And I, when he stretched forth his arm to me, On his baked aspect fastened so mine eyes, That the scorched countenance prevented not
His recognition by my intellect; And bowing down my face unto his own, I made reply, “Are you here, Ser Brunetto?”
And he: “May’t not displease thee, O my son, If a brief space with thee Brunetto Latini Backward return and let the trail go on.”
I said to him: “With all my power I ask it; And if you wish me to sit down with you, I will, if he please, for I go with him.”
“O son,” he said, “whoever of this herd A moment stops, lies then a hundred years, Nor fans himself when smiteth him the fire.
Therefore go on; I at thy skirts will come, And afterward will I rejoin my band, Which goes lamenting its eternal doom.”
I did not dare to go down from the road Level to walk with him; but my head bowed I held as one who goeth reverently.
And he began: “What fortune or what fate Before the last day leadeth thee down here? And who is this that showeth thee the way?”
“Up there above us in the life serene,” I answered him, “I lost me in a valley, Or ever yet my age had been completed.
But yestermorn I turned my back upon it; This one appeared to me, returning thither, And homeward leadeth me along this road.”
And he to me: “If thou thy star do follow, Thou canst not fail thee of a glorious port, If well I judged in the life beautiful.
And if I had not died so prematurely, Seeing Heaven thus benignant unto thee, I would have given thee comfort in the work.
But that ungrateful and malignant people, Which of old time from Fesole descended, And smacks still of the mountain and the granite,
Will make itself, for thy good deeds, thy foe; And it is right; for among crabbed sorbs It ill befits the sweet fig to bear fruit.
Old rumour in the world proclaims them blind; A people avaricious, envious, proud; Take heed that of their customs thou do cleanse thee.
Thy fortune so much honour doth reserve thee, One party and the other shall be hungry For thee; but far from goat shall be the grass.
Their litter let the beasts of Fesole Make of themselves, nor let them touch the plant, If any still upon their dunghill rise,
In which may yet revive the consecrated Seed of those Romans, who remained there when The nest of such great malice it became.”
“If my entreaty wholly were fulfilled,” Replied I to him, “not yet would you be In banishment from human nature placed;
For in my mind is fixed, and touches now My heart the dear and good paternal image Of you, when in the world from hour to hour
You taught me how a man becomes eternal; And how much I am grateful, while I live Behoves that in my language be discerned.
What you narrate of my career I write, And keep it to be glossed with other text By a Lady who can do it, if I reach her.
This much will I have manifest to you; Provided that my conscience do not chide me, For whatsoever Fortune I am ready.
Such handsel is not new unto mine ears; Therefore let Fortune turn her wheel around As it may please her, and the churl his mattock.”
My Master thereupon on his right cheek Did backward turn himself, and looked at me; Then said: “He listeneth well who noteth it.”
Nor speaking less on that account, I go With Ser Brunetto, and I ask who are His most known and most eminent companions.
And he to me: “To know of some is well; Of others it were laudable to be silent, For short would be the time for so much speech.
Know them in sum, that all of them were clerks, And men of letters great and of great fame, In the world tainted with the selfsame sin.
Priscian goes yonder with that wretched crowd, And Francis of Accorso; and thou hadst seen there If thou hadst had a hankering for such scurf,
That one, who by the Servant of the Servants From Arno was transferred to Bacchiglione, Where he has left his sin-excited nerves.
More would I say, but coming and discoursing Can be no longer; for that I behold New smoke uprising yonder from the sand.
A people comes with whom I may not be; Commended unto thee be my Tesoro, In which I still live, and no more I ask.”
Then he turned round, and seemed to be of those Who at Verona run for the Green Mantle Across the plain; and seemed to be among them
The one who wins, and not the one who loses.
Inferno: Canto XVI
Now was I where was heard the reverberation Of water falling into the next round, Like to that humming which the beehives make,
When shadows three together started forth, Running, from out a company that passed Beneath the rain of the sharp martyrdom.
Towards us came they, and each one cried out: “Stop, thou; for by thy garb to us thou seemest To be some one of our depraved city.”
Ah me! what wounds I saw upon their limbs, Recent and ancient by the flames burnt in! It pains me still but to remember it.
Unto their cries my Teacher paused attentive; He turned his face towards me, and “Now wait,” He said; “to these we should be courteous.
And if it were not for the fire that darts The nature of this region, I should say That haste were more becoming thee than them.”
As soon as we stood still, they recommenced The old refrain, and when they overtook us, Formed of themselves a wheel, all three of them.
As champions stripped and oiled are wont to do, Watching for their advantage and their hold, Before they come to blows and thrusts between them,
Thus, wheeling round, did every one his visage Direct to me, so that in opposite wise His neck and feet continual journey made.
And, “If the misery of this soft place Bring in disdain ourselves and our entreaties,” Began one, “and our aspect black and blistered,
Let the renown of us thy mind incline To tell us who thou art, who thus securely Thy living feet dost move along through Hell.
He in whose footprints thou dost see me treading, Naked and skinless though he now may go, Was of a greater rank than thou dost think;
He was the grandson of the good Gualdrada; His name was Guidoguerra, and in life Much did he with his wisdom and his sword.
The other, who close by me treads the sand, Tegghiaio Aldobrandi is, whose fame Above there in the world should welcome be.
And I, who with them on the cross am placed, Jacopo Rusticucci was; and truly My savage wife, more than aught else, doth harm me.”
Could I have been protected from the fire, Below I should have thrown myself among them, And think the Teacher would have suffered it;
But as I should have burned and baked myself, My terror overmastered my good will, Which made me greedy of embracing them.
Then I began: “Sorrow and not disdain Did your condition fix within me so, That tardily it wholly is stripped off,
As soon as this my Lord said unto me Words, on account of which I thought within me That people such as you are were approaching.
I of your city am; and evermore Your labours and your honourable names I with affection have retraced and heard.
I leave the gall, and go for the sweet fruits Promised to me by the veracious Leader; But to the centre first I needs must plunge.”
“So may the soul for a long while conduct Those limbs of thine,” did he make answer then, “And so may thy renown shine after thee,
Valour and courtesy, say if they dwell Within our city, as they used to do, Or if they wholly have gone out of it;
For Guglielmo Borsier, who is in torment With us of late, and goes there with his comrades, Doth greatly mortify us with his words.”
“The new inhabitants and the sudden gains, Pride and extravagance have in thee engendered, Florence, so that thou weep’st thereat already!”
In this wise I exclaimed with face uplifted; And the three, taking that for my reply, Looked at each other, as one looks at truth.
“If other times so little it doth cost thee,” Replied they all, “to satisfy another, Happy art thou, thus speaking at thy will!
Therefore, if thou escape from these dark places, And come to rebehold the beauteous stars, When it shall pleasure thee to say, ‘I was,’
See that thou speak of us unto the people.” Then they broke up the wheel, and in their flight It seemed as if their agile legs were wings.
Not an Amen could possibly be said So rapidly as they had disappeared; Wherefore the Master deemed best to depart.
I followed him, and little had we gone, Before the sound of water was so near us, That speaking we should hardly have been heard.
Even as that stream which holdeth its own course The first from Monte Veso tow’rds the East, Upon the left-hand slope of Apennine,
Which is above called Acquacheta, ere It down descendeth into its low bed, And at Forli is vacant of that name,
Reverberates there above San Benedetto From Alps, by falling at a single leap, Where for a thousand there were room enough;