Paradiso: Canto XVI
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O thou our
poor nobility of
blood,
If thou dost make the people
Glory in thee
Down here where our
affection languishes,
A
marvellous thing it ne'er will be to me;
For there where appetite is not
perverted,
I say in Heaven, of thee I made a
boast!
Truly thou art a cloak that
quickly shortens,
So that unless we piece thee
day by day
Time goeth round about thee with his shears!
With 'You,' which Rome was first to
tolerate,
(Wherein her family less
perseveres,)
Yet once again my words beginning made;
Whence
Beatrice, who stood somewhat apart,
Smiling, appeared like unto her who coughed
At the first failing writ of
Guenever.
And I began: "You are my
ancestor,
You give to me all hardihood to speak,
You lift me so that I am more than I.
So many
rivulets with gladness fill
My mind, that of itself it makes a
joy
Because it can endure this and not
burst.
Then tell me, my beloved root ancestral,
Who were your
ancestors, and what the years
That in your
boyhood chronicled themselves?
Tell me about the
sheepfold of
Saint John,
How
large it was, and who the people were
Within it worthy of the highest
seats."
As at the blowing of the winds a
coal
Quickens to
flame, so I beheld that light
Become
resplendent at my
blandishments.
And as unto mine eyes it grew more fair,
With voice more sweet and tender, but not in
This
modern dialect, it said to me:
"From uttering of the '
Ave,' till the birth
In which my mother, who is now a saint,
Of me was lightened who had been her
burden,
Unto its
Lion had this fire returned
Five hundred fifty times and
thirty more,
To
reinflame itself beneath his
paw.
My ancestors and I our
birthplace had
Where first is found the last ward of the city
By him who
runneth in your annual game.
Suffice it of
my elders to hear this;
But who they were, and whence they thither came,
Silence is more
considerate than
speech.
All those who at that time were there between
Mars and the
Baptist, fit for bearing arms,
Were a fifth part of those who now are living;
But the community, that now is mixed
With
Campi and
Certaldo and
Figghine,
Pure in the lowest artisan was seen.
O how much better 'twere to have as neighbours
The folk of whom I speak, and at
Galluzzo
And at
Trespiano have your boundary,
Than have them in the town, and bear the
stench
Of
Aguglione's churl, and him of
Signa
Who has sharp eyes for
trickery already.
Had not the folk, which most of all the world
Degenerates, been a step-dame unto
Caesar,
But as a mother to her son
benignant,
Some who turn
Florentines, and trade and discount,
Would have gone back again to
Simifonte
There where their
grandsires went about as beggars.
At
Montemurlo still would be the
Counts,
The
Cerchi in the parish of
Acone,
Perhaps in
Valdigrieve the
Buondelmonti.
Ever the
intermingling of the
people
Has been the source of malady in cities,
As in the body food it
surfeits on;
And a
blind bull more headlong plunges down
Than a blind
lamb; and very often cuts
Better and more a single sword than five.
If
Luni thou regard, and
Urbisaglia,
How they have passed away, and how are passing
Chiusi and
Sinigaglia after them,
To hear how
races waste themselves away,
Will seem to thee no
novel thing nor hard,
Seeing that even cities have an end.
All things of yours have their
mortality,
Even as
yourselves; but it is hidden in some
That a long while
endure, and lives are short;
And as the turning of the
lunar heaven
Covers and bares the shores without a pause,
In the like
manner fortune does with Florence.
Therefore should not appear a marvellous thing
What I shall say of the great
Florentines
Of whom the fame is hidden in the Past.
I saw the
Ughi, saw the
Catellini,
Filippi,
Greci,
Ormanni, and
Alberichi,
Even in their fall
illustrious citizens;
And saw, as mighty as they ancient were,
With him of
La Sannella him of
Arca,
And
Soldanier,
Ardinghi, and
Bostichi.
Near to the gate that is at present
laden
With a new
felony of so much weight
That soon it shall be
jetsam from the bark,
The
Ravignani were, from whom descended
The
County Guido, and whoe'er the name
Of the great
Bellincione since hath taken.
He of
La Pressa knew the art of ruling
Already, and already
Galigajo
Had
hilt and
pommel gilded in his house.
Mighty already was the
Column Vair,
Sacchetti,
Giuochi,
Fifant, and
Barucci,
And
Galli, and they who for the
bushel blush.
The stock from which were the
Calfucci born
Was great already, and already chosen
To curule chairs the
Sizii and
Arrigucci.
O how beheld I those who are undone
By their own pride! and how the
Balls of Gold
Florence enflowered in all their mighty deeds!
So likewise did the
ancestors of those
Who
evermore, when vacant is your
church,
Fatten by staying in
consistory.
The insolent race, that like a
dragon follows
Whoever flees, and unto him that shows
His teeth or purse is gentle as a
lamb,
Already rising was, but from
low people;
So that it pleased not
Ubertin Donato
That his wife's
father should make him their
kin.
Already had
Caponsacco to the Market
From
Fesole descended, and already
Giuda and
Infangato were good
burghers.
I'll tell a thing
incredible, but true;
One entered the small circuit by a gate
Which from the
Della Pera took its name!
Each one that bears the
beautiful escutcheon
Of the great baron whose renown and name
The festival of
Thomas keepeth fresh,
Knighthood and
privilege from him received;
Though with the populace unites himself
To-day the man who binds it with a border.
Already were
Gualterotti and
Importuni;
And still more quiet would the
Borgo be
If with new
neighbours it remained
unfed.
The house from which is born your
lamentation,
Through just disdain that death among you brought
And put an end unto your joyous life,
Was honoured in itself and its
companions.
O
Buondelmonte, how in evil hour
Thou fled'st the bridal at another's
promptings!
Many would be
rejoicing who are sad,
If
God had thee surrendered to the
Ema
The first time that thou camest to the
city.
But it behoved the
mutilated stone
Which guards the
bridge, that
Florence should provide
A victim in her latest hour of peace.
With all these families, and others with them,
Florence beheld I in so great repose,
That no occasion had she whence to weep;
With all these families beheld so just
And glorious her
people, that the lily
Never upon the spear was placed
reversed,
Nor by
division was
vermilion made."
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