O Simon Magus! The gifts of God, ordained to be the bride Of righteousness, ye prostitute that you With gold and silver may be satisfied; Therefore for you let now the trumpet Seeing that ye in the Third Bolgia ’bide. Arrived at the next tomb, Of rock ere this had finished our ascent, Which hangs true plumb above the pit below. What perfect art, O Thou Omniscient, Is Thine in Heaven and earth and the bad world found! How justly does Thy power its dooms invent! The livid stone, on both banks and the ground, I saw was full of holes on every side, All of one size, and each of them was round. Than those within my beautiful St. John For the baptizers’ standing-place supplied; And one of which, not many years agone, I broke to save one drowning; and I would Have this for seal to undeceive men known. Out of the mouth of each were seen protrude A sinner’s feet, and of the legs the small Far as the calves; the rest enveloped stood. And set on fire were both the soles of all, Which made their ankles wriggle with such throes As had made ropes and withes asunder fall. And as flame fed by unctuous matter goes So from their heels it flickered to the toes. ‘Master, who is he, tortured more,’ I said, ‘Than are his neighbours, writhing in such woe; And licked by flames of deeper-hearted red?’ And he: ‘If thou desirest that below I bear thee by that bank Thou from himself his sins and name shalt know.’ And I: ‘Thy wishes still for me suffice: Thou art my Lord, and knowest I obey Thy will; and dost my hidden thoughts surprise.’ To the fourth barrier then we made our way, And, to the left hand turning, downward went Into the narrow hole-pierced cavity; Nor the good Master caused me make descent From off his haunch till we his hole were nigh Who with his shanks was making such lament. ‘Whoe’er thou art, soul full of misery, Set like a stake with lower end upcast,’ I said to him, ‘Make, if thou canst, reply.’ I like a friar Shrift to a vile assassin, to his side Called back to win delay for him fixed fast. ‘Art thou arrived already?’ then he cried, ‘Art thou arrived already, Boniface? By several years the prophecy For which thou didst not fear to take with guile, Then ruin the fair Lady?’ Was like to theirs who linger on, the while They cannot comprehend what they are told, And as befooled But Virgil bade me: ‘Speak out loud and bold, “I am not he thou thinkest, no, not he!”’ And I made answer as by him controlled. The spirit’s feet then twisted violently, He asked: ‘What then requirest thou of me? If me to know thou hast such eagerness, That thou the cliff hast therefore ventured down, Know, the Great Mantle sometime was my dress. I of the Bear, in sooth, was worthy son: As once, the Cubs to help, my purse with gain I stuffed, myself I in this purse have stown. Stretched out at length beneath my head remain All the simoniacs And flattened lie throughout the rocky vein. I in my turn shall also make descent, Soon as he comes who I believed thou wast, When I asked quickly what for him was meant. O’er me with blazing feet more time has past, While upside down I fill the topmost room, Than he his crimsoned feet shall upward cast; For after him one viler still shall come, A Pastor from the West, To cover both of us his worthy doom. |