Paradiso: Canto XVI

O WEAK and poor nobility of birth!
If thou dost make the people boast of thee.
Where languishes affection here on earth,

No more 'twill be a wondrous thing to me,
For there, where appetite ne'er goes astray,
I mean in Heaven, from pride I was not free.

A cloak thou art which shortens day by day,
So that, unless we fresh additions make,
Time with his scissors cuts it all away!

With " You " — the word which suffering Rome first spake,
(In which her children fail to persevere).
My words began again their course to take.

Then Beatrice, just apart, yet near.
Smiling, appeared like her, the coughing maid,
Who marked the first sin writ of Guinevere."

I then began, " You are my sire," I said,
"You grant to me to speak with freedom bold,
You raise me, and new self leaves self in shade.

Through many streams my soul with bliss untold
Is filled, and finds in this so pure a joy,
That, without bursting, it such cheer may hold.

Tell me, dear root ancestral, their employ,
Who were thy sires, and how the years passed on
Which tracked their course when thou wast yet a boy.

Tell me about the sheepfold of St. John,
What it then was, and who the people were
That then the highest seats of honour won."

As kindles charcoal into bright flame clear
At breath of wind, so I beheld that light
More radiant at my blandishments appear;

And as unto mine eyes it showed more bright,
So with a voice more tender and more sweet.
But not with this our modern accent quite.

He said, " Since Ave first the ear did greet,
Unto that birth when she who now is blest"
Was freed from me, her freight, in season meet.

Five hundred times and fourscore had the crest
Of this star to its Lion found its way.
With fresh flame at its feet itself to vest.

I and my fathers saw the light of day
Where first is found their last ward's boundary
Who in your annual games their speed display.

Let this suffice for tale of ancestry;
But who they were, and whence they thither came,
Less honour doth in speech than silence lie.

And those who bore arms at the time I name.
Between the Baptist and Mars' statue old,
Were but a fifth of those it now may claim;

But then the city, which doth now behold
Campi, Certaldo's, and Figghine's race,
To the last craftsman had true sons enrolled.

Oh, how much better that such people's place
Should still remain in outward neighbourhood.
And at Galuzz' and Trespiano trace

Your bounds, than tolerate that stinking brood,"
The churls of Signa and Aguglion,
Who for corruption have keen eyes and good!

Had not the race that most debased hath grown
In all the world, to Caesar step-dame been.
But kind as is a mother to her son,

Then some who buy and sell as Florentine
Would have turned back again to Simifonti,
Where once their grandsires were as beggars seen

At Montemurlo still would be the Conti,
The Cerchi would in Aeon's parish be,
In Grieve's vale, may be, the Buondelmonti.

In blending with new races still we see,
As ever, cause of all our city's woes.
As with the body mixed meats ill agree:

And a blind bull more headlong downfall shows
Than a blind lamb; and oft one sword will try
The might of five with more incisive blows.

If Luni, Urbisaglia, thou descry,
How they have fall'n, or are in act to fall,
Chiusi, Sinigaglia, following nigh,

To learn how races wither, one and all,
Will not seem strange to thee, nor hard to hear.
Since Time e'en cities to their end doth call.

All that is yours the doom of death must bear.
As ye yourselves, but this is hid from view,
In what lasts long, so short your own career.

And as from changes of the moon ensue
The ceaseless flux and reflux on the shore,
So Fortune works on Florence and on you:

Wherefore it should seem wonderful no more
That which I tell of older Florentines,
Whose fame is now more hidden than of yore.

The Ughi, Alberichi, Catellines,
Filippi, Greci, Ormanni I found,
E'en in their fall illustrious citizens;

And saw, time-honoured and with glory crowned,
Sannella's, Area's house, Bostichi, yea,
Ardinghi and Soldanier' renowned.

Nigh to the gate on which there now doth stay
New felony so heavy in its weight,
'Twill sink our good ship at no distant day,

There were the Ravignani, of whose state
Count Guido is the heir, and who doth own
The name that old Bellincion made great.

To him of Delia Pressa then was known
How men are ruled, and Galigaio bare
A hilt and sword-guard where the bright gold shone.

Great even then the column miniver,
Sacchetti, Giuochi, Fifanti, Barucci,
Galli, and those who blush for bushel there.

The stock from which have sprung the Calfucci
Was great e'en then, and to the curule chair
Were led the Sizi and the Arrigucci.

Ah me! what men I saw who now ill fare
Through their own pride, and how the balls of gold
Enflowered our Florence with deeds great and rare.

So lived and wrought their ancestors of old.
Who, when your Church presents a vacant see.
Grow fat, as they their consistory hold.

The haughty race which dragons it when flee"
The weak before it, and for those who show
Or teeth or purse, like lamb goes peaceably.

E'en then was rising, but from lineage low.
So that Ubert' Donati took it ill
Through his wife's father kinship's claims to owe.

And Caponsacco did the market fill,
From Fiesole descending, and there too
Were Giuda, Infangato, worthy still

A thing I'll tell incredible, yet true:
One entered the small circle by a gate
Which men as named from Delia Pera knew.

Each one of those who bear the arms of state
Of that great Baron, whose high praise and name
The feast of Thomas yet doth celebrate,

Received from him their knighthood and their fame,
Though with the people he is closely bound.
Who now with bordure doth ensign the same.

The Gualterotti then were famous found.
And Importuni; quiet now would be
The Burgh, but for new neighbours that abound.

The house whence sprang your wail of misery,
Through the just wrath that hath left many dead,
And put an end to life passed joyously.

On others and itself all honour shed.
Buondelmonte, to what issue bad
Wast thou to leave thy bride by others led I

Many had then rejoiced who now are sad.
If God to Ema's waters thee had thrown,
When first to thee our city welcome bade.

But it was meet that by that broken stone
That guards the bridge thou should'st a victim fall
To Florence, when her peace was all but gone.

With these I name, with others, like in all,
I Florence saw in such profound repose
She had no need in weeping loud to call;

With such as these a people glorious
And just I saw, whose lily ne'er was known
To hang inverted on the spear of foes,

Nor by division turned vermilion."