Canto XXVIII
The Ninth Bolgia: Schismatics. Mahomet and Ali. Pier da Medicina, Curio, Mosca, and Bertrand de Born.
4 mins to read
1113 words

Who ever could, e’en with untrammelled words,     Tell of the blood and of the wounds in full     Which now I saw, by many times narrating?

Each tongue would for a certainty fall short     By reason of our speech and memory,     That have small room to comprehend so much.

If were again assembled all the people     Which formerly upon the fateful land     Of Puglia were lamenting for their blood

Shed by the Romans and the lingering war     That of the rings made such illustrious spoils,     As Livy has recorded, who errs not,

With those who felt the agony of blows     By making counterstand to Robert Guiscard,     And all the rest, whose bones are gathered still

At Ceperano, where a renegade     Was each Apulian, and at Tagliacozzo,     Where without arms the old Alardo conquered,

And one his limb transpierced, and one lopped off,     Should show, it would be nothing to compare     With the disgusting mode of the ninth Bolgia.

A cask by losing centre-piece or cant     Was never shattered so, as I saw one     Rent from the chin to where one breaketh wind.

Between his legs were hanging down his entrails;     His heart was visible, and the dismal sack     That maketh excrement of what is eaten.

While I was all absorbed in seeing him,     He looked at me, and opened with his hands     His bosom, saying: “See now how I rend me;

How mutilated, see, is Mahomet;     In front of me doth Ali weeping go,     Cleft in the face from forelock unto chin;

And all the others whom thou here beholdest,     Disseminators of scandal and of schism     While living were, and therefore are cleft thus.

A devil is behind here, who doth cleave us     Thus cruelly, unto the falchion’s edge     Putting again each one of all this ream,

When we have gone around the doleful road;     By reason that our wounds are closed again     Ere any one in front of him repass.

But who art thou, that musest on the crag,     Perchance to postpone going to the pain     That is adjudged upon thine accusations?”

“Nor death hath reached him yet, nor guilt doth bring him,”     My Master made reply, “to be tormented;     But to procure him full experience,

Me, who am dead, behoves it to conduct him     Down here through Hell, from circle unto circle;     And this is true as that I speak to thee.”

More than a hundred were there when they heard him,     Who in the moat stood still to look at me,     Through wonderment oblivious of their torture.

“Now say to Fra Dolcino, then, to arm him,     Thou, who perhaps wilt shortly see the sun,     If soon he wish not here to follow me,

So with provisions, that no stress of snow     May give the victory to the Novarese,     Which otherwise to gain would not be easy.”

After one foot to go away he lifted,     This word did Mahomet say unto me,     Then to depart upon the ground he stretched it.

Another one, who had his throat pierced through,     And nose cut off close underneath the brows,     And had no longer but a single ear,

Staying to look in wonder with the others,     Before the others did his gullet open,     Which outwardly was red in every part,

And said: “O thou, whom guilt doth not condemn,     And whom I once saw up in Latian land,     Unless too great similitude deceive me,

Call to remembrance Pier da Medicina,     If e’er thou see again the lovely plain     That from Vercelli slopes to Marcabo,

And make it known to the best two of Fano,     To Messer Guido and Angiolello likewise,     That if foreseeing here be not in vain,

Cast over from their vessel shall they be,     And drowned near unto the Cattolica,     By the betrayal of a tyrant fell.

Between the isles of Cyprus and Majorca     Neptune ne’er yet beheld so great a crime,     Neither of pirates nor Argolic people.

That traitor, who sees only with one eye,     And holds the land, which some one here with me     Would fain be fasting from the vision of,

Will make them come unto a parley with him;     Then will do so, that to Focara’s wind     They will not stand in need of vow or prayer.”

And I to him: “Show to me and declare,     If thou wouldst have me bear up news of thee,     Who is this person of the bitter vision.”

Then did he lay his hand upon the jaw     Of one of his companions, and his mouth     Oped, crying: “This is he, and he speaks not.

This one, being banished, every doubt submerged     In Caesar by affirming the forearmed     Always with detriment allowed delay.”

O how bewildered unto me appeared,     With tongue asunder in his windpipe slit,     Curio, who in speaking was so bold!

And one, who both his hands dissevered had,     The stumps uplifting through the murky air,     So that the blood made horrible his face,

Cried out: “Thou shalt remember Mosca also,     Who said, alas! ‘A thing done has an end!’     Which was an ill seed for the Tuscan people.”

“And death unto thy race,” thereto I added;     Whence he, accumulating woe on woe,     Departed, like a person sad and crazed.

But I remained to look upon the crowd;     And saw a thing which I should be afraid,     Without some further proof, even to recount,

If it were not that conscience reassures me,     That good companion which emboldens man     Beneath the hauberk of its feeling pure.

I truly saw, and still I seem to see it,     A trunk without a head walk in like manner     As walked the others of the mournful herd.

And by the hair it held the head dissevered,     Hung from the hand in fashion of a lantern,     And that upon us gazed and said: “O me!”

It of itself made to itself a lamp,     And they were two in one, and one in two;     How that can be, He knows who so ordains it.

When it was come close to the bridge’s foot,     It lifted high its arm with all the head,     To bring more closely unto us its words,

Which were: “Behold now the sore penalty,     Thou, who dost breathing go the dead beholding;     Behold if any be as great as this.

And so that thou may carry news of me,     Know that Bertram de Born am I, the same     Who gave to the Young King the evil comfort.

I made the father and the son rebellious;     Achitophel not more with Absalom     And David did with his accursed goadings.

Because I parted persons so united,     Parted do I now bear my brain, alas!     From its beginning, which is in this trunk.

Thus is observed in me the counterpoise.”

Read next chapter  >>
Canto XXIX
Geri del Bello. The Tenth Bolgia: Alchemists. Griffolino d’ Arezzo and Capocchino.
4 mins to read
1076 words
Return to J. Robert Oppenheimer's Favourite Books






Comments