Purgatorio: Canto XIII

We had thus reached the summit of the stair,
Where narrows yet a second time the hill.
Which, as 'tis climbed, doth each one's sin repair;

There also doth a cornice circle still
Around the slope, as did the former one,
Save that more sharply this its arc doth fill.

Shade there is none, nor sculpture shows thereon,
So bare the bank seems, so seems bare the way,
With but the livid colour of the stone.

"If here, for souls of whom to ask we stay,"
The Poet reasoned, " cause have we to fear,
Lest this our choice should cause too much delay."

Then turned his fixed eye on the sun's light clear.
And of his right side did a centre make.
And round him moved his left as he stood there.

"O pleasant Light in whom I trust, and take
This our new path, do thou our footsteps guide,
As we would guidance here within partake;

Thou warm'st the world, thy beams shine far and wide;
Unless some good cause bid the contrary,
Thy rays should ever be our leaders tried."

What space with us a measured mile doth lie,
That had we there already travelled through.
In briefest time, through will's prompt energy.

And now the sound of souls that towards us flew,
We heard, although we saw not those who spoke,
And us, with kindly words, to Love's feast drew.

And the first voice that through the silence broke
"Vinum non habent " said, in clearest tone.
And passed behind and oft the echoes woke.

And ere its sound was lost, through distance gone,
Another passing, " Lo, Orestes I,"
Cried out, and he too stayed not, but went on.

"O Father," said I, " what means each strange cry?"
And as I asked, behold a third did sound,
And spake aloud, "Love ye your enemy."

Then my good Master: " In this circle's round
Is scourged the guilt of envy; so the cords
Of that same scourge by love itself are bound.

The curb must echo with far other words:
Thou, so I deem, wilt hear it soon, ere yet
Thou reach the Pass which pardon full affords.

But through the air gaze thou with nought to let.
And thou shalt see what folk before us lies,
And each one close against the rock is set."

Then wider than before I oped my eyes:
I looked in front and spirits saw arrayed
In cloaks that with the rock did harmonise.

And when a few steps onward we had made,
I heard their cry, " O Mary, for us pray,"
Cry, " Michael, Peter, yea, and all Saints, aid."

I deem that on the earth none wends his way
Of heart so hard as not to thrill with pain,
Through pitying those who next before me lay:

For when I did a greater nearness gain,
So that their acts and mien came clear in sight,
The heavy sorrow did my sad eyes drain.

They seemed to me in coarsest sackcloth dight.
And with his shoulder each the other propped,
And all leant up against the embankment's height.

E'en thus the blind, whose means of life are stopped,
Stand at our Pardons asking alms for bread.
And one man's head is on another's dropped,

That pity may in others' hearts be shed.
Not only at the sound of words they speak,
But at the sight which no less grief hath bred.

And as the blind the sun's rays vainly seek,
So to the souls of whom I spake but now
The light of Heaven shows but a glimmering streak.

For thread of iron pierceth every brow,"
And sews their eyes up, as with falcon wild
Is done, since else its wings no rest allow.

Cruel I seemed to leave them thus beguiled,
To gaze on others, yet myself unseen;
Then turned I to my Counsel wise and mild.

Well knew he what the dumb to say did mean.
And therefore waited not for my demand,
But said, " Speak thou, with words both brief and keen."

Virgil stood by me on that outer band
Of the high bank, whence chance of fall is met,
For by no rampart circled it doth stand;

On the other side devoted souls were set.
Who from that suture did such pain endure
That with the tears forced out their cheeks were wet.

To them I turned and said, " O people, sure
To gaze upon the glorious Light on high, —
The one sole end which doth your aim allure, —

So may God's grace bid every foul scum fly
That stains your conscience, and the mind's stream flow
Full clear and limpid through it inwardly!

Tell me, for that will dear and gracious show,
If here dwell soul of Latin lineage,
For him, perchance 'twere good that I should know."

"O brother mine, each soul its heritage
Finds in the one true City; thou wouldst say,
'Who in Italia made his pilgrimage.'"

I seemed to hear this answer some short way
In front of where I stood, and therefore went
Where better chance of hearing me had they.

Among the rest I saw a soul intent;
And shouldst thou ask how this I could descry,
I say her chin, like blind man's, was up-bent.

Spirit," I said, " who stoop'st to mount on high,
If thou art she who now did answer give.
Tell me thy name or where thy home did lie."

"I in Siena," answered she, "did live.
And with the rest my foul life purify.
Weeping to Him that He Himself may give:

Though Sapia I was called, yet nought had I
Of sapience, and rejoiced in others' ill
Far more than in mine own prosperity.

And lest thou deem I speak deceiving still,
Hear if I was as foolish as I tell.
When my life's arch was sloping down the hill.

My citizens were joined in battle fell"
On Colle's plain, with many a foe in sight.
And I prayed God for what through Him befell.

There were they routed, and in bitter flight
Were turned, and I, beholding that defeat,
Felt in my soul an unsurpassed delight,

So that I upward looked with o'erbold heat
And cried to God, 'Now fear I Thee no more,'
As did the blackbird for one spring day sweet.

Peace with ray God I sought ere life was o'er.
Just at the last, nor would my life e'en now
Be by my penance lessened in its score.

Had it not been that in each holy vow
Piero Pettignano remembered me,
In whom for me a sorrowing love did grow.

But thou who passest by, who may'st thou be,
Asking our state, and go'st with open eyes,
E'en so I deem; and speak'st with breath yet free?"

"Mine eyes," I said, "I here shall lose likewise.
But for brief time, for little the offence
Which they have wrought by envious jealousies.

Far greater terror keeps me in suspense
Of the dread torment working there below,
For even now I feel that weight immense."

And she: " Who then up here doth guide thee so,
If of retreat thou any hope discern?""
And I: "Lo! there my silent escort know.

And living am I; therefore ask in turn,
O chosen soul, if thou would'st have me stir
For thee my mortal feet in yonder bourne."

"Ah me! so new is this that meets mine ear,"
She answered, "'tis sure sign God loves thee well;
Wherefore at times let prayer thy succour bear.

And by the keen desires that in thee dwell,
If e'er in Tuscan land thy steps pass through,
I ask thee to my kin my praise to tell:

Thou wilt find them among that worthless crew
Who hope in Talamone, and will waste
More hopes than were to Dian's waters due:

To greater loss the admirals shall haste."