Canto VIII
 
 
 Argument And Canto VIII
 
 
      A signal having been made from the tower, Phlegyas, the ferryman of the
 lake, speedily crosses it, and conveys Virgil and Dante to the other side. On
 their passage, they meet with Filippo Argenti, whose fury and torment are
 described. They then arrive at the city of Dis, the entrance whereto is
 denied, and the portals closed against them by many Demons.
 
 
 My theme pursuing, I relate, that ere
 We reach'd the lofty turret's base, our eyes
 Its height ascended, where we mark'd uphung
 Two cressets, and another saw from far
 Return the signal, so remote, that scarce
 The eye could catch its beam. I, turning round
 To the deep source of knowledge, thus inquired:
 "Say what this means; and what, that other light
 In answer set: what agency doth this?"
 
 
 "There on the filthy waters," he replied,
 "E'en now what next awaits us mayst thou see,
 If the marsh - gendered fog conceal it not."
 
 
 Never was arrow from the cord dismiss'd,
 That ran its way so nimbly through the air,
 As a small bark, that through the waves I spied
 Toward us coming, under the sole sway
 Of one that ferried it, who cried aloud:
 "Art thou arrived, fell spirit?" - "Phlegyas, Phlegyas,[1]
 This time thou criest in vain," my lord replied;
 "No longer shalt thou have us, but while o'er
 The slimy pool we pass." As one who hears
 Of some great wrong he hath sustain'd, whereat
 
 
 [1: Phlegyas, so incensed against Apollo for having violated his
 daughter Coronis, that he set fire to the temple of that deity, by whose
 vengeance he was cast into Tartarus. See Virgil, Aeneas, 1. vi. 618.]
 
 
 Inly he pines: so Phlegyas inly pined
 In his fierce ire. My guide, descending, stepp'd
 Into the skiff, and bade me enter next,
 Close at his side; nor, till my entrance, seem'd
 The vessel freighted. Soon as both embark'd,
 Cutting the waves, goes on the ancient prow,
 More deeply than with others it is wont.
 
 
 
 
 While we our course o'er the dead channel held,
 One drench'd in mire before me came, and said:
 "Who art thou, that thus comest ere thine hour?"
 
 
 I answer'd: "Though I come, I tarry not:
 But who art thou, that art become so foul?"
 
 
 "One, as thou seest, who mourn:" he straight replied.
 
 
 To which I thus: "In mourning and in woe,
 Curst spirit! tarry thou. I know thee well,
 E'en thus in filth disguised." Then stretch'd he forth
 Hands to the bark; whereof my teacher sage
 Aware, thrusting him back: "Away! down there
 To the other dogs!" then, with his arms my neck
 Encircling, kiss'd my cheek, and spake: "O soul,
 Justly disdainful! blest was she in whom
 Thou wast conceived. He in the world was one
 For arrogance noted: to his memory
 No virtue lends its lustre; even so
 Here is his shadow furious. There above,
 How many now hold themselves mighty kings,
 Who here like swine shall wallow in the mire,
 Leaving behind them horrible dispraise."
 
 
 
 
 I then: "Master! him fain would I behold
 Whelm'd in these dregs, before we quit the lake."
 
 
 He thus: "Or ever to thy view the shore
 Be offer'd, satisfied shall be that wish,
 Which well deserves completion." Scarce his words
 Were ended, when I saw the miry tribes
 Set on him with such violence, that yet
 For that render I thanks to God, and praise.
 "To Filippo Argenti!"[2] cried they all:
 
 
 [2: Boccaccio tells us, "he was a man remarkable for the large
 proportions and extraordinary vigor of his bodily frame, and the extreme
 waywardness and irascibility of his temper." - "Decameron," G. ix. N. 8.]
 
 
 And on himself the moody Florentine
 Turn'd his avenging fangs. Him here we left,
 Nor speak I of him more. But on mine ear
 Sudden a sound of lamentation smote,
 Whereat mine eye unbarr'd I sent abroad.
 
 
 And thus the good instructor: "Now, my son
 Draws near the city, that of Dis is named,
 With its grave denizens, a mighty throng."
 
 
 I thus: "The minarets already, Sir!
 There, certes, in the valley I descry,
 Gleaming vermilion, as if they from fire
 Had issued." He replied: "Eternal fire,
 That inward burns, shows them with ruddy flame
 Illumed; as in this nether Hell thou seest."
 
 
 We came within the fosses deep, that moat
 This region comfortless. The walls appear'd
 As they were framed of iron. We had made
 Wide circuit, ere a place we reach'd, where loud
 The mariner cried vehement: "Go forth:
 The entrance is here." Upon the gates I spied
 More than a thousand, who of old from Heaven
 Were shower'd. With ireful gestures, "Who is this,"
 They cried, "that, without death first felt, goes through
 The regions of the dead?" My sapient guide
 Made sign that he for secret parley wish'd;
 Whereat their angry scorn abating, thus
 They spake: "Come thou alone; and let him go,
 Who hath so hardily enter'd this realm.
 Alone return he by his witless way;
 If well he knew it, let him prove. For thee,
 Here shalt thou tarry, who through clime so dark
 Hast been his escort." Now bethink thee, reader!
 What cheer was mine at sound of those curst words.
 I did believe I never should return.
 
 
 "O my loved guide! who more than seven times[3]
 
 
 [3: Seven times." The commentators, says Venturi, perplex themselves
 with the inquiry what seven perils these were from which Dante had been
 delivered by Virgil. Reckoning the beasts in the first Canto as one of them,
 and adding Charon, Minos, Cerberus, Plutus, Phlegyas, and Filippo Argenti, as
 so many others, we shall have the number; and if this be not satisfactory, we
 may suppose a determinate to have been put for an indeterminate number.]
 
 
 Security hast render'd me, and drawn
 From peril deep, whereto I stood exposed,
 Desert me not," I cried, "in this extreme.
 And, if our onward going be denied,
 Together trace we back our steps with speed."
 
 
 My liege, who thither had conducted me,
 Replied: "Fear not: for of our passage none
 Hath power to disappoint us, by such high
 Authority permitted. But do thou
 Expect me here; meanwhile, thy wearied spirit
 Comfort, and feed with kindly hope, assured
 I will not leave thee in this lower world."
 This said, departs the sire benevolent,
 And quits me. Hesitating I remain
 At war, 'twixt will and will not, in my thoughts.
 
 
 I could not hear what terms he offer'd them,
 But they conferr'd not long, for all at once
 Pellmell rush'd back within. Closed were the gates,
 By those our adversaries, on the breast
 Of my liege lord: excluded, he return'd
 To me with tardy steps. Upon the ground
 His eyes were bent, and from his brow erased
 All confidence, while thus in sighs he spake:
 "Who hath denied me these abodes of woe?"
 Then thus to me: "That I am anger'd, think
 No ground of terror: in this trial I
 Shall vanquish, use what arts they may within
 For hindrance. This their insolence, not new,[4]
 Erewhile at gate less secret they display'd,
 Which still is without bolt; upon its arch
 Thou saw'st the deadly scroll: and even now,
 On this side of its entrance, down the steep,
 Passing the circles, unescorted, comes
 One whose strong might can open us this land."
 
 
 
 
 [4: Virgil assures our poet that these evil spirits had formerly
 shown the same insolence when our Saviour descended into hell. They attempted
 to prevent him from entering at the gate, over which Dante had read the fatal
 inscription. "That gate which," says the Roman poet, "an angel had just
 passed, by whose aid we shall overcome this opposition, and gain admittance
 into the city."]