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Two just men there are, but no one listens, for pride, envy, avarice are the three sparks that kindle in men’s hearts and set them burning. ”
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With this his mournful words came to an end. But I spoke back: “There’s more I want to know; I beg you to provide me with more facts:
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Farinata and Tegghiaio, who were so worthy, Jacopo Rusticucci, Arrigo, Mosca, and all the rest so bent on doing good,
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where are they? Tell me what’s become of them; one great desire tortures me: to know whether they taste Heaven’s sweetness or Hell’s gall. ”
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“They lie below with blacker souls, ” he said, “by different sins pushed down to different depths; if you keep going you may see them all.
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But when you are once more in the sweet world I beg you to remind our friends of me. I speak no more; no more I answer you. ”
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He twisted his straight gaze into a squint and stared a while at me, then bent his head, falling to join his other sightless peers.
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My guide then said to me: “He’ll wake no more until the day the angel’s trumpet blows, when the unfriendly Judge shall come down here;
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each soul shall find again his wretched tomb, assume his flesh and take his human shape, and hear his fate resound eternally. ”
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And so we made our way through the filthy mess of muddy shades and slush, moving slowly, talking a little about the afterlife.
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I said, “Master, will these torments be increased, or lessened, on the final Judgment Day, or will the pain be just the same as now? ”
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And he: “Remember your philosophy: the closer a thing comes to its perfection, more keen will be its pleasure or its pain.
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Although this cursèd race of punished souls shall never know the joy of true perfection, more perfect will their pain be then than now. ”
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We circled round that curving road while talking of more than I shall mention at this time, and came to where the ledge begins descending;
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there we found Plutus, mankind’s arch-enemy.
CANTO VII
AT THE BOUNDARY of the Fourth Circle the two travelers confront clucking Plutus, the god of wealth, who collapses into emptiness at a word from Virgil. Descending farther, the Pilgrim sees two groups of angry, shouting souls who clash huge rolling weights against each other with their chests. They are the Prodigal and the Miserly. Their earthly concern with material goods prompts the Pilgrim to question Virgil about Fortune and her distribution of the worldly goods of men. After Virgil’s explanation, they descend to the banks of the swamplike river Styx, which serves as the Fifth Circle. Mired in the bog are the Wrathful, who constantly tear and mangle each other. Beneath the slime of the Styx, Virgil explains, are the Slothful; the bubbles on the muddy surface indicate their presence beneath. The poets walk around the swampy area and soon come to the foot of a high tower.
“Pape Satàn, pape Satàn aleppe!” the voice of Plutus clucked these words at us, and that kind sage, to whom all things were known,
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said reassuringly: “Do not let fear defeat you, for whatever be his power, he cannot stop our journey down this rock. ”
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Then he turned toward that swollen face of rage, crying, “Be quiet, cursèd wolf of Hell: feed on the burning bile that rots your guts.
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This journey to the depths does have a reason, for it is willed on high, where Michael wrought a just revenge for the bold assault on God. ”
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As sails swollen by wind, when the ship’s mast breaks, collapse, deflated, tangled in a heap, just so the savage beast fell to the ground.
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And then we started down a fourth abyss, making our way along the dismal slope where all the evil of the world is dumped.
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Ah, God’s avenging justice! Who could heap up suffering and pain as strange as I saw here? How can we let our guilt bring us to this?
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As every wave Charybdis whirls to sea comes crashing against its counter-current wave, so these folks here must dance their roundelay.
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More shades were here than anywhere above, and from both sides, to the sound of their own screams, straining their chests, they rolled enormous weights.
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1. This is simple gibberish (cf. Nimrod’s speech in Canto XXXI, 67).
22-66. The Miserly and the Prodigal, linked together as those who misused their wealth, suffer a joint punishment. Their material wealth has become a heavy weight that each group must shove against the other, since their attitudes toward wealth on earth were opposed to each other. Part of their punishment is to complete the turn of the Wheel (circle) of Fortune against which they had rebelled during their short space of life on earth.
And when they met and clashed against each other they turned to push the other way, one side screaming, “Why hoard?, ” the other side, “Why waste? ”
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And so they moved back round the gloomy circle, returning on both sides to opposite poles to scream their shameful tune another time;
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again they came to clash and turn and roll forever in their semicircle joust. And I, my heart pierced through by such a sight,
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spoke out, “My master, please explain to me who are these people here? Were they all priests, these tonsured souls I see there to our left?”
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He said, “In their first life all you see here had such myopic minds they could not judge with moderation when it came to spending;
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their barking voices make this clear enough, where when they arrive at the two points on the circle opposing guilts divide them into two.
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The ones who have the bald spot on their heads were priests and popes and cardinals, in whom avarice is most likely to prevail. ”
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And I: “Master, in such a group as this I should be able to recognize a few who dirtied themselves by such crimes as these. ”
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And he replied, “Yours is an empty hope: their undistinguished life that made them foul now makes it harder to distinguish them.
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Eternally the two will come to blows;then from the tomb they will be resurrected: these with tight fists, those without any hair.
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It was squandering and hoarding that have robbed them of the lovely world, and got them in this brawl: I will not waste choice words describing it!
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You see, my son, the short-lived mockery of all the wealth that is in Fortune’s keep, over which the human race is bickering;
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for all the gold that is or ever was beneath the moon won’t buy a moment’s rest for even one among these weary souls. ”
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“Master, now tell me what this Fortune is you touched upon before. What is she like who holds all worldly wealth within her fists? ”
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And he to me, “O foolish race of man, how overwhelming is your ignorance! Now listen while I tell you what she means:
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that One, whose wisdom knows infinity, made all the heavens and gave each one a guide, and each sphere shining shines on all the others,
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so light is spread with equal distribution: for worldly splendors He decreed the same and ordained a guide and general ministress
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who would at her discretion shift the world’s vain wealth from nation to nation, house to house, with no chance of interference from mankind;
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so while one nation rules, another falls, according to whatever she decrees (her sentence hidden like a snake in grass).
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Your kno
wledge has no influence on her; for she foresees, she judges, and she rules her kingdom as the other gods do theirs.
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Her changing changes never take a rest; necessity keeps her in constant motion, as men come and go to take their turn with her.
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And this is she so crucified and cursed; even those in luck, who should be praising her, instead revile her and condemn her acts.
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But she is blest and in her bliss hears nothing; with all God’s joyful first-created creatures she turns her sphere and, blest, turns it with joy.
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Now let’s move down to greater wretchedness; the stars that rose when I set out for you are going down—we cannot stay too long. ”
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We crossed the circle to its other bank, passing a spring that boils and overflows into a ditch the spring itself cut out.
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The water was a deeper dark than perse, and we, with its gray waves for company, made our way down along a rough, strange path.
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This dingy littel stream, when it has reached the bottom the gray malignant slopes, becomes a swamp that has the name of Styx.
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And I, intent on looking as we passed, saw muddy people moving in that marsh, all naked, with their faces scarred by rage.
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They fought each other, not with hands alone, but struck with head and chest and feet as well, with teeth they tore each other limb from limb.
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And the good teacher said: “My son, now see the souls of those that anger overcame; and I ask you to believe me when I say,
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beneath the slimy top are sighing souls who make these waters bubble at the surface; your eyes will tell you this—just look around.
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Bogged in this slime they say, ‘Sluggish we were in the sweet air made happy by the sun, and the smoke of sloth was smoldering in our hearts;
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98-99. The time is past midnight. The stars setting in the west were rising in the east when Virgil first met Dante on the evening of Good Friday in the “dark wood. ”
108. The river Styx is the second of the rivers of Hell; Dante, following the Aeneid, refers to it here as a marsh or quagmire.
now we lie sluggish here in this black muck!’ This is the hymn they gurgle in their throats but cannot sing in words that truly sound. ”
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Then making a wide arc, we walked around the pond between the dry bank and the slime, our eyes still fixed on those who gobbled mud.
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We came, in time, to the foot of a high tower.
CANTO VIII
BUT BEFORE they had reached the foot of the tower, the Pilgrim had noticed two signal flames at the tower’s top, and another flame answering from a distance; soon he realizes that the flames are signals to and from Phlegyas, the boatman of the Styx, who suddenly appears in a small boat speeding across the river. Wrathful and irritated though he is, the steersman must grant the poets passage, but during the crossing an angry shade rises from the slime to question the Pilgrim. After a brief exchange of words, scornful on the part of the Pilgrim, who has recognized this sinner, the spirit grabs hold of the boat. Virgil pushes him away, praising his ward for his just scorn, while a group of the wrathful attack the wretched soul, whose name is Filippo Argenti. At the far shore the poets debark and find themselves before the gates of the infernal City of Dis, where howling figures threaten them from the walls. Virgil speaks with them privately, but they slam the gate shut in his face. His ward is terrified, and Virgil too is shaken, but he insists that help from Heaven is already on the way.
I must explain, however, that before we finally reached the foot of that high tower, our eyes had been attracted to its summit
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by two small flames we saw flare up just there; and, so far off the eye could hardly see, another burning torch flashed back a sign.
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I turned to that vast sea of human knowledge: “What signal is this? And the other flame, what does it answer? And who’s doing this? ”
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And he replied: “You should already see across the filthy waves what has been summoned, unless the marsh’s vapors hide it from you. ”
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A bowstring never shot an arrow off that cut the thin air any faster than a little boat I saw that very second
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skimming along the water in our direction, with a solitary steersman, who was shouting, “Aha, I’ve got you now, you wretched soul! ”
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“Phlegyas, Phlegyas, this time you shout in vain, ” my lord responded, “you will have us with you no longer than it takes to cross the muck. ”
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As one who learns of some incredible trick just played on him flares up resentfully— so, Phlegyas there was seething in his anger.
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My leader calmly stepped into the skiff and when he was inside, he had me enter, and only then it seemed to carry weight.
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Soon as my guide and I were in the boat the ancient prow began to plough the water, more deeply, now, than any time before.
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And as we sailed the course of this dead channel, before me there rose up a slimy shape that said: “Who are you, who come before your time? ”
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And I spoke back, “Though I come, I do not stay; but who are you, in all your ugliness?” “You see that I am one who weeps, ” he answered.
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18. Phlegyas, the son of Mars, set fire to Apollo’s temple at Delphi, furiously enraged because Apollo had raped his daughter Coronis. For this Apollo killed him and sent him to Tartarus. Dante makes Phlegyas the demonic guardian of the Styx.
32. The “slimy shape” is Filippo Argenti (61), a member of the Adimari family.
And then I said to him: “May you weep and wail, stuck here in this place forever, you damned soul, for, filthy as you are, I recognize you. ”
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With that he stretched both hands out toward the boat but, on his guard, my teacher pushed him back: “Away, get down there with the other curs! ”
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And then he put his arms around my neck and kissed my face and said, “Indignant soul, blessed is she in whose womb you were conceived.
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In the world this man was filled with arrogance, and nothing good about him decks his memory; for this, his shade is filled with fury here.
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Many in life esteem themselves great men who then will wallow here like pigs in mud, leaving behind them their repulsive fame. ”
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“Master, it certainly would make me happy to see him dunked deep in this slop just once before we leave this lake—it truly would. ”
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And he to me, “Before the other shore comes into sight, you will be satisfied: a wish like that is worthy of fulfillment. ”
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Soon afterward, I saw the wretch so mangled by a gang of muddy souls that, to this day, I thank my Lord and praise Him for that sight:
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“Get Filippo Argenti!” they all cried. And at those shouts the Florentine, gone mad, turned on himself and bit his body fiercely.
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We left him there, I’ll say no more about him. A wailing noise began to pound my ears and made me strain my eyes to see ahead.
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“And now, my son, ” the gentle teacher said, “coming closer is the city we call Dis, with its great walls and its fierce citizens. ”
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And I, “Master, already I can see the clear glow of its mosques above the valley, burning bright red, as though just forged, and left
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to smolder. ” And he to me: “Eternal fire burns within, giving off the reddish glow you see diffused throughout this lower Hell. ”
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And then at last we entered those deep moats that circ
led all of this unhappy city whose walls, it seemed to me, were made of iron.
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For quite a while we sailed around, until we reached a place and heard our boatsman shout with all his might, “Get out! Here is the entrance. ”
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I saw more than a thousand fiendish angels perching above the gates enraged, screaming: “Who is the one approaching? Who, without death,
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dares walk into the kingdom of the dead?” And my wise teacher made some kind of signal announcing he would speak to them in secret.
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They managed to suppress their great resentment enough to say: “You come, but he must go who thought to walk so boldly through this realm.
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Let him retrace his foolish way alone, just let him try. And you who led him here through this dark land, you’ll stay right where you are. ”
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And now, my reader, consider how I felt when those foreboding words came to my ears! I thought I’d never see our world again!
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“O my dear guide, who more than seven times restored my confidence, and rescued me from the many dangers that blocked my going on,
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don’t leave me, please, ” I cried in my distress, “and if the journey onward is denied us, let’s turn our footsteps back together quickly. ”
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Then that lord who had brought me all this way said, “Do not fear, the journey we are making none can prevent: such power did decree it.
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Wait here for me and feed your weary spirit with comfort and good hope; you can be sure I will not leave you in this underworld. ”
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With this he walks away. He leaves me here, that gentle father, and I stay, doubting, and battling with my thoughts of “yes”—but “no. ”
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I could not hear what he proposed to them, but they did not remain with him for long; I saw them race each other back for home.
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Our adversaries slammed the heavy gates in my lord’s face, and he stood there utside, then turned toward me and walked back very slowly
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with eyes downcast, all self-assurance now erased from his forehead—sighing, “Who are these
to forbid my entrance to the halls of grief!”
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He spoke to me: “You need not be disturbed by my vexation, for I shall win the contest, no matter how they plot to keep us out!