Conversing still from bridge to bridge But what our words I in my Comedy Care not to tell. The top of the ascent Holding, we halted the next pit to spy Of Malebolge, with plaints bootless all: There, darkness As the Venetians Boil the tenacious pitch at winter-tide, To caulk the ships with for repairs that call; For then they cannot sail; and so, instead, One builds his bark afresh, one stops with tow His vessel’s ribs, by many a voyage tried; Some fashion oars, and others cables twine, And others at the jib and main sails sew: So, not by fire, but by an art Divine, Pitch of thick substance boiled in that low Hell, And all the banks did as with plaster line. I saw it, but distinguished nothing well Except the bubbles by the boiling raised, Now swelling up and ceasing now to swell. While down upon it fixedly I gazed, ‘Beware, beware!’ my Leader to me said, And drew me thence close to him. I, amazed, Turned sharply round, like him who has delayed, Fain to behold the thing he ought to flee, Then, losing nerve, grows suddenly afraid, Nor lingers longer what there is to see; For a black devil I beheld advance Over the cliff behind us rapidly. Ah me, how fierce was he of countenance! What bitterness he in his gesture put, As with spread wings he o’er the ground did dance! Upon his shoulders, prominent and acute, Was perched a sinner And him he held by tendon of the foot. He from our bridge: ‘Ho, Malebranche! An Elder brought from Santa Zita’s town: Stuff him below; myself once more I slip There, save Bonturo, barrates And No grows Yes that money may be won.’ He shot him down, and o’er the cliff began To run; nor unchained mastiff o’er the ground, Chasing a robber, swifter ever ran. The other sank, then rose with back bent round; But from beneath the bridge the devils cried: ‘Not here the Sacred Countenance One swims not here as on the Serchio’s Do not on surface of the pitch abide.’ Then he a hundred hooks ‘Best dance down there,’ they said the while to him, ‘Where, if thou canst, thou on the sly mayst steal.’ So scullions by the cooks are set to trim The caldrons and with forks the pieces steep Down in the water, that they may not swim. And the good Master said to me: ‘Now creep Behind a rocky splinter for a screen; So from their knowledge thou thyself shalt keep. And fear not thou although with outrage keen I be opposed, for I am well prepared, And formerly Then passing from the bridge’s crown he fared To the sixth bank, He needed courage doing what he dared. In the same furious and tempestuous mood In which the dogs upon the beggar leap, Who, halting suddenly, seeks alms or food, They issued forth from underneath the deep Vault of the bridge, with grapplers ’gainst him stretched; But he exclaimed: ‘Aloof, and harmless keep! Come one of you and to my words give ear; And then advise you if I should be clutched.’ All cried: ‘Let Malacoda then go near;’ On which one moved, the others standing still. He coming said: ‘What will this ‘O Malacoda, is it credible That I am come,’ my Master then replied, ‘Secure your opposition to repel, Without Heaven’s will, and fate, upon my side? Let me advance, for ’tis by Heaven’s behest |