The Divine Comedy by Dante: The Vision of Hell, Or The Inferno: Canto XXXIII

His jaws uplifting from their fell repast,     That sinner wip'd them on the hairs o' th' head,     Which he behind had mangled, then began:     "Thy will obeying, I call up afresh     Sorrow past cure, which but to think of wrings     My heart, or ere I tell on't. But if words,     That I may utter, shall prove seed to bear     Fruit of eternal infamy to him,     The traitor whom I gnaw at, thou at once     Shalt see me speak and weep. Who thou mayst be     I know not, nor how here below art come:     But Florentine thou seemest of a truth,     When I do hear thee. Know I was on earth     Count Ugolino, and th' Archbishop he     Ruggieri. Why I neighbour him so close,     Now list. That through effect of his ill thoughts     In him my trust reposing, I was ta'en     And after murder'd, need is not I tell.     What therefore thou canst not have heard, that is,     How cruel was the murder, shalt thou hear,     And know if he have wrong'd me. A small grate     Within that mew, which for my sake the name     Of famine bears, where others yet must pine,     Already through its opening sev'ral moons     Had shown me, when I slept the evil sleep,     That from the future tore the curtain off.     This one, methought, as master of the sport,     Rode forth to chase the gaunt wolf and his whelps     Unto the mountain, which forbids the sight     Of Lucca to the Pisan. With lean brachs     Inquisitive and keen, before him rang'd     Lanfranchi with Sismondi and Gualandi.     After short course the father and the sons     Seem'd tir'd and lagging, and methought I saw     The sharp tusks gore their sides. When I awoke     Before the dawn, amid their sleep I heard     My sons (for they were with me) weep and ask     For bread. Right cruel art thou, if no pang     Thou feel at thinking what my heart foretold;     And if not now, why use thy tears to flow?     Now had they waken'd; and the hour drew near     When they were wont to bring us food; the mind     Of each misgave him through his dream, and I     Heard, at its outlet underneath lock'd up     The' horrible tower: whence uttering not a word     I look'd upon the visage of my sons.     I wept not: so all stone I felt within.     They wept: and one, my little Anslem, cried:     "Thou lookest so! Father what ails thee?" Yet     I shed no tear, nor answer'd all that day     Nor the next night, until another sun     Came out upon the world. When a faint beam     Had to our doleful prison made its way,     And in four countenances I descry'd     The image of my own, on either hand     Through agony I bit, and they who thought     I did it through desire of feeding, rose     O' th' sudden, and cried, 'Father, we should grieve     Far less, if thou wouldst eat of us: thou gav'st     These weeds of miserable flesh we wear,     'And do thou strip them off from us again.'     Then, not to make them sadder, I kept down     My spirit in stillness. That day and the next     We all were silent. Ah, obdurate earth!     Why open'dst not upon us? When we came     To the fourth day, then Geddo at my feet     Outstretch'd did fling him, crying, 'Hast no help     For me, my father!' There he died, and e'en     Plainly as thou seest me, saw I the three     Fall one by one 'twixt the fifth day and sixth:     "Whence I betook me now grown blind to grope     Over them all, and for three days aloud     Call'd on them who were dead. Then fasting got     The mastery of grief." Thus having spoke,     Once more upon the wretched skull his teeth     He fasten'd, like a mastiff's 'gainst the bone     Firm and unyielding. Oh thou Pisa! shame     Of all the people, who their dwelling make     In that fair region, where th' Italian voice     Is heard, since that thy neighbours are so slack     To punish, from their deep foundations rise     Capraia and Gorgona, and dam up     The mouth of Arno, that each soul in thee     May perish in the waters! What if fame     Reported that thy castles were betray'd     By Ugolino, yet no right hadst thou     To stretch his children on the rack. For them,     Brigata, Ugaccione, and the pair     Of gentle ones, of whom my song hath told,     Their tender years, thou modern Thebes! did make     Uncapable of guilt. Onward we pass'd,     Where others skarf'd in rugged folds of ice     Not on their feet were turn'd, but each revers'd.     There very weeping suffers not to weep;     For at their eyes grief seeking passage finds     Impediment, and rolling inward turns     For increase of sharp anguish: the first tears     Hang cluster'd, and like crystal vizors show,     Under the socket brimming all the cup.     Now though the cold had from my face dislodg'd     Each feeling, as 't were callous, yet me seem'd     Some breath of wind I felt. "Whence cometh this,"     Said I, "my master? Is not here below     All vapour quench'd?"--"'Thou shalt be speedily,"     He answer'd, "where thine eye shall tell thee whence     The cause descrying of this airy shower."     Then cried out one in the chill crust who mourn'd:     "O souls so cruel! that the farthest post     Hath been assign'd you, from this face remove     The harden'd veil, that I may vent the grief     Impregnate at my heart, some little space     Ere it congeal again!" I thus replied:     "Say who thou wast, if thou wouldst have mine aid;     And if I extricate thee not, far down     As to the lowest ice may I descend!"     "The friar Alberigo," answered he,     "Am I, who from the evil garden pluck'd     Its fruitage, and am here repaid, the date     More luscious for my fig."--"Hah!" I exclaim'd,     "Art thou too dead!"--"How in the world aloft     It fareth with my body," answer'd he,     "I am right ignorant. Such privilege     Hath Ptolomea, that ofttimes the soul     Drops hither, ere by Atropos divorc'd.     And that thou mayst wipe out more willingly     The glazed tear-drops that o'erlay mine eyes,     Know that the soul, that moment she betrays,     As I did, yields her body to a fiend     Who after moves and governs it at will,     Till all its time be rounded; headlong she     Falls to this cistern. And perchance above     Doth yet appear the body of a ghost,     Who here behind me winters. Him thou know'st,     If thou but newly art arriv'd below.     The years are many that have pass'd away,     Since to this fastness Branca Doria came."     "Now," answer'd I, "methinks thou mockest me,     For Branca Doria never yet hath died,     But doth all natural functions of a man,     Eats, drinks, and sleeps, and putteth raiment on."     He thus: "Not yet unto that upper foss     By th' evil talons guarded, where the pitch     Tenacious boils, had Michael Zanche reach'd,     When this one left a demon in his stead     In his own body, and of one his kin,     Who with him treachery wrought. But now put forth     Thy hand, and ope mine eyes." I op'd them not.     Ill manners were best courtesy to him.     Ah Genoese! men perverse in every way,     With every foulness stain'd, why from the earth     Are ye not cancel'd? Such an one of yours     I with Romagna's darkest spirit found,     As for his doings even now in soul     Is in Cocytus plung'd, and yet doth seem     In body still alive upon the earth.