Canto XXVIII. The Ninth Bolgia: Schismatics. Mahomet and Ali. Pier da Medicina, Curio, Mosca, and Bertrand de Born.

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      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,