Free Immortal With a Kiss by Jacqueline Lepore

able to persuade the Lord to grant him this extraordinary experience to save him from the despair and despondency he was feeling. Here—”
    I unlocked my hands and picked up my copy of the poem, grateful that my shaking fingers were steady. “ ‘Midway upon the journey of our life,’ ” I read, “ ‘I found myself in a dark wilderness, for I had wandered from the straight and true.’ ”
    I began to pace up and down in front of the long table. “So, then,” I paused, picking out one of the girls not in Vanessa’s group. “Is it possible to be saved by love?”
    The girl went crimson, her eyes wide with panic. I sighed, smiling to let her know I forgave her for her silence, and moved on.
    “If Beatrice loved Dante,” I said, facing down the wary faces of my students, determined not to give up, “why did she want Virgil to show him the various levels of hell?”
    I got no response. I had to be patient, I knew. The girls were still assessing me, and none, save Eustacia, seemed inclined to participate. Flipping the pages of my copy of The Inferno , I led with a different question. “Can anyone tell me what is written over the gates of Hell?”
    Margaret surprised me, raising her hand but not waiting for me to call upon her before she spoke. “ ‘Abandon hope all who enter here.’ ”
    It was a small thing, but I corrected her. “Not exactly. ‘Abandon every hope, ye who enter here’ are the exact words in the final line. But what does the inscription say in its entirety?”
    Another girl’s hand went up, a pert little blonde named Sarah, who read with shy excitement: “ ‘I am the way into the city of woe—’ ”
    “The part about its creator,” I urged her.
    She paused, found the spot, and continued. “ ‘Divine omnipotence created, the highest wisdom, and the . . .’ ” She looked up. “ ‘. . . The primal love,’ ” she finished.
    “Yes. Think of it. Hell was created from God’s love,” I explained.
    Eustacia was clearly thunderstruck, her eyes as round as saucers, her mouth making a little O of surprise. “But I don’t understand.”
    “If you look at the line above, Dante explains that hell is the place where the Lord delivers justice. Can you find that line?”
    Eustacia did so quickly. “ ‘Justice inspired my creator.’ ”
    Margaret was becoming agitated, I noticed, but I ignored her as I forged ahead with the discussion. “He is saying that hell is part of God’s love. After all, it is not very loving for the Holy Father to allow evil to go unpunished. A rather moral view, to be sure, but this was written at a time when the Catholic Church wielded much influence. Dante was a devout man, and as such—”
    “This is outrageous!” Margaret exclaimed.
    I blinked, probably too innocently to fool her, and said, “Did you have another opinion, Margaret?”
    “No one believes in hell anymore. That was merely the way the Old Church controlled us, threatening us with damnation if we broke their rules. They wanted obedience so they could have power over the masses.”
    I was taken aback, both by this line of reasoning, which was quite sophisticated, and her vehemence. “That is a very modern view, Margaret.”
    Her eyes narrowed at me. “Sin is always in the world, it is normal. It is not evil. I do not even believe evil exists.” She glanced at her friends, who watched her with rapt attention. “All sinning is, is not following the Church’s rules. Dante uses pretty language, but he is a child reciting a child’s catechism.”
    I might not have liked Margaret, but the intellectual in me recognized an equal. Too passionate and perhaps not fully developed, but interesting nonetheless. But these ideas were far too advanced for a teenager. I felt certain she was parroting someone else.
    I wanted to coax more from her. “Many scholars who have studied the Scriptures would disagree with you. Dante himself based his writing on extensive study of the Summa Theologica of