Purgatorio (19 page)
Authors: Dante
IV. The penitents of envy speak
(continued)
(Guido del Duca)
: “who is this?”
(Rinieri da Calboli)
: “ask him”
podestà
of Florence in 1303 and inflict harm on White Guelphs and Ghibellines and permanently damage the city
V. Exemplars of Envy
and
Aglauros
‘Who is this, circling our mountain
→
before he has been given wings by death,
3
who can open his eyes at will and shut them?’
‘I don’t know who he is but know he’s not alone.
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Question him, since you are closer,
6
and greet him courteously that he may answer.’
Thus two spirits, their faces almost touching,
→
conversed about me over to the right,
9
then turned their faces up to speak to me.
One said: ‘O soul still rooted in the body,
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making your way toward Heaven,
12
for the sake of charity relieve us, let us know
‘where you come from and who you are,
for the grace bestowed on you has so amazed us
→
15
as something must that never was before.’
And I: ‘Through the middle of Tuscany there flows
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a winding stream that springs in Falterona—
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one hundred miles still fail to curb its hungry course.
‘From somewhere on its banks I bring this form.
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To tell you who I am would be to speak in vain,
→
21
for my name as yet does not resound.’
‘If my wit has truly grasped your meaning,’
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he who had spoken first then answered,
24
‘it is the Arno that you speak of.’
And the other asked him:
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‘Why did he conceal that river’s name
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just as one hides some dreadful thing?’
And the interrogated shade thus paid his debt:
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‘I do not know, but it is only fitting
30
that the name of such a valley perish,
‘for from its source, where the wild mountain range,
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from which Pelorus was broken off, rises to such height
33
that higher places are but few,
‘down to where it surrenders to restore
what the sky draws from the sea,
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so that the rivers are supplied in turn,
‘all flee from virtue as if it were a snake,
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an enemy to all, whether some curse
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is on the place or evil habits goad them on,
‘and those who live in that unhappy valley
are so altered in their nature it is as though
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Circe were grazing them at pasture.
‘Among filthy hogs, more fit to feed on acorns
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than on any food that is prepared for men,
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the water first directs its feeble course.
‘Then, coming lower, it finds whelps that snarl
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more than their powers warrant,
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and so in scorn the river turns its snout from them.
‘It goes on falling and the more it swells
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the more does the accursed, ill-omened ditch
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find that these dogs have been transformed to wolves.
‘Having fallen through dark and deep-cut gorges,
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it then finds foxes so very full of fraud
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they have no fear that any trap can take them.
‘Nor will I hold my peace because another hears me.
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It will be wise of him to keep in mind
57
the truth the Spirit has revealed.
‘I see your grandson, who becomes a hunter
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of the wolves that gather on the banks
60
of that wild stream and puts them all in terror.
‘He sells their living flesh,
then slaughters them like old and useless cattle.
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Many he robs of life and robs himself of honor.
‘Covered in blood, he leaves that wretched wood
in such a state that not one thousand years
66
will make the trees grow green as once they were.’
As at the forecast of impending harm
the face of one who hears it shows distress,
69
no matter where the threat may bare its fangs,
the other soul, who had turned to listen,
became troubled and disheartened
72
once he had taken in the meaning of these words.
The speech of one and the expression of the other
made me want to know their names
75
and so I asked, entreating their response.
The spirit that had spoken first began again:
‘You would have me do for you
→
78
what you do not consent to do for me.
‘But since God wills His grace shine forth in you,
I will no longer hoard my answer:
‘My blood was so consumed by envy
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that, had I seen a man take joy in life,
84
you would have seen my skin turn livid.
‘As I sowed, so now I reap such straw.
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O race of men, why do you set your hearts
→
87
on things that of necessity cannot be shared?
‘This man is Rinier, this is the pride and honor
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of the house of Càlboli, where no one since
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has made himself an heir to his true worth.
‘And not his blood alone—between Po and the mountains,
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between Reno and the sea—is stripped of virtues
‘For the land within these boundaries
is grown so dense with poisonous shoots
96
that even proper tillage now might come too late.
‘When, in Bologna, will another Fabbro grow?
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When, in Faenza, a Bernardin di Fosco,
→
102
noble branch sprung from a lowly weed?
‘Do not marvel, Tuscan, if I weep
when, along with Guido da Prata, I recall
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‘Federico Tignoso and his companions,
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the house of Traversaro and of Anastagi—
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both families now spent, without an heir—
