Inferno: Canto Xiii
INFERNO: CANTO XIII
Nessus had not reached the other side,
When we found ourselves in a forest,
That was not marked by any path.
There was no green foliage, only grey leaves,
No smooth branches, only gnarled and entangled ones,
No fruit trees, just poisonous thorns.
There is nothing like these tangled thickets,
Nor this dense shrubbery built like savage wild beasts,
In the world above, not even between Cecina and Corneto.
This is where the hideous Harpies make their nests,
Those same creatures who chased the Trojans from Strophades,
With sad announcements of impending doom;
They have broad wings, and human necks and faces, and feet With claws, and their bellies are fat and feathered;
They cry their laments from these horrid trees.
The good Master said: "Before you go any farther,
Know that you are now in the second round,"
He began to say, "And will be, until
You come out on the horrible sand;
Therefore look around, and you will see
Things that will give credence to what I say."
I heard, on all sides, lamentations uttered,
But saw no person who might make them,
So, utterly bewildered, I stood still.
He must have thought that I might think
That the voices coming from those trunks,
Were from people who hid from us;
Therefore the Master said: "If you break off
Some little twig from any of these trees,
The thoughts you now have will be entirely wrong."
Then I stretched out my hand a little,
And plucked a twig off of a great branch;
And the trunk cried, "Why do you mangle me?"
After it had become brown with blood,
It continued its cry: "Why do you break me?
Have you no pity whatsoever?
We were once men, and now we are changed to trees;
Your hand should be more merciful,
Even if we had been the souls of serpents."
Like a burning branch, that is on fire
At one of the ends, while the other drips
And hisses with the wind that is escaping;
So from that splinter came
Both words and blood; startled, I let the twig
Fall, and stood like a man who is suddenly frightened.
"Had he believed sooner, "My Sage answered,
"You wounded soul,
What he read in my verses,
Then he would not have stretched forth his hand;
But the truth is so incredible that it caused me
To allow him to break off the twig, which I now regret.
But tell him who you were, so that he can
Make amends by telling of your fame
In the world above, to which he will return."
And the trunk said: "Your sweet words comfort me,
I cannot be silent; and you should not be angry,
That I now want to converse with you.
I am, Pier Delle Vigne, the one who was keeping the keys
Of Frederick's heart, and I turned them to and fro
So softly in unlocking and in locking,
That I withheld his secrets from most men;
Faithfully, I held the glorious office
To the point were I lost both sleep and my life.
Envy, the courtesan who never turned her adulterous eyes
From the house of Caesar,
Became mankind's undoing and the plague of the courts,
She inflamed all the others against me,
And they, enraged, did so enrage Augustus,
So that my great honors turned into dismal mournings.
My spirit, in disdainful exultation,
Thought that by dying, I would escape disdain,
Though I had always been just, I was unjust to myself,
I swear to you, by the roots of this unwanted wood,
That I never broke faith
With my lord, who was so worthy of great honor;
And so if one of you return to the world,
Let him find comfort in my memory, which is still lying
Prostrate from the blow that envy dealt it."
Then he stopped speaking: "Since he is silent,"
The Poet said to me, "Do not lose this time,
But speak, and question him, if you please."
Then I said to him: "Will you please ask him questions
That you think will satisfy me;
For I cannot, because of the pity that is in my heart."
Therefore he recommenced: "So that he may freely
Do for you what you have asked,
Spirit incarcerate, again please
Tell us in what way your soul became bound
Within these knots; and tell us, if you can,
If, from your group, anyone is ever freed."
Then came breathing from the main trunk,
And that breathing became a voice:
"I will reply to you briefly.
When the exasperated soul abandons
The body that has killed itself,
Minos consigns it to the seventh circle of Hell.
It falls into the forest, and no place
Is chosen for it; but where Fortune hurls it,
There, like a small seed, it germinates.
Up springs a sapling, and then a forest tree;
The Harpies, feeding upon its leaves,
Do create pain, and for the pain there is no outlet.
Like others, our souls will return to our bodies;
But not any one of us may wear those bodies again,
For it is not possible to have what you taken from yourself.
We will drag our bodies here, and all along this dismal
Forest our bodies will be suspended,
By the thorns of our molested souls."
We were still watching the trunk,
Thinking that it might wish to tell us more,
When we were overtaken by a rushing noise,
In the same way one senses
The boar approaching where he stands,
By hearing the crashing of the beasts and branches;
Suddenly, on our left side, naked and scratched,
Fleeing so furiously, Two shapes broke through
The forest, breaking every branch they touched.
The one in the lead said: "Help, Death, help!"
And the other one, who seemed to lag behind,
Was shouting: "Lano, those legs of yours were not so nimble
At the jousting tournament of Toppo!"
And then, because his breath was failing,
He wrapped his arms around a bush.
Behind them was a forest full of black
She-wolves, ravenous, and fast
Like greyhounds, who are released from the chain.
They set their teeth into the one who was crouching,
And they tore him apart, piece by piece,
Taking away his mangled body parts.
Then my Escort took me by the hand,
And led me to the bush, that
Was weeping from its bloody lacerations.
"O Jacopo," It said, "Of Saint Andrea,
What good did it do you to cling to me?
Why do you blame me for your evil life?"
When the Master stopped near him,
He said: "Who were you, that through so many wounds
You are still giving your grieving speech?"
And he said to us: "O souls, that have come
To look upon this shameful massacre
That has torn away my leaves,
Gather them up, and place them beneath the dismal bush;
I was from the city which took the Baptist
In exchange for Mars, its first patron.
For this, his image in art will forever bring sadness.
And were it not for a piece of his statue
Which still remains on the Arno bridge,
Those citizens, who afterwards rebuilt it
On the ashes left by Attila,
Would have done all of their labor in vain.
And, as for me, in my own house, I hung myself."