The Portable Dante (38 page)

When this glad, ceremonious embrace had been repeated several times, Sordello, stepping back, said, “Tell me, who are you two?”

“Before those souls worthy to climb to God were taken to this mountain by His grace, my bones were buried by Octavian.

I am Virgil. The reason I lost Heaven was through no other fault than lack of faith. ” This was the answer my guide gave that shade.

As one who suddenly beholds a thing incredible will first believe and then misdoubt and say: “It is—it cannot be!”

so seemed Sordello. Then he bent his head and, this time, reverently, turned to embrace my master as a vassal does his lord.

“O glory of the Latin race, ” he said, “you who did prove the power of our tongue, O deathless excellence of my own land,

what merit or what grace grants me this sight? Tell me, if I am worthy of your words, are you from Hell and, if so, from what ward?”

“Through all the circles of the realm of grief have I come here, ” he said. “A heavenly power showed me this road, and with its aid I come.

Not what I did, but what I did not do cost me the sight of that high Sun you seek whose meaning was revealed to me too late.

There is a place down there made sorrowful by darkness of its untormented grief: no shrieks of pain are heard, but hopeless sighs.

I dwell with infant souls of innocence bit off from life by death before the sin that they were born with could be washed away;

I dwell with those who could not clothe themselves in the three holy virtues but, unstained, knew all the rest, and practiced all of them.

But if you know, and are allowed to tell, how can we find the quickest way to reach the place where Purgatory truly starts?”

“Since we are not restricted to one spot, being free to roam around and up, ” he said, “I’ll be your guide as far as I may climb.

But, see, the day is coming to an end; at night it is forbidden to ascend, so we should think of some good place to rest.

Off to the right here is a group of souls; if you allow me, I shall take you there; I think you will take pleasure meeting them. ”

“What do you mean?” my guide said, “If a soul started to climb at night, would he be stopped, or would he simply find he could not move?”

Sordello drew his finger along the ground answering, “Look! After the sun has set you could not go a step beyond this line.

There’s nothing that prevents our going up except the darkness of the shadows: this, alone, afflicts the will with impotence.

We can, indeed, go
down
the slope and roam as far around the mountain as we wish, as long as the horizon locks out day. ”

My lord, amazed by what he heard, replied: “In that case, take us to the place you said, where we would find a pleasurable rest. ”

We started on our way, and soon I saw a hollow in the mountain slope, just like the hollow that a valley makes on earth.

“Now we will go, ” the shade announced to us, “to where the mountain folds into a lap; there we will wait until the new day comes. ”

A winding path that was not very steep led to a point upon the hollow’s rim where the side sloped to less than half its height.

Think of fine silver, gold, cochineal, white lead, Indian wood, glowing and deeply clear, fresh emerald the instant it is split—

the brilliant colors of the grass and flowers within that dale would outshine all of these, as nature naturally surpasses art.

But nature had not only painted there: the sweetness of a thousand odors fused in one unknown, unrecognizable.

I heard
Salve Regina;
sitting there upon the grass and flowers I saw souls hidden till then below the valley’s rim.

“Please do not ask me, ” said our Mantuan guide, “to lead you down to where you see those souls, until the sinking sun has found its nest;

from here it is much easier to see the faces and the movements of them all than if you were among them there below.

The one who sits the highest and who looks as if he left undone what was to do, and does not join the others in their song,

was Rudolf, Emperor, who could have cured the wounds that were the death of Italy— it will be long before she lives again!

The one who seems to comfort him once ruled over that land whose waters flow into the Moldau to the Elbe to the sea:

Ottokar—more respected as a babe than Wenceslaus, his bearded son, is now, feasting on lechery and idleness.

That snub-nosed figure in close conference with the kind-looking person at his side, dishonoring the lily, died in flight.

Look at him there, see how he beats his breast; look at the other soul, cradling his cheek within his palm, sighing. Father-in-law

and father of the Plague of France they are; they know about his dissolute, foul life, and that is why they feel such piercing grief.

That sturdy-looking soul seated beside the big-nosed one, singing in tune with him, was girded with the cord of every good.

If only that young man behind him there had lived to rule a longer time, indeed, true merit would have flowed from cup to cup—

as did not happen with the other heirs. Now James and Frederick possess his realms, but neither got the better heritage.

Not often does the sap of virtue rise to all the branches. This is His own gift, and we can only beg that He bestow it.

My words apply to him with the big nose as well as Peter there, who sings with him on whose account Provence and Puglia grieve.

As much as this seed’s plant is less than he, just so much more than Margaret and Beatrix can Constance boast her husband’s excellence.

And see Henry of England sitting there all by himself, king of the simple life whose branches bear him better fruit by far.

The one who sits below them on the ground and who looks up at them is Marquis William, whose war with Alessandria has made

all Montferrat and Canavese weep.

It was the hour when a sailor’s thoughts, the first day out, turn homeward, and his heart yearns for the loved ones he has left behind,

the hour when the novice pilgrim aches with love: the far-off tolling of a bell now seems to him to mourn the dying day—

I was no longer listening to words but looking at a soul who had stood up, requesting, with a gesture, to be heard.

He raised his hands, joining his palms in prayer, his gaze fixed toward the east, as if to say: “I have no other thought but Thee, dear Lord. ”

Te lucis ante,
with such reverence, and so melodiously, came from his lips, that I was lost to any sense of self;

the rest then, reverently, in harmony, joined in to sing the hymn through to the end, keeping their eyes fixed on the heavenly spheres.

Sharpen your sight, Reader: the truth, this time, is covered by a thinner veil, and so, the meaning should be easy to perceive.

I saw that noble host of souls, who now in silence kept their eyes raised to the heavens, as if expectant, faces pale and meek,

and then I saw descending from on high two angels with two flaming swords, and these were broken short and blunted at the end.

Their garments, green as tender new-born leaves unfurling, billowed out behind each one, fanned by the greenness of their streaming wings.

One took his stand above us on our side, and one alighted on the other bank; thus, all the souls were held between the two.