Divine Comedy, Cary's Translation, Hell · Dante Alighieri
CANTO XII
“Perhaps thy thoughts are of this ruin’d steep, Guarded by the brute violence, which I Have vanquish’d now. Know then, that when I erst Hither descended to the nether hell, This rock was not yet fallen. But past doubt (If well I mark) not long ere He arrived, Who carried off from Dis the mighty spoil Of the highest circle, then through all its bounds Such trembling seiz’d the deep concave and foul, I thought the universe was thrill’d with love, Whereby, there are who deem, the world hath oft Been into chaos turn’d: and in that point, Here, and elsewhere, that old rock toppled down. But fix thine eyes beneath: the river of blood Approaches, in the which all those are steep’d, Who have by violence injur’d.” O blind lust! O foolish wrath! who so dost goad us on In the brief life, and in the eternal then Thus miserably o’erwhelm us. I beheld An ample foss, that in a bow was bent, As circling all the plain; for so my guide Had told. Between it and the rampart’s base On trail ran Centaurs, with keen arrows arm’d, As to the chase they on the earth were wont. At seeing us descend they each one stood; And issuing from the troop, three sped with bows And missile weapons chosen first; of whom One cried from far: “Say to what pain ye come Condemn’d, who down this steep have journied? Speak From whence ye stand, or else the bow I draw.”
To whom my guide: “Our answer shall be made To Chiron, there, when nearer him we come. Ill was thy mind, thus ever quick and rash.” Then me he touch’d, and spake: “Nessus is this, Who for the fair Deianira died, And wrought himself revenge for his own fate. He in the midst, that on his breast looks down, Is the great Chiron who Achilles nurs’d; That other Pholus, prone to wrath.” Around The foss these go by thousands, aiming shafts At whatsoever spirit dares emerge From out the blood, more than his guilt allows. We to those beasts, that rapid strode along, Drew near, when Chiron took an arrow forth, And with the notch push’d back his shaggy beard To the cheek-bone, then his great mouth to view Exposing, to his fellows thus exclaim’d: “Are ye aware, that he who comes behind Moves what he touches? The feet of the dead Are not so wont.” My trusty guide, who now Stood near his breast, where the two natures join, Thus made reply: “He is indeed alive, And solitary so must needs by me Be shown the gloomy vale, thereto induc’d By strict necessity, not by delight. She left her joyful harpings in the sky, Who this new office to my care consign’d. He is no robber, no dark spirit I. But by that virtue, which empowers my step To treat so wild a path, grant us, I pray, One of thy band, whom we may trust secure, Who to the ford may lead us, and convey Across, him mounted on his back; for he Is not a spirit that may walk the air.”
Then on his right breast turning, Chiron thus To Nessus spake: “Return, and be their guide. And if ye chance to cross another troop, Command them keep aloof.” Onward we mov’d, The faithful escort by our side, along The border of the crimson-seething flood, Whence from those steep’d within loud shrieks arose. Some there I mark’d, as high as to their brow Immers’d, of whom the mighty Centaur thus: “These are the souls of tyrants, who were given To blood and rapine. Here they wail aloud Their merciless wrongs. Here Alexander dwells, And Dionysius fell, who many a year Of woe wrought for fair Sicily. That brow Whereon the hair so jetty clust’ring hangs, Is Azzolino; that with flaxen locks Obizzo’ of Este, in the world destroy’d By his foul step-son.” To the bard rever’d I turned me round, and thus he spake; “Let him Be to thee now first leader, me but next To him in rank.” Then farther on a space The Centaur paus’d, near some, who at the throat Were extant from the wave; and showing us A spirit by itself apart retir’d, Exclaim’d: “He in God’s bosom smote the heart, Which yet is honour’d on the bank of Thames.” A race I next espied, who held the head, And even all the bust above the stream. ’Midst these I many a face remember’d well. Thus shallow more and more the blood became, So that at last it but imbru’d the feet; And there our passage lay athwart the foss.
“As ever on this side the boiling wave Thou seest diminishing,” the Centaur said, “So on the other, be thou well assur’d, It lower still and lower sinks its bed, Till in that part it reuniting join, Where ’t is the lot of tyranny to mourn. There Heav’n’s stern justice lays chastising hand On Attila, who was the scourge of earth, On Sextus, and on Pyrrhus, and extracts Tears ever by the seething flood unlock’d From the Rinieri, of Corneto this, Pazzo the other nam’d, who fill’d the ways With violence and war.” This said, he turn’d, And quitting us, alone repass’d the ford.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.