The bridle of another sound shall be ; I think that thou wilt hear it, as I judge, And people thou wilt see before us sitting, I looked before me, and saw shades with mantles 66 I heard a cry of, "Mary, pray for us! A man so hard, that he would not be pierced That manifest to me their acts became, And one sustained the other with his shoulder, Stand at the doors of churches asking alms, Not only at the accent of their words, So to the shades, of whom just now I spake, And sews them up, as to a sparhawk wild To me it seemed, in passing, to do outrage, But said: "Speak, and be brief, and to the point." I had Virgilius upon that side Of the embankment from which one may fall, Upon the other side of me I had The shades devout, who through the horrible seam To them I turned me, and, "O people, certain," Upon your consciences, that limpidly And 'twill perchance be good for him I learn it." "O brother mine, each one is citizen Of one true city; but thy meaning is, Who may have lived in Italy a pilgrim." By way of answer this I seemed to hear A little farther on than where I stood, Whereat I made myself still nearer heard. Among the rest I saw a shade that waited In aspect, and should any one ask how, Its chin it lifted upward like a blind man. "Spirit," I said, "who stoopest to ascend, If thou art he who did reply to me, Make thyself known to me by place or name." "Sienese was I," it replied, " and with The others here recleanse my guilty life, Sapient I was not, although I Sapia Was called, and I was at another's harm More happy far than at my own good fortune. And that thou mayst not think that I deceive thee, My fellow-citizens near unto Colle Were joined in battle with their adversaries, Passes of flight; and I, the chase beholding, Crying to God, 'Henceforth I fear thee not,' Of my existence, and as yet would not Had it not been that in remembrance held me But who art thou, that into our conditions Questioning goest, and hast thine eyes unbound My soul is, of the torment underneath, For even now the load down there weighs on me.” Up here, if to return below thou thinkest?" And living am I ; therefore ask of me, Spirit elect, if thou wouldst have me move "O, this is such a novel thing to hear, 130 135 140 145 She answered, “ that great sign it is God loves thee; And I implore, by what thou most desirest, Who hope in Talamone, and will lose there 150 CANTO XIV. "WHO is this one that goes about our mountain, Ask him thyself, for thou art nearer to him, Discourse about me there on the right hand; Within the body, tow'rds the heaven art going, Whence comest and who art thou; for thou mak'st us As must a thing that never yet has been.” 5 ΙΟ 15 And I "Through midst of Tuscany there wanders And not a hundred miles of course suffice it; To tell you who I am were speech in vain, Because my name as yet makes no great noise." "If well thy meaning I can penetrate With intellect of mine," then answered me This one the appellation of that river, Of what the heaven doth of the sea dry up, Virtue is like an enemy avoided By all, as is a serpent, through misfortune Of place, or through bad habit that impels them; On which account have so transformed their nature The dwellers in that miserable valley, It seems that Circe had them in her pasture. 'Mid ugly swine, of acorns worthier Than other food for human use created, It first directeth its impoverished way. Curs findeth it thereafter, coming downward, More snarling than their puissance demands, And turns from them disdainfully its muzzle. It goes on falling, and the more it grows, The more it finds the dogs becoming wolves, It finds the foxes so replete with fraud, And well 'twill be for him, if still he mind him Thy grandson I behold, who doth become He sells their flesh, it being yet alive; Thereafter slaughters them like ancient beeves; The face of him who listens is disturbed, Turned round to listen, grow disturbed and sad, The speech of one and aspect of the other Had me desirous made to know their names, Began again: “Thou wishest I should bring me Such grace of his, I'll not be chary with thee; My blood was so with envy set on fire, That if I had beheld a man make merry, Thou wouldst have seen me sprinkled o'er with pallor. From my own sowing such the straw I reap! O human race! why dost thou set thy heart Of the house of Calboli, where no one since And not alone his blood is made devoid, 'Twixt Po and mount, and sea-shore and the Reno, For all within these boundaries is full Of venomous roots, so that too tardily By cultivation now would they diminish. Where is good Lizio, and Arrigo Manardi, Pier Traversaro, and Guido di Carpigna, When in Faenza a Bernardin di Fosco, When I remember, with Guido da Prata, |