Part 89

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 conceives Wherein 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 good Essence, of every good the fruit and root.

The love that yields itself too much to this Above 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 reasoning The lofty Teacher, and attent was looking Into my face, if I appeared content;

And I, whom a new thirst still goaded on, Without was mute, and said within: “Perchance The too much questioning I make annoys him.”

But that true Father, who had comprehended The timid wish, that opened not itself, By speaking gave me hardihood to speak.

Whence I: “My sight is, Master, vivified So in thy light, that clearly I discern Whate’er thy speech importeth or describes.

Therefore I thee entreat, sweet Father dear, To teach me love, to which thou dost refer Every good action and its contrary.”

“Direct,” he said, “towards me the keen eyes Of intellect, and clear will be to thee The 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 thing An image draws, and in yourselves displays it So 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 move By 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 rests Until she doth enjoy the thing beloved.

Now may apparent be to thee how hidden The truth is from those people, who aver All love is in itself a laudable thing;

Because its matter may perchance appear Aye to be good; but yet not each impression Is 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 await For Beatrice, since ’tis a work of faith.

Every substantial form, that segregate From matter is, and with it is united, Specific power has in itself collected,

Which without act is not perceptible, Nor shows itself except by its effect, As life does in a plant by the green leaves.

But still, whence cometh the intelligence Of the first notions, man is ignorant, And the affection for the first allurements,

Which are in you as instinct in the bee To make its honey; and this first desire Merit of praise or blame containeth not.