Inferno
The Eighth Circle, Malebolge: The Fraudulent and the Malicious. The First Bolgia: Seducers and Panders. Ve- nedico Caccianimico. Jason. The Second Bolgia: Flat- terers. Allessio Interminelli. Thais.
There is a place in Hell called Malebolge—
Evil Pouches—made entirely of stone
the color of iron, like the circle that surrounds it.
Right in the center of this malignant field
yawns a well, enormously wide and deep,
whose structure I will describe when we reach it.
The remaining space between this central well
and the foot of the high, hard cliff
is circular, its floor divided into ten valleys.
Picture a castle surrounded by multiple moats
protecting its walls—the pattern they create
is exactly what we saw spread before us.
And just as little bridges span outward
from a fortress gate to the outer rampart,
rocky ridges projected from the precipice's base,
cutting across the ditches and embankments
all the way to the well that gathers them
and cuts them short.
Here we found ourselves, shaken down
from Geryon's back. The Poet
turned left, and I followed behind.
To my right I saw fresh torments,
new anguish, new wielders of whips
filling this first pouch completely.
At the bottom, the sinners walked naked.
On this side of the middle they came toward us,
on the far side they moved with us, but faster—
just like the Romans during the Jubilee year
managed the crowds crossing the bridge
over the massive Tiber:
all on one side faced toward the Castle
as they headed to St. Peter's,
while those on the other side walked toward the Mount.
Along the livid stone on both sides
I saw horned demons with enormous scourges,
savagely beating the sinners from behind.
God, how they made those legs fly up
at the first stroke! Not one of them
waited around for the second, or the third.
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DEVILS AND SEDUCERS
“God, how they made those legs fly up / at the first stroke! Not one of them”
As I walked on, my eyes met one of them,
and I immediately said, "I've definitely
seen this one before."
So I stopped to get a better look,
and my gentle Guide paused with me,
allowing me to step back a little.
The whipped soul tried to hide himself
by lowering his face, but it did no good.
I said, "You there, staring at the ground—
if your features don't lie,
you're Venedico Caccianimico.
What brings you to such bitter punishment?"
He answered, "I tell you unwillingly,
but your clear speech compels me,
making me remember the world above.
I was the one who persuaded fair Ghisola
to satisfy the Marquis's desires—
however that shameful story gets told.
I'm not the only Bolognese weeping here.
This place is so packed with us
that fewer tongues today are taught
to say 'sipa' between the Reno and Savena rivers.
If you want evidence or proof of this,
just remember our greedy hearts."
While he was speaking, a demon struck him
with his scourge and said, "Move along,
pimp! There are no women here to sell."
I rejoined my Escort,
and after just a few steps we reached
a rocky ridge jutting from the bank.
We climbed it easily enough,
and turning right along its spine,
we left those eternal circles behind.
When we reached the point where the ridge
is hollowed out beneath to let
the scourged pass through,
my Guide said, "Stop here and let your eyes
take in those other evil-born souls
whose faces you haven't seen yet,
because they were walking in our direction."
From the ancient bridge we watched the procession
approaching on the other side,
driven forward by the same whips.
Without my asking, the good Master said,
"Look at that tall one coming toward us
who seems to shed no tears for his pain.
What a royal bearing he still maintains!
That's Jason, who through courage and cunning
stole the Golden Fleece from Colchis.
He passed by the island of Lemnos
after those pitiless, daring women
had slaughtered every male on the island.
There, with love tokens and elegant words,
he deceived young Hypsipyle—
the same girl who had first deceived all the others.
He left her pregnant and abandoned.
Such sin deserves such punishment,
and here too Medea's betrayal is avenged.
With him march all who deceive this way.
That's enough about this first valley
and the souls it devours."
We had already reached the narrow path
that crosses above the second ditch,
forming another arch's foundation.
From there we heard people in the next pouch
moaning and snorting through their snouts,
slapping themselves with their palms.
The banks were crusted with mold
from vapors rising from below,
waging war on eyes and nose alike.
The bottom was so deep we couldn't see it
without climbing to the arch's highest point,
where the ridge curves most sharply.
We climbed up there, and looking down
into the ditch, I saw people submerged
in filth that seemed to flow from human sewers.
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PARAMOURS AND FLATTERERS
“We climbed up there, and looking down / into the ditch, I saw people submerged”
As I searched the scene below,
I saw one with his head so fouled with excrement
I couldn't tell if he was priest or layman.
He shouted up at me, "Why are you so eager
to stare at me more than the other filthy ones?"
I answered, "Because if I remember right,
I've seen you before with clean hair.
You're Alessio Interminei from Lucca—
that's why I'm looking at you especially."
Then he, beating his befouled head, said,
"The flatteries have sunk me down here,
the lies my tongue could never get enough of."
After this my Guide said to me,
"Push your gaze a little farther ahead
until your eyes clearly find the face
of that foul, disheveled whore
scratching herself with filthy fingernails,
now crouching, now standing on her feet.
That's Thaïs the prostitute, who answered
her lover when he asked, 'Am I
greatly in your favor?'—'No, incredibly so!'
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THAÏS
“now crouching, now standing on her feet. / That's Thaïs the prostitute, who answered / her lover when he asked, 'Am I”
And with that, let our sight be satisfied."