The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri (essential books to read TXT) 📕

How can it chance, that good distributed, The many, that possess it, makes more rich, Than if ‘t were shar’d by few?” He answering thus: “Thy mind, reverting still to things of earth, Strikes darkness from true light. The highest good Unlimited, ineffable, doth so speed To love, as beam to lucid body darts, Giving as much of ardour as it finds.

The sempiternal effluence streams abroad Spreading, wherever charity extends.

So that the more aspirants to that bliss Are multiplied, more good is there to love, And more is lov’d; as mirrors, that reflect, Each unto other, propagated light.

If these my words avail not to allay Thy thirsting, Beatrice thou shalt see, Who of this want, and of all else thou hast, Shall rid thee to the full. Provide but thou That from thy temples may be soon eras’d, E’en as the two already, those five scars, That when they pain thee worst, then kindliest heal,”

“Thou,” I had said, “content’st me,” when I saw The other round was gain’d, and wond’ring eyes Did keep me mute. There suddenly I seem’d By an ecstatic vision wrapt away;

And in a temple saw, methought, a crowd Of many persons; and at th’ entrance stood A dame, whose sweet demeanour did express A mother’s love, who said, “Child! why hast thou Dealt with us thus? Behold thy sire and I Sorrowing have sought thee;” and so held her peace, And straight the vision fled. A female next Appear’d before me, down whose visage cours’d Those waters, that grief forces out from one By deep resentment stung, who seem’d to say: “If thou, Pisistratus, be lord indeed Over this city, nam’d with such debate Of adverse gods, and whence each science sparkles, Avenge thee of those arms, whose bold embrace Hath clasp’d our daughter; “and to fuel, meseem’d, Benign and meek, with visage undisturb’d, Her sovran spake: “How shall we those requite, Who wish us evil, if we thus condemn The man that loves us?” After that I saw A multitude, in fury burning, slay With stones a stripling youth, and shout amain “Destroy, destroy: “and him I saw, who bow’d Heavy with death unto the ground, yet made His eyes, unfolded upward, gates to heav’n, Praying forgiveness of th’ Almighty Sire, Amidst that cruel conflict, on his foes, With looks, that With compassion to their aim.

Soon as my spirit, from her airy flight Returning, sought again the things, whose truth Depends not on her shaping, I observ’d How she had rov’d to no unreal scenes Meanwhile the leader, who might see I mov’d, As one, who struggles to shake off his sleep, Exclaim’d: “What ails thee, that thou canst not hold Thy footing firm, but more than half a league Hast travel’d with clos’d eyes and tott’ring gait, Like to a man by wine or sleep o’ercharg’d?”

“Beloved father! so thou deign,” said I, “To listen, I will tell thee what appear’d Before me, when so fail’d my sinking steps.”

He thus: “Not if thy Countenance were mask’d With hundred vizards, could a thought of thine How small soe’er, elude me. What thou saw’st Was shown, that freely thou mightst ope thy heart To the waters of peace, that flow diffus’d From their eternal fountain. I not ask’d, What ails thee? for such cause as he doth, who Looks only with that eye which sees no more, When spiritless the body lies; but ask’d, To give fresh vigour to thy foot. Such goads The slow and loit’ring need; that they be found Not wanting, when their hour of watch returns.”

So on we journey’d through the evening sky Gazing intent, far onward, as our eyes With level view could stretch against the bright Vespertine ray: and lo! by slow degrees Gath’ring, a fog made tow’rds us, dark as night.

There was no room for ‘scaping; and that mist Bereft us, both of sight and the pure air.

CANTO XVI

Hell’s dunnest gloom, or night unlustrous, dark, Of every planes ‘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. 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 unawares On 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 heard Voices, and each one seem’d to pray for peace, 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 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 Dividest time by calends?” So one voice 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.”

Thus I, whereto the spirit answering spake: “Long as ‘t is 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 “Yet in my mortal swathing, I ascend To higher regions, and am hither come Through 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 death Had loos’d thee; but instruct me: and instruct If rightly to the pass I tend; thy words The way directing as a safe escort.”

“I was of Lombardy, and Marco call’d: Not inexperienc’d 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, 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, Singly before it urg’d me, doubled now By thine opinion, when I couple that With one elsewhere declar’d, each strength’ning other.

The world indeed is even so forlorn Of all good as thou speak’st it and so swarms 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, “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 necessity

Drew with it all that moves. If this were so, 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, And of the will free power, which, if it stand Firm 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 abide Free, not constrain’d by that, which forms in you The 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 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, 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, snar’d by that, With fondness she pursues it, if no guide Recall, no rein direct her wand’ring course.

Hence it behov’d, the law should be a curb; A sovereign hence behov’d, whose piercing view Might mark at least the fortress and main tower Of 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 guide Strike at the very good they covet most, 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, whose several beams 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, unaw’d By fear of other. If thou doubt me, mark The blade: each herb is judg’d of by its seed.

That land, through which Adice and the Po Their waters roll, was once the residence Of courtesy and velour, ere the day, That frown’d on Frederick; now secure may pass 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: The good Gherardo, of Palazzo he

Conrad, and Guido of Castello, nam’d In 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 arguments Convince me: and the cause I now discern Why of the heritage no portion came To Levi’s offspring. But resolve me this Who that Gherardo is, that as thou sayst Is left a sample of the perish’d race, And for rebuke to this untoward age?”

“Either thy words,” said he, “deceive; or else Are 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 Gaia Another name to grace him. God be with you.

I bear you company no more. Behold The dawn with white ray glimm’ring through the mist.

I must away—the angel comes—ere he Appear.” He said, and would not hear me more.

CANTO XVII

Call to remembrance, reader, if thou e’er Hast, on a mountain top, been ta’en by cloud, Through which thou saw’st no better, than the mole Doth through opacous membrane; then, whene’er The wat’ry vapours dense began to melt Into thin air, how faintly the sun’s sphere Seem’d wading through them; so thy nimble thought May image, how at first I re-beheld The sun, that bedward now his couch o’erhung.

Thus with my leader’s feet still equaling pace From forth that cloud I came, when now expir’d The parting beams from off the nether shores.

O quick and forgetive power! that sometimes dost So rob us of ourselves, we take no mark Though round about us thousand trumpets clang!

What moves thee, if the senses stir not? Light Kindled in heav’n, spontaneous, self-inform’d, Or likelier gliding down with swift