Fortune,

      For which the human race each other buffet;

      For all the gold that is beneath the moon,

      Or ever has been, of these weary souls

      Could never make a single one repose.”

      “Master,” I said to him, “now tell me also

      What is this Fortune which thou speakest of,

      That has the world’s goods so within its clutches?”

      And he to me: “O creatures imbecile,

      What ignorance is this which doth beset you?

      Now will I have thee learn my judgment of her.

      He whose omniscience everything transcends

      The heavens created, and gave who should guide them,

      That every part to every part may shine,

      Distributing the light in equal measure;

      He in like manner to the mundane splendours

      Ordained a general ministress and guide,

      That she might change at times the empty treasures

      From race to race, from one blood to another,

      Beyond resistance of all human wisdom.

      Therefore one people triumphs, and another

      Languishes, in pursuance of her judgment,

      Which hidden is, as in the grass a serpent.

      Your knowledge has no counterstand against her;

      She makes provision, judges, and pursues

      Her