The Online Library of Liberty

A project of Liberty Fund, Inc.

• The Peace of God
• Preface
• Purgatorio I
• Purgatorio Ii
• Purgatorio Iii
• Purgatorio Iv
• Purgatorio V
• Purgatorio Vi
• Purgatorio Vii
• Purgatorio Viii
• Purgatorio Ix
• Purgatorio X
• Purgatorio Xi
• Purgatorio Xii
• Purgatorio Xiii
• Purgatorio Xiv
• Purgatorio Xv
• Purgatorio Xvi
• Purgatorio Xvii
• Purgatorio Xviii
• Purgatorio Xix
• Purgatorio Xx
• Purgatorio Xxi
• Purgatorio Xxii
• Purgatorio Xxiii
• Purgatorio Xxiv
• Purgatorio Xxv
• Purgatorio Xxvi
• Purgatorio Xxvii
• Purgatorio Xxviii
• Purgatory Xxix
• Purgatorio Xxx
• Purgatorio Xxxi
• Purgatorio Xxxii
• Purgatorio Xxxiii

PURGATORIO XVIII

• The lofty Doctor, having ended thus
• his argument, was looking in my eyes,
• eager to see if I seemed satisfied;
• and I, who by new thirst was still spurred on,
• was silent outwardly, and in me said:
• “My many questions trouble him perhaps;”
• but that true Father, who perceived the wish,
• which, being shy, did not disclose itself,
• by speaking first, emboldened me to speak.

• Hence I: “My vision, Teacher, in thy light
• becomes so keen, that clearly I discern
• all that thy talk implieth or unfolds;
• I therefore beg of thee, sweet Father dear,
• explain to me why thou ascrib’st to love
• every good action and its contrary.”

• “Direct thine understanding’s sharpened eyes
• toward me,” he said, “and clear to thee will be
• the error of the blind who pose as guides.
• The mind, which is created prone to love,
• inclines toward everything that pleases it,
• when roused by pleasure to activity.

• Your faculty of apprehending draws
• an image from reality, and so
• displays it in you, that your mind is caused
• to turn to it; and if, thus turned, your mind
• inclines thereto, that tendency is love,
• is nature bound in you again by pleasure.
• Then, just as fire, by reason of its form,
• moves upward, being made for mounting thither,
• where, in its element, it longer lasts;
• ev’n so the captive mind begins to yearn,
• (a motion of the soul) and never rests
• until the thing it loveth gives it joy.
• Apparent to thee now can be the extent
• to which the truth is hid from those that claim
• that each love in itself deserveth praise,
• because, perhaps, its object in itself
• seems always to be good; and yet not good
• is every seal, though good may be its wax.”

• “Thy words, together with my heeding mind,”
• I answered him, “have shown me what love is;
• but this hath made me bigger with a doubt;
• for, if love from without is born in us,
• and if the soul can do naught else, her doing
• or right or wrong, is no desert of hers.”

• And he: “What Reason sees here I can tell thee;
• for aught beyond its ken, look thou alone
• to Beatrice, for that ’s a work of Faith.

• Every substantial form which is distinct
• from matter, and is also joined with it,
• hath in it a specific power collected,
• which, save in operation, is not seen,
• and only shows itself in its effects,
• as life doth, by its green leaves, in a plant.
• None knows, however, whence the understanding
• of first cognitions comes, or whence the bent
• toward those first appetites which are in you,
• as zeal for making honey is in bees;
• this first will, hence, deserves nor praise nor blame.
• Now, that all others be conformed to this,
• the power which counsels inborn is in you,
• and ought to hold the threshold of assent.
• This is the source, whence comes the ground
• of merit in you, as it gathers in,
• and winnows out, your good and guilty loves.
• Those who in reasoning attained the bottom,
• perceived this inborn liberty, and left
• the world the teachings of morality.
• Supposing, then, that every love that flames
• within you, rises of necessity,
• within you lies the power to master it.
• This noble virtue is by Beatrice
• called Freedom of the Will; hence see that thou
• recall it, should she speak of it to thee.”
•         

• The moon, in rising, close to midnight late,
• and looking like a bucket all on fire,
• was causing now the stars to seem more rare;
• as, counter to the heavens, it coursed the paths
• the sun enflames, whene’er the Roman sees it
• setting between the Sards and Corsicans;
• and now that noble shade, whence Piètola
• hath greater fame than any Mantuan village,
• had put aside the load I laid on him;
• hence I who, as an answer to my questions,
• had reaped his clear and easy talk, remained
• like one confused because of drowsiness.

• But suddenly this sleepiness of mine
• was taken from me by a crowd of people,
• who, back of us, were circling toward us now.
• And as Ismenus and Asopus once
• along their banks saw maddened throngs at night,
• whene’er the Thebans needed Bacchus; such
• were those who, sweeping scythe-like round that ring,
• were coming on, from what I saw of them,
• by good will ridden and by righteous love.

• And soon were they upon us, for the whole
• of that great crowd was moving at a run;
• and two ahead in tears were crying out:
• “Mary proceeded to the hills in haste,” and “Caesar,
• in order to subdue Ilerda, struck
• Marseilles, then hurried on to Spain.”

• “Quick, quick, lest time be lost through lack of love,”
• cried those that came behind them, “so that zeal
• in doing good may make Grace green again!”

• “O folk, in whom keen fervor now redeems,
• perhaps, the negligence and slowness shown
• by your tepidity in doing good,
• this man who lives, and truly I lie not,
• desires, when sunlight once returns, to mount;
• hence tell us where the nearest opening lies.”

• These were my Leader’s words; and one of those
• same spirits said: “Come on behind us, then,
• and thou wilt find the hole. So keen we are
• to keep on moving, that we cannot stop;
• forgive us, then, if lack of courtesy
• thou deem, what we consider righteousness.
• I was San Zeno’s Abbot at Verona,
• under the rule of worthy Barbarossa,
• of whom Milàn in sorrow talketh still.
• And he has one foot in the grave already,
• who soon will for that monastery weep,
• and grieve because he had it in his power;
• for he his son, in body wholly sick,
• worse still in mind, and also ill-begot,
• has had installed in its true shepherd’s place.”

• I know not if aught else he said, or ceased,
• so far had he run past us now; but this
• I heard, and I’ve enjoyed retaining it.

• Then he who was my help in every need,
• said: “Turn in this direction, and behold
• two coming on, who give a bite to sloth.”

• Moving behind them all, they said: “The folk,
• for whom the sea was opened up, were dead,
• before the Jordan had perceived their heirs;
• and those who with the son of Anchises
• could not endure to toil unto the end,
• gave themselves up to lead inglorious lives.”

• Then, when those shades were separated from us
• so far, that they no longer could be seen,
• a new thought made its way into my mind,
• whence many other different thoughts were born;
• and I between them so confused became,
• that, wandering to and fro, I closed mine eyes,
• and changed what I had thought into a dream.