Canto 13

We were at the top of the stairway, where the mountain, ascent of which frees one from ill, is the second time cut back. There a cornice binds the hill round about, in like manner as the first, except that its arc bends more quickly. No shadow is there, nor mark which is apparent¹⁵⁸ so that the bank appears smooth and so the path, with the livid color of the stone.

We were at the top of the stairway, where the mountain was cut back for the second time. Climbing this mountain frees one from evil. A ledge ran around the mountain, like the first one, except that it curved more sharply. There was no visible shadow or mark¹⁵⁸, so the bank and the path both looked smooth, with the gray-blue color of the stone.

“If to enquire one waits here for people,” said the Poet, “I fear that perhaps our choice will have too much delay.” Then he set his eyes fixedly upon the sun, made of his right side the centre for his movement, and turned the left part of himself. “O sweet light, with confidence in which I enter on the new road, do thou lead us on it,” he said, “as there is need for leading here within. Thou warmest the world, thou shinest upon it; if other reason prompt not to the contrary, thy rays ought ever to be guides.”

“If we wait here for people to ask,” said the Poet, “I fear our decision may be delayed too long.” Then he fixed his eyes on the sun and pivoted on his right side, turning his left side around. “O sweet light, I trust in you as I enter this new path. Lead us along it,” he said, “for we need guidance here. You warm the world and shine upon it. Unless some other reason suggests otherwise, your rays should always be our guide.”

As far as here on earth is counted for a mile, so far had we now gone there, in little time because of ready will; and towards us were heard to fly, not however seen, spirits uttering courteous invitations to the table of love. The first voice that passed flying, “Virum non habent,”¹⁵⁹ loudly said, and went on behind us reiterating it. And before it had become quite inaudible through distance, another passed by, crying, “I am Orestes,”¹⁶⁰ and also did not stay. “O Father,” said I, “what voices are these?” and even as I was asking, lo! the third, saying, “Love them from whom ye have had wrong.” And the good Master: “This circle scourges the sin of envy, and therefore from love are drawn the cords of the scourge. The curb must be of the opposite sound; I think that thou wilt hear it before thou arrivest at the pass of pardon.¹⁶¹ But fix thine eyes very fixedly through the air, and thou wilt see in front of us people sitting, and each is seated against the rock.” Then more than before I opened my eyes; I looked in front of me, and saw shades with cloaks in color not different from the stone. And when we were a little further forward, I heard them crying, “Mary, pray for us!” crying, “Michael,” and “Peter,” and all the Saints.

We had now traveled as far as a mile on earth. We had covered the distance quickly because we were eager to go. We heard spirits flying toward us, though we could not see them. They called out courteous invitations to the table of love. The first voice flew past, saying loudly, “Virum non habent,”¹⁵⁹ and kept repeating the words as it went behind us. Before the voice faded completely into the distance, another flew past, crying, “I am Orestes,”¹⁶⁰ and did not stop either. “O Father,” I said, “what are these voices?” Even as I asked, a third voice came, saying, “Love those who have wronged you.” The good Master said, “This circle scourges the sin of envy. That is why the cords of the scourge are drawn from love. The curb must sound the opposite. I think you will hear it before you reach the pass of pardon.¹⁶¹ But look very carefully through the air. You will see people sitting ahead of us, each against the rock.” Then I opened my eyes wider than before. I looked ahead and saw shades wearing cloaks the same color as the stone. When we had gone a little farther, I heard them crying, “Mary, pray for us!” They also called on “Michael,” and “Peter,” and all the Saints.

I do not believe there goes on earth to-day a man so hard that he had not been pricked by compassion at that which I then saw. For when I had approached so near to them that their actions came surely to me, tears were drawn from my eyes by heavy grief. They seemed to me covered with coarse haircloth, and one supported the other with his shoulders, and all were supported by the bank. Thus the blind, who lack subsistence, stand at pardons¹⁶² to beg for what they need, and one bows his head upon another, so that pity may quickly be moved in others, not only by the sound of the words, but by the sight which implores no less. And as to the blind the sun profits not, so to the shades, there where I was now speaking, the light of Heaven wills not to make largess of itself; for a wire of iron pierces and sews up the eyelids of all; even as is done to a wild sparrow-hawk, because it stays not quiet.

I do not believe anyone on earth today is so hardhearted that what I saw would not have stirred their compassion. When I came close enough to see clearly what they were doing, deep grief brought tears to my eyes. They seemed to be wearing coarse haircloth. Each supported another with his shoulders, and the bank supported them all. In the same way, blind people who have no means of support stand at pardons¹⁶² and beg for what they need. Each rests his head on another, so that others may quickly be moved to pity. Their words stir pity, but so does the sight of them, which pleads no less. Just as the sun is of no use to the blind, so the light of Heaven chooses not to shine on the shades where I was now speaking. For iron wire pierces and sews shut the eyelids of all of them. The same is done to a wild sparrowhawk because it will not stay quiet.

It seemed to me I was doing outrage as I went on, seeing others, not myself being seen, wherefore I turned me to my sage Counsel; well did he know what the dumb wished to say, and therefore waited not my asking, but said, “Speak, and be brief and to the point.”

As I went on, I felt it was unfair to see others without being seen myself. So I turned to my wise guide. He knew what I wanted to say without my speaking, so he did not wait for me to ask. He said, “Speak, and be brief and to the point.”

Virgil was coming with me on that side of the cornice from which one may fall, because it is encircled by no rim. On the other side of me were the devout shades, that through the horrible stitches were pressing out the tears so that they bathed their cheeks. I turned me to them, and, “O folk secure,” I began, “of seeing the lofty light which alone your desire holds in its care, may grace speedily dissolve the scum of your consciences so that the stream of memory through them may descend clear,¹⁶³ tell me, for it will be gracious and dear to me, if there be a soul here among you that is Latin, and perhaps it will be good for him if I learn it.” “O my brother, each is a citizen of one true city,¹⁶⁴ but thou meanest, who lived in Italy while a pilgrim.”¹⁶⁵ This it seemed to me to hear for answer somewhat further on than where I was standing; wherefore I made myself heard still more that way. Among the others I saw a shade that was expectant in look; and, if any one should wish to ask, How?—like a blind man it was lifting up its chin. “Spirit,” said I, “that humblest thyself in order to ascend, if thou art that one which answered me, make thyself known to me either by place or by name.” “I was a Sienese,” it answered, “and with these others I cleanse here my guilty life, weeping to Him that He grant Himself to us. Sapient I was not, although I was called Sapia, and I was far more glad of others’ harm than of my own good fortune. And that thou mayst not believe that I deceive thee, bear if I was foolish as I tell thee. The arch of my years already descending, my fellow-citizens were joined in battle near to Colle¹⁶⁶ with their adversaries, and I prayed God for that which He willed. They were routed there, and turned into the bitter passes of flight; and I, seeing the pursuit, experienced a joy unmatched by any other; so much that I turned upward my audacious face, crying out to God, ‘Now no more I fear thee;’ as the blackbird doth because of a little fair weather. At the very end of my life I desired peace with God; and even yet my debt would not be lessened by penitence,¹⁶⁷ had it not been that Pier Pettinagno,¹⁶⁸ who out of charity was sorry for me, held me in memory in his holy prayers. But thou, who art thou that goest asking of our conditions, and bearest thine eyes loose as I think, and breathing dost speak?” “My eyes,” said I, “will yet be taken from me here but a little time, for small is the offence committed through their being turned with envy. Far greater is the fear, with which my soul is in suspense, of the torment beneath, and already the load down there weighs upon me. And she to me, “Who then hath led thee here up among us, if thou thinkest to return below?” And I, “This one who is with me, and says not a word: and I am alive; and therefore ask of me, spirit elect, if thou wouldst that I should yet move for thee on earth my mortal feet.” “Oh, this is so strange a thing to hear,” she replied, “that it is great sign that God loves thee; therefore assist me sometimes with thy prayer. And I beseech thee, by that which thou most desirest, if ever thou tread the earth of Tuscany, that with my kindred thou restore my fame. Thou wilt see them among that vain people which hopes in Talamone,¹⁶⁹ and will waste more hope there, than in finding the Diana¹⁷⁰ but the admirals will stake the most there.¹⁷¹

Virgil walked beside me on the side of the ledge where one could fall, because there was no rim. On my other side were the devout souls. Their tears forced their way through the horrible stitches and bathed their cheeks. I turned to them and began, “You are sure of seeing the lofty light that is your only desire. May grace quickly dissolve the scum from your consciences, so that the stream of memory may flow clearly through them.¹⁶³ Tell me, if there is a Latin soul among you, for it would be a kindness and a joy to me. And perhaps it will do that soul good if I learn who it is.” “My brother, each of us is a citizen of one true city.¹⁶⁴ But you mean someone who lived in Italy while a pilgrim.”¹⁶⁵ The answer seemed to come from a little farther along, so I raised my voice in that direction. Among the others I saw a soul who looked expectant. If anyone should ask how I could tell, she was lifting her chin like a blind person. “Spirit,” I said, “you humble yourself in order to rise. If you are the one who answered me, tell me your home or your name.” “I was a Sienese,” she answered, “and here with these others I cleanse my guilty life, weeping to him to grant himself to us. I was not wise, although I was called Sapia. I was far happier at others’ misfortune than at my own good fortune. And so you will not think I am deceiving you, listen and judge whether I was as foolish as I say. “The arc of my years was already descending when my fellow citizens fought their enemies near Colle.¹⁶⁶ I prayed to God for what he willed. They were defeated there and fled along bitter paths. When I saw them being pursued, I felt a joy greater than any I had ever known. I even turned my defiant face upward and cried to God, ‘Now I fear you no longer.’ I was like the blackbird in a spell of fine weather. “At the very end of my life I sought peace with God. Even now, my debt would not be reduced through penitence,¹⁶⁷ had Pier Pettinagno¹⁶⁸ not remembered me in his holy prayers. In his charity, he felt sorry for me. But who are you, asking about our condition? Your eyes seem to be free, and you breathe as you speak.” “My eyes,” I said, “will be taken from me here for only a short time. My offense in turning them with envy was small. My soul is troubled by a far greater fear of the torment below. Already I feel the weight of the load there.” She said to me, “Who then has led you up here among us, if you expect to return below?” I said, “This one who is with me and says nothing. I am alive, so ask me, chosen spirit, if you would have me use my mortal feet to do anything for you on earth.” “Oh, this is such a strange thing to hear,” she replied, “that it is a great sign of God’s love for you. So help me sometimes with your prayers. And I beg you, by what you desire most, if you ever walk on Tuscan soil, restore my good name among my relatives. You will find them among that vain people who place their hopes in Talamone.¹⁶⁹ They will waste more hope there than they did in searching for the Diana,¹⁷⁰ but the admirals will stake the most there.¹⁷¹”