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Dante Alighieri (1265–1321). The Divine Comedy.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

Inferno [Hell]

Canto X ARGUMENT.—Dante, having obtained permission from his guide, holds discourse with Farinata degli Uberti and Cavalcante Cavalcanti, who lie in their fiery tombs that are yet open, and not to be closed up till after the last judgment. Farinata predicts the Poet’s exile from Florence; and shows him that the condemned have knowledge of future things, but are ignorant of what is at present passing, unless it be revealed by some newcomer from earth.

NOW by a secret pathway we proceed,

Between the walls, that hem the region round,

And the tormented souls: my master first,

I close behind his steps. “Virtue supreme!”

I thus began: “Who through these ample orbs

In circuit lead’st me, even as thou will’st;

Speak thou, and satisfy my wish. May those,

Who lie within these sepulchres, be seen?

Already all the lids are raised, and none

O’er them keeps watch.” He thus in answer spake:

“They shall be closed all, what-time they here

From Josaphat return’d shall come, and bring

Their bodies, which above they now have left.

The cemetery on this part obtain,

With Epicurus, all his followers,

Who with the body make the spirit die.

Here therefore satisfaction shall be soon,

Both to the question ask’d, and to the wish

Which thou conceal’st in silence.” I replied:

“I keep not, guide beloved! from thee my heart

Secreted, but to shun vain length of words;

A lesson erewhile taught me by thyself.”

“O Tuscan! thou, who through the city of fire

Alive art passing, so discreet of speech:

Here, please thee, stay awhile. Thy utterance

Declares the place of thy nativity

To be that noble land, with which perchance

I too severely dealt.” Sudden that sound

Forth issued from a vault, whereat, in fear,

I somewhat closer to my leader’s side

Approaching, he thus spake: “What dost thou? Turn:

Lo! Farinata there, who hath himself

Uplifted: from his girdle upwards, all

Exposed, behold him.” On his face was mine

Already fix’d: his breast and forehead there

Erecting, seem’d as in high scorn he held

E’en Hell. Between the sepulchres, to him

My guide thrust me, with fearless hands and prompt;

This warning added: “See thy words be clear.”

He, soon as there I stood at the tomb’s foot,

Eyed me a space; then in disdainful mood

Address’d me: “Say what ancestors were thine.”

I, willing to obey him, straight reveal’d

The whole, nor kept back aught: whence he, his brow

Somewhat uplifting, cried: “Fiercely were they

Adverse to me, my party, and the blood

From whence I sprang: twice, therefore, I abroad

Scatter’d them.” “Though driven out, yet they each time

From all parts,” answer’d I, “return’d; an art

Which yours have shown they are not skill’d to learn.”

Then, peering forth from the unclosed jaw,

Rose from his side a shade, high as the chin,

Leaning, methought, upon its knees upraised.

It look’d around, as eager to explore

If there were other with me; but perceiving

That fond imagination quench’d, with tears

Thus spake: “If thou through this blind prison go’st,

Led by thy lofty genius and profound,

Where is my son? and wherefore not with thee?”

I straight replied: “Not of myself I come;

By him, who there expects me, through this clime

Conducted, whom perchance Guido thy son

Had in contempt.” Already had his words

And mode of punishment read me his name,

Whence I so fully answer’d. He at once

Exclaim’d, up starting, “How! said’st thou, he had?

No longer lives he? Strikes not on his eye

The blessed daylight?” Then, of some delay

I made ere my reply, aware, down fell

Supine, nor after forth appear’d he more.

Meanwhile the other, great of soul, near whom

I yet was station’d, changed not countenance stern,

Nor moved the neck, nor bent his ribbed side.

“And if,” continuing the first discourse,

“They in this art,” he cried, “small skill have shown;

That doth torment me more e’en than this bed.

But not yet fifty times shall be relumed

Her aspect, who reigns here queen of this realm,

Ere thou shalt know the full weight of that art.

So to the pleasant world mayst thou return,

As thou shalt tell me why, in all their laws,

Against my kin this people is so fell.”

“The slaughter and great havoc,” I replied,

“That color’d Arbia’s flood with crimson stain—

To these impute, that in our hallow’d dome

Such orisons ascend.” Sighing he shook

The head, then thus resumed: “In that affray

I stood not singly, nor, without just cause,

Assuredly, should with the rest have stirr’d;

But singly there I stood, when, by consent

Of all, Florence had to the ground been razed,

The one who openly forbade the deed.”

“So may thy lineage find at last repose,”

I thus adjured him, “as thou solve this knot,

Which now involves my mind. If right I hear,

Ye seem to view beforehand that which time

Leads with him, of the present uninform’d.”

“We view, as one who hath an evil sight,”

He answer’d, “plainly, objects far remote;

So much of his large splendor yet imparts

The Almighty Ruler: but when they approach,

Or actually exist, our intellect

Then wholly fails; nor of your human state,

Except what others bring us, know we aught.

Hence therefore mayst thou understand, that all

Our knowledge in that instant shall expire,

When on futurity the portals close.”

Then conscious of my fault, and by remorse

Smitten, I added thus: “Now shalt thou say

To him there fallen, that his offspring still

Is to the living join’d; and bid him know,

That if from answer, silent, I abstain’d,

’Twas that my thought was occupied, intent

Upon that error, which thy help hath solved.”

But now my master summoning me back

I heard, and with more eager haste besought

The spirit to inform me, who with him

Partook his lot. He answer thus return’d:

“More than a thousand with me here are laid.

Within is Frederick, second of that name,

And the Lord Cardinal, and of the rest

I speak not.” He, this said, from sight withdrew.

But I my steps toward the ancient bard

Reverting, ruminated on the words

Betokening me such ill. Onward he moved,

And thus, in going, question’d: “Whence the amaze

That holds thy senses wrapt?” I satisfied

The inquiry, and the sage enjoin’d me straight:

“Let thy safe memory store what thou hast heard,

To thee importing harm; and note thou this,”

With his raised finger bidding me take heed,

“When thou shalt stand before her gracious beam,

Whose bright eye all surveys, she of thy life

The future tenor will to thee unfold.”

Forthwith he to the left hand turn’d his feet:

We left the wall, and toward the middle space

Went by a path that to a valley strikes,

Which e’en thus high exhaled its noisome steam.