He answer straight return’d; “and so thy fame
Shine bright when thou art gone, as thou shalt tell,
If courtesy and valor, as they wont,
Dwell in our city, or have vanish’d clean:
For one amidst us late condemn’d to wail,
Borsiere,[109] yonder walking with his peers,
Grieves us no little by the news he brings.”
“An upstart multitude and sudden gains,
Pride and excess, O Florence! have in thee
Engender’d, so that now in tears thou mourn’st!”
Thus cried I, with my face upraised, and they
All three, who for an answer took my words,
Look’d at each other, as men look when truth
Comes to their ear. “If at so little cost,”
They all at once rejoin’d, “thou satisfy
Others who question thee, O happy thou!
Gifted with words so apt to speak thy thought.
Wherefore, if thou escape this darksome clime,
Returning to behold the radiant stars,
When thou with pleasure shalt retrace the past,[110]
See that of us thou speak among mankind.”
This said, they broke the circle, and so swift
Fled, that as pinions seem’d their nimble feet.
Not in so short a time might one have said
“Amen,” as they had vanish’d. Straight my guide
Pursued his track. I follow’d: and small space
Had we past onward, when the water’s sound
Was now so near at hand, that we had scarce
Heard one another’s speech for the loud din.
E’en as the river,[111] that first holds its course
Unmingled from the Mount of Vesulo,
On the left side of Apennine, toward
The east, which Acquacheta higher up
They call, ere it descend into the vale,
At Forli,[112] by that name no longer known,
Rebellows o’er Saint Benedict, roll’d on
From the Alpine summit down a precipice,
Where space[113] enough to lodge a thousand spreads;
Thus downward from a craggy steep we found
That this dark wave resounded, roaring loud,
So that the ear its clamour soon had stunn’d.
I had a cord[114] that braced my girdle round,
Wherewith I erst had thought fast bound to take
The painted leopard. This when I had all
Unloosen’d from me (so my master bade)
I gather’d up, and stretch’d it forth to him.
Then to the right he turn’d, and from the brink
Standing few paces distant, cast it down
Into the deep abyss. “And somewhat strange,”
Thus to myself I spake, “signal so strange
Betokens, which my guide with earnest eye
Thus follows.” Ah! what caution must men use
With those who look not at the deed alone,
But spy into the thoughts with subtle skill.
“Quickly shall come,” he said, “what I expect;
Thine eye discover quickly that, whereof
Thy thought is dreaming.” Ever to that truth,
Which but the semblance of a falsehood wears,
A man, if possible, should bar his lip;
Since, although blameless, he incurs reproach.
But silence here were vain; and by these notes,
Which now I sing, reader, I swear to thee,
So may they favor find to latest times!
That through the gross and murky air I spied
A shape come swimming up, that might have quell’d
The stoutest heart with wonder; in such guise
As one returns, who hath been down to loose
An anchor grappled fast against some rock,
Or to aught else that in the salt wave lies,
Who, upward springing, close draws in his feet.
Canto XVII
Argument.—The monster Geryon is described; to whom while Virgil is speaking in order that he may carry them both down to the next circle, Dante, by permission, goes further along the edge of the void, to descry the third species of sinners contained in this compartment, namely, those who have done violence to Art; and then returning to his master, they both descend, seated on the back of Geryon.
“Lo! the fell monster[115] with the deadly sting,
Who passes mountains, breaks through fenced walls
And firm embattled spears, and with his filth
Taints all the world.” Thus me my guide address’d,
And beckon’d him, that he should come to shore,
Near to the stony causeway’s utmost edge.
Forthwith that image vile of Fraud appear’d,
His head and upper part exposed on land,
But laid not on the shore his bestial train.
His face the semblance of a just man’s wore,
So kind and gracious was its outward cheer;
The rest was serpent all: two shaggy claws
Reach’d to the arm-pits; and the back and breast,
And either side, were painted o’er with nodes
And orbits. Colours variegated more
Nor Turks nor Tartars e’er on cloth of state
With interchangeable embroidery wove,
Nor spread Arachne o’er her curious loom.
As oft-times a light skiff, moor’d to the shore,
Stands part in water, part upon the land;
Or, as where dwells the greedy German boor,
The beaver settles, watching for his prey;
So on the rim, that fenced the sand with rock,
Sat perch’d the fiend of evil. In the void
Glancing, his tail upturn’d its venomous fork,
With sting like scorpion’s arm’d. Then thus my guide,
“Now need our way must turn few steps apart,
Far as to that ill beast, who couches there.”
Thereat, toward the right our downward course
We