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CANTO LVI.
Picking his way down a deep ravine, with the shrill laughter of the tickling imps still in his ears, the course suddenly turns, and he finds himself shut off from all light and sound and groping in shadowy darkness.
Advancing cautiously, he comes to a wide expanse where the ground is split with yawning fissures from which issues smoke mingled with the sound of doleful voices.
"Let me out! I can't make myself heard! Haven't had my name in a newspaper for two hundred years! Help!"
These are the wails of the notoriety seekers.
