Virgil makes himself known to Sordello. — Sordello leads the Poets to the Valley of the Princes who have been negligent of salvation. — He points them out by name.
After the becoming and glad salutations had been repeated three and four times, Sordello drew back and said, “Ye, who are ye?” “Before the souls worthy to ascend to God were turned unto this mountain, my bones had been buried by Octavian; I am Virgil, and for no other sin did I lose heaven, but for not having faith,” thus then replied my Leader.
As is he who suddenly sees a thing before him whereat he marvels, and doth and doth not believe, saying, “It is, it is not,” — so seemed that shade, and then he bent down his brow, and humbly turned again toward him and embraced him where the inferior takes hold.
“O glory of the Latins,” said he, “through whom our language showed what it could do, O honor eternal of the place wherefrom I was, what merit or what grace shows thee to me? If I am worthy to hear thy words, tell me if thou comest from Hell, and from what cloister.” “Through all the circles of the realm of woe,” replied he to him, “am I come hither; Power of Heaven moved me, and with it I come. Not by doing, but by not doing have I lost the sight of the high Sun whom thou desirest, and who by me was known late. A place there is below not sad with torments but with darkness only, where the lamentations sound not as wailings, but are sighs; there stay I with the little innocents bitten by the teeth of death before they were exempt from human sin; there stay I with those who were not vested with the three holy virtues, and without vice knew the others and followed all of them.1 But if thou knowest and canst, give us some direction whereby we may come more speedily there where Purgatory has its true beginning.” He replied, “A certain place is not set for us; it is permitted me to go upward and around; so far as I can go I join myself to thee as guide. But see how already the day declines, and to go up by night is not possible; therefore it is well to think of some fair sojourn. There are souls here on the right apart; if thou consentest to me I will lead thee to them, and not without delight will they be known to thee.” “How is this?” was answered, “he who might wish to ascend by night, would he be hindered by another, or would he not be able to ascend?” And the good Sordello drew his finger on the ground, saying, “See, only this line thou couldst not pass after set of sun; not because aught else save the nocturnal darkness would give hindrance to going up; that hampers the will with impotence.2 One could, indeed, in it3 turn downward and walk the hillside wandering around, while the horizon holds the day shut up.” Then my Lord, as if wondering, said, “Lead us, then, there where thou sayest one may have delight while waiting.”
1 The virtuous Heathen did not possess the so-called theological virtues of Faith, Hope, and Charity; but they practiced the four cardinal virtues of Prudence, Temperance, Fortitude and Justice.
2 The allegory is plain: the soul can mount the steep of purification only when illuminated by the Sun of Divine Grace.
3 In the darkness.
Little way had we gone from that place, when I perceived that the mountain was hollowed out in like fashion as the valleys hollow them here on earth. “Yonder,” said that shade, “will we go, where the hillside makes a lap of itself, and there will we await the new day.” Between steep and level was a winding path that led us into a side of the dale, where more than by half the edge dies away. Gold and fine silver, and scarlet and white, Indian wood lucid and clear,1 fresh emerald at the instant it is split, would each be vanquished in color by the herbage and by the flowers set within that valley, as by its greater the less is vanquished. Nature had not only painted there, but with sweetness of a thousand odors she made there one unknown and blended.
1 The blue of indigo.
Upon the green and upon the flowers I saw souls who, because of the valley, were not visible from without, seated here singing “Salve regina.” 1 “Before the lessening sun sinks to his nest,” began the Mantuan who had turned us thither, “desire not that among these I guide you. From this bank ye will better become acquainted with the acts and countenances of all of them, than received among them on the level below. He who sits highest and has the semblance of having neglected what he should have done, and who moves not his mouth to the others’ songs, was Rudolph the Emperor, who might have healed the wounds that have slain Italy, so that slowly by another she is revived.2 The next, who in appearance comforts him, ruled the land where the water rises that Moldau bears to Elbe, and Elbe to the sea. Ottocar was his name,3 and in his swaddling clothes he was better far than bearded Wenceslaus, his son, whom luxury and idleness feed.4 And that small-nosed one, who seems close in counsel with him who has so benign an aspect, died in flight and disflowering the lily;5 look there how he beats his breast. See the next who, sighing, has made a bed for his cheek with his hand.6 Father and father-in-law are they of the harm of France; they know his vicious and foul life, and thence comes the grief that so pierces them. He who looks so large-limbed,7 and who accords in singing with him of the masculine nose,8 wore girt the cord of every worth, and if the youth that is sitting behind him had followed him as king, truly had worth gone from vase to vase, which cannot be said of the other heirs: James and Frederick hold the realms; 9 the better heritage no one possesses. Rarely doth human goodness rise through the branches, and this He wills who gives it, in order that it may be asked from Him. To the large-nosed one also my words apply not less than to the other, Peter, who is singing with him; wherefore Apulia and Provence are grieving now.10 The plant is as inferior to its seed, as, more than Beatrice and Margaret, Constance still boasts of her husband.11 See the King of the simple life sitting there alone, Henry of England; he in his branches hath a better issue.12 That one who lowest among them sits on the ground, looking upward, is William the marquis,13 for whom Alessandria and her war make Montferrat and the Canavese mourn.”
1 The beginning of a Church hymn to the Virgin, sung after
vespers, of which the first verses are: —
Salve, Regina, mater misericordiae!
Vita, dulcedo et spes nostra, salve!
Ad te clamamus exsules filii Hevae;
Ad te suspiramus, gementes et flentes
In hac lacrymarum valle.
2 The neglect of Italy by the Emperor Rudolph (see the preceding Canto) was not to be repaired by the vain efforts of Henry VII.
3 Ottocar, King of Bohemia and Duke of Austria, had been slain in battle against Rudolph, on the Marchfeld by the Donau, in 1278; “whereby Austria fell to Rudolph.” See Carlyle’s Frederick the Great, book ii. ch. 7.
4 Dante repeats his harsh judgment of Wenceslaus in the nineteenth Canto of Paradise. His first wife was the daughter of Rudolph of Hapsburg. He died in 1305.
5 This is Philip the Bold of France, 1270-1285. Having invaded Catalonia, in a war with Peter the Third of Aragon, he was driven back, and died on the retreat at Perpignan.
6 Henry of Navarre, the brother of Thibault, the poet-king (Hell, Canto XXII.). His daughter Joan married Philip the Fair, “the harm of France,” the son of Philip the Bold.
7 Peter of Aragon (died 1285), the husband of Constance, daughter of Manfred (see Canto III.); the youth who is seated behind him is his son Alphonso, who died in 1291.
8 Charles of Anjou.
9 The kingdoms of Aragon and Sicily; both James and Frederick were living when Dante thus wrote of them. The “better heritage” was the virtue of their father.
10 Apulia and Provence were grieving under the rule of Charles II., the degenerate son of Charles of Anjou, who died in 1309.
11 The meaning is doubtful; perhaps it is, that the children of Charles of Anjou and of Peter of Aragon are as inferior to their fathers, as Charles himself, the husband first of Beatrice of Provence and then of Margaret of Nevers, was inferior to Peter, the husband of Constance.
12 Henry III., father of Edward I.
13 William Spadalunga was Marquis of Montferrat and Canavese, the Piedmontese highlands and plain north of the Po. He was Imperial vicar, and the bead of the Ghibellines in this region. In a war with the Guelphs, who had risen in revolt in 1290, he was taken captive at Alessandria, and for two years, till his death, was kept in an iron cage. Dante refers to him in the Convito, iv. 11, as “the good marquis of Montferrat.”