Purgatorio: Canto VIIAfter the gracious and glad salutationsHad three and four times been reiterated,Sordello backward drew and said, “Who are you?”“Or ever to this mountain were directedThe souls deserving to ascend to God,My bones were buried by Octavian.I am Virgilius; and for no crime elseDid I lose heaven, than for not having faith;”In this wise then my Leader made reply.As one who suddenly before him seesSomething whereat he marvels, who believesAnd yet does not, saying, “It is! it is not!”So he appeared; and then bowed down his brow,And with humility returned towards him,And, where inferiors embrace, embraced him.“O glory of the Latians, thou,” he said,“Through whom our language showed what it could doO pride eternal of the place I came from,What merit or what grace to me reveals thee?If I to hear thy words be worthy, tell meIf thou dost come from Hell, and from what cloister.”“Through all the circles of the doleful realm,”Responded he, “have I come hitherward;Heaven’s power impelled me, and with that I come.I by not doing, not by doing, lostThe sight of that high sun which thou desirest,And which too late by me was recognized.A place there is below not sad with torments,But darkness only, where the lamentationsHave not the sound of wailing, but are sighs.There dwell I with the little innocentsSnatched by the teeth of Death, or ever theyWere from our human sinfulness exempt.There dwell I among those who the three saintlyVirtues did not put on, and without viceThe others knew and followed all of them.But if thou know and can, some indicationGive us by which we may the sooner comeWhere Purgatory has its right beginning.”He answered: “No fixed place has been assigned us;’Tis lawful for me to go up and round;So far as I can go, as guide I join thee.But see already how the day declines,And to go up by night we are not able;Therefore ’tis well to think of some fair sojourn.Souls are there on the right hand here withdrawn;If thou permit me I will lead thee to them,And thou shalt know them not without delight.”“How is this?” was the answer; “should one wishTo mount by night would he prevented beBy others? or mayhap would not have power?”And on the ground the good Sordello drewHis finger, saying, “See, this line aloneThou couldst not pass after the sun is gone;Not that aught else would hindrance give, however,To going up, save the nocturnal darkness;This with the want of power the will perplexes.We might indeed therewith return below,And, wandering, walk the hill-side round about,While the horizon holds the day imprisoned.”Thereon my Lord, as if in wonder, said:“Do thou conduct us thither, where thou sayestThat we can take delight in tarrying.”Little had we withdrawn us from that place,When I perceived the mount was hollowed outIn fashion as the valleys here are hollowed.“Thitherward,” said that shade, “will we repair,Where of itself the hill-side makes a lap,And there for the new day will we await.”’Twixt hill and plain there was a winding pathWhich led us to the margin of that dell,Where dies the border more than half away.Gold and fine silver, and scarlet and pearl-white,The Indian wood resplendent and serene,Fresh emerald the moment it is broken,By herbage and by flowers within that hollowPlanted, each one in colour would be vanquished,As by its greater vanquished is the less.Nor in that place had nature painted only,But of the sweetness of a thousand odoursMade there a mingled fragrance and unknown.“Salve Regina,” on the green and flowersThere seated, singing, spirits I beheld,Which were not visible outside the valley.“Before the scanty sun now seeks his nest,”Began the Mantuan who had led us thither,“Among them do not wish me to conduct you.Better from off this ledge the acts and facesOf all of them will you discriminate,Than in the plain below received among them.He who sits highest, and the semblance bearsOf having what he should have done neglected,And to the others’ song moves not his lips,Rudolph the Emperor was, who had the powerTo heal the wounds that Italy have slain,So that through others slowly she revives.The other, who in look doth comfort him,Governed the region where the water springs,The Moldau bears the Elbe, and Elbe the sea.His name was Ottocar; and in swaddling-clothesFar better he than bearded WinceslausHis son, who feeds in luxury and ease.And the small-nosed, who close in council seemsWith him that has an aspect so benign,Died fleeing and disflowering the lily;Look there, how he is beating at his breast!Behold the other one, who for his cheekSighing has made of his own palm a bed;Father and father-in-law of France’s PestAre they, and know his vicious life and lewd,And hence proceeds the grief that so doth pierce them.He who appears so stalwart, and chimes in,Singing, with that one of the manly nose,The cord of every valour wore begirt;And if as King had after him remainedThe stripling who in rear of him is sitting,Well had the valour passed from vase to vase,Which cannot of the other heirs be said.Frederick and Jacomo possess the realms,But none the better heritage possesses.Not oftentimes upriseth through the branchesThe probity of man; and this He willsWho gives it, so that we may ask of Him.Eke to the large-nosed reach my words, no lessThan to the other, Pier, who with him sings;Whence Provence and Apulia grieve alreadyThe plant is as inferior to its seed,As more than Beatrice and MargaretCostanza boasteth of her husband still.Behold the monarch of the simple life,Harry of England, sitting there alone;He in his branches has a better issue.He who the lowest on the ground among themSits looking upward, is the Marquis William,For whose sake Alessandria and her warMake Monferrat and Canavese weep.”
After the gracious and glad salutationsHad three and four times been reiterated,Sordello backward drew and said, “Who are you?”
“Or ever to this mountain were directedThe souls deserving to ascend to God,My bones were buried by Octavian.
I am Virgilius; and for no crime elseDid I lose heaven, than for not having faith;”In this wise then my Leader made reply.
As one who suddenly before him seesSomething whereat he marvels, who believesAnd yet does not, saying, “It is! it is not!”
So he appeared; and then bowed down his brow,And with humility returned towards him,And, where inferiors embrace, embraced him.
“O glory of the Latians, thou,” he said,“Through whom our language showed what it could doO pride eternal of the place I came from,
What merit or what grace to me reveals thee?If I to hear thy words be worthy, tell meIf thou dost come from Hell, and from what cloister.”
“Through all the circles of the doleful realm,”Responded he, “have I come hitherward;Heaven’s power impelled me, and with that I come.
I by not doing, not by doing, lostThe sight of that high sun which thou desirest,And which too late by me was recognized.
A place there is below not sad with torments,But darkness only, where the lamentationsHave not the sound of wailing, but are sighs.
There dwell I with the little innocentsSnatched by the teeth of Death, or ever theyWere from our human sinfulness exempt.
There dwell I among those who the three saintlyVirtues did not put on, and without viceThe others knew and followed all of them.
But if thou know and can, some indicationGive us by which we may the sooner comeWhere Purgatory has its right beginning.”
He answered: “No fixed place has been assigned us;’Tis lawful for me to go up and round;So far as I can go, as guide I join thee.
But see already how the day declines,And to go up by night we are not able;Therefore ’tis well to think of some fair sojourn.
Souls are there on the right hand here withdrawn;If thou permit me I will lead thee to them,And thou shalt know them not without delight.”
“How is this?” was the answer; “should one wishTo mount by night would he prevented beBy others? or mayhap would not have power?”
And on the ground the good Sordello drewHis finger, saying, “See, this line aloneThou couldst not pass after the sun is gone;
Not that aught else would hindrance give, however,To going up, save the nocturnal darkness;This with the want of power the will perplexes.
We might indeed therewith return below,And, wandering, walk the hill-side round about,While the horizon holds the day imprisoned.”
Thereon my Lord, as if in wonder, said:“Do thou conduct us thither, where thou sayestThat we can take delight in tarrying.”
Little had we withdrawn us from that place,When I perceived the mount was hollowed outIn fashion as the valleys here are hollowed.
“Thitherward,” said that shade, “will we repair,Where of itself the hill-side makes a lap,And there for the new day will we await.”
’Twixt hill and plain there was a winding pathWhich led us to the margin of that dell,Where dies the border more than half away.
Gold and fine silver, and scarlet and pearl-white,The Indian wood resplendent and serene,Fresh emerald the moment it is broken,
By herbage and by flowers within that hollowPlanted, each one in colour would be vanquished,As by its greater vanquished is the less.
Nor in that place had nature painted only,But of the sweetness of a thousand odoursMade there a mingled fragrance and unknown.
“Salve Regina,” on the green and flowersThere seated, singing, spirits I beheld,Which were not visible outside the valley.
“Before the scanty sun now seeks his nest,”Began the Mantuan who had led us thither,“Among them do not wish me to conduct you.
Better from off this ledge the acts and facesOf all of them will you discriminate,Than in the plain below received among them.
He who sits highest, and the semblance bearsOf having what he should have done neglected,And to the others’ song moves not his lips,
Rudolph the Emperor was, who had the powerTo heal the wounds that Italy have slain,So that through others slowly she revives.
The other, who in look doth comfort him,Governed the region where the water springs,The Moldau bears the Elbe, and Elbe the sea.
His name was Ottocar; and in swaddling-clothesFar better he than bearded WinceslausHis son, who feeds in luxury and ease.
And the small-nosed, who close in council seemsWith him that has an aspect so benign,Died fleeing and disflowering the lily;
Look there, how he is beating at his breast!Behold the other one, who for his cheekSighing has made of his own palm a bed;
Father and father-in-law of France’s PestAre they, and know his vicious life and lewd,And hence proceeds the grief that so doth pierce them.
He who appears so stalwart, and chimes in,Singing, with that one of the manly nose,The cord of every valour wore begirt;
And if as King had after him remainedThe stripling who in rear of him is sitting,Well had the valour passed from vase to vase,
Which cannot of the other heirs be said.Frederick and Jacomo possess the realms,But none the better heritage possesses.
Not oftentimes upriseth through the branchesThe probity of man; and this He willsWho gives it, so that we may ask of Him.
Eke to the large-nosed reach my words, no lessThan to the other, Pier, who with him sings;Whence Provence and Apulia grieve already
The plant is as inferior to its seed,As more than Beatrice and MargaretCostanza boasteth of her husband still.
Behold the monarch of the simple life,Harry of England, sitting there alone;He in his branches has a better issue.
He who the lowest on the ground among themSits looking upward, is the Marquis William,For whose sake Alessandria and her war
Make Monferrat and Canavese weep.”