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    "schema_version": "1.1",
    "endpoint": "/api/sources/divine-comedy/inferno/canto-15.json"
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  "work": {
    "slug": "inferno",
    "name": "Inferno"
  },
  "parents": [
    {
      "slug": "divine-comedy",
      "name": "Divine Comedy",
      "url": "/sources/divine-comedy/"
    }
  ],
  "chapter": {
    "num": 15,
    "slug": "canto-15",
    "title": "Inferno · Canto 15",
    "of": 34,
    "words": 1342,
    "text": "## Inferno Canto 15\n\n\nCanto XV\n\nArgument\n\nTaking their way upon one of the mounds by which the streamlet, spoken of\nin the last Canto, was embanked, and having gone so far that they could no\nlonger have discerned the forest if they had turned round to look for it, they\nmeet a troop of spirits that come along the sand by the side of the pier.\nThese are they who have done violence to Nature; and among them Dante\ndistinguishes Brunetto Latini, who had been formerly his master; with whom,\nturning a little backward, he holds a discourse which occupies the remainder\nof this Canto.\n\nOne of the solid margins bears us now\nEnvelop'd in the mist, that, from the stream\nArising, hovers o'er, and saves from fire\nBoth piers and water. As the Flemings rear\nTheir mound, 'twixt Ghent and Bruges, to chase back\nThe ocean, fearing his tumultuous tide\nThat drives toward them; or the Paduans theirs\nAlong the Brenta, to defend their towns\nAnd castles, ere the genial warmth be felt\nOn Chiarentana's[1] top; such were the mounds,\nSo framed, though not in height or bulk to these\nMade equal, by the master, whosoe'er\nHe was, that raised them here. We from the wood\nWere now so far removed, that turning round\nI might not have discern'd it, when we met\nA troop of spirits, who came beside the pier.\n\n[1: A part of the Alps where the Brenta rises, swollen by melting\nsnows.]\n\nThey each one eyed us, as at eventide\nOne eyes another under a new moon;\nAnd toward us sharpen'd their sight, as keen\nAs an old tailor at his needle's eye.\n\nThus narrowly explored by all the tribe,\nI was agnized of one, who by the skirt\nCaught me, and cried, \"What wonder have we here?\"\n\nAnd I, when he to me outstretch'd his arm,\nIntently fix'd my ken on his parch'd looks,\nThat, although smirch'd with fire, they hinder'd not\nBut I remember'd him; and toward his face\nMy hand inclining, answer'd: \"Ser Brunetto![2]\nAnd are ye here?\" He thus to me: \"My son!\nOh let it not displease thee, if Brunetto\nLatini but a little space with thee\nTurn back, and leave his fellows to proceed.\"\n\n[2: \"Ser Brunetto, a Florentine, the secretary or chancellor of the\ncity, and Dante's preceptor, hath left us a work so little read, that both the\nsubject of it and the language of it have been mistaken. It is in the French\nspoken in the reign of St. Louis, under the title of 'Tresor'; and contains a\nspecies of philosophical lectures.\"]\n\nI thus to him replied: \"Much as I can,\nI thereto pray thee; and if thou be willing\nThat I here seat me with thee, I consent;\nHis leave, with whom I journey, first obtain'd.\"\n\n\"O son!\" said he, \"whoever of this throng\nOne instant stops, lies then a hundred years,\nNo fan to ventilate him, when the fire\nSmitest sorest. Pass thou therefore on. I close\nWill at thy garments walk, and then rejoin\nMy troop, who go mourning their endless doom.\"\n\nI dared not from the path descend to tread\nOn equal ground with him, but held my head\nBent down, as one who walks in reverent guise.\n\n\"What chance or destiny,\" thus he began,\n\"Ere the last day, conducts thee here below?\nAnd who is this that shows to thee the way?\"\n\"There up aloft,\" I answer'd, \"in the life\nSerene, I wander'd in a valley lost,\nBefore mine age had to its fullness reach'd.\nBut yester - morn I left it: then once more\nInto that vale returning, him I met;\nAnd by this path homeward he leads me back.\"\n\n\"If thou,\" he answer'd, \"follow but thy star,\nThou canst not miss at last a glorious haven;\nUnless in fairer days my judgment err'd.\nAnd if my fate so early had not chanced,\nSeeing the heavens thus bounteous to thee, I\nHad gladly given thee comfort in thy work.\nBut that ungrateful and malignant race,\nWho in old times came down from Fesole,\nAy and still smack of their rough mountain flint,\nWill for thy good deeds show thee enmity.\nNor wonder; for amongst ill - savor'd crabs\nIt suits not the sweet fig - tree lay her fruit.\nOld fame reports them in the world for blind,\nCovetous, envious, proud. Look to it well:\nTake heed thou cleanse thee of their ways. For thee,\nThy fortune hath such honor in reserve,\nThat thou by either party shalt be craved\nWith hunger keen: but be the fresh herb far\nFrom the goat's tooth. The herd of Fesole\nMay of themselves make litter, not touch the plant,\nIf any such yet spring on their rank bed,\nIn which the holy seed revives, transmitted\nFrom those true Romans, who still there remain'd,\nWhen it was made the nest of so much ill.\"\n\n\"Were all my wish fulfill'd,\" I straight replied,\n\"Thou from the confines of man's nature yet\nHadst not been driven forth; for in my mind\nIs fix'd, and now strikes full upon my heart,\nThe dear, benign, paternal image, such\nAs thine was, when so lately thou didst teach me\nThe way for man to win eternity:\nAnd how I prized the lesson, it behoves,\nThat, long as life endures, my tongue should speak.\nWhat of my fate thou tell'st, that write I down;\nAnd, with another text[3] to comment on,\nFor her I keep it, the celestial dame,\nWho will know all, if I to her arrive.\nThis only would I have thee clearly note:\nThat, so my conscience have no plea against me,\nDo Fortune as she list, I stand prepared.\nNot new or strange such earnest to mine ear.\nSpeed Fortune then her wheel, as likes her best;\nThe clown his mattock; all things have their course.\"\n\n[3: \"With another text.\" He refers to the predictions of Farinata, in\nCanto x.]\n\nThereat my sapient guide upon his right\nTurn'd himself back, then looked at me, and spake:\n\"He listens to good purpose who takes note.\"\n\nI not the less still on my way proceed,\nDiscoursing with Brunetto, and inquire\nWho are most known and chief among his tribe.\n\n\"To know of some is well;\" he thus replied,\n\"But of the rest silence may best beseem.\nTime would not serve us for report so long.\nIn brief I tell thee, that all these were clerks,\nMen of great learning and no less renown,\nBy one same sin polluted in the world.\nWith them is Priscian; and Accorso's son,\nFrancesco,[4] herds among the wretched throng:\nAnd, if the wish of so impure a blotch\nPossess'd thee, him[5] thou also mightst have seen,\nWho by the servants' servant was transferr'd\nFrom Arno's seat to Bacchiglione, where\nHis ill - strain'd nerves he left. I more would add,\nBut must from further speech and onward way\nAlike desist; for yonder I behold\nA mist new - risen on the sandy plain.\nA company, with whom I may not sort,\nApproaches, I commend my Treasure to thee,\nWherein I yet survive; my sole request.\"\n\n[4: \"Francesco.\" Accorso, a Florentine, interpreted the Roman law at\nBologna, and died in 1229, at the age of 78. His authority was so great as to\nexceed that of all the other interpreters, so that Cino da Pistoia termed him\nthe Idol of Advocates. His sepulchre, and that of his son Francesco here\nspoken of, is at Bologna, with this short epitaph: \"Sepulcrum Accursii\nGlossatoris et Francisci eus Filii.\"]\n\n[5: \"Him.\" Andrea de' Mozzi, who, that his scandalous life might be\nless exposed to observation, was translated either by Nicholas III or Boniface\nVIII from the see of Florence to that of Vicenza, through which passes the\nriver Bacchiglione. He died at Vicenza.]\n\nThis said, he turn'd, and seem'd as one of those\nWho o'er Verona's champaign try their speed\nFor the green mantle; and of them he seem'd,\nNot he who loses but who gains the prize.",
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}