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• Ave Dante
• Preface
• Inferno I
• Inferno Ii
• Inferno Iii
• Inferno Iv
• Inferno V
• Inferno Vi
• Inferno Vii
• Inferno Viii
• Inferno Ix
• Inferno X
• Inferno Xi
• Inferno Xii
• Inferno Xiii
• Inferno Xiv
• Inferno Xv
• Inferno Xvi
• Inferno Xvii
• Inferno Xviii
• Inferno Xix
• Inferno Xx
• Inferno Xxi
• Inferno Xxii
• Inferno Xxiii
• Inferno Xxiv
• Inferno Xxv
• Inferno Xxvi
• Inferno Xxvii
• Inferno Xxviii
• Inferno Xxix
• Inferno Xxx
• Inferno Xxxi
• Inferno Xxxii
• Inferno Xxxiii
• Inferno Xxxiv

INFERNO X

• Now wends his way along a narrow path,
• between the torments and the city’s wall,
• my Teacher and, behind his shoulders, I.

• “O lofty Virtue,” I began, “that leadst me
• around the impious circles at thy pleasure,
• converse with me and satisfy my wishes.
• The people that are lying in the tombs,
• could they be seen? For all the lids are raised,
• it seems, and there is no one keeping guard.”

• And he to me: “They all will be locked in,
• when from Jehoshaphat they here return
• together with the bodies they have left
• above. On this side have their burial-place
• with Epicurus all his followers,
• who claim that with the body dies the soul.
• To the request, however, which thou makest
• thou ’lt soon receive a due reply in here,
• as also to the wish thou keepest from me.”

• And I: “Good Leader, I but keep my heart
• concealed from thee, in order to speak little;
• nor hast thou only now thereto disposed me.”

• “O Tuscan, thou that through the town of fire
• dost go alive with such respectful speech,
• in this place be thou pleased to stay thy steps.
• Thy very language makes thee manifest
• a native of that noble fatherland,
• to which I was, perhaps, too great a bane.”

• All of a sudden issued forth these words
• from one of those ark-tombs; hence I, in fear,
• a little closer to my Leader drew.
• And he said: “Turn around; what doest thou?
• See Farinata who has risen there;
• thou ’lt see him wholly from his girdle up.”

• Already had I fixed mine eyes on his;
• and he was standing up with chest and head
• erect, as if he had great scorn for Hell.
• My Leader then with bold and ready hands
• pushed me between the sepulchers toward him,
• saying: “Now let thy words be frank and clear.”

• When I was ’neath his tomb, he looked at me
• awhile, and then, as though disdainfully,
• he asked of me: “Who were thine ancestors?”

• And I, who was desirous to obey,
• hid it not from him, but revealed it all;
• whereat he slightly raised his brows, and said:
• “So bitterly were they opposed to me,
• and to mine ancestors, and to my party,
• that I on two occasions scattered them.”

• “If they were driven out,” I answered him,
• “from all directions they returned both times;
• your people, though, have not well learned that art.”

• A shade then at the tomb’s uncovered mouth
• rose at his side as far up as his chin;
• I think that he had risen upon his knees.
• Round me he looked, as if he wished to see
• whether some other one were with me there;
• but when his doubt had wholly spent itself,
• weeping he said: “If thou through this blind prison
• dost go by reason of highmindedness,
• where is my son? and why is he not with thee?”

• And I to him: “I come not by myself;
• he who is waiting yonder leads me here,
• one whom, perhaps, your Guido held in scorn.”
• The nature of his torment and his words
• had read this person’s name to me already;
• on this account was my reply so full.

• Then of a sudden standing up, he cried:
• “What saidst thou? Held? Is he not still alive?
• Doth not the sweet light strike upon his eyes?”
• When he perceived the short delay I made
• before replying, down upon his back
• he fell, nor outside showed himself again.

• The other one, meanwhile, the great-souled man,
• at whose request I stopped, changed not his looks,
• nor did he move his neck or turn his side.

• And “If,” continuing his previous words,
• he said: “if they have badly learned that art,
• far more doth that torment me than this bed.
• And yet that Lady’s face who ruleth here
• shall not be lighted fifty times again,
• ere thou shalt know how heavy that art is.
• And so mayst thou return to the sweet world,
• pray tell me why so pitiless toward mine
• that people is in every law of theirs?”

• Whence I to him: “The havoc and great slaughter
• which caused the Arbia to be colored red,
• occasion such petitions in our church.”

• When, sighing, he had tossed his head, he said:
• “In this thing I was not alone, nor surely
• had I, without due cause, moved with the rest;
• but I was yonder, where assent was given
• by every one to do away with Florence,
• the only one to openly defend her.”

• “So may your seed eventually repose,”
• I begged of him, “untie for me, I pray,
• the knot which has perplexed my thinking here.
• It seems, if well I hear, that ye behold
• beforehand that which time brings with itself,
• while in the present ye do otherwise.”

• “We see,” he said, “like one whose sight is poor,
• things that are far from us; to that extent
• the Highest Leader shines upon us still.

• When they approach, or are, our intellect
• is wholly vain, and we, if others bring
• no news, know nothing of your human state.
• Hence thou canst understand that wholly dead
• will be our knowledge from that moment on,
• when closed shall be the gateway of the future.”

• Thereat, for I was grieved at my mistake,
• I said: “You ’ll therefore tell that fallen man
• his son is dwelling with the living still;
• and if in answering I was mute just now,
• cause him to know it was because my thoughts
• were struggling with the problem you have solved.”

• And now my Teacher was recalling me;
• with greater haste I therefore begged the spirit
• that he would tell me who was with him there.

• He said: “With o’er a thousand here I lie;
• the second Frederick and the Cardinal
• are here within; I speak not of the rest.”

• He thereupon concealed himself; and I,
• those words recalling which seemed hostile to me,
• back toward the ancient Poet turned my steps.
• The latter moved; and then, as on we went,
• he said to me: “Why art thou so perplexed?”
• And him in what he asked I satisfied.

• “Then let thy mind preserve,” that Sage enjoined,
• “what thou hast heard against thyself; pay now
• attention here!” His finger then he raised.

• “When in the sweet ray’s presence thou shalt be
• of Her whose lovely eyes see everything,
• from her thou ’lt know the journey of thy life.”

• Thereafter to the left he turned his feet;
• we left the wall, and toward the middle went
• along a path which to a valley leads,
• which even up there unpleasant made its stench.