Inferno: Canto X

Now by a path that was confined and rude,
Between the tombs and wall that girds the plain.
My master went — and I his steps pursued.

"Virtue supreme!" I then began, "O thou
Who guidest me throughout these realms of pain! —
Speak, and inform me what I wish to know.

The spirits in these sepulchres who lie —
May they be seen? — their lids, as I discern,
E'en now are raised, and none to guard are nigh."

"All will be fasten'd down," the bard replied,
"When from Jehosaphat they shall return
Clothed in the bodies they have laid aside.

"Here Epicurus hath his fiery tomb,
And with him all his followers, who maintain
That soul and body share one common doom.

Wherefore within this place, to the request
Thou hast made known, an answer shalt thou gain;
And likewise to the wish thou hast suppressed."

Then I: "From thee I ne'er conceal a thought,
Unless, dear guide, to shorten what I say; —
A lesson thou thyself hast lately taught."

"Tuscan, who through this city fraught with fire.
Speaking so modestly, dost wend thy way, —
Here may it please thee stay at my desire.

Thy words foil clearly make it manifest
Thou art a native of that noble land,
Which I perhaps too sorely did molest:"

Sudden from out a vault, upon mine ear
These accents burst; whereat I took my stand
Still nearer to my master's side, through fear.

And he exclaim'd: "Turn round; what would'st thou do?
Lo Farinata! —upwards from the waist
His form behold, apparent to thy view."

Already on his face my eyesight fell;
And he uprear'd his forehead and his breast.
As if he felt supreme contempt for Hell.

Towards him, with prompt and animated hand,
My guide among the tombs impelled me on;
And said — "Speak clear, that he may understand."

When nearer to the sepulchre I came.
He gazed awhile; — anon in haughty tone
Exclaim'd: "Who were thine ancestors?" Their name.

Full anxious to obey, I let him know,
And gladly told him who my fathers were:
At which incensed, he somewhat raised his brow:

"To me, and mine, and to my party, erst
So fierce," he said, "the hatred which they bare.
That more than once their forces I dispersed."

"Though vanquished, still they fear'd not to return
Each time," quoth I, "from every part again; —
A happy art which thine have fail'd to learn."

Then at his side another shade arose.
Of whom no more than to the chin was seen;
(Upon his knees he rested, I suppose.)

He look'd around me, e'en as if he sought
Another in my company to find;
But, when he saw how vain the pleasing thought.

Weeping he said: "If lofty genius be
Thy passport hither through this prison blind —
Where is my son? why comes he not with thee?"

I answered him: "I come not here alone:
Lo! yonder is my faithful escort, whom
Guido thy son perhaps had scorn'd to own."

(Already was made known to me his name,
. Both by his words, and his appropriate doom;
Whence from my lips so full an answer came.)

Then on a sudden starting up— he cries,
"Had! didst thou tell me? — ceases he to live? —
Strikes not the genial light upon his eyes?"

When he observed a short delay ensue,
Ere I an answer to his speech could give.
Supine he fell, nor more appear'd to view.

But he — that noble and exalted shade
Who bade me stay, changed not his look the while —
Bent not his either side, nor moved his head:

"And if," continuing his speech, he said,
"The art thou speak'st of, they have learnt so ill.
That more torments me than this fiery bed.

But the fair Lady, who here beareth sway,
Not fifty times her silver face shall light.
Ere thou wilt know how much that art doth weigh.

And mayst thou see the beauteous world again.
As thou acquaint me why, my friends to spite.
Such cruel laws your people still retain."

"The rout," I said, "and dreadful carnage made,
When Arbia's stream ran purple to the sea.
Tell why such vows are in our temples paid."

Then sighing mournfully, his head he shook;
"Not singly mix'd I in that fray," said he,
"Nor without cause such part with others took.

But when assembled numbers had decreed
To sweep fair Florence from the earth away.
My voice alone was raised against the deed."

"So by thine offspring may repose be found.
As thou unravelest" (thus to him I pray)
"The knot in which my intellect is bound.

Future events, ere time may yet unfold,
It seems ye can foretel, if right I learn; —
Unable what is present to behold."

"Like one who hath a weak and failing sight.
Objects remote," he answer'd, "we discern; —
The mighty God imparteth still such light:

When they are present, or approach — all vain
Our reason proves; nor of your mortal state.
Except from others, can we knowledge gain.

Now therefore mayst thou fully comprehend.
When once is closed futurity's dark gate.
All our intelligence will have an end."

Then with compunction smitten, as it were,
I said: "Inform that fallen one, I pray.
That still his Guido breathes the vital air.

And if from answer I at first refrain'd.
Tell him, my erring thoughts were led astray.
Pondering on that which thou hast now explain'd."

Then with more haste I press'd him to relate
(For Virgil's summons fell upon mine ear)
What shades partook of his unhappy fate.

"Here with above a thousand souls I lie:
Here is the second Frederick, and here
The Cardinal: the others I pass by."

This said, he vanish'd. Not without alarm
I turn'd me to the ancient bard again.
Musing on what to me portended harm.

Onward he moved, and, as he went, inquired:
"What is it thus bewildereth thy brain?"
And I reveal'd the cause, as he desired.

"What thou hast heard of evils that impend,
Store in thy memory," the poet said;
"And now" (his finger he upraised) "attend: —

"When thou shalt stand before her heavenly ray,
Whose beauteous eyes through all extent pervade.
She shall inform thee of thy future way."

Then turning to the left my guide proceeds.
Leaving the wall, on towards the gulf we went
Along a path that to a valley leads.

Which e'en to us its noisome vapour sent.