Volume 19 — Dante's Purgatorio. Canto Fourteenth.

Note.—This canto, like the preceding (XIII.), illustrates the sin of envy, which Dante deems a special vice of the Florentines, against whom and the other inhabitants of Valdarno he inveighs with a bitterness that savors more of the style of the Inferno than of “the milder shade of Purgatory.”

In the Thirteenth Canto, Envy has been rebuked by voices of love and gentleness; as, for instance, the kindly comment of the Virgin at the marriage feast of Cana, “They have no wine.” These and similar words are the scourge which the envious have to endure. But the bridle, Dante says, are tones of a contrary import, such as the terrific voice of Cain, who passes by in a peal of thunder, but invisible, followed by the dreadful cry of Aglauros, described in the concluding paragraph of this canto.

“What man is this who round our mountain goes,

Before that death has let his pinions free,

Who doth at will his eyelids ope and close?”

“I know not; but am sure not sole is he:

Demand thou of him who the nearest art,

And gently ask, that he may deign reply.”

Thus to the right two spirits there, apart,

Bent each toward each, conferred as I came nigh;

Then turning up their faces as to speak,

One said: “O soul! that still in mortal hold

Art on the way thy home in heaven to seek,

For charity console us, and unfold

Whence comest, and who art thou? for the grace

Accorded thee in us the wonder wakes

Due unto things which ne'er before had place.”

And I: “Through middle Tuscany there flows

A brook whose founts in Falterona spring,

Nor do an hundred miles its current close:

From that stream's banks this body of mine I bring:

'Twere vain to tell you how my title goes;

For yet my name hath not much heralding.”

“If well I probe the sense thou hast conveyed

With intellect,” the first who spake replied:

“Thou meanest Arno!”—and the other shade

Said to the former: “Wherefore did he hide

That river's name as men are wont to do

Of things most horrible?”—and then the one

Whom that inquiry was directed to,

Discharged him thus:

[pg 451]

Guido Del Duca.

“Why he that name doth shun

I cannot tell: but meet it is the name

Of such a valley perish from the earth!

Since from its head (where so abounds the same

Great alpine chain which cast Pelorus forth,

With springs that few spots are impregnate more)

To where it seeks, arriving at the main,

What the sky sucks from ocean to restore

(Whence rivers have what waters they contain),

Virtue by all is hunted for a foe

As 'twere a snake;—whether from fault of place

Or evil custom goading nature so:

Wherefore that miserable valley's race

Have changed their kind to that degree 'twould seem

Circe had pastured them. Among brute swine,

More fit for mast than human food, the stream

Winds its poor way; then, lower down its line,

Finds curs that snarl beyond their power to bite,

And turns from them his nostril as in scorn.

Falling it goes, and more it grows in might,

The curst ditch finds that of those dogs are born

A pack of wolves. Through many a whirlpool then

He comes to foxes in deceit so deep

They fear no catching by more crafty men.

What though o'erheard, no silence will I keep!

And well for this man, if in mind he bear

What my true spirit unfolds. One of thy blood

Shall hunt those wolves. I see thy grandson there

Harrowing the borders of that savage flood;

All fly before him, all are in despair:

He makes a market of their living flesh,

Then, like old beasts for slaughter, lays them low:

Staining his fame with many a murder fresh;

He comes all bloody from that wood of woe,

Leaving such wreck that in a thousand years

To its primeval state it shall not grow.”

Like one whose visage alters when he hears

Ill hap foretold, as 'twere in dread which way

The blow may strike, I saw that other soul

Stand turned to hear, disturbed and in dismay,

Soon of those words as he had grasped the whole.

His troubled air, and what the other said,

[pg 452]

To know their names wrought in me such a thirst

That I with prayers direct inquiry made.

Wherefore the shade who had addrest me first

Began again: “Thou wouldest that I deign

Do thee a grace I did in vain beseech;

But since the will of God in thee so plain

Doth favor show, I will not stint my speech;

Therefore know this: Guido del Duca am I.

My blood with envy was so burnt, so bad,

Thou mightst have seen me livid grow and dry

Had I but seen another's face look glad.

Such of my sowing is the straw I reap!

O human race! why bring your wishes down

To pleasures that exclude all partnership?

This is Rinieri; this the prize and crown

Of Casa Calboli, whereof no child

Hath made himself an heir of his renown.

Nor yet alone hath his blood been despoiled,

'Twixt Po, the Pennine, Reno and the shore,

Of what best needs for truth and happiness;

For through those borders there be plenty more

Of stock so bad, to make their venom less

By cultivation 'twere but vain to try.

Where is good Lizio? and Mainardi? Where

Pier Traversaro and Carpigna's Guy?

O Romagnuoles! what bastard shoots ye bear,

When sprouts a Fabbro in Bologna, when

Bernardin Fosco makes Faenza heir

From coarse grass to a growth of gentlemen!

No wonder, Tuscan, at my weeping thus

While I recall, remembering them so well,

Guido of Prata when himself with us,

And Ugolin of Azzo, used to dwell:

Frederic Tignoso and his goodly troop;

The Traversara, Anastagi race;

Now disinherited both houses droop!

Ladies and knights, the toils repose and grace

They wrapt us in of courtesy and love

There where the best blood such bad hearts debase!

“O Brettinoro! why dost thou not move

From thy proud seat, thy family wholly gone,

And many more, to shun corruption's course?

Bagnacaval does well to have no son,

And Castrocaro ill, and Conio worse

To breed such Counties taking further pains:

And well enough too, when their devil is dead,

May the Pagani do, though some remains

Bear witness 'gainst them of impureness fled.

O Ugolin de' Fantoli! most sure

Is thy good name, since no degenerate head

[pg 453]

Is looked for now its brightness to obscure.

But go thy ways now, Tuscan! more delight

I find in weeping than in words—too stirred

By this talk of our country.” We were quite

Sure those dear souls our way's direction heard,

And from their silence knew that we went right.

Soon as proceeding we became alone,

A voice, like lightning when it strikes, did say,

Rushing on tow'rds us with its thunderous tone,

“Whoever findeth me the same shall slay!”97

Then fled as thunder, when the bolt is thrown

From the torn cloud, in rumbling dies away.

When on our ears a moment's truce there fell,

Another crash came of like rattling shock

As of a rapid thunder, peal on peal:

“I am Aglauros, who became a rock!”

On this, I drew back from my forward pace

To cling for shelter close behind the bard,

And when the air was hushed in all its space,

He said to me: “That was the bit98 full hard

Which should each man within his limit stay.

You take the bait so fondly that the small

Hook of th' old enemy makes you his prey,

And bridle boots you naught, nor warning call.

Heaven calleth to you, and the eternal round

Shows you of beauties that about you roll,

And still your eye is grovelling on the ground;

Wherefore He smites you who discerns the whole.”

[pg 454]