The Divine Comedy — Dante Alighieri

CANTO XVI. The poets haying almost crossed the desert, where they can hear the foiling of the torrent into the next oirole, meet another troop pnnished for the same vice, amongst whom Dante converses with three distinguished Florentines. Having reached the precipice, Yiigil throws a rope down ihe water&n, npon ^mich signal a monster rises. We'd reached the place, where to the ear arrive Of falling waters the reverberate sound, Like to the busy murmur of a hive : When towards us shadows three together bound From out the crowd that past, beneath the rain * Of*the sharp torrent, on tiieir ceaseless round. Towards us thej came, and each one cried amain, *' Arrest you there, who bj your dress must be An habitant of our own land profeuie." Ah me ! what wounds upon their limbs I see Both old and recent, by the flames burnt deep ! Still but in memory, how it grieves me ! My master stood there as they wailing weep, And turned his face towards me : *' Now beware To these," he said, '' fit courtesy to keep. But for the fire that's darted everywhere By the nature of the place, I'd tell you plain Ear rather you than these this haste should share." The whiles we stand in pause, their former strain Begins once more, and when by us they veer, ^ Formed in a wheel,* the three ah turn amain. Line 21. " Formed in a wheel, the three all torn amain." As stated by Ser Bnmetto, these tormented spirits cannot rest for a moment, so the three Florentines whecd in a circle while they stop to converse with Dante.

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60 HELL. Casto XTI. As athletes stripped and oiled are wont to peer. Watching their 'vantage and their time to seize. Ere grappling for cl^ose combat thej draw near ; So wheeling round, each one their face and eyes Fixed ever on me, while on the other hand Their feet go onwards in contrariwise. '' Although the misery of this shifting sand Us and our prayers to contumely compel," Thus one began, ** and this bare wretched strand. Our fame your spirit yet should bow, to tell Who then you are, who thus with living feet Treadest securely in the paths of Hell. This one, whose step you seest me repeat, Though naked, and with hair scorched oft he be. Was of far higher grade than you would weet. The good Gualdrada's grandson do you see ; His name was Guidoguerra, and on earth With brain and sword, no little work did he. He, who behind me treads this sandy dearth, ^ Was Aldobrandi, in the Council room His voice was ever held in highest worth : And I, condemned with these to the same doom, Was Busticucci, more than all the rest A savage wife has caused my martyrdom.'' ^ Had I been sheltered from the fire the least. Downwards, amongst them I had thrown me there. Nor would my leader have opposed his 'host. But since I should have been all burnt to char, The terror overcame the wish so lief, ^ Which made me greedy to embrace them fair. Then I began : '' It was not scorn, but grief, Which your condition fixed within my mind. So deep it could not be removed in brief. Line 37. Gnaldrada was celebrated for her oliastity. At a feast in Florence her father, Bellincion Berti (mentioned in the " Paradise" by GacoiaTOida as one of the early Florentine worthies), offered the Emperor Otho lY., who was present, anthoritv to give her a salnte. The yonng lady told him not to be so liberal of his offers, as she wonld preserve snoh a privilege for one who might be her lawfol husband. The Emperor married her on tiie spot to one of his barons, from which marriage sprang the family of the^ Conti Goidi. Gnaldrada's grandson, Ghiidognerra, was a celebrated captain, and at the head of fonr hundred Gnelphs secnred the victory for Charles of Ax^oa against Manfred of Naples, at Benevent, in 1265. Line 41. Aldobrandi is the Tegghiajo inquired for by Dante from Ser Giacoo in the Sixth Canto, and the sp^er Bosticncci was named at the same time amongst the Morentine worthies whom Dante wonld find in lower circles of Hell. The feeling way in which poor Dante alludes to Bnsticaoci's sufferings from a savage wife, veith which misery he was himself well acquainted, is dwelt upon by Lord Byron, himself a lake victim.

Oahto XVI. HELL. 61 As soon as this my leader had designed '^ By words, through which at once I knew for sure That men were coming of thj lofty kind. Your country is my own, and evermore Your names all honoured, and the deeds you show With tender love I dwell on and adore. ^ I leave this gaU, and for sweet fruits I go By my trustworthy leader promised me ; Though first I sink to the central deeps below." ** That for a length of time your soul may oe Your body's habitant," he answered then, " And that your fame may lighten after you. Of courtesy, and valour amongst men, Say if they dwell within our town, as erst, Or are they utterly cast out agen ? For Borsiere since he entered first ^* Amongst us lately, and who now goes there. With such discourse has made us more accurst." '' Her people, and the sudden gains they share. Such pride and such excess in you have bred, O Florence, now you wail'st it in despair." ^* So cried I loudly with uplifted head. And all the three received it for reply, And gazed like those who know that truth is said. '^ If other times, your friends to satisfy Costs you as little, happy who can bear Such ready answer," did they all reply. '' But if you quitt'st this dark realm of despair, And tum'st again the fair stars to behold, When 'twill delight to say, * I once was there,' Cause that our story 'mongst mankind be told." Then they broke up their wheel, and as they fled Their lithe limbs flying pinions seemed to unfold. An Amen could not possibly be said So rapidly as they had disappeared. On which again my master onwards sped. I followed him, and little had we stirred Or ere the sound of water drew so nigh That when we spake the voice was sparcely heard. Like to that stream, whose unmixed waters hie First from Mount Veso, towards the rising beam. From Apennine's left-hand declivity, Line 70. Borsiere is introdaoed with commendation by Boccaccio, in the dffhth noYel of the first day of his " Decameron." liine 94. '* Like to that stream, whose unmixed waters hie." The river Montone, which alone falls direct into the sea, all the other rivers rising in that part of the Apennines falling into the Po.