If thou desire to know who these two are, The valley whence Bisenzio descends Belonged to them and to their father Albert.
They from one body came, and all Caina Thou shalt search through, and shalt not find a shade More worthy to be fixed in gelatine;
Not he in whom were broken breast and shadow At one and the same blow by Arthur’s hand; Focaccia not; not he who me encumbers
So with his head I see no farther forward, And bore the name of Sassol Mascheroni; Well knowest thou who he was, if thou art Tuscan.
And that thou put me not to further speech, Know that I Camicion de’ Pazzi was, And wait Carlino to exonerate me.”
Then I beheld a thousand faces, made Purple with cold; whence o’er me comes a shudder, And evermore will come, at frozen ponds.
And while we were advancing tow’rds the middle, Where everything of weight unites together, And I was shivering in the eternal shade,
Whether ’twere will, or destiny, or chance, I know not; but in walking ’mong the heads I struck my foot hard in the face of one.
Weeping he growled: “Why dost thou trample me? Unless thou comest to increase the vengeance of Montaperti, why dost thou molest me?”
And I: “My Master, now wait here for me, That I through him may issue from a doubt; Then thou mayst hurry me, as thou shalt wish.”
The Leader stopped; and to that one I said Who was blaspheming vehemently still: “Who art thou, that thus reprehendest others?”
“Now who art thou, that goest through Antenora Smiting,” replied he, “other people’s cheeks, So that, if thou wert living, ’twere too much?”
“Living I am, and dear to thee it may be,” Was my response, “if thou demandest fame, That ’mid the other notes thy name I place.”
And he to me: “For the reverse I long; Take thyself hence, and give me no more trouble; For ill thou knowest to flatter in this hollow.”
Then by the scalp behind I seized upon him, And said: “It must needs be thou name thyself, Or not a hair remain upon thee here.”
Whence he to me: “Though thou strip off my hair, I will not tell thee who I am, nor show thee, If on my head a thousand times thou fall.”
I had his hair in hand already twisted, And more than one shock of it had pulled out, He barking, with his eyes held firmly down,
When cried another: “What doth ail thee, Bocca? Is’t not enough to clatter with thy jaws, But thou must bark? what devil touches thee?”
“Now,” said I, “I care not to have thee speak, Accursed traitor; for unto thy shame I will report of thee veracious news.”
“Begone,” replied he, “and tell what thou wilt, But be not silent, if thou issue hence, Of him who had just now his tongue so prompt;
He weepeth here the silver of the French; ‘I saw,’ thus canst thou phrase it, ‘him of Duera There where the sinners stand out in the cold.’
If thou shouldst questioned be who else was there, Thou hast beside thee him of Beccaria, Of whom the gorget Florence slit asunder;
Gianni del Soldanier, I think, may be Yonder with Ganellon, and Tebaldello Who oped Faenza when the people slep.”
Already we had gone away from him, When I beheld two frozen in one hole, So that one head a hood was to the other;
And even as bread through hunger is devoured, The uppermost on the other set his teeth, There where the brain is to the nape united.
Not in another fashion Tydeus gnawed The temples of Menalippus in disdain, Than that one did the skull and the other things.
“O thou, who showest by such bestial sign Thy hatred against him whom thou art eating, Tell me the wherefore,” said I, “with this compact,
That if thou rightfully of him complain, In knowing who ye are, and his transgression, I in the world above repay thee for it,
If that wherewith I speak be not dried up.”
Inferno: Canto XXXIII
His mouth uplifted from his grim repast, That sinner, wiping it upon the hair Of the same head that he behind had wasted.
Then he began: “Thou wilt that I renew The desperate grief, which wrings my heart already To think of only, ere I speak of it;
But if my words be seed that may bear fruit Of infamy to the traitor whom I gnaw, Speaking and weeping shalt thou see together.
I know not who thou art, nor by what mode Thou hast come down here; but a Florentine Thou seemest to me truly, when I hear thee.
Thou hast to know I was Count Ugolino, And this one was Ruggieri the Archbishop; Now I will tell thee why I am such a neighbour.
That, by effect of his malicious thoughts, Trusting in him I was made prisoner, And after put to death, I need not say;
But ne’ertheless what thou canst not have heard, That is to say, how cruel was my death, Hear shalt thou, and shalt know if he has wronged me.
A narrow perforation in the mew, Which bears because of me the title of Famine, And in which others still must be locked up,
Had shown me through its opening many moons Already, when I dreamed the evil dream Which of the future rent for me the veil.
This one appeared to me as lord and master, Hunting the wolf and whelps upon the mountain For which the Pisans cannot Lucca see.
With sleuth-hounds gaunt, and eager, and well trained, Gualandi with Sismondi and Lanfianchi He had sent out before him to the front.
After brief course seemed unto me forespent The father and the sons, and with sharp tushes It seemed to me I saw their flanks ripped open.
When I before the morrow was awake, Moaning amid their sleep I heard my sons Who with me were, and asking after bread.
Cruel indeed art thou, if yet thou grieve not, Thinking of what my heart foreboded me, And weep’st thou not, what art thou wont to weep at?
They were awake now, and the hour drew nigh At which our food used to be brought to us, And through his dream was each one apprehensive;
And I heard locking up the under door Of the horrible tower; whereat without a word I gazed into the faces of my sons.
I wept not, I within so turned to stone; They wept; and darling little Anselm mine Said: ‘Thou dost gaze so, father, what doth ail thee?’
Still not a tear I shed, nor answer made All of that day, nor yet the night thereafter, Until another sun rose on the world.
As now a little glimmer made its way Into the dolorous prison, and I saw Upon four faces my own very aspect,
Both of my hands in agony I bit; And, thinking that I did it from desire Of eating, on a sudden they uprose,
And said they: ‘Father, much less pain ’twill give us If thou do eat of us; thyself didst clothe us With this poor flesh, and do thou strip it off.’
I calmed me then, not to make them more sad. That day we all were silent, and the next. Ah! obdurate earth, wherefore didst thou not open?
When we had come unto the fourth day, Gaddo Threw himself down outstretched before my feet, Saying, ‘My father, why dost thou not help me?’
And there he died; and, as thou seest me, I saw the three fall, one by one, between The fifth day and the sixth; whence I betook me,
Already blind, to groping over each, And three days called them after they were dead; Then hunger did what sorrow could not do.”
When he had said this, with his eyes distorted, The wretched skull resumed he with his teeth, Which, as a dog’s, upon the bone were strong.
Ah! Pisa, thou opprobrium of the people Of the fair land there where the ‘Si’ doth sound, Since slow to punish thee thy neighbours are,
Let the Capraia and Gorgona move, And make a hedge across the mouth of Arno That every person in thee it may drown!
For if Count Ugolino had the fame Of having in thy castles thee betrayed, Thou shouldst not on such cross have put his sons.
Guiltless of any crime, thou modern Thebes! Their youth made Uguccione and Brigata, And the other two my song doth name above!
We passed still farther onward, where the ice Another people ruggedly enswathes, Not downward turned, but all of them reversed.
Weeping itself there does not let them weep, And grief that finds a barrier in the eyes Turns itself inward to increase the anguish;
Because the earliest tears a cluster form, And, in the manner of a crystal visor, Fill all the cup beneath the eyebrow full.
And notwithstanding that, as in a callus, Because of cold all sensibility Its station had abandoned in my face,
Still it appeared to me I felt some wind; Whence I: “My Master, who sets this in motion? Is not below here every vapour quenched?”
Whence he to me: “Full soon shalt thou be where Thine eye shall answer make to thee of this, Seeing the cause which raineth down the blast.”
And one of the wretches of the frozen crust Cried out to us: “O souls so merciless That the last post is given unto you,
Lift from mine eyes the rigid veils, that I May vent the sorrow which impregns my heart A little, e’er the weeping recongeal.”