CANTO XVIHell’s dunnest gloom, or night unlustrous, dark,Of every planes ’reft, and pall’d in clouds,Did never spread before the sight a veilIn thickness like that fog, nor to the senseSo palpable and gross. Ent’ring its shade,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 unawaresOn what might harm him, or perhaps destroy,I journey’d through that bitter air and foul,Still list’ning to my escort’s warning voice,“Look that from me thou part not.” Straight I heardVoices, and each one seem’d to pray for peace,And for compassion, to the Lamb of GodThat taketh sins away. Their prelude stillWas “Agnus Dei,” and through all the choir,One voice, one measure ran, that perfect seem’dThe concord of their song. “Are these I hearSpirits, 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 yetDividest time by calends?” So one voiceBespake me; whence my master said: “Reply;And ask, if upward hence the passage lead.”“O being! who dost make thee pure, to standBeautiful once more in thy Maker’s sight!Along with me: and thou shalt hear and wonder.”Thus I, whereto the spirit answering spake:“Long as ’t is lawful for me, shall my stepsFollow on thine; and since the cloudy smokeForbids the seeing, hearing in its steadShall keep us join’d.” I then forthwith began“Yet in my mortal swathing, I ascendTo higher regions, and am hither comeThrough the fearful agony of hell.And, if so largely God hath doled his grace,That, clean beside all modern precedent,He wills me to behold his kingly state,From me conceal not who thou wast, ere deathHad loos’d thee; but instruct me: and instructIf rightly to the pass I tend; thy wordsThe way directing as a safe escort.”“I was of Lombardy, and Marco call’d:Not inexperienc’d of the world, that worthI still affected, from which all have turn’dThe nerveless bow aside. Thy course tends rightUnto the summit:” and, replying thus,He added, “I beseech thee pray for me,When thou shalt come aloft.” And I to him:“Accept my faith for pledge I will performWhat thou requirest. Yet one doubt remains,That wrings me sorely, if I solve it not,Singly before it urg’d me, doubled nowBy thine opinion, when I couple thatWith one elsewhere declar’d, each strength’ning other.The world indeed is even so forlornOf all good as thou speak’st it and so swarmsWith every evil. Yet, beseech thee, pointThe cause out to me, that myself may see,And unto others show it: for in heavenOne places it, and one on earth below.”Then heaving forth a deep and audible sigh,“Brother!” he thus began, “the world is blind;And thou in truth com’st from it. Ye, who live,Do so each cause refer to heav’n above,E’en as its motion of necessityDrew with it all that moves. If this were so,Free choice in you were none; nor justice wouldThere 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,And of the will free power, which, if it standFirm and unwearied in Heav’n’s first assay,Conquers at last, so it be cherish’d well,Triumphant over all. To mightier force,To better nature subject, ye abideFree, not constrain’d by that, which forms in youThe reasoning mind uninfluenc’d 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.“Forth from his plastic hand, who charm’d beholdsHer image ere she yet exist, the soulComes like a babe, that wantons sportivelyWeeping and laughing in its wayward moods,As artless and as ignorant of aught,Save that her Maker being one who dwellsWith gladness ever, willingly she turnsTo whate’er yields her joy. Of some slight goodThe flavour soon she tastes; and, snar’d by that,With fondness she pursues it, if no guideRecall, no rein direct her wand’ring course.Hence it behov’d, the law should be a curb;A sovereign hence behov’d, whose piercing viewMight mark at least the fortress and main towerOf the true city. Laws indeed there are:But who is he observes them? None; not he,Who goes before, the shepherd of the flock,Who chews the cud but doth not cleave the hoof.Therefore the multitude, who see their guideStrike at the very good they covet most,Feed there and look no further. Thus the causeIs not corrupted nature in yourselves,But ill-conducting, that hath turn’d the worldTo evil. Rome, that turn’d it unto good,Was wont to boast two suns, whose several beamsCast light on either way, the world’s and God’s.One since hath quench’d the other; and the swordIs grafted on the crook; and so conjoin’dEach must perforce decline to worse, unaw’dBy fear of other. If thou doubt me, markThe blade: each herb is judg’d of by its seed.That land, through which Adice and the PoTheir waters roll, was once the residenceOf courtesy and velour, ere the day,That frown’d on Frederick; now secure may passThose 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 whomThe old time chides the new: these deem it longEre God restore them to a better world:The good Gherardo, of Palazzo heConrad, and Guido of Castello, nam’dIn Gallic phrase more fitly the plain Lombard.On this at last conclude. The church of Rome,Mixing two governments that ill assort,Hath miss’d her footing, fall’n into the mire,And there herself and burden much defil’d.”“O Marco!” I replied, shine argumentsConvince me: and the cause I now discernWhy of the heritage no portion cameTo Levi’s offspring. But resolve me thisWho that Gherardo is, that as thou saystIs left a sample of the perish’d race,And for rebuke to this untoward age?”“Either thy words,” said he, “deceive; or elseAre meant to try me; that thou, speaking Tuscan,Appear’st not to have heard of good Gherado;The sole addition that, by which I know him;Unless I borrow’d from his daughter GaiaAnother name to grace him. God be with you.I bear you company no more. BeholdThe dawn with white ray glimm’ring through the mist.I must away—the angel comes—ere heAppear.” He said, and would not hear me more.
CANTO XVIHell’s dunnest gloom, or night unlustrous, dark,Of every planes ’reft, and pall’d in clouds,Did never spread before the sight a veilIn thickness like that fog, nor to the senseSo palpable and gross. Ent’ring its shade,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 unawaresOn what might harm him, or perhaps destroy,I journey’d through that bitter air and foul,Still list’ning to my escort’s warning voice,“Look that from me thou part not.” Straight I heardVoices, and each one seem’d to pray for peace,And for compassion, to the Lamb of GodThat taketh sins away. Their prelude stillWas “Agnus Dei,” and through all the choir,One voice, one measure ran, that perfect seem’dThe concord of their song. “Are these I hearSpirits, 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 yetDividest time by calends?” So one voiceBespake me; whence my master said: “Reply;And ask, if upward hence the passage lead.”“O being! who dost make thee pure, to standBeautiful once more in thy Maker’s sight!Along with me: and thou shalt hear and wonder.”Thus I, whereto the spirit answering spake:“Long as ’t is lawful for me, shall my stepsFollow on thine; and since the cloudy smokeForbids the seeing, hearing in its steadShall keep us join’d.” I then forthwith began“Yet in my mortal swathing, I ascendTo higher regions, and am hither comeThrough the fearful agony of hell.And, if so largely God hath doled his grace,That, clean beside all modern precedent,He wills me to behold his kingly state,From me conceal not who thou wast, ere deathHad loos’d thee; but instruct me: and instructIf rightly to the pass I tend; thy wordsThe way directing as a safe escort.”“I was of Lombardy, and Marco call’d:Not inexperienc’d of the world, that worthI still affected, from which all have turn’dThe nerveless bow aside. Thy course tends rightUnto the summit:” and, replying thus,He added, “I beseech thee pray for me,When thou shalt come aloft.” And I to him:“Accept my faith for pledge I will performWhat thou requirest. Yet one doubt remains,That wrings me sorely, if I solve it not,Singly before it urg’d me, doubled nowBy thine opinion, when I couple thatWith one elsewhere declar’d, each strength’ning other.The world indeed is even so forlornOf all good as thou speak’st it and so swarmsWith every evil. Yet, beseech thee, pointThe cause out to me, that myself may see,And unto others show it: for in heavenOne places it, and one on earth below.”Then heaving forth a deep and audible sigh,“Brother!” he thus began, “the world is blind;And thou in truth com’st from it. Ye, who live,Do so each cause refer to heav’n above,E’en as its motion of necessityDrew with it all that moves. If this were so,Free choice in you were none; nor justice wouldThere 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,And of the will free power, which, if it standFirm and unwearied in Heav’n’s first assay,Conquers at last, so it be cherish’d well,Triumphant over all. To mightier force,To better nature subject, ye abideFree, not constrain’d by that, which forms in youThe reasoning mind uninfluenc’d 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.“Forth from his plastic hand, who charm’d beholdsHer image ere she yet exist, the soulComes like a babe, that wantons sportivelyWeeping and laughing in its wayward moods,As artless and as ignorant of aught,Save that her Maker being one who dwellsWith gladness ever, willingly she turnsTo whate’er yields her joy. Of some slight goodThe flavour soon she tastes; and, snar’d by that,With fondness she pursues it, if no guideRecall, no rein direct her wand’ring course.Hence it behov’d, the law should be a curb;A sovereign hence behov’d, whose piercing viewMight mark at least the fortress and main towerOf the true city. Laws indeed there are:But who is he observes them? None; not he,Who goes before, the shepherd of the flock,Who chews the cud but doth not cleave the hoof.Therefore the multitude, who see their guideStrike at the very good they covet most,Feed there and look no further. Thus the causeIs not corrupted nature in yourselves,But ill-conducting, that hath turn’d the worldTo evil. Rome, that turn’d it unto good,Was wont to boast two suns, whose several beamsCast light on either way, the world’s and God’s.One since hath quench’d the other; and the swordIs grafted on the crook; and so conjoin’dEach must perforce decline to worse, unaw’dBy fear of other. If thou doubt me, markThe blade: each herb is judg’d of by its seed.That land, through which Adice and the PoTheir waters roll, was once the residenceOf courtesy and velour, ere the day,That frown’d on Frederick; now secure may passThose 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 whomThe old time chides the new: these deem it longEre God restore them to a better world:The good Gherardo, of Palazzo heConrad, and Guido of Castello, nam’dIn Gallic phrase more fitly the plain Lombard.On this at last conclude. The church of Rome,Mixing two governments that ill assort,Hath miss’d her footing, fall’n into the mire,And there herself and burden much defil’d.”“O Marco!” I replied, shine argumentsConvince me: and the cause I now discernWhy of the heritage no portion cameTo Levi’s offspring. But resolve me thisWho that Gherardo is, that as thou saystIs left a sample of the perish’d race,And for rebuke to this untoward age?”“Either thy words,” said he, “deceive; or elseAre meant to try me; that thou, speaking Tuscan,Appear’st not to have heard of good Gherado;The sole addition that, by which I know him;Unless I borrow’d from his daughter GaiaAnother name to grace him. God be with you.I bear you company no more. BeholdThe dawn with white ray glimm’ring through the mist.I must away—the angel comes—ere heAppear.” He said, and would not hear me more.
Hell’s dunnest gloom, or night unlustrous, dark,Of every planes ’reft, and pall’d in clouds,Did never spread before the sight a veilIn thickness like that fog, nor to the senseSo palpable and gross. Ent’ring its shade,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 unawaresOn what might harm him, or perhaps destroy,I journey’d through that bitter air and foul,Still list’ning to my escort’s warning voice,“Look that from me thou part not.” Straight I heardVoices, and each one seem’d to pray for peace,And for compassion, to the Lamb of GodThat taketh sins away. Their prelude stillWas “Agnus Dei,” and through all the choir,One voice, one measure ran, that perfect seem’dThe concord of their song. “Are these I hearSpirits, 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 yetDividest time by calends?” So one voiceBespake me; whence my master said: “Reply;And ask, if upward hence the passage lead.”“O being! who dost make thee pure, to standBeautiful once more in thy Maker’s sight!Along with me: and thou shalt hear and wonder.”Thus I, whereto the spirit answering spake:
“Long as ’t is lawful for me, shall my stepsFollow on thine; and since the cloudy smokeForbids the seeing, hearing in its steadShall keep us join’d.” I then forthwith began“Yet in my mortal swathing, I ascendTo higher regions, and am hither comeThrough the fearful agony of hell.And, if so largely God hath doled his grace,That, clean beside all modern precedent,He wills me to behold his kingly state,From me conceal not who thou wast, ere deathHad loos’d thee; but instruct me: and instructIf rightly to the pass I tend; thy wordsThe way directing as a safe escort.”“I was of Lombardy, and Marco call’d:Not inexperienc’d of the world, that worthI still affected, from which all have turn’dThe nerveless bow aside. Thy course tends rightUnto the summit:” and, replying thus,He added, “I beseech thee pray for me,When thou shalt come aloft.” And I to him:“Accept my faith for pledge I will performWhat thou requirest. Yet one doubt remains,That wrings me sorely, if I solve it not,Singly before it urg’d me, doubled nowBy thine opinion, when I couple thatWith one elsewhere declar’d, each strength’ning other.The world indeed is even so forlornOf all good as thou speak’st it and so swarmsWith every evil. Yet, beseech thee, pointThe cause out to me, that myself may see,And unto others show it: for in heavenOne places it, and one on earth below.”Then heaving forth a deep and audible sigh,“Brother!” he thus began, “the world is blind;And thou in truth com’st from it. Ye, who live,Do so each cause refer to heav’n above,E’en as its motion of necessityDrew with it all that moves. If this were so,Free choice in you were none; nor justice wouldThere 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,And of the will free power, which, if it standFirm and unwearied in Heav’n’s first assay,Conquers at last, so it be cherish’d well,Triumphant over all. To mightier force,To better nature subject, ye abideFree, not constrain’d by that, which forms in youThe reasoning mind uninfluenc’d 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.“Forth from his plastic hand, who charm’d beholdsHer image ere she yet exist, the soulComes like a babe, that wantons sportivelyWeeping and laughing in its wayward moods,As artless and as ignorant of aught,Save that her Maker being one who dwellsWith gladness ever, willingly she turnsTo whate’er yields her joy. Of some slight goodThe flavour soon she tastes; and, snar’d by that,With fondness she pursues it, if no guideRecall, no rein direct her wand’ring course.Hence it behov’d, the law should be a curb;A sovereign hence behov’d, whose piercing viewMight mark at least the fortress and main towerOf the true city. Laws indeed there are:But who is he observes them? None; not he,Who goes before, the shepherd of the flock,Who chews the cud but doth not cleave the hoof.Therefore the multitude, who see their guideStrike at the very good they covet most,Feed there and look no further. Thus the causeIs not corrupted nature in yourselves,But ill-conducting, that hath turn’d the worldTo evil. Rome, that turn’d it unto good,Was wont to boast two suns, whose several beamsCast light on either way, the world’s and God’s.One since hath quench’d the other; and the swordIs grafted on the crook; and so conjoin’dEach must perforce decline to worse, unaw’dBy fear of other. If thou doubt me, markThe blade: each herb is judg’d of by its seed.That land, through which Adice and the PoTheir waters roll, was once the residenceOf courtesy and velour, ere the day,That frown’d on Frederick; now secure may passThose 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 whomThe old time chides the new: these deem it longEre God restore them to a better world:The good Gherardo, of Palazzo heConrad, and Guido of Castello, nam’dIn Gallic phrase more fitly the plain Lombard.On this at last conclude. The church of Rome,Mixing two governments that ill assort,Hath miss’d her footing, fall’n into the mire,And there herself and burden much defil’d.”“O Marco!” I replied, shine argumentsConvince me: and the cause I now discernWhy of the heritage no portion cameTo Levi’s offspring. But resolve me thisWho that Gherardo is, that as thou saystIs left a sample of the perish’d race,And for rebuke to this untoward age?”“Either thy words,” said he, “deceive; or elseAre meant to try me; that thou, speaking Tuscan,Appear’st not to have heard of good Gherado;The sole addition that, by which I know him;Unless I borrow’d from his daughter GaiaAnother name to grace him. God be with you.I bear you company no more. BeholdThe dawn with white ray glimm’ring through the mist.I must away—the angel comes—ere heAppear.” He said, and would not hear me more.