Part 30

Thus my Conductor said; and I and he Together 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, “‘Beati Pacifici,’ who are without ill anger.”

Already over us were so uplifted The 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 perceived The vigour of my legs was put in truce.

We at the point were where no more ascends The stairway upward, and were motionless, Even as a ship, which at the shore arrives;

And I gave heed a little, if I might hear Aught whatsoever in the circle new; Then to my Master turned me round and said:

“Say, my sweet Father, what delinquency Is 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, remiss In 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 gather Some profitable fruit from our delay.

Neither Creator nor a creature ever, Son,” he began, “was destitute of love Natural 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 care Or lesser than it ought, runs after good, ’Gainst the Creator works his own creation.

Hence thou mayst comprehend that love must be The seed within yourselves of every virtue, And every act that merits punishment.

Now inasmuch as never from the welfare Of its own subject can love turn its sight, From their own hatred all things are secure;

And since we cannot think of any being Standing 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 long That from his greatness he may be cast down;

There are, who power, grace, honour, and renown Fear 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 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;