Canto XIII

I notice the passage you've provided appears to be incomplete - it looks like just a heading or caption ("The Second Circle: The Envious. Sapia of Siena. We were") rather than the actual verse text from Purgatorio Canto 13.

Could you please provide the full Longfellow verse passage you'd like me to translate? I'd be happy to render it into modern, accessible English once I have the complete text to work with.

At the summit of the stairs,

where the mountain is carved away a second time—

this mountain that purifies all who climb—

another terrace circles the steep slope

like the first, but with a sharper curve.

No shadows fall here, no carved reliefs appear.

The cliff face seems bare, the path smooth,

only the stone's gray color visible.

"If we wait here for people to question,"

the Poet said, "I fear we might

delay our journey too long."

He fixed his eyes steadily on the sun,

made his right side the pivot of his movement,

and wheeled his left side around.

"O sweet light, in whom I trust

as I enter this unknown path—lead us

as we should be led within this place.

You warm the world, you shine upon it.

Unless some other reason guides us,

your rays should always be our guides."

In little time, driven by eager will,

we had already traveled what would measure

a mile in the world above.

Toward us came the sound of spirits flying—

though we could not see them—

calling out gracious invitations to Love's feast.

The first voice that passed by in flight

cried out loudly, "They have no wine!"

and kept repeating this behind us.

Before it faded completely with distance,

another passed, crying "I am Orestes!"

and this one also did not pause.

"Father," I said, "what voices are these?"

And as I asked, a third appeared,

saying: "Love those who have wronged you!"

The good Master said: "This circle punishes

the sin of envy, and for this reason

the whips of the scourge are drawn from love.

The bridle will sound different—

I believe you will hear it, as I judge,

before you reach the Gate of Forgiveness.

But look straight ahead through the air,

and you will see people sitting before us,

each one pressed close against the cliff."

I opened my eyes wider than before,

looked ahead, and saw shades wearing cloaks

no different in color from the stone.

When we had moved a little farther,

I heard cries of "Mary, pray for us!"

and "Michael and Peter and all Saints!"

I do not think any man still walks on earth

so hardened that he would not be pierced

with pity at what I saw next.

When I had come close enough

that their condition became clear to me,

heavy grief drained from my eyes.

They seemed covered in coarse sackcloth,

each one supported by another's shoulder,

and all of them leaned against the bank.

So the blind, lacking sustenance,

stand at the doors of churches begging alms,

one resting his head upon another

so that pity may quickly rise in others—

not only from the sound of their words

but from their appearance, which pleads no less.

And as the sun does not reach the blind,

so Heaven's light would not give itself freely

to these shades I now describe:

an iron wire pierces all their eyelids

and sews them shut, as is done

to a wild hawk that will not stay still.

It seemed wrong to me, as I passed,

to see others without being seen myself,

so I turned to my wise counselor.

He knew well what the silent one wished to say

and did not wait for my request,

but said: "Speak, and be brief and to the point."

I had Virgil on the side

of the ledge from which one might fall,

since no parapet bordered it.

On my other side were the devout shades

who through their horrible stitching

pressed out tears that bathed their cheeks.

I turned to them and began:

"O people, certain of beholding

the high light that alone fulfills your longing—

may grace soon dissolve the scum

upon your consciences, so that clearly

the river of the mind may flow through them—

tell me, for it will be dear and precious to me,

if any soul among you is Italian,

and perhaps it will be good for him that I learn this."

"O my brother, each of us is a citizen

of one true city; but you mean to ask

who may have lived as a pilgrim in Italy."

This seemed to be the answer I heard

a little farther on than where I stood,

so I moved closer to be heard.

Among the others I saw a shade that waited

expectantly—and if anyone asks how,

it lifted its chin upward like a blind person.

"Spirit," I said, "who bends low to ascend,

if you are the one who answered me,

make yourself known by place or name."

"I was from Siena," it replied, "and with

these others here I cleanse my guilty life,

weeping to Him to grant himself to us.

I was not wise, though I was called

Sapia, and I rejoiced far more

in others' harm than in my own good fortune.

So that you may not think I deceive you,

hear whether I was as foolish as I tell you.

When the arc of my years was already descending,

my fellow citizens joined in battle

near Colle against their enemies,

and I prayed to God for what he willed.

They were routed and turned to the bitter

passes of flight, and I, watching the chase,

felt joy unlike any other.

I lifted my bold face upward,

crying to God, 'Now I fear you no more!'—

like the blackbird does at a little sunshine.

I desired peace with God only at the end

of my life, and my debt still would not

have been discharged by penance,

had it not been for Pier Pettignano,

who held me in his holy prayers

and grieved for me out of charity.

But who are you, who question

our condition and have your eyes unbound,

as I believe, and speak while breathing?"

"My eyes," I said, "will yet be taken from me

here, but only briefly, for small is the offense

they committed by turning with envy.

Much greater is the fear that holds

my soul suspended—of the torment below,

for even now that weight presses on me."

And she said to me: "Who then led you

up here among us, if you think to return below?"

And I: "He who is with me and does not speak.

I am alive; therefore ask of me,

chosen spirit, if you would have me

move my mortal feet for you over there."

"Oh, this is such a strange thing to hear,"

she answered, "that it is a great sign God loves you.

Therefore sometimes help me with your prayers.

And I beg you, by what you most desire,

if you ever walk on Tuscan soil,

restore my good name among my family.

You will see them among those vain people

who place their hope in Talamone—they will lose

more hope there than in finding the Diana.

But the admirals will lose even more."