Purgatorio: Canto XIV
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"Who is this one that goes about our
Mountain,
Or ever
Death has given him power of
flight,
And opes his eyes and shuts them at his
will?"
"I know not who, but know he's not alone;
Ask him thyself, for thou art nearer to him,
And gently, so that he may speak, accost him."
Thus did two spirits, leaning tow'rds each other,
Discourse about me there on the right hand;
Then held supine their faces to address me.
And said the one: "O soul, that, fastened still
Within the body, tow'rds the heaven art going,
For
charity console us, and
declare
Whence comest and who art thou; for thou mak'st us
As much to marvel at this grace of thine
As must a thing that never yet has been."
And I: "Through midst of
Tuscany there wanders
A streamlet that is born in
Falterona,
And not a hundred miles of course
suffice it;
From thereupon do I this body
bring.
To tell you who I am were speech in
vain,
Because my name as yet makes no great
noise."
"If well thy meaning I can
penetrate
With intellect of mine," then answered me
He who first spake, "thou speakest of the
Arno."
And said the other to him: "Why
concealed
This one the appellation of that
river,
Even as a man doth of things
horrible?"
And thus the shade that questioned was of this
Himself acquitted: "I know not; but truly
'Tis fit the name of such a valley perish;
For from its fountain-head (where is so pregnant
The
Alpine Mountain whence is cleft
Peloro
That in few places it that mark surpasses)
To where it yields itself in
restoration
Of what the heaven doth of the sea dry up,
Whence have the rivers that which goes with them,
Virtue is like an enemy
avoided
By all, as is a
serpent, through
misfortune
Of place, or through bad habit that
impels them;
On which account have so transformed their
Nature
The dwellers in that miserable
valley,
It seems that
Circe had them in her pasture.
'Mid ugly swine, of
acorns worthier
Than other food for human use created,
It first directeth its
impoverished way.
Curs findeth it thereafter, coming downward,
More snarling than their puissance demands,
And turns from them disdainfully its muzzle.
It goes on falling, and the more it grows,
The more it finds the dogs becoming
wolves,
This
maledict and
misadventurous ditch.
Descended then through many a hollow
gulf,
It finds the foxes so replete with
fraud,
They fear no cunning that may master them.
Nor will I cease because another hears me;
And well 'twill be for him, if still he mind him
Of what a truthful spirit to me unravels.
Thy
grandson I behold, who doth become
A hunter of those wolves upon the bank
Of the wild
stream, and terrifies them all.
He sells their flesh, it being yet alive;
Thereafter slaughters them like ancient beeves;
Many of life, himself of praise, deprives.
Blood-stained he issues from the dismal forest;
He leaves it such, a
thousand years from now
In its
primeval state 'tis not
re-wooded."
As at the announcement of impending ills
The face of him who listens is disturbed,
From whate'er side the peril seize upon him;
So I beheld that other soul, which stood
Turned round to listen, grow disturbed and sad,
When it had gathered to itself the word.
The speech of one and aspect of the other
Had me
desirous made to know their names,
And question mixed with prayers I made thereof,
Whereat the spirit which first spake to me
Began again: "Thou wishest I should bring me
To do for thee what thou'lt not do for me;
But since
God willeth that in thee shine forth
Such grace of his, I'll not be chary with thee;
Know, then, that I
Guido del Duca am.
My blood was so with envy set on
fire,
That if I had beheld a man make
merry,
Thou wouldst have seen me sprinkled o'er with
pallor.
From my own sowing such the straw I reap!
O human race! why dost thou set thy heart
Where interdict of partnership must be?
This is
Renier; this is the boast and honour
Of the house of
Calboli, where no one since
Has made himself the heir of his desert.
And not alone his blood is made devoid,
'Twixt
Po and mount, and sea-shore and the
Reno,
Of good required for truth and for diversion;
For all within these boundaries is full
Of venomous roots, so that too tardily
By cultivation now would they diminish.
Where is good
Lizio, and
Arrigo Manardi,
Pier Traversaro, and
Guido di Carpigna,
O
Romagnuoli into bastards turned?
When in
Bologna will a
Fabbro rise?
When in
Faenza a
Bernardin di Fosco,
The noble scion of
ignoble seed?
Be not astonished,
Tuscan, if I weep,
When I remember, with
Guido da Prata,
Ugolin d' Azzo, who was living with us,
Frederick Tignoso and his company,
The house of
Traversara, and th'
Anastagi,
And one race and the other is extinct;
The
dames and
cavaliers, the toils and ease
That filled our souls with love and courtesy,
There where the hearts have so malicious grown!
O
Brettinoro! why dost thou not flee,
Seeing that all thy family is gone,
And many people, not to be corrupted?
Bagnacaval does well in not begetting
And ill does
Castrocaro, and
Conio worse,
In taking trouble to beget such
Counts.
Will do well the
Pagani, when their
Devil
Shall have departed; but not therefore pure
Will
testimony of them e'er remain.
O
Ugolin de' Fantoli, secure
Thy name is, since no longer is awaited
One who, degenerating, can obscure it!
But go now,
Tuscan, for it now delights me
To weep far better than it does to speak,
So much has our
discourse my mind distressed."
We were aware that those beloved souls
Heard us depart; therefore, by keeping silent,
They made us of our
pathway confident.
When we became alone by going onward,
Thunder, when it doth cleave the air, appeared
A voice, that counter to us came, exclaiming:
"Shall slay me whosoever findeth me!"
And fled as the
reverberation dies
If suddenly the cloud asunder
bursts.
As soon as hearing had a truce from this,
Behold another, with so great a crash,
That it resembled thunderings following fast:
"I am
Aglaurus, who became a stone!"
And then, to press myself close to the
Poet,
I backward, and not forward, took a step.
Already on all sides the air was quiet;
And said he to me: "That was the hard curb
That ought to hold a man within his bounds;
But you take in the bait so that the hook
Of the old
Adversary draws you to him,
And hence availeth little curb or call.
The heavens are calling you, and wheel around you,
Displaying to you their eternal beauties,
And still your eye is
looking on the ground;
Whence He, who all discerns,
chastises you."
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