# Inferno Canto 15

*Exported from [Holy-Writings.com](https://www.holy-writings.com/) on 2026-06-18 — 1 clipping.*

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> Christianity Index  Divine Comedy Index  Previous: Inferno Canto 14  Next: Inferno Canto 16  
> 
> Canto XV
> 
> Argument
> 
>      Taking their way upon one of the mounds by which the streamlet, spoken of
> in the last Canto, was embanked, and having gone so far that they could no
> longer have discerned the forest if they had turned round to look for it, they
> meet a troop of spirits that come along the sand by the side of the pier.
> These are they who have done violence to Nature; and among them Dante
> distinguishes Brunetto Latini, who had been formerly his master; with whom,
> turning a little backward, he holds a discourse which occupies the remainder
> of this Canto.
> 
> One of the solid margins bears us now
> Envelop'd in the mist, that, from the stream
> Arising, hovers o'er, and saves from fire
> Both piers and water. As the Flemings rear
> Their mound, 'twixt Ghent and Bruges, to chase back
> The ocean, fearing his tumultuous tide
> That drives toward them; or the Paduans theirs
> Along the Brenta, to defend their towns
> And castles, ere the genial warmth be felt
> On Chiarentana's[1] top; such were the mounds,
> So framed, though not in height or bulk to these
> Made equal, by the master, whosoe'er
> He was, that raised them here. We from the wood
> Were now so far removed, that turning round
> I might not have discern'd it, when we met
> A troop of spirits, who came beside the pier.
> 
> [1: A part of the Alps where the Brenta rises, swollen by melting
> snows.]
> 
> They each one eyed us, as at eventide
> One eyes another under a new moon;
> And toward us sharpen'd their sight, as keen
> As an old tailor at his needle's eye.
> 
> Thus narrowly explored by all the tribe,
> I was agnized of one, who by the skirt
> Caught me, and cried, "What wonder have we here?"
> 
> And I, when he to me outstretch'd his arm,
> Intently fix'd my ken on his parch'd looks,
> That, although smirch'd with fire, they hinder'd not
> But I remember'd him; and toward his face
> My hand inclining, answer'd: "Ser Brunetto![2]
> And are ye here?" He thus to me: "My son!
> Oh let it not displease thee, if Brunetto
> Latini but a little space with thee
> Turn back, and leave his fellows to proceed."
> 
> [2: "Ser Brunetto, a Florentine, the secretary or chancellor of the
> city, and Dante's preceptor, hath left us a work so little read, that both the
> subject of it and the language of it have been mistaken. It is in the French
> spoken in the reign of St. Louis, under the title of 'Tresor'; and contains a
> species of philosophical lectures."]
> 
> I thus to him replied: "Much as I can,
> I thereto pray thee; and if thou be willing
> That I here seat me with thee, I consent;
> His leave, with whom I journey, first obtain'd."
> 
> "O son!" said he, "whoever of this throng
> One instant stops, lies then a hundred years,
> No fan to ventilate him, when the fire
> Smitest sorest. Pass thou therefore on. I close
> Will at thy garments walk, and then rejoin
> My troop, who go mourning their endless doom."
> 
> I dared not from the path descend to tread
> On equal ground with him, but held my head
> Bent down, as one who walks in reverent guise.
> 
> "What chance or destiny," thus he began,
> "Ere the last day, conducts thee here below?
> And who is this that shows to thee the way?"
> "There up aloft," I answer'd, "in the life
> Serene, I wander'd in a valley lost,
> Before mine age had to its fullness reach'd.
> But yester - morn I left it: then once more
> Into that vale returning, him I met;
> And by this path homeward he leads me back."
> 
> "If thou," he answer'd, "follow but thy star,
> Thou canst not miss at last a glorious haven;
> Unless in fairer days my judgment err'd.
> And if my fate so early had not chanced,
> Seeing the heavens thus bounteous to thee, I
> Had gladly given thee comfort in thy work.
> But that ungrateful and malignant race,
> Who in old times came down from Fesole,
> Ay and still smack of their rough mountain flint,
> Will for thy good deeds show thee enmity.
> Nor wonder; for amongst ill - savor'd crabs
> It suits not the sweet fig - tree lay her fruit.
> Old fame reports them in the world for blind,
> Covetous, envious, proud. Look to it well:
> Take heed thou cleanse thee of their ways. For thee,
> Thy fortune hath such honor in reserve,
> That thou by either party shalt be craved
> With hunger keen: but be the fresh herb far
> From the goat's tooth. The herd of Fesole
> May of themselves make litter, not touch the plant,
> If any such yet spring on their rank bed,
> In which the holy seed revives, transmitted
> From those true Romans, who still there remain'd,
> When it was made the nest of so much ill."
> 
> "Were all my wish fulfill'd," I straight replied,
> "Thou from the confines of man's nature yet
> Hadst not been driven forth; for in my mind
> Is fix'd, and now strikes full upon my heart,
> The dear, benign, paternal image, such
> As thine was, when so lately thou didst teach me
> The way for man to win eternity:
> And how I prized the lesson, it behoves,
> That, long as life endures, my tongue should speak.
> What of my fate thou tell'st, that write I down;
> And, with another text[3] to comment on,
> For her I keep it, the celestial dame,
> Who will know all, if I to her arrive.
> This only would I have thee clearly note:
> That, so my conscience have no plea against me,
> Do Fortune as she list, I stand prepared.
> Not new or strange such earnest to mine ear.
> Speed Fortune then her wheel, as likes her best;
> The clown his mattock; all things have their course."
> 
> [3: "With another text." He refers to the predictions of Farinata, in
> Canto x.]
> 
> Thereat my sapient guide upon his right
> Turn'd himself back, then looked at me, and spake:
> "He listens to good purpose who takes note."
> 
> I not the less still on my way proceed,
> Discoursing with Brunetto, and inquire
> Who are most known and chief among his tribe.
> 
> "To know of some is well;" he thus replied,
> "But of the rest silence may best beseem.
> Time would not serve us for report so long.
> In brief I tell thee, that all these were clerks,
> Men of great learning and no less renown,
> By one same sin polluted in the world.
> With them is Priscian; and Accorso's son,
> Francesco,[4] herds among the wretched throng:
> And, if the wish of so impure a blotch
> Possess'd thee, him[5] thou also mightst have seen,
> Who by the servants' servant was transferr'd
> From Arno's seat to Bacchiglione, where
> His ill - strain'd nerves he left. I more would add,
> But must from further speech and onward way
> Alike desist; for yonder I behold
> A mist new - risen on the sandy plain.
> A company, with whom I may not sort,
> Approaches, I commend my Treasure to thee,
> Wherein I yet survive; my sole request."
> 
> [4: "Francesco." Accorso, a Florentine, interpreted the Roman law at
> Bologna, and died in 1229, at the age of 78. His authority was so great as to
> exceed that of all the other interpreters, so that Cino da Pistoia termed him
> the Idol of Advocates. His sepulchre, and that of his son Francesco here
> spoken of, is at Bologna, with this short epitaph: "Sepulcrum Accursii
> Glossatoris et Francisci eus Filii."]
> 
> [5: "Him." Andrea de' Mozzi, who, that his scandalous life might be
> less exposed to observation, was translated either by Nicholas III or Boniface
> VIII from the see of Florence to that of Vicenza, through which passes the
> river Bacchiglione. He died at Vicenza.]
> 
> This said, he turn'd, and seem'd as one of those
> Who o'er Verona's champaign try their speed
> For the green mantle; and of them he seem'd,
> Not he who loses but who gains the prize.
>
> — *Inferno Canto 15*