DANTE'S SUBLIME COMEDY: HELL, Chapter 22

        Chapter 22: More Swindlers

I have heard cavalry and infantry

           march off to bang of rocket and of gun,

           drum ratatat, trumpet tantantara,                                            3

bell clang, bagpipe yell and hornpipe hoot.None

           disconcerted me like that rude salute

           which sent us on our march along the dyke                             6

with ten fiends guarding us. But why? From what?

         Not able to imagine a reply

I stared hard at the moat where sometimes gleamed                 9

the backs of souls, daring to ease their pain

         like dolphins, before sinking down again.

         Folk say, do as the Romans do in Rome.                                  12

     

Walking among this crew so eased my fear

         I learned their names and almost felt at home,

         within their ghastly camaraderie.                                               15

Most souls I saw clung froglike to the shore,

nose above tar, but dipped as we came near.

         One clung so long that Snatcher leapt ahead,                            18

speared hair with pitchfork, yanked him into air,

         threw him onto the ground and briskly said,

         “Right, pussies – here’s your mouse. Who wants first bite?”  21

I shuddered, shouted, “Please first ask his name!”

         “Tarface,” snarled Dogspew, “spit your old name out.”

         The wretch moaned, “Ciampollo of Navarre,                           24

King Tybalt’s chancellor, then barrator

         distorting laws for all who paid me well,

         damning my soul to everlasting Hell.”                                       27

“Hooray!” howled Scratcher, ripping a wide strip

         of skin away, but Clartyclaw cried, “Halt,

         a guest has more to say.” My master asked,                      30                   

 “Are there Italians underneath that tar?”

         “Many,” whimpered the native of Navarre.

         “I’ve just been dragged from one who is my pal,                      33

a very famous magistrate indeed –

         no bigger swindler sat upon a bench –”

         “You talk too much!” yelled Gasher. With a hook                   36

he wrenched a muscle from the speaker’s arm.

         Clartyclaw told my guide, “Talk fast before

          they mangle him some more.”  My master asked,                   39

“Who was your friend?” Staring upon his wound

the Navarese groaned, “Great Fra Gomita,

deputy governor and magistrate,                                               42

           

so kind to gangsters in Sardinia

            they all spoke well of him, also his mate

Zanche of Logodoro, chief swindler                                       45

           

of the lot. O how the fiends gnash teeth and

            roll their eyes at me! If you want to see

            Tuscans and Lombards let me whistle, then                           48

at least seven will appear. By that sign

we tell each other that the coast is clear.

I’ll do that for you, though of course at first                          51

you must stay out of sight.” Ratsnout snorted,

 “I smell a trick,” The swindler said, “You do.

 I am so much a trickster that from spite                                54

           

I’ll fool my pals because I can’t fool you.”

Then Pigshit cried, “If managed well this lad

will be our tool, our bait. He sits on dyke,                             57

we wait behind. He whistles like a lark.

            When enough are lured ashore, we charge out

            slashing, goring, buggering how we like!”                           60

“While he escapes?” sneered Ratsnout, “Daft idea.

            One bird in hand is worth flocks in the air.”

            “My arms are long,” Snatcher said. “Crouched behind,         63

I’ll keep him in my reach, and if he leaps

            I have wings, will swoop. Before he hits tar

            I’ll grab his balls, we’ll remove balls, tongue, skin,                66

teeth, nails and hair. Trickster, will you like that?”

            “Escape? I would not dare,” the swindler swore.

            Now even Ratsnout thought the plan was good.                    69

The demons placed the bait where they thought best

            and crouched down low behind, we with the rest,

            till Snotbeard whispered, “Whistle!” and the bait                  72

drew a deep breath, paused, jumped and Snatcher grabbed

            for him shouting, “Got you!” but too late. Fear

            outleapt wings. Snatcher’s downward swoop did not              75

carry him up because Ratsnout, enraged,

            had also taken flight. Mad for a fight

            he tackled Snatcher in mid air. Both plunged                          78

in scalding tar where the Navarese sank.

            Pain disentangled them, but pitch-clogged wings

            stuck them screaming, struggling in the ditch till                    81

Clartyclaw sent four fiends to the far bank.

            By hooks from each side Snatcher and Ratsnout

            were dragged up, pulled out raving and laid down,                 84

each one well cooked inside his crusted hide.

            This uproar, pandemonium, stramash

was not our business so we did not wait,                               87

but left both fiends and swindlers in that state.