Canto 10

Now along a narrow path between the wall of the city and the torments my Master goeth on, and I behind his shoulders.

Now my guide walks along a narrow path between the city wall and the torments, and I follow behind him.

“O Virtue supreme,” I began, “that through the impious circles turnest me, according to thy pleasure, speak to me and satisfy my desires. The folk that are lying in the sepulchres, can they be seen? All the lids are now lifted, and no one keepeth guard.” And he to me, “All shall be locked in when from Jehoshaphat they shall here return with the bodies which they have left on earth. Upon this side Epicurus with all his followers, who make the soul mortal with the body, have their burial place. Therefore as to the demand that thou makest of me, thou shalt soon be satisfied here within; and also as to the desire concerning which thou art silent to me.” And I, “Good Leader, I hold not my heart hidden from thee except in order to speak little; and not only now to that hast thou disposed me.”

“O Supreme Virtue,” I began, “you guide me through the circles of the wicked as you please. Please answer my question. Can the people lying in the tombs be seen? All the lids are raised now, and no one is guarding them.” He said to me, “All the tombs will be sealed when the dead return here from Jehoshaphat. They will return with the bodies they left on earth. On this side, Epicurus is buried with all his followers. They believe that the soul dies with the body. So your question will soon be answered here. And so will the desire you have not spoken to me about.” I said, “Good Leader, I hide my thoughts from you only to avoid speaking too much. And you have taught me to do that before, not just now.”

“O Tuscan, who through the city of fire alive art going, speaking thus modestly, may it please thee to stop in this place. Thy speech makes manifest that thou art native of that noble fatherland to which perchance I was too molestful.” Suddenly this sound issued from one of the coffers, wherefore I drew, in fear, a little nearer to my Leader. And he said to me, “Turn, what dost thou? Behold Farinata who hath uprisen; thou shalt see him all from the girdle up.”

“O Tuscan, you who walk alive through the city of fire and speak so modestly, please stop here. Your speech makes it clear that you are from that noble homeland to which I may have caused too much trouble.” Suddenly, this voice came from one of the tombs, so I moved a little closer to my Guide in fear. He said to me, “Turn around. What are you doing? Look, Farinata has risen. You can see all of him from the waist up.”

I had already fixed my face on his, and he straightened himself up with breast and front as though he had Hell in great scorn. And the bold and ready hands of my Leader pushed me among the sepulchres to him, saying, “Let thy words be choice.”

I had already fixed my gaze on him, and he stood up straight, thrusting out his chest as though he held Hell in scorn. And my guide boldly and firmly pushed me through the tombs toward him, saying, “Choose your words carefully.”

When I was at the foot of his tomb, he looked at me a little, and then, as though disdainful, asked me, “Who were thy ancestors?” I, who was desirous to obey, concealed them not, but disclosed them all to him; whereon he raised his brows a little up, then said, “Fiercely were they adverse to me, and to my fathers, and to my party, so that twice I scattered them.” ²⁵ “If they were driven out, they returned from every side,” replied I to him, “both one and the other time, but yours have not learned well that art.”

When I reached the foot of his tomb, he looked at me for a moment. Then, as if with contempt, he asked, “Who were your ancestors?” I wanted to answer him, so I hid nothing and told him about them all. He raised his eyebrows slightly and said, “They were fierce enemies of me, my fathers, and my party. So I scattered them twice.” ²⁵ “If they were driven out, they returned from every direction both times,” I replied, “but yours have not learned that art well.”

Then there arose, to view uncovered down to the chin, a shade at the side of this one; I think that it had risen on its knees. Round about me it looked, as if it had desire to see if another were with me, but when its expectancy was quite extinct, weeping it said, “If through this blind dungeon thou goest through loftiness of genius, my son, where is he? and why is he not with thee?” And I to him, “Of myself I come not; he who waits yonder leads me through here, whom perchance your Guido held in scorn.”²⁶

Then another shade rose beside the first, visible down to its chin. I think it had risen to its knees. The shade looked around me, as if hoping to see someone else with me. But when that hope was gone, it wept and said, “If you are going through this dark dungeon because of your great genius, where is my son? Why is he not with you?” I answered, “I do not come on my own. The one waiting over there leads me through here. Perhaps your Guido held him in scorn.”²⁶

His words and the mode of the punishment had already read to me the name of this one, wherefore my answer was so full.

His words and the kind of punishment had already revealed his name to me, so I answered him fully.

Suddenly straightening up, he cried, “How didst thou say, ‘he held’? lives he not still? doth not the sweet light strike his eyes?” When he took note of some delay that I made before answering, he fell again supine, and forth appeared no more.

Suddenly, he straightened up and cried, “What do you mean, ‘he held’? Is he no longer alive? Does the sweet light no longer reach his eyes?” When he noticed that I hesitated before answering, he fell back and appeared no more.

But that other magnanimous one, at whose instance I had stayed, changed not aspect, nor moved his neck, nor bent his side. “And if,” he said, continuing his first words, “they have ill learned that art, it torments me more than this bed. But the face of the lady who ruleth here will not be rekindled fifty times ere thou shalt know how much that art weighs. And, so mayest thou return unto the sweet world, tell me wherefore is that people so pitiless against my race in its every law?” Then I to him, “The rout and the great carnage that colored the Arbia red cause such orison to be made in our temple.” After he had, sighing, shaken his head, “In that I was not alone,” he said, “nor surely without cause would I have moved with the rest; but I was alone,—there²⁷ where it was agreed by every one to lay Florence waste,—he who defended her with open face.” “Ah! so hereafter may your seed repose,” I prayed to him, “loose for me that knot, which here has entangled my judgment. It seems, if I rightly hear, that ye foresee that which time is bringing with him, and as to the present have another way.” “We see,” he said, “like those who have feeble light, the things that are far from us, so much still shineth on us the supreme Leader; when they draw near, or are, our intelligence is all vain, and, if some one report not to us, we know nothing of your human state. Therefore thou canst comprehend that our knowledge will be utterly dead from that moment when the gate of the future shall he closed.” Then, as compunctious for my fault I said, “Now wilt thou therefore tell that fallen one that his son is still conjoined with the living, and if just now I was dumb to answer, make him know that I was so because I was still thinking in that error which you have solved for me.”²⁸

But the other noble spirit, at whose request I had stayed, did not change his expression, turn his head, or bend his body. “And if,” he said, continuing his earlier words, “they have learned that art poorly, it torments me more than this bed. But the face of the lady who rules here will not have been lit fifty times before you know how hard that art is. And, as you hope to return to the sweet world, tell me why those people are so merciless toward my family in every law they make.” Then I said to him, “The defeat and the great slaughter that turned the Arbia red are why such prayers are offered in our temple.” He sighed and shook his head. “I was not alone in that,” he said, “and I surely would not have joined the others without cause. But when everyone agreed to destroy Florence, I alone²⁷ defended her openly.” “Ah, as I hope your descendants may one day find peace,” I begged him, “untangle this knot that has confused my judgment. If I understand correctly, you foresee what time will bring, but know the present in another way.” “We see things far away,” he said, “like people with weak eyesight. The supreme Leader still grants us that much light. But when events draw near or happen, our understanding is useless. Unless someone tells us, we know nothing of your human condition. So you can understand that our knowledge will be completely dead from the moment the gate of the future closes.” Then, ashamed of my fault, I said, “Will you tell that fallen spirit that his son is still among the living? And if I was silent just now instead of answering him, let him know why. I was still struggling with the misunderstanding you have cleared up for me.”²⁸

And now my Master was calling me back, wherefore I prayed the spirit more hastily that he would tell me who was with him. He said to me, “Here with more than a thousand do I lie; here within is the second Frederick and the Cardinal,²⁹ and of the others I am silent.”

My Master was calling me back, so I hurriedly asked the spirit who was with him. He said to me, “I lie here with more than a thousand others. The second Frederick and the Cardinal²⁹ are here with me, but I will say nothing of the others.”

Thereon he hid himself; and I toward the ancient Poet turned my steps, reflecting on that speech which seemed hostile to me. He moved on, and then, thus going, he said to me, “Why art thou so distraught?” And I satisfied his demand. “Let thy memory preserve that which thou hast heard against thyself,” commanded me that Sage, “and now attend to this,” and he raised his finger. “When thou shalt be in presence of the sweet radiance of her whose beautiful eye sees everything, from her thou shalt learn the journey of thy life.” Then to the left he turned his step.

Then he hid himself, and I turned toward the ancient poet, thinking about the words that seemed hostile to me. He walked on and, as we went, asked me, “Why are you so troubled?” I answered his question. “Remember what you have heard against yourself,” the wise poet told me. Then he raised his finger. “Now listen to this. When you stand in the sweet radiance of the one whose beautiful eye sees everything, she will tell you about your life’s journey.” Then he turned to the left.

We left the wall, and went toward the middle by a path which strikes into a valley that even up there its stench made displeasing.

We left the wall and headed toward the middle along a path leading into a valley. Even up there, the valley’s stench was unpleasant.