The Eighth Circle. Fraud
The Eighth Trench. Fraudulent Counselors
The flame, because of having ceased to speak,
was quiet and erect, and now away from us
was going with the gentle Poet’s leave;
when lo, another, which behind it came,
caused us to turn our eyes up toward its tip,
by reason of a vague sound issuing thence.
As the Sicilian bull (which bellowed first
with the lament of him, and that was right,
who with his file had given form to it,)
was wont to bellow with the voice of him
who suffered in it, so that, though of brass,
it seemed the one who by the pain was pierced;
even so, since from the body of the flame
they had nor path nor mouth, the painful words
were changed at first into the latter’s tongue.
But when these words had travelled to the tip,
and given it that vibration which the tongue,
when uttered, gave to them, we heard it say:
“O thou, to whom I now address my voice,
and who just now didst talk in Lombard, saying:
‘Now go thy way, for thee I urge no more;’
though I, perhaps, have somewhat late arrived,
be not displeased to stop and speak with me;
thou see’st that I am not, although I burn!
If into this blind world thou only now
art fallen down from that sweet Latin land,
whence all my guilt I bring, pray tell me whether
the Romagnoles are having peace or war;
for I came from the mountains ’tween Urbino
and that high peak from which the Tiber springs.”
While downward I was leaning still intent,
my Leader touched me on my side, and said:
“Speak thou, for this one an Italian is.”
And I, who had my answer all prepared,
began to speak without delay: “O soul,
that art concealed down yonder, thy Romagna
is not at present, and she never was,
devoid of war within her tyrants’ hearts;
but I left none apparent there just now.
Ravenna is, as she for many years
has been; Polenta’s eagle so broods there,
that Cervia it o’ercovers with its wings.
The town which made the long resistance once,
and of the French a sanguinary heap,
beneath the green paws finds itself again.
Verrucchio’s former Mastif and the new,
who foully with Montagna dealt, there make,
where they are wont, a gimlet of their teeth.
The cities of Lamone and Santerno
the little lion of the white lair rules,
who changes sides from summer-time to winter;
and that whose flank is by the Savio bathed,
lives, as it sits twixt plain and mount,
a free state half, and half a tyranny.
And now, I pray thee, tell me who thou art,
nor harder be than others here have been,
so may thy name maintain itself on earth.”
After the flame had roared a little while,
as is its fashion, to and fro it moved
its pointed tip, and then gave forth this breath:
“If I…
