The third sphere blazes with a new, warmer light. Souls come spinning in the air like sparks from fire, each one singing — and Dante can see that they come from a greater light, as if pulled toward him out of the deep radiance. One speaks: Charles Martel, the young Angevin prince who was heir to the kingdoms of Naples, Hungary, and Provence, who had visited Florence in 1294 and admired Dante, who died young — too young to inherit anything. He loved Dante's poems in life. Here he greets Dante with great affection, calling to mind Dante's canzone Voi che 'ntendendo.
Charles raises a profound question. He and Dante discuss the paradox that human beings inherit different temperaments from the stars — different souls suited for different roles in society: soldiers, priests, lawyers, craftsmen. If sons always inherited their fathers' natures, society would be impossible; it needs variety. But this means a man born a contemplative may be forced into kingship by his birth, or a man born for rule must become a monk. The world's disorder often comes from placing people in roles that suit their heredity rather than their nature. Providence distributes souls and vocations widely; human institutions try to compress them into dynastic lines. The lesson is quietly radical: vocation is not inherited.