Count Ugolino and the Archbishop Ruggieri—Third division of the Ninth Circle, Ptolomaea: traitors to their friends—Friar Alberigo, Branco d’ Oria.
His mouth uplifted from his grim repast, That sinner, wiping it upon the hair Of the same head that he behind had wasted. Then he began: “Thou wilt that I renew The desperate grief, which wrings my heart already To think of only, ere I speak of it; But if my words be seed that may bear fruit Of infamy to the traitor whom I gnaw, Speaking and weeping shalt thou see together. I know not who thou art, nor by what mode Thou hast come down here; but a Florentine Thou seemest to me truly, when I hear thee. Thou hast to know I was Count Ugolino, And this one was Ruggieri the Archbishop; Now I will tell thee why I am such a neighbor. That, by effect of his malicious thoughts, Trusting in him I was made prisoner, And after put to death, I need not say; But ne’ertheless what thou canst not have heard, That is to say, how cruel was my death, Hear shalt thou, and shalt know if he has wronged me. A narrow perforation in the mew, Which bears because of me the title of Famine, And in which others still must be locked up, Had shown me through its opening many moons Already, when I dreamed the evil dream Which of the future rent for me the veil. This one appeared to me as lord and master, Hunting the wolf and whelps upon the mountain For which the Pisans cannot Lucca see. With sleuth-hounds gaunt, and eager, and well trained, Gualandi with Sismondi and Lanfranchi He had sent out before him to the front. After brief course seemed unto me forespent The father and the sons, and with sharp tushes It seemed to me I saw their flanks ripped open. When I before the morrow was awake, Moaning amid their sleep I heard my sons Who with me were, and asking after bread. Cruel indeed art thou, if yet thou grieve not,