Darkness of hell, and of a night deprived     Of every planet under a poor sky,     As much as may be tenebrous with cloud,

Ne’er made unto my sight so thick a veil,     As did that smoke which there enveloped us,     Nor to the feeling of so rough a texture;

For not an eye it suffered to stay open;     Whereat mine escort, faithful and sagacious,     Drew near to me and offered me his shoulder.

E’en as a blind man goes behind his guide,     Lest he should wander, or should strike against     Aught that may harm or peradventure kill him,

So went I through the bitter and foul air,     Listening unto my Leader, who said only,     “Look that from me thou be not separated.”

Voices I heard, and every one appeared     To supplicate for peace and misericord     The Lamb of God who takes away our sins.

Still “Agnus Dei” their exordium was;     One word there was in all, and metre one,     So that all harmony appeared among them.

“Master,” I said, “are spirits those I hear?”     And he to me: “Thou apprehendest truly,     And they the knot of anger go unloosing.”

“Now who art thou, that cleavest through our smoke     And art discoursing of us even as though     Thou didst by calends still divide the time?”

After this manner by a voice was spoken;     Whereon my Master said: “Do thou reply,     And ask if on this side the way go upward.”

And I: “O creature that dost cleanse thyself     To return beautiful to Him who made thee,     Thou shalt hear marvels if thou follow me.”

“Thee will I follow far as is allowed me,”     He answered; “and if smoke prevent our seeing,     Hearing shall keep us joined instead thereof.”

Thereon began I: “With that swathing band     Which death unwindeth am I going upward,     And hither came I through the infernal anguish.

And if God in his grace has me infolded,     So that he wills that I behold his court     By method wholly out of modern usage,

Conceal not from me who ere death thou wast,     But tell it me, and tell me if I go     Right for the pass, and be thy words our escort.”

“Lombard was I, and I was Marco called;     The world I knew, and loved that excellence,     At which has each one now unbent his bow.

For mounting upward, thou art going right.”     Thus he made answer, and subjoined: “I pray thee     To pray for me when thou shalt be above.”

And I to him: “My faith I pledge to thee     To do what thou dost ask me; but am bursting     Inly with doubt, unless I rid me of it.

First it was simple, and is now made double     By thy opinion, which makes certain to me,     Here and elsewhere, that which I couple with it.

The world forsooth is utterly deserted     By every virtue, as thou tellest me,     And with iniquity is big and covered;

But I beseech thee point me out the cause,     That I may see it, and to others show it;     For one in the heavens, and here below one puts it.”

A sigh profound, that grief forced into Ai!     He first sent forth, and then began he: “Brother,     The world is blind, and sooth thou comest from it!

Ye who are living every cause refer     Still upward to the heavens, as if all things     They of necessity moved with themselves.

If this were so, in you would be destroyed     Free will, nor any justice would there be     In having joy for good, or grief for evil.

The heavens your movements do initiate,     I say not all; but granting that I say it,     Light has been given you for good and evil,

And free volition; which, if some fatigue     In the first battles with the heavens it suffers,     Afterwards conquers all, if well ’tis nurtured.

To greater force and to a better nature,     Though free, ye subject are, and that creates     The mind in you the heavens have not in charge.

Hence, if the present world doth go astray,     In you the cause is, be it sought in you;     And I therein will now be thy true spy.

Forth from the hand of Him, who fondles it     Before it is, like to a little girl     Weeping and laughing in her childish sport,

Issues the simple soul, that nothing knows,     Save that, proceeding from a joyous Maker,     Gladly it turns to that which gives it pleasure.

Of trivial good at first it tastes the savour;     Is cheated by it, and runs after it,     If guide or rein turn not aside its love.

Hence it behoved laws for a rein to place,     Behoved a king to have, who at the least     Of the true city should discern the tower.

The laws exist, but who sets hand to them?     No one; because the shepherd who precedes     Can ruminate, but cleaveth not the hoof;

Wherefore the people that perceives its guide     Strike only at the good for which it hankers,     Feeds upon that, and farther seeketh not.

Clearly canst thou perceive that evil guidance     The cause is that has made the world depraved,     And not that nature is corrupt in you.

Rome, that reformed the world, accustomed was     Two suns to have, which one road and the other,     Of God and of the world, made manifest.

One has the other quenched, and to the crosier     The sword is joined, and ill beseemeth it     That by main force one with the other go,

Because, being joined, one feareth not the other;     If thou believe not, think upon the grain,     For by its seed each herb is recognized.

In the land laved by Po and Adige,     Valour and courtesy used to be found,     Before that Frederick had his controversy;

Now in security can pass that way     Whoever will abstain, through sense of shame,     From speaking with the good, or drawing near them.

True, three old men are left, in whom upbraids     The ancient age the new, and late they deem it     That God restore them to the better life:

Currado da Palazzo, and good Gherardo,     And Guido da Castel, who better named is,     In fashion of the French, the simple Lombard:

Say thou henceforward that the Church of Rome,     Confounding in itself two governments,     Falls in the mire, and soils itself and burden.”

“O Marco mine,” I said, “thou reasonest well;     And now discern I why the sons of Levi     Have been excluded from the heritage.

But what Gherardo is it, who, as sample     Of a lost race, thou sayest has remained     In reprobation of the barbarous age?”

“Either thy speech deceives me, or it tempts me,”     He answered me; “for speaking Tuscan to me,     It seems of good Gherardo naught thou knowest.

By other surname do I know him not,     Unless I take it from his daughter Gaia.     May God be with you, for I come no farther.

Behold the dawn, that through the smoke rays out,     Already whitening; and I must depart—     Yonder the Angel is—ere he appear.”

Thus did he speak, and would no farther hear me.