Pape Plutus And that mild Sage, all-knowing, said to me, For my encouragement: ‘Pay no regard Unto thy fear; whatever power he sways Thy passage down this cliff shall not be barred.’ Then turning round to that inflamÈd face He bade: ‘Accursed wolf, And, pent within thee, let thy fury blaze. Down to the pit we journey not in vain: So rule they where by Michael in Heaven’s height On the adulterous pride Suddenly drag whenever snaps the mast; Such, falling to the ground, the monster’s plight. To the Fourth Cavern so we downward passed, Winning new reaches of the doleful shore Where all the vileness of the world is cast. Justice of God! which pilest more and more Pain as I saw, and travail manifold! Why will we sin, to be thus wasted sore? As at Charybdis waves are forward rolled To break on other billows midway met, The people here a counterdance must hold. A greater crowd than I had seen as yet, With piercing yells advanced on either track, Rolling great stones to which their chests were set. They crashed together, and then each turned back Upon the way he came, while shouts arise, ‘Why clutch it so?’ and ‘Why to hold it slack?’ In the dark circle wheeled they on this wise From either hand to the opposing part, Where evermore they raised insulting cries. Thither arrived, each, turning, made fresh start Through the half circle And I, stung almost to the very heart, Who the folk are? Were these all clerks Before us on the left, with shaven crown?’ And he replied: ‘All of them squinted so In mental vision while in life they were, They nothing spent by rule. And this they show, And with their yelping voices make appear When half-way round the circle they have sped, And sins opposing them asunder tear. Each wanting thatch of hair upon his head Was once a clerk, or pope, or cardinal, In whom abound the ripest growths of greed.’ And I: ‘O Master, surely among all Of these I ought Who by such filthy sins were held in thrall.’ And he to me: ‘Vain thoughts within thee rise; Their witless life, which made them vile, now mocks— Dimming These rising from the tomb at last shall stand With tight clenched fists, and those with ruined locks. Squandering or hoarding, they the happy land Have lost, and now are marshalled for this fray; Which to describe doth no fine words demand. Know hence, my Son, how fleeting is the play Of goods at the dispose of Fortune thrown, And which mankind to such fierce strife betray. Not all the gold which is beneath the moon Could purchase peace, nor all that ever was, To but one soul of these by toil undone.’ ‘Master,’ I said, ‘tell thou, ere making pause, Who Fortune is of whom thou speak’st askance, Who holds all worldly riches in her claws.’ ‘O foolish creatures, lost in ignorance!’ He answer made. ‘Now see that the reply Thou store, which I concerning her advance. He who in knowledge is exalted high, Framing That so each part might shine to all; whereby And likewise to one guide and governor, Of worldly splendours did control confide, That she in turns should different peoples dower With this vain good; from blood should make it pass To blood, in spite of human wit. Hence, power, Some races failing, |