That goodness infinite and ineffable
Which is above there, runneth unto love,As to a lucid body comes the sunbeam.
So much it gives itself as it finds ardour,So that as far as charity extends,O’er it increases the eternal valour.
And the more people thitherward aspire,More are there to love well, and more they love there,And, as a mirror, one reflects the other.
And if my reasoning appease thee not,Thou shalt see Beatrice; and she will fullyTake from thee this and every other longing.
Endeavour, then, that soon may be extinct,As are the two already, the five woundsThat close themselves again by being painful.”
Even as I wished to say, “Thou dost appease me,”I saw that I had reached another circle,So that my eager eyes made me keep silence.
There it appeared to me that in a visionEcstatic on a sudden I was rapt,And in a temple many persons saw;
And at the door a woman, with the sweetBehaviour of a mother, saying: “Son,Why in this manner hast thou dealt with us?
Lo, sorrowing, thy father and myselfWere seeking for thee;”—and as here she ceased,That which appeared at first had disappeared.
Then I beheld another with those watersAdown her cheeks which grief distils wheneverFrom great disdain of others it is born,
And saying: “If of that city thou art lord,For whose name was such strife among the gods,And whence doth every science scintillate,
Avenge thyself on those audacious armsThat clasped our daughter, O Pisistratus;”And the lord seemed to me benign and mild
To answer her with aspect temperate:“What shall we do to those who wish us ill,If he who loves us be by us condemned?”
Then saw I people hot in fire of wrath,With stones a young man slaying, clamorouslyStill crying to each other, “Kill him! kill him!”
And him I saw bow down, because of deathThat weighed already on him, to the earth,But of his eyes made ever gates to heaven,
Imploring the high Lord, in so great strife,That he would pardon those his persecutors,With such an aspect as unlocks compassion.
Soon as my soul had outwardly returnedTo things external to it which are true,Did I my not false errors recognize.
My Leader, who could see me bear myselfLike to a man that rouses him from sleep,Exclaimed: “What ails thee, that thou canst not stand?
But hast been coming more than half a leagueVeiling thine eyes, and with thy legs entangled,In guise of one whom wine or sleep subdues?”
“O my sweet Father, if thou listen to me,I’ll tell thee,” said I, “what appeared to me,When thus from me my legs were ta’en away.”
And he: “If thou shouldst have a hundred masksUpon thy face, from me would not be shutThy cogitations, howsoever small.
What thou hast seen was that thou mayst not failTo ope thy heart unto the waters of peace,Which from the eternal fountain are diffused.
I did not ask, ‘What ails thee?’ as he doesWho only looketh with the eyes that see notWhen of the soul bereft the body lies,
But asked it to give vigour to thy feet;Thus must we needs urge on the sluggards, slowTo use their wakefulness when it returns.”
We passed along, athwart the twilight peeringForward as far as ever eye could stretchAgainst the sunbeams serotine and lucent;
And lo! by slow degrees a smoke approachedIn our direction, sombre as the night,Nor was there place to hide one’s self therefrom.
This of our eyes and the pure air bereft us.
Purgatorio: Canto XVI
Darkness of hell, and of a night deprivedOf 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 againstAught 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 appearedTo supplicate for peace and misericordThe 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 smokeAnd art discoursing of us even as thoughThou 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 thyselfTo 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 bandWhich 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 courtBy method wholly out of modern usage,
Conceal not from me who ere death thou wast,But tell it me, and tell me if I goRight 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 theeTo pray for me when thou shalt be above.”
And I to him: “My faith I pledge to theeTo do what thou dost ask me; but am burstingInly with doubt, unless I rid me of it.
First it was simple, and is now made doubleBy thy opinion, which makes certain to me,Here and elsewhere, that which I couple with it.
The world forsooth is utterly desertedBy 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 referStill upward to the heavens, as if all thingsThey of necessity moved with themselves.
If this were so, in you would be destroyedFree will, nor any justice would there beIn 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 fatigueIn 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 createsThe 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 itBefore it is, like to a little girlWeeping 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 leastOf the true city should discern the tower.
The laws exist, but who sets hand to them?No one; because the shepherd who precedesCan ruminate, but cleaveth not the hoof;
Wherefore the people that perceives its guideStrike only at the good for which it hankers,Feeds upon that, and farther seeketh not.
Clearly canst thou perceive that evil guidanceThe cause is that has made the world depraved,And not that nature is corrupt in you.
Rome, that reformed the world, accustomed wasTwo 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 crosierThe sword is joined, and ill beseemeth itThat 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 wayWhoever will abstain, through sense of shame,From speaking with the good, or drawing near them.
True, three old men are left, in whom upbraidsThe ancient age the new, and late they deem itThat 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 LeviHave been excluded from the heritage.
But what Gherardo is it, who, as sampleOf a lost race, thou sayest has remainedIn 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.
Purgatorio: Canto XVII
Remember, Reader, if e’er in the AlpsA mist o’ertook thee, through which thou couldst seeNot otherwise than through its membrane mole,
How, when the vapours humid and condensedBegin to dissipate themselves, the sphereOf the sun feebly enters in among them,
And thy imagination will be swiftIn coming to perceive how I re-sawThe sun at first, that was already setting.
Thus, to the faithful footsteps of my MasterMating mine own, I issued from that cloudTo rays already dead on the low shores.
O thou, Imagination, that dost steal usSo from without sometimes, that man perceives not,Although around may sound a thousand trumpets,
Who moveth thee, if sense impel thee not?Moves thee a light, which in the heaven takes form,By self, or by a will that downward guides it.
Of her impiety, who changed her formInto the bird that most delights in singing,In my imagining appeared the trace;
And hereupon my mind was so withdrawnWithin itself, that from without there cameNothing that then might be received by it.
Then reigned within my lofty fantasyOne crucified, disdainful and ferociousIn countenance, and even thus was dying.
Around him were the great Ahasuerus,Esther his wife, and the just Mordecai,Who was in word and action so entire.
And even as this image burst asunderOf its own self, in fashion of a bubbleIn which the water it was made of fails,
There rose up in my vision a young maidenBitterly weeping, and she said: “O queen,Why hast thou wished in anger to be naught?
Thou’st slain thyself, Lavinia not to lose;Now hast thou lost me; I am she who mourns,Mother, at thine ere at another’s ruin.”
As sleep is broken, when upon a suddenNew light strikes in upon the eyelids closed,And broken quivers ere it dieth wholly,
So this imagining of mine fell downAs soon as the effulgence smote my face,Greater by far than what is in our wont.
I turned me round to see where I might be,When said a voice, “Here is the passage up;”Which from all other purposes removed me,
And made my wish so full of eagernessTo look and see who was it that was speaking,It never rests till meeting face to face;
But as before the sun, which quells the sight,And in its own excess its figure veils,Even so my power was insufficient here.
“This is a spirit divine, who in the wayOf going up directs us without asking,And who with his own light himself conceals.
He does with us as man doth with himself;For he who sees the need, and waits the asking,Malignly leans already tow’rds denial.
Accord we now our feet to such inviting,Let us make haste to mount ere it grow dark;For then we could not till the day return.”
Thus my Conductor said; and I and heTogether turned our footsteps to a stairway;And I, as soon as the first step I reached,
Near me perceived a motion as of wings,And fanning in the face, and saying, “‘BeatiPacifici,’ who are without ill anger.”
Already over us were so upliftedThe latest sunbeams, which the night pursues,That upon many sides the stars appeared.
“O manhood mine, why dost thou vanish so?”I said within myself; for I perceivedThe vigour of my legs was put in truce.
We at the point were where no more ascendsThe stairway upward, and were motionless,Even as a ship, which at the shore arrives;
And I gave heed a little, if I might hearAught whatsoever in the circle new;Then to my Master turned me round and said:
“Say, my sweet Father, what delinquencyIs purged here in the circle where we are?Although our feet may pause, pause not thy speech.”
And he to me: “The love of good, remissIn what it should have done, is here restored;Here plied again the ill-belated oar;
But still more openly to understand,Turn unto me thy mind, and thou shalt gatherSome profitable fruit from our delay.
Neither Creator nor a creature ever,Son,” he began, “was destitute of loveNatural or spiritual; and thou knowest it.
The natural was ever without error;But err the other may by evil object,Or by too much, or by too little vigour.
While in the first it well directed is,And in the second moderates itself,It cannot be the cause of sinful pleasure;
But when to ill it turns, and, with more careOr lesser than it ought, runs after good,’Gainst the Creator works his own creation.
Hence thou mayst comprehend that love must beThe seed within yourselves of every virtue,And every act that merits punishment.
Now inasmuch as never from the welfareOf its own subject can love turn its sight,From their own hatred all things are secure;
And since we cannot think of any beingStanding alone, nor from the First divided,Of hating Him is all desire cut off.
Hence if, discriminating, I judge well,The evil that one loves is of one’s neighbour,And this is born in three modes in your clay.
There are, who, by abasement of their neighbour,Hope to excel, and therefore only longThat from his greatness he may be cast down;
There are, who power, grace, honour, and renownFear they may lose because another rises,Thence are so sad that the reverse they love;
And there are those whom injury seems to chafe,So that it makes them greedy for revenge,And such must needs shape out another’s harm.
This threefold love is wept for down below;Now of the other will I have thee hear,That runneth after good with measure faulty.
Each one confusedly a good conceivesWherein the mind may rest, and longeth for it;Therefore to overtake it each one strives.
If languid love to look on this attract you,Or in attaining unto it, this cornice,After just penitence, torments you for it.
There’s other good that does not make man happy;’Tis not felicity, ’tis not the goodEssence, of every good the fruit and root.
The love that yields itself too much to thisAbove us is lamented in three circles;But how tripartite it may be described,
I say not, that thou seek it for thyself.”
Purgatorio: Canto XVIII
An end had put unto his reasoningThe lofty Teacher, and attent was lookingInto my face, if I appeared content;
And I, whom a new thirst still goaded on,Without was mute, and said within: “PerchanceThe too much questioning I make annoys him.”
But that true Father, who had comprehendedThe timid wish, that opened not itself,By speaking gave me hardihood to speak.
Whence I: “My sight is, Master, vivifiedSo in thy light, that clearly I discernWhate’er thy speech importeth or describes.
Therefore I thee entreat, sweet Father dear,To teach me love, to which thou dost referEvery good action and its contrary.”
“Direct,” he said, “towards me the keen eyesOf intellect, and clear will be to theeThe error of the blind, who would be leaders.
The soul, which is created apt to love,Is mobile unto everything that pleases,Soon as by pleasure she is waked to action.
Your apprehension from some real thingAn image draws, and in yourselves displays itSo that it makes the soul turn unto it.
And if, when turned, towards it she incline,Love is that inclination; it is nature,Which is by pleasure bound in you anew
Then even as the fire doth upward moveBy its own form, which to ascend is born,Where longest in its matter it endures,
So comes the captive soul into desire,Which is a motion spiritual, and ne’er restsUntil she doth enjoy the thing beloved.
Now may apparent be to thee how hiddenThe truth is from those people, who averAll love is in itself a laudable thing;
Because its matter may perchance appearAye to be good; but yet not each impressionIs good, albeit good may be the wax.”
“Thy words, and my sequacious intellect,”I answered him, “have love revealed to me;But that has made me more impregned with doubt;
For if love from without be offered us,And with another foot the soul go not,If right or wrong she go, ’tis not her merit.”
And he to me: “What reason seeth here,Myself can tell thee; beyond that awaitFor Beatrice, since ’tis a work of faith.