by Dante
Ah, Niobe, I saw you sculpted in the roadway, →
your eyes welling up with grief,
39
amidst your dead, seven sons and seven daughters.
Ah, Saul, you too appeared there, dead →
on your own sword in the mountains of Gilboa,
42
which never after knew the rain or dew.
Ah, mad Arachne, I saw you all but turned →
to spider, wretched on the strands
45
you spun, which did you so much harm.
Ah, Rehoboam, now your image does not seem →
to menace but to cower. A chariot bears it off—
48
and there is no one giving chase.
Now was shown, on that hard floor, →
how Alcmaeon made that necklace, ill-omened,
51
seem not worth the price his mother paid.
Now was shown how his sons fell upon →
Sennacherib inside the temple,
54
and how, slain, they left him there.
Now was shown the destruction and cruel slaughter →
wrought by Tomyris when she said to Cyrus:
57
‘You thirsted for blood. Now drink your fill.’
Now was shown the Assyrians routed and in flight →
after the slaying of Holofernes
60
and the leavings of that slaughter.
My eyes beheld Troy in ashes and in ruins. →
Ah, Ilion, how reduced and shamed you were
63
now was shown within the carving.
What master of the brush and stylus →
could have designed these forms and outlines
66
that would astound the most discerning talent?
Dead seemed the dead, living seemed the living.
He who beheld the real events on which I walked,
69
head bent, saw them no better than did I.
Wax proud then, go your way with head held high, →
you sons of Eve, and no, do not bend down your face
72
and so reflect upon your evil path!
We had done more of the mountain’s circle
and the sun had sped along its track
75
more than my mind, being bound, had reckoned,
when he, who always fixed his gaze before him
as he went, spoke out: ‘Raise your head! →
78
This is not the time for walking so absorbed. →
‘See the angel over there, preparing →
to approach. See the sixth handmaid who returns
81
from her time of service to the day. →
‘Show reverence in your face and bearing
so that he may be pleased to send us upward.
84
Consider that this day will never dawn again.’
I was accustomed to his admonitions
not to waste my time, so that on this matter
87
his words were not obscure.
The fair creature, garbed in white,
came toward us. In his face there was what seemed
90
the shimmering of the morning star. →
Opening his arms, he spread his wings
and said: ‘Come, the steps are here at hand.
93
From here on up the climb is easy.
‘They are very few who answer to this bidding. →
O race of man, born to fly on high,
96
how can a puff of wind cause you to fall?’
He brought us where the rock was cleft,
there tapped my forehead with his wings, →
99
then promised me that going on I would be safe.
Just as, to climb the hillside where the church is set →
which, over Rubaconte, dominates
102
the justly governed city, there on the right
the sheer slope of the steep ascent is cut
by stairs that were constructed in a time
105
when registers and measures could be trusted,
even so the bank that sharply falls away
from the higher circle is made gentler, except
108
that here and there the towering rock scrapes close.
While we were moving off in that direction,
‘Beati pauperes spiritu’ a voice was singing →
111
in tones that speech could not express. →
Ah, how different these entrances from those of hell, →
for here one’s coming in is met with songs
114
but there with savage lamentation!
Now we were climbing on the hallowed stairs
and I felt so much lighter than before,
117
when the ground I trod was level,
that I said: ‘Master, tell me,
what weight has been lifted from me
120
that going on is hardly any effort?’
He answered: ‘When the P’s that still remain →
upon your brow, though very faint, shall be,
123
as one already is, erased,
‘your legs shall be so mastered by good will,
not only will they feel no effort going up,
126
but they will take delight in being urged to.’
Then I did as those who go along, →
with something on their head, unknown to them,
129
unless its effect on others makes them wonder,
so that they reach up with their hand for answers.
Touching and searching they accomplish
132
the task that sight cannot achieve,
and, spreading the fingers of my right hand,
I found that, of the seven letters he of the keys
had traced upon my forehead, only six remained.
136
Observing this, my leader smiled.
OUTLINE: PURGATORIO XIII
I. The setting
1–9
arrival on the smaller circle of the second terrace
10–12
Virgil’s concern that help may be slow in coming
13–21
Virgil’s prayer to the sun for guidance
22–27
as they move along, the travelers hear voices overhead
II. Exemplars of Charity
28–30
Mary at Cana
31–33
Pylades
34–36
Jesus
37–42
Virgil on the relation of envy to charity
III. The penitent envious
43–48
directed by Virgil, Dante makes out the souls here
49–51
prayers of the envious
52–72
the condition of these souls and Dante’s tears for them: they wear haircloth (simile: blind beggars) and have their eyes stitched shut (simile: untamed hawks)
73–84
Dante’s sympathy for these penitents and Virgil’s urging that he speak to them
85–93
Dante’s captatio and hope to hear from any Italians here
IV. A penitent of envy tells her tale
94–96
a soul’s gentle rebuke of Dante’s Italophile request
97–105
Dante is able to identify the soul who spoke and asks the shade to make itself known
106–129
Sapia’s narrative of her envy and late repentance
130–132
her desire that Dante identify himself
133–138
Dante insists he is free from envy, but admits his pride
139–140
Sapia asks to understand how Dante can be here
141–144
Dante says his guide is a shade but that he is alive and can offer prayers on her behalf
145–154
Sapia enlists Dante’s prayers and, through him, those of her family back in Siena
PURGATORIO XIII
We were at the summit of the stair →
where the mountain that unsins us as we climb
3
is for the second time cut back.
There another terrace carves the hill,
just like the first, except its arc
6
is shorter and it makes a tighter curve.
There are no shades nor any carvings— →
only the bank and the bare road →
9
with the livid color of the stone.
‘If we linger here to ask directions,’ →
the poet reasoned, ‘before we choose our way,
12
I fear we may be long delayed.’
Then he fixed his eyes upon the sun →
and made a pivot of the right side of his body
15
on which he swung his left side forward.
‘O sweet light, in whose help I trust
as I set out upon this unknown road,’ he said,
18
‘give us whatever guidance here is needed.
‘You shed your light upon the world and warm it.
Unless we find good reason to do other,
21
your rays must always be our guide.’
We had already gone as far
as here on earth would count a mile—
24
but quickly, for our will was eager—
when, flying toward us, spirits could be heard, →
but not seen, sounding courteous invitation
27
to the table readied for the feast of love.
The first voice, flying by, →
called loudly: ‘Vinum non habent’
30
and, having passed, called out the same again.
Before it was quite out of hearing →
in the distance, there came another, crying:
33
‘I am Orestes,’ and it also did not stay.
‘O father,’ I said, ‘what voices are these?’ →
And as I asked there came a third voice, saying:
36
‘Love him who has done you wrong.’
And the good master said: ‘This circle →
scourges the sin of envy, and thus
39
the cords of the scourge are drawn from love.
‘To rein in envy requires opposing notes.
Such other voices you will hear, I think,
42
before you reach the pass of pardon.
‘Now fix your sight more steady through the air →
and you will make out figures sitting there
45
in front of us along the rock.’
Then, opening my eyes still wider,
I looked ahead and now could see
48
shades wearing cloaks the color of the stone.
We had gone a little farther on, →
when I heard voices crying: ‘Mary, pray for us,’
51
then ‘Michael,’ ‘Peter,’ and ‘All saints.’
I do not think there walks on earth today →
a man so hard that he would not have been
54
transfixed by pity at what I saw next,
for when I had drawn close enough
so that their state grew clear to me
57
my eyes were overwhelmed by grief.
They appeared covered with coarse haircloth. →
Each propped up another with his shoulder, →
60
and all of them were propped against the rock.
Just so the blind who lack for daily bread →
at pardons take their place to beg for what they need,
63
one letting his head fall on another’s shoulder
so that he may more quickly prompt to pity,
not only with the words that he is saying
66
but with his looks, which plead no less.
And as the sun is of no profit to the blind, →
so Heaven’s light denies its bounty
69
to the shades in the place of which I speak,
for iron wire pierces all their eyelids,
stitching them together, as is done
72
to the untrained falcon because it won’t be calmed.
As I went on, it seemed to me that seeing others, →
without my being seen, offended them,
75
so that I turned to my wise counsel.
Well he knew what my silence meant to say
and did not wait to hear me ask, but said:
78
‘Speak, yet be brief and to the point.’
Virgil, moving along beside me on the terrace,
was at the edge, where one might fall
81
because no parapet encircled it.
At my other side were the shades in prayer
who, through those dreadful seams,
84
were wringing tears that bathed their cheeks.
I turned to them and I began: →
‘O people assured of seeing light on high—
87
sole object stirring your desire—
‘so grace may soon dissolve the scum
that fouls your conscience, and the stream
90
of memory flow through it pure,
‘tell me, for I shall hold it courteous and dear,
if any soul among you is Italian.
93
Perhaps for me to know might profit such a one.’
‘O my brother, all of us are citizens →
of the one true city. What you mean to say is,
96
“who, while still a pilgrim, lived in Italy.” ’
This it seemed to me I heard in answer
farther along from where I stood,
99
and I made myself heard by moving closer.
Among the rest I saw a shade that looked expectant,
and if any should ask ‘how?’, it was raising
102
its chin the way a blind man does. →
‘Spirit,’ I said, ‘who abase yourself to climb,
if you were the one who answered me,
105
make yourself known by your city or your name.’ →
‘I was of Siena,’ replied the shade,
‘and with these others here I mend my sinful life,
108
weeping to Him that He may lend Himself to us.
‘Sapìa was my name, though I was far from wise, →
for I rejoiced much more at harm done others
111
than at my own good fortune.
‘And, so that you know I do not lie, →
hear me out when I tell how mad I was,
114
with the arc of my years already in decline.
‘My townsmen were near Colle,
engaged in battle with their enemies, and I prayed
117
that God let happen what in fact He willed.
‘When they were routed and turned back
in bitter steps of flight, I watched the chase,
120
my heart filled with such boundless joy
‘that recklessly I turned my face to God,
crying: “Now I do not fear you any more,”
123
as the blackbird said after a glint of sunshine.
‘I sought my peace with God →
at the very last, and penitence
126<
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would not have yet reduced the debt
‘had it not been for Peter the comb-seller,
who in his charity was grieved for me
129
and remembered me in his devout petitions.
‘But who are you who walk about inquiring →
of our condition, with your eyes not sewn,
132
as I suspect, and speak with breath?’
‘My eyes,’ I said, ‘will yet be taken →
from me here, but for a short while only,
135
for small is their offense in looks of envy.
‘Greater is the fear, which fills my soul with dread,
of torments lower down, those heavy loads—
138
I can almost feel their weight upon me now.’
And she: ‘Who has led you here among us,
if you think that you’ll return below?’ And I:
141
‘He that is with me here and does not speak.
‘I am alive, and therefore ask of me,
you chosen spirit, if you would have me move →
144
my mortal feet for your sake back on earth.’
‘Oh,’ she replied, ‘how wonderful it is to hear →
of this great token of God’s love for you.
147
Since it is so, aid me sometime with a prayer.
‘And I entreat you by what you most desire,
if ever you tread the soil of Tuscany,
150
to restore my name among my kinfolk.
‘You will find them part of that vain people →
who pinned their hopes on Talamone and will lose
more hope thereby than in their search for the Diana—
154
but it is their admirals who shall lose still more.’