Pierino da Vinci

That sinner drew the mouth back from his savage
   feeding, and wiped it off with the hair which
   he had gnawed apart from behind. He then started
in: "You want for me to renew the hopelessly aching
   grief which the heart does impress upon me
   just by thinking it over again, sooner than I
could tell my story, as such. Yet if my very words
   must be seeds, so as to bring this treacherous
   villain's reputation -- whom I nibble, -- into infamous
fruition, I'm going to speak and weep at once.
   I do not know who you are, nor the way you
   got down here; but you really seem like a Florentine
to my hearing. You must know that I was Count
   Ugolino, & this here is archbishop Ruggieri:
   now let me tell you why I'm in such proximity to
this. I mean that as an effect of his own evil
   mindset, by trusting in him was I captured, and then
   put to death, needless to state; but you will hear
what you cannot have yet perceived, like how harsh
   and rude my death was, and get to know whether
   he wronged me. A tiny aperture in the Mew tower
(which bears the title of the starving spire, due
   to my example, and which is still fit for another
   visitor to be locked up there), did show me more
than a few moons through the view from the slit,
   when I dreamed a nightmare that the veil of the
future was torn apart of me. This shade seemed
to be master of the castle to me, hunting down
   the wolf and the wolf-cubs about the mountainside
   which keeps the Pisans from looking upon Lucca.[30
Alongside his skinny, well-trained, keen bitches was
   Gualandi sent, with Sismondi and Lanfranchi,
   to ride in procession before him. In the course
of just a short run, the father and the sons appeared
   to me worn out. And I dreamed that I saw them
   ripping into their flanks with pointy fangs.
When I awoke, just before dawn, I thought I saw
   my own sons whining in their sleep, and asking
   for some bread. You'd be guilty of cruelty, if
you do not already feel grief in considering
   what my heart brought up; and if you weep not,
   what do you break down crying for? They were a-
wake, as th' usual hour for taking a meal in
   there did approach, and each person was gravely
uncertain over their own dream; and I did
hear them nailing the door shut at the horrific
   tower, so I kept watch over my children's
   expression without uttering a word.
I was so stone-cold inside, I could not
   even form tears to cry; the young men were
   weeping; and my little Anselmo said, 'Father,
you look so... what's wrong?' Still I didn't cry,
   nor did I reply, that entire day and the next
   night, until the sun rose on the horizon
in the morning. When a bit of sunshine made it in-
   to the grievous prison, as I caught sight of
   my very own likeness on all four of their
faces, I chewed at both my hands over the agony;
   imagining that I had done this because of the
   starving pain, they got right up and said, 'Father,[60
starvation would be quite a bit less painful, if
you eat from among us: you clothed us in this
   miserable flesh, so you take it off of us.'
I then quieted myself down so as not to make them
   sadder; we were all silent that day, and the following
   one; oh rough earth, why did you not open yourself
up right then? As we made it to the fourth day,
   Gaddo lay down at my feet, asking, 'Daddy, why
don't you help me?' Then he died right there; and
just as you do witness me, I watched th' other three
   kids drop dead in series, between day five
   and six; thence I yielded to probing each one's
flesh, calling out to them for two days, although
   I watched them perish. After, the hunger had
   more power over me than did the pain."
As soon as he had spoken this, he gnawed
   the miserable skull with a sidelong glare, &
   he was at the skull like a dog on his bone.
Oh land of Pisa, you who shame the peoples of
   lovely Italy, wherever they say "Sì" for
   dialect, as the surrounding country is slow
to reprimand them, may Capraia and Gorgona
   both alter their site, and then form into a bar to
   dam the Arno, until they drown every last individual
under your jurisdiction! Though Ugolino, the count,
   has a reputation for betraying you over castles,
   you should not have put your sons up to such a cross.
The inexperience of their age preserved their innocence,
   you modern-day Thebes, i.e., Uguiccione and Brigata,
   with th' other two souls my epic has already named.[90
We passed on farther, to where the frost does enwrap
   another class of people in rough-hewn manner,
   looking not face-down, but rather th' opposite
in toto! One and the same cry permits
   them to weep not, as the heartache does find
   opposition welling up in th' eyes, it gets
directed back inside, into making their agonies
   multiply; a crystal visor of prior tears fills
   the fold below the brow with knots of ice.
And it came to pass, just like with a callus,
   which loses all feeling due to cold, as I'd
   lost all feeling in my face, yet it seemed to me that
I felt a blowing wind; so said I, "My master, who is
   putting this into motion? -- isn't every last
   vapor consumed down here?" At which he told me,
"Soon shall you be right where your eye will give you an
   answer to this conundrum, viewing the very
   source that is pouring the slush forth." And one
of the gloomy shades, melancholy from the impasted
   frost, shouted at us: "Oh you spirits of cruelty, so
   bad that the ultimate office is disclosed to you here,
please take th' enduring veils of frost from off my pate,
   so that I might unload the miserable pain which
   swells at my heart, just a bit, before the weep-
ing freezes o'er, evermore." In response to which, I
   told him, "If you'd like for me to help you, tell me
   who you be, & if I don't aid you, let me be fit to sink
to the bottom of the ice." Then retorted he, "I am Friar
   Alberigo. I'm that man arisen from the fruit of
   the wicked garden -- paid in figs here, tit-fot-tat."[120
"Well," said I to him, "are you still dead yet?" And he, to
   me: "I have no knowledge of how my body is doing
   in the world above. This circle, called Ptolomea,
possesses such an advantage, that oftentimes a ghost
   gets sucked down here, even before Atropos is fated
   to put it in place. And so you'd more willingly scrape
the cowl of tears off my face, please know that as soon
   as the spirit's ghost gets into betrayal as I did,
   one's very bodily form is seized by a demon,
which thus rules over its possession for
   as long of a time as its span in full. The
   soul's spirit collapses into this form
of tank; and maybe his body still seems to be
   above, the form of shade which takes its winter
   home here behind me. You really must know, if
you were only sent down here a while back:
   that shade is Ser Branca d'Oria, & it's been years
   since he passed on, to end up encased like that."
"I do believe," said I to him, "that you are fucking with
   my head; now, Branca d'Oria isn't even dead yet,
   & he eats and drinks and sleeps and wears clothing."
"Up at the trench above," he said, "in the
   Malebranche's turf, over where the lake of boiling
   pitch seethes, Michael Zanche had not yet joined us
in effigy, before this shade had a devil
   kill him and usurp his form, as one of his closest
   kinsmen did, while they conspired to commit treachery
against him. So reach your hand out here, open your eyes."
   And I opened them not for him, as being rude to them was
   a form of courtesy. Oh Genoese!, you strangers to[150
every civilized custom, so full of corruption as you be,
   why have you yet to be expunged from the world?
   The reason being, that I found one of you, as such, with
one of the worst ghosts of Romagna -- Branca d'Oria,
   who was already drenched in Cocytus as a demon, for his
   acts, even though he still seemed to be alive
within his body, in the world above.