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This translation first published in Penguin Classics 2006
The translation published in a revised edition in Penguin Classics 2012
This edition published 2013
Translation and notes copyright © Robin Kirkpatrick, 2006, 2012
Cover design: Richard Green
Cover: Detail from an engraving by an unknown Florentine artist based on a fresco in the Campo Santo, Pisa © Bettmann/Corbis
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The moral right of the editor has been asserted
ISBN: 978-0-14-139355-1
Plans of Hell
INFERNO
Notes
PENGUIN 
CLASSICS
DANTE ALIGHIERI was born in Florence in 1265 into a family from the lower ranks of the nobility. He may have studied at the university of Bologna. When he was about twenty, he married Gemma Donati, by whom he had four children. He first met Bice Portinari, whom he called Beatrice, in 1274, and when she died in 1290 he sought consolation by writing the Vita nuova and by studying philosophy and theology. During this time he also became involved in the conflict between the Guelf and Ghibelline factions in Florence; he became a prominent White Guelf and, when the Black Guelfs came to power in 1302, Dante was, during his absence from the city, condemned to exile. He took refuge initially in Verona but eventually, having wandered from place to place, he settled in Ravenna. While there he completed the Commedia, which he began in about 1307. Dante died in Ravenna in 1321.
ROBIN KIRKPATRICK graduated from Merton College, Oxford. He has taught courses on Dante’s Commedia in Hong Kong, Dublin and – for more than thirty years – at the university of Cambridge, where he is Fellow of Robinson College and Emeritus Professor of Italian and English Literatures. His books include Dante’s Paradiso and the Limitations of Modern Criticism (1978), Dante’s Inferno: Difficulty and Dead Poetry (1987) and Dante: The Divine Comedy (2004), while his own published poetry includes Prologue and Palinodes (1997). His translations of Dante’s Purgatorio and Paradiso are also available in Penguin Classics.
1* At one point midway on our path in life,
I came around and found myself now searching
through a dark wood, the right way blurred and lost.
4 How hard it is to say what that wood was,
a wilderness, savage, brute, harsh and wild.
Only to think of it renews my fear!
7 So bitter, that thought, that death is hardly more so.
But since my theme will be the good I found there,
I mean to speak of other things I saw.
10 I do not know, I cannot rightly say,
how first I came to be here – so full of sleep,
that moment, abandoning the true way on.
13* But then, on reaching the foot of a hill
which marked the limit of the dark ravine
that had before so pierced my heart with panic,
16 I looked to that height and saw its shoulders
already clothed in rays from the planet
that leads all others, on any road, aright.
19 My fears, at this, were somewhat quieted,
though terror, awash in the lake of my heart,
had lasted all the night I’d passed in anguish.
22 And then, like someone labouring for breath
who, safely reaching shore from open sea,
still turns and stares across those perilous waves,
25 so in my mind – my thoughts all fleeing still –
I turned around to marvel at that strait
that let no living soul pass through till now.
28* And then – my weary limbs a little rested –
I started up the lonely scree once more,
the foot that drives me always set the lower.
31* But look now! Almost as the scarp begins,
a leopard, light and lively, svelte and quick,
its coat displaying a dappled marking.
34 This never ceased to dance before my face.
No. On it came, so bothering my tread
I’d half a mind at every turn to turn.
37 The time, however, was the hour of dawn.
The sun was mounting, and those springtime stars
that rose along with it when Holy Love
40 first moved to being all these lovely things.
So these – the morning hour, the gentle season –
led me to find good reason for my hopes,
43 seeing that creature with its sparkling hide.
Yet not so far that no fear pressed on me,
to see, appearing now, a lion face.
46 This, as it seemed, came on and on towards me
hungrily, its ravening head held high,
so that, in dread, the air around it trembled.
49 And then a wolf. And she who, seemingly,
was gaunt yet gorged on every kind of craving –
and had already blighted many a life –
52 so heavily oppressed my thought with fears,
which spurted even at the sight of her,
I lost all hope of reaching to those heights.
55 We all so willingly record our gains,
until the hour that leads us into loss.
Then every single thought is tears and sadness.
58 So, now, with me. That brute which knows no peace
came ever nearer me and, step by step,
drove me back down to where the sun is mute.
61 As I went, ruined, rushing to that low,
there had, before my eyes, been offered one
who seemed – long silent – to be faint and dry.
64* Seeing him near in that great wilderness,
to him I screamed my ‘Miserere’: ‘Save me,
whatever – shadow or truly man – you be.’
67* His answer came to me: ‘No man; a man
I was in times long gone. Of Lombard stock,
my parents both by patria were Mantuan.
70 And I was born, though late, sub Iulio.
I lived at Rome in good Augustus’ day,
in times when all the gods were lying cheats.
73 I was a poet then. I sang in praise
of all the virtues of Anchises’ son. From Troy
he came – proud Ilion razed in flame.
76 But you turn back. Why seek such grief and harm?
Why climb no higher up that lovely hill?
The cause and origin of joy shines there.’
79 ‘So, could it be,’ I answered him (my brow,
in shy respect, bent low), ‘you are that Virgil,
whose words (a river running full) flow wide?
82 You are the light and glory of all poets.
May this well serve me: my unending care, the love
so great, that’s made me search your writings through!
85 You are my teacher. You, my lord and law.
From you alone I took the fine-tuned style
that has, already, brought me so much honour.
88 See there? That beast! I turned because of that.
Help me – your wisdom’s known – escape from her.
To every pulsing vein, she brings a tremor.’
91 Seeing my tears, he answered me: ‘There is
another road. And that, if you intend
to quit this wilderness, you’re bound to take.
94* That beast – you cry out at the very sight –
lets no one through who passes on her way.
She blocks their progress; and there they all die.
97 She by her nature is cruel, so vicious
she never can sate her voracious will,
but, feasting well, is hungrier than before.
100 She couples, a mate to many a creature,
and will so with more, till at last there comes
the hunting hound that deals her death and pain.
103 He will not feed on dross or cash or gelt,
but thrive in wisdom, virtue and pure love.
Born he shall be between the felt and felt.
106 To all the shores where Italy bows down
(here chaste Camilla died of wounds, Turnus,
Euryalus and Nisus, too), he’ll bring true health.
109 Hunting that animal from every town,
at last he’ll chase her back once more to Hell,
from which invidia has set her loose.
112 Therefore, considering what’s best for you,
I judge that you should follow, I should guide,
and hence through an eternal space lead on.
115 There you shall hear shrill cries of desperation,
and see those spirits, mourning ancient pain,
who all cry out for death to come once more.
118 And then you’ll see those souls who live in fire,
content to hope – whenever that time comes –
they too will be among the blessed choirs.
121 To which if you shall ever wish to rise,
a soul will come far worthier than me.
I must, at parting, leave you in her care.
124 Reigning on high, there is an Emperor
who, since I was a rebel to His law,
will not allow His city as my goal.
127 He rules there, sovereign over every part.
There stands His capital, His lofty throne.
Happy the one He chooses for His own.’
130 ‘Poet,’ I answered, ‘by that God whose name
you never knew, I beg you, I entreat –
so I may flee this ill and worse – that you
133 now lead me on to where you’ve spoken of,
to find the gate where now Saint Peter stands,
and all those souls that you say are so sad.’
136 He made to move; and I came close behind.
1* Daylight was leaving us, and darkened air
drawing those creatures that there are on earth
from all their labours. I alone, I was
4 the only one preparing, as in war,
to onward-march and bear the agony
that thought will now unfailingly relate.
7 I call the Muses. You great Heights of Mind
bring help to me. You, Memory, wrote down all I saw.
Now shall be seen the greatness of your power.
10 ‘You,’ I began, ‘my poet and my guide,
look at me hard. Am I in spirit strong enough
for you to trust me on this arduous road?
13* As you once told, the sire of Silvius
travelled, though still in fragile flesh, to realms
immortal, and his senses all alive.
16 Nor will it seem (to those of intellect)
unfitting if the enemy of ill
should thus so greatly favour him, recalling
19 what flowed from him, his name and who he was.
He was ordained, in empyrean skies,
father of Rome – its noble heart and empire.
22 To speak the truth: that city – and the sphere
it ruled – was founded as the sacred seat
for all inheritors of great Saint Peter.
25 You have proclaimed the glory of that march.
He on his way heard prophecies that led
to all his triumphs and the papal stole.
28* And then Saint Paul, the chosen Vessel, came –
to carry back a strengthening of that faith
from which salvation always must begin.
31 But me? Why me? Who says I can? I’m not
your own Aeneas. I am not Saint Paul.
No one – not me! – could think I’m fit for this.
34 Surrendering, I’ll say I’ll come. I fear
this may be lunacy. You, though, are wise.
You know me better than my own words say.’
37 And so – as though unwanting every want,
so altering all at every altering thought,
now drawing back from everything begun –
40 I stood there on the darkened slope, fretting
away from thought to thought the bold intent
that seemed so very urgent at the outset.
43 ‘Supposing I have heard your words aright,’
the shadow of that noble mind replied,
‘your heart is struck with ignominious dread.
46 This, very often, is the stumbling block
that turns a noble enterprise off-course –
as beasts will balk at shadows falsely seen.
49 I mean that you should free yourself from fear,
and therefore I will say why first I came,
and what – when first I grieved for you – I heard.
52* With those I was whose lives are held in poise.
And then I heard a lady call – so blessed,
so beautiful – I begged her tell me all she wished.
55 Her eyes were shining brighter than the stars.
Then gently, softly, calmly, she began,
speaking, as angels might, in her own tongue:
58 “You, Mantuan, so courteous in spirit,
your fame endures undimmed throughout the world,
and shall endure as still that world moves onwards.
61 A man most dear to me – though not to fate –
is so entrammelled on the lonely hill
that now he turns, all terror, from the way.
64 My fear must be he’s so bewildered there
that – hearing all I’ve heard of him in Heaven –
I rise too late to bring him any aid.
67 Now make your way. With all your eloquence,
and all that his deliverance demands,
lend him your help so I shall be consoled.
70 For me you’ll go, since I am Beatrice.
And I have come from where I long to be.
Love is my mover, source of all I say.
73 When I again appear before my Lord,
then I shall often speak your praise to Him.”
She now fell silent. I began to speak:
76 “Lady of worth and truth, through you alone
the human race goes far beyond that bourne
set by the moon’s sphere, smallest of all the skies.
79 To me, so welcome is your least command,
I’d be too slow had I obeyed by now.
You need no more declare to me your will.
82 But tell me why you take so little care
and, down to this dead middle point, you leave
the spacious circle where you burn to go.”
85 “Since you desire to know so inwardly,
then briefly,” she replied, “I’ll tell you why
I feel no dread at entering down here.
88 We dread an object when (but only when)
that object has the power to do some harm.
Nothing can otherwise occasion fear.
91 I was created by the grace of God –
and so untouched by all your wretchedness.
Nor can the flames of this great fire assail me.
94* In Heaven, a Lady, gracious, good and kind,
grieves at the impasse that I send you to,
and, weeping, rives the high, unbending rule.
97 She called Lucia, seeking her reply.
‘Your faithful one,’ she said to her, ‘has now
great need of you. I give him to your care.’
100 Lucia is the enemy of harm.
Leaving her place, she came at once to where
I sat – Rachel, long-famed, along with me.
103 ‘You, Beatrice, are, in truth, God’s praise.
Why not,’ she said, ‘make haste to him? He loves you,
and, loving you, he left the common herd.
106 Can you not hear the pity of his tears?
Do you not see the death that beats him down,
swirling in torrents that no sea could boast?’
109 No one on earth has ever run more rapidly
to seek advantage or else flee from harm,
than I in coming – when her words were done –
112 down from that throne of happiness, to trust
in your great words, their dignity and truth.
These honour you and those who hear you speak.”
115 When she had said her say, in tears, she turned
her eyes away – which shone as she was weeping.
And this made me far quicker still for you.
118 So now, as she had willed, I made my way,
to raise you from the face of that brute beast
that stole your pathway up that lovely hill.
121 What is it, then? What’s wrong? Why still delay?
Why fondle in your heart such feebleness?
Why wait? Be forthright, brave and resolute.
124 Three ladies of the court of Paradise,
in utmost happiness watch over you.
My own words promise you the utmost good.’
127 As little flowers bend low on freezing nights,
closed tight, but then, as sunlight whitens them,
grow upright on their stems and fully open,
130 now so did I. My wearied powers reviving,
there ran such wealth of boldness to my heart
that openly – all new and free – I now began:
133 ‘How quick in compassion her aid to me!
And you – so courteous, prompt to accede
to all the words of truth that she has offered!
136 You, as you speak, have so disposed my heart
in keen desire to journey on the way
that I return to find my first good purpose.
139 Set off! A single will inspires us both.
You are my lord, my leader and true guide.’
All this I said to him as he moved on.
142 I entered on that deep and wooded road.
1* ‘Through me you go to the grief-wracked city.
Through me to everlasting pain you go.
Through me you go and pass among lost souls.
4 Justice inspired my exalted Creator.
I am a creature of the Holiest Power,
of Wisdom in the Highest and of Primal Love.
7 Nothing till I was made was made, only
eternal beings. And I endure eternally.
Surrender as you enter every hope you have.’
10 These were the words that – written in dark tones –
I saw there, on the summit of a door.
I turned: ‘Their meaning, sir, for me is hard.’
13 And he in answering (as though he understood):
‘You needs must here surrender all your doubts.
All taint of cowardice must here be dead.
16* We now have come where, as I have said, you’ll see
in suffering the souls of those who’ve lost
the good that intellect desires to win.’
19 And then he placed his hand around my own,
he smiled, to give me some encouragement,
and set me on to enter secret things.
22 Sighing, sobbing, moans and plaintive wailing
all echoed here through air where no star shone,
and I, as this began, began to weep.
25 Discordant tongues, harsh accents of horror,
tormented words, the twang of rage, strident
voices, the sound, as well, of smacking hands,
28 together these all stirred a storm that swirled
for ever in the darkened air where no time was,
as sand swept up in breathing spires of wind.
31 I turned, my head tight-bound in confusion,
to say to my master: ‘What is it that I hear?
Who can these be, so overwhelmed by pain?’
34* ‘This baleful condition is one,’ he said,
‘that grips those souls whose lives, contemptibly,
were void alike of honour and ill fame.
37 These all co-mingle with a noisome choir
of angels who – not rebels, yet not true
to God – existed for themselves alone.
40 To keep their beauty whole, the Heavens spurned them.
Nor would the depths of Hell receive them in,
lest truly wicked souls boast over them.’
43 And I: ‘What can it be, so harsh, so heavy,
that draws such loud lamentings from these crowds?’
And he replied: ‘My answer can be brief:
46 These have no hope that death will ever come.
And so degraded is the life they lead
all look with envy on all other fates.
49 The world allows no glory to their name.
Mercy and Justice alike despise them.
Let us not speak of them. Look, then pass on.’
52 I did look, intently. I saw a banner
running so rapidly, whirling forwards,
that nothing, it seemed, would ever grant a pause.
55* Drawn by that banner was so long a trail
of men and women I should not have thought
that death could ever have unmade so many.
58* A few I recognized. And then I saw –
and knew beyond all doubt – the shadow of the one
who made, from cowardice, the great denial.
61 So I, at that instant, was wholly sure
this congregation was that worthless mob
loathsome alike to God and their own enemies.
64 These wretched souls were never truly live.
They now went naked and were sharply spurred
by wasps and hornets, thriving all around.
67 The insects streaked the face of each with blood.
Mixing with tears, the lines ran down; and then
were garnered at their feet by filthy worms.
70 And when I’d got myself to look beyond,
others, I saw, were ranged along the bank
of some great stream. ‘Allow me, sir,’ I said,
73 ‘to know who these might be. What drives them on,
and makes them all (as far, in this weak light,
as I discern) so eager for the crossing?’
76 ‘That will, of course, be clear to you,’ he said,
‘when once our footsteps are set firm upon
the melancholic shores of Acheron.’
79 At this – ashamed, my eyes cast humbly down,
fearing my words had weighed on him too hard –
I held my tongue until we reached the stream.
82* Look now! Towards us in a boat there came
an old man, yelling, hair all white and aged,
‘Degenerates! Your fate is sealed! Cry woe!
85 Don’t hope you’ll ever see the skies again!
I’m here to lead you to the farther shore,
into eternal shadow, heat and chill.
88 And you there! You! Yes, you, the living soul!
Get right away from this gang! These are dead.’
But then, on seeing that I did not move:
91 ‘You will arrive by other paths and ports.
You’ll start your journey from a different beach.
A lighter hull must carry you across.’
94 ‘Charon,’ my leader, ‘don’t torment yourself.
For this is willed where all is possible
that is willed there. And so demand no more.’
97 The fleecy wattles of the ferry man –
who plied across the liverish swamp, eyeballs
encircled by two wheels of flame – fell mute.
100 But not the other souls. Naked and drained,
their complexions changed. Their teeth began
(hearing his raw command) to gnash and grind.
103 They raged, blaspheming God and their own kin,
the human race, the place and time, the seed
from which they’d sprung, the day that they’d been born.
106 And then they came together all as one,
wailing aloud along the evil margin
that waits for all who have no fear of God.
109 Charon the demon, with his hot-coal eyes,
glared what he meant to do. He swept all in.
He struck at any dawdler with his oar.
112* In autumn, leaves are lifted, one by one,
away until the branch looks down and sees
its tatters all arrayed upon the ground.
115 In that same way did Adam’s evil seed
hurtle, in sequence, from the river rim,
as birds that answer to their handler’s call.
118 Then off they went, to cross the darkened flood.
And, long before they’d landed over there,
another flock assembled in their stead.
121 Attentively, my master said: ‘All those,
dear son, who perish in the wrath of God,
meet on this shore, wherever they were born.
124 And they are eager to be shipped across.
Justice of God so spurs them all ahead
that fear in them becomes that sharp desire.
127 But no good soul will ever leave from here.
And so when Charon thus complains of you,
you may well grasp the sense that sounds within.’
130 His words now done, the desolate terrain
trembled with such great violence that the thought
soaks me once more in a terrified sweat.
133 The tear-drenched earth gave out a gust of wind,
erupting in a flash of bright vermilion,
that overwhelmed all conscious sentiment.
136 I fell like someone gripped by sudden sleep.
1 Thunder rolling heavily in my head
shattered my deep sleep. Startled, I awoke –
as though just shaken in some violent grip.
4 And then once more my sight grew firm and fixed.
Now upright and again afoot, I scanned,
intently, all around to view where I might be.
7 I found I’d reached – and this is true – the edge
of the abyss, that cavern of grief and pain
that rings a peal of endless miseries.
10 The pit, so dark, so wreathed in cloud, went down
so far that – peering towards its deepest floor –
I still could not discern a single thing.
13 ‘Let us descend,’ the poet now began,
‘and enter this blind world.’ His face was pale.
‘I shall go first. Then you come close behind.’
16 I was aware of his altered colour.
‘How can I come, when you,’ I said, ‘my strength
in every time of doubt, are terrified?’
19 ‘It is the agony,’ he answered me,
‘of those below that paints my features thus –
not fear, as you suppose it is, but pity.
22 Let us go on. The long road spurs our pace.’
So now he set himself – and me as well –
to enter Circle One, which skirts the emptiness.
25 Here in the dark (where only hearing told)
there were no tears, no weeping, only sighs
that caused a trembling in the eternal air –
28 sighs drawn from sorrowing, although no pain.
This weighs on all of them, those multitudes
of speechless children, women and full-grown men.
31 ‘You do not ask,’ my teacher in his goodness said,
‘who all these spirits are that you see here?
Do not, I mean, go further till you know:
34 these never sinned. And some attained to merit.
But merit falls far short. None was baptized.
None passed the gate, in your belief, to faith.
37 They lived before the Christian age began.
They paid no reverence, as was due to God.
And in this number I myself am one.
40 For such deficiencies, no other crime,
we all are lost yet only suffer harm
through living in desire, but hopelessly.’
43 At hearing this, great sorrow gripped my heart.
For many persons of the greatest worth
were held, I knew, suspended on this strip.
46* ‘Tell me, sir, tell me, my dearest teacher,’
so I began, determined – on a point
of faith, which routs all error – to be sure,
49 ‘has anyone, by merit of his own
or else another’s, left here then been blessed?’
And he, who read the sense my words had hid,
52 answered: ‘I still was new to this strange state
when, now advancing, I beheld a power
whose head was crowned with signs of victory.
55 He led away the shadow of our primal sire,
shades of his offspring, Abel and Noah,
Moses, who uttered (and observed) the law,
58 of Abraham the patriarch, David the king,
Israel, his father and his own twelve sons,
with Rachel, too, for whom he laboured long,
61 and many more besides. All these He blessed.
This too I mean you’ll know: until these were,
no human soul had ever been redeemed.’
64 Speak as he might, our journey did not pause,
but on we went, and onward, through the wood –
the wood, I mean, of spirits thronging round.
67 Our steps were still not far from where, in sleep,
I fell, when now, ahead, I saw a fire
that overcame a hemisphere of shade.
70 From this we were, as yet, some paces off,
but not so far that I should fail to see
that men of honour made this place their own.
73 ‘Honour you bring, my lord, to art and learning.
Inform me who these are – their honour great –
who stand apart in some way from the rest.’
76 He answered me: ‘The honour of their name
rings clear for those, like you, who live above,
and here gains favour out of Heaven’s grace.’
79 And then there came upon my ear a voice:
‘Honour be his, the poet in the heights.
His shadow now returns which had departed.’
82 The voice was still and silent once again.
And now, I saw, there came four noble shades,
no sorrow in their countenance, nor joy.
85 My teacher – that good man – began to speak:
‘Look on. Behold the one who, sword in hand,
precedes, as their true lord, the other three.
88* This is that sovereign Homer, poet.
Horace the satirist is next to come,
Ovid is third. Then (see!) there is Lucan.
91 All these, by right, must duly share with me
the name that sounded in that single voice.
They do me honour thus, and thus do well.’
94 And so I saw, assembling there as one,
the lovely college of that lord of song
whose verses soar like eagles over all.
97 Some little time they talked among themselves,
then turned to me and offered signs of greeting.
On seeing all of this, my teacher smiled.
100 And greater honour still they paid me now:
they summoned me to join them in their ranks.
I came and walked as sixth among such wisdom.
103 So on we went to reach the dome of light
and spoke of things which, proper where I was,
are relegated, rightly, here to silence.
106 We reached the footings of a noble fort,
circled around by seven curtain walls
and also, as its moat, a lovely stream.
109 We passed this brook as though it were dry land.
Through seven gates I went with these five sages.
We then came out upon a verdant lawn.
112 Here there were some whose eyes were firm and grave –
all, in demeanour, of authority –
who seldom spoke; their tones were calm and gentle.
115 And so we drew aside and found a space,
illuminated, open, high and airy,
where all of these were able to be seen.
118 And there, across that bright enamelled green,
these ancient heroes were displayed to me.
And I within myself am still raised high
121* at what I saw: Electra, many round her.
Hector I recognized, Aeneas, too,
and Caesar in arms, with his hawk-like eyes.
124 Camilla I saw and Penthesilea,
and King Latinus on the other side –
his daughter seated with him, his Lavinia.
127 Brutus (he drove proud Tarquin out), Lucrece
and Julia, Marcia, Cornelia – all these I saw,
and there alone, apart, the sultan Saladin.
130* And then – my brow raised higher still – I saw,
among his family of philosophers,
the master of all those who think and know.
133 To him all look in wonder, all in honour.
And, closer to his side than all the rest,
I now saw Socrates, I saw now Plato,
136 and one, Democritus, who claims the world is chance,
Diogenes and Tales, Anaxagoras,
Empedocles, Heraclitus and Zeno.
139 Then one I saw who gathered healing herbs –
I mean good Dioscorides. Orpheus I saw,
and Seneca the moralist, Linus, Tully,
142 Euclid (geometer) and Ptolemy,
Hippocrates, Avicenna and Galen,
Averroes, too, who made the Commentary.
145 I cannot here draw portraits of them all;
my lengthy subject presses me ahead,
and saying often falls far short of fact.
148 That company of six declines to two.
My lord in wisdom leads a different way,
out of that quiet into trembling air.
151 And nothing, where I now arrive, is shining.