Virgil Character Analysis

It’s madness if we hope that rational minds
should ever follow to its end the road
that one true being in three persons takes.

Content yourselves with quia, human kind.
Had you been able to see everything,
Mary need not have laboured to give birth.

You saw the fruitless yearning of those men
who might have had that yearning satisfied,
now given them eternally to mourn.

Plato, I mean, and Aristotle, too, and many more with them.’

There is a place down there not grim with pain
but only with sad shades whose deep laments
sound not as screams but melancholy sighs.

I take my place with children – innocents
in whom the bite of death set lethal teeth
before they’d been made free of human sin.

And there I stay with all who were not clothed
in those three holy virtues – though I knew,
and, guiltless, followed all the other four.

We were, by now, ascending that great stair.
And I, it seemed, was lighter now by far
than I had seemed while still on level ground.

So, ‘Tell me, sir,’ I said, ‘what weight has now
been lifted from me, so I almost feel
no strain at all in walking on my way?’

He answered: ‘When the “P”s that mark your brow,
remaining still, though growing now more faint,
have all (as is the first) been sheared away,

your steps will then be conquered by good will
and, being thus impelled towards the heights,
will feel no strain but only sheer delight.’

Because your human longings point to where
portions grow smaller in shared fellowship,
meanness of mind must make the bellows sigh.

If love, though, seeking for the utmost sphere,
should ever wrench your longings to the skies,
such fears would have no place within your breast.

For, there, the more that we can speak of “ours”,
the more each one possesses of the good
and, in that cloister, caritas burns brighter.

Neither creator nor created thing
was ever, dearest son, without’ (he starts)
‘the love of mind or nature. You know that.

The natural love can never go astray.
The other, though, may err when wrongly aimed,
or else through too much vigour or the lack. […]

Hence, of necessity, you’ll understand
that love must be the seed of all good powers,
as, too, of penalties your deeds deserve.

If love is slack in drawing you to view –
or win – that good, then this ledge, where we’re now,
after your fit repentance, martyrs you.

And other goods will not bring happiness,
not happy in themselves, nor that good source
of being, seed and flower of all that’s good.

Tremors strike here when any soul feels pure
and rises, newly cleansed, to start its climb.
And that cry follows as the soul ascends.

The will alone gives proof of purity
when, wholly free to change its sacred place,
it aids and sweeps the soul up, willing well.

While I, through these green boughs, fixed searching sight
as might some hunter tracking little birds,
who spends his life in vain on that pursuit),
my more-than-father spoke. ‘Dear son,’ he said,
‘do come along. The time appointed us
should be more usefully divided out.’

Over my suppliant hands entwined, I leaned
just staring at the fire, imagining
bodies of human beings I’d seen burn.

And both my trusted guides now turned to me.
And Virgil spoke, to say: ‘My dearest son,
here may be agony but never death.

Remember this! Remember! And if I
led you to safety on Geryon’s back,
what will I do when now so close to God?

Believe this. And be sure. Were you to stay
a thousand years or more wombed in this fire,
you’d not be made the balder by one hair.

Then, firmly, Virgil fixed his eyes on me,
saying: ‘The temporal and eternal fires
you’ve seen, my son, and now you’re in a place
where I, through my own powers, can tell no more.

I’ve drawn you here by skill and searching mind.
Now take what pleases you to be your guide.
You’re now beyond the steeps, beyond all straits. […]

No longer look to me for signs or word.
Your will is healthy, upright, free and whole.
And not to heed that sense would be a fault.
Lord of yourself, I crown and mitre you.’

It’s madness if we hope that rational minds
should ever follow to its end the road
that one true being in three persons takes.

Content yourselves with quia, human kind.
Had you been able to see everything,
Mary need not have laboured to give birth.

You saw the fruitless yearning of those men
who might have had that yearning satisfied,
now given them eternally to mourn.

Plato, I mean, and Aristotle, too, and many more with them.’

There is a place down there not grim with pain
but only with sad shades whose deep laments
sound not as screams but melancholy sighs.

I take my place with children – innocents
in whom the bite of death set lethal teeth
before they’d been made free of human sin.

And there I stay with all who were not clothed
in those three holy virtues – though I knew,
and, guiltless, followed all the other four.

We were, by now, ascending that great stair.
And I, it seemed, was lighter now by far
than I had seemed while still on level ground.

So, ‘Tell me, sir,’ I said, ‘what weight has now
been lifted from me, so I almost feel
no strain at all in walking on my way?’

He answered: ‘When the “P”s that mark your brow,
remaining still, though growing now more faint,
have all (as is the first) been sheared away,

your steps will then be conquered by good will
and, being thus impelled towards the heights,
will feel no strain but only sheer delight.’

Because your human longings point to where
portions grow smaller in shared fellowship,
meanness of mind must make the bellows sigh.

If love, though, seeking for the utmost sphere,
should ever wrench your longings to the skies,
such fears would have no place within your breast.

For, there, the more that we can speak of “ours”,
the more each one possesses of the good
and, in that cloister, caritas burns brighter.

Neither creator nor created thing
was ever, dearest son, without’ (he starts)
‘the love of mind or nature. You know that.

The natural love can never go astray.
The other, though, may err when wrongly aimed,
or else through too much vigour or the lack. […]

Hence, of necessity, you’ll understand
that love must be the seed of all good powers,
as, too, of penalties your deeds deserve.

If love is slack in drawing you to view –
or win – that good, then this ledge, where we’re now,
after your fit repentance, martyrs you.

And other goods will not bring happiness,
not happy in themselves, nor that good source
of being, seed and flower of all that’s good.

Tremors strike here when any soul feels pure
and rises, newly cleansed, to start its climb.
And that cry follows as the soul ascends.

The will alone gives proof of purity
when, wholly free to change its sacred place,
it aids and sweeps the soul up, willing well.

While I, through these green boughs, fixed searching sight
as might some hunter tracking little birds,
who spends his life in vain on that pursuit),
my more-than-father spoke. ‘Dear son,’ he said,
‘do come along. The time appointed us
should be more usefully divided out.’

Over my suppliant hands entwined, I leaned
just staring at the fire, imagining
bodies of human beings I’d seen burn.

And both my trusted guides now turned to me.
And Virgil spoke, to say: ‘My dearest son,
here may be agony but never death.

Remember this! Remember! And if I
led you to safety on Geryon’s back,
what will I do when now so close to God?

Believe this. And be sure. Were you to stay
a thousand years or more wombed in this fire,
you’d not be made the balder by one hair.

Then, firmly, Virgil fixed his eyes on me,
saying: ‘The temporal and eternal fires
you’ve seen, my son, and now you’re in a place
where I, through my own powers, can tell no more.

I’ve drawn you here by skill and searching mind.
Now take what pleases you to be your guide.
You’re now beyond the steeps, beyond all straits. […]

No longer look to me for signs or word.
Your will is healthy, upright, free and whole.
And not to heed that sense would be a fault.
Lord of yourself, I crown and mitre you.’