| |
| HELL’S dunnest gloom, or night unlustrous, dark, | |
| Of every planet ’reft, and pall’d in clouds, | |
| Did never spread before the sight a veil | |
| In thickness like that fog, nor to the sense | |
| So palpable and gross. Entering its shade, | 5 |
| Mine eye endured not with unclosed lids; | |
| Which marking, near me drew the faithful guide, | |
| Offering me his shoulder for a stay. | |
| As the blind man behind his leader walks, | |
| Lest he should err, or stumble unawares | 10 |
| On what might harm him or perhaps destroy; | |
| I journey’d through that bitter air and foul, | |
| Still listening to my escort’s warning voice, | |
| “Look that from me thou part not.” Straight I heard | |
| Voices, and each one seem’d to pray for peace, | 15 |
| And for compassion, to the Lamb of God | |
| That taketh sins away. Their prelude still | |
| Was “Agnus Dei”; and through all the choir, | |
| One voice, one measure ran, that perfect seem’d | |
| The concord of their song. “Are these I hear | 20 |
| Spirits, O master?” I exclaim’d; and he, | |
| “Thou aim’st aright: these loose the bonds of wrath.” | |
| “Now who art thou, that through our smoke dost cleave, | |
| And speak’st of us, as thou thyself e’en yet | |
| Dividedst time by calends?” So one voice | 25 |
| Bespake me; whence my master said. “Reply; | |
| And ask, if upward hence the passage lead.” | |
| “O being! who dost make thee pure, to stand | |
| Beautiful once more in thy Maker’s sight; | |
| Along with me: and thou shalt hear and wonder.” | 30 |
| Thus, I whereto the spirit answering spake: | |
| “Long as ’tis lawful for me, shall my steps | |
| Follow on thine; and since the cloudy smoke | |
| Forbids the seeing, hearing in its stead | |
| Shall keep us join’d.” I then forthwith began: | 35 |
| “Yet in my mortal swathing, I ascend | |
| To higher regions; and am hither come | |
| Thorough the fearful agony of Hell. | |
| And, if so largely God hath doled His grace, | |
| That, clean beside all modern precedent, | 40 |
| He wills me to behold His kingly state; | |
| From me conceal not who thou wast, ere death | |
| Had loosed thee; but instruct me: and instruct | |
| If rightly to the pass I tend; thy words | |
| The way directing, as a safe escort.” | 45 |
| “I was of Lombardy, and Marco call’d: 1 | |
| Not inexperienced of the world, that worth | |
| I still affected, from which all have turn’d | |
| The nerveless bow aside. Thy course tends right | |
| Unto the summit:” and, replying thus, | 50 |
| He added, “I beseech thee pray for me, | |
| When thou shalt come aloft.” And I to him: | |
| “Accept my faith for pledge I will perform | |
| What thou requirest. Yet one doubt remains, | |
| That wrings me sorely, if I solve it not. | 55 |
| Singly before it urged me, doubled now | |
| By thine opinion, when I couple that | |
| With one elsewhere declared; each strengthening other. | |
| The world indeed is even so forlorn | |
| Of all good, as thou speak’st it, and so swarms | 60 |
| With every evil. Yet, beseech thee, point | |
| The cause out to me, that myself may see, | |
| And unto others show it: for in Heaven | |
| One places it, and one on earth below.” | |
| Then heaving forth a deep and audible sigh, | 65 |
| “Brother!” he thus began, “the world is blind; | |
| And thou in truth comest from it. Ye, who live, | |
| Do so each cause refer to Heaven above, | |
| E’en as its motion, of necessity, | |
| Drew with it all that moves, If this were so, | 70 |
| Free choice in you were none; nor justice would | |
| There should be joy for virtue, woe for ill. | |
| Your movements have their primal bent from Heaven; | |
| Not all: yet said I all; what then ensues? | |
| Light have ye still to follow evil or good, | 75 |
| And of the will free power, which, if it stand | |
| Firm and unwearied in Heaven’s first assay, | |
| Conquers at last, so it be cherish’d well, | |
| Triumphant over all. To mightier force, | |
| To better nature subject, ye abide | 80 |
| Free, not constrain’d by that which forms in you | |
| The reasoning mind uninfluenced of the stars. | |
| If then the present race of mankind err, | |
| Seek in yourselves the cause, and find it there; | |
| Herein thou shalt confess me no false spy. | 85 |
| “Forth from His plastic hand, who charm’d beholds | |
| Her image ere she yet exist, the soul | |
| Comes like a babe, that wantons sportively, | |
| Weeping and laughing in its wayward moods; | |
| As artless, and as ignorant of aught, | 90 |
| Save that her Maker being one who dwells | |
| With gladness ever, willingly she turns | |
| To whate’er yields her joy. Of some slight good | |
| The flavour soon she tastes; and, snared by that, | |
| With fondness she pursues it; if no guide | 95 |
| Recall, no rein direct her wandering course. | |
| Hence it behoved, the law should be a curb; | |
| A sovereign hence behoved, whose piercing view | |
| Might mark at least the fortress 2 and main tower | |
| Of the true city. Laws indeed there are: | 100 |
| But who is he observes them? None; not he, | |
| Who goes before, the shepherd of the flock, | |
| Who 3 chews the cud but doth not cleave the hoof. | |
| Therefore the multitude, who see their guide | |
| Strike at the very good they covet most, | 105 |
| Feed there and look no further. Thus the cause | |
| Is not corrupted nature in yourselves, | |
| But ill-conducting, that hath turn’d the world | |
| To evil. Rome, that turn’d it unto good, | |
| Was wont to boast two suns, 4 whose several beams | 110 |
| Cast light on either way, the world’s and God’s. | |
| One since hath quench’d the other; and the sword | |
| Is grafted on the crook; and, so conjoin’d, | |
| Each must perforce decline to worse, unawed | |
| By fear of other. If thou doubt me, mark | 115 |
| The blade: each herb is judged of by its seed. | |
| That land, 5 through which Adice and the Po | |
| Their waters roll, was once the residence | |
| Of courtesy and valour, ere the day 6 | |
| That frown’d on Frederick; now secure may pass | 120 |
| Those limits, whosoe’er hath left, for shame, | |
| To talk with good men, or come near their haunts. | |
| Three aged ones are still found there, in whom | |
| The old time chides the new: these deem it long | |
| Ere God restore them to a better world: | 125 |
| The good Gherardo, 7 of Palazzo he, | |
| Conrad; 8 and Guido of Castello, 9 named | |
| In Gallic phrase more fitly the plain Lombard. | |
| On this at last conclude. The Church of Rome, | |
| Mixing two governments that ill assort, | 130 |
| Hath miss’d her footing, fallen into the mire, | |
| And there herself and burden much defiled.” | |
| “O Marco!” I replied, “thine arguments | |
| Convince me: and the cause I now discern, | |
| Why of the heritage no portion came | 135 |
| To Levi’s offspring. But resolve me this: | |
| Who that Gherardo is, that as thou say’st | |
| Is left a sample of the perish’d race, | |
| And for rebuke to this untoward age?” | |
| “Either thy words,” said he, “deceive, or else | 140 |
| Are meant to try me; that thou, speaking Tuscan, | |
| Appear’st not to have heard of good Gherardo; | |
| The sole addition that, by which I know him; | |
| Unless I borrow’d from his daughter Gaïa 10 | |
| Another name to grace him. God be with you. | 145 |
| I bear you company no more. Behold | |
| The dawn with white ray glimmering through the mist. | |
| I must away—the angel comes—ere he | |
| Appear.” He said, and would not hear me more. | |
